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evilkennedy · 5 years

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take care of her [p.p.]

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

summary: reader is tired of suffering, but is very glad to have peter.

warnings: (unedited) angst ! sorry babies. terminal illness

a/n: i don’t even know if this is any good but I hope someone likes it. also sorry the summary is vague. texts in this are in italic. let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. ♥︎

You are dying. Not in the sense that death is inevitable and the seconds are just ticking away, but in the sense that you actually have cancer. At this point, it’s old news. You’ve cried your tears, so has your family, friends, and Peter. Cancer has been hard on you. Physically and mentally. Luckily so many wonderful people have your back. You aren’t afraid of death. You don’t welcome it either, but you hope to have those that you love, by your side. You know you will.

Peter visits you everyday after school. You’re both seniors now. At least, you were. Before everything had gone to shit. Now you just lie in a hospital bed, awaiting the faithful day that you will take your last breath. Your thoughts had started to get a bit depressing, so you texted your boyfriend.

Hey, babe. I know you’re at school right now, but I love you. Text me whenever. Can’t wait to see you later ♥︎

You hit send before leaning your head back against your pile of pillows and sighing. You closed your eyes. In the last few days, it had become harder to breathe. Your lungs seemed to be working overtime. Trying to keep oxygen flowing, and to keep your blood pumping. Your heart beating. You opened your eyes again, only to stare at the ceiling. You heard your phone ping, so you reached for it with shaky hands. You saw the notification was from Peter.

Hey, honey I love you too.. Is something wrong? Are you okay? Thinking too much again?

You chuckled at his response. It was adorable. He was always worried about you and honestly? You thought you didn’t deserve it. He deserved better. He deserves to not have to worry about his significant others lungs just giving out on them. He was Spider-Man for Christ’s sake. He had enough to worry about.

You shook those thoughts out of your mind as you responded.

I’m okay! I pinky promise. Just miss you, is all.

You hit send and set your phone down on the table beside you. Despite having woken up only a couple of hours ago, you were exhausted. You decided to take a small nap to pass the time.

You woke up to gentle fingers carding through your hair. Peter. You smiled softly at the boy beside you. He noticed you were awake and spoke gently as though he didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere, “Hey, beautiful. How did you sleep?” He smiled kindly at you, never stopping the motions of his fingers. You took a moment to breathe and responded, “I slept good. Didn’t mean to sleep that long, though. I’m exhausted.” You didn’t want to worry Peter. Your lungs were aching and your head felt a weird sort of hollow. You wanted to cherish this moment for as long as you can. You’re worried you’ll slip away again. Damn, cancer.

Peter stopped brushing his fingers through your hair, and brought his hand down to hold your worryingly cold and shaking one. The both of you sat in a comfortable silence until Peter broke it, “How do your lungs feel today? Don’t lie, either. I genuinely want to know how you’re feeling.” Your heart broke a tiny bit at the concern and love in his voice. You knew you shouldn’t lie, so you opted to tell the truth, “Actually they ache quite a lot. I’m okay, though. Please don’t worry.” He looked at you as if he knew something that you didn’t, but smiled nevertheless. He brought your hand up to his lips and gave it a gentle kiss before speaking again. “Y/n, you know I’m going to worry no matter what. I love you and it’s my job to worry. But if you say you’re okay, then I trust you. Wholeheartedly.” He smiled. You teared up, hardly knowing why. Maybe just because you loved Peter so much. “Pete, I love you too. What did I ever do to deserve someone as like you.” You smiled. The question was rhetorical but Peter answered, “You existed and I fell in love. Hard.” After that you let the room fall back into a comfortable silence. Well, almost silent, besides the beeping of the heart monitor. The constant reminder that you are indeed dying in a hospital instead of graduating high school.

