#mayans au

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Fuck, Marry, Kill me now

Pairing: Bishop Losa x F!OC Bishop's wife x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), Threesome, slightly shy reader, Alcohol

Summary: You'd been working at the clubhouse bar for quite some time, and it was apparent that Bishop and his wife were the hottest thing in Santo Padre since hell lit up. Sure, you'd indulged and thought about what it'd be like to be sandwiched inbetween them, who wouldnt? But you assumed that it was always going to be a fantasy, that is until you're overheard one night playing a rather revealing drinking game...

A/N: Had this in the drafts for a while and had a little bit of time to finish it tonight. I just think that S1-2 Bishop and a potential badass hot wife topping me would be really fun and I just let my little bi heart run wild with this one.

It was crazy how a slip up one night playing such a silly game would change the course of your sex life forever, but then again things around Santo Padre were rarely normal. When nights spent dodging gunfire and flirting with killers was considered the usual it made sense that you’d end up in bed with Bishop and his old lady. 

It had been a slow night in the clubhouse. The guys were busy and wrapped up in so much of their own shit, that for once it was just you and the girls who worked the bar that remained. Normally you’d be up late cleaning. However that night, the little wooden shack was as clean as it could get, and when the boys were away it was only natural for you all to unwind a little.

So what did you all decide to do with your free time? Play stupid ass drinking games of course.

“Ok! Fuck, Marry, Killlllll…” Victoria shouted, breaking through everyone's giggles

The clubhouse had been practically shaking with everyone's laughter and it was filled with loud music playing over crackly bluetooth speakers. You were alive with the buzz of the cheap tequila that no one felt the boys would miss, and more energised than you’d been in a long time. 

Everyone managed to shut up for a second as Victoria glared around with her narrowed eyes and shushed till there was quiet. She’d looked around, trailing her gaze from the girls on the sofas and round everyone else sat on the rickety chairs that had been haphazardly sprawled in a messy circle. Once she was satisfied that the only noise left was the bassy music, she grinned like a vixen.

“Fuck, marry, kill: Creeper, Riz and Taz. Bambi, you start!” She said, directing her gaze at you.

They’d taken to calling you Bambi ever since your first day when you tripped up on spilt beer, and they’d never let you live it down. Although, if you were honest, you’d been clumsy plenty of times since then as well. It would always elicit an “aw, bambi” everytime. 

Everyone’s eyes were heavy on you, you felt a heat creep into your cheeks and looked down, avoiding all the stares. You’d much preferred truth or dare. Being made to make out and give fake lap dances was much more preferable than having to decide the fates of each of your bosses. What if it got back to any of them?

You had to come out of this night and continue to see them all everyday for christ sakes!

“Oh um…god do we have to do this,” you grumbled, taking another shot of tequilla.

You winced as it burned its way down your throat and grimaced further when you saw everyone rolling their eyes and folding their arms at you. You’d made an admirable suggestion, but clearly they weren’t biting. 

Fine then. The extra tequila had emboldened you at least. 

“Umm, ok well I guess fuck Riz,” you said with a shrug, taking out the easiest first. “Then-”

“Oh my god! What! Fuck Riz,” Lucia screamed, “Out of all those boys?”

“Lucia, don’t interrupt!” Victoria hissed, looking to her and back to you. “However, an explanation for each of your choices is vital in playing this game.”

You rolled your eyes at the added rules and went to grab the bottle of Jose Cuervo, but it was snatched from your grasp before you could pour another shot. Victoria met your glare with glee and held her finger up, waggling it at you.

“You only get to drink once you answer the question!”

“And give an explanation,” one of the other girls added.

You sighed, feeling a heaviness grow in your stomach as you got paranoid about the guys suddenly coming back and hearing you. Or even, what if they had cameras in the clubhouse? What if they were listening right then! 

You shook your head and took a breath, realising you were getting carried away with yourself. The sooner you answered the question the sooner the attention would be away from you.

“Fuck Riz cause he’s like the youngest so he’ll have stamina, Marry Creeper cause he has nice eyes, and kill Taza cause to be honest,” you shrugged, “his whole silent broody thing would get annoying.”

Everyone burst out laughing, but soon enough everyone else began rattling off their choices and reasons and the heat was off of you. Thank christ. 

You’d taken your winning shot and soon enough you were beginning to feel yourself slipping from tipsy to full on drunk. You were feeling more sloppy and free by the minute and suddenly you didn’t mind so much that you were all thirsting after the guys or plotting their demise. You were all equally as incriminated as each other at least.

I’d fuck him because he has all of those cool tattoos.

I’d kill him because I’d rather puke than wake up to him any day of the week.

I’d marry him because he has the biggest dick. Ask me how I know, someone please!

I’d kill him because he’d give me an STD…again.

You were surprised all the screeching you’d all been doing hadn’t summoned law enforcement. Though, no sirens or flashing lights came. Everyone just kept cycling through different combinations of guys and giving ever increasingly revealing answers. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed this much.

“Ok,ok,ok!” Victoria said, once again having to break up the raucous. “We haven’t done…um-hm…oh, oh, I know! Bishop, Angel, Coco! Who’s taking it?”

“Bambi hasn’t answered in a while,” Lucia chimed.

“Ew! Coco’s my cousin!” You squealed, making a gagging motion straight after. “I’d like to think that disqualifies me.”

“Oh shit…well you can still answer, just kill him,” Lucia said nonchalantly, taking another shot. 

Soon enough all the eyes were on you again, but the nervous feeling that had crept up your spine before was nowhere to be found. All your inhibitions were lowered and you didn’t care what all the other girls thought now. Especially when they’d all clearly been so much more involved in the club than you. So much more. 

“Right so killing Coco right away leaves me with…” you sighed, thinking about your next two choices carefully. “I guess…nah you know what, I’d kill Coco and Angel so I could fuck Bish and his hot old lady. AKA, create the only threesome worth being in.”

Of course your answer brought on the most squealing out of all the others. No one had chosen to break the rules yet, but your revelation had them all jumping up out of their seats and waving their drinks around. You, meanwhile, bit your lip and wondered if they’d all remember this the next day. You’d always been so shy usually, but the drinking and the easy atmosphere had broken down your barriers and you were already starting to regret it. 

“What’d I say it’s always the quiet ones!” Lucia cackled 

You felt your cheeks heat again, but you didn’t feel half as guilty. Your revelation was nowhere near as embarrassing as all the others you supposed. That is…only for the following few seconds.

“You think about that threesome alot, bambi?” A voice called out from the doorway.

That familiar voice cut thickly through the squeals and the music and suddenly it was as if time stopped. Your throat went dry and suddenly the scent of cheap booze and skunky smoke died out when the chill night air crept in from the widened doorway. 

A curvy silhouette loomed from the entrance, standing in all her glory. Her tattoos were barely visible in the darkness, but her sparkly makeup and raven hair shone in the moonlight. It was Daniela herself, in all her chilling glory.  

The way she’d said your name was frightening, as if you were little again and had gotten in trouble with the teacher. It felt like you were only two feet tall. You gulped and timidly stared over to the door, suddenly feeling more sober than you’d ever felt in your life. A chill clawed its way up your back when you locked eyes with the very woman you’d spoken of. 

Speak of the devil and his old lady and one of them shall appear apparently. 

“Daniela,” you squeaked.

Suddenly, despite not being very religious, you were scraping to recall the name of every saint you’d ever heard of and started mentally praying. You’d do the sign of the cross if it weren’t for every muscle in your body going taught with fear. You could only hope that given you were Coco’s cousin, he could do something to stop you from being ditched in an unmarked grave. Although, just as you’d come to think of it, you doubted it highly. 

“I think it’s time you all left, hm girls?” Daniela said, placing her hands on her hips.

That was the cue for everyone to leave. The cacophony of scraping chairs and dropped glasses was all you could process until suddenly you hopped into action. You realised you were about to be the only one left behind. And you’d be damned if you were just going to let it happen. 

You went to rush past Daniela and lose yourself in the crowd, but you had no such luck. She grabbed you with ease, like a hawk snatching a mouse, just before you could run out. Just as you were about to taste freedom. 

Soon enough you found yourself alone with Daniela’s claw like nails rooted into you. Only you and her, staring into each other's eyes, feeling like you’d lost a war. You could feel a tear threaten to fall, and flinched when Daniela raised her hand. Though, instead of slapping you, she brought her palm delicately to your cheek and stroked over your smooth skin. You would've moaned if this were any other situation. 

You opened your eyes again and frowned, staring into her honey brown irises and getting lost in them. You felt like a heavy tongued idiot. You were lost for words. You wanted to apologise profusely but you couldn’t bring yourself to break the now stark silence. So she broke it for you.

“You know what, I’m flattered,” She said finally. “I’m not even mad.”

You felt your eyes widen in shock and before you could even think to control it, your jaw dropped. You’d need to pick your chin off the floor to get home. 

“Y-you uh, you’re not?” you said, stealing a glance out the door, looking to see if any of the girls had remained. 

“Nah, I just figured I’d clear everybody out. Bish is meeting me back here and I’m gonna fuck his brains out. I thought I’d prefer not to have an audience,” she shrugged, talking as if she were discussing doing the laundry. 

Your heart skipped a beat and if you weren’t already gaping like a fish you’d be doing it again. For a split second you wondered if that was an invite, but you immediately dismissed the thought. You knew how possessive she was of her man, there was no way she’d share.

“So um…can i go?” you asked, coming to your senses finally.

“Of course,” she smiled sweetly, tapping you on the nose like you were a child. “After you clean up all the mess you and your little friends made.”

Your smile fell as she added on the second part, but soon you’d decided it was better not to test her patience any further. You nodded mindlessly and rushed over to where you and the girls had been gathered before, taking glasses into your arms and dumping them in the sink. You cleared up all the rubbish and moved the chairs back to their old spots, and just as you were about to rush over to the sink and wash the glasses you heard Daniela clear her throat.

“You can get to those in the morning,” she said, waving you off. “Obispo will be here any minute and I fully intend to be spread out on that pool table by the time he arrives.”

You took a glance over to the battered old pool table she’d spoken of then back at her, nodding dumbly once again. You considered it a blessing she was letting you off the hook with what was basically doing chores, and thought better than to say anything more incriminating than you already had.. 

You were about to turn to the doorway, but just as she jumped up on her table, she interrupted your departure. The way she spoke made your veins freeze. 

“If you were anyone else I’d have slit your throat in a fucking second…but you’re too sweet to worry about, aren’t you bambi?”

Your throat closed over as your gaze travelled over her figure. She was sitting with her soft legs spread out over the edge of the table, heels dangling in the air, her pouty lips looked so pretty you could hardly believe she threatened you with them.

But she had.

“I swear, I wouldn’t ever-”

“I know you wouldn’t,” she said, grinning like a cheshire cat, “You can go now.”

Breath returned to your body and you raced out, not wasting a second more to stick around and see if she would stab you, afterall. You raced out into the night, feeling your heart pumping in your ears and took off down the road. You didn’t care you’d be running forever to get home, in your flats no less, you were just grateful to remain alive.

-💀-

It’d been a week since you’d last shown up at the clubhouse and if you were being honest, you hadn’t thought you’d ever show again. Coco had messaged a few times wondering where you got to, and of course some of the girls had tried to pull some gossip from you, but you’d ignored them all. You were content to leave the bar behind forever.

Though that wasn’t what fate had in store for you.

You’d been sitting in your room all day flicking through social media and half heartedly looking for a normal job when you heard the familiar call of a harley racing down the road. You sighed and hoped that it wouldn’t stop, but ultimately the engine cut out in front of your house and wouldn’t you know it, the doorbell rang. 

At that time in the evening you knew it could only mean one thing. Someone wanted you to come in to work. 

You crept up from your bed, chest constricting like crazy and silently made your way to the door. After peering up into the peephole, you cursed and rolled your eyes at yourself, unlocking the entryway soon after. It was only Coco.

“Fucking hell,” you hissed. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh my bad. I guess calling in for your cousin is rude these days! You haven’t answered your phone in ages, you’ve not been turning up for work, I thought you’d died or something, stupid!” Coco ranted.

You heaved out a breath and folded your arms, raising your chin in defiance. 

“Well as you can see, I’m fine. You can go,” you smiled, ready to close the door in his face.

“No, I can’t go,” Coco said, jamming his foot in your doorway. “I think Bish is mad you haven’t turned up in a while. He sent me here to ask you to come in tonight, there’s a party on and he needs girls at the bar.”

You’d pretty much tuned out as soon as the words “Bish is mad” left his mouth. Oh god, you were going to have to pay the piper now. Would you have to leave town? Could you do that? No, you didn’t have any money to your name and you had no way of getting any either. You were screwed. 

“B-Bishop asked for me?” you stuttered.

“Yeah. He still wants you round even after you’ve been all flaky and shit. Can I tell him you’ll be there or do I have to drag you in tonight?” Coco asked, his hard glare fixing on you. “Don’t forget who vouched for you! You messing Bishop around, makes it look like I’m messing him around, remember?”

“Ok, ok, jesus! Fine. I’ll come in. When does he need me?” you relented, feeling guilty that your fuckup would land on him.

“The others are there now. Just get ready and come in!”

-💀-

And so, that’s how you found yourself standing in front of the monolith that was the clubhouse. There was a knot in your stomach and a ringing in your ears that hadn’t left since the moment you’d slammed the door on Coco. This is the dump I’m gonna die in, you thought. 

You took a breath and ran a shaky hand through your styled hair, finally stepping toward the doorway. It felt like it weighed a ton. You slid through it like a shadow and just as you were hoping to make a low key entrance you heard gasps sound out around the room as everyone took you in. You’d been announced. Great.

“Holy shit, she’s still alive!” you could hear someone not so subtly whisper. 

You rolled your eyes and moved to go around back and put your things away, returning again to see everyone still staring. Apparently you were the biggest attraction of the night, dead girl walking was a hit.

“Yes, I’m here! What needs to be done?” you asked finally, hoping you could alleviate the tension.

They all ogled you for a little longer, but soon enough, Victoria stepped out from the small crowd and shoved you toward the bar, getting you to help load up on drinks. It was only then that everyone broke out of their collective trance and allowed you to get on with your business, not wanting to be seen slacking.

As everything returned to normal, everyone busying up around you, you started to feel at ease. It was like any other day in the clubhouse, like a natural rhythm had returned to the place. You got stuck into the routine of helping everyone and even managed to crack a smile or two. Things were going to be alright.

However, because you’d had your guard down you were entirely unprepared for what happened when the guys filtered in. As always, you’d gotten to work fetching them drinks and chatting away, engaging in your job and enjoying their playful flirting. Then, just as you’d grabbed Creeper a beer you froze when a worn hand reached out of nowhere and settled on your back.

You froze completely, knowing exactly whose hand it was before you’d even looked. You could smell the signature mix of faint perfume and strong tobacco that only ever emanated from one man after he was done fucking a certain someone.

“Nice to see you back, querida.”

You turned and locked eyes with the president, sheepishly offering him a smile and hoping you could sink into the ground. Though no amount of wishing would make it happen. He stood before you in his tight grey shirt and signature kutte looking just as handsome as ever. He even had a little scratch by his eye that added to that roguish handsome look. 

Oh shit snap out of it! 

Just as you were about to offer up a thousand apologies and plead for your life, he moved his hand round to your hip and tightened his grip. His rough lips hovered by the curve of your ear. You could feel his breath wash over your flesh and leave it in a goosebumpy mess. 

