#miguel galindo and reader

[berberriescorner]

“Are You Listening?”

Interlude: “Drinks On Me, Yeah?”

Characters: Rio x Black!Reader.

Summary: Issa Interlude, mama. Expect the unexpected.

Warnings: Profanity, angst, fluff, and drinking-little libation for the one, two.

Word Count: 1,700+.

A/N: My lovelies! My babies! Mama’s back and I got a little sum-sum for ya! Let’s start this weekend with a little Rio and the crew, yeah? Yeah. I want to give so many thanks to all of you sweet lovelies who have been rocking with me this entire time. Most of you know that the past year and a half has been quite the struggle. To everybody who took time out of your day to come and check in on me, please know that I’m appreciative and forever grateful to have connected with such amazing people🥹♥️. Thank you for all the sweet, hilarious comments and asks as well💓. I’m a little rusty, so be gentle with your girl. Enjoy my sweet babies.  Before anyone asks, yes, I’ve been working on Pt. 4😂😏😈.

"Are You Listening?" - The Playlist

Apple Music.

Spotify.

Part One Here.

Part Two Here.

Part Three Here.

Inspired By:

Your body pressed down into the plush mattress as you reveled in the comfort and security of being home. Your mind replayed the image of your mom snatching the door open, the two of you hugging tightly, rocking side to side. You had spent the past week trying to survive final exams and warding off the many questions of, “What’s wrong, baby girl?” The woman who gave you life knew you all too well. Sensing that her youngest baby was struggling, her attempts to get you to open up over the phone went unanswered. With the semester complete, being home didn’t leave much space to dodge the knowing gaze in her eyes. 

That master’s degree will probably be a waste of time.

The moment you pulled away from the hug, she cupped your chin, and your poker face cracked as the tears cascaded down your cheeks. Two hours later, you filled her in on everything from the stress of school, financial aid, working doubles, and the fresh crack in your heart that was taking its sweet-ass time to heal. All of which had only taken about forty minutes to stutter out. The talk and her comfort had left you wiped out, and just like any amazing mother would do, she sent you to your room for a nap and got to work on preparing comfort food.

You considered dozing off for a bit more rest, but your bedroom door flew open, bouncing off the corner of your vanity. Your eyes narrowed to mere slits as you started to curse your oldest brother out. His hand raising halted the verbal reprimand.

“Alena’s big-headed ass is here to see ya mean ass,” he snarked about the woman who would eventually become his wife.

These two bitches are so in love. It’s sickening. The attraction is so annoyingly obvious. Shit makes me sick to my stomach.

Before you could tell him you didn’t want company, she was already in the doorframe. “Uh-uh, bitch you are not about to dodge me for another two weeks.” With those words said, you had no choice but to give her a rundown of what had transpired. Not only had she forced you to divulge every last detail while the two of you hugged and cried together. She also took it upon herself to wiggle you into your best freakum dress and head out for a girl’s night.

Being the baby and the only girl in your family made for very over-the-top protective parents. The moment your father saw your attire, he wouldn’t let up. He was hell-bent on forcing your brothers to chaperone.

It wasn’t a horrible idea.  Only you didn’t like your independence challenged. Luckily, the older siblings were pretty chill, so long as no one was overly aggressive. They had taught you how to handle shit for yourself at a young age. You spent the first half hour in the club pouting and ready to go home to wallow in self-misery.

“Hoe! If you don’t fix your face, scaring off every good-looking man in this club!”

“They’ll be alright, so long as they keep their distance. In case you didn’t get the memo after our long talk. Men make my ass itch,” you growled, kissing your teeth.

“Whateva, you and that stank attitude can have a good time together,” she sassed, throwing up a hand and walking away from the bar.”

“Where are you going? Alena!”

“I’ll be back, damn! Let me go on and annoy them, fine-ass brothers of yours. Be nice, and don’t bite nobody head off, sourpuss.”

“Always thirsting after my blood, just triflin’.”

With the flick of a middle finger, she sauntered over to their section. You could see the irritation rolling off them as she seated herself in the middle. The arguing started seconds later. Your eye twitched at the sight. Swinging the barstool back toward the liquor, you were about to pass the time scrolling through social media. Instead, a set of bronzed-colored, muscular digits came into view. They gently pressed your phone to the bar as the matching digits slid another lemon drop into view. Your eyes danced along those muscular fingers, trailing upward until they landed on one of the sexiest faces you’d ever witnessed. If any other man would’ve done this, he would’ve been set straight expeditiously. In this instance, ole boy was just too damn fine, and it left you on mute. The corners of his mouth lifted into a handsome smirk.

The stranger turned his barstool to get closer. One hand rested on the bar while the other cradled the back of your seat. His eyes roamed over your body, lip tucking between his teeth, matching you stare for stare. He chuckled when he noticed your quirked eyebrow.

“I don’t mean to intrude on ya evening, but I figured you could use another drink.”

“Is that so?”

“Couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with your friend. I’m tryin’ to  figure out why these men got your fine ass itching out here.”

Shit, he heard that? Floor, open up and swallow me. That’s so damn embarrassing.

As if reading your thoughts, he continued, “Nothing to be embarrassed about, mama. There’s a lot of boys running around here pretending to be men. Who was crazy enough to fumble you? He gotta be the dumbest man on earth.”

As if on cue, said fumbler’s name popped up on your caller ID. With a swipe of a finger, the phone went silent. You turned back to your new admirer. He had signaled for another round of drinks.

“Either you’re a big spender, or the bartender is your connect,” you teased.

“Connect is one way of putting it. This my spot, darlin’.”

He chuckled as you damn near choked on your drink.

“I’m sorry. Tend to put my foot in my mouth.”

“You good. I like a woman who’s not afraid to speak her mind. Dealing with me, you go to say it with your chest.”

“Oh, so you plan to be around me beyond tonight?”

“Around, underneath, on top. We locked in, mama,” he insisted, licking his lips.

“I don’t even know your name, fool,” you cackled at his cockiness.

“Name’s Rio, but you can call me Christopher, mama. My future wife needs to know my government name. I’m putting my trust in you. Don’t be tellin’ my business, sweetheart.”

“Who says I’m checking for you, Rio?”

“You accepted my company and drinks. Deep down, you’re intrigued by me. Ain’t no need to hide it. When I see something I want, gotta go after it, mama.” he rasped, voice lowering to a panty-dropping level.

“You’re trouble. I just know it.”

Rio planted both hands on your thighs. The gasp that escaped you lit his brown orbs with passion.

“Can I have your undivided attention for the night? Want to get to know you better, mama.”

Grabbing his outstretched hand, he helped you down off the stool.

“Rio…”

Piercing light flickered in the darkness, pulling you from the memory that played itself in your dreams. Your hand snatched the vibrating phone from the table. Your orbs squinted to read the screen, teeth clenching in frustration.

Fucking Rio, I can’t even get away from him in my sleep. Stupid-handsome-asshole.

With a single tap, the phone rested on DND. You closed off from the world to find a peaceful slumber, only to wake from another dream. Throwing the covers back, you startled, feeling the bed dip. His cologne wafted through the air, and your eyes connected.

“Why all the tossing and turning, amor? Hmm,” he rasped, hand trailing up your arm. His warm palm cradled the side of your neck, rubbing away some of the tension.

“Sorry, did my restlessness wake you?”

“No, querida. I’ve been up taking care of some things.”

“Same old Miguel. Everything business. Still don’t sleep much, huh?”

His eyes crinkled with a small smile, but you could also see sadness. It’s the same unhappiness that’s always lingered, only now accompanied by sparks of anger and resentment. Your mind replayed his words in the elevator.

Where’s your wife, Miguel?

She had other plans tonight.

The slightest mention of her had nearly sent his mood spiraling. You weren’t privy to what was happening in his marriage but didn’t want to pry. He would only reverse card uno your ass. Miguel would insist that you vent about your own life and frustrations.

“Thank you for taking the couch,” you nibbled at your lip. 

There was a hint of frustration and guilt lingering in your chest. Not being able to sleep without dreaming of Rio left you feeling conflicted. Part of you wanted to say to hell with loyalty. Being in such a vulnerable state had you craving to be held and cuddled, but regardless of circumstance, the two of you were very much married. Concern swam in the pools of his eyes. Miguel sensed the ongoing dilemma in your head, and his fingers gently cupped your chin.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s all this,” he asked, tugging the lip between your teeth. “Tell me what you need.”

“I can’t,” you sighed.

“You can, and you will. Look at me,” he insisted as your eyes locked.

“Anything you ask me. It won’t leave this room. You need me to hold you until sleep takes over, amor?”

Unable to verbally say it, you gave him a slight head nod. Removing his tie, watch, and shoes, he made it over to the opposite side of the bed. Miguel got right to it, not giving you time to overthink it. He pulled you into his chest, arms engulfing you in a tight hug.

“Were you having nightmares, cariño?”

“No, just happy memories reminding me of the present painful ones,” you replied, voice filling with unshed tears.

“You want to talk about it?”

Silence filled the room as Miguel continued, “We don’t have to ta-.”

His sentence cut short as he felt the tremors and your head burrowed into his side. Miguel’s heart cracked at the sound of the sobs falling from your lips. His arms pulled you further into him until there was no space left, and the palm of his hand rubbed at your head.

“Shhh, you’re okay. I’m here,” he cooed, leaving soft kisses on the crown of your head.

Miguel continued to whisper calming words. You cried until your head pounded, and sleep took over.

Hope you all enjoyed that little peek into how Rio pulled up on your girl for the first time. He saw something he liked, and he had to have you🥰. We’ll just call this a vague moment of insight into upcoming events...if that makes sense 😆. If you enjoyed please be sure to hit the love button, comment, and reblog. Spread the love, my babies.

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@superhoeva @memeaaaa @djconde58

[imagineredwood]

Group HC - The Boys reactions to getting caught stealing your panties 👙

I know. I know. It’s terrible and gross and icky I KNOW 😭😭 but I saw HCs for another shows characters around this idea and I couldn’t get it out of my head and it triggered the memory that this is actually canon for Juice and…yeah. Here we are 🧍🏻‍♀️

He’s not sorry. Or embarrassed. He loves you, loves everything about you. He thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread. He worships you and the ground beneath your feet. So why wouldn’t he steal your panties? They’re yours, and they rest against his most favorite part of you all day 🤷🏻‍♀️ He won’t apologize, not even when your face heats up and you cover it with both hands. On the contrary, he probably makes a show of taking one out of the secret pile and sniffing it. He’s nasty, and he knows regardless of how you feel about it, you know he does it out of love and devotion. So he’s ok with it. And he’s not gonna stop.

He’s ashamed. He knew he shouldn’t have done it. Felt weird and invasive, but he couldn’t help it. He just loves you so much, and he gets lonely when you’re apart, and it smells like you. What else was he supposed to do? He would never cheat, would never even dream of it. But the stress of the club gets to him, especially the more complicated things get, he just needs comfort and relief, and when he saw them laying there in the hamper, he snagged it without thinking. Then he couldn’t stop, even when he knew he should. Even goes as far as offering to take apart the washer saying that maybe the machine is eating them 👀 He apologizes, cheeks tinted red, eyes downcast and hopes you don’t hold it against him. He’ll ask before he takes them next time, scouts honor.

Like Angel, he’s not embarrassed. He just shrugs, telling you that you’re his girl and your pussy is his, so why can’t he just take them? 🙄 He buys you new pairs every now and then anyway. So he wants to smell you randomly throughout the day, whats the harm in that? He just misses you. And likes to look at the pair and reminisce about times he’s taken them off of you. Is that a crime? He even reaches into his kutte and pulls out the pair that he’s kept on him today to show that it’s no big deal, and they’re the ones from yesterday, you recognize.

He’s bashful, arguably, but not necessarily embarrassed. It’s more about getting caught than it is the actual act. Like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. He’s not sorry for taking them, he’s just sorry that it’s kinda awkward for you to find the stash. He laughs awkwardly, shrugging it off or trying to anyway. Explains that he just rarely gets time to himself, so he is uses them when he’s alone in Templo to get his mind right. That your scent calms him and helps his focus. He didn’t think you’d mind too much, he just also never expected you to find out.

He's not sorry in the slightest and he makes sure you know it too. He bought every pair anyway, what's the issue? He could buy you 30 pairs by lunch 🙄 He wasn't up from about it, no, but he also didn't necessarily hide it. It just wasn't entirely in the open. You're respectful and don't go through his stuff in his office so how would you have known he had an entire drawer of his desk with them all collected in there? You'll get over it, a few new lingerie sets will make sure of that.

The OG of panty stealing and sniffing himself. It’s canon after all. He just can’t help himself. You’re his moon and stars and he just can’t get enough of you. Even when you’re perched in his lap, cockwarming him, face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, it’s not enough. He needs to be in your skin. But he can’t. So stealing your panties is the next best thing. It’s a compulsion he can’t fight. God knows he’s tried. And he tells you as much. Lists all of the things he did first to try and not have to submit to that desire. But in the end it didn’t matter. He just needs to have your most intimate article with him at all times. Keeps He doesn’t want you to think he’s a freak but he also just need you to know how much he absolutely loves, adores, and worships you. He’ll even hand over the pair in his pocket if you ask him to.

