#reyes brothers

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: cussing, kidnapping, captivity, firearms (mentioned once)

Part 5

Novel Attraction - Part 6

The soft hum of motorcycles, faint voices in the distance, and the sound of gravel crunching under heavy boots filtered into the trailer like a low, ever-present current. The early morning light bled in through the blinds in dull gold slants, cutting across the room in harsh, angled shapes.

You stirred slowly, blinking up at the ceiling like you weren’t entirely sure where you were.

Then it came back—the trailer, the Mayans, the locked door. Your chest tightened.

Your fingers clutched at the edge of the blanket as you sat up, the fabric oversized around you, still carrying a faint scent that wasn’t yours—clean detergent, leather, and something warm and worn-in. Angel’s hoodie.

You rubbed your arms, standing in the small bedroom end of the trailer with just enough room for yourself you dragged your own clothes back on.

Once you stepped beyond the curtian you scaned the room. A tray of food sat near the door on the counter.

Toast, some sliced fruit, and a bottle of water.

Your stomach clenched with both hunger and mistrust, you lifted the plate and sniffed it. “Seriously… what the hell do they want me for ?” you muttered under your breath.

You didn’t touch the food.

Instead, you drifted to the window, peeking out through the blinds like someone in hiding. The yard was starting to wake up—men laughing, swearing, working on bikes. The sounds were loud out there.

Wolves in leather.

Angel was leaning against a stack of tires near the garage, his sleeves rolled up, tattoos stark against his forearms as he smoked a cigarette and talked with EZ, Coco and Gilly.

He looked over.

Right at the window.

Your breath caught and you pulled back too fast, bumping your hip into the counter, hand going to your ribs protectively.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock—two soft taps and then the door creaked open without waiting for a response.

"Querida… you awake?”

You didn’t answer.

Angel stepped in, shutting the door gently behind him, eyes immediately scanning you where you stood barefoot on the vinyl floor, arms crossed over your chest like a shield.

“Didn’t touch the food,” he noted, glancing at the tray.

You didn’t hide your suspicion. “Could be drugged.”

Angel exhaled slowly, his head tilting back as if silently asking the ceiling for patience.

"It’s not,” he said. “EZ made it. He’s a dork, but he’s not gonna poison you.”

When you didn’t budge, he stepped over, sitting on the edge of the small table, making himself smaller, less of a threat.

"You still think we’re gonna hurt you,” he said gently.

You didn’t respond. Just looked at him with tired, wary eyes.

“I get it,” he went on, voice quieter now. “You got pulled into some mierda that’s not yours. You don’t know who we are. You don’t know why you’re here. You look at me like I might flip the fuck out any second.” He gave a small laugh. “Shit… I probably would too if I were you.”

Sunlight spilled harsh and unfiltered across the Mayans’ yard, baking the dusty gravel and bouncing off the chrome of parked bikes. The scent of motor oil, hot metal, and stale smoke lingered in the air like a second skin.

A few of the guys were posted up near the porch, leaning on beat-up folding chairs and crates—EZ, Coco, and Gilly all loitering with greasy hands and half-finished beers, the way they did when things were quiet.

Angel stepped out of the clubhouse, slinging a beer from the cooler before dropping into the shade beside them.

“You check on boy scout's roomie yet?” Coco smirked, dragging on a cigarette, his eyes gleaming with trouble.

Angel didn’t answer right away. He took a swig from the bottle and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, jaw flexing.

“She’s fine,” he muttered. “Didn’t eat.”

“She think we’re gonna poison her or something?” Gilly said with a low chuckle. “Shit, maybe its EZ’s cooking, that shits suspicious as fuck hermano.”

“It was toast and fruit,” EZ protested, deadpan. “I’m not that bad.”

Angel let the banter roll off him for a moment, squinting out toward the trailer.

That was enough to make Coco’s head tipped towards Angel with curiosity. He leaned forward, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth.

"Damn, bro. You look like you care.”

“She’s just a job,” Angel replied too fast.

Silence fell for a beat too long.

Then EZ snorted. “Right. A job. That why you gave her your hoodie? Or why you keep calling her querida like she’s your girl?”

Angel threw a stone at his brother—not hard, just enough to make him flinch.

“She looked cold,” Angel said simply, but even he didn’t believe his own brush-off.

Coco laughed, deep and amused, the kind of sound that said he’d seen this play out before. “Homie, I’ve seen you leave girls shivering in their little outfits in your truck. Don’t start playing knight in shining kutte now.”

Gilly leaned over, slapping a hand to Angel’s shoulder. “Just don’t go catching feelings for someone that belongs to Galindo, man. That shit don’t end cute.”

Angel didn’t say anything this time. He just stared off toward the trailer, lips pressed in a firm line, thumb dragging over the bottle label like he was peeling it just to keep his hands busy.

"It’s ain't like that,” he said finally.

The metallic clack of the trailer’s lock disengaging made you freeze, body still curled under the scratchy blanket. Light poured in from the doorway as EZ stepped inside, wearing a crooked, almost too-casual smile like he knew how weird this was but was trying to pretend it wasn’t.

"Hey. Morning,” he said. “Figured it might be good for you to get some air. Come stretch your legs a bit.”

You blinked at him, wary. Everything about this felt loaded—like a test with no right answers. But the four walls of the trailer were starting to feel like they were closing in. You slowly nodded, rising from the seat and tugging the hoodie around yourself like armor.

Outside, the sun was unforgiving and the lot was alive—bikes being tuned, men laughing in too-loud bursts, dogs barking from somewhere behind the warehouse.

You stayed close to EZ, trying to keep your head down, heart thudding as you scanned the space.

Then you saw Coco, leaning against a post, arms crossed, and that familiar glint of mischief—or danger—sparked in his expression.

Your steps faltered.

EZ noticed. He slowed, letting you set the pace, voice softening.

“He’s not gonna hurt you, you know,” he said. “Coco’s just… Coco. He don’t know how to talk to people sometimes.”

You gave him a look, one that tried to be brave, but your fingers curled in the hem of the sweatshirt.

He pulled a gun on me. It didn’t feel like a misunderstanding.

Angel must’ve seen you tense, because he was suddenly there, coming around the corner like he’d been watching all along. His kutte hung open over a white tee, and his brows pulled tight the second he saw your expression.

“¿Qué pasa, querida?” he asked, stepping between you and Coco without thinking.

You looked up at him, voice small. “He… he scared me. Yesterday.”

Angel didn’t even glance at Coco when he spoke. "Then he don’t get near you again,” he said, voice low and certain. “Lo juro. I’ll handle it.”

EZ lifted both hands in a gesture of peace. “We’re just trying to let her breathe a little, bro. You said she needed to feel safe.”

“Yeah,” Angel muttered, “and she ain’t gonna feel that if she’s flinching every time someone gets loud.”

Angel guided you toward one of the plastic chairs by the edge of the lot, away from the noise, from Coco’s teasing eyes and Gilly’s curious glances. He crouched in front of you once you sat, resting his arms on his knees.

