#and i love the way my voice sounds when i get sick

[hoffmansgirl]

MILLION DOLLAR MAN. ━ father charlie mayhew ⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 ✿ ⋆˚⊹

∙ a/n. took ages but it's based on this thought of mine & a lana del rey song (loosely) ♡ this shit is really kinky & not for everyone, PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! i'm sorry...

∙ warnings. PURE FILTH. i mean it. corpses, death, all that grotesquerie stuff... slight masochism!? charlie and reader are equally mentally ill... really. blood kink, blasphemy, charlie refers to himself as "god", praise, oral (f&m receiving), multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, knife play, whipping, crying, blood once again. ∙ wc. 3534

❝ 𝕿hat's... beautiful", you smiled, staring at Charlie's work; twelve corpses ━ homeless people, to be exact ━ positioned to resemble The Last Supper.

You couldn't help but smirk at the sight; the man Charlie put in the middle was positioned in a way that represented Jesus. You knew him; he had asked you for money many times, claiming he was hungry ━ you had suspected he spent every penny on meth, though.

You believed Charlie wholeheartedly when he claimed that all he did was for greater good. You weren't scared nor worried ━ if anything, you admired him and his dedication to everything he believed in. You watched him stand in the middle of the abandoned Church, admiring his own work; the image making your heart beat faster. He was covered in blood of his victims, and you should feel ashamed for the heat pooling low in your stomach ━ but you didn't.

Your careful steps echoed in the air as you walked over to Charlie, and he was quick to wrap his arms around you, his chest pressing against your back, covering your little dress with blood in the process.

A rush of adrenaline filled your chest as you hummed, Charlie's touch gentle and soft ━ as you looked at the blasphemous image in front of you, you wondered how'd he get that way. He never talked about his past; saying that all he needed was now, in front of him, clear as day.

"Look at our masterpiece, Angel", his low voice cut through the air like a knife ━ and in the moment you realised that maybe he was worth cutting yourself for.

"Our? I barely did anything", you chuckled, his presence behind you comforting; he was so big, muscular, making you feel safe; how ironic, you thought, looking at the image in front of you.

Charlie's crimson hand lingered on your neck, before he grabbed your chin, making you turn your head towards him.

"You're here, with me", he whispered, his words meaningful, familiar spark in his eyes; the very one that made you fall in love with him. Charlie's thumb rubbed against your lower lip, smearing the blood all over it, adoration overcoming his features as he looked at you. "And it's enough".

You turned to face him fully, taking his thumb into your mouth slowly; Charlie's eyes darkened and he swallowed hard, pressing it down on your tongue. You swirled your tongue around his digit, lapping at the blood, the taste making your head spin. You held onto his forearm, and he pulled you closer, grabbing a fistful of your hair, his sick need matching your own.

Before you knew it, you were pressed flush against the wall with Charlie's lips on yours ━ tongues meeting in a chaotic dance, rolling over each other messily.

"I'd follow you anywhere", you breathed out when he moved down to nib at your neck. He let out a low groan, the sound vibrating against your throat in the most delicious way. "Anywhere".

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?", you chanted, your knees cushioned by the padded kneeler. Charlie hummed softly; your words filled the air like the most beautiful song.

A mix of incense and Charlie's strong cologne reached your nostrils, somewhat comforting and calming as you felt his presence behind you.

"Beautiful", he muttered, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Your heart fluttered at the praise as you shifted, the sheer dress you wore rising up your thighs with the movement. "Go on".

"The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?", your eyes opened, lashes fluttering at the sight of Charlie; he towered over your kneeling form, looking down at you with a hint of awe and adoration in his features. You eyed his chest, covered only by a see-through, white gown ━ he looked like an angel, which, in your eyes, he was.

"And who is your Lord?", Charlie's hand was now in your hair, forcing you to meet his hard, demanding gaze. You meant it when you answered: "You. It's you, Charlie. You're the only God I want to worship".

He expected these words to leave your mouth, but he could never tire of hearing them. You spoke with such confidence, not a trace of regret or fear in your voice, and his his cock twitched at the sight; you were so obedient, so good to him.

Charlie offered you a hand, which you gladly accepted, getting up from the kneeler. Your legs shook slightly as he pulled you close, one of his hands on your face, the other grabbing your hip. His thumb brushed against your cheek, the gesture gentle and loving, his eyes scanning over your face.

"You've been so good for me", he whispered, and you leaned into his touch, pressing your body even closer to his; it simply was never enough. "I love you".

His lips pressed against yours, deliberately and slowly, as if you had all the time in the world. His smell lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Charlie bit your bottom lip, drawing blood in process, lapping at the crimson liquid greedily, careful not to miss a drop. You whined, and Charlie was quick to lift you up in his arms, walking over to the altar.

You tried to deepen the kiss, but Charlie had other plans, dropping you on a wooden chair; the very one he sat in during masses and preaches.

"Greed is a sin", he whispered in a serious tone, brushing his lips against yours for the last time, before he fell to his knees before you. "Patience, my Angel".

You watched with wide eyes and heaving chest as Charlie spread your legs as wide as he could, lifting your dress ━ he gazed up at you, caressing the soft skin of your thighs with his big hands. You shivered when he tugged at the waistband of your lacy thong, and your hips rose up immediately, allowing him to pull it down your legs.

The cold air hitting your ━ now exposed ━ pussy made you gasp, as you clutched the edges of the chair tightly. Charlie chuckled darkly, watching the way your little hole clenched in anticipation.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, pressing soft kisses around your pussy, giving you a sneak peek of what was about to come.

"You're mine to worship", he bit back a moan at the taste of your soft skin, and he didn't even get to the best part yet. "Mine to love", he met your gaze, and you nodded mindlessly, getting lost in his dark irises. "Mine to fuck".

As soon as the words left his mouth, he licked a deliberate stripe from your opening to your clit. Your head fell back, the rush of sitting on the specific chair while having his mouth on you made you feel so powerful. Charlie's tongue moved with purpose, circling around your clit slowly, before sucking it into his mouth. Your breaths came out in shallow gasps, the occasional groans leaving his mouth vibrating against your core, causing you to shake in his grasp.

"Charlie, fuck", you moaned, tugging at his hair, knowing how much he liked it. His eyes fluttered shut as he teased your entrance with the very tip of his tongue, lapping at the arousal that continued to drip out of you. "God, I'm━ I'm sorry, I'm gonna cum", you cried out; the endless flicks of his tongue, the groans leaving his mouth, the sight of his beautiful face between your legs ━ it became too much, fire pooled in your lower abdomen, ready to explode any second now.

Your loud cry echoed across the empty church as you came, and Charlie's eyes snapped open to watch as your face twisted in pleasure, a mixture of curses and shallow gasps leaving your mouth, and he swore he could cum from the sight alone.

He lapped at your pussy, eager to taste every single drop you had to offer. You twitched in overstimulation, slowly coming down from your high, sighing in relief when Charlie moved to kiss your inner thighs lovingly.

Not even five minutes later, you were already in Charlie's room, bloody clothes laying all over the floor; the memory of your latest crime, how you stood by his side the whole time ━ it made Charlie even needier.

You run your hands over his biceps at which desperate groan left his mouth ━ then he was quick to take the butt-less leather chaps and gown off his body before pushing you onto the bed.

Sick smile appeared on Charlie's mouth as he grabbed the metal-covered whip, along with a knife from his drawer; a rush of adrenaline run down your spine at the sight.

You took a second to admire his well-trained body as his back faced you, his muscles clenching as he moved around the room to get everything he needed. You were already breathless, and when he started moving towards you, his gaze predatory and dangerous, you were shaking. Not an ounce of fear in your body as he placed the items on the bedside table, his cock bobbing in the air as he walked; your mouth watered at the sight and his size that never failed to amaze you.

"Get on the floor". The harshness of his voice was enough for you to obey, sinking down on your knees right in front of him. "Worship your man. Let's see if you can handle me", he teased, knowing that in fact, you could, even if you struggled and choked. He challenged you, but you just smiled, knowing that the tables would turn soon enough.

"You know I can, Father", his cock twitched at the nickname ━ before he could respond, you were already grabbing his thighs, face to face with his giant cock, pressing a soft kiss on the tip. He hummed, satisfied, running a hand through your hair, tugging at it, forcing you to open your mouth a little wider. You smirked up at him before obeying, taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue and pressing it against the underside. You hollowed your cheeks, beginning to bob your head, taking more and more of him in the process, getting used to his size slowly but surely.

