#yes I would get on my knees and pray for santi

[kittyofalltrades]

Okokokok

One night stand:

Jake or Santi

THEY CALL HIM POPE FOR A REASON

[forever-rogue]

Ah, requests <3 Yay! First of all, congrats on the milestone Patricia. I would like a story with our favorite sweet boy FRANKIE Morales and the following prompt: From List 1: 95 AND 109 , if you feel up for it ;)

95. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” & 109. “I just want to be alone right now.”

Hmmm, I see! You would like some pain!

Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader ; warnings: mentions of depression, drug use

Frankie Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

You sighed lightly as you noticed the empty, distracted look in Frankie’s eyes. He’d barely spoken a word since you’d both sat down for dinner. Isabella was cooing and babbling away happily as you fed her, oblivious to any tension between the two of you. You ruffled her dark curls before wiping the corners of her mouth. You loved her just as much as you loved her father, but lately he had seemed...different - closed off and distant. It had come on suddenly, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d done something. But hells, you wouldn’t know because he wouldn’t talk about a goddamn thing.

“Frankie - baby?” you nudged his foot under the table with yours and he snapped back into reality, turning to you with a weak smile, “is everything okay, love?”

“Yes,” he promised, but it was a weak lie you could both see through, “just...tired is all. Long week at work.”

“Yeah?” you asked as he nodded slowly; Isabella turned to him and grinned at him, and for a moment you could see a real smile flicker across his features, “I love you, Francisco. We both do. You know that…”

“I know,” he promised, and despite his lukewarm attitude, you knew he was being honest, “I love you too.”

It was short and seemingly hollow, but you knew he would never speak those words unless he actually meant them. You relaxed a little, but your guard was still up. You would find out whatever was plaguing him.

»»————-　♡　————-««

And so it carried on for a few weeks - he was half there and half gone. You could only take so much before you finally snapped and needed answers; but those answers you weren’t seemingly going to get from Francisco himself.

“Bee?” the man on the other line sounded as though he was in the middle of working but stopped immediately when he heard you on the other end, "what's wrong, honey?"

“Hi Santi,” you whispered into the phone as you tried to keep from crying, finding it difficult as your voice cracked, “can you come over? I need you.”

"I'll be over in twenty." 

"Thank you," you whispered as you hung up the phone. Isabella looked up at you from the floor, waving one of her small stuffies around as you smiled at her. You walked over to her and bent down before scooping her up in your arms and clutching her tightly to your chest, "look at you my pretty girl! I love you so much, mi amor. More than you can even know!"

The little girl looked at you with a serious expression before breaking into a fit of giggles and throwing her arms around your neck. At least you had this little light to keep you sane right now.

»»————-　♡　————-««

It wasn't long before Santi arrived, knocking gently at the door. You opened, still bouncing the baby on your hip as he beamed at the both of you. She reached for him immediately and Santi didn't hesitate to take her from your arms.

"See, baby, I promised your Tio would come," you smiled as you let him in and closed the door, looking around to make sure Frankie hadn't somehow come home.

"What's going on?" he asked when you rejoined him in the living, taking a spot on the couch and curling your legs up under you. Isabella was already falling asleep on his lap, a peaceful little look on her face. It was amazing just how much like Frankie was - from her dark curls and eyes, to the pouty lips, and the expression she wore as she slept. There was no doubt that she was his daughter.

Opening and closing your mouth a few times, you tried to find the words to describe what was going on. And suddenly you found yourself unable. It all seemed so pointless, so bleak, and tears were already welling up in your eyes. Reaching up to wipe them away, you couldn't help yourself but let them flow freely as your lips trembled, "s-s-sorry Santi. I don't why I'm crying...already."

"Its okay," he reached over and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze as you nodded, "take your time...is it Fish?"

"Mhmm," you managed to choke out in between small sniffles, "he's been so distant lately and I don't...he won't tell me what's going on no matter how much I ask. I don't want to push him away but he's just shutting me out. I love him so much, Santi, I just want him to be okay."

