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proxima-writes · 10 months

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i can see you (miguel o'hara's version)

pairing: professor/mentor!miguel o’hara x graduate assistant!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 4.5k

summary:

As Dr. Miguel O’Hara’s graduate teaching and research assistant, you’ve spent years pushing down the inappropriate thoughts you’ve had about the brilliant, gorgeous man.

But what happens when a late night at the lab and a scientific breakthrough leads to a breakthrough of a different kind?

author's note:

my first (but probably not my last) miguel o'hara fic based on taylor swift's song "i can see you" from speak now tv. if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or commenting and letting me know your thoughts!

content warnings/tags:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), explicit language, no use of y/n, alternate universe - no powers, age gap (undefined), presence of power dynamics (teacher/student), author took scientific liberties (forgive her, its been 10 years since bio II lab), pineapple on pizza, potentially bad spanish translations, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), miguel picking reader up, unprotected p in v, size kink, choking, pet names, praise kink, competency kink, dirty talk. let me know if i've missed anything!

Translations you may need:

Universidad Estatal de Nueva York - State University of New York

Sí - Yes

Dios mío - My god

El Origen de la Genética Mutante - The Origen of Mutant Genetics

Mierda - Shit

Te lo prometo - I promise you

Lo juro por Dios - I swear to god

Arañita - little spider

Cállate - be quiet

Mirame - look at me

te sientes tan bien - you feel so good

Perfecto - perfect

________

You’re sitting in the front row, in the seat you’ve claimed as your spot, watching Dr. O’Hara pace in front of the projector screen that displays today’s lesson notes.

“And what is the hallmark of this mutant gene that demonstrates its incompatibility for transmutation?” He asks the silent room of undergraduates that have found themselves on the roster for his Mutation Genomics III course at Universidad Estatal de Nueva York.

A few hands go up around the room and Dr. O’Hara points to a student in the back who says, “Uh, it’s got a spiked protein arrangement that can’t be modified?”

“Is that a question or an answer?” Dr. O’Hara asks. There’s a sprinkle of laughter in the room and a smirk tilts his lips briefly.

“An answer,” the student says more confidently. Dr. O’Hara nods.

“Correct, but that’s not the whole picture,” he says. His eyes catch yours and he gestures for you to join him. Your eyes go wide as you stand and walk to his side at the front of the class. “I’m sure some of you that actually use your available resources to pass my class recognize my teaching assistant. And if you don’t, I recommend visiting her office hours during this section because this is her area of research.”

Your cheeks feel warm as everyone’s attention falls to you. Dr. O’Hara hands you the data pad and steps back, giving you an encouraging nod. You tap the screen, bringing the diagram up on the holo projector and making it larger.

“You’re correct that the spiked protein arrangement can’t be modified, but there’s something more limiting in this particular model. If you look at it from this angle—,” you spin the DNA diagram, “you’ll see something else hindering the modification process. What do you see?”

Hands go up. Dr. O’Hara points to another student who says, “There’s a gap jump. The spike protein would continue to travel across the gap jump and avoid any inserts.”

“Exactly. So, what’s the potential alternative?”

“Fill the gap. Target the spike protein in your modification cycle,” Dr. O’Hara finishes. “That’s all for today. Your exam next Wednesday will include this presentation, so don’t act surprised when you see the questions.”

A few students stop to speak with Dr. O’Hara as you gather your bag from your desk. His low voice calls your name, the timbre of it sending a shiver down your spine as you step up to his desk.

“You’re running a sequence right now, sí?” He asks, shuffling a stack of papers into order.

“Yes, it should finish around seven tonight. Sorry, I know that it's late for a Friday,” you reply. He waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll see you in the lab.” His brown eyes flick to yours and your stomach swoops, heart skipping a beat, same as it always does when he looks at you.

Dr. Miguel O’Hara makes you nervous. Not only because he’s one of the most notable researchers in the field of mutant genomics, but also because he’s so handsome he leaves you breathless. He’s tall, towering over most men you’ve met, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist that are always covered by a suit and tie in the classroom or a lab coat in the research lab. His tan skin is complemented by dark hair and brown eyes that make you lose your train of thought when you stare into them for too long.

Which…is exactly what you’re doing now.

You clear your throat, stepping back from his desk. Had you been leaning closer? Christ, you hope not. You give him a brief smile before responding, “Yeah, see you tonight. Thank you, Dr. O’Hara!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Miguel?” He calls after you.

“Maybe when I’ve cracked the sequence!”

________

Miguel watches your hips sway in the jeans you wore to class today, the denim hugging your curves so well he has to bite back a groan. The door to the lecture hall slams shut behind you and he sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw in frustration.

You drive him crazy. Every class period you’re sitting in the front row, watching him as you tap your pen to your lips or leaning over your desk just enough to give him a glimpse down your blouse or dress. Or you’re in the lab, delicately handling samples and extractions with a level of competency beyond your years, your lip caught between your teeth as you analyze a sequencing output.

He looks forward to and dreads your impending graduation in equal measure, being free from the constant temptation but losing the greatest researcher he’s met in years.

Miguel finishes gathering his belongings as the door opens and the next lecturer comes in, nodding at him in greeting. As he steps out into the warm Nueva York air, he has a weird sense that something big is coming.

He just doesn’t know what.

________

Miguel is waiting for you outside of his double locked research lab that evening, suit jacket hung over his arm and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to reveal tan forearms dusted with dark hair. Your brain nearly short circuits at the sight, conjuring up images of those arms wrapped around your—

No, you think. He’s your mentor. Your handsome, intelligent, and very serious mentor.

He looks up as you approach, corners of his lips tilting the slightest bit. Or maybe it’s a trick of the light, you can’t be sure, but he presses his palm to the biometric lock and the heavy metal doors slide open. He steps inside ahead of you, putting his face in the frame of the security camera. A red laser scans his face and a light above the second locked door goes from red to green, the click of the lock disengaging echoing in the anteroom.

You follow him through the door and into his research lab. The fluorescent lights glimmer off the chrome equipment and pristine bench surfaces. A machine whirs, running the sequence analysis you’ve been waiting on.

“LYLA, what’s the status?” Dr. O’Hara says as he sets his belongings on the desk in the corner.