"Fuck, you have the dirtiest little mouth", Charlie groaned, watching you, beginning to thrust into your mouth as he grew needier. You struggled as he hit the back of your throat, your eyes falling open to look at him. His head fell back, chest heaving with uneven breaths, and you pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you to him, still. You quickly replaced your mouth with your hands, wrapping them around his shaft, jerking him off. Your tongue darted out to lap at his balls, massive and full of cum, and a satisfied moan left your mouth; you loved pleasuring him almost as much as he loved seeing you on your knees for him.

Shameless groan left Charlie's mouth, your small hands around him and your mouth on his balls driving him crazy. "I need to feel you. Now".

Your eyes fell open and you moved to take him in your mouth again, causing Charlie to hiss, taking a mental note to punish you for disobeying him later. Yet he couldn't pull away, not now ━ not when your mouth felt so good, so warm and welcoming. He thrusted his hips lazily, and you stopped your movements, letting him take the lead.

"You fucking love it, don't you? You love choking on my dick. You love letting me use your mouth however I please", he panted, feeling himself getting close, the obscene sounds leaving your mouth only spurring him on further. You tried to nod, which was nearly impossible with the speed in which he was fucking your throat.

"I'm gonna cum. Fuck, swallow it, swallow it all", he hissed, head falling back; your nails digged into his thighs, soft moan leaving your occupied mouth, and that seemed to be his last straw.

His cock twitched, and spurts of his hot cum finally painted your tongue and the back of your throat.

He pulled off your mouth with a swift movement, and you swallowed every single drop, the taste making you whimper, as you tried to catch your breath.

"Good fucking girl. Show me", he grabbed your chin, pressing his thumb against your lower lip; you obeyed, chest heaving with uneven breaths and throat sore, as you sticked your tongue out. His eyes darkened, a satisfied hum leaving his mouth, before he forced you to stand up, only to practically throw you on the bed like a doll.

Charlie grabbed the knife from a nightstand; your eyes widened and your legs closed, a spark of excitement running down your spine.

Charlie spread your legs, kneeling in between them; knife forgotten for just a second as he tugged at your dress, determined to get it off your body. It was thrown on the floor in an instant, and he was already lining himself up with your entrance.

You moaned in unison when his tip stretched you out ━ smug smile adorning his face at the visible impatience building within you.

"You're so tight", he rasped, pressing your thigh against the mattress. You cried out when he buried himself inside of you fully in one, swift movement. Your walls struggled to adjust to his size, and you tried to catch your breath. "So warm. My God. You really are an Angel, aren't you?", Charlie muttered, grabbing the knife while beginning to thrust into you ━ and your pussy clenched at the sight.

Then he pressed the flat side of the knife against your skin; the coldness on your burning skin made you gasp. The feeling of Charlie's thick cock fucking into you over and over again, combined with the thrill of being completely at his mercy making you gush.

"You have no idea how badly I want to cut my name into your skin", he groaned, pressing the blade into your skin lightly. You gripped at the sheets and your head fell back. The sound of your skin slamming together filled the room, along with your cries, and Charlie's loud breathing.

"Do it", you begged, and Charlie's hand wrapped around your throat, cutting your airflow in an instant.

You should be scared; he was the one having all the control, and, most importantly, he held the knife against your skin. Yet, in your sick mind, there was no room for fear ━ not when he slammed into you as if his life depended on it, mumbling incoherent praises right above you.

The truth was, you had all the power over him; he sacrificed everything for you, only for you.

So when the blade pressed into the skin on your chest, cutting through it, some blood flowing out of the wound ━ all you did was moan, feeling your orgasm taking over you slowly ━ and Charlie's hand left your throat, letting you take a deep breath.

"I'm going to cum", you cried out, the sharp sting of where he cut a big C into your skin leaving you whimpering.

Your blood covered his chest and stomach as he leaned down to press his forehead against yours, running the flat side of his knife over your cheek. The pain combined with pleasure of his restless thrusts sent you spiralling, and your back arched into the air as you soaked his cock.

"Good fucking girl. Come on, give me everything you got", he talked you through the waves of pleasure, sick smile on his face as he watched you cry from overstimulation. You took a second to calm down, enjoying the way he was balls deep inside you, pressing wet kisses down your neck. His hips grinded against yours involuntarily when he reached the bloody C carved out on your chest; he greedily licked at the wound, groaning at the taste.

You whimpered, letting him clean you of your own blood, before you gained enough strength to push him back against the bed, sinking down on his cock.

Charlie's eyes widened ━ he was partially surprised at your sudden dominance; he wouldn't let you do it often; but this time, it just felt right.

You lifted yourself enough to reach the whip from the nightstand. Charlie understood; he understood immediately, sitting up, as you sink down on his thick cock yet again. Some more blood flowed down your body, and he was unable to look away, his eyes almost pleading.

"How many?", you asked casually, although your voice was strangled, your cunt spasming around him in anticipation.

But there was no answer from him. So, smiling wildly, you swinged and whipped his back; the metal cutting through his skin.

Charlie cried out, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips. The pain left him trembling, and you were quick to press a soft kiss against his lips. Charlie responded immediately, whimpering into your mouth, his hips snapping upward to meet yours.

"I asked you a question", you whispered, tugging on his hair.

"I... Five. Angel━ J-Just move", he pleaded, and you smiled sweetly; the contrast between the delicious roll of your hips and the whip cutting through his skin yet again made him lightheaded, and he only imagined how much blood flowed from the wounds.

"You're doing so good for me", you praised, beginning to ride him in an inhuman speed, switching between grinding your hips down and bouncing on his big cock. The stretch made you moan, and Charlie was unable to speak, feeling as if he could cum any second now.

Third whip and he was begging you to stop, yet you knew that's not what he wanted. His eyes pleading and wide, and before he knew it, he was cumming inside of you, biting on your shoulder, a desperate cry leaving his mouth.

"Good boy", and you bounced faster, trying to distract him from the pain as you lashed him for the fourth time. "Doin' so good for me. You need to take this. It's your penance". And he was nodding, knowing you were right ━ and he was ready to take any kind of punishment if it meant he could be with you.

After the fifth and last whip, Charlie fell back on the bed, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. He was paralysed ━ more from the pleasure and overstimulation than pain. You let the whip fall on the floor, giving him a minute to breathe.

But Charlie was needy ━ no, he was desperate to feel you trembling under him. A squeal left your mouth when he lifted you off him, pressing your upper half flush against the bed. You arched your back, dizzy from pleasure and need ━ your hips grinding into the air in search of his cock again.

Charlie plunged into you again with one, swift movement, feeling as if he could cum again just at the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him deliciously.

You were a whimpering mess when he started thrusting into you in an inhuman speed ━ and you were almost convinced that you could feel his cock in your throat from how deep he was.

"Say my name", he demanded, tugging on your hair, yanking your head back to rest against his chest. The change of angle caused you to gasp, and you did exactly what he asked: screamed his name, the sound echoing through the room and corridor. "You're taking me so good", he stilled for a moment, letting you buck back into him, enjoying the way your ass bounced with every movement.

Charlie, unable to control himself, spanked your ass, obsessed with the way your skin got red, the crimson handprints contrasting with your pale skin.

He let you fuck yourself on his cock, a creamy ring appearing at the base ━ his cum leaking out of your used hole with every sway of your hips. You clenched, holding onto his thighs for balance, and Charlie let go of your hair only to tilt your head towards him.

Your clouded eyes met his, and Charlie smiled lovingly, pressing his lips against yours ━ sweetly and gently.

"Cum for me, Angel", he whispered as you grinded your hips down, almost passing out from the intense pleasure. Your skin felt hot, legs ready to give out any second now.

Charlie sensed it immediately, and he helped you by thrusting up into you, meeting you halfway, a satisfied moan leaving both of you.

It wasn't long until he came inside of you, filling you to the brim for the second time. His orgasm triggered your own. Charlie caressed your sides until you stopped shaking, whispering soft praises into your ear.

A few minutes later you were cleaning Charlie's back, muttering occasional "sorry" when he hissed in pain.

"I'm taking you on a trip tomorrow", he said softly, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your delicate hands taking care of his back. You nodded, not pressing any further.