"Shhh," he reached over and helped to wipe away some of your tears, "its okay, Bee. Please don't think it's you - you know he loves and you and Izzy more than anything else. That much you never have to question."

"I know," you nodded slightly, "I just want him to know that I love him as much as he does us. I just want him to be okay, but I don't know how to help him when he's like this."

"You don't think he's…"

"No," you stated firmly, knowing that despite his struggles he was still clean and wouldn't go back to using drugs to get by or cope with his problems, "he's good. I know...he would never. I just don't know what's going on in his head, but I feel the more I ask the more he closes up."

"Maybe he's just-"

"Hey," Frankie's voice cut into your conversation as you both turned to look at him. All the blood rushed out of your face as you tried to read the expression on his face, "what's going on?"

"Fish, my brother, what's been going on with you?" Santi turned towards him, making sure not to disturb the baby that was snoozing on his chest, "Bee says-"

"Nothing's going on Santi," he said sharply before leaving down the hall and to your bedroom and lightly slamming the door shut. You gave Santi a despondent look before he nodded, motioned in the direction of the door.

"Go and talk to him," he suggested the obvious as you swallowed the lump in your throat before standing up, "I'll take care of her. You know what you need to do."

You slowly passed him and padded down the hall, your heart thumping like mad in your chest as you made your way to the bedroom. Hoping this would go well, praying it would go well because all you wanted was nothing but the best for Frankie, you raised your hand to the door and slowly knocked on it. After a few moments, you heard an audible sigh from the other side of the door.

"I just want to be alone right now," he called out - it wasn't biting or venomous, but it was still enough to make your heart drop.

"Francisco," you said softly, "please don't shut me out. Please just talk to me, love."

It was a few tense moments of silence before you heard the tell tale creak of the floor as he got up and crossed the room, hesitating for a moment before opening the door. When he opened the door and revealed himself, you slowly met his soft brown eyes and offered him a weak smile. You could see that his eyes were glossy too and immediately, without even hesitating, you reached up and touched his cheeks, tracing over his cheek.

Frankie keened into your touch with a heavy sigh as decided to just pull him into a hug. You didn't care if the moment didn't care for it or whatever. You just want to hold him.

And he melted into your touch like it was nothing; his body perfecting melding into yours as you held him and rubbed his back, whispering sweet reassures to him. 

"Its okay, Frankie," you kissed the side of his head as he buried his face into your shoulder, wetting the fabric of your shirt with a few tears, "I've got you. I've always got you, my love. I love you so damn much."

"I'm sorry," you heard him mumble softly as you scooted him closer to the bed and pushed him gently to sit down. He rubbed at his eyes for a moment before exhaling deeply, "I'm so sorry."

"What on earth are you sorry for, Frankie?" you raked a hand through his curls lightly scratching at his scalp, "you've done nothing, honey. Nothing's happened."

"I have failed as a father and a husband," he stared at the floor as you made a small sound of surprise, "I don't know why you haven't taken the baby and left me too."

"Francisco Morales," you got on your knees in front of him and immediately grabbed his face to look at yours, delicately but firmly, "what on earth are you talking about? Where is this coming from?"

"My wife left me and abandoned our daughter, my daughter probably hates me, and then there's you. I have nothing to offer you, my Honey Bee, but I've tricked you into thinking I'm this good man," you could tell that he'd been thinking about this a lot, his face twisted with worry, "I'm just waiting for the day you discover that I’m nothing and leave."

"Francisco, you are nothing of the sort. I love you so much, and so does Izzy. That girl adores you and so do I," you promised him, hoping that he believed you, "your ex wife leaving has nothing to do with you. That's on her, Frankie. Besides - what kind of person just abandons their baby and husband? That says more about her than you."

