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flan-tasma · 3 months

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With a Baby! (Neuvilette x Fem!Reader)

💖~ Hey, I'm back!

Yeh, I'm not dead, I just disappeared a lot.

Warning: Nope now💖, light spicy at point three, Female Reader | Google Translate sponsors me (it's a lie) If I made any mistakes in the english translation, I would be happy to read your comments! | Content in spanish and english

Spanish:

Neuvilette ha pensado antes en tener una familia contigo, siempre que te comportas tan bonita como siempre con él, cuando cuidas de alguna Melusine que encuentran en el camino a casa o cuando haces cosas tan normales como preparar algo de comer. Siempre piensa en ti como una madre fabulosa.

La idea de que seas una figura cariñosa con posibles hijos suyos pasa desde los escenarios más dulces y adorables, verte cargando a un pequeñito parecido a él y llamándolo tu amor, levantarse y verte arrullar a una niñita con sus ojos. Está en las nubes cada que lo imagina.

Luego todo lo dulce se va filtrando a la necesidad de que tengas a sus hijos, la necesidad de verte con el vientre abultado por su escencia, la necesidad de criarte. Y eso es exactamente lo que hace.

Luego de que logran tener un descendiente, creo que Neuvillette tiene problemas a la hora de llamarlo. Le dices que es un bebé y él dice que es una cría, con el tiempo aprende a llamarlo bebé, pero sigue susurrando que es una pequeña cría formándose en el vientre de su mamá, todo mientras acaricia tu estómago.

Durante el embarazo se vuelve muy sobreprotector. No quiere que te muevas mucho y te canses, no tienes que levantarte a cocinar porque puedes quedarte, no debes agacharte, él recogerá lo que tiraste o te conseguirá otro. Solo no quiere que te hagas daño.

Definitivamente hace una especie de nido con ropa vieja y cómoda, almohadas y deja alguna piedra brillante porque brilla y cree que te gustará.

Sigue preguntándose si pondrás un huevo o no, solo espera que no te duela mucho. Se prepara mucho para dar la bienvenida al pequeño nuevo ser que tendrá su sangre, ya eligieron un nombre, ropa y juguetes divertidos.

Estuvo muy enfocado en decorar la habitación del bebé, quería que los colores le dieran paz y que le gustara su habitación.

Cuando el bebé nace, casi está rezando a todas las deidades que conoce o conoció porque no quiere que sufras, pero se calma cuando le dicen que todo está bien y que el parto está llendo con naturalidad.

¡Felicidades, tienen un adorable bebé! Al inicio puede ser extraño, tal vez incómodo y doloroso, pero hey, estás dando a luz a un dragón.

Literalmente un dragón, largo y escamoso, con pelo muy corto y casi inexistente. Parece un pequeño perrito, pero Neuvilette dice que es normal, aprenderá a tomar forma humana cuando crezca.

Lleva al bebé y a su pareja a casa y los hace descansar mientras se toma su tiempo analizando al drahoncito que tiene en brazos, cómo se retuerce entre sus brazos y cómo su respiración se siente en su mano. Está casi llorando y lo sabes porque algunas gotitas empiezan a resbalarse por la ventana.

Está muy feliz, abraza a la cría y lo acurruca en su pecho, dándole calor, recordándole que su papá estaba con él. Que nunca estaría solo, siempre tendría a alguien que cuide de él.

Cuando pasa un tiempo y el pequeño ya abre los ojos, Neuvilette está decidido. Te mira con toda la seriedad del mundo y te pide dos o tres crías más. Quiere una camada.

English:

Neuvilette has thought about having a family with you before, whenever you behave as nice as ever with him, when you take care of some Melusine you meet on the way home or when you do things as normal as preparing something to eat. He always thinks of you as a fabulous mother.

The idea that you are a loving figure with possible children of his comes from the sweetest and most adorable scenarios, seeing you holding a little boy who looks like him and calling him your love, getting up and seeing you cooing at a little girl with his eyes. He is in the clouds every time he imagines it.

Then everything sweet filters into the need for you to have his children, the need to see yourself with a bulging belly due to his essence, the need to breed you. And that's exactly what he does.

After you manage to have an offspring, I think Neuvillette has problems calling the baby. You tell him it's a baby and he says it's a offspring, eventually he learns to call it a baby, but he keeps whispering that it's a little baby growing in his mother's belly, all while caressing your stomach.

During pregnancy he becomes very overprotective. He doesn't want you to move a lot and get tired, you don't have to get up to cook because you can stay, you don't have to bend over, he will pick up what you threw away or get you another one. He just doesn't want you to get hurt.

