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ijustmissyouraccenths · 4 months ago

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Sick as a Dog

Where Harry is sick and y/n just wants to help him.

Word count: 3,833

Content warning: cursing, mentions of being sick (no throwing up).

I wake up to the soft warmth of sunlight streaming through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the room. The familiar scent of him—clean, woodsy, with just a hint of his cologne—fills the air. For the first time in what feels like ages, Harry’s here. Really here. Not a FaceTime call, not a text, not a fleeting thought as I drift off to sleep alone. His arm is draped lazily over my waist, his chest rising and falling steadily next to me.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, but the movement stirs him anyway. His eyes flutter open, green and warm like spring after a long winter. A soft, sleepy smile spreads across his lips as he tightens his hold on me, pulling me closer.

“Morning, love,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep and that raspy undertone I adore.

“Morning,” I reply, tracing lazy circles on his forearm.

For a while, neither of us says much. Words feel unnecessary. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then my temple, and finally my lips, slow and unhurried. His stubble grazes my skin, a reminder of how real this is.

Eventually, the world outside our cocoon of blankets starts to intrude. My mental checklist of errands creeps in, and I know his does too. But for now, we linger, soaking in the quiet intimacy of the morning.

“You know,” he says, breaking the silence, “I could stay like this forever.”

I laugh softly. “You say that, but we both know the list waiting for us today.”

He groans in mock protest, burying his face in my neck. “I just got home. Can’t we just…not?”

I want to agree. I want to cancel the errands, turn off the world, and spend the day exactly like this. But life has other plans. I kiss him one last time before sitting up, dragging him reluctantly along with me.

“Alright, Mr. Styles,” I tease, “up and at ’em. Groceries won’t buy themselves.”

With a dramatic sigh, he stretches and finally rises, his hair a tousled mess that somehow still suits him perfectly. The day awaits, but in this moment, everything feels right. He’s home, and that’s all that matters.

Harry’s standing at the dresser, pulling on a simple white graphic tee that hugs his chest just right. He pairs it with light-wash jeans and his trusty white Vans, and I can’t help but stare. His hair is still a little messy from sleep, and there’s this ease about him that makes him look so effortlessly… Harry.

He notices, of course. He always notices. Turning to catch me mid-stare, he smirks, tilting his head slightly.

“Take a picture, Y/N. It’ll last longer,” he teases, his voice dripping with that cheeky charm.

I roll my eyes, trying to fight the grin tugging at my lips. “Maybe I will,” I shoot back, grabbing my phone and pretending to snap a photo.

“You’re ridiculous,” he chuckles, stepping closer to press a quick kiss to my forehead before grabbing his wallet and keys.

I pull on my own pair of jeans, a plain tee, and sneakers. Comfort over style today—though Harry always insists I look good no matter what. As we make our way to the kitchen, he hums softly under his breath, a tune I don’t recognize but know I’ll ask him about later.

Breakfast is simple: toast, eggs, and coffee. Harry insists on making the coffee, declaring himself the “king of the French press.” I don’t argue; he really does make it better than I do.

As we finish up, he grabs his sunglasses and tosses me a lopsided grin. “Ready, love?”

We head out to his car—a sleek black Range Rover that feels way too fancy for a trip to the market, but that’s Harry. As he starts the engine, he glances at me with a playful glint in his eye.

“Do you remember the last time we went to the market?” he asks as we pull onto the London streets.

I laugh, shaking my head. “Not specifically, but I’m sure you’re about to remind me.”

He grins, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “You tried to convince me we needed three different types of cheese for one dish.”

“Because we did,” I argue, crossing my arms.

“And we forgot the bread,” he counters, his laugh filling the car.

The easy banter flows between us as the city passes by outside. It’s moments like these—simple, mundane, yet filled with so much warmth—that make me realize just how much I’ve missed him while he’s been away. He reaches over to squeeze my hand, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

The market is alive with the hum of people, the scent of fresh produce, and the clatter of carts. As soon as we step inside, Harry grabs a cart and immediately veers toward the snacks aisle.

“We don’t need that,” I laugh as he tosses a jumbo bag of crisps into the cart.

“Don’t we?” he counters, feigning offense. “I’ve been deprived of proper snacks for months, love. Let me live a little.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help grinning as he starts piling in more things—chocolates, biscuits, and a random jar of pickles. “Harry,” I warn, trying to keep a straight face.

“What?” he says innocently. “Pickles are essential. You can’t deny it.”

We wander through the market, switching off who pushes the cart while the other roams the shelves. He sneaks in a box of cereal I’m pretty sure we already have at home, and I add a bottle of wine, pretending I didn’t see the outrageous snack haul he’s created.

As we pass the fresh pasta section, he stops, holding up a package of tagliatelle. “What do you think? Pasta for dinner?”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, reaching for a jar of marinara sauce. “What should we do for a side? Garlic bread?”

He nods enthusiastically. “And maybe a little salad. Gotta stay balanced,” he jokes, throwing in a bag of pre-washed greens with exaggerated flair.

By the time we’re at checkout, our cart is an eclectic mix of essentials, indulgences, and things we absolutely don’t need but couldn’t resist. As he loads the bags into the back of the car, he turns to me, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

“What do you think about a movie night tonight?” he asks casually, though there’s a twinkle in his eye that tells me he’s up to something.

“I’d love that,” I reply. “I’d love to do anything with you.”

His grin widens, and he leans in just slightly. “Anything, huh?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a suggestive tone.

I shove him playfully, trying to fight the blush creeping up my neck. “Don’t start.”

He laughs, the sound warm and infectious. “What? I’m just saying we could… expand the agenda.”

“Let’s focus on dinner first,” I quip, climbing into the passenger seat.

As he starts the car, he shoots me one last cheeky glance. “Dinner and a movie, it is. For now.”

As we drive back home, the city whizzes by outside the windows, but my attention is completely fixed on Harry. His hand rests casually on the steering wheel, the other drumming lightly to the rhythm of the music playing softly on the radio. The late afternoon sunlight filters through the windshield, casting a soft glow over his face.

I take in the details—the way his tattoos peek out from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his tee, the way his hair curls just slightly at the ends, looking perfectly imperfect. It’s all so him. Effortless, magnetic, entirely Harry.

My chest tightens with a wave of emotion I can’t suppress. For months, I’ve been waiting for this—to have him home, to watch him do something as simple as drive, to just be with him.

“I love you,” I say softly, the words spilling out before I even realize it.

He glances over at me, his green eyes warm and a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting it but loves hearing it all the same. “I love you too, Y/N,” he says, his voice gentle but steady, like it’s the easiest truth in the world.

I shake my head, smiling as I try to find the right words. “No, I mean… I really love you. I missed you so much, Harry. I missed this. Us. You.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just reaches over to place his hand on mine, squeezing it gently as his thumb brushes over my knuckles.

“I missed you too, love,” he says quietly. “More than I can even put into words.”

The car falls into a comfortable silence, but it’s filled with so much more than quiet. It’s filled with the weight of everything I feel for him, everything I’ve held onto while he’s been away.

As I look over at him again, I realize just how deeply he’s woven into every part of me. The sound of his laugh, the warmth of his touch, the way he knows exactly what to say to make me feel like the only person in the world—it’s all part of why I love him.

As we pull into the driveway, Harry shifts the car into park and turns to me with a smirk. “Alright, love, get those muscles ready. It’s time to show me what you’re made of.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Excuse me? I’m a delicate flower. I shouldn’t have to carry groceries,” I tease, fluttering my lashes dramatically.

He rolls his eyes, playing along. “Right, how could I forget? Well, I guess I’ll just do it all myself then,” he says, feigning exasperation as he climbs out of the car.

“Good plan,” I call after him, though I follow and grab a couple of bags because I’m not that cruel.

Between the two of us, we manage to carry everything inside, though Harry insists on making a show of flexing his arms every time he brings in another load.

“Impressed yet?” he asks, winking as he sets the last bag on the counter.

“Totally,” I say, deadpan. “Your talent for grocery-hauling is unmatched.”

He grins, leaning against the counter while I start unpacking. As I’m putting things away, I notice him setting a few things aside on the island—the pasta, marinara, garlic, and salad mix.