"I...still. Look at me," he sighed lightly, "what can I give you? I'm a vet with more problems than I know what to do with. You deserve the world and I feel like I'm dragging you down. You could do so much better."

"And what about you, Francisco?" leaning up, you kissed him gently, "all I see is a good man that is trying his best and gives us all so much love. I am never happier than when I'm with you or Izzy. You make me feel so loved, so happy - Frankie, you make everything so much better. The two of you are my everything.”

“I am-”

“Amazing? Kind? Wonderful? Funny? Handsome?” you quickly cut off his train of thought before he could get too derailed and self-deprecating, “I know it can be hard for you to see that, but please know it’s true. Please know that you are everything. I will do whatever it takes for you to realize that.”

“Even if…” he stopped and looked at you with the sweetest eyes you had ever seen and you just nodded, “I feel so...useless sometimes. I see you and you’re so amazing, a wonderful mother, and...I feel like I could do so much more for you. Like you’d be happier and better off without me.”

“I would be so much worse without you,” you promised him, meaning every single word, “I love you, and means every part and parcel of you. All the good and bad, all the light and dark. But that will never change how I feel about you. I will always love you, today, tomorrow, and forever. So will Izzy. We’re a family, Frankie. And that means we work together through everything.”

“I love you,” he whispered softly as you wiped away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks, “more than you will ever know. I just worry if it...if it gets really bad…”

“I’m not going anywhere, Francisco,” you insisted as he helped to maneuver you into his lap, “and I swear that’s not going to change. If you need help, outside help, or just someone else, we’ll get you all the help you need, baby. We’ll figure this out - together.”

“I love you, Honey Bee,” he pressed his forehead against yours, “you are and Izzy are the best things to happen to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“And that’s just how we feel about you,” you pressed a kiss to his nose, “you never have to shy away from anything with me. You know that.”

“I do,” he agreed, “I’ve always known...I just got tripped up along the way. I’m sorry for shutting you out.”

“It’s okay,” you kissed lips tenderly, “it’s okay. Sometimes we trip up along the way, and that’s fine. I just want you to know you will always have us by your side, through the good and the bad.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” you felt him smile, actually smile, against your lips, “I am the luckiest man.”

“Funny how I feel the same about you, silly man,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close, “should we get Izzy? I’m sure Santi didn’t come just to babysit.”

“Did you call him because of me? To ask?”

“I figured if anyone knows you as well as I do, it’s him,” you admitted shly, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay...maybe if you wouldn’t talk to me, you’d talk to him.”

“All that for me?”

“I would do anything for you.”

“I love you, Bee,” he laid back down on the bed and pulled you on top of him, “so much. Now let’s say we just...stay in here for a few?”

“Frankie!” your eyes widened at his suggestion before you giggled, “Santi did not come here for that!”

“He’s bonding with his niece,” Frankie grinned, “it’ll be fine, he can hang around for a while.”

“You’re explaining this to him!”

“Fair enough,” he agreed with a wicked little grin, “now please, let me hold and love you. Because I do. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Francisco. You and Izzy are my everything.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[honey-dewey]

The Domestic Dream

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales/Fem! Reader

Word Count: 1,802

Warnings: Female reader, reader is pregnant with twins, mostly fluff, mild/moderate descriptions of childbirth, I think that’s it.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

The prompt for this week’s Writer Wednesday was given, as always, by the lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog.

You sighed, bending down as best you could before groaning and straightening. You could hear your husband in the other room, putting together the crib. Barely two weeks away from your due date, and you and Frankie had yet to fully put together your nursery. 

Rubbing a hand over your swollen belly, you breathed deep, squatting down and finally sitting on the floor in front of the laundry basket. It was overfilled due to your negligence and your pregnancy, but you could ignore it no longer. Picking up a shirt on the top of the pile, you began the slow process of folding the laundry. 

“Babe?” 

You looked up, smiling. Frankie had emerged from the nursery, sweaty and tired. He sat on the floor beside you, leaning slightly against your shoulder. “You’re so warm,” he said, face mushed against your skin. You laughed, kissing his curls. 

