#Taza Romero

[thedevilsmoonshine]

Mayans MC Season 4

📷: FX

[fangirl-life]

♥️

[michaelirby]

Mayans MC Season 4 teaser trailer

[mhercock]

Feeling like Elgin has straight up ruined these characters.

It felt like Kurt was taking this show somewhere different to SOA and it was so refreshing.

And then Elgin has really turned it into SOA 2.0 and I actually hate it so much. He’s destroyed these characters that I came to love, and now I don’t even recognise them. And it’s just sloppy! He’s turned Bishop into Clay, and it makes me feel sick. And I’m scared for how he is going to ruin SAMCRO.

Yes there are aspects that I love. Seeing Creepers truth is amazing and I love it. Seeing a bisexual character is amazing.

But the negatives are really outweighing the positives for me.

[sonhosquebrados]

handsome and sexy daddies 🤤😘

Michael Irby and Raoul Max Trujillo

[abbatoirablaze]

Queens Of The Mayans, Ayanna's Master List

This series is complete ✔

Long before there was an established chapter of the Mayans MC in Santo Padre that worked with the Galindo Cartel, the men within its chapter, were just that.

Men.

Some were in the military. Some were bouncers. Some were mechanics. And some were even in other chapters or clubs.

But behind every strong man is a woman to keep him in line.

Che "Taza" Romero went to Santo Padre with Bishop Losa and Tranq Loza to establish the chapter. He never thought he'd find his queen along the way.

[This is sort of like a prequel story before the show takes place. The seasons will take place with all the combined girls in a separate story/with the exception of episode 1]

Warnings: There will be dark themes within the story. While the reader, nor the love interest are dark towards one another, there will be violence, blood, guns, drugs, etc. Each chapter will have posted warnings.

Chapter 1--2008

Chapter 2--2010

Chapter 3--2011

Chapter 4--Taza's Nightmare

Chapter 5--2012

Chapter 6--2013 to 2015

Epilogue--Season 1, Episode 1

[bucksangel]

Cream Sweaters

Pairing: Bishop x F!Reader (reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vulva but no body type or race is described)

Inspo taken from this post by @withmyteeth

Summary: After seven months of engagement, you’re finally married, officially Mrs. Losa. Of course, the honeymoon has to include sex by the fireplace.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: i stg don’t read if you’re under 18, very much NSFW, 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, hint of daddy kink and a hint of breeding kink, extremely fluffy, bishop in a cream sweater because that definitely warrants a warning (this is 4.5k of loving Bishop like he deserves)

Tip Jar

Posting new fics over on @michaelirby

The sight before you completely floors you. You’re too stunned to speak, to even think of words. The space is small, but homey. The church itself is small and very old, hence why the paint on the walls is nearly nonexistent, giving away the cement structure that keeps the building standing. Two small chandeliers hang from the ceiling, flowers and greenery interwoven through the lights. More flowers line the rows of pews that flow from the very back of the room to the front, with only about a yard of space separating the guests in the front pew from the men standing, waiting with bated breath.

One man in particular, donned in blue jeans (ones he specifically bought for this occasion as all of his others were deemed unsuitable), a crisp white button up (again, bought for this very day), and a kutte will swear he hasn’t breathed all day. He’s barely been able to think, what with the men beside him doing everything they could to keep him busy, to keep him from spiraling into thoughts of what if you don’t want this anymore? What if you change your mind and decide you’re better off with someone else? What if, what if, what if. These thoughts jump to the forefront of his mind, and then, suddenly the double doors open and out of them comes several women in light purple dresses, swaying as they make their way up the aisle.

And then, finally, after seven months, eight days, and four hours (he’s been counting, so what?), there you are, the most beautiful white gown hugging and flowing down your body as you stay standing in place. But he’s not looking at the dress for long, he focuses on your facial expressions, he can faintly make out the look of absolute astonishment and the glistening of your eyes. Because, as mentioned, you’re stunned. You just saw the ceremonial space earlier that day, but it’s beauty then has nothing compared to now. Because now, Bishop is standing at the end of the aisle, hands clasped in front of him and eyes boring into your soul.

You don’t really remember how you got down the aisle, everything was happening in slow motion and all you could focus on was Bishop, looking the happiest he’s ever been. You don’t even really hear when the preacher starts the ceremony, you don’t feel the dozens of eyes staring up at you both, witnessing the commencement of a beautiful journey you and your soon-to-be husband are embarking on. The only thing you do register is when the preacher turns to you and asks if you’d take this man, your man, in holy matrimony, care for him and love him until death do you part. And it’s a no brainer for you, you’d do anything and everything for the man standing in front of you, your hands clasped together with the rings sitting on both of your fingers.

“I do,” Your voice is shaky, but your smile never falters and your eyes never leave Bishop’s. Your heart is pounding in your chest, threatening to break through your ribs and chest with how hard and fast the palpitations are.

Then, the preacher turns to Bishop and asks him the same, to which he doesn’t wait for the question to be finished before he says ‘I Do’ as well. His voice is thick with the emotions coursing through him.

And then, you’re married. You’re swept into your husband’s arms (and wow does it feel so good to finally be able to say that) and now Bishop’s definitely crying, but neither of you care about the mess you’re making of your makeup. You’re both more focused on how it feels to finally be together as one, as husband and wife. It feels damn good, by the way. With his hands circling your waist and pushing against your back to further press your body to him, like he’s trying to keep you from pulling away. You do pull away, though, about a solid minute into the kiss when the whoops and hollers turn into ‘get a room!’ and ‘save it for the honeymoon’.

When you pull back, your eyes are still closed, forehead resting against Bishop’s as you both try to calm your breathing and soak up as much of the moment as you can. And then you’re being carried down the aisle by your husband because he insisted that from the moment you two are wed until you’re back home from your honeymoon you would not lift a finger. The next two weeks are going to consist of absolutely no work, no club business, nothing that could possibly interrupt your time together. What is going to occur during your honeymoon is domesticity, sex, relaxation, sex again, and a few late night dips at the lake near the cabin you’ll be in (which will inevitably end in lovemaking every time).

The reception party isn’t lowkey at all. The church they rented out came with half an acre of land surrounding it, letting the guests (mayan men and family alike) light the fire pit they’d brought and pull out the alcohol. Naturally, most of your guests are at least tipsy only an hour and a half in, but you can’t judge or blame them, you are in fact also tipsy. And tipsy you is more handsy, more affectionate, more needy.