“Getting a head start on dinner, are you?” I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder.

“Just being efficient,” he replies, pulling out a cutting board and inspecting it like he’s about to perform surgery. “Also, you know I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” I tease, but my words are muffled as I reach into a bag and pull out a pack of cookies.

Harry spots them instantly, his face lighting up. “You’re a genius,” he says, grabbing the pack from me and tearing it open.

“Hey! I was going to do that,” I protest, but he’s already popped a cookie into his mouth, grinning as he chews.

“Too slow, love,” he says, holding the pack out to me.

I take one and lean against the counter next to him, snacking while we chat about nothing and everything. The kitchen fills with the sound of our laughter, the clinking of jars and cans as I finish putting the groceries away, and Harry’s occasional commentary about how he’s “the true mastermind behind dinner.”

Harry hums softly to himself as he moves around the kitchen, a wooden spoon in hand as he stirs the pot of simmering sauce. It’s a sight I’ve missed—his ease, his focus, and the way he somehow makes cooking look like an art form.

I sit on one of the barstools, resting my chin in my hand as I watch him. He glances over his shoulder and smirks. “You’re staring again.”

“Can you blame me?” I reply, grinning.

He shakes his head, chuckling as he dips the spoon into the sauce. “Alright, taste test,” he says, walking over to me with the spoon held out.

I lean forward and take a small sip, the tangy warmth of the marinara spreading across my tongue. “Mmm,” I hum, nodding in approval. “That’s really good.”

Harry grins proudly, but his expression turns playful as he tilts his head. “Really good, huh? Just ‘good’? Not ‘amazing’ or ‘out of this world’?”

I roll my eyes and lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Amazing,” I say, teasingly.

He whines dramatically, turning to face me fully. “That’s all I get? A cheek kiss after slaving away over a hot stove?”

Laughing, I reach up and pull him down for a proper kiss, his lips soft and warm against mine. He hums in satisfaction, pulling back just enough to look at me, his green eyes sparkling.

“Much better,” he says, his voice low and content. Then, with a grin, he gestures toward the living room. “Now go on, find us something good for movie night. I’ll finish up here.”

I linger for a moment, watching him as he turns back to the stove, stirring the sauce with one hand and tossing pasta into a pot with the other. He looks so at home, so effortlessly himself, and I feel a wave of love wash over me.

“Anything in particular you’re in the mood for?” I ask, heading toward the couch.

“Something good,” he calls back. “No pressure, though.”

I laugh, flopping onto the couch and scrolling through the streaming options, already knowing whatever I pick, he’ll make it perfect just by being there.

A few minutes later, Harry walks into the living room, balancing two bowls of pasta with garlic bread perched neatly on the side. His careful concentration makes me smile, and he lets out a dramatic sigh of relief as he sets the bowls on the coffee table.

“Dinner is served,” he announces with a grin, plopping down next to me and handing me my bowl.

“Thank you, chef,” I say, nudging his shoulder.

“Only the best for you, love,” he replies, leaning back into the cushions and taking a bite of his pasta.

We settle in, the familiar hum of a rom-com filling the room as we eat. Every so often, Harry sneaks a piece of my garlic bread, and I swat at him in mock protest, though I don’t really mind. It’s comfortable.

When the credits roll, Harry stretches with a groan, his head tilting back against the couch. “I hate to admit it,” he says, his voice laced with playful regret, “but I think I’m officially an old man.”

I laugh, resting my head on his shoulder. “What are you talking about? You’re a spring chicken.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “As much as I’d love to expand the evening and, you know, do naughty things, I’m absolutely knackered.”

I giggle, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “That’s fine, Harry. Go on, get some rest. I’ll clean up here.”

He gives me a grateful smile, standing up and stretching again. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Don’t forget it,” I tease, watching him as he heads upstairs, his steps slow and tired.

Once he’s gone, I take my time cleaning up the kitchen and living room. I rinse out the bowls, wipe down the counters, and straighten up the cushions on the couch. It feels good to take care of the space we share, to know he’s upstairs waiting for me.

When I’m done, I slip into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the day. The quiet hum of the house wraps around me, and I feel an overwhelming sense of contentment.

After drying off and pulling on a cozy t-shirt, I head upstairs and crawl into bed next to Harry. He’s already half-asleep, his arm draped across my side as I settle in.

“Night, love,” he mumbles sleepily, his voice muffled but full of warmth.

“Goodnight, Harry,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

The next morning, I wake up to the soft glow of early sunlight streaming through the curtains. I glance over at Harry, expecting to find his side of the bed empty like usual—he’s always the first one up. But this time, he’s still there, lying on his stomach with one arm draped over the pillow.

It’s rare to catch him sleeping in, but he looks peaceful, his face relaxed in the quiet morning light. Not wanting to disturb him, I carefully slip out of bed and head downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, I decide to make breakfast—something simple: scrambled eggs, toast, and some fruit. The rhythmic sounds of the whisk and the faint sizzle of butter in the pan fill the kitchen as I work.

I’m almost done cooking when I hear slow, shuffling footsteps behind me. Turning around, I see Harry leaning against the doorframe, his hair sticking up in every direction. His face looks pale, and there’s a groggy, pained expression in his eyes.

“Morning,” I say, but before I can say more, he groans softly, running a hand through his hair.

“I feel like absolute shit,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

Concern washes over me as I set the spatula down and walk toward him. “What’s wrong?” I ask, scanning his face.

He rubs his temples, leaning heavily against the counter. “Head’s pounding, throat feels like it’s on fire, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a fever,” he mutters, his tone laced with irritation at his own body. Then he waves his hand weakly at me. “Don’t come near me. I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”

Ignoring his warning, I step closer, my brows knitting in worry. “Harry, I don’t care about that. Sit down,” I say firmly, guiding him to a chair at the kitchen table.

He doesn’t argue, letting out another groan as he sinks into the seat. His head drops into his hands, and I can tell he’s trying to push through it, but it’s clear he’s not feeling himself.

“I’ll get you some tea and medicine,” I say softly, already moving to put the kettle on.

He glances up at me, his green eyes heavy with exhaustion but still filled with affection. “You don’t have to fuss over me, love,” he says, his voice cracking slightly.

“Of course I do,” I reply, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You always take care of me. Now it’s my turn.”

He smiles faintly, leaning back in the chair as I set about getting him what he needs, determined to nurse him back to health.

I set a mug of tea in front of Harry, the steam curling up in delicate clouds. “Tea with honey,” I say softly, sliding the plate of scrambled eggs and toast next to it. I make sure to add two Tylenols, placing them neatly on the napkin.

He looks up at me, his face still pale but his expression grateful. “Thanks, love,” he murmurs, his voice raspy.

I sit across from him, watching as he takes a sip of tea and winces slightly. “It’s the post-tour crud,” he says with a small, tired chuckle. “Happens every time. My immune system’s just catching up after weeks of running on adrenaline.”

“Well, it’s catching up hard,” I reply, leaning my elbows on the table. “But it’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

He shakes his head slowly, frowning. “I feel bad, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this. And I don’t want to get you sick.”

I reach out and cover his hand with mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Harry, I don’t care. You’ve taken care of me plenty of times when I was sick. Remember when I had that horrible flu last year? You didn’t leave my side.”

“That’s different,” he says, his lips tugging into a weak smile. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

I laugh softly, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. “Well, now it’s my turn. You’re always looking out for me, Harry. Let me look out for you this time, alright?”

He doesn’t argue further, just looks at me with a mix of gratitude and affection, his eyes slightly glassy from the fever. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Yes, you do,” I say firmly, standing to refill his tea. “Now eat, take your Tylenol, and let me fix you.”

Despite his groans of protest, I can see the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

After breakfast, I set to work transforming the couch into a fortress of comfort. I grab every blanket I can find, piling them up alongside a collection of fluffy pillows, creating a cozy little nest. I pick a lighthearted show—something easy to watch, the kind Harry loves to have on in the background when he’s feeling off.

“Alright,” I say, standing back to admire my work. “Your throne awaits, Mr. Styles. Sit down, relax, and get comfy.”