“I’m pregnant,” you reminded him. “How’s the cursed room?” 

Frankie chuckled, sitting upright and grabbing a pair of his jeans to fold. “Fine,” he said. “The Miller boys are coming around in a few hours to help me put everything else together. Santi’s gonna be here for dinner, and I think he’s staying the night.” 

You shrugged. “I’m always happy to see the boys,” you reminded, wrinkling your nose at one of your permanently stained maternity shirts. “This is bull.” 

“Agreed,” Frankie said, taking the shirt from you and folding it anyway. “Is now the appropriate time to ask about more kids?” 

Groaning, you flailed at the far away basket Frankie had pulled towards him. He kicked it back to you, and you gave him a pointed look before grabbing a pair of shorts. “No.” 

Frankie laughed. “Worth a shot,” he said with a grin. “Need any more help? I’ve still got to finish that crib.” 

“You said you were done already,” you reminded him, tossing a pair of socks into the sock pile. 

“With one of them,” Frankie said, scooting close so he was behind you, leaning against your back with his head resting on your shoulder. “We have two babies coming, remember?” 

You sighed, feeling Frankie snake his hands around your belly, his thumbs rubbing the sore spots. “Don’t remind me.” 

Frankie chuckled, going still when one of the babies kicked his hand. “Feisty,” he said. “Just like her mama.” 

“That might not be Amara,” you said, putting your hands over Frankie’s. “Marco is in there too, you know.” 

“But consider,” Frankie murmured, kissing the soft skin behind your ear. “It probably is Amara. The doc said she had spirit.” 

You leaned back into Frankie, both of you supporting each other. Softly kissing his cheek, you smiled, enjoying the stretch in your aching back. Frankie hummed, tracing nonsense shapes over your belly. 

“What did I ever do to deserve this?” He asked, breaking the silence. “A beautiful wife, two babies on the way, the house of my dreams. I must’ve been a saint in my last life.” 

Smiling, you kissing Frankie again, targeting the hairless patch in his facial hair. “You’ll never believe me, will you?” You said. “You’re a good man, Frankie. You’ve earned this.” 

Frankie pressed a kiss to the back of your neck. “I know,” he promised. “I know.” 

You two remained on the floor for a while, the laundry completely abandoned. Sunshine crept across the hardwood, and you made a quiet remark about how cute a dog would look curled up in the sun. Frankie hummed, nodding, but didn’t say a word. Time continued to pass, the sun coming in from the window moving slowly as an hour elapsed, and you only managed to haul yourself upright when the doorbell rang. 

“I can get it, Frankie said, still sprawled out on the floor. 

“I’m already up,” you replied, putting a hand on your back and groaning. “Plus, I can’t sit for too long. I’ll never get back up.” 

Frankie laughed as you shuffled through the house and opened the front door. 

“Boys!” You said cheerfully, hugging Benny and Will in turn. “Frankie’s on the floor in the living room, go nudge him until he gets up.” 

Benny smiled, running through the house to go bother Frankie. Will stayed with you, watching as you winced. “Kicking?” 

“Moving,” you said, smoothing a hand over your stomach. “They’ve been doing that a lot lately. Feels like they might be a bit premature, although that one really hurt.” 

Will shrugged, following you into the living room, where Benny was laying on top of Frankie like the world’s weirdest weighted blanket. “I’ll go start on that crib.” 

You smiled, chuckling a bit. “Thank you,” you said, watching Will head into the nursery. Meanwhile, you stood above your husband and his best friend, crossing your arms. “Boys.” 

Benny looked up at you, grinning. “Yes?” 

“Don’t you have a crib to be putting together?” 

Frankie nodded, trying to shove Benny off. “We do,” he said, smiling despite his trapped situation. “Babe, why are we having babies when we could just take care of Benny?” 

