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descendantofthesparrow · 3 years

Text

Regained Passion - Harry Hook x Reader - Part 2 - proper meeting

Harry let out a slow breath as he stared into the void in his history class, it had been a full week since he started the dance classes, and almost every day Bert mentioned putting him into a higher experienced class due to his flexibility and the fact that Harry was already a good dancer. But again, Harry wasn’t into the dance class that much, he liked dancing, it's just he didn't like being forced to dance.

His counselor had tried to ask about his first week but Harry was stubborn as usual, even glaring at her during it. She had sighed and rubbed her nose “I can't help you if you don’t open up to me Mr. Hook” Harry had only glared again, he didn’t want or need her help, yeah, he was a little fucked up in the head but if he wanted therapy or a consular, he would get it, not something FG forced on him.

After history finally ended, Harry grabbed his backpack and walked out of the room, sighing in relief as he realized he only had one class left, and it was his favorite, history of sailors and the seven seas. It talked all about pirates and sailors, particularly one of his favorite pirates, Jack Sparrow. One of the few pirates that had escaped isle imprisonment, due to him being pardoned of his crimes after it was discovered that his branding of a pirate had been connected to his freeing of hundreds of slaves.

Harry froze as a now very familiar face stepped into the hall he was walking in, she was looking down at her book, her black backpack hanging off her shoulder, bringing her denim jacket down with it off her shoulder, revealing her gray t-shirt. She suddenly looked up, her sparking (e/c) eyes once again locking with his.

Harry felt the butterflies flood his body again and he ducked into the next hall, away from his class, and pressed himself against the wall, sliding down as he closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands ‘what am I doing?’ he thought, gritting his teeth ‘hiding from a pretty girl? What the hell?’

“Are you hiding from me?” Harry jumped and slammed his head against the locker behind him, looking up to see the girl, who had covered her mouth in shock from Harry's sudden motion “Are you okay?”

“Me? Hiding? No-no I don’- I don’t hide” Harry laughed off his embarrassment, standing from the floor and rubbing the back of his head, wincing slightly “I don’ hide from anyone” the girl smirked and rose her brow as she tilted her head.

“I looked up and as soon as I made eye contact you leaped behind the wall, and then stayed there until I came around the corner, I think that classifies as hiding.” Harry pouted at her, his heart going crazy as she laughed. “Now why would you hide from me? Im, not my brother mind you” Harry rose his brow at that.

“Who’s yer brother?” Harry asked, smirking as she made a sour face.

“Chad” Harry grimaced, relaxing a bit as she laughed again.

“I’m so sorry” her eyes widened a bit and she laughed even harder.

“I accept your condolences, he’s not a fun person to be related to, it took me a month to convince half the school that Chad and I are very different even though we're twins” Harry looked at her up at down, she didn’t look like Chad? “I know, fraternal twins though”

Harry hummed, nodding along, he remembered a couple of sets of twins on the isle, and even when they were “identical” twins, they didn’t look exactly like each other sometimes. “You’re Harry Hook, right?” Harry nodded again, ignoring the flutter of his heart as she said his name “I’m (y/n), (y/n) Charming” (y/n) held out her hand, giving Harry a warm smile.

“Dinne think yeh would even say hi ta me, considering wha’ yer brother has probably told yeh ‘bout meh” he took her hand, stilling for a moment as he felt a small shock ran up his arm and through his body. Shit what the hell was going on with him!?

“Well,” (y/n) laughed, once again sending butterflies through his gut “after almost 18 years of dealing with his dumbass, I've learned to not trust his word, if he says you’re a ‘filthy pirate’ then you aren’t all that bad” Harry smirked and shook his head, not seeing (y/n) freeze for a moment and stare at his lips.

“Yer somethin’ else I’ll tell yeh tha’” he laughed, biting the inside of his cheek as (y/n) looked away from him and fixed her backpack strap. “What’s yer next class?”

“Um-“ (y/n) started, pursing her lips a bit as she thought “Oh! History of sailors and the seven seas!” Harry couldn’t help the smile that grew on his lips.

“Same ‘ere, shall I escort yeh yer highness?” (y/n) gave him a look, then smiled.

“You may” (y/n) laughed, taking his arm as he offered it and they chatted quietly as Harry walked them both to class.

Harry threw his pencil on his table as he finished his English homework, leaning back in his chair and sighing. “Hey, Harry?” Uma started, looking up from her magic homework (a new class that FG had made for the magic endowed vks that needed to learn how to control their magic safely) “You made goody-goody with Chad's sister right?” Harry looked over his shoulder to her, raising his brow.

“Aye? Why?” a devious look overcame Uma’s face, and Harry sat up “Uma” Harry started, a warning tone to his voice, they had just gotten to Auradon two months ago, at the start of the school year, and he loved Uma with all his heart but if she was trying to plan to overtake Auradon by using (y/n) he would have to put his foot down (which he didn’t know why he would defend the girl so eagerly, even turning against his oldest friend like that)Auradon was a lot nicer than they thought and he’d rather not lose the comfy bed and fresh food he had just gotten.

“Oh chill!” Uma scoffed, waving her hand and rolling her eyes “I’m not planning any takeovers or whatever, I wanted to know if she gets along with her brother or not” Harry mentally sighed in relief and leaned back in his chair again.

“Um, no, I said sorry to her that she was his sister and she accepted my condolences, called him a dumbass too” Uma smirked again, a glint in her eye…he knew that glint, it was the glint of pranks “Oh! Do yeh want me ta-“

“Yes,” Uma interrupted him, rubbing her arms together as he saw a plan forming in her mind “ask her if she wants to help us prank Chad, fucker decided to ‘accidentally” Uma used finger quotes “spill grape juice all over my new jacket, and we all know that shit stains, didn’t even apologize either” Harry grit his teeth. Chad, one of the very few teens at Auradon prep that still harassed the vks, he was a bully and a thief, something Harry could respect on the isle but even on the isle you didn’t bully Uma without getting Harry’s hook to your face.

“I’ll ask ‘er when next time I see ‘er, we don’ have a lot of classes together, and her dance class ends after mine” Uma smirked at that, leaning into her hand.

“How are those going by the way?” Harry just let out a raspberry, and Uma fell back on Gil’s bed, laughing away.

The next day, after Harry's dance class, he waited outside (y/n)s room, standing awkwardly and out of place as others passed by him, some looking at him oddly while others ignored him or simply glanced at him.

There were one or two flirtatious looks but Harry ignored those, continuing to wait for (y/n). about fifteen minutes of waiting, the class finally ended, and as (y/n)s fellow dancers exited the room, many of them stared at him, whispering amongst themselves for a moment before one turned to him. “(y/n)s talking to Esmerelda, she’ll be in there for a moment” She had a strong French accent and Harry nodded in thanks, the group finally moving on as the girl who had spoken up pushed them away from the room.

After a couple more moments of waiting Harry got impatient, walking up to the door and peeking in, seeing (y/n) standing in front of Esmerelda, looking down at her feet “(y/n) your posture is perfect, your leg is always perfectly straight during the Penché, everything you do during practice is perfect but…there's just no…passion (y/n), where is it? You are only doing the steps, you aren’t feeling the music, where is the love, the sorrow, the yearning? This is a dance to convey two people falling in love (y/n), and I don’t see any of it coming from you” Harry felt his chest hurt as Esmerelda sighed, looking away from (y/n) who stayed silent. “(y/n) if you can't find the passion I need for the piece…I’m going to have to switch you out, I’m sorry” (y/n) looked up at that, and Harry couldn’t see her face but he could tell there were tears in her eyes “You are one of my best dancers (y/n), but without passion, you are doing nothing but following the steps.” (y/n) nodded slowly. Esmerelda smiled and took her chin “You just have to find your spark again, I know you can do it…I’ll see you tomorrow” (y/n) nodded again, turning to grab her bag.

Harry ducked out of the doorframe and went back to lean against the wall, looking down at his converse as he waited for (y/n). “Harry?” he looked up, (y/n) walking toward him from the door and tilting her head “What are you doing here?”

Harry smirked, it turning to a smile as (y/n) smiled back. Good, that meant she wasn’t super down from her talk with Esmerelda. “I was wonderin’ if yeh wanted ta help Uma n’ I prank Chad~” Harry had hardly finished his sentence before (y/n) grinned, stepping even close to him.

“Hell yes!” Harry shared her grin and offered his arm again, walking her out of the building and back to the dorms to Uma’s room, where Uma would tell them her plan.

Two days later, Chad’s hair was puke green. And he didn’t suspect a damn thing, even as (y/n) held her laughter as she stood next to him, sharing a sly thumbs up with Harry and Uma as they cackled at him.

“You’re definitely cut from a different fabric princess” Uma chuckled, Harry moving to the side of the bench he and Uma were sitting on as you walked over to them when Chad bolted off screaming after realizing his hair was green (for someone who stared at himself almost all day it took him a while to notice his hair) (y/n) grinned in thanks and plopped down next to Harry, not noticing Uma’s smirk as Harry scooted closer to (y/n).

“I’ll take that as a compliment” (y/n) laughed, leaning against the table and looking towards the door “How long do you think it’ll be before Chad suspects us?”

“Three days” Gil decided, suddenly appearing and sitting down next to Uma. And as usual, holding a bowl of grapes “I give it three days”

(y/n) hummed at that, tapping her fingers on the table “Well Chad is smart,” (y/n) laughed a bit at Uma and Harry's look of ‘really?!’ “I know shocking…well less smart more cunning, but I say he’ll either figure it out by the end of the day or he’ll bolt up in the middle of the night and then figure it out, can't say which or when, but it’s one of those”

“By the way,” Gil interrupted (y/n), pointing his finger right at her “who are you?” Gil had been out of the room every time (y/n) came over to Uma or Harry and Gil's room to plan for the plank, so oddly enough he had yet to meet (y/n) before today.

“Gil!” Harry hissed through his teeth, Uma smirking once more at his reaction. (y/n) laughed and held out her hand.

“I’m (y/n), (y/n) Charming, Chad’s sister” Gil took her hand and shook it, giving her a sympathetic look.

“I’m so sorry” (y/n) laughed again, unknowingly sending a flurry of butterflies through Harry again.

“Harry said the same thing a couple days ago, I accept your condolences” Gil released (y/n)s hand and went back to his grapes as Uma intertwined her hands and looked at (y/n)

“So you and Harry go to the same dance school, right? Do you ever dance together?” Harry felt his cheeks turn red at the question and he pouted at Uma, not really wanting to bring up the topic of the classes he hated so much.

“I guess? Different classes but same building, I’m a ballet dancer, been one since I was a kid. Harry, I think is still in the beginner class but Harry?” He glanced at (y/n) with a raised bro and a hum “You said Bert’s thinking of upgrading your placement?” Harry huffed and leaned on his hand.

“Aye, somethin’ bout me being a higher level than beginner, I dinne kae I din’ listen more than tha’” both Uma and (y/n) hummed at that. “I din’ even wan’ ta do the damn classes in the first place so I don’t see why I should level up or whatever” Harry grumbled, pouting at nothing.

