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.
⌧ 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
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.
“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.
Whose body was on Taza’s bike ? Was it a Mayan ? Was it the Son they killed in season 2? Is that Coco that Ez is punching ? Why are the Mayan charters going to war ?
Warnings: 18+ sexual content, yall already know what it is by the title lmao
A/N: I read this HC for JJK the other day that I swore I saved so I could link it here for credit/inspo and i can’t find it Once I read it, all I could think about was how the boys would be if they called you while they were indulging in some self love and you didn’t pick up for whatever reason…and here we are Also it’s the first time getting to write for Mayan Manny and let me just say it’s the first of an eternity
He starts sweet about it
He pauses his movements, trying his best to hold off until he hands up
But hearing your voice on the messaging system
It makes him throb
“Hey babe. It’s me…uh,”
His hand is moving like it has a mind of it’s own, and he chuckles into the receiver, letting you in on the activity
“I miss you. A lot. I just keep thinking about you.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his brain seemingly unable to focus on both the pleasure and putting together a sentence.
“How beautiful you are. How good you smell. Fuck, I miss your smell. Especially your hair.”
His fist is pumping faster, eyes fluttering closed as he imagines you, all beauty and smiles
“I miss how you grip me. How you have to use both hands. How your eyes look when you watch me.”
His hips are moving too now as he pictures your body, bare and all his
“I need you so fucking bad. I can’t wait to be back home with you. This ain’t cutting it.”
He trails off for the most part then, just letting you hear him moan and hiss, saying you name until he spills over his hand, chest sweaty
“Fuck, mama.”
He catches his breath and tells you he loves you quickly before the time runs out, hanging up and chuckling at himself, only able to imagine what type of voicemails you will leave him next time he doesn’t answer
He’s quiet for the first couple of seconds when he hears the beep
Then he makes up his mind
He’s vulgar from the start, talking dirty with no prelude or warm up
Stroking himself harder so you can hear it over the phone
“Miss you so much, mi reina. I’m so fuckin’ hard for you. I can’t think about anything but that perfect pussy. I’m gonna fuckin’ rail you when I get back home.”
He stops talking for a little, bring the phone down by his hip so you can hear the obscene sound of his hand pumping
He’s purposefully more vocal
Knowing that if you can’t see him, he’s going to let your ears paint the picture for you
“So hard and thick, baby. All for you. You got me fuckin’ throbbing and you ain’t even here.”
He’s picturing you
How he had you bent over the kitchen counter
Hands gripping the granite as he plowed into you from behind
“Wish you were here. I’d fuckin’ wreck you if you were here.”
He’s cursing and growling as he comes, his seed collected across his stomach
And for a second, he can almost trick himself into thinking he feels your mouth on him cleaning it up
But then he’s left alone with the silence again, his voice softer now.
“Hope you sleep well, princesa. Talk to you tomorrow.”
He’s playful
The first thing coming after the beep being a deep laugh
“Why you not answering the phone, mama? What, you don’t wanna talk to me no more?”
He keeps stroking himself lazily, no match for how much better it feels when you do it
And he lets you know that
“I’m sitting here in bed, thinkin’ about you. Figured I’d make myself come before bed, but it wasn’t the same without you. Now you’re not even answering the phone.”
He laughed again, but he wasn’t mad
It was late, after all
He kept tugging at himself, rambling off as he did
“Bet you look real cute, all curled up right now. You holding my pillow? Cuddling into it because you miss me? Bet you are.”
He picks up the pace, squeezing himself gently just like you do every now and then
“I wonder if you touched yourself before bed too. Maybe that’s why you’re asleep so deep you didn’t even hear my call.”
He groans at the thought, picturing you in your bed, legs spread
“Ain’t the same though, is it mama? Nah. It’s better when it’s me doing it. Just like it’s better when it’s you doing it.”
He doesn’t say much from then on, just letting you get an earful as he comes, cursing and growling
He’s laughing again then as he cleans up, looking forward to your call in the morning
“I’ll talk to you later, mama. Maybe I won’t pick up either, let you have your turn.”
He’s a little huffy about it at first
He finally found a couple minutes to himself, stashed away in the bathroom, and now you don’t pick up
“Hey, uh…I just wanted to see if I could talk to you. I needed to hear your voice.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds more, wondering to himself if he should just hang up and try again later
But things have been so busy and he’s so hard
He doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance so he sighs and keeps talking, knowing he’s already there
“Was gonna see how you were doing, maybe get some phone sex going, but since you didn’t pick up, I guess it’s just me huh?”
He strokes himself firmly, not trying to make it feel like you since he knows he can’t
“I fuckin’ miss you, chiquita. I wanna be with you. This shit is taking to long.”
He huffs, eyes closed as he strokes himself
“I wanna be inside you so bad. Can’t fuckin stand it. We still got a couple more days.”
He decides to stop giving you the run down and instead just lets you listen, not doing a whole lot more talking
He finishes with a strangled groan of your name, breathing deeply as he tries to slow his heart down, still not feeling satisfied
“I’m gonna go, call me back when you get this. I’m gonna call again tomorrow night too, make sure you pick up this time.”
