#juan carlos juice ortiz

[brunettemarionette]

can do u headcanons or a blurb of juice asking out a shy quiet girl he’s been crushing on !

Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Juice Ortiz x Shy!Reader — Juice finally builds up the nerve to ask out the quiet girl he's been lowkey crushing on forever.

Juice first noticed you at TM, always quietly reading or helping Gemma in the office. You didn’t talk much, but something about your presence always calmed him.

He’s usually good with people, but around you? Total glitch in the system. Rambling. Nervous laughter. Tripping over air.

The guys tease him about his “shy girl obsession,” but he just shrugs it off with a grin and mumbles something about “she’s different.”

He starts lingering more—pretending he needs something from the office just so he can catch a glimpse of you.

He notices the way your eyes light up when someone mentions animals or books, and stores that away like treasure.

Lowkey stalks your music taste on social media. He’s blasting whatever band you posted last on his ride to the clubhouse.

Every time he tries to talk to you, he gets flustered. You’re polite, sweet, but clearly shy, and he doesn’t want to scare you off by being too much.

Eventually, he decides to just do it—juice style: awkward, but with a lot of heart.

He shows up one day with a smoothie from your favorite spot, acting like it’s totally normal. “Brought you something… you know, for surviving the day.”

When you smile and thank him, he short-circuits a bit but powers through.

“Sooo… I was thinking… maybe we could hang out sometime? Like, outside of TM. Unless you hate that idea. Then forget I said anything. Or don’t. Wait, I mean—”

You giggle, soft and genuine, and it absolutely melts him.

“I’d like that,” you say, and he just beams. Full-on Juice sunshine smile.

He walks away punching the air behind the clubhouse, whispering “Yes!” like he just won a prizefight.

He tells Chibs he’s got a date, and Chibs just raises a brow and mutters, “Poor lass doesn’t know what she’s in for.”

But he’s planning it all—something lowkey, soft music, maybe the animal shelter you volunteer at. He wants you to feel safe. Seen. Loved.

Because for Juice, you’re not just a crush. You’re the calm in his storm. And he’s already falling, fast.

[tinyshyteacup]

TW: cussing, tooth rotting flufffffff

Part 6

A Charming Detour - Part 7

It starts casually enough.

You’re both wrapping up at Teller-Morrow, the sun dipping low in the sky, bathing everything in warm orange light. The air smells like motor oil and asphalt, the distant sounds of bikes rumbling somewhere down the street.

Juice is exhausted. Long day, a few too many annoying customers, and Jax had been on his ass all afternoon about something stupid. He’s just looking forward to getting back to his dorm, maybe zoning out on his laptop for a bit—

And then you—

You glance up at him with that adorable, expression and change everything.

“So…” you start, tilting your head slightly. “Do you wanna get takeout and play Tekken?”

Juice blinks.

He stares at you like he misheard, brain short-circuiting from exhaustion. “Wait… what?”

You smile, patient, like you’re waiting for his brain to catch up.

“Takeout. Tekken. You. Me. That okay?”

Juice still doesn’t respond.

Because—

Because you just casually suggested hanging out in his dorm.

In the clubhouse.

With him.

Alone.

And it’s so simple for you.

Like you don’t even realize what that means.

Juice feels hot under his kutte, something twisting in his chest. “You wanna—?”

“Yeah.” You nod, completely unfazed. “Unless you don’t want to?”

Don’t want to?

DON’T WANT TO?

Juice laughs, a little too quick, a little too eager. “No! I mean, yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

And you?

You just smile, completely unaware of how much you’ve just wrecked him.

You’re weirdly casual about all of it.

Juice isn’t used to that.

Most girls? They either avoid the clubhouse entirely or act like it’s some kind of privilege to be invited in. But you?

You just exist in his space like it’s normal.

You sit on the back of his bike hesitantly as he takes you on a quick food run.

You offer to pay, and Juice nearly shirt circuits, most girls just expect him to pay for everything.

You hum softly to yourself while waiting for the order, stealing a fry from the bag with a sneaky little grin before he tucks it into the saddlebags.

And Juice?

He’s watching you.

Every little movement.

Every casual touch.

Every tiny, absent-minded hum.

It’s messing with him, because it’s too easy.

It shouldn’t be this easy.

The clubhouse is loud when you walk in.

Music, laughter, the occasional clatter of a pool cue hitting the ground. You barely blink at it, sticking close to Juice as he leads you down the hall to his dorm.

It’s small, like you expected, but clean.

Very clean.

And then—you notice it.

The way his boots are lined up perfectly by the door.

The way his bed covers are too neat, stretched tight with zero wrinkles.

The way his game controllers are symmetrically placed, both facing exactly the same way.

It’s subtle, but—you notice.

You don’t say anything.

Instead, you just accommodate it.

When you take off your own shoes, you place them next to his, lining them up just right. When you set the takeout bag down, you make sure it’s centered on the little table by the bed.

Juice watches you do it.

And something about that makes his stomach flip.

Juice can tell you’re nervous.

You try to hide it—keep your expression neutral, keep your hands from fidgeting too much—but he sees the way you hesitate before sitting down. The way you smooth your hands over your jeans like you’re trying to ground yourself. The way you glance around the room, not avoiding his gaze, but not quite meeting it either.

It makes something in his chest tighten.

You wanted to be here. You chose this. But now that you are here, you’re not totally at ease.

And Juice—

Juice knows that feeling.

The uncertainty. The hyper-awareness. The way you second-guess if you should be doing this or that, if you’re taking up too much space, if you should be acting different.

So he makes it easy for you.

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice light as he drops onto the bed, boots hitting the floor with a thud. “You’re not about to chicken out, are you?”

That gets your attention.

Your eyes snap to his, a flicker of something like determination in them. “What?”

He grins, tilting his head toward the TV. “Tekken. You said you could battle me. Now you look like you’re about to bail.”

That does it.

Your brows knit together, and you shift slightly, like you’re rethinking how you’re acting. “I’m not bailing,” you mutter.

Juice just smirks, reaching for the controllers. “Uh-huh.”

The shift is small—barely noticeable at first. But it’s there.

You take the controller Juice hands you, rolling it between your palms like you’re getting a feel for it. Your fingers tap idly against the buttons, but Juice catches the way your grip is just a little too careful.

Juice scrolls slowly through the character selection screen, making a big deal out of it. “Alright, important question—do you pick based on stats, or do you just go for who looks the coolest?”

That earns him a small, reluctant smile. “Bit of both?”

He lifts a brow, grinning. “Solid strategy.”

When the game starts, you’re still hesitant—testing the controls, your movements a little tentative, like you don’t want to mess up. But Juice sees the way your eyes flicker with concentration, the way your lips press together every time he lands a hit on you.

He can tell you want to win.

And that—

That’s fucking cute.

It takes a few rounds, but little by little, you start to loosen up.

Juice notices it all.

The way your posture shifts—less rigid, more natural.

The way your hands stop fidgeting between rounds and start moving with purpose.

The way you stop watching him so much and start focusing on the game instead.

And then—

Then you land a solid combo on him, and—

“Oh, shit.”

Juice laughs, half-impressed, half-panicked as his character gets wrecked.

You let out a soft giggle, like you hadn’t meant to do that, but there’s pride in your expression.

Juice grins, shifting closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Alright, alright. That was kinda dirty.”

You smirk, a little shy but undeniably pleased with yourself. “I said id kick your arse”

And just like that—

The nerves are gone.

At some point, the space between you gets smaller.

It happens gradually.

First, just the occasional bump of elbows. Then a slight lean when you laugh at something he says.

Juice feels all of it.

And he doesn’t know if you notice the shift, but he does.

Your knee brushes his.

You lean into him when you groan dramatically about losing a round.

You don’t flinch when his fingers graze yours.

And Juice?

Juice is dying.

Because it’s all so easy, so natural, and he has no idea if you even realize what you’re doing to him.

It’s later, after a few more games, after the laughter has softened into something quieter.

You shift slightly, rubbing your arms as the night air creeps into the small dorm room. It’s not freezing, but it’s enough to make you shiver.

Juice notices immediately.

“Cold?” he asks, already moving before you can answer.

You blink, startled, as he gets up, digs through his dresser, and pulls out a worn black hoodie with the SAMCRO logo printed across the chest.

It smells like him—clean detergent, faint traces of motor oil, cologne something warm.

You hesitate as he hands it to you.

Juice frowns slightly. “What?”

You run your fingers over the emblem, brow furrowing slightly. “I dunno… should I be wearing this?”

Juice stiffens just slightly.

Because—

That’s not something most people would ask.

Most women who hang around the club want to wear something with the Reaper on it. They want the status of it, the claim that comes with it.

But you—you actually worry what it means.

Juice swallows hard. “Yeah. You can wear it.”

You look up at him, your little cute unsure expression making something twist in his gut. “Are you sure?”

Juice exhales, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. “I wouldn’t give it to you if I wasn’t.”

Slowly, you slip the hoodie over your head. It’s way too big, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the hem hanging loose around your hips.

Juice watches, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Because—

Because you look good in it.

Because it’s his, and now it’s on you, and it does something to him that he can’t explain.

You pull the hood up, peeking at him from beneath the fabric with a small, adorable smile. “Fuck yes, it’s so warm, thank you"

Juice clears his throat, and laughs. “Yeah. Uh—good. Cool. Yeah.”

A few rounds later, Juice turns to you, narrowing his eyes. “You hustled me.”

You blink, feigning innocence. “Me? Hustle you? I would never.”

Juice scoffs. “Bullshit. You knew you were gonna wipe the floor with me, didn’t you?”

You bite your lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

Juice narrows his eyes further, then shakes his head, groaning dramatically. “This is humiliating.”

You beam. “Sooo, what’s my prize?”

Juice gives you a flat look. “You already won. What more do you want?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmmm… maybe I just like seeing you suffer.”

Juice points at you. “Evil. You’re actually evil.”

The leftover food containers are pushed off to the side, but you both still have your shakes, condensation gathering on the plastic cups as you sip through the straws.

You’re curled up on his bed, tucking your legs beneath you, sleeves of his way-too-big hoodie haphazardly rolled up your arms.

