minimel-fics - Tumblr blog

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

Angel with the STD joke when he doesn’t know what HPV is 😅😂

Red Velvet: stitch 21

Mayans x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: Angel finds out about you and Tig.

WARNINGS: 18+ only; sex; STD mention; 1.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: we love drama!

Angel is paused comically in the doorway, first raised to knock again. “Yo, what the fuck?” he shouts, looking between you and Tig. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Who the fuck am I? Who the fuck are you?” Tig spits back.

You stare in shock as Angel’s eyes fall to the kutte discarded on the floor. “A Reaper? You blow us off for a fucking Reaper?”

“Angel, no, it’s not…”

“Clearly, she had to go looking for someone to satisfy her elsewhere,” Tig says with a smirk.

No, no, no, you think, trying to clamber off the bed while still keeping your modesty in front of Angel.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Angel says, shoving Tig into the room.

To your surprise, Tig only stumbles a step or two before getting back in Angel’s face. “I’m saying you ain’t been taking care of her the way she needs so she came looking for me.”

“Stop,” you shout, finally coming between them.

“Querida, what the fuck is going on?”

Tig’s eyes never leave Angel’s face. “Yea. Tell him what the fuck’s been going on.”

“Tig, please. Give us a minute?” His eyes finally drop from Angel’s face to yours. You can see the insecurity in his eyes as they search your face, so you cup his face, pulling him to your lips, giving him a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

He nods, before glaring at Angel again, but he doesn’t stop you as you step out into the main room, pulling the door shut behind you.

“You’ve got some explaining to do. First, that French braided bitch didn’t want to let me in and then I find you in bed with him?” He runs his hand through his hair. “What is happening?”

You sigh. “Angel, honesty? I don’t know. I saw him a few days ago. I convinced Hank and Creeper to take me to a casino. We were in there literally no more than ten minutes and our eyes met across the room and it was like he was a piece of me I didn’t know was missing.”

It sounded ridiculous, but you’d watched enough chick flicks with Angel, you know that he’d understand what you were trying to say.

“Then he showed up here with Chibs to talk to Bishop and, Angel, it felt like fate. It was like a fucking movie, he saved my life then stopped me from having a panic attack about Bishop being hurt,” you take a breath, tightening the sheet around you, “then he showed up while you guys went after the Chinese, like some real Romeo and Juliet shit, and I don’t know. He’s under my skin,” you finish with a shrug.

Angel rubs at his eyebrows, staring at the ground. “Are you sure he’s the one, querida?”

You pause at that, eyes flicking to the door Tig is behind. “I - I don’t know. But there’s something there. I’ve never felt this about anyone before. It’s like just being around him sets me on fire.”

“It’s probably the herpes.”

“Angel!” you shout, punching his arm.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, holding his hands up. He looks at you, really looks at you, taking in the light in your eyes, the smile that’s still tugging at your lips and something dances across his face, but you can’t quite put a name to it. “Better take this,” he says, pulling his room card out of his back pocket.

You take it from him with a frown. “Why?”

“Querida, what’s your plan when people start coming back for the night?” He gives you a look, nodding when you bite your lip. “Hadn’t thought that far yet, huh? Well, I’ll cover for you. Just be in the lobby at nine tomorrow.”

You throw your arm around him, giving him a hug, careful not to lose your sheet. “Thank you.”

“Yea, yea, yea,” he says. “Get your ass across the hall quick. I’ll go see if Nestor and baby bro are getting along.”

He turns, striding out of the room and you wait until the door shuts behind him to return to the room with Tig, who already has his shirt back on.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re moving right?”

Your jaw drops. “Were you listening?”

He gives you an unashamed smirk. “Yea, of course.” But then his expression sombers, something serious dancing in his blue eyes. “Did you mean it?”

You did, didn’t you? You really hadn’t felt this way about anyone before, had even realized it yourself before your conversation with Angel. Knew it before he ever provided you with your first orgasm. “Yea,” you say quietly. “I did.”

He pulls you against him, taking your arms, pulling them around his neck, letting the sheet fall to the floor. He kisses you gently, like you are something precious, your naked exposed skin pressed against him, as his hands rest at your hips. You stand there, lips working against each other as his thumbs stroke your sides, as you try to convince yourself this isn’t a goodbye kiss. You still have time. Until nine o’clock tomorrow you belonged to Tig.

“Get dressed. Something easy to take off,” he says, landing a small slap on your rear.

You yelp, but jump to action, gathering up your belongings, slipping on your dress from earlier after grabbing it from the top of your bag, replacing it with your new gift. Tig takes the bag from your hand and you give him a soft smile. Spotting your cell phone charger, you snag that, then say, “Okay, ready.”

You follow him out into the hall, giving Nestor a wink as you guys cross the hall, using the keycard to open the new room. You walk in, seeing it’s very similar to the first room Bishop, Taza, and Hank shared. You expect to see EZ and Angel’s stuff strewn about, but you figure they must have grabbed it already. The beds aren’t made but it’s the only sign someone else had been in the room.

You toss your phone and charger on the dresser after setting an alarm for the morning. “You said something about fucking me, right?”

Tig drops your bag, lunging at you and knocking you back on the bed. You laugh as he kisses your neck, your fingers already working at his belt buckle, wanting to get him inside you as soon as possible.

Finally, you’re able to slide his pants down far enough for him to spring free and you lick your palm before wrapping your hand around him, stroking his hard length. He hisses through his teeth when you brush him against your wet heat through your dress.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he says, mouth still working at your collarbone as his hips thrust lightly against you. You pull up your dress, notching him at your opening. “Not worried about my herpes?”

“Why? I’ve got my own.” He raises his head to look down at you, a frown on his face. “I’m kidding, Tig.”

He rolls his eyes, dropping his head to your shoulder. “Fucking unbelievable,” he mutters, flexing his hips and sliding his tip into you.

You’re still wet and sensitive from before, so you feel every inch of him as he slides into you, stretching your walls. He feels good inside you, hips stalled, letting you just feel him inside you.

“I feel it, too, you know,” he says quietly. “There’s something about you. I could stay here, buried inside you forever. You’re fucking gorgeous, especially when you come,” he finally gives a thrust of his hips, causing you to gasp, “and you make such pretty sounds. You’re brave. I can already tell you’ve got a smart mouth and a sick sense of humor. I couldn’t have imagined someone as good as you.”

His words flow through you, your heart swelling with affection for the man between your legs. Is this what love is? You aren’t sure, completely unfamiliar with what romantic love should be like, other than what you’ve seen on TV, but you feel pretty damn close to euphoric.

He thrusts again, picking up a steady pace, rocking into you as sounds of your wetness fills the room. It wasn’t something you paid attention to before, but now the sound of how turned on you are for him only ignites you further. You lift your legs, wrapping them around his waist, tugging him to you as you start to rut against him, wanting to show him some of the pleasure he’s shown you.

His hips start to stutter and you tighten your legs more until he can’t pull out of you at all, and grind your hips against him, feeling the bite of the denim against your soft flesh, squeezing your walls around him in time with your movements and he stills, coming inside you with a grunt. You stay squeezed around him, wanting to feel every twitch of his cock as he spills his release inside you.

He slips out of you, and you crawl further up the bed, both still dressed as he tucks you against his chest, your head under his chin. “I’m gunna need a moment after that one, doll.” His chest is still rising and falling rapidly against you.

You can’t help but giggle, but you snuggle up against him, sliding a hand up to cup his neck, feeling his heart race under your palm.

You only had a handful of hours left and you planned on making each of them count.

PART 22

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

TAGLIST: XX @mijagif @jenny885 @pbbwriter @thexhostess @the-writer-no-one-knows @whiterose38 @rebelwrites @paintballkid711 @happilysparklyunknown @a-winter-tale @sassymox @redpoodlern @newyorkrican922 @thegirlwhowritesfics @stillbreathin @orangehairchild @lmao-liz @flanagirl @delightfulheroshoeflap @winchestershiresauce @saltyunicorn079 @drabbles-mc @frattsparty @nessamc @mrnd93 @lexondeck @blkbutterfly816 @flacalatke @bruxasolta @purplerain85 @avengers-fixation XX

#cricket writes things #soa #sons of anarchy #Mayans mc #Angel reyes #Tig trager #Nestor oceteva

69 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

I nearly fell off my bed when it was revealed to be Angel at the door.

I haven’t even read it yet but I know the next chapter is gonna be so good

Red Velvet: stitch 20

Mayans x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: Tig shows up with an unexpected surprise.

WARNINGS: 18+ only; masturbation; 2k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is my ideal version of Tig and I will not be taking any critique.

Not even fifteen minutes later, a knock sounds on your bedroom door. “I’d ask if you’re decent, but I hope you’re not,” Tig says, twisting the knob and coming in without waiting for a response.

He’s barely through the door when you pounce on him, fully naked. The black bag he was holding falls to the ground with a thud, forgotten, as your lips meet his. You reach out blindly, pushing the door shut, his hands already busy exploring the expanse of skin available to him.

He pulls out of the kiss, blue eyes gazing down at you. “This is one hell of a ‘hello’.” You smile up at him, trailing your fingers up and down the back of his neck. “I got you something.”

“You did?” Not only had you known this man only a couple of days but he’d only been gone a couple hours. What could he have possibly gotten you?

He crouches down to grab the bag, getting sidetracked on the way back up by your breasts. “Tig? You had a present for me?”

“Oh, yea,” he says, pulling off your nipple with a grin. “Here you go, doll.”

He hands you the black plastic bag. It’s got a name printed small on the side that you don’t recognize. Inside is an object that you aren’t quite sure what it is. It’s about the size of your forearm, cream colored, with a bulbous head. “Uh, gee, thanks?”

He chuckles. “I figured you’d at least know what it was.” He takes it from your hand, turning it around looking for something. When he finds it, the thing hums to life.

“A vibrator?” you squeak. There is no way something that size is going to fit inside you.

“I believe it’s called a personal massager,” he clarifies, dipping the machine so it brushes over your nipple. You startle at the sensation, pulling away at first, but then you step back into it. “I figured you have a lot of orgasms to catch up on and might want something to help do it.”

He glides the head from your nipple to around your right breast before doing the same with the left. Heat pools between your legs, your nipples coming to taut peaks as your breathing gets shallow. If he is able to make you fall apart with his fingers, you wonder what he can accomplish with this.

“Can you show me?”

“Oh, baby, I thought you’d never ask.” He flicks off the massager, the room falling silent once again. You grab his hand, tugging him across the room to stand at the foot of the bed. As erotic as it is, standing here with him fully dressed while you’re completely nude, you need to feel his skin. You start working at the buttons on his shirt, noticing it’s different from the one before, but the light gray canvas still causes his blue eyes to pop. It slips off without tearing, falling to the floor beside the bed, revealing his chest.

His pecs are high and firm, a body that’s been built by necessity, not for beauty in a gym. You already knew he was strong by how he picked you up and carried you to the bedroom earlier. The lines of his shoulders all the way down to his hands rise and fall with cords of muscles, the skin in various shades of tan from his time on the bike. Leather cuffs and bulky rings make his already large hands look bigger.

You look back up to his eyes, the same eyes that seem to look completely through you, seeing everything and judging nothing. Filled with adoration and affection, heat sizzling in their depths as he watches you take him in. “Like what you see, doll?”

You bite your lip and nod. “Good enough to eat.”

“Lay back on the bed for me.” You crawl on the bed, making sure to give your hips a wiggle as you adjust yourself comfortably. “Now let me see that pretty pussy.” Without hesitation, you let your legs fall apart. “Already wet for me, huh, baby?”

“I’ve been wet for you since I first saw you, Tig.”

He rubs a hand down his face, your words clearly having an effect on him. He climbs onto the bed beside you, similarly to how you had laid together before, propped on his side, eyes raking your body as you wait for him to make a move.

He lifts your leg, slipping his Jean clad leg underneath it to pin your thigh between his. “Now, I’m going to show you how to use this and after I make you come, you’re going to make yourself come while I watch.”

Guys have promised to make you come in the past. You never really knew what it meant, figured it was just them saying they were going to make you feel good. And sometimes it did. The sex you had sometimes felt good. But you had no idea how good it could feel until Tig came along and opened your eyes, calling you on your bluff and showing you what you were missing.

“Okay,” you whisper, your insides already shaking in anticipation.

“Okay,” he whispers back.

The massager buzzes back to life, touching you on your inner thigh before trailing up, buzzing lightly over your lips.

“Fuck,” you pant, eyes twisting shut as your head falls against the mattress.

The vibrations are strong, everything between your legs coming alive at once at the contact as you get used to the sensation. He continues to brush it lightly up and down, up and down, up and down, until you are whining deep in your throat, hips trying to lift off the bed, but he holds you in place, your leg trapped between his.

“You want more, baby?” He’s staring down at you when you crack your eyes open, eyes glued to your face as he watches every moment of pleasure cross your features. “Say the word and I’ll give you more.”

“Please, Tig,” you moan. “I need more.”

He pushes the head of the machine against you a bit harder, the vibrations helping it part your lips to find your dripping wet center as he moves the head in small circles, spreading your wetness. Every time he dips into your core, the vibrations shoot up and through you, your hips stuttering. Your eyes roll back in your head, your neck arching back into the mattress.

Tig uses the opportunity to bring his lips to the tender flesh, nipping lightly before soothing it with his tongue, his sparse facial hair scratching against your skin as he continues his slow circles between your legs.

“Are you ready, baby?”

You don’t even ask for what, blindly trusting him with your pleasure, so you just nod, chin bumping against his cheek.

He moves his arm, the head no longer buzzing at your opening, but following the same path as his fingers from before but the feeling is one hundred times more intense.

“Fuck, Tig, fuck.”

The muscles in your belly tighten, what feels like ice runs through you, a feeling you know now means you’re on the edge before it explodes inside you and you come with a scream of his name, your hips rutting against the machine in his hand has your walls flutter until you push his hand away, the vibrations too much at the moment.

“Jesus Christ,” you pant, eyes open, but not seeing as you come down from the strongest orgasm of your life, which, you guess, isn’t saying much, but it felt pretty damn good to you.

“Your turn,” he says, setting the now quiet machine on your stomach.

“Are you sure? I can…,” you trail off, lifting your arm from where it had flopped uselessly at your side to tug at his belt, but he stops you.

“No, baby, right now, this is for you.” He pulls your hands up to his mouth, placing kisses on your knuckles, looking at you through thick black lashes.

“Who the fuck are you?” you ask with a laugh. You didn’t know men to be this generous in bed, all your experience showing them chasing their own pleasure.

“I’m just a ratty old biker and a lucky son of a bitch,” he mutters. “Now, no more stalling. Your turn.”