Your lungs went from a dull ache to a sharp, seizing kind of pain. Suddenly it seemed as though no matter how much air you inhaled, your lungs weren’t actually getting any of it. The heart monitor sped up slightly at your panic. Peter seemed to notice then that something was wrong. Before he could say anything though, you were already speaking, “P-Pete, ple-ase talk. to me. Tell me any-anything.” You squeezed his hand tighter as your lungs burned. Your heart rate slowing down significantly. Peter panicked, but didn’t let it show. He started talking to ease your mind. You both knew this day was coming soon. “Do you remember the time you found out I was Spider-Man? God, your reaction was priceless.” He laughed, despite the tears forming in his eyes. The heart monitor beeping slower in his ears. You squeezed his hand telling him to continue. He got the hint and began to speak again, “I-It’s one of my favorite memories, you know? Because you were so freaked out and it freaked me out. And I just kissed you! That was probably the- the absolute best night of my life. Not only because I felt like I wasn’t hiding anything from you anymore, but because I found out you liked me too. You were just, god you’ve just always been so supportive, y/n/n. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you all these years. You’re my partner in crime, or well uh, heroing i guess. I truly believe you’re my soulmate.” He stopped talking to notice your eyes have fallen shut. A single tear falls down his face. Your heart is still beating, but just barely. The beeping of the heart monitor is almost undetectable and so is your pulse. Peter smiles despite the pain in his chest. He’s crying but he continues to talk for your sake, “There was this one time I told Tony that I wanted to marry you. I still do, obviously but we are just so young. He gave me all this advice. He was so supportive. I can’t wait until you meet him.” Peter coughs. He’s crying a lot know. “Y/n, I love you.” As he says those words, the soft beeping of the heart monitor turned into an ugly single beep. You were flatlining. Your hand falls limp in Peter’s. It felt wrong. You were supposed to be alive. You were only 18 goddamn it. Peter laid his head on the side of your hospital bed and fully let himself go. He began to sob as nurses and doctors came in, attempting to revive you.

Peter knew it wouldn’t work. You had fought for a long time. This was your time to rest. Peter just has to trust that you’ll be able to finally rest now. He doesn’t know how he ends up in the hallway instead of in your room, but he looks up from where he’s sitting with tears streaming down his face. He smiles despite everything that had just happened and says, “Mr. Stark, I told you that you’d love her. Now please take good care of her for me, okay?”

Let me know what you think? <3

taglist:

#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter #spider man far from home #spiderman imagine #spiderman x reader #angst #tony stark x reader #tony stark #irondad #iron dad #marvel #mcu fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland #tom holland x reader

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trashmenofmarvel · 5 years

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Devil’s Backbone - Chapter 13

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader

Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)

Chapter Warnings: Coping from trauma

Word Count: 1.5k

AO3

You awoke with a cry.

That was all you got. A single cry. A blazing muscle spasm ripped through your body and clenched your chest so tightly you couldn’t breathe, stealing your voice.

You scrabbled at the covers, pushing your head back into the pillow as another shockwave hit your spine. To say it hurt was laughable. It was beyond agony. It was a full-body muscle cramp combined with the feeling of being struck by lightning.

You clenched your teeth to try to breathe, but your chest was frozen and your lungs remained resolutely still.

Somewhere in the distance you heard the doorknob rattle followed by a loud pounding.

You looked out of the corner of your peripheral vision just in time to see the door slam open. Bits of wood split from the frame, but the assassin didn’t slow until he reached your bedside. He leaned over you, his pale blue eyes almost luminescent in the moonlight from the window, his brows dark and furious.

You choked out a noise of fear, staring up at him as panic slammed into your chest and made your heart thunder like a galloping racehorse.

“Breathe.”

His touch was surprisingly gentle as he tipped back your head, holding his palms to either side of your jaw. You couldn’t see him at this angle, but you couldn’t see much of anything. Your vision was beginning to fade.

“Relax. Breathe. It’ll pass.”

He said it as if he spoke from experience.

You closed your eyes.

“No. Look at me.”

His voice sounded flat. Distant. Like you were hearing him over a very bad telephone connection.

“Look at me, Agent Williams.”

It was the first time he had addressed you by name or referred to you by your title. You wondered if it was an auditory hallucination. The byproduct of a dying brain.