Juice watches you do it—sees the way the fabric swallows you, the way you fidget with the cuffs absentmindedly—and he has to force himself to look away before his brain short-circuits again.

“Okay,” you say, looking up at him. “So, serious question.”

Juice raises a brow, still sitting cross-legged on the other side of the bed. “Shoot.”

You hesitate, biting your lip for a second before speaking. “What made you join SAMCRO?”

Juice stills.

Not in an obvious way. Not in a way you’d notice unless you were really paying attention.

But you are paying attention.

And you see the way his grip tightens slightly on the cup. The way his eyes shift just a little, as if he’s thinking about how to answer.

He exhales, giving a small shrug. “Dunno. Just… wanted to belong somewhere, I guess.”

You tilt your head slightly, like you’re trying to read between the lines. “And you didn’t before?”

Juice lets out a short, humorless chuckle. “Not really. I mean, I grew up in Queens. My dad wasn’t around, my mom was… well, my mom.” He shakes his head, staring at his cup. “Never really fit in anywhere.”

You frown slightly, shifting closer without thinking. “That sucks"

"Growing up back home, it was more about what they wanted than what ...” You clear your throat, cutting yourself off before you say to much

Juice smirks, glancing at you. “Yeah, well. we turned out amazing anyway.”

You laugh, and he feels lighter for a second.

"This is nice.”

Juice tilts his head. “What is?”

You look around—his small dorm, the low hum of the clubhouse beyond the door, the ease of sitting here with him, just talking.

“This,” you say simply.

Juice takes a slow sip of his milkshake, thinking.

No one’s ever really said that before.

His dorm room isn’t anything special. It’s just a space—a place to crash between club runs, between shit he doesn’t want to think about.

But with you in it?

Bundled up in his hoodie, your fingers wrapped around the cup, your voice soft but open—

It feels different and he has never wanted to kiss someone more in his entire fucking life.

The laughter fades after a while, the high-energy competition softening into something quieter, easier.

You’re curled up next to him, still wearing his too-big hoodie, the warmth of it making your eyelids grow heavier.

Juice notices the way your blinks slow, the way you shift slightly, getting more comfortable.

“You tired?” he asks, his voice softer now.

You hum in response, resting your chin on your knees. “A little.”

Juice watches as you rub your eyes, and for a second, he thinks about telling you to crash here—about just letting you stay.

But he stops himself.

So instead, he just stays still, listening as your voice drops into something quieter, something closer.

“I’m glad I’m here,” you say suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Juice frowns slightly, turning to look at you. “Here?”

You nod. “In Charming.”

Juice studies you, the way your lips curve into a soft, sleepy smile, the way you look down at your hands, thoughtful.

“I don’t know,” you continue.

“It just feels… I dunno. Right, I guess...god how corny am I?” You laugh

Juice swallows, something tight settling in his chest.

Because—corny as it is he gets it.

And the fact that you feel that way? That you like being here, that you’re comfortable with him, sitting here in his hoodie, curled up like you belong—

And then—

Your head tilts.

Just barely.

Juice glances down and sees you, eyes half-lidded, fighting the losing battle against sleep.

He swallows.

Because, damn.

You look so—

Nope.

Nope, not thinking about that.

Instead, he clears his throat, shifting a little. “Hey, uh… you still with me?”

You hum—a soft, sleepy noise—and blink up at him, confusion flickering in your eyes before realization dawns.

“Oh,” you murmur, blinking again. “I, um—yeah. Just… just resting my eyes.”

Juice snorts. “Right. That’s what they all say.”

You smile sleepily, but don’t move.

And for a second—just a moment—

Juice wonders if he should just let you stay.

If he should just—but no.

No, that’d be… bad.

So instead, he lets out a breath, shoving down the part of him that wants—nope—nevermind.

And gently nudges your knee with his. “C’mon, I should get you home.”

It’s late. The air outside is cool, a stark contrast to the warmth of Juice’s dorm.

He walks you to his bike, his hands itching to do something—help you, steady you, hold you.

But he doesn’t, because he can’t.

Because if he does—

So instead, he just hands you his helmet.

“Here,” he murmurs, voice quiet in the dim light.

You look at it, blinking slow, and Juice almost laughs at how out of it you are.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, a small smile pulling at his lips—you finally take the helmet, letting Juice help you adjust the strap before you climb on behind him.

And then—once you climb on the bike.

Your arms wrap around him.

And Juice freezes.

Because it’s instinctive—the way you hold onto him, the way your fingers curl into his kutte, the way your cheek presses against his back.

And it’s so—so easy, so natural.

And Juice hates how much he likes it.

The ride is quick. Too quick.

Juice almost regrets how fast he gets to your place.

But then you’re there, standing in your doorway, rubbing your tired eyes and looking at him like—

Like maybe you don’t want him to leave just yet.

And Juice—

Juice is so screwed.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks, keeping his voice light, casual.

You nod, stifling a yawn. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

Juice huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, no shit.”

You smile—sleepy and sweet—and take a small step back toward your door.

And Juice knows.

He knows he should just leave.

But—

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he hesitates, shifting on his feet.

And then, before he can overthink it—

Before he can talk himself out of it—

He leans in.

Just slightly.

And presses a quick, gentle kiss to your temple.

It’s soft. Barely even there.

But it still makes his stomach flip.

He pulls back quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “Uh. Night.”

And then he’s gone.

Before he does something stupid.

Before he does something he really can’t take back.

[cregansgf]

Go with it— Juice Ortiz

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

“Shit.” Y/n mumbled and walked faster trying to get away from the man currently following her when she seen a guy who looked to be about her age an idea struck her.

“Baby! I’ve been looking for you.” She smiled walking up to the man and pulling him in for a hug “Please go with it.” She whispered in his ear before pulling away

“Hey!” The man who was following her called out

Instead of answering she cupped the guys face and pulled him in for a kiss. He was shocked for a moment but kissed her back. Neither of them pulled away for a couple minutes, but when she finally did she turned her head to see that the man from earlier was gone.

“You saved me, Thank you.”

“Im Juice.” He replied still trying to collect himself but he couldn’t help the huge smile that formed on his face

“Y/n.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

I kinda hate this but if you guys have any requests feel free to lmk!

-hails 🧸

[juancarlos-ortiz]

Safe - Juice Ortiz x Reader (Daughter!Reader x Dad!Happy Lowman)

Request:

A/N: I hope you enjoy anon! I'm sorry this ended up being more Reader x Happy (daughter/father) than Juice x Reader. I'm thinking of doing a part 2 if anyone is interested. Also, lets say that reader is early 20s and Happy was like 15 when she was conceived otherwise I feel like the age gaps would get a little inappropriate.

Warnings: fluff, mentions of sex (off page), kissing, swearing, mentions of killing and violence

Word Count: 1984 words

You wiped the sweat from your brow as you panted, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each inhale and exhale. Sitting up, you leaned onto one side, resting your weight on your elbow on the bed as you looked down at Juice. He was puffing like you, a satiated smile spreading across his face as he let his eyes roam down the length of your body hungrily. You rolled your eyes and huffed out a laugh, dragging the top sheet up from the end of the bed and draping it over your clammy skin. "No, no, no," Juice tutted, ripping the sheet away from you. "Don't hide from me now." He gently nudged you back down, leaning over you and grazing his teeth against the soft skin of the top of your breast.

You gasped lightly, trembling as his hands began to map the warm skin of your torso. "Juice," mumbled as he kissed your exposed chest, slowly making his way towards your peaked nipple. "Hmmm?" he hummed against your skin, drawing a shuddered breath out of you. "We gotta get up," you pushed him off you gently and he groaned, flopping onto his back dramatically and throwing his arm over his eyes to shield them. "Don't wanna," he pouted. You laughed and leaned over, pressing your mouth against his. "You need to get to TM and I told Jax I would watch Abel today, since Gemma isn't up for it and Tara is working."

Juice groaned again. "Do you think bikers can take sick days?" he asked. You just laughed, standing up and grabbing both of your towels from where they hung on the back of your bedroom door. You threw them at him, staring hungrily at his naked form as he made his way to your ensuite. "Your dad has really been giving me shit lately, it's almost like he knows somethings going on," he said. Your stomach soured, any inkling of arousal now completely extinguished. "I really don’t appreciate you bringing up my father after what we've just been doing," you grated out. Juice only laughed, disappearing into your bathroom and turning the shower on.

You pulled on your dressing gown and made your way to your kitchen, switching the electric kettle on and grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard. The low rumble of a motorcycle engine made you pause, tilting your head to the side as you listened. The noise got closer, and suddenly your pulse began to sprint as the bike audibly slowed down out the front of your house. You rushed to the front door, peaking through the curtained window to the side of it. "Shit," you cursed as you watched Happy Lowman swing himself off his bike, undoing his helmet. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," you whispered in a panic, running to your bathroom.

You dragged the shower curtain open quickly, making Juice jump. "Jesus Christ, sweetheart, couldn't wait to get in here huh?" he wiggled his eyebrows seductively. "Juice, baby, I need you to be quiet, ok," you said, waving your hand at him to get him to shut up. His brow furrowed in confusion. "It's funny that you mentioned my dad…" you trailed off. Juice's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "What?!" he asked. You held a finger to your lips as you heard your front door open. "Ok, keep quiet and let me get rid of him."

"'Ey kid, you here?" Happy called out. You left the bathroom, shutting the door behind you and making your way out to where your father stood. You ran a hand over your hair and pulled your dressing gown closer to your body as you walked towards him. "Hey dad, not like you to swing by this early," you smiled, trying to act calm while your heart thundered in your chest. Happy looked you up and down, a scowl on his face. Hiding things from your dad was damn near impossible, and when you did you felt extremely guilty for it. But with your situation with Juice, you had no choice. There was no way he would allow it, and you didn’t want Juice to end up as another tattoo on your fathers stomach.

