#bishop losa x reader
This is inspired by 7 Minutes by Dean Lewis
Bold is memories
Bishop had been on his bike for thirty minutes now, but he wasn’t in Santo Padre. He was in Santa Madre after he dropped you off except this time he wouldn’t go back to see you. It had seemed like it became too much for him to have you text him and ask if he was ok. The fight was still in his head.
“What do you want from me, querida?” Bishop sighed as he dragged a hand down his face.
“I want you to at least just text me to tell me you’re ok and safe. I mean, fuck, I also want to at least see your face once every two weeks or something! I don’t see you anymore, Obispo,” you raised your voice.
Bishop’s patience ran thin as he raised his voice too, “I run a damn MC, (Y/N)! It’s not a office job where I get a lunch hour, it’s a 24/7 job so if you can’t fucking take that then I don’t think this’ll work,”
Tears came into your eyes, “I’m not asking for much, but since you can’t give the minimum then I don’t think this’ll work either. I think you should-” your voice broke, “you should go,”
“Maybe I should,” Bishop slammed the door on his way out before dismounting his bike and speeding off.
Now the wind was rushing past him, he realized he didn’t even know where he was going so he looked around and saw the places you would go to. The first place you kissed which was a bar that wasn’t too far from your place. He went into the parking lot of the bar and parked his bike, but didn’t make any move to get off, instead just sat outside with a cigarette hanging on his lips. Soon the memory came into his head.
“Bish, what are you doing here?” you smiled as you saw the older man stand next to you.
“I wanted to see you,” Bishop smirked as he wrapped his arm around your waist, “you sounded off when you called me earlier so I decided to come and see if I could make it better,”
“There is one way my day could be better,” you shyly smiled.
“Oh yeah? What way is that?” Bishop asked so you turned and placed a hand on his neck to lightly pull him down and kiss him. He was shocked, but quickly became aware and started kissing back.
Memories rushed back to him as he drove past the movie theatres that he took you to, but never got to watch because you and him were too busy talking, laughing, and making out in the parking lot.
“What?! I did not do that when I first met you!” you laughed as you leaned against him as he leaned against your car.
“Yes, you did! You definitely stared at me like I was the only man you saw,” Bishop smirked.
“Whatever. You did the same and Vicky can say so because she was the one who told me that you looked at me like I was the only girl there,” you winked at him.
“I definitely did,” Bishop leaned down and captured your lips with his. You put your hands on his waist to stabilize yourself as you went on the tips of your toes. The moment you two pulled away, he put his watch dorned wrist into his view and saw the movie had already started, “well, looks like we missed the movie,”
You shrugged, “this was much better than a movie I can watch next time,”
Bishop sighed as his realization had hit him like a train. Thoughts of how he could’ve done better in your relationship. Is it too late to turn around? He thought as he looked at the desert around him with the halfway mark between Santa Madre and Santo Padre. Without a second thought, he pulled onto the side of the road and stood from his bike, closing his eyes as more memories flooded his mind.
Music was quietly playing in the background as you and him sat on your bed with glass of wine in both of your hands. Your head laid on his shoulders as you softly hummed with the song playing.
“What song is this, nena?” Bishop asked as he liked how calm you became with the song.
“Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol,” you answered as you looked at him so you could sing some of the lyrics to him, “We don’t need anything or anyone. If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?”
Bishop grabbed both of your glasses and set it on the bedside table before pulling you onto his lap and leaving his hands on your hips, “I will always want to forget the world with you by my side,” you laid your hands on his cheeks and gave him a soft kiss.
He felt mad at himself as he tightened his fist with the feeling of wanting to hurt himself for ever forgetting to just give you his love. Bishop realized that all you wanted was for him to just show that he loved you, but he was so consumed with the MC that he forgot to do just that. He wanted to make it right and, even though he wouldn’t know if you were going to be home, he made a U turn and drove to your house as fast as he could.
You heard his motorcycle before it reached your house as another set of tears streamed down your cheeks. Memories of the fight are still in your mind, but you pushed it aside and grabbed a water bottle to drink to replenish the water you lost because of the tears you cried. A soft knock was heard so you set aside the bottle and slowly opened the door. Bishop looked up and felt his heart break at the tears on your face.
“Querida, I’m sorry. I know I was in the wrong and I forgot to love you,” Bishop felt a tear fall from his eyes, “please forgive me,”
You nodded and opened your arms as he went into your arms and lifted you up so you could wrap your legs around him. He nudged the door closed with his foot and walked the both of you to your room.
