#chuppi

Thick, pink velvet curtains frame the tall windows, their tassels glittering faintly in the warm light that filters through them. The furniture is antique style, white with gold accents and little heart shaped carvings. A few bat motifs are tucked in here and there, cleverly hidden unless you know to look. 

This is your room, sure. But technically it's your room in Dad’s house. He picked out and decorated this whole space.

A detail that still makes your heart squeeze every time you think about it.

The vanity you’re leaning over has little pastel colored jars and sparkly bottles organized in an almost chaotic way. Lip glosses, perfume, rollers, and your holy grail sunscreen, which you’re currently mixing with a touch of pink-champagne highlighter before dabbing it delicately along your cheekbones.

Gotta protect your skin and still sparkle on these hoes.

Your hair is tied into two low pigtails, curled into perfect bouncy ends, held in place with white silk ribbons that match your skirt. The pink highlights that Tilda helped you with look killer. The look is giving, sweetheart who could rip your heart out if she wanted to, and that’s exactly the aesthetic. 

You're currently in a fitted black tee that hugs your waist and chest just right, a bright red cartoon heart with tiny vampire fangs smiling up from your chest. The pleated pink skirt flares out just enough to twirl in. And your white thigh-highs? Perfect. The only thing left is—

‘Shoes.’

You groan and kick your legs slightly as you eye the two pairs on your bed. One set of chunky platform Mary Janes, glittery and black with a little pink heart on the buckle. The other, heels shaped like coffin lids. 

Because, obviously, you can't just have normal heels.

“I swear I’m gonna lose my mind,” you mumble, biting your glossed lip and staring between them. 

“Should’ve decided this last night.”

A voice floats from just outside your wall, technically not a knock, but a soft shuffle against the glass pane. 

You already know it’s him before you hear it.

“It’s open,” you call out softly, just above a whisper, eyes still focused on applying the tiniest bit more shimmer to the center of your lips. 

Gotta make them kissable.

By the time you snap the compact shut and turn around, Juan’s halfway through your window, shoulders twisting as he ducks in, careful and gentle.

You can’t help but smile. His socks are plastered with neon green sugar skulls, his brown sneakers held dangling in one hand by the laces like they’re sacred.

The second his feet touch the plush white rug near your bed, he crouches and pulls out a crinkly plastic bag from his pocket, setting his sneakers down inside with almost comical precision.

“Didn’t want to mess up your rug,” he grins, standing upright again. Your arms open before you can stop them. 

“Come here, mi amor.”

He practically lunges the short distance to you, throwing his arms around your waist and tucking his face into the crook of your neck like he’s been starved for your scent. You hug him back just as tightly, fingers lacing behind his back.

“You smell like—” he pauses and pulls back to sniff you gently. 

“Glitter and strawberries and… fire?”

You giggle. “Probably the lip gloss. And the sunscreen. And the highlighter. Also… maybe a little of my soul, who knows.”

Juan laughs, but then pulls back, eyeing your shoes on the bed.

“So. Which ones are we risking twisted ankles with today?”

You sigh dramatically. “Ugh. I don’t know. The coffin ones say I’m unhinged but hot, but the Mary Janes are more, I'm adorable but could kill you in a dream. Thoughts?”

“I say coffin heels,” he says seriously, “Because then you can dramatically fall into my arms and say ‘bury me in Dior.’”

And because he knows you’ve been dying to wear them out. 

You let out a very Manic pixie girl style giggle snort.

“Alright, but if I die, you better give me a hot eulogy.”

You bend over to grab the shoes and glance up at him from under your lashes. “Did you pack a backup outfit? And lighter? You know it’s sunny today.”

Juan scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t pack a lighter. Tilda might have one, though.”

You roll your eyes and spin toward your dresser. “Dogs,” you mutter with affection. You slide open a drawer that looks like it holds old love letters or maybe silk gloves, but instead you reach past the lace to grab your secret weapon; a pink Hello Kitty lighter, completely bedazzled.

Much of your style is like this right now. Rhinestones, bows, glittery fangs.

You want it?