He definitely makes a kind of nest with old and comfortable clothes, pillows and leaves some shiny stones because it's shines and he thinks you will like it.

He keeps wondering if you'll lay an egg or not, he just hopes it doesn't hurt too much. He prepares a lot to welcome the little new being that will have his blood, you have already chosen a name, clothes and fun toys.

He was very focused on decorating the baby's room, he wanted the colors to give them peace and he wanted them to like their room.

When the baby is born, he is almost praying to all the deities he knows or knew because he doesn't want you to suffer, but he calms down when the doctor tell him that everything is fine and that the birth is going naturally.

Congratulations, you have an adorable baby At first it may be strange, maybe uncomfortable and painful, but hey, you are giving birth to a dragon.

Literally a dragon, long and scaly, with very short and almost non-existent hair. He looks like a small dog, but Neuvilette says it's normal, he will learn to take human form when he grows up.

He takes the baby and his partner home and makes them rest while he takes his time analyzing the little dragon in his arms, how he squirms in his arms and how his breath feels on his hand. He is almost crying and you know it because some droplets start to slide down the window.

He is very happy, hugs the baby and snuggles it into his chest, giving it warmth, reminding him that his father was with him. That he would never be alone, he would always have someone to take care of him.

When some time passes and the little one opens his eyes, Neuvilette is determined. He looks at you with all the seriousness in the world and asks for two or three more offsprings. He wants a brood.

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honestsycrets · 9 months

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querido i: a reward of 2099 | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | doubleshot; chapter is safe for work.

❛ summary | it's been a long time since you've been with miguel o'hara. when your daughter gabriella finds his wanted poster, life starts to unravel.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats.

❛ sy's notes | here's to listening to the civil wars' devil backbone one too many times. i needed a break from filling most requests, so i only incorporated one very lightly in this piece.

“Mamá, 2099 is a strange amount for a reward, isn’t it?”

Your daughter was a mischievous girl just like her father. She tore down the poster that was tacked up on the homely post office’s bulletin board as you gathered the weekly post. Coming into town was always a bit of a laborious task. With goods to gather and a little girl to socialize, you made it into town once every week.

"Sure is," Jackson the postman said.

“Thank you,” you plucked mail from the man’s dark hands. “I’ll see you next week.”

He wore a warm, kind smile. Working in the post office, he always seemed to be well-versed in what was going on in everyone’s life. His coal-black eyes shone warmly at you.

“Take care now, there’s wild men out there. What with Peter gone and all, you sure you girls will be okay out there? Rio’d sure put up Gabi and you at the hostel.”

Gabi scrunched up her face tight like a screw being twisted into a board.

“That’s real sweet of you to worry but I’m sure we’ll be fine. We've been out there nine years now. I’ll see you next week, sí? ” You tucked your post into a basket that dangled on your elbow, pulling long and heavy skirts to avoid trampling them with your boots as you opened the door.

“See ya then!”

Gabriella stepped out first, pulling on your lace sleeves as a cue for her delayed answer. She wouldn’t butt into a conversation, but she always seemed to hold her questions for a better time. You sighed, looking at the pale wooden buildings. Saloon, feed store, bank, and the occasional hostel. Over the last decade, the town seemed to flourish, bringing all manner of people to your once tiny Spanish town.

“I suppose they didn’t wanna give the extra coin out, Gabi.”

She looked back to the paper in her hands.

“Wanted dead or alive. Notorious badman Miguel O’Hara, 38, native of Nueva… why that’s here, mama!”

Your blood chilled. Congealed even. The sun nearly blinded you, even with the hat that kept the hot sun off of your head. You stepped off the doorway and onto the dusty ground, spinning on your heel to face your little girl with your dark blue fan in your hands, waving the heat of the day off your flushed skin.

“Wanted for--”

You swiped the paper from her fingers.

“That’s about enough of that. We best get on our way, we got goods to buy, the undertaker to see, and a new dress to fit for your papá’s funeral.”

“I was just reading it. In case we see him?”

“We won’t. It’s been a time since he’s shown himself around these parts. You have no business looking at-- that kinda man. He’s a troublemaker. Now get in the cart, let’s not dolly around.”

You would know.

“O—okay, mamá.”

“I’m sorry, Gabi, I don't mean to yell. You’re all I got, preciosa,” you wedged the paper into a new bible, right next to your wooden rosary, and flung it into the basket.

"I know."

You started ahead of her, fussing with your white veil, sparing no expense to the many questions that she had that day. You had just as many questions as she did.