Angel Reyes
Call Your Husband by His First Name
Obispo “Bishop” Losa
Gilly Lopez
Johnny “Coco” Cruz
Michael “Riz” Ariza
Hank “Tranq” Loza
Neron “Creeper” Vargas
Che “Taza” Romero
Ezekiel “EZ” Reyes
Leticia “Letty” Cruz
Nestor Oceteva
Miguel Galindo
Mayans MC preference: how they react to their naive and optimistic S/O
Bishop
Bish loves your upbeat attitude, it’s always making the clubhouse, his life, so much brighter, but he really, really wishes you weren’t always so naive. He knows that he can’t have one trait without the other though, so he’ll gladly take that naiveté if it means you keep your sunny disposition. He’ll just have to be a little more overprotective sometimes.
Angel
This boy finds it so refreshing that you’re just absolutely upbeat about everything in life. So often, he’s dealt with terrible things happening, but you always find a way to make them bearable. His name may be Angel, but he thinks you really are one.
Coco
He is always the one that gets frustrated with your happy-go-lucky attitude the most. He loves you a lot, but his temper is short, especially when he has a problem. Usually, he’ll be going through it (when is he not?) and will snap when you tell him all the good about the situation. But once he sees that hurt look in your eyes, his whole world crumbles. Usually it takes him a bit to come find you and apologize, but he always does.
EZ
His world has been so dark recently, first his mom, then prison, then the problems with the club, that he just feels like you’re a breath of fresh air. He could sit there for hours just listening to the optimism in your voice, it brightens his whole world. EZ is smart though, and he knows how your naivete could be harmful so he prefers to have you with someone he trusts as much as possible. Either another Mayan, or his dad, hell even Letty, would make sure that you’re kindness is not going to be taken advantage of.
Miguel
He loves that you’re happy; he’s got one foot in both worlds and that can lead down a very dark path so having someone by his side who is just so bright reminds him of the man he’s striving to become. Your naivete drives him crazy though, because he knows that your lack of understanding and knowledge of all the dark in the world is going to lead to your downfall. Expect lots of arguments with “Dammit, you just don’t understand!” and a constant personal bodyguard to protect you from the world when Miguel can’t.
Nestor
He might have some darkness in him, but deep down this boy is super soft and just craves the constant positivity you embody. Seeing how you can find the good in absolutely anyone or any situation is the only thing keeping him going sometimes. Your naivete drives him absolutely crazy, in a different way than Miguel though, and being with you made him realize how much he wants to corrupt that innocence. His loyalty will be to you above all else and he will make sure you are always protected and taken care of.
⋯ in the dark of the night [18+]
“the nightmare I had was as bad as can be” ♫
⇥ vampire! x reader ⋰ sexy scary
⌧ tw ⋰ murder, blood spilled & ingested, reader death mention, reader physical abuse mention, sacrilegious use of a religious object, corrupt religious figures, spider mention, snake mention
@ original pic credit ⋰ horrorpulpart ⋯ edit + recolor by me ❤️
❍ a/n ⋰ reader has a vulva and breasts, and is fem presenting/woman identifying. everything else is ambiguous
back at it again with another story inspired by an isisafrofairy mood board plus all the sexy scary pulp art from this tag game, bram stoker’s dracula, castlevania, the sims 4 + wickedwhims, the witcher, and cell block tango from chicago
au set in some olden time before electricity and guns or something idk I never paid attention in history
[read on ao3] - 4448 words
they are merely fragments; jagged thoughts that seem to shatter when you try to piece them together.
The deafening silence.
Your heart thudding against your chest.
Those eyes dimming like cooling embers.
Something heavy in your hands that is dripping red onto the wooden floor.
Blood.
His blood.
Splattered on your hands, pooling under his head.
I’ve killed him.
Then it’s you that shatters when all the pieces fit.
I’ve killed him. I’ve killed him. I’ve killed him. I’ve killed him. I’ve killed-
They will take everything from your family, ensure they are in worse conditions than the one that led to this, exile them from the town and-
They will have you stoned, or burned alive, or left in the desert to the mercy of the coyotes, or-
“Oh God oh God oh God oh God-” Breath abandons you, each word choked out with desperate gasps as the heavy weight drops from your shaking hands. There is a voice in the back of your mind demanding that you do something - escape into the night, hide the body, beg for divine help and forgiveness - anything. But there you stay, standing and staring at how your sacrifice for the ones you love has sealed all of your doom.
“Sweet of you to save me the trouble.“
A startled scream tears up your throat but before it can escape, the man - the one whom appeared within the now open balcony doors - crosses the room impossibly fast to take you in his arms. A warm hand cradles your face while a thumb presses over your lips, barring any sounds from passing through them.
"Shhh, preciosa. I will not harm you.”
Gazing into deep brown eyes, all else falls away as you are swept into their depth and a calm washes over you. This man is a stranger - and stranger still, he had to have crept past the guards, through the estate’s garden, and over the second story balcony to reach the master bedchamber - and yet… something within you whispers that you can trust him. That you should trust him.