“Sequence will complete on schedule. Also, your specimen delivery is available in the ultra low freezer,” Dr. O’Hara’s AI assistant, LYLA, announces, feminine voice carrying through the room.

“I have a surprise for you,” Dr. O’Hara says, tugging on his lab coat as he walks towards the ultra low freezer.

“A surprise?” You ask, setting your stuff down at the assistant’s work space.

There’s the beep of a passcode being entered and the heavy freezer door being opened and shut. He’s holding a tray of cryovials, the contents varying in color. He sets the tray on a bench top near your desk and pulls one out, holding it up to the light.

“Isolated arachnoid mutagen,” he says. Your mouth drops open in shock. You rush forward, pressing in close to stare up at the vial with him.

“You’re kidding,” you whisper. He hands the vial to you, fingers brushing yours. You hold it between your thumb and index finger to inspect the suspension, red in color with tiny flecks of black. “Dr. O’Hara, this is insane. How did you even get this?”

“A guy owed me a favor,” he says. You glance up at his face and you’re suddenly very aware of how close your bodies are. One deep breath and your chest would probably graze his, and did you just imagine his eyes dropping to your lips?

“That’s one hell of a favor,” you murmur, stepping back. “You want me to work on the extraction?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“You say that like I’m not your research assistant. You can tell me to do anything.” Dr. O’Hara’s eyes go wide and you cough. “I mean, you know, lab related. Research stuff. Yeah. I’ll get started on this. LYLA? Power up the centrifuge and thermocycler, please.”

“Centrifuge is online. Thermocycler will reach optimal processing temperature in t-minus five minutes,” LYLA replies.

You set up all the necessary supplies and prepare the sample for the thermocycler, going through the motions that are now part of your muscle memory - extract, vortex, centrifuge, extract, wash, set in ice. You set your tray of samples into the thermocycler and remove your gloves to hit the start button.

________

Miguel watches you run the PCR test, fixated on the confidence with which you complete each step and your words from earlier continue to echo in his head.

“You can tell me to do anything.”

Dios mío, he thinks. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to will away the possibilities that anything could entail.

“Sequence results are available. Would you like to review now?” LYLA asks.

“Display,” Miguel says. You spin on your stool to view the hologram of the spliced DNA you prepared. He notices an issue immediately.

“Fuck,” you hiss, stepping up to the control screen and spinning the model. “There’s a deletion.”

“You knew there was a risk of that.”

You zoom in on the model DNA strand, a broken gap shown in the mutation. “I know there was a risk, but it should have worked.”

Miguel crosses his arms and watches as you bring up the transillumination image of the DNA you had attempted to merge with a human sample. “You wanted it to work. Science is finite. There is no room for should.”

You glance at him. You look like you’re about to say something when the thermocycler beeps and he’s left to wonder what you would have said as you busy yourself with removing your tray of DNA samples. He leans against the bench as you assemble the agarose gel for electrophoresis.

“Tell me, why do you think there was a deletion?” He asks.

“The mutagen was incompatible with the human strand,” you murmur, adding dye to your vials. “Just the same as it has been the last dozen times.”

You’ve loaded the wells of the gel with your sample and set it in the tank, closing the lid and turning on the power supply. Miguel takes the remaining tray of arachnid samples to the freezer while your procedure runs. He understands your frustration, he’s run his fair share of failed experiments after all.

After about an hour, the hum of the electrical current from the electrophoresis tank shuts off. Miguel, who had been reviewing a journal submission for El Origen de la Genética Mutante, joins you at the bench as you remove your gel and set it on the UV transilluminator.

“LYLA, scan and project,” you ask the AI assistant. Miguel stands behind you, looking at the DNA bands you’ve generated. He’s momentarily distracted by the fact that he’s so close he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume, something citrusy that reminds him of summer.

You jump suddenly, back colliding with his chest. His hands come up to grip your waist, steadying you as you turn to face him, face lit up in the brightest grin.

“Miguel, look. This arachnid mutagen. It’s a potential match for insertion!” You say excitedly. “It has the same length as the deletion seen with the scorpion mutagen.”

“LYLA, show the current projection against the scorpion scan,” he says. The two images appear side by side and it’s clear that the band of arachnid mutagen fits definitively in a space that appears void in the scorpion samples. “Mierda.”

“You see it, right?” You ask. It’s then that Miguel realizes he’s still got his hands on your waist. He flexes his fingers experimentally, watching as your eyes go the slightest bit darker at the pressure.

“I can see it,” he murmurs. He wants so desperately to lean in closer, to back your body up until you’re pressed between the wall and his body, nowhere to go as his lips explore yours.

But he doesn’t. He drops his hands and puts much needed space between your bodies. He clears his throat.

“Prepare a combined sample,” Miguel says. You blink, checking your watch.

“It’s almost nine. Running a new combined sample would mean we’re here until close to midnight.”

“I’m familiar with how time passes, sí.”

“Are you sure you want—“

Miguel sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “You’re on the verge of one of the greatest scientific discoveries in the last decade. Do you think I give a shit about having to stay late? What kind of mentor would I be if I told you, ‘Oh just wait until Monday to change the scientific world’?”

“One with a work-life balance, probably,” you reply with a giggle. Miguel raises his eyebrows at you. “Okay, okay, combined sample. I’m on it.”

As you rush around the lab, it hits him that you called him Miguel. Not Dr. O’Hara. He’s not sure what that means but he’s certain he wants to hear his name from your lips again.

_______

Dr. O’Hara orders food while your new combined sequence runs, begrudgingly agreeing to a half pineapple and half sausage pizza to split. You’re sitting outside of the lab in the empty hallway, pizza box between you as you eat the slices over grease stained napkins.

“What are your plans for after graduation?” Dr. O’Hara asks. You shrug.

“Probably get my doctorate. No one takes you seriously in this field without one.”

He frowns. “You’re on the cusp of a major breakthrough, one that could change our understanding of genetic modifications and mutants as we know it.”

“Yeah, and it’s coming from your lab. You’ll get listed as the first author, that’s how this goes.” You pick at your pizza crust, tearing the bread into tiny pieces that you sweep back into the box.

“I won’t let that happen. If this works, you’ll be the first name on that paper,” Dr. O’Hara says vehemently. “Te lo prometo.”

