miss-canon-event

[miss-canon-event]

My daddies🤭❤️

PEDRO PASCAL and OSCAR ISAAC in TRIPLE FRONTIER (2019) ━  2/∞

[miss-canon-event]

Papa! You're late!

Soccer Family! Miguel x wife! Reader

WARNING: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Smut. Married couple smut, P in V, Rimjob (F! receiving), heavy dirty talk in spanish, a sprinkle of degradation, rough sex, use of toys, heavy touching, anal stimulation, misuse of appliances, dom!/sub undertones, clothes tearing, spanking, mild biting, mating press, doggy style, fluff towards the end, mention of aftercare, needy Miguel, needy Mama, raunchy praising, soft Miguel.

Summary: You get Miguel too busy to fetch the kids on time.

A/N: Hello, hello! First of all, thanks for your patience, life finally allowed me some respite :') and to celebrate we've reched 500+ followers in this wee accocunt, here's this baby for the Soccer Family! Comments, reblogs or whatever much appreciated tehee :> .

Another tick tack from the clock in his wrist only made his knuckles turn whiter. He was sure his nails would leave crescent moon shapes in the steering wheel’s foam cover. But how could he not? The time was stretching far too long for his impatient likings and the ache in between his muscled thighs just turned unbearable by every goddamn second. Yet, despite the biting need clawing and gnawing at his insides, he knew the wait would be worth it.

Saturdays and Sundays were his days off from Alchemax. Weekends were untouchable, an accord the higher ups in the multinational had respected so far, and they better keep honoring their word, or else he wouldn’t be here. Waiting in the red light, trying to make some time for you and your Saturday’s late morning routine. 

At eight everyone in the O’Hara household would be up, At eight forty, breakfast was served by your precious and talented hands. At nine thirty everyone would help to clean up after breakfast. At ten, the kids would be ready to leave for their extra curricular activities. And it was Papa’s turn to deliver the packages safe and sound. First stop was Gabriella at the school league team’s soccer field for her weekend’s practice. 

A fond smile drew in his lips upon imagining you getting the tools for Saturday's cleansing, probably you’d finally get to use that spinning mop you recently bought and bragged over before bed. Around ten forty he’d drop Benjamin in his playdate with Mayday.

Bless his best friend for sparing him some mercy and giving some time for himself. Parenthood was a mined battlefield and both men knew it. But who really took the prize as his favorite person of the day was Gabriel, or Uncle Gabe as Benji now called him, for taking his little Rosita Fresita out on a pampering day. 

He’d definitely talk to you about the recent shift in Rosie’s preference when it came to Gabriel. His own daughter asked her beloved uncle to take her everywhere whenever he visited with grabby hands, and although jealousy fit him too obvious, right now, he could even buy Gabriel a bottle of his favorite mezcal for the well-timed favor.  

The clock ticked eleven thirty. Traffic evaded him like the plague once he crossed that red light, as if knowing the endeavour he had ahead. For once, everything around him cooperated into giving him what he wanted. Spoiling him even with perfectly timed green lights. 

She’ll start the laundry soon.

His mind repeated and a smirk that promised nothing good stretched wider into his lips, scaring a distracted passenger in their car after they stared for too long his way. Pure wickedness irradiated from every pore, his mind already working like a perfectly oiled machine into bearing the most sinful things a doting husband could do to his ever loving and pretty little wife. 

An impatient growl heaved through his chest as soon as the familiar neighborhood came into sight. The oak trees adorning the streets were a green and brown blur, same for the houses that were now blotches of abstract shapes the more he pressed the accelerator.

His nails dug once more into the wheel’s foam when his two floored beige and navy blue house finally appeared. His adam's apple bobbed, –a bit painful, like the wait gurgling in his guts, when his car stopped and his trembling fingers removed the keys from the slot. He was home. 

Like a hungry hound, his nose took a deep whiff in the air. Cleaning products tickled his brain with pleasant sensations as a welcome, he took another whiff and the summer breeze scented air freshener came into his list when he stepped in the kitchen. His nostrils dilated, taking the final inhale he needed. 

There you are. 

Those lavender and vanilla Downy beads you always used in the clothes couldn’t hide your scent. That flowery and nearly saccharine smell that said its goodnights every day whenever you cuddled him, was now guiding him through the living room, straight to the laundry area.

The soft tunes of a catchy song you hummed just confirmed him you were there, smelling like sin, unaware of his intentions, luring the danger oh too close for comfort. 

Months without you in his hands, without him destroying your mind and body with caresses and breathtaking kisses almost killed him. Life had been too busy to the point that both were too tired and moody to even get into action. And just when you both thought things would finally go from start to finish, either one of you fell asleep. 

But now, there were no kids, no mundane tasks, no roles to fulfill, no interruptions from life that stood in his way to have you the way he needed. Pleading for mercy, writhing and- 

“Miguel?” 

Your ever sweet voice called him, and all control snapped. Something so primal and raw that had his groin aching, rumbled through his chest in a needy growl, begging him to be released. Especially when he saw you on your tiptoes, dipping and bending further into the washing machine to reach a rebel blouse stuck around the agitator. 

Your ass (a mighty one if he added), was before him, dressed in those cotton pants, –his pants, that sunk in between your ass cheeks a bit too perfect for his already salivating mouth, outlining the perfect globes of flesh he loved reddening with his hands as they bounced against him. But also giving him the only hint he needed to know. 

You weren’t wearing any underwear. 

But it was when you nearly tipped inside the machine as you cursed, granting him the complete picture of your rear, that all remnants of control abandoned him in a go. 

Being the behemoth sized man he was, Miguel stood behind you in two strides, his chest rose as if he had run a marathon, gulping and looking like a famished man before the unsuspecting feast presented to him on a silver plate. 

A little too late you felt a familiar big hand trembling, wrapping around your nape. Tangling ever softly and gently on the chunks of hair in that region. Pulling your head back, earning him a surprised yelp as your back arched and your chin tipped upwards to meet his ravenous gaze. 

“Mig-”

There was no time to even finish his name. His mouth crashed on yours, devouring bit by sacred bit your open mouth, as if his brain urged him to remember the taste of your moans, your breath, how your tongue slid against his in a poor attempt to fight him back. But his coiled, twirled and lured yours out from your swollen and flush lips to suck it. 

Each moan you gifted him with only made him press his hips impossibly close to yours, pinning you against the metal edge from the washer, trapping you between it, his hips, legs and the growing hard on pressing against the crack of your ass. Grinding in a tortuous pace that only had your hips grating back. 

Yet a breathless whine made his lips stop, letting a fine, almost imperceptible thread of saliva joining your mouth to his.

“Fuck..” you gasped, with droopy eyes staring his way as he licked it clean. There was no need for questions, not when the kiss alone announced his intentions without an ounce of shame. “H-Hey.” 

His hand never left your nape, nor his hips abandoned their mighty cornering. His other free limb though, snaked upwards the warm and soft curve of your stomach, reaching underneath your t shirt, earning a pleasant growl when his fingertips trapped the hardening nub of your breast in between them, alternating in between giving soft pinches and squeezing your breast all together. 

“¿Siempre eres así de traviesa?” (How come you are always this naughty?)

His hot breath fanned over the crawling skin of your neck, earning him a giggle that melted into a groan as soon as his fangs nipped over the joint of your neck and shoulder.

“Wearing nothing underneath for me.” He tugged the nipple in a teasing pull before slapping it ever softly, breathing in your gasp, “You sure it’s not intentional, preciosa?” 

“And you notice until now?” You teased, well damn knowing the consequences that would follow back. Yet you didn’t care. Not when your body melted in between your thighs, not when your REM cycle had been playing the many scrumptious scenes worthy of an AVN Award that your brain had stored of him, filling you to the brim, over and over. And definitely not when the chance finally arrived, like the hero your cunt desperately needed. 

“Pues qué maravilla.” He licked a wet trail up to your earlobe as his hand abandoned your tit and yanked the sweatpants down in a firm tug. A proper and stinging slap on your ass echoed in the laundry area, hardening your nipples on the go.

His smirk widened upon gazing briefly at the taut silhouette of the nubs, peeking underneath the shirt, greeting him. “Mira que pasearte así, con este hermoso culo al descubierto… sólo para mí…” (See you walking around, with a gorgeous ass like this, just for me...)

Miguel rolled his hips and pressed tighter against said gorgeous ass. Another gasp rumbled through your lungs and your knees trembled. 

“No tienes ni una puta idea de lo que me haces, mi reina.” (You don’t fucking  know what you do to me.) 

He growled in your ear before holding you still once more and kneeling right behind you. You gulped. Because when he used full on and foul spanish it only meant one thing. He wouldn’t leave you until you were a mess. His hand let your head go only to hold with a steely grip your hips, grounding them in a demanding push on his face. Sitting you, cheeks spread, against his mouth and nose bridge. 

“F-Fuck!” You mewled as soon as his tongue began dancing, lapping and slurping your pussy like it was his lifeline. His tongue curled and tasted, dribbled and pushed, making your toes fold, almost losing balance but that only made you drop all the weight on top of his face. And his mouth did nothing but to welcome it by giving soft and teasing nips around your puffed folds before focusing on polishing your needy cunt with his tongue. 

The sinful sounds his wet muscle did, were enough for your hands to grip each side of the washing machine’s edges with all you had, your nails almost scratched the paint as your husband ravished your pussy with his mouth. Enjoyed it like an emaciated man tasting his first meal in months, his hunger surpassing his restraint as he groaned and growled in delight with every moan he inflicted. 

However, nothing prepared you when Miguel grabbed your hips and lifted you off the ground, sending you tipping forward against the machine’s control board. In the sudden reflex and haste your fingers clumsily pressed start and the machine buzzed alive, sending a jolt through your body like a cracking whip. 

The mechanical humming had you squirming against the machine’s lid, letting your clothed tits to absorb the vibrations that teased your hard nipples. A gasp flew out of your lips as soon as he grabbed your hips and lifted you off the ground, just enough to have your toes hovering above the floor without stopping his finger from squeezing a handful of your ass to spread you further.

And just enough for him to reach a new angle with his mouth as he placed your pussy right above the corner of the machine’s vibrating revestment.

He chuckled, too amused when your cunt sought on its own that so needed stimulation against everything that provided it. His mouth however, proved to be the main purveyor of such sensations. Taking his deliberate slow time to draw a thirsty stripe from your pussy to your pulsating asshole. 

His smile darkened upon watching you accommodating yourself on the corner, your clit received the first vibrating waves of the staggering machine. Your insides clenched at the powerful hum that rocked you from head to toe.

It reminded you of the way his tongue flicked when he felt particularly hungry after a stressful day, and who were you to deny your husband such alleviation? Another filthy lick had your breath caught in your throat, and the deliciously stinging slap forced you to release it in a trembling sob. 

Miguel never allowed his tongue to stop exploring in between your cheeks, he was just accommodating his upper body in a position where his devouring would be comfortable enough to just stop to breathe, and go on for hours if he wanted. He had half your body pinned by the nape against the washer, as your lower region hovered, spread, above the floor while he ate, squeezed and toyed your ass like he knew he owned it. 

The machine however, unintentionally joined the stimulation party as it began the spinning cycle. It quivered, and its tremors did nothing but to echo directly on your clit. The humming, the soft movement that teased your soaked folds only pulled the prettiest moans he’d heard so far. A choked moan lingered in your mouth as your hand pushed his head in its place. An order to not stop. 

“Hmm-fuck!” Miguel heaved, eyes hazed and heavy with need as he stared directly in your soaked holes, quivering and constricting around nothing. Begging to be filled the only way he knew it.

His mouth watered upon the sight of your cunt, clenching the more the washer’s vibrations jolted your clit unceasingly, like an oversized vibrator. Your slick escaped in thin ribbons that stretched and stuck around your folds, your inner thighs and his tongue when he gobbled them down with a desperate whimper. 

And when his chin glistened with your juices, his fingers reached up to spread you, pulling a vicious groan. “Pero mira qué ricura de coño tienes, mi amor.” (Such a pretty pussy you have here.)

His middle and ring finger teased in slow circles around your clit, making your hips buck and interrupt the machine’s teasing, only to have your hip bone pressed once more against the trembling object. 

