#Primo nearly dies from laughing too hard | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wee-chlo · 6 years ago

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I forgot to post this yesterday. Better late than never.

The previous ‘beginning’ to this AU AU had always been intended as a one-shot. So I rerote the opening to better suit the tone and the backstory I wanted for this AU AU. Enjoy!

As always, Villain AU and all it’s holdings belong to @im-fairly-whitty and @slusheeduck , who have been very helpful in the creation of this AU AU as well.

Part 1: Sometimes It’s Hugs First, Moral Dilemmas Later

They’d gotten a call a little after lunch. Papá had answered it expecting some kind of business call. Instead, the Monterey police had notified them that Miguel Rivera had been found dead in his apartment.

The coroner had declared the death a combination of accidental overdose and a heart defect, something no one had caught or known about until he was in the morgue. Alcohol had been found in his system, and the coroner stated that it appeared as if Miguel had gotten drunk and accidentally taken too many of his sleeping pills.

“It doesn’t appear to have been intentional,” Detective Lopez told the family gently, as if it made anything any better, as if that kept Mamá and Abuelita from crying and made Papá stop gripping the steering wheel so tight that Socorro thought his fingers would break. “There wasn’t any foul play either. Just… just bad luck. I’m so sorry.”

The funeral had been hard. Socorro hadn’t seen Miguel in years, so the man in the coffin hadn’t been familiar to her. He looked their father but somehow smaller and more gaunt, dressed in a white button down and dark pants, clean-shaven where Papá had a mustache and shaggy where Papá’s hair was neatly cut. Socorro didn’t know enough about him to know if he was recognizable. Everything felt strange. Distant. Everyone had been crying except for Socorro and she didn’t know why she hadn’t cried. She felt like she should have been. He was her brother, after all.

It just didn’t feel real.

There were reporters inside and paparazzi waiting outside. Not all of the reporters were official. Some of them came up to Mamá and Papá, to Abuelita or Tío Burto, even to her once, and shaken a hand or offered a hug and mentioned how they knew Miguel from ‘work’. They didn’t wear nice suits or dresses. Their clothing was threadbare, their makeup was minimal at best, but they seemed genuine.

They had stories about Miguel, most of them either really funny or really nice. Socorro learned more about Miguel in those few conversations with these people she hadn’t met before than day than she had from any conversation with Abuelita.

Miguel had had a dog in the years before his death, a big mutt he’d named Adelita who’d eaten more of Miguel’s food than Miguel had and sat on Miguel’s feet to keep him from going anywhere when she wanted love.

Miguel liked Diet Dr. Pepper and made everyone in the bullpen breakfast every Monday.

“Made the best huevos rancheros this side of the river,” a guy named Erasmo said with something bordering on awe.

Miguel could do a terrifyingly good Texas accent. Multiple people had videos on their phones. They got Mamá to start laughing through her tears and Socorro would always love them for it.

They were the ones that came to the house later with Miguel’s things. A whole life packed up in a bunch of boxes, things from his apartment in Monterey or his desk at the newspaper he’d worked at. If Socorro hadn’t decided she’d like them already from the funeral, she’d have liked them then. The idea of going to Miguel’s apartment, where he’d died and where his body had been for nearly a day before someone had thought to look for him… Mamá had been a wreck when the call had come in. Socorro didn’t want to think about what it would be like for her to see that.

It was bad enough seeing it all in the papers. The death of Miguel Rivera, the prodigal son of the esteemed Rivera family, the great-great-grandson of Héctor and Imelda Rivera… That hadn’t gone unnoticed. Miguel had stayed out of the newsreels for the most part, aside from what he’d written himself, but the tabloids loved him. Not for the same reasons they’d loved Tío Rodrigo. Miguel wasn’t… hadn’t been a partier, hadn’t been drunk in public or made much fuss. He’d gone to school, lived quietly, become a reporter with some newspaper in Monterey focusing on crime, had even written a book or two on serial killers and unsolved crimes. But there had always been rumors, ever since that Día de los Muertos.

