Describe your caretaker sitting on the floor with the whumpee. They're waiting for the dizziness/nausea to pass long enough for the whumpee to be able to move.
Not enough pointing out charactersâ hair being scruffed-up when theyâre sick. Unbrushed hair from the morning when they got up and didnât have the energy to mess with it, hair thatâs gotten messy from their attempts to nap or lay down for a little bit. Hair thatâs messier than usual just because they donât have it in them to fuss with it during the day. More scruffy hair from sick characters nowewwwwwwwwwww
When A is woken up in the middle of the night and at first theyâre not sure why. They rub their eyes and look around blearily; all looks in order. But damn theyâre hot. And as soon as that thought appears, they realize with a start itâs coming from next to them - and they look down in horror at B, laying curled into their side. B is absolutely radiating heat - so much so that A is sweaty just from being pressed against them, though no where near as drenched as B. B is shaking and whimpering pathetically, and looks pale even in the low light of the moon, with bright red spots high on their cheeks. A realizes they must not have been feeling well for a while and not mentioned anything, because with a fever like this thereâs no way B didnât go to bed feeling terribly unwell. And A hadnât noticed.
A tries to wake B up gently, knowing they need to take their temperature and get them some water and meds, but after a few gentle hair strokes and rubbing of Bâs arm, they realize B isnât rousing at all. And if anything their face seems more pained and frightened than it had a minute ago. A starts getting frantic, shaking B harder and calling their name in a panic. They see Bâs eyes flutter beneath the lids briefly, then stop as their head lolled even more towards the bed. Aâs stomach drops when they realize their arenât able to rouse B at all. Uh oh.
thinking of a character having to travel whlle sick
maybe theyve got a fever while riding a train and every little bump and sway of the vehicle sends their head spinning
they have to carry around heavy luggage with aching arms and stand in an uncomfortably crowded space while they wait in line to get their bags checked
maybe theyre horribly nauseous and struggling to maintain composure to avoid embarrassing themself as they get airsick near an anxious passenger
pressing their too-warm face against the cold glass of a window only to be met with the incessant vibrations that only worsen their headache
maybe sniffling/sneezing and coughing loudly, drawing the annoyed attention of other passengers and sheepishly ducking their head in shame, neck burning against the scrutiny
racked with chills and pulling their coat tighter around themself as they stifle a shiver, set off by every small breeze that may make its way through the open bus windows
traveling is already a hassle, why not make it just that slightest bit more unbearable by giving your character a pesky cold?
the way chronic pain, especially joint/bone/muscle pain, is amplified by 100 when the person is sickâŠeven the lowest of low grade fevers has them wincing with every movement
pretend I havenât been MIA for a month. have a Lex migraine as a peace offering
if you have any questions, comments, requests, etc., send them my way!
tw for migraines, emeto, injections
By the third day, Lex had stopped calling it a headache.
Not out loud, of course. Out loud, it was still weather pressure. It was still bad sleep. It was still the stale, metallic exhaustion of too many obligations stacked too close together, the kind that made the bones behind his eyes ache and the muscles at the back of his neck feel like they had been tied into knots with wire.
On the first day, it had been easy to dismiss.
The sky had hung low over Los Angeles, gray and damp and strangely heavy, the clouds pressing down on the city like a hand over a mouth. Lex had woken before dawn after maybe two hours of sleep, his pulse already too aware of itself, his jaw sore from clenching through whatever thin, useless scraps of rest heâd managed to get. His skull had felt pressurized, tender at the temples, a dull throb settling behind one eye.
He had stood in the kitchen barefoot, hair mussed, one hand braced on the counter while the coffee machine hissed and sputtered. Star had sat at his feet, tail curled neatly around her paws, watching him with the grave suspicion of a tiny tuxedo nurse.
âItâs the weather,â he had muttered to her.
Star had blinked once. Her ears twitched and she let out a very soft, yet very offended, little chirp.
Lex had taken that as judgment.
Still, he had made breakfast for everyone. Carefully. Automatically. Gluten-free for Soren, exactly separated, no cross-contact, no shortcuts. His hands knew what to do even when his head felt full of rainwater. He had moved through the kitchen with that familiar, controlled efficiency, measuring, stirring, wiping down surfaces, checking labels he had checked a hundred times before.
The rhythm usually helped. Ritual with usefulness attached. Something productive enough to quiet the ugly little panic that lived under his ribs.
But every metallic clink of a spoon against ceramic had gone through him too sharply.
Every overhead light had seemed too white.
When Soren came in, still sleep-soft and quiet, Lex had already turned half the kitchen lights off and was pretending it was because the morning looked better dim.
Soren had looked at him for half a second too long.
Lex had smiled before Soren could ask.
That was day one: manageable. Annoying. A pulse behind the eye. A faint sourness in his stomach that he blamed on letting his tea steep too strong, even though he had barely touched it. He pushed through calls, rehearsal notes, texts from management, a quick errand, a meeting he didnât need to be at but went to anyway because Lexâs brain believed absence was a moral failure.
