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UAE Real Estate Market Outlook to 2025

كيف يتم وضع سوق العقارات في دولة الإمارات العربية المتحدة؟

سوق العقارات في الإمارات العربية المتحدة حاليا في مرحلة النضج. تميزت الفترة خلال الفترة 2013-2016 بتدفق مستمر للعرض ، بسبب زيادة الناتج المحلي الإجمالي وزيادة الطلب في السوق. أدت زيادة الإيجارات إلى انخفاض الطلب بسبب نقص القدرة على تحمل التكاليف للسكان المحليين والمغتربين في 2014-2015. بعد صدمة النفط في عام 2014، كانت الحكومة تجتذب بنشاط الاستثمار الأجنبي المباشر والمغتربين إلى الإمارات العربية المتحدة من أجل تنويع اقتصادها بعيدا عن الإيرادات المتولدة من النفط. أطلقت حكومة دولة الإمارات العربية المتحدة خطة "رؤية 2021" بهدف التركيز على التنمية الاقتصادية والاجتماعية للبلاد وتحسينها.

من عام 2017 فصاعدا ، زاد العدد الإجمالي للاعبين الدوليين في كل سوق فرعي. ظهرت قطاعات جديدة مثل المنازل ومساحات العمل المشتركة والمباني الذكية والخضراء. بسبب النمو الاقتصادي المستمر ، وزيادة عدد الاستثمارات في البلاد ، زاد الطلب على جميع أنواع العقارات. كما أدت الزيادة في عدد السياح على مر السنين إلى زيادة مساهمة قطاع السياحة في الناتج المحلي الإجمالي. أصبح الأزواج الشباب ، وشركات تكنولوجيا المعلومات والتمويل ، وشركات السياحة الترفيهية ، والمصنعين الذين يبحثون عن أراضي رخيصة ، الأسواق المستهدفة القادمة لمختلف القطاعات الفرعية العقارية.

كيف يتم وضع سوق العقارات السكنية في الإمارات العربية المتحدة؟

تجذب حكومة الإمارات العربية المتحدة السكان المغتربين من أجل تعزيز اقتصادهم. بدأت الحكومة في إصدار تصاريح إقامة طويلة الأجل تسمى "البطاقة الذهبية" في عام 2019. يهدف هذا البرنامج إلى توفير إقامة طويلة الأجل للمستثمرين وللعاملين الاستثنائيين في مجال الصحة والهندسة والعلوم والفنون. حتى نهاية عام 2019 ، تم إصدار 6,800 بطاقة ذهبية تحت الهدف للمستثمرين من 70 دولة.

ومن اللوائح الجديدة الأخرى التي يمكن أن يكون لها تأثير أكبر إصدار تصاريح إقامة طويلة الأجل للمديرين التنفيذيين الذين يتقاضون راتبا شهريا يزيد عن 30,000 درهم إماراتي.

معظم المشاريع التي تم إطلاقها خلال أوائل عام 2014 عندما كان السوق في مرحلة أولية من الانتعاش على وشك التسليم. وقد أدى ذلك إلى سوق المشترين / المستأجرين مع الكثير من الخيارات ومجال واسع للمفاوضات. استجاب المطورون لظروف السوق المتغيرة من خلال تقديم خطط سداد سخية مع ما يصل إلى 10 سنوات من خيارات الدفع بعد التسليم وخطط خاصة لاستيعاب أي رسوم معاملات كليا أو جزئيا.

كيف يتم وضع سوق العقارات السكنية في دبي؟

أعلنت دائرة الأراضي والأملاك في دبي عن زيادة رسوم التسجيل من 2٪ إلى 4٪ في عام 2013. تغطي رسوم التسجيل الجديدة جميع المعاملات العقارية في إمارة دبي باستثناء القطاع الصناعي ، بما في ذلك المستودعات.

يستهدف المطورون في سوق العقارات السكنية في دبي شريحة جديدة من المشترين والمستأجرين من خلال تقديم مفاهيم مبتكرة للعيش المشترك والعمل المشترك المرخص.

في محاولة للحفاظ على القدرة التنافسية وفتح السوق أمام شريحة جديدة من المشترين ، يقدم العديد من المطورين حاليا مجموعة من حلول المعيشة المبتكرة ، مما يسمح للمقيمين بالعيش والعمل في نفس المكان.

كما تضرر السوق من تطبيق ضريبة القيمة المضافة (VAT) في يناير 2018. لا تنطبق ضريبة القيمة المضافة بنسبة 5٪ حاليا إلا على مبيعات المنازل بعد ثلاث سنوات من اكتمال المشروع. المبيعات في غضون ثلاث سنوات من الانتهاء لديها معدل ضريبة القيمة المضافة 0٪.

العرض والطلب الحالي والمستقبلي على العقارات السكنية في دبي

وقدر عدد الوحدات السكنية بالزيادة من ~ ألف وحدة في عام 2013 إلى ~ ألف وحدة في عام 2018 ؛ ينمو بمعدل نمو سنوي مركب قدره ~٪ خلال فترة المراجعة. ازدهر سوق العقارات السكنية في دبي في الماضي القريب بسبب زيادة عدد المغتربين وتأشيرة الإقامة طويلة الأجل ونمو العمالة وتسليم إمدادات جديدة كل عام.

وصلت المعاملات العقارية ~ في عام 2019 مقارنة ب ~ عدد المعاملات في عام 2008. شكلت العقارات على الخارطة ~ معاملات في عام 2019 بسبب الأسعار والحوافز الجذابة التي يقدمها الملاك مثل التنازل عن رسوم الخدمة ، ومجموعة من خطط الدفع بعد التسليم ، والخصومات على رسوم التسجيل والعمولات وعوائد الإيجار المضمونة.

من المتوقع أن يزداد العرض المستقبلي من ~ وحدات في عام 2019 إلى ~ وحدات في عام 2025F ؛ ينمو بمعدل نمو سنوي مركب قدره ~٪ خلال 2019-2025F.

فجوة العرض والطلب

كانت فجوة العرض والطلب للوحدات السكنية واسعة في السنوات 2014-2018 نتيجة لارتفاع معدلات الإيجار التي جعلت من الصعب على الناس شراء الوحدات السكنية في دبي. ثم انتقل السكان والمغتربون إلى الشارقة وعجمان حيث يمكنهم العثور على عقارات معقولة بإيجارات معقولة. كما أدت الزيادة في العرض التي أدت إلى زيادة العرض في السوق إلى توسيع الفجوة في هذه السنوات. عندما بدأت معدلات الإيجار في الانخفاض في عام 2018 ، بدأت الفجوة في ملء سوق العقارات السكنية.

كيف يتم وضع سوق العقارات الفندقية في الإمارات العربية المتحدة؟

لطالما تم الاعتراف بدولة الإمارات العربية المتحدة كوجهة سياحية وترفيهية رائدة. على مر السنين ، شهد قطاع السياحة نموا مستداما ، ليصبح مكونا رئيسيا لاقتصاد دولة الإمارات العربية المتحدة. شهد قطاع الضيافة في دولة الإمارات العربية المتحدة نموا قويا على مدى العقد الماضي. من عام 2007 إلى عام 2017 ، زادت المساهمة المباشرة للقطاع في الناتج المحلي الإجمالي للبلاد بنسبة ~٪ مع نمو معدل التوظيف بنسبة ~٪ في نفس الفترة الزمنية. وفقا للهيئة الاتحادية للتنافسية والإحصاء في الإمارات العربية المتحدة ، رحبت البلاد ب ~ مليون ضيف فندقي في عام 2017 ، ووفقا للمجلس العالمي للسفر والسياحة ، ساهم قطاع السفر والسياحة بنسبة ~٪ في اقتصاد دولة الإمارات العربية المتحدة في عام 2018. تتمتع دولة الإمارات العربية المتحدة بالعديد من مناطق الجذب الطبيعية والبيئية ، فضلا عن الثقافة الغنية ، مما يمكنها من تقديم مجموعة متنوعة من الأنشطة للسياح المحليين والدوليين.

كيف يتم وضع سوق العقارات الفندقية في دبي؟

استقبلت دبي 15 مليون سائح دولي في عام 2019 مقارنة ب 14.3 مليون سائح في عام 2018. تحتل دبي المرتبة 4 في العالم ، من حيث العدد الإجمالي للزوار الدوليين لليلة واحدة تسبقها بانكوك ولندن وباريس. كما حافظت دبي على مكانتها في صدارة مؤشر ماستركارد للمدن العالمية المقصودة لعام 2018 من حيث إنفاق الزوار للعام الثالث على التوالي. تم إطلاق استراتيجية دبي السياحية 2020 في عام 2013 وهي خارطة طريق استراتيجية تهدف بشكل رئيسي إلى جذب 20 مليون زائر سنويا بحلول عام 2020.

وهو ينطوي على توسيع عروض دبي في الفعاليات والمعالم السياحية والبنية التحتية والخدمات و��لباقات وجعلها جذابة لجمهور أوسع. بلغ الاستثمار في قطاع السفر والسياحة ~ مليار درهم إماراتي (~ مليار دولار أمريكي) والتي بلغت ~٪ من إجمالي الاستثمارات التي تمت في البلاد. من المتوقع أن يرتفع بنسبة ~٪ سنويا على مدى السنوات ال 10 القادمة إلى ~ مليار درهم (~ مليار دولار أمريكي) في عام 2027 والذي يمكن أن يكون ~٪ من إجمالي الاستثمارات.

توريد الفنادق الحالية والمستقبلية في دبي ، 2013-2025F

زاد العدد الإجمالي للمفاتيح المتاحة من ~ مفاتيح في عام 2013 إلى ~ مفاتيح في عام 2018 ؛ ينمو بمعدل نمو سنوي مركب قدره ~٪ خلال نفس الفترة الزمنية. كانت المملكة العربية السعودية السوق المصدر الرئيسي لدبي في هذه السنوات ، على سبيل المثال ، استقبلت دبي 1.13 مليون زائر من المملكة العربية السعودية في عام 2013.

في المستقبل ، مع زيادة المعروض من مفاتيح الفنادق ، سيتنافس المشغلون أو مقدمو الخدمات على أساس معدلات الإشغال ومتوسط الأسعار اليومية. يمكننا أن نشهد انتقال دبي من وجهة سياحية فاخرة في الغالب إلى وجهة مستقرة تعتمد على الحجم. من المتوقع أن يزداد العرض من ~ عدد مفاتيح الغرف في عام 2019 إلى ~ عدد مفاتيح الغرف بحلول عام 2025F ؛ ينمو بمعدل نمو سنوي مركب قدره ~٪ خلال نفس الفترة الزمنية. وفقا للإحصاءات الصادرة عن دائرة السياحة والتسويق التجاري بدبي (DTCM) ، كانت المملكة العربية السعودية (~) والهند (~) والمملكة المتحدة (~) والولايات المتحدة (~) وروسيا (~) والكويت (~) وألمانيا (~) وعمان (~) وإيران (~) والصين (~) أعلى 10 دول حيث كان وصول السياح هو الأعلى في دبي خلال الفترة من يناير إلى ديسمبر 2018.

الطلب الحالي والمستقبلي على الفنادق في دبي (2013-2025F)

ازداد الطلب على العقارات الفندقية نتيجة للمبادرات الحكومية ال��ملية المعمول بها. زاد الطلب من ~ عدد المفاتيح المتاحة في عام 2013 إلى ~ عدد المفاتيح المتاحة في عام 2018. وركزت المبادرات الحكومية الرئيسية على تعزيز المطورين العقاريين وقطاع السياحة في البلاد.

فجوة العرض والطلب

التوقعات الحالية: واجهت دبي حالة فائض في العرض طوال فترة المراجعة حيث تجاوز عدد مفاتيح الغرف المتاحة الطلب. اتسعت فجوة العرض والطلب بسبب توافر مخزون غير لائق مثل فنادق 2 نجوم و 1 نجوم التي تفتقر إلى الطلب بسبب تغيير تفضيلات الناس نحو الإقامة في فندق مريح مع جميع وسائل الراحة الفاخرة.

النظرة المستقبلية: تتوقع دبي توريد ~ مفاتيح بحلول عام 2025 فهرنهايت. ويدعم العرض رؤية حكومة دبي لجذب المزيد من الطلب من خلال تعزيز أنشطة السياحة والأعمال في الإمارات.

تنزيل نموذج التقرير

كيف يتم وضع سوق العقارات المكتبية في الإمارات العربية المتحدة؟

في مايو 2019 ، أعلنت حكومة الإمارات العربية المتحدة أنه سيكون من الممكن قريبا لرواد الأعمال الأجانب امتلاك 100٪ من الأسهم في شركة مسجلة محليا. كان إجمالي الملكية الأجنبية مسموحا به في السابق فقط في المناطق الحرة في الإمارات العربية المتحدة ، مما يعني أن الشركات التي تم تأسيسها "داخليا" يجب أن تكون مملوكة محليا بنسبة 51٪.

لتسهيل الأمور على الشركات ، تم الإعلان مؤخرا عن تخصيص 5٪ من المشاريع الرأسمالية الحكومية للشركات الصغيرة والمتوسطة (SMEs). يأتي ذلك كجزء من حملة لتشجيعهم على الدخول في عقود مشاريع كبرى مع الوكالات الحكومية وتشكيل تحالفات للتنافس على المشاريع الحكومية.

في نوفمبر 2018 ، بدأت حكومة الإمارات العربية المتحدة بنشاط في إصدار تأشيرات مدتها خمس سنوات لرواد الأعمال الذين يتطلعون إلى تأسيس أعمالهم في البلاد. وقد أدت كل هذه المبادرات إلى زيادة الطلب على الإمدادات المكتبية في سوق الإمارات العربية المتحدة.

كيف يتم وضع مكتب العقارات في دبي؟

وتستهدف هذه الخطوة حاليا الشركات الصغيرة والمتوسطة التي تتخذ من دبي مقرا لها، وستتيح لها الحصول على عقود لمشاريع تصل قيمتها إلى 400 مليون درهم. أيضا ، من أجل تزويد الشركات الصغيرة والمتوسطة بسيولة أكبر ، سيتم الآن دفع رواتب العاملين في مشاريع حكومة الإمارات العربية المتحدة في غضون 30 يوما.

وفي السابق، كانت مدفوعات مشاريع القطاع العام تسدد في غضون 90 يوما. بالإضافة إلى ذلك ، في الفترة التي تسبق معرض إكسبو 2020 العام المقبل ، خصصت حكومة دبي 20٪ من جميع العقود ذات الصلة للشركات الصغيرة والمتوسطة.

أطلق حاكم دبي صندوق الشيخ محمد بن راشد آل مكتوم لتمويل الابتكار في الإمارة. يدعم الصندوق الأفراد والشركات المقيمة (من جميع الأحجام) المسجلة في دولة الإمارات العربية المتحدة، شريطة أن يقدموا أفكارا فريدة ومبتكرة. يمكن أن تكون هذه الأفكار حلولا أو منتجات أو خدمات أو عمليات تكنولوجية. يجب أن يكون المتقدمون المؤهلون قد سجلوا مشروعهم كملكية فكرية للفرد أو الشركة المعنية ، ويجب أن تكون المرحلة الأولية من المشروع قد تم تأسيسها بالفعل.

العرض في سوق المكاتب الحالية والمستقبلية في دبي، متوسط معدلات الإيجار ومعدلات الإشغال، 2013-2025F

ارتفع المعروض الحالي من مخزون المكاتب في دبي من ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2013 إلى ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2018 ، وبالتالي نما بمعدل نمو سنوي مركب قدره ~ خلال نفس الفترة الزمنية.

