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garbinge · 1 year

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Chalk Drawings

Happy Lowman & Juice Ortiz & Platonic!Reader Jax Teller & Teller!Sister Reader Opie Winston x Teller!Sister Reader

Day 22 from these April Prompts: Chalk Drawings

Summary: When Happy and Juice are on protection duty and the AC is broken you and the kids take to the outside to escape the sweaty prison that’s Jax’s house as you wait for your brother and partner to come home.

Words: 1.9k

A/N: I’ve been having a rough couple of days so I’m not really sure what this is but, I hope you all enjoy! lol.

Warnings: pretty fluffy (for me and my writing lol), reader has a daughter with Opie (no name given), no use of Y/N, slight angst/tension, alludes to death/murder slightly, nothing that’s not canon-level.

SOA Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics

It was a beautiful summer afternoon, the sun was shining, there were fluffy clouds in the sky that were shaped like cotton candy. The only downside was that the California heat had no mercy and apparently neither did Jax’s air conditioner. It had broken early in the morning and by the afternoon the whole place felt like a sauna. Fans and open windows did nothing against the real feel of 93 degrees and there were only so many popsicles you willingly wanted to give to all the kids. This is what brought you outside on the driveway that had been covered by shade all day so it was luckily not burning hot. You had the full Winston x Teller group today, Kenny, Ellie, Abel, and your 3 year old daughter with Opie. The club was in partial lockdown due to business with the Cartel. Partial lockdown usually just meant no one was left alone, everyone who was someone had protection on them, which meant it was easier for people to stay in groups. Hence why you had all the kids right now. Gemma was out with Tara grocery shopping for the house and had taken Tig with them just to keep a close eye. This left you with Juice and Happy while Jax and Opie went on a run together with a few of the other guys.

The sprinkler was going on the grass, something for the kids to run through if they got too hot, but currently the group of them were on the driveway drawing with chalk. Abel and Kenny had paired up leaving your daughter to rest in between your legs with a piece of chalk in her hands while Ellie sat to your left doing the same. You started doodling with one of the pieces of chalk that was scattered along the driveway to pass the time as well while Happy and Juice leaned against their bikes, keeping watch all of you.

“You wanna get your hands dirty?” You held up the pink piece of chalk and called out to the two bikers.

Juice was quick to smile but deny the request, his way of trying to look tough. You clocked it immediately because just yesterday he was eating a spongebob popsicle off the ice cream truck when he was the only one on your watch detail.

“Yes I do.” Happy said instantly and eagerly as he pushed off his bike. He was quick to grab the chalk from you and begin doodling on the pavement. You thought you’d be shocked at his instant agreement to join you on the ground with the pastel art tools but surprisingly, it was exactly what you expected. Happy knelt on the pavement, one knee touching the ground while the other was being used as an armrest for the arm that wasn’t creating a chalk masterpiece.

“C’mon Juice.” You nodded your head to wave him over.

“Yea, c’mon Juice!” Your daughter called out with a smile.

You smirked at that and so did Juice as he walked over to you both. The little girl in your lap holding out the pink piece of chalk up to the biker.

“Thanks,” His smirk not falling as he grabbed the chalk from the girl.

“S’my favorite color.” She beamed at you and said the color’s name to show how smart she was. “Pink.”

“It’s Juice’s too.” You teased and patted to the free space next to you as he shook his head and blushed. “Show me what you got, Juicy.”

He started drawing stick figures, graffiti words, tribal drawings like his tattoos.

“Can you draw me a flower?” Your daughter was quick to crawl out of your lap and sit in front of Juice.

“I can try.” He began to try and draw some version of a flower, although it was looking more like a blob.

“That’s not very good.” She tilted her head and frowned at it.

You called out your daughters name, a warning to be nice although it didn’t do much.

“Why does your hair look like that.” She asked as she drew over Juice’s flower creating her own masterpiece.

Juice practically spit out the sip of water he just took at the girl’s question.

“Why don’t you go see what Abel and Kenny are drawing, huh? Go ask Happy your questions.” You interrupted to give Juice a break. The girl shrugged and skipped her way over to the other group on the driveway. You knew Happy could handle the questions and would give them right back which entertained her.

“Can you teach me how to draw that?” You heard her voice behind you as she stood over Happy’s shoulders.

“I sure can.” He nodded and handed her the yellow piece of chalk before the sounds of the chalk hitting the pavement filled the air.

“Mommy look!” She called out and you turned to see the tons of smiley faces drawn on the ground, some smiling, some crying, some grinning. Your eyes jumped to Happy and back to the drawings a few times. No one came out and told you what Happy’s name meant, but being a Teller you had been around the clubhouse enough to see Happy hit the ring which meant seeing the array of smiley tats across his lower abdomen. It didn’t take a genius to put it together.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or be mortified, the kids had no idea what it meant but there was a part of you that felt like there was something eerie about it.

“Nice drawings.” Your eyebrows raised at him with a smirk as your nostrils flared.

Happy smiled, oblivious to your sarcasm and nodded.

The sound of motorcycle engines filled the air, but there was no sign of who it was yet. Happy and Juice quick to stand up, Happy picking up your young daughter while you got up as well. He handed the girl to you before walking to the end of the driveway with Juice. As you situated the girl in your arms you began to walk near the garage door and called the rest of the kids over to you. There was a pit in your stomach, you grabbed your nephew and placed him behind you and told Kenny and Ellie to do the same as you guided them as well, using yourself as a human shield to them as you typed in the code to the garage door.

The bikes got closer and as the sound got louder so did your thumping heart. The garage door was taking its sweet time to open, you tried your best to keep your wits about you as to not scare the kids but it was hard when Happy and Juice were reaching for there pieces.

“Let’s play a game!” Your head snapped to the kids as the garage door opened. “Go inside and we’ll play hide-n-seek! Only rule is you MUST stay in the house. You hide and I’ll find you!”

The kids giggled and immediately ran inside the house, your daughter wasn’t eager to leave your arms to play so you kept her in your grip, her head rested on your shoulder which soon dropped in relief as you saw the reaper on the bikes that were approaching. You recognized both bikes, your brother and Opie’s. A breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in let out and you closed your eyes in reassurance.