“Please open your eyes.” His voice was taut like a wire. He sounded afraid.

The tight band around your chest came loose, and you took a deep, shuddering breath.

In, and out. In, and out.

The muscles were loosening just enough for you to manage to pull your eyes open, so you did so, fighting to focus as shapes blurred before you. When they became clear, you couldn’t look away.

The assassin was standing further along the bed so he could see your face. He was so close you could feel his warm breath on your skin, see the startling worry in his eyes.

Why? you wondered faintly. Why?

“That’s it,” he said, so softly it was almost a whisper. His thumb brushed across the curve of your cheekbone. “Just look at me. And breathe.”

Your eyelids fluttered. It was hard to focus on him. Not from the cramping or pain—those things were beginning to ease—but because his hands were so warm, and solid, and comforting. It made you want to remain still, your head resting in his palm.

You had done that before, you recalled. The memory had an almost surreal quality now, tattered and fuzzy at the edges, but you remembered. He had helped you through the muscle spasms in your cell, even going so far as to have stayed with you after you’d fallen asleep.

“Don’t go,” you croaked out, panicked, suddenly afraid he would leave. “Don’t leave—“

You never heard his response; another spasm hit you, causing you to arch your spine as the muscles in your back went rigid. Your arms were pinioned at your sides by the force of your constrained muscles, and your heels dug into the mattress as the back of your head pressed into the pillow.

A solid arm moved under your shoulder blades, then your knees, and you sensed being briefly lifted from the bed only to be set down again. You were pulled towards a warm embrace. Heat seemed to flow throughout your body, returning feeling to your frozen limbs.

The warmth was exactly what you needed; your muscles began to uncoil. It happened slowly, tortuously as the sharp pain still seeped into your limbs, but it was better than it had been seconds ago. You exhaled in relief when the last of the painful tightness loosened and you could breathe normally again.

With the convulsion no longer overwhelming you, you were becoming increasingly aware of something warm and solid wrapped around your shoulders. You opened your eyes to find your nose nuzzled into the fabric of a black hoodie, the familiar yellow STRIKE symbol emblazoned on the left side. Right above his heart.

You tried to move out of the circle of his arms, but he tightened them and said, “Wait.”

Wait? You weren’t going to wait, not when he was holding you so close to him, on the bed, practically cuddling you while—

The breath was knocked out of you as the first tremor hit. You had forgotten about the aftershocks.

Your lungs weren’t vice-tight anymore, which helped if you wanted to breathe, bad if you wanted to remain silent. The noises that escaped your lips were small, pathetic, the noises a wounded animal would make. The tremors that coursed through your body were much more than simply physical. Your mind was barely hanging on, and you were on the verge of just fucking losing it.

You wanted it to end. The pain. The fear. The constant feeling that you would never be truly safe again. You may have escaped from the cell, and the doctors, and the white room, but you still carried the horror of that place deep in your bones.

No matter how hard you trembled, the assassin kept his arms tight around you, as if he alone could hold you in one piece. You held on to him in turn, focusing on his breathing, his scent, the feel of his hands, anchoring you to keep you from surrendering to despair.

“What did they do to me?” you asked in a small voice.

“Nothing that won’t heal,” was his only answer, said into your hair as he pressed his lips against your crown. “I promise.”

The gesture sent a tingling sensation through your chest. You curled your fists into the soft material of the hoodie, vaguely wondering where he had found it. In a drawer, somewhere, probably.

It should have comforted you, seeing the symbol that had once represented your life, but the sight of it, the brazen yellow eagle on black bordered by valiant stars, made something crack within you. It spread like a spider’s web, splintering and crumbling throughout your heart until it finally burst like an ill-maintained dam.

You began to cry.

Everything you had suffered through, endured, and survived, came pouring out. Tears slid down your cheeks as your body racked with silent sobs.

A hand moved to the back of your head and his fingers laced through your hair. It was soothing, safe, and gave you silent permission to finally grieve.

