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Chapter 1 - What Watch?

Say Something Stupid (Miguel O'hara x F!Reader)

(Just a fair warning: this was not beta-read unless you count me reading it to myself.)

Summary: Your life is somewhat boring, though you have no one to blame other than yourself. You keep to yourself and never go out unless it's for work or class. It's for good reason; at least, that's what you tell yourself. Nonetheless, you can't help but feel a little lonely.

Who are you kidding? You're really lonely.

Whether it be coincidence or fate, one fateful night, the universe decides to give you a companion, someone to rely on.

However, you never guessed that he would be the one to bring you out of the rock you've been hiding under.

Warnings/Contents: Again- not beta-read, slight violence? (It's not that serious) Reader has a poor self-image, sunshine/grumpy, fluff, might have smut? Strangers/friends to lovers, language, Action if you squint (I'm very bad at writing that, so probably not much).

a/n - I don't know how many chapters this will be, but hopefully, you will have a fun ride. If there are any tags or warnings I missed, let me know! More Tags will probably be added as the fic goes on.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ 　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ 　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ 　

Considering how edgy your mind seemed, you never understood why life was so hectic. Always grab and go, never slowing down. The saying I'll sleep when I'm dead has become less of a little quip and more of a lifestyle for you. Of course, you weren't always like this. Growing up, you were a giddy little thing. Curious and outspoken. Never leaving one soul unventured in grade school. Then high school rolled around, and your curiosity was turned quiet. Friends were fading away, and strange looks were all you knew then. All you had at that point was assignments and work.

The isolating behavior made you anxious, questioning every movement that wasn't yours. At times, you even put yourself under the microscope of your own paranoia. Judging everything about yourself, from your face to your stomach and how disfigured you thought it looked. Sure, you had a bit of a belly, probably enough to be considered slightly chubby- nothing to be ashamed of, right? Hell- even the tiny mole on your inner thigh was under inspection, even though it looked more like someone had placed a black dot on your skin with a Sharpie marker than it did a mole. It still caused you to cringe at yourself. High school had not done you any favors in that regard. God, high school was a nightmare for you. That whole span of your life was a nightmare.

College was supposed to be less shitty, and while it was considerably so, it had its challenges.

Even though popular girls and cliques were no longer a threat to you now, somehow, classes had become your biggest antagonist. Every day, you sat in class. Listened intently to lecture after lecture, struggling to keep up and take notes. You'd miss essential points that your professor insisted were on the test but were too scared to ask anyone for help. So there you'd sit, waiting for everyone to leave, just to awkwardly ask the instructor if they could email you the PowerPoint. Feeling stupid and hoping no one was silently judging you.

Tests, Finals, Essays, Assignments... Everything was being piled onto you. That wasn't even the most hectic part of your life.

Your job was the vain of your existence.

You worked at a local coffee shop, and while people would always romanticize the occupation. The pay was good, but there were better places for a meet-cute.

The cafe was always busy, which you guessed was great for the owners. They were a lovely middle-aged couple whose two little gremlins were barely starting middle school. You weren't a bitch by any means; you were honestly happy for the success the couple's coffee shop was having. You'd been working there since they had just opened about a year ago, and surprise, surprise. Who knew your newfound peace would be obliterated by an on-slot of teens and young adults wanting to try a new trendy coffee spot they saw online.

Now that Dutch Bros. was old news, you had customers left and right, taking orders and making drinks. Half the time, you felt like you couldn't even think for yourself until closing; the contents of your mind were filled with orders you'd soon forget the moment your head hit the pillows of your bed at the end of the day. However, you'd been able to cope with the obnoxious trials of life with a little thing called routine. Yes, if you could just focus on completing the day's tasks every day. Maybe your existence on this only habitable planet will be bearable for the rest of your life. 

So that's what you did, for almost two years, that's what you've been doing. Besides the occasional surprise spam caller, everything had been going smoothly. It felt like nothing could go wrong and that nothing might ever go wrong again. This could work. Sure, It was lonely, but it meant less drama for you, no conflicting parties, no attachments, and no loss.

•*¨*•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

It was a Tuesday night. You had a typical day: classes in the morning and a fifteen-minute nap before work in the afternoon. On Tuesdays, it was your turn to close up shop for the night. It was already late, and the clock on the wall showed 10PM in bright red typewriter font. A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you sluggishly walk from behind the register and up to the double doors of the cafe, eyelids heavy with a desire to sleep. You reach to lock them before any last-minute night owls in need of coffee come and force you to clean the machines again. Suddenly, a hand from behind the glass doors reaches for the handle; you look up to see a skinny man with stubble, pale, and a bit rugged, a tired expression taking hold of his face. You pulled the door open with hidden reluctance; you knew it was game over once you made eye contact with the customer.

The disheveled man seemed to walk inside quickly, pulling his hood over his head, which surprised you, but you didn't mention it. Maybe he was just a fast walker. Plus, it was kinda cold in here. When you followed him toward the register, you noticed the bag he was holding in front of him, almost like he was trying to hide it; it was a regular backpack, nothing out of the ordinary, and it looked exactly like your own. A black bag with crimson tassels on the zippers. A muffled noise was coming from the bag, a beeping sound; it didn't sound like any ringer you'd heard before.

"Uh- can I take your order?" You ask, not paying any mind to the annoying beeping.

He clears his throat. "Yeah- yeah, um..." 

His eyes wander towards the breakroom behind you. Your backpack was packed and ready to go by the room's door once you dealt with this last customer. The blond man looks back at you, not wanting to arouse suspicion. "Can I just get a muffin?"

You ring him up, 2.72, just like it always was. He hands you his credit card, his eyes flicking from your bag to you and the darkness of the night behind him. His voice sounded shaky, but you didn't pay any attention to it either; you just wanted to get home. To get to your routine. This whole situation was making you a little anxious. At least the beeping had stopped.

Once the man got his muffin, he sat at one of the open tables in the suppose-to-be-closed-5-minutes-ago cafe. He opened his phone, calling someone to come and pick him up; a nervous-sounding conversation that you didn't really pay any attention to as you grabbed a tablecloth and spray from the back and began to clean; you had your suspicions of course, which is why you decided to clean with only one earbud this time instead of two. It didn't really stop you from spraying, wiping, and jamming out to yourself as the man behind you ate his muffin and called his friend. Making sure every table was spotless, you overheard your manager discussing raises earlier today, even if the pay was good. Money was money, and a little extra couldn't hurt to have. It would be one less thing to worry about.

As you turned around to clean the rest of the tables, you saw that the man was gone, muffin untouched. The door's little bell rang, signaling that the strange man had just walked out. Your head turned towards the sound; you shrugged and walked up to the doors and locked them. 

Not wanting any more weirdos coming in and making you anymore late to your nightly routine.

You picked up after the man, keeping the muffin. Aw, yes, free food—a simple pleasure no human could refuse to indulge in. Technically, you weren't stealing; someone paid for it. Plus, with how he acted, it didn't seem like he was coming back. Placing the muffin in a brown paper bag, you go right back to wiping down tables, the time reading midnight once you finish.

"Damn it." You say to yourself, slinging one of the straps of your backpack onto your shoulder. Reading the time almost made you want to burst into tears. Maybe it was just frustration or the sleep you lacked that was putting a lump in your throat. As much as you liked the tranquillity your little routine provided, you were sad and lonely and so, so tired. It was starting to become overwhelming. 

You took a deep breath, ignored the clock on the wall, and turned off the cafe lights. The sooner you got home, the better. All you needed was sleep. That's all you need.

Beep-!

What?

Your head whips around, trying to find the source of the repetitive noise. It was the same sound that was admitted from the man moments ago. The bright light of your phone illuminated your features as you turned the device on, checking if it was your phone possibly making the noise. 

No notifications, definitely not you.

What was going on? It was late, you had a long walk home. You didn't need more problems. As you groan in frustration, you set your phone in the pocket of your sweats and look up at the ceiling defeatedly. It was settled; you've become insane. You pat yourself down in a feeble attempt to find the noise, even looking around the cafe, but nothing was found. You assume the noise is coming from your bag. Hopefully, your laptop isn't taking its final breaths, and the beeping was a sign for help. 

You walk towards the glass doors of the coffee shop, ready to just give up and leave; at least you had your muffin, the only saving grace of the night. 

"Forget it, this is pointless- Just go home, get some sleep... go home- get some sleep, go home- get some-" The beeping suddenly stops, and as you go to sigh in relief, your breath catches in your throat as you look up from the now unlocked door, a figure standing a few feet away from the doors, red- bright red crescents looking at you. The figure is encased in the dark. You stumble a step back, and the man takes a step forward, then another. Struggling breaths forcefully leave your mouth as you try and lock the door. Your hands are shaking too violently to lock the door, so you abandon the idea for a better one. Run.