Uma forced the grin off her face. Harry, ever since he had made friends with (y/n), started to be more…enthusiastic when going to the studio, no longer dragging his feet. And after the first time he picked up (y/n) from her class he did it the next day, and the next. Uma knew Harry and she knew he was catching feelings for the princess, even if he himself didn’t realize it yet.

Harry had only known the princess for about a month now, but Uma could tell when Harry liked someone, and he really-really liked (y/n), he wouldn’t admit it until he knew what words to connect his feelings yet but, Uma could wait.

Now, Uma wouldn’t do anything to push Harry and (y/n) together yet, she didn’t know if (y/n) shared any feelings about Harry, but once Uma did find out? Oooh, it was going to be fun.

But for now? Uma watched (y/n) and Harry talk, smiling behind her hand at the sparkle within Harry's eye, she would sit and watch their relationship bloom.

-end of part 2-

part 2~ hope yall enjoyed and like (y/n) so far, and i do want to put a *sprinkle* of angst in this so it'll come with (y/n)s struggle to show feeling in her dance and maybe some Chad shenanigan's anyway~ yeah i think this will be a 10 part series at most, and im liking where its going atm.

anyway im gonna draw a blue ballgown now because i don't like any of the designs i found on google or Pinterest

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@queer-cosette @sephiralorange @lunanight2012

@daughter-of-the-stars11 @musicarose @random-thoughts-003

@remembered-license @thecaptainsgingersnap @rintheemolion

@imtryingthisout @verboetoperee @jatp-rules-my-life

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #chads sister reader #chad charming #ballet dancer reader #dancer reader

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billhaderlovebot · 5 years

Text

beep beep (4) - richie tozier

some sexy stuff, swearing, angst, the usual. i don't know how many more parts there are going to be but if 5 is the last one then prepare for a Big Boy™

@ceruleanrainblues @the-star-above-you @a-second-hand-sorrow @shockwavee

----

the divorce was messy. timothy took pretty much everything on the grounds that you had run off with another man (which you thought was pretty fair) and he also had slandered your name in front of your whole family in court, which was actually quite petty of him. richie almost murdered him, that day, and had to keep his hand in yours so that he wouldn't get up and break timothy's nose again right in front of his big-shot lawyer.

your family, it was safe to say, did not approve of richie, because timothy was always such a nice boy, and you've made a terrible mistake, dear. the only one who ever did like richie was your grandmother, and she was long gone, bless her cotton socks.

so, yeah, you'd run off with richie.

yeah, you'd escaped from an unhappy marriage in which you never felt loved to be with someone who looked at you like you hung the fucking moon.

okay, granted, you did sleep with richie that night, which wasn't entirely moral, considering you were married to another man, but, yknow, timothy hadn't gone anywhere near you in months and months, and richie was just so good at the sex thing.

also, you loved him. so much.

leaving you with barely enough money to pay your hospital bills sucked. you weren't even sure how timothy was able to do that legally.

but it was alright. you took your stuff and moved into richie's penthouse apartment in malibu almost as soon as you'd been discharged from the hospital. he had made enough money over the first half of his trash-mouth tour to support the both of you for the time being, and he cancelled the reno dates, and all the dates for the foreseeable, because all he wanted to do was be around you and the rest of the losers.

your books and mugs and weird stuff that you'd hoarded over the years slowly spread themselves around richie's apartment, and it made him so happy because it was so utterly domestic.

whenever he saw your shoes in the hallway or your toothbrush in the weird ceramic holder with a bee on it that bev had bought him, he grinned like a stupid, lovestruck idiot, because he was a stupid, lovestruck idiot.

eddie came over a lot, regularly crashing in the spare bedroom because he, too was going through a divorce, and myra kaspbrak was quite a bit more intimidating than timothy. so, that became eddie's room while he was looking for his own apartment.

and you were so fucking happy.

the piece of string that had been serving as your engagement ring after richie proposing on a whim was a constant reminder of how loved you were, and you tied a matching one around his finger, because you didn't feel it was fair that he got to do the whole cute proposal thing.

it had been six months since derry. since the sewers, since defeating IT for the final time. since reuniting with your soulmate. you were sure that life couldn't get better.

eventually, you'd gotten an actual ring.

richie had given it to you on a whim, as usual, opening the little ring box in your direction while you were both surrounded by chinese food, the fourth consecutive episode of snapped playing in the background.

you had choked on your wok-fried garlic and soy broccoli, and he'd thumped your back so you wouldn't almost die, again, which hurt your recovering shoulder, and then he had panicked, and you were crying and laughing and choking all at the same time.

point is, he had given you a ring.

it was a thin, gold band with three little diamonds set into the middle, and you had immediately fallen in love with it.

you hadn't, however, wanted to take off the piece of string, so you wore it on the same finger as the proper engagement ring. richie was relieved because he also hadn't wanted to take the string off.

that night, after some really really great celebration sex, (albeit a little careful, as you sometimes got sharp pains up and down your ribs if you exerted yourself too much) richie bared his soul to you.

he told you everything.

and he cried, and he trembled because he was so scared of ending things with you before they had even begun.

it was the first time he had ever said it out loud.

"i'm bisexual."

and he had let out a breath, then. a breath that he had been holding in for almost three decades.

"oh, richie." and you held him to you without a second thought.

you had always known, somehow.

you'd known, for the same reason one knows the sun has risen. because you had eyes.

you'd seen how richie had always gravitated towards eddie, always grabbing onto him in moments of distress, the soft looks richie would give him when he didn't have time to put up his walls. you knew, and you loved him all the same. of course you did.

you didn't tell him, however, that you had known.

because this moment was so important. the moment where he finally had control over his life and his identity and he was spilling his heart out to you. you would not take that away from him.

this was his time. his moment. his life.

he told you about eddie, and the arcade, and the kissing bridge, and how he'd always, always pushed it down but now it was only the two of you, and if he was to marry you, he wanted everything out in the open.

and god damn you if you let him keep hating himself.

"richie, thankyou for telling me. im so happy that you... that you felt you could talk about it. and to me."

"so... you're not..."

"angry? no. honey, this is who you are. what kind of partner would i be if i didn't love you for who you are? you're perfect, richie."

he cried again, and you let him, because he fucking needed it.

----

richie's nightmares were bad.

really, really fucking bad.

he didn't have them as much as beverly said she had, because, while he had been caught in the deadlights, It was dead and couldn't push into his mind any further. he often couldn't remember what they were about, only that he woke up so scared he would cry. the deadlight-induced terrors came and went, but they always caught both of you off guard.

when it first happened, you were more than a little bit confused, because richie was not a restless sleeper.

you woke to quiet whimpers coming from the man sleeping beside you as he writhed under the bedlinen.

in your sleep-addled haze, it took you a minute to understand what was happening, wiping the sleep from your eyes and adjusting to the darkness.

what, moments ago, was little more than disturbed whimpers, was now loud, heart-fucking-wrenching sobs, the only sound in the otherwise silent apartment.

his body shook next to yours and you were beginning to panic, reaching for him.

"richie? baby, wake up." you shook him lightly, noting the sweat practically dripping from him, and his face, scrunched in fear. he whined lowly, jerking in the bed, but he did not wake. you hadn't been faced with such a situation before, especially not with him, so this was touch and go.

this had never happened before and you were absolutely shitting bricks.

you shook him again, and he jolted awake, crying out as he sat up with a start.

"richie?"

his eyes snapped open, searching wildly around the room for something that wasn't there.

the only light came from the moon and city lights outside your house. sobs of pain overtook him, great, heaving breaths, and then the man you were in love with was crying his fucking eyes out in front of you; fisting his hands in his sweat-soaked hair as his whole body shuddered.

they were tremors he had no control over, the aftershocks of the nightmare taking control of him.

it broke your heart. your face softened as you reached for him again.

god, he held on to you so tight that you almost started crying yourself.

"eddie..." he choked. "ben didn't warn him in time. and i-i-i couldn't... fuck-"

"eddie is at home." you murmured, pressing your lips to his sweat-slick forehead "a ten minute drive. he just moved in. we can go up to see him tomorrow, if you want."

"It's... It's in my head." richie sobbed. the front of your shirt was soaked through with tears. "It's still in my head."

"It's dead, richie."

"so why can i still feel it?"

and you didn't know what to tell him.

---

your first fight, needless to say, sucked.

you didn't even remember what you were fighting about, only that you screamed at each other a lot, and there were tears, and it ended with richie, head in his hands, asking you to leave him alone for a minute in a voice so uncharacteristically calm that it scared you. and so you left for the bedroom, shutting the door, your head swimming and chest burning from the sobs you'd been caging in there.

you knew, realistically, that this was just one fight, and you'd be back to normal within the hour, but this was the first fight you'd had since you were kids, and god only knows how hot headed you'd gotten in the 27 years since then. both of you.

and you hated yourself for letting it get this far and making him not want to be around you.

it was times like this, when richie's nightmares were at their worst and you woke up every night like fucking clockwork to make sure he was real and still there and still breathing, and eddie came round constantly because he couldn't stand being alone in a new place, it was times like this that you needed to be close. so while it was just a dumb fight, you allowed yourself to cry.

richie clicked open the door about half an hour later, shuffling into the room. his eyes were red and he was probably shaking a little bit, you thought.

"im sorry." his voice came out small, and you sat up from the bed immediately.

"no, im sorry, rich. i was overreacting and it was fucking stupid and we need to just-"

and richie all but staggered forwards, grabbing your face in his hands and kissing you, hard. you gasped, and he used the opportunity to gain access to the inside of your mouth. cheeky bastard.

you both had been crying for a while, so the kiss was rather wet, but you overlooked it on account of the fact that his hand was not-so-discreetly sliding up your shirt and fumbling at your bra clasp. as suave as he liked to think he was, his bra skills needed work. he eventually did it, and seemed more than a little bit proud of himself, muttering a triumphant: "fuck yeah."

you tugged richie's bottom lip between your teeth and he fucking groaned. and that noise coming from his mouth was so fucking hot that your knees almost buckled.

you made a mental note to do the sex thing really really well tonight, because the sex thing was definitely happening and it had been a bad night for the both of you and you fucking needed him, right the fuck now.

it wasn't long before you ended up underneath him, and he was pressing open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, and you were breathing hard and you honestly thought that if he didn't get the fuck on with it you'd probably die right there.

"rich- ahh- richie?"

"yes, baby?"

god, how the fuck was he so smug all the time?

"i think you should- fuck, oh my god- probably get on with things right the the fuck now, or i'll have to... i'll-" you curled your fingers into his hair, your nails scratching across his scalp.

"or?" he hummed, continuing his ministrations everywhere except where you wanted them.

"i'll have to, mmmh, hurt you, actually." you whispered, breathless. you were unable to form a solid argument, what with richie fucking tozier being so sexy and all, teasing the shit out of you.

"you will?" richie put a hand on each of your legs and spread them further apart, his lips relentless, sucking and biting your sensitive flesh. this man was going to fucking kill you, god.

"yeah, yeah, i'll- ahh- bite your fucking face off, or something-"

and then he was between your thighs, right fucking there, so he never did find out what that something actually was, because whatever came out of your mouth after that wasn't decipherable.

---

"we shouldn't fight." richie murmured, as if he was afraid of being too loud in case he broke the moment.

you traced gentle patterns on his chest with your fingertips.

