MODERN TSIREYA HCS.

MODERN TSIREYA HCS.

pairing. tsireya x fem!reader

summary. short lil hcs about tsireya as your girlfriend in hs <3

warnings. bits of profanity

kisses. kisses. kisses.

thing she does when she sees you is cupping your cheeks & kiss your whole face

kisses before hugs type of gal

but her hugs are better than her kisses

best hugs

despite having a shorter form, it feels like you're the one in a bear huh 😿

"babyyyyy!" you hear the sweet voice of your girlfriend calling from behind, turning around with a warm smile.

With her dimples and pearly white teeth on display, she immediately holds your face gently with her soft hands, soft and moist lips placed all over your face. She giggles lightly before jumping slightly, your hands holding the back of her thighs, she engulfs you into her arms, her face in the crook of your neck.

"I missed you," she says in her calm voice.

gets shy when you poke her dimples

always smiling when you're around

like every second of being in your presence, all you see is ^-^

real cutie

your family LOVE her.

till the point where some cousins try & rizz her up 😬

it's so cute when she tries so hard not to be mean to people that give her attention, especially when it isn't from you

all you can hear is a little "ew" or a very judging "oh 😬" when someone tries to hit on her

"y/n, who's this again? i remember meeting her last week but i forgot her name," holding up her phone to your face, a familiar username. her bright screen displaying the latter's instagram profile, the infamous follow button on 'follow back'. her bio as single.

she was one of your cousins, but not the kind where you'd immediately click with at a family gathering. The cousin you most likely talked shit about in a different room with your favourite cousin. The cousin who your parents did not like at all, and it was the same for you. All you knew her for was to go after everyone, not caring if they were locked in or not she didn't stop at family either. clearly.

"Oh yeah, Maria, my cousin who tried hugging you the first time she saw you," you rolled your eyes, your hands still on Tsireya's waist, slowly trailing down to her hips. You sat with your legs open on the edge of her bed, she stood with one hand tangled in your hair, the other focused on her little bright screen.

You watched as her cute face turned into a slight grimace, and her nose turned into an adorable scrunch. "Ew," was all you heard from her cute voice. You laughed at your girlfriend's action, lying down bringing her down with you. She squeals as she wraps her arms around your neck. "You're so cute," all you hear is silence, knowing your girlfriend's face was growing hot and flustered, only trying to hide her expression in your neck.

People in school thought you were just close best friends

I mean, realistically, a lot of friends hold hands and kiss each other on the cheek

But imagine the reaction of people when you walked into class late with a dark, purple hickey on your neck

You were both late to class, both of you woke up late after cuddling up while watching a movie together.

The movie was good, the kissing along your neck she started was great.

"Baby, the movie," you groaned deeply, feeling her plump lips sucking on the sweet spot along your neck. She straddled your lap as you both laid down comfortably on the soft, purple bed of hers."One moreee," you hear her whine.

thats all i got, sorry dawgs 🫡

My fave thing abt Miggy is that when you first meet him, he’s all cold and has a tendency to brush you off aand now he doesn’t even want you to go out of bed 🤭🤭🤭

He’s just so whipped for his Mr/Mrs/Mx. O’Hara fr!!!

HE FR IS !!! i'm gonna include some bonus scenes from my AUtober day 1 fic if you don't mind ~~~

˗ˏˋ ✮ kairi's AUtober !

double feature 2: he's not smitten with you. miguel o'hara x gn!reader

"hey, miguel."

"..."

"mig, mig, hey mig!"

"..."

"miiiiiiigueeeeeel!"

"..."

"dammit mig, would you just look at me?"

he sighed and begrudgingly turned around, his light brown, chestnut colored eyes piercing into your gaze. he ran a hand through his wispy, tousled, dark brown hair and grunted. "what do you want?" he'd always act like he wants nothing to do with you, and that's probably true–about a year ago, he was the aloof, dissociative man everyone in the spider society came to fear and revere all at the same time. he had this tendency to be dismissive and brush people off, being all sarcastic and witty to express how he wanted others to leave him alone or to go away. you always fell victim to that snarky, rude miguel, who you've dubbed as, 'grouchy'.

"oh, grouchyyyy!" would ring through the headquarters' walls, and you didn't mind the fact that miguel would reprimand you for such a 'disrespectful' nickname–you didn't mind how furious he'd be with you for basically mocking him and pointing out his attitude; no, all that mattered was you getting a reaction out of him whenever you'd call him that, and you succeeded in this very venture every. single. time.

he'd scoff and roll his eyes at the nickname, folding his arms over his broad chest and crinkling his thick eyebrows at your little pet name for him. "quit it." he'd command you to do so every time, but it only made your teasing little moniker for him more frequently heard; and ironically... he gradually stopped chiding you for using it. he came to terms that you wouldn't quit calling him that, and he decided not to fight that feeling anymore and just let you call him whatever. but only behind closed doors, mind you–he'd strangle you if you ever called him 'grouchy' in front of the other spider people.

half a year passes, and you went from calling him 'grouchy' to 'miggy'. you honestly believed that hearing that nickname would piss him off, but it kind of had the opposite effect, really–he grew accustomed to the nickname and would pause for a minute before telling you to, 'call him miguel'. you never did call him just 'miguel', and he was sort of hoping that... you wouldn't stop calling him so. on random days when you'd call him 'o'hara' or 'miguel', he'd do a double take and nod, acting a little disappointed that the first thing that came out of your mouth was a–

"oh, yeah, don't forget to take care of yourself–miggy."

oh, fuck.

his heart is aching at the sound of that, throbbing and palpitating rapidly. and though it was for a mere few seconds, his heart skipped too fast for him to keep up with; he... had never felt that before. not ever before this moment–it was... wow. "i... yeah, y-you too." he'd reply, the words escaping his lips sounding foreign as he asks himself in a billion different ways: 'was that real? did i just... say that?'

eventually, some time passed, and miguel followed your stead and reserved a nickname for you: "mi dulce", his... sweet. he never continues it, because to him, there's not really any label for you–you're not quite his friend, he's closer to you than that, and you... aren't his lover yet; though you are the sweetest, you are his sweet.

and a year later... he's calling all kinds of names–from 'cariño' to 'mi amor' to 'mi ángel'–he's really outdone you in pet name department several times over. not a day goes by anymore without him being the one to fuss over you, make you snacks and meals when you come to visit him, remind you to drink water, sleep on time, and to eat at least three times a day, and... calling you his beloved, each and every day, with less embarrassment the more you smile at him and share the same sentiment with him and for him.