كان القيام بالأعمال التجارية في الإمارات العربية المتحدة عملية مرهقة في النصف الأول من فترة المراجعة. ومع ذلك ، بحلول عام 2017 ، قدمت حكومة الإمارات العربية المتحدة ودبي برامج مختلفة لجذب الشركات إلى الإمارة. من المتوقع أن يزداد العرض المستقبلي لمخزون المكاتب في دبي من ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2019 إلى ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2025F ؛ ينمو بمعدل نمو سنوي مركب قدره ~٪ في الفترة المحددة.

أعلنت حكومة دبي في عام 2019 أنها ستسمح قريبا بملكية أجنبية بنسبة 100٪ في منطقة غير حرة من أجل جذب المزيد من الشركات المربحة إلى سوق دبي.

اطلب التخصيص

الطلب على سوق العقارات الحالية والمستقبلية في دبي، 2013-2025F

الطلب الحالي: شهدت أسواق صغيرة مختارة وبعض المباني زيادة في مستويات الاستفسار وارتفاعا هامشيا في معدلات الإشغال بينما زادت مستويات الشواغر عبر المشاريع التي تقدم مساحة ثانوية ومخططات طوابق غير فعالة. كما تم ترشيد قسط الإيجار الذي حققته المشاريع التي تقدم رخصة منطقة حرة (بسبب الترخيص المزدوج) وبالتالي توسيع الخيارات المتاحة للمستأجرين. ارتفع الطلب على العقارات المكتبية من ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2013 إلى ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2018 ؛ ينمو بمعدل نمو سنوي مركب يبلغ ~ خلال فترة المراجعة.

النظرة المستقبلية: سيتم سحب الطلب المستقبلي على سوق العقارات المكتبية في دبي من خلال الزيادة في الأنشطة التجارية المتوقعة في المستقبل. من المتوقع أن ينمو الطلب المستقبلي من ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2018 إلى ~ مليون متر مربع ؛ ينمو بمعدل نمو سنوي مركب قدره ~٪ خلال نفس الفترة الزمنية.

كيف يتم وضع سوق عقارات التجزئة في الإمارات العربية المتحدة؟

بدعم من العدد الكبير من السكان المغتربين وقاعدة المستهلكين القوية ، تشهد صناعة التجزئة نموا قويا في أرض الإمارات.

سيؤدي حدث Expo 2020 القادم إلى زيادة الطلب على المزيد من مساحات البيع بالتجزئة حيث ينتظر هذا الحدث عددا كبيرا من الزوار يقترب من ~ مليون.

بلغت قيمة قطاع التجزئة في الإمارات العربية المتحدة ~ مليار دولار أمريكي في عام 2018. ستستمر تجارة التجزئة القائمة على المتجر في الهيمنة على حساب ~ مليار دولار أمريكي في عام 2018. ستنمو تجارة التجزئة خارج المتجر والتي تشمل التسوق عبر الإنترنت والبيع المباشر والإنترنت عبر الهاتف المحمول ووسائل التواصل الاجتماعي والتسوق المنزلي بنسبة ~٪ خلال الفترة 2018-2023.

أدت زيادة النزعة الاستهلاكية إلى زيادة الثقة بين الناس في شراء المنتجات والخدمات وبالتالي زيادة المساهمة في قطاع البيع بالتجزئة. أدت الزيادة في عدد السكان المغتربين إلى زيادة الطلب على أنواع مختلفة من المنتجات في السوق.

كيف يتم وضع عقارات التجزئة في الإمارات العربية المتحدة؟

ومن المتوقع أن يشهد السوق عددا كبيرا من المعروض من مراكز التسوق الإقليمية والإقليمية في المستقبل القريب.

ومن المتوقع أن تؤدي زيادة العرض إلى الضغط على الإيجارات ومستويات الإشغال حيث يواصل الملاك تقديم حوافز عالية بما في ذلك فترات الإيجار المجانية ومساهمات التجهيز والتخفيضات في رسوم الخدمة. وبالمقارنة، واصلت المراكز المجتمعية في المناطق المكتظة بالسكان أداءها الجيد.

لا يزال الطلب المحلي على التجزئة في دبي يتعرض لضغوط بسبب انخفاض الدخل المتاح. في عام 2018 ، يتوقع ~٪ من سكان دبي الحصول على نفس الدخل المتاح أو أقل في عام 2019 ، بينما يتوقع ~٪ فقط الحصول على المزيد.

��النسبة للمقيمين ، تستمر "مراكز التسوق الأخرى" (مثل مراكز التسوق المجتمعية ومراكز التسوق المجاورة ومراكز التسوق) والمنافذ غير التجارية في الهيمنة بسبب ملاءمتها وقربها من المناطق السكنية المكتظة بالسكان.

إمدادات التجزئة الحالية والمستقبلية في دبي، 2013-2025F

تصاعدت المساحة الإجمالية القابلة للتأجير لمساحات التجزئة في دبي من ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2013 إلى ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2018 ؛ ينمو بمعدل نمو سنوي مركب قدره ~٪. من السنوات 2013 إلى 2016 ، نما العرض بمعدل نمو مائل بسبب زيادة الطلب.

من المتوقع أن تزيد المساحة الإجمالية القابلة للتأجير لمساحات التجزئة في دبي من ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2018 إلى ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2025F ؛ ينمو بمعدل نمو سنوي مركب يبلغ ~٪ مدعوما بمعرض إكسبو 2020 القادم الذي من المتوقع أن يجذب ما يصل إلى 20 مليون سائح.

الطلب الحالي والمستقبلي على التجزئة في دبي، 2013-2025F

الطلب الحالي (2013-2018): ارتفع الطلب على مساحات التجز��ة في دبي من ~ مليون متر مربع من إجمالي المساحة القابلة للتأجير في عام 2013 إلى ~ مليون متر مربع من إجمالي المساحة القابلة للتأجير في عام 2018 ؛ ينمو بمعدل نمو سنوي مركب قدره ~٪ خلال نفس الفترة الزمنية. وقد نمت الزيادة في الطلب على مساحات البيع بالتجزئة مع تزايد عدد المغتربين في الإمارة، وتطوير البنية التحتية، وسهولة اللوائح الحكومية، وتحسين السياحة والأنشطة الترفيهية للناس. النمو المرتفع في الإنفاق التقديري إلى جانب تزايد عدد السكان الشباب هو مولدات الطلب الرئيسية في قطاع التجزئة.

التوقعات المستقبلية (2019-2025): من المتوقع أيضا أن يرتفع الطلب على مساحات البيع بالتجزئة في المستقبل القريب مدعوما بالمبادرات الحكومية المختلفة التي تم وضعها لتعزيز الاقتصاد. تركز "رؤية الإمارات 2021" على أن تصبح دولة الإمارات العربية المتحدة العاصمة الاقتصادية والسياحية والتجارية لأكثر من ملياري شخص من خلال الانتقال إلى اقتصاد قائم على المعرفة ، وتعزيز الابتكار والبحث والتطوير ، وتعزيز الإطار التنظيمي للقطاعات الرئيسية ، وتشجيع القطاعات ذات القيمة المضافة العالية. سيؤدي ذلك إلى تحسين بيئة الأعمال في البلاد وزيادة جاذبيتها للاستثمار الأجنبي. من المتوقع أن يزداد الطلب على مساحات البيع بالتجزئة من ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2018 إلى ~ مليون متر مربع في عام 2025 ؛ ينمو بمعدل نمو سنوي مركب قدره ~٪.

#UAE Macro Economic Overview #UAE GDP from Real Estate #FDI UAE Real Estate Market #UAE Real Estate Market #UAE Real Estate Sub-Markets #Dubai and Abu-Dhabi Real Estate Market #UAE Office Real Estate Market #UAE Office Supply #UAE Office Supply by Type #UAE Office Rental Rate #Dubai Office Supply #Dubai Office Demand #Abu Dhabi Office Supply by Type #Abu Dhabi Office Demand #Dubai Office Major Projects #Abu Dhabi Office Projects #Abu Dhabi Office Projects Total Area #UAE Residential Real Estate Market #UAE Apartment Real Estate Supply #UAE Villa Real Estate Supply #UAE Apartment Supply by Property Type #UAE Villa Supply by Property Type #Dubai Residential Supply #Dubai Residential Demand #Dubai Residential Rental Rates #Dubai Apartment Rental Rates #Dubai Villa Rental Rates #Dubai Residential Occupancy Rate #Dubai Villa Occupancy Rate #Abu Dhabi Residential Supply

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nonane09 · 2 years ago

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Everyone who works an office job absolutely should do themselves a small favor and learn just enough VBA to handle the most repetitive parts of their job. Double important if it's in Excel, a piece of software that can almost certainly automate the thing you hate doing even without the VBA.

6 years ago, I spent a day or 2 at work bodging together a VBA macro that stretched a PowerPoint presentation across however many monitors I wanted (my record was 7). If I could do that on my own 6 years ago you can absolutely automate ingesting your weekly performance reports or whatever cursed thing you have to do constantly.

i dont understand at all how non-programmers use computers. every day i encounter new and strange workflows? "yeah i write my fic in scrivener but then when it's ready to post to ao3 i copy/paste it into libreoffice and use find-and-replace to convert it to html" dude what the fuck

#i promise the powerpoint thing was something i was asked to do for work #and that i didn't keep it in an office macro #i converted the macro into a real office extension written in c-sharp #but the look on my boss' face when i had a proof of concept in 2 days was *priceless*

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scatter-snz · 2 months ago

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Best Laid Plans - Part 3

Details: 11k, M sneezes, no pairing (for this part)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. When preparing his next move, he finds even the best laid plans go awry.

PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

EVERYONE 🥹💖 Thank you so, so much for your continued support and kindness!!!! 😭 I’m just over the moon that folks are enjoying this and I’ve deeply appreciated all the likes, comments, reblogs, and asks!! I feel like I’ll never be able to say thank you enough times to everyone 😂💕 Please know that I’ve read each and every wonderful word you all have said and those sentiments have given me soul power!!! 💫

This is a fluffy interlude, but it will spice up again in Part 4! 😏 These are original characters, all in their mid twenties to early thirties. Please mind the warnings if anything here might be uncomfy for you.

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, Mess Lite™, getting sneezed on [accidentally, not in detail], questionable coworker dynamics [discussing sexual pleasure in a professional way], humiliation themes [main character gets embarrassed from sexual discussion], micro/macro [it’s a dream], masturbation, being induced by another person [not on purpose], feeling pleasure from sneezing).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

The Wooden Lantern, tomorrow, 6:30pm.

Omicron knew the place. He’d studied the resort’s directory extensively before they arrived. It was a high class, low-light, white table cloth and well-dressed waiter kind of restaurant. Either Josaline and her husband booked a reservation far in advance or they had the clout to demand one. The backdrop set the tone — extravagant, intimate, an evening of whispered banter. They better not expect me to pay, he thought, weaving around a housekeeper with a cart of towels and sheets. Head office probably won’t foot the bill.

It took longer than planned to pry himself away from Josaline. She was content to lounge for as long as he’d let her, asking him idle questions and tracing shapes on his chest with the tips of her fingers. All the while, she watched his nose. To Omicron it seemed like she was reluctant to miss even a second of his nasal misery, and she was treated to a fair amount of sniffling, sneezing, and nose blowing while they talked. When he finally managed to extricate himself, he surmised his nose was as red as the sunset. The light painted brilliant streaks over the coastline and reduced distant seagulls to silhouettes as they flew over sparkling water.

And somehow, looking too long at the birds flapping their wings meant he had to sneeze. Bitterly, Omicron tucked a finger beneath his nostrils. They began to flare, anxious as the tickle took flight somewhere in his sinuses. Indulging this in his hotel room was better than the hallway, so Omicron picked up his pace. He could feel the sensation worsen, his nerves trembling, and soon a whole flock of frantic tickles startled into motion.

“-hhHH-” He flipped his hand up over his nose and increased his power walk to a near sprint.

“-gUH!hhh..HHH-” He skidded to his room door and through tears he scanned the keycard, shoved himself inside-

“HHEH’DZZssch!”

“Oh, here he is. He just got back.”

Omicron eased his eyes open long enough to see Agent Delta with his phone to his ear, frowning at him.

“Bless-”

“-IHCHZSSH’oo!” He flattened a hand to his chest, feeling himself breathe and breathe and- “..hah!-CHIZSSH’uh!.. ngghh..”

Omicron groaned and belatedly nosed into his shirt, at this point a decimated, jumbo-sized rag hanging limply from his hand.

“Bless you.” Delta delivered it firmly, and asked in the same tone, “How are you feeling?”

“Whad?” he asked, muffled at first before he lowered the shirt. “I’b fine.”

The senior agent gave him a doubtful once-over, then spoke to whomever was on the phone. “He says he’s fine.”

Muzzily, Omicron looked down at himself. Then sidelong to the closet door mirror. He stood only in his swim trunks, bare from his hips up with hair made wild by hungry hands and a smattering of burgundy lipstick across his throat. Worst was his nose, just as raw and sore looking as it felt. It twitched as he watched, his nostrils slowly stretching wide. His expression collapsed by degrees, jaw slacking, eyelids fluttering, chin tilting, chest lifting in one long breath.

“hhhhhHHH’ADZSSHiew!!” he sneezed, and threw himself a step forward.

Delta sighed. “Bless you.”

Once again Omicron lifted his shirt late and huffed a frustrated sigh of his own. When the tickle came over him, he couldn’t do more than simply sneeze. His days of diligent etiquette were long behind him now. There was a tap on his shoulder and when he looked up, Delta was standing in front of him with a fresh box of unscented, lotion-infused tissues. Omicron could have cried.

“Thag’k you-” he choked, snatching a handful just before he “-hd’ZZSSCH!-guh..”

He transitioned his groan into a strengthless blow of his nose. Even for how little effort he used, the action was productive — more audibly than he would have preferred. At least the tissues didn’t chafe. It took several rounds, Delta patiently holding the box for him, until Omicron’s sniffling was stuffy but dry. The tickle relaxed as much as it ever did, tracing shapes against his membranes. It reminded him of Josaline. By the time he was finished, Delta had traded the box for the room’s little trash bin.

“Yes, just a moment..” he said into the phone, then tipped the bin expectantly at Omicron. Meekly, he dropped in all his tissues (as well as his shirt, it was a lost cause) as Delta continued. “Let me speak with him first.”

Omicron tried to cobble together some semblance of professionalism. He straightened his spine and folded his hands into a parade rest to deliver his report. “Sir, there is a new development-”

“Apologies, Omicron, that will have to wait,” Delta bulldozed over him. “Something’s come up.”

A prickle of anxiety raised the hairs at the back of his neck. “… Sir?”

“It concerns your condition,” Delta replied, and his faltering loss of eye contact didn’t reassure Omicron in the slightest. “It’s a.. delicate subject, so I’ll leave this to Dr. Voster.”

Omicron closed his eyes in exasperation. He’d forgotten about her. Shit. Delta passed him the phone, and then very conspicuously occupied himself across the room.

Bracing himself, Omicron lifted the phone to his ear. “Yes?”

“Hi, Agent Omicron,” said Dr. Voster in a tinny voice from the receiver. “You’re a hard man to get a hold of lately.”

