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bcdrawsandwrites · 7 years ago

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Next entry for @badthingshappenbingo!

Reminder that I am still accepting prompts for this! Check out my initial post for the guidelines. Also note the current bingo card on this post–the things I mark with crossbones are completed prompts, and ones with a single bone are ones that have been requested, but not written yet.

(Fics are also posted to AO3 and FFN, but please just use the links in my blog desc to get to those ‘cuz I’m too tired to make links for them.)

Aaand here’s our next prompt, submitted by @usuallymassivegalaxy! This one turned out fairly fluffy.

Prompt: Caught in a Storm Characters: Héctor, Coco, Imelda, pre-movie

“Mamá! Mamá!”

“Not now, Coco. Mamá is busy.”

“Mamaaaa…!”

Héctor looked up from his songbook, pencil in mouth, to see his daughter tugging at Imelda’s dress. His wife was in the middle of drawing water from the well near their house—a task she’d always insisted on doing on her own—and he’d stepped outside to be with her, bringing Coco with him so she could run around the yard.

It felt like just yesterday that Coco had learned to walk, and it still warmed Héctor’s heart to think of her taking her first steps toward him and Imelda. It had felt like such a wonderful moment at the time—and it still was!—but at the same time… well. Everyone else in town had warned them that as hard as taking care of a baby was, having a baby that could walk would make things much, much harder.

As it turned out, they weren’t wrong.

Coco seemed to have a knack for toddling on her little legs straight into trouble, getting into things she shouldn’t, wandering off when they looked away for two seconds… and, currently, bothering Imelda when she was in the middle of something. Right now, she was tugging repeatedly on Imelda, who was struggling to focus on her task. And on top of that, the little girl’s voice was growing shrill. “Mamamamamamammamama—!”

“¡Ay!” Imelda cried, heaving up the bucket of water and setting it on the ground. “Coco, not now!”

Immediately Coco’s face scrunched up as she began to whine, stomping her foot—signs of an oncoming tantrum.

Quickly slipping his book into his pocket and sticking his pencil behind his ear, Héctor hopped up from his spot on the nearby bench and hurried up to his daughter. “Shhh, shh, Coco, let’s not bother Mamá right now,” he said, crouching down to meet her gaze. “She’s working very hard.”

Coco continued to whine, stomping her feet. “No! Nooo!”

Looking up at Imelda, Héctor bit his lip to see her rubbing her forehead. “Would you like some help with that, mi amor?” he asked. “I can take the water in, and—”

“No, it’s not that,” she said with a sigh. “I just… have a headache right now.”

“Oooh, a headache, huh?” Héctor rose to his full height, wrapped an arm around his wife, and drew her closer to place a kiss on her forehead. “Better?”

Imelda laughed softly, resting her head against his chest. “A little.”

“Mamá! Mamaaaaaaa!” And Coco was back to tugging at her mother’s dress.

Feeling his wife sigh against him, Héctor leaned his head against hers. “Go in and get some rest, Imelda,” he murmured. “I’ll take Coco for a little trip around town, eh? Get all the grumpiness out of her before we go home.”

“Gracias, mi amor.” Imelda pulled away from him, but stood up on her toes to give him a light kiss on the lips. Even the small gesture was enough to send him reeling—he nearly missed her stooping down to kiss their daughter on the cheek. “Mamá is going to take a nap. You be a good girl for your papá, okay?”

“No! Noooo!”

Sighing, Imelda stood back up, patting Héctor on the shoulder. “Papá will take you out to play, right?”

“Eh?” Shaking himself out of his blissful daze, he looked down to see Coco pouting up at him. “Oh—OH! Sí, Imelda! Go on and rest, now.” He drew his wife into one last hug before she playfully pushed him away.

While she went to bring the water inside, Héctor knelt down again to Coco’s level. “Your Mamá is very tired, Coco, and whining isn’t going to make her want to play with you.”

Coco whined anyway, stomping her feet and pouting at him.

Putting a hand to his chin and rubbing his thin goatee, Héctor studied his daughter seriously. “Now, what’s with that look?” He almost commented on just how much of Imelda was in that expression, but decided against it while she was still in earshot. “What sort of face is that to be making?”

“No!” Coco cried, and Héctor nearly laughed. Right now, that was the only word she knew that would allow her to express disapproval.