You sprint for the backdoor, sliding along the clean wooden floor as you turn to go past the register counter. Almost tripping over yourself, you could hear the door swing open harshly and big, broad steps coming up behind you. Getting faster and faster to keep up with you- no, to catch you. Tears prickled at your eyes as you pushed through the backdoor into the alleyway. The man's hand barely grazed your skin as you ran, trying to grab you. A deep groaning of irritation could be heard behind you, which didn't help your palpitations. Your slowing speed only worsened your panic until he finally reached for you again and, this time, succeeded in gripping you.

"Ah-!" You slammed the ground harshly, the man's muscular body atop you, holding you by your biceps. The grip stung, almost like he had claws; it caused you to wince, a small noise of pain escaping your lips. "I- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have taken anything!" You cry. "The guy didn't- seem like he wanted it!" At this point, you were trying anything to get him off you.

When he spoke, it sent shivers down your spine. A voice so deep and menacing that you thought it was the devil himself talking to you.

"Damn right, you shouldn't have; now, where's the watch!" He said, a rough snap in his tone.

You paused, sniffling. "W-watch?" you asked timidly, the answer practically squeezed out of you.

"Yes. The watch-! What else would I be talking about?" The masked man says, his irritation boiling with every word.

"A pastry?"

the winter soldier is a killing machine, but bucky barnes is no stranger to death either. it follows him like the men who follow his sisters in the street when they think he’s not there, or the illnesses that cling to steve throughout their youth. it starts innocently enough, a handful of old relatives, a few who have accidents in whatever factory they’re working in. he reaches his teenage years and a few coworkers of his have fatal accidents, but that’s not unheard of in a shipyard. sarah rogers’ death hits him hard, but everything will be okay as long as he can get steve through this, because steve is the one loss he wouldn’t be able to shake. then the war starts, and suddenly death is everywhere he looks. he gets drafted, and now he’s the one that causes it. because death follows bucky barnes and now that it has a chance to guide his hands, it takes it. death clings to him even as he falls from the train, watching the eyes of the most important person in his deathly life get smaller and smaller as he grows colder and colder. he thinks this is the end, but then his arm is on fire and there are men talking in a strange language and he realizes that it will never be over. because he is bucky barnes, and death seems to want to take everything but him.

They don’t know exactly when it happened, but Jon won’t show up in pictures.

They don’t take photos often, you see, so how were they supposed to know? But there, where Jon should be standing under the arm of Martin, is simply… nothing. An empty space that could, theoretically, be a smear of black, but Jon knows that’s not it. Its as if someone tore a small hole in the universe and fixed it to where he should be standing screen of his phone.

They switch to film cameras after that.

Mi Dulce Cereza (Pt. 2)

Ranchero! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Synopsis: Revenge's path is never an easy feat. Not when love for the enemy and other feelings get in the way. Would it rise and come out as a victor? Or would it succumb to the sweetest of beings?

WARNING: Novela level drama, Toxic relationships, character introduction, mild and brief sexual tension, No use of YN, Family feud, scheming, disingenuous behaviors, mentions of animal abuse, tension, name calling, No proofread.

Summary: An unexpected accident opens a new door.

A/N: Yee ✨. Hope you enjoy and like. Happy to be writing again 🥹💖.

Previous

If there was something Miguel had to admit, was the finesse and comfort he was surrounded with. Cause in all honesty, he was expecting a poorly kept barn, full of unused and rusty machinery that would harbor many unwanted crawlers and creatures.

Not an apartment-like place full of commodities that his younger self and his family could only dream of back then. Impecable showers he'd only got to see at the hotel rooms whenever Conchata could afford them. A pristine and comfortable bed for his own, unlike the smelly, stained with suspicious fluids and borderline itchy mattress he used to share with Gabriel back at the shelters, if they found space.

He had a whole place for himself, including a well distributed office and tacking room within. Tools at his immediate disposition, same for men and horses.

Much to his dismay so far he hadn't seen anything out of place, except for the rich family living in his property.

So far, the beasts that carried William, the same that used to terrify him but now gave him a fat and healthy amount of money, laid resting a couple of feet away from him, feeding themselves with the freshest of fruit picks and hay. Their strict and perfectly balanced diet would serve their purpose of keeping them healthy, hence, adding even more value to them.

Miguel awakened ten minutes before his alarm went off. A custom his body refused to leave out completely and served him for properly stretch his body joints before he gave his day a start.

Last night's events with you had surely taken him by surprise. You didn't look past your twenties, and so far you had been civil. A gorgeous and civil, soaked mess.

Miguel thought William had a boy or at least two children, but it was you and only you. The Pastor's daughter. William J. Anderton's most cherished treasure and one of Santa Margarita's belles.

Someone that would make the perfect tool for his best interests. He wished for Gabriel's arrival to be sooner, but he knew good things took time. He knew in the end, everything would be worth it.

With a deep inhale and a towel already on his shoulder, his day and revenge had just begun.

Morning had gone almost in a blink, one moment was seven am, and the breakfast bar was too crowded for his likings, and the next thing he knew it was almost ten. He'd have breakfast or lunch later, after all, the horseshoes of a lovely brown mustang horse named Joaquín, demanded his attention a bit too longer than it should.

His poor tolerance to half assed jobs was something not even his enemy could tear from him.

No wonder why that cabrón was so desperate to hire someone.

The horses although well fed, were neglected. The farrier had either scamming William for the pay or he really had no idea what he was doing.

A relieved neigh came through Joaquín, as soon as Miguel removed the jagged and poorly hammered horseshoes off it's hooves.

"A saber quién fue el pendejo que te hizo esto, papito." (God knows whose the asshole who did this to you, boy.)

Joaquín just snorted while remaining still. The cutting and hammering soon begun, Miguel was set into changing every single one of them, until Joaquín whined while it's head bobbed, as if happy to see whoever that showed up in the area.

The delicious smell of food made Miguel to turn his head towards the source and his mouth salivated. Pavlov's conditioning experiment wouldn't require a bell on him, not when his stomach grumbled and the hearty breakfast laid in a thick white plate, ontop of a hand carved and wooden tray. In your hands.

He blinked underneath his hat and his brows puckered both in confusion and initial mistrust as he turned to face you.

Dressed up in comfortable and pretty clothes, a completely different sight from last night's events. Awaiting for him to notice you.

"Uhm... Hi. Sorry for interrupting. Got you some food."

His brow now quirked before finishing the last of Joaquín's hooves.

"Though, I could've get there on my own, I appreciate it, señorita."

With a nervous chuckle you squeezed the tray a bit tighter before handling it to him.

"I know, but we don't serve breakfast past nine am, heh. And I didn't see you in the dining hall today. Besides, it's my own way to thank you for your help last night."

What is she playing at?

"I just did what it was right to do, there's nothing to thank me for." He shrugged briefly with a barely there smile, letting his posture to stand tall and proud, towering over you, even if he leaned against his current work station.

"Still, thank you. My nana Victoria, she prepared you the breakfast, I helped her with the pancakes and the lemonade, hope you like it, it's fresh."

A little proud smile came in your face as soon as you glanced towards the plate. A portion that would definitely feed two, but for a demanding job such as his, and a man his height, it was more than perfect.

"Thanks." He mumbled with a nod as he scratched the back of his neck.

Miguel knew he had to tame and be discreet with his hatred towards whoever unfortunate enough to wear the Anderton surname. He didn't want to be obvious with his dark intentions, even if his inner urge to tell you to wrap the conversation up struggled to come out at the surface.

Not that you were annoying, he simply didn't like being interrupted when too deep in his job, even if the food smelled like heavens itself.

Yet, gorgeous or not, you were an extension of his natural enemy, for simply sharing that wretched surname and William's blood. Someone that seemed a bit too sweet for his likings, and stared like a curious kitten his way. At least you saved him the trip all the way back to the breakfast bar.

"Also... would like to ask you something, if that's ok."

He put the tray on the nearest surface and turned your way, his thumb and index finger resting on his belt buckle as the other arm, his forearm specifically supported his weight against a post. His expression softened, like his voice as he leaned towards you.

"Yes, señorita?"

You gulped and cleared your throat nervously. His eyes crinkling with a proud beam as he caught the way your hands squeezed tighter the tray.

"Papa said that the person coming, meaning you, was an expert on horses. And given your resume, I wanna know if Joaquín is alright? Heard Agustín nicked him yesterday. He's the eldest."