"You don't want me here?" he grunted, flicking the toothpick in his mouth from side to side. You laughed awkwardly, resting your fists on your hips as you shook your head. "What? No! Of course I want you here, I just… wasn't expecting you that's all," you rambled, motioning to the kitchen. "Otherwise I would of made you some breakfast." Happy's eyes drifted to the kitchen, landing on the two mugs you had left out. You swallowed, your smile faltering. "Looks like you were expecting someone," he scowled. You nodded slowly. "Yeah, I mean, I heard your bike coming so… I thought you might want a coffee or something," you smiled. "But you came from your bedroom?" he asked. You huffed out a frustrated laugh. "Geez, what's with the interrogation?"

Happy only tilted his head, crossing his arms as his mouth pulled into a grumpy frown. "I was running to turn the shower off," you explained. Happy shook his head. You could feel your lies unravelling at the seams, your stomach beginning to feel queasy. "Shower's still on," he prodded. You swallowed thickly, nodding. "I know, I'll go turn it off now," you turned on your heel and began to walk away. "Why is Juice's bike out the front?" he asked. You froze immediately, cold washing over you from head to toe. Slowly you turned, meeting your fathers eyes. "Is it?" you asked, your voice a higher octave. "Maybe he knows the neighbours or something," you tried to shrug nonchalantly, scrabbling to hold onto your last efforts to keep your secret.

"Wrong," was all you father said before he brushed past you, heading into your room. You spun after him, grasping his arm in an attempt to stop him from going any further. "Wait, no wait, dad please I can explain," you pleaded as he shrugged out of your grip. He opened your bedroom door and froze when he saw Juice's cut and clothes folded neatly on the armchair in the corner of your room. Happy turned to you, his face now in an angry grimace. "Don't hurt him," you begged, your voice a hoarse whisper. Happy just kept moving, pulling open the bathroom door and ripping the shower curtain to the side. Juice yelped, covering his groin, his eyes bouncing between you and Happy frantically. "Oh, hey Hap," he said awkwardly, a scared smile on his face. "Fancy seeing you here?"

"Get dressed," Happy barked. "And get to the clubhouse. Now. Before I do something to make you both cry." He pulled the curtain shut and spun to face you. "Living room, now," he growled. "I think there's some things you need to tell me." You nodded, your eyes downcast, unable to meet his stare. Happy left the room and you followed miserably, your heart feeling ready to fracture. No doubt this was the end of you and Juice, there was no way in hell Happy would let you keep seeing him, especially after you had lied about it. Despite being a legal adult, you still never wanted to do things to disappoint your father. Even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness. That and you wanted to prevent the amount of dead bodies piling up in the San Joaquin area.

You slowly sat down on the couch, the backs of your eyes stinging and a lump forming in your throat. You tried to squash the sensations, knowing Happy wouldn’t have any sympathy for tears at this moment. You heard your bedroom door open as Juice stepped out, now fulling clothed, doing his cut up. He stopped when he saw you sitting on the couch, your hands folded in your lap timidly, your eyes brimming silver with unshed tears. He glanced between you and Happy, and for a second you were sure he was going to make his way to you , perhaps comfort you. But instead he turned, and made his way to the front door. It wasn't until the door had closed and you heard his bike start up and pull away that Happy spoke.

"You keepin' shit from me now?" he asked. You shrugged, picking at one of your nails. "You would never have allowed it," you sniffed, blinking the tears away. "Allowed what?" Happy prompted. You looked up at him, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth. You motioned your head towards the front door that Juice had left through. "Juice and I…" you leant back into the cushions of the couch. "And what are you?" Happy asked. Your brows pulled together. "What?" you questioned. "You and Juice," Happy grated. "What are you?" You scoffed and shook your head. "You really want me to explain?" you choked out. Happy shook his head. "You his Old Lady, or what?" he pressed.

Your mouth pressed into a line, and you shook your head. "No, it's not like that it's just… casual," you said. Happy's face turned bitter. "What, so you would be ok with it if I was his Old Lady?" you asked, confused and a little hopeful. It was your fathers turn to shrug. "Just don’t want you being treated like some croweater," he admitted. You sat up straighter, shaking your head. "He doesn’t treat me like that dad," you said, holding a hand up when Happy tried to cut you off. "Seriously, he's so sweet. The sweetest. And kind and generous, and thoughtful. He's funny and understanding and-" "Alright alright, I get it," Happy cut you off. "I feel safe with him," you admitted. "There's not many people I can say that about."

Happy knew you were right. Since you were young it had been you and him. Your mom had split and even though he had his mom and aunt to help out when you were younger, you two had basically been joined at the hip. He had been there for every bumped head, scraped knee, fractured bone and broken heart since you had entered this world. He was your safe place to land, and to hear you admit that someone else made you feel that way too - although in an obviously different way - had him feeling conflicted. On the one hand, he didn’t want to share you. Wanted to hide you from the world and not let anyone ever know about you. But on the other hand, you weren't his little girl anymore. At least not physically. You were all grown up, and to know that someone other than him made you feel safe, well… who was he to stand in your way.

Slowly he nodded his head. "Gonna take me a while to be really ok with it," he said. "But I ain't gonna stop you from doing what you want. Or being with who you want. Especially if he makes you happy." You stood abruptly from the couch, a slow smile spreading across your face. "Wait, what?" you sputtered. "If he makes you happy then I don’t see why I should stop… whatever it is you’re doing," he gestured vaguely. You grinned and raced over to your father, wrapping your arms around his middle tightly. He gripped you back, resting his cheek on the top of your head. "But if he hurts you, then he's gotta die. Like a lot," he vowed. You rolled your eyes and pulled away. "Yeah, yeah, drama queen," you pushed Happy away. "Gonna go talk to him," Happy said, moving towards the front door. "Wait, wait, what? No, what?" you blabbed, following him. "Gotta make sure he knows what'll happen if he fucks this up," he explained. "You're not gonna hurt him are you?" you asked. Happy smiled dryly. "Don't worry. I'll leave his pretty face alone."

[ravennaortiz]

Request

Ohh can you pretty please do a juice one with prompts 17 & 41?? And maybe a little angsty and smutty? Please & thank you!

Prompts

17. I love you

41. How did you get that brusie?

A little angsty and smut for our sweet baby boy Juice? I sure can do that! As Always my stories are 18+. TW: DV,Infidelity

Requested by @mischiefnevermanaged89-blog

Love Rising

Juice isn't sure why he said it. Too be fair he hadn't realized he had spoken those three words out loud. It wasn't until he realized you had frozen, still hovering over his face that he realized he had uttered them. The silence was some how so loud. His grip on your entwined hands tightened, wanting to keep you from running. He was kicking himself mentally for being so stupid. Neither of you were in a position where this could be public.

Your heart was pounding not just from the orgasms Juices skilled mouth had pulled from you but also his words. The implication that what had been quickies and sneaking around had turned into much more. You couldn't deny you too had fallen for him as well. "I love you too" you whispered as you leaned forward pressing your lips to his. Your kiss was cut short by your phone going off. You both glanced at the clock knowing it was Chibs letting you know your old man was on his way home.

*Later that Night*

"How did you get that bruise?" asked Jax glaring at your inner thigh as his fingers traced the darkened area of skin.

"I don't know. You know how clumsy I am" you replied carefully with a small laugh. Jax simply nodded before moving back over you, his mouth finding yours.

You tried not to flinch at his touch. He repulsed you and the relationship between you two had been dead for awhile due to his inability to keep it in his pants. If it had legs, a warm hole and somewhat breathed you could guarantee your Old man had been inside it at least once. Not that you had much room to judge after what you had been doing with Juice.

Jax had been suspicious you were stepping out when you refused him in bed months ago. Little did he know you hadn't yet but him setting his intelligence officer on you had been all the fuel you needed to do so.

You had been so lost in your thoughts that you hadn't realized Jax had stopped kissing your neck. The fury in his eyes told you that Juice hadn't been as careful earlier as he thought. "You fucking whore" growled Jax as he grabbed a fistful of your hair.

***

"Are you okay?" inquired Juice as he knelt next to where you sat on your bed, gun still in your trembling hand. "Is he dead?" you asked your eyes still on Juice but far away. You had no idea how long you and Jax had been fighting for before you had grabbed his gun off the nightstand and blindly fired.

Juice glanced over to Chibs who nodded. "Don't think you missed a single shot Lassie" murmured Chibs as he looked over Jax's bullet hole riddled body. "I'll get this taken care of. Take her home and get her cleaned up and in bed" stated Chibs as he pulled his phone out to start making calls.

Once Chibs was out of the room you chuckled softly. "Guess we don't have to hide anymore" you whispered as Juice grinned and kissed your forehead.

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[marleyelona]

WELCOME TO...

[ SCARS TO YOUR BEAUTIFUL ]

Sons of Anarchy 

☆ 《》 ¤

'ARIYA & JAX'

Synopsis

ARIYA SAMUELS had the perfect life. Married to the love of her life, running a business with her best friend and had two amazing and loving parents.

Well, at least that's what it looked like on the outside. But the people closest to her knew the truth. They knew that Ariya's life was far from perfect. She carried scars that people couldn't see and the ones they could see were always covered up by thick layers of makeup and long sleeve clothing.

Ariya was a master of sweeping things under the rug or putting on a fake smile, pretending that everything was fine when it was far from it. It was only her best friend that knew the truth—the one person she felt she could confined in about anything without judgement or ridicule.

But that was until she met Jax Teller. At first she was reserved. But after a few frequent visits to her cafe inside St. Thomas Hospital, Ariya's walls started to disappear as she discovered that she had more in common with the biker than she first thought.

As Ariya realises she has feelings for Jax, she starts to question everything. This also causes more issues at home as her narcissistic husband becomes jealous of her new friendship, which puts more than just her life in danger.

Can Ariya escape the clutches of her abusive husband?

Scars To Your Beautiful is a story about a woman who battles her inner demons and discovers the beauty within herself. 

☆ 《》 ¤

'THE PASTRY CHEF & THE BIKER'

" There's a hope that's waiting for you in the dark.

You should know you're beautiful just the way you are. 

And you don't have to change a thing,

the world could change its heart.