You just couldn’t articulate them to a grieving little girl.

Do you think it's a boy or girl? the seamstress asks a woman in her shop. She fashions all sorts of fashions from birth to death. Her store is stuffed to the brim with frilly and lacy baptismal dresses. Your gaze fell on her belly, tracing the curve.

"Una niña," she says. Her voice triggers something old, some ancient memory you've suppressed. His voice in your ear, a soft kiss on your head. You're sitting there, next to the little girl that he always wanted, haunted by the flood of memories that comes with looking at another woman's pregnant belly.

"You're not like the others. Aren't men supposed to want sons?" you teased him. Miguel snorted, his arm underneath your neck as he gazed up at a sky of glittering stars. The air was lightly warm, a light wind fluttering through the tall grass. Post-relation bliss was warm on his skin, peaceful and quiet.

"For what? Men are jealous of sons," he muttered, shifting his head to kiss the top of your head. "Little girls are... the light in their lives. I'm going to call mine Gabriella. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"That's a real pretty name."

"Sure is. ¿por qué?"

You didn't tell him why. That you hid a secret underneath the layers of your dress. A secret that you knew Miguel would have more than an issue with if he knew.

"Mamá?" Gabi shakes your arm, "Mamá we're next."

Your mind likes to pull mean tricks on you.

Wanted for double murder.

Miguel O’Hara was always somewhere between a hangman’s knot and three mouths to feed. For you, the latter. You were under no illusion of the sort of man Miguel was.

Every look at your daughter’s soft, peaceful face at night reminded you of him. You worried that the more she looked at posters of Miguel, peered into an artist’s rendition of Miguel’s slight, sultry eyes, lush lips, and strong jaw-- she might be able to locate the similarities when she looked at herself. That was why you had to take the flyer from her. The artist sure had a fine hand at drawing him, the man who danced in your dreams by a warm fire and stayed up late counting the stars. He’s gotten thicker, you thought. You sat on the rocking chair as she slept peacefully, rocking back and forth on the chair.

A violent knocking at the front door swept you free from your thoughts. You snatched up the silver lantern, yanked a fine ivory rebozo over your shoulders, and rushed down the stairs. The booming knocking became louder, more urgent. The movement was mechanical, with no husband to answer the door for you, you checked the window first. The man who stood there was not a man you’d want to see. Not now, not back then. He had a wicked face that sat beneath a wide-brimmed hat that obscured the balding spot on top of his head.

God, not him. He was obsessed.

“Buenas noches, Doña O’Hara,” he peeped into the window.

“Bendito, don’t call me that,” you rushed out, the heavy wooden door slamming to a close behind you. “I’ve told you already, he is not here.”

“And I don’t believe you. First, your man-loving husband dies. Next, sightings of Miguel a town over. ¿Qué piensas? Hm? What comes after that?”

“My husband was trampled, Aaron. By a bull. He was a hard-working man who worked with violent cattle. These accidents happen. Why don’t you ask the undertaker?”

He wouldn’t. Although you don’t think Aaron is a complete idiot, he surely has his own motivations for which leads to follow and which leads to ignore. Your husband’s death was one of them.

“I’ll tell you what comes next. You come next. It’s only logical that he would come back to you. You have his daughter and all. Or… does he not know about that? I seem to recall him running out of here like a bat outta hell.”

“You’ve checked my property three times. Barn, basement, home. It’s been nine years, Aaron. Gloria a Dios, he’s probably remarried and forgotten me by now.”

“Not according to my reports.”

You hate the twinge of delight that comes from that admission. Your cheeks warm with blood, highlighting the rouge that sits across your cheeks. He chuckles caustically at how easily it shuts you up. Aaron takes a step forward, his deep leather boots creaking along the aged floorboards.

“What’d you want me to do with that information?”

“If he comes to see you, and I know he will,” he reached out for your chin. Your hand connects with his, shoving him back. “Tell me. You know, it’s a crime to kill another man without good cause.”

“You wanna catch Miguel for your own reasons, Aaron. Don’t bring none of that holier-than-thou bullshit to my footstep.”

“She can curse,” he laughs again. “Here I thought you were a good Christian woman.”

“Don’t try me,” He tries to corral you against the door. You flip your skirts up, his eyes following the motion. You seize the handgun strapped to your thigh, threatening to pull it on him. Aaron slides back, holding his calloused hands up. "Get off my property."

“I’m just saying. If you see him, you know where to find me. Who knows, you and I could work a lil something out.”

