lamb-writes

[lamb-writes]

i don’t have hulu so sometimes i think abt when mayans was just finishing airing and i could watch s5 for free on my tv whenever

[lamb-writes]

bottles and guero going to a small convenience store and buying a bunch of cheap snacks and candy then eating them in the park as the sun set without worrying what anyone else thinks would’ve fixed both of them btw

[lamb-writes]

i don’t give a shit that he’s 6’2 i want him MOANING and WHIMPERING

[lamb-writes]

shows that turn kinda bad during their five season run save me

[lamb-writes]

Writerly friends, we're starting a new project! (think nanowrimo but not)

New WIP Project:

40k in 42 days.

We'll start on the first Sunday in August, that's the 4th. And we keep writing our hearts out until September the 14th, which is a Saturday.

If you write 1000 words per day, you already have two grace days built in to finish at 40k.

Is 40k a full novel? Well, it's a short one, but it can work. Maybe it's half a novel and you'll write the rest later.

To keep track of your wordcount, I encourage you to register at https://www.mywriteclub.com/ and make a project with the goal of 40k. You can friend me, I'm barbex there. I haven't used the site in a while but it still works and it gives us a simple graph for our project and lets us see how our friends are faring. It even has sprint rooms!

Are you ready?

Start: 4th of August

End: 14th of September

40k

Let's write.

[lamb-writes]

I love soulmates but also this-

[lamb-writes]

mayans is so good because it’s like a bunch of kids playing house and half of them are trying to up the ante all at the same time while the other half is trying desperately to play a normal game. instead of balancing out, they somehow make each other worse.

[lamb-writes]

NON-SHIP BOTTLES HEADCANONS !

pairing: n/a

content: slice of life, very light angst. 

word count: 0.4k

a/n: it’s my blog and i get to write as much bottles content as i please

He knows a ridiculous amount of random trivia. Since he was stuck at home a lot when he was a kid, he had a lot of time to comb through every book in the house and memorize the shows on the few channels they had. 

Not exactly a headcanon, but Bottles is a huge dog person. If his daily schedule wasn’t so hectic and irregular, he’d definitely have at least two. 

Bottles is really into music. He thinks he likes it as much as everyone else does. He doesn’t. His room is filled with CDs, vinyl records, and tour posters. There’s a guitar collecting dust in his closet that he taught himself to play when he was a teenager. He’s mainly into indie rock and R&B. 

The highlights at the ends of his hair are from bleaching it years back. He used to keep his hair shorter, but he’s been trying to grow it out to get rid of the lighter parts. 

He used to live somewhere much colder, so a majority of his wardrobe is still hoodies, sweaters, and button-ups. He usually doesn’t like to wear short sleeves around the club because it exposes more of his hands than he’d like. Bottles knows they don’t care, but it’s a habit at this point. 

Speaking of where he’s from, Bottles’ lost contact with most of his family when he moved to California. 

Bottles idolizes EZ a lot. He doesn’t bring it up to anyone since it’s kind of lame but knowing that EZ was a prospect just a few years ago and was promoted to Presidente so quickly makes it a little easier for him to get through what he does as a prospect himself every day. 

A big part of why Bottles joined the club is so he could be a part of a family of sorts that truly see him as one of their own. To be a part of something that was bigger than him. In his hometown, he was always seen as the “weird” or “loner” kid by others. Even if it was by doing something illegal, being given a chance to prove himself just like everyone else was a welcome change of pace to Bottles. 

His glasses are so big because they’re from when he was younger. His parents said he would grow into them. He didn’t. No, his eyes haven’t gotten better since then. Yes, he’s upset about it. 

One of the few club members that showers on a mostly regular basis.

[lamb-writes]

Headcanon meme~

Put a symbol (or several) and a character/characters in my ask box, and I’ll give you a headcanon.  Yes.  Do it.

☾ - sleep headcanon

★ - sad headcanon

☆ - happy headcanon

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

✿ - Sex headcanon

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

♡ - romantic headcanon

♥ - family headcanon

☮ - friendship headcanon

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

▼ - childhood headcanon

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

☼ - appearance headcanon

ൠ - random headcanon

◉ - Any other question of your choosing

[lamb-writes]

the rumble where you lay.

pairing. guero x bottles

content. drug mention, police mention, forced proximity, slight d/s dynamics, finger sucking, frottage, marking kink, slight possession

word count. 3.4k

a/n. omg smut for once??? somehow there is no content of them on their own and i think that’s unfair. they should’ve kissed at least once on the show too. for the plot

“Fuck, I’m tired,” Guero groaned, already heading to the driver’s seat of the van. “Prospect, finish up the rest.” 