By evening, the headache had sharpened whenever he bent forward.
A hot, bright spike through the socket of his eye.
He had paused in the laundry room with one hand around a basket handle, eyes closed, waiting for the room to stop tilting in tiny, nauseating increments.
Then he had opened his eyes, swallowed hard, and kept going.
On the second day, it had become harder to lie to himself.
He woke with the pain already waiting.
Not worse exactlyânot at firstâbut deeper. Rooted. It had sunk into him overnight, threading itself behind his eyes, down the side of his neck, into the hinge of his jaw. His scalp felt bruised when he dragged his fingers through his hair. The left side of his face carried that strange migraine tenderness, like every nerve had been peeled raw and laid too close to the surface.
The weather had shifted again. Heat under cloud cover. Damp air. Pressure rising and falling like the city couldnât decide what kind of miserable it wanted to be.
Lex hated that his body noticed.
He hated that his skull seemed to know the atmosphere better than any weather app. Hated that stress, sleep loss, and a low gray sky could combine into something that made him feel trapped inside his own nervous system.
Still, he dressed. Still, he answered messages. Still, he ate half a piece of toast because Soren had been standing there and Lex didnât want to make that soft, observant expression worse.
The toast sat in his stomach like a stone.
By midafternoon, he could feel his digestion slowing in that awful, unmistakable way. It wasnât nausea at first, not exactly. It was stillness. A wrongness. His stomach felt too quiet, like a machine that had powered down with everything still inside it. Then came the tightness, low and deep, pulling across his abdomen in a tense, cramped band.
He kept pressing a hand there when no one was looking.
Not rubbing. Not yet. Just checking, almost accusingly, like he could catch his body in the act of betraying him.
The food remained.
Coffee curdled on top of it. Water sloshed faintly when he moved. By evening, the fullness had turned dense and bloated, a hard, swollen pressure that made sitting upright uncomfortable and bending forward quietly dangerous. His stomach felt packed too tightly under his ribs, like he had eaten far too much and then swallowed a brick for good measure.
Except he hadnât eaten enough for that.
That was the worst part.
His body could make abundance out of almost nothing when it wanted to punish him.
The migraine climbed with it. Pain pulsing behind both eyes now, though one side was worse, a deep blue-white throb that synchronized with his heartbeat. Light became texture. Sound became impact. Voices didnât just reach him; they struck him, small blunt objects against the inside of his skull.
He started closing his eyes whenever he could get away with it.
At first, it was only for a few seconds. In the car, waiting on Soren to get a prescription fill, one hand on the dashboard while the other covered his eyes, waiting for Soren and for once being glad he never drove anymore.
In the bathroom, seated on the closed toilet lid, elbows on knees, fingers pressed against his brow.
In the hallway outside the studio, leaning back against the wall while footsteps passed him like distant thunder.
Then the seconds stretched.
His body kept taking them.
He would close his eyes to block the light and wake five minutes later with his chin dipped toward his chest, mouth dry, stomach heavier than before. The dozing helped while he was gone. That was the cruel little trick of it. For those shallow, accidental slips into sleep, the nausea loosened its grip. The pain blurred at the edges. His body floated somewhere dim and almost tolerable.
Then he would surface.
And everything would come back meaner.
The fullness in his stomach would seem to have thickened while he was unaware. The cramps would wake with him, coiling tight and hot under his hand. The migraine would reassemble itself piece by piece: eye, temple, jaw, neck, throat, stomach. As if sleeping had not healed anything, only allowed the symptoms time to gather in the dark.
By the third day, Lex had gotten good at disappearing for ten minutes at a time.
Too good.
Soren noticed, because of course Soren noticed. Soren noticed the untouched water bottle. The way Lex kept his phone brightness turned all the way down. Sunglasses as much as possible and his usual prescription glasses every other time.
The way he stopped wearing his rings because the pressure of them annoyed him. The way he held himself carefully, shoulders slightly raised, abdomen guarded, every movement reduced to the smallest possible version of itself.
Ksenia noticed because Lex snapped at a sound check tech for dropping a cable, then immediately went still with shame so sharp it was practically visible.
âIâm fine,â Lex said before either of them asked.
Ksenia stared at him.
Soren said nothing.
That was worse.
Lex tried to make it to the end of the day anyway.
He nearly did.
Late afternoon found him on the couch in the apartment, technically upright, technically present, one knee drawn up while Star sat against his thigh with one paw pressed possessively over his leg. The room was dim except for the gray smear of daylight leaking through the curtains. SomeoneâSoren, probablyâhad turned off the overhead lights. The television was off. The apartment had taken on that careful, padded quiet people used around a sickroom before anyone admitted it was a sickroom.
Lex hated it.
He also could not make himself ask them to turn anything back on.