Even if you knew where he was, you would be hard-pressed to turn him into Aaron Delgado. You knew Miguel O’Hara would kill him. So, really, it was for his good. You watched him beat down the squeaky steps and mount his horse, fading into the distance of dark, twinkly stars. You probably shouldn’t be praying that robbers got ahold of him.

But only Diosito could judge you for that.

You dipped down to pick the lantern up, stepping off the steps to ensure that he was not just off your property, but properly gone. Then, seeing him set off toward town, you gazed up at the deep night sky. It was littered with an abundance of stars, massive and twinkling brilliantly. Miguel’s favorite constellations shone brightly in the sky. The Anglo called it-- Orion’s belt. Around here, it was named for the hunter: the deer, the pronghorn, and the sheep. You count each of the stars on your way back indoors to sleep in your empty bed.

You prayed Aaron’s hunt would be fruitless that night.

With your husband's untimely death came several complex decisions. Namely, what to do with his cattle hands and the animals under your care. You were fortunate enough to have support from the community in caring for the cattle, but you knew human affection did not last forever. You could sell his property at a scam of a price as a woman or you could keep it and work bitterly on the farm.

Or, as Aaron suggested today in the cover of concern, you could remarry yet again. It was nearly the only good option. Working wasn’t sustainable when you had a little girl to raise and a whole host of children to teach, as you always had. It would be nearly impossible to find someone like your dearly departed husband who knew your situation and couldn’t care less about it.

It’s good for a lil girl to have a father, he says. You know that-- but Aaron should be no one’s father. Not Gabriella’s. Miguel would’ve never approved. Neither did you.

You loosened beads of sweat from your hair as you returned inside, the ends of your skirt matted with dust. Gabriella would return home from school soon and you were fully intent on feeding her a slice of fresh peach pie.

You made your way into your home, your boots between your fingers. The smell of a smoky hearth piqued your attention. It didn’t arise from your great big wood stove that sat against the wall, ready to cook fresh tortillas, but the sort of hearth settled in the deep outdoors.

“Dios mío.”

Miguel sat there, plain as a field flower. His fingers tapped over the heavy wooden table, rolling in succession. He’s older than you remember-- jaw peppered with dark facial hair, his hair dark and wild, set away from his kind eyes that caught yours as quickly as you caught his. You dropped your boots at your feet, backing up once, twice.

“Don’t run, you won't get far,” his voice trilled, low and warm. Beside his sombrero on the table sat a thick rope and his gun, you don’t want to know which one he was planning to use today. His head twisted, a mused smile growing on his face. “You look so surprised, amor. You had to know I was coming.”

The nickname cut more than it used to. You had not been someone’s amor in a very long time. Married strictly by the weight of paper, you don’t exactly recall what the fleeting emotion of love felt like. Wisps of it licked a dead flame to life in your stomach.

“Miguel.”

“You look gorgeous,” Miguel hummed, turning his impossibly broad arms one over the other. You don’t remember him being this thick. He lurches onto his leather boots, taking a few practiced steps closer. Brilliant, you think, you’ve languished years thinking of this moment just to smell of sweat and cow shit. You suppose he’s smelled worse as an outlaw, a name that doesn’t quite fit the handsome man before you.

“You were always a bad liar.”

“Look, not smell.”

“My point stands,” you say.

Your normally practiced updo has gone frizzy, bits of hair escaping the clips that kept it flat against your head. Miguel’s eyes flickered over the strands, then down to your skin flush with blood and exhaustion.

“Mine too.”

You stared at him a moment longer before you found yourself laughing, just a light-- a small thing that you had failed to do over the past week. His death, and the subsequent funeral, was all too miserable. Now he was here and for a moment, just a brief thing, everything didn’t feel so earth-shatteringly dire.

He cracks a smile, drawing his hand to your flyaways, soothing it down against your head. You should be more angry at him-- settling you with a baby like he did and disappearing into the long grass with Widow and not a word more.

“I missed you,” you said quietly. His hand falls away from your head, drifting past his dark blue vest, and hooking at the fat metal belt buckle. “Pero… why are you here?”

“I heard Peter passed,” he said in a practiced tone. “I was a few towns over. Seeing how he’s taken good care of you all these years, I dropped in to say my dues to him. Came to see my girl too.”

The grief may not be readable in his eyes, but you know he’s practiced it in the same way you did for your Gabriella. Her only daddy was gone, deep in the cold earth. His words echoed in your ears, cutting through your grief bright and resonant. You wonder if he knew, but logically, you knew he couldn’t. Miguel always wanted to be a father.

“Who’d that be?”

“You,” Miguel turns your name over, making your name sound beautiful and light on his tongue. It’s sweet, like the peach pie cooling in your aged windows.