He shuffles over from the kitchen, looking every bit the part of someone who’s feeling under the weather. As soon as he sinks into the pile of blankets, a sneeze erupts, followed by a series of coughs.

“Bless you,” I say, walking over to him. I lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, but he holds up a hand weakly, stopping me.

“Y/N,” he warns, his voice hoarse. “I’m sick. You shouldn’t—”

I ignore him, leaning in anyway to kiss his warm skin. “I really don’t care,” I say softly. “You’re stuck with me, germs and all.”

He shakes his head, clearly too tired to argue further, as I wrap my arms around him and pull him into a hug. His head rests against my shoulder, and I can feel the heat radiating from him. He’s definitely running a fever, but I don’t let go.

Once he settles, I sit on the couch and tug him gently toward me, guiding him to rest against my chest. He lets out a tired sigh, letting his body relax into mine as I drape a blanket over both of us.

I start running my fingers through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, and rub his back gently. “You’re burning up,” I whisper.

“I told you not to get close,” he mutters, though his voice is soft and grateful.

“Well, I told you I don’t care,” I reply, pressing my cheek to the top of his head.

He shifts slightly, snuggling closer, his hand resting lightly on my leg as the show plays quietly in the background. I keep stroking his hair and tracing light patterns on his back, hoping the touch soothes him.

For the first time since he woke up, he seems to relax fully, his breathing evening out as he watches the screen. Even though he’s warm to the touch and clearly miserable, I can feel the tension in his body melting away.

“I love you,” he mumbles sleepily.

“I love you too,” I whisper back, holding him a little tighter.

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spectral-devotee · 2 months ago

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Spring will come

Original prompts by @ stmarchmm

Crossposted to AO3

Day 02: Breeding

Summary: Viktor's first rut arrives

“Have you locked the door?” Viktor asked for the umpteenth time from his spot in the master room’s nest where he laid spread over your legs. His head rested on just the right spot over your thighs so you could comb through his hair, as he always asked for you to do.

“Yes, V!” Jayce’s voice answered back from the kitchenette.

The soft blankets that enveloped you both stirred as he raised his torso, about to ask more questions to Jayce “Have you also—”

Your Beta’s steps approached and suddenly he was showing his half-naked torso through the door frame, shuting Viktor up for a minute.

“Yes, Viktor. We have enough food in the fridge, we all asked for heat-leave, we re-supplied all your medicines and put them in their designated place. Eda and I brought our own clothes, and the lube is in my drawer”

You felt your Alpha relax for a second before he opened his mouth again “Did you make sure—”

Now it was your turn to interrupt “We also made sure to lock the door to the lab back at the academy. We turned off all the valves and equipment too. Jayce helped me fix the light bulb, and we put away the tools into their respective cases. Everything is alright, Alpha. Leave it to us, you can rest now”

Your mate had not ever gone through a normal rut in his whole life. It was to be expected he would be somewhat apprehensive and nervous, so you and Jayce made a checklist of all the things your mate had in mind previous to his absence from the Academy.

You continued massaging him and his muscles gave in, finally letting all his weight fall on top of your legs.

To you, keeping track of all pending tasks was a small gesture but seeing Viktor now you were sure it meant a lot for him.

His skin felt feverish and his pheromones gave a weird mixture of desperation and comfort. You let him off into the nest gently and got up to help Jayce finish cleaning before Viktor’s rut officially started.

“I just wish this could be over easy for him. He’s been stressing over his rut the whole week” Jayce said as he stocked the pantry with some last-minute canned food he bought just in case the rut lasted more than the usual five days.

You approached him and gave him a peck on the cheek. It was cute when he worried about your mate “We’ve got this, Jayce-boy. Now, why don’t you join us in the nest? It’s getting cold out here”

Jayce immediately grabbed your hand and followed you into the bedroom.

…

You woke up to one of your mate’s hands roaming under your nightgown.

Just by the sheer size of his body rubbing against you and his calloused touch, you could tell it was your Beta. His fingers traced over your curves, stopping only to pull you to him.

For a moment his palms held tightly onto your hips, keeping you in place to feel his dick hardening against your backside. He did not miss how you started producing slick, wetting your shorts and the blankets underneath.

“Alpha wants you, ‘mega” He whispered to your ear, barely audible but firm enough to send shocks through your system.

Then another set of lips started peppering kisses along your neck and down to your chest. Every few kisses, you Alpha made sure to tease you by softly biting into your flesh. Viktor’s tongue then licked your scent gland, teasing the sensitive area.

“Off” Viktor said and, to your surprise, Jayce’s hands stopped just as they were about to reach your breasts and instead started lifting up your nightgown. Your arousal would most likely be obvious if only they could see how wet you already were under the silken clothes.

You were only left in your shorts, vulnerable to your Alpha’s intense glare and your Beta’s touch.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Letting your Beta prep you for our Alpha” Jayce took the chance to part your legs and guide your hands over to your nape, exposing your figure even further to Viktor. You were leaning entirely over Jayce’s bare torso, his skin hot and humid against your back.

Certainly it was a rare sight to see Jayce so… submissive to Viktor’s demands. Yes, he mostly respected the usual denomination hierarchy, but this was on a whole other level. His eyes were attentive to Viktor’s every move, an instinctual response to the pack’s Alpha.

Jayce’s desire to please him was palpable even if it was obvious how he wanted nothing more than to ravage you at that instant.

Viktor remained silent, observing the both of you as Jayce started trailing his hands over you again. Even though your Beta’s kisses remained chaste, the bulge poking at you from behind told a different tale of what he wanted to do to you.

Your Alpha’s expression was unreadable, but his scent screamed he was ready to pounce at the display Jayce and you were putting on for him.

You could get used to this kind of attention.

He took his time crawling over the blankets, softly tracing his fingers along your legs before reaching under and parting them before pulling you to him until your clothed pussy was flush against his lips and your head rested over Jayce’s herculean thighs.

Viktor inhaled your arousal as if his life depended on it. His nose rubbed on your sensitive nub, causing you to squirm but his grasp kept your hips in place for him. He backed away and you started missing the contact. You needed him inside you.

In an instant he removed your shorts, exposing your wet folds. You heard a sharp inhale behind you and you turned slightly to see Jayce’s cock standing proud and tall next to you. Yet his eyes were glued to Viktor’s face, waiting for some sort of signal to join.

That signal did not come as Viktor sunk his face in between your legs, first with open mouthed kisses along your pussy and then by his tongue licking and prodding your inner labia with a hunger unknown to you.

Before you knew it your hips were bucking to him in hopes of making your release come faster, but your Alpha’s stern gaze stopped you in your tracks. His furrowed brows let you know you would be coming only when he told you to come.

Deep in your fervor you noticed Jayce’s whimpers. It seemed like Viktor had prohibited him from touching his length or doing anything to relieve himself. Then you felt your mate’s tongue enter your hole, and prod at your gummy walls.

You mustered up the courage to go against your Alpha’s wishes and decided to take pity on your poor Beta who’s cock had gone without attention for long enough. You opened up your mouth and enveloped only his tip at the beginning. Your tongue swirled around this delicate cap, paying special attention to the underside of his glans.

Jayce’s hands got back on your body and started playing with your tits, kneading your mounds and stimulating your nipples between his fingers.

Viktor did not react to your actions, instead he decided to add two fingers inside your opening now that you were wet enough. His mouth moved up and his tongue focused on your clit, rubbing circles and applying more pressure according to your moans of pleasure.

Your mouth began going lower on Jayce’s fat cock, making sure not to forget the pulsating vein on the lower side of it. Your hands traced over his abs, grounding you while your mates did every possible thing to make you give yourself over to pleasure.

Viktor added another finger, making the heat inside you grow more and more. The continuous assault to your mound kept your back arched even as you were almost at the base of Jayce’s dick. His touch felt desperate, needy, frantic—

Then your orgasm shook you to your core.

You came back down huffing. All air had left your lungs as you exhaled in bliss. You were prepared for Viktor to enter you, knowing this was only the beginning of his rut, but he spoke directly to your Beta instead.

