#This is the chisme I love watching from a distance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

muddyorbsblr · 22 days ago

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Ohh god Bucky is a complete softy in this, and that first night that he spent holding Reader so he could help her through the nightmares is all the proof we need 🥹 Like he was there the second she was awake and heavy breathing because I just know he was already nearby and using his enhanced hearing to check in on her but still be stealth about it. We love a man who yearns and puts in the effort 💖

That entire paragraph of Nat taking all of 2 minutes to clock all of the chisme and decide to lay back and watch it all play out was such a mood and so on brand for her 😂 Like she'll nudge where she can but for the most part she just wants to be sitting in the back and absorbing all the chisme from a safe distance and we love that for her

The way he was so gentle with her just has me a whole ass puddle, like the contrast between how he handles her right next to him literally breaking the lock on her door like it was no big deal is such a great show of both his strength and his restraint in one masterful move 👏👏 And the way he asks to kiss her even tho he's been absolutely itching and yearning to do it?! One of my favorite examples of consent is sexy 😮‍💨

Nat being a complete mastermind in fanfics is probably one of my favorite microtropes, like she really said "So these two are spending their nights in bed together and they're just cuddling?! Yeah no I can see they want more guess I gotta stir the pot" 😂👏👏

This was such a fluffy read! Having to see Reader have the sads over what she heard Bucky say hurt, but damn the comfort just made up for it and then some 🥹💖

the last first kiss

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky barnes have gotten close while on a month-long SHIELD mission together, but when natasha romanoff starts asking bucky about his relationship with you, you overhear something that makes you think your feelings are entirely one-sided.

warnings: FLUFF, so much fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, some angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, kissing, cuddling, pet names (bunny), protective bucky

word count: 3.1k

a/n: day 14 of my 30 day writing trope challenge was mutual pining. i struggled a bit to think of an idea that i could keep relatively short and this is what i came up with! just some cute, fluffy bucky! please enjoy!!

“What’s going on with you and the newbie?”

You froze just outside the door of the kitchen when you heard Natasha Romanoff’s question, knowing she was referring to you. After all, you were the newest member of your SHIELD team, and you’d all been stationed with Natasha, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes for a month-long mission in the Sokovian mountains. Even though you were almost three weeks into it, almost everyone still called you newbie.

“What’re you talking about, Nat?” Bucky’s gruff answer drew your attention back to the kitchen where he and Nat were cooking dinner for the team.

Natasha tutted loudly at the Winter Soldier, the sound patronizing. “Don’t play dumb with me, Barnes—I know you sleep in her room every night.”

You had to cover your mouth to stop your gasp from giving you away. You weren’t sure if Bucky could hear your frantically beating heart over the noise of the kitchen—pots and pans and chopping knives—but the sound you’d been about to make would’ve been heard by even your SHIELD teammates on the second floor, so the super solider definitely would’ve caught it. You craned your neck, trying to listen more closely, hoping Bucky was too distracted by what he was doing to use his super hearing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky said in an even tone.

A thorn of hurt pierced your heart. Sure, there was an unspoken rule between you and Bucky that neither of you talked about the nights you spent together, curled up in each other’s arms. It wasn’t exactly against any SHIELD rules, but you thought you and Bucky were simply in agreement that it would make things easier if the others didn’t know. Besides, it’s not like anything other than sleeping happened when he joined you in your bed each night.

It had started the first week of the mission. You were prone to nightmares, especially if you were stressed or in a new, unfamiliar location. You’d had them since you were a kid and informed SHIELD when you’d joined the organization. They’d conducted a psych eval but ultimately cleared you to proceed to field training. Your worst fear was that you’d wake up screaming on your first mission and reveal your weakness to your team. That fear had been realized—sort of.

On the second night in the Sokovian safe house, you’d woken up from a nightmare, sitting up in bed and looking around wildly until you remembered where you were. You hadn’t screamed, thankfully, but a moment later Bucky burst through your door. He told you he’d been awake and heard your distress and came to check on you. Curling in on yourself, you’d told him about your nightmares, but tried to assure him they didn’t make you weak.