No scars to your beautiful,

we're stars and we're beautiful. "

☆ 《》 ¤

SCARS TO YOUR BEAUTIFUL | (meet the cast)

ARIYA SAMUELS 

(BRENDA SONG)

24/Pastry Chef/Part Owner of Velvet Delights/Married/From Thai Decent/5'2

JACKSON "JAX" TELLER 

(CHARLIE HUNNAM)

30/Vice President of SAMCRO/Outlaw Biker/Divorced/Single Father/6'0

WILLOW BURNS 

(KAT GRAHAM)

22/Business Woman/Part Owner of Velvet Delights/Hippie/Vegatarian/Engaged/Jewish/5'2

JAMES SAMUELS

(BILL SKARSGÅRD)

28/ATF Agent/Narcissist/Mentally and Physically Abusive/Married/6'4

☆ 《》 ¤

ALSO STARRING...

SAMCRO 

(JUICE & GEMMA)

CHARMING P.D. 

(UNSER & HALE)

the rest of the Sons of Anarchy cast as their own respective characters

☆ 《》 ¤

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Sons of Anarchy. All rights go to Kurt Sutter, FX and any others that made this amazing show possible. I do, however, own my characters, Ariya, Willow and James, and any other OCs I might add in the future, along with their backstories and their storylines within the show.

GRAPHICS: I MAKE the majority of the gifs that are used throughout this book, including the ones on this page. On occasion I will use gifs I find on google. Any gifs I haven't made, all rights should go to those whom created them. I also DO the aesthetics, covers and trailers that are made.

⚠️MUST BE EIGHTEEN OR OLDER⚠️: violence, coarse language, various mental health issues, narcissistic disorder, anxiety disorder, depression, toxic relationships, domestic violence, cheating, violence against women, criminal activity, guns, attempted murder, murder, death or talks of death, inappropriate racial slurs (things said in the show) and detailed sex scenes will appear in this book.

STARTED : April 11, 2025

PUBLISHED : April 12, 2025

FINISHED : ongoing 

[cloveroctobers]

FEBRUARY FLUFF — JUAN “JUICE” ORTIZ.

A/N: Juice was always my man when it came to SOA and I’ll forever be traumatized and bitter over his storyline + how he was treated. That’s probably one of the reasons why I’ll never do a rewatch tbfh. In my mind he’s thriving and I’ve always wanted happiness for him and that’s what he’s gonna get here! Also my first time ever writing for this man so go easy on me although this is more HC (my version) form. Have a happy love day whether it’s with a significant other, family, friends, or just yourself! know that you’re always worthy and capable of receiving and giving love and not just on this one day of the year 🩷🫡

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + I’m using: 19. "can i see your hand?" / "sure, why?" / "so i can see how well it fits with mine." + 35. "let's take a stupid walk for our stupid mental health!"

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩

When you got word from your mother that Juan was back in town for good, you had to see so for yourself.

January’s always been gloomy but when you came face to face with the man you haven’t seen in years at the front door of his mother’s, you wanted to collapse but managed to keep your composure.

Juan’s sad but somewhat still warm eyes are unsure at first, taking in your facial expression but you clear his concerns as you’re yanking him tightly to your body in a tender embrace.

And he feels like he might just break down himself in your arms.

You were just what he needed.

The both of you had to make up for lost time and Juan had to keep convincing you that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Things didn’t work out in his favor in California (little did you know, he barely made it out alive) and Juan never wanted you to visit, although your older brother and his girlfriend, Saskia lived out there—which means you took trips but in a sense you learned to accept that was Juan’s way of protecting you from the demons that latched onto his soul.

You couldn’t take it personally since Ms. Hilda, his mother never visited either but spoke to him every couple of months—which may have been hard or if not harder for her.

Although the both of your mother’s were good friends that didn’t mean the both of you didn’t have your share of childhood trauma’s (because of them) that bled into your adulthood.

Nonetheless the both of you spent a month reconnecting, taking each day by day as it took to rebuild a friendship.

It felt right having Juan back in your life and he can honestly say the same.

“I never knew how much I missed you until I saw your face again,” he said to you over the phone one night.

Juan’s always been a sweetheart and never had an issue expressing his love for you to the point many kids back in school questioned if you were dating.

It never happened but that didn’t mean Juan didn’t want it to yet you found yourself in a few relationships here and there. Which was brought up by your mother during a birthday dinner for your brother (who was visiting) that February.

“I find it hard to believe that you’re still single. I mean hell, when is anybody going to give me a grandchild?” Your mother chatted over a glass of Cabernet playfully glaring at your brother who cleared his throat before setting her eyes back on you, “You know I saw Marlon just the other day?”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at this. You’ve only been at the table for ten minutes, supposedly going over the menu and yet here your mother was worrying about children and your love life.

And she just had to bring your college ex into it.

“Really,” you gave faux interest as you viewed the entrees.

“Mhm. He’s been divorced for a few years now and he’s single. I even showed him a picture of you to see if he remembered you. He laughed about it and said he thought you were with Juan now.”

Your brother is coughing now on his own drink and his girlfriend of four years is patting him on the back.

Glancing to your right you stare at Juan rubbing at his face in thought, who mentally seemed to be having a tough day today. He stayed at your house last night and apologized over breakfast about how he got into these dark moods.

You assured him that he didn’t have to apologize for his feelings. Asking if he wanted to be your plus one tonight, only if it was up for it.

He’d push through it for you because he was devoted to being near you as much as possible since he didn’t want to lose anymore time with his best friend.

How would Marlon assume this? You’re turning back to your mother now, furrowed brows while you reply, “why did he think that?”

“He said he saw the both of you running around the park together. He wanted to say hi but you and Juan seemed to be racing and he didn’t want to interrupt.” Your mother informs, staring at you two underneath her eyelashes with her lips moving back to the rim of her glass.

This didn’t make you feel any sort of way because you also haven’t seen Marlon in years either. You weren’t really checking for him but—the breakup didnt turn sour—it was mutual! however it was interesting to see different perspectives on how people viewed you and Juan.

Juan was gone from New York by the time you both reached your early twenties and by then you were still with Marlon. Juan would visit up at school and hung out with you two a couple of times! even when Marlon tried to put him onto some college girls…there was a part of Juan that felt like he was guilty of something.

Even when he engaged in activities—sure it may have felt great in the moment but he always ended up feeling like shit since he wanted it to be you.

So yes you were part of the reason why he got out of New York and to find a better sense of direction for himself.

You’re shrugging your shoulders redirecting the conversation, “well..I’m sorry things didn’t work out with his wife.”

“Are you?”

“Mom! Chill.” Your brother stepped in which you were somewhat thankful for. Why were you always getting shit on when you knew it was on the tip of your mother’s tongue that your brother “should” be thinking about marriage since she hinted at you once before during your girl’s day.

Although you and your dad both were aware that your brother didn’t want to get married.

“I’m just saying you should think about it or what about that guy from high school? The funny looking one.”

“They were both goofy to me. Especially Stu.” Your brother snorted while you shielded your middle finger from your mother to direct at your sibling.

Your first boyfriend was senior year and he cheated on you with a redhead because he got dumped prior to asking you out. It made sense to him but definitely not to you.

Yeah that’s highschool stupidity for you!

Juan shuddered at the mention of your first boyfriend, “man that guy? He was ridiculously obnoxious in and outside of class and hung out with that other guy…the one who gave me serious serial killer vibes.”

“You did always say that,” you laughed to yourself and couldn’t deny it. You never wanted to be alone with Stu’s best friend at the time, the way his dark eyes bored into yours always made you feel uneasy.

“He’s harmless!” Stu would persuade you before always leaving you with him for at least a minute or two.

Your mother pried, “Well where is he now?”

“Hell if I know? Probably married to another redhead with three or four kids? Still possibly cheating? What is this, a walk down memory lane?”

Juan could sense you were getting agitated about this and placed his hand right above your knee which made you exhale.

Your mother is raising her hands, “I’m just looking out for you and your brother’s happiness. That’s all.”

“I am happy. Go dig in his business then, it’s his birthday anyway.” You suggested while your mother just scoffed.

Raising your brows, your mother continued knowing that you were always ready to challenge her, “I will but when’s the last time you’ve been in a serious relationship?”

“Are you the expert when it comes to relationships now? You waited six months after the divorce from dad to get married to someone else. You settled for dad’s bullshit for years and now suddenly you want to micromanage what goes on in mine? Are you keeping this same energy with your step kids?”

Your brother is calling your name as a warning now but you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t triggered.

growing up having your mother constantly in your ear saying to you, “you’ll never get a bf because of xyz.” Simply from little stupid things you would do as a pre-teen to teenage years was damaging because you were just an insecure kid not worrying about romantic relationships in the slightest. Although you had a mother who seemed to be more concerned about the male gaze for you.

So what if your room got messy? So what if there were days where you didn’t want to be bothered with your hair? Or was too much in grown folks business when your mother would gossip on the phone about inappropriate subjects right in front of you! while also bringing up all of your business to her friends or family members like some sort of humiliation tactic and then never taking your emotions into account when you voiced your discomfort?

Don’t get it wrong, of course you had love for your mother but you couldn’t erase what was said and done. A list of things that still stuck with you and things that you should perhaps just “let go of,” yet she still felt comfortable to talk about your love life like you were some low self-esteem kid.

You never had that relationship where you felt safe to share anything with your mother because of her critiques.

“Hold on now, I’m just trying to make conversation—

“You don’t need to. Not when it comes with an opinion i never asked for to match.”

Then comes the tears and Saskia is tending to her, whisking your mother away to the bathroom with her crying to Sas about how she, “tries to be a good mother and these are the things she gets.”

“Did you have to do this on my day?” Your brother sighs while your eyes are in slits.

“You and dad are the exact same, always expecting me to just take it. I don’t give a damn if it was Easter, if she’s coming at me then I’m going to let her know. I know she’ll always be mom but she refuses to ever see my side on anything.”

“Why does it have to be about sides? We’re family at the end of the day.”

The famous excuse for it all so it seems!

“And we must always be on some we are the world bullshit too, no matter what huh?”

Juan covers his snort at this, which earns him a look from your brother, leaving Juan to mumble out an apology.

It’s quiet for a moment as your brother tries to figure out how to make this okay but you don’t want to stick around to continue this dinner. In your eyes it felt ruined already.

