#clubhouse law | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soundspeachytome · 4 months

Text

7 minutes in heaven - shohei ohtani au

summary: Y/N snoops around famous football player Shohei Ohtani’s locker in search for a scandal against his clean record but ends up in one herself.

tropes: friends with benefits, friends to lovers(?)

tw: *slight* smut, mentions of sex, oral (f receiving)

word count: 30,033K words (i'm SO sorry in advance holy shit)

hi! it's been a while. when i made this account, i vowed to write at least once a week but it had been so difficult this month juggling work, my chronic migraines, and seasonal depression (lol).

please note i did not proofread this so plsssss i apologize for grammar mistakes and inconsistencies!!

posting this on the last day of 2023, hoping to give everyone a good read before we welcome the new year. so thankful for this small space to try, linger and reset all over again. hope you had a very merry holidays with your loved ones.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

==================================

Locker Lockdown

At around thirty minutes past four in the afternoon, I skimmed the clubhouse for any signs of life. It was only the quiet that prevailed. Clear.

I tiptoed my way towards the player locker room. I only had around ten minutes to locate the correct locker and take whatever I could find. Discovering the locker area to be empty and unguarded, I felt a surge of excitement.

Six years later, I couldn’t get my big break and decided sports journalism could catapult me into somewhere big in the industry. This is my last chance to prove myself, otherwise I’d have to reconsider going back home and write Hallmark greeting card messages again.

Shohei Ohtani’s jersey number is the number 17. Lucky bastard, after all these years and even after going through free agency, he got to keep his famous number, even at the cost of having their senior player give it up for him when he joined the football team.

And here you might be wondering why I’m doing this aside from my sheer desperation to get an official spot in the workplace and not eat scraps of topics editors discarded for themselves.

Some people are privileged to a fault.

And I hate seeing him on TV. Or on social media. Or his Colgate-white smile plastered all over my favorite beer and skincare brands.

Some would say this is the TMZ tabloid level of writing. I say this is investigative journalism. Find out if the famous favorite son-in-law has any flaws of his own and wrap around a bowtie of hidden horrors of sports documentaries.

And where else can we find this but in the athlete hotpot: their locker room.

I found Shohei’s locker right away as it was the tidiest locker among all on display, with nothing but brand-sponsored clothing hung neatly on the rack. He also donned the top shelf with some dog-eared self-help titles and vitamin bottles. While the rest of the athletes have pictures of their girlfriends, wives and their kids, Shohei has an unreleased polaroid selfie with his dog, Dekopin, just right beside his perfume bottles. Dekopin was looking away, captured in mid-yawn, with his ears raised, and Shohei, smiling into the camera with pursed lips and a snapback on.

I got so immersed into reading the ingredients of his vitamin bottles, trying to find anything remotely related to steroids, or any form of illegal bodily enhancements, that I didn’t notice footsteps from outside the hall.

“What are you doing here?” a voice loomed behind me and I dropped the diet supplement bottle in panic.

Only the sound of the bottle rattling could be heard as I locked eyes with Shohei Ohtani, tall and all muscular. His hair was sweaty and unkempt and his eyes held mild anger and confusion. After the bottle stopped rolling and settled somewhere on the floor between us, there was only silence and the cold sweat building up at my back.

I swallowed hard. I planned everything from studying the stadium’s entrance and exit doors but I didn’t plan on bumping into him. Not like this. Not when I’m at the lowest level of the social hierarchy right now.

I could only be ashamed.

Brain still befuddled at the thought of getting caught, I urged my limbs and picked up the vitamin bottle and returned it back to Shohei’s locker. The plan was not to respond at all and run as fast as I could before the rest of his team arrived. That was the only way to keep whatever dignity I have left.

“I said, what are you doing here?” He caught my arm mid-exit and pulled me back, tightening his grip.

“Let go of me.” I struggled to keep my balance and the way my voice wavered was no help at all.

Shohei saw the camera slung over my shoulder and looked back at me, realization hitting him.

“Y/N, are you a sports journalist now? And were you looking through my stuff?” he said, sounding almost disappointed.

“That’s none of your business. Let go of me.” I kept my voice steady but his grip only tightened. The sides of my eyes slowly formed tears.

“What tabloid media do you work for? I should report you. Would you like that? What a shame you’ll be banned from all the games now, right? You nasty journalists just won’t keep your noses away from my business.” he took my camera and deleted all the photos I took of the contents of his locker. I tried to leap for it but he was obviously inches taller than I was and I was no match for that.

“I don’t write tabloid news. If I was, my name would have been all over TV by now.” I grabbed the camera from him and sighed morosely at the lost media. A day’s work is all lost.

“My boss gave me a green light to do a documentary about the team. And the star player.” I wiggled my fingers in front of him, as if to emphasize the word “star” in front of him.

“I came here assuming you and the other players would be here for an interview but no one was around yet. So I hung around a bit and took interest in your nutritional supplements.” Lie after lie after lie. I gritted my teeth and faked a smile. The most convincing lie I’ve learned on almost all my failed dates and relationships was to stroke a man’s ego and have him talk about all the things he is interested in, making him divert his attention to something else.

“You’ve got really good, um, vitamins for muscle recovery there. Maybe that’s why you got so big and strong, right?.” He looked at me dubiously, nodding responsively to be polite. If he took the bait, then he is obviously just like any other guy I’ve ever met.

“I mean, I guess? I’ve been doing deadlifts so–”

Approaching footsteps and faint voices were heard from the hall. Shohei pushed me toward the opposite end of the hall, where the showers were located.

“Wha–” I started but was shut up when he pushed me further into the back of the shower room, swiping the doors closed.

“Shut up if you don’t want to be caught.” He growled and I recoiled back into the tiled corner. On top of me was the almost rusting shower head who had seen better days, and two bottle pumps for shampoo and body wash.

Voices and conversations were starting to fill in the locker room that was empty only a few seconds ago. The voices of men echoed through the shower rooms. You could hear the sound of water turning on from neighboring shower stalls, laughter and tired conversation in the locker area. We were surrounded.

Shohei could be heard laughing with his mates while blocking the door to the shower room I was hiding in.

“Are you using that, Sho? I could use a hot shower right now.” one of his teammates said.

“Uh, no, I was just about to use this room, sorry.” he said, almost hesitating. After a few seconds, he entered the shower room and started undressing.

I widened my eyes and shot him daggers. When he unhooked his shirt from his armholes, I was rendered speechless.

He had the body sculpted by the gods with his wide shoulders and large pecs that glinted under the light. How could someone look handsome and beautiful at the same time?

So when Shohei reached for the waist belt of his pants down, I didn’t know why I had choked on a silent scream. I looked away, embarrassed to have reacted like an inexperienced teenager. I have seen and have been with naked men before. This should be nothing new to me and my level. Or so I thought.