“Make sure to stay for the whole night. We have a job for you later,” he whispered, pulling away and winking at you.

You gawped at him and watched as he stalked off to go find someone that could go get him a drink. A girl that could actually function. He’d known he’d short circuited you for the time being. A job? You had no idea what that could mean and you could only stand and let the cogs in your mind turn as you tried to work out what that meant.

He didn’t seem malicious in any way when he’d said it. No, he just had that classic Bishop charm about him, he’d swaggered off as if he’d just told you he’d won a bet. No, he wasn’t mad and ready to kill you, he was…if you weren’t mistaken, the mood that burned in his chestnut eyes was…excited. 

“What was that all about?” 

You snapped out of your thoughts and whirled around to see Coco’s confused face, biting your lip as you tried to come up with an excuse. 

The fact that the threesome thing hadn’t spread round the whole club like wildfire had you questioning the gossip mill. Though, you recalled there had been so much spread round that night, perhaps they’d been worried that once one secret split the whole dam would break. That wouldn’t end well for most of the girls. 

You sighed and got your thoughts in line, shaking your head.

“None of your damn business, Johnny,” you snapped.

Coco looked stunned for a second, but soon enough he’d shrugged it off and stalked back to Angel with a “whatever”. 

Thank god Coco wasn’t the inquisitive type, you thought. You shrugged and got back to work, soon realising that guys from different charters were filtering in and they needed paying attention to the most. You had to make a good impression for the club. For Bishop, a small voice chimes in the back of your head. 

From then on, you kept your mind on serving and tried desperately not to think about what Bishop had talked about. You hoped that if you kept your mind off of it, he wouldn’t turn around and decide to shoot you in the head. Acting like some kind of Gomez Adams for his Morticia, it would be just like him to do something morbid in the name of love. 

As the night went on the crowd had swelled and grown rowdier and rowdier, when the boys celebrated they celebrated hard. Though, eventually they began to filter out. Guys were finding girls to take to seedy motels and as it got later there were more and more people dropping like flies, passing out over the couches and floors.

Daniela had caught your eye at one point in the night, she’d been standing by the pool table and winked at you when you caught her gaze, looking pointedly at the table just to remind you that she’d been on it not so long ago, probably fucking in every position there was. It made you shudder, though whether from fear or something else you couldn’t be sure. All you knew was that you felt warmth swirling in you soon after.

You kept your head down despite it though. You went through the motions of grabbing more beers and cleaning bottles, trying to do damage control for the next day. Just as you were grabbing a couple of empty Coors, you were stopped from putting them away when a body stepped into your path. 

You inhaled deeply and stared up from her fishnet clad legs, and finally to Daniela’s face. Apparently your fight or flight instit was lacking because instead of running away like a scared little girl, you froze and looked up at her like a deer in headlights. Your hands shook and you dropped the bottles, wincing when they crashed to the floor and smashed neatly at your feet.

A couple of glances went your way, but soon enough everyone got back to their own business, not wanting to be caught staring at Bishop’s old lady. You gulped and were about to start babbling like an idiot, scrambling for an apology, but apparently you were too scared to do that too.

“Careful, bambi,” Daniela drawled, kicking the big shards out the way with her chunky heels. “Don’t want you to get hurt. We’ve got big plans for you.”

“Y-you have?”

“Mmm, thought I told you, Bambi,” A voice growled from behind you. “We have a proposition for you.”

You turned quickly and spun right into Bishop, eyes going wide as you stared at the president. His expression was unreadable, his eyes were intense on you but his lips were quirked in a slight smile. You had no idea what was going to happen. Though you had noticed he’d changed from saying it was a job and now a proposition all of a sudden. What did that mean exactly? 

They were either going to fuck you or have fun fucking each other after disposing of your corpse. You’d narrowed it down to those possibilities at least.

You gulped and just as you were about to move out of Bishop’s space, he grabbed your arms and pulled you toward him, pressing his mouth to your ear. You could feel the warm leather of his kutte and the tickle of his moustache light up your flesh, drawing more shallow breaths from you.

“Be a good girl and come with us,” he whispered lowly. 

You nodded, feeling your throat go dry and your heart race. This was it, you were going to find out what fate they had in store for you. Once Bishop was satisfied you’d follow, he released you from his tight grip and walked ahead toward templo. He navigated expertly round fallen drunk bodies while you stumbled forward and Daniela followed behind.

You felt small again when you finally walked into the sacred space, swallowed into the darkness and feeling 2 feet tall. There was only one dim light illuminating the room and it flickered ever so slightly, putting your nerves on edge. You bit your lip and just as you were about to ask what they wanted with you, you cried out when you were shoved toward the table. 

You slammed back into it, grabbing the rough edge with your hands, feeling the cold hardwood dig into your back. Everything seemed to be happening too fast, the room was spinning. The two figures advanced toward you. You swallowed down a breath and watched as they both came to a stop and looked from you to each other with heavy lidded gazes and restless hands.

“Was it true what you said that night?” Bishop finally said, reaching out and tucking a stray bit of hair behind your ear.

Your flesh burned as his calloused hands stroked circles into it. It felt like your blood was igniting in your veins right there and you were going to burn up. Though, maybe that was just the shyness that was eating you up as you tried to avoid their eyes.

“W-what?” You finally asked, mentally cursing at how dumb you sounded.

“Oh, Bambi, don’t play stupid,” Daniela said, reaching out and digging her freshly manicured nails into the soft flesh of your thigh. “Do you need me to repeat what you said?”

Your leg burned where her nails were scraping, but that sensation combined with Bishop’s hands softly grazing your face was enough to have you shaking with pleasure. You knew for a fact if you touched yourself right now you’d be on fire, you’d be dripping. 

“I- uh-”

“You said that if you had the choice you’d want to fuck Bishop and his hot old lady,” she interrupted, grinning effortlessly with that pearly white smile of hers.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” You giggled nervously, feeling your stomach flutter.

Bishop chuckled at you, revelling in how shy you were. It wasn’t what he was used to and part of him was excited by it. He liked knowing that you held them to such a high regard, he was getting off on the fact that you were there on that table, letting them touch you and clearly getting just as horny as they were. Even despite your fear.

He’d looked over to his wife and grinned when he caught his mirror image, his woman thinking just the same. Daniela was possessive of her man sure, but there was something about you that made her want to own you too. To have you there admiring her and Bishop like they were Mayan gods and you a disciple, she wanted to be worshipped and she knew she could get that from you. Her own little endorphin shot. 

“When Dani told me what you said, I thought it was cute. I was surprised that she let you away so lightly, but then it occurred to me that maybe she actually liked your little idea…and then when we were on that pool table and I asked her if she wanted to make you our little bitch she clenched on me like a fucking vice, bambi,” Bishop rasped, suddenly gripping your jaw and making you gasp. 

You squeaked at the thought of them discussing you while they fucked and swore that you’d feint right then and there. Was this a dream? You licked your lips and stole glances at both of them, feeling your thighs start to tremble and grow light. You were clutching at the table just to stay up now. 

“So what do you say? You wanna be part of the only threesome worth being in?” Daniela asked innocently, trailing her nails gently up and down your thighs now. “You can say no if you want to. But something tells me you won’t.”

If your heart were to beat any faster you’d be sure that they’d both have heard it. You were incapable of forming any words now, your lips were about to open and form some sort of reply but then your head was too empty to come up with anything. You just nodded instead, slowly at first and then frenzied, moaning under your breath. You’d be crazy to say no. 

And just like that, it felt like you’d  ordered a hit on yourself. Bishop fastened this hand around your neck and his eyes transformed into darkened pits. Daniela moved behind Bishop and kissed his neck, grinning at you impishly while you stared up with big helpless eyes. 

“Get on your knees then, Bambi. Be a good girl for us,” Bishop growled. 

You whimpered and did as he said straight away, falling to your feet and landing straight by his crotch. That wasn’t an accident though, he pushed your face into it and had you inhaling his hardness. You were flush with his pulsing dick, feeling as it grew bigger with every passing second, throbbing away at your heating cheeks.

Daniela moved around to your back, coming to Bishop’s front so that she could share a passionate kiss with him. You could hear their breaths come in hot and heavy while you lingered there by Bishop, feeling your eyes grow progressively wider as you realised how huge he actually was. Your breath started to go and for a second as you watched them, a silent observer allowed into their love making. You couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Thats a real man’s cock right there Bambi. Guaranteed better than any son of a bitch you’ve ever been with” Daniela said, voice heavy with lust as she spared a glance down at you. “Do you want a taste? Wanna get it warmed up for me?”

“Fuck yes,” you moaned.

You didn’t need to think twice about it. You were practically salivating already. You reached up to his waistband and grabbed at his belt, pawing it off and making quick work of his buttons. It sprang out hard and thick right before your eyes and had you already gasping as you took it in fully. Daniela wasn’t kidding, that dick was better than any other you’d seen before.  

“Mmm, she’s so eager, baby. She’s a little slut for us,” Bishop groaned, fisting his hand into your hair. 

You whimpered at his words, but you didn’t have anything to say back to that. You were a slut when it came to them apparently. Especially when Bishop was gripping your head and holding his cock out to you like you were his loyal pet and that was your treat. In fact, the situation didn’t feel far off. 

“You want this cock? You tell us how much you want it, tell us how much of a whore you are,” Bishop grinned.

You looked up helplessly to them both and bit your lip, repressing your embarrassed smile. This was like Christmas. This was a dream come to life, they were so degrading, but you loved it. How could you not revel in their attentions, whatever attention that might be. 

“I’m a whore,” you murmured at first, still chewing on your lip. “I’m a little whore and I wanna warm your cock up for Daniela, gonna get it nice and wet.”

Daniela’s eyes lit up when you said her name and she smiled wide at your admission. She was getting off on this just as much as you were. You felt her chase off Bishop’s hand from your head and replaced it with her own. She urged you toward her husband's cock and guided you, telling you how to lick and suck it just right. 

While you nuzzled at Bishop’s crotch, Bishop got to work undressing his wife. He unbuttoned her tight black denim shorts and rucked them down with her fishnets, pulling her top over her head straight after and chucking it away without ceremony. Her soft curvy body was revealed to you in full and you almost choked in double when you saw her standing above you like something out of a dirty film. 

“You think she’s pretty, Bambi? Tell her how pretty she is,” Bishop grunted, straining with effort. “My beautiful fuckin’ wife.”

Oh, she was pretty alright. You squeaked when Bishop pulled his cock from your mouth. 

“You’re like a goddess,” you breathed, licking your wet lips. “So pretty.”

“Aren’t you sweet, bambi! Why don’t you come up and give me a kiss?”

It was like you were hypnotised. You stood immediately, eager to do whatever she asked and kissed her. She was so soft and warm, and she tasted like sugar and fruity cocktails. Just like heaven. You were losing yourself, feeling like you were falling into a fantasy. 

Before you could fully comprehend that your own clothes were coming off, you were standing before her equally naked. Bishop had expertly taken down zippers and buttons and shrugged off every last scrap of material, which you’d failed to notice until you felt him pressed to your back. The rough leather of his kutte sent shivers through your spine. 

“You’re a pretty little thing yourself,” he said in a lowly voice. “Been hiding all this away from us, you little minx.”

Soon enough you were sandwiched between them, lost in kissing Daniela and then being turned to kiss Bishop, until eventually you were all naked and making out in a sloppy circle. It felt like your breath was getting heavier and heavier, your head was light and suddenly you were feeling a high you’d never felt before, moaning lowly into their sweet mouths. 

“Such a needy little whore, Bambi,” Bishop rasped, pulling away from your desperate mouth. “Why don’t you bend over that table and show us that cute little ass, huh?”

In less than a second you were bent over the table, staring into the darkness at the end of the room as the couple indulged in looking you over. You could feel the heavy weight of their stares on you. Their hands drifted over your cheeks, pulling and squeezing and scraping their nails, drowning you in a flurry of feelings. 

Then, before you could prepare for it, a sharp slap fell over your ass causing you to cry out and look back at them both with wide eyes. It had your heart thumping and spine tingling. 

“Aw, does baby not like it too rough?” Daniela teased. 

“No-yes, i mean- wait yes do it again,” you rasped, not quite all there enough to be coherent. 

“Poor kitten, doesn’t know what way’s up,” Bishop chuckled, following up with another hard slap. 

“She doesn’t need to, just needs to do what she’s told, right baby?”

“Right.”

You Yelp again when another slap comes and feel your head grow fuzzy, losing yourself in the burning. It’s not long until the unforgiving slaps are replaced with fingers working their way past your thighs and through your folds. There’s a buzz letting loose through your body and you can feel your tummy getting tight with the building sensation.

You’re getting wet, you can feel it and even hear it a little as Bishops fingers continue to work on you. He’s erratic, growing lazy as he makes out with his wife and slows down on you. It had you whimpering out with frustration. You need him to go a little faster, you need more. 

“Oh are you getting needy, Bambi?” Daniela asks, breaking away from her husband. “You need more?” 

“Uh huh, please please, more,” you beg, hoping for some relief.

You can hear them both whispering to each other for a moment, though what they’re saying you don’t know. All you were aware of was that Bishops hand had slowed to a complete stop. Now you were getting nothing. Were you above crying for more? The thought was filling your mind more than any other. 

A few moments later Daniela moved around to your front and stroked a hand through your hair. It had you arching your back. It wasn’t the touch you needed, but any sort of attention was something. It had you looking up into Daniela’s calculating eyes with a pleading look, watery with need. 

“Make some room, Bambi,” she murmured, her voice was sultry now. 

You picked up on her tone and the way her body leaned into the table, and realised her intentions right away. She wanted to sit in front of you, sit in front of your face. Your cheeks heated up, but you managed to oblige despite your brain melting down. 

You moved aside and let her lay in front of you, she was flat on the table. Her chest rising and falling a little heavier now that your breath was huffing out fast into her mound. Your eyelids were drooping heavily with lust. 

“Now, bambi, have you ever eaten pussy before?” bishop asks, renewing his teasing touches.

Bishops fingers are practically gliding through your lips. You’re so wet, so ready for him. Goddammit, why couldn’t he go a little faster? Wait - it registers he asked you a question. 

“Y-yes,” you answer shyly. “I was with a girl for a little bit.”

“Mhmm, that’s good bambi,” he chuckles, finger snagging at your entrance. “Bit of experience puts you at an advantage. See, the game is simple. If you can make my woman cum before I make you cum, I’ll be very generous. I’ll give you my cock. If not, then you can watch while I fuck my pretty little wife and then we’ll give you a spanking you won’t ever forget. What do you say?”

Your mind whirrs with what Bishop says and you feel your tummy do a flip. This is the hottest thing you’ll ever be involved in. This is a goddamned fantasy come true. You could hardly believe it was real. 

“Yes, Bishop! Yes, please,” you whine, already clasping at Daniela’s thick thighs.

Her skin is so soft you swear it’s like grasping at a cloud. You look over her body and bite your lip, you’re ready. You’re ready to lap at the glistening pussy in front of you, and you’re ready to get fucked by Bishop after your victory. You can practically feel the smile curling at your lips already. 

“Ugh, what are you waiting for, Bambi? You want a fucking invitation?” Daniela moaned out.

That’s all you needed. The game begins. You flick your tongue out gingerly to start with, picking up on the whimpers that work their way out of that pretty mouth. You listen out for every little whine and every twitch of her legs and stomach, responding to them all. Her warm salty taste drifts over your tongue and fills your senses, dulling your mind as it slowly grows drunk with need. Your strokes grow bolder and you pull yourself closer to her, nuzzling into her pussy and drawing out those delicious cries.

