#snowwhite

Tiana <3

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Frostbite Masterlist

Pairing: Huntsman!Rafe Cameron x SnowWhite!Reader.

Warning: Blood, minor and major injuries, cursing, mentions of death.

Summary: When he’s ordered to end her life, he finds himself protecting it instead…

A SnowWhite Retelling.

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Blanca nieves

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ────𝜗𝜚────⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

(Simon Riley x Hispanic ! Reader)

there will be Spanish in this blurb! So I will put translations in pink

The car ride home was quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty but filled to the brim with awe. You sat in the passenger seat cradaling your still-sore body, your eyes flickering every few seconds to the little mirror strapped to the headrest of the middle seat—just enough to catch a glimpse of the tiny, pink-covered bundle strapped safely into her rear-facing car seat.

Graciella Riley.

Eight and a half pounds, 20 inches.

Born at 2:36 am

Your daughter. Your daughter.

Simon stole glances at you, one hand on the wheel, the other itching to reach for yours, but afraid to let go for too long. You looked tired—no, exhausted—but radiant in a way he couldn’t describe. Messy hair pulled into a loose bun, no makeup, hoodie stretched over your postpartum belly, hospital band still snug around your wrist, and yet you had never looked more beautiful to him.

“I still can’t believe she’s real,” you whispered as the house came into view.

Simon parked the truck slowly, turning off the engine. “She’s real. You made her real.” He got out and jogged around to your side immediately. “Wait—don’t move, my love. Let me help.”

You nodded, the movement small. “Gracias, carińo.” (Thank you, darling) You winced when you shifted to stand, a deep tug between your legs reminding you exactly what kind of war your body had just been through.

Simon was already there, one arm around your waist, the other gently bracing under your arm. “Stitches?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, resting against him as he helped you stand. “Feels like I got punched from the inside out.”

“You basically did,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “You are incredible.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Don’t go getting sappy now, Riley.”

“I will absolutely get sappy. You pushed out a Riley-sized baby. I’m in awe.”

You both turned as he popped the back door open, reaching in for the carrier. His giant hands moved with a tenderness that always made your chest ache. He scooped up the handle and peeked inside, the tiny bundle barely visible under her pink beanie and blankets.

“She’s so small,” he whispered.

“She’s eight and a half pounds, babe, that’s not that small.”

“In my hands she is.”

You walked slowly up the path to the front door together, his free hand steadying you as you climbed the steps. You hadn’t even finished knocking when the door swung open.

“¡Mija!” (Daughter!) your mom cried out, voice full of joy and tears and love. “¡Dios mío, mi niña chiquita!” (My god!, my little girl)

Behind her, your dad and cousins and aunties and tíos filled the entryway, the smell of food already in the air, the sound of Mexican pop music lowly playing from a speaker in the kitchen. Your mom immediately cupped your face in her hands, kissing your cheeks. “You’re a mommy now! Una mamá de verdad!” (A real mom!)

“Ma—ow, ow—stitches!” you hissed, and everyone pulled back slightly, laughing through their excitement.

Simon hovered protectively, not letting go of the carrier but staying close enough to catch you if you stumbled. Your dad clapped him on the back.

“¡Felicidades, papá!” (Congratulations dad) he grinned. “You did it. Well, not you. She did it. But still!”

Simon offered the tiniest smirk. “Yes, sir. I mostly just tried not to pass out.”

Even years of war hadn’t prepared him to see the love of his life be in that much pain.

Your family laughed again, already swarming around, all fast-talking and kisses and chatter.

“¡Ay, no puedo creerlo!” (Oh!, I can’t believe it!)

“Mira qué chiquita—ay, mi corazón!” (Look how small—oh, my heart)

Your mom gently guided you toward the large recliner in the living room, fluffed with pillows and a throw blanket. “Here, mi amor. Sit. Despacio, con cuidado.” (My love) (Slowly, be careful)

She helped you lower yourself down slowly, adjusting the leg rest. “I made pozole. And agua de jamaica. And conchas. You hungry? Tienes que comer.” (You have to eat.)

“Mami, estoy bien, let me sit for a minute!” You laughed, overwhelmed but comforted. (Mom, I’m fine)

Simon set the carrier down beside your chair and knelt next to it, slowly peeling back the blankets. Everyone quieted.

Gracie let out a tiny newborn grunt, her face scrunched up in a frown, arms flailing in slow motion. A collective gasp of “Awwww!” filled the room.

“¡Está hermosa!” (She’s gorgeous) your aunt said, wiping a tear.

“Ay, mírala, parece un angelito.” (Oh, look at her, she looks like and angel)

Simon’s arms, normally so large and intimidating, moved with such reverence as he lifted Gracie out of the carrier. She looked even smaller now, barely the length of his forearm, wrapped tight in her swaddle. He cradled her close, brushing her cheek with one finger.

“Hi, Gracie girl,” he whispered. “We’re home.”

Your mom sniffled loudly, and even your big tough tío looked away, dabbing at his eyes.

Simon stepped toward you, carefully placing your daughter in your arms. Your heart stuttered when her warmth pressed against your chest again. She made a soft sound and curled against you, tiny and perfect.

You pulled her beanie off gently, revealing soft, light brown tufts of hair. Everyone leaned in.

“She has your big lips,” your mom laughed with tears in her eyes.

“Y tu nariz,” (And your nose) said your aunt.

“¡Pero está bien blanquita, no?” (But she’s really pale, no?) your dad said, eyebrow raised.

“¡Papá!” (Dad!) you gasped, shooting him a look.

“What?” he laughed. “No le diste nada, bebé. ¡Nada! Mira esa piel, es como papel!” ( you didn’t give her anything, baby. Nothing! Look at that skin, it’s like paper!) He pointed jokingly. “Simon’s genes came in swinging. Mijo you’re two minuetes really payed off” (son) he laughed

Simon tried to hold in his laugh.

“She was born yesterday! She’ll gain color!”

“No se va a broncear, mija. Pero está bien,” (not going to get a tan, honey. But that’s okay,) he said, waving a hand dramatically. “Todavía es la princesa más hermosa que he visto en mi vida…Blanca nieves” (She’s still the most beautiful princess I’ve ever seen…Snow White)

Simon couldn’t hold it in anymore—he barked out a laugh, eyes twinkling as he covered his mouth. “I love your dad.”

“I know. He’s ridiculous.” You kissed your baby’s soft head. “But he’s not wrong.”

Your mom leaned in, stroking Gracie’s hair. “Gracias, Simon. For taking care of my daughter. For giving her this little miracle.” (Thank you)

Simon looked up, surprised, his expression softening into something a little shy. “She’s everything. They both are.”

Your family gradually drifted to the couch and floor around you, still chatting, still doting. Someone handed Simon a cup of café de olla, another passed you a plate with a tamal and a concha.

Your mom kept rearranging the blanket around your feet, making sure you were warm, while your dad leaned over your shoulder just to get another peek at his granddaughter. Who he nicknamed Blancanieves (Snow White.)

Simon sat down next to your chair on the floor, resting his head against your knee, one hand gently resting on your ankle. Gracie shifted in your arms and yawned, the tiniest little sound in the middle of all the noise.

For a moment, you looked down at your soldier, your baby, your family, and realized that everything you had ever wanted—everything you never thought you could have—was right here.