Only seconds pass when you decide it’s best if you go. You’re on your feet, slipping back into your outerwear before wrapping an arm across your brother’s shoulders squeezing him as you peck his temple.

“Love you, mean it. I’ll take you out myself at another time.” You say as all your older brother can do is nod his head, briefly resting his hand on top of yours before you let go.

You’re peering at Juan who’s still seated and say, “want to take a walk with me?”

“Sure, whatever you want, yeah!” He sits up before grabbing his beanie and jacket, “I don’t care.”

You quickly begin to walk off before your sas and your mom come back, sending a silent message to your old friend that you’ll be outside.

Your brother tells Juan, “look after my sister, okay?”

“You got it,” Juan says, wishing the older man another birthday wish before making his way out to you.

The both of you are now walking side by side, enjoying the city’s lights and each other’s company.

“Thanks for coming with me. The longer I sat there getting into it with my mom the faster my brain was telling me to get the fuck out. I figured: let's take a stupid walk for our stupid mental health!"

Juan chuckles at this, “I know what you mean. I also had a disagreement with my sister too before I crashed at yours.”

That revealed just a dash about what led to Juan’s mood last night.

“Yeah?” Your eyes peep to the left of you at the beanie-wearing man, “You want to talk about it?”

It wasn’t much different with what went down with you and yours. Except Juan’s mother was the one to break it up and scold him for defending himself against his sister.

She still felt like he didn’t have himself together (despite the fact that he was now working at a mechanic shop and had a side tech gig at an outlet mall—paid under the table now! If you’re talking about his mental then that was a different story!) either and was the main one who told him not to go out to California. She begged him to stay and that began their estrangement.

His sister blamed him for his own unhappiness and if he would have stayed here maybe he wouldn’t have dealt with that darkness charming brought him.

Which hurt to hear.

He walks even closer to you now as he said, “nah, not really if that’s okay?”

“What?” You lightly bumped his shoulder, “Course it is, just know you can when you want to.”

He gives you a lopsided smile, “Thanks.”

You loop an arm around Juan’s waist, resting your head against his shoulder, as you blended into the city together.

Juan’s dreamed of times like these except you were miles apart but hearts still in sync.

The silence between you two lets you know that you’re both holding onto something so heavy but find that it doesn’t weigh as much when you’re both near each other.

By the time you’re making your way back to your side of town, one subway ride later and more miles to walk back to your place—the night feels like any normal routine.

Eventually the both of you fall into chatter and soft smiles as you continue your rest on the subway, head tucked underneath juice’s chin that his facial hair still pricks your thick hair but you don’t mind.

You’re both laughing about old times when you reach your 1975 raised ranch, half standing on the steps and you’re wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes, “you coming in?”

The last thing Juan wanted to do was head back to his ma’s side of town so a dip of his head was all that you needed, sending him a smile and a nudge of your head to welcome him back inside.

“We gotta eat something although you’re really not supposed to eat after seven…”Juan says to you after kicking off his shoes and heading straight from the main entrance pass the living room right to the kitchen.

“I forgot how much of a health freak you are.” You tease, hanging up your coats in the near by closet.

Juan’s mumbling to himself as he moves around the cut off kitchen, “And you need more fruits and veggies in here. What’s the point of having a juicer and having nothing to use it?”

“My common law sister in law? If you believe in that sort of thing! got it for me. It works as decoration,” You argued, “I can just go buy me a fruit or veggie juice.”

“And be wasteful of this beautiful gift?”

“If you want it, I’ll regift it to you for a belated Christmas gift then.” You sass, going to lean in the archway.

Juan shakes his head while he’s eyeing all the ingredients he’s laid out on the counter, “no point in doing that if I’m just going to be over here majority of the time anyway.”

“Oh is that right?”

“I mean…yeah…if you’re comfortable with that.”

You roll your eyes, “I’ll take you for as long as I can have you, Juanie and you know that.”

He casts a smile over his shoulder at you before waving his hand along formally towards the dining room, “have a seat. This won’t be anything extravagant since your selection of food kinda sucks…we’ll talk about that later but I need my work space clear.”

You saluted, “heard chef,” before you walked into the next room over.

Which leaves you to send off a text to your brother letting him know you both made it safe before choosing to browse social media.

The words of your mother did get into your head as you’re sitting here searching up your two exes and you laugh to yourself at how foolish you were being. You haven’t though about either of those two in a long time, not in the same way you thought about Juan nearly every day.

Yet here you were letting your mother get into your head again: about two men that didn’t hold meaning to your life now.

“Bon appetite.” Juan tells you after awhile, placing the plates down on the table and picking the seat right next to you.

“And what do we call this meal?”

“P.O. In 10. Which stands for: party’s over in ten minutes.”

You both stare at each other and let out a laugh, “how clever.”

A struggle meal of: ground turkey on ranch Doritos topped with cheese and left over black olives with a side of strawberry moscato was your dinner for that night and you didn’t dare complain.

Juan’s gone into one of his rapid conversations of one of his old friends, a guy named chibs that he would have loved for you to meet and of course you find it sweet that he still found someone to speak highly of when he’s vaguely told you that all was not well in charming.

“can i see your hand?" You suddenly ask the man who’s grown out his hair and sported facial hair that made him appear older.

Juan’s finishing off the last of his homemade nacho’s, stuffing his face but doesn’t hesistate as he places his smooth veiny but much larger one into yours, “sure, why?"

You’re tracing the lines of his palm and recall the time the both of you went to a palm reader on senior skip day for shits and giggles although Juan seemed to believe every word the lady said.

He said he had a great tía from Puerto Rico that he met once or twice who was very spiritual but different from a palm reader. His mother got pissed off when she brought her work to the house that one time when she was supposed to be looking after him and his sister.

That soon became Juan’s job.

You wondered about how these hands had to scrap their way through just to survive.

Then you explain, “so i can see how well it fits with mine." Before interlacing your right with his and Juan can’t help but to grin at you.

And there’s that boyish smile that spreads to the corners of his eyes that you can’t resist while he speaks with you, “You’re so cute, you’re corny. If you wanted to makeout, all you had to do was just say so.”

You don’t think about it, “alright, maybe I do.”

“What?! Don’t joke like that.” Juan’s eyes are wide now, ready to slip his hand right from yours.

“I’m not.” You lift your shoulders as Juan sits back in the chair with a sigh.

Juan’s staring at you with a curiosity that makes you want to look away but you can’t.

“What if all we needed was to just be honest with ourselves and look at what’s directly in front of us.”

“…I don’t follow.”

“Us, Juan! I always felt like i was waiting for something, even with the others after Stu and Marlon. There was always this pull and maybe that was you…and if this is all in my head just say that. You can tell me.”

Juan rubs at his face in thought. He already knew how he felt about you and how it never went away.

“No…it’s not all in your head. I don’t know if you know this but…you’ve always been it for me and I—learned to be okay with just being your best friend since that’s what you always wanted from me. I thought moving across the country was the answer but that only hurt us more.”

“Part of me felt like you didn’t care who I was with. You just took it for what it was.”

“You’re so wrong,” Juan scoffed out some laughter, “I just wanted you be happy and not be selfish about wishing it was me that got to do everything with you all the time. They took my space.”

You instantly reply, “Never could.”

“No?”

“No, blockhead.” You lightly grip and shake his shoulders.

“Now we’re down to the insults I see.”

You shrug with a smirk, “Let me kiss you…just to see.”

“See what?” Juan felt his heart hammering in his chest now, “That we’re completely in love with each other? A kiss won’t tell me what I don’t already know, babe.”

A scrunch of your nose is present, “Not you sounding like you don’t want to kiss me—

“What—no—

Sighing you got up from the chair and plopped right down in Juan’s lap, wrapping your arms across his shoulders and staring into his eyes that softened as they settled on your close proximity.

“You smell nice,” he awkwardly says, carefully placing his hands right down on your hip.

You laugh as you move your hands to cup his face, lightly caressing your thumbs over his facial hair, looking at his lips and then back to his eyes before you lean forward to place your lips right on his.

His hands tighten around you but his shoulders seem to relax. Juan can’t hold back the moan in the back of his throat that escapes his parted lips but that doesn’t stop him from kissing you back.

There’s tongue in there somewhere in the mix and the hold the both of you have on each other is enough to erase the miles that were once placed between you.

His hooked nose brushes against yours as you pull back, eyes closed and trying to catch your breath. His forehead rests against yours and Juan has to clear his throat and blink several times in hopes of getting rid of the static that sits in the center of his bottom lip.

“Wow,” he exhales with a grin while you’re playing with the strand of curls at the back of his head.

A satisfied smile is on your face, “What was that shit you were talking?”

“I wasn’t talking shit,” Juan frowns, “I was just saying that my heart already knows what it wants without putting my lips on yours. I loved you the moment your mom forced you to be my friend.”

You shake your head with a smile, “that didn’t take much force, Ortiz. I always thought you could be the one.”

“And…you never said anything why? That would have saved us a lot of time!”

You shrug, “I think our love story is meant to start now.”

“Nope it’s been a W.I.P. but now the progress is actually progressing…”

You squint, “With both of us tasting like Doritos and strawberry wine?”

“If it makes sense to mother universe then who am I to argue with her?”

“At least one of us gets it then.” You kiss his cheek and go to move off his lap but he yanks you right back, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Yeah, that maybe love’s always got our back in the end.”

“So…that’s what’s poking me right now?”

Juan feels his face burn, “Sorry—I—couldn’t help it.”

“I could—

“No. Nope. Not yet, let me just hold you and get used to the fact that I get to kiss you from now on. If…we get to labeling each other that is.”

“You want to be mine, Ortiz?”

“Don’t tell me you can’t tell.” He groans pressing his forehead into your shoulder leaving you laughing.

“Only if I get to be yours.”

“Fuck yeah!”

You nuzzle your face against his profile as you hum, “I’ll love you even more for the rest of my life Juan Carlos Ortiz…sounds like a plan?”

And he feels his heart swell at that, knowing that he didn’t have to be alone anymore the longer he had you in his arms.

“Sounds like the best plan, yet. And I love you too, so much.” He gently says into your ear before you turn to him again, capturing his lips once more.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩

February fluff anthology series continues here.