“After all these years?"

"Claro."

"You... shouldn't be here. You’re a wanted man,” you said. “Aaron is looking for you. You know that, right?”

“He's nothing to be concerned about.” Miguel shrugged off your suggestion. "I'm only wanted in these parts."

“Where else is there?” you said

“Out West. South. You take your pick,” Miguel lifted his hand, tracing your parched lower lip. “It don't matter to me. I seen all manner of places, like it here more than anywhere.”

"There's nothing here."

"Nothing but you."

You felt your stomach swoop, a delight filling it better than any meal you’d had. You parted your lips to say something else, to find a response that would fit-- to tell him the truth. But he left you then, came back when something fit better than the road. You wonder what fortune he must have made on the road that he’d come back. His hand caressed your cheek, rubbing it as if to soothe you. It didn’t.

“You think you can just go and come back like nothing happened? After what you did?”

The front door squeaked, dragging with a long hiss. Miguel peered over your shoulder as if it were instinctual, his hand snapping to the gun on his hip. You stopped him short of seizing his handgun. Gabriella bobbed in, closing the door tightly shut behind her. She wore a plain blue dress, fine ribbon braided in the updo she had on that day. She takes a few short steps forward before realizing who you were talking to.

“Mamá, I’m home!” she gasped. “That’s the man in the— in the flyer mamá--”

“Gabi go to your room.”

“I’m not--”

“Gabriella,” your voice went soft but stern. Nearly apologetic. You had been so hard on her lately. Miguel’s eyes dropped from Gabriella’s huge, doe-like eyes to her nose, then lips. His eyes sharpened, whipping back to look at you. “Por mí, okay? He won’t hurt me. Te prometo.”

She darted up the many steps to her room.

"Gabriella?" He stared at you uncomprehendingly. He quickly goes quiet, searching your eyes for something. You worry that he’s found the truth, your breath light as you walked over to your wooden stove, checking the flame and setting a pot of water that you brought from a nearby creek to bathe with. He follows you to the stove.

“My daughter is home. You should go,” you remarked, less of a command than a meek statement, floundering on your lips at the end. As delightful as it sounded, running off into some other territory, town, or world with Miguel-- it was unfeasible and irresponsible to be with a man whose name was stapled on the bulletin boards towns over.

“How old is she?”

"That's none of your business." Your outlaw hovers over you, absorbing the space, a bundle of heavy muscle and rage that plumes off his skin like the smell of sweat on your skin. It’s almost as if he can smell the regret seeping off your skin, despite knowing you couldn’t have done anything differently. No one told him and you could not reach him. Whatever the reason he stayed away, you were not the one he reached out to for updates.

“Tell me,” he growls, waves of anger causing his voice to shake. The tone is heartless, empty of the nights together, of slipping off with the old cattle hand at night and day, in the barn and the field. You’re stuck in the memory of your lovemaking with your vaquero, now your outlaw man. You missed him.

“Don’t do this. She could be listening.” You pad away from the stove to the window with the hope that he wouldn’t follow. He backs you up into the wall, his calloused hands so tight on his belt that you could draw lines of tension through his veins.

“You're not telling me because she’s mine,” he’s whispering, the words going through your chest, fizzling out into terrible pain. He reaches out, squeezing your hips to keep you put. Miguel leans into your space and buries you in his overwhelming scent.

“What do you want me to say?” you stare at his prominent muscles, the shift that is thrown open to expose his skin. He cups your jaw and throat with his large hand, forcing you to confront the truth. Your eyes blink closed, bits of tears dripping there. Miguel doesn’t have the patience for pity, or empathy, whichever the two you were looking for right then.

“I want you to tell me the truth. It's not hard.”

“Me telling you the truth changes a whole lot of nothing. You're putting her life at risk just being here. You're an outlaw,” you say, trying his rapidly evaporating patience. "You got a bounty on your head."

"It changes it all," he shoves you back into the window, a choked cry slipping from your throat. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, he meant to have the truth. Distantly, you were aware of Gabriella’s feet beating down the steps. You’re relatively certain she’d never gone all the way up to her room. In this creaky house you would have heard her door shut, the floorboards bounce. In either case, there’s no point running away from what you both know to be true.

“Sí, she’s your daughter,” you mustered the words in a bid to get it over with. Miguel always had to get his way. “Now what?”

Miguel flicked a look over his shoulder, marked by the heavy drag of his weighted firearm skidding across the wooden table. A life on the run will do that. Gabriella’s tiny hands slipped around his handgun.