“Well, I’ve been a bit busy,” he said, then lifted a fist to his nose. Idle as the tickle was, the incessant, gossamer sensation of it was beginning to bother him. “Forgive me if I don’t have time to shoot the breeze.”

“You think I’d come to you for small talk? I’d have better luck with a brick wall.”

“Noted,” he replied as he glanced around for the tissue box. He found it sitting on his bed. “Are you calling to berate me or is there something you want?”

“If you remember from yesterday,” she insisted with unnecessary attitude, “I’m calling to talk about your nose.”

The tickle twinged, perking up like a dog to a whistling call. The rims of his eyes grew wet. His breath hiccuped. “I’d reahh- hly rather not.”

“Too bad, I’ll cut to the chase: are you getting erections when you sneeze?”

Her words pierced him like arrows, followed by the bleed of heat into his cheeks, ears, and neck. Omicron’s hand froze halfway to his face, tissues hovering. She knows, his mind shrieked. She knows. He whipped his head to Delta, who was faffing pointlessly with his suitcase while pretending to ignore the conversation unfolding across the room. And so does he.

“Your silence is telling,” said Anita.

“No.” His mind was static and his mouth was dry. Words wouldn’t flow. “I’m not.. No.”

The lie was so poorly delivered that it wouldn’t have fooled anyone. Sweat slinked down his nape. Dr. Voster blew a breath over the line, sharp and rueful. “Welp. That one’s on me.”

He darted another glance to Delta and caught the man staring just before they simultaneously turned away. Meanwhile, the tickle followed the path of a twitching nerve with a light, curious touch. Hunching his shoulders and scrunching his face, Omicron mumbled into the receiver.

“What’s that supposed tuhh.. to mean?”

“Your reaction at the lab was extreme, in relation to the vigor of your sneezing as well as the presence of physiological responses indicating arousal,” she explained, her tone appreciably analytic despite the awkward topic. “Dilated pupils, shortness of breath, difficulty concentrating..”

She suspected it from the beginning? Omicron reeled. It made sense; she was impressively educated and one of the most respected techs at the agency. Her knowledge ranged from biology, physiology, immunology, and beyond. In retrospect, he’d been a fool to think he could ever hide something like this from her.

“Even so, I couldn’t be sure. It warranted further research and I found something unexpected.”

Omicron pushed a hand through his hair, pressing his thumb into the soft indent of his temple. He’d walked in here with a headache and he could tell this conversation would only make it worse. “Oh?”

“It’s a little known fact that parts of the nose contain the same type of erectile tissue as the genitals, and both are linked to the body’s autonomic nervous system.”

As she spoke, the tickle feathered a persistent, teasing swirl around a sensitive spot. His inflamed membranes pulsed insistently, as did his chapped nostrils. He tried his damned best to ignore it. “... Pardon?”

“I believe because I gave you a higher dose of viral particles than you needed, the overstimulation of your nasal nerves is causing an echoing effect to the erectile tissue in your penis.”

A dangerous emotion lurched up from Omicron’s stomach and got caught behind his teeth: anger. It warred, then mixed, with his humiliation. Exhaustion eroded his willingness to swallow it back down.

“This is actually not unheard of. Kinks aside, some people experience this during intercourse, or even from simply thinking about sex, though usually the arousal causes sneezing rather than the other way around..”

Anita blathered on about speculative science, and the bubbling pot of annoyance he’d nursed since the start of this assignment at last began to boil over. Frustration erupted into rage.

“..Still, it’s a variable I completely overlooked. I’m sorry, Omicron.”

“Sorry?” he barked, raising his volume to a throat-scratching degree. “You’re sorry? Are you serious?”

There was a pause over the line. “.. Yes?”

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it.” The ardor in his voice vibrated in his sinuses, heightening the caressing sensations of the tickle, which only angered him more. “Yhh-You told me I wouldn’t b-be comprhhuh-.. hhmised by your stupid experiment!”

“That was before I saw its effects in action. I advised you not to go forward with the mission, remember? I only agreed in front of Delta because you looked so sad. It was foolish on my part. I should’ve grounded you.”

“So that I could suffer for your mbistake??” he demanded. His nostrils shivered and he shoved them with the heel of his palm. Congestion clogged his words. “I’ve waited so long for this mbission, Anita, you kdnow I have!”

“It wasn’t my intention to compromise you, Omicron,” and while she said it with contrition, there was also resignation. “I can’t predict every outcome. It’s just one of those things.”

The pragmatism in her voice only fueled his fire, but before he could assemble his response, the tickle struck. Even in the throes of wrath it wouldn’t leave him be. Its touch seeped through his nose like a spill. His lungs jumped with a single breath, and then Omicron’s head snapped down.

“DDJZSSsh’oo!”

The sneeze staggered him two steps back and another was fast on the rise. It held him hostage in its grip, but Anita’s curt “bless you” in his ear waylaid the urge. He fulcrumed a finger beneath his nose to buy time. Emotion roared up from his chest and broke out of him in a rambling crash.

“I get one chandce! One. To prove mbyself and if I fail they’re gonna relegate mbe to archives and filing duties for the rest of mby career!!”

He was peripherally aware of Delta, who’d at some point moved to stand in front of him. There was something in his hand, a gadget Omicron recognized but couldn’t think to name. His vision tunneled, dark at the edges. His heart pounded in his ears. His nose twitched ominously, not to be delayed much longer.

“I c-.. hhhan’dt lose this case,” he was babbling, quicker and quicker when his nostrils began to flare. The burgeoning sneeze tugged his eyelids shut and stole his breath away. “It’ll- it.. iyeehh…h-HH!hck’KZSShiu!”

Dr. Voster took the opportunity to cut in; she sounded deliberately calm as he sniffled fitfully through a recovery. “Omicron, listen to me, you’re catastrophizing. Slow down for a second and breathe.”

“Ndo, you listen!” His voice cracked and an ugly desperation made itself known. “They’ll really do it, if I’b ndot perfect they’ll write mbe off a’d I’ll end up a cautionary tale, they’ll laugh mbe out of the agency, everythi’g I’ve worked for will be for dnothi’g, I-”

Glowing numbers flashed in front of his eyes. Omicron startled, teetering unevenly on his feet. At first he had no idea what it was, but as his vision steadied the image formed. Delta stood before him, grim, offering the readout screen of an infrared thermometer.

The numbers read 102.4°F / 39.1°C . Omicron squinted at them, uncomprehending.

“... what’s thad?” he rasped.

Delta’s reply was immediate and immutable. “Your fever.”

Omicron blinked. Squinted harder. Read the numbers again even as they started to blur. I have a fever? he asked himself. As his fury ebbed, new sensations emerged: the painful heat radiating from his head, a pervasive chill seeping from his core, the weakness in his knees and the cotton in his ears. He began listing to the side. The phone slipped from his hand.

Oh, he realized. I have a fever.

“Oop!” Delta dashed and caught him before he could swoon to the floor. Together they sank in a controlled descent as the senior agent muttered, “Easy now, easy..” under his breath. Once they were down, Omicron tucked his head into his knees and tried to fend off the headrush.

Indistinct voices floated around him. He could only catch snippets of conversation — “high grade temperature,” and “want you here by morning” — and he gave up on the rest. Instead, he concentrated on the bracing passes of Delta’s broad hand across the span of his sweaty shoulders. It took longer than he liked, but eventually Omicron raised his head with minimal dizziness. He stared into the weave of the carpet.

“Did she hang up?”

“Yes,” Delta said beside him. “She gave me a list of questions to ask you when you’re feeling a bit better.”

Omicron dropped his head back to his knees. “... is she upset?”

“At your outburst?” Delta asked, and his subordinate cringed. “She’s more worried about you than upset, but you wouldn’t be remiss to apologize when she arrives.”

In the aftermath of his tantrum, clarity pricked him like a thorn. This was as much his fault as it was Anita’s. It was true her virus yielded unexpected results, but by concealing them from her, he’d failed in his responsibility as a teammate. She put her trust in him, and he let her down. There were few things more painful for him than owning his mistakes.

Stewing in his shame, he sniffled and said the only thing he could say. “I’b sorry, sir.”

Delta’s smile grew warm at the edges. “I’m not the one you shouted at, but I’ll accept your apology since you lied to me too.”

God, he wished the ground would just swallow him whole. Omicron folded into an even smaller ball, arms tightening around his shins. The position made his nose run, which required frequent snuffling for maintenance, but he’d rather do that than look Delta in the eye.

“I expect honesty from you, agent. Full stop. Not a single lie moving forward, either directly or by omission. Am I understood?”

Omicron could barely force himself above a whisper. “Yes, sir.”

“Not just about the virus,” his superior continued, “but also your wellbeing. You’ve put so much pressure on yourself, Omicron. I had no idea you were under the impression that this assignment would be your only chance to succeed.”

Without anger as a shield, he’d lost his last defense. Delta’s sympathy felt like a punch in the gut. Even worse, his near constant sniffles were going to make him sneeze. He keenly felt each bead of moisture drip down his stressed passages, then skate back up with every subsequent snatch of air. It was unabating, alluring, and it coaxed little sighs from his lip when he exhaled. He didn’t have to wait long.

“..hh’MMPHssh!!Huh..” Omicron muffled it into his knees, his entire body trembling. Then he hurried to respond before he could be blessed. “-but it’s true, righd?”

“Come again?” Delta asked, and when Omicron spoke it again with more volume, he could hear Delta’s brow furrow just from the way he replied, “No, it’s not true at all. Did someone tell you differently?”

With reluctance, Omicron lifted his head and confirmed with a stuffy mumble. “.. Agent Rho did.”

“Rho!” Delta scoffed, as if he could scold the agent from here. His voice lowered to a grumble, and that told Omicron exactly how Delta felt about Rho. “Don’t listen to them. They enjoy scaring less experienced agents.”

(Here Omicron swore a silent, seething vow that he would exact calculated revenge upon Agent Rho for their transgressions against him. Delta continued, oblivious.)

“A reprehensible practice, but between you and I, head office rarely entertains my complaints on the matter.”

Head office… Fuzzy worries came into focus as Omicron muddled through another lazy, slow-to-arrive sneeze. The fog of it clouded his expression as he tried in vain to soldier on.

“Are you goi’g t-.. hih’KIZSsh!” he bobbed his head, then slitted his eyes open only for them to flutter closed again. “..ehKZSSh’uh!... mmbgh..”

“Bless you,” said Delta, watching Omicron cup a hand over his nose. “Here, use these.”

Delta held out the tissue box, still half-full with soft paper, and Omicron plucked out several. His breath hitched high, voice heady, as he attempted to relay gratitude.

“Th-hhah.. ah’NKZSSS’hoo!” He crushed it into the tissues, and then flushed with a fresh layer of chagrin when Delta chuckled.

“Bless you, Omicron, you’re welcome.” He waited for the nose blowing to stop before he continued. “You were saying?... ‘Am I going to’ what?”

Oh, right, his question.. With fever, congestion, and the pledge of sneezes crowding his head, holding onto a thought longer than a few seconds felt next to impossible. “Are you going to ground me?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Delta replied. “Considering your condition, I should say yes, but I’d like Dr. Voster’s opinion first. You’re making progress on this case and I’d hate to halt your momentum prematurely.”

That was fair. Uncontrollable boners and a fever on active duty would probably dissuade any overseeing officer from adapting a ‘push through’ mentality. Especially Delta, since the man had the most heavily bleeding heart Omicron had ever known. It would be up to Anita, then; he couldn’t muster the energy to fret about it right now. They sat together while Omicron tended to his fidgety nose, still side by side on the floor, until Delta made a sound of recollection.

“Speaking of the case, didn’t you mention a development? I interrupted you earlier. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Ahhhh, dammit, Omicron lamented. I forgot about that too.

Even before Anita threw her wrench, he hadn’t been sure how his date tomorrow would go over with Delta. He’d had plans of carefully breaking the news, laying out the variables and working gradually to the big reveal. But now he could barely remember the basic idea, let alone complex and eloquent details. Wracking his boiling brain did nothing but cost him his opportunity; the meandering tickle of his cold stumbled yet again on sensitive territory.

“-Hah…” It lured a dreading sound from his lips as the urge niggled him. Hadn’t he sneezed enough? His count had to be over a hundred by now, and yet his nose wasn’t satisfied. Overworked as they were, his nasal nerves were as ceaseless in their goals as the virus was. “..hiH-.. ngh..”

Omicron cut his losses. Either he ripped the bandaid off or wasted another ten minutes sneezing while his cold tickled him senseless. He took a moment to steady his breathing before saying, “...She has a hus’BEHSsh’oo!”

It startled them both, barreling out of him freely and with an unfortunate lack of cover. Delta flinched away, visibly caught in the crossfire, and Omicron panicked. Both hands jerked up to cover his nose as a whiplash of shame froze him to the bone.

“Fuck, I’b so siihH-” Oh god, again? His breath wavered at the top of his throat, almost a whimper, and he was so discombobulated from the first one that he couldn’t prepare for the second. “-ih’GXCHHT!”

It ran roughshod, mostly through his nose, and it scraped his sinuses on the way out. Very unpleasant, but fortunately the tickle had to play second fiddle to the stinging aftermath. Omicron hitched down from the high, hands still cemented to his face for modesty and eyelashes sticking with tears as he threw a glance to his superior.

“b’sorry!” he eked out, and he must have looked truly miserable because Delta’s eyes widened.

“It’s alright, it’s alright!” he said earnestly, with a shake of his head and a consoling pat to Omicron’s back. “I’m not upset, I know that was an accident. Don’t worry about it, hm? Here..”

He fished up the tissue box in offering before politely turning away as Omicron cleaned himself up. The mortification nearly crushed him, but still the junior agent reeled with relief. He could trust his superior at his word that he wasn’t upset; it just wasn’t in Delta’s nature to lie, unless it was for his cover. It took nearly the rest of the box before Omicron deemed himself decent, and even then he pinned a preemptive bushel of tissues around his nose in case another sneeze got away from him. Delta was looking at him with such effusive compassion that Omicron delivered his news without preamble, desperate to change the subject.

“I got invited to a threesome with Josaline and her secret husband,” he said from behind his hands.

Agent Delta was gobsmacked. “Wh- Josaline Jewel has a husband?”

Omicron nodded.

“We have no intel to suggest that at all. Are you sure?”

Omicron nodded again.

There was a bewildered pause, then an even more disbelieving, “And you’ve scheduled a threesome with them?”

For a third time Omicron nodded, bleary-eyed over the edge of his tissues. Beneath his hands, his nostrils spasmed around the shape of a sluggish itch. It stalled out somewhere in his sinuses, too present to dismiss but not yet committed to climax. Don’t tease me, he begged with a slow blink. Either hurry up or go away.

“Omicron,” Delta said, a note of wonder in his voice. “I knew you were talented, but this exceeds expectations. Particularly with the knowledge that you did this while contending with unforeseen complications. Well done.”

His heart fluttered weakly at the praise and Omicron squashed any pleased feelings that arose from it. There would be nothing to celebrate if he couldn’t finish the job.

“Th.. hhagk you, sir.”

“When are you meeting them?”

“T-.. Tihh-..” As he spoke the tickle squiggled like a banner caught in a breeze. He rushed the rest on an exhale — “..t-t’mborrow nhhigh..” — heaved in a huge breath, and then- “IDTZSSH’hoo!!”