As long as you were with him, nothing else mattered.

hoffmansgirl © 2024

ꗃ ⋆ ࣪ . nicholas chavez masterlist 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ | request here ♡

[ellecdc]

Evan's little freak (affectionate)

prompt: There's something oddly comforting to me about how if I was freaking out about something and they were in their blitzed out state they'd help me calm down while sort of thinking I was a weird freak. - @moonstruckme

poly!rosekiller x fem!reader who is having some sort of mental breakdown [1k words]

CW: reader is having a quasi-panic attack, rosekiller do their best to help but they truly Don't Get It™, they think she's weird but love her anyway

Evan found himself very much unprepared and ill equipped to handle this right now. 

You’d come flying into the flat in a tizzy rambling on and on about some great injustice or upheaval in your life at a million miles an hour without hardly even sparing him or Barty a glance. 

Granted, the second blunt may have been a little much, but he generally did not know how to handle big emotions. The horrified and uncomfortable expression that Barty was wearing told Evan that he, at least, felt the same. Neither boy grew up exactly encouraged to feel their feelings out loud; pushing down all upset didn’t exactly lend itself well to empathy and compassion.

He wondered if he was simply imagining the heavy smoke in the room or if you were just oblivious to it; either way, you were clearly not on the same level as the two boys.

He’d come to the conclusion about two and a half minutes into your tangent that no one was dead or dying, and when he deduced that those were the only scenarios worth this amount of anxiety, he more or less sort of tuned you out; only registering the panicky quality of your voice.

Barty had tried calling your name a few times which only seemed to spur you on and cause Barty to look over at him in a bemused sort of concern. “What the fuck? Are you seeing this?” Barty seemed to be asking. 

I am seeing this, what the fuck, indeed.

“Sugar,” Evan tried in his most authoritative tone, hoping to hell that his words didn’t sound as slow and languid as the felt on his tongue, “you need to settle down.”

That had, apparently, been the wrong thing to say if the way you turned your body towards him with wild eyes and nearly shaking hands meant anything. 

“I can’t!” You shrieked, causing Barty to actually wince at the pitch your voice took. 

“But…why not?” Barty asked cautiously, and you burst into tears.

“Fuck me.” Evan groaned under his breath as he stamped out the end of his blunt; he was clearly done for the day. “Alright, hold on. Let me get my shit together so I can talk some sense into you. Calm down.” 

“I can’t.” You keened, Evan tsked at you. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re wild today.” He commented as he flung open the windows. Barty was already in the kitchen grabbing bottles of water and some snacks; following proper sober up protocol. 

Evan took the time to actually move the ashtray to the opposite side of the room, hoping to have as clear a head as he possibly could to deal with his wound tight little minx. Ruining his high by being all adorable and weird.  You were lucky you were so cute. 

“Treasure, you need to go sit down.” Barty murmured then as you seemed to be frozen in some sort of panicky fright in the centre of the kitchen. “Or maybe light up for a minute…” He added sarcastically under his breath. Unfortunately for Evan, you heard him.

“I can’t do that, Barty! I get paranoid!”

“As opposed to whatever you are right now?” Barty asked incredulously then, and you let out a gut wrenching sob. 

“Okay! Okay, fuckin’ hell. Come here.” Evan called as he sat back down in his chair and beckoned you forward with one impatient hand. 

“This is too much, Sugar.” He chided as he pulled you down onto his lap. “You’re going to make yourself sick.” 

“But-”

“Enough; your only job is to breathe right now, got it?” 

You sucked in a shuddering breath as you nodded; eyes squeezed shut, forcing a steady stream of tears down your cheeks. You looked pitiful. 

“He didn’t say to hold your breath.” Barty commented gently as he sat on an ottoman in front of Evan’s chair and tried to hand each of you a bottle of water - Evan took both. But the breath that escaped your lips was forceful and left you panting for more. “Oi! Not like that, hey. Deeper breaths, Tres.”

“Y/N. Relax, doll. Relax. You’re fine.” Evan chided; his hand resting on your lower back and his thumb drawing circles at the space between the top of your jeans and the bottom of your shirt gave way to skin.

The flat fell quiet save for the sound of your breathing - at first shuddering, then practised and intentional, and finally settling into a more natural cadence - as Evan drew lines up and down your back with one hand and drew circles with his thumb on your knee with the other, and Barty fiddled distractedly with your fingers. 

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered eventually, and both Evan and Barty let out sighs of relief. 

“That was fucking wild, Treasure. Absolutely deranged.” Barty scolded playfully, pulling your fingers to his lips for a kiss.

“Scared the shit out of me, Sugar. I thought someone was dying.” 

“I didn’t mean to worry you…” you offered shyly, shoulders curling in on yourself as if you sort of wanted to disappear. Evan pulled you roughly into his chest and stamped a kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m always worried about you, weird little freak.”

“I’m gonna need like, five more blunts after that. Do I have grey hairs? I feel like I have grey hair now. You’re ageing me, Treasure. You’re sending me to an early grave.” Though you clearly accepted Barty’s teasing for what it was when you returned his kiss fervently. 

“No more blunts.” Evan called as Barty moved to put on a record. “Next time she comes in like a bat out of hell, I would like to have our wits about us. Hm? Give us a fighting chance.” 

“So we’re rawdogging our way through life from now on? Alright, Ev; but if I start having meltdowns like our perfect little freak over there, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself!” 

“....Maybe one blunt a day?” Evan asked you when Barty disappeared around the corner; murmuring the question into the slightly damp hairs at your temple.

“Maybe so.” You agreed with a tired chuckle turned sigh. He couldn’t blame you; if he was tired after all of that, you must be exhausted.

[unhingedangstaddict]

The bucktommy mpreg brainrot is so real wtf. I never thought in a million years I'd write an mpreg fic and well,,,

Here's my latest wip

Tommy was sitting on the bathroom floor next to the toliet again, crying for no reason again. He was so sick of the spontaneous crying and worse he didn’t even know why he was crying. Tommy had cried after the break-up, but he’d mostly stopped after two-ish weeks. He was sick of feeling the way he’d felt all week- horrifically nauseous and tired no matter how much he slept.

Tommy was so caught up in his wallowing and his crying that he didn’t hear Lucy enter the house, didn’t notice her standing in the doorway to the ensuite. He only noticed her when she set a plastic bag from a drug store down at his feet.

Tommy sniffled and looked up at Lucy. “I’m starting to regret giving you a key.” He wiped the tears off his cheeks.

“Is it really so terrible having someone look out for you?” Lucy crossed her arms.

Tommy was quiet.

“Thought so.” Lucy nodded.

Tommy curiously reached for the bag and looked inside.

“First time ever for me, the women's version of something was cheaper than the mens version. It’s the exact same thing, just different colored packaging.” Lucy said nonchalantly.

Tommy hardly registered what Lucy was saying as he plucked the box out of the bag. A three pack of pregnancy tests. In an instant it felt like his world had been flipped on it’s axis.

There was no way this was actually happening, but if he was- if Lucy was right about this, it would make sense. The headaches, the fatigue, the random crying, the nausea and vomiting- morning sickness. Now that Tommy thought about it, it seemed like his sense of smell had maybe been heightened the last week or so too.

“If I’m way out of line here Tommy, just tell me, it’s fine. I’ll keep ‘em for next time I have a scare.” Lucy offered.

Tommy swallowed thickly. His mind and heart were racing. This couldn’t be happening.

“Tommy?” Lucy prompted.

“I don’t know.” Tommy said quietly. Clearly Lucy had been thinking about this at least since they were on the phone not that long ago. Her suggestion to drink something made even more sense now. Tommy couldn’t believe this was his life.

“What- what do you mean you don’t know?” Lucy asked.

“I never uh, I never got tested to see if I’m a carrier.” Tommy couldn't take his eyes off the box of pregnancy tests.

“You’re joking right?” Lucy sounded shocked or maybe even pissed.

Tommy shook his head.

“How could you be so irresponsible?” Lucy questioned. “You- I can’t believe you never got tested. I can understand not getting tested as a kid with your dad being the way he is but Tommy, you’re- you sleep with men! How could you not get tested?”

Tommy spoke with a monotone voice, head clearly elsewhere. “Parents never bothered. Then I was in denial about being gay and thought I could make myself fall in love with a woman. Then it didn’t matter because I was never serious enough to ditch condoms. Then it didn’t matter when I was serious enough to ditch condoms because I was almost exclusively the top and I was too old. The thought never even crossed my mind in all the time I was with Evan.”

“Oh my god Tommy.” Lucy mumbled.

“I know.” Tommy swallowed thickly. “I guess I have to take one of these now, huh?”

“I’d recommend all three, actually.” Lucy told him. “These things aren’t the most reliable, always a chance of false negatives or positives, so it’s best to take more than one test but if you take two and get two different results then you won’t feel any better or worse than you did before taking them, until you take another. So three at once.”