Bottles, already holding an arms’ full of heroin packages from the truck, stood up. “What? No, man. EZ said we both had to do this.”

“I’m the one who drove here, I practically did most of the work already.”

“It’s going to be morning soon, dude. We literally need two sets of hands to do this—” He was cut off by the van for slamming shut. “Motherfucker.” He cursed under his breath before setting the rest of the packages in his arms in the trunk.

Bottles knocked on the window. “EZ’s gonna be pissed if this doesn’t get finished and you know it.”

“Sounds like you have a lot of work ahead of you, then,” Guero said with a grin, already turning up the radio. Bottles couldn’t hear it that well, but it was definitely too loud for the job they were there to do.  Especially with the backdoors open. 

Begrudgingly, Bottles went back to work. Despite how much work was ahead of him, he was a prospect. It’s what he was here for, as unfair as it seemed sometimes. Regardless of how much friendly conversation Guero allowed him at times, there was always a clear barrier between them. It stared at Bottles every time he looked at the other man’s kutte. 

Half an hour in, his eyes had adjusted to the dark. His sweater sleeves were rolled up over his elbows. The night chill tinged his skin until his hair was standing on end, but not enough to properly cool him down from the work he was doing. His gloves were shoved into his pocket. Not the best idea if something went wrong, he did realize, but at that point, he just needed it to be over with. Every few minutes, Guero would roll down the window to update him about whatever police chatter he heard on the radio.

“Do you think you could be any quicker with that?” he said one time.

“Not unless you wanna lend a hand.”

“Fuck no.”

—

Another half an hour passed. He was almost done moving everything, but fuck, was it taking a toll on him. He took the last four packages in a stack and slowly trudged them into the van.

He knocked on the driver’s seat window again to get Guero’s attention, probably harder than he intended to, but he was too tired to care at that point. Clearly it was evident, too, with Guero already preparing to yell at him but stopping once he got a look at his face. 

“I got everything transferred. Can you put the tarp over it? My legs are about to give out.” Bottles walked over to the passenger seat without waiting for a response. Again, bold but he hoped Guero would grant him at least a break. Which surprisingly, he did, tucking the corners of the tarp into the stack Bottles made so nothing was showing. Bottles made a note to thank him on the ride back. 

He was about to fall asleep when he saw a car in the distance, the headlights illuminating its black and white coloring. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Shit, cops. Stay back there,” he said, hopefully loud enough for Guero to hear.  All Bottles was able to do was turn off the interior lights before he was pulled into the back of the van.

“Asshole, are you trying to get us caught?” Bottles tried to respond, but was interrupted by Guero scrambling to pull the tarp over both of them.

They were dead silent, trying to hear the cop car drive by or God forbid someone peering into the van windows. As he caught his breath, Bottles noticed their closeness. With the amount of product beside them, there wasn’t much room for them to hide. Somehow, they ended up facing each other. Bottles' back was pressed against the backs of the seats while Guero was almost knocking over the pile of heroin packages. Though, even with that, their chests were just about touching. Legs unintentionally tangled together in the chaos. He could practically feel the adrenaline running through the both of them.

Miraculously, his glasses were still on and his eyes were still adjusted to the dark. Faintly, he could see Guero—probably much clearer than Guero could see him. The first beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, if they weren’t already swept away by his bangs which were strewn over his forehead. Though, Bottles assumed he looked something similar. Guero’s eyes were darting around despite there not being much to see. Maybe the peak through of a flashlight or a shadow passing by.  

“I thought you were checking the police radio?”

“I was, I didn’t hear anything close to us. Guess the dumb fuck was just going on a nighttime drive or something. Just be quiet—let me listen.”

Still nothing. Whatever car was driving by, it was probably long gone by now. Probably. But, he probably shouldn’t say that.

There are often times when Bottles has to remind himself to not get too comfortable. To remind himself that he’s just a prospect. Maybe he was too trusting, too gullible, or got caught up in everything too quickly. Whatever it was, that reminder was flaring red at that moment. Something about how they were right now felt off. They were talking too comfortably. Like they were in this mess together rather than this just being one of Bottles’ fuckups like usual. 