You didn’t know what to expect from the Winter Soldier, but it hadn’t been the endless amount of kindness he’d shown you that night. He listened to you without judgement and shared his own experiences with nightmares, stemming from his time as a Hydra assassin. He’d offered to stay with you and laid down on top of the blankets covering your bed. You’d fallen asleep facing each other on opposite ends of the bed, but you’d woken up feeling fully rested and snuggled deep into Bucky’s chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you, the blankets twisted between your bodies.

The next night, Bucky knocked softly on your door after everyone had gone to bed and you’d let him in. Again, you’d both fallen asleep on opposite sides of the bed and ended up curling around each other in the night. After a few nights of that, you both gave up the pretense of keeping a respectful distance while you fell asleep. Instead, Bucky would slip beneath your blankets and pull you into his chest, where you’d settle happily, your legs twining with his.

For all your nights spent together, you’d done nothing more than cuddle with Bucky. Still, it hurt to hear him deny even that to Natasha, even if it meant he was trying to respect the decision you’d seemingly made to keep your friendship with him a secret. Especially since she clearly didn’t believe him.

“Barnes,” Nat said and even though you couldn’t see the super spy, you could hear from her tone she was rolling her eyes. “Fine, don’t admit to your second-oldest friend that you like her,” she teased in a way that spoke to her and Bucky’s long-standing friendship.

“Drop it, Nat,” Bucky said gruffly, the sound of a chopping knife getting faster, like he was the one doing the dicing and he was getting irritated.

But the Winter Solder with a knife didn’t scare someone like the Black Widow. “I mean, you’re right, you are a little old for her, don’t you think?” Nat said, needling her friend. From the hallway, you could hear the sneaky grin on the spy’s face. You knew what she was doing—trying to get a rise out of Bucky—and you pressed closer, wanting to hear what Bucky would say.

“I told you to drop it, Nat,” Bucky bit out, slamming the knife on the counter. “There’s nothing between me and her.”

The thorn of hurt in your chest grew into vines that wrapped around your heart until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. Careful not to make a sound, you retreated from the hallway outside the kitchen then fled to your room. You threw yourself onto your bed, burying your face in your pillow and trying not to cry.

You’d thought there was something special between you and Bucky. You’d considered him a friend, at the very least. And if you were honest with yourself, you’d developed much stronger feelings for the Winter Soldier. He was so kind and soft with you, keeping you safe from your nightmares, it was impossible for you not to get attached. But clearly your feelings were one-sided.

For five minutes, you let yourself wallow. You let yourself feel sad about Bucky not reciprocating your feelings—you even let yourself cry a little. But when those five minutes were up, you heaved yourself out of bed and stood up straight, pushing your shoulders back to make yourself look confident, even if you didn’t feel it. You checked the mirror to make sure there were no signs on your face of the tears you’d shed and then plastered a smile on before heading back down to the kitchen for dinner.

All through the meal, your heart ached and you just wanted to be left alone, but you soldiered on. If anyone noticed you were quieter than usual or your smile wasn’t as bright as it had been just the day before, they didn’t say anything. That was one thing about living and working in the same space as super spies—even if they did notice something was off, they knew better than to say anything.

Like how, unbeknownst to you, it took Nat all of 10 seconds to clock that something was wrong with you, though it took her another two minutes to figure out you were studiously avoiding looking at Bucky. It was only another few seconds before she’d deduced the only thing that could’ve upset you was overhearing her conversation with Bucky while they were prepping dinner. Nat also clocked that Bucky had no idea you were avoiding him or that you were upset; he was too busy laughing with Steve and telling the other agents about their rebellious teenage years—though the brunet would glance at you regularly, like he was checking on you. Nat smiled secretively to herself, leaning back and watching as everyone was still settling in to the table, content to say nothing and watch how things would play out.

After dinner, you excused yourself as soon as you could, claiming you were tired and went to bed. For the first time since you’d arrived at the SHIELD safe house, you locked the door to your room. Though you were resolved to try to make it through the night without Bucky, you fell into a fitful sleep.

When you woke to the pitch black of your room some time later, you weren’t sure what exactly had roused you from sleep. You didn’t know how late it was, but your body felt confused and restless. Rolling over, you turned on the bedside light and checked the time. It wasn’t that late, but everyone would be in bed. Still, you didn’t know what had woken you. Before you could puzzle over it for long, the doorknob rattled, the sound of the lock doing its job loud in your quiet room.

There was a moment’s pause and you froze, holding your breath. You knew it was Bucky on the other side of the door and you hoped he would take the hint and leave.

