#mrs. sanchez oc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

averagedeadinsomniac · 2 years

Text

ᴄʜᴇᴍɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴏɴᴅᴇᴅ

|𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐳 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫|

EPISODE-1 PILOT| Pt.2

pt-1|pt-2|pt-3|pt-4

___________________________

"I see there's a new episode of that singing show tonight." Jerry announced. He was the father of Morty and Summer who was to damn dumb for his own good. Echo found themself often annoyed by him but they knew he wasn't much of an actual problem. "Who do you guys think is gonna be the best singer?" As soon as he finish Morty's head fell into his food making him instantly fall asleep passed out.

"Oh, my god. His head is in his foo. I'm going to puke." Summer said almost nonchalantly not even really caring. Rick continued eating when Morty's mother voiced "Morty, are you getting sick? I told you not to practice kiss the living room pillow, the dog sleeps on it." Morty brought his face up from the plate rubbing his eyes "I wasn't kissing a pillow, mom. I just-- I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. Maybe my dreams were just to loud or something."

"Or maybe you were out all night with grandpa Rick and Cypher" "What?!"

"Dad! Echo!" Everyone looked at Rick and Echo now "What, so everyones supposed to sleep every single night now? you realize that nighttime makes up half of all time?" "To waste your time like that is just simply a waste especially for you humans who are likely just to live up to 63 than the pronounced 104 years." Echo added picking at a couple of eggs.

"Damn it!"

"Jerry!"

"Beth!"

"Oh my god. My parents are so loud. I want to die" Summer piped crossing her arms. "Mm mm, there is no go summer. You got to rip that band-aid off now. You'll thank me later" Rick said not looking up, sit eating his food. "Okay, with all due respect Rick-- what am I talking about? What respect is due? How is my son supposed to pass his classes if you keep dragging him off for a high concept sci-fi rigamarole?!" Jerry grilled.

"Listen Jerry, I-I don't won't to overstep my bounds or anything. It's your house, It's your world. You're a real Julius Caesar, but I'll tell you some-- tell you how-- how I feel about school, Jerry. It's a waste of time. A bunch of people running around, bumping into each other. A g-guy up front says 'Two plus two.' The people in the back say 'four'. Then the bell rings, and they give you a carton of milk and a piece of paper that says you can go take a dump or something. I mean, it's-- it's not a place for smart people Jerry. And I know that's not a popular opinion, but it's my two cents on the issue." He stood up wiping his mouth then placed a hand on his daughters shoulder looking at her.

"This was a good breakfast Beth. You really made the crap out of those eggs. Wish your mother was here to eat them." Following after Rick Echo sat up to "Thank you Ms. Sanchez for the wonderful breakfast and again thank you for letting me stay here. If you need me I'll be in the garage."

________________

TIME SKIP

It was another boring ass day at Morty's school. It was too regular, to slow for anyone who had even a spec on knowledge. Why would anyone go to school? All they do is fill up valuable space with random shit that is beaten into you until you couldn't think for yourself. Byjust doing random things you could learn more.

Echo and rick were looking around the school for Morty's 4th period math class. They found him back against the wall with someone threatening him with a switchblade. Before he could do serious damage he froze him is place with some sort of freeze taser Rick made a while back. He put the device back into his coat pocket and closed back his coat. "Morty! Listen to me, we have an errand to run in a whole different dimension and I need an extra pair of hands." Rick announced. "O-Oh jeez rick! W-What did you do too Frank?" Morty jittered "It's pretty obvious Morty. Your grandfather froze him" Echo stated."And again listen- We need your help, Morty! I mean, we got-- we got to get--get the hell out of here and go take care of business. It's important Morty!" "I-I don't know Rick. I can't leave school again. And--and don't you have Echo?" Morty fumbled. "Do you have any concept of how high the stakes get out there Morty? What do you thing-- we can do it all on our own? Come on!" Echo added "Aw, geez. Okay. I guess I could skip history. But what about Frank? I mean, shouldn't you unfreeze him?" "I'll do it later, Morty. He'll be fine. Let's go!"

The ran through the hall, out the school and into a nearby ally way. Rick pulled out his portal gun and shot out a portal that glowed green and stepped into it. On the other side it looked like some sort of Dr. Seuss magic funland on steroids. "What is this place?" Morty asked out loud. "It's dimension 35c, and it's got the perfect climate conditions for a special tree, Morty." Echo announced. "Called a mega tree, and there's fruit intros trees, and there's seeds in those fruits. I'm talking about mega seeds. They're-- they're incredible powerful, and I need them to help with my research, Morty." Rick finished. "Oh man, guys. I'm looking around this place, and I'm starting to work up some anxiety about this whole thing." Morty worried. "All right, All right. Calm down and listen to me Morty. I know new situations can be intimidating. You're looking around and its all scary and different, but, you know meeting them head on, charging right into them like a bull, that's how we grow as people." Rick explained and Morty still looked nervous but a little better. "Me and Echo are no stranger to scary situations. We deal with them all the time. Now if you just stick with me, Morty were gunna be-- holy crap Morty, run!" He yelled finally noticing a monstrous alien behind Morty. The creature screeched behind them the the team yelled and they took off sprinting

"I never seen that thing in my life before! I don't even know what the hell it is! We gotta get the hell out of here! It's gonna kill us, we're gonna die!"

#rick sanchez headcanons #x reader #rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick sanchez x reader #rick and morty x reader #mr meeseeks #rick sanchez x oc #Rick Sanchez x you

144 notes · View notes

rism1223 · 2 years

Text

Sometimes they think about it, then when they do it, they don’t regret… 👀

#rick and morty oc #rick and morty #rick sanchez #mr nimbus #oc x canon #oc #original character #Sabina Sanchez #rick’s wife

23 notes · View notes

nat-a-nat · 1 year

Text

I have seen some people baffled by the amount of widely accepted fannon in the danny phantom phandom so I present to you:

The list of things you might think is cannon but actually isn't:

The Guys in White being shortened to GIW

AND it standig for Ghost Investigation Ward (I think I also have seen it being referenced as the Ghost Information Ward before)

Valerie being called the Red Huntress

Paulina's last name being Sanchez

Mr. Lancers first name (the most popular phannon names being Edward and William)

Ghost hunger is all phandom

Dark Danny was never named in the show, only in the end credits, and Dan Phantom is pure phannon

Cores are a WAY less developed concept in cannon

Ghost obsessions

Danny's middle name being James

Ghost speak doesn't actually exist in cannon (the ghost gabber is cannon but ghost don't have a language or a way of communicating other than english)

WESLEY "WES" WESTON

All the Westons are phannon (the current Weston family consists of Wes, his older brothers Kyle and Easton, and their dad Walter)

Flynn Fenton (butch created a Dannys-long-lost-older-brother oc, in phannon he is the son of Maddies sister Alicia)

#all i could think of rn #feel free to add!#seen peps talk about being shocked the giw isn't actually called the ghost investigation ward and decided to make this post #dp #danny phantom #phandom meta

551 notes · View notes

sturniolowhore · 2 months

Text

☁️ THE PROJECT #1

summary ⎯ a biology project; that's all it is intended to be, a matter of communication amongst classmates in order to succeed yet the more time chris and aluna spend together, the harder it becomes to distinguish the line between requirement and want. they are required to work together, to spend time with one another and to exist beside one another until suddenly it doesn't feel forced. what is supposed to be simply completing a project turns into an unmistakable connection of hearts.

part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,

warnings ⎯ chris x fem!poc!oc, cursing, fluff, grumpy!oc and sunshine!chris, eventual smut, not proofread, mentions of anxiety, toxic homelife, mentions of selfharm, angst, hurt and comfort, etc.