“You okay?” His voice was softer now, but it carried that familiar gravity he held when it was just the two of you.

You hesitated, then nodded—just a little. “You’ve given me no idea why I’m even here.”

Angel’s jaw worked, something unspoken flashing behind his eyes. He reached out slowly, giving you the chance to pull away, and when you didn’t, his hand found yours. Big, calloused, warm.

“You’ll know when you need to, querida,” he said.

You were sitting at the edge of the lot again, tucked into a plastic chair beside Angel, a paper plate of food, that had materialized from somewhere, balanced on your knees, untouched.

The sun had shifted past its highest point, leaving the yard in a hazy, golden stretch of quiet. Bikes sat idle, and a few prospects were muttering about chains and tires in the distance.

Angel was lounging beside you in a fold-up camp chair, legs stretched out and hands laced behind his head. He’d been trying to keep things light—pointing out dumb things the guys were doing, telling you about how EZ once crashed a moped trying to impress a girl in high school.

“Swear to God, he told her it had ‘racing mods’ and then dumped it two blocks later,” Angel chuckled, tossing a stone across the dirt. “Still got the scar on his elbow. Ask him.”

You gave a reluctant smile. For a few seconds, it felt like you were just two people hanging out. Then Coco showed up.

He swaggered over, a cigarette dangled from his lips.

“Ayo,” he said, waving lazily in your direction. “Didn’t mean to scare ya yesterday, Thumbelina.”

Your brows knit together. “Thumbelina?”

“You’re, delicate ass is all ‘oh no please don’t hurt me’? It fits.”

Angel shot him a look, jaw tightening.

“Cállate, cabrón.” He leaned toward you. “Don’t listen to him. His idea of charm is threatening a vending machine when it eats his quarters.”

But Coco wasn’t done. He blew smoke away from you and held up both hands like he came in peace.

“Look, I ain’t tryna be the villain here. I didn’t know you were gonna be so... fragile. I thought maybe you were one of those undercover cartel types—like that girl in Miss Congeniality, but y'know with more guns and shit. ”

Angel sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Coco…”

“What?” Coco grinned. “I’m just saying, she’s got that whole ‘terrified creature’ vibe. Kinda adorable, if you ignore the fact she probably thinks we’re gonna sell her to organ harvesters.”

You looked away, unsure if it was safe to laugh or if it would only encourage him. Angel noticed.

“Hey.” His voice dropped as he turned fully toward you. “Querida, mírame. Don’t let him get in your head. He talks out his ass.”

You glanced up, chewing your lip. “He’s not… totally wrong. I don’t know what to think.”

Angel’s face softened. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, close enough you could smell the leather of his kutte and the faint trace of motor oil clinging to him.

“Think this,” he said, voice steady. “If you were really in danger, I wouldn’t be out here talking about dumb stories and trying to make you smile.”

“...You’re trying to make me smile?”

He smirked. “Mierda, you noticed?”

Later, Coco plopped down on the edge of a workbench, watching Angel carefully spoon more rice onto your plate like you were a guest at a family barbecue and not a woman being held under lock and key.

"So, what, we’re playing house now?” he asked, more amused than anything.

Angel didn’t look up. “Nah. She’s just eating. You should try it sometime. Might help with the whole resting felon face.”

You finally cracked a tiny smile, which Coco caught.

“See? Told you I’d grow on you.” He gave you a two-finger salute. “Watch your back, girl. I’m charming as hell once you stop all the crying and shit.”

Angel rolled his eyes as he handed the rice to you.

A beat.

Then "Puta madre, querida" he muttered as he took the spoon and made an exaggeration out of eating a bite himself.

You were inside the trailer again, sitting by the window, watching the club from a distance. Your knees were tucked under your chin, a paper cup of cold coffee cradled in your hands.

Outside, Angel stood by his bike, talking to EZ and laughing—at first. Then Bishop called him over with a clipped, “Angel. Need a word.”

Angel’s shoulders dropped the second he heard that tone. He followed Bishop behind the garage, hands in his pockets, posture loose—but only on the surface. His jaw tightened just enough to give away that he already knew this wasn’t going to be a good conversation.

Bishop didn’t waste time. “She’s getting comfortable.” His voice was low but direct, laced with that gritty edge that meant he was half-daring Angel to push back.

Angel didn’t look surprised. He just nodded once, slow.

“Yeah. She’s scared shitless, Bishop. You want her screaming 24/7? Drawing attention?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Bishop took a step closer, looking him dead in the eye. “You’re getting soft. You forget what she is?”

Angel’s mouth pulled into a humorless smirk. “Please she thinks we’re kidnapping her to sell her organs, and flinches when a bike backfires. Least we can do is make her comfortable, right?”

“She’s not your girl, Angel. She’s a job.” Bishop paused, made sure Angel was listening. “And when the job ends? Galindo doesn’t keep loose ends. You know what that means.”

There was silence.

Angel blinked slowly. His jaw flexed once, then again. He looked away, teeth grinding together behind closed lips. The words hit harder than they should have—and Bishop saw it.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” Bishop added, quieter now. “You get too close, it’s gonna fuck with your head. And that’s gonna get someone killed.”

Angel didn’t answer. He just nodded—too stiffly to mean he agreed. His fingers twitched at his side like he wanted a cigarette, or maybe to hit something.

The evening heat was beginning to settle, but you still sat cross-legged on the trailers bench seat in a pair of trackpants and a loose t-shirt, your damp hair tied back loosely after a quick shower. The place smelled faintly of Angel’s cologne and the faint citrus scent of the soap EZ had brought you.

Angel leaned against the kitchenette, arms crossed, watching you talk to EZ with an unreadable look on his face.

EZ sat opposite you on the trailers dinning chair, legs stretched out, shoulders relaxed, smiling gently as you asked questions—about bikes, about club patches, about what a “kutte" was and why the men seemed to follow Bishop like he was some kind of general from an army.

You didn’t notice it, but Angel’s jaw clenched every time you laughed at something EZ said.

You felt safe around EZ. He didn’t have that sharpness in his voice, that heat in his stare. He looked at you like he was on your side—and for a woman freshly kidnapped, that counted for a hell of a lot.

Angel’s hands flexed where they were folded over his chest. He shifted from one foot to the other, barely able to stand still.

"You know,” Angel muttered, interrupting as EZ started to explain something about the club’s hierarchy, “You don’t have to listen to everything he says like it’s gospel. He didn’t invent the MC world.”

EZ glanced at his brother, eyebrows lifting slightly in silent warning.

You blinked, glancing at Angel, surprised by the edge in his voice. “I was just making conversation"

Angel shrugged, brushing off your concern with false nonchalance.

"Sure, querida. Just don’t want you thinking little bro’s the only one with answers.”

He gave EZ a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes and walked over to the small fridge, yanking it open a little too hard and grabbing a bottle of water. His body language was loud even when he was quiet.

Jaw tense.

Shoulders rigid.

His silence crackled more than EZ’s words ever could.