And you do, because alongside those whispers is the need to have someone to believe in now that you can no longer trust yourself.
When it seems certain that you will remain quiet, his thumb moves to caress your cheek and despite his soft touch, pain radiates through your skin.
“Apparently Reverend Michael did not have that same respect.” The gravel of his voice takes an even rougher edge - but rather than the tone, it is the name he spoke that instills fear into you.
Reverend Michael, the most powerful of Cerco’s clergymen. Reverend Michael, whom you’ve married just this morning. Reverend Michael, lying in final rest a few steps away.
I’ve killed him. I’ve killed him. I’ve killed him. I’ve-
“Breathe, preciosa, breathe,” the man soothes the choked gasps once again clawing out of you, “That bastard can’t cause anymore misery. You’ve made sure of that.” The last sentence is inflected with a smile instead of an accusation, but that does not diminish the urge to explain yourself as if already on trial.
“He-he kissed me. Grabbed my- demanded that I-” Your tongue trips over itself as the disgust returns to tangle with your panic. You knew what the Reverend expected of you. Knew you sold your body, your life, for the bride price that was too overflowing to refuse. But having those hands and lips and eyes on you felt as if spiders crawled over everywhere he touched. Just the thought of laying with him made a bed full of rattlesnakes seem more appealing - and more safe.
“I pulled away, I just. I could not- And then he… he struck me.” Clear across the room and into the dresser with a back hand as strong as thunder.
More than the pain, it was unshakable rage that had consumed you then. How dare he punish you as if you were the wicked one? How dare he sit here in opulence while the rest of the town, your family, toils in the unforgiving sun every single day to keep starvation at bay? How dare he send men and boys alike to war against the devil’s spawns while he remains safe behind the town’s fortified walls? How dare he take wife after wife after wife just to have them wither away from his vile seed? How dare he? How dare he?
“Mmmm, and you struck him back,” the man’s smile grows, somehow proud of your greatest sin. “A quick death is better than he deserved, but the irony had to have rubbed salt into the wound.”
He looks down, and your gaze follows his to the gilded cross at your feet. It had adorned the dresser you were thrown against, and now the same crimson that covers your hands, covers its gold.
“The Church will have my soul condemned to Hell,” you whisper, feeling your heart sink as if the descent has already been decreed.
“Would that be the same church that deemed this man holy?” His laugh flows over you and seems to give your fallen heart wings. “Clearly their judgement is more than a little fucked.”
“What they should do is name you a saint, Miss…” he trails off to allow you to offer your name. Clearly your judgment is also fucked since you give it to him without a moment of hesitation. But those whispers murmur comfortingly, drawing your attention away from any worries and instead towards the enchanting way your name rolls off his tongue when he repeats it.
You are even further charmed when he takes your hand in his to place a chaste kiss upon it and introduces himself with, “Obispo Losa, blessed to be in your presence, and now in your debt.”
There is no confusion over what that last part refers to; all of his words have pointed to only one reason for him being here. “Why do you wish him dead?” Curiosity, not judgement, has you wondering. Reverend Michael had done so many wrongs that there would be a shorter list for why anyone would not want him dead rather than the opposite.
The man - Obispo - quirks a brow, the small smile still on his lips as he gives you a look that says, "Do you truly wish to know?”
You lift a brow of your own that replies, “I’ve asked haven’t I?”
Rising to the challenge, Obispo leans in as if sharing a secret and lowers the timbre of his voice to reveal, “His little crusade against my tribe has become more than just a nuisance.”
Which seems to be more of a riddle than a secret. Crusade? Tribe?
Reverend Michael always found a new holy war to be fought with each new moon, always preached about protecting the town from the lurking evil that would ensnare you all if not for him. Whether it be goblins or ghouls, were-creatures or witches, the Reverend took it upon himself to keep everyone safe and secluded from anything that walked outside of God’s light.
The last call to arms was against monsters masquerading as humans, gorging on our lifeblood to sustain their own. To hear the Reverend tell it, these bands of wicked beasts, these vampire tribes, massacre entire towns in one night and they had to be stopped before Cerco was next…
All the air leaves the room as realization takes hold as disturbingly as chilled fingers wrapping around your spine. You stiffen in Obispo’s arms, suddenly overwhelmingly aware of the blood drying on your hands, the blood racing through your veins.
The change is your demeanor is quick but he is slow to let you go, putting just enough space between the two of you so you no longer touch, yet still close enough to silence you if you make to scream. And although you have been looking at him this entire time, now being out of his embrace, now knowing what he is, the whispers no longer sway your mind and it’s as if you are just now truly seeing all of him.
Black curls of hair swept back to reveal a devastatingly handsome face framed by a distinguished beard. Clothes of a nobleman, tailored to a strong yet ordinary physique. You could never possibly guess that he is something other than human.
