#1. giffing is NOT like riding a bike I in fact forgot everything about it

[nightlocktime]

EMMA SUÁREZ in The Red Squirrel (1993) for @ghostcat3000

[halpertstuna]

must have been the wind - jj maybank

A/N: this imagine is inspired by the song “must have been the wind” by alec benjamin. i wrote this imagine listening to the slowed version of the song. i highly recommend you listen to it whilst/before/after reading this(:

pairing: jj x reader

word count: 2,874

warnings: mentions of domestic violence, some angst, some fluff, ya know, all that jazz. and probably typos (this isn’t really edited, pls forgive me)

-> masterlist <-

(gif credit: @jjbanks )

It was 1:28AM, you gazed out the window of the moving car, your elbow was placed on the door panel whilst your head rested in the palm of your hand, the dark navy blue moonlit water in the ocean outside was being reflected in your eyes.

You were currently sat in the backseat of a white Honda lost in your thoughts. Your dad got transferred to North Carolina due to him getting a promotion at work, which was a big deal, especially since your mum wasn’t working and so he jumped on the opportunity right away, moving the two of you with him.

Obviously you were happy for him, but you were also kind of glum since it meant packing up your entire life back in Miami and leaving all of your friends behind with everything else that was familiar, warm and felt like home.

You were being pulled out of your thoughts by the car coming to a stop.

You exited the car taking your bag and suitcase with you to the front porch, then retuned to help your exhausted parents with theirs, once you acknowledged they were struggling to keep their eyes open.

The movers were supposed to come in the morning at about 8AM to unload the rest of your belongings.

You had entered the house and your dad lead you to your room, your mum following not far behind, not wanting to be alone in the foreign, empty house.

You set your bags down next to the bedroom door and kissed both your parents goodnight. They went to their room shortly after and fell into a deep asleep right away.

You changed into pyjamas and laid down in bed staring at the ceiling, you were tired but you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep.

After about an hour of just gazing at the fan spinning above your head, your eyes started to flutter shut, and just as you were about to drift off to sleep the sound of glass shattering startled you, making your heart race as the sound echoed through your ears.

You jumped out of bed and ran to your parents room worried, only to find out they were fast asleep.

Where did the sound come from then? And how come your parents didn’t hear anything? Is the tiredness starting to affect your hearing? Did you just imagine it?

You walked back to your room confused and curious as to where the sound came from.

you laid back in bed and quickly fell asleep assuming what you heard was caused by your sleep deprived state, your ears playing tricks on you.

You managed to fall asleep pretty quickly but you were pulled out of your dreams by the sound of two male voices, screaming at the top of their lungs, shooting at each other vitriolic comments.

Now you were sure, you weren’t just imagining it earlier.

You walked towards your bedroom window, peeking out in hopes of seeing something, anything that could give you a clue to whatever the hell is going on at almost four in the morning.

After about five minutes of hearing despicable words roll off someone’s tongue, muffled by the walls yet clear as day the second you let them sink in, you decided to go back to sleep since it’s really not your place, and just as you were about to walk back to your bed, you noticed a tall figure exit the house in a hurry while someone from behind it kept roaring in a resentful tone vile words.

You quickly turned your attention back to the view your window had to offer, watching as what looked like a teenage boy, put a helmet on his disheveled hair, get on a bike and ride off.

And with that, the noise stopped.

You were stood by your window as the quiet night swallowed you whole, the only sound audible now was your breathing.

You laid back in your bed taking in what you had just witnessed.

Who was that boy? Who was the mysterious, scary voice behind the door? why was he yelling such dreadful things at him? And what more was he capable of?

The questions were endless, they haunted your thoughts, knowing you had to find out what was going on, if that boy was okay.

You dozed off not long after, given the fact that you were after a flight and it was really late.

The next morning you were woken up by the rays of sunlight breaking through the glass of your window, resting on your closed eyelids. The realisation that you forgot to shut the curtains last night before you went to bed suddenly hitting you.

It was almost eight. You let out a loud groan and flipped so you were facing the wall, desperate for more sleep.

You barely had time to even try before your mum knocked on your door, your eyes fluttered open, she smiled at you greeting you good morning.

You let out a sigh and sat up, mumbling under your breath “it could be better”.

