#obispo losa x you

[bullet-prooflove]

Valentine's Day Bingo: Kicking - Bishop Losa x Reader

Tagging: @fanfic-n-tabulous @anime-weeb-4-life @keyweegirlie @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @alwaysachorusgirl @beardedbarba @est1887 @oklahomapeach @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @adaydreamaway08 @spookyboogyuniverse @librarian1002 @thanossexual @kishie8 @fleureeee @saltyunicorn079 @thebaileybugle @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @doggirlforever @justreblogginfics @skyesthebomb @beccabarba @legally-a-bastard @trublu2u @@lora21 @kmc1989 @jp1019 @fanfic-n-tabulous @just-a-throw-away @kabloswrld

Can be read as stand alone or a companion piece to:

Black Satin (NSFW) - Bishop discovers a surprise Christmas gift.

Gingerbread - Bishop comes home to a problem.

Snow - Bishop talks to you about something that's been on his mind.

Miracle - You and Bishop get an extra Christmas gift this year.

Hitting the Slow Dance Bingo Square

The first time Bishop feels his baby kick is during Coco and Stitche’s wedding reception. The two of you are swaying together on the dance floor, his grizzled cheek pressed against yours, eyes closed as the music serenades you. There’s no better feeling in the world than this, having you pressed up against him, the baby residing in the space between you.

You’re five months pregnant at this point, just starting to show. He spends his evenings singing lullabies to his daughter in Spanish, his lips ghosting over your skin before he gets distracted by other things.

It’s when the song changes that the baby starts to react. The band switches to something with a faster pace and he feels a tiny dig against his navel.

“Oh.” You say as you tilt your head to look up at him. “I think she’s kicking.”

You take his hand in yours, pressing his palm flat against the baby bump and he laughs when he feels the small nudge. He spends the next few minutes following his daughter’s movements before the song changes and the baby goes quiet.

“She’s strong.” He says fondly as he draws you into his arms once more. “She’s going to be exactly like you.”

“She could end up a hellion like you.” You counter and Bishop grumbles.

“I hope not.”

The last thing he wants for his daughter is for her to adopt his personality traits, he was wild as a teenager and his biggest fear is that his daughter will follow in his footsteps.

“You turned out alright in the end.” You remind him, your fingertips trailing over that sensitive little spot at the nape of his neck, the one that releases all his tension.

“With a little help.” He smiles, his forehead coming to rest upon yours.

Bishop has always been convinced that you saved him. He was a functioning alcoholic when he met you, smoking forty a day and running drugs and guns up and down the country. He’d expected to be dead before sixty, through a bullet or bike accident. He was careless with his own life, there hadn’t been much to live for after Aiden had died. He’d been in a state of depression for over eight years before he started to see the sun again.

Now he’s on the board of the community centre, he has a home, a partner, a baby on the way. He doesn’t drink anymore, he’s cut his smoking right down, he’s trying to quit before Luna arrives. The job is less risky because the club has gone legit. He’s happier than he’s ever been and he has you to thank for that.

“You saved my life.” He tells you as he cradles you close. “You saved my god damned life.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[flightlessangelwings]

Ktober 2023 Day 3- Exhibitionism

Bishop Losa x fem!reader

Word count- 1.2k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), fingering, public sex, hint at a bj,dirty talk, praise kink, cum eating, reader wears short shorts and a low cut top, no use of y/n

Notes- I had SO much fun writing this one y'all have no idea! And it was something a little different for me too! Prompt list made by me. Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on my new fics!

~

“Nice shot, baby,” Bishop purred as you sank another ball in the net.

The two of you played pool in the clubhouse while everyone else gathered and drank and laughed. Angel and Coco played darts in the corner, and they squabled like siblings when each thought the other was losing. Visitors from other chapters of the Mayans filled the clubhouse, and everyone was having a great time.

But all Bishop could focus on was you. How sexy you looked when you bent over the pool table to take your shot. How your brow furrowed in concentration, your determination to beat him apparent on your face. How your breasts started to spill out of your top. How your shorts were just short enough to show a little hint of asscheck, something Bishop always loved.

Vaguely, you were aware of Bishop's heavy gaze on you, but you were too focused on your shot to put your full attention to. You cursed under your breath when you missed your next shot, but when you turned to him next to you, your heart pounded in your chest. Sweat lined your brow, and it wasn’t just from the heat inside the space.

Bishop eyed you up and down with a smirk on his face, “Baby you’re so fuckin’ sexy when you care about a stupid game of pool like that,” his tone was low as he sauntered towards you, closing the space between your bodies and settling slightly behind you.

“Bish,” you couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped your lips as he caressed your hips and pressed his body against yours. But, as he grasped your ass, giving it a little smack, you let out a low moan that would have caught the attention of anyone nearby if it weren’t for a roar of laughter that erupted at the same time.

“I bet I could fuck you with my fucking fingers right here and no one would notice,” Bishop groaned into your ear as he nibbled on your neck and a hand dripped under the hem of your shorts.

“You what?!” you were caught off guard by his words. But, as he tickled your pussy every so slightly, you found any care you might have had vanished.

“Do you want me to, baby?” Bishop purred, “You want me to fuck you with my fingers right here? Let anyone who might notice see you cum on my fuckin’ fingers?”

If you said the word, Bishop would pull away, albeit he would definitely take you into a closet or bathroom and fuck you in private instead. You felt his hardening cock against your thigh and you let out another moan. The room spun as you thought it over, “I want you to,” you finally whispered as you turned your head and kissed him deeply.

“Let me hear you say it, sweetheart,” he murmured as he bucked his hips against your body and sank his hand lower into your shorts, feeling the warmth of your cunt under his fingers.

“I want you to fuck me with your fingers… Right here,” your tone was low and sultry and dripped with need, “And let anyone watch as you make me cum.”

“That’s my girl,” Bishop growled as he suddenly dove two fingers into your pussy.

You gasped at the sudden intrusion and lurched forward to grab onto the pool table for balance. Bishop stayed close, using his body to support you from behind as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, “Fuck baby… So wet for me.”

All you could do was moan as your body quickly warmed from his touch. 

Bishop wrapped his other arm around your body and cupped at your breast through your shirt, rubbing at your nipple through the fabric, “Does it turn you on, sweetheart?” he asked in a deep voice, “That anyone could look over and see you like this?”

“Y-yes,” you admitted in a whisper.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, “Anyone could look over here and see how fucking sexy you look like this,” he thrust his fingers more roughly into you, hitting spots deep inside you, “But they can only see your face, baby… This fucking pussy,” he gave another harsh thrust, “Is mine.”

“Yours,” you moaned as you saw stars. You gripped the table so hard you almost felt like it could break under your grasp, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care about anything else other than how good Bishop fucked you with his fingers, and how much you craved your release.

“That’s my good girl,” Bishop praised as his rubbed your clit with his thumb, “So fuckin’ good taking my fingers right here in the fucking clubhouse.”

“Bish…”

Suddenly he froze. When you let out a whine, he murmured your name, “Looks like we caught someone’s attention, baby.”

You opened your eyes, not even realizing you had closed them, noticing a prospect from the other chapter across the room. His eyes bore into you and his thoughts were easy to read from the look on his face. His jaw clenched and he had a grip on his beer bottle so tight that he might shatter at any second.

“Why don’t we give him a show?” you purred as you turned and gave Bishop a heated kiss.

“I fucking love you, baby,” Bishop chased your lips when you broke away and kissed you once more before he started thrusting his fingers into you once more.

You moaned loudly against his lips as you rested your head on his shoulder, surrendering yourself to the Mayan completely. Your mind swam as you felt your orgasm quickly build from Bishop hitting your sweet spot over and over again while his thumb grazed your clit.

“He can watch, baby,” Bishop growled as he picked up his pace, “But he can’t have you,” his tone dropped as his grip on you tightened, “You’re fucking mine.”

“Yours… Yes… Fuck…”

“That’s it, sweetheart, cum for me,” Bishop groaned as he felt your inner muscles clench around his fingers, “Show that fucking prospect what he can’t have.”

With that, you came hard with a scream. Your entire body trembled as you fought to keep yourself upright against the pool table, and you felt yourself gush onto Bishop’s fingers. He talked you through your climax, mumbling praises and curses in your ear as you rode out your high on his fingers.

The only reason no one else noticed was because the prospect snapped his beer bottle in his head the moment you screamed, and everyone else was too busy watching him to notice what you and Bishop were up to on the other side of the room. Some of the others cursed and berated the prospect, but a fierce look from Bishop kept him quiet about why he suddenly caused a scene.

