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13thbaronzemo · 3 years

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THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES: PART 4

Baron Helmut Zemo/F!Reader

Rated E (Explicit)

You are the Sokovian custodian of Castle Zemo, which now belongs to the dissolved nation’s neighbors, and the baron himself has ordered you to come vacation with him in Ibiza.

Disclaimer: This is a continuation of a fanfic written before FatWS: Ep4 aired and set up after his separation from the protagonists and while on the run from the law.

Baron Zemo’s beach villa was a glass house with windows as high as the ceiling and as low as the floor. The sun shone right through them and illuminated every brightly painted wall and every darkened corner. And, while you missed it on its way up, the sun didn’t miss you. It had been keeping your side of the bed warm as you slept, as well as the side the baron had woken up in.

It was only when the heat became too suffocating, and the thirst too unbearable, that you stirred. Sitting up on your hunches was a Herculean task, and opening your eyes in the morning light was a bad decision. The hangover had made your mouth sand-dry and had your head spinning. All you could remember was being put to sleep like a child because, after a day of travel and a night of drinking, you were far too weak to do it yourself.

The baron anticipated the bad morning you would be having. On the nightstand, he’d left you a note reclining against a tall glass of water and atop a folded tissue.

My Lady,

I know how much you needed a good night’s sleep, so I didn’t dare wake you up so early. I had to go into town this morning, but I’ll be back in time for lunch.

Be sure to drink plenty of water while I’m gone and, if your headache is too much to bear, I’ve left you two tablets of ibuprofen. There is a tray of food that you can stomach waiting for you on the kitchen counter. Do not go hungry waiting for me.

~ Your Lord

You emptied that glass so fast, you only discovered the two tablets folded in the tissue after you were out of water. Thankfully, your Lord had thought of everything: there was a whole six-pack of water bottles on the coffee table across the room just waiting for you to walk over to it. Wrapping the sheet you’ve slept in around your naked body, you crossed the sun-heated carpet and helped yourself to a few more sips of water and ibuprofen.

However, you couldn’t wait around for the pills to heal you, so you began walking off the hangover.

First, you freshened up in the bathroom with a shower. And, since you hadn’t bothered going back into the bedroom to bring your supplies into the cabin before closing it, you proceeded to use his products. But it’s not like you minded bathing in the strong scent that only his musk could overpower. As you scrubbed off your skin, you also traced over the bruises he bit into the side of your neck and the ones he dug into you with his nails. Your thighs were still tender and the memory of his fingers was still fresh in your flesh. And, before you knew it, your nails were digging, dragging themselves between your thighs.

When you couldn’t bear it anymore, when the thought of his tongue entered your mind like it had entered you last night, you slipped a finger inside. The sound you made was louder than the water, but it wasn’t enough to summon him by your side. Or behind. Or inside. All you had was yourself and your fingers to fuck yourself with as you drowned out the desperate sounds in the shower stream. So you slipped another one in and took care of your clitoris with your thumb. When you finally came, it was while calling out your Lord’s name.

Secondly, you had to pick yourself off the shower floor before the cabin flooded and the worries started winding the gears in your brain. You couldn’t let all the terrors he’s inflicted on the rest of the world take over your thoughts, so you sniffed the humid air and your wet skin in search of his scent. Sure enough, the memories took over and you were engrossed in the thought of all the gifts he has bestowed onto you.

Thirdly, you needed to dry and dress before heading downstairs for a late breakfast. He had ordered you to stay hydrated and fed while he was gone, after all. While brushing your teeth and combing your hair, you saw something purple peering back at you in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. It was peeking out from under the lid of the wicker laundry basket and, once you lifted it completely, you saw it was the sleeve of the same shirt Baron Zemo wore last night. Pulling it out, you put it right up against your nose, inhaling the rest of his scent, the traces of him that couldn’t be contained in a conditioner bottle. When you returned to yours and the baron’s room, you were wearing a smile, his button-up shirt, and nothing underneath.

Finally, after plucking your phone out of your purse, you ventured downstairs into the kitchen. The tray of food he’d promised you was preset there: toasted bread, honey, avocado spread, and boiled eggs. Next to it was another tall glass, but, this time, it was filled with blended bananas. From the mixer drying next to the sink, you were delighted to deduce that he made you the smoothie himself. Putting the phone in the shirt pocket, you placed the glass on the tray and made your way to the couch in the center of the open living area.

Sitting down, you took a sip of the smoothie before sliding your fingers on your phone’s home screen. You knew, before you even unlocked your phone, you had a slew of messages waiting for you. The group chat from work had been chatting about you. Well, they were complaining about a couple of Spanish tourists you weren’t there to talk to in their tongue. You chose to focus on the more recent messages, the good mornings. You sent one of your own and the interrogation began. You answered their questions about the weather, the food and the nightlife. Even back in the old country, you heard stories about Ibiza’s nightlife. All of Europe heard the stories about the nightlife. ‘Send photos,’ they insisted. ‘Pics pls,’ they spammed you. You had no such photos to send, but Heidi had your back. She had spammed you the selfies from the VIP area while you slept. You told them about this lost Sokovian sister who lived here and who you met in Eden.

As you were struggling to come up with a good story about how you ended up in the most expensive nightclubs in the world on your salary, you were saved by a low battery. 'Sorry, my phone's dying,' you told the truth. 'I'm off to buy a new charger,' you lied. 'I forgot mine on the plane. TTYL.' And you didn't wait for them to respond before you switched to airplane mode and turned off the Wi-Fi. Then, you hurried upstairs and dug through your suitcase for the charger that you totally left on the plane.

After setting up your phone to charge on the nightstand, you went back downstairs. You were feeling famished and you had the baron's breakfast to finish. The toast was cold and the smoothie was warm, but anything coming from your Lord was going to be devoured no matter what. So you ate the toast, sipped your drink, and looked longingly at the deserted driveway. It was almost noon, so he could've come back any minute. A minute passes. Then three. Then ten. Then your mind starts winding with worry again.

Where is he? Is he safe? Is he okay? Why didn't he give you his phone number? Why didn't he ask for yours? Did he already have it? Did he go through your phone? How can he trust you not to use that phone to call the authorities? Why don't you call the authorities? Why are you here? Why are you here?

In an attempt to distract yourself, you wash the dishes and leave them to dry. When that doesn't work, you take yourself on a tour around the open living area. You bury your nose in a red rose, drag a digit across the kitchen counter top, pass through a forest of potted plants and watch seagulls bathe in the sun through the blinds. When you returned to the sofa, you slid your hand across its smooth surface as you walked barefoot behind it. As you approached the end of your journey, you let your hand fall back at your side. There was more fabric to feel up, but you wouldn't dare. That was his armchair and you could tell.

On each side of it rest a table. On the one that stood between the armchair and the sofa lay a spread of Spanish magazines and a couple of remote controls. And on the other lay a closed chessboard, a glass ashtray, and a stack of paperbacks. They looked to you like they were loved, with bent book covers, dog ears and all. And Il Principe was by far his favorite.