“Jayce, go first”

Your other mate turned his head in a hurry, clearly not expecting this either. “A- Are you sure, Vik? It is customary for Alphas to—”

“I want you to breed her first, Beta. You have not come yet, am I correct?” Jayce looked down at his bouncing cock. Viktor retracted back into the stack of discarded pillows behind him, his own erection standing with a half-knot. “Our little Omega here needs more preparation before I, or rather, we knock her up”

Viktor grabbed his dick and started pumping himself as he kept eye contact with Jayce “I want to see you breed her, Jayce. I need to see that beautiful pussy full and leaking with your come before my cock impales her and my knot plugs her up the whole night long”

Both you and Jayce stood aghast at his words, not sure if they had completely sank in for him the same way it had for your not-in-rut brains.

“I fully intend to make do of my promises, Beta. Won’t you listen to your Alpha, now?”

Something inside Jayce clicked and he ferociously kissed your Alpha before turning to you and finally kissing your mouth too, tasting himself in the process. While your lips parted and your tongues started exploring each other’s, Jayce slotted himself between your legs.

You lifted your hips to grant him easier access, an action which he fully took advantage of as he placed his hands over your bottom and rammed you into his pelvis.

For a second you feared he would enter you so suddenly, but he merely positioned you perfectly just so he could coat his member with your slick.

As he moved up and down your lower lips he kept rubbing against your sensitive clit. You angled yourself over your elbows and the sight of your Beta pleasuring himself with your folds turned out to be hotter than you would have thought. You could even see the small beads of pre cum seeping from his tip.

Only a few seconds later his dick was glistening with your mixed juices, a testament of your mutual arousement.

“Ready, Omega?” He set himself atop of you, his hands trapping you beneath him.

In response you only lifted your pussy to tease his member one last time as you turned to see Viktor lost at the sight of you “Fill me up, Beta, plea—”

Before you could finish your sentence Jayce pushed inside you up to the hilt. With how sensitive you were from your previous orgasm you felt every ridge and movement he made.

He stilled for a second, letting you get used to his size which was, in fact, very big for a Beta.

Your chest raised up and down with your labored breaths as he moved his hands to meet your hips. His thumbs laid right over your pelvic bone, softly massaging circles into your soft skin.

The gesture helped you take your mind off the fact that you felt like you were about to be torn in half just from the sheer size of his dick inside your wet cavern and you could do nothing but to take him. Not that you had any complaints, though.

Jayce started slow. Even when helped by your slick and arousal it was a tight fit, leaving little ground for you to do anything besides thanking all the gods that put this man in your path and cursing the time you had spent without having sex with him.

His grunts and moans queued you into hooking your legs behind him, making impossible any slip outside your pussy. Your mate took this to mean you were ready for him to move faster.

With renewed vigor, your Beta moved his legs even deeper beneath you, coercing your chest up. His hands left your hips and quickly went over to hold on to the arch he had created under your back. You had only a moment's notice before he started ramming into you.

“O…mega. Ghn– My… My Omega” His voice came in syllables. You, on the other hand, were barely even able to keep your eyes open. The force was brutal but the pleasure you were deriving from it far exceeded the pain. How this man was not an Alpha was beyond you.

Your tits bounced against his broad chest. Beads of sweat fell on you as your lover chased his undoing.

In an instant Jayce’s mouth was latching on to your right nipple. Not quite biting, but also not letting the force of his thrusts interrupt his suckling. “So… so full, our Omega”

“Yes, Jayce. Can you imagine her stomach all round with our pups?” Viktor’s voice rang to your side “We could even take turns stuffing her until she can’t fit any more of our cum inside her. You could take her right tit while I suck on her left” His eyes had a spark in them you had only seen a few times.

Inspiration? Enthusiasm? No, none of those fit the mood. Fulfillment maybe?

The mental image of you heavy with pups was not one Jayce imagined often, that was for sure. Never before did the thought ever cross his mind, but something about Viktor’s words made his instincts go into overdrive.

“Beta” You said, or rather croaked. He had been using your fanny for far too long, you were on the verge of an orgasm while still riding out the one Viktor gave you.

Jayce glanced down at you, your eyes puffy and face all red. You could feel your drool falling out of your mouth out of sheer pleasure “Beta, ah— ahh… p… please fill me up” He turned to look at Viktor, waiting for him to say anything.

He wanted, no, needed to be a good Beta and prep you good and full for his Alpha.

“Such a good Beta” Viktor crawled over closer again, taking your left breast into his hand, playing with your hardening nipple “Be a good Beta and fill her up, Jayce”

Jayce sunk deeper inside you, hitting all the right spots until the tip of his cock kissed your cervix.

The spring inside you threatened to come undone again when your Alpha came to lay down next to you. Softly, delicately, his mouth replaced his touch while his hand traveled downwards to your quim.

You moaned when you noticed your Alpha’s fingers rubbing circles around your unattended clit, the overstimulation bacomming too much.

With one last pinch and your Beta stilling inside you, you came for the second time.

You tried to catch your breath; a hard task considering your Beta was still moving inside you. With whatever little force you still had you tried to move him, but his arms held you close. The amount of cum he was expelling into your poor cervix was inhumane.

Jayce’s member kept pulsating a minute or two after you had come. You and Viktor remained lying in your nest. His other hand crept up to your face and his thumb traced over your cheeks.

Love.

That was the spark behind his gaze.

You had no time to adjust before Jayce’s cock left your hole and was immediately substituted by Viktor’s. Indeed they did not let a single drop leak.

A different kind of fullness engulfed you. Your whimpers were silenced by Viktor’s tongue against your own.

Despite Jayce’s thorough prep, Viktor’s length still managed to get a reaction out of you. His half-formed knot was a welcome addition for your ruined pussy when you thought you could not feel any more full.

Viktor rolled you to your side while pumping into you, not missing a single beat. Jayce, on the other hand, rested for a moment before standing up and going to the bathroom. Most likely to clean himself up.

You turned to look at your mate. He was far more controlled now than you expected for an Alpha in rut. While centered on the pleasure, his eyes did not miss your gaze, opting to keep eye contact with you.

Not once did he expect full submission from you, as typical of others of his denomination. He was just like the time you had met him, sarcastic yet… warm and welcoming, familiar even.

“I did not take you for the family guy, Viktor” Your dry throat desperately needed water now. Maybe after this round you’d get up to find some.

“Shh, shh. Don’t strain yourself” His lips found your cheek and planted a kiss while his knot rubbed against your entrance, not quite in yet.

“I did not think of myself as one either, if I must be honest” His voice came out in huffs, his stamina lower than Jayce’s “-yet everytime I think about our future I cannot help but imagine giving you all you want”

A thrust hit your G-spot and Viktor kept trying to hit that gummy spot again and again.

“While I know not all Omegas want pups, I know yearning. Ghng— and I know that’s what I see in you whenever you think about o- our future” Your whimpers escaped your mouth once more as he continued hitting all the right spots “You don’t have to put your dreams a— ah- aside for our sake. You can ghnn… you can have everything you desire”

His hand moved over to your lower stomach and he pressed over the place where his cock was barely noticeable before pushing his whole length inside. While compassionate with your current sensitivity, he still made sure to rearrange your guts.

“M- ah… Maybe not right now, but we will give you your pups, Omega” He cooed to your ear.

You pressed your cheek to his as you felt his knot catch on the interior ring of your hole. The pulsating member became bigger and bigger until you had to spread your legs further apart, amazed at how big it would get. You couldn’t help but buck into him, your arousal about to give in once more.

His knot finally reached its full size, stretching your gummy walls to their limit and maybe even a little more. Your legs trembled as he kept pumping, even if his movements were futile. You moved your hands over to where he laid his own, surprising yourself by the fullness of your belly pouch.

Your Alpha’s hands started pawing that spot, almost as if wanting to encourage the seed to take.

Viktor kissed the side of your neck and bit your scent gland as he thrusted into you once more. His knot started pulsating, shooting more of his hot jets of cum into you. You could hardly distinguish whether it was your pussy milking him or the sheer intensity of your third orgasm, but either way you were spent. Your lower regions would need some time to recover from this exploitation.