“Am I in danger of being crucified next?”
There is jest in his tone but no denial of the clear accusation hanging in the air. That should be proof in and of itself, and yet your eyes deny the warnings ringing in your head. How could this be a monster, not a man, standing before you? You’ve only caught glimpses of other creatures around the edge of town when you dared to venture outside of the walls, but even from a distance all of them had some mark, some tale tell difference, that revealed their nature. Obispo looks and sounds and feels as human as you.
It is then that a sermon of Reverend Michael comes to mind; the one where he preached on how to expose the evil walking among us. There was something about souls and reflections that you barely remember but you grasp at the straws for any method of proving your suspicions.
Slowly, oh so slowly, your head turns away from him to look into the large mirror above the dresser. Reflected back is your own image, all terrified and spattered in red with a bruise darkening one side of your face, and… nothing except vacant space where Obispo should appear standing beside you.
Goosebumps prickle your skin as the chill down your spine splinters into the rest of your body to freeze you in place. Unable to bring yourself to look back at him, it is towards the space in the mirror that you pose the question, “Would you have killed me too?”
Will you kill me now? is what you truly wish to know but are too afraid to ask. Since agreeing to the marriage, you have anticipated an early end to your life; but while it had been certain, it had not yet been imminent. Not until this very moment. And now you do not know what to do with the end being so near, other than pray that the kindness Obispo has shown up to this point extends to granting you a quick, painless death.
There is no reflection of his hand reaching out to cup the unbruised side of your face, just the warmth of his skin bleeding into yours as he turns your head to face him.
“I will not harm you,” he repeats his earlier promise, the words ringing clear and - you foolishly hope - true. Foolish because there are no whispers coaxing you to believe in him this time, there is just your desperate wish to live and have someone to hold onto again.
“And I never intended to,” he continues. “My tribe only hunts those who hunt us; which is why my only purpose here is to take him and leave this message of truce in his place.”
From within his waistcoat, Obispo draws out a folded letter stamped with an intricate wax seal. It is entirely ridiculous that a nightmarish vampire from the Reverend’s terrifying tales would sneak in just to quietly steal one person away and deliver a note offering peace. You could almost laugh - but you are certain that once you start, you would not stop until you were locked away for hysterics.
In the same composed tone Obispo goes on, “I expected everyone here to be in a drunken slump from the wedding celebration. You were supposed to be asleep until the morning revealed him missing and you a happy widow.”
That all sounds too good to be true, and much too late after the blood shed by your hands. So it is with baited breath that you ask, “And now?”
“And now,” Obispo moves closer and wraps his arm around you so you are once again comforted in his embrace, “we continue down this road until it leads back towards the original path. Can you change out of this gown?”
“Excuse me?” you blink, brows furrowed and mind reeling from all the different directions this conversation has taken. Just moments ago you were convinced he would leave you dead, and now - with his closeness, all the touches, the suggestion of that question - you could almost believe he would have you feeling very much alive.
Your cheeks heat at the thought and your gaze breaks away from his to look down at the plain linen garment you are dressed in. It is modest, long and unshapely, the very gown you wore at home around your family. You had put it on in hopes of discouraging the Reverend’s lust - and yet his sinful nature has led to drops of his blood soaking into the fibers all the same.
“If you change into another gown,” Obispo amends, raising your head back up with an amused look that lets you know he followed where your thoughts had traveled, “this one can be used to mop up the mess since he’s already soiled it.”
Mind whirling from yet another change in direction, it takes a moment for you to understand his plan. “We are… concealing my crime?”
That proud smile returns to his lips as he says, “Many would call it an act of justice, but yes. Tell me where the nearest well is and I’ll gather water while you… redress.”
The heavy pause before his last word is deliberate and surely meant to tease you. And it works, embarrassment rising fast and lodging in your throat, causing the need for you to clear it before you can tell him where to find the well.
There are three within the whole town, and Reverend Michael of course claimed one as his very own. It sits within the lush garden beneath the balcony, and it is the reason the supposed man of God ousted a handful of families to build his estate on this specific plot of land.
While Obispo leaves to gather water, you look for something suitable to change into. And something suitable is the last thing you find. All the other sleeping gowns you own were gifts from your late husband. Revealing, barely there slips of fabric that make it clear what the Reverend was after on your wedding night, and every night that followed. With little choice, you pick the one that seems to cover up the most skin; rich brown silk, soft and fitted to your form with a flowing skirt that kisses the ground.
As you nervously smooth your hands over the part of the gown that covers - and curves with - your thighs, you try to find solace in the fact that it’s not your intention to entice the vampire, of all things. But earlier wayward thoughts drift back to mind and you have to confess, only to yourself, that enticing Obispo would feel more safe than enticing the Reverend - and more appealing. Much more.
