#mayans mc series

[ficnation]

Chapter 4: The Love She Holds

Series: “She” Word count: 2,7k+ Pairing: Angel Reyes x Female! Reader Warnings: 18+; mayans mc typical warnings, unwanted touch, SMUT kinda A/n: What we're all been waiting for ✨ PS. If I reread this one more time before posting I'll probably scrape it all bcs I'm never satisfied 😩 If you enjoyed reading this please reblog and let me know your thoughts!

Main Masterlist

Mayans MC Masterlist

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For the next few days, Angel can’t look you in the eyes—hell, he can’t even bring himself to leave his room when he hears you shuffling around the apartment. He waits for the sound of the lock shifting in the door before he can bring himself to stick his head out of his safe haven. 

Angel knows he’s the one that fucked up this whole thing with you. He was lonely, and you were in his life for such a long ass time. You’ve never let him down—not even once. You are the sweetest person he’s ever met, yet you can still kick his ass when he’s being a dick. Falling in love with you was inevitable, but he didn’t know it would happen so fast—so soon. 

The man sighs as he leans his elbows on the wooden counter, listening to the wheezing of the coffee machine as hot black liquid spurts into the mug. The sound was tickling his nerves in a certain—very annoying—way. It didn’t make him even slightly angry before the bath incident, but now he just can’t stand it—it makes his head hurt. 

He slams his fist onto the counter, cursing loudly. The coffee spills over the edge of the mug and barely misses his hand. 

“I should fuckin’ do something,” he murmurs to himself through clenched teeth. Since when was he afraid to go after a woman he loves? He’s never been a goddamn pussy. What changed?

You are just so different than anyone Angel’s ever been with. He doesn’t want to lose you—can’t fucking stand the thought of you walking away. He has to do something. 

He drops Maverick off at Felipe’s house—gives them some abuelo-nieto time while he drives over to the bar where you work. It’s a shithole—a very suspicious one at that—yet the parking lot in front is almost full. The neon sign above the door flashes on and off when Angel slams the door of his car shut. Jesus, it’s gonna give someone a headache or a fucking seizure.

Entering this building was probably one of the worst mistakes in life—the man thinks as he’s greeted by a couple almost going at it by the entrance. The skinny blond dude has his hand down the poor girl’s skimpy skirt as she moans loudly in his ear, hips rolling into his palm. Fucking disgusting. 

He was doing the same exact shit back in the day when he was dumb, reckless, and didn’t care about anyone other than himself. But now the view makes him almost gag. 

The brunet pushes past the lovebirds—or rather fuckbirds—through the narrow hallway to the main area. The dimmed red lights flashing above his head and the music that makes every wall pulse with the beat make it seem like more of a club rather than a bar. He’s surprised when he takes a few more steps and a woman dressed in booty shorts with her whole tits out passes by him with a tray full of colorful shots. What the fuck is this place?

Angel looks around wildly, searching the topless women’s faces in fear he’ll recognize one of them. He pushes past the swaying bodies in the middle of the room, and then he sees you—working behind the bar.

He’s relieved when he notices that your chest is covered by one of those bralette thingies you like to wear so much. But he’s not sure whether this relief comes from not wanting the pathetic men around the bar to stare at your perfect body or not wanting to get another surprise boner in front of you. 

“You didn’t tell me you’re a bartender now,” he yells through the loud music as your gaze finds him, your eyes widening in shock.

You serve one of the men at the bar a bottle of beer, popping the cap simultaneously, then you come back to Angel and squint at him, trying to find a clue as to why he turned up at your workplace and how he even knew where to find you. This bar was almost an hour's drive away from Santo Padre. 

“What the hell are you doing here? I do not have time to put up with your shit right now, Angel,” you sneer at him as you lean over the bar in hopes he’ll hear you better, take the hint and retreat back to his car. 

“I’m fucking sorry, alright?!” He throws his hands in the air in exasperation, almost knocking a drink out of some poor girl’s hand.

You blink once, then twice, and your eyebrows scrunch up in annoyance, “Fuck off.” You whip around and go the opposite way to serve another customer. 

That’s definitely not how Angel imagined this conversation would go. He didn’t know you were that mad at him. He was a moron to think you’d accept his apology without a peep in the middle of a sea of drunk strangers. This wasn’t a goddamn telenovela. 

The man sighs deeply in annoyance before following you to the other side of the bar. “Querida, can we talk? Give me five fucking minutes.”

At first, he’s sure you’ll just ignore him as your eyes almost pop out of your skull—that’s how hard you roll them at his words—but then you turn to him with teary eyes. “I’m at work. I can’t. You really couldn’t wait and ambush me when I’m home?” 

“It was an impulse,” he admits. Angel knew it was pretty dumb to think that if he came here, you’d drop everything, so he could explain himself and get rid of this guilt that’s been eating him alive for the past few days. “Please, querida.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” you curse under your breath before waving over the other bartender and shouting through the noise to her that you’re taking a break. 

You join Angel on the other side of the counter and tug at his kutte, leading him toward the exit. Before you can even reach the hallway, someone bumps into you, their hands grabbing at your naked waist. 

“Hey there, bonita,” the man greets you. The smell of his cologne and cigarettes makes your eyes widen—you know it very well. 

Angel stands there for a second, his left brow raised in annoyance and confusion because you seem to know this guy—and he really doesn’t like that thought. He pushes the stranger’s hands off your body with a sneer. 

“Man, don’t fucking touch her like that.”

You catch Angel’s forearm and squeeze almost painfully, your nails digging into his inked skin. You don’t turn your head toward him even for a quarter of a second. 

“The hell? We’re friends, big guy.” The man’s deep voice and graying beard confuse him even more. Since when do you fancy fucking grandpas? 

“Uh, Cesar, hi,” you greet him, your voice squeaky and the upward quirk of your lips fake. The second the stranger’s gaze falls over your grip on the brunet’s arm, you release him. “Sorry, I’ve actually just finished my shift.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.” Cesar’s eyebrows and nose scrunch threateningly. Who the fuck is this guy to be talking to you like that?

You reply without missing a beat, “My kid’s got a fever. It’s an emergency.”

The old guy looks between your face and Angel’s before the grimace falls. The smirk taking its place isn’t any less threatening. “You must be the baby daddy, huh?” he asks, but his tone is clearly mocking.

You pray in your head that Angel will hold his short temper at bay. You know, one wrong word to Cesar equals a shit ton of trouble—even the satisfaction of wiping that disgusting smirk off his face wasn’t worth it. 

“Mi niña hermosa. So fucking good at riding, she got herself a biker,” Cesar almost moans those words out as his hand finds your hip, fingers toying with the belt loop of your dress pants. You don’t move to slap his hand away.

Angel raises his fist to punch him, his teeth gritting against each other almost audibly. Before he can deliver that hit, you push him aside and usher him out of the door. You don’t say another word to that Cesar guy—not even a goodbye—as he slips a bill into your back pocket and slaps your ass.

Angel is fucking livid because you know how to take care of yourself, he saw you kill a man before, crush his skull with your goddamn boot, and yet you just take the disrespect in silence. It’s not like you.

Once you’re out the door and out of earshot, he explodes. “Why the fuck did you let him treat you like that?!” His voice reverberates through the night air, earning the two of you a few concerned and annoyed glances from the bystanders. 

“That’s my boss. Now shut up and take me home,” you mumble, exhausted, looking around the parking lot in search of Angel’s car. “I spent an hour in the car with that dick to even get here, and now I’m going back after not even half of my shift just because you couldn’t wait to talk,” you rant, almost stumbling over your words.

When you reach the car, and he opens the door at the passenger side like always, he’s surprised to catch a glimpse of tears running down your cheeks. He joins you inside with a sigh, concerned eyes finding your head turned away from him as you stare through the side window. 

“Cariño, I’m sorry,” Angel whispers, his hand reaching to push a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

You sniffle, wiping your cheeks with your bare arm. “Every single time I feel like we’re closer than ever and that maybe you feel something toward me too, you fucking push me away.”

“I know, I’m—”

You cut him off before he has a chance to apologize again, “No, I’m speaking right now. You’ve never yelled at me before. Not like that. You scared the shit out of me, and I blamed myself. Wondered what the hell I did to deserve it. But I didn’t do shit.” You throw your arms in the air, gesticulating toward him. You still refuse to meet his eyes. “You fucked up. Not me. You’re the one that’s been playing with my feelings all this time, and god forbid I try to even out the stakes.”

Angel’s now the one tearing up as his eyes widen at your words. “Querida, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t fucking mean it.” His fingers find solace in tugging on his hair in frustration.  “And I never wanted you to feel like I’m playing with your feelings. I’m so sorry.”

You turn away from him again, biting your lip to keep the sobs inside. “Please, just drive me home, Angel.” The desperation in your voice is heartbreaking. 

So he does what you ask of him and drives you home in silence. He doesn’t have it in him to try again when you’re already struggling, trying to keep the whimpers from wrecking your body. And when you pull up in front of your apartment building with a heavy heart, he lets you jump out of the car and rush to the door. 

He stays in his seat, trying to recollect himself—it doesn’t help, he still hates himself for making you feel this way. It takes a while for him to get inside the apartment, he dreads that when he walks in, you’ll tell him to take his shit and get out of your life. 

Angel knows he fucked up, and you were right; he played with your feelings—played with his own too. He slept in your bed almost every night, cuddled with you, kissed your forehead and told you ‘goodnight’ and ‘good morning’. How was it any different from how he’d treat Nails, Luisa, or any other woman he loved? Minus the sex. And when you challenged that unspoken boundary—on purpose or not—he chickened out and treated you like a plague. What the hell was wrong with him?

The apartment is swallowed in darkness when he enters it. You’re nowhere to be seen, and he figures out you’ve probably shut yourself inside your room, maybe even locked the door, so he wouldn’t be able to come in. He wouldn’t blame you.

He sits on the couch in the gloom and stares into the void. He’ll wait for you to come to him once you’re ready—he’ll sit here for hours if he has to. Angel needs to fix this, tell you what’s really been on his mind the past couple of days—tell you how much you mean to him, how much he loves you, and how fucking terrifying it is. 

Three hours pass, and he’s almost dozed off on the couch, his head tilted forward, his back slumped, and his eyelids drooping with every second. The wooden floor creaks underneath your footsteps, waking him up completely. The sleepiness evaporates into thin air as he straightens up and finds your frame in the darkness. 

You switch on one of the lamps in the corner of the room. Its warm glow takes over its surroundings, but not overwhelmingly so. Angel squints a little as your frame drops onto the couch beside him. You sniffle softly before leaning your head on his shoulder.

His heart shatters just a little bit more, and his voice carries it, breaking in the middle of the sentence, “I’m sorry, cariño.”

You don’t acknowledge his apology—you don’t really need to. Your next words are all the forgiveness he could ever want. 

“I love you, Angel,” you mumble against his arm. It’s a quiet confession, yet it echoes in his mind like a mantra.

He feels your tears soaking into the sleeve of his shirt. The man blinks in shock once, or twice, then pulls you into his lap and presses a gentle kiss against your forehead. 

“You know I love you too, right? More than any woman I’ve ever loved,” he admits, and it pains him, but it’s the truth.

He loved Luisa and Stephanie, but those feelings pale in comparison to what he feels for you. Angel never experienced this overwhelming want to protect someone from the whole goddamn world—the pure need to spend every single minute of his life with them and care about them more than he’s ever cared about himself. He feels that for you—like he could throw himself into a burning fire if someone promised him his sacrifice would give you and Maverick safety for the rest of your lives. 