Happy and Juice fell back quickly too, their relief looking a little different than your own. As both men pulled up to the curb and backed their bikes up, you started to walk down the driveway. Opie walked over to Happy and Juice likely to fill in the crew on what had just happened while Jax walked up to you.

“You look like you just saw a ghost.” His long blond hair blew in the hot heat as his smirk grew.

“I thought I was about to become one.” The only reason you let the joke out was because within the few minutes of your daughter being in your arms she had fallen asleep.

He frowned and picked his hand up to tuck your daughters hair behind her ear.

“I’ve been on edge, heard the bikes.” You shook your head and looked down.

“We figured it all out, we’re fine, you’re safe.” His eyes jumped from yours to the girl in your arms, “all of you.”

Jax’s eyes looked down at the concrete to see the chalk drawings on the ground, clocking the smiley faces immediately and let out a chuckle.

“Really, Hap?” Jax called out to the man who smiled and nodded.

At this point, Opie was walking over, his tall body standing over you in seconds as he placed a kiss on your head.

“Hey, you okay?” His brows furrowed picking up on your tension.

“We spooked her.” Jax teased you as he pinched your elbow.

Opie’s eyes moved back to yours looking for confirmation.

“I’m fine.” You argued and looked up to Opie who smiled knowing that the sibling rivalry was coming through in your short worded sentence.

“Where the kids?” He asked still smiling.

“Inside, I told them we’re playing hide-n-seek if you want to go find them.” You knew both men would pick up on the fact you told them to hide and probably why but before either of them could get to the bottom of why you were so on edge besides the obvious, your daughter was stirring awake.

“Look who's here.” You whispered to her as she sat up in your arms and you turned so she could see her father.

“Hi Daddy.” Her voice was still half asleep.

“Hi baby.” Opie’s arms extended out so he could grab her. “I drew smileys with Happy.” She rested her head against his shoulder in an attempt to go back to sleep. Opie looked down at the pavement and then back to you.

“She also asked Juice about his haircut.” You crossed your arms.

“It looks funny.” She said still at a mumble causing Opie and Jax to laugh.

“I think it does too.” Jax started to walk inside the house. “Ready or not, here I come!” He called out but you knew he was going to grab a drink and a snack from the kitchen before he started to look for the kids.

“I guess next time we’ll keep Hap with us.” Opie teased as you both started to walk inside while the sound of Juice and Happy’s bikes started. You turned to wave goodbye to both of them before looking back at Opie as you made your way into the garage.

“Nah, he might be insane but he’s good with the kids and having him around actually puts me at ease.”

“If this is you at ease, I’d hate to see you tense.” Opie teased you again as the garage door closed.

“Why don’t you and this jelly bean here go look for the kids.” Your arms still crossed as your eyes rolled.

“You wanna go find Abel, Ellie, and Kenny?” Opie bounced up and down to wake up his daughter. “I’ll give you a popsicle if you find them all.” His voice raised as he incentivized the girl who was suddenly wide awake.

“Let’s go!!!” She kicked as he placed her down and she hit the ground running. “C’mon Mom, let’s go!!!” She called out to you.

Opie smirked and threw his arm around you, “yea, let’s go.”

#SOA #SOA Fanfic #SOA fanfiction #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfic #happy lowman #juice ortiz #Juan Carlos Ortiz #Jax Teller #opie winston #happy lowman x reader #juice ortiz x reader #Jax teller x sister #opie winston x reader #opie winston x teller sister #opie winston x teller sister reader #teller sister #teller sister reader

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narcolini · 1 year

Text

good boy

juice ortiz x gn!reader, 3639 words, 18+

mild nsfw, praise kink (juice), hot n heavy etc, the title says it all

a/n: based on a post ive lost about men being called good boys and therefore dedicated to @drabbles-mc because we terrorised ourselves about it being juicy and then here we are. the result! (im not sure who to tag bc this is new territory, but @cositapreciosa and @hausofmamadas ik u love jc <3)

You don’t get approached in bars. You never, get approached in bars. Not alone, not in groups, not when you’re tagging along with Jen and Tunde for the thirtieth miserable time this year. Something about your expression, you think. How you look when you aren’t thinking at all. It happens so infrequently, actually, that you don’t even realising it’s happening this time. You assume that he, the guy, this dude—navy hoody, black jeans, muscles you can see despite it all— who’s lingering by your shoulder, is just waiting to order. Hovering until he can grab a drink. Or looking for missing friends, or even just—

‘Sorry, I can tuck in if you need to get past.’

‘No, no, I wasn’t,’ he answers, stumbling slightly over the words, ‘I’m not.’ He pauses, breathes. ‘I was trying to speak to you, actually.’

You blank. ‘To me?’

He nods. ‘Probably should’ve said something, instead of just standing here, I know.’

Probably should’ve picked someone else entirely, really. You aren’t making it any easier for him. You can’t even think of something to say while he stands there looking at you, waiting for you to speak.

‘I’m Juice,’ he says, thank God.

So you smile, replying with your name in turn, and add, ‘Here to buy me a drink?’

He scoffs, giving a head shake—a lie—that winds into a nod—the truth—and a smile. Cute. Honest of him. ‘If you want,’ he says, ‘then, yeah.’

‘This one’s fresh,’ you explain, hovering the bottle in front of you briefly, ‘sorry.’ You almost feel bad about that. Poor thing is one bad interaction away from a full-body shutdown by the looks of it.

It doesn’t deter him though, surprisingly. He gestures to the stool beside you. ‘That mean I can’t sit?’

‘No.’ He’s polite, interested but not pushy. He isn’t even touching the seat yet. Just standing a respectable distance away, showing you his dimples, looking you in the eye. As far as men in bars go, he’s doing well. ‘Go ahead,’ you tell him, making an effort to sound warm, inviting. You know how you come across at first. ‘I’ll never say no to good conversation.’

‘God,’ he laughs, ‘no pressure though, right?’

You smile. ‘None at all.’ He’s no idea what he’s saving you from. He could sit and babble for another twenty minutes and it’d still be more interesting than the conversation your friends have been having.