"mi amor–"

"yeah?"

"...take care out there, mi dulce amor."

"of course i will, and so should you, miggy."

and with that... he smiles.

nothing else could make him smile like this all genuinely and gleefully, not anything, not anyone else–just you and your perfect smile.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

coyote ! age range is 18+ ! any pronouns . . .

i write all sorts of things, all types of dynamics, so it's a mix of everything . . .

currently writing 2 series !

dividers are all made by @cafekitsune . . .

everything else is below cut . . .

I. don't repost my stuff without my consent

II. don't DM me unless it's something concerning my work/something important, if you want to compliment or request, send an ask . . . im awkward, a bit busy + i just don't feel comfortable

III. just don't be a weirdo ! please & ty

======================================

DNI:

proshippers/comshippers/antiantis & other sickos related

bigots (racist, homophobic, abelist accounts) + this includes bullying blogs

if you write/enjoy/netrual on things like dub/non-con/step-family "romance", general problematic fiction, please gtfo . . . you make me mighty uncomfortable

list will add on through time . . .

======================================

WRITING:

will write: romance, platonic, smut, headcanons, just anything

won't write: dub/non-con, yandere/stalking, abusive/pedophilia, age-gaps, like 20+ years or if the character knew !reader as a kid, no. just basic criteria, no gross shit !

goodboy!miguel o'hara

~ your best friend, brightest companion, your joy . . . Miguel O'Hara. You were a trouble maker, a black sheep and school dropout, meanwhile Miguel was an obedient, straight-A student . . . You've known each other since you were kids, but now you are now eighteen. Being sent off to college. You're afraid you'll be holding him back, wasting his time . . . Loosing him. As time goes on, you fear for your friendship, and other things . . .

I. RAYBURN (SFW);

It's only a day until the end of summer. you'll officially graduate and go to college along with Miguel, far away from your parents. you decide to go on one more trip down memory lane before you two pack your bags and travel into the real world . . .

======================================

biker!michael afton

~ you were hired to be a getaway driver in michael's little gang. you expected some low pay and slimy characters, but you were proven wrong after you formed a close friendship with michael, the most wild of them all . . .

I. CHER (NSFW) :

You and Michael successfully hightail it away from a rivaling gang after Michael vandalized their little "clubhouse" . . . You decide to park your car in an old alley to wait out the chase, in the meantime, Michael asks if you want a reward for your effort. What began as a friendly banter, turned into both of you in the backseat, smothered in each other . . .

Fandoms:

astv (spiderman in general)

breaking bad

tlou 1/2

twd (comics) + at vol 4 atm

~~

will do any characters . . . (please submit only adults for smut/romance. characters that are freshly 18 have the same rules . . . )

nerd!miguel x popular!reader (nsfw)

astv!miguel o'hara x gn!reader (sfw)

astv!miguel + biker!michael (nsfw)

Miguel O’Hara x reader - Come to bed

Warnings: fem reader, smut, nsfw, AFAB language, piv sex, overstimulation, and a slightly annoyed Miguel. You and Miguel are also married btw.

Basically, sleepy Miguel fucks you because you wouldn’t come to bed and let him sleep. Fluffy at first, then turns smutty.

Miguel walked into the kitchen, immediately squinting his eyes and bringing his hand up to block the glaring lights of the kitchen as he grumbled. “¿Amor? Dios mios…”

Your husband was always a sight to behold, in all of his forms- but the sweet domesticity of this one must be one of the best. The way he stood before you in nothing but his boxers- how his voice was still deep and gravely from waking up- the way he rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes- it was perfect.

Miguel shuffled his feet, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and resting his chin on top of your head as he mumbled his complaints. “What are you doing up? Love, It’s 2 AM. Why are all the lights on?”

“I was hungry…” You murmur, looking down at the plate of mix-matched leftovers you had scrounged from the fridge.

“Yes, pretty. I can see, but why does warming up leftovers require you to turn on ever light in the house.” Miguel said, poking fun at you as his fingers crept under the hem of your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your stomach as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face at Miguel’s teasing. “Go back to bed, Miguel. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Miguel, however, did not go back to bed. He instead followed you around, sitting down with you on the couch and holding you tightly against him

“You’re like a lost puppy, Miguel. Can you not sleep without me there?” You tease, looking back and smirking at Miguel.

Miguel, for his part, looks practically asleep behind you- his eyes half closed as he rests his head on your shoulder, mumbling barley intelligible words into the crook of your neck. “‘m not a puppy. ‘m a wolf… a big, bad, scary, and protective wolf.”

The (frankly, adorable) sight is enough to send a pang of guilt through your chest from keeping your poor, exhausted husband awake- so you do your best to quickly eat the food you’ve made for yourself.

Once you’ve finished, you had to wake Miguel up, but once he was awake, he was immediately herding you back towards the bedroom. With one hand on your back, gently pushing you forward through the hall, and the other rubbing at his tired eyes.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his incessant nudges. “Hey! Miguel! I gotta go pee first!”

“Nu-uh. Nothing else. Back to bed.”

“Miguel!!” You laughed, ducking under his arm and running into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

You went to the bathroom as fast as you could, but not fast enough for Miguel, who stood outside the door whining the entire time.

“¡Por favor! ¡Date prisa, amor!”

When you finished and unlocked the door, you found a rather pitiful looking Miguel on the other side- who immediately scooped you up in his arms and carried you to your bedroom despite the light hearted protest you mounted against him.

“Miguel!! I gotta brush my teeth before I go back to bed! I just ate!!” You say, grinning as you squirmed in his arms and managed to slip away. Only for a strong arm to wrap around your waist and pull you back, hoisting you up in the air and over Miguel’s shoulder.

“That’s it. You’re coming to bed right now. No ifs, ands, or buts. Except your butt, in bed.”

You couldn’t deny the shiver Miguel’s words sent through you. This poor man, who was clearly exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to lay down with his wife and go back to sleep. However… there was a threat in those words… one that you were itching to press him on.

“But- Miguel!” You whined, only to be cut off by a harsh slap to your ass and a startled yelp escaping you.

“I said, no buts.” Miguel growled, tossing you onto the bed and climbing on top of you.

You couldn’t help the burning need quickly growing inside of you, because Miguel looked practically primal above you. With his messy, sleep-tousled hair- the way is voice was still just as deep and scratchy as when he first got up- how perfect he looked above you, in nothing but his boxers as he pinned you down on the bed.