“That’s it, that’s it, oh my god!” She moaned out, getting lost in her reverie. 

“Mm, that feel good baby? You enjoying our little fucktoy?” Bishop asked, his voice thick with lust. 

“Yes, shit - yes!”

You could only be privy to their conversation, not a part of it. Although, you were so mentally occupied you couldn’t have even formed words anyway. 

Despite how busy you got yourself though, nothing could distract you from Bishop's fingers. They were so thick and had the perfect feel on your swollen clit. His calloused hands grazed on all the right spots. It had you writhing, almost screaming out when he started adding fingers inside you, stretching you out and making you crazy with lust. 

Your whole body was shaking. It felt like you were a firework about to explode. You can feel your legs losing all sensation, so overwhelmed by all the stimulation. Your head was feeling heavier and your jaw was slowly aching, there was a temptation to give into Bishop, to let go and let yourself cum on his skilful fingers. It’s not like you wouldn’t get off like crazy just watching Bishop and Daniela fucking, you’d thought to yourself. 

But, God, you didn’t really want to stop though. Hearing the noises that were coming out of Daniela was too heavenly. Knowing it was you and not Bishop doing that to her made it all the sweeter. Another moan came that made you redouble your efforts, curling your hand around her thigh even tighter and adding a finger and then another. You were creating a symphony of screams now. 

Your breaths were coming in sharp and fast, Bishop was chucking behind you. He knew how hard it was for you to keep going without cumming. Your thighs were shaking like mad and you were so wet and sloppy. 

“Aw, little bambi. That feel good? You like my fingers in your little pussy, hm? You wanna come on my hand? Wanna let go for me?” Bishop growled, egging you on. “C’mon Bambi, let go, cum for me.”

God he was gonna be the death of you. 

Your whole body felt completely overheated. Like you were going to melt all over the table. You were screaming out into Daniela’s pussy, but judging by the sounds drowning out your screams above you, she was close too. You were both writhing together like something out of a porno and Bishop was getting the perfect view of it all. He was the president in all aspects, the winner at the head of the table.

You sped up your pace, tongue moving wildly against her, fingers diving into her wetness with reckless abandon. You both sang together in a cacophony of moans, your throat was aching, Daniela was straining. 

Then, just as you were beginning to feel yourself give in to Bishop, you felt Daniela grab a fistful of your hair. She screamed and pushed herself onto you, drenching you in her wetness. 

“Fuck!” She was cursing, laying out a whole string of profanity. 

And soon enough you were chasing your high as well, coming apart on Bishop's fingers. Your entire body tensed up and then you were undone, your head was empty. All that was left was white noise and Daniela’s wetness all over your naked body. The sound of silence and your pleasure all swirling into a delicious ecstasy inside your mind.

“Ladies! That was quite a show. Look at you both,” Bishop chuckled, “Dani, my love, I’m almost jealous. How long’s it been since you were sprawled out like that for me?”

Bishop stood over your legs, shuttering them in between his big arms as he leaned on the table you were sprawled out on. The very table he used to conduct business everyday. The table where life and death decisions were made, where you’d had a little death of your own. 

“Mm, you had me like this this morning Obispo, don’t undersell yourself,” Daniela moaned, recovering her breath once again. “Shit, bambi, you really did a number on me. Who knew you had all that in you.”

You smiled weakly, head almost too full of fuzz to respond beyond a series of moans. Almost. You were coherent enough to feel proud of your achievement. You were practically glowing with the knowledge that you were the one that had Bishop's old lady screaming like that. 

“I got more in me if you want it,” you said brazenly, biting your lip while you gushed at her reaction. 

“Well you say that now…” she smiled, sitting up and stretching out toward you, locking you into a quick kiss. “But we’ll see how you do with getting fucked silly by my husband, hm?” 

You gulped, not realising what you’d gotten yourself into until Bishop was suddenly on you again, rutting into you with his big thick cock. He slicked it through your wet folds, stroking through the wetness there and getting himself ready to wreck you. You were already gripping at the table in anticipation. Soft whimpers escaping from your mouth.

He took his time getting prepared. Had you needily moaning into Daniela’s mouth as she continued to steal a taste of herself from your lips. Your head was still ringing with fuzz and static from your last orgasm, but already, you could feel another beginning to build. The way his cock was pressing up against your clit was slowly driving you wild.

“Are you ready for me, Bambi? Mhmm? Wanna cum all over my cock, filthy girl?” Bishop rasped, still lazily rutting against you.

You were freed for a moment to answer, though you were slow on the uptake. It was hard to answer when you were panting so hard and pussydrunk to boot. There was barely a neuron left firing in your head.

“Please,” you moaned, whimpering like a mess. “Please, Bishop. Wanna get fucked. Please fuck me.”

“Aw, you beg so pretty, Bambi,” Bishop teased, rocking deliberately harder against your clit. “What do you think, Dani? You think she’s ready?”

You looked up and gazed into Daniela’s eyes, watching as she surveyed the scene in front of her with a sly smile and wondered vaguely if you might still be up for the chopping block. There was something so unnerving about the way she was looking at you. Though, you would soon come to learn you weren’t half as prepared as you thought you were for the fucking you were about to recieve.

“Give it to her hard, baby. Make her scream!” she rasped, tightening her grip on your hair.

And just like that, she’d unleashed the bull from his pen. Bishop’s cock caught your entrance and punched up, sliding all the way in and to the point that you were already heaving breaths. The stinging of his fullness was soon replaced by waves of harsh pleasure that rolled and crashed, carrying you away into a sea of sensation.

You were screaming and clutching at Daniela, burying yourself in her softness, continuing to accept her sloppy kisses, until you were pushed back down to her pulsing pussy. It gave you the perfect excuse to grab onto her thighs, clutching at her as if you were drowning. You, buried yourself into her and lost yourself, moaning like someone possessed as the feeling of Bishop’s cock driving in and out of you sent you wild. In and out, pistoning like a porn star.

“This pussy feels so good Bambi, you got such a greedy little cunt. You’re falling apart for me like a little whore,” Bishop panted, still maintaining his punishing rhythm. “You gonna come for me again? Gonna make my dick feel good?”

You moaned, too lost in his wife’s pussy for any real words.

“Ugh, Bishop, my love, I can practically feel you through her, fuck,” Daniela moaned, banging her hand down on the table through a particularly hard thrust. 

“Yeah? She making you feel good, princessa? Fuck, such a good little fuck toy, isn’t she?”

“Ugh, I could take her home,” she squealed.

“We could - ugh - Lock her away and take her out to play with whenever we want.”

“Oh, baby. I bet she’d like that, such a good little doll for us.”

“Fuck!” you screamed, your cries muffled.

Their words were getting to you, tangling through your mind and tightening the chord that was threatening to come undone. You were on the brink of another orgasm. You could feel it straight down to your toes, your whole body was alive with a steady thrum that cut through you like a scalpel.

“Ugh, come on, slut. Cum for us, come for us now. Go! Scream!”

You only barely heard Bishop before you were screaming out and clenching on his cock. You could hear yourself feintly, but only barely. Every little fibre of your being was lost to the couple now, letting them take complete control of you. You were theirs now, completely at their mercy. Just as you’d always fantasised.

You could feel Bishop ease up on you a little, starting to slow down his thrusts until he was barely moving. He rested in your over sensitive pussy for a moment, revelling in your soft warmth and gently eased himself out after a minute or two. It drew out a low moan from you, made you jump against the rough wood. You could shamefully feel the warmth of your wetness spreading over your thighs, your pussy was weeping.  

Daniela’s hands stroked through your hair for a second or two as her and Bishop shared a whispered conversion. The soft tones and the gentle petting was calming you, making the fuzziness recede and the darkness seem less all consuming. Then you were back in the room again.

“Poor little Bambi, all fucked out,” Daniela cooed, stroking your cheek. “Why don’t you take a break, hm? Just lie there and watch, pretty girl.”

Daniela was moving to your side and dutifully you pulled yourself up onto the table and lay there fully, staring as Bishop lined himself up with his wife and drew her into a hard kiss. Their lips came together noisily and you watched on, completely enraptured as they grabbed at each other and explored familiar paths along each other's skin. It was true love if you’d ever seen it.

You sighed breathily and soon enough Bishop was parting from her lips and grabbing his wife’s hair, staring intently as if he were about to say the most important words in the world, whispering something in the shell of her ear. You bit your lip, and despite how ward you’d come already, you felt stirrings in your tummy again as you watched them. There was something so hot about being an observer, lying there in your fading ecstacy and watching as they engaged in their heated ritual.

“Ugh, you feel so fucking tight for me, Pincessessa,” Bishop rasped, finally sliding into his wife. “You ready to put on a show?”

“Always ready, my love,” she moaned, gripping onto Bishop’s shoulders tight. “Always…ugh! Fuck, keep your eyes on us, Bambi. Watch how I take his cock.”

You moaned out, mesmerised by the sight in front of you and lay back into the table, settling into the warm wood below. You were quite happy to do whatever they asked, feeling like the cat that got the cream. Even if you were to die that night, you’d mused, you knew you’d die happy.

Who knew drinking games could be so fun? 

[drabbles-mc]

Again and Again (Part 3)

Mayans!Juice AU

Day 15 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: isolation / flinching / "Do you trust me?"

Part 1 / Part 2

Warnings: 18+, angst

Word Count: 3k

A/N: I started this series back during Whumptober, so it felt fitting to post another installment of it for Whumpril! Hope you enjoy!

SOA Taglist: @espieviolet99 @littlekittymeow @chibsytelford @juicyortiz @i-just-read-stuff @justreblogginfics @buckybarneshairpullingkink @paintballkid711 @jitterbugs927 @fanfic-n-tabulous @mijagif @frattsparty @winchestershiresauce @beardburnsupersoldiers @choochoo284 @artemiseamoon @nessamc @garbinge @narcolini @cositapreciosa @darqchilddaydreamz @withmyteeth @camelia35 @passionatewrites (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Despite the days that had gone by, and the fact that the worst of the physical pain was over, Juice had barely set foot outside his house. The few times he had, it was to go and get things that he needed—groceries, alcohol, cigarettes, weed. He had yet to set foot back at the clubhouse again. The mere thought of it made him shake, so he couldn’t imagine what his brain and body would put him through if he actually went and showed up.

He was lying on his back on his couch in the living room, staring up at the ceiling. His mind was wandering and taking him nowhere good as it went. The lights were off, but there was enough sunlight coming through the windows to keep the room from being too dark. This was where he had spent most of the last couple of weeks. Even when it was time for him to try and sleep, he hardly ever went and laid in his bed. That was one thing he wouldn’t have been able to explain even if he tried.

The sound of someone knocking at his front door caused him to snap his head immediately in that direction. His heart began thudding quickly in his chest as he stared at the door, with all of its locks firmly secure because he’d checked them each three times. He laid still, partially waiting but also partially unable to try and make himself move. Logically he knew it was most likely someone from the club, or maybe even the nurse that they’d sent over to check on him.

After the first couple of days, when they were all reassured enough that he wasn’t going to eat his gun, they didn’t have club members camped out at his place around the clock anymore. Someone always checked in once a day, usually Marcus, either with a phone call or an in-person visit. Juice still hadn’t figured out if the club had been asking Daniela to keep coming and checking on his injuries and his overall state, or if she was just the type of person who cared that much. She had brothers in the club, after all, so maybe it was just a sense of duty.

He must’ve been replaying the days in his head for longer than he thought, because there was another set of knocks. Juice was trying to will his body to move, but it was slow-going. His feet had hardly hit the floor when he heard Marcus’s voice from the other side of the door.

“It’s me.”

Juice forced himself to pry the words from the back of his throat, a herculean effort when it shouldn’t have been one. “Coming.”

One slow step in front of the other, he made his way over to the door. Even though he knew it was Marcus, and even though he knew that if something was wrong Marcus would’ve warned him somehow, Juice still had his gun clutched tightly in one hand as he reached to start undoing the locks with the other.

When he finally pulled the door open, Marcus was standing patiently on the other side, his facial expression not giving away any particular emotion. That was something Juice had noticed he was good at—keeping things close to the vest. Marcus, to the extent of Juice’s knowledge at least, had never lied to him. He was always honest. But when it came to what he was feeling about something at any given moment, it was rare that Marcus wore his opinion on his face. Juice was trying to figure out if he found that to be a comforting thing or not.

Stepping to the side so that Marcus could walk through, Juice nervously drummed his fingers on his side of the door. Pushing it shut, he immediately set about redoing all of his locks. He tried to make his voice sound as normal as possible as he spoke to Marcus, even though the frantic movements of his fingers instantly negated his efforts. “All good?”

Marcus watched him, his expression still not giving anything away. He waited for Juice to turn and look at him before he finally nodded. “All good.”

“What’s, uh,” he tucked his gun into the back of his waistband, like that would somehow make it seem more casual, “what’s going on?”

“Just came to update you.”

Juice’s eyes widened. “Update me? About…about what?”

Marcus could hear the panic edging its way into Juice’s voice, and he kept his as steady and as neutral as possible. “Templo tomorrow.” He paused, seeing how Juice’s expression didn’t relax any. “We need you there.”

That wasn’t the answer Juice had been expecting. He’d spent day after day pacing around his house waiting for the worst. Truth be told, he was half expecting one of the guys, or Marcus, to stop by and ask for his kutte. It felt like all the trouble Juice had been drowning in when he was in Charming, just took on a new form and followed him right to Santo Padre. He was wondering when the Mayans would get sick of the constant clean-up like the Sons did.

“Why,” he sniffled and shrugged as he crossed his arms over his chest, “why do you need me there?”

Marcus’s brows came together for a brief moment before he recovered and answered, “Because you’re part of the fuckin’ club.”

From almost anyone else, that response would’ve sounded annoyed, or even angry. But not from Marcus. The way he said it was so matter-of-fact. A large part of that was because he wasn’t annoyed or angry with Juice. He wondered when that fact was finally going to sink in with the young man that was standing in front of him.

It wasn’t that Juice didn’t want to be at Templo, or that he didn’t want to be part of the club. He did. He wanted all of that more than almost anything. But after all that had happened, the thought of just going about his life like it was business as usual was impossible to wrap his head around. For years he had just gone from one mishap to the next, and they seemed to keep getting worse as the years went along. He’d always been able to rally, though, always been able to move onto the next thing.

Now, standing in front of Marcus with trembling hands and flashbacks that made beads of sweat gather along the edge of his forehead, it was all finally starting to catch up to him at once.

Taking a breath, Marcus asked, “What is it?”

Juice’s eyes that had previously been glued to the floor snapped up so that he was looking at Marcus. “What is what?”

“What’s keeping you in here?” He made a small gesture to the house.

Juice shook his head, eyes dropping back to the floorboards beneath his feet as he tried to string together an answer. He didn’t even know where to begin. It felt so obvious and yet so complicated all at once. Because, yes, danger was a part of what they did. There was no way to be an outlaw and do it safely. However, it wasn’t just the feeling of danger. It was something deeper than that, something internal and far less tangible than the threats lurking outside his door.

He still didn’t look up as he started to speak. “Everywhere I go…bad things happen. To, to me. To the people around me. No matter what. Queens…Charming…” he hesitated like he didn’t want to spit the words out, “Santo Padre. Bad shit. Every, every fucking time.”

“And it was all on you, huh? Every time?”