A/N ⎯ another series baby! i know i said it would be one long fic but i wanted to get some writing out soon. i've written a few parts so i'll post them all rn but there's more to come eventually!!

i hope you enjoy <3

❛ ━━･❪ ִ ࣪𖤐 ❫ ･━━ ❜

there's a saying that claims there's always light at the end of a dark tunnel. aluna used to believe in it when she was a little girl, sneaking onto her rooftop and wishing on the shooting stars for it to become a reality. as she grew older, she realised there wasn't actually a light and the illumination she craved was merely that, a craving that the universe was refusing to fulfil. the wishful thinking soon turned to detest and she learned to despise the idea of something or someone pulling her out of the god-forsaken pit she had fallen into as a mere child.

so now, she stuck to herself. she could not find the light in others if there were no others. it was simply her against the world and every little thing inside of it. people did not recognise the name aluna nor care to try. she walked the hallways alone with her head low, never attended any school games or functions and stuck to the back of the class as best as she could. the very few times she had been partnered with someone to work with, she managed to get herself out of it and the individual was granted a new partner, thus allowing her to work alone. the way she preferred.

yet here she stood, a pleading expression capturing her features as she tried to convince her teacher to work alone for what felt like the millionth time that year. a brief sigh escaped her lips at the sympathetic refusal, something along the lines of the project showcasing an element of communication that was apparently required for the final grade.

"i'm sorry miss sanchez, i normally make exceptions for you but this is one time i can't. i'm afraid you'll be assigned a partner just like everyone else," her teacher's smile was supposed to be reassuring but it just made her heart feel heavier than it already did.

aluna dejectedly made her way to her seat, all the way at the back, and waited around for the rest of her class to arrive. she observed the way she always tended to as each individual walked in, some alone and others accompanied by people. her eyes landed on all she could including the set of triplets that she had always felt a little taken aback at, no matter how many times she saw them. they were laughing, they often were if they were not bickering, and the one she had identified as chris rolled his eyes at nick but it was paired with a fond and unavoidable glimmer.

"okay we're all here, excellent! i know you've all been awake late at night excited for this moment, that's right, it's time to assign partners. remember, absolutely no switching and i have a zero-tolerance policy for lack of teamwork. i want both of you working on the project and putting your all into this. the project as you may recall counts towards your final grade," mrs david rambled, an eager grin on her face that aluna could seem to understand for even a moment.

aluna didn't pay attention to her teacher again until she started assigning the partners and she stumbled across her name, "so miss sanchez and mr sturniolo, chris that is."

aluna pressed her eyes shut for a minimal second before she opened them, meeting chris' gaze across the classroom and trying her hardest to return the bright smile he offered her. then, her eyes dropped to the desk in front of her, shutting the world out until she heard the scraping of chairs and realised everyone was either sitting with their partners or making their way.

chris approached her with a smile, too large of a smile for her and she groaned internally before picking up her bag from the seat beside her and dropping it to the floor. he situated himself in the now vacant seat instantly and turned to her as he ran his dainty fingers through his mess of brown hair atop his head.

"aluna right?" he asked her easily and she nodded her head in response, not finding it within herself to verbally reply.

"so i think she said our focus was on DNA and RNA, shouldn't be that bad," he shrugged, ignoring her lack of enthusiasm without so much as a slight shift in his demeanour.

"mhm," aluna hummed softly, mentally cursing herself.

she wanted to respond like a normal fucking person, to engage in the conversation and appear as though she wasn't a complete and utter loser but she was already struggling. she genuinely didn't remember the last time she put effort into another person. she had always been closed off and speaking to others was just not her forte, if anything it was quite the opposite. normality for her was her own company, not having to make small talk with people when it was obvious they had very little to nothing in common.

"so would you like to work on the project at my place or yours? i don't mind either way but if it as my place, just know my brothers will probably be annoying as fuck," he laughed as he glanced at his brothers yet aluna didn't so much as laugh for the sake of courtesy.

even with her silence, chris' smile didn't seem to falter. if she was being completely honest, she didn't know how to feel about this joyous persona. it was too much happiness for her all at once and he wasn't even put off by the way she was giving him practically nothing.

she did however agree with one thing and felt the need to voice it, "your place works."

the very last thing she wanted was for someone to come to her house, school project or not. she had never had anyone come over, too afraid of what they may think of her based on what they see. it was easier this way, giving them nothing to work with so they were not disappointed or alarmed.

"can i get your number?" he pulled out his phone as though he didn't just ask what he did, as though it was normal and she raised her brows at him.

"what did you just say?" she questioned, a sudden sense of unease swarming through her at his words in a way she knew wasn't healthy but was too far gone to bother caring about.

he shook his head with a laugh, "your number, for the project, you know?"

oh. right. that made a lot more sense. she nodded her head and he handed her his phone so that she could enter the number. she saved it with her full name and he furrowed his brows a little.

"are you always this formal?" it was meant to be lighthearted but something inside of aluna snapped and she rolled her eyes at him.

"you asked for my number and i gave it," she deadpanned and he raised his hands in surrender, a curious look taking over that made her skin crawl.

she felt like she was being scrutinised and she hated it. she felt too involved in something and it had barely been a few minutes. she knew it sounded ridiculous but she just could not help it. she shot her eyes to the ground, picking at her nails to surpress her discomfort.

"you shouldn't do that," he placed his hand atop hers and moved it away from its prior spot, making her jump and remove her hand from his sharply.

"don't fucking touch me," she said with a glare without meaning to and he widened his eyes at the tone, making her sigh inaudibly.

"shit i'm sorry, i wasn't even thinking. i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable i-" he stopped himself from going on, looking to the floor to save himself from the awkwardness.

and here she went again, ruining something else. stopping illumination before it became too bright for her to maintain. she didn't apologise for her tone even though she wanted to, the apology sat on her tongue but it tasted bitter. it reminded her of the countless, meaningless apologies she had received in the past and it made her tongue almost burn strangely. here was this boy who was trying to make her feel normal and treat her like a friend but all she was doing was shutting him out. she was closing the curtains to the point even the smallest bit of light couldn't seep through the gaps.

she looked around the classroom, watching as others conversed with their partners easily, without the fear of things going wrong before they had even begun. she turned to chris, the boy scrolling through his phone with an unreadable expression across his face. she did that to him. and she didn't even have it in herself to fix it. she instead waited as the seconds on the clock ticked by and turned into minutes before the period was at last over and she didn't have that repeated pounding in her head.

"i'll text you my address, does tomorrow work for you?" chris' voice came out of nowhere and she had to mask the surprise she felt, replacing it with a small nod of her head before rushing out of the classroom.

stay in the dark, don't let the light in.

it was almost a mantra, her life moto now and she sighed at the thoughts circling her head. she walked to the next period with a heavy head and a discomforting sensation tingling through her nerves. she had no fucking clue how she was going to survive an entire project with him.