You watched him with a hint of confusion but didn’t push. You couldn’t tell if you’d said something wrong… or if EZ had. Either way, the warmth in the room dipped several degrees.

As the conversation continued, you leaned slightly toward EZ without realizing it, comforted by his calmness, his ability to keep things light.

You didn’t see the way Angel’s eyes tracked the motion. The way he swallowed, like something bitter had lodged in his throat.

“You really think he’s that charming?” Angel asked suddenly, voice flat.

EZ laughed, dry and amused. “Relax, hermano. I’m not gunning for your hostage.”

“I ain’t worried,” Angel snapped—too quickly, too defensively.

You looked between the two, unsure what had shifted. Something in Angel’s tone made your brows furrow, but you smiled awkwardly, trying to keep the peace. “I like talking to both of you… You just explain things differently.”

Angel didn’t reply. He gave you a brief glance, but there was distance in it now. Not from lack of care—too much, if anything.

But it was like he didn’t know how to sit still in his own skin when you weren’t looking at him like you did EZ.

Angel had spent years in his brother’s shadow—EZ, the golden boy, the clean-cut smart one, the favorite.

Angel had clawed his way through blood and pain to be who he was, and now, here you were, all softness and scared eyes… leaning toward EZ like he was somekind of savior.

Angel ran a hand over his face and stood.

"I’m gonna check on the lot,” he said to no one in particular. “Don’t stay up too late.”

He opened the trailer door and hesitated. Looked back.

"Night, querida.”

His voice was low. Rougher than usual. And before you could answer, the door clicked shut behind him.

You barely noticed the time slip past after Angel had walked out. EZ had said something about checking in with Bishop and left too, leaving the trailer dim and still. You sat near the window, the soft hum of the club lot outside rising like static.

Laughter.

Engines.

Distant bass from a speaker someone had dragged out of storage.

It was almost easy to forget you were a captive.

Almost.

Then the trailer door creaked open again. Angel stepped in, backlit by the golden spill of sunset behind him, casting long shadows across the cramped space. He didn’t say anything at first—just kicked the door shut with his boot and walked toward the small fridge, pulling out a bottle of beer. His movements were tight, a little too sharp, like he hadn’t shaken off whatever had crawled under his skin earlier.

You noticed the beer in his hand before anything else.

Not threatening… but not entirely casual, either. Something about the way he held it—tight-fisted, like it was holding him together more than he was holding it.

You tucked your legs up on the couch, voice soft and cautious. “...Can I have some?”

Angel stopped in his tracks. Eyebrows raised, beer half-lifted to his lips. “You wanna drink with me now, querida?”

There was a quiet humor in the way he said it, but it was laced with that same bitterness from before. He walked over and flopped into the side of the table EZ had used earlier, watching you with unreadable eyes. A flicker of something softer passed through him, though, when he saw how hesitant you looked.

He took a sip, then offered you the bottle wordlessly.

You reached for it carefully—still unused to the lack of boundaries, the strangeness. Your fingers brushed his, and he held on for just a second longer than necessary before letting go.

From your spot near the window, you could see the lot starting to fill up—people arriving on bikes, a few cars pulling in, girls laughing as they leaned out of passenger windows. It was loud, wild, alive—a world apart from the stale, quiet space of the trailer.

You watched with beer in your hand, tiny sips the taste was still unfamiliar. Angel followed your gaze and let out a short laugh, shaking his head.

"It’s not as fun as it looks,” he muttered, taking the beer back for a drink. “Just noise and bad decisions dressed up as a good time.”

You tilted your head, brows furrowed. “at least there outside.”

Angel looked at you then—really looked at you. There was something heavy behind his eyes. He leaned back, beer resting on his knee, fingers tapping the label. “You think EZ’s the good one, huh?” he asked, voice low but not accusatory. “The one with all the right answers.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the shift. “No I—”

“Nah, it’s fine. I get it.” He offered a small, forced smile. “He’s got the face, the words, the college brain. I’m just the one who makes the mess.”

You stared down at your hands, unsure how to navigate the tension. “I don't really know ... either of you, Angel.”

Angel’s eyes searched yours for something—for a lie, for sympathy, maybe. But all he saw was sincerity. Cautious but there.

He scoffed under his breath and looked away.

“Your right you don’t know shit about me, querida.”

You passed the bottle back to him, your fingers touch his again. He looked down at the contact, then up at you, slower now. Like maybe he didn’t want to keep pretending he didn’t care what you thought.

Outside, the party was kicking off.

Music louder.

Laughter sharper.

A few of the girls were dancing on the hood of a car, and you turned to watch, transfixed by the sheer freedom in it all.

You didn't excatly want to be out there, but you wanted to be outside.

Angel followed your gaze, then leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You wanna go out there?”

You shook your head quickly. “… It’s like watching a movie.”

Your voice was small—almost drowned out by the music thumping just beyond the trailer’s thin metal walls. "Would I be allowed out there?"

The sun had dipped behind the clubhouse by now, casting the lot in that golden-orange haze of early evening. It made everything look softer, even if it wasn’t.

Angel was lounging, beer bottle balanced on the table between you, gaze somewhere in the middle distance—until you spoke.

He blinked. Turned toward you slow. The bottle tilted slightly in his hand. “What’d you say, querida?”

You glanced back toward the window, toward the celebration happening just beyond the door. Women laughing, someone revving an engine, a flash of red solo cups passed around. You swallowed the dry air in your throat and repeated yourself, quieter.

"Would I be allowed out there?”

For a moment, Angel didn’t answer.

Not because he didn’t hear you. But because the weight of the question sat somewhere in his chest he didn’t know how to touch.

You weren't asking like someone looking for permission. Not really. It was the way you'd said it—with that tentative curiosity, like you were already preparing for the “no.” You weren’t a guest.

You knew that.

You were a job.

Collateral.

Of what kind you didn't know.

And yet, the way your eyes lingered on the flicker of firelight outside, the way your fingers clutched the blanket on your lap, made it hurt more than it should’ve.

Angel exhaled hard, leaned forward, arms resting on his knees.

“It don't really look like a ‘you’ crowd out there.”

He rubbed a hand down his face like he was trying to scrub off the guilt. You didn’t say anything. Just nodded slowly, lips parting like you had more to say but weren’t sure if you were allowed to speak it aloud.

You looked down at your lap, blinking slowly. The party outside suddenly felt much farther away. Not dangerous, necessarily—but untouchable. Like a glossy postcard of a life that had already closed its gates.

Angel saw the way your shoulders curled in slightly. Saw the question dying on your tongue before you could ask it again. And it made something twist in his gut.

He hated this.

He stood up abruptly, beer bottle thunking onto the counter harder than necessary. Walked to the window. Looked out.

The sun had almost disappeared now, and the lights strung around the lot glowed soft and golden. People were laughing, leaning close, drinks being passed, phones lit up for photos. EZ was out there, probably charming a few people as usual. Coco was laughing with Gilly near the fire barrel. And you were in here—locked in quiet.

He hated that he didn’t know the answer either. "You wanna feel normal for a bit, querida?” he asked suddenly, not turning around.