He's nonchalant about it. It's just panties. You have a bunch more. Not like you were gonna miss them or something. He just loves you and likes to have something of yours that he can keep nearby when he misses you. One in his pocket, one in the sale bag of his bike tucked away hidden. His stash is dispersed, not because he was necessarily hiding them, but because there's one each place that will serve a purpose.

Also not embarrassed. Hits you with that famous smirk, his shoulders shrugging as you stare at him waiting for an answer. "Just miss you sometimes, Darlin'. Just somethin' to get me by." Like it's perfectly normal. He left you your favorite pairs after all. He only takes the ones you're not the biggest fan of, so you wouldn't notice as quickly. It's not a big deal, he can give them back. Sometimes he just needs to sit in the chapel with them over his face while he strokes himself before Church so he can make sure he has a level head before this important vote.

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl  @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast  @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114   @destynelseclipsa  @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben  @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses @weirdosandhopelessromantics @kola95 @black-repunzel99 @xonickibaby @cruzwalters @myakai13 @mrsstevenbuchananstark @lyly00 @kaystacks17 @cole-winchester  @alexxavicry  @savagemickey03  @fanfic-n-tabulous   @choochoo284 @xbloodyxangelx @carma-fanficaddict @gillysoldlady

Mayans MC taglist

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[saturnville]

I have to be that person for a second. I have released 5-6 fics in the last two weeks. why? because I fed off the love and interaction I was given. when you take the time to appreciate and interact with writers AND their content, they're more enticed and more motivitated to produce more content. so as you prepare to ask a creator to feed you more content, ask yourself if you're taking the time to REBLOG, like, and comment on their work.

thanks again for your guys' support. it pulled me out of a writing slump <3

[aliyalala]

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?" "Nah"

Gojo, Miguel, Peter, Geto, Toji, Mikasa, Jotaro, Jolyne

[hennyjwrites]

HennyJ’s Baes: “You can’t handle this.”

Angel:

Angel was a pussy eating god. He had never met a pussy he couldn't eat for hours without drowning. Until he met you. Your hands were pulling at his hair as he raised panting. His beard was covered in your wetness, making it shine in certain spots. He looked from your smirk back to your pussy as he panted. His beard was covered in your wetness. “Fuck.” he whispered loud enough for you to hear. You giggled at his reaction to the ocean you had between your legs. “Told you, you couldn't handle it.” You laughed. Angel brought his finger downs to rub at your clit, making you wetter. Angel groaned as he got back down on his stomach to be face to face with your pussy letting you get your laughs in before he licked up your slit again and closed his mouth around your clit. He sucked harshly making you cry and grab onto his hair. He was trying to prove a point to you as he slid two of his fingers into you. He was trying to prove that he could handle it. You came with a loud moan as the gush of wetness flowed into his mouth. Angel brought his head up panting, with his beard soaked. He looked at your shaking form and smiled. “Since I can't handle this pussy, maybe I need to practice more.” With that, he dove back in still destined to prove you even more wrong.

Rio:

“What happened to all that mouth ma?” Rio asked. His voice was deep and slow as he thrust his fingers deep inside you. He was laid next to you with your legs spread over his. You couldn't speak as he hit that special spot inside you making your legs shake. You were so close and he could tell by the way you clenched around his long fingers. “Talk to me mama, lemme know who can handle this pussy?” He whispered in your ear. He was making you regret your words before you ended like this. Telling him that he couldn't handle your pussy was like challenging his manhood and he was working hard to prove his point. Your pussy fluttered around his fingers as you came around him, throwing your head back and arching your back upwards. “You can handle it, baby.” You moaned out quietly as your orgasm felt never-ending because he kept the steady pace going inside you. “I can handle it?” he clarified, slamming his finger directly into your spot. His voice was still the same as he looked down at the cream coating his fingers. “Yessss.” You drew out, legs shaking as he was bringing you to the edge again. You came again, legs shaking in overstimulation as you closed your legs. “Rio I can't.” You told him looking at his face. He smirked at you. “Nah I need to make sure I can handle this, open your legs darling”

Miguel:

Miguel knew from the moment he met you, you were gonna be trouble. He just didn’t know your pussy would cause him so much distress. “Cmere, my love I just want to talk to her.” Miguel begged, pulling you closer to the bed and of course you let him. He didn’t waste any time as he pulled your panties off, watching the wetness from your pussy leave a trail. “Oh you missed papi didn’t you?” He spoke directly to your pussy before attacking her with his mouth. Your back arched as you slightly giggled from the shock of his mouth. He sucked and licked like his life depended on it. He pulled away, smirking already. “She tried to keep you away, but she knows she can’t resist me either.” He spoke to her again. “Miguel, it's only been 12 hours.” You whined at the contact of his tongue swiveling your clit. He pulled away looking at you. “Longest 12 hours of my life.”

Erik:

“Fuck!” Erik hissed, pulling out of you again. He watched his nut mix in with your wetness and leak out of you. You smiled to yourself. You made him nut under 5 minutes. “Erik it’s ok baby.” You consoled him. “You just can’t handle all this.” You smirked in a condescending voice, already knowing how this was gonna end. Eriks eyes snapped to yours. You had him fucked up. He wasn’t finna go out as a minute man. “Shut the fuck up.” He spoke, pulling you to the edge of the bed. Erik was already hard as he guided himself back into your pussy. You were already making it hard for him. Pussy was so fucking wet and it gripped him like some tongs. Erik didn’t waste any time and thrusted into you hard, making you lose your breath. “Think I can’t handle all this thick shit. Girl Imma show you.” He whispered as he put one leg up in the beg, and grabbed the back of your hair, wrapping it around his hand. One leg up, one hand on the frontal and boom! A few more thrust, hard and good thrust, had you nutting all over his dick. You tried to pull away but Erik pulled you back. “Nah, bring that ass back.”

[pascalispretty]

The Poetry of the Body: One

Miguel Galindo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Discussions of pregnancy, implied age gap, hair pulling, choking, biting, scratching, dirty talk, breeding kink, D/s vibes, Miguel being himself, heavy petting, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, daddy kink. AU where Emily doesn't exist.

Summary: You and Miguel discuss the possibility of expanding your family, and negotiate the details.

A/N: thanks to my beloved @misscharlielulu for all her love and support in getting this finished. Title of the fic is from 'La llama doble. Amor y erotismo' by Octavio Paz. Title of the chapter comes from the Pablo Neruda poem 'My Lovely One', which is quoted within the fic (see end of work for translation). Written to fulfil the 'breeding kink' prompt for @storiesofsvu2-0's bingo!

One: My Homeland Is In Your Eyes (ao3)

It’s late by the time you and Miguel come home. The house is quiet; the guards near-silent as they patrol the perimeter, the rest of the household fast asleep. As soon as you get through the front door you kick your heels off, wanting to preserve the peace that’s settled over the house. At the top of the stairs, where Miguel makes to turn left, you tug on his hand. 

“I wanna see Cristóbal,” you whisper, aware that the wine from dinner makes you sound as tipsy as you feel. 

“Don’t wake him,” he says after a moment and follows your lead down the hall, your footsteps muted by the thick carpet. Your husband’s hand is warm in yours as you carefully push open the door of your son’s room. The light from the hallway spills into the nursery, just enough to illuminate Cristóbal sleeping soundly in his bed. The tangle of his dark curls stands out starkly against his light sheets – you feel an overwhelming urge to tiptoe across the room and press a kiss to his head. 

Instead, you hover in the doorway with Miguel and content yourself with blowing him a kiss. Any more would risk waking him.

“See?” Miguel whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Safe and sound.” He squeezes your hand reassuringly, and you both watch as Cristóbal nuzzles closer to his stuffed rabbit. The nursery door closes with a soft click and this time you let Miguel lead you by the hand to the other end of the house and your bedroom. 

“It’s unfair, you know,” you start once your bedroom door closes behind you. Miguel half turns on his way into the en suite, raising an eyebrow. 

“What’s that?” 

“How much he looks like you.” You boost yourself up on the bathroom counter, getting comfortable as you undo Miguel’s cufflinks for him. Miguel smiles at you, chucking you playfully under the chin once you’re done. 

“You say that as though it’s a bad thing,” Miguel replies, toeing his dress shoes off. The bathroom always looks a mess after a night like tonight, clothes thrown in the vague direction of the hamper and your makeup strewn everywhere until you can be bothered to straighten everything up. 

“It’s not bad,” you protest, watching intently as Miguel takes his phone out of his pocket so he can shrug his grey blazer and vest off. “It just feels very unfair that I did all the hard work, but he’s the spitting image of you.” 

“Sorry, querida. You’re going to have to take that one up with God.” You roll your eyes at your husband’s teasing, hopping down from the counter. 

“God’s got nothing to do with it. Certainly not where you’re concerned.” It’s a mischievous jab, one that takes you dangerously close to precarious ground. You at least have the wherewithal not to call him ‘el Diablo’ to his face. Turning around, you glance up at Miguel’s reflection in the mirror to study his reaction, pleased that he seems more amused than annoyed. 

“I’m not about to let anything else take credit for my exceptionally good genes. I just hope he has his mother’s brains.” 

“And his father’s humility.” You flick the tap on, and open the drawer beside it to get your pills. The alarm had gone off on your phone at dinner, prompting you to take it, but that had been hours ago. Only the topic of conversation reminded you of it. 

Before you can attempt to wrest one of the tiny pills from the package, you feel one of Miguel’s arms loop tightly around your waist, his body moulding against yours. He reaches forward to turn the faucet off again.

“Don’t take it.” Miguel rests his chin on your shoulder, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. For a long moment, you just look at him, wondering if you heard him right. This time, there’s no teasing in his expression; his lovely dark eyes are full of sincerity. 

“Miguel-” you start, not even sure where to begin. 

“What? We’ve talked about it. We could see if this one looks more like you.” He presses closer, his beard prickling your neck and his gaze unwavering. 

“...in a vague, ‘someday’ kind of way. We should at least have an actual, sober conversation about having another baby.” You fidget idly with the pack of birth control pills still in your hand. Miguel was right; you had talked about it, on-and-off since before Cristóbal was even born. 

Before you had gotten pregnant with your son, the answer had been an unwavering ‘yes’. Two children had felt like a good number; little siblings who could play and grow together. And even now, the idea tugs on your heartstrings, the thought of your precious family expanding to welcome another perfect baby. 

And yet. 

“I- Miguel, it was so hard with Cristóbal.” It’s a severe understatement. He sighs softly, arms squeezing you tighter. 

“I know, amor. But we’ll know what to expect this time. And you know I’ll always take care of you.” Miguel dips his head to press a kiss to your bare shoulder. Your hesitation is weakening by the second, soothed by Miguel’s touch and his promise. 

“Even when I get fat and hideous again?” You ask, running the fingers of your free hand along his forearm. 

“You weren’t fat, you were pregnant. How could you possibly be hideous, full of our baby?” He trails more kisses along the curve of your shoulder and neck, and you tip your head back to allow him better access. 

“You just say that because you were into it,” you huff, but Miguel ignores you in favour of nipping your throat. He could hardly deny it anyway; from the first shy curve of your belly, he had been intensely preoccupied with the changes his baby was wreaking on your body. 

The relentless assault on your reserve escalates when your husband presses his leg between yours, providing the barest amount of pressure at the apex of your thighs. Your cocktail dress isn’t so accommodating; you’re certain you hear some of the stitches pop as he tries to force your legs further apart. It’s so hard to think straight with his mouth at your neck and his thigh against your centre, that familiar tightness in your core just starting to build. 

You let go of the pills, the packet clattering as it falls from your fingers and into the sink. 

“I want a real conversation about this tomorrow. Sober. Uninterrupted,” you manage between shaking breaths. The hard line of his cock presses insistently against the curve of your backside, and your eyes practically roll back in your head at the feeling. 

“Fine,” Miguel says between kisses, backing off just enough to turn you around to face him. 

“I mean it,” you try even as he encourages you up to sit on the bathroom counter. Your fingers grip the front of his black shirt, and you have to fight the urge to pull it open and send buttons scattering over the floor. 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Tonight’s mine.” Miguel steps between your legs and tries to kiss you, but you lean back. 

“Tonight’s yours, jefe. But if we’re trying again, I want to be seduced. Make it something I want.” Your fingers start working open the buttons of his shirt as he gives you an amused smile.  

“I can’t conjure up another thunderstorm, mi amor,” he starts, and you pout up at him. In a hormonal haze when you were pregnant with Cristóbal, you had become convinced he’d been conceived during one of the rare thunderstorms that rolled across the desert. The oppressive August heat had broken for a little while, and you and Miguel had made good use of the time. 