❛ ━━･❪ ִ ࣪𖤐 ❫ ･━━ ❜

TAGLIST: @mattslolita @mattsleftnipple03 @sturniolololover @hearts4chris @sturniofilmd @luvsturns @that-general-simp !

84 notes · View notes

yourmommygay · 8 months

Text

Faking it all: part 2

Summary: high school au where colby is the popular guy and chloe is the shy good girl, one day colby gets fed up with Amber's constant flirting so he asks chloe to be his fake girlfriend. Will they fall in love im not sure.

Pairings: colby brock x plus size!chloe sanchez (aka you reading this) , sam golbach x Amanda sid (oc) , jake webber x Tara yummy.

THIS IS A SERIES, MDI 18+.

Warnings: explicit language, smut, mutual pinning, bullying, fighting, mentions of abuse, colby being kind of a dick at first (but not to you), Amber being a bully (I love Amber so much, she would never pick on some1 I know but it's just for the story)

Prt 1 here

Most days chloe would sit in Mrs smiths classroom at lunchtime, this was one of those days. Sitting in the seat close to the window she was watching a group beginning to form around Amber and colby. Huffing chloe turned her head downwards and carried on reading a book she recently brought.

Chloe's phone pinged and she picked it up seeing it was a video from Amanda, in the video colby and Amber where standing there. "I don't like you Amber, I'm kindof already seeing someone anyway" colby said Amber quickly questioned who not bothering to cover up her jealousy, "chloe, I'm dating chloe" colby replied. Chloe's eyes widened, she was in fact not dating colby. However, she wishes that she was.

Just after the video she heard the classroom door swing open and slam shut, "I knew you would be in here" colby said walking over making sure the door was locked. "Whyd you lock the door?" Chloe asked colby glancing at him, "everyone is following me and I need to ask you for a favor" colby looked almost desperate.

"Let me guess, you want me to be your fake girlfriend?" Chloe asked him not daring to look up from her book, "wha- how did yo- um.. yeah. Only if your ok with that obviously I'm not gonna push you to do it" colby said rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I could do that, after all I do kinda owe you for always sticking up for me against the bullies" chloe said putting the bookmark in her book before placing the book into her bag. "So how do you wanna walk outta here? holding hands? Linked arms? Arm around my shoulders?" Chloe asked colby standing up right infront of him looking up at him as she was only 5'2, chloe thought.

Curse colby and his tallness.

Colby immediately answered. "What ever your comfortable with" chloe nodded in thought before putting on her bag and grabbing colbys face, kissing his cheek. "To make them think there was another reason for the door being locked, you want them to really buy into this don't you?" Chloe grabbed Colby's hand and pulled him over to the door, unlocking it and opening it to see Amber being up front of the crowd. "Can I help you Amber?" Chloe said.

"Yeah you stole my man" Amber scoffed. Chloe hummed in agreement for a second before turning to colby. "Ok, baby if you want to date Amber go to her, if you want to stay with me then come to me" chloe walked over to Amber standing slightly to her right. Colby started walking towards Amber before moving completely over to chloe laughing, pulling chloe into a hug burying his face in her neck. "I guess it decided Amber, he can date whoever he wants. Oh, he wasn't your man. Never was" chloe grabbed colbys hand again pulling him away from the crowd of people.

"You did good back there, with the faking" colby said chuckling. In all honesty chloe forgot she was faking, or at least was meant to be faking. She really did want colby to chose her, she always had.

"Can we just get out of here I got 2 free periods next" colby asked chloe walking towards the school parking lot towards his car, chloe just nodded before saying. "Can we go to our spot please?" Colby nodded, as he got into the drivers seat and chloe climbed into the passengers seat.

A/n I know these are short chapters but I'm a night owl and well it's 4:24am for me in England and I'm still awake haha. Anyway hope you liked this short chapter.

#colby brock imagine #colby brock #sam golbach #colby brock smut #colby brock x reader #sam and colby #sam golbach imagine #sam golbach x reader #sam golbach story #sam golbach smut

71 notes · View notes

moonysfavoritetoast · 3 months

Text

Introduction !!

last updated 4/14/24

about me

hi i’m evan or cosmo :)

i’m a minor (in middle school), don’t be a creep.

i use he/they pronouns, i’m transmasc, non-binary, and bisexual (very prevalent, i am always going insane over someone different)

prob somewhere on the ace spectrum

FREE PALESTINE

MY PFP WAS DRAWN BY MY LOVELY WIFE @meerealsssss

first post limit 3/12/24

expect vent posts from time to time

also also currently going batshit crazy over hazbin hotel

i complain a lot, sorry

apathetic

will x isaac

deer :3 and and german shepherds :3

my hero is my father

watch just add magic, do it please /nf

nico <3

starr <3

alex <3

ace <3

mee <3

my wife is @meerealsssss

my wife is @homoashell

my wife is @catinasink

my wife is also undyne

my wife is also mrs claus

my wife is trashcan carla

my husband is @nasadoggo

my husband is @homoashell

my husband is @catinasink

my husband is the man in the yellow hat

my husband is terzo. i will not be taking criticism at this time.

my husband is also rick sanchez

my husband is also jazon broadly

my husband is also izerah (fuck you what is his last name, mee?)

pac-man is also my husband

my husband is alastor (hazbin hotel)

lucifer is my husband (hazbin hotel)

my husband is rj maccready:3

my husband is ford pines

lord farquaad is my husband

my partner is @alexthescaredenby <3 <3 <3

my partner is @homoashell <3

my partner is @catinasink <3

likes/dislikes

like: music, tv, friends, my cat, cool socks, writing, rick sanchez, genloss, tadc, musicals/theatre, undertale/deltarune, ducks

dislike: loud noises, silence, school

i’m currently obsessed with: ghost, dreamscape nexus, rick and morty, gravity falls, etc

i post about:

• marauders

• (mostly) random thoughts

• dreamscape nexus

• other random things

• rick and morty

• gravity falls

• percy jackson

• undertale/deltarune

• hazbin hotel

• helluva boss

family/friends/pets

i have a younger sister (i call her crotch demon online)

i have a cat named daniel tiger

i have two dogs, gunner and roxie

my irl friends:

@meerealsssss (claudia) (fake name)

@nasadoggo (ace my beloved)

timezone

EST

if you’re interacting with me past midnight, i’ll probably be a bit sillier than normal

DNI

maps/pedophiles, z00philes, bigots, ED and porn blogs

if you don’t like furries and therians please get the fuck away from my blog

and if you shit on other’s religions, get away

what can you call me?

no: feminine related terms (unless you’re using them in a gender neutral way or as a joke) like girl, sister, wife, etc (bbg is always ok)

yes: boy, guy, partner, husband, dude, man (basically anything masculine/gender neutral)

sideblogs

@ricksanchezsboyfriend is my rick and morty sideblog

@mountainsmissingshoes is my ghost sideblog

@alastorsbigdick is my hazbin hotel rp sideblog (matching ace)

@giddingstexasenthusiast is my southern mom rp blog

@cryingunderstars is my writing sideblog

i am also @hadesfavoritechild

extra info

i’m a leo (idfk i was born in early august)

tone tags appreciated

i’m some flavor of neurodivergent (except i’m clueless as to what it actually is)

i play trumpet

i’m a gryffindor

child of hades

i speak english (eventually will learn french, might learn swedish)

atheist and satanist

feminist

alterhuman

i write

i live in michigan and i guess this is shameful (shrimp bullies me for it)

i kin dipper pines

i have another sideblog. if you find it, idk i’ll give you chocolate or something (it’s embarrassing)

fuck wilbur soot. if i post about lovejoy, please know that i do not support him.

ask me about ghost (band) i have an oc and want to talk about them

send anon asks

tags!

