#marcelo hernandez | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oh my god someone who writes for Marcelo!

Maybe one where Marcello takes reader to meet his mom! Reader is super nervous but he keeps reassuring her that it’ll be okay and that he’s already told her everything about reader and his mom is excited!!

ughh i love this story already! hope you enjoy babe🫶🏼✨

Suegra

pairing: marcello hernandez x f! reader

Marcello’s car rolled to a stop in front of a house that felt like it had a heartbeat of its own. The pastel yellow stucco walls, trimmed with white, were dappled in the late afternoon sunlight. A pair of rocking chairs sat on the front porch, and wind chimes gently tinkled with the breeze. The house exuded warmth just like Marcello himself.

“This is it,” he said, a note of nostalgia in his voice as he cut the engine.

You leaned forward to get a better look, clutching the flowers tightly in your hands. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your nerves momentarily eclipsed by the charm of his childhood home.

Marcello grinned. “It’s not much, but it’s home. The porch? That’s where my mom and I used to sit and watch thunderstorms. And that tree over there? I fell out of it once when I was trying to rescue a kite. Mom freaked out. I think she lectured me for a week.”

You laughed softly, picturing little Marcello dangling from the tree, all big brown eyes and mischievous energy.

He turned to you, his expression softening. “You okay, cariño? You’ve been quiet.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I’m just… I want to make a good impression, you know? This house your mom it’s such a big part of who you are.”

Marcello reached over, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Hey, listen to me. My mom’s going to love you. I’ve told her how smart you are, how funny, how much you care about people. She already thinks you’re perfect. And if it helps, she’s way less scary than she sounds.”

You gave him a wobbly smile, and he leaned in to kiss your temple before hopping out of the car. He rounded the front, opening your door and holding out his hand. You took it, letting him pull you to your feet.

As you walked up the steps together, you noticed little details brightly painted flower pots lined the porch, each one bursting with marigolds and hibiscus. A small ceramic rooster sat on the windowsill, and a faint melody of salsa music drifted through the open window.

Marcello knocked, but before his hand even left the door, it swung open. His mom stood there, a vision of warmth and hospitality. She was petite, her dark hair streaked with gray, her smile wide and genuine.

“¡Mi hijo!” she exclaimed, pulling Marcello into a tight hug that seemed to compress all the love in the world into one gesture.

“Hola, Mami,” Marcello said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

When she pulled back, her eyes landed on you, and her smile grew even brighter. “And you must be Y/N.”

You quickly held out the bouquet, nerves making your hands tremble slightly. “Hi, um, these are for you. Thank you so much for having me.”

Her eyes sparkled as she accepted the flowers. “¡Qué hermosa! Thank you, mija. You didn’t have to do this. Come, come in!”

She ushered you inside, and immediately, the house wrapped you in its embrace. The walls were adorned with family photos Marcello as a baby, Marcello with his mom at the beach, Marcello in a little league uniform. The air smelled of something delicious garlic, spices, and a hint of citrus.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said, leading you into the kitchen, where a feast awaited. The table was covered in dishes: arroz con pollo, black beans, plantains, and a salad with avocado and lime.

Marcello leaned in to whisper, “She’s trying to impress you too, you know. This much food? She’s pulling out all the stops.”

You smiled, feeling your nerves begin to ease. His mom motioned for you to sit, and as the meal unfolded, so did the stories. She shared tales of Marcello’s childhood how he was always cracking jokes, how he used to run around the house with his cousins pretending to be a TV host.

“Even as a niño, he was making everyone laugh,” she said, beaming at her son.

Marcello groaned, though his eyes were filled with affection. “Okay, Mami, no need to embarrass me.”

By the time dessert arrived homemade flan, its caramel glaze glistening you felt completely at ease. His mom reached across the table to touch your hand, her expression earnest.

“Thank you for making my son so happy,” she said. “I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you. You’re family now, mija. Anytime you want to come over, my house is yours.”

Your throat tightened with emotion, and you barely managed to whisper, “Thank you.”

On the way home, Marcello looked over at you, his eyes soft in the dim glow of the dashboard. “Told you she’d love you,” he said, squeezing your hand.

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “I love her too. And I love you, Marcello.”

