#obispo losa fluff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

superhoeva-archived · 2 years

Text

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the mayans head to the casino. gabriella struggles with everything that's going on.

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gabriella adéline carter, angel reyes, michael "riz" ariza, marcus alvarez, che "taza" romero, obispo "bishop" losa, johnny "coco" cruz, ezekiel "ez" reyes, miguel galindo, adam, hank "tranq" loza, gilberto "gilly" lopez, jimmy

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: as promised, here's the next chapter. very i'm excited about how the story is about to ramp up ;) (gif credit: @everyhowlmarksthedead)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): language, angst, drugs (mentioned), some fluff (finally)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k

“Bishop wants to hit the road early. I guess Galindo invited the Chinese to our prison sit down.”

Gabriella shuffles uncomfortably at the news before turning to Angel with an apprehensive expression. Her heart dims a little when he looks away from her, his obvious disdain for the fact that she lied to him still fresh in his head.

“Let them know the cartel will be able to deliver,” Gabriella assumes with a sad shrug of her shoulders, giving up on trying to get the older Reyes brother to look at her. Riz nods and goes to make his way into the clubhouse so he can change before they leave.

Marcus, Taza, and Bishop trek down the stairs and away from the Clubhouse just as Coco breathes out, “that makes it easy.”

“Hey, buy me a few minutes?” Angel wonders, Coco and Gabriella nodding immediately. “Gonna give Jimmy a call.”

Angel steps away from the group, pulling out his phone. Gabriella’s gaze locks onto him until there’s a soft nudge on her arm. She turns to find Marcus staring back at her.

“Can I talk to you before we head out, mi’ja?” Gabbi swallows at the questions, but nods. She attempts to mask her worry with a small smile, telling him, “of course, Padrino.”

Gabriella follows him back inside the clubhouse and into Templo quarters in complete silence. All she can think about is Benny and his son. And how upset Angel is with her. And how upset Ezekiel was yesterday. And the intrusive questions KJ found himself with the audacity to ask. And whatever Marcus is about to speak to her about. And Miguel.

Gabriella barely managed to repress the shaking her body wants to take part in under the curious gaze of her godfather, instead allowing her hands to wring themselves behind her back.

“You know I don’t like when you lie to me, right?”

The question has Gabriella’s hand squeezing tighter as gives him a small nod.

“So if I ask you how you’re doing, you’re not gonna lie to me, right?”

Gabriella nods again and Marcus sighs.

“Alright, then,” Marcus starts, “how are you doing?”

It only takes a few short seconds for the tears to well in Gabriella’s eyes. Luckily, Marcus is already waiting with open arms. Gabriella falls into his chest with a broken sob, thankful for the way his arms create a protective barrier, at least for the moment, around her hurting soul.

Marcus grips Gabriella tighter than he probably should, but he doesn’t care. He knows this is something he should’ve done after they left Galindo’s pew yesterday. No matter how she gets, he feels that it’s his responsibility to take care of her… and not just because of the promise he made her father.

Just as he promised, Gabriella rides with Riz in the van when the Mayans head to the San Bujo Casino. He decides against asking about her puffy eyes and occasional sniffle, instead attempting to cheer her up with purposefully bad singing along with the radio as they speed down the highway.

By the time they make it to the casino, Gabriella’s eyes are only a little pink, stomach sore from all the laughter. Marcus notices immediately, sending a quick nod to Riz after he parks his bike. Riz nods back, pleased to know that he was an adequate distraction from whatever had her so upset.

As they travel to the front doors of the facility, both of the Reyes brothers send desolate stares Gabbi’s way. Ezekiel, for feeling bad after not making an effort to really speak to the woman ever since he found out that she knew what would happen to Emily’s son. And Angel, who still wants to know why she wouldn’t tell him where she was last night.

“My brown brothers,” a voice calls out as the group saunters through the front entrance.

Everyone looks up to see Adam, the owner of the casino, and two of his men ready to greet their visitors.

Bishop smiles and holds out a hand. “Adam.”

Adam smiles, returning the grin and handshake. “Bishop.” The casino owner then goes to greet Taza with a cordial hug, before turning to Gabriella. “And the lovely Gabriella.”

“It’s good to see you again, Adam,” she smiles as the man presses a short kiss on her cheek. “How’s the family?”

Adam beams at the mention of his children, answering, “oh, they’re great. I’ll have to tell that you asked about them. Oh, and sorry about checking the weapons. It’s tribal law. Booze and bullets have not been a good combination for my people.”

“Our’s either,” Hank replies, pulling a small grin from Adam.

“The other parties get down here yet?” Riz questions.

Adam shakes his head. “Not that I know of. But we have the room you requested. It’s private. Very quiet.”

Alvarez nods assertively with a quick, “thank you.”

Adam gifts the Mayans with one last smile, before leaving to go take care of other pieces of business. Bishop turns around with a sigh. “Well, we’ve got a few hours to kill.”

“Me and the Boy Scout,” Coco starts immediately, we’re gonna win a little wampum.”

Ezekiel can only look at Coco before the sniper is dragging him to one of the tables, causing Bishop to turn to Angel, Gilly, and Gabbi.

“Keep him contained,” Bishop orders, earning nods from the three. As soon as they are away from the older Mayans, Angel turns to Gilly.

“We’ll catch up,” he tells Gilly, who nods and goes to follow Ezekiel and an exhilarated Coco. Gabriella then turns to Angel. With Gilly gone, it’s just the two of them, now.

When she looks up at him, he’s already looking back at her. In his eyes, a hint of guilt.

“Look, Angel,” Gabriella sighs, “if you’re still mad at me, fine. But can we please just shove that aside for a moment and handle our business? This is important, and Jimmy won’t take if he sees that you can’t even look at me without–”

Gabriella pauses when Angel wraps his arms around her. Her eyes widen when he pulls her close.

“I’m still mad,” he starts delicately, “but I missed talking to you. Like, a lot.”

A small smile crosses Gabriella’s face, as she gives in and lets her arms clasp around his body. There’s an elongated silence before either of them speaks again.

“We can talk it out later, okay? Let’s just get this over with so we can get home.” Angel nods before taking a step back. The two share a stare before turning to make their way to the side entrance they agreed to meet Jimmy.

He’s already standing outside when Angel and Gabriella arrive, a cigarette working to keep him company.

“How you been Jimmy?” Angel asks as he settles on the other side of Gabbi, lighting his own cigarette in the process.

“Getting by,” Jimmy nods, peeking down at Gabbi, “what do you have?”

Gabbie sighs before telling him, “six keys.”

“Ninety-seven percent pure Guero heroin,” Angel continues for her. “Thirty per brick.”

A frown crosses Jimmy’s face and has to bite his lip to contain his irritation. “Thought you had nine.”

“So did I. But circumstances change, Jimmy.” Gabriella steps in. “So like I said before: six keys, thirty per brick. You don’t like that, I’ve got plenty of other buyers I dump you for––”

“Okay,” Jimmy calls out with his hand in the air. He takes a deep breath before asking both of them, “can you get it to Vegas?”

“You certain it stays outside the family?”

Jimmy takes a long drag of his cigarette before nodding. “Yep. You?”

A small laugh leaves Gabriella. “Would we be speaking out in the open like this if the answer was no?”

Now, it’s Jimmy’s turn to laugh.

“I’m in.”

Angel and Gabriella part from Jimmy swiftly with a quick, “okay,” not wanting to risk catching the eye of any of the other Mayans. Jimmy watches them leave with a shake of his head, having to ignore when the smallest voice at the back of his mind wonders ‘What the hell am I doing?’

Back inside, Ezekiel sits begrudgingly in a seat a few feet from where Coco is playing Blackjack. The youngest Reyes brother has been there for song long that he almost forgets to scratch his chin when to alert Coco that he should call for another card.

“Twenty-one,” the dealer calls out before flipping over a few more cards. “The house is over. The gentleman wins again.”

Ezekiel shakes his head at the smile on Coco’s face, a deep sigh leaving him when it’s apparent that Coco wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.

Angel and Gabriella arrive at Gilly’s table just as Coco starts another round.

“Jimmy?” Gilly questions, Angel responding with a nod.

“All good. I’ll fill you in,” he replies while Gabriella looks over at Ezekiel with furrowed eyebrows.

“He’s got him counting cards?” She asks, eyes going back and forth between a locked-in Coco and annoyed Ezekiel.

“Yup,” Gilly tells her and Angel lets out a scoffed laugh.

He and Gabriella waltz over to where Ezekiel sits, Angel ordering his brother to “take a break.”

Ezekiel blows out a long breath, telling his brother, “thank you.” Before he walks away, he swallows and turns to Gabbi with a reddened face. Her breath nearly catches in her throat when she looks at Ezekiel and realizes he’s already staring.

“Want a drink?” Gabriella questions, shoulders relaxing some when Ezekiel nods.

“I’d love one.”

taglist (open): @rae-gar-targaryen @blackgirlglitter@shawty-fenty @alienstardust @lovelytricia @est1887 @afriicanhoe @bigchoose @inyourbackpocketisbutterflies @rkil98 @youlovetkay @blowmymbackout @angrybirdxx @munteanumiss @cruzwalters @joannasteez @amorestevens @toni9 @proudlittlewitchbitch @taylorm1367 @savagemickey03 @melaninhawtie @relaxing-najee @goldxnbutterfly @mistermiraclee @cjricks98 @blackwriter48 @atomevee @khiraeth @blessedboo @bitchmystique

#mayans mc #mayans mc fanfic #angel reyes x oc #ezekiel reyes x oc #miguel galindo x oc #angel reyes imagine #ezekiel reyes imagine #miguel galindo imagine #angel reyes #ezekiel reyes #miguel galindo

42 notes · View notes

bishop423 · 6 months

Text

1 note · View note

mayans-sauce · 3 years

Text

Mama Bear

Pairing: Bishop Losa x Female Reader

Word Count: 700

Warnings: none

Request by anon which you can find HERE

Request by @leilani-writes which you can find HERE

A/N: hope it was alright that I combined these two! I also hope it turned out good because I struggled a lot with this one but enjoy <3

GROUP CHAT for updates!

Gif Credit: @pedropcl

Bishop and you were going to invite the whole club for a little get-together at the house. Food, drinks, and good company were on the menu. You hadn’t seen them for a while because of your pregnancy and the chaos that has been the club life the recent months. You were a few months pregnant now, and the boys haven’t seen how much your bump has grown.

Bishop wouldn’t let you move a muscle, so the only thing you were allowed to do was the shopping list, while he would be the one to buy everything in and set it all up. Everyone had their particular needs and flavors for what they liked, so the list grew with each member. Being the “mom” for them all, despite being younger than most, it was your job to keep track of what your precious children loved and wanted. Bishop was sitting at the table as you read up everything that would need to be bought.

“... beers for Ez, gummies for Letty, Steve likes strawberry ice cream, and of course, we can’t forget the chicken nuggets for Angel this time. He almost had my neck when I forgot last time.” You chuckled to yourself at the funny memory of Angel being a sad and pouty boy.

“That’s a lot of shit, sweetheart,” Bishop complained in a teasing manner. “Hey, you were the one that wanted to invite the kids over,” you hit his arm with the long list, “you know how grumpy they get when they don’t get their favorites.” “Yeah, let’s not relive the last get-together we had.” You both shudder at the memory of drama and crying.

The day of the house party had come, and you stood at the door as you greeted every one of them. Their faces lit up at the sight of your baby bump, highly visible. Words and kisses were left upon it by the men that would be there to protect and love the little joy that would be born in just a few short months. They could see how happy you and Bishop were, and that left a small print of light in their dark lives as part of the MC.

Everyone was out in the backyard enjoying themselves. The sun shone down, and the music from the stereo created a relaxed atmosphere. Bishop had just fired up the grill for the heaps of meat that was ready to be grilled and consumed by some hungry bikers. The drinks and snacks went faster than you could refill it.

Since it’s been forever since you saw everyone, you went around to catch up. They all felt safe and comfortable in your presence, so they became colossal blabber mouths when you approached them. Whether it was just a quick chat or asking for some much-needed advice, you were there for them. You were always like a fun, caring, and loving “mom” to the group. Always there for them whenever with whatever they needed. You took care of them and loved them when they hadn’t anyone else to go to.

Once the sun started to come down and everyone was packed with food in their bellies and sitting in groups having conversations, you approached your husband, who was sitting somewhere to the side just enjoying that for once, his brothers had a day with no worries in their minds. You sat down on the two-seater, legs draped over him as you took a moment to rest for a bit.

“Tired?” “Ugh, yes! You try playing mom with these children in men's bodies.” The comment made him laugh some. “It’s not easy being mom and dad,” he stated.

“Like, why did we decide to get pregnant when we already have like 10 of them.” “Sorry, sweetheart, but can I just quote you in saying: fuck Bishop, please finish inside me I need to feel you.” You threw a pillow at his shoulder, “shut up,” a smirk on your face in remembering how you ended up in this situation.

“Come here.” He opened his arms for you to get between. You shared a sweet kiss as you watched over your kids, all happy and content, while caressing the one that still wasn’t born.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Thank you for reading❤️ If you liked it, a quick reblog and feedback would be so much appreciated❤️ Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist.

MAYANS MC TAGLIST: @blessedboo @60shannon @bellisperennis0 @capnsaveahoe @diaryofkali @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @xvvalx @missswritings @theocatkov @pinguinstudiert @chibsytelford @encounterthepast @rawrlittlepanda-95 @beeroses @siriussnape07 @adaydreamaway08 @miss-nori85 @oldstuffnewstuff @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @jatriciaaa @browneyes912 @cole-winchester @blackksunflower12 @phoenixhalliwell @cant-decide-at-this-moment @love-mesome-me @holl2712 @jennisdirtyimagines @balladbloodwrites @lilacyennefer @smallflower16 @marvelmaree @brwnlikefoxy @kaylaygrace @stupiddsapphicc @violet624 @boomclapxox @mijop @macgruberrr @queen-under-the-shire @missihart23 @vixemi @heeeeeres-saint @paintballkid711 @x-goddess-of-nature-x @angelreyesisdaddy04 @mrsmarvelous1995 @luckyharley1903 @lilac-tea-time @leilaxaliel

342 notes · View notes

bucksangel · 3 years

Text

A Woman Like You

Pairing: Bishop Losa x f!Reader (no description of body type or race is mentioned)

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: Four weeks after you and Angel break up, you're in an accident. With no one left to call, Bishop comes to your rescue. While fixing your bike, he also fixes your heart.

Warnings: nothing but a whole lot of fluff, reader gets injured in a motorcycle accident but nothing is graphically described, mentions of blood, Angel kind of being an ass but so is the reader so🤷‍♀️

Commissioned by @winchestershiresauce (i'm sorry it took so long i'm stupidly busy ily)❤️

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Tip Jar

a/n: i'm strongly considering doing a part 2 with smut included so if you want that then just tell me and i'll do it!

tagging: @melaniecraig80 @est1887

Posting new fics over on @michaelirby

“Maybe we should break up then!”

While those words stung, it didn’t completely come as a surprise. Your relationship with Angel was hanging by its last thread, so when your boyfriend, now ex, came barreling towards where you stood on the clubhouse porch, you knew it wasn’t going to end well. And while the argument nor your breakup was unexpected, it didn’t hurt any less, especially since Angel had the Gaul to yell at you in front of his brothers.

Truthfully, you don’t really know what prompted this argument. At this point, it seems that you and Angel would find any reason to scream at each other. But deep in your heart, it still hurts. While you may not be in love with him anymore, you don’t care for him any less. But the anger running through your veins doesn’t consider that thought as you scream back at him.

“Fine!”

Everyone freezes, heads slowly turning to see the look of shock and hurt on each of your faces. Your heart is racing, the steady thud thud thud can be felt throughout your entire body. And with this anxiety quickly rising, you clear your throat and tilt your head slightly so you can stare at the ground for a solid minute while you contemplate your next words carefully.

“I’ll… stay at my place tonight,” Your voice is softer than you would have liked it to be, but you manage to look up and meet Angel’s eyes. The fire is still there, masking the hurt you know is about to consume his body. And you can’t stand it, because he’s still your friend. Before you got together he was your friend, and you’d hate to think that this is the end of any relationship you two could have.

“I’ll pick my things up tomorrow.”

Without another word you turn and escape into the clubhouse where, thankfully, the party is still in full swing. You’re able to dodge the drunks and weave your way through dancing bodies without being seen while on your way to retrieve your keys from the new prospect - Steve? Stan? You couldn’t really remember nor do you care to at this moment.

On shaky legs you manage to push your way to the front of the bar, hand lifting to catch the prospect’s attention. To no avail, though, he’s turned to help a slightly unruly group of patrons. After a minute of waving your hand, you huff, your hand falling down to rest on the bar you’re now leaning against. With a slow turn of your head, your eyes flicker across the room, passing over more unruly men and a few women crowded near the pool table.

A soft grunt is heard behind you, so your body moves to look at whoever could be invading your space. Upon seeing Bishop, standing tall and oozing confidence, leaning against the bar as well, you jump. A squeak escapes your lips at the small scare he gave you. It’s not that his presence intimidates you (quite the opposite actually, he’s really good at making you feel safe), you’d just assumed he’d be holed up with his brothers around the back table.

Looking over his shoulder, you can see the rest of the guys are, in fact, still around the table, presumably telling age old stories of heroics and stupidity. Bishop clears his throat, perhaps to get your attention back on him. So, you return your gaze to the man in front of you. His beard is long, his eyes tired, but his smile is genuine. In turn, you smile back at him. You hadn’t expected to cross paths tonight, but seeing him puts you in a better mood than you were five minutes ago.

“I heard a commotion happened outside, everything okay?” Bishop asks a furrow in his brow telling you he genuinely wants to know that you’re okay. That’s a perk of being friends with him, while he looks tough and mean, his words and actions speak volumes in terms of how much he cares for the people in his life.

Nodding your head, you sigh, body slumping against the bar counter. “Yeah, just - Angel.... We broke up,” You mutter, tightening your hold on your beer and bringing it up to your lips. You take quite a big gulp of the alcohol before returning your attention to Bishop. “I’m not surprised it happened, but… it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

The pounding in your heart rattles your ribcage as you fight off tears. Crying in a clubhouse full of people isn’t on your to-do list for the day, so you lean back over the bar counter to search for your keys, finding them in a bowl on the back side of the bar.

“Let me drive you home.” His voice isn’t loud or commanding, but it’s still not phrased as a question. You snap your head to the side to look at Bishop again, ready to turn that idea down. Instead of speaking, Bishop pulls his keys out of his pocket and gently takes your arm so he can lead you out of the clubhouse.

“I’m fine Bish, I’m not even that drunk.” That’s a lie, both of you know it’s not true. But you’re still hesitant to get on a bike with Bishop, it feels like a betrayal to your own Harley. Nevertheless, he manages to pull you all the way to his truck, and - oh. You’re not going on his bike?

As if reading your mind, Bishop quickly adds, “I’ve had a few beers myself, taking the truck is safer.” And that seems to be the end of that conversation.

The alcohol flowing through your system manages to dull your anger enough to not fight back when Bishop helps you into the passenger seat and buckles you in. You want to argue that you’re not a baby, that you can take care of yourself thank you very much, but the several (four, maybe?) beers and the two shots you’d had tonight were hitting you in full force.

Once the door is closed, you turn in your seat to press your forehead to the glass and pull your legs up to your chest. You’re usually a happy type of drunk, but with the yelling and the heartache, all you want to do right now is sleep. And you must have done just that, because the next thing you know Bishop is maneuvering you out of the car to cradle you in his arms.

“Lemme down… I can.. walk.” You murmur, but you’re quickly slipping back into slumber as Bishop chuckles. The last thing you remember, Bishop is laying you down - on your bed? Couch? You can’t tell, but you don’t care right now.

“Goodnight, querida.”

And then, everything goes black.