At least you seemed to care for the animals in here in a deeper level than just feeding them.

"He's alright, nothing too bad."He nodded while gazing over the door and then return his eyes towards you, "Was changing his horseshoes actually. Not to be a fish spine in your throat, hermosa. But whoever doing that-" He pointed at the jagged and bent nails thrown on the floor, "Hope you had him fired. The bastard didn't injury any nerves in his hooves, luckily."

You nodded vehemently with concern.

"Oh, he was. That's why I wanted to meet you properly and thank you personally for your services." he chuckled, "I know I said this yesterday, and that it seems like we've neglected the horses, but I'm glad I convinced dad to hire someone ASAP. We really needed it. Vets took too long for an appointment, but I'm sure Joaquín's happy to be less pained."

His lips pursed with a soft blow of his nose, almost suppressing a roll of his eyes at your constant nervous chatter. He didn't bite, yet. Although, the cordiality and flirty facade slipped on. A curious little thing you were, and he amused himself with the effect he knew his persona inflicted in others. You weren't the exception.

"Señorita, you don't have to thank me anything. It's my job, and I'll do it gladly."

"You're a great help already. But I'm happy your experience talks for itself. How long have you been in this business?"

"A decade already."

A low whistle came from your lips and his chest puffed with pride. He loved flaunting whenever the chance demanded.

"Yeah, you're definitely the right person for this." You chuckled.

"What about you? What does a lady like you does around in a place like this?"

Joaquín tapped the floor, sniffing the air upon sensing the smell of food.

"I manage dad's accounting and I'm in charge of the kitchen actually."

Could it be even more perfect? he doubt it. Either the universe finally granted him everything his rotten heart wanted to make up for all those suffering years ago, or it tested his morals constantly. He didn't care on neither. The chance was there and he'd seize it to the fullest.

"If you ever need help with the numbers, don't hesitate in telling me. I like' em." His smile stretched a bit wider.

"I'll keep it in mind."

Your hands clasped the wooden tray and smiled sheepishly at him.

"But yeah, uhm... Won't interrupt any further. Lunch is at one pm. See you later, Miguel."

With a soft wave of your hands and a hasty step, you left him alone.

A deep sigh escaped his lips and Joaquín budged his bicep, to then walk over his tray of food. Miguel chuckled as he looked through the contents. A little bowl of ripe and sweet cherries on the side, the reason why Joaquín was flapping and whining excitedly.

"Alright, here. Have some." He gave a couple of them to then seat and eat his late breakfast. The whole conversation left him with renovated eagerness to keep his unsuspecting revenge going.

It was perfect, almost too perfect, but suspicions at the universe mattered little when he simply had to somehow convince you to show him William's finances. And given your meekness it'd be a rather easy thing for him to gather intel.

He celebrated his idea with a big gulp of the lemonade. It tasted perfect, like the envisioned ending of his vendetta.

Part of him knew he didn't need to look further as to why his childhood home was turned into this industrial-like resort. Fertile land, fruit trees in every direction, with cherries leading on the way, as they were mostly around the pooling area from the manor, apples, peaches, lemons, oranges.

He remembered the lemon tree and the cherry ones. Conchata always made him a cherry pie for his birthday.

Miguel had to admit that some changes had done good to the property. The least William could do was to take care of his gold mine and keep it all good and nice, once he'd recover it.

Once he was done, he put the plate out of Joaquín's reach and went back to work.

"Easy there!" One of the helped yelped, as soon as the black friesian stallion kicked his own door open, freeing himself from the confinements he was temporarily put in.

An angry whine came when the beast felt a man behind him and kicked in the air, shooing off any menace from his path

"Qué la chin... No! Así no!" Miguel yelled as his helpers tried their best to keep Agustín in place so he could take a proper look to assess the damage on him. But the beast only matched his stubbornness.

"He's kicking off, Miguel!" Another helper, James yelled as he closed the enclosure. Lassos flew through the air, catching nothing while at it, the black beast too proud and elusive to fall under such simpleton of traps.

Agustín's nose flared as his honeyed eyes remained on Miguel, daring him to come after him. It was Miguel's turn to have his nose flaring

"I can do this all day boy." He spat on the floor as his helpers eyed him warily, "A ver quién se cansa primero." He grumbled the last for himself as he hoped in the ring. (Let's see who gets tired first)

His jaw tensed as he secured his gloves. His flannel shirt constricting his torso as he made his way towards the stallion, that wasted no time into kicking with his front legs as he snorted angrily.

"I don't wanna hurt you." His hands rose in defense as he carefully approached the neighing and angry footing horse.

Miguel could see a couple of long healed scars on his sides, hind legs and even neck.

He was whipped too rough.

"Help me help you, boy. I won't hurt you, okay?" He stepped closer and Agustín blew through his nose, whipping his mane and tail as Miguel came closer.

"Easy there" His hands still remained in a place where the stallion could see them, "It's ok. You're safe, campeón."

Agustín stepped back but didn't run away in a go, rather remained still, scared and unsure on what to do as Miguel caressed his sides with gentleness, raking his long fingers through the soft and somewhat shiny plush skin.

He took a closer look to the freshly healed up pink-ish tiny scars on his hips, undoubtedly made by the constant use of spurs. If something about training and rehabbing horses had taught him so far, was the different sort of tempers many had.

And the Friesian breed was everything but this muscly and angry mass of nerves. Agustín was stressed and nervous, and besides that obvious fact, all that anger lashing out was actually fear.

Agustín was abused. The scars were fresh, but he discarded the idea of William abusing Agustín as he only had a couple of weeks in the Ranch.

Miguel could only deduct of him being used for races or workforce.

The helpers stared with their breath hitched, unable to move, afraid they'd scare away the beast, that remained at ease under Miguel's touch.

The annoying and ear ripping ringtone he had assigned Dana echoed through the space with enough loudness to spook Agustín away.

"Fuck" He cursed under his breath and his nerves nearly stopped working as Agustín, kicked the door open in a go and escaped.

"Shit! Get the lassos!"

Miguel wasted no time as he ran after Agustín as his phone was off again.

Qué mujer para chingarme la existencia, Dios mio. (This woman is screwing my life over)

His mind slapped himself to focus and keep trailing after the horse. One of the helpers galloped near him and got off his back, to give Miguel space and soon he galloped after Agustín.

"Get out of the way!!" He yelled as he urged the horse to throttle faster, focusing in getting Agustín and everyone away from danger.

People ran in the opposite directions as Agustín suddenly turned to the left.

"Shit!" Miguel's eyes widened upon realizing where the stallion was going. Straight to the ranch main territory. The manor, more specifically, the poolside.

A loud splash gave his heartbeat a stop, and as he galloped, he saw you coming out straight from the pool and sitting next to the thickets to eat, cherries.

"Puta madre"

He growled and held the horse up, jumping immediately off him, to then hop off the fence separating the pool from the rest.

"Get away from there!" He yelled while his eyes remained on the approaching shadow of Agustín.

"W-What are you-"

Alarmed, you watched him as he pulled you by your arm and brought your bikini dressed body closer to him by your waist and you yelped at the sudden contact. His rough and gloved hands remained holding you.

Miguel had pulled you out last second before Agustín bursted in with a loud and shaky neigh. Falling onto the pool with another splash that soaked you both and the summer chairs sprawled around.

The commotion had alarmed everyone, even you.

"What happened?!"

Miguel let your waist go and you craned your head to meet his stern gaze.

"My apologies, señorita. Agustín escaped the precinct. Are you okay?"

"Yeah" your head hesitated but nodded, "Just a bit shaken up."

Not because of the horse, more like his strength. He had taken you like your weight was nothing, like a ragdoll out of the shelf.

The stallion soon was approached by the rest of the helpers as Victoria, an alarmed Rosaura and William came out.

Vicky was the first to approach you, with a towel and immediately covered you before Rosaura noticed how close you were to Miguel.

"Niña! My goodness are you okay?"

Her motherly hands palmed your face and neck to see you were in a piece.

Rosaura's screams and complains were expected, yet still, the yapping and acute of her voice rang uncomfortably Miguel's ears.

"Dios mio, uno puede dejar a esta gente sola un momento porque van y ya tienen un desastre hecho!" (My goodness, one can't leave you people alone cause you make a mess)

Rosaura's gaze settled on Miguel as the other helpers pulled Agustín out, then shifted to William.

" I told you to put that damned horse down, William! Look at the mess he did!"

The head of the Andertons sighed and  held a hand to her, which immediately made Rosaura to put her hands in her hips.

"Mr. O'Hara." William called as he approached while seizing the damage Agustín did.