"i know." you said, equally as cautious.

"but i don't even remember what we were fighting about, and we just had several rounds of the apology." he laughed quietly, kissing your bare shoulder.

smirking at the hickeys on your collarbone, he pressed a kiss there, too, admiring his handiwork.

"i love you, fuck face." you yawned, your eyes fluttering shut.

"yeah, and i love you, dickweed."

richie stared fondly at the piece of string around his ring finger. you would be alright. after all, your wedding was coming up.

he had no nightmares that night.

#it richie #adult richie #richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #beep beep richie #losers club x reader #losers club #it 2019 #it chapter 2

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kyukun · 5 years

Text

Meeting Mr. Saihara (OumaSai)

i hope i wrote shuichis uncle good haha

i havent really read any fics that included him so i kind of just used my own interpretation of him?? this was overall fun to write! this is also known as shuichis uncle and kokichi tag teaming and im here for it

title: Meeting Mr. Saihara

summary: Kokichi and Shuichi had been dating for a year. Now it came to the most nerve wracking part of it all: meeting his uncle.

word count: 1477

~~ prompt starts after cut! ~~

“Are you sure you’re okay? You look sick.” Shuichi asked, taking the hand of his boyfriend while they waited outside a house in their car. “P-psh! Me? No! I’m fine, perfectly fine.”

“Don’t lie to me. You know it won’t be that big of a deal to my uncle if we reschedule--”

“I’m not lying.” Yes he was. He was definitely lying, though, he knew he couldn’t tell Shuichi that. Shuichi had a tendency to be a bit of a worrywart. While he was a logical thinker, he had a proclivity to sometimes let his anxiety take over and get the better of him. Kokichi considered himself more of a “quietly screaming internally” type of guy. And right now was a pretty damn good showcase of that.

They had been dating for a good solid year now and Shuichi’s uncle had recently came into town. So, having said that, that brings us to where we’re at currently. Shuichi’s uncle being in town. Inevitably, Shuichi would want to spend some time with his uncle, therefore, Kokichi would have to meet him as well. Of course he was nervous. This was his first serious relationship he’s had in a while, let alone the only one he’s had to meet their parents or guardian. He knew that Shuichi’s uncle was aware of his existence and welcomed him with open arms, this would be the first time he’s seen the guy.

He’s heard various tales of his adventures as a senior detective and many more from his boyfriend. They always pleased him. Whenever Shuichi would call him on the phone, he would join him in teasing Shuichi whether that’d be about baby pictures or just embarrassing moments as a teenager.

“Okay…” He accepted, he rose their interlocked fingers and kissed the back of Kokichi’s hand. “You know he likes you. This’ll just be your first real meeting. You’ll be okay.”

Kokichi already knew his stance on their relationship and even himself. The thing he was worried about was meeting his standards. Would he think he’s not good enough for Shuichi? What would he think of his physical appearance? He was well aware of how stupid he was being but he couldn’t help but worry.

Regardless of his relentless swarm of thoughts, he smiled reassuringly. “You’re right. Thanks, Shumai.” He inhaled sharply, “Let’s go inside then?”

It was Shuichi’s turn to smile with a swift nod. “Yeah.”

The exited the car after he switched off the ignition, locking the doors with the small key in his palm before the two walked around the car and towards the house in front of them. Kokichi held his hand tightly, feeling sweat form in the palms of his hands. His heart could practically burst out of his chest at this very moment.

Shuichi rung the doorbell, a few melodic chimes could be heard from the other side of the door as well as a distinct voice saying the words "I'm coming." Shuichi felt Kokichi's hand grip tighten. He quickly glanced over at the shorter male who he had never seen so nervous before in his life. He nudged him lightly with his elbow, mouthing the words "I love you" in an attempt to soothe his wavering heart before being interrupted by the door opening.

"Ah, hey! Been a while, huh?"

Shuichi's uncle was not necessarily identical to Shuichi but pretty similar looking. His eyes were a gold-grey hue, and his hair was the same shade of blue as Shuichi's. It was spiked a bit up, a few strands were curled around the edges while the others seem to falter. His eyes were gentle and opening, just like Shuichi's.

"Yeah! It really has. Uhm," Shuichi pulled Kokichi closer to him, drawing his uncle's attention over to him. "This is Kokichi." They shared a glance as Kokichi sheepishly raised his hand in a wave with an awkward grin. "H-Hi, Mr. Saihara—Woah!"

Shuichi's uncle cut him off, ripping him away from Shuichi and wrapping his arms around Kokichi in a warm embrace. His arms were a lot bigger than Shuichi's, and while it didn't hurt when he squeezed him, it definitely felt weird. "There he is! The famous Kokichi Ouma I've been hearing so much about. It's great to finally see you." He frantically stared at Shuichi as if he were asking him what he should do, the latter shrugged.

He let out a final squeeze after he let him go. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you too, Mr. Saihara."

"No need to be so formal, kiddo. Relax. I'm not gonna hurt ya." He ruffled his hair in order to calm his nerves. He couldn't help but giggle at how formal Kokichi was being, it was so unlike him to do so. Shuichi knew he could be serious if he needed to, but he had never seen him this tense before. It was cute. It showed how much he wanted to make a good impression.

"You kids want something to eat? I was making some food in case you guys were hungry."

"Uncle… We aren't kids." Shuichi sighed, walking inside his house while the latter had already begun walking towards the kitchen with a loud chuckle. They took off their shoes and went towards the living room, an arch way could be seen that lead to the kitchen. He popped his head from the corner of the wall, "I'm old, so technically you are kids in comparison to me."

He chuckled his way back into the kitchen with a spatula in hand while the remaining pair sat quietly on the couch. The quiet sizzling could be heard from the kitchen as his eyes wandered around the cosy room. The walls were painted a dark blue which matched the ivory colored couch quite well.

The walls were covered with various pictures of Shuichi and his family as well as certificates. It was nice seeing baby pictures of Shuichi in person, it made him feel warm inside. "So, Kokichi," He came back to the living room and sat on a side chair that matched the couch they had been sitting on. "What do you do for a living?"

"I work as a criminal psychologist at the Hope's Peak police department with Shuichi."

"Woah! That's amazing. Shu got himself another crime fighter lover, huh?" Shuichi could feel the embarrassment begin to take over. He rolled his eyes and sank into the couch while they continued talking. "And what do you do for a living, Mr. Saihara? If you don't mind me asking."

"I told you kiddo, don't be so formal. I'm a senior detective myself. Hey, did Shuichi ever tell you how he managed to get into criminology in the first place?"

Oh god.

"Uncle, don't—"

Kokichi noticed how quickly he was to try and change the conversation. Oh this was getting interesting. "What, why not? It's pretty damn funny."

"It's embarrassing!"

"But Shumai I want to know!" Kokichi smiled and turned to his uncle, ignoring Shuichi who had his hands wrapped around his waist and face buried in his back. "Please, do tell."

"So when little Shumai was little," He teased, giving the flustered male a smirk. "He'd like to stay inside my office whenever his mom would drop him off. He was a curious child and would rummage through my drawers every now and then. One day, I had left my office door unlocked and had completely forgotten I had a set of, uhm, handcuffs in my bottom drawer."

Shuichi groaned. "Though those handcuffs weren't used for making arrests."

"Uncle!" Shuichi screamed with a face red as a tomato. Kokichi hugged Shuichi back and continued to listen to the story. "Anyway, little Shuichi here had asked me what they were for and of course, I'm not going to explain to him what they were for, so I told him it was to arrest bad guys. And he took off from there. Everytime I had a case, this guy over here would be so eager to try and help me out." He laughed, hitting Shuichi's leg playfully as the other continued to be embarrassed.

"That's amazing! Shumai, why didn't you tell me you were into some kinky stuff?" Kokichi joined which made things worse. Great, now he was getting teased by his uncle and his boyfriend. He hated it. He looked up and noticed how cheerful and carefree Kokichi had looked laughing with his uncle. He didn't seem worried anymore. This warmed his heart.

At least they were bonding even more, even if it was at the expense of Shuichi's embarrassment.

The rest of the night went smoothly. They had dinner together and caught up on a lot. Kokichi shortly realized on the drive home that he had nothing to worry about in the first place. Meeting your significant other's parental figure wasn't as bad as he had thought.

#kyus post #oumasai #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #drv3 #saiouma #hhdhxhxjxj ok but #i love the idea of his uncle being hella chill #and a super cool senior detective like???#hmmmm

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fanficsrusz · 5 years

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Better late than never - john wick oneshot

A/n: so this was requested by @queen-of-snowflakes and im not sure how i feel about it. Ive had to re-upload it again because the order was messed up so yhh sorry for any confusion

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Holding two handguns to her chest, y/n hid behind a cement wall. She tried to calm her heavy breathing in order to listen out for any movement beyond the wall. Hearing a noise come from her left, she moved to the right "bang" a deep voice said pointing a gun to her head. Y/n looked up annoyed and dropped her guns to her side. " you fail that every time" the man continued. The man in front of her was John wick aka baba yaga, a notorious assassin who had taken it upon himself to train y/n as his apprentice. Y/n wasn't just anyone though, she was the niece of Winston, the owner of the Continental. John had promised Winston to train her as well as he could so she could look after herself since no one was safe in the assassin world. Sure y/n and john had gone on various missions together and they worked pretty well alongside each other, but y/n always wanted to improve so every week they would train in the training room winston had built for her underneath the hotel.

"ok…. Lets go again" she said beginning to walk away before john grabbed her arm. "hold on y/n. I think we've done enough for one day" she looked back at john and into his eyes. She hated to admit it but she had feelings for this man. Well, if anyone spent the last few years with a hot guy then they were bound to end up falling in love. Y/n only stopped staring when john started to walk towards his gun bag "beside, your uncle has called a meeting for us which starts in……" he looked at his watch "45 minutes" he turned to y/n before walking out of the training room. "always with the meetings" y/n groaned to herself. She always hated the meetings because it meant he wanted to send john and herself on some elaborate mission and always ended up giving her a talk about keeping herself safe. It was as if she didn't kill people for a living and was about to go on a date with some random guy.

Y/n made her way to her room where she got changed into jeans and a shirt before making her way to the meeting room. Pushing open the doors her uncle came up to her and hugged her. "y/n. Beautiful as always" she smiled before kissing his cheek and sitting next to John, who was already there.

"ok so apparently Joon, a prince in korea, has broken continental rules and conducted business on safe grounds" he paushed as he walked around the room and y/n looked at john confused. "so? Just kill him. Why are you telling us? " she asked and winston just laughed. "well he's gone into hiding and we think we know where he might be…." he stopped again walking around the table and sat down in front of the two. "..... We think he might be attending a ball in russia. Its just some stupid annual thing that one of the politicians throw and Since joon has had no contact with either of you before, you can get close enough to take care of him" y/n laughed as she leant forward "Julie Andrews style or al pacino?" her smile soon dropped as the men just looked at her confused but she could see the small smirk on johns face "my humour is wasted on you people" she sulked and sat back again. "right. Well you will leave in a few days for russia and attend the ball under the identity of a newly married couple. You will be mrs Lisa Martins" he looked at y/n and then turned to john "and you mr Dean martins" he paused before standing up and y/n knew what was going to happen next. "you two have to be careful and not get yourself killed……" before he could continue, y/n interrupted him with a groan "yeah yeah we know. Right i dont know about you john but im going to get a drink" and with that y/n left the room. "she turns more and more into her mother with each day" winston laughed and john just watched as the girl walked away before standing "i should really go keep an eye on her" john said and winston waved him off.