You smile, caught in his gaze for a brief moment before an alarm rings from his watch. LYLA announces, “Sequencing complete.”

Dr. O’Hara stands, holding a hand out to you. You grasp his broad palm and he pulls you up with ease, the force of it making you stumble slightly. You press a hand to his chest to steady yourself, marveling at how solid he feels beneath your palm.

“Sorry. Slipped,” you murmur.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with a crease between his brow and storms in his eyes. His watch beeps again and he releases your hand to silence it, the spell broken between you.

He unlocks the lab doors and you join him at the holoprojector, taking a deep breath. Dr. O’Hara brings up the sequence analysis, the hologram coming to life in the space between you. Your eyes scan the model, checking for gaps, deletions, frayed nucleotides, anything that could mean your procedure didn’t work.

You turn the projection this way and that, looking at it from every angle. You scan the result output reading, eyes jumping to the green SEQUENCING SUCCESSFUL text at the bottom.

You turn to face Dr. O’Hara, eyes wide with surprise. “It worked.”

“It did,” he replies.

“It worked,” you say again. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, your grin so wide it hurts your cheeks as you rush forward shouting, “It worked!”

Dr. O’Hara’s arms open to catch you, wrapping around your waist as he lifts you from the ground and spins you. He’s smiling, a rare sight for such a serious man, and it makes your heart pound in your chest as you stare up into his face.

“Dr. O’Hara?” You ask as he sets you down, his arms still wrapped tight around your back. “What—“

His lips collide with yours, stealing your breath from your lungs and your words from your brain as you melt against his broad body. The kiss is anything but gentle, with Miguel acting like a man starved as his tongue sweeps into your mouth.

“Dr. O’Hara—“

“Lo juro por Dios, if you call me that one more time,” he growls, lips trailing down your neck with wet kisses, “Miguel. Say it.”

“M-Miguel,” you whimper. He smiles against your neck before sinking his teeth against your pulse point, making you gasp.

“That’s right,” he says, lifting his head. His brown eyes have gone dark and he’s smirking as his hands find the hem of your blouse, fingertips ghosting across the skin of your abdomen and dipping beneath the waist of your jeans. “Tell me what you want, arañita.”

Rather than trust your voice, you bring your own hands to his shirt collar, working at the buttons of his dress shirt as he opens the fly of your pants. He slips his hand lower just as you reach the last button of his shirt, revealing the tight white t-shirt that outlines his impressive chest.

His fingers rub you over your panties and you feel your knees buckle at the delicious friction. Miguel chuckles, removing his hand to grip the backs of your thighs and lift you against him, your legs wrapping around his trim waist and your hands holding onto his shoulders. He sets you down by his desk, reaching around you to sweep the surface clean, pens and paper falling to the floor.

“In a rush are we?” You say with a laugh. Miguel raises an eyebrow at you.

“Cállate.” He kneels before you, lifting each foot to remove your shoes before turning you to face the desk with his hands on your hips. He grasps the waist of your jeans and shimmies the material down over your hips. When they’re pooled around your ankles, his warm palms grip each ass cheek roughly, spreading you open. “This pussy is even prettier than I imagined,” he groans.

“You think about my pussy a lot, Dr. O’Hara?” You ask innocently. A palm lands a smack to your ass cheek, heat blooming across your skin as you gasp.

“Don’t play dumb, baby, I know you’ve thought about this just as much. You think I can’t see it. Trust me, I can see you watching me in class with those pretty little lips wrapped around your pen, wishing it was something else. Isn’t that right?”

You gasp as he runs his thick fingers through your soaked folds, reaching forward only enough to graze your clit without giving it the attention you desperately want. He leans himself over you, his chest pressed to your back and his lips grazing your ear as he says, “Answer me.”

“Yes, yes,” you pant, the confession earning you that delicious friction, his fingers drawing messy circles around the sensitive nub. He withdraws too soon for your liking, a whine falling from your lips that he shushes, his warm breath on your pussy. You turn your head to look over your shoulder, surprised to find him on his knees.

As you watch, he spreads your cheeks once more before leaning in, licking from your clit to your entrance with a rough groan. Your head drops down, hitting the surface of the desk with a thump as he eats you out like a man who’s found water in a desert. The sounds echoing in the lab are downright indecent, deep groans of appreciation against your cunt and desperate whines from your lips.

“Miguel,” you moan, unable to keep your hips still as his tongue drives you closer to the cliff’s edge of release. “Miguel, I’m gonna cum!”

The man only grips your hips harder, fingers digging deep as he holds you still and doubles his efforts. The thread you’re hanging on by snaps, sending you falling into ecstasy as your muscles go tight and your breath leaves you in a shout of his name as you unravel.

He pulls away only long enough to stand and turn you to face him, lifting you so that you’re sitting on the edge of the desk, legs spread by his body. He wastes no time slipping two thick fingers inside of your still fluttering cunt, his grin sharp as he sets a pace that has you trying to wiggle away to escape the overstimulation.

“Ah, Miguel!” You yelp, trying to shut your legs. His free hand shoves one thigh wide, pressing it to the desk. “What–”

“Cum for me again, I need to see your face this time,” he demands. He curls his fingers, pressing against your front wall with each drag of his hand from your body.

“I can’t!”

“What was it you said to me earlier? I can tell you to do anything?” He curls his fingers harder, focusing his efforts on a spot that has you squirming, desperate to get away and to cum in equal measure. “I’m telling you to cum again, arañita, so be a good girl and do as I say.”

Your orgasm crashes over you in a wave, the tightness in your abdomen unraveling as you clench around his fingers. His movements slow as you try to catch your breath until he’s withdrawing, leaving you feeling disparagingly empty.

“Mirame,” Miguel says. You lift your head, pushing yourself up on your elbows and watching as he unbuckles his belt. “You made a mess, baby.”

You feel your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you notice the wet stains on the front of his gray slacks. The feeling is short lived, however, as Miguel unbuttons his pants and pushes them down his thighs along with his boxers, kicking them to the side as he reaches behind his head and pulls his t-shirt off. You’re blown away by how stunning he is, broad shoulders and chest that lead to sculpted abs and a defined adonis belt that draws your eyes to his thick and intimidatingly long cock.

“There’s no way that’s going to fit,” you tell him nervously.