“Bless, tomorrow night, hm..” Delta rushed the blessing as well, rubbing his chin with a long sigh. “This does complicate things. I doubt we’ll get a chance like this again, but I’m not granting clearance until Dr. Voster takes a look at you-”

“ht-.. HD’JZSS!uuh..”

“-bless you, because that fever of yours concerns me. That side effect wasn’t listed in the literature and it surprised her to hear that you’ve developed one-”

“.. eh-.. eH’TSCHHOO!”

“-bless you. So better safe than sorry. Your health and safety takes priority over any assignment, Omicron, do try and remember tha-.. oh, bless…?”

“.. h-HDT-!”

Omicron waiting on the cusp of another, eyes rolled skyward and lips parted in desire, still cloaked behind his curtain of tissues. He could feel he had Delta’s undivided attention, which made the tickle shy. It shivered inside him, sending his nostrils into a fit of flaring. Stuttered breaths filled his lungs in tiny bursts, emptying again on uneasy sighs, and he-.. he-!..

.. relaxed, defeated, with a groan.

“Lost it?” Delta asked, then quirked a smile at Omicron’s moody nose-blow. “I’m sure it’s very disappointing. My condolences.”

Because Delta was being very gracious about all this — Omicron’s dishonesty and careless sneezing — he couldn’t summon up any feelings of exasperation. It helped that he was running on empty, too enervated by his fever to do much more than slump with a nod that made his head gently spin. He waited it out and only when he startled to awareness at a gentle touch on his arm did he realize he’d been falling asleep where he sat. He squinted up at Delta who was now standing, smiling down at him.

“Dr. Voster asked me to collect more data on your condition, but that can wait,” he said, and hauled Omicron to his feet. He guided the smaller man toward the bright fluorescence of their hotel bathroom. “Why don’t you wash up? It might help.”

Too dazed to protest, Omicron stood shivering barefoot on the cold tile in his swim trunks while Delta babbled about this and that. A couple blinks later he was holding a set of sweats from his suitcase, his toiletry bag, and a clean pair of fuzzy socks that wasn’t his. Probably Delta’s. He’d seen the man wear a different pair around the room just last night. Juggling the items and mumbling thank-yous, he nudged the door shut with his foot as Delta stated he’d be going out to grab dinner.

And thus commenced his character assassination.

Omicron laid to rest and mourned what remained of his dignity. He was, in essence, sick on the job with an unseemly cold and his boss was playing nurse. In other words, a nightmare. Never had any of his coworkers seen him T less than peak health, and he hadn’t bargained on Anita’s monster virus turning him into… this. As he shambled through a shower, pajamas, and then curled up into bed, he hoped in vain that his fever would be bad enough to knock him out before Delta got back. No such luck.

Omicron knew how he could look, especially with fresh, fluffy bedhead and sleeves that drooped over his hands. He could only assume this aesthetic was exacerbated by his glowing red nose and glassy eyes. ‘Cute’ was a moniker he’d take to his grave unfortunately, much as it haunted him. He’d never managed to escape it in any disguise, not for all the leather, fake piercings, or platform boots in the world.

So when Agent Delta turned around and caught sight of him, snuggled in a poofy duvet clutching the tissue box with a little twitch troubling his nose, Omicron beat him to the punch. “Please don’t patronize me, sir.”

Delta’s smile threatened laughter, but he reigned it in with a polite cough and clear of his throat. “I wasn’t going to, agent. I’m just glad to see you’re more comfortable.”

‘Comfortable’ was a generous word that only got further from the truth as the night wore on. Omicron was treated to dinner in bed, complete with a serving tray borrowed from the staff, and the gesture was enough to obliterate any shred of appetite he had for the hot and sour soup Delta brought him. He just wanted to dissolve into the atmosphere and disappear. What he did manage to eat sprung tears in his eyes and a menacing prickle in his clogged sinuses. He spent most of the meal with a tissue held to flexing, leaky nostrils.

The conversation after dinner was yet another exercise in torture. Omicron would have tried choking down more soup if he’d remembered Delta had orders from Anita to question him about his ‘condition.’

Rationally, Omicron knew he shouldn’t be embarrassed. He had sex on the job now and then, and those wild whims he pursued on his personal time were a cure for boredom more than anything. There was something different about this though, the pleasure he felt from sneezing. It felt intimate, self-generated, and to some extent outside of his control. That he might accidentally get aroused without a purpose, beyond that it simply just felt good, was a thought he couldn’t bare to share with anyone.

“I find it endearing that you are so bashful about this, considering your line of work,” Delta said, understanding yet undeterred, “but as this pertains directly to your ability to perform on the job, I’m afraid Voster and I are on a need to know basis. I promise it will be quick and painless.”

The unyielding furrow in Delta’s brow told Omicron he wouldn’t escape this discussion, no matter how badly he wanted to avoid it. Maybe by some miracle he’d black out and not remember it after.

Once they got started, the questions were mercifully clinical: How often are you experiencing unexpected symptoms? Under what circumstances do they arise? Are you experiencing any unexpected symptoms beyond those already identified? And so on. All the while, Omicron dissuaded sneezes with nose rubs, nose blows, and general nose abuse of that nature. Each ticklish surge that scrambled for a foothold he countered with equal obstinacy. Nothing he did would rid him of the itch, so there was no reason to indulge it.

Yes there is, said the steady drip of tension into his abdomen. Feel that? It was a formless need, faint enough to ignore. For now. Given time the drip would form a puddle, then a pond, and eventually an ocean of want churning in the core of him. And it will feel so good to let go.

Omicron resolutely ignored that feeling.

When they finished with the questions, he didn’t even realize it was over; he dozed off while Delta prattled on too long about meaningless things, his voice soothing in its familiarity, and awoke with a start minutes or hours later from a soft touch on his elbow. Just Delta, whispering something about acetaminophen, offering pills and a glass of water which Omicron tossed back wordlessly before hurtling headfirst back into sleep.

He surfaced in and out of consciousness throughout the night, plagued by chills, sweats, and the strange dreams only a fever can cook up. Vivid, nonsensical adventures that ranged from confusing to harrowing, until Omicron eventually found himself spelunking. How he ended up in this damp, drippy cavern eluded him, but he remained committed to his single directive: explore.

It was an odd place, even in a dream. Rather than rough-hewn stone, Omicron walked barefoot on a soft, plush surface that spanned the walls and even the ceiling. Caves were usually quite chilly, but this one was comfortably warm. Steady breezes cut through the humidity, first blowing one way and then the other, ruffling Omicron’s hair at each pass. He staggered when a particularly strong gust dragged him like an undertow and leaned against the wall to keep his balance. This immediately backfired because the wall was unexpectedly slick. With a frictionless glide, he tumbled to the ground.

“Sheesh,” he muttered, planting his palms to push himself up. When he did so, there was a near imperceptible shudder through the cavern. The rhythmic wind stuttered, stopped, then continued with an unsteady edge. He raised arm against a blast of air. “What-..?”

A light caught his eye, and Omicron glanced down to find a nexus of thrumming veins spidering out from his epicenter. They pulsed with a beautiful glow, casting a red hue across his face and illuminating the cave floor with a pink, stained glass iridescence. Curious, he trailed his fingers along the branching paths and watched the veins spread further. Again the cave floor lurched, stronger this time, and the wind around him escalated into trembling, intermittent squalls. For some reason he didn’t feel afraid, only determined.

Omicron clamored to his feet. He approached the wall where the veins began to climb. They pulsed weakly, wanting, and he felt that he needed to help them. Feeling around on his person, he unearthed something from his back pocket: a feather duster. The feathers waved in the strong breeze, plentiful and downy. How he’d managed to fit this in his pocket was dream logic he didn’t question.

“Let’s see,” he mumbled, and crouched to sweep the instrument along the wall. It seemed to cringe from the sensation, twitching madly as the veins hungrily advanced.

Omicron kept it up, dusting as much as he could reach even as the cavern began to shiver in earnest and the wind whipped his hair like a storm. But he couldn’t stop. He just had this feeling that if he lit the cavern completely, it would be a magnificent sight. As the paths flourished, they brought with them a gorgeous backlight to the tender, rose-petal surfaces of the cave. Funny, they looked almost inflamed. Irritated by his influence, intolerant of his presence here. The thoughts didn’t deter him. Omicron raised up on his tiptoes to take a swipe at the ceiling and had his feet knocked out from under him when the world tremored in response. The gale sucked inward with authority, and the feather duster was ripped from his hands.

Something was happening. Around him, the veins fanned out on their own and he’d been right: the radiance of the cavern was incredible with it all lit up at once. Beneath him the ground throbbed contentiously, convulsing, hot to the touch, and for the first time, Omicron wondered if he might have done something he shouldn’t have. No longer distracted by his goal, he became aware of a weird sound. Something deep, rumbling beneath him, the desirous moans of uhh.. uHhh.. uHHh-!... growing in volume, pitch, and power.

And suddenly, he felt the echo of this urge manifest in his nose. Its vigor sprung tears to his eyes and his jaw dropped open, helpless as it consumed him. His gasps and groans synced up to the wild chaos around him, and he could feel the very nerves he squirmed against crying out for mercy. It tickled insufferably, teased to heights he couldn’t believe — and there was only one way down.

I’m inside my own nose? was his first bizarre realization. The second was, I’m going to sneeze.

Omicron opened his eyes, only to snap them closed again. “-HP’BBSZZCHHHOOO!!!-”

He groaned, arching against the mattress, as the sneeze went straight to his dick. Bleary, barely awake, all he could do was coast through a yearning gasp and “HEEHDZJJSSSZH!Nnngghh-!”

Raw relief tingled through him, shimmering through his nose and groin, and autopilot took over. Omicron plunged a hand down his pants and gripped his morning wood, firm and ready to burst. There was enough precum trickling from his slit and staining his boxers that he could smooth his thumb over the head and ignore the slight burn from dry skin friction.

His nostrils flittered in anguish, and his sinuses drummed with an insatiable itch. Please, they implored him. This tickle tortured us all night long. Do something. And Omicron was happy to serve.

A monumental gasp - “hHHHHIIH!” - heralded an comparatively monstrous sneeze - “EEHDDZZZCHHH’Uh!!-hoohhh..”

This was so much better in bed. A tidal wave of pleasure rushed through him, from his nose to his toes, and he couldn’t catch his breath. He gritted his teeth, bowing his back as he thrust into the grip of his hand. It was just on the edge of too much; Omicron wasn’t normally so sensitive, but he’d woken with every inch of his skin tingling and thought it had to be the fever.

The tickle flexed deep inside, and Omicron recalled the striking visuals of his dream. Wet, pink walls. Encroaching red veins. Sensitive nerves, shuddery membranes, the way he’d ignorantly worked himself up to this very fit with a bundle of soft, stroking feathers. He could imagine himself doing it again, deliberately this time, sweeping the inside of his nose deftly and thoroughly, tickling and tickling and fighting to keep his eyes open even as the sensation forced them tightly closed. Coaxing a hitching breath. Making him sn-..

“-hoh fuhhck-.. hh!HUH!. UHHZZSSSHH’iu!-ooh!” His heels slipped on the sheets, straining for purchase, as he panted his way up to another. “-igih.. iH’GISSCCHOOO!-hah!!”

Each one got him an inch closer to orgasm. He bobbed over every wave with surety the next one would break over his head and drown him. Omicron snuffled unsteadily, aware his nose was running without the care to wipe it, and began twisting his wrist when he felt his nostrils blow wide in preparation.

Yes yes yes, he cheered. Let this be the one.

He hitched through a dazed smile, a deceptively dainty hh-hht-htt! that then curled him up with a bed-shaking, “HAH’TSSDCH’UE!..hh’mmngg-!..”

Omicron’s whole body clenched, tense with the impending release, but before it could come he was hitching again. His dream self dusted away, dauntless with a single-mindedness to make him sneeze. And he’d assuredly succeed, as his real self shuddered through a fit-and-start buildup.

“-hihg..ihh!hhoh.. HHT-!chhhoo..”

It wouldn’t come, hovering so close to the brink that whenever he breathed into the tickle he sighed out the approximation of its finale. His hand never stopped, the steady pumps easier now that he was wet enough. Through the haze of fever, grogginess, and arousal, Omicron imagined the dutiful brush of that duster against his quivering membranes. He was a thorough man, never one to leave a job half-finished, and he visualized himself venturing deeper, farther, to a cowering patch of nerves hoping to escape torment. The feathers caressed them, velutinous and inviting.

“.. iih!HHhhh..”

Deeper, to the responsive edge of his sinuses, where he trailed the duster along the border with deliberate care. The tickle’s magnitude tripled, aching in its eagerness. His dick pulsed in reply, hot and heavy in his frantic hand.

“-HIH!..hh..hgIHH-”

Deeper still, to the end of the line, so far inside his nose he’d never hope to get it out. The feathers touched quivering flesh. With a smirk, his dream self stroked so gently, agonizingly slow, barely a tease and yet it tickled him to an unbearable degree. He could feel every fiber of the agitating feathers, the promise they whispered.

Come on, he said to himself. You know you want to.

Omicron’s gasp cut the air like a knife, inflating his lungs to capacity, before he roared violently into his blankets. “-iihHHHHH-?!..WRRIZZSSSCHH’IIUHHH!!-mmbb!!”

He turned his head into his pillow to moan through his orgasm, stroking through it as a euphoric, tingling balm spread through his sinuses. It lasted longer than he anticipated, a continuous ripple of ecstasy that had him whimpering, panting, trembling. All his muscles relaxed, every part of him sated, and when the aftershocks ebbed Omicron sunk into the sheets, hand still in his pants, to let sleep call him back into its arms. It’s not like he had somewhere to be. What did he have to do this morning..? Vacuum the apartment..? Get groceries..? Cuddle with his cats?.............wait-

OH NO.

Omicron jackknifed into a sitting position, then immediately regretted it when his head spun. He drooped onto an elbow, coughing, heart hammering, and in a panic he scanned the room. Nobody here. No sounds from the bathroom either. The relief was so intense it sent him into another sickening dose of dizziness. He flopped flat to the mattress and tried to steady his breathing.

I didn’t just jack off in front of my superior officer, he assured himself. Everything is fine. He finally slipped his hand out of his pants and wrinkled his sore nose at the stickiness of his skin and underwear. But I have to clean up.

It took a pitifully long time to do so. Shivers wracked him the moment he crawled out of bed, and every step was a wobbly gamble. He forgot spare clothes and had to backtrack, then couldn’t figure out how to clean up without taking a shower he didn’t have the energy for. All the while his head pounded, his throat stung, and eventually the whims of the virus brought him to the brink of feeble, fallout sneezes.

Finally, with his dirty clothes stuffed into the bottom of his suitcase and most of the sweat wiped off his skin, Omicron zombied his way back to the bed and collapsed face down. Some flailing got him purchase on the sheets, mercifully spared from most of his fluids, and at last he was horizontal. Of course the position dutched the congestion to a new angle. It tickled him.

Omicron huffed weakly, wearily, and ducked under the cover of his blankets. “-iih’KIZSSH!’iuh…” Only the one. He sighed, rubbing the edge of his sheet beneath his fussy nose. Now, maybe he could just….

From the door there was the sound of a keycard clattering, then the latch lifting, and a boisterous pair of voices entered the room. “Honey, I’m home!”

Omicron buried his head under the blankets.

“Anita, he may not be awake..” That one was Delta. “Shouldn’t he rest?”

“The sooner I examine him, the better. Where-?.. ah! There you are.”

