#i'm just pretending all these anatomy mistakes don't exist :))))

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ FALLING IN LOVE WITH A BIKER ❜

with Obispo ‘Bishop’ Losa.

Request: hermaaaaaana, hello😊 literalmente que llevo veinte minutos pensando en que te puedo preguntar but i think i got it. so if it’s okay for you, i would like to request a headcanon with bishop in which he mets the reader for first time and it’s love at first sight or something like that, only if you are comfortable with it. Thank youuuuuuu💖

BY @aquamento

Word count: about 1.9k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to my wonderful @sonsofeorl ✨

Masterlist. You can subscribe to my broadcast list, to be notified whenever I post a writing!

“Please… tell me that bike is yours”.

Bishop is stationed in front of the Reyes carnicería, with the rest of his crew at both sides. His eyes are glued on your anatomy, touring the random tattoos all around your arms and enraptured on the way your hips move covered by a pair of black bike shorts. His heart stops when he sees you hanging the meat packet by your teeth, to wear the leather gloves, before keeping your order on the bag of your Harley.

“Fuck”.

Wearing the helmet, while you sit on top of your motorcycle, you raise your eyes feeling strongly stalked. You can't help but chuckle wearing your sunglasses, before turning on the engine. Chewing a mint gun, you pass them away with a funny smirk installed on your face. Probably, they have never seen a girl like you, and you're not actually surprised after seeing how women are in Santo Padre. You have three kinds: uptight, too old or too used. And you look like candy at a school gate. Mayans are the children.

He begs and prays to run into you, riding the city every night at the same hour, around Felipe's carnicería.

He doesn't lose hope for almost one month. But after this much time, he starts to be desperate. Bishop could have memorized your plate, but he was too busy admiring your mere existence.

Taza tried to help him, by using the database statewide using the model of your bike. But there were too many results, with different names of men and women, and none based on Santo Padre.

He has suddenly fallen in love and he doesn't even know your name.

Until he met you again.

Sipping by the straw of your cup of coffee, you're checking some messages of your father. You have forgotten your laptop in Santa Madre and you need it for work, so you're trying to convince him to bring it to your new town.

“(Y/N)”.

Frowning confused by the male hoarse voice, you raise your eyes from the screen, finding a middle-age man with a dense moustache over his smile.

“Do I know you?”

“I'm Obispo. Obispo Losa, but you can call me Bishop”. He offers you a hand, narrowing it with your left one in an awkward move that makes the two of you laugh. “Southpaw?”

“Got a coffee in my right”. You reply shaking your hand.

“I stopped you 'cause I like your bike”.

“Ain't selling”.

“I wasn't trying to buy it, it's just a compliment”. He says wearing his gloves, bowing down his head for a second. “I run the scrapyard, in case you need a rechange, or something”.

“It's good to know it”.

You watch him leaving you there, puckering your lips while you turn slightly, before continuing with your walk.

He was nervous as fuck trying to you, but it looks like that his trap can works on you.

And actually, it does. He has woken up an interest in you. Not because of his kutte, but because the way he had of licking his incisors with the tip of his tongue when you laughed.

These small details not everyone pays attention to.

And you take the bait. His bait.

You didn't have any excuse to visit the scrapyard, so with all the pain squeezing your heart, you hammer a nail in the back tire of your bike. Almost dragging it for one mile, you reach the place. That's going to cost you some bucks, but it's worth it. Anchoring the kickstand close to the office, you follow the rhythmic latin music to flood into a crowded yard. Sounds like a party. Looks like a party. With the hands kept in the back pockets of your shorts, you lean over your tiptoes trying to find the owner.

“Need help, mami?” A mexican accent makes you turn to your left.

“Yeah, 'am looking for… Obispo?” You say wrinkling your nose at the man with long black hair and a cigar on his lips, having a smoke.

“Yo! Prez!” Turning away, the man yells another name you can't understand.

Your orbs find the darkest ones, but what you see instead of what you were expecting provokes you some bitter shivers. On his lap there's an exuberant woman, wearing nothing but a short skirt and a white lace bra, and one of his hands caressing her thigh. Who the fuck is that guy and who the fuck does he think you are? Regretting your decision of coming, you turn over your steps to not continue looking at him, crossing your arms over your chest almost kicking the dust with the tip of your sneakers.

“You came”. He sounds excited, but somewhat nervous.

“Yeah, and now I would prefer to haven't done it”, you think to yourself.

“Yeah, I just… had a problem with a wheel and a nail”. You reply, shrugging your shoulders. “But that guy can attend me, you don't have to. I mean, you were occupied”.

“Is she jealous?”, he thinks to himself.

“I have time for you, querida”.

Wrong words. You're not going to fall again, not after what you have seen.

“I only need a wheel. I will come back tomorrow evening”.

“Don't you want a beer?” He sounds disappointed and a little annoyed, raising a hand over his shoulder to point at the party happening behind him.

“No, thanks”.

Watching you go is painful. A kind of sorrow that he never thought that he could feel.