“Mira, mira, Coco, Papá can make that face, too!” He then pouted in a similar manner to Coco, furrowing his brow and sticking his lower lip out.

An unmistakable look of confusion crossed his daughter’s face before she resumed glaring, and began pushing on his knee. “Noooo!”

“No?” Héctor reared back, adopting a look of mock confusion. “Am I doing this wrong? A ver, a ver… how about this?” He then leaned forward again, pouting in an even more exaggerated manner.

That utterly baffled look returned to Coco’s face, along with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, and Héctor knew his plan was working. Even so, she tried to keep pouting, and gave his knee another shove. “No!”

“No? All right. How about… this!” Once again, Héctor put on the most exaggerated pout he possibly could, leaning in close to Coco. It was a close battle, but not quite enough—she was still struggling to keep up her bad mood, fighting to keep from smiling. That was it—time for his secret weapon!

Héctor pouted at Coco for a few more seconds, and crossed his eyes.

The effect was immediate—Coco burst into giggles, all traces of her bad mood finally gone.

“There’s my little angelita!” he exclaimed, laughing right with her.

“Again, again!” she cried, and Héctor obliged her, crossing his eyes and sending her into another fit of giggles. This went on for another minute or so, before Héctor stood up, rubbing his eyes.

“Ay, that’s enough of that now, Coco,” he said, still chuckling. “I need to see straight if I want to take you to the plaza!”

Clapping her hands and cheering, Coco followed him as he strode up to the bench he’d been sitting at earlier to pick up his old guitar. He slung the worn guitar strap over his shoulder and grinned down at Coco, reaching down to take her hand. “Want to go see what Tío Ernesto’s up to?”

“‘Nesto!” Coco exclaimed, putting her hand in her papá’s.

With that, Héctor led Coco out through the gate and into the street. It wasn’t exactly a sunshiny day, and perhaps it was a little humid, but it was still perfectly fine weather, so in all likelihood Ernesto was out in the plaza and playing for tips, as usual. He’d probably be happy to see him, especially with Coco coming along too. They would play a few songs together while watching Coco and generally have a good time.

But to his surprise, when they reached the plaza, there was no sign of Ernesto playing anywhere. Héctor frowned, looking around to see if his hermano was off flirting with one of the girls that ran the fruit cart instead of playing his guitar, but no—he simply wasn’t around. Not only that, but the plaza wasn’t terribly busy, either. That was… odd.

“Papá?” Coco tugged at his hand, looking around the plaza curiously.

Héctor frowned. He could still sit and play guitar anyway, but even if a crowd came to watch, he couldn’t play by himself and watch Coco at the same time—she’d wander off. But they couldn’t go back home, either—even though she was in a better mood now, Coco would try to wake Imelda up for sure.

Looking down at her, he rubbed his chin in thought. “Hmm, looks like your tío isn’t here, mija,” he said, and she looked up at him. “What do you say we go somewhere else?”

Coco stared at him for a moment, then tugged her hand out of his and reached up toward him. “Up?”

He nodded, stooping down and scooping her up in one arm and holding her on his hip. “All right. Ready to go?”

“¡Sí!”

Carefully shifting his grip on his daughter, Héctor turned away from the plaza, heading for the edges of the town instead. There was a nice little spot just past the gates where he and Ernesto used to go play guitar or write songs. (Well, Héctor did most of the writing, but Ernesto at least tried to help.) It wasn’t too far away, it would be nice and peaceful, and he could easily keep Coco from running off there.

The trip through town was mostly uneventful, save one moment when Coco tried to squirm away from him to go after a stray silver tabby cat. It had crossed their path and hissed at them before running past them in the opposite direction. Héctor had no idea what that had been about, but there was no way he was going to let Coco run after some filthy stray.

Once they were out of town, it was a short trek up to the hill. (And thank goodness for that—between his daughter and his guitar, Héctor’s back was starting to ache.) Once they reached the top, he set Coco down, groaning. “Ay, you’re getting waaaay too big for me to carry, mija,” he said, slinging his guitar off his shoulder and straightening his back with an audible crack. “But here we are!”

Coco looked around the hill—it wasn’t terribly high, and sported a couple trees at the top for shade—but seemed happy enough. Immediately she rushed over to see what was on the other side of the trees.