I stole a glance at Shohei, who was slowly walking towards me (or to the showerhead, where I stood under, obviously) in only his boxers on, gazing at me in wild amusement.

We were almost inches apart from each other, foreheads almost touching, breaths almost converging, if you may. If I stand on my tiptoes, I would be almost at his eye-level and I could peck him on the lips if I wanted to.

If I wanted to.

“Sorry, but I need to shower or someone else will try to take this stall.” His voice broke my salacious thoughts. He looked at me and turned the shower on.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m supposed to. Aren’t I? I just got off practice and I stink.” He said almost sarcastically.

“So I’m supposed to just watch you bathe and hope I get out here alive?” Water slowly dripped into my shirt, soaking my chest and exposing a bit of my underwear.

“If you didn’t sneak in here, we wouldn’t have this problem.” He concluded and pursed his lips, not looking at me.

“Shohei? You okay? You sound like you’re talking to someone.” a familiar voice floated into the shower room.

“It was a video on my phone that I forgot to pause, Ippei-san.” Shohei’s face turned red but recovered quickly, glaring at me.

“Oh, well then, I thought you finally had a girl in there. I was wrong.” Ippei laughed.

Shohei started lathering body wash on his body at the slowest pace possible. His hands glided through his chest, stomach, and into the dick he’s restraining inside his boxers. Simply having this view had me almost whimpering. If it had been another day, I would have obviously enjoyed this, having a sexy man bathe in front of me, because who wouldn’t? But under my circumstances, I’m only fairly annoyed at being a flustered, hot mess and I couldn’t do anything about it.

“Oh, fuck, now you got me wet.” I blurted a little loudly as the water splashed and got into my socks.

Shohei’s widened and panicked eyes shot at me.

In between those short seconds, Shohei was able to respond quicker than my brain could. He had faked a laugh and said loudly, “Well, that’s awkward, the video keeps on playing on its own. Let me turn my phone off instead.” gaining laughter from outside the shower area and then reaching for the small of my neck and closed whatever space was seen between us.

Based on what I had learned in self-defense training, my initial bodily reaction should have been this: If someone is coming at you from the front, a groin kick may deliver enough force to paralyze your attacker, making your escape possible. 1. Stabilize yourself as best you can. 2. Lift your dominant leg off the ground and begin to drive your knee upward. 3. Extend your dominant leg, drive hips forward, slightly lean back, and kick forcefully, making contact between your lower shin or ball of your foot and the attacker’s groin area.

Instead, when his lips touched mine, I felt my arms throw around his neck and pulled him closer. They say we’re all beggars for something, and this indulgence I had let myself be greedy for.

When his lips reached mine, I parted like the Red Sea almost immediately, welcoming him and everything that he could offer: the taste of his tongue on my mouth, the smell of honey orange and apricot from his body wash seeping through my nose as I peppered kisses on his chest, and his obviously hard dick grinding against my stomach. When I palmed him, he managed a low growl and caught my wrists.

“Not here.” he groaned.

I pushed my head back inquiringly, both of us breathing too hard.

“I have no condom,” he tucked a wet strand of hair behind my ear. Under the dim bathroom light, I could see his face and chest were flushed. “Next time?”

“Well, usually when two old friends meet after a fall out in college, they just catch up and have coffee.” I said.

He laughed and said quietly, “Okay, so I owe you.”

“The coffee or the protected sex?”

“Uh, it could go a lot of ways.” Before he could say more, I palmed him through his boxer shorts and looked up at him, trying to find his limit.

Shohei bit his own lip and tugged the roots of my hair in a bundle, pulling and tugging from the pleasure. To keep himself from making such ungodly hot sounds, he pushed his tongue down my throat and thrusted his hips back and forth against my hand.

As if to make it even, he unclasped my bra and sucked on my already soaked breasts, a satisfied groan slipped from me. We both pulled and pushed and sucked and kissed each other in the crevices the shower splatters couldn’t reach, silencing the moans before it could escape us.

In that brief and elating moment, while we muted the noise from unsuspecting people, we smothered each other’s groans and reached our highs in the quietest, most pleasurable way possible.

=========================================

7 minutes of heaven

It’s strange how I always find myself in the most ridiculous situations.

The next few occasions that I’d meet Shohei would be wordless and timed interactions in enclosed spaces. We’d see each other in public and pretend we didn’t know each other but slip each other notes of the next place we’d secretly meet. It all felt strangely exhilarating to keep a secret like a fifteen year old would, with all the sneaking and running.

We’ve explored almost every nook and cranny of the stadium, discovering hidden spots of our rendezvous. We’d meet up in a different bathroom and he’d push me on my back while he fucks me repeatedly on the bathroom sink. Pre-game preps meant I gave him blowjobs in his manager’s office hours and hours before everyone even arrived.

Of course, when we ran out of places to hide, we’d go as far as looking for the next empty parking lot and tried to fuck each other noiselessly.

“So when can I take you out for dinner?” he had asked one day, when he dragged me out to meet with him around after midnight. I wouldn’t let him inside my apartment and I refused to do the deed in his either, so he’d bring me to places that only us knew, to fuck, to kiss, sometimes to talk, but more often, to drive each other’s pleasure and only that.

Because god forbid we both catch feelings and lose the fun, right?

So no talking, no sharing of personal details, no anything.

We were in an empty parking lot, away from the lampposts and streetlights. Shohei had made sure that we were well hidden in the dark.

He had his legs spread while sitting on the driver’s seat. His hands, warm and wide, rested on my hips and thighs, lightly urging me to ride him slowly.

Soft RNB music played on the stereo, it was a quiet, still night. It was both our day off so he had wanted us to chill and take the sex slowly.

Slow meant gazing at each other’s eyes–gaze, not look–with endearment or adoration, not lust or pleasure. Slow meant thinking the unthinkable thoughts. Slow meant being vulnerable while coming undone.

And I don’t want the slow and quiet moments. I wanted the fast and rough with no time to talk, gaze or even think, just one hundred percent fun and debauchery.

“Mmm. Maybe when you show me your photos,” I avoided the question but I also knew Shohei would never show me the photos he had taken–past and present. Even when we had been buddies for an entire semester, he had, not once, shown me his portfolio.

“So probably never, right?” he gazed up at me with his creamy brown eyes, hands caressing my stomach lightly.

“Probably,” I muttered and with that he had gripped my thighs tightly and moved his hips upwards to meet me. I moaned when he hit me in the right spots. Any sign of softness he had shown a few moments ago was gone, and only the roughness and unsettling disconnection remained.

This particularly fine day, I would be standing at the mercy of his mouth. He had dragged me to an empty storage room in the east wing of the stadium, hours after practice. According to him, the area stands the exact opposite from the lockers so most people hardly come by. How he had found out about this, I had no idea.

He was kneeling in between me, my right leg hooked on his shoulder, giving him more access and my hands tugged at the strands of his hair every time he licked my sensitive clit.