Juice knew what Marcus was doing. It wasn’t the first time that he’d had a conversation like this. And he knew that in a way, Marcus was right. It wasn’t very often that the man was wrong about much anyway. This, however, this Juice knew that if one of them was approaching the situation rationally, it was Marcus. All of that and he still found it so hard to believe him.

“I know,” Juice finally said. “I know there’s more to it but I just,” he ran his hands back over his head, hating that he could feel tears stinging at the edges of his eyes, “I can’t shake the feeling. Bad luck has followed me across the country and down the border. How long was I here before…?” his voice trailed off.

“I told you,” Marcus said firmly, “what they did was about the club—it wasn’t about you.”

“But it happened to me!” Juice finally broke, emotion cracking his voice. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes for a moment as he tried to get the shake in his voice under control and failed. “Because it always happens to me.”

Marcus didn’t say anything for a moment. Side-stepping Juice, he made his way deeper into the living room and took a seat on the couch that Juice had been all but glued to for the last few weeks. Leaning forward, Marcus braced his forearms against the tops of his thighs. He finally looked over at Juice and waited for him to come and sit.

It took a few moments, but Juice finally picked up on the cue. Walking over, he put his gun back on the table before sitting down next to Marcus. He could feel Marcus staring at him but he didn’t look over at him. He knew that wherever this conversation was going, he wasn’t going to be able to hide from it. He’d hidden from a lot, locked up in his house the way he had been, but now Marcus was here and it didn’t seem like he was going to leave until he got whatever answers he was looking for.

Juice gnawed at the inside of his bottom lip before saying, “I don’t know if I’m worth the trouble that follows me.”

Marcus nodded, not in agreement, but in thought. He looked down at his interlocked hands for a moment, at the Mayan ring that rested on his finger. He felt the weight of the kutte that hung on his shoulders.

“Are you going to turn in your kutte, then?” Marcus finally asked after a bout of silence.

The knot in Juice’s stomach tightened, his eyes widening as he looked over at Marcus. The lack of emotion on the man’s face left Juice wondering if it was a question or a request. “N—I…I don’t…do you…do you want me to?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yea, but—”

“If I didn’t want you in my club, you wouldn’t be.” He paused, twisting the ring on his finger. “This isn’t about that. This is about whether or not you still want this. If you can still do this.”

It had been a long time since decisions with this much gravity really felt like they were Juice’s to make. He’s been a “Yes Man” for a long time, and he was pretty good at that. For years he’d listened to the decisions being made and contented himself just following the directions that he’d been given. But now he was the one who had to make the choice, and it was one that was going to decide whether taking off to Santo Padre was worth any of the stress it had caused.

Juice knew that he still wanted this. For all of the pain and the mess that it had caused, he still wanted it. For years now it had been all he ever wanted. Belonging somewhere had been the only thing he wanted for as long as he could remember. For the first time in a long time it felt like an attainable goal—he just had to get out of his own fucking way.

“I, uh,” he sniffled, trying to force his bubbling emotions down, “I don’t know if I can, Marcus.” The pause that ensued felt a few seconds too long. “I want to, but I don’t know…”

“If you want to do this, you gotta show up.” His tone wasn’t harsh, but it didn’t leave much room for argument either. It was the plain reality of it all.

And Juice knew that he was right. Marcus was understanding, he was fair in a way the men he’d worked with in the past never had the capacity to be. But he still had a club to run. He still had messes to clean up. The question now was whether or not Juice was going to be one of those.

Juice shook his head slightly, fear once again rearing its ugly head as he thought about all of the worst-case scenarios. “Why…why do you even care so much? Why are you doing all of this? It’s not,” he shook his head, “it’s not like you owe me anything. All I’ve fucking done is—”

He was cut off by the feeling of Marcus’s hand landing on his shoulder. Juice flinched at the contact, instinctively going to pull away before he realized what was happening, that he was safe, that the gesture was one of comfort and not aggression.

Juice got his tone back under control taking a staggered breath as he repeated his question, “Why are you doing this?” The familiar sting of tears in his eyes came back as he asked, “Do you even trust me? Can…can you even trust me?”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t hesitation. There was no trace of guesswork on Marcus’s face as he sat there looking at Juice. The silence was more to make Juice sit with his own line of questioning than anything else.

Marcus took a deep breath. “Trust is all we’ve got.”

The statement hung alone in the air. After a few seconds, Marcus removed his hand from Juice’s shoulder.  Juice thought that his body would relax at that, but none of the tension dissolved out of him. His leg began to bounce as the two of them sat there. He knew that it was his turn to say something, that Marcus would be more than content to sit there and wait until Juice finally forced himself to give some kind of answer to the original question that spurred this conversation in the first place.

Even though Juice cleared his throat, his voice still came out as a whisper, like he was on the brink of losing his voice. “I’ll be there.”

Marcus’s expression didn’t shift at all as he nodded. “Good.” He paused, giving Juice the opportunity to say anything else that he needed to get off his chest. When silence ensued, he asked, “Nothing else?”

Juice gave a small shake of his head, still not looking directly at Marcus. “No.”

Standing up, Marcus brushed his hands on his jeans before starting to head back towards the door again. “Tomorrow, then.”

Juice nodded, forcing himself up off the couch so that he could follow Marcus and lock the door behind him once he’d left. “Tomorrow.”

When Marcus pulled the front door open, he immediately came face-to-face with Daniela, who was still in her scrubs from work. She took a small step back, a surprised laugh slipping out of her as she looked back and forth between Marcus and Juice.

“Hi, sorry.” She adjusted the small medical bag that was slung over her shoulder. “I was just, you know, um,” she patted her bag, “checking in.”

Marcus nodded in approval. “Thank you.”

She gave a warm smile. “It’s not a problem,” her eyes drifted over to Juice, her expression softening a little, “really.”

Marcus gently rested his hand on the outside of her arm as she slipped past him, allowing them to swap places so she was inside the house and he was out on the front step. He and Juice exchanged one more brief look, each trying to figure each other out just a little bit more, before saying one more quick goodbye.

Daniela waited and watched as Juice shut the door behind Marcus and did all the locks. Her sympathetic smile lost a little bit of its curve as she watched him go back and check the locks, and recheck them again.

“If it’s not a good time,” she offered, “I can always come back later.”

Turning around and facing her, Juice shook his head. He was trying to look less rattled than he really was, which was difficult with everything that had happened within the span of the last half hour. Still, she already showed up, so he wasn’t going to turn her away.

“It’s fine,” he forced out.

She didn’t want to turn it into a debate, so she just nodded. “Okay.” She gestured to the couch, and as they both stepped towards it, she asked, “You wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head as he sat down. “I’m good.”

She nodded again. Some days he talked a little bit, other days the two of them sat there in near-silence as she checked him over. It looked like it was going to be the latter. “Okay.”

Juice watched her as she pulled her medical bag onto her lap and opened it to look inside. He wished he had better things to say to her, anything, really, but he was coming up empty. She never seemed fazed by it.

“Thanks,” he said softly as she pulled her stethoscope out.

She gave him a tiny smile. “Of course.”

That was all that was said between him as she got wrapped up in making sure that he was at least physically alright if nothing else. Meanwhile, Juice’s mind was miles away trying to wrap his head around how he was going to pull himself together enough to do what needed to be done. This was just one day, one meeting, and it was taking this much out of him. As he flinched slightly from the cold metal of the stethoscope, he briefly wondered how he was supposed to handle all the days afterward, too.

[garbinge]

The Odds of a Jawbreaker

EZ Reyes & OC Julia ‘Jules’ Silva

Day 18 from these April Prompts: Jawbreaker Sweets

Summary: After some time away, EZ and childhood friend Jules flip the odds of what life could be for them. AU of Mayans - I’d like to call it a baseball AU but we’re like not quite there yet lol. 

Words: 2.5k

A/N: I’ve been having a rough couple of days so I’m not really sure what this is but, I hope you all enjoy! lol. 

Warnings: Light angst

Mayans Taglist: @drabbles-mc @narcolini @justreblogginfics​

Her satin dress and long hair blew in the Santa Padre cool December air. She quickly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she eagerly awaited for the door she just knocked on to open. Her mind was jumping all over the place, while it was nice to be back home, she definitely didn’t miss the condescending and prying comments that always happened at her family’s annual Christmas party. 

“Are you seeing anyone?” “Why didn’t you major in engineering like your parents?” “You’re a freelance photographer?” “Not a lot of money in that, is there?” And that was just the ones she could remember, she definitely let a lot of them go in one ear and out the other but sometimes some of them found a way of sticking. That’s why she found herself at the Mango Street address, banging on the front door nervously waiting for someone to answer. 

“Hellllllooooo!!!” She yelled and peaked through the window hoping to catch someone walking by. 

“Are you crazy? Or just stupid?” Angel’s voice alerted the woman as he opened the door. His jaw hit the ground when he saw who was standing there.

“You wanna retract that statement or what?” She pushed the man slightly as she slid next to him to enter the house. “Where’s EZ?” 

The girl moved around the house like she had never left, like she was home again, and in a way she was. This house was where she grew up, after school she’d be here till the late hours of the night studying, before school she’d come over and trade lunches, the weekends were spent playing endless amounts of the same video game over and over again on the couch. All with her best friend, Ezekiel Reyes and his brother Angel. 

“Come on in, Julia.” Angel sarcastically retorted as he was still shocked holding the door open. 

“I’ve got a one track mind right now Ange, and I’m determined to bring your brother in on it with me.”  The hallway was just in her steps when she heard a familiar voice behind her coming from the kitchen. 

“Jules?” 

A grin the size of the moon grew on her face and she turned around to stare at her best friend. It had been a few years since they last saw each other. They were both at different colleges, at opposite sides of the state which made visiting rare and honestly non-existent. 

“You want to go on an adventure?” Her face was glowing in excitement. 

EZ stood there, a confused look on his face but still a glimmer of amusement peaking through. His hands were perched on his zip up, gripping the opening as he stared at the girl trying to comprehend exactly what she meant. But then it hit him. This was Julia. His Julia. Wild Jules. Whatever she had up her sleeve was probably going to be the most entertaining thing he’d done since he saw her last. He had missed that, the spontaneity the girl brought to his life, the laughs, and even in the midst of the chaos, she brought a feeling of trust. A feeling of home. 

“Let me grab my keys.” EZ moved so swiftly to grab the keys to the pick up truck while the girl made her way back outside, squeezing by Angel again. 

“Merry Christmas, Angel.” Jules squeezed his arm as she made her way back through the front door. “Tell Pops I say the same and sorry for kidnapping EZ!” She called out now that she was on the porch making her way down the steps. 

Angel stood there dumbfounded again, confused to all hell at what was going on. His brother was now making his way past him to follow the girl who now stood impatiently in the driveway. Angel gripped his hand around EZ’s bicep, stopping him in his steps for a moment. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Angel asked, shaking his head truly just wanting to wrap his head around the last few minutes.

EZ licked his lips and gave that infamous grin of his and tapped Angel’s hand before removing it off his arm with a shrug. “It’s Jules.” 

Two words. As if that was the only explanation that was needed. For Felipe, who had just made his way to the living room to see what all the commotion was, it was all the explanation that was needed. Angel looked back at his father, as if he was waiting for him to offer up more information but he just followed suit with his youngest son's expression and shrugged, lifting his hands up and retreating back to his bedroom. 

After the two piled into the truck, EZ started to drive, following the girl’s directions with no clue where they were headed. 

“What brings you back home?” EZ asked, gripping the wheel. 

“Same as you.” Jules was now putting her window down so the breeze was in her face. 

“If I recall, I’m never invited to the Silva Family Christmas Party,” Ez teased, knowing all about the annual holiday party the girl’s family threw. 

“Every year that passes I’m closer and closer to my invite being revoked.” She laughed. 

It was strange. Even though the two picked up like no time had passed so easily, it was overwhelming. Not so much them or their friendship, but what it meant. The last time they were together, there was a pressure, a pressure of leaving behind all what was expected of them, which was a lot. Their last conversation was an argument about not going through with it. Jules was begging EZ to follow what he wanted to do, pursue baseball, while EZ was telling her she couldn’t live in her parents' shadow anymore.  Jules did it. She dropped out of school after the first semester and picked up photography and began travelling, working for magazines and companies on spec. It wasn’t a luxurious life but it was one she was proud of.

They pulled up to the ice cream parlor that was downtown and before EZ even put the car in park Jules was opening the door to exit. All he could do was chuckle, and open his door as quickly as he put the truck in park. As he exited, he saw the girl twirling around in the empty parking lot, her hair a mess from the car’s open window breeze and looking like a fool in her expensive dress clashing with the run down ice cream shop in the background. But yet, to EZ it was a picture perfect moment. 

“C’mon, Stanford. You’re buying me a sundae.” She waved him over. 

“And me?” He passed the girl and began walking backwards as his eyebrows raised a couple times at his best friend. 

“I’ll buy YOU a sundae next week, same day, same time. It’s a date!” Her voice boomed in the empty parking lot. 

“I gotta get back to school, Jules.” EZ’s voice was soft in comparison to hers as he held the door open for her. 

“No you don’t.” The girl denied as she slipped by him rapidly entering the shop. 

EZ didn’t bother arguing, it hadn’t even been 20 minutes and he wasn’t going to have this conversation just yet with the girl, not to mention he was on a high just from seeing her. Her energy was contagious and he was just happy to have this moment with her. 

“Vanilla Sundae, hot fudge, strawberries, rainbow sprinkles, anndddddd,” the girl paused for a minute as she overlooked the toppings menu one more time before finishing her order, “and a jawbreaker.” 

Her head swiveled over her shoulder as she looked at EZ and asked him what he wanted. That was it. That was the moment. Their last conversation, the argument. The look she gave him transported him back to that day. 

They had just left some shitty party and were walking home. They decided to walk through the shops downtown specifically because they heard some street music. Jules was absolutely drunk off her ass that night and the two of them danced the night away in the middle of the Santo Padre streets until she spun around so much she quite literally got sick. EZ held her hair back for her and just in typical Jules fashion, she bounced back immediately, wanting to tackle the next adventure of the night, which happened to be getting EZ to skip out on Stanford and go into minor league baseball. 

She looked over her shoulder at him just as she was doing now, giving him that look, with those eyes. He almost forgot how he could say no to a face that beautiful. The key word being almost. That night he just brought her close against his chest, resting his head above hers. Offering no words, just hoping the comfort would give her some time of answer. 

“Don’t go, EZ.” She mumbled into his chest. 

“I think we should get you home, Jules.” EZ squeezed the girl and resumed their walk home. 

EZ knew he loved her then, but he decided to take the route of breaking her heart instead, which also happened to be the path where he broke his own as well. He packed up for Stanford, missed saying goodbye to Jules and sent a 3 sentence note to her house knowing she wouldn’t have read it until she was back home in a few months. 

“EZ, do you want anything?” The girl asked again and he shook himself out of his head. 

“Same as you.” He stepped up throwing a $20 on the counter and his arm around the girl as she leaned into his chest. 

“I missed this.” She mumbled against him. 

“Me too, Jules.”

The two sat in the truck, windows down, eating their ice cream in silence, just the sounds of spoons hitting cartons and the occasional teeth chatter from the mix of the cool air and the cold ice cream. 

Ez barely touched his, which allowed Jules to finish hers and then start scooping from his cup. 

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked as her spoon snuck into his bowl. 

“You were right.” EZ said not able to hold back anymore. The memory of that night was eating him alive. Especially those last words. 

“I love you, but I can’t be here to watch you give your all to a life you don’t want.” 

“Then don’t.” 

Then don’t. EZ ate those words the minute they left his mouth. 

