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ficnation · 9 months

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Lying in Blood - EZ Reyes x Reader

Summary: When your husband dies you're left to mourn the life you were supposed to have. But when guilt consumes the killer, a chance at redemption opens as he steps forward to raise the child as his own.

Word count: 2,6k+

Pairing: Ezekiel ‘EZ’ Reyes x Female! Reader; Past!Neron ‘Creeper’ Vargas x Reader

Warnings: SPOILERS for Mayans MC season 5, mayans mc typical warnings, pregnancy, pure angst

A/n: EZ might be a little OOC but who cares. Enjoy the heartbreak and please reblog if you liked it!

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The moment you walk into the clubhouse, the smell of smoke and leather assaults your senses. The atmosphere is smoky, the air heavy with the cigarette fog swallowing the entire room. In the background, the clicking of pool balls and the murmur of conversations can be heard, the smell and environment already making you feel a little dizzy as the door opens and shuts behind you.

You force yourself to move forward as the members of the MC raise their glasses and nod in welcome to your arrival. You greet them with a warm smile like always, then look around the room in search of your beloved’s face. You can almost see him talking with his friends in the crowd, an unopened beer bottle in his tattooed hand.

But he’s not there. It’s just your imagination playing tricks on you.

Bishop must’ve noticed the way your eyes wander around the room in search of a ghost. He stands up from his sitting place, grabs your arm, and pulls you toward one of the couches. You slump down against it, sighing heavily.

“Querida,” he starts, sitting down beside you, his arm outstretched, beckoning you closer.

You shake your head to will the dark thoughts away, then relax against his side, your cheek finding rest on his shoulder.

“Bishop,” you greet him back with a smile.

“You’ve popped,” the man notices with a chuckle, looking down at the roundness of your protruding stomach.

“Oh, definitely. I woke up one day, looked in the mirror, and thought she doubled in there,” you mumble with a huff, but there’s a lightness to your voice.

Bishop admires your strength—how you can still see the world in colors even when your life is falling apart. It baffles him. He wishes he had that kind of strength himself.

He smiles at you, pulling you just a little bit closer. “She?” he repeats, raising his brow.

You smile brightly at him, caressing the bump with gentle, loving strokes. “Yeah, it’s a little girl.”

But your smile falters ever so lightly when you think about the fact that Neron still doesn’t know that the doctors were wrong and you were going to have a little daughter instead of a son. He won’t even be there when you give birth. He’ll still be behind bars, far away from your baby girl.

Bishop notices the change in your expression and grasps your hand in his, squeezing delicately. “He’s proud of you, you know that. We’re all proud of you.”

You can only nod in response, blinking away the tears that started forming in your eyes. You weren’t as strong as they all wanted you to be. You were just about to become a mom—a single mom because your husband won’t be there for most of the baby’s early years. You’ll be lucky if he gets out when she’s a teenager.

“Yeah, just wish his child was more important than the club,” you whisper under your breath, quickly regretting your words. But Bishop looks at you with understanding, no ounce of anger on his face. “Well, I actually came here looking for EZ. Is he around?”

“He’s not around. But he should be back soon. Do you wanna wait for him?” he asks, kissing the side of your forehead. “I can get you some water and keep you company.”

You stay with him, conversing to kill time as you wait for the club’s president to turn up. The older man keeps you occupied, talking a little bit about everything—how long until the baby comes, if you need help setting up the nursery, is your money situation looking okay—Bishop asks about everything in hopes the MC can make your life a little bit easier.

An hour or two passes before Ezekiel walks into the clubhouse. He looks around the room and doesn’t expect to see you there. Your presence startles him.

His eyes stare intently as you talk with Bishop, one of your hands mindlessly caressing your protruding stomach, waiting for the baby to kick. The other man hovers his hand close, ready for you to guide it so he can feel the little kick.

EZ feels the guilt—it comes up his throat and makes him nauseous. You’ve been friends for so long, and you don’t even know just how bad of a friend he was.

He ordered the murder of your husband. He took away the father of your baby—the man you loved with your whole being. He took his life and didn’t even give a second thought to how it would affect you—how much it would ruin your life.

The baby in your stomach starts kicking, so you take Bishop’s hand and press it against it. Ezekiel still stares, but he’s too far gone in his thoughts to register what’s happening.

“She’s kicking.” Your smile is bright, and it gives him a tiny bit of hope that Neron’s death won’t make you miserable for the rest of your life.

He forces his legs to move forward, swallowing the want to throw up all over the wooden floor. With a forced nervous smile, he reaches the couch.

“Is she?” the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

You sit up straighter, surprised by his sudden appearance. The smile you give him is innocent—unknowing.

“Hi, EZ.”

He returns it, but it’s weak and awkward, and he’s sure you can feel just how out of place he felt in his own clubhouse.

“Hi.”

Bishop senses the sudden shift in the air. He gets up and presses a kiss to your cheek, his beard ticklish on your skin. He regards the younger man with suspicious eyes. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says finally as he leaves you with the club’s president, heading towards the exit of the building.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” you notice, patting the couch where Bishop once sat to beckon Ezekiel to take his place.