_____________

Sunlight streams in through the open curtains, a warm glow fills the room. A groan, loud and hearty, echoes throughout the otherwise silent bedroom. Your head lifts from the pillow before quickly shoving itself under said pillow. The light is too bright, the birds chirping are too loud, and you want to throw up. This feeling is actually what gets you up from the bed, stumbling your way to the bathroom just in time to empty your stomach into the toilet. Your head pounds with every wretch and cough you emit, only after two minutes does the vomiting end. Eyes closed and mouth parted, you flush the toilet and brace yourself so you can stand on wobbly legs.

The cool water splashing against your face actually helps, the cold waking your mind and body by a fraction. Your gaze drifts from the sink to the mirror, causing you to visibly cringe at the state you’re in. Your hair is relatively kempt, but the bags under your eyes and the flushness of your skin would let anyone know that you’re not doing too great today. A ding from your phone sounds loud throughout the room, and the pounding of your head starts to increase again.

The cabinet to your left holds your medicines, so you shuffle through different cold meds and pain pills until you land on the tylenol. It’s all a blur, shoving two tylenol in your mouth, gulping it down with tap water, and then stumbling back to bed intending to sleep the day away. But another ding from your phone sounds again, and you finally find the strength to look at it.

Several texts from Ez and Coco flood your screen, but one text is from Bishop, and your heart starts to drop into your stomach. Images from last night flood your mind as you remember the argument, the breakup, and then Bishop driving you home since you were way too drunk to drive. You dread what you’re about to read and pray that you hadn’t said anything embarrassing to the man. So, summoning up the courage, you open your phone.

From: Bishop

Good morning, I hope your hangover is treating you well. I know you hate other people riding your bike, so I’ll have it towed to your place later. Let me know when you wake up so I know you’re okay.

To: Bishop

Hey, I’m okay. My head feels like it’s going to explode and I might throw up again, so I’m having a good time. Thanks for doing this, and for last night. I’m sorry if I said or did anything embarrassing.

You throw your phone on the pillow next to your head and sigh, and within minutes you’re back in the clutches of a restless slumber.

_____________

Four weeks pass by and you’ve managed to not go back to the clubhouse. Sure, you’ve hung out with Coco and Gilly and Ez a few times, you’ve even met with Bishop at a diner to catch up, but never at the clubhouse. Mainly, it’s because you know it’s Angel’s territory, his home away from home, and you don’t want to show up and ruin that for him after breaking up so soon (It’s also partially due to not wanting to see a new woman hang off of Angel’s arm if he’s already moved on).

You’ve managed to stay away from the clubhouse for four weeks, up until today. Clouds covered the sun, providing much needed shade and therefore letting the temperature drop by a few degrees. Today was a perfect day for riding around the streets of Santo Padre, up until it wasn’t.

You’re at a red light when it happens, a car racing down the road at a definitely illegal speed swerves as the driver tries to turn left. Luckily, there was only one other car on the road, the opposite side you were on, so they didn’t get hurt, but you did.

The car manages to swerve in such a way that the rear of the car smashes into your bike, sending you flying backwards and your bike skidding to the right. Due to the force of which you’re knocked back by, you land on your side, your shoulder taking most of the impact. It might be the adrenaline, but you don’t register the pain, nor do you register the blood all across your arm from where you’d skidded across the pavement.

In a haze, you hear sirens sound in the distance, people come to your aid in flocks, several bystanders are helping you to stand while other bystanders block the car that hit you from speeding away. It’s all a blur, everything moves too fast yet too slow at the same time. But soon enough the paramedics are escorting you to the back of an ambulance and police officers are surrounding the car.

Over the next five or so minutes, you’re asked a series of questions regarding your injuries and medical history, but one question stumps you.

Is there anyone you want to notify?

Is there? Your family lives hours away, you and Angel are no longer together, and you’re pretty sure most of the club is working at the scrapyard. Still, you know you won’t be able to get back home once they transport you to the hospital, so you decide to call the one person that you know could help you right now.

Bishop.

_____________

Within the next hour, you’re sitting on a hospital bed with your arm bandaged and in a sling. You’re doing alright for being hit by a car, most of that has to do with the helmet you were wearing. Minor scrapes and bruises litter your body, a nasty cut across your cheek had to be stitched up, but you’ve had worse.

Heavy footsteps make their way down the hall, a gruff voice asking (demanding) to be led to your room, and then suddenly the door is swung open to reveal a very concerned Bishop. His breathing is labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as he takes in your condition.

After determining that you’re not in serious peril, Bishop takes a few quick steps so he can stand in front of you. His eye twitches and his fist clenches, the scowl on his face let’s you know that he might actually kill the man that put you here.

Reaching your good hand out to him, you lay your hand on his bicep and squeeze softly. A soft smile forms on your face as you shake your head. “I’m okay, Bish. A little banged up, but nothing too bad.”

Bishop huffs, shakes his own head, and takes your hand off of his arm so he can hold it in his own. “No. It ain’t okay, you’re hurt.”

And something in the way he speaks makes your heart stutter ever so slightly, your face grows warm. But, you don’t want to dwell on that, you’re more concerned with calming Bishop down than you are with analyzing why now, of all times, you’re becoming nervous around your friend.

“I’m okay, Obispo. Yes, I’m injured, but that doesn’t mean that I'm incapacitated.” Your voice comes out harsher than you intended. However at this point, you’re tired of people (men, mainly) treating you like some porcelain doll that must be protected at all times. “I’m a big girl, okay. I can handle myself, you know.”

At this, Bishop sighs and drops your hand, but not before giving it a soft squeeze. “I know you are, that doesn’t mean I like seeing people I care about getting hurt.” His voice is also gruff, but you know it’s because he truly cares.

As you’re contemplating on whether or not to argue further with Bishop, a knock at your room’s door stops you both, you both turning your heads to look at the doctor making his way towards you with a clipboard and papers.

“We’ve prescribed you some pain medications and a steroid to help with the swelling in your shoulder. Now all you have to do is sign these documents and we can release you.”

The doctor is short and to the point, clearly tired from what must be a long and stressful shift at the ER, so you take the clipboard and (as best as you can) balance the clipboard on your knees so you can sign what needs to be signed. At one point Bishop tries to take the clipboard to help steady it, but you throw him a glare that makes him back off.

It takes a bit, but you’re soon discharged and walking (limping, more like it) out of the hospital and to Bishop’s awaiting truck.

“I had Chucky tow your bike to the shop. I’ll take a look at it tomorrow and see if we can save her.” Bishop talks with authority, like what he says is final, and that’s what really irks you.

“You didn’t need to do that, I could have had it brought to my house so I can fix my bike.” Frustration is flowing through your veins. You loathe asking others for help, so this otherwise small act of kindness feels too much for you.

That comment makes Bishop stop walking and turn around so he can face you. “Querida, I know how much you hate others touching your bike. Under any other circumstance I wouldn’t have taken it to the shop, but I cannot trust you to not hurt yourself further by working on this bike.” Bishop sighs heavily and stares into your eyes with determination. “Now get in the truck so I can take you home.”

Okay that is what really pisses you off, logically, deep down you know that he’s only doing this because he cares about you, he would never want to see you hurt. But the insinuation that you’d put yourself in any more jeopardy by overextending yourself (no matter how true it is) irritates you.

“I’m an adult, Bishop. I don’t need your charity,” Your voice raises, and Bishop looks around for any bystanders that might be listening in.

When he’s determined that no one else is within earshot of you both, he takes ahold of your good arm. “Please, we can talk about this tomorrow, I’ll even pick you up and take you to the scrapyard tomorrow so we can both look at it.” Now, his tone may ooze confidence and finality but you can tell he’s getting desperate, almost pleading for you to just get in the truck.

One very long minute passes before your eyes are rolling and you’re moving past Bishop to grab onto the truck’s door handle. You can see him shake his head, hear the sigh that leaves his lips, and while you’re frustrated with him (immensely so), you’re partially frustrated with yourself. Receiving kindness has always been hard for you, therefore you’re prone to lashing out at those who are kind to you. And you hate it, you hate feeling like you’re pushing people away, but you don’t know any other way to live.

Maybe it’s your lingering anger, maybe it’s the pain medicine kicking in, but you don’t speak the rest of the way to your house. At one point, Bishop looks over at you and tries making small talk, but he’s quickly shut down by your non responsiveness. It’s a tense silence you two sit through, you are too upset to speak and Bishop is too tired to argue anymore.

When you do finally get to your house, you’re the first person out of the truck, limping up your porch steps so you can unlock your door. It takes a few minutes, but soon the front door is unlocked and your bag is tossed onto the floor. As you turn to shut your door, you see Bishop leaning against his truck, clearly exasperated.

Again, the beating of your heart increases and, again, you push that feeling down. Deciding that you’ve been enough of a pain in the ass tonight, you lift your good arm and wave at Bishop. A small smile makes its way onto your face, hopefully softening the blow of yelling at him earlier.

This must have calmed Bishop, because he too smiles and waves before getting back in his truck. And as you’re watching him pull out of your driveway, you can’t help but be a tad bit happy you get to see him tomorrow.

_____________

“The motor is-“

“The motor is fine!”

“It’s not supposed to-“

“I know how my bike works, alright!”

Whoever thought letting Angel tell you what was wrong with your bike deserves a kick in the head. Each time Angel opens his mouth, you’re shutting him down, not letting him get a word in. It’s tough, because as much as you don’t hate Angel, you do hate other people telling you how to fix your bike without letting you look for yourself.

“Just listen-“

“Cut that shit out!” A loud, booming voice echoes in your direction. Turning, you see Bishop making his way over to you and Angel, his eyes locked on Angel’s the whole way.

Angel’s mouth opens again, ready to stand his ground, but Bishop’s eyebrow raises and he clears his throat and that shuts Angel up. He backs down, grumbling about how you’re too difficult and frustrating to work with.

A large, calloused hand lands on your bicep and squeezes softly, effectively moving your focus from yelling at Angel. Warm eyes meet yours as you shift your head, there’s something unreadable about the look in Bishop’s eyes. It’s something you’ve seen a million times, but you’re just now noticing how soft it is. How his eyes shine just a little brighter. It’s… strange, and his stoic face doesn’t help things either, making it hard to decipher the situation.

These warm eyes, the same eyes that you’ve looked into hundreds of times, send a chill down your spine. It makes you feel guilty, immensely so, because Bishop is your friend. Your friend who helped you through the last few months of your relationship with Angel. Your friend who gave you advice and company when things were tense in your relationship. Your friend whose eyes are, very suddenly, pulling you in deep.

“C’mon querida, let’s look for ourselves.”

This snaps you out of your thoughts, your eyes snapping up to meet his. A little lost in your head, you nod slowly and turn abruptly, making your way into the garage to, hopefully, leave those confusing thoughts behind.

_____________

Sweat runs down your neck, sunglasses shield your eyes from the sun hanging high in the sky. It must be 100 degrees at least, and yet your tank top and shorts still heat your skin further. The only reprieve you get from the heat is when you occasionally tread inside for water, however your AC doesn’t seem to be wanting to work today either. A fan in your garage is on high speed, circulating as much cool air as possible, it’s still not very effective.

Not only are you frustrated with the heat, you’re growing more and more frustrated with not being able to do basic things without help. So, being you, you don’t ask for help, you work around getting the things you need. You’re able to move your arm more, at-home physical therapy has been working wonders, but you’re still not able to do what you want to do, what you need to do. Which happens to be fixing your bike.

There’s not much time during the week to work on it, which is why Bishop has come to your house for the past three Sundays to help with it. Which is to say, you help him. With your arm still bandaged up you’re unable to maneuver to the exact position working on your bike requires you to be in. But, speaking of the devil, when you exit the house with yet more bottles of water, you’re granted the sight of Bishop in his white tank-top and jeans, squatting down and staring intensely at the loosely hanging chains on the broken bike.

Suddenly, like you’ve been hit by a bullet, you’re hit with a variety of emotions. Some of them you cannot name, some of them you can. The one emotion that sticks out from all of them is… infatuation? That can’t be right, you think. You’re just friends, plus, you broke up with Angel only six weeks ago, stop it.

None of these thoughts help, though. Standing in a trance-like state, each hand gripping a bottle, your breathing picks up. Why are you feeling these things now? What changed? Could it have been that he was there for you when virtually no one else was? Maybe it’s the way he makes you feel safe, like no one could hurt you. Maybe it’s because you know he wants to keep you safe, yet he chooses to let you do your thing, content in the knowledge that you’d let him know if anything happened. This realization, the fact that you’ve never had that kind of understanding with any previous relationship, almost knocks you off balance.

Six weeks, you have to remind yourself. You’ve been single for six weeks, don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s not until Bishop stands to full height do you realize that you’ve been staring at him for god-knows how long. The corner of his mouth quirks up, like he knows what you’re thinking. And instead of dwelling on how refreshing that feels to have someone understand you like Bishop has been able to for the entirety of your seven year friendship, you pick your head up and smile back at him.

“I hope you’re not breaking her anymore than she already is,” You joke, a slight waver in your voice. Rough, scorching hot cement pushes you to walk forward into the shaded garage, right next to Bishop.

“Yeah, y’know, I’ve decided to leave her like that. I’m sure she’s ready to go,” Bishop’s smile widens, humor flushing out any weird tension that hung in the air only moments ago. The hand not holding the water rests on your lower back, pushing you forward.

“Well I’ll leave you up to taking the first test run, then,” You joke back, both of you staring at each other for a moment before cracking, laughter echoing through the small garage. The hand on your back stays in place, and you find yourself being pulled further into Bishop’s side. The laughter subsides, a comfortable silence falling over the two of you.

“But seriously,” You sigh, preparing yourself for the worst outcome possible. “How is she?”

Sensing your unease, Bishop grabs one of the bottles of water from your hands. “She’ll be fine,” He assures you, taking a brief moment to swallow down some much needed water. “I’ll get her working in no time.”

A quick kick to the shin makes him clear his throat and backtrack on that last comment. “We’ll get her working in no time.”

“Good, now hand me a wrench so I can put the chains where they’re actually supposed to go.” The hand you’ve outstretched towards Bishop gets smacked away, with a quick reprimand.

“How about you hand me a wrench and I’ll let you delegate on where things go.”

Seemingly okay with this compromise, you nod. Sticking your tongue out and pulling a face while you search for said wrench.

_____________

Two grueling Sundays later, and Bishop and you have finally fully repaired your bike. It was a long process, having to order parts and break apart the whole motorcycle to put said parts into place took way longer than you’d have liked.

However, many frustrating arguments and a few mistakes later, your girl is as good as new. And luckily, you had your cast taken off last week, so you were actually of physical use today. It felt good, being able to move around and stretch fully without hindrance.

The best part about that experience was getting closer to Bishop. Getting to know random new facts about him, getting to see which of your jokes and stories get the most laughs out of him, getting to see a new side of him.

From an outside perspective, you’d think he had no problem sharing these things about himself, opening up so easily. From an inside perspective, from yours, you know he’d never be so open and jovial with just anyone. The fact that Bishop, your closest friend, deemed you worthy of seeing the real him has your heart soaring. The dad-like jokes actually help too.

One particular joke from Bishop has your eyes clenching shut, your head tilting back, and your hand shooting out to hang onto his forearm while you laugh, boisterous and loud. A snort, arguably an unattractive snort, comes out next, and you rush to cover your mouth. A large, warm hand comes to your wrist not long after, pulling it down so you’re not hidden away.

Your eyes flutter open, looking right to see Bishop, staring back at you with such intensity that it catches you off guard. How his eyes flicker down to your lips for one very long moment before returning to your own eyes. It makes you gulp, butterflies filling your stomach and your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

This feeling intensifies as Bishop’s hand removes itself from your wrist to slowly encompass your cheek. Skin flushing, mouth dry, you peer down to his lips. Within seconds they start moving as he starts speaking.

“I don’t know when, or how. It was sudden. I woke up one day knowing that I wanted you, I needed you. You were with Angel at the time, so I’d never said anything. But… I can’t help but notice the way you look at me. You didn’t even look at Angel like that.”

A short pause, an intake of breath before speaking again.

“I’d like to think you feel this too.”

Time seems to move in slow motion. Two months ago you broke up with a man you cared for. Now you’re sitting in your garage with a man who cares for you. All of the indecipherable looks from him now added up, he likes you.

“I do.” You say, voice no louder than a whisper. “I feel it.” The hand cupping your cheek slides to the back of your neck, resting comfortably.

Silence fills the room, neither of you speaking for fear of ruining the moment. Until finally, Bishop’s hand squeezes your neck softly to guide you further towards him. For a long moment you stay with your lips centimeters away, eyes fluttering shut as you take a breath in.

“Obispo-“ You’re cut off abruptly by lips pressing into yours. You’re torn between being surprised and being correct in your assumptions about the way Bishop kisses. He kisses like he loves: passionate, gentle, soft.

Lips slide over each other, tongues poking out to tease the other while the hand on your neck squeezes harder. At this, a soft moan escapes your lips, allowing Bishop to slide his tongue into your mouth and explore this new territory.

A hand snakes its way up Bishop’s arm, squeezes his bicep, then cups his cheek. With tilted heads and entangled bodies, this moment is one you’ll never forget. You’d do anything to stay like this forever, but, as if by chance, a phone rings, the two of you breaking away to look at who the hell is calling.

It ends up being Taza, wondering where in the hell Bishop is when he was supposed to be at Hank’s over an hour ago. An apologetic smile forms on Bishop’s face as he nods, telling Taza he’ll be there soon. Turning to you, ready to apologize, he’s stopped by your lips covering his.

A soft, chaste kiss followed by, “It’s okay, go.”

Bishop leaves then, leaving behind a woman smiling so bright with a heart full of love.

_____________

A late Friday night, another clubhouse party in full swing. Bishop is leaning against a pool table casually watching Angel get his ass beat by Letti at a different table. It’s fun, everyone having fun while drinks flow freely. Until suddenly, Angel is grumbling, eyes trained on the front doors to see you.

The confidence you ooze, the power you hold, it’s evident to everyone in the room that you are not to be messed with. Angel clearly doesn’t get that message as he stomps in your direction. He gets no more than ten feet from you when he opens his mouth to start yelling.

No words come out though, he’s stopped by you brushing past him into Bishop’s arms. You don’t care to get into an argument tonight, despite being known for not backing down from a fight. All you care about tonight is spending time with your friends, and with Bishop.

Despite your relationship being undefined, you’re still clearly infatuated with each other, taking your time and going with the flow. You’ve managed to wrap your arms around Bishop’s waist as Angel appears in front of you both, confused as ever.

“When the hell did this happen?” It’s phrased as a question, but you can hear the hurt he’s buried deep. And while it does pain you to hurt Angel, you’re not going to let him ruin your night.

“It’s new, actually. Somewhere along the line we realized we were good for each other. Actually good for each other.”

Huffing, Angel crosses his arms over his chest and stands taller. Despite staring deep into your eyes, his next sentence isn't directed at you. “Good luck with your new girl, then. Hope you can handle her.” He’s about to turn and leave when Bishop finally speaks up.

“I know how to handle women like her, a lot better than you do.”

You can see the anger in Angel’s eyes, the gears turning in his head as he contemplates arguing with Bishop. Aggravated, Angel turns and walks towards a group of ladies entertaining themselves with other mayan men.

This calms your heart down, your anger subsides, replaced by fondness as you look up at Bishop.

“He called me ‘your girl’,” you say, smiling wide.

“And?” The questioning look on Bishop’s face causes you to giggle, as he clearly doesn’t register what you’re hinting at.

“You didn’t say that I’m not,” Your arms tighten around his waist, face inching closer to his.

A smile forms on Bishop’s face as well, chuckling softly to himself. “That’s ‘cause you are my girl. You alright with that?”

Holding your head high, one hand snakes from Bishop’s back over and up to smooth over his stomach. Letting your hand wander further upwards, you lean in close to his face so you can whisper in his ear

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

#mayans mc #mayans fx #bishop losa #bishop losa angst #bishop losa fluff #bishop losa smut #bishop losa imagine #bishop losa x you #bishop losa x reader #obispo losa #mayans headcanons #mayans x reader #mayans mc imagine #my writing

465 notes · View notes

crowfootwrites · 3 years

Text

Together [Bishop Losa x Fem!Reader]

I had every intention of this being a cute little wedding one-shot, inspired simply by Michael Irby in a suit. But then, somewhere along the line, I spiraled out of control and now it's over 2,500 words and has major trigger warnings. I don't know what happened, y'all. Anyway, I could have made this even longer, but my brain was like, PLEASE STOP, so I'm not entirely pleased with it, but I also just can't look at it anymore.