“I tend to be right about a lot, care to elaborate?” The girl was clearly still unaware of what EZ meant. 

“I shouldn’t have gone to school, I should’ve joined the training program.” EZ spit out words that were shocking to her. 

“Is it too late?” Logic took over, she wasn’t going to pull the “told you so” card, she wasn’t going to make a point, she was just going to try and see if it was feasible. 

“I’m a year out, as year out of practice. It’s nearly impossible.” EZ shook his head and leaned against his arm that was rested on the window of the car. 

“Nearly.” Jules said, grabbing his ice cream from him and finishing it off. “There’s some wiggle room there.” 

EZ smirked at that and let out a chuckle, Jules wasn’t one to give up easily, if there was .01% of a chance she would take it. 

“So what?” Her mouth was full of melted vanilla ice cream as she spoke, “we just gotta practice? Fill out some paper work? We’ll get Angel in the outfield, you tend to aim better when you have him as a target, then we’ll go down and fill out whatever we gotta fill out.” 

She was so hopeful that it made EZ start to gain a little aspiration. 

“We?” He asked, looking over at the girl now. 

“I’m working on a hometown piece for this magazine, I’ll be here for at least a month.” She now had the jawbreaker in her hand. 

“I never understood why you ordered those, you never eat them.” EZ’s attention was now being drawn to the candy. 

“They make for good magic 8 balls.” She shrugged and opened the door to the truck so she was now standing in the parking lot. “If it’s blue, we go on the second part of the adventure I had planned and then think about baseball, if it’s red, we go to the batting cages in El Centro and then the second part of my adventure after.” 

“What’s the point in that, it’s win win?” EZ was leaning over in the truck so she could hear him. 

“Exactly, we make our own odds, Reyes.” She said like he should’ve been aware of that. 

She smashed the jawbreaker on the ground and it broke into a few pieces to reveal the purple inside of the candy. 

EZ let out a laugh, moving so his head was leaning against the head rest. “Create your own odds all you want but fate has a way of intervening.” He shook his head waiting for the girl to get back in the truck but when he looked over he saw she was gone. 

A pit filled his stomach and he was scanning the lot looking for her before exiting the vehicle himself, sweat starting to drip from his head as he continued to look for her. His eyes stopped as he looked inside the ice cream shop to see her leaving with the bucket of jawbreakers in her arms, struggling to hold it up but not one peep out of her asking for help. 

With a deep sigh of relief, EZ walked over to her and grabbed the bucket out of her arms. 

“You wanna tell me what the hell you’re doing?” His confusion not only on his face but in his tone. 

“Making due with the odds given to us.” She shrugged like it was obvious. “It was purple. So we come up with something else to do. We’re gonna take these to the park and use them as baseballs. I know you have a bat and glove in the trunk, you always do.” 

EZ was at a loss for words, this was Jules, her mind was always working and not being around her as much made him forget just how hard her mind did work. 

“I’m in, but only if we make bets on each one we hit.” EZ placed the bucket in the bed of the pickup as he stared at the girl on the other side. 

“Will I be a millionaire?” The girl’s voice went high as she interlocked her hands and kicked her leg up to mock EZ. 

“Hey, I thought you were all about the odds.” He questioned her with a smile knowing the teasing remark would earn him a look.  

They climbed into the truck when Jules shook her head and smiled. “Shut up and drive, Reyes. Let’s get you into that training program.”

[artemiseamoon]

Preview - If This Is Our Destiny

Finale

When his kisses stop, you notice Manny seems lost in thought, You stroke his arms as his brown eyes focus on your face again.

“Want some water?” You asked, continuing to stoke his arms.

Manny gazes at you softly and shakes his head, “ I got everything I need right here.” He leans in, planting kisses along your neck and jawline.

“Does that mean I have not outstayed my welcome yet?” You ask with a grin, you move your hands to his back again, feeling the lean muscles under your palms.

“Or course not.”

You can stay as long as you like, he thought. But he didn’t want to push. He knew you just went through hell with Angel. Maybe you’d need more time before something serious?

Manny knew three days wasn’t enough, he wanted as much time with you as possible. Back in Santo Padre, whenever he had to leave you, you always left him wanting more. He longed to be near you again, hear your laugh, see you smile, watch your expressions, learn more about the things you love.

There was never enough time in SP, and now, here in Yuma, he could have more of what he’s been craving; you. If you enchanted him already and captured his heart, how much harder could he fall having you so close?

More on the 30th 😁

Fic info / all chapters

Taglist so far: @obsessedasusual @mrsmontanalol @okimreadynow @po3ticb3auty @minordeffects @rosey1981​ @bugngiz​ @bport76 @90sisthenew80s​ @lilac-tea-time​ @lalaooopsie @fanfic-n-tabulous​ @red-orchid @nunya7394 @xomrsalliej4787xo​ @lynaye1993 @rae-gar-targaryen​ @lostgirl219​

[illjustpretend]

DE AQUÍ NO SALES

[jozlyn-moon]

Xolotl and Quetzalcoatl!

The “Twins” from the Aztec Mythos and two cosmic creatures who play a role in my AU! Specifically Xolotl who became what is now The Axolotl in the AU. After an unfortunate circumstance where he had to take the place of his late brother, his role swapping from a creature of Chaos to a creature of peace and control, can you take a guess who took the Chaos role soon enough after an opening came up?

[girlpornparadise]

[hausofmamadas]

| What’s waiting down Zuni Road |

⁂

Pairing: Gabriella Castillo (Mayans M.C.) x Ignacio “Nacho” Varga (Better Call Saul)

Gift for the wonderful, illustrious, prolific @drabbles-mc - Rarepairs Exchange 2023

Word count: ≈5k

TW: Canon-typical violence, descriptions of violence

It's dangerous to be a woman in love. A brush with death at the hands of the man she loved sends Gabrielle Castillo on the run, in more ways than she expected. Burned in a betrayal she never saw coming, and tipped off by a non-garbage Angel Reyes to a place to hide out, a safe haven, a place to temporarily call home, she books it tf to Albuquerque. She arrives with newfound determination not only to survive, but a conviction to never let love blind her to pinshe toxicos malparidos like EZ Reyes ever again. Still, in terms of an actual plan? She has no idea where to go, who to turn to, or what to do next. That is, until she runs into our fav Walter Matthau-grumpy-old-man, not nearly old enough to be so grumpy, Nacho "forreal don't call me Ignacio" Varga. In some ways, he reminds her of EZ but she's dead set against falling for another pair of brown eyes full of lost hope and squandered dreams. But the more she gets to know him, the more it calls into question ... would it really be the same with Nacho? Is Gaby willing to find out? spoiler alert: she is. she very much is. sorry but like have you seen him? lbr here

⁂

Mamá always told me to watch out for red flags in life. Dime con quien andas, te diré quien eres. Porque when someone shows you who they are, they’re doing you a favor.

She never said it out loud but I learned early on, the ones who waved the red flags most were the boys. Not that I was especially boy crazy at that age, but it seemed wherever I looked, there they were: waving red flags, making promises they couldn’t keep, being unfaithful, disloyal, dishonest.

My older cousin Mercedes had a boyfriend back in Mexico who used to tell her not to wear shorts that were too short because he did not like the way her thighs flattened on chairs when she sat down. At the age of five, I knew how mean it was and to this day, I cannot understand how it didn’t bring her to tears. But it didn’t. And she always listened to him about things like that, until he got her best friend pregnant and the two of them ran off together, leaving Mercedes behind. It was the best thing he could have ever done for her though. Because she never let anyone tell her what kind of shorts to wear after that.

The first boy I ever had a crush on in elementary school told me that even though he thought my eyes were pretty and he liked how I wore my hair in braids, we couldn’t be together because I raised my hand too much in class to answer questions. And girls were not supposed to be as smart as boys. At the picnic tables at lunch, I cried over my usual peanut butter and jelly sandwich, when my friends asked me what was wrong, I couldn’t even explain what it was that hurt me so.

Even Papá, loving and kind as he could be, made Mamá feel small when he told her that having to sell her floral shop in Mexico, so we could come here, wasn’t as great a loss as him losing his career as a police officer. “What’s selling a few flowers to a few abuelitas to putting my life on the line, to upholding law and order every day?” he’d ask. And she would say nothing in return, just smile soft and sad, plopping a scoop of rice onto his plate. It took me years to understand that sadness in her smile.

𖤓

Driving down highway 40, with the windows down, my hair whipping in the wind, and all the desert dust mixing with the faint, floral smell of my shampoo, I feel like I have been mainlining that sadness for the last five hundred miles. Because from the moment I met Ezekiel Reyes, I did not see it coming. It’s not that there weren’t red flags as with all the other boys. But he had a way of making it seem like they were all a force of circumstance. Gee, how did those get there? Someone must have put those up when I wasn’t looking. He was sensitive, compassionate, smarter than anyone I had ever met, and troubled in a way he seemed not to be responsible for.

I should have trusted my instincts. I should have listened to my mother’s advice. But EZ Reyes is also one of the best liars I have ever known. People who lie best are the ones who believe the lie first themselves. That is what he did. It was easy. So it was easy to believe him.

On the road, when it gets dark, I start to see his eyes like they were the last time I saw him. They are every pair of headlights in the rear view mirror: two voids with a kind of frigid, lifeless pain inside. Any echo of the love between us snuffed out, washed away, sterilized like a surgeon’s scalpel. Nevermind that candle in my heart might have burned for him forever. But it seems we do not love the same way.

One of my hands comes off the wheel to touch the spot at my ribs on the left side where he had held the gun. A shot I would have never seen coming, were it not for Angel’s screaming and tackling us both to the ground, shoving me away, telling me to run as fast as I could and never look back. If only I had fallen for that big lug instead of Ezekiel. But that one wore his red flags on his sleeve, screamed them from a mile away. That honesty I misjudged as a warning was really an asset. Porque Angel no podía mentir una mierda, ni siquiera a sí mismo. But we cannot help who we love.

Wiping sweat from my forehead, I pass a mile marker and then a bigger sign: eleven miles to Albuquerque. Good because Angel’s check engine light has turned on and I need gas. I drag my hand across my forehead again. Leave it to Angel to have a car with no AC. Well, no. I remind myself I’m no fool. The car probably wasn’t his. They would’ve stolen it before they got to the hospital.

The sun has been beating down on me through the driver’s side window, relentless and my face is so damp, I can’t seem to tell the difference between the sweat and the tears that periodically drop down to dot my cheeks. I stopped bothering to wipe those all the way back in Tucson. The dust has stuck to them too, so the skin on my face is stiff and my lips have a grainy feel to them. There is something about it that I like, that feels tangible. Algo sobre la tierra en mis lágrimas es un consuelo, y en mi dolor me hice sentir menos sola.

My cellphone buzzes in my bag. Low battery. It is a miracle it has lasted this long. Perhaps my last tether to civilization, I wonder if I shouldn’t let it die and disappear from my old life completely. No, with Mamá back home there is no old or new life. I escaped Santo Padre with the only one I have. Angel said he would get word to her, let her know I was okay, tell her where I was going. A place I didn’t even know.

Once I hit the city limits, I reach in my pocket and pull out the crinkled cardboard pack, an empty cigarette box Angel had hastily scribbled an Albuquerque address on. I triple check to make sure I have remembered it correctly, then take the fourth exit.

𖤓

After I left Angel and EZ, grappling with each other on that hilltop by the hospital, I went to Mercedes’ house to hole up. It was a dingy little duplex not far from the hospital but EZ didn’t know where it was and that’s what mattered. It was kind of funny. I had not expected Angel to follow up, texting me, asking if I was okay, where I was. But he did. Even after I told him, I had not expected him to do anything with that information, certainly not stop by or send someone. But he did. So, when a knock came at the front door, in a frenzy, I lurched off the couch and lunged for the baseball bat that I’d taken from the coat closet earlier and set against the front door before dozing off. Glancing through the peephole, I half expected to see EZ's cold, hard eyes, peering back at me across the threshold of warped glass. Mercifully, it was somebody else. Someone I didn’t recognize. Judging by the kutte over his hoodie and the large black script inked on his neck that spelled Mayans, another proud member of the club. Someone I had not met before. He stood in front of the door, hood up, hands clasped in front of him at attention, almost like a bouncer at a nightclub but without the air of compensation. On the contrary, he was at ease, almost serene when I swung open the screen door, wild-eyed and bat in hand. “Are you Gaby?” He'd barely batted an eye. I nodded slowly. “Angel sent me with some stuff for you.” I furrowed my brow, suspicious but too frazzled to form words. “Yeah, uh— He wanted to deliver this himself, but homie had to take care of that trifling, mocoso cagado brother of his, chase that motherfucker back down to Santo Padre. But I stuck around, so he sent me instead.” He extended his hand. “I’m Manny.” With some hesitation, I set the bat down and shook his hand, then motioned to allow him inside. He refused, head rattling from side to side. “Nah, I don’t— I can’t stay long. Just wanted to give you these.” He held out the crumpled cigarette box and the keys to 'Angel’s' car, dropping them in the palm of my hand. Through tears that I wasn’t even aware had begun to fall, I joked tiredly, “So, I narrowly escape getting killed by the love of my life and Angel thinks I’m ready to take up smoking?” “Yea, right? Guess when you cheat death, seems as good a time as any to pick up a habit that causes terminal illness.” Manny stuffed his hands in his hoodie pockets and leaned against the doorway, eyes cast down, chuckling at the ground. “Nah, actually there’s an address on it. A guy we know in New Mexico from a job Yuma and Santo Padre did with him a while back. His people’ll take care of you.” “Who is it?” “His name— well, he’s a guy who’s connected enough in Mexico that EZ can’t come after you there. Y’know, bad for business.” With a knowing smirk, he tipped his head, “Si me sientes.” There seemed a reluctance to say this man’s name outright but I couldn't understand why. Oh, right. Connected in Mexico. One of the cartels. So more of that then. Standing in the doorway with my arms crossed, at the manic pace only akin to that of an animal backed into a corner, I evaluated the options presented to me now. Could this truly be my only one? Something else my mother used to say was already at the tip of my tongue. “Lo peligroso que es ser una mujer enamorada.”** I began to cry harder now and Manny’s head snapped back up to look at me. “Aw easy now, ma,” he said gently, stepping closer to brush a tear from my cheek with the back of his hand. “Todo estará bien.” I nodded weakly before choking out through something that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, “I know this is a weird question but— pero ya puedes abrazarme?” He smiled softly, stepping back with open arms, and the moment my head hit the shoulder of this kind stranger, I came apart at the seams.

𖤓

It had only been two days on the road but the writing on the cigarette package is already faded, probably from so much time spent folded up in the pocket of my jeans.

6611 Zuni Rd SE,

Albuquerque, NM

ask 4 grumpyass mf named Varga

I am not sure why I bother to keep looking at it when I have the address memorized, seared in my brain because I had charted my route the old fashioned way, on a map I got from a gas station back in Lodi. A measure that seems silly now given that my phone is still somehow clinging to life.

I pull into the parking lot of 6611 Zuni Road and slide into an open spot, of which there are many. Business does not appear to be booming. In quaint, Hot-Rod red cursive along the top of the building, it reads “Tapizados, Custom Upholstery, Reparación.” Auto upholstery. As good a front as any, I suppose.

My nerves are fried and the entrance of the shop taunts me while I stare at it, trying to figure out how to smoke out this Varga. It would’ve been helpful to have more than just a name. Was it a first? A last? Based on what little was in the note, Varga could be a woman for all I know. Although Manny had specifically said it was a guy. Tracing the hastily scribbled address on the wilted cardboard, I am filled with warmth, reminded of my gratitude to Angel for doing the best he could with what he had. I can do the rest. I simply have to.