[juiceortizprospect34]

Ghosts We Carry: Chapter 2

--

Chibs paused, keys to the shop dangling from his fingers. Something in Juice's tone made him look twice.

"Aye, lad. Everything alright?"

Juice glanced around the lot. Clay's bike wasn't there yet. Neither was Jax's.

"Not here," he said quietly. "Can we go somewhere private?"

Concern flashed across Chibs' scarred face, but he nodded. "Office."

The Teller-Morrow office was empty, Gemma not yet arrived for the day. Chibs locked the door behind them and pulled the blinds.

"Alright, Juicy. What's going on?"

Now that the moment had come, words failed him. Juice paced the small space, hands trembling as he ran them over his mohawk.

"I fucked up, brother. I fucked up bad."

Chibs leaned against Gemma's desk, arms crossed, giving him space. "Whatever it is, we can fix it."

"I don't think we can." Juice's voice cracked. "Sheriff Roosevelt pulled me over a few weeks back. He... he knows something about me."

"What could that bastard possibly know that's got you this wound up?"

This was it. The point of no return. Elena's words echoed in his mind. *Don't do it alone.*

"My father is Black." The words tumbled out like stones. "My real father. On my birth certificate."

Silence filled the office. Juice couldn't look at Chibs, couldn't bear to see the judgment, the disappointment. When the Scotsman finally spoke, his voice was low, controlled.

"And Roosevelt's using this to leverage you?"

Juice nodded, finally meeting Chibs' eyes. There was no disgust there, only a burning anger that wasn't directed at him.

"He wants me to steal a sample of the cocaine. Says he'll tell Clay if I don't."

"Jesus Christ." Chibs pushed off from the desk, pacing now himself. "That son of a bitch."

"What do I do, Chibs? If Clay finds out—"

"Clay's not going to find out," Chibs cut him off sharply. "And if he did, it wouldn't matter."

"The bylaws—"

"Fuck the bylaws!" Chibs' accent thickened with emotion. "You're a Son, Juice. You've bled for this club. Your blood is our blood now."

Hope flickered in Juice's chest, fragile as a flame in a storm. "But if Roosevelt tells—"

"Then we deal with it. Together." Chibs gripped Juice's shoulders. "We've faced worse and survived. But you can't let this bastard turn you rat. Once you start down that road, there's no coming back."

The weight that had been crushing Juice for weeks eased slightly. Not gone, but shared.

"What about the coke sample?"

Chibs thought for a moment. "We give him something. Cut to shit, useless for evidence. Buy us time."

"Time for what?"

"Time to figure out how to get this arsehole off your back for good." There was steel in Chibs' voice, the promise of retribution.

The sound of motorcycles pulling into the lot cut their conversation short. Clay and the others had arrived.

"Not a word to anyone else," Chibs said quickly. "Not yet. Let me think on this."

Juice nodded, relief and fear still warring within him. "Thanks, brother."

Chibs pulled him into a quick, fierce hug. "You're family, Juicy. Don't you ever forget that."

Elena's shift ended at eight, and she found Juice waiting in the hospital parking lot, leaning against his bike in the shadows beyond the security lights.

"Did you do it?" she asked immediately, her breath fogging in the cool evening air.

"No. I talked to Chibs."

Her eyes widened. "And?"

"He says we'll handle it. That Clay won't care about... about my father."

Elena studied his face. "You don't believe him."

Juice looked away. "I don't know what to believe anymore."

She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

They rode through the night, Juice's Harley eating up the miles of dark highway. Elena's arms wrapped tight around his waist, her warmth against his back a reminder of what he stood to lose.

They ended up at a viewpoint overlooking Charming, the town's lights twinkling below like fallen stars.

"Roosevelt called earlier," Juice said after they'd been sitting in silence for a while. "He wasn't happy."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I needed more time. That the club was watching me too closely."

Elena pulled her jacket tighter around herself. "What did Chibs actually say you should do?"

"Give Roosevelt a sample. Useless, cut too much to be evidence. Just to buy time."

"Time for what?"

"I don't know." Juice kicked at the gravel beneath his boots. "Chibs can't protect me from Clay if it comes down to it. No one can."

Elena moved closer, resting her head on his shoulder. "Maybe it's time to consider my suggestion. Colorado—"

"I can't run, El." The admission hurt, but it was true. "SAMCRO is all I've got. All I've ever had."

"You have me." Her voice was soft but firm.

He turned to her, studying her face in the moonlight. Elena Martinez, who had patched him up that night after a deal with the Mayans went sideways. Who had looked at his cuts and bruises with professional detachment, then slipped him her number with a smile that had lit up something in him he thought was long dead.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered.

"Let me be the judge of that." She kissed him, gentle at first, then with a fierceness that matched the desperation clawing at his insides.

Later, back at her apartment, tangled in her sheets, Juice's burner phone buzzed again. Roosevelt. Again.

"Ignore it," Elena murmured, half-asleep against his chest.

But both knew he couldn't. Not forever.

---

Morning brought new complications. Juice arrived at the clubhouse to find Jax waiting, his VP patch gleaming in the early sunlight.

"Need to talk to you," Jax said, nodding toward the chapel.

Juice followed, heart pounding. Had Roosevelt made good on his threat already?

Inside the empty meeting room, Jax closed the door and took his seat at the table. Not Clay's—never Clay's—but the VP's chair, with the authority it carried.

"Got a call from Alvarez this morning," Jax began. "Says one of his guys spotted you in Lodi last night. At an apartment complex on Westview."

Juice froze. Elena's apartment.

"Wondered what you were doing in Mayan territory without club business."

"I—" Juice's mind raced for a plausible lie. "I was meeting an informant. Someone who might have info on the Niner's new supply route."

Jax's eyes narrowed. "And you didn't think to bring backup? To report this to the table?"

"It was preliminary. Wasn't sure if it would pan out."

"Bullshit." Jax's voice was quiet but sharp. "You've been twitchy for weeks. Disappearing. Now you're meeting 'informants' in Lodi without telling anyone?"

Juice's throat went dry. "It's not what you think."

"Then what is it? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're hiding something from your brothers. And in case you haven't noticed, secrets are tearing this club apart."

The irony wasn't lost on Juice—Jax and his own secrets about JT's death, about Clay's role in it. But he couldn't throw that in the VP's face, not now.

"I met a girl," he said instead, partial truth better than complete lies. "She lives there. I didn't say anything because... because it's complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"She's Mexican." Another partial truth. "Works at St. Thomas. I didn't want it getting back to Alvarez's crew that a Son was seeing one of their own."

Jax studied him for a long moment, weighing the explanation. "You should have come to me. Alvarez has eyes everywhere in Lodi. You're putting yourself at risk."

Relief washed over Juice. Jax believed him—or at least, believed enough not to push further.

"I'm sorry, VP. Won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't." Jax stood. "And Juice? Next time you've got an actual lead on the Niners, you bring it to the table. Clear?"

"Clear."

As Jax left, Juice slumped in his chair. One crisis averted, but how many more could he navigate? The walls were closing in from all sides now—Roosevelt, the club's suspicions, Elena caught in the middle.

Chibs found him there minutes later, still sitting alone in the chapel.

"You alright, lad? Saw Jax talking to you."

"He knows about Elena. Or at least, he knows I'm seeing someone in Lodi."

Chibs cursed under his breath. "Complications we don't need. But we'll handle it." He sat beside Juice. "I've been thinking about our other problem. Roosevelt."

"And?"

"I've got a plan. But you're not going to like it."

As Chibs outlined his strategy, Juice felt a chill settle in his bones. It was risky. Dangerous. But maybe—just maybe—it could work.

For the first time in weeks, he felt something like hope. Dangerous hope, but hope nonetheless.

*To be continued...*

[whichgreathousewouldtheybepartof]

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: Cussing, Medical descriptions, mentions of blood and injures, fluff

Part 32

A Charming Detour - Part 33

The room is brighter today. Sunlight cuts through the blinds in angled slats, laying stripes across Juice's bed and the pale blue hospital blanket pulled to his waist.

Machines still beep steadily, though there’s one less now — the ventilator’s presence looms, but today, it’s being disconnected.

You’re not in the room.

You’ve been pacing just outside the door, a paper cup of untouched coffee cooling in your hands.

Chibs is with you, leaned against the wall, arms folded, silent but grounding. You don’t ask why he hasn’t left your side. You already know. He’s seen this part before — the waking. The pain. The panic.

Inside, nurses prep Juice. The doctor explains what’s happening in that calm, clinical voice that somehow makes it all feel worse.

“You’ll feel pressure. You might gag. Just focus on breathing. We’ve got you.”

Juice’s eyelids flutter, and there’s a sluggish kind of awareness behind them. Heavy, drugged. Confused.

Then they start to pull the tube.

He thrashes.

His body bucks slightly, instinct fighting what his mind hasn’t yet caught up to. Hands strain weakly against the bedrails. A strangled noise escapes his throat — a wet, gasping sound, equal parts terror and pain. His chest convulses once, twice—

Then the tube slides out with a slick, wet sound.

He chokes.

Eyes wide. Watering. Mouth open, dragging in air like a man pulled from drowning. His breaths are harsh and ragged, rasping around a throat raw from silence. His whole body shudders as oxygen finally moves on its own again.

“Jesus Christ...” he gasps hoarsely, voice like gravel dragged over asphalt. “Where— where the hell— what happened—?”

The nurses try to calm him, one hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Ortiz, you’re at St. Thomas. You were on a ventilator. You’re okay. Just breathe, okay?”

He doesn’t hear them.

He’s already panicking.

“Babe?” he croaks, jerking his head weakly to either side, eyes darting around, bloodshot and frantic. “Where’s— where’s my wife? Where is she? Baby?!”

You don’t remember moving, but the next thing you know, you’re at his side. The coffee cup hits the floor and rolls away. You’re breathless. Trembling.

“Juan— I’m here. I’m right here.”

He turns his head toward the sound, eyes catching you. For a second, he freezes — like he’s not sure you’re real. Like his brain can’t accept it.

Then he chokes out something that might be a sob.