“Sounds like you know from experience.” Tommy looked up at Lucy.

“I’m a woman who does not exclusively sleep with other women.” Lucy shrugged.

Lucy left the bathroom so Tommy could take the tests, and as soon as he was finished he set them on the counter, opened the door for Lucy, started a timer, and sat back down on the floor again, not confident that he wasn’t going to throw up again at any moment.

Lucy came in and sat next to Tommy on the floor. Just by looking at him she could tell he wasn’t in the mood to talk and for the time being she knew everything she needed to know. Tommy hadn’t even thought about the possibility of this so Lucy was certain that Tommy had no idea what he’d want to do about it- if Tommy was pregnant it was undoubtedly Evan’s, and Tommy was scared and heartbroken right now. Instead of talking Lucy just took his hand and held onto it.

Three minutes felt like an eternity, and if it wasn’t for Lucy holding onto Tommy’s hand, he was sure he would’ve completely lost his grip on reality. He distantly heard the timer on his phone going off, followed by Lucy giving his hand a squeeze. Tommy stopped the timer. He couldn’t look at the tests. He couldn’t move. “Can you look?” He rasped.

“Of course.” Lucy said gently. She stood, not letting go of Tommy’s hand and looked at the tests on the counter. There were two visual tests and one digital test with a weeks along indicator.

The visual tests both showed plus signs, meaning the tests were positive.

The digital test read ‘Pregnant 3+’, meaning three or more weeks along.

“Luce?” Tommy’s grip on her hand tightened.

“Positive.” Lucy told him.

“All of them?” Tommy wondered.

“All three.” Lucy nodded.

Tommy nodded slowly. “Okay.” He whispered as tears stung his eyes and quickly began to fall.

Lucy squeezed Tommy’s hand and returned to her spot on the floor next to him.

Tommy pulled his knees to his chest, rested the arm that wasn’t holding Lucy’s hand on his knees, put his head down, and sobbed for so many reasons it felt like there wasn’t even a reason to be crying at all.

[frudoo]

Husband Kyle has my heart

Warnings: Baby is sick (teething). Heavy topics: postpartum depression, allusions to self-harm/suicidal ideation (but none actually). Smut at the end—cunnilingus. Tagging as DDDNE although it’s not a dark!fic. Fem!Reader.

MDNI

Baby boy has not stopped screaming since he woke up at the crack of dawn this morning. The fever and runny nose are making him miserable, and you’re positive he’s trying to cut a tooth with how much he’s been gnawing on your fingers. Kyle, bless him, has been called away to the base since early yesterday, leaving you to care for the unwell infant in your arms all alone. It’s uncertain when he’ll return home. Usually, the work of being a stay-at-home-mom doesn’t bother you, but today just feels overwhelming.

Postpartum hasn’t been the best experience for you and without the usual support from your husband, it feels like your world is caving in and you and the baby you’re supposed to feel an abundance of empathy for are buried beneath the rubble. It makes you feel terrible, because you do love your baby, but every piercing little screech that leaves his tiny throat makes you want to rip your ears out. Setting him down only makes him fussier but your arms are exhausted and your head is pounding.

Defeatedly and with much guilt, you carefully set the fragile boy into his bassinet and shut the door to your bedroom. You turn on the baby monitor but lower the volume so you can make sure he’s alright without having to hear the shrieks. As you sit on the couch, the weight of your stress finally gets to you in the form of an ache in your chest and an abundance of tears bursting from your waterline. Burying your head in your hands, you can’t stop the sobs that escape you. In your grief you don’t hear the front door open or Kyle step inside.

“Fuck, dove, wha’ ‘appened?” Your husband is frantic, tossing aside his duffel bag and rushing to kneel where you sit on the couch.

The sound of his voice startles you, making you jump. Kyle steadies you with two strong hands on your waist, keeping you sat and encouraging you to explain the situation.

“I-I didn’t know what else to do,” you weep, and he cups your face with shaking palms.

“Baby, baby, talk t’me. Wha’s goin’ on?” You know your husband, and you know he’s thinking the absolute worst—it’s evident by the tremble in his voice and the way he yanks up your sleeves to check for injury.

“Did y’take summat? Dove, y’gotta tell me if y’did, now.”

You shake your head vigorously, trying to calm his nerves. It does little to help.

“N-no! The baby, Ky, he hates me!” You wail, grabbing the monitor and shoving it into Kyle’s hand. “I’ve tried- tried everything! Teething gel, Tylenol, d-decongestant salve… he just won’t calm down and I-I know it’s because I-I’m a- I’m a bad mom.”

Kyle’s heart aches at your words, and he makes sure to keep one of your hands in his as he looks down at the screen. The three-month-old is sleeping peacefully, sucking on his thumb without a care in the world. Your husband smiles a little, turning the monitor over to allow you to see the once screeching babe now at peace in his crib. Your eyebrows furrow and you take the device from his hand, raising the volume. Sure enough, tiny snores sound through the speaker and it makes you gasp slightly.

“H-he’s been…” you trail off, not wanting to seem crazy to the man you love. “I swear, he’s been inconsolable-”

“I believe ya, dove. Little guy was jus’ sleepy, yeah?” Kyle softly interrupts, stroking his thumb over the swell of your cheekbone. “He doesn’t hate ya, swee’heart, and you’re sure as hell no’ a bad mum.”

Your husband stands from the floor, carefully helping you off the couch so you stand as well. He nuzzles his nose against yours sweetly but lets you make the first move, chapped lips meeting full, pillowy ones. He allows you to take the lead, never going too far or holding back too much—just giving you the exact amount of comfort you need from him for as long as you desire. He massages your shoulders when you pull away from the kiss with a wet click, rich molasses eyes boring into yours.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, but Kyle shakes his head, swiping your bottom lip with his thumb.

“None o’tha’. Bein’ a mum is ‘ard work and you’re doin’ a bloody brilliant job. M’jus’ sorry I can’t be ‘ere with ya f’all of it.” Kyle whispers, wiping away the fresh tears that spill down your cheeks. “I love y’so much. I don’t tell ya tha’ enough.”

“You do,” you assure him, leaning in for another tender kiss. “I love you, too, Ky.”

“I’m so proud o’ya, dove.”

A kiss…

“My strong, beautiful wife.”

And another.

“Fuckin’ hell of a woman.”

Kyle’s fingertips dance along the sides of your neck, dimpling the flesh just enough to make you gasp.

“Gonna le’ me show ya ‘ow much I appreciate ya?”

Wandering hands move down to grope your full breasts over the milk-stained jumper you wear. You can feel their warmth even through the fabric layer separating skin from skin, and it makes you shudder. His eyes scan your face for any signs of discomfort and you realize you never answered him. Nodding, your fingers tangle into the hem of his shirt, still smelling like heavy machinery and day-old sweat—to you, it smells like heaven. Kyle chuckles, the pads of his thumbs rubbing circles over your pebbled nipples.

“Back on the couch, dove,” he instructs with a grunt, walking you backwards until the insides of your knees hit the cushion.

Instantly he’s on his knees once more, taking his time to push up your sweatshirt and tug off your panties, biting his lip at the sight of your cunt already glistening. Your husband leans in to take a whiff before pressing a long kiss to your labia. His stubble is dewy with your arousal when he pulls back to look up at you.

“Poor thing, so stressed. M’gonna help y’relax, swee’heart.”

Dexterous thumbs spread you open for his enjoyment. At the first lick from your entrance to your throbbing clit the two of you moan in sync. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp as Kyle wraps his lips around your sensitive nub, suckling softly, but the feeling sends electric sparks shooting throughout your body. His hands travel to your thighs and hoist them over his shoulders so that he’s entirely surrounded by you.

“S’fuckin’ sweet,” his voice rumbles against your pussy, the vibrations damn near making you wail.

His hot tongue dips into your clenching hole, gathering your slick to swallow down like honey. You’re already right on the precipice, grinding your hips against his pretty face, and it only encourages him to quicken his ministrations. Kyle drags his slippery tongue back up to your clit, giving it tight circles as he sucks it into his mouth once again. Chocolate eyes stare up at you in a silent plea to give him his fill, let him take you over the edge.

Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, violently, when you cum, heady rasps of pleasure leaving you as you squeeze your eyes shut. He works you through your high, licking and humming and savoring every little tremor that rocks through you. He only stops once your body goes limp, pressing a plethora of kisses along your spent seam as he gently removes your thighs from his shoulders. Kyle stands and carefully guides you to lay on the couch, your head resting on a pillow as he covers you with the blanket that was draped along the back of the furniture.