You got up and brushed your teeth, then went back to your room to get changed. You wore blue jean shorts, a black oversized band tee and white slip-on vans.

you entered the kitchen and noticed your dad making coffee, he handed you a mug filled with the warm liquid, you quickly drank it and set the mug down in the sink, realising he had started unpacking the “fragile - kitchen” box, meaning the mover’s loading truck was already outside.

You got out of the hous and your dad followed, your mum was already helping with the boxes and the two of you joined her and the movers helping them unload the truck.

It was almost nine and you were down to your last boxes, when you heard what sounded like the engine of a motorcycle.

Your head shot in the direction of the house next to yours as you noticed the same bike from yesterday come to a stop at the front porch, a blonde mop of hair was the first thing you noticed once the boy took off the helmet he had on, running his fingers through his hair.

He started making his way into the house, not giving you a single look.

When you finished unloading and unpacking your parents asked you to take out the trash.

You held two big, black garbage bags in your petite hands and started making your way to the bin.

You threw the content in, and just as you turned around the boy exited his house.

The two of you made eye contact and you offered him a kind smile which he mirrored without hesitation.

You started walking towards your house but stopped in your tracks at the memories of last night.

He was sat on his doorstep, a juul in his hand, as he hit it repeatedly.

You started walking towards him.

“Hey” he greeted sending you a smirk.

“Hi” you replied grinning.

As you got closer to him, you were met with the prettiest pair of blue eyes you’d ever seen.

“I’m JJ” he introduced himself taking another hit

“I’m Y/N, I’m new here” you stated suddenly shy under his gaze, taking in how attractive he is from up close.

“Yeah, i kinda figured, I saw the truck here earlier, plus I’ve never seen you around before” he affirmed

You nodded, a comfortable silence fell upon you two.

You were looking him up and down, he was wearing a grey tank top that revived his biceps and kaki shorts with a pair of black boots.

You then looked at the juul he was holding and noticed his knuckles looked slightly bruised, painted in this violet colour. You studied his features slowly before breaking the silence.

“Hey, um I actually wanted to ask you a question” He looked up at you signalling you to continue. “Last night, when I was trying to sleep, I heard glass shattering and other noises, d- did you hear anything?” He averted his gaze from you to the dock in front of him shaking his head no.

You knew he was lying. But you didn’t push him any further, knowing that if he wanted to talk about it he would.

You quickly changed the subject which he was highly grateful for.

The two of you sat there talking for a few hours, you told him about your life back home and he told you about the pogues, the two of you found out you actually have a lot in common, you share the same love for the ocean and surfing, you both would do anything for your loved ones and you both want to travel the world and explore it.

You didn’t know how long you’ve been sat with JJ, talking, until the two of you noticed the sun starting to set in the horizon, painting the sky in the most beautiful shades of yellowish-red slowly followed by shades of violet and blue.

You darted your gaze over to JJ, only to discover his was already on you. You smiled up at him, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, you whispered a “hi” to which he chuckled and shook his head, smiling at how cute he found your softness.

And for the first time since you moved, you felt welcome. And even though it started getting chilly, you felt warm inside, thanks to the humorous boy beside you.

You could hear your name being called from inside the house, telling you dinner’s ready.

You bid your goodbyes and walked back to your house.

You ate dinner with your family then went to bed, this time falling asleep easily since you were exhausted from that day.

At about two in the morning, you had to pee, so you walked to the bathroom half asleep but were quickly snapped back to reality when you heard “I’ll fucking kill you!” bawled with rage.

Your eyes were shot open at the sound of that and you started freaking out a bit. You were really worried but you didn’t want to stick your nose where it didn’t belong, so you decided to let it go.

When you laid back in bed you heard someone ignite a motorcycle and take off, you assumed it was JJ, and again, with that, just like the night before, the noise stopped.

The next day you didn’t see him. You were worried something might have happened but you reassured yourself, assuming he was probably with the pogues. That day was dedicated to helping your parents unpack furniture, cutlery etc.

You went to sleep pretty early given you were in desperate need of it.

You were abruptly woken up by the sound of loud thuds and the words “worthless piece of shit” ringing in your ears as they were being yelled at someone.

You quickly got up and looked out your window, you were concerned about JJ’s well being, assuming he got back home while you were sleeping.

This time you just couldn’t shake the feeling something’s seriously wrong, with that you slipped on your shoes and quickly ran to his house in a panic.

You knocked on the door firmly.