“That’s my good girl,” Bishop cooed your ear in a softer tone as he pulled out of you, “So fucking sexy,” he added as he turned you to face him and made you watch as he licked his fingers clean, “And delicious too.”

“Bish!” you playfully chastised him with a light smack on his shoulder as your face felt hot, “That was really hot, though,” you admitted as you shimmied your shoulders softly and placed your hands on his chest, “How about I return the favor?” your tone dropped as you slowly sank to your knees, “Right fucking here.”

Bishop’s eyes went wide and a pulse of need shot through his veins, “Baby, I fuckin’ love you,” he blurted out as he readied himself for your mouth.

[drabbles-mc]

Disaster Dates: Movie Night

Bishop Losa x F!Reader

Disaster Dates Masterlist

Prompt from This Post: Person A and Person B go to see a movie together but they both end up really not enjoying the film

Warnings: 18+, language

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: So, truthfully, if it weren't for @withmyteeth this series wouldn't be a thing at all whatsoever. But she funneled this particular idea directly into my brain this time last year when I was first starting to go through all of the prompts. So as always, shout-out to the other half of my brain. 💖

Bishop Losa Taglist: @just1bri @thesandbeneathmytoes @kelpies-shed @queenbeered @louisianalady @gemini0410 @paintballkid711 @lollypops-and-candycaneschibsytelford @yourwonkywriter @fanfic-n-tabulous @littlekittymeow @buckybarneshairpullingkink @mijagif @garbinge @beardburnsupersoldiers @justreblogginfics @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @anditsmywholeheart @winchestershiresauce @frattsparty @nessamc @crowfootwrites @artemiseamoon @amorestevens @justazzi @passionatewrites (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

The movie had been his idea in the first place, and now he was regretting everything about the suggestion. He didn’t even particularly like going to the movies. You knew that, too, which is why in the few dates that the two of you had gone on, it had never been something you suggested. He liked that you tried to be accommodating, but he also knew that you loved going to the movies. Long before he’d ever bucked up and asked you out, he would constantly hear you talking to Gilly and Coco about whatever movies you’d gone to see over the last few weeks.

So he figured that this time around, he would do something that you wanted to do. After all, that’s how the whole dating thing was supposed to work, right? And besides, it wasn’t as though he hated the movies. It just wasn’t something he ever went out of his way to do. But maybe it’d be different with you. Everything else seemed to be, so why not this?

He should’ve just stuck to what he knew.

Or, he should’ve let you pick the movie. Should’ve insisted on it. Because when he pitched the idea, his initial thought was that he would just let you pick whatever movie you had been wanting to see next and taking care of the tickets. And the popcorn, because you insisted that no movie experience is complete without popcorn. But since he was actually going to try out the whole movie theater thing, you thought it was only fair that he also got to pick the movie. After all, you didn’t want to end up picking a movie that you wanted to see and he ended up hating.

You should’ve gone for it, though. At least then one of you would’ve enjoyed the movie. At least then, maybe, you’d have a shot at getting Bishop to come back to the movies with you again in the future. But, from the look on his face when you glanced over at him a few times throughout the film, you didn’t think that that was going to be happening.

Meanwhile, Bishop was wondering if he really just hated movies that much, or if he just had the unfortunate bad luck of picking one that was terrible. He had to assume it was the latter—there was no way that you would make a point to put yourself through this on a regular basis, no way you would keep coming back for more. He kept stealing looks at you throughout, hoping to try and get a better idea of where you were at. Your expression was painfully neutral, though, and he couldn’t help but to think that that didn’t bode well. You were someone who wore their feelings clear on their face, good or bad. So the indifference he saw on you must’ve been your attempt at being polite. He just wanted to sink into the floor.

There was a moment, when the two of you were about forty minutes into the movie (although Bishop swore it felt like the two of you had been there for hours already), when he was about to just lean over and ask you if you wanted to get up and leave. It was definitely an option. The theater already got their money—it wasn’t like a bouncer was going to show up and stop the two of you from leaving. The mental image of that was more entertaining than anything in the film the two of you had paid for.

He desperately wanted out. Hell, at that point he would settle for buying a second set of tickets to something that you would actually want to see.  Anything that gave him a shot of not being in the theater anymore. You hadn’t said anything to him, though, and that put the tiniest bit of fear in the back of his mind that he had been misreading the entire thing. One bad film and suddenly he felt like he was back in high school again, going to put his arm around a cute girl and getting curved in the process. It was the same level of embarrassment, one that he had hoped to go the rest of his life avoiding.

The screen finally faded to black and the credits started to roll. Most of Bishop was relieved, just glad that the entire shitshow was over with. But, when the lights started to come up, the relief was quickly replaced with a feeling of dread at the fact that he was going to have to look at you after that entire experience and try to figure out if he was supposed to be pretending he hadn’t just spent the last two hours wanting to gouge his own eyes out, or having to try and convince you that despite how atrocious this experience was, continuing to date him wouldn’t be so horrible. He wasn’t ready to try and scan your face and make that game-time decision, so he looked at the screen for a little longer to try and buy some more time.

Unlike Bishop, you were already staring at him. You knew how he felt about it—there were no guessing games there. The most surprising thing to you was that he hadn’t already shot up out of his seat, grabbed your hand, and dragged you from the theater. You also couldn’t believe that he hadn’t asked to leave earlier. You were curious as to what his next move was going to be.

You grabbed your bag off the floor and pulled it up onto your lap with the bucket of popcorn, which was one of the only redeemable qualities of the last few hours. Raising your eyebrows, you continued to wait for him to look over at you. It was really only a small handful of seconds, but it felt like much longer given the state of everything.

Finally, you decided to break the silence. “Waiting to see if there’s an end-credit scene?” you joked.

That got him to finally turn and look at you. “A what?”

You laughed and shook your head. “Some movies put clips at the end of the credits.” You paused, trying not to be too amused at the bewildered look on his face. “I doubt this one will, though.”

“You don’t…do you wanna stay and find out?” It sounded like it physically pained him to say the words.

You found that to be a little endearing, to say the least. You shook your head as you stood up from your seat. “Fuck no.”

His entire body visibly relaxed in his seat for a moment as he let out a sigh of relief. Setting his hands on the armrests on either side of him, he pushed himself up out of the chair. Looking over at you, he cracked the smallest smile, but the first one you’d seen since the lights went down in the theater. “Thank god.”

You shook your head as you laughed, hugging the nearly-empty tub of popcorn to your chest. “Come on, this already took more years off my lifespan than it was worth.”

The two of you walked down the steps of the movie theater and made your way towards the door. Bishop walked beside you, trying to figure out the best way to come out and ask a very blunt question. “So that…that was bad, right? That was a fucking bad movie?”

You burst out laughing, nodding as he pushed the theater door open for you. “Yes, that was a bad fucking movie.”

“Fuck.” He let out a laugh that sounded more relieved than anything. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.”

You looked over at him with a small smile on your face. “Oh yea?”

“Yea. Because if that’s just how movies are, I would have to ask you what’s wrong with you and why you would spend so much time putting yourself through that.”

You playfully bumped your shoulder against his. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to leave, then?”

“Because you didn’t say that it was fucking bad!” he replied as he laughed in disbelief.

“I didn��t want to shit all over your movie choice!” You were laughing so hard now that you had to actually focus on not dropping the bucket in your arms. “I was trying to figure out if I was going to keep dating someone who just had horrendous taste in movies. I was really weighing the pros and cons of that.”

“Were you?” he asked as he dug out the keys to his car.

“Yea, I was. That, and, come on, Bishop, you have yet to keep your mouth shut when you don’t like something. Why would I think that changed because of this? Something that you don’t even really like doing?”

He wanted to have a good argument for that, but the truth was that he didn’t. He’d never been all that great at biting his tongue or sugar-coating things, something that was most certainly a common thread in conflicts with him in past relationships. He supposed that he couldn’t blame you for thinking that if it was something that was really bothering him, he’d say something.

“Fine,” he finally conceded as you both reached the car. “I guess that makes sense.” He paused, watching as you walked over to the passenger side door. There was a smile tugging at his lips as he asked, “You’re really bringing that home?”

“Um, yea?” you replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I told you, Bishop, popcorn is like an integral part of the movie experience.” You paused. “Even if the movie sucks.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Get in the car.” When you were both situated and buckled in, he turned and asked you, “Your place or mine?”

“Gonna let me make all the decisions for awhile?” you asked with a soft chuckled. When he just nodded in reply, you thought about your answer. “Mine.” There was a flicker of disappointment across his face that you couldn’t help but to notice, so you added onto your statement. “You should stay over though…if you can.”