Some chairs fell into the pool, like some dirt and some trampled cherries, polluting the water with their juices, soiling it. Some thickets were destroyed, like part of the fence.

"Care to explain how on earth that happened?"

"Mr. Anderton, I'm deeply sorry. Agustín escaped the training area and-"

"Evidently." William retorted and it took all his willpower for Miguel to not punch him square in the face. His jaw tensed and his chest puffed slightly, adding even more size to him. But his voice remained calm as he spoke.

"He was spooked and ran away. Then I bet he was lured by the smell of cherries. Horses love them."

William eyed him clinically and a silvered brow quirked his way.

"Mr. O'Hara, I hired you because your resumé told me you had enough experience to rehab any horse. Might tell ya, I don't like liars."

Miguel's shoulders tensed and his teeth ground together inside his plump mouth.

"Dad." You called, and approached, covered by the towel ad Rosaura stood next to William.

It was clear for Miguel who had put in more job into making you. But that fact mattered little when Rosaura spoke again.

"Because of that stunt of your stupid horse my poolside is ruined!"

"I'm not putting down a horse that is a rare breed just cause over some stupid plants. We'll fix it tomorrow. Stop it."

Rosaura rolled her eyes and with a huff and a dramatic drape of her cashmere poncho, she went inside, ordering some tea for her nerves. While William slicked his whitening hair back.

"Where did you buy the horse, Mr. Anderton?"

"Why?" William's voice flat and borderline suspicious, but you gave him a warning look that the Pastor ignored.

"Because, unless you love abused animals, I wouldn't buy from them again."

William had to blink as if he hadn't heard properly "Come again?"

"Agustín is terrified of whips. He has scars all over his body. And definitely hate spurs, his hips have just healed from them."

"And what does it have to do with the fact that your incompe-"

"Dad! Can you listen to me?" Your voice demanded your father's attention almost immediately as you heaved while standing between both men.

"If it wasn't for Miguel saving me, Agustín would've hurt me and pretty bad. I'm no animal expert but these things take time. And he just told you the poor horse was abused!"

"What are you doing here anyways? You're supposed to be verifying the deposits." William crossed his arms and your frown deepened.

"I did. They're done. Left you a copy on your office."

With another deep exhale, the pastor rolled his eyes ever softly while shaking his head and pointed at Miguel.

"Do not let that happen again. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you," He pointed your way with a disapproving look, "go get dressed."  William grumbled before turning around and leaving.

Vicky had been gone the moment Rosaura walked in the manor, leaving you and Miguel alone.

He was about to speak but his phone went off again. His face soured and you just watched as he pulled the trinket from his soaked pocket, surprised it still worked and then turn it off.

"Are you okay, Miguel?"

He nodded and adjusted his hat, "Yeah. My apologies again, señorita."

"Ah stop. You saved me. I'd be injured if it wasn't for you. Sorry for dad though. He's... quite strict regarding the horses."

"Noted."He nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose, the whole commotion gave him a headache, but he was glad the only downs of this situation were some stupid plants and murky water on the pool, " Still, some processes take time. but Agustín will be rehabbed. You've got my word ma'am."

"Ah, stop. Don't call me that. That's how people call my mom!"

He chuckled while taking a proper yet discreet look your way.

"Okay, then, Señorita."

Your hair stuck at your back, soaked. A soft curve in your stomach did a wonderful job to get your lovely hips a perfect amount of plumpness, same for your thighs.

His eyes raked briefly over your chest, amused at the dinky print of cherries on your upper bikini top, before glancing at the summer chair you were sitting before the mess.

"Or you can call me by my own name. It ain't that hard, is it?"

"At all. But feels improper of me."

In truth, it felt too foreign and like sandpaper on his tongue. Too Anderton-ish. A tad unpleasant even.

"You like cherries?"

"A lot. This part of the property is full of tree of them. So I'm always eating them. It's easy to pick them." You mumbled with a bashful smile.

That would explain the sweet smell coming from you. Your hands specially.

"Right. No wonder why Agustín came right away. They're ripe I suppose."

You nodded while looking at the tree. The distant calling of your name from Rosaura, had your eyes rolling and groaning.

"Mother calls." You chuckled and picked up your cherry bowl, "I think I'll be forever in debt with you for today."

You think?

"It's my pleasure to help."

"And get yourself dry. You'll catch a cold. And stop skipping meals."

"Yes, ma'am." His deep and buttery voice fluttered in your head.

Your lips pursed and gave gim a playful scoff.

"Dinner is at 6."

"I'll be there."

"See you later then, Miguel."

"See you around, Cerecita."

If it wasn't for you being a mere means to his ends, he'd find that little flush in your cheeks adorable when he baptized you with such fitting name.

With a tip of hat he turned around and returned to his barn. The smile faded as soon as he crossed the threshold of his barn.

Angry fingers dialed Dana's number, it didn't took much of her to answer.

"Miggy! God, I'm missing you so-"

"Hija de tu pinche madre, I've already told you to not fucking call me during the day. Or ever! The fuck you want?!"

There was a moment of silence on Dana's end but quickly she sighed.

"Sorry to call you like that, I was missing you and-"

"God... I almost, fucking almost got fired because of your stupid call."

"But you aren't fired, are you?"

His anger boiled like a raging kettle.

"Listen to me, Danita."

And oh she was listening. He only used that endearment mode of her name whenever he was pissed at her.

"Don't fucking call me."

"You're being dramatic. Besides, how will you get any new contacts in your list?"

Fuck.

"You often forget I was the one that got you introduced to the clientèle you've got, Miguel. Let's not act disrespectful towards each other, shall we?"

Hija de puta.

"Don't call me during the day."

"Then, I'll call you during nights, babe. You're better behaving and not acting like a manwhore out there. I know you. You'd do anything for your stupid revenge."

And she wasn't mistaken, sadly. Dana knew him all too well, Not completely, but well enough to hit the nail in his sore points.

"You done?"

"Nope. Gabriel told me to tell you to wait for a month more. Things have taken a weird turn on his end. So he wanna solve whatever first."

Goddammit, Gabri.

"Right. Bye."

Before Dana could even speak, Miguel cut the call and turned his phone off to charge.

How on earth would he wait for another month? His plan was definitely taking small detours he didn't like. Impromptu things weren't in his vocabulary, much less daily life. Everything was strictly planned and calculated.

However, today's events were definitely a turn he wasn't ready to act on. Although the flirty and kindness mask had worked wonders, his next step was clear.

He had to ruse you into showing him the Ranch's finances. And now that he knew how to approach you, his plan took another steadfast step.

----

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Making me cry huh..🥹

Blink

Word count: 866 Pairing: Bakugou x reader Genre: angst

As a Pro-hero, Bakugou prides himself on being strong, capable, a protector.

But even more than that, he prides himself on winning you over, his partner who had once declared very loudly that you were happier, safer when working alone.

It had taken him a while, but he’d taken the time to show you he could be someone you could rely on to have your back in the field, and your heart when you weren’t.

But right now? He feels utterly helpless.

Concrete slabs press down painfully on his chest from the building that came down on the two of you, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t move it. Smoke and dust fill his nose, make his eyes sting. It’s like his body has stopped listening, and all he can produce despite the sweat rolling down his face is a few pathetic sparks that singe his side where his hand is trapped.

You’re only a few inches out of his reach, his free hand stretching out for you, fingertips raw and bleeding from where he clawed at the ground in an effort to reach you. He can tell he has a few broken ribs too, his body screaming in protest every time he tries to stretch again, every time he tries to free himself and get to you.

He’s not sure if you’re even really recognizing him most of the time now, your breaths shallow and shaky. There’s concrete pressing down on you too, but what’s worse is the two thick bars of metal that you’d landed on when the villains had ripped the building from beneath your feet. 

He can see the torn fabric at the base of each rebar are soaked with red, the stains slowly spreading. He can’t help the irrational anger he feels at the sight, at the realization that they’ve ruined your pretty little hero suit. 

Your eyes fluttering shut once again has him calling out desperately to you, calling your name until they open once again, hardly focused as you try to stay awake.

A cough wracks your body, and he watches in denial as blood stains your mouth, those lips he loves to kiss, to nip at when you’re being mouthy. He’d give anything to hear you mouth off right now, to blame him for the predicament you’re in. 

But you’re silent, using all your energy to just stay alive at this point, and he knows it. So he fills the silence himself, makes you promises of a shiny engagement ring, whatever wedding you want, babies that look just like him. But you have to stay alive. For him. 