“Why don’t we test that hypothesis?” He asks, taking himself in hand. You blink at him.

“Did…did you just make a joke?” Laughter bubbles up your chest until it’s spilling into the room, your shoulders shaking with the force of it. Miguel takes himself in hand, notching the broad head of his length to your dripping entrance and sliding inside the barest amount, just the tip, but it has your laughter morphing into gasps.

“Mierda,” he murmurs, gaze fixed where your bodies connect. “So fucking tight, arañita.”

You feel like he’s splitting you apart, the stretch deep and all consuming as he fits himself inside of you, drawing back after each inch and slowly thrusting back in and giving you more of his cock in the process.

“You’re so close,” he tells you. “You’re doing so good for me. Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels so fucking good, Miguel,” you answer honestly. “I’m so full.”

“Fucking right you are,” he growls. His hands shove your blouse up, bunching the fabric under your armpits to expose your breasts. He tugs the cups of your bra down before leaning forward, the last bit of his length slipping inside of you as his lips wrap around a pert nipple and his hand gropes the opposite breast.

Your back arches at all the sensation - the fullness and stretch of him inside of you, the warmth of his mouth and the pinch of his fingers. He moves his mouth to your other breast and looks up at you through dark lashes with darker eyes as he licks the taut peak while holding your gaze.

His hips draw back, the drag of each inch from your body exquisite torture until he slams into you, the force of it sliding you up the desk. You cry out, your hands gripping his shoulders and your fingernails leaving crescent shaped indents as you cling to him.

Miguel stands, his arms looping beneath your thighs so that the backs of your knees rest across his forearms, spreading you open as he picks up his pace. He looks down at your body like it’s his greatest discovery.

“Fuck, fuck, te sientes tan bien,” he growls.

“Miguel,” you moan, “please, please, please!”

“What are you begging for, arañita? Tell me.”

“Wanna cum, please, Miguel,” you beg. He drops your legs, reaching up to wrap a hand around the back of your neck, urging you to sit up. You keep one hand planted on the desk behind you, the other diving into his thick, dark hair, pulling at the strands.

He drags his strong nose along your jaw as he murmurs, “Greedy girl, but I’ll give you what you need. Won’t I?”

“Uh huh,” you moan in response. His other hand settles at the base of your throat and his eyes hold a question that has your pussy clenching around him in anticipation.

His palm creeps up, strong fingers wrapping around your delicate throat, squeezing the sides the slightest bit. Your eyes roll back at the pressure.

“Look at me,” Miguel demands, “look at me while I make you cum again with my hand around your pretty throat.”

You gasp for air as he pounds into you, your release sparkling at the edges of your vision. It explodes like a supernova across your nerves, your muscles tightening around him and making him moan, a deep rumble that you echo as his movements grow erratic.

He slams deep inside of you, cock pulsing and filling you with warmth as he groans your name, head dropped to your shoulder. You’re both panting, trying to catch your breath as the sweat on your skin cools and you run your fingers through his hair.

“That was—“

“Perfecto,” he finishes, lifting his head and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, one that has your heart pounding even harder than the lust filled ones from earlier. “It’s late. Let’s get this cleaned up and get you home. I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you argue. He scowls at you as you continue to say, “No, seriously, you don’t need to go out of your way—“

“Will you shut up for a minute?” Miguel asks. He holds your face in his hands as he says, “Get dressed. I’m driving you home.”

He steps back, the absence of him making you feel empty as you carefully stand from the desk on shaky legs. He hands you your jeans and you look around in confusion.

“Have you seen my underwear?” You ask.

“Hm? No, I don’t see them,” he hums, buttoning his slacks. The stain from earlier has blessedly faded.

You shrug, pulling your jeans on and fixing your blouse. Miguel cleans up the stuff he’d knocked from the desk, putting it all back in haphazard piles and grabbing his bag. He holds his hand out to you.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. He must sense the hesitation you’re feeling when you don’t immediately grab his hand because he steps close, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “No one will see us. It’ll be our secret.”

You nod, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. “Just this once?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it, arañita.”

The most fantastic fanart by narutoss.ramen on insta that fits the vibe of professor! miguel:

#miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x female reader #miguel x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara fanfiction #atsv fic #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #alternate universe #no use of y/n

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gramaticainglesa · 2 years

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Presente perfecto guía de tiempo continuo en 2021

La regla general es que aunque ambos tiempos se relacionan con el hecho de que se hace referencia a algo en el pasado, el presente perfecto se refiere a algo que ha terminado, pero el presente perfecto continuo se refiere a algo que continúa en el presente.

#Presente perfecto guía de tiempo continuo en 2021 #Gramaticainglesa

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repulsiveliquidation · 6 months

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La Princesa

[Ona Batlle x Reader] Part 1.5 of [She's going to be okay.] [Royalty] [Angel in the House]

Days with La Princesa!

“Patri! Help me with the cake, will you?” you yell through the house. Lucy is helping Kiera bring out the hors d'oeuvre as you were tasked with the massive cake Alexia had gotten. Ona’s mother insisted on having dinner with everyone so a large table was set up outside. The whole team was here, some of your England teammates had made the trip too since the party was during Christmas break.

Speaking of Ona, she was sat on the back porch with a virgin margarita in hand chatting away with Alessia, Ella and Grace. Leah was helping set the table as Georgia fanned away at the barbeque. There wasn’t a quiet corner anywhere, everyone buzzing since the announcement of the baby’s gender. La Princesa was the talk of the town, Ona’s hand rubbing her belly affectionately every time anyone spoke about her. It was a new habit, one that you had many pictures of on your phone.

There were steaks, seafood and piles of vegetables as everyone helped themselves to all the food. You were cutting up some steak for Ona (because she’s the OG La Princesa) when Mapi cleared her throat at the end of the table. Everyone groaned and rolled their eyes when she stood up, signature grin on her face. This couldn’t be good.

“I would like to propose a toast to our team mom and dad. Y/N, you take care of us and make sure we’re okay. You notice things that many people would simply ignore. You’ve been there for us more than we deserve. Ona, you’re always ready to help any one of us at the drop of a hat. You are the sweetest person I know, I love you for that. The two of you are perfect together, no need to thank me for setting you two up. But because of that I propose we name La Princesa after me. Thank you, I love you both, ¡Salud!”