“If you don’t like my terms-” 

“The terms are fine, I’m just tempering your expectations. Short of arranging an act of God for you, what kind of seduction do you want?” He trails his fingers up the inside of your thigh, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw gently. You swallow thickly, the way he’s looking at you making you feel delirious with need. 

“Do you want me to be sweet with you, baby?” The hand on your thigh slides under the hem of your dress, higher, until his fingertips brush against your silky underwear. He knows you, knows what you need; for him to supplant your anxieties with something dark and thrilling. You don’t miss the brief, smug smirk when he registers how wet you are already, and he makes a soft, contented noise in the back of his throat. 

“My pretty baby. I can be sweet with you if you want me to be. Bring you roses and compare you to poetry. ‘Mi patria está en tus ojos, yo camino por ellos, ellos dan luz al mundo por donde yo camino…’” Miguel leans in to kiss you again, and you don’t pull back this time. Using Neruda and pet names against you is underhanded at best, but you can’t argue with it, not when you’d asked for a seduction. 

Miguel’s mouth slants over yours, stealing your breath with the depth of the kiss. You can taste the whiskey from dinner on his lips. His fingertips press more firmly against your cunt, finding your clit through the silk, and you whimper against his mouth as heat radiates through your body. You’re so caught up in the way his hand between your legs is petting at you that you don’t notice his other hand shifting. He grabs a fistful of your hair with no warning, the sharp pain in your scalp eliciting a stunned cry from you. The feeling dances right along that knife edge of pleasure-pain, one that you’ve become intimately familiar with since you met Miguel. 

“Or do you want a different kind of seduction?” He asks, ignoring your needy whine when he stops stroking your clit. The hand in your hair tugs down, forcing you to arch your back and expose your throat to him. More stitches pop as he steps closer between your legs, your dress riding up your thighs as you try to accommodate him. He leans down until your noses bump, his dark gaze unwavering. 

“Should I be mean to you, mi amor? Cruel, demanding?” His free hand finds your throat, his palm burning hot against your skin. Your nails catch at his black undershirt, clawing at the soft fabric. The silk of your dress and the slick marble of the counter leaves you feeling like you’re slipping inexorably forwards, towards Miguel. He gives a little shake of your throat; he’s barely applying any pressure, but your breath hitches anyway. 

“I know how much you like it, mijita. You like it so much it makes you feel wretched,” he murmurs, and you can’t argue with him. Even the condescending way he calls you ‘mijita’ does something inexplicable to you, sending heat rushing through your veins, scorching you from the inside out. 

“Fuck, Miguel-” you gasp out, your eyelashes fluttering closed. He could have you right here on the unforgiving bathroom counter and you’d only urge him on. Instead, he hauls you upright, steadying you when your knees nearly buckle under you, and kisses you again. His beard rasps against your skin, his tongue dips between your lips, and it all works in concert to make the ache in your core feel so overwhelming that you might cry. 

The two of you stumble towards the bedroom together, neither of you willing to break apart for long enough to find your way more easily. You manage to get Miguel’s shirt and undershirt off finally, and you feel immensely gratified by the soft groan you pull from him when you drag your nails down his chest. You stop at the foot of the bed, Miguel reaching behind you to try and find the zipper of your dress.

Part of you wants to tell him not to bother - with all the sounds of stitches ripping earlier, the delicate silk is probably beyond saving - but you take the opportunity while his hands are occupied to run your fingers through his dark curls. He’s always so put together for the rest of the world, but you adore messing with his hair; on rare occasions, he’ll let you comb your fingers through it while he rests his head in your lap. 

More stitches pop when Miguel finally gets the zipper undone and shoves your dress abruptly down your body, leaving it in an expensive pile on the floor as he focuses his attention on your bra. By the time he has you completely stripped, your chest is heaving as you try to catch your breath between kisses, your heart beating a rapid tattoo against your ribcage. 

“Bed,” he orders, even as he pushes you back onto the mattress. You do as you’re told, moving back until you reach the pillows and kicking the heavy duvet out of the way. Sitting with your back to the tufted headboard, you watch with hungry eyes as Miguel undresses the rest of the way. Your reaction to the sight and sound of him undoing his belt is practically Pavlovian; you can feel more slick pooling between your thighs as he does it. 

You drink in the sight of him greedily, eyes trailing over tanned skin and firm muscle. It’s a mutual act of voyeurism. He’s eyeing you predatorily, like he’s deciding on how best he wants to devour you. Neither of you takes your eyes off one another for a long moment, even as he moves to kneel on the bed at your feet. 

Miguel’s large hands cup your ankles first, his thumbs sweeping over the delicate jut of bone before sliding up your calves, your thighs, higher. You’re pliant for him, letting him open your legs so he can kneel between your thighs, so agonisingly close to where you want him most. It’s only as he spreads his hands over your hips that you realise what he’s looking at, and you squirm in discomfort. 

“Miguel, don’t-” you start, automatically trying to bring one of your hands down to cover your c-section scar. He ignores you, batting your hand away before grasping your hips again. His thumbs rub circles over your hipbones, just inches away from the scar you can’t stand. 

“Oh, mijita,” he murmurs, condescension creeping into his voice again. “This is Galindo territory. If I wanted to keep you in this bed until something stuck, I could.” As distractions go, it’s excellent. Your mind spins off in half a dozen directions at once. By the tone of his voice, you know he’s not referring to Santo Padre when he’s talking about territory. 

Whether he means either your bed or your body, you’ll gladly cede control to him like this. 

The feminist in you should feel ashamed at the way you crave his dominance and displays of strength, but you’d abandoned yourself to it years ago. He’d long since discovered that it was the perfect way to get you out of your own head. 

Miguel’s hands move up from your hips, coming to rest on either side of your head as he stretches his body out over yours. You wrap yourself around him eagerly, cradling his hips with your thighs and wrapping your arms around his broad torso so you can clutch at his back. The warm weight of him on top of you sends you squirming, seeking some sort of relief for your aching cunt. 

You surge forward and kiss him hard, whimpering against his mouth when you feel one of his hands slip between your bodies. He wraps his fingers around his cock, his knuckles brushing your slick folds and you flick your hips to try and chase the brief touch. 

“You’re so wet,” he manages, dragging the head of his cock through your slit. The feeling makes you wail, your cunt clenching pathetically around nothing. “I’m going to fuck you full, baby.” 

“God, do it, do it-” you gasp out, cutting yourself off with a sharp cry when he finally stops teasing and slides into you, burying himself to the hilt. Wet as you are, it’s still a stretch as he fills you, dragging you right back along that pleasure-pain knife edge. The two of you groan together when he bottoms out, your hands skittering along his back as you search for purchase and your eyes squeezing closed. 

Your nails sink into the skin of his shoulders when he pulls most of the way out, as though you can claw him back down to you. He doesn’t need the encouragement to sink back in again, but you swear you feel him pulse inside of you when you scratch your way down his back. Normally scratching at Miguel like that would get you punished, but he barely even falters as he starts to fuck you properly. 

Every hard thrust of his hips sends more heat licking through your veins, pleasure coiling so tightly in your belly that you can barely breathe. You can feel every low groan rumbling through Miguel’s chest as it escapes him. It’s impossible to tell where he ends and you begin, his cock pushing up against the very end of you. 

His hands, his huge hands that you love so much, settle on your waist and hold you tight so you don’t shift up the bed. The way he moves you so easily makes you feel helpless in the most thrilling, perverse way. He could crack you in two, and you’d only thank him for it. And now, with the weight of him on you and his grip on your waist, all you can do is lie there and take what he gives you. 

“Miguel-” His name escapes you as a pathetic little mewl between moans, and when you force your eyes open you nearly black out. He’s looking down at you with an intensity that makes you want to sob, a vivid reminder of the pleasure he took in trying to get you pregnant the first time. You’re agonisingly close to the edge, the muscles in your core cramping from being held taut for so long, and you try to shove one of your hands between your bodies. 

It doesn’t work. There’s not enough space between you, you can’t move Miguel’s solid chest enough to get room to slide your hand down, and you really do sob this time in frustration. 

“Miguel, please,” you manage, grabbing at one of his hands. “Please, please, I’m so close, I just need your fingers, please.” You’re in no state to eloquently ask for what you want; you’re surprised you can even recall your own name right now. You throw your head back in anticipation when Miguel takes your cue, his pace unchecked even as he slides his hand between you to find your clit. 

A ragged sound rips out of your mouth as he strokes your clit. There’s no technique to it, but it doesn’t matter; every pass of his fingers sends you spiralling higher, your body bearing down on him as you teeter on the brink. 

“Oh fuck.” Your voice sounds wrecked even to your own ears. “That’s it, ‘m so close, please Daddy, please Daddy-” you chant, until the tension in your belly suddenly snaps and sends you hurtling over the edge. Heat washes over your body, radiating out until you find yourself balling your fists and curling your toes at the intensity. 

Before you’ve even stopped trembling, Miguel’s hand finds your throat again and squeezes. It’s not enough pressure to cut your air off completely, but it’s enough to turn your moans into weak gasps. Your hands catch his wrist, urging him on, trying to get him to press tighter. You hope he leaves bruises. The sharp movements of his hips turn savage and he fucks you harder into the mattress as he presses down on your throat. You feel drunk on him, your head swimming as you try to clench down on him, to help him find his release the way he’d helped you. 

Miguel comes with a loud groan, his fingers tightening on your neck as he forces himself closer, trying to come as deeply in you as he can. The hand on your throat slackens, and you take a deep, gulping breath as you wait for your husband to come back to himself. His weight drops onto you as his muscles slacken and you wrap your arms around him. 

You let your eyes fall closed and run your fingers down his back, smiling to yourself when you feel him press kisses down your sternum. 

“Good girl,” he whispers against your breast as he pulls out of you, rolling off you and onto his side. You whine at the loss of him, still trying to catch your breath. It makes you jump when he touches your thigh unexpectedly, tugging it towards him. Still, you don’t bother to open your eyes until you feel his fingers at your cunt again. 

“Miguel-” you start, opening your eyes and looking down just in time to see him catch a drop of his come that had leaked out of you with his fingertip, and push it abruptly back into you. He must register the surprise on your face because he gives you that smug smile again. 

“You promised me that tonight was mine. Give Daddy half an hour and he’ll be able to go again, there’s my good girl,” he murmurs, half-dragging you into his arms. As much as you want to relax against his chest, you can’t help but pout up at him. It’s so casually condescending, but he had it right earlier; you like it so much, beyond all sense. Miguel notices the expression on your face, and the smirk on his face widens. 

“It’s not my fault you’re a terrible negotiator.” Miguel smooths your hair down and runs his hand down your back. You concede, letting yourself go boneless as he palms your ass, pressing you closer to him. “So smart, but so susceptible to my charms.” 

Taglist: @misscharlielulu, @avengersfan25

Poetry Translation: Mi patria está en tus ojos, yo camino por ellos, ellos dan luz al mundo por donde yo camino // My homeland is in your eyes, I walk through them, they light the world through which I walk.

[mrsamaroevans]

I Got You

Fandom: Mayans M.C.

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Reader.

Request: No.

Words: 770.

Warnings: Murder. So… I needed to write this ‘cause the other day I needed to see gifs of Miguel on season 5 ‘cause he looks gorgeous (fight me) and I still have two episodes left from the show so… I got spoilered (idk if that’s actually a word lol). I needed to give him a different ending so… probably there are spoilers in this? I don’t know… just, read carefully if you haven’ finished the show yet. (I’m very offended, tbh).

A/N: Gif not mine!

|| MY MASTERLIST ||

“Put the gun down”

Your husband's eyes locked with yours. He had a face you couldn’t quite decipher; as if he was surprised but glad that you were there, but at the same time, fear crossed his gaze. The metal in your hands felt cold and wrong. It wasn’t the first time you held a gun, but it was the first time you were attempting to use it to hurt someone.

“(Y/n)…” His voice. That familiar voice. The voice that used to calm you down whenever you were about to cry. The voice from whom you heard the best bits of advice. The same voice that you thought you were gonna hear forever.

‘Cause he was supposed to be your family. He was supposed to be there for you, he was supposed to protect you and never hurt you.

But he was there… with a gun in hand aiming at your husband. But it was like he was aiming at you.

“Ezekiel… put the gun down,” you said again. Your voice almost trembled and that only made you angrier. Ez was in your house about to kill your husband and he looked relaxed. He seemed so calm even though he was there to hurt you. He didn’t seem nervous, or afraid “Put the gun fucking down!”

The gun touched the back of his head when you took a step closer to him. Ez put his hand down. His gun now facing the floor as he slowly started turning to you.

“What are you doing?” Ez asked you once he was facing you.

“I’m doing what you should have done when Angel asked you to stop this bullshit. I’m protecting my family” you told him, stepping back without lowering your hands “Drop it”

Ez didn’t do it “I’m your family”

“No” you shook your head “Miguel is my family. My son is my family… you’re not, at least not anymore”

“So… this is how it ends?” Ez asked after a few seconds of silence. He was there. The same tanned skin, the same eyes, the same Ez. But not really. It was like, physically Ezekiel Reyes was standing in the living room of your house, but if you looked deeply into his eyes… the one standing in front of you was a stranger.