White spots filled your vision and your ears rang with white noise, you recognized a familiar silhouette approaching quickly to the sight of you.

Jayce’s hands quickly positioned your head over a pillow and brought a glass of water to your lips. Your Beta made sure you drank enough water to not get dehydrated before putting away the glass and concerning himself with your Alpha.

You fell asleep to the sound of your mates covering up your bodies with a blanket and muttering sweet nothings before falling asleep themselves.

…

#viktor arcane #a/b/o dynamics #jayce talis #jayce x reader #viktor x reader #jayce x viktor #jayce arcane #reader insert #omegaverse #pekkwrites #smut

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coven-of-genesis · 29 days ago

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PINK FULL MOON 🌕

April 12 — 8:22 p.m. EST

This Pink Full Moon is bringing that gentle but powerful shift — the kind that whispers rebirth, release, and rise.

Here’s your lunar checklist:

• Burn away the old with some spring cleaning (physically and energetically)

• Bring pink flowers into your space to call in sweetness and softness

• Reflect: What in your life needs balance?

• Ask yourself: What’s ready to transform and soar?

• Journal, set intentions, and connect with your higher self

Let this moonlight be your graduation moment into something brighter, better, and beautifully you.

#pink full moon #full moon checklist #witchblr #witchcore #witchcraft #witchlife #white witch #beginner witch #witch tips #grimoire #spirituality #moon witchcraft #moon witch #book of shadows

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cleaningconnectiondfw · 2 months ago

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The Ultimate Guide to Spring Cleaning

As the flowers bloom and the days grow longer, it’s time to embrace the age-old tradition of spring cleaning. This comprehensive guide will walk you through the process of giving your home a thorough refresh, room by room. Whether you’re a seasoned cleaner or a novice, this article will provide you with valuable insights, practical tips, and clever hacks to make your spring cleaning adventure a…

#Deep Cleaning #home organization #Room-by-Room Cleaning Guide #Spring Cleaning Checklist #Spring Cleaning Tips

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domocleaning1 · 1 month ago

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Spring Cleaning Services Sydney: Refresh Your Home for the New Season

Spring is the perfect time to give your home a deep clean, clearing out dust, dirt, and clutter that have built up over time. Whether you want to freshen up your living space, prepare for the warmer months, or simply enjoy a more organized home, hiring professional spring cleaning services in Sydney can make the process easier and more efficient. In this guide, we’ll explore the benefits of spring cleaning, the services offered, and how to choose the best cleaning company in Sydney.

Why You Need Professional Spring Cleaning Services in Sydney

Spring cleaning goes beyond regular cleaning, tackling hard-to-reach areas and deep-seated dirt. Here’s why hiring professional spring cleaning services in Sydney is a great decision:

Comprehensive Deep Cleaning: Professionals clean every nook and cranny, including hidden spots often overlooked.

Saves Time & Effort: Cleaning an entire house can be overwhelming—experts handle it efficiently.

Health Benefits: Removes dust, allergens, and mold, improving indoor air quality.

Refreshes Your Space: A thorough clean leaves your home feeling fresh, bright, and clutter-free.

Eco-Friendly Options: Many Sydney cleaners use non-toxic and environmentally friendly cleaning solutions.

Best Spring Cleaning Services in Sydney

Here are some of the top-rated spring cleaning services in Sydney, known for their quality, reliability, and customer satisfaction:

1. Jim’s Cleaning Group – Spring Cleaning Experts

Offers detailed deep cleaning services.

Cleans kitchens, bathrooms, carpets, and windows.

Flexible scheduling and affordable pricing.

2. Maid2Match Spring Cleaning

Uses eco-friendly cleaning products.

Provides a 100% satisfaction guarantee.

Online booking with customizable cleaning options.

3. Cleaning Ease – Seasonal Cleaning Specialists

Specializes in thorough home cleaning.

Covers indoor and outdoor cleaning.

Professional and insured cleaners.

4. Paul’s Cleaning Sydney – Deep Cleaning Services

Includes steam cleaning for carpets and upholstery.

Targets dust, mold, and bacteria buildup.

Affordable rates with great customer feedback.

5. Whizz Spring Cleaners

Offers quick, on-demand cleaning services.

Covers home and office deep cleaning.

Background-checked and fully insured cleaners.

Services Included in Spring Cleaning

Professional spring cleaning services in Sydney provide a comprehensive range of services to refresh your home. Here’s what you can expect:

1. General Deep Cleaning

Dusting and wiping down all surfaces.

Vacuuming and mopping floors.

Cleaning baseboards, light fixtures, and ceiling fans.

Removing cobwebs and disinfecting surfaces.

2. Kitchen Cleaning

Scrubbing countertops, sinks, and stovetops.

Deep cleaning ovens, microwaves, and refrigerators.

Wiping down cabinets and pantry shelves.

Degreasing range hoods and exhaust fans.

3. Bathroom & Toilet Cleaning

Scrubbing sinks, tubs, showers, and toilets.

Removing mold, limescale, and soap scum.

Polishing mirrors and fixtures.

Disinfecting tiles and grout cleaning.

4. Carpet & Upholstery Cleaning

Vacuuming carpets and rugs.

Steam cleaning and stain removal.

Deodorizing upholstery and furniture.

5. Window & Glass Cleaning

Streak-free cleaning of windows and glass doors.

Wiping down window sills and frames.

Cleaning mirrors and glass tabletops.

6. Outdoor & Balcony Cleaning

Sweeping and mopping balconies and patios.

High-pressure washing of driveways and exterior walls.

Cleaning outdoor furniture and BBQ areas.

How to Choose the Best Spring Cleaning Service in Sydney

With many spring cleaning services in Sydney, finding the right one can be overwhelming. Here are some tips to help you decide:

Check Reviews & Testimonials – Look for positive customer feedback on Google and social media.

Compare Prices & Services – Get quotes from multiple companies and compare their offerings.

Ask About Cleaning Products – Choose a company that uses safe and eco-friendly products.

Verify Insurance & Credentials – Ensure the service provider is licensed and insured.

Confirm Availability & Customization – Select a cleaning service that fits your schedule and needs.

Final Thoughts

Spring is the ideal time to refresh your home, and hiring professional spring cleaning services in Sydney ensures a thorough and stress-free deep clean. Whether you're looking to remove dust, eliminate allergens, or simply give your home a fresh start, experienced cleaners can handle the job efficiently.

If you’re ready to transform your home this season, book a reliable spring cleaning service in Sydney today and enjoy a spotless, refreshed living space!

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sevasey51 · 1 month ago

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Five Minutes of Quiet

Summary: It’s been a long, difficult day for Y/N Casey. With her seizures ramping up and Jay doing everything in his power to keep her safe and stable at home, the weight of constant vigilance has begun to wear him down. Recognizing the toll it’s taking, Connor Rhodes—Y/N’s neurologist and close friend—drops by in person to assess her and offer extra support. When Matt and Kelly arrive not long after to check on both Y/N and Jay, Kelly gently nudges Jay outside for a few quiet minutes with their goofy Staffie, Ellie, knowing his brother-in-law needs to breathe before the next wave. Sometimes the smallest moments—five minutes of fresh air, a wagging tail—are what hold everything together.

The house was quiet in that heavy way it only gets after a storm—like the walls themselves were still holding their breath. Y/N was resting in the dim bedroom, curled on her side under her softest blanket, her breathing even but shallow from exhaustion. She hadn’t had another seizure in the last two hours, but she’d had four earlier that day. Cluster activity.

Jay sat in the hallway just outside the bedroom door, legs stretched in front of him, a cup of tea cooling untouched in his hands. He hadn’t left her side for more than a few minutes all day.

When the knock came, he didn’t flinch—he’d been expecting him.

Connor Rhodes stepped in, calm and collected in a hoodie and jeans, carrying his med bag. “Hey, man,” he said gently. “How’s she doing?”

Jay stood, his spine cracking from the position he’d been stuck in. “Stable for now. She’s postictal and wiped, but the last seizure ended clean. She drank half a hydration pouch an hour ago.”

Connor nodded, immediately slipping into doctor mode. “Vitals?”