“That ain't true!”

“Gabriella,” you cut her short. “Gabi, bebe, put that down.”

Miguel took a step back, pulling his head back slightly as you shifted in front of him. Her tiny head shook, over and over, tears pricking her bright brown eyes. You fooled yourself into thinking that she wouldn’t listen-- because your Gabi was a good girl. A wonderful good girl who liked nothing more but running in the field with the boys and brightly colored ribbons laced into her braids. She was also a mischievous girl who had been trying really, really hard to be good for you this week. Children had their limits.

“My papá is dead,” she said, her fingers trembling about the thing. Miguel’s head tilted in response, expecting you to take care of it. “His name was Peter and-- he liked sunsets and fluffy chocolate calves and--”

“Badly made blankets,” Miguel said lowly. Gabi lowered the gun, slowly, just an inch or two. “Shorn fabrics, uneven stitching, ugly colors.”

“He liked to make you smile-- be helpful,” he added. You snapped to look at Miguel as he rose his hand to his hips, gazing at the floor and rocking. He waits another moment, noting how Gabriella’s head nodded, rubbing away the tears that dripped off the corner of her eyes with her shoulder. She set the gun down on the table.

“You knew my papá?” she turns her arms one over another. “How?”

“He was my friend.”

“Mamá?” she looked toward you, seeking an answer from someone who wasn’t a face on a wanted paper with a reward of 2099 dollars.

“Peter was your papá but-- Miguel is your padre, mija,” you breathed hard, exhausted from years of suppression. She looks at you, not used to this level of betrayal. Her eyes are distant, somewhere in her tiny memories. She whips around and runs out the back door. Miguel turns his eye out the window, her tiny body disappearing into the deep green fields. The sun blinds your eyes as you look out to the fields full of cattle. He reaches for his rope and gun, settling them in their respective places.

“¡Déjala! She needs time alone.”

He heads out the backdoor. He never did listen well.

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741 notes · View notes

koishhiteru · 3 months

Note

Hola!!! Podrías hacer una historia de enzo comiendo con los padres de la reader? Muchísimas gracias ♡

౨ৎ EATING DINNER

warnings: ninguno, solo fluff ♡

n/a: muchas gracias por dejar tu request! me ha parecido un escenario muy tierno. espero que te guste.

Enzo y tú estabais frente a la puerta de la casa de tu infancia, esperando a que tus padres os abran y podáis pasar. El peli negro te agarraba la mano con fuerza, estaba nervioso de volverse a ver con tus padres. Tú giraste la cabeza y dejaste un pequeño beso en su mandíbula para tranquilizarlo.

No pasaron más de cinco segundos en cuanto tu madre abrió la puerta, con un delantal que indicaba que estaba haciendo la comida.

“¡Cariño!” exclamó al verte y no dudó en abrazarte, tú correspondiste al abrazo con una gran sonrisa.

“Hola, mamá” saludaste de vuelta mientras te separabas del abrazo y entrabas a la casa, esperando a que Enzo también lo hiciera.

“Hola, señora” dijo tu novio mientras pasaba por la puerta y le daba dos besos a tu madre.

Tú madre le saludó con una sonrisa y acto seguido se fue a la cocina para terminar la lasaña que estaba haciendo, fuisteis al salón y os encontrasteis a tu padre viendo la televisión.

“Hola, papá” saludaste dándole un abrazo también y él dejó un beso en tu cabeza.

Tu padre se levantó del sofá y fue a saludar a Enzo con un apretón de manos. “Hola muchacho” le dijo a lo que tu novio solo asintió con una pequeña sonrisa.

Os sentasteis los tres en el sofá, tú en el medio, para esperar a que la comida esté preparada.

“¿Qué estás viendo?” le preguntaste a tu padre como intento de sacar conversación.

“Ah, una antigua serie que veía yo de pequeño” contestó sin mirarte, por lo que solo asentiste y recostaste tu cabeza en el hombro de Enzo.

Pasasteis allí un rato entre charlas cortas y triviales hasta que tu madre os avisó de que la comida ya estaba lista. Fuisteis a sentaros en la mesa, Enzo y tú sentados frente a tus padres.

La comida empezó con las preguntas típicas que te hacen tus padres, y tú las respondías alegremente. O al menos así era hasta que tú madre le hizo una pregunta a Enzo.

“Y bueno, Enzo, ¿cuando le vas a pedir matrimonio a nuestra hija?” casi te atragantas con el agua al escuchar la pregunta tan directa que hizo tu madre y pudiste ver cómo Enzo se ponía un poco colorado.