Just as your palm presses down on the first page, you jolt and drop the open book on its back. The sound of a purring engine pulling up pierced your ears and heart. He was back? He was back! How could you mistake the convertible's color as anybody else's but Baron Zemo's? You picked up the copy of Machiavelli’s The Prince and placed it back on top of the stack before praying nothing else was out of place. Well, anything besides whatever had slipped out of those pages and under the chair.

There was no time, so you forsake your search before it even started. Pulling down on the hem of your purple shirt - his shirt - you counted the turns of the key in the lock. One. Two. Three.

"Lord Zemo," you perked up, your feet patting the floor on your way to the door. "Welcome back."

You surrendered to the shivers on a sunny day as his eyes were revealed behind his shades. Since you settled yourself in his direct line of sight, you couldn't exactly complain about being scrutinized.

"It's good to be back," he licked his lips, leering at you as he leaned back against the door and shoved it shut. "And it's even better with a warm welcome." Dropping the big bag of groceries to the ground, he gathered both your hands into his. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

“Better,” you smiled and it must’ve been a silly sight because he snorted when you apprehensively added: “Now that you’re here.”

“Can’t go on a day without me, can you?” The baron brought both of your hands to his mouth and took turns kissing each one. “Can’t even dress yourself while I’m not here.” You reacted as if you just remembered you put on his purple button-up, stuttering to give a straight answer as he snickered. “There, there,” he tutted you, taking your face in the palms of his hands and pressing his lips against your frustrated frown. “There’s no need to pout, little girl. It suits you.”

He made you feel so meek, so small. You hated hearing yourself speak in his presence, seeing yourself quiver under his questioning eyes, yet you loved being at this powerful man’s mercy. Ever since you failed to evade him in the west wing hallway, you’ve been at his mercy. Ever since you surrendered yourself to him, you’ve been more than willing to obey him.

Even now, even as he asked you what you’d like to have for lunch, you didn’t dare demand anything. You let him decide while he swung that heavy bag atop the surface of the counter. Even when he asked what music you'd like to listen to, you echoed 'whatever you wish, my Lord,' like you're back to being his captive in Castle Zemo. And maybe you were.

However, as he hovered over his armchair and whatever secret slipped underneath it, unbuttoning his suit as he buttoned the remote, you begged him to go lay down and rest. Upstairs. On the second floor. Away from the chair and the contents below.

"The paella isn't going to prepare itself, my dear," he talked over timid trumpets. "Aren't you hungry?" He slid the suit jacket off of his shoulders and you scrambled to catch it. "Thank you."

"I've had a filling breakfast," you whispered, all the wind getting knocked out of your lungs as he turned to you with a half-clothed chest.

The fingers on his burgundy buttons froze when he saw your eyes savoring the sight. To the tune of the basset horns, the baron brought them over to the sleeves so that he could bunch them up to his elbows. "Not filling enough, it seems," he breathed, his fingers now at your buttons - his buttons. "Tell me," he craned his neck, hovering over the now uncovered half of your chest. "Have you tried filling yourself with two fingers or three?" When you gasped, he grabbed your naked neck and, while your windpipe was free to filter air, you had yet to breathe in any. "You can't even pleasure yourself without me, can you? You can barely take care of yourself."

"Please," you pleaded. It was a pathetic wheeze as it left your parted lips. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you welcomed the tightening grip around your throat.

"Please what?"

"Please, my Lord," you closed your eyes as he cupped your breast under the open button-up. Your nipple was at attention before he reached it, his thumb running over it, flicking it, teasing it. Torturing you. "Touch me."

"I am touching you, my dear" he chuckled cruelly, the thumb at your throat pressing down on the bruise as he would a button and snapping open your scrunched up eyes. "Now, look at me," he insisted, his brown eyes growing black. "Please what?"

"Please fuck me," you pushed your breast into his palm and ran your own up and down the arm. You were stroking it, stoking the fire that's been ignited behind his now on fire eyes as they burned in the background of Mozart's Requiem in D Minor.

“Good girl.” Then, as if all the tension was sucked out of the air by his hiss, your lord left you stranded, surrendering his hold on you and letting you balance yourself on the balls of your feet.

When you found your bearings, the baron was seating in his armchair, the throne you had previously pleaded for him to forsake for the bed. As you blinked back the tears you weren’t aware had been welling in your eyes, you saw him spread his legs wider and lean back further. After patting down both of his pockets only to search through a single one, he presented to you a small silver packet.

“Wasn’t it you who wanted me to sit back and relax?” He smirked, satisfied in all the ways he can make your knees go weak. “You have to be the one doing all the work then. Pick the jacket off the ground and get to work, my dear.”

You’d been so distracted by his dashing good looks and his tempting touch that you had dropped his suit jacket at your feet. After dusting it off and hanging it by the door, you returned to him for your ravishing.

Getting on your knees between his own, you followed his instructions to undo his fly. Then, when your trembling hands allowed for his gorgeous, glistening erection to escape, he slapped them away. You wanted nothing more than to trace the vein that pulses up from the base of his penis to the head of it, with either your hands or your tongue, so you whined when you were denied. When he tutted you, tearing the package in two, you excused yourself even as you drowned in your own drool.

Your Lord was so beautiful in the afternoon sun, a king with a glowing crown of beaded sweat on his forehead. The last time you saw both his cock and his chest beard before you it was in the silver light of the moon and he appeared a white marble god to you then. However, as he slipped the rubber sleeve on his shaft, his chest heaving under the heat of your gaze, you remembered that he was a man first and foremost. And, when he commanded you to climb in his lap, his voice another in the chorus of the Requiem, you remembered that you were a woman first and foremost.

“That’s it,” he groaned as you straddled his hips, your nails fixing themselves in the sleeves of his shirt. “Right there, baby,” he held you up by your hip while your cunt hung over his cock being held by his other hands. “My poor baby, so helpless without me,” he licked his lips when you winced against the feeling of him between your folds. “You’ll have to learn to put in some work, little girl,” he pushed you down on him, both hands on your hips now. "I’ll lead you there, like a lord ought to," he groaned when you gasped, his cock head breaching the entrance. “But you’ll have to do it yourself,” his voice was strained as he slid in with a single snap of his hips. "You'll have to fuck yourself on my cock."

You fell forward, his face between your breasts and your hands holding it close by the back of his neck as he bottomed out inside you. You were finally full. "My Lord, I," you began babbling, trying to turn your brain on. You had to remember to get the slip of paper that sat just under this seat. You had to put everything back into its place. Oh, but his cock, crammed between the walls of your cunt, was right in its place. "I, I, I-"

"Come on, my lady," he breathed between your breasts, his mouth moving from one mound of flesh to the other. Now, as he flicked your nipples, he did it with the tip of his silver tongue. "Come on. Move."

With the baron's hands holding the back of your thighs in a tight grip, you moaned as you moved. With his encouragement, his ever contradicting endearments, his 'baby's and his 'lady's, as well as the long and wide reach of his erection, you began bouncing on his lap. When he suckled all the sweat off your breasts, he shoved your chest out of his face with a palm on your sternum. You had to steady yourself by sinking your nails into the chair's cushion armrests.

His hand slid up on the saliva he left behind on your skin and snatched you by the throat. "Did I tell you to stop?" he growled when you whined and winced, your cunt squeezing down on his cock in time with his hand around your neck. "That's it," he hissed when your hips hurried to comply and ride him again. "Right there, my Lady." His other hand, the one not tightening around your throat, undid the rest of the buttons on your shirt by sending them flying off of their stitches.

