#mayans headcanons

𝗘𝗭 𝗥𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

You walk into the scrapyard with someone who knows the club, just tagging along, not expecting much.

EZ spots you before you even realize where you're going. He stops mid-conversation, his voice dying in his throat.

There's a quiet, weighty pause as he watches you. Something about you punches the air out of his lungs—your eyes, your energy. It’s not just attraction—it’s recognition.

He's too controlled to show it outright, but his brows lift ever so slightly, and his jaw tightens.

He approaches with a calm smile, but his heart's hammering in his chest. You catch him scanning your face like he's trying to memorize it.

He stumbles slightly over his introduction. EZ Reyes doesn't stumble—ever. That alone tells him you're trouble, the kind that gets under your skin.

“You just passing through, or should I be hoping you’ll be around for a while?” he asks, smooth but laced with genuine curiosity.

Later, he keeps glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking. You catch him once. He looks away with a soft smirk, caught red-handed.

That night, he goes home and sketches you. He doesn't even understand why.

𝗔𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗹 𝗥𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Angel’s first reaction? Whistle-low under his breath, muttering, “Damn…” before he even realizes it slipped out.

You don’t even make eye contact with him right away, but that doesn’t stop him from soaking you in.

He’s all charm and cocky swagger at first—approaches you like he’s already got you figured out.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he grins, flashing those dimples.

But when you talk? That voice, that fire in your eyes? He freezes for half a beat. His smirk fades slightly—his attraction deepens into something sharper, more unsettling.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, turning away briefly like he needs a second to recalibrate.

Angel's drawn to chaos, but you? You make him want something more stable without even trying.

Later that night, he scrolls through his phone, wondering if asking for your number the same day is too much—then says screw it and does it anyway.

𝗝𝗼𝗵𝗻𝗻𝘆 “𝗖𝗼𝗰𝗼” 𝗖𝗿𝘂𝘇 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Coco’s sitting on the curb, smoking, one leg pulled up when you walk by.

His eyes follow you instantly, lips parting slightly. His cigarette nearly burns to the filter while he watches you.

“Damn… Who’s that?” he asks nobody in particular, blinking like he just woke up.

He tries to play it cool, real casual. Calls out something half-flirty, half-stupid like, “You got any idea what kinda trouble you’re causin’ out here, girl?”

When you throw a witty remark back at him without missing a beat, he chokes on a laugh.

That’s when it hits him. He’s not just attracted—he’s hooked.

The feeling creeps up his spine, makes him shift uncomfortably. It’s been a long time since someone made him feel this awake.

“Shit, you dangerous,” he mutters, grinning, scratching at his neck like he’s trying to shake it off.

Spends the rest of the day telling himself he doesn’t need this—then actively finds reasons to walk by you again.

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗰𝘂𝘀 Á𝗹𝘃𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘇 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Marcus isn’t a man who gets shaken easily. He’s calculated, measured, composed.

But when you walk into the room, it’s like something short-circuits in him.

He doesn't react outwardly—he doesn’t let himself. Not in front of the boys. But internally? There’s an unsettling heat in his chest he hasn’t felt in years.

He watches you with hawk-like eyes, assessing everything—your poise, your smile, how you carry yourself.

“Who is she?” he asks Bishop in a low voice, trying to sound offhand. He fails.

He’s direct when he finally speaks to you. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Marcus Álvarez,” he says with a slow nod, voice deep and unreadable.

But you feel the tension in the air when you shake his hand. His fingers linger just a second too long. His eyes hold yours like they’re searching for something.

Later, he’s alone in his office, pouring himself a drink, wondering what the hell this pull is—and if he’s too old to chase it.

𝗢𝗯𝗶𝘀𝗽𝗼 “𝗕𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗽” 𝗟𝗼𝘀𝗮 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Bishop’s usually all business—he doesn’t waste time on distractions.

But you? You’re a disruption from the first second.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you from across the lot. At first, it’s curiosity. Then… something else.

He crosses his arms over his chest, lips pursed like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real.

He doesn’t approach right away. He wants to know who you are, what you're about. Sends someone else to make introductions and watches your reactions carefully.

Eventually walks up, nods, says, “Bishop. You got a name to go with that smile?”

He’s trying to keep things light, but his voice is low, rough. There's a note of seriousness he can't shake.

You laugh, and it punches through his chest like a shotgun blast. He doesn’t smile often, but you make him.

That night, he’s in the clubhouse, nursing a drink, staring at the wall, trying to talk himself out of the idea that you might be exactly what he didn’t know he needed.

𝗠𝗮𝗻𝗻𝘆 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Manny’s instantly warm when he sees you. His smile hits fast and wide—eyes lighting up like a kid at Christmas.

“Whoa… Hey there, querida,” he says, wiping his hands on a rag as he walks over.

You can feel his energy before he even reaches you—bold, flirty, but not overbearing. It’s like gravity.

He’s not shy about the way he looks at you. It’s appreciative, reverent even. Like he’s not just seeing your beauty—he’s feeling it.

He tells a joke to make you laugh and beams when you do. That sound? He’s addicted already.

Later, he offers you a drink at the bar, pulling out a stool for you before you even get the chance to say yes.

“I don’t know what brought you here, but I’m real glad it did,” he says, tapping his glass to yours.

He leans in a little closer than necessary when you talk, hanging on your words like they’re gospel.

Hank is so soft, and gentle with you.

Hank absolutely worships you. Every single inch of you body. Any part you feel insecure he will kiss, and lick, and tell you how beautiful you are.

Hank uses his size to pin you down, and take full control.

Hank loves to take his time. Savour every moment. Make sure you enjoy every single second. Make you feel wanted, loved. And most importantly pleasured.

Hank will make sure you come multiple times, before he’s even come once.

Hank knows what you like and don’t like in the bedroom. And he is always respectful about it. If something hurts or you don’t enjoy it, he will never try it again.

Hank isn’t very talkative during sex. He’s more low groans with the odd “feels so good”

Hank loves when you’re on top. He loves watching you and your facial expressions as you’re riding him. Not to mention the way your boobs bounce up and down as you’re riding him.

Speaking of your boobs he absolutely loves them. While you’re riding him he will play with them. He loves sucking your nipples. Even when you’re just cuddling he loves burying his head in your chest.

"Oh, really? You think you have a chance of taking me?" inquired Angel his voice casual as he turned to the younger guy who had sat down at your table. The guy had been chatting you up since you had stepped into the packed clubhouse looking for your man. Not taking a single word you had said to heart as you told him to back off and that your boyfriend was not one to play with. You watched as the mans eyes widened as he took in Angel and his eyes flickered over the patches. Angel was an imposing man sitting down but when he stood up the guy took off. "Thought I was the bitch?" laughed Angel as he sat back down looking at you.

Short king Bishop oozes big dick, don't fuck with me energy. Which is why you are stunned into silence as well as Gilly and Angel at what the new prospect has just said to him. The air is tense as Bishop contemplates the young man who had just dared to say he could fuck you better than him. "I assume you only said this because you think my beautiful goddess of a wife is a club girl correct? " asked Bishop as he gently taps your hip. Once you have stood up off his lap he stands up and walks to the new prospect who has decided now to shut his mouth. "I'll help you out son. There is no correct answer" states Bishop as he grabs the guys arm and leads him out the door.