Whatever happened to Miguelito?

Miguel had never talked about it but everyone knew about it, or thought they knew about it. He’d disappeared for an entire night, running off at dusk and running back at dawn. Socorro hadn’t even been born yet but with Miguel’s passing, the news revisited it with a relish that made her queasy. The hysteria, the theories, the rumors, so many that outside of the family, no one knew what was real and what wasn’t. Experts on child abuse and sex trafficking spoke to eager pundits, even a few Rivera historians informed a well-versed public on what had happened to Tía Victoria so long ago, their voices dropping and becoming soft and somber.

Mamá and Papá never let her watch the news for long, but she’d seen enough. Videos and photos leaked of her brother’s apartment: a shoebox of a place with water stains and mold visible even through the grainy quality of the leaks. A wall covered in nonsense, bits of paper and post-it notes and pictures. An unmade bed, a bedside table covered with pill bottles and a folding table with a half-empty bottle of tequila on it.

Miguel had died in his sleep but Socorro still knew that he’d suffered. Maybe it hadn’t been a painful death, but he’d suffered.

A rush of smell had hit them both like a truck when they’d opened the boxes. Somehow, without knowing it, the smell clicked with Socorro as something undeniably Miguel. Socorro found the names for them buried under the clothing: lavender and lemon incense tucked up with a little burner. It permeated everything. It cracked something in Socorro and her papá that had remained solid and steady since the call had come.

They curled up with each other on the sofa and cried for what felt like forever before they were able to start going through the

The boxes mostly had personal effects. Some clothes, but mostly notebooks, letters, pictures, a couple dozen books and other random things that she and Papá went through. It would be awhile before Mamá could look through them. It would be longer before Abuelita could.

Miguel had kept everything. Every letter Socorro had sent him, every birthday card, every invite to every family event. Every email she’d sent had been printed off and tucked away carefully. She found letters from Mamá and Papá, newspaper articles about her and Rosa and Abel and their other primos.

And a laptop.

It was a bulky thing. Heavy and just a little too big to fit in any backpack Socorro had. She figured Miguel had gotten it second hand; she’d overheard Abuelita despair at how he was too proud to accept money from the family. It had stickers on it: This Machine Kills Fascists, a Princess Peach sticker, a sugar skull.

When she opened it, it was password protected. The lock screen was the family photo from Miguel’s high school graduation, the last time Socorro could remember their family whole and happy. Papá and Mamá’s arms around Miguel’s shoulders, Miguel’s own arm wrapped loosely around Socorro’s in a half-noogie. It was a good picture.

He’d left a few days afterwards. If Socorro strained a little, she could remember sitting in her room, the screaming from downstairs seeming muffled. Miguel, Papá, Mamá, Abuelita. She’d never actually heard Papá yell like that before. She’d never heard Miguel yell like that either, come to think of it.

Miguel had gone to university and hadn’t come back to the house after that. But sometimes he’d call. Abuelita had never taken the calls, even though he’d asked to speak with her a lot. Papá talked to him, and Mamá had talked to him. They didn’t always pass the phone over but sometimes they did. Miguel would ask about school, about music lessons, about the family. She’d have one more person to brag to about how she’d finally mastered that complicated drum rhythm or the A she’d gotten in math.

“Dang, you’re smarter than me, Coco. I never got A’s in nothing.”

“I’m not smarter than you; you’re in college.”

“I’m not in college because I’m smart, I’m in college because I’m stubborn.”

She didn’t get it. She hadn’t gotten it then and she didn’t get it now.

Socorro clicked Forgot Password. The hint popped up, clear as mud.

first victim

Miguel Rivera woke up dead.

For awhile he just drifted, his brain scattered and everything coming to him distantly, as if through water. He didn’t know how long things just sort of came to him, passing by his periphery without sinking in, but slowly things became to crystalize. It was like he’d ceased to be, and then he was again.

He was Miguel Rivera, and he’d clearly slept through his alarm.