Not to mention how close they were right now. He shouldn’t be thinking so hard about this, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever been this close to any of the members before. He probably should’ve been scanning as best as he could through the tarp, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the rise and fall of Guero’s chest as his breath evened out. Their legs were still slotted together, too. Just stopping at the middle of their thighs. The fabric in his pants felt so much thinner than they should be suddenly. It felt like he was feeling so much more than he should. 

They stayed there without saying anything, without moving for probably too long. The air around them was already thick with condensation. Bottles felt lightheaded. 

“We’re—probably good now,” Guero said hesitantly, throwing off the tarp over them, suddenly feeling how isolated they were. Alone at the border with just a couple guns in the backseat to protect themselves. With a prospect member no less. Meaning, Guero had to make all the calls. He shifted himself onto his knees so he could sit up to the best of his ability to peer through the windows as Bottles sat up as well. In doing so, Guero’s legs were pressed even closer into the prospect’s. 

No one was there. Aside from the much-welcomed “fresh” air, everything seemed the same. The only thing he could see through the windows was a dark night painted with much more stars than there were in Santo Padre. He shifted to survey the front of the van. Nothing through the windshield. Their weapons and supplies were still cluttered in the backseat. Thank fucking god. 

“Alright. Coast is clear, we can finally get back home now—” Whatever Guero was about to say next trailed off after he got another look at Bottles, whose face was a bright red and had a hand pressed tightly against his mouth. His eyes were wide and looking up at Guero from over his glasses. 

Guero thought for a moment, why Bottles was acting like that, now of all times. Then, he realized the position they were just in; one of Guero’s knees pressing between Bottles’ legs, sometimes digging farther in as he scanned out the windows. They were undeniably close the entire time. That was one of the last things on Guero’s mind during the moment, but it clearly affected Bottles.

“Seriously, prospect? That’s what you’re going to freak out about?” Guero sat back down, hopefully giving Bottles enough space to calm down. He needed a second to relax, too. 

Bottles didn’t respond. His hand was still over his mouth, though now, not as tight as before. Just enough to keep himself from letting any unnecessary sounds slip out. And they just about did before. He really shouldn’t have acted like that. He shouldn’t be acting like this now. There was still a chance they could be in danger, and he’s blushing and sweating like a goddamn teenager. 

Guero took a few deep breaths as he sat down, letting the adrenaline run off him. But as he did, he was able to get a better look at Bottles. Still shaking, still bright red. Guero continued to eye him, something habitual from his family somehow always being caught in the line of fire. As his eyes followed Bottles’ frame down, Guero took in his hair, his fogged-up glasses, his rolled-up sleeves, the bottom hemming of his shirt that was definitely tucked in when they were assigned this job, down to his waist, and—

Guero’s eyes snapped back to Bottles’; shocked ones meeting shocked turned to humiliated. Just as soon as their eye contact was made, it was broken by Bottles scrambling to the driver’s seat.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! You-I’ll just drive back. You don’t have to look at me, or-or think about this, and we can just get back home.” Bottles’ words came out poorly and fast, maybe as a way to clutter his brain away from any more recollection on what just happened, or maybe the blood still hasn’t gotten back to his head yet. 

“Prospect,” Guero said firmly before Bottles could get over the passenger seats, “sit back down.”

Bottles immediately did as he was told, force of habit, maybe. They were sitting like they were before, facing each other with nothing to avoid each other. Bottles kept his thighs tightly together as he sat down, uncomfortable, but much better than the alternative. Aside from kicking him out of the club entirely, this was one of the worst punishments Guero could’ve come up with. Him, sitting there, unconsciously bracing, waiting for the silence thick in the air, to be broken as Guero looks him up and down for what felt like the 20th time. Bottles hated how unreadable Guero was when he wanted to be. 

“You said you were scared of me before,” Guero began after a while, now leaning closer to him. A part of Bottles wanted to back up, put more distance between them, but another part of him didn’t. Besides, he was already against the back of the seats. “Why’s that? I think it’s smart, I just wanna know the reason.”

Bottles forgot he said that if he was being honest. It wasn’t that long ago, but a lot had happened in the past few months. “I-uh, you were, um, such a—I mean at the time, maybe it was because of what I knew about—”

“How ‘bout I make it easier for you?” He was over him now. Their faces were close, but not as close as they were under the tarp. Guero continued, but not before making a show of his very intentional look down at the increasingly obvious tent in Bottles’ pants. “Do I scare you now?”