Shohei’s tongue grazing against me had left me quivering in delight. He stands up and kisses me, giving me a taste. My fingers started unbuckling his belt when he felt his phone vibrate.

“Oops, Ippei’s looking for me.” He pockets his phone, looking forlorn, as if telling me he didn’t really want to go yet. “See you again next time?”

“Yours or mine?” I had asked, brushing up and straightening my wrinkled dress. And when I realized what I had done, Shohei’s eyes shot up and he beamed widely.

“I just– I- I want a proper night with sex, you know.” I explained, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s so uncomfortable having to go commando at work after you had just literally sucked the life out of my vagina, Sho.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He smiled even more.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“What? Fuck off.” By this time, my face felt hot and had probably looked red like a tomato, which probably amused Shohei even more.

“Your place, then. I’ll call you.” he gives me one last kiss then heads out first, leaving me a dazed and pulsating mess.

A shrill sound knocked me awake. It felt like seven thousand screaming hungry babies in my ear, bouncing off around my brain like a pinball.

I looked at the digital clock on the bedside table and saw the time glinting behind the glass: 8:41 PM. I must've fallen asleep after taking a half day off from work, feeling nauseous and slightly feverish. It seemed that whatever body malaise that I have been carrying inside me earlier had sprung into a full-blown ailment.

I pushed my body up and walked groggily to the source of my misery.

Someone was buzzing the doorbell and repeatedly pounding on the door. Great.

“If you’re not dead or dying behind this door, you’re about to be.” I croaked harshly, throat burning; putting all my remaining energy in pulling the door open. I was greeted by an extremely tall man with frantic brown eyes, searching my face.

“Oh, thank fucking god. I’ve been knocking for half an hour.” he wrapped me in a tight hug, I almost collapsed. Partly because of the throbbing headache and overall discomfort that I already felt, but hugely because of the warm minty scent of Shohei Ohtani.

“Jesus, you’re burning up!”

“What are you doing here?” I said, struggling in his grip, his face resting on the curve of my neck. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You don’t text someone ‘at least i’ll die happy today knowing that my last meal was shoyu ramen’ and then not fucking reply after.” We were still standing by the entrance, his face now angled towards me, a look of concern or anger mixed in his face, I couldn’t tell. My cerebral cortex functions seemed to have shut down after witnessing this unexpected tenderness.

“Medicine knocked me down cold.” I shrugged weakly.

Shohei pulled me into the bedroom and tucked me back in, apologizing for his intrusion, putting down plastic bags of what seemed to be groceries on the kitchen counter, and went back to lightly scolding me for proper texting etiquette to family and friends, to anyone really. That my dark humor doesn’t translate well in messages and that I could have really died and people would think I’m joking but really, he got so scared that he went here as fast as he could.

I don’t remember much but in between fever dreams and my ibuprofen haze, I faintly remember the savory taste of rice porridge exploding in my mouth, the constant dabbing of a cold towel on my face, neck and chest, sometimes, my back, too; the smell of rubbing alcohol and a large, gentle, almost loving touch.

I don’t remember much but in between waking up in the darkness and stone-cold silence, I remember soft forehead kisses until I drifted back to sleep; of big strong arms enclosing me into a big embrace, as if to tell me, you can put your guard down now. you are safe here.

I don’t remember much from coming in and out of slumber, but I remember thinking: wouldn’t it be nice if this wasn’t a dream?

======================================

Reset

In the end, I quit sports media on my own volition and got into a friend’s ceramics house. I have always had a thing for ceramics and sculpting as early as college, where I had met my then-professor and now friend–who happens to be the owner of mentioned ceramics house. She had always praised me and encouraged me to join her when she first opened the shop, but as someone who had musings for writing at the time, I politely declined and pursued, you guessed it, journalism.

I’ve always been good at writing, no doubt, from the way professors always had a good word for me, but I always seem to get into the wrong places every time. Time moves fast if you’re a journo, if you’re slow, then the news is rehashed news, it would just be a late-night recap at a midnight slot that no one is ever awake to watch.

Here, inside her shop, it was quiet, and time moved slowly. I can get into my laziest clothes and no one bats an eye. I can finally retire my stilettos and straight cut blazers.

It was all so going well. The customers were always mid-twenties who got interested in our social media marketing of creating your own mugs and other ceramics and always came in in groups, duos, and solos.

Slowly, I realized that not everyone gets to the places they want. Even when you work blood and sweat for it. Not all were built like, say, Shohei Ohtani, whose talent was recognized early and afforded him an automatic slot in the big leagues.

Some are born to be big icons and some, like the rest of us, are meant for smaller, softer spaces. I get that now. It finally felt like I was in the right place and pace.

All this positivity and good timing felt all too good to be true and been proven accurate when the scandal blew up.

Shohei Ohtani photographed exiting his LA apartment with a woman in his arms.

Shohei Ohtani’s rumored girlfriend receives backlash from fans: READ MORE

EXCLUSIVE: More photographs of Shohei Ohtani and rumored girlfriend driving away in his Porsche

Rumored girlfriend of Shohei Ohtani: Who is She?

When I say it was everywhere, I meant it exploded right in front of our faces like a million confetti, falling and twirling fast. It was unstoppable. It was inevitable.

I felt my limbs go numb when I read the morning news. There in bold and black letters was the headline, my name and a clear photo of me holding Shohei’s arm, smiling. A certain news outlet had gotten juice of us and our secret hideouts and had spread all over social media like wildfire. You know what’s funnier? The media outlet that released this was my previous employer. The same company that asked me to snuff out a controversy. While I had failed to give them the news they wanted, I had unintentionally brought them an exclusive that wrote my entire name–and face–off the map and potentially ruined Shohei Ohtani’s clean record.

Shohei Ohtani, despite his happy-go-lucky and passive demeanor, was a very serious and straight-laced person. I already knew this in university but I got to see more of this side of him when we had started the fucking thing. Even though I had clearly told him that I didn’t want any strings attached, it was unavoidable to give and receive bits and pieces of each other when we’re not naked.

I did enjoy talking to Shohei under the sheets. His ingenious ideas and the way he talked about the things he adored spilled all over him, like afternoon sunlight streaming in between curtains, making way even through the small spaces to cast his light. I basked into this warmth as much time allowed me, because who knows when I can experience the glow of his presence again after all the chaos.

He was exactly like the golden hour: a warm afternoon orange luminescence that usually only stays for ten to fifteen minutes a day. If you wait too long to look up, he disappears quickly as he goes, leaving only the faint orange, yellow and pink hues chasing after him before the black of the night takes over you.

Well, now the fairytale has run its course and the sun has set to announce that golden hour is over. Night has finally fallen on me and I’m feeling scared and alone.

The first thing I did was to grab as much stuff as I could and put them all in my luggage and filed for an indefinite leave.