Warnings: references to past sexual abuse/molestation; language; physical assault; posttraumatic flashbacks; panic/anxiety; familial conflict | Words: 2,602

Taglist: @chibsytelford

“You clean up pretty nice, Señor Losa,” you murmured as you adjusted the knot of his tie. It was the first time you had seen him in anything other than worn jeans and leather and you were impressed. He looked positively delectable in his navy suit and crisp white shirt, the olive-green tie you had picked out coordinating flawlessly with your dress. You were honestly a little surprised he even owned a suit, but he, a little offended, assured you he did when you approached him about being your date to your cousin’s wedding. You ran your fingers down his lapels, smoothing them, then placed a soft kiss to his bearded cheek.

“Gotta make sure you got something nice on your arm, sweetheart,” he replied roguishly.

You grinned, rolling your eyes. “You always look good, baby… But I will say, that suit’s really doin’ something for me.” You wiggled your eyebrows, drawing a deep chuckle out of Bishop.

You glanced up from your spot in the courtyard as the church doors opened, allowing the wedding guests to move inside. The guest list was full of family members who had long ago rejected you. It was a little painful to see your whole family together so blatantly shunning you. You figured you were only there thanks to your cousin, Ava, championing you, and honestly, that was fine. You two were still close, and you were only there to support her on her big day.

You hung back with Bishop, your hand tucked in his, enjoying the nice breeze drifting through the shady, Spanish-style courtyard. It was a beautiful day for a wedding, and affection for Ava and her soon-to-be husband swelled in your chest. There was something about weddings that always made you sentimental and slightly tearful, which was highly outside of your character, so you had warned Bishop about it ahead of time. You didn’t want him to go in thinking that it was somehow related to him; that you were in a rush to get married, or that you wanted him to be settled down, or some other inane inaccuracy.

Finally, the two of you drifted to the church doors, trailing behind the crowd and choosing seats towards the back. When you sat, Bishop’s hand rested on your thigh and you could feel the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of your dress. You wrapped your arm around his and tucked yourself into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. He placed a gentle kiss on the crown of your head and you smiled to yourself, eternally glad for his company.

The wedding was beautiful. Ava looked gorgeous in her gown and in the ecstatic glow that hung around her like an aura. She cried, her fiancé cried, you cried. You felt the slight shudder of Bishop’s chest as he held back his good-natured laughter at your weepy eyes. That earned him a little slap on the chest, but you squeezed his arm gratefully when he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to you. When it was all said and done, the church erupted into cheers and wolf-whistles as the new husband and wife kissed and made their way back down the center aisle.

The reception was held in a nearby hotel, so you and Bishop leisurely made your way back to your car. As you made your way to the hotel, his hand remained firm and reassuring in yours. This was the part you were most worried about; estranged family members in large numbers, mixed with alcohol, had not historically gone down well for you. You knew Bishop would never let anything happen to you, but you supposed you were more afraid of what wasn’t being said or what was being whispered behind your back.

Upon entering the reception ballroom, you quickly scanned the list of your tablemates, dread seeping into your belly when you saw who you and Bishop would be sitting with; your snobby aunt Flora, her handsy husband, their teenaged daughter, and your crotchety great-aunt.

You looked at Bishop, not bothering to hide the grimace. He pulled you to him with a smirk and you buried your face in his neck.

“Está bien, mi amor. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen.”

“These people are the worst, Bish,” you whined, barely restraining your desire to stomp childishly.

“I know, sweetheart. Just remember that we’re here for Ava. Y podemos salir cuándo quieras (And we can leave whenever you want),” he whispered reassuringly, his lips resting softly on your temple. He let his hand slide down to the curve of your back and guided you inside, beelining both of you to the bar.

As you stood with Bishop at the bar, awaiting your glass of wine and his beer, you gazed at the two-story ballroom around you, entranced by the light reflecting off the massive crystal chandelier at the center of the room. An ornate marble balustrade ran along the upper floor of the room, cocktail tables set up along the edge. You marked it as a good place to hide out, away from the dance floor and the dinner tables sprawling across the lower level.

You and Bishop camped out at your assigned table as Ava and her new husband entered and toasts were made. The loving words spoken towards Ava and her husband slowly wore you down, words you knew you would never hear from these people. Bishop seemed to sense your discomfort, gripping your hand under the table and giving it a firm squeeze.

Dinner was an awkward affair, your aunt Flora and her family greeting you tersely as they sat and speaking to you not at all over the course of the meal. Halfway through, you moved on to something stronger than wine, desperate to care less about the people around you and their opinions of you.

Once plates had been cleared, Bishop pulled you to the upper level for some quiet time together. The two of you stood gazing over the wedding guests for a while, not speaking but taking comfort in one another’s presence.

“Thank you for coming,” you murmured finally. You glanced over at his relaxed expression. “I couldn’t have done this by myself.”

“You could have, querida. You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he replied. You opened your mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. “But I’m happy to be here with you.”

You smiled lightly and pressed your lips to Bishop’s gratefully. As Bishop excused himself to the restroom a few minutes later, you propped your elbows back on the balustrade overlooking the lower level of the ballroom. You tossed back another gulp of whiskey, idly checking the time on your phone. You wanted to at least see Ava off before leaving, but time was absolutely crawling by. You heard the clacking of heels behind you and you glanced over your shoulder, your stomach lurching. Ava’s mother, your aunt Helen, was descending upon you, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“How dare you show up here,” she growled, her stance combative in spite of the slight drunken sway in her step.

She looked so much like him, her hostile demeanor only emphasizing the relation. Your mind reeled, thrown back into the nightmares of your childhood. You felt the edges of your mind fraying into panic and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to remember how to take deep breaths. Your pulse thundered under your skin.

“I – I was invited,” you muttered, studying the wood grain on the railing intently.

Helen grabbed your arm violently and yanked, her nails digging into your flesh. Thrown off balance, you stumbled and dropped your glass as you tried to find purchase on the bannister beside you. The loud shattering off glass drew more eyes to you and you felt heat rising to your face as you pulled yourself upright on the balustrade, the bottom of your dress stained with splashed whiskey. The broken glass on the floor swam in your vision like starlight as your eyes filled with tears.

“My brother is in prison because of you,” she hissed through clenched teeth, her face too close to yours. The scent of rum rolled off her tongue, its glaring familiarity transporting you back and igniting something in you. A small voice, ignored for years, that whispered at you to say something.

Your mouth opened impulsively and undiluted resentment poured out, words you had never said to any of these people before. “He deserved to go to prison! He molested me!” you snarled. “What kind of animal touches their own child like that?” It had taken you years of therapy to be able to say that out loud, and even then, it was in the safety of your therapist’s office. Practically shouting it in front of your estranged family wasn’t something you had prepared for today, and you felt the short burst of adrenaline leaving your body, your knees weakening.

Suddenly, warm hands were slipping under your elbows, Bishop pressed against your back, keeping you upright. Tears rolled down your cheeks and you wiped them away angrily. “All of you turned your backs on me... calling me a liar, saying I wanted attention,” you croaked. “I was just a kid! He stole my childhood and turned my family against me.”

Your aunt’s face was contorted in fury, her gaping mouth trying unsuccessfully to form words. Bishop spun you towards him, pulling you into his chest and your heart rate spiked. Bishop didn’t know about any of this. But your brain couldn’t possibly process what he was thinking at that moment, and there was no going back now.

Your aunt must have made a move towards you; you heard the rumble in Bishop’s chest before he spoke, his arm tightening around your shoulders. “Touch her again and I’ll break your fucking fingers,” he growled. The authority in his voice startled even you. You couldn’t imagine being a stranger on the other end of that cold tone.

You pulled yourself away from Bishop’s chest to see your aunt sputtering indignantly a few feet away. Your gaze carried disappointment within it as it swept over her and towards the stairs that would lead you out of there. Bishop ushered you that way, gripping your hand firmly as you stared at the floor, feeling the judging eyes of your family on you. You willed the tears down with deep breaths, letting anger seep back in to protect your heart from the pain.

The ride home was silent; your mind vacillated rapidly between the familiar sorrow of your family’s rejection and the new sting of panic at the possibility of judgment from Bishop. You dreaded the prospect of pity in his eyes or shame in his words. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered guilt. You would need to apologize to Ava for causing drama on her big day. A fresh swell of tears came over you. You kept your eyes trained on your fingers interlaced in your lap and Bishop, sensing the tension in your posture, stayed quiet.

Bishop followed you up to your shared bedroom. When he came through the door, you were simply standing in the middle of the room with your back to him, staring off at nothing, your hands dangling limply at your sides. You seemed so lifeless, a sharp departure from your normal disposition. He approached you slowly, placing his hands on your shoulders lightly, not wanting to startle you. You shuddered beneath his touch. His hands traced along the curves of your shoulder blades, finding the zipper of your dress and towing it down deliberately, his movements steady and reassuring. He hadn’t left you yet… Perhaps that was a good sign? His warm exhales fanned across the plane of your shoulder, his body pressed against your back. You let the dress fall into a pool of sage satin around your feet. As you stepped out of your heels, Bishop unhooked your bra and you tugged it off. He stepped quickly to the dresser and returned to you with one of his large t-shirts. He helped you to pull it on and as he fixed your tousled hair, he looked into your eyes, his heart heavy at your hollow gaze.

As you climbed into bed, he caught your wrist gently, studying the scratch marks left by your aunt’s nails. You caught the tightening of his jaw before he let go and tucked you under the covers. When he climbed in beside you, he took your face in his palms, running his thumb steadily against your jaw.

“¿Qué estás pensando, amor (What are you thinking, love)?” he whispered, his lips practically touching yours.

“Too much to say,” you replied wearily.

“Will you try for me?”

“It just hurts all over again,” you muttered, curling your clammy hands under your chin, barely resisting the urge to tuck yourself into the fetal position. “They all knew what happened to me. They just chose to believe him over me. So they – they blame me for my mother leaving him, for him going to prison.”

You took a shaky breath, studying Bishop’s dark eyes. “I’ve spent years in therapy learning how to accept what happened, how to stop letting it define me. But confronting the people who called themselves my family and then abandoned me when I needed them the most? I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to make peace with that.”

Bishop could see the wheels turning in your head, and he let you speak without interruption. The words seemed to be coming a little less haltingly now, and he took that as a good sign.

But then your eyes slid from his, to study intently at the pattern on the sheets. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” you whispered. “I just… didn’t know how to start that conversation. I didn’t want to scare you away. This – all of this baggage has spoiled a lot of relationships.”

You paused, wiping an errant tear away with your index finger. “I see the change in the way they look at me. I see the pity, the uneasiness. People learn about this part of my past and it brands me forever. No one has ever been able to really stomach it and eventually, they all walk away.” You closed your eyes, finding no reason to keep them open, sure that when you woke in the morning, Bishop would be gone.

Your heart missed a quiet beat in your chest when, instead, you felt Bishop’s fingers tucked beneath your chin, raising your face up to his. Your eyes fluttered open to see his unchanged expression looking back at you. You searched, but there was no shame, no uncertainty. No regret.

“Don’t apologize to me, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “What happened to you is your story to tell. You get to tell it to me at your own pace. Hey,” he urged, gripping your chin firmly. Your bottom lip trembled as tears stung the corners of your eyes, determined to hold his gaze. “I am not the people in your past. I see how tough you are. You overcame something so fucking terrible, and you’re still standing. That’s the definition of strength, querida.”

His arms wrapped around you completely, pulling you against his chest beneath the covers. He pressed a kiss to your temple, one of his strong hands cradling your head. “I’m not scared. And I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, feeling the heaviness of sleep weighing you down. “It’s you and me, baby. Together.”

#mayans fx #mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans x reader #mayans imagine #bishop losa #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa x you #obispo losa #obispo bishop losa #bishop losa fanfiction #bishop losa imagine #bishop losa fluff #bishop losa angst

242 notes · View notes

clanoffetts · 3 years

Text

Don’t Call Me That | Bishop Losa x fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, Bishop is kind of a dick this season but it’s ok he just needs therapy and to stop killing people (but won’t go so reader is his therapy)

Summary: Bishop’s been neglecting his girl lately. One night, after a week of Bishop bailing on your plans, Bishop breaks down and you try to solve your issues.

Bishop’s nights at the clubhouse have been getting longer and longer. And every time he comes home, loud in his drunkenness, you feign sleep. Little does he know, you can’t sleep when he’s out that late. Not since the attacks on the club that left Coco a half-blind mess and Riz dead. And every morning before you left for work, you’d tell him, “I’m going to make dinner tonight. I’d like it if you came home in time to eat with me.”

And he says, “I will try, querida,” or “You know I try my best, querida.” But he doesn’t, because if he did he would walk through the door at anytime before 10 o’clock to eat dinner with his girlfriend. He could always leave after, and go be with the club. You knew it was important for him to have a kind of omnipresence, being El Presidente and all, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Tonight was no different. Pasta cooked, plate fixed, wine poured, you sat on the couch. Alone. The first night you’d set the table, made Bishop’s plate, set out some beers with your wine, but you soon realized that was a lot of work going to waste.

You’d cleaned the kitchen, boxed up the leftovers, showered and crawled into bed when Bishop got home around 2 am. Tonight he caught you off guard, you didn’t have time to turn the lamp and TV off so you could pretend to be unbothered in your sleep. “Querida?”

You look to the door and see him standing there. “Obispo,” you acknowledge him with bare minimum before looking back at the TV.

In your peripheral you watch him take off his kutte, then his shirt, his shoes, his jeans. Left in his boxers, he climbs up on the mattress. His breath doesn’t smell of alcohol tonight, just cigarettes. “How was your day?” he asks, reclining next to you with his hands behind his head.

“It was fine,” you reply, still trained on the TV even though a commercial was on. “How was your, Obispo?”

“Will you stop calling me that?”

You laugh a little. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he says. “But you don’t call me that.” His hand searches for yours but you move it to run through your hair, and you can almost see the look on his face. A kind of fear Bishop Losa does not often convey.

You shut off the TV. “I’m tired,” you say. “And obviously you are too, Obispo, if you think I shouldn’t call you by your name.”

“Querida,” he says. “Will you look at me?” His voice is soft now, his tiredness and fear coming through. You can’t help it, you turn your head and look at him. “Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not,” you reply, almost choking on your own lie.

He shakes his head. His hand finally finds yours. “You only call me Obispo when you’re mad.”

“I don’t know what you want me to call you, Obispo, if not your name.”

There’s a flash of anger in his eyes but it’s gone with the next blink of his eyes. “Don’t play dumb,” he demands. “You call me Bishop, at the very least. You call Bish, or B, or love. Not Obispo.”

You suck in a breath before answering, “Ok, Bishop, now can I go to bed?”

His hand comes up to your cheek to keep you looking at him. His other squeezes your hand tighter. “I know I’ve been missing dinner, but the MC is such a mess right now and we’ve got a big plan-“

“The plan is more important than me?” You cut him off. “You can’t spare an hour to come home and eat with your girlfriend? You could always come here and go back. All I want is you to show me you care.”

When you finally stop talking, you have tears rolling down your face. Bishop’s eyes are welling with tears, and you can tell he’s trying to stop them from falling. “It’s ok to be vulnerable, Bish,” you whisper. He still has such trouble being vulnerable with you, but you know it’s not his fault.

At the return of his nickname, he breaks. He falls into your arms and you let him. You don’t know what’s happening with the Mayans, you know it’s illegal and you know it’s scary and that’s all. But whatever this big plan was, it was taking a toll on your Bish.

“You’re right, querida, you’re right,” he murmurs. “And I do care, so much, and I need to show you that. I’m so sorry.”

Your hands massage his scalp as he finally lets sobs rack his body, this has been a long time coming. “Shh,” you try to comfort. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t be so passive aggressive. I should’ve told you I was upset.”

He pulls away from you, hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. There’s so much pain. “I love you, querida,” he says. “And I’m going to make sure you know it. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning and when you come home I’ll make you dinner and we’ll eat together and then...I don’t know what else,” he’s almost out of breath from his rambling. “Whatever you want, we’ll do it.”

Your heart melts. You haven’t completely forgiven him, there are some things that just need time. But you reach a hand out to his cheek, running it down to his chin where his beard has started to gray. “I love you, too, Bish,” you whisper. “We both have things to work on. Together.”

He nods, and the next thing you know his lips are on yours. The amount of raw emotion in the kiss takes your breath away, both of your cheeks are still wet from tears, your hands grope at each other in a fit of pure passion.

When you pull away you hold his head in your hands. “We’ll get through this. You’ll get through whatever the club is doing.”

“And I’ll get through it by making more time for you, querida,” he whispers. “I need you. More than I’d like to admit.”

You laugh a little at his stubbornness. This was your Bish. “You also need rest more than you’d like to admit.” You lean over and turn off the lamp before laying down and cuddling him into your chest. “Let me take care of you sometimes, Bish. Like I said, we both need to work on some things.”

“Alright, querida,” he whispers. “Love you.”

He’s already snoring before you can respond.

#bishop losa #obispo losa #bishop losa fluff #bishop losa angst #?#bishop losa x reader #obispo losa x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfic

200 notes · View notes

beeroses · 3 years

Text

I’ll take the lot

FanFic Friday are starting to feel more like FanFic Mondays... sorry for the delays! Your picture inspired stuff @rebelwrites, and apparently, a lot of stuff..!! So here’s a whole lot of Bishop fluff thrown at all of you! If you wanna be added to the taglist, please holler, I’ll be glad to!

Warnings : Pet names are female (Querida, Reina) but no other descriptions made, slight language warning, Angel’s still a douchebag, sorry, it’s a theme I guess..!

Gif credits to gif maker, Mayans credit to Mayans makers

- So, Querida, what do you think?

- This is absolutely beautiful, Obispo, I just think it’s really funny that out of everywhere in the State you could’ve chosen, you went for San Luis Obispo County, you answered!

- Ahh come on Querida, I chose the Moonstone Beach not Obispo County, don’t laugh!!! I chose this place because I’ve heard you get to see the most beautiful sunsets in the country, here.

- Have you gotten soft, Presidente? you asked, smirking.

- No I haven’t, he coughed slightly and then you heard him mumble : it’s just really hard to find a place more beautiful than you…

You smiled to yourself, the man was pretty damn near perfect. You’ve had ups and downs, things had gotten crazy with the club then had calmed down, but whatever was going on around, your beautiful boyfriend made sure to spend time with you, to take you out and to go away with you. He never once put you aside deliberately and always included you in every aspect of his life. Crazy lives you two were living, but you wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

- I love you, Obispo, and I love this place, you smiled.

He took your hands in his and smiled, looking out in the distance. He looked deep in thought but when didn’t he? You enjoyed the breeze coming from the ocean as you kept looking at the horizon. He was right, this place was absolutely breathtaking. You knew he had something on his mind because he kept fidgeting with his fingers and yours, while holding hands. You never wanted to pry and sometimes, things were just better the less you knew, but after a while in absolute silence, you got a little bit nervous.

- Is everything ok, Cariño ?

He almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of your voice. Very, very deep in thoughts, indeed.

- I’m sorry Querida, I spaced out.

- Yeah, I noticed… Anything you wanna talk about? you tried.

- Actually, yeah, I think I should. Looks like the perfect time to…

His words trailed off when the both of you heard :

- HEY PREZ!

- You’ve GOT to be kidding me…

You looked over Bishop’s shoulder only to see the Reyes brothers coming your way, rapidly. Angel having cotton candy in his hands, EZ carrying his childish smile around like a trophy for the best brushed teeth in the entire universe. Bishop looked annoyed to no end.

- Hey Prez, what a pleasure! Out of everyplace you could’ve gone to for your day off, we come to the same one! Angel said, excited by the coincidence and clearly not reading the room.