The man scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Yeah… I was busy with the—” he’s lost in his own words as he gestures vaguely to the clubhouse, “the thing.”

You raise your eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, definitely,” you joke, “the thing always requires attention.”

He laughs at your words, but it has a forced quality to it. The joke isn’t that funny. You know it, and he knows it too, but you wave it off, thinking he didn’t want to make the conversation more uncomfortable than it already was by giving you the details.

“Yeah.” He sighs deeply. “We’ve got it under control, though,” he continues, and you respond with a nod, your eyes not quite meeting his.

“Have you heard anything from Neron?”

So that’s what you came here to ask—EZ thinks. It was logical. You barely needed the MC’s help, preferring to get stuff done on your own, mainly because you didn’t want to add to their problems. You always held your head high.

“He’s been quiet for a while now,” Ezekiel tenses in his seat as the words leave your mouth.

He can almost feel the crickets playing a symphony in his head. He doesn’t know what to say or do, so he opts for a simple lie—he is getting better at them with every passing day. “No, I haven’t heard anything.”

“Damn it.” Your sigh clenches his heart painfully. “Those cops are probably harassing him again.”

“Probably,” he agrees with you, scratching his chin for a second as he glances at your face. “You’ve heard nothing at all?”

“Nothing. He doesn’t call anymore.” The tone of your voice changes, and he can feel the heartbreak—the agony that those words render.

EZ takes a deep breath and forces a smile. “He’ll call. I’m sure he will.” A fucking liar; that’s what he is.

“I hope so. We’re so close to the birth date. I wanted him to know that.”

He doesn’t know how to reply, so he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. He was always good at lying, but why was it so hard to lie to you?

He tries to smile more warmly—look more warmly at you, but all you can see in his eyes is pity. It drives you insane.

“EZ, is there something you’re not telling me?” your voice screams suspicion. He starts to get nervous.

“No, of course not.” He looks at you hard, hoping you’ll believe his lie. It takes a moment for you to process what you see and hear before the suspicious glint falters and falls.

“Oh, okay.” you sigh in sadness. You have a feeling he knows something, but you’re not willing to push it. “He was supposed to choose the name.”

Another gentle squeeze of your hand. “He will come through. Don’t worry.”

You believe him. “You’re right. I’m probably just overthinking.”

EZ nods his head in agreement. “You’re just stressing yourself out; it’s not worth it.” There’s a pause as he kisses your temple, then speaks again, changing the topic slightly, “How have you been doing? Everything going alright with the pregnancy?”

“Yeah, we’re doing good. The nausea went away.” His still didn’t. “Now I’m just running to the bathroom every three minutes. Girl makes me wanna piss so bad.” You let out a chuckle—such a beautiful and peaceful sound. EZ feels like he could record it and play it over and over again before he falls asleep.

“That’s good… and exhausting.” He’s starting to feel more at ease again. You seem to be distracted and not noticing how oddly nervous he’s been acting, or even if you did see, you let him have the upper hand.

“It is exhausting. But we’re gonna get through it. For Neron.”

He nods in agreement. “For Neron.”

Such a beautiful betrayal.

The next time you see EZ, a few days have passed. The whole MC knows about Neron’s death, but not you—not yet. He lets you live in a state of not knowing just for a few more minutes before he knocks on your door and gives you the information that will ruin your life. Oh, wait, he did that—he ruined it by choosing to protect himself, get rid of the snitch. Snitches end up in ditches—they were right.

He raises his fist, presses the buzzer, and he can almost hear the heavy pats of your feet as you rush toward the door. You open it and greet him with a smile. You’ve looked through the Judas beforehand—smart girl.

“EZ?” That carefree smile falters as you notice the seriousness decorating his face. Your hand grips the doorknob tighter, knuckles turning pale.

EZ sighs and hangs his head. “You need to sit down.”

“What the fuck happened?” you ask, but EZ doesn’t respond.

He turns you around, closing the door before gently pushing you towards the living room and the couch in the middle. You listen to him and sit down, waiting for him to speak. Your leg bounces up and down in worry. The dark thoughts swirling in your head make you want to crawl out of your skin.

EZ cuts straight to the point. He knows you’d only get furious if he tried to tread around the issue.

“Neron’s dead,” he says simply—as if to just get the words out of his mouth. They leave a foul taste on his tongue. He’s not even looking at you because he knows already how badly he fucked up. He can hear your heart breaking into a million pieces as your brain struggles to register that information.

When it finally hits you, you gasp trembly.

“No. No, he’s not,” you try to deny his words, shaking your head furiously. Tears are already building up in your eyes, and they’re falling down in waterfalls down your cheeks before EZ can reach to wipe them away.

“I’m so fucking sorry. It’s my fault.” He sits beside you and takes your hand, raising it to his lips. He leaves a kiss on every single tip of your fingers. “I killed him. It’s all my fucking fault.”

The sobs wreck through your body like a tsunami, and you drown beneath their intensity as you cradle your bump. You don’t even hear him. You refuse to hear him.