A broken bell clangs pitifully as the door of the shop closes behind me. It is empty of customers and seemingly, anyone who might work there. There is another bell on the counter and I wonder if that one is broken too. If it isn’t, with the Norteño music blaring in a room in the back with a bunch of tables with sewing machines, I wonder if anyone would hear it. Before I get a chance to find out, two men in matching uniforms arguing in the parking lot outside catch my attention. Partly because they’re arguing but largely because they both seem to be wearing matching uniforms, an indication yes, someone indeed ran this fine establishment and didn’t leave it to the norteño corridos to manage.

An older man with a thick, dark head of hair and a dark mustache alternates between pinching his forehead and speaking through gritted teeth to a younger man with hair buzzed so short, he looks almost bald, whose back is turned to me. Mustache man looks to be the boss and when the other man steps aside for a moment, I spot the name on his shirt. M. Varga. Simón! Él es un gruñón de verdad like Angel said. He looks just like another gruñón I know too. In fact, if his hair wasn’t so dark, I might have actually mistaken him for Felipe Reyes. He shared the same proud nose, perpetually furrowed brow, and lines etched deep into his forehead that say he’s had someone important to worry about for a very long time. Who was this Varga’s someone?

More heated now, Señor Varga points to the building and I think I can make out the words 'vuelve ahí dentro' coming out of his mouth. Exasperated, the younger, short-haired man throws his hands on his hips and tips his head back, as if pleading with the sky but whatever the old man has said trumps his silent negotiation with the Above. Varga throws him a set of keys and shoos him in the direction of the shop before stalking off back to the garage.

It takes me too long to realize I am staring. The short-haired guy makes it to the sidewalk in front of the windows, but by then it is too late to play it off like I’m just a clueless customer. Swinging my purse from one shoulder to the other, I attempt to anyway, and turn to examine the fabric swatches hanging on the walls and the stand full of pamphlets about “The Wonders of Kaptex!” and “Chrome-Tanned Whole Cowhides!” leafing through as if I know what I am looking at. The look of confusion on my face is the only honest thing about it. I have no idea what I am doing here, in more ways than one.

The short-haired man walks in, sighing heavily as the broken bell claps against the door handle, making another pitiful, pinched sound. It is not until he turns around to put something in the register that I finally see the name on his uniform. I. Varga.

Qué se chinga, of course there is two of them. Of course.

I nearly tear the cigarette box yanking it out of my pocket to study it again in the hopes I have missed some detail, some clue Angel might have left to differentiate the two Vargas. But no. There it sits, staring back at me, the same phrase I’ve read repeatedly, over and over and over: Ask 4 grumpyass mf named Varga. The qualifier doesn’t even help. They both seem equally grumpy. Could I just ask? Would Angel or Manny have thought ahead to let this Varga know I was coming?

A voice cuts through my panic. “‘Scuse me, miss? Something I can help you with?”

My head snaps up to meet a look of cool intensity from the younger Varga. He was younger sure, but I couldn’t venture a guess as to how old he might really be because even asking the most mundane of questions, there is something heavy in the tone of his voice and a weariness in his eyes that betray the gaze of a boy aged beyond his years by forces out of his control. I know this look. I am well acquainted with this look, yes. The headlights in the rearview mirror on the drive here flash in my mind. But there is a softness in this one’s eyes that I don’t remember EZ having. Not even in the beginning. By the time I finally understood, it would do me no good, but everything about Ezekiel Reyes was hard. And always had been.

All of a sudden, I am self-conscious, unsure of how long I’ve been standing there, not saying a word in response. Taking a deep breath, I finally open my mouth to answer, but instead of words, what comes out is some kind of throttled sigh.

“Prefieres que hablamos en español?” He is polite but with enough of an edge of impatience that it does nothing to distinguish him as the less grumpy of the two Vargas.

“A mí no me importa,” I shrug, trying my best to seem casual. “Puedo hablar de los dos.”

“O sí? Pues la podría preguntarte de nuevo pero ya sabrás que es la misma en ambos.”

Maybe this Varga is more prickly than grumpy. Would Angel know the difference? Probably not.

“Hmm,” I hum. He seems skeptical, so I switch to English. Two can play this game. “Huh? Yes. Yeah. Actually yes. I need- I’m looking for someone na—“ I start heading toward the counter but in the process, my purse swings to one side, knocking over the wire display of pamphlets. Varga is nice enough to come around from the counter to help me pick them up off the ground, even if he is chuckling to himself at my expense.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what-” I pause, closing my eyes, searching for the words. “I have not slept much. I just came here all the way from California and did not make many stops.”

Varga picks up the last of the pamphlets and with a resigned smirk on his face, offers his hand. “Ah, well, you wouldn’t be the only person to end up in ABQ who’s running from something.” I accept and he pulls me to my feet.

On his way back around the counter, he shoots me the look of a parent worried their kid is going to tear through the candy aisle at the grocery store. Pointing to a technicolor display of stacked, neatly wrapped, little trees, I laugh. “Oh, not the car fresheners. It looks like someone went to a lot of trouble to make these look nice,” I tease, holding up my hands in defeat. “I’ll keep my distance.”

Varga shakes his head, suppressing a laugh like he doesn’t want me to know I have said anything he’d find funny. He resumes doing whatever he was doing at the register. Not sure what to do with myself, I just stand there, watching him, moving the cash trays to the back counter, industriously counting the bills, scribbling in some kind of ledger. Without turning to look at me, he calls out, “So, you were saying?”

“Sorry?”

“You were about to say you were looking for someone right before you decided to go full Jenga with my pamphlets over there.”

“Oh,” I blow a puff of hair out of my lips, sending stray pieces of hair that have fallen out of my ponytail floating above my forehead. Glancing around the empty store, something in me snaps and I decide. Why not? What is the worst that could happen? I say the wrong thing to the wrong person and they kill me for it? They’d have to get in line. I am already on borrowed time and dancing around the issue might only serve to end that time. Entonces a la verga con esa chingadera. So I shoot my shot. The contact my hand makes as it smacks down on the counter with the mangled cigarette box is loud enough to surprise Varga. He stops and spins around.

“Alright, I have danced with death,” I hold my index finger and thumb up together and squint my eyes, “once this week already. I have also been driving for two days straight. I am exhausted. And you know what? Truthfully, I have never been good at this– hmm, what is it called? Playing my cards close to the chest? I never had to be. So, I'm going to come right out and say it. My name is Gaby Castillo. I came here from Lodi, California. My ex-boyfriend is EZ Reyes from the Santo Padre chapter of the Mayans motorcycle club. Two days ago,” the lump in my throat hurts as I swallow it, but still choke up despite myself, “he tried to kill me. His brother, Angel Reyes, told me to lie low here in case he tried to come after me again.”

Instead of the appropriate shock one would express at the stream of insanity I just blurted out to a perfect stranger, he seems entirely undisturbed. Just as I'm about to give over to reassurance at his calmness, it all at once becomes more jarring that he has no reaction. My heart kicks up, pounding so rapidly, I wonder if it’s visible from the outside, if he can see it's picked up speed.

Aggravated by the silence, I snap my fingers in front of his face, grumbling, “Uh, hello? Does any of this sound familiar?”

Face impassive, he crosses his arms and just keeps staring at me before finally breaking the silence with one infuriating word. “Vest.”

“Mm? Pardon?”

“You said chest. You meant vest.”

He is like a brick wall. I am still not getting it.

“You meant vest. You said,” he flattens his hand bringing it down to punctuate the end of each phrase, “‘playing your cards close to the chest.’ The expression is ‘playing your cards close to the vest.’ Like back in the day, old guys playing Poker in saloons and shit.”

How dumb must I look, standing there, eyes narrowed, mouth gaping open in disbelief that we are calmly discussing grammar after everything I said? The motorcycle club? The attempted murder? I can only imagine. He does not even seem to notice. What’s more infuriating, he turns back around to the money trays and the ledger and continues talking at me like that. “Yeah, yeah, I got a call from Manny, told me someone was coming. I remember those Reyes brothers too. One of them’s a wiseass and one of them’s a dipstick. Which one almost killed you?”

Poor Angel. My cheeks are burning and my chest floods with indignation on his behalf. “Angel is not a di–” the word is new to me and comes out of my mouth clumsy, “dip-ssstick.”

Varga’s shoulders rattle as he chuckles, “So it was the dipstick,” nodding to himself like he’s just shared some private joke that he happens to also find hilarious.

I roll my eyes and turn my back to him so I can lean against the counter. My head sinks back to look at the ceiling and now I’m the one who’s pleading with the sky. “No, it wasn’t the d– no, not Angel. He’s the one who saved me, told me to come here for help. Not that I would call,” I wave my hand around at nothing in particular, “whatever this has been, 'help.'”

Varga says nothing, so I continue. “No, it was the other one. Ezekiel. EZ. He’s the one who– well.” I stop, my thoughts invaded again by Ezekiel's eyes in the headlights, this time mixed with flashes of that night on the beach. How soft and gentle his fingertips were on my shoulders. How cold the barrel of his gun felt pressed into my side. Tears begin streaking from the corners of my eyes. With my head back like that, they drip down across my temples and into my hairline.

Another pair of fingertips gently brushes my shoulder. I jerk forward violently and turn around to see Varga on the other side of the counter, with his hands up, as if to say, 'oh god, don’t shoot.'

“Hey, look. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so— such a dick. I forget what it’s like for people not—” he wavers, running his hand up and down the back of his head, searching for the words, “well, normal people. People not in our business.”

I scoff, "Normal. That's funny, normal."

He looks at me perplexed, waiting for me to clarify. But I can't even begin. So, staring at the air fresheners almost catatonic, I simply say, "Normal is not what I feel."

Varga seems to accept this well enough because he starts putting the cash trays back in the register and locks them up with the ledger. On his way back around the counter, he grabs his car keys and motions for me to follow him. “C’mon.”

He stops at the door once he realizes I am not following him. More speaking to the door than to me, he calls out, “Yo, you coming or what?”

“Coming? Coming where?”

In an oddly graceful gesture, he spins around, arms swinging, coming to rest on his hips, as he tips one out to the side. “You like milkshakes?”

“Do I like—?”

“Milkshakes. Y'know, milk, ice cream, they blend it all up with like chocolate or strawberry or confetti sprinkles or whatever sugary shit people like. How do we feel about them.”

“I mean—” I shrug. “Who doesn’t like milkshakes.”

“Great.” He nods, with a small smile on his face that reaches his eyes for the first time. It softens his otherwise prickly demeanor, exposing a charm so authentic in its self consciousness, it is plain to see he doesn’t smile with true joy often. Something clicks just then and it occurs to me: what if he’s the someone the senior Varga, M. Varga, has had to worry about all these years? He turns back around, grabbing the door handle. “Let’s get a milkshake.”

“Wait.”

I watch his shoulders rise and fall, an unmistakable sigh of frustration. A reaction I immediately resent. “Hey.” I cross my arms. “No mames, hombre. Like it is unreasonable for me to be uncertain about letting a perfect stranger take me to some unknown location, in a town I have never been to before, for a mystery milkshake.”

Turning back around, he strolls slowly over to me, smirking and fiddling with his keys. “Mystery milkshake, huh?"

Still unamused, my eyebrows are halfway up my forehead. I wait.

“Yeah alright, you got me there. But I think I’ve got a solution for that. You said your name's Gaby, right?” I bob my head once and he holds out his hand. “My name’s Nacho.” He seems to take notice of my eyes darting to the name tag on his uniform. “Well, Ignacio, but no one calls me that.” Leaning forward, voice dropping low and quiet, he pleads like it’s a secret. “Yeah, please don’t call me that, seriously.”

I can’t help but smile, accepting his hand. Though firm, it's also warm and softer than I expect, sending goosebumps up my forearm that take me by surprise.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” I beam at him, our hands moving up and down in tandem, "Señor Not-Ignacio Varga.”

“Oh good,” he says, smile deflating slightly as he cocks an eyebrow. “Another comedian. Remind me never to introduce you to Lalo.”

It seems I’m already treading dangerous ground, but that only makes me beam at him more. “Who is Lalo? And why should you never to introduce us?”

“Pues,” he looks me up and down, assessing me before rolling his eyes, “hay muchas razones pero la primera? Eres demasiado guapa y chistosa para conocer a un hombre peligroso así. But he’d sure think you’re— I dunno, something.”

O, demasiado guapa? Nacho is becoming more interesting by the minute. “Hmm, well–," I muse as he turns to open the door. "And what does Not-Ignacio think?”

He shoots me a look like don’t go there through half lidded eyes. It is the first time I notice how long his eyelashes are. Tú eres guapísimo también. He seems like the type to not really know it. Or at least, the type to be unconcerned with it anyway. Of course it’s just a hunch, but for some reason it warms me to him even more. Nothing like the Reyes boys. Well, except Felipe, who had never seemed especially preoccupied with his appearance.

“Okay, okay,” I put my hands up, “last time, I swear. So, what does Nacho think?”

“I think...” he takes a long pause while holding the door open for me, scratching his head like he is considering the question with genuine sincerity. “I think ..... thaaat it’s time for a milkshake.”

Stepping outside into the simmering Albuquerque sun, it is my turn to roll my eyes. But for some reason, I decide to up the anti by crinkling my nose and sticking my tongue out at him like a petulant child. Maybe it’s the sleeplessness, or maybe it’s just nice to talk to someone after 3 days of running. On the road alone. He laughs at me, letting the door slam shut, and waves me over, in the direction of his car.

Despite my pretend annoyance, I walk around to the passenger’s side of Nacho Varga’s car and a feeling hits me as suddenly as a flashbulb of an old camera: relief. For the first time since I left Lodi, I finally feel like I just might be okay.

As it turns out, I am right. I would be okay. Just not before all hell breaks loose.

═

taglist: @narcolini

[cheesybadgers]

Not me thinking about a Narcos/Mayans crossover AU between Javi and KJ in which they’re both just a couple of jaded former DEA agents who fall in love.

*Adds to WIP list*

[po3ticb3auty]

REKINDLE CH 2

Who knew coming back to Santo Padre would bring you so many memories and rekindle an old flame.

Miguel x Black Reader x Angel Reyes

A/N: This has been in my head for the LONGEST!!! Due to the way the show is going this fic will not follow it. Miguel and Angel are not brothers. However, they do still work together via the MC and Cartel.

Word Count: 1.1K

WARNINGS: Angst, Cheating, Pregnancy, Cursing, SMUT eventually, Divorce, Kidnapping, Retaliation, Blood

DNI 18+ ONLY

2

What am I some glorified gopher?, the prospect retorted. 

“As long as the patch says prospect you do what you’re told”, joked the skinnier one donned with curly yet stringy black hair. 

As he walks towards the bar the other stockier version of him joined him. While you and hope are doing a beer count and placing them in the chiller. 

“Okay, doll so these are the ones Obispo likes where as these are the ones that the rest of the crew drink.”

“Ah, so do we make mixed drinks cocktails things of that nature?” You question.

“Girl, you’re an actual bartender but yes we do it all here.”

“Sweet, okay well let’s see if I can keep up it’s pretty rowdy tonight.”

“Oh this, this is nothing, wait until you see the patch party,” Hope begins to chuckle.

“Patch party what is that?”