Miguel yanked down your pajama bottoms and underwear, eliciting a surprised yelp from you at the sudden rush of cold air. “You always decide to be a brat at the worst times. You couldn’t just listen tonight and come to bed one of the five times I told you. No, you had to keep running around and doing whatever the hell else you felt like doing. And now, your going to stay in this bed, whether you like it or not.”

The sudden press of Miguel’s large, warm, and calloused thumb against your hole was enough to make you clench around nothing , pressing your hips down to try and get some of that thumb inside of you. Only for Miguel yo scoff and pull his hand away.

“No. Don’t move. You’re going to be a good girl and sit there and take it. I stayed up with you for the past half hour, waiting patiently for you. So now, it’s your turn. Your gonna lay right here and take exactly what I give you, got it?”

You quickly nodded your head, desperate enough for his touch that you’d probably agree to just about anything.

Miguel growled, pressing the tip of his cock against your hole and just barely pressing it in- rubbing it against your lips as he spoke to you. “You’re so wet for me already, you don’t even need any prep, do you?”

You’re pussy tensed around nothing as his cock slid over your hole, nearly making you start to beg for him to just put it in already- only for him to push his entire length in as soon as you opened your mouth to speak- resulting in a loud moan falling from your lips as he bottomed out.

Miguel smiled to himself, looking at you with a clear air of pride at how loud he just made you moan for him. “You seem much more docile now that I have you all stretched out on my cock, pretty lady.” He comments, pulling out slowly, only to thrust back in and begin to fuck into you, quickly establishing a brutal pace.

“Is this the only way I can get some sleep around here? Do I have to fuck all the energy out of you? Hm?” Miguel asks as yet another embarrassing moan falls from your lips at his words.

Moans fell freely from your mouth as the lewd sounds of sex filled the room. With Miguel’s pace, it wasn’t long before you feel your orgasm start to build.

You cry out, reaching a hand down to hold Miguel’s. “Miguel! Miggy! Miggy I’m close! I’m gonna cum!”

“Good.” Miguel growls, intertwining your’s and his fingers and pressing your hand against the pillow. “Cum for me, love.”

all you can do is nod dumbly as your orgasm washes over you- Miguel reaching down to run your clit as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

As you came down from your high, you realized Miguel was still fucking into you- the pleasure from just seconds ago quickly turning into painful overstimulation.

“I-it’s too much!! T-too much!” You whined, desperately trying to squirm off of Miguel’s cock, only for him to smile and take your other hand, intertwining your fingers and pinning both hands down- holding you in place as he fucked you harder on his cock.

“Remember what I said? Take what I give you?” Miguel said, smirking and fucking into you with new intensity as he held you in place. “Well it’s a two way street. You always have to take what I give you. Whether it’s not enough, or too much. I don’t care. You’re. Going. To. Take it.” Miguel punctuated each of his final words with deep, powerful thrusts. Leaving you nothing but an overstimulated mess beneath him, whining as his hips stuttered and you felt his cum fill you up.

Miguel didn’t pull out, still hovering over you as he panted and caught his breath.

After a moment, he scooped you up in his arms and rolled both of you onto your sides, holding you tightly against his chest and kissing your forehead as he murmured sweet praises into your ear.

“You’re so pretty for me. So good to me too. You feel so good, you know that? You’re so warm- so soft and perfect for me. You’re always perfect for me, love.”

You nodded sleepily, happily curled up in Miguel’s strong arms- his cock and cum warming you from the inside out, and the thick comforter that Miguel pulls up encasing you and him in a warm cocoon of shared body heat. You couldn’t help but press closer to Miguel’s chest, your eyes slipping shut as you relaxed in his embrace.

In the end, Miguel finally got what he wanted- laying in bed, warm and cozy under the covers, holding his wife against his chest as he fell asleep. Although, there would be a bit of a mess in the morning to deal with.

querido ii: ¿estás bien? | outlaw!miguel o'hara

Chapter List

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | tripleshot(?); explicit

❛ summary | while miguel gathers gabriella, you have an unexpected visit from aaron. miguel doesn't take his visit well.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats, implied physical assault, implied molestation, miguel beating a bitch up, mention of alcohol and smoking, f!reader.

❛ sy's notes | a bit long but-- enjoy.

The path Gabriella took was traceable. He wove through the pass of battered grass with efficiency, passing by groups of grazing cattle until he came upon a small wooden barn. It was nestled just in the mouth of the forest. It was clumsily built and even more sloppily painted. Miguel had no doubt that it had to be Peter’s handiwork. It had that look about it, half done but done in love.

“Gabriella?” her name was clumsy on his tongue. Before today, he’d gotten no word of his daughter in smuggled letters from Peter. Didn’t even know you were pregnant. It made sense, after the accident, that he’d step up. That was the kinda man Peter was.

“Go away,” she sniffled between the fallen tears and snot, her sobbing loud and relentless. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Let me take you home, kid.”

“No.” she bit out. “I don’t know you.”

“You know your mama.”

“I don’ think I do,” she said.

“Yeah, well, that makes two’a us.” Crestfallen, Miguel set his back against the wood panneling, folding his broad arms one over the other. His head connected with the aged old wood, staring into the distance at your little house with its peeling paint and tall flowering trees. He takes a swig of his flask of booze, needing something to cut with the sudden reality that he was an instant father. A smoke would do, too.

He should have known his method of pulling out and praying would slip up one day. Apparently, that came sooner than he thought. If he searched his memories way back when, he might have remembered a time or two that he failed to pull out, your beautiful body riding him for all he was worth. All beat up, he was a sad sex partner, clinging underneath layers of your frilly dress to fuck up into you. Coño, that had to be it. A laugh slipped off his lips, empty of his typical sass and mirth.

“Came back to see my girl and end up a father, fancy that.”

“Your girl?” Gabriella said, in between her raw tears. “What’d you mean your girl?”

“Tu mamá. She was my girl. Met her as a cattle hand for her papá. Back when I used to do things right,” Miguel found himself explaining, turning his head over to the tiny window. He couldn’t help but remember the first time you caught his eye-- the day you dropped that ruby-red rebozo into a muddy puddle on the way back from church. Whirling off his newly broken horse, Miguel near flung himself off her saddle to pick it up. Gabriella shifted to look out the empty window at him. “Shoulda seen her then. She had this glimmer, used to bring me out burros no matter how hot it was.”