He didn’t.

There was a soft sound of crunching, rending metal and then your door was swinging in. Bucky slipped inside your room as he had so many times before and closed the door behind him, wedging it shut after breaking the lock.

When he turned to you, he wore a confused look on his face. “Your door was locked,” he said in a bewildered tone, his head tilted like he found it to be weird as he stepped toward your bed like he planned to join you.

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest—not because you remembered what he’d said about you in the kitchen. You did, of course, his words and the vehemence with which he’d said them were unfortunately imprinted in your mind. No, your heart reacted like it did because you wished you could pretend you hadn’t heard him. You wished so badly that you could just let him slip into your bed wearing his gray t-shirt and athletic shorts and let him wrap you up in his arms, where you felt the safest.

Instead, you said, “I locked it on purpose.” Your voice was raspy with sleep but clear and when you looked Bucky in the eye, you knew he heard you.

“What?” he asked, stumbling to a stop a few feet away from the bed.

You’d already sat up, but you straightened your shoulders before you spoke to project the strength, determination and confidence you didn’t feel. “I wanted to sleep alone tonight.”

Bucky’s face went slack with surprise. Something like hurt swirled in those brilliant blue eyes of his. But he wiped his expression blank, his jaw clenching hard as he nodded. “Right, okay,” he said, his voice rough like he was chewing on gravel. He turned and staggered a little. You’d never seen the Winter Solder so unsteady on his feet, but you pushed your confusion and concern aside as you watched him walk back to your door.

His hand hovered above the doorknob, but before he grabbed it, he spun around, looking at you with hard eyes. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice somehow harsh and soft at the same time. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

Somehow your heart broke more for Bucky than it had for yourself and you couldn’t meet his eye. You were more and more sure that it was hurt you saw in his gaze and you didn’t know how to reconcile it with what he’d told Nat in the kitchen. Your fingers twisted in the blankets in your lap, unsure what to say.

“Please, bunny,” Bucky murmured, his voice much closer than it had been. He’d padded quietly to the side of your bed and kneeled beside it. His big hands scooped up yours, gently tugging them away from your lap, holding them against his chest. You could feel his steady heartbeat beneath his skin and you ached so badly from wanting to curl up into him. “Tell me what I did—I never want to hurt you.” Bucky gazed at you with those bright blue eyes of his and you could feel the walls you’d started constructing before dinner crumbling to dust.

“I heard you talking to Nat,” you confessed, trailing off and ducking your head so you didn’t have to see his reaction to your words.

“Oh bunny,” Bucky rumbled, dropping his head to kiss your fingers. “No wonder you’re pushing me away.” He stood, and with quick, graceful movements, Bucky scooped you up out of bed and slid beneath the blankets, settling you on his lap with your head tucked against his shoulder.

As soon as you were safe in the circle of his arms, you burst into tears. “I thought you didn’t care about me,” you said in a ragged whisper, your words half muffled by your face being smushed into Bucky’s neck.

His big hands ran soothingly over your body, the warmth of them seeping through your pajamas. He shushed you softly, stroking your back and arms and legs gently until you settled enough to hear him. “I care about you, bunny—so much,” Bucky admitted. “But I didn’t know how you felt and Nat can be…she can be a little pushy.” Bucky sighed, relaxing deeper into your pillows, adjusting you on his lap so you were cradled in his arms just right. “I didn’t want her to push you into doing or saying anything you’re not ready for.”

You lay there for a moment, processing what he’d said. “So you were trying to protect me, from your friend,” you said slowly, testing out the words to see if you believed what he was saying.

“My pushy, meddling friend,” Bucky clarified, a hint of a smile in his tone.

Shifting to sit up enough that you could look in Bucky’s face, his expression turned serious, his eyes darkening at the sight of your blotchy, tear-stained cheeks. One of his hands reached up and swiped his thumb over the apples of your cheeks, brushing away the remaining tears. He smiled softly, like he was satisfied to see you tear-free.

When he met your eyes, you realized you believed him. There was nothing but caring and affection in Bucky’s gaze when he looked at you. Your heart fluttered happily, feeling whole again at the knowledge that your feelings weren’t one-sided at all. Bucky cared about you just as much as you cared for him. “Okay, Bucky,” you whispered, returning his smile with a tentative one of your own. Your words were an acceptance of his explanation and a plea not to hurt you again.