You take your hand back, grabbing the machine from your belly, turning it until you can find the button that brings it to life. The vibrations don’t feel as strong as they did between your legs, but you figure that makes sense. The head is already glistening with your wetness. You glance at Tig a moment before bringing the massager to your lips, running your tongue over the wetness.

“My god, you’re so fucking sexy,” he says, kissing your cheek. You can’t help but giggle. “Now make yourself come so I can fuck you.”

You immediately bring the massager between your legs, wanting to feel his cock inside you again. Instead of teasing yourself with it, you bring it right to the hood of your lips, holding it on the sensitive bundle of nerves that have been awakened by Tig.

After already coming, the direct contact is almost too much, your hips jerking at the sensation, but you are planning to come as fast as possible because you’d ordered a surprise for Tig, too. So you hold it there, your toes curling at the sensation as you let moans and whimpers fall from your lips.

“So fucking good, baby, you’re doing so fucking good,” Tig murmurs, his nose nuzzling the side of your face. “Just give me one more and I’ll give you what you want, I know you want my cock, baby. Come one more time and I’ll let you have it.”

Your breathing turns into quick pants, your whole body shaking from the vibrations between your legs when another orgasm rolls through you, your arm falling limp at your side, still holding the massager.

Tig must reach over and turn it off, but you’re still floating, eyes closed as the last tremors of your orgasm rattle through your body. “That, that was so fast,” you pant.

Tig laughs. “Amazing what two hundred dollars can buy these days, huh?”

“Two hundred dollars?” This man spent two hundred actual dollars on a gift to give you orgasms. “Are you sure you don’t want this back?” you ask, holding up the very expensive machine.

“Why would I want it back when I know every time you use it, you’re going to think of me?”

Heat rises up your neck at the thought of using this on yourself at home, memories of Tig flashing through your mind. But then, your mind latches on the fact that he won’t actually be there. After tonight, you’ll be going back to Santo Padre and Tig will be going back to wherever he’s from. Yea, you have his number, but what? Are you going to try to have a long distance relationship with the Vice President of a rival club while living in the Mayans clubhouse? Did Tig even see this going anywhere outside of a bedroom with you?

A knock at the door draws your attention. Tig jumps up, reaching for his gun he’d set on the nightstand but you stop him. “No, I ordered us something. Should just be Nestor dropping it off.”

Still, you grab the bed sheet, tucking it around you. Tig gives you a smile. “What did you order?”

Suddenly you feel silly, hoping he doesn’t see it as more than it is, but you’ve always wanted to try them. “I ordered some chocolate covered strawberries,” you say with a shrug.

He smiles at you, no judgement on his face as he walks to the door, still clad in only his jeans and boots. However, when he tugs the door open, you are shocked to see Angel on the other side.

PART 21

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

#cricket writes things #soa #sons of anarchy #Mayans mc #Tig trager

73 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

Angel being suspicious but also completely off the mark thinking it was Nestor 😂

I like the Nestor friendship forming here, I hope in the next season he interacts with the club more

Red Velvet: stitch 19

Mayans x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: Tig sneaks out before the guys return. Taza gets a call about Bishop’s condition that drastically changes your plans for the night.

WARNINGS: 18+ only; food mention; 2.5k words.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Another monster chapter, whoops!

Tig easily followed through on his promise, coaxing another two orgasms out of you before Nestor knocked on your door, saying the other guys were on their way back and Tig needed to go.

“Will I see you again?” You felt ridiculous asking, sounding like a love struck teenager, but you had to know. He hasn’t even left the room yet and your body yearned for him. The ache between your legs not satisfied unless he is buried inside it.

He pauses buttoning his pants to lean over, grabbing your chin between his fingers and pressing a hard kiss to your lips. “There’s no keeping me away now, doll.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling the burner phone out of this pocket, tossing it to you. “Put your number in there for me.”

You move through the screens, adding your contact information as he finishes getting dressed. You flip it shut, holding it out to him as he finishes buttoning up his shirt. “Consider this my glass slipper.”

He laughs, sliding it back into his kutte. “I don’t think I qualify as a Prince Charming, doll.”

“Not everyone dreams of riding away on a white horse, you know.”

He leans down, resting his fists on the bed beside you, pressing his lips to yours again, like he just can’t stop himself. “Where did you come from?” he asks quietly, his voice laced with awe.

Once you’d gotten over your initial embarrassment of realizing you didn’t know what an orgasm was, you turned the tables on Tig. Just because you hadn’t come before didn’t mean you didn’t know how to make him come. You’d sucked his dick until his knees wobbled then rode him until his eyes rolled back on his head, coaxing him over the edge more than once in thanks for your newfound pleasure.

“Better get out of here before the guys come back,” you say against his lips.

“Yea, I should,” he agrees, but he leans forward, pressing his lips to yours again.

You can’t help but laugh when Nestor knocks on the door again, more urgent this time. “Go!”

He gives you a wink, striding across the room and swinging the door open. You can tell by the look on Nestor’s face as he steps out of Tig’s way that the room smells like sex.

“Hey, Nestor?” you call, pulling the blanket a little tighter around you.

He sticks his head in the door, eyes averted respectfully to the ground. “Yea?” You hear the door to the hallway open and shut and your heart thuds at Tig’s departure, your body missing him already.

“Thanks, for this. I won’t forget it.”

One side of his mouth tugs up in a smile. “Guys are in the lobby. You might want to do something about this,” he says, gesturing to the room.

You can’t help but giggle. Even with the threat of being discovered, you can’t find it in you to care, your body as light as a feather and your worries gone. “Stall if you can.” You jump up, still wrapped in a sheet, hitting the switch on the wall for the ceiling fan.

Nestor nods, pulling the door shut. You look at the window, but it doesn’t open. You step into the bathroom, turning on the exhaust fan, looking for any type of air freshener, finding none. Darting back to your bag, you grab your perfume, pumping several squirts into the air until the scent is overpowering anything else. Finally, you toss the blankets on the bed, pulling them somewhat normal before snatching your dress off the floor, slipping it back over your head. It’s slightly wrinkled from its time on the floor, but it will be fine.

You reach for the door knob, hearing voices in the other room, but instead of opening it, you twist the lock, rushing into the bathroom to look in the mirror. The reflection is not someone you recognize. The smile plastered on your face is framed by kiss swollen lips, your eyes bright and happy, your entire body glowing. Apparently an afternoon of orgasms is better than a day at the spa.

Luckily, there are no marks on your neck or any other exposed skin, maybe the guys will think you just got some good sleep. You go back into the room, taking a deep sniff but all you smell is perfume. Still, you barely open the door before slipping out to join the guys.

“There she is,” Gilly says. “Just going to order food. Hungry?” Your stomach audibly growls at his words, the guys in the room erupting in laughter.

“I think you forgot who you’re talking to, ‘mano,” Coco says, elbowing Gilly.

Angel comes over, slipping his arm around you, pressing a kiss to your head before frowning. “Why do you smell like a beauty shop full of old ladies?”

You chuckle, shrugging his arm off. “Didn’t shower yet, thought I could hide it with perfume. Guess not.”

He gives you a look, eyes trailing down your face, pausing on your lips. He looks like he’s going to say something but when EZ asks what he wants, he goes steps away from you to go look at the menu.

“Just order me whatever, I’m going to hop in the shower,” you say, slipping back through the door and twisting the lock, pressing your forehead against the cool wood. The one time during your stay in Vegas that you needed a shower the most and you didn’t take one. Rolling your eyes, you grab a change of clothes from your bag, heading into the shower.

Thirty minutes later, you are sitting on the couches in the front room, digging into Chinese food. “Everything go okay today?” All the eyes turn to you. “What?”

“What do you mean?” Taza asks, brows furrowed.

You swallow your bite of lo mein, looking around the room. Sure, you knew probably more than you should, thanks to Tig, but what you’re asking isn’t out of line. “Someone tried to jack our load, kill me and Bishop in the process, y’all disappeared all day then came back with Chinese food. You think I don’t know what happened?”

You will admit the irony at them eating Chinese food, but you can’t mention it to anyone at the moment since you aren’t supposed to know the Chinese tried to take the coke.

Your explanation seems to placate Taza, who finally nods with a smile. “Yea, everything’s fine.”

“Any news on Bishop?”

He shakes his head, stabbing at his rice with a fork. “Still sedated, last I heard. Marcus went over to the hospital to check in.”

You nod. That explains why he and Nestor aren’t here. You finish the rest of the meal in silence, EZ coming around with a trash bag to everyone’s garbage.

The guys start getting restless, moving about the room and you know they won’t stay long. Suddenly, Taza’s phone rings and he pulls it out, pressing it to his ear quickly after checking the caller ID.

His end of the conversation doesn’t give much away, all of the eyes in the room trained on him for a clue of who he is talking to when his eyes land on you.

“Yea, she’s right here,” he says, holding the phone out to you.

You frown at the device, wondering who would have called Taza to speak to you, then you remember that you left your phone in the other room. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The sound of Bishop’s voice causes your legs to collapse and you fall heavily onto the couch. “Bishop, how are you? Are you okay?”

“As good as can be expected,” he says. His voice is gruff with exhaustion, deeper and slower than normal. “Sorry that your first trip to Vegas hasn’t been what you wanted.”

You can’t help but bark a laugh. “I’m sorry it took getting hit by an SUV for you to finally get some rest.”

He scoffs at you through the phone. “They said I am getting out of here tomorrow. Marcus tells me everything is taken care of. If you wanna go out on the town with the guys, as long as you stick together, I think you should.”

“Yea, I can tell they are getting restless. Better get them out of here before they start to tear the room apart,” you say, eyes flicking to the men in the room, getting a mixture of laughter and eye rolling. “See you tomorrow?”

“Absolutely, sweetheart. Gimme back to Taza.”

You pass the phone back to Taza, immediately turning towards the room, announcing your plans to change.

When the door swings shut behind you, you crouch to rifle through your bag for something you haven’t worn yet when your phone vibrates on the table. You almost ignore it, figuring it’s Angel texting you to be quick, but you grab it anyways.

You have a missed call from Marcus, probably Bishop calling as the time stamp was just a few minutes ago and a new message from an unknown number.

I already miss feeling you come on my cock.

You almost drop the phone when it vibrates in your hand, another message coming through.

Can you sneak away? I want you again.

You bite your lip, eyes flicking to the door. If you went out now and said you changed your mind, someone would have to stay behind to keep watch, even with Bishop’s word that everything is taken care of, they still have their trusted buddy system.

You change screens, thumb pressing the missed call from Marcus, hoping he’s already hung up with Taza.

“Hello?” He answers on the first ring.

“Marcus, hi,” you say. Now that he is on the phone, you hesitate in what you want to ask. “Can you send Nestor here?”

He pauses. “I can, is everything okay?”

“Yea, yea,” you say quickly. “It’s just, the guys want to go out, but, uh, I’m not really feeling it all of a sudden, and I don’t want one of them to have to stay behind with me.”

“Taza said you already ran to your room to change. Are you sure everything is okay?”

Damn Marcus, always knowing everything. You take a deep breath, getting ready to play the card you wish you didn’t have to. “Hank told me about Bishop, how he feels about me. I just want to wait until we can do this together. I don’t want the guys to know.” The words taste bitter on your tongue, but the more they sit with you, the more true they feel. You really didn’t want to go out without Bishop, but it also wasn’t the main reason you weren’t going out now.

“I can just tell them I’m having girly troubles or something.”

Marcus chuckles at that. “Yea, okay. I’ll send him back over. Give him about thirty minutes.”

“Thanks, Marcus,” you say quietly before hanging up.

You stare at your phone a moment, taking a deep breath. You didn’t lie, you tell yourself. Not completely, anyways. The lights of Vegas could wait until Bishop is able to take you out, show you the ropes. But after telling that fib, there is no way you are going to push your luck and leave the room and risk getting into trouble.

You can come back in an hour.

That would give Nestor plenty of time to show up and the guys plenty of time to be far away from the lobby by the time Tig shows up.

See you then doll.

Your heart thumps, body already thrumming with the anticipation of Tig’s arrival. Taking a moment to school your features, you give yourself a full body shake before stepping back out into the main room.

“What the hell, princesa?” Gilly says, seeing you in the same clothes you had on before.

“Girl, I ain’t waiting two hours for you to get ready,” Coco says, his pack of cigarettes already in his hand.

You hold up your phone. “You don’t have to. I called Marcus. He’s sending Nestor back over to stay with me so you guys can all go out.”

“Why the hell did you do that?” Gilly asks.

Angel is looking at you under a heavy brow and you worry he’s onto you so you wrap your hands around your stomach and say, “I got my period.”

Immediately, the guys throw their hands up, wanting to hear no more, except for EZ who looks at you quizzically. “No, that shouldn’t be for another week at least.” You cock an eyebrow at him and his cheeks turn red. “What? I got that memory thing, remember?”

“But remembering her cycle? Bro, that’s weird,” Angel says, punching his brother in the arm. The other guys start ribbing EZ for knowing about girly stuff but Angel comes to stand beside you. “He is right though,” he says quietly.

You flounder for a moment, not expecting anyone to call you on your lie. You thought for sure mentioning your period would have had the guys practically running out the door. “It’s not a science, Angel, sometimes it comes early.”

He looks down at you, his tongue running over his bottom lip before glancing at his brothers to make sure no one is close. “Something going on with you and Nestor?”

“What?” You ask, your voice shrill with disbelief, causing a few heads to turn your way, until you put your hand up in apology. “No, Angel, there is nothing going on with me and Nestor,” you whisper quietly. He still looks like he doesn’t buy your story so you continue. “I just remembered that I promised Bishop I’d let him take me and, I don’t know, after everything, I want to keep that promise,” you finish with a shrug, the words rolling off your tongue easier this time.

“Okay, okay.” He finally gives in, kissing your head. “If you need anything, text me, okay?”

You nod, giving him a smile. “Thanks.”

Nestor shows up right on time, the guys quickly filing out of the room on his arrival, excited to spend their last night in Vegas.

“Are we expecting any visitors?” You grin, nodding your head at Nestor. “I figured as much, didn’t think you just missed the pleasure of my company.”

You gasp. “Another joke? You gotta be careful, Nestor. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were on our way to being friends.”

He gives you a lopsided grin before shoving your arm. “Go get ready for your hot date. I’ll let him in when he gets here.”

You take a step toward your room before stopping a moment, spinning back to Nestor and pulling him in for a hug. “Thanks for not being a cockblock.”

He laughs, pushing you off of him. “Just go get ready.”