You’re currently in a different dress, one that allows you to move around easier and one that you wouldn’t be terribly upset if you ruined, and you’ve pushed Bishop against the side of the church opposite where the party is happening. You’re gripping the lapels of his kutte and kissing him like your life depends on it, your body pressed tight to his. Bishop has one hand on the back of your head, keeping you in place as he palms your ass with his other hand. You pull a groan from him when you pull back, capturing his bottom lip with your teeth. You look up at him, your doe-eyes glossing over with the alcohol and happiness running through your veins.

“Baby,” You whisper, pushing your chest into his and running your lips down his neck, biting wherever you feel like. “Can we leave?” It comes out as more of a whine, but you don’t mind. You’re cloudy with lust and tequila and the love you feel for your husband.

“Already?” Bishop is clearly amused, and you can hear his smile in his voice. He knows what you’re playing at, but that doesn’t mean he won’t tease you for it. “The night’s still young and we have guests to tend to.” He fists your hair into his hand and pulls, eliciting a small whimper from you while he leans your head back so he can trail soft kisses down your neck as well. “Can’t you wait a little longer, amor?” He bites your pulse point, and a louder whine escapes your lips, your head tilting back as you sink further into his arms.

You’re frustrated now, your legs clench together until you get the bright idea to shove one of your thighs in between his. “But I’m horny now, Obispo.” With your care thrown to the wind, you grab onto his shoulders and start rolling your hips down onto his thigh while also pressing yours against his painfully hard erection. And you’re able to get a few more thrusts in before Bishop pulls you off of him and pushes you against building. Your husband now looks down at you and presses you against the wall with both of your hands pinned above your head.

The tension between you two grew as Bishop ran his free hand down your chest, over your tummy, to your thighs where he crept upwards underneath the skirt of your dress. His fingertips stop just a few inches from your pussy, you’ve soaked through your panties and down your thighs. Where Bishop’s fingers rests, he starts massaging your inner thigh, smearing the wetness across your skin. “You’re going to wait, princessa.” He lets go of your hands to wrap his fingers around your neck and clench them ever so slightly, you’re barely able to groan before he squeezes tighter, your voice cutting out. “I will not let anyone else hear the sounds you’ll make the first time I make you cum as my wife.”

And then, he’s pulled away from you completely, smirking at your shocked and exasperated expression, with your chest heaving as you try to steel yourself. “Bish… Please.”

“We have a party to get back to, amor, then we’ll leave for the honeymoon,” Bishop’s tone is soft but firm, letting you know there was no room for opposition. He reaches for your waist and pulls you to him, placing a soft kiss to your plump, quivering lips. “Behave, now.” His parted mouth whispers into yours. And then, he slaps your ass, causing you to jump in surprise, and leads you back to the reception with you fixing your hair as best you can so as to not alert anyone of what just happened.

Another two hours pass before you’re finally able to convince Bishop to say goodbye to the guests and get in the car. It’s nearing five pm and with a sixteen hour drive ahead of you, and Bishop insisting on driving the whole way, you didn’t want him to be too tired on the road. After ten minutes of kissing everybody goodbye and stealing another slice of cake, you’re both finally off to paradise.

______________________

Four stops and one nap in a motel later, and you’re looking out the window at all of the trees surrounding the half acre of land that surrounds your home for the next two weeks. Oregon forests are rather dense, but luckily you’ve found a cabin in a less wooded town southeast of Portland. It had taken some convincing for Bishop to agree to a honeymoon in the middle-of-nowhere Oregon, but now that you’re finally here, it’s clear that this was the right choice. You’re finally away from the bullshit that surrounds the club, the steady increase of work piling up for the both of you, you’ll be able to relax and enjoy being with each other without any possibility of an interruption.

Too eager to wait any longer, you clamber out of the car and run to the steps of the wrap-around porch. The wooden structure is one story tall, one bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and small living room fit cozily inside. The porch leads you to the back of the house to give way to the most beautiful lake, surrounded by even more trees. You can spot a few other cabins spaced around the large lake, the setting sun causing many of the residents to turn their porch lights on, creating a warm glow in the sky. It’s like the heavens have shone their light on this moment, the trees are reflecting on the lake and the moon sinking lower, descending behind the trees until they’ve almost completely disappeared. Soon, only the lights of the four or so other cabins surrounding the lake are illuminating the area.

Suddenly, the lights hanging on the porch are switched on, and you turn to your left to see Bishop rounding the corner, a wide smile carved into his face. You smile back at him and take the mug from his outstretched hand, bringing it up to your lips and sighing peacefully when the hot chocolate hits your taste buds. Wrapping both of your hands around the mug and bringing it from your lips to cradle into your chest, you notice Bishop’s attire for the evening. You both had changed from your wedding clothes when you’d stopped at the motel, but he seems to have changed again while you were admiring the view. While you’re dressed in a soft, dark blue t-shirt tucked into some lounge shorts, your husband is dressed in gray sweatpants and, much to your delight, a sweater. A cream colored sweater (something you never knew you needed to see him wear) hugs his body, but is still loose enough for you to run your hand up under the sweater and scratch at his stomach. You’ve pressed yourself close to him, raking your eyes over his torso and rubbing your palm in circular motions.

You’re mesmerized by the sight, your husband looking this delicious is a crime, it must be. Your voice is softer than you intended, but that’s probably because your voice was stolen from you the moment you laid eyes on your man. “Well, don’t you look handsome,” Your smile is noticeable in your tone, and Bishop smiles back at you. You wouldn’t notice it though, because you’re still staring at the sliver of skin peeking out from where you’ve pushed your hand up to rest on his pec. “Didn’t know this was hiding in your wardrobe,” you murmur, finally looking up into his eyes and nibbling on your bottom lip, the picture of innocence.

“It wasn’t,” He murmurs back, one hand grasping his own mug and the other hand running up and down your back soothingly. “Bought it for this, figured if we’re going to relax I should have actual comfortable clothes.” Lips press against yours, drinking down the sigh that bubbles up from your throat.

The kiss doesn’t go farther than that, Bishop is soon pulling away and leading you into the cabin with soft eyes. Though you would’ve loved to spend the rest of the night curled up under the stars, you also would love finally making love to your new husband without the prying eyes of strangers. You let yourself be whisked into the living room to see the fireplace is now lit, a large TV mounted to the wall left of it. A couch sits across from the TV, a faux bearskin rug lays in the middle of the room sitting only feet away from the crackling fire. The lights have been dimmed, the orange hue of the fire encompasses everything in its path. The TV is off but a sweet and melodic tune echoes through the room, pulling you deeper into the moment and guiding your feet to stand on the rug, your toes wiggling against the soft fur.

Arms wrap around your waist, your man’s body pressing up against yours and his chin resting on your shoulder. He sways you gently to the music and kisses your shoulder before whispering against it, “I love you, Mrs. Losa.”