You straighten up in his arms and cradle his jaw in your palms. When your eyes meet, you see that burning fire in them. He doesn’t need to say anything else—you understand him without words. 

Your lips press against his tentatively at first, tasting the love and longing. But Angel has a different idea. He pulls you flush against his chest, hands tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss. His tongue grazes the plush of your lips, and you part them for him without a second thought. 

That night, he fucks you on the couch in the middle of your living room, your back pressed against the cushions as he slides inside you with a guttural groan. It’s sweet and needy. The desire you harbored for each other finally released into the world—he’s far past feeling guilty, and sorry for a woman that’s long gone.

Your moans reverberate through the room, and all he can think about is how perfectly he fits inside you—like you were made just for him. One look into your eyes, and he knows you’re thinking the same thing. 

Your nails bite into the bare skin of his back, and the pain is so lovely—he could get drunk on it. He pushes deeper and deeper until you’re a whimpering, clenching mess beneath him. It’s a picture that burns into his brain, he’ll never be able to get it out—not that he’ll ever want to. 

When he spills inside you with a groan, you pull him flush against your naked frame, cradling his face in your palms and leaving sweet pecks anywhere you can reach. 

He’s addicted already, he’ll never be able to give you away now—not a chance in the world. Angel’s love for you is burned into his heart permanently. 

Taglist: @neverland14353 @darklydeliciousdesires @spnaquakindgdom @dreamy-caramel @mars469

#“she” #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes fic #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes #angel reyes series #angel reyes smut #mayans m.c. x reader #mayans x reader #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans MC series #mayans mc smut

[purestxblood]

𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 —— 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

"𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗴𝗼 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗱𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻."

                                                                 |   𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘺

𝘼𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 𝙍𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙭 𝙛!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 .

"𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔," you whispered, “fuck, I wanted you to tell me it was going to be okay, that we— we were going to get through this.” Angel was silent, his irises swirling in defeat. “And maybe we did, I guess,” you ran a hand through your hair, “just not in the way we — I — deserved but we... we’re long past fixing.”

"𝐋𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐒," he shook his head, “we’re not fucking done fixing this.”

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝘃𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗯𝘆 𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗱𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗼𝗻𝗲-𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘁.

☁️ 𝗙𝗟𝗨𝗙𝗙. 💌: 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟 𝗙𝗔𝗩𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗘. 🌑: 𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗦. 🌶️: 𝗦𝗠𝗨𝗧.

𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗧𝗦.

𝐢.  𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗘𝗡𝗗 — 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 . 🌑 💌

You keep falling back into the pain of the past when history begins to repeat itself.

𝐢𝐢.  𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗔𝗣𝗦 — 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 . 🌑 

No matter how hard Angel tries to avoid the inevitable, history always tends to repeat itself — especially finding solace in you.

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝗜 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨, 𝗜'𝗠 𝗦𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗬 — 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 .

You finally had enough, finally taking your life into your own hands...starting fresh in a place where Angel Reyes didn’t exist. That is, only if Angel would let you. You hadn’t even made the full jump and Angel was determined with his I love you’s to keep you from going astray

𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗕𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗦.

𝐢. 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗕𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 — angel reyes .

𝗝𝗼𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘂𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀.

#angel reyes #mayans mc #mayans #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes series #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes one shot #mayans mc series #mayans mc fanfiction #angel reyes x f!reader #angel reyes x f reader

[im-just-a-mississippi-girl]

Your Biker in Worn Leather

Pairing: EZ Reyes x female!reader

Category: Angst/Comfort

Word count: 353

Summary: You call EZ to pick you up and his temper goes through the roof at the state you’re in.

Warnings: Mentions of cuts, scratches, and bruises

Part 2

Masterlist

Taglist

Gif is not mine. Credit to owner.

“Can you please come and get me?” Those words played on loop in EZ’s head, he couldn’t get the sound of your scared voice out of his head. You didn’t tell him what happened or if you were hurt, only where to pick you up from.

Ezekiel was quick to jump on his bike and speed to your location. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, mind racing a mile a second thinking about all the possible scenarios you could be in. By the time EZ finally found you on the side of the street, it was pouring rain and you had no rain coat or umbrella to shield you. As EZ took off his helmet and goggles, he noticed you were shaking and that’s when you immediately raced towards him, throwing your arms around his neck and clinging to him for dear life, not giving him the chance to get off his bike. EZ’s arms instinctively enveloped you in a tight embrace, his hand gently rubbing your back. Neither one of you cared that you were getting drenched and could possibly end up with a cold tomorrow. You needed him, his safety, his protection, and you needed him as close as possible. EZ allowed the hug to last a few more moments. “Let’s get you dry, okay?” He spoke softly, placing a kiss to the top of your head.

You nodded against his shoulder before pulling yourself out of his arms. As you did so, EZ caught sight of the state you were in, a busted lip, bruises decorating your arms, and a red cheek. EZ’s blood boiled more and more as he saw each bruise, scratch, and cut littering your body. “Who did this to you?” He blurted out, causing you to jump at his stern tone and clenched jaw. The movement didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m sorry, mi amor. I didn’t mean to scare you. Do you know who did this to you?” He apologized before asking again, this time in a calmer tone.

You knew exactly who did this, and you knew EZ would revel in setting the score.

General Taglist: @kmc1989

EZ Reyes Taglist: @zaenight

#ez reyes #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes x reader #ez reyes x you #ez reyes fanfic #ez reyes imagine #mayans mc #mayans #mayans fx #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fan fiction #mayans mc imagine #your biker in worn leather #your biker in worn leather series

[letters2fiction]

Welcome to Letters2fiction!

The concept here is to send in a question or a letter request, and you’ll get a response from your fictional character of choice, from the list below. Please stick to the list I’ve made, but of course, you can ask if there’s some other characters I write for, I don’t always remember all the shows, movies or books I’ve consumed over the years and I’m sure I’m missing a lot 😅

Status: New Characters added - Thursday March 21st, 2024

TV SERIES

A Discovery of Witches:

Matthew Clairmont

Baldwin Montclair

Gallowglass de Clermont

Marcus Whitmore

Philippe de Clermont

Jack Blackfriars

Sarah Bishop

Emily Mather

Diana Bishop

Ysabeau de Clermont

Miriam Shepard

Phoebe Taylor

Gerbert D’Aurillac

Peter Knox

Father Andrew Hubbard

Benjamin Fuchs

Satu Järvinen

Meridiana

Law and Order:

Rafael Barba

Sonny Carisi

Joe Velasco

Mike Duarte

Terry Bruno

Peter Stone

Hasim Khaldun

Nick Amaro NEW!

Mike Dodds

Grace Muncy

Kat Tamin

Toni Churlish

Amanda Rollins

Olivia Benson

Rita Calhoun

Casey Novak

Melinda Warner

George Huang

Sam Maroun

Nolan Price

Jamie Whelan

Bobby Reyes

Jet Slootmaekers

Ayanna Bell

Jack McCoy

Elliot Stabler

One Chicago:

Jay Halstead (Could also be Will if you want)

Antonio Dawson

Adam Ruzek

Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz

Dante Torres

Vanessa Rojas

Kevin Atwater

Sean Roman

Matt Casey

Kelly Severide

Joe Cruz

Sylvie Brett

Blake Gallo

Christopher Hermann

"Mouch"

Otis

Violet Mikami

Evan Hawkins

Mayans MC:

Angel Reyes

Miguel

Bishop

Coco

Nestor

911 verse:

Athena Grant

Bobby Nash

Henrietta "Hen" Wilson

Evan "Buck" Buckley

Eddie Diaz

Howie "Chimney" Han

Ravi Panikkar

T.K. Strand

Owen Strand

Carlos Reyes

Marjan Marwani

Paul Strickland

Tommy Vega

Judson "Judd" Ryder

Grace Ryder

Nancy Gillian

Mateo Chavez

The Rookie:

Lucy Chen

Tim Bradford

Celina Juarez

Aaron Thorsen

Nyla Harper

Angela Lopez

Wesley Evers

BBC Sherlock:

Greg Lestrade

Mycroft Holmes

Sherlock Holmes

Moriarty

Molly

Bridgerton:

Anthony Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

Simon Basset

Daphne Bridgerton

Eloise Bridgerton

Kate Sharma

Edwina Sharma

Marina Thompson/Crane

Outlander:

Jamie Fraser

Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser

Frank Randall

Black Jack Randall

Brianna Fraser

Roger MacKenzie

Fergus Fraser

Marsali Fraser

Jenny Fraser Murray

Ian Murray Sr.

Ian Fraser Murray

Murtagh Mackenzie

Call The Midwife:

Shelagh Turner / Sister Bernadette

Dr. Patrick Turner

Nurse Trixie Franklin

Nurse Phyllis Crane

Lucille Anderson

Nurse Barbara Gilbert

Chummy

Sister Hilda

Miss Higgins

PC Peter Noakes

Reverend Tom Hereward NEW!

Narcos:

Horacio Carrillo

Peaky Blinders:

Tommy Shelby

Downton Abbey:

Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham

Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham

Lady Mary Crawley

Lady Edith Crawley

Lady Sybil Crawley

Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham

Isobel Crawley

Matthew Crawley

Lady Rose MacClare

Lady Rosamund Painswick

Henry Talbot

Tom Branson

Mr. Charles Carson

Mrs. Hughes / Elsie May Carson

John Bates

Anna Bates

Daisy Mason

Thomas Barrow

Joseph Molesley

Land Girl:

Connie Carter

Reverend Henry Jameson (Gwilym Lee's version)

Midsomer Murder:

DCI Tom Barnaby

Joyce Barnaby

Dr. George Bullard

DCI John Barnaby

Sarah Barnaby

DS Ben Jones

DS Jamie Winter

Sgt. Gavin Troy

Fleur Perkins

WPC Gail Stephens

Kate Wilding

DS Charlie Nelson

Sergeant Dan Scott

NEW! Once Upon A Time

Regina / The Evil Queen

Mary Margaret Blanchard / Snow White

David Nolan / Prince Charming

Emma Swan

Killian Jones / Captain Hook

Mr. Gold / Rumplestiltskin

Neal Cassidy / Baelfire

Peter Pan

Sheriff Graham Humbert / The Huntsman

Jefferson / The Mad Hatter

Belle

Robin of Locksley / Robin Hood

Will Scarlet

Zelena / Wicked Witch

Alice (Once in Wonderland)

Cyrus (Once in Wonderland)

Jafar (Once in Wonderland)

Gideon

Tiger Lily

Naveen

Tiana

Granny

Ariel

Prince Eric

Aladdin

Jasmine

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Hercules

Megara

Tinker Bell

Merida

Red Riding Hood

Mulan

Aurora / Sleeping Beauty

Prince Phillip

Cinderella

Prince Thomas

NEW! The Vampire Diaries / The Originals

Stefan Salvatore

Damon Salvatore

Caroline Forbes

Elena Gilbert

Bonnie Bennett

Enzo St. John

Niklaus Mikaelson

Elijah Mikaelson

Kol Mikaelson

Rebekah Mikaelson

Freya Mikaelson

Finn Mikaelson

Mikael

Esther

Marcel Gerard

Davina Claire

MOVIES

The Pirates of the Caribbean:

Captain Jack Sparrow

Barbossa

Will Turner

Elizabeth Swann

James Norrington

Kingsman:

Merlin

Harry Hart

Eggsy Unwin

James Spencer / Lancelot

Alastair / Percival

Roxy Morton / Lancelot

Maximillian Morton / The Shepherd

Orlando Oxford

Jack Daniels / Whiskey

Gin

BOOKS

Dreamland Billionaire series - Lauren Asher:

Declan

Callahan

Rowan

Iris

Alana

Zahra

Dirty Air series - Lauren Asher:

Noah

Liam

Jax

Santiago

Maya

Sophie

Elena

Chloe

Ladies in Stem - Ali Hazelwood books:

Olive

Adam

Bee

Levi

Elsie

Jack

Mara

Liam

Sadie

Erik

Hannah

Ian

Fourth Wing - Rebecca Yarros:

Xaden Riorson

Dain Aetos

Jack Barlowe

Rhiannan Matthias

Violet Sorrengail

Mira Sorrengail

Lillith Sorrengail

Bodhi Durran

Liam Mairi

#a discovery of witches #law and order svu #law and order #law and order oc #chicago pd #chicago fire #mayans mc #911 abc #911 lone star #the rookie #bbc sherlock #sherlock #bridgerton #outlander #call the midwife #narcos #downton abbey #peaky blinders #land girls #midsomer murders #once upon a time #the vampire diaries #the originals #the pirates of the caribbean #kingsman #dreamland billionaires #dirty air series #love hypothesis #love theoretically #loathe to love you

[drabbles-mc]

Disaster Dates: Game Day

Gilly Lopez x F!Reader

Disaster Dates Masterlist

Prompt from This Post: Person A and Person B go to a sporting event together, but the team they’re both rooting for loses brutally.