Bucky’s expression transformed into the happiest grin you’d ever seen on his face, but you didn’t have time to appreciate it because he was tackling you back onto the bed, tickling you. You squealed and laughed, the sounds breathless from your own happiness.

Bucky stopped after a moment, seeming to remember it was the middle of the night and everyone else was asleep. He hovered over you, that grin still on his face. Your eyes focused on it, one hand reaching up so you could trace a finger along his lower lip. Bucky’s eyes darkened as he stared down at you. “Bunny,” he rumbled, his voice deeper and more gravelly. “I gotta kiss you—please.”

How could you resist when he asked so nicely? Before you could even fully nod your head, he was ducking down and capturing your lips in the sweetest first kiss you’d ever had. His mouth was warm and soft and gentle as he kissed you, moving against yours with the same kind of tenderness he showed you when he was holding you at night. You felt like you were flying high amongst the clouds, dancing through daydreams with Bucky guiding you the whole way.

Bucky didn’t pull away until your lungs were begging for air and when he did, he didn’t move far, pressing his forehead to yours while you both caught your breath.

“Wow,” you whispered.

A chuckle rumbled in Bucky’s chest. “Wow, yourself,” he murmured, pressing one last kiss to your lips. He rolled onto his back, tugging you with him and tucking you into the bed by his side. “Get some sleep, bunny,” he said, turning off your bedside light and plunging you both back into darkness.

Feeling safe and happy in Bucky’s arms, it wasn’t long before you fell into a deep, restful sleep, all worries of Nat and what Bucky had told her drifting away.

Bucky woke you the next morning with soft, sweet kisses against your cheeks, his lips finding yours just as your eyelashes were fluttering open. You could hear the sounds of the house waking up, but you were lost in your world with Bucky, making out with slow drugging kisses as you both gradually woke up.

Eventually, though, you had to drag yourselves from bed. However, you soon discovered a new problem. The door to your room that Bucky had broken in the middle of the night was stuck closed. Bucky could’ve broken the door down, but you begged him not to, since you weren’t sure when it would get fixed. He ended up having to bang on the door until someone heard him.

From the other side, someone managed to get the door unstuck and when it swung open you and Bucky were greeted by the smug smile of Natasha Romanoff. “Nothing between you too, huh?” she snarked to Bucky, flicking a pointed look at you.

Bucky just rolled his eyes, rubbing at the back of his neck a little abashedly. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered before he turned and dropped one more kiss on your lips like he couldn’t help himself. “See you downstairs,” he murmured just for you before he moved past Nat and down the hall to the room he was sharing with Steve.

When you were left alone with Nat, you asked, “You knew, didn’t you?” Not just referring to Bucky sleeping in your room, but his feelings for you.

The Black Widow tossed her head back and laughed. “Of course I knew what was going on with the Winter Soldier and the newbie.” She gave you an enigmatic smirk. “You’re welcome.”

With that, Nat sauntered down the hall and you were left wondering if Bucky had actually protected you from his friend’s pushy meddling or if you’d both fallen into her trap. After a moment, though, you decided you didn’t care. All that mattered was you and Bucky were good, you both knew where you stood and you’d finally kissed. As you got ready for the day, you couldn’t help but daydream about Bucky’s lips and your first kiss—the last first kiss you hoped to ever have.

⫸⫸30 Day Writing Trope Challenge Masterlist⫷⫷

#bucky stories #fluff fic recs #hurt/comfort fic recs #writers supporting writers

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solrika · 7 years ago

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prologue/bg. part one. part two.

Under Reaper’s mask is the ruined remains of what used to be Gabriel Reyes. Sombra hasn’t told anyone since she found out, and that’s probably why he tolerates her teasing and watches out for her on missions. It doesn’t take long for them to realize they’re in accord when it comes to Talon (burn it to the ground), and some kind of trust follows that.

Sombra hasn’t had friends in a while. It’s nice. As for Gabriel-- he talks to her, because he has no one else.

At first, it’s just mutters about her lack of proper nutrition, and the current gossip (they both love the chisme). Slowly, she pries him open, though--there’s not much there, exactly. Anger and vengeance and a deep, deep sadness isn’t good conversation material.

And then 76 shows up.