EZ wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his embrace, his hand cradling the back of your head as he pushes it to rest on his chest. He can’t look at you so broken—so destroyed.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His other palm rubs your back up and down in a motion that is supposed to be soothing, but it doesn’t do shit to make it hurt less. You let him comfort you, giving into his embrace as you weep and clutch the back of his kutte in tight fists.

EZ sits that way with you for a while, rubbing your back and keeping you close. He doesn’t speak, only offers his presence and affection as comfort. He knows if he opens his mouth again, he’ll admit to what he’s done—this time for real.

“How am I supposed to go on?” You sob into his chest, your whole body trembling.

EZ just holds you tighter, his lips pressed to the crown of your head. “One day at a time.”

“I’m supposed to raise our daughter on my own? That’s so fucking cruel. Why did the world take him away from me?” your words are almost muffled as you get them out through the tears and sobs.

He looks down at you, his face etched with guilt. He’s glad your head is pressed to his chest and you can’t see it. You’d put the puzzle pieces together faster than he could mutter a single word.

He rubs his thumb back and forth between your shoulder blades. “I don’t know. But you’re strong. I know you’re strong enough to get through this.”

He puts on a facade before placing a hand under your chin and lifting it so you can look him in the eye. “I know you are.”

“No, Ezekiel, I’m not. I can’t do this,” you argue, shaking your head furiously. “I want him back,” you cry out, and it breaks his heart even more. It was his fault. He did this to you.

“I know. I know.” EZ says this over and over again, rubbing circles on your back.

He stays the night, cradling you in his arms as you sob and scream. And then he stays another night and another day keeping you company and helping with daily tasks. You don’t even realize that weeks have passed, and he’s still there when you wake up and when you go to sleep.

He’s there holding your hand when your little girl is born and when she says her first word. He never left, taking on the role of being a dad figure for your child. It felt wrong, but you never stopped him, either.

You didn’t stop him when one night his lips found peace pressed against yours and when he rolled on top of you, giving you pleasure you haven’t felt for a long while. You didn’t stop him when he moved in and became a constant presence in your baby’s life. Before you even knew it, she was calling him ‘papa.’ It made your heart clench painfully.

EZ took the opportunity and treated it as his only chance at redemption. He wanted to give you the life you wanted to have with the man he took away from you.

Sometimes the guilt was too much, and he had to leave for a few days to get it back under control. But he always came back.

He was good at lying, after all—lying with his hands covered in blood. Such a beautiful betrayal.

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myckicade · 9 months

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WARNING: Contains reworked spoilers for Season Four.

Prompt: Can you do a Coco imagine and fix it please????

A/N: Ugggh. I still wish that I could properly fix it. I do. I'm so, so sorry that I can't, loves. All I can offer is this, and a massive hug.

As a further warning, I've played with canon (clearly), in order to fit the wider universe that this story follows. Since the events of Meth Mountain never would have taken place, Oakland wasn't a bitch detail for Coco.

P.S. This is over a year old, but I finally finished the bastard!!!!

Title: Catalyst

Pairing: Coco/Reader (F, Wife)

Teaser: You don't really know the realities of being a biker's wife, a fact that is becoming painfully clear. You can prepare for injuries, for accidents and scrapes and broken bones and concussions and-... Fuck, this? No, no, there's been no preparing for this.

There’s a high-pitched chirping coming from the nightstand, and it’s everything in you not to reach across the bed and fling the source of the noise against the wall. Fucking Club. They always need Coco at the strangest of hours, out to do fuck knows what, only fuck knows where. Under normal circumstances, you would let it slide, even at two in the morning. Unfortunately, normal circumstances are on holiday.

“Coco,” you groan, burying your face futher into your pillow. It muffles your words, but you know he’ll understand you, regardless. “Your phone…” You’re practically whining, but it’s… That sound, it’s grating on your nerves, ringing in the space between your eyes in a way that makes you want to cry. Another complaint is about to meet your pillowcase, when the tone abruptly cuts out. Thank fuck.

And, yes, you’ve counted those stars too soon. Almost as quickly as it stopped, the chirping starts again.

“Coco, what the fuck?” you hiss, pushing yourself up on your arms, to look over at the other pillow… Only to find it empty.

Oh. Oh, right. Coco’s still in Oakland. Sadly, this isn’t the first time you’ve gone to reach for him in the night, only to realize… Well. This is going to do nothing to rescue your mood. Because, for all you’ve been complaining to your husband’s temporary ghost, it’s most decidedly your phone that’s interrupted your sleep. Guilt settles in around the edges of your slowly-forming sense of consciousness. Eh. You’ll apologize to him when he gets back. You’ll say you’re sorry for yelling at him when he wasn’t around to hear it. He’ll laugh, and call you adorably crazy, and that will be that.

One more day, you tell yourself. Just one more day, and he’ll be home.

You stretch your arm toward the nightstand, intent to grab hold of the offending hunk of plastic and metal. Just as your fingers touch the surface, the ringing stops again. Huh. You’re beginning to grow concerned, the more alert you become. Coco wouldn’t call you in the middle of the night, not unless it was an emergency. Letty… Letty is safe in her bed, further shortening your list of potential callers. What if it’s from back home? It can’t be good, no matter who it is. Swallowing down a wave of honest terror, you pick up your phone, and-

Ding-ding.