Manny is all slow blinks and tight smiles as he listens to the man next to him at the bar describe all the ways he would do you as they wait for EZ to get them beers. "Said she has a boyfriend, dumb bitch doesn't know what she's missing out on. He's obviously a winner since he left her alone." states the man as he nudges Manny who chuckles darkly. "Yeah, the mother of my four beautiful girls over there sure is missing out" he states before punching the guy in the face. "Also im her husband not her boyfriend" states Manny before making his way to you. "This is why I don't bring you out ma. Always got me acting up" joked Manny as he pulled you too him for a kiss.

Guero is all angry forehead press and fists the minute the guy grabs your arm to turn you too him. The two of you had been taking a break from dancing and wee making out in the back of the packed clubhouse. You had mentioned to Guero earlier that the guy had been hitting on you and said he could take your boyfriend in a fight when you mentioned you were not single. Guero had wanted to put his fist through the guys face then but you had been so amused he had pushed the idea down so that he could keep that smile on your face. Now though it was on. No one touched what was his.

The moment your sweet Teddy Bear said excuse me and stood up you knew the guy was done for. It never ceased to amaze you how many people thought it was fun to poke the grizzly bear of a man that was Gilly. You smiled as he blew you and your daughter who was cooing away in your arms kisses before grabbing the back of the guys neck and walking him out of the clubhouse. "Still getting guys in trouble, four days after giving birth" chuckled Coco, making you laugh, as he stood up. "I'll make sure he doesn't kill the kid"

Creeper is silent as he watches you and the guy go back and forth. You have just as much blood on your hands as he does, he knows you can handle yourself. He won't hesitate to step in though if you want him too. He patiently waits for your cue as he sips his beer, chuckling when the guy says he can do you better and asks what position you like. "Do you like having your ass fucked?" you inquire as you tap Creepers arm. "As her bitch of a boyfriend I like to watch her fuck guys in the ass" he states as he looks the guy up and down.

"Who's the bitch now?" growled Bottles as he stood over the guy he had just punched in the jaw much to the shock of everyone. The guy had been following you like a scenthound, not taking your rejection of an offer to dance or to sneak off to a more private area. Even when you stated your boyfriend was a Mayan he was undeterred, going so far as to push you into a wall saying your boyfriend must be a bitch if he wasn't with you. Pushing Guero out of the way as he congratulated Bottles you pulled him to you demanding he take you home to bed now.

EZ is willing to let the guy slide. He's drunk and clearly overcome by your beauty. Who wouldn't be? He could not blame the guy for coming over and hitting on you. He probably figured you two were just friends sitting here having a drink and a chat. Its an easy mistake if you are new like he was. The two of you shared a look and small chuckle when the guy said your boyfriend was probably a bitch. He was going to let hat slide too but when the guy angrily slapped your beer out of your hand.....letting anything slide was out the door.

“Maybe we should break up then!”

While those words stung, it didn’t completely come as a surprise. Your relationship with Angel was hanging by its last thread, so when your boyfriend, now ex, came barreling towards where you stood on the clubhouse porch, you knew it wasn’t going to end well. And while the argument nor your breakup was unexpected, it didn’t hurt any less, especially since Angel had the Gaul to yell at you in front of his brothers.

Truthfully, you don’t really know what prompted this argument. At this point, it seems that you and Angel would find any reason to scream at each other. But deep in your heart, it still hurts. While you may not be in love with him anymore, you don’t care for him any less. But the anger running through your veins doesn’t consider that thought as you scream back at him.

“Fine!”

Everyone freezes, heads slowly turning to see the look of shock and hurt on each of your faces. Your heart is racing, the steady thud thud thud can be felt throughout your entire body. And with this anxiety quickly rising, you clear your throat and tilt your head slightly so you can stare at the ground for a solid minute while you contemplate your next words carefully.

“I’ll… stay at my place tonight,” Your voice is softer than you would have liked it to be, but you manage to look up and meet Angel’s eyes. The fire is still there, masking the hurt you know is about to consume his body. And you can’t stand it, because he’s still your friend. Before you got together he was your friend, and you’d hate to think that this is the end of any relationship you two could have.

“I’ll pick my things up tomorrow.”

Without another word you turn and escape into the clubhouse where, thankfully, the party is still in full swing. You’re able to dodge the drunks and weave your way through dancing bodies without being seen while on your way to retrieve your keys from the new prospect - Steve? Stan? You couldn’t really remember nor do you care to at this moment.

On shaky legs you manage to push your way to the front of the bar, hand lifting to catch the prospect’s attention. To no avail, though, he’s turned to help a slightly unruly group of patrons. After a minute of waving your hand, you huff, your hand falling down to rest on the bar you’re now leaning against. With a slow turn of your head, your eyes flicker across the room, passing over more unruly men and a few women crowded near the pool table.

A soft grunt is heard behind you, so your body moves to look at whoever could be invading your space. Upon seeing Bishop, standing tall and oozing confidence, leaning against the bar as well, you jump. A squeak escapes your lips at the small scare he gave you. It’s not that his presence intimidates you (quite the opposite actually, he’s really good at making you feel safe), you’d just assumed he’d be holed up with his brothers around the back table.

Looking over his shoulder, you can see the rest of the guys are, in fact, still around the table, presumably telling age old stories of heroics and stupidity. Bishop clears his throat, perhaps to get your attention back on him. So, you return your gaze to the man in front of you. His beard is long, his eyes tired, but his smile is genuine. In turn, you smile back at him. You hadn’t expected to cross paths tonight, but seeing him puts you in a better mood than you were five minutes ago.

“I heard a commotion happened outside, everything okay?” Bishop asks a furrow in his brow telling you he genuinely wants to know that you’re okay. That’s a perk of being friends with him, while he looks tough and mean, his words and actions speak volumes in terms of how much he cares for the people in his life.

Nodding your head, you sigh, body slumping against the bar counter. “Yeah, just - Angel.... We broke up,” You mutter, tightening your hold on your beer and bringing it up to your lips. You take quite a big gulp of the alcohol before returning your attention to Bishop. “I’m not surprised it happened, but… it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

The pounding in your heart rattles your ribcage as you fight off tears. Crying in a clubhouse full of people isn’t on your to-do list for the day, so you lean back over the bar counter to search for your keys, finding them in a bowl on the back side of the bar.

“Let me drive you home.” His voice isn’t loud or commanding, but it’s still not phrased as a question. You snap your head to the side to look at Bishop again, ready to turn that idea down. Instead of speaking, Bishop pulls his keys out of his pocket and gently takes your arm so he can lead you out of the clubhouse.

“I’m fine Bish, I’m not even that drunk.” That’s a lie, both of you know it’s not true. But you’re still hesitant to get on a bike with Bishop, it feels like a betrayal to your own Harley. Nevertheless, he manages to pull you all the way to his truck, and - oh. You’re not going on his bike?

As if reading your mind, Bishop quickly adds, “I’ve had a few beers myself, taking the truck is safer.” And that seems to be the end of that conversation.