“As touching as that was Mapi, we are not naming our daughter after you.”

“A middle name will do.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, okay! We have presents to open, cake to eat! Let’s head inside!” Leah called, ushering everyone inside as the girls began to quickly clean up. Once everyone settled inside, you helped Ona on the couch beside you, wrapping your arm around her shoulders as she leaned into you while everyone else brought over their presents.

“Are you okay, darling?” you ask her, kissing her forehead softly as you rub her arm.

“Sí, she’s been kicking a lot. I’ve also needed to pee too many times today.”

“Our little footballer. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, mi amor.”

“Are you sure I can’t convince you of just one name; we are Spanish, she can have several names.”

“No, Mapi!” you both yell at her, Ingrid yanking her to the kitchen to help serve the cake.

“Oh Patri, it’s adorable!”

“How did you even get that?”

“Mamí, Esto es perfecto!”

“Girls, I didn’t think they MADE these!”

You heard Ona and the girls opening gifts in the living room. You were putting away all the extra food in the kitchen when Alexia walked in with another dish. She smiled awkwardly, being quiet. You didn’t push it, wiping your hands and moving the containers into the fridge. Suddenly she cleared her throat and you turned to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ona told me.”

“What exactly did she tell you?”

“That you wanted me to be La Princesa’s godmother.”

“Oh, yes. Do you want to be?”

“It would be my greatest honor. But, why?”

“When we were thinking about it, only you came to mind. Don’t get me wrong, I would die for all those girls out there and I know they would do the same for my family. But I know without a doubt that if something happened to me, my girls would be safest with you.”

“You are my family too, I will protect them with my life; I promise you.”

“I love you, Ale. You’re a sister to me, I don’t think you understand how important that has been to me over the years.”

“And you for me, hermosa. I love you too.”

“Baby? We’re home, love.” You shook Ona softly and as she woke, you walked over and opened her door for her. She climbed out slowly, feet swollen and aching from being on them all day. She was too stubborn to ask you to carry her, walking gingerly into the house. You were grabbing stuff from the boot of the car when you saw her walking slowly. You put everything down and walked up beside her, gently picking her up into your arms. She giggled and held onto you as you walked into the house with her and laid her in bed. She kissed you cheek and whispered an accented “thank you,” before you walked back out to grab all the gifts and bags from the car. Dropping them on the dining table to be dealt with tomorrow, you walked into the bedroom to find Ona already asleep again.

Chuckling, you slowly take her shoes off and slip your jersey she was wearing off before pulling on one of your hoodies over her small frame. It swallowed her but she snuggled into it anyway. You make quick work of yourself, changing into shorts and a sports bra before climbing into bed behind her. She searches for you in her sleep, reaching out and holding onto your arm as she goes back to sleep. You smile fondly, hand rubbing soothing circles over her belly and whispering “I love you girls,” before falling asleep yourself.

“That’s not the right one.”

“What do you mean, this is exactly what you sent me to get.”

“No, I wanted the blue one, this is red.”

“Angel, you asked for red.”

“I remember asking for blue, Y/N.”

You sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. Ona was having a bout of crazy cravings that began at 3 in the morning. She sent you to the shops to look for Chips Ahoy (a/n don't ask, they are my current obsession.) the other night but they didn’t have them so you bought a different kind and put it on a plate for her with a glass of milk like she requested. She took one bite and knew they were wrong, immediately starting to cry.

“Please Mi Reina, it’s late. You have a checkup tomorrow, we need to sleep.”

She sniffled, “But I wanted Chips Ahoy.”

“I know baby but all the stores I went to didn’t have them. I’ll go look tomorrow and buy them for you, okay? Please darling, you need to sleep.”

“You better buy all the Chips Ahoy you can find, amor or it’s the couch for you.”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Love, please stop moving.”

“You try sleeping with a literal football inside you kicking like there’s no tomorrow.”

“When we have a second baby. What can I do for you?”

“Talk to her please. She always calms down when you do.”

You throw the covers off and move over to lay between her legs. You can just about see her face above her belly. She's smiling, eyes sparkling as she watches you talk to the baby. You rest your head on her thigh, left hand holding Ona’s, right hand rubbing her belly softly.

“Hello princess, it’s Mama. I’ve missed you, you’re getting so big already. I had a pretty good day at training, met all your aunties too. They can’t wait to meet you, you’re going to be the most spoilt little girl out there. Now, mami is trying to sleep okay? She needs her energy so we can see if you’re being a good growing girl tomorrow hm? Can we put your striker skills to the side and let your beautiful mother sleep? That’s my girl. I love you, I can’t wait to meet you.” You kiss her belly softly, leaning over and kissing Ona too.

“For your information, she’s going to be a defender.”

“Please darling, she’s already showing signs of being a wonderful striker like me.”

#ona batlle #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #barca femeni x reader #fc barca femeni #woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #fc barcelona femeni #fluff

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efimera-lunar-intemporal · 6 months

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El beso perfecto te hace vivir el presente, olvidarte del pasado y pensar en besos futuros, por eso tiene sabor a eternidad.

Efimera Lunar Intemporal

#efimera lunar intemporal #tsuki no himawari no majo #marede petricor #escritos tumblr #escritos originales #noviembre 2023

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cartas-a-mi-amada-blog · 1 year

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Te amo, y no te imaginas cuanto deseo que estemos para siempre juntos, en las buenas, en las malas, también en las más o menos, pero juntos. Quiero amarte como nadie te ha amado, o al menos como nunca nadie te ha hecho sentir. No sé qué nos depara el futuro, el pasado ya quedó atrás, pero el presente está en nuestras manos, y créeme, mi presente lo quiero junto a ti. No mentiré al decir que todo será perfecto, quizás tendremos días grises, pero te prometo que tanto en los momentos buenos, como en los malos, yo pretendo estar a tu lado, no me importa lo que digan los demás, no me importa lo que opine el mundo, solo sé, que quiero caminar de la mano contigo, en las buenas, en las malas y en las peores, pero siempre… siempre juntos.

Ismael R.

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lollytea · 8 months

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Amity's introductory scene bothers me to no end because it does not remotely reflect the kind of character that she is and the personality that is presented is only going to get flat out contradicted in future episodes, rather than recontextualized. But Willow's introductory scene on the other hand? Remmy the rat kiss. Perfecto.