“¿Cuantos de mis dedos quieres dentro, hermosa?” His voice whispered in the shell of your ear, “¿Uno?” He eased one with a moan before pulling it out and licking it clean,“¿Dos?” He slid in both before you could even answer, “¿O prefieres mi boca de nuevo?” He teased, moving his fingers deeper and faster, drenching them with every pump inside. (How many of my fingers do you want inside?) (One?) (Two?) (Or you’d rather my mouth again?)

Your hands didn’t know where to land, his hair was too soft to ruin and he already deducted what you loved, and the machine was too unstable to hold on properly. Your cunt clenched once more around his pumping fingers, announcing the spark of roaring fire that burned from the very tip of your toes, upwards through your shivering legs. 

“Justo así, así quiero que estés siempre que me veas, mi reina.” He nodded before swirling his tongue on your ring of muscles and fuck it with his tongue as he groaned. “Bien pinche mojada.”  (Just like this. Exactly like this is the way I want you to be every time you look at me.) (So fucking wet.)

Every dirty syllable was just another log he tossed into the fire, your brain was already rewired for the imminent doom his voice and his mouth alone provoked. One particular quiver from the machine was the right and final finishing move your body needed to burn completely. A dragged mewl slurred out of your mouth as your cunt gushed and pulsated, while your whole body convulsed underneath his firm touch. 

He was merciful enough to not overstimulate your weeping hole, despite the hunger in him increasing tenfold with the mere sight of you coming undone, begging to be ruined. But you out of everyone knew this was just the beginning. Like a lightweight burlap bag, he tossed you, ass-bared and trembling over his shoulder as he marched like a devoted soldier to the master bedroom where duty called him. 

For once, Miguel didn’t close the door to prevent any alarming sounds to distress your children. The house was all yours. He tossed you in bed and before you could even bounce back, his hands were already taking a proper hold of your yanked sweatpants to tear them with such ease, like if he was tearing paper, leaving nothing but the elastic band around your waist holding the  now fabric in  shambles together.

“You’re so buyi–” His hand clasped around your throat, just enough to restrict your breathing and silence you with a deep kiss. 

“I’ll fucking buy you all what you want, preciosa, just shut up.” He heaved, hot against your lips before letting your neck go and finishing the tearing he started by making the rip bigger, leaving the pant’s part useless and haphazardly discarded on the sheets.

He sank in between your thighs again, His hand reached for the front bangs of your hair and pulled your head gently towards him, granting you the unholy and mouth watering sight of his lips pursing in between your folds and sucking on your clit while staring right into your soul, as if teaching you how a man ate.  Could it be better?

Absolutely.

He shook his head, his mouth open as his tongue licked in the direction he moved his head, like a paintbrush leaving nothing but pleasurable and burning strokes on your flesh, painting your pussy wetter if possible, but your eyes rolled when he plunged his tongue in that sweet and tight hole he couldn’t wait to wreck.

He didn’t bother to clean his face from your slick when he pulled out to remove his clothes –almost yanking them, if anything he’d wear it proudly like he had been marked. 

“Miguel!” You hiccuped, grasping the sheets until your knuckles turned white, as he pulled you down to his thighs, his hands didn’t dally and spread you. His eyes turned glossy, glowing with that feral need piling up to him upon watching your cunt staring back at him with soft pulses. 

He grunted as his hand circled his already sprung cock, slapping your entrance with his heady and flushed tip. The slaps only pulled mewls and gasp but greedy as he was, he needed more. So he teased you by sliding in between your outer lips, dragging a second too long against your clit, letting a bead of precum to aid him and make it even more slippery, and that almost broke you. 

“Please…” You whimpered, grinding against his tip, trying to swallow him in his righteous place. But his hand around your neck stifled another upcoming mewl. 

“¿Quieres esto? ¿Hm? Seguro que sí. Sólo mírate, tan empapada… tan lista para mi como una buena zorra desesperada por un poco de tu marido.” (You want this? Bet you fucking do. Just look at you. So wet and ready like a good desperate slut for a piece of your husband.) 

He smirked, feeling your cunt tremble as soon as those words left him while you nodded dumbly. He’d apologize later with whatever thing you’d ask him to do for calling you such, but right now he only had one thing in mind. Your absolute ruin. And frankly, you didn’t care for sensitivities when you’d finally have your insides full with him again after months of shitty and rushed self-handjobs. 

And when he sunk in? You nearly cried. Not because of the good ol’ stretch his cock alone did as he eased in slowly (a bit too slow perhaps) to feel you clenching and milking him with that obscene sucks your pussy made around him, but to have your husband back.

Both of his hands hooked underneath the back of your knees and pushed your thighs upwards, until they reached the sheets and his cock the hilt inside of you, filling you in both’s favorite position. A gorgeous mating press.

“Fuck–.” His breath shivered and his voice came like a broken yet relieved whine as yours were reduced into a choked sob, “¿Sabes lo mucho que he querido estar dentro tuyo?” (Do you know how much I’ve wanted to be inside you?)

He snapped his hips gently and ground his pelvis deeper, making his tip to twitch and graze on those spots you had missed feeling, your eyes rolled and your mouth gaped, heaving in burning need. 

“No sabes lo preciosa que te ves cuando me sientes hasta el fondo, mi reina.” (You don’t know how pretty you look when you feel me going deep.)

Your walls spasming in that rhythmic pattern, only turned his restrain to dust. The bed creaked and moaned underneath you with such powerful shakes it drowned your mewls and groans. Each thrust was harder and intense than the other, as if their only task were to make you forget about everything but his name or yours. 

The grunts and moans that heaved from his mouth were absolute raw and primal. “Just. Like. That!.” He rammed harder with every word, leaving you with little to no space to breathe, to think or assimilate the unceasing, obscene, loud and wet slap your cunt slurping him did. 

Each inch punished your insides as if they were resented for not being able to paint your insides white sooner, so they made sure you felt them. But one in particular had your eyes watering and spewing delicious tears as your mouth widened in a shameless ‘o’ in a silent scream as he ground against that spongy and fluttering spot over and over. Alternating in between making you sob and lose your head. 

Your mouth only outlined his name, but nothing but broken mewls and grunts came with every shake your bed did. Your husband fucked. Of course he made love, but he didn’t want to have you sweetly, and neither did you. The chance was too scarce to waste in romantic gestures he did for you every day. And when your nails dragged down, something snapped in his brain. 

Both of his muscled thighs caged your folded form as his hand snaked around your damp and sweaty neck, feeling each pulse underneath his squeezing hand. He kissed you like he’d go to war and never taste your lips again, he wrecked you like he was allowed to have only one in a million chance to have you again. Each thrust turned wet, borderline vulgar as you wailed and begged him to not stop.

His name on your mouth, blabbed, broken and moaned, like you were learning it for the first time ever, dissolved into a jumbled wail of words and moans when his tip poked deep enough to have your eyes rolled, overwhelmed with pleasure. Your cunt gushed once more and milked him. Your walls clamped around him in a vice-like embrace, sending a dangerous spark all over his spine. 

He had to bite his inner cheek with all his might to not cum right there. No. Miguel needed one more out of you. He pulled out with a wet slosh, nearly staggering himself as he turned your belly down. In a few steps he rummaged through your fun drawer and pulled a bullet vibrator and a tube of lube. 

When you thought you could move and catch your breath, his big hands were already on your hips, lifting them up as his thighs caged them once more. Your mouth could only exhale in a raged tempo that turned into a wheeze when one of his hands abandoned one side of your hips and pressed your face against the mattress. Ass up, face down. Like a good and obedient dog, just for your husband. Just like he loved it. 

“Stay still.” he mumbled while squeezing a good amount of lube in your ass, even if it was already soaked by the previous peak, then grabbed the bullet and turned it on at its max power. The buzzing sent a shiver down your spine. 

Miguel’s eyes remained glued for a moment while maneuvering the bullet around your ass hole, only to dip the purring toy inside it until nothing but the cord remained out, hooked around his thumb to either pull or push it further if he wanted. His wicked smile only widened when you blubbered at the powerful vibrations inside your ass, it made your toes curl and all air abandoned your lungs. 

He slapped your right cheek, leaving a red imprint on it before sheathing in with a powerful thrust that made your ass jiggle and your mouth to sob. If you thought the noises your pussy made before were vulgar, the brisk and borderline animalistic thrusts he inflicted remorselessly made them straight up filthy and vicious. And it didn’t help that he changed the vibration intensity from the bullet into intermittent waves. 

“I’m all yours, mi reina.” He husked in your ear without any intentions of leaving your head sunk in the mattress, “Me, my fucking cock… Todo tuyo. Only you can take it so well-”He growled.  (All yours)

Each plunge that reached deeper inside your spasming walls, only reminded you how much of a needy devotee your husband was. How lovely and exquisite his fat cock slotted inside, too perfect and snug to leave. It was his forever home. And you cozied him beyond perfection, like he knew you were made for him and only him. Like that gorgeous and soaked pussy of yours, choking on him to death, like it’d do when you wanted another baby. 

For a moment the regret of having the O’Hara factory closed burned mean, cause seeing you pregnant was one of the most beautiful and hottest things life granted him with. But  he also knew that three were more than enough. Like the count of orgasms he was about to scratch on his tab. His thumb pulled and pushed the bullet out of your ass, matching the spasms of your insides. 

Your pleasurable screams and cries bathed the room as he fucked you like he always wanted to whenever the house was alone. Much to yours and his dismay, the windows of your room were open. But that only made him double the efforts with a strained groan.

Fuck the neighbors and their probable complaints. He was fucking his wife the way a husband should. Needed you like he needed air. And when you came and gushed around him, he caved with an agonizing and filthy whimper.

It tore him apart from the inside just as the outside with a hoarse roar of your name in your ear. His labored breath fanned behind your neck and he stifled another moan by biting the junction of your neck and shoulders, marking you and earning him yet another tremble of your already squeezing walls as he pulled out the toy completely out of your ass.

Thick and milky ribbons flooded in, as his hips stilled, feeling your drenched walls sucking the soul out of him. “That's it, mi amor. Cum for me.” He growled and pumped his load in dragged moves, making sure each bit of your insides received their fair share of him. 

When the tremors of his orgasm and your insides subsided, his soft cock slid out as he collapsed right next to you, the warm sheets greeted him as he gathered you in your arms with all the tenderness he often professed to you, while showering your cheek in kisses. 

“I love you.” He panted and your dreamy giggles only stretched that lazy smile. 

“Fuck… I… I love you too.” You rasped, voice raw and barely there despite him giving you little to no chance to speak, only scream his name over and over. 

“God, I missed you.” He turned you in his arms so your head would lay on his chest. 

“I missed you too but It’s hot.” You whined, earning a tighter embrace as he licked your cheek playfully, tasting the salt of your skin as you squirmed and giggled. “Miguel, stop!”

He kissed you instead. Miguel kissed your lips and then your forehead while his hand traced lazy and idle patterns on your lower back as if making sure that what you had just shared was real. 

“Sorry for calling you a slut.” He frowned and kissed your hand. “Got too excited.”

You snorted to then kiss his chest “That was hot. Took me by surprise, sure. But it was hot. Just concerned about the neighbors complaining later. Can’t believe we left the window open!.” 

He shrugged nonchalantly, “Well, maybe it teaches that guy next door that you’re married and pretty fucking off limits. I saw the way he was staring at your ass the other day.”

“He literally has wandering eyes, Miguel.” you gestured your eyes, “Like they drift–”

“Exotropia.” He corrected with a bored smirk as weariness crawled to his brain.

“That thing!. The man needs surgery to correct that, he doesn’t do it on purpose.” you shrugged while yawning. All the exertion finally catching up with you. “And you bit me a bit too hard!”

“Still, he shouldn't have even looked at you anyway. Besides, can you really blame me? I haven’t had you in months, mi reina. Just wanted to give you something to remember in the meantime all of this happens again.”  He grumbled with his lips against the side of your forehead. “Need any water? A snack?”

“I already had one, thanks.” you chuckled and he followed, tired. “Jokes aside though, I need sleep.” 