He’s not upset
Disappointed sure, but he understands
It’s late, and he’d be asleep too if it weren’t for the throbbing ache in his boxers
That was the only reason he was calling at a time like this
And part of him wants to just leave it along
But the bigger part of him knows that he could still bring himself pleasure while making sure you know how much he missed you and relied on you for relief
So he does
“I miss you so much, beautiful. Wish I could have you here with me. Or be there with you. Either way.”
He’s another that doesn’t even bother trying to make it feel like it’s your hand, lest he disappoint himself even more
“I just want to feel you there. Laying on me, like you do. When you put your head on my chest and stick your hand in my boxers.”
He groans, imagining the feel of your soft and warm fingers, how they wrap around him
“Miss your voice too. You gotta make a longer voicemail greeting. Give me more to listen to.”
He leaves it at that, letting the voicemail run in the background while he scrolls through his pictures of you
Cursing as he stops on the one he had taken of you in the bath, skin wet and glistening, bubbles barely covering his favorite parts of you, that warm needy look in your eyes from both the massage and wine you’d had prior to the picture
His orgasm almost catches him by surprise when it comes, your name and ‘I love you’s” being chanted over the phone before he finally hangs up and drifts off
He contemplates hanging up
But a little old fashioned phone sex never hurt anybody
So he stays on the line
He’s quiet for a good while, just thinking about you before he remembers it still recording
“Hey, babygirl. Sorry i’m calling so late. You’re probably asleep already. I just can’t stop thinking about you.
Definitely tries to make it feel like it’s your hand
“I miss you so fuckin’ bad, pretty girl. Can’t wait until I’m home.
Might even hang up and call back so he can hear your voice again
He feels a little foolish at first
Not used to having to resort to using his own hand
He’s used to having you right there, never having to be separated from you if he doesn’t want to
But he’s got business and you’ve got a family matter to attend to
So finding himself hard and lonely in your shared master bedroom has him calling you for some relief
He’s all huffs and eye rolls when he calls you twice and it goes to voicemail
He knows you’re safe
He send two of his best with you on the trip
But that doesn’t do anything to help the raging throb he feels as he thinks about you
Your voice over the greeting enough to have him reaching into his briefs and finally let the voicemail start recording
“I thought we talked about how I would let you go without me, but you needed to make sure to answer your phone? Remember when we agreed on that?”
He huffs quietly, not liking the feeling of being out of control
“I miss you. I want to hear your voice. And not over some stupid fucking device. I want you here with me.”
“Wait until you get home. Wait until I get my hands on you.”
He just lets you listen for the rest, letting you hear him groan and curse until he finishes
WARNINGS: 18+ only; driving without a license; 1.4k words
AUTHOR’S NOTE: at the end.
When your alarm goes off the next morning, you are both already awake, your fingers trailing nonsensical patterns through the sparse hair on his chest. You’d seen the light filtering in through the gap in the curtains but you’d kept telling yourself you had more time.
The night had passed in a blur of body parts and waves of pleasure as you guys brought each other to the peak over and over again, trying to fit a lifetime of satisfaction into the few hours you had left together before you had to part, neither of you wanting to bring it up.
SUMMARY: Tig sneaks out before the guys return. Taza gets a call about Bishop’s condition that drastically changes your plans for the night.
WARNINGS: 18+ only; food mention; 2.5k words.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Another monster chapter, whoops!
Tig easily followed through on his promise, coaxing another two orgasms out of you before Nestor knocked on your door, saying the other guys were on their way back and Tig needed to go.
“Will I see you again?” You felt ridiculous asking, sounding like a love struck teenager, but you had to know. He hasn’t even left the room yet and your body yearned for him. The ache between your legs not satisfied unless he is buried inside it.
He pauses buttoning his pants to lean over, grabbing your chin between his fingers and pressing a hard kiss to your lips. “There’s no keeping me away now, doll.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling the burner phone out of this pocket, tossing it to you. “Put your number in there for me.”
You move through the screens, adding your contact information as he finishes getting dressed. You flip it shut, holding it out to him as he finishes buttoning up his shirt. “Consider this my glass slipper.”
SUMMARY: Bishop puts himself between you and danger.
WARNINGS: 18+ only; blood mention, panic attack mention; trauma mention; car accident; 1.9k words
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Y’all remember that post floating around about whether you’d read MCD?
Squealing tires catch your attention as Bishop spins, looking for the cause of the noise. A small SVU comes barreling across the garage, engine roaring as it gains speed.
“That your guy?” Bishop growls, gun already in his hand.
“Don’t think so,” Chibs answers, pulling his own firearm. “Close it!”
The door starts to close, but it’s too slow. You hear a couple pops and some whistling and the glass on the guard booth cracks, but doesn’t break. Bullets, your brain supplies and suddenly, everything is moving in slow motion.
Bishop is yelling, tugging on your arm, but you are frozen in place, a literal deer in the headlights. Bishop lets go of your arm, raising his hands and taking aim at the car, firing off a few shots. It reacts the same way as the guard booth, the glass cracking but not breaking and you frown, tilting your head, wondering why as it gets closer and closer. The headlights are too bright to see who is driving and you know you should move, but you are still glued to your spot on the floor.