PART 20

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

#cricket writes things #Mayans mc #soa #sons of anarchy #Tig trager #Angel reyes #che taza romero #bishop losa #johnny coco cruz #Gilly lopez #marcus alvarez #nestor oceteva

72 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

Not only waking up to this soft smut but also to the rest of the chapters being released? You’re an angel

Red Velvet: stitch 18

Mayans x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: You and Tig try again.

WARNINGS: 18+ only; fingering; orgasm; 1.7k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE: After speaking to many female friends, I felt this needed shared.

He presses his lips to yours again, patiently waiting for you to kiss him back. Tentatively, you do, working your lips against his before slipping your tongue into his mouth, searching for his. It meets yours but doesn’t push, letting you explore his mouth, brushing against his tongue and teeth, then his lips, before reaching out to stroke his tongue again.

He takes your hands, putting them on his chest and you begin to explore the parts of him you can reach, making a map of the hills and valleys of his body, noting which places cause which sounds out of him when he finally pulls back. “Show me what you like.”

“What?” you ask, eyes focused on his mouth, not processing what he’s saying, your brain thick with fog.

“Touch yourself, show me how you like it,” he says, his voice low in the narrow space between you.

The fog clears in an instant, shame coiling through you again. “I’ve uh, I don’t,” you stutter.

Why was this so hard for you? This literally used to be your job. People paid you to be in their bed, to fulfill their needs. You’d trained yourself out of a gag reflex, allowed yourself to be held down, choked, beaten, whatever they needed as long as they paid up front. Your body was a tool for their pleasure. Now Tig wanted to know about your pleasure and you didn’t know what to tell him.

“I’ve never done that,” you finally mumble.

Tig frowns, head jerking back slightly. “You’ve never masturbated?”

It never crossed your mind. You were honest with yourself when you said you didn’t miss your life before the club, finding all the satisfaction you needed in the people around you without falling into bed with them.

You shake your head and Tig’s eyes go wide. “Are you a virgin?”

A laugh erupts from your chest. A virgin former prostitute? You can’t help but bury your head in his chest as giggles rack your body. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just, out of practice, I guess?” Did you tell him about your past? Would that scare him away? You aren’t ashamed of what you did and it wasn’t a secret. “You’re the first guy that hasn’t paid to get this far,” you say quietly, watching him through your lashes to see how he reacts.

Realization dawns on his face, then his expression softens. He pulls you in for a short, simple, sweet kiss. “I’m honored, baby.” Your heart swells. You thought he might push you away, see you as used goods, a bone deep fear that, if you are honest with yourself, might have been another reason you shied away from making connections. Instead he pulls you against him again, tucking your head under his chin. “How about we take it slow, find out what you like, yea?” You nod, face still tucked under his chin. “Okay, baby, let me take care of you.”

He crawls off the bed, pulling you with him. He’s still dressed in his tight jeans, boots and leather cuffs, his dark hair in a wild halo around his head. “Let’s get rid of this,” he says, crouching down to grab the edges of your dress, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the side. “Wow.”

You have no shame in your nudity, that having gone long ago, but something about the way Tig’s eyes roam over your bare skin makes you feel exposed in a way you haven’t before. You can see the bulge in the front of his jeans and you have a burst of confidence that even after everything, he still wants you.

You crawl on the bed, laying back against the headboard and crooking your finger at him. You do know how this works, just not how it works for you, but you trust Tig.

He kneels on the foot of the bed, finally kicking off his boots before crouching to kiss the arch of your foot. You giggle, the whiskers on his face tickling the sensitive skin. He smirks, but doesn’t exploit your weakness any further, continuing to drag his lips up the inside of your ankle, seeking out places that make your breath quicken, your fingers tighten in the bed sheets. He goes slow, so unbelievably slow, creeping his way up your leg, over your lower belly, careful to ignore the apex of your thighs before trailing back down the other.

You’re panting heavily by the time he reaches the arch of your other foot, fists twisted in the material underneath you as your body reacts to him in ways it hasn’t to anyone else. A place deep inside you comes awake, feeling like tremors of excitement and fear mixed with molten lava as it pools in your belly.

He comes back up to your belly, kissing a trail up your chest. His hand comes up to cup your breast and you expect a crushing grip, pulling at your flesh, but it’s gentle, cupping the flesh as his thumb brushes over your taut peak.

You shudder, the light touch shoots straight through you, the muscles between your legs tightening. When he seals his mouth over the sensitive bud, you brace for the sharp bite of teeth. Instead he gives broad, soft strokes of his tongue, the sensation causing you to arch against his mouth, a moan rumbling through your chest under his lips. Your hands find their way into his unruly curls, holding his head against you as you writhe underneath him.

He picks his head up, blue eyes searching your face until a smirk tugs at his lips. Before you can ask about it, however, he dips to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. You can feel the heat of his body where he is draped against you, his jeans rough against your legs as he grinds himself lightly against your hip.

His cock is hard behind the denim, pressing against your leg. You slip your hand from his head, down his back but before you can reach it, he grabs your wrist. “No, baby, I told you this is about you.” He watches your face until you nod. “I’m going to touch you, if you don’t like it, tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, shocked at how breathy your voice sounds without you trying to make it that way.

His hand releases your wrist, rough fingertips trailing over your belly, lower and lower until they dip between your legs. You tense, unsure what to expect, but he parts your folds with the same tenderness he’d shown your breasts, his scarred hands treating you like heirloom glass, fragile and precious.

He dips in your opening, just far enough to gather some moisture before pulling his fingers up, rubbing through the hooded part of your lips. Fireworks light behind your eyes as your legs twitch, your head falling against the mattress.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

He’s got his head propped on his hand now, eyes watching every reaction from his touch on your face, noting what makes you squirm, what makes your brows furrow, what makes you gasp, cataloging it all before circling back and touching them again.

Your nails dig into his arm, but he doesn’t stop or alter his movements, continuing his path up and around and over the button that keeps sending shocks through your body. Small pants and whimpers roll off your tongue as your hips start to move on their own against his hand.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

Good? It feels amazing, your body reacting in ways you didn’t know it could. Your breasts feel heavy on your chest, the muscles in your legs going taut, trapping his fingers where you need them most.

His fingers move a little faster, but not much, not altering from their path bringing you so much pleasure. You could drown in this feeling, your body soaring on endorphins. If this is what sex feels like, is supposed to feel like, no wonder people paid for it.

Your breathing comes faster, all of the muscles in your lower abdomen tightening, causing your brow to furrow. “Tig, wait,” you pant. “Something’s not —“. Before you can say anything else, everything releases, a wave of pleasure washing over as your muscles in your core release and contract around the emptiness, your heart thudding in your chest. You collapse against the mattress, gasping for breath as small shockwaves ripple from your core as Tig’s fingers slow down then stop completely.

“What the fuck was that?” you whisper, eyes rolling to Tig.

He frowns at you a moment before the corners of his mouth tug up, humor lighting his blue eyes. “Baby, you just had an orgasm. A pretty good one by the looks of it.”

An orgasm? That can’t be what that was. You’ve had way too much sex before now to have not experienced something like that before. But if you had, you would have remembered.

You open your mouth to say as much, but Tig takes his finger from between your legs and pops them in his mouth, effectively drawing your attention and he slowly pulls them out. “Was that your first orgasm?”

You figure there’s no point in lying to him, since he seems to know when you do anyway. “Yea, it was.”

“Baby, this body was made to come,” he murmurs, trailing his wet tender fingers between your legs. “Let me show you what it can do, baby, please. I’ll make you feel so good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him over onto you, wrapping your legs around him. The denim is rough, almost too rough against your newly sensitive flesh, but you still grind against him. He moans, dropping his head against your shoulder, your heat evident even through the thick layers.

“Tig?” He raises his head to look at you. “I need you to fuck me, drill me into the mattress and make me come again and again.” His eyes grow wider with each word dropping from your lips. You aren’t a shy virgin by any means, it just turns out all the sex you’ve had wasn’t good sex. You pull him into a kiss, teeth tugging on his bottom lip before letting it go with a pop. “Now that I’ve had a taste, I want more.”

“Oh baby, I’m going to make sure the only thing you remember is my name.”

PART 19

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

#cricket writes things #Mayans mc #soa #sons of anarchy #Tig trager

81 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

Me: *Stares at a blank document every night for months*

Brain: You should rewrite the whole fic

Me unable to write Chapter 18: “No.”

Brain: okay but what if instead of just rewriting it you also make it a 3 piece series

Me: “that’s a terrible idea.” *Proceeds to write the outline for the entire thing*

My brain when it comes to actually writing a sentence: 🤐

2 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

Red Velvet: stitch 17

Mayans x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: After going toe to toe with Nestor, you get intel from an unexpected source.

WARNINGS: 18+ only; oral sex; 2.3k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE: buckle up, folks.

You crawl out of bed, not bothering to change, and creep out of your room to see who is around. Somehow, you are not surprised to see Nestor sitting on the couch with a paper, sipping a coffee.

“Any of that left?”

He raises his eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t drink coffee?”

You wave your hand. “Desperate times and all that.” You grab a mug off the hanger, emptying the rest of the pot into your mug before refilling it and starting a new one. You only have about half a mug but you take a deep breath, tipping it back as you swallow the bitter liquid as it scalds your throat.

“You can try creamer and sugar, maybe you won’t hate it as much.”

You rinse out the mug, face turned up in a grimace, already regretting your choice, knowing everything you eat today will be tainted by the taste. “I’ve tried it all before, just can’t do it.”

Grabbing a water bottle, you cross the room taking the seat across from Nestor. “Any news about Bishop?” He looks up at you, but doesn’t say anything. “Please, Nestor. I just want to know if he’s okay.”

He watches you for a moment. You don’t know him well enough to know if he’s trying to assess your ability to handle the truth or how much trouble he’s going to get in for sharing it with you. You do your best to hold his gaze without twitching, hoping you are conveying what he is looking for.

Finally he gives a tight nod, folding the paper and placing it next to him. “He’s out of the woods, but they’ve got him sedated. There was a bleed on his brain. It’s stopped, but they need him to stay in the hospital to keep monitoring it. Every time they let him wake up, he demands to be discharged. It took Hank and Marcus to hold him in bed long enough for the nurse to knock him out.”

A smile curls at your lips, imaging Bishop in a hospital gown, fighting for all he’s worth. There’s no way the reaper is ready for that fight yet, Bishop would live to see another day.

“He’s got a couple days before they let him go.”

You nod. That seems reasonable, not that you have much experience with doctors. Healthcare was a luxury you couldn’t afford growing up. “Any news on what the hell happened?”

You watch Nestor’s face slam shut again. You should be happy he even shared the information about Bishop with you, but instead you found your anger rising.

“You know, I was almost fucking killed, too? I have the right to know who did it?” You’ve come up out of your chair, fueled by the anger of waking up alone, of being kept in the dark, or only being fed information other people think you can handle. “If I was going to run or break, I fucking would have by now. The fact that you still don’t trust me enough to even give me the basic fucking details of what’s happening says more about you that it does me.”

You stomp back to your room, resisting the urge to slam your door like an angry teenager. Taking a deep breath, you look around the room at the mess left behind from the night before gathering the trash and cans, disposing them in the basket in the corner of the room, but it’s not enough. You go about making the bed, gathering your clothes and repacking them. Pulling out some clothes for the day, you head to the bathroom, intent on washing your anger down the drain.

You scrub at your skin until it’s raw. You’d really never been this clean in your life. The tiles feel warm against your forehead as you watch the last of the suds slip down the drain. The fog in the mirror blurs your reflection, not that you care to see it anyways. With the attack, you are sure to not be leaving your room until it’s to head back to Santo Padre. And surely the guys will be out taking care of it, so you will be stuck here with Nestor for the remainder of your time in Las Vegas.

You sigh, remembering what Marcus told you, the flash on Nestor’s face when he spoke of Miguel. You hadn’t managed to keep the Mayans out of trouble, but maybe you could cut Nestor the break that Marcus asked of you.

The towel absorbs the remains of your shower before you slip on a simple cotton dress that hits just past your knees. You didn’t even bother with a bra or underwear since you aren’t going to leave the room anyway.

Just as you step back into your bedroom, a knock sounds on the door. “Fancy? Someone’s here to see you.”

You frown at the door, wonder what visitor you had that wouldn’t have just let themselves in the room. You drop your clothes on your bag before tugging the door open to see Nestor. “Who is it?”

You look around him into the room but don’t see anyone.

“It’s the same guy as before.”

You blink. Has Tig come back to see you? That’s the only guy Nestor could be talking about, right? Heat climbs up your neck before you squint at Nestor. “Why are you telling me? I’m sure you have strict orders that no one is to come in here.”

He looks at his watch. “I know everyone’s busy for the next couple hours and this rooms getting stuffy. Thought I might have my coffee in the hall.”

Your jaw drops. Nestor - the same Nestor who just a few days ago wouldn’t even tell you why Marcus was at the clubhouse is now bending the rules for you? “Why?”

“Maybe I thought about what you said,” he admits with a shrug. “Do you want him to come in or not?”

You bite your lip, eyes flicking to the door. You know how bad things are right now, but you also remember being wrapped in Tig’s arms the day before and how you’ve never felt that before in your life. Bishop’s fine. There’s nothing you can do to help the rest of the guys. What does it matter if you have a little fun?

Finally, you nod. Nestor immediately turns on his heel, scooping up his coffee mug on his way to the door. Your heart jumps into your throat as he disappears and Tig enters the room, his long legs eating up the distance between you as he wraps you in his arms again.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your head. “You don’t look like you’ve slept at all.”

You bark a laugh. “Sure know how to make a girl feel beautiful, don’t you?” Not to mention, you’ve gotten more sleep in the past week than you’ve ever gotten before, but you figure stress is more the reason for the bags under your eyes than the lack of sleep.

He pulls back, cupping your face in his hands as those same blue eyes that first caught your attention comb your features. “You’re a knockout, just look tired is all.”

You grab his hands with yours, tugging them from your face and lacing your fingers. “I’m okay, stressed, obviously. What are you doing here?”

“What, not happy to see me?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you can’t help but laugh. “They figured out it was the Chinese trying to rip off our deal. We got everything packed up, Hap’s running it up north, as far away from the border as possible. Chibs took Marcus and your guys for a little payback. I found myself with some free time and a promise to keep.”

You’re almost in shock at the amount of information he just shared with you. Your guys told you things, of course, but even after all this time you had to practically drag it out of them sometimes. But Tig just told everything you could want to know and then some.

Your hand slides around behind his neck as you pull him into a kiss. It’s tentative at first, your lips working lightly against his until his arms slip around you, pulling you against him, the angle allowing him to deepen it.