Agreeing, Miguel took a good stretch before spooning you. It didn’t take you or him long to fall asleep.

—---------- —--------------- 

The incessant buzz from your phone died as soon as you woke up, alarmed by it. The sun blazed high in the sky, letting the evening birds to chirp their little hearts away, like in those slow evenings you got on sundays. Your hair remained in a pretty mess and your body still heavy with fatigue. Then Miguel’s phone began buzzing but the call ended abruptly, piling up the thirteenth call from none other than Gabriella. Clock ticked 3:20 pm.

SHIT

“Miguel!” You shook him urgently, and he woke up despite the drowsiness still clinging to him.

“What? What’s wrong?” He grumbled and frowned, confused, as soon as you jumped off the bed and scourged the drawers for some clothes. Voice still raw and drowsy.

“The kids!” you squealed and his hand washed over his face, drowning a regretful groan.

“Mierda…” He got off the bed and took whatever clothes he had left discarded, dressed up in a speed you’d never seen before and dashed out the door. You followed while accommodating your t-shirt. “Gabi ha de estar enojadísima…” (Gabi must be pissed.)

“Understandably so, it’s been two hours since her practice ended!” You huffed, with ideas already running in your mind to make it up to Gabi as you followed him down the stairs. “Didn’t you set the alarms?” 

“I forgot.” He admitted while combing his hair as best as he could. He still looked like another couple of hours would do wonders for him, but his little girl had been neglected enough. Still he couldn’t help but laugh about the situation once you were seated in the car. “Was too busy fucking my wife.” He fasted your seatbelt and then his. 

“It’s not funny, Miguel.” You pouted in between soft and worried titters. still unable to believe what happened.

“Of course it’s funny. Just relax, okay? I’ll take the blame.” He revved the engine alive and soon drove away. 

“Technically it is your fault.” 

“I don’t regret it. Did you enjoy it?” His smile turned smug as his hand squeezed your thigh on a red light. The image of you absolutely destroyed on the sheets lingered in his mind, engraved into his core memories. 

“Obvio. Just can’t help but feel I’m smelly.” (Obviously)

A squeal and a laugh left your lips as soon as the tip of his nose dragged up your neck, only to leave a kiss in there. 

“You do. You smell like me.” He chuckled, proudly. But opened the windows to let the air ventilate the cabin to spare you any further discomfort. “I’m definitely asking Gabriel to take Rosie next weekend.”

Ironically, the soccer field wasn’t too far by car, just some miles away from your neighborhood. Sadly, traffic was gone to be used as an excuse.

“Thought you didn’t like our baby preferring Gabriel?” You texted Gabi, letting her know you were close. 

“I don’t. And she doesn’t.” He rolled his eyes, “She just loves his silly faces but that’s besides the point. I won’t wait for another couple of months to have you again, understood?”

The tone alone had your cheeks a flushed mess, and it worsened when he gave you that ‘no nonsense’ look

“Yes, sir.”

Miguel slid his hand in between your thighs and cupped your pussy while squeezing it softly, leaving you with zero time to react. “We ain’t done yet.” He whispered in your ear only to kiss you and leave his seat once he parked and honked in a code only an O’Hara knew. 

Gabi’s uniform soon came around the corner and her expression said it all. Miguel gulped. 

Shit.

“You’re late!” She pouted while handing all her equipment to him. In a matter of seconds he was already hands full with her stuff, still he opened the door to his daughter. 

“I’m sorry, Solecito. Mama needed help with the washing machine and other things around the house–” 

And the deadpan Gabriella gave him, quirked brow included, only made him gulp again. “Uh huh. I’m starving!”

“Let’s go get Benji and then we’re going shopping, okay?” you offered, trying to appease her righteous anger.  “I’m really sorry for making you wait, mi amor. Won’t happen again.” 

“Ugh. Just don't forget to set the alarms next time you’re working out, please.”

Miguel choked and you sank deeper into the seat. Neither of you dared to say another word. 

[miss-canon-event]

familia~

[miss-canon-event]

Haytham: *drinking tea* son, eat your eggs

Baby 6 year old Connor: but they are dead babies.

Haytham: *spitting the tea* excuse me?

Connor: Cook said eggs are chicken babies. So these are dead babies. *big innocent eyes* so are we murderes?

*Shay stifling an laugh*

Haytham : No, son. Eggs are... *He glanced at Shay for help, Shay snickering*

Shay: lies

Haytham: *sighing* eat your dead babies son.

[miss-canon-event]

BOOBS🤤

😮‍💨

[miss-canon-event]

FUCK YOU ELLIE!! FUUUUUCK YOOOOU!!😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔

"I can't fuckin' do this without you. I don't know where the fuck I'm going, what the fuck I'm gonna do." THE LAST OF US

[miss-canon-event]

"I don't wanna bother you"

Have you considered that this is how your presence feels?

[miss-canon-event]

Tarja, as always surprising us🫦❤️‍🔥

El Diablo ~

Had so much fun doing this one for El Diablo Wears Prada ❤️

[miss-canon-event]

Lessons of the Heart 📚💖

Masterlist:

Chapter 1: Half a World Away

Chapter 2: Little do You Know

Chapter 3: soon...

[miss-canon-event]

Lessons of the Heart (Ch.2) 📚💖

Chapter 2: Little do you Know

Single Dad!Miguel x Teacher!FReader

Summary: Being a father is not easy, and even less so when he is single. This is Miguel O'Hara's life, who has raised his daughter Gabriella alone after her mother's abandonment. Everything has been extremely difficult and challenging, especially now that they have to start over in a new neighborhood. Miguel barely has time for anything else besides his daughter and his job… everything changes a bit when he meets his daughter's teacher: you.

CW: different POV, mentions of bullying and xenophobia, mild angst, sad children, blaming, mentions of OF, Miguel is kinda shitty, not use of Y/N, only a last name, mentions of nudity. (Let me know if I forgot something, pls)

Divider by: @cinemabeans

A/N: Finally, after long weeks I am able to bring you the update of my crazy fanfic. A thousand thanks to all the people who commented, reposted and most of all, interacted <3 it means a lot to me that you've been so kind to me. I was scared to death and anxious, but I know I count on very nice people to bring this idea forward that little by little is taking shape hehe. Take care and see you next time!

As always, thanks a lot to @miss-tarja , who had been helping me to improve and also, she has giving me advice in order to be a better writer and oc, to keep writing this fanfic 💚

The long hallway felt longer and colder than it really was. Both girls felt as if the floor might disappear beneath their feet.

How many children get sent to the principal’s office on their first day of school? Many.

But because of a fight? Very few.

Gabriella and Emily kept their little hands intertwined, as if they were walking through a dark and cold place, and their only light was each other.

Her brown eyes stared at Emily, who walked while looking down at her feet. Then, she looked at your back — your ponytail swinging rhythmically with your steps.

You hadn't been cruel or cold. However, the girls needed to explain themselves. They probably deserved a small "punishment," just like the other 5th grade children.

Finally, they reached the huge door with a sign that read "PRINCIPAL".

Gabriella swallowed hard and squeezed Emily’s hand again — and Emily did the same.

His leg bounced the whole day. Since Miguel was called by a woman from Gabriella's school, he hadn't felt calm.

He had spilled his mug of coffee over the desk by accident. He had missed his lunch time.

It was incredible how nervous and upset he was. 

"Your daughter was in the middle of a slight bullying incident."

"We need to have a word once the classes are done."

Those were the words he could remember from that calling. Probably the principal or a secretary.

He took a deep breath and looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost time and Gabriella will finish her classes for today and he must go for her. 

But now... his priority is to find out what happened. Why was Gabriella taken to the principal's office on her first day at school?

“Canija…”

Miguel mumbled and while he turned off his computer, he gathered his belongings.

The road towards the school had been eternal, but he was almost there. Miguel saw the huge building from afar and the many parents waiting for their children. He parked his car and with firm steps, Miguel walked to school.

He didn’t know why he was so worried.

He was afraid of failing as a father.

It was threatening for him thinking that perhaps he wasn’t “perfect” as people at college or in his old job claimed.

Slapping himself mentally, he decided to push all those insecure thoughts out for now and focus entirely on seeing what mess his daughter had gotten herself into.

With the help of the receptionist, who escorted him to the office, Miguel entered a large, well-lit room. At first glance, it didn’t look like a traditional office. It was more like a common room divided by cubicles. In one corner, there was a small table with several chairs around it, probably used for quick meetings or students to wait. Near the back, there was a cubicle a little larger than the rest, with a neat desk and, on the wall behind it, the school’s emblem hung proudly.

Inside that room were several adults, who appeared to be the parents or caregivers of the other children involved. However, that was the least of Miguel’s concern at the moment.

Miguel just wanted to know how Gabriella was and what had happened.

“Papito…” 

Gabriella’s soft, trembling voice reached his ears. The girl, together with another little girl with braided hair, was sitting on a bench.

Miguel walked steadily towards them, feeling the judgmental stares of the adults present.

“Gabi, what happened?”

“Papito, I swear it wasn’t my intention-”

“Gabriella, you know we don't keep secrets not lie to each other. I need you to tell me why I'm being called here." his voice was severe and soft at the same time.

“Papito, yo-”

“It’s your first day of school, Gabriella”

“I know, dad. But… they started to mess with me. They told me I was a spic… and then they started to mess with Emily too.

Miguel looked at the girl with braids. Her freckled cheeks were red, as were her eyes. He also noticed that she and Gabriella were holding hands.

Then everything started to fall into place…

But something kept bothering him. Where were the adults? The teachers? Why didn’t anyone intervene before those children insulted both girls? There were supposed to be teachers watching, responsible adults taking care that the children didn’t get into trouble.

Trying to remain calm, he turned his focus back to his daughter.

“¿Le dijiste a tus profesores?”

Gabriella nodded.

“Si, pero la directora dijo que no había sido la manera…”

Miguel sighed for what felt like the hundredth time and nodded.

He hadn’t liked that call from the school staff one bit.

“Thank you for coming here, dear parents," said the principal—a tall, slender woman with sharp gray eyes and short, straight hair. She was a very elegant woman. “As we explained by phone, your children were involved in a bullying incident, which we cannot tolerate. It was only the first day of school, and the children were already displaying inappropriate behavior."

The parents were there with their respective children.

Even you were present, perhaps to give your point of view on what had happened.

“According to our teacher, Miss Hayes, she witnessed Miss O'Hara pushing young Davis. Miss Veronica was going to respond, but she intervened.” the woman read the report she had written previously that meeting.

Miguel felt his blood boil and tightened his grip slightly on Gabriella's shoulders. But he wasn't angry at her—he was angry at that teacher.

“However," the woman continued, “according to Emily's testimony, they were sitting quietly when Daniel Davis and company came over to bother them and said very mean things. Is that correct, Emily?”

The little girl with braids nodded.

“Very well," the principal said, placing the document report on her desk.

“While we don't tolerate bullying in any form, we will also not accept offensive or xenophobic comments.”

A blonde woman sitting next to the girl Veronica interrupted.

“Excuse me, Principal. You know how children are. They're at an age where they experiment and… well, being around children who are different from us… tends to—"

“Mrs. Clark..." you said in a tone that clearly meant “Watch what you're about to say.”

“With all due respect, Mrs. Clark. Xenophobic comments are not just childish behavior. And I repeat, it is something we will not tolerate.”

The blonde woman fell silent, though her eyes showed she wanted to say more.

“As you know, this can't go unpunished. According to our rules, this is grounds for temporary suspension.”

The children looked at one another, and Gabriella and Emily did the same.

“However, since it's the first day of classes, we've decided they will only receive a small punishment. It will be determined by each homeroom teacher. Daniel, Veronica, Marcus, and Tobias will be handled by Mr. Evans. Gabriella and Emily by Miss Hayes.

Miguel felt like he could breathe again and nodded. Gabriella also calmed down a bit. She was frustrated and sad.

“Please wait outside. I need to speak with Mr. O'Hara in private.”

All the adults, including you, left the office. However, you couldn’t ignore how intently those red eyes were fixed on you.

You didn’t know if it was resentment… or prejudice.

Once outside, you took both girls to a more secluded spot. They were a bit shaken and needed to get away from that environment.