You moaned as the hand then moved down to where your bodies met, where your clitoris was growing as you ground against his groin hairs. "Please," you bit your bottom lip, looking at your baron with a vision deterred by suffocation and sexual overstimulation. "Oh, please."

"Please what? Let you come?" His hand was close and you could feel it smoothing down your stomach, then up again. Then down. Then up. "You think you deserve to come, baby? Because I don't think that you do. Only good girls get to come and you've been bad while I was gone."

Through the thick layer of tears and a tight throat, you begged again. And again. You bounced up and down on his lap. Fast. Faster. You squeezed his shaft so snug inside he rolled back his eyes and bucked up his hips. Tight. Tighter.

"Bad girl," he sneered, his eyes narrowing as they rolled back into his sockets. He lifted his hand off of your stomach only to bring it back with a slap to your side. "Didn't your mommy and daddy teach you not to take things that don't belong to you?"

"M-my Lord," your voice cracked, tears of shame and frustration streaming down your cheeks.

"No? Well, I'm both your mommy and your daddy now." He spanked you a second time, leaving searing skin behind. "Don't." Slap. "Touch." Slap. "What." Slap. "Isn't." Slap. "Yours."

Your cunt contracted around his cock after each slap. And, after each spoken word, you warbled out one of your own. It was the same one, over and over and over again. "Sorry. Sorry. Sorry."

He chuckled over the chorus of the Dies Irae, his hand now coming down to caress your flaming flesh. "Baby," his voice dipped lower as his hand snuck back down your stomach. "Baby, look at me."

"Forgive me," you whimpered, your hands winding around the wrist of the arm traveling down south.

“I forgive you.” The baron took pity on you and proceeded with his palm ever further south. “I forgive you, my lady,” his voice was vicious as he barked out his order. “Now come for me! Come!”

The thumb turning your slick and swollen clitoris like a knob had opened the door to your release from the torturous luxury he’d trapped you in. There was a myriad of moans that he squeezed out of your throat and a wide array of words that made more sense while his cock twitched inside you and his thumb circled your clitoris. Words like ‘cum’ and ‘pussy’ and even ‘daddy’ to list a few. Whatever combination you had come up with, it worked like a charm on him as his orgasm followed yours, his face back between your breasts as you fell forward.

“Hold tight, my dear,” he heaved, his breath brushing your skin and his cheek scratching against your sternum. He’d lifted your hips and let himself slip out of you. “There we go,” he sighed, satiated and satisfied.

As you sagged against him, the baron brushed all the hair from your face only to find a sorry face. “I...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“You shouldn’t have,” he said, sinking his chin into his chest to kiss you on the crown of your weary head. “Don’t let me catch you doing it again.”

“You won’t, milord.”

“You’ll learn how to do it without my knowledge?” Combing your hair with one hand, he stretched the other hand towards the side table where your post-coitus eyes could now see what your heated gaze couldn’t before: The Prince had an off-white piece of paper sticking out from between its pages. Your mind was still marinating in the endorphins and was slow to recreate the scenario in which he managed to move it from under the chair and back into your book, all of it under your nose.

“Then you must know this: there is no better distraction than one's own desires.”

“Did Machiavelli write that?”

Baron Zemo laughed, his chest lifting up and down under you. “He wrote something like that,” he spoke over the string instruments playing Lacrimosa through the speakers and your spine shivered.

#Baron Zemo #Helmut Zemo #TFatWS #Baron Zemo x You #Baron Zemo x Reader

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sincerelyasomebody · 4 years

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For This Moment || Jose "Sad Eyes" Guzman

(GIF Credit: @merakiaes)

A/N: Grammatical errors are expected, took a few days to write this. Kept getting distracted. Added background-ish info on Sad Eyes. Tried to mix in what has been mentioned on the show and what I came up with. Please let me know if changes need to be made with the Spanish translations.

Pairing(s): Sad Eyes x Reader

Summary: Everything happens for a reason.

Warnings: fluff, friendzone(d), language,

Word Count: 2716

- ♤ - ♡ - ◇ - ♧ -

The sheer joy on the children's faces and the sound of their laughter, as they watched Principal Nichols be dunked in a water tank, was definitely going to be a highlight for this year's Freeridge Elementary Fun Fair. (Y/N) cheered with them as he was met with a pie to the face, exiting the tank, from his wife Lois. She laughed when a few of her colleagues ambushed the pair with silly string.

A great way to officially declare the fair to be open.

(Y/N) maneuvered her way through the crowd, saying quick 'hello's to the parents of her students, and walked up the pathway leading into the school hall. The space had been split into two areas – hers was the booth of prizes with Kira and Lyall, the music teachers. Instead of the multiple game booths having their own set prizes, winners of the games would be given a token. The amount of tokens won equated to what kind of prize you could get. On the other side of the hall was face painting which Rachel, David and Connor, all fifth grade teachers, were in charge of. This would be (Y/N)'s first time in charge of a booth and she was bubbling with excitement. As a past pupil of the elementary, she was happy to know that the fun fair was still going. Only this time more planning, effort and funding was put into it. The hall was beginning to fill up with those wanting to get their face painted, so she decided to look at the classroom photos from the past hung up on the walls. It didn't take long to spot the familiar second-grade classroom photo that hung up in her parents house. Her eyes scanned through the faces until they landed on the boy in the black button up shirt, khaki shorts and scuffed up shoes; Jose Guzman.

A boy she hadn't really thought much of when the school year started. Until an incident involving both of them allowed an interaction to occur.

Mr Macks (a college student on placement) tried to entertain the students, while their teacher Mrs Robin left to do some photocopying, but it was proving to be difficult. Even more so when he stepped in to deal with a scuffle between three students. He sent them to the reading nook at the back of the class, with the message that Mrs Robin would talk to them when she got back. Then he focused his attention on the rest of the class.

(Y/N) held the drawing of her Poppa's garden, scribbled over with a marker, tightly to her chest as she sat beside the window. Bobby sat next to the library shelf, with his arms folded, and Jose sat in the space between them with legos in his hands.

All three of them knew they were trouble, they just didn't know how much trouble they were in.

"Bobby's a shithead," Jose whispered.

(Y/N)'s eyes widened, "that's a bad word!" She looked over at Mr. Macks who continued to read to the class, "you're gonna get in more trouble!"

"Are you gonna tell on me?"

"No." He gave her a nod, "good."

"Okay if I don't tell on you, you can't tell on me."

"Why would I tell on you?"

She looked at Bobby, "because he's not a shithead, he's an asshole."

They stared at each other for a moment before bursting into giggles, their hands quickly covering their mouths. However, this caught the attention of Bobby, who glared at the pair, "you're not allowed to talk."

"You're not allowed to talk," mocked Jose, "shut up, asshole."

(Y/N) giggled and looked over at Bobby's face, "yeah, shut your face shithead."

"Your mama played you when she put that big ass bow on your head," (Y/N) turned around and was met with a smirk, "Lyla teased you the whole day."

Jose 'Sad Eyes' Guzman.

No longer the boy in the picture, but a man.