His hands ghost over your body, sliding from your shoulder down over your hips. His moan gives away the fact that he’s realized you have nothing on under your dress. His hands slide further down your sides, grabbing your thighs under your ass and you hop slightly, wrapping your legs around him and he walks you back into your bedroom, swinging the door shut behind him.

The fire that’s been simmering in you from your first kiss reignites, consuming everything in its path, the feeling starting in your belly, stretching to your toes and through your fingertips. You fall onto the mattress, Tig following you down, still kissing you like you’re his source of oxygen.

His strips out of his kutte as you work your fingers on the buttons of his shirt, the same jeweled blue that you’d seen before that made his eyes pop. You tug it over his shoulders, but the rolled sleeves get stuck on the thick leather cuffs on his wrists.

You whine, tugging on the material and he finally pulls out of the kiss, tugging the shirt off himself, the echoing rip in the room letting you know it wouldn’t be the same when he tried to slip it back on. You perch on the edge of the bed, having followed him when he stood to remove his shirt, not wanting any distance between you. His white undershirt is easier to remove, your fingers snaking under the edge before pulling it over his head.

Each layer of clothing removed is like a bellows on the fire inside you, your skin feels like it should be too hot to touch, but his hands still trail over you, tingles following in their wake as he makes you feel better than you ever had before.

You slide off the bed onto your knees, working at his belt buckle, wanting him to feel as good as you. It’s been awhile since you’ve done this, but you can’t imagine you’ll have any problem picking it back up, but his hands fall to yours, stopping you.

You look up at him, insecurity clear on your face. “I thought you…”

“Baby, I do, I really do, but if you wrap your lips around my cock right now, I’m going to lose it,” Tig says, the pupils of his eyes blown so thick you can barely see the blue. His words send a jolt through you, heat flooding between your legs in an unfamiliar way that makes you squirm.

You bite your lip, lifting yourself to perch back on the edge of the bed. “So what do you want to do?”

“I want to taste you,” he says. You freeze, just a moment, but he catches it. “That okay, doll?”

You plaster a seductive smile on your face, “Yea, of course,” you say, sliding up the bed.

His brow furrows as he watches you, wondering what’s changed, what he’s done wrong, but then you pull your dress up, letting your knees fall to the side and all he can see are the pretty lips of your pussy. You run one finger through your slit, holding the glisten digit out to him. “Thought you wanted to taste?”

He wastes no time, burying his face between your legs, licking at your core. You put your hands in his already wild hair, laying your head back to stare at the ceiling.

If you were honest, this wasn’t your favorite thing. Most of the time, it did nothing for you but save you a few cents on lube. Some johns liked it, others didn’t want anything to do with it, but you’d learned how to move and moan just right so it seemed like you did.

You moan, arching your back, pushing yourself against his face, following the old routine. Tig stops and raises his head. You look down to see a frown on his face. “Everything okay, baby?”

“Yea, of course, why wouldn’t it be?” you ask, tucking your chin to your chest, looking at him through hooded eyes.

He wipes a hand down his face, sitting up further on his elbows as he watches you. “Are you…are you faking it?” Your breath catches in your chest. “You are, aren’t you?”

Your heart starts to rabbit in your chest as the flames he’d ignited in you recede slightly, embarrassment rolling through you. Maybe you’d been out of the game longer than you thought.

“Baby,” Tig says, hands stroking on your hips. “I want this to be good for you, too. If I’m doing something you don’t like, just tell me. I’ll do something else.”

The feelings in your body swirl out of control, the emotions flashing through your heart so fast you don’t have time to name them all before the tears form at the corner of your eyes.

Tig sees the change immediately, of course. “Oh, doll, no,” he whispers, quickly making his way from between your legs to beside you on the bed, pulling you against his chest. “What’s going on?”

You aren’t necessarily full blown crying, shame pulling at you that you couldn’t convince Tig that you were enjoying his company the way you had some many men before him. To be fair though, you don’t think they cared if you actually were. “I just want to make you feel good,” you admit lamely.

“Baby, making you feel good makes me feel good. There’s something between us, I’ve felt it since I saw you across the bar. You felt it too, right?” You nod. “And when I kissed you before?” You nod again. “Okay. So let’s start there again and see where it takes us.”

PART 18<- will be unlocked at 50 notes

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

#cricket writes things #Mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #soa #sons of anarchy #Nestor oceteva #Tig trager

95 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

The softness 🥹

Red Velvet: stitch 16

Mayans MC x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: Still waiting to hear about Bishop’s fate, you take comfort in your club.

WARNINGS: 18+ only; food mention; 1.5k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Is this one of the most self indulgent things I’ve ever written? Maybe. Tay - I’ll be waiting for you in my DMs.

Eight hours.

Eight hours and you still haven't heard anything. You move about the room restlessly, throwing yourself from one chair to another, your body refusing to relax enough to get comfortable. You eye your phone on the bed, still in the same spot Tig left it, fighting the urge to reach out to literally anyone because you know everyone will be busy and on edge. Once anyone has information to share, they will reach out to you or Nestor and you will know it.

At some points, you drift off, body falling into exhaustion only to jerk back to consciousness when you feel yourself slipping to sleep. Suddenly the door bursts open and you and Nestor jump to attention, him jerking a pistol from under his jacket, moving to stand in front of you.

It turns out to be for nothing when Angel bounds into the room, blowing right past Nestor to wrap you up in his arms. “He’s okay, querida,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

Your whole body goes limp against him, fresh tears tracking down your cheeks. The fact you even have the ability to cry again is shocking. You haven’t had anything to eat or drink all day, afraid that anything you put in your belly would come back up.

“Marcus needs you, I’ve got her.” You hear the words through his chest more than out of his mouth as he relieves Nestor of his babysitting duty. You keep yourself buried in his arms until you hear the door shut, signaling Nestor’s departure. Only then, do you finally pull back to look into Angel’s eyes, to judge how much truth he is telling you.

When you see nothing but sincerity, you give a sigh of relief, finally pulling away from him to wipe at your eyes again. “Sorry about that.” You gesture to the wet spot on his kutte.

He just laughs, wiping at it with his sleeve. “It’s fine, querida, it’s seen worse.” He looks at you, the dark circles under your eyes, your lips slightly chapped from where you’ve been nervously chewing on them. “Have you eaten at all today?” You bite your lip again, giving your head a shake. “Okay, go hop in the shower, put on something comfortable. I’ll order food.”

Any lingering tension in your body washes away as Angel steps to the telephone on the wall, picking it up and pressing the button for the front desk. You don’t waste any time, slipping into your room and heading for the shower.

You make quick work of cleaning up and changing into the most comfortable clothes you packed, scrubbing your face to wipe away the tears from the day, but your hand ghosts over your lips, remembering how Tig’s felt against yours. Now that you know Bishop is okay, the heat under your skin returns. Would he come back? You think he will, knowing a man in leather is not one to easily break a promise.

Will your body react to him the same way? Or were you driven by stress and panic?

Your mind whirls with possibilities as you step into your room. With your head tied up in Tig, you don't notice the voices until you are face to face with Gilly, Coco, Angel, and Ez sitting on your obnoxiously large bed, all holding slices of pizza.

“Room service said it’d be a wait, so we figured this was better anyways,” Angel says, taking another bite of the huge slice in his hand.

“Haven’t you guys ever heard of ‘ladies first’?”

Coco scoffs. “Where’s there a lady?”

A smile tugs at your lips as you crawl onto the bed, sitting on the pile of pillows, your back against the headboard. Angel passes you a bottle of water, cocking an eyebrow. You open it, tipping it back and swallowing most of it before you stop for a breath, knowing you needed to replenish your body. He nods in satisfaction so you dig into the pizza, grabbing two of the New York style slices and stacking them on top of each other.

“I told you I should have gotten another pie, man,” Gilly says, watching as you devour both the slices before reaching for another.

“I don’t know, watching her eat, I think I’ve lost my appetite,” EZ says, a tentative smile on his lips as he contradicts himself by taking another bite.

You look around the bed, chewing your pizza as tears well in your eyes again. This is exactly what you need right now, your friends around you, seeming like you are in an upgraded version of your apartment and it’s like any other night you’d hang out together after a rough week.

“No more tears, hermana,” Coco says. “Gunna take more than some SUV to take out Bishop.”

Everyone on the bed gives a laugh, knowing it’s true. EZ grabs the remote once he’s done eating, turning on the TV at the end of the bed and finding something to watch. Soon enough, the remains of the pizza are tossed aside and you are all engrossed in something on the screen. EZ moves to lean against the headboard beside you and you tilt against him, his arm lifting to circle your shoulders. Angel slides down, propped on an elbow against your side and you slip an arm around him, tucking him to your side. Gilly settles against your legs in front of EZ, his arm slipping under your knee to prop his head up. Coco slips off the bed, pulling a chair over and throwing his feet up on the bed so they are tucked against your foot.

After the stress of the day, this is exactly what you needed. There was a time this would have made your skin crawl. After Bishop found you on the side of the road and offered you a way out of the escort business, you thought you’d never want a man to touch you again. The club kept their distance at the beginning, noticing how you flinched when one of them reached out, but over time, you watched how tactile they were with each other. The group of road-hardened men seeking comfort in the brief touches of their brothers.

The first time you’d wrapped Bishop in a hug, his arms hovered at your side for a moment, almost unsure of what he should do with them before wrapping them around you lightly, letting you know you could pull away whenever you wanted. After that, it was like the word had spread, the guys dropping causal touches here and there, a hand on your shoulder, a pat on the back, until touch started to mean something entirely new to you.

Comfort.

And at the end of hard days, you found yourself here. The buffer in a biker cuddle group. Each man sprawled out, touching you in some way while trying to avoid outright cuddling one of their brothers. At first, you’d seen the humor in it, wanting to make a joke but also fearing that if you did, it’d never happen again. So instead, you hold your tongue and they hold you, keeping yourselves from falling apart when things get out of hand.

Eventually, you can no longer fight the heaviness of your eyelids, your head falling lax against EZ’s shoulder as the gentle snores from Coco in his chair help you drift to sleep.

“She finally out?” Angel asks.

“Yea,” EZ answers.

“Good. I don’t know what the fuck Bishop was thinking taking her down there,” his jaw cracks with a yawn, “I still remember when he brought her to the bar the first time. Said if any of us even think about her, he’d have our balls bronzed and used as paper weights.”

EZ gives a chuckle, careful not to laugh too hard and disturb you. “Yea, that sounds like Bish.”

“We couldn’t figure it out at first, you know? Like, who was this girl, what did it matter if we made a pass at her or not? But if we even looked at her too long, Bish wasn’t having it.” The first time Angel looked at your ass while you were restocking the bar, Bishop had picked him up and thrown him on the floor, landing a punch on his jaw followed by a “You know what that’s for.” Quickly after that, you’d become the club‘s little sister, everyone watching out for you.

“You know she’s going to want to see him when she wakes up.”

“Yea, I know, ‘mano,” Angel says, seeing the truth in his brother's words. “But you know Bishop isn’t going to want her to leave this room, either.”

EZ’s quiet for a moment, pondering what he knows of your personality and Bishop’s request. “You think she’ll fight us on it?”

“I think if we aren’t here to tell her, we won’t have to.”

That’s why when you wake again, feeling no more rested than when you’d fallen asleep, you are in bed, all alone, once again.

PART 17<- will be unlocked at 50 notes

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

#cricket writes things #Mayans mc #soa #sons of anarchy #Nestor oceteva #Angel reyes #ez reyes #johnny coco cruz #Gilly Lopez

100 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

Cricket, I-

Red Velvet: stitch 15

Mayans x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: Bishop puts himself between you and danger.

WARNINGS: 18+ only; blood mention, panic attack mention; trauma mention; car accident; 1.9k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Y’all remember that post floating around about whether you’d read MCD? 😬

Squealing tires catch your attention as Bishop spins, looking for the cause of the noise. A small SVU comes barreling across the garage, engine roaring as it gains speed.

“That your guy?” Bishop growls, gun already in his hand.

“Don’t think so,” Chibs answers, pulling his own firearm. “Close it!”

The door starts to close, but it's too slow. You hear a couple pops and some whistling and the glass on the guard booth cracks, but doesn’t break. Bullets, your brain supplies and suddenly, everything is moving in slow motion.

Bishop is yelling, tugging on your arm, but you are frozen in place, a literal deer in the headlights. Bishop lets go of your arm, raising his hands and taking aim at the car, firing off a few shots. It reacts the same way as the guard booth, the glass cracking but not breaking and you frown, tilting your head, wondering why as it gets closer and closer. The headlights are too bright to see who is driving and you know you should move, but you are still glued to your spot on the floor.

Suddenly, you are sprawled out on the concrete floor, your body sore, vision spinning as your ears ring. You can’t move your arms or your legs, the heavy weight against your body pinning you in place. The ringing starts to subside only slightly but it's immediately replaced with the screech of metal. You open your mouth, not sure whether to scream or cry but you realize you can’t catch your breath to do either. The panic in your belly causes your reflexes to come back on line and you start thrashing against the weight holding you down.

Hands land on your face and your vision finally focuses, landing on a pair of blue eyes. Just looking into them causes your panic to subside. You notice then his lips are moving so you focus on them, trying to understand what he’s saying to you. Finally you make out, “Baby, are you okay?”

You nod. “You’re heavy,” you groan.

He blinks. “I save your life and you call me fat?”

Before you can answer him, Chibs is yelling. You turn your head to the side, your cheek touching the concrete and you see Bishop laying on the ground, not moving. Tig lifts off of you and you scramble to your hands and knees over Bishop’s side, gripping his kutte. “Bishop? Bishop? Wake up,” you start to shake him, but his head just rolls to the side and you see the blood on the ground. The SUV is gone, burnt rubber and the damaged sill of the door the only evidence of its visit. Your hazed mind finally puts two and two together and a scream starts in your chest before bubbling out of your lips, echoing in the confined space when strong arms wrap around you, lifting you away from Bishop’s prone body.

You start to thrash in Tig’s arms, but Chibs has taken your place at Bishop’s side. He’s got his fingers on his neck, lowering his ear to his mouth. Bishop looks still, too still. You start to shake in Tig’s hold as Chibs points to someone and says, “Call 911.”

“I gotta get you outta here, baby,” Tig says.

You try to fight him at first, but he’s stronger than he looks, bodily pushing you out of the room and across the garage to the elevator. You finally stop fighting him when the doors slide shut, but tears are still pouring down your face.

You try to remember what happened, but you just remember the brightness of the lights of the car, then the coldness of the pavement beneath you. If only you’d just moved when Bishop tried to tug you out of the way the first time. Tig guides you through the maze of the hotel until you are sitting back in your room with no recollection of how he even got in the door.