As if like clockwork, my phone rang and saw Shohei’s name on the caller ID. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. What could I possibly say to him? That I used him just for the clicks and the views? That after all this time we spent together, he would realize that I am still the same despicable, scathing piece of garbage who’d trample on anyone just for a few cents?

So I don’t answer. Even when he calls back again and again and leaves me twenty or more messages by the hour. I turned my phone off. The latest message from Ohtani coming up on the notifications bar read, “Where are you?” before the screen flashed to black.

I have nothing but my pride left. I’d like to keep it that way. In such a way, I was embarrassed, too. I thought I finally had something to brag about. A job that I actually liked and enjoyed, a peaceful mind, and the possibility of liking a guy who had shown me nothing but kindness.

And because I couldn’t handle all of this, I handled it like I have always handled things: I ran away like a coward.

I rode a bus without reading its destination card and let it drive me away as far as it could, to someplace where no one knew me or Shohei Ohtani, or had any idea about the news.

The bus drove away and I never looked back.

================================

Waiting Until My Spring Comes Again: Shohei’s POV

Just like that I lost her. She wasn’t even mine to begin with.

When the news broke out, I was so furious that I wanted to drive to the news outlet that published the article and give them a piece of my mind. I knew my blind rage would have done more damage so I didn’t.

Instead, I looked for her and wanted to let her know that whatever happens, I won’t drop her just like that. That I’m willing to acknowledge the rumors and make it official, if she wanted to.

I’ve always been open to the idea of taking it to the next level with her but every time I broached the subject, she would change the topic, get into a foul mood, or try to pick a fight with me. Which I found endearing. She’s so adorable when she pouts. And when she pushes her luck thinking a five foot four girl like her can withstand someone as tall as me.

I just can’t help but laugh and feel a flutter in my stomach. She’s someone who has been adorable and held a special corner in my heart.

Y/N’s face was so expressive and whatever emotion she was in it would always be evident on her face. When she’s happy, a dimple on her cheek shows up. When she’s feeling sad or down, she’d look downcast and would prefer that you leave her alone. When she’s thinking about something deep, she would chew on her lower lip and always had a blank almost unfocused stare. Despite her many faces, I’m sure as hell that I love all of them. I wanted to be by her side when all this shit happened, I wanted to see which face she was making. Is she pissed like I was? Is she sad? I wouldn’t know. The moment her number didn’t connect after I had tried reaching her, I already knew that she was avoiding me.

I lost count of how many messages I had sent her, of how many missed calls and voicemails I left her. She was unreachable. She gave me her spare key so when I tried visiting her apartment, it was empty.

She was gone.

And only the traces of her lingered in her apartment. Her unwashed mug with leftover stale coffee was on the kitchen counter, specks of lipstick staining the mouth. Dirty clothes hanging on her bathroom door, forgotten and unwashed. The peachy scent of her purifier that always latches on to her clothes whenever we go out. Her unread books on her coffee table, some dog eared and annotated.

Everything that I love about her is here except for her and I miss her.

For the next couple of days, I dodged the media and focused on training, playing and practicing. Those three over and over again. I tried to not think about her and lose sleep because of her. An athlete’s wellbeing is connected to quality sleep.

But she was everywhere I went. Pieces of her were scattered all over the places I avoided, and it was my fault really, for bringing her to places we usually hid. For hoping that someday, the secrets we hid would be our stories to tell. Now I just let her memories rot inside my heart, where she should be.

I thought it would be easier when you just let it slip by but the more days that passed without seeing her, the more I feel a gnawing pain in my heart. She had sucked all my sunlight and took it all away with her.

I want her back.

=====================================

My Answer is You

Eleven days. It took me nine days to realize running away was a bad idea.

When I first got off the bus, I thought the place looked familiar. Turns out, I rode the bus to my hometown, to the very south and the last bus stop until it turned around to go back to the city.

When I appeared in front of my mom–the first time in a long time–she had immediately said, “Did something in the city?”

The moment she asked, I broke down in tears. She shushed and consoled me while I cried like a little kid. Like the way I had bawled to her when my first boyfriend broke up with me, or when my love birds died from illness, the other from loneliness.

It feels like I would die of loneliness, Mom. I had said.

Did he really say that? Did he tell you that it’s over? She cooed.

I was embarrassed to admit to my mom that no, Shohei had never told me anything because I had shut him out even before I could give him the chance. But what if that call was already the end of it all? What if answering his call meant exactly what I had thought. That would shatter me more.

So, no, Mom, you can call your daughter a coward but in her heart, it’s all over.

The next forty-eight hours at home was a blur. After feeding me with what feels like a day’s worth of homemade dishes, she made me wash the dishes, clean my old room, and the living room as well. And when that wasn’t enough, she made me go with her to the night market and bought whatever seafood she could find to feed me.

Is this what you did when Dad left? I wanted to ask her. Did you go around acting as normal while nursing a wounded heart? Did you go all through that facade just to show me that you were strong for the both of us?

She had her back to me, her hands pale and creased with age, showing signs of passage of time and her hardwork to put me to school. I know she was trying to make me busy to keep my mind off of Shohei. I’m not sure if she fully understands the scandal but she was trying her best to keep my head above the water. Probably just like how she always did.

I wish I was strong like you, Mom.

On the fourth and fifth day, she had let me work under the sun harvesting corn. Which I absolutely despised. I had to wear sun hats and these jumpers to cover myself from the heat.

“It’s cheap labor for letting you stay and eat my food,” she said when I complained. “Tomorrow, you’ll help me sell these at the market.”

As the days grew idly by, I’ve grown more accustomed to rising early and eating less meat and more vegetables. I willingly went out of the sun more to do housework, like hanging clothes, watering Mom’s plants, however, I was still not willing to harvest her vegetables, which she made me do a lot. When I say a lot, it means everyday since then.

On the eleventh morning, I woke up earlier than usual and found my mom already awake. She busied herself with a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, mom.” I yawned, grabbing my own mug.

“After breakfast, pack your things and go back to the city.” She said quietly.

“Huh?” I’m not sure I heard her right. Is she kicking me out?

She pushed today’s newspaper into my hands and pointed at an article. An article shows a picture of Shohei smiling at the camera, behind him was a framed candid photo of me turning my head just in time when the camera clicked, I was wearing a sleeveless shirt, a shawl draped over my shoulders, and the wind blowing my hair and covering my face slightly. Just by looking at the photo, it looked like a time when Shohei and I drove to the beach. He had brought his camera and took a lot of photos.

The article said, “Portfolio on Love: Shohei Ohtani’s Photographs Displayed for A Cause.”

“....and when the powerhouse athlete gets a day off, he plays around his camera and takes photos of anything, everywhere. He reveals Insider Today that for the first time ever, he is displaying his portfolio to the public at the Grand City Museum starting today until the 31st of the month, with the theme of “hello, love, are you there?”