“Baby… oh my god… you—” He tries to sit up but can’t. The effort makes his whole body tremble.

You catch his hand and press it to your cheek. It’s cold and dry, the IV still taped to the back. His fingers twitch and grip yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, leaning closer, your forehead almost touching his. “You’re okay now.”

He nods — but tears are already sliding from the corners of his eyes. His voice is rough and breaking.

“They—they grabbed me, babe. Took me— I tried to fight but there were too many and I thought— I thought I wasn’t gonna see you again. I kept thinking about you, like— like maybe if I just held onto you in my head they wouldn’t win, y’know?” His words stumble over each other in a jumble of emotion, frantic and messy.

He’s trying to smile through it, through the pain and the fear and the raspy cough that keeps interrupting him.

“You look—God— you look— so fucking beautiful. You always do. Even when I’m half-dead and probably smell like shit.”

You laugh, watery and cracked, and press your lips to the back of his hand.

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper. “I saw them dragging you away. I couldn’t— I couldn’t stop them.”

Juice shakes his head slowly, still wheezing a little, but his grip on your hand is stronger now.

Juice’s chest rises and falls unevenly, each breath rasping as it climbs up from lungs still protesting the effort. The ventilator’s gone he looks exhausted, pale under the bruises, dried blood still clinging faintly to the stitches on his arm.

But his eyes haven’t left you once.

Juice is still mid-ramble — frantic, sincere, clumsy in that achingly Juice way.

“Did the guys—did they take care of you? I mean, you didn’t go home alone, right? You ate? I bet you didn’t eat. Baby, you have to eat. Wait—did anyone even tell you I was okay or did they just, like, ride off and leave you pacing the garage like some mob wife in a movie? Not that you’re a mob wife. You’re way prettier. Shit—did that sound creepy?” He pauses, barely a breath between words, and lets out a short, wheezy laugh. “I’ve been out for days and I’m still saying dumb shit.”

You shake your head slowly, your soft little smile breaking just slightly at the edges.

“I’m okay,” you say gently. “We… all came home.”

He exhales, lips parting like he wants to say something else—but hesitation flickers behind his eyes.

That insecure, unsure little twitch of his fingers over the sheets, the way his hand hovers midair before dropping back down like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to ask.

“I just—” His voice cracks a little. “I need to hold you. Is that okay? Or are you—shit, you’re probably scared. I look like Frankenstein’s baby brother. You don’t gotta—if it’s too much, I get it. I just—”

You stop him with a motion so gentle it’s like a ghost moving your hand finds his, and he immediately latches onto it, knuckles white with effort.

“I’m not scared of you,” you say softly. “I was only scared you wouldn’t wake up.”

He opens his mouth, but his lips tremble and close again. And that—that moment of silence from Juice—is maybe more telling than anything else he could’ve said.

You stand slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. Juice watches you like he can’t quite believe what you’re about to do, like maybe he’s hallucinating.

Your weight dips the mattress gently as you climb up, legs folding delicately beside his hip, your upper body draping carefully along the edge of the bed, hand tentatively on his chest.

He shifts with a wince to make space, one arm half-wrapped around your back despite the tangle of IV lines and bruised ribs. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, where his skin still smells faintly like antiseptic and blood and him underneath it all.

Juice exhales shakily.

His fingers, weak but desperate, trace small aimless patterns along your back—like he needs constant contact to remind himself you’re here.

“Baby…” His voice is barely audible now, breath warm against your hair. “God, I missed you. Everything hurt but that was the worst part. I didn’t know if I’d see you again.”

You press your lips to his collarbone and feel his pulse flutter.

“Me too,” you whisper.

He’s quiet for a long moment—until a nervous laugh breaks free.

“They’re gonna yell at us for this, huh? Me all tubed up and stitched together, you crawling into bed like a scene outta Grey’s Anatomy. I love it.” He chuckles, then groans as it pulls at his bruises. “Okay, laughing? Bad idea.”

You smile against his skin, letting the silence settle, letting his heartbeat thud beneath your ear.

But beneath the tenderness, his fingers still twitch now and then — not from pain, but from that nagging anxiety that always lives in him.

The room is wrapped in half-light — the dimmed glow of fluorescent bulbs and the shifting silver of passing headlights through the blinds. Machines hum a low mechanical lullaby beside the hospital bed, soft and constant, as if the world itself is holding its breath.

You’re curled into Juice’s side, your body finally surrendered to sleep for the first time since they took him.

Your face is tucked into his shoulder, one small hand resting just over the gauze taped to his ribs.

Your breathing is slow, even, the kind of sleep that only comes after fear has wrung every drop of strength from you.

And Juice — battered and bruised, tubes trailing from his arms, his head still aching — can’t stop looking at you.

His fingers twitch where they rest on the curve of your waist. Not from pain. From awe.

"Baby," he whispers, voice still raw and hoarse, “you’re really here…”

Your lashes don’t even flutter.

You're out cold.

And he swallows thickly because that alone breaks something in him. That you probably didn’t sleep until now.

Juice blinks up at the ceiling for a long moment, then lets his gaze drift back down to you — every inch of you like a balm to his beaten body.

His hand curls gently around your wrist, thumb brushing your pulse, as if he still needs to make sure you’re real.

“I don’t even know how I got this lucky.” His voice is a hush. “Like, what the hell were you doing with someone like me? You could’ve had normal. Safe. Some guy with a desk job and a Labrador, not—” his voice catches, “—not a guy who drags you into this world. Into this.”

Your breathing doesn’t change. You’re still somewhere deep inside dreams that don’t hurt. And he’s thankful for that. You shouldn’t have to carry the nightmares too.

“They hurt me, baby,” he says, more to himself than to you now. “But that wasn’t the worst part. It was thinkin’ I wouldn’t get back to you. That I’d die there on that floor and you’d never know how much I—”

He cuts off, biting his lower lip so hard it almost bleeds. The words sit on his tongue like a razor blade.

Instead, he tilts his head, pressing the lightest kiss to your temple — gentle, reverent, like he’s terrified to wake you.

“I love you—god—so fucking much babe” he whispers so soft it might not even reach your ears.

Your fingers twitch slightly in your sleep, brushing his side.

He stills completely, watching you with wide eyes, half-expecting you to wake up and call him out on the mess of his soul.

But you don’t.

You just snuggle closer, your body molded against his like you were meant to be there.

Juice exhales, his eyes glassy now.

He closes them for a moment, letting himself rest into the warmth of you — letting the fear go, piece by piece, like bleeding it out of his bones.

The room is still dim, the blinds half-drawn against the world outside. The machines keep their steady rhythm beside the hospital bed, a soft mechanical reminder— beat by beat, breath by breath.

You haven’t moved.

Curled into Juice like a second skin, your small frame fits perfectly against his side, your cheek resting just below his collarbone. His arm, bruised and hooked to IVs, is draped protectively around your waist, his thumb moving in slow, idle circles over your shirt — a nervous comfort, maybe for you… maybe for him.

His eyes haven’t left your face in over an hour.

He watches the rise and fall of your breath like a lifeline.

His face, usually animated and fidgety, is unusually still — soft in a way only the most vulnerable moments allow.

For the first time since the warehouse, there’s no fear of slipping into darkness.

Not while you’re here.

Not while you’re safe.

The door creaks open.

Boots scuff the linoleum, followed by a low murmur of voices. Jax enters first, followed by Chibs and Tig. The latter two glance at the bed and halt mid-step.

"Shit…" Tig breathes under his breath, gaze flicking from Juice’s wired-up body to your sleeping form.

Jax smiles faintly, eyes tired but soft. “Hey, man. Good to see you awake.”

Juice turns his head, careful not to disturb the IV in his arm. He looks dazed, but the second he sees them, his brows knit with something like relief.

"Aww, look at this little cuddle puddle,” Tig mutters with a half-smile.

“Didn’t think Juicy had it in him.”— not loud, but enough to make Juice flinch.

"Hey—shhh, shhh—" Juice whispers quickly, almost panicked. He tugs his arm tighter around you, his hand smoothing down your back.

“Don’t wake her, man—please.” His voice is cracked from the ventilator, but urgent. “She fell asleep. She must be exhausted.” He swallows, emotion knotting his throat.

The room stills. Chibs exchanges a long glance with Tig. Neither of them say anything. They don’t have to. They’d seen it too—the wreck of you after the warehouse, the way your hands didn’t shake when they should’ve, the way you stood in the blood like you'd forgotten how to breathe.

But Juice doesn’t know.

Not yet.

Juice looks over, blinking blearily, and then gestures with his chin toward the armchair in the corner. “Blanket. There. Can you—can someone grab it? She runs cold. Always forgets her jacket.”

Tig hesitates. For a second, he looks like he might say something smartass, something sharp to deflect the knot tightening in his chest.

But then he sees how Juice is looking at you.

Like you’re sacred, untouched, and his whole goddamn world.

So Tig just nods and steps forward, unfolding the thin blanket. Juice lifts his arm slightly — a wince in his jaw as he moves — and Tig drapes the blanket carefully over your back.

“Thanks, man,” Juice whispers, smoothing it out gently with fingers that tremble a little more than they should.

He leans down, presses a kiss to your temple again, murmuring something that sounds like “warm enough, baby?”

You don’t stir.

But you shift just the tiniest bit closer.

And Juice lets out a slow breath, like your body moving was the only answer he needed.

Chibs, still watching, crosses his arms, his usual smirk softened by something almost paternal.

“Yer lass is tougher than she looks, Juicy” he says quietly.

Juice nods, not catching the subtext. Just agreeing.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, looking down at you like you hung the damn stars. “But she shouldn’t have to be."

Juice carefully tucks the blanket up beneath your chin. “Don’t want you gettin’ sick, you've got enough to worry about already.”

Jax nods, jaw tight.

Chibs glances away, jaw working like he might say something — but doesn't.

Tig just stares.

They all remember the image of you with the crowbar. Blood across your face. Rage in your eyes. The screams.

But here you are now, tucked up in Juice’s arms like you’re made of porcelain and air.

Juice doesn’t know. Not yet.