He kissed the top of your head, his voice filled with a quiet kind of joy. “I love you more, cariño. Always.”

As the night deepened, the comforting glow of the living room lights softened, wrapping the room in an intimate warmth. Plates and glasses from dinner had been cleared away, replaced by laughter and the sound of an old camcorder clicking to life.

“Okay, okay, you have to see this one,” Marcello’s mom said excitedly, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to you while Marcello stretched out on the couch behind you.

The TV flickered, and soon a grainy video of a much younger Marcello filled the screen. He couldn’t have been more than six, his dark curls bouncing as he ran across the backyard. He was shirtless, covered in streaks of mud, holding a garden hose in one hand and laughing wildly.

“Oh no,” Marcello groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Not this one.”

“Yes, this one!” his mom said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “This was the day he decided to water the plants by himself… except he forgot the hose was on full blast and ended up drenching himself instead.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, your eyes darting between the screen and Marcello’s embarrassed expression. “You were so cute!”

“I was a menace,” Marcello corrected, shaking his head.

The video transitioned to another clip a birthday party. Marcello stood in front of a cake almost as big as he was, his little face lighting up as everyone sang to him. He clapped excitedly at the end of the song, then smashed his hands into the cake with no hesitation.

“Oh, come on,” Marcello groaned again, though you could see the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Stop pretending you’re embarrassed,” you teased, nudging his leg with your elbow. “You love the attention.”

His mom laughed along with you, patting your knee. “She’s got your number, mijo.”

For hours, the three of you sat together, watching memories unfold on the screen. Marcello’s mom told you stories about each moment how he’d insisted on wearing a cape to school for an entire week, how he’d once tried to sell lemonade in the living room because it was “too hot outside,” and how he’d cried happy tears the first time he performed in a school play.

By the time the last video ended, you felt like you’d been given a front-row seat to the life that had shaped the man you loved.

“Thank you for sharing these with me,” you said softly to his mom as she started tidying up the tapes.

She waved you off with a warm smile. “You’re part of the family now, mija. This is your history too.”

Marcello watched the interaction from the couch, his heart swelling as he saw how effortlessly you and his mom had bonded. He hadn’t known it was possible to love you even more, but tonight, you proved him wrong.

In the weeks that followed, his mom’s words rang true you quickly became part of the family. Marcello often joked that you spent more time at her house than he did, but he secretly loved how close the two of you had become.

One Saturday afternoon, he walked into his mom’s kitchen to find the two of you seated at the table, a rainbow of nail polish bottles spread out before you. His mom was carefully painting your nails while you both chatted and laughed like old friends.

“What’s this?” Marcello asked, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.

“We’re having girl time,” his mom said without missing a beat, waving him off with her free hand.

“Girl time?” Marcello echoed, raising an eyebrow at you.

You smirked at him. “Don’t be jealous. We’re planning a shopping trip next weekend, and you’re not invited.”

His mom nodded in agreement, a playful glint in her eye. “She’s my shopping partner now. We have to keep you boys in line somehow.”

Marcello chuckled, shaking his head. “Great. Now I have to compete with my own mom for your attention.”

You blew him a kiss, your freshly painted nails sparkling in the sunlight. “Sorry, babe. Priorities.”

Despite his teasing, Marcello was endlessly grateful for the bond you’d formed with his mom. Watching you two together laughing, cooking, even gossiping gave him a glimpse into the future. He imagined Sunday dinners filled with warmth and love, holidays spent surrounded by family, and a life where you and his mom remained inseparable.

That night, as you both lay in bed, Marcello wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head.

“I think you love my mom more than me,” he joked, his voice low and affectionate.

You tilted your head to look at him, your eyes sparkling. “I just love that she raised someone as amazing as you.”

Marcello’s heart swelled, and he pulled you closer. “She was right, you know. You’re family now, cariño. And one day, I hope we’ll have a home just like hers a place where we can make memories, raise kids, and maybe even show them some embarrassing videos of me.”

You laughed softly, resting your head against his chest. “I’d like that.”

In that moment, the future felt as bright and vibrant as the home videos you’d watched earlier. It was a future filled with love, laughter, and a family that already felt like yours.