Juice sits beside you, rocking the stool slightly, before flagging the barman down to order his own beer. You watch him take out his wallet—leather, scuffed—then a fold of notes from inside it. Watch him flick through them before selecting a twenty and passing it to the guy.

‘For this, and the next one,’ he explains, pointing to your half-empty drink.

‘Thanks.’ You nod to acknowledge it. ‘You’re sweet.’

He glows, but shakes away the compliment and tries to hide his blush by taking a drink as soon as the bottle’s put in front of him. You do him the mercy of looking away, to Jen and Tunde on your right, while he recovers.

You’re just checking they’re still there, of course, still keeping you company, still in love, still lost in conversation like they’re the only pair in the room. Why you even agree to hang out as a group anymore, you don’t know. The whole dynamic of it has been thrown off balance since they got together, though you expected as much. Encouraged it, really. Shit was a long time coming. Still, they could try to remember you’re here as well, spare you a thought, at least. Change the topic from last nights mini-golf date to something you could actually contribute to, maybe.

When you look back to Juice, he’s waiting with a question brewing behind his lips. You raise a brow to encourage him. Please, anything, say some words, make some jokes, save me.

‘Are you…’ he hesitates, flicking his finger between you and the two on the other side, ‘with them?’

You snort. ‘In a throuple way? Or a third wheel way?’

He nods, answering neither question, but you assume he means the latter and sigh. Deflate. Hide your embarrassment with a caricature of yourself.

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘Well,’ he draws out the word, smile cracking onto his features. ‘I didn’t want to say it but, yeah.’ He laughs. ‘You did look pretty lonely over here, in a third wheel kind of way.’

‘Oh, great.’ You stare ahead and take another swig from your beer. ‘Nice to know my resting bitch face is actually more of a resting desperately-sad face.’

He laughs again and puts his hands up like he’s innocent. The, you said it not me, type of innocence. ‘Just wanted to offer you some company, that’s all,’ he says, before putting his forearms onto the bar and leaning over them. Toward you, almost. Close enough to not have to raise his voice to be heard anymore. He gives you a smile—a sheepish smile, a cute one—like he’s in on something and—

Again. Fuck. That’s twice now. Cute and cute. He’s bringing something out of you, hot-wiring your brain with the round of his cheeks.

‘Bit of a chronic third wheel myself actually,’ he admits.

Hard to believe. His mannerisms alone makes him the most eligible bachelor in the room. Yours ward off suitors like a fairy-tale villain, cursed to brood alone in your castle.

‘Well, solidarity.’ You clink your bottle to the one standing in front of him. ‘And I’ll take the company, thank-you. Will never say no to being the centre of attention.’

You smirk and he returns it, but in a sweeter way, shy again. Is it nerves? Maybe it is nerves, and your fault at that. Or maybe he’s really, earnestly, bad at this, at picking people up in bars. Flirting with no pretences. From the look of him, you would’ve assumed he did this regularly. Often enough to be cocky about it, at least, because, come on, he’s got tattoos on the side of his skull and a mohawk shaved down to an inch. Muscles visible through the cotton of his hoody. He doesn’t look like the sort to be nervous about anything, let alone smooth-talking.

‘You want to get a round of pool?’ he asks, looking over his shoulder. ‘Table’s empty.’

‘Sure.’ No harm in that. It’s certainly more fun than sitting here, listening to Tunde discuss his—wait, yep—his dream wedding again. ‘Let me just, yeah,’ you look from Juice to catch Jen’s eye and explain to her, ‘I’m gonna go school this guy at pool. I’ll be back in a bit.’

She nods, then gives an approving thumbs up that Juice definitely saw, because subtlety has never been her thing, before you turn and follow him toward the table in the corner.

‘Fighting talk,’ he comments as you go, ‘I like it.’

‘Please.’ You touch his shoulder briefly. ‘It’s only fighting talk if I’m exaggerating.’

——————

It takes a few turns for him to believe you. You’ve just potted another ball, the second in a row now, and he’s yet to pocket his first. Painful, yes, but he’s taking it well.

‘Okay,’ he announces, rubbing his brow, ‘so, you’re actually pretty good at this.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ you scold, rounding the corner to line up your next shot. ‘I played in college.’

‘I can tell,’ he says, and he’s impressed by it. Not emasculated, or however the fuck other men might react, but genuinely impressed. Charmed, even. If you’re reading him right. ‘I should’ve picked a different game.’

‘Why? Were you hoping I’d lose and make you feel good about yourself?’

He smiles; it reaches the edges of his eyes. ‘Something like that.’

You’re about to take the next shot, but pause instead, bent over the table still. Just like they do in the movies, right? If he wants to play, then let’s play. You know how you look, you know what he’s seeing. You raise your gaze from the cue ball to him. ‘How about,’ you start, ‘I win, you pay my tab. You win, I pay yours.’

A nervous laugh bubbles out of him. ‘I don’t have a tab,’ he says. Which isn’t a no. And he’s smiling, which is the opposite of no, really.

‘Then you better make one, Juice.’ You strike, balls scattering across the green. ‘Or don’t, cause you’ll be paying mine anyway.’

——————

The game talk works, again, because he improves after that. He’s better, not as good as you, but not embarrassing himself with missed-shots anymore. For a little while—somewhere between the rematch, and the rematch of the rematch—you think that maybe he’ll even dark-horse you and win in the last minute, leaving you to pay for the extra beers he’s powered through.

But then he pots the black. In the last game, the one you’re playing to really, concretely, finalise the tournament, he pots black. Loses not because you won, but because he was dumb enough to mistake the final ball for his next one. Tragic. Truly.

He collapses once he realises, forehead to the tabletop, and stays there long enough that you’re almost tempted to feel sorry for him. Then you remember yourself, and the tab he’s about to clear for you.

‘Aw,’ you say sarcastically, fake-pouting and all, ‘I’m assuming you didn’t mean to do that?’

He drags himself upright, recovering quick enough to quip, ‘No, yeah, totally wanted to do that. Thought you deserved the win.’

‘Oh really?’