You wanted to say something to Gabriella. When you saw her for the first time, you thought it would take a long time for her to open up and even start talking to her. Yet, even though she had just met Emily, she stood up for her against the bullying. 

That said a lot about her.

“Well,” you said, and both girls looked at you. “Now I’ll have to think of a punishment for both of you. Why do you two have to cause trouble on the very first day of school, hm?” 

The girls giggled a bit at your comment. You really tried to be stern, but with Gabi and Emily, it was hard. They were just too sweet…

“But, are you okay now?"

They both nodded at the same time, one more confidently than the other.

After spending a while talking to them, the three of you heard heavy footsteps. Firm, angry ones—like those of a giant.

“Papito…”

You turned and saw that tall, handsome man, but his face was clouded with anger. His eyes, burning red, seemed to glow with rage.

“That’s enough, Gabriella. We’re going home,” his voice was firm and cold, enough to send a chill down your spine.

“But, Dad—”

“Enough, Gabriella. Go to the car, now,” he said in the same authoritarian tone, leaving no room for argument.

The girl stood up, waved goodbye to Emily, and gave you one last glance before walking down the hallway.

However, Miguel didn’t follow her right away...

His fierce, burning gaze fell on you with such intensity it left you breathless.

“And you, teacher…”

Oh, no...

“What kind of school is this? Where are the adults when younger kids are being bullied by older ones? Why do you only react when someone fights back?”

His voice boomed through the room like thunder, as if the very air shrank with each word.

“Mr. O'Hara, this school has over five hundred students. We do everything we can, but sometimes it’s impossible to be everywhere at once,” you tried to explain as calmly as possible, even as you felt the lump forming in your throat.

But he didn’t seem willing to listen.

“Then maybe you should reconsider if this is your calling. The title of 'teacher' is too big for you, miss.”

His words weren’t shouted, but they hurt more than if they had been. They struck your chest like arrows, piercing a shield you hadn’t even realized you were wearing.

Why did they hurt so much, coming from someone who barely knew you?

You took a deep breath, swallowing the pain.

“I ask you, please, to choose your words carefully. You are in front of your daughter. What happened today was unfortunate, and no one is justifying Gabriella’s reaction. But we also can’t ignore what led her to that point.”

“And I'm asking you to do your job. That’s why you are being paid.” 

Miguel clenched his jaw, his eyes still burning with anger. For a moment it looked like he might say something else, but instead he gave you one last sharp look before turning and walking silently down the hallway, where Gabriella waited for him.

And when they disappeared, the air seemed to return to the room— but you were no longer the same.

“That man was really mean to you…”

Emily’s soft voice brought you back to the present. You looked down and saw her there, so small, so sincere. Her fingers nervously fidgeted with one of her braids, and her eyes watched you with concern.

You gave her a tired but genuine smile, and gently patted her head, feeling how that simple gesture soothed something inside you.

“It’s been a very long day, little one. Let’s go home, okay? You said you wanted to stop by for your colored pencils. Remember?”

At the mention of that, her face lit up with pure, contagious joy. Her eyes sparkled, and her smile was like sunshine after the storm.

“Then let’s go, let’s go! Hurry!" she said excitedly, clinging tightly to your hand.

The two of you left the school together, leaving behind the stares, the noise, the words that still stung.

And as you walked toward the street, hand in hand, you thought that even if you can’t always protect your students from the world’s injustices…

…for that little girl, you would do anything to keep her safe.

Her smile—sad, but sincere—was worth everything.

The beautiful smile of your little sister.

The ride home was completely silent. Gabriella stared out the window without saying a word, and Miguel kept both hands firmly on the steering wheel, his brow still furrowed.

He was still upset. With the school stuff. With the teachers. With the other parents. Leaving Mexico was supposed to be the first step toward a better, calmer life. A life where his daughter could be safe, grow up happy, without having to worry about things like this.

And now? Everything seemed to have fallen apart on the very first day.

“I'm truly sorry for what happened today," the principal had said in a calm voice, trying to ease the tension. “This afternoon, I reviewed Gabriella's records that we requested from her previous school. Good grades, excellent behavior, talent in sports—especially soccer—and an advanced English level.”

She flipped through a few pages inside a folder labeled in bold letters: O'HARA, G.

“We don’t believe she acted with bad intentions, as some parents have suggested,” the woman continued. “But, as we explained, pushing another student is not the right way to handle a situation, no matter how unfair it may seem.”

Miguel could only nod. His eyes lingered a moment longer on his daughter’s name written on the folder, and inside he felt a mixture of guilt, helplessness, and anger.

“We just need you to talk to her. She's a good girl—it's clear to see. We believe this might have happened out of nervousness or fear from being in a new place. We want to support her… and help her feel like part of our school.”

Once again, Miguel nodded. He had no words. There was a lump in his throat that not even his anger could dissolve. He felt frustrated with everyone... the principal, the judgmental parents, the teacher who hadn’t acted in time.

Even with himself.

“I will, ma'am. And believe me, I deeply regret that this happened. It hasn’t been easy for her… none of this process has been.”

The principal nodded silently, with an expression that, for the first time, seemed genuinely understanding.

Miguel glanced at his daughter through the rearview mirror. She was still staring blankly out the window. Just like that morning—quiet and withdrawn.

“Gabi?"

The girl looked at him briefly through the mirror.

“Mi niña, I'm so sorry your first day turned out like this. I promise it was just a small stumble. Tomorrow will be a new day, and everything’s going to be fine, I promise," he said with a smile, trying to convince Gabi that everything was okay.

Trying to convince himself that everything was okay...

“You were very harsh with Miss Hayes…”

Miguel sighed, keeping his focus on the road.

“Gabriella, those kids were bothering you, and she only reacted after you defended yourself.”

“Yeah... but I wanted to defend Emily. She looked really sad, papito..."

Miguel opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He stayed silent, touched by his daughter’s tenderness. That kind of pure empathy… something he wasn’t sure he’d ever fully learned.

“Sad?”

“Yeah... and she told me she doesn’t have a mom…”

What?

Had that little girl also lost her mother?

“Is she new? An orphan, or…?

Gabi shook her head.

“No. She’s been here since kindergarten… and she only told me a little about her bigger sister.” Gabi explained.

Miguel nodded, eyes still fixed on the road.

A brief silence settled between them.

“Papito?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think... Emily will want to sit with me tomorrow too?”

Miguel looked in the rearview mirror once more. His daughter didn’t look so dim anymore. There was a tiny light in her eyes—a little spark of hope.

“I’m sure she will, sweetheart. And this time, everything’s going to be just fine…”

And as the car drove down the tree-lined street, Miguel allowed himself to breathe a little easier.

Because despite everything… his little girl was still brave. And that, he thought, was a good start.

It was a bit late that night. After helping Emily wash up and brush her teeth, she went to her bedroom.

Of course, after all that high energy from finally getting her new box of colored pencils, she fell asleep almost immediately, tightly hugging her stuffed unicorn.

You turned on her salt lamp on the nightstand, and after looking at her lovingly, you gently closed the door.

You sighed, letting the exhaustion show on your face for just a few seconds, and checked the time on your phone.

10:19 PM.

You still had a few minutes left…

You went to the bathroom and started putting on your makeup in front of the mirror. Eyeliner that defined your gaze, subtle but effective eyeshadow, and a lipstick that made your lips look more alive, more confident… even though you knew none of it really protected you.

Then, you went to your room and began to strip for the day. You took off your sweater and pants, leaving the routine behind. With a small key that you kept on your bedside table, you opened the chest at the foot of your bed. Inside, a small universe of wigs, fabrics and outfits carefully selected to give life to other versions of yourself.

You chose a deep red outfit, the color of passion and determination. You paired it with a black bob wig, elegant and mysterious, that framed your face with a new identity. On your lips, you applied a deep, vibrant red, which contrasted with the softness of your skin.

The top was a semi-transparent bra, slightly exposing your breasts and nipples. The thong embraced your waist and ass, looking great on you. You looked in the mirror you had in a room and once you were convinced, you proceeded with the following.

You put on the black wig, combed it and finally, you were ready. You looked like a completely different person.

In front of the mirror, you observed yourself carefully.

It wasn’t a costume… It was part of the ritual. Part of what allowed you to make it to the end of the month.

You made sure your door was closed and locked.

Taking a deep breath, you turned on your computer.

The seconds it took to start felt eternal.

Your fingers moved automatically, typing the website’s address. Right before logging in, you paused. Another breath. And one more. It was your way of reminding yourself that you were in control… even if it didn’t always feel that way.

The mouse arrow clicked “Start live.” The camera turned on. You saw yourself on the screen: confident, ready, radiant. However, you always made sure that your face was not visible. They only saw your lips, your nose... half of your face completely unknown to the people on the other side of the screen.

The view count started rising slowly. Names piled up in the chat. Greetings, emojis, comments.

Then you smiled, letting go of the weight of the day. As if it were a layer of dust you could shake off for a few hours.

“Welcome to everyone who's joining. Very good evening, handsome ones…”

Your voice sounded sweet, confident, as if that other you—the teacher responsible for shaping young minds, the sister loved and admired by a little girl—didn’t exist at that moment.

It was just you. The one who reinvented herself each night to avoid falling apart.

And suddenly, you weren’t thinking about how hard the day had been.

You were thinking about Emily, asleep and safe… and about how tomorrow, you’d get up again—for her.

Tag list: @miss-tarja, @ryk-mt, @monarchberrysblog, @chubbyhedgehog (if you want to be tagged, you may comment <3)

Thank you very much for reading this far😭✨️

Any comments or feedback with respect will be welcome ❤️

[miss-canon-event]

The Price of Liberty quick(ish) idea sketch

Blood from people who sought freedom, but died in battle, so now Ratonhnaké:ton carries them on his back, their blood trailed down slowly forming a shape like wings.

The concept looked epic in my head... Also was supposed to be a quick practice since I rarely draw backs and side views-

[miss-canon-event]

Cowboy Miguel and my dearest Tarja are back!🤠👢

Mi Dulce Cereza (Pt. 5)

WARNINGS: Emotional distress, graphic mentions of injury treatment, power play (Employer-employee), character introduction, implicit jealousy, risky behaviors, gun handling, cursing, novela level drama.

Summary: The cracks in Miguel's vendetta started showing.

A/N: After months of not updating this one, here's this little offering. Hope you like! Feedback much appreciated.

Previous Series Masterlist

The acute ringing and distressed voices still thundered through your head with powerful echoes. The chaos had clung for a second too long on your bones even after you were brought to safety. All thanks to James’ opportune help and Vicky’s presence. 

Not only had the press swarmed you, but so did your parents, a couple of medical staff, some helpers, leaving you with little to no space to breathe, to cry or even react. Mayhem. Was the only word you could use to pinpoint at what revolted in your head. So many voices calling you, including Miguel’s faint plea, jumbled in this mess of overlapping shouts that increased your heart’s beat, until Vicky took your head gently and placed it on her chest after the car’s door slammed shut.

Even if the manor was some couple of blocks away, James had been ordered to drive you back, so the medics could help you out at once. Your parents wouldn’t risk it to let unfitting photos of your vulnerability to roam Santa Margarita’s newspapers and sink even more their now tarnished reputation.   

“You're safe now, mi niña .” Vicky breathed. It was the only voice you needed right now. The only one you’d listen to, and the only person you wanted around. 

Screw your parents, screw that gorgeous brunette that leeched off Miguel’s body, screw everyone that laughed the moment everything went to shit, and definitely, screw Miguel. The latter broke you into thousands of tears that dissolved into Vicky’s poncho. Her soothing embrace was the hero for the night, same for her unspoken comfort words. 

The pain and shame had been too much for you to stand against them in a single fight. They had won in a flawless victory against broken promises, angry and reproaching shouts from your parents in the front seats, and of course, being the new laughingstock in town.

Despite the throbbing pain in your left arm, clinging to Vicky supposed your immediate solace. Comfort that vanished as soon as you got to your room, your sanctuary of sorts that none other than your beloved nana or the cleaning staff had access to. But now, it would be turned into a public room thanks to the unwanted visits and pity you’d receive from strangers and friends alike. 