Omicron tightened his grip on the blankets, and was right to do so because seconds later there was a tug from the outside. It was hot and stuffy under the covers, hard to breathe, but he’d rather suffocate than deal with Anita Voster right now. She tugged again and he didn’t budge.

“Oho?” she tittered. “Trying to avoid treatment, mm? You should know better, Agent O.”

He remained tense, blinking weakly against a flutterish niggle. His nostrils flared, nervous, and he would have soothed them with a touch of his finger if his hands weren’t occupied. He scrunched his nose instead, squirming it side to side when the tickle didn’t abate. Dr. Voster was on the move, he’d lost track of her-...

“Anddd.. voila!”

Cold air and light entered his cocoon. She’d rounded the bed and flipped the covers up from the back side, which was a dirty move. A chill swept up his spine, prompting a shudder that shivered into a sneeze.

“h-hhi’hHTSSsh!-hh..” He flinched his knees to his chest, tucking an arm around himself as he threw the other behind him for the covers. “Gih-..ig’IIZSSH!”

“Bless bless you,” she cooed in a playful tone that made him bristle. Her hand cupped his shoulder and pulled. “Now, let me see… oh.”

Her smile dropped away as she looked at him, lips parting in genuine surprise, her manicured eyebrows marching up toward her hairline. She was wearing an obnoxious summery ensemble, no doubt excited to exploit the mission for a few days at the beach. When no reply was forthcoming, Omicron glared at her. The ferocity of it was undercut when a twinge in his nose prompted a squeaky sniffle.

“.. Whad?” he croaked.

“You’ve never looked so pathetic before,” she said in wonder. “And I’ve seen you faint after getting a vaccine booster.”

It was an open secret that he hated injections as much as he hated the dentist, but everyone kindly agreed not to acknowledge it after that one time. He growled his words, snatching the blankets back from her. “The ndeedle was really big and you said you’d dnever mbendtion it againd.”

“Voster,” chided Delta, hands on his hips. “Please refrain from teasing him when he’s not feeling well. He’s under enough stress as it is.”

As infantilizing as it was as a grown man to have another grown man scold somebody on his behalf, Omicron shot her a smug look that she met with an arched brow.

“Fine,” she sighed, and crossed to his side of the bed. “I guess I’ll cut him some slack. Omicron, sit up a little.”

There would be no getting out of this. Delaying the process would probably get him another lecture from Delta, so Omicron reluctantly shimmied to a half-reclining position, arms crossed to ward off chills as she sat gracefully on his bedside. She crossed a leg at the knee, reached for his face, and cool hands cradled his jaw. He let her move him as she wanted, wrinkling and wriggling his nose to keep it appeased.

The sly bullying he expected didn’t come. Dr. Voster was professional when she asked, “Any fluctuations in symptoms since last night?”

“Umb.. ndot really..” Omicron sniffed sharply and swallowed. He considered leaving it there, but his promise to Delta wouldn’t let him. He mumbled through the rest and could only hope she understood what it meant. “.. there was an.. idncident this mborning. That I resolved.”

“Gotcha,” she said, and didn’t press. Omicron relaxed under her handling. She took his temperature (101.3°F / 38.5°C), tested his glands, pulled down the edges of his eyelids, and then at last took a cursory glance up his nostrils with a wince. “I didn’t think it was possible to see a sneeze but the inside of your nose looks like one.”

Apt, since he could feel it forming between his eyes. He leaned away out of her grip, and without any tissues in reach, Omicron shook his sleeves over his hands and tucked into them. “hh!MMPSSH!..”

“Bless you,” chorused the other two.

He surfaced briefly as the tickle toyed with him, playing his nerves like batons on a xylophone. Every note vibrated, compounding in harmony, cacophonous as it crested, “..aak’KZSCHue!.. hh?..hh..”

“Bless you,” chorused the other two, again. Anita passed over the tissue box but he could barely keep his eyes open and his breath from shaking. She took pity on him as his hitches became jagged, pitching in his upper register, and she held out a few in his direction just as he- heeee-!

“-ick’SSHIEW?!”

It relieved him, but his shoulders flinched to his ears at the embarrassingly high sound. Delta quickly turned away with a hand to his mouth and Dr. Voster snorted unabashedly.

“Bless yew!” she parroted, and he kicked her off the bed. She rolled with the momentum into a smooth dismount before plopping right back where she’d been. “I’m done, I’m done! But you owe me a couple free jabs after yelling at me yesterday, you know.”

Right. His stomach soured at the reminder, and he stared at the blankets with a sleeved swipe under his septum. “.. I’mb sorry about that. I shouldn’d have taken out my frustration on you. Or lied to you in the first place.”

Dr. Voster softened, the lines of her face smoothing into something genuine. “Mm, I’m sorry for my sloppy science. It’s my fault you’ve got such a lousy cold.”

Omicron never knew what to say after such sentiments. He considered and tossed out several replies, still boring holes into the blankets with his gaze, until she reached up and flicked the tip of his nose. His inhale was a hitch into the next before he flinched down toward his chest.

“h-h-H’TZssh!” He brought a sleeve to his nose belatedly, throwing a scowl her way. “Whad was that for?!”

“For lying to me about that other thing,” she said, leering over him with a grin. “... Seems like you really are the man-cold type.”

Omicron hurled his pillow at her, which she dodged and Delta caught one-handed when it soared across the room. His firm voice broke up a squabble before it could begin. “Enough, you two.” He fluffed the pillow and returned it to his sheepish subordinate before looking to Anita. “Well?”

“Either his immune system is reacting to the engineered virus, or somehow he’s caught another cold on top of this one,” she said. Both looked to Omicron, who was trying to blow his nose without popping an eardrum. “If it’s the former, the mission can proceed. If it’s the latter, we bench him. That’s my opinion as his physician.”

“I’b righd here,” Omicron grumbled behind a mask of tissues.

Delta ignored him. “How do we know which is the case?”

Dr. Voster reached for the medical bag on the floor by her feet, which Omicron only just now noticed was in her possession. “By administering a test,” she replied, digging through it. When she found what she sought, Anita presented it to Omicron with an apologetic smile. “You’re not going to like it though.”

He thought it was a syringe at first. Before he could react, she peeled open the thin package to show him what was inside. Somehow, it was worse. Delta hissed through his teeth and Omicron hovered a protective hand over his nose.

“No,” he told her, eyes glued to the offending object. “No, no. That’s not going to work.”

Dr. Voster twirled it between her fingers: a wickedly long plastic rod with a cotton tuft on the end. “A nasal swab is the fastest way, O.”

He shook his head, unable to look away from it. The sight alone caused his nose grief as the tickle found inspiration. Omicron did his best not to imagine how it would feel. “Anita, it’s not possible. I-.. I can’t evehhn.. look at- at it withhou..HH!with.. withhHHAH-”

Omicron jammed a finger beneath his nose and shoved the sneeze back inside. He could tell he’d be on a roll if he started, and while he’d literally just cum he was terrified this impending volley would get him going again. If at all possible, even if everyone was aware of the situation, he’d like to avoid erections in front of his fucking coworkers. He held his breath and waited until his pulsing nostrils quieted before letting it all go on a sigh. Pointedly, he avoided looking at the swab.

“Hmmmm,” Dr. Voster mused. “I wonder if we blindfolded you..”

“Trust me,” he said, knuckling his nose. It wasn’t happy he’d ignored its demands. “That’s not going to help.”

“Rather than hold them back, could you try holding them in?” Delta suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Dr. Voster said. “He’s terrible at it, and I wouldn’t recommend it anyway. Not everyone can be as proficient at stifling as you are, sir.”

Delta’s smile weakened, properly chastised, as Voster tilted her head back and pressed her palms on the bed. Her leg bounced in thought. The three of them sat in a contemplative silence broken only by Omicron’s sniffling before Anita slapped her hands to her knees and stood with purpose.

“There’s nothing for it,” she said. “You’ll just have to avoid sneezing.”

“I won’t be able to,” he told her. His cheeks flushed, and the flash of heat mingling with his fever made him tremble with a chill. Stubbornness alone wouldn’t deter her, so he forced out the rest with emphasis. “And it-.. might cause an unexpected symptom.”

That gave her pause, but only briefly. “When exactly did you last experience the culmination of this symptom?”

This was embarrassing. “... approximately ten minutes before you arrived.”

“And would you expect yourself to experience that again so quickly after the last occurance?”

Somehow, he felt miffed on behalf of his refractory period. “.... I guess not.”

“Then even if you sneeze your head off after this, you’ll be fine,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “If for some reason you’re not, it’s not a big deal. Agent Delta and I will just leave the room until it passes.”

I’d rather chew glass, Omicron thought, than have it come to that. The tickle nestled comfortably against his nerves, weighing his eyelids and prompting a reflexive sniffle. Cheeky bastard. He wouldn’t let it win this time. He grated the rough edge of his sleeve under his nostrils and squared his shoulders.

“Fine.” His flinty gaze locked onto the swab, his opponent in this battle. “Let’s do it.”

The other two exchanged a LookTM and preparation shortly followed. Delta announced he’d received a message from cyber security earlier that morning that required follow up, so he left to wire into the agency’s VPN in one of the hotel’s private conference booths. Voster snapped on some gloves and cracked open a fresh tissue box to place at Omicron’s elbow. He begrudgingly unearthed a wad of them to keep ready in his lap. Better safe than sorry.

Anita watched him carefully. “Would you like to get a few out before we start?”

If she was asking, he probably looked sneezy already. Omicron made an effort to sharpen his gaze and settle the tiny, twitching microexpressions that told plainly of a persistent tickle. “No. I want to get it over with.” He sniffled with a flutter of his nostrils. “Quickly.”

To her credit, Anita didn’t dawdle. “I’m administering a nasopharyngeal swab for the best results. If I can’t get enough from one sample, we’ll have to do the other nostril.”

Omicron nodded, tilting his chin when she stabilized him with a hand to his cheek. He blinked hard against a lurching itch as the swab came closer, hovering just in front of his flushed, prone nose.

“I need to rotate it for ten seconds, and then I’ll slowly remove it,” she told him. “Would it help if I counted?”

He flicked his gaze to the ceiling, hands fisted in the sheets over his lap. “Yes.”

“Alright, the count won’t start until I have it in place.” Dr. Voster eased his head back further, giving him a moment to arrange himself against his pillows before she touched the swab to the edge of one nostril. It pulsed, uncertain. “Here we go.”

This wasn’t Omicron’s first time with this particular type of swab. Normally he preferred it because of how deep it reached, so foreign and uncomfortable that a sneeze never crossed his mind. It was the shorter swabs, the ones that remained inside the borders of his persnickety nasal membranes that caused him agony. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he feared?

A second later that confidence was swiftly and callously dashed.

This cold was unlike any respiratory infection he’d ever had. It was engineered to inflame every cell of his airways, heighten them to such a state of paranoia that the very act of breathing registered as intrusive. This tickle wasn’t a physical thing; his nasal cavity was affected by such sensitivity that it inevitably itched and twitched and worked itself up into mayhem. Sneeze was the answer to every problem, even nonexistent ones. So to have himself in this state and introduce a material object into the mix was an instant and powerful regret.

The swab burned as it was threaded through his sinuses, razing his nerves as it went, and when the tip of it touched the back of his throat he could feel every millimeter of its length. He slammed his eyes shut. There was a brief moment of shock, as if his nose couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Then the swab began to spin.

His nostrils flew wide. “HHHHHHHH-”

“Shit,” muttered Voster. “Stay with me, c’mon, it’s just ten seconds.. Two….”

Just?! his brain screamed, overwhelmed by nasal panic and frantic to sneeze. Oh, he could feel it. An instant and oppressive demand. None of the usual hitching hesitation, just a massive and mandatory release sitting at the shores of his dilated nostrils. He couldn’t even communicate to Voster that it was coming.

“.. Three, fight it…”

Omicron pinched himself as hard as he dared by digging his thumb into the pressure point of his other hand. It took the edge off the swab’s insidious stimulation and downgraded the sneeze from automatic to imminent. Lungs at capacity, all the air sat at the top. His body wouldn’t let him exhale without irritation-induced force. A pitiful sound escaped, heady and weak without breath behind it.

“-uuhh-”

“I know, we’re halfway, hang in there.. Six..”

God, this was torture. His nose throbbed with need, the insides puffy and convulsing. Please, they cried. It tickles so badly. Too much. We have to! He hovered just on the verge of the inevitable. Grinding harder into the pressure point on his hand dampened the sensation enough to keep it from progressing, but it never diminished. Just waited an inch from the finish line. Another high, helpless whimper trembled his chest.

“-huUH!-”

“Eight.. you’re doing great, Omicron, nine..” The hand on his cheek shifted to brace him firmly. “.. almost done, try to exhale..”

He couldn’t. His lungs wouldn’t let go. All he could do was live on the brink, tears skating down his cheeks and his features frozen in what he knew had to be a ridiculous face. Yearning or dreading, he didn’t know, but his entire expression flinched when the swab retreated. She was slowly pulling it out, still twirling it. He could feel the thin ropes of his control snapping, the dam crumbling, the glass shattering. An urgent, breathy shout slipped out, pure desperation, and it heralded something enormous.

“-HUUHH--!!!”

The swab slithered out of his nose completely, leaving behind a trail of unbearable sensation. “Okay! Y-”

“--HHEZZSSCCCHHHHUUUEE-!” Omicron hurled himself over his own lap, dizzied by the release, and gasped immediately for more. “-hH-HH!IIHZSSSSHH’UUh!!”

More. “-HH’AADZZSSCHH’HOO-!!”

More. “-HEH’DTSSHHH’HAH-!!”

More still. “ohh-.. HD’DIZZSHHHH’HUH!!”

But the relief wouldn’t come. His nose was so angry by the intrusion, it would give no quarter. Big, heaving sneezes weren’t doing the job, so he found himself next encumbered by small ones. They burst out of him in a row, each igniting a furious itch to prompt the next.

“ihDSH!-.. hck’ISSH!.. uh-HH’TZIshh!.. ugh, god-hHIH!” Omicron fought his eyes open through another gush of tears and caught a blurry glimpse of white. Oh right, the tissues. He gathered them up as his gaze rolled skyward, mouth agape and nostrils vast. It took a couple hitches before the tickle caught again. “h-hHT.. idzz..iiH!..mgh.. aH!KZSSCHH!”

He sneezed through his teeth, then belatedly raised the tissues. His eyes fluttered closed as even the soft touch of them pried another sneeze loose. They mounted in power as his nose, fed up with the lingering tickle the swab left behind, puppeteered him through an increasingly vicious fit.

“-h’ETZsh!... huh.. TZSSCH!ue… h-H!...EHPZSH’Iu!!-oohh..”

At last, a wave of pleasure rushed through his veins. It was faint, but after the hellish holdback and punishing sneezes, Omicron welcomed it. The knowledge there would be more spurred him onward; he breathed into the next ticklish swell with hope.

“uh-HHUH-HESZSCHUUE!” Cool prickles swept through his nose, soothing the frazzled nerves even as they clamored for another. Omicron complied. “heh.. HET’JZZSSSCHHOOO!-nngh..”

He shivered as his skin erupted with goosebumps. A warm, wonderful feeling unfurled in his gut. Head spinning, nose twitching, lungs hitching, he knew the end was close. He breathed deeply, relishing the way it tickled all the way down. Then-

“HEH…uh.. hHP’BIZSSSHHIEW!!-oooohhhh..”