“Baby, I need you to focus right now.” You look down, he’s crouched in front of you, his hands on your knees. “Can you get a hold of your VP? Someone else in the club?”

You nod, pulling your phone out of your pocket, looking down at the screen. Surprisingly enough, it made it through the night unharmed, the screen working smoothly as you thumb through the contacts until you find Taza’s name and press call. When you don’t move further, Tig takes it from your hand, holding it up to his ear. Taza must answer because you hear Tig explaining to him that he needs to get back here as soon as he can.

“Is, is he going to be okay?” you finally manage to ask.

Tig looks at you out of the corner of his eye then barks, “Just get back here,” into the phone before tossing it on the bed. He touches your cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears still streaming from your eyes. “Chibs will take care of him. He was a medic in the army, he’s seen worse.”

Against all odds, the words actually help you. Bishop is, hands down, the toughest man you know. Whatever happened to him, he’ll get through it. And if his President is what he says he is, Bishop is in good hands until the medics arrive. “I shook him.”

“What’s that?” Tig thumb pauses on your cheek. Whatever he was expecting you to say, that wasn’t it.

“He was laying there and I shook him,” you swallow in shame, “the one thing you’re not supposed to do to a trauma victim. What if I paralyzed him? What if he’ll never ride or even fucking walk again because of me?” Fresh tears start to stream down your face, your bottom lip quivering.

“Oh, baby, no,” Tig says, standing before pulling you up and into his arms. You start to tremble, your breathing hitching as you try to breath through the tears and the panic, your chest constricting until you are gasping for air, your hands fisted in leather. “Baby, you gotta breathe, come on, breathe.”

You look up at Tig and he can see the fear in your eyes, for Bishop, yourself, your club, everything swimming across your face as you process what happened. Faced with two options, he takes the second, unsure if it will actually work or if it was something made for the movies.

Gripping your face, he seals his mouth over yours, the wetness on your face spreading to his as he swallows your panicked breaths, forcing your body to refocus on something else. His thumbs brush along your jaw, his large, rough hands holding you in place as he moves his mouth against yours, urging you to reciprocate.

You shudder, taking a shaky breath through your nose before you quite literally throw yourself into the kiss. He stumbles when you lurch against him, throwing your arms around his neck to press the full length of your body against him. His hands slip from your face to around your back, two vices squeezing you to his chest so hard that you are pulled to your toes. Everywhere he is touching you feels like an open flame, burning your every nerve ending until all you can feel is him. Years spent bringing men pleasure and never once has your body felt like this in return. If this is what sex felt like for them, no wonder your clients sought it out constantly.

The knock on the door is like a bucket of cold water being thrown over your head. You pull away from Tig, breathing deeply from the kiss shared between you and whatever other reaction your body is having to him. His cheeks are wet with your tears and you quickly reach up, wiping them away with your hands before your own.

“It worked,” he mumbles between his own heaving breaths. You take a step for the door but he grabs your arm. “Not so fast, doll.” He reaches around his back, pulling a pistol from his waistband and you step back into the room out of the view of the door.

He steps towards the door tentatively, calling out. “Who is it?”

“Nestor.” Tig looks back at you for confirmation you know who that is and you nod. He slips his gun out of sight before pulling the door open. “Marcus sent me up.”

“When did Alvarez get here?” Tig asks, frowning, swinging the door shut behind Nestor as he steps in the room, nodding to you. If he notices your red eyes or swollen lips, he doesn’t mention it.

“We just got to the hotel, Chibs called him about Bishop.”

Your gut clenches again, the fear curling low in your chest, extinguishing any remaining heat left behind by Tig. “How is he?” You couldn’t begin to guess how much time had passed since you were down stairs, things moving too fast and too slow at the same time.

“They are on their way to the hospital. He’s still unconscious but he’s breathing on his own. Going to do some tests,” Nestor explains, looking at the floor.

Your lip starts to wobble when he won’t meet your eyes, wondering if it means he isn’t telling you the truth, maybe he’s worse than what he’s letting on. Tig is at your side in an instant, his arm going around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. You go easily, burying your face against leather, trying to keep your panic at bay.

“Any idea what the fuck that was?” Tig asks, his voice rumbling in his chest under your cheek.

“Marcus is looking into it,” Nestor answers. “Said I should stay with the girl until I hear from him.”

Tig‘s fingers tighten on your arm and you can tell he already does not like the idea of leaving you alone with someone he doesn’t know. “I’ve got her, you can get back to being a lap dog for Alvarez.”

His muscles tighten under your touch and you’ve been around enough testosterone ridden men to know when a fight’s brewing. You pull back, looking up at him, knowing your eyes are still wet with tears and say, “No, Tig. It’s okay. You need to go and help Chibs, figure out who did this.”

He drags his eyes from where they are locked with Nestor’s to look at you. “Are you sure, baby?”

You can see that he wants you to ask him to stay, the smoke from the fire he lit in you still drifting through his veins. If it had been anyone else, any other time, you’d happily chased Nestor out, taking Tig to bed to pass the time until there was news to be had. But doing that to Bishop? It felt disrespectful. So you nod, afraid to trust your voice again.

He presses a kiss to the side of your head, dipping his chin to whisper, “I’ll be back, this isn’t over between us.”

Your belly flops at his words, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

He turns to Nestor. “If anything happens to her, you’ll have more to worry about than the Mayans.”

Nestor raises an eyebrow at his declaration but gives a nod. Tig gives you one last look before propelling himself out the door, like if he doesn’t do it now, he won’t ever.

You waste no time, turning to Nestor. “How bad is it, really?”

He sighs, pity filling his normally stoic gaze. “It’s not good.”

PART 16

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

#cricket writes things #Mayans mc #soa #sons of anarchy #bishop losa #Chibs telford #Tig trager #Nestor oceteva

231 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

I have to say that I was kinda expecting it to be Jax (idk why cuz I know he’s 💀 af) but I’m so very pleasantly surprised that it’s Tig!!

Red Velvet: stitch 14

Mayans x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: Bishop gets a late night visit from a man you never thought you’d see again.

WARNINGS: 18+ only; drugs mention; 1.5k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Tay, please remember to take deep breaths and that I love you.

It’s dark when you wake up again, the clock telling you it’s well past midnight. Ez is gone, having slipped out sometime after the meeting was over. By the time you get back to Santo Padre, your sleep schedule is going to be fucked. As it is, having nothing to do, you find yourself sleeping more just to make the time pass.

Opening your door to the common area, you see Bishop sitting alone, the TV on but muted as he watches the colors move on the screen. “Hey, sweetheart. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah,” you wave your hand at him. “I’m good. How are you doing?”

“Never been better.” You can see the lie in the bags under his eyes, the tired hunch of his shoulders.

You look across the room, seeing the doors hanging open to empty rooms. “Where is everyone?”

“Out.”

You roll your eyes. Either things weren’t as perilous as you thought and everyone was out partying or they’d come up with a plan and he sent them to execute it, staying behind himself to keep an eye on you. Sitting down next to him, you put your hand on his arm. “Bish, between watching out for me and the club, you’re running yourself ragged here. I know you’re worried about me, but you can get some sleep. Anything happens, I promise I’ll wake you up.”

He smiles at you, the lines around his eyes deepening as he raises his arm to wrap it around your shoulders and tug you under his arm. “I’m okay, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a kiss to your head. “No rest for the wicked.”

“I don’t know about that, I’ve been getting a lot of sleep recently.”

He chuckles when a knock sounds at the door. By the way he goes tense against you, you can tell it’s not one he’s expecting. “Get back in your room, lock the door.” He stands, walking towards the door, hand reaching under his shirt where you know he keeps a gun and you quickly dash to your room, pushing the door shut before pressing your ear against it, straining to hear any sounds that might reveal who has arrived at this late hour.

Bishop calls out asking for whoever’s at the door to identify themselves, but you can’t hear their response. There’s a pause, but he opens the door, letting whoever it is in the room.

“We gotta do it now, pres,” someone says. It’s a man, he’s got an accent, but you can’t place it through the thickness of the door.

“I’ll call my guys,” Bishops says.

“No, no - we’ve got the transport ready, downstairs right now and they won’t wait. It’s now or we aren’t taking it,” a new voice says.

This is clearly about the shipment, someone willing to take it off the club's hands, end this mess you’re stuck in.

“I, I can’t,” Bishop protests. “I’ve gotta call one of my guys back to meet you.”

“Bishop, yer not understandin’,” the first voice says. “They are down stairs right now. The window is closing.”

You turn your head, pressing your forehead against the cool wood. This is the club’s chance to be in the clear and make a huge profit, but Bishop is getting ready to blow it to keep you safe.

Taking a deep breath, you twist the knob, jerking your door open. “Bishop, we gotta do this.” Your eyes are on Bishop, pleading with him to just take this opportunity, do what he needs to do. It’s too late, they’ve seen you now, so he may as well.

“Aye, who’s this?”

“Fancy,” you say, not taking your eyes off Bishop, the flames burning in his eyes. There’s no going back now. It takes a moment but he finally blinks, nodding his head and you finally turn to the other guests in the room when your eyes lock with the same blue eyes you’d seen in the casino.

You take in a quick breath as his eyes drop to your bare legs, trailing up your body again before he hits you with the same wink he’d tossed you in the casino.

The man with the accent says something to Bishop but you can’t take your eyes off the other man.

When you finally pull your gaze from his eyes, you notice the V. President patch on the chest of his kutte across from the flash declaring him a Redwood Original. Your eyes drop further, gliding over the rolled cuffs of his blue shirt, which are only accentuating his eyes, to the tattoo on his forearm and the bulky rings on his fingers before darting back up to his face.

He has a devilish smile on his face, clearly thrilled that you were checking him out as well. Your heart rabbits in your chest, a feeling settling deep in your belly that sends heat waves through your body.

“We gotta go.”

You don’t hesitate, walking forward as the two mens turn, the back of their kuttes revealing them as Sons of Anarchy. Bishop grabs your arm and says, “You can stay here, I’ll have someone back here as soon as I can.”

You grab his arm back, tugging him forward. “I’m not going to let this opportunity slip through your fingers, Bishop,” you growl quietly. “And if you leave me up here, your mind won’t be where it needs to be. I’m going.”

Your statement is mostly true. He wouldn’t know what he was walking into, his mind worrying that while he was lured from the room, someone might come up and do something to you. The only way to keep his head in the game is to go with him.

You also aren’t going to let the guy with the blue eyes out of your sight a second time.

He follows you out the door, slipping on his kutte. You have to jog down the hall to catch up with the Sons, the elevator door already opening for you to walk into. Once the button is selected for the parking garage, the doors slide closed and you start your descent.

“Fancy, huh?”

The Sons stand on the opposite sides of the elevator as you and Bishop, Bishop standing slighting in front of you, as if to hide you in the small room, so he doesn’t see the grin curl your lips. “That’s right.”

“This is Chibs, I’m Tig.” You nod in greeting. It appears everyone is using nicknames today. The elevator glides to a stop quickly, doors opening on another floor. “Nah, catch the next one,” he says, pressing the button to close the doors again. The couple who called the lift don’t protest, eyes going wide at the men in leather.

You couldn’t help the growing grin on your face. Tig seems like he has the potential to be a lot of fun. He’s maybe a little older than most of the guys in your club, but younger than Bishop, you’d guess. You can tell he’s cocky as hell, as the mischief in his eyes tells you he’s a pot stirrer.

“Don’t even fucking think about it, Trager,” Bishop growls.

His blue eyes go wide, a terrible impression of innocence with the smirk still on his face as he leans against the wall of the elevator. “What? I’m just looking.”

A giggle sneaks past your lips and Bishop turns to glance at you over his shoulder, sighing and shaking his head when he, no doubt, spots the look on your face.

Trouble knows trouble when it sees it and you and Tig are like looking in a mirror.

The elevator comes to a stop in the parking garage, the doors sliding open to a small glass lobby that reveals a mostly empty bottom level.

“Ladies first,” Tig says, swinging an arm towards the door.

“Aye,” Chibs says, pushing off the wall and stepping around Tig. “If Bishop shoots ya, I’m gunna let ya bleed out.”

Tig winks at you, but follows his President out of the elevator. You step forward then, wiping the smile off your face when you see the tick in Bishop’s jaw. He’s clearly regretting every decision that has gotten him to this point.

Your group walks the length of the garage, approaching the attendant booth that houses your cargo. The guys keep turning their heads, keeping an eye on everything, Bishop walking close to you with a hand on your back. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and tell them how ridiculous they are being. There’s not even any cars parked at this level.

Someone gives the man in the booth a signal and the heavy door starts to lift, surprisingly quietly as the light flicks on inside. Once it’s full open, you see the van is still the only occupant of the room.

“Where’s your guy, Chibs?” Bishop says, voice gruff with impatience.

“He’ll be here,” he answers. “Everything in the van?”

Bishop wipes his hand on his face, turning to you. “I don’t like this. You should have stayed upstairs.”

This time you do roll your eyes. “Bishop, everything is fine, you have nothing to worry about.”

Which is, of course, when everything turns to shit.

PART 15<- will be unlocked at 75 notes

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

#cricket writes things #mayans fanfic #mayans fanfiction #Mayans mc #bishop losa

96 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

Ready for tea like:

Red Velvet: stitch 13

Mayans x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: Bishop gives you a surprise that lets you reconnect with the rest of the club.

WARNINGS: 18+ only; 1.7k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love prospect!EZ

The next morning, you wake up alone in bed, the TV turned off and the blankets pulled over you. You must have fallen asleep and Hank either went next door or called some of the guys and met them back out on the strip. You stretch, joints popping back into place as you throw the covers back.

Crawling out of bed, you walk to the windows, throwing open the curtains, letting the mid morning sun fill the room. The sidewalks below you are still full of people. New York City might be known as the city that never sleeps, but you haven't seen as many people in your life as you have since you’ve been here.

A knock sounds on the door between rooms and you walk around the bed to tug it open. “Morning, Bishop. You look better today.”

His mustache twitches at your observation. The bags under his eyes are almost gone and his eyes don’t look as sunken as the last time you saw him. He must have finally gotten some sleep followed by a good breakfast.

“Morning, sweetheart. How fast can you be packed and ready to move?”

Your heart thuds in your chest, a chill running down your spine. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong, we are just changing rooms,” he says with a chuckle. At your frown, he continues, “We’ve been in the same rooms a few days now, want to switch it up in case anyone’s been keeping tabs.”

Your heart slows and you nod your head. “Yea, okay. Could have started with that, though.” Although it was a good way to get your blood flowing this morning, you could do without the lingering fear of being watched after you recklessly demanded to go out last night.