Oh God, no.

The medics rushed to your side, ready to slice the dress’ sleeve to shreds if needed, but Vicky helped you to change into something more comfortable before the realigning of your bones began. One doctor took your pressure as the other one flashed the bright light to your eyes, to discard the possibility of a concussion. Your fall had made quite the impression on many. 

Besides a pounding headache and your anxiety shooting for the stars, there weren't any other serious injuries that required immediate attention in your arm. A ghastly sight met the experienced doctor’s scrutiny. And you didn’t have to be a trained individual in the arts of diagnosis to know it was bad, as he seized your swollen, reddening and definitely bruising arm where the ropes had tangled themselves around you, with a solemn face.

“Hold her still please.” The doctor instructed and your eyes widened in utter horror when Vicky used her whole frame to hold you in place. 

“W-Wait, Vic-” 

The pained wail that left your lips echoed through Cherryville, stopping animals and people’s existence for that brief moment, earning some couple of frightened barkings and bleatings outside, just as the physician pressed on your wrist, trying to assess how deep the damage had been and realigning as much bones as he could, despite you trying to pull your hand back to escape the good intended torture.

“We’re almost done, Miss Anderton!” the doc hissed, as he wrapped your hand and wrist in tight bandages to keep the disturbingly misplaced and dangling limb, somehow back into its place. But pain once more overpowered you, leaving the galen no choice but to sedate you, for you to sleep as much as you could through the night. 

Much to his little surprise, your parents and a good bunch of people waited outside, even Miguel, who finally gathered all the courage he could to approach and see or hear what the damages had been. But the doctor’s news made most of the attendees wear their concerned faces in a go.  

“Good news it’s that her arm isn’t broken, she’s strong. But, I had to sedate her so she could sleep the whole night.” His gloved fingers fixed his lenses, “Miss Anderton needs some X-rays and MRI’s to see how bad the dislocation is. And depending on what we find, we’ll start treatment.”

“Thank you, doctor.” William nodded while he removed his hat and fixed the graying strands. Patience flickering the more everyone’s eyes lingered on him.

And when the doctor and his assistant left, the tension falling upon the manor proved denser than William's stubbornness. None dared to utter a peep, not even the night critters that remained well hidden from the Pastor’s silent wrath.

“William.��� Rosaura however was the brave one to face him, she called with that tone many in the manor knew by now as an upcoming fight.

“That’s enough, Rosa. This is not a freak show for everyone to see.” William dismissed her with a flick of his wrist as he made his way towards his own sanctuary. But his wife wasn’t having it.

“Freakshow?! Freakshow is the one our daughter gave in front of more than two hundred people and the press, goddammit! What… what were you even thinking!?” Rosaura’s voice pierced through everyone’s eardrums, buzzing them with vexed notes of disbelief. And those were enough to stop the Pastor in his tracks. The patriarch turned around to face his wife with a look Miguel knew all too well. The same boiling look he gave Conchata back when he first showed up in his old home. And Rosaura’s mouth snapped shut. 

“That’s. Enough.” He seethed Rosaura through gritted teeth, his cheeks warming up but not in embarrassment, but a deep rooted anger simmering below the surface, waiting to explode to either the right or wrong person that dared to defy him. 

Of course he wouldn’t let strangers know the extent of his wrath, as it was only reserved for those that had earned it. Problem was, he had none else but himself to blame, as he had been the one demanding you to change horses last minute. Nevertheless he called James, another helper nicknamed Wilbur and the horse master himself, Miguel. 

That had no choice bit to follow the group, with pursed lips, gritted teeth and words ready to punch the Pastor’s ego if needed. His plump mouth itched to say “I told you so” , because he had. Oh, he had, and now you were injured. Yet, unlike William, Miguel recognized half of the fault was his. His promise of being there for you was not only broken but trampled over more than he wanted to admit. 

In his defense, he really didn’t know that Dana would show up and distract him as he was trying to reach the construction master, back at his property to fix the lighting system for his future home. The news of him not showing up for more than two days sure had crisped his nerves. And then, the unwelcomed kiss of his pestering shadow happened, taking him completely by surprise, just as chaos unfolded outside. 

But none of his explanations would manage to wash away that defeated and hurt look you wore when James pulled you out of Oddie’s dangerous riot. None of it would get his reputation clean again with you. Hopefully you hadn’t seen the kiss with Dana, or else, any chances of you speaking his way again would go out the window for good. He hoped not. 

As much as he needed you for his plans, he knew that getting you physically hurt wasn’t anywhere in them. Until now. It had happened in such a fleeting momentum that didn’t give him the time to properly brace himself for the impact. And now here he was, ready to fight the current tragedy’s instigator with valid arguments stashed in his pockets. 

The door clicked and William plummeted on his creaking chair.  “You three are in charge of my horses’ rehab. Am I right?” William spoke while removing his hat so the three young men could look at his eyes. They nodded, William followed. “What’s the estimated time lapse of a rehab, Mr. O’Hara?” 

“It all depends on-” Miguel’s lips tightened into a thin line as William interrupted him.

“I don’t want depends , I need numbers, Mr. O’Hara.” 

“With all due respect, Mr. Anderton…” his fist clenched in each side of him, blazing eyes pinning the holy authority in his spot. “I don’t rush things, especially horse’s rehabilitation, as it prevents accidents, like today’s.” 

Anderton’s eyes narrowed as James’ and Wilbur widened ever softly at Miguel’s bravado. 

“That’s why I hired you, Miguel .” Oh, how the bastard dared to speak his name so disdainfully?, “I was promised a professional to-”

“You have him.”  He bit. But you’re not listening . The words nearly spilled without his permission, but an unnecessary quarrel wasn’t in his list, not when the tension weighed everyone in the room with its oppressive presence. “That’s why I'm telling you, it all depends on the horse. Oddie needs at least two months-”

“See? You gave me numbers. I’ll make it simple for you, if two months on Oddie isn’t rehabbed, He’d be put down, and all of you fired. Am I clear?” 

Neither Miguel nor William’s gaze backed away. Both too proud to back down their clashing stares. 

“...Yes, sir .” His mouth tasted sour, dirty and defiled every time he called his enemy with the regard William clearly lacked towards him. 

“Oh, and Mr. O’Hara… Let’s keep it professional and tone it down, shall we?”

Miguel nodded through flaring nostrils, glad his massive back faced the apparently holy but wealthy man or else, William could see the pining for educating him in his countenance, itching a bit too all consuming to turn around and punch Anderton's mouth with all the strength he knew he possessed. 

Pendejo…

He truly couldn’t help it. Every time that William spoke, his ears wished to be deaf. His heart spiked with an unpleasant mix of anxiety, reprisal and a newfound, bottomless anger the more the haughty pastor expressed his contempt with things that dared to exist around him on certain days. 

At least I’m not fired. 

The thought probably roamed the other helpers as well, since color returned to them as soon as they stepped out of William’s office. The discreet and triumphant smile donning Miguel’s lips only widened upon realizing that William just wanted to intimidate them in order to hide his own guilt, cause he didn’t mention anything regarding you or the parade. Or asked where he was at the moment chaos waltzed in, uninvited.

But that satisfaction was overshadowed by the sudden thought of your pained screams, along the rejection clear as the moonlight, in your eyes. It wasn’t a hatred look per se, but disappointment at its finest. The same he’d get from Conchata whenever his naive and younger self advised her to forget about revenge, to just move on with their lives and make a new start somewhere else.

As if. Miguel had inherited hatred, and Conchata always made sure to remind him of the opportunities he missed due a lack of  a proper home he could call his. She always made sure to remind him of the little compassion William had shown towards them, and as a man, his task was to fight and retrieve what was his. And it was his duty as the eldest, to see that rotten legacy accomplished. 

But a part of him, reduced as it was, urged to apologize. Physical damage on thirds wasn’t something he liked to indulge in, since he was more of a cunning and strategic oriented  man. 

He didn't need dirty tactics such as violence, not when his brain could come up with  creative solutions to whatever problem showed up. And hopefully, your kind nature would lay a chance for him in order to try and fix  what he broke with both hands and meaningless pretty promises.

It was times like these where Miguel didn’t know if the universe was his ally or foe. One moment there it was, conceding the yearnings of his heart by handing the tools for his vendetta in a silver plate, to then having you, avoiding him like the black plague at all costs. Like if his mere presence would bring an end to your existence if he ever approached you again.

The trip back from the doctor just soured his mood upon watching you, returning with a sling and a special brace wrapped around your wrist the next day. You had sprained it. The main reason why you didn’t grace everyone’s day with your presence back at the dining hall. He didn’t feed the thought too much back then as it was only natural to assume you were recovering. 

That, as soon as you could, you’d be leading again the meal services. Problem was that days stretched into clumps of a week. And silence on your end just rooted with a steely resolution. Just when he thought he had the chance of approaching, an accusing and cold stare seized him, -almost disgusted-,  before your heels turned around to return from where you came from. Or changed the walking route from a hall away to avoid interacting with him. 

It was a look he’d never had the fortune to experience, until now. There were no more tinkling eyes that shone with all the emotion a woman your size could muster upon seeing him. Just apathy seasoned with a sprinkle of detachment. There were no more sweet and shy smiles whenever your eyes met his own on accident. 

Just an impassive face that carried the weight of unknown expectations on her shoulders. And when the universe forced a brief encounter between you, nothing but cold politeness came his way. There were no more good spirited 'Good morning, Miguel' he had grown used to hearing in the little time he had worked in the ranch, but simple and emotionless nods of acknowledgement, along an aloof 'sir'.  

Just when he thought his severing ties with people’s skills were unmatched, here you were, proving him how wrong he was. How expendable and fleeting his presence had been in your life. And that stirred a conflict he hadn’t felt in years. Unpleasant and sour tasting as it was, he disliked being casted aside. He had been left in the cold for so long in his younger years due the lack of privileges, he had no option but to grow used to it. 

That didn’t mean however he enjoyed it. The cold shoulders, the diminishing stares, the curiosity that eventually turned into disgust in his peers' eyes, whenever they found out he and his family sojourned the city’s shelters, it all lingered forever engraved in his brain. But this rift, this deafening silence was all his doing. And the fact he was upset at not being able to fix it right away, just poked at those emotions he had buried in order to be the man he was today.

It was a pretty easy task, or so he thought initially. All he had to do was get his revenge through you by using you, recover what was his, evict the intruders of his home and have his family satisfied so he could enjoy the reward of his well planned vendetta. But a part of his brain had forgotten everything but one thing, to apologize. In fact, it was the very first thought he had as soon as he woke up. 

And the thought wouldn’t leave him alone, even if he poured himself into work and tried to play this ‘I’ll ignore you too’ game with you. It roamed his mind like a stalking ghost, especially when you were alone. He had tried to approach you, but your message was loud and clear. 

Leave me alone. 

The other part of his brain tingled with curiosity, as he didn’t peg you for someone that would recur to this sort of treatment over a mistake.  He had underestimated you completely, but also gave him a glimpse, tiny as it was, of your temper. The true self you maybe repressed for the sake of appearances. After all he had seen how these played a key role in Santa Margarita’s social life. 

Hell, he had seen the vast amount of delivery men with outrageous bouquets and ‘Get well soon' cards in them parading through the entrance the first three days after the parade’s fiasco. For a moment he really thought William had decided to give it a go to the flower business as well since they adorned a whole dining table. 

He also remembered how Rosaura was completely on cloud nine upon reading one card from a sumptuous and exotic bouquet arriving on the third day. Miguel also witnessed the many business partners William had, paying a visit to you. Some old, other youngsters that tried to increase their likeableness points with you. 

His lips curved in arrogance. If they knew that he, a supposed simpleton of a worker, had been the only one in making a mess out of your nerves by a simple smile of his, they’d be all palsy-walsy with him. 

But now, he had to think in ways to catch you alone, make his move and apologize. Cause God forbid his mind to keep ruminating on how to talk to you again. He needed to focus to erase the persistent image of your braced wrist replaying in an endless loop in his brain.

Two weeks had gone by and his heart began making abnormal tempos whenever he saw you on your own. Yet his feet refused to make the first step. 