You cried for your teammates, reciting their names in your heart. You cried for the people in S.H.I.E.L.D., the innocent who would be hurt by the rot within when it festered fully. It was more than just a job; they had been your family and S.H.I.E.L.D. had been your home.

You cried for yourself. You cried for him.

You clung to the former assassin, burying your face into his chest, and he pulled you in tighter. At this point, you were practically lying on his normal arm, the fingers curling through your hair were metal ones. The sight of that gleaming silver had terrified you once. It had signified blood and impending death, now it was your solace and your only source of comfort.

With a last gasp of breath, the tears finally stopped flowing and you no longer shook like a leaf. He continued to softly caress your hair and you didn’t move away from the circle of his arms. This was the safest you had felt since the convoy attack and your SUV had gone skidding off the road.

He had done that. He had put you in a position where you had been robbed of your freedom and dignity, but despite his protests, you knew he was just as much a casualty of this hidden war as you were.

You were only just beginning to understand what had been done to him. Who had been there to comfort him when he had suffered through the torture and misery?

No one. He had endured it alone, and you would have been forced to do the same, if not for him.

As close to him as you were, you pulled closer still, burying your head against his collarbone. His breath hitched but he didn’t push you away; he rested his chin on the top of your head, further tucking your face against his neck.

You inhaled his scent, a strange spice of faint sweat and gunpowder residue. Comforting and familiar smells in your line of work, but on him, they were alluring and inviting.

Closing your eyes, exhausted beyond your ability to resist, you let the tide take you to safe and distant shores.

Next Chapter

#devil's backbone #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #the winter soldier fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #reader fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #bucky finally does some hugging

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thecolorpomegranate · 5 years

Text

Along Came A Spider

Summary: Becoming Spiderman is no easy feat for Peter Parker. His whole body has to reinvent itself, and it’s an excruciating process for a skinny, frightened fourteen-year-old kid from Queens.

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker

Warning: Blood, illness, and a little profanity.

Word Count: 1431

This fic can also be found on FFN and AO3.

——————————

Peter woke up with a jerk; his stomach felt like someone was stabbing it repeatedly with a jagged blade, and his entire body was on fire. Peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt, he crawled into the bathroom in only his boxers, lying against the cold tile for some relief against the relentless heat. The spider bite on his hand bristled and then flared with pain, making him gasp in alarm.

He remembered stumbling back home after the field trip, dizzy and confused; he’d fallen into his bed afterward. He knew that Aunt May had left for a night shift, and she wouldn’t be back for at least four o’clock. He curled in on himself, whimpering and moaning, on the floor of his bathroom. Sweat poured down his forehead, and the pain only worsened, spreading from his stomach outward, to his chest, head, arms, and legs.

Peter had never felt pain like this before.

At one point, he remembered screaming, but he could barely hear anymore. His sight and hearing were cloudy now, as though someone had wrapped his head in cloth, and there was a horrible, bitter taste in his mouth, like he’d swallowed a thousand spiders.

He didn’t know how much time was passing; it could have been a few minutes or a few hours. He clung to the porcelain rim of the toilet, heaving weakly into it. Tears trickled down his cheeks, and he cried, for the first time in a long time, for his parents. He wished they were here, to tell him everything was going to be okay and he would be fine.

But there was no one here but Peter. Once the nausea finally subsided, then came the headaches, splitting his skull with a white-hot axe. Curled up on the floor of his bathroom, he couldn’t stop the tears from coming now, spilling from him as though they could prevent the avalanche of pain currently wracking his brain. And light started to hurt, too; eventually, the light bothered him so much that he had to crawl to the other side of the bathroom on his hands and knees just to turn it off. The darkness provided some relief, but then the blazing heat returned, washing over him in waves of fire ants marching over his skin. He cried and cried and threw up again. When one pain was gone, another seemed to take its place, sending him into a whole new kind of misery.