Walking into the bar john saw y/n sitting at the bar with a few empty shot glasses around her. He laughed to himself before walking over to her. "how can you already be drunk" he asked and waved the bartender over ordering his own drink "shut it wick". A few hours later and y/n was no longer functioning properly, laughing at random jokes she told a still sober john. She suddenly stopped and stared at john intently for a few second let her mouth speak her thoughts. "I love you john" she said suddenly and john just laughed, "I love you too" he replied taking a sip of his drink and y/n stood up and walked over to him and straddled his lap "y/n what are you doing?" shock evident in his voice as he held his hands up to avoid any physical contact. "you don't understand john. I want you." she growled looking at him through hooded eyes and john pushed her off and onto the seat next to them. "y/n you're a child compared to me. I'm old enough to be your father. I don't see you like that im sorry" the words lingered in the air as she took them in and she suddenly felt sick. 'oh no. What have i done' she thought as she leaned over and puked before the alcohol consumed her completely causing her to pass out, john barely stopped her from hitting her head on the table. He picked her up and began to carry her to her room. Once in her room he placed her in bed and looked at her "what am i going to do with you" he said before walking away to his own room.

The morning sun lit up the room and y/n's head spun as she sat up in bed. She tried to remember the events of last night but could only remember a few things but it was all kind of blurry. But then it hit her like a wall. 'oh no no no no no' she buried her head into her hands and laid back down again as the memories of her confession came flooding back. And that's where she spent the next couple of days avoiding john at all costs, she couldn't face him. How on earth was she going to play a couple with him after what she had told him?.

The departure day soon arrived and y/n tried to make little to no eye contact with john as she could keeping silent all the way to russia and soon they were checking into their hotel room. As john opened the door to their shared room, a letter was on their bed explaining the details of the ball they would attend that night. 'arrive separately and dress to improve'. Y/n didn't even pay attention to the note and made her way to the bathroom to start getting ready and john left. He had spent enough time with her to know when she was in a bad mood, he would just ask for a separate room.

Y/n sat in a limo that winston arranged for her and she double checked she had all her weapons. Gun? Check. Knife? Check. Spare gun? Double check. She felt uncomfortable in the dress that winston also provided. It was a typical princess dress. It was a royal blue floor length ball gown that hugged her waist perfectly and her hair was in a simple updo. No one would ever suspect that someone so beautiful would be a killer.

She pulled up outside the venue and various women walked into the building. She sighed before getting out the car with the help of an employee who led her inside and told her to wait in a line with other women. She had no idea why she was there. "hey" she called to the women in front of her "why are we stood here?" the women turned and gave her a look of confusion "we always do this? You know one by one we walk down the staircase? It's kinda like a show for the men" she said it so calmly and turned away. 'great' she thought 'I'm being placed out on display for some chauvinistic pricks'. She closed her eyes and watched as the line got shorter and shorter and the closer she got, the more anxious she got. This would be the first time she would see john in almost a week and after the confession. Y/n shook her head and concentrated 'im here for a mission. Relax' and as soon as she relaxed her fake name was called. "Mrs Lisa Martin" she stepped out onto the long staircase and she instantly saw john at the bottom.

John looked up when he heard y/n's name called and practically choked on his own breath. She looked stunning. After what she said to him the other day he couldn't stop thinking about her, the time he had spent with her and how he had been in love with her from the second they met all those years ago, but he had learnt from experience that it was never a good idea for him to love someone. "hey man your wife is hot" a young man next to him pointed out and john ignored him walking forward to meet y/n at the bottom of the staircase.

"you look stunning" he whispered "yhh well you clean up nicely yourself" she faked a laugh. The normally relaxed air between the two felt awkward and y/n wished the earth would just swallow her whole at this point but she did have to admit that john looked extra good with his suit on and hair slicked back. "have you seen joon yet?" she asked trying to quickly change the conversation and he looped her arm with his in an attempt to look like they were in fact together as he began to walk around the hall. He nodded to a man in the corner. He was short and had hair that was covered in a hundred layers of gel. He also had two huge bodyguards standing next to him. As she looked up to him, he was already staring at her darkly. "seems like you've already captured his heart. Go and talk to him from what i heard he sleeps with any old harlot" john said and y/n looked shocked and wanted to hit him. The way he said it implied that she was worthless and it crushed her heart even more. Is that how he thought of her ?. Of course he didn't. He just wanted to get the mission over with and had chosen his words stupidly. " I'll meet you in the bedroom on the 3rd floor lure him up there" and john left. Before she could even think of a reply, his spot next to her was occupied by joon. "good evening mrs martin. You look beautiful" he growled looking at her up and down and she had to stop herself gagging at his action. "thank you. You also look….. Handsome" she struggled on the last bit but he smirked.

After an hour or so of none stop flirting, y/n was ready to pull the gun out there and then and end it all. "what do you say we head upstairs?" he whispered into her ear and y/n sighed knowing that she could get the mission over with soon. She faked a smile and nodded. Joon leaned over to his bodyguards and whispered something before dragging her off. "wait….. Let's go to the 3rd floor bedroom" she said quickly and he looked confused "no one will be able to hear us there" she thought of the excuse quickly and he must have bought it because he began to pull her to the third floor.

Pushing open the door to the room, joon practically jumped on the girl and began to tug at her dress. 'wow this guy has no idea' she thought and played along with his game. Her eyes caught sight on john in the dark bathroom as he began to make his way out and towards joon.

Pushing the gun to the back of his head, joon stopped and looked down at y/n. "sorry. You shouldn't have broke Continental rules" she smirked "you bitc…." john pulled the trigger and blood went everywhere as joons dead body fell to the ground.

"yep thanks john" y/n said sarcastically wiping blood of her face and john helped her up. "come on we need to leave now". Y/n practically ripped the dress off before pulling on jeans and a shirt which she had john hide earlier. The gown was nice but impractical to do anything in.

The two made their way down to the street below as they heard shouts coming from the room they were just in but began to make their way back to the hotel, trying not to draw any unwanted attention to them. The mission was done and they could go home.

Once inside y/n began to pack and john stopped her. "are you mad at me?" he asked and y/n ignored him feeling tears in her eyes. "y/n" he pleaded and she turned to him "no john im not mad. You practically called me a slut knowing full well how I felt about you but im completely fine" the tears poured down her face as the sarcastic words left her mouth "what on earth are you talking about?" he asked and y/n laughed "oh sure 'i heard he sleeps with any old harlot' ring any bells'" she mocked him and john realised his mistake. "y/n i didnt mean it like….." john stopped when y/n slapped him. " i hate you john wick" she whispered before walking away. John grabbed her wrist, pulling her back. He stared at her in silence for a minute before pulling her into a deep kiss. At first she tried to push him off but soon relaxed into it. He pulled away from her before speaking again "ok i admit i used the wrong words but you know i didnt mean it like that. And after you told me how you felt the other day i realised something" he paused and y/n laughed again "what? That i'm a child?" this time john laughed "no. You are more of a women than someone twice your age. Yhh you moan about stupid things but when the time comes for it you know exactly what to do. You always know the right thing to say and i'm sorry i never noticed it before. I'm sorry I called you a child. I'm sorry I didn't realise I loved you sooner" y/n continued to cry but the tears turned into happy tears. "john" she whispered "do you mean that?" he pulled her closer "every word of it. You're the most beautiful, kindest badass ive ever met". Y/n leaned up to kiss him again and john smiled. "come on let's go home before they figure out who we were" john laughed and y/n buried her head into his chest as her heart fluttered at the thought of being with john.

#keanu reeves #john wick #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #john wick oc #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #young keanu #keanucharlesreeves #keanuedit

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seoulscenarios · 5 years

Text

Mark Lee: Homecoming

Genre: superhero au

Member(s): NCT’s Mark Lee

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: just mark lee as your friendly neighbourhood spiderman

Authors note: very much inspired by Tom Holland’s Spiderman whomst i LOVE and ADORE and very much self indulgent

-So, you all know the drill, bitten by a radioactive spider, get superpowers and suddenly you’re saving Queens from weirdos and saving cats for old ladies

-That was Mark Lee’s life, except well, he’s a high school senior with a secret identity

-The fact that he moonlights as a superhero makes him jittery at school when he can hear the kids talking about his latest romps as “spiderman”

-Part of him is really proud of what he’s achieved ever since that damn spider bit his hand about a year ago but also,,, if his older brother Johnny ever found out that he routinely threw himself off buildings (sometimes even for fun) well,,,, Mark doesn’t want to think about it

-So yeah, his makeshift hero getup was shoved under a loose floorboard of his bedroom floor that he swears to Johnny that it’s fine and they don’t need to get a repairman in to fix it

-Sure,, his outfit wasn’t much, just a hoodie with a spider motif sprayed over it and some lycra pants and shorts worn over it but it was practical and comfy and also very easily replaceable bc he could fish old things out of the junk or at charity shops

-But after meeting Mr Stark, he got a super cool and exciting new SpiderSuit and it makes him feel very much like an official Avenger even if Mr Stark says he’s not

-Hiding his bruises and scratches from Johnny was extremely hard, especially when he had to come up with more and more outlandish excuses and he just smiles awkwardly as his brother got the first aid kit to wash out the grit from that ghastly cut on his arm

-Honestly, it was such a hard thing to keep a secret from his brother

-He was extremely close to Johnny, who took care of him and is now his legal guardian after their parents moved away and never got in touch with them again, so keeping such an important secret was the WORST thing for Mark

-He wanted to be so truthful to his brother who had sacrificed his whole life and career to look after Mark but he also enjoyed this other, somewhat glamorous life that he really enjoyed keeping a secret, it was something he didn’t have to share it with Johnny

-And as much as he loved Johnny, he was incredibly overbearing and involved in as many aspects of Mark’s life as he could

-So, he just shut up and let Johnny rant about his day at work or let him fuss over him because that was way easier than trying to convince Johnny that it’s okay for him to be swinging around Queens or fighting Captain America and Black Widow in Germany (Johnny thought he was on a trip to Switzerland with Tony Stark to attend some kind of conference)

-But outside of his “superhero” world, Mark was the most uncool and nerdy kid you could imagine

-He loves physics and maths so much, studying in all of his spare time and making computer programmes and coding in his lunch break instead of going to the school cafeteria

-Thought, if he was being honest, if he actually went to the cafeteria someone would probably trip him up or knock the tray of food out of his hands “accidentally”

-(Not to mention, Johnny would pack him lunch to take with him that he normally he’d munch away at in his classroom, even if it wasn’t the best sandwiches he’d ever eaten)

-He had his enemies, picking on the nerdy, quiet, skinny boy seemed the best thing for the school bullies especially Flash but he was just kind of used to it now,,, besides if Flash ever found out if he was the Spiderman,,,, well,,, he’ll just keep it a secret for now