As if right on cue, the colicky infant starts to cry as soon as you get comfortable. Your heart races as you move to stand, but your husband stops you with a palm on your chest.

“No, dove, y’need ta get some sleep. Stay righ’ ‘ere, and I’ll take care o’the little guy,” Kyle leaves no room for argument, leaning down to press a prolonged kiss to your forehead. “I love ya.”

“I love you, Kyle.”

Sleep comes easy.

[xosamioo]

do u write fluff? enha taking care of the reader while there sick eould be adorable ^_^

𝐎𝐓𝟕 - “𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤”

…fluff & skinship slightly teasing etc. gn! Reader

HEESEUNG

Heeseung had woken up early to take care of you, who had come down with a nasty cold. Despite his bleary-eyed expression and the sleep still clinging to him, he got straight to work. He made a pot of chamomile tea and warmed up a large bowl of soup for you. As you sat sniffling and sneezing on the couch, Heeseung gently tucked a warm blanket around your shoulders and placed the tea and soup within reach for you. He asked you if there was anything else you needed, offering to fetch anything that would make you feel better He stayed with you throughout the day, bringing you water and tissues when needed, and even put on some of your favorite movies to watch together. Every time you coughed or sniffled, he would rub your back or offer you some comfort. He made sure you took all your meds and stayed hydrated, and by the end of the day, you were feeling so much better.

"I'm glad you're feeling a bit better," heeseung said, his voice gentle as he gently ran his fingers through your hair. "It broke my heart to see you feeling so unwell. Just let me know if you need anything else, okay? I'll always be here for you." —

JAY

Jay had been out running errands when you called him to say that you were feeling under the weather. Without hesitation, he rushed over to take care of you. Once there, he quickly put a cool compress on her forehead to help with her fever while he prepared your favorite chicken noodle soup. As you sat on the couch, he sat next to you and played a gentle melody on his guitar and sang quietly along, the sound of his voice and the soft notes soothing and comforting. He also ran to the pharmacy to pick up some medicine for you, and stayed by your side until you were feeling well enough to get some rest.

"Get some rest, love," Jay said, his warm hand holding yours. "I'll be right here when you wake up. I'll take care of you until you're feeling 100% again, I promise." —

JAKE

Jake had immediately left his gaming session with riki to rush over to your place, armed with a basket full of essential items he had picked up on his way there and of course Layla . He set up a warm and comfy spot for you on the couch, and spent the next few hours nursing your fever and treating you like royalty. He made soup, fetched medicine and cooled compresses for you, checked your temperature regularly, and even gave you a gentle head massage to help you relax. He made sure Layla provided some extra cuddles and puppy kisses, too. Jake stayed by your side, comforting and doting on you until you started to feel a bit better.

"Just rest, darling," Jake said, his voice gentle and loving. "I've got everything under control, and Layla and I are gonna make sure you're taken care of. So just relax and get better, alright?"—

SUNGHOON

Sunghoon knew just how to brighten your spirits a little when you were feeling under the weather. He showed up at your doorstep with a bouquet of flowers, a stack of your favorite movies and snacks, and a big smile on his face. He set up a cozy nest for you on the couch and then took over cooking duties, making sure you were properly fed and hydrated. Throughout the day, he made sure to check in on you regularly, offering words of encouragement and providing a warm shoulder to lean on.

"Chin up, pretty," Sunghoon said, his voice soft and comforting. "I know you feel like garbage, but you're gonna get through this. And I'll be here to support and take care of you until you're back on your feet again. Just rest and let me handle everything, okay?" —-

SUNOO

Sunoo arrived at your home with a bag full of essential items he had bought just for you - a new box of cough drops, a cozy blanket, a couple of your favorite snacks, and face masks. He made you a warm cup of herbal tea and spent the day with you bed rotting and watching kdramas making sure you got plenty of attention and care, and offering comfort when needed.

"Don't worry, baby," Sunoo said with a bright smile. "I've got you covered. I'll take care of everything so you can focus on getting better. And if you need anything else, just say the word, okay?"—

JUNGWON

Jungwon showed up at your doorstep with a care package in hand. He had packed everything needed for a day of rest and relaxation, from your favorite movie to warm blankets and soup. As the two of you spent the day together, Jungwon took over any housework that needed to be done, so you could focus entirely on feeling better. He kept you company and entertained with endless conversations that made you laugh uncontrollably, and when the time came, he tucked you in for a well-deserved nap.

Before you dozed off, he leaned over and kissed your forehead gently. "Sleep well, love," he whispered. "I've taken care of everything, so just relax and let your body heal. I'll be right here when you wake up." —-

NI-KI

riki had no qualms about diving into the role of caregiver, bringing with him a whole arsenal of items he thought might help you feel better - from his secret stash of candies and your favorite comfort food, to extra blankets and his plushies. He spent the day making sure you were comfortable and entertained, offering to watch movies, play games or simply snuggle up in bed together and slightly teasing you as well telling you that you looked ruff. Riki’s energy and enthusiasm were infectious, and by the end of the day, your spirits were lifted and you were feeling a bit more energized.

Riki leaned in and kissed you softly on the forehead. "You're stuck with me until you feel better, baby" he said with a playful smile. "So just rest up and let me take care of you, okay? I've got you- YOU GOT SNOT ALL OVER MY PLUSHI-" —-

Authors note: first fluff and ot7 post hope you guys liked it 🎉🩶

© xosamioo 2024 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[wosowffc]

CLUTCHING

Tw- asthma

Steph had been your mum for the last while after both being called for the World Cup along with Kyra who you had become really really good freinds with. It was you first mitildas camp and they really helped you settle in, your only young at 17 years old so you were thankful to have soemone there for you who you learnt to trust.

The last night at the hotel together before people slowly left ready for their flights had been spent with a massive take away, board games, movies and games you loved every part of it.

There was a point through the night where you had to step aside heading up to your room with out your knowledge Steph and Kyra had followed you. You felt the squeeze on your chest when a struggling cough tried to get out. Leaning against the wall in the hallway with your shoulder you felt two hands touch your back and arm one was Steph and one was Kyra.

"Are you sick, you should have told us yn" Steph said in her concerned voice trying to get a full view of my face as Kyra didn't really know what to say.

"I'm fine" I wheezed back breathlessly. "You don't sound fine yn" Kyra found words and with that you took one step before grabbing stephs arm and start having a coughing fit which ends with you on the floor continuously coughing in a strangled way.

"Kyra grab water in my room second on the left door it open" Steph instructs holding you in her arms.

"As-ive got-" is what your croak out to Steph trying to breath which isn't going very well. Your hands are shaking in fact your whole body is, you clammy and pale trying to guro steph in anyway needing a sence of comfort

"Yn hey focus, focus on me. Yn have you got asthma, do you have an inhaler? Yn?" She tried to tilt your head to try clear ur airways in anyway after she said this you tiredly nod.

"I'm....am I...die" your vison is leaving as fog surrounds your eyes. "I've got you,KYRA COME HERE QUICK" she shouts as Kyra comes running

"HER ROOM GO LOOK FOR HER INHALER CHECK EVERYWHERE I CANT LEAVE HER" she shouts to Kyra a few doors down with urgency.

You vison had gone and you were starting to slip into unconsciousness. You hadn't had an attack in about half a year and now your on a hotel hallways floor with Steph wrapped behind you tapping your face hearing her telling you to try slow down your breathing and that's it it's all black

"That's it come on it's ok" your eyes start to flicker you make sence of the last few moments Steph has your inhaler in your lips and she presses it each breath while Kyra stand worried hitting her nails and rubbing your arm.

"M'sorry" is all you get out, your tired but don't want them to be mad about ruining the night.

After a few more minutes Kyra had called the medics who give you some oxygen from a tank and said to take it easy but that was the last thing you wanted to do, this was your first camp and you already ruined the most fun day for Steph and Kyra.

"Can you help me backdown stairs...I want to be with everyone not ruin your night" you looked the floor as your controlled your breathing. The girls exchanged a look and a bit later they had slowly taken you back down once on the sofa tiredness over came you and you fell asleep on Steph.