He remembers the many days sitting on the wooden gate, tearing tasteless dried meat until you came around. You slipped out of your mother’s schoolhouse without fail to bring him something to eat. He hated sopita days the most. You loved those days the most. Beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd eat it, smack on a smile. Listened with an annoyed grin to the other cattle hands when they teased him about having to drop his entire salary back on the man to get your hand in marriage. Like the asshole would give you to a sunburnt, down-in-the-dirt cowboy like him. If he'd known that, he would've just eloped before things got... messy.

“Mama likes sopita,” Gabriella said. At least she knew her mother. “I like frijoles and tortillas.”

Sencillo. She was a simple child. Miguel exhaled a plume of smoke, spotting a dark brown horse out in the distance. He wasn't sure, but it could be Aaron coming to bother you again. He swore that the man had come in earlier when Miguel was feeding Widow in the barn.

“Abuelo y mi tia were shot.” She stated. What'd you do?! She’s not moving! Miguel shook the memory free. Every time he remembered, he hoped he could forget. He brings his cigarette back to his lips as the little girl goes on. “That’s what mamá said. Then, the paper says you killed the sheriff. Real outlaw like!"

“That’s what they say,” he mumbled, finding his mind running.

The days of running from his thoughts were coming to a quick end. He’s traveled far and wide, never married-- though he had certain needs met. It never fit. No one’s body held the quiet calm of yours under his, your fingers dancing the expanse of his muscled back, your soft lips on his chapped ones. He just wanted to make it right, thinking there was nothing more to tie you down. Looking at the curious twinkle in his daughter’s big brown doe eyes, that was obviously wrong.

“Yeah, but did you do it?”

“Don’t think your mamá would appreciate me talking out of turn.” Miguel unfolded his arms, knowing that he already said too much. He doesn’t know how much of the event you’ve told her. It’s easy to want to tell her things, to be more honest, and to invite open conversation like a papá should. He let Peter handle it all for years.

“What about me?” she asked, curious. “Did’ja come back for me?”

“You?” Miguel peeped over. “I didn’t even know you were alive, kid. Besides that, you won’t even talk to me man to man.”

“Man to girl,” she pushed open the door and popped out with her hands square on her hips. She’s a little spitfire, standing there proudly, fractured in some beautiful way, through moments of grief. It still wears in her girlish eyes, but it's smoothed over some by Miguel’s presence. He suddenly has a terrible fear of letting her down. He caught the tail of a frown before it dissipated. She presented him with her hand.

“My papá’s gone, so you’ll just have to do.”

Great, he’s a second-rate father. He knows he’s no Peter, who could run off with the smallest joy a child had. He could make it seem like the most amazing thing he’s ever heard. Miguel has a cold demeanor, his aptitude in things outside gunfights is questionable, and he has a fat ass bounty on his head-- no doubt spearheaded by Aaron. The deaths were so old. The sheriff was another issue. Why else would he keep chasing him?

“I’ll try.”

He could do this. Whatever having a child entailed, he wanted to do it. To one day bring that smile to Gabriella’s lips. A smile warmed his hardened face as he took hers. It’s the only thing that a newfound father could wish for his daughter-- to be the source of her happiness.

By the time they trek back home, there is no sight of Aaron. Widow is tucked kindly in your barn, out of the sweltering sun that beat down her little face to keep her safe. They take the backdoor in.

“Mamá?” Gabriella stepped in first. Miguel followed after, his hand on his gun out of habit. Too many sleepless nights in the middle of nowhere, nights sleeping in caves and rocky ground. “Mamá, are you there?”

Your clothes are thrown over a wooden chair, forgotten. Your cleaning water is used and indicates that you cleaned up in their absence. Miguel stepped past a broken dish in the kitchen that Gabriella thought fell off on its own accord. He set the sherds on top of one another and continued on in his inspection of the kitchen.

“Oh, mama made pie!” Gabriella picked up the forgotten peach pie from the window and set it on the lace tablecloth that covered the table. Miguel promptly shut the window behind her. He recognized Peter’s old pistol on the table, still holstered up in your thigh wrapping. Night had fallen on the home. Had they been gone so long?

Something’s off-- Miguel decided.

“I’m upstairs,” you called from up the steps. Your voice sounded strained, suppressing something Miguel didn’t quite understand.

“Eat n’ bed,” he told Gabi.

"Can I eat the pie?"

"Eat what'cha want." He minded how she took the pie up to her room with a shake of his head. He wasn’t getting him any of that any time soon. He checked her room first, shooing her off with the awkwardest hug. Not on his part, but hers. She squeezed his waist the tightest she could before she disappeared inside.

On his last visit here, he hadn't gone into depth exploring the home. It was beautiful. Warmed by your touch with well-framed family portraits and knick-knacks he recognizes from a decade ago. It’s terribly domestic, but that’s the beauty of a lifestyle he is alien to. Miguel hovered before a wedding photo. Unlike the typical wedding photos he saw town to town, you were clearly pregnant behind that tight white dress. Peter was clearly grinning like the idiot he was. He draws his knuckles over the heavy wooden door with a silent knock. He doesn’t want to fall into a trap with his daughter next door.

“Adelante,” you whispered, inviting him in. He pushes the door apart.

There’s no sign of Aaron. You sat at a small vanity, combing your hair out with a hand-me-down brush. Your hair fell over a heavy welt on your cheek that wasn’t there hours ago. His eye trained on the bruise. For a few long moments, he was silent. He eventually clicks the door shut and takes several steps forward, peeling your tiny palm that obscures the heavy bruising on your cheekbone.

“Did you find her?”

“What happened?” he asked, plain and dry. No room for debate, no way to deflect. You turned your head to one side, stroking your nightgown for a semblance of comfort. He removed your hand and set it on your lap, his large hand tilting your face in gentle concern. You abandoned your brush on the vanity. The spot was hot and angry, burning with a blotchy color that painted your face in a watercolor of bruises. “Was it Aaron?”

“You saw him?” He met your eyes and kept his gaze steady and strong. That was his answer. You sighed. “It’s not important.”

“Did he put his hands on you? Did he-- touch you?”

Miguel knew how Aaron looked at you in the past. Even back then, married to your sister, his eyes always wandered to any pretty thing. It wasn’t enough that the rumors that spread were full of talk of Miguel and you, ever the hot topic at every dance he took you to. Not because it was unique but because your father had clear objections to the match. Aaron took his presence as a threat. Right now, it was.

“Did you find Gabi?”

“She’s safe in her room,” he cropped his words. “I want to talk about you.”