-But the thing he liked most about school

-You, his best friend ever since you bumped into him, knocking both of your trays out of your hands because you were too busy trying to balance your comic and food tray as you were navigating the cafeteria and you immediately apologised but Mark apologised even more until he saw your comic and got very excited that you read the same comics and since then you had been best friends

-You bonded over comics but you definitely didn’t know that your best friend was the Spiderman whom you ADORED and in actual fact you were a huge fan of the Avengers and absolutely gushed about them to Mark all the time

-Unbeknownst to you, Mark had only just returned from the airport where he made his “debut” in the Avengers thanks to Tony and did in fact kinda know them maybe he wasn’t sure on their actual relationship but he did like Mr Rogers even if he did have to fight him Mark has MAD respect for Mr Rogers

-He just let you gush about your love for the heroes, knowing that you admired him in not just his spidey persona but him in real life too

-It just meant that keeping it a secret from you even worse than from Johnny

-Like the amount of times he nearly accidentally revealed himself to be your favourite superhero was actually so unreal he’s more shocked that you haven’t actually figured it out yet

-But, of course, this is Mark Lee

-The nerdy, bashful, shy superhero with a blabber mouth and easily forgets the details of his normal life when he’s out superhero-ing

-So when he goes out one night, kicking some leftover cronies of the Vulture that still roamed the streets of Queens he swings in to his open bedroom building with a few cuts littering his face

-As he swings in, he rips off his mask and shrugged off his hoodie before trying to open the loose floorboard

-Trying is the keyword here

-Because lo and behold, you were actually stood on the floorboard holding your joint Lego project you’d been working on for weeks (a work in progress Millenium Falcon), mouth wide open as you realise that your best friend is actually the Spiderman

-“Uh… Y/N ? Please don’t drop the Millenium Falcon but uh, hi… I guess you figure it out… I’m Spiderman ?”

-“I hadn’t noticed thanks, wanna prove it?”

-“Um… shouldn’t you be more worried that I revealed my secret identity to you by complete accident?”

-“Shoot a web”

-And he does,,, much to your surprise as he bound your hands to the Lego, accidentally using a bit too much force and breaking some of the pieces off

-But to Mark’s surprise, you’re really not that shocked that he’s crusading as The Spiderman you had been admiring for ages and it really calms his anxiety about this whole situation because if there’s one thing Mr Stark taught him was to keep his identity a secret but knowing that you’re not that bothered and seem more interested in the biology and chemicals that the spider who bit him in the first place and the fact you wanted to meet Thor and Captain America

-With you knowing meant that Mark was way more relaxed and joking around about his nightlife, making everyone around you think that Mark had a badly behaved pet

-And sure, sometimes he rocked up to yours with serious cuts all over his arms and chest and he was so sure that you were going to turn him away and the fact that you kept a spare set of clothes and a first aid kit and cleaned up and made him sleep at yours that night, you soothing him as nightmares took over him

-He would always apologise in the morning and it made your heart break

-“Mark, you’re never a burden to me, if anything… I’m grateful you trust me so much so don’t ever, ever try to hide anything from me… I’m here for you both as Spiderman, but more importantly for you, Mark Lee, a kid from Queens”

-“Thanks Y/N”

-“So when are you introducing me to Thor, it’s been a while and it’s taking a toll on me to keep your secret…”

-“Y/N for the last time I haven’t even MET Thor, so how can I introduce you to him?”

-“FINE, then maybe your precious Mr Stark”

-“That’s more plausible now can we watch The Goonies finally?”

coming up soon will be a bang chan scenario which has been a WIP for ages as i just haven’t had the time to fully invest in it yet :(((

hope you’re all happy and healthy and hydrated! the air quality in korea is super bad at the moment so im trying my best to stay as healthy as i can

love, admin leigh

#nct #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct imagine #nct mark #nct mark lee #mark lee #nct mark scenarios #nct mark imagines #nct mark imagine #nct u mark #nct 127 mark #mark lee scenarios #mark lee imagines #mark lee imagine #mark lee as your neighbourhood friendly spiderman #youre welcome #i didnt know i needed this until i spoke to gemma about it

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slusheeduck · 6 years

Text

The Way You Keep Me Guessing: Coco Teacher!AU

@im-fairly-whitty and I are co-authoring this fic for the monster that is the Coco teacher!AU!!

(AU started by @scribblrhob, with inspiration from @upperstories, @hyucktor and...gosh, I don’t even know how many others now. It’s a fandom-wide monster.)

[Part 1: Unexpected Responsibility] [Part 2: La Directora] [Part 3: Skipping Class] [Part 4: An Unexpected Visit] [Part 5: The Roommate]

Part 6: Día de Muertos (Pt. 1)

“Tío Héctor.”

“Mmph.”

“Tío Héctor, you gotta get up.”

“Mmmmph.”

“It’s Día de Muertos, remember? We’re going back to Santa Cecilia.”

Héctor groans as Miguel jostles his shoulder. He rolls over, pulling his pillow over his head. “Just five more minutes, chamaco. That’s all.”

He hears Miguel give a little huff through his nose, but then the room is mercifully quiet. Héctor, pillow still over his head, starts to sink back into sleep, hardly aware of the footsteps that come back into the room.

“Tía Imelda says that she’s coming in with her boot if you’re not ready in—”

Héctor is out of bed and halfway out of the room the moment Miguel says “boot,” hurriedly gathering clothes before he bolts out of the room. After a moment, he backtracks and pokes his head back into the bedroom.

“Wait. Did you call her Tía Imelda?”

“Yeah?”

“Does she know you’re calling her that?”

Miguel shrugs. “She’s the one who told me to. She said it’s easier, but I can’t do it at school.” He frowns a bit. “Is that weird?”

“Yes.”

Miguel’s eyes widen. “Is it bad?”

“No! No, no, it’s really good. Just…not what I was expecting.” He gives a little smile, then shakes his head. “Bueno, tell Tía Imelda to keep her boot on her foot. I’ll be ready in no time.”

They leave ten minutes later than planned, which, despite Imelda’s eyerolling, Héctor says is a victory. He insists Miguel sit in the front for the first leg of the trip—which, Imelda reminds, him isn’t safe for a child as small as Miguel, but two sets of nearly identical puppy-dog eyes are more than even her willpower can handle—and the boy is completely entranced with Imelda’s car. He’s fascinated with the back-up camera, turns the seat heater on, and stares open-mouthed as Imelda connects his iPod to radio without so much as a cord.

“Tío Héctor, why don’t you have a car?” he asks, twisting around to look at Héctor.

“Cars are expensive, chamaco.” He leans forward to grin over Imelda’s shoulder. “Maybe if my boss gave me a raise, I could afford one.”

Imelda snorts, reaching back to push Héctor’s face back. “Maybe if my music teacher would quit gallivanting off on tours, he could save up for one.” She glances up at him in the rearview mirror. “And maybe buy some decent food for his godson, too.”

“Oh! When you and Cruz get famous, I bet you could get a really cool car like this,” Miguel suggests with bright eyes. Héctor laughs and reaches forward to ruffle Miguel’s hair.

“You and I think exactly alike, chamaco.” He sends a grin to the rearview mirror. “Hear that, diosa? When—”

“Don’t call me that, Rivera.”

“—Ernesto and I make it big, we’ll be swimming in cars. Fiats, Mustangs, Porsches.”

“And they’ll all break down because they’re heaps of junk in pretty casing.” Imelda glances down at Miguel. “It’ll be a while before you can think about getting a car, but keep this in mind, Miguel: function is much more important than being flashy.”

“Pfft. Miguelito, listen to your Tío Héctor: there’s no point to having a car if you can’t look good driving it.”

“That’s why your tío doesn’t have a car; he doesn’t look good driving anything.”

“Ah, ah, don’t lie to the boy, diosa. It wasn’t too long ago you said that watching me drive—”

“Héctor!”

“Well, the point is, with cars, appearance is everything.”

The argument bounces back and forth for a while longer, each trying to win Miguel over to their side; Héctor finally wins out by pulling up pictures of classic Mustangs on his phone. After a bit of gloating on Héctor’s part and accusations of him playing dirty on Imelda’s, it’s time to switch seats; Héctor’s limbs were far too long to be tucked up in the back seat any longer.

Something shifts in the second half of the trip; Miguel, who had been chirping in on their conversations after the swap, suddenly goes very quiet. Héctor glances back and finds him with his headphones on, staring very hard at nothing in particular out the window.

Héctor lets out a little sigh. He’d known the distractions couldn’t last the whole drive; this was still the first time Miguel would go home without his parents there to greet him. And his first time seeing them on the ofrenda. And his first time dealing with the waves and waves of “I’m still so sorry” and “pobrecito” and “they still love you, it’s okay to miss them” and…

“Is he—?” Imelda whispers the start of her question, but Héctor presses a finger to his lips and shakes his head. The kid’s already going to have to deal with everyone whispering about him; it doesn’t need to start before they’re already there.

Imelda’s teeth dig into her lower lip as she glances up at the rearview mirror to look at Miguel. She looks just as worried as Héctor feels. Which is…good, yes, but if Miguel catches them looking like this, that’ll just make things worse. So he leans back in his seat with a smile, eyes silently begging Imelda to play along.

“So, directora, I have some new ideas for the music program,” he says, tone nonchalant. “And since you can’t lie and say you have a meeting like you usually do, let me run it by you.”

Imelda groans and rolls her eyes, natural as anything, and Héctor loves her even more for that. “Fine. But the moment you suggest something outside the budget, this conversation’s over.”

“So the fully-sequined outfits for the estudiantina are out?”

“Yes.”

“Qué pena. It really would have put us on the map.”

“I always forget how small this place is,” Imelda murmurs as they pull into the town, peering about for the zapateria.

“I don’t,” Héctor says, eyes drifting over to the plaza as they passed it. “Just a little farther and you’ll be there; you can’t miss the giant boot.”

“Are you from Santa Cecilia, too?”

Miguel’s question makes them both jump; he’s been silent for so long, it comes as a surprise. Imelda glances back at him.

“Well, no, though my hometown’s not very far. But I have a friend who moved here.” She looks up and smiles as she sees a sign shaped like a boot, proudly displaying “Rivera: Familia de Zapateros.” She pulls off to the side of the road and parks, then opens her door. “But before I visit her, I need to make sure Héctor doesn’t lose you on the way inside.”

“You have no faith in me, diosa,” Héctor says as he steps out. “As if I could lose…” He peeks over the car to give Miguel a knowing look, but Miguel isn’t there. “Miguel?”

“Over here.”

He turns around to find Miguel standing behind him, and he lets out a breath.

“Ay, don’t scare me like that, chamaco,” he says, pointedly avoiding Imelda’s smug look as he ruffles the boy’s hair and guides him toward the house. “If I have a heart attack before getting you inside, Tía Elena will kill me.”

Miguel manages to let out a little laugh, then looks up at the door, lips pressed together hard. Héctor swallows, keeping his hand on Miguel’s head. They both take a breath, and Héctor raps his knuckles on the door.

The minute the door opens, Miguel is ripped away from Héctor’s side, quicker than either of them can react, and brought into one of Elena’s trademark crushing hugs.