“BP was low for a while after the second one but came back up. O2’s been holding steady. No rescue meds needed, but I’ve got them on standby.”

Jay rattled the information off like a checklist. Connor gave him a long look.

“You been breathing at all today?” he asked, half-teasing but fully concerned.

“I’m fine,” Jay said automatically. “Just—focused.”

Connor patted his shoulder. “Let me take a look at her.”

By the time Connor finished a full neuro check and made a few quiet notes, Y/N had drifted off again. She murmured something about Jay and soup, and Connor offered a tired smile as he tucked the blanket up to her chin.

“She’s okay for now. Not out of the woods, but she’s resting, and her response time’s better than I expected.”

Jay nodded, slumping a little in relief. “Thanks for coming.”

“I wanted to see her—and you,” Connor said pointedly.

Before Jay could respond, another knock came at the front door.

This time it was Matt—and right beside him, Kelly, with their bounding pitty Ellie on a leash, tail wagging like she ran on rocket fuel. Jay opened the door and blinked at them. “Hey. I didn’t know you were bringing the cavalry.”

Matt gave him a long hug without a word. Kelly offered a crooked smile and gestured toward Ellie. “She insisted.”

Jay smirked weakly, and Ellie wiggled until she could press her whole body against his legs, her tail thumping.

“Y/N?” Matt asked.

“Resting. She had a bad round this morning.”

Connor stepped out of the hallway then, nodding to Matt and Kelly. “She’s stable. We’re just monitoring now. Jay’s been on point.”

Matt gave his brother-in-law a grateful look. “Of course he has.”

Kelly tilted his head. “Speaking of—Jay, come out back with me for a second. You need air.”

“I’m good,” Jay started.

Kelly didn’t move. “I know you’re good. But even good men burn out if they don’t breathe. Five minutes. Ellie’ll get upset if you don’t.”

At that, Ellie barked once, as if backing him up.

Jay sighed and gave in, scratching behind her ears. “Okay, okay. Five minutes.”

The yard was cool and quiet, spring just starting to wake up in the trees. Ellie darted around with a rope toy while Kelly handed Jay a soda from the cooler they’d brought. They stood in silence for a moment.

Then Jay let out a breath that trembled more than he expected.

“She’s not getting better, Kel. We’re managing, but…”

“But you’re scared,” Kelly finished gently.

Jay nodded. “I know how to fight guys with guns. I don’t know how to fight something I can’t see.”

Kelly looked at him with understanding that went beyond words. “You don’t have to fight it alone.”

Jay took a sip of the soda, eyes on Ellie as she flopped in the grass, tongue lolling. “Thanks for showing up.”

“You’d do the same for us.”

Another few minutes passed—quiet, steady. The kind of pause that resets a system.

Eventually, Connor poked his head out the back door. “She’s asking for you.”

Jay stood, heart already tugging toward the house.

Kelly clapped him on the back. “Go. We’ll be here.”

When Jay returned to the bedroom, Y/N blinked up at him, dazed but smiling. “You left for a sec.”

“I had backup,” he murmured, sitting beside her and taking her hand. “But I’m back.”

She squeezed his fingers.

And he knew—even on the worst days, they were surrounded by love.

They’d weather the storm.

Together.

#connor rhodes #matt casey x reader #matt casey x kelly severide #matt casey #kelly severide #jay halstead x you #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead #casey sister #Matt Casey sister reader

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urdreamgirlangel · 13 days ago

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angel's beauty secrets (txt posts)

aesthetics .ೃ࿐

pretty girl content ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Enhance your Whimsy ~ Be more whimsical (part 1) ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Enhance your Whimsy ~ Be more whimsical (part 2) •°. *࿐

spring guide જ

Angel’s Spring Reset: A Full & Complete Guide

Angel’s Spring Cleaning Checklist

other જ

makeup tips, inspo & tutorials

hair tips, inspo & tutorials

nail inspo

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inmyglowupera · 2 months ago

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12 Days until Spring

Spring Reset List

It’s no secret that spring is my favorite season, and I get ECSTATIC when it’s around the corner!🌷

I like preparing myself to meet the season with my best foot forward. So here is usually my little checklist I go through to make sure I’m ready to welcome the season of growth, renewal and change!

🌸 Declutter & Lighten Your Space

✔ Triage your clothes, shoes & accessories—donate or sell anything you haven’t worn in the last year.

✔ Declutter books & miscellaneous objects—use labeled boxes for keepsakes, candles, or seasonal décor.

✔ Sort through your dishes & kitchenware—keep only what you use and donate the rest.

✔ Shred or recycle unnecessary paperwork—no need to hold onto clutter.

✔ Check expiration dates—toss out expired food, medications, and beauty products.

☀️Make your space feel as light and airy as a spring breeze!

🌸 Deep Clean & Refresh

✔ Dust & disinfect surfaces.

✔ Wipe down windows & mirrors for that fresh spring sunlight.

✔ Sweep, vacuum & mop—especially in forgotten corners!

✔ Take out the trash & replace old sponges, cloths, or air filters.

✔ Change your bedding—nothing like fresh sheets for a seasonal reset!

✔ Do your laundry—wash winter coats before storing them away.

✔ Open your windows to let in fresh air & natural light.

✔ Light a scented candle or diffuse essential oils—something floral, fresh or citrusy to match the season.

🧼 It’s not for nothing that we call it spring cleaning.

🌸 Inspire & Reflect

✔ Journal about your winter wins—what did you accomplish these past few months? How can you build on that?

✔ Set realistic goals for spring—visualize who you want to be by summer.

✔ Challenge yourself to step outside your comfort zone—what’s one new thing you can try this season?

🌸 Get excited with little changes!

✔ Rearrange furniture for a fresh vibe.

✔ Experiment with a new outfit style.

✔ Research seasonal fruits & vegetables and try 1-2 recipes with fresh spring produce.

✔ Read a book in a genre you don’t usually pick up.

✔ Try a new café, park, or walking route—switch up your daily scenery.

✔ Experiment with a new hairstyle or a new skincare routine.

✔ Introduce a new scent into your life—whether it’s a signature spring perfume, body lotion, or home fragrance.

🌸 Digital Reset

✔ Declutter your phone—delete unused apps, clean up your photos, and organize notes.

✔ Tidy your email inbox—unsubscribe from newsletters you never read.

✔ Sort your social media—unfollow accounts that drain your energy or don’t align with your current mindset.

✔ Refresh your budgeting system—review your spending, set new financial goals, and maybe plan a little spring treat!

✔ Curate your content—update your watchlist, reading list, and playlists with things that inspire you.

🌸 Reconnect & Rebalance

✔ Plan a small spring gathering—a picnic, brunch, or cozy dinner with loved ones.

✔ Check in with friends & family—reach out to someone you haven’t spoken to in a while.

✔ Schedule a self-care day—refresh your skincare, do a home spa night, or treat yourself to something simple but meaningful.

✔ Dedicate time to movement & nature—whether it’s a new workout, daily walks, or just soaking up the sunshine.

✔ Reassess your work/life balance—is there a way to bring more joy into your daily routine?

🌸 Celebrate the Season!

✔ Write down 3 things you love about spring—flowers blooming? Longer days? That fresh spring air?

✔ Treat yourself to something seasonal—fresh flowers, a new journal, or even a pastel outfit.

✔ Capture a small spring moment—a photo of blooming trees, a quiet morning coffee, or your first picnic of the year.

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creepinonmen · 2 months ago

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On a crisp February morning in 2025, Marat, the meticulous and well-respected manager of the Chick-fil-A nestled within the Mall, stood beside his car in the dimly lit parking lot, adjusting the collar of his crisp gray uniform shirt. The fabric felt cool and smooth against his fingertips, its slightly starched texture brushing lightly against his skin, while the red Chick-fil-A logo embroidered on his chest pricked faintly under his touch, its raised threads catching the faint, silvery glow of the overhead sodium-vapor lights. His black dress shoes, polished to a mirror shine, pressed firmly against the damp pavement, the leather soles gripping the slick surface with a satisfying, tactile resistance, their rhythmic clicks echoing sharply in the pre-dawn stillness, mingling with the faint, gritty sensation of gravel underfoot. He glanced at his watch—6:45 AM—its smooth, cool metal face pressing against his wrist, the ticking hands vibrating ever so slightly against his skin, and a flicker of anxiety tightened the knot in his stomach, the tension coiling like a physical weight in his gut. He was running a few minutes late for his shift, a rare occurrence for the punctual 20-year-old, and the crisp, cool air nipped at his ears, its chill seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt, raising goosebumps along his neck.