“Y-yes.”

“Right, so you wanna listen to me now, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Guero took the hand Bottles didn’t notice he put under his chin and tilted it up, forcing their eye contact one again. “Getting a hard-on from your superior digging his knee into you, kinda masochistic, don’t you think?”

Something about how he said it made Bottles’ hair stand on end. It was such crude, accurate wording that somehow made it sound much more vulgar. 

He was still sitting, now slightly leaning back to make room for the man now over him. His arms were still there uselessly at his sides. His head was taking too much comfort in the hand holding it. And unfortunately, his erection was still pulsing uncomfortably in his boxers. 

He didn’t know if Guero wanted an answer, didn’t know what answer he’d want. So he warily decided on just looking back at him helplessly. 

Then, he gave Bottles that look. The one Bottles had gotten to know over his few months at the club. The one that Guero made when he was about to do something without care for the consequences. The one that said let’s fuck around and find out. 

Guero took one of his legs and put it on the other side of Bottles’ lap. If he was being honest, he wasn’t that sure what he was doing. He didn’t know how far he planned to go with this, either. But, he did know he wanted to have some fun.

He started by fumbling with Bottles’ belt, planning to leave him hanging with a little stimulation before undoing his own. He could feel Bottles’ jolt of panic under him, but he didn’t protest further. 

Guero slipped down Bottles’ pants and boxers to pull out his cock. As he did so, he heard Bottles try to stifle something close to a gasp or a moan—he couldn’t tell which. Whatever it was, Guero did find it charming how awkward-yet-honest the other man was. He was just willing to let Guero do whatever he pleased, and he appreciated that. 

Bottles’ cock was thick and heavy, Guero realized as he first wrapped his fingers around it. It wasn’t too long, though, its length only passing Guero’s fist by an inch or two. Before starting work on his own belt, Guero swiped his thumb over the already damp head, reveling in Bottles’ unsuccessful attempts to stay quiet. 

“Sensitive,” Guero murmured. Bottles could tell it was pointed at him, but again, he decided to let the comment stay in the air. His mind was still spinning, in his defense. He knew it would make sense for him to participate or something, but he didn’t know what Guero was planning yet.  

Bottles took hold of his cock in replacement of Guero, still too shaky to start moving, preferring to watch Guero instead. Which was definitely a mistake, as his cock very clearly twitched in his hand as Guero took out his own. It was a bit skinnier than Bottles’ with a slight curve, it wasn’t fully hard yet, which Guero fixed with a few quick strokes. 

“Open up,” Guero said like it was a casual request, already resting his index and middle finger on Bottles lips. He continued, already feeling wide, unsure eyes boring into him without needing to look himself.  “Relax, nothing too crazy. I’m just trying to make it feel better for the both of us.” 

He gave another look at Bottles. One that said, we’re already gone this far, what’s a little more?

At that, Bottles complied, taking Guero’s fingers into his mouth. He clumsily maneuvered them around his mouth, trying his best to wet them without scraping them with his teeth. Are teeth bad in this situation? Does it matter? It wasn’t like he was sucking him off. Was that next? It wasn’t like he was a virgin, but this kind of sex was completely new to him. Though, he’d be lying if he hadn’t thought about it before. 

“Fuck,” Bottles swore he heard the other man whisper. Somewhere between amusement and arousal. But, his eyes were much too out of focus, much like a lot of his senses, for him to be sure. 

Satisfied, Guero removed his fingers and lazily wet both of their cocks in saliva. He leaned in, keeping his dry hand on Bottles’ shoulder and resting their sweat-damp foreheads together before working them both in his hand. He kept the pace slow at first, appreciating how sensitive Bottles was at the smallest bit of gratification—all of his weak moans and whines. Guero wondered how little he’d have to give to still turn the other man into a mess. 

He stilled his hand, grinning at Bottles continuing to buck into him, but not mentioning it further. He dipped his head into the crook of the prospect’s neck and began to bite and suck with the intention to leave a mark. 

As Guero expected, Bottles already let out a moan much louder than any he probably thought he could produce. Bottles tried to cover his mouth with his hand like before to suppress any more noise, but a hand caught his wrist before he could. 

“Nope,” Guero said, breathy and light, barely removing himself from Bottles’ neck. He could feel the man’s heartbeat from where was. It was enough to make him dizzy. “I wanna hear all the sounds I’m getting out of you.”