“You tell me” It was unbelievable. All of it. One day you two were playing in the Reyes’ backyard and now you’re both with the chance of ending each other’s lives in your hands “Drop the gun, Ez”

“I feel like I don’t know you”

“You do” You looked at Miguel who seemed alerted and then looked at the gun Ez was holding. His hold became firmer and you knew in that moment he wasn’t going to back down “I always lived to serve my family, you know that”

“I don’t know you”

“It’s me the one that should be saying that” Your eyes filled with tears. It was him or you, there was no point in thinking there was another ending “Drop the gun” your voice came out as a whisper.

“I never stopped seeing you as my sister, you know?”

Your hold weakened and he took that moment to aim at you. Everything happened pretty fast; his arm going up, your finger in the trigger, your body jerking back with the recoil of your gun. When you realized what had happened, Ez’s body was on the floor, a big red mark around him.

You killed your best friend.

“Hey” You heard Miguel’s voice but you couldn’t look away from what you had done, so he took your chin and made you look at him.

“He was going to kill you” was the first thing you said. You felt tears in your cheeks not knowing when you started weeping “He was going to get kill everyone in the club, he was going to kill me…”

“I wouldn’t let that happen” he assured you “We’re you and I against it all, remember?”

You couldn’t nod ‘cause your crying didn’t let you. Your body started to shake as Miguel held you close. You buried your face on his chest, the blood on your face marked his shirt but he just held you tighter, as he could take all your pain to his own body.

“I want you to talk to me” Miguel whispered later that night. Your head on his chest, you could feel your hair a little wet still from the shower “Whenever you want or need to, okay?” His lips touched your head and that made you tear up again “’Cause I got you”

“I got you, too”

|| MY MASTERLIST ||

[plentyoffandoms]

Feb 2024 Author/Fic Recommendations

I am going to be treating this like my own personal library for my favourite stories, so that way, I can come back and read them again and again.

If I have someone's full Masterlist listed, that is because I love their work and everything they write is good to me.

Please heed peoples warnings & tags. Some stories are 18+.

Masterlist - @valeskafics (18+) truly read everything. Just chefs 💋 - House of the Dragon, Game of Thrones, Saltburn, Ewan Mitchell Character's, & so much more.

Mafia 141 - @groguspicklejar (18+) - Call of Duty

Business Trip - @drabbles-mc - Miguel Galindo x F!Reader

Tear in My Heart: Mission Happily Ever After? - @im-just-a-mississippi-girl - Pairing: Single!Dad Matt Jackson x Teacher!Reader (wrestling)

Simon Says - @hidden-ember (18+) - captain john Price x fem!reader | simon Ghost riley x fem!reader - Call of Duty

Daddy's Biggest Fan (Drabble) - @theworldofotps - Hook x Reader (Wrestling)

Masterlist (18+) - @konigsblog - multiple COD characters. Hard to pick a fav story

Richie Jerimovich Masterlist (18+) - @foreveraimingtowardsthesky will read the others, by love the Richie stuff so far

Safe - @madhatterbri - AU Will Osprey

Photograph - @madhatterbri - AU Hangman Adam Page

[berberriescorner]

“Are You Listening?”

Part Three: “Bad Idea”

Characters: Rio x Black!Reader.

Summary: It’s part three…expect the unexpected.

Warnings: Profanity, angst, fluff, drinking, and drama.

Word Count: 5,900+.

A/N: I just wanted to thank my lovelies again for showing this story so much love. I had no idea people would love it this much. Thank you for all the sweet, hilarious comments and asks💓. Enjoy the chaos😂😏😈.

"Are You Listening?" - The Playlist:

Apple Music.

Spotify.

Part One Here.

Part Two Here.

Inspired By:

Dark clouds filled the evening sky as a drizzle fell against your windshield. Your thoughts were adrift as you fought to make a proper decision. There were only two choices. Accept the offer and hope for a positive outcome, or leave immediately. The loud vibration of your phone halted your decision-making. Sucking in a shaky breath, you accepted the call. It was your best friend. The word hello barely left your lips as she began firing off questions.

“Did you make it to your destination safely? Are you sure it’s smart to be around him right now? Should you trust him?”

You cut your friend off.

“Sis, calm down. Let me answer at least one of your questions.”

“Seriously though, Y/N. How did he find you?”

“He didn’t find me, per se. We’re just in the same state, city, and establishment. Ironic as it may seem.”

“That’s just a little too coincidental for my liking. Look, just be careful and keep your guard up dealing with him. Y/N, you’ve got enough shit going on. There’s no need to fan the flames. Your situation is bad enough. Accept his offer but keep your head on a swivel. Now, take your ass inside that building. Call me once you’ve settled for the night. Do you need money, sis?”

“How’d you know I’m sitting in the car? Yes, I’m good on cash. I withdrew half of our joint account before I left town. I should’ve emptied the account and made his damn pockets hurt.”

“It’s my job to know. You’re my best friend. I agree you should’ve drained that account, girl.”

You inhaled, attempting to calm your nerves, “alright. I’m going in. I’ll call you later with an update. Love you, sis.”

Even after ending the call, you spent a few more minutes in the driver's seat of your vehicle. 

Oh, fuck this. Let me just see where it goes. It’s been years since I’ve been here. It wouldn’t hurt to accept the help of a familiar face.

Exiting the car, you enabled the lock as you walked towards the luxurious hotel lobby. Halfway across the threshold, you felt his presence to your left.

“I was starting to think you had changed your mind. It was as if I could see the thoughts racing through your pretty little head from the lobby window, sweetheart. I’m glad you decided to accept my assistance.”

“I’m not sure I’ve decided to do so. Listen, I appreciate the hotel recommendation, but don’t you think it’s odd, maybe even inappropriate?”

“Why’s that? Are you afraid that I’ll inform your husband of your whereabouts?”

“Cut the shit. Why are you being so helpful? What’s the real motive here?”

“Listen, believe it or not, we’re family. Just because you’re mad at Rio doesn’t mean I should just leave you out here all alone. I don’t plan on telling him I saw you. There are no plans to notify him of your location. I’m securing a place for you to stay because I wouldn’t feel right leaving you to sort everything out alone. I have no idea why you’ve left my dumbass cousin. The fact that you packed your bags and just left suggests it’s serious. I won’t pry. Tell me or don’t, but I will secure and pay for your entire stay here. No arguments.”

“If Christopher finds out you’re helping me stay away from him, he’ll explode. The two of you already have a strenuous relationship.”

“If he finds out. Then he’ll just have to get over it. I honestly don’t give a damn, darlin’.”

“What are you even doing in California, Nick?”

“I’m here on business.”

“What kind of business?”

“I’ll answer that once you explain why you left your husband. What exactly did my cousin do, sweetheart?”

Rolling your eyes at Nick, you walked over to the hotel clerk. She greeted you with a warm welcome, offering you help. Giving her your last name, she informed you that you were staying in the penthouse. About to object and ask for something smaller and less expensive, Nick interjected.

“It’s already been taken care of, cousin.”

Your head snapped in his direction with an incredulous expression.

“Are you out of your mind? No, on second thought, you're not paying for my stay here. I’m not letting you put me in a penthouse and allow people to think I’m your whore. Do you have any idea how that will look, Nick? Are you crazy? You must want Christopher to kill both of us. No wonder you two don’t get along. You love pushing his buttons. The whole damn family’s crazy.”

“Are you finished with your little tirade?”

“I see that you’re also a sarcastic asshole like Christopher.”

“Did you miss the point where I had no intentions of Rio finding out? Just take the room, and enjoy the luxury. I’m sure my cousin has been putting you up in the nicest of places since the day he laid eyes on you.”

“I’m starting to feel like you’re implying I’m a gold digger. Tread lightly. I’d hate to have to kick you in the nuts. Now do us both a solid and change the damn room. Be glad that I’m accepting your help, to begin with.”

“I think it’s best if you know something. I'm just as pushy and controlling as your old man, sweetheart. We both know I’m helping and paying, no matter what you say.”

“Switch. The. Damn. Room,” you growled.

“Fine. Jesus, you’re just as stubborn as your husband.”

“That offer to kick you in the balls still stands. Please stop tempting me.”

“I have a business meeting here at the hotel. I made arrangements for my associate to stay here for a few days. He’s a man of luxury. I’ll switch the rooms for the two of you.”

“Yes, do that, Nick.”

“I’ve got to admit I enjoy hearing you say my name.”

You had grown tired of his antics and landed a sharp jab on his chest.

“One more inappropriate comment and I’ll leave to figure things out myself. I don’t know what you think is happening between Christopher and me, but we are married.”

Not for long, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Even if I were single, I wouldn’t give you a second glance, honey. Please do not fool yourself.”

“Why is that? Am I not rough enough around the edges, like your hubby?”

“You honestly want to know?’

Nick shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “sure, why not?”

“You’re overly arrogant, and your sense of entitlement is ridiculous.”

He started to interject, but you pressed on.

“I’m no fool, Nick. Deep down inside, you’re hoping that somehow, some way, Rio finds out. I see you. You’ve been sparring with my husband his entire life. You’ve spent your life trying to prove that you are the bigger, better man than Rio. What’s the difference between you two? Nick, you’ve spent your entire existence having everything handed to you. All while my husband did the heavy lifting, grunt work, and the bids. Or have you forgotten about that? Rio earned his empire. He got it out the mud. You just sat and watched, sticking your hand out to take a chunk when it was all said and done. While Rio can be arrogant, it’s warranted. He can talk his shit and back it up.”

Although I’m pissed to the highest level and treading the waters of divorce, I’ll be damned if he sits here and insults everything Rio has worked hard to accomplish.

“Do not flatter yourself. You’re nowhere near half the man my husband is.”

Even if he is a cheating ass bitch.

“Such a beautiful, passionate rebuttal, and yet you’re here. With me, might I add, after walking out on mi primo. Let’s just call a truce. I’ll try not to flirt with you, but I won’t lie and say my cousin doesn’t have good taste,” he teased.

I just insulted him, and he’s still thirsty. Lord, help me.

“For the love of God, Nick!”

“Okay, I’ll back off. Now let’s get you settled into your room, shall we? I’ll accompany you back to your car. Carry your bags up to your room,” he responded, throwing his hands up in surrender.

With squared shoulders, you lifted your chin into the air.

“That won’t be necessary. Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”

“Why do I feel you’re trying to get away from me? Are my good looks too much of a temptation for you?”

“Boy, stop! Don’t nobody want your shallow, overconfident, big-headed ass.”

“You’re so mean, mama.”

Did this motherfu-I know he didn’t just say that! Now he’s pushing it!

Moving closer, you crowded his space. The smirk dancing along the corners of his lips proved he knew the nickname he used was out of line and disrespectful. You looked around. Making sure he’d be the only one to hear what you had to say. Through clenched teeth, your words dripped with venom.

“So long as we both have breath in our bodies, don’t you ever make the mistake of calling me that again. Please do not get it confused or twisted. Rio did not marry a weak bitch. Call me that again. I’ll do Rio a solid and spray you full of bullets myself.”

“Aww, why not, sweetheart? Does it make you miss hubby?”

“Keep playing with me, Nick. It won’t be funny to you when I want to laugh too. I’m over this conversation. Thank you for the room. Now, leave me alone. Go make yourself someone else’s problem.”

“Fine. I’ll come by and check on you later, prima.”

“No, you will not. Goodbye, Nick.”

If Christopher finds out about this, he will lose the little sense he has left. Wait, why do I even care? It’s fuck him from here on out.

“I Gave You More Than You Wanted. I Gave You More Than You Needed. So Tell Me, How Does It Feel To Lose The One You Believe In?”

-Chloë.

The suite turned out to be very spacious and elegant. Much better than the cramped room you had stayed in the night before. You trudge through the doorway of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. It hadn’t taken long for you to unpack and settle in. Fresh out of a hot shower, you mope to the bed and fling yourself backward. Thoughts race through your head. You hadn’t taken the time to soak in everything. You were too busy trying to run from the situation at hand. Yes, there had been many crying sessions and stewing in anger. Now that you were in another state and settled, it hit you.

Did I just walk away from everything I’ve known for the last four years? The one person I trusted with my heart. My soul. He ripped it out and stepped on it. The audacity. The unmitigated gall to play with my love and emotions. Did he? Rio did that shit, right? How can he possibly have a reasonable explanation?

“You Never Miss A Good Thing ‘Til It Leaves You. And Finally, I Relaize That I Need You. I Want You Back. Baby Girl, I Need You Back. Gotta Have You Back, Babe.”

-Usher.

Just as the tears started to roll down your face, a call came through. You huffed, tapping the ignore button. Seconds later, it started again. The call went unanswered a second time, and a text came through.

It’s me. Please answer your phone.

The phone lit up once more. With a heavy sigh, you accepted the call.

“What do you want, Mick? I don’t want to talk to him, and he knows that.”