After telling his brothers what happened, they counsel him to wait till the next day.

But you don't go to the scrapyard. You don't want to see him, even if you know that you have to pick up your bike.

Finally, you come back two days later.

Knocking the metallic door, you walk inside the office. The man who attended you the first time and another with strange hands receive you.

“I came for the black and red Harley”.

“Yeah, mami, give me a second”.

The men disappear from the place, while you take a seat on an old leather couch, crossing one leg above the other; moving it impatiently. But again, you have to take off your eyes from the screen of your phone, hearing his voice calling you.

“The bike is ready”. Obispo says with a fleeting smile appearing on his face.

“Good. How much do I own you?” You ask getting up, trying to not look at him too much and focusing on the bill he offers you.

“Nothing, it's on me”.

“Thanks, but I wanna pay”.

“Well, ain't gonna charge you”. He sentences with a chuckle.

Puckering your lips with a forced smile, you pass him away to step out from the office, looking for your bike.

“Hey, wait”.

“What?”

“She's just a friend”.

You pretend that you don't know what he's talking about, making him snort rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“The girl. In the party. She's just a friend”.

“Bueno, congrats”. You just reply, about to walk away again.

“I was wondering if you would like to hang out one day”. These words stop your legs. “Have some beers, a ride, maybe a dinner. Or a lunch. Whatever”.

He's trying. He's trying to fix up what he fucked up. And you are not sure about what response you can give him back. You want to say yes, but, for what? To end like his friend? Sitting on his lap almost naked, surrounded by drunk bikers?

“Sorry, I ain't your type. Don't lose your time”.

You can't believe what you just said, sounding so rude and proud. Bishop frowns.

“My type? And which is my type?” Now, you have offended him, watching him intertwining his hands under his abdomen. Expecting.

“Cheap makeup to leave marks. Lingerie and short skirts. Laughter when something isn't funny. Work hard to look like a man's trophy… Definitely, I'm not your type. I mean, you must be however you want to be, but… sorry, that's not my game”.

“That isn't my game either”. He replies tilting his neck to the left side for some seconds. “I prefer the ones who call me out when I'm being a pendejo”.

“Mommy issues?” Making fun of him, you raise both eyebrows. He chuckles shaking his head. “Thanks for the wheel”.

You don't need no man, but could God please send to you a normal one?

Bishop feels fucked than ever. Annoyed. Bothered.

He tries to figure out how to make it up to you, but he has never had to do something like that.

And his brothers can't help him either.

So he plays one of his best cards.

Be sincere.

The next time he sees you walking around, he makes to stop the whole crew behind him. Jumping off from his bike, he crosses the road with a slow sprint to not being run over. Rolling your eyes, you don't stop your path. Not even when he reaches you.

“Can you listen to me for a second?”

Placing himself in front of you, the man takes off his sunglasses.

“I'm hurry”.

“One sec—”.

“One”. You just say, counting it about to walk away. A hand around your left wrists holds you.

“Please”.

Hearing him beg to you wasn't on your to-do list for today. Facing him with no gesture on you lets him know that you are granting him a second.

“You're gonna think I'm crazy because I have never fell in love at first sight, but when I saw you the first time I fucking swear that you stole my heart, querida. I have been looking for you for a month. Every night. Same hour. Trying to catch the opportunity of talking to you. And maybe, just maybe, I tried to find you by the model of your bike”. You can't lie. You weren't expecting that confession. “I really felt like shit when I saw you in the scrap. The way your face changed when you saw that girl sat on me. And I'm really sorry”.

You don't have a word to reply. Confused. Overwhelmed by a lot of sensations running through your body.

“I ain't the kind of man who… you know what I'm trying to say. And I didn't mean to offend you”.

He keeps silent, waiting for you to say something.

“This has been more than one second”. You try to joke, a little nervous. And you make him laugh again.

“Listen, I know a place with the best meat in the whole California, and a lot of different sauces to dip in. It's forty minutes away, but we can have a ride together”.

“Sounds good, but… I'm on my way to work”.

“We can go whenever you want”.

Bishop isn't going to give up, and you know it.

“You said you're in a hurry, let me take you to your job and think about it on this ride”.

You finally accept, knowing that he's not going to accept a decline as an answer.

And when he finds out that you work in the hospital, he's totally amazed.

And he earns your number after being so sincere with you.

“Maybe, just maybe, I put the nail on purpose”. You confess then, walking backwards to the entrance, facing him with a smile on your face.

[ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh]

Tanaka for @ghostgods!!! 

(also I know I messed up the spelling on his name, but I forgot to change it to ri instead of ru........)

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

✨ Seven days of:

Day #4.

✨ REQUEST: Don't know if I'm too late. But there is this tiktok going around and its "i tried kissing my bestfriend" what about if reader wanted to make Bishop jealous so she kissed Angel (her best friend) to get a reaction from him and Bishop is absolutely fuming and sulking and reader finds it hilarious and like pinches his cheeks idk I just imagine his reaction is hilarious. Fluffffyyyyy ❤❤

✨ MADE BY: @chibsytelford

WORDS: about 1k.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted ❤

❚❙ OBISPO ‘BISHOP’ LOSA MASTERLIST.