Warnings: 18+, language, alcohol

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I'm having, what the kids would call, a Gilly Moment. I'm not upset about it. I started this one-shot literally months ago and got inspired on my way home tonight to finally finish it, so here we are!! As always it hasn't been proofread or beta'd but it is filled with love so what more could you want? 😂

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

“Stop flinching,” you said with a laugh as you gently cupped his chin in your hand to try and keep his head still.

“I can’t!” He laughed, his face scrunching up as you brought the brush back to his face again, dragging it just light enough for it to be ticklish against his skin.

“You’re telling me that you sat still for how many hours to get those tattoos, but you can’t keep it together for two minutes for a little bit of face paint?”

He tried to shake his head but your fingers on his jaw stopped him from being able to. “If tattoos tickled this much I wouldn’t have so many of them.”

You let out a hum that turned into a laugh. You gave him a couple seconds to get it together before you went back to putting the paint on his face. The whole idea of it had taken a little convincing, but eventually he caved, the same way that he always did with you. He knew that he was never going to hear the end of it from the guys. But the excited look on your face as you sat on the edge of the sink counter in your bathroom, your legs looped loosely around his thighs to keep him pulled close to you so you could easily paint his face, made it so he didn’t care.

You weren’t even dressed for the day yet, your hair still damp from the shower, dressed only in an oversized shirt and your underwear. Gilly, on the other hand, was basically ready to go. Aside from the finishing touches of your face paint, all he had to do was put his sneakers on and he could walk out the door and head to the stadium. Which was something he had been periodically reminding you of all morning as you tried to wear him down about the paint in the first place.

“There!” you said with a laugh as you unfurled your legs from around him. “All done. You’re free.”

He laughed as he leaned to the side so he could look around you and get a better look at himself in the mirror. It really wasn’t as bad or as wild as he’d been envisioning. You didn’t paint his entire face or draw some ridiculous picture on his cheek. He was still going to catch flack for it, but he wasn’t going to wash it off now.

“At least your team has good face painting colors.” You smiled as you looked at him, resting your hand on the smooth jersey fabric that covered his chest.

“You finally gonna get ready now?” He chuckled as he placed a kiss in the center of your forehead.

“Mhm,” you hummed as you slid down off the counter, pinning yourself between that and his body. “From one masterpiece,” you tapped his cheek just below the paint you’d put there, “to the next.” You laughed as you gestured to your own face.

He rolled his eyes but he could only keep his falsely annoyed expression for about two seconds before he smiled and laughed again. He leaned in and kissed you on the lips, pressing you back a little harder against the counter as he did. You rested your hand on the side of his neck as you kissed him, feeling like you were about to melt right into him. You were about to curl the fingers of your other hand into his jersey when he pulled away from you, a smug grin on his face as he pecked you on the lips.

“Better get painting, then.” You could hear his laughter as he made his way out of the bathroom and through the bedroom.

You tilted your chin up as your let your hands brace you steadily against the counter. You exhaled slowly through your mouth, your sigh turning more into a laugh as you got the fluttering in your chest to slow down enough so that you could get ready.

For a little while, the only noise in the house was the music playing from the speaker on your phone. You pulled your outfit together before moving onto your hair and makeup, and your own face paint. You had been expecting Gilly to keep checking in on you, popping up behind you in the mirror with a smart comment. But, surprisingly enough, he only heckled you from the other side of the house.

He had been doing his best to be patient, but eventually he was convinced that you must’ve stopped getting ready. Getting up off the couch, he started to make his way back towards your room. He was just about to stride through the door when you came out from the other side, stopping him in his tracks.

You laughed, leaning against his chest. “You were coming to make sure I didn’t get distracted, weren’t you?”

Even though he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing him that well, he cracked a smile. “Can’t blame me for that.”

“Maybe not.” Stepping back, you held your arms out. “I am ready, though!”

His grin grew a little wider. “Lookin’ good.”

“We always are.” You flipped off the light in the bedroom and stepped past him. “Now come on—we gotta get going!”

He had a few sarcastic remarks resting on the tip of this tongue but he stopped himself. He could at least save the ribbing for when you were around the rest of the guys. Surely they would all have plenty to say when you both showed up to tailgate looking the way you did. He was ready for it, and you’d been around the guys enough for him to know that you were ready for it too. One thing was for sure—you never let anyone get in the way of your fun.

When Gilly opened the driver’s door to his truck, he saw you already camped out in the passenger seat, sneakers perched up on the dash while you hooked your phone up to his radio. He chuckled and shook his head, not commenting about you volunteering to play DJ despite the fact that the two of you had wildly different tastes in music.

Just like Gilly thought, the guys had their fair share of fun when the two of you showed up to tailgate. It didn’t last as long as he had thought it was going to, but the guys certainly got their commentary in rapid-fire. The only person who didn’t roast the two of you too much was EZ, and that was only because Gaby had talked him into wearing matching jerseys so he didn’t have much to talk anyway.

“Holy shit,” you said with a laugh as the whole crew of you made your way to your seats. “This is insane!”

“You never been to a football game before?” Angel asked, his sarcasm telling you that he really didn’t know the answer to the question.

“Not like this,” you told him honestly, shaking your head as you found the right seat number for yourself. “I went to a couple college games and stuff back home but this?” You gestured broadly to the field and the seemingly endless rows of seats around you. “This is unreal.”

“Shit,” Angel shook his head, “tell Gilly he’s gotta fuckin’ take you out more or something.”

Gilly threw his hands up in exasperation. “Angel. Come on.”

You laughed, resting your hand on the outside of Gilly’s arm. “Stop. He’s kidding.” You turned and shot Angel a look. “Right?”

Angel gave you a small smirk as he nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets for a moment. “Yea, sure. Kidding.”

You laughed as Gilly gave him a good shove, seeing that it resolved the discussion as you all moved onto more pressing matters, like the game that was about to start. The excitement in the stadium was palpable, vibrating straight through to your bones. You had to admit that you hadn’t really been sure if it would live up to all the hype, but the game had barely even started and you were already having a great time.

Football had never been something you would’ve said that you loved. You didn’t dislike it. When the guys would come over to yours and Gilly’s house to watch it on Sunday’s you would always join, and you never had a bad time. But it wasn’t something you ever found yourself overly invested in. You knew the basics, you knew a bit about the teams that they were all fans of, but you never felt like you had any skin in the game.

It took about ten minutes of your first stadium game to completely change all of that.

Gilly couldn’t remember the last time he saw you so into something. There were a few points where he was fairly certain that you forgot he was there at all. He didn’t mind it, though. If anything, he thought it was funny, thought it was great. Seeing you cheering and getting along with the rest of the guys made the game almost not matter to him anymore.

Almost.

By the third quarter of the game, the amount of cheering had decreased drastically. Gilly didn’t want your first big stadium game to be a game where your team lost, but it certainly looked like it was going to shape up that way. He didn’t want to tell you that, but he also knew that you weren’t stupid—you knew that things weren’t going well for your guys.

“Fuck,” Angel said as he shook his head when your team (which was also his team for the day) called a time-out. He slapped his hands down on his legs before standing up. “I’m getting a fuckin’ beer.” He turned and looked at the rest of you. “Anyone else?”

Gilly nodded, throwing his hand up for a moment. “Me. Anything to make this less fuckin’ embarrassing,” he said, gesturing to the field to emphasize his point.

Angel was laughing and shaking his head at Gilly as you stood up, grabbing your purse as you did. “I’ll come with you—I want one too.”

“Nah, nah,” Angel waved you off, “stay here. I got it.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You sure?”

“Yea, that’s why I asked.”

You thought on it for a moment, but decided not to push it. “Okay. At least take this.” You pulled some cash out and slapped it into the palm of his hand. “You know, since they want a fucking mortgage payment for a drink here.”

Angel laughed, shaking his head as he stuffed the money into his pocket. “You’re the best, querida.” He pulled you into a side-hug, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your head. “I don’t care what Gilly says.”

Gilly rolled his eyes at Angel as you plopped back down in the seat next to him. “Now you can buy me two beers, motherfucker.”

Angel laughed as he started making his way towards the aisle. “Fine by me—drinks are on your girl.”

“Motherfucker,” Gilly mumbled under his breath as Angel walked away.

Leaning over, you couldn’t help but to laugh as you pressed a kiss to Gilly’s jaw and slipped your hand into his. “You’re just bitter because your team is losing.”

“Hey,” he looked over at you, the smirk tugging at his lips going in direct opposition to the serious tone he was trying to have, “they’re your team today too.”

You laughed, nodding. “Yea, I guess that’s true.”

By the time the game was coming to an end, the whole crew of you had gone through far too many overpriced beers, and shouted way more profanities than necessary at the men on the field who had no shot in hell at hearing you. The same energy at the beginning of the game that had been channeled into so much excitement, was now being funneled into something not nearly as positive and light-hearted.

You looked around your whole area of the stadium. “Holy shit,” you repeated yourself from earlier in the day.

“What?” Gilly peeled his eyes off the field and looked over at you.

“This,” you said as you shook your head, “is unreal.” You looked over at him. “We gonna be safe getting out of here?”

“Oh, yea,” he laughed as he said it. “This is nothing. Trust me. We’ll be fine.”

“Yea,” EZ chimed in from the row behind you, “Gilly just lofts guys out of the way to clear a path. We’ll be the first ones out.”

Gilly rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”

You were laughing too hard to feed into Gilly’s annoyance. “I mean, not for nothing, I’d kind of love to see that.”

“You just might.” You could hear the annoyance in his voice. “These fuckers,” he gestured to the men on the field, “are gonna be the first ones to go.”

“Pfft,” Angel scoffed, “you fuckin’ serious? These guys will make you look Bishop-sized. No way you’re gonna fuckin’ toss ‘em.”

You were laughing so hard that you were leaning into Gilly’s side for support. “That is, wow,” you could hardly get the sentence out between your laughs, “that’s such a fucking comparison oh my god.”