His head felt too full for his skull. Every pulse of pain seemed to push outward from the inside, swelling behind his eyes, pressing at his teeth, settling in the delicate bones of his face until even his cheekbones ached. His stomach had gone from tight to distended, not dramatically visible under his loose shirt unless one knew him well, but obvious to him in every breath. The bloating sat high and hard, stretching him from the inside. Each inhale nudged against it. Each exhale failed to ease it.
He had eaten maybe half a bowl of rice hours ago.
It felt like a feast gone rotten inside him.
Lex closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
Just to take the gray light away.
His thoughts thinned almost immediately. The room softened. Starâs weight against him became distant and warm. Somewhere nearby, Kseniaâs voice murmured low, then faded before the words became meaning. The nausea loosenedânot gone, never gone, but muffled under that strange dozing veil. His body, desperate and opportunistic, dragged him down before his pride could object.
He slept sitting up, poorly and briefly, with one hand curled over his stomach.
When he woke, it was because his own body startled him.
A cramp seized hard beneath his ribs, deep enough to punch a thin sound out of him before he could swallow it. His eyes snapped open to darkness behind his own lashes, then the dim room lurched into focus around him. For one terrible second, he didnât know where he was. Only that his head was splitting, his stomach was too full, and something inside him had shifted from discomfort into threat.
The nausea rose slow and thick.
Not sharp yet. Not immediate.
Worse.
It crawled up from the stagnant weight in his stomach, warm and sour, winding through his chest and into the back of his throat with awful patience. His mouth flooded. His skin prickled cold under a sudden flush of heat. The room tilted sideways though he hadnât moved.
Star stood at once, tiny claws pricking gently through his sweatpants.
Lex swallowed.
His stomach cramped again.
Harder.
He pressed his palm against it on instinct and instantly regretted it. The pressure pushed against the bloated tightness and sent a sick, rolling surge up his throat. He jerked his hand away, breathing shallowly through his nose, eyes half-lidded against the migraineâs violent pulse.
Sorenâs voice came from somewhere close.
âLex?â
Soft. Careful.
Still too loud.
Lex tried to answer. Truly, he did. The words were there, arranged somewhere behind the pain, but his mouth felt slow and his throat had gone slick with saliva.
He lifted one hand.
A useless gesture. A warning, maybe.
Then his stomach gave a low, ugly turn beneath his ribs, the kind that made his whole body understand before his mind caught up.
Soren didnât move right away.
He watched.
It was a quiet kind of watchingâone he had learned over time, honed into something almost instinctual. Not invasive. Not prying. Just⊠attentive in that careful, weightless way that didnât spook Lex into retreating further into himself.
Lex sat there trying to exist like nothing was wrong.
That was always the first tell.
Not the painâSoren couldnât see that, not directly. Not the nausea, not the pressure building behind his eyes or the slow, stubborn shutdown of his stomach. Those lived under skin and bone and silence.
But the way Lex held himself around itâthat, Soren could read.
Too still. Too contained.
Like if he moved too much, something might spill over.
Lexâs eyes had drifted closed again, just for a secondâjust long enough that his head tipped forward a fraction before he caught himself. His fingers flexed faintly against his stomach, then stilled when he seemed to realize heâd done it.
Soren filed it away.
Third time in ten minutes.
He let a few more seconds pass. Let Lex have the illusion of control.
Then, gentlyâ
âI think Iâm gonna lie down for a bit.â
Lexâs eyes opened, slow and heavy, like they had to drag themselves back to the surface. The dim light caught in them wrongâtoo glassy, too unfocused for someone who was supposedly fine.
Soren didnât look at him directly when he said it.
Didnât make it a question. Didnât make it an observation about Lex.
Just⊠a statement. Casual. Soft.
âHeadâs kinda⊠off.â
Not a lie that would hold up under scrutiny.
But Soren knew Lex wouldnât scrutinize it.
Because Lex loved him.
Because Lex always responded to that.
There was a beat. A small one.
Then Lex shifted, slow and careful, like every inch of movement had to be negotiated with his own body first.
ââŠyeah?â His voice came out quieter than usual, slightly rough around the edges. âYou okay?â
There it was.
Even now.
Soren hummed lightly, already pushing himself up from where heâd been leaning against the arm of the couch. âMm. Just a headache. Nothing crazy.â
He glanced at Lex then, just enough. Star let out a small meow Soren was sure was her way of calling bullshit, but if it was Lex didnât seem to notice.
âCome lay down with me? We donât have anything else today.â
He didnât add anything more than that.
Didnât press.
Didnât ask in a way that could be refused.
Just⊠left the space open. Try to smooth the inevitable thoughts of obligations and needing to fill them to be useful.
Lex hesitated.
Not outwardly. Not in any obvious way. But Soren saw it in the micro-second pause, in the way Lexâs gaze dropped, in the faint tightening of his shoulders like his body was bracing against something internal.
Soren could practically hear the argument in his head.
Youâre fine.
He needs you.
You can rest later.
Just a little while.
Lex exhaled.