Benny gasped, and you laughed. “I agree,” you said. “I’m sure it can’t be that much different.” 

“You people are mean!” Benny insisted, sitting up and firmly planting his knees into Frankie’s stomach. “I’m leaving.” 

Frankie followed him into the nursery, and you took a minute before bending down to grab the laundry basket. Putting it on your hip, you headed into the nursery as well. It took some shuffling, but you eventually sat in the rocking chair, out of breath and exhausted, but happy to be in the same room as everyone else. Setting the basket at your feet, it took you minimal effort to fold and sort everything while the boys did what most people did while attempting to put furniture together. They argued. 

“You have the wrong piece!” Benny insisted, holding out a different bag of screws. “This goes in that hole.” 

“No it doesn’t!” Will said, grabbing the drill. “I know what I’m doing.” 

“Do you though?” Frankie asked, taking the drill back and pulling a bag from his pocket. “I’ve got the right screws.” 

“Knock knock!” Santiago poked his head into the room, smiling. “I heard the joyous sounds of arguing, and I’m here to take a side!” 

You smiled, standing as best you could. “Santi,” you said, gesturing him close for a hug. 

“Hey Sparky,” he said, hugging you. “Dios mío, you’re massive!” 

“Aww thanks,” you said with an exaggerated pout. “Can you start on the changing table please? Grab Will to help you. We only need two people on the crib.” 

Santiago nodded, pulling Will away from the crib debacle and towards the guest bedroom, where the unassembled changing table pieces sat. You sat back down, half supervising and half finishing the last of the laundry. Finally, when it was done, you sighed, standing and bending down to pick up the basket. As you straightened, you felt your entire middle shift, as if someone had just twisted you around. A warm and wet something slid down your legs, and you prayed you were imagining it. 

“Hey babe?” You said, turning slowly to put the laundry basket down on the rocking chair. “Go start the truck.” 

“Hm?” Frankie looked up, confused. “Why?” 

You took a breath and looked down at the puddle on the carpet. “My water just broke.” 

The silence that filled the house was immediate. Even in the guest room, Will and Santiago heard you and stopped what they were doing. Frankie was frozen to the spot, his eyes wide with shock.

Benny was the one to break the silence, standing and taking a breath. “Well fuck.” 

“Well fuck,” you repeated quietly. “Well fuck indeed.”

The silence settled back over the house for a fraction of a second before it exploded into chaos. Frankie ran to start the car, pushing past Will, who had come into the nursery to put an arm around you and ease you back into sitting. You took a breath, breathing against the pain that had erupted in your body. Benny grabbed a few towels and your hospital bag, taking them out to the car while Santiago frantically went from room to room, talking quickly to himself in Spanish. 

“Ready!” Frankie called from the house’s entryway, and Will helped you up, supporting you as you walked to the truck. He passed you to Frankie, and your husband wasted no time scooping you off your feet and carrying you to the truck. 

Benny gave you a thumbs up as Frankie drove away, his grip on the wheel turning his knuckles white. You gritted your teeth as another contraction hit, and set your hand on Frankie’s hand. “Relax,” you said softly. “Relax. It’ll be fine.” 

Frankie shook his head, eyes wide. “What if it isn’t?” He asked. 

You sighed. “Francisco,” you said firmly. “Everything will be alright.” 

Everything was not alright. The hospital was too far away, and Frankie ended up having to pull over in the middle of nowhere because the babies weren’t going to wait another second. He frantically called the house while you screamed from the truck, laying on a towel that had been spread across the backseat. 

“The boys are coming, and they called an ambulance,” Frankie promised, getting back into the truck and taking your hands. “Just hold on, please.” 

“I can’t,” you panted, eyes screwing shut as another contraction tore you in half. “Frankie, I have to push.” 

Frankie went white as a ghost, but he nodded, helping you scoot back. He rolled up a second towel and gave you a kiss before you positioned the towel between your teeth, letting your head fall back. 