You looked up.

"Put on one of EZ's hoodies in the closet,” he said, nodding toward the corner. “Zip it up, keep your head down. We’ll get you outside long enough to pretend the trailer doesn’t have locks.”

You didn’t move for a moment, processing his words.

Then, slowly, carefully, you stood. The hoodie was way too big for you—hanging off your shoulders. You zipped it up, pulled the hood over your head. You didn’t say anything.

Angel watched you as you crossed the trailer. Watched the way you hesitated at the door, fingers grazing the handle.

“Stay close,” he said, voice rough. “I mean it, don't try anything"

You nodded.

When he opened the door, the noise hit you like a wave.

Laughter.

Music.

The scent of grilled meat and burning wood.

The kind of chaos that felt alive.

Without thinking, his arm came up around you, hand resting against your back.

Nobody even looked at you.

They had their own noise. Their own rhythm. You were just another shadow at a biker's side.

[garbinge]

Pottery

Angel Reyes & EZ Reyes & Sister OC Cynalena ‘Cyn’ Reyes

Day 15 from these April Prompts: “Pottery”

Summary: The youngest Reyes sibling deals with the death of her mother and the effect that has on each of the Reyes men. 

A/N: I apparently love to give funeral backstories to sibling OCs I have full multichap stories for. I have a whole nestor x cyn story that I’ve been working on and hope to post sometime soon, but in the meantime enjoy this little back story of her life with her brothers. 

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Mentions of death and blood. Angst, a whoooollleee lot of it. 

Mayans Taglist: @justreblogginfics @drabbles-mc @narcolini

The house was empty. Not physically by any means. There was furniture throughout, pictures hung along walls, some older, some newer. There were even signs of life, keys hung on hooks that were conveniently placed near the front door, shoes tossed around underneath in an untidy pile, and finally a chair pulled out from under the table, like someone had just gotten up and was expected to be back. But unfortunately, no one was expected to be back in that seat. Which is why the house felt empty. 

Cyn stood at the front door taking in the emptiness, staring at the chair right hand to the head of the table, taking note of the plate full of crumbs and mug that had dried coffee stains in it by now. It had been 3 whole days since her mother had passed but each one felt like an eternity. 

The first day was when she found out, the numbness hadn’t hit anyone yet, the shock was still prominent. Each member of the Reyes family trying to wrap their heads around the news, except EZ, who was there. Who saw his mother laid out on the ground, the blood leaving her body. EZ had hit numbness the minute the paramedics pronounced her DOA. 

The second day was when everyone else was caught up to the middle Reyes sibling. That’s when the quiet overcame them, no one had much to say. The only chatter in the house was Cyn who ended up putting together her mother’s memorial services. It was very much a ‘if she didn't do it, it wouldn’t get done’ situation but she took the opportunity to really just dive into it, push the grief and mourning aside and just busy herself. 

The third day was the day before the services. There wasn’t anything left to do which is what left Cyn standing in the house she was currently growing up in, just barely 17. She stared at the dishware for a moment before making her way through the living room and into the kitchen. There was no sign of anyone being in the home, but she knew her father was probably laying in bed, it took him two days to even enter the bedroom, let alone sit in the bed he shared with his now late wife, but once he did there was no getting him out. 

Cyn looked around at the kitchen, her face filled with sadness but also a tad of disgust when her eyes roamed over the misplaced stack of dirty dishes and trash bin that was overflowing. After a quick deep breath, she decided to fill her mind with more busy work. Cleaning the dishes, taking out the trash, clearing the dining room table. Her last task was washing the blankets from the living room, figured she could at least swap out whatever her father was using in the bedroom with a clean blanket. As she was taking things out of the dryer she heard the front door close rather loudly followed by heavy footsteps. Angel. She knew each of her brother’s footsteps, she had come to learn through the years of them sneaking in and out of the house. Angel’s were heavy even when they wanted to be soft and secretive, while EZ’s were more calculated, like him. 

She peaked her head around as she folded the last blanket. Angel caught her movement and nodded his head toward her. 

“Sup.” 

“Hey, where’ve you been? Where’s EZ?”  Cyn picked up the blanket she was going to bring in for her father and folded it over her arms so it was cuddled in front of her.

“What is this, 20 questions?” The sound of the fridge opening echoed in the house as Angel opened it. 

“I just figured we could go over the schedule for tomorrow.” Cyn walked into the kitchen beside him.

“Schedule?” Angel frowned. “We get her ashes, we spread her ashes, and then we drink at some shitty restaurant afterwards with people we haven't seen in years telling us how sorry they are for our loss.” 

Cyn wasn’t going to argue with her eldest brother, she understood they were all hurting and Angel had a tendency of acting out even on a good day. 

“Pops hasn’t left the room, I’m not even sure if he’s eaten.” 

Angel popped open a beer, “He’s been drinking though, there’s only 6 beers left, I bought a 24 pack yesterday.”

“I had a couple,” EZ said as he entered the kitchen from the back door. “Needed to get out and get some air last night, took some with me.” 

“A couple? You took like half the fuckin’ case,” Angel snapped. 

“They’re in the family fridge, figured they were up for grabs.” EZ shrugged his older brother off. 

Cyn knew what was about to happen, she’d seen her brothers argue with each other time after time. 

“Family fridge? What the fuck is that?” Angel was shutting the fridge. 

“Do you want me to pay you back, Angel? Fifteen fuckin’ dollars for the case of stale ass miller lite?” 

Angel scoffed and ushered out the kitchen chair and sat down abruptly. “Man, shut the fuck up.” 

Cyn quickly brought herself into the conversation in hopes to de-escalate it. 

“I cleaned up, Pops–”

“You what?” EZ turned to her, his eyebrows frowning while his eyes were wide. His head snapped as he rapidly moved through the house leaving Angel and Cyn alone in the kitchen looking at each other in confusion. 

He stomped back into the kitchen, practically running to the microwave and looked at it displaying the time. 

“Why would you do that?” His voice was nervous, but scaringly loud. 

“What? Clean?” Cyn frowned, a little bit of attitude dripping off her voice. 

“The microwave had 3 seconds left on it, she always left it at that when she’d reheat her morning coffee,” EZ was moving just as quickly as he was talking. “You washed her blankets and cleaned up her mess, those were the last things we had of her.” 

EZ’s voice was starting to become more shaky as it raised at his little sister. Cyn stared at him, shaking herself because this was one of the handful of times her brother ever yelled at her. They were close, not just in age but also as siblings, Cyn even considered him a friend. They went to school together, they talked all the time, he knew the girl, and yet he stood there, during one of the most heartbreaking times of their lives, losing it on her. 

Angel spoke up. “You sound fuckin’ crazy bro.” 

“Me? I’m crazy? At least I’m acknowledging she’s gone, you’re in denial and Cyn’s trying to be her.” 

Angel saw Cyn’s face drop, the pain of EZ’s words slashing through her like a knife. 

“Yo. Watch it.”

Angel stood up, still towering over EZ in height. 