âYeah,â he said, softer. âYeah, okay.â
Star was already on her feet before either of them moved.
She didnât wait to be called.
She slipped off the couch with quiet purpose, tail held high, pacing once at Lexâs leg before trotting ahead like she already knew exactly where they were going and why.
Soren led without rushing.
The bedroom was dimmer than the rest of the apartment, curtains drawn enough to keep the light low and gentle. The bed was already half-unmadeâtypicalâblankets rumpled into something soft and familiar rather than neat.
Soren climbed in first.
Not because he needed to.
But because he knew Lex would follow easier if there was already a place for him.
He settled onto his side, back against the pillows, leaving space open in front of him. An invitation, not an instruction.
Lex took a second longer at the edge of the bed.
Just standing there, swaying slightlyânot enough to be obvious, but enough that Star circled his legs once, pressing against him insistently.
Then he climbed in.
Slow.
Careful.
Like gravity had gotten heavier without warning.
The moment he was down, something in him⊠gave.
It wasnât dramatic. There was no sigh of relief, no verbal acknowledgment. But the tension in his shoulders loosened by degrees, like muscles that had been held too tight for too long were finally being allowed to slacken.
He turned toward Soren almost immediately.
Instinct.
Lex always moved toward warmth when he needed it.
He curled in close, folding himself into Sorenâs space like he belonged thereâbecause he did. One arm slipped around Sorenâs waist, not tight, just enough to anchor himself. His forehead pressed into the hollow beneath Sorenâs collarbone, breath warm and uneven against his skin.
Star leapt up a second later and settled firmly along Lexâs side, pressed against his ribs like a living brace.
Sorenâs hand came up automatically.
Into Lexâs hair.
Slow, gentle passes, fingers threading through the dark strands, smoothing them back from his face. The kind of touch that didnât demand anything in return.
Lex exhaled into him.
A long, quiet breath that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than just his lungs.
For a few minutes, nothing happened.
Just breathing. Just the soft rhythm of Sorenâs hand moving through Lexâs hair. The faint, grounding weight of Star purring against him.
Then Lex shifted.
Not much.
Just enough that Soren felt it.
His hand slid lower, almost unconsciously, resting at Lexâs side where his shirt had ridden up slightly from the way heâd curled in.
Andâ
There.
Warm.
Tense.
Wrong.
Soren stilled for half a second, not pulling away, not pressing harder. Just⊠letting his palm rest there, feeling.
Lexâs stomach wasnât soft the way it usually was. On a normal day, Lex didnât have much of a stomach. Soren grew used to the underweight flatness, slightly easier to feel ribs and abdomen, when he and Alex laid like this. But this was different.
It was firm. Distended in a way that didnât match what heâd eatenâSoren knew exactly how much Lex had had that day. Bloated and hard. The fullness sat high, tight under his ribs, like everything inside him had stalled and swollen at once.
And beneath thatâ
Movement.
Slow, uneven gurgling.
Not normal digestion. Not the quiet background process of a body doing what it was supposed to do. This was heavier. Louder. The kind of internal shift that came with discomfort, with pressure building and nowhere for it to go.
Lex made a small sound.
Barely audible.
More breath than voice.
Soren felt a twitch in Lexâs stomach, followed by a soft wince of surprise and a thick swallow.
And thenâcloser.
He tucked himself further into Soren, pressing his face deeper into his chest like he was trying to hide there. One hand tightened faintly in the fabric of Sorenâs shirt, fingers curling and uncurling once before settling.
Soren didnât say anything.
Didnât call him out.
Didnât ask.
He just adjustedâsubtlyâso Lex could fit better. One leg shifting to support the way Lex had curled, his arm sliding more securely around his back, hand still moving in slow, steady strokes through his hair.
Lexâs breathing evened out.
Not fully.
There was still a hitch to it, a shallow quality that spoke to the pressure in his chest and stomach, the way his body was trying to work around itself. But it slowed. Deepened just enough to signal the edge of sleep.
He dozed.
Not the restless, half-aware drifting heâd been doing all day.
This was deeper.
His weight settled more fully into Soren. His grip loosened. His face relaxed in small, fragile waysâthe tension around his eyes easing, his jaw unclenching just slightly.
Out cold.
Soren stayed very still.
His hand never stopped moving.
He could feel everything now that Lex wasnât holding himself together so tightlyâthe subtle shifts in his stomach, the occasional tight pull of a cramp that made Lexâs body tense for a second even in sleep, the faint heat clinging to his skin from the migraine still burning through him.
He pressed a soft kiss into Lexâs hair.
Barely there.
âYeah,â he murmured under his breath, more to himself than anything else. âThought so.â
But he didnât wake him.
Didnât push.
Didnât try to fix it right now.
Lex would fight that.
So instead, Soren just held him.
Let him curl in, let him hide, let him finallyâfinallyâstop pretending for a little while.
There would be time to talk when Lex woke up.