“You know what to do?” Frankie asked, moving back down and putting his hands on your knees, suddenly glad you had decided to wear a loose dress instead of pants.

You nodded, waiting until the right moment to push, every part of you lighting on fire. It was pain beyond description, and everything faded away, leaving nothing but you and the unbearable agony behind. 

“I can see the head!” Frankie’s voice burst through your cloud, and you nodded, pushing again. And again, and again, and again until it was over. Marco and Amara were carefully swaddled up after Frankie cut their umbilical cords, and you were each holding a baby when the boys and the ambulance showed up at the same time. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Frankie murmured as the paramedics checked your babies over. “Next time, let’s aim to have the kid at the hospital, okay?” 

You chuckled weakly, leaning against Frankie’s shoulder. “If there is a next time.” 

“That’s a conversation for later,” Frankie murmured, kissing the top of your head. “Get some rest now, you deserve it.” 

Nodding, you slipped into sleep, surrounded by your husband and children.

[aellynera]

Calavera (Santiago Garcia x Reader)

(ok, so, it’s been a while since i posted my writing. it’s not that i haven’t been writing, but i’ve started like eight things and nothing felt completely right. so, yeah. then tonight, boom.)

CALAVERA (Santiago Garcia x Reader)

Word Count: 2120(ish)

Summary: It’s a day of celebration, in more ways than one.

Warnings: A naughty innuendo but nothing else, not even a language warning, I’m not sure what got into me. It’s all fluffy.

“Baby, hold still,” Santiago commanded, his hand lightly slapping your knee to emphasize his point.

“Sorry,” you muttered. You straightened your back, let out a deep breath, and tried to comply.

Your eyes were closed so all you saw was dancing blackness. The wet, pasty feeling on your face almost made you jump but you held your reaction down as best you could and hoped Santiago didn’t notice.

He had asked to paint you. Your first response, with a laugh, had been, “Like one of your French girls?” and Santiago swore if you ever made a joke like that again, he wouldn’t be painting you with paint. Then you had asked, completely (not) innocently, what the problem with that was and how exactly was that even a threat, which led to a half-hour delay in the original mission and another half-hour of showering and grabbing some clean clothes.

None of which you were sorry for, by the way. Not at all.

So, then Santiago asked if he could paint you for real. Your face, specifically, as a calavera. A sugar skull. Today was November 1, and for him it held special significance. It was Day of the Dead, Día de Muertos. And although Santiago was neither Mexican nor particularly Catholic, at least not in a practicing sense any more, he could hardly deny the day was especially significant for him, both in his past and, possibly, more meaningful now in his adulthood.

In his past, because of the memories associated with his parents’ celebrating every year. The altars and the food and all the magical colors that flowed through the air. And the skeletons. As a kid, those were always cool.

In his present, to remember all the family and friends and comrades he had lost. Those he had loved and cherished and would never be forgotten.

You were also neither Mexican nor particularly religious, especially not Catholic, but you could appreciate the meaning behind the holiday and were happy to celebrate with him.

So when Santiago asked, a second time, if he could paint your face, you immediately said yes.

Which is now how you found yourself in your home office, the one you shared with your boyfriend, with every single light in the room flipped on - we need proper lighting conditions, Santiago had insisted. You were perched in a swivel chair, your eyes closed and your boyfriend, perched in his own chair across from you, humming a merry tune and occasionally singing a lyric in Spanish as he did, in fact, paint your face with actual paint this time.

Quite a few minutes had passed since he brought a brush laden with wet goop to your face. “Santi? What are you doing, can I please open my eyes?” you asked, anxious to find out exactly what he was doing.

“Mmm, not yet, cariño,” Santiago replied. You felt a brush land on your nose, the tickle immediately taking hold of your senses as he began to paint again. “Keep ‘em closed until I say so.”