“Sorry, I wanted to let you sleep as long as I could. The rooms will be ready in an hour.”

“I’ll be ready.”

He pulls the door shut and you head to the bathroom to work through your morning routine, putting your items away as you go. As you're zipping your bag closed, another knock sounds then Bishop swings the door open. “Ready?”

You glance around the room, doing a final check for anything you might have left behind. “Yep, let’s go.” You follow him out through his room, to the elevator. “Are we changing hotels or just rooms?”

“Just switching floors,” he says, pressing the button for a floor a couple above yours.

You can’t help but ask, “Is this standard?” He cocks an eyebrow. “I’ve been enlightened to a lot of club habits since we left. Just wondering what to expect.”

You see the muscles in his jaw jump and you frown. “Bishop, what’s wrong?”

The door opens to a couple waiting to board. Bishop manages a smile as you both step out of the elevator, he places his hand on your lower back and guides you out of the elevator. He’s silent as you walk down the long hallway to the doors almost all the way to the end. He pulls out a card, swiping it in the key slot then pushing it open for you.

This room is completely different than the one you just left. There’s not a bed in sight, instead it’s like you just walked into an apartment. There’s a nice sized seating area and kitchenette with a small dining table. There’s one door on the left side and two on the right.

Bishop leads you to the door on the left, swinging it open to reveal a spacious bedroom with a bed made up exactly how yours had been in the previous room, a private bathroom to the left. You poke your head in, slightly disappointed to see there isn’t a tub but the shower looks spacious, the several jet nozzles on the wall promise that it won’t be a disappointment.

“This room is yours. Taza, Hank and I are on the other side,” he says, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. “I, uh, didn’t consider how much it would suck for you to be locked in that room all by yourself. I thought it’d be like a vacation after dealing with us all the time. Didn’t think it’d take this long to get shit taken care of.”

You squint your eyes at him, but he won’t meet them, telling you two things. One, changing rooms mid week was not part of the plan and he’d purposely found a dorm style room so you could hang out with the guys without feeling like you were intruding.

And two, things are not going well with the hand off.

“Anything I can do to help?”

You know he’s not going to let you lift a finger to be more involved than you already are, but he smiles at you anyways. “Not right now, sweetheart.”

You nod, looking back into your room. The guys weren’t going to avoid you any longer. You half wonder if the reason Angel, EZ, Gilly, and Coco haven’t been around has been at Bishop’s orders. He has to know that anything they know, you know. Now, the only way they could access Bishop is if they saw you, too, and once you got your room squared away, you’d be waiting for them.

Sure enough, barely an hour later, the door opened, Angel walking through followed by EZ and Coco.

“Hey guys, long time, no see,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t be like that, querida,” Angel says, rolling his eyes.

“You know Bishop told us we weren’t allowed to take you with us,” Coco says, walking to the fridge. “What you guys got to eat in here?”

“We’ve literally been here less than an hour, so probably nothing.”

Coco shrugs, pulling out a bottle of water. You vaguely wonder if it’s complimentary or if he just added an eight dollar charge to the room bill. “How long do you think we’re going to be? Should we order something?”

Angel shrugs. “I don’t know, ‘mano.”

“What’s going on? Bishop said things aren’t going as expected?”

The door opens and Bishop comes out of the room on the side and your question goes unanswered once again. “Where’s everyone else?”

“On the way,” Angel answers.

Bishop nods, turning to look at you and you know what he’s about to ask before the words even leave his mouth. “Sweetheart, I hate to do this—.”

You hold your hand up. “I know, I know. Go to my room.” Pushing out of your chair, you take a couple steps to your room before turning back. “Can I make a request?”

“What’s that?”

“Prospect comes with me.” Bishop shoots a glare at EZ, who’s eyes go wide as he holds up his hands. You roll your eyes. “Nothing like that. But if you just send me to my room, I hold a glass up to my door and hear everything that’s happening anyways, so,” you shrug, “better make sure I don’t, I guess. Or I can stay?”

Bishop shakes his head, eyes sliding shut as a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Fine, take the prospect.”

You smile sweetly at him. “Thanks, Bish.” You turn to EZ. “Come on, we can paint our nails and talk about boys.”

He hangs his head, taking a step forward as Angel laughs and slaps him on the back. Obviously you're only half joking. Nail polish didn’t make the cut in your bug out bag, but you have every intention of grilling him over what is happening with the club.

When the door shuts behind him, you jump on your still-made bed, scooting over and patting the open space beside you.

“I’m not allowed to tell you anything,” he says, crossing his arms as he stands in the middle of the room.

You laugh at him. EZ is the weakest link in your group, he always talks. “When has that ever stopped us before?”

You can hear the door open and shut, more guys arriving for the meeting in the other room. You grab the remote, flipping on the TV, raising the volume on whatever station is playing without looking at the screen, effectively drowning out the noise in the other room while also concealing any conversation happening between you.

You raise your eyebrows, patting the bed again and EZ’s shoulders sag in defeat before he kicks off his boots and joins you on the bed and starts to tell you what’s been happening the past few days.

Apparently, even with the kings pushing for more, more, more, now that they had it, they had cold feet about taking their share. The raid on the clubhouse the day after you left spread through the charters and now everyone is worried about which one is going to be next, although Alvarez’s intel says the main target was Galindo and not the MC.

Since the Mayans won’t distribute all the product, they’d reached out to the Sons about taking some of it off their hands, but they were dragging their feet on the handover, something about turning over a new leaf. If they couldn’t get the Sons to commit, they’d have to reach out to someone else and the longer they held onto the shipment, the bigger their risk.

“So what are you guys going to do?”

EZ shrugs. “I don’t know, that’s what they are trying to figure out.”

“Have you heard from Marcus?” He shakes his head. “Should we be worried about that? I mean. If they seize control of Galindo’s assets, should we really be staying in his hotel? We’re basically sitting ducks, right?”

“Slow down. First of all, the government is not nearly as coordinated or efficient as they make it seem on TV. If they did take Galindo, it’ll still be a lot of back and forth before they even start looking at something such as this. I’m sure he’s got a million contingencies in place in case this ever happened,” he says with a laugh.

He’s probably right, but you definitely can’t shake the feeling that you should have changed hotels instead of rooms. But that still left what to do with the van. Would other places have underground parking vaults? If they did, what did you have to do to get access to them? Maybe it is better to stay put.

“Well, sounds like they are going to be out there for awhile then, better get comfy, prospect.”

PART 14<- will be unlocked at 50 notes

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

#cricket writes things #mayans fanfiction #mayans fanfic #Mayans mc #bishop losa #Angel reyes #ez reyes

86 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

Cricket I honestly wanted to cry along with that ending because it’s such a heartbreaking thought

Red Velvet: stitch 11

Mayans x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: When the walls of your room start closing in, you make a selfish request that reveals a secret that breaks your heart.

WARNINGS: 18+ only; infertility mention; food mention; 2.9k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Whoops. This chapter got away from me.

You are going to lose your mind. You’ve been in Vegas over thirty six hours now and haven’t left your room and no one’s even come to visit. The only interaction you’ve had was calling down for room service then getting it from the room next door. At first, you’d enjoyed the quiet, knowing that your time to explore the strip would come. You’d woken up refreshed and relaxed, excitedly knocking on the door separating the rooms to let them know you were up and ready to hit the town, only for Bishop to say that you’d be spending the night in and to order whatever you wanted.

You’d pouted only slightly, but when you saw the bags under his eyes, you knew he’d probably not even been to sleep yet. Glancing around the room you noticed Hank and Taza looked just as tired, so you nodded in acceptance and slipped back into your room. After checking the menu and placing your order to the room next door, you knocked lightly and let them know you had food coming before slipping into the bathroom.

They’d said it’d be an hour wait for food so you decided to have a quick soak while you waited, knowing you didn’t have to rush because the guys would get your food sorted when it arrived. You’d twisted the knob on the tub, checking all the cabinets and drawers of the bathroom before settling for the meager bottle of bubble bath you’d seen when you arrived. The apartment at the clubhouse didn’t have a tub and your childhood home didn’t have indoor plumbing. Even if it did, you wouldn’t have been able to afford the water bill to fill a tub this size.

Twisting the cap, you upended the entire bottle into the basin, watching as the bubbles started to foam. You didn’t want to push your luck, but you wondered if there was somewhere nearby where you could get those colorful ball-things that you dropped in the bathtub that turned the water such pretty colors. You’d eyed them at the store before but never had a use for them.

Slipping into the water, you didn’t stop sinking until your chin just stuck out of the bubbles, your whole body submerged. You could easily fit someone else in here with you. Hell, you might even be able to swim laps.

Leaning your head back, you’d let your eyes drift closed. You’d just woken up from a solid eight hours but the warm water pulled you into a state of relaxation that had you fighting against your eyelids until a knock sounded at the door.

“Sweetheart?”

You shot up out of the water, splashing suds over the side as you flailed. “Yea?”

“Foods here,” Bishop answered. “It's covered, come out when you’re ready.”

“Okay, thanks,” you’d called back, pulling the plug on the tub. You stepped out carefully, cautiously avoided the spilled water so as to not end up on your ass and dried off quickly.

You eyed the fluffy robe hanging on the back of the door before finally snagging it off the hook and slipping it on. As you should have expected, it’s as luxurious as everything else you’ve experienced so far.

Sticking your head out of the bathroom, you saw the cart holding your dinner sitting by the bed, the door between the rooms fully shut. The curtains were still pulled, the only light illuminating the room coming from the lamp on the side of the bed. Since you were probably going to be stuck in the room a little longer, you didn’t bother turning on anymore, instead grabbing the remote for the TV that was hanging on the wall across from the bed before settling back in with the cart holding your dinner within reach.

That was over twenty four hours ago and you are over it.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed before pushing to your feet and stomping to the door. Taking a deep breath, you raise your fist, knocking, then waiting for a response before flinging it open.

Your eyes land on Bishop and you feel your words die on your tongue. The bags you’d noticed under his eyes are even more pronounced than they were yesterday and you note he’s still in the same clothes as when you left Santo Padre.

His eyes flick over your face. “What do you need?”

You open your mouth, but shut it again. Taza and Hank are softly snoring from the beds in the room, Bishop clearly staying up on guard duty. For you.

You’d tried messaging the guys, but they were either crashed from the night before or already out on the strip and not willing to bother Bishop to ask for your freedom. You aren’t one for TV, with the exception of the random movie night and there were only so many baths you could take. The thought of spending another night in your room alone has you looking up at Bishop and taking a deep breath.

“Can I go out?” His brow immediately furrows and you continue quickly before he can tell you no. “I’m going crazy in this room, Bish. No one knows me here, it can’t really be that unsafe for me, right? I’ll even take whoever you want with me. Hell. I’ll take everyone. I just can’t spend another night locked in this room.” He takes a deep breath then rubs his eyes. You feel bad, you truly do. Adding to his visible stress is the last thing you should be doing but the idea of him shutting the door and leaving you to the quiet of the room again has you begging, “Bishop. Please?”

You can see the moment his shoulders sag in defeat, your pleading getting the better of him in his tired state. “Yea, I get it. It’s not fair to drag you all this way then keep you locked up.”

He sounds as tired as he looks, his gravelly voice even deeper than normal, and guilt rolls through you again. “I can call the other guys to come get me,” you offer.

“No, no,” he says, putting his hand up. “Go on, get ready. I’ll find somewhere to eat.”

He goes to turn back to the room but you grab his arm, stopping him. “Bishop, you are dead on your feet. Have you even slept since we’ve gotten here?” You can tell by the look on his face that he hasn’t. Over two days this man has been going without sleep. “You need to rest.”

He pats your arm as his mustache twitches in amusement at your concern. “Go get ready.”

You cast him a worried glance, but step back into your room, grabbing your bag and heading to the bathroom. You really hope he doesn’t decide to take you - not because you don’t want to spend time with him, but at this point, you’re genuinely worried about the safety of him being this tired. If something were to happen, would he even have the energy to do anything about it?

You quickly get ready, only needing to make sure your hair is presentable and throw on a little bit of makeup before digging through your bag for something to wear. You didn’t know where you were going so you pulled out one of the dresses that you packed that wasn’t too casual but also was loose enough to not be too over the top.

About thirty minutes later, you step out of the bathroom to find Hank standing in the room with his back to you as he looks out the window.

“Are you my dinner date?”

He turns to you, the blush already rising in his cheeks. “Looks like. That okay?”

You can’t help but smile. You’d spent a lot of time with Hank over the years. He was a good guy and you’d never be upset about spending more time with him. “Yea, Hank, that’s fine. Hopefully this means Bishop is getting some rest?”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Yea. He was supposed to wake one of us up hours ago to go on watch, but didn’t. You know Bishop.”

You did. If he could hold out a little longer, he would, no matter the situation. There’s a reason he was president, a reason these men chose to follow him. You give yourself a shake, a smile lighting up your face. “Let’s go.”

The walk to the restaurant down the block had been exhilarating. Eventually, Hank had grabbed your arm, tucking your hand through his elbow because you were so busy gawking at the lights that you were practically running into other people on the sidewalk. You couldn’t help yourself though. You’d barely been more than thirty minutes outside Santo Padre your whole life and, to you, Las Vegas is something that only existed in the movies until now.

When you finally got to the restaurant, you’d hardly been able to sit still. There were actual cloths on the tables and more silverware laid out to use than you even owned back home. The waiter handed you a menu and you eagerly started browsing your options, wondering what you were going to try first. A lot of this stuff you hadn’t even heard of before, but you weren’t a picky eater so you weren’t worried. The flowing script did make the menu hard to navigate, so you’d laid it down, pointing to it before asking Hank, “What does this number mean? Is it like the calories or something?”

He peers across the table to look at what you are pointing at before he smiles. “No, that’s the price.”

You choke on air, immediately folding your hands in your lap so as to not accidentally bump anything on the table. The price for one dish was more than you spent on breakfast for a whole table of food. You shouldn’t even be touching anything in this restaurant. “I, um,” you clear your throat. “I am pretty sure I saw a McDonald’s down the road. Maybe we can go there?”

Truly, you should have seen this coming when you spotted Hank waiting for you in your room. He didn’t have his kutte on, for one. Then his solid colored shirt, buttoned up and tucked into a nice pair of jeans, his sleeves rolled down and buttoned at the wrists. And you don’t remember seeing his wallet chain either. The only thing still standing out as “Hank” were the boots on his feet.

Hank just shook his head, continuing to look over his menu, completely unaware of the minor panic attack you are having about if you order the cheapest thing on the menu, it will still be the most expensive meal you’ve had in your life.