• screenshots of dm’s/discord/texts: #evan leaks their texts

• lyrics: #evan screams lyrics at you

• my asks: #evan gets an ask *gasp*

• anything related to my book w/ @meerealsssss: #brokenly beloved

• anything related to moonlex (@alexthescaredenby and i’s ship name): #moonlex tag

• dreamscape nexus: #dreamscape nexus / #dn

• bracelets i make: #evan’s bracelets

• ace’s shit quotes: #ace needs to shit

• me talking about the man in the yellow hat: #tevan tag

• pictures of me: #literally evan

• me screaming about something: #on todays episode of evan is slowly going insane

• certain anon who signs off with a ☀️: #☀️ anon

• everything else: #evan's rambles

people i talk about

my teachers :3

• mr sharpie/mr shark is my band teacher (he/him)

• mr boner/mr skeleton is my science teacher

• mrs dodds is my math teacher

• mr margarita/mr margarine is my social studies teacher

• ms kopykat is my english teacher

• mrs seals is the old ass transphobic building substitute

• mama is a teacher from last year (she/her)

• ms k is our student teacher in ela (she/her)

my irl friends :3

• crotch demon is my sister (she/her)

• my sweet little expired english muffin is @meerealsssss (she/her)

• ace @nasadoggo (any pronouns)

• wife part two is my wife, she asked me to not name her here (she/her)

• al/allie is from school :3 (she/her)

• smurf is from school (blue hair, hence the nickname) (he/him)

• tomato is from school (silly :3) (he/him)

• boom boy/isaac is from school (he made me a netherite pickaxe after someone else burned mine // the pick had unbreaking // boom boy likes tnt) (he/him)

• boomerang/matt is from school (he/him)

• (irl) alex is from school :3 (he/they)

• khris is from school

• colten is from school (father) (he/him)

• will @skibitygamer is from school (he/him)

• dom is from school (he/him)

• luca is from theatre

• maryn is from theatre

parents are now getting their own nicknames

• hades is my dad (he/him)

• will come up with one for my mom (she/her)

where else can you find me?

youtube

wattpad (please don’t take this seriously)

tiktok (i do not post on this account)

facebook mom account

and discord (@moonysfavoritetoast)

#intro post

53 notes · View notes

pennyserenade · 7 months

Text

heaven holds a place for those who break.

chapter three - fade into you | ao3 link

pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella) rating: m (mature) tags/warnings: talk of sex, language, self-depreciation, talk of depression word count: 4.4k summary: javier & mariella paint her classroom. some of their old habits die hard in familiar places. a/n: i love chaotic characters & i hope you do too. the title comes from the fact that i misheard the lyric ‘heaven holds a place for those who pray’ in the song mrs. robinson by simon & garfunkel. i liked it

A red hibiscus plant sits, shrouded in the soft morning sunlight on the Sanchez porch. Junie Sanchez, who has been growing the plant in earnest since the end of March, sways serenely in the decades old rocking chair her husband Eduardo had gifted her for their fiftieth anniversary. She watches it like an attentive mother, as if this final chapter of her life is meant to be bookended by its presence.

Mornings like this since her Eduardo died make Junie feel in a state of fullness, something that his death has taken from her. The air and the wind and the sun, and this little plant that she put in the dirt as a seed and watered until it was something , appear to be pieces of thread tying together her dying heart.

At the age of eighty, Junie has no real conception of how many tomorrows there will be, and she lives with an attentiveness to that small detail. She makes two cups of coffee every day, one the way her late husband loved it, and one the way she prefers, and then she comes out to this creaking porch with them both. Here, in this home, in this town, Junie works not to just endure, but to live even without her other half. He had asked this much of her.

She is not crazy enough to think this plant is Eduardo, but romantic enough to want to. His cup of coffee sits, black as the night on the opposite rocking chair, its steam wafting pensively. Junie imagines the comforting sway of his chair lulling her in, sees how he’d be sitting there, watching her watching the plant, waiting for his turn. Yesterday the chapel was half-full, the soft murmurs of gossip as sticky as the heat. Eduardo, God bless him, was a beautiful chismoso. The brim of his hat would always tip when his laughter bubbled out over his words as he told her what he had heard; this was his favorite pastime.

“Tawes’ daughter, Mariella…” he would begin, softly pushing out the words with the preciseness of an expert gossiper. She would roll her eyes, focus in on whatever it was that she was looking at it before, but this would not dissuade her husband. He would push forth, especially about this . How he loved James Tawes, that white man with a handful of Spanish phrases and so much ardor behind his black eyes. The Irish, they had once joked together, are a little like Mexicans with that passion. “I hope she knows about Javier Peña, you know?”

Junie Sanchez inhabits the hobbies of her late husband with ease this morning, piecing together their conversation with tenderness. “I’m sure she does,” she would respond, an active listener if not a willing participant.

“He is a good boy, Junie, pero…”

“They say he went to Colombia, got smart. Did a good thing for this country with Pablo Escobar. I think you’re being too hard on him.”

His hum of understanding, followed by the thought he’d been itching to say since he started: “But you know about Mariella. Her divorce, the way she came here to sort it out and never left. And they say more than just about Pablo Escobar when the subject of Javier and Colombia come up, too. Where’s his wife, Junie? He’s too old not to have a wife.”

“Kids are different now, these days. They don’t do that the way we did. Maybe he was like Mariella, got married and then didn’t.”

“And you think Chucho wouldn’t say that? He loves Javier.”

“But he knows not everyone in the town has always been in the kid’s corner.”

“Because he was a troublemaker, Junie. You know that. And Mariella is such a nice girl.”

Junie would smile there, remembering how nice of a girl she had been – and equally how much Eduardo liked to make her do things nice girls supposedly wouldn’t. “I think they will be good for one another, Lalo. Some girls need a bit of trouble before they get to the good stuff.”

“You mean marriage? She won’t be able to marry in the church. Especially not with him.”

“No, Lalo,” she’d agreed, and that would be that. They’d both drink their coffees, watching this plant of hers, loving each other deeply and quietly, the way they had for decades.

Junie misses him more than she has the words to express, in either Spanish or English. For Mariella and Javier, she hopes for an enduring memory of the best of whatever it is everyone seems to be saying they’re doing.

“It is so important to live, to remember, to love,” she would’ve told her Lalo after that long silence. The way she always did, about these people, about these things. Then she’d finish it off with her sage advice: “Let them be young.”

The wind brushes against her red hibiscus and it moves accordingly with it. She smiles as she takes a sip of her coffee.

He always did agree with her in the end.

—-

The causality of real life stuns Javier. Hell, maybe it even terrifies him. Mariella greets her co-workers with a mouthful of early morning glee, holds her paintbrush with steady, focused hands, and can hold a good, mundane conversation. In this school of hers, she is as a real as anything could ever be, and he is in awe of her. If Laredo is the stage of life, and he and she are actors in its play, he’s got no doubt in his mind that she’s doing so much better than him at it. For all the practice he’s had, it does him no good. He half envies her ability to merely exist so well.