Héctor set his guitar down against the tree and followed Coco as she toddled around. But when Coco looked back and saw him following her, she let out a giggle and started to run. Grinning, Héctor gave chase, walking a little slower than he normally would have in order to stay right behind her, and holding out his hands like claws. He made a growling noise, and Coco let out a shriek, followed by more laughter.

They kept up the chase for a few minutes before Héctor finally swooped down to grab his daughter, picking her up and spinning her around before kissing her face repeatedly with exaggerated “mwah” sounds. Coco was laughing the whole time, and a bit more willing to sit still by the time he finally set her down. He then stooped down to pick up his guitar and sling it over his shoulder. “How about some música, mija?”

Coco bounced where she sat. “Poco Loco!”

“That one? All right!” Letting out an exaggerated grito, he started playing the song, dancing around his daughter as he played.

And so they spent a good half-hour or so enjoying music together, with Héctor playing her any song she wanted and Coco occasionally hopping up to dance with him. Héctor felt like his heart would burst every time she tried to sing along—she would grow up singing songs with him and Imelda, and he couldn’t wait to see what kind of beautiful voice she would have when she grew older. For now, though, he would keep appreciating the little moments like this.

Gradually Héctor’s voice grew tired, but so did Coco as her bounciness began to wane—she was starting to nod off. Héctor heaved a sigh, wishing he’d brought a canteen of water with him, but it didn’t matter all that much. With Coco tired out, now, they should probably start home. “Ready for a nap, mija?”

Coco, now seated toward the edge of the hill and looking up at him, yawned widely. But suddenly she blinked, slapping her left hand against her right arm, as though she’d been bitten.

Concerned, Héctor stepped closer to see what happened when he felt it, too—the faint splash of a raindrop directly on his nose. “Whoops. We should get home.” Quickly he slung his guitar onto his back, and stooped down to pick up Coco. Already the rain was picking up, more and more drops hitting him and showing no signs of slowing down. He could even hear the hollow plunks as they fell onto his guitar—

His guitar!

“No, no no no,” he muttered, his heart hammering in sudden panic. That’s why Ernesto wasn’t out in the plaza—he didn’t want to get his guitar caught in the rain and risk ruining it, but Héctor hadn’t even been thinking about the weather.

Coco whined, tugging at his shirt, and a worse fear struck Héctor. What if Coco got sick in this rain, and…?!

“It’s okay, it’s okay, mija,” he whispered to her, carefully making his way down the hill. “Papá will get you home.” He just had to get down this hill, and the town wasn’t that far away, and—

His foot caught on a particularly slick patch of grass, and he nearly tumbled. No, no no, don’t fall, don’t—! Fighting to keep from crashing forward, he overbalanced and fell hard on his backside. “Agh—!”

“Papá!” Coco cried in alarm, clinging to him harder. But she was okay, it was all right—she was just scared, not hurt.

“I’m okay, it’s okay,” he said quickly, carefully pushing himself up to his feet to get down the rest of the hill. There were a few moments where he nearly slid again, but he finally managed to make it down to the bottom of the hill. At that point, the rain was already splashing over the both of them in great big drops, but at least the worst was over. Agh, estúpido—why didn’t you think about this? Why didn’t you pay attention to the weather?!

Coco was whining again, and goodness she was heavy, but Héctor ran as fast as he could back toward the town’s gates. He just needed to get home, and he knew Santa Cecilia like the back of his hand. He could get home fast, he could do this…!

Charging through the rain and trying to get past the slick grass, he finally made it to the gates of Santa Cecilia. But now the rain was even worse, having gone from large drops to a near-solid wall of water. Squinting, he tried to see as he hurried down the street, his shoes sloshing through puddles, but the horrid wind and rain did nothing to help. To make matters worse, a roar of thunder rumbled through the air, lightning flashing several seconds afterward in the distance.

And on top of all that, Coco was screaming.

Héctor nearly froze where he stood; he could hardly see in this rain, but if he didn’t get home soon, he had no hope of saving his guitar—the sole thing that earned him money for his family. Yet all he could focus on was Coco, his little angelita, who was completely terrified, clutching his drenched shirt in a deathgrip and bawling into his chest.

He had to do something.