Once it was swung open and you were met with the same pair of blue eyes you saw yesterday, but this time with a bruise under one and a cut under the other.

His eyes softened at the sight of your worried state and you drank him in, searching his face for more bruises.

“What the hell is going on?” you asked now angry “what’s all that noise?!”

JJ looked at you then down at his feet and said “I wish I could tell you but I didn’t hear anything” you were taken aback by his words.

You knew he was playing dumb, and usually you won’t want to intrude but you were far too worried about him.

“Are you serious?” You asked him with wide eyes. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. It must’ve been the wind.” you were dumbfounded by his statement, speechless.

“Thanks for caring, but I have to go back inside, good night.” Your eyes swam with concern as he closed the door. You walked back to your house not wanting to pressure him any further into talking about it since he looked like he was on the verge of breaking.

The next day you went to the beach with your surfboard. You ran into the water, eager to catch some waves when you were met with none other than the “surfing legend” himself, as he liked to say, JJ Maybank.

He was on his surfboard riding a wave as you watched in awe.

Once he saw you he started paddling on his board in your direction.

“Well hello there, how are you enjoying the waters of the Outer Banks so far?” he greeted authoritatively and you giggled at that. “I actually just got here, didn’t really get the chance to ride any waves. But I can’t say the same about you. You’re really good” you commented and a grin spread across his face. “Thanks” he replied.

He sat straddling his surfboard and as he got closer you noticed a giant bruise on his stomach, you gasped at the sight, he didn’t understand at first, then followed your gaze. “What happened?” You asked faintly, reaching out and tenderly tracing the bruise with your fingertips. “It’s nothing,” he scoffed “you should see the other guy” he chuckled awkwardly, but you weren’t buying it.

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it,” you started “but just know my door is always open, you can come whenever you’d like for as long as you desire if you ever need a friend” he shot you a watery smile at that invitation and a comforting silence fell upon the two of you.

You broke it by saying “I bet I can catch that wave before you Maybank!” Then started steering away towards the giant wave that was heading your way, “Oh! Bring it on Y/L/N!” He retorted following not far behind.

That day was fun for the both of you, sun, surf and no worries.

When you got home you took a shower and put on a pair of grey sweatpants and a white oversized shirt.

It was getting late and you were beat from surfing and being in the sun all day, you had no trouble drowsing off.

You were sound asleep until you were alarmed by the sound of knocking on your window. You shifted the blanket off your body and got up, your warm feet made contact with the cold wooden floor, waking you up a bit as you approached your window.

You rubbed your eyes trying to make out the face of the blurry figure on the other side of the glass. You quickly picked up that it was JJ and opened the window, letting him climb in.

He didn’t need to say anything, knowing you already knew why he was there. You turned on the the table lamp, then noticed he had a busted lip, and a fresh cut on his cheek.

You were quick to wrap him in your embrace, hugging him dangerously close. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and started crying, tears slid down his cheeks, making the collar of your shirt wet and see through, but you didn’t care. He buried his face in your chest and you held him as tight as possible until he managed to steady his breathing.

You held his hand and intertwined your fingers, leading him to the bathroom without a single word being passed between the two of you. You signaled him to sit in the counter and he obeyed. You started cleaning up his bruises and cuts, bandaging what you could.

After you finished you told him to go back to your room. You went to the kitchen and quickly returned, plopping down on the bed beside him, handing him ice cream, knowing it’s the most comforting thing you could give, other than a hug which followed the deed.

You put on “Iron Man”, trying to lighten the mood with Tony Stark’s humour.

As the credits rolled he opened his mouth “I’m sorry,” he mumbled “for bothering you like this it’s just- I mean- I-“ you cut him off by caressing his cheek with your hand, he leaned into your touch. “It’s okay.” you cooed, a single tear slid down his cheek and you wiped it away with your thumb, smiling weakly at him “We don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready, and until you are, we can say ‘it must have been the wind’” you quoted what he’d told you the other day, gaining a smile from him, a real smile, eyes full of adoration.

You pulled the blanket on the two of you up to your chin.

You shut off the light and muttered a “Good night” before drifting off.

He kissed your forehead, lingering for a bit longer than he should’ve.

He murmured a good night before falling asleep as well beside you.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

SNEEZE.