#one character getting such a perfect opening while the other gets such a clunky one is so deeply frustrating #but HEY. love Willow. happy for her

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jorgema · 1 year

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Al amor de mi vida y mis días

Le he escrito a esos amores pasados que recordamos con añoro, a los amores presentes que roban el aliento sin ni siquiera nombrarlos, y a aquellos que nuestra piel espera con ilusión y misterio en un futuro cercano. También he escrito sobre los amores imposibles que navegan de sueño en sueño en mi mente y que bañados en fantasía y tragedia, anhélelo sentir al despertar. Así mismo he escrito sobre esos amores que, por temor a perderlo todo, se acobardan y se quedan mudos en la intención de ser algo que pudieron ser pero nunca serán. A los amores pasajeros y fugaces, que terminan antes de empezar, pero que con alma de eternos nos llenan el ser, la vida y el respirar, ha esos también les he dedicado mis letras. He adornado el desamor y la soledad penetrante que causa ausencia de suspiros, he escrito sobre amores que duelen en lo más profundo del ser y parten el alma en mil fragmentos, haciendo la vida un suplicio, pero también un agobiante placer. Y muchas veces he vestido de romance y capturado la esencia de ese amor romántico que todos los seres vivientes soñamos con algún día poder conquistar.

Sobre cada uno de ellos y más he escrito. Pero ninguno de ellos se compara con el amor que tengo hacia ti.

Hoy quiero que el mundo se entere del amor que compartimos, ese amor colmado de complicidad y saturado de dulce y grata verdad. Un amor que se viene escribiendo y viviendo desde hace mucho tiempo, y que hoy en día es como encontrarse con una estrella al doblar la esquina. Un amor que trasciende tiempo y lugar, incondicional y puro. Uno que se produjo a primera vista entre tú y yo, y que incluso sin vernos, sentíamos la presencia del otro tal como es ahora. Un amor que ha sobrepasado todo lo escrito y preestablecido por el hombre. Un amor que ha estado conmigo en las rachas de fortuna y que ha permanecido a mi lado incluso en los momentos más tormentosos de mi vida. Hoy quiero dedicar mis letras a ese amor inmortal, ese que seguiría creciendo por la trascendencia del tiempo, incluso si uno de los dos faltara en la vida del otro. Un amor vital, perfecto y bueno; de esa clase de amor que puedo llamar sublime, aunque temo que mis palabras no sean suficientes para describir la grandeza de tan noble amor y de tan hermoso ser.

Hoy te escribo a ti, a quien me enseñó el amor por los libros y el romance por las letras. A ti, que crees en mí y en mis utópicos sueños de escritor, que me amas a pesar de todo y a consecuencia de nada. Tú que ves arte en cada cosa que pinto, escribo y hago. Tú que has estado a mi lado cuando el aire no me es suficiente, que has presenciado mis lágrimas y siempre has sabido qué hacer.

Sé que mis letras no serán suficientes para describirte o expresar completamente mi amor por ti. Ni siquiera mi propia vida alcanzaría para demostrar todo lo que siento hacia ti. Hoy mis letras son tuyas, están dedicadas a ti, mi amor eterno, mi amor de ensueño, mi amor inmortal, mi amor vital, mi amor puro y verdadero… a ti, mi amor y mi madre.

Siempre por ti y para ti. Te amo, madre mía, y siempre será así.

— Verdad en Poesía || @jorgema

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jamesbarnesbestgirl · 1 year

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Una Noble Reina - Chapter 1

Summary:

K'uk'ulkan’s mother knew her son was special from the moment he was born. It wasn’t until she realized that he was aging at a far slower pace that she felt a deep sadness for her son. She turned to Chaac, who had blessed her shaman with the vision that saved her people, for solace that her son would know happiness and love. Chaac bestowed upon her the knowledge that when the time was right her son would meet his match in a woman with K'áak'o' tu yicho'ob (fire in her eyes).

Nearly 500 years later K'uk'ulkan is faced with the startling reality of his own mortality in the aftermath of the defeat at the hands of Shuri. With relations with Wakanda improved but still strenuous, K’uk’ulkan turns his focus to strengthening Talokan by any means necessary. While recovering from the battle he is reminded of his promised match and sets on a path to find her.

CHAPTER 1 - Nos despedimos con un saludo

Notes:

The inspiration of this story is very loosely based around the Venezuelan legend of María Lionza (also referred to as Yara) the goddess of nature, love, peace and harmony.

I have not written a fanfic in quite some time so please be gentle.

The only specific physical description that I plan on writing into this fic is going to be that the reader has central heterochromia in both eyes. This is a genetic condition in which an individual has two eye colors, with a primary base color and a secondary color in a ring around the pupil. The base color is up for your personal interpretation, but the inner ring is described as a ring of fire in the reader's eyes. The reader is also aprox. 27 years old.

Present Day - Orlando, FL

The world was going to shit. At least, that’s what you thought as you walked away from your advisor's office back towards your own. Ever since the second alien invasion of earth (that you were aware of at least) had whipped out half the planet only for everyone to be brought back five years later, your life had been slowly imploding.

First your entire family had been snapped away, leaving you to fend for yourself and grow as a person on your own. Now, a year after they had returned, your PhD advisor dumps the fact that the University is redistributing all research funds for her lab towards vibranium research. Thus, leaving her without a way to fund research and you without a clear path forward to obtaining your PhD.

“That purple demon should have just done us the mercy of snapping everyone out of existence. At least that way our lives wouldn’t be falling apart.” You said begrudgingly as you sat down at your desk. Hiding your head in your arms in the process.

“You too, huh?” your friend and fellow former PhD candidate Itzel said. “It could be worse. They are at least granting us a masters for the work we’ve already completed.” She said placing her hand on your shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“Yayyy…” you say unenthusiastically waving your finger in the air without lifting your head. You take a few deep breaths to gather your feelings before sitting up in your chair. “I guess I will just start tutoring full time while I’m job hunting.” You said, attempting to smile.