“Come at me all you want, but don’t come at our baby sister on some bullshit.” 

EZ got up in Angel’s face, not letting the height the eldest Reyes had on him sway his ego in the slightest. “I’m doin’ for this family, what it can’t do for itself.” 

“What the fuck does that even mean, bro?” Angel was frowning down at EZ. 

EZ didn’t answer, he just stood there for a couple seconds before he turned away and walked right back out the door he came through. 

Cyn felt her stomach fall into a pit, the tears were welling up in her eyes. She was staring empty out of the kitchen window, the words of her brother still sitting fresh inside her brain. All of them, not just the ones that were directed at her. It was the moment she fully realized she lost what she had with her brother. He was no longer her friend. The only thing connecting them now was blood and that even felt shaky. 

Angel’s hand on her shoulder caused her to jump and turn to him. “Don’t let his dumb ass get to you, he’s all fucked up from seeing it all go down.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Cyn’s voice was pointed. Old habits die hard, she tended to always take EZ’s side growing up because he always had hers. She felt like she needed to defend him in this moment. 

Angel’s hand fell from her shoulder at her response and she immediately back tracked. “Fuck, Angel. I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m fucked up too.” 

Angel nodded, his face solemn as he chugged the rest of his beer and placed it empty on the table. “I gotta head out, I’ll see you tonight or tomorrow morning or whenever, just text me the details for the service.” He was placing a quick kiss to her head and making his way out the same door the other Reyes brother had just left from. 

“Angel.” Cyn called out, taking one step forward but it was too late, he had already left. Her head fell in defeat and her eyes closed for a couple seconds before she processed everything. After a deep breath of accepting everything, she shook it off, grabbed the empty bottle, threw it in the recycling and walked over to her parents bedroom with the blanket still draped over her arm. 

She lightly knocked on the door, waiting for a response but opened it even without one. 

“Pop?” Cyn peeked her head in and saw him laying on his side in bed, the blankets were moving up and down from Felipe’s breathing, which gave Cyn a slight bit of relief. She moved into the bedroom swiftly, not wanting to disturb him much more than she already had. 

“I have a new blanket for you. Fresh from the dryer so it’s still warm.” Her voice raised in a hopeful tone, thinking maybe that fact would bring him some type of comfort. “I’ll leave it here at the corner of the bed.” She placed the blanket down gently and moved to grab the empty glasses and plates that were in the room to move them to the sink. As she reapproached the bedroom door, she turned and spoke up. “I’m going to be heading down to the crematorium, we’re picking out an urn for them to place Mom’s ashes in. I told Angel and EZ about it but I have a feeling they’re probably not gonna be able to make it, but I just wanted to let you know, in case, but no worries, i can handle it. I’ll pick up dinner on my way home, too.” She felt herself rambling, her father wasn’t much of a talker usually, but the silence felt worse these days. “Um, alright. I’m gonna head out.” She started to close the door but then opened it again. “Love you.” It was said at that same hopeful tone as earlier but this time she was closing the door before she could be let down by his lack of response. 

_____

She felt small staring up at the wall full of urns. She felt alone too. Her eyes were darting from one row to the next, taking in all the urns, some made out of ceramic, some handmade in Mexico, some porcelain, some marble, metal, and even glass. Scanning them all trying to pick one for her mother was seemingly difficult, her mind was scattered all over the place. 

“That one.” Her father’s voice startled her. Turning her head she saw him standing next to her, pointing to the handmade and hand painted urn on the second shelf. It was black and clay coloured with accents of blue, green, orange, and yellow as flowers and patterns along the body of the urn. It felt like Marisol. Cyn actually was wondering how she had completely missed it. 

Cyn nodded and got one of the operators of the crematorium to assist her in the purchase. Her father stood outside and waited for her to wrap up, it was probably his first time out in fresh air since the day everything happened. 

“You want to walk downtown and grab a bite?” Cyn asked as she approached her father. Her face wasn’t looking at him as she asked, she was too busy fidgeting with the receipt into her bag to notice he was in his own world. 

“You’re not replacing her, you know.” Felipe’s voice was raspy and low as he spoke. 

Her face snapped up to see him staring into the sky. 

“I heard what EZ said. You’re not replacing her.” This time Felipe’s voice was more stern. 

“Thanks.” She wasn’t quite sure what to say here. 

“You should leave.” Felipe looked over at her now. 

“Alright, I’ll bring food home for you.” Cyn didn’t take his words to heart. 

“No, Cynalena.” Her full name left his mouth. “Leave Santo Padre.” 

Those were probably the heaviest words she heard all day. She didn’t respond. Not just because she didn’t want, but because she had nothing to say. 

“The service is at 11AM tomorrow, I’ll let EZ and Angel know. The word has spread to the family, everyone who needs to know, knows. Love you, Pop.” She kissed the side of his head and made her way in the opposite direction, not taking a second to look back at him but just keep walking forward. 

Her footsteps stopped and she looked up to see a neon sign turn on. Dusk was approaching so the moment it turned on and illuminated onto her feet she was looking up at it. Her gaze turned to inside the tattoo shop in front of her and before realizing it, she was inside and on the chair getting something permanently on her skin to commemorate something she wanted to permanently forget. 

[jjllmx]

Petition to have all you beautiful/handsome/ fabulous writers to make more Reyes brothers x sister! Reader ffs cause your girl needs more lol i suck at writing and im patiently waiting so whoever knows if theres any more of these let me know cause theyre either really good angsty or really good fluff like ahhhh 😭😭

[artemiseamoon]

Listen! Listen… this came back on my feed and I’m already in my Reyes Brothers feels (the good stuff … and not talking about when Angel lost his damn mind or crazy ez) as I’m trying to finish up Death Kiss. This pic reminds me how I neeeed to bring them back together….oh the ideas are brewing!

I do need to rebuild the slayer team…

I’m editing the next chapter right now, it’s the second to last. And I hope to work on the finale in a week. So this will close this month! 💜

[invincibledc]

“Fair Amusement”

Damian Wayne x Roth! Male reader

Summary: The small Roth spending time with the small Wayne, the two boys start to have fun until Damian gets annoyed at seeing a boy acting a little too “friendly” with the raven he finds beautiful.

Note || Y/N is the little brother of Raven, hero name is Corvus. The Latin name for Raven.

“Roth..” Damian says looking at the boy in-front of him walking ahead with excitement. “Huh? Sorry Damian what were you saying?” Y/N says looking at Damian who kept his signature frown on his face. “Why must you be so excited for such…amusement..” he says, Y/N pouted.

“Damian..I’m excited because I’m spending this amusement with you! Plus I never really had fun in a fair.. or is this an amusement park? I never knew the difference.” Y/n admitted with with an awkward chuckle. Damian looked away from the boy, he felt his face getting heated as he gritted his teeth together. “Aye! Niños, don’t go too far okay?” Jaime yells as he sees the two boys being slight further from the rest. Garfield was already loose from the team. Probably doing something reckless or gaining mad tickets.