- Out of Every. Goddamn. Places. Bishop mumbles.

The Reyes brothers invite the two of you to spend the rest of the evening together and you both accept, even though you feel like Bishop is long gone in his head again. Although you loved Abbott and Costello to absolutely no end, you were almost mad at the unexpected meet.

*****************************************************************************************************

It both always bothered you and never did, the fact that, as Presidente, Obispo rarely had time off. You managed with the time you had, the evenings when he left early, the lazy Sundays, he would allow himself, sometimes, the lunches he’d bring at your job so you could eat together. Therefore, it took a couple of weeks until he got a full weekend off. You had decided to go North a little and settle for a more deserted destination, near the Joshua Tree National Park. You knew, for a fact, that whatever Bishop wanted and felt ready to share with you hadn’t left his thoughts yet. You had seen the wrinkles on his forehead, the ones he only got when he was deeply worried about something. It stuck from the second he got interrupted by the impossible comedic duo up until you settled in your room, feet away from the park.

- Wow, you’re going all out, Obispo! you teased.

- Well, I try to make it right to mi Reina.

- You know you don’t have to pull all the stops, like this! I’m very happy at the littlest things, you know that!

- I do, he said, pulling you in his arms, but I really want this to be perfect, just like you, he whispered in you ear.

The day went on nicely, you brought yourself a picnic to enjoy while enjoying the beauty and peace of the park. Everything was going absolutely perfectly. Towards the evening, Bishop pushed an outfit towards you, something a little more fancy than you had thought but, what the hell, if your man wanted you wearing that outfit, you’d obliged, especially since the frown had seem to disappear along the day. You walked out of the bathroom and saw Obispo look at you, almost stunned, something very deer-in-the-middle-of-traffic, like. You could’ve almost sworn you saw the man blush. But he turned his head, making sure he had everything, mumbling how gorgeous you were, almost more to himself than to you. You saw him fumble with the hotel key, his keys, his wallet, and stumbled on his own feet. He looked like a baby animal just learning to deal with it’s legs. You laughed at his sudden awkwardness.

- You ok there, El Presidente? you asked, a smirk stapled on our face.

- I’m fine, of course, yes, I’m fine. You look stunning, Querida, did I tell you?

- Not directly, but the fact you don’t remember how to use your legs correctly said it for you… you laughed. Come here.

You pulled him towards you and made him face you.

- Will you finally tell me what’s going on with you? You’ve been so.. distant, in your head, lately.

- Yeah, I will, I promise.

- Tonight?

- Tonight, he agreed.

You left, hand in hand, and walked to a car Obispo had ordered to take you to a gorgeous restaurant, which had a beautiful terrace. You sat at your table and ordered drinks. Obispo kept your hand in his at all time. You could sense he was ready to talk about whatever’s been troubling him over the past couple of weeks.

- So, Querida, after everything we’ve been through, you know, it’s nice to be able to get away, like this, just us, he said, running his thumb on the top of your hand.

- It’s.. you started.

- PRIMO! Alvarez said, just walking in with his wife and coming towards you. What are the odds, my man?

- I’d say pretty good, lately… Bishop stated.

Alvarez and his wife took a seat at the table next to you and chatted you guys all night. You came back very late at the hotel and knew the moment was gone. Again. Early the next morning, Bishop received a phone call from Taza and you guys had to cut your trip short, putting an axe, once again, on that long overdue conversation.

*****************************************************************************************************

You got woken up by Obispo travelling back and forth across the room, grabbing clothes and throwing them in a duffle bag.

- You going on a run? you asked him, surprised as he hadn’t told you about it.

- No, we are, he answered.

- I’m sorry, who?

- You and me. We’re going away. Right now.

- But…

- No buts, Querida, let’s go!

The two of you left, at the crack of dawn, on his motorcycle, for somewhere only he knew. You drove for a while and stopped along the beach, where a beautiful boardwalk pushed into the ocean. Bishop took your hand in his and pulled you towards the furthest part of the walk, the one that pushed the furthest into the great Blue. You leaned on the railway to look further into the sea. The lightning of the morning sun making the water look like it was filled with diamonds. Everything about the scenery was absolutely breathtaking.

- Bish, what are we doing here? you asked, blown away.

- I wanted to find someplace special, since I think we’re long overdue to talk, you and me, he said.

- You didn’t have to kidnap me, you know, you said, smirk on display on your features.

- Pff, if I’d kidnapped you, you’d know, trust me, he winked.

You looked at the sea a little more and turned fully around to give your full attention to the man in front of you.

- So, Querida, I’ve been so lucky to have you stand by me through the years, you’ve been nothing but my…

- Bish, HEY, BISH!

- You’re FUCKING KIDDING ME. WHAT? Obispo asked, turning towards the voice. There stood half the Mayans. Gilly, Coco, Angel and EZ, on their motorcycles.

- What are you doing here, Prez, Gilly asked, isn’t there Templo in an hour?

- Yeah, I fell off that girl’s bed to be there in time, why are you here ? Angel asked.

- Do you even remember her name? EZ asked his brother.

- I don’t think she ever told me, Angel said smugly.

- WILL YOU JUST FUCKING SHUT UP? CAN’T A MAN ASK HIS GIRLFRIEND TO MARRY HIM, ROMANTICALLY, WITHOUT BEING INTERRUPTED EVERY SINGLE TIME? Bishop screamed at his brothers.

Then fell silence. The boys looked sheepishly at the pavement, gathering up excuses to run away as fast and far as they could. You looked absolutely stunned. Bishop looked enraged.

- Is that… Is it… It that what’s been bothering you, lately? you asked, wild eyed, tears welling up quickly to blur your vision.

Obispo just then realized your presence and how badly it went. He’d been trying to find a way, a place, a setting, everything to make sure it was the most romantic engagement, for his Reina and it ended being the worst possible way.

- It wasn’t bothering me… I just… he sighed deeply, I really wanted this to be perfect, you know.

- I didn’t choose you because you’re perfect, Obispo. I chose you because you’re you.

- Hopefully you also chose me because of my impatience and the fact I cannot, for the life of me, get rid of these punkasses.

- Like I said, I chose you because you’re you. And if you come with impatience, tantrums and those douchebags, then I’ll take the lot.

- Are you saying yes? Obispo asked, hopeful.

- Por supuesto, diciendo que si, mi Amor!!

Bishop took you in his strong arms and pulled you to his chest. The kiss you got was quite possibly the most passionate you’ve ever shared. The boys clapped and cheered, Gilly wolfwhistled and got a death stare from Bishop, therefore stopped immediately.

- Hey, just for the record, I never said I pulled tantrums, Bishop said, squinting at you.

- I said what I said, you winked as you felt him push the ring on your finger, squeezing your hand in his, lovingly.

@chibsytelford @yosoynicolexo @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo

#Bishop #bishop losa #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa fanfic #obispo losa #obispo bishop losa #Mayans MC #mayans x reader #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans fanfiction #Fanfic Friday #rebels writing challenge #beeroses writing #bishop losa one shot #mayans one shot #fluff

128 notes · View notes

drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

Hands Off

Bishop Losa x Reader

Request by @jmvalhalla1998: Hi there! I guess this would be a request but is it possible to do a Bishop x Reader where her ex comes to town with them nothing talking to each other at all he doesn’t know she is with Bish so he tries to win her back causing Bish to get protective/territorial? You can make them engaged or have the reader pregnant if it makes it more interesting.

Warnings: language

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: This was oodles of fun to write. Who doesn’t love to see Bishop getting a little worked up and protective??

Bish Taglist: @masterlistforimagines @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf @thesandbeneathmytoes @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @multiyfandomgirl40 @sillygoose6969 @queenbeered @louisianalady @gemini0410

You were looking at all the fresh produce in front of you, trying to figure out what exactly you wanted to pick up for dinner. Once Bishop got back from his run, he was going to be home all weekend and for you, that was worth celebrating. You toyed with the ring dangling at the end of your necklace chain, telling yourself that you had to get around to going to the jewelers to get it re-sized so you would actually wear it on your left hand. You tucked it back underneath the collar of your shirt as you started plucking a few things to put into your cart.

You were off to pick up the last of your dinner items when you heard an all-too-familiar voice, “Y/N?”

You spun around, your heart dropping into your stomach as you came face-to-face with your ex. You hadn’t seen or heard from him in three years, and that worked out incredibly well for you. He wasn’t missed by you. “What’re you doing here?” your tone had no sweetness to it.

He laughed, “That’s a funny way to say ‘I miss you’.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” he forged onward despite the fact that you were letting him know that you wanted nothing to do with him, “I’m gonna be back in town for a few weeks because of work. Offer still stands, if you wanna get out of this town you’re more than welcome to come with me.”

You scoffed, “Absolutely not.”

You started to push your cart away when he spoke up again, “What’re you up to these days, anyway? You seeing anyone?”

You sighed, “As a matter of fact, yes, I am.”

He scanned the store, “Oh?”

You rolled your eyes, “Some people trust their partners to go places without them.”

He gave you a once-over, eyes lingering far too long, “I wouldn’t let you outta my sight.”

“Yea, you made that abundantly clear a few years ago. If you had any long-term memory at all you’d remember that that was half the reason I let you leave without me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish my grocery shopping,” you huffed and walked away, desperate to get out of the store and as far away from him as possible.

You tried your hardest to push the interaction from your mind as you worked on putting dinner together when you got home. You had gotten a text from Bishop that he was less than an hour out and it made you get your butt in gear and start cooking. If you timed it right, it would be done just after he got home. He always told you that you didn’t need to make a fuss when he came back from runs, but you couldn’t help it. And truthfully, you knew that he enjoyed it.

You were setting out plates and silverware when you heard the door open. You looked up, a smile on your face when you saw Bishop standing in the doorway. He dropped his bag to the floor and held his arms out. You couldn’t help but to laugh as you ran over and jumped into his arms, letting him sweep you off the floor and spin you around in a hug.

You hooked your legs around his waist and kissed him, “I missed you.”

He chuckled as he hooked his hands together underneath your legs, “I missed you too.”

You let him go unpack and change into a more comfortable set of clothes while you finished bringing everything to the table. You smiled as you felt his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you so that your back was pressed up against his chest. He pressed kisses along your shoulder and neck.

“I told you, you don’t have to do all this.”

You smiled, resting your hands on top of his, “I know I don’t have to. I want to, though. It gives me a reason to actually do something with myself besides miss you while you’re gone.”

He chuckled, “You’re breaking my heart, querida.”

The two of you had dinner together, and all you could think about was how nice it was to have him home again. You knew that his life was never going to allow him to be home all the time, and you accepted that, but that acceptance never made you miss him any less. You couldn’t stop staring at him as he gave you all the highlights of the run.

After dinner, the two of you were curled up in bed watching a movie. You idly toyed with the ring on the end of your necklace chain as you soaked up all of Bishop’s body heat underneath your mountain of blankets. As your fingers slid across the smooth metal band, the events that happened at the grocery store all came racing back and you instantly felt a knot forming in your stomach all over again.

Bishop felt you tense up and he looked over at you, “Everything alright, sweetheart?”

You nodded, “Yea. I just, um, there was something I forgot to mention.”

He paused the movie, “What’s going on?”

You had no idea how to start this conversation with him. Nothing really happened, but you still felt like you should tell him, “When I was at the store today, I, uh, I ran into my ex.”

His brows furrowed. He wasn’t the type to get jealous, but he also knew that your ex hadn’t treated you well and that was his real issue. “What happened? I thought that he was gone?”

You shrugged, “He’s back in town for a while for work I guess. I don’t think that he’s a real threat or anything I just, I don’t know,” you shook your head, “I felt so skeeved out after talking to him, that’s all. I’m not telling you because I want you to do anything about it, I just figured I should let you know.”

He’d never met your ex—he was long gone by the time that you and Bishop had gotten together. But the stories that you told him were enough. The protective part of him was kicking into gear as he processed what you were telling him. Even though you said that you didn’t want him to do anything about it, that was exactly what he was planning to do.

“Hey,” you gently squeezed his arm, “Obispo, I mean it. Don’t do anything stupid—he’s not worth it.”

He kissed your forehead, “I love you.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, “I love you too, but that’s not a response to what I just said.”

He pulled you closer, your face resting against his chest, “It’s my response to everything you say.”

You didn’t push it, knowing that whatever Bishop was thinking about doing wasn’t anything that you were going to be able to talk him out of. The more you thought about it, the more you hoped that the odds would be on your side and that the two of them just wouldn’t cross paths for however long your ex was in town. They didn’t run in the same circles, so maybe, just maybe, you’d luck out.

Those thoughts got pushed from your mind, though, as Bishop started peppering kisses along your neck and jaw. You laughed and melted into him, happy to forget about whatever the future was going to hold that was out of your control.

The next morning, Bishop was up bright and early. He nudged you awake, telling you he wanted to take you out to coffee and breakfast at the café in town. As much as you wanted to stay in bed and do absolutely nothing all day, it had been a while since the two of you had a breakfast date, so you agreed.

He took you on the bike, which you loved. There was something exhilarating about not just riding through town on the back of his bike, but also just walking around with your hand entwined with his. Even when he was off the clock, he was almost always in his kutte. It made him stand out a little more but you didn’t mind it, especially because some of that confidence seeped over into you. There was something special about the president of the MC doting on you, keeping you pressed up against his side as you made your way through town.

His phone rang right before you walked into the café. He looked down at the screen and then back to you, “Want to grab us a table? I’ll be right in. Less than five, I promise.”

You smiled, shaking your head, “Anything for you,” you gave him a quick peck on the lips before walking in and asking for a table for two.

You were scanning over the menu when you heard footsteps approaching your table. You assumed it was going to be Bishop, or a waiter, but instead you looked up and into the face of the man you hoped you would go the next few weeks without seeing again.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You sighed, muttering somewhat under your breath, “You gotta be kidding me.”

Without bothering to ask, he pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, “Some might say that this is a sign.”

“A warning sign, maybe,” you said with a shake of your head, “I’m engaged. Let it go.”

“Engaged and going out to breakfast by yourself?”

“I’m not by my—”

He held his hand up to stop you, “C’mon, just grab one drink with me tonight. One drink, and if you still want nothing to do with me, I’ll leave you alone forever.”

You looked up and you saw Bishop standing behind his chair, looking larger than life. You pressed your lips together, waiting for your fiancé to say something. He cleared his throat, “Sounds like something you should be doing anyway.”

He instinctively went to push the chair back, but Bishop was blocking him in. his hand came to rest on your ex’s shoulder, and from the look of pain on the man’s face, Bishop was exercising his grip strength a little bit.

“Y/N mentioned that you were back in town.”

“Oh? She did?”

“Yea,” Bishop’s other hand gripped his free shoulder, “she also mentioned that you have a bad habit of not minding your fucking business.”

Your ex was all but trembling in his seat, and it would’ve been a lie to say that you weren’t enjoying every second of the scene unfolding in front of you. You didn’t need Bishop to look out for you, but you enjoyed that he did anyway. And, judging by the satisfied smirk that was creeping onto his face, Bishop enjoyed it too.

“Look, I’m just saying,” you could tell that your ex was scrambling to string the words together, “she seems to be on her own an awful lot. Must get lonely.”

“And you’re just here to remedy that loneliness, is that it?” Bishop’s tone was begging him to say something stupid.

“Well, someone should.”

“Hmm,” you could see his grip tightening on your ex’s shoulders, “You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about,” he leaned down so that he could speak a little quieter, “But god help me if I ever see you anywhere near my wife ever again I will break every one of your fingers, one at a time, and then make you drive yourself home. We clear?”

He nodded, fear written all over his face, “C-clear.”

“Good,” Bishop finally released his grip, “Now get the fuck out so we can have breakfast.”

He stood up, giving you one last look to see if you had anything to say. You gave him a sickly sweet smile and waved goodbye without a word, and he scampered out the door. You turned your attention back to Bishop, who was sitting down in his seat.

You smiled at him as he sat down, reaching your hands across the table so you could hold them in your own, “How good did that feel?” there was a hint of laughter in your voice.

He smiled at you, his voice quiet, “Really fucking good.”

You gave his hands a light squeeze, “Also, getting a preview of what it’s going to be like hearing you refer to me as your wife? What a rush,” you giggled.

He lifted your hands up and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, “You’ve got a whole lifetime of that ahead of you, sweetheart.”

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #bishop losa #bishop x reader #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa x you #obispo losa #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa imagine #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc #bishop losa fanfiction #bishop losa fluff

421 notes · View notes

mischief-managed-snitches · 3 years

Text

Run for Your Life

Welcome to part 5 of Bishop x Gracie!!!

Gif Rights: Who ever the beautiful soul was that made this!! This is not mine, simply one I found and liked.

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Abuse

As always, I do NOT own anything Mayans related. I DO own my character and her story though.

My first language is English. I do know some Spanish but I am not fluent. I will be keeping the Spanish in this story to a minimum to avoid butchering a beautiful language. There will be some usage of terms of endearment and stuff though, praying they make sense.

Gracie's knee bounced rapidly, the squeak of her worn out sneaker imbedding it's way under Bishop's skin. She was clearly nervous, and he felt for her, but the jittering was getting to him. Reaching out, he laid one hand gently on her thigh, bringing her anxious movement to an abrupt halt. Her face jerked in his direction, his touch unexpected.

"You nervous, sweetheart?" Bishop offered her a small smile, lifting his hand and leaning back against the hard plastic chair. The place reeked of cleaning products and he fought hard to keep from wrinkling his nose.

She shrugged in response, facing forward again. Her shoulders were ridged, her fingers twisting together over and over again. She stared straight ahead, eyes occasionally following another patient walking by. Some towed children along, others waddled with large, round bellies. Bishop grinned as a particularly uncomfortable looking mother walked past. Fucking hell, she must be due any second now...

"Everything's going to be okay, Gracie." Bishop turned back to her, only able to see the side of her face.

"Promise?" She whispered. It was the first thing she'd said to him since they walked into the office. Bishop felt her words tug directly on his heart. He was tempted to reach for her again, hug her, hold her, whatever she needed from him. Her stiff posture held him back though. He wasn't sure how she felt about him touching her and the last thing he wanted to do was to make her even more uncomfortable. His mouth opened to reassure her, but someone calling Gracie's name interrupted him. Gracie stood quickly, stumbling a bit in her haste. Bishop couldn't help himself, before he even knew what he was doing, his hand was landing on her waist, steadying her. She mumbled a 'thank you,' taking two steps away from him as if to follow the nurse, but then she stopped, turning toward him once more.

"Are you coming?"

Bishop's eyes widened, mouth popping open in his surprise. "Do you want me to?"

Her eyes turned to the floor, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly as she nodded.

"Okay," he closed the gap between them, gently taking her shaking hand and lacing their fingers together. He gave it a soft squeeze, "I'm here, sweetheart."

The two followed the nurse down the hall, hand in hand, receiving the occasional odd look from a passerby.

"Brought daddy along for the first appointment, huh?" The nurse asked with a big smile. She was just making conversation and judging by their hands, Bishop couldn't blame her for making the assumption. Gracie blushed scarlet, averting her eyes to floor as she stammered a sorry attempt of correcting her. The nurse looked almost as embarrassed as her, opening her mouth to apologize, but Bishop beat her to it.

"Don't worry about it." He gave her a lopsided smile, not in the least bit offended. Releasing Gracie's hand, he watched her step awkwardly on to a scale, the nurse making a note on her tablet before she stepped off. Turning the corner, she opened a door and gestured for them to go inside.

"My name is Samantha, please feel free to call me Sam. I'll be helping you guys out today before the doctor comes in." Her cheeks were rosey, her mind still punishing her for her mistake.

"Nice to meet you," Bishop spoke up, Gracie agreed quietly. "Bishop and Gracie." He introduced.

"Glad to meet you both! You can have a seat there, Bishop. Gracie, if you could sit on the bed here, please."

Bishop did as he was told, watching Gracie clamor awkwardly on to the bed, fisting his hand at his side to keep from reaching out to help. He wasn't trying to embarrass her, or appear like a worried mother hen, he just genuinely hated seeing her so worked up. It didn't settle right in his stomach.