His brain struggled to catch up. All his thoughts were so sluggish that the fact that people were talking didn’t even sink in at first. Miguel struggled to focus.

“Should it take this long? It shouldn’t take this long, surely….”

So familiar…

“The doctor said this is normal for someone who dies the way he did. Calm down, mi amor.”

“Si, si…”

Miguel groaned in frustration, struggling to pin down the voice. He’d heard it before, he knew he had, where though, where-

“Migue? Miguel, mi’jo, are you awake?”

Pepita? Take care of him, will you?

Miguel jerked upright with a scream. Immediately, hands grabbed his arm, his shoulder, “Mi’jo, calm down!” The sound of teeth and claws crunching down on bone seemed to echo in, something ingrained in his brain like a crime scene photo, like song, like the look on Ernesto’s face and the look on Héctor’s and and and

Héctor.

Miguel’s insides turned to ice. There was a hand smoothing back his hair, another rubbing soothing circles into the back of his own. He heard weird little clicking noises, clattering.

“There we go, there we go, just breathe.” Miguel obliged, breathing deep and hearing… rattling.

He looked down at the hands in his lap.

Oh.

His brain seemed to work in sections, processing things like an old computer, one thing at a time, bit by bit because that’s all it could handle.

Bones. He was bones. The hand on his own was bone. And there was no soft aura of skin around his hand, no gentle promise of the possibility of going home, of making up with Abuelita or hugging Coco or talking to Mamá and Papá. Nothing. Just bone. Pearly white and dry and dead dead dead.

Miguel forced himself to look away. The room wasn’t his, the bed wasn’t his. Everything was soft pastels, all greens and yellows and off-whites, sterile and minimal. A hospital room.

He’d been in a hospital room before. He’d been in one many, many times. This one was different. The last time he’d been in a hospital, he’d been seventeen and done something stupid and he’d woken up to his parents sitting beside him, wide-eyed and worried.

Now he’d done something stupid and woken up to Héctor and Imelda.

Héctor looked more or less the same since the last time Miguel had seen him: a tall skeleton with salt and pepper hair in an immaculate charro suit. He hadn’t met Imelda, though he knew who she was without any introductions. Even as a skeleton, the casual, effortless elegance continued on. They both stared at him with concern, Héctor’s hand at Miguel’s forehead and Imelda’s at his wrist.

“Miguel?” Héctor said softly. “Are you… are you with us?”

God, he didn’t want to do this. Miguel had been hoping for… maybe four or five more decades before having to deal with this? Minimum? Even then he’d probably have felt cheated, what with Mamá Coco being over a hundred when she died.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t know why he was here.

“It’s good to see you, Miguel,” Héctor said, his voice still low and careful. “I wish… I wish it wasn’t like this, though. I wish you’d taken a bit longer.”

You and me both.

“I’m your Papá Héctor,” Héctor said, as if Miguel needed a reminder. “This is your Mamá Imelda. Do you… Do you remember-”

“You died in your sleep,” Imelda cut in gently. “It was an accident. You’ve been here for about a day now, recovering. You’ll be groggy for a while, that’s normal. You’ll be tired. You’ll need a lot more sleep. We have a room for you back at the house so you don’t need to stay here for much longer.”

Miguel looked back down to his hands, the bones clicking together as he fumbled with them, fighting to urge to bring them to his mouth to gnaw. He didn’t have fingernails to gnaw on anymore. He tried to remember what had happened… An accident? He died in his sleep accidentally? He didn’t have the foggiest idea what that was supposed to mean…

“They said that you… got drunk,” Héctor said. “And took too much of your sleeping medication. They think you might have just forgotten that you’d already taken some or, or taken too many by mistake.”

Gotten drunk? Miguel didn’t drink much. He especially didn’t get so drunk that he forgot things, that was dangerous. But if he’d said something, if he’d been brought back by the blessing, they’d have said something by now…

Why had he gotten drunk? Why would he risk that? He struggled to ignore them and their worried looks and think.