“...’I don’t know how else to define love but this. I hope when the public sees this, they will instantly know that my photographs are a reflection of my love,’ he said.

“When asked if this was a confirmation to the rumors flying around recently, he just smiled sadly and said, "I'm hoping that this answers everyone’s questions, especially hers.”

“If your face is plastered on all of the newspapers, it wouldn’t make sense to stay here longer.” Mom said after a while. She had finished her breakfast and took them away to the sink.

“It doesn’t end well if you’re too afraid, my darling.” she said, not looking at me. “To love and to be hurt is to be brave. If it doesn’t work out after facing him, then by all means. Come home. My doors are always open for you. And I will feed you rice cakes while you harvest my corn.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. She wasn’t a hugger but welcomed my hug and patted me on the shoulders. “Now go, before all the chismosas wake up and corners you.”

I packed my bags and left home, my heart pieced back together. It was not wrong to go home and seek shelter. What I did wrong was leaving Shohei all alone when he took most of the fall.

Five hours, one taxi ride, and a ten minute walk later, I arrived at the city museum, nervous, anxious, feeling a little lightheaded and hesitant. I wiped my sweaty palms and got inside.

It was not as packed as I had expected, probably because it was a little over after lunch, though there was still a relatively big crowd overall.

When I stepped into the hall featuring Shohei’s displays, I felt a surge of emotion. It was a collection of all the photographs of his loved ones. In a black and white collection, he had photographed his parents holding hands while walking in the snow, a photo of his dog sleeping idly on his couch, a photo of the football stadium in a wide angle shot, showing Ippei and the rest of his teammates playing a warm up game before practice.

When I turned to a corner, that’s when I saw it. There were multiple frames hanging intricately on one side, showing all of the photos he took of me. One during university days, where I was showing him a strangely large eggplant during our photo walks at the market. There was another with me looking at him angrily for reasons I couldn’t remember, and a more recent one, in the middle, where he was holding my hand while I walked forward, back facing the camera.

On the metal plate below were words that read in cursive: “2009–present. Moments of love that I hold dear.”

At that moment, tears had started rolling down my cheek and I couldn’t help but sob. The onlookers nearby started moving away, probably weirded out by the sudden burst of emotion over some piece of art.

They weren’t just pieces of art. These were moments when Shohei and I were together and maybe realized that it was love.

By then, someone on my left offered a handkerchief and I gingerly took it, wiping my tears-strewn face. I muttered an apology for ruining the fabric.

“This is not the first time someone cried in front of my photographs. Some were absolutely heartbroken after seeing them.” a man’s voice said. And that reeled me back as I turned around and saw Shohei standing in front me.

“I knew this would lure you back,” he said, smiling.

His face was a little gaunt and tired. He had dark circles around his eyes that I’ve never seen before. I could only look at him and he looked back. I had so many things I wanted to say to him, so many things I wanted to explain but he spoke first and said:

“Did you get a tan?” he started, raising an eyebrow.

“I-I was harvesting corn!” I said, covering my face with both hands. I didn’t even have the time to put on makeup or a swab of lipstick and that’s the first thing he notices.

He took my hands and held them tightly against his chest. “No one looks this beautiful even after harvesting corn.”

“Shut up,” I said looking away.

He tipped my chin and held my face. “Let’s start again, shall we?”

I raised an eyebrow in question.

“Hi, my name is Shohei Ohtani. I’m an athlete and an amateur photographer sometimes. I’ve been in love with the girl in the photographs since forever.”

I managed a smile and laced my hands around his neck. “Hi, I’m a ceramics maker and sometimes, a farmer, you should see the corn I harvest. You look so familiar. I think you look like my future boyfriend.”

His eyes perked up and laughed at our silly little game. He went in for a kiss and I obliged, feeling safe and brave in his arms.

Let them take the damn photographs and write the articles all they want, but they could never take my sunshine away ever again.

#shohei ohtani au #shohei ohtani imagines #shohei ohtani #shohei ohtani pov #shohei ohtani fluff #shohei ohtani smut

167 notes · View notes

happysoldlady · 2 months

Note

Ok so what if Angel had a wife/gf who’s graduating college for whatever (you can pick) and everyone is there and he’s so proud of her because she put her life on hold because they became parents young and she had to take care of the kid

a/n: I almost wrote the graduating party at the clubhouse too lol! please enjoy!

You and Angel had been together for several years. The first year was mainly just the two of you trying to figure out how to co-exist. And the other four had been spent raising the tiny human the two of you made. Being a parent was one of the most rewarding experiences of your life and that experience was ongoing. But bringing a human into the world had halted the plans you had for yourself. Angel was as supportive as he could be, but club business overruled everything and eventually, you had to drop out of school to care for your child. It was only a year and a half ago that you were able to finally go back, with the help of your lovely father in law of course. And today, you finally graduated.

The university gymnasium is packed with teary eyed families and lined with thousands of graduation caps all belonging to hopeful entrepreneurs. You were slightly older than most of the graduates, your life experience calming your nerves. This was just walking across a stage. Nothing compared to the shoot-outs that so often occurred at club parties. And even as this thought crossed your mind, your hands started sweating a little bit the closer you got to the stage. Your eyes dart through the rows of proud families, scanning for a particular set of brown eyes to calm your nerves. You are three graduates from the stage when you finally find them. There, in the middle, is Angel, Felipe, and EZ. Angel is holding your kid up so they can wave from the stands. You give them a watery grin, and a small wave, and then turn to focus on walking across the stage.

——

“Gracias, señor.” You giggle as Felipe hands you a bouquet of flowers. You step into his arms and plant a kiss on his cheek that leaves his cheeks a little pink. Then, EZ pulls you into a tight hug. His face is shadowed, though, and you remind yourself to explore it with him later.

“Mommy!” Your child runs up, wrapping little arms around your legs. You squat down to give them a tight hug and then stand, immediately stepping into Angel’s arms as EZ takes the reins of your four-year old.

“Congratulations.” Angel mumbles into your hair, planting a kiss to your head before nuzzling his face in the crook your neck. Your arms tighten around him and the emotions of what you’ve accomplished nearly overwhelm you. “I’ve never been so proud of someone in my life.”

You let out a choked sob and bury your face into his chest. To hell with your makeup, you’re a fucking college graduate!

#mayans mc #mayans imagine #mayans fx #angel reyes x reader #angel x reader #angel reyes #ez reyes

59 notes · View notes

fanficimagery · 2 years

Text

Angel’s Reina

The Sons of Anarchy have always wondered just what type of man SAMCRO's Princess was into, but she never dated. Or if she did, she was super secretive about it and managed to date undetected. Now, however, the Sons have some visitors and it seems they're finally going to find the answer to their long awaited question.

Words: 6.3K Author's Note: Sons!AU because Clay and Gemma make everything worse and I like to keep shit lighthearted and fun. Sorry.