He’s mounted a ladder for her, and occupies himself with a paintbrush and the tricky corners close to the ceiling. She works at the bottom of the room, detailing around the haphazardly covered light switches and trim. The conversation they make has been switching been serious and causal.

This reminds him of stakeouts, being tucked away in a jeep, or a trench, or the vast greenery of a Colombian forest with another person. Just waiting. Just talking. It’s all there was to ever do on most them: talk. The midday summer air breezes through the opened windows, and the box fans brrr on in the background. He thinks of the things that make him interesting and figures what the hell. She is like a partner. He tells her what everyone wants to hear.

“When I first got to Colombia, they handed me a key to this apartment in Bogotá. I never had to do anything like this. It was all furnished and painted. I miss it sometimes. It was big, had a nice view.” The cream white paint coats the side of his hand as he leans too close to the wall. Instead of hissing an obscenity, he wipes it on his shirt. The blue flannel has been lost to the tragedy of his unsteady fingers, and he uses it like a napkin knowingly.

Down at the bottom, Mariella hums in interest. Maybe she ought to be hungry for this information, latching on to every word that comes after Colombia. The blue painter’s tape is splattered with her mistakes because her mind is up there with Javier. It’s not that she’s not paying attention. It’s just that his time in Colombia pales comparison to his time in here, up on the ladder, telling her about Colombia.

They’ve been at this for two hours, a third of the large room painted a fresh cream white, with the other, smaller section still the old, pale gray. Mariella tries not to analyze people—likes to take them as they are—but with Javier it’s hard not to wonder. His reputation had preceded him, and he’s brooded around as the town mystic for months, tight lipped and humble, if not polite, about what he’s been doing elsewhere. She listens because he sounds like he needs someone to.

Her answers aren’t meant to pry more out of him, but to acknowledge him, showing that she’s listening. “I had an apartment like that once, back in college,” she tells him, going to her knees. The overalls she’s wearing are fit for an art teacher, pre stained and torn at the knees, but she’s keeping them miraculously clean today. She scoots her paint pan over. She continues her story as she re-coats her brush. “I shared it with a boyfriend. It was the first time I had lived by myself like that, away from home.”

“I got my first apartment here. I don’t think the buildings exist anymore. If they do, they shouldn’t because it was a shit—“ Javier halts. The elementary school is void of children, yet the atmosphere seems to warrant his best behavior. “It was rundown. Ugly. But it only cost a hundred dollars a month, and it had two bedrooms. Though it could’ve costed a thousand and I would’ve taken it. It felt like freedom.”

“Mine too,” Mariella agrees. “I lived on campus for awhile, which was okay but I liked the apartment more.”

Javier looks over his shoulder at her. “What school?”

“University of Pudget Sound.”

“Where’s that?”

“Washington.”

“And you liked it?”

Mariella nods. “Sure. It was pretty and the teachers were great. We lived in Tacoma, before Laredo, so I got to go to visit my grandparents sometimes when I was feeling homesick. I really loved that.”

“I never did feel homesick,” Javier says quietly. The admission feels like a betrayal to Chucho, and he doesn’t know why he’s said it, but he feels like he’s meaning to say for a long time. He rests an arm on one of the rings and inspects his work through squinted eyes. “I went to college for awhile, too but then I came back. Then I left again.”

“I stopped feeling homesick, after a bit,” she admits. “I ended up staying in Washington for a long time. A really long time, truthfully, longer than I intended. I worked at this little private school in Tacoma as a kindergarten teacher. Had a house and everything.”

“What happened?” he asks.

Her features soften. “Oh, life,” she evades.

“I know a thing or two about that,” he responds, letting her off. He begins his climb down the ladder, holding onto the black pan with one hand and the steps with another. “I think it looks alright, don’t you?”

Mariella turns around. She grins, giving him a thumb’s up. The action is so teacher-like he can’t help but chuff out a laugh. “What?” she asks, smiling quizzically.

“Nothing. You’re just good at your job,” he tells her, shaking his head. Down on the ground again, he puts the pan on one of clusters of desks. His itch for a cigarette returns with a vengeance and he knows it must be close to lunch by the way his stomach growls. “You think you’ve got it in you to take a lunch break?” Instinctively he pats his pockets for the missing cigarette pack and frowns when he can’t find them.

With the back of her hand, she moves a fallen strand of hair. Her black bandana is doing a poor job of keeping it all in and she’s been doing this all morning, the evidence of which can be found in the strip of paint gathered above her brow. Javier smiles but says nothing. “I didn’t realize it was so late already. My God. Of course. By no means let me keep you,” she tells him. She pats her hands on the legs of her overalls, rising.

Javier stalls. “Do you want to come with? It’ll be on me this time.”

“Why don’t you come to mine, actually? It’s just down the road from here and I’ve already made it. It’s just a sandwich, so if you’re not feeling that I get it, but it’d be nice.”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t. You already paid for my lunch once.”

She clicks her tongue. “Please, Javi. You’ve painted my classroom! That’s worth two lunches at least.”

He gives serious thought to it. Friends go to their friend’s house. Plus they’re both paint-coated and slick with a sheen of sweat.

“It might cause rumors,” he teases, though his tone borders on apprehension more than anything.

“I’m thirty-four, which is full grown last I checked. I’m sure my neighbors won’t mind if I feed a man lunch.”

He watches as she covers up the paint with the edge of the cloth tarp. She’s right, he knows. If they’re going to be friends, they’re going to get here eventually.

“Sure,” he concedes, smiling softly.

“Perfect,” she smiles, “It was my turn to drive anyway.”

—-

Unlike his once bachelor apartment and Chucho’s house, Mariella’s place is this side of quaint, white picket fence included. The interior, while less antiquated, promises home without the homely; beige cloth couch, red patterned chairs, wooden coffee table with carefully selected magazines spread against the front. There’s a hodgepodge of colors that never clash, immaculately cleaned surfaces, and a fresh but positively manufactured scent. Warm, vanilla-like, covering any life that might wish to will itself inside.

He hadn’t imagined her place before but if he had he’s not sure he’d think of something so…pristine. It had been hard enough to keep his own place clean by himself, and his color palette had been more on the brown side. Even her carpets are a lighter hue.

When he had first walked in he had half expected to be paraded with rules: coat here, shoes there. But all she did was tell him where he might put any of those if he liked, and informed him that the bathroom was down the hall, to the right if he needed it.

Even her fucking hand towels are too clean. He splashes as much water as he can into the bowl and wipes the rest on his jeans. “Nice house,” he calls to her, turning off the light. This he means, however intimidated he is by it. He finds her in the kitchen, making two plates. “You ever considered getting it pictured?”

She smiles, amused. “I clean when I’m bored and I’m bored a lot,” she confesses. “Want a coke? A beer?”

“Coke,” he replies. He pulls out one of the wooden stools in front of island and passes him a plate with a sandwich and chips. While she’s getting him the coke, he licks his lips and considers her. Considers all of this. It’s been so long since he’s been truly friendly with someone and he knows it should be easy, but it isn’t. It’s hard to know how much to say and when to say it. Hard to know what’s right and what’s wrong here when, for so long, his life had been a whirlwind of rights and wrongs that were life and death. Everything seems so futile.