"I had a sore head and she got a bleeding nose," responded (Y/N) with a shrug.

Before he could reply, (Y/N) was called back over to her booth. A line had formed and those waiting were getting antsy. She gave her old friend a smile and then dashed back to where she was stationed. Quickly checking over the prizes and helping those in front of her choose what they wanted. When (Y/N) had been offered a job at her old elementary, she immediately packed up her life in San Diego and moved back to Freeridge. Despite San Diego being her home all throughout college and two years post graduation, Freeridge would always hold a special place in her heart. Upon returning she had moved into an apartment a few blocks away from the school and also her parents home. Moving back felt different, but a good kind of different. She was surprised that the interaction with Sad Eyes (she was unsure if she had a right to call him by his government name) wasn't awkward, considering the way their last interaction had ended. But, (Y/N) concluded that they had both grown since then.

Exchanging tokens for prizes, chatting with some more parents (mostly discussing their child/ren's progress) and grabbing more prizes from behind the stage was beginning to take a toll on the woman. Thankfully, the fair was almost over - just another hour or so, before the staff and parent helpers would pack everything up. With the prize booth looking a bit empty, she decided to take a walk.

"I'll be back to help pack up," she told Lyall and smirked when his focus was on Kira, talking to a group of her students, "ask her out."

He gave her an eye roll, "get outta here." With a laugh, she moved in front of the booth and walked out of the hall. A bouncy castle on the front field caught her attention, but she stayed away from it when she noticed the clown printed on the front. She followed the smell of (food) which brought her to the junior courtyard of the school. Buying herself two and a (drink), she sat herself down at an empty table. She ate and drank, enjoying the somewhat peaceful atmosphere. Her eyes scanned her surroundings and just happened to land on Sad Eyes. She stood up when she noticed he was cradling his hand in the other. Catalina, his sister, walking beside him. She threw her rubbish away and walked up to them.

"What happened?"

He shook his head, "nothing, I'm fine."

Catalina scoffed, "dumbass punched the button for Oso to be dunked and now it's most likely bruised," she then smiled at (Y/N), "lookin' good, chica." She then nudged her brother, "tell her she looks good, idiota."

Laughing, (Y/N) shook her head, "thanks, Lina, I'll take it from here." She was met with a smile and nod, before the young woman walked off. (Y/N) gestured for him to follow her. They walked into the front office and made a right turn into the sick bay. (Y/N) had him sit on one of the bunks. Gently taking his hand into hers, she looked it over, "it's not swelling up, so it doesn't appear that anything's broken, probably bruised like Lina said." She turned around and grabbed an ice-pack from the refrigerator, wrapping it in a towel and placed it on the hand, "here you go."

He smiled at her, "thanks bubs."

The sound of her old nickname mixed with the situation at hand, caused a reminiscent wave to wash over her.

"I guess it's official," (Y/N) gently placed the cloth wrapped ice-pack on Jose's shoulder, "congrats, how do you feel?"

Gently laying back on the couch, he winced as another ice-pack was placed on his stomach, "siento que me voy a desmayer." "

"Jose."

He laughed, but quickly stopped, "mierda!" (Y/N) handed over the ibuprofen and a cup of water. Gulping it down quickly, he handed the empty cup back, "I was kidding."

She snatched the cup and put it on the coffee table, "better be… but you feel any different?"

"I guess the only difference is that I know my Ma and Lina will be taken care of if anything happens to me."

(Y/N) flicked his forehead, "don't say shit like that," smirking she looked at him, "Mama G's gonna kick your ass."

"She's gonna kick both our asses," he looked at her, "I got jumped in and you skipped a day," a smirk appeared on his face, "not a good look on your college application, Miss (L/N)." "

"Shut up."

He reached out and squeezed her hand, "kidding, bubs, you'll be accepted in whatever college you want."

"You think so?"

"With your grades, extra curricular activities and the recommendation letters you're gonna get? Kind of hard not too," he replied, "but, you've got time until the application process."

She nodded, "yeah," shifting on the couch, she smiled, "so, have you got a street name?"

"Yeah."

Looking at him expectantly, "well, what is it?"

"Sad Eyes."

(Y/N) gave him a smile, "no worries, Sad Eyes."

He sighed, "Sad Eyes?"

"It's your name," she pointed out and gently removed her hand from his, "you can stay in here, but I've gotta help with the pack up." Just as she stepped back, he got to his feet, "Sad Eyes just –"

"Jose, (Y/N)," he cut her off, "okay? Not Sad Eyes."

"Everyone else calls –"

"You're not everyone else, bubs." His eyes locked with the (colour) orbs, he was familiar with, "when it comes to you, I'm Jose."

"Alright, then, Jose," she laughed when he gave her a goofy grin, "you staying here or what?"

He walked through the door, "let's pack some shit up."

She followed after him. The junior courtyard was filled with parents and teachers alike packing up the tables and chairs. They made small talk along the way. Entering through the side doors, she hurried over to help Lyall take down the leftover prizes and place them into boxes. Anything that was in good condition would be kept for next year's fun fair. Kira carried the boxes onto the stage. (Y/N) took over sweeping the hall with Rachel because David and Connor were using the brooms as swords. Jose tried to help, but (Y/N) didn't want him to injure his hand even more. Her coworkers didn't seem bothered with having a Santos member in close proximity. Once everything was cleaned and packed away, Kira and Lyall made their way to the staffroom where a lunch was held to say thank you to the staff and parents for their help.

(Y/N) decided to opt out of the lunch, when Connor, David and Kira joined the pair and asked if she was coming along. Parent-Teacher conferences were coming up soon and she wanted to make sure her classroom was all set up for it. As it was her first official year teaching (after graduation she worked as a learning support member to gain a bit more experience 'cause she felt she needed to do more groundwork) she wanted to make sure it was presentable.

"It doesn't look like anything's changed," commented Jose, as he followed (Y/N) into their old second-grade classroom, and put his ice-pack on her desk.

She laughed, "yeah, just a few things to keep up with the new generation," she walked over to the reading nook, "remember this?"

This time he laughed, "how could I forget? Bobby was and still is an asshole and a shithead," he shook his head, "can't believe Mrs Robin made us write him apology letters, even when he was the one who started the whole fight."

"He was her favourite," replied (Y/N), as she rearranged a few books, "but, I didn't mind 'cause I made a new friend that day."

A silence fell between the duo, but she didn't think anything of it. She moved through the classroom straightening up things as she passed by. Jose watched her and couldn't help but smile. He couldn't deny that he missed her when she moved away for college. Being involved with the gang allowed him to be a part of a brotherhood and he was so caught up in it that he didn't recognise that he was pushing her away.

Until it was too late.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)."

She immediately stopped what she was doing and turned around, "what?" Realising what he was apologising for, she shook her head, "Jose it's fine. It was years ago."

"That doesn't make it okay," he replied, "if I could go back and fix everything, I would."

(Y/N) stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, staring at the Santos party across the street. She watched as the party-goers laughed and danced to the music. Her heart sank at the sight of Jose with his arm wrapped around a girl. Spooky noticed her and shouted, "(Y/N)!" With the call of her name, Jose looked up. He quickly got up from where he was and walked to where she stood, a bright smile on his face.