You got it.

Juan watches in stunned silence as you drop it into your Juicy Couture purse, which is already overflowing with pink puffball keychains, tiny plushies, a vial of blood red lipstick, and a pink bat-shaped mirror. It jingles when you zip it shut.

“I love you so much it physically hurts,” Juan says, staring at you like you just invented magic.

You smirk, dusting your hands and smoothing your skirt. 

“Duh. I’m fabulous. Now help me pick a back up shoe. We’re matching aesthetics today.”

Juan adjusts the backpack he slung over one shoulder, the fabric slightly sun faded and patched in places like it’s been through a few adventures too many. The second he moves to place it with your cutesy stuff, you give him the look, eyebrows raised, lips pursed like you’re two seconds from asking, ‘And what is that doing here?’

“Bed,” you say simply, pointing at the footboard with the dramatic elegance of a queen. 

“Drop it.”

He chuckles, obediently setting the bag down next to your large black travel trunk, your on demand coffin, as you like to call it now. As he unzips it, you catch a flash of sketchbooks inside, their corners bent, a few stickers on the covers starting to peel from wear.

“Heyyyy,” you hum, scooping one up before he can stop you.

“What secrets are you hiding in here, Mr. Ruiz?”

“Noooo,” he groans playfully, reaching over, but you’ve already flipped it open, plopping down cross legged on your trunk like you own the place, (because, technically, you do).

Your nails—long, coffin shaped, painted in a glossy pale pink with tiny black cross stitched bows at the tips, flip through the pages delicately. Your heart warms as you take in the detailed pencil sketches. Some are monsters, some animals, some rough comic panels. 

But your favorites are the ones of you. 

There’s one where you’re curled up on the window seat, another of you laughing midbite with mochi in your mouth, and one especially adorable doodle where you’re lying on his bed, bat wings spread around you like a blanket, captioned my girl.

He’s gotten better, his linework is smoother, bolder.

You find a new sketch of you, all pouty lipped and half asleep in one of his remaining hoodies. You don’t say anything. You just smile and close the page gently.

Juan slips behind you, rummaging through your walk in closet with ease. 

“I’m picking your backup shoes,” he calls.

“Please don’t pick the custom rhinestone crocs again.”

“I’m insulted,” he mutters, before emerging holding a pair of battered black Converse, frayed laces, sharpie spooderman on one side, paint splatters on the soles. He shoves them into a fresh plastic bag like he’s wrapping fine china and tucks them gently into the backpack. 

“Practical and tragic. Just like your taste in men.”

You chuck a pillow at him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grab your purse and begin loading your essentials. Your lilac bear spray, your matching taser with a bunny charm clipped on the handle, and a mini makeup palette, which you stuff into the little heart-shaped zip pocket with an air of satisfaction.

“I’m ready!” you chirp, just as you launch yourself at Juan’s back, arms wrapping around his shoulders and legs around his waist. He immediately places his legs underneath your thighs and you adore the warmth of his large hands. You allow yourself to be adjusted without tissue as you admire your boyfriend's strength. 

“And I have something for you!”

He lets out a grunt of surprise as he stabilizes you with a laugh.

“I think I can feel it—OW!”

You give him a smack to the side of his head before reaching forward to tug back lovingly on his curls. 

“Shut up and be romantic.”

He carries you with ease toward the bed and then playfully tips backwards, sending you both tumbling onto the plush mattress. You land beneath him, the both of you tangled in soft giggles, his laugh rumbling low in his chest.

You reach behind you and pull out a tiny pouch from your skirt pocket, unwrapping it to reveal the bracelet you’ve been working on for him in secret. It’s made of soft, earthy fibers, almost fur-like in texture, tightly woven with love and a little wolf charm hanging from the center. Tiny etched details make it look like it’s staring right into your soul.

Juan blinks in surprise, sitting up a little, his hands braced on either side of you.

“For you,” you say softly, holding it up.

Then you lift your other hand to show the matching one, pink, knitted to look like little hearts and bat wings wrapped around your fingers. Your bat charm has a tiny engraved J on the back, and his wolf charm has the first initial of your name, hidden just under the front.