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❚❙ JOIN MY TAG LIST.

“This shit is gonna cost me my kutte, you'll see”.

Angel disagreed since you told him your plan to finally make Bishop take a step ahead, but he's your best friend. He follows you into every damn awkward situation and crazy adventure. So you too are just waiting for the perfect moment to do it. It's sufficient if El Presidente sees it. And when it comes, you take it without doubting.

Your phone is recording with the front camera focused on your petty smile. The crew just stepped out from Templo and they're sharing some beers around the bar and the main tables. Angel is sitting on a couch, almost lying back with his legs spreaded and his attention on the screen of his own phone. Dissembling his nervousness. When you check that Bishop is looking at you sideways, watching how you come closer and closer to El Secretario, you can feel the tension on his jaw clenching his teeth.

“Kiss your best friend challenge…” You hum in a whisper, being aware that the elders have listened to you.

Taking off Angel's phone from his hands, you sit on his lap with your free arm around his shoulders. He's trying to look at you confused, but you can see the horror in his eyes.

“The fuck yo—”.

Catching his lips with yours, not allowing him to finish the sentence, you kiss him. Hearing some uncomfortable coughs behind you, the older Reyes surrounds your waist with his bare arm as his right hand goes straight to your neck.

Disgusting.

This is really disgusting.

For you.

For Angel.

It feels like incest.

But it's worth it, when you two break the kiss at the exact moment Bishop drags back his chair, smashing his cigar into the ashtray before leaving the clubhouse. The crew is staring at you confused, grossed out but with curiosity of what the hell is going on. Stopping the record, you give Angel back his phone, choking with your own laugh.

“You're a dead man, you know it, right?” Taza says lying against his chair with his arms crossed over the table.

“Yeah”. The Reyes replies nodding with his eyebrows raised up. “Go find Prez, before he comes with an AK forty-seven”.

Keeping your phone in a pocket and cleaning your mouth with the back of your hand, you follow Bishop's path to find him about to leave the place on top of his bike. Wearing his helmet with a sour face. Really pissed off.

“You leaving?”

He kills you with his gaze, in holy silence, looking for his keys in the kutte. Licking your bottom lip, you walk towards the bike containing a chuckle. Your hands go to the handlebar, with the front wheel between your legs and your eyes glues on the rage in his.

“The fuck you think you are playing, sweetheart? You really think this shit is funny?”

“C'mon, it was a joke”.

“And what was the purpose?”

“Opening your eyes? Stop pretending you don't like me?” Tilting your neck to the left, you draw a soft and challenged smile.

“Clean your mouth before talking to me again, querida”. The grin you receive back makes you shake imperceptibly, but you obey with arms crossed, watching him turning on the engine to drive out of the club.

Maybe it has been your best plan, but it's a start. And you're going to take his words to the letter.

One hour has passed since then, and you haven't lost any second to execute the second part of your evil plan. Parking your car in front of Bishop's house, you grab the plastic bag from the copilot seat and get out from it, to walk towards his porch with decisives steps. Knocking on the door, you wait for him to open it.

It takes him a couple minutes, resting an arm on the door frame. Wearing only a black tank top and a pair of sweatpants, you can't run away from the heat wrapping your whole anatomy. Not saying a word, you come into his house passing him away under his arm. You don't have an idea of where his bathroom is, but you continue investigating through the main hallway, hearing his barefoot following you in silence. He has to be more confused than in his whole existence, not understanding what you are doing in his house. Not even understanding how you know where he lives.

Finally finding the bathroom, you take the toothbrush and the toothpaste from the bag. Breaking the wrappers, you rush to clean your mouth, as he said. Resting your waist against the sink, keeping his eye-contact with no gesture on his face, you're starting to find it hilarious. But he said so. And you are just fulfilling his will. After rinsing your mouth, you raise your eyebrows at him.

But you don't let him talk. Not this time. In a fast move, that he doesn't see it coming, you crash your lips on his placing your hands on both sides of his neck. At first, he doesn't react, until Bishop starts to fall for the fresh taste of mint of your lips. This kiss is too different than the one you gave to Angel. You really feel it. You're really transmitting him all the things you have within your chest that you can't tell him using words.

Every move is carefulness, soft, gentle. Your lips are getting mold to perfection with his. Your tongues are dancing inside your mouth, tasting each other's salivas. Exploring your mouth with curiosity, until it turns into necessity. His huge hands paw your body almost desperately, urging you to jump onto him to rest your back against the nearest wall. Bishop devours your lips, before flying his to your neck. A soft gasp escapes from yours, keeping your eyes closed and your arms around his neck.

When his fingers go straight to grab your throat, you already know that you're fucking lost. And the moan burning down your soul confirms it.