"Alright, were going to start with a few questions first, Gracie. Is that okay?"

"Sure."

"Great! So first off I need your full name, date of birth, and the date of your last menstrual cycle." Gracie provided her the answers, watching as Sam typed it all into the computer. "Okay, so we're thinking we're about nineteen weeks along? Does that sound about right?"

"I think so..." Gracie mumbled.

"Okay and have you visited another doctor in the mean time?"

"No."

Sam's brows rose. "This is your first visit?"

"Yes."

"Is there a reason for that?" The nurse pressed, looking concerned. A dark look swept over Gracie's features. Bishop's stomach sank.

"Bishop, would you mind stepping out for us, just for a minute?" Sam asked, catching the look on Gracie's face as well. Something wasn't right.

Bishop stood, taking a step in the direction of the door, but Gracie's hand shot out, grabbing his wrist in a vice-like-grip. "No, please stay!" Bishop's brows lifted, the panic in her voice churning his gut. He looked at Sam, quirking a brow as if to say, 'now what?'

"Gracie, are you comfortable answering some big questions, even with Bishop in the room?"

"Yes." Her voice was sturdier this time, her shoulders squaring as if she were preparing for a fight.

"Okay, if your sure?" The nurse asked. Gracie nodded once. "Alright... Was this a planned pregnancy?" Sam asked tentatively, watching Gracie's face carefully.

"No."

Bishop's ears pricked at the new information, knowing from previous comments that the father wasn't in the picture anymore. He had assumed they wanted a baby, but the pressure was too much and he took off. He hadn't even considered this to be an accident...

"Is the father in the picture anymore?"

"No."

"Does he know about the pregnancy?"

Gracie's gaze locked on to a spot on the wall, above the nurse's head and no where near Bishop's face. "I hope not."

"Was the pregnancy brought about through consensual sex?"

Bishop froze, breath catching in his throat as he waited for Gracie's answer. He hadn't even considered the other side of that question. His mind never went there, until now. His eyes widened as he replayed every memory he had with her so far. The night they met she was sporting bruises. The next day they ate breakfast together and she couldn't even look him in the eye or shake his hand. When she met the guys at the club there had definitely been a nervousness to her... Fuck... The dark circles under her eyes... Coco mentioned nightmares... No, no, no!

Gracie's hesitation was like a blinking neon sign. He watched her lip quiver, her eyes locked in on that random spot on the wall. The longer she waited to answer, the hotter Bishop's anger burned. Blood rushed in his ears, his heart slamming against his rib cage, knuckles turning white as he clenched his free hand into a fist. He was so... fucking... mad.

"Gracie?" Sam prodded gently, the silence having gone on too long for anyone to believe anything other than the answer being 'no.'

Gracie startled at the sound of her name, her eyes meeting Sam's once again. A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye and Bishop went from angry to murderous. Fucking hell. The guy was dead. So dead. Bishop didn't know his name or address, but he swore to himself right in that moment as the salty tear dripped down her neck, he would take the man's life. Happily.

"Can we do an ultrasound today?" Gracie asked randomly, not openly answering the question. Her refusal to respond was the answer they had suspected. Sam noted something on the computer before looking back to Gracie.

"Yes, we can do an ultrasound today, but first I have to ask. Gracie, do you want this baby? There are other options we can discuss, if y-"

"I don't want any other options." Gracie responded instantly, interrupting Sam's speech. Gracie dropped her death grip on Bishop's hand, lifting both her hands to her belly. She rubbed it gently as she spoke, "I want this baby."

Bishop's heartstrings pulled tight at her admission, his arms ached to hold her. She was being so strong right now. So brave. He admired her more in this moment than some men he knew his whole life.

"Okay, well you still have time if you'd like to change your mind."

"I won't."

Sam nodded. "Alright. Have you felt the baby move at all yet?"

Gracie faltered, hands freezing over her rounded stomach. "N-No? I don't think?"

"Hmm... Okay, well everyone experiences different things at different times. Nothing is set in stone," she smiled reassuring. "Sometimes first time moms don't always pick up on the movements right away. They might mistake it for gas or butterflies, you'll know when you get a big kick."

"I... I haven't felt any of that." The fear in Gracie's voice pushed an emotional Bishop right over the edge. Unable to restrain himself a second longer, he stepped closer to her side. Reaching for her hand and she immediately took his. No hesitation. No embarrassment. It was like she had been waiting this whole time for him. Bishop rested his hip against the raised bed, locking their fingers together and giving them a soft squeeze. He watched her stiff shoulders drop the slightest bit, her arm pressing to his as she leaned toward him.

"Okay, well try not to stress. We will get an ultrasound machine in here and take a look."

Gracie nodded and Bishop stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "Everything is going to be be alright, Gracie." He spoke softly next to her ear, trying to give her some comfort as Sam slipped from the room.

Moments later, she was back, towing a machine behind her and a woman in a white lab coat. "Here we go! This is Lilah, she will be doing the ultrasound and listening to the baby's heartbeat today." Sam introduced.

Lilah greeted them with a smile. "Go ahead and lay back, Gracie and we'll get started." Gracie did as she was told, reclining back all the while still griping Bishop's hand tightly.

Sam lifted Gracie's shirt, rolling it up to expose her bare stomach. Gracie's first instinct was to push it back down, but Bishop caught her other hand. "It's alright, sweetheart."

Sam applied a cold gel to her skin, explaining each step as she went, making sure Gracie was comfortable with everything. Bishop glanced down, watching the goop squirt on to Gracie's pale skin. Her belly protruded slightly, jumping a bit as Lilah spread the cold gel around with the ultrasound probe. A whooshing sound filled the room and everyone seemed to freeze. Time seems to slow down and stop completely.

"Is... Is that..."

Bishop grinned down at her, squeezing her hand again.

"Yeah, that's your baby!" Lilah confirmed. The whooshing got louder as she moved the ultrasound probe a bit. "Very strong little heartbeat. Sounds perfect. Would you like a picture printed today?"

"A picture?" Gracie's eyes grew misty, a large tear escaping as she listened to the fast paced whooshing.

"Yes, there's not much to see yet, but I can certainly print this off anyway. It would make for a great keepsake."

"Uh, sure." Gracie answered, looking past her at the screen. It all looked blurry and foreign to her, but if they said her baby was there and healthy, she trusted them. The machine made a sound and then there was a long paper being pushed into Gracie's hands.

"Here you are! One for you and one for Bishop!" Sam spoke, pointing as the little blob. "This is the little one, here," Sam pointed to a blurry spot. "He... Or she, is jumping around a bit so it's hard to see, but that's him... Or her!"

Gracie blinked hard, pushing back the tears that wanted to fall. She was so relieved, she felt as if she would deflate and slid right off the table like some kind of cartoon. They were alright. Both of them had survived. Bishop wrapped an around around her shoulders, helping her sit up as Sam wiped the remaining goop off her stomach. Gracie thanked her, fixing her shirt quickly. After a few more questions, Sam allowed them both to leave under the conditions that they speak in more detail about that unanswered question next time.

Gracie agreed reluctantly, leaning on Bishop for support as a novel-sized packet of information was thrust at her. Tucking it under her arm, they stopped at the pharmacy on the way out and picked up a prescription of prenatal vitamins. Bishop thought she looked lighter, like some of her fears had lifted as they walked back to his pickup. Seeing her in there, so vulnerable, so scared, it twisted him up inside. He'd passed through a full range of emotions from white hot rage, to overwhelming relief in the span of one hour. He was exhausted. He could only imagine how she felt.

Bishop opened the door to his truck, helping her in before closing it and walking around to his side. Just as he put the key in the ignition, he heard her release a shuddering breath. Looking over at her, he watched as she crumbled right before his eyes. One hand gripped a bottle of pills, the other held the picture of the baby. Her bottom lip trembled before she let out a ragged sob.

Shit.

Sliding across the bench seat, he took her gently into his arms. "Oh, sweetheart..." Her head pushed into his chest, her face burrowing into his shirt. The pill bottle rattled to the ground and her empty hand fisted into his button-up.

"I- I don't know how to do this!" She wailed into his chest, her words muffled, thick with tears.

"It's alright, most parents have no idea what their doing half the time. You'll figure it out as you go. You're not alone, querida. I'm here and I've got you." Bishop tugged her closer, taking the majority of her weight as she leaned into him. "We'll figure this out together, sweetheart."

"P-Promise?" She asked, speaking through the material of his shirt.

"I promise, Gracie."

She sighed into his shirt, her stiff body relaxing into him in a way that pulled at his chest. "Thank you..." She sniffled against him. "Thank you." Bishop didn't answer her, he didn't need to. He simply held her tighter, pressing a kiss to her hair. He'd be there for her until the day she didn't need him anymore and a small, very selfish part of him secretly hoped that day never came. He wanted to be in her life for the rest of his. God, he hoped she let him.

#romance #writer #writing #bishop losa #fiction #lovestory #mayans fanfic #mayans mc #obispo losa #mayans imagine #bishop losa x gracie #fluff #cute af

95 notes · View notes

bishop423 · 6 months

Text

1 note · View note

mayans-sauce · 3 years

Text

Nails

Pairing: Bishop Losa x Female Reader

Word Count: 450

Warnings: none

Request by anon which you can find HERE

A/N: thank you for the request! The prompts have been changed just a tiny bit. Enjoy <3

GROUP CHAT for updates!

Gif Credit: @pedropcl

Your best friend of all time had been so kind to treat you to a nail session with her. A day of having fun and getting pampered was the perfect relaxation after the hectic week you had at work. It also gave you time to catch up together since you hadn’t seen each other in forever.

Once at home Bishop was all over you to show him your nails. He thought it was such a wonderful gift from your best friend to treat yourselves to a bit of a pampering session—just you two girls after the chaotic week that was. It was what both of you deserved.

“Come here!” He patted the sofa cushion for you to sit and show him. He took your hand in his to inspect what had been done. “It looks beautiful! I’m happy you had a good time.” He saw all over you what an easy and satisfying state you were in. Your shoulders are not tense anymore, and that smile of yours had that slight hint of a spark in it which he missed. “It was so nice to catch up and just chill. I don’t normally like to do my nails that much, but this was fun, and I think they turned out pretty.”

It was beautiful work that had been done. The color was soft and not too harsh. You were more than happy how they turned out. They were just a tad bit longer than your natural ones. But it was pretty, and you didn’t mind it at all. The day out with your girlfriend was successful and a much-needed one.

The conversation took a complete 360 turn, with Bishop demanding scratches. “Scratch my back, please?” He laid on his side with his head in your lap, almost nuzzling into you like a cat. “You’re not a fucking cat, Obispo! Scratch your own back! I thought this was my day to be loved and pampered?” “Do I look like an octopus? Do you think I can reach back there? Scratch my back, please! You have the perfect nails for it now. Food is on its way; I have your favorite sappy movie ready to play, and I’ll pamper you all good and pretty in bed later.”

“Ugh, fine.” It’s not like you could resist. You loved to make him feel good, both sexually and none. You lifted his shirt enough to have access to his back. As soon as your nails made contact with him, he melted and was entirely at your mercy. A long drawn out satisfied moan left him at your nails, dragging back and forth on his skin. “Thank you, sweetheart.” “Anytime, Mr. Cat.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Thank you for reading❤️ A quick reblog and feedback would be so appreciated❤️ Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist.

MAYANS MC TAGLIST: @blessedboo @60shannon @bellisperennis0 @capnsaveahoe @diaryofkali @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @xvvalx @missswritings @theocatkov @pinguinstudiert @chibsytelford @encounterthepast @rawrlittlepanda-95 @beeroses @siriussnape07 @adaydreamaway08 @miss-nori85 @oldstuffnewstuff @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @jatriciaaa @browneyes9125 @cole-winchester @blackksunflower12 @phoenixhalliwell @cant-decide-at-this-moment @love-mesome-me @holl2712 @jennisdirtyimagines @balladbloodwrites @lilacyennefer @smallflower16 @marvelmaree @brwnlikefoxy @kaylaygrace @stupiddsapphicc @violet624 @boomclapxox @mijop @macgruberrr @queen-under-the-shire @missihart23 @vixemi @heeeeeres-saint @paintballkid711 @x-goddess-of-nature-x @angelreyesisdaddy04 @mrsmarvelous1995 @luckyharley1903 @lilac-tea-time @headrushxreeta @leilaxaliel @gizmosworld23

283 notes · View notes

bucksangel · 3 years

Text

A Woman Like You pt2

Pairing: Bishop x f!Reader (no description of body type or race is mentioned however please let me know if i missed anything!)

Word Count: 5.8k🥵

Summary: Ever since you've confirmed your relationship with Bishop, things have been great, with one minor exception: the club hang-arounds don't know how to keep their hands off of your man.

Warnings: smut smut smut, p in v sex, oral (m receiving), pussy slapping, titty slapping, fingering, spitting, rough sex, a bit of exhibitionism and voyeurism, unprotected sex (wrap it up and get tested regularly y'all ain't wanting any std's), use of good girl, fluffy ending

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Buy me a coffee!

tagging: @est1887 @melaniecraig80 @winchestershiresauce @frattsparty @sincerelyasomebody @massivecolorspygiant @glossaye @xeniarocks @goosa @amorestevens @vikingstoner69 @withmyteeth @lyly00

a/n: i kinda have a plot for part 3??? if you want a part 3 let me know and y'all can give me some ideas!!

Posting new fics over on @michaelirby

Of course I am. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.

Three weeks have passed since you said those words, officially confirming your relationship with Bishop. With that confirmation comes a rollercoaster of a relationship, granted there have been more (much more) highs than lows. These ‘highs’ consist of numerous dates, whether to a new diner every week, to the bowling alley, hell, you even managed to convince Bishop to try out mini-golfing (which was more fun than he cares to admit).

The ‘lows’, however, have consisted solely of one thing: the women at the clubhouse don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. Whether it’s because they don’t respect you, or because they’re not used to seeing Bishop with a woman of his caliber, you don’t care. What you care about is making sure everyone knows that you are Bishop’s, and he is yours.

The first two Saturdays you attended a clubhouse party as Bishop’s girl, you didn’t necessarily mind the wandering eyes. You definitely don’t blame them, your boyfriend (and god it makes your heart skip being able to call him that) is handsome, sexy, and any other synonym that describes how absolutely beautiful your man is.

Tonight, though, tonight you’re putting an end to the stares and whispers and women trying in vain to catch Bishop’s attention. Not only is it tiring, but it’s also irritating.

So, donning a satin red dress, a black belt cinched around your waist, and black heels to match, you’re pretty sure you might get into some trouble tonight. That’s fine, you think. At least they’ll know not to fuck with me.

Now, actually walking into the clubhouse makes you pause as you calculate how to go about this. Finding a balance between physically teaching those girls a lesson and having a civil (not really) talk to them is hard. Personally, you couldn’t care less about standing your ground. The dilemma here is that you don’t want to cause a riff between you and Bishop, you don’t want to cause a scene big enough to embarrass him.

“Cariño,”

You jump, Bishop’s voice and sudden presence startling you as his arm wraps around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest. A finger, thick and long, appears under your chin to tilt your head upwards. With slightly pursed lips, Bishop leans down to place a kiss, soft and slow, to your own lips. This is… odd. You’d never turn down Bishop’s kisses, but you aren’t used to him being this affectionate in public, especially with his brothers so close by.

These lips, the same ones you’ve kissed about a hundred times over the last four weeks, glide and part just so that Bishop’s tongue can peek out and tease your lips. A content sigh escapes your lips, allowing yourself this moment of serenity before the fight for your respect as Bishop’s girlfriend.

This kiss goes on for maybe 30 more seconds, soft sighs leaving Bishop’s mouth as well. When you pull apart, you curl your lips into a smile and glance upwards at him.

“What was that for?” You whisper, not breathless, it’s something else, some emotion swirling throughout your whole body. You can’t place what it is exactly, but you know it’s a positive emotion.

Instead of replying right away, Bishop leans down to press feather-light kisses along your jaw. He stops to nibble at your neck for a second before hovering his lips over your ear. Hot breath fanning over your neck sends shivers down your spine as he whispers, “I know what you’re doing, showin’ up here dressed like that. Staking your claim and all that.”

Your eyes involuntarily roll. Sometimes you forget that you and Bishop have been friends for years, he’s dangerously perceptive, especially when it comes to you.

“But,” He continues, “You’re not going to cause a scene. I’ve already made it clear to everyone that you are mine, my only. So be a good girl tonight, yeah?” Ending his question with a nip at your ear, Bishop pulls back and gives you one final kiss.

Now, you’d like to think that since you’re headstrong and tough, you’d be able to vocalize your disagreement with his statement. But, truthfully, his gruff yet smooth-like-honey voice telling you to be a good girl makes your heart drop (into your panties). It’s left you nearly speechless because, and no offense to Angel, even he couldn’t make you feel the things Bishop does.

Finding yourself nodding, you let Bishop escort you into the clubhouse. Quickly, you’re snapped out of your trance-like state as soon as heads turn in your direction, a few whistles being heard despite the music. Confidence finds you once more, head held high as Bishop’s arm slides down to circle around your waist while he walks you to the far end of the clubhouse. Taza, Hank, and a few Mayan men from other charters surround the back table, at least a dozen beers scattered atop the wood.

“Hey sweet thing!” Comes from your left, and you see Taza standing from his seat to come towards you with his arms open.

This comment makes both you and Bishop chuckle, even before you started dating Angel Taza has always been extra sweet on you. It doesn’t bother you, nor Bishop, seeing as how Taza has taken you under his wing from the moment you were introduced to the club.

“Hello, handsome,” Your voice gets muffled as your face gets squished into Taza’s shoulder, him wrapping an arm around yours and pulling you into his side.

Pulling apart, you make your rounds to greet everyone at the table. Hugging Hank, shaking hands with another charter’s president, overall just smiling and waving to the crowded table. While you may be carefree and naturally defiant, you know when to tone it down and be relaxed.

Right now is not one of those times. As soon as Bishop pulls out a chair for you, you notice a woman walking towards you both holding a beer and hiking her skirt up ever so slightly. The need to be petty overtakes your body, so you’re quick to guide (more like push) Bishop into said seat. The woman is five feet from the table when you place yourself in Bishop’s lap, a hand snaking its way to his neck, fingertips playing with the short curls at the bottom of his hair.

A small frown makes its way onto the woman’s face, disappointment flashes across her face before she straightens up and continues to saunter closer. Head turned to talk to Taza at the opposite side of the table, you ignore the woman who decided to boldly place a beer in front of Bishop and say, “Here you go handsome.”

She’s really asking for it, you think to yourself when she tries resting her arm on Bishop’s bicep. Bishop, however, is quick to thank her and reach for his beer, waving her away while turning to join the conversation you and Taza are having.

This satisfies you greatly, especially as Bishop slithers one arm around your waist, pulling you to his chest. With a small smirk and a wink, you know it’s his attempt to calm you down. It doesn’t, though. While you’re not angry with him, you’re not too happy about the group of ladies standing by the pool tables who send glances towards you every minute or so.

“Stop it,” Bishop whispers in your ear, giving a quick pinch to your hip, right above your ass.

“Stop what?” You ask coyly, knowing full well you intend to send a message to those women.

Bishop knows this too, which is why he grips your hip hard and leans closer to your ear. “You know what. Now, be a good girl and ignore them.”

There it is again. Be a good girl. You have to suppress the urge to shiver while also suppressing the annoyance slowly taking over. You find yourself tilting your head to the side, letting your lips glide over his while you whisper back.

“I’m earning my respect one way or another, baby.” Leaning in, you press a soft kiss to his lips, pulling back and tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth. “After that, I’ll be a good girl. I’ll be good for you all night long.”

Bishop grunts, shifts his hips, and slides his hand down to rest on your ass to give it a soft squeeze. From your position atop him, you know your words got to him, the growing bulge pressing into your hip solidifies that knowledge.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Hank’s playful voice cuts through your moment, making you turn your head so you can smile innocently back at him.

And without giving Bishop time to respond to your previous statement, you return to your conversation with Taza and Hank.