Juan doesn’t speak at first. 

First his eyes take everything in, the way you see him do whenever he’s inspired by something. Then he takes both your hands gently in his larger ones like you’re made of wet marble. He turns them, eyes admiring your fingers, the bracelets… and then your nails.

“You got the bows,” he murmurs, half to himself, smiling wide. “They look so good. I’m glad you picked that set.”

“You paid for that set,” you remind him with a proud grin, brushing your thumb across his. 

“So technically, we have great taste.”

Juan chuckles, then kisses your hands. Not once, freaking multiple times. All around. The knuckles, the palm, the edge of your wrist where the veins show. You squirm a little but let him finish, cheeks warm and happy. You never really let other people freely touch you, except your little brother, mom, and grandmother do this to you. 

Yeah, he’s a special little guy. 

Juan carefully ties the pink bracelet around your wrist, fingers gentle and precise. Then you sit up and do the same for him, adjusting the little wolf so it faces outward. You fasten his bracelet for him next, and when you’re done, he tenderly intertwines your fingers with his and you press them against your cheek. 

You look up through your lashes, your lashes fluttering like wings, and his big, brown eyes are gazing at you with that warm, smitten softness that always makes your heart skip.

“You have the prettiest hands,” he says softly, almost in awe.

“Like… they could paint stars or something.”

You smile at him, heart fluttering, stomach doing little flips in your chest.

Juan’s eyes lock on yours. They’re dark, rich, and impossibly soft, yet so focused. He gazes at you like you’re made of starlight and spun sugar. And with a smile that could melt a glacier, he says, completely serious,

“I think you’re so cool.”

Your face breaks into the widest, most affectionate smile of the day.

“I know, babe,” you whisper, tugging him into a kiss. 

“But it’s really cute when you say it.”

You're still lying tangled up in Juan’s arms when he shifts his weight, adjusting slightly so he’s propped up on one elbow beside you. The afternoon light is coming through your window while the AC blasts and you actually feel good for once.

Maybe it’s the guy next to you.

You’re basking in the softness of the moment, fingers playing lazily with the strands of his curls. Until he says it,

“I know you picked those coffin heels,” he murmurs, nodding toward the pair you were struggling to decide between earlier, both propped dramatically near your vanity like a gothic fashion duel. 

“And listen, mi amor, I don’t mind carrying you. You know I love holding you.”

You blink, lips slightly parted as you tilt your head, curious where this is going.

“But if we run into trouble…” he trails off, his voice softening as he looks down at your clasped hands. “You’re not gonna want to run in those. And I also know how you get when your heels get scuffed.”

Translation: I know you, ‘Fucking hate that,’ and will make it whoever we’re tracking downs problem.

You sit up a little straighter, brows gently knitting.

“Okay, wow, I feel very seen right now.”

Juan grins, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“You don’t mind borrowing from Abby or Tilda when we’re in a jam, sure, but you like having your own things. Things you picked. Or stuff that’s just yours. And I…” 

He leans back slightly and nods toward the bay window and the little Juliet balcony beyond it. 

“I wanted to give you that.”

You turn to follow his gaze just as he stretches out one long arm and reaches through the window like it’s nothing, because to him, it isn’t. Being part chupacabra means scaling your three story house like a cat on steroids is his thing. Before you can ask, he’s pulling back in with a sleek pink shoebox, the corners ribboned in sheer black tulle.

Your breath catches.

“Juan,” you gasp, eyes wide, hands clutched to your chest as he sets the box in your lap. 

“You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs with a smirk, brown eyes warm and shining. 

“Yeah, but I wanted to. That’s the difference.”

Your heart flutters like it’s trying to sprout wings. Carefully, like it might bite you, you lift the lid and peel back the delicate tissue paper. Inside,

They’re perfect.

The heels are sleek and black with a soft shiny finish, but what steals your heart are the tiny bat wings that curl from the side of each shoe, like they were designed just for you. Delicate pink buckles, heart-shaped cutouts on the soles, and a hot pink underside give it the exact amount of whimsy meets shadow. 