Glancing off to the side, he confirmed what he’d hoped was there, and rushed up to the closest building, hugging the wall as best as he could with the guitar on his back. The eaves of the building were just big enough for him to hide under, keeping them sheltered from the rain.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, mija, it’s okay,” he whispered, stroking his hand over her soaked, short braids. Still Coco continued to wail, her face buried into his chest. “No, no, you’re okay. We’ll be safe here for now. Don’t worry…”

Thunder rumbled again, louder and closer now, and Coco wasn’t much quieter.

Slowly Héctor slid into a seated position, drawing his legs up and his arms around his daughter, cocooning her from the storm around them. Gradually her screams faded, but she was still sobbing, even as Héctor rocked her gently.

Not knowing what else to do, he began to hum.

His music always calmed her—when she was fussy, when she was tired but didn’t want to sleep, and even now, when she was frightened. He didn’t have a particular song in mind, this time, merely humming whatever notes came to him first. All the while he held her close to his chest, keeping his head lowered over hers so she could hear his voice, his music over the storm.

Gradually Coco’s sobs softened into occasional hiccups, but Héctor kept singing. While rain around them did not stop, it seemed to fade from their world as the two of them were lost in their music.

Héctor wasn’t sure how long he sat there, shielding Coco and humming to her, but eventually the sound of distant thunder broke through into their world. Looking up, he found that, while the rain was still falling all around them, it was not nearly as harsh as it had been before. He had no idea how long it would stay that way.

Finishing his spontaneous song, he slowly eased himself to his feet, wincing at the pain in his back. He stepped out from under the eaves, brushing his hand over Coco’s hair when she whimpered into his chest again. With that, he resumed his journey down the street, his feet marching toward home on their own accord.

But just as they finally turned down the street their house stood on, a figure nearly charged over Héctor, and he jumped back with a startled cry.

“Where have you been?!” Imelda cried, pushing her damp hair out of her face. “I woke up to the sound of thunder, and you weren’t home yet, and I was worried that—!”

“Not now, Imelda,” Héctor whispered, and cringed when he felt how rough his voice had gone. Coco whimpered again, snuggling closer to him.

Seeing that, Imelda nodded softly, placing a hand on Héctor’s shoulder as they finally made their way back to their house.

The three of them were shivering as they stepped through the door, especially Héctor. Imelda was quick to take Coco from him, hurrying her into the bedroom to change her into dry clothing.

Héctor, meanwhile, shrugged his guitar off his shoulders with a groan, and turned away from it, almost afraid to look at its condition. He could feel water sloshing around inside it, and tipped it to let the water pour out over the already-damp floor. Finally he forced himself to look at it, grimacing at how thoroughly soaked it was. This old guitar had already been through a lot before getting caught in a rainstorm. What was he supposed to do with it now?

Searching the house, he found a dry cloth, and set to work wiping down the worn instrument. He was so wrapped up in his work that he gave a start when he felt a hand at his shoulder, and turned. There, carrying a newly-dressed Coco, was Imelda, also in a new dress of her own. She looked from the guitar and back to Héctor, her eyebrows drawn up in concern, and Héctor felt his heart sink as he shook his head. “L-lo siento, Imelda, I don’t think—”

Imelda placed her finger over his mouth. “Shh. There’s nothing to be done about it now.” Rubbing her hand over his back, she rested her head on his shoulder. “You and Coco are home safe. That’s all that matters right now.”

He nodded, feeling a numbness that had little to do with how cold he was. “I… I’ll go to buy a new one tomorrow. We’ll be okay. I don’t need to eat that much.”

“Go change, Héctor,” was all she said, and he obeyed, shakily rising to his feet and trudging to the bedroom.

When he returned in a clean outfit, he found Imelda making coffee in the kitchen. Coco was dozing on the couch, and Héctor took a seat next to her. Her hair was still damp, but otherwise she’d been thoroughly dried and cleaned. He pulled her to his side, and she didn’t protest much, only whimpering a little as she quickly settled against him.

Moments later, a thick blanket thwumped over Héctor’s shoulder. As he worked at unfolding it and draping it over himself and Coco, Imelda sat at their daughter’s other side. She held out a mug of coffee for Héctor, which he gratefully accepted, and she took a sip of her own.

There the three of them sat, sharing their warmth as they listened to the sounds of the remainder of the storm passing over.