Obispo’s return is slower than you would imagine, given the astonishing speed he’d shown while entering and leaving the room. He knocks on the door and waits for your invitation before re-entering, then takes his time admiring your appearance as he returns to your side, a bucket in hand and a smile lighting up his face. “Preciosa indeed.”
You try not to show how affected you are by his compliment and remind yourself again of where your intentions should lie. It is a miracle that Obispo does not dwell on your flustering, instead continuing on with the plan.
“But for our story to be believable, we cannot have you bloodied and bruised. You shouldn’t have been this way in the first place - the bastard’s lucky he’s already dead.” With that gruffly said, Bishop sets the bucket down and picks up the old gown you left draped over the bed. The thick fabric tears like paper in his hands as he rips it into rags. Once done, he leaves all but one of the pieces of cloth to soak in the water within the pail. This one he dips into the water before ringing out the excess and holding it up in front of you. “May I?”
You are not sure why the act of him wiping away the splatter on you seems like crossing a line. Not after being in his arms, or having his hand on your lips, or his lips on your hand. Even still, his offer has words catching in your throat as something heavy and warm settles in your chest. All you can do is nod your assent and force yourself to breathe as he steps closer and once again takes gentle hold of your face.
The coldness of the water has you gasping and the goosebumps returning; has you flinching slightly but he holds you steady as he drags the cloth from above your brow to below your mouth, tilting your head from one side to the other until those intense eyes deem every spot of red to be gone. Then he’s guiding the cloth lower, down your neck to follow the curve of your shoulder to the lines of your arms.
The moments of his careful concentration on cleaning you stretch on for an eternity as you will your body’s reactions under control. Who would believe that simple brushes along your palms and between your fingers would spark lightning to lick beneath your skin?
It is both a blessing and a curse when Obispo finally cleans away the last drop, the effects of his touch both torture and bliss to endure. And your will must be weak because despite your efforts your nipples have risen to peaks, impossible to miss through the delicate silk. With those peaks comes another tide of embarrassment that threatens to drown you, just waiting for the moment Obispo notices to pull you under.
If he does notice, he makes no comment. Instead he steps back towards the bucket, and first lets the rag drop to the floor, then crouches down to wring out another rag and wipe his own hands clean. If he continues to focus on this well past the moment he is free of blood, you make no comment nor do more than silently wait for him to finish.
As Obispo rises his eyes drag up your body like a caress, decadent and indulgent, until they reach your face. Then with a deep inhale he closes his eyes and seems to temper himself. On the exhale his eyes open and his attention turns towards the cheek that the Reverend inflicted his fury upon. “Hmm, now to right this wrong.”
Caught within the heady air thickening between the two of you, you are not of the mind to wonder how he intends to mend the swelling that throbs the whole half of your face - not until he brandishes a dagger from a sheath at his side and cuts into his own palm.
You hardly manage to choke out ”What-“ through the sharp panic that cuts right through the air like a dagger of its own.
"Our blood is restorative - it quickens the healing of our own bodies and those of others. Drinking it will shorten the time of your recovery from weeks to seconds.”
His reasoning does little to calm you, especially not with his expectation for you to consume the crimson pooling within his cupped hand. Fevered forebodings from Reverend Michael shout through your memory; his voice proclaiming deception and corruption so clearly in your mind that it is as if he has risen from death to preach before you. Has Obispo’s kindness been a trick all along? Hiding his true motive of… of turning you into vampire, into a monster who would destroy your own people and-
Obispo calls your name, quieting the phantom haunting your thoughts. “Look,” he commands softly while extending his arm for you to examine his hand. Beyond the spoonful of blood, you do not understand what he wishes for you to see. It is as you prepare to tell him so that realization dawns. The wound that he slashed from his thumb to his littlest finger, the wound that should continue to be pouring blood, that should need sutures to be closed against infection, is gone. No angry red line or jagged scar left in its place. No sign that he was injured at all.
“It will heal you just the same, preciosa. Nothing more.”
I will not harm you.
He does not say it a third time but you hear the promise just the same. And you do not know how much more trust you have left to give. All of you feels ragged, frayed as if your threads have been pulled every which way and there is a fire prepared to singe any string you follow.
But a choice has to be made. There is no turning back, no undoing your decision to marry a man you hated or the manifestation of your hatred onto that man. You have to move forward, if not for your sake, then your family’s. Even if Obispo were not here, a choice would have to be made. And out of the strings before you, the one tied to him offers more than the one tied to the Reverend ever had.
Moving closer, taking Obispo’s wrist in one hand and his fingers in the other, you press your mouth to the side of his palm and tilt his hand so the blood pours into your mouth. There is no avoiding the flavor on your tongue. It tastes…
It tastes of the ripest berry and the richest wine. Of temptation itself. You wonder if this is the fruit the Church says led to the fall of man, though you cannot blame man after knowing how heavenly it flows down your throat. A mere mouthful is not enough, your tongue snaking out once and then again to lick all traces off his skin.