For now, Soren just lay there in the dim quiet, one hand in Lexâs hair, the other resting lightly over the tense, unsettled rise of his stomach, and loved him through it.
-
Soren let time stretch.
It settled around them in that soft, dim way the apartment seemed to understand instinctivelyâlights low, noise reduced to nothing but the distant hum of the city and the quiet, steady rhythm of breathing. Lex stayed curled into him, weight fully surrendered now, his body no longer fighting itself in small, constant ways.
Sorenâs hand moved in slow, absent patterns along his back.
Up. Down. Gentle pressure through the fabric of his shirt.
It was as much for himself as it was for Lex.
A way to stay anchored.
Lex slept deeper than he had all day.
Not peacefullyânot entirely. Every so often, there was a small hitch in him. A tightening beneath Sorenâs palm where his stomach sat too full, too rigid. A faint shift of his shoulders when a cramp coiled and released under his ribs. But he didnât wake. He just⊠endured it in sleep, his body trying to process what his mind had refused to.
Soren drifted at the edges of sleep himself.
Not fully gone. Just hovering.
Enough that the moment Lex moved, he felt it.
It started small.
A tightening. A breath that went wrong.
Thenâ
Lex jerked.
It was sharp enough to snap Soren fully awake.
Lex sucked in a breath that sounded like it had caught halfway through his chest, like something had seized inside him and refused to let go. His body tensed all at once, folding inward, one hand pressing hard against his stomach as if he could hold something down by force.
For half a second, he stayed there.
Frozen.
Soren didnât speak yet.
He didnât have to.
Lexâs whole body answered for him.
ââoh, fuckââ
It came out tight. Barely formed. Lost halfway through the exhale as his stomach rolled hard enough to make his shoulders jerk.
And then he was moving.
Fast.
Too fast.
He untangled from Soren with none of the careful slowness from beforeâjust a sudden, desperate scramble, nearly tripping over the edge of the bed as he pushed himself up. Star startled, leaping back with a small chirp of protest as Lex staggered toward the door.
Soren was already up.
By the time Lex made it halfway down the hall, Soren was behind him.
He didnât try to stop him.
Didnât say anything.
There wasnât time for that.
Lex barely made it to the bathroom.
The door hit the wall with a dull crack as he shoved it open, dropping hard to his knees in front of the toilet with a breath that shook on the way out. His hands fumbled for the porcelain, gripping the edge like it was the only stable thing in the room.
The world tilted.
The migraine hit him full-force the moment he moved.
It surged up behind his eyes, sharp and blinding, pain detonating outward in hot, pulsing waves that made his vision stutter at the edges. Lightâwhat little there wasâfelt wrong. Too bright, too pointed. The sound of the door, of his own breathing, of Soren moving behind himâeverything landed too hard, too loud, like his skull had lost its ability to filter anything at all.
His stomach twisted.
Hard.
There was no gradual build this time.
No warning.
Justâ
A violent, upward surge that tore through the heavy, stagnant fullness sitting under his ribs.
Lex gagged.
Dry at first.
A harsh, dragging sound that pulled his whole body forward with it. His shoulders hunched, spine curving inward as his stomach contracted against the pressure, trying to force movement where everything had been stuck for far too long.
Nothing came up.
Just another gagâlonger this time, more force behind it. His throat burned with it, saliva flooding his mouth too fast to swallow. His eyes squeezed shut against the pain spiking through his head, the motion sending another wave of agony through his skull.
âEasy,â Soren murmured, already dropping down beside him.
His hand found Lexâs back immediately.
Steady.
Firm.
Not pressing yetâjust there, grounding, moving in slow circles between his shoulder blades as Lex gagged again, breath hitching, body fighting itself.
It came up on the fourth.
Slow.
Thick.
Dragged out of him in a way that made his whole frame shudder with the effort.
It didnât relieve anything.
That was the worst part.
His stomach was too full. Too stagnant. What came up felt like barely a fraction of what was there. The pressure under his ribs didnât easeâit shifted, rolling uneasily, threatening more without delivering it cleanly.
Lex coughed weakly, breath catching as he tried to inhale around the nausea that clung to the back of his throat. His hands tightened on the toilet, knuckles whitening.
Another wave hit.
He gagged againâharder this time, more desperateâbut it stalled halfway. His stomach seized, contracting against itself, but nothing followed through. Just that awful, dry, dragging pull that felt like it should have been productive and wasnât.
A strangled sound slipped out of him.
Frustration. Pain. Both.
Soren shifted closer.
âHey,â he said softly, voice low enough not to cut through Lexâs skull. âI know.â
He reached up instinctively, fingers brushing toward Lexâs hair to pull it backâ
Lex flinched hard.
A sharp, immediate recoil, his shoulders jerking away as if the touch itself had hurt.
ââdonâtââ Lex rasped, voice thin and strained, one hand coming up weakly to bat at the air between them. âToo muchââ
âOkay,â Soren said immediately, pulling his hand back without hesitation. âOkay, Iâve got you.â
He adjusted instead.