“Ay, Miguelitititito!” He gasps for air as Elena releases him just enough to press at least twenty kisses to his cheeks. “Mijo, it’s been so, so long!” She immediately attacks him with another flurry of kisses.

“Hola, Abuelita,” Miguel manages to gasp out as Elena finally pulls back. She tuts as she looks him over, smoothing down his hair.

“Mijo, you’re so skinny. Has your tío been feeding you anything?”

“Tía, I promise Miguel is exactly the same size he was when you last saw him,” Héctor says. Elena looks up at him, then finally releases her hold on Miguel. He sends her a wide smile, dimples fully on display, and leans down slightly for the inevitable flurry of kisses.

Instead, he gets a swat to his nose with la chancla.

“You! What kind of boy have I raised?” she chides as Héctor yelps. “You take Miguel and you just disappear! Practically no calls—”

“I call once a month!”

“No updates! No visits!”

“We both have school, Tía, and I live three hours away. There was no way to—"

“I thought he was dead!”

“I would have definitely called if Miguel was dead.” He yelps again as la chancla cracks against his shoulder. “He’s perfectly fine! I got him all the way here in one piece and as you can see, he is very much alive! Miguel, tell your abuelita how…” He looks down and finds that Miguel’s vanished again. Probably bolted once la chancla came out. Smart kid.

As Elena gives Héctor one last warning shake before putting la chancla back on her foot, Gloria walks by with a laugh.

“I knew Cousin Héctor had to be home with all that slapping,” she says with a smirk, then glances over his shoulder and catches sight of Imelda trying her best to keep a straight face. “Oyé! He’s brought someone with him!”

Imelda’s eyes widen and she quickly shakes her head. “Oh, no. No, it’s not like that. I just—” She’s cut off as Héctor takes her arm and pulls her into the house with a big grin.

“This is Imelda. She drove me and the kid up today.”

“Imelda?” Another woman, Carmen, calls from the next room. “The one from the letters?”

“From the what?” Imelda looks up at Héctor, but her attention’s diverted by Gloria taking her hands.

“Ay, Imeldita, you were all he wrote about this year in his Día de la Candelaria letter! No word on his job, on his music, nothing but Imelda this and Imelda that.” She turns back toward Carmen, still keeping a tight hold on Imelda’s hands despite her attempts to pull away. “You need to see her, Carmen!”

“I actually need to go…I have a friend I’m supposed to…”

“Ah, solo cinco minutos, linda,” Gloria assures, patting Imelda’s hands. “Now, how did Héctor fool you into thinking he was remotely close to being on your level?”

Ordinarily, this would be a prime time for Héctor to jump in to his diosa’s rescue—which isn’t something he got to do very often. But…Miguel hadn’t resurfaced after his disappearance, and worry starts to gnaw in the pit of his stomach. The last thing he wants is to find the boy hidden away somewhere—or worse, being forced into talking about how he’s doing, because today must be so hard. So he gives Imelda an apologetic shrug before he slips away.

The problem with the Rivera household was that they were a big family. Which meant that the house had a lot of rooms and a lot of nooks and crannies for a small boy to hide in. Héctor’s checking his eighth room when he finally hears the very familiar twang of a guitar. He pokes his head into the room next door, and it’s all he can do to hold back the sigh of relief as he sees Miguel sitting cross-legged on the floor, a small guitar in his lap as he picks out a little tune. He waits a moment, looking around the room. It’s very clean, but there’s a scattering of action figures and Lego creations left on top the dresser, and a few luchador posters taped up on the walls. Of course, this has to be Miguel’s room.

Héctor leans in the doorway, keeping an eye open for any family coming this way. When the song’s finished, he takes a step inside. Miguel’s head shoots back, but he relaxes as Héctor gives him a little smile.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, adjusting the guitar as he gets to his feet. “I know I should be out there, but…”

“Hey, practice comes first,” Héctor says easily. “And anyway, Tía Imelda’s distracting everyone, which means we have a solid ten minutes before we start hearing ‘Miguelititito!!’ and fifteen before we have to start running from la chancla.”

A little smile flits across Miguel’s face for a brief moment, but he frowns down at his guitar and stays silent. Héctor presses his lips together, then reaches into his pocket.

“Hey, mira, mira. Look what I found while I was looking for you.” He pulls out a little face-painting set and holds it up with a grin. “Pretty sure this is Carmen’s, but she won’t miss it for a little bit. How about we head back out as Santa Cecilia’s handsomest calaveras?”

Miguel rolls his eyes with a little huff, occupying himself with unnecessarily tuning his E string. “Face painting’s lame. Little kids are the only ones who…” He glances up at his tío, who already has a long streak of white paint down his cheek. Héctor sends him a wounded look.

“Well, now I’ll look ridiculous.”

Miguel’s lips press together, and he sighs before standing up. “Fine.”

“Allà vamos! Now, help me out, chamaco; you haven’t got a mirror in here and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

For all of Miguel’s pretending to be too cool for face painting, he takes it very seriously. Héctor had been content to give them both basic skulls, but Miguel informs him that that’s boring. So he adds swirls of yellows and greens—and a touch of purple—to Héctor’s cheeks and forehead, and Héctor paints red and yellow dots just under Miguel’s eyes, as well as a little green circle right where his mole is. When Miguel finally deems them ready, Héctor’s phone is brought out. He pulls up his camera so they can see themselves.

“Oyé, look at us! Muy guapo, eh?” he says, grinning as Miguel pulls faces with his newly skeletal visage. “Quick, let’s get a picture before the rest of the family comes looking for us.” He and Miguel put on their best grins as Héctor snaps a photo. Just as they look it over, Elena calls, “Héctor? Miguel?” from the hallway.

“See? Perfect timing,” he whispers, then walks over to poke his head out the door. “In here, Tía! We were just getting into the spirit of things.” He grins as Miguel snorts, then is nearly knocked over by the armful of marigolds Elena shoves at him.

“Dios mio, Héctor, you’re too old to be playing hide-and-seek like this,” she chides with a shake of her head. “Bueno, Miguel, you go help your Tía Carmen in the kitchen. Héctor, with me.”

Héctor glances down at Miguel and gives him a little shrug, but they both do as they’re asked. Héctor watches Miguel run out to the patio, then trails after Elena. He adjusts the marigolds in his arms.

“I thought you usually had the little ones pluck the cempasuchil with you,” he says as they walk, scrunching his nose as a few loose petals tickle it.

“I do. This year isn’t any different.” Héctor rolls his eyes at the look Elena shoots him.

“Is this about me not being here last year? I told you, I had…”

“A performance. Just like you did on Día de la Candelaria and Noche Buena and…”

“I send letters!”

“You should be with your familia, Héctor. What kind of example are you setting for Miguel?”

Héctor sighs as they make their way out to the courtyard. “Well, I’m here this year. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

Elena glances back at him, then shakes her head as they reach a secluded corner, where a basket is already half-full of orange petals. “How are you doing with him?” she asks quietly as she sits. “Is it too much?”

Héctor blinks at the question, then shrugs as he sits in the chair beside her. “Well, I got him to smile a few times today. So I think he’s doing well, all things considered.”

“I mean you, mijo. How are you doing?”

Héctor blinks, then presses his lips together as he starts to pluck away the petals. “I’m…doing really well. I mean, it’s not easy, but…well, Miguel’s alive and I’m alive—even if we don’t look like it right now—so I think we’re managing okay.” He smiles a bit. “He’s every bit the angelito querido cielito you said he was.”

Elena looks up at him with a smile. “He’s a troublemaker,” she says frankly, though there’s a definite fondness in her voice, then sighs. “Which doesn’t make things easy figuring out custody.”

Héctor freezes, and he looks up at Elena with wide eyes. “Are…you already figuring that out? Now? Because the semester’s not even over yet and…”

Elena shakes her head. “You don’t need to worry. We’ll figure it out before the new year,” she assures with a gentle smile. Héctor stares at her, heart dropping down to the pit of his stomach.

“Y-you know, New Year’s is awfully close. A-and besides, it’s not very good to move a student to a different school halfway through the year; it messes them up and they don’t perform as well,” he says quickly, plucking petals as quickly as the words spill out of him. “So, you know, I could keep Miguelito until…let’s say summer? He’s really flourishing and I don’t want…” He stops as Elena laughs.

“Ay, who left this dulce niño here instead of our tramposo?” She gives him a warm smile. “Oh, I know I give you a hard time, but I’m very proud of how you’ve taken care of Miguel.”

Héctor’s lip twitches up. “Really?”

She nods, taking another flower to pluck. “I was so worried about today. But that smile earlier was the first real one I’ve seen from him since the accident. You’re doing very well with him.” Héctor sits up a little straighter, and he opens his mouth to thank her, but she continues, “But I know how focused you are on your music, mijo, and juggling that life won’t be good for you or Miguel. So we’ll get everything sorted for him to come home before too long.” As she finishes with the flower, she leans over to pull Héctor in for a barrage of kisses, not noticing the way he deflated with her words. “And a few more calls and updates would be nice, chiquito.”

“Sí, claro,” he replies, putting on a stiff smile. She isn’t wrong; he really isn’t suited to actually raise a child, especially not with the way he’s living now. But…maybe if…

No. This was a temporary arrangement from the start. Even with how well things were going, it was only because Miguel was staying for a few months. Being a godfather didn’t mean becoming the kid’s papá. He needed stability, familiarity, actual dinners…

He’s pulled from his thoughts as Elena pats his cheek. “I think that should be enough for a pathway. Here.” She pulls a smaller basket from beside her and scoops out a heaping amount of petals. “Take that to the ofrenda room; there needs to be far more than we have in there.”

“Of course, Tía,” he says softly as he gets to his feet.

“And don’t dump it on the ground like you used to.”

Héctor’s mouth twitches, but he can’t quite manage a full smile. Luckily, the makeup hides that. “Well, if I do, I’ll be sure to make it look less like an accident.” He stretches out his back, then makes his way to the ofrenda room. He gives his head and shoulders a shake, trying to brush off the sick feeling that’s building up inside him. The future doesn’t matter right now; tonight is about Miguel getting through Día de Muertos as easily as he can, and Héctor being a sadsack about something he can’t control won’t help at all.

As he reaches the ofrenda room, his steps slow as he hears Miguel inside. He stops just outside, listening as the boy spoke.

“…I mean, he’s kinda forgetful and he’s really, really bad at cooking. He gave me a burned tortilla and said that it was ‘well-done’. And then! When I wouldn’t eat it, he shoved, like, half of it into his mouth and ate it! Mamá, it was black! I think he did it just to prove me wrong, but he’s kinda weird, so I’m not sure.”

Ah, he was telling his parents about Héctor. The thought sent a sympathetic ache right to Héctor’s heart, but he couldn’t help his smile as Miguel spoke so animatedly. He leaned against the wall outside, staying still but listening hard.

“And did you know that Tío Héctor performs with Cruz? His real name’s Ernesto, but it’s really weird to call him that. But they make videos together and share their apartment and it’s so cool! And get this—Tío Héctor’s dating la directora. I mean, they don’t say they’re dating, but I’m pretty sure they are. It’s so gross, but she’s really nice and makes really good dinners and that’s always when Tío Héctor plays his best songs instead of just showing me how to do simple stuff.”