“On it! Cmon Damian, I heard there’s a game where you can shoot these fake ducks and win a big stuff animal!” Y/N says excitedly, Damian only kept his facial expression. Trying not to show too much emotion but his eyes showed curiosity. Y/N started to get distracted by things like cotton candy and music. Damian knew the boy wants to try the shooting game, so he made you focus on your so called “journey.”

Finally making to the stand, the bright light and colors made your eyes shine with joy. Damian looked at you, time felt slow when you turned to look at him. Was this what those main characters felt when those cheesy romance movies did the slo mo? Yeah this is how he feels. You point to a big penguin. “Look! Look! They got a big stuffed animal like I said!” Damian crosses his arms loosely, “I see Roth.” You immediately nod with excitement grabbing the shotgun that was plastered. You handed the man the money and got to business.

Or at least tried to get into businesses. You seemed to have trouble holding the shotgun, the man behind the counter showed annoyance. Damian gave the man hard glare to “fix” the man’s attitude which worked. The poor small Raven must have attracted attention as a boy that seemed to be your and Damian’s age walked in and started to guide you.

Damian narrows his eyes at the boy beside you who was showing you how to shoot. He didn’t like how the boy was looking at you, Damian crossed his arms. He couldn’t help but glare, but when the boy whispered something in your ear and you chuckled. He had enough, he pushed the boy aside and got behind you. His arms and hands already making sure you were positioned to shoot the ducks. Your eyes widen seeing his eyes trained in front while being behind you. Too close behind you.

“Y/N, focus on the ducks. Shoot.” And you did. You listen to his words perfectly which made him smirk. He backed away when you won the penguin. But what he also did next was pettiness as he also went and did a try at the game. Shooting perfectly without a struggle, getting you another big penguin. Your eyes were wide in admiration, meanwhile Damian glanced at the boy who seemed to scoff and walk off. Damian walked off smugly, wrapping an arm around the boy who seemed so happy hugging the two big penguins!

“Best night ever!” You yelled as you came back into the car with the team. Garfield was already sleep with Jaime almost being the same. Kory was in the driver seat with your sister in the passenger. Raven smiled seeing her little brother happy with two penguins. “Little crow, where do you get them?” She asked softly.

“I got one for myself with the help of Damian. But Damian got me another one.” You say with a soft smile. You then lean against Damian who stiffened at the sudden action. But he soon relaxed with a smile that was covered with his hand. He looked out the window, staring at the boy’s reflection.

“That was nice of you Damian. Thank you.” Raven says. Damian only hummed, still looking at the reflection of the Roth male who seemed happy. And that made Damian happy as well.

[guardian-angle22]

This or That: Tarlos Edition -> Jonah calling them their names or Jonah calling them some version of 'Dad'?

[housesalad]

dana scully my fave of all time

[linusbenjamin]

Lost —1.01, Pilot

[lonestardust]

"Kiddos" : Big brother & Little brother 🥹

[s4m-san]

¿En qué día será que Luffy ponga los tamales? 😔🙏

[strangerathecinema]

can we talk about sawyer and claire in "something nice back home"?

i've been dying to talk about sawyer and claire in "something nice back home".

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: cussing, discussions on moving a captor

Part 7

Novel Attraction - Part 8

The air inside Templo was thick with smoke, sweat, and tension. Dim light from the hanging bulbs above threw long shadows across the room, catching the glint of rings tapping impatiently on the table.

They were all there—Bishop at the head, Taza silent at his side, Hank with his arms crossed, and Angel sitting lower in his chair than usual, eyes tired and lips set in a straight, unreadable line. His kutte hung open, his hands wrapped around a beer he hadn't touched.

Bishop was first to speak.

“Galindo wants her moved across the border. Multiple sites. Real careful shit—she’ll be tampering with both paper trails and digital ones.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“This isn’t a one-time job. Could be weeks. Months. Maybe more.” A heavy pause. “She ain’t a guest. But she’s not disposable either.”

“She ain’t trained for that kinda travel,” Taza said, arms folded. “That girl looks like she’s never even jaywalked.”

There was a low chuckle from Creeper—dry and without humor.

“She’s not the problem,” Bishop cut in. “It’s the cartel. They want her mobile. They want her working dirty. That means we’re her handlers.”

Angel’s knuckles flexed around the bottle, jaw tight. “She’s not property, either.”

Hank raised a brow. “You sure there, hermano? You already let her try to bolt once.”

Angel didn’t flinch. But the sting landed anyway.

Maps were rolled out onto the chapel table. Satellite images of desert scrublands, old cartel supply routes, half-buried sensor towers near the wall.

A line was drawn through the middle—the border.

Taza dragged his finger along a twisting side road. “We take her through here. Two nights off-grid. One by the dried arroyo. One through the tunnel.

He looked across the table. “We’ll need someone she trusts. To keep her from running again.”

Silence.

Bishop lit a cigarette, blew smoke toward the ceiling. As table in the Templo groaned beneath the weight of maps, burner phones, printed dossiers, and oil-stained coffee cups.

Bishop’s hand moved slowly across the map, dragging a finger over the dry jagged terrain.

“We’ll be using the old tunnel. And if she spooks out there, that desert’ll eat her alive.”

There was a pause. Then Bishop added, voice even but deliberate:

“Maybe EZ should ride point on her.”

The room stilled.

Angel’s head lifted, sharply.  “What?”

Bishop didn’t flinch. He met Angel’s eyes like he expected the protest.

"Think about it. She’s scared. She looks at EZ like he’s the one tether to all her nerd shit.”

A few nods circled the room. Taza gave a slow shrug.

"He is the cleaner one between you two.”

Angel stood, suddenly. His chair scraped back across the floor. “She don’t trust him. Not really. She’s just not scared of him yet.”

The room went quiet again. A heavy quiet.

“That ain’t the same thing.” Gilly mumbled.

Angel started pacing. One hand dragging through his hair, the other clenched by his side.

“She talks to me. She’d bolt if it was EZ takin’ her across.”

Bishop tilted his head, unconvinced. “Would she?”

Angel stepped forward, leaning on the edge of the table with both palms flat. Voice low, dangerous.

"I’m the one she runs to, not from.”

The room paused at that. Eyes darted between Angel and Bishop, reading the tension under the surface.

Coco exhaled a slow breath, nodding once toward Angel. “He ain’t wrong, Bish.”

Taza tapped his pencil against the map.  “EZ’s point on her. Angel’s lead on this.”

Bishop looked between them—then gave a single nod.

“Fine. But if she runs again out there—we don’t get another shot.”

His words echoed in the silence.

Angel nodded tightly. No fight left in him now. Just purpose.

“She won’t.”

“Camping,” Coco repeated with a low laugh, shaking his head. “This girl ain’t gonna last ten minutes in the open desert. The second she sees a scorpion or hears a rattler, she’ll bolt.”

He leaned forward on the table, toothpick twitching between his teeth. “You sure you don’t want me with her? I know how to track someone in that kinda terrain. I’ll keep her in line.”

Angel’s jaw tightened.