“Since you won’t communicate with him. I’m in charge of finding out if you’re okay. I’d personally like to know myself. You good boss lady?”

“Mentally and emotionally, we both know the answer is no. Physically? I’m breathing and somewhat eating. That’s the best I can give you. I appreciate you checking on me. As for your boss? He can go fuck himself. Goodbye, Mick.”

“Hold up, boss lady. I need to see it for myself.”

Mick sent a FaceTime request. With an irritated sigh, you angle the camera so he’d only see your face and a white wall. You begrudgingly accepted the call.

“See. Just fine.”

He frowned as he looked at your red puffy eyes.  Mick could tell you hadn’t been sleeping much.

“Yes, I’m aware my eyes are puffy. I’ll be fine. Bye, Mick.”

Mick was about to plead with you to come home, but his face vanished from the screen. Your eyes sparked with resentment and anger as Rio appeared.

“Mama…”

“What part of I don’t want to speak to you don’t you comprehend,” you spat.

“Can you just fuckin’ listen to me?”

“You suddenly have so much to say! That’s because you no longer have me sitting at home. I’m no longer playing my role as your stupid little unsuspecting wife. No, not anymore. Stay the fuck away from me. Don’t call, don’t text me. Tell your boys to stop looking for me. There is nothing we need to discuss!” “Oh, I’ma keep calling and texting. Please, believe me. Mama, I will find you. You’re coming home; we gon’ work this shit out. Just let me explain everything. You’ll feel silly when it’s all said and done, darlin’.”

“You Didn’t Say It, But You Said It…”

-Chloë.

“Did you fuck that bitch, Rio?”

He looked at you with anger written on his face as his jaw flexed.

“That’s what the fuck I thought. Silence speaks volumes. Fuck out my face. Go find your whore and live a shitty life.”

“Ma-.”

You ended the FaceTime, not giving him another moment of your time.

I'm Going Out Of My Mind, And I'm Running Out Of Time. Oh, I Just Wish I Could Find You, Girl.

-Usher.

Rio stood there, rage coursing through his body. He gripped the phone in his hand tightly, “Fuck!”

“Anything I can do,” Mick questioned.

Rio took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He handed Mick his phone.

“Let’s take a ride. Red better have a plan. If I don’t get my wife back soon, it’s game over for her.”

“You think she’s the reason behind this?”

“It doesn’t appear that she knows what’s going on. We both know that her innocent deer-in-headlights expression can sometimes be a facade.”

“You’re right about that.”

“We have to find her. I have to fix this. Real shit, man, I need her. I love that stubborn ass woman.”

“Then let’s handle business and get her back.”

“Loved You More Than Ever, More Than My Own Life. The Best Part Of Me I Gave You, And It Was Sacrificed.

-Beyoncé.

Still reeling from the conversation, you tossed your phone across the bed. Everything was just too much. You were overflowing with anger, sadness, and grief. The betrayal of it all had you drowning. A sorrowful cry spilled from your lips as you curled into a ball. You remained in that position, cradling your face until sleep consumed you.

Hours later, your eyes fluttered open. The sun had set, and your room darkened from nightfall. Your feet flung off the side of the bed as a headache throbbed in your temples. The rumbles coming from your stomach echoed throughout the room.

I haven’t had shit since this morning. This stupid ass man got me going through it. I need a damn drink.

You called the front desk to ask if room service was still available. To your surprise, the clerk recommended the hotel restaurant. She explained that both tables and bar space were available. You thanked her for the recommendation as you dug through your wardrobe.

Let me at least look presentable. I can’t be walking around this nice hotel looking bummy. If I play my cards right, I may find my next husband. Nope, scratch that. Fuck these cheating ass men.

Rio sat slumped in the passenger seat with Mick at the wheel. Leaning back on the headrest with his hood pulled up. Rio sat there as his mind kept going over everything. They pulled into the park, waiting for dingbat and her crew. Once they were in sight, Rio gave his boy a nod. Mick exited the car, exchanging duffle bags with Beth. She told him she would have the next one ready at the appointed time. 

“Did you find a way to handle the situation we discussed the other day?”

Beth shook her head with pleading eyes. She promised to find a way to get to the bottom of it. Mick nodded in reply. As she started to leave, Mick halted everyone’s movements.

“Backseat now. We’re going for a ride.”

With a frightened look, Beth started walking toward the vehicle. Mick stopped her again.

“Not you. I’m talking to you half pint,” Mick ordered, pointing at Annie.

Annie’s eyes stretched wide as the three women gawked at him. With a devious smile, he taunted, “don’t worry, I’ll take real good care of her.”

Beth walked over to the passenger window and pounded on it. She took two steps back when Rio rolled down his window. The look he gave stole the breath from her lungs. 

“Is there a problem, darlin’,” his question dripped with danger.

“I told you I would get you answers. I-I just need a little more time.”

“That’s cool, but you may want to watch your nephew for little sister. His mama’s going to kick it with Mick for a bit. Got a little side hustle for her.”

“I can do it.”

“Did I ask you to?” Rio snapped.

“Please keep her safe,” she whimpered.

“Get me that information. Baby sister will come back better than she left. Stay safe, Elizabeth. We don’t want anything bad happening to the little mama to be right? It’s not very responsible of you to be downing liquor bottles, don’t you think,” Rio questioned in a knowing tone.

Elizabeth looked at him with fear in her eyes.

“I notice everything, darlin’. We’re going to take a ride tomorrow. Just the two of us. Check on the little bambino.”

He rolled up his window before she could say anything else. They sped off, leaving Beth to explain everything to Ruby.

Not wanting to turn too many heads, you settled on a simple black dress. You figured it was appropriate, given that it matched your mood. The form-fitting bodycon paired well with the dark red heeled sandals and lipstick you sported. Checking that the room key was inside your handbag, you exited the room.

The hostess gave you a warm greeting. She granted your request for a seat at the bar. As you claimed your spot, the gentleman behind the bar asked for your drink of choice. His eyes had roamed your body from the minute you sat down. It hadn’t gone unnoticed. Prepared to answer his question with disinterest, someone stepped up next to you. Strong hands braced against the top of the bar. A silky baritone sounded, making your breath hitch.

Are you serious? Who else am I going to run into? This day is beyond me. Maybe it’s not him. I have to be trip-.

“She’ll have a whiskey sour. That’s what she used to drink whenever a frown touched that beautiful face.”

Yes. That would be the one and only.

You turned your head slowly to take in the familiar voice. His face was as beautiful as you had remembered it.

“Hello, mi amor. May I join you? I could use a drink myself.”

Confusion and shock danced across your face. You looked back and forth between the thirsty bartender and your long-lost friend. His eyes connected with yours as that handsome smile crept across his face. He signaled for the bartender to go ahead with the order. Taking the seat next to you, he chuckled at your expression.

“It’s nice to see you after all these years, querida. What brought you back here? Last I checked, you were happily in love. Are you and the husband here on business?”

Hearing him mention Rio snapped you out of it.

“Miguel,” you whispered.

His eyes crinkled as he gave you another beaming smile.

“It’s good to see you again. How have you been? Are you enjoying married life? What’s it been a year or two since the I Do’s?”

The smile that had occupied your lips for a moment faltered. Your eyes started to water as you looked away and faced the bar. Miguel’s hand covered yours gently. 

“What is it, sweetheart? Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Just as you were about to answer him, a familiar pain in your ass sounded off behind the two of you.

“Yes, prima. I’d like to know what’s going on as well. Most importantly, how do you know my associate here,” Nick questioned.

Nick waited for an answer as he sat there looking smug. A knowing look crept onto his face as if he had discovered a secret.

“How do you two know each-wait? Prima? You’re related to her husband?”

“What business are you two dealing in? Are you working with Rio, Miguel?”

Before he could answer, Nick answered for him.

“Relax, prima. It’s my business deal. Rio isn’t involved. We do have individual businesses. We butt heads too much to do everything together.”

“I wouldn’t do business with your husband without telling you, querida. Then there is the fact that we’ve never met in person. The meeting is my first encounter with your cousin. I’m sure you know Rio wouldn’t want to go into business with me.”

“And why is that? He used to tap that or something, prima? Maybe I should give Rio a call.”

“Are you interested in talking about business or not, Nick? That is the only thing that needs to be questioned or discussed,” Miguel responded in an aggravated tone.

“Hey, whatever you say, man. She knows I’m just teasing.”

“Then perhaps you should find someone else to aggravate. The lovely lady certainly doesn’t enjoy it. Is our table ready?”

“Yes,” Nick bit back.

“Then let’s get this over with. I do have other business to attend to. You have my attention for the next hour. We aren’t starting on a good note, wouldn’t you agree, Nick? You need to fix that. I assume the warehouse visit has been scheduled and prepped for tomorrow. Let’s make our way to our reserved table.”

“Right this way.”

Miguel’s hand gave your shoulder a light squeeze before he got up to follow Nick. 

“I’m sure you still have Nestor’s number,” he asked, tilting his head toward his security/cousin. 

“If you need anything, give me a call. It was a pleasure running into you, querida.”

You gave him a weak smile and nodded softly. Turning back to the bar, you downed the whiskey sour. Your fingers tapped the bar for another. The drink was halfway to your lips when Rio started blowing your phone up. With a deep sigh, you ignore it and turn your phone off.

“Bartender? Go ahead and bring me two more.”

The universe is funny as fuck. This man’s going to find me. I can just feel it.

You rubbed your temples as you contemplated where to go from here. One hour, four drinks later, you sat there wallowing in your pain. Thankfully you had made a conscious decision after the last drink to switch to a glass of red wine. Feeling buzzed, you decided it would be your last drink of the night. Taking your time with it, you nursed it for a while. Just as you had swirled the remaining liquid in its glass, Miguel reclaimed his seat from earlier.

“A penny for your thoughts, querida?”

Your eyes drifted from the stem of your wine glass to Miguel’s face. He noticed that you were slightly inebriated. His hand reached up and brushed your hair out of your face. The palm of his hand rested on your cheek.

“Don’t you have other meetings to get to?”

“I just wanted that smug asshole to hurry up and discuss the deal. The sooner we did that, the quicker your dear cousin would be gone,” he replied sarcastically.

“Hmm. Smug bastard, huh? That best describes his thick-headed ass,” you toast, downing the last of the wine.

“You shouldn’t be drinking at a bar by yourself, amor. I’ve watched half the men in here ogle you the entire time you’ve been here. Come. Nestor and I will escort you to your room.”

Miguel didn’t want to give you time to protest or continue drinking. He paid your tab and held his hand out. You stared at it for a moment.

“Though you’re wearing heels, those cute little legs still dangle from the stool. Come, sweetheart. I promise to be a respectable gentleman. I don’t make it a habit of approaching married women,” he chuckled.

Not giving it any more thought, your hand gently grasped as he helped you down. The elevator ride was quiet. That was until you blurted the one question that lingered in the back of your mind.

“Where’s your wife, Miguel?”

You noticed how his jaw ticked, nostrils flaring slightly.

“She had other plans tonight,” he answered.

Before you could ask him to elaborate, the elevator dinged.

“I do believe this is your floor.”

Miguel placed his hand on the small of your back. Nestor stepped aside, allowing you two to step out first. He asked for your hotel key as you walked down the hall. You turned the corner as you placed the key card in his hand.

“You said the first door on the left, right?”

“Ye-.”

You lost your train of thought as you started to panic. There was a large bouquet of yellow roses in front of your door.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong, querida,” Miguel asked as he rubbed the small of your back.

The worry in your eyes set off alarm bells in his mind. Miguel took a look and noticed the flowers. The distress about possibly working with Rio. The teasing from Nick. He turned to face you, blocking the view of your door. His hand caressed your face.

“Tell me the truth. Are you in danger? Did you leave your husband, querida,” he whispered as he searched your eyes for the truth. 

No longer able to keep the emotions bottled up, your lip trembled as the tears slipped down your face. You nodded slowly. Miguel frowned at the response. He pulled you into an embrace as you cried into his chest. His hands rubbed your back as he attempted to soothe you.

The two of you stayed that way for a few moments. Pulling back from his embrace, you wiped at your tears. Miguel’s hands slid up and down your arms.

“Did he hurt you,” he asked, jaw ticking again.

“Rio would never put hands on me. He-he.”

Unable to finish the sentence, a fresh set of tears spilled.

“Okay, okay. Shhh. I think I’m starting to understand. Come here.”

He embraced you again. Once he calmed you, Miguel escorted you to the door. He nodded at Nestor, signaling him to pick up the flowers. Unlocking your suite, he grabbed the flowers and followed you inside.

“Thanks for getting me here safely. Sorry, I just unloaded all my emotions on you like a crazy person.”

“It’s fine, querida. That’s what friends are for. We were close once. Lost time won’t affect that.”

His thumbs swept residual tears away. He bent to your feet and helped you out of your heels. Standing, he grabbed your hand and held it. His finger lifted your chin.

“Try and get some rest. Come deadbolt the door behind me.”

Following him to the door, you watched as he opened the suite door. Stepping into the hallway, he turned to speak with Nestor.