"Are you gonna stand there or come and join the party?" he laughed.

She bit her bottom lip, "no… I just – uh, Lina told me where you would be," her eyes drifted over to the party and then back to him, "after we waited for an hour for you to show up."

His eyebrows furrowed, "show up for what?"

"My birthday dinner," (Y/N) explained, "just finished actually, the celebratory mood kinda died when Lina let it slip that Spooky was also throwing a party," she kicked at the curb, "not a surprise that your priorities have changed, but it doesn't mean it hurts any less."

"(Y/N) I –"

"I get it. But, it wasn't just a birthday dinner you missed. It was the fact that I announced that I'm graduating," she blinked back the tears, "at the top of my class. And, I wanted to make sure everyone that helped me along the way knew how much they meant to me, you know? It fucking sucked 'cause the one who has always supported my venture outside of Freeridge promised they'd never switch up… and then switched up."

Jose moved to hug her, but she held up her hands. He watched as she wiped her eyes and looked at him with her (colour) eyes. The (colour) eyes that always allowed him to know what she was feeling, when the words didn't leave her mouth.

"(Y/N) –"

"Whatever, enjoy the rest of your night, Sad Eyes."

And with that, she walked off.

"Unfortunately, time travel hasn't been invented yet, so you can't go back. But, that's okay." She stepped towards him, "I wouldn't want you too. I'm sorry as well. For ignoring all of your calls. If I could go back, I would pick up every single one and answer." She wrapped her arms around him, "I missed you, Jose."

He kissed her head, "I missed you too, (Y/N).

They held each other close. Jose rubbed his hands up and down her back, loving the feeling of having her back in his arms. (Y/N) breathed in his scent and squeezed him tighter. She listened to the rhythmn of his heart, before stepping back to look at him. He smiled at her, hands still caressing her back.

All of a sudden the atmosphere shifted.

His hands wandered down to her waist giving it a gentle squeeze, while hers gently gripped his arms. Slowly, their faces inched towards each other until their lips touched. Jose trailed up a hand to the back of her head to deepen the kiss, (Y/N) happily accepted it, hands moving to wrap around his neck.

"Been wanting to do that since you punched Bobby in the face," he commented once they broke apart.

"That's interesting, 'cause I've wanted to do that since you poured the bucket of legos over his head."

Jose kissed her nose, forehead touching hers, "gotta be some full circle kinda shit, querida."��

"Yeah, it's gotta be," (Y/N) replied and pulled him back in for a kiss.

- ♤ - ♡ - ◇ - ♧ -

Spanish Translation(s):

Chica - girl

Idiota - idiot

Siento que me voy a desmayer - I feel like I'm going to pass out

Mierda - shit

Querida - honey

#sad eyes #sad eyes guzman #sad eyes x reader #sad eyes guzman x reader #x reader #reader insert #onmyblock #onmyblockfanfiction #los santos #freeridge #sincerelyasomebody

114 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Houroubing to Aruba, Chapter 4, (Branjie) - Blackhighheels

(read at AO3)

Chapter 4: You better catch me, bitch!

A loud groan, followed by a curse fills the penthouse and lets Jose know that Brock is up. He finds him sitting in bed, his head between his hands, eyes closed.

“Good morning sunshine!”

“Not so loud!” Another pitiful groan follows. “How are you up already? You had more to drink than me.”

“Puerto Rican alcohol tolerance… and also you old as fuck.” He smirks when Brock glares at him and decides that he should stop gloating and take care of his man instead. “Here, baby, open up,” he tells him and places two ibuprofen in his mouth before he hands him a bottle of water, which Brock empties in one go.

“Fuck, how much did we drink last night? And Marge and Magnus had the same… you think they’re still alive?”

“Met them when I went to get us some breakfast. They looked pretty alive, fresh and in colour to me. Told me to say hi to you and asked if we could repeat the night some time soon while we here.”

“Urgh! God no! I’m only drinking water for the rest of the stay.” Brock lets himself fall back, rolls onto his stomach and closes his eyes again.

“You want some coffee?”

“No.”

“Fruit salad?”

“No.”

“Then have some more water at least. Come on, twinkle toes.” Jose pats his butt lovingly.

“Fine,” Brock sighs, sits back up and accepts another small bottle of water. “What time is it?” he asks when he is done.

“Nearly noon. You should go shower, so we on time for our picnic extravaganza.” Brock makes a whining noise. “Or we can do it another day and you stay in bed?” Jose offers. And it’s his willingness to adjust the plans he was so looking forward to, that makes Brock finally get out of bed.

“No, we’re going. You already showered? Or do you wanna join me?”

“I’m gonna join you, but don’t think I don’t know you just want me with you so I can wash you and you can go on sleeping. I know your lazy ass when you hung over,” Jose teases, but goes ahead into the bathroom, starts the water and gets undressed while Brock makes a pitstop at the toilet before he joins him.

They both quickly brush their teeth before they step into the shower. Brock really feels more dead than alive while the warm water rains down on him. Jose soaps them both up and even washes his hair. “That’s what it gonna be like fifty years from now when I have to take care of you, boo?” There’s laughter in Jose’s voice before he tips Brock’s head back and rinses his hair out.

“Maybe it’ll be me taking care of you, who knows,” Brock replies and takes a towel of the rack. He places it on Jose’s head and rubs gently, then grabs another one and dries his own hair.

“Maybe,” Jose agrees after a while. The fact that Brock can even imagine them still being together so far in the future, old and wrinkly, does weird things to his chest, heart and stomach. He doesn’t burst into tears anymore now, like he did when Brock mentioned maybe getting married some time in the future, but it’s not something that he takes for granted either. Just a year ago this moment, heck even just this vacation together, was so far out of reach he couldn’t have dreamed it up. And now, here they are and Jose quickly pinches himself to make sure he is actually awake.

“What are you doing?” Brock asks him and must have seen it.

“Nothin,” he says quickly.

“Did you just pinch yourself?” Brock takes his arm and when Jose follows his eyes he can see the red mark clearly. “You did! Why?”

“I didn’t!” Jose lies and wraps the towel around his hips. The way Brock looks at him lets him know that he is aware of the lie, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls him close by his hips and kisses him.

“Good morning.” There is a gentle smile on his man’s face when they break apart, his arms stay wrapped around his waist.

“Morning,” Jose replies and puckers his lips a couple of times, asking for more kisses without words. Brock full-fills his wish and the pecks soon turn into a make-out session against the shower wall. “Had to make sure this was real and not a dream, you know, us talking about fifty years from now and all that,” Jose confesses when they stop.

“If your head felt like mine, you’d know it isn’t a dream,” Brock jokes, slaps his butt and steps out of the shower.

“As long as you don’t throw up, we good.”

They get ready as they do most mornings when they are both home. Brock gets dressed in the bedroom, while Jose runs back and forth between bathroom and bedroom, always forgetting something. When they are both finally dressed Jose douses himself in aftershave and cologne, while Brock uses deodorant and forgoes the shaving. Jose trims his stubble, combs his hair back and puts on his hat, after spraying it with even more cologne, while Brock steps outside on the balcony to smoke. By the time they are done it’s time to leave.