Obispo “Bishop” Losa x reader

Anon asked: hey darling i would like to request an imagine with bishop about something like this: you work on the scrapyard helping chucky (or in the bar at mayans parties) and he has a soft spot on you, but you think he is just nice but in fact it’s because he is in love with you but he is scared that you don’t reciprocate the feeling and because you are much younger than him

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💖

Word count: 3.6k

Author Comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @arveeee @witchy-wish ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

After sneezing for sixth time, your nose starts to bleed, covering it with both hands and a “shit” drowned in your throat. Tranq and Bishop look at you with raised eyebrows, seen you using a cloth when the drops stain your shirt. 

“You ok, kid?” The president asks visibly worried. You nod throwing your head forward and breathing by your mouth.

“I'll find you a shirt, wait”. The other mexican says, disappearing through the hallway to the dorms.

“Com'ere, sit down”. Bishop offers you a hand, guiding your steps to the closer sofa.

Nailing your elbows on your nap, you continue with your head down as your mother taught you when you were a child. 

“Are you cold, or sick, or something like, ah?”

“I think so... Yesterday… the heating in my house just… broke. And when I sneeze too much, this happens”. You sigh pulling away the cloth to see how it's going. Still bleeding.

“Did you call a tec'?” Then, you shake your head because you actually forgot it. “What if I take you home, uh? You should rest”.

The man places his right palm on your forehead, noticing that it's warm than normal. The gesture gives you some chills, coughing because of the blood stuck in your throat. Tranq offers you the the shirt, he was looking for, as the president helps you to getting up.

“Change it, okay? I'll ride you home”.

“I'm ok, prez”. You shake your head taking it. “I just… gonna change it and go back to work. I have to… I have to get everything ready fo' tonight”.

“Querida, you're not gonna work having fever”.

“Yea', nor bleeding like that. Stockton is like an excited bull when they see something red”. Tranq makes you chuckle, nodding just one time before walking towards the bathroom.

“Find Coco, tell him I need his car for a couple hours”. 

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Your house feels like the North Pole, bearing in mind that the sun only gives you a couple of hours a day and that you forgot to close the large window of the living room. At least, you left it after clean the mess in it. Sideways, you find Bishop trying not to look around, so you would not think that he's ‘too curious’. Continuing your steps to the window, you close it and you also run the curtains. Sneezing again covering your nose with both hands, and turning to your boss, you sigh heavily.

“Have a cold shower and get some rest. I'll get you some pills to help you, and find a tec' who fix the heating, ok?”

“Sounds like ain't another option”. You joke a little, trying to breathe by your nose.

Bishop smirks at you, putting his gaze away before leaving your house. He's always attentive, kindly and gentle with you, helping with whatever he can help without even asking him to do it. And it feels nice having someone who takes care of you so disinterestedly, and wanting nothing back. Just doing it because it's what he desiderate. And because of that, you obey every indication the man gives you without complain about it.

After having a shower and putting on some comfy sport clothes, you lie down on the sofa hugging a cushion. You don't feel better, with the stuffy nose and the dry throat. Have fever and a cold on a day like this it's a big shit, because Mayans pays pretty good jack for some hours serving beers and shots. And even if you don't need it, not at all, it's always okay to save some more money. Turning on the tv and looking for whatever to watch, you wait for your boss to come back, falling asleep in the process.

You can't know how much time has passed, when you feel a hand narrowing your shoulder gently with a sweet voice calling you. Opening your eyes so slowly, you find Bishop there. Getting up to sit, you cough covering your mouth with a fist.

“How you feel, ah?”

“I'm okay”. You lie, making him chuckle for a second.

“The sales' told me you should take one of this, every six hours”. He says then, giving you a small box of analgesics by taking it off from a cardboard box. “And I also bought you an orange juice”.

Putting it on the table, he walks to the kitchen, coming back towards you in just a few seconds. 

“Didn' know if you have a thermometer, so…” Having a sit by your side, he grabs it from inside the bag to take off the plastic that wraps it. “Okay, open your mouth”.

You can't help but laughing with some difficulties, taking it under your tongue and pressing your lips while he serves you the drink in the crystal glass. After exactly one minute, the thermometer beeps six times. Bishop removes it from your mouth, looking at the number that it's marking. The man clicks his tongue, somewhat disappointed.

“You will not work tonight”.

“But I'm okay!” You complain about his decision, whilst he's raising both eyebrows.