This causes you to smile wider and lean back into the comfort of his arms. Your eyes now closed, you whisper back to him, “I love you too, Mr. Losa.” He twists you around in his hold, and with you now facing him he’s able to run one hand up to press between your shoulder blades and one hand travels down to rest on your behind. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, pulling his head down while you push onto the balls of your feet so you’re able to kiss him. This time, your hold on him tightens so he’s not able to cut your kiss short. Your lips glide together slowly, your tongues gently prodding into each other’s mouths in short strokes.

Both of Bishop’s hands travel down to grip the back of your thighs, he lifts you off your feet and guides your legs to wrap around his waist, his biceps bulging against his sweater. He lowers himself to his knees and bends forward, one hand on your back to keep you from falling as he lowers you downward. When you’re fully laid on the rug, Bishop’s right hand is planted on the floor to keep himself hovering over you, his left hand running over your hip to pull your shirt out from your shorts. The coolness of his wedding band startles you, causing you to arch your back and sigh, eyes closed and head tilted to the side.

You feel Bishop’s hand lift up your shirt so it rests just below your breasts, and then it travels down to tug at the waistband of your shorts. Your hips move on his command, he takes control over your body and mind, your limbs maneuvered to his liking as your clothes are peeled off of your body one by one. Lying naked on the rug, threading your fingers through the fur and legs parting wider to allow Bishop even more access to wreak havoc on your being. Warm eyes bore into yours, and your cheeks burn with the lust of having him, your Old Man, being completely clothed while you lay naked under him, waiting with bated breath at whatever pleasure he chooses to grace your form with.

You’re gazing into each other’s eyes for a long moment, neither of you uttering a single noise besides your soft breaths spreading across your faces. Tears gloss over your eyes and as you stare up at your husband, you notice his eyes have also gathered tears in them, his love for you taking over his soul and screaming to get out. One of your hands lifts up to rest against his cheek, to which Bishop sighs and nuzzles into your hand, eye contact never wavering. You gasp, the ring on his finger chills your skin as he passes over your ribs and grasps a breast in his large hand. This seems to be the signal he needed to dip down and press his lips to yours, moving slowly and carefully while he kneads your breast, smirking against your mouth when he tugs at your nipple and your moan echoes in the small space.

“Please…” You breathe out, hands traveling to his waist to pull at his sweater. Bish finally puts you out of your misery and pulls back so he can pull the sweater from his body. Your mouth waters as your eyes trail down his chest, tongue running over your bottom lip when you land on his crotch. From what you can tell, he must not be wearing boxers, his cock pushes against his pants and you can faintly make out the head peeking out from the waistband.

Bishop lets you run your hands down his chest to his pants, he lets you pull them down his thighs and he lets you grasp his cock in your hand. He huffs, pulling his sweats down himself while you massage his heaviness in your hand. A whine is pulled from your lips as he pulls away enough so that he can fully remove his sweatpants and toss them near the rest of your clothes. Instead of leaning back over you, he shuffles down your body so that his head rests against one of your thighs, spread wide to give him unrestricted access to your most sensitive area. His eyes peer up at you, his soft eyes twinkling in the firelight as he presses a soft kiss to your thigh.

Then, he presses another kiss, and another, over and over again he plants feather-light kisses wherever he wants at whatever pace he chooses. You’re impatient, immensely so, but the desire to take your time and explore every inch of Bishop’s glorious body through the night wins out. So you let him take his time, you hold your tongue from telling him to just hurry up and touch you.

The background music is still ringing in the air, mixing with your breathy moans and Bishop’s soft grunts as he finally, finally, kisses your pussy. It’s not frantic, not sloppy and rough like he usually is, instead it is delicate. Fingers spread open your folds and a tongue glides from your hole to your clit, the stimulation of his tongue reaching every crevice of your pussy has you breathing harder, moaning louder. Your hips lift off the ground and your hand weaves into his hair to push him closer, but he’s quick to push you back down, a hand on your stomach pushing you down to prevent you from moving.

Languid, slow strokes over your clit turn into a gentle prodding at your hole. You relax your body so he’s able to thrust his tongue in and out, in and out. The pressure in your abdomen slowly increases with each passing minute, and thanks to the clock on the wall you’re able to estimate that your husband has been between your legs for a good twenty minutes. He’s in no rush, his end goal is your orgasm but he takes his time on the journey there, worshipping what belongs to him and him alone.

When the pressure gets to be too much, and your eyes are screwed shut from the mounting pleasure threatening to consume your entire being, Bishop pulls his mouth from you. Your eyes shoot open and find their way down to his face, his beard glistening with your arousal and his eyes wild with lust. Your fingers tighten in his hair and you try to lift your hips to his mouth, but you’re forced down by the hand still on your tummy. “Bishop… please…” You’re whining without care. In the safety of his presence you throw any and all caution to the wind, a moan ripping its way out of your throat as two of his fingers press against your entrance, massaging the area around it.

As he pushes his fingers in slowly, his eyes darken, overtaken with lust and love for the woman beneath him, at his mercy. “Daddy’s got you, don’t worry, mi amor.” He presses a kiss to your thigh while his fingertips rub inside your walls, smiling at your gasp when he presses into your g-spot. “You know I’ve got you,” he murmurs into your skin, and brings his lips back to your clit so he can suck harder than he’s ever done.

“Yes, yes daddy, I know,” You’re breathing harder now, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as Bishop continues to thrust and curl his fingers. His hair ends up entwined in your hands again and this time, he doesn’t stop you from pulling him closer, he allows you to lift your hips closer to his mouth. He wants to pull at every last string you have, to break you apart and put you together with everything available to him. “I - I need to cum, please. Please let cum, daddy,” your whines are the only thing to be heard with the music having ended mere moments ago.

Your hips are stuttering, thrusting up against his fingers, the coil in your abdomen wound so tight you fear it might break you entirely. “Let go, princessa. Let me feel you,” Bishop’s growl into your folds is what does it for you, it breaks loose the damn inside and flows out to coat Bishop’s hand and beard. Your scream pierces the air as your husband continues to pull wave after wave of pleasure from your body, not stopping until you’re limp against the rug and pushing his head away from your aching core.

Crawling up your body, kisses delicately littered across your body as Bish ascends up to be level with your head. You’re still coming down from your high, gasping for breath and tears leaking out of the corner of your eyes, and you want more. You want everything this man has to offer, and more. Hanging on to the last of your coherent mind, you wrap an arm around his back and push him down, his chest resting on yours and his lips inches away from enveloping yours. “Make love to me,” you breathe, ghosting your lips over his. “I need it, Obispo.”