_______________

An hour has passed, and so far no one else has come to bother you. With you blatantly ignoring the women still whispering behind you, and ignoring Bishop’s obvious erection, you’ve slipped into a comfortable and relaxed state. No longer are you on guard, focusing instead on enjoying the night with your man.

This enjoyment ends the moment you stand up and tell Bishop you’re going to grab you both new beers. Not even a minute has passed since you left his side and out of the corner of your eye you notice the same woman from before head for your man.

Breathe, you tell yourself. I can tell her off after I’ve gotten the beers. Except, as soon as you make it to the bar you hear a purposefully loud, “Hey there handsome.”

Whipping your head around, the woman has dared to bend down into Bishop’s line of view, cleavage on display. After deciding that you’ve had enough, you don’t bother with grabbing the beers as you make your way to where the woman is. She’s clearly being waved off, and clearly not getting the message.

“Ma’am?” You ask, faking politeness so you can say that you at least tried being nice.

She doesn’t acknowledge you, instead bending down again, further into Bishop’s personal space. Quickly, and without thinking through your actions, you grab ahold of the woman's wrist to pull her upright.

The woman is quick to spin around, her other arm swinging back, palm open. Before she even gets the chance to slap you away, you grab ahold of that wrist as well.

Now, having a hold of both of her wrists, you speak slowly and carefully. “I’m going to kindly ask that you step away from him.”

At this, she laughs, pulling her wrists from your grasp so she can put her hands on her hips. “And what if I don’t? You left him all alone, no woman good enough for Bishop would leave him to fend for himself.”

Rolling your eyes and breathing slowly, you step closer into her personal space. “Well, I think Bishop is man enough to take care of himself every now and then. I also think he’s man enough to decide who is and isn’t good for him.” Gritting your teeth and glaring directly into the woman’s eyes, you continue, “And he certainly doesn’t need you to baby him when I am the woman he chose.”

Scoffing, the woman leans forward and brings her arms up in an attempt to push you away. But you’re quicker than her, you side step her and allow her to stumble to the floor. When she tries to lift herself up, your heeled foot presses against her back, forcing her back down.

“So, I would like to make this clear for you and every other woman here who thinks it’s a good idea to get in between our relationship. I am Bishop’s only girlfriend, and he is my man. And if anyone has a problem with that, you can keep your opinions to yourself, unless you want me to physically knock some sense into you.”

You look around the room, many Mayan men, and several other women, smirk in your direction, clearly entertained with the show you’re putting on. Other women, the ones who have had their eyes set on Bishop, look intimidated. Good, you think. And when you decide that you’ve made your point, you step away from the woman and allow her friend to pull her away before she causes any more trouble.

Though you are happy with yourself, you’re unable to relish this feeling. Bishop is quick to stand up and take a hold of your bicep, forcing you to follow closely behind him. For a moment, you’d thought you’d angered him. With the tight grip he has on your arm and the quick pace he’s set, you’re almost worried you went too far. But then, you’re tugged into Templo and pushed against the nearest wall.

“The fuck did I say?” Bishop’s voice is gruff, heady with lust. “Didn’t I tell you not to start shit?” Hands wander down your sides, one gripping your waist and the other moving further down to cup and knead your ass.

Suppressing a moan, you grit your teeth and tug on Bishop’s shirt. “I didn’t start anything,” You’re cut off by your man’s lips enveloping your own, and this time you do moan. Your left arm wraps itself around Bishop’s back, hand resting on the nape of his neck. Your right arm slithers down his chest and underneath his shirt, lightly scratching his stomach.

“I don’t care who started shit, you listen to me.” Bishop grunts, then brings one hand up to squish your cheeks between his forefinger and thumb. With your mouth now open, he takes the opportunity to kiss and lick into your mouth, keeping your head as still as possible he invades every one of your senses, all you can taste, smell, feel is Bishop.

Hips press against yours, and the rock hard bulge pressing into your stomach makes you smile into the kiss, causing Bishop to pull back and press rough kisses and bites across your neck. “You said you’d be good for me, yeah?” You nod, head tilting back to rest against the wall.

“I said I’d be good after I taught them a lesson. Or did you forget?” This question is followed by a quick yet sharp pinch to Bishop’s stomach, Bishop himself hisses out in pain.

This must have frustrated Bishop, immensely so, because the next thing you know you’re being moved and pushed against the table, your front being forced to press against the wood. “Well,” A loud smack sounds through the room as he lands a hard blow to your backside. “You did that, so now,” Another smack. “You’re going to be a good slut and take my cock. Maybe I can fuck that attitude out of you.”

A series of smacks land on your ass, one after another. Each smack earns Bishop a moan, loud and drawn out spilling from your lips. And while you’re usually not a fan of exhibitionism, you can’t help but hope that your activities are being heard by everyone outside the Templo door. Maybe this is why when Bishop lands another hard smack against your backside, you cry out, loud and boisterous.

“Shut your fuckin mouth.” Smack. “You’ve done enough talking for today.” Bishop is able to land one more smack to your ass before he roughly grips a cheek, causing you to push back into his hand.

With lust and arrogance flooding your body, you turn your head to look into Bishop’s eyes and make a bold choice by saying, “Make me.”

Bishop doesn’t even bother responding, just grunts and leans over your body so he can grip your neck. With his tight hold on your neck, he hauls you up to a standing position before spinning you back around. The lust hanging in the air is intoxicating, just as intoxicating as Bishop pushing his thumb into your mouth and guiding your tongue out.

Your head is foggy, everything is going too slow, you need Bishop to fuck you already. The wetness pooling in your panties, the absolute ache building in your core kills you. So, you stick your tongue out and open your mouth, knowing full well what’s to come.

And just like you suspected, Bishop is quick to spit on your tongue, thumb massaging it around before shoving the appendage fully into your mouth. You suck on the finger, a muffled moan escaping your lips as you sneakily bring your hands to his belt. But the moment you get your hands on him, he’s slapping them away.

“Yeah…” He murmurs, licking his plump bottom lip before letting his teeth sink into it as you suck on his finger harder. “M’gonna make sure you stop with that back-talking.”

Quickly, and without thinking, you grasp Bishop’s belt once more and pull him towards you with both of your chests pressed together, his thumb slipping out. “Yeah? You gonna fuck my mouth real good? Make me choke on your cock until all I can think of is how good you make me feel?” Turning your brattiness up a notch, your hips roll into his. A single leg is able to slide up Bishop’s, trying to circle around his waist and secure him to you, but your boyfriend has other ideas.

Hauling you up on the table, Bishop maneuvers you to turn and lay down on the wood, your head nearly hanging off the side. Excitement floods your body, the only thing you can see is a rough and coarse hand undoing his belt and zipper. And then he’s pushing his pants down just enough to free his cock.

Now, you shouldn’t be surprised to see how big Bishop is. You two haven't had sex yet, preferring to take things slow and feel out this new territory (a decision that you both agreed upon but have been slowly coming to regret). But you had a suspicion that Bishop was big, you just didn’t think he was this huge.

You’ve been waiting for this day for weeks, all you’ve wanted was to get your mouth on him, to suck him until his legs give out. You wanted to make his legs shake and breathing ragged, but most of all, you wanted to taste him. Taste and savor the saltiness on your tongue. However bad you want that, you know you need Bishop to cum elsewhere first.

Lost in your thoughts, Bishop tugs you so your head is completely hanging off the edge. He’s slow about it, taking his excruciatingly hard cock in his hand and tugging and twisting to his delight. At one point, his dick is close enough that you’re able to slip out your tongue and lick around the tip. This earns you a reprimand for being too damn impatient but even Bishop can’t hold out for too long when you’re laying there, looking as inviting as ever.

Eventually Bishop places one hand on your jaw, prompting you to open wide so he can tease his cockhead into your awaiting mouth. Pulling out slowly, he repeats this process three or four times before he’s tapping his cock on your lips, chin, cheek, anywhere he deems fit.

Finally, deciding to tease you further, Bishop smooths a large hand over your throat so he can ease his cock into his personal heaven. You’re slow to suck him, choosing to lick and suckle softly, swirling your tongue around him as best you can.

Bishop pulls out, and for a moment you think he’s going to pull away completely, but he doesn’t. All he does is rest his cockhead on your lips as looks down at you.

“Do you think you’ve earned this?”

You know this is meant to tease you, to give you this thing you want only to take it away. It’s clearly a question you’re not supposed to answer, but you do anyway, as best you can without jostling his cock off of your lips.

“I don’t know, do you think you’ve earned my mouth?”

You hear a faint fuck before your mouth is stuffed full, Bishop letting loose and fucking your throat as fast as he thinks you can take. You happen to know you can take more, so you bring your hands up to wrap around the back of Bishop’s thighs and pull.

Bishop sinks deeper and deeper in your throat, hitting the back of it with every thrust while you slide your hands upwards and sink your nails into Bishop’s ass.

“Fuckin’ brat,” Bishop grunts out, leaning over you and hiking your dress up. He’s met with the sight of your black silk panties, clearly ruined by the amount of slick you’ve produced that’s now smeared across your thighs.

Roughly, your panties are torn from your body. The knowledge that Bishop is that strong and that there will one hundred percent be marks tomorrow sends shivers down your spine. And then, you feel two rough fingers spread your lips, allowing the fresh air to hit directly onto your pussy.

These fingers circle around, gathering up your wetness while still avoiding where you need him most. Frustrated, you lift your hips into Bishop’s hand while continuing to suck him down. What should have been a high pitched moan gets muffled, and you realize that Bishop just slapped your bare cunt.

Your hips press higher into his hand, earning you three more slaps, one after the other. On the final slap, he cups your crotch and forces your hips down. With this leverage he’s able to still pound into your mouth and bring you even more pleasure. The two fingers from before circle your clit, which then turns into pinching and rolling before a slap lands directly onto it.

Another should-be high pitched moan escapes your lips, the vibrations sending chills shooting up his spine and making his hips falter. Truly, Bishop must have the patience of a God, because this goes on for minutes, your clit being toyed with and smacked, all while still thrusting deep into your throat.

You, however, do not have patience right now. With pleasure building, your hands move to the front of his thighs and push. Bishop quickly pulls out and you can see worry flash across his face as you lift your head. The head rush you get is dizzying, but you right yourself quickly to turn around and face your concerned boyfriend.

“Too much?” He asks, winded.

With a hoarse voice, you say, “Of course not, but I’d rather you cum in my cunt.” Leaning in to capture his lips and bite and suck at them, you release them for a moment to whisper, “Wanna feel you fill me up.” A quick nip to his jaw and another hushed comment, “That is, of course, if you’re up for the challenge.”

“Oh, you’re going to regret this, querida.”

That’s all you concretely remember. With one fluid motion you are once again pushed flat against the table, your back flush with the wood. Bishop doesn’t bother taking your dress off, or taking his own clothes off. Suddenly, your pussy’s being stretched open and filled to the max, except, Bishop isn’t even all the way in.

Oh god, you think, what the fuck have I gotten myself into? After a minute of Bishop allowing you to adjust to his size, he pushes his hips flush to your ass, his entire length fitting snug inside you.

Heaven. That’s where you’re at right now. Your boyfriend is going feral in your pussy, pushing in and pulling out at an alarmingly fast and rough pace.

“God, Bishop!” You exclaim right as Bishop lands on that soft spongy section inside your core. This pleasure intensifies as Bishop lands thrust after thrust directly there, one of his large hands swinging back and smacking your ass so hard that it shakes you.

“Not so mouthy now, are you?” Bishop can’t help smirk, his breathing coming out the tiniest bit uneven, but otherwise he’s showing no signs of tiredness.

“Bish - Fuck!” Your witty remark dies off, replaced with more expletives, filling the room with your voice and the wet and lewd slapping of skin.

“God, you’re such a good slut,” Again, you shiver at that. I’m his good slut is all you can think, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you actually said that aloud.

The angle shifts, your legs being raised and pushed towards your chest. Hungry, feral, that’s what you see in Bishop’s eyes. He’s looking at you with such want, such need, that it fills you with happiness, and gets you wetter than before. It makes your core hurt with such need that it sends your eyes clenching shut and your back arching.

“You’re made for my cock,” Bishop grunts out, thrusting at an almost inhuman speed, holding your legs back for more momentum and to look at how beautiful your pussy looks when it’s swallowing his dick.

Your breasts are bouncing rapidly, one of Bishop’s large hands coming down to grab at one. Pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers before briefly leaving your breast, only to swing down and slap them. Your loud moans are all you can hear, they become even louder when you open your eyes just in time to see Bishop spreading your pussy lips open and spitting directly onto your clit.

It’s too good, it's too good. That’s all that is running through your mind, and this is without him even touching your clit. But, with the last ounce of bravado you have left, you look him in the eyes and shakily say, “Is this all you got?”

The fire in Bishop’s eyes burns brighter, his hand shoots forward to grab hold of your neck and squeeze. Drenched doesn’t even begin to describe how horny and wet you are. You can tell you’re literally dripping on the table and the floor below. No doubt staining the front of Bishop’s pants that still sit at his mid thigh.

But this rising euphoria doesn’t get the chance to linger as Bishop suddenly, and without warning, pulls out of you. Quickly replacing it are three of his long and dexterous fingers, pumping in and out at a rapid pace, curling and spreading apart. The palm of his hand grinding down on your clit is almost enough to push you over the edge, if only he’d stop taking it away and then you could cum.

Bishop’s grip on your neck loosens just enough for your head to fall back and roll to your left, towards the door. Through your haze and pleasure and teary eyes you’re able to see that it’s not all the way closed. Blinking away more tears, you’re also able to make out the figure of two women, one of them being the woman from before. Again, you’re not really into exhibitionism, nor voyeurism, but this, the woman who tried to take your man seeing him fucking you, that turns you on more than anything.

Keeping your eyes on her, you arch your back and moan louder than before. High-pitched whimpers leaving your lips with every thrust of Bishop’s fingers.

“You finally gonna be good for me?” Gruff and gravely, you can tell Bishop has no intention of stopping if you were to act up again. However, at this point you’re too incoherent to do anything but succumb to the insurmountable pleasure your man is gracing your body with.

“Yes, yes Bishop.” You’re unsure if you’re really speaking, but now you can’t stop. “I’m good, I’m good,” Through your chants, your eyes remain locked on the woman frozen at the doorway.

“You’re my perfect little slut, yeah?” This, added with the withdrawal of Bishop’s fingers, cause you to release a sob, tears escaping your eyes and blurring your vision as you furiously nod your head.

“Yes I’m - Fuck - I’m your perfect little slut, I swear!” At this point your eyes have shifted back to Bishop, with pleading eyes you’re begging him to let you cum, you need it.

Within the span of three seconds, you’ve forgotten all about the woman at the door, you don’t even know or care if she’s still there. Your body and mind are focused on coming, and coming hard. Three more seconds later and Bishop has stuffed his cock back in your pussy, continuing to fuck you as hard as a physically can.

Your mind goes blank, vision black, back arching off the table as your orgasm continues to creep higher and higher, almost tipping over. At one point, you feel Bishop’s fingers, wet with your slick, rolling and pinching your nipple once again before quickly abandoning it in favor of shoving them in your gaping mouth.

You’re sucking his fingers like you’re starved, desperately trying to chase the taste of you on his fingertips. It’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted, you decide.

“You gonna cum for me?” You hear through the fog, and you’re not really sure if you really answer.

If you do answer, it’s something along the lines of a muffled yes, god yes, please let me cum I’ll do anything just please let me cum.

The next thing you know is Bishop pulling his fingers from your mouth, spreading your legs even wider, and hovering his thumb over your clit. “You’re my good little whore, yeah?” The thumb presses down onto your clit before quickly easing off.

Yes, a good whore i’m a good whore, m’your good slut, perfect for you.

You faintly hear Bishop chuckling before he says, “Then cum.” And then he’s pressing down on your clit again and rubbing circles across your nub rapidly.

And you do cum. The hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, definitely the best orgasm you’ve ever had. All noise fades away, your vision goes completely black, and you feel like you’re floating. ‘Cloud nine’ doesn’t even come close to how good you feel.

By the time your vision returns and your ears stop ringing, you’re able to crack open your eyelids just enough to see the absolute pleasure that is overtaking Bishop. That’s when you register that he’s coming, hot and thick ropes of his seed being shot so deep into your pussy that you fear it’ll overflow and spill onto the floor.

You don’t know if it does, truthfully you’re too tired to think, to care about anything other than Bishop. Eventually, both of your breathing evens out and with the last bit of energy you have, you clench your muscles, pussy squeezing Bishop’s cock for a moment before relaxing again.

“Fuck, baby,” He rasps out, giving one final thrust before slowly easing his way out of your very sore and very tired pussy. His finger quickly dips down to collect his cum that spills out, only to prod back into your fucked-loose hole.

“Mmmhpm.” Garbled nonsense is all you’re able to voice right now, but Bishop must have understood what you were trying to say because he is slipping his fingers out with a tired grin.

His fingers, shiny and dripping with cum, make their way to your mouth, smearing the wetness across your lips before dipping inside to give you a taste of both of your flavors.

The last thing you remember is suckling on those fingers, and then, you’re slumping down onto the table, unconscious.

_______________

Sometime later you find yourself in Bishop’s lap at the head of the table. His clothes have been put together and your dress has been adjusted as best as possible with jostling you too much.

In your post-orgasm euphoria, your head tilts up, lips puckering as a sign for your boyfriend. He grants your request, lightly gliding his lips over yours as you relish in this moment of bliss.

Shifting on his lap, you’re quick to groan and cup your crotch, the ache now ever-present.

“I’m sorry, querida.”

“Don’t be,” You’re quick to respond. “Please don’t be sorry.”

With a huff followed by a small chuckle, Bishop shakes his head as he looks down at you. “Well, let’s get you home. I’ll even run you a bath with those bombs you like so much.”

Laughing softly, it’s your turn to shake your head. “They’re called bath bombs and they work wonders.” Leaning up slowly, you press kisses from Bishop’s cheek all the way to his ear. “Besides, I don’t want to go home.”

Bishop hums, amused and probably predicting what you’re about to say. “And why’s that?”

“I want to go back out there, the party is still going and I don’t see why we have to leave early.” Stifling a yawn that you hope goes unnoticed, you wiggle your hips once more before carefully placing your hand on the wooden table and lifting yourself up. Bishop is close behind, guiding you with hands on your hips to stand on wobbly legs.

“Are you sure? You look pretty tired,” Bishop’s smile may be real, but the concern lying underneath that statement is what really stands out.

Nodding, you place one hand on Bishop’s chest and another on the back of his head, playing with the short curls.

“Your dick may be good but it’s not enough to stop me from going out there and showing off all these marks you left.”

“Well then,” He huffs, chest puffing out. “When I do get you home, I’ll be sure to show you just how good this dick really is.”

This sends shivers down your spine. The thought that that was only a warm-up to him is exhilarating. You find yourself nodding and pulling him close so you can kiss him one more time.

When you pull back, you send him the most fucked-out, satisfied smile you can, and take his hand to pull him towards the still cracked-open door.

“Querida, wait.”

You stop, turn around, and look at Bishop, worried of the bomb he might drop on you.

“Yes?”

Bishop sighs, pulls you closer so you’re enveloping one another.

“I love you,” He whispers in your ear, cupping your other cheek to steady it as he presses soft kisses along the side of your face.

Pulling back and smiling at him, you send him a wink. “I know.”

Laughter echoes through the room, loud and genuine. Your arms wrap fully around his waist and your head tilts so you too can whisper in his ear, “I love you too.”

Satisfied with your answer, Bishop pulls away to place a final kiss on your forehead before directing you to Templo’s door. After a deep breath, you slide the door open all the way to be met with most of the room’s eyes on you.

Silence hangs in the air for less than a second before whistles and cat-calls are thrown in your direction. You’re smiling bright, not even caring about proving a point to anyone anymore, you’re content to pull Bishop to his previous seat and climb in his lap once more.

“Alright, horn dogs. As I was saying…” And then Taza’s continuing his story from earlier like nothing happened.

“I do love you, querida. I need you to know that,” Bishop whispers in your ear. And you’re quick to turn your head and look into his eyes.