It’s selfish, he knows, to demand you keep fighting for him, but he feels utterly helpless- is utterly helpless as he watches you bleed all over the dirt, knows how heavily the concrete is weighing down on your battered body. He wishes he could go back to two hours ago, back to before you followed him in pursuit of the villains, too determined to catch them to wait for backup. He’d assured you the two of you could do it, that it would be a piece of cake, back to the moment you’d laughed and bet him you could catch both the criminals before he can.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying at first, too focused on the soft smile that graces over your lips as he continues to ramble about the life he’s gonna give you, until your gaze shifts to look at him, a moment of clarity as that smile withers. 

“Katsuki, this isn’t your fault.” you murmur weakly, always able to read his mind (his heart), even when he doesn’t want you to. Your voice is soft, shaky, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment to collect himself, stop that sob that’s crawling it’s way from his chest.

When he opens them again, you’re staring right through him. 

Panic fills him as he zeroes in on your chest, for the tell-tale rise that tells him you’re still breathing. 

It never comes. 

Your name slips from his lips in a hushed whisper, eyes blurring with the onslaught of fresh tears as his calls become louder. Desperation overtakes him and he lets loose an explosion that burns a fresh hole into his side, the concrete above him crumpling from the heat but not letting up enough for him to reach you. 

He’s screaming your name now, frantically trying to claw his way to you, a stream of curses and pleas bouncing off the dirt and rubble around the two of you. 

By the time the rescue team finds the two of you, his side is blackened from his quirk, skin burnt and angry from the persistent heat, and his voice is gone, barely a whisper as he continues to call for you. 

A call that’s never answered.

Kirishima’s one of the first to find the two of you, and a year later, he tearfully admits to Bakugou he thought he’d lost you both when he pulled his friend from the rubble. That it had seemed that all life had left the blonde’s eyes, despite the fact that his pulse was still strong. 

Katsuki doesn’t have the heart to tell him he wishes he had died with you that day.  

W-O-W

MORE MORE MORE PRETTY PLS

El Diablo Wears Prada (Pt.3)

Mafia boss! Miguel O'Hara x Reader.

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Smut, Fingering, non-con oral (M! receiving), masturbation, power play, sexual tension, mild angst, Dom! Miguel.

Summary: Another toll is put on your shoulders.

Previous

A/N: Centuries later, here's part 3! Hope you like <3. Feedback much appreciated. Cooper Coen belongs to Marvel ✨

As much as you wanted to remain in Morpheus' arms and let your body rest until it reached a hundred percent, the constant buzzing of the tracking device against your ankle kept alerting you. 

The last vibration had bolted you awake with a startle. Body whined in protest at the sudden movement that took such a strong hold on your hips, the juncture of your arms and thighs. 

It took you a couple of seconds to get your bearings and see the little and borderline fancy tracking device on your ankle. It was as if a digital watch had been locked up around your smooth skin. 

A little jolt of electricity ran through your nerves in a clear sign to not mess with the device, since you had tried to remove it. If you looked closer, it had a little password lock behind, a four-digit code. 

You gotta be kidding me

How dared he putting such a thing on you? When did he put this thing on you?, but more important, was he still around? Cause if he was, he'd have a piece of your mind. 

His sweater on your skin felt a too stuffy, and you needed a bath. A couple of bruises begun appearing in your ankles and the fatty part of your thighs cause obviously he needed to make sure you understood the magnitude of your current situation and how Massimo had willingly put a target ring on your back.

The buzz however snapped you out of the spiralling trance of thoughts that assaulted your mind. Brows puckered as you made your way towards his room but as soon as you entered, anger sapped away for a moment from your head. 

The curtains were drawn shut, their dark colors provided enough darkness to isolate the brightest sunshines that tried with all their might to seep past them and take a hold of whatever thing they could reach. 

With careful steps and a petty heart you sauntered over the windows and one by one removed the curtains, letting all the sun's ablaze glory to illuminate the darkened room in a go, even if it meant for you to be blindsided for a second before you turned your back on the light and saw the results of your anger display before you. 

El Diablo, laid sprawled in his ever big and cozy bed, his right and sharp cheek smooshed against the soft and silky burgundy sheets that wrapped like a second skin on his torso and legs. One of his feet poked out from underneath, letting itself to hang outside the smooth prison. 

His gorgeous mouth laid slightly ajar, letting a little drool streak to escape him and get long dry over the sheets. The smooth locks with the little silver strands in it were also sprawled all over his forehead and the mattress. Your eyes shamelessly raked his back. Big, well worked, perfect for leaving scratches and marks. He had none of those, but a different one. 

A red lips silhouette located a few inches from his ear, half of it smeared, as if wrongly or quickly wiped, trying to cover up a trail. 

The fact he had someone before giving you a rough fuck, not only put a little familiar yet painful stab in your heart, but returned the angry thoughts that initially gave you enough courage to foray into the devil's personal hellhole.

The pain felt like an old friend now that you had seen and heard the type of man Massimo really was. You didn't want to admit that there were times you could still feel a woman's perfume on his clothes while busying yourself in the confinement of your manor, trying to distract yourself from the emerging distraught of knowing your husband was possibly cheating. 

Men

With a scowl, you took one of the many pillows and threw it at his beautiful sleeping face. 

"Wake up!" 

That quickly contorted into several emotions upon suddenly awakening. Surprise cause you had dared startle him, anger because you had the guts to interrupt his slumber and throw a pillow and finally, annoyance at your yapping. 

Your arms crossed against your chest as he placed the pillow you threw his direction on t of his head with a bored grunt. 

The smell of his perfume wafted through the air, hand in hand with a light natural musk and a dash of air freshener coming from the bathroom. 

"What the fuck is this on my ankle and why did you put that thing on me?" 

"Can you shut up?" His slouching form only turned enough to take a proper look your way once his irises had adjusted at the room's brightness. 

Wearing his oversized sweater that covered those perfect mounds of yours he didn't have enough time to squeeze properly. Face twisted in a scowl, that although he rather your scared and demure look, he had to admit this angry you made his lips smirk and a spark of excitement to run through his body. 

Your hair spooked and tussled even if you were now trying to contain it in a messy bun while ignoring the rebellious baby hairs, revealing more of your upset features.

Beautiful and angry. 

Was this the sight you gifted Massimo every day?

"I'm talking to you!" 

"¡Ya pues! Cállate... fucking heard you already." He grumbled while laying down on his back. 

But in truth he hadn't heard a single word it came from your mouth. Too deep in suddenly remembering last night's events and what had transpired back in the club. 

"Take this thing off me." 

"No." 

Miguel stretched his spine with feline grace and a satisfied smirk, letting some joints pop back into place. His spine wasn't aching anymore, he didn't feel like dragging the past few weeks' tiring load, his shoulders felt rather light, he was even in good spirits. You had spent him real good last night. 

"What is this anyway?"

You remained on the window, letting the sun warm you up a bit. The whole floor was cold anyway. Your hands grope on either side of your waist and your frown deepened upon him turning his back on you. 

"Fucking men." 

He smirked as you went to his closet. He noted you only wore the thick sweaters. You didn't rummage through his clothes and personal items like he initially thought. 

"I need to get some things back from home."

With a groan he finally rose, and sat against the bed's oak frame, his hands reached for his phone, and scrolled through his messages as his other hand slicked the messy strands that partially obscured his sight. 

"Are you even listening?!" 

"I'd rather not to."

He grumbled while his eyes remained on the screen. 

"I need to get myself some clothes. I don't wanna keep using yours for you to have me naked later." 

"You're thinking way too high of yourself, Ratoncita." He removed the silky sheets and tossed his phone somewhere in the bed, revealing his bare physique to you as he prowled your way. 

Eyes boring on your tense form. Undoubtedly he was the cat and you his ever lovely and amusing little mouse. One of his hands landed a few inches on one side of your face, but as soon as you tried to remove yourself from the equation, his other hand and a step forward of his frame closed the space, sandwiching you loosely between him and the wall. 

Even if limp, his cock felt above the sweater's fabric, right above your lower belly, ever warm and hefty. He had to lean down enough to face you, then took a half firm half gentle hold in your chin.

"If you have the energies to be mewling this early in the morning, you can take your pretty ass to the shower, clean yourself and get changed. We'll leave soon. ¿Entendido? 

"I'm not coming-" 

He squeezed your chin, igniting that spark of fury within you as he growled between teeth, "Understood?" 

His tone left no space for replies. But you slapped his hand away and retreated away from his confinement, but the petty in him needed to have the final saying. Even though words were done, he took your actions as a defiance. So he returned it, on your butt as a firm slap that smacked deliciously in the air. 