Bishop laces his fingers through yours and rests them beside your head, his other hand grasps his leaking member, running the tip through your folds as you whimper. He stares down at you, love has consumed his entire being and he’s unable to stop himself from pushing into your tight, warm walls with a single thrust. Your hand tightens its hold on Bishop’s, your other runs your nails down his back, gripping his ass while he thrusts slow and deliberately, snapping his hips against yours. You’re mumbling incoherently, brain fogged over and replaced by everything him, his breath, his grunts, the delicious burn of his cock each time it drags against your walls.

Your eyes never leave his, though. Tears stream down the sides of your face, blurring your vision, but they never dare stray from your man’s. Bishop himself is crying as well, so overwhelmed with emotion that he can’t stop the tears that fall to his cheeks. He can’t stop his movements even if he wanted to. The desire to claim you, to make you his for all of eternity, is too strong to oppose. His hips falter as he thrusts harder, faster, deeper into his home, a home he hopes to house a child one day. His child, a perfect mix of you and him borne of your lovemaking, and these thoughts drive his hips forward, rocking your bodies as he forces another orgasm from you. Your head is thrown back, your mouth open but the pleasure is too intense for sounds to be made, it overtakes your being, mind, body, and soul. With a few more harsh thrusts Bishop cums, his hot seed filling you completely, seeping into every crevice of your quivering pussy as your old man thrusts softer now. It’s like he’s making sure you take every drop he has, and boy do you.

You clench down onto his softening cock, keeping him in place while you tighten you arm around his back. “Don’t leave, Obispo,” you whisper, “Stay in me.” Your request is humored by him, so he leans his weight onto you and envelops you with his musky scent and strained muscles. You’re both lying on a rug in front of a burning fireplace, the clock now reading midnight, breaths slowing to a steady rhythm.

“I’m never leaving you, mi alma.” Bishop pulls his head back so he’s able to look into your eyes, shining with so many emotions that can only be described as love. “You’re mine, I’m yours, for eternity.”

The air in the room is heavy with the stench of sex permeating the room, but it’s also heavy with the tenderness you both posses in that moment. Your fingers running over his shoulders and his lips ghosting kisses over your face, you’re content to live in this moment forever. You want nothing more than to be connected with your husband like this, becoming one with each other. Tomorrow you’ll convince Bishop to go sight-seeing, maybe you’ll get him to go down to the farmer’s market you passed on your way to the cabin. Tonight, though, you’ll use this time to display your absolute devotion to each other, over and over until you’re limp and tired and aching all over. You’ll spend tonight commemorating your eternal bond with thrusting hips and soft kisses and gliding hands, your hearts bared open for the other to lay witness.

[thedevilsmoonshine]

The DISRESPECT! 😂😭

[virgo-tings0]

You’re Honestly doing godswork 💅🏻

[michaelirby]

Mayans MC Series Watch/Download

Hello friends! Below are all the links to seasons 1-4, all of which can be watched on the platform (google drive) or downloaded. This won't give you any viruses, I'm the one who did the illegal activities so everything will be good on your end!

And if you feel inclined, consider donating to help me pay for my vpn.

Mayans MC season 1 watch/download

Mayans MC season 2 watch/download

Mayans MC season 3 watch/download

Mayans MC season 4 watch/download (ongoing, will update every wednesday/thursday)

And if you would like to be updated whenever I upload the new episodes, just let me know! Happy watching🤍🤍

[dallianceangel]

𝐓𝐚𝐳𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 [𝟎𝟏]

This is unedited, but I hope you enjoy reading.

Key Words:

Sneaky. Lavish. Alluring.

Tag List:

@thenamesnicolexo

@labrujalucy

"Meet me in Templo, I've got something to show you."

This may not be the right moment for a sneaky round of hot sex in a forbidden place, but hearing your suggestive, alluring voice on the other line is too much for Taza to resist, and he's missed the feeling of his body against yours. Once the attention of his brothers are focused elsewhere, mainly on the crowd of sweet butts surrounding them, he slowly makes his way towards Templo, a gasp leaving his lips when he sees you standing there in white with an unfamiliar face and two of your closest friends by your side.

"Baby... is that?" he asks, eyes pointing to the piece of paper resting on the table. "Are we?"

"Yes..." you whisper, tears blurring your vision as you picture the moment you can finally call Taza your husband. "I know it's not lavish or traditional, but life's too short to wait. Honestly, I'm sick of having to break the noses of those who dare to try it on with you, thinking we won't last."

"Well, we better make sure that they know we will then."

Reaching for your hand, Taza leads you to the crowd.

[crowfootwrites]

The Boyfriend | Part III [Taza Romero x Fem!Reader]

Soooo, I know I said this was going to be the last part, but I'm nothing if not a wordy bitch. So there will actually be one final part after this, which will offer more explanation and serve to wrap things up.

Warnings: angst; family drama; pregnancy & pregnancy complications; depictions of pain; emergency medical personnel and hospitals; language | Words: 1,243

Part I of The Boyfriend | Part II of The Boyfriend

Taglist: @chibsytelford

The soft morning breeze caressed your cheeks as you sat in the old rocking chair on the porch, your cup of tea resting steadily on your swollen belly. You gazed out over the quiet ranch, Taza’s horses grazing contentedly in the distance, trees bursting with birdsong as the sun started its slow climb over the horizon. Your due date was just a couple weeks out, and you couldn’t wait to have your baby in your arms.

A soft tapping drew you out of your reverie and you glanced over your shoulder to see Taza pushing off the door frame with a tender smile, coming to sit in the chair beside you. He was wrapped in a flannel robe, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Qué estás pensando (What are you thinking)?” he asked quietly, interlacing his fingers with yours on the arm of your chair.

You smiled dreamily. “Just ready to meet them.”

Taza grinned, nodding his agreement. “Any day now.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, watching as the sun brightened the sky and the world stretched to life.

You felt the shift in Taza’s demeanor before he even opened his mouth, his hand twitching almost imperceptibly in your grasp.

“Have you given any more thought to your dad’s message?”

You heaved a considerable sigh, jostling the teacup on your belly. Your father had sent you a text message the week prior, apologizing for your mother’s “inexcusable” behavior at dinner, and asking how he could make things right. Your father was a good man. You knew he wanted to fix things, that he ultimately wanted to be involved in his grandchild’s life. But it irked you that the apologies were coming from the wrong person. There had been nothing but radio silence from your mother. And while you had never been particularly close to your parents, and your relationship with your mother was obviously flawed, the process of becoming a mother yourself had you overanalyzing your entire personal history.