For your entire life, being hailed as SAMCRO's princess felt like a heavy weight on your shoulders. Add in a mother like Gemma Teller and a stepfather like Clay Morrow, and it made life all the more difficult. Especially when puberty hit and the Sons of Anarchy suddenly became overprotective big brothers and uncles.

But while they were overprotective, they were also curious as to why they'd never gotten the chance to dole out some pain to a hormonal teenage boy who thought he could put his hands all over you. Jax and Opie were the ones who were most interested in your hopefully nonexistent dating life, but it was your mother who was attempting to plan a wedding to any Son of your choosing so long as it kept you in Charming.

And staying in Charming wasn't really in your plans until Clay wound up dead and your mother not too far behind him thanks to her binge drinking ways.

It took a while for things to calm down within the Sons after losing their President and Queen, but Jax and Tara filled their roles perfectly. You reluctantly took over for the garage, but not before Jax completely gutted it and then upgraded it. You didn't mind the paperwork and filing system, but technology made things faster and easier and you weren't about to fall behind like you mother constantly was.

Then when things actually were calm and Jax started to make peace with the other MC's, only then did everyone start to loosen up and be at ease without constantly looking over their shoulders.

When the clubhouse parties started back up, it was hectic. The Sons and the hangarounds were ecstatic that the sweetbutts made a reappearance, but they weren't too ecstatic at Tara's rules for them. You sat and watched, and then helped your sister-in-law rid the clubhouse of the women who wouldn't stop pushing up on the married men. And when the men made a pass at you, you made sure to pull rank- as much as you hated it- and send the men on their way less they get a beat down from either yourself or your brother.

After numerous parties where you sent men on their way, the Sons started to become curious as to why you wouldn't hook up with anyone. They weren't as overprotective as they once were and were truly curious as to the type of man you'd invite to your bed. But when you refused to talk about the type of man you were attracted to, they took it upon themselves to figure it out by having shirtless men walk around the clubhouse.

They knew you didn't like them too old, so half the Sons were out. You'd seen Opie naked more times than you'd like to admit and never were awkward around him, so he was out too. You admitted to thinking Half-Sack was cute, but he was too nervous around you given your last name and Juice was- well he was too much of a horn dog. You didn't think he had it in him to be faithful, so you were never tempted by him.

The closest they got to you cracking was when Happy stripped out of his shirt in the middle of the club so he could be tattooed. The way he leaned against the bar, jeans riding low and the V of his hips on display, made you pause, but fortunately only Tara was the one who noticed. Her eyes widened, but you quickly shook your head and busied yourself to make you forget about the attractive sight just on the other side of the room. She laughed, but it was easy to squash the crush on the stoic man when you remembered the whole reusing condoms phase he went through and everyone who had to get tested for a STD.

Fortunately for you, Tara keeps your secret, but it was only a matter of time before the others found out.

Especially since the day before Halloween the Mayans decide to roll in for a weekend visit.

Sitting in your air conditioned office, your knee bounces anxiously as you stare at the clock in the corner of your computer screen. It's Friday, which means Halloween is tomorrow, and you're more than ready to start preparing for your favorite holiday. The second the clock strikes five, you're up and out of your seat, and lunging for the door.

"Alright, motherfuckers, clock out!" You yell after exiting your office. "It's Friday, tomorrow's Halloween, and if you're not dressing up then you know the drill! I want the candy tubs filled so all the crotch goblins of Charming leave here with a smile!"

Laughter meets your ears, everyone knowing how serious you took Halloween, and the men on shift start making their way towards you to clock out for the day. You smile at each of them, pulling the beanie from your head and tossing it onto your desk.

"YN!" Jax shouts. "Get over here."

Seeing your brother standing out in the parking lot, you immediately strip out of your plaid long sleeve. You wrap the sleeves around your waist, leaving you in a tank top and jeans, and continue to make your way outside. You squint your eyes as soon as the sun hits you, but you can still see a few new faces standing around your brother.

With a hand shielding your eyes, you nod at him. "What's up?" You quickly glance at the men around him, nodding in greeting, and you grin when you see a familiar face. "Obispo!"

The Mexican man has a lot more gray in his beard than you remember, but he's still as handsome as ever. You turn towards him, arms wide, and embrace him with a smile. "Princesa, how many times do I need to tell you to call me Bishop?"

"You can tell me for the rest of our lives, but it doesn't mean I'm going to listen." You squeeze him a little before stepping back. "What brings you guys to our backyard? Club shit or pleasure?"

"A little bit of both." You glance at each man then, shaking your head in amusement when you see their amused grins. "Mija, this is Creeper, Angel, and Ezekiel (call me EZ)." Your eyes trail over each man and pray the blazing sun is good enough reason to blame the impending redness of your cheeks on. Each man is handsome in their own right, but there's one among the group that is making your insides squirm.

You've heard the names of the Mayans before, but never really had any pictures to put a face to the name. Now, however, as Angel Reyes stands before you, you can't help but appreciate how he looks in a long sleeve shirt with its sleeves rolled up and showing off tattooed forearms.

When you see Angel's arms flex, your gaze darts up to his eyes crinkled in mirth and you know he caught you ogling. Narrowing your eyes slightly in return, you're about to introduce yourself when an arm is suddenly wrapped around your shoulders and squeezing you to the culprit's side. You grimace and look up to find your brother smirking. "Gentlemen, this is YN. Princess of SAMCRO." You roll your eyes at the title. "If you need anything and Tara isn't around, you go to her."

"Yeah, yeah. Prospect's still on bitch duty. I only handle the nuisances."

"Nuisances?" Angel smirks.

"Mhm. Some sweetbutts are rather persistent when it comes to a man in a kutte. If you got an old lady back home and don't want anyone pushing up on you, let me know right now. And for the love of god, stay away from Ima."

Jax chuckles as you sneer at the blonde's name. "What'd Ima do now?" Bishop wonders.

"Still has her sights on Ope, can't handle taking orders from Tara or I, and thinks she should get some special privileges around here because she's been around for years." You roll your eyes. "I swear to god, Obispo, the next time she looks at me wrong I'm gonna take a bat to that prissy little car of hers."

"I thought your fighting days were over, mija?"

Jax barks out a laugh and you're quick to elbow him as the Mayans glance between the two of you in amusement. "She's a Teller, man. If she can't walk around with a kutte, she's gonna walk around with bloody fists."

"Shut up." You swat Jax's abdomen before stepping away from him. "I'm not a violent person."

"Not until Ima's involved."

"Whatever." You give your attention to the Mayans. "If you're sticking around through tomorrow, you guys gotta follow tradition."

"And what's that, querida?"