“Y yo no,” you looked away. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Mi amor,” Miguel brought his hand down, supporting your soft jaw in his hand. Miguel doesn’t beg, but he will this time. It was all he could do to make you tell the truth. To soothe the sick feeling in his gut, to make sure that you were well taken care of. In a surge of concern, Miguel tried to push the issue further. “Don’t shut me out.”

“You’ll get all worked up and that ain’t gonna do nothin’ but raise that bounty on your head.”

"So." It doesn't matter that you had a point. There was a warning hanging in his eyes-- he wouldn’t let it go. Not without an explanation first. It was impossible. "I already got a chunk of change on my head. What's one more gonna do?"

“He’s been pressing me to search the ranch for you every so often,” you admitted, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I left the front door open and he came on in while I was changing. I was about sick of it, querido, so I told him to go away. I guess… he didn’t like that much. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Miguel cut you off. That was closer to a version of the truth than he knew you wanted to admit. He knew you enough to know it wasn’t the full story. Miguel slipped onto his knees, his worn slacks scratching the floor beneath him. He held your hands in his, reminding himself not to lash out, throw something, or hit something for not being there. There was no outlet for his rage right then. He'd take it out on something later.

“He didn’t violate me if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” Your lip pursed, struggled to make words that don’t hurt so much. Your tongue was fat in your mouth as you explained. “He just… grabbed on me a bit.”

Grabbed on you a bit? Miguel searched your fingers with an intent expression for an answer that made sense. You were being cryptic. He doesn’t particularly like weighing the options of what it could mean. He could have grabbed the door and forced his way in. He could have grabbed you and tried to force himself on you. The thought burned low in his stomach, simmering the need for revenge.

“What’d he grab?” he drew your name out in a soft, puff of a thing. Your fingers left his, smoothing over your nightgown again in an effort to soothe yourself. Your breath quickened, a clear signal that he was hitting his limit with you.

“I don’t--” you struggled. “I don’t want to talk about none of that. You just came back today, Gabi learned the truth, Peter-- I can’t do it. Can’t you let it go?”

He knew that the tears pricking your eyes weren’t over something like Peter’s death or the bite of dust in your eyes. Shame and embarrassment dangle before him, fueling his enmity with a man that he’d not run up against in many years. If anything were going to force him into action, it would be this.

“If that’s what you want, amor.”

He couldn’t let it go. But if it helped you relax, he’d just let you think he could. Miguel sprung up on two feet and kicked off his dark brown boots under your wooden vanity. He slipped off his suit jacket and vest before offering you his hand.

“I should… check on Gabi. She might be hungry.”

“She took up with that pie you made her. Menudo’s on the stove.”

“Pero… I should make sure she’s okay.”

“Amor, are you okay?” he asked, his voice terribly mild, but bore a seriousness that struck a cord in you. His words hung like the blade of a scythe, cutting through the strength you had to have day to day since Peter passed. First death. Now as Miguel suspected, a molestation?

No, you choked out, your face pale of its usual warmth. You didn’t fight as he brought you into bed, his hand underneath your neck to draw you close. He knew his smoky scent would reek the sheets, yet you did not seem to care, burrowing in the space between his neck. Your hand slipped underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt, curling in his chest hair. He caressed your back in soft circles.

“Miggy?”

“¿Sí, mi hermosa?”

“Make it better.”

Take care of it, he thought bitterly. That’s what you meant. Miguel slid his other large hand over the back of your neck, working you through the tears. The flood of your tears against his neck reminded him of how pathetic of a job he’d been doing, caring for his new little family, for you-- the woman he came to take away.

For this moment, he could only cradle your cheek and distract you with a salty kiss. He clumsily nudged his nose against yours to force you to pay attention to him. He probably tastes of booze, smoke, and a little bit of dried meat, but if he does, you don’t seem to mind it. Your lips shuddered, lips opening slightly to allow him to kiss you more fully. Your kiss held its own familiarity, a signal that he was home despite the years that passed.

“I don’t think I can do this alone,” you murmured against his lips. “I ain’t that strong.”

“You’re plenty strong. Got through a whole pregnancy without your man around, raised her up good.”

“I knew I was with child before you left,” you peered up. Emotions flickered there: a rush of anger, uncertainty, disappointment, most of all, sadness pooled in his eyes. “I just… I ain’t know how to tell you, what’d it change with papa not liking you the least bit after Lupe’s shooting.”

“I would’a wifed you up quick.”

Now-- what would he do? Miguel wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t be just Aaron who would come around the longer he spent in this town. Bounty hunters of all kinds would be breathing down his neck. There was no future for him here. The only alternative was to take his family out of this tiny town, carve out a new life elsewhere. Miguel brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

“I still would.”

Your cheeks are warm as they get, “Who’d marry an outlaw and a widow?”

“Someone out west that ain’t know about us.”

“There such a place?” you asked.

“'Course there is,” he assured you. “Think ‘bout it.”

You looked at him for a long time, considering if Miguel was telling you the truth, but he’s never lied before. Not where it counts. Miguel’s hand wandered, pulling your thigh over his, content with your consideration.

“Think that’d make me a bad mom, whisking my kid off to be with an outlaw, ain’t it?”

Miguel arched his brow at you, his eyes glossy and warm, teasing. In any other case, he might have agreed. But it was his child you cared for. He wasn’t about to abandon you— no way to make money, no way to take care of Gabriella but to remarry or sell off everything and try a life in the city. You liked rocking on a rocking chair at the end of the night, running through the wildflowers, and the taste of honey in the warmer months. You were no city girl.

“Ain’t like they don’t know whose kid it is.” Miguel laughed, a tuft of pride spilling into his words. “She look like she's mine.”

“Peter’d say that too.” The thought made you smile in a way you knew it shouldn’t. As good as a man Peter was, he brought up that fact the day you gave birth, when he abandoned the fields to be by your side. How we gonna hide this? He’d laugh. She ain’t look Anglo. She look just like Miguel. He always did say he hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. It was. Peter was a one-of-a-kind man. The memory brought a twinge of a smile to your face, looking over your marital bedroom. Speaking of others--

“Didn’t you meet other girls out there?”

Miguel forgets the kind of woman you were. A very jealous, terribly protective woman. He knew the question would come up eventually. You were a woman who loved to be the center of his world. Every man and woman wanted to be the only one in their lover’s eyes. He traveled the grassy roads for years and saw all there was to see. All types of women. Native women who lived on the land and slept in longhouses. Anglo women seemed to love to run their fingers down his swarthy skin but never considered bringing him home-- even if he wasn’t interested. Black women always fed him, even if they distrusted him a little. And, Hispanic women whose fathers did not like him prowling around their land. He couldn't blame them. He wouldn't want someone like him for Gabi, either.