It had been his day off. He’d been working on… what he always worked on. And he’d been digging into…

“The reporters,” he muttered, everything rushing back. Héctor and Imelda both went still.

“Reporters?” Imelda asked slowly. “Was someone bothering you, Miguel?” He wondered if she genuinely didn’t know or if she was just playing stupid.

“The ones you killed,” Miguel said before he could think. Thinking was too hard anyway; remembering was exhausting enough at it was.

Imelda and Héctor were quiet for a very long time.

“Miguel,” Héctor said, and Miguel tried to ignore how much Héctor sounded like his own father when he said it: tired and worried and strained all at the same time. “We’ve all been worried about you for awhile now. In the Land of the Living and in the Land of the Dead. You… you don’t come home for Dia de los Muertos, you never had an ofrenda. We’d hear all kinds of things, that you were hurting yourself, hurting other people… we didn’t know what you’d do… or say…”

Miguel burst out laughing.

Héctor and Imelda both jerked away, leaving him floating in a rising tide of hysteria. Distantly, he thought he heard someone knock on the door but Imelda snapped, “We have it under control!” and no one came.

Somewhere along the way, the laughs turned into sobs. Somehow they always did, especially lately. Especially now.

“I… couldn’t,” Miguel managed to choke out, his chest inexplicably tightening with panic. “I, I couldn’t!” How many therapists had they taken him too? How many medications had they prescribed him? How many times had he had to break down screaming before they backed off on the suggestion of hypnotists, and the questions, constant questions from everyone, his mamá, his papá, his abuelita, police, reporters, doctors, lawyers, and he couldn’t say anything.

But he could now. Maybe. Just a little.

“You-you killed the reporters,” he said, feeling the words bubble out on the sobs like driftwood on a wave. “You burned the house down and no one noticed, no one connected it but you were, you were nowhere near where you were supposed to be and you wouldn’t get lost, you drove yourselves around everywhere, so, so, so that was it, wasn’t it?”

“Mi’jo, you need to calm down,” Héctor said sternly, but Miguel couldn’t stop, the words just kept bubbling out, his fingers clattering together as they clenched and unclenched spasmodically.

“That was it, you’d covered everything else up but you couldn’t cover that up because, because you died so that was it. You know, you know everyone talks a bunch of shit about circumstantial evidence, all the TV shows, they act like it’s not good enough but it is good enough, you can use it to let people use their own judgment and then, and then they figure things out themselves. So all, all these people die or go missing or whatever and then you’re on the wrong side of town for no reason at the same time as these reporters that died and they were digging into your background too hard and isn’t it weird how all these people just kept dying around these beloved figures, isn’t it odd-”

“Miguel,” Imelda said sharply, giving him a shake and making the rush of words stutter. “Miguel, enough.”

Miguel closed his eyes tight and tried to bite back the wild flood. Imelda’s grip on his wrist was almost like a lifeline, something holding him in place so that he didn’t scatter to the wind. Héctor spoke up next to him, his voice softer but still stern, paternal.

“Miguel, we didn’t do any of those things lightly. We didn’t do them because they were easy or without looking for other options. We did those things to keep this family safe from people who would take advantage or hurt us, hurt our children and our grandchildren. People who would hurt our great-grandchildren. People who would hurt you and Socorro, your primos.” Héctor let out a sharp sigh through his teeth. “You said you understood that.”

“I was twelve,” Miguel whispered. “I lied.”

The silence that followed was heavy and dark. Miguel tried to use it to calm down, but it felt so thick that all it did was make his chest feel tighter.

What did he do wrong? What else could he have done?

“Miguel,” Imelda said. “Look at me.” Miguel looked up before he could stop himself.

Imelda’s expression was stern, but the hand that came up to cup his cheek was gentle as she said, “We need to know you can be trusted, Miguel. You’ve spent a lot of time on this; it’s meant a lot to you. I’m sorry things happened the way that they did. But we need to make sure that the family is safe here now that we know they’re safe in the Land of the Living. Do you understand?”