“Did Bishop seriously pick this place?” Surely he didn’t actually look at the prices or the menu, just googled “closest restaurant” or something. It’s the only explanation for why you found yourself sitting in a dining establishment some people would need a second mortgage to afford.

Hank sets his menu down, finally looking at you through the dim lighting and noting the panic in your face. “Yes, he did. And he said you were going to freak out about the cost.” You can’t help but bite your lip at Bishop being able to predict your behavior so easily. “He also said to tell you not to worry about the prices and dinner’s on him.”

Your eyes about bug out of your head. So not only did Bishop know where he sent you, he was also willing to foot the bill for an expensive meal he wasn’t even going to be able to enjoy himself? “Hank, really, we can go somewhere else. Or even back to the hotel and order room service. I know how tired and run down every one is and it was really selfish of me to even ask to go out to dinner, let alone to do something like this,” you gesture to the restaurant around you. “This is too much.”

The waiter reappears at the side of the table. “Have we decided what we are having tonight?”

“We need a few more minutes, please,” Hank says, and the waiter turns on his heel and departs, wasting no time in moving on to his next table.

“Good, let’s go,” you say, standing up from your chair, but Hank grabs your arm.

“Please, sit down.” His request is so earnest, you can’t help but comply. “Bishop wanted you to come here. He knew what he was doing when he sent us here. Would he have probably liked to bring you himself? Sure. But you were right. He hasn’t slept since we got here and he needs the rest,” he picks back up his menu, “So stop worrying and order some dinner before they kick us out.”

You nod sharply, afraid to say anything that would trigger the tears welling in your eyes to roll down your face. Lifting the menu again, you browse the options trying to find something that’s not too cheap like you are settling, but also not too expensive so that it seems like you are taking advantage. Before you can decide, Hank's words float through your mind again and question bubbles from your lips before you can stop it. “Did Bishop really want to bring me here?”

The waiter reappears then, asking if you are ready to order. Hank doesn’t consult with you before rattling something off the menu, easily answering the waiters follow up questions. When he turns to you, you hand him your menu and say, “I’ll have the same.”

Hank cocks an eyebrow at you. “Are you sure?”

You shrug. “I’m not picky and there ain’t a thing on that menu that didn’t sound amazing.” The waiter whisks away your menus with a promise your food would start arriving soon. “So, if Bishop wanted to bring me here, why are you here instead? Not that I mind,” you hurry to amend.

Hank glances to the side, folding his hands on the table in front of him, like he doesn't want to say what he’s about to say, but he knows you aren’t going to let it go. “You know Bishop was married, right?”

“Yea,” you nod. “The mayor, right?”

Hank nods. “Did you know why they broke it off?”

This brings you pause. You never really thought about it, just figured that her role as mayor didn’t mesh well with her title of Mrs. Presidente. “No, I guess I never really asked.”

“She wanted kids.”

This makes you frown. You can’t imagine Bishop saying no to kids. You’ve thought time and time again that he’d be a great father. Sure, it might have been a little rough when they were young trying to work out schedules but you can’t imagine Bishop not moving heaven and earth to give someone he loves what they want. “I’m not following.” Hank covers his mouth. He clearly hoping you’d be able to put the pieces together without him having to tell you, but you truly don’t understand where he’s going with this. “Just tell me.”

“Bishop can’t have kids.” The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “You’re the closest thing he’s ever had to a daughter. He would give you the world if he could.”

Any chance you had of stopping the tears from falling from your eyes is gone. A few tears stream down your cheek as you think about the strong, kind man who’d picked you up on the side of the road all those years ago and everything he’s done for you since. Of course you’ve always thought of him as a father figure, always hoped he’d find love and settle down and have a whole herd of kids to call his own that would appreciate him as much as you have. But now you know that will never happen for him and you’re wondering if you’re even going to be able to eat the expensive meal you ordered.

“Don’t you dare tell him I told you,” Hank says, pointing a finger at you as you wipe away the wetness on your cheeks.

You nod. “I won’t,” you say quietly. You stay silent until the food arrives, thoughts lost in your relationship with the MC President. No wonder he’s so protective of you and why he reacted how he did when he found out what was going on with Angel, EZ, Gilly, and Coco. You pick up your fork, taking a bite of your food and realizing it's the absolute best thing you’ve ever had in your mouth.

“Holy shit,” you say after swallowing. Hank just smiles at you, tucking into his own meal with enthusiasm. “How am I going to go back to eating regular food after this? What have you done to me?”

Hank chuckles. “Just eat your food.”

PART 12<- will be unlocked at 50 notes

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

#cricket writes things #red velvet #Mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #bishop losa #Hank loza

106 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

I always forget that Hank is the enforcer because he is such a sweetheart 🥰😂

I have no idea what’s next for this story but I’m very excited to find out

Red Velvet: stitch 10

Mayans x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: Getting settled in, you find out how far Bishop will go to keep you safe.

WARNINGS: 18+ only, 1.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: does something like this exist? Idk. May have had made it up just for this story? It’s more likely than you think.

You slip the key into the door, swinging it open and standing back so Hank can walk in the room with your bags. He manages to flick the light switch with his elbow, walking down the narrow hallway, you right behind him.

“Uh,” he says, stopping short.

You can’t see around him, between the actual broadness of the man, plus the bulk of the bags he’s carrying. “What’s wrong?”

He steps further into the room and you finally see what has stopped him.

There’s only one bed.

Granted, it’s the biggest bed you’ve ever seen, but it’s still just one bed. “Is this, uh. Is this normal?” You know the guys are close, but you can’t imagine them willingly booking single bed rooms.

“Uh, not really,” he says, cheeks turning red as you look at him for answers. He sets the bags down against the wall, digging his phone out of his pocket, presumably to call Bishop.

“I mean, it’s no big deal, really.” He pauses dialing his phone. “Maybe it was all they had left or something. I don’t have a problem with it if you don’t.”

He looks between you and the bed, the redness not fading from his cheeks. “Can’t hurt to call the boss and check,” he says, dialing the phone and pressing it to his ear.

You look at the rest of the room. You’ve been in a lot of hotel rooms, but this one is really nice. The room is as wide as it is deep, the wall on the right half has tall windows draped with thick curtains and a seating area across from the bed. It’s done tastefully in creams with accents of sharp blacks. There’s a door on the same wall as the bed and one probably leading to the bathroom that was the cause of the short hallway.

You can hear Hank talking to Bishop on the phone as you push open the door to the bathroom but you can’t help the scream that bubbles from your chest as you freeze in the doorway.

The door on the wall by the bed rips open so fast, you are surprised it’s still on its hinges. Bishop stands in the doorway, eyes darting around the room. Hank is frozen with his phone still to his ear as he shares a look of confusion with Bishop before slowing lowering his arm and flipping the phone closed.

Of course he would book a joint room. His way of hovering without actually bunking with you, even though he roomed you with the club enforcer.

“What?” he asks impatiently, brows furrowed. There’s no one else in the room and instead of fear, you probably have the world's goofiest smile on your face. “What is it?”

You roll your eyes, refusing to drop the smile on your face. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, you stand back, gesturing into the room. “Dude, did you see this bathroom?”

You watch as Hank and Bishop visibly relax before giving you matching annoyed looks. “Really, sweetheart?”

“Yes, really.” You aren’t sure what sort of magic they used in the room to fit it all in without being cramped, but there is a jacuzzi tub, standing shower, water closet, and a large mirror with side by side sinks all in dazzling white. The walls are also stark white, the black fixtures and sleek black tiled floor bringing in the cohesiveness with the bedroom. “I’m going to spend the whole time in here.”

You take a tentative step into the room, eyes wide. As much as you didn’t like Galindo, you had to admit he had good taste in bathrooms. Spinning on your heel, you clasp your hands in front of you. “Can I take a shower?”

“Sure you don’t want to try out the tub?” Hank asks, laughing slightly at your excitement.

You bite your lip. You do, but you also just want to get the grime of travel off of you and get into bed. “You promise we will be here more than one day?”

You look at Bishop who chuckles. “Probably more like a week, sweetheart.”

You squeal in excitement, running towards him and throwing your arms around his shoulders. “Thank you,” you say, pressing a kiss to his whiskered cheek before pulling back to stand between the two men. “Then yes, just a shower. I’d probably fall asleep in the tub and drown right now.” As if on cue, your jaw cracks in a yawn.

“Get in the shower then hit the sack. We’ve got a lot to talk about anyways,” Bishop says. “Don’t open the door to the hallway any reason. If you need anything, just come through here and let us know,” he says gesturing to the door by the bed.

You frown, looking between the two doors. “Is there a secret knock or codeword I should use?” Bishop cocks an eyebrow at you as Hank laughs. “What? I’m just trying to be considerate. Don’t want to walk in while you’re having a top secret meeting or something.” You didn’t know about their buddy system at the gas station, so now you are just trying to be safe instead of sorry.

You turn to grab your bag, spotting the single bed again. “Uh, what’s the plan for sleeping? Not that I mind sharing a bed with Hanky Panky. I just don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable.”

Bishop chuckles at the name as Hank’s cheeks start to turn red again. How a man with a reputation for being so brutal that he was named the club enforcer blushed so much was beyond you.

“Taza, Hank, and I will take turns in the other room, so someone is always on guard,” Bishop explains. “Like I said, sweetheart, if you need anything, just knock on the door and let us know.”

“I feel like I’m being babysat,” you grump.

“I can just stay over here with you, if you prefer?”

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, grabbing Bishop’s arm and leading him to the door. “Now, if you guys don’t mind, there’s a shower and a bed in here, calling my name.”

When the door shuts behind him and Hank, you can’t help but run and jump on the neatly made bed, bouncing around until you fall onto your back, breathing heavily from exertion. The bed is much softer than yours at home, the duvet fluffy like a cloud. You almost let your eyes slip shut, but you know if you do, you won’t make it in the shower.

Pulling yourself from the bed, you can just make out the low rumble of voices in the room next to you. You crouch next to your bag pulling out your toothbrush and some pajamas. Slipping off your shoes and socks, you leave them in a pile next to your bag. You contemplate stripping fully, but you glance back at the door.

Rather than risking it, you wait until you’re in the bathroom, stripping out of the rest of your clothes. You set your toothbrush on the counter, examining all the bottles in the basket on the counter. Shampoo, condition, body soap, bubble bath, lotion, sun screen. Seems they’ve thought of everything. You grab the ones you need for your shower, stepping around the glass wall. There’s a single knob on the wall, you twist it to ‘red’ and the shower springs to life, producing steam almost immediately. You check the temperature before stepping into the spray, moaning as the water pounds against your sore muscles.

Dawn had crested by the time you’d made it to the strip, the sunrise almost as magnificent as the lights. You pressed your face to the window in awe. The bodies on the street seemed to not notice a new day was dawning and they should all be asleep, recharging for another day. You’d been sad when you reached the parking garage, driving the van lower and lower until you reached a garage door with a guard.

The man had spoken with Creeper a moment before pressing a button and raising the door. Creeper pulled the van in, parking it in one of about twelve empty spots. There were no windows or doors to the room, just the garage door you had driven through. He met you at the back of the van, opening the door so you could grab your bags.

You glanced back, but the man at the station couldn’t see in. “This safe?”

Creeper laughed. “Probably the safest place in Vegas, baby girl.”

You frowned, looking around the room - essentially a bunker. The only way in and out was the door you’d driven through and you’re sure that was guarded around the clock as well as under video surveillance. With this not being a casino, you couldn’t imagine a lot of people would target the hotel. Hell, half the guests probably hadn’t even traveled this deep into the garage.

He throws his arm around your shoulder, walking you back out the door you’d driven through. As soon as you cross the threshold, the door starts sliding shut again. You looked up, noting what looks like a normal garage door from the outside was actually about six inches thick. Creeper dropped the keys into the pass through drawer and waved at the man behind the glass as he guided you to the elevators.

At least you didn’t have to worry about the drugs being stored in your room.

Finally clean, you shut the shower off. Grabbing one of the towels, you moan at the absolutely softness of it as it soaks up the water from your body. You can barely keep your eyes open as you redress and brush your teeth.

You fall into the mattress face first, barely managing to tug the blankets over you before sleep pulls you under.

PART 11<- will be unlocked at 50 notes

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

#cricket writes things #Mayans mc #mayans fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #Hank loza #bishop losa #creeper vargas

106 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

Eggs Benedict and a Santa Fe Omelette will be on my mind for days now. I’ve never really been a breakfast person but there is nothing more I have craved since developing an intolerance to eggs😢

Oop good luck to Hank 😂

Red Velvet: stitch 9

Mayans x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: You stop for breakfast with the club and Coco bites off more than he can chew.

WARNINGS: 18+ only, cussing, food mention, 1.8k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I have no idea how any of this works, I’m literally making it up as I go 🤷‍♀️

Las Vegas City Limits 20

To say you are excited is an understatement. If Vegas is half as fun as breakfast, you are going to have a blast.

The little truck stop-slash-diner you stopped at for breakfast barely had enough room for everyone. There was a small four top bar, two tables and two booths. The older lady behind the counter didn’t bat an eye as you walked in, surrounded by the men in kuttes.

“Have a seat, I’ll be with you shortly,” she’d said, standing up and tying her apron back on.

Bishop and Taza sat at the bar. Angel and EZ pulled the two tables together and you sat in between them, Gilly, Coco, and Creeper across from you. Riz flopped down into a booth and Hank sat across from him.

“What can I get you all to drink?”

“Coffees all around,” Bishop said.

You scrunched your nose. “Actually, I’ll have a coke, please.”

“Gotta be the picky one, don’t you?” Coco said.

“Sorry, I like drinks that actually taste good.”

It’s his turn to look at you in disgust. “None of that fake shit tastes good.”

“Better than a steaming cup of hate.” You had tried adding sugar, creamer, flavorings, anything to get coffee to taste good, but it always tasted bitter to you.

“Do you know what you want to eat?” You looked up at the waitress who was looking over her notepad at you expectantly.

“Yea, can I get the special, biscuits and gravy, a stack of blueberry pancakes with powdered sugar, a sausage and egg sandwich, eggs benedict, and an extra side of hashbrowns, loaded?”

Her pen flew across the paper as she took down your order. “It’ll be up in a bit,” she says, as she turns to walk away.

“Uh, ma’am?” EZ said, trying to get her attention.

She turned back, almost annoyed at being stopped. “What do you need?”

“The rest of us would like to order,” Angel said.

She frowned down at the list of food on her notepad then looked back up at you. “Alright. What’ll you have?”

You couldn’t help but snicker until Gilly’s foot connected with your shin under the table. “Ow, fucker.” You rubbed your leg under the table as she took down everyone else’s order and walked back to turn it into the kitchen. “What was that for?”