‘I’m being a gentleman,’ he lies, walking the length of the table to stand beside you. He leans against it once he’s there, thighs to the edge, palms stacked on the end of his cue. ‘So, you know, a thank-you would be nice.’

You snort and take the stick from him to stand it with yours. ‘After you pay up,’ you shrug, ‘sure.’

His eyes roll and his head goes with them, but he nods afterwards and pulls his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.

‘Good boy.’

He meets your gaze, eyes alight, attentive—not the reaction you’d expected, because he’d lost and you were mocking him for it. But he seems unfazed, keen even.

‘I’ll be right back,’ he says.

When he is, tab paid and accounted for, you greet him with the promised, ‘Thank-you, angel.’

And there’s that glisten again, that brightness in his eyes. Now he’s closer, you can see his chest rise too, his breath quickening slightly. He likes it. Oh, he likes it. The praise, the reward, that’s what it is. And you like that he likes it, that’s what that is. Cute, like you’d thought before, playable.

He leans toward you before you’ve decided what to do with it all; his hand on your waist, his mouth angled for yours. Keen. Sweet about it. His eyes are closed already so you let him get a kiss in before slowing things down again. It’s just a peck, really, soft and short.

‘Mmm.’ You push him back, two fingertips to the ridge of his collarbone. ‘I have a thing about PDA,’ you tell him. Specifically, PDA that involves your friends watching you kiss a guy you barely know, against the beer-stained pool table of your local bar. If they weren’t there, you probably would’ve let him. In the bathroom cubicle, you definitely would’ve let him.

‘Yeah, course, whatever.’ He nods quickly, stepping away and adjusting his hoody for no reason at all. Nerves, again. ‘I didn’t mean to, y’know. I’m cool with—’

‘Relax,’ you interrupt before he talks himself into any more distress. ‘I said I have a thing about PDA, not you. You’re good, Juice. I like you.’

The smirk is back, the dimples teetering. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ you start for the bar, talking over your shoulder, ‘let me get my jacket.’

——————

You’ve come home with him, or rather, he’s come home with you—and if only he knew what a victory that was. You don’t bring anyone back here. Not before you know them. But there he is, harmless, you’re sure, and lingering in the hallway like he’s surprised to have made it this far himself. Too polite to even take his jacket off.

Maybe he does know, then, maybe he can feel the win and doesn’t know what to do with it yet.

‘You got this place to yourself?’ he asks, hands in his pockets, gaze on the walls. Like the photo frames are that interesting.

‘Yep, dead aunt. Lucky me.’ Both of you know twenty-somethings don’t land apartments like this from hard work alone, but you aren’t here to talk about real estate. There’s no need for pretence or small talk, as far as you’re concerned, everyone knows where it goes from here. You shrug out of your coat and take your shoes off—toes pushing heels—then dump the lot exactly where they always get dumped. ‘You can get comfortable, y’know. I’m not gonna turf you out any time soon.’

You pass him a look which sends him into motion, unlike your words had. Then his jacket comes off, his hoody’s unzipped, grey tee exposed. His boots are un-done and put beside yours with more discipline than you can ever be bothered with—which you figure is manners over habit—and then he’s back to standing and looking around like it’s an art gallery, not a fucking hook up spot.

‘You don’t do this a lot, do you?’ you ask, because you’re starting to worry this is his first one night stand ever and you really aren’t prepared for that. Maybe at some point, yeah, maybe for him, once you know him, but not tonight. Not now.

‘Well,’ it snakes out of him, ‘not a lot. But, y’know, a normal amount.’

Your brow raises. ‘A normal amount?’

He flushes, unable to find and answer—which is fine, because you hadn’t expected one. A normal amount. Sure, Juice.

‘I’ve got beer in the fridge?’

He nods. ‘Thanks.’

So, you'll start with a beer. Hopefully it strips the stiffness from his shoulders and sends it somewhere useful.

‘The name,’ you call from the kitchen, ‘is that because you’re sweet?’

His laugh is quiet in the other room. He’s sitting now, you hope, grabbing a spot on the couch while you aren’t there to make him nervous. ‘Something like that,’ he answers. ‘The guys had a problem with Juan.’

You frown, popping the caps off two beers. ‘The guys?’

He doesn’t answer, so you grab the bottles and chase the question back to him. ‘Juan isn’t exactly hard to say.’

‘Nah,’ he scoffs, ‘but it isn’t exactly MC cool, either.’

You’re glad to see him settled, sitting on the right side of the couch with one arm slung across the back of it. He looks comfortable, finally, like he’s been here before. You sit beside him and pass him his drink, cradling your own in your lap.

‘And Juice is super cool,’ you taunt.

‘Touché.’

You smirk, talking over the neck of the beer before taking a sip, ‘And don’t think we aren’t going to circle back to you being in a motorcycle club, man.’ You scoff. Swallow. ‘Did not see that coming.’

He drinks before answering and you think, for the first time, that you might’ve genuinely hurt his ego with that one. ‘Am I really that pathetic looking?’ he asks, attempting to laugh through it. ‘I get all these tattoos for nothing?’

You tilt your head, consider him again. You never said that. ‘Kindness isn’t pathetic,’ you tell him. ‘I just know MCs aren’t all good like they say they are.’

‘And you think I am?’

Another shift and your head’s against his arm, cheekbone to bicep. ‘I think you can be.’

An exhale—his—heavy and long enough to reach your face. It’s warm, beer and mint.

‘I think you want to be,’ you admit.

His eyes are glued to yours, gleaming again. All he can manage in return is, ‘Yeah?’

Yeah.

And then you’re kissing, you to him this time. Your hand to his jaw, beer necks clinking together somewhere between you both, and he’s responding like you’d told him how to beforehand. Exactly as you like it. Pliant. Restrained. His tongue tucked back, his teeth grazing. The perfect compromise. You pull away long enough to take his bottle from him and leave it, abandoned, with yours on the coffee table, then you’re at him again. Hands and lips and teeth. How could you ever think that this was his first time? Now he’s relaxed into it, it’s obvious. It’s in the taste of him.