“You know, my mother is the principal at the local elementary school in my hometown. A few days ago when I spoke with her she mentioned that they are looking for an English teacher.” Iztel stated, while fully turning to face you. “I’m sure if I ask she would be happy to get us both jobs at the school. Plus, aren't you always saying you want to improve your spanish? What better way to do that than to move to Mexico?” She added enthusiastically.

“Supongo que eso podría funcionar. Un cambio de escenario debería hacerme bien.” you responded after careful consideration with a smile.

“Perfecto!” Itzel exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I will speak to my mother tonight and then you can come over on the weekend and we can figure out the details.”

Feeling a renewed sense of hope you nodded in agreement. You finally turned towards your computer ready to get back to work for the day.

Present Day - Talokan - Underwater Cavern

K'uk'ulkan was agitated. He was still attempting to wrap his head around his loss to Shuri. He had clearly underestimated her hunger for vengeance. Luckily for him and his people she had shown mercy at the eleventh hour. The loss was making him face a reality he was not expecting. That maybe, despite his best efforts, Talokan was not ready to fully protect herself from the surface world. Remaining hidden was becoming more difficult year after year. The tentative alliance that stemmed from the conflict with Wakanda would only act as a temporary solution to his dilemma. He needed a stronger way to ensure his people's safety. But how?

“You’re doing it again.” stated Namora, as she entered his hut.

“Doing what?” he asked, still lost in his thoughts.

“Sulking.” she voiced. “You are the one that assured me that this alliance is what is best. If that has changed…” She continued.

“It hasn't.” K'uk'ulkan cut her off, finally turning his attention to Namora.

“Then what has you so troubled?” Namora asked, her concern for her cousin seeping through her voice. “I ask as your cousin, not as your general.” She proceeds to sit next to him and look at the mural he was previously mindlessly staring at.

K'uk'ulkan turned to her and sighed. “I stand by that the alliance with Wakanda is what’s best for Talokan, but I will not lie and say my ego was not bruised by the defeat.” He admitted. “I underestimated the princess, underestimated her drive.” he turned back towards the mural.

“The surface world will turn on Wakanda, and when they do Talokan will be their only ally. I just need to make sure we are ready. That if, when the dust settles and Wakanda turns on us, there will be no question as to who the final victor will be.” He turns back to Namora, his jaw set in determination.

Namora sits there with him, letting his statements sink in. They sit in silence as Namora scans the murals her king had painted throughout the hut. Moments of his history, of the history of Talokan, captured in the beautiful traditional paintings. One mural caught her eye. Slightly obstructed from view, below the mural depicting his birth, was a figure. The small mural was of a woman, one wearing an intricate crown, her eyes full of fire.

“What about Le Reina?” She asked, breaking her cousin's contemplation once again. His focus shifts the mural Namora is gazing at.

“She doesn’t exist. I’ve spent years searching for her.” he scoffs slightly, turning away from the mural.

“I’ve never known you to be one to give up.” Namora says with a raised brow, a small smirk pulling at her lips.

“I haven’t given up.” he scoffs in offense. “Le Reina, my match, I have always assumed would be a mutant, like me. I would know if there was another mutant within the waters of Talokan.” he stated firmly.

Namora sat in contemplation for a moment. “It sounds like there is one place you have yet to look.” She turned her gaze to the hut door.

“The surface world?” he questioned. “You think the queen of Talokan is from the surface world?”

“Well, have you checked?” Namora countered back.

They let the silence once again take over. It is true that he had never considered a surface dweller. K'uk'ulkan had expected his match to be born in Talokan from the day his mother had told him of his intended. He had spent the better half of a century after he had first come of age searching for her. After almost 300 years of no sign of her, he had all but given up.

“The surface world is a large place.” he stated.

“Then we better start looking.” Namora said. She stood up and turned to exit his hut.

16th Century - Yaracuy, Venezuela

In the rainforest of Venezuela, in a small village along the Yaracuy river the chief of the village waited impatiently outside his home. He paced back and forth along the river embankment. He could hear the labor pains of his wife from within his home. After a particularly loud groan from within the home he began to pray to their mountain god for the safe delivery of his child.

A few minutes went by and the chief finally heard the cry of his newborn child. After a few moments one of the village women, who had assisted during the birth ushered him inside to meet his new child.

“My love, come meet our beautiful daughter.” His wife gestured towards him with an exhausted smile on her face.

The chief knelt beside his wife and pushed back her sweat soaked hair in a loving gesture. “May I hold her?” he asked as he kissed his wife’s forehead and silently thanked the gods for a safe delivery.

His wife carefully transferred their newborn daughter into his arms. “She needs a name.” she said while smiling at her child.

“Yara. Our beautiful Yara.” He said with a smile as he gently held his beloved daughter.

As the family began to bond with their new member the child slowly opened her eyes. Both parents paused their loving gestures and looked from their child to each other. The girl's eyes were unlike anything the chief had encountered. She had eyes as green as the rainforest with rings of fire surrounding her pupils.

Present Day - Orlando, FL

After your initial talk with Itzel you had finished up work for the day. That weekend you had spent nearly 5 hours on facetime with your friend and her mother. As Itzel had predicted her mother was enthusiastic about the idea of you joining her school as their English teacher.

Now, 3 months later, consolation masters done, you were packing up the last of your things for the move. You had sold all of your furniture, as it would have been far too expensive to move.

“How long of a drive is it again?” you ask Itzel as she loaded her last bag into the back of your car.

“44 hours if we were to drive straight through without stopping.” she said as she walked around to the front passenger side.

“If we aim for about 8 hours a day we should get there by the end of the week.” you state as you enter the driver side of the car. Itzel was from the small coastal town of Sisal, just north of Mérida in the Yucatan province of Mexico. As you plugged in her family’s home address into your phone's GPS system you ensured that you could see out of the rear view mirror with the trunk pact full of your stuff.

“We better get going then if we want to reach the panhandle by dark.” she says as she adjusts her seat.

You pull away from your apartment and start the drive north. It was strange leaving the place you had called home for the last 6 years, but in saying goodbye you were saying hello to a new chapter of your life.

Translations

Supongo que eso podría funcionar. Un cambio de escenario debería hacerme bien. - I guess that could work. A change of scenery should do me good.

#namor x reader #namor #namor fanfic #namor fanfiction #namor of talokan

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sakurakoneko28 · 4 days

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Tengo muchas ideas y debo subir aunque sea una aquí *rueda* ok, ya que pasó el cumpleaños de Tallulah me quiero unir con mi versión de como fue encontrada por la Deathfamily.