When it’s just them, Sombra gets to listen to Gabriel mutter yet again about how he knows 76 somehow. She’s gathered that the merc’s someone important from before the explosion punched a hole in Gabriel’s memories and his face. There’s something about 76 that makes Gabriel feel safe (he didn’t tell her, but it’s obvious--the tonto doesn’t even think before turning his back to the mercenary when they cross paths). Why, though, eludes them.

Even she isn’t quite sure how he fit into the web of Overwatch and Blackwatch, and to put it bluntly, even Gabriel’s unsure how reliable his memories of the past decade are. It frustrates him. There’s so much they could do if he could remember, so much information locked away in his mind.

Sombra does what she can, picking away at his brain in her spare time. She gets the stories in pieces.

( “He didn’t work for me.” “But you knew him.” “I knew him.” )

( “I think his hair used to be brown.” )

( “We talked about... Jack. We talked about Jack a lot.”

Sombra pricks up her ears. “The Strike Commander?”

Gabriel shakes his head, claws tapping against each other. “Yes. No. Jack.”

“Okay, Jack.” She pretends like she’s not recording, just in case. He can get touchy if she insinuates he can’t remember the now, either. “What’d you say about Jack?”

“He--” The claws still. “I think 76 pretended to be him? In... a bed?”

Useless, but amusing as fuck--which is what they were probably doing in said bed. Sombra laughs. “I think you two were being kinky bastards, old man.”

“I guess.” He laughs with her, this time. “I guess we were.”)

( “I’m pretty sure he used to dress horribly,” Gabriel muses, as they watch 76 beat up a hapless gang member. “I hope I made him that jacket. It does good things for his shoulders.” )

( “The kids called him a mother hen,” he says one day. “I was Dad, and he was the mother hen.”

“You didn’t have kids, old man,” she says, as gently as she can.

He stares off into the distance. “But... the...” The only thing left of his face are his eyes, and they’re lost. “I thought--my kids--”

“Sorry, old man.” She gives him a smile, trying to soften the words. “Tangle in the wires, I guess.”

“Yeah.” He stares down at his hands. “I guess.”)

( “I think his hair used to be blonde.” )

Sombra’s learned that Gabriel’s urge to feed, protect, and care for is as ingrained as his sense of justice. He brings protein bars along on missions for her, for fuck’s sake. And so she’s not really surprised when he starts to seek out 76′s safe houses and stock them with canned foods and extra ammunition.

As long as Sombra doesn’t touch anything and carries the extra groceries, she gets to come along and needle him all she wants. This includes calling these trips “visiting the crush.” Gabriel doesn’t correct her, so she’s probably right.

This is probably the twenty-eighth time she’s wound up watching him putter around, and it’s starting to get old. There’s no recon to speak of, just housekeeping. Even 76 has stopped switching hideouts once he finds his current one has been tampered with--Gabriel’s being that predictably harmless.

"Oh my God, just talk to him," Sombra exclaims, as she watches Gabriel straighten up 76's hideout. "You're so useless."

"And what would I say?" Gabriel's laugh is as ruined as his face. "Hello, I remember you but not enough to verify who I am?"

Sombra rolls her eyes. "Are you about to get sad about how you're not sure you're Reyes?"

"Ingrate." He swats at her, but it's across the room and so she knows he doesn't mean it. Deep down, she's pretty sure he appreciates being teased out of his maudlin moments.

"You should talk to him," she repeats, watching the surreal sight of Reaper turning down what amounts to 76's bed. He's fluffing the pillows. What even is her life. "You're so infatuated it's embarrassing."

"He doesn't need that."

"How do you know? Maybe he's lonely." She wiggles her eyebrows. "Lonely- lonely. Your dick still works, right?"

Even through the mask, she can feel his supremely unimpressed glare. "Really?"

"Hey, maybe a bootycall would be the way to his heart."

Gabriel doesn’t make that bootycall. Not that she expected him to, but still. There’s only so much yearning she can stand. Today’s the day she finally makes these two old men talk. She tells herself that she’s just doing this because she’s getting tired of his antics. All this pining is making her sad.

It doesn’t take much to throw up a sound dampener when they enter the latest shithole 76′s made into his den. Usually, Gabriel spirits them away at the first sound of the merc’s boots, but he’s not getting to weasel out this time. She’s got her translocator, and Gabriel can’t be killed. Things will be fine.