Miguel thought of the reporters, burning alive in their own office building. He thought of the lawyer, dead on the floor of his apartment with a bottle of booze by his side.

He thought of the stalker, the one who’d attacked Imelda, unrecognizable in death as anything like human.

Miguel wasn’t stupid. He knew they couldn’t kill him. But that part of his brain that remembered everything, that kept all the little details of every crime scene photo and audio recording and autopsy report he’d ever absorbed ready for dark nights and nightmares knew that dying wasn’t necessarily the worst thing that could happen to you.

Especially not when you were already dead.

“We need to know you’re not going to say anything,” she continued, her voice a low, soothing thread in the growing rush of confusion. “We need to know we can trust you. If not, you’ll need to stay with us for a while, where you’ll be safe and everyone else can be safe too. You’re our family, mi’jo, and we love you. But we can’t-”

“I can’t,” Miguel said, cutting her off. Imelda stuttered to a stop. “I can’t. I wanted to but I… I can’t…”

He thought about doing it. About saying something. Telling the next doctor or whoever what he knew. The idea made him want to scream, made him want to hide under the blankets like a little kid and never come out.

They’d yelled at him for years for not talking, he didn’t even want to know what they’d do to him if he actually talked.

a man with a face beaten in so badly that police couldn’t verify his identity with dental work

What could you do to a dead man? Lock him up and throw away the key? Put him in a box and throw him in the muck and you’d never see him again, he’d never hear anyone’s voice again, never touch anyone, never see anything ever again until he went crazy but hey, I already am so what’s the big deal there?

“Migue, we would never!” Miguel didn’t know how much of it had slipped out but Imelda looked horrified and Héctor’s arms wrapped around him, pulled him into a warm and steady hug, a hand holding his head against his chest the way Papá used to after a nightmare. “We’d never hurt you, mi’jo, never. You’re safe now, you’re alright. You… you just need time. That’s alright. We’ll take you home and you can be with family again, sí? Everyone will be so happy to see you and you can meet everyone and we, we can talk about it all when you’re ready.”

It’d been a very, very long time since anyone had held Miguel. Since anyone had carded their fingers through his hair, since a hand had rubbed his back. Imelda whispered, “Go to sleep, Miguel. We can all talk once you’ve gotten some rest.”

“You’re safe,” Héctor repeated as the energy that had fueled so much panic in Miguel flagged, fell away in the face of overwhelming care, leaving him drowsy and weak. “I’ve got you, Miguel. You’re safe.”

He was so tired. So, so tired.

He’d think about it later.

Héctor tucked Miguel under his chin, humming something aimless and soothing as Miguel slipped into sleep.

[Part 2]

#pixar coco #villain!au #Villain AU AU #The Give Ruy Hugs Initiative

17 notes · View notes

limpblotter · 8 years ago

Note

JOHSNAVI

Who said “I love you” first (Johan)

Johan looks over at Usnavi doing one of those mundane house chores while the taller man lounges around. He takes it all in, how hard working his boyfriend was even when it was something as pointless as putting away the groceries. Slowly, Johan rose from his spot on the couch and walked over to the kitchen. He picked up one of the bags of groceries and started putting away alongside Usnavi.

“Well, well el vago mio is helping me?” Usnavi rolled his eyes, delicately putting things into the fridge. They didn’t speak, it was …strangely normal. As if they hadn’t just started living together, like they were a seasoned couple coexisting perfectly. Like…they weren’t kids playing house. This was real. Usnavi blushed, he felt silly for finding something is simple so heartwarming. He was just about done putting away when Johan kissed the top of his head.

“I love you.” He said nonchalantly. He watched as Usnavi froze in his place and chuckled a bit. “Sorry, too soon? It felt right. All of this and–” No more, Usnavi spun around and kissed him. They were definitely not kids playing house anymore.