“Princesa, I didn’t order my eggs with a side of spit.”

Angel chuckled, stretching his arm across the back of your chair. “Yea, she seemed like the last thing she wanted to do is be waiting on us right now, let alone dealing with a little smartass.”

Smartass? How were you being a smartass? “It’s her own fault. Why would she think that I would order the food for everyone at the table?”

“Maybe because you ordered enough food to feed the whole club?” Creeper suggested, giving you a bit of a side eye.

It really shouldn’t surprise you that these guys didn’t know how much you could put away. Most of the club get-togethers were focused around alcohol, not food. Other than your breakfasts with Gilly and a few meals with the Reyes family, you hadn’t really eaten with the members of the club before.

“You ain’t bringing any of that with us in the van.”

Before you could respond, Gilly started laughing. “You think she's going to have leftovers?”

“There’s no fucking way she eats all of that,” Creeper said.

You cocked an eyebrow, looking at Gilly and tilted your head towards Creeper. “In preparation for Vegas, how about we make a little bet?”

“Yo, twenty bucks says you don’t even eat half of it and Gilly ends up finishing it,” Coco said, laughing and elbowing Gilly.

Creeper laughed, too, holding his fist out for Coco. You looked at EZ, who just held his hands up, refusing to get involved. Turning you looked at Angel, who had his head tilted back, tongue running on his bottom lip as he watched you.

Angel had seen you eat at Felipe’s. He knew that you could put it away.

“Hundred says she eats it all.”

“Ooo, big roller,” Coco taunted, but he nodded. “I’ll take that bet.”

Creeper looked at you again and you held his gaze. You’d been in the van together three hours now. More time than you’ve ever spent one on one before. Had he learned anything about you in that time?

“Nah, I’m out.”

Seems he had.

“Food’s up.” The waitress returned with a tray, setting plates down in front of the men at the table. “Yours will be up in a minute.”

“Probably had to run to the store,” Coco said, grabbing his fork and cutting into his omelet.

You just smiled, unwrapping the paper napkin from your silverware and setting it on your leg. You balled up the sticky paper that had been holding it together and chucked it Coco.

“Hope you’re hungry,” the waitress said, returning with a full try, setting plate after plate down in front of you as the guys shifted theirs out of the way to make room.

You smiled, looking down at the spread. “Looks good, thanks.”

Just under thirty minutes later, you were using the last piece of pancake to mop up the syrup and remaining powdered sugar on the plate. Stuffing it into your mouth, you chew the final bite.

“Pay up, sucker,” you said around the pancake.

Coco was staring at you in shock, the whole diner dead silent, watching to see if you would manage to finish it all. You swallowed the last bite, leaning back in your chair.

“I can’t imagine you do, but do you need anything else?” The waitress had called the cook out of the back to watch you eat, both in awe as you shoveled through plate after plate. She grabbed the stack of plates, looking around the table.

You pointed to Coco. “He’ll take the bill whenever you’ve got it.”

“Like hell I will, that wasn’t part of the bet,” Coco sputtered.

Angel laughed. “Why do you think I raised the bet to a hundred? Pay the lady, ‘mano.” The tables laughed as Coco pulled his wallet from his pocket, pulling out a hundred and handing it to the waitress. “Keep the change,” Angel said.

You stood from your chair, tugging at your pants, noticing how they fit a bit tighter now. Patting your stomach, you walked to the door, calling, “Thanks for breakfast, Coco,” over your shoulder.

The van rocks as Creeper swerves to miss a pothole. “Coco is probably still fuming about breakfast, you know?”

You shrug. “He’s a big boy, he’ll get over it.” It’s not like Coco isn’t going to blow through way more than that once you get into the city. “How much longer, you think?”

“Well, sign said twenty miles, but once we get to the strip and hit morning traffic, it’s going to slow us down. I’d say closer to forty five.”

You moan. All you’d wanted to do is sleep. The van wasn’t comfortable enough to sleep in and you are too excited to see the strip in the fading darkness. “I’m barely going to be able to enjoy my room before I crash.”

“That’s why you got to pace yourself, baby girl. That breakfast was a lot,” Creeper says, taking a drink of water. Even with driving all night, he looked refreshed and ready to go. Asshole.

“Well, not all of us can survive on a Santa Fe Omelet, Creeps.” Granted, you had ordered the most breakfast, but the other guys had at least ordered breakfast burgers or the breakfast special. You couldn’t help but giggle remembering Creeper, covered in tattoos and leather, asking for the Santa Fe Omelet.

“Girl, after all this time in the van together, you’re still gunna bust my chops?”

You reach over, punching his arm. “You wouldn’t know I loved you if I didn’t.”

You don’t miss the smile on his face at your words. You and Creeper aren’t as close as you are with some of the other guys, but that doesn’t mean you don’t still consider him family. You make a mental note to spend some more time getting to know him better while on your trip.

“Hey, I actually do have a question.” You hadn’t really thought of it before, the rush to get out of Santo Padre had you rolling with the punches, just going where you’re told to help get the crew out as fast as possible, but with distance, you are starting to relax and your mind is starting to clear.

“What’s that?”

“How do you guys divide up rooms?”

He shrugs. “Usually we just get a block of rooms and it’s kind of a free for all, you just crash wherever.”

That makes sense. The guys don’t travel with a lot of luggage, it’s not like it’s not super easy for them to switch rooms at a moment's notice. Hell, for all you know, you might switch rooms every night while you are in Vegas to keep things harder to track. You probably should have asked more questions, but you trusted Bishop to keep you safe, so you didn’t really put too much thought into it.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, noticing how you are chewing on your lip. “Scared about bunking with someone?”

You laugh. These men are your brothers. You’d happily spend time with any of them. “No, more worried about Bishop not letting me out of his sight the whole time we‘re here.”

He nods his head to the side. “That’s fair. I think him and Taza usually bunk up, always having other Presidents and stuff over. You should be safe.”

You bite your lip again, wondering who you will get paired up with. There’s some obvious sets already, Angel and EZ, Bishop and Taza. But what actually happens, you should have seen coming.

Of course, Bishop would want you safe, but you couldn’t stay with him. And after recent revelations, there’s no way he was going to let you bunk with Angel, EZ, Coco, or Gilly. You’d thought maybe you’d stay with Creeper since he’d had you in the van together, but when you all walked into the lobby and Bishop started handing out key cards, he went with Riz.

You sigh, turning towards your new roommate. “Well, looks like you’re with me.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing, querida.”

You smile, reaching for your bag but he snatches it up before you can. If it had been anyone else, you might have made a snarky comment about being able to carry your own bag, but you know he didn’t have any bad intentions with his gesture. “Come on, Hank. Let’s get some sleep.”

PART 10<- will be unlocked at 50 notes

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

#cricket writes things #Mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #Angel reyes #ez reyes #johnny coco cruz #neron creeper vargas #Gilly Lopez #Hank loza

107 notes · View notes

minimel-fics · 2 years

Text

Creeper immediately after inspiring a terrible idea:

Red Velvet: stitch 8

Mayans x SOA

CHAPTER LIST

SUMMARY: You get a firsthand look at life on the road with the guys and figure out where you’re headed.

WARNINGS: 18+ only, cussing, mockery, 1.6k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I had so much fun writing this chapter, I don’t even care if any of it is accurate.

“Well, this is going to get annoying.” You’d only been on the road about an hour and a half when you had to pull over for gas. You’d watched everyone circle around to the tank before you left the scrapyard, so when you set out, you knew everyone had a full tank.

Creeper just chuckles. “You see how small the gas tanks are, baby girl? Can’t get the same kind of distance as a cage.”

It’s not that the ‘cage’ got any better mileage, it's that the van had the capability to hold ten times as much fuel. “Well, I guess that means we’ll never run out of snacks.” You grab the door handle, getting ready to exit the van.

“Oh, no, baby girl,” Creeper says, pressing the door lock. “You don’t go in alone.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You try the handle, but the door doesn’t budge. “Okay, so go with me, then.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy. “And leave the van alone?”

“Okay, I admit, that was dumb.” You fall back in your seat. “Okay, so what’s the proper protocol? You know I’ve never gone on a run with you before.”

“The first two guys to finish getting gas pull around by the van, opening the pumps for the next guys. Depending on who needs what, they wait with the van, or go inside.” You look at him incredulously. “What?”

“I just,” you shake your head, blinking your eyes. “I didn’t realize how much of the outlaw code relied on the kindergarten buddy system. Do you guys have nap time, too?”

Creeper frowns at you. “This is why you don’t get to come on runs.”

“What? Are you going to tell dad to ground me?” Someone knocks on the window and you startle, turning to see the man in question. You hit the window button, surprised to see it roll down. You thought Creeper would have locked those, too. “Bishop, can you tell Creeper to unlock the van door so I can go inside and get snacks?”

He looks over his shoulder. “Once someone else is done, I’ll go in with you.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s an empty gas station, Bishop. How much trouble could I possibly get into?” He looks back at you, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, don’t answer that.” You huff, hoping someone finishes up soon, when a thought occurs to you. “Wait, I never did ask. Where are we going?”

Bishop pulls the cigarette from his mouth. You don’t say anything to him about how it's more dangerous to smoke at the gas station than to let you buy a bag of funyuns alone. At least he waited until he left the pump to light up. “Vegas.”

Your jaw drops. “As in Las Vegas? Sin City?”

He smiles at the excitement in your voice. “The one and the same.”

“But, wait. Won’t that place be crawling with cops?” As much as you loved the idea of going to Las Vegas, you can’t imagine that is somewhere you want to drag in and divvy up a ton of cocaine.

“The good thing about being tied to the Galindo cartel is being able to use the Galindo name. Even the authorities in Vegas won’t touch him.”

“Yea, but, if they are planning to raid his house, won’t it seem a little fishy when he checks into a hotel in Vegas on the same day?” Maybe you spent too many hours watching drama TV, but there had to be something else you are missing. There is no way they were in Templo for that long to come up with a plan like this, one you could debunk in moments.

Creeper laughs. “You think someone like Miguel goes to Vegas and rents a hotel room? Baby girl, he owns the hotel.”

That….makes more sense. Rooms can be booked for any reason, the tracks covered by using any name you want, just credit the room or write it off as business use and boom. You can move in whatever you want. Hell, you could probably book the conference room and cut the keys on site if you wanted.

“Yea, okay. That makes more sense.” Finally, someone else finishes fueling up, pulling around. “Want anything, Creep?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, holding up his bottle of water. Even if he does end up wanting something, it’s not like you aren’t going to be stopping in another hundred and some miles anyway to fuel up again.

He clicks the lock on the doors, releasing you from the van. You jump down, tugging up your pants before walking towards the gas station, Bishop right beside you. Before you enter, he drops the smoke, snubbing it out with his toe. It’s a decent gas station, plenty of premium choices for snacks and you start filling up your arms before you even make it around to the drink coolers. “We do stop for meals, you know.”

You turn, looking at Bishop who’s grabbed a single slim jim. “No, I wouldn’t know that, would I?” You drop half your snacks on the shelf, not even bothering to put them back in their proper home. “I figured you guys just stopped for gas and nicotine, riding through the darkness of night until you couldn’t drive anymore, then slept on the side of the road or something.”

Bishop's smile grows throughout your tirade, his eyes squinting and dimples on display. “Yea, sometimes it can be like that, but once we get out of California, we will stop for some breakfast.”

You can’t help but perk up at the idea of walking into a diner, surrounded by men in kuttes at close to five a.m. “Yea, okay.” You set down even more snacks, hanging on to your cosmic brownie and funyuns. “But I’m still getting these.”

“Then put them on the counter, sweetheart.”

By the time you check out, also grabbing yourself a drink, all of the guys are done filling up and they have pulled over by the van and are waiting on you.

“Come on, querida,” Angel yells. “You’re burning daylight.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s night time, Angel.”

“Eh, you know what I mean,” he says, waving his hand.

You slip back into the van, watching as Bishop mounts his bike and pulls out onto the road, everyone filing in behind him, followed by you and Creeper.

The timing couldn’t have worked out better, really. By the time the vote had been called and everyone got their shit together, you were able to have the van loaded and be able to leave Santo Padre quietly in the middle of the night. Well, as quietly as a pack of motorcycles can be.

“Have you been to Vegas before?”

You shake your head, “Nope.”

“Oh, you’ll love it. It’s a party all day, every day. The food is amazing. Best gambling in the world,” Creeper says, eyes getting starry as he looks out into the night like he can already see the lights of Vegas on the horizon.

You scrunch up your face. “The party and the food sounds fun, but not the gambling.”

“What? No dreams of hitting it big in Vegas?”

“No way, I work too hard for my money to feed it to a slot machine.” You’d never understand the people that took their hard earned money and literally gave it all away, risking it all on the chance of ‘hitting it big’. Most of the people in Vegas, outside of the high roller’s room anyway, are up to their eyeballs in debt. Just the thought sends a chill down your spine.

“There’s more than just slot machines,” he says.

“Yea, but they still ain’t getting my money.”

He turns, giving you an obvious once over. “A girl like you doesn’t need to gamble with her own money.”

You cock an eyebrow at him, rolling your neck to the side. “And just what do you mean by that?”

He holds up his hand. “No offense meant. I’m just saying, put on some heels and a nice dress, you can walk up to any man on the floor and he’d hand his chips over just to have you hanging on his arm.”

You turn your eyes back to the road, biting your lip. If what Creeper said is true, you could make a killing during your stay in Vegas. It would be easy to flirt with some guys, palm a couple chips. Hell, if you do manage to win them something, they might even toss a few chips your way for the trouble. You’d packed a couple nice dresses, not sure what you'd need, and it’s not like there wouldn’t be shopping available on the strip. There was the buddy system to consider, but you can’t imagine that after everything else you’d done that EZ, Angel, Gilly, and Coco wouldn’t be willing to pair up with you to make it happen.

“You might be onto something there, Creep.”

“Uh, oh.” He flips on the overhead light in the van. “I don’t like that look on your face.”

Squinting at the light, you smack his arm. “Turn that thing off.” He finally does and you give your eyes a moment to adjust. “What look?”

“That ‘look’ like you are going to do something to get in trouble.”

“What’s the old saying?” You can see the frown on his face illuminated in the dash lights. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

PART 9<- will be unlocked at 50 notes

**Also, just so you are aware for generating notes. Like = 1 note, reblog = 1 note, comment in the comment bubble = 2 notes (because I will always respond) so 1 person can generate 4 notes!

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

#cricket writes things #neron creeper vargas #mayans mc #bishop losa #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fanfiction

113 notes · View notes