And none of them have the heart to shatter the version of you he’s still clinging to. Not when he looks like that — like you’re the only thing keeping his broken body from falling apart all over again.

[cregansgf]

Runaway {J.O}

Warnings: none just fluff!

this is super short !

“You’re not doing this alone.” Y/n stated pulling Juice in for a hug. “I’m with you, I’m coming with you.”

“Y/n..if they find out, if they find us they’ll—“

“I don’t care!” She blurted cutting him off “You’re all I have and I’m not losing you. I’m coming with you, we can runaway together.”

“Okay.” He nodded “Come on.”

〰️

That day they left Charming and never looked back. It’s been 3 years and the Club still hadn’t found them. At this point Y/n hoped they forgot about Juice and would just let him be as long as he never went anywhere near charming again.

“Mommy!”

“Hi, baby!” Y/n smiled picking up her son who practically ran into her arms.

“I missed you!” He smiled wrapping his little arms around her neck. As they were hugging Juice came into the room, a smile forming on his face when he saw the scene in front of him.

Y/n looked up seeing him before flashing him a smile. “Hi, handsome.”

[juancarlos-ortiz]

Denial - Juice Ortiz x Reader One Shot

A/N: A quick little one shot for Juicy pants - something sweeter this time! I am still working on Marked for Carnage but my life is a little hectic right now. Fingers crossed, next week the next chapter will be up. Please feel free to request a one shot if you wish! I will write for almost anyone from SOA.

Warnings: alcohol, swearing, mentions of sex (off page), kissing, smoking

Word Count: 1466 words

You bopped your head along to the music as you pulled the bottle opener from your back pocket, popping the tops off the beers in front of you. "Here you go, guys," you said, placing them on the bar in front of Tig and Chibs. "Thank you, sweetheart," Tig tipped his bottle your way whilst Chibs gave you a nod. You moved down the bar, serving members and the sweetbutts that hung off them. You had been working the bar for SAMCRO parties for many months now after your friend had begged you to tag along one night after they were down a person. You reluctantly agreed, having heard stories from other girls you knew were croweaters about how rowdy the parties could be and handsy the guys were. But surprisingly it had been a fun night and any guys that did try to hit on you, actually seemed to take no for an answer.

No, there was only one guy in this building you would want putting his hands on you. And he currently made his way to the bar, his eyes meeting yours and a smirk on his face. "What can I get ya, Juice?" you asked, already knowing his answer as you reached down into the fridge below the bar to grab a beer. "Beer please, beautiful," he winked, causing your skin to prickle with heat. Ignoring him, you popped the top and handed it over. He took a long sip and you watched the column of his throat dip as he swallowed, your blood rushing to your core and heart beginning to thump harder. He put his beer on the bar and smiled, aware of just how much he affected you. Crossing his forearms against the wood he lent in. "Busy tonight, sweetness?" he asked. You rolled your eyes, flicking the dishcloth over your shoulder out to lightly snap his arm. "Always busy, sweetness," you mocked before moving on to fulfill another order.

Juice stayed at the bar, watching as you moved around, taking orders, making people laugh, smoothly moving in between the other girls and the Prospects who were also working. He was playing it cool, but in reality his palms were drenched with sweat and his stomach was alive with butterflies. He could stand and watch you all night long, no croweater or pool game even a lick of competition to you. He felt someone elbow his side. Turning to face Chibs, he nodded in greeting. "A little distracted tonigh', aren't ye Juicy?" his brother asked. Juice just shrugged and had another long sip of his beer. "Been a long week, kinda tired," he lilted, trying unsuccessfully to pull his eyes from you. You passed a straw over to Piney with a laugh and shake of your head before you were heading back over to him, the sway in your hips and crook of your mouth making his pants suddenly tighter.

"You want another one?" you asked, tossing the dishcloth over your shoulder again. "I'll take whatever you want to give me," he prompted, causing your mouth to open. Juice was never usually this flirty at parties. You heard a scoff from a few seats down. "Would you two just hurry up and fuck already?!" Tig challenged, putting a cigarette into his mouth and lighting it. Chibs began to laugh into his drink. You huffed and crossed your arms. "What the hell are you talking about, Tiggy?" you sassed, lifting up their drinks and giving the table a wipe down. "You two," Tig motioned his beer to point between you and Juice. "The undressing with the eyes, the flirting…. It's painful," he blinked slowly. "Just do us all a favour and fuck each other." You let out a short laugh, your nerves setting in. What Tig didn’t know was that you and Juice had already had a roll in the sheets. Many… many… many… rolls in the sheets.

But it wasn't something you had made public purely because it was casual and you didn’t want to be seen as someone that any of the guys could have. Juice had agreed because he was fine with upkeeping his bachelor status with his brothers. You weren't exclusive but you certainly had not been with anyone else. You were unsure about Juice, and honestly you didn’t want to ask, but you were both being careful and it was just a bit of fun. But the last few times it had happened it had felt a little more than casual to you. It always happened at your place, usually after a SAMCRO party. The first few times Juice would usually leave pretty quickly after - which had been fine with you - but now he had made the choice to stay the night and usually for breakfast. Which meant you got to talk more, which in turn meant you got to know him better. And that had sparked some unexpected and intense feelings pretty quickly. You had been ignoring them because it seemed like Juice was on the casual train still and you didn’t want to fuck up what you guys had going.

"There is no undressing with the eyes, and Juice flirts with everyone," you shrugged, holding your hands out to lean against the bar. "Yeah right, and I'm the King of England," Tig rolled his eyes. "Can you believe the denial we're hearing right now?" he asked Chibs. "Ye better make a move soon though, swee'heart," Chibs chimed in. "If you don’t make a claim, someone else will." He and Tig got off their stools and moved over to the chairs where Bobby was lounging with a sweetbutt in his lap. You laughed humourlessly, before turning to move away. A hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. You looked up at Juice. "He was just kidding," he said, a forced smile on his face. You nodded and tried to smile back, shrugging your shoulders. "It's fine, Juice," you tried to step away but he held his grip. "You know there's no one else, right?" he asked, his wide brown eyes searching yours. "So what if there was?" you asked. Juice shook his head, gently pulling your arm so you would step back closer to him.

"I'm telling you, right now, there is no one else," he was dead serious, dragging his hand down your arm to lightly grasp your hand, giving you enough freedom to pull out of his grip if you wanted. "What are you doing, Juice?" you asked, looking over your shoulder to make sure the other girls were getting the drinks served. "You have to have noticed that things have been different," he pondered. "Like, a good kind of different." You swallowed thickly, nodding slowly. "I have but…" you lick your lips, Juice's eyes dropping to track the movement. "I didn’t think you did. Or that it's what you would want to be happening." Juice smiled. "You," he ran his thumb over the tops of your knuckles. "Are the only one I want to be going with. Going home to," he confessed. You blinked rapidly. "Is that ok with you?" he asked. You smiled nervously, narrowing your eyes. "It's definitely ok with me, but are you sure?" you asked apprehensively. He tugged on your hand lightly. "Come here, baby. Stake your claim," he stepped back and gestured towards himself. You chuckled, shaking your head, still unsure if this was real or some kind of cruel joke.

Stepping around the bar, you walked to him nervously. When you were close enough, Juice reached out to grasp your waist, pulling you into him quickly. You laughed, colliding with his chest. Grasping the lapels of his cut you tried to ignore the feeling of surprised eyes on you. "You're sure about this?" you ask again, making Juice sigh. "Positive," he said, squeezing your sides teasingly. "No more sweetbutts," you remind him. "And I know that you have that run clause thing but that shit doesn’t sit right with me either," you admit to him. "Baby," he tilts his head, eyes never leaving yours. "I haven’t been with any sweetbutts for months. Ask the other guys. The first time you dragged me through your front door and threw me down on your bed was it for me. There's been no one else. And won’t be. I don’t give a shit about the run clause." You smiled softly, heart warm with his confession. "Well in that case," you pulled him by his cut to meet you in a searing kiss, smiling at Juice's surprised sigh while his hands moved down to slip into your back pockets. "Atta boy, Juicy!" you heard Tig shout. Bobby cursed as he fished into his pocket, pulling out two $10 notes and handing one each to Tig and Chibs.

[could-they-be-a-pro-wrestler]

How successful would Juan Carlos "Juice" Ortiz…

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[marleyelona]

[ GUN IN MY HAND! ]

Prologue

[ Season Seven ]

☆《》¤

RAIN DRUMMED AGAINST THE ROOF, droplets of rain slid down the glass of the living room window. The cries of Angel's five year old daughter filled the room. Angel stood with shaky hands, gripping onto a gun as she pressed it against Jax Teller's chest. In the corner of her eye she could see Juice in the corner, leaned back against the wall. He sat on the floor, clutching his seeping wound, blood staining her freshly polished hardwood floors. 

The SAMCRO boys were tense, hands raised, ready to step in to defend their president. But Jax seemed unaffected as his infamous smirk was plastered on his face. 

Tears streamed down Angel's face, her eyeliner running down her cheeks. Her hair looked like a wet rag, draping over her face. Her soaking wet clothes clinging to her body like a second skin. The bruise around her neck glistened in the moonlight. Her chest heaved up and down as her breathing picked up. The protests coming from the guys became static in the background. Most of SAMCRO were worried for their president, while both Juice and Chibs seemed to yell out concerns for Angel, pleading with her to put down the gun. 

The grin on Jax's face widened, "Come on, darlin', shoot me. What are you waiting for? Do it!" His voice raised with the challenge.

Everyone tensed as the room fell into an eerie silence, so quiet you could hear the crickets chirping outside and the wind whistling through the trees. All eyes were on the blonde with brown highlights in her hair. 

Angel clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowing as her grip tightened around the gun, her finger hovering over the trigger, pressing it further into Jax's chest. 

And then, a gun shot erupted, bouncing off the walls and shattering the silence in the room. 

Angelica "Angel" Raven had no idea how she got here. She had no idea how love put a gun in her hand. But she knew where it all started, and a part of her wished she never answered that knock on her door that fateful evening four months ago. 

Words: 384

[cregansgf]

need him in many different ways

[juiceortizprospect34]

Now imagine Juice doing it when he's jealous 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵 oh mama