The display lights up, alerting you to an incoming text message. It’s Gilly. Gilly never messages you. Your heart climbs into your throat, thumb shaking as you swipe up, and tap the icon to open your messages. You don’t want to know, and you can’t wait another second to find out what’s happened-

GET HERE NOW.

Your next breath catches in your chest, as you pull yourself upright in your bed. Get where? What the fuck is-

Ding-ding. Another message. It’s an address. You copy the address, and open it into your web browser, only to freeze up again as you realize... It's an address to a hospital.

A hospital? Oh, no, no, you’re going to be sick. The nausea is creeping up, burning in fear-

Ding-ding.

Tears fill your eyes. No, you can’t look. You just can’t. But…

COCO IN SURGERY. CALL ME.

Eyes frantically scanning the screen before you, you locate the appropriate icon, and smash your thumb against it. Every part of you is shaking, warmth slipping from your eyes, a sob fighting harder and harder to break free with every passing ring.

“Come on, come on, Gilly,” you whimper. The shaking has taken over every limb, so violent your bones are beginning to ache.

Ring…

“(Y/n)?!” It’s Gilly. His voice is such a relief, that sob finally forces its way out in a harsh cough.

“Gilly,” you plead. “What the hell happened?!”

The path before you opens up slowly, accompanied by a too-loud woosh of sound, and a burst of chilled air. You hate that you have to stop, even for the two or three seconds it takes for the glass doors to part far enough that you and Letty can get through them. Side by side, that's been the way since you'd had to wake her up, not an hour prior. Hands clasped together, a lifeline for one another. With a deep breath, you step through a second set of doors, and into the hospital's emergency department.

Six gunshot wounds. Fractured right tibia. Some kind of skull fracture. Gilly hadn't been terribly clear after that. Trying to get hold of a medical professional was a fuck of a struggle the entire way up, a wash of dropped calls, hold music, and after-hours answering services. Still, thanks to what Gilly was able to tell you, you aren't walking into it completely blind. Neither is Leticia, but, feeling the girl's hand tremble in yours, and hearing her half-stifled sniffles, you can't help but wonder which would really be worse.

The check-in desk is only a few steps away, but they seem to drag on for far longer than that. There's someone ahead of you, because, yes, of course, there is. Letty doesn't say a word of it, not right away, doesn't tell anyone to hurry their ass, or get the fuck out of the way, which says enough about how fearful the both of you are, concerning this discussion. The woman behind the desk could say anything, could be forced to direct you anywhere that would shatter the hope that Gilly left you with.

He's alive, though. Those were Gilly's exact words, and that's what you keep telling yourself. That's what got you into your clothes, and your coat, out the door and to the gas station. That's what kept you on the road, and not in a ditch, too blinded by tears and shaken with nausea to keep it between the lines. You're holding onto it now, grasping it with every last shred of your sanity. Coco's alive. He's alive, and he's a fighter, and if you find out who the fuck is responsible for this, you'll-

"Fuck this," Letty grumbles under her breath, taking a single step forward. Her mouth is open, surely ready to spout some obscenity that you can't find it in you to fault her for, when someone shouts from the left.

"(Y/n)!"

You jerk your head up, legs weakening at the sight of Gilly and Bishop hurrying over from the waiting area. They're still here, you tell yourself, as Gilly pulls you and Letty into a tight hold. That has to be a good sign, right? No one is off seeking... Shit, you don't know. Revenge or balance, whatever response the M.C. would typically have in this sort of a situation.

It strikes you suddenly. You don't know what the fallout from this is going to be. You don't really know the realities of being a biker's wife, a fact that is becoming painfully clear. Bits and pieces of conversation overheard during parties, and Coco failing at whispering over the phone, and that's it. He's never let you know, and you've always been fine with that, but now... Now, you'd give your left arm to understand, at the same time that you just don't fucking care. It wouldn't change a fucking thing, either way. You can prepare for injuries, for accidents and scrapes and broken bones and concussions and-... Fuck, this? No, no, there's been no preparing for this.

"What the fuck happened?!" Letty shouts, the second she's able to pull back from Gilly's arm. She looks between both men standing before you, expectant. You can't help but do the same.

Bishop sighs. "We don't know very much-"

"Bullshit," Letty spits. Reaching out, you place your hand on her forearm. She doesn't shrug you off, but it doesn't stop her argument. "You fuckers always know shit."

"Well, in this case," Bishop replies, tone firm, but not entirely unkind, "we weren't given much to go on." He glances your way, expression somber. "We know he's still in surgery. Bullets in his back, and his right leg. Fucked up the bone."

"G-Gilly," you begin, nodding, "Gilly said it was the tibia?"

Bishop nods, and Gilly hangs his head. "Right."

"The skull fracture?" Letty demands, when Bishop doesn't continue. You glance up, and find your daughter blinking back tears. Admirably, you might add.