“¡Pero mamá! ¿Cómo le vas a preguntar eso?” reclamaste antes de que tu novio pudiera responder.

“¿Qué pasa? Ya lleváis cinco años de relación” se excusó la señora con total normalidad.

“Sí, ¿y para cuando los hijos? Yo no me quiero quedar sin nietos” agregó tu padre, tirando más leña al fuego.

Suspiraste y cerraste los ojos, tus padres siempre se las manejaban para avergonzarte. Miraste de reojo a Enzo y viste como él seguía comiendo mientras intentaba ocultar una risa, antes de que pudieras echarle la bronca a tus padres por poneros en un aprieto, tu novio contestó por ti.

“Bueno, no puedo deciros si le pediré matrimonio ya que eso es un secreto” dijo el guiñando un ojo, tú lo miraste sorprendida. “Y sobre los hijos, eso es algo que debemos de hablar más adelante, ¿no crees?” preguntó esta vez dirigiéndose a ti.

Estabas sorprendida por sus respuestas y lo bien que supo manejar la situación, no podías parar de pensar en lo que él había dicho, ¿de verdad te iba a proponer matrimonio?

No saliste de tu trance hasta que Enzo no colocó su mano en tu muslo disimuladamente para que contestaras.

“…Sí, exacto, eso es algo que se hablará en el futuro” respondiste sonriendo nerviosamente.

Después de ese momento de incomodidad que pasaste, la comida se pasó entre risas y conversaciones triviales.

Al terminar de comer, os tomasteis un café y decidisteis jugar a algún juego de mesa para pasar el rato. Sin duda comer con tus padres no era tan difícil como Enzo se imaginaba.

#🎧. inbox #enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic fanfic #la sociedad de la nieve #lsdln #:3 #enzo vogrincic fluff #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic smut #anon ask

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feyhunter78 · 10 months

Text

Pink Pastels Pt 16

Description: Miguel and Gabi have a much needed talk.

Part 17

Miguel and Gabi walk you back next door. He watches as you give her a tight hug, whispering platitudes in her ear before you let go. You then brush your lips across her forehead and giving him a small smile, then the door to your apartment is closed and Gabi starts to cry once more.

Miguel scoops her up, cradling her to his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck, her tears wetting his shirt as she sobs. He misses holding her like this, when she was a baby she clung to him constantly, crying if he put her down for even a second. Then she grew older and became so curious about everything, she wanted to be on the ground, have the freedom to run and play and explore the world around her.

He’s proud of her for being so courageous, so adventurous it reminds him of a younger him, before he became Spiderman, before he lost his original universe and searched the multiverse desperately for a new one. But he’s forgotten that courage takes a lot of strength, and obviously Gabi has been running on empty for a while.

“Gabi, Mija, I’m sorry.” He says, settling on their couch and squeezing her tightly.

“Why are you sorry?” She asks, looking up at him with those big round eyes.

He can’t explain how much he loves his daughter; he’s tried a million times to verbalize the depth of his emotions and finds he always comes up short. So he’s come to the conclusion that it’s simple. He loves her beyond words.

“I didn’t notice you heard my call with your mother, and then I continued to fail to see how it hurt you, and I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to feel all that sadness on your own.” He shifts her, so she’s facing him, and brushes back the hair from her face, it’s like his mother’s hair. He’ll have to call her, ask her how she’s doing, if she wants to see him and Gabi sometime soon.

She snuggles into him, her tears slowly drying. “It’s okay, Papá, I’m strong.”

He swallows hard, tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

“Mijo you shouldn’t have done that, you know your father; he gets angry.”

“But Mamá it’s not fair he shouldn’t treat you like that.”

“It’s better me than you or Gabriel, I’m strong Miguel, I can take it.”

He fears he’s going to wretch, and he takes a deep breath counting ten things he can see, he can feel, hear, smell, until his heart rate has slowed, and the nausea is gone.

“You are strong, but you are also little—”

She goes to protest, and he stops her with a playfully stern look that makes her giggle.

“You are my baby girl, my daughter, you are not alone, you will never be alone, you don’t have to be strong all by yourself, especially not when you’re sad.”

Gabi mulls over his words, fidgeting with the little watch he made for her. “But I want to be strong like you.”

“Mija, I am strong because of you. Because I love you so very much, and I want to make sure the world is safe for you.” He tells her, praying that she understands how earnestly he’s speaking.

She nods and wraps her arms around as much of his torso as she can. “I love you, Papá, and I promise I’ll tell you next time I’m sad.”

He returns her hug, resting his chin on the crown of her head. “I love you more than you can imagine, Mija.”