The alcohol flowing through your system manages to dull your anger enough to not fight back when Bishop helps you into the passenger seat and buckles you in. You want to argue that you’re not a baby, that you can take care of yourself thank you very much, but the several (four, maybe?) beers and the two shots you’d had tonight were hitting you in full force.

Once the door is closed, you turn in your seat to press your forehead to the glass and pull your legs up to your chest. You’re usually a happy type of drunk, but with the yelling and the heartache, all you want to do right now is sleep. And you must have done just that, because the next thing you know Bishop is maneuvering you out of the car to cradle you in his arms.

“Lemme down… I can.. walk.” You murmur, but you’re quickly slipping back into slumber as Bishop chuckles. The last thing you remember, Bishop is laying you down - on your bed? Couch? You can’t tell, but you don’t care right now.

“Goodnight, querida.”

And then, everything goes black.

_____________

Sunlight streams in through the open curtains, a warm glow fills the room. A groan, loud and hearty, echoes throughout the otherwise silent bedroom. Your head lifts from the pillow before quickly shoving itself under said pillow. The light is too bright, the birds chirping are too loud, and you want to throw up. This feeling is actually what gets you up from the bed, stumbling your way to the bathroom just in time to empty your stomach into the toilet. Your head pounds with every wretch and cough you emit, only after two minutes does the vomiting end. Eyes closed and mouth parted, you flush the toilet and brace yourself so you can stand on wobbly legs.

The cool water splashing against your face actually helps, the cold waking your mind and body by a fraction. Your gaze drifts from the sink to the mirror, causing you to visibly cringe at the state you’re in. Your hair is relatively kempt, but the bags under your eyes and the flushness of your skin would let anyone know that you’re not doing too great today. A ding from your phone sounds loud throughout the room, and the pounding of your head starts to increase again.

The cabinet to your left holds your medicines, so you shuffle through different cold meds and pain pills until you land on the tylenol. It’s all a blur, shoving two tylenol in your mouth, gulping it down with tap water, and then stumbling back to bed intending to sleep the day away. But another ding from your phone sounds again, and you finally find the strength to look at it.

Several texts from Ez and Coco flood your screen, but one text is from Bishop, and your heart starts to drop into your stomach. Images from last night flood your mind as you remember the argument, the breakup, and then Bishop driving you home since you were way too drunk to drive. You dread what you’re about to read and pray that you hadn’t said anything embarrassing to the man. So, summoning up the courage, you open your phone.

From: Bishop

Good morning, I hope your hangover is treating you well. I know you hate other people riding your bike, so I’ll have it towed to your place later. Let me know when you wake up so I know you’re okay.

To: Bishop

Hey, I’m okay. My head feels like it’s going to explode and I might throw up again, so I’m having a good time. Thanks for doing this, and for last night. I’m sorry if I said or did anything embarrassing.

You throw your phone on the pillow next to your head and sigh, and within minutes you’re back in the clutches of a restless slumber.

_____________

Four weeks pass by and you’ve managed to not go back to the clubhouse. Sure, you’ve hung out with Coco and Gilly and Ez a few times, you’ve even met with Bishop at a diner to catch up, but never at the clubhouse. Mainly, it’s because you know it’s Angel’s territory, his home away from home, and you don’t want to show up and ruin that for him after breaking up so soon (It’s also partially due to not wanting to see a new woman hang off of Angel’s arm if he’s already moved on).

You’ve managed to stay away from the clubhouse for four weeks, up until today. Clouds covered the sun, providing much needed shade and therefore letting the temperature drop by a few degrees. Today was a perfect day for riding around the streets of Santo Padre, up until it wasn’t.

You’re at a red light when it happens, a car racing down the road at a definitely illegal speed swerves as the driver tries to turn left. Luckily, there was only one other car on the road, the opposite side you were on, so they didn’t get hurt, but you did.

The car manages to swerve in such a way that the rear of the car smashes into your bike, sending you flying backwards and your bike skidding to the right. Due to the force of which you’re knocked back by, you land on your side, your shoulder taking most of the impact. It might be the adrenaline, but you don’t register the pain, nor do you register the blood all across your arm from where you’d skidded across the pavement.

In a haze, you hear sirens sound in the distance, people come to your aid in flocks, several bystanders are helping you to stand while other bystanders block the car that hit you from speeding away. It’s all a blur, everything moves too fast yet too slow at the same time. But soon enough the paramedics are escorting you to the back of an ambulance and police officers are surrounding the car.

Over the next five or so minutes, you’re asked a series of questions regarding your injuries and medical history, but one question stumps you.

Is there anyone you want to notify?

Is there? Your family lives hours away, you and Angel are no longer together, and you’re pretty sure most of the club is working at the scrapyard. Still, you know you won’t be able to get back home once they transport you to the hospital, so you decide to call the one person that you know could help you right now.

Bishop.

_____________

Within the next hour, you’re sitting on a hospital bed with your arm bandaged and in a sling. You’re doing alright for being hit by a car, most of that has to do with the helmet you were wearing. Minor scrapes and bruises litter your body, a nasty cut across your cheek had to be stitched up, but you’ve had worse.

Heavy footsteps make their way down the hall, a gruff voice asking (demanding) to be led to your room, and then suddenly the door is swung open to reveal a very concerned Bishop. His breathing is labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as he takes in your condition.

After determining that you’re not in serious peril, Bishop takes a few quick steps so he can stand in front of you. His eye twitches and his fist clenches, the scowl on his face let’s you know that he might actually kill the man that put you here.

Reaching your good hand out to him, you lay your hand on his bicep and squeeze softly. A soft smile forms on your face as you shake your head. “I’m okay, Bish. A little banged up, but nothing too bad.”

Bishop huffs, shakes his own head, and takes your hand off of his arm so he can hold it in his own. “No. It ain’t okay, you’re hurt.”

And something in the way he speaks makes your heart stutter ever so slightly, your face grows warm. But, you don’t want to dwell on that, you’re more concerned with calming Bishop down than you are with analyzing why now, of all times, you’re becoming nervous around your friend.

“I’m okay, Obispo. Yes, I’m injured, but that doesn’t mean that I'm incapacitated.” Your voice comes out harsher than you intended. However at this point, you’re tired of people (men, mainly) treating you like some porcelain doll that must be protected at all times. “I’m a big girl, okay. I can handle myself, you know.”

At this, Bishop sighs and drops your hand, but not before giving it a soft squeeze. “I know you are, that doesn’t mean I like seeing people I care about getting hurt.” His voice is also gruff, but you know it’s because he truly cares.

As you’re contemplating on whether or not to argue further with Bishop, a knock at your room’s door stops you both, you both turning your heads to look at the doctor making his way towards you with a clipboard and papers.

“We’ve prescribed you some pain medications and a steroid to help with the swelling in your shoulder. Now all you have to do is sign these documents and we can release you.”

The doctor is short and to the point, clearly tired from what must be a long and stressful shift at the ER, so you take the clipboard and (as best as you can) balance the clipboard on your knees so you can sign what needs to be signed. At one point Bishop tries to take the clipboard to help steady it, but you throw him a glare that makes him back off.

It takes a bit, but you’re soon discharged and walking (limping, more like it) out of the hospital and to Bishop’s awaiting truck.