You gulp under Angel's stare and quickly avert your gaze. "If you refuse to dress up, you gotta hand over cash for the candy funds. Every year we set out a few tables of candy and the kids of Charming stop by. There's usually four or five stations- candy, chips, drinks and pencils with pencil toppers to encourage them to stay in school. Bobby's in charge of the grill and Juice is on music. It's my favorite night of the year and no one is going to mess it up for me."

"You guys don't have to chip in," Jax says and you gasp, scandalized he would say such a thing.

Bishop, however, chuckles and reaches for his wallet in his back pocket. You give a short happy squeal when Bishop pulls out a fifty and gestures for his boys to do the same. Jax rolls his eyes as you skip forward and pluck the cash from Bishop's hand, and then kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, Obispo."

"De nada."

Creeper and EZ are holding out twenties when you glance at them, and you pluck them with a smug smile. When you move on to Angel, however, he pulls his cash back when you reach for it. "Don't I get a kiss too, querida?"

You narrow your eyes at the smug Mexican, heart pounding. When he continues to smirk, you roll your eyes and push up on the tips of your toes to kiss his cheek while plucking the cash from his hands. "There. Happy?"

"Over the moon."

You snort and turn around, folding the cash in your hands to pocket when your brother's next words make you tense. "YN, are you- are you blushing?"

"What? No!" You blurt a little too fast, eyes wide when you look up.

Jax's own eyes are wide, mouth agape in his shock. Slowly but surely, he starts to smile. "Did- did one of the Mayans just break our case wide open?"

"No!"

"Uh, what case, 'mano?"

"Nothing!" You whirl around, pointing a finger at Angel who's quick to step back with his hands up. "Don't worry about it."

"Holy shit." Your brother laughs. "He did!"

"It's fucking hot out here, Jackson! I'm red because of the heat!"

"Or you're red because you got a thing for them Spanish boys," he says a little too smugly. Your mouth drops open and he laughs even harder. "Oh fuck. Wait until I tell the boys."

Unable to think of anything that will deter your brother, you hit him with your shoulder as you pass. "You're a dick, Jax."

"Love you too, sis."

As the group of men watch YN Teller stalk off, Bishop chuckles. "Care to fill us in, el presidente?"

Jax glances back at the Mayans, grinning. "For a couple years now we've been trying to figure out just what type of man my sister is attracted to. She's never brought anyone around and while we know of a few people she thinks are attractive, none of them have made her blush like your boy Angel has."

Angel suddenly preens at the news, clutching his kutte and straightening it out, and EZ rolls his eyes before smacking the back of his brother's head. "Don't even think about it, hermano."

"Why not? Big bro doesn't seem to have a problem with it."

EZ glances at Jax and the blonde chuckles. "If he thinks he can handle her, I say go for it. My sis is a pain in the ass. It'll be hilarious to see her squirming for once."

Bishop shakes his head at his secretary. "If you go after la princesa, don't mess around with the sweetbutts. We don't need any unnecessary drama."

"Whatever you say, Bish. Whatever you say."

Jax laughs as he gestures for the Mayans to follow him inside. "Come on. Let's hammer out the details for the gun trade because come tomorrow this place is going to be Halloween central and my sister will cut a bitch if anyone ruins her night."

. .

As the night progresses, the clubhouse fills with its usual hangarounds and sweetbutts. You've opted to tend to the bar next to Half-Sack, keeping an eye on the happenings all around to make sure you don't have to interfere. Occasionally your gaze slides over Angel, eyes narrowing at all the sweetbutts gathered around the group. You keep telling yourself you're watching them more than usual because Jax and Opie are there, but you can't fool yourself for long. You're keeping an eye on which sweetbutt is gonna get the most disgusting chores around the club for getting too close to Angel.

"Wow. Jax wasn't kidding." Tara slides onto a stool across from you, eyes sparkling in amusement. "The Mayan, YN? Really?"

Your gaze snaps to your sister-in-law and you lower yourself behind the bar, arms crossed atop the counter as your chin rests on your arm. "I can't help it. He's so pretty."

"Wow. I for sure thought you were going to be attracted to the bald one after I saw you ogling Happy that one time."

You chuckle. "They're all hot, Tara, but Obispo is too old, Creeper looks like a strong silent type and EZ seems just a tad too goofy. His smile reminds me too much of Juice."

"What do you like about Angel then? That is his name, right?"

"Yes, and.." you sigh longingly. "I don't know. "He's just- he's pretty," you whine. Tara's head tips back as she laughs. "And then he started with the pet names in Spanish and the lady bits started tingling. It was lust at first sight."

"Do we have to worry about you starting a fight over the Mayan?" Your sister-in-law continues to giggle.

You sigh and then straighten up, grabbing up a dish towel and wiping down the bar top. "Nah. I mean I might glare and be a little petty, but I won't start an actual fist fight. Just a couple more hours and then I get to go home, and all will be well come tomorrow."

"Or he and every sweetbutt dressed in a slutty costume will test your resolve tomorrow night, and I'll end up having to babysit your ass."

"Don't pretend like you're not enjoying this."

"Oh I am," she muses.

Tara keeps you company for the rest of the night, pulling you from behind the bar and taking great pleasure in seeing you squirming over some guy. You end up sitting with the group of guys, sandwiched between Opie and Happy, and doing your best to not look in Angel's direction. Then when the clubhouse starts to clear out, Jax has Juice bring out a dry erase board.

"What's going on?" Bishop asks as he takes in the names written on the board.

"They're making a bet on what my costume will be," you say.

"Please let it be something slutty," Tig begs. "Like last year! That was a great costume," he says while crossing himself and then holding his hands together as if in prayer. You laugh.

"What were you last year?" Angel asks, eyebrow arched.

You slowly grin at him. "Slutty nun."

"The stockings. Oh god, the stockings," Tig groans as the men all chuckle.

"Dios mío." Bishop snorts, shaking his head.

Every bet is worth ten bucks and you're not surprised over half of them guess you'll be something sexy and/or slutty- Velma from Scooby Doo, Harley Quinn, and a ringmaster being some of your favorite guesses. Even the Mayans get in on the fun, Angel and Creeper immediately going the slutty route as well with hopes of you dressing as a sexy cheerleader or a sexy witch. Surprisingly it's EZ and Bishop who take their time thinking about it, but while their guesses are of the non-sexy variety, they still don't guess it.

"You guys are insane." You chuckle as they argue over who's got it right, some even changing their guesses.

"But did we get it right, querida?" Angel wonders.

You shrug and stand, getting ready to call it a night so you're well rested for dealing with all the candy hungry little gremlins. "You'll just have to wait and see."

"And don't go changing your outfit at the last second, lass," Chibs calls out.

"I'm not." Your eyes roll. "But just a heads up, you boys are on your own tomorrow. I'll be here in the morning to make sure we have everything that you'll be setting up and then I'll be going back home to dress."

"It involves makeup, doesn't it?" Jax guesses. You slowly grin at him and the men all curse, hurriedly changing their vote yet again.