Sombra’s proximity alert buzzing in the back of her skull is the thing that keeps her from startling when the door creaks open. Gabriel, though--

Gabriel reacts on instinct, pulling his guns and shouldering her behind him (which does make her startle--being protected without a second thought is still new). They stare at 76, frozen in the doorway. Gabriel’s growl rattles in his throat, and dies. Slowly, slowly, he lowers his shotguns.

"What the hell," growls 76, and pointedly does not lower his own pulse cannon.

"Hi," croaks Gabriel.

"Are you making my bed?"

"He likes to tidy," Sombra pipes up, though she doesn't step out from behind Gabriel's back (she's smarter than that). "You live like a pig."

Gabriel swats at her.

"What the fuck," says 76.

"We'll go," manages Gabriel, grabbing at Sombra. "Come on, let's go--"

"Madre de Dios, you're useless. We're not going, you have to tell him!"

"Sombra--"

"You have to! It's driving me crazy."

"I will not," hisses Gabriel, though it sounds more panicked than menacing.

"What the fuck," 76 repeats.

#overwatch #overwatch fanfic #reaper76

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imaredshirt · 7 years ago

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For the Domesticity prompts can I get a number 10 for imector in the LOtD? Maybe the first time Imelda’s parents come over after the events of the movie?

Domesticity prompts

10. The in-laws come to visit

Nonnie I’m so sorry I took forever to write this one. It’s the first time I’ve given any real, detailed thought to Imelda’s parents (I headcanon that she was raised by her grandfather) but it was fun! I had actually really wanted it to be a light hearted, funny ficlet but my angst muse took over and was like “NOPE.”

Thank you for the ask, hope this turned out ok! (also it got lengthy, sorry ‘bout that)

Héctor swept a handthrough his hair, patted it down, then ruffled it just a little because itlooked too neat. He adjusted the collar of his pressed white buttondown, straightened his dark blue vest, and then quickly patted his trousersdown to get rid of any rogue dust particles. He sniffed, nodded his head at hisreflection in the hallway mirror, and struck a pose that obviously read“good-and-respectful-and-neat-and-totally-responsible-son-in-law.”

He held the pose for amoment before letting his shoulders sag and running a hand down his face.

If he still had skin,he’d be sweating enough to fill the lake around the city. And then some.

He felt awful. Theupcoming social event of the day had dipped him in a cocktail of emotions, andhe’d been trying to cope for an entire week after Imelda had broken the news tohim. Laying in bed, twiddling his thumbs, staring at the ceiling and pretendingto be asleep whenever Imelda checked in on him with a worried frown. He and hiswife weren’t sleeping in the same room–it was far too early for that, the painwas still too raw–but the relationship between them had advanced enough thatImelda didn’t hide her concern for his emotional well being.

Ever since she’d toldhim who was coming to visit, she’d looked at his worried face and touched hishand reassuringly and told him comfortingly, “It’s going to be ok, Héctor.”

He loved Imelda. He did.And sometimes he believed her. But then he’d think about the day ahead and he’dbecome nervous all over again.

The in-laws were coming.

As if the absence ofnervous sweating had called forth alternative methods of showcasing hisanxiety, he had to struggle to keep himself from fiddling with the sleeves ofhis shirt and biting at the tips of his phalanges like the nervous wreck thathe was.

Before he’d died, andbefore he’d left Santa Cecilia with Ernesto, Imelda’s parents had adored him.Before that, they’d tolerated him. Before that, they’d hated his guts.

Initially, they hadn’tbeen happy with their daughter’s choice of husband. Some skinny, lanky orphanfrom the streets of Santa Cecilia with too much hair and too big ears and whowas just too tall and who could play the guitar wasn’t the man they’d had inmind for their only daughter. Héctor even remembered on the first day he’d metthem, Imelda’s mother, Francisca, had turned to her husband and whisperedbehind her hand that Héctor was too cheerful.

Imelda’s father, Xavier,had sat glaring at Héctor through the entire meeting, arms crossed, and hadn’tsaid a word.

It had taken Héctor…well, quite a while to get them to warm up to him.