Henry hands them a backpack as well as a map, that Jose quickly passes on to Brock. Their way leads them along the beach, past palm trees, other hotels and resorts and a couple of fruit stands. The longer they walk the quieter it gets around them and by the time they reach their destination after about half an hour they are completely alone. They know they found their spot when they find a large, light blue picnic blanket with several pillows on top. A bottle of champagne in a cooler, two glasses and a picnic basket are also waiting for them underneath a divi tree on the beach. A large rock a couple of meters away makes the location secluded, not visible from the pathways and picture-perfect for a romantic picnic.

“One has to give it to Henry, he really knows what he’s doing. He must have prepared all this while we were walking here,” Brock says, takes off his shoes and sits down on the blanket.

“Knew Henry was our man for the job. What’s in there?” Jose asks and peeks into the basket. “Oh wow,” he says and then takes out one plate after another with different salads, fruits, dips, bread and small cakes. He spreads out the feast and checks the backpack they were given. Sure enough plates, cutlery, soft drinks and more can be found in it. Once everything is unpacked, Jose lies back, props his head up on his hand and gets comfortable. “You gonna feed me?” It’s meant as a joke, but Brock simply shrugs.

“What do you want?”

“Can you give me some bread, cheese and fruits?” Brock fills a plate with the requested items, but then continues to actually feed Jose. After a couple of bites they both have to laugh. “This shit sure looks more comfortable on TV.” With these words Jose sits back up and takes his plate from Brock so he can get himself something to eat.

“God, this is so good!” Brock moans once he has tried the food. “I really have to stop at the gym today. With all this delicious food I won’t fit into my costumes anymore otherwise.”

“I might join you, I could use a good work out as well. Otherwise I might lose my new flexibility,” Jose agrees. “But you shouldn’t worry about your weight, Brock. I think overall we both could use a couple of pounds more.”

“You remember my love handles when we first got together. I got so fat.”

“You weren’t fat! You put on happy weight because you were finally eating like a normal person and not skipping meals because of your anxiety. And I liked it. It was cute.” Jose smiles as he remembers the pictures from this time.

“It wasn’t cute.” Brock protests.

“Hey,” Jose asks and places a hand on Brock’s leg so he looks up. “It was cute, you were still hot and I liked it. Just accept it.”

“Fine,” Brock sighs and rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “But you always think I look cute. I could be Silky’s weight and you’d still call me cute.”

“Can you imagine?” Jose grins widely and then giggles. “But it would limit our love life, cause you sure as hell wouldn’t go on top anymore. You’d squash me like those play-doh bugs in the game.”

“Wait until I tell Silky that you just questioned his qualities as a lover.”

“Ho, I didn't…” Jose bristles, then stops. “Ok, maybe I did,” he chuckles and scoots back so his back is resting against the tree trunk. “Silky called me this morning while you were still asleep.” Jose becomes serious.

“Did something happen?” Brock moves closer to him and places a pillow in his lap so he can balance his plate on it.

“Not really. The usual. Complained about some idiots online, talked about all the partying he done and how he got hit on but then went home alone. Got real weird when I told him what a dope time we having.”

“I know I told you before and I know you don’t wanna hear it, but I think Reggie is jealous of you.”

“Why? If he wanna go on vacation he can.”

“Jose, look at it from his perspective. He went on Drag Race with a plan. He wanted to be the next sensation, the next Miss Vanjie. And you know I love him, but it backfired for him, even though Ru loved him. Gigs got canceled, fans were put off by his behaviour. In the end he doesn’t even win the money. And you, you came back, rocked the competition, got booked more than ever and have all these opportunities. And while we fucked it up for a while, in the end the fact still stands that we got each other out of drag race, not matter what else happens. Reggie wants all that: Money, admiration, fame, love. Ok, not necessarily in this order, but, you know. And you have it all."

"But he my best friend, Brock. He always has my back and he was there when you dumped my ass.”

“I don’t say that’s not true, I know he is. But sometimes, like, I don’t know. Sometimes the way he acts around me annoys me.” Brock is done with his plate and places it in the empty picnic basket.

“Like how?” Jose hands him his empty plate as well.

“You remember the stupid fight we had on tour?”

“Still burned into my brain, boo.”

“Before we finally talked when we got back, I talked to Steve, told him what was going on and asked him what I should do. And he, like, told me to accept that I am a control freak and that it will clash with your chaos and that all we could do was talk about it. He told me he’d fly in, if we didn’t resolve it and lock us in or something. He calmed me down and reminded me of all the fun we had on tour and how much we love each other.”

“Aw, I love Steve,” Jose coos and places his hand over his heart.

“I wasn’t there and I don’t know what Reggie said to you, but when I saw him again first time after our fight he basically told me, that, like, I should be grateful that you didn’t dump me, cause he would have done so. He made it sound like it was all my fault. Maybe he was just being shady, but it was all too fresh and I decided not to say anything to him because I didn’t want to fight.”

“He not your biggest fan no more, cause he had to listen to me cry one time too many after we ended. Then again when we were fucking around. He don’t understand why I loved you so much… love you so much, even after all the shit we did. He knows we both fucked up, but he didn’t see you cry. He never seen you, like I see you all the time, cause you always have your guard up when he around. He’s a shady bitch, you a shady bitch and he kinda don’t understand that you not like this with me.”

“You could be right. I never thought about it like that.” Brock contemplates it and lays down, between Jose’s legs, places his head on his chest. “When he’s around we’re usually going out partying or just don’t spend much time together. I don’t think I ever had a really deep talk with him about anything. I tried once or twice, but he was being so extra I just gave up.”

“Want me to talk to him?” Jose wraps his arms around his shoulders and holds him tight.

“I think I’ll try on my own first and if I don’t succeed… yeah. I’d love to be as close with Reggie as you are with Steve.”

“I love Steve,” Jose placed a kiss on Brock’s hair.

“Sorry, boo, he’s taken,” Brock chuckles.

“You such a dumb-ass sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?” Brock asks and strokes his nose over the exposed skin of Jose’s chest, kisses his collar bone, then his neck.

“Mmmh, rest of the time you alright,” Jose smirks before he leans down and seeks out Brock’s mouth with his. The kiss starts slow, but becomes deeper after a couple of minutes. To get more comfortable Jose slides down and rests his head on the pillow, before they continue their make-out session.

“Aren’t you glad right now I’m not heavier,” Brock mutters against his lips, then slips it back into Jose’s mouth before he can reply.

“Don’t care,” Jose says once he’s able to, then pulls Brock back down to him. Their tongues battle as they both breathe heavily. Brock slips one leg between Jose’s and starts moving his hips, grinding down on him, rubbing his growing erection against Jose’s thigh. Jo moves with him, moans loudly and grabs Brock’s ass with both hands so he can pull him even closer.

“God, Jo… fuck,” Brock moans and rips their lips apart to breathe, but doesn’t stop moving his hips.

“Brock… if we don’t stop I’m gonna come in my fuckin’ pants.” Jose replies, equally out of breath and horny as hell.

“Get rid of them then,” Brock orders and slips his own shorts down. They are made of a sweat material, so it’s a lot easier than taking off Jose’s tight jeans shorts. He manages in the end and Jose knows he is absolutely no help, squirming for as much skin contact as he can get. “Fuck, we need to get off this blanket or we’ll ruin it,” Brock remembers just before Jose finds his lips again.