He makes a mental note to make sure Lyla saves this video file, adding it to the hundreds upon hundreds of clips he has saved of Gabi. He’ll never have enough, never get enough time with her, but here in this moment he feels like everything he’s done, everything he’s been through and suffered was worth it.

“I think Ms. Y/N saw my superpowers.” Gabi says hesitantly, her voice muffled by his chest.

He pulls back, scanning her face. “What?”

“I got mad, and I threw my doll, and now the wall is broken.” She says as she leads him into her room.

Miguel’s mind is turning, churning, roiling. You know he’s Spiderman, as of last night, but he hasn’t been able to go through it with you to explain what happened, or to tell you how Gabi might have developed a lesser version of his abilities and was just now coming into her powers.

He inspects the wall. It’s a small dent, but clearly in the shape of a doll. He can fix it, he’s picked up a number of skills during his time in the multiverse, but he isn’t sure how you’re going to react to the truth.

“What did Ms. Y/N say when this happened?” He asks carefully, running calculations in his head of how much damage control he was going to have to do. You’re a reader, he knows this. Maybe he’ll hack into your laptop and see what kind of books you like. Buy you a first edition of your favorite book, or see if there’s any erotica, you’re fond of that he can read and put to good use to distract you.

Gabi’s brushing her doll Carmen’s hair in rapid jerky strokes, something she did when she was nervous. “Nothing, she just kept playing with me. Well…she seemed a little…tomada por sorpresa.” Trsl: take/taken by surprise.

He smiled at her lapse into Spanish. Gabi spoke both languages fluently, but he noticed a year or so ago that she’d picked up a quirk from him. They both tended to fall back on his first language whenever they were nervous or overwhelmed with emotions.

“Ah, well, Ms. Y/N just found out I was Spiderman last night.” He’s taking a gamble, telling her this. He knows Gabi can keep a secret, she’s been keeping theirs since she was little, but now that you’re involved, he isn’t sure how she’s going to react.

Gabi nods. “Well, that’s okay because you’re going to get married, and married people have to keep each other’s secrets, that’s what Auntie Monica said.”

His half-sister would say something like that…

“She is right, married people do keep each other’s secrets, but Gabi, Ms. Y/N have only known each other for a little while now, not even half a year. Most people like to know each other for at least a year before they get married.”

Gabi sets down her doll and her lips tick to one side in thought. “Yeah, I guess you should wait until the year is done, because if you marry her, then they might move me out of her class. Kids don’t get to be in their mom’s classes, apparently, it’s called a conflict of interest, but I just think it’s because then they’ll be the favorite. But I’m already Ms. Y/N’s favorite, so I don’t think it’ll be any different.”

Miguel laughs, he doesn’t mean to, but that’s his daughter, thinking three steps ahead while still attempting to get what she wants.

“It’s true!” Gabi pouts. “She’s still wearing the necklace we gave her!”

Yes, you are, and he is so thankful for that fact.

“You’re right, Mija, she is.”

She gives him a smug, satisfied ‘I told you so’ smile and begins to clean up her toys. “I bet if you asked her on a date, she’d say yes.”

“I think Ms. Y/N would say yes, but her job is very important to her, so she wouldn’t agree to go out with me until the year was finished.”

“So, you’ll just have to go on secret dates like in the telenovelas, me and Tia Margo watch.” Gabi says, nodding her head knowingly, as if this had been his plan all along, and she was just now catching on.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, a half exasperated, half amused smile on his face. “No more telenovelas for you, they’re giving you too many crazy ideas.”

Gabi throws herself into his lap dramatically. “No Papá, but I need them to live, they’re the only thing keeping my secret half-sister maybe actually my cousin alive.”

He laughs again and shakes his head, scooping her up and holding her above his head, making her giggle. “But I do not, for I am the evil tio and I want your half-sister maybe cousin gone, so I can steal her inheritance.”

“¡Monstruo!” Gabi gasps, her face an exaggerated look of horror and surprise. Trsl: You monster!

“Yes, I am an evil monster who says now it is time to go to bed, so you can wake up and have a good day at school tomorrow.”

Gabi wrinkles her nose, but nods, and he sets her back down. She throws her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. “I love you, Papá.”

He hugs her back. “I love you too, Mija.”

If you haven't seen my answer to an ask, I will be going on vacay for 10 daysss, but I'll be back and will be picking this fic up once I return, so don't worry! I'm not abandoning it!!!!

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#miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #meg's writing #miguel's pastels #spiderman 2099 x reader #more good dad Miguel

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