You could scream.

Instead, you squeal so hard your bubblegum clings to your teeth, your hands flying up to your boyfriends face in disbelief. 

“MI VIDA?!”

Juan yelps and immediately presses a finger to your lips. “Shhh!” His eyes dart toward the door like it might burst open. 

“Babe, isn’t your dad home!?!”

You slap a hand over your mouth, still squealing internally. “I’m sorry, I just—Oh my glob.”

He’s trying not to laugh, his hands gripping your waist like he needs to anchor himself from your reaction. 

“You’re gonna blow our cover. Your dad and stepmother still think I’m the weird delivery guy who brings your shopping orders at night.”

“And we are so keeping it that way,” you whisper quickly, eyes wide with mock seriousness. “Because I’m not ready for my mom to start interrogating us about your ‘intentions’ while my Dad sharpens knives in the background.”

You slip the heels on immediately, unable to resist. They fit like a dream. Snug but comfortable, the straps hugging your ankles just right. You glance down and wiggle your toes, enchanted by the way the bat wings flutter just slightly when you move.

“Juann,” you murmur, your voice going soft and shaky in a completely different way now. “You’re gonna make me mess up my whole lip combo for this.”

He smirks, crawling closer, eyes locked on your lips like a challenge. 

“Then do it.”

‘Fuck, don’t gotta tell me twice.’

You lean in, ruining the perfect sheen of your gloss as you press a soft, warm kiss to his mouth, a hand curled in the collar of his hoodie, the other fisting his hair. His hands land on your hips like he’s not sure whether to hold you still or melt into you entirely.

When you part, your smile is dizzy and glowing, a mix of glitter and affection.

“I’m trouble,” you whisper against his lips.

Juan just smiles, his voice low and breathy. 

“And you’re my favorite kind.”

You're still giggling from the sappiness of him all when Juan cups your face and kisses you again, this time slower, warmer. His lips brush over yours with such care it makes your stomach flutter. One of his hands cradles the back of your neck while the other sneaks around your waist, pulling you gently into his lap as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You sigh into the kiss, your fingers winding into his curls softer, thumbs brushing the edges of his ears. He hums, pleased, then tilts his head to deepen it. Your lips part, and for a second, everything fades. 

No family drama, no anxious thoughts. 

Just the feeling of his mouth on yours and his strong heartbeat under your palm. 

You pull back with a little laugh, breathless, your lip gloss completely smudged. Juan grins, his thumb swiping across your lower lip. 

Now you've both got on a strawberry caramel lip combo.

“You always taste like that strawberry candy when you kiss me. It’s so unfair.”

You gasp dramatically.

“You mean to tell me I don’t always taste like that?”

“Mami.”

His voice drops with a whine that makes your stomach tingle. 

“You could be chewing rubber bands and I’d still think you taste like strawberry sugar.”

You let out a soft snort, pressing your forehead to his before sitting back on your ankles. 

“We gotta go.”

He sighs dramatically and falls back onto your pillows. “Fine. Let me be a gentleman about it at least.”

You grab your purse, its body bouncing with every keychain and fuzzy charm as you tug it over your shoulder. You double-check: Taser, bear spray, Hello Kitty lighter, compact mirror, bracelets for the girls, it’s all there. Then you step onto the bed, hands on your hips like a princess surveying her tower.

“So adorable,” he says, smiling as he gathers his own pack before not so subtly checking out your legs. 

Your ears burn.

You bite your lip to hide the grin that spreads across your face, but it’s too late. He already knows.

“Let’s go before I kiss you again and we never leave,” he adds, and you squeal as he scoops you up effortlessly. He crouches near the window, easing it open the rest of the way, and carefully helps you crawl out first, onto the little wrought iron balcony, where the early afternoon air smells like dew and faraway woodsmoke. You straddle his waist, purse balanced on your lap, and he holds your thighs with steady, practiced hands.

“Y’know,” you murmur as he starts to scale down the trellis like a lovesick cryptid, “This would be wayyy less romantic if you were a vampire.”