[sicknessbysalem]

please please please write a follow up to the soren fic you just posted… that sickness was brutal for soren and i would love to see how it hits lex… only if youre up for it but i would love to see it

ask and you shall receive (@simplysickness too)!

this is a continuation of this fic but they do not need to be read in order (that's just for the lovelies who want to see sick soren)

if you have anymore requests/comments/etc., send them my way!

tw for emeto, fevers, hiding illness, mentions of chronic nausea, more emeto

The bus rumbled along the highway, the faint vibration of the road beneath them a constant, soothing hum that settled over the band’s travel-weary bodies as they headed toward the next stop on the tour.

Soren leaned against the back of the couch in the common area, a cup of ginger tea cradled in his hands, his body still recovering from the relentless stomach bug that had hit him hard over the past couple of days. The tea’s warmth was comforting, the faint scent of ginger calming in a way that eased the residual queasiness that lingered in his stomach, a dull ache that reminded him he wasn’t entirely back to himself just yet. Lex had given him some when he first woke up and it worked wonders, but Soren was drinking this mug far slower, preoccupied by watching his fiancé, papers next to him and his laptop on his legs.

Across from him, Lex sat curled into one of the worn leather seats, his long, dark hair falling loosely over his shoulders, his gaze drifting toward the window as the familiar stretch of highway rolled by. Soren could see the faint shadows under Lex’s eyes, the way he seemed to be holding himself a bit more stiffly than usual, his movements careful, measured, as though he were trying not to disturb some discomfort lingering beneath the surface. But when Soren’s gaze lingered, Lex caught his eye, offering a faint, reassuring smile, a small, practiced gesture that seemed almost too casual, too easy.

"You enjoying the show, for as much as you've been watching me?" Lex teased, but even his voice sounded different. Slightly dull, detached. It hardly resembled Lex's normal teasing.

Lex had always been adept at hiding his discomfort; Soren knew that better than anyone. But now, after having spent the past few days leaning on Lex, relying on his quiet, steady care through the worst of the stomach bug, Soren had become more attuned to the subtle shifts in Lex’s demeanor, the small, nearly imperceptible signs that hinted at a discomfort Lex wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

"Did you sleep at all while I was sick?" Soren asked, "Actually, fuck the virus, when was the last time you slept, period?"

"I slept the other night," Lex shrugged, "And dozed off a bit yesterday."

"Sitting on the floor to stay in my personal space and happening to be knocked out against the bed hardly counts." Soren said, "Seriously, babe, you need to sleep."

"I know, I know," Lex said, "But we're on tour. My sleep schedule gets more fucked. And you weren't feeling well, and whether you want me to or not, to me you and making sure you're okay is much more important. Speaking of, how are you feeling?"

“I'm fine. Besides, the tea’s helping,” Soren murmured, offering a faint smile as he lifted his cup, taking a slow sip as though to reassure Lex—and himself—that he was, in fact, feeling better.

But his gaze drifted to Lex’s face, catching the faint tension in his expression, the way he shifted slightly, his hand drifting to his stomach in a small, almost absent-minded gesture. “You sure you're feeling alright?” he added softly, his tone casual, careful, a gentle question that didn’t press, that allowed Lex the space to answer honestly.

Lex cleared his throat, a soft, quick sound that Soren recognized as more than just a simple gesture—it was a tic, a quiet habit Lex had whenever he was fighting nausea, an unconscious movement that seemed to ease the discomfort, if only by a fraction.

“Yeah, just… I think it’s the bus,” Lex replied, his voice light, casual, though there was a faint, underlying edge to his tone, a forced brightness that lingered beneath the words. "I've been reading all morning, maybe that wasn't the best."

Soren raised an eyebrow, his gaze softening as he took in the small, subtle shifts in Lex’s posture, the way his hand lingered near his stomach, his fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of his shirt as though to ground himself, to keep the nausea from surfacing entirely.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice gentle, a quiet, unspoken question lingering in the air, a reminder that he was here, that he was willing to help, that Lex didn’t have to carry the discomfort on his own.

Lex managed a faint smile, his gaze dropping as he nodded, his hand drifting to the table in front of him, his fingers tapping lightly against the wood in a small, absent-minded rhythm.

“Yeah, just… you know, might be the usual,” he murmured, a faint chuckle slipping into his tone, a small, careful attempt to brush off the discomfort, to keep Soren from worrying. “It’s just—” he hesitated, swallowing, his voice faltering as he cleared his throat again, the sound quiet, barely noticeable, but enough to catch Soren’s attention, to make him wonder if there was more beneath the surface, if Lex was holding back, trying to keep the discomfort hidden.

They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the bus filling the air, the familiar, steady rhythm grounding them both, even as the quiet tension lingered, a subtle undercurrent that seemed to pulse between them, unspoken but present, a reminder that they both knew each other’s tics, each other’s small, silent ways of coping with discomfort.

Lex’s hand drifted to his stomach again, his fingers pressing lightly, and Soren could see the faint tension in his jaw, the way he seemed to be holding himself together, pushing through the nausea with a quiet determination that left Soren feeling a faint, unspoken concern.

“You sure it’s not…?” Soren let the question hang, unfinished, a small, gentle suggestion that lingered in the air, a quiet reminder that he’d been through the same thing, that he knew the signs, that he recognized the discomfort Lex was trying so hard to hide.

Lex’s gaze flicked up, meeting Soren’s with a faint, wary look, a small, vulnerable expression that lingered for only a moment before he offered a faint, strained smile, a quiet, reluctant nod.

“It’s fine,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, a faint, unsteady assurance that seemed to waver, as though he weren’t entirely convinced himself. “It’s probably just… you know, usual stuff.”

Soren nodded, his gaze softening as he took in the faint strain in Lex’s expression, the way he seemed to be fighting to keep the discomfort hidden, to hold onto the fragile control he’d managed to scrape together. “Alright,” he murmured.

As the bus continued down the road, Lex’s hand drifted to his stomach again, a small, careful gesture that seemed to ground him, to keep the nausea at bay. He began talking again, a faint, uncharacteristic ramble that seemed to fill the silence, his words flowing in a soft, steady stream that hinted at his discomfort, his attempt to distract himself from the sickness gnawing at him. He talked about the tour schedule, about the next stop, his voice light, casual, but Soren could hear the faint edge of strain in his tone, a quiet, forced brightness that lingered beneath the words.

Soren watched him as he listened, as he took in the small, subtle signs of Lex’s discomfort, the way he seemed to cling to the conversation, to the rhythm of his own words as though they could hold the sickness at bay, as though talking might keep the nausea from surfacing entirely.

“Babe, seriously," Soren said, "Are you positive you're alright? I appreciate how much you've been analyzing our tour schedule but… you've talked more in two hours than you have in the last two weeks."

"I know, I know," Lex sighed, "And I appreciate your worry, I do. But I'm alright. Besides, you've had a shit few days."

"And?" Soren arched an eyebrow, "You're my fiancé, sickness and health and all that, right? Shitty few days or not, I'm still going to worry."

Lex offered a faint, grateful smile, his gaze dropping as he nodded, a small, reluctant acceptance that settled over him, a quiet acknowledgment of the support Soren offered so freely, so gently.

"I'm alright," Lex said, "It's probably just a flare up like New York or something, I'm stressed. That happens when I'm stressed."

But he didn’t stop talking, his voice filling the air in a soft, steady stream, a quiet, uncharacteristic ramble that seemed to keep the sickness at bay, that allowed him to hold onto the fragile control he’d managed to scrape together.

As the miles stretched on, Lex cleared his throat again, a small, quiet sound that caught Soren’s attention, a subtle sign that Lex wasn’t entirely alright, that the sickness was lingering, a quiet, insistent ache that gnawed at him, that he couldn’t quite push down.

Soren didn’t say anything, just reaching over, his hand resting lightly on Lex’s hand, a small, grounding touch that kept them both steady.

"Just let me know if you aren't," Soren said, "Okay?"

-

The venue buzzed with energy, the low hum of voices and the shuffle of equipment filling the air as the crew set up for a promotional shoot. Lex found himself alone in the dressing room, away from the flurry of activity, where he could have a few quiet minutes to himself before the day kicked into full gear.

He slumped into a chair, his hand drifting to his stomach in a familiar, almost unconscious gesture as he took slow, careful breaths, willing the nausea to settle. It was normal for Lex to be vaguely nauseous, that was at least once a week if not more. But this felt different.

He’d been feeling it building for hours now—a low, insistent ache that had twisted in his stomach since they’d left the last venue. He tried to brush it off, telling himself it was just his usual chronic nausea, the discomfort that he’d long since grown accustomed to. But this was sharper, a deeper, relentless churning that left him feeling weak. He cleared his throat, a small, reflexive habit he’d developed whenever he felt nausea clawing its way up, hoping the action might somehow keep it at bay.