He’s been to the doctor and they think he’s depressed. If he and Chucho talked, Chucho would agree. He’s not one of those obstinate, hardheaded old men who don’t believe in that sort of thing. No, that’s a spot reserved for Javier himself. He’s just having a hard time. A long, tiring hard time.

He’s trying, and that’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?

“How long have you lived here?” He takes a stab at conversation. Mariella places the soda in front of him and then sits opposite of him, on the other side of the island. A healthy, decent divide. He’s not sure how long it’s been since a woman invited him in and there’d been this much space between them.

“About four years. I used to live with my parents, too,” she tells him. “It’s not so bad here, doing that. I like this town because of it. Lots of people think I’m strange for living on my own now, but I needed it. I love my father and Tamara but being on my own — it’s important to me.”

“I’ve thought about getting something of my own too, but I don’t know if I want it to be here or not. Pop is getting up there in age and I know I probably should just accept that I’m going to be here, but I don’t know.” He shrugs. He picks at the sandwich, doesn’t dare look up. “It’s interesting, being here like this now. After all of that.”

Mariella doesn’t ask him to explain. Her own memory fills in the gaps. Six years ago she had come back to Laredo a different person, defeated and world-weary, more her thirty-four years of age than the twenty-eight she’d been then. Something about life and expectation tearing you down forms in her head, but she doesn’t say any of it. Sitting across from her, his intense features looked softened enough by the blow of memory.

They fall into silence as they eat, her watching outside the window into the backyard, and him glancing around inconspicuously. His detective eyes catch onto things another might not: the lack of familial pictures on the wall, the ABC magnets strewn against the white fridge, spelling out ‘LATE.’ Her notepad by the telephone, scribbled with reminders and phone numbers. In another life, he was meant to be a psychologist. The act of breaking another person apart like this has fascinated him since he was young. He wonders what kind of life she leads, in the clinical, unromantic way psychology warrants. If he was a better friend, he might just ask.

“Thank you for lunch,” he tells her, “You didn’t have to do that but it was good.”

She looks back at him, her dark brown eyes warm. “Of course,” she replies, smiling. She gathers her half eaten sandwich and the peppering of chips she’s left, and puts it beside the sink. He can’t imagine she’s going to leave it there, not the way her home looks, feels, smells like. Things don’t get left out here.

Or do they? Had she cleaned it this intensely for his benefit? Did she expect to invite him over? Probably not, but maybe. And maybe is enough.

He hands her his empty plate with a half grin. Her smile picks up again. They look at each other for a long second before she grows self conscious under his searching gaze. He struggles to read what it is she expects from him, if anything at all. Maybe just friends means something vastly different in her vocabulary than it does his own.

“Mariella,” he says quietly, leaning against her tiled countertop. She raises her head, looking back in his direction with a soft furrow between her brows. The paint strip is still on her bare face. “At the risk of sounding a bit of an asshole, can I ask you something?”

She laughs awkwardly. “That’s never a good way to start anything,” she jokes, “But sure.”

Javier stares at her, letting the thought digest before it becomes a conversation. He chews the inside of his cheek. Just friends. A mantra that repeats in cycles. He’s been doing such a good job. No cigarettes in a week, no sex for months. “I better not.” He decides against it.

She wipes her hand off on a stray dish towel. “I doubt I’ll think you’re an asshole,” she tells him softly. “Go ahead, shoot.”

The wrinkles between his eyes grow more prominent as he considers the weight of this question in his mind. He likes Mariella, feels strangely at ease in her company, and this might ruin all of that. She could tell her dad. Her dad could tell Chucho. In Laredo, the entire landscape of his life is intertwined. Maybe he does this as a form of rebellion, just because he can. As surely as Mariella allowed him into her home, he wants to ask her this.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m probably being presumptuous and maybe even a bit forward in asking you this, and I know that. You haven’t really done much to give me this impression, so I don’t want you to feel like you have,” he assures, looking at her directly, “But do you…Is friends all you want to be, or maybe is this something more? Maybe not..not anything serious but something?”

The question makes her cheeks tint and she averts her eyes. Looking down at the dishes, she begins to fiddle with the handles on the sink. The water interrupts the stream of awkwardness, but not enough to will it away.

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly, wincing at his own foolish behavior. “I—I don’t know why I said that. I’m not good at this. I never have been.”

She rinses his dish with a narrowed focus, the yellow sponge absorbing his words. After a stretch of time that seems an eternity she responds. “I can’t begin to tell you the things I want, Javier. Even if I knew.” She lifts her eyes. He finds an honest vulnerability that discomforts him. A terrible ache that exists in him, too, but that he hadn’t expected from her. It’s his turn to move away from it, casting his eyes to the window.

“I know the feeling,” he mutters.

He looks at her, sidelong and soft, and she nods, full of quiet understanding. She reaches over and grabs her plate, brushing against him with her shoulder. Everything moves a little slower, more intense and hushed, like a disaster is on the horizon.

The precision with which they had built division between them crashes and burns against her chestnut cabinets, an inevitable death. The cool feel of the tile beneath his hands as he pins her between his body and the sink is not sobering, not in the least. It’s comforting, pleasant. She gasps when he kisses her the first time, and its more gentle than he’s used to, half afraid that he might do something as stupid as break her heart. She’s a good girl , a cruel voice calls to him from the back of his mind.

A good girl who doesn’t know what she wants and couldn’t tell him if she did. Self punishment always felt best served up as a warm body, in some dark shadow in a decrepit corner of Colombia. But this is Laredo, and his Daddy knows her Daddy. As his fingers undo the buckles of her overalls, she looks at him with wide, earnest eyes. Glossy lipped and wild with desire, shrouded in warm daylight. He can almost imagine her at twenty-one, young and urgent and maybe in love with the man she had talked about moving in with. No dark corners here. The tile is spotless. Everything is spotless He kisses her harder the second time and she lets him. He knows he shouldn’t. He’s already so hard he aches.

“Turn around,” he whispers gruffly against the shell of her ear. He kisses her again and she obeys. The denim falls down to her waist and he assists her in undoing the buttons there while she lifts her shirt. She looks into the yard, feeling his calloused fingertips at her hips, and his warm breath against her back. Her knuckles are white, clenching the counter, anxious. Not of him. Not of this. Not really. Just the idea of it. The last man she had sex with was Henry, and before that, another teacher she had worked with in Washington. Her whole sexual history can be accounted for on two hands and all the men she has known far better and far longer than this one. She doesn’t have condoms.

She doesn’t have condoms.

“I don’t…” she breathes out, closing her eyes. “There’s no condoms.”

He wants to say it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t need to cum, to be in her. That he’s fine with getting on his knees like he intended, spreading her and pressing his tongue to her slit. Doing his very best giving. But there’s a hollowness in her tone that wards him off, and a waver that speaks of uncertainty. He rubs his hand affectionately against her side and gathers her overalls up for her..

“M’sorry.” She hangs her head, readjusting, and he frowns.

“No,” he says, quietly. “Don’t be. It doesn’t matter at all. I shouldn’t have done that. You said you wanted to be friends.”

She shrugs her shoulders, dutifully re-clipping her overalls. “It’s not your fault, either.”