You had tried, over and over again, to understand your mother’s perspective. But ultimately, you had reasoned that perhaps the two of you just had diametrically opposed values. You had hoped that your mother would have the opportunity, over the course of your pregnancy, to see how wonderful Taza was, how loving and stable. How much you loved each other, and how ready you both were to welcome a child into the world. That his age didn’t matter, and neither did the lack of a marriage certificate. And most of all, that those things were your decision to make and that she should trust you enough to make good choices for yourself. But after your mother’s most recent blow-up, you were done. You had come to understand that she was never going to see things that way.

Then came your father’s text. You could tell it hurt him to be so disconnected from you, and you hated to be even part of the reason for his unhappiness. At the time, you had responded asking for time to think about things. But you were honestly no closer to a solution than you had been then.

“I met with him.”

You whipped your head around to frown at your boyfriend and he rushed to explain.

“He texted me, mi amor, and I felt bad. I couldn’t imagine if we had a daughter and I wasn’t welcome around her.”

“He is welcome,” you snapped. Taza gazed at you skeptically.

“You and I both know your mother would give him hell if he came here to see you,” he reminded you.

Your jaw clenched impulsively. “Sounds like a personal problem,” you ground out, although you knew Taza was right. You wouldn’t want you put your father through that. You heard Taza’s mild sigh beside you and echoed it with one of your own.

“I just don’t know what to do,” you grumbled. “I don’t know how to fix it. And I also don’t think it should be on me to fix it. She’s the one with a problem.”

Taza chuckled and patted your hand. “Let’s hope this baby doesn’t wind up with your stubborn streak or the two of you will put me in an early grave.”

“Oh, you think I’m the one with the problem?” you demanded. You were nothing if not relentless.

“No, amor,” Taza replied, backpedaling. “I think both of you have things you need to work out with each other. Besides, it’s been a couple of months. Maybe she’s come around?”

***

You should have never agreed to him going on a run this close to your due date. It was only for the day, but as your luck would have it, he had been gone no more than an hour when you felt the rush of water between your legs. And it was in that moment that you knew something was very wrong. Sharp pains tore across your lower belly like white hot fire. You cried out, clutching at the kitchen countertop, trying to keep your legs under you. Panicked tears sprang to your eyes as your mind reeled.

You snatched your phone off the counter, doubled-over in agony. With trembling hands, you hit Taza’s speed dial button. He answered as your belly spasmed and you cried out again.

“Something’s wrong,” you whimpered, your teeth clenched together against the pain. Tears tumbled over your cheeks.

“Fuck!” Taza growled, and you heard him shouting something away from the phone. Your knees buckled and you found yourself on your hands and knees on the floor. You set the phone beside you, hitting the speaker button in a panic. Your breath was coming in shallow bursts and a small ache was blooming in your chest. Your thoughts spun chaotically and you couldn’t seem to grab on to just one. You could hear Taza through the phone, talking to you again, and you honed in on the familiar sound.

“Baby, I’m turning around but I’m an hour away. You need to call an ambulance, ok? Can you do that for me, amor?”

A sob slipped out as you opened your mouth to respond. You clutched at your belly, as though it could soothe the child inside you. The two of you were going to be well and truly alone for this. “Yes,” you cried. “I love you, please hurry.” You ended the call to frantically dial 911.

The arrival of EMTs and the ambulance ride to the hospital were a blur, the hurt dulling your senses to everything that wasn’t the scorching razor edge of pain in your belly. You vaguely remembered answering questions, and one of them taking your phone, talking to Taza reassuringly in the background of your mind. You asked, sheer panic gripping your chest, if your baby was alright. You didn’t get an answer as the EMTs whirled around you, hooking you up to wires and oxygen. Your heart raced, thumping like it would burst out of your chest and you clamped your eyes shut, trying to focus on your breath.

When you arrived at the hospital, you were rushed into an OR, watching the hospital lights flash above your gurney as though you were in a televised medical drama. In the OR, the beeping and piercing alarms of multiple monitors ricocheted in your skull, punctuated by waves of discomfort. You remember someone in scrubs placing a blue plastic breathing mask over your nose and mouth, and then darkness.

Part IV of The Boyfriend

[sonhosquebrados]

Taza, Riz and Bishop 😘

[abbatoirablaze]

Queens Of The Mayans, Aayana, S1E1

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: mentions of the run, angst, cliffhanger.

"Babe, I'll be fine," Riz said softly, kissing Eva's temple, "just going on a run tonight. We'll be home in the morning, and I promise that we can stay in bed all day, right Che?"

"Simple run," he confirmed, wrapping an arm around my waist. I smiled as he pressed a firm kiss to my lips, "but I cannot and will not confirm whatever plans you two little sexual deviants have upon our return home. But yes, it is a simple run. We’re running out to Vegas, and we'll be back in the morning. I swear."

"I worry for you," I admitted with a shake of my head as I played with his shirt, "Vegas is such a sinful city. There is so much that can go wrong there, is there not?"

"It's kind of in the name, my love," Taza chuckled, as he lifted my hand up to his lips. He playfully kissed my knuckles as a way of reassuring me, "but don't worry my love. No sinning for me. You’re the only one I want to be sinning with. We're just helping a delivery make it to town. That’s it. Just a simple turn and burn. We’ll crash at a hotel for the night, and then be back on the road and home before you even wake."

"You call me," I asked, hoping that he would call me when I knew that they were safe and off the road for the night, "as soon as you arrive. I want you on the phone, telling me that you are safe, Che."

"Yana."

"Taza Romero," I warned, holding our baby girl in my arms, "you leave me with Diego and Mariella with no warning, whatsoever. I have to have Chucky help me in the morning with them while I open the scrap yard. You will call me when you get there."

"Yes ma'am," he chuckled, placing a chaste kiss on my forehead. He repeated the action with our infant daughter before taking her into his arms, "mommy is scary when she worries, isn't she?"

"Do not teach our daughter that," I laughed, smacking his shoulder, “she will learn that as she grows up.”

"Aayana do you want to hang out here then for the night?" Nev asked, "My sister Dasia is watching Johnny with Diego, so we could get the clubhouse cleaned up and have a movie night before these animals completely destroy the place."

"We're not animals," Riz laughed, "we just like to have fun."

"Oh, I know what your kind of fun is, Michael," she laughed, poking his chest, "and this is not fun. This is a mess."

"I agree with Nev," I smiled, pointing to the bikers that had been indulging us with the conversation, "you men wreck this clubhouseall the time. It’s a wonder that any of you managed to survive to adulthood with no cleaning skills. You’re lucky to have us to help put it back together."

"We live here 60% of the time, Yana."

"And none of you men ever clean," I sighed, shaking my headat them disapprovingly. Taza handed back our daughter and I kissed him, "You are lucky to have us in your lives."

"Luckiest men in the world," he smiled, “every one of us.”

"Alright men, we're leaving in a few," Bishop smirked, busting through the door, "no patches. No leather. Keep it low-key with the colors. Just men going on a ride."