To his delight, Bottles complied. Though hesitantly, he relaxed more into Guero’s touch, letting his moans escape from his mouth much more freely. He was thrusting into Guero’s hand so shamelessly, he wasn’t sure if he knew he was doing it. 

Fuck, a part of Guero really wanted to finish him off like this; needy and desperate and loud. What he would give to cover him in enough bruises and bites for them to be permanent. Enough to permanently mark him as part of the club. As Guero’s. 

Another part of Guero wanted him to rough him up until he was bleeding and begging. 

He looked back at Bottles, who’s glasses somehow got lost in everything. If he wasn’t red before, he sure as hell was now. Eyes darting everywhere except at the man over him. Some hickeys were already blooming on his neck and jaw—reddish pink setting fondly into his skin. 

Guero let a few beads of saliva fall out of his mouth and onto his hand, hastily re-wetting their cocks, stroking them much faster than before. He did originally want to draw this out further, but damn, if he was here any longer, neither of them would ever get back to Santo Padre. 

He set his forehead back against Bottles’, their moans hungry and low as they tried to reach the high together. At least, that was Guero’s intention. Bottles, on the other hand, was inexplicably fixated on Guero’s lips. 

They were pink and bruised and painfully close to Bottles’ face. He wanted to kiss him so badly. He wasn’t sure why, it just felt right. Maybe he was just a romantic like that. Though, he wasn’t sure any of this could be considered romantic. He decided against it, figuring if Guero wanted to, he would’ve done it already. 

Rather than cluttering his mind with all the things he’d like to do, conceded to what he could do—get lost in all the senses overtaking him. His heartbeat pounding back into his ears. The sound of skin hitting slick skin echoing through the van. Guero’s hot breath and giggly moans hitting his face. The hand around his and Guero's cock that was moving like he’d done this hundreds of times over. 

His wrist was still caught in Guero’s free hand. Light enough that it wouldn’t take much effort to break free, but Bottles didn’t move.

Bottles came first with a much too loud whimper, his orgasm washing over him in waves. Cum spilt over Guero’s fingers as he continued to stroke their cocks together. Overstimulation buzzed through Bottles as Guero reached his climax as well, both of them groaning and gasping into each other as they came down from their high. 

Eventually, Guero sat back up, as much as he would’ve liked to pass out in the crook of Bottles’ neck. He licked some of the mess of cum off his hand before he noticed Bottles staring. “Did you want some?” 

“Fuck off,” Bottles said, rolling his eyes.

After tucking his dick back into his pants, Guero removed himself from Bottles' lap, sitting beside him as they caught their breath—stretching his back as he settled down. It was probably a bad idea to stay hunched over like that for so long. He could notice Bottles stretching out his legs, too. Though, he couldn't say he regretted it. 

The windows were fogged up, as well. Guero couldn’t say he was surprised. 

They sat like that for some time, staring forward at the trunk door of the van, both of them trying to come up with something to say that wouldn’t make it too awkward. Or, at least more awkward than they assumed the other person thought it was. Neither of them could find anything they liked. 

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” Guero started after a while, turning over to face Bottles, who was putting on his slightly foggy glasses. Its casualness cut through the silence like a knife. 

“Yeah?—” Bottles attempted to respond before being cut off with an oddly tender kiss. 

“Could you drive us back?”

[lamb-writes]

Love your fics! <3

thank you!! i do have some other minifics on the back burner that im trying to finish up

[lamb-writes]

‘Cold and Compression’

pairing. guero x reader

content. aftercare, established relationship, bondage, implied d/s dynamics, slight masochistic reader, referenced knifeplay

word count. 0.6k

a/n. shout out to my favorite non-canon frat boy <33

Your face was flush against your pillow, chest still heaving under you. The air was still thick with sweat and sex. “Can you cut me out now?” You said to your boyfriend, suddenly feeling the rope digging into your arms and legs.

“Fine, fine,” he said. You weren’t facing him, but you can tell he was tired, as well. “Just wanted to admire my handiwork one last time. C’mere.” Guero shuffled closer, and took hold of your forearms with his free hand, slowly cutting the rope along your wrists and arms.

You wouldn’t lie, each time the cold press of the dull end of the knife against your skin still made you squirm. It easily cut through each knot like butter. Like he wasn’t worried about the person underneath. A part of you eagerly fantasized about if he didn’t. “Hey, easy,” you heard him say behind you, noticing your shaky breaths and movements. “You both know we’re too tired for that.”