He’d shown them that hecould be responsible, that he could support their daughter and protect hisfamily through turbulent times, and that he loved Imelda with all of hisbeing. And even though Imelda’s mother had criticized his cheerfulness at theirfirst meeting, she’d ended up beaming at him every time he greeted her duringtheir later days. He’d made her laugh and whispered chisme with her and dancedwith her when music played while Imelda chuckled and rolled her eyes.

He’d even gotten Xavierto smile once or twice, and made him laugh one night, and that was anachievement not a lot of people could claim.

“You’re like a son tothem,” Imelda had told him one day after her parents had taken the train home.She’d been pregnant at the time, and Héctor had already been so content andfull of love that the thought of someone seeing him as a son had brought tearsto his eyes.

He’d learned a lot fromher parents. He’d grown close to them.

And then, with one trainticket and a farewell to his family and hometown, he’d ruined it all.

He’d run into them,once, after he’d passed away. They’d died only days apart from each other, andrarely traveled alone in the Land of the Dead. It was a meeting that Héctor didnot like to remember. It had been the first time he’d had hints of what hisliving family thought of him, and why he couldn’t cross the bridge to see them.He’d wallowed around the city for days after that, remembering the words Xavierhad said in such a cold voice, and the intensity with which Francisca hadignored him and simply refused to acknowledge his presence.

Somehow, rememberingthat he’d once been almost a son to them had made it all worse.

Héctor shook the thoughtfrom his mind. He ran a hand through his hair again and picked absently at hisshirt collar. Now was not the time to think back on that. It made his nervesworse and he was afraid if he sank further into his ever present anxiety he’dmake a fool of himself in front of the people whose opinion mattered so much tohim, and who probably still thought so little of the man who had left theirdaughter and granddaughter.

But two weeks ago, onlydays after that one whirlwind of a Dia de los Muertos, Imelda had met withthem. She’d traveled to their apartment across the city, where they lived withothers who had lived during their era, and spent hours speaking with them.

When she returned, she’dsat by Héctor’s bed where he lay recovering from his brush with the FinalDeath.

“They want to see you,”she’d said. “Mamá wanted to come today, but I told them no. You need to recoverbefore you can see anyone.” She’d paused, then met Héctor’s eyes with worry. “Ishould have spoke to you first, Héctor, but—”

“No,” Héctor had said, taking her handin his weak grasp and smiling. “No te preocupes. You’re right. I can’t talk tothem like this. How will I make your mamá laugh when I can barely stand?”

Two weeks since then, and Imeldahadn’t been able to delay the meeting any longer.

Héctor was still weak. His knees stillbuckled, he still had to sit after minutes of standing to rest, but he couldn’tbare to stay stuck in a bed while his in-laws stood around him and glared.

He wanted to be at least standing,in clean clothes, when they gave him the talking-to of the century again.

He’d washed and ironed the suit thathis family had given him the night before, and spent an hour dressing himselfto near perfection before the arranged meeting. Well, he thought it was near perfection. He hoped. Maybe?

He looked in the mirror again andpatted his hair down and practiced his smile.

Even his smile was nervous.

“Héctor,” Imelda said, suddenlybehind him. He jumped in surprise and she placed a comforting hand on hisshoulder, sharing a smile with his reflection. “You look fine.”

“Do I?” Héctor patted his hairagain. In another time he might have said Muyguapo, eh, amor? But his mouth was dry which was weird because he was askeleton and didn’t have saliva anyway, and all he was able to continue withwas, “Eeh, are you—”

“I’m positive,” Imelda said. Withher hands on his shoulders, she turned him around and played with the collar ofhis vest. She looked him over, smiled and said with a playful glint in her eye,“Muy guapo, Héctor.”

He hadn’t seen her look at him withthat hint of mischief in ages. He grinned, suddenly feeling refreshed, andopened his mouth to respond in kind.

In the distance, there was the soundof the front door opening, and voices filled the apartment.

“Dios mío,” he said faintly,shrinking in on himself as if he could disappear into his shirt and hide forthe rest of the year.

Imelda cupped his face with herhands and said, “Héctor. I told you, youwill be fine. Believe me, por favor, they wantto see you. Be strong, quierido.”

At her words, Héctor’s phantom heartfluttered, and he straightened up. He gave her a shaky smile as she took hishand, and together they walked around the corner into the sitting room.

He had to clench his jaw to keep histeeth from chattering.