All of you refocused your attention on the field just in time to see the clock officially run itself down to zero. The game brought itself to a very unceremonious end for you all, however the fans of the other team were cheering loud enough for the rest of the city to hear, no doubt. You were disappointed about the loss, sure, but the excitement of your first big game in a big stadium like this was enough to balance it out for you. Gilly and the rest of the guys who did this on a more frequent basis, however, didn’t share your fondness of a silver lining.

“Know the worst part of all this?” Gilly asked as you all got ready to leave.

You looked over at him curiously. “What’s that?”

“I’m gonna owe Creep fifty bucks,” he said, shaking his head.

“You’ve gotta stop betting him, bro,” Angel said with a laugh as you all started descending the stairs to make your way out and towards the parking lot. “You never fuckin’ win.”

“I will one of these days!”

Angel looked at you. “Tell him he’s gotta stop with that shit. He’s gonna make you take a second mortgage out on the house or some shit.”

You laughed, grasping Gilly’s hand with your own and interlocking your fingers. “I think we’ll be alright.” You paused. “If football season went all year round it would be a different story.”

Gilly scoffed, playfully trying to pull his hand away from yours. “Thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

You laughed, pulling yourself closer to him as you continued walking. “I am on your side! I was cheering for the losing team for you today—doesn’t get much more on your side than that.”

“Damn,” Gilly chuckled, breaking the façade he’d been trying to put up with you, “harsh.”

“You know this means you gotta bring her to another one,” EZ said as you all reached the parking lot. “Preferably one where your team doesn’t get fucking wiped.”

“Shut the fuck up, Boy Scout,” Gilly shot back with a laugh. “You’re in the same boat as me.”

“Yes, but,” Gaby chimed in with a soft laugh, “he already got tickets for another game in a few weeks.”

Angel was practically cackling as he walked beside you. “Fuckin’ Boy Scout.”

When it came time for you to finally all split off and go in your separate directions, you all started saying goodbye and passing around hugs. There were plenty of promises to go to another game together soon, one where you could cheer for a team that would actually win. In the meantime, you promised everyone that you were more than content to keep hosting everyone on Sunday’s. At least the drinks would be cheaper that way. The goodbye process took longer than it needed to, the same way it always did, especially since you would all be seeing each other again within the week anyway. Still, though, it was nice.

You and Gilly peeled away from the rest of them, walking deeper into the rows of cars to get to his pickup truck. It was just the two of you now, your hand still firmly grasped in his as he dug his keys out of his pocket. You watched him, unable to stop the smile on your face as you did.

Both of you had been ready to spend an unreal amount of time waiting to leave the parking lot, but surprisingly it didn’t take nearly as long as you had thought it might. When the two of you were back out onto the road, you resumed your earlier position of having your feet on the dash and leaning over the center console so the outside of your arm was pressed up against Gilly’s.

“Despite the brutal loss,” you started with a laugh, “did you have a good time today?”

Gilly took his eyes off the road for a second so he could look over at you and smile. He took his hand that was on the console and rested it on your thigh. “I did, yea. Despite the brutal fuckin’ loss,” he added with a laugh. He paused for a moment before asking, “Did you have a good time?”

You burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me? That was so much fun! I get why you guys do it now. I, I get it.”

“You think we just did it because—”

“Because it’s like, your Macho Man Thing, yea,” you finished for him.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Wow. Tough crowd.”

“Not as tough as you apparently.” You saw the look on his face and laughed. “I hope for your sake more than mine that next time, your team wins.”

“It’s just a better game when they do!” he argued with a laugh.

“I know, I know,” you told him, patting his hand with your own.

“Don’t do that.” He laughed. “I’m not five.”

“Hmm,” you hummed in amusement, “you’re sort of acting like you’re five.”

“Shut up,” he said, laughing and pulling his hand away from you.

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologized, giggling as you snatched his hand back and put it back where it had been on your thigh.

He took another second to look over at you again. “I love you.”

You turned your head, your smile beaming at him from the passenger seat. “I love you too.”

Looking back at the road in front of him, he asked, “This shit gonna be hard to get off my face when we get home?”

You laughed and shook your head. “It won’t be that hard to wash off, no.”

“What’s so funny?”

“I just think that your pouting works better with the face paint, that’s all,” you said as you tried not to giggle at the ridiculousness of it all.

He rolled his eyes at you but there was no stopping the smile on his face or the amusement in his voice as he said, “Yea, this is definitely coming off as soon as we get home.”

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #gilly lopez x you #gilly lopez #gilly lopez x reader #disaster date series #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[bullet-prooflove]

Choices!Series Part 4: Slaughterhouse Rules - Nestor Octeva x Reader

Warnings: Brief mention of rape

Tagging: @annetje @anime-weeb-4-life @drabbles-mc @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @annetje @mysoulisasunflower @the-wandering-lunatic @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @est1887

Part One: First Date (NSFW) - Nester and you have an unusual first date.

Part Two: Familia - (Feat: Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus discovers your relationship.

Part Three: Fair Trade - Miguel makes a proposal.

It’s Nestor that binds your wrists.

The man you love and the man who is now going to deliver you to the slaughter, that’s how he sees it.

He stands in front of you with a thick, black zip tie in his hands. He’s done this a thousand times before and it’s never been as hard as it is right now. You’re docile, gaze lowered. You haven’t said a word since the conversation with Marcus. You are uncharacteristically compliant. He steps forward reaching for your wrist, but you shake your head.  He stops immediately, thinking you’ve changed your mind but instead you turn around putting your wrists behind your back, one resting on top of the other.

“It’s more believable this way.”

Your voice is little more than a rasp and it feels like someone is driving a knife in between his ribs. At least with the front you have a fighting chance, but this will leave you completely at your captor’s mercy.

“She’s right.” Miguel says as he descends down the stairs, his fingertips are plucking at his shirt sleeves, making sure they fall just so underneath his suit jacket. “It has to be believable.”

Nestor almost can’t bring himself to do it. He stares at the zip tie in his hands and he thinks that he’s signing your death sentence, that this is the choice that Marcus was talking about the day he confronted Nestor about your relationship. He meets the other man’s eyes over your shoulder, and Marcus inclines his head just slightly. He knows what you mean to the Alvarez family, he trusts that Marcus knows what he’s doing, that you do.

He loops the zip tie around your wrists, his thumb traces over the small tattoo of a rose and he hopes it brings you some comfort before he cinches them together tightly. He steps back and adopts his usual stance, hands clasped together in front of him.

Miguel checks his watch before jerking his head towards the door.

“It’s time.”

-----------------------------------------

The exchange takes a place inside a disused slaughterhouse, the stench of blood and fear still clings to the walls, along with the staining. In a way it almost seems fitting.

Christopher Howard stands before you, in black combats and a black t-shirt that clings to his chest. His eyes are a piercing shade of blue and it feels like he’s flaying you alive when he looks at you. He’d be handsome if it weren’t for the lack of soul, you remembered thinking that even back then, when the Major introduced him in a bar back in Kandahar. Private military contractors in Afghanistan were bad news, they did the jobs that no one in their right mind would consider humane.

Nestor’s grip on your arm tightens just a fraction, enough to bring you back to the present, to remind you he’s there. His presence is reassuring amongst the rest of Miguel’s men. You sense his unwillingness to let you go so it’s you that takes the final steps forward.

The only way through hell is to keep moving, you remind yourself.

Christopher comes for you himself; his eyes never waver from your face as he strides to the halfway point and thrusts a manilla envelop into Nestor’s hands. His fingers twitch and you know this man’s desires go far beyond killing you. You wonder if he read the autopsy reports, if he knew each individual slice as intricately as you did.

“Did they ever find your brother’s dick?” You ask him.

You don’t see the blow coming but you expect it. It’s open handed, instead of a closed fist, smashing into your face with a crack so audible it practically vibrates through the room. The force of it staggers you, almost knocking you off your feet. That sudden eruption of pain is clarifying, it awakens something inside of you, that violent savage side, the part of you that wants to fight. Christopher’s hand threads through your hair, gripping it at the roots as he pulls you upright. There’s blood on your lips, you can taste the copper on your tongue before you spit in his face.

He doesn’t flinch, he uses the pads of his fingers to wipe it from his cheek before his hand comes to rest on your throat. It’s visceral, a sense memory from another time. The present and the past, they blur together. It’s that cloying scent in your nostrils, the gasp as the air is forced out of your lungs, the black spots that dance across your vision, the feel of his body pressed against yours.

“That’s it…” he says as he dips his head low, capturing your gaze. “That’s what makes you so beautiful, it’s the fear in your eyes, it brings out something in you. I wonder if this was what my brother saw he was fucking you. I wonder how it will feel when I fuck you.”

You didn’t hear the gunshot, not over the rush of blood in your ears. Red hot liquid spatters across your face and suddenly you could breathe again. It tears from you like a choked sob, one filled with terror and anguish. You can smell the cordite in the air, hear the click of a knife behind you, feel careful hands releasing you from your restraints. Marcus’s voice was piercing the veil, his face in front of you as his hands come to rest upon your shoulders and beyond him Nestor, his gun still smoking before he returns it to his holster.

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#nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor oceteva x you #nestor mayans #choices!series #nestor #mayans fx #mayans mc #mayans

[meep-meep-richie]

‘‘ You’re not a f*ckin Mayan.’’

#nbjknnkdfngnf #this show #my new addiction #those two are absolute kingssss #mayan mc #mayans mc #marcus alvarez #bishop #obispo losa #emilio rivera #michael irby #mayans season 1 #mayans season 3 #does it ever drive you crazy #dailytvgifs #my gifs #tvgifs #tv series #tvshows #tv #gif #my gif set #gifs* #gifset #tvgifedit #tvedit #tvshowedit #tvseries #tv shows #tvgif

[the-hinky-panda]

Vanishing Act (Kevin "KJ" Jimenez Fic)

Title: Vanishing Act (Part I of II)

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Kevin "KJ" Jimenez x Fem! Reader

Summary: You've lost everything: family members, your job with the US Marshals, your life, all because of one man: Lincoln Potter. When you get word that he's put a hit out on one DEA Agent Kevin Jimenez, you decide maybe you might get an ally in your quest for revenge. You just have to keep both of you and KJ alive until you can get your revenge on Potter.

***

Kevin Jimenez was never a lucky man. 

He was intelligent, detail oriented, dedicated to his work but luck had nothing to do with it. It certainly had nothing to do with the current state of his life, that was for certain. Two years of borderline obsession with the Galindo cartel that resulted in divorce papers from his wife, custody arguments about the kids, and for what? If luck had played a part in his life at all, then at least he would still have his job after all that. 

But Kevin Jimenez was never a lucky man.  

That is, until today. 

He has no idea how he managed to stand in the middle of his living room, bullets ricocheting off the walls, pictures, and decorations, and not so much as get nicked. 

Larry Bowen, on the other hand, is not so lucky. 

KJ is still standing in the middle of the room, no place to go for cover. Bowen is dead, two gunshots to his chest. EZ Reyes is to his right, Angel Reyes directly in front of him, and a third figure, a woman, dressed in black to his left. All three have guns pointed at each other. All he can do is hope his luck holds while the three armed assailants work this macabre interaction to its conclusion. 

“Put the fucking guns down!” the woman shouts. 

“You put your fucking gun down!” Angel yells back. 