“Yea?”

You nodded. “Yea. Besides,” you shimmied a bit to try and get more comfortable in your seat, “maybe then I can pick a move that the both of us will actually enjoy.”

“The bar is on the fucking floor, sweetheart, so I think we’ll be alright.”

In the relatively short amount of time that the two of you had been dating, you definitely spent more time over at Bishop’s place than he spent at yours. You never really stopped to question why that was—it wasn’t as though he ever seemed opposed to coming over to your apartment. Things usually just played out and ended up with you at his place.

Despite that being the case, he seemed relatively comfortable and at-home as the two of you started to settle in for the evening. You were both camped out on the couch. He was tucked into the corner of it, leaning against the arm of the sofa while you were leaning against him, your arm draped across his middle while your head rested against the side of his chest. You felt each breath he took in and out, and there was something soothing about it.

True to your word, you had chosen another movie to watch. You picked something that didn’t require a heavy mental and emotional investment, knowing that both you and Bishop were still a bit spent from the entire debacle earlier, plus now it was starting to get a bit late. Even so, you still found yourself paying pretty good attention. The few times you glanced up at Bishop, it seemed like he was actually enjoying himself a fair bit as well. Even though, like he said, the bar was on the floor.

Both of you had been silent for a while during the movie when you spoke up with another quick, offhand comment about it. “You know what’s funny?” you asked as you glanced up at him.

You chuckled softly when you realized that you weren’t going to be getting an answer from him about it. He still had one arm looped around you as he sat nestled into the corner of the couch. However, his head was now tilted back slightly and resting against the back of the couch. His eyes were shut, and when you listened closely, you could hear that he was just on the brink of starting to snore.

You hummed in quiet amusement to no one other than yourself as you settled a little more against his side. Maybe it was true that Bishop just wasn’t the kind of guy who was cut out to be a big movie person. There were worse things in the world.

Plus, you had to admit that it was nice that he was comfortable enough to fall asleep like that. He hadn’t even done that during the times when you went over to his—you were almost always the first one to fall asleep. You took the small win for what it was. At least this time around you had a comfortable pillow while you finished your movie.

[ravennaortiz]

Day 12: Tree Decorating

Summary: Fluff with Bishop x Reader

It had been a long day for Bishop, every part of his body ached as he got off his motorcycle. Glancing at his watch he saw he had long ago missed dinner. Sighing heavily he made his way to the front door. He figured you must not be to mad as the porch light was on for him. Stepping inside he was greeted by the smell of cinnamon, cookies and the sound of your angelic voice singing Christmas Carols.

Kicking his boots off and hanging his kutte up he made his way through the house following your siren call. Finding you in the kitchen resetting the table for dinner. You never ceased to surprise him. "I don't deserve a woman like you" he stated as he saw you notice him in the door way. "I know" you replied with a smirk before making your way to him and kissing his cheek. "A call next time" you stated firmly as you motioned for him to sit and eat. "I promise I will. What kind of witch are you that knew I was on my way?" inquired Bishop as he dug into the piping hot pozole. You laughed before replying. "That would be Gilly calling to plead your case and to ask if I would send leftovers with you tomorrow" you replied as you poured a glass of wine for yourself. Bishop chuckled, his men always looked forward to your cooking.

"So of course since I had extra time I made enough for all of them. Think you can remember to take it in" you replied sending him a look. "Thought you weren't mad at me?" inquired Bishop as he sent you a smile. "I don't recall saying that at all Mr. Too Good to Phone his Wife that he will be four hours late" you replied as you made your way out of the kitchen.

"Clean up once your done and come help me with decorate the Christmas Tree" you called over your shoulder before resuming your caroling. Bishop smiled to himself. He had lucked out with you for sure.

Tag List: @darqchilddaydreamz

[ficnation]

The Heart Wants What It Wants

Main Masterlist

Mayans MC Masterlist

Summary: This set of short stories explores individual Mayans' love journeys, following the characters as they discover, pursue, and grow their relationship with you.

!moodboards made by me!

Chapter 1: A Delightful Encounter

Chapter 2: A Sweet Connection

Chapter 1: Untitled

Chapter 2: Untitled

Chapter 1: Untitled

[lamb-writes]

“Obispo.”

pairing. obispo “bishop” losa x reader

content. domestic fluff, established relationship

word count. 0.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And,” you repeated, “mine.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Benito - Bishop Losa x Reader

Tagging: @fanfic-n-tabulous @anime-weeb-4-life @keyweegirlie @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @alwaysachorusgirl @beardedbarba @est1887 @oklahomapeach @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @adaydreamaway08 @spookyboogyuniverse @librarian1002 @thanossexual @kishie8 @fleureeee @saltyunicorn079 @thebaileybugle @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @doggirlforever @justreblogginfics @skyesthebomb @beccabarba @legally-a-bastard @trublu2u @lora21 @jp1019 @fanfic-n-tabulous @just-a-throw-away @kabloswrld @thekirbishow

Black Satin (NSFW) - Bishop discovers a surprise Christmas gift.

Gingerbread - Bishop comes home to a problem.

Snow - Bishop talks to you about something that's been on his mind.

Miracle - You and Bishop get an extra Christmas gift this year.

Kicking - Bishop feels his daughter kick for the very first time.

It’s the shouting that alerts Bishop to the fact there’s a problem. He’s fixing one of the shelves out in the corridor when he hears the sound of your voice carrying through the space. It sends the hair on the back of his neck standing up because he’s never heard you raise your voice before, it simply isn’t your temperament.

When he hears a male snap back it sends a every single one of his protective instincts into overdrive. He’s inside that office in less than five seconds, door slamming open as he hurtles inside. He doesn’t expect to see your ex-husband Benito standing there in front of your desk. His dark eyes burning with ire as he stares at you with an anguish that feels visceral.

Bishop pauses because the thing is you and Benito, you’re cordial. He’s as mild mannered as you are. There’s no animosity between the two of you, the split was entirely amicable.

You’d set up the network together, aiding immigrants coming over The Wall, helping them relocate. Benito’s an architect, it’s him who built the safe houses along the route, who continues to set up communities all over the country. He usually rolls into town once a year, taking both you and Bishop out to dinner to discuss the next steps. The issue is only getting bigger, which means you need constantly need to re-evaluate and expand.

Bishop realises what the problem is almost immediately.

The reason for your divorce was children.

Benito wanted them and you couldn’t have them. The two of you had endured years of trying to conceive and the one time you had fallen pregnant, you had suffered a miscarriage. The doctor had told you to stop after that, the baby you had longed for it wasn’t going to happen.

“Was it me?” Benito asks you, his voice anguished. “Did you just not want children with me?”

“I didn’t do this on purpose,” You respond shrilly, your palm coming to rest on the space where your child resides. “Luna was a complete surprise…”

You’re hit with a sudden stabbing pain just under your ribs, one that steals away your breath as you place both palms on your desk to hold yourself up as your knees go weak. You taste metal in your mouth and it takes you back to the last time. You feel tears leaking down your cheeks because it’s happening again, only you’re five months pregnant instead of three, and the man you’re having baby with…

He’s already lost one child.

Bishop’s by your side in an instant, his hand smoothing up and down your back as he whispers soothing words into your hair. You can’t make them out over the sound of your own sobs, each one feels like it’s been ripped out of your chest as you cradle your baby bump gently in your hands.

It’s Benito that drives you both to the hospital. Benito that sits quietly alongside Bishop in the waiting room as an act of solidarity because the other man’s going to pieces. It’s Benito that listens diligently to the doctor as she explains what happened and the prognosis, because it’s all too much for Bishop to take in.

Preeclampsia, Benito explains carefully. Your blood pressure had spiked due to the argument. You and the baby are recovering, the outlook was positive but you need to reduce your stress. That means partial bedrest for the duration of the pregnancy.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to lose my temper.” Benito says, rubbing his hands over one another. “We tried for years, it ruined our marriage…”

He trails off because its inconsequential at this point. He still loves you, he always will but that chapter is closed, it has been for a long time.

“You need to make sure she slows down.” Benito tells him resolutely. “This is her last chance…”

“I know.” Bishop says, tilting his head back and raising his eyes to the fluorescents. “I can’t lose her, I can’t lose this baby. They’re everything to me…”

Benito remembers thinking something similar the last time he was here. He’d lost the both of you that night, his wife and his child. He raises to his feet, his hand clasping Bishop’s shoulder gently.

“Do you need me to call someone for you?” He asks quietly.