“Santiiiiii,” you whined, annoyed with both the feeling and his sentiment. A centipede crawling across your toes would be more welcome than the intense prickling under the bristles of his paintbrush.

You heard the amusement in his voice as he repeated, “Baby. Just sit still.”

‘Fine,” a huff escaped your lips. “I just don’t...why is there like an hour between what you paint on me, it’s not like we have mirrors in here so I don’t understand why I can’t open my eyes, and what the hell are you doing when you’re not doing things to my face?”

His brush continued its work as he considered your questions and answered them in turn. “Well, one, it’s not an hour, it’s like 10 minutes so I can let the paint dry before working on the next part. Two, because if you keep your eyes closed, your face stays in the same position and it makes this a lot easier and the end result much better.”

You made a small grunt of reluctant understanding at that.

“And three, I actually do have a small mirror in here, so I can work on my face while the paint on yours sets.”

“Wait. You’ve been painting your own face this whole time?”

“Of course I have,” Santiago replied with a genuine laugh. “It’s an important day. I’m not gonna paint yours and not have one to match.”

“I don’t even get how you can paint your own face, and why have we never done this before?”

“I’ve been doing this for years, honey. Well, I mean, I haven’t actually done it for a while, but it seemed like a good time to start again. Painting my own face isn’t that hard since I’ve done it so much, and I have done my own camo before.”

“I imagine this is a little different than camo.”

“Different, yes, but not necessarily easier. Just different. Now will you please stop talking and stay still, I need to work on your lips and cheeks,” Santiago said sternly.

Your breath snaked out of your lungs and you used every ounce of self-control to stop moving, but before you let your body go lax and still, you asked quickly, “Can you tell me the meaning behind the calavera again? I know I’ve heard it before, but...can you just keep talking? If I focus on your voice, it’ll help me stop squirming.”

“That’s not what happened earlier,” Santiago smirked.

“Santi,” you giggled, then tried to act as stern as he had been a few moments ago. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry, mi amor,” he replied quietly, the brush now painting lines on your lips. He continued in a warm, slow voice that nearly put you under, but you fought off the insistent call of sleep.

“Okay, so Día de Muertos is when we remember and pray for family and friends who have passed on. The calaveras, or sugar skulls, represent those people. The large one are for adults, and the small ones are for children. They can be decorative, or edible, or artistic like the ones I’m painting on our faces. It’s a huge holiday in Mexico, and my family always celebrated it since we were Catholic, and I’ve always just really liked the artistry in the face-painting so I learned how to do it. Now let that dry and then I’ll do the rest of the design.”

You sighed and sat back. You heard him humming to himself again, presumably as he worked on his own face, and waited.

A warm vestige of sleep did take you under this time, and when you felt wet paint hit your forehead, you nearly went through the ceiling, almost springing out of your chair. You probably would have made an actual hole above you, but Santiago’s strong hands pressed you to the leather beneath you.

You briefly considered that hole wouldn’t have been a total loss. You wanted to put a ceiling fan in that room anyway. You tried your best to clear your sleepy cobwebs without actually shaking your head.

“Baby,” he chided.

“I know, I know, stay still,” you muttered, returning to upright.

Santiago shook his head, even though you couldn’t see him. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” your voice remained a mutter.

“You know,” he replied, “I could paint, like, all of you. That would be really sexy.”

This time, you chose not to verbally respond and you kicked his foot instead.

“Ow,” he grumbled. “Party pooper.”

“Just finish the job, Santiago.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He worked in silence for a few minutes more, adding...dots?...around your eyes - as far as you could tell with them still closed - and what felt like teardrop shapes on your forehead, and swirly shapes on your cheeks. 

Santiago finally made a noise, humming in satisfaction. “Okay, baby, you’re done. Now, just hang out like that for a few more minutes while I finish mine, yeah?”

“No,” you whined under your breath, making Santiago laugh. You laughed with him. He knew for all the trouble of making you sit still for so long, you were kidding, and he was grateful for it.