“I had Chucky tow your bike to the shop. I’ll take a look at it tomorrow and see if we can save her.” Bishop talks with authority, like what he says is final, and that’s what really irks you.

“You didn’t need to do that, I could have had it brought to my house so I can fix my bike.” Frustration is flowing through your veins. You loathe asking others for help, so this otherwise small act of kindness feels too much for you.

That comment makes Bishop stop walking and turn around so he can face you. “Querida, I know how much you hate others touching your bike. Under any other circumstance I wouldn’t have taken it to the shop, but I cannot trust you to not hurt yourself further by working on this bike.” Bishop sighs heavily and stares into your eyes with determination. “Now get in the truck so I can take you home.”

Okay that is what really pisses you off, logically, deep down you know that he’s only doing this because he cares about you, he would never want to see you hurt. But the insinuation that you’d put yourself in any more jeopardy by overextending yourself (no matter how true it is) irritates you.

“I’m an adult, Bishop. I don’t need your charity,” Your voice raises, and Bishop looks around for any bystanders that might be listening in.

When he’s determined that no one else is within earshot of you both, he takes ahold of your good arm. “Please, we can talk about this tomorrow, I’ll even pick you up and take you to the scrapyard tomorrow so we can both look at it.” Now, his tone may ooze confidence and finality but you can tell he’s getting desperate, almost pleading for you to just get in the truck.

One very long minute passes before your eyes are rolling and you’re moving past Bishop to grab onto the truck’s door handle. You can see him shake his head, hear the sigh that leaves his lips, and while you’re frustrated with him (immensely so), you’re partially frustrated with yourself. Receiving kindness has always been hard for you, therefore you’re prone to lashing out at those who are kind to you. And you hate it, you hate feeling like you’re pushing people away, but you don’t know any other way to live.

Maybe it’s your lingering anger, maybe it’s the pain medicine kicking in, but you don’t speak the rest of the way to your house. At one point, Bishop looks over at you and tries making small talk, but he’s quickly shut down by your non responsiveness. It’s a tense silence you two sit through, you are too upset to speak and Bishop is too tired to argue anymore.

When you do finally get to your house, you’re the first person out of the truck, limping up your porch steps so you can unlock your door. It takes a few minutes, but soon the front door is unlocked and your bag is tossed onto the floor. As you turn to shut your door, you see Bishop leaning against his truck, clearly exasperated.

Again, the beating of your heart increases and, again, you push that feeling down. Deciding that you’ve been enough of a pain in the ass tonight, you lift your good arm and wave at Bishop. A small smile makes its way onto your face, hopefully softening the blow of yelling at him earlier.

This must have calmed Bishop, because he too smiles and waves before getting back in his truck. And as you’re watching him pull out of your driveway, you can’t help but be a tad bit happy you get to see him tomorrow.

_____________

“The motor is-“

“The motor is fine!”

“It’s not supposed to-“

“I know how my bike works, alright!”

Whoever thought letting Angel tell you what was wrong with your bike deserves a kick in the head. Each time Angel opens his mouth, you’re shutting him down, not letting him get a word in. It’s tough, because as much as you don’t hate Angel, you do hate other people telling you how to fix your bike without letting you look for yourself.

“Just listen-“

“Cut that shit out!” A loud, booming voice echoes in your direction. Turning, you see Bishop making his way over to you and Angel, his eyes locked on Angel’s the whole way.

Angel’s mouth opens again, ready to stand his ground, but Bishop’s eyebrow raises and he clears his throat and that shuts Angel up. He backs down, grumbling about how you’re too difficult and frustrating to work with.

A large, calloused hand lands on your bicep and squeezes softly, effectively moving your focus from yelling at Angel. Warm eyes meet yours as you shift your head, there’s something unreadable about the look in Bishop’s eyes. It’s something you’ve seen a million times, but you’re just now noticing how soft it is. How his eyes shine just a little brighter. It’s… strange, and his stoic face doesn’t help things either, making it hard to decipher the situation.

These warm eyes, the same eyes that you’ve looked into hundreds of times, send a chill down your spine. It makes you feel guilty, immensely so, because Bishop is your friend. Your friend who helped you through the last few months of your relationship with Angel. Your friend who gave you advice and company when things were tense in your relationship. Your friend whose eyes are, very suddenly, pulling you in deep.

“C’mon querida, let’s look for ourselves.”

This snaps you out of your thoughts, your eyes snapping up to meet his. A little lost in your head, you nod slowly and turn abruptly, making your way into the garage to, hopefully, leave those confusing thoughts behind.

_____________

Sweat runs down your neck, sunglasses shield your eyes from the sun hanging high in the sky. It must be 100 degrees at least, and yet your tank top and shorts still heat your skin further. The only reprieve you get from the heat is when you occasionally tread inside for water, however your AC doesn’t seem to be wanting to work today either. A fan in your garage is on high speed, circulating as much cool air as possible, it’s still not very effective.

Not only are you frustrated with the heat, you’re growing more and more frustrated with not being able to do basic things without help. So, being you, you don’t ask for help, you work around getting the things you need. You’re able to move your arm more, at-home physical therapy has been working wonders, but you’re still not able to do what you want to do, what you need to do. Which happens to be fixing your bike.

There’s not much time during the week to work on it, which is why Bishop has come to your house for the past three Sundays to help with it. Which is to say, you help him. With your arm still bandaged up you’re unable to maneuver to the exact position working on your bike requires you to be in. But, speaking of the devil, when you exit the house with yet more bottles of water, you’re granted the sight of Bishop in his white tank-top and jeans, squatting down and staring intensely at the loosely hanging chains on the broken bike.

Suddenly, like you’ve been hit by a bullet, you’re hit with a variety of emotions. Some of them you cannot name, some of them you can. The one emotion that sticks out from all of them is… infatuation? That can’t be right, you think. You’re just friends, plus, you broke up with Angel only six weeks ago, stop it.

None of these thoughts help, though. Standing in a trance-like state, each hand gripping a bottle, your breathing picks up. Why are you feeling these things now? What changed? Could it have been that he was there for you when virtually no one else was? Maybe it’s the way he makes you feel safe, like no one could hurt you. Maybe it’s because you know he wants to keep you safe, yet he chooses to let you do your thing, content in the knowledge that you’d let him know if anything happened. This realization, the fact that you’ve never had that kind of understanding with any previous relationship, almost knocks you off balance.

Six weeks, you have to remind yourself. You’ve been single for six weeks, don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s not until Bishop stands to full height do you realize that you’ve been staring at him for god-knows how long. The corner of his mouth quirks up, like he knows what you’re thinking. And instead of dwelling on how refreshing that feels to have someone understand you like Bishop has been able to for the entirety of your seven year friendship, you pick your head up and smile back at him.

“I hope you’re not breaking her anymore than she already is,” You joke, a slight waver in your voice. Rough, scorching hot cement pushes you to walk forward into the shaded garage, right next to Bishop.

“Yeah, y’know, I’ve decided to leave her like that. I’m sure she’s ready to go,” Bishop’s smile widens, humor flushing out any weird tension that hung in the air only moments ago. The hand not holding the water rests on your lower back, pushing you forward.