Ignoring you, the man takes one of the pills giving it to you and offering the juice with the other hand. Sighing heavy you obey again, pulling back your hair before it.

“You don' have to do'et”. You exhale resting the back against the sofa and turning your head to him.

“Do what?”

“Stay here. Take care of me like that”.

“Are you gonna do it?”

No. Not at all. If it were up to you, you would continue working on the scrapyard. But you have to recognize that you feel a little bit ashamed of Bishop seeing you looking like shit, and putting all your efforts so that he doesn't notice it.

“You can go, if you need it. I do—”.

“I'm staying till after lunch, you need to eat. So, go to bed and rest”. Palming one of your thighs, kicking off his boots and leaving the kutte on the armrest, he raises both eyebrows with no more gesture on his face.

You do it, again without any compliment knowing that you already lost the battle of working tonight at the Mayan party. Falling down on your bed and hugging your pillow with both arms, after lower the blind, you try to have some rest but because of your stuffy nose you know it's not a possibility. So you just lie there, with the door almost open but seeing Bishop focused in his phone through the opening. 

Sometimes you ask yourself why he is so gentle with you, since the first moment you met. With the time, you thought that maybe he had a kid and he was just being protective, or something like. But then you knew that he hadn't more family than Marcus Alvarez, el Padrino. You feel like a stalker watching him enraptured, trying to pretend you're not looking at him when the man gets up after some hours there. Maybe it's time to eat, but you have your phone in the living room. So you just wait again for Bishop.

And when a delicious smell slices into your room, calling you as the sweetest and charming melody, flooding it completely; you hear two knocks on your door, finding his shadow on the floor.

“Lunch is ready, c'mon, kid”.

“I'm not a kid”. You snort getting out from your door, as he laughs softly.

“You are, compared with me”.

“Yea', I'm sorry, Mr. Mummy”. You joke on him, coughing again as soon as you try to laugh walking towards the table. “Boiled veggies… Seriously, Obispo? 'Amma joke to you?”

“See? You're a kid”.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

After being sure that you can take care of yourself for the moment, the president left your house to attend the party. Highlighting thousands times to call him in case you continue worse. You're not going to do it, because he has the right to have some fun and don't wasting his time being a nurse, but you nod the thousand times back. Even if you enjoyed his company, it's not fair.

Desperate and rough knocks hits your door, waking you up violently and jumping off from the sofa very dizzy. Your heart is about to stop because of the hits, walking sleepy towards the main door. 

“Why haven't you answered your phone, ah?! You scared the shit outta' me!”

“Shit, lower your voice, prez. My head is gonna explode”. You sob between growls.

Without expecting, he places a hand on your forehead and another on your nape. Clicking his tongue, he walks inside your house right to your room. With the door still open, he comes back holding a hoodie and a pair of sneakers.

“Put them on, we're going to the hospital”.

“Bishop, I'm fi—”.

“No, you're not”. He snorts somewhat upset, stretching both arms.

You know you can't fight against him, being more headstrong than you. So sitting on the closest chair, you put on the shoes before wearing the sweater. Walking by his side to the Coco's car, you have a seat on the copilot one, adjusting the seat belt around your body. You have never seen Bishop driving more than his bike, till today. And you have to recognize he does it pretty well too, thinking about something he's bad into. Nothing, apparently. Sometimes he's a little annoying, like now, knowing that you don't need to visit the urgencies.

In the road, you look for your insurance number in your phone, keeping it opened to fill the former as long as you're there. But he decided to do it for you, forcing you to wait for him at the waiting room. It's cold, at least, it's what you feel trembling slightly and curling your legs against your chest above the chair. Bishop doesn't look happy when he sits next to you, probably because the doctors are going to take a while to see you, with all the people there sitting behind your back. The man looks at you, with your eyes closed and breathing by your mouth, hearing somewhat like a zip being opened. You raise your gaze to him when he helps you to get up a little, so he can wraps you with his jacket.

“I got you, have some rest”. He speaks with a low tone, don't wanting to bother you, nor your headache, placing an arm on your shoulders pushing your body close to him.

Getting a little more comfy over his chest with your cheek resting there, you sigh closing your eyes feeling too tired. For you, it's just another cold. But for him, seems like you're dying. It's funny finding out how careful he can be. And you're starting to be okay with that when he ends up sitting you on his lap, thinking you could be better, curling your legs above the next chair whilst he's holding you tightly. Yes, it's feels so much better. Maybe it's not that bad being sick, even when you look like a helpless child sheathed by a jacket bigger than you and his arms surrounding your body.