Gilly shrugs, miserably. "Cracked his head when he fell, maybe. He was near his bike. Mighta' landed on it." Letty reaches out to grab your hand in hers. Good timing. It's all you can do not to bury your face away from the rest of the world. "The doctors've been waitin' on you. Won't give us the full story without family present."

Yeah, that makes sense. You look between the two men apologetically. Poor bastards. They've surely been trying to get every scrap of information they can, and here you two are, grilling them for details they've been prevented from learning.

Shaking your head, you sigh, a fragile, shaky sound. "Where is he?" you ask, glancing down the hallway from which they had emerged. You want to know what waiting room to pace, what nurse's station to post up at. Taking a deep breath, you focus as best you can. This is terrifying, but not all-together unfamiliar territory. "Where were you guys waiting?"

Bishop places a hand at your back, guiding you down the hallway. Gilly swings an arm around Letty's shoulders, leaning in to murmur something you don't bother trying to hear. Now that the fear of the unknown is simmering a little lower, the numbness is beginning to creep in.

Alive.

Surgery.

Shattered.

Christ, Coco, you pray, silently, as you lower yourself into an open waiting room chair. You had better be okay.

There are more tubes and wires attached to your husband than should be possible for one human being. Your cousin hadn't looked this bad after his car accident in '09, you can't help but remember, as your eyes wander across what little of Coco's skin is visible. A bit of forearm, between medical attachments. Shoulders, neck, and chin. Forehead. There are bruises across his face, and it looks as though the doctors have reset his nose. You've seen Coco through scrapes before, from bar fights to dumping his bike while intoxicated. Even then, even with bleeding legs and a bruised tailbone, he hadn't been this beaten up.

It's everything in you not to burst into tears, all over again.

Heaven help you, that you should cry anymore. Your throat is already so dry you're going hoarse. For better or worse, there's no one around to hear your voice, anyhow. Letty wandered off to the cafeteria a while ago, intent to get you something to drink, and a snack. You didn't have the heart to fight her on it. She's every bit as anxious as you are, and she needs something to do, something she can control to keep herself from falling apart. If she can seize the opportunity to keep one of her parents going, and healthy, you won't stand in the way.

A loud tone chimes in from the machine behind you, followed by a series of pulsating beeps. Time for vitals. When the results are displayed, you can't help but glance up. No change. In this instance, it's as good as gold. He's living off of so many aids - breathing tube, I.V. solution, anesthetics - any little change could be explained by just about any detail.

You sigh, low and slow. Fuck. You knew this could happen. You've told yourself as much at least half a dozen times tonight, alone. That doesn't change the reality. And didn't it just figure? It feels like you've been married for five minutes, and everything is going to shit. It had seemed so... Ugh, so fucking perfect, much as you hate to be that doe-eyed, but that's what it's been. Fucking. Perfect.

It's just your luck, Santo Padre doesn't allow for perfect.

Looking back to the bed, to Coco's closed eyes, and his exhausted form... Well, you smirk, just a tad. "Didn't need to go getting shot, just to get a good rest, y'know," you murmur, before blowing out a breath. Levity isn't going to make you feel any better, much as you'd like to try. The nurse said to talk to him, which makes perfect sense, but... You don't have much to go on, besides nervous joking, and desperate pleas.

"Maybe I ought to take a page from Leticia's book, and break something," you continue, now talking to yourself, just as much as to your husband. "You'd be so pleased." You reach out, and slowly slide your fingers into Coco's palm. He's a little chilly, unsurprising between the loss of blood, and the air conditioning blasting down from the ceiling. You grip his fingers as tightly as you dare, and lean in. "Come on, mi rey," you whisper, barely loud enough to reach Coco's ears, even if he was awake. "I have faith in you. You keep fighting. No matter who, or what comes after you, baby, you fight." Your voice catches, as you slide your free hand into your purse. "We need you to be okay, Johnny." It might sound selfish to anyone else's ears, but you know Coco would want to hear it, to hear that he is needed, and loved, and wanted. All the things he knows, but sometimes forgets.

The things you will work even harder to keep him from forgetting.

"We all need you to. Me, and Letty..." Bringing your hand up, you prop a small slip of paper on Coco's chest, tilting it in front of his face. Your jaw trembles, and your voice cracks as tears flood your eyes. "And your son, baby." You pause to get yourself together, which doesn't amount to much. There's more guilt behind this conversation than you wish you felt, the feeling drawing a sob from your throat. "I was gonna' tell you when you got back. I swear, I was." He's waited for this for so long. You both have. "So, you've gotta' fight it, okay? Take whatever time you need, but-..." Taking a deep breath, you steady yourself. "You need to get better," you instruct, in as commanding a voice as you can manage. "I'm not raising this baby without you, you hear me?"

There's no response. You don't expect one. This isn't a sappy romance movie, or the daily soaps. Coco will wake up when he's good and ready. And you'll be here, holding his hand, and chatting about what he's sleeping through all the while. You lean down and press your lips to his fingers, thumb brushing along the back of his hand. "I love you, baby," you murmur, pressing another kiss to his skin before you sit back up. Lean back. Try to relax.