Héctor peeks into the room in amusement, eyebrows raised as Miguel said he and Imelda were dating. Just as he’s about to walk in and interrupt by throwing a handful of petals at Miguel, he sees the boy lean closer to the two new photos on the ofrenda.

“I…I really wish you both were here right now,” he admits softly. “I miss you a lot, and I really want things to go back to the way they were.” He sniffles a bit, but stands up straight. “But…but I’m kind of happy that I’m living with Tío Héctor? It’s a lot of fun. So you don’t have to worry about me. I mean, unless he accidentally poisons me with his cooking, but I think he’s more in trouble with that than I am.”

Héctor smiles a bit to himself at Miguel’s words, and he figures now’s a good time to come in. He carefully pours the petals out from the basket, making a little pathway from the door, then drops a few petals on Miguel’s head. He laughs as the boy jumps.

“Don’t tell me your gossiping about me with the family, chamaco,” he says, scattering a few of petals on the ofrenda itself. “Tía Victoria won’t believe anything you say about me. I was always her favorite nephew.”

Miguel gives a little laugh, then looks back at the ofrenda. He stays quiet for a long moment, eyes locked on the photos of his parents that smiled back at him. “You really think they come back?” he asks softly.

“Oh, of course.” Héctor dumps the last few petals out right in front of the ofrenda, then sets a hand on Miguel’s head. “At least, if they like you, I think they do. Your parents are probably counting the seconds ‘til sundown, they’re so ready to see you.”

Miguel smiles. “You think they can hear us, too?”

“What’s the point of visiting if they can’t get all the chisme? Of course they can hear us.” Héctor glances down as Miguel leans against him.

“I still miss them,” he mumbles. “Even if they are visiting tonight.”

Héctor sighs and rubs the top of Miguel’s head. “I know, chamaco. It’s not the same.”

Miguel stays silent for a long moment, then asks quietly, “Did you feel the same with your parents?”

Héctor stiffens before he can stop himself. “What?”

Miguel glances up, brows drawn. “With…your parents? They’re on the ofrenda, aren’t they?”

Héctor swallows, then shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“They’re not dead. At least, I don’t think they are. Just…” Not interested in their kid. He bites back the end of that sentence; God knows that Miguel doesn’t need Héctor’s familial hangups added on to the strain of tonight. “Well, it’s not important. I have all the family I need right here, living and dead.” He puts on a big smile as he ruffles Miguel’s hair and glances back to the door. “Ah, mira, chamaco. It’s just about sunset. Why don’t you grab your guitar and bring it with us to the cemetery? Then we can show them what a maestro you’ve become.”

Miguel smiles and nods, starting to run off.

“Oyé! And grab that Monarcas jersey from my backpack for your papá!” Héctor calls after him. “We’re gonna tell him how they won!”

“But they didn’t win!”

“I know, I’m hoping that they don’t get reception in the afterlife!”

He smiles as he hears Miguel laugh, then turns back to the ofrenda. He looks down at the photos of Enrique and Luisa, then rubs the back of his head with a sigh.

“This is loco, you know, Quique? Completamente loco. I thought that when you made me Miguel’s godfather and that hasn’t changed in eight years.” He huffs through his nose as he pushes his hand through his bangs. “But I’m trying. He’s…he’s a good kid, y’know? He didn’t deserve all of this. You and Luisa didn’t deserve this either, but at least it’s over for you. He still has so much ahead…” He presses his lips together hard, looking at the marigold petals scattered around the ofrenda. “Look. If you’re really coming to visit tonight, could there be a…a sign or something you could give me? With what I’m supposed to do with him? Because by all means, I should let him come back here, but…ay, Dios mio, the chamaco grows on you!”

He shuts his eyes with a huff, then takes a breath as he opens them. He glances between Enrique and Luisa, then shakes his head. “You know what? Never mind. You don’t want to be bothered by me tonight; you want to see your son.” He gives a small smile. “He’s turning out to be a real musician, you know. You’ll see tonight. You should be really proud.”

“Tío Héctor! We’re going to the graveyard soon!”

He looks up as he hears Miguel’s shout, then smiles as he sticks his hands in his pockets, looking back at the ofrenda.

“I’ll meet you at the cemetery, then, Quique. We’ll toast some of the good stuff for you.”

He lopes out, meeting Miguel halfway through the courtyard and following him out. Today was hard. Tonight might be harder. Not to mention that now the new year’s looming over him like a shadow.

But…Día de Muertos is about family, first and foremost. And, for as long as he has Miguel in his tiny, tiny family, he comes first. So he grins and jokes and does everything he can on the way to the cemetery to keep the mood up, all while pushing back the worries and pains creeping in on him. Those aren’t important, not now.

Everything in the future can be dealt with when it comes.

I HOPE YOU GOT AS FEELSY READING THIS AS I DID WRITING IT.

You may have noticed that this title said “Pt. 1″. And that’s because Wit will be writing a part 2 later this week, from Imelda’s POV! So be sure to tune in on her blog!!

(And check out all the other great content that’s come from the Teacher!AU monster. There’s some beautiful art and fics going around the tags, and I wish I could tag everyone that contributes.)

ADDENDUM:

SPEAKING OF BEAUTIFUL ART, @upperstories BLESSED US ALL WITH THE CALAVERAS SELFIE

GO LOOK AT HER ART IT’LL MAKE YOU CRY IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE.

[Part 6: Día de Muertos (Pt. 2)] [Part 7: A Birthday Livestream]

#coco fic #teacher!au #hector #miguel rivera #imelda rivera #elena rivera #basically the whole gang's here except Ernesto

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sicklylittlesnowflake · 7 years

Note

Hi! Could u write a fic where Lance is asthmatic and catches a cold that's been passed through the team? They got over it quickly, but it hits Lance really hard. Everyone thinks he's exaggerating for sympathy so they ignore him. Lance tries to take care of himself but it turns into a bad chest infection. When he shows up to a meeting all feverish and wheezy and coughing nonstop, the team finally realize something's wrong

(wOW I love this prompt?? Like this was lower down on my to do list but I brought it up because of s3 and the hype and also I couldn’t wait to write it..this is so good thanks anon!! sorry if this is medically inaccurate!!)

Lance’s space adventures taught him many things, but one of the many things he had definitely learnt was that he didn’t know a lot of things. The universe was far more vast, diverse and complicated than he could ever had fathomed, and at times Lance questioned everything he once knew.

One thing he still knew for sure, is that he was extremely adaptable.

If Lance was part of the X Men (which in his opinion, was just as cool as flying a robotic lion), he was definitely Darwin. He adjusted pretty well to the Garrison, despite being many miles away from the family he loved very deeply. Things were constantly tossed and yanked away from him, and he bounced back pretty quick.

It wasn’t easy, definitely, but Lance worked hard and put a 100% in everything he did. Of course he still felt he wasn’t good enough, and that he could work into being more, but he could be slightly assured that what he had done was all he could have in that moment in time. It was one of the only things he prided himself in and held dear to his identity.

Lance constantly had a flaming passion, this fiery desire burning in his heart to be a hero and to do good for others. He wanted to look out for the little guy, inspired by his young nephews and nieces to be the guy that people wanted to look up to. Hope that people would turn to in the darkest of times. He had promised his family he would always be protecting them from harm, and he vowed to himself to do all in his power to do so.

But of course, he had to work through trials and tribulations. Life was not easy, and not everything he wanted could necessarily be what he got, but he’d try.

One of the obstacles he faced in his journey was asthma.

He’d had it for as long as he could remember, and it was a irritating when it interrupted his daily life, but since he’d always had it it was pretty normal for him. Sure, it weakened his immune system, made illnesses hit him a little harder than the average, make him carry around inhalers everywhere and be a little more careful and cautious than everyone else, but Lance would not let it get in the way of his dreams and not let it hold him back from doing what he wanted.

His family knew what triggered it the most, kept the house clean constantly, carried around inhalers themselves just in case Lance forgot, and always remembered to replace inhalers. When he moved to the Garrison, Hunk became like his family and was the only one who knew about it, but he was more than enough. Hunk helped him when he had attacks, taking it upon himself to educate himself more so he could give Lance a hand. With someone as lovely as Hunk by his side, it was a minor inconvenience, at most.

It was indeed proven as a minor inconvenience when a small cold spread across the five Paladins.

It had started with Pidge, who had passed it onto Hunk, who had passed it to Shiro, who passed it to Keith.

At most it was only a very slight fever topped with a few coughing and sneezing fits, increased drowsiness and fatigue, scratchy throats. The Paladins were grumpy and exhausted, but it wasn’t anything to be worried about. It was such a minor inconvenience to the team that Hunk was sent on a solo mission by the time Keith received the cold.

Despite the fact that the cold was so minor and something that could have been cured with a day to twos rest and some soup, Lance took it upon himself to take care of Keith. He checked up on him every hour, forgetting that he had a weaker immune system. Of course, Lance was last to receive the virus. On the day Hunk left for the solo mission, no less.

Lance woke up feeling extremely groggy and weak to the bone, intense heat radiating off his body, but yet trembling with the cold. He barely managed to open his eyes, which were heavy and burning slightly, but his vision managed to focus enough for him to check his clock. He had five minutes before his alarm would go off.

Lance let out a delighted, but tired noise and shut his eyes, pulling the blankets tight against his skin so he could insulate his body heat. He snuggled against one of his pillows and was lulled back to sleep in record breaking time.

However his five minute sleep had lasted far longer than he had expected.

When Lance finally woke up again, he woke to an obviously loud ringing of his alarm. He hissed at the irritating, headache inducing sound and sat up groggily, rubbing at his aching temple. His eyes scanned over to his alarm clock and froze as he realised it was a whole 25 minutes after his regular waking time.

Lance gasped softly, about to throw himself off bed when he began to cough violently. The sound that released from his lungs awfully congested and phlegmy, causing a light wheeze to sound out from his chest. He gasped for air, managing to cough enough so he wouldn’t choke.

Lance breathed in heavily, getting out of bed and quickly changing into his clothes before running out of his bedroom, despite his lungs begging and pleading for him to stop. They were still recovering from his past fit, and needed a bit of time to recover from it and certainly did not appreciate Lance’s sprinting.

Lance tried to ignore the thought in his head that was telling him none of the other Paladins cough’s sounded that horrible.

“Nice of you to join us,” Keith commented, not looking up as he heard the door sliding open.

Lance opened his mouth, probably about to shoot back a snide remark but instead, took a sharp inhale and sneezed ticklishly twice.

Shiro frowned, giving Lance a sympathetic smile, “I guess you weren’t immune to this after all.”

Lance rubbed his nose on his sleeve weakly, shaking his head, “Im fine, just a morning snee–”

He cut himself off with two more forceful, congested sneezes.

Keith looked over at Lance, a look of guilt momentarily washing over his features. He looked away defensively, curling up within himself in what seemed to be shame, “C-cover your mouth when you sneeze, Lance.”

Lance rolled his eyes, too tired to respond to Keith so sat down on one of the couches. He looked glum and exhausted, curling up, shivering ever so slightly.

“Oh c'mon Keith, cut him some slack, he’s sneezing because he looked after you,” Pidge insisted, focused on something on her computer.