You didn't even turned to face him. Anger was too much in your mind to let it have the whole control over your emotional panel, and part of you assumed that he'd settle the score to his favor with another rough fuck.

Men. 

Your hands clenched into tight fists to finally disappear into the bathroom with a loud slam on the door. 

As much as he wanted to yell for the poor treatment on his property, he couldn't help but smirk, satisfied at your reaction. 

Part of his brain was amused to no end to see this new emotion in you. Anger made his senses tingle. But the ever rational part of his gray mass, wondered what had taken over you to be this pissed. 

Hadn't he fucked you silly last night? Cause he refused to believe he had done a poor job. 

The sudden thought of him underperforming in bed made his bushy brows to pucker in annoying concern. He'd take many insults, name calling, but someone, a woman specially saying he was bad at in bed? No. He couldn't allow it. 

He heard the shower run, and it was his cue to get his clothes ready. 

He'd go for a pair of black pants, a burgundy Prada button shirt, socks, dress shoes, no tie neither a suit, Day was too humid to be overdressed. 

The shower stopped a couple of minutes later, and he put all the things on the bed. 

You had finished a hot shower, rinsing all trace of him, wrapped your hair in a towel and pat dried your body to then wear one of his many black sweaters and slippers, the only thing you truly possessed. 

Upon seeing nothing but his toothbrush and grooming devices, you rummaged through the marbled drawers to look for a new toothbrush. You'd eventually find them next to a neatly arranged box of condoms and some gun chargers. But to your surprise the box was intact, sealed even, waiting to be used. 

With a roll if your eyes and a huff, you got to brush your teeth, a little harder than intended. 

Miguel simply entered the bathroom and slowly squeezed his way into the same space as you before the mirror, pushing you softly as you brushed your hair with your fingers. 

He looked in the mirror, the grayish hue on his cheeks increased, but he kept it. Not really feeling like grooming himself. His happy trail was on full display to you. 

If honest, it was the first time you actually paid attention to the secrets of his skin. 

A couple of scars littered his cinnamon tan and muscled skin, bullet marks? perhaps. The muscles rippled at every movement, enhancing the sight of his lower back's dimples, waist narrow and sharp, adorned with well-worked abs and sculpted thighs. There were no tattoos on his skin as he rather keep himself clean from them. 

His mere existence spoke loud and clear, he didn't need ink to prove his prowess. Plus, he considered himself too old for them. 

Gabriel on the other hand was like a walking board underneath his clothes. Or a bathroom stall's wall like he once called him. 

Your stomach grumbled loudly, and he chuckled. 

"Instead of staring, why don't you get some food? You'll need it." 

He grabbed his toothbrush and put a dollop of paste on it. Voice smooth like butter, that barely did a good job at hiding the rising mirth. But his lid twitched, vexed on your mimicking words 

"You're thinking too highly of yourself."

You pointed at his neck. 

"And make sure to properly clean yourself from others before even considering touching me." 

His smirk widened and held your wrist with enough force to make you whimper. Miguel finished washing and rinsing his mouth to then pull you by your nape and crashing his mouth on yours. 

You froze as he made you taste the fresh and cool flavor of mint in his mouth. When he pulled away, a sardonic smile plastered all over his infuriating yet beautiful face. He didn't give you time to reply as you were being pushed out the bathroom and before you could even give him again a peace of mind; he slammed the door in your face. 

"Asshole!" 

He chuckled as you yelled behind the door and finally got to shower. 

----

After a hearty breakfast and some more calls from Miguel, you and the rest got into the cars and left. 

Ben, the blond man drove the SUV again. Jessica was tailing after in her own car as another car with a lanky and pierced man lead the way. 

Buildings and skyscrapers of all sizes and colors passed you by, streets were averagely full, but Ben drove through shortcuts that approached faster towards your secret destination. 

Miguel had refused to speak after you recoiled away from his sudden urge of teasing you. He deliberately ignored you through the road, focusing occasionally on his phone screen. 

"We're here, boss." Ben mumbled after what it felt like forever. 

The little caravan had stopped before a bright red three floored building. Dark windows prevented the sunlight to seep in. The name, Casa Cisneros displayed in a Dior alike typography over the red walls. 

Your eyes widened when you saw the gorgeous, elegant and colorful clothing designs neatly arranged in the window's showcase. 

Miguel guided your surprised self deeper into the boutique. A man around his forties, white hair, shorter than Miguel, dressed up in an orange suit and a shit-eating grin came to greet Miguel. 

"Por Dios, te juro que si vienes con esa mierda de zapatos de Prada ni me molestaré en atenderte." (I swear that if you've come with those shitty Prada shoes I won't even bother in help you out.) 

Miguel chuckled while shaking his head. Then hugged the man briefly yet sincerely. 

"How have you been Mateo?" 

"¿Cómo que 'How you've been?'" His disgust couldn't hide, "Ugh. Never mind, where is Dana? Can't wait to dress her up in my new collection!." 

Your brow quirked upon the woman's name but Miguel just dismissed him with a disdainful wave of his hands and a blasé scowl. 

"Ah... Ya veo. En fín, whose the new seasonal fling?" 

Mateo, the owner, or so you supposed, fixed his eyes your way and smirked approvingly as he watched you from head to toes. 

"Nothing better and exciting than a blank canvas." he then turned to Miguel, "The same as usual?" 

The same as... what? 

You looked at Miguel and the mob lord shook his head while focusing once more in his phone 

He dialed some numbers to place the trinket in his ear, "Up to her." 

He mumbled before disappearing into another room. Mateo however grinned upon you being given a carte blanche from his best client. Cause that meant money. 

"So... What do you want?" 

"Uh... The basics I believe?" 

This earned him a giggle. 

"Preciosa. Hermosa, muñeca. Listen to me. And listen well.", He waved a warning finger at you, "Basic is not in this fashion's house vocabulary. Secondly, if Miguel brings you here is cause, he wants you to look good and not embarrass him. I know it sounds awful, but if you're with him-" 

"I'm not." Your frown deepened and Mateo just rolled his eyes. 

"Of course you aren't. Anyway, I'll give you a wardrobe. Let's go. Cooper!" 

He called and soon a tall, young and redhead man approached. His green eyes lit up upon the task ahead. 

"This is Cooper Coen, my assistant. He'll be helping us today." 

The young man greeted, and soon they began working. 

Mostly of the pieces the both picked suited perfectly on your body, every curve lavished and worshipped with utter care. But you also noticed that as beautiful as it all was, the crafts were easy to remove. As if Mateo knew the purpose behind everything he donned you with. 

Cooper kept packing and bringing clothes that not only enhanced your body shape, but made you look like a spoiled rich man's wife. Elegant, beyond gorgeous, expensive and oh so tempting and fuckable. 

Mateo seemed delighted in having you as his personal doll, trying outfit after outfit. Miguel had left to business but Jessica remained behind to look after you. 

Hours kept passing, and you moved to the undergarments. You were too focused in getting the underwear you had missed for so long that didn't hear Miguel returning. 

You wouldn't ruin him financially, sadly, but as Cooper had told you, it wasn't going to go be cheap either. And if your intuition wasn't failing, you knew something didn't add up. Not that you weren't grateful to finally have your own clothes to wear, but deep in your brain, the ever rational and alert part of it kept telling you to be wary. To not trust Miguel.

What is he hiding? 

----

Miguel had to leave for a couple of minutes to have an impromptu meeting with Peter back at the club for more Intel gathering. Apparently a clue on Massimo's whereabouts came up and he left you with Jessica. 

But upon returning and seeing the amount of packages and the count ascending past the fifty grand, he called you. 

Money wasn't an issue for him, but the amount of unnecessary shoes that you or rather Mateo had made him wonder how many pair of shoes a woman truly needed. 

Never enough apparently. 

He called you once, but Cooper showed up instead. 

"She'll be here soon, Mr. O'Hara." 

The young man nodded as Miguel huffed.  

It reminded him the too many times he took women for shopping and always ended up like this. Bored out of his mind, sometimes pissed at the constant questions they asked him. 

Do I look fat? Does this color matches my skin? 

He sighed, irked but somehow ready to ignore the flood of questions you'd annoy him with. 

Much to his dismay, minutes kept stretching impossibly longer and he had things to do and places to be at. He called you again. 

No response. 

His jaw tensed as his teeth ground together. He immediately took his phone and searched on the tracking device location. 

Signal Lost 

"Pinche mujer" He growled as he bolted gun in hand towards where you had been, Heart pounding with such an intense anger it felt like molten lava flowing through him. 1Jessica was helping Mateo, unaware of what was to unfold. 