SUMMARY: Bishop gets a late night visit from a man you never thought you’d see again.
WARNINGS: 18+ only; drugs mention; 1.5k words
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Tay, please remember to take deep breaths and that I love you.
It’s dark when you wake up again, the clock telling you it’s well past midnight. Ez is gone, having slipped out sometime after the meeting was over. By the time you get back to Santo Padre, your sleep schedule is going to be fucked. As it is, having nothing to do, you find yourself sleeping more just to make the time pass.
Opening your door to the common area, you see Bishop sitting alone, the TV on but muted as he watches the colors move on the screen. “Hey, sweetheart. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Nah,” you wave your hand at him. “I’m good. How are you doing?”
“Never been better.” You can see the lie in the bags under his eyes, the tired hunch of his shoulders.
SUMMARY: Bishop gives you a surprise that lets you reconnect with the rest of the club.
WARNINGS: 18+ only; 1.7k words
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love prospect!EZ
The next morning, you wake up alone in bed, the TV turned off and the blankets pulled over you. You must have fallen asleep and Hank either went next door or called some of the guys and met them back out on the strip. You stretch, joints popping back into place as you throw the covers back.
Crawling out of bed, you walk to the windows, throwing open the curtains, letting the mid morning sun fill the room. The sidewalks below you are still full of people. New York City might be known as the city that never sleeps, but you haven’t seen as many people in your life as you have since you’ve been here.
SUMMARY: When the walls of your room start closing in, you make a selfish request that reveals a secret that breaks your heart.
WARNINGS: 18+ only; infertility mention; food mention; 2.9k words
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Whoops. This chapter got away from me.
You are going to lose your mind. You’ve been in Vegas over thirty six hours now and haven’t left your room and no one’s even come to visit. The only interaction you’ve had was calling down for room service then getting it from the room next door. At first, you’d enjoyed the quiet, knowing that your time to explore the strip would come. You’d woken up refreshed and relaxed, excitedly knocking on the door separating the rooms to let them know you were up and ready to hit the town, only for Bishop to say that you’d be spending the night in and to order whatever you wanted.
You’d pouted only slightly, but when you saw the bags under his eyes, you knew he’d probably not even been to sleep yet. Glancing around the room you noticed Hank and Taza looked just as tired, so you nodded in acceptance and slipped back into your room. After checking the menu and placing your order to the room next door, you knocked lightly and let them know you had food coming before slipping into the bathroom.
SUMMARY: Getting settled in, you find out how far Bishop will go to keep you safe.
WARNINGS: 18+ only, 1.6k
AUTHOR’S NOTE: does something like this exist? Idk. May have had made it up just for this story? It’s more likely than you think.
You slip the key into the door, swinging it open and standing back so Hank can walk in the room with your bags. He manages to flick the light switch with his elbow, walking down the narrow hallway, you right behind him.
“Uh,” he says, stopping short.
You can’t see around him, between the actual broadness of the man, plus the bulk of the bags he’s carrying. “What’s wrong?”
He steps further into the room and you finally see what has stopped him.
SUMMARY: You get a firsthand look at life on the road with the guys and figure out where you’re headed.
WARNINGS: 18+ only, cussing, mockery, 1.6k words
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I had so much fun writing this chapter, I don’t even care if any of it is accurate.
“Well, this is going to get annoying.” You’d only been on the road about an hour and a half when you had to pull over for gas. You’d watched everyone circle around to the tank before you left the scrapyard, so when you set out, you knew everyone had a full tank.
Creeper just chuckles. “You see how small the gas tanks are, baby girl? Can’t get the same kind of distance as a cage.”
It’s not that the ‘cage’ got any better mileage, it’s that the van had the capability to hold ten times as much fuel. “Well, I guess that means we’ll never run out of snacks.” You grab the door handle, getting ready to exit the van.
Rating:Explicit AF (GET OUT MINORS) Warning: SMUT - unprotected PIV, vaginal oral, reader is a switch, wlw strap-on sex, sex work ( WE RESPECT SEX WORKERS IN THIS HOUSE AND IF YOU DON’T GET OFF MY BLOG ) Word Count: A/N: i’ve FINALLY gotten around to writing for my beautiful @flightlessangelwings’sPride Event! (on the last week but hey, we did it).
you’ll see what prompt i used for it. And yes, there will be at least a second part to their story because i’m already in love with my new OC Valeria x Reader and I just… yeah. Please enjoy!
Your body moved in sync with Valeria’s. Dancing of the sinful kind that you always enjoyed with her. She was a lawyer and one of the best from the stories she would tell you in the aftermath. Stress was just part of her job description, and she admitted to you pretty early on that coming here wasn’t initially her plan, but she was glad she had found you because you knew her body better than she did herself.
in honor of our mayans coming back to the screen, here is something i wrote almost a year ago about bishop with a sex worker.
i still want to explore more of this thruple and have had plans to but with my writing hiatus, i haven’t focused on them much. but if anyone would like to see more of them, please let me know.
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
----
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.