‘Normal amount,’ you breathe, putting it into his mouth, all heat and disbelief. ‘And you kiss like that?’

There’s a noise from his throat, one that escaped before he could attempt a real answer. A low moan in place of a question. Is that a good thing, you imagine he’d say, do you like it?

‘So good,’ you tell him. ‘Again, like that.’

He does. He complies. Pants a little faster at the compliment, pushing his chest toward yours and his hand to the soft where your stomach meets your jeans, but he kisses you again, just like before. Eager and wanting. So, you melt with it—put your hips forward before he can start at the button—and melt with it.

‘How do you do that?’ you ask, sitting over his lap now, mouth to his neck. ‘Hm?’

He pulls away, or pushes you back, to look at the fastening; rough fingertips over brass, then zipper, then flesh. His buzzed hair brushes your cheek as he looks up again. ‘Do what?’ Brows pinched. ‘Is this okay?’

A nod, yes, yes, your questions first. ‘Know exactly what I want, before I want it,’ you answer. ‘Before I ask for it.’ You put his hand to your underwear and feel him stiffen beneath, abs clenched so tight he can barely breathe. ‘You in my head or something, Juice?’

There’s that blush again, that heat across his cheeks that you can see, colour or no colour—dim light of the bar, orange glow of your living room—and the same shy smile from before. You watch him dip his chin to try and hide it all.

‘I guess I’ve got you figured out,’ he offers.

It’s a fishing rod of a statement, posed and anxious for the bite.

You hum. ‘Maybe you have.’

But his hand hasn’t moved still. It’s resting between cotton and skin, waiting for the cue, waiting for the reward. You’re understanding each other mutually, now.

‘How long have you had a praise kink?’ you ask, because it comes into your head and your restraint’s at the bar still, slung over the pool table. ‘A while, or…?’

He laughs in response, a burst of noise that throws his head back over the couch momentarily. ‘What?’ The smile’s creasing by his eyes. ‘Where’d that come from?’

You wait. It wasn’t a joke. He can laugh, but it won’t make you retract the question, or lie like you haven’t seen right through the core of him. ‘I’m just wondering if anyone’s ever played into it before.’

‘I—look.’ His hand comes free—you miss the warmth immediately—to re-adjust the crotch of his jeans and then tuck behind his head. Scratching. ‘I wasn’t trying to lead you into anything, y’know, different.’

‘My God.’ Your eyes roll. ‘I don’t need to ask where it comes from, do I?’

Apology, apology, sorry, sorry, we don’t have to, I didn’t mean to.

‘Relax,’ you insist, leaning on his shoulders. ‘It’s my bad for asking stupid questions at the wrong time. You haven’t done anything wrong.’

He sighs. Sinks into the cushions with you on top.

‘And I didn’t say I wasn’t into it.’

The corner of his lip tweaks.

‘But if now’s not the time,’ you continue, ‘this pizza place round the block has the meanest—’

You’re interrupted with a kiss, fast and hot and messy. Teeth to teeth, but you don’t mind. It only takes a moment to recover and it’s so unlike the last few, that you feel your stomach dropping with it—dipping, spinning, swallowing itself whole. Heartbeat darting into the base of your throat. Oh, you think, there we go. Both feet onto the court now.

‘Bedroom,’ you say, against his bottom lip. Between the kiss. Into it.

‘Nah.’ His palms find the back of your thighs, just above the knee, as he puts you back, turning you onto the spread of cushions beside you. ‘Here.’

‘Wow.’ You laugh, too twisted and hot where it matters to really care where you go. ‘Okay.’

You can feel him laughing, almost, in return, feel the lift of a smile in the next few kisses he plants on your skin. Your throat, your jaw. God. He knows to shut you up, that’s what it is. Knows any more chances to talk, you’ll take, even though what you really want is, oh, what you really want is—

‘God, you’re good.’

‘Yeah?’ He lifts from your collarbone, from the bite he’s left above it. When you find his eyes, they’re shining—dark, alight—and wide with reward.

You nod, chin hitting your chest as you look down yourself, into those eyes. ‘Keep going,’ you tell him.

Keep going, keep going. Hands to your jeans again, down your hips this time, over your ass, your thighs. Underwear, too. The slight of his moustache brushed beneath your bellybutton and. And.

‘Good boy,’ you say, under your breath, barely a whisper, but he hears. He hears it.

Good boy, you said, twisted key in the lock.

#juice ortiz #juice ortiz x reader #juan carlos ortiz #sons of anarchy fanfiction #juice ortiz x you #the only soa character i will every write probably LMAO #thats my BOYYYYYYYY my babyyyyy #enjoy!

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proceduralpassion · 11 months

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400 Follower Celebration Sleepover Masterlist

expose, stir, leadership | Stuart Scola

fear, love, emergency | Kevin Atwater

fluff, sick, kiss | OA Zidan

sister, protective, love | OA Zidan

scar, bench, entrance | Juice Ortiz

hands, love, tremble | Dante Torres

suit, soft, whisper | Robert "Bob" Floyd

protect, sacrifice, obligation | OA Zidan

cart, gravel, fish | Jax Teller

change, embrace, locked | Marcus Alvarez

scooting, deep, view | Nestor Oceteva

helping, collar, abide | Bishop Losa

pyramid, cycle, beginning | Dante Torres

frog, burial, play | Terry Bruno

village, panic, garbage | Mike Duarte

stadium, ally, chart | Kevin Atwater

tender, warmth, closeness | Scott Forrester

fight, dress, drive | Gilly Lopez

scoop, paralyzed, tug | Kevin Atwater

comforter, switch, trickle | Gilly Lopez

paint, leaves, chain | Gilly Lopez

#400 drabble event #fbi cbs #chicago pd #sons of anarchy #stuart scola #kevin atwater #oa zidan #juice ortiz #dante torres

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tailsbeth-writes · 4 months

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Thanks for tagging me @duchessdepolignaca03! So this is my first one of these actually, thanks to timezones it wasn't Wednesday when I got tagged but nonetheless here we go.

So I don't have WIP excerpts right now, I'm a 'gonna write a fic to post straight after' kind of gal (this will change with a long project next year though) so instead I thought I'd post some bits from my fanfic idea dump plus some og fiction WIPs.