As you pushed your chair back slightly, you turned slow circles. You may still have to sit there, but at least you could do something other than just sit there now.

Mostly, you really wondered what Santiago was up to. You could hear him get out of his chair. You could hear vague rustling out in the living room, and then in your bedroom. You felt the change in air current when he came back into the office and hear several soft *fwick* sounds. You could hear his once-again humming voice, and noticed that his song had changed to…

That song. Your song. The song that was playing the first time you both said I love you.

“You can open your eyes now, mi amor,” Santiago called, a gentle whisper.

Gentle, flickering candlelight met your gaze first, the small mirror and your reflection in front of you second.

White paint was the backdrop on your face, with your eyes, nose, and lower cheeks blacked out, and black lines representing teeth painted over your lips. Purple dots ringed your eyes. A red flower and blue teardrop shapes graced your forehead, and various swirl patterns came down from your forehead and lined your cheeks. A red heart sat on your chin.

You had no idea your boyfriend was this creative and this talented. Another of Santiago Garcia’s hidden gifts.

“Santi, I lov---” you started, but then you noticed the third thing.

Santiago’s face.

Hovering directly above the small mirror, Santiago’s face looked mostly the same as yours. Same colors, minus the flower, more teardrops, and the dots surrounding his eyes were green, but otherwise, the same patterns. Except for the words.

Except for the words.

Above his right eyebrow, will.

Above his left eyebrow, you.

On his right cheek, marry.

On his left cheek, me.

You were pretty sure your eyes would pop out of your now-sugar-skull if they got any wider. Your lips parted but nothing came out.

Santiago lowered the mirror, tossing it onto the nearby desk. He sat back down on his office chair and took both of your hands in his. An eyebrow cocked and the corner of his mouth curled up before he pulled his bottom lip nervously with his teeth.

After a good minute, your brain reactivated. “Santi,” you started, “not that I have to think about my answer, but I do have my own question.”

“Okay?” his voice was still soft, and you could hear the slight waver in it. He really was nervous.

“Something tells me that’s not traditional Día de Muertos calavera design, so…?” you trailed off, cocking an eyebrow back at him.

He nodded. “You would be correct,” he smiled fully now, “but one of the really old meanings behind calaveras was rebirth into the next stage of life. And that’s what I felt when I met you and got to know you. I got to leave all the bad things I did in my past behind and spend all the good times in the present with you. And I want to spend them with you in the future, forever. You’re my rebirth, my next stage, my forever. So...what do you say?”

You didn’t stop the springing out of your chair this time. You pounced into Santiago’s lap, nearly knocking you both off his chair as you cupped the sides of his face. Part of your brain hazily registered that you were smearing his face paint, and your own with your tears running down your cheeks, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Not even a little bit, not about that.

“Yes!” you cried. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Santiago responded by pulling your closer and pressing his lips to yours, over and over, while his hands held your face.

After a few minutes, you both separated for air, and you couldn’t help the small groan that left your mouth.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Santiago whispered, pressing his forehead to yours.

You motioned between the two of you, and grabbed the mirror so he could see what you were talking about. The beautiful paint job he had done was now completely destroyed, colors mixing and smearing, like an artist’s palette that had been dropped on the floor and then stepped on.

Or a clown with very dubious make-up application skills.

“The paint. You’re going to have to redo all this paint.”

Santiago laughed. You were right. The initial beauty was gone, but something even more magnificent had taken its place.

“Worth it.”

~end~

Tagging: @anetteaneta @darksideofclarke @girlwiththemostcake @deeandbobbymcgee @itspdameronthings @rosemarysbaby13 @writefightandflightclub @spider-starry @yourbucky084 @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall @veuliee2 (tag list always open - inbox me or comment if you’d like to be tagged)

[kittyofalltrades]

Okay but seriously do they buy Oscar Isaac’s pants that tight or is it just a fluke cause of his dump truck ass? Asking for a friend.