Peter wondered if he was going to die this way: on the floor of his bathroom, surrounded by his own vomit. He prayed that Aunt May would come home soon, because she always made everything better. Something rose in his throat; thinking he was about to throw up again, his frail body lunged for the toilet, scrambling to grip each side, but instead he coughed uncontrollably. Spitting up into the toilet, he felt something hot and wet drip down his chin. When he forced his eyes open again, his nerve endings protesting violently against the action, he saw red splattered against white.

Peter cried harder.

He wished he could pass out, just so he wouldn’t have to experience this level of absolute physical torture. It’s just the flu, he thought, over and over again. It’s just the flu. I’ll get over it. I’ll be fine. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was anything but fine.

Eventually, he was on the floor again, lying with his back against the wall. He’d stopped throwing up, at least, for he had nothing left to bring back up. However, just as the agony in his torso faded, his muscles began to spasm, so much so that he couldn’t cling to the toilet anymore.

Suddenly, he couldn’t feel his fingers. The odd feeling of numbness crept up his arm with a violent shiver; Peter have never felt so scared in his entire life. He slid across the floor, dragging himself towards the other side of the bathroom. Maybe then he could reach the phone… But then his feet went numb, too, and the fire started again.

Peter wished he was dead.

Peter didn’t know how long it had been, but finally, he could feel life trickle back into his body, one cell at a time. He was lying on his stomach on the bathroom floor, and everything went into laser-sharp focus. He could feel every hair on his body stand up straight in his shock, and the pain ebbed until he could only sense this perpetual state of extreme attention. His skin felt sticky, almost clammy, but the intense waves of heat were gone. He climbed shakily to his feet, holding onto the sink for support.

He felt...different. It was like he could sense everything around him, all at once, and it hurt. His eyes felt like they were going to explode. He squinted to narrow his focus, and the pain dulled. He glanced from one thing to another, examining everything with extreme precision: the blood spots on the front of his shirt, the beads of sweat on his skin, the dirt on the floor. He could see everything.

When he looked up, into the mirror, he realized how much of a toll it had taken on him. His eyes were horribly bloodshot, feeling almost swollen in their sockets, and red trickled from the corner of each eye in mimicry of tears. There was blood coming from his ears, too, now sliding down the side of his neck.

Peter had never seen so much blood before.

It was red, brighter than he’d expected against his pale skin, and everywhere. On his face, on his hands, on the bathroom floor… He wanted to wipe it away, but currently he didn’t possess the strength to. This… Whatever this was… It had sapped every bit of energy from his fourteen-year-old body.

He staggered out of the bathroom, bracing himself against the wall. He was starving. It was still dark outside, he noticed, and when he glanced at the clock he realized it had been eight hours since he had first fallen asleep in his room. He stumbled into the kitchen, flung open the fridge, and gathered everything he could find, wolfing down takeout box after takeout box before he even knew what was inside.

After he ate, he limped back to his room, his limbs still shaky from the whole experience. Every inch of his body ached, whining with protest as he moved. What had just happened to him? The flu didn’t make someone feel like this. He collapsed onto his bed, exhausted yet still buzzing with energy. Whatever it was surging beneath his skin… This wasn’t normal.

Peter closed his eyes, blocking out his super-focus, and hoped that this strange feeling would be gone in the morning.

Before he could even try to sleep, however, he heard Aunt May’s key enter the lock all the way from his room with a soft click. May always tried to sneak in so she wouldn’t wake him, but today, his senses wouldn’t let him ignore her presence, even though she was tiptoeing inside. He stayed curled up in a ball on his bed, hoping his aunt would just want to go to sleep and leave him alone, but she didn’t. Instead, she went into the bathroom, and it was only when Aunt May, panicked, exclaimed, “What the fuck?” that Peter realized that the mess he had made in the bathroom was still there. All the blood and vomit in there was still… Fuck, he thought.

“Peter!” she shouted; her voice was a frightening combination of terror and hysteria. “Peter! Where are—” She burst through his door, her face the epitome of fear. “Peter!” She rushed to his side, immediately wrapping her arms around him in a gentle hug. “You okay, kiddo?” Her voice was still shaking. “What happened in the bathroom? What happened to you?” She was touching the side of his face now, testing for fever, but finding only dried bloodstains and clammy skin.