“Well I’ll leave you up to taking the first test run, then,” You joke back, both of you staring at each other for a moment before cracking, laughter echoing through the small garage. The hand on your back stays in place, and you find yourself being pulled further into Bishop’s side. The laughter subsides, a comfortable silence falling over the two of you.

“But seriously,” You sigh, preparing yourself for the worst outcome possible. “How is she?”

Sensing your unease, Bishop grabs one of the bottles of water from your hands. “She’ll be fine,” He assures you, taking a brief moment to swallow down some much needed water. “I’ll get her working in no time.”

A quick kick to the shin makes him clear his throat and backtrack on that last comment. “We’ll get her working in no time.”

“Good, now hand me a wrench so I can put the chains where they’re actually supposed to go.” The hand you’ve outstretched towards Bishop gets smacked away, with a quick reprimand.

“How about you hand me a wrench and I’ll let you delegate on where things go.”

Seemingly okay with this compromise, you nod. Sticking your tongue out and pulling a face while you search for said wrench.

_____________

Two grueling Sundays later, and Bishop and you have finally fully repaired your bike. It was a long process, having to order parts and break apart the whole motorcycle to put said parts into place took way longer than you’d have liked.

However, many frustrating arguments and a few mistakes later, your girl is as good as new. And luckily, you had your cast taken off last week, so you were actually of physical use today. It felt good, being able to move around and stretch fully without hindrance.

The best part about that experience was getting closer to Bishop. Getting to know random new facts about him, getting to see which of your jokes and stories get the most laughs out of him, getting to see a new side of him.

From an outside perspective, you’d think he had no problem sharing these things about himself, opening up so easily. From an inside perspective, from yours, you know he’d never be so open and jovial with just anyone. The fact that Bishop, your closest friend, deemed you worthy of seeing the real him has your heart soaring. The dad-like jokes actually help too.

One particular joke from Bishop has your eyes clenching shut, your head tilting back, and your hand shooting out to hang onto his forearm while you laugh, boisterous and loud. A snort, arguably an unattractive snort, comes out next, and you rush to cover your mouth. A large, warm hand comes to your wrist not long after, pulling it down so you’re not hidden away.

Your eyes flutter open, looking right to see Bishop, staring back at you with such intensity that it catches you off guard. How his eyes flicker down to your lips for one very long moment before returning to your own eyes. It makes you gulp, butterflies filling your stomach and your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

This feeling intensifies as Bishop’s hand removes itself from your wrist to slowly encompass your cheek. Skin flushing, mouth dry, you peer down to his lips. Within seconds they start moving as he starts speaking.

“I don’t know when, or how. It was sudden. I woke up one day knowing that I wanted you, I needed you. You were with Angel at the time, so I’d never said anything. But… I can’t help but notice the way you look at me. You didn’t even look at Angel like that.”

A short pause, an intake of breath before speaking again.

“I’d like to think you feel this too.”

Time seems to move in slow motion. Two months ago you broke up with a man you cared for. Now you’re sitting in your garage with a man who cares for you. All of the indecipherable looks from him now added up, he likes you.

“I do.” You say, voice no louder than a whisper. “I feel it.” The hand cupping your cheek slides to the back of your neck, resting comfortably.

Silence fills the room, neither of you speaking for fear of ruining the moment. Until finally, Bishop’s hand squeezes your neck softly to guide you further towards him. For a long moment you stay with your lips centimeters away, eyes fluttering shut as you take a breath in.

“Obispo-“ You’re cut off abruptly by lips pressing into yours. You’re torn between being surprised and being correct in your assumptions about the way Bishop kisses. He kisses like he loves: passionate, gentle, soft.

Lips slide over each other, tongues poking out to tease the other while the hand on your neck squeezes harder. At this, a soft moan escapes your lips, allowing Bishop to slide his tongue into your mouth and explore this new territory.

A hand snakes its way up Bishop’s arm, squeezes his bicep, then cups his cheek. With tilted heads and entangled bodies, this moment is one you’ll never forget. You’d do anything to stay like this forever, but, as if by chance, a phone rings, the two of you breaking away to look at who the hell is calling.

It ends up being Taza, wondering where in the hell Bishop is when he was supposed to be at Hank’s over an hour ago. An apologetic smile forms on Bishop’s face as he nods, telling Taza he’ll be there soon. Turning to you, ready to apologize, he’s stopped by your lips covering his.

A soft, chaste kiss followed by, “It’s okay, go.”

Bishop leaves then, leaving behind a woman smiling so bright with a heart full of love.

_____________

A late Friday night, another clubhouse party in full swing. Bishop is leaning against a pool table casually watching Angel get his ass beat by Letti at a different table. It’s fun, everyone having fun while drinks flow freely. Until suddenly, Angel is grumbling, eyes trained on the front doors to see you.

The confidence you ooze, the power you hold, it’s evident to everyone in the room that you are not to be messed with. Angel clearly doesn’t get that message as he stomps in your direction. He gets no more than ten feet from you when he opens his mouth to start yelling.

No words come out though, he’s stopped by you brushing past him into Bishop’s arms. You don’t care to get into an argument tonight, despite being known for not backing down from a fight. All you care about tonight is spending time with your friends, and with Bishop.

Despite your relationship being undefined, you’re still clearly infatuated with each other, taking your time and going with the flow. You’ve managed to wrap your arms around Bishop’s waist as Angel appears in front of you both, confused as ever.

“When the hell did this happen?” It’s phrased as a question, but you can hear the hurt he’s buried deep. And while it does pain you to hurt Angel, you’re not going to let him ruin your night.

“It’s new, actually. Somewhere along the line we realized we were good for each other. Actually good for each other.”

Huffing, Angel crosses his arms over his chest and stands taller. Despite staring deep into your eyes, his next sentence isn't directed at you. “Good luck with your new girl, then. Hope you can handle her.” He’s about to turn and leave when Bishop finally speaks up.

“I know how to handle women like her, a lot better than you do.”

You can see the anger in Angel’s eyes, the gears turning in his head as he contemplates arguing with Bishop. Aggravated, Angel turns and walks towards a group of ladies entertaining themselves with other mayan men.

This calms your heart down, your anger subsides, replaced by fondness as you look up at Bishop.

“He called me ‘your girl’,” you say, smiling wide.

“And?” The questioning look on Bishop’s face causes you to giggle, as he clearly doesn’t register what you’re hinting at.

“You didn’t say that I’m not,” Your arms tighten around his waist, face inching closer to his.

A smile forms on Bishop’s face as well, chuckling softly to himself. “That’s ‘cause you are my girl. You alright with that?”

Holding your head high, one hand snakes from Bishop’s back over and up to smooth over his stomach. Letting your hand wander further upwards, you lean in close to his face so you can whisper in his ear

“Fuck, Ez.”

You were angry. Pissed off, even, as you considered how much you were going to make your best friend pay for this whole set up. As soon as you were done here, you’d drive your ass over to his place and beat the living shit out of him for ever putting you in this situation in the first place.

It was only his promise that help was on the way that kept you sitting there, looking like an idiot, waiting for a date that - clearly - wasn’t going to show up. After all, it had been over an hour now and you didn’t need a text to tell you he wasn’t coming. It wasn’t exactly a big town, so there was no way he was lost or stuck in the non-existent traffic.

