Marc Marquez Imagines

Scrapbook

A/N: sorry for being inactive. i won't be updating any of my book for the rest of this year. i will post back in 2018 😊

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Y/N's POV

"Momma, what are you doing?" My teenaged daughter asks me, looking at me while chuckling. "What's that?"

"This," I said, "is a scrapbook. You know, like a photo album, something like that."

"Oh? Pictures of who?" She sits down beside me on the dusty floor. "Can I see?"

"It's full of your father and I. Your grandma Marquez made this for us when we were dating." I smiled to myself.

"Oh?" She chirps, flipping a page. It was a picture of Marc and I sitting on a couch back at his house. We were watching a horror movie. "How old were you in the picture, Momma?"

"About your age. I was fifteen."

"Fifteen?! Dad won't even allow me to be with boys because I'm fifteen. But you can!" She argues, crossing her arms above her chest.

"He's protective over you, Amaya, you know how your dad is." I chuckled.

"How did you and dad meet?" She asks, probably curious.

"We both met during high school. Trust me when I said I didn't like him at first. But he kept on trying, telling me that he loves me every single day. He was so cheesy." I laughed, shaking my head, remembering the memory. "Guess the cheesiness worked because look where we are now."

"I want a boy to tell me that he loves me everyday, too," Amaya groans.

"A boy to tell you that he loves you everyday?" Marc comes, brow raised as he looks at Amaya. "I tell you that every single day, honey."

"I meant a real boy, dad." She raises her brow back at him, holding back a smile.

"Oh, I love you, honey," he coo. "Anyways, what are both of my girls doing up in this dusty attic?"

"I found a scrapbook. You know, the one your mom made for us." I handed him the scrapbook.

"Oh my God. I remember when my mom always ask us to pose for pictures. We didn't really know why though." Marc says. "But after your mom and I got engaged, she gave us this book."

"I want to see more pictures!" Amaya says.

Marc flipped and flipped the pages, then stops when it was picture of Marc on top of his bike, and me being his umbrella girl.

"Momma! You were an umbrella girl? You never told me about this!" Amaya gasps, looking at me with mouth wide-opened.

"It was a one time, one time only! Your dad forced me to be his umbrella girl for CatalunyaGP." I huffed. "He begged me to be his umbrella girl, don't know why."

"Because," he scoffs, "I wanted to show you off that you're mine."

Amaya snorts, making me laugh.

"Not gonna lie, Amaya, your mother is really pretty. Like, gorgeous. Actually the first thing that came into my mind when I first saw her." Marc closes his eyes and smiled.

"So I got the looks from Momma," she proudly says, looking at me.

"Nah. You got it from me," Marc scoffs. "But both of us, but mostly me."

Marc flips the page until it landed when Marc and I were at hospital after I finished delivered Amaya, with me in the hospital gown and Marc in his motocross suit.

I delivered Amaya a month before the due date, and Marc rushed to the hospital immediately when he heard that I was at the hospital, he was in the middle of practicing his MX bike.

"I put this picture in this book," Marc tells me, running a finger at the photo, smiling as he looks at it. "It's been fifteen years, time flies, doesn't it?"

"It really did." I said, looking at Marc, then over to Amaya.

"I love my girls."

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crappy ending but hey