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background (Both but different pics)

“Yo, primo, my phone died mind if I get it?” Sonny asked but was already reaching for the phone that sat, faced down on the top of the store counter. Usnavi was up on his ladder cleaning out the shelves when he heard Sonny. Immediately was about to deny him, when he saw his cousin turn his phone over and poke at the home screen button. “ESPARA!” He wailed, forgoing his work and started stumbling down the steps. It was too late, by the time he got to Sonny they were both staring down at his lock screen photo. Johan, topless and slightly glistening with sweat as he sat crossed legged in his tight yoga pants. His eyes were closed and hair was up as if he was mediating. Shamelessly, Usnavi walked in on one of Johan’s yoga sessions and couldn’t help himself.

“It’s cool, I keep pics of Pete on my phone” Sonny smirked a bit as his cousin ripped the phone out of his hand. “But none of those pics are appropriate for a background~” That earned him a slap at the back of his head. Meanwhile: Johan standing in line while someone approached him with a dinner and invite. “Sorry, I’m happily taken.” He took out his phone and opened to his home screen, being a selfie of him and Usnavi, Johan kissing Usnavi’s cheek as he smiled. “Isn’t he the cutest?”

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror (Usnavi for important reasons)

Johan often leaves cute doodles on the fog of the mirror after his nearly two hour showers. He was surprised, one day after another especially long shower Usnavi had opened the door. “Babe?” He called out but heard the door shut immediately after. He figured Usnavi was heading out to man the store so the silence didn’t bother him. When Usnavi was in the zone, he was in the zone. Once he was done he was surprised to find there were words left on the mirror. And it read;

Amor, as much as I love and adore you, you don’t fucking pay for the water bill ok? You think the water is cheap, hijo de tu madre!! Take shorter showers JOHAN! …

Johan smiled a bit, a blush gracing his cheeks. “God I love that man.” He chuckled, taking his large hand and wiping over the message.

Who buys the other cheesy gifts (Usnavi 100%)

“So…” Usnavi walked in with a bag. Johan arched an eyebrow, it was not a plastic grocery bag or a paper bag from the store.

Johan slowly got to his feet. “Did you…” he gasped, “go shopping?” Suddenly his shock turned to a small pout. “Without me?! Navi how could you.” Shopping was one of Johan’s favorite things, though he was not a fan of the capitalist and consumerism of this counter. He did admire looking good, and if the said thing happened to be a hipster recycled, thrifted, worn, over expensive piece that he would only wear once…he wanted it. “Ugh don’t tell me you went to the 99cent store…those things get all of their shit from sweatshops in China.”

Usnavi fidgeted a little, he looked down at the dollar store bag and suddenly felt stupid. “Ah…fuck…” He pulled out a small snowglobe with a small Eiffel Tower inside. “…I know you miss France from time to time and I saw this and …sorry it’s stupid, I’ll return it.” He quickly shoved it back in the bag when Johan’s large hands ripped the bag from him. He tossed the plastic bag aside and held the snow globe in his hands. “You got this for me?” He smiled a bit, shaking the globe so the sparkly white flecks were now raining down on the plastic tower. “Usnavi I love it.” “Good, I won’t tell the sweatshop children that you love it too…” He frowned, noting to himself to stop purchasing his things from the dollar store.

Who initiated the first kiss (Johan)

Usnavi looked too good. His eyes fixated on the movie they were watching, their arms brushed up against each other. “This is the best part.” He whispered, not looking at Johan. He was so focused on the screen he didn’t notice, Johan wasn’t watching at all. Johan was watching Usnavi, his face completely focused on the scene playing out. While Johan couldn’t even remember what they were watching. Johan shifted his body a little, taking in how the light bounced off Usnavi’s face so wonderfully. How Usnavi watched intensely, his lips slightly parted.