Some long minutes after, when you're almost falling asleep and you're feeling warm, your name resonates through the megaphone. Bishops helps you to get up, still holding you and following the hallways to the doctor's office. 

“(Y/N)?” The man asks seeing you both come in after calling to the door.

“Yea'”. You mutter going straight to the stretcher and sitting there.

“How you feel, miss?”

“Pretty good, doc—”. You cough again, putting a hand on your chest when it rips you internally.

“She has almost one hundred and four”. Bishop talks then. “I gave her some analgesic, but ain't no working”.

“Okay, let's see”. The doctor nods taking the stethoscope. “Are you her partn—?”

“Her boss”.

“Lucky girl, then. My boss would kick my ass if I felt like you, miss”.

“Yea', I like to… take care of my mechanic. That little trouble knows who to fuck up my bike”. He chuckles, leaving an unexpected kiss on your left temple.

“A wise man. But I need you to leave the consult, so she can take off her shirt”.

“Ye—Yes. Sure”. Bishop agrees clearing his throat. “I'll be right there, okay?”

The study begins once you're alone, hearing your lungs and your heart beat, looking inside your throat and taking your temperature. It doesn't take much longer than three or four minutes, when the doctor asks you to get dressed again, but pull down a little your sweatpants so he can puncture some medicine on your lower back. It hurts like hell, feeling how the cold liquid running under your skin, making you press a little cotton against it after it's done.

“I'll recipe you some analgesic. And water. Drink a lot of water. Sometimes looks like foolishness, but it actually helps”. The man says, sitting at his deck and writing something you can't understand. 

Giving you the paper, he lets you go.

“And?” Bishop asks getting up from the wall, as long as he sees you.

“Medicine and water. And a gift prick”. You reply, putting his arm again on your shoulder and taking the recipe with his free hand. “My ass hurts”.

He laughs shaking his head, as you smirk softly surrounding his waist and resting your cheek against his cheek. You feel protected, even if you hate to feel defenseless. But with him, you accept it.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

It's been two days and life has come back to you, under Bishop's care and paranoia of taking your meds at a exactly time of the day. And you need to reward him. Of course, Marcus is who knows him better and you know how much his cousin could appreciate a homemade lunch. Tacos al pastor. A small cliche, but easy to prepare. So you actually surprise him when he comes to your house, with a random text saying him you're feeling worse. Five minutes it's the time it takes him to get there, hitting your door bell insistently.

“Hey! What's up? You okay?” He's about to have a heart attack, with shaky breathe and a worried look on his face.

“Food is gonna get cold”.

“What food? Are you okay or not?” Bishop asks coming in, following the delicious smell of meat mixed with pineapple.

“I'm okay, relax. It was just a joke”. You chuckle closing the door and pushing him by your hands on his back, guiding him to the table already served.

“Amma' fuckin' kill you…” He growls turning to you, visibly upset and somewhat angry.

“Sit, grumpy mummy”. Rolling your eyes, you point a sit.

“What is that for?”

“I'm thankful 'you have been so annoying, taking care of me”.

“You did— Is tha— Who told you?”

“I have my own contacts, presidente”. You almost sing raising your chin proud.

And you don't know at what time you find yourself lying on the sofa under his weight. His waist between your legs, whilst his tongue is fighting yours and your lips biting his whenever they can. You have no air in your lungs, but seems like you don't care pushing him closer with both hands on his nape and head. His are running through your body with needy caresses that he was containing for so long. And he's hard, pretty hard, rubbing the lump under his jeans against your wetted crotch. You want more, moaning because of the friction among your thighs, when he wraps your throat with a hand, raising a little your neck so he can kiss and suck the exposed skin.

But something bad seems like clicks his neurons, when he snorts heavily against your skin.

“I'm sorry, I can't”. He just says getting up from the sofa. “I can't do it. I gotta go, sorry”.

You are confused, raising your back by your forearms, with your eyes on him seeing how he takes his jacket thrown above the floor. Bishop leaves your house in silence. Also leaving you there trying to find the point where you have fuck him up. But there's no point. You were good, having a great moment, taking a first step. You really wanted it, even if it wasn't the way you liked to start a relationship with him, so Bishop might think it's the only thing you want from him. Taking care of you those days it just made you fall in love a little bit more, and maybe he's not. And he only wants to protect you of making yourself illusion about something smoky.