He simply didn’t want to show.

Damn it.

You debated how much longer to wait before bailing on the disaster of a date as you sipped at the glass of wine in front of you, trying to work out the best way to avoid the pitying glances of almost everyone around you.

It felt like there was a giant spotlight over your head, making it clear to every single person there what a loser you were. All you could do was stare at the text on your phone and pray for a miracle.

Ez: Sit tight, Y/N. Sending back up x

You’d laughed at that. Back up? What did that mean? Was he gonna rush over here on his bike like some white knight and try to make it all better for you?

As it turned out, your guess wasn’t that far from the truth.

“Can I get you another glass of wine?” the waiter asked, pity clear in his eyes as he came over once more.

He’d been over several times in the last hour and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he asked you to either order or get the hell out. At least he wouldn’t have to ask twice; you’d sprint out of the damn restaurant so fast you’d be a blur, because pity was the last thing you needed.

This was why you never dated.

Ez knew it too - even if he’d insisted you needed to find someone to appreciate you and make you feel half as special as you always made your friends feel.

Damn his flattery. It always worked on you, even ten years or so after your first meeting.

Opening your mouth, you were stopped as someone pulled out the chair across from you and beat you to it.

“Sure, we could use a drink.” Angel glanced at the waiter, a warning look clear as he silently challenged the idiot to say something. Thankfully, the waiter knew better and simply watched as Angel reached over and patted your hand. “Sorry, sweetheart. I got caught up doing stuff.”

Sweetheart?

Had he just-?

You froze, trying not to choke on your wine as the reality suddenly caught up with you.

Angel?

Angel was here? Now? Pretending to be your date?

Your cheeks were burning as you felt your heart skip a beat, realising that somehow Ez had convinced his older brother to drive his ass all the way over here just to save you from dying of shame.

How?

You didn’t know which part of this scenario surprised you most. As it was, it was kind of hard to believe it was happening and that this wasn’t some kind of wine induced fantasy; you’d never seen Angel act so smooth around you, shooting you a smirk that made even you believe you were dating.

He was also wearing a button up underneath his jacket … but no kutte.

God. He looked sinful; no wonder the waiter wilted at the sight. The waiter also had the decency to look mildly embarrassed as he realised his mistake in assuming you were alone.

“W… what… what can I get you to drink, sir?”

It was a miracle Angel didn’t scoff at the use of ‘sir’ - as you fully expected him to. Instead, he surprised you by smiling in your direction, glancing at the already half finished bottle of wine beside you. “I’ll have another glass to share with my date.”

“Of course.”

Yep. It was official… you were dreaming.

Angel was drinking wine? But he hated wine and would never drink it normally, especially if there was a beer or alternative spirit available. It was as if he’d chosen it just to fuck with the waiter, making some kind of possessive demonstration by sharing your drink. As your date… date? Had he really said that?

Had he meant it?

Or was it simply him playing the part that Ez asked him to?

You realised, as the waiter finally laid out a clean glass on the table, that you hadn’t said a word yet. In fact, you’d been staring the whole time like some kind of awe-struck fish, your jaw moving but no sound coming out.

“T-thank you,” you managed as the waiter took your food orders and finally left you both to it.

You half expected Angel to drop the act now that you were alone. It wouldn’t have surprised you if he’d made some crass joke about the stick up the waiter’s ass or even removed his hand from where it still sat, resting intertwined with yours.

After all, Angel was only doing this to help you. Right? You had to remind yourself of that fact as you tried to process what was happening.

He hadn’t actually come here to be your date - not in a romantic sense anyway. Nor, had he dressed up for anything other than playing the part. It wasn’t like he was trying to impress you.

You - the girl who’d hung around his baby brother since middle school. The girl who he’d seen as nothing more than a little sister of his own. No wonder he was here if it meant protecting you and your feelings, rather than for any selfishness on his part.

So why did that make you oddly sad?

“You didn’t have to do this,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice and gaze steady.

“Nah, querida,” Angel shrugged. “I couldn’t leave you hanging. Especially not when your date ditched you and my little shit of a brother got you here in the first place.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“So? I wasn’t going to leave you hanging when he told me what was going on. You really think I’d let you suffer like that?”

Finally pulling your hand free, you tried not to focus on the way his eyes wouldn’t leave you or the overwhelming sincerity in his voice.

Somehow, you were desperate not to make yourself seem any more tragic or helpless than you already did. He probably thought you were being stupid, needing rescuing like some damn damsel in distress. You should have just got up and walked out the minute you’d realised your actual date wasn’t coming.

“It’s one shitty date with one shitty guy, Angel. I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself, even if I appreciate you doing all this for me. Things happen. I’ll get over it.”

“Well, you don’t deserve that shit.”

An unknown feeling you’d never felt before ran through your body. His tone was firm, an underlying aggression lacing his words as if somehow he was angry. Not at you though, but at the idiot who’d supposedly stood you up.

The thought made your heart flutter as a wave of heat washed over you - and not because of the wine.

For the first time in a long time you felt …. nervous? Around him?

“You sound like you’re gonna track the bastard down,” you smirked, knowing there was probably a strong likelihood of it happening anyway. Either him or Ez would be sure to ‘avenge you’ the way they had the first guy who’d ever broken your heart all those years ago. It was just their style. No one fucked with those they cared about; no wonder Toby Prentiss had been carrying that black eye around for weeks… even if you had been fifteen at the time. “But what about the club? Won’t they miss you?”

Angel chuckled. “It’s one night. Those dumbasses can survive my not being there, querida. They’ll understand considering it was a choice between either spending my night with their ugly faces, or spending the night with much hotter and way more entertaining company. It wasn’t exactly a tough choice.”

“Well… thank you for coming to my rescue,” you whispered, trying your hardest to fight the smile that threatened to show.

He took a sip of his wine, eyes alight with a look you hadn’t seen before.

“Anytime.”

Three hours later and you were walking down the surprisingly empty main street in Santo Padre. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you close as you ignored the chilly night air.

You were happy. Actually, euphoric, was more like it, drunk on a giddy combination of laughter, wine, and the man next to you. Somehow, you knew something had changed between you tonight - you knew what you hoped that was, but you were too happy to question whether or not you’d imagined it. You’d had a great time and you weren’t about to ruin it.

Yep. Ez Reyes should thank his lucky stars as it turned out that you would be hugging his dumb-ass rather than fighting him.

“You’re kidding me. You? Angel Reyes? Bested by a poodle?” you exclaimed, trying to speak in between laughs.

Angel nodded, slipping his free-hand in his jacket pocket as he tried to play off the embarrassment on his face. “We fell down a hill, trying to stop the dogs escaping the shelter. They were just bolting everywhere and even Coco landed on his ass trying to grab some Shitzu or something.”

“How the hell have I never heard this story before?”

“I guess it never seemed to come up.”

“Well, I’m definitely gonna mention it at the Club next time I see him. I hope someone has pictures-”

You were cut off suddenly as you went to step forward. It was then that you felt your foot snag on a crack in the sidewalk, sending you staggering towards the ground. However, before you could fall flat on your face, you felt yourself being hauled backwards.