The need, the hunger is interrupted by a snarl, and the eyes that you do not remember closing open to see Obispo’s own entirely black, no brown or white in sight as he stares into you. Something within your gaze causes him to snarl again and your attention drops to his mouth where fangs have extended to dangerous points. Four fangs below his top lip and four above his bottom, they should be unnatural and grotesque to you. But it is awe that has your hand lifting to feel their edge for yourself.
Obispo grabs your wrist before your fingers can graze the points. “You’re in danger of being the one stolen away.” Even his voice has changed, deeper, darker.
Despite the warning and common sense, it is not fear that causes your heart to flutter. "Take me,” you breathe out on a sigh.
Another snarl and he is across the room before you can blink. “Preciosa, that has no part in our plan.” There is another deep inhale, another moment of tempering. And this time when his eyes open they are the deep brown that have become familiar, the dangerous edge to his teeth gone. “Now that you are no longer hurt, let’s finish the concealment, shall we?”
Although “we” was mentioned, he does all the work, not allowing you to do more than keep an ear out for anyone approaching. Which becomes you watching him, fascinated with how he moves too quickly for your eyes to keep up with. There is just whirls of motion as he uses the rags to scrub the floor.
Though the spell over him seems to dissipate, the one over you holds fast. You feel almost drunk, giddy and inhibited, not in the least bothered over how you threw yourself on him while he was taking another form. While he was losing control because of you. The fingers that almost touched those fangs tingle with the desire to truly feel them.
The Obispo whirlwind ends with the water within the bucket looking of blood itself, and the golden cross gleaming in his hands. As he carries it back to its place on the pedestal on the dresser, you watch through the mirror as the cross seems to float back into position.
Last, he places the letter on the pillow where the Reverend would have laid. You are to read it in the morning and call the guards in grief stricken panic over your husband’s disappearance, a lie you will find great pleasure in telling.
It is unbelievable how in a matter of one night your fate has gone from dying in months time while giving birth to yet another of Reverend Michael’s stillborn children, to being executed within days for killing him, to inheriting his fortune by daybreak. And the last turn of events is all due to the kindness of the one once again standing in the balcony doorway.
Obispo holds all the signs of what truly transpired; the bucket of red tinged water and equally stained rags, and Reverend Michael himself. The clergyman is almost twice his size and yet Obispo had hoisted the dead weight over his shoulder as if the Reverend is as light as a feather.
Another wave of gratitude and awe crashes over you as you watch him study the room for anything out of place. You have nothing to give him for everything he has done, nothing besides a sincere expression of your appreciation, and so you go to him with the intention of placing a reverent kiss upon his hands. It is belatedly that you realize that said hands are full, and impulsively, you kiss his cheek instead. “Thank you.”
“It’s a debt repaid.” He kisses your cheek in return, then further closes the space between you to whisper a farewell in your ear. Your heart flutters again from the press of his lips, the promise in his words, and the way he pulls back to hold your gaze. With nothing more to say and yet so much unsaid, he turns to disappear into the night as quickly and as quietly as he appeared.
You stare off into the darkness beyond the balcony for a while, feeling dazed as if waking from a fevered dream. After finally closing the doors, you make your way to the bed but it seems to take a whole lifetime for you to succumb to sleep. Eventually exhaustion conquers the worry for what tomorrow will bring, the disbelief of what tonight had brought, the longing from his parting words echoing in your head.
“Until we meet again, preciosa.”
© challengeahellcat/clearvinyl
⇦ general masterlist ⋰⇦ sexy scary special ⋰ part two: coming soon ⇨
SNEAK PEEK
’Scars That I’m Hiding’
Bishop x Reader
⚠️ Angst, Violence, Abuse ⚠️
A/N : here’s a little smidge to get you all riled up cuz I’m a monster like that ♀️
Release Date : TBD but soon!
Tags: this is my first Mayans fic so hit me up below if you want in
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You opened the tailgate of your Wrangler, leaning in and stacking a couple boxes together to take inside your new apartment. You’d managed to snag the house rental for a song and a dance and you couldn’t be happier. The landlord didn’t ask questions, didn’t have you fill any form out and seemed content with the cash deposit…perfect! Santo Padre was, in every way, the furthest thing from your past life, which made it the perfect place to start over. New ID, new home…new life.
You eased back out of the Jeep and bumped into the tailgate. The top box slid and you attempted to counter, but it was no use. The box dropped to the driveway and spilled your sketchbooks and drawings across the pavement.
“No! Shit shit shit!" You placed the boxes back into the Jeep and dropped to the ground, desperately trying to collect books.