“I can be a friend,” he finds himself saying, like a solemn promise. The thought of this becoming nothing seems to scare him more than he thought it would. He’s been so alone. Speaking to her, doing things with her, has felt liberating, like he’s a person again. “I wasn’t…Before that moment, I didn’t think about doing anything like that. It was just..I don’t know. I started thinking and that always leads me to places I shouldn’t be.” He smiles, but it’s humorless.

She turns around, offering him a wane smile. “It’s okay, Javi. It has nothing to do with what you did or didn’t do. I’m just a bit confused right now. That’s all. It’s me. I do things like this, confuse everyone.”

Her arms wrap around her and he feels pathetic, like he’s done something terribly wrong.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks.

“I drove you here.” This earns him a more genuine grin. A small bit of laughter, too. “It’s okay,” she reassures, the red in her cheeks dimming. He smiles, too, though it’s more of a grimace. As she reaches out to him, patting him on the arm, she says, “Let’s go paint the rest of the classroom. Rumors might start if someone walks in to see that paint job.”

Javier steps aside and she goes to get her things. There’s a panic in his chest, like there always is after he’s made a decision this stupid. It’s been so long. A whole summer of feeling nothing . He remembers why he doesn’t talk to anyone; he can’t. He fucks it up. He fucks everything up, even when he does them with the best intentions.

“Is it alright if we stop by the store?” he calls out. “I need cigarettes.”

She peeks her head around the corner, slinging her purse over her arm. “Of course,” she says. He can’t help but think about how distant she looks. His analytical mind, which had come to a grinding halt when he needed it most, works overtime now.

Yeah, he needs a fucking cigarette. Needs it like he needs a miserable bullet in his skill: urgently.

#javier peña #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x reader #javier peña x ofc #javier peña x female oc #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena #javier peña fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction

44 notes · View notes

obsessedasusual · 1 year

Text

Lonely No More - Seven

Bishop Losa x OC series

Summary: There was never a dull moment, being the only Reyes sister. But between overbearing brothers, being the family peacekeeper, and countless disaster dates, Amalia finds herself wishing she had someone to unwind with after a hectic day. Funnily enough, Bishop Losa wishes for the same thing.

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sex, alcohol

Note: - 2.4k - it’s here!! Hello to readers new and old….. dive in!

Also - I had a tag list for this series at one point, starting from scratch. Let me know if you’d like to be added!

Tags: @danzer8705 @delightfulheroshoeflap

“Guess who I saw at the store today.” She threw at her older brother before she took a sip of her orange juice.

“Who?” Angel questioned from the kitchen as he dug around for something that could pass as lunch.

Amaila rolled her eyes, “I said ‘guess’, dumbass.”

Angel pulled his head out from the fridge to glare at his sister sitting on his couch, “Don’t give me that shit. Just tell me.”

She raised an eyebrow expectantly at her brother. While both stubborn, she could definitely out-wait him.

It was his turn to roll his eyes at the gesture knowing she wasn’t about to give it up, “Fine,” he sighed, shaking his head in thought, “Was it… I don’t fucking know - Mrs Sanchez from High School?”

“Mrs Sanchez? No?” Amalia stared dumbly at her brother, “Why the fuck was she the first person to come to your mind?’

Angel offered a shrug in response before turning back to the fridge.

“I saw Kevin.” she finally relented.

“Who?’ he mumbled, half distracted by his sandwich making.

“Kevin,” she repeated, “Kevin, our cousin Kevin?”

She watched her brother’s face transform from confused to understanding as he clicked to who she was talking about, “Didn’t know he was in town. Thought he was in the city?”

Amalia mumbled a quick, “Thanks,” as he placed a plate holding a cold meat sandwich in front of her, “I thought so too, guess he still is? Don’t know, didn’t actually talk to him.”

“You didn't talk to him? So that whole story was for what?” Angel spoke with his mouth full earning a glare from his sister.

“Shut up. I was just passing comment.”

“Well, thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without this life changing information.”

Amalia looked at him as she chewed, “You’re a dick sometimes you know that?”

She was met with a middle finger and decided to finish her sandwich instead of dignifying her brother’s gesture with a response.

“How’s EZ? With the club I mean.” Ever the protective sister, Amalia had been worried about how her younger brother would fit in with the Mayans. Everytime she brought it up with the brother in question she was met with a small smile and a, “Everything’s good, A.”

Angel thought about his answer for a moment, “He’s doing okay I think. But I just - some of the shit we see man, sometimes I wonder if sponsoring him was the right thing to do you know?”

She nodded in understanding, “When he got out, he had nothing to go to, Angel. You’ve given him… something. And at the end of the day, Ezekiel’s an adult now. He’s gonna make his own choices no matter what we say.”

“Yeah, I know but… he was so young when he went inside. He was s’pose to be a fucking doctor, not following me into an MC.”

Pursing her lips at the statement she silently agreed with him. Ezekiel was always the one out of the trio that they were sure was going to do well. Angel had always done his own thing, Amalia had a college degree in communications but that wasn’t exactly a field that screamed ‘successful’. EZ was going down the medical route. Now that was impressive.

“Pop’s pissed at me for bringing him in too.” Angel continued.

Amalia sighed at that. The Reyes Patriarch made no effort to disguise his real emotions about anything. And it seemed clear as day that he wasn’t pleased with his youngest following his oldest’s footsteps, becoming more protective over him then ever.

“Pop is Pop,” she offered, “No matter what, EZ is always gonna be the apple of his eye. And that isn’t fair, but… at least we have each other at Christmas.”

That succeeded in getting a chuckle out of her brother. Amalia knew their father’s favouritism weighed on Angel.

“Yeah… lucky us.” he huffed good humouredly.

Feeling her phone buzz she moved her attention to the message on her screen, feeling her cheeks heat up as soon as she saw who it was from.

Is it safe to assume you have no plans tomorrow and can join a lonely man for dinner?

She and Bishop had exchanged numbers two nights ago when she had returned home from work and found a note in her mailbox from said President.

Fixed your gate, the note had read, here if you ever need a handyman.

The note had been signed ‘Bishop’ along with a phone number. After texting him her gratitude, the two had been periodically texting.

“What’re you smiling at?” her brother questioned, eyeing her suspiciously.

Amalia snapped her gaze from her phone to Angel, caught like a deer in headlights, “Nothing.”

“You texting a guy?”

She rolled her eyes, “Leave it, Angel.”

“That’s not a ‘no’.” again, speaking with his mouth full.

“It’s a ‘mind your own business’.”

He rolled his eyes and demolished the rest of his sandwich, Amalia following suit.

“As long as he treats you good.” Angel muttered as he walked back to the kitchen.

Amalia bit her lip at the comment before typing out a reply to Bishop.

Name the time and place :)

Her phone vibrated within seconds of hitting send.

My place, 6:30. See you then sweetheart.

Amalia looked from the text, to her brother who was fluffing around in the kitchen. She wasn’t doing anything wrong by getting dinner with Bishop. They’d done it before, not that she’d told Angel. And besides, it was only dinner. Just two friends who happen to live down the street from each other.

How would Angel react to it? Probably not well. But still, she couldn't stop herself from the excitement that bubbled at the thought of the dinner.