It all happened so quickly, you didn’t even realise what was going on.

Angel’s arms had somehow wrapped themselves around your waist the second you’d tilted forward, tugging you upright and back into his chest. Yet again, you felt your heart skip a beat as you stared up at your saviour of the night.

“Shit.”

“Are you okay?” His hand cupped your face to check. The touch sent a shiver through you as you helplessly wondered what it would feel like if he touched you everywhere else on your body. “Who knew it only took a bottle or two for you to be such a lightweight these days.”

“As if! I’m - I’m okay. Knew I shouldn’t have worn these damn heels. They look great but they’re a pain in the ass.” Your hand went to his wrist, taking in the concern on his face. “It seems all I’ve been doing is thanking you for rescuing me tonight.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I guess you could say that.”

“So… were we… are we …?”

“Are we what, querida?”

“Forget it, Angel.”

“No,” he stated firmly, refusing to release you as you suddenly tried to step away, panic bubbling up inside you. “Ask me. Go on. What were you gonna say?”

It was a question that both of you were terrified of asking. It was the kind of question neither of you could take back no matter the consequences that came after.

What if he said no?

What if he really was only here to help you out as a favour to you and Ez?

The very thought made your fragile nerves fray even more. You were all but ready to rip yourself from his arm and flee towards your car, never to speak of this again… and you would have, had Angel not chosen then to smile down at you - a real, ear splitting smile.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer so that his nose gently grazed against yours.

The warmth of his touch and the soft scent of his cologne made you giddy as you gazed up at him. You only prayed he couldn’t feel the pounding of your heart as it threatened to burst out of your chest.

“Are we on a date?” you finally squeaked, knowing it was now or never.

“I hope so,” Angel whispered softly. “Would it be alright if we were?”

You smiled, knowing the answer before it even left your mouth. “Yes, Angel. It really, really would be.”

Just like that, it was as if a match had been struck between you, igniting an inferno of passion. As it was, you’d barely finished talking before his lips surged forward against yours; apparently, actions really did speak louder than words.

Before you knew it, your fingers were gripping onto the fabric, pulling him closer in response as you gasped into his mouth. You didn’t care who saw you both, stood there in the middle of the street, making out like two horny teenagers. Inside, that was what you were, simply two young idiots feeling head over heels in love.

Yeah... you’d definitely have to thank Ez later for making this happen.

Taza: Taza’s not super into Halloween, but he tags along for the memories, wanting to commemorate your son’s first Halloween. You have your son decked out in a handmade owl costume that Taza helped you think up, and you carry him in your arms. He’s too young to really know what’s going on, but his gummy smile never leaves his face. You make Taza take a million pictures, but you’re also sure to hand the camera to Bishop periodically to get some good pictures of all three of you.

Tranq: Tranq is in full dad mode for Halloween, his twin girls in elaborate costumes: one as a bumblebee and one as a butterfly. They walk on either side of him, each gripping one of his hands and every once in a while he lifts his arms to swing them, making them squeal. And since his girls have him wrapped around their fingers, the three of you were even able to convince him to don a pair of wings himself. You can’t help but giggle at the sight, the glittery white wings comically small on him. You follow along behind them taking a million pictures, dressed in your ladybug costume, still amazed that you were able to find such an incredible man.

Angel: You are all in on Halloween and having a kid, to you, means getting to relive a kid’s Halloween experience. Your son wants to be a pirate and so you spent a couple weekends hand-sewing your and his coordinating pirate costumes. Sometimes, Angel would come home late from the club to find you hunched over the kitchen table with a needle and thread and his heart would swell with admiration at what a good mom you are. Angel does not dress up, but you successfully bribe him (with some treats of his own later *wink*) to at the very least don a pirate hat and carry a fake sword attached to his belt. Angel hangs back and grins like a fool all night, watching his girl and his son enjoy themselves, divvying up candy and posing for silly pictures.

EZ: EZ has been reading Me, Frida with your daughter, and so she practically begs to dress up as Frida Kahlo. The three of you had even taken a Saturday to scour Santo Padre for appropriate huipil and skirts and made a day of it, getting tacos and ice cream and of course, stopping at the bookstore. You pin her hair up and weave colorful flowers into it. As you trick-or-treat, EZ is almost as excited as your daughter, the pair of them happily explaining her costume to anyone who asks (and EZ’s eyes twinkle with pride as he watches her nerd out). You hang back and take pictures, adoring your little daddy’s girl, who still comes running back to you to beg for a piece of candy here and there.

Creeper: Creeper takes a backseat and goes along with whatever you have planned for you guys’ first Halloween with a kid, just wanting your son to have a good time. You pick out a cute dragon costume, which Creep totally gets behind. The two of you don’t dress up, but Creeper carries his tiny dragon all night, showing him off to his brothers like a proud papa. When the little man gets cranky, you head home so Creeper can take his time putting his son to bed before the two of you curl up on the couch for a more adult kind of Halloween party.

Coco: Coco doesn’t fully dress up, but puts on a wizard’s hat at his daughter’s request, to coordinate with her tiny witch costume. Letty joins in, both you and her dressed in glow-in-the-dark skeleton unitards. Letty takes the reins, walking her little sister up to front doors and helping remind her what to say when the door opens. You get some great pictures of your daughter looking up adoringly at her big sister. Coco hangs back a little at first, chain smoking nervously, not sure how to involve himself and always a little worried about messing up. You remind him that just by being here he’s building memories with her, and gently encourage him. Your daughter winds up walking between Coco and Letty, holding their hands and begging her dad for candy. He, of course, gives in, and she’s eaten a quarter of the bag before you even get home.

Gilly: Much like Tranq, Gilly is living his best big soft dad life, carrying his kiddo when she gets too tired to walk anymore, the pink tulle of her princess dress heaped in his arms. You get a priceless picture of Gilly wearing a giant grin, cradling his sleeping daughter against his kutte, her tiara slipping and a piece of half-eaten chocolate clutched in her chubby little fist. You all head home a little early, ready to put the princess to bed and relax on the couch with a scary movie and some popcorn for a little Halloween fun of your own.

Angel Reyes

You scoured the fridge for your leftover chocolate cake.You were more peckish than usual—cravings on overdrive—and the dark, decadent treat was exactly what you needed. 

You groaned, tossing and turning over every container of junk there was. “Baaabe! Have you seen my—”

You turned around to the sound of footsteps and chewing. Angel moaned in satisfaction as he licked his fingers, a plate of smeared cream and brown crumbs in his hand. You caught a glimpse of the gooey goodness on the side of his mouth - he was the culprit.

A scowl creeped onto your face as you crossed your arms and kissed your teeth. Angel knew that noise very well; he was in trouble. He lifted his head to look at you, his face grimacing as he took in your annoyed expression.

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. That’s my cake, Angel!” 

Your boyfriend looked away to swallow down a laugh. He then turned the plate over, flipping it from side to side as if he was searching for something.

“Sorry, mami. I don’t see any cake left,” he chuckled, sporting a feigned pout of confusion. 

Angel made his way to you and placed the plate in the sink, giggling at his own tomfoolery as he kissed your cheek. You humphed, frustratedly pulling away from his attempt at affection in this very serious moment. 