“Taza.” Bishop says roughly. “I need Taza.”

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[im-just-a-mississippi-girl]

Your Biker in Worn Leather Part 2

Pairing: EZ Reyes x female!reader

Category: Angst

Word count: 396

Summary: You finally tell EZ who’s responsible for your current appearance.

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I have no idea if the Burning Souls are a real MC, it’s just a made up name for this fic. If they are real, this is in no way, shape, or form related to them and for entertainment purposes only.

Part 1

Masterlist

Taglist

Gif is not mine. Credit to the owner

EZ’s voice rang in your ears. Who did this to you? You knew the man Ezekiel would become once you told him the name. That version of EZ was terrifying to you despite his lividness never being aimed at you but others instead.

“Baby, who was it?” The biker asked once again in a softer tone, concerned filled eyes never leaving your face.

You swallowed hard. “Burning Souls.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look into EZ’s eyes. The fire that resided there was frightening and anyone in their right mind would run for the hills when met with the intense anger that bubbled up in the Mayan.

The Burning Souls were relatively new to the scene, being made up by men discharged from various branches of the armed forces and former police officers. They used all their skills, experience, and resources to their advantage to strike fear into anyone and everyone who crossed their path. What was their motivation? Their goal? Easy. To destroy all MCs in the state of California. To cause chaos, destruction, havoc and if people died in the process, that made it even better.

The Burning Souls had been scoping out the Mayans for a few weeks now. They had watched each Mayan through town and ultimately followed them to the clubhouse’s run down walled gate.

When the Burning Souls first saw you they didn’t think much of you, thinking you were just a club hang around and only there for fun and sex. That opinion of you was proven wrong when they kept seeing you with the Mayans’ Vice President, Ezekiel Reyes. The hugs and kisses exchanged between you and EZ told the story of love. Now the Burning Souls had what they needed — a weakness. A weakness to the VP. It was as close to the top as they were going to get since Obispo Losa showed no interest in love or affection but rather just sex. With no ammo to use on the Mayans’ President, the VP was next in line.

As soon as the MC’s name left your lips, EZ’s jaw tightened, fists clenched, his anger rose and rose with each passing second.

No one harms, much less touches his girl. Most importantly, no one lives to tell the tale.

Ezekiel Reyes was about to start a war ten times worse than the entire world has ever seen.

General Taglist: @kmc1989

EZ Reyes Taglist: @zaenight

[narcolini]

making exceptions

obispo ‘bishop’ losa x gn!reader, hurt/comfort, 2532 words

warnings for descriptions of kidnap, reader in shock

for day 22 of whumpril: sponge bath & ‘lets get you cleaned up’

tagging: @cositapreciosa @drabbles-mc @hausofmamadas​

You wouldn’t call it a relationship, by any means. What you and Bish have is temporary, occasional and conditional, something you give and take as you both please—which isn’t actually that often. A few dates, a few weeks in between. A few nights in his bed. It isn’t anything serious enough to deserve a label, and that suits you, it suits him. You like being single, he likes being unchained. Free to do what he wants. A relationship would come with duties that you both weren’t ready for, so you avoid it all together.

You were naïve to think that by doing that, you’d also avoid all the dangers that came with being connected to a man like him. But the time you’d spent together was already enough to put a target on your head. To make you viable as blackmail material, under the assumption that he cared enough about you for it to work. That they could throw you in the back of livestock trailer and make him do exactly as they said.

They weren’t wrong about the first part, at least, about how much he cared about you. He’d found you before they’d even really begun. Stolen you back, before they could lay a finger on you.

‘Here.’ He takes the keys from you now, because he’s seen you drop them twice already. Hands shaking too much still to get the right one in the lock. ‘I got it.’

You nod, stepping back to let him do it.

He’d brought half the club with him, you think, though you can’t remember who for certain. And you don’t know where you’d even been yourself. They’d put a bag over your head, a gag in your mouth, let you slide around in the straw and dirt of the trailer as they drove. You don’t know how long it was, how far they took you. By the time you were in the truck with Bishop, it all felt like it had happened in minutes.

One moment you were by your car, outside Starbucks, and the next you were bound and blind, wondering if your luck had run out. Praying you’d at least die quickly, if that’s what they were planning to do. The next thing you remember, is Bishop saying your name, his hands on your wrists. A knife through the tape. His voice in the driver’s seat beside you. No idea of the words, you couldn’t focus on that, but just the deep of his voice. The abstract feeling of safety.

It still hasn’t settled into reality. He’s brought you back home, is letting you in to your own place, palm flat on the front door.

‘Come on,’ he prompts, hovering his other hand behind your back. You’ve flinched from him enough times on the ride here that he knows to avoid it now. ‘You’re good.’

You’re home. You’re safe. Grabbing onto the idea feels like trying to catch fish bare-handed, fingers slipping and frantic.

When you’re inside, he shuts the door behind you and twists the lock—you make sure of that, you watch him do it—before hanging your keys onto the usual hook. He looks more at home than you feel right now, dawdling across the room. You’re standing like this is your first time here. Arms slack, gaze on the corner of the couch nearest to you.

You had thought you were going to die. Had assumed they would torture you until they got what they wanted from the club, from Bish, had expected you would pass out before the worst of it could happen. Had wished it, even. Too afraid to endure it. Too familiar with yourself to know that you couldn’t survive any sort of violence like that. But they’d never even got you out of the trailer, when the door opened again it was Bishop. Gilly. EZ, too. The voices are easier to pick out now, than they were at the time.

‘You…’ He clears his throat behind. ‘You sure you’re not hurt?’

He’d asked you already, but that was when you were still too shaken up to answer him. Too filled with fear and adrenaline to even know for sure yourself. You look down at your hands, flexing your fingers like you’ve just discovered that they work. There’s no blood that you know of. No restriction of movement to anything.

‘No,’ you tell him, voice quiet, ‘just sore.’ The ride has left you bruised, no doubt, banged up from each turn they’d taken, metal to soft flesh. ‘I’m okay.’

It does’t feel like the truth, but it’s not a lie either. You’re in the middle of it somewhere.

Bishop steps around you, putting himself in front because you haven’t turned back to look at him, you haven’t really acknowledged him at all. He ducks his head, interrupting the gaze you’ve still got set on your hands.

‘You gonna be alright here?’ he asks. ‘On your own?’

You nod, looking past him still.

He says your name once.

‘I’ll be fine,’ you force yourself to make eye contact, ‘thank-you.’

It doesn’t convince him, but he’s already done so much. You’d heard the gunshots from inside the trailer, could see the stress lines in his forehead still, the scratch up his arm that he’d got during the rescue. How could you ask more of him now? You’re safe, you’re at home. He’d killed whoever it was that had taken you in the first place.

He nods, his hands on his hips. Then you watch him switch to put a palm over his beard, smoothing the hairs as he waits.

What he’s waiting for, you don’t know. You’re just standing, looking at him, looking at you, and doing nothing at all. Existing, really. Making peace with the idea of it again.

After what feels like ten minutes, but could never have been, he sighs, looking resigned. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up,’ he says, flicking his chin toward you.

You haven’t really considered yourself until now. There’s straw in the tread of your shoes still, mud and dirt up the length of your jeans, along your bare arms. Sticky residue on your wrists, in your hair. As you swallow, you can taste the dust still, the grime, the dried paint from the rag they’d shoved into your mouth. It must look like you’ve been crawling through rabbit burrows, tousling with bulls and broncos.

‘What?’ You’re only just realising what he’s said.

He’s shrugging out of his kutte, and putting it over the back of the couch afterwards. ‘You’re in shock.’ He rolls his sleeves, glancing at you. ‘I’m not leaving you here like that.’

You can tell he’s trying to be kind, gentle, but the thought hasn’t quite reached his voice yet. He’s snippy still, short like he’s giving club orders, and not trying to look after you. It works, though. If he was talking to you like you might break, then, well, you would. It’s only staying in place right now because you are. Cracked pottery, perfectly balanced.

‘You don’t have to,’ you start, but he’s already gone, disappearing into the hallway behind. You hear him reach the bathroom, hear the tap crank, the water hitting the tub. He’s running you a bath. Bishop is running you a bath, unprompted. ‘Bish?’

You follow the path he took, minutes too late to really be able to stop him, and slow like you’re unfamiliar here, in your own home. Fingers bracing the walls as you pass them. When you get there, he’s sitting on the edge of the bath, forearm submerged in the water. He’s added soap, stirred it up into bubbles, and is testing the temperature while it fills still.

‘I don’t want you to…’ You fade off.