Peter only shook his head and clung to her as scared, fourteen-year-old kids did, sobbing, “I d-don’t kn-know, I don’t know!”

Startled, Aunt May pulled him into her arms, sitting on the bed with him and smoothing his hair away from his forehead. “It’ll be okay,” she promised, holding him to her. “Don’t worry, kiddo, you’ll be okay.” She rubbed his back in slow circles, shushing him like she did when he was little, murmuring softly. “You’re gonna be okay.”

So Peter gripped her tightly and cried, believing every word she said.

#mcu #peter parker #may parker #spiderman #avengers #my writing #fanfic #spiderman homecoming #whump #whump peter #hurt!peter #sickfic #aunt may #ao3 #ffn

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vollyball-illnesses-blog · 7 years

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Hi! I love love love both of your headcanons for all these different characters. Do you think you could bless me with both your Tanaka headcanons? I'm trying to write a new sickfic for him but I'm coming up blank right now :p Hope I'm not being a hassle.

Anonymous said:

Ok I’m the same anon who asked for the kuroo headcanons and I loved them, so I feel bad asking you to do Tanaka’s as well ;-;

thank you both for asking, and for the kind words!!! we’re really glad you’ve enjoyed our other hcs!!! hope these turned out alright!

also, morg and i have some really different hcs on tanaka, so if you don’t like one set, be sure to check out the other!!!

oh, and @tomato-sickfics, i’m looking forward to reading what you come up with for your fic!!! i absolutely adore your writing!!! - cas

Casper’s HCs

stomach bugs/fevers

i don’t imagine him getting sick very often, since i hc him to have an incredible immune system. like, to the point that, even though he always takes care of saeko when she’s sick, he doesn’t always catch her bug, despite being pretty reckless about getting close to her and all of that

having said that, on the occasion that he does get sick, it’s usually because he was taking care of his sister, who caught a bug first

he’s also gotten sick of taking care of others (namely, hinata), because the thought they were motion sick when really they had a bad stomach flu

he won’t go to school if he knows he’s sick, but he’ll often get bored after a day of sitting around alone, playing video games, so he’ll show up for practice in the afternoon. of course, daichi kicks him out immediately. tanaka is less scared of daichi when he’s sick and will even make fun of him, so when daichi starts getting angry, noya will offer to go home with tanaka, which appeases him, because all he really wanted was some company

he gets a lot of energy when he’s sick

kind of acts drunk when he has a fever

“yuu, you know what i just realized?”

“what is it, ryu?”

“you… you’re shorter than me, yuu. i just realized that. you know what? that means you can’t reach as many things!”

noya is a little bit peeved, but forgives him because 1) tanaka’s sick, and doesn’t know what he’s saying, 2) it’s flattering to hear that someone didn’t immediately notice his height, or lack thereof, and 3) the sick boy is on the verge of tears about how sad it is that noya can’t reach so many things, and it’s just sad to watch

food dares

he seems like someone who’d be willing to eat weird food on dares

he’s usually able to succeed through sheer willpower, completing the task without vomiting despite gagging a few times

he holds it together and acts super triumphant until onlookers are gone, and then he’ll spend the rest of the night in the bathroom, puking it all up

motion sickness

he used to get really carsick as a kid, which was really bad because his parents drive as recklessly as his sister

he stopped getting carsick when saeko started driving because the thought of making a mess in saeko’s car was enough to make him fear for his life.