-The Prince & He (Working Title - coming 2024)

The Prince & Me AU for Red White & Royal Blue. Alex is at UT and Henry decides to study in America, he tells his family it's to find himself but really it's so he can get away from his overbearing royal responsibilities. (Looking for betas for this btw!)

Potential RWRB fic ideas:

-it's Alex & Bea who have cakegate and after damage control, the queen thinks they should start a courtship... Alex & Henry have other ideas though (want to explore gendered differences, the damage control would be so different with Bea and I think I'd like to make her asexual & explore that within a structure of tradition)

-5+1: times that Alex was clearly being hit on by a dude but was completely oblivious & Henry is obviously the one (🥹)

- Potential song fic - Wasia Project: U Deserve - Nothing But Thieves: Do You Love Me Yet? - Liz Lawrence: I'd Rather

Original Fiction: Decompose

Near future London has been segregated by means of a new medical test, each sector representing a level of productivity. After going through the kitted out MRI machine, twin Harry Thorpe is wrongly moved from his comfortable life in the highly skilled sector where technology rules and excellence is expected, to the unskilled sector which seems stuck in the past but with much more variety.

Between alien customs and new romances with classmates, he discovers his own power hungry mum is trying to bring in the One Child Policy and that is only the beginning of her plans. Harry and a group of rebel social workers and civil servants might be the only thing that can stop her.

This is my first novel, it's young adult sci-fi, focuses on equality, chronic illness & disabilities, diversity, government corruption, found family, rebellion. It's got a diverse cast led by Harry, who is a soft pansexual bookworm with a sweet tooth. I'm currently editing & looking for beta readers for the next draft.

When You Get The Chance

My next book project is still very early days but it's a very queer holiday romance.

Coral 'Corey' Henderson is on holiday in Majorca for 2 weeks, her sister missed the start of the holiday leaving her alone. Enter Alice Ortiz, a member of an Abba tribute act performing at the hotel.

All of Abba Nice Day are queer, Corey is a ginger plus size Scottish lesbian event planner, Alice is a bisexual Geordie (half Spanish) who loves singing but also wants to go to uni to study politics. This book will explore family dynamics, dementia, biphobia, body image, protesting & finding your purpose. I'll do a call out for betas when we get to it!

Congrats if you made it through all this! I'm tagging @cl4r3m0nt @heybuddy-drabbles @candyspandemonium @firenati0n @nontoxic-writes & whoever else wants to do this! Tag me, I'm always looking for writer pals 🥰

(20/12/2023)

#tailsbeth writes #rwrb #rwrb fanfic #firstprince #firstprince fanfic #red white and royal blue #the prince & me au #song fics #original fiction #lgbt writers #queer writer

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spaghettificationandpretzels · 2 years

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Hmmm... May I request - Angst with happy ending for Juice?

Person B watches the wind in person A's hair.

Drabble Masterlist

A Very Long Day

Contains: Mild angst, fluff

304 words

Comment if you want to be tagged/removed

You and Juice steal a week away

You drove, Juice was too busy holding back tears. Clay had spent the last week acting like the nasty monster he was and Juice coped the brunt of it. So when Friday came by, you stomped up to T-M and told Clay that you were taking Juice up to a little farm an hour away and you were going to stay in a little cottage by the cows for a week while Clay got his emotions under control.

When Clay went to protest, the look on your face would have frozen hell and he backed down and now Juice was starting at the passing fields with his eyes wet, "we're almost there my love."

You arrived at the farm twenty minutes later and Juice helped you with the bags, "this place is nice."

You nodded, "wait until all the cows come in from the fields."

Juice smiled softly, "thank you for doing this, I really needed it."

****

You were right about the cows, you and Juice were sitting on the front steps, watching them wander into the paddock by the house with smiles on your faces as a soft wind whipped around you. A larger gust had your hair flying everywhere, Juice chuckling as you tried to stop your hair from going into your mouth.

"I don't think I ever want to leave this place."

You smiled, "well, we've got a week. Maybe when Clay finally takes his trip to the great fire we can ask Jax to set up a charter here and then we really don't have to leave."

Juice laughed again, deep and warm, "I don't think cows can ride bikes."

You shook your head, "I don't know, I'm sure there's a farmer or two who could."

Juice pushed a strand behind your ear, "I like the sound of that.

Fin

#juice ortiz #soa imagine #juice ortiz fanfic #fluff #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fluff #soa #samcro #juice Ortiz fluff #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz imagine #theo rossi #juice ortiz x you #sp's curly hair drabbles

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latinotimdrake · 11 months

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the rule is for every negative post I have to make a positive one so

batfamily fic recs that aren't just the same 5 white or whitewashed guys

amber-lit by Crystalinastar : Duke Thomas & the We Are Robin gang (Riko Sheridan, Isabella Ortiz, Daxton Chill, Andre Cipriani), AU, future fic, 1.3k words

In a world where Batman never returned and his family scattered, the We Are Robin movement has grown and become the city’s new protectors. Now older, they have a conversation around a kitchen counter.

do you ever think of me and my two hands by Le_tap_22 : Stephanie Brown, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, character study, 681 words

Stephanie has never thought, and will never think, of Damian as her child. He’s a child, sure. Bruce’s child, Dick’s child, Talia’s child. But not hers. He’s her little asshole younger brother. But sometimes when she sits beside him— like now under the soft light of the sun shining through the curtain in the Manor’s library as she watches him write a letter to send to his mother— she feels a deep, almost indescribable emotion well up inside her. Not for him, but for Talia. Or, Damian and Stephanie sit together in the Manor’s library, two opposite halves of similar pictures.

Read These Roses by Kalinjdra : Tam Fox/Cassandra Cain, soulmate AU, 3.6k words

One of Tam's most prized possessions is a book on the language of flowers, that her father had gifted her in the third grade. The page for belladonna is wrinkled thin from how many times its been flipped open to, rhodohedron has had it's dog-eared corner torn off and and coriander sticks out from where it had been slightly torn off out of the binding. Boneset has long since fallen out and remains taped to the inside of the binding. These are the flowers of pain and grief.