You don’t want him to what? It’s not the actions you have an issue with. You know you wouldn’t do it yourself. If someone wasn’t here to push you, you’d sit and rot in the dirt you’re wearing, let this day end and the next begin without moving at all. You can barely think from one action to the next, let alone put yourself back together.

But you don’t want him to feel like he has to be the one to do it. You aren’t his responsibility, he doesn’t owe you the care that a boyfriend might. He hadn’t known this would happen any more than you did.

‘Couldn’t find any, y’know, real bath shit,’ he says, flicking his hand dry. ‘Did my best with what you’ve got.’

You nod. You should smile, but you can’t. ‘I’m not a bath person.’

‘Yeah, well,’ he sighs, ‘you are tonight. Arms up.’

Your brows lift instead, surprise occupying your features. It’s the first emotion you’ve actually shown since you shut down to it all.

He stands, settling in front of you, boots to the bath matt. His lips stretch into a short smile that doesn’t convince either of you. ‘Come on, baby,’ he reasons. ‘You gotta let me look after you.’

He’s tired from the day, the stress, the fear, you know that. He’s unequipped to handle whatever it is you’re going through too, whatever has made you stand like a stranger in front of him. Whatever’s frozen you from doing anything at all. But he’s trying, that matters.

‘Okay.’ You say it aloud so it’s binding. He can help. If he wants to, you’ll let him.

You put your arms up and he pulls the hem of your top to get it off, gentle at first, then quick like he’s peeling a bandaid. In any other situation, any other time, it would excite you. Send a thrill from your heart, into your bare stomach. Make you rush to do the same in return. Now, though, the undress does nothing but brush a chill across your skin.

He bends, grunting as he lowers to the floor, one knee to the ground, one bent. He taps it, inviting you to put your foot there. Which you do, silent and obedient, glad to be anything but motionless. He unknots your laces, unfazed by the muck you’re leaving on his jeans, then tugs the boot from your foot. You do the same again with the other one, leaning on his shoulder to keep your balance.  

‘You want me to…?’ He’s looking up at you now, on one knee still. His hands are set either side of your thighs, waiting, ready to do what you need him to.

‘No.’ You shake your head. ‘I can do it.’

He’s started the process, led you half way, and that’s the hard part. You can manage the rest. Jeans and underwear. It isn’t much. It’s not much, and you can do it. The more you think it, the more plausible it seems.

‘Alright.’ He stands, with another grunt, before moving to twist the taps off now the bath’s full. ‘I’ll get you something to drink.’

You nod, watching him leave before you can stop him again. It’s uniform, the way he’s caring for you. One task and then the next, like he’s flicking through a user guide, checking all the boxes. But then, so is your response to it. Function over anything else. It isn’t making you feel better yet but it’s getting you further than you were. You’ll be clean soon, ready for the next step.

You shove the jeans off, socks too, leave them and your underwear in a pile on the floor, before stepping into the tub. It’s warm, just right, and you sink into it gladly. Let it cover you, head to toe. Wash the dirt and the day away from your skin. You put your head under for minute, welcoming the wet to your hair, the dull to your senses. It helps. It strips you back of the tension you’d been carrying, smothers the noise between your ears.

When you surface again, sighing, it feels like waking up—just a bit, stirring the daydream. You can breathe a little easier now. Can appreciate the soap swimming around you and the sound of the microwave in the other room. If this were any other time, you’d think you were being spoiled, treated to a DIY spar day. It would feel like Bishop and you had finally decided to settle into something serious.

The door isn’t shut, not fully, but he knocks when he comes back, waiting behind the wood of it. You can just about see his shoulder through the gap, his head facing the other direction.

‘Can I come in?’ he asks.

‘Yeah.’ You’re long past being shy of his gaze, especially in the current context. Naked as you are, it’s hardly compromising, or appealing. ‘Please.’

He does so, pulling the door back in place behind him and wafting the smell of coffee across to where you’re soaking. ‘Couldn’t find any cocoa.’ He sets the mug on the edge of the bath, close enough to reach. ‘Thought you should have something warm at least.’

‘Thank-you.’ When you try to smile this time, you manage it. Wooden, faint, but there. ‘You can sit, if you want.’

He’s hovering, and doing his best not to look any lower than your face. When you offer, he nods, taking a place on the closed lid of the toilet and leaning his forearms on his knees. Not a comfortable position, or one he can hold for long, surely, but it’s reassuring still. Like setting a guard by the door. You aren’t fully convinced you won’t fall asleep here, under the blanket of warm water. At least now, if that happens, he’ll be there to keep your head above the surface.

‘Look,’ he says, interlinking his fingers and staring at them afterwards, ‘this shit should’ve never happened to you.’

You close your eyes. Force a breath through your nose.

‘I wish I could—’

‘Please,’ you cut him off, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ The water sloshes as you move, sinking further in. ‘Only just starting to feel human again,’ you tell him, hoping to land it as a joke, but not quite getting there.

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine.’ Apologies don’t suit him anyway.

‘You’re gonna have to at some point,’ he says. ‘To someone.’

‘I know.’ But not yet, not to him. You open your eyes to find him across the room. He’s already watching you with a tired expression, concern printed somewhere beneath it. ‘Will you stay?’ you ask, which isn’t something you ever ask of him, really. It’s always, yeah, good to see you, til next time, baby. Never stay, never with a plea in your tone.

‘Tonight?’ He nods. ‘Yeah.’

You hesitate. ‘And after that?’

He frowns slightly, sparing a hand to scrub it across his chin as he searches for an answer. How to put it nicely, you assume, how to tell you he can’t babysit you until you’re brave again.

‘I don’t mean,’ you correct, ‘I know you can’t watch me forever, but…’

‘I can stay,’ he decides. ‘Until this shit dies down.’

You let out a breath, chest sinking, back curving with the base of the tub. It won’t do forever, but it’ll do for now. Temporary and conditional.

[bullet-prooflove]

Gingerbread: Obispo 'Bishop' Losa x Reader

Part of @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo! The square was Baking!

Tagging: @storiesofsvu @fanfic-n-tabulous @anime-weeb-4-life @keyweegirlie @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @alwaysachorusgirl @beardedbarba @multifandomloversworld @est1887 @oklahomapeach @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @adaydreamaway08 @spookyboogyuniverse @librarian1002 @thanossexual @kishie8 @saltyunicorn079 @thebaileybugle @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @doggirlforever @justreblogginfics @beccabarba @legally-a-bastard @trublu2u @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx

Following on from The Wall Series:

When Bishop gets home that night it’s to the scent of freshly baked gingerbread. He toes off his boots, setting them down alongside your shoes before he follows his nose to the open plan kitchen.

Before you he’d forgotten what it was like to come home to someone else, to feel a welcoming presence instead of stepping into that crushing silence. One of the reasons he likes living with you is because your house feels like a home, not just a place to lay your head.

When he steps into the kitchen, it feels like he’s walked into Santa’s bakery. There’s gingerbread men on cooling on every single surface. You’re standing with your back to him, an apron tied over your clothes.

“Are these all for the kid’s hampers?” He asks you picking up one of the gingerbread folk and taking a bite of it’s leg. It’s the perfect blend of warm spiciness and dark sweetness, melting in his mouth as he chews the other leg. “These are phenomenal Mi Cielo.”

Every year you put together holiday hampers for families in the community who can’t afford to give their children the Christmas they deserve. You collect donations, wrap gifts, bake cookies, pack treats and then the week before Christmas deliver them to the families in Santo Padre who need them the most. You’re running late this year, you had told him a couple of days ago. You were still recovering from your injury a couple of months ago, trying to juggle the community centre and the underground network at the same time.

The club had stepped in to try and take some of the weight off. Riz was managing all of the programs at the community centre with support from Gilly, whilst Coco had taken over the underground network, working with Nestor and Rosa.

It was hard for you to relinquish that burden, to admit that right now you were stretching yourself too thin, but Stitches had helped to convince you, to take a breath and pause. You’d thrown yourself into the hampers with the same ferocity you did everything else. The lounge was full of donations to be wrapped, which was meant to be Bishop’s first task after dinner. However, looking at the state of the kitchen, he’s just decided the two of you are going to order in.

Bishop’s already devoured the majority of the gingerbread person by the time he realises you haven’t responded to his question. His eyebrows furrow into a frown as he approaches you, it’s then that he realises your shoulders are quivering. At first, he thinks you’re upset about the gingerbread.