i hc that noya made this fear worse. like ryu told him that saeko had learned to drive and noya was immediately like, “dude, you’ve gotta stop getting carsick.” and ryu was all confused, like, “what do you mean?” and noya was like, “your nee-chan is going to kill you if you mess up her car” and then they were both genuinely scared for ryu’s life, so the first time he rode with saeko, noya came, too, to protect him and encourage him to hold it in. instead noya just ended up laughing and pretending he was on a rollercoaster. thankfully, ryu was able to hold it in on his own

he still gets motion sick on boats and planes, though

loud noises

pretty sure i read somewhere that he has exceptionally good hearing

so he gets nauseous, sometimes to the point of throwing up, if he hears a sudden and loud noise

if you’ve ever accidentally turned your volume way up on your music player and then played it with earbuds in already, you might know how this feels, to some extent

he’s been pranked before (maybe by suga or noya? or other classmates) by people turning up the volume on his phone without him knowing, only to cause him to throw up, sometimes on the person who pranked him

suga and daichi are very protective of him on this issue, since he’s seen the effects, and watch tanaka’s phone like a hawk when tanaka sets it down with earbuds still plugged in

he also has to be careful around blow horns, fireworks, and concerts

response to caretakers

saeko has always taken care of him while he’s sick. it makes him feel a bit childish, but he appreciates it a lot. as long as his sister’s there, he’s able to hold himself together for her sake

noya also takes care of him sometimes. whenever he shows up to practice sick, noya will go home with him and keep an eye on him until saeko takes over

doesn’t resist help while sick, and doesn’t get embarrassed when someone’s around to comfort him - in fact, he appreciates it a lot, because he likes knowing that people care - but he won’t tell anyone, either, even saeko, usually because he doesn’t realize he’s going to get sick until it’s happening

he does get embarrassed if there are girls around, excluding his sister, and he’ll try to hide from them but fails miserably

puking details

a loud puker, to the point where his retches could be mistaken as shouting

a lot of loud retching, not prone to hiccups until his stomach is empty and his throat is raw and at that point they just hurt, and occasionally bring up acidic bile

random

he’s definitely been sick from being punched in a fight before. also, maybe from being punched by daichi? that would explain why he’s so scared. i feel like he would have been an even more unruly first year than the current baby crows, and could see him getting in a fight with someone a year older than him

i hc that he has an intense and paralyzing fear of spiders? idk why, it just seems like he would to me.

Morgan’s HCs

☆Tanaka –Possibly very squeamish about vomit, I mean, remember how he reacted when Hinata threw up on the gym floor? He was completely panicked and calling for someone to do something. And then when Hinata threw up on him in the bus? There was a cut scene between the actual incident and them outside, plenty of time for Tanaka to freak out. Then when he was commenting on Hinata having grown and matured because he managed to wait until he got off the bus before he puked, he was probably relieved.

–Very strong stomach otherwise though, takes more than a little punch or ball to the gut, he’s fine with bad smells and all that. Certain tastes make him gag, of course, but not throw up.

–Acts really tough but is reduced to tears and hiccups when he throws up, babbling on about how uncool it makes him look as a senpai in between heaves.

–Likes to boast about his huge stomach, always challenging people like Kuroo, Noya and Bokuto to eating matches and often winning, though suffering the consequences after when everything makes a vengeful return.

–Gets terribly sympathy sick for anyone he’s really close to, he cannot be in the same room with his friends when they puke otherwise he’s doomed himself to the same fate, though he’s only squeamish about people he’s not so close to (e.g. Hinata)

–Certain foods make him puke for sure, like bananas probably. If he knows he’s eating it, he’ll soon puke, but as long as it’s hidden, he should be absolutely fine. At one point Nishinoya probably chased him around with one, taunting him with the demon fruit.

–Is suprisingly quiet when throwing up, except for the burps that bring with them burning mouthfuls of bile and half digested food and the sobbing.

–He’s actually really emetophobic and will put off vomiting as long as possible, if he can, hating to be out of control like that. He will cry and shake and work himself up more to the point of making himself even more ill.

–Pushing himself too far is basically his thing, mostly because he’s so obsessed with being popular with the ladies. He probably sees his physical fitness as an important part of his person as a whole so he always wants to keep pushing further, to do his best and then some more. It wouldn’t suprise me if he once had a problem with eating disorders, in his earlier school years.

#tomato-sickfics #sincerely: cas #Morg has the blog #tanaka ryunosuke #tw vomit #ask #anon #hcs #headcannons #emeto headcannons #emeto

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