Omicron massaged his nose through the tissues with quiet noises of relief until somebody clearing their throat caught his attention. With wet eyes, he raised his head to see Dr. Voster across the room mixing the swab in a vial with some sort of solution. She kept her attention on it as she spoke.

“Feeling better?”

He paused to cough and swallow. The fit left him raspy. “Yeah.”

“Any unexpected symptoms?” she asked. Fuzzy headed, Omicron looked down at his crotch. There was no tent under the covers, and while he felt boneless, he wasn’t turned on.

“Ndo.”

“Great!” Dr. Voster chirped. “In other good news, I got enough particulate matter on the first try that we won’t have to do it again.” She continued her work, but glanced over to shoot him a smile. “Bless you a dozen, by the way.”

“Thagks,” he huffed, then collapsed back onto the mattress with the solace of a job finished.

It took a few minutes for him to clean himself up, and as he got his wits about him, he was appreciative that Voster kept herself busy so he could tend to his nose without scrutiny. His pleasant haze dissipated and Omicron realized he was totally spent. His head hurt, as did his throat, and his abs were aching. Once he was huddled under the covers, Anita swung by with a bottle of water and hushed instructions to take another fever reducer, which he did without complaint.

Some time passed. He didn’t know how much. One moment he was nodding off to the tinkling the whirs of Voster’s on-the-go mini-laboratory, and the next he was startling awake to a door opening. For a split second he forgot where he was, what was happening, but then a hand smoothed over his hair.

“Just Delta,” came Anita’s voice. Tension left his sore muscles and he melted back into the mattress. For once his nose took pity on him, smoldering with a widespread ticklish sensation he could chase away by pinch-rubbing the sides of his nostrils.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to wake you!” was Delta’s contrite greeting. Omicron cracked open dry eyes to see the man coming around the bedside, eyebrows turned up in dismay. “Sorry, Omicron.”

“S’fide,” he replied, voice creaking, and he had to turn his head into the pillow to cough. Fuck, felt like he’d swallowed a sword and left it there.

“Goodness, you sound terrible.” Delta turned anxious eyes to Dr. Voster, who was leaning a hip against her makeshift workstation at the desk by their balcony doors. “Did you get the results?”

“Yep,” she said, cheerfully brandishing the culture sample. “No secondary infection. He’s just having a pronounced immune response to the engineered strain.” Here, she smirked at the Omicron-shaped lump on the bed. “And being very dramatic about it.”

Delta caught the pillow lobbed in her direction before it could knock any lab equipment over. He arranged it back on the bed, then passed his hand over Omicron’s brow. The smaller man let him, closing his eyes as the cool touch moved to his cheek, to his neck, then glided to his shoulder to offer a reassuring pat.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Please be honest.”

Omicron thought of the mission. It didn’t escape him that Dr. Voster confirmed he wasn’t actually sick. His body thought he was, but with proper symptom management he could see this assignment to the end. Josaline would probably love seeing him like this; hopefully her husband would too.

“Ndot great,” he admitted, and Delta’s puppy-dog expression ramped up tenfold. Omicron rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. “I’b ndot dying, sir. If I get someb rest, I’ll be ready for tomborrow.”

The fact that he’d said all this without even sitting up likely undercut his claims, but Omicron truly believed it. When the time came, he’d rally. He always did. Delta considered him for a long moment before plopping down onto the other bed with a dejected bounce.

“Even if that’s the case, the situation has changed,” he said, lacing his fingers together between his knees. “I got word from Ops that there were attempted hacks into multiple independent identification networks for a ‘Nicolas Foster.’”

Omicron struggled up onto his elbows.

.. So, they were onto him. At the very least, they were wary of his cover. This wasn’t entirely unexpected. At the agency they explored every outcome, including this one. Josaline Jewel was a suspected cyber criminal. She was rich enough, powerful enough, smart enough to avoid the law. They’d chased her for years. This outcome wasn’t unexpected, but it still ripped a hole through Omicron’s sails.

All this work, he thought, blinking away a sting behind his eyes. For nothing? Because I wasn’t good enough?

“Don’t despair,” Delta commanded. “The hacks left traces and the cyber team is on it. It’s possible they’ll identify a source, and if they do, we can hack them back. This is a victory.”

It didn’t feel like one. Omicron slouched against the headboard, sniffling and sniffling as he compartmentalized any emotions he felt on the matter. Hopefully the others would attribute it to his cold. He nodded at Delta’s words, casting around for his tissue box. He’d knocked it off the bed at some point. Anita silently fetched it from the floor.

“Intel also shows that they have not left the resort,” Delta continued, gaze glued to Omicron as the man piled tissues under his nostrils. “This suggests they either found nothing dubious in your cover, which I doubt, or…”

Here, Delta paused and gave his subordinate a little ‘go on’ wave. Omicron flushed, but did as he was told. One big, trembling breath and then a gurgling nose blow. As always, it was much louder than he wanted and yet again he asked himself what unspeakable deed he’d done to deserve this level of karmic retribution. His nose didn’t feel refreshed afterward; rather, it was peeved. He wrinkled the bridge against a dull, undulating tickle.

“Or?” he prompted.

“Or.. they know you’re not who you say you are, but want to meet with you anyway.”

.. Could they be that horny? Omicron mused, swatching the length of his forefinger back and forth beneath restless nostrils. He recalled his time with Josaline by the pool. Yes, probably.

Sniffling, he asked, “Does this chhh..change anything?”

“They didn’t hack our network directly, so they have no idea what your true identity is or who you work for,” Delta said. “But the nature of the encounter will be unpredictable.”

Red-rimmed eyes tightened at the corners and he gave up on the finger method in favor of tissues. He spoke as he gathered them, his voice wavering into breathier territory as the tickle took shape.

“I c-.. cahhn.. hh..handle unpredict-t.. tahbBBZZSH!” He caught it one handed, not bothering to open his eyes as he lowered the tissues just enough to continue as he contended with an encore. “.. I can handle that.. hhah..” A sharp sniffle. “.. but I doubt they’d t-.. they’d tehh.. hih!PPZSH’uh!.. nguh, tell mbe adythi’g..”

“Well about that, bless you, we need them occupied and away from electronics if we attempt a hack.”

Omicron squinted over his tissues. “So I’d be..”

“A distraction, yes.”

The original mission was to extract incriminating information from the target, but considering the new variables at play, this new directive would be just as effective. Honestly, with this cold, Omicron wasn’t sure he could finesse a subtle interrogation with stellar results. Acting as smoke and mirrors for the cyber team, however..

“..hh!uhh.. hHT-”

That, he could definitely do.

“-DZSSh’oo!”

/tbc!

Next up, the big date!! ♨️ Apologies to anyone who was hoping for the threesome this chapter 😅 Had to indulge my rabid desire for hurt/comfort lol. A big huge thank you to anyone reading who’s stuck around!! My next update might be a little slow because of work stuff, but hoping to have it up in a decent time frame. See you soon! 🥰

PART 4 IS HERE!

#snzblr #snz #snz kink #snz fic #snzfic #scatterfic #snzfucker #original characters #omicron verse

168 notes · View notes

star-crossed-sluts · 11 months ago

Note

I saw that you write for so many of my favorite fictional men and wanted to request something for Venom or Lucifer x fem Reader involving Micro/Macro and Toys if possible ^^

Unfortunately, I realized after receiving this that micro/macro is different from size kink and I'd put the wrong one on my list, but I took the chance to write the sappy, filthy Venom fic I've always wanted to <3

I'd also like to note reader is described as soft and plush, but also drowning in Eddie's shirt. This is not meant to alienate any particular body type, I simply choose to write Eddie Brock as the broadest mfer who needs shirts with multiple X's on the tag to accommodate his beefy shoulders.

Contents: 4.8k words, female reader, chubby reader coded, playful banter, monstrous tongue and penis, oral sex (fem receiving), clit pinching, size kink, kitchen counter sex, I love you's exchanged, tentacles, multiple arms, poly issues, healthy discussion of feelings after sex, multiple orgasms (fem receiving), coming inside, breeding kink, doggy style sex, aftercare, talk of proper after sex peeing, talk of UTIs, post-coitus cuddles

Minors DNI

You are responsible for your own media consumption

“You’re wearing our shirt.”

The plural pronoun sends a shiver down your spine despite the wet summer heat invading the apartment. Thick fingers run down your exposed neck and across your shoulder. “Yes,” you say, even though it wasn’t a question. You glance back just to be sure and see Eddie staring down at you. “It’s too hot.” It’s a warning as much as a complaint. It’s too hot to do anything.

“Poor little one.” The voice coming from your boyfriend’s lips wasn’t his, but it made your core throb all the same. “Precious thing doesn’t deserve to suffer.”

“No,” Eddie agreed. His hands rub firm lines down your arms and over your waist, playing with the excess fabric his shirt drowned you in. “No, my sweet-”

“Our!”

He huffed, face falling to the crook of your neck, arms wrapping tight like a band around your waist. Despite your urge to smother this frisky mood, you couldn't not comfort your love, fingers threading through his short hair. Hot breath washed over the tender skin, dull teeth scraping against you.

“I had you first.”

You pulled him off your neck, pressing your lips to his. His moans rumbled through you, mouth opening, practically begging for your tongue, but you pulled him back off.

“Of course you did, baby.” You could see him bristle, knowing Venom was surely making his displeasure known, and pulled him back in. Eddie dove eagerly for your lips, but you pressed him back, hands on his shoulders trailing down his chest as you nudged his nose with yours. “You two ever going to get along?”

“Yes,”

“No,”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” you giggled out, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. Before, that would settle him. Nights when you both knew he needed to be at the office in six hours but still got lost in each other, you would force yourself to be the responsible one. Tongues lapping behind teeth became soft and slow kisses that often missed, grazing the stubble on his chin or dancing across his eyelids. Your hands rubbing over his chest would settle him, leaving him limp under your touch as you worked out his trouble spots.

That was before the equivalent of a 21-year-old on Viagra was piggybacking in his body.

He picked you up like it was nothing, fingers cold on your bare hip where they sank into the plush fat, swallowing your squeak as he placed you on the counter.

“Sweetheart,”

You knew that voice. Even half garbled with another man’s, you knew that voice.

“Baby, I'm so hot,” you pleaded, even as your nails raked down the back of his neck to make him purr against you.

“Yes, you are,”

Ah, fuck it.

“Shirt,” you demanded, tugging at his collar. His desperate scramble to get it off made your lips curl against his, lapping your tongue into his mouth to make it even harder on him: to hear him groan like you were hurting him.

He had to pull away to get the fabric over his head. When he pushed back in half a second later, his tongue hit the back of your throat.

They practically dripped saliva down your throat, swallowing every sound you made as you choked on their thick tongue. Your boyfriend’s lips were suddenly cold and slick against your own, his hands bigger and sending chills through your overheated body as they felt their way up your shirt. Growls poured into your mouth, big palms finding your bare tits - cupping reverently, letting the soft fat fill their palms, lifting them off your chest.

“Sweet girl pretends not to want us,” they muttered, pulling their tongue from your throat to taste the sweat beading down your neck, letting you pant into the hot apartment, trying to calm your pulse as it throbbed against their tongue. “But you strut around naked under our shirt?”

You took their wrist in response, dragging their thick fingers down, down, over your soft stomach - having to tug them along as they tried to follow your stretch marks instead - until they found their way between your wet folds. You let a smug grin spread your lips, even if the noise rumbling out of them said you’d pay for it. “I always want you,” you admitted, sighing at the soft pleasure as those slick fingers pet over your puffy folds. “I’m just an adult who can manage myself.”

Eddie came back to you, performing a scorned boyfriend with a dramatic gasp. “How dare you,” he accused, nipping at your plush bottom lip. “I manage myself just fine.”

“Yeah, I can see-” You squealed, high-pitched and mortifying and totally not your fault since he’s the bastard that pinched your poor clit. Your fist came down on his shoulder. “Asshole!”

“Hey, Vee did it!”

“Did not!”

“Oh, you’re such a little-”

“Lord,” you griped, pushing his hand away. Two distinct voices whimpered at the loss, the black slime-like substance that made Venom’s body swirling over Ed’s as they fought each other for control, Eddie’s eyes flashing white then back to your beloved bluish gray. “All right,” you decided finally. “You two need to learn to cooperate before someone gets caught in the middle! I’ve got too many sensitive squishy bits to let you past second base if you’re going to get pissy in the middle of things.”

Oh. Oh. Oh, you may have fucked up. You could practically see the will to live evaporate off both of them at the mere prospect of a world without your body. Venom’s goo turned watery, nearly dripping off of Eddie’s skin - as if he wanted to make sure you knew just how heartbroken you’d made him. And Eddie! Your poor boyfriend’s perfected the sad puppy look, big glossy eyes and a desperate rasp to every breath.

Damn it, why does he look so hot when he’s pathetic?

“You know I’d never let anything happen to you, sweetheart,” he stressed, nudging his nose against yours - a meek attempt to get you to forget anything that didn’t involve him being buried in your thighs.

“I’d eat every soul on this pathetic planet before bringing you anything but pleasure.”

“Very romantic, both of you,” you assured, carding your fingers through Eddie’s hair. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, you gently stroked Venom where he was bubbling to the surface on your boyfriend’s cheek. Both men leaned into your touch, nestling into your palm like it was home. You gently guided them back to your lips, laying soft kisses over their face. “Can you be good for me?”

“Mmm, I can be so good to you, sweetheart, you know I can.”

An eager grin spread from their lips to yours, sharing a wet kiss before you tapped their shoulders, nudging them down. “Show me?”

You may as well have offered them the world. In a way, you have: you’ve offered yourself. They gladly dropped to their knees, open-mouthed kisses pressed to your inner thighs, climbing higher and higher as you spread your legs for them. Neither was one to tease, and it was barely a beat before you had to brace your hands on the countertop behind you as their long, slick tongue lapped between your folds.

“So sweet,” they mumbled against your lips, easing their tongue into your pussy to lap at your inner walls. “Can we make you come, baby? Can you take several tonight?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but a soft suckle to your clit pulled a moan from your throat before you could get a word out. “Haa- several?” A deep growl rolled through their tongue inside you, curling to press on the spot Eddie knew by heart and Venom diligently took note of, working the thick muscle in your cunt. “Hey, I didn’t-” Their thumb - coated by Venom to ensure a slick glide - strummed your clit in soft circles. “Ah, fuck, Eds! Yes, I can take it!” One hand snapped to their head, fingers sinking into the soft locks to force them still as you rocked your hips against their face.

Normally, you wouldn’t consider yourself easy to please. Months of slow exploratory sex finally led to Eddie knowing how to bring you to the edge better than yourself.

Normally, your boyfriend’s tongue wasn’t nine inches and dripping thick spit, making a mess of your poor cunt he’d started fucking open on his tongue.

“Such a good pet for us,” they purred without moving their lips, Venom’s voice becoming more dominant. If you pried your eyes open, you could see him slowly hiding away the pale skin of your boyfriend: half his burly chest jet black and gaining bulk with every second. Their tongue and fingers faltered, and you watched their brows furrow.

“Be nice,” you reminded, but they didn’t pay you attention until you yanked on Eddie’s hair. “Boys,” you drawled, pulling your shirt over your head. Their movements immediately turned lazy: thumb falling short of your pearl, tongue slowing to soft laps at your walls as they practically gave you heart eyes. “Gotta be good.”