Keith flushed, crossing his arms and refusing to meet Lance’s eyes, defensive and guilty, “I didn’t ask for him to look after me!”

When Lance didn’t respond, only coughing harshly into his sleeve, the sound awfully chesty and wet, Keith felt even worse.

“L-look, Lance, it was nice and stuff, but it was stupid. I didn’t need the help,” Keith said, completely flustered.

Shiro sighed, “What’s done is done. Lance is sick now. Nothing we can do about that.”

“You’ll get over it in like a day, Lance, you’ll be fine. Honestly, it’s not anything worth fussing over. You don’t even have to stay in bed or anything, so I wouldn’t worry or anything,” Pidge reassured, looking up at Lance kindly.

Lance offered a small, weak smile back at her. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was wrong. As the seconds went by he became even more convinced that Pidge was in fact very wrong, and that this wasn’t something that would fly by easily.

His chest felt extremely heavy, and there was a blockage in his airways that made it hard to breathe. He could practically feel some congestion and mucus building up inside him, a light wheeze every time he exhaled.

Lance coughed harshly again, his chest burning with a fiery blaze every time he did. His entire body was racked by his coughing, tears streaming down his eyes as he continued to mercilessly hack. He let out one final, strangled cough and slumped back against the couch, head spinning in circles as the world rotated violently. He breathed in heavily, basically gasping for air as his body desperately replenished itself with much needed oxygen.

Pidge was undeniably one of the most intelligent people Lance knew, but in this moment he was certain she was wrong. This was not going to be a good day.

Everyone was pretty easy on Lance that day, assigning him simple jobs while the rest of them continued to navigate and intensely plan away. It was a pretty easy-going, laid back da for him, but even the simplest, most easy jobs took a toll on Lance.

In fact Lance was extremely frustrated, because most of the Paladins had been able to do simple jobs easily while they were ill. Why couldn’t he?

He knew it was because of the asthma messing up his lungs, but he was frustrated nonetheless.

His chest felt extremely heavy, his wheezing even more noticeable as the day went on. He started to feel stifled and restrained, as if someone was squeezing at his chest and preventing him from breathing. It was so difficult to breathe at a steady pace and his body was not receiving the amount of oxygen that it needed. He felt completely drained and void of energy, head furiously pounding. He felt extremely faint, nauseous and weak. Not to mention warm yet freezing with a fever that had began to worsen.

Allura was explaining a mission that they were expecting to take on soon to Lance a rather simple one, but Lance could not hear her at all. He felt too sapped and drained that his body simply was no longer functioning.

“Lance, do you hear me?” She asked, very convinced that he hadn’t.

Lance sniffled softly, trying to keep his drooping lids open as he let out yet another cough, and croaked, “Sorry, princess, I didn’t.”

Allura sighed in exasperation, clearly exhausted by today, having exerted herself because they were short one and a half Paladins, “I have to explain again.”

Lance looked genuinely guilty, his voice raspy and sounding like his vocal chords had just been viciously burned and strangled, speaking straining his throat greatly, like a dagger slicing his throat as he spoke, “Im sorry. I just feel really sick.”

Shiro sighed softly, “We know Lance.”

Lance frowned, feeling a little off and extra sensitive from his fever, curling up in his seat pathetically as he shivered violently, “I feel so awful..this really sucks you guys..”

Pidge spared him a glance, genuinely feeling really sorry for him but feeling a little cranky from the intensity of today, “Yeah Lance, it really does, we all know. We had it. It really isn’t so bad, i promise.”

Keith nodded, "We are sorry Lance, but we do need to continue on and work. We don’t have time for this at the moment. We really need to focus on this right now.”

Lance felt a pang in his heart, his entire demeanour declining. He nodded guiltily, his fever heightening his sensitivity. Realistically, the Paladins and he were just seriously misunderstanding and didn’t mean to be dismissive. Hell, if they knew Lance had asthma and felt this sick none of them would ever act like this, but Lance’s fever made him extra sensitive so he withdrew and hid away.

Lance overexerted himself the next few days, trying to work to an efficient standard to the best of his ability. He tried to push past his illness and elect to ignore it, ignoring the inclining fever and how the wheezing had intensified every time he breathed. He tried to ignore the violent coughing fits that completely took over him, the congested hacking that had him buckling at the knees and shaking violently, and the phlegm he had to spit out and the strange colour, and the odd discolouration.

His friends had helped, bringing him blankets when he worked and making him herbal tea, sending him off to bed earlier than the rest of them, excusing him from training and the like. But Lance downgraded the true extent of his illness, but the Paladins were a little wary of the fact Lance was sick longer than they had. For the most part he took care of himself, discreetly taking his inhaler when no one was looking and taking medicine to himself, making himself soup and drinking lots of water.

Lance kept his symptoms bottled up, ignoring how his chest felt like it was on fire and how his entire body became ablaze with pain every time he coughed. His chest felt tight and restricted his breathing, leaving him in a constant faint state, leaving him detached and derealised from his reality and friends. He didn’t even feel like a real person.

All this kept building up, until his bottle couldn’t handle anymore material and it eventually burst.

Everything came crashing down on the day Hunk returned. Everyone had come to greet him as the yellow lion mounted back onto the Castle, save for Lance.

He hadn’t even heard Coran announcing Hunk’s return, simply engulfed by his blazing fever as he struggled to get out of bed, fiercely sweating into his sheets and trying to find the willpower to get out of bed. His head hurt with such an enormous intensity that he wanted to cry out with how much it hurt. He’d clenched his teeth so tightly to try and subside the pain, desperately clawing at his head to try and stop the gnawing hurt in his head.

He then heard speaking over the intercom calling him for a meeting, and somehow Lance mustered the last slivers of his strength to get out of his bed. As he did the world spun violently, like he was on an intense amusement park ride. He groaned as he tried to keep himself from falling, as every time he walked he was shaking, knees threatening to buckle and give out on him. Lance pulled his jacket on and zipped it up, pulling his sleeves over his hands to mask as gloves.

As he staggered over to the bridge, his chest felt incredibly tight and constricted, feeling suffocated and smothered. He could barely breathe, his breathing so short and shallow only a minuscule amount of oxygen could enter his body at a time, leaving him feel very faint and weak. He could hear a loud wheezing from his chest as sweat dripped down his face.

Lance didn’t know how he made it to the Bridge, but he did. The doors slid open and Hunk beamed.

“Lance! I–” Hunk’s face dropped, his face growing into extreme worry in a millisecond as he gasped.

“Oh my god Lance!” He yelped, rushing towards his side.

Everyone else aboard whipped their heads around to see the commotion, all their mouths dropping open as they took in Lance’s ghastly appearance. He was horribly pale, dark circles underneath his eyes and he shivered intensely, looking like a zombie from those films that Lance very much loved. But as much as Lance enjoyed good zombie media, they all knew Lance didn’t want to become one.

“Oh my god!” Pidge exclaimed in shock, completely frozen in place, genuinely scared that her dear friend was dying.

“Lance!” Shiro yelled, angry that all this had happened under his nose.

Hunk pressed the back of his hand against Lance’s cheek, eyes widening at the intense heat coming off it. His concern was only further worsened as he began to hear wheezing coming from Lance.

Lance began to cough violently, entire frame taken over and racked with the congested, strangled explosions. His vocal chords strained each time he coughed, muscles being pulled fiercely and mercilessly. The extravaganza of the whole ordeal had Lance’s legs giving out on him, leeching him off the tiniest sliver of energy remained in him. He could no longer support himself, knees buckling and soon enough he was on the floor, continuing to hack his lungs out.

Everyone was frozen, completely stunned and at shock.

Suddenly, a strangled yell sounded out.

“Well don’t just stand there!” Keith yelled, running towards Lance and hitting his back, while Hunk sprinted for an inhaler, Shiro running for a glass of water and the remaining three running to prepare medicine and the medbay.

Keith kneeled down to Lance and rubbed his back as he continued to cough, whispering reassuring, soft words into his ear. His freehand stroked through Lance’s brown hair soothingly and reassuringly.

Lance spit out some phlegm, slightly tinged with a bit of blood.

“Oh Lance..” Keith muttered worriedly, letting Lance exhaustedly rest his head on his shoulder, breathing heavily and gasping for air.

“You’re going to be okay, buddy, I promise you, just hang on a little bit,” Keith whispered soothingly, continuing to twiddle with his hair.

Hunk burst back into the room and pressed the inhaler to Lance’s lips, watching as the boy visibly relaxed as the medicine entered his system.

“I didn’t know he was..” Keith said guilty.

Hunk smiled at him kindly and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Well know you know.”

Shiro returned with a glass of water, which Lance gulped down gratefully.

Soon enough, Pidge had returned.

“The medbay is ready for him now, do you guys know what’s wrong?” She said worriedly.

“I think it’s a chest infection,” Hunk said worriedly.

Shiro gave them all a reassuring look, “He will be just fine, Lance is tough.”

Keith didn’t look too convinced, still clearly shaken, but managed to stand up and pick Lance up into his arms, cradling him gently, beginning to walk towards Medbay.

“Keith?” Lance slurred feverishly.

“Yes?” Keith said shakily.

“I feel a little sick.”

Keith couldn’t help the shaky smile creeping onto his lips, “Solid observation, there, buddy.”

Lance woke up a few hours later, feeling a lot better but still a little out of it and generally unwell.

His eyes focused enough so that he could see Keith sitting down on a chair next to him, lightly nodding off.

“Keith?” Lance croaked out.

Keith woke instantaneously, unable to hide how his face lit up when he saw Lance awake. He couldn’t help the soft smile spreading across his lips.

“Oh god, Lance, you’re okay,” Keith breathed out.

Lance managed a husky chuckle, “Yeah, I guess dude.”

Keith’s face darkened slightly, “I’m so sorry.”

Lance’s face scrunched in confusion, “Huh?”

“..This is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

Keith looked away guiltily, biting at his lip, “..You got sick because of me. You’re here because of me, and I didn’t even notice you became so bad.”

There was a long silence, and tears began to prick at Keith’s eyes.

“Hey man,” Lance pressed, “Stop this emo crap. I wanted to take care of you. I care about you, in case you didn’t know. I knew there were consequences, but I made a choice and I still stand by it.”

Keith chuckled shakily, looking up at Lance and unable to stop himself from grinning ear to ear. It was a good look on him.

Suddenly Keith leaned in and pressed a kiss against Lance’s lips, a spark of passion igniting in his body. He felt a mix of the cozy warmth of a fire on a cold winter’s night, and the cool summer breeze against his hair on a hot summer’s day. Keith felt firm, but yet sweet and soft, loving. The perfect combination of fire and ice.

Keith pulled away, despite Lance wishing against everything he never would, blushing hard, “I’m sorry.”

Lance smirked, “For what?”

“I don’t really know,” Keith giggled.

Keith tried to suppress the dorky grin spreading across his features, rubbing his neck, “Uh, I should tell the others you’re awake..um..let’s not tell anyone about this..for now, okay?”

Lance giggled, “Okay.”

They would all find out eventually.

#lance mcclain #klance #langst #keith kogane #voltron #takashi shirogane #hunk garrett #pidge gunderson #vld lance #vld keith #vld #fever #sickfic #prompts #whump #unncessarily sappy lmaoooo

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