“I met my share.”

“And you still came back?”

“Yeah? I came back for you. What, you want me out?” Despite your brilliant, soft smile, your mind ran like you’d taken the first ticket on the railroad out of town. He knew what you were thinking. You were wondering how many women he’d been with, what they were like, what--

"You're so sassy," you teased. He slid on top of you, his fat belt buckle catching on your nightgown. His lips peppered gentle but scratchy kisses down the expanse of your neck. The soft bruising there reminded him of Aaron’s mistakes. He'd take care of that next.

“Miggy,” you giggled, tugging on his thick dark brown hair. “Stop it.”

“Todavía te amo,” he lifted off your neck enough to utter the words. Your cheeks flooded with an unfamiliar warmth. You'd not had someone to make your heart soar in a really long time. Your hand curled up his head, dipped along the curves of his face to his sharp jawline, and tugged him to look at you. He complied, a tilt in his head.

“I wanna see you naked. You’ve gotten so big,” you said. “Take off your clothes.”

Well-- he had to know that one was coming. Miguel suppressed a small snicker from leaving his chest as he pushed off the bed and brought his fingers against the buttons you hadn’t undone. You scooted up on the bed, dragged your gown over your knees, and watched him undress. He drew the shirt off his massive arms and threw it in on your chair. His skin was memorable, still as dark and swarthy as you remember, but cut in more defined musculature. You brought your nail to your lip, suckling on the nail as he threw you a half-lidded look.

“Well?” he hooked his thumbs onto his belt buckle, waving a little closer. “You're not saying anything.”

“You’re so big, querido.”

“Believe you already said that,” Miguel teased.

He knew he looked good. It was how he attracted so many different women. You twiddled your fingers to urge him closer. Something about you loosening his belt filled his belly with a distant excitement. He watched you unlatch the fat buckle and draw his belt free of the loops with a whirl of leather. He held his thick leather belt in one hand as your trembling hands came up to unbutton him. The firm fabric slid down over his hips, revealing nothing beneath but his hirsute legs and a flaccid cock that settled on a tuft of nearly black pubic hair. If he wasn't mistaken, you moistened your lips.

Selfishly, he wonders how many men you’ve been with since he ran off. He wouldn't have blamed you if you wanted to be with a hundred. He left you pregnant, without a family, and likely terrified.

“How long’s it been?” Miguel stepped out of what was left, standing there as naked as the first day he came into this world, exposed without his rifle or his handgun. Your cheeks flared with warmth, gliding a hand up his hip. “Since you've been with a man.”

“Eight years.”

He knew that Peter had no interest in you, and you had no interest in Peter. He was simply a good man doing what he thought was right. If not for Peter-- he’s not sure what would have become of you. Yet, illogically, he thought you could stomach to be with another man.

“You never been with another man?”

“I married Peter. I’d never do him like that,” you shook your head, inching your hand over his cock. After eight years, you deserved a good fucking. He can’t bring himself to force you into it, not after what you’ve been through tonight. He allows you to lead, milking his cock with your small hand. Your other crawls up to his scarred stomach, tracing the line of hair to his navel. There were countless scars on his body, never afraid to leap head first into a battle.

“I bet you had needs,” Miguel murmured. "You use your hand?"

“‘Course I did, Miggy. I’m a woman, ain’t I?” You looked up at him, your bruised face beautiful as it was. Despite what other men liked to say, that women ain’t need to do nothing but lay there and take them, Miguel knows better. His mind is full of distant memories of sex with one another. Sneaking out in the deep of night to fuck in the fields, snatching you midway through your chores to kiss and finger you in the barn, or exchanging the smallest of glances around town. "Now don't talk so nasty, Gabriella is right next door."

“Downstairs. Lemme take care of you,” Miguel found took your hand, lifting it away from his cock and forcing you to stand. You complied, following his hand that slipped between your legs, stroking up your thighs to your neglected core. He imagines that on nights like this, quiet and alone when Peter was on a cattle drive, you’d come into your bed just like this. Slip over your bed, stroke your long fingers over your puffy lips, maybe dip one inside, and think of him.

“What if she comes in?”

“She won’t.”

“But I don’t know how to--”

“Mujer. You don’t need to think of anything short of what I’m about to do to you.” Miguel lifted your nightgown up and off your body. Your hands snapped to your midsection, covering whatever it was that was so offensive.

"Stop that." Miguel tilted his head to the side, flicking your hands away from appreciating the sight of your belly, littered with softly discolored stretch marks.

“But I ain’t pretty no more,” you told him. “I got--”

“You got marks from bearing me a baby. I know. Now, hush up,” Miguel teased gently, the pads of his fingers swooping over the marks. They had gone silvery with age. Perhaps, he thinks, you thought you'd never be with a man. Now, you seem so suddenly self-conscious of the marks that litter your skin. He curved his hands around to squeeze your plush hips, flushing his body against yours. You felt his cock rub up against your belly, soft to the touch. Miguel's cock stiffened against your navel, a feeling that brought a crack of arousal through your core. You rubbed your thighs together for the friction. As relief pooled in your belly, Miguel seized your jaw to kiss you, his hands slapping your ass to force you to move. You shifted forward, crying out into his muscular chest. “I’m after a woman, not a girl. Get on all fours. It’s my turn to see you.”

You complied by sliding onto the bed, memories of what Miguel liked flooding your mind: chest against the sheets and ass up. Despite the very real concerns you had about his attraction, Miguel seemed no worse for wear when you looked over your shoulder. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grabbed your ass, massaged your cheeks between his palms, and separated your lips. He licked a long band up between your tender lips, enough to wrench free a soft gasp. He suckled on them with a wet pop, the puff of his lips musing hot air onto your cunt.

“That’s cute,” Miguel murmured, letting his palm come on your ass for a teasing slap. You groaned, the hot redness burned in a sweet and unfamiliar way. His lips began to moisten with your lubricant spilling over them, tasting of a woman he hadn’t had in too long. His tongue prodded at the entrance to your gentle hole, pushing in one of his thick digits. Your walls protested the intrusion, clamping over the foreign finger.

“Ah Miguel,” you curled your toes, his finger stretching you in preparation for his fat cock. “I ain’t sure I can take you.”

“Sure you can.” Miguel hummed, inserting another alongside the first. You were tight, that was for sure. He was sure that you hadn’t been with another man in years, just as you said. It made his cock leak to think of it-- your virginity was his, your child was his, and… now you’d be his again. He spat on your hole, his wet saliva squelching with your lubricant around his broad fingers as he entered your body. Your hips rutted back onto him, instantly making Miguel release a husky laugh. "Your pussy knows you can. Look'it eating me up."