It all mattered little however when a helper interrupted his rehabbing time with Agustin, by instructing him to prepare the horses and to wear a shirt with his last name embroidered over his left pocket with the logo of Cherryville on top, as they had a visitor coming over. Uniforms weren’t his thing as they never fit him properly. And the shirt didn’t seem to be the exception as it looked two sizes too small. 

And honestly, he couldn’t care less about formalities right now. Not when he had to prepare a good bunch of horses for someone that wouldn’t be interested in buying in the first place. It also piqued his curiosity. Who was so important that Rosaura herself supervised that everything was in its place? Everyone and everything seemed unusually perfect and impeccable. Even the staff members looked copy pasted since they all wore the same shirt. 

Scary.

Rosaura had this penchant for grinding his ears with her squeaky and entitled voice as she barked order around the ranch. For a moment he pitied the cooks as the pastor’s wife returned the entrées, since they were too uneven looking for her tastes. Even Vicky followed her like an unwilling company dog, making sure everything was alright. 

Miguel’s shoulders tensed when Vicky approached, patience escaping her pores thanks to Rosaura’s ridiculous demands at the last minute. 

“ Ey , Miguel. Did Johnson come and tell you about the horses?” 

“Yeah” He nodded, hanging the shirt on his shoulder. “All of them though?”

“What? No, no! Don’t waste your time. Just get Luisito and Midas ready. Maybe Horatio as well. Just in case. Mr. Kravinoff likes the exotic ones. And wear the shirt!” Vicky warned while leaving, and his brow quirked. 

Kravinoff. A surname that echoed like a broken record back in his college days but never had the chance, nor interest in finding out more about them, even to this day. He shrugged and headed for the tack room. 

How long has it been since Vicky came? His nose flared, frustrated. If there was something that really pissed him off, it was for people interrupting him in the middle of something important just to return whenever they pleased. 

Fucking rich

His eyes rolled for a third time, but Agustín’s whining pulled him out of that vexed trance. 

“¿Cómo la ves, campeón? Me piden cosas y ni se molestan en venir.” (How about that champ? They ask for things but don't even bother about em later.)

The stallion could only shake his head as if agreeing with Miguel while he brushed his mane. Although the silence and distance between you two had proved a nuisance, Miguel found himself deepening the bond with the horse. And it didn’t help that Agustín didn’t let others ride him or come closer. So far, only Miguel had the authority and enough trust with him to react positively. 

Agustín had been his anchor in the middle of this new chaos of unidentified feelings and dilemmas. Other horses like Luis, sure had his attention, but the black beast in particular had wormed its way into his revenge-filled heart. 

Just when Miguel was about to check Agustín’s horseshoes, a familiar laugh had his ears perking at once. That saccharine and melodious laughter could only belong to none else but you. He had provoked a couple of them back before you retreated to silence, yet the sound had been engraved subconsciously in his mind. 

His breath stuck in his throat for a second longer than it should’ve, when you crossed the threshold, donned in a comfortable pair of  jeans that snugged your figure like a second skin, flaunting the right amount of curves around your hips, thanks to the belt wrapping with greed on your waist. A red flannel shirt that coincidentally matched the visitor’s top.  Brown leather knee boots, your signature Stetson hat and now wrist brace. 

Of course he wasn’t immune to your country-like charm, if anything your laughter just brought out the complete package. And it had been a while since he heard this much joy in your persona. It suited you way better than the emotionless yet polite greetings you received him with. His eyes shifted to the man next to you. 

Tall, muscly built, a warm sand skin tone, proper of someone that spent a lot of time outdoors. Draped in a red button shirt with rolled up sleeves, making a show of his well worked arms along some black jeans and boots. Miguel’s eyes raked his face and he found nothing but strong features. Not as strong as his, but manly enough to make the intruder irradiate an imposing and unyielding aura with each step he took. 

There was also a narrow and sharp nose that flared joy whenever he joined your laughing, bushy brows that framed a pair of expressive and amber eyes that turned golden whenever the sun poured into them. Despite the beard covering his neck and strong jaw, it remained well groomed and kept, like the shiny, dark and wavy locks perched on his head. Slicked  back with elegance. 

Miguel’s brows couldn’t help but crinkle in mild amusement. Maybe he had found on his own the type of man you were attracted to, because he could dare to say the man was like a more refined, paler and shorter version of him. His red eyes rolled and his nose scoffed. His mind couldn’t help but wonder if you were flaunting yourself on purpose, as if to throw at his face that everyone but him deserved your attention.  

Yet, the man had you laughing with the same type of smile he had induced in your short-lived talks. What was so funny anyway? 

“Still, you were brave and held onto him, that’s no easy feat.” The man spoke and soon you both forayed into Miguel’s territory. Only then the horse expert could see the strange piece dangling in the man’s necklace. A lion tooth. 

“I was told I’d find the most beautiful horses here in Santa Margarita.” Miguel’s ears didn’t let the russian accent slip away, “Glad I wasn’t lied to. Look at that!” 

Much to Miguel’s and your surprise, your companion clicked his tongue and made the golden horse a signal for it to approach. Miguel frowned, aghast that a stranger would take such liberties in his playground and for you to allow it. He cleared his throat. 

“Sir?” He called to the pretty boy and approached him, “This training area is closed for now, if you want to, I can take the horse to the other ring.” Offered Miguel curtly.  

“My apologies for that. It’s been a while since I saw an Akhal-Teke.” He cleared his throat, “Sergei Kravinoff, or Kraven for shorts, licensed professional hunter and Miss Anderton’s friend, at your service.” The Russian offered his hand and Miguel didn’t have a choice but to shake it with a wary countenance and a tight grip, which Kraven tightened. 

“Miguel O’Hara. Rehabber and agricultural administrator.” He spoke flatly, glancing briefly at the tightening handshake.

“I’ve heard great things about you in my short stance, Mr. O’Hara. I’ll know who to come to if I get my own horses.” 

“So, you know about horses too?” You quipped from the other side, ignoring Miguel.

“Not as much as he does, I bet.” Sergei chuckled and Miguel just curled his lip in a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he let the guest’s hand go, “But I can spot a quality horse whenever I see one.” 

Midas approached with an elegant trot, letting the sun to bath him, honoring its name as it shone under the sun rays like a beast pulled out from a fairytale. He allowed Sergei to pet him before trotting away.  

“What’s his name?” 

“Midas.” Muttered Miguel, flatly as he crossed his arms on his chest. “Let me bring you his chair.” 

“Oh, no. Don’t worry about it.” His hand shook, stopping Miguel, but then gestured your way. “Unless krasotka*  here wishes to ride her horse.” (Gorgeous)

Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment when the attention of both men turned to you. Miguel’s brow quirked ever lightly at your reaction. But Sergei huffed, pleased to cause such a response on your end. You cleared your throat.

“I think I’ve had enough rides for a while.” Your eyes darted to the brace, nesting a bit too comfortable around your wrist. “But if you wanna ride them, go ahead.”

Miguel had also seen your eyes casting down towards your injured limb, and tartness bloomed in his tongue. It was a not so subtle reminder of what he was unable to keep safe. And the broken promise that haunted him with unexpected shame. 

Agustín whined, snatching the attention from the three. Sergei’s eyes twinkled with wonder, but before he could approach the ring the black stallion was, Miguel came in between his line of sight. Despite the lack of emotions plastered in his face, his voice sapped all the excitement in Sergei. 

“Agustín is off limits, sir. He’s currently on his rehabbing sessions. Going in unprepared would be a significant danger for you. The least we’d like is another accident. Do we?” 

Your jaw tensed, and your eyes couldn’t help but narrow at Miguel. 

Cynic. 

“That would be unfortunate indeed.” Your arms crossed on his chest, “Good we can count on you going nowhere, right Mr. O’Hara?” Your mouth couldn’t help but backfire with a tinge of anger that made the aforementioned gulp, taken aback by the sudden implicit bite of your words. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, señorita .” But he quickly recovered to reply in the same dark hint of sarcasm as you.

Jerk!

Your mouth nearly opened to fire again, but Sergei interrupted the verbal spar before the sudden hostile and volatile tension exploded between you both. All it needed was the right or wrong spark for it to roar alive.

“It’s alright, Miss Anderton. I’ll take Mr. O’Hara's warning at heart.” Sergei offered his arm on your good hand and you took it. Allowing him to take you out of the training rings without much hesitation. 

You didn’t bother to look back, despite Miguel’s eyes burning holes into your body. 

And once you were out of his sight, Miguel could only chuckle. Completely delighted at the brief yet fierce encounter. Curious as to what you were about to tell him if it wasn’t for Sergei’s intervention. But oh the need to see more of those glimpses again made his heart shimmy with a thrill he rarely felt, for they have fuelled him with a healthy dose of adrenaline and a much needed bickering after a long while of silence. 

Ever since that clash with you, Miguel kept a discreet eye on your activities. Just to see if he had more of those exquisite peeks of your newfound anger. Sadly, you had been too busy with Vicky, disappearing into a corner he hadn’t seen yet from the ranch. Whatever serious and grim expression you carried to that spot, vanished by the time you were back. 

You always returned radiant, a bit flushed on the cheeks with a satisfied smile plastered all over your pretty face the more you gained more mobility in your injured hand. Sergei had returned a couple of times, but unlike the first one where he witnessed just the two of you, your parents, especially Rosaura, seemed all too keen into receiving him and making sure he sat next to you on lunchtime. 

The gossip didn’t take long to spread, saying how much Rosaura approved of Kraven as a new possible suitor for you. The idea of him being around didn’t exactly bother him, but he wasn’t fond of Mr. Kravinoff snooping around the horses to try and impress you with his superficial knowledge about them. Ad he just delayed his working hours. 

The distant gunshot however, made him recoil by the abrupt boom echoing in the air, Agustín whined and pawed the grass with perked ears. “Easy there, champ.” His brows furrowed and the first thing he thought of was to reach for the walkie-talkie attached to his hip and ask for the rest of the horses that grazed in the upper fields. 

“Wilbur is putting the mares out for a bath and I’m putting Oddie his horseshoes. Miss Anderton took Luis away.” James replied through the channel. 

“Roger that. Over.” 

His eyes narrowed to focus on the grass path leading to a new area he hadn’t seen yet out of lack of time, but another gunshot echoed, making both him and Agustin hold their breaths. When the third shooting echoed, Miguel didn’t waste time and urged Agustin forward. 

A myriad of things ran through his mind. Who was shooting? What were they shooting at? Horses? Was that like how William got rid of the sick ones? Bile rose up in his throat, the hatred for the intruder family only increased once more at the mere idea of such inhumane kills. But all of his racing thoughts stopped as soon as Luis appeared ahead, calmed and grazing the ground before him

What the hell?

Luis remained tied to a post, in a prudential distance to not be spooked by the shootings. It took a moment for him to decide to follow and tied Agustín in there. To then walk over the now arid dirt road ahead. The smaller boot footprints led him to a little unevenness; he had no issue jumping off, just to stop at the rare, nearly fantastical sight before him. 

The path had guided him to a makeshift shooting ring, where the dummies, strawmen with uneven circles painted in them, rested in pieces a couple of feet away from the wooden fence separating you from them. 

Your Stetson hat made a wondrous job from keeping the blinding sun off your eyes, as you narrowed them to focus on the target. And your finger triggered a perfect shooting that blew in thousands of strands the strawman’s head. 

Cerecita?

He had to blink twice to make sure what he was seeing was real. That the ever sweet and somewhat awkward pastor’s daughter had just shot in the bullseye a dummy, with a single hand. And not enough, recharged the revolver like if you knew the weapon from the tip to rear’s end. Flipping with expertise the barrel and throwing away the empty casquets on the ground, just to push a new set of dirty golden bullets in the now available six spaces. 

And damned be him if he didn’t admit that when you tilted your hips left, to steady your shooting, his breath caught once more as the shot rumbled through the sky.  There were no people around you. Just the revolver in your hand, the bullets stacked in a pouch and the controlled anger you let out with every shot. 

Bendito...

His feet however, crunched over a bush, alerting you immediately. You turned, weapon in hand, aiming at him with the most resolute look he had ever seen in someone, ready to pull the trigger. And his cheeks flushed discreetly when his groin throbbed without permission. 