Vitals sound again.

Someone wheels a cart by, just outside the room.

You sniffle. Just once.

"Y'know, I thought I'd be bailing our Princess out of jail, by now," you admit, thoughtfully. "She really kept it together. You'd be proud as hell of her."

Letty stands in front of a cafeteria display case, filled with questionable-looking salads and tempting baked treats in plastic clamshell containers. Each one makes her stomach turn. She's not here for her, though, is she? She's here for you. She's here to make sure her mother, after six straight hours of waiting in a lousy fucking hospital chair, isn't going to drop on her, too, from something as stupid as low blood sugar. If that was to happen? Jesus Christ, she doesn't know what the fuck she'd do. End up in the psych ward, more than likely. Or break someone's worthless neck. Yeah, that sounds more like it.

She's just about to reach for a slice of what she thinks is chocolate cake, when a hand comes to rest on her arm. It startles the living shit out of her, but when she looks up, ready to gouge out a motherfucker's eye with one of the plastic-wrapped sporks within her reach, Letty finds Gilly staring down at her.

Fuck. Yeah, that tracks. She's been in here for a good little while.

"Find anything for your Mom?" he asks quietly, removing his hand from her person to tuck it back in the pocket of his kutte. Letty turns back toward the display case, staring into the middle space for a moment.

"You're gonna' get the motherfucker responsible, right?" Behind her, Gilly sighs. She's expecting a comment about her language, or about how this isn't the time to be worried about something like vengeance. A truly ugly response is on the tip of her tongue, when Gilly surprises her.

"Yeah," he promises, voice quiet, but sure. "Yeah, kid, we're gonna' get 'em."

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#Coco x Reader #Coco x You #Coco Cruz x Reader #Coco Cruz x You #Johnny Coco Cruz x You #Johnny Coco Cruz x Reader #Johnny Coco Cruz #Mayans #Mayans MC #Mayans M.C.#Mayans M.C. Spoilers #Mayans MC Spoilers #Mayans Spoilers #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Mayans Fanfic #Mayans Fanfiction

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chaneajoyyy · 10 months

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Let me into the mess with episode 4👁️👁️

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redpool · 7 months

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WHY AM I JUST NOW FINDING OUT ABOUT HAPPY'S DEATH?!?!?! OH MY GOD.

#happy lowman #mayans mc #david labrava #mayans m.c.#sons of anarchy #soa

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lacquerheadd · 2 years

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🫣 @seluvian some quick sketches for u

#angel reyes #mayans #sketch #wip #have i ever watched mayans?? no #is he FINE FINE?? yeah #clayton cardenas #mayans mc #mayans m.c.#digital art #art

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veryslowreader · 1 year

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Metahuman by Deepak Chopra

Mayans M.C.: "When I Die, I Want Your Hands on my Eyes"

#metahuman #deepak chopra #mayans m.c.#zhaleh vossough

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ezekeil-reyes · 11 months

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I've staked my claim on the new guy in the white t-shirt

#mayans mc #ez reyes #mayans m.c.#mayans fx

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gameofthunder66 · 9 months

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Mayans MC (2018-2023) tv series

-(finished) watchin' Series (5 Seasons)- 7/20/2023- 3 [1/2] stars- on Hulu (FX)

Wasn't happy with the way they ended things on this show.

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rae-gar-targaryen · 2 years

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I will never forgive the writers and runners of Mayans for what they did to Gaby's character. She was the best thing about season 3 and a bright spot in the entire show and they did her like that. Unforgivable. I won't let it go.

#mayans mc #mayans m.c.#mayans fx #mayans #mayans mc spoilers

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fathersonholygore · 8 months

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Mayans M.C. SERIES FINALE: "Slow to Bleed Fair Son"

Mayans M.C. 5×10: “Slow to Bleed Fair Son” Directed by Elgin James Written by Elgin James & Sean Varela * For a recap & review of the penultimate episode, click here. EZ, Sofia, Angel, and a scattered few people are in church for Felipe’s funeral. Some of the Mayans are there to pay their respects. The brothers stand together next to their father’s casket, as Angel holds little Maverick, and EZ…

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#Broken Saints #Clayton Cardenas #Elgin James #JD Pardo #Julius Caesar #Lincoln Potter #Mayans M.C.#Series Finale #Shakespeare #Stabbing

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beautifulfaaces · 2 years

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Renée Victor

Facts

June 15, 1953

American actress

Filmography

Sister Teresa [Mayans M.C.: 2022]

Marta [With Love: 2021]

Mama Grandé [Snowpiercer: 2020-2021]

Lupita [Weeds: 2005-2012]

Lupe [Never Trust a Serial Killer: 2002]

Chambermaid [Hotel: 1983-1985]

Appearance

brunette/ grey hair

curls

brown eyes

Roleplay

playable: young adult, adult

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ficnation · 10 months

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Chapter 1: The Comfort She Brings

Series: “She”

Word count: 2,1k+

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Female! Reader; Past! Angel Reyes x Luisa Espina

Warnings: SPOILERS for Mayans MC season 5 episode 7, mayans mc typical warnings

A/n: Gosh, this episode hit me like a fucking truck. I have so many ideas for angsty pieces. This is just the beginning of it. Also this is gonna have a few parts because I just love Angel and lil Maverick.

𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐌.𝐂. 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

NEXT CHAPTER

When Angel comes home that night, holding crying Maverick in his arms, he doesn’t expect to see you there. He steps inside, trying not to panic because Luisa still hasn’t called, and he has that feeling in his gut that tells him something terrible has happened. He looks around, his eyes searching for his woman, but the house is oddly quiet and swallowed by darkness.

He walks in further, turning the light on, and that’s when his eyes find you, back leaning against the kitchen counter as you cross your arms over your chest. The expression on your face tells him everything he needs to know. Luisa isn’t coming back. The woman he loved with all his being, the mother of his little son—she’s gone.

You can’t look him in the eyes, focusing instead on the wailing child in his arms. Angel sees straight through you, though. He sees the broken expression on your face that you try to mask so hard, but you’re unsuccessful. You could always keep your feelings concealed away from everyone but him. That’s the difference between you and him, you are good at lying, at hiding stuff, and he sucks at it—he is an open book, far too easy to read.

The man has no idea how to react. His whole world is burning, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. He feels hopeless to the point it almost turns into numbness. Fate has always kicked his ass. Angel knew it was all too good to last forever.

He lets you take Maverick out of his arms, staring as you sway him in your hold, pecking the top of his little head. He backs you against the counter, taking your chin between his fingers and tilting your face up so that you have no choice but to look at him.

“Where is she,” he asks, his eyes filled with dread. “Please, just tell me where she is.”

You stay silent for a while, still trying to avoid meeting his gaze. You don’t want to say it out loud because you know if you do it—it’s gonna make it real. Angel trails one of his fingers up and down your jaw, and it makes you falter. “I’m so sorry, Angel,” you mumble out.

His heart drops at your words. He doesn’t have to hear anything else. The man stares into your eyes, a flicker of anger crossing his expression but it vanishes just as quickly as it came. He drops his head, eyes closing as he tries to stop the tears from forming.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you repeat like a mantra, and Angel knows he doesn’t have it in him to be mad at you.

“She—” he starts in a choked voice. He still can’t wrap his head around the fact that she’s gone. That she’s not coming back. “She was my whole world…”

You duck under Angel’s arms, stepping away from him. You can’t look at him. You can’t look at him and see the agonizing pain in his eyes.

“We have a son,” he mumbles out, gazing mindlessly at Maverick’s face, swollen from crying all day. You sway him in your arms, shushing him with a gentle voice. It starts setting in. His son doesn’t have a mother anymore. He’s lost her just like Angel has lost his—taken away from him by somebody’s cruel hands.

He’s quick on his feet as he reaches you again and wraps his arms around you. He rests his cheek on Maverick’s head and listens to him breathe. The boy continues to cry into your shoulder, his tiny fists clenching your shirt. “It’s gonna be okay, sweet boy,” he whispers, kissing his head.

You breathe shakily, trying to keep your emotions in check, but it becomes harder and harder with every passing second—with every word leaving Angel’s mouth and with every weep of the little boy in your hold. The pain of losing her makes your heart clench painfully.

Angel knows how much Luisa meant to you, how much she’s done to keep you safe. She saved your life and helped you escape the people that were after you. She was your family. But now she’s gone, and you can’t do anything to bring her back—you can’t do anything to go back in time and prevent it all from happening.

“It’s my fault.” You can’t keep it in any longer, and the sobs wreck through your whole body. One of your hands reaches out to grasp the back of your friend’s shirt as you rest your forehead against his chest, letting tears spill out your eyes. Maverick cries louder.

“No.” Angel’s voice is soft but stern as he pulls back. He cradles your face in his palms, making you look at him. “I know you’re not the one to blame. It’s not your fault. It’ll never be your fault.” He kisses your forehead, his thumbs tracing over the spot as if trying to soothe you.

“I could’ve done more. I could’ve gone with her. Maybe she’d still be here then.” You close your eyes at Angel’s touch. You expect it to comfort you, but it doesn’t. Not this time. You only feel more guilty as he looks at your bawling face. You should be the one comforting him, not the opposite.

His thumb traces along your jawline as he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. “You know that’s not true,” he says solemnly, a somber expression spreading across his face. “She made a choice to protect you. To protect Maverick.” He pauses, taking a shaky breath. “She always made her choices based on what was best. For you and for Maverick. She’s always been like that.” You can hear the pure sadness in his voice.

“No, I know I could’ve helped her. If only I came with her—”

“Cariño, you can’t think that. Maybe you could have gone with her, but if you had, the ending for you may have been the same. This was her choice and we have to respect it.”

You can feel his heart beating rapidly as he tries to imagine how it all went down. His eyes fill with tears, he wants to be strong for you and Maverick, but he can’t bear it. He needs someone to ease the pain.