“Carmen, I’m sorry.” He says, his hand coming to rest upon the curve of your shoulder, his thumb ghosting over the nape of your neck. “I’ll make more, I’ll…”

“It’s not the gingerbread.” You say turning to face, using the back of your right hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “It’s my fucking arm.”

His gaze strays to your left arm, it hangs by your side. He watches as you try to clench your fist, but you can only close your fingers down to the pads of your palm.

“I’ve got a million of these hampers to do and I can’t even ice the gingerbread people.” You tell him, frustrated tears rolling down your cheeks. “I’m never going to get them out on time.”

Bishop sees this for what it is. You’ve pushed yourself too hard today, you’re overwrought and exhausted.

“Come ‘ere.” He murmurs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and drawing you close.  His lips brush over your hairline as you bury your face into the hollow of his throat. “I’ll take care of it, Mi Cielo, don’t you worry. I’ll make sure they get done in time.”

***

Bishop phones in reinforcements. When he puts the call out, he doesn’t expect the majority of the MC to descend upon the house with their partners in tow. He should have done this initially he realises but he’d been too caught up with trying to sort out this thing with the pipeline. Next year he thinks, next year he’ll be better prepared.

EZ and Jo are stuck at the bar, Taza’s up in Yuma trying to persuade Canche to accept Bishop’s terms on the pipeline deal. He’s proposed a buyout, for a lump sum, he’ll give them fifty percent of the pipeline. It fills Santo Padre’s coffers, keeping them flush while their other legitimate enterprises grow. Lila’s decided to entirely legit in the wake of Valeria, which means she needs a security crew to move both her kush and her cash. Angel, Neron and Hank supervise her runs, which has proved increasingly lucrative for the club over the past few months.

Between themselves they establish a production line, it reminds Bishop of the days they used to transport heroin for the Galindos. He divides them into teams, he has Neron, Nina and Nestor working on the gingerbread folk. Bottles, Gilly and Ginny are putting the food hampers together while Angel, Lila and Coco are on wrapping, Stitches and Songbird put on the finishing touches. Coco and Riz put together the gift bags and baskets, marking each one off on the checklist. You’re on the couch cradling Valeria with your good arm, a cushion propped under it as you give the baby eskimo kisses.

He'd asked Angel to bring the infant with them, he knew if there was anyone that could get you out of your own head, it would be that baby. He wonders if that’s something you’d want in the future, a child of your own. The two of you have never talked about it but seeing you with Valeria makes him think about it. Noone can ever replace Aiden; his dark eyed little boy will always hold that place in his heart but maybe one day it’ll be something to consider.

He sits down on the couch beside you, planting a tender kiss on Valeria’s forehead before he picks up the green glitter pen and the Santa themed note paper.

“So…” He says as crosses one leg over the others. “What exactly is a letter from Santa supposed to say?”

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[drabbles-mc]

Butterflies

Bishop Losa x GN!Reader

Warnings: 18+, fluffy feels

With the help of This Prompt List by @creativepromptsforwriting and my trusty Wheel of Names with every character I’ve ever written for, I’m aiming to write a fic in 500 words or less every day of March. We’ll see how far we get!

Prompt: butterflies

Word Count: 100

A/N: just a quick little drabble today. written while at work waiting for people to go home lmao

Bishop had never been a fan of the term “butterflies” when it came to describing how excitement made someone feel. There had been plenty of moments when he had felt happy, jittery even, but even reflecting back on some of his most exciting moments, he wasn��t sure that “fluttery” was ever right for him.

Then he saw how you looked standing at the other end of the aisle on your wedding day and everything that he thought he knew went clean out the window. He never believed in the notion of stomach butterflies until he felt an eruption of them.

[justreblogginfics]

Obispo Losa deserves to be happy and he is just that in this and I LOVE IT! 🥰

(Gif credit: Unknown, saved from Pinterest)

Downpour

Bishop Losa x F!Reader

Inspired by Day 28 of the July Prompts: dancing in the rain

Warnings: Bishop being a softie

Word Count: 909

A/N: Just a soft and fun little something for el presidente. Hope you guys enjoy it! xo

Bishop Losa Taglist: @masterlistforimagines​ @sincerelyasomebody​ @sadeyesgf​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​ @kelpies-shed​ @queenbeered​ @louisianalady​ @gemini0410​ @paintballkid711​ @chibsytelford​ @yourwonkywriter​ @sesamepancakes​ @arveeee​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @plentyoffandoms​ @georgiaaintnopeach​ @twistnet​ @themoonandthewicked​ @garbinge​ @bucky-iss-bae​ @encounterthepast​ @rosieposie0624​ @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo​ @mijop​ @xladymacbethx​ @blessedboo​ @holl2712​ @lakamaa12​ @kkim120​ @toni9​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @crowfootwrites​ @redpoodlern​ @punkgoddess-98​ @black-repunzel99​ @lexondeck​ @just1bri​ @mrsstevenbuchananstark​ @berniesilvas​ @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo​ @amorestevens​ @angelreyesisdaddy04​

Keep reading

[flightlessangelwings]

A Quiet Moment

Bishop Losa x gn!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: 750

Prompt: "as your lover is undressing, you come up from behind, tracing kisses from their neck to their shoulders, as you feel them leaning into your touch" for Bishop (requested by anon for my 3k follower celebration)

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, hint of spice (my blog is still 18+ only!!)

Notes: Oh Bishop my love!! You may have been an ass this past season, but I still love you lol! Thank you so much, anon for the request! I really enjoyed writing this one!

I also have an update blog to stay up to date on when I post @flightlessangelwings-updates​

~

It was late when you finally made it home, and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and into your lover’s arms. It was a stressful time for both of you, and you wanted to be there for him as best as you could. Bishop had been through so much in his life, and you hoped that you were a brief relief from the pressures that constantly weighed on his shoulders.

You were quiet as you entered the home you shared with Bishop. It was dark inside, but you knew from the bike parked out front that he was there. You slipped off your shoes and made your way back into the bedroom where you hoped he would be.

Just as you thought, there he was. Bishop had his back to you as he slowly stripped off his kutte. He must have just beaten you home by the looks of it and with a smirk on your face you tip-toed your way over to him. 

Without a word, you reached out for the toned muscles of his shoulders and you heard him hiss in surprise for a moment. Bishop’s shoulders tensed as he spun around with a hardened look on his face. Once he saw it was you, though, he immediately softened.

“Hey sweetheart,” he purred as he flashed you a smile and turned back around and tugged at his shirt.

“Hola, amor,” you whispered back as you gently squeezed his shoulders.

“I just got home,” Bishop murmured as you ran your hands across his skin and kneaded his muscles.

“I figured. You’ve barely been home much lately,” you kissed his shoulder, “You fucking asshole,” you added as you playfully smacked his back.

Bishop shorted a laugh, “I know, I’m sorry baby.” His voice was low, but soft and genuine, and you knew he meant his words. 

You stayed silent as you went back to working out the knots in his muscles. Bishop let out a low groan as his eyes fluttered closed and he leaned back into your touch. His hands let go of his undershirt as he just enjoyed the pleasure of your touch. Under your own hands, you felt the way time had taken its toll on your lover as you tried your best to release some of the tension he held in his muscles.

As his shoulders slowly softened and dropped, you ran your hands down his sides and rested on his waist as you leaned your head against him. No words were exchanged between the two of you, none were needed. The two of you just swayed silently without any music as you took in a deep breath.

His hands came up and covered your own on his waist but neither of you bothered to move more than that. Bishop leaned back and rested his head over yours as he gave your hands a squeeze. He couldn’t see it, but you grinned widely at his shows of affection that he saved for when it was just the two of you alone.

After several long moments, you moved your hands and tugged at Bishop’s shirt. Still without a word, he knew what you wanted and Bishop released his grip of you and allowed you to pull the fabric up and off his body.

Your breath momentarily caught in your throat as you scanned over his bare skin as if it was the first time you were seeing it. Sometimes, you wondered if you told him enough how much you admired him and what effect he had on you. But, you hoped that your action spoke louder and any words could as you placed feather-light kisses along the top of his shoulder and up his neck while your hands found their way back to his waist. This time, your grip was rougher, and he knew exactly what that meant.

“You wanna take this party over to the bed, sweetheart?” Bishop groaned as he spun around and faced you. He paused for a moment as he took in the sight of you in the moonlight, “Fuck you are so beautiful,” he added before he lunged forward and took your lips with his in a heated kiss.

“So are you,” you breathed in between kisses as you let him drag you over to the bed as the moment turned more passionate. It wasn’t often both of you had quiet moments like this, and you and Bishop were determined to enjoy every last second you could with each other. 