"Por dios Miguel, don't talk like that." You stiffened around his fingers. His mouth had gotten nastier in his time away. He knows you like the way he worships you, finger flicking lightly over your walls, making sure to stretch you wide. Another slipped alongside the first, twisting his wrist for a deeper thrust, working you nice and loose, enjoying the gasps of decadent pleasure. Miguel whispered beautiful words of praise, remarking on how easily you took him, how well you'd be in only a few minutes. Your hands ruffled the sheets, cantering your hips back onto him. You needed his words, so tired after years of sexual frustration.

"That's it. Tell me you missed it," he fucked you a few more times before his rhythm would die off, leaving you empty of him. His hand shifted to your breasts, molding them between his big palms, waiting for an answer that sounded right.

"I missed you, Miggy."

Miguel momentarily paused. Then, he stepped up, the hair on his legs brushing your thighs as he mounted you. The blunt head of his cock nudged along your lips.

“I’ma fuck you now,” Miguel murmured into your ear, letting his chest rest on your own. He pushed into you. Your walls stretched with his long stroke, Miguel's face tightening up. He was seated against your cervix, pushed up as far as you would let him go. For all your whining about his language, the obscene cry that left your lips was loud. Loud enough that Miguel slapped his hand over your mouth. He hooked his thumb in your mouth, forcing you to suck him as he sped up his deep thrusts, pushing you closer to your limit.

“Just gorgeous, mi hermosa.” Miguel found himself grinding forth. The repetitive squeaking of the bed made what he was about to say real stupid like. “But you gotta be quiet. Gabi don’t need to know what we’re doin’.”

Your tongue coasted around his thumb, suckling him nice and wet. Your walls clamped back over him, unused to the feeling of having a man inside. Miguel found himself rutting against your cunt, his tightening balls slapping your ass as he moved. Again and again, Miguel set a soothing, quick rhythm, filling the emptiness from years ago.

He'd been with many women over the years. None felt so easy, so like home. He curses himself for not doing it sooner. Your fingers dipped between your bodies, filling the emptiness, and causing your pleasure to blossom under your fingers. Pleasure explodes in your core, battered by his frantic thrusts, and your mind goes over the edge into some distant land of warm pleasure. Your walls spasmed violently, and Miguel's gasps became thin, adjusting his hold on your hips under the clench of your muscles against his length. He holds onto his decency poorly, strain bundled in his brow.

“Could you-- inside?” you said between his thrusts, muffled by the fingers hooked in your moist mouth.

“I do that-- and-- you'll get pregnant,” you’re both older now, he wants to think wiser than being two stupid kids fucking one another without care. Not that his pull-out game was particularly great back then-- Miggy please, you cry his name out, a tone that is stretched sweetly thin, walls spasming tightly over his fat cock. He muffles a curse, his pace jagged and uneven, desperate.

“Please, I miss it,” you cry, a litany of please threatening his ability to be well-behaved. He never was good at that in the first place, never good at saying no. Miguel drags you onto his cock, complying with a groan that he didn’t mean to be quite so loud. Thick streams of cum fill your tight little hole, bubbling out around the site of your union. He rides out the tails of his orgasm, earning you desperate little snaps of his shaking hips.

“Ay dios,” Miguel came down from his high with a slap to your ass, ripping his other hand free from your mouth to comb through his hair. He didn’t just-- he did. Miguel threw a glance at you, your shy eyes hiding behind an embroidered pillow. “I came inside.”

Coño. Great. Just-- great.

“I can feel it,” you teased him. He was stressed out, seeing a stream of his cum dribbling out from your cunt. He didn’t even know how to take care of one. How was he going to take care of two? His eyes narrowed.

“You best pray that it don’t take.”

“Don’t think I control that, Miguel.”

He pieced himself together smoothly, failing to notice anything but the emptiness that settled in your chest. A sigh left his chest and Miguel would set a kiss on the top of your head, looking toward the clothes-covered chair. Your eyebrows drew together in the realization that Miguel did not intend to stay.

“Are you leaving already?” You whined, pulling his name out from somewhere deep and lonely. He knew what it was. He just fucked you-- and now, he was going to run off. “Where you off to?”

“I got something to do. I’ll be back another day.”

A frown marred your soft features, lips slapped shut. You pushed away the warm quilt and slipped below it with your head on pillows that still smelled of Peter. You took one, propped it under your arm, and hid your lovely face from view. Silence filled the suddenly stuffy room. Other women would whine and complain about his fuck-and-run attitude. He didn't usually care.

Miguel dropped his pants, drawing closer to look at you. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could see an ounce of the grief in your watery eyes. Panic, embodied in sparks of anxiety, spilled down his chest. Filled his stomach full with a fear of aggravating your already damaged state.

“Hermosa…” he began, his voice tender and soft. He slipped behind your back, his fingers running across your waist. "What is it?"

“I’m-- I don’t want to be alone. I didn’t want you to go,” you stammered into the pillow, blinking back tears that fell so readily. You didn't want to say what happened, but you needed his comfort more than sex. Your words were heavy, hard to make out, almost as if you were suffocating. “Not so soon.”

“Then I stay,” he said, husky and soft.

“You’ll stay?”

His muscular arms bunched around your waist as he set a kiss on the top of your head. He was careful, sliding you away from the hunched position on your bed onto his chest. He’d stay if that was what you wanted. Not permanently. He could never afford you such a promise here, where many a man had 2099 reasons to chase him down. You were his reason to stay, to keep you safe. The other slept next door. Or, he hoped she was sleeping.

“For tonight.”

He forgot what this felt like, the ability to stay in bed with someone you cared for, no pressure to run. Miguel was disheartened without his gun in arms reach, instead combing his fingers through your hair, watching the moon draw overhead. At some point, your breath faded into a gentle rise and drop in your chest to the tune of the whistling wind against the side of your home.

He found himself awake for minutes after, focusing on the bright moon multiple times that night, her embrace cool and welcoming. The constellations pale in comparison to the bright light that streamed into the room. He could almost imagine doing this every day, in another world, where his head wasn’t on a wanted flyer in your biblia. Sleep claimed him, restful and horrible, and hours passed.

The gun was hot. Miguel's fingers trembled, wrapped around the grip of his mother's old gun. "Lupe! Miguel, oh glory, Miguel what did you do?" He hears your distant scream, the desperation rooted in your voice. There was a pool of blood by his feet, dripping out from a woman who gave him nothing but grief.