"You better keep our men safe, Bishop," I laughed at the president as he came over to the bar area. He grabbed a beer and popped the cap off. He shot me a wink and I shook my head at him as he held his hand out to Mariella, “I’m serious, Bishop Losa. You keep these boys in line.”

"Everyone comes home in one piece," Brooke smiled as she watched Bishop with my daughter. She stopped clearing the empties off the bar to shoot him a look, "that understood, Bishop?"

"Yes ma'am," he smiled. The younger girl smirked in response and Bishop looked around, "Anyone see Angel, Gilly, or Coco?"

"Gilly was making sure the bikes are gassed up with the prospect," Brooke replied, nodding her head back towards the door "And I am pretty sure Coco and Angel are with Creeper at the warehouse again. Double checking everything for you and making sure everything is good to go for tonight."

"Good," Che replied. He clapped Bishop's shoulder, "you ready to go, brother?"

"Ready as ever," he smiled, putting his jacket on. They all started heading out and I looked to the two girls in front of me who were dreamily looking on as the guys left, “roll on out, boys.”

"So, we really gonna clean this place?"

I nodded at Brooke, "oh yeah. This is the one time where all those men are going to be out of the clubhouse. No Gilly and Tranq leaving empties in the areas we’ve already cleaned. No naked girls following Creeper and Angel around, leaving a trail of sloshed liquor on the floor. No cigarette butts all over the place because of Coco. No peyote from Taza. No broken glassware because of Bishop. No guitar strings and playing cards from Riz. "

"The boys are kind of messy aren't they?"

"They are," I sighed, putting my daughter in her highchair so that she could play with some cereal while we cleaned, "but they are our boys, and we are their queens."

A few hours later we had managed to get the whole clubhouse clean. Now, it wasn't spotless, but it would be bearable until their next run, but boy was it late. So late that the idea of a movie night was quickly tossed out and replaced with wine at the bar while we bullshit about our men. Dasia had stopped over earlier and dropped the boys off so that she could be at the bar she and Nev owned, and the kids were in bed. Chucky was outside cleaning off the picnic benches and making sure the broken glass was picked up so that no one would get hurt falling into the dirt again.

"Do you think we should invite him in?" Eva asked, "it is getting pretty cold."

"Nah, he’s okay," Brooke laughed. When none of us agreed she shrugged, "Chucky will be fine. My family used to leave him out in worse."

I looked at the young girl, "Brooklyn."

"It's not like I was the one that made the demand that Chucky stay out," she shrugged, "he is a nice enough guy but kind of a perv. He used to masturbate when he saw any of us."

I felt sick to my stomach as I looked out the window. The middle-aged man had looked harmless, but clearly, I had misjudged him.

"Don't worry," she said, coming up to stand next to me, "It’s some kind of a disease. Kind of like a nervous tick. It kind of stopped when my brother cut off his fingers. But then again, it’s kind of hard to yank your chain with two fingers."

I felt sick to my stomach as I backed away from the door. Going over to the bar, I grabbed myself a beer. Before I could drink it, Nev pulled it away, "no alcohol for you momma bear. You're nursing. Remember?"

"Shit," I growled, frustrated that she wouldn’t allow me to have any of the wine or beer, “I could pump and dump, right? I’ve got some milk in the fridge still.”

Suddenly the door flew open, and Chucky came running in, looking like a nervous wreck. He blew past us and went straight for templo.

"Chucky, what the hell are you doing?" Brooke yelled following the older male, "You know you aren't allowed in there."

"Have to," he yelled back quickly. Following him in we saw him grab a set of keys, "Tranq told me."

"What are you doing?"

"Where are you going?"

"Chucky?" Brooke asked, seeing him clearly in distress. She had him by the shoulders, "Tell me what's going on."

"I-I don't know," he stuttered, "Some guys. The run. Dresses. Guns. I have to pick them up. They can't ride. Someone got shot. The van exploded. Someone stuck in the cab."

"What?"

Behind me, Eva gasped. She looked outside and Creeper and Riz' bike sat there.

Shit.

"I have to get the truck and trailer. The 111, they got jumped," he said quickly, “I have to go. Now!

"No," Brooke said, cutting him off. You said someone was shot."

"Yeah," he replied, "I don't know who. Tranq said to hurry."

"Fuck."

Taza you better be okay.

Tag List: @babybunnyblossom

[drabbles-mc]

Wait I just read the head canon of the “spider in the shower” scenario and they were AMAZING. So spot on😭. I am here to put in a request for this but for the Mayans and if you want to/have time for the rest of the SOA boys. I just loved it soooo much 🥺 you write so well for these characters!!!

Ask and you shall receive! For those wondering, Here is the original Spider in the Shower HC for the SOA boys.

HC for the Mayans Men under the cut! These are a little different set-up-wise since as far as we know the Mayans clubhouse doesn't have dorms. So these all take place in houses or apartments or whatever you picture these boys living in

Bishop:

- he heard you scream and came running from the other end of the house, banging on the bathroom door, “Sweetheart, you alright? Open up!” The two-second delay between him saying that and you unlocking the door felt like an eternity to him. He never heard you scream like that before

- when he walked in he expected to see blood everywhere, or something completely shattered and broken. But nothing seemed out of place. The only thing that seemed off was you, sitting up on the sink counter dripping water while staring at the bathtub.

- “What’s going on?” he looks around the bathroom but can’t for the life of him figure out what’s wrong. He grabs a towel and drapes it around your shoulders as he follows your line of sight.

- “Why the fuck is there a spider in our shower?” you look up at him.

- he wasn’t used to you asking questions so aggressively. He made a mental note that spiders were a tense topic for you. He could only shrug in response before saying, “I didn’t send out invites, you know. Don’t look at me like that,” you could see that he was trying not to smile and failing miserably.

- “Will you kill it, please?” your tone switched from annoyed to pleading. He chuckled as he peered behind the shower curtain, “You sure you don’t want me to just catch him and put him outside?” You raised your eyebrows, “And give him the chance to come back? No fucking way.”

- he didn’t say anything else as he took his boot off and smack it against the wall, effectively putting the spider out of commission. You stayed on the sink out of the way as he grabbed a tissue and cleaned up the mess, throwing the spider in the trash

- he scooped you up off the sink counter and walked you back to your shared bedroom, hiding his laughter by pressing his lips against your bare shoulder. He set you down on the bed and threw you one of his old t-shirts to put on. The two of you looked at each other in silence for a few moments before you finally spoke up, “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.” He laughed as he collapsed on the bed next to you, “I won’t...for now.”