Heavy and livid steps guided him towards the dressing rooms. He swung the curtain, ready to look for clues as to where you had left, only to find you, struggling with adjusting the back straps of the lingerie Cooper had handed over to you. 

"¿¡Qué no oyes cuando te hablo?! ¿'Tas pinche sorda o qué?" (Didn't you hear me when I'm talking to you?! You fucking deaf or what?!) 

His sudden outburst startled you while your frightened gaze settled on him and it quickly turned angered. 

"What the fuck?! I'm changing!" You were about to keep up with his yelling when his gun stood high and proud in the air. Silencing your babbling with an unintelligible grumble. 

"What was that?" With a scowl he glowered your way. Your tongue clicked, ignoring him. 

His eyes couldn't help but rake your body for some brief seconds to finally settling on the tracking device. The thing was off. 

"What did you do to it?!" He growled while pushing you against the mirror and kneeled to grab your ankle and see with his own eyes why the device wasn't working. 

Updating 40% 

Of course the damned thing would be updating. His nostrils flared angrily as you yanked your limb away from his grasp.

"Hurry the fuck up, I don't have all day."

He let you go and headed towards the entrance. 

"Che palle! Lasciami in pace un attimo, stronzo!" (How annoying! Leave me alone for a second, you asshole!) 

And oh his head turned in many dangerous and dark thoughts. It wasn't the words you used, he couldn't care less about them, but the fact alone you still had bits of Massimo still clinging to you. 

If honest, you only had learned some phrases in the attempt to rekindle things with your husband, it somehow worked, but this was a completely different outcome you truly weren't expecting. 

In a blink of an eye he was already before you, red eyes glowering your way, a steely grip on his gun. 

"The fuck did you say?" 

You had to recoil away, but where? He had trapped you again against the mirrors, your fear etched in every face the multiple surfaces provided and it fuelled him. 

A thick gulp rolled down your throat as his gun's tip placed underneath your chin to drag down between your breast to stop right above your heart, tapping a tad rough with it. 

"If you wanna act like a spoiled brat, fine." he seethed as he pushed you on your knees in a swift move, the sudden movement had you stumbling down, startled "I'll teach you a fucking lesson." 

His other hand immediately went to your front strands, tangling his long fingers in them, your hands immediately flew to his wrist, grunting uncomfortably at the tight grip on your skull, trying to pry yourself away from him. You could feel his anger through the little tremors his body did as he tossed the gun to the seat inside the little cubicle. 

"Let me go!" he pulled your head back, parting your lips open in the way. 

"Since you fucking love opening your pretty mouth to disrespect me," His hold tightened on your hair as his hands fumbled with the belt of his pants, sliding his free hand past the layers of clothing and pulled out his engorging cock. A few pumps of his hand around it had it twitching to life. 

"I think it's time to find a proper use for it, hmm?" Before you could even protest, his flushed tip was already invading your mouth. A hiccup escaped you while he pushed in inch by inch, earning a brief gag and gurgle from you. 

A satisfied growl escaped his smirking mouth. 

"What's wrong? Cat's fucking your tongue?" 

He stepped in closer, your nose nuzzled his happy trail as he was now holding your hair in a fistful. A sharp tinge of tears blurred your eyes for a moment as he slid down your throat. Your hands slapped his thighs while trying to push him back, earning him a breathless moan. You had tested his patience long enough for him to snap and remind you of your position. 

If he had known how easy and quick you'd learn how to get under his skin, he would've left you back with your rotten husband. 

Upon sensing you gag again, he chuckled while sliding some of his fingers underneath your chin, guiding you slowly to take him properly. 

"Fucking relax." He heaved when your mouth flattened around him to have air flowing back to your lungs. 

Fucking gorgeous. That's how you looked, staring with your pretty and angry eyes while you choked on him, set a long forgotten thrill alive that he rather keep buried for good. 

You coughed as soon as he slid out, completely hard, glistening in your saliva and beads of pre cum that connected to the corners of your flushed mouth. 

"Uh-uh. Open up, I'm not done yet." 

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and coughed a couple of bits; the glare returned to your eyes. 

"Fuck you." 

Miguel huffed, crouched and took your chin to kiss you, tasting himself. You bit his lip, hard trying to get him to free you, but the growl grumbling through his chest only made your skin crawl as his tongue slid in your mouth, also invading you. 

The sheer size of his frame and the little space between sandwiched you, deliciously against him. One hand cradled your head, not giving you a truce while devouring your lips as the other one slid down between your legs. 

The sudden contact sent jolts up your spine, as he changed the cradling on your nape to a light squeeze on your neck as he pressed you against the floor, and spread your legs with his teasing hand when you trapped his hand in between your thighs, preventing him from reaching deeper. 

The motions had slowly made his cock to be trapped again in the fabric confinement. 

He earned a feeble mewl as he slid two of his fingers inside. The vibrations of your purring reverberated underneath his skin made his eager tip to twitch again 

His phone buzzed and he let your throat go for a second, but his fingers remained inside, massaging and wriggling softly within your flesh. 

"Not a peep from you, ok? This is an important call." 

Your hands immediately clenched and your thighs trembled when he moved his hand, back and forth, delving into your drenching walls. 

Heat licking at every pore of your skin. You didn't know if it was in anger or your hormones betraying you once again. The lack of sex with Massimo was costing your dignity big time. 

He's just toying with you cause he knows he can. 

Your mind reasoned, despite the rationality's grip loosening at his ministrations. 

"Ya le dije a Gabriel que procediera sin contratiempos." (I already told Gabriel to proceed without problems)

He talked and moved his hand like the most natural thing to do while in a call. 

Shame washed over your cheeks at the raunchy and sloppy wet noises your cunt made the more he probed your insides. 

"No, no-"

You hissed and his eyes went immediately on you, as if with his glare alone he'd be defying you to make a noise again. 

Your lips pursed shut as your chest heaved with ragged yet quiet breaths 

"I've got it under control." 

More than a reply to whoever he was talking to, his words were a fact. An undisputed truth that clawed at your brain the deeper he stimulated with his fingers. 

He was on control. Of you, your body and every bit that formed it, of every contraction that sucked and trapped his fingers, of every breath he made you exhale. 

His pace increased, and you choked while your body trembled at the beat of his thrusting fingers. A satisfied smirk crept up to his face, determined to break your forceful silent vow. 

He's worse than Massimo. Don't forget that. 

The hardened nub of your breast peeked underneath the flimsy fabric, swaying, demanding to be tasted. 

His initial resolution of not making a physical approach, had been long broken, ever since you insulted him in that foreign language that certainly sparked things within his mind he rarely liked to indulge thinking. 

You amused him, that was much true. But God you also made him so fucking angry. Running your mouth like you were his equal, facing him despite being scared to the core and spending his energies in such a delicious way he only sought whenever stress was eating him alive and none so far had properly known how to sate. Not even Dana. 

The only serious relationship prospect he had so far until she cheated on him and he had to get rid of her. 

But you, He didn't know if to kill you himself or fuck you 'til you were in tears. 

Your mouth parted in a pornographic 'o', gasping quietly, eyes shut, face covered in a deep shade of red, hands clenched into fists on the floor as your body swayed underneath. 

"Let me see what I can do." He crooned as his golden chain around his neck dangled with his motions.

His eyes kept glued onto your face as he slowly rubbed the rough pad of his thumb against your neglected clit in a tortuous and flickering motion. 

You bit your lip, and he smirked darkly. Slowly, he pushed in a third finger as he applied a bit more of pressure on your already sensitive and engorged nub 

Think about the condom box! 

Your toes curled in, body contorted in between gentle twitches and jerks when he grazed ever softly and teasingly at your sweet spot. A soft and barely audible gasp escaped your mouth. And his breath hitched as soon as you locked eyes with him in a glare. 

How dare he? 

He moved in and out, alternating between fucking his fingers inside and caress your bundle of nerves for enough time to edge you. 

"I know. Hmm." He nodded at whatever words Peter gave him, "You're more than capable of handling it." 

It felt like he was encouraging you through the whole process. 

He's not in control. 

One of his fingers grazed into a spot that got your hips stuttering and shaking your head as your teeth sunk deeper into the plump of your bottom lip, jaw tense but unable to trap in a garbled moan. You felt like a hypocrite. 

"Yeah, don't worry. Everything's fine." 

The way your walls increased their drenching with every contraction on his digits, had him tittering silently in twisted delight. 

At this point it was a matter of seconds to have you coming undone. He was set into making you break the rules. Your toes curled and trembled as he fastened the pace enough to have a soft squishing slap echoing just for him. 

El Diablo tilted his head as you clawed your nails on his ankle, it barely tickled him. 