EZ takes a shot at her, clipping her shoulder and she returns the favor, plaster from the wall next to his face exploding with the impact of her bullet. Angel raises his gun in KJ’s direction but the woman fires again, this time hitting Angel’s gun and knocking it from his hand. 

“Fuck!” Angel shakes his hand from the shock of his weapon being hit. “Who the fuck are you?” 

Your eyes are zeroed in now on EZ, who’s crouched low by the wall in the kitchen. Slowly, he takes his finger off the trigger of his gun and holds it up. You do the same and every one takes a breath. The three of you don’t move any closer to each other but you all do holster your pieces. Now that the immediate danger is over, the adrenaline surge that KJ felt with the instinct of fight or flight and he could do neither finally explodes. 

“What the actual fuck is happening?!” 

Both EZ and Angel are suspiciously quiet. It’s you, to everyone’s surprise, that answers. 

“Potter put a hit on you.” You motion to the two brothers. “My guess would be he hired these two bargain basement thugs to do it.” 

Angel shakes his head. “‘Bargain basement?’” 

EZ’s jaw ticks. “I was more offended by thugs.” 

KJ feels the sharpness of the betrayal of the hitmen being family in his chest. 

“Either way,” you continue, “Potter wants you dead for some reason, which means it’s in my best interest to keep you alive.” 

KJ swallows. “You want Galindo? The Cartel?” 

“I want Potter.” 

It doesn’t surprise him that the odd ADA has made enemies along the way in his career. There’s a story behind the venom you use when you say Potter’s name. This isn’t about saving him at all. It’s about using him as leverage. And as much as that would have infuriated him in the past, staring down the barrels of three guns and a dead boss have altered his perception somewhat. 

“Look,” EZ says, “whatever deal you have with Potter-” 

You hold up a hand. “Let me stop you there. Because I can tell you all about the deals that Potter makes. I guarantee that one or both of you are looking at a lifetime sentence in jail which will magically go away if you put a bullet in this man’s head. And if you don’t, you’re going to suffer, your family is going to suffer, and no one is going to have a happily ever after.” 

“What are you proposing?” Angel asks. 

You take out a set of car keys and toss them at Angel. “I have a car sitting three blocks over at the back of a dead end street. It’s set up with a pipe bomb underneath it with a remote control, the garage door opener clipped to the visor. There’s already a body in the front seat, same height and weight as your target. And I’ve already planted his ID and some other belongings in the car.” 

Angel looks at the keys. “Why didn’t you just blow it before you came here?” 

You raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to need to add a couple more bodies to the car before I blew it.” Your eyes land on Bowen. “Glad I waited. If you’re worried about an investigation from the coroner blowing the cover, don’t. I’ve already paid him off to say it was Agent Jimenez.” 

“You’re CIA.” The realization leaves his mouth before KJ can stop it. Your efficiency, your thoroughness, your resources all point to Black Ops level type shit. But you’re here by yourself, that much is obvious. If you had a partner, they would have been involved in the firefight. They would help with the body. You’re rogue. 

“Something like that.” You state it with finality before turning to Angel and EZ. “Potter’s going to show up here to look over your handiwork in about twenty minutes. I suggest you get this poor son of a bitch out to the car and blow it before he arrives. Whatever deal you all had will still be honored.” 

EZ looks over KJ. “And what about him?” 

“You’re going to forget all about him. He’s my problem now.” 

***

Apparently, two hours into the drive up the coast, KJ realizes he’s not the only problem you have. That “clip” of the bullet from back at the house is still bleeding. He’s been watching the red stain grow, soaking the fabric of your black shirt and even spread to the upholstery of the driver’s seat of the Jeep Cherokee that may or may not be yours. If that wasn’t concerning enough, the thin sheen of sweat and pale coloring of your skin definitely is. 

“You should let me drive.” 

You scoff. “You don’t even know where we’re going.” 

“I would if you tell me.” 

“Not going to happen.” 

He sits back in the passenger seat. “Of course not. You’re just going to pass out from blood loss in another hour and run us off the road. So glad I survived the hit to die in a fiery crash somewhere near San fucking Bernardino.” 

“Are you done?” You shift in the driver’s seat trying to position your injured arm on the center console so it has some support. “Thought you would be a bit more appreciative of me saving your ass back there.” 

“Only to kill us both out here.” 

“Fine.” You jerk the steering wheel and pull the car over to the shoulder of the highway and slam it into park. “You want to drive, have at it.” 

You climb out of the driver’s seat, cradling your injured arm against your chest as you stalk your way around the car and stop at the passenger side. Before you can change your mind, he climbs across the console and slides into the driver’s seat. He sits back and feels your blood start to soak into his shirt but there’s no way for him to stop that from happening. He supposes this is the price he has to pay to survive the car ride. You clamber into his vacated passenger seat with an angry, yet tired, huff. 

“So?” 

You roll your eyes. “So, what?” 

“Where are we going?” 

“North.” 

“How far-” 

“North,” you repeat before leaning your head back and closing your eyes. 

North it is. He pulls back on the road and drives for the next two hours in silence. Whenever there was a cross road or interchange, he took whatever direction that was north. The gas light turns on somewhere around Bakersfield and he pulls off the highway to a gas station right by the exit. He pays for the gas, pumps it, uses the restroom and you still haven’t moved from your slumped over position in the passenger seat. When he returns to the driver’s seat, he pokes your leg, gives your elbow a slight shake and you come to, mostly. 

“Where…”

“Bakersfield,” he answers. 

You look around the gas station that he has yet to pull away from. It’s the middle of the night, hard to see any details past the bright service lights of the station. Your tired eyes squint, trying to see into the darkness, trying to see whatever threat may be lurking out there. “We have to keep going.” 

“Why?” 

“Away,” you slump back against the seat. You’re weak from the blood loss, and still very pale. Your eyes are having difficulty focusing. “From Potter.” 

“I thought you wanted to take him down.” 

“Take him down, we need to go up.” You laugh weakly at the statement. 

You’re not making much sense and with his life completely topsy turvy at the moment, KJ needs you and all your faculties. He reaches over and lays his hand on your forehead, like he used to do for his kids. You swat it away haphazardly but thankfully you don’t feel feverish. “Alright, we’re stopping for the night.” 

“No!” You sound like a petulant child. 

“Yes,” he states firmly. “You need medical attention and rest.”

“No hospitals.” 

On that, he had to agree with you. “No hospitals. You have a first aid kit in here?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cheap hotel it is then.” 

Your head falls against the glass of the passenger side door with a thunk. “Sure know how to show a girl a nice time, Agent Jimenez.” 

He pulls back out on the highway, wanting to get past Bakersfield proper, and find something out of the way on the outskirts. “Guess I’m not an agent anymore.” 

“Guess not.” 

He presses his lips together, grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. He supposes he’s not a lot of things anymore: agent, husband, father. All those things are in the past, dead and blown up on some dead end street in his neighborhood. There’s only one thing that he still has, that’s still his. “You can call me KJ.” 

He waits for you to give him your name but you’ve already passed out again. 

***

You’re quite pretty. The early morning light paints your skin in a soft, hazy glow. Your hair is still mostly pulled back into a ponytail but strands have escaped and curled around your face. But KJ is certain the most attractive aspect at the moment is that you’re still asleep in the front seat of the car. You’re quiet, not angry, snapping at him with sharp sarcasm with a nihilistic edge.  

You’re at peace and you’re lovely. 

He sighs as he opens the passenger side door and rests his hand on your shoulder. Your brow furrows in your sleep but you keep sleeping so he squeezes your shoulder until your eyes flutter open. Immediately you’re on alert, sitting up straight and trying to take in your surroundings. 

“Where-” 

“North end of Bakersfield somewhere. Come on, I got a room for a couple hours so we could get that gunshot wound under control. Get some rest.” 

“I’m fine. Bleeding’s stopped by now.” 

“Yeah, well, it still needs to be bandaged.” 

“We need to keep moving. We need to keep going north.” 

He’s tired, bone tired, weary of dealing with one clusterfuck after another. He needs a break, a block of time to reassess the situation and come up with a plan. “Well, I need a fucking moment to breath. You said you need me because Potter wanted me dead. If that’s true, you’re going to fucking follow me into the hotel room. Let me patch up that wound and get some real sleep before moving forward.” 

“Look, I know the DEA-” 

“You don’t know shit!” he snaps. “You don’t know shit about me, about what I’ve had to fucking sacrifice for this fucking case! You probably don’t even know that those two ‘thugs’ that showed up to kill me were family.” He feels tears stinging his eyes. “Mi familia. Mi sangre.” 

You don’t back down, but you do soften a bit. When you do speak, there’s no harshness to your tone. “You’re right. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.” 

It’s a hollow victory but he’ll take it at the moment. He goes to the back of the Jeep and takes out the two duffle bags, slinging his bag over his shoulder and carrying yours. When he comes back to the passenger side, you’re standing next to the car but have a death grip on the door. He can see your muscles shaking from the effort to keep you upright. He slips his free arm around your torso and is surprised that you don’t protest. Perhaps you know just how bad a shape you’re in at the moment. 

You lean on him for the short walk across the parking lot and then follow him into the room under your own power. It only lasts until you make it to the small wooden chair. The hotel room is basic, bare bones, but it looks relatively clean. He still pulls the comforter off the bed before putting the bags down on it. 

“Where’s the first aid kit?” 

“It’s in my bag, towards the top.” 

He unzips the worn, leather bag and finds a smaller bag, equally as worn, sitting on top of clothes. He carries it into the bathroom and opens it up. There’s a good sized bottle of rubbing alcohol and he uses that to sterilize the counter and sink. He sees you in the mirror, leaning on the doorframe and unbuttoning your shirt. Well, trying to at least, as your hands are shaking from the injury and its side effects. 

He steps over to you and immediately starts undoing the buttons himself, concentrating on the task and the reasoning behind it. The sooner he can patch you up, the sooner he can sleep. He expects you to swat him away, determined to do this intimate act yourself, but you don’t. You just lean back and let him do it, helping only when he starts to peel the semi dried fabric from your injured arm. He also expected your fire to come back, that ice cold determination to see your mission through but it hasn’t. You’re still leaning against the door jam, right shoulder and arm bloodied, clad in your jeans and simple black sports bra. 

You look tired, weak…soft. 

He turns and reaches for a clean washcloth, soaking it in the alcohol, before starting to clean the blood from your arm. “So you’re not CIA.” 

You hiss and jerk your arm when the alcohol runs into the wound but still your movements. “What makes you think that?” 

What makes him think that? He certainly can’t say the truth, that you lack the hard dissociative edge that he’s seen before in CIA agents. You’re staring at him through the haze of pain but you’re very much reading his expression. So he throws out the question that’s been plaguing him since he left Santo Padre. 

“Why didn’t you just kill Angel and EZ?” 

You take in a deep breath through your nose and release it slowly. “Because I know how Potter works. The people he sends to tie up loose ends are just as much the victims as the people they kill.” 

He couldn’t argue with that statement. 

“You’re right,” you say. “I didn’t realize they were related to you. How?” 

“Second cousins.” He scoffs. “Not like they were my brothers.” 

Something akin to pain, but deeper, passes through your eyes. It happens so quickly, he thinks he may have imagined it. 

“And I’m not CIA. I’m a US Marshal,” you confess quietly. “Well, was one at least.” 

He’s cleaned away most of the blood so he can see the wound. It certainly isn’t a clip, the bullet went completely through the muscle of the underside of your bicep. It went clean through though, but the bullet wound is still oozing blood and will continue to do so until it’s packed and bandaged. “Let me guess, witness protection?” 

