⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
18+
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ
𝐉𝐀𝐗
・When it's just the two of you at home, Jax smacks your ass whenever you're near him
・He loves the way you say his name when you're surprised
"Jax!" You gasped, turning to face him.
He was standing there, with that lopsided grin and mischief in his eyes:
"What else am I supposed to do when you walk by?"
・Tells you everything about the club; Jax is all in. He trusts you with the Sons' secrets.
・Jax sleeps closest to the door; using his body as a shield, even in sleep
・During the night, he'll mumble all sorts of random things
・Everyday Jax will gently cup either side of your face and place a kiss to your forehead.
・Calls you 'sweetheart,' 'darlin'', 'babe.'
𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐄
・His height makes some things really easy, and others very difficult.
・Something too high for you to reach? Easy, call out for your husband and all is well
・Bored? Climb Ope like a tree and he won't move a muscle.
・He's gotten used to your ... quirks. And he finds them endearing.
・Opens doors for you, holds out his arm when the walkway is tricky.
・He can be quite the gentleman at times
・One night he came home from doing ... a ... run, and he walked through the door, all busted up and bleeding.
"What the hell happened?" You jumped from the couch and walked over to him.
"Nothing it-"
"Club business, I know," you finished his sentence and motioned for him to sit down.
・Your big biker husband kept wincing when the alcohol pad touched his wounds
"Why not go to Tara," you asked,
"I want you to clean me up..."
𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐒
・Loves to read. He'll sit in his chair with a newly bought book, glasses on his nose and sit there for at least an hour.
・When it's time to eat, he always makes you a plate first
・His loyalty is unmatched. Once he's connected with someone, he has their back no matter what
・That's why he loves you so much, because that loyalty goes both ways
・Once a stray cat followed you home, you had to secretly clean it and hide it once Chibs was home.
・But the little meows were difficult to explain
・Don't worry he is now part of the family
・Chibbs calls you mo chridhe (my heart), mo gràidh (my love),
・But when you're 'introuble' he calls you by your full name. You do the exact same thing for him. And he knows he's in deep shit.
𝐓𝐈𝐆
・Will stand at the fridge and eat cheese out of the bag, then ask if you want any
"No I don't want your fingery cheese," you say from your spot in the loungeroom.
"Oh! Is that cheek? Are you giving me cheek??"
"That I am, big boy."
・You never havea actual fights. But play fighting? Oh yeah, you guys live for that.
・But it's not all fun and games with Tig.
・Some moments can get heavy, and he needs you there to help him get through it
・He literally only ever calls you 'baby.'
・And then at home he comes up with random terms of endearment;
"Snickerdoodle, come sit next to me-"
"Pumpkin, I love you!"
"Weeny beeny, see you later!
𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘
・When you try to stay up and wait for him, you end up crashing on the couch
・And when he sees you there, a rare smile appears on his face. It's the kind of smile that no one but a select few are able to see.
・More introverted than talkative, Happy opens up easily to you. You have his trust. And that trust means he will look after you no matter what you've done.
・You both love riding. Arms wound tightly around his waist. Wind wipping through your hair, you feel alive.
・He hates other people flirting with you. He lets them admire, because he knows you're incredibly beautiful.
・But any person who gets too close is met by a towering figure behind you.
・Both of you are like crows; collecting things and showing them to one another.
"Look! Found a button!
"Cool babe, I found an acorn."
・And you keep your collection in your shared room
𝐉𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐄
・Always blushes when you wink at him
・Nearly everything you do flusters Juice... even simple gestures like hand holding.
・He likes things to be a certain way, so you just let him go crazy and move everything around (he also ends up being the one to clean the house)
・He loves sharing his food with you; it makes him feel warm inside. Like he's provided for you in some way
・Actually likes getting away from the club sometimes. Just you and him, with the ability to live in your own bubble for a day or two.
・Always makes your appointments for you
・Has your number saved as 'angel'.
・Makes dinner most nights. He loves feeding you.
・Is his cooking brilliant? ... pretty close actually.
・His nicknames for you are; 'baby,' 'sweets,' 'sexy,'
Summary: You and your son move from sleepy little town in deep South Tennessee to what you think is a sleepy little town in California. You find out quick that Charming is anything but a sleepy little town when SAMCRO fixates on you and your son.
Pairings! Fucking Everyone. This is incredibly self indulgent like all of my things. Our young mom gets cracked by everyone
Tags! All of them. 18+. Minors gtfo. Smut and violence. Canon typical things but we're keeping it fun. Maybe. We'll see.
Part 1
Ever since your…accident, your knee has been a constant problem. Breaking it how you had left you with a permanent limp, and you just... didn't like taking pills. More trauma that you didn't need to focus on. So that left you with a few options to relieve pain, and you had turned to a more holistic option.
So while Arthur is busy with his trade school classes, you look up the closest dispensary and start heading that way.
Inside the shop, you stall when you catch sight of that leather kutte you would recognize anywhere after running into the other biker a couple of days ago. This one was younger, with a shaved head and tribal tattoos on his skull. He stands behind the counter, talking animatedly with the cashier until he looks up and spots you.
"Hey! Didn't see you there," he greets, and lopes up to the counter. "You can call me Juice. How can we help you?"
You smile back at the young man, pleased by his helpfulness and how open he seemed, and do your best to ignore his leather, "Uh, hopefully? Ah was in an accident a couple of years ago, so I suffer from chronic pain…"
You trail off uncertainly, but Juice starts nodding like you are making perfect sense and drops behind the counter to pull out a small tincture vial that he hands you. You examine the dark bottle, reading the ingredients, all the effects, and the instructions.
"A little drop of that under your tongue each morning helps a lot. My brothers wipe out all the time on their bikes, and I'll drip a little bit of that into their morning coffee."
Juice giggles, his voice dropping like he was sharing a secret, and you can't help but blush a little at the sweet sound, "No one's questioned why they don't ache as much yet."
"I don't think it's safe etiquette to drug your club brothers," You hedge carefully, though you keep your tone light because you are almost 100% sure that the men in this MC have done way worse than THC.
You watch his face fall and quickly scramble to rectify your words, motherly instinct surging to the forefront of your mind. Your accent goes heavy with your rising emotions, "Not-not that Ah don't think they'd appreciate that, sweetie! Just consent is a big thing, even if yer doin' somethin' kind."
The kid stares at you, his cheeks steadily warming, and Juice can't help but think that you're one of the nicest, prettiest women he's ever had the pleasure of meeting. Girls usually saw him and wanted to use him to get closer to the higher members of the club, or, well, just to fuck. But you weren't even looking at his kutte, and that accent was thick.
And you'd called him Sweetie.
"I-yeah," Juice deflates and nods along, a bit embarrassed, but not too focused on that when you were looking at him like he was more. Like you were actually paying attention to him. He rubs the back of his neck, "You're right. I'll tell 'em about it next time."
You smile at him, proud that he had come to the right decision in such a short amount of time, and having zero idea that it was all because of you. A woman he'd known for a total of around five minutes.
You were dangerous, and you had no clue.
"Ah think that's a good idea, Juice," You tell him and offer a kind smile, and then raise the little vial in your hand, "An' I'll take this, too. Ought ta do me good tomorrow mornin'. How many drops do you put in their coffee?"
Juice grins, glad that he had given you an idea, and nods at the tincture, "Just two if I know it was a bad wreck. One other than that. That shit is strong, Momma."
He blushes deeply the moment that term escapes his mouth, and he scrambles to apologize, lips flapping uselessly until he hears the sound of your laugh that stops him dead. Juice looks at you and feels himself start to relax again at that calm little twist of your lips.
"I mean- Ah am a mother," you tell him, and Juice feels his interest tick up just a little. Were you after his heart? A pretty young mom, couldn't be any older than thirty, with a kind county voice and soft eyes? And she was talking to him?
Juice didn't want that to stop, and you didn't seem to mind his little slip-up.
But all good things came to an end.
"How much?"
The question knocks some sense into Juice, and he shoves off the counter, flashing you a smile and reluctantly stepping away so he can ring you up. He wants to tell you it's on the house, but the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable in any way. So instead, he tells you the total, takes your card, watches you pocket the tincture, then steps back to look around the shop a little longer.
Juice wants to see you again. He wants to hear you talk about nothing, and he wants to listen to you tell him what to do and how it's good to… be good. You have the kind of presence that makes the loud in his head start to relax because something in there recognizes you as someone important.
Even if he didn't really understand why right now.
You step back to the counter before you go to leave, flashing Juice a quick smile that makes his toes curl in his boots and his face feel warm. Before he can stop himself, Juice is already flapping his big mouth.
"We're having a cookout this weekend- you and your kid should stop by the lot. Guys wouldn't mind. I- I mean, as long as you aren't busy with work or uh, something else…"
He trails off when he spots the look on your face and shifts nervously, "…Did I say something wrong?"
You lick your lips and debate with yourself. You hadn't wanted to mention running into the other biker, but this would be the second time in a week that you and your son had been invited to their lot.
Now that makes Juice stall, because Kozik definitely had not mentioned meeting a sweet young mother with a southern accent who made a man's bones feel like jelly, and his stomach ignite like a bike's engine. Juice would have remembered that.
"Ya know," you begin, looking at Juice, tilting your head to the side, unconsciously covering the nasty mark on your face, "The big blonde, Kozik, invited us over the other day when he met my son at the gas station."
"Really?" Juice asks instead and smiles at you, because maybe the chance of you showing up went higher since you've already been asked once, "Did he tell you about the cookout?"
You laugh a little and shake your head, not put off a bit by his enthusiasm and good cheer. You couldn't help but wonder if all the Sons were like the two you'd met so far. Weirdly optimistic and a bit unhinged. You'd bet your bottom dollar that they were in some form or fashion.
"Nah," you tell him, shifting your weight, wincing as your knee begins to ache. You would need to leave soon and rest it for a while. "Just asked about drinks and offered to show Arthur the bikes."
Juice sees the pain that flashes across your face, but doesn't say anything about it. You standing here so casually in front of him, speaking so comfortably about your run-in with a dangerous biker, told Juice enough about your strength. Mentioning anything or offering anything without you saying something first would be a disservice. So instead he just nods along and rests his weight on the counter, giving you the best puppy eyes he can pull off.
"Well," Juice draws out the word and tilts his head, and feels victorious when he sees the soft flush that paints across your nose before you clear your throat and look away. He smirks and raps his knuckles against the glass countertop, "The offer still stands, Momma. We promise we know how to behave."
"Ah, highly doubt that," you immediately shoot back, huffing at yourself for feeling your face grow hot. You were a mother and a woman grown. These men should not be affecting you like this. You knew better, damn it.
"Come by then," Juice urges, his voice dropping an octave, dark eyes growing impossibly darker, "Let us prove you wrong."
You swallow hard and meet those dark eyes, the two of you staring each other down before the sound of a generic ringtone interrupts the moment. You relax when Juice breaks eye contact and digs into his pocket for a flip phone that he presses to his ear. You take that as your chance to step back a few steps, giving him privacy and yourself a moment to breathe.
"Yeah-Yeah, Jax," Juice assures the other man when his President asks if he'd be there in time for chapel, "Just caught a little caught up at the shop, but I'm on the way, man."
And then you were left standing there with a blush on your face and a tight feeling in your tummy because damn it.
He ends the call after Jax tells him to be safe and shoves the burner into the inner pocket of his kutte. Juice rolls his shoulders and rounds the counter, fishing out his keys for his bike and coming to a stop beside you. He smiles and nods at the door, walking you outside and resting by his bike.
"The cookout starts at four on Saturday if you want to come by," Juice tells you, and you nod along, ignoring the way your knee pops when you shift your weight.
"I'll keep that in mind, Juice," you tell him, and take a step back as he grins and tosses a leg over his bike. You can't deny you like the sound of the loud Harley when he starts the engine, or the way your heart picks up a beat when the young man grins at you under his shades after he buckles his helmet in place.
Juice revs his bike and meets your eyes, "See ya around, Momma."
Warnings ⚠️: Non-con drugging, kidnapping, forced captivity, Canon typical violence, trauma/PTSD, drug withdrawal, anxiety & panic attacks, he's a yearner, slowburn, eventual smut, x reader.
COME DOWN
When SAMCRO storms a stash house, they expect bullets, crank, and the usual scum.
They don’t expect her—a terrified girl curled on a filthy mattress, eyes blown wide, barely conscious. The unwilling lab rat for the latest batch of crank.
She wasn’t supposed to be there. She knew nothing about the club, the wars, or the blood-soaked rules of this town. Now she’s waking up with no memory of who she is or of the worst months of her life… and locked down in the clubhouse for her own “protection.”
SUMMARY: It's basic etiquette to not try your luck with a friend's girl. But when that friends seems to have no respect for the girl, perhaps it's basic etiquette to give her the affection she deserves.
WORDCOUNT: ~ 3k
Truthfully, everyone knew it wasn't going to work out - everyone except for you. Whether you are too pure or delusional, the thought never even occured to you, while the other members of the motorcycle club knew the bitter end the moment they saw you. At first, none of them thought much of it. That's just how Jax Teller rolled, there is nothing new in that matter. It was the subsequent weeks that made them dread the inevitable:
Jax brought you around the clubhouse to help out with the accounting, housekeeping or party-throwing. Usually, you were holding a pan, a broom or a pen in your hand. Or certain other things whenever Jax needed tending to his more carnal desires.
Nonetheless, the other Sons have gotten to know you personally and it was that new friendship that bore dread in their chests. You seemed to have a curious talent for making people feel seen. Even the smallest of details never escaped your attention. Refilling the bar for the night, you'd always find time to ask Happy about his mother's health and how he was holding up. Chibs and Tig have come to expect you to ask them about their children. Their answers rarely changed and so did yours: 'I'm sure they're thinking about you.' The biggest surprise came from the prospects as they had grown accustomed to everyone pushing them around and yelling at them. So when you'd ask them whether they were hungry, at first they were sure it was some kind of a test or a ruse.
For Juice, those little signs of a soft heart were nails in his coffin. Whenever he was spending several hours in front of the computer, you'd appear with a drink and a small snack. On top of that, you always made it seem like these small acts of service are something obvious - it would be entirely strange to not care for others simply because you can. Usually, your presence would slow down his progress as Juice was willing to exchange his worktime for a conversation with you. As desperate as it may sound, he came to the conclusion that his job will still be there in twenty minutes but you will be gone the moment Jax enters the clubhouse and takes you away. Sometimes he wondered if he had Teller's charisma, would you give him a chance? Considering you were seeing his friend, he never planned on acting on his feelings. Even the thought made him cringe: fantasizing about fellow member's girl? That's a rather large 'no-go'.
As usual, the dread settled in the men's chests when you entered the clubhouse. Then, it grew ten sizes as they all silently realised that the inevitable was about to play out in front of their hungover eyes. You passed the threshold in a somewhat hesitant manner like you always did, unsure whether you're interrupting something or are even wanted there. Bobby, Tig and Chibs greet you but they're unable to hide a strange sadness to them. None the wiser, you chalk up their lack of humour to the aftermath of a night filled with vices.
The clubhouse is a temporary ruin. Bottles and glasses are scattered across all flat surfaces. One of the tables is slanted, missing one of its legs. A few pairs of bright-coloured underwear are lying here and there. Something tells you that yesterday you missed a truly historic night of fun.
"Is Jax around?" you ask. The men exchange a meaningful gaze but it goes unnoticed by you. "He left his shirt at mine yesterday afternoon, I was hoping to return it."
Tig's face cringes. There's a sorry look in his eyes. "Sweetheart-"
"He just left, actually," Bobby interjects. "Don't know when he'll be back."
You look between them, beginning to sense tension. "Alright," you answer, unsure what to make of the situation. "Then I'll just leave it in the dorm room."
Their silence makes you wary like there's a piece of information that you're missing while it's fairly obvious to others; something hidden in plain sight. You walk past them, when Tig's conscience puts up a fight once more. He makes a step towards you, hoping to stop the disaster about to unfold. Chibs, however, grabs his arm before the man can realise his plan.
"He's made his bed, brother," the Scotsman says in a low voice lest you hear their conversation.
"Come on, man," Trager answers with a look of disbelief on his face. "She doesn't deserve that."
"Aye, she doesn't." The man nods. His stern expression reveals that he, too, is more than unhappy with the unfolding events. "But it's already happened."
Juice is either really lucky or terribly unlucky to be walking down the corridor at the same time as you. His lips widen in a smile and he's about to call out to you, when he notices the white t-shirt in your hand. In a split second of considering his selfishness and your feelings, Juice decided to act against his own interest. He picks up his pace and manages to block the dorm room door just as you were about to put your hand on the handle.
"You really don't want to go in there. Trust me." Juice is trying his best to sound like he's joking but he's not a good liar - especially when you're the one he's attempting to deceive. True feelings are slipping through the cracks and you notice his nervousness.
"What do you mean?" you ask. The weirdness of the guys' behaviour that day is putting you on edge. What on Earth is going on? "It's not like there's a biological warfare behind that door."
Two laughing voices are audible from inside the room: one belongs to Jax, the other probably to a woman. Something stirs inside you, anxious and dreadful but you push it further down. No need to get upset before you get all the facts, right?
"See? Everything's fine," you say to Juice, although the reassurance is really for yourself.
The door swings open with a slight moan of the hinges. Then, as you take in the scene before you, it feels like time has slowed to a halt. Jax is sitting on the edge of the bed, scandily clad in the thin bedsheets. Maybe he covered himself when he heard the door open or he wasn't planning on getting up just yet. In the bathroom doorway stands Ima, dressed in a rather tacky purple lingerie - the cheap kind that desperately tries to have some semblance of luxury. Had the situation been less agitating, maybe you'd think that it's a fitting piece of garment for a woman of her sort.
It's hard to say whether it's the shock or resilience but you manage to keep yourself whole. The last thing you're going to do is cause a scene.
"Brought your shirt." You disturb the akward silence. Jax's expression is unreadable but Ima appears rather amused - there's a sly grin on her face. Her quiet snickering makes tears pool in your eyes. "Thought you might want it back."
Wanting to evacuate as fast as you can, you lay the t-shirt on the dresser by the door and turn around to leave the room. Juice hesitantly whispers your name as you brush past him but you can only muster a quiet apology.
Jax, suddenly realising the consequences of yesterday's impulsiveness, hastily puts on a pair of pants. He keeps yelling your name, begging you to stop and let him talk to you properly but you don't give in. Running out of the dorm room, he's stopped by Juice, who grabs his arm.
"I think you've done enough, man," Ortiz states in an angered tone.
For a moment, the two of them stare each other down in silence. The tension feels like a forest fire - one moment of carelessness might lead to a true disaster.
Both men are aware of the other's affections. It is only now that they admit this knowledge.
"You need to back off," Jax whispers. Juice is disillusioned that the Vice President would have no inhibitions in caving his face in.
But lovers oh-so-frequently tend to grow just a little unwise the more they love. Perhaps that has made all the difference on that dreadful morning.
"No," Juice says while shaking his head, "I think I should go after the crying girl who just saw her boyfriend naked in a bed with someone else."
"That's not your concern."
Looking over the blond's shoulder, Juice catches Ima's malicious amusement. She knew exactly what she was doing and not for a moment did she feel bad about it. When he looks at Jax again, his dark eyes carry more contempt than anger. "Apparently, she's not your concern either."
Before the young Teller can continue their argument, Ortiz is running down the hallway. Bobby, Chibs and Tig ask him something but he only gives them a disinterested 'later' and continues his search for you.
Despite the perfect view of the parking lot from the rooftop, you didn't notice Juice approaching you. Only when you heard the rattling of the ladder did a wave of shame flood your mind. You didn't want anyone seeing you like this, especially people of formidable grit. Some part of you dreaded being considered weak. If you were just a little more honest with yourself, maybe you'd realise that what you were truly afraid of, was the outside confirmation of what you'd already believed about yourself - too weak, too emotional to ever fit in this life.
The shame, however, seems to evaporate the moment you see Juice's apologetic expression. He always had a strange air about him, an aura you couldn't quite explain. Something about the man makes you think that you could tell him the most asinine or embarrassing thing and he would never think less of you.
With a hesitant, quiet 'hey', Juice sits down next to you. Despite his own desires, he leaves a gap between the two of you. His eyes keep switching between looking at his fiddling hands or the side of your face as though he's unsure what's the correct course of action.
"I'm stupid, aren't I?" you finally speak up. Turning your head to look at Juice, you notice a sudden change in his expression - for some reason, he looks like he's about to burst into tears, too. "Believing that he would settle for me?"
There's so much he wants to say. An entire monologue is prickling at his tongue. You'd be the one settling for him, not the other way around. Never. But Juice manages to keep those thoughts to himself for now as they are not what you need to hear at this moment. Maybe, just maybe, one day he'll get to show you that whoever you decide to marry, no matter how noble or rich, you will be the one settling for them.
"There's only one stupid person in this situation and it's not you," he says in a serious yet gentle tone. "Okay, maybe three stupid people."
Despite his resolve, Juice is only a man and he, too, must break at some point. His hand fearfully reaches for your cheek. When you don't pull away, he hesitantly wipes away a tear rolling down your face.
"Three?" you ask in a quiet voice.
"Jax is one, for obvious reasons." With the back of his hand, Juice wipes away the other side of your face. "Ima is two. And the third... is me."
Confused, you furrow your eyebrows. "You? You're not stupid, Juice. Why would you say that?"
"I'm the king of stupid, actually." He lets out an airy, bitter chuckle. Suddenly feeling small, he retracts his arm. "I just tried to cover for my dick friend, so the girl I'm in love with doesn't get her heart broken. Extra stupid points for running after her like a lost puppy that just wants to make her happy."
"That sounds more lovely than stupid," you manage to whisper before another wave of emotions wreaks havoc. Tears stream down your face again but this time it's not only the bad feelings - there's something nice among them, too. A sense of relief and belonging; an overwhelming realisation that you're loved as a person and not only as a woman.
He doesn't complain or lecture you. Neither does he attempt empty words of comfort and encouragement. Juice doesn't know what he should say, so he settles for silence. However, his quietness speaks volumes. With a soft expression on his face, he keeps wiping your tears away.
"What do I do now, Juice?"
"Whatever you want," he answers with a strange lightness to his voice. It appears that his response is not something carefully woven but rather a cliché.
You sniffle loudly and although there's nothing attractive about that, it's candid. In Juice's eyes, it only makes you more beautiful. "Right now, I don't know if that list is very short or ridiculously long."
A corner of his mouth rises in a nostalgic smile. He seems to be recalling a memory.
"Remember that one time when you couldn't sleep and found me working at the clubhouse?" Juice asks. You only nod, unsure why he would suddenly remind you of that. "Remember what you told me when I talked about all the things I still needed to get done?"
"It's only three things," you repeat under your breath. Truthfully, you have almost forgotten entirely about that conversation. Juice had been going on about all the complicated steps that had to be done before calling it a day but, in the end, it was only three things. Granted, three time-consuming, challenging things but only three nonetheless. You never thought your comment meant so much to him.
"Exactly," he says as though he had just given you the perfect recipe for anything and everything. "I'm suggesting, you do two things now. First of all, get over the guy that couldn't appreciate you."
"Sounds smart but I'm not sure I know how to do that," you admit with a nervous chuckle. Jax Teller has been a tornado to your soul: came suddenly, wreaked havoc and simply moved on. There is no one to clean the mess, no one to put the pieces back together except those that survived. And you're still at the stage of debating whether you have, actually, survived Jax Teller.
"I guess the first step is not going back to him."
As simple as it sounds, the solution might just be one of the hardest things you've ever done. Nothing good comes easy, as they say. If it's true, you're going to reach for something truly incredible with this resolution.
"And the second thing I should do?" you ask. Deep inside, you're paying he's about to suggest something silly or relaxing.
Suddenly, Juice turns shy. This biker guy with tattoos and a loaded gun is fiddling with his hands and stubbornly avoiding your gaze. Despite his appearance, you think he's adorable.
"Well, uh..." He clears his throat in a vain attempt to get rid of his shakey tone. "If you want, no pressure of course but if you find it in yourself, then maybe you could at least think about grabbing dinner with me?" Whatever your expression looks like, it must make him even more nervous as Juice immediately begins downplaying his question. "Like I said, no pressure. I know it's bad timing all things considered, so it's cool if you don't want to, it's okay-"
"I'd love to," you interrupt him.
For a moment, he silently stares at you like a deer caught in headlights. "Cool. That's, um... nice."
You see him ever so slightly cringe at his awkward response but you don't think him weird. No, the nervousness makes you all the more convinced you want to go out with him - the anxiety proves that he cares more than he's brave enough to admit.
"Can we add a third thing?" you ask hesitantly.
Juice smiles at you as if today is the best day of his life; the kind of smile that slowly mends broken hearts. "What's on your mind?"
"Say, just hypothetically, how annoying would it be if Ima's car had slashed tires?"
He nods slowly, a shadow of mischief dancing across his handsome features. "Really annoying."
"And if she had to pay for new ones and there'd be a bullshit charge on the receipt like premium air or something?"
The man laughs. How can a sound leave you breathless?
"She would have a really fucking shitty day," he answers.
"Just hypothetically, I'd be satisfied."
"I think I know a guy. Just hypothetically."
Silence falls between you again. It's not tense. No, it's quite the opposite - the silence of two people who can just be. Now that happiness or at least a lack of sadness has entered your face, Juice is staring at you with an expression you can't describe beyond soft. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was not looking at you but at a rare, priceless treasure he has spent his whole life searching for. But you do know better; you know that, perhaps, people can be priceless, too.
A dark thought suddenly clouds your mind: Jax used to look at you the same way. Not always, not for long but he did. And yet, as he has proven, it meant nothing for him.
You push those thoughts away with all the almost-depleted strength you have left. It's no use crying and ruminating about the past when you have your future sitting right next to you. A bright, terribly good-looking future, one might even say.
"Can you just hold me?" you ask him quietly. The heartbreak of Jax's choice and the elation of Juice's confession have left you tired and vulnerable beyond all imagination. Such opposite emotions are ripping you open in conflicting directions. It's like dying and being reborn all at the same time.
"As long as you need, baby."
Juice wastes no time happily fulfilling your request. He brings your legs over and across his own, nudging you even closer towards him. Gently, he pulls your head to rest in the crook of his neck. As strange as it may sound, the man feels like a fortress protecting you from past and future heartbreaks.
Summary: After a hot and heavy fling with Jax Teller ends after he ghosted you. Juice swoops in to cure that sting. Once you’re finally happy, Jax drops a bomb.
Warnings/tags: 18+ only. Language. Difficult choices? Juice kinda gets the shaft. Territorial!Jax
Pairing/Characters: Jax x Reader, Juice x Reader. Ima (gross, I know)
A/n: I kind of needed just a little break from writing smut, so this is a smut free fic. Just angst, and fluff. Still the good stuff.
To say that you were lost would be an understatement. All of your friends were getting married, having babies, buying houses, and you just felt like you were…not where you were supposed to be in life. Sure, you had your own apartment, you had a decent job, but you wanted more, especially now that you just broke up with your boyfriend. The two of you dated for about a year, and you ended it. He just wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted more.
A few years ago, Friday nights were for your girlfriends, but they were all pregnant, or home with their husbands and kids, so it was just you when you strolled in to the dark bar. Normally, you wouldn’t be caught dead in a bar alone; but it was a rough week at work and in life so you needed a few glasses of wine to kickstart the weekend.
Luckily, the bartender was a girlfriend from high school that you hadn’t seen in a while, so the two of you got to catch up, and before you knew it, you were tipsy. The bar was pretty much empty, save for two handsome bikers a few stools down, one was a dirty blonde, devastatingly blue eyes, and holy shit was he handsome. The other biker sitting next to him was handsome too, a strong jaw, and a shaved mohawk with tribal tattoos on both sides of his head.
“Kyra,” you waved over for the bartender and she came over, immediately refilling you with Chardonnay. “Who is that?” You whispered, careful for the two handsome men to not hear you.
She smirked, knowing that all the girls always had a thing for the two men at the bar. Especially the blonde. “The one with the president patch is Jax Teller, and the other one is Juice,” she said with a smirk. “Actually I don’t even know Juice’s real name.” She turned towards him “Juice!”
“What’s up sugar?” He shouted back to Kyra.
“What’s your real name, babe?” She said, naturally a good flirt.
“Juan Carlos!” He said, turning back to Jax to finish their conversation.
“That’s Juan Carlos,” she said to you and hid your face in your hands.
“Oh my god,” you said with a whine. “They’re totally going to know we were talking about them.”
She scoffed. “Babes, they’re so used to it by now.”
You never thought of it that way. They were probably used to attention by now, both wanted and unwanted. They were handsome bikers - they were bound to turn a few heads.
Now you knew where the saying “flowing like wine” came from, because the wine was indeed flowing. You weren’t totally drunk yet, but it was getting to be that time to head home before you were too drunk to drive.
“What’s your name?” You heard a calm and gentle voice in your ear, right next to you, startling you. You had been so zoned out staring at your phone that you hadn’t even noticed that Jax approached you. Turning in your barstool towards him with a half-drunk, half-flirty smile.
“I’m y/n,” you said, bashfully. He introduced himself, even though you already know his name, thanks to Kyra.
“Nice to meet you,” he smirked.
“Jax!” You heard Kyra shout from the dartboard. “You and Juice are up.”
“Play for me babes,” he shouted back to Kyra, his eyes not leaving yours.
The two of you chatted for an hour. You told him about your job, he told you about the club, and the two of you commiserated over woes with work, love and life in general. It was nice, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you weren’t alone.
Jax bought you shots and two more glasses of Chardonnay and when you stood up, you stumbled, almost falling right into the handsome blondes arms. “Woah,” he chuckled. “Let me drive you home.”
“Jackson,” Kyra shouted from the other side of the bar. “Take care of her, I know where you live!” He chuckled in response and walked you to his bike.
“Oh,” you started. “I’ve never been on a bike before.”
“It’s okay,” he smiled, handing you his back-up helmet, sliding his night glasses over his beautiful baby-blues. God damn he looked so good right now. “Just try and keep your weight centered and lean with me.” Yeah, funny Jax, telling a drunk girl to keep her weight centered. You laughed in response, and he smiled at you. “Just hold on, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
You gave Jax directions to your apartment as he drove, and once he pulled into your driveway, he dismounted his bike and took his helmet off. “Do you want a cup of tea or something?” You asked.
“Nah, darlin’,” he said. “I just wanna make sure you get up okay.” He walked you to your door and kissed your cheek after taking your phone and putting his number under “Jackson.” That made you smile. “Jackson,” you giggled. “That’s cute, you used your government name.”
His laugh was contagious and after a few seconds of an awkward silence and just staring at each other, you unlocked the door. Before you could cross the threshold to your apartment, he grabbed your face and planted a kiss on the cheek, which left you wanting more.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna come in?” You asked.
“I can’t,” he said, his hands tucked in the pocket of his jeans. “You’re drunk, and I couldn’t take advantage of you.” You clicked your teeth and rolled your eyes, but you had massive respect for that.
“That’s actually really sweet,” you said, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
“What can I say? I’m a sweetie.” And just like that, he left and you went upstairs and fell right to sleep.
The next two weeks were like a dream. Jax took you on dates, bike rides, and the two of you made love every day, multiple times a day. Normally you don’t fall very fast, but the hopeless romantic in you was falling madly in love with Jackson Teller. And then one day, out of the blue, he stopped texting you back, stopped answering your calls, and after a week of being ignored, you knew he had ghosted you. You were angry, knowing that you deserved some sort of explanation, but clearly, you weren’t worth that to him. And that love, quickly turned into hate.
After a few days of bed rotting, your phone dinged, and it was a text from Kyra. “Bars dead, Chards on me.”
“Jax ghosted me,” you replied back. “Not really in the mood.”
“Fuck him, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
You thought maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get out of the house, so you showered, but a little makeup on accompanied by a cute outfit. When you walked in the bar, you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw the tattooed head of Juan Carlos. You wanted to leave but maybe Juice was exactly what you needed.
“Hey babe,” Kyra greeted you with a smile and a glass of white wine. “Feeling better?” You shrugged your shoulders in response.
“Hey Juice,” she said, and he picked his head up. “What’s up with your friend?”
He just chuckled, and you rolled your eyes knowing that guy code was not the kind of thing men in a biker club were willing to break.
“Trust me honey,” Juice finally responded, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Jax isn’t the relationship type.”
“He’s not wrong,” Kyra said. And you just decided to move on from the conversation.
You spent the night flirting with Juice, laughing, talking about football. He thought you were pretty, easy to talk to, funny, and you caught him just staring at you with admiration.
“What?” You asked, smiling that you caught him staring at you.
He chuckled, looking down and shaking his head. “Nothing,” he said, laughing nervously before looking up to meet your gaze. “It’s just…” he started, and he was struggling to find the words. “Jax is a fool.” Your eyes immediately dropped with sadness, thinking that was very sweet of him to say. “You’re an absolute prize, y/n.”
When you and Juice started dating, at first you felt bad. But it didn’t take long for you to realize that you deserved to be happy, and you didn’t care if you were a “homie hopper.” Juice made you happy, Juice cured the sting of Jackson, and even seeing him at the clubhouse wasn’t awkward at all. You’d smile politely at him, ask how he was doing, and the two of you would exchange the typical pleasantries. Until, Ima.
You really didn’t know what he saw in her. She was a pornstar for Christ sakes. He always told you what a pain in the ass she was, and how thirsty she was, and now the two of them are hanging out? Dating? You couldn’t understand that dynamic but it was fine after a few times. At first, you had to mask how much it hurt to see Jax with someone else. You didn’t want Juice to know that you still had some weird feelings for Jax. So, you just ignored it. In fact, you invited the two of them for a double date - a simple barbecue at your house.
Juice made it easy, the two of you worked as a team. He grilled, you helped open the door, grab any utensils he had forgotten, and made sure he always had a cold drink. Every time you caught Jax whispering in Ima's ear, with his arm around her while she giggled, made you want to ask everyone to leave, but you kept a brave face.
“Thanks babe,” you said as you finished eating. “That was delicious.”
“Of course, baby.” He responded as you grabbed everyone’s plates to go inside and clean up. You leaned down to plant a kiss on Juice’s lips and asked if anyone needed anything. But, everyone was content, with full drinks and full bellies, so you had time to go inside and be mad in peace for a little while.
“Oh stop Jax, that tickles,” you whispered to yourself, mocking Ima, sticking out your tongue pretending to gag. When you were finishing loading the dishwasher you heard the door open, and you figured it was Juice coming to check on you.
It was Jax. “Gotta use the bathroom,” he said.
“You know where to find it,” you responded dryly. And as you turned around he was directly behind you, pushing you up against the wall.
“Jax,” you whispered, startled and confused. “The fuck is wrong with you.”
“I’ve had enough of the bullshit,” he said between gritted teeth. “I’ve had enough of the games.”
“What are you talking about?!” You exclaimed, trying to break free from the clutch he had on you. “No ones playing games you psycho. Just let me go.”
“That’s thing darlin’,” he said, burying his face in your neck. “I can’t let you go,” he whispered in your ear, his breath hitching. “Your mine.”
“Wh-what?” You said, holding your breath when he leaned up to look in your eyes.
“You heard me, y/n,” he said. “You’re fucking mine.” And just like that, he planted a hard, beer soaked kiss on your lips. And you moaned. You actually moaned. You wanted to scream, but you moaned! You didn’t even try pushing him off of you, and after a couple of seconds he broke the kiss, looked at you and walked back outside to join Ima and Juice. You wanted to throw something. You wanted to break something. You wanted…everyone to get the fuck out of your house now.
When you walked outside, you told Juice that you weren’t feeling well.
“Ok, hun,” he said standing up. “Do you want me to stay?” You nodded your head.
“N-no, baby,” you said, looking down with guilt. You felt bad about everything that just happened. “Kinda just wanna be alone.”
He understood. Jax and Ima thanked you for the hospitality, and the three of them left together.
Once you knew you were alone, your blood was boiling. You felt so confused, angry. Why would he do that to you? What the fuck did he want with you? But deep down, you loved it. You loved that Jax still thought of you. Still wanted you. All this time, you’d wondered what you did wrong - why you weren’t good enough. You felt…almost pleased. Pleased that you were able to get under Jackson Tellers skin like that.
After an hour of hanging out on the couch, zoning out and still trying to wrap your head around what happened in your kitchen earlier, there was a knock on the door.
“The hell?” You muttered to yourself as you walked to your front door, opening it to find Jax standing at your doorway.
“Jax,” you said, serious, but understanding. Understanding his feelings, because you felt the same way. Understanding that yearning, because you felt it, too. “We can’t do this.”
He ignored you, and just let himself in. You watched from the door as he slowly stalked through your door; through the hallway, and into the living room before sitting down on the couch.
“By all means,” you said, slamming the door and walking towards him on the couch. “Make yourself comfy.”
The two of you sat there for a moment, in silence. He sat with his legs open and his elbows resting on his knees. You could tell he was deep and thought, but there was no way you were going to speak first, so you just stared at him.
“Y/n,” he started, opening his hands like he was trying to find the words to say before folding them again. But he didn’t say anything else.
“What the hell was that Jackson?” You asked. You weren’t angry. You were calm. Collected. “Juice is your best friend.”
“Yeah no shit,” he said, sitting up and turning to look at you. “He never should’ve went after you. He knew how I felt about you.”
Now you were annoyed. “Jax…” you started. “You ghosted me!” You exclaimed, trying to get into his thick skull was not easy.
“I needed some time!” He made the sorry excuse you’ve heard so many times from other guys. “I was scared.”
“Well,” you said. “I guess Juice wasn’t. And now it’s too late.”
“Y/n,” he moved closer to you, resting his hand on your thigh. “Please, give me another chance.
“I can’t do that,” you said, standing up. “I can’t do that to Juice.” And without another word, you signalled for him to follow you to the door, and opened it for him. Jax paused on the porch, as if he was hoping you had changed your mind on the short walk from the couch to the door.
“Goodnight, Jax,” and you shut the door in his face, holding back every emotion you could until that door was closed. You refused to let him see you cry. You refused to let him see that you still felt those things for him. That even though you were dating one of his best friends, you couldn’t let him go.
The next day, you woke up and realized that you had to cut things off with Juice; it wasn’t fair to him to string him along while you still had feelings for Jax, and while Jax still had feelings for you. He called you to check on you, but he could hear it in your voice, he could tell that something was wrong.
“Why don’t you just come here so we talk?” You said after he asked you a few times what was the matter. Once you said that, he knew. He knew you were about to end it.
When he got to your house, the two of you sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. You weren’t worried; Juice didn’t seem like the type to be bitter over a break-up. Although, you were breaking up with him because you still had feelings for his best friend. He may have been a little bitter over that.
“Does this have anything to do with the way you were staring at Jax yesterday?” He said into his coffee mug, so matter-of-factly, hardly any emotion attached at all.
“What?” you played stupid.
“C’mon, Y/n,” he said, tilting his head, but smirking ever so slightly, just enough to let you know that he wasn’t angry. “You were practically foaming at the mouth every time he was whispering in Ima’s ear, or kissing her. I’m not stupid, or blind.”
“I know you’re not,” you said as tears started to form in your eyes.
“I get it, hun,” he said, standing up from the table and walking over towards you, leaning down to run his hands through the hair that rested on the nap of your neck and planting a kiss on your forehead. “I really do.”
You didn’t say anything as you got up to walk him to the door, but you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He smirked at you, and looked into your eyes. “No hard feelings,” he said, and something about the way he said it told you that he was being completely sincere.
“Promise?” You asked, and he responded with a chuckle.
“Promise.”
And he left. He probably thought you were going to immediately call Jax, have him come over, make sweet love to him. But the truth was, you needed time away. Time away from Jax, time away from feelings and emotions. Time away from Charming. So you packed a bag, got in your car, and just drove. Though you didn’t go very far. You booked a room up in Tahoe, just for a few days to enjoy some peace and quiet. Take in the beautiful views, and think. Think about what you wanted. And you kept going back to Jax.
Jax was worried about you - he called you several times when you were in the mountains, worrying half to death that you were a runaway. And when you got home, you saw his Harley in front of your house.
“The hell?” you muttered to yourself as you pulled into this driveway, and saw him sitting on your front porch in one of the rocking chairs.
“What are you doing here?” You asked, unloading your bags from the truck from your last-minute getaway. He quickly jogged towards you, grabbing the bag that was already slung around your shoulder.
“I hadn’t heard from you, and you weren’t answering your phone.” He said, walking towards the door with your bags in hand. “Had to make sure you were still alive, sweetheart.”
The two of you awkwardly stood in your living room after he brought your bags to your bedroom, unsure of what to say.
“Juice told me what happened.” He said.
You tucked your lips in and raised your eyebrows, nodding your head and avoiding eye contact with him. “Yup,” you responded dryly.
“How do you feel?”
“Shitty enough to run away for a week to clear my head.” You responded.
“Do you still feel shitty?” He asked, and all you could do was nod your head.
“Darlin’,” Jax said, walking closer to you, closing the gap between the two of you. “Juice is going to be okay.” He brought a hand to your cheek and cupped your face in his hand.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t feel shitty about it,” you said, trying to get him to see that this wasn’t as simple for you as it was for him. It wasn’t so easy for you to just hurt people, even though it was for Jax. “I feel guilty.” And a tear started streaming down your face.
“Y/n,” he brought you into his arms and you buried your face in his chest, the guilt eating you alive. “It really is okay.”
“No, it’s not,” you said in his t-shirt, muffled from the fabric and from the tears.
“Him and I talked about it,” he said, and you broke the hug and looked up at him, puzzled, wondering what the hell he was talking about. “He knows that you’re something special, and he was willing to let you go so you can be happy. At first, you thought he was just making that up to make you feel better, that there was no way that two bikers sat around and talked about their feelings. And he knew you weren’t going to believe it, so he handed you an envelope with your name on it.
“Y/n,” the note started. “I tried calling you but couldn’t get through. I understand, and you have my blessing. You deserve happiness, and Jax really does care about you. I am willing to let you go so you can be happy.”
Jax hoped that this would make you feel better, but for some reason, it didn’t.
“I need to go to sleep, Jax,” you said, folding the letter and putting it back in the envelope. “You should go.”
“Let me stay,” he said, and you had never seen this persistent side of Jax. “Let me make it up to you. Let me show you that I won’t hurt you again.”
“I’m not sleeping with you tonight, Jackson,” you said, and he responded with a cheeky grin after licking his lips.
“I don’t want to fuck you tonight,” he responded with a smile. “I just want to be with you.” You gave in, and let him follow you to your room. You changed into comfy clothes, but he stayed in his jeans and white tee, laying on your bed and crossing his ankles, watching you get dressed.
“Perv,” you joked, and slid in the bed beside him.
“Y/n,” Jax said as you turned the TV on and sifted through Netflix for something to watch.
“Hmm?” You responded, not looking at him. He took the remote out of your hand and grabbed your face gently to make you turn to look at him.
“Will you just listen to me for one second?” He said, and you didn’t respond, you just gazed into his baby blue eyes, as if you were in a trance. “I mean it - you’re mine. And I am going to spend a long time proving it to you if I have too.”
You didn’t say anything, you just continued looking into his eyes. “Will you give me the chance to do that? Please?” And you responded with a nod, his hand still cupping your face when he leaned in to plant a soft, loving kiss on your lips.
“I don’t ever…” he said, his brow furrowed, his face serious. “...ever want to go through the torture of seeing you with another man. Ever again.” Another tear streamed down your face. “Okay?”
“Okay,” you said, smiling at him.
“Now find something to watch.” And you turned back to the TV, sifting through Netflix again.
Once you found something to watch, you cuddled into Jax’s arms until you fell asleep, finally at peace.
You smiled at the little scrap of paper, looking up at Juice with those pretty, pretty eyes...those eyes. He could still remember bumping into you that night, the force of his body on yours sending you falling. He'd caught you before you'd gone crashing into the concrete, looking up at him with those pretty eyes.
It was love at first sight.
And he wanted to cement that love with more than a ring, he wanted ink.
Still smiling, you looked up at him and stole a quick, sweet kiss.
"I think it's prefect. Where you gonna put it?"
"Actually, I was thinking that you could choose that part. I pick the design, you pick the place, you know?"
It was such sweet and romantic and perfect thing to do, just like him...and you had the perfect place in mind for it, eyeing his body carefully.
Descriptions of sex. Kissing, riding, drum jumping, blow jobs. 18+
Word count: 2348
Diosa was never quiet. The club’s heartbeat lived in its walls: bass-heavy music, laughter echoing against velvet drapes, the muted percussion of glasses clinking
Juice told himself he wasn’t there for the girls, that he was just waiting on club business, that he had a reason for leaning on the bar when he could be anywhere else. But he knew the truth.
It was her.
The new girl.
She wasn’t the loudest, or the flashiest. She didn’t have to be. She floated through the room in a little black dress, perfume trailing in her wake, the kind of smile that made his chest tighten. Juice caught himself watching her laugh, caught himself memorizing the curve of her lipstick and the flick of her eyeliner. He should have looked away. Instead, he lingered in doorways, eyes tracking her, pretending to scroll his phone like he wasn’t orbiting her every move.
And she noticed.
“Ortiz,” her voice pulled him out of another too-long stare one night, the crowd thinner, the hour later. She leaned on the bar across from him, that smile tugging at her lips. “You’re always lurking. What’s your deal?”
His throat closed up. “I—I wasn’t, I mean, I’m just—”
“You’re a terrible liar,” she teased, brushing past him. Close enough he caught the warmth of her skin, the sweetness of her perfume. Her hand found his wrist, delicate but firm, tugging him toward the hall that led to the back rooms.
“Wait—where—”
“You’re gonna keep staring, Juice?” she asked, glancing back at him, eyes bright. “Or you gonna do something about it?”
His heart stuttered. He should’ve made an excuse. Instead, he followed, pulse hammering so loud he swore she could hear it.
Inside the bedroom, the door clicked shut. The air felt heavier, muted. She pushed him gently onto the edge of the bed, straddling his lap before he could breathe. His hands froze useless at his sides, fists balled into the sheets.
“You’re nervous.” It wasn’t a question. Her mouth brushed his jaw, soft, deliberate.
Juice tried to laugh but it cracked on his tongue. “I’m not—fuck, I just—”
“Relax,” she whispered, lips grazing his ear. “Let me.”
The first kiss undid him. Her lips moved against his, slow but insistent, and a helpless whimper broke from his throat before he could swallow it. His hands twitched, hovering at her waist, but never quite landing.
“Touch me,” she coaxed, guiding his palms up her thighs. He trembled beneath her.
“I—I don’t—” He stopped, breathing hard, embarrassed by the shake in his voice.
Her smile deepened against his mouth. “It’s okay, Juice. I’ll show you.”
Her lips moved against his again, softer this time, coaxing him instead of overwhelming. Juice shivered, like every brush of her mouth sent sparks through him. His fingers finally settled on her waist, gripping too lightly, like he was scared to hold on.
“That’s it,” she murmured, nipping at his lower lip. “See? Not so hard.”
Juice let out a breathy laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all. More of a gasp, high in his throat. He tried to kiss her back, sloppy and uncertain, but the sound he made when her tongue slid against his was almost pitiful.
“God, you’re sweet,” she teased, threading her fingers into his mohawk, tugging just enough to tilt his head back. Her mouth trailed hot down his throat, teeth grazing skin, and Juice whimpered outright. His hips twitched beneath her without his permission.
“F-fuck,” he stammered, face burning. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“Don’t apologize,” she cut in, firm but playful, her hand slipping under the hem of his kutte, fingers splayed against his chest. “Just let me.”
Her nails scraped lightly over his skin and he shuddered. His kutte slid off his shoulders before he realized she’d undone it. Then she was tugging at the edge of his hoodie.
“Arms up.”
Juice obeyed instantly, as if the command bypassed thought entirely. The hoodie joined the kutte on the floor, leaving him in just his t-shirt, which was already damp where her mouth had been on his neck.
She kissed him again, deeper this time, pushing him back until he was sprawled against the mattress. She straddled his thighs, grinding down slow enough that he choked on his own breath.
“Fuck—” His hands flew to her hips, clutching like he’d drown without the anchor. His eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted, as if the pressure alone was too much.
“You’re shaking,” she whispered against his lips, tugging his shirt up over his head before he could respond.
Juice’s bare chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. His tattoos stretched with the motion, his skin flushed. He looked wrecked already — eyes wide, lips swollen, sweat beginning to gather at his temples.
“Beautiful,” she said simply, pushing him down again when he tried to sit up. Her fingers toyed with the waistband of his jeans. “You okay?”
He nodded too fast. “Y-yeah. I just—I don’t want to mess this up.”
Her smile softened, though her hand slipped lower, toying with the button of his jeans. “Juice… the only way you mess this up is if you stop.”
He groaned, a helpless sound, as she leaned in for another kiss — and with practiced ease, she undid his jeans, dragging the zipper down slow, like she enjoyed watching him squirm.
Her fingers lingered on his fly, toying with the denim before she eased his jeans open wider. Juice’s breath hitched, chest heaving. His knuckles whitened where they gripped the sheets.
“Relax,” she whispered again, kissing him slow, her mouth moving with patience he didn’t have. When she pulled back, she took one of his trembling hands in hers and placed it boldly between her thighs.
Juice froze like he’d been struck. His palm hovered, stiff, caught in panic.
“Here,” she coaxed, pressing down until his touch met warm, damp silk. Her voice was low, a purr against his ear. “That’s all you have to do.”
“I—fuck—I don’t—” His voice cracked, and the heat that surged through him was equal parts fear and desperation. His fingers twitched uncertainly, like he had no idea where to start.
“Slow circles,” she guided, her hand over his, coaxing his movements. “Just like that. Easy.”
Juice swallowed hard, eyes wide, lips parted as he watched her face. His fingers moved clumsily, but the soft gasp she gave when he brushed the right spot sent shockwaves through him.
“Oh, god—” he stuttered, hips jerking beneath her. “Did I—? Was that—?”
“Yes.” Her smile curved wicked. She caught his chin, made him look at her. “That was perfect. Don’t stop.”
He obeyed, shaky and desperate, his touch uneven but eager. And when she moaned — really moaned, hips rolling into his palm — he let out a helpless whimper that almost matched her sound.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, breaking into a flood of words he couldn’t contain. “You’re—fuck, you’re so wet, I—shit, I can’t—”
“You can,” she insisted, grinding against his fingers. Her nails raked lightly over his shoulder as she tilted her head back, lips parted in pleasure. “You’re making me feel so good, Juice. Don’t you dare stop now.”
Juice groaned, high and broken, forehead dropping against her chest. His other hand fisted in the sheets, knuckles white. Every sound she made wrecked him further, each moan peeling another layer of control away.
When she finally pushed his hand deeper, guiding him exactly where she wanted him, Juice practically yelped.
“Please—please, tell me how to please you,” he begged, words tumbling out fast, voice ragged. “I don’t wanna fuck this up, just—just tell me—”
Her laughter was breathless, hot against his ear. “You’re not fucking anything up, Ortiz. You’re perfect. Keep going, baby.”
The pet name undid him completely. His breath hitched hard, hips lifting under her like he couldn’t bear the pressure in his jeans anymore.
Her hand slowed his frantic fumbling, slipping out from between her thighs to trail down his stomach. Juice was panting like he’d run a mile, face buried against her chest, but he jolted when her fingers brushed the bulge straining his jeans.
“W-wait—” he gasped, sitting up half a breath too late as she slid her hand inside his open fly.
“Shhh,” she soothed, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I just want a taste.”
Juice nearly choked on air. “A—what?”
But she was already tugging his jeans lower, knuckles brushing over the waistband of his boxers. His cock strained visibly against the thin fabric, and when she freed him at last, the sound that left him was nothing short of desperate.
“Fuck—” His head fell back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut like he couldn’t look at her. His whole body trembled as her spit covered palm wrapped around him, stroking slow, deliberate.
“You’re so hard,” she whispered, kissing down his chest, each word punctuated by a brush of lips against hot skin.
Juice groaned, a wrecked little whine tearing out of him.
Her mouth replaced her hand, tongue sweeping over the swollen head before she slid down his length.
Juice yelled. A sharp, broken cry that cracked into a whimper, one hand shooting to her hair, the other clawing desperately at the sheets. His hips jerked involuntarily, then froze like he was terrified of hurting her.
“Oh my god—,” he babbled, voice high, ragged. His thighs trembled under her, every muscle tense. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”
She pulled off with a wet pop, smirking up at him. “Not yet. You’re not getting off that easy.”
Juice stared down at her, pupils blown, lips swollen from biting them too hard. He looked ruined already, chest heaving, skin damp with sweat.
And then she climbed back into his lap, taking his cock in hand, teasing him against her slick folds. His head hit the wall again with a thud, a broken whimper spilling from his throat.
“Wait—wait, I don’t—fuck, I’ve never—”
“Shhh.” She kissed him slow, swallowed his panic. “I’ve got you, Juice. Just let me.”
Then she sank down on him, inch by inch.
Juice sobbed. Not a cry, not a groan — a full-body, helpless sob that shook his chest. His arms locked around her, nails digging into her back as if he’d fall apart if he let go.
“Holy shit—oh fuck—please don’t stop,” he begged, voice cracking, hips already bucking under her in erratic thrusts he couldn’t control. “You feel so—oh my god—so fucking tight, I can’t—I can’t—”
She rolled her hips slow, deliberate, every move pulling another wrecked moan out of him.
“You’re perfect,” she breathed against his ear, nails dragging over his scalp. “Look at you, baby. Falling apart for me.”
Juice whimpered, clutching her like a lifeline, every broken sound spilling out of him raw and unfiltered.
She moved slow at first, rolling her hips until his cock dragged against every slick inch of her. Juice was gone from the second she sank down — head thrown back, mouth open, babbling broken curses.
“F-fuck, you’re—oh my god—” He clutched her waist like he was drowning, his grip bruising but desperate.
Her nails raked down his chest, leaving angry red trails. She rose up and slid back down hard, and Juice nearly screamed. His thighs jolted beneath her, hips lifting without rhythm, chasing the heat of her body.
“Oh, shit—shit, please—” He buried his face in her neck, voice cracking high. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop—”
“Slow down,” she teased, grinding down until he felt her clench tight around him. “You’re not gonna fall apart on me yet, baby.”
“I can’t—fuck—I swear I can’t—” He was whimpering now, little sobs slipping between every word, his cock twitching inside her with every roll of her hips.
She caught his hands, guided one between her thighs. “Here,” she panted. “Feel me. Touch me while I ride you.”
Juice’s fingers were clumsy, trembling, but when he pressed against her clit and she moaned into his mouth, he broke. His hips surged upward hard enough to knock the headboard against the wall.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck—did you—?” His voice was high, frantic, words spilling in a rush.
“Yes, Juice,” she gasped, grinding down harder. “Just like that, baby. You’re making me so wet.”
He whimpered like she’d stabbed him, hips snapping uncontrollably, eyes rolling back. “Jesus Christ—I’m gonna—please—”
She tightened her grip in his hair, yanking his head back so she could watch him fall apart. His face was wrecked — eyes glazed, lips swollen, sweat dripping down his temple.
“You’re beautiful like this,” she murmured, bouncing harder now, skin slapping hot and wet against his. “Begging for me. You like me using you, Ortiz?”
Juice sobbed, his voice breaking so high it was almost pitiful. “Yes—fuck—yes, I love it, please don’t stop, I’ll do anything, just don’t stop—”
Her pace turned merciless. Every thrust had him jerking beneath her, muscles straining, veins standing out in his neck. He was loud now — shameless moans, gasps, pleas tumbling out between every ragged breath.
“Please I —fuck, I’m gonna cum, I can’t hold it, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be sorry.” Her teeth grazed his ear, her voice a dark purr. “Cum for me, Juice. I want you to.”
That was all it took. He shattered beneath her, body arching hard, a hoarse, broken cry ripping out of his throat. Hot release pulsed inside her in erratic bursts, his whole body trembling as if he’d never known anything like it.
She rode him through it, milking every twitch, every sob. And when she finally let herself go, clenching tight around him with a sharp cry of her own, Juice nearly passed out.
He collapsed back against the mattress, drenched in sweat, chest heaving like he couldn’t catch his breath. His hands still clutched her like he was afraid she’d disappear.
This is part of the Biker Boys of Summer 2025 Choose Your Own. As always 18+
The clubs end of summer party was in full swing when you pulled not the lot. You waved at chibs and Tig as you looked around for Juice frowning as you didn’t spot him. “Jax told Laddie he had to finish an assignment before he could join in” stated Tig as you made your way over to him and Chibs. Thanking him you made your way inside, grabbing a couple beers on the way to your mans dorm room.
“Hey baby” you greeted as you stepped inside the room and made your way to his desk.
“Hey love” greeted Juice grinning as he turned to you. Taking the beer he offered as he kissed your hand. “I’m locked to the desk for a bit but you should go enjoy the party” he stated as he nodded back to his laptop.
“I can wait. Besides I can think of something to help you work faster” you replied with a mischievous smirk before dropping down and crawling under his desk.
Juice shook his head but felt his pants start to tent as images of your mouth wrapped around his cock flooded his mind. He loved noting more than watching you suck him off. Scooting his chair slowly in, he grinned as he felt your hands work his belt and zipper. Your fingers wrapping around his cock and tugging it free had him groaning. The feel of your lips kissing his tip though had him thrusting forward in search of one of your sweet wet holes he loved.
After awhile Juice grabbed your head and pulled you roughly from his cock as It started to twitch. Taking deep breaths he pulled you across the floor by your hair as he scooted his chair back before joining you on the floor. He was barely keeping a hold of his release as he roughly moved you into position with your ass up. Quickly he sunk his cock into your. Fingers digging into your hips as he pummeled your insides as his cock twitched and shot ropes of cum into you.