"All he has to do is to agree. Offer him more money if that's the case." 

With clinical precision he stopped a few seconds before you got to come undone and trap him inside. A frustrated and shallow whine flew out your mouth. His thumb pad was now tracing the outline of your lips, to then slid two of his drenched fingers into your mouth. 

"All he has to say is yes." He moved his hand, making your head bob in a nod as he spoke. Your taste exploding into your mouth. 

With little he just retreated outside the cubicle to return a few minutes later with a plain pair of pants and a shirt. He hung the call up and sighed. 

" Now that you've learnt how to shut the fuck up, get changed. We need to go."

With trembling legs you stood, trying to catch your breath, the lingerie soiled, your thighs sticky. Heart and pussy played like a fancy tailed piano and he was the main musician. 

He fixed his clothes, despite the raging boner pulsating between his clothes. He looked at you for a moment, nose reddening, lips flushed and glossy eyes that turned aqueous the more he remained in there. 

His brows pinched softly in an imperceptible frown before leaving you alone. Not really wanting to witness your sudden discomfit. 

What had came over you? 

----

Ever since he woke up that day there were so many changes he had barely had time to adjust. But this quiet and distant you was unsettling and uncomfortable for him. 

First the need to cry after he almost gave you an orgasm, then, the silent ride back at home. 

You barely glanced his way when explaining the dress you needed to wear for the party he was also changing into. But what frustrated him the most was when he asked you to remove the ring out of your finger. The urge to cry returned on your face. 

He truly didn't understand why you still clung so blindly to Massimo. At this point he thought it was love.

He huffed, disgusted. 

You wouldn't drag him to your emotional rollercoaster cause he already had his own. And there was an enough mess as it was to keep adding to his plate. 

He was proud of his detachment skills, soon you'd return to that asshole you called a husband and he wouldn't have to worry about you anymore, cause again, he was growing tired of facing other emotions that weren't the ones he could master. 

No matter how gorgeous and fuckable you looked in that backless and sequin golden dress that undoubtedly did a better job at treating your body than him. 

You had to apply some makeup to the most visible bruises around your body. Neck included. He loved squeezing it apparently. 

Miguel had removed the tracking device of your ankle to disguise it as a clock on your wrist. He looked handsome as usual. 

In truth, you looked like a celebrity. It made you wonder what kind of party you headed to, but you refused to speak to him and he was more than happy to not be bothered. 

Each sat in opposite corners in the car. Not saying a word during the ride. The only instruction he gave you was to stay close as he hugged your waist, although weakly, with his hand. 

Nostalgia was rampant on you today, and it didn't help the not so clandestine reunion harbored within a familiar milieu for you. 

A fancy club, L'Enfer, you once had the chance of visiting. Your engagement night, and returning after so many years in extremely different circumstances, tightened the knot around your throat and the need to run away to increase tenfold. 

Golden floors matched the velvet curtains that protected the black windowsills from prying eyes. The tables pristinely arranged to the left and right, ready to witness its attendee's darkest and deepest secrets. 

Servers were dressed in jet black suits and red gloves, offering the myriad of delicacies prepared for the night. 

Some men stared at Miguel, apprehension and wariness in their eyes. Others smirked and raised their champagne cups as he made his way deeper into the place. Peter walked ahead, Miguel and you followed, and Jessica tailed behind, yet his agents scattered all over the place, either as servers or valets, even bartenders. 

Miguel wore his usual frown, occasionally changing into a deadpan whenever a fan of his work approached. 

Miguel entered to a further room, more private and secluded. The smell of tobacco and expensive perfumes polluted the air, assaulting your nose at once. 

You downed the discomfort with a cup of champagne. 

"Try to not drink too much. Need you sober for the meeting." 

A meeting? 

You quirked a brow at his mumbles but nodded and remained seated near the indoor font, the least tobacco smelling place from the rest and the same place Massimo proposed. Now, you were eating the different entrees, balancing the alcohol ingest in a mob lord party, you realized too late. 

Jessica remained on your side, also eating whenever a snack she liked passed by. Peter accompanied Miguel as he greeted and exchanged a few words with the other people. 

Orborn, Kravinoff or Kraven for short, Olivia Octavius, and other men didn't ring a bell on you. 

"Let Miguel do the whole talking. In fact, act as the listener. And if Kraven calls you beautiful, don't say thanks. He'd think he can hit on you and the least Miguel needs-" 

"Is worrying for stupid shit. I know." 

The sweetness of the mini desserts and other assorted flavors didn't help to conceal the tart tasting in your mouth. Jessica quirked a brow and nodded. 

"You're adapting quick. That's good. But despite having a ten grand dress on you with matching shoes and gold in your ears, you look like you're about to cry. What the hell is wrong now?" 

Tough love was all you got from her, but it also surprised you how perceptive and unsuspecting she could be. 

"Everything."

Jessica rolled her eyes and sighed, adding another lemon curd mini tart in your plate. One you hadn't had before. 

"What in specific? Is it... That guy, your husband?"

Jessica smacked her lips with her gaze fixed on you, scrutinizing within your eyes upon your sudden silence. 

"You're really hung up on that asshole, aren't you?" 

"It's not that. And I'm not even sure about my feelings on Massimo. I want to punch him in the face for lying to me, but I also I want to know he's alright, so I can... pass page."

Your shoulders slumped as you heaved, defeated, "And Miguel is no better. It feels like they'd be secretly competing against eachother whose worse." 

Jessica grunted with a silent titter and shook her head. 

"He's blunt and an asshole, undoubtedly. Despite that, I'd stick in Miguel's side, he'll make sure you're safe in his own way." 

"Just wished he'd be less cryptic whenever I ask for answers." 

"Again, he's protecting you."

"From what? From himself?" 

"No. From the troubles your man dragged you to, honey." 

"Ugh" You rolled your eyes, the last thing you needed right now was to be reminded how awful Massimo was, "Just forget it. I feel anxious enough as it is." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I... I have a bad feeling." 

-----

You sat next to Miguel and carefully listened. The mobster's voice occasionally drowned the cutlery's tinkling out. 

Topics had varied through the night, from luxury cars and ways to armor them, weapon hiding and smuggling, to your current predicament. Massimo. 

"Kingpin is looking for him, his wife has gone MIA, which is convenient. Bitch's smart. The guy could learn a thing or two from her."

"He ratted out Delgado with the FBI. His associate! Wouldn't surprise me if he'd sell out his family to save his skin." The man called Harry Osborn spoke as he downed his whiskey. 

"Da. My associates have gathered Intel, he hasn't left the country still."

You gulped thickly the more the men spoke. If seeing with your own hands what your husband had created wasn't enough, hearing it straight from the horse's mouth only crushed your heart even further. 

"What about you, Diablo?" 

"Max owes me money." 

Many just hissed while contorting their faces disapprovingly. 

"How much?" 

"Four Million."

"Poor bastard sold his soul to you, didn't he?" Olivia Octavius mumbled between sardonic and titters. 

Miguel downed his whiskey as your hands clawed on the golden sequins of the dress. 

"What kind of fucked up woman marries a guy like that? She's desperate or corrupt as he is." 

Olivia spat and a few nodded. 

"Heard he was fooling her this whole time."

"Ahh, C'mon, Miguel. Didn't know you fell for such things." 

Miguel just shrugged, then he lit up a vanilla and cherry cigarette to blow the smoke away from you. 

"I'm giving people the benefit of doubt still. But I'll find him."

"You'll kill him?" 

"Gotta collect my reaps first." 

The men and Olivia grinned, everyone seemed pleased but you. It had been a good deal of information to swot on, so many to digest your stomach had turned queasy. 

You were about to stand up, feeling the bile and nausea rising, that registered too late the acute ring piercing through your eardrums so badly after a powerful loud bang. Unable to move, frozen in the spot. 

Everything felt in muted slow motion, some droplets of something warm and wet fell on your face, spraying you. You saw the group pulling out their guns one by one as Harry Osborn fell with a seemingly loud thud on the table. 

Why isn't he moving? 

Your heart pounded in your ears, throat constricted, and when you tried to scream nothing but a mute yell came out. A strong tanned hand pulled you down, as more loud bangs kept echoing, like distant fireworks underneath water. 

Guns were sparkling with every shot they fired, people fell on the floor, staining the golden surface with crimson as the walls around received an ugly hole-themed makeover. 

You could see Miguel grabbing your shoulders, shaking you while his mouth moved angrily as he pulled his gun away and kept you secured tightly underneath his frame. 

Chaos had broke loose. And you weren't sure you'd live up to tell. 

-----

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