[ficnation]

Loss - Bishop Losa x Reader

Summary: You try your best to comfort Obispo after his friend's death.

Word count: 1,0k+

Pairing: Bishop Losa x Female! Reader

Warnings: spoilers for season 2, angsty

A/n: Just something short to get back into writing. Enjoy!

𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐌.𝐂. 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Bishop knew you were smart, sometimes even too smart for your own good, and you could read people without effort. You had him all figured out just after your first meeting, which irritated him back then. He knew exactly what he was getting into, yet he still couldn’t let you walk away from him.

The moment he crossed the doorway, you were already staring at him with squinted eyes from your comfortable blanket nest on the couch. He didn’t even notice you were there until you spoke up.

“You’re upset,” you stated, closing the book you were reading. “What happened?” 

Bishop stopped in the corridor, his brows raised at your words, letting you know you saw right through him. 

“Jesus, woman, let me at least take my shoes off.” He scowled, challenging you to pry any further while unlacing his boots and putting them away.

“Hey, I’m very patient.” You ignored the unpleasant tone of his voice, sitting up and curling up your legs so you could rest your chin on your knees. You waited in silence so he could make his way toward you.

Bishop sat down beside you with a tired sigh, rubbing his temples. “Do we have to do this now? It’s late. You should be sleeping, cariña.”

It was well past midnight, and you would usually already be sprawled out on that couch, having fallen asleep while you waited for him to come home. Today it was different, though. You had a feeling that something terrible had happened, and it didn’t let you close your eyes even for a minute. So you spent the night reading books, waiting patiently for your husband to return so you could see with your own eyes that he was unharmed and well.

You watched him closely, your features softening into a half-smile at the term of endearment. You reached over to squeeze his hand reassuringly, and he let you, marveling at the feeling of your skin on his.

“Couldn’t really sleep without you next to me.”

Your words made Bishop finally look at you, his eyes staring into yours with recognition. He knew that feeling. He couldn’t fall asleep without you in bed beside him either. It just felt wrong when you weren’t there.

“I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t leave earlier,” Bishop mumbled out, raising your joined hands to leave a kiss on top of your palm. 

He knew he couldn’t always be there for you. Being the club’s president was time-consuming, more than he imagined. But it was everything to him, and you understood that and never made him feel bad about not having much time to spend with you. 

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” You propped your chin on his shoulder, covered by the club’s kutte. “Tell me what happened.”

Bishop ran his free hand through his hair, sighing yet again. He wasn’t sure how to put it into words. He never knew how to tell you about someone’s death, especially someone you had known and cared for.

“Hey, if you don’t want to, it’s okay too. But remember that you can tell me anything,” you assured, seeing the troubled expression on your husband’s face. 

Your thumb brushed against his knuckles, and you could feel him relax at your touch.

After several long moments, he took another deep breath and started talking cautiously, trying to suppress the anger bubbling deep inside of him. The anger at those stupid Vatos who took his friend away for good.

“We lost Riz today,” he said finally, cutting straight to the chase. 

Your eyes widened in shock. You didn’t expect it to be that serious before he told you that information. “I’m so sorry, baby,” you whispered. Your thumb brushed against his knuckles in a soothing motion.

Bishop closed his eyes, trying hard to push back the tears that threatened to spill out of his eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”

You knew Riz was a good guy and didn’t deserve to die so soon. None of the Mayans did; they were all genuinely good people, no matter how they shaped themselves to appear to others. They were like a family to you; you loved them wholeheartedly.

“What happened? Who did this?” The question was followed by a pause before you added quietly, “Are you going after them?” You held your breath as you waited for an answer, but you couldn’t help the tears that spilled down your cheeks.

Your thumb traced a few circles on the back of his hand. You could feel him shake lightly under your touch. It broke your heart to watch him in this state. It took him a minute or two before he found the strength to speak again.

“We will. The fuckers won’t know what hit them,” Bishop stated with certainty, wiping away the tears from his face with his arm. He never wanted to let anyone see him cry, yet you saw it more times than he wished you did. You were the one who taught him that it’s not a weakness to show emotions.

“Go to bed with me?” you proposed and got up from the couch, still holding his hand in yours. You didn’t comment on his decision. It wasn’t your place to say anything, especially since you didn’t have the whole picture, and it could’ve been pretty gruesome.

The man agreed wordlessly, letting you pull him to his feet and toward the door to your shared bedroom. You helped him take off his kutte, putting it on the backrest of one of the comfy chairs in the room, while Bishop got rid of his shirt and jeans, leaving him only in his boxers. 

You turned the lights off before looking at your husband, who had already crawled into the bed. He smiled weakly, beckoning you closer so you could cuddle up to him like always. You obliged quickly and snuggled up to him, wrapping your arms around his torso and holding him tight. Bishop kissed your forehead, making you look up at him. 

“I love you, mi rey,” you whispered as if anything louder could disturb the silence enveloping the room. You left a sweet kiss on his lips, giggling when he bit down lightly on your lower lip.

“Sleep well, mami.”

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Midnight Ride

Rating: Explicit (That means NO ONE UNDER 18)

Fandom: Mayans MC

Ship: Obispo 'Bishop' Losa x reader/you (cishet female)

Warnings: Unprotected PiV sex, public sex, probably unsanitary too.

Words: 2,598

Summary: After the club settles the score for Riz, a troubled Bishop takes you for a ride in the desert. And you take him for a ride.

A/N: I know I've niched myself as a Pedro Pascal character fanfic blog but I'm in a bit of a Bish rabbit hole atm and I couldn't stop thinking about this. And when I can't stop thinking about something, I have to write it. You're welcome.

That night EZ was voted in, and the crew went on that little killing spree to avenge Riz? It was supposed to settle Bishop's nerves as well as the score. The bloodlust, savage and true, was quenched, the revenge working just as it was supposed to. He knew the blowback that killing the Vatos would bring, they all knew, and they were good with that. But a dead Son on top of that? Fuck, that complicated shit.

He's deep in thought when they return to the scrap yard. He had been looking forward to going home, sleep in your arms, perhaps even get seven hours of uninterrupted rest. Instead, he has a feeling he's heading towards an all-nighter on his throne: whiskey and smokes his only companions.

He sees you come out of the clubhouse as he parks his bike, and the sight throws him a little. He didn't expect you to be here this late, on this night.

He takes off his helmet, pulls off his gloves. Walks across the gravel, ascends the stairs, up to you, gloriously backlit by the light spilling out through the open door. A dark angel come to save him from all of this shit, if only for a sinful moment.

"You're still here," he says when he's on the porch, right in front of you.

"So are you," you remark coolly, and he hears the little jab in your voice. He hasn't been home much. You're not a needy partner, but you don't like being on the outside. And you have been on the outside a lot lately.

For a moment, the two of you lock gazes. Both of you are by nature unyielding, but his position gives him the upper hand. It has to, at least here, with the club watching.

"You gonna take me home, Obispo?" you ask, now a little more huskily. Bishop hesitates, club matters on his mind. He needs to sit down with the ones closest to him, figure shit out.

Hank, coming up the stairs right behind him, pats his shoulder. "Go, Prez. Get some rest. We'll talk in the morning."

So you find yourself glued to him, arms around his waist, cheek resting on the back of his kutte, as he drives the both of you out of the scrap yard. Reaching the road outside, he slows down to a stop, puts one foot to the ground and turns his head.

"Is it okay if we take a little ride?"

"Absolutely," you reply immediately, and he turns right instead of left. Out of town. There's no traffic, and the night is cool, Bishop's body warm against yours, the bike roaring underneath you. This is what you signed up for, just you and him on the open road, becoming one with the machine, the engine vibrations traveling through your bodies as you melt together. You feel the strength and focus in his back muscles and abs as he handles the bike. He may not be a physically tall man, but what he lacks in height he makes up for in intelligence, tenacity, and dedication. Besides, there are other inches that matter, and in that department he has been blessed by the gods.

Bishop takes you out to the desert, where the full moon renders the arid landscape blue and silver. The low night temperature and the force of the wind makes you shiver slightly. Bishop feels it, and releases one hand from the handle, putting it over yours, clasped together at his belly. He doesn't let go until he goes off road, on a small path leading up to a plateu. The last distance is slightly bumpy, and you hold onto him hard. You're still hugging him to you when he stops and kills the engine.

"Okay?" You hear the grin in his voice when he leans back a little, flipping down the kickstand and letting go of the clutch.

"Yeah," you reply and take off the helmet, handing it to him. He hangs it on the handlebar together with his, before reaching his hand back and patting your knee.

"Get up here."