When the time came to put Coco to bed, Héctor was the one to carry her to their room and tuck her into their bed. (She didn’t have a bed of her own yet—perhaps when she was bigger.) As he took a seat next to her, he felt her forehead for perhaps the dozenth time that evening, but it still remained a normal temperature. It was a weight off his shoulders, but there was still another burden remaining.

“Song?” Coco murmured, looking up at him expectantly. Thanks to her earlier nap, she wasn’t quite as tired as she should be, but usually a song or three was enough to fix that.

Héctor gave her a lopsided smile. “Well… I can sing for you, but we’ll have to do it a little different this time.” When she gave him a confused look, he sighed, but refused to drop the smile. “We’ll have to do it without the guitar, okay?”

“And why is that?”

Startled, Héctor turned around to see Imelda leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. Normally she let him and Coco have some privacy when he sang lullabies to her—she never intruded like this.

Remembering she’d asked a question, he cleared his throat. “Uh, well… the guitar is…” He looked from her to Coco, not sure he wanted to let his daughter know that the guitar was likely wrecked beyond repair.

“That guitar was old as can be and was going to wear out eventually,” Imelda said with a sigh. “But I was hoping it would last until the end of November.”

Héctor blinked. “That’s… weirdly specific. Why then?”

Imelda threw her head back, rolling her eyes, and pulled something out from behind her. Before he was able to register what it was, she shoved it into his arms.

A shining white, new guitar.

“Happy early birthday, mi amor,” Imelda said, bending down to kiss him on the cheek. “Now go play for her.”

Héctor’s breath caught in his throat for a long moment, and then his chest began to heave. He could only stare in amazement at the gorgeous instrument, wondering just how long Imelda had been saving money to buy him this. Silver markings framed the body, and the head was decorated by gorgeous skull markings, and even the pegs—

“Song?” Coco demanded, and he looked up to see her eyeing him, clearly wondering why he was taking so long to play for her.

Letting out a laugh that nearly turned into a sob, Héctor rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Sí, Coco, I’ll play you a song.” Automatically his hands got to work at tuning the guitar, and soon enough he was plucking at the strings, coaxing even more beautiful notes out of this guitar than he’d ever played in his life. Coco wouldn’t notice, not until she was older, but Imelda knew, and…

Ay, he loved his family.

#hector rivera #coco rivera #imelda rivera #coco #pixar coco #coco spoilers #bad things happen bingo #my writing #fanfic #yeaaaa #now back to work on NCY #I just churned out a bunch of notes to make sure the fic was on the right track #and have just started chapter 12!

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vollyball-illnesses-blog · 8 years ago

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here’s a fill for an ask from my personal fanfic blog, @casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction

here’s a fill for a prompt i got on my personal fanfic blog, @casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction, before i switched over here to take prompts!

this one is long overdue, but i’ve gotta be straight with you, anon: the whole “kissing to surprise/reduce panic” thing really rubs me the wrong way, so i didn’t do that part. i know that i personally would only panic more if that happened, so that’s why it makes me uncomfortable =/ i’m sorry i couldn’t fill the prompt exactly, and hope this is okay anyway!

- cas

WARNING: descriptions of vomit, emetophobia, and panic attacks below the cut

It had been years - at least three or four - since Kenma had thrown up. He had a debilitating fear of doing so, and as a result, he could suppress the urge fairly well, even when the random panic attacks he got made him nauseous. This time, however, the nausea was not lessening in the least.

Kenma squatted off to the side of the gym, a little ways away from where everyone else had just seconds ago stopped running their laps, attempting and barely managing to suppress gags. The panic attack had come on quick this time, and very unexpectedly, seemingly entirely unprompted, but brutal as ever nonetheless. Indeed, this one, the first one Kenma had ever had while practicing with Nekoma, seemed worse than usual.

Kuroo was by his side in an instant, and the rest of the team was in chaos as their captain tuned the rest of them out.

“Kenma,” Kuroo spoke his name softly. “Is it okay to touch you?”

Kenma shook his head and put a hand over his mouth as his stomach muscles clenched. He whimpered, and felt tears pricking his eyes.

“Oh no, Kitten, just breathe-“

“Kenma, don’t dieeeee!” Lev’s shout overpowered whatever Kuroo was trying to say and scared Kenma so bad he almost lost it. Kuroo sent Lev a killer glare that the younger boy completely missed. The team captain was about to abandon his post by Kenma’s side when Yaku stepped in for him.