“Right again.” You glance down at the wound. “Guess it was more than just a clip.” 

He pulls out cotton, gauze pads, and bandages, laying them out on the sterilized sink counter. “Spoken like someone who’s never been shot before.” 

“My line of work we tried to prevent situations from getting to that point.” 

“Sounds like you were successful.” 

“Until I wasn’t.” 

He wonders if he’ll reach a point when he’s able to talk about this clusterfuck with the succinctness and resignation that you just did. But you’re talking and that’s something he wants to encourage. The more he knows the better. “So how did Potter fit into that situation?” 

You’re quiet for a moment. “You almost done?” 

And just like that, the conversation is over. He wraps the bandage over the cotton and gauze and fixes it in place with a metal clip. “Done.” 

“Thank you.” You pick up your bloodied shirt and toss it in the trash. “Are you hungry? There’s a Burger King across the street.” 

“No,” he starts cleaning up the bandages. “I’m good. You?” 

You shake your head. “Maybe after some sleep.” 

Which brings up another issue. There is only one bed out there. By the time he repacks the first aid kit, you’re already under the sheets and balanced on the right edge of the bed. He debates taking a shower, getting into a clean set of clothes, and then laying down but it all seems to be too much of an effort. Instead, he lays down on top of the sheets and stares at the cheap, popcorn ceiling. He listens to your breathing, wondering if you’re just going to stop mid-inhale from the blood loss. IF he’s going to have to take you to the hospital for an infusion and proper stitches. But you don’t. And soon, he finds himself being drawn under the blanket of sleep listening to the steady exhalations of you next to him.  

***

When KJ wakes up, it’s completely dark in the room. He listens for your breathing but doesn’t hear anything. There’s nothing. No sound, no movement, no warmth. 

“Fuck.” 

He turns on the light next to him and braces to find your dead body. But you’re not there and somehow that’s worse. You’ve left him stranded in northern Bakersfield with no car, no new ID, and fifty dollars in cash. What exactly did he expect though? He has nothing on Potter, less than nothing in fact. His entire career in the DEA has been completely erased. The sight of his office being stripped and torn apart still makes his stomach churn. 

There’s nothing for him to do until he figures out where he’s going to go and how he’s going to get there. He gets up, grabs his bag, and heads into the bathroom to get cleaned up. He tries to come up with a way to make some money while he showers. Without being able to use credit cards or withdraw from his bank accounts, if he even has them anymore, he’s going to need to make some fast cash. Maybe the hotel needs some extra help and he can get enough together to get somewhere further away from Santo Padre. 

He’s pulling his t-shirt over his head when he hears a noise come from the other room. He had left his gun on the back of the toilet and he picks it up as he peers through the steam left over from his shower. The door is partially open, light flickers in from the faulty streetlight outside the room. The smell of fresh food: charbroiled and smoked meat, cheese, and grease hits his nose and causes his stomach to growl. There you are, struggling with bags of food, a hurt arm and a stubborn, dented door to a cheap motel room.  

You didn’t abandon him. You didn’t leave him in the middle of nowhere. 

“Jimenez, some help here?” 

He tucks the gun in the waistband of his jeans as he moves to help you through the door. “Sorry. I, uh, I thought you left.” 

You give him a slightly concerned look. “I did leave. To pay for a few more hours for the room and grab some food. You okay there?” 

The relief he feels at your return shouldn’t be as strong as it is, but here he is. Heart slowing from its rapid pace, a slight burning to the back of his eyes. You didn’t leave. You didn’t abandon him. This too means more than it should. He puts the bags of food down on the small desk and re-locks the door. You drop into a chair, exhausted and pale. 

“You shouldn’t have gone out there by yourself.” He tries to sound chiding but it lacks conviction. He’s still too relieved that you didn’t leave him behind. “You’re still recovering from the blood loss.” 

You pull a hamburger out of the Burger King bag and unwrap it. “I’ve dealt with worse.” 

He gives you a disbelieving look and you slowly cave. 

“Okay, okay, I haven’t actually been shot and had significant blood loss before.” 

He starts pulling food out of the other bags. “What did you get?” 

“I didn’t know what you like to eat so I got a bunch of stuff.” You point to a plain white plastic bag with styrofoam containers. “That’s supposed to be some award winning BBQ, coleslaw, and potato salad. There’s also some more Burger King, lo mein and egg rolls, and a meatball sub.” 

“What, no Indian food?” 

You take a large bite out of the burger. “I owe you some chicken tikka masala then.” 

He takes half the BBQ and sides, sitting down on the other chair at the small desk. It only takes a couple bites before he realizes just how ravenous he is. He can’t remember the last time he ate. He can’t really remember how much time has actually passed since the events in the living room. It seems like a lifetime ago already. You’ve finished the burger and are reaching for the meatball sub. 

“I don’t normally eat like this.” 

He motions to your shoulder with his fork. “It’s the blood loss. Your body is trying to make up for what it’s lost. Protein is the best thing to eat.” 

“You’re not just saying that to keep the potato salad all to yourself, are you?” 

He looks over at you and sees a small smirk at the corner of your mouth, a slight brightness of mirth in your eyes. 

You didn’t leave him. 

Not yet, anyway. 

***

You finally tell him where you’re heading: Olema. It’s a small, touristy town along the coast about thirty miles north of San Francisco. You have a friend who runs a bed and breakfast there and who is willing to give you both some space to regroup. Right now though, the plan is less focused on revenge and more on healing. You try to drive but have to pull over two hours in because you’re still too weak to keep your head up and your eyes open. 

“You can get some sleep. I can use Google Maps-” he stops himself short. That’s right. You made him toss his cell phone into the car before Angel and EZ blew it up. No phone along with everything else. All his pictures of his family, his soon to be ex-wife, his two kids. The loss of something so simple like a picture hits him like a tidal wave and he has to forcibly swallow down the lump in his throat. 

You open the glove compartment and pull out a slip of paper, writing the directions down. “Here, just keep taking the 5 up to the 580 West. When we get to San Rafeal, you’re going to get on the 101 North. Then we hit the 1 which will take us straight into Olema. If I’m asleep by the time we make it into town, you can stop at the Due West Tavern. It’ll be on the left side of main street about a mile into town. We should get there towards the end of dinner.” 

He takes the slip of paper and tucks it in the visor, hoping you don’t see the sheen of tears in his eyes. But he knows you probably do. You’re incredibly astute and detail oriented. He figures you wouldn’t be successful in your job if you weren’t. “Thanks.” 

You’re quiet for a moment. “Eighteen months.” 

“What?” 

“That’s how long I tell people that it takes to adjust to their new lives. Eighteen months.” 

He feels another wave of grief hit him. “That sounds like forever.” 

“The first year is hard. You remember all the anniversaries, routines, holidays and traditions. Once you get past that first year, that’s when you stop existing and start adjusting. It takes another four to six months to settle into the new life then.” 

He remembers what it was like when his mother died. The first year had been terrible, all the memories and holidays exacerbating the loss of the quiet, kindhearted woman who endured hell on earth so he wouldn’t have to face it alone. “It’s like the grieving process.” 

“That’s exactly what it’s like.” You turn your head and study his profile for a moment. “It’s okay to grieve, to feel the loss. It’ll help shorten the adjustment period if you acknowledge the emotions for what they are.” 

“Grief.” 

You hum as you fold your legs close to your chest and put your feet on the dashboard. “Survivor’s guilt is a big one too.” 

Bowen. He can still see the dark red stain of blood soaking into the jute rug and spilling out onto the hardwood floor of the living room. He chances a quick glance over to you, your relaxed posture, half closed eyes. He’s detail oriented too and wonders if you’re in a sharing mood now. 

“Who did Potter take away from you?” 

You pick at a rip in your jeans. “Everyone. Everything.” 

He waits to see if you’ll elaborate but by the time he looks over, you’re already turned towards the door and asleep. He glances up at the directions you gave him and estimates there’s only about another two and half hours of driving ahead. So he does what you suggest and he sits with his grief for that time. 

***

You’re still asleep, curled into a ball in the  passenger seat when he pulls into the gravel parking lot of the tavern. He wonders if the place is open given there’s only two cars in the lot despite it being seven forty at night. He turns the car off and releases a long sigh. He’s drained. Emotionally, mentally, physically. Now all he wants to do is sleep for about a week. He reaches over and gently squeezes your arm. 

You sit up immediately and take in your surroundings, letting out a slightly disgusted noise. “Can’t believe I slept all the way here.” 

“Six to eight weeks.” 

You open the passenger side door and slide out of the car. “What?” 

“That’s how long it takes for someone to get their strength back from significant blood loss.” 

You nod as you start to make your way towards the front door of the restaurant. He takes a moment to take in the area. The sky is not completely darkened by night yet. The smell of the tavern food, fish and steak, drifts through the air and mixes with a sharper, cleaner scent. He knows he should know what it is but he can’t put his finger on it at the moment. 

“Hey,” you shout and he sees you’re holding the door open for him. He hustles his way over to you and follows you into the building. You’re familiar with the place given the ease in which you navigate the formal dining room and lead him into the dark bar area of the tavern. Everything is dark wood, the floor, ceiling beams, bar, tables, chairs even. 

“Sorry, kitchen’s closed-” a man appears from behind the bar but stops mid sentence when his eyes land on you. A large smile breaks across his face. “Hey, you made it!” 

“Hey, Tony!” You give him a one-armed hug. “I know it’s late but-” 

“I got you.” He motions to a corner booth, away from windows and a guttering candle in the center of the table. “Have a seat and I’ll scrounge up something for you guys. I’ll call Mom too, let her know you’re here.” 

“Please tell me you have some clam chowder left over,” you ask, easing yourself down into the booth. 

“For you, I will find some.” He turns to KJ. “What about you?” 

He has to admit, he’s hungry again and anything sounds good to him. “I’m not picky.” 

Tony claps him on the arm. “My kind of customer. What do you guys want to drink?” 

“Whatever’s on tap is fine for me.” You’re already propped up in the corner, your injured arm resting on the table. KJ can see some slight bleed through your shirt. Tony notices it too. 

“I’ll bring some whiskey too. Make a couple boilermakers out of it.” 

KJ slides into the booth across from you. He can’t tell if it’s the poor light but your skin tone is still ashy and you look exhausted. “So, Tony and his mom are going to help us?” 

You nod. “Tony’s mom, Amelia, used to be my boss. She was my mentor, taught me everything I know. She’s retired now but helps me out when I need a safe place to crash or stash people for a short time until witness protection can iron out paperwork.” 

“She’s the one who runs the Bed and Breakfast?” 

“Yeah. It’s a good front for moving people quietly. A good blend of tourists and fugitives. It helps that Olema is out of the way for most people.” 

“Why do people come here?” 

“Mostly for the hiking trails in Point Reyes National Seashore. There’s lots of hikers and backpackers that come through here. There are some horse stables and you can do trail riding too. But in a state where you also have National Forests like Redwoods, Sequoia, Lassen, and Yosemite National Park, this little place gets passed over quite a bit.” 

Tony comes back with two bowls of rich looking clam chowder, a container of oyster crackers, two beer glasses, a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. “Alright you two, eat up because mom is on her way and says she’s a lot to discuss. You know what that means.” 

You roll your eyes but immediately reach for a spoon. KJ looks at you expectantly. “What?” 

“What does that mean?” 