You looked around and Hope had begun to make a few orders. With your backside towards the bar you didn’t notice the slight drum of fingers on the smooth wooden bar. 

What caught your attention was the slight whistle with the whisper of “mama”

As you turn around you are met with the kindest pair of brown eyes both with a flick of gold and green as his lips curled up into a smile. While placing your palms on the bar top you noticed his patch, “Hola, el secretario,” you said with a smile.

“Well hello, you. Do you have a name?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Will you tell me?”

“How can. I help you, el Secre-“

“Angel, call me Angel, sweetheart.”

“Ayo boy scout and lover boy our bottles are empty,” yelled the table full of Mayans.

The one with the Prospect patch laughed and took the bottles back to the table and then there was just you and Angel, or Lover Boy, as the table of Mayans called him.

As you leaned further on the bar your red shirt began to expose more of you supple plump catching the eyes of all those who could see what Angel’s body did not cover. 

His eyes began to wonder while his hand moved its way to replace a coil that slipped from your bun. You could feel the heat of the onlookers as your face began to warm. 

“You still have yet to tell me your name.”

“I don’t see a reason , you can call me…what was it earlier..ah yes, mama.”

He smirked and walked back to the table full of men. Finally free of his gaze you began to clean the bar and service other members as the night carried on. You watched as Hope started doing shots with the bikers and was in awe as how she was knocking back drinks the size of those same men. Unbeknownst to you, those same brown eyes with a fleck of gold and green, made it his business to not take his eyes off you. It was to the point that one of the guys had to nudge him out of his fixation. 

“Yo, earth to Lover boy, you playing this round or not?”

“Johnny Coco hush can’t you see he’s eyeing the prize?, said the Prospect.

Still in a daze as his eyes roamed over your body admiring how you face lit up with each and every encounter at the bar as if it was your sole duty to make sure they left the bar with an everlasting impression on the aura you were blessed with. His eyes began to wonder again this time lower to  your breast noticing the slight rise and fall as you carried a conversation with Taza and Hope. As he began to get up from his seat, one of the  M.C. girls took heed of his movement and placed her hands on his chest.

“Hey Nails,” he said with a smirk.

“Hey you,” she replied placing a peck on his cheek. 

Darting his eyes back towards the bar he watched as you began chatting up Bishop as well, wondering what you too could possibly be talking about that had you so engaged and smiling. 

“Hello earth to Angel, are you listening?

“Sorry, what were you saying? 

“We,” pointing to her friend with the low cut and red lips, “we, want to know if you’ll be stopping by tonight or should we carry on without you?

As he brought his bottle to his mouth and realized it was empty, Angel cleared his throat and stood up, “Maybe, depends on how this talk goes with Bishop. But don;’t wait up.” He pecks her cheek and walks away.

(Y/N) , so a s a heads up, Miguel knows about you being here, someone saw you at the airport,  when I picked you guys up earlier this week, whispered Bishop as he scanned the room. 

Almost stopping you in your tracks, you swallowed before responding, “Who saw?, you questioned with a smile. 

“I think it was Nestor or Dita, not really sure but Galindo did reach out and instructed me to keep you safe. So for the love of God, please leave Angel alone this isn’t something well, someone you need to be involved with.”

“Papi, I’m old enough to make my own decisions and why does every man in my life get the task of making sure I’m safe? Like make it make sense.”

Making his way to the bar you lock eyes with him causing him to smile and Bishop to give you a glare of warning as he left the bar and went back to the shadows. 

What was it that made him so…magnetizing and why was Bishop cockblocking, mores who saw you and why hasn’t Miguel popped up yet.

Being brought from your thoughts as Angel placed his hand on yours was a comforting sensation, until you saw Nails behind him glaring in your direction.

“I see you have a fan club,” you say with as smile as you removed your hand and returned to cleaning the partly empty bar. 

“Oh, them, let’s just say we had something planned but my interest lies elsewhere for some reason.”

Once again his hand finds its way back you this time, slowly rubbing his thumb over it as he locked eyes with you and shot you a half smile. 

“Now I see why they call you lover boy.”

“Naw, it’s not like that,I mean I get around so to say BUT for the right one I’d throw all the crumbs away for the whole cookie.”

“That was lame-“

“Hey we have to go Bishop is calling a meeting and the girls are heading home,” announced the Prospect.

“Ard, let me finish up here Oh and EZ this is love..I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You stuck your hand out and EZ swatted it away. “We hug around these parts little one,” he said with a smile worth their weight in gold. 

“Love, little one, jeez just slap on the nicknames why don’t you,” you laughed causing more attention than needed in the now empty is bar. 

All of a sudden felt warmth behind you, “My bad,” Angel said as he slid behind you making sure he grazed your butt to cop a feel and head to the templar.

You pushed him in his chest and slipped your number in his pocket. 

“Use it, don’t use it,” you said with a wink as you returned to finish cleaning the bar. 

Minutes went pass and you before you knew it, Bishop was walking you out the bar as you waited for your uber home. 

“Hey Bish, any update on Miguel and what not?” You asked looking around to make sure no one heard you.

While lighting his joint, he sighed, “So far no news on who saw you all I know is that my head is on the chopping block via El Padriño or Miguel if anything happens to you or his son.”

He passed the joint to you as you sighed “I wanted to do this on my own, like how does he even know that we’re here!”

“Just relax, it’s okay, he might not be on his way anytime soon. All he did was tell me to make sure you’re okay, he didn’t ask about Miguelito.”

Sighing with relief, “that’s one thing I don’t need him to find out not yet anyway. Only Dita, you, and my father knows.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“Who does he think his father is?”

“A businessman, he’s seen photos of him buts that about it.”

Cracking his knuckles, Bish ashed out his l before departing. 

“I’ll do what’s needed when the time comes but for the love of everything avoid ANGEL.”

“Sir, I know his type, you should be more worried that I’m not going to break him.”

With that Bish watched you walk away, he looked to the sky, “Sis, she's just like you.”

TAGGED: @marissawatupgriffin

[besthimbomachine]

I'm doing taxes so to help me survive the ultimate adulthood nightmare send me asks about my planned fics!! I'm gonna list them below and you can just ask me anything!

my love when it counted (ch 3 is done and I got like 3 more already well planned)

take me to the edge and back (hangman request after revolution, smut)

a long, lonely time (hangman request, friends to lovers, fluff)

some you do for love (hangman/bcc feu request, friends to lovers, fluff with some violence)

title shot (kenny smut where reader is a wrestler who just won the women's title)

leave it to the land (kenny werewolf! AU, probably multichapter, certainly smut)

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Mayans MC Cowboy AU

Trouble

Pairing: Cowboy!Bishop Losa x Female!Reader

Summary: Your father's wrapped up in dodgy dealings, and Bishop has come to collect. Your dad doesn't have the money, but that's alright. Bishop's willing to wait.

A/N: Just a little something cause I'm obsessed with the idea of outlaw Bishop out in the ol' west.

- - -

Your heart hammered hard, steadily replacing the pistons that had ceased to chuff when the train ground to a halt. The brakes had screeched on like a shot horse and soon a din rose in the air as everyone whispered and tried to work out what had happened. 

One minute you had been sitting slyly itching at yourself, complaining about trivial matters; You didn’t want to wear the silly scratchy dress, you didn’t want to go meet your fathers horrible old friends, you didn’t want to trek across the country on a speeding train. The next thing you knew you were left gasping as men flooded into the cramped carriage like roguish pirates. 

They crashed in, barrelling through windows and doors, grinning wildly as they held your fellow passengers at gunpoint. Cigar smoke and gun powder filled your senses and you could’ve sworn the lace curtains on the windows were wilting in their presence. You’d never seen men like them in your life, big brutes all clad in leather and bandoliers, they were the stuff of nightmares and scary stories. They were terrifying. 

“Everyone settle down, we’re not here to cause trouble for you all. We got a bone to pick with one man and one man only,” a booming voice declared. 

Your eyes shifted to the source of the call and you froze as he stalked forward through the throng of passengers and bandits and into view. He was a stocky man, his square jaw stood out to you, that and his thick dark moustache and fiery eyes. You sucked in air through your teeth as you regarded him, realising you’d seen him before. You squinted in recognition. 

The man from the wanted posters that littered the surrounding towns like tumbleweeds. Bishop Losa. The outlaw and his band of Mayans. 

“Ah, here we are,” he grinned, his eyes seemingly landing on you and your father. 

Oh heavens! Surely not? 

People murmured and watched as he made his way to your table, his boots were rattling the wood as he walked. Bishop commanded the carriage, everyone sat stock still as they watched him, as they looked around at the gunmen holding them in their seats. They were all scared to death, none of them attempting to move or draw attention to themselves should they find themselves at the mercy of a dirty metal barrel. 

There was so much happening, your brain was running at a hundred miles an hour trying to comprehend  what this man could possibly want with your family. With your father. 

“Mr.Doe! You look surprised to see me,” Bishop chuckled humorlessly. “You really thought you could get away with it didn’t you? Hm? Tell me, did you think I really wouldn’t seek retribution?”

Your father clenched his jaw and stared up at him defiantly. He must’ve been the only passenger in the carriage that could bear the weight of the outlaw’s gaze. Your mouth hung open as you watched them stare each other down and you furiously wondered what on earth your father would have done to upset the outlaw. How on earth were they even connected? 

Your father was a banker for crying out loud, he spent his days at work and his nights at home grumbling and upholding order. He’d sooner pour over his bible than pour a drink and you were quite sure he’d sooner cut his hands off than place a bet or touch a woman he wasn’t married to. Given this, it seemed impossible that he’d be mixed up with a man like Bishop.

“What do you want?” Your father finally ground out. 

“All business, hmm? Well, let’s get into it then. What do you think I want?”

Bishop hiked his boot up on the seat next to you and made you Yelp. Your screech drew his attention and you shrank away from him as you locked eyes, quickly diverting your gaze. You whimpered as you felt his hand graze your shoulder and twirl into your hair, praying for it all to end. Praying he’d take his coin or whatever it was he wanted and presumably ride off the same way he came. His warm touch was making your flesh burn, scandalising you with his boldness. 

You’d never been touched by another man like this. No one would have dared, especially not in front of your father. 

“I can get you whatever you want, Mr Losa. Just, please…leave my family out of it,” your father breathed, his voice going soft as he spoke of you. 

“Oh, how sweet. A concerned father looking out for his daughter. You put on such a good show Harry,” Bishop snorted. “Very well then, let's have that be the last of the pretence. I want the money. I want every single damn cent!”

You gasped as Bishop gripped his hand around your arm and dragged you toward his chest. It was when you saw the big gun that he gripped in his worn hand that you screamed, screamed as you realised it was being pointed up against your throat and toward your head. He was going to shoot you if he didn’t get what he wanted, you realised with horror. 

The warm metal felt like a hot iron, it felt like it was scalding you, you wanted to scratch and scrape to get away. You wanted to scream and shout. Though you knew better than to anger the bandit while he had a gun to your head. He’d be more than happy to dispatch you, you thought. 

“I don’t have that sort of money on me Bishop,” your father growled, his voice sounding strained.

This was the most rattled you’d ever seen him. Through your hot tears you saw his face twist with horror and you whined out, hoping that he could fix this. You prayed Bishop would just take whatever he had and be satisfied with it. How much money could he really be expecting from a man like your father. 

“I thought you might say that,” Bishop smirked, nuzzling his scratchy face against yours. “Which is why we’re going to have a trade. In two weeks you’ll meet me at midday at Blood Gulch. You come alone or you lose your chance.”

A trade? 

You frowned, watching on confused at your father cast his wary glance from Bishop and toward you, looking furious. What was he going to trade, you wondered, what could he possibly have that your father would want?

“Bishop please, you can’t take her, I-”

“I can do whatever the hell I want! I’m the one with the gun here,” Bishop thundered “Now, do we have an understanding?”

Your face paled as you realised exactly what Bishop intended to trade. He was going to take you. He was going to take you and keep you locked up for two weeks with all of his horrid entourage snapping at your heels. You could only guess at what depraved notions those men would have about you, and though you knew your guesses would be tame in comparison, you didn’t like them.

“Please,” you whimpered, “Please don’t take me.”

“Shh, darling, this’ll all be over soon. As long as your daddy agrees to my deal, no harm will come to you,” Bishop murmured, his breath hot against your ear.

Your father growled and slammed his fist on the table, looking away from you both and out of the window searching for an answer in his head. Clearly, he didn’t have any. He sighed and hung his head, eventually nodding slowly.

“I promise, I will do as you wish. Though I expect that in the time leading up to our meeting you will leave my daughter unharmed…and unspoiled,” he said, gritting out the last part. 

You gasped as you processed what he said and in your haze of anger you lost yourself as you were led out of the carriage and toward a big brutish horse. It huffed out at you both as you approached, knocking you back to your senses. Suddenly you’d realised the gun had been removed from under your chin, the phantom of it still burned at you, but it was gone. 

He surely couldn’t shoot you now if he needed to trade you. 

You yelped and started running, digging your boots into the sand and making a break for it. You panted, scampering your way across the desert plains, ready to run all the way back to civilisation if you had to, but all too soon you were stopped short. 

One of Bishop’s big men latched his arm around you and you gasped as you brought to the ground with a jarring thump. You screamed out, kicking your legs, trying to scratch his arms, though the lanky man didn’t let up. At least not until he’d tied your arms to your sides with a length of thick scratchy rope that only dug in worse as sand filled the cords.

“Get off of me you monster! You will unhand me at once, this is inappropriate you fiend! Get off,” you yelled.

“Callate!” The stranger shouted, startling you.

You were pretty sure that it was Spanish and you were convinced he was telling you to be quiet. Though, you had no way of knowing. You glared up at the man and cursed him, cursing his braids, cursing his tattoos, cursing his glowering eyes. How did he have the nerve to treat you like this?

“Easy, Coco. Here, hand her over,” Bishop grinned. “This one seems like trouble.”

“No! No you- you- you heathen! I’m not an object, do not hand me to anyone,” you shouted, trying to wiggle against your bonds to no avail. 

“Oh darling, you’ll be whatever I tell you to be,” Bishop said, drawing you to him and dragging you back to his horse. “The sooner you learn your place, the sooner things get a lot easier for you girl.”

“My place! My place is back with my father, you must let me back, you have to-”

You were cut off as Bishop used your ranting as an opportunity to force a scarlet bandanna between your lips and tied it around your head. You yelled out, utterly affronted at what he was doing to you, in complete disbelief that he had the nerve to gag you. Who the hell did he think he was?

“I do not have to do anything that you say, in fact it’s quite the opposite. Let's straighten things out, shall we girl? The name’s Bishop Losa, you will treat me and my men with the same respect as you treat your father or you’ll come to regret it. Now, when I say you’ll come to regret it, I don’t mean I’ll make you miss a meal, I mean that you’ll get the strap. For now, I want you to stay on the horse and don’t try anything stupid,” Bishop huffed out, lugging you onto his horse. “Do I make myself clear, Miss Doe?”

You widened your eyes at his threat and breathed hard against the gag, shocked that he’d threaten you with something so sever. Where was his humanity? You surveyed his worn face and honey eyes, begging for him to change his mind, looking for him to have a scrap of decency. Though, soon it became clear that you would be waiting a long time.

You nodded, relaxing atop the horse and bristling again when Bishop jumped up behind you and smothered you against his chest. You were tied up, you would have to wait till your next chance to escape, for now you would have to do as he said. 

You had no choice.

“I’m glad we could reach an understanding Miss.Doe,” Bishop smirked, pulling the reins and yelling out to the horse. “I look forward to spending some time with such a lovely smart lady such as yourself.”