Focus, Miguel. 

“What are you doing here?” Oh the scowl adorning your lips was the final touch for this newfound admiration. There it was, the glimpse he was looking for. 

“I didn’t meant to… interrupt. Cerecita.”

“Quit calling me that. It’s Miss Anderton for you.” 

He chuckled like a teenage boy being finally addressed by an impossible crush, and that only deepened your frown. 

“Wanna tell me what’s so fucking funny?” 

God, you were killing him. Sweet and delicate on the outside but filthy mouthed and hot tempered with a gun in hand on the side. The perfect combination the doctor prescribed him. It was the right amount of sweetness and bite all together. Like a perfect and exquisite cherry. He definitely had chosen the right nickname for you. 

“Discúlpeme, Señorita Anderton , but it’s not every day you hear his holiness’ daughter speaking and acting like this. Aren’t you supposed to be in therapy for that? 

“What do you think this is for me?.” An annoyed huff escaped you, “Do you have a habit of following whatever horse you find lost?”

“It led me to you, didn’t it?” His head tilted

“What are you here for? I’m sure your shift isn’t done yet and Papa already has you in his sight.” 

“Well, your… Papa can wait. Ididn't know I'd find you here, but guess I'll seize the chance and apologize for-.” 

“I accept your apologies. Now leave me alone.” You huffed and turned to the dummy again, ready to shoot it. When he was about to rebut, you purposely pulled the trigger, silencing whatever excuse he was about to give you. 

Far from being angry or offended, Miguel had to contain his mirth. It had been too much for his own good. He had been asking for more of that true self you hid from others, that was now smothered by it. And even to his own surprise, the thought of gladly dying in it crossed his mind. 

“Will you at least let me explain myself?” 

“No. Your insincerity speaks for you and it’s done enough. And I happen to have a terrible dislike for liars.” Your hand dismissed him while focusing on your target.

“Cerecita, look-”

“You promised to be there! Look at what happened!” Your voice raised an octave higher as you pointed at your brace, “You weren’t there.” 

“I was busy attending a call for my property!” He grumbled without permission once more, it was as his tongue acted by itself in spilling the truth, ugly and uncomfortable as it was. “You really think I’d want this to happen?” He strode closer to you, trying to take a hold of your hands, which you quickly shook off. 

“But it did! It happened, I screwed my hand because of you and now I must wait a couple of weeks more to get this shit off my arm. Do you even have an idea how scared I was? You out of everyone knew so!” 

“Well, you didn’t seem scared when you showed up the other day with that guy in the stables.” He hovered over you, giving your nape a good bend as your head craned to see him. "What are you playing at, hm?"

Your whole face contorted in disbelief. How dared he to be claiming things when he started first? 

“You’ve got balls to say so when you ate that brunette’s mouth, while working! Right after you promised me to be there!” 

Shit

His mouth clamped shut. You had seen him with Dana. You knew. 

“You really got the nerve to reproach me things you shouldn’t, and then you pretend I have no right to be mad and disappointed at you, when you’ve given me nothing but mixed signals?! Make up your mind, will you?”

“Hey, no. No.” He waved a warning finger at you. “Mixed signals? What are you talking about?!” Miguel shook his head, confused. Which only flared that anger within. 

“Oh, fuck you!” The phrase alone surprised you, but damn him and his lies. Without much saying you took the bullet pouch from the ground and put the gun back into your holster. “I’ve got enough shit on my shoulders to worry about a man that doesn’t know what he wants, or knows accountability for his mistakes.”  

Tremendos ovarios los que se carga para hablarme así. (She’s really got courage to sassmouth me that way.)

“God, you… You look adorable when you’re angry.” He grumbled loud enough for you to hear in between amused titters, holding his jaw. But far from amusing you, it only sunk him deeper in your black list of men to stay away from.

“Oh, then you're gonna love me when pissed. Leave me fuck alone, O’Hara.” You hissed before passing by his side. Disbelief taking complete control of your reasoning. Who did he think he was?

His hand grabbed your arm and pulled you effortlessly right in front of him. “ Hermosa , it’s not what you’re thinking.” 

“I don’t care. I don’t wanna hear it!. God, I swear whe I really thought you different, but you just go and prove me you're like the rest of men in this city! Just because you’re handsome gives you the right to act like an asshole!”

“Oh, so you do think I’m handsome?” His smile stretched, cocklily, only to disappear when you pushed him away, begging for space. Disappointment on your end only deepened.

“Promises are important for me. And you… broke yours. Why should I believe anything you say?” 

Miguel sighed, as his eyelids drooped with something alike guilt. He tried to tackle the problem with a pinch of humor, but it only backfired.

“You’ve said and done enough. Have a good evening.” 

“Please, just let me-” His hands went up immediately as the tip of your gun’s cannon aimed his way, a steely scowl curled in your lip.

“I said, have a good evening. ¿Comprendes?” (Understood?)

His throat shut closed, his eyes rounded with skepticism as you left him there. Stranded with all his defenses on the ground, bare like if a hurricane had trampled over him, leaving nothing but another pang of something in his groin. He gulped after blinking away the dryness of his eyes. Surprise had kept them open for too long.

“Dios mio…” He chuckled, breathless. Still trying to process what on earth just happened. You had confronted him, put him in his righteous place, given him a good spoonful of his own medicine and most importantly, you had aimed his way with a gun while looking absolutely ravishing with the anger oozing out from every pore of your  skin.

A skin whose heat lingered in his palm and fingertips. Tingling with this unknown but all too consuming sensation he found himself in the need to taste a little more and a little longer, against his better judgement. 

“Damn you, Anderton.”  He chuckled yet again, despite the new dilemma waltzing in his mind. Once again, an Anderton had screwed him. And far from igniting that urge of revenge like they all did, his mind was already drifting to a completely different direction he never imagined himself considering. 

An Anderton,the sweetest of them all, had reminded him of his place, and he couldn’t help but like it.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

taglist:

@maiyart @miss-canon-event @fussyhedgehog @spider-mar2004   @fayeofthenightingale @hualianlover800 @tatatida @plusultrayokai @iwannabeapinkaesthetic @lazy-idate   @peachey-pie @ryk-mt @gennirose @teothemilfhunter @monarchberrysblog @tae21xoxo @1sun-vixen @amelialysm @ir-the-cat @oblivion777 @arleydyn7 @loliknya @maxad99

@choppednerdtriumph @oharasfilipinawife @mikiyamarie @omgomgomgaaa @lucyh237 @beabfleab @akrassia020 @teaiiv @mi4ulayy @namjoons-babygirl @unadulteratedeaglecollection @strawberryjuice9 @aphinthestars @tyuiofo @sleepyyjaz @notavault @stabygabby @happykoalapoetry @g1icino11a @yougavemeyourheartyouknow

@famouscattale @websinthecity @enananawoah @cigarettes-and-musique @spiderpapi2099 @angel @happyowlsoul @samjinxx @cyberillusion-li @miguelzslvtz @ange-grayson @angel-of-the-moons

[miss-canon-event]

I DO😭❤️💍✨️

He's saying his vows to you

There might not be there an update this week (working on it 🤞🏻) but have this lil offering instead ❤️.

For the Soccer Family AU 🥹.

[miss-canon-event]

I NEED TO LIVE A LIFE WITH HIM BY MY SIDE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[miss-canon-event]

Thanks for tagging me, my dearest queen Tarja💚✨️

I LOOOOOVE THIIIIIS🥹✨️ it's completely my comfort date, with Disney movies, a nice outfit and that stuffed puppy... OOH MY GOOOOOOO-😭❤️❤️❤️❤️

Tags without pressure: @have-you-seen-my-sanity @callme-mag + anyone who wants to do it✨️

Blind Date Tag Game!!!

Pinterest is setting you up on a blind date, search the following and post the results: fictional character, date, gift, outfit, dessert, love quote

THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME @bergamote-catsandbooks and @evolnoomym and @iknowisoundcrazy (😘😘😘)

(also im sorry im too lazy to make a Moodboard atm)

OMG A DATE NIGHT WITH NANAMI??????? this is a dream evening— unwinding with a little painting and drinks, he gifts me pretty journals and we eat Rose and Lychee Kulfi ice cream. The fit is fantastic and the quote just lovely.

play time: @probablyreadinsmut @clubsoft @stellamarielu @mushgloomz @ohhoneypascal @cxrsed-angel @missredherring @baronessvonglitter @goodwithcheese @nonbinairyboi @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist @sizzlingcloudmentality @guiltyasdave @wethairjoel @everybodylovedcontractors @almostfoxglove @xdaddysprincessxx @ghotifishreads @maggiemayhemnj @perotovar @inept-the-magnificent

[miss-canon-event]

This shit left me like so:

joel & ellie + coffee or joel introducing ellie to coffee vs. ellie leaving coffee at his grave to say goodbye

[miss-canon-event]

Lessons of the Heart 📚💖

Chapter 1: Half a World Away

Single Dad!Miguel x Teacher!FReader

Summary: Being a father is not easy, and even less so when he is single. This is Miguel O'Hara's life, who has raised his daughter Gabriella alone after her mother's abandonment. Everything has been extremely difficult and challenging, especially now that they have to start over in a new neighborhood. Miguel barely has time for anything else besides his daughter and his job… everything changes a bit when he meets his daughter's teacher: you.

CW: mostly Gabi's POV, mild angst, insecurities, bullying, sad children, mentions of abandonment, mentions of xenophobia, not use of (Y/N), English is not my native language. (Let me know if I forgot something, pls)

Divider by: @cinemabeans

A/N: Hello everyone! I'm very nervous because I've wanted to write this for a long time but I was overcome by anxiety or insecurity 🥺💔… however, I dared and here's an idea that I've been baking for a long time. The ideas are in drafts on my cell phone or in my notebooks, but… here it is. I hope you like it a lot!

Thanks a lot to @miss-tarja , who read my writing and helped me to improve some things, advised me, and of course, encouraged me to write this fanfic that I've been putting off for so long...💚

There are those who say that changes are good and necessary. That they can often cause fear or discomfort, but that the only thing left to do was to trust in the process.

Make that leap of faith...

However, this important change in little Gabriella O'Hara's life was almost a nightmare.

Her curious, brown eyes looked out the car window. The huge buildings, the vehicles coming and going at all hours, the shiny signs... it was all very bright. Almost blinding.

But... Gabriella had not the slightest interest in enjoying Nueva York. She missed Mexico, her comfort zone, her school and friends... even that annoying and nosy neighbour.

Not that enormous cage of concrete.

She looked to her other side, where her new backpack, adorned with a lovely Kuromi keychain and full with books and differents pencils, occupied the empty spot next to her.

First school day...

The loud blaring of a horn brought her back to reality. Great, nothing better than starting the day with the usual Nueva York traffic.

The girl's eyes glanced in the rearview mirror, where she met her dad's red ones: Miguel O'Hara. A tall, big, burly man. His brown hair was slicked back, with a few messy strands. She saw him smile slightly through it, but the girl didn't smile back.

— Mija...

Gabriella looked at her dad again, attentive to what he had to say.

— We talked about this, didn't we? — he said, holding tight the wheel. —I know you're nervous, and it's scary being new... but I promise you that feeling will go away when you meet your new classmates. You'll make friends, and who knows, maybe there will be a soccer team at school. — Miguel told her, trying to lighten the mood a bit and make Gabriella calm down a little.

However, he didn't get a very convincing answer. The girl just shrugged and nodded, turning her gaze back to the window.

Miguel sighed and turned his full attention back to the front, pressing slightly on the accelerator as the traffic light changed to green.

There was not doubt that the change of country, house, neighborhood had been very hard on both of them, especially Gabriella. The first few days she cried a lot, saying she missed her home and her old classmates... now, she chould be calmer, but she wasn't smiling or playing...

Miguel hoped that would all change soon...

The school was a huge, three-level building, with walls painted in soft tones and many windows. It was designed to house different grades and educational levels.

As it was the first day, it was common to see several children saying goodbye to their parents. Some with tears in their eyes, others reluctant to enter.