You only can wait till night, hoping that maybe he could come back or text you at least. But nothing happened, and you're not going to give up. 

It's the first time you reach the clubhouse in less than ten minutes, surprising yourself even, while you park the car next to the motorcycles. Seems like Mayans are having a party inside and, by that, you don't surprise. Coming in without calling, nor asking, being greeted by Gilly and Creeper with shouts and laughs. But you're not in the mood to joying them, finding Bishop dancing with one of Vicki's girl. Obviously. Sometimes it's too foreseeable. Without words, you walk towards him with a serious gesture on your face. He turns at you, as the blonde does.

“Isn't too soon to open the scrapyard?” The president is somewhat drunk, provoking some laughs around your.

It wasn't what you wanted, but plan b.

“I'm coming back to Guadalajara tomorrow, just came to return my uniform”. You reply, shaking your head a little, taking off the green shirt from your bag to leave it above the pool table.

The silence has been installed all around the clubhouse and even if he wants to hide his rage, he can't. Grabbing you by your left wrist, the president drags you inside the Templo letting you there with a soft push, at the same time he closes the glass door.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“With me? You're the one who is playing”.

“I'm not playing anything”.

“Oh, really? Then, you don't give a fuck if I go, or if I stay”.

He snort rubbing his face with both hands, supporting one on the column and other on his waist. He looks ratty, chuckling for no reason as he shakes his head.

“What the hell you want”.

“You”.

“That's not going to happen”.

“Why?”

Bishop clicks his tongue, about to leave you there alone. Supporting the door almost opened, he finally closes it again. Walking next to you cross-armed, looking at you from top to bottom.

“Lemme' tell yo—”.

“No. Now you're gonna hear me, Obispo. What the fuck is wrong with you? A fuckin' boss doesn't take care of a fuckin' mechanic just because ‘that little trouble knows who to fuck up my bike’”. Highlighting those last words he said some nights before, you're pointing his chest with your forefinger. “I don' know what the hell you thought this morning, but I wasn' trying to give you a ride to thank you what you did for me… I called Marcus, 'cause two or three or… I don't give a fuck. Some months ago I heard you telling the guys that… there was nothing better, after a long week, that come back home and have some good food on the table. And Padrino told me how much you like those tacos”.

The president is staring at you apparently impassive and unflappable. 

“I like you, Obispo. I actually… love you”.

“Fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is fuckin' wrong with me! Stop fuckin' asking that, Jesus Christ”.

“I could be your damn father”.

“But he's dead, and you're not. You don' even know my mother”.

“I'm not gonna ruin your life”.

“It was ruined before I met you, don't be so egocentric”. Rolling your eyes, you try to uncross his arms while he's pressing them tightly to his chest. “Fuck! Stop behaving like a child!”

“I'm not”.

“Yes, you are! Be a fuckin' man and recognize what you feel!” Reaching that point of the night, you're furious and mad as never, pushing his chest with both hands.

“I'm older than you and my hands aren't clean”. He insists walking back some steps.

“Good, congratulations. Do you want a medal, bad boy?”

“No, I want you to stay safe”.

“I am when we're together. I don' care about your age or mine, those are just numbers. And I don' care about your ‘job’, 'cause I know how to shoot a gun too”.

“It's n—”.

“You know what? You're a fuckin' coward”.

“Am I?” A bittersweet laughs escapes from his lips, putting away his eyes for a while.

“Yea'. You're letting me go 'cause you think you can ruin my life, actually ruining both whilst you're covering it with alcohol and putas, 'cause it's easier. That's not fair, Bishop. I can decided too”.

“You're coming back to Guadalajara”.

“'Course not! I just… Por el amor de Dios... I just wanted to talk with you. Alone”.

Bishop is about to reply with somebullshit. He sneezes. One time. Two times. Three times. You can't help but breaking in loud laughs, as he frowns his eyebrows cleaning his nose with the back of his hand.

“Fuckin' hate you”. He growls, with your hands surrounding his forearms to push him closer.

“Let's go home, prez…” The man wraps your waist, resting his forehead on your chest for a second.

“I'm fuckin' annoyen' when I'm sick”.

“Good that I don' care”.