matador (manolo sanchez x reader) ₊˚

just be a sanchez

Please excuse my Spanish vocabulary in any of these chapters. Let me know if something is incorrect, or if I should use a different word.

. . .

Grabbed harshly by the ear, Manolo gets pulled out of the mariachi band, forced to follow his angry father down the street. Carlos grits his teeth together in anger, his blood practically boiling at the sight of the musicians.

"But Papa, I was on my way!"

"After years of training, Manolo's father organized his first bullfight, which, as luck would have it, was on the day that (Name) and Maria returned."

"Wait, Papa-"

"Playing all night with those mariachi brothers, you wanna end up like those bozos?!"

Carlos slams the door to his house open, hurling Manolo onto the ground. His abuela simply knits, ignoring the chaos of her family. Carlos slams the door back, smashing the glass window into the face of Pepe.

"Oh, okay Manny, we'll wait outside-"

Pancho peeks through the window. "I don't think Mr. Sanchez likes us."

"You think?"

Carlos unsheathes one of his swords. "Quiet you lazy bums!"

He throws the sword at the three, piercing the blade through the door. Snatching the guitar from Manolo, he tosses it to the ground, sheathing two swords into Manolo's back.

"You live under my roof, you live under my rules! You will be a matador!"

"But Papa, this is my life."

Proudly, Carlos gestures to the various family portraits on the walls.

"All the Sanchezes are bullfighters! Every single one of us!"

"I was a beast in the arena... a beast!" Anita Sanchez growls.

"It's in your blood. It's your destiny." Carlos exclaims, shaking his son by the shoulders. "How many times do I have to say it!"

Manolo laughs, slapping his father's hands away. "This is not me, this is you!"

Carlos sighs. "My son, Joaquin may be the hero of the town, but today, you will be the hero of the ring. If, for once, you actually finish the bull."

"But he finished the bull the other day at breakfast!" Pepe exclaims.

Manolo recalls back to one of his practice rounds with a bull, remembering the way it got magically struck by lightning.

"That did not count." Abuela states.

"No, killing the bull is wrong."

"Here we go again!"

"Ay! Kids today, with their long hair and 'no killing' stuff!"

Manolo sighs, retrieving his guitar and slinging it back into his body. "I'm outta here."

"Don't you love your family?"

The boy pauses in his place, his eyes widening.

"Then go get that bull, mijo! Don't dishonor our name."

Reluctantly, Manolo peers down at his guitar, an image of you appearing into his mind. The Sanchez son hands his guitar to his father, storming out of the house.

"Just be a Sanchez!"

Abuela looks to Carlos, shaking her head. "Mijo. He no gonna do it."

. . .