“Maybe you are.”

“Yeah, well, you just had to sit there and look pretty. Hardly a challenge. Now, try to spread your legs. Like you would for me if you weren’t tied up.”

Flushed skin pressed against rope as you complied, allowing a small gap between your thighs for Guero to slide the blade down.

By the last cut, your body collapsed into the mattress. Ache was already settling into your bruises as you stretched your once restricted limbs.

“How about you go to the bathroom, and I grab you some ice?” Guero was already halfway off the bed as he spoke, but you pulled him back in by the neck for a parting kiss. Both your lips were still red and bruised, but fuck, was it still good. With your other hand, you ran your fingers through his hair, dark and damp with sweat.

Guero still wasn’t there when you got back so you jumped back into bed. You took a look at yourself now that your eyes adjusted to the light. The ropes indented onto your skin, the mark still there. However, some bruises were left on your thighs, ass, chest, neck, and then some. You especially prodded at the ones on your inner thighs, idly pressing on them to see which one hurt the most.

“If they’re that interesting, I can give you some more.” He came back with an arm full of supplies, setting them on the bed before joining you himself. “Alright, now look at me? No scratches or bleeding, right? Because I didn’t prepare for that.”

“Nah. None on me, at least.” You thought about how your nails dug into Guero’s back right before he tied you up. “Wait, you’re not bleeding, are you?”

“Nothing that I can’t handle,” he grinned, giggling at the sudden annoyance in your gaze. “I’m playing, it’s just some marks. I checked in the mirror.” He settled your legs on his lap, putting an ice pack wrapped in a towel on the deeper bruises. Like every other time, you instinctively tried to shiver away from the cold. But, Guero was already there to keep a hand secure on your thigh, tracing the rope marks with his thumb.

“Here,” he passed you a bag of chips and a bottle of water, which you quickly took. “Distract yourself. Plus, your voice is still pretty rough.”

He kept up like that, going over your body with the ice pack, sneaking a chip every few minutes. Neither of you spoke for a while. It was nice, embracing the quiet and each other’s company. As he reached your collarbone, you put your hand on his. “Wait, don’t do those ones.”

Guero looked up at you, eyebrow raised.

“I want to be able to see these ones. You know, to remember,” you responded, already pressing on the one higher on your neck.

“Alright, if you promise me one thing?”

“And that is?” you were barely able to question, before Guero grabbed you by the chin for a deep kiss.

“Wear a lowcut shirt for me tomorrow. I want everyone to know who you belong to.”

[lamb-writes]

im immediately overwhelmed by the nice comments but ty for reading my stuff!

[lamb-writes]

“Obispo.”

pairing. obispo “bishop” losa x reader

content. domestic fluff, established relationship

word count. 0.4k

a/n. this is an old draft from when i was first watching the show last year. i was am a bishop girlie and this is very self-indulgent.

“You should grow your hair out again,” you murmured, fingers brushing through Obispo’s hair. Sun poured in through the window and onto the bed. You’ve been awake for much longer, appreciating having a simple morning in bed for once. Not to mention your more-than-overworked husband.

“Mmh,” he hummed, sluggishly turning to face you, messy hair now brushed out of his eyes. “You think so?”

Obispo was one of the deepest sleepers you’ve ever met. Anytime you slept at his house, you’d wake up with pillows on the floor, sheets kicked off to the edge of the mattress, and strong arms wrapped around your waist, tempting to keep you there for the rest of the day. And today, you think you just might.

“Yeah, around the sides especially. Maybe over your ears. It’d look nice. More rugged.”

Obispo rolled onto his back, hand on his chest. “Thought I was already rugged. I’m hurt, querida.”

“Hm,” you leaned in closer, resting your hands on your palms, “Maybe to the others. Maybe ‘Bishop’ is. But Obispo? Not so much.” Your voice was slow, still a little raspy from sleep. Even though you were joking about it now, you did love that you could have this softer piece of him that no one else did.

“Oh, yeah? And what’s Obispo like, then?”

“He’s,” You took a pause, collecting your thoughts. They felt cluttered and busy on your tongue. And yet, you continued anyway, too distracted by watching Obispo’s profile catching the sunlight to think about it further. “Kind. Genuine. Honest. Stubborn as hell, but considerate. Charming. And…” You trailed off, still lightly tracing shapes into his scalp.