“Have one of the other men come and watch her door for the night. If it’s not me, no one gets in here. Don’t even let them knock. Watch the door until your replacement gets here.”

Nestor nodded in agreement taking his position in front of your door. Miguel turned to you, his hand running down your arm again.

“If you need me, I’m on the top floor. Just ask whoever is guarding the door to call me. Better yet, here. Call me if you need anything.”

Miguel handed you a card that had both his business and personal number.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“I’m serious.”

“I’ll be fine, Miguel. Rio’s just adamant about us staying together. He would never physically harm me.”

“You can’t blame him for wanting to work it out. Any man would be a fool not to fight for you. Still, if you need me, call me.”

“Yeah, because Emily would just love that. She’s never been fond of me.”

“Don’t worry about her. I’m the least of my wife’s worries at the moment.”

No longer wanting to discuss his personal life, Miguel pecked your forehead.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Locking the deadbolt behind him, you made your way to the bedroom. Stripping out of the tight dress, you bundled up in a complimentary robe. Falling into the couch, you turned your phone back on. Six texts and two voicemails. You rolled your eyes. Noticing the flowers, you mumbled to yourself, “fucking Nick probably snitched. Little shit.”

You snatched the card from the bouquet and flipped it over. Your breathing sped up as your mind started to race.

What the fuck? I don’t need this shit. What next?

Hands trembling, you re-read the card.

“I see hubby’s out of the picture. Who’s going to protect you now? What better way to kick Rio when he’s down? He would probably be beside himself if his precious jewel came up missing. Stay safe, pretty lady.”

To top it off, now I have to run from his ops too? You have to be shitting me!

Snatching the door open, Nestor saw the look of fright in your eyes.

“The flowers aren’t from my husband. I’m pretty sure whoever sent them just threatened me. Tell Miguel I appreciate everything he did tonight, but I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

Nestor talked you down. He instructed you to grab anything needed for the night and lock up. In less than twenty minutes, Nestor was escorting you to Miguel. He was anxiously waiting for your arrival. His hands instantly cradled your face.

“You’re staying with me for the night. We’ll figure out where you’ll go from here in the morning. Sleep in the bedroom. I’ll take the couch.”

“That’s nonsense. I can sleep on the couch.”

“No, you won’t. No arguments.”

“Why are most men in my life so damn bossy.”

“They also seem to have the same types of occupation. You don’t seem to like men who like legal work, querida.”

“Ha, ha. You’re so hilarious.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Those mentioned tend to be extremely successful at it,” Miguel replied with a shit-eating grin.

“Anyway.”

The conversation was interrupted by yet another call from Rio.

“Look, I'm going to have to answer him. I’ve been ignoring him for hours now. I know his veins are about to pop out of his neck.”

You excused yourself, taking the call in his bathroom.

“For someone who’s always so busy, you sure are blowing up my phone. Go back to ignoring me, please. I don’t have the energy to go back and forth with you, Rio. I’m tired and stressed out.”

“Just come home, mama. I’ll leave and stay somewhere else. Just come home,” he slurred.

“Are you at that stupid bar that demands your attention as well? Go home, Rio. Sleep off the liquor.”

“I gotta be near you, mama. Who's going to protect you? What if someone tries to harm you while you’re not with me? I can’t live with that shit. I need my wife to come home. Come on, mama.”

“It’s a little too late to protect me now. Isn’t it? Don’t worry about me, Rio. I can handle this shit myself,” you snapped, quickly regretting the last sentence.

“Handle what shit, mama,” he barked.

Fuck.

He instantly knew something was up.

“It’s okay, Rio. I’m a big girl. Luckily my stupid ass husband taught me how to use a gun. You know I stay strapped.”

“Either come home or tell me where the fuck you are. I’m going to light whatever city you’re in up. Better yet, I’m about to spray any suspected target.”

“Don’t be stupid. There is no need to start a war on my behalf.”

“I’m not going back and forth about this anymore. Tell me where you are.”

“No, goodbye, Rio.”

“Don’t fucking hang-.”

Miguel stood propped against the door frame.

“I know he fucked up, but it sounds like he wants to keep you out of harm’s way.”

“Don’t, Miguel.”

He placed his hands up in surrender.

“If he can’t do that for you, I will.”

Yeah, cause my husband would just love that. Jesus, be a therapist. I need Iyanla to come and fix my life, bruh.

“I Can Understand Why You Want A Divorce Now. Though I Can’t Let You Know It, Pride Won’t Let Me Show It.

-Jay Z.

Rio had been sitting in his bar for a few hours. Though the argument made him even more aggravated, he took your advice. He wasn’t in the mood to take a chance at catching a DUI. Rio instructed Mick to drive him home.

He swaggered into the family room and lounged on the couch. The house was painfully quiet without your presence. Rio’s thoughts drifted to you as his chest tightened at the thought of you being in danger. Sighing, he closed his eyes in an attempt to shake the negative thoughts. Your scent still lingered throughout the house. Nothing seemed to help him shake the memories and intrusive thoughts. His eyes fluttered open, nostrils flaring. Rio was trying to be patient with you, but it was starting to wear thin. You could be mad for however long, but divorce was out of the question. Could he do a better job at loving you? Yes, and he was willing to do so. Would you be willing to give him another chance? 

Rio’s buzz had started to wear off. Blowing out a breath, he stared at a picture of you two. The frame on the console table contained a photo from your first anniversary. Shaking his head, he stood up and walked over to the bar cart. Throwing back another glass of brown liquor, he fixed one more and reclaimed his seat. He asked Alexa to play a specific song. The lyrics hit home as he nodded to the beat and recited them. Song Cry by Jay Z flowed through the entertainment system.

“They say you can’t turn a bad girl good, but once a good girl’s gone bad, she’s gone forever. Mourn forever. Shit, I gotta live with the fact I did you wrong forever.”

What happened to everybody deserves a second chance, mama? Damn, I miss my wife.

Sis can't catch a break, huh lovelies😩😆? I hope you all enjoyed part three. More drama to come in part four! I can't wait for you all to read what happens next. Can't say for sure when part four will be done and ready for posting. I'm still taking things slow. Please, please, please love, reblog, and comment. I would love to hear from you all. My ask box is open as well. I missed y'all, man!

Be sure to check out the playlist I created for this fic. It's on both Apple Music and Spotify. The links are towards the top of this post (in case you missed. Still adding to it, so if you have any song suggestions just drop an ask. The playlist is pretty lengthy and it's best on shuffle in my opinion. Thank you once again for all the support. Words can't express how appreciative I am. Love y'all🥹🫶🏾! Keep scrolling for another bomb-ass mood board (saved it for the end so it wouldn't spoil the reveal)🥰.

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[imagineredwood]

"Enjoying the fruit?"

Pairing: Yandere!Miguel Galindo x female reader

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: Triggering content possibly; read with caution. Dark Miguel, could be seen as kidnapping if you squint, more like false imprisonment really.

A/N: This idea came from booktok and also prompts from this prompt list

You hummed as you swallowed the sweet fruit, your finger coming up to wipe away the dribble of juice that ran down your chin. The fruit Miguel got you was always sweet. The sweetest actually. He made sure of it. All of your food was always tried and tested before it made it to your plate to ensure you only ever got the absolute best of the best. Miguel was just like that when it came to you. With most things actually. 

You always had the sweetest fruit, the freshest veggies, the purest juices, the prettiest dresses.

Miguel loved you in dresses. 

He loved the way the style of the dress could change your energy. How the soft flowly dresses made you want to sit by the window and bask in the sunlight, maybe open the sliding door to feel the wind blow the fabric against your skin. 

How tighter dresses that were so short you could barely sit in them made you sometimes blush and rub your thighs together. Sometimes they were just nightgowns, plain but soft and cozy, making you feel ethereal and docile. 

You only ever wore dresses for that reason. Because that's what Miguel liked; so that's what he bought you. That's what your wardrobe consisted of. 

Your dress today was lilac, soft, and light against your skin. It was warm and ran a little past your knees, leaving your feet and ankles exposed. You shook your foot, the chain jingling against the shackle and frowned at the noise. 

Sometimes you forgot about it. It wasn't too heavy, light enough for you to be able to move around the house, but heavy enough that you had felt like a boulder was tied to you when he had first put it on. Now with the months that had passed, you were used to the feeling, sometimes the sight being what reminded you when the hem of your dress was shorter.

That and when you forgot and tried to venture out of the room. He allowed you a good bit of freedom. He let you go wherever in the house you wanted really; you just had to be secured. Metal hooks were bolted into random hidden areas of the house. You were currently stuck to the one fastened to the underside of the granite coffee table. 

It hadn't always been like this. Once upon a time, you had been able to walk around the entire house on your own, from room to room, inside to outside, then back again. You had been his little perfect girl, always on his arm to events or dinners. It had been going so well. 

That was until you had tried to leave him. 

It had been a small fight. Simple really. 

He had canceled on you and your pre-planned dinner date plans to have a business meeting for the third time that month and you had been angry. So you grabbed your purse and keys and left. 

You hadn't actually been leaving the relationship. You were simply taking a break. A night to yourself to drive around and blow off some steam. You hadn't told him that though and when three in the morning had rolled around with no sight of you, his guards patrolling the streets for hours looking for you with no such luck, he had been sure that you were leaving him for good. Gone like a thief in the night. No call, no text, no note. Just gone. 

And boy had it made him angry. 

After all he had done for you? The gifts? The wine? The vacations? The love? The adoration? The worship?

Oh, angry was an understatement, and the disarray in the living room had been a testament to that. Flipped tables and scattered shards of glass.  

You had returned early the next morning, of course, never having planned to truly leave. All you had needed was some time to cry and cool down. You had gotten that and now had calmed down considerably, ready to return to your husband and home. 

And that was how you had ended up with the shackle. 

Placed onto your ankle while you slept.

Your departure had been the straw that broke the camel's back and Miguel had become unhinged then, and swore he would never let you leave and put yourself into harm's way again. Only he could truly love and protect you. No one else. And he had to make you see that. 

The sound of his voice from behind you broke you out of your reverie and you turned to face him.  

His eyes were warm and full of love as he looked at you, crossing the way over until he stood in front of you. He smiled down at you, his eyes trailing to your mouth where the juice from the dragon fruit had stained a bit. He reached up and rubbed at your chin lightly, eyes crinkling in the corners. 

"Enjoying the fruit?"

You nodded and offered a smile of your own, but it didn't quite reach your eyes and Miguel noticed immediately. 

"What's the matter?"

You hesitated and then shrugged as if to make it seem like it weren't a big deal. Looking down, you shook your foot, the chain jingling loudly in the silence of the room.

Miguel looked down and sighed before reaching up to cradle your cheek in his hand.

"It's for your own good, mi amor. You ran away. You could've gotten taken. Hurt. Killed. Or worse. There are plenty of men out there who are evil and would love nothing more than you pick you up and steal you away from me. I can't let that happen, you know that. I'll let you go when you understand this is where you belong." 

You nodded, easing into his touch. You'd asked before a handful of times and had gotten the same schpeal. It had been months now though. Surely you had earned his trust back by now? 

"I just hate this thing. I don't need it anymore. I'm yours, I know that. I always knew that. I just...I want to walk around free again." 

Turning back slightly to look out of the sliding doors longingly. 

"I miss swimming."

Miguel sighed at your longing look and tone before nodding gently. He softly took your chin into his grasp, turning you to face him again. His touch was gentle, but the gravel in his voice as he leaned his forehead against yours was anything but. 

"I'll take it off. But remember, I'll follow you to the ends of the earth. No matter where you run, I'll catch you."

You nodded, knowing all of his words were true. You offered him a smile and just like that, his voice was silk again as he reached into his suit jacket and retrieved the little key. Sitting down, he patted his knee and you lifted your leg, placing your bare foot down onto his slacks. He slid the key in and looked up at you before turning it. 

"This is your last chance."

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl @elcococruz @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast @iambabyharry @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114 @saturnsaree @multiyfandomgirl40 @destynelseclipsa @sadeyesgf @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben @all-the-boys-to-the-yard @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses @weirdosandhopelessromantics @kola95 @black-repunzel99 @xonickibaby @cruzwalters @myakai13 @mrsstevenbuchananstark @lyly00 @kaystacks17 @cole-winchester  @alexxavicry @kaykaysuh @savagemickey03  @fanfic-n-tabulous   @gangstaliciou06

Mayans MC taglist

@dazzledamazon​  @abunnykisses​ @briana-mishell24​ @angelreyesgirl @wrcn9fvlcver​ @peaches009 @capt-canadian @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @krysiewithak​ @darklingveracruz @appropriate-writers-name​ @cind-in-real-life @blessedboo​ @montanaraed @kkim120 @megapeacelovemusic-blog​ @emoengelfurleben​ @blowmymbackout​ @abby-splace​ @kola95​ @black-repunzel99​ @redpoodlern​ @xonickibaby @myakai13​

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Miguel taglist

@omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @maciiiofficial​ @jatriciaaa @black-repunzel99​ @ben-c-group-therapy​ @witchygagirl​ @xonickibaby @berniesilvas @myakai13​ @fanfictiontrash9​ @kaykaysuh @angel-121​ @90sisthenew80s

[saturnville]

the man in the suit.

pairing: miguel galindo x afro latina fem oc (eliana)

prompt: miguel becomes infatuated with eliana, the owner of a popular coffee shop in town.

an: I was asked to bring back the Miguel Galindo fics by an anon. it's been over two years since I've written anything Mayans, but I'm always willing to revisit old fandoms, so, here we go, I hope you enjoy.