A soft knock on the door broke the silence, and Lex straightened, doing his best to muster a faint, casual smile as Ksenia entered the room, her presence a familiar, grounding comfort that had always kept him steady.

Today, she looked refreshed, her eyes bright from her morning spent with Carmen, the band’s opener and a close friend of hers. She'd joined Carmen on her bus two days ago, while Soren was still recovering. Both because she wanted some girl time and to give the boys enough space not to overwhelm them. Plus, Carmen was touring alone and was more than excited for the company.

Lex could tell the girl time had done her good—Ksenia had a soft smile lingering in the corners of her mouth, her movements relaxed as she stepped into the room.

“Hey, thought I’d find you hiding in here,” she teased, her voice light, playful, though her gaze lingered on him, taking in the faint tension in his posture, the way his hand rested on his stomach, fingers pressed against his shirt in a small, subtle gesture that betrayed more than he’d meant to show.

Lex managed a faint chuckle, though the sound was strained, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah, just… getting a break from the chaos,” he replied, his voice calm, casual, though he could feel the nausea twisting sharper, a low, relentless ache that left him feeling hollow, weak.

Ksenia tilted her head, her gaze softening as she took in his expression, the faint pallor in his skin, the subtle tension in his jaw. She’d known Lex long enough to recognize the signs, the quiet discomfort he tried so hard to hide, and she stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, a small, grounding touch that seemed to cut through the haze, a reminder that he didn’t have to carry this alone.

“You look like shit,” she said gently, her tone soft, concerned, a quiet, unspoken question lingering in her words, a reminder that she saw through the facade, that she knew him too well to be fooled. "Oh, no, is your body pitching a fit again? Or is it because Soren-"

“I’m fine,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, a faint, unsteady assurance that seemed to waver, as though he weren’t entirely convinced himself. “Just… you know, the usual.”

Ksenia’s eyes narrowed, a faint, knowing smile flickering at the corners of her mouth as she shook her head, her hand moving to rest on his back, a small, steadying touch that seemed to ease some of the tension coiling in his chest, a warmth that reminded him he didn’t have to bear this alone. “Lex, I’ve known you for years. This isn’t your usual.”

Lex cleared his throat, the sound quick, reflexive, a small attempt to push the nausea down, to keep it at bay, but the discomfort only grew sharper, a relentless ache that left him feeling weak, vulnerable. He swallowed, his hand pressing against his stomach as he took a slow, careful breath, hoping to steady himself, to keep the sickness from overtaking him completely.

“It’s just… I don’t want to worry anyone, especially not Soren,” he replied, his voice soft, his gaze dropping as he leaned into Ksenia’s touch, the warmth of her presence a small, fragile comfort that settled over him.

Ksenia’s gaze softened, a quiet, gentle concern settling in her eyes as she watched him, as she took in the faint tremor in his hands, the way he seemed to be holding himself together with a fragile, desperate control. “Lex, Soren’s barely on the mend himself. He’d want you to take care of yourself,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, a gentle reminder that he didn’t have to carry the weight alone, that he didn’t have to hold onto the discomfort, not with her there, not with Soren just a few rooms away.

Lex shook his head, a faint, strained smile flickering at the corners of his mouth as he let out a slow, shaky breath. “I know,” he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper, the words laced with a quiet, desperate hope that he could hold it together, that he could push through, even as the nausea twisted sharper, a relentless ache that settled low in his stomach, leaving him feeling hollow, weak. “I just… he’s been through so much already. I don’t want to add to it.”

But Ksenia wasn’t convinced, her gaze unwavering, a quiet, steady strength in her expression as she watched him, as she took in the small, subtle signs of his discomfort, the faint way he leaned into her touch, the quiet vulnerability that lingered in his eyes. She could see the toll it was taking, the effort he was putting into holding himself together, and she knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t be able to push through without consequence, that he was fighting a battle he didn’t have to face alone.

Without warning, Lex’s hand flew to his mouth, his body tensing as the nausea surged, sharp and insistent, a relentless pressure that left him breathless, weak. He barely had time to brace himself before his body gave in, a harsh, involuntary heave that left him gasping, his throat raw from the acid, the strain. He leaned over the edge of the small trash can nearby, his hand gripping the edge as he fought to steady himself, to keep the sickness from overtaking him completely.

Ksenia moved closer, her hand resting on his back, her fingers tracing gentle, soothing circles in a small, grounding gesture that kept him steady as she pulled his hair back, his braided ponytail half falling out.

“It’s okay,” she murmured softly, her voice a quiet, steady reassurance that settled over him like a blanket, a reminder that he didn’t have to carry this alone, that he didn’t have to hold it all together, not here, not with her beside him.

The sickness dragged on, each wave sharp, unyielding, leaving Lex weak, breathless, his hand trembling as he gripped the edge of the trash can, fighting to hold himself together, to keep the nausea from overtaking him entirely. When the worst of it passed, he burped up some remaining spit and then leaned against the wall, his breathing shallow, uneven, each inhale a careful, measured effort, and he closed his eyes, willing the nausea to ease, to give him even a moment’s reprieve.

Ksenia’s hand drifted to his shoulder, her touch warm, steady, a quiet, grounding presence that kept him anchored, that reminded him he wasn’t alone. “Lex, you can’t keep pushing through this.”

Lex managed a faint nod, his gaze dropping as he let out a slow, unsteady breath, his hand drifting to the table in front of him, his fingers tapping lightly against the wood in a small, absent-minded rhythm.

“I know, but I'll be okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "Just… please don't say anything to Soren."

-

Lex took a slow, steadying breath as he adjusted his shirt, his fingers brushing down the fabric in a small, meticulous gesture that seemed more for grounding himself than for appearance.

He’d managed to pull himself together—at least enough to look passably well on camera. After taking a dose of his medication, hoping it would kick in before anyone noticed his discomfort, he pushed through the low, gnawing nausea that had taken up permanent residence in his stomach.

The room was filled with the bright, artificial lights of the studio, casting long shadows against the backdrop, and Lex did his best to ignore the way the brightness seemed to intensify his symptoms, amplifying every small ache, every faint wave of nausea that washed over him.

Ksenia offered him a soft, encouraging smile from across the room, her gaze lingering with a quiet, unspoken concern that Lex did his best to brush off. He gave her a faint, reassuring nod, hoping it would be enough to keep her from worrying, to keep her from noticing the tension in his posture, the faint tremor in his hands as he adjusted his stance, trying to find a position that didn’t make his stomach lurch.

The photographer called out a few instructions, their voice a faint, distant hum that Lex struggled to focus on, each word blurring together as the nausea twisted deeper, sharper, settling low in his stomach with a relentless pressure that left him breathless, weak.

He cleared his throat softly to keep the sickness from clawing its way up. He hoped that if he just kept talking, kept moving, he could somehow push past it, hold onto the fragile control he’d managed to scrape together.

But as the minutes wore on, the ache in his stomach grew sharper, more insistent, a low, relentless churn that left him feeling dizzy, hollow. His breaths came shallow, each inhale a careful, measured effort as he fought to keep the sickness from overtaking him completely, to keep the facade from crumbling in front of everyone. He swallowed, his throat tight, his gaze drifting to the ground as he took a small, tentative step back, hoping the movement might ease the nausea, might give him a moment’s reprieve.

He managed to make it through most of the shoot, each pose a careful, deliberate effort, each smile a forced, hollow gesture that barely hid the discomfort gnawing at him. But as they reached the final few shots, a fresh wave of nausea surged, sharper, more violent than before, twisting in his stomach with a force that left him breathless, his hand flying to his mouth as he braced himself, his body tensing as he fought to keep the sickness down.

Soren immediately noticed the change, the faint pallor that washed over Lex’s face, the way his hand lingered at his stomach, pressing tightly as though to keep the nausea at bay. Without hesitation, he moved closer, his hand resting lightly on Lex’s shoulder.

“Lex,” Soren murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper, a gentle question lingering in his tone, a reminder that he was there, that he saw through the facade, that he knew Lex was struggling.

"Hey, can we take five?" Ksenia said. Lex couldn't hear what the response was, but the soft "I'll get some water." told Lex they probably were given five.

"Angel, hey," Soren said, Lex felt his hands on his shoulders, holding him, "What's the matter?"

Lex managed to slowly shake his head, his voice strained, barely more than a whisper. “I’m… okay. Just… give me a minute,” he murmured, the words laced with a quiet, desperate hope that he could hold it together, that he could push through, even as the nausea twisted deeper, a relentless ache that left him feeling weak, dizzy.