“And?” He looked up at you through half-lidded eyes, grinning, basking in the compliments. Another thing you loved was how much lighter he acted when you two were together. Like the weights rolled off of him as soon as he took off his kutte. You didn’t talk about his past years as a Mayan as much as you’d like, but you were willing to give him as much time as needed.

You leaned off of your hand, brushing a section of hair you were playing with before off of his forehead. As Obispo’s lidded eyes closed for a blink, you finally took the chance to steal a kiss. Long enough to let him know you weren’t just doing it to do it. Long enough for him to rest a free hand on the small of your back. Long enough for you to feel him smile against your lips.

“And,” you repeated, “mine.”

[lamb-writes]

BOTTLES HEADCANONS !

pairing. bottles x reader

content. sfw, fluff, domestic fluff, minor hurt/comfort, minor possessiveness, established relationship

word count. 0.5k

a/n. this guy is slowly overtaking my brain and i needed to write it down (psst. any bottles enjoyers pls talk to me there needs to be more of us in the world).

With his work at the club, you both find it hard to find time for each other, but somehow Bottles always finds a way. Usually, it’s something small like a movie night at your house or cooking dinner together. It doesn’t matter to him, though, as long as you’re with him it doesn’t matter what you two do.

Speaking of cooking dinner together, Bottles is an exceptionally good cook. He’s lived on his own for a long time, so it initially was out of necessity, but eventually it turned into an actual hobby for him. When he was by himself, he was usually too busy to make anything too elaborate. But when he started dating you, he finally had an excuse to dust off some old family recipes or make some of the more complicated things he’s had in his head for so long.

Bottles’ is a classic romance kind of guy. He’s going to open every door, pay for every meal, and carry every bag if you let him. He’d kiss your hand every time he took you home after a date, which he did try before you stopped him. I picture him as always wanting that kind of relationship when he was younger, always watching old school romance movies and fixating on the endless ways the characters express their love for each other.

You were able to tell he was attracted to you faster than he was. Though, it wasn’t hard to tell. His fidgeting whenever he used to talk to you, the gaze from him you could practically feel whenever you were around the clubhouse. As fun as it was to watch him squirm around you, you decided to make a move a couple weeks in.

Oh, he loves PDA. Whenever you’re walking around Santo Padre together, expect an arm wrapped around your waist the entire time. Or him quickly grabbing your hand after you get off from work.

You have found one of the most sweet and loyal boys out there, but also one of the most insecure. Whenever you’re out together, he’ll never leave your side. It takes a while for him to tell you about his past and how he found the club, but there are always some bad days. Days where he just needs your hands in his hair and his arms around your waist.

He’s pretty quick to jealousy. It’s nothing serious, but if someone gets a little too close to you, you can practically feel the heat radiating off him. Usually, he doesn’t want to make a scene, settling for a hand on your hips or thighs pulling you closer instead. But if he’s drunk enough, he’s absolutely willing to knock a guy out for you.

You were probably met because you were connected to the club in some way or frequent a place Bottles went to regularly. He’s quick to catch a crush, but actually falling for someone needs to be slow and deliberate. Someone he can always look to after a stressful day. Someone that doesn’t expect him to always be Bottles from the clubhouse. He likes that he’s able to have a place he can belong with you. He likes that he’s able to have a place he can belong with you.

[lamb-writes]

Requests for Headcanons, Imagines/Minifics, and Matchups are OPEN !

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[lamb-writes]

Make sure to be respectful and polite when requesting/interacting. Reblog and like if you like my stuff, encouragement makes me want to keep writing!

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Don’t be afraid to request any genre—fluff, angst, smut, you name it! I love being given new ideas so be as weird as you want. Almost anything that isn’t mentioned down below as outside my comfort is on the table.

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Any kind of relationship dynamics are allowed. Romantic, platonic, sexual. Monogamy, polyamory. Character x Character, Character x Reader. Just have fun!

I Love To Write:

✦ Headcanons <333

✧ Domestic Fluff, Mutual Pining, Secret Dating, Flirty x Flustered.

✦ Protective/Obsessive Behavior, Jealousy.

✧ Dirty Talk, CNC, Rough/Desperate Sex.

I Won’t Write:

✦ Bodily Waste Kinks, Heavy Bondage, DDLG/Ageplay, Raceplay, Surrealist Kinks.

✧ Real Person Fiction, Familial Dynamics, Longform Stories.