“We’re good,” they swore, even as Venom reached out with thin tendrils to pluck your nipples into peaks. “Just need our sweet girl to come on our tongue. And our fingers, and our cock-”

“So needy,” you teased, stroking down their sharp nose.

Maybe it was mean to tease your boyfriend so much. Maybe the alien cohabitating his body has a shorter fuse than Eddie. Maybe they were both so wound up from seeing you in Eddie’s shirt, sweat dotting your brow, the cusp of your ass peeking at them whenever you lifted your arms.

Maybe you should’ve thought of this before you were laid out across the counter.

Their tongue dove deeper into your cunt until you thought you couldn’t take anymore, then curled around and came back, double-stuffing your poor cunt to the brim, folds sticking together with your own slick and their spit. Their thumb on your clit became two thick fingers rolling the poor bud between them, pinching meanly at every squirm you gave - doing the same to your nipples as they slowly turned red under their touch.

“Cruel precious!” Your back arched off the countertop, scrambling for anything to hold onto as they started fucking you on their giant tongue. Sloppy, wet sounds of sex filled the kitchen, a burning heat crawling up your neck as they shamelessly worked you over, collecting your ankles in one hand to fold you in half. The burn in your thighs was nothing compared to the wave of pleasure every pinch, every thrust, every strum of your clit brought crashing over your body. It felt like you were getting your pussy stretched - guts rearranged - by the biggest cock on Earth, except a cock doesn’t lick and suck and roll inside you.

“Pretty thing always loves to tease,” they grumbled against you, their voice vibrating through your skull, filling your head with their words, making it the only thing on your mind besides the need to come. “Acting like you aren’t desperate for us.”

“Fuck, Eds-” A sharp pinch to your clit, the flat faces of even sharper teeth pressing warnings against your inner thighs. “Venom!” They rewarded you: a deep, pleased rumble running up your spine as the pointed tip of their tongue rubbed shapes into your g-spot. They let you writhe and buck against their face, tongue easily keeping you filled wherever you go. Your lungs were full of fire, sweat-slicked palms sliding on the counter as you tried not to fall completely onto their shoulders. “Please, Venom,” you whined, “make me come! You’re both so good to me! Don’t you want me to feel good?”

Oh, the guilt trip worked every time. Won’t you make me feel good? Don’t I deserve it? No matter how you dished it out, the result was the same. They melted under you - literally, in this instance, Venom dripping off Eddie’s arms - tongue working harder inside of you, pushing deeper, fingers rolling over your poor bud. Venom’s cruel pinching all over your breasts became a more loving caress, slick tendrils swiping over your stiff peaks like soft kitten licks.

“Want to make you come,” they rumbled, eating your cunt like it would be their last meal. “Always look so beautiful when you come. We'd be so happy to have you on our face all night.”

You could feel every nerve screwing up tighter and tighter as they worked you up, your body falling limp in their hold as they carried you over the edge. “Oooh, that sounds so nice, baby,” you breathed as you came back down. You reached out, a greedy smile pulling on your lips when their fingers laced with yours without a thought: your cutthroat journalist boyfriend and his brain-eating alien alike putty in your presence. On their knees to worship your body, eager to hold your hand at the slightest sign that you’d allow it. It made the words fall from your lips that much easier. “But I think if you don’t take me to bed this second, I’ll smother you.”

“Win-win,” they purred before they hurled you over their shoulder. “You should sit on our tongue after we fuck you.”

“Vee, I plan on being comatose after this.”

“That is acceptable as well,” they decided. Hands as large as your torso lowered you gently to the bed, arranging you on your hands and knees carefully - like a porcelain doll settled into her new home on the shelf. “Precious one?”

You gushed, chest swelling, lips spreading wide as your smile took over your whole face, fingers dancing across the sheets until their thick ones intertwined with yours. “Mmm, yes, my love?”

A deep purr rumbled from the barrel chest against your back, long tongue curling along your jaw as they formed their body to yours. Their wine-bottle thick cock spread your folds, rutting against your clit, letting you soak them in a vain attempt to make the entrance easier. “How do you want us?”

Fingers wrapped through yours, palms to the backs of your hands, chest to your back - they had you completely surrounded, encased in them. You turned your head, kissing their arm. “Take me,”

Your boyfriend was by no means a small man. Eddie’s always been broad. Thick arms, thick thighs, and a lovely thick cock that spread you like it was your first together all over again.

Venom’s weeping tip struggled to press past your lips. It took a few tries - a few, bullying thrusts - to fit the fat head into your cunt. The rest of their shaft went smoother, his hips rocking back and forth, fitting just a bit more into you each time as your slick covered them. Stretching your walls around their huge cock, head battering your insides as they stubbornly refused to let your body take anything less than all of them. It felt like Venom was purposely swelling his slick skin, just to make sure every sensitive nerve got some love - just to hear the breathless moans drip out of you like the sweetest nectar.

“Ours,” they gushed, hips beginning to properly piston into you, bouncing off your ass. Fingers occupied with yours, thin tendrils pulled off their torso and wrapped around your body, lifting you until your dangling fingertips barely brushed the sheets, pulled into Venom’s malleable chest like a waterbed. You’re sure they’d wrap completely around you if you’d allow it: envelop you completely, keep you so close there was no firm line separating your bodies.

Their tongue sank past your lips as if hearing you and agreeing, licking their way to the back of your throat. “Our pretty darling’s so sweet,” they purred, pressing their cock so deep inside you you thought they must be licking their own leaking slit inside you. “Should wear our shirt all the time: let us lick you up whenever we want.”

Your throat pulsed on their tongue as it slithered out, licking their own drool off your chin as you panted breathlessly. “You… haa… you both want to do that all the time, though.”

Their chest rumbled against your back with laughter at your expense, tendrils pulling you impossibly closer and splitting apart to tenderly stroke your clit and nipples. The steady thrum of another orgasm building ran through your nerves like electricity, but beyond that, a smile grew on your face. Because even with an alien tagging along, your boyfriend can’t leave an inch of your body untouched when he fucks you. He’s insatiable enough when he’s bound by anatomy, always kissing up your neck and rubbing your soft waist when he’s rocking his hips into yours - it only got worse when Venom got the green light to join in. Suddenly Eddie had a dozen hands, reaching everywhere to touch everything, almost as if it was for his pleasure instead of yours. Almost as if he wouldn’t - or couldn’t - come without your tits filling his palms and your gummy walls sucking on his cock.

“Can’t be helped,” they purred into your neck as your walls fluttered around them. Their hips stuttered against yours, pace changing to something slow and hard, dragging their fat cock against every nerve, punching their mushroomed tip to your cervix to try to force a path deeper into you. Their shoved their tongue back down your throat the second you opened your mouth to cry out, swallowing your moans before they even left your lips. “Such a pretty thing should always have her pussy filled. Lips kissed, hands held, fucked so dumb she goes limp on our cock-”

“‘Ee,” you struggled through their tongue and your own delirium, gasping for air when they pulled it out of your throat. “Vee,” you moaned, lightning running through your veins as your walls fluttered around them. You could hear the wet squelch that accompanied every trust, feel the creamy slick gathering at their base and running down your thighs, sticking to theirs with every solid connection their hips made against you.

“Yes, little one,” they cooed, nuzzling against the side of your head. Their hips hammered into you, efforts on your clit doubling as your whole body started to quiver so cutely in their arms. “Tell us what you need to come. We’ll give you anything, love, just tell us-”

“Kiss.” A heat washed over your cheeks and down your neck, but you persisted. “Eddie… kiss!” A sob fell from your lips when they remained poor and alone, throwing your hips back on his. “Eddie, please! Vee, give me my boyfriend!” Your dangling feet kicked through the air as the silence stretched, small growls traded back and forth in the same voice as the two argued with that special connection that only the two of them shared. The thought spurred you further, shaking your hands intertwined with theirs. “Baby, please!”

A slick noise, like tentacles separating, and the scruff of Eddie’s stubble raked deliciously against your neck, lips kissing up to your jaw just to tease you further. A desperate whine from your lips, and he finally caved, licking into your mouth like he could devour you entirely. His lips felt like home, washing over you so warm and soft even as he pounded into your sopping pussy - but then again, that was home to him. Fucking your soft body until you were limp and pliant for him, your usual banter dying on the tip of your tongue.

“Gonna come, sweetheart,” he breathed against your lips, flicking his chin to bump his nose with yours just to make you smile and giggle against him. “Gotta tell me-”

“Inside.” He started to smile, a laugh building in his chest as you freed one hand to weakly smack him for it. “I swear, Eddie, if you think about pulling out-”

“I know,” he soothed, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek as he chased his orgasm, Venom dutifully working your body to bring you yours, too. “I know, baby, you just wanna get filled up, yeah? ‘S why you need both of us, huh? You need us to fuck up your pussy ‘til you’re sore an’ swollen an’ fill you up with our cum?” Barely a beat before his fingers snatched the column of your neck, wrenching your head back against his shoulder. Your back arched with a deep groan, eyes going all misty as they pounded into you. “Tell me,” Eddie commanded, voice deceptively soft and sweet, like he was merely asking you for his morning I love you. “Gotta tell me how much you want it, or I’ll stop.”

“NO!”

Eddie groaned, rolling his eyes. “Fucking parasite doesn’t know how to talk dirty.” Another kiss to your cheek, his little grounding method: his assurance that his love for you can be chaste, too. “Teach him, baby?”

You kissed him back, lips dragging over his rough stubble. “Fill me up, handsome,” you nearly whispered, voice beginning to crack as he skillfully worked your body over. “Wanna feel you come inside me. Please?” A breath where you regained enough sense to question your words. Another and it was gone again. “Want a chubby baby with your eyes…”

Hands were suddenly everywhere. Two with a painful grip on your tits, kneading the soft fat. One on your hip and one with a handful of your stomach, both maneuvering your hips back as they thrust in, letting their fat cock breach further inside you than anything else ever has or will. On your neck, your clit, and your thighs, all groping and tugging and rubbing fast circles. You’re suddenly ass over head bent over, sheets getting caught in your mouth as they jackhammered into your poor, sopping cunt, thick cock pulsing maddeningly inside you.

“Precious little one wants to be BRED,” Venom hissed; terribly, awfully pleased as he overpowered Eddie to pound you the way you needed - the way your sweet boyfriend could never, for fear of hurting you. Venom had no such worries: you were a big girl, and if you wanted to get fucked and filled until his cum drips out of your folds, well, who was he to deny such a lovely creature? “Breathe, precious,” he coaxed, making another hand from his slick body to press your face further into the sheets. “Gonna give you everything you want,”

Moans died in your throat as they manhandled you into a deep arch, thick cock reaching even deeper without having to fight past the bulk of your ass, pussy practically on display for them to play with. God, you loved it.

Your orgasm hit like a brick wall, crashing over you, making you crumble in their arms. Their grip (all 12 of them) turned soft - tender, loving circles rubbed into your lax muscles, turning you into a pretty pile of twitching jello on the bed. They eased your hips down, letting you lay flat as they worked you through the high, hips pumping into yours at a steady beat. By the time they stilled, groaning low into your hair as they emptied their balls into you, your heart was pumping at that pace.

You smile when Eddie’s hands grab you, keeping you pressed firmly against his bare chest as he carefully rolled you both to your sides. Kisses pressed to your temple and soft cheeks between murmured praises. Whispers of my sweetheart, y’did so good, so gorgeous, filled the bedroom like a fog, rolling over your body like a warm bath.

A soft kiss to your neck. “Y’should pee, sweetheart,”

You huffed at him, grabbing his wrist to pull his arm tighter around you. “Five more minutes? I need my cuddle time…”

He pretended to groan, lying through his teeth about how he won’t feel bad when you give yourself another UTI, and he won’t even buy you cranberry juice, even though you know there will be a glass waiting for you with breakfast in the morning.

“YOU LOVE EDDIE MORE THAN ME!”

“JESUS!” You felt the wet slap against your hand before you realized you were swinging, Venom’s weird bobbing head taking the hit and simply returning to an inch in front of your face.

“WHY?!”

“Inside voice,” Eddie groaned, trying to shoo the symbiote away like a bug.

“I WILL NOT USE MY INSIDE VOICE! PRECIOUS FAVORS YOU!”

A groan built up in your throat as your high quickly faded, but you held it back: it couldn’t do anything good. “Vee,” you chided, “you know better than to talk to me like that.” It was something established almost immediately when he’d entered your relationship. He practically swoons at the memory of you throwing mugs at him while Eddie yelled at him not to let any of them shatter.

No, can’t get distracted!

He grumbles, laying his floating head on the pillow in front of yours. “... you love him more than me.”

It’s a statement. One that makes Eddie’s arms tighten around you, afraid of what the alien might do if he dislikes your response. He knows Venom wouldn’t do anything to harm him, but there may always be the underlying fear that you’ll become fair game one day. Randomly, or for whatever reason, he may wake to the taste of you on his tongue in a way he never wanted.

But you amazed him, just like you seemed to do every day. You pet the alien’s head just like you would Eddie’s when he was stressed, and you spoke without a hint of fear for the razor-like teeth in your face. “Love can’t be measured, Vee, you know that,” you chided, but your voice held no edge. The same way you would chastise your niece that you loved the bouquet she picked you, but maybe let’s not pick from people’s flowerbeds. “I don’t love him more.”

He bristled like a cat. “You always want him when we fuck you!”

“Yes,” you agreed gently, “because you hide him away.” You tapped the flat side of his teeth. “And you don’t have the equipment for kissing.” He still grumbled, but was all too eager to tuck into your palm when you offered it. “You have to be more understanding, Vee. You have no idea how long I’ve known Eddie. We were best friends, then he started courting me - took me on dates, brought me flowers - before we even started seriously dating, let alone living and sleeping together.” You stroked his smooth head. “So there’s gonna be a difference in how we interact versus you and me… okay?”

A stretch of silence where Eddie held his breath. If there was anyone who could talk down a brain-eating alien, it was you, but that fear in the back of his mind…

“... I understand.”

You smiled, kissing his head. “Good.”

“I should court you.”

A laugh from you, a joking gripe about having competition from Eddie. “That’d be sweet, Vee.”

A sharp gasp fell from your lips as Eddie’s cock was pulled from you so abruptly, his arms as well as he tumbled to the floor.

“Wha-”

“Let’s go, Eddie! I won’t come home without a suitable trophy to gift precious!”

“Wait, Vee - fuck - stop! I’m not wearing pants - I’m not wearing anything!”

“Not my problem!”

Eddie cried your name as a last attempt, glaring at your poorly hidden laughter. You took pity on him, clicking your tongue. “Not now, Vee,” you chastised, patting the mattress. “Y’know the rules, I need my cuddles.”

“Oh - yes!” He dragged Eddie right back into bed, snapping Eddie’s arms around you as if he wouldn’t do it himself. “Cuddles,” he mumbled, seeming to seriously ponder the word. “... ah!”

You felt your heart melt - just a little bit - as he curled into the crook of your neck, realizing he’d been pondering how to cuddle with his bobble head form. He nipped the tender flesh under your chin, just barely working it with his teeth without breaking it as he melted into the curves your body provided. Soft purrs started tumbling out of him, Eddie’s arms tightening around you, pulling you into his firm chest. His hands started kneading your hips, his self-soothing method that always emerged after a rough night - work or sex, he needed to touch you. Feel you push back on him, know you were real.

“Love you,” he muttered, words almost lost in your hair.

You brought his hand to your lips, kissing across his knuckles. “I love you.” You turned your head, lips brushing Venom. “And I love you.”