But Soren wasn’t convinced, his gaze softening as he took in the faint tremor in Lex’s hands, the way he seemed to be holding himself together with a fragile, desperate control. Soren was used to this, to seeing Lex like this, but this felt different. This felt worse. The felt…

“Oh, angel, I think you're going to be sick…" he said gently, his hand moving to rest on Lex’s back, a small, steadying touch that kept him grounded. Lex was shaking under Soren's hands. Not just shaking, but

Before Lex could respond, the nausea surged again, a violent, dizzying wave that left him gasping, his body tensing as he fought to keep the sickness down, to hold it back, but his body betrayed him, the sickness clawing its way up with a force that he couldn’t fight. He barely had time to turn away. Soren put his hands on Lex's shoulders, leading him to a nearby trash can.

Soren was there in an instant, his hand moving to Lex’s abdomen, his fingers pressing gently, firmly, a small, grounding pressure that seemed to ease some of the tension, that allowed Lex to finally give in, to let go.

The heaving was intense, harsh, each wave of sickness pulling at him with a relentless force that left him trembling, his breaths shallow and uneven as he fought to catch his breath between waves, one hand clinging to Soren for support, the other holding the edge of the trash can, bracing himself.

When the worst of it hit, all Lex could do was lean into Soren’s hold, letting the pressure on his stomach guide him through each painful, unrelenting heave, his body giving in completely as the sickness overtook him, leaving him breathless, weak. The nausea was relentless, each wave sharper, heavier, leaving him gasping, his hand gripping Soren’s arm as he fought to steady himself, to keep the sickness from overtaking him completely.

But it was a losing battle, his body betraying him with each fresh wave of sickness, each heave dragging him deeper, leaving him hollow, empty, the taste of acid sharp and bitter on his tongue, a reminder of his own body’s rebellion, the vulnerability he’d never quite learned to accept.

He barely had time to catch his breath between waves, each heave leaving him coughing, gasping, his throat raw from the strain, his chest tight as he struggled to breathe, to hold himself together.

Soren’s hand stayed on his abdomen, a small, steadying pressure that kept him grounded, that allowed him to finally let go, to release the discomfort he’d been holding onto, the sickness that had been gnawing at him, relentless, unyielding.

And as the final wave passed, leaving him weak, breathless, Lex slumped back, his body sagging against Soren’s hold, his breathing shallow, uneven, each inhale a careful, measured effort as he fought to steady himself, to keep the nausea from rising again. It was less of a lean and more of outright collapse, and Lex heard Soren's gasp of startle as he re

Soren’s arms wrapped around Lex's collarbone. One arm held Lex that way, the other hand reaching up, allowing his fingers to brush through Lex’s hair in a small, soothing gesture, a quiet, grounding presence that kept him steady, that reminded him he didn’t have to carry this alone, that he didn’t have to hold it all together, not here, not with Soren beside him.

“You’re okay,” Soren murmured softly, “Just breathe—I’m here.”

Lex managed a faint nod, his head resting against Soren’s shoulder as he closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the warmth. Lex leaned heavily against Soren, his breaths shallow and ragged as he tried to steady himself, to catch his breath after the intense, unrelenting waves of sickness that had left him feeling hollow, weak.

His body sagged in Soren’s hold, the strength drained from him as he struggled to remain upright, his legs trembling, barely able to support his own weight. Soren’s arm wrapped around him from behind, a steady, grounding presence that kept him on his feet, that kept him from slipping into the lingering discomfort entirely.

Soren held him close, applying a grounding type of pressure that seemed to ease some of the tension throughout Lex's body, the faint, residual nausea that still clung to him.

“Just breathe,” Soren murmured softly, his voice a quiet, steady reassurance, a warmth that seemed to settle over Lex like a blanket, grounding him in the present, in the comfort of Soren’s presence. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Lex nodded weakly, his head dipping forward as he took a slow, careful breath, his hand gripping Soren’s arm as though it were the only thing keeping him steady, keeping him from slipping into the lingering haze of exhaustion that threatened to drag him under. His skin was pale, drawn, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead that caught the light, a quiet, unspoken testament to the effort he’d put into holding himself together, to the toll the sickness had taken on him.

For a moment, Soren assumed this was one of Lex’s usual nausea spells, the kind of discomfort that Lex had long since grown accustomed to, the quiet ache that he often pushed through without a second thought. But as he held Lex close, he kissed the side of Lex's head, only to be met with an unnatural heat. Soren sighed, his hand moving to rest lightly on Lex's forehead. Just as he feared, he felt a faint, telltale warmth, a subtle feverish heat that hinted at something more, something deeper than the chronic nausea that Lex had learned to live with.

Soren’s gaze softened, a quiet, gentle concern settling over him as he took in Lex’s expression, the faint lines of discomfort etched into his face, the way he seemed to be holding himself together with a fragile, desperate control. “Lex…” Soren’s voice was barely above a whisper, a quiet, unspoken question lingering in his tone, a reminder that he saw through the facade, that he knew Lex was struggling, that he understood the weight he was carrying.

Lex’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze unfocused, distant, as though he were struggling to stay present, to hold onto the fragile control he’d managed to scrape together. “I’m… fine,” he murmured, his voice weak, unsteady, each word a faint, broken sound that seemed to trail off, as though he didn’t have the strength to finish the thought. His head dipped forward again, his body slumping against Soren as he struggled to remain upright, his legs trembling beneath him, barely able to support his own weight.

“Oh, angel, you’re burning up,” Soren said softly, "This isn’t just your usual nausea, Lex… you’re sick.”

Lex managed a faint, strained smile, his gaze dropping as he let out a slow, shaky breath, his hand drifting to rest on Soren’s, a small, grateful touch that conveyed more than words ever could. “I just… didn’t want to worry you,” he murmured.

Soren shook his head, hugging Lex a little closer, keeping his fiancé on his feet. "Honey, I'm going to be worried about you no matter what."

But before Lex could respond, the nausea surged again, a violent, dizzying wave that twisted in his stomach, sharper, more relentless than before. His body tensed, his hand flying to his mouth as he braced himself, his breaths shallow, each inhale a careful, measured effort as he fought to keep the sickness at bay, to hold onto the fragile control he’d managed to scrape together.

Soren tightened his hold, his hands pressing gently but firmly against Lex’s abdomen, “I’ve got you.”

The heaving was intense, harsh, leaving him breathless, weak, his throat raw from the strain. But Soren’s touch kept him steady, grounding him, guiding him through each painful, unrelenting heave, his body giving in completely as the sickness overtook him, leaving him gasping, trembling in Soren’s arms.

When his body finally gave in, when he couldn’t hold it back any longer, the sickness came in heavy, relentless waves, each heave a sharp, painful pull that left him breathless, gasping for air. He could feel the strength draining from him, each wave dragging him deeper, leaving him weak, empty, his hand gripping Soren’s arm as he struggled to remain upright, to keep the sickness from overtaking him completely.

Between waves, Lex coughed, his breaths shallow and uneven, each inhale a careful, measured effort as he fought to catch his breath, to hold himself together. His body felt weak, hollow, the exhaustion settling into his bones, a weight that left him feeling faint, unsteady, barely able to keep himself upright.

Soren’s fingers brushed through Lex’s hair in a small, soothing gesture, something to ease him, calm him down.

“Just breathe,” Soren murmured softly, his voice a quiet, steady reassurance, a warmth that seemed to cut through the haze, to settle over Lex like a balm. “You’re okay—I’m right here.”

Lex managed a faint nod, his head resting against Soren’s shoulder as he closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the warmth, the comfort of Soren’s presence, a small, fragile acceptance that he didn’t have to bear the discomfort on his own, that he didn’t have to hold onto the weight without support.

But as he leaned into Soren, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion, he could feel his strength slipping, the effort it took to remain upright draining from him, leaving him barely able to stay conscious, his breaths slow, shallow. His voice, when he spoke, was faint, broken, each word a quiet, unsteady sound that seemed to trail off, as though he didn’t have the strength to finish the thought.

“I… I’m just… so tired,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, each word laced with a quiet, desperate hope that he could let go, that he could lean into the support, the care that Soren offered so freely.

“I'd imagine,” Soren replied softly, his voice gentle, “Just lean on me. I’ve got you.”

[heybobbygirl]

my voice may be deep for a cis girl and yes i may get self conscious about it sometimes but listen. listen. its not deep enough