“Shit!” Jose slumps down on the blanket. Then he remembers something and sits up. Quickly he digs through his fanny pack and takes out Brock’s wallet that he has in there. With a triumphant cry he holds up the condoms, throws the wallet down on the blanket. “Put it on,” he tells Brock as he pushes one of the squares in his hand.

“You serious?” Brock sniggers.

“Do I look like I’m joking? You know, neither of us is prepped and even a blow job would be too risky. We won’t go back with cum-stains on us or anything else.” When Brock takes too long Jose takes the condom back, rips the foil open and puts it on Brock himself. Then he lies back down, grabs the front of Brock’s shirt and pulls him back down between his legs, Brock’s arms coming to rest on each side of Jose’s head. This time their crotches touch directly, hard cock sliding against hard cock, the slickness of the condoms helping. They kiss deeply as they grind and rut against one another, Jose’s hands on Brock’s ass dictating the pace.

“Can't… this is not…can’t come like this,” Brock gasps after a while. They are both on the brink, but can’t make it over. And as nice as this is, they are still somehow in public and shouldn’t take unnecessary risk.

Jose slips a hand between them, takes both of their dicks in his hand and holds them closer, starts moving up and down. Bock keeps circling his hips, but it’s still not enough. Jose slips his other hand down as well and Brock has to lift his hips just a tad. He groans at the loss of contact. A second later he groans again, because his balls are being massaged gently. Now it’s enough! It only takes a couple of strokes and they both come; Brock with a gasp and Jose with a loud moan. Then they look at each other and start laughing, can’t believe what they just did.

“We losing it, toes. We can’t behave on a fucking public beach,” Jose states as he takes his condom off, ties it.

“I know. I can’t believe we just did that. We’re turning into horny teenagers.” Brock agrees and takes his condom off as well and places it in a paper napkin, then holds it out for Jose so he can place his there, too.

“We always horny, just not in public.” Jose pulls his shorts back up.

“God, I hope no one saw us.”

“I hope no one filmed us! Maybe this one of these places where some fucker is filming.”

“It would not make for a good porn movie. All one could see is my naked ass moving around and you had your hands there most of the time.”

“Then you better put your shorts back on before someone posts your ding-a-ling anyway.” Both keep laughing as Brock puts his shorts back on. When their eyes meet however they are right back where they started within seconds: Kissing each other silly on the blanket. This time Jose’s on top.

***

A large screen is set up on the beach, lanterns illuminate the huge round beach beds that are set up, one for each couple. Also each couple has a table and drinks are already waiting there for them. When asked both Jose and Brock chose beer, thinking it is a much safer choice than more champagne or cocktails. Brock takes a sip of his beer before he leans back against the cushions and Jose takes his own bottle with him as he snuggles up to his man.

“Have you seen this movie before?” he asks.

“Yes, I have, but way back when it came out. You?” Brock replies.

“Once during a movie night with friends at school, but I didn’t pay too much attention.”

“Too busy making out with your boyfriend?”

“No, girlfriend at the time,” Jose says and presses his lips against Brock’s cheek. “But I like making out with you wayyy more, even though you all scratchy right now.”

“You are not clean shaven either, papi,” Brock points out and Jose just chuckles and then takes a sip of his beer. Henry walks up to the screen, a microphone in hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to welcome you to our weekly movie night under the stars. Today we will show "Notting Hill” staring Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant. I hope you enjoy the movie. Afterwards we all invite you to stay and dance away to the most romantic movie songs of all times. Thank you!“

"Oh, dance night. Think we can stay and watch these straight people get it on on the dance floor?” Jose tilts his head up to look at Brock.

“If you behave during the movie.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he pushes himself up in a sitting position and Brock flinches, because he uses his stomach to do so.

“It means: No indecent yelling when you don’t like something, no insults, no throwing something at the screen, no sucking noises, no kicking of other people’s seats and keep your hands out of my pants,” Brock lists the things Jose has actually done in the past when they were at the movie theater.

“You boring,” Jose huffs and pouts but then has to laugh. He knows he’s done all of the things Brock just listed. He lies back down in Brock’s arms and puckers his lips again to get another kiss before the movie starts.

Jose really does behave this time and even manages to whisper his comments at a volume so only Brock hears him.

Brock surprises him when he quietly mouths along the words of the theme song when the couple on screen kisses for the first time. “All day long I can hear people talking out loud. But when you hold me near you drown out the crowd. Try as they may they can never define what’s being said between your heart and mine. The smile on your face lets me know that you need me.”

“You bet!” Jose whispers back and lets his fingers find the patch of skin that is exposed at the top of Brock’s shirt.

“There’s a truth in your eyes saying you’ll never leave me.”

“Try and get rid of me.”

“The touch of your hand says you’ll catch me wherever I fall.”

“If I can hold your tall ass.” Brock gives him a look that says ‘really?!’

“You say it best,” Jose smiles widely at that, happy about the compliments. This is so romantic. “…when you say nothing at all.” Brock continues and tries to keep a straight face, but fails.

“Asshole!” Jose’s voice can be heard over the movie as he slaps Brock’s chest hard. Brock erupts in a fit of giggles, that Jose and some other people soon join.

***

They stay after the movie is over, because they spot Magnus and Margaret at a table and join them again. Brock tells the story of his hang-over and Jose recounts their day and their picnic trip, but leaves out the dirty details. A make-shift dance-floor has been set up in the sand and some couples sway to whatever cheesy songs the DJ plays for them.

“Oh, I wish I could dance like this.” Margaret gushes and watches the dancing couples enviously when an upbeat Salsa rhythm is played. None of the couples are particularly good and Jose wonders what some of them are even doing. There are only four people who know the correct steps and only two out of those are in rhythm. “I’ve always wanted to learn Salsa, but Magnus here is not a big dancer and also there’s not much of an opportunity where we are from.” Jose exchanges a look with Brock, then gets up from his chair.

“Senorita, may I have this dance?” he bows down in front of the elder woman and holds out his hand with a large smile.

“Oh, darling, really. I can’t dance Salsa.” She is hesitant.

“I’m gonna teach ya. Come on!” He insists and helps her up when she takes his hand. They kick off their shoes before he leads her to the dance floor in the sand. Slowly, he shows her the steps, then leads her through the moves.

“Darling, this is so fast,” she laughs when she stumbles again, but Jose keeps her upright.

“You can also fake it, Mary. Just swing your hips like this and shuffle your feet a bit,” he tells her and shows her how to move her hips the right way.

“Are you a professional dancer?” she laughs when she sees what he’s doing.

“Just Puerto-Rican,” he avoids answering the question directly and twirls her around. When the song ends, he carefully dips her back and they both laugh. Brock and Magnus applaud when they get back to the table.

“Did you see that Magnus? Your old wife knows how to dance Salsa!” Margaret is still out of breath as she sits down beside her husband.

“You looked good out there, papi,” Brock compliments and pecks Jose’s lips when he’s back in his seat.

“Coming from you, twinkle toes, that’s a real ass compliment. ” Jose feels really proud when he hears the praise and also sees it in Brock’s eyes. “He’s a ballerina,” Jose tells their new friends.