Marat balanced a clipboard under his arm, its edges pressing into his side, the stiff paper crinkling faintly against his uniform, the corner digging lightly into his ribs as he shifted. Its pages, filled with the day’s schedule scrawled in his neat handwriting, felt slightly rough under his fingers, the ink smudging just a touch with the warmth of his skin, while inventory notes in blue ink and a checklist for the morning rush—prepping the kitchen, briefing his team of cheerful employees, ensuring the signature chicken sandwiches and waffle fries would flow seamlessly to hungry customers—brushed against his thumb, their texture evoking the savory, oily memory of frying chicken that lingered in his mind. The familiarity of the routine was a comforting anchor, but today, an inexplicable chill prickled at the back of his neck, the sensation like tiny, sharp needles dancing across his skin, a whisper of unease he couldn’t shake, underscored by the faint, metallic tang of anxiety coating his tongue and the slight, clammy dampness of his palms.

He parked near the service entrance, a nondescript door tucked between loading bays and maintenance corridors, its chipped, gray paint rough and cold under his fingertips, the surface flaking slightly as he pressed against it. His breath fogged in the cool air, a soft, warm plume that brushed against his lips before dissipating, carrying the faint, clean scent of winter lingering into spring. As he hurried toward it, the clipboard now clutched in one hand, its edges biting into his palm, the paper rustling with each step, the mall’s early morning stillness enveloped him—until a sudden, darting shadow erupted from behind a nearby dumpster, its movement swift and predatory, accompanied by the scuff of rubber soles on concrete and a faint, gritty vibration through the ground beneath his feet.

Before Marat could turn or cry out, a powerful arm snaked around his chest, the fabric of his uniform tightening against his skin, the cotton stretching and pulling at his shoulders, yanking him backward with brutal force. The clipboard slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground with a sharp, metallic ping that reverberated through his bones, papers fluttering like startled birds across the pavement, their edges whispering against the concrete, the thin sheets brushing his ankles as they fell. The air rushed from his lungs, leaving a burning ache in his chest, the pressure of the arm squeezing tighter, the fabric of the attacker’s sleeve rough and abrasive against his back. He was dragged into the dimly lit corridor of an unused office space adjacent to the mall’s service area, the concrete floor scraping against his shoes, the leather soles skidding with a screeching friction, his heels dragging, the resistance jarring his legs.

The space smelled of stale coffee, its bitter, acrid undertone mixing with the musty, dusty sensation of neglect, the air thick with the faint, oily tang of decades-old machinery oil that seemed to cling to his skin. The attacker, cloaked in a black hoodie and a ski mask that revealed only cold, unblinking eyes, shoved Marat forward into a small, claustrophobic office. The room was a relic of disuse, its single desk buried under a chaotic pile of yellowed manuals, their pages brittle and crackling faintly when disturbed, the edges cutting lightly into his fingers as he instinctively reached out, forgotten files with the faint, sour slickness of mildew, and cracked coffee mugs streaked with dried, brown stains that felt gritty under his touch. A flickering fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting jagged shadows across the scuffed linoleum floor, its harsh, electric hum grating on Marat’s nerves, the vibrations tingling through his skull, punctuated by the occasional pop and sizzle of a dying bulb that sent a sharp, electric jolt through the air.

Marat stumbled, his polished shoes skidding on the slick floor, the leather soles squeaking with a high-pitched friction, the cold, smooth linoleum pressing against his soles as he lost his balance. His heart hammered against his ribcage, the thudding pulse loud in his ears, mingling with the rasp of his quickening breaths, the air catching in his throat, dry and scratchy. He twisted and struggled to break free, the fabric of his uniform shirt stretching taut, the buttons pressing painfully into his chest, the cotton chafing against his skin, but the attacker’s grip was unyielding, their gloved hands rough and cold against his arms, the leather gripping tightly, its texture slick and unyielding, squeezing his biceps with a bruising intensity.

With a rough shove, the masked figure bent Marat over the desk, pinning him down with a knee pressed into his back, the pressure sending a sharp, aching pain through his spine, the wood cool and splintered against his stomach, its rough surface scratching his skin through his shirt. The edge of the desk dug painfully into his abdomen, the hard, unyielding edge pressing into his flesh, his uniform shirt riding up slightly to expose a sliver of pale, goosebump-covered skin, the air chilling it instantly, the cold biting into his exposed flesh. Marat’s breath hitched, a muffled whimper escaping through his nose, the scent of his own fear—sharp and metallic—mingling with the dusty odor of the room, the vibration of his rapid heartbeat pulsing against the desk. He felt cold metal snap around his wrists—handcuffs locking his hands behind his back with a metallic click that echoed in the empty space, the metal biting into his skin, leaving a stinging, raw sensation, the cuffs’ edges rubbing against his bones, the cold seeping into his flesh.

Panic surged through him, hot and suffocating, as he opened his mouth to scream for help, his voice rising in desperation, the sound caught in his throat, tasting of bile and terror, the dryness scraping against his palate. But his cry was cut short. A damp rag, reeking of musty fabric and faint detergent—its texture rough and slightly gritty—was shoved into his mouth, forcing his jaw wide, the fabric abrasive against his tongue, its dampness clinging to his lips, heavy and uncomfortable. Before he could spit it out, the attacker wrapped a strip of silver duct tape around his head, the adhesive pulling at his skin, sealing his lips shut with a sticky, tearing sensation, the tape’s edge digging into his cheeks, its texture tacky and unyielding against his flesh. His muffled protests dissolved into frantic, shallow breaths through his nose, the air whistling faintly, his chest heaving as his wide, hazel eyes—glistening with unshed tears—darted around the room, the lashes brushing against his skin with each blink, searching for an escape, a savior, anything. The fluorescent light buzzed louder, its harsh, electric drone mocking his terror, the vibrations tingling through his skull, the shadows dancing across the walls like living things, their edges sharp against his peripheral vision.

With a swift, almost casual motion, the attacker flipped Marat onto his back, the desk creaking under the shift in weight, the wood groaning softly, its rough surface scraping against his spine, the splinters catching on his shirt. Marat’s cuffed hands were pinned beneath him, the metal biting deeper into his wrists, the sharp pain radiating up his arms, the cuffs’ edges grinding against his bones, while his legs dangled over the edge, his polished shoes scraping against the floor, the leather soles scuffing on the linoleum with a faint, grating friction, the cold surface pressing against his heels. His uniform shirt, now slightly wrinkled and damp with sweat, clung to his torso, the cotton chafing against his skin, the red logo distorted by the pressure, its raised threads pressing into his chest. The masked figure loomed over him, their gloved hands—black and untraceable, the leather creaking faintly with each movement, its slick surface sliding against his skin—reaching down to trail over his chest. The touch was slow, deliberate, fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt, the cotton rasping softly, lingering near the buttons, the hard plastic pressing into his skin, before tracing downward, over the flat plane of his stomach, the pressure light but invasive, raising a shiver that prickled his skin, the fabric bunching slightly under the touch. Marat’s heart pounded wildly, the thundering rhythm deafening in his ears, the pulse vibrating through his chest, his fear escalating as the attacker’s hand slid around, gripping his backside through the taut fabric of his dark polyester trousers, the slick, synthetic material bunching and pulling tight, its smooth surface sliding against his skin, the pressure firm and possessive, sending a wave of nausea roiling through his stomach, the fabric chafing slightly against his thighs.