Missa estaba regresando de uno de sus largos viajes, estaba ansioso por ver a su esposo e hijo, odiaba tener que dejarlos por tanto tiempo pero es algo que no está en su control. Cómo sea, esta vez viene muy decidido a pasar cada minuto de su tiempo a lado de ellos aunque ¿que forma tan frívola sería de llegar sin almenos un regalo? desgraciadamente su inventario está casi vacío así que decide pasar por los alrededores esperando encontrar aunque sea flores y hacer un ramo improvisado, aunque igual podría tomar prestado algo de los cofres de Roier, duda que lo vaya a notar.

Sin embargo, y como no podía faltarle a su suerte de dibujo animado, acaba en una persecución de mods a los cuales no puede combatir porque (de nuevo) no tiene suficiente en su inventario para crear un arma. Tras correr varios metros divisa el viejo centro de adopción y se lanza dentro del sitio, recuerda que por alguna razón los mods no pueden entrar ahí. Entre gritos, chillidos y tropezones llega y se queda tirado en el suelo polvoriento recuperando el aliento mientras se repite mentalmente que debería tomar clases con Roier o Spreen para mejorar sus habilidades de combate.

Luego de unos minutos se levanta y un sentimiento nostálgico lo inunda al contemplar con mayor detalle el sitio, pareciera que fue ayer cuando un simple ticket cambió su vida por completo, recuerda perfectamente cuál era el espacio donde estaba Chayanne y como su flotador de patito robó toda su atención, se queda de pie frente a la vitrina, por dentro está llena de telarañas y los cristales tiene una gruesa capa de polvo, le sorprende que haya pasado tanto tiempo.

Y entonces un sonido lo vuelve a poner alerta, ve hacia ambas entradas pensando que eran de nuevo los mobs, o con algo de suerte, otro isleño que vino a ayudarlo pero todo está despejado ¿quizás era la madera desgastada del sitio? un nuevo sonido hace eco en el sitio, es como algo rascando la pared, asustado empieza a girar a todos lados ¿alguien quería jugarle una broma? Finalmente se le ocurre alzar la vista y divisa que en el techo hay un pequeño hueco que filtra algo de luz artificial, extraño, no recordaba que existiera un segundo piso.

Lo medita unos segundos, irse o subir, normalmente la respuesta sería lo primero pero una extraña corazonada le dice que debe subir, necesita hacerlo.

Rompe un poco más los bloques de madera, se da impulso saltando desde el borde de una de las vitrinas y deslizando con un poco de dificultad su cuerpo por el estrecho espacio finalmente llega. Si en la planta baja el abandono es palpable ahí lo es aún más, las paredes están tapizadas por telarañas mientras que del techo algunas enredaderas han empezado a crecer y el aire está lleno de partículas de polvo, no hay mucho a dónde mirar pues es solo un cuartito, lo único que destaca es una vitrina similar a las de abajo pero que tiene los cristales totalmente tapados por musgo y tierra. No iba a mentir, le sorprendía que la federación tuviera tal nivel de descuido considerando como siempre quieren todo "perfecto".

Y entonces el mismo sonido de tierra siendo removida vuelve a hacerse presente y viene del interior de esa vitrina, un escalofrío corre por su espalda pensando que algún animal o mob salvaje encontró refugio ahí, cuidadosamente camina, da unas respiraciones profundas antes de bajar la escotilla de cristal y entonces su miedo inicial se transforma en incredulidad.

Una pequeña niña se encontraba escondida alimentándose solo con puñados de tierra.

Ambos se quedan viendo fijamente por lo que pareció una eternidad, la niña con confusión mientras que a Missa se le encoge el corazón pensando en como alguien podría ser tan cruel para abandonar a un niño para, básicamente, morir. Se hinca para quedar a la misma altura y su corazón se derrite un poco más al notar que poseen el mismo color de cabello y ojos, observa que una de sus muñecas tiene un brazalete de hospital con algo escrito.

Con su voz más suave y gentil logra que la la pequeña le deje ver y solo un nombre es legible: Tallulah. Curioso, los otros niños en su momento no tenían nombre asignado pero al menos será un poco más fácil comunicarse con la niña y darle algo de familiaridad. El rugido de su estómago hambriento le pone alerta y rápido busca entre sus pocas cosas, por fortuna tenía un par de manzanas que cayeron cuando su capa se atoró entre las ramas de un roble, los ojitos de Tallulah se iluminan cuando Missa le entrega la fruta cosa que solo conmueve más la mayor ¿cuánto tiempo estaría sin alimento digno?

Mientras la deja comer le observa con más atención, su cabello rizado está enredado y algunas ramitas se pegaron, solo está vestida con un blusón blanco a juego con un gorrito que le queda algo grande, si tuviera que compararla con Chayanne está definitivamente más delgada y más baja de estatura, ambas cosas muy probablemente son resultado del estado deplorable en qué tuvo que vivir por quien sabe cuánto tiempo.

Definitivamente no puede dejarla ahí, lo que sea que pretendiera la federación poco le importaba, no estaría en paz sabiendo que un ser tan indefenso podría morir por mera maldad y es cuando decide que, a partir de ahora, la pequeña Tallulah será su hija también. Con sumo cuidado la cubre con la parte desmontable de su túnica y la carga entre sus brazos, dios, si que está muy delgada pero se encargará de alimentarla y darle un hogar mejor que ese diminuto cuarto.

"¿Sabes? este día pensaba llegar solo con algunas flores o incluso un pastel para mí esposo e hijo... supongo que los planes cambiaron un poquito"

Durante el camino Tallulah solo lo escucha mientras se acurruca en su regazo, ese nuevo mundo lleno de color es curioso y terrorífico a partes iguales pero se mantiene calmada gracias a la voz que no ha dejado de hablarle desde que salieron del centro de adopción.

"Somos una familia chiquita y quizás no tengamos tantos lujos como otros residentes pero somos muy felices, te prometo que amor nunca te faltará. Philza y yo te cuidaremos, serás nuestra linda niña"

#death family #qsmp missa #qsmp tallulah #qsmp text post #i miss the family so much

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