Her coffee shop was a staple in the town. Known for the rich Colombian coffee beans ground with intentionality, brewed with love, and served in mugs crafted by her own hands. The aura was always calm. Busy, but never so much that guests couldn't enjoy their time. They, just like she often, would get lost in the melodies of indie music that played from the speakers and drunk off caffeine and oat milk. The Tranquil Lounge was a blessing to Santo Padre.

Saturdays were the busiest days in the Lounge. College students stopped by to grind out assignments due the following day at midnight, entrepreneurs chugged coffee like water to finalize funding proposals, and others snuggled by the window with a good book. They were lively and invigorating; her favorite days in the shop.

She danced around her employees, humming a Marc Anthony tune as she topped off a cup with cold foam. Vivir mi vida, la, la, la, la, she hummed to herself.

"I'm very impressed. Most people don't know the lyrics passed the chorus," said an unfamiliar voice. Her teeth gleamed as she smiled softly. Her head still down, she placed a lid on the cup and slid it to the other side of the counter.

"I consider myself determined when it comes to learning song lyrics," she replied. "What can I get you?" Finally, she lifted her head, and she struggled to fight the instinct to gasp. How had he found her little coffee shop in town?

Miguel Galindo was notorious in Santo Padre. A businessman with illegal practices. The government hated him, men envied him, and women wanted him. Everyone in Santo Padre knew who he was and they knew better than to cross him. Their families could end up missing within hours if they upset him. It should have struck fear in her heart, but his presence did the opposite.

Her eyes scanned his attire. Bold of him to wear a white suit to drink coffee. But, it looked beautiful against his olive complexion. It was perfectly tailored to hug his broad shoulders. Her eyes followed its outline.

His brown eyes scanned the beautifully curated menu behind her. Bright colors against the blackboard. Sunflowers, rainbows, and bees decorated the menu. Creative, he noted. "I'll do a hot caramel macchiato. Medium, please." He handed her a twenty-dollar bill. She halted. The drink was $4.

Miguel looked unamused when she parted her lips to object, so she simply took the bill from his hand and thanked him with a smile. "Enjoy, hope to see you back soon."

He nodded. His eyes dropped to her nametag. Eliana, Founder. "Thank you, Eliana. You have a good day, quierda."

She smiled bashfully, "Gracias. You too."

-

Miguel Galindo was enamored by her. He saw the silhouette of her figure when he closed his eyes to rest at night. He heard the southern twang of her accent as he listened to music on the radio, and he saw the richness of her eyes in the mounds of chocolate chips scattered in Christopher's pancakes.

He made frequent appearances at the shop after that. Catching her friendly grin and gentle hands as she passed his cup to him was one of the few highlights of his day. He cherished it, craved it, and adored it.

He felt lucky when he waltzed into the shop one Saturday morning to find it empty. He thought it was a slow day, but she'd closed it for cleaning. And rather than turning him away, she welcomed him in.

"Your usual?" Eliana questioned. She propped her broom against a stable surface and turned to move behind the counter. "On the house."

"Oh no," Miguel waved. "You're not even open, I see." It was Eliana's turn to force an object into his hands. His usual--hot caramel macchiato; medium with a smiley face drawn on the side of the cup.

"You keep me in business, Mr. Galindo," Eliana replied teasingly with a smile. She was so pretty to him. The woman with a mahogany complexion and soft eyes with an unexplainably gentle aura.

Miguel's eyes dropped to the floor as he chuckled bashfully. He had a tendency to pay more than was due, but he credited it as paying in advance for future visits. "I just like to support where I can." Eliana picked up her broom and hummed, instructing him to get comfortable in the cushioned chairs near the window.

His eyes scanned the marvelous artwork that decorated the dark walls. Murals of people parading in fields of palm trees with drums, colorful skirts, and baskets of fruits, vegetables, and grains. They were all of deep complexion. His eyebrow rose.

"Where are you from?" He found himself asking.

"Costa Chica of Guerrero. Mexico." The area where Black Mexicans were the most populated.

"Tu familia?" Your family?

Eliana shrugged a shoulder and bent over to sweep the dirt unto the dustpan. "En México. Conseguí una beca para estudiar aquí. Se graduó con un título en negocios y decidió quedarse. It's a long story." In Mexico. I got a scholarship to study here. I graduated with my business degree and decided to stay.

Miguel mimicked her actions and gestured to the empty seat across from him. "I've got the time if you do."

-

They were polar opposites. She was an extrovert, he was introverted. She loved the fall, yet he found it one of the sadder seasons. Tea was her favorite, though she owned a coffee shop, but coffee was his holy grail. He grew up without his father present, but hers was her rock. So many new discoveries that he basked in like warm comforters on a winter day.

“I enjoyed today,” Miguel said as he walked her to her car. Hours had passed, the sun had set, and their day had come to a close. “I’d like to see you again.”

Eliana hummed as she tapped her key fob. Her vehicle chirped excitedly. She reached for the door handle, but Miguel beat her to it. She thanked him gently and slid into the seat. “Well, you’ll know where to find me, Miguel.”

He chuckled and nodded. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him, but. he liked that. Effort was required. He liked a challenge.

“I do,” he replied. “Be ready tomorrow evening. Be safe tonight, Eliana.”

Her brown eyes are twinkled with curiosity. She stretched up and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “Wear a white suit.” And with that, she started her car and sped off into the night, leaving Miguel to bask in the eagerness of seeing her again.

[drabbles-mc]

Withered

Miguel Galindo x GN!Reader

Warnings: 18+, angst

With the help of This Prompt List by @creativepromptsforwriting and my trusty Wheel of Names with every character I've ever written for, I'm aiming to write a fic in 500 words or less every day of March. We'll see how far we get!

Prompt: flowers

Word Count: 200

A/N: the way the universe tried to play me by making me write for Miguel the first day I challenge myself to do this. Cruel and unusual punishment 😂 But! We persevered!! Also just to keep it a buck with y'all, March is going to be such a horrid hellish month for me and I'm just hoping this gives me a little something to look forward to in the midst of a lot of craziness. Plus I've been in such a writing funk so hopefully it pulls me out of it. 🤞🏻

How things had ended wasn't surprising. Deep down you'd always known that it could end this way. That was the reason you never gave up your lease– no matter what Miguel said or how convincingly he said it, you could never fully trust him. So you were back where you had started, bag slung over your shoulder as you dug out your keys. It didn't matter that your apartment hadn't been your home for so long.

Your lack of surprise didn't do anything to dull the pain. And as if being alone and having to return to the place that you no longer wanted to be home wasn't enough, the universe came up with more salt to pour in your wounds.

Walking into the kitchen you saw the vase of flowers still there, the last ones he bought you so long ago, wilted and dead now like so many other things.

You stared at them a moment, ignored the tears in your eyes as you thought to yourself that one turn deserved another. If he could throw the last of you away, you could throw the last of him away too. If only it felt like it made you even.

[hennyjwrites]

Hi! Just found your Miguel fics and omg I’m in love. I’d love to request a fic!

Character would be Miguel Galindo

Smut

Prompt is: “One more. Just give me one more.” Because all I can see is Miguel making the reader have an orgasm or two and them being so strong then she begs “no more” but he tells her “One more. Just give me one more.”

Anyways, thanks and if you don’t want to or can’t write it I completely understand. Thanks so much.

Miguel made sure you couldn’t scoot away from him. His grip on your hips, kept you in place as he thrusted into you at a pace that only he could give you.

“M-Miguel.” You moaned out, feeling your stomach cramp in pleasure. Cream coated his dick, from the repeated orgasms he’s given you. Two orgasms for you and not one from him. “I can't take it.” Your back arched against him.

Miguel chuckled at your involuntary movements. “Cmon mi vida, one more. Cum on my dick one more time.” He squeezed your breast, before tweaking with your nipples. The actions caused your already sensitive body to jolt against him. Miguel's thrust became more targeted towards your sweet spot. Miguel hushed you as your moans became more high pitched. “Just one more.” He whispered in your ear. His fingers on your clit brought you closer towards an orgasm.

Your legs shook, as your orgasm came squirting out. Your vision was blurry as the pleasure overtook you. Miguel’s need to keep thrusting kept you in an orgasmic state. He moaned into your neck as he came inside you.

Both of you were breathing heavily. Miguel was the first to pull out of his orgasmic state. He stared down at your blissed out look and couldn’t help but to start thrusting inside you again. You whimper and try to pull away. “Miguel, you have to give your speech.” You cried hearing his name being announced. You gripped the ends of the table Miguel had you laying across as you slightly screamed when his pace quickened. He was trying to give you another orgasm before he went back out to socialize.

“Oh mi vida, this is my event. They can wait until I’m done pleasing my wife.”

[sogoodtoheritsvicious]

new and improved list

Hi and for the love of God hello 👋🏼 I’m very happy to announce that i’ll be adding the Ted Lasso characters to the list! Feel free to hit up my ask box if you have a request or just want to talk about the boys or any of the shows i’m writing for <3

Requests: Open

Characters i write for:

- Ted Lasso

• Ted Lasso

• Coach Beard

• Roy kent

• Jamie Tartt

• Dani Rojas

• Richard Montlaur

• Sam Obisanya

• Isaac McAdoo

• Thierry Zoreaux

• Jan Maas

• Moe Bumbercatch

• Will Kitman

• Rebecca Welton

• Keeley Jones

- Mayans Mc

• Angel Reyes

• Ez Reyes

• Coco Cruz

• Nestor Oceteva

• Bishop Losa

• Neron “Creeper” Vargas

• Hank Loza

• Michael “Riz” Ariza

• Gilly Lopez

• Miguel Galindo

- Sons of anarchy

• Jax Teller

• Juan “Juice” Ortiz

• Opie Winston

• Happy Lowman

• Filip “Chibs” Telford

• Herman Kozik

• Alexander “Tig” Trager

What i take requests for:

• Headcanons

• Preferences

• Would Includes

• Most likely Tos

• Mood boards/Povs

What i do not take requests for:

• Smut

• Self harm of any kind - Talking about the reader having a mental illness is fine but i’m not comfortable writing about them harming themselves

• Reader being related to any of the characters on the list

• Toxic relationships - We’re all about healthy, loving relationships in this house!

[pascalispretty]

The Poetry of the Body: Two

Miguel Galindo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3070

Warnings: discussions of pregnancy, fainting, references to sex/implied sex, implied age gap, hurt/comfort vibes, AU where Emily doesn't exist.

Summary: You and Miguel discuss the possibility of expanding your family, and negotiate the details.

A/N: thanks to my beloved @misscharlielulu for all her love and support in getting this finished, and @bullet-prooflove for her Nestor advice. Title of the fic is from ’La llama doble. Amor y erotismo’ by Octavio Paz. Title of the chapter comes from 'Pedro Paramo' by Juan Rulfo, full quote on ao3. Written to fulfil the 'don't worry, I'll take good care of you' square for @storiesofsvu2-0 / @storiesofsvu's bingo! (ao3)

Two: The Pure Murmuring of Life (ao3)

It’s one of those days where nothing seems to go right. Miguel rose early in order to attend to some business south of the border, leaving you to wake up alone. Your whole body aches – another thing you blame Miguel for. Having sex on the kitchen floor certainly seemed like a thrilling idea last night, but you were paying the price for it today.

The day only gets worse once you shower and dress, and make your way downstairs. Any notion you have about taking Cristóbal out for breakfast abruptly shatters the moment you hear him screaming, a harried-looking Maria attempting to reason with him in Spanish. Still in his pyjamas, your son’s small body is wracked with sobs at the injustice of not being allowed to climb into the dryer and go for a spin. 

It takes what feels like hours to soothe him, and it’s closer to lunchtime by the time he’s finally calm enough for Maria to take him upstairs and dress him. You stay downstairs, sitting on the couch to talk to Nestor. Starving, sore, and head pounding, you’re relieved to have a moment of calm. 

“I don’t want to stay out for long; I just need to get out of the house. Is there enough security still here?” You have no concept of how many men have gone south with Miguel, but the fact that he left Nestor here tells you he’s not expecting any trouble. Nestor stands by the arm of the couch and nods. 

“More than enough to keep a detail at the house while we’re gone. I’ll ask Paco to bring the car around.” He takes his phone out and begins tapping out a message, and even the sound of his phone keyboard clicking makes you rub your temples. Maybe you should take some ibuprofen before you head out. You’re so hungry you feel sick; a granola bar wouldn’t be a bad idea either. 