—
Bishop stepped down from the porch to the driveway, the bright morning sun glinting off of his bike. He scanned the neighborhood, as he always did each morning before he left for the day. Being El Presidente came with its own heat and he made the habit of being on top of his surroundings.
His gaze landed on the black Jeep in the driveway nextdoor. Guess Juan finally managed to find someone to rent the place. Wonder what fucker he swindled-
Bishop’s breath hitched as you moved into view from around the Jeep. Holy shit… you were absolutely gorgeous…and definitely not from around here. No way in hell he would’ve missed seeing you in town.
He watched as the box you were carrying crashed to the driveway, you cursing trying to collect the books.
Bishop moved and quickly snatched up the flyaway papers, gathering them neatly together.
A page caught his eye and he glanced over them as he stepped to you. Graphite potraits and city scene sketches adorned the papers.
"Impressive." He smiles, handing the stack to you. "You’ve got quite the gift.”
“Thank you." You return his smile, placing the papers back into the box.
"Sorry," Bishop shakes his head, smiling in apology. "I’m next door." He motions with his thumb over his shoulder before holding out his hand to you. "Bishop."
You took his hand and eyed him…leather kutte…patches…. El Presidente. Your eyes flicked behind him to the bike in the driveway next door. Might not be a bad idea to have the President of the local outlaw bikers in your pocket.
"Y/N” You smiled warmly.
Bishop returned your smile, not missing the guarded, calculated once over you gave him.
“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Need some help with all this?" He motioned to the boxes in the hatch of the Jeep.
"Gosh, that would be awesome-" Your phone rang, interrupting you. "Sorry, one sec." You set the box down, retrieving your cell from your back pocket.
Bishop averted his gaze from you and quickly took stock of the items in the Jeep. Five -not entirely large- boxes and one back pack. This wasn’t a premeditated move…you were running. The question is, from what?
"You don’t have a spare truck?…but I already paid for everything to be delivered today….I can’t-" The line clicked as the department store hung up on you.
"You’ve gotta be kidding me" You sighed and ran your hands through your hair. "Shit.”
You looked up to Bishop, his questioning gaze meeting yours. “The department store’s truck is down and they don’t have a spare. Said it’ll be another week at least or I can rent a truck…..guess they expect me to be able to move everything by myself. " You sighed angrily.
"The one in town?"
You nodded. "Yeah,” as you hauled a box out of the Jeep and began walking towards the porch.
He followed suite with another box as you entered the house, taking note of the few other boxes you must’ve moved in before he’d come out this morning. Still no where near enough to be all of someone’s possessions. “I’ll have the guys go pick everything up for you." He set the box down against a wall where you’d motioned.
You spun around to him. "Bishop, no. I can’t ask you -”
He smiled, holding up his hands. “You’re not asking, sweetheart. What type of neighbor would I be if I didn’t help when I could?”
You eyed him… gauging if he was doing this to pull the card later if he wanted something. “I don’t want to be in debt to anyone.”
He smiled softly, reading your apprehension. “It’s not like that at all, querida. No strings.”
—–
Hours later, after thanking the men for all of their troubles, you’d attempted to hand Bishop a wad of cash but he gently placed his hand over yours and refused. That warm smile assuring you that no payment was needed.
You’d decided that you were not going to be in debt to this man. He may not see it that way, but you did. He’d been so generous, you had to do something as a thank you. You’d made your rounds to the grocery store and the butcher shop (that one the guys insisted on - the owner, apparently, was the father of two of the men) and you had just now finished making a heavenly lasagna. Making a plate, you wrapped it in foil and headed toward the door. You checked out the window to see if his bike was still in the drive before heading over.
You footsteps faultered as you stepped on his porch.
What if he has a wife?
He didn’t have a ring, no other car in the drive… And so what if he did? This was a simple neighborly thank you… you’re literally just dropping off a plate of food. You straightened your shoulders and rapped on his door.
Your heart pounded lightly in your ears as you waited, hearing heavy footsteps approaching. You smiled as he opened the door, his eyes taking you in as he returned your smile.
You held up the wrapped plate. “A token of my gratitude for all of your help today."
His gaze flicked briefly to the plate before returning to yours.
"I didn’t know if you’d eaten yet so I - I just wrapped it up. Homemade lasagna." You held the plate out to him as you rambled. He waited a moment before accepting it, his warm gaze never leaving yours.
"Y/N, you didn’t have to–”
You put your hand up, halting his words. “Please… let me do this?”
He smirked, dropping his gaze a moment before meeting yours again. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
—-
And that… was how it all began.
Moving in next door to Bishop Losa.
That one fateful moment sparked a fierce protective love with the Mayan President… and as a result, you found your new family within the club.
But now….