Can’t wait.

```

It shouldn’t have surprised Amalia, how good the food was as she’d already experienced it with the pie weeks prior. Although dinner was ‘only’ spaghetti and meatballs, it was damn near the best she’d ever had. The big, scary Mayans President was an absolute whiz in the kitchen.

Dinner had passed with the pair indulging in both wine and beer, Bishop had begun to keep a bottle of red handy for occasions such as this, and sharing so much laughter their sides hurt. It was peaceful, and oh so comfortable.

Neither brought up the stressful day to day topics like work and the club. Instead they spoke of their favourite holidays as kids, where they’d go if they could travel anywhere in the world, what animal best represented them.

That last one was all Amalia, but Bishop had indulged her.

“You’d be an ant,” he’d decided, “with how social you are.”

“An ant?! That’s not even an animal. I’m more like a… penguin.”

In the end they agreed to disagree.

“Bishop, you cooked. Please let me do the cleaning.” she all but begged as he began to gather up the dirty dishes. The biker waved her off with a smile as he continued.

“You’re my guest, querida. Sit there and drink your wine.”

Amalia let her eyes follow the rough man as he cleared the table, moving to fill the sink with hot water. It was weird seeing Bishop like this. It almost felt wrong. She was in his house, his private four walls away from the club. He wasn’t wearing his kutte, he looked almost relaxed. In that moment, it wasn’t ‘Bishop Losa, MC President’. It was just Bishop. Bishop, the man that kept his lawns immaculate. Bishop, the man that could cook an incredible pot pie. Bishop, the man that owned exactly one nicknack.

Bishop. The man had been on Amalia’s mind constantly lately.

“Have I got something on my face or what?”

His deeper voice broke her train of thought as he caught her staring red handed. His eyes weren’t on her though, they remained on the dirty dishes he had begun to wash.

She smiled at his side profile, “Just thinking.”

“That’s a dangerous way to spend your time, querida.”

“What… thinking?” Amalia giggled.

Bishop pulled a tight-lipped smile and nodded once, “Gets you in all sorts of trouble.”

The Reyes sister cocked her head and made her way from the table to stand beside the older man, still diligently washing the dishes. She took a moment to properly take in the comment, knowing the President usually had a deeper meaning behind his words. Grabbing a dish towel in silence, Amalia made a start on drying the dishes.

“Some would say,” she began, “You attract even more trouble by not thinking.”

Bishop glanced at her briefly, “You just love to argue with me don’t you, sweetheart?”

Amalia grinned slyly up at him, “Gotta keep you young somehow, Prez.”

He shook his head, chuckling lowly not dignifying her remark with a verbal response, instead deciding to use the scrubbing brush to splash bubbles at her, hitting her square on the nose.

“Bishop!” she burst into laughter, doing her best not to get any of the hopefully not-too-dirty dishwater and bubble combo that was now dripping down her face, in her mouth.

“Told you not to think, querida.” he winked at her and went back to washing the cup in his hands.

Quickly wiping her face with the dish towel, she twisted it in her hands, lined it perfectly with her target and let it fly, whipping Bishop’s bicep perfectly with a satisfying ‘snap’.

Her target startled, hand quickly coming up to caress where he had been hit, turning to face Amalia with a shocked smile.

“You…”

“You were thinking too hard.” she mocked, shrugging and continuing to dry the plates.

She froze when another belt of soapy water hit her, soaking her more than last time. Mouth hanging open in shock and laughter, Amalia moved quickly to once again whip her dish towel at the taller man. Bishop responded accordingly with more dish water, this time wetting the dish towel as Amalia held it up in defence.

Water on a dish towel gives it much more power when used as a whip… much more. It seemed that they both realised this at the same time, Amalia growing excited and Bishop growing regretful.

“Don’t…” he warned, but it was hard to take him seriously when a smile was plastered across his face.

Amalia giggled as she twisted the towel once again, readying it for her shot. It seemed that Bishop could anticipate her next move however as he made to grab it just as she took her shot. The brunette tugged at her end.

“That’s not fair! This is my weapon, not my fault you chose dish water.” She tugged again, only to be met with the resistance of a strong man.

“All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart.”

“Bishop!” She was in stitches at the situation, laughing too much to be able to actually grip the towel enough to stand a chance, “Give it back!”

He tugged his end again, “Apologise.”

She tugged back, “No!”

“Apologise.” he chuckled, tugging at the dish towel a bit harder, in turn pulling Amalia toward him with it.

She collided with his chest in a fit of laughter, sides beginning to hurt as she attempted to catch her breath. Pushing herself back from her position, she gained her composure and looked up at Bishop. Only now realising how close they actually were.

Silence fell over the duo. Amalia breathing heavily still trying to catch her breath, and Bishop breathing shallowly due to the close proximity he found himself in with the woman that held his infatuation.

Amalia cleared her throat when their eyes locked, “Um-”

His lips were on hers before she could mutter a complete word.

It took a moment for Amalia to process what was happening, but it was a short moment and she soon found herself sliding her hands up to gently grasp the sides of Bishop’s neck, quickly returning the kiss. She could have sworn she felt him sigh into her at that moment, almost in relief.

He kept the kiss clean. No tongue. No teeth. Just lips. And want.

Amalia felt like her mind was racing but couldn’t pinpoint what she was actually thinking. She knew what she was feeling though.

Butterflies making their presence known in her stomach, a satisfying burn on her waist where Bishop held her, an almost-annoying-but-actually-quite-nice tickle on her lip from his mustache, and the feeling of wow, this is actually happening.

They were lost in their moment, her hands on his neck, his hands on her waist, and their lips interlocked. No one could say how long they would’ve stayed like that if that goddamn phone hadn’t decided to ring.

Bishop quickly pulled back from her at the ringtone. Not moving to answer his phone, instead just removing himself from her grasp and staring at her flushed face. Neither spoke a word as the ringtone finally died down, only to start up again a second later.

The second ring seemed to break the President out of his daze as he broke his eye contact and grabbed the still ringing cell phone from the bench, cursing quietly when he saw who was calling.

“What?” he answered with a gruff tone.

Amalia spent the next few seconds collecting herself, not paying attention to the topic of the phone call. Although she could guess it was club related based on the amount of swearing she could hear on both ends. She found her fingers tracing her lips subconsciously when Bishop ended the call.

“Fuckin’...” he trailed off, turning back to her, “Uh… club shit,”

He was struggling to meet her eyes, instead deciding to focus on the now abandoned dish towel sitting on the bench, “I gotta go. You uh… you can…”

“I’ll clean up then head out.” She offered, seeing how he was struggling with words and making the whole situation more awkward.

Still not meeting her eyes, he stared intensely at the towel, opened his mouth as if he had something else to add, before settling with a nod and turning to leave the kitchen.

Amalia could hear him pulling on his boots in the next room and imagined him shrugging on his kutte too. The opening and slamming of the front door pulled her back to reality as she realised he had left. The roaring of his Harley as it started up and rode off confirming it.

The breath she let out was so shaky it was audible, she made to grab the bench behind her to steady herself.

“Holy fuck.” she whispered. What the hell just happened?

“Holy fuck.” she exclaimed as she made her way to the front door, leaving the dishes in the dirty, cooling water.

Fuck cleaning up. She just wanted to go home.

#mayans mc #bishop losa #mayans mc imagine #bring back bishop #bishop losa fic #bishop losa imagine #bishop losa x oc #mayans mc fic #lonely no more

106 notes · View notes