“Hey…” Johan poked him a little, Usnavi turned his head and was met with a kiss. He inhaled sharply, letting the initial wave of shock wash over him. Immediately after, warmed soaked in through his lips and traveled down his body. He pushed back on those soft lips, melted into the kiss. Slowly Johan pulled away, eyes dilated with fear of what Usnavi would think. What he’d say…Usnavi slowly touched his lips, they trembled, his eyes glossed over as he met Johan’s stare. “You missed the best part…” he mumbled, shifting closer to Johan. “You should have waited until the end…”

Who kisses the other awake in the morning (Usnavi)

“Fuck.” Not again, Usnavi felt the weight of his man on his body, arms clinging to his head, a leg around his waist. “Jesus!” He was up at the crack of dawn. His body a trained clock that someone could set their watches to. He shifted his weight and rolled to his side the best he could. He was face to face with Johan and that stupid eyemask. He sighed, another day he was set back a few minutes because someone hugged Usnavi like his life depended on it…Not that he complained. It was routine, Johan was now a part of it he was working with. Learning to make a routine around. Usnavi leaned in and placed a kiss on his boyfriend’s sleepy lips. “Good morning.” “M…mmm…” Johan smiled a bit, usually a deep sleeper he was learning to wake up early thanks to Usnavi. Not that he liked it. “Nope, still asleep, need a few more of those.”

Who starts tickle fights (Johan starts but…Usnavi finishes them)

“You are so tense…” Johan had his body friend on his stomach, though no sex was happening. His large hands were working through years of tension built up along his lover’s body. “You need to learn to relax, babe.” “Que relax? I’m relaxed!” He hissed, “I’m so relaxed right now.” “Yes because relaxed people hiss.” He smirked, “you need to laugh more, you have so much pent up stress, let loose.”Johan ran his fingers down Usnavi’s sides, he tickled and proded at Usnavi but not sounds came from him. “…” “I’m not ticklish.” Usnavi smirked, he sounded almost smug. He quickly rolled from under Johan’s hands now that he was taken back and pounced at his boyfriend. He ran his hands up Johan’s sides up to his pits and the tall man fell like Goliath and Usnavi was David. “But I see you are~” he smirked watching Johan’s frame crumple and his mouth wide, letting out wild peals of laughter.

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower (Johan but he doesn’t really ask)

“Babe I’m home from yoga, I need to take a shower.” Johan walked into the bathroom, finding Usnavi was already under the water. “Too bad, I’m in.” He answered immediately. “And I’m not going to wait around for you to spend forever, our water bills are through the roof, Jo.”

Johan rolled his eyes, always about the bills this one, he thought to himself. “I have to shower, or else the bad energy will seep back into my pores.” Usnavi ignored Johan and began to whistle as he lathered himself up. He felt a cold wind against his body, he opened his eyes and found Johan, completely naked had pulled back the curtain. “What are you doing!?” Usnavi gulped, red in the face and back against the cold, wet bathroom tile.“Saving water for our water bills~”

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch (Both)

“That was a great session ladies.” Johan smiled, he watched as his yoga class began to wrap up and he had another class starting in a few hours. One of the yoga students walked up to him and began to chat him up. She playfully slapped his arm and began to twirl her hair, clearly on the flirtatious front but Johan was blissfully unaware. His mind was more focused on food, his next session, going home to his Dominican lover. The door to his yoga class swung open and Usnavi stormed in. “Babe!”Johan smiled when suddenly a bag was shoved to his chest. “You got me lunch, how swe–” He felt the straps of his tank top get yanked down.

Usnavi planted a hard kiss on Johan’s lips and huffed. “Surprise, lunch date, lets GO.” He grunted, watching the woman slowly back off. ___Rush hour was killing Usnavi. He rang up at least fifty people, working through his lunch hour so Sonny could yap on the phone. His phone had gone off several times but he had no time to answer it. Instead he learned to ignore the buzzing for now, focused on his work. He thought he had served just enough everyone when the store door chimed. He turned to greet who came in and smiled softly when he noticed it was Johan. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d ask you out to lunch but you didn’t pick up.” He pulled up a Whole Foods bag and placed it on the counter.