One hand stayed on Lexâs back, steady and slow, while the other hovered for a secondâthen moved lower.
To his stomach.
He didnât press right away.
Just rested his palm there, feeling.
Still tight.
Still distended.
Still full in a way that made everything inside Lex feel heavy and unmoving.
Another gag tore through him.
Nothing.
Just that awful, empty pull.
Soren made the call.
âBreathe,â he murmured, shifting his hand just slightly, bracing. âIâm gonna help you, okay?â
Lex didnât answer.
He didnât need to.
His whole body was already tensing for the next wave.
Soren pressed.
Not hardânot at first.
Just enough to encourage movement, a firm, careful pressure under Lexâs ribs where everything felt knotted and stuck.
Lex reacted immediately.
A sharp inhaleâalmost a gaspâas the pressure hit, the sensation overwhelming in combination with the migraine screaming behind his eyes. Pain flared through his head, bright and blinding, the added stimulus too much all at onceâ
But his stomach responded.
Violently.
The next gag turned into something deeper, more forceful, his body finally giving under the pressure. It dragged up more this timeâheavier, thickerâpulling a broken sound out of him as he doubled forward, shoulders shaking with the effort.
Soren kept his hand there.
Steady.
Gradually increasing pressure in time with Lexâs body, not forcing, just guidingâcoaxing everything upward so it wouldnât stall again.
Lex choked on a breath, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes without him even noticing. His head throbbed with every movement, every contraction sending sharp, splintering pain through his skull. The light felt like needles. The sound of his own gagging echoed too loudly in his ears.
But it was working.
More came up.
And more.
Each wave dragged out of him, long and miserable, his body wringing itself empty in slow, relentless pulls that left him shaking by the end of each one.
It wasnât quick.
It never was.
But it was moving.
Soren stayed with him through every second of it.
Hand on his back. Hand at his stomach. Voice low and steady when Lexâs breathing started to go uneven, grounding him when the dizziness spiked too hard.
âI know,â he murmured when Lex choked on a breath. âI know, itâs roughâjust let it happen.â
Lex barely processed the words.
But he leaned into the pressure.
Into the guidance.
Because as awful as it wasâhead splitting, stomach cramping, body shakingâ
It was better than being stuck.
Better than that horrible, unmoving fullness that had been sitting in him for hours.
Soren didnât stop until Lexâs body finally slowed.
Until the waves weakened.
Until the tightness under his hand softenedâjust slightly.
Only then did he ease the pressure, shifting his hand back to Lexâs spine, rubbing slow, grounding circles as Lex sagged forward, breath ragged, forehead nearly touching the porcelain.
âYeah,â Soren said quietly, more to him than anything else. âThatâs better. Iâve got you.â
And he did.
Every second of it.
Lex stayed folded over the toilet for a long moment after the worst of it passed.
Not still.
Just⊠emptied out in the ugliest possible way.
His body trembled in uneven aftershocks, muscles twitching and tightening under Sorenâs hands every few seconds like his nervous system couldnât decide whether it was finished panicking yet. His breathing came shallow and ragged through his mouth, throat raw enough that every inhale sounded scraped at the edges.
The migraine was monstrous now.
Soren could see it all over him.
Lexâs eyes stayed squeezed shut, not just from nausea anymore but because opening them clearly hurt. His face had gone pale beneath the sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, though there was still that flushed, overheated tint high across his cheekbones and ears that always came with his migraines. His lashes stuck together damply.
And underneath Sorenâs palm, Lexâs heartbeat was racing.
Too fast.
Adrenaline. Pain. Vomiting. Dysautonomia. More pain.
All feeding each other in one vicious loop.
Another weak gag pulled through him, though almost nothing followed it this time. Just saliva and a miserable little choke at the end that made him curl tighter around himself.
Soren rubbed slowly up his spine.
âThatâs okay,â he murmured quietly. âYouâre okay.â
Lex made a rough sound that might have been disagreement.
Then his shoulders dipped.
Just slightly.
But enough.
Sorenâs attention sharpened instantly.
The shift was subtle if you didnât know Lexâhis posture sagging heavier than before, the tension suddenly draining out of his arms in a way that wasnât relief so much as⊠depletion. His head lowered closer to the toilet seat. His breathing stuttered unevenly.
Pre-Presyncope.
Not fully presyncopic, but close. Close enough for Sorenâs stomach to tighten and grip on Lex to readjust to be a little more supportive.
âHey,â he said softly, moving closer immediately. âLex.â
Lex tried to answer.
Or maybe just tried to breathe.
It was hard to tell.
His hand slipped a little on the porcelain. His shoulders swayed faintly.
Soren wrapped an arm around him before gravity could decide things for them.
He shifted behind Lex carefully, one knee braced against the tile, pulling Lex gently back against his chest just enough to stabilize him. Lex let out a weak exhale as Sorenâs arm crossed under his shoulders, holding him upright without forcing him away from the toilet.