Angel:

- he thought that he was in for a sexy time in the shower with you. He was eagerly slipping out of his jeans and tank top as he watched you hop into the shower, disappearing behind the curtain.

- he peeled off his socks and was getting ready to hop in the shower behind you when the sound of your scream filled the tiny space at his house. He didn't even have time to try and register what was going on as you leapt out of the shower, water still running, and slamming into him. You sent both of you crashing into the sink counter

- “Fuck, Y/N, what’s the matter with you?” he was rubbing his hip where it had just gotten jammed into the corner of the counter

- “There’s a spider in there!” He looked at you, not completely surprised, “So you gotta bodyslam me? C’mon, querida, it can’t be that scary. It’s way smaller than you.” You narrowed your eyes at him, “Then you go kill it!”

- he scoffs, reaching and shutting the water off before peeling the curtain back, “Maybe I will.” He does his signature, cocky little head shake that drives you nuts when it’s directed at you.

- he holds his hand out behind him, “Gimme a tissue.” You set one in his hand, eagerly watching over his shoulder as he catches and crushes the spider inside the tissue. He turns back to you, a proud smirk on his face, “See? All taken care of.” He tosses it in the toilet and flushes it away.

- Once it’s gone for good, he reaches and turns the shower back on. His expression changes completely when he turns back around to you and sees you pulling your rode on. “Where you goin’, querida?” he looks so genuinely confused.

- you shake your head, “I’m not getting back in that fucking shower tonight. Have fun.” You don’t give him the chance to try and change your mind and you can hear him groaning behind you as he shuts the shower back off again, admitting defeat.

Coco:

- swings the door open with an amount of force that you’d never seen, baseball bat in his hand, “Who the fuck is in here?!” he looks frantically around the bathroom, trying to locate whoever it was that made you scream like that.

- it took a second before he noticed that you were standing to the side of him, tucking yourself neatly into the corner of your bathroom. He saw the way your hair was still dripping and quickly looked you over to make sure that you were physically okay.

- “What happened?” his hand was still gripping the baseball bat tightly. You pointed to the shower, “There’s a spider in the shower...”

- he couldn't pretend that he wasn’t confused, “Alright. And?” You scoffed, “What do you mean and?” He shrugged, “I mean and what the fuck made you scream like that? It bite you or somethin’?” You sighed, “No! It didn’t bite me. I just...I don’t want a spider in the shower with me, Coco! You gotta kill it!”

- his grip on the bat finally loosened up a bit. He shook his head, “You had me thinkin’ there was a murderer in here or some shit. You can’t kill it yourself?” You flashed him your best puppy-dog eyes, “C’mon, Coco, please?” He tilted his head slightly, “Whatchu gonna do if this happens when I’m not here?”

- you sighed. You should’ve known that it wasn’t going to be an easy thing with him. The man put holes in people’s heads on a semi-regular basis for the club without question, but asking him to squash a bug was going to spark a philosophical discussion.

- “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Please, Coco, I don’t wanna do it.” It was evident in his eyes that he was contemplating leaving you to deal with the problem on your own. But he was soft for you and couldn't follow through on it. With a sigh, he climbed into the tub and stomped the spider with no hesitation before washing it down the drain.

- he kissed your forehead, “Next time you gotta do it. Survival of the fittest, Ma.” You rolled your eyes, “My knight in shining armor.” He turned around and flashed you the cocky smile that made you weak in the knees every time, “Damn right.”

EZ:

- the sound of your yell filled the entirety of the small trailer. He jumped up off the bed and made his way to the small pocket of space that passed for his bathroom and was instantly bombarded by you running into him. The front of his shirt instantly became soaked, absorbing all the water from your body.

- “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he gripped you gently but firmly by the outsides of your arms. You shook your head, “This trailer is not big enough for the three of us, Ezekiel.” His eyebrows furrowed, “Three of us?” You nodded, “Yea. You, me, and your hairy eight-legged friend in there,” you gestured towards the bathroom.

- that was when he realized what happened. He smiled down at you before he thought better of it and you pushed his chest, “It’s not funny!” He nodded, forcing a serious expression as he held his hands up in surrender, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

- “Want me to take care of it?” the smirk was already reappearing on his face. You huff, “No, I want the three of us to learn how to live in harmony together.”

- “I know you’re being sarcastic,” he chuckled as he shuffled past you to get to the bathroom, “But that would make for a good story.”

- you were shaking your head as you grabbed one of his shirts to wear, sitting down on the bed as you watched him try to maneuver around in the small space to kill the spider.

- “Sorry, buddy,” EZ spoke to the creature as he got ready to squash it with a tissue, “but she said that we can’t be friends.” You rolled your eyes, “You’re not about to make me feel bad about this, EZ.”

- he reemerged from the bathroom, tossing the tissue into the garbage can, “Sounds like a guilty conscience, to me.” You grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, “You’re the worst.” He laughed as he peeled off his now-soaked shirt, “Is that any way to thank the guy who just saved you?”

- you pressed your lips into a thin line, staying silent for a moment before grabbing the other pillow and throwing it at him, “Thank you.”

Creeper:

- 100% comes running into the bathroom with his shotgun in his hand after he hears you scream

- has never heard you express that kind of fear before and definitely think that someone was hiding in the shower and had a knife to your throat or something

- when he sees you perched up on the closed toilet lid he is confused to say the least. Your hair is dripping and you hadn’t even bothered to grab a towel when you jumped out of the shower

- still not completely sure what’s going on, he refuses to completely set down his gun, instead letting it dangle by his side as he looks you over, “Hey, Mama, what’s going on in here?”

- not getting up from your perch, you point to the shower, “You gotta kill it, Neron.”

- “Kill what?” he rips the curtain back but doesn’t see anything at first

- you point aggressively towards the corner of the shower where all the body wash and shampoo bottles are stacked, “The spider!”

- “The spider?” he fights back a laugh as he rests the shotgun across his shoulders, arms dangling over it, “You screaming like that over a spider?”

- “Will you kill it already?!”

- he hands you a towel to wrap around your shoulder, chuckling as he sets his gun down outside the bathroom door. You try to tell him that he might still need the gun and he laughs before stepping into the tub to locate and kill the spider.

- very nicely, he asks you to get off the toilet so he can flush it away down the toilet. You jump up, standing at the very edge of the doorway as you watch him flush it away. He shuts the toilet lid and turns back to you, an amused smile on his face

- “Didn’t know you were afraid of spiders, baby,” he walks over and hugs you, kissing the soaking wet hair on top of your head, “I’ll keep a closer eye out for them.”

- “You better,” you grumble as you lean into his chest, “Or I’m gonna start using the shotgun.”