“I do. I know, honey.”

#let me know what yall think!!#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #bishop losa fluff #bishop losa smut #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa #bishop losa imagine #obispo losa #my writing

358 notes · View notes

wisteriaandwafers · 3 years

Text

This months Mayans fic rec list was supposed to be for Bishop, Creeper, Hank and Gilly but I’ve been so busy I only have 8 in total, so tell/send me your favourite fics if you want, from all these characters so I can add them please and thank you...

#mayans imagine #mayans mc #mayans fanfic #mayans fluff #obispo losa #bishop fanfic #hank loza #tranq loza x reader #bishop losa x reader #creeper vargas #creeper x reader #gilly lopez #gilly fanfiction #gilly x reader #creeper imagine

12 notes · View notes

tropes-and-tales · 2 years

Text

El Presidente y La Princesa

Day 28 - Huddle for Warmth || Warm bodies, steady breaths, and comforting feelings. (Bishop Losa x F!Reader)

(For the 2021 December Challenge. The event masterlist is here.)

CW: So many! Angst, fluff. Mentions of violence. Mentions of drug usage. Death. Mentions of attempted sexual assault. Language, smoking. Smut (PiV, protected). 18+ only.

Word Count: 8423

AN: This is what happens when insomnia rears its ugly head. This got way out of control. It was supposed to be a drabble. It’s also riddled with typos, and I don’t have beta readers so....

Requested by: the soon-to-be-hit-with-a-class-action-lawsuit for her Bishop Thots (tm), the lovely @massivecolorspygiant.

Politics in any M.C. is a tricky proposition. It’s complicated enough, handling the various personalities in a single charter. More complicated to navigate the various charters within a single club. The worst? Managing relations between clubs, especially those whose borders bump up against each other.

Obispo Losa has to deal with a lot of shit as el presidente of the Santo Padre Mayans. Helping a woman linked to a Sons of Anarchy club get revenge? It is the last thing he is expecting to deal with when he rolls out of bed that morning.

It’s Les Packer from SAMDINO that calls. Gives Bishop the entire rundown before the man even has his coffee, and so he’s pissed when he gets to the scrapyard. He calls the guys into Templo, and a headache is already building like a low pressure storm in his skull.

Thing is, this isn’t just Anarchy business: it’s Mayans business too. It’s that sticky, shadowy middle area between the two clubs. Bishop puts it to a vote, but he already knows he’s gonna do it, with or without official club support.

The play is this: the Reno branch of the Sons is led by a man named Hench. His only daughter—you—is on a fucking warpath, and apparently you’re both unstoppable and untouchable, being something of M.C. royalty within that club. Packer is hazy on the details, but apparently you are looking for a man from Santo Padre.

Scratch that. You’re looking for a man who was a prospect for the Mayans from a few years back. The man was named Ruiz, and he had failed to patch in almost immediately; he had been unreliable and was moreover a fucking idiot. Bishop pinches his nose and wonders why he hadn’t just killed the fucker back then.

His guys vote unanimously to help. It’s diplomatic relations, staying friendly with the Sons of Anarchy. Besides, Packer vouches for you, and SAMDINO has helped the Mayans more than once. Bishop owes them one—or ten.

“Great news,” Packer tells him when Bishop calls and offers their help. “I’ll let Hench know to send his girl your way.”

-----

Bishop waits at the scrapyard for you. Hank, Riz, and Angel wait with him, and even though it’s been a few days between now and the meeting in Templo, Bishop’s headache has never really waned.

He only knows two things about you: you’re Sons royalty, and you’re bent on revenge. The first fact makes him roll his eyes. He can imagine you as spoiled, the only daughter of a chapter president and his old lady, getting all these M.C. guys to rearrange their lives to help you. The second fact, though? What could drive a woman to hunt a man other than a few things? Bishop assumes the worst, so he softens his initial preconceived notions about you.

The rest of those notions fall away the moment you pull into the scrapyard. Chucky opens the gate and waves you through, and if Bishop was expecting a pampered princess in a nice ass car….well, it’s the first surprise of this entire enterprise. You pull in on a bike—an old-looking one with a motor like a tiger purring—and the only luggage you have is the saddlebags on the bike and a backpack on your back.

You pull right up to them, park the bike. Kill the ignition and when you take off your helmet, your hair tumbles out like you’re in one of those fucking music videos from the ‘80s. It’s one of the hottest things Bishop’s ever seen—you on that bike, hair cascading out in slow motion, gorgeous as all hell—and he draws a sharp breath.

So does Riz. So does Angel.

You dismount your bike, tug off your gloves, and your eyes flicker between the four men. You read their patches, and your eyes settle on Bishop. It’s a fucking jolt to his dick, making eye contact with you, but you’re all business.

“My Spanish is shitty, el presidente” you tell him, your hand outstretched. “But I’m guessing you’re the president here.” You introduce yourself, and your palm is warm in his.

“Obispo Losa,” he replies. “You can call me Bishop though.”

If he was expecting a spoiled princess, he is sorely disappointed. You’re polite. You introduce yourself to the others with the same straightforward manner, and then you’re back to business.

“Can we go inside and discuss the play?” you ask, and it takes every bit of Bishop’s restraint to not put his hand on your back as he leads you inside the clubhouse.

-----

Bishop can’t provide all of the resources of the club, and you understand. You nod along when he circuitously describes “on-going business” that can’t be neglected. But he offers Coco and Angel, and now that he’s seen you, he offers himself. He amends the original plan, because he doesn’t want fucking Riz cozying up to you.

He’s the damned president. He can run business from his phone if he needs to.

“That’s more help than I expected,” you say. “But I appreciate it.”

Angel and Coco do reconnaissance while you and Bishop cool your heels at the clubhouse. You pace, and you study the clubhouse walls. You turn down his offer for a beer, and you go outside to smoke even though the clubhouse reeks of old cigarettes. He joins you.

You’re solemn as a stone, and while you’re polite, you don’t smile. You present the same grim face as you had when you arrived. You take a new pack out of your pocket and light a cigarette, and then you turn to Bishop with a grimace as you exhale a plume of smoke.

“Just undid a year of cold turkey,” you tell him.

“You can always start again tomorrow.” He lights his own, inhales. “A year is about three hundred days longer than I’ve ever gotten.”

You snort at that and then sit on the steps. When Bishop hesitates, you gesture for him to join you.

Normally Bishop would charm you. He’s got a killer smile and dimples and all the charismatic shit that women eat up. But you’re a daughter of a president, and you’re stone-faced and solemn with the task at hand. Bishop has an unpleasant guess as to why you’re hunting Ruiz, and he is loathe to bring it up yet.

“That’s a nice bike,” he says instead. He points at where you’ve wheeled your ride, right beside his.

“Yeah?” You stand up, jerk your head in a “come on” way. He stands up too, and you walk over to where your bike is parked.

“1923 Indian Scout,” you tell him, and the pride is apparent in your voice.

Bishop tosses his half-smoked cigarette and grinds it out with his heel, then he studies the motorcycle closer. It’s a deep cherry red and chrome. Not mint after nearly a hundred years, but well-maintained. Well-loved. Well-loved by you.

It’s simply made compared to his giant custom bike. Lightweight. Looks like the clutch is foot-operated, and the numbers on the speedometer are ornate in an old-timey script.

“Indian started making these because they were lighter than their 1000cc PowerPlus bikes. This is 600cc. Easy to handle for beginners. My great-grandfather bought it for my great-grandmother so they could ride together.”

Bishop smiles. “A family heirloom then. Riding’s in your blood.”

You nod, smile back. “Before motorcycles, we were ranchers. Horses, bikes. It was a natural evolution.”

His phone rings just then, and it’s Coco. Ruiz has split from the apartment where he was squatting, so they are on their way back to the clubhouse to regroup.

-----

The day is a waste. You leave to get a hotel room, and you leave your number with Bishop in case anything develops before you regroup in the morning.

Something develops overnight, and he calls you. You answer on the second ring, your voice husky with sleep. Within seconds, you’re clear and understanding him and on your way back to the clubhouse.

-----

Day breaks early, and you and Bishop leave just as the sun is setting the east alight in soft oranges and pinks.

You leave your bikes behind. You grab your backpack and twist your hair into a tight, no-nonsense bun and nod at him that you’re ready. The two of you take a non-descript car from the scrapyard, but halfway to your destination, Bishop pulls over.

“I can’t let you see where we’re going,” he says apologetically. “It involves club business, you understand.”

You do. You understand the secrets and mysteries of M.C. life all too well, and you don’t say a word when he reaches over to blindfold you. It sends another pulse of arousal through him, to be so close to you. To lean that close, to brush his hand over your hair as he ties the blindfold. You smell warm, like caramel and brown sugar, and he swallows hard.

Maybe you sense his growing desire for you. The insane crush threaded through with lust. Your lips slant into a slight smile and you murmur, “most guys at least buy me dinner before we get to the kinky shit.”

He chuckles and grins back at you, though you can’t see it. “I’ll take you out for a nice steak after this is over,” he promises. “Do it out of order, I guess.”

He drives the rest of the way to Vicky’s, and then he helps you out of the car. You’re unsteady and uncertain on your feet, and he takes your hands. Helps you down the ladder into the tunnel under the border, and he settles his hands on your waist to help you hop that final step.

Still, you stumble, unsure of the distance to the ground, and he holds you. You lay your hands on his chest to steady yourself, and then huff in frustration.

“Almost there, querida,” he murmurs, and he leads you into Mexico.

-----

On the other side of the border, he removes your blindfold. You blink at the sudden light, take in the scene. Bishop points at the dusty truck parked nearby, and the two of you climb into it.

They got intel during the night: Ruiz is hiding west of Laguna Salada, in the rocky outcropping and little mountains there. There’s some family land, a shack hidden away in the hostile environment. He apparently fled there when he heard that you were looking for him.

You find the shack. You don’t find Ruiz. Judging from the lack of tire tracks and the layers of dust in the place, he never was there at all.

Back to the tunnel entrance. Blindfolded again, and back to the States. Bishop can hear you grinding your teeth in rage, so he circles around in the car for a mile and then returns to Vicky’s. Takes the blindfold off of you and takes you in for a beer.

A lot of women would be outraged to have a drink at a brothel. You are just your polite self—shaking Vicky’s hand, introducing yourself to the few girls milling around.

Then you turn to Bishop with that same slanted grin. You don’t say anything, but you’re obviously thinking something amusing.

-----

Over a few beers, you open up a little about your life with the Reno charter.

“Hench is a good president,” you say as you raise your bottle to your lips. “Fair. Tries to keep drama to a minimum.”

“All good presidents should do that.”

You shrug. “All should. Not all do. Some guys make it to the top of a charter just to live out their macho bullshit fantasies of guns and women.”

Bishop chuckles. He’s seen it happen to other clubs. “Yeah, I try to avoid unnecessary drama.”

You smile around the edge of your bottle. “That why you’re helping me track a nobody prospect who flunked out of the Mayans?”

“That’s just good politicking, sweetheart,” he replies. “Besides, I’m always down for a little revenge.” A beat, and he asks what’s been tormenting him this whole time. “What’d Ruiz do to you?”

You drain your bottle and wave for another, and you don’t start the story until you’re halfway through that one.

It’s pretty near to what Bishop had thought: Ruiz tried to rape you. There’s no easy way to say it, because that’s what it was.

“The Sons in Reno have a big blow-out party every June,” you tell Bishop. “Anniversary of the founding of the charter and all that. The clubhouse is out in the desert, and the cops look the other way so long as we keep it tame.” You pause, smile at him. “Tame for an M.C., at least.”

You continue, sketching out the scene. Tons of food and booze, loud music. A bonfire. Bikes revving as guys compared the latest tweaks to their rides. All the bikers and their old ladies, their adult children and girlfriends and buddies. You were there, of course, as were your cousins.

“My cousin Jess is…” You trail off, hold your hand out and make a see-sawing motion, indicating instability. “Been in and out of rehab, hangs out with a questionable crowd. She brought along a few guys that seemed grimy but okay, I guess. One of them was Ruiz.”

The rest of the story is a slide into darkness, and Bishop clenches his jaw until it creaks from the pressure. Ruiz, denied a patch by the Mayans, nurses a grudge against all clubs now. You were wary of him—he creeped you out—but when Jess handed you a drink, you assumed it was safe.

“My own mistake,” you tell him, shaking your head. “The drink was drugged. My cousin was in on it, and they got me alone in the back of the clubhouse. But I had a bad reaction to whatever they slipped me because I started throwing up, and once it was out of my system….” You pause, polish off the rest of your second beer. “Ruiz didn’t do anything other than rob me. No time to do any real damage. But he stole my purse and the jewelry I was wearing, and then he and my cousin and his guys left before one of the Sons found me and got Hench.”

“Fuck,” Bishop breathes out.

“Yeah.” You sit back and look at him, your expression grim and resolute again.

“Why isn’t Hench handling this though?” he asks.

You lean forward again and fix Bishop with those solemn eyes of yours. “He took care of Ruiz’s buddies and Jess. They are handled.” The way you say the last word, there’s no doubt what you mean. “But he also knows that I need to get my own justice against Ruiz himself.”

Bishop nods and then gives you a small smile. “I guess you’re not the type of woman to sit back and let the guys have all the fun.”

You return his smile with your own. “You guessed right, Obispo.”

-----

It takes days to get solid intel on Ruiz. Coco and Angel beat on doors, and sometimes they beat up people, but there’s no good lead at first.

“I’m taking up a lot of your time and resources,” you apologize to Bishop a few days after Vicky’s, but he chances to put his hand on your shoulder, squeezes it reassuringly.

“Ruiz was a Mayans prospect,” he tells you. “So he’s our problem too.”

You stay in a nearby hotel, and you spend your days at the clubhouse. You’re naturally restless, Bishop guesses. He gives you a tour of the clubhouse, shows you Templo. You whistle appreciatively at the table, his heavy gavel.

“You guys do it up with a little more style than our club,” you joke.

You chat with E.Z. when he’s cleaning or tuning up the bikes, and you ask all the guys endless questions about their bikes. Your own bike is tucked away safely, but Bishop learns it’s not your only one. You have five motorcycles altogether: a small chopper that Hench got you when you graduated from high school, an all-purpose touring bike, a basic standard, and an ultra-fast Yamaha that’s earned you more speeding tickets than everything else combined.

And your vintage Indian. It means something, Bishop guesses, that you came on that and not a faster or more powerful bike.

Bishop eats dinner with you every night. Sometimes he takes you out to local places, but just as often he orders in and the two of you eat at the clubhouse. Over the days, you and he get to know each other better. He tells you about growing up near the Salton Sea, being in the service.

You tell him about life in Reno. Hench is your stepfather, technically, but he’s the only father you’ve ever known. Your mother died from cancer when you were in middle school, and the man never once treated you as anything less than blood.

Bishop admits, after a few drinks, that he thought you’d be more spoiled. More precious or fussy.

“Thought you’d be a real princess,” he remarks, and it makes you laugh for the first time since he’s met you. Your laugh is deeper than your voice, rougher. Smoky in a way that curls around the base of his spine and makes that spark of lust light up in him.

“How do you know I’m not just on my best behavior?” you tease. “Maybe I’m a complete bitch once I’m comfortable with people.”

“I doubt it, princesa,” and that’s what he calls you going forward, even when it earns him a playful frown and a little growl in the back of your throat.

-----

A week into the entire operation, Coco gets a lead that proves good. Ruiz has a place, his home base, in the nothingness that stretches between Joshua Tree and Mohave, but it’s not a needle in the haystack that it may seem to be. Ruiz has done a lot of damage over the past few years, and a friend of his—who Ruiz frauded—rats out the man in exchange for an easy hundred.

You want to move immediately, so it’s just you and Bishop. The club’s work for the Galindo cartel still needs to happen, so Bishop leaves Hank in charge of the Vegas delivery so that he can help you.

You and Bishop leave in the scrapyard’s truck. Just before you climb in, you stride over to your bike and pull a wicked looking knife from your saddlebag, and you slide it into your boot before straightening up and looking him dead in the eye.

That’s the problem with you, Bishop decides in that moment: everything you do is the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Taking off your helmet. Draining a longneck of beer. Smoking a cigarette with a guilty expression. Sliding a Bowie knife into your battered motorcycle boots and then glaring at him, as if daring him to comment on it.

“Let’s go, princesa,” is all he says, and you nod and climb into the truck.

-----

The closest landmark is Ludlow, so Bishop pulls off at a gas station to refuel. You go inside to use the bathroom and to buy snacks, which makes Bishop smile when he sees the haul: sour gummies and pretzels and beef jerky and soda. But your face is solemn when you climb back into the truck.

This part of the world, there’s not a lot to see other than sand and scrub. Bishop follows the GPS, turns off onto a narrow road about five miles past Ludlow, and the narrow road eventually cedes to little more than rutted tire tracks.

A quarter mile from Ruiz’s trailer, Bishop kills the engine.

“We go the rest of the way on foot,” he says.

If this were Hollywood, there’d be a spectacular showdown. Bishop would use the handgun he’s holding, you’d take the second pistol he hands you. You’d surround the rusty trailer, taunt Ruiz, maybe land a debilitating shot before rushing inside and finishing him off.

But this is real life, and real life often disappoints. Ruiz is inside the trailer, but you’re too late to get revenge: the man is dead on his couch, stretched out and clearly the victim of his own addiction. His skin is a greyish color, and he must have been dead for over a day.

“Fuck!” you shout, and you turn to kick the cheap paneling of the wall. Your boot goes through it, and your foot gets caught. Bishop slides his gun back into his waistband and helps extricate you.

“I’m sorry—” he starts to tell you, but you jerk yourself out of his hold. You storm past Ruiz’s body and disappear into the back of the trailer. Bishop follows.

“It’s gotta be here,” you mumble, and Bishop watches as you toss the bedroom with the efficiency of a tornado. “Jess said he kept it.”

“What are you looking for, princesa?”

You turn and glare at him, but Bishop knows the heat behind your expression isn’t for him. You’ve been denied your revenge, given an anticlimactic moment in the desert. The blade of that wicked knife tucked in your boot won’t get to taste any blood.

But it isn’t just revenge after all. You run your hand through your hair in frustration, tug against it as you look around the room. “When Hench and the guys questioned my cousin, she said that Ruiz kept trophies. That he’d use the cash and credit cards he stole from me, that he’d sell most of the jewelry, but that he’d keep a trophy.”

“So…” Bishop isn’t quite tracking with what you’re saying.

“So I don’t give two shits about the cash, and I already cancelled the credit cards. I found the pawn shop where he dumped most of the jewelry, and I found everything but the necklace. Ergo, it’s here somewhere.”

“You’re looking for a n—”

“It has to be here.” You stare back at Bishop, and for the first time since he’s met you, he sees an emotion that isn’t cool cunning or smirking sarcasm. Your eyes shimmer with tears, and you swipe them angrily, as if you hate showing any weakness.

“Okay. So let’s find it. What’s it look like?”

You describe it, and you start to attack the room like a dervish again, so Bishop walks up to you. He lays his hands on your upper arms and stills you. Your anger radiates off of you like heat, and if he thinks you’re gorgeous any other time, you look luminous when you’re angry. He wonders what it would be like to fight with you, get your blood boiling like it is now, then take you to bed. He thinks, if you were his old lady, he might pick fights with you just to get you torqued up like this.

“Take a breath,” he tells you in his most official president-voice. “We’ll find it if we do this smart.”

You take a deep breath and then another. He breathes with you, the two of you matching your inhalations together. He helps you steady yourself. You nod at him and some of the tension leaves your frame, so he nods back at you.

The two of you take it inch by inch. It takes an hour, which is just enough time for your simmering rage to rise back up in you, but Bishop eventually finds it. Ruiz had a battered shoebox hidden away in a top cabinet in his kitchen, and Bishop pulls it down and sets it on the counter. He opens it, sees what’s inside. He calls you over.

You stand next to him, close enough that he can smell that warm caramel scent of you. You look over his shoulder, brushing against him, and then you whistle low.