A small frown crosses your face. “It means we don’t have a lot of information to work with. I don’t know why she’s surprised though. Potter is as slippery as an eel in an oil spill.” 

“How long have you been chasing him?” 

“About five years now.” You close your eyes when the first spoonful of food goes in your mouth. “No more talking about Potter. This food is too good to be ruined by conversation about that asshole.” 

KJ actually finds a small laugh inside of himself before picking up his own spoon.

#kevin jimenez x reader #kevin jimenez x you #kevin jimenez #maurice compte #Vanishing Acts series #mayans mc fic

[happysoldlady]

Coney Island Part 2 - Nestor Oceteva

a/n: I'm back! Also, I wish I could tell you what this is but I can't. Y'all said you liked this concept so here's a part two. I'm on a real Nestor kick lately. Mans has got me in a grip. Enjoy!

warnings: NSFW!!, fem! reader, brief mentions of violence/abuse

"Fuck, dulce." Nestor groans, rolling his hips against yours, his fingers buried deep in your hips for leverage. He takes pleasure in the way your face relaxes into ecstasy every time his dick meets that spongy spot inside of you. The way your eyebrows furrow as he pulls out, and the rolling of your eyes to the back of your head as he presses back in, moving a thumb to roll over your clit. He feels your pussy clench around him as you reach to touch any part of him. Your nails find his chest, and he lets out a deep groan as you run them down his skin. He picks up the pace on his strokes, keeping the same tempo on your clit, leaving you a withering mess below him. Moments later, the two of you reach your climax together, Nestor then collapsing onto the bed next to you. His chest rising and falling as he tries to settle his breathing, his eyes finding your profile as you take a minute to breathe, your hands lying idly on your chest, eyes closed in relaxation.

Following the incident last month of the two of you being kidnapped, you had found yourselves making up for lost time in the bedroom (and on the kitchen table, bathroom sink, against the wall in the foyer, ottoman in the living room...wherever, really). It had been probably a year since the two of you had had this much sex. Being busy with work, and oddly disconnected from one another had pushed you to opposite sides of your king-sized bed, not sharing it at all some nights. But for the last few weeks, Nestor seemed eager to get home if not for any other reason than to bury himself in you. And well, who would turn down an orgasm from the man you love? However, should the two of you probably talk things through? Absolutely. Were you going to do it while Nestor is fucking your brains out? Absolutely not.

You peel your eyes open, and turn your head, meeting his dark eyes that beam at you with affection. You find yourself wondering if he's always looked at you that way, and if that look will fade when the post-nut clarity comes.

"Te amo." He mutters, as one of his hands reaches out to brush a piece of hair out of your face. He leans over and presses a soft kiss to your head. And then, he's up. He strolls to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

You let out a breath, setting up in the bed and pulling a robe around your body. The sex...well, it's great. It's always been great, but sex feels like a band-aid for the disconnect. Nestor comes inside you and then goes off to work while you wait for him to come home and do it again. There is very little conversation...or apologizing.

You hear the shower turn on and let out a breath. A grumbling in your stomach reminds you that you should probably eat something. You slip on a pair of shorts and are digging through the fridge to find ingredients when you hear a rustling outside. Your insides freeze, and you lift your head to look outside your kitchen window. Nothing. You take a breath and shake your head, going back to your search when you hear it again.

“What the fuck?” You mutter under your breath. Taking no chances this time, you scurry back to your bedroom and bang on the bathroom door. “Nestor!!”

The panic in your voice damn near makes him panic. He quickly rinses the suds off his body and turns the water off. He wraps a towel around himself and unlocks the door.

“What’s wrong, mi amor?” He gives you a once over, noticing the way your chest is heaving up and down in a panic. You slip into the bathroom with him, and shut the door making Nestor’s brows furrow.

“I heard something outside.” You rush out, hushed.

“What was it? Like a person?” He asks, leaning over to open the door to go check.

“No, no, no. Don’t go out there.” You say quickly, grabbing his hand before he can turn the doorknob.

His gaze softens and he raises his eyebrows. “Mi dulce, you know I’m not the type to sit here and wait it out.”

You shake your head, swallowing hard. “I just don’t want them to find us again.”

Nestor grabs your wrist and pulls you into his chest. He’s still wet from his shower but you don’t mind. He holds you there for a second and you feel him press a kiss to your head. He knows you’ve been stressed since the incident. He’s watched as you glance around, rushing to the door of your home. He’s seen the panic on your face when you can’t find him at work events. Your newfound hyper-vigilance has not gone unnoticed by him.

“Mi amor, no podemos vivir nuestras vidas con miedo de algo que puede suceder o no.” Nestor says, taking your face into his hands. “I protected you then, and I’ll protect you now. Always.”

A shaky breath escapes past your lips and your eyes dance between his in uncertainty. You open your mouth to reply but his lips come down to your own for a few seconds.

“I’ll get dressed and take a look around. Give me five minutes.” He mumbles against your lips and then disappears before you can protest.

Ten minutes later, you are pacing around your living room, biting at your nails. The fear of not knowing if something actually was out there is starting to get the better of you when Nestor slips back inside. He slips his shoes off at the door and then meets your worried gaze.

His gaze meets your and he gives you a small smile. “The coast is clear, mi dulce.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and take a seat on the couch. Nestor’s eyebrows furrow as he watches your head fall into your hands. He crosses the floor and kneels down in front of you, his hands coming up to hold yours.

“I would never let anything happen to you. You know that, don’t you?” Nestor questions, his eyes searching yours.

You want to reassure him. Tell him that you’re sleeping well and that you know he would never let anything happen to you. But the look in his eyes when those guys threw you into that van haunts you. He was helpless. And you were helpless. And there was absolutely nothing that he could do to maintain your safety. Especially after they separated the two of you.

Your mouth opens to whisper the lie to him, to tell him that you have faith in him but the words die on your tongue and his face twists in confusion.

“Hey,” Nestor breathes out, moving to sit next to you on the couch. You turn your body to face him, your hands falling to tug on your fingers. “What’s happening in that head of yours?”

You look up at him, your hands gripping onto each other to stop the shaking. “Something already did happen. And we couldn’t do anything.”

Nestor shakes his head. “You are safe now. You were always going to be okay. I would have never let them actually hurt you.”

“They did hurt me.” You whisper, looking away from him. “They did. And you weren’t there. You were in the van. And it’s not your fault and I’m not blaming you because you are just a human being. But I’m afraid, Nestor. All the time.”

Nestor’s heart shatters in his chest. You’ve been together for years, and no it’s not always been the perfect relationship but the love he has for you is deep and unrelenting. Never did he think that fear would be the thing you felt while with him.

He takes your hands gently into his, pressing a kiss to each of them and then meeting your gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you then. I tried.”

You shake your head and it’s your turn to take his face into your hands. “No, no, no. You did everything you could and I know that. And I love you for it. And I feel the most safe when I’m here with you. That’s not at all what I’m saying.”

His eyebrows are furrowed and he shakes his head. “What else can I do to make you feel safe? More boxing training? Do we need to find a new house?”

The desperateness in Nestor’s voice breaks your heart and you shrug, “Those might help. We can try them.”

He nods at you, his hands grabbing at you and pulling you onto his lap. His arms wrap around your waist and he holds you close to him. The two of you sit like this for a while. Probably too long, but despite your anxiety, you really do feel safest in his arms.

“Do you want to talk about how they hurt you?” Nestor mumbles against your chest after a while. You lean back so you can meet his gaze. His dark eyes are somehow even darker and you lean down to catch his lips with your own.

“Yes. But I don’t want the details to hurt you.” You mumble, using your hands to smooth over his hair.

He shakes his head, “Don’t worry about me, mi amor. I want to know.”

So you do. You sit in his lap and tell him everything. The pain, the fear, the shooting. Their greedy hands grabbing at you and making innuendos toward further abuse. The way they kept laughing that Nestor couldn’t help you. By the time you’ve told him everything, you can feel Nestor’s anger buzzing under his skin.

His arms tighten around your waist and he buries his face in your chest. "I should've ripped them limb from limb."

You let out a quiet chuckle and press a kiss to the top of his hair. "And I know you would have if you had known."

Nestor leans his head back against the couch, deep in thought. You trace a finger along his jawline and wait for him to gather his thoughts. Several minutes later, he meets your gaze and you don't recognize the look on his face.

"Do you remember that apartment you lived in when we first met?" He asks, one of his hands coming up to smooth down your hair. You nod, silently wondering where he's going with this.

"I remember the first time you invited me over." He starts, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. "I was so nervous. Worried that this life wasn't going to be what you wanted, and absolutely positive that it wasn't what you deserved. I walked into that apartment and it was in one of the shittiest neighborhoods in Santo Padre and somehow, you had made it nice. The walls painted a green color and plants everywhere. You were wearing these baggy pants with a white shirt and denim button-up thing, and you offered me lemonade." Nestor lets out a laugh at the memory, as if it's the most absurd thing he's ever heard. "No one has ever looked at me and thought to offer me lemonade."

You smile, "I just didn't want you to be thirsty."

Nestor's eyes lighten up as he laughs. "You're the most effortlessly thoughtful person that I know." His face grows serious and then he closes his eyes. "I know that this past year has not been easy. And I know that I have driven you to some dark places in your mind and I can never apologize enough."

You wait for him to finish, your fingers running up and down his arm in an attempt to comfort him as he speaks.

"I can't promise you that people like those pieces of shit won't hurt you again, mi amor. I wish I could. I can promise you that I will die trying to stop them." He says seriously, his eyes locked onto yours. "And if you want to leave and get out of this shit, I won't stop you. Hell, after the year we've had I wouldn't blame you."

Your face crumples at his suggestion. You shake your head at him, leaning down to press a kiss to his mouth. Nestor's hands find your waist and squeeze as you deepen the kiss. Your hands tangle into his hair and tug as you resituate yourself on his lap. Nestor lets out a deep groan, and you feel him pressing against you.

You grind down onto him, his lips trailing down your neck, suckling onto the skin there. You're breathless by the time his lips find yours again and he lifts your legs, laying your back down gently on the couch. Your robe falls open and he quickly undoes the tie, his dark eyes trailing over you.

You shrug off the robe and toss it onto the floor, reaching down to remove Nestor's shirt and then his shorts. His lips find yours again and his hand trails up your leg. He revels in the sound you make when his fingers brush over your sex. He removes his lips from yours and trails them down your body. He lines his mouth up to your sex and licks a long stripe up, his tongue focusing on your clit. Your hands find his hair again and you let out a moan. His lips wrap around your clit and he inserts a finger into you. Then another.

"Oh my fuck." You curse, your back arching at his assault. Nestor continues for several minutes, adding another finger which causes you to cry out. The familiar pleasure builds in your lower abdomen and you moan out his name as the pressure snaps.

His fingers fuck you through your orgasm and then he comes up, kissing you and allowing you to taste yourself on him. You groan, gripping onto his back. You can feel him pressing into your leg and spread your legs further to accommodate him.

"Hmmm, always so thoughtful." He mutters against your lips. You grin and urge him forward. "What is it? What do you want?"

"I want you to fuck me." You mumble, tugging lightly on his hair. He growls, and teases his tip at your entrance. One of his hands come up to rest against your throat. He meets your gaze and tightens his grip as he sheathes himself inside you.

"Oh fuck, Nestor." You moan out, your back arching against him. He lifts his hip and thrusts back into you. Hard. The sound that comes from his throat damn near makes you come right then and there.