Hank:

- does not want to burst into the bathroom while you’re in there, feeling like he’s invading your privacy despite the fact that you screamed for him hardly a moment before

- gently knocked on the door and you responded with what he could only describe as a bark as you told him to get in the bathroom now

- once he was halfway inside the door, you pulled him completely in by his hand. He was trying not to stare at you but it was difficult to pry his eyes away from you, not used to seeing you standing around so exposed, and drenched from your shower

- “You gotta kill it, Hank.”

- he raised his eyebrows, “Kill it? Kill what?” You nod towards the shower, “There’s a spider in the shower!”

- all the tension that he was previously holding in his shoulders disappeared. He remembered at one point you’d mentioned that you hated spiders, but he didn't think that you really hated them that much. He knew how much you loved your long, hot showers.

- “I thought you were hurt, Y/N,” he was trying to sound bothered but you could see the smile fighting its way onto his face.

- “Um,” you scoff, “I could’ve been hurt. That thing is the size of a small dog.”

- he chuckled and shook his head, “Alright, alright,” he gently ushered you through the doorway, “Go get changed and I’ll take care of it for you,” he watched you walk towards the bedroom, “Better call the dog warden just in case!”

Taza:

- he heard you calling for him and had no idea what to expect. You weren’t the type to yell across the house for things that you needed.

- when he got to the bathroom, you were standing outside the doorway, towel lazily wrapped around you as you stood and waited for him. With every passing second he became more confused.

- once you told him that there was a spider in the shower and you couldn't go back in the bathroom until it was dead, a smile took over his face and he couldn't help but to laugh

- Che “Catch & Release” Romero

- you were upset that he was going to give the spider a chance to come back and try again to ambush you in the shower, but you knew it was an argument that you weren’t going to win with him.

- within a minute he had it trapped in a cup, covering the opening with his hand as he walked it back through the house to release it.

- he came back to find you sitting cross-legged on the bed, still wrapped in your towel. He tried to sit next to you but you pulled away from him, scooting farther down the bed.

- “What is it, mi amor? Hm?” there was a small, knowing smile on his face as he asked you the question. You huffed, “I don’t want you to touch me with your spider hands!”

- he laughed, “I only touched it with this hand,” he held up his right hand before reaching to caress your face with his left, “So this hand is still safe for you.”

Gilly:

- is under the impression that you are being dramatic about something when you call him into the bathroom for an emergency

- he walks in all cocky, expecting you to have some weird, little favor to ask of him

- he wasn’t thinking that he was going to open the door and nearly cause you to fall over in the process. He catches you, but barely, your dripping skin sliding in his grip.

- “Fuck, what happened in here?” he saw the water all over the floor where you jumped out of the shower

- “You have a spider in your shower!” you pointed frantically. He shook his head, as if he should’ve known that it would be something like that, “So? Shoot it with the showerhead.”

- you give him an offended look, “You shoot it with the showerhead! I don’t want to be anywhere near that thing.” He laughed and pulled the curtain to the side and looked around for the creature in question.

- gets halfway through some smartass remark before seeing the spider and jumping back himself, “Fuck!” 

- your fear would be momentarily outweighed by the satisfaction of seeing Gilly eat his words. You cross your arms over your bare chest, “Just shoot it with the showerhead, baby.”

- you can’t hear too clearly what he’s saying as he grumbles, sliding the boot off of his foot before slamming it down on the floor of the shower, crushing the bug in the process. He would deny it if anyone asked him about it after the fact, but you definitely heard him let out a sigh of relief once he lifted up the boot and saw that the spider was dead

Riz:

- is full of worry as he rushes to the bathroom

- he walks in and sees you standing, leaning back against the sink counter, water dripping off your body onto the floor. His initial instinct is to try and take care of you, grabbing a towel and trying to wrap it around your shoulders.

- “You gotta kill the spider, Riz,” you were completely ignoring the soft gestures he was trying to give you.

- “Wh-what?” he was thoroughly confused, still trying to drape the towel around your shoulders. You grabbed the towel from him, breaking his singular concentration, “There’s a spider in your shower, Riz. You gotta kill it.”

- “Is that what made you scream?” he gently wiped some of the water off of your cheek, “It’ll probably leave you alone if you wanna finish your shower, hermosa.” You turn and look at him, dumbfounded, “Do you...do you shower when you know there’s a spider in there with you?” He shrugged, “We just don’t bother each other.”

- you couldn't believe what you were hearing, “How long have you known there’s a spider in there?” He could sense that he was in hot water already but he couldn't force himself to lie to you, “I mean, I don’t know if it’s always the same spider but--” You couldn't listen to any more of what he was about to say, “Kill it, Michael. Please.”

- he grabbed a second towel and threw it down on the floor to soak up some of the water that you’d dragged out of the shower with you, “Okay, okay. Whatever you want, querida. Go dry off, I’ll take care of the spider.”

- as much as you wanted to be as far away from the spider as possible, you stayed, “I wanna make sure you actually get rid of it.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he reached and shut the shower off. He saw it crawling up onto the lip of the tub and with one smooth motion he crushed it underneath the toe of his boot.

- “All better?” he turned back to you. You tapped your finger against his chest, “No more letting bugs be guests in our shower. I’ll leave. I’ll move out.”

Bonus- Nestor (because i love him):

- he swung the door open and was met with the sight of you standing on top of the closed toilet lid. Instantly he felt like whatever the situation was, was above his paygrade. The shower was still running and water was all over the floor.

- he held his hands out to help you down, “Get down from there. You’re gonna fall and crack your skull.”

- “Better than letting that thing in there kill me!” it was dramatic, but you didn't care. His brows furrowed in confusion, “What thing? Where?” You pointed to the shower, “There’s a spider in the shower, Nes!”

- the expression on his face let you know that he felt that it was far too early in the morning to be dealing with this level of nonsense. He ran his hands down his face before holding them out to you again, “Please get down off the toilet, Y/N.” You shook your head, “Not until you kill the spider.”

- with a deep sigh, he turned the water off in the shower and pulled the curtain to the side. He scanned the tub for a minute before finally finding the threat. He wouldn't admit it to you, but he understood why it freaked you out--it was a big fucking spider.

- not thinking better of it, he picked your slide up off the floor and slammed it down onto the spider, crushing it on the bottom of your shoe. You whined, “Why’d you have to use my shoe?” He turned back to you, his expression painfully neutral, “The spider is dead, isn’t it?” he held his hands out yet again, “Now please get down from there.”

- you placed your hands in his and let him help you down, instantly wrapping your legs around his waist so that he was forced to hold you. It got a laugh out of the both of you as he caught you, holding you up with ease.

- “You owe me new slides, you know,” you chuckled as he carried you to the bedroom. He laughed, “Only if you promise not to climb on the toilet anymore.”