Was the club even aware of your kidnapping yet?
How long had it been since you’d been taken and where the fuck were you?
More importantly….was Bishop still alive?
Images of his broken body bleeding onto the living room floor flashed across your mind.
This was all your fault. You should’ve known better than to think you could run from your past.
Sobs broke from your chest as you violently fought against the metal wrist restraints, screaming into the darkness.
----
“Please don’t kill him.“ "Nah, I just want to talk.” - Bishop
Summary: Your son’s teacher had some negative things to say about Bishop, and neither of you are happy about it. Bishop is just a little more enthusiastic about making it known.
Pairing: Bishop Losa x female reader
Warnings: Mention of violence/fighting
Word count: 555
A/N: I’m a little rusty, but I’m trying to get back into it
"He said what?”
Bishop’s brows were knitted tightly, head cocked to the side as he tried to listen to you better. Of course, he had miss heard you. No way you had said what he thought you said. You swallowed as quietly as you could and reached out to stroke his forearm, trying your best to soothe him.
“It’s nothing, Bish. Don’t even pay him any mind. You know he’s an idiot.”
The President straightened his head and then took a step closer to you, eyes focused as he looked at you.
“What did he say?”
You held off for a handful of seconds before sighing and repeating what your son’s school teacher had said at the parent-teacher conference this morning.
“He said he believes he’s acting out and getting in fights because he sees what you do and he’s mimicking you.”
You tried to keep your voice level and quiet, not wanting to set him off. You had already given the teacher a piece of your mind, the older man’s eyes wide as you had dragged him for everything he was worth. He had apologized profusely, maybe to keep his job or maybe just to keep his teeth, but the damage had been done. He had spoken down on your husband and that was something that you never, ever took lightly.
You had barely made it out of the school building when you had called Bishop, fuming and cursing, telling him that you were heading over to the clubhouse for a drink. He had figured the teacher had said something you didn’t like, but it wasn’t until now that you had finally repeated the exact sentence that had ended with you seeing red.
Bishop nodded slowly, silent yet his eyes loud as he thought. You rubbed his forearm, talking sense into him as best as you could.
“I already told him about himself, baby. It’s all good. I let him know we weren’t going to stand for that. I just wanted you to be caught up. You know I tell you everything.”
He nodded slowly, tense shoulders finally settling some as you leaned forward and laid kiss after kiss to his bearded cheek. Your affection soothed him some, but his brain was still going, itching to track the man down and clock him at least once. That would be proving his point though, and that was enough to talk himself off the ledge.
He let out a heavy sigh and wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling back and looking at you once more.
“I hope you made that mother fucker sweat.”
You grinned as you looked at him, recalling the way his eyes widened and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“Oh, I did.”
Bishop smiled himself and nodded, hands squeezing you.
“That’s my girl.”
The rest of the week had gone on without incident, your son promising to behave better and the teacher apparently not having spoken a word to him since. It was fine by you, the three of you almost having forgotten the disrespectful teacher until your son pointed him out after dinner one night. You had been paying while Bishop and your son went out to get the car, the teacher walking in the parking lot toward the door with his own wife. He’d been too quick, both of you having an exchange while you tried to hurry up with your card.
“Please don’t kill him.“
"Nah, I just want to talk.”
General taglist
@piccasoe@ateliefloresdaprimavera@gemini0410@woahitslucyylu@my-rosegold-soul@that-chick212@everyhowlmarksthedead@glimmerglittergirl@elcococruz@fanaticfangurl21@encounterthepast@iambabyharry@svintsandghosts@starrynite7114 @saturnsaree @multiyfandomgirl40 @destynelseclipsa@sadeyesgf@queenbeered@iamthegraham@emoengelfurleben@all-the-boys-to-the-yard@otomefromtheheart@rosieposie0624@papa-geralt-of-cirilla@beeroses@weirdosandhopelessromantics@kola95@black-repunzel99@xonickibaby@cruzwalters@myakai13@mrsstevenbuchananstark@lyly00
Mayans MC taglist
@dazzledamazon@abunnykisses@briana-mishell24@angelreyesgirl@wrcn9fvlcver @peaches009 @capt-canadian @thesandbeneathmytoes@krysiewithak@darklingveracruz@appropriate-writers-name@cind-in-real-life@blessedboo@montanaraed@kkim120@megapeacelovemusic-blog@emoengelfurleben@blowmymbackout@abby-splace@kola95@black-repunzel99@redpoodlern@xonickibaby@cruzwalters@myakai13@mrsstevenbuchananstark @danimals1096 @po3ticb3auty
Bishop taglist
@maciiiofficial @x-goddess-of-nature-x @jatriciaaa @redpoodlern@black-repunzel99@xonickibaby @yosoynicolexo @cruzwalters@myakai13