âThere you go,â Soren murmured. âIâve got you.â
Lexâs head tipped back just enough to rest briefly against Sorenâs shoulder.
His skin was burning.
But Soren could feel the cold sweat underneath it too.
That awful in-between place.
Not enough blood pressure. Too much nervous system chaos. The body struggling to recalibrate after violently emptying itself. All while being in excruciating pain from the crown of his head all the way down, probably past his shoulders and into his back.
Soren stayed exactly where he was.
One arm secure around Lexâs chest. The other rubbing slowly over his sternum and upper stomach, not pushing anymore, just grounding him through the shaking aftermath.
âNo water yet,â he said softly when Lex swallowed hard again. âJust breathe for me first.â
Lex gave the smallest nod against him.
He knew.
Even if he wanted water, his stomach would revolt instantly right now.
So they waited.
The bathroom stayed dim except for the weak amber nightlight near the outlet. Soft enough not to stab through Lexâs skull. The air smelled faintly medicinal now beneath the sourness of vomit and sweat.
Star cried onceâsmall and concerned. But she was quiet too as she strolled into the bathroom and found her objectively rightful position against Lexâs leg.
âThe queen has a message,â Soren said softly, earning a half attempt at a small chuckle out of Lex as he leaned his head back a little more against Sorenâs shoulder.
Soren continued rubbing slow circles over Lexâs chest.
He could feel every uneven breath.
Every tiny tremor.
The way Lexâs body kept trying to fold forward despite exhaustion, instinctively curling around the pain in his stomach and head.
Minutes passed like that.
Slow.
Careful.
Lexâs breathing gradually eased from ragged gasps into something less frighteningly shallow. Not normal. Not good. But less like he was about to drop out completely.
Only then did Soren speak again.
Very quietly.
âDo you want your shot?â
He asked it exactly the same way every time.
Never assuming.
Never reaching for it first.
Lex had once admittedâhalf-asleep, medicated, and horrified afterwardâthat unexpected medication made his skin crawl. Too many years of substances forced into his body one way or another. Too many moments where his autonomy had belonged to someone else.
So Soren always asked.
Even now.
Lex was silent for several seconds.
Soren could practically feel the internal war happening in real time.
Medication meant admitting this was severe.
Meant surrendering control.
Meant needing help.
But another pulse of pain crossed Lexâs face before he finally cracked one eye open slightly, immediately wincing from even that tiny amount of light.
ââŠyeah,â he whispered hoarsely. âFuck... I didnât want toâŠâ
âWe can wait?â Soren suggested.
Lex shook his head slowly. Very slow. Soren wouldâve missed it if he hadnât felt it.
âNeeds to stop,â Lex mumbled, âCanât do the pills. Not now.â
Relief flickered briefly through Sorenâs chest.
Not because Lex was sick.
Because he was finally letting someone help him. Finally admitting things he barely did.
âOkay,â Soren said gently. âOkay, baby.â
The endearment slipped out naturally, soft and warm.
Lex didnât even react to it.
That alone said enough.
Soren waited another couple minutes before moving, making absolutely sure Lex wasnât about to pitch forward again. Only when Lexâs breathing steadied enough to trust did Soren carefully help him sit back from the toilet.
Lex looked wrecked.
Completely wrecked.
His hair stuck damply to his forehead and neck. His pupils were blown wide from pain. His stomach was still visibly bloated beneath his shirt despite everything heâd gotten up, the muscles there tight and reactive every few seconds as another cramp rolled through him. He looked exhausted down to the marrow.
And still embarrassed by it somehow.
Soren kissed the side of his head lightly before standing.
âStay here. Iâll grab it.â
Lex leaned back weakly against the cabinet while Soren disappeared briefly into the bedroom.
By the time he came back with the injector, Lex had both eyes shut again, one hand pressed hard against his forehead now like he was physically trying to hold his skull together.
Soren crouched beside him again immediately.
âStill with me?â
âUnfortunately,â Lex muttered faintly.
Soren smiled despite himself.
Good sign.
âYour arm okay? Or do you want me to hit your thigh this time?â Soren asked.
âArm,â Lex said softly, âplease.â
Soren nodded.
He guided Lex through it exactly the same way every timeâpredictability mattered.
âIâm opening it.â
A click of plastic.
âIâm taking the cap off.â
Another tiny sound.
Lexâs hand found Sorenâs sleeve blindly, fingers curling into the fabric before Soren had even touched him with the injector.
âReady?â
Lex inhaled slowly through his nose.
Then nodded once.
Soren wrapped himself around Lex again before he pressed the injector against his upper arm and triggered it.
Lex jerked sharply.
ââfuckââ
The word snapped out of him instantly, more startled than dramatic, his entire body tensing hard against Soren as the medication burned into the muscle.
His grip crushed briefly around Sorenâs forearm.
Soren immediately rubbed his shoulder with his free hand, placing a soft kiss against the side of Lexâs head.