Felipe and Oscar looked up to grinat them, and standing between them, their parents landed their gazes on Héctor likehawks spotting a horror struck field mouse.

The twins had traveled to theirparents’ apartment to bring them over, giving Imelda time to brew some hot teaand make light sandwiches. The drinks and little perfectly made snacks werelaid out on the table, not unlike the first time they’d all met. And also notunlike that first meeting, Héctor felt faint.

Xavier’s mustache was the same dark,carefully groomed mustache he’d sported until his dying day, and his three piecesuit made Héctor’s look as raggedy as an old wash cloth. Standing arm in armwith him, Francisca was as elegant as ever in her dark dress, the stiff collarreaching up under her chin and the hem of the skirt reaching the floor.

“Mamá, Papá,” Imelda said, steppingin front of Héctor to greet them. Standing nervously behind her, Héctor couldn’thelp but feel she was acting like a shield between them, despite her reassuringwords from before.

She exchanged two kisses with her Mamá,and reached up to press one kiss to her Papá’s cheekbone. Xavier’s gaze softenedwhen he looked down at her, but hardened immediately when he looked again atHéctor.

Héctor tried to remember when he’dshared shots of tequila with the man, laughing at some forgotten joke, andgulped.

“Buenas tardes,” Héctor said, andstopped himself because was it ok that he’d spoken first? Should he have waitedfor them to speak? What if—

“Héctor,” Francisca said suddenly,her stern voice cutting across Héctor’s thoughts like a hot knife throughbutter.

She released Xavier’s arm and movedforward, past Imelda and her sons. Imelda watched with barely hidden nervousanticipation, while her brothers were a hair breath away from falling apartwith anxiety.

Héctor was faring no better. Inanother age, he would have grinned and immediately started chatting with her,taking her arm and leading her to a comfortable chair. But now he was barelyable to smile as she neared him, her dark brown eyes reminding him painfully ofImelda’s, and waited while she paused to tilt her head back and stare straightinto his eyes.

She reached up, adjusted his collarwhich had somehow folded the wrong way in the few seconds since he’d last checkedit, and said, “It has been a long time.”

“Si,” Héctor said. He swore he couldfeel a heart somewhere in his ribcage beating fast. “How have you—”

“You’ve suffered for your sins,” shesaid suddenly, and Héctor felt an odd swoop in his chest. He looked down,suddenly feeling very small, and tried to think of what to say with everyonewatching him.

But she didn’t allow him to speak.She continued.

“No more suffering,” she said. Herhands went to his face, shaking his head minutely as she said with warmth inher voice, “Welcome home, mijo.”

She pulled him down to kiss hischeekbones, and patted his face affectionately before releasing him andstepping back.

Still reeling from the unexpectedaffection, speechless, Héctor only had a moment before Xavier moved forward tograb one hand in a firm handshake.

“It’s good to see you again, Héctor,”Xavier said, surprising Héctor again with more affection than Xavier wascapable of showing anyone other than his children, and then used the handshaketo pull Héctor into a quick hug.

They patted each other on the back,Héctor still speechless, before Xavier gave him one more pat and stepped back.

Héctor remained where he was, hislegs feeling like jelly, as Imelda quickly moved to stand next to him and takehis arm in hers. She smiled up at him, patting his hand, as Francisca andXavier moved together to sit on the nearest couch.

“Imelda tells us you met yourgreat-great-grandson,” Francisca said, sitting elegantly next to her husbandand immediately reaching to pour herself a cup of tea. “How is he? Does he playmusic as well as you did?”

“Of course,” Héctor said, feeling asif he was leaving a stupor, and let Imelda lead him to sit across from herparents. Felipe and Oscar, who had exchanged exuberant glances, sat on the twochairs that had been brought in.

“He’s a very good musician,” Héctor continued,sitting and sharing a smile with Imelda, who squeezed his hand comfortinglybefore handing a plate of sandwiches to her father. “He’s better than me!”

Francisca exclaimed words of disbelief,and before Héctor knew it, they were all chatting on the various talents oftheir descendants, Xavier adding his curt opinions every so often, while Imeldaand Héctor snuck secret smiles at each other over their cups of tea.

Without realizing it, all of Héctor’sanxiety had melted away, and he almost fell into the illusion of past memories,sitting with his family, warm and content.

#coco #imelda rivera #hector rivera #anonymous #prompt

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