The attacker’s voice, low and chilling, cut through the silence like a blade, its timbre rough and distorted, carrying a faint, metallic edge from the mask, the sound vibrating against his ear, the warmth of their breath brushing his cheek, sour and heavy. “I’ve had my eye on you for a long time, Marat,” they whispered, the words brushing against his ear, their breath warm and sour, the moisture clinging to his skin, laced with an unsettling mix of obsession and menace. The sound sent a shiver down his spine, raising the hairs on his neck, their texture bristling against his collar, their familiarity unnerving—had he seen this person before? Known them somehow? But the mask obscured any hint of identity, leaving only those cold, steely eyes boring into his own, wide with terror, the lashes brushing against his cheeks as tears welled, their hot, salty tracks trickling down his face, stinging his skin.

Marat’s breaths came in short, ragged gasps, the air whistling through his nose, the cold, dry sensation scraping against his nostrils, carrying the faint, musty scent of the rag still stuffed in his mouth, its rough texture pressing against his tongue, the dampness seeping into his gums. His muffled whimpers—soft, desperate sounds—barely audible beneath the duct tape, vibrated against his lips, the adhesive pulling painfully at his skin, its tacky grip tightening with each movement, the tape’s edge digging into his cheeks. He squirmed, his legs kicking weakly, the soles of his shoes scuffing against the floor, the leather groaning, the cold linoleum pressing against his heels, but the attacker’s weight held him firm, their knee pressing harder into his thigh, the fabric of their pants rough and abrasive against his skin, the pressure bruising, the bone aching under the force.

Then, with a chilling deliberateness, the figure reached into their pocket, the fabric rustling faintly, the texture brushing against his leg, and pulled out a syringe. The needle glinted under the flickering light, its steel tip catching a sharp, cold gleam, the barrel filled with a clear, ominous liquid that felt slick and cool against his skin as it pressed briefly against his arm before the plunge. The scent was sterile and chemical, cutting through the room’s musty air, its sharpness stinging his nostrils. Marat’s eyes widened further, the whites showing, his muffled protests growing frantic as he thrashed against the cuffs, the metal clinking softly, the edges grinding into his wrists, the pain radiating through his bones. But it was useless.

The attacker leaned closer, their masked face inches from his, the fabric of the ski mask brushing against his cheek, its rough, scratchy texture catching on his stubble, carrying the faint, oily scent of sweat and wool that clung to his skin. With a swift, brutal motion, they plunged the needle into Marat’s shoulder, the sharp sting radiating through his flesh, the metal piercing deep, followed by a cold, burning sensation that spread through his veins like ice water, numbing his limbs, the liquid seeping into his muscles, the pressure heavy and foreign. His vision blurred at the edges, the fluorescent light above fracturing into a kaleidoscope of colors, its harsh buzz fading into a distant hum, the vibrations tingling through his skull. His limbs grew heavy, his struggles weakening, the cuffs digging deeper into his wrists, the leather of his shoes pressing uselessly against the floor, and his wide, fear-filled eyes—glistening with tears that now spilled over, hot and salty against his cheeks, stinging his skin—locked onto the attacker’s for a final, desperate moment, the lashes brushing against his cheeks with each blink. Then, slowly, inevitably, his eyelids fluttered, the lashes dragging against his skin, his pupils dilating as they rolled back into his head, the world narrowing to a pinprick of light before darkness swallowed him whole, the scent of fear and chemicals lingering in his nostrils, the cold metal of the cuffs and the slick, synthetic polyester of his trousers the last sensations against his skin. Consciousness slipped away, leaving him at the mercy of his mysterious captor in the abandoned office, the mall’s morning bustle—oblivious to his plight, its distant chatter and the savory, oily aroma of frying chicken drifting faintly through the walls, the scent teasing his unconscious mind—beginning to stir just beyond the shadows.

#gay #twink #pretty boy #men in uniform #chick fil a

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reggieswriter · 12 days ago

Text

"Just jot it down."

Word Count: Bitch idk but it's more than 500

A/N: I'd like to say TW warnings of suicide, and more (fyi I'm not suicidal either but this kinda popped into my head)

“Just jot it down.”

That's what my counselor told me at age eleven when I explained quietly that my thoughts were too fast, too dark, and too much for my mind to handle. I had felt like a stranger in my own mind, and I was scared. Instead of helping she sighed and took a peak at me from behind her computer screen. Her fingers paused their typing on the keyboard and the room went quiet before she repeated the phrase again like I hadn't heard her the first time or I was simply a problem to be dealt with.

“Just jot it down.”

After that she promptly wrote me a pass back to class and showed me away like I was a fly buzzing by her ear, pestering her. I had spilled my guts to her and all she did was repeat that stupid phrase all over again. She didn't care. They never seemed to care. If she had taken one moment, one second she would've noticed the pen ink splotches on my fingers and nails from where I had squeezed the pen so hard it broke. I could not just jot it down.

“Just jot it down.”

The use of the word ‘just’ makes it seem simple, easy even. It is not that easy. It is not that simple. Emotions are complicated and humans are even more complex. The word ‘just’ was not even needed for the sentence to be grammatically correct. They add ‘just’ because it's simple for them. They're simpleminded and straightforward with everything. They're logical. The word ‘just’ describes them. They just don't care. They don't own journals filled to the brim with their thoughts and emotions, but neither do I. I just don't get to be the judge, if I don't want others to be my own. I just wish they felt everything I was feeling. I just wish they could hear my thoughts and could piece them together like a puzzle. A puzzle with pieces missing. Pieces of myself missing. I just wish they understood that the way my mind works or doesn't in this case is different, is not simple and easy to be fixed like the word ‘just’. I just wish they cared enough to notice.

“Just jot it down.”

The definition of the word ‘jot’ is

“To write briefly or hurriedly”

When I explained my mind was a mess I meant it. Did they think writing a small part of it would fix it? That jotting a small piece of my mind would cleanse and rid me of the aches I feel in my chest when I sit alone in the dark of my room? My mind is moving fast, so would writing it hurriedly down free me of all my pain? Would I be able to check it off of a checklist as if I was cleaning my room, which by the way I can't even seem to be able to do that either. I am not only a mental mess, but also a physical one as well. The dishes stack, the clothes piles, and my grades drop. I bet you can guess which one they noticed. But maybe I should just jot it down? I am not a task to be checked off a to do list.

“Save her” is not next on your spring cleaning list. I am a person just like you. We are one and the same, but you don't ever notice.

Perhaps you would if I just jotted it down for you to see.

“Just jot it down.”

‘It’ is a flexible pronoun. It can be used in many different ways. For example, “Just jot it down.” It refers to my thoughts. The pieces of me that don't seem to make sense when placed together in my mind. The pieces of me I'm afraid to confront. How something so large and complicated can be compacted into a simple two lettered word is beyond me. Though, nothing seems to make sense to me anymore, and everyone else seems to understand, so I guess I'm the problem. How they used it so casually when telling me what to do must mean I'm the issue. It must really be that easy to write it down, but if that were truly the case then why do I shake and hyperventilate when I stare at the pen and paper? Is it me? Am I the problem? Such a small word. It. Is it me? This time ‘It’ refers to the issue of me not being capable of piercing myself back together. This time ‘it’ is correct. It is me, but it's not like I'm the one that destroyed me to begin with.

“Just jot it down.”

When she said the word down she looked me up and down. I could tell she didn't like something about me. Maybe my clothes or my chopped haircut. Either way, I could tell. Not by the scoff or the roll of her eyes, but by the downturn of her lips. She went back to her computer almost immediately afterwards but the word down rang through my head even when she was no longer looking at me anymore.

The word down carries a negative connotation. If you don't know what that means it means that people tend to associate the word down with negative feelings or emotions. You could say it makes them feel down. Either way, I can't help but relate to the word. It carries all of these negative feelings and even though it has the potential to be a positive word it can't help but make everyone feel negative. It's not on purpose yet everyone pushed it away to prevent any feelings that could arise. Instead of helping by changing the context of a sentence they leave. Like always.

“Just jot it down.”

Maybe I did. Maybe I already have, but it doesn't matter because no one will ever read this. No one will ever take the time to analyze and scan each word's worth. Not like I have. Not like I just did. So maybe, just maybe when I sit down to write my goodbye letters I'll be able to do it finally.

I'll be able to just jot it down.

TAGLIST: @jessherrin @abs0l3m @a-chance-of-raine @sweetest-thing-in-hell @n1xxi3

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