He snorts. “Que?”

“Yeah,” you tease, leaning forward against the curve of his neck. “Like, they’re all brooding and silent. You’re loud, awkward, sweet, and built like someone who eats sugar skulls for breakfast. It’s better.”

“What are you talking about?” he laughs just as you both land, barely a crunch as his sneakers meet the grassy covered ground.

“Nothingg,” you whisper, giving his cheek a kiss before he sets you down gently.

You both break into a light sneak jog, weaving through the tree line behind your house and ducking through the shadowed woods, leaves rustling underfoot. The path is half hidden, used only by you two, really, and eventually leads to a clearing where his Honda Civic waits like a loyal steed.

It’s red, with a matte black interior, and a tiny dent in the hood from a raccoon incident you don’t talk about. Juan got it from some old guy in your childhood neighborhood after winning a bet on whether or not he could beat him in a stretching contest. (He could. He did.)

As you near it, he opens the passenger door and offers his hand with a playful bow. 

“Mi Rena~”

You giggle and take it, and he helps you inside like he’s escorting royalty. “Watch your head, princessa,” he whispers, holding your purse aside so it doesn’t bump the roof.

You don’t have a licence. Your last experiences trying to drive involved a mailbox, a squirrel, and a mild existential crisis.

Like you can drive, and are good at it! It’s just that….

(Ur powers tend to fuck u up behind the wheel thanks to Dr Sarkov, *c0ugh*[Not.]) 

Juan knows better than to let you near the wheel unless it's in Mario Kart or an emergency. He shuts the door gently and runs around the hood before vaulting over it like it’s that stupid tik tok trend.

"Juan, I-"

You just stare at him, slips slightly parted as he chuckles and pops the door open before sliding into the driver’s seat, slinging his backpack into the backseat with one arm while his other hand finds yours instantly. His thumb brushes your knuckles as he turns the key in the ignition.

The car hums to life.

His civic peels out of the hidden campsite tucked into the woods with just enough kick to make your heart race. The trees blur past in the afternoon light, light stretching out over your windshield, and his hand stays wrapped in yours the entire way.

And just like that, you’re off. On another adventure with your favorite boy, in your new heels, glittering from your highlighter/sunscreen combo, heart pounding under your smile. You lean back against the headrest, and he squeezes your hand once. 

“So where to, baby bat?”

You grin and snuggle in close to his right arm. Why you feel so happy and at ease to be your sweetest self around him, you'll never know. Maybe it's the dog thing.

But he's your dork in shinning armor and you love him. 

“Anywhere we can get cherry slushies and break a few HIPPA laws.”

His laughter fills the car, warm and wild. 

“Say less.”

@ririisred Come and get it!!!

I am so sorry, literally thought I posted this. tw: long ass authors note

Request: This is my first request and I don’t know how to said it, but I really want to read something about Juan Ruiz and a reader ( a girl please) that gives draculaura’s vibes ( I really like her relationship with clawd) ( I don’t speak english so sorry if I said something wrong)

You said nothing wrong my love, do not worry. I am so sorry that I didn’t respond sooner, it was finals, my job was (is) killing me, and I had to lock in. And then Tumblr aste my freaking ask. Draculuara and Clawd are a staple. They were legit my fav couple from the monster high series. I don't think I make the reader as bubbly as drauclaura, I'd be up to write a part 2.

I also have a (kinda) ongoing fic series about Juan called 'Please don't hate me!' I'd love to pick back up soon. I've grown a lot as a writer since then and I love happy endings.

If you're here because you're a monster fucker, welcome, if you're into anime I also write for One pieces Charlotte Katakuri. If you don't know him, look him up and thank me later.

I have legit never written any monster fic's, but hey! there's a first time for everything.

I am taking requests for the series though dm's or anonymous asks. I'll even take a commsion. You can choose anyone you'd like and even characters not listed.

Remember, fandoms never truly die,

I also have a ko-fi now if you'd like to support me. :3 Not mandatory but always appreciated.

Pssst, my ao3 is alive and open for all readers.

See you soon!

-Angie (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