“Was… was a ballet dancer,” Brock laughs.

“Your feet are still fucked up, so I get to say "is”.“

"See, I told you,” Margaret tells her husband. “The first time we saw you, I told him that you had to have some ballet training because of the way you carry yourself."

"Nailed it!” Jose exclaims.

“And what do you think he does?” Brock asks curiously and points to Jose.

“Oh, that’s harder… I don’t know. Maybe something in showbiz? You said you’re from L.A. and there’s something about you… Jose, I think you belong on stage. I don’t know, if that really is your job, though or you’re like… an account by day, but you absolutely should be on stage.”

“You good. Real good,” Jose is genuinely impressed by her assessment.

“So you are? Am I right? Are you an actor?”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Brock sniggers.

“Bitch, you doing the same stupid shit as me, so stop laughing,” Jose swats at his chest.

“True,” Brock nods. “You got your phone here?”

“Yeah, need to take some cute ass pics of us. Why?”

“How about we show them? I’m sure you still have those videos of the tour saved.”

“You bet I do,” Jose says with pride, because the videos of him and Brock on stage together during their first tour are his favorite thing ever. He hands his phone to Brock, who unlocks it with his pin, then flips through the videos he has saved and throws him an incredulous look when he realises how many naked pics and videos of him Jose has saved up. Then he chooses a video of the two of them dancing to a Rihanna remix that features both the elegance and sluttiness of Brooke Lynn and the hood style and heart of Vanjie.

Brock moves his chair closer to their the elder couple while Jose gets up and stands behind them, so he can see the video as well.

“Oh my god! That’s you?” Margaret gasps when the camera zooms in on their faces and she realises what she is watching.

“Kind of,” Brock chuckles. “We’re professional drag queens and this is what we do for a living.”

“Unbelievable!” Magnus says. “Are you in Vegas or something? I’ve never seen anything like this!”

“You’re both so beautiful!”

“I used to be in a couple of Vegas shows. We also touring, did some Broadway and West end, TV shows. Brock is a host on a TV show in Canada… we kinda do it all for the money money money.”

“So, you are both dancers, just in women’s clothes. This is so good! Let us know if you ever come to Sweden and we will come and see your show!” Margaret is so enthusiastic about it she is basically vibrating in her chair.

“I think we have a show coming up in Stockholm. I’ll check it later and let you know tomorrow,” Brock promises.

“But if you are both dancers then why are you sitting here with us old folk and aren’t out there dancing?” Magnus asks.

“Dunno if all these straight couples would like us romancing it up on the dance floor,” Jose replies, uncharacteristically shy. He is usually never like this, but he is not home, he knows none of these people and he can’t remember when he was in an all straight environment for days the last time. Surely not since he moved out of his mother’s house at seventeen.

“Oh darling, if they do, just ignore them. Idiots can be found everywhere, even here in paradise,” Margaret turns around and pats his arm.

“You know what, Margaret is right,” Brock decides and gets up. “You wanna dance?” he asks Jose just as a new song comes on.

“Really?” Jose’s eyes widen.

“Really. Let’s go dance.”

“We’ve never danced together like this,” Jose says as they make their way to the beach dance-floor.

“Then that’s a good time for it. Question only is, if you gonna let me lead,” Brock smirks. He wraps his arms around Jose’s waist, while Jose’s wrap around his neck, his head resting on his shoulder and they start to sway to the song.

“J.Lo played this. It’s Maid in Manhattan.”

“What?” Brock doesn’t understand what he is taking about.

“The song, 'Fall again’ is from the movie 'Maid in Manhattan’ and J.Lo plays the lead.”

“You’re right. I love the movie. The kid is so cute.”

“And Ralph Fines is kinda hot in it.”

“Urgh… he can’t be hot in anything. He is Voldemort,” Brock scrunches up his face and Jose guffaws, then hides his face in Brock’s shoulder again.

“You can’t turn away, the past is said and done. I need us to carry on,” Jose mouths along with the words, the words spoken against Brock’s neck. When Jose looks up and smiles, he gets lost in Brock’s eyes and kisses him while they keep dancing.

They break apart with laughter when the next song starts and they both recognise it, like almost all other couples. Strangely most men flee the dance floor, while the women rush over to dance, singing along with the famous song.

“Can you do it?” Jose asks Brock mischievously and of course Brock knows what he’s talking about.

“Sure, we did similar stuff on tour all the time. And if we fall, at least it’s sand and not a hard stage floor,” Brock agrees.

“Let’s show these straight people how you do it,” Jose exclaims excitedly and they start re-enacting the choreography of Dirty Dancing’s 'Time of my life’- at least the parts they remember.

At first no one really takes notice of what they are doing. They scream the lyrics along with the rest of the people, goof off by twirling each other around and give each other exaggerated longing looks, before having a giggle fit. Then however Brock lifts Jose up and twirls him, just like in the movie and a circle forms around them. Aware of the audience they get a bit more serious about what they are doing and start the show for real.

“There’s no stage to jump off,” Brock laughs when he remembers what’s next.

“You can do it,” Jose laughs and watches when Brock jumps up and does the triple tour barefoot, in his shorts and T-shirt. The crows cheers when he lands. “That’s my ballerina!” Jose yells with glee and winks at Margaret and Magnus, who have joined the crowd watching them. Jose dances over to them and dances with Margaret again, while Brock dances with a couple of other women, until their eyes catch when they know the big moment is coming.

“You ready?” Brock yells over to him.

“You better catch me, bitch!” Jose yells back before he starts running, jumps and Brock holds him over his head in the iconic pose of the movie. “Yes! I’m flying!” Jo screams over the applause of the spectators. Brock nearly drops him because he starts laughing so hard. He manages to get him down safely and they exchange a couple of kisses between laughter and then simply goof around some more for the rest of the song.

When it ends and they leave the dance floor with Margaret and Magnus and walk back over to their table, they get stopped a couple of times and are complimented and praised and even get friendly pats on the backs from their volleyball buddies.

“Here,” Magnus says when they sit back down and hands Jose his cell phone. “I don’t know much, but I know you don’t need to unlock the phone to take pictures and videos. I hope I got it all.”

“You filmed our dance?” Brock exclaims happily, excited that they have this moment on camera.

“I hope so.” Jose checks his phone and clicks through the video. It’s all there. The whole dance.

“Magnus, I could kiss ya!” Magnus only taps his right cheek with one finger and Jose places a loud smooch on it. Then he watches the whole video, keeps replaying it and shows his favorite parts to Brock. “Hey, Brock?”

“Yes, Jose, you can upload the video on instagram with whatever crazy caption you’ve come up with. Don’t forget to tag me.”

“How did you…?” Jose is speechless.

“I know you, papi.” Brock chuckles and kisses him softly.

Ten minutes later two clips of the video are uploaded to Jose’s instagram account. Caption says: Miss Vanjie, Miss Brooke Lynn, Do a spin, do a dip, just jump on the dick. #nobodyputmytwinkletoesinthecorner #dirtydancingdonetheVanjieway #Brocktakin'metonewHytes

TBC

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #fluff #smut #drama #canon compliant #houroubing to aruba #blackhighheels

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