From across the room, Hank gave Coco a long look. “She’s terrified of you, man.”

Coco raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just sayin’ what nobody else wants to.”

Taza folded his arms across his chest, voice low and matter-of-fact.

“If she runs in the desert, we won’t find her ‘til there’s nothin’ left. We can’t risk that. Not with how valuable she is to Galindo.”

Silence swept through Templo. Everyone knew what came next, but no one wanted to say it.

Until Bishop did.

“Then we don’t let her out of reach.”

He flicked ash off his cigarette, eyes scanning the map, but his words hung like smoke in the air.

“Zip tie her to someone. At the wrist every night, til the job’s done.”

There was a pause—a heavy, shifting kind of silence, like the room itself was holding its breath.

Angel looked up sharply, mouth opening like he wanted to argue, but there was nothing to say. This was cartel business now. Galindo made the rules. The club just enforced them.

Taza glanced toward Angel, then over to the others. “Not Coco,” he said flatly. “She’s already scared of him. That’ll just make her more likely to do something desperate.”

Coco rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

“A'ight. Let her be someone else’s problem.”

Angel’s fingers were curled into fists in his lap, his boot tapping rapidly under the table. You could see the conflict in him—he hated the idea. Of chaining you like an animal. But he also knew they were right.

She runs again, and it could get her killed.

Bishop stood, chair creaking beneath him.

"Move at dawn. One truck. One tunnel. Angel, you keep her quiet, cooperative, and calm. If she bolts again—you do what you gotta.”

He didn’t say what that meant.

He didn’t have to.

Angel gave a slow nod, though it looked like the weight of it added years to his face.

Later, outside the clubhouse, Angel leaned against his bike. Night had fallen. Crickets chirped, dogs barked in the distance, and inside the clubhouse the music had started up again. partying going on like the world hadn’t shifted.

He stayed outside.

Lit a cigarette. Let the silence press against his chest.

In the shadows near the trailer where you were kept, a dim light was on. He could just make out the shape of your silhouette, small and still behind the window, knees tucked to your chest like you were trying to disappear.

“Querida,” he muttered to himself, voice low and broken.

“What the hell did we drag you into?”

He flicked ash into the gravel, then looked toward the dark desert stretching out beyond the lot.

The inside of EZ’s trailer smelled like cheap pine cleaner and cologne, both trying to cover something more metallic underneath—like rust or old blood.

The place was neat, controlled—EZ’s nature in contrast to the chaos that constantly lived outside its thin aluminum walls.

You sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders tight, hands clenched in your lap. You wore one of EZ’s hoodies—your own clothes had started to smell like the warehouse, like fear. The fabric hung off you like armor too big for its soldier.

The door opened behind you with a soft creak.

EZ entered first, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Angel followed—slower, heavier. He looked at you immediately. You didn’t meet his eyes.

"We need to talk, querida,” Angel said gently.

His voice was soft—too soft. Like someone breaking bad news to a child.

You looked up at him, your eyes already glossed with the beginnings of panic.

EZ stayed standing near the small kitchenette. Angel moved to crouch in front of you, close enough to reach out—but he didn’t.

“Galindo wants the work started,” EZ said. “First site’s across the border.”

You blinked. “The border? As in... Mexico?”

EZ nodded once. “There’s an underground tunnel. It’s safe. Or—safer. That's where we're gonna take you.”

Your breath caught. You looked between the brothers, your heartbeat thudding loudly in your ears.

“Why can’t I just... do it here? Why do I have to go there?”

Angel leaned forward a little, hands resting on his knees.

“Because they don’t want just the data changed. They want the documents too. Originals. In places you can’t reach from a laptop, querida.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper. "Jesus fucking christ”

EZ’s expression softened for the first time. He walked over, crouched next to Angel.

“You’re not gonna be alone. You're safe.”

He said it like a promise. Like a man used to being believed.

Your breath eased just slightly.

Angel noticed.

He saw the way your shoulders dropped half an inch. The way your eyes settled on EZ’s face instead of his. His stomach twisted.

He wanted to reach for your hand—but it was folded into EZ’s hoodie sleeve.

After a moment, EZ stood up again, gave Angel a small nod, and stepped outside, giving the illusion of privacy without granting it.

The second the door shut, Angel sighed, quiet and long. He rested his elbows on his thighs, lacing his fingers together.

“I know you trust him,” he said, not bitter—just quiet. "Golden boy's always been good at makin’ people feel safe.”

Your eyes drifted to his and then back to a spot on the wall as you listened.

“You’re not cargo to me, querida,” he added. “I know it feels like you’re being passed around. Moved like product. But I swear... we ain’t gonna let anything happen to you. Not in that desert. Not in Mexico. Not ever.”

You nodded, but you didn't believe him.

After you fell asleep curled up on the bed, EZ re-entered the trailer, finding Angel in the kitchenette, nursing a beer.

He glanced once at your sleeping form, then back at his brother. “She’ll trust you more if you stop trying so hard.”

Angel scoffed softly, not turning around.

EZ leaned against the counter. “Why do you look like someone’s carving your ribs out every time she looks at me?”

Angel finally met his gaze. “Because it ain’t you dreaming of her crying, or her bein' put in that fucking pew bro."

The clock blinked 2:46 AM in faded numbers. Outside was still, blanketed in silence except for the distant howl of wind pushing sand across asphalt.

Inside EZ’s trailer, the shadows moved softly—your figure curled under a borrowed blanket on the bed, knees tucked into your chest, eyes wide open and red-rimmed in the dark.

Sleep hadn’t come. Fear had.

Didn’t know what the air would feel like south of the border. Didn’t know if you’d survive long enough to come back.

The door creaked open gently.

You flinched.

It was Angel.

He stepped inside quietly, boots thudding against the floor with practiced care. No kutte. Just a hoodie and jeans, his hair mussed, eyes tired—but alert. He closed the door behind him, locking it out of habit more than concern.

When he saw you still awake, he paused.

"Couldn’t sleep, huh?” His voice was low, not teasing this time.

You shook your head, slowly, from where you lay.

Angel crossed the trailer without needing the light. He moved like he’d memorized every inch of this place. Instead of sitting beside you, he dropped onto the floor with a groan, back against the bed, stretching his legs out and letting his head lean back.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to see your outline in the dark.

“You ever been to the desert before?”

“No,” you whispered. “I’ve never even... left the country. Never had a passport. I’ve never even camped. And I don’t... I don’t speak Spanish, Angel. What if I mess everything up?”

He let out a soft exhale, running a hand through his hair.

“Querida... messing up would be running into a rattlesnake or pissing off a border patrol agent. But you? You’re gonna be fine.”

He adjusted his position, turning a little so his shoulder brushed your knee through the blanket.

“Mexico’s not as scary as people think. Yeah, there’s cartel shit. But there’s also real people. Good food. Sunsets that make you feel like the sky’s on fire. And if you’re lucky—if you keep your mouth shut and your head down—you get to walk out of there with all your fingers still attached.”

You didn’t laugh. But your lip twitched. Just a little.