“We need to stay strong,” you mumble out finally as if reading his thoughts. “For this little guy.” You kiss the baby’s salty cheek, stepping out of Angel’s grasp. You don’t want to mourn in front of Angel; he needs your support just as much as you need his.

Your words snap him out of his trance of despair. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

You let out a deep breath, focusing on the child in your arms. “What’s happening, little boy?” You sway him in your arms, walking up to his crib and placing him inside on the freshly cleaned mattress.

“I think he’s sick.” Angel explains, following your retreating figure with his gaze.

“Poor baby. Does he have a fever?” you ask, worried, gently pressing your palm against his forehead. It’s a little warmer than it should be, but nothing to be concerned about.

You look over your shoulder at Angel, noticing the bag of medicine that he brought inside when he came home. You walk over and look inside the plastic at the set of different boxes. You choose one of them and open it to find out what’s it for and how to dose it.

“I— I don’t know how much to give him and which one will work. I have no fucking idea,” he says, shrugging his arms hopelessly.

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” You take out the little measuring cup from inside the box and pour the medicine, checking if it’s the correct dosage for his age and weight. “We’ll give him some of this. It should do the trick. Soothe his belly.”

The man steps closer and places his hand on your back, rubbing it up and down in a comforting way. “You know what you're doing?” he asks just to be sure, but all his concerns disappear when you respond with a low hum.

Angel observes as you walk back to the crib and help Maverick drink it. Your confidence makes him think you’ve done it a thousand times before. He wants to ask about it, but he doesn’t, choosing to wordlessly accept your help for now.

The infant lets you place the edge of the cup against his lips, grimacing at the unpleasant taste. He responds with a sob, trying to stand up, but you hold him back and gently lay him down on the mattress. You know he’s tired; he needs rest after spending the whole day awake with a hurting stomach. When he wakes up, he should be feeling a lot better.

After a few minutes of caressing his head, the baby closes his eyes. You continue delicately running your fingers through his soft short hair, waiting until he’s fallen asleep before you step back.

Finally, the house is quiet. All you can hear is the gentle sounds of the outside world, the birds, the wind, and the occasional cars going by.

You rinse the cup and put it back inside the box, sighing. “Are you gonna be alright?” you ask Angel, looking at him expectantly.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, meeting your eyes. “Maverick needs me. And I need him.”

He moves closer until his forehead touches yours. You can feel his racing heart and the shakiness of his breath. He reaches out, rubbing over the spot on your cheek where the tears had stained it. His thumb draws a line down your face, wiping away the salty streaks.

“Angel, you need to grieve,” you tell him as you notice his eyes wandering toward your lips. You push him away gently. “But not this way.”

He stops in his tracks. You can see the hurt on his face. That’s the thing you’ve feared, hurting him. The last thing you want is to cause him any more pain than he already feels, but you know it’s for the better. You’d both be filled with regret come tomorrow morning. Pushing him away was the right thing to do.

“I’m sorry... I’m just—” he catches himself before finishing. He leans his back against the counter near you, sighing. For a moment, Angel doesn’t say anything, lost in thought.

“You’re right. I need to grieve,” he finally agrees with your words. “But I’m so fucking scared.”

“I can stay here if you need me to. But I’m not going to…” you trail off, but he already knows what you mean. “I can’t. We can’t do this.”

Angel takes a deep breath. It’s as if the words you’ve just spoken make him realize just what he’s been thinking about. The thing he thinks will make it all better.

“No... you’re right,” he says. “It wouldn’t be fair.” The man takes a step closer, kneeling down in front of you, taking your hands in his. He hears your breath hitch in your throat as he rubs over your knuckles gently, looking at your hands. The ones that have grasped his shirt tightly as you mourned the loss of your dearest friend—the woman he loved so much.

You lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, staying there for a minute, unmoving, before you pull away. “You should get some sleep.”

“Can I hold you for a minute?” he asks softly, but his voice is begging. You’ve already said no to his advances tonight, but he knows that’s all it’ll be. Just one hug—a comforting touch of another human being.

“I just want to hold you,” he whispers.

You think about it for a moment before you nod in agreement. You have no heart to refuse him that. You pull Angel up to his feet and walk him to the bed. The bed he once shared with Luisa. The thought of it makes your heart break even more, but you don’t let it show.

“Hop in then.”

Angel smiles at you slightly, his eyes full of sadness, but his face lightens by your compassion. He climbs into bed, wrapping his arms around you as you lay down beside him.

“Thank you.” You feel his warmth, heat radiating off his body as he holds you tight. “For being here.”

“Whatever you need, Angel. We’ll figure it out,” you reassure him and yourself, meeting his gaze.

You feel his arms pull you closer, so close that your heads are resting next to each other on the pillow. You can hear his breath slow down as he closes his eyes, trying to find the sleep he so desperately needs.

“I know…” he murmurs against your cheek.

#angel reyes x reader #Mayans MC #mayans m.c.#mayans mc x reader #angel reyes imagines #angel reyes fic #angel reyes x female reader #the comfort she brings #mayans x reader #mayans m.c. x reader #x reader #angel reyes x you

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