“Shit,” you say, taking in the contents of the box. “That’s a lot of trophies.”

It is. Ruiz had been a busy little monster, judging from the jumble of stuff in the box. There’s driver’s licenses and photos. There’s a set of keys, two saint’s medals, and a little resin statue of the Lady of Guadalupe. There’s a tarnished silver hair clip, and a dried out flower like something a woman might have worn in her hair.

There’s also jewelry, probably stuff too insignificant to pawn. Cheap charm bracelets and mood rings. You dig through the stuff, and then you cry out in relief and hold up the necklace: a thin silver chain with three silver charms—a sun, a moon, and a star.

“That’s the one?” Bishop asks, but he already knows. You’re already putting it back on your neck, and any remaining tension melts away.

You don’t give Ruiz’s body a second glance as you march out of the trailer. Justice came for him in the form of death, and judging by the number of trophies in that box, it was justice that was well deserved.

-----

It’s only when you’re halfway back to Santo Padre that you run into trouble.

The truck has a habit of overheating, but E.Z. was supposed to have fixed the thermostat issue. On a lonely stretch of Route 62, the truck starts to sputter and the dashboard lights up with warning lights. Bishop pulls over just before the truck stalls, and when he climbs out and pops the hood, a plume of white steam greets him.

It’s not a great situation. He calls Hank, but nearly everyone is in Vegas making a run. He tries to call Packer, but the call doesn’t go through. The two of you are too far from Twentynine Palms to walk, and besides, the sun is setting.

People who’ve never been in the desert wouldn’t know, but it gets cold quickly once the sun goes down.

“Bad news, princesa,” Bishop tells you. “Help is a ways away.”

You aren’t much of a princess, though. You only grin at him in the deepening dusk and hold up your armful of snacks from the gas station.

“Looks like we’re sheltering in place then,” you reply. “Thank god I got provisions.”

The two of you eat. It’s a feast of jerky and candy and pretzels, all washed down by atomic yellow Mountain Dew and dark colas. There’s still a restless energy to you, but the solemn, serious rage you had been harboring is gone. Ruiz, your would-be attacker and feckless thief, took himself out. You retrieved what belonged to you.

“What is it about that necklace?” he asked in the darkness of the truck. It’s not too cold yet, but the temperature is dropping noticeably now.

You turn on the bench seat, and he can feel your eyes on him. “It was my mom’s,” you tell him quietly. “Hench bought it for her when he proposed. She was pregnant with me, and her fingers were too swollen for a ring at the time.”

Bishop gets the whole story there. How your mother, when she got pregnant, was abandoned by your biological father. How she met Hench soon after, and how she doubted his instant infatuation for her.

“She thought he’d skip out once she started to show,” you tell Bishop. “But he was in it for keeps. Kept telling her that he wanted to marry her, raise me as his own. It was love at first sight for him, and she just couldn’t believe that this tough fucking biker could be such a softy, especially for a pregnant waitress in a Reno diner.”

“There are a lot of preconceived notions about us bikers,” he replies.

You snort. “Yeah, well…Hench proposed with this necklace. Told my mom that her and I were his sun, moon, and stars, and it was so corny she finally said yes. He eventually got her a ring, but she always wore this necklace. Every day until a few days before she died. She gave it to me herself.”

“I can see why it was important to you.” His voice is quiet, and he can hear you moving beside him, as if you’re nodding.

Bishop won’t tell the other guys in the club the exact story. He’ll embellish some parts so that it sounds more impressive than it was, the two of you coming upon Ruiz already dead and just tossing the trailer until you found a simple necklace with a lot of history to it. Didn’t you travel from Reno on a family heirloom too? The bike from your great-grandmother, the necklace of your mother…you value the legacy of things more than the things themselves.

Bishop will keep a lot of this between you and him, because he feels like he’s in rare company, being let into your inner life like this. Bishop guesses that you’re a private person, and he feels honored somehow to have been on this mission.

You feel it too. “Thank you for your help, Obispo Losa,” you tell him. “I know you had better things to do, so I’m in your debt.”

“No debt, princesa. But I do owe you that steak dinner before you go back to Reno.”

You laugh. “The beef jerky doesn’t qualify?”

“Nope. You bought that, and the steak is on me.”

You laugh again, and you start to say something, but then you shiver against the mounting cold in the cab.

“Come here,” he says. He shrugs out of his kutte, and he hands it to you. You hesitate for a second, probably understanding how intimate the gesture is, wearing a man’s patch like that, but then you pull it on. It’s big enough on you that you pull your arms in like a turtle, making it warmer.

Bishop rolls his sleeves down to cover his own arms, and he settles against the back of his seat. Makes himself comfortable, then extends an arm to you.

In the dark cab, you understand his meaning, and you scoot over and nestle under his arm. He wraps it around your shoulder, pulls you closer to him. Waits for you to get comfortable too, which means your head is tucked under his chin, and the warm scent of your hair is right under his nose.

“You’re warm,” you say after a stretch of silence, and Bishop chuckles.

“The Losa’s are a warm-blooded people.”

“Thank you again, Obispo.”

“You can call me Bishop, princesa.”

You turn your head against his chest to stifle a yawn. “I like Obispo. Not a name you hear all the time. It’s a good name.”

He’s still thinking of a funny reply when he feels you falling asleep against him, then hears the light snoring. He wraps his arms tighter around you, and when you adjust sleepily, when you end up curled against him with your head in his lap, it takes every bit of his strength to keep himself under control.

When Hank and Riz turn up hours later, Bishop has never been so happy to see the cavalry.

-----

You are planning to return to Reno the next day, but true to his word, Bishop takes you out for a nice steak dinner in celebration. He skips the fancy places where people like Galindo and his wife dine, and instead he takes you downtown. There’s a place owned by an old Santo Padre family—the restaurant isn’t anything special, but the steaks are fucking divine.

You agree to let him pick you up at your hotel, and you shake your head playfully when he pulls up on his bike. You step back inside your room and grab your helmet, then you climb behind him and wrap your arms around his waist.

He takes the long route to the restaurant.

It’s a nice meal, just as he promised. He orders a bottle of good wine for the table, and the two of you chat more. The conversation is light now—no more stories of revenge or sad personal histories. The two of you flirt, and Bishop realizes halfway through his porterhouse that you aren’t just flirting lightly. You are flirting with intention: you’re studying him, watching to see how innuendo lands with him.

By the time the two of you are sipping some after-dinner brandy, you are pretty much openly ogling him in the middle of the restaurant.

Bishop settles the bill, and you murmur your thanks again. On the bike, behind him again, he can’t tell if you’re settled closer against him, the swell of your breasts against his patch, or if it’s just wishful thinking.

At the hotel, he parks the bike. He walks you to your door, and he pauses as you scan your key card.

“Want to come in?” you ask, and you arch an eyebrow at him to make your meaning clear. Bishop wants nothing more, but etiquette tugs at his conscience.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I feel like the daughter of a president is off limits.”

You frown but reach out to finger the edges of his kutte, straightening it a little. “In all of the time we’ve spent together in the past week, have you gotten any impression that Hench is overprotective of me?”

“No, but—”

“Did Hench let me seek my own vengeance, or did he keep me locked up in a tower while he got it for me?”

Bishop smiles. “I doubt that any tower could hold you, princesa.”

“Damned straight, Obispo. I’m a grown woman, and Hench lets me settle my own scores. He also lets me handle my own love life.”

“I still can’t imagine he’d be happy with you hooking up with an M.C. guy.”

You laugh at him, run your finger over the collar of his shirt, toy a little with the first button. “Yeah, he’d rather see me married off to some white-collar middle manager who cheats on me with his secretary.”

“Point taken.” Bishop takes a half step closer to you, enough for his nose to pick up that warm, sweet scent of you. Like caramel, he’s always thought, and he actually salivates at the thought that he could put his mouth to you…

You step backward through your open door, but you pinch the edge of his kutte between your thumb and forefinger. You tug him gently inside, and it’d be easy to break your hold and leave. He should, probably. He might be stepping into a world of hurt, despite your reassurances about your father.

But he’s spent over a week with you. Went to sleep with the scent of you his in nose, the sound of your low voice in his ears. Actually held you in his arms last night and tucked you in his vest to keep you warm. He kept himself under control because of the mission at hand, but now…

He crosses the threshold of your hotel room, and he kicks the door shut just as you move towards him, pushing yourself up on your toes to kiss him. It’s a clash at first, because both of you try to take control—your mouth fuses to his, and you lick at the seam of his lips boldly until he opens his mouth to you. It’s a fucking jolt to him, how pushy you are. Bishop wonders if you’ve been measuring him the past week too, thinking about him in the same salacious way.

Bishop can’t remember the last time he’s been with such an assertive woman. Such a pushy one. He’s usually the one leading the dance, el presidente, but he’s been calling you a fucking princess for days, and that probably outplays a president. He groans as you kiss him, as you sweep your tongue into his mouth and taste him. You taste like the brandy you had after dinner, and you taste like the ghostly, guilty cigarette you probably snuck before dinner.

Then he feels your hands on him. You push his kutte off, tug at the buttons of his shirt, and he has to hurry to catch you up. Normally he’d make his hands gentle, but you nearly have him naked before he’s even figured out the fastenings on your shirt, all the tricky little buttons and hidden button and decorative hardware the passes for fashion in your world. When he tugs it off of you finally, you actually growl against his rough treatment and arch into it. Keening for more.

He obliges.

It takes no time at all for you to get him out of his clothes, and once he understands the tenor of the situation, he gets you stripped too. He regrets that he doesn’t get to savor it, to take his time, but there’s been a pent-up energy growing between the two of you, and this is it’s breaking point.

It’s a frantic moment. There’s no foreplay, or rather—the foreplay was over dinner, or even further back, like the night in the truck where he gave you his kutte to keep you warm. No foreplay means you push him backwards, your warm hands groping him the same way he’s groping at you, and then you push him off balance until he falls onto the bed.

Bishop also can’t remember the last time a woman has wanted him so fiercely. There’s no shyness, not an ounce of coyness or restraint when you climb onto him and slot your mouth over his again. He’s slowed down since his younger days: he sometimes hooks up with women who come to club events, and sometimes he indulges with one of Vicky’s girls, but he’s never felt so pursued. Like he’s the prey instead of the predator.

The thought, if possible, makes him even harder. Makes his cock twitch against the soft skin of your inner thigh where you’re straddling him.

“I suppose I should ask if this is okay,” you murmur against his lips, but you shift your head to kiss his neck, nipping at his pulse point and making him growl before he can answer.

“Fuck, are you kidding?” His hands on your hips, he pushes you down more firmly onto himself, breathes deeply through his nose at the feeling of your wet heat against his leg.

You answer him by pulling away a little, gazing down at him with a studious look. Like you’re gauging his words against his wants, and Bishop imagines that his desire for you is apparent on his face…and elsewhere on his body. You finally give a satisfied nod and climb off of him.

For the scant moment where you’re standing by the bed and rooting through your backpack for a condom, Bishop gets to study you. The jeans and shirts you’ve worn over the past week did little to hide the shape of you—the curves of your ass and hips, your breasts. But naked, he can see that you have almost as much ink as him. It’s just been hidden by your clothes until now.

There’s a reaper on one shoulder, a variation of the Sons logo. You aren’t a patched member, obviously, but it marks you as part of their family. On the other shoulder is a bloom of cherry blossoms with what he assumes is your mother’s name in elaborate calligraphy. A line of small moons march down the knobs of your spine, from crescent to full and back to crescent, right near the small of your back.

When you turn a little, he sees one he can’t quite make out on your ribcage along the side, and another on your hip. But by then, you have the condom in hand, and you toss it to him, and his study of you is over.

It goes too fast. Far too fast for Bishop’s liking, actually. He rolls the condom onto himself, and then you straddle him, and after you ask again if it’s okay and he gruffly says ‘yes,’ you are sliding onto him.

Even through the latex, he can feel the incredible heat of you, the vice grip you have on him. There’s no time to enjoy it, because you don’t wait: you start to ride him at a frenetic pace, your gorgeous tits bouncing, and even when Bishop lays his palms on your hips, there’s no holding you back. You’re taking what you want from him, and it makes his blood heat up to be so passive to such a pushy woman.

“Fuck, princesa,” he groans out. He can already feel his control unraveling, can feel the tension tightening at the base of his spine. “I’m not gonna last long.”

“I know,” you pant out, and Bishop registers the words but doesn’t consider them in that moment. He’s focused on you—the warm scent of you that’s filled the room, the throaty whine in the back of your throat as you impale yourself on him over and over. Your eyes are narrowed in concentration, and your hands brace yourself against his chest—until you shift one back to yourself, circle a skilled finger around your clit, hastening your own release too.

When you come, Bishop isn’t sure what part of it pushes him over the edge with you. You still against him, you arch your back as you cry out, but he can feel every twitch and tremor along your molten cunt. You throw your head back, but the hand still on his chest spasms too, cuts your short nails into his skin with a sting of pain, and Bishop comes too.

After you both calm, and after you dismount, Bishop goes into the bathroom to clean up. When he returns to the room, you’re stretched out on the bed, the sheets pulled up to your waist. You open your mouth to say something, but he crawls into bed beside you, and the surprise is apparent on your face. It takes him aback.

“You want me to leave?” he asks, but you shake your head and move over to make room for him. He tugs you to him, and it’s like the night of the truck again—you nestled against his chest, right under his chin.

There’s a moment of quiet between the two of you, and then Bishop asks, “was that okay for you?”

You shift a little, nuzzle against him more. “Yeah, it was great.” A beat. “Was it okay for you?”

He glances down at you but can only make out the curve of your cheek from his vantage point. “Also great. A little fast, maybe.”

That makes you shift again. You lift your head to look at him, those curious eyes of yours still giving him a jolt like the first time he met you. “That was fast for you?”

“It wasn’t fast for you?”

You shake your head and smile. “No, that was about the average amount of time. You gotta go quick or…” You trail off and shake your head again, and Bishop tries to parse out your meaning. Your earlier words return to him, when he warned he wouldn’t last. I know, you’d said.

He can fill in what you leave off. You gotta go quick or you won’t get to come too.

Bishop chuckles and tweaks your chin, pulls you in for a gentle kiss. “What two-pump fuck boys have you been messing around with, princesa?”

Unbelievably, that seems to embarrass you. Not tearing him out of his clothes and wantonly fucking him in the span of minutes. You slide your eyes away from his, but he cups your face. Makes you look at him.

No wonder you reached down to help yourself along. You’ve probably been fucking with boys who don’t take care of you. No wonder you took care of yourself. And no wonder you looked surprised when he climbed back into bed with you after it was over.

“I can last longer than that,” he tells you, and he sees how his words make a shimmer of desire pass over your face before you school yourself.

“Sure,” you reply, unconvinced.

“I can. And I bet I can make you come again without you even having to touch yourself.”

You roll your eyes at that. “Big talk, Obispo.”

“No talk then. I’ll just show you.”

He slides out from underneath you, turns to press you down onto the mattress. He catches the look of surprise, then your smile just as he kisses you.

Bishop goes slow. Probably slower than he ever has before, though maybe it just seems slower because of how fast you went. If you were a dervish with all that restless energy, Bishop moves like a glacier. He puts his mouth to every inch of you, gentle and deliberate, until you are trembling underneath him and whining for release. He doesn’t give it; he just teases you more: drags the tip of his tongue over the outlines of your ink, slides one and then a second finger into you. Crooks them until he finds the spot that makes you gasp, and he grins against your hip, bites lightly against the curve of you.

He only breaks away long enough to retrieve a second condom from your backpack, and then he’s on you again, parting your thighs to make room for him, teasing at your swollen folds with the tip of his cock. You raise your hips, try to hasten him along, but he doesn’t allow it.

“Patience, princesa,” he growls by the delicate shell of your ear, and that makes you shiver. Makes him smile again, and he kisses you lazily as he slides into you a second time.

Bishop can guess at the sort of men you’ve been with before. Probably bikers, or biker-adjacent assholes. The type of men who consider a woman a conquest just for fucking her, not for leaving her satisfied. Bishop’s always considered it a mark of pride, making his women come, but this feels different.

This isn’t just the satisfaction of leaving you fuck-drunk and sated afterwards. It also isn’t the pride of being an older man fucking such a young woman brimming with life. It’s more than that—it started the second you pulled into the scrapyard, the moment you shook his hand and gazed into his eyes. The moment he edged out Riz and kept Coco and Angel from you, kept you to himself.

Hasn’t he been looking for a woman like you forever? A bold one, an audacious one. One who knows the life, who accepts it but challenges it where necessary. A woman who lets the men in her life handle some battles for her, but who takes her revenge where she sees fit. A woman who can be lead but not ruled.

He buries himself into you, notes the way you whimper softly when he stills. You’re probably sensitive from the first round, so you probably feel every inch of him inside you. He can certainly feel the way you twitch against him, the involuntary way you clench at him.

He keeps it slow. Deliberate. Pulls out a fraction before pushing back into you, and he adds an extra swivel of his hips that grinds the base of his cock against your swollen clit. He knows it’s working for you: you gasp every time he does it, and your eyes get glassy and dazed. You reach a hand down, but it isn’t to touch yourself. Instead, it settles on his hip, your warm palm just feeling him as his pistons himself into you.

Who knows how long it takes? To you, it probably feels like an eternity, given your disappointing past lovers. In that span, though, Bishop makes you come twice…and he doesn’t slow down or speed up, but just drives through it. He grits his teeth against how tightly you grip him, but he doesn’t slow.

“Obispo,” you pant out after you come the second time. “Are you—”

“You got one more for me, princesa,” he whispers against your neck. “One more, and I’ll come with you.”

It’s easy to coax a third one out of you. After the first, you’re so sensitive that everything he does gets a response. The slow, deliberate drive of his cock into you. The calloused thumb that tweaks your diamond-hard nipples. The way he kisses and sucks against your neck, his bristly mustache and stubble raising a red burn that he soothes with his tongue.

Then you finally come again. You gasp out his name, and you arch underneath him, and then both of your hands are on his head, hauling his mouth to yours. You sigh into the kiss, breathe out a whimpering ‘fuck’ as he feels your orgasm roil through your body like a tidal wave. He gives up too, abandons his own restraint, and the coil of tension snaps as he buries himself into your clenching heat and spills harmlessly into the condom.

Then it repeats. He climbs off you, goes to clean up. Climbs back into bed, only this time you look stunned into lazy satisfaction. He pulls your lax body to him and waits for you to say something.

It takes a long beat before you do.

“Jesus Christ,” you finally mutter.

“Told you.”

You tilt your head to look up at him. “You smug bastard.” He can hear the smile in your voice, and he grins down at you.

“Don’t they make ‘em like that in Reno?” he asks.

You snort. “I don’t think they make them like that anywhere. You might be a custom model, Obsipo.”

“Damn straight.” He strains his neck to kiss your mouth, your lips kiss-swollen and red. Then he releases you, presses your head into the space between his chin and his chest where it fits so perfectly.

There’s no pillow talk. Like last night in the truck, you fall straight to sleep, snoring lightly against him. Bishop isn’t long in joining you—good sex makes him relax, and great sex makes him sleepy too.

But already the calculating part of his president’s mind is planning: you’re going back to Reno in the morning, but would it be that hard to build something with you? It would be an easy thing, he thinks. Las Vegas is about the same distance from Reno and Santo Padre. He’s in Vegas all the time—how hard would it be to get you there, sync up your schedules? Ease you into the life of his charter, have you meet all the guys, come to a party or two?

He’s el presidente, after all, and he’s been searching for a woman like you for a long time. Not an old lady for a biker, but a princess who can hold her own against a king.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas @massivecolorspygiant @imspillingcoffee @amneris21 @paintballkid711 @mad-girl-without-a-box @bestattempt @rosiefridayrogersunday @strawberrydragon @hoeforthefictional @greeneyedblondie44 @leannawithacapitala @stardust-galaxies @glimmerglittergirl

#obispo losa #bishop losa #bishop losa imagine #bishop losa x reader #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa imagine #mayans #Mayans MC #aerynwritesdc21

299 notes · View notes