“You do know this means I have to fight you, right? I’m throwing hands and I won’t hold back.”

You put your fists up, throwing a few light punches to his shoulder. Angel shook his head at you, humor encompassing his features as he cupped your cheek. How dare he not take this seriously? Did he think you were fooling around? 

“You’re so dramatic. I gotta love your cute ass.”

“Yeah? Well, I hate you,” you inched closer, jabbing your finger into his chest. He huffed out a small laugh as he grabbed your wrist and leaned in. 

“I despise you.” 

“I loathe you.” 

“I wanna eat you out so fucking bad,” he whispered against your lips before licking them slowly. You paused, pursing your mouth and narrowing your eyes at him.

“Fine, carry me.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he cooed with a devilish smirk, grabbing the back of your thighs and hoisting you onto his waist.

“You’re getting your ass beat right after, though.”

Angel winked. “You got it, baby.”

“—But at least I get another slice of cake,” he purred into your ear before slapping your ass. 

Ezekiel ‘EZ’ Reyes

“EZ, baby, how many times do I have to remind you that I am working?”

Leaning against the doorframe of your shared bedroom, Ezekiel frowned. His head dropped down before meeting your glare with his sad puppy eyes. 

“But—”

“No.”

“How about—”

“I can’t.”

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before childishly storming off into the other room.

- 10 minutes later -

Your gaze fleeted from your laptop to your book as you took notes, intensely focused on scribbling everything down. That was until light, circular objects had started to repeatedly hit your head. Was it hailing ... indoors?

Several pieces of popcorn had landed onto the bedsheets, as well as your notebook. What the—

You heard a familiar laugh sputter from above, and as you looked upwards, you were met with a troublemaking EZ munching on the snack as he threw them at you. 

Your lips pulled into a thin line, which only caused him to pout. 

“Really? This is what we’re doing?” You wore an unamused expression.

He groaned, angrily shoving the rest of the buttered balls into his mouth before walking off, yet again. 

- 5 minutes later -

“Babyyy,” Ezekiel moaned from the floor. He had realized that being in another room affected him too much, so he decided to lay on the ground until you finished what you had to do. “Give me attention!”

As annoyed as you were with his needy behavior, you giggled at how much he craved your presence.

“I’m almost done, babe. Be patient.”

“Patient my ass. Your workaholic self has been ignoring me through all of today and all of last night.”

“I know, but—”

“LOVE ME.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing as you put the pens down. Ezekiel stood up, snatching the notepad from under you, faster than you could protest against it. He snuck his hand under your nightgown, his fingers hooking into your panties before slowly sliding them down.

“I think you could use a little break.”

Johnny ‘Coco’ Cruz

You absentmindedly looked out the window as your baby girl suckled away. Her tiny hand adorably palmed your breast as she cooed, her eyes fluttering closed ever so slowly.

Looking back at her, you smiled in awe. Her resemblance to Coco, your husband, was ridiculously uncanny. You pinched her cheeks lightly, humming at the noises she made in response. 

The hushed atmosphere was disturbed by the door bursting open, an exhausted Coco stumbling his way in with shopping bags in both hands. 

“Sh! I’m trying to get her to sleep, Johnny,” you scolded, your eyes widening at him. 

Coco clenched his teeth and slowed his movements, putting a finger to his lips as he nodded. 

“My bad,” he whispered. “But you asked me to buy all this stuff, and shit’s heavy. Mi princesa has me doing her dirty work and she can’t even walk yet. I spoil her too much, ma.”

You let out a small laugh, your husband’s complaining never failed to amuse you. He set the bags down before walking over to you, peppering kisses on your neck and cheek. 

“Don’t forget about lil’ mama.”

“Of course not. I was saving best for last,” he chuckled as you slapped his chest lightly. Coco placed a kiss on the baby’s forehead, stroking her little arm as he did. 

He plopped down on the couch next to you. You expected him to turn on the TV, or even check his phone for any new messages. But instead, he just stared at the breastfeeding going on between his two favorite girls. 

Coco’s lips curved into a sad pout at the sight. 

“I remember when I used to do that. It wasn’t too long ago when I was getting in on all the action. And now look, I’m titty-deprived.”

Your jaw dropped as you stared at him, blinking slowly as your mind registered what he had just said. The sides of your mouth curved into an open-mouthed grin as you laughed hysterically, your other hand immediately flying to your mouth to quiet yourself down. 

Coco couldn’t help but join in, his chuckles unrestrained and lively. “Don’t laugh, mami. I’m serious,” he sighed. 

You shook your head. “I can’t stand you, baby.”

Scooting closer, he licked his lips and his pleading eyes stared into yours. “Come on, querida. Let me pop a titty in my mouth real quick. For old time’s sake.”

He reached a hand over to cup the swell of your breast before you slapped it away. 

“Coco!” You whisper-yelled. 

“What? She gets to suck on one, it’s only fair.”

“She’s eating!” 

“Shiiit. I could eat too, baby.” He bit his bottom lip as he kissed your tender skin. “Look at them all full and heavy, and shit. Mm-mm.”

You rolled your eyes at him, your hand meeting his forehead as you pushed him away. 

“Quit it. Get your ass in the shower … I’ll be there in 5 minutes,”  you smirked. 

Gilberto ‘Gilly’ Lopez

You chased after Gilly like your life depended on it. The hot sand beneath your feet, and the merciless rays of sun beating down on you, did not make it easy. 

Luckily, there weren’t many people on this secret beach. The ones that were hung out on the other side. Considering you were running topless with your breasts being held by one arm, you were grateful for that.

Gilly chuckled his way into the shallow water, his arms flailing mid-air with your bikini top in one hand. 

“I swear to God, Gilly. If you don’t give me my fucking top back!” 

“If you want it, come get it!” He dangled the fabric in between his fingertips, taunting you with a cheeky grin that spread across his face. “You think it’ll fit me?” 

You groaned loudly, bending over with your hands on your knees as you attempted to catch your breath. 

“You are so fucking dead, Gilberto!” 

“At least I’ll die pretty,” he teased as he put the bikini top over his chest, though it barely covered anything. He began to laugh at himself and his shenanigans, the whole situation clearly bringing him the utmost joy. 

Gilly’s prying eyes gave you a nice, long look over. He stared at your half-naked body with a boyish pleasure, not regretting his antics one bit. 

“You’re looking good, girl! Get over here so I can get a better view.”

If it hadn’t been for Gilly dancing in the water, with your top now draped over his head, you wouldn’t have been so convinced. You rolled your eyes before helplessly giggling as you jogged into the cool, fresh blue. 

The sea breeze danced around you, caressing every ounce of your skin. The sensation sent a visible shiver down your spine. 

Gilly pulled you into his strong arms, his teddy bear stature engulfing you into his warmth. He stroked your back up and down as he embraced you; two bodies in the midst of your own little world. 

As he leaned in to kiss you, you smirked mischievously. You dropped down, yanking his swimming trunks with you. The abrupt action made Gilly fall backwards as he splashed into the water. 

You erupted into a laughing fit of your own before he took you down with him. Gasping for air, you held onto him as your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. 

“You’re so annoying!”

Gilly hummed. “Yeah, but you looove me.”

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