Nestor sets a quicker pace than usual, never letting up pressure on your throat in a positively delicious way. His eyes stay locked on yours, silently checking in on you as he watches your mouth drop open in pleasure.

"Fuck mi amor, you look so fucking good like this." He grumbles, his mouth coming to make its assault on your ear.

You let out a moan and reach a hand down to your clit. The familiar twinge of pleasure begins to build again and you let out a louder moan.

"That's it, mi dulce. Go ahead and fucking come for me." He coaxes, his hand tightening some on your throat. Your orgasm washes over you in waves and Nestor fucks you through all of them before reaching his high as well.

He pulls out of you slowly, immediately removing his hand from your throat. His eyes meet yours and he presses a kiss to your lips, grinning at the fucked-out look on your face. He settles himself between your legs and rests his head on your bare chest.

Several minutes pass before anyone speaks, but oddly enough, Nestor is the first to break the silence. "I don't want you to think that I'm complaining but you didn't answer my question."

You let out a giggle and shake your head, "There's no one else in the world I want to have near-death experiences with. Let's just maybe get a camera on the front door or something."

#nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x reader #taylor x mayan series #mayans mc #mayans drabble #mayans imagine #mayans fx #soa imagines #sons of anarchy #mayans #mayans x reader

[queen-ofthe-nerds10]

Requests Open

I am opening up my account to requests, to request an imagine, one-shot or short story please just click on the 'ask me anything/request' button on my profile or comment on this post.

I only make requests for characters from movies, tv shows and video games that I have watched/played or know enough about, if you have a request for someone send them and I will let you know if I can do it.

I don’t write about real people only characters, there is a possibility that I will write for characters based of real people.

There are two forms of requests- Written and Image.

A written request is a 'normal' request where you type what you would like, including the character or tv show/movie/game, plot/description/prompt and relationship (romantic, platonic, etc.). Try and give as much detail as you can.

An image request is where you send an image or gif(s) as a prompt with the character or movie/tv show/game and if you have one a plot or description to go with the image or gif.

Relationships

Romantic

Platonic

Sibling

Paternal

Friendship

#x reader #x reader series #tlou x reader #assassin's creed x reader #marvel x reader #DC Comics x reader #Star Wars x reader #Star Trek x reader #One Chicago x reader #Disney x reader #Harry Potter x reader #call of duty x reader #the last of us x reader #fallen order x reader #Supernatural x reader #Criminal Minds x reader #Criminal Minds: Beyond Borders x reader #Sons Of Anarchy x reader #Mayans MC x reader #Hawaii Five-0 x reader #SWAT x reader #Game Of Thrones x reader #House Of The Dragon x reader #Line Of Duty x reader #The Sandman x reader #Vikings x reader #The Last Kingdom x reader #law and order x reader #svu x reader #the hunger games x reader

[camiladnne]

one thing that really bothered me in s4-5 is that the main characters became more and more useless. if you take away miguel, emily, bishop etc etc or even angel how does that change the story??? it doesn't!! luisa died and made no difference

#this is going to be the most disappointing series finale ever #isn't it #mayans mc #bruna talks

[ben-c-group-therapy]

Woke up still bitter

#mayans mc #mayans fx #hated it #series finale

[purestxblood]

𝖎 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖞𝖔𝖚, 𝖎'𝖒 𝖘𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖞, 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩 𝔯𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰

You finally had enough, finally taking your life into your own hands...starting fresh in a place where Angel Reyes didn’t exist. That is, only if Angel would let you. You hadn’t even made the full jump and Angel was determined with his I love you’s to keep you from going astray.

𝗖𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗘𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗣𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽.

𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 | 𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

You sat with your back against the wall, a quilt draped around your waist as you watched the dimly lit screen of your laptop. Beside you, discarded take out boxes from your favorite mom and pop shop and a six pack of empty beer bottles littered the tile, reminders of the last dinner in your apartment. What once felt like home was only reminiscent—now feeling like empty space, a stranger that no longer belonged.

It was about fucking time: you weren’t a coward holding on to empty forgotten promises— desperately clinging to the frail voice in the back of your head constructing what ifs. You were taking the next step forward, putting yourself first for once. 

There was absolutely nothing. Not one fucking thing tying you to the wits of Santo Padre. The godforsaken town was nothing but a painful reminder of what was, and what wasn’t. It was a reminder of love lost.

You were far too eager to high tail it out of there, ignoring the tug and pull to stay put to the back of your mind. You were anxious about leaving to where you hadn’t been able to sleep, thus here you were streaming your comfort movie; at least, you were until knocks began pounding opposite of your door.

Brows knitting in confusion, you looked at your phone. The time illuminated upon your home screen without any missed calls or texts. You waited in your make-shift bed, staring at the front door as if the person on the other side could have possibly got the wrong door or you were hearing things.

Both of which were the latter. The knocks hadn’t stopped and you groaned, hoisting yourself upward and tip-toeing to the door. You lived in a decent area and it wasn’t unheard of for randoms to go barging around the apartment halls. However, you didn’t want the person banging on your door to know you were awake and alone. This person was on a mission, their knocks growing louder and forceful with each step you took.

Pressing your hands on the wood, you leaned forward, your tense shoulders dropping when you peered through the peephole and noticed the person on the other side.

“It’s two in the fucking morning Angel,” you stated, throwing your front door open. Angel’s attention ignored your stance, his eyes roaming over your shoulder towards your empty apartment. 

“So it’s true,” he stated, pushing his way through your arm to enter your entry room. 

You said nothing. Shutting the door as he made himself at home. “Running away,” he huffed more so to himself in assumption of observance rather than speaking directly to you. There was annoyance to his tone and his stance with his hands crossed and tensed shoulders solidified his expression.

“There’s nothing to run away from.” 

Your voice filled the void air, reminding him that you were still present behind him in the empty apartment. “Then why are you leaving?”

“Angel—” you sighed, dropping your arms. There were various reasons racking your brain yet you couldn’t bring yourself to pinpoint the truth. “Why are you running away?” he repeated.

Silence.

Angel made a hissing sound of annoyance and he shook his head. You could see the thoughts looming through his mind. His facial exterior gave way to the hateful thoughts he didn’t voice aloud and it only made you grow frustrated and annoyed with his entitlement. 

“What are you expecting, Angel?” you questioned. “You want to know the truth? I hate it here,” you admitted. “Well then find another apartment, I can help, we’ve done it…it’s not that fucking difficult, you don’t need to leave Santo Padre, I know other places.”

His words spewed a mile a minute as you watched the way his eyes frazzled, his brain working to construct the perfect solution. You shook your head, “no Angel that’s not…”

“There’s a complex,” he waved his hand, “by Gilly it’s new or redone or some shit but it looks nice you might—”

“For fucksake listen for once Angel,” you groaned and stomped your foot. Taking in a breather, you let out your breath and said each word slowly, “I hate this place,” you motioned across with your hands, “this town. I want to leave Santo Padre, okay?”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

You. 

You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, releasing all the buried emotions and thoughts you submerged throughout the years. Rationale got the best and you shook your head, “there’s just nothing for me here.”

“Bullshit,” he said, “you have family here.”

He wasn’t wrong. The club had been your family since birth. Sure your parents were gone but you still had the club. Your answer was a mere cop out and Angel saw right through you. 

“Fuck, you have me here,” he said angry, pointing to his own chest, “I’m right fucking here.”

“That’s the fucking point Angel!” You broke, your voice betraying you as you yelled. Swollen tears begun falling down your face, “you’re fucking everywhere!” 

He stilled. 

You looked away from him, wiping your tears with the sleeves of your sweater, only to be replaced with a fresh set. “Shit,” you looked up at the ceiling, laughing at the current situation, “I said I wasn’t going to fucking do his anymore.”

“I’m so fucking tired of being a little bitch who cries over you,” you said flatly. “It’s been years Angel, I mean,” you took a breath, waving your hand as you recalled the beginning of your relationship when you were teenagers to adults, “we split years ago but this, this coming and going,” you motion between you both, “always being there, listening, helping you pick up pieces—”

“I never really thought that I would become a goddamn burden to you.” 

Angel’s eyes were fiery and wide yet his shoulders slumped. You could see the contradiction of anger rattling his bones and sadness of feeling as if he appeared far too weak towards you… an inconvenience in your life. 

He looked like a helpless child staring at you and your heart sank. That hadn’t been what you meant at all but leave it to him to take your words and twist them into something dire. Your shoulders fell and you sighed. “Angel, you’re not a burden…you know that’s not what I mean…but you…you’re the worst heartbreak I’ve ever known.”

Angel was silent, his eyes cascaded down to the bareness of your toes. 

“I’m just…” you sighed, racking your brain for the formation of words, “I’m tired–so fucking tired of–”

“I love you,” he rushed, his eyes snapping to yours. “Angel,” you shook your head, your eyes widening in shock as the three words carelessly blew. 

The last time Angel had told you he loved you was when he was drunkenly buried cock deep in you, only to tell you the morning after that he had once again got another woman pregnant and was going to try and make things work with her.

I love you’s didnt come easy. They were only of value when beneficial towards him.

Angel took a few steps forward, closing the space between you. “You know I do,” he stated, “I’ve always loved you, we’ve always loved each other, we–”

“Never work out,” you finished, “every time–”

Angel placed his hands on your lips, “you love me.”

You looked up at his face, his heavy gaze making you feel like you were shrinking in size. You hated how he was using your poor excuse of love for each other as means of sticking around. 

“I do love you,” you agreed, “that’s the fucking problem.”

𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 | 𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩! to stay up to date with future one shots & series. x

𝗧𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁, @Mrsstevenbuchananstark, @chazubagi , @callmejaye , @justazzie , @thanossexual , @fanfictionismyhobby​ , @esposadomd​ , @Oureternalbond .

#Angel Reyes #Angel Reyes x Reader #You Will #Angel Reyes x f!Reader #Mayans MC #Mayans #Mayans MC fanfiction #Angel Reyes One Shot #Angel Reyes Series

[im-just-a-mississippi-girl]

Your Biker in Worn Leather Part 2

Pairing: EZ Reyes x female!reader

Category: Angst

Word count: 396

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

Warnings: None

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

Part 1

Masterlist

Taglist

Gif is not mine. Credit to the owner

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

General Taglist: @kmc1989

EZ Reyes Taglist: @zaenight

#ez reyes #ez reyes x reader #ez reyes imagine #ez reyes fanfiction #ez reyes fic #ezekiel reyes x reader #ezekiel reyes #mayans mc #mayans #mayans imagine #mayans mc imagine #mayans fanfic #your biker in worn leather #your biker in worn leather series

[witches-unruly-heart]

Send me a character and one (or all) of the following themes and ill tell you what I see them as/see them doing 💗🥰

Disney character

Musical theater character

Zodiac sign

Color

Job

Book trope

Aesthetic

Sport

Mythological god/goddess

Flower

#karen speaks #send me a character #a discovery of witches #law and order svu #narcos #mayans mc #chicago pd #chicago fire #greys anatomy #911 series #911 lone star #outlander #once upon a time #kingsman #shadow and bone #merlin #sherlockbbc #robin hood #game of thrones #criminal minds #marvel comics #mcu #marvel cinematic universe

[drabbles-mc]

Disaster Dates: Movie Night

Bishop Losa x F!Reader

Disaster Dates Masterlist

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

Warnings: 18+, language

Word Count: 2.2k

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

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

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

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

He should’ve just stuck to what he knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yea?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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