A House Divided by Capucine : Cassandra Cain, Batgirl #19 canon divergence, 997 words

Batgirl does not condone killing. When a murderer is scheduled to be executed, this principle is put to the test--and the aftermath of her decision will change everything.

gotham city, 2021 by pendulum_north : Minhkhoa Khan, Bao Pham, Cassandra Cain, hurt/comfort, 2.3k words

The boy was shaking, practically vibrating out of his skin, when Minhkhoa had found him, tucked himself away in dark recesses of the half-constructed building.

not mutually exclusive by majorlachdown : Duke Thomas & Bruce Wayne, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, 4k words

Bruce turned to properly face Duke. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you were awake, but if you want to talk now….” Duke groaned, falling back onto the pillows. “Aren’t you supposed to be the emotionally constipated adult who just leaves things alone?” “I’m trying this new thing out,” Bruce said dryly, “where I try to be supportive of emotionally constipated children.” (Duke is kinda going through it. He has to accept he doesn't have to go through it alone.)

Dance by rakketyrivertam : Cassandra Cain, character study, half drabble, 50 words

Cassandra, described.

necessary reminders by Quillium : Duke Thomas, character study, 5.1k words

Duke, as Signal becomes known and as Duke becomes part of the Wayne family.

Like Father by Wisetypewriter : Sasha, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, 3.1k words

Jason, Dick privately recalled, was ironically the one that took after Bruce's adoption addiction the most.

Note: this one does have equal parts for Jason and Dick, but it's about Sasha and I really like how it follows up on her character. She is heavily defined by her relationship with Jason in canon, and I like what this fic does with that.

#fic recs #rec list #batfamily #cassandra cain #duke thomas #sasha (scarlet)

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magickhajiit · 2 years

Note

A 📂 for Chibs?

@vulgar-display-of-escapism

Alright continuing with the theme of animals.

In direct contrast to both Tig and Juice, Chibs has never been a dog person or an any sort of animal person really. He’d once been asked to dog sit Juice’s Jack Russel and the trauma still haunts him. Life was stressful enough without a furry creature relying on you every day to feed, walk and play with it, Juice and his idiocy was enough of a handful on its own.

His daughter, from the first few months she could talk to six years old, had continued to begged him for a cat, despite his repeated refusal. He tries not to think about the fact that one of Jimmy’s first moves, when he’d forced Chibs out of Ireland, was to buy his daughter an overpriced Persian kitten , as if that was somehow better than a moggie.

(ok moving onto less depressing territory)

Every year when the fair came to Charming the Sons had shown their faces, it was a good way to build up community support in the times when it was running low. A game that had gained infamy throughout Charming and caused a headache for many of the Sons was Old Duke’s hook a duck. With the impossible objective of hooking three ducks within a minute it had become a legend to folks coming to the travelling fair, Chibs was yet to see anyone manage it.

One year Juice had gotten more than a little tipsy at the clubhouse and decided to ride over to the fairground to finally defeat the ducks (his own words). Chibs had gone along with him to try to keep him in line (Tig in tow laughing his ass off of course). They both watch as Juice slams a five dollar bill on the table demands their best fishing rod. To the surprise of everyone in the tent, alcohol only seemed to improve Juice’s hooking ability and three ducks were soon lined across the table.

Both the Sons and their small audience look up when the stall owner clears his throat, only to see him holding up a plastic bag with a copper-coloured fish swimming around. Juice being drunk on vodka and exhilaration rides behind Chibs on their way back to his house. Chibs spends the ride making sure his passenger doesn’t fall and crack his head open whilst Tig rides behind them, the goldfish bagged, boxed and tied to the back of the bike.

The next morning Juice and Tig were nowhere to be seen but the fish was in his living room swimming around in the newly installed large tank by the couch. Unsurprisingly neither of them had answered the phone that morning.

Chibs had been convinced it wouldn’t last the week, the fairground goldfish when he was a boy certainly hadn’t. His fish had one eye, too large for even its own fat little body. And its scales were a sickly shade like its orange glow had been diluted beyond recognition. As expressionless as fish tended to be this one was an exception, Chibs had never before seen a fish with a resting bitch face. Against all odds the fish had lived, it had apparently made a deal with the reaper.

As much as he whined about it being forced on him Chibs secretly began to grow attached to the fish (dubbed Doris by one of Opie’s kids). So much so that every time it flipped on its back and played dead he ran to it in panic only for it to regain life a moment later.

Fearing Doris would get lonely Chibs had once gone to the local pet shop and picked up some siblings for him. Only to return a few hours later and find them nowhere to be found. With the fish now having a taste for flesh Chibs was sure to stop sticking his fingers in the water.

After the cannibal incident Chibs had once again tried to unload his fish onto Juice only for him to say that he would, but his dog tries to eat any living thing in his house.

He watches Chibs walk away with confusion, hearing him mutter that his dog could, ‘’Bloody well try.’’

#chibs telford #tig trager #juice ortiz #soa #writing #my writing #ask #answered asks #fanfiction writing #headcanon #drabble

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garbinge · 8 months

Text

I lied

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader From these August Prompts: “You said you'd go with me.” "I lied."

A/N: Me??? A Juice fic??? Idk where this came from, this poor man went through so much in canon that I decided, why don't I put him through some more in fic world???

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of bruises/cuts.

SOA Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics

Your bags were packed with the necessities and your gut was filled with nerve and hope. You began driving to the clubhouse. It was late at night, no one would be there except a couple hang arounds and him. As you pulled into the lot, you saw him leaning against his bike, backpack on and waiting for you. You couldn’t help the smile on your face, things had been so tough lately, you could see it on his face everyday but now that you knew things were about to be new, there was a fresh start on the horizon, you couldn’t help but feel the excitement masked as butterflies as you pulled in.

“Hey!” You couldn’t contain the elation in your tone.

Juice looked up, hadn’t even noticed you drove in, the shock was on his face as he snapped out of whatever he was thinking.

“Hey.” His voice was the complete opposite of yours, low, succumbed. It made every ounce of anticipation in you dissipate within seconds.

“What’s wrong?” You immediately sped up so you were in front of him, dropping your bag at your feet to lift your hands up to his face. It took more effort than you expected lifting his head up, the weakness wasn’t just displayed on Juice’s face but in his demeanor. Your heart was starting to catch on to things, it was beating rapidly as you took in his attitude, his face. It was littered in bruises and cuts, and despite the purpled and red marks on his face, his soul was the most broken.

“I’m fine. Just waiting for you.” Juice said after a deep breath and pushing back all his thoughts and managing to put a half-assed smile on.

“I missed you.” You said smiling back and taking his cue and moving to leave a kiss on his lips. “So much.” You pulled away to whisper the next two words against his mouth but Juice was quick to fill the space. His hands moved up to cup your face, there was desperation in it, but not in a wanting you way but in a way that he wanted this to make everything better. He kissed you with purpose but you could tell it was the wrong purpose.

As you took a breath you rested your head against his and took the opportunity to speak to him.

“We’ve got plenty of time for this later, c’mon we should hit the road.” Quickly you grabbed his hand and bent down to grab your bag and pull him to your SUV. “You can load your bike in the trunk, there's room. I don’t know if you wanna stop by your place and pick up anything more but I left all my stuff, figured my landlord will repurpose it after I default on the rent.” You chuckled.

As you began to walk you noticed Juice wasn’t moving, he was back to looking at the ground and as you took one more step your conjoined hands fell.

“Juice, c’mon.” You said once which earned you a glance from him and when you repeated it, a part of you knew what was about to happen so you raised your voice in a way that was practically begging him. Begging him not to do this. To just come with you.

“We’re not going.” Juice’s voice was barely audible and the silence between both of you became the loudest thing in the air.

“What?” You questioned after you realized you weren’t going to be able to wrap your mind around it.

“We’re not going.” He had managed to sit up straight now and tell you with full volume now.

You stared at him before speaking up. “You said you’d go with me.” Your voice also at a whisper. “I lied.”

Those words cut you deeper than anything else he could have said. The space between both of you felt like two magnets repelling against each other. There was a choice you had to make at that moment and it only took seconds for you to decide. Maybe you’d regret it, or maybe he would. But either way your choice was made.

“No, you’re not going. I’m going. You’re an idiot to stay here, Juice. You’re choosing that,” you pointed to his face, “over starting new?” There was so much more to what you meant. Juice was choosing a life of violence, of deterioration, of constant heartbreak over a life of love, of growth, of happiness. There was no convincing him, if the actions you showed him were no match for the actions the club showed him, your words would mean nothing.

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” Just like that he was back to the boy who had begged you to go with him, begged you to stay with him through this shit. None of it mattered. None of it ever mattered.

“This is it, Juice. Either you come with me, or we’re done.” You stepped back, that magnet repulsion still in high effect.

That was it. It had been 3 years since that night, since you saw Juice. You didn’t exactly leave Charming, but you did make it a point to avoid any sign, trace, or mention of the club. It helped that you lived on the outskirts and decided to do all your errands in Morada. It proved to be successful, until today.

As you walked around the convenient store, eyes on the shelves you bumped into someone, the apologies came pouring out from your mouth as you gathered the things that fell on the ground.

“No, sorry, that was my fault, I wasn’t paying attention.” There was slight humor in the tone of the voice you knew so well that your heart stopped while you looked up at him, all the misstrewn groceries in your arms now as you stood up. Both of you staring at each other as the realization hit.

He looked different. His hair was grown out, he had a mustache, a beard. Out of instinct, your eyes moved down to see he wasn’t wearing the kutte. I didn’t necessarily mean he was out of the club, but it did make your mind wander.

“Hey.” His voice softened and he looked down at the groceries in your hand realizing what you had was mixed in with his items. “Uh, sorry.” He smiled in a way that melted you and pointed to something in your hand. “That’s mine.”

You looked down to see his favorite snack nuzzled in between your groceries. “Oh.” You laughed back and adjusted your grip so you could hand him the bag. “Still love the honey barbeque twists.” You joked as your hands touched and you both pulled away instantly.

“How are you?” Both of you spoke at the same time and laughed awkwardly. Juice pointed to you wanting you to speak first.

“I’m good. Y’know. Livin’ the dream.” You laughed awkwardly again. “You?”

“Yea I’m good, just traveling back home.” He nodded.

“No kutte.” You couldn’t help yourself as you brought up the lack of apparel.

Juice was confused and looked down. “Oh, yea the trip was lowkey, just me and–”

“Me.” Jax’s voice was smug as ever and it made you turn your attention to see him smiling and going to pull you into a hug. “Long time no see.”

“Yea, been a minute.” You felt very uncomfortable but were going to see this through.

“I’ll let you two catch up, I’ll be out by the bikes.” Jax smirked at Juice and winked at you before squeezing your shoulder as a goodbye.

“Glad to see you two worked your shit out.” You said to Juice as Jax left the store.

“Oh, yea, it's gotten better.” Juice tensed up and you could clock that shit from a mile away still.

“Well, I gotta go, but it was nice seeing you.” Was it a lie? Was it the truth? You weren’t sure, but it was the polite thing to say. Juice agreed and stepped to the side to let you start walking down the aisle near check out. As you reached the end of the aisle about to turn down the next he spoke up causing you to turn to look at him.

“I thought you left town? That night, you said you were gonna leave, I thought you left.”

You could tell he was trying to wrap his head around this, seeing you. You knew he likely spent late nights awake thinking about it, about you, he might have looked different but he was the same Juice that you left in the Sons lot all those years ago. Which is why you didn’t want to leave anymore hope there, for either of you. You could see the hope in his eyes, that you were back, that maybe you could see eachother again, that you came back for him. All of that let you decide to break both of your hearts all over again by repeating the two words that determined both of your fates 3 years ago and keep walking away.

“I lied.”

#juice ortiz #juan carlos ortiz #juice soa #soa #sons of anarchy #soa fanfic #juice fanfic #juice fanfiction #soa fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfic #sons of anarchy fanfiction #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz x you

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