“I love the both of you, too,” he purred, “Eddie won’t say it, but he loves me.”

A short laugh, but no denial. You had rules about lies in your bedroom, after all.

“... You should really go pee.”

“Baby, please shut up.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

942 notes · View notes

uzumaki-rebellion · 6 months ago

Text

Spinning the Block Part 1

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Officer Jessica "Jess" Sims

Warning(s): 18+, Angst, Mentions of Racial Tension.

Summary: Jess Sims attempts to pay her respects.

Word count: 3.2K

youtube

"Turned into an inconvenience

You only want me when convenient

I know that I could probably block you

But for some reason, I wanna see you

And you know I give a damn about you

You got me sittin' here thinkin' about you

And how your name triggers all my emotions

Into my eyes, into an ocean"

Normani – "Insomnia"

Jessica Sims knew in her heart she had no right to be at Michael Simmons' mother's house.

She'd driven an hour from Shelby Springs into Greenwood carrying a homemade lemon pound cake in the passenger side of her slate gray Dodge Durango. Her mother's recipe had her SUV smelling like fresh butter, sugar, and citrus.

The closer she got to the neighboring town, the tighter her fingers gripped the steering wheel, worrying if she'd see Terry Richmond again. He'd been on her mind for weeks…haunting her. She lost sleep and her nerves were so bad she had to get a prescription for sleeping pills just to function daily. Jess tried every home remedy from chamomile tea to a glass of warm milk before bed to fight insomnia.

Nothing worked.

Each night she crawled between cool sheets and stared at her bedroom ceiling, wishing things were different. Wishing she'd done things differently. Terry's smoldering sea-green eyes always came into focus, taunting her, preventing much needed rest.

When he walked into her police station to file a robbery complaint, she'd believed her department ran a tight ship. Her training had taught her to be fair but firm in following the law by the books. Chief Sandy Burnne had been her mentor, the one who recruited her straight from the police academy. She planned her law enforcement career while in college, joining the police academy a year after graduation. Her family wasn't too keen on the idea, preferring she use the hard-earned sociology degree to get a regular job and start a family like her older brothers. Jess had other plans. She wanted to be the first Black female police chief in Shelby Springs.

Wielding a badge and a gun allowed her to protect her own community. She had a certain charmed way of speaking to people that let them know not to test her, but that she'd hear them out with their problems whether they were in the wrong or right. Her excellent reputation around those parts gave her access to places that would unnerve the average person. She grew up a tomboy running around hunting with her father and brothers, physically fighting anyone who crossed her. She abhorred a bully, and that caused her problems with some of her colleagues that used their badge to sling their dicks around. Jess didn't go along to get along, but she picked her battles carefully to achieve her long-term goal: to run the department herself one day.

Men tested her all the time, and she did her job ignoring the micro and macro aggressions. Chief Burnne always had her back despite the cracker ways he tried to keep under wraps. He came from an era of uneducated Cajun rednecks filling up the department. Nowadays, there were more cops coming onto the force with education, melanin, and sometimes a vagina. A lot of old-school men didn't like that. Chief Burnne didn't either, but he accepted her and showed Jess respect when she did her job well. She impressed him, and he took her under his wing. She never revealed her goals to have his job in the future. Staying quiet, observant, and efficient worked to her advantage. Chief Burnne opened up more that way, spilling his tips on how to handle the job and people his way.

That is…until Terry Richmond showed up.

Jess misread his intentions from the start.

The second he strode into the office, she sensed a cockiness in him that smoldered beneath the surface. Most Black men in Shelby Springs were older and paunchy from a sedentary lifestyle and good Country Cookin', or lean youngsters with hustler's dreams of getting away from small town life. Terry was built strong and muscular, like a brick shithouse. He carried himself different. Spoke with controlled diction. He was a country boy for sure, but one that didn't work around Shelby Springs. She would've noticed his striking looks at the bars or cookouts broadcasting that he was living mighty fine. Employment was good with the new petrochemical plant ten miles away, and the Black community she lived in thrived with folks making good money, something that hadn't happened in over thirty years. Black folks, especially the men, being flush with cash and a pride about themselves irritated the white community. Negroes were acting a little too uppity lately. Buying new cars and scooping up property. Getting their homes built from scratch. Purchasing big fishing boats to use on Lake Tremblay. Sending their kids to college.

Tensions erupted in bars, public gatherings, and even football games at the local high school whenever white and Black people mingled in the same spaces. That's where Jess worked her magic. If she caught word of trouble brewing, she'd make a phone call to family and friends, giving a warning about police sweeps and rednecks making a commotion. The community grapevine activated and her people acted accordingly to stay far from trouble.

When it was her time to do patrols, Jess stayed visible in the white areas a lot. Her paternal great-granddaddy Adelore Seraphin was a fiery white Cajun who never married her great-grandmother, so she never gave their only child, Jess's granddaddy, his surname. The Sims family were proud Black Cajuns who turned their nose up at white trash. Adelore was considered trash because he wouldn't divorce his wife to marry Zema Sims. There was something about her Paw Paw's wife not giving him a divorce on account of them being Catholic. Granny Zema was an African Methodist and didn't give a damn about what Catholics thought about divorce. Paw Paw left that white lady and built Granny Zema a house to show that he was for real about building a life and family with her. So that's what they did. The white wife kept the marriage title, but Granny Zema kept the man.

It was a scandal, and as far as her Paw Paw was concerned, his only issue was that he didn't want that other woman to get part of his pension. She never did because she died before him, a bitter alcoholic, still screaming about the Black bitch that stole her husband. Technically, Granny Zema didn't steal him. She had him first, but back in their time, they couldn't get married because of miscegenation laws. So they broke up and Paw Paw married the white woman…and lived miserably. He started tipping out and one thing led to another. Jess's granddaddy, Hebert Sims, was born.

Jess's connection to Adelore Seraphin meant she had white Cajun relatives all up and down Shelby Springs. The kin on that side, who knew the family tree had an extra dark branch, tolerated Jess when she made patrols or answered calls of domestic disturbances in that section of town. Nothing on her screamed Seraphin except for her eyes. She had Paw Paw's discerning eyes. So did her daddy. She moved in the world like a Sims, but them pale kinfolk recognized her as the great-granddaughter of that trouble-making Seraphin behind her back. That gave Jess intimate knowledge of how outsiders perceived the proud, flourishing Black community. Trouble.

So when Terry Richmond rode his fine ass into Shelby Springs, he was already a problem before Lann clipped him with the police cruiser.

When he sat down in front of her while she typed in his descriptions of who robbed him, his tone was confident. His demeanor crafty. She was shocked that he recorded their conversation, equally shocked by Chief Burnne's sudden aggression toward him. Lann was an asshole to everyone, overcompensating for some deep-rooted male insecurity. Her first thought was that the Chief might've known something about Terry that she didn't, and she expected to be filled in on the matter. Drug couriers were a thing within small towns, and it wasn't above suspicion that drug runners would use a decoy disguise to pretend they were regular citizens going about their day. She went back and forth in her mind about Terry's reason for carrying so much cash in a backpack on a bike. It looked and sounded suspicious, especially with the drug busts they'd done a few months previously on the bridge during a police chase. She had picked up her own distant white kin at his house, the run-down place full of meth and illegal fentanyl. Opioid use was up. Drug dealers were racking up millions transporting that cash economy and product moving across state lines in Louisiana grew. Chief Burnne's own nephew had died of a drug overdose ten years ago, so anything that had a whiff of drug activity got his hackles up.

That was the hard line story they fed Jess for five years as she accepted civil forfeitures as a necessary part of police work. Portions of white and Black men from Shelby Springs and other bordering towns thrived in the drug trade. Sex trafficking, too. Her department prided itself on breaking the supply chain.

It had all been a lie.

Chief Burnne's lie. His department…his rules.

Jess had been inadvertently complicit.

A rule follower, and a staunch believer in the church of right and wrong, she turned a blind eye to activity that should've raised suspicions. Instead, she quietly looked out for her people on the domestic front, dousing potential flames of racist attacks, especially with all the MAGA crowd flaunting their bigotry and jealousy. Jess was more worried about racist attacks happening. Red necks were openly riding around in trucks carrying lynching ropes with right-wing slogans for bumper stickers. The south was always going to be the south, and America was always going to be America…the United Racists of America.

Jess literally couldn't be bothered if suspicious men passing through town carrying ridiculous amounts of cash got hemmed up. She damn well wouldn't coddle grown ass Black men if they got busted for doing crimes. Her daddy instilled in her a strong bullshit detector for her dealings with that.

"Sweetheart, Black men have to decide for themselves if they want to do right in the world. Black women can't keep the cape on forever, or come running with mops and brooms to clean up their messes. If Black women can get up every day and build up their community in the same terrible conditions as us, then they gotta stop babying these men who tear it down. There's no excuse for a Black man not wanting better for himself or his people. We done come too damn far to be the new terrorists against our own women and children."

Jess listened well. Applied it to Terry.

Something in her gut knew something wasn't right, but she didn't want to put herself out for some stranger who might've been tearing people's lives apart transporting thirty-six thousand dollars in cash. Black people always suffered the most with drug addiction and drug crime because of generational poverty and the predators who took advantage of that. Terry could've been lying to cover his ass for a drug cartel. She didn't know him, didn't know who his people were. He came into her life that day and turned it upside down. The only silver lining she clung to in the end was that she saved his life twice. Once when Officer McGill almost blasted him with a rifle when Terry dragged Marston behind a cruiser to safety. Jess slammed her hand on the weapon. McGill looked shell-shocked by the turn of events. She felt the same. Her boss had shot a fellow officer and made a speech to them all about how he would cover it up. If Chief Burnne harmed a white man that easily, he wouldn't blink twice before taking her out. The second time was when she carried out a PIT maneuver and knocked Burnne away from Terry, providing his last escape. The death of his cousin and the treatment he received in Shelby Springs were irredeemable. All she hoped for was peace in her own mind that she acted on the right side of judgement.

Jess followed her SUV's navigation system and pulled onto a street full of cars parked everywhere. She passed by Rosa Simmons' single family brick house with a large manicured lawn. Mourners milled about the front and the entrance door was wide open. After all the legal and medical inquiries, along with the criminal investigation, it took the Simmons' family three weeks to get Mike's body returned for burial.

She parked two blocks away and smoothed out her most subdued black sheath dress. It was plain and appropriate for the occasion. She carried the pound cake in a round Tupperware container and listened to her kitten heels click-clack on the narrow sidewalk. Her stomach churned, nearing the home.

"Hi..hello…hiya doin'?" she said, passing people she didn't know on the walkway to the house.

Heads nodded at her with sorrowful eyes and stooped body postures. The atmosphere inside the modest home was thick with heartache. Jess contemplated doing a pivot right back outside, but an older woman in her fifties with short-clipped hair sitting on a recliner noticed her.

Mike's mother, Rosa.

"My condolences, Mrs. Simmons," Jess whispered.

She didn't want to bring attention to herself and stepped forward, past a throng of people carrying plates of sliced ham, potato salad, and baked beans.

"Thank you for coming…oh you brought something, how thoughtful."

Rosa stood up.

"I can take that," Rosa said.

"Ma'am, I can put it with the other food."

"Mm-hmm, yes, the dining room table is right back there. Did you go to school with my Michael?"

"No, ma'am. I knew him from somewhere else. I'll put this away."

"Okay, baby. Fix yourself a plate while you're in there."

"Thank you."

Jess's eyes darted away and took in the other mourners. Her heart thumped a triple rhythm. It was best to put the cake on a table and leave. The stress of feeling like a traitor to her own wore on her nerves.

Delicious odors of soul food guided her nose to the dining room. The dining table could've buckled under the weight of so much food. Folks old and young helped themselves to fried chicken, crawfish, turnip greens, gooey macaroni and cheese, and a pot filled with smoked chiltlins.

She pushed a crock pot of brown gravy aside to make room for her cake next to a half-eaten sweet potato pie.

"Who let this woman in here?!"

A light brown woman with soft, shoulder-length curls glared at Jess, her lips curled into an angry snarl. Everyone looked at Jess curiously, wondering what was going on.

"Mama! Who let this dirty cop into our house?"

Rosa rushed into the dining room. Jess held out her hands.

"I just wanted to give my condolences—"

"You're the reason my brother is dead! Who let her in? Who?!" Mike's sister screamed.

The anguish in her voice brought tears to Jess's eyes.

"I'm sorry…everyone, I'm sorry…Mrs. Simmons…"

In her peripheral, Jess noticed Terry coming from a back room wearing a dark suit. She ran away as fast as her kitten heels could carry her. She knocked into people and brushed past other family members on her way out the door.

"Jess!"

Terry's deep baritone called to her, and she pumped her legs faster. Reaching the car, she fumbled for her key fob and unlocked the SUV. She jumped in and Terry banged on her window.

"I'm sorry I came. I didn't mean to upset your family," she said, starting her vehicle.

"Roll down your window."

His commanding eyes stared right through her. She rolled her window down partially. Wiping tears away from her cheeks, she faced her front window, unable to look at him.

"I know it wasn't easy for you to come here."

She shook her head, and a violent sob choked her throat.

"Listen…give me your number. I'd like to speak with you about all of this… at a better time—"

"No…this was a mistake…I'm sorry…I have to go—"

"Fucking bitch!"

Mike's sister threw Jess's cake on the car. The Tupperware container burst open and the pound cake crumbled all over the hood.

"Livia! Stop!"

Terry walked toward his cousin, and she ran from him toward the sidewalk. Other family members had followed them to watch the scene. Jess's stomach sank to the floor of her car.

"You did this to Mike! You goddamn greedy cops sent my brother to die and I fucking hate you! Get outta here, you murdering bitch!"

Livia picked up a heavy rock and threw it at the passenger side window, fracturing the tempered glass. Terry lifted his cousin up by the waist and carried her away. Jess drove off quickly. Cake crumbs fell away from her hood and she screeched her tires with a hasty exit.

She didn't hold back on crying, allowing her tears to wash away the shame and embarrassment.

Back in Shelby Springs, she paced the floors inside her house, drinking whiskey, and pondering her fate. Mike's burial was only the start of her troubles. Next came a lawsuit Terry filed against her department. It would probably finally bankrupt them like the last legal settlement they paid almost did. With the dashcam evidence, plus her, Summer, and Marston's testimony, Terry was sure to win a large payout. Her career was in jeopardy, and their department possibly disbanded.

She downed a half glass of Uncle Nearest whiskey and looked at her black dress. The audacity of her showing up in Greenwood thinking she could dip in and out without consequences.

Jess had to face her part in Terry's life being traumatized forever. Losing her job was a small price to pay for his lifetime of pain.

She leaned her head against her living room window in the dark and watched a swarm of fireflies do a light dance outside. Her grandfather used to say seeing fireflies brought good luck. Jess desperately needed that to be true.

Crawling into bed with her dress still on, Jess stared at her ceiling again, semi-drunk and all cried out. She thought about Terry calling out her name and running after her. He didn't sound mean or angry when he spoke to her briefly. Asking for her number surprised Jess, because…why? What could they talk about that would fix the wide valley between them? Maybe he wanted to yell at her too, get his justified anger off his chest. She deserved it.

Jess curled into the fetal position and thought of Terry. Even in mourning, he looked handsome in his suit. For the first time in weeks, she fell into a deep sleep without having to use medication.

Part 2 HERE.

Masterlist.