[drabbles-mc]

Degrees of Separation (3)

Taza Romero x M!Reader

Summary: You transferred out of Yuma and into Santo Padre in a last-ditch attempt to outrun old ghosts and old problems. The small charter, located in an even smaller border-town, seemed like the perfect place to try and shake off everything that had happened to you so that you could start over. You were ready to live with your old secrets. But the deeper you get into the charter, the more you realize you may have simply traded in your old secrets for new ones, and this time you wouldn't be going down for them alone.

Chapter Index

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: I realize it had been approximately 10000 years since I wrote for Mayans/SOA but I swear I'm still around and kicking. Bringing this story back from the dead after basically a year of not updating it 😂 But it's a longer chapter so I'm gonna pretend that that makes it okay lmao. I've missed writing these two, though. Lord knows I love me a good slow burn. 😌

Mayans Taglist: @buckybarneshairpullingkink @paintballkid711 @queenbeered @kelpies-shed @mijagif @amorestevens @garbinge @justreblogginfics @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @littlekittymeow @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @nessamc @withmyteeth @crowfootwrites @winchestershiresauce @frattsparty @fanfic-n-tabulous @justazzi @darqchilddaydreamz @danzer8705 @camelia35 @thanossexual @kishie8 @callmejaye (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was a smooth ride back to the clubhouse the next day. There were minimal stops along the way—everyone just wanted to be back home. Between how busy the last couple of days were, and the sun constantly beating down on your back on the return trip, you were exhausted by the time you rolled into the clubhouse lot.

Everyone was hopping off their bikes, the guys in the van piling out, all of you stretching as you tossed your helmets onto your bikes. You looked around, trying to get a feel for what they were all planning on doing. You just wanted to go home and sleep, never mind the fact that it was still probably far too early to go to bed. But if everyone was going to hang around for a bit, you weren’t just going to take off.

You watched as Angel, Gilly, and Coco headed directly for the clubhouse. You were mentally gearing yourself up to follow suit when you heard Taza’s voice coming from behind you. Sometimes it felt like the man could see your plans before you even said or did anything about them.

“The rest of us are going home,” he told you as he stepped so that he was standing next to you.

You didn’t try to dial back your relief. “Yea?”

He laughed. “Yea.” He nodded towards the clubhouse. “They always pull late ones when we get back if everyone is in one piece. You can stay if you want, but,” he shook his head, “the rest of us just want to shower and sleep.”

“Thank god.” You laughed.

You reached into your kutte, pulling out your pack of cigarettes. Placing one between your lips, you grabbed your lighter as well. It took a couple tries, but you finally got it lit, taking a deep inhale and tilting your head back so that when you sighed, the smoke flowed straight up. You felt Taza watching you, and despite the fact that he declined the night before, you still gave him another wordless offer. He chuckled, caving and taking you up on it this time around. He pulled one out of the pack and allowed you to light it for him, watching as you carefully shielded the flame of your lighter from the light breeze threatening to blow it out.

“Do things usually go that smoothly?” you ventured to ask, assuming that if anyone was going to be honest with you, it was Taza.

He nodded, pulling a drag off his cigarette. “Yeah,” smoke flowed out between his lips with each word he spoke, “usually. Not always,” he chuckled knowingly, “but usually.”

You laughed, shrugging. “I could get used to that.”

He arched one eyebrow, clearly curious. “Things not go that smoothly in Yuma?”

You held the smoke in for a beat longer than you usually would before releasing it with a deep sigh. “Not for me.”

Taza studied your expression as you said that, the way that you weren’t looking directly at him as you spoke. Despite that, he could still see the tension in the way that you stood, the way you forced the deep breath out. He wondered if this was going to be the moment when you finally opened up about whatever had gone down in Yuma that made you transfer out. There were usually stories of some kind to accompany why men would shuffle between charters. Or, at the very worst, there were rumors, which while they weren’t ideal it would still give people some sort of an idea as to why the changes were happening. But it had been radio silent with you. Yuma didn’t say much, and you said even less. Truthfully, Taza wasn’t interested in Canche’s version of anything, but it would’ve been better than nothing.

But you still kept it in, whatever thoughts were racing around your mind at the mention of your last charter. Maybe one day down the line you would talk about it, or maybe it was just going to be another thing that got buried in the pile of happenings that you never forgot, but never discussed. If Santo Padre was going to be anything resembling a fresh start, you figured that leaving the past where it belonged was the best course of action. Giving things a voice didn’t always work out for you in the past.

Somehow, even with the overwhelming urge to pry, Taza didn’t say anything more to you about it. He was no stranger to having skeletons that he tried to hide from view. You both stood there, passively tapping the ash from the ends of your cigarettes smoke swirled up around you.

“Those runs are every month?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He nodded, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Least once a month, yeah.” He looked at you, a curious expression on his face. “You want to be put on the rotation?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Hell yeah.” You dropped the last of your cigarette, snubbing it out beneath the toe of your boot. “Felt good to be back on the road again.”

“I’ll let Bishop know,” Taza said, nodding as he got as much as he could out of the cigarette pinned between his fingers.

“Appreciate it.” You smiled as you gave Taza a light clap on the shoulder. “I’m heading out. I’ll see you in a couple days.”

“Sounds good.” He watched as you walked back over to your bike, finally letting the end of his cigarette drop and hit the ground when you clipped your helmet on to drive off.

The next few days were quiet. There were no calls for Templo, and you didn’t have any yard shifts which you were thanking your lucky stars for. You took advantage of the downtime to try and rest, and to put some minor attempts into making your new place feel a little more like home. You’d never been good at the decorating thing, always counting on whoever you were living with to have a stronger knack for it than you. The plants that were struggling in your window sill, and the few picture frames tacked on the wall in your tiny living room were about the extent of your décor. You’d been saying that at some point you were going to have to remedy that, and now some point was here.

Looking around, you weren’t really sure if it made the apartment feel that much more like home. But it at least no longer looked like what would pass for a low-budget motel room. Now, you figured, you were at least in low-budget hotel territory. It was a step in the right direction. For once, you missed having a roommate.

Flopping down onto the couch, you came to the immediate conclusion that the throw pillows were a good purchase. It blew your mind how much a fucking pillow cost, but for all the times you ended up falling asleep on the couch instead of in your bed, you supposed it was a decent investment, and apparently it would brighten up the space, or whatever all those people on the HGTV channel would say.

You were halfway to falling asleep when your phone started buzzing in your pocket. You snapped awake, digging it out and bringing it to your ear without checking to see who was calling. “Yeah?”

“Yo. They called Templo.” EZ was clearly trying not to laugh at the fact that you sounded as tired as you felt. “Bish wants everyone here ASAP.”

You sat up, running your free hand down your face like that would wake you up. “Alright. I’ll be there.”

Luckily you were still in the clothes you’d gone out in before, so getting ready really just meant slipping into your kutte and putting your boots back on. You grabbed your helmet and took off out the door, double-checking to make sure that you’d really locked it.

You weren’t the last to show up to the clubhouse, but even so, there were still a good number of bikes already there when you showed up. You put yours in line with everyone else’s, leaving your gloves and helmet on the seat before making your way over to the clubhouse steps. Before you even opened the door, you could hear some of the chatter coming from inside. No one sounded angry, which was a good sign, but you still had no idea why Bishop had called a meeting.

You made your way over to the bar, never quite sure where else you should go. That was another thing you still had on your list of stuff to figure out. Everyone else seemed to have some sort of a routine, a group that they gravitated towards. You hadn’t found yours yet. Each time you thought about it, you thought about your quick exchange with Angel on the run. For all the ways that the guys like to bust his chops, you couldn’t help but to think that maybe this time he had a point.

Bishop’s voice ringing through the clubhouse cut down any chance for you to think too much more about it. You downed the last of your beer before getting up to head towards the sliding glass door. EZ was tossing your bottle and a few others into the recycling bin behind the bar when Bishop called out for him too.

“You too, prospect.” He nodded towards the room. “Might need your help with something.”

Your expression showed your mixed feelings of impressed and confused. Prospects in Templo didn’t happen often. Again, maybe it was different in Santo Padre, but you knew for a fact that in Yuma the circumstances had to be dire for that to happen. You wondered if there was more going on that you should all be worried about. The way EZ chuckled and shook his head let you know that he saw the confused look on your face. He fell into stride next to you once he came out from behind the bar.

“Least I know I’m not the only one out of the loop on this,” he joked before tossing his phone into the basket.

“What’s this?”

He laughed. “Exactly.”

You listened as Bishop, Taza, and Hank all explained what had been going down in the prisons. They were your drugs. Sure, technically they were Galindo’s, but Mayans were the ones distributing. Your charters were the ones distributing drugs that were making people drop like flies. It was more than just a one-off—it clearly wasn’t user error at this point.

Sitting back silently, you also listened to the plan that they were formulating to get to the bottom of all of it. It sounded a little batshit, to be quite honest. It was all hinging on EZ’s brain. Apparently he had an eidetic memory. You had no reason to believe that that wasn’t true, but you also found it a bit bold to be using it to essentially write off an entire charter as snakes. No one else seemed to share the same reservations, though.

“This doesn’t leave this room,” Bishop said as he looked around at all of you. “Got it?”

Everyone gave their version of yes before Bishop nodded, bringing the gavel down and effectively dismissing everyone. You stood up, pushing your chair back, and were about to start heading out of the room when Bishop spoke up again, this time only saying your name. It sent a tiny jolt of fear down your spine but you fought not to let it show as you turned around to face him and the other two men sitting at the head of the table, the only others who hadn’t gotten up from their chairs.

“Yeah, Pres?” you tried to sound casual enough, hoping it hid your nerves.

He nodded towards the chair that was on the opposite side of Hank, one that brought you to their end of the table. “Sit.”

There was nothing for you to say, so you just waited for the rest of the room to clear out. You temporarily snagged someone else’s seat for the sake of not sitting at nearly the opposite end of the table from Bishop while he spoke to you. You rested your forearms on top of the table, crossing them so that your hands rested by opposite elbows. There was no way for you to know for sure what your expression looked like, but you hoped it was something adjacent to relaxed, maybe even a little confident if you could muster it.

“Settling in alright?” Bishop asked when the room stilled again.

You chuckled out of nerves. “I think so, yeah.” You paused for a beat, looking at his expression, then those of Taza and Hank. It always seemed like everyone had a better game-face than you. “This like, what, a ninety-day eval or something?” you joked lightly.

Taza let out a quiet laugh at that, and it even got a bit of a smile out of Bishop before he replied, “Yeah, pretty much.”

You gave a slow nod, trying to take the temperature of the room. It didn’t feel tense enough for you to think that things were about to go poorly. “Alright. Why don’t you guys tell me how I’m settling in, then.”

Taza smiled, maybe a little more outwardly amused than he should’ve been. “We think you’re settling in alright too.”

“We just need to know if you’re planning on staying,” Hank finally spoke up, “now that you’ve seen what we do here.”

You had no hesitation as you nodded. “I wanna stay. I’m—I’m gonna stay.”

Bishop was studying your face, looking for any crack in any possible façade that you could be putting up. “You’re sure on that?” He saw the way you were about to shoot something back, but the slight lift of his hand from the table stopped you. “I need to make sure my club is fuckin’ steady. You left Yuma. I didn’t ask why—I don’t really give a fuck why, either. I just need to know if you’re gonna wanna leave here too.”

You managed to keep your composure, not wanting to get heated enough to the point where you’d have to get into it all. Instead, you took a deep breath, set your shoulders back, and shook your head. “I’m not planning on leaving.”

There was a long drag of silence. Long enough that if anyone in that room was holding a lie together by a thread it would’ve snapped. You must’ve seemed steady and sure enough for Bishop’s liking, for all of theirs, because everyone in the room relaxed. Except Taza—the one person in the room who hadn’t seemed tense in the first place.

“Good,” Bishop finally said. He snubbed his cigarette out before dropping the act and letting himself smile. “Now we won’t have to do this shit again.” He saw the relief on your face and he just nodded towards the door. “Go on, get outta here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, immediately getting up and letting yourself out. The usual thrumming of the clubhouse hardly even registered as you quickly made your way through and out the door. You stopped on the deck, just needing fresh air as you braced yourself against the railing.

The creaking of the door opening behind you caused you to turn around. You chuckled and shook your head when you saw it was Taza. “You know that was coming?” you asked.

He chuckled, nodding. “Of course I did.”

“Didn’t think to warn me?”

He shrugged as he leaned on the railing next to you. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

You shook your head, not looking at him but not really looking away from him either. “Bit of a risk, isn’t it?” You turned to look at him only to find him already facing you. “Asking me if I’m gonna stay after going over all that shit with the other charters?”

Taza shook his head. “No risk.”

“No?”

He shrugged. “I had the feeling you weren’t gonna flinch.”

“If I did?”

“We had plans in place for that too.”

“Jesus Christ,” you said with a shake of your head.

He chuckled, clapping you on the back. “Good thing you didn’t flinch, huh?”

“Yeah.” You had to laugh a little. You knew what you were dealing with—at the end of the day it was still an MC. “Real good thing.”

[garbinge]

Julia ‘Jules’ Silva

“We make our own odds, Reyes.”

[toby-du-coeur]

thominewt newt!lives saga has b e g u n

thomas digs his toes into the rising tide and burns the morning sun into his eyes · the ocean up and down every day, erasing the hearts and names and crude jokes the gladers scratch in the sand · smoothing everything out again, guarding, hoarding · the sun, scorching deeper into the sky the same path, every day repeating repeating · remembering something · there’s that story about icarus, scorched, falling · the sun diving every evening to the sea to catch him, every night a little too late · and drowning and choking back up and trying again

thominewt are reunited in the safe haven. unlearning a lifetime of survival, learning how to live

[satashiiwrites]

The Outlaw and the Cartel Boss, XV-XVI

So it’s…. Um…. Been a year since I’ve posted a chapter of this.  Which is incredibly embarrassing and terrible.  But since Miguel has been the snarly and snarky voice in the back of my head during meetings the last two weeks I’ve finally gotten back on track.  Goal is every other month publishing a chapter until done.  

Without further Ado….

Title: The Outlaw and the Cartel Boss, XV-XVI

Fandom: Mayans MC

Pairings: Miguel Galindo/Ezekiel “EZ” Reyes, past Miguel Galindo/Emily Galindo, Ezekiel “EZ” Reyes/Emily Galindo, current Angel Reyes/Luisa “Adelita” Espina, future Angel Reyes/Johnny “Coco” Cruz

Other Tags/Warnings: We’re waaaaay AU of the TV series (not brothers) as of about episode 3 or 4 so minimal knowledge of Mayans necessary for enjoyment. Sentinel/Guide AU.  Sentinel/Guide Bonding.  Bond interference. 

Fic summary: 

EZ Reyes came online with his mother’s violent death and suffered the consequences of his actions in the aftermath. When Jimenez offers him a deal to turn evidence in on the Galindo cartel, he agreed as he’d brought shame on his tribe by his actions and it was a chance at redemption that he didn’t feel he deserved. He just didn’t anticipate who his guide would be and the amount of trouble they’d generate for him. Miguel had goals—to legitimize the family business, enjoy life and his family. He didn’t anticipate any of the events that forced him online as a guide but now that he has a sentinel he’s not letting him go.

Chapter summary:  Miguel is brought into federal custody and is given an offer by Potter. Meanwhile, Kevin and Felipe reach an understanding.

Read it here on AO3