You finally spoke, voice barely audible.

“It’s not just Mexico. It’s... everything. I don’t know how to do this shit, Angel.”

He tilted his head up to look at you more clearly now. You weren’t crying, but the tension in your body was clear—shoulders tight, chin drawn in like you were trying to disappear inside yourself.

“You don’t have to know any of it,” he said gently. “You just have to get through it. One day at a time. That’s all we’re doin’,”

You blinked at that. The idea that even they—these rough, dangerous men—were surviving on borrowed time and pieced-together plans.

“I feel like a fucking lamb surrounded by wolves.”

Angel reached up, just resting his hand over your blanket-covered shin, grounding you.

“Maybe. But this wolf ain’t gonna bite you, querida.”

He looked down then, almost bashfully.

"Unless you decide to start snoring out in the damn dessert. Then we got a problem.”

You smiled. Just a little. A tremble of light through the fear.

Angel didn’t say anything. He just leaned back again, adjusted until his shoulder bumped yours gently through the fabric of the blanket, and let the silence fall between you.

Not cold. Not empty.

A silence that wrapped around the two of you like an understanding.

Angel was still on the floor beside the bed, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, arms resting casually over his knees. You were curled beneath the blanket, head sunk into the pillow, your breath slowing just slightly.

You weren’t asleep. Not yet. But your eyes blinked more slowly now. The panic had loosened its grip—still there, still coiled—but fading in the safety of his voice.

“It’ll be me, EZ, Coco and Gilly takin’ you. That’s the crew,” he said casually, like it was just a road trip. “EZ’ll keep his eye on you like he said. Coco’s got jokes… half of them ain’t funny, but he tries. And Gilly? Big guy. Quiet. But he’s solid.”

You tensed, just a flicker, when he said Coco. He noticed.

“I know,” he said gently. “Coco scared you. But he won’t hurt you, Querida. Not out there. We're be there to keep you safe.”

He paused, letting the silence settle, his words slow and easy like the wind outside.

“It’s not like it’ll be hotels and room service or anything,” he added, lips twitching faintly. “We’ll be camping a bit. Desert stretches for miles... so wide it makes you feel small in a way that’s kinda good. Cleans you out a little.”

You watched him from the edge of your blanket, your fingers curled lightly under your chin. He wasn’t trying to sell it to you. He was just talking, steady and grounded.

“There’s a place, couple miles past the boarder—nothing but red rock and these weird little wildflowers that bloom for like a week, maybe two, after it rains. You ever see a flower push through sand? Like it’s got no business surviving, but it does anyway.”

You breathed out slowly. "You make it sound pretty" The image stuck with you. A flower in the sand. That’s what you felt like.

Angel never reached for you. He just stayed. A constant warmth at the side of your world when everything else was foreign.

His voice dropped a little, like he knew you were starting to fade.

"It’s not all bad, y’know,” he murmured. “They tell dumb jokes. EZ makes coffee strong enough to kill a horse.”

You blinked sleepily, your cheek pressing further into the pillow.

“It's all bad when you don't get a choice Angel” you whispered, the words slipping out.

Angel looked at you then. Really looked. He leaned his head back against the bed then, sighing.

The hum of the fridge was the only sound that filled the small trailer, steady and low like a heartbeat. Moonlight spilled through the crack in the blinds, casting pale stripes across the floor and the couch where you lay, half-draped in that worn blanket EZ had handed you earlier.

Angel stayed on the floor beside you, back pressed to the bedframe, knees drawn up. One arm slung lazily over a bent knee, the other toyed with the frayed hem of his hoodie sleeve. He didn’t try to move closer. Didn’t reach for your hand or offer his touch. Just sat there—his presence quiet, grounding.

You were starting to relax. Your breathing had slowed. But he could see the way your fingers still twitched now and then under the blanket, your mind refusing to let go of its worry completely.

So he spoke, voice low, almost like he was telling a bedtime story.

“You know… the desert’s not just heat and dust. There’s somethin’ about it. The stillness. The way the stars hit the sky with no lights around for miles. Shit’s kinda… beautiful. Even when it shouldn’t be.”

He glanced back at you over his shoulder, saw your eyes were open—soft now, not so wide with fear, but not quite ready to sleep.

He paused, stretching out one leg, letting out a breath as he stared up at the ceiling like he could see through it.

“We know that route. Desert roads, old tunnels, back trails no one uses anymore. It’s not gonna be easy, but… we’ll get you through it.”

You mumbled something—a sleepy hum more than words—but he caught the way your lips curved ever so slightly.

“And when the sun goes down out there?” he continued. “It’s like someone lit the whole world on fire. Orange, pink, purple—all of it bleeds together. Makes you forget for a second that you’re even in danger.”

You let out a soft sigh, shifting under the blanket again, body turning just a bit more toward him—though your eyes remained half-lidded now, heavy.

“You shouldn't be doing this,” you whispered almost absentmindedly, like the tendrils of sleep had you already.

Angel looked at you for a few seconds, before his brows drew together.

“I'm not dumb Angel, I know what this is" you whispered "What happens when they tell you to put a bullet in me?”

Angel’s jaw locked. His eyes flickered with something—grief? Anger? Shame?

"You’re not goin’ out like that,” he said simply, his tone enough for you to drop the topic.

Your hand slipped from under the blanket and dangled off the edge of the bed, fingertips brushing air just a few inches from Angel’s shoulder. He didn’t touch it. Didn’t even move. Just turned his gaze toward your face—watching the way your breathing slowed, the way tension gradually bled from your small frame.

For all your fear, there was a strength in you he admired. Not loud, not stubborn like most people he knew—but quiet. Stubborn in your trust even when it was terrifying.

He leaned his head back against the bedframe, eyes never leaving you, the corners of his mouth tugging into something tired but warm.

“You know, when I was a kid? I used to think the desert was cursed,” he murmured, voice almost lost in the air. “Like it swallowed people whole. But now... I think it just strips everything down. Shows you who you really are.”

A beat passed. Another. Then a soft noise from you—a barely audible sigh—and he knew you were finally slipping under.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Just sat there.

Watching over you.

“Buenas noches, querida,” he whispered to the dark.

[garbinge]

Rosario "Ro" Reyes - The eldest Reyes sibling.

“I know I don’t take after mom, never did. The whole comfort and caring thing was never my strong suit. But I tried to stand up for you, take your side, be there for you in the way I knew I could. And look, I’ll fuckin’ deny I said this if you tell anyone but, I love you and I love EZ, you’re my little brothers, but Pops and Ma were so easy on him and so hard on you that I chose to be what both of you were lacking, what both of you needed."

[tkorhoh]

BB ALUMNI ORIGINAL → RG

[guardian-angle22]

Can you please gif Jonah smiling at Enzo and calling him ‘daddy’ with that toothy smile of his ? 🥹 Thank you 💟

[vyeoh]

The most baffling character decision I've ever seen goes to Carlos Reyes, who doesn't want to join the Texas Rangers due to their history of murdering innocent people of color and instead stays with the clearly better alternative of the police department.