Miguel held Gabriella's small hand affectionately as he guided her towards the entrance. He felt how wet her little hand was. A clear sign of the nervousness she carried inside.

He bent down to be at her level and, with a calm smile, tried to transmit some reassurance.

— Mi amor, don't worry. Just... be yourself. I know you are nervous, that you miss our old home. But I promise you that soon you will feel better. You'll meet new friends, your teachers... and I'll be here, waiting for you when the class is over.

His big hands rested on her shoulders and gave her a tendre kiss on her forehead.

— Fine, papito. — the girl answered with a slight nod.

— That's my brave girl. Now go and be a good one.

Gabriella simply nodded and started walking towards the school.

— Gabriella! — Miguel called to her.

She turned around and when she saw him, Miguel made a heart shape with his hands.

— ¡Te quiero mucho, mi niña!

For the first time in a long time, Gabriella smiled sweetly and returned the gesture, also forming a small heart with her hands.

— Tambien te quiero, papito.

Miguel watched her until she disappeared into the crowd of children. He exhaled deeply, feeling some of the weight on his shoulders ease. Seeing his daughter so vulnerable broke his soul. He missed the cheerful, energetic little girl...

Now, he could only be strong for her, and be there for her when his little girl needed him.

With confident steps, he returned to his car and drove to his new job in Alchemax, the renowned corporation that hired him thanks to his research and thesis developed during his PhD.

And the day was just beginning...

If from outside the school looked big, inside it was even more impressive. The walls were adorned with photos and portraits of outstandings students, either for academic achievements or for representing the school in fairs or contests.

Gabriella walked through the halls with her backpack on her back and her lunch box in her hands. She felt so tiny...

Around her passed children of all heights, some her size, others much taller. Anxiety didn't leave her alone.

Amidst the bustle, Gabriella spotten an adult woman giving directions to the students, holding a folder.

— First grade to fifth grade to the first floor! Sixth grade to eighth grade, to the second floor! No running! — the woman repeated it loudly.

She was robustly built, with an apron decorated with flowers, glasses on the tip of her nose, and curly hair pulled back in a bun. She repeated the same instruction to each group that arrived.

Swallowing saliva, Gabriella reached over and gently tugged on the apron to get her attention.

— Excuse me, Miss... — she said softly, almost imperceptibly.

The woman looked down to meet the shy eyes of the girl with a pony tail.

— Good morning, little one. How can I help you, hm?

— I'm new... and I don't know where my classroom is. Could you help me, please? — Gabriella replied, fiddling nervously with her fingers.

The woman nodded as she flipped through the folder she was holding.

— Name?

— Gabriella O'Hara.

Nodding again, she searched the alphabetized list.

— O'Hara... here you are. First floor. Third grade, section C. Go down that hallway, then turn left. The doors have garde signs on them. Remember, 3rd C.

— Thank you.

Gabriella took a deep breath and started walking, following the directions, surrounded by other children also looking for their respectives classrooms.

Each step felt heavier, her heart pounding. She was in an unknown country, in a different school, with faces she had never seen before...

Finally, her eyes fell on the door that displayed the words '3rd C'. The door was decorated with flowers and stars made of glittery foamy. The door was opened, allowing her to see the desks occupied by children her age.

The classroom was cozy and cheerful, with a large whiteboard, coat hooks, small lockers and a 'WELCOME' sign hanging from the ceiling. Still, Gabriella didn't enter immediately. She stood outside for a moment, watching the other children take their seats.

And then, the bell rang.

The first day of school had offically begun.

There were hurried footsteps, laughter, shouting, and various conversations coming from other children.

Gabriella crossed the doorway of the classroom timidly as her new classmates sat down in their seats.

She, on the other hand, remained motionless by the door. Overcome by uncertainty and with her heart pounding.

At that moment, a lovely-looking young woman entered the classroom, carrying some books. You were wearing a lovely outfit: baggy jeans and a white T-shirt with a rainbow drawn on the chest. Your hair was long and pulled back in a high ponytail, adorned with colorful clips that gave yourself a cheerful vibe.

Holding your hand was a little girl of a similar age to Gabriella, with two long braids that fell over her shoulders and freckles all over her face. You whispered something in her ear, and the girl walked toward a pair of desks, sitting down at one of them.

— Good morning, students! — you greeted in an enthusiastic yet sweet voice.

— Good morning, Miss! — the children answered in unison, marking each syllable carefully.

— Welcome to this new school day. I hope that together we will experience beautiful moments, full of learning, and-

—Miss,— a tan-skinned girl interrumpted, raising her hand.

— Yes? — you said kindly.

— The new girl hasn't sat down yet.

Immediately, almost a dozen eyes fell on Gabriella, who felt the ground vanish beneath her feet. Her body tenses and her hands, soaked in sweat, clenched her lunch box tightly.

You gave her a warm smile and approached her tenderly, bending down to her level.

— Hi. I'm sorry I didn't notice you before,— you apologised with a smile.

Gabriella swallowed nervously.

— Come, let me introduce you to the class, — you added, extending your hand with a welcoming expression.

Gabriella hesitated for a moment, her trembling fingers still clinging to the lunch box as if it were a shield. But your gaze was so genuine, so full of calm, that little by little her muscles began to relax. Shyly, she reached out her hand and accepted yours.

— You're very brave, — you whispered kindly, as you walked together to the front of the classroom. — Changing school is never easy, but I'm so happy you're here.

When you both reached the whiteboard, your turned to the class with a kind smile.

— What's your name, sweetie?

— Gabriella...

— Gabriella. Nice to meet you, Gabriella, — you talked to the others. — Students, let's welcome Gabriella with respect and kindness. We've all been new once, and we know it's not easy. Let's make her feel welcome and accompanied.

— YEEEEEES! — the children shouted in unison.

— All right... hmmm... you can sit next to Emily.

You pointed to the empty desk next to the girl with braids. With slow, nervous steps, Gabriella made her way to the indicated spot and sat down next to Emily, who hadn't said a word since she arrived.

Then, you wrote your name on the board with colored markers, eagerly introducing yourself, but Gabriella was barely paying attention. Her mind was elsewhere, wandering between thoughts of her old home and doubts about this new beginning.

— Do you like Kuromi? — Emily's voice brought her out of her reverie.

— Huh?

— I mean... do you like Kuromi? — Emily repeated, pointing to the keychain hanging from Gabriella's backpack. It was a nice keychain, one that Miguel had bought her at the mall a few weeks ago.

— Yes... — Gabriella replied quietly.

Emily smiled and showed her hers: a My Melody keychain.

Gabriella smiled back, this time a sincere smile. That girl seemed... kind. And not so different from her.

— Did you know that Kuromi and My Melody used to be enemies? But now they're like... kinda friends, — Emily commented whispering, not wanting to interrupt you.

Gabriella nodded sheepishly.

— My dad brought it for me at Miniso, — Gabriella answered whispering too.

— My sister got mine from Miniso too, — said Emily, visibly proud.

After finishing an ice-breaking activity in which the children shared memories, experiences and thoughts that you planned, the bell rang, announcing the first recess.

Emily showed Gabriella the school playground, a large and lively space with grass, different games, walls full of colors, and school motifs. In the center, a small soccer field.

Gabriella's eyes lit up when she saw several boys and girls running after a ball.

— Do you like soccer?

Gabriella nodded enthusiastically.

— Yes, I love it. I used to play it with the kids in my neighborhood and also at aschool back in Mexico. How about you?

The girl with braids smiled.

— Not much, — she admitted with a giggle. — I prefer drawing. Although... the ones here are kinda of annoying.

— Annoying? Why?

— They say it's not a sport for weak girls, — Emily answered, lowering her voice. — But I try not to listen to them...

Her tone was unsure, almost like a whisper.

They both sat under the shade of a tree, enjoying the warm morning sun. They talked about simple things, tastes, small curiosities. Despite being somewhat quiet and withdrawn, they understood each other very well, as if they were lifelong friends.

But that quiet morning would not last long… Soon, dark clouds would approach to interrupt the calm.

Miguel had started his first day at work perfectly. Thanks to his background in chemistry and genetics, he only needed to receive his schedule, get to know his tasks and familiarize himself with part of the structure of the imposing building.

Everything was going perfect, until...

— Miguel?

His eyes, with their characteristic reddish hue, turned away from the computer screen when he heard his name. The receptionist of the apartment was in front of him. According to his colleague Olivia, her name was Lyla. She was a young woman with a bob hairdo and heart-shaped glasses. A bit eccentric, yes, but with an undeniable friendliness.

— Yes, Lyla?

— You have a phone call. It seems to be about your daughter... Gabriella O'Hara.

Confused, Miguel took off his glasses and set them with some haste on the desk. He got up and walked over to where Lyla was.

What had happened? Had she had a problem?

Had her nerves betrayed her? Or had she simply forgotten something?

But that anticipatory uneasiness would not compare to what he was about to feel...

— And why did you move in with your dad?

The questions kept flowing between the girls as the shared an apple cut in two.

— Well... Some people offered him a better job. He said that where we lived, we couldn't really be happy. I don't know exactly what he meant.

Emily nodded softly before taking a small bite of her half. Gabriella was sitting cross-legged on the ground, while Emily hugged her knees, settling in next to her.

— What about your mom?

The question brought Gabriella to silence. She wasn't sure she wanted to answer it...

— I don't know her,— she finally said softly. — It's just me and my dad.

Emily nodded again. Even though they were little, they could both recognize what hurt, even without many words.

The braided girl was about to ask another question when something, or rather someone, blocked the sunlight. In front of them appeared a group of four boys, older than them by a grade or two. The one leading had brown hair and was surprisingly tall for his age. Next to him were a boy with glasses, another with tousled hair, and a long-haired blond girl who looked on with disdain.

— Look at this... looks like the weirdo already got a friend, — sneered the tallest one, his tone clearly provocative.

The other three burst out laughing. Gabriella and Emily were silent, hoping that, if they didn't pay attetion to them, they would get tired and leave.

But they didn't...

— I'm Daniel, Alex's older brother, — said the brown-haired boy. — He told me there's a new girl in his class. A spic.

Gabriella didn't answer. Neither did Emily.

— What's the matter, don't you speak English? Or do you need a dictionary, alien? — the blonde interjected, making the others laugh louder.

— You think it's funny to have to share school with someone like you?

Gabriella stood up with a straight face, holding out her hand to Emily. She just wanted to leave. But before they could walk away, the blonde stepped forward and blocked their path, cornering them against the tree.

— Where are you freaks going?

— Leave us alone! Emily exclaimed in a trembling yet determined voice.

The group froze for a moment, surprised that it was Emily who was speaking. The blonde, without saying a word, pushed Emily, making her stagger a little.

— What's the matter? Are you gonna cry like you always do? — laughed the boy with glasses.

— Are you gonna cry for your mommy, weirdo?

— She wants to cry! She wants to cry! — they all chanted.

Emily squeezed her eyes shut. The tears came fast, filling her face with pent-up sadness. Gabriella felt something inside her explode. A deep, hot rage she had never felt before.

— Don't touch her again! — she shouted loudly, and without thinking, she pushed Daniel with both hands, who fell sitting on the floor, completely stunned.

The world seemed to freeze.

— Are you crazy? — he exclaimed from the floor, red with shame and anger.

Gabriella didn't back down. She was trembling but not out of fear. Something exploded within her, like a deep willingness to protect Emily.

— Don't touch her! — she said angrily.

The blonde took a step forward but stopped when she heard a firm voice shout from the playground: your voice.

— You stop! Right now! Miss Veronica, miss Gabriella!

It was you, walking hurriedly. This time, with a serious expression.

— This is unacceptable! Everyone to the principal's office right now! — you ordered, looking at each of them sternly. Then, your eyes fell on Gabriella and Emily. — Are you alright?

Emily sniffed and nodded. However, Gabriella only looked at the ground...

— I'm afraid you're coming with me... — you said a little softer, without leaving your serious tone.

Gabriella swallowed, feeling her heart beating hard. But trying to comfort her, she took Emily's hand. Then, both girls followed you to the principal's office.

Thank you very much for reading this far😭✨️

Any comments or feedback with respect will be welcome ❤️