"What I had to," As much as he'd tell you that killing her, rather than wounding her, was wholly an accident, he knew it wasn't. It was another something he had to do. He knew the next something would be your father wielding that ancient rifle and putting a claim on his head.

Shit. He wakes with a start. Miguel soothes the bags under his eyes. Not a day had gone past that he had good dreams-- less so when he was in a proper bed with a woman. Not any woman, but his woman. You're dead asleep against his chest, his arm having long since gone numb. Still as beautiful as hours ago, blissed out and well fucked, the bruising on your face reminds him that he has shit to do.

There is little disrespect like the disrespect of a man molesting your love, the mother of your child. But you don’t want a body from him. So he would be gentle with this, unpeeling himself from your warmth and striding into town while the moon still howled in the sky, knowing where a useless scum bag like Aaron Delgado would be. He’d be drinking up, his liver fat and useless.

The saloon was still somehow rowdy, stuffed to the brim with men who sought relief from family life and women who knew the easiest way to make a buck off pretty lies. Popping into the saloon was stepping back into his usual life, one of little value other than the skills it gave him. Namely, his hand hooked around the gun.

“Hey handsome,” a maid cooed, trying to call his attention. But he’s not focused on the breasts in his face as he veered past, pushing through groups of standing men. He came up behind Aaron, who was dead asleep on the bar. It never failed that he looked sloppy, his booze soaking his ruffled shirt.

“What can I get you?” the barman said.

Miguel gripped Aaron’s collar and what little hair wasn’t balding, lifting and cracking the man’s head hard on the bar. Aaron may not have been awake before but he was sure now, blinking the stars out of his eyes.

“The hell!”

The sound of feet against the squeaky old floor marked the rush of steps out of the bar. Miguel kicked Aaron’s bar seat out from underneath him, sending him careening onto the floor with a heavy thump.

“Miguel?” he snapped, bright-eyed, eyes trained on Aaron. Aaron snapped his hand to his hip. Miguel leveled his gun at Aaron, threatening him to touch it, just try. Blood flowed free from Aaron’s nose. He pushed it away with the back of his hand, smug smile like he knew Miguel would show up.

“It is you. I knew you’d be around.”

That's him. Some stragglers, friends of Aaron’s no doubt, lurched forward. Miguel shot into the ground by Aaron’s hip as a warning. It burst into the floor with a booming pop. He had no qualms about making double murder a triple, quadruple if he had to. Aaron pushed himself onto one arm. Miguel’s foot connected with Aaron’s ribs, sending him soaring across the floor. He connected with an aged piano, a bundle of keys singing under the small man who stumbled past Aaron's poor, shitty friends.

“C’mon,” Aaron pushed himself up on his palms. "Kicking a man while he's down?"

“You didn't think twice about breaking in and hitting my woman."

Miguel knelt down, checking the urge to blow his face off, but not now. Not while you had a stake in this shit of a town. Aaron's face quivered, what little friends he had gossiping in and among one another, others slipping the fuck out. Aaron has nothing useful to say.

"You so much as think of touching my woman again and you won’t be so much as crawling out of here. The undertaker be putting you under, you hear?"

“Gimme a break. What I did was nothing compared to what you did to Lupe."

"Don't you fuckin' dare bring her up."

"I just touched on her. You killed my wife. She felt mighty nice, Miguel, bet you’re mighty proud--”

Miguel considers himself good up til that point, walloping the butt of his gun across Aaron’s face to force compliance. Once, twice, maybe three times. After the third, he lost the thin hold he had on his control. He just knows it's enough to where the bruises that formed on his face would make yours seem like gentle love taps. He beats the man bloody and slips out to the sound of calls for Sherriff Morales.

He never was good at handling disrespect.

˗ˏˋ ✮ kairi's AUtober !

day 1: your husband: miguel o'hara.

"mmm... mi amor, don't go..."

his gravelly voice begged of you as his sculpted, tan arms wrapped themselves around your waist. he buried his sharp nose in your hair as he took in the delicious scent of his spouse, the love of his life that he was so fortunate to have for... forever now. he kissed down your neck as he held you closer, pulling you towards his massive body and caging you in his tight, loving grasp. "mi vida... it's sábado, don't leave me alone in this big bed..." he murmured to you as he sneaked his hands under your top and roamed his palm all over your smaller, plush body.

from the moment he got to know you, the moment you flashed him your signature, beautiful smile and looked up at him in the eyes with so much friendliness and openness in those eyes of yours... he felt himself fall into the insanity and the calmness of loving yo; whether he realized it or not at the time he was yours the minute he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of you.

miguel made it a point that he loved you, that he loved you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes; he loved you for your heart, your mind, your body, and just all of you. you make your husband go crazy with the smallest of things you do, and it's even better when you're oblivious to him being absolutely smitten with you. he had never thought he'd be the type to settle down and devote the rest of his life living quietly with someone as spectacular and worth loving, that someone being you.

he'd whimper silently into your ear when he's craving you and your love, when he's desperate and needs to be held and loved by you, the most perfect person to ever exist. he's a stern man who takes his responsibilities seriously, but he does lose his composure and all his restraint when you're out here being so lovable to him. "please don't go... i'll be lonely... the bed's so cold without you... you know i hate the cold..." he whines as you sigh and turn over on your side to face your husband. "it's cleaning day, miggy, i have to get up early."

miguel gave a long sigh and pulled you even closer to him with one hand. he kissed your forehead and grumbled. "i don't give a crap if it is, it's a rest day, mi vida; you need a rest from being away from me... i'm your husband for goodness' sake, and i'm tired of not being with you, so... por favor, mi amor? just a few more minutes in bed with me...?" he begged you like a child, pouting out his lower lip to try and make you feel sorry for him, but it instead made you giggle.

he chuckled lowly at your contagious giggling and brought his face closer to yours. "that's right, oh, i love it when you laugh... makes me forget all the shit i've had to deal with earlier this week." he mumbles as he pecks your lips gently and brings his hands up to either sides of your face, holding you close as he kisses you. "my precious spouse... i never wanna live another morning without you here." he mutters as he smiles at you, brushing away a stray lock of your hair and chuckles again, relishing the passing minutes with you close to him and in his hands, thanking his lucky stars that you became his one and only, and swears to you every day in his own ways that he will make you the happiest with him; for he's your husband, and he will always, always devote himself to you and love you unconditionally.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce