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fullbushfemme · 4 years ago

Text

what if i just posted this with zero context whatsoever

“I won’t go.” Taza whispered, taking a step back towards the door. He moved towards the door not to leave, but rather to close it, locking out the chaos downstairs. The bathroom was barely big enough for the two of you, forcing you two to no longer ignore the other’s presence. The steam from the water and your heavy breath were already fogging up the mirror and windows, truly building walls between the two of you and the rest of the world, if only temporary ones.

A silent tear fell from your face as Taza knelt back down beside you, placing a hand on your knee. It was as though the severity of what you had been forced to do was finally settling into your body, your heart growing heavy with sorrow. You wanted to be held. You wanted to be told that everything was going to be okay, even if it was a lie. You wanted someone to care about you enough in this moment to lie to you.

And as though he was trapped inside your mind with you, Taza reached up and gingerly wiped away your tear. His hand felt cold against your feverish skin. Before pulling away, he cupped your cheek as he told you that everything was going to be okay. Neither of you knew if everything would be okay, but he certainly wasn’t intentionally lying to you. Coming home to see you covered in blood, seeing the woman he was entrusted to protect beside a dead body, was a sight too gruesome for most to stomach. And he didn’t ever want to have to stomach it again. He sincerely hoped everything was going to be okay, but knew he couldn’t make any promises.

There was a moment of silence between you, one that lacked any trace of awkwardness. It was a silence that was swimming in concern, in pain, in the unspoken camaraderie of two old souls whose worlds were destroyed and in the process of being rebuilt. You stood, Taza’s hand lingering on your face, sliding down your chest and arm as he realized what you were doing. You slowly grabbed hold of the dingy hem of your dress and brought your arms above your head, finally peeling off the clothes that had adhered to your skin with your brother’s blood. You weren’t expecting to share your body with a stranger that Saturday night, but neither were you expecting to lose two brothers. And the man kneeling before you was hardly a stranger then. Friends and lovers you had known your entire life had never seen you in such a state. Che Romero may know you now better than anyone ever had, or ever would.

His eyes lingered on your chest, your stomach, your thighs. He looked at you not with the eyes of a man seeing an indecent woman. No, he looked at you with the eyes of someone whose old wounds never healed, who saw those same wounds in you. You slipped out of your undergarments and stepped into the bath, holding onto Taza for balance. The warmth of the water provided the comfort you so desperately craved. You brought your knees up to your chest and buried your face between them, hoping that the water would wash away the hurt, the memory, the devastation. You hoped the water would consume you, swallow you whole. It didn’t.

Taza reached into the bath beside you, wetting a washcloth that he fully intended to hand to you to bathe yourself. But as he noticed how violently you were shaking, he took that cloth and began massaging your skin himself, cleansing you of your brother. He began at your shoulder, working in gentle circular motions down to your elbow, then your wrist, then finally your hand. You curled your fingers around his as he submerged your hand under the water that had already begun to turn a sickly pink. You didn’t look up at him. You couldn’t. You couldn’t trust what your eyes would tell him if you did. But you didn’t need to. That gentle hold you had on him as he purged your hands of any reminder of what they had done was enough to assure him that this favor, this kindness, this intimacy was not only appreciated, but needed.

Having finished one arm and knowing he needed to move on to the other, Taza stopped. He held your hand, your soft, delicate hand, and looked up at you. Your face was hidden both by your knees and by the dark curls that had fallen over your shoulders. He smiled, but not with happiness. He smiled in a way that conveyed the feeling of guilt, of shame, of pity. It was a half-hearted and small smile, one you would give to someone who had just been laid-off. It was a smile you gave to those you couldn’t help. But what Taza didn’t know was just how much he was helping you. You couldn’t name a single person in your life that would drop to their knees and wash another person’s blood off your skin because you didn’t have the strength to. But for some reason this man that you had only met twenty-four hours prior was more than willing to do so, even without you asking. If you had the strength, you’d tell him how much his kindness meant to you, but you didn’t think you could find the words.

It seemed as though the anguish you felt was infecting him as he brushed his thumb back and forth across the back of your hand. Was this repetitive motion to soothe you? Or was it to comfort himself? It quite possibly could have been for the benefit of both of you as you shared in this moment of intense intimacy. When he finally released your hand, you brought it up to sweep your dark hair across your shoulders and over to one side, the side furthest from him. You tilted your head away from him, revealing your face once more. You wanted to thank him. You wanted to muster up the strength to say those two measly words. But simply thinking about saying them made you nauseous. So you smiled. You smiled a soft, small, genuine smile. And Taza’s pity turned to relief. He held out his hand, silently requesting the arm he had yet to wash, and began the process all over again, shoulder to fingertips.

#mayans mc #sons of anarchy #fanfiction #fanfic #che romero #taza romero

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fullbushfemme · 4 years ago

Note

Do you still write headcannons? I was hoping to to request how the guys would react to their girl punching someone in the face

I don't know if by "the guys" you meant the Mayans Men or the SOA Boys....so I'm just gonna do both lmao. Also, taking a little bit of liberty here and deciding that the person getting punched in these scenarios is a man. Because. Yes.

HC list under the cut!

A/N: After taking the time to write all these, I must say I didn’t realize just how much I’d signed myself on for lmao. But I did it!

Mayans Men reacting to you punching someone in the face-

Ezekiel:

Would be impressed but not necessarily surprised. He knew from the moment he met you that you had a little bit of an edge, and he had always loved that about you.

You had never been one to take shit from anyone. Obviously you never went looking for the opportunity to punch someone in the face, and realistically it took you a lot to get to that point. But once you were there, it was no holds barred.

He hadn’t seen the leadup to the incident, but he didn’t have to. He could tell by the look on your face and the shock and horror of the man who was trying to stop the blood from gushing out of his nose that it was well-deserved, and that whatever issue it was, wasn’t going to happen again.

“I turn around for two seconds and you’re over here starting fight club,” he shook his head with a small smile as he watched you clench and open your hand a few times.

“Your fault for leaving me unattended,” you quipped with a laugh. He smiled as he nodded, “Maybe. You’ve got a solid right hand, though.”

“Tell the rest of the guys to keep that in mind,” you chuckled as you sat back down on your stool at the bar.

Angel:

His eyes would pop out of his skull.

All the times you’ve scolded him about not being stupid, not getting himself into unnecessary sticky situations, and then you go and haul off on someone.

He immediately would fly over and try to insert himself into the situation to try and calm things down, or at least to make sure you don’t get punched back. He’d look back and forth frantically between you and the other guy, trying to figure out what to say or do. Part of him wants to remove you from the situation entirely, and the other part of him wants to finish what you started even though he has no idea why you started it in the first place.

“We’re good, Angel,” you nodded as you looked at the man over his shoulder, “No problems here, right?”

The man nodded as he nursed his cheek, “Yea, no problems.”

After the man walked away, Angel would take your hand in his and look it over to make sure you were alright, “You all good, querida? You want an ice pack or somethin’?” You smiled at his concern, and the way that he didn’t let go of your hand, “I’m fine, Angel. It’s not the first time I’ve had to punch someone in the face.”

His eyes grew wide once again, “Wait wh-” You cut him off as you shook your head, “Don’t worry about it.”

Bishop:

He sees it about to happen from a mile away. But he also knows that you don’t hesitate to let him know that you need his help when tense situations arise. You never gave him the signal, so he never intervened.

The guy was a prospect from another charter, who didn’t know who you were, and wouldn’t leave you alone. You wanted to see how far the kid was going to push it before you actually had to do something.

You felt Bishop’s eyes on you the entire time as the situation unfolded. But eventually, push came to punch and the kid wouldn’t take no for an answer, so you really drove the point home the most effective way you knew how. Sure, you could’ve dropped the fact that your husband was the President of the local charter, but where was the fun in that?

It was clear in the kid’s eyes that he was contemplating reacting in a way that would surely get his ass beat, not only by you, but by everyone who made up the SP charter. Bishop saw that you were practically relishing the opportunity to take another swing, and that was when he inserted himself into the situation.

“There a problem here?” he got between you and the prospect. The kid wiped blood from the cut above his eyebrow as he tried to get past his anger enough to speak, “This fucking bi-” Bishop cut him off, “Choose your next words carefully. I’ve never been a fucking fan of people being disrespectful to my wife.”

The kid’s face paled as he realized the situation he’d gotten himself into. There was no defending or making up for it now. Bishop was painfully relaxed as he posed the next proposition, “You can either get the fuck out of my clubhouse right now, so she can take another swing at you. Your choice.”

Once he was gone, you turned and looked at Bishop, a vague look of disappointment on your face, “Still should’ve let me follow-up with another shot.” Bishop laughed as he pulled you into him, kissing the side of your head, “Oakland will finish tuning him up for you. Don’t worry.”

Coco:

Has never felt so proud of anyone in his entire life.

For the entire time that he’s ever known you, he’s always been the one to tell you to never take shit from anyone, not even from him. You usually just rolled your eyes and waved him off, because obviously it’s not like you ever set out to let yourself get walked over.

Most of the time you could get yourself out of things just by talking, or just walking away before things got out of hand. But when neither of those things were possible this time around, you did the next thing your brain came up with, and you clocked the person in front of you.

You weren’t looking to get into a fight with anyone, and if you were being honest your body reacted before you really thought through what you were doing.

It was an effective end to a sticky situation, though. The guy scampered off and Coco materialized beside you, a smirk on his face, “You went for the fuckin’ hook, huh?” You laughed, “That’s your first thought after all of that?” He chuckled, “What? You handled it. You’re fine, right?” when you nodded he continued, “Didn’t expect to see you pullin’ out Mayweather moves like that.” Rolling your eyes, you smiled, “Please. Mayweather wants what I have.”

He laughed, watching you with a smile on your face, “Alright, McGregor, calm down. Let’s get some fuckin’ ice for your hand.”

Gilly:

Would definitely be the type of guy to say, “Hit ‘em again!”

Gilly isn’t necessarily an angry guy, but he also had no problem snapping and going in on someone who disrespects him or the people that he cares about. So, that being said, when he sees you haul off on someone there isn’t a doubt in his mind that the person deserved it.

He watches, seeing that you’re more than able to handle the situation yourself, he doesn’t move to step into it. He eggs you on from the sideline, smirking to himself as he watches you back down the man who had been giving you trouble, eventually driving him out of the building.

When you walk over and sit down next to him, he hands you a fresh bottle of beer, “Looks like you might need this,” he laughs. You take it from him with a smile, “Yea, thanks.” He waits for you to explain what the hell had just happened, but when you didn’t he asked, “So who the fuck was that guy?” You looked over at him, eyebrows raised as you rested your knuckles against the cold glass of the bottle, “Does it matter?” He laughed, shaking his head, “No, guess not.”

Taza:

Fist-fights have never been his thing, and he didn’t think that they were yours either until he saw you haul off on someone for the first time.

He was a little too shocked to step in right away. But once he realized what was going on, he made his way over. He was calm and collected, the way that he always was.

“Are we alright over here?” he watched the man wipe the blood off his split lip. The man fumed, “No, we’re not alright.” Taza nodded, fighting the urge to laugh at all the anger this man was holding inside him, “Yea. Looks like you could use a doctor and some stitches. Want us to call you a cab to get your there?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, “Fuck you.” Quick as a whip, Taza reached out and grabbed the man’s collar. His expression was neutral but you could see the threat in his eyes, “A simple no would’ve worked just fine.”

You couldn’t help the fact that your eyes were growing wider by the second. Even in his composure you could see that Taza was looking for any excuse to let this man know what he really felt about him. And you obviously weren’t the only one who felt that way- you could see the man shrinking in Taza’s grip.

You reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, “Che, I think he’s well enough to leave.” His shoulders relaxed slightly at your touch but he didn’t take his eyes off the man in his grip, “That true? You’re ready to leave?” The man nodded silently, clearly desperate for an out. Taza shoved him towards the door, “Then get going.”

The two of you watched the man leave. Once the door shut behind him, you looked over at Taza, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get like that.” Turning and looking back at you, he cracked a smile, a soft chuckle slipping past his lips, “I think the same could be said about you.” You wrapped your arm around his waist with a smile, “Everyone is full of surprises, huh?”

Riz:

Wants to say something to you about the way you were handling it, but stops himself because he knows that he also has a bit of a short fuse and reacts a bit rashly to things.

The exchange between you and the other man was clearly heated, but very quick. After you’d cracked his jaw and shoved him backwards a few times, he got the hint and started to head towards the gates to the scrapyard.

Riz walked up to you and saw how angry you still were, shaking your head as you made your way towards the clubhouse. He stepped in front of you to stop you, “What was that about?” You huffed, shaking your head, “Fucking pussy.” He bit back a laugh, knowing that specific brand of frustration way too well.

“You want to elaborate on that?” he asked. Rolling your eyes, you indulged him, “Shitty ex-boyfriend.” His eyes grew wide and he let slip a smile, “And you punched him?” Resting your hand on your hip, you shook your head, “Some people deserve it, Riz.”

He threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, “I believe that, querida. I definitely believe that.”

Creeper:

Takes about 10 seconds to check on you and make sure you’re alright, before finishing what you started.

He moved faster than you’d ever seen him move. He didn’t even ask why you had swung on the other guy. You knew that he didn’t care, that the sight of you hauling off on someone was all he needed to know he had to step in and do something.

Part of you wanted to try and stop him, try to pull him away, but you knew that you wouldn’t be able to. He just had to get it out of his system.

Which happened quicker than you thought it would. Soon enough he was picking the man up and tossing him down the clubhouse steps.

He came back to you, the aggressive posture dissipating as quickly as it had come up. His eyes traveled over your face and body, “You sure you’re alright, mama?” You had to laugh as you nodded, “Yea, yea I’m sure I’m good. Are...are you?” He nodded, pulling you in, “If you’re good, I’m good.”

After a few seconds of silence, you laughed into his chest, “I didn’t know you could move that fast, Neron.” He hugged you tighter, “Yea, and I didn’t know that you could hit that hard.”

Hank:

The last thing Hank ever wanted to see was you in the position where you had to swing on someone.

So when he turned and saw you clock the guy standing in front of you, all he saw was red. His long strides closed the distance easily and without bothering to ask what happened, he scooped the guy right up and brought him out of the clubhouse. He dragged him down the steps and across the yard. Tunnel-vision was in full effect at that point.

“I don’t ever wanna see you back here again,” he tossed him out the gates.

When he turned around, he saw you standing at the base of the clubhouse stairs. You were nursing your hand but other than that you looked fine. It didn’t stop him from worrying, though.

He cupped your face in his hands, making sure to look you over from head to toe. “Are you alright?” You smiled at him, nodding, “Yea. Hand stings a little, but yea,” you paused, “Are you alright? You gripped that guy right up.”

“I wasn’t gonna give him the chance to swing back at you.” The simple response got you to smile, “Well that was very nice of you. In an intense, kinda violent way.” He gave you a crooked smirk, “Hey, you’re the one who hit him,” he paused to look at your hand, “Let’s get you some ice for that.”

Bonus- Nestor:

He had heard you reassure him on multiple occasions that you knew how to throw a punch and defend yourself. But every time he’d asked you to show him, you always said no because it felt silly to prove something you already knew to be true.

So, for the longest time, he thought you had lied to him. Or, at least, exaggerated.

That is until the two of you went out one night, and as you both were leaving the bar you’d gone to, some random guy decided he was going to get a little too close and comfortable with you.

The second you felt someone’s hand touch you that wasn’t Nestor, you turned around and swung. Consequences be damned, you weren’t going to let anyone touch you without your consent.

Nestor’s eyes went wide, not only at the fact that it seemed like such a natural reflex for you, but that you went to follow it up with another punch instead of just doing a hit and run.

“Fucking touch me again,” you stepped in closer to the man, “I dare you.”

Nestor had never seen you be so confrontational, so heated. He really didn’t know how to react other than to watch it all unfold. You seemed like you had a handle on it, and maybe that was why he felt like he was frozen in place.

The man had backed off and gone away immediately, leaving just you and Nestor there together on the sidewalk. You turned back to him, letting out a somewhat nervous laugh at his expression, “What?”

“You...you weren’t kidding when you said you’d have it handled if someone ever tried to give you a problem,” he shook his head in disbelief. You laughed stepping into him and resting against his side, “I told you so.”

SOA Boys reacting to you punching someone in the face-

Jax:

As soon as he sees you throw the punch, the first words out of his mouth are, “Jesus Christ.”

He goes over and immediately tries to break it up. He doesn’t know what happened, and he doesn’t really want to. His whole life is filled with women who popped off on any and every one, and he was hoping that you weren’t another one that he had to add to the list.

“What the hell is going on?” he held you back as you tried to push past him. The man scoffed, “Ask this fucking psycho.” Jax turned to him, tilting his head slightly. You couldn’t see his face but you had the feeling there was a smirk starting to tug at his lips. “Oh, man, if you think she’s psycho,” he shook his head, “you’re not gonna be able to handle any of the women around here. You should, you should bail while you’ve got the chance.”

The man weighed out what Jax was saying, but decided to push his luck. He went to step past Jax and as soon as Jax realized what he was doing, he stopped him in his tracked with hard shot to the face.

“You’re running up a tab here, brother. I’d get out while your fucking jaw is still intact.” When the guy didn’t move, Jax shoved him, “It wasn’t a suggestion.”

When he was gone, Jax turned back to you, “You have got to stop hanging out with my mom." You laughed, “I knew how to throw a solid hook way before I met your mother, alright? Give me a little credit.” Whatever annoyance he was trying to convey faded from his face, his expression softening as he started to laugh, “You are a little bit of a psycho, aren’t you?” You laughed, “Just a little.”

Opie:

Sees it coming and literally can’t make himself speak up to say something.

He sees the way you cock your arm back before throwing the punch and in the midst of trying to figure out what to do, he’s a little impressed. He knows you’ve seen that move before.

The guy towered over you but it didn’t seem to be fazed at all. If anyone was going to be able to handle their own shit it was you. But even so, he still made his way over to just to be sure.

“Looks like we might have a problem over here,” Opie looked the guy up and down. The man scoffed, “She has a fucking problem. You come over to get her under control?” Opie shook his head, neutral as ever, “Nope. Just came to make sure you didn’t do anything else incredibly fucking stupid. That right hand is no joke,” he chuckled, “But you already know that.”

Despite how annoyed you were, you found yourself biting back laughter. Every fiber of Opie’s being was protective of you, but he also knew that you’d let him know when you needed someone to tag in. And you hadn’t. But something about this just wouldn’t let him stay away- maybe it was because he’d never really seen you haul off on someone before.

“You want an escort out?” Opie offered, “Or you think you can handle that by yourself?”

When the guy was gone, you looked over at Opie, “You shoulda let me get one more good shot off on him.” He laughed as he closed the distance between the two of you, “Maybe.” You looked up at him, “That was a good right hand though, right?” He nodded, “Yea, pretty good.”

Juice:

Wide-eyed, topped off with a soft-spoken, “Oh, shit,” when it saw it happen.

He quickly made his way over to get in between the two of you, knowing how easily things get out of hand. He wasn’t really looking to get into a fight with anyone, but if he was going to get into the middle of things for someone, he’d prefer it be for you.

“What, you steppin’ in to save your girl?” the guy spat, ignoring the blood trickling out of his nose. Juice shook his head, “Nah, steppin’ in to save you,” he nodded towards the door, “You should get the fuck out while you still have a chance. Next punch won’t be as easy.”

The man looked back and forth between you and Juice, clearly weighing out the options that he currently had. He must’ve decided that the trouble wasn’t worth it, because he quickly made his way towards the doors to leave.

Once he was gone, Juice turned back to you, concern heavy in his eyes, “What happened? Are you alright? How’s your hand?” You had to smile at his worry, “Whoa, whoa. One question at a time. I’m fine, my hand is fine.”

You could tell that he didn’t believe you, so you held it out for him to inspect. It was a little red, but nothing to be worried about. You saw the tension drop out of his shoulders, and you reached out and cupped his cheek with the hand that just moments before had sent a man stumbling back a few steps. “You worry too much,” you told him with a laugh. He shook his head with a soft smile, “You give me a lot of things to worry about.”

Tig:

Nearly spit out his drink when he saw it.

He had never been so simultaneously worried for you, and turned on by you. He’d never seen you haul off on someone before, and he immediately wished that he’d been able to film it so he could go back and watch it happen again.

The only thing that got his mind back on the somewhat straight and narrow, was the fact that he saw the man gearing up to swing back. Once he realized what was about to happen, he got in the guys face before you could even try to take another crack at him.

The man tried to size Tig up, “This isn’t your fuckin’ problem.” Tig laughed, “You starting shit in my clubhouse sounds exactly like my fuckin’ problem.”

There was a moment of each of them waiting for the other to make a move. Finally, Tig broke the silence, “This is your last chance to apolgize, and get the fuck out of here. A fist to the face was your warning. But I carry,” his hand reached and pulled the gun from the back of his waistband, “and it’s been a while since I’ve done target practice.”

You could see the fear flash across the man’s face even though he didn’t want to admit it. When he went to make his way towards the door, Tig reached out and grabbed him by the back of his shirt, “Ah-ah. I said you gotta apologize to the lady,” he nodded in your direction. The man looked like he just wanted to melt into the floor, so he grumbled out a quick, “Sorry,” before Tig gave him a shove towards the door.

Once the man was gone, Tig turned back to you with a smile on his face, “So do I get to know the juicy details or what?” You laughed, shaking your head, “No juicy details to be had. Just another asshole rolling in here thinking he owns the place.” Tig nodded knowingly, “Good thing we all know that you’re the one who owns the place.” You raised your eyebrows, “Kissing ass isn’t gonna get you anywhere, Trager.”

There were a few minutes of the two of you just sitting at the bar together before he spoke up again, “Is it weird that I kinda wanna know what it feels like to get sucker-punched by you?” You laughed and shook your head, “There isn’t a thing that could come out of your mouth at this point that I’d think was weird.”

Chibs:

The protective side of him wanted to go and pull you away and deal with the problem for you. But then he saw the little bit of a glint in your eyes as you threw the punch and it set him back on his heels a little bit.

You’d always been on the quieter side, never one to stir up trouble. Even when you got caught in the thick of things you always managed to keep your cool. So he desperately wanted to know what someone must’ve said or done to make you snap and haul off on them.

He knew that you had it handled, he saw the way that the guy backed down in front of you and retreated. Once he was sure that things were alright, he went behind the bar and grabbed a large handful of ice and wrapped it up in a rag.

You were shaking your hand out, wincing as he walked up to you. Without a word he offered you the makeshift ice pack. With a quiet laugh you accepted it and thanked him.

“So, do I get to ask what exactly happened here?” he arched an eyebrow. You felt your face heating up as you shook your head, “No, no you don’t.” He chuckled as he sat down on one of the couches with you, “C’mon, lass, it must’ve been good to make you haul off like that, yea?”

You paused for a moment as you adjusted the ice on your knuckles. With a deep sigh, you looked up at the ceiling of the clubhouse, “I just...don’t...like disrespect.” Chibs laughed, “Yea, think the whole clubhouse c’n see that now.”

Happy:

Doesn’t know why it’s happening, and to a point doesn’t really care, because he is too busy joining you.

You might’ve thrown the first punch, but he’d be damned if he didn’t throw the last. You hadn’t even had time to notice him coming over, but before you knew it he was gripping the guy up and landing blow after blow.

You stepped back, not having meant to cause such a scene, you just lost your temper a little bit. But you knew as well as anyone that there was no stopping him now.

He had the man by the collar of his shirt as he dragged him towards the door of the clubhouse. You hung back, not really wanting to rile Happy up any more than he already was. You watched as Happy opened the door to the clubhouse and threw the man outside. You saw the twitch in his hand as he thought about reaching for his gun, but he stopped himself, which relieved you more than you could articulate.

He said something to the guy that you couldn’t quite hear before walking back over to you. His jaw was still clenched as he looked you over, making sure that you weren’t hurt.

“I think one punch would’ve sufficed,” you said with a laugh.

He shook his head slightly, “Never hurts to make sure.”

Bobby:

Was completely involved in something else when he heard the unmistakable crack of someone getting clocked. When he looked up and saw that it was you punching someone in the face, he dropped everything that he had just been doing to go over to you.

Getting in between you and the guy you’d just tee’d off on, he looked frantically back and forth between the two of you, “Whatever is going on, it’s settled now.”

“No it’s fucking not,” you seethed. Bobby shot you a glare, one that told you he was too tired and too old to be dealing with this kind of shit from you. He dealt with that kind of thing enough with all the guys in the club. He pushed you back, firmly but gently, “Yes it fucking is.”

When he saw you set back on your heels, he turned to the man in question. He looked just as fed up with him as he did with you, “I don’t care what the issue was, it’s over with now. I didn’t get in the middle of this for her sake, I did it for yours. They’re the fairer sex, not the weaker one.” He saw the man open his mouth to protest and cut him off before he could, “I don’t wanna hear it. Take the out, brother.”

Once the guy walked away, Bobby turned back to you, exasperation all over his features, “What the hell was that about?” You rolled your eyes, “I’m fine, Bobby, thanks for asking.” He shook his head, “I can see that you’re fine. If you didn’t seem fine, I would’ve asked. But since you are, now you get to tell me what’s going on.”

Kozik:

Is not a huge fan of you getting in fights with people, but is glad that he taught you how to throw a proper punch in case of emergencies or...whatever was transpiring on the other side of the clubhouse.

He saw the initial punch you’d thrown to the man’s face, and by the time he made it over you’d doubled up on that and thrown a solid liver shot in as well.

“Okay, okay, I think you proved your point,” Kozik popped up behind you and tried to pull you away. You struggled against him, and it was the first time that Kozik had ever experienced your strength being used against him, and he realized just how strong you actually are.

“It’s done!” his voice was a little more firm, trying to get through to you, “It’s done.” That did enough to snap you out of it, and you stopped struggling so hard against him. He pulled you away and waited for the man to stand upright again.

When he did, Kozik stepped in and got nose-to-nose with him, “You better get out now, before you have to go for a second round with me.” You could tell by the look in the man’s eyes that he didn’t want to leave, that he wanted to prove something, but he didn’t have it in him to try.

Once the man had left, Kozik turned back to you. You opened your mouth to explain, but he waved it off, “I don’t need to know. I, just,” he sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair, “How’s your hand?”

After a moment of silence, you laughed, “Punching people in the face fucking hurts.” It made the concern disappear from his face as he chuckled, “Yea, I don’t really recommend it.”

Half-Sack:

Does not know what to do.

Ever since spending so much time around everyone in the MC, he’s gotten used to seeing plenty of women handle their own shit. He’s seen more people get slapped in the past year than his entire life prior. Being in the military, he was no stranger to a good fist fight. But he never imagined that you would be the type to snap on someone and clock ‘em.

But then you did.

The beer bottle that was in his hand clattered to the floor as he tried to get his feet to keep up with his brain so he could go and try to stop whatever it was that was unfolding between you and the man in front of you.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he tried to get between the two of you, and was somewhat successful. You were trying to push past him, trying to finish what had been started, “I got this under control, Kip. Get out of my fucking way!”

He didn’t want to push you back, didn’t want to run the risk of being the next guy you punched, but he also didn’t want to let you get hurt by the asshole standing behind him, either. “I...I don’t think I should.”

“Yea,” the man briefly nursed his jaw after the blow you’d landed, “better do what the man says, sweetheart. Don’t wanna get in out of your depth.”

You felt the blood boiling in your veins, “Kip...” He stepped to the side, granting you access to the man once, “Yea, you’re on your own now, man.”

Piney:

Chuckles before taking another swing out of the bottle in his hands with a grumbled, “Sounds about right.”

The man has seen too many things to be surprised by much of anything anymore. And he’s seen you around enough, talked to you enough, to know that there is very little you won’t do to people who are disrespectful.

He keeps a close enough eye to know that you weren’t going to need anyone to back you up, but other than that he stayed out of it, content to let you, and everyone else for that matter, handle their own shit.

When you walked over, once the situation had resolved itself, you expected him to have something to say, anything, really. But he just offered you the bottle that was sitting on the bar in front of him. You had never been one to turn down a drink, but especially not one from Piney. Especially when it seemed like he was offering it from a place of respect.

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