“Everybody! Get! Out! Now!”

Since Yaku was mad, and Yaku was scary when he was mad, everyone listened and left the gym almost immediately. Kuroo sighed and expressed his gratitude towards Yaku with a smile. The other boy grinned and gave a quick thumbs up before following the rest of the team out of the gym. He had to shove Lev out, too, blushing slightly because the younger boy had come back to wait for Yaku and make sure that he got dinner.

Meanwhile, Kuroo had turned his full attention back to Kenma. “Hey,” he whispered. “It will be okay, I promise.”

But Kenma was shaking his head frantically. Kuroo knew what that meant. He sighed, not out of frustration or impatience, but because he hated not being able to help the terrified, shaking boy in front of him.

“It will be okay,” he repeated, just to let Kenma know he was still there as he got up and quickly retrieved a small trashcan from the locker room, which he set in front of the younger boy. At the sight of it, tears spilled from Kenma’s eyes, and his breathing became even more ragged.

“It will pass, Kenma,” Kuroo soothed. “I promise.”

But Kenma could barely breathe, let alone register what Kuroo was saying. His stomach was churning, and there was a sour taste in his mouth that made him feel even worse. He squeezed his eyes shut, and repeated a mantra in his head: not gonna throw up, not gonna throw up, not gonna-

His stomach muscles clenched and vomit shot up Kenma’s throat. He did all he could to keep his mouth shut, but that only forced the acidic liquid to exit painfully through his nose. Soon the force of the puke pouring from his mouth was too much to restrain to any extent, and Kenma gave in and, still squatting, just held his head in his hands as he was violently sick. From the minute he started vomiting he was sobbing, and he continued to cry as wave after wave poured out of him, making him feel like he was out of control and suffocating, to the point where he saw stars.

Even when the puking stopped, Kenma couldn’t stop crying. He felt disgusting and violated by his own body, and he still couldn’t breathe. He was actually scared he might choke to death on air, or maybe he would just die from the exertion of repetitive dry heaving.

Then Kuroo’s voice filtered back through his ears.

“Shhh, you’re alright, Kitten, you’re okay. You’ve done great, you’re through the worst of it. Breathe for me, Kenma. You’ll feel better if you stop crying, doll…” On and on he went. Kuroo didn’t pause in his speaking for even a second. The words were sweet, but they didn’t matter all that much to Kenma.

What did matter, however, was the fact that he was still there. Kenma knew it was hard for Kuroo, a problem solver by nature, to sit there and watch, without being able to fix the situation, and yet he had stayed and watched. Kenma knew, logically, that no more than ten minutes had passed, but to him it had felt like hours, and he was sure it had been almost as bad for Kuroo.

Kenma realized then that no matter how long Kenma’s anxiety plagued him, Kuroo would always outlast it, and it was that thought that brought him back, that allowed him to reign in his sobs, that slowed his frantic attempts at breathing until air could enter his lungs regularly again, that eventually drained the tension from his strained muscles.

By the time he’d calmed down, Kenma was completely drained, to the point where he couldn’t even hold himself up. “Kuro” was all he said, and then the older boy was there and lying down, more than ready to function as the makeshift pillow that Kenma always needed after a panic attack.

“Can I-“ Kuroo started, still hesitant to initiate touch, but Kenma was already nodding. Kuroo offered a tense smile and started stroking Kenma’s hair.

“You okay, Kitten?”

Kenma nodded, and Kuroo kissed his forehead.

“I’m glad. That was a scary one, huh?”

Kenma nodded, rolling over so that he could press his face into Kuroo’s stomach.

“I wish I could do something to help,” Kuroo said quietly, almost as if to himself, but this time Kenma shook his head.

“You do help,” he rasped, voice raw from tears and being sick. “More than you could imagine, just by being here. Thank you, Kuro.”

Kuroo didn’t get it, but he knew Kenma would never lie to him, so he accepted this, somewhat incredulously. He placed a hand gently on Kenma’s head. “I’ll always be here for you, Kitten.”

#tw vomit #tw panic attack #tw emetophobia #sincerely: cas #ask #anon #casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction #Kuroo Tetsurou #kozume kenma #kuroken #fic #haikyuu!!#emeto #emetophilia #sick kenma

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