Before you can do anything, you hear footsteps on the stairs again. Cristóbal is all smiles when he comes back downstairs, finally dressed and ready to go. He beams when he notices you on the couch and twists in Maria’s arms to reach out for you. 

“Hi, sweetheart. Are you ready?” You ask him, standing up quickly. 

It’s a mistake. 

Your vision blurs. The room swims in front of you, and you’re only vaguely aware of your knees buckling before everything goes dark. 

Sounds come back to you first. Cristóbal is crying again, but he sounds oddly muffled. You’re too disoriented even to try opening your eyes. Instead, you focus on your breathing. 

You’re on the floor, that becomes apparent quickly. The wood is pleasantly cool against your forehead. You don’t know how you ended up down here, but you try not to think too hard about it. After a long pause, you gingerly open your eyes. 

It takes a moment for you to be able to focus on anything. The first thing you do see clearly is Nestor, kneeling beside your head. He has your wrist in his hand, you realise, his fingers resting over your pulse point. He must have caught you before you fell, lowered you onto the floor. An intense feeling of déjà vu sweeps over you; you’ve been in this exact position before. 

The fainting was the first real sign that something was wrong last time. 

You can vividly remember waking up on the kitchen floor to Miguel yelling at someone to bring the car around. Breakfast had been abruptly abandoned, the bacon smouldering alarmingly on the stove. You had only found out you were pregnant a week prior and the fainting spell had been written off as the result of your body simply adjusting to the new life growing inside it. 

Then the vomiting started. You lost weight at a rate that alarmed your doctors, who kept you in for a flurry of tests. Hyperemesis gravidarum had been the official diagnosis; morning sickness so severe that you could barely keep water down on some days. Between the dizziness and the nausea, you had hardly left the house until after your son was born. 

As soon as you realise that you fainted, you know that you’re pregnant again. 

You stopped taking your birth control months ago, but your periods had stayed irregular; you have no idea how late you actually are. The reality of it hits you all at once, but you do your best to choke it back. Cristóbal is sobbing in Maria’s arms, desperately wailing for you, and you raise your head slightly. You need to take care of him first. 

“It’s okay, baby, Mama’s okay. Come here,” you tell him. Nestor lets go of your wrist as you shift on the floor, trying to make yourself marginally more comfortable on the wood. Maria brings Cristóbal closer, eventually setting him down so he can toddle over to you. 

“Do you want me to help you up onto the couch?” Nestor asks quietly, before your son can reach you. Cristóbal crawls into your arms, his cheeks damp as he presses his face against your collarbone. 

“No, thank you. I just need to stay here for a minute.” You can’t fall again if you’re already on the floor. Nestor nods, wordlessly grabbing a cushion for you to rest your head on as he stands back up to his full height. In your arms, Cristóbal has settled slightly, though his voice is still thick with tears. 

“Mama fell,” he says plaintively, and your heart swells. 

“Oh baby, I’m sorry. Did I scare you? I’m okay, Mama’s okay,” you whisper against his warm forehead, breathing in the smell of his hair. You rest your head on the cushion and look up to see Nestor and Maria sharing a meaningful glance. Cristóbal’s little fists grab handfuls of your hair, but you barely feel the pressure on your scalp. You know what that look is about. 

“Don’t tell Miguel.” It comes out harsher than you mean it to. Nestor and Maria exchange another look, before Nestor sighs. 

“Mikey’ll want to know.” 

“And he will. I’ll tell him myself when he comes home tonight.” You hold Cristóbal a little tighter, rubbing his back. The last thing you want to do right now is argue with Nestor, but you can’t back down. “Please, Nestor. I’ll tell him tonight.” 

He looks unconvinced; it’s hard to convey how serious you’re being while you’re lying on the floor. 

“Maria, would you mind making Cristóbal something for lunch? I don’t think we’ll be able to go out today after all.” To your relief, she nods and walks towards the kitchen. One less person to deal with right now. The mention of food makes Cristóbal squirm in your arms so you let him go, watching him toddle off to the kitchen to ‘help’ Maria. Gingerly, you start to try to shift into a sitting position. Nestor notices, crouching back down automatically in case you faint again. 

You manage to sit yourself up, your back resting against the couch as you take several deep breaths. All of this would be so much easier if Miguel was home. He grew up with housekeepers and nannies and security guards; he’s infinitely more at ease issuing them with orders than you are. Even Nestor, occupying that liminal space between employee and childhood best friend, does what Miguel tells him to do. 

Orders don’t come naturally to you. Especially not now, when your head is a whirlwind of different emotions and needs, all pulling your attention in separate directions. Miguel would take care of everything if he were here, having conversations that need to be had and making appointments that need to be made. But you have no idea where he is or when he’ll be home, so it’s up to you. 

“Nestor,” you start, swallowing thickly. “I need you and Maria not to say anything to Miguel yet.” 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you know I have to tell Mikey.” Him calling you ma’am isn’t a good sign. Miguel had half-stepped into the role of older brother for him since he was a teenager; you aren’t going to overcome more than twenty years of loyalty. He’ll never listen to you over Miguel. 

“If you tell Miguel I fainted, he will want to know why. And he’ll know why, the same way that I’m sure you do. Miguel will figure it out the same way you did.” You know in your gut that Nestor knows. The same intense déjà vu that struck you must have hit him too; an echo of the six long months where he hardly left your side when Miguel wasn’t around. It had been a sign of how concerned Miguel really was about you, leaving his most trusted lieutenant to watch over you and the life inside you. 

“...Mikey doesn’t know?” Nestor asks eventually, taking a seat on the coffee table - still close enough to catch you if you faint again. You’ll mention it to Miguel later, how seamlessly Nestor has fallen back into old protocols. 

“No. I don’t even know yet, not for sure. But I don’t want him to find out like this, Nestor; hundreds of miles away, because something bad happened. Let me tell him myself tonight, so he can celebrate.” You watch him think it over, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Eventually, he nods, and you sigh in relief. 

The two of you negotiate a little more - he’ll talk to Maria, he’ll do his best to make sure Miguel comes home at a reasonable hour tonight on a security pretext, you absolutely promise that you’ll tell your husband that the fainting has started again - and he helps you up onto the couch before he leaves. 

You settle back onto the couch, closing your eyes as you get comfortable. From experience, you know you’ll need to stay put for an hour or so. The sound of Cristóbal’s uneven footsteps makes you open your eyes again as he runs up to the couch, his stuffed rabbit in his hand. 

“It’s ‘kay, Mama. Make feel better.” He thrusts the stuffed rabbit at you, and you tuck it into the crook of your arm. Another powerful wave of emotion washes over you, and you will yourself not to cry; you don’t want your son to think his sweet gesture has upset you. 

“Oh baby, thank you.” You whisper, stroking Cristóbal’s curls gently. “You know, Daddy had a brother too. That’s who you’re named after.” Your son brightens at the mention of his father, babbling the word ‘daddy’ happily back to you, looking around for Miguel. “No, Daddy’s not home yet, sweetheart. But we’ll have a nice surprise for him when he comes back, won’t we?” 

****

You watch anxiously from the kitchen window as the cars are let through the gate, the convoy your husband took south arriving home seemingly without incident. Certainly, there’s no sign that Miguel came home in a panic, word having reached him of what happened today. 

Since your fainting this afternoon, you’ve been relatively busy. Maria had kept Cristóbal occupied while you rested on the couch, planning your evening, and Nestor had gone out for the items you’d requested. You’d briefly wondered why he’d bothered to go himself for steak and sparkling grape juice, until he returned from town with two boxes of pregnancy tests stashed among the groceries. 

You really needed to tell Miguel to give him a raise. 

By the time Miguel walks through the door, everything is ready. You smooth your hands down your dress, stepping out of the kitchen to greet him. 

“Hi baby,” he starts, his eyes widening slightly once he gets a good look at you. “Did we have dinner plans?” You’re overdressed for dinner at home, a green dress that clings in all the right places. He kisses you chastely in greeting, his hand coming to rest at the small of your back.

“No, I made us dinner. I thought you might need it, after your day.” You lead him by the hand to the table on the veranda outside. The fire and torches are lit, casting everything in a soft golden light, and music is playing softly from the speakers. 

“Valentine’s Day was last month. Or is this you angling for a repeat of last night?” He asks teasingly, the fingers of his free hand finding the bruise he’d left on your wrist when he pinned you to the floor. 

“Maybe.” He humours you, especially when he realises you’ve made him filet mignon, so rare that the knife glides through the meat with almost no resistance. That, and the pinot noir you’d opened for him, provide an excellent distraction. He doesn’t question why you’re drinking a different wine - which isn’t wine at all, but sparkling grape juice you’d decanted into an empty bottle - or eating a blander meal than his own. 

The conversation throughout dinner is light; he doesn’t offer any details about what he was doing south of the border, and you don’t ask. You want the other world to be as far away from you as possible tonight. The mains finished, you tell him to stay put while you clear the table and fetch dessert. 

You uncork the champagne in the kitchen and sink the bottle into the waiting bucket of ice. For a moment you wish you could take a sip, just to steady your nerves. From the cabinet, you fetch a single champagne flute, one of the Villeroy & Boch set that had been a wedding gift. You take the stem between two fingers and turn it so the base rests in your palm, allowing you to carry it at the same time as the stainless-steel bucket. 

“I know that champagne is more of an apéritif than a digestif, but it seemed more appropriate for the topic.” You tell Miguel once you’re back in earshot. He turns to look at you, a faint smile playing around his lips. The firelight suits him; between the shadows and the golden wash of light, he looks like an oil painting—a study of some long-ago king, all easy authority and charm. 

“What’s the topic?” He asks, leaning back in his chair so he can watch you. 

“Celebrations,” you tell him, pouring the champagne for him. “It’ll be yours and Cristóbal’s birthdays next month.” It had felt like it meant something when Cristóbal was born just days before Miguel’s own birthday in April - the one silver lining to having to deliver him early. Instead of returning to your own chair, you sit in Miguel’s lap. His free hand comes up to your waist instinctively, holding you close while he reaches for the glass. 

“Three already,” Miguel says, taking a sip of his champagne. You drape your arm over Miguel’s broad shoulders, taking a moment just to savour the closeness. 

“I know.” Your fingers find their way into Miguel’s hair, combing through the thick black curls. He relaxes under you, a long sigh escaping him. He takes another sip of champagne and frowns. 

“You’re not having one?” Miguel turns his head to look at you. “Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?” His tone is teasing, and he playfully pinches your side. His fingers land over a ticklish spot, and you giggle in spite of yourself. 

“No. I can’t have one.” You bite your lip, waiting for him to connect the dots. “That’s the other thing we need to celebrate.” Miguel’s lovely dark eyes search your face, his expression softening. 

“Really?” He asks, and you nod. 

“I took the test today. I still need to go to the doctor’s to confirm but-” Whatever else you might say is cut off by the kiss Miguel gives you. He pulls you even closer to him, his champagne glass abandoned on the table so he can wrap his arms fully around you. 

“Te quiero mucho, mi amor,” he murmurs between kisses. For the first time all day, you can relax and just let your emotions wash over you. You’re having another baby; it’s a thrilling and frightening prospect all at once. 

“I love you too.” You rest your cheek against his shoulder as he pulls away slightly to take another sip of his champagne. You’re not sure how long the two of you sit there in contented silence. The fire has dipped low, and the breeze rolling in off the hills makes you shiver in your thin dress. Miguel is immediately on alert, setting his empty glass down and looking at you with concern. 

“Do you want to go inside?” Miguel asks, rubbing your arm. The pressure is just slightly too much on your sore skin, and you wince. “Baby?” He tugs the short sleeve of your dress up, exposing the already-forming bruises you had acquired earlier. 

“Oh. That was my first clue I was pregnant again; I fainted this afternoon. Nestor caught me.” You try to keep the worry out of your voice, stroking your fingers down his forearm. Miguel fixes you with a searching look, those beautiful dark eyes carefully searching your face. 

“How are you feeling now?” He asks. You know that tone; it’s one that brooks no argument, allows for no white lies. 

“Physically? Fine. A little tender, maybe.” You begin, but Miguel’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Emotionally? I don’t know. Happy, yes. Scared.” Your voice breaks a little on the last sentence. Miguel smooths a hand over your hair, adjusting you on his lap. 

“We know what to expect this time. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” You turn your head into his shoulder, trying not to ruin the celebratory mood. For a long moment, you sit there like that, Miguel’s hand running soothingly down your back. Even pressed against him like this, you shiver again. 

“Let's get you inside.” Miguel lets you go, and you slide reluctantly off his lap. 

“What about the champagne?” 

“I’ll take care of the champagne. You take care of you. You said you were feeling fine physically?” He asks, draining what’s left of his glass. You nod, and he grins, stepping closer to you. There’s barely an inch of space between your bodies, and he catches your chin between his finger and thumb, tilting your face up to look at him.  

“Go and get yourself into bed. And then I’ll see what I can do to take care of you.”

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