You dismount the bike, a little Bambi-legged as always after a ride, your thighs tingling with the low roar of the engine. The raw hp strength always get you, no matter how many times you ride. Bishop pulls out the bedroll and as you swing your leg over the bike again, this time in front of him, he wraps the blanket around you.

"Better?"

"Yes, thank you."

His arms encircle you, pulling your back snug against his front, and his chin lands on your shoulder with a deep sigh. You tip your head back and look up at the stars.

"Look, baby. So pretty."

"I am looking." His face, however, is not turned skywards, but towards you, his lips touching your ear. "It is pretty."

You hum. He's not much of a romantic, and you don't need that anyway, but he does know how to sweet talk you when he wants to.

The silence out here is almost deafening after the road. Normally you wouldn't mind, but you're out here for a reason.

"Talk to me, Obispo," you ask in a low voice. "It's not just Riz. You've been a ghost for the past few weeks."

He sighs again, deeply. He never tells you anything that could compromise you, but he knows how to convey the burden of the hard decisions he has to make to you, without saying anything about the actual business. And now, he tells you what he can.

"I'm afraid it's just gonna get worse from here, querida," he finishes. You nod.

"Sounds like it."

"Maybe you should go visit your sister for a while - "

"Fuck you, Bish, I'm not visiting nobody."

He chuckles low in his voice, sending a whiff of cigarette breath against your skin. He smokes too much, but you're not going to nag about that. That is not your job.

"Forgot I can't tell you what to do."

"Tell me I'm not crazy for thinking I should be here, with you," you ask him in a low voice. This thing that you have: it's not easy. You don't approve of even a fraction of the shit the Mayans do. You hate how they treat women. And yet, you've longed for this your whole life: the family, the loyalty, the fearlessness.

And Obispo. Goddammit, if you could stop loving him, you would.

"No, querida, no estás loca."

His mustache tickles when he presses his lips to your neck. His arms shift as he moves one hand to your chest, the other between your thighs. He cups you roughly, his broad palm pushing against your apex, bringing you in closer, as if it were at all possible. Your next breath comes out as a small gasp, and your core grows heavy and warm.

"I know that's your gun in your kutte, but do you have another one in your pants...?"

"You know I can't fit two guns there," he murmurs as he grinds against your ass. You snort out a laugh before turning your head so that you can reach him for a kiss. Your lips immediately open up for his tongue, letting it in, your tastebuds already so used to the taste of stale cigarettes on him that you don't mind it anymore. He claims you with the all but regal self-confidence of a man who knows what should be rendered unto him, yet with the gratitude of a much simpler man who is aware of how lucky he is to have you. You reach your arm up and back, fingers finding his thick, dark hair with its sprinkles of gray, and pull him in closer. A grunt spills from his mouth to yours, and he starts to try to unbutton your plaid. Finding his gloved fingers too clumsy to handle the small buttons, he instead rips it open. You growl in protest, but he's already palming your breasts through your top, the push-up bra forming a rack you're ashamed to say you're proud of. Some feminist. Maybe you're just a bad girl when it all comes around, looking for a bad boy on a bike.

Your bad boy is growing harder harder in his jeans by the second, his thighs hugging into yours, his lips finally leaving yours for a toothy hike down the slope of your neck, reaching the valley of your shoulder. You're already so wet and needy for him. It's been a while, you realize: a very unwelcome effect of his club life taking up most of his time is the absence of sex. It is what it is, but here and now, with his hard cock struggling against the stiff denim of his jeans, and his hands pulling your top and bra down to expose your tits to the cool night air, and your heatbeats thrumming in your pussy, you don't understand how you stand for it. How do you survive without having him inside you every single day?

He rolls your stiff nipples between his fingers, brands your neck and shoulder with his mouth, and when you moan his name, he pushes you down over the rise of the fuel tank. He stands up and you hear the jingle of his belt being unbuckled.

"How do you want me, mi reina?"

You stand up as well and get off the bike. Quickly, you kick off your boots, your jeans and panties going the same way in the dark, before pushing him back down onto the seat of his bike. He's pulled himself out and is holding his thick cock in his hand, waiting for you.

"Obispo... that is so goddamn gorgeous," you sigh, and it causes him to twitch.

"Come here, querida."

You scramble onto his lap, settling your thighs over his, your bare feet finding the cold metal of the back axels for a little perch as you help him guide himself into your warmth. You lock your lips with his and moan as he fills you up and stretches you out. Finally. Fucking finally.

"Fuck..." Bishop groans as his hands seek out the soft flesh of your ass to knead. "Be good to me, baby." He kisses you breathlessly as his fingers dig into your ass cheeks. "I need you to be good to me."

"I promise." You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back as you start to move lazily on his cock. "I love your hands on me, Obispo, makes me feel so good."

"Yeah?" He slides one hand up your spine, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.

"Yeah." Your moan breaks the kiss and lean your forehead to his instead, intently staring into his brown eyes, now liquid and almost black. You keep to a slow grind, still getting used to that delicious, perfect stretch. You thread your fingers through his hair, massage his neck, treat him just as good as he begged you to. You kiss him, moan assurances of how good he feels inside of you into his ear, bite the lobe.

The silence, so far broken only by your wanton sounds, shatters at the sudden yipping howls of coyotes. You freeze mid-grind, looking around you in the moonlit landscape, seeing nothing. Biship chuckles, pulling you into his embrace.

"They're far away, querida, no need to be scared."

"I'm not scared," you point out immediately. Bishop curls his pointer finger under your chin, thumb caressing over your slight pout.

"Forgot. You're not afraid of anything."

"You're forgotting a lot about me lately," you smirk. "Should I be worried?"

"There's one thing that I haven't forgotten, and that's how good your wet little cunt feels wrapped around my cock..." He dips his face down to your breasts and sucks one hard nipple into his mouth. The mustache scratches your sensitive skin deliciously, and you arch back with a loud moan. To hell with going slow: you need to fuck him.

Finding a rhythm that hits you in the right spot, you start to ride him faster, hips undulating on him, his hands holding you and helping your pace, his lips on yours, or on your tits, or your neck. Your moans grow louder and more desperate as you climb higher and higher, and you brace yourself with one hand on the fuel tank behind you as you ride him home, your other hand clasping the back of Bishop's head tightly.

"Cum for me, querida," he barks, bringing his hand down on your ass once, then stuttering on his breath as the impact of leather on skin makes you clench down on his cock like a vice. Your orgasm pulls a desperate sound out of you that echoes across the desert and shuts the coyotes up.

Bishop leans forward, draping you over the curve of the beautiful, beetle green fuel tank, and slams into you, wrapping your legs around him before chasing his own release. When you reach down to tease your clit, he brushes your hand away and uses his own instead, rubbing you with fingers covered with supple leather. Your bundle of nerves starts to gather immediately as you reach one arm up overhead and grab onto the riser. You pull him in for a kiss, holding onto him as much for connection as for balance.

He fucks you to a leg-shaking orgasm, his own control slipping as soon as your pussy starts to pulsate with the release. Cursing loudly, he empties himself in you, his thrusts slowing down to a soft roll of his hips against yours as he kisses you. Finally, he pulls you back up onto his lap, and wraps his arms around you as he leans his face between your breasts. Your heart calms down as you comb through his hair with your fingers, the occasional aftershock causing your muscles to twitch. Every time he feels you shudder, he runs his hands up and down your back and pulls you in closer.

"You're freezing," he eventually states, as your skin is cooling off and the shivers are caused by the cold and not some lingering jolts of pleasure. He lifts his head and looks at you.

"I'm fine, baby," you assure him. A small smile plays underneath his mustache.

"I know you are."

He kisses you one final time before you get off the bike. Your panties are gone - you shudder to think that an animal of some kind maybe ran off with them - but you pull your jeans and boots back on, and straighten out your bra and top before tying the plaid around your waist to keep it closed for the ride home.

Bishop watches you as he tucks himself back in and rolls up the blanket. He doesn't appreciate you enough, that much is obvious. He should make more time for you. Keep you close.

He's going to need you, he knows that.

"What?" you smile when you catch him looking at you. He looks down, suddenly bashful, a smile of his own appearing on his lips. He'd never tell you just how sweet he sometimes finds you when he watches you do something inane, like putting on your clothes after a good fuck. You'd have his head on a plate.

"Nothing."

"So full of secrets," you sigh and grab the helmets, handing Bishop's over to him. He looks up then, his smile warm and genuine in the moonlight.

"Thank you, querida."

"You're welcome, Obispo."

You both know it was not the helmet he was thanking you for.