“Sorry I was busy…” he watched as Johan took out two salads, always thinking of keeping Usnavi healthy. Some fresh green looking juices and an electric, twist on candle. “How romantic.” “Healthy and environmentally friendly, bon appetite~”

Who was nervous and shy on the first date (Usnavi)

“Navi’ you look fine.” Nina chuckled watching Usnavi pace the floor. It was his first real date with Johan. They were going to their first real date and it was a fancy dinner at a Tapas place. Johan had planned it all out and all Usnavi had to do was show up. Yup, show up, easy. No. “Usnavi you’ve already changed four times, you look fine.” She watched as Usnavi stopped in front of the mirror, he unbuttoned then rebuttoned the top button of his shirt. He fixed his collar three times and sighed. “Too casual…I should go with a tie, right? A tie…” He spun around feeling so…plain. A white button up and nice pants? Knowing Johan he was going to show up fashionable, dazzling…breathtaking. He started to break out in a sweat just thinking about how much of a drab disappointment he’d be. “Nina…call Johan, T-Tell him I’m sick.” “Oh I will” Nina smirked, “Love sick. Usnavi chill.”

Who kills/takes out the spiders (Usnavi sorta)

“AHHHHHHHHH!” Johan screamed at the top of his lungs from the bedroom.

“QUE PASO?” Usnavi emerged with a baseball bat. He found his boyfriend in a small ball at the corner of his bed. “Babe? Baby…Jo what happened?” Usnavi was more than ready to kick ass and take no names. He watched as Johan pointed to a small, eight legged critter in the corner. “…are you fucking serious?” He dropped the bat and suppressed the urge to whack his beloved with it. “Johan…you’re parents were hippies, you were adopted into a tree cult when you were five, you use to camp like homeless people. You CANNOT be afraid of spiders.” He laughed a bit more exasperatedly than humorous.

Johan didn’t find it funny. “I got bit by a spider, and you know what my parents did when I got an allergic reaction? I spent five hours in a river with leeches stuck to my arm. I am not, getting bit by another spider AGAIN” He felt those old flashbacks hit him like wartime. Usnavi honestly had no answer for him. He went over picking up a flipflop to end the creature when his boyfriend let out another heart wrenching screech. “CONO what now!?” “…don’t…kill it just…take it out…please.” Johan muttered softly, his poor little expression. Usnavi sighed, putting down the flipflop he used his hand and cupped the spider, bravely, setting it out on the fire escape. “Thank you…” he smiled. Usnavi slowly turned around and held up his now reddening hand. “Hey..uh…you think leechs will work or vics?” He blinked at his spider bite, while Johan screeched for a third time, reaching for the phone.

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk (USNAVI DE LE FUCKIN’ VEGA)

Johan and Usnavi didn’t get out much. When they did they tried to make it an experience. Johan being new to New York City still and Usnavi, though a native, didn’t get out much. Something that came with their same sex relationship was the discovery of gay bars. Though Usnavi often said he didn’t really identify with gay. He was working through banishing gay man tropes he had grown up around, and the fact he was at one point very attracted to Vanessa. Usnavi was bisexual, and Johan-sexual if that was a thing. Gay bars were more Johan’s style, he shared a lot of similar interests, he knew how to work a crowd.

“So, did you come here alone?” A friendly stranger smiled at Johan who was temporarily alone at the bar. Johan had been working on his Bloody Mary after Usnavi downed shots like water. Eventually his boyfriend had to flee to pee and left Johan alone. “Someone as handsome as yourself can’t be single.”

He wasn’t, before he could answer from across the room emerging from the bathroom Usnavi wailed at the top of his lungs. “I LOVE YOU, JOHAN JOOOOOHNSON.” He swayed and stumbled over to Johan. “Mi amor, mi vida, mi carino, te amo, mi Jojojojooo~” He threw his arms over Johan and climbed on top of his lap. The friendly stranger took a few steps back as the small drunken man nestled himself on top of Johan. “No. I’m taken.” Johan smiled, drinking his drink with one hand and patting Usnavi’s back with the other.

#I WAS SERIOUS ABOUT DRABBLING THESE #limpyPreguntas #johsnavi #johsnavi headcanons #johsnavi drabbles #this fucking ship #will end me #hi hamlitonhistory

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