âI know. I know, sweetheart. Just a few seconds.â
Lex buried his face hard against Sorenâs shoulder once the injector clicked empty, breathing unevenly through the lingering sting.
âIt burns,â he mumbled miserably.
âYeah.â
Soren smoothed damp hair back carefully this time, avoiding pulling at it too much.
âThat part sucks.â
Lex huffed a weak, pained laugh against him before immediately regretting it, one hand returning to his head.
âOh my god.â
âDonât laugh. Your brain hates you right now.â
âIt always hates me.â
âThatâs true. At least you arenât breaking the migraine with a seizure again, right?â
Another tiny laugh. Softer this time. âRight. Thatâs worse⊠way worse. Shot still hurts like a bitch though.â
Then exhaustion swallowed him again almost immediately.
The medication wouldnât kick in fast for Lex.
Nothing ever did.
His body metabolized things strangely, reacted strangely, delayed things strangely. Sometimes the injection helped in thirty minutes. Sometimes an hour. Sometimes it worked in waves instead of all at once.
So now came the waiting part.
Soren slid an arm carefully around Lex again and helped him stand.
Lex swayed immediately.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
Soren tightened his hold automatically.
âNope,â he murmured. âYouâre not walking alone right now.â
Lex didnât argue.
Too tired.
That frightened Soren more than the vomiting had.
Together, slowly, they made it back to the bedroom.
Star immediately jumped onto the bed the moment she saw Lex, pacing anxiously near the pillows before settling into a watchful crouch.
Lex collapsed more than laid down.
He curled instinctively onto his side almost the second he hit the mattress, one arm wrapped around his still-cramping stomach while the other shielded his eyes from the dim room.
Soren climbed in behind him carefully.
One arm wrapped around Lexâs waist.
The other slid under the pillow beneath his head, fingers combing gently through his hair in slow passes.
Lex melted backward into him immediately.
Still trembling faintly.
Still overheated.
Still nauseous enough that Soren could feel the occasional hard swallow and the way his stomach kept turning uneasily beneath his arm.
But safer now.
Held.
Soren pressed a kiss against the back of his neck.
âWe wait now,â he murmured softly.
Lex made a tired little sound.
âJust want to sleep the rest of it offâŠâ Lex muttered.
Inside the bed, Soren held him through every miserable minute while the medicine slowly, slowly tried to catch up to the storm raging through Lexâs nervous system.
Acknowledging that someone doesn't feel good is nice but acknowledging that it's specifically the character's stomach that doesnât feel good >
part 2
Okay onto the dialogue prompts
(As always not realistic these just neat to me, feel free to use/change wording ect)
(Also I meant to go in a different direction but half the list got deleted and I had to redo it.)
A
"You're stomach isn't feeling well is it?"
"It must be really churning."
"I know your tummy doesn't respond well to nerves but...."
"Your poor tummy really isn't feeling great is it?"
"Sorry your belly isn't doing good."
"I know you stomach is in knots but you should try eat/drink something."
"Is your stomach still churning?"
"I don't think your stomach is handling the news all too well."
(Best with context of character having frequent tummy issues/sensitive stomach ect) "Your stomach is never a bother for me."
âYou should change into something loose to keep the pressure off your belly.â
âI think I know why your stomach is gurgling so much, the sauce from dinner had (insert ingredient) in it.â
âIf the smell of my perfume is bothering your stomach too much I can change.â
âWhat did you eat to upset it so bad?â
âYou know Iâve heard that cuddles are the best cure for a turning tummy.â
âWhatâs troubling your belly so much?â
âI didnât think that (insert food/smell/news/who knows) would make your stomach have such a bad reaction.â
âWhy didnât you say anything sooner about your belly feeling so sick?â
âAre you sure you just have butterflies in your tum and not something worse?â
âMaybe your stomach would feel better if it was churning more than just stomach acid around.â
âIâm sorry I didnât know that (insert food) would hurt your tummy so badly.â
âDoes your tummy always get this knotted frequently?â
âItâs no surprise you need to throw up, stress/nerves always goes to your stomach.â
âAnyoneâs stomach would feel icky after (insert what ever) donât feel bad about it.â
âI donât mind looking after you or your poor belly.â
âI donât think even medicine can help your stomach, it would be better be sick and get it over withâ (better if they donât feel better after being sick)
âholding it in will just make your belly feel worse.â
(While placing hand on sickie's stomach)
B
âFeels like something really bad is going on in here."
âEven I can feel how upset your tummy is."
âI think I just felt your whole stomach flip."
âYour tummy feels really gurgly, I honestly think you will throw up soon.â
âI donât think Iâve ever felt a belly so sick before.â
âDid your stomach just flutter?â
âDinner is definitely not sitting to well in there.â
âYouâre not overreacting, itâs definitely churning.â
âYou sure you arenât going to puke, I can feel a lot of movement.â
âI can feel your heartbeat in your stomach, thatâs definitely not a good sign.â