"Happy guessing, boys! I'll see most of you tomorrow evening."

You get several decent hours of sleep before you make your way back to Teller-Morrow Automotive and make sure the early rising sweetbutts and Half-Sack know how to decorate for the evening's festivities. Then after making sure everything is in order so the night will run smoothly, you swing by the local diner to pick up some breakfast before heading home.

You don't have to start getting ready until three or so, so you set an alarm and go back to sleep.

And then when your alarm goes off, you take your time in the shower to exfoliate and prepare yourself for the transformation you're about to go through.

The first thing you do after drying off is blow dry your hair. You don't want to curl it too soon, so you clip it at the back of your head to deal with later. Then shooting off a quick text to your neighbor to get her ass to your place, you get started on your makeup.

From your hairline down to the top of your chest, you paint yourself white. Your neighbor gets in just in time to paint the back of your neck and your back, and helps you decide where the best places to shade in black are. Your temples, eyes, mouth, neck and collar bones get shaded in black, and then your neighbor helps you glue on some golden decals around your face, brow, neck and collar bones. You use the gold paint to paint your nose and mouth, and then you keep a small fan on your face while your neighbor curls your hair for you before pinning it to one side of your head so your curls fall over your left shoulder.

As you're looking at yourself in the mirror, you decide to put in some whiteout contact lenses to give you an even creepier vibe. Your neighbor helps you into your strapless white lace dress with a short train that looks as if you walked through ash, and then you dip your fingers into the golden paint one by one.

"Holy shit, babe. You look hot," your neighbor gushes. You wrinkle your nose at her, counting down the minutes until your fingers dry so you can be on your way. "Are you sure you're not trying to impress someone?"

"I'm not." You laugh. "I've had this costume planned for weeks. It's not my fault the hot guys came after."

"Hot guys? What hot guys?"

"Mayans from down south. There's this one in particular who keeps calling me pet names in Spanish. It's taking everything in me to not climb him like a tree."

Your neighbor laughs. "Well if you do, take a picture of him so when you give me all the filthy details, I'll have a face to put to the name."

"Will do."

When you're all set to go, you grab your golden starburst crown and carry it with you. You didn't want to put it on and hit the roof of your car, so you figure you'll just put it on when you get to your destination. Then after kicking your neighbor out and locking up, you find yourself in your car and heading back towards your place of employment.

The orange and black streamers along the fence line of TM Automotive makes you smile, as well as the purple twinkling lights you can barely see since the sun was still in the sky. Inside the parking lot, there are four long tables set up- each table draped in a black, orange, green or purple tablecloths. One table contains nothing but buckets of candy, another is lined with small bags of chips, another has juice boxes, and the last has fun pencils, pencil toppers, and tiny toy desk companions for the kids to play with. There are even Halloween inflatables- a Frankenstein, a patch of cruelly smiling pumpkins, and a black cat- and you can't help the giggle that escapes you.

Parking off to the side of the building and away from prying eyes, you hurriedly get out and use the reflection of your window to put your crown on. Once it's situated, you start your trek around the side of the building and towards the front where everyone is lingering about.

Jax spots you first and his brow furrows before you smile, wiggling gold-tipped fingers at him. "Cat got your tongue, Jackson?"

"Holy shit! YN?"

Angel, who'd been laying on his bike, smirks before pulling his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. "Damn, mami, you do that yourself?"

"Yep." You strike a pose for them before giggling. "So, I think my costume falls under the category of skeleton. Who had that?"

Bishop raises his hand and the gathered men all groan as a roll of bills are passed over to him. He's all swagger as he saunters up towards you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Te ves hermosa (you look beautiful)."

"Thank you, Obispo."

Everyone approaches you, getting a close up of your makeup and wondering if you truly did do it yourself. And after you've answered their questions, you're surprised when Creeper asks if he can take a picture with you.

"Yeah. Of course."

You oblige him, standing just to the side of him as he takes a seat on a chair. With one hand on his shoulder, you glance off to the side as he stares the camera head on. Then for the second picture, you're staring straight at the camera so they can capture how wicked your eyes look.

"What about me, querida? Do I get a picture too?" Angel asks.

"Oh! I have the perfect idea," Juice says. Then looking at Angel, he says, "Sit up."

You can only shake your head in amusement, stepping closer to Juice as Angel hands his phone to the Puerto Rican. Juice proceeds to have Angel sit sideways on his bike, feet planted on the ground so his knees are parted. Then you're instructed to stand between Angel's knees as one of his hands grips onto his handlebar and the other gently holds onto the back of your thigh. Your breath lightly hitches, but it's still obvious to Angel as he smirks up at you.

"Shut it," you mumble.

Juice then instructs you to lightly cradle the side of Angel's face in your hand, your gold-tipped fingers sticking out against his dark facial hair. You hear many catcalls and swallow down a laugh, finally snorting when you hear Opie grumble, "Goddammit. She wore makeup on purpose so we couldn't see her blush."

Juice snaps a couple pictures of you and Angel staring into each other's eyes, and then he moves to stand behind Angel's back. Now both of Angel's hands are on the back of your thighs and you're looking up over his head, staring directly at Juice as EZ fixes his brother's kutte upon Juice's suggestion. He has you looking at the camera head on then, and he snaps a few more pictures.

"Thank you, mi reina," Angel murmurs when you're finally allowed to step back.

You quietly groan and tug on the hair at his chin. "Shut it. I actually know what that one means."

He chuckles darkly and lets you walk away to collect yourself. Then as you make sure the tables are all set and those who are going to help you pass out the goodies are ready, Angel and Juice huddle together so Juice can edit the pictures on Angel's phone with settings that the Mexican didn't even know his phone had.

The trick-or-treating starts before the sun even sets.

Parents used to be hesitant to let their children into the decorated parking lot for Halloween, but you did the most to change everyone's opinion about the MC. Not everyone approved of the tactics the Sons used to keep their streets clean and children safe, but the locals were less hostile towards the Sons now and even uttered a greeting to them when seen out in public.

The Mayans sit off to the side with the Sons who haven't been tasked by YN to hand out goodies, sipping on their beers and eating food that someone had grilled.

"Man, the people of Santo Padre are nothing like this," EZ says, gesturing to the people who are laughing and taking pictures. "They either hate us or are terrified of us. None of them would greet us with smiles like this."

"It wasn't always like this," Jax says. "They used to tolerate us- greeting us to be polite but then scurrying away."

"What changed?" Bishop wonders.

"YN." Opie grins as he watches the woman he sees as a sister. "As soon as Clay and Gemma kicked the bucket, YN fought tooth and nail to turn shit around for us."

The Mayans all glance at Jax at the casual way Opie mentioned his mother and Clay's passing, and the blonde shrugs with a chuckle. "It's no secret YN was dying to get out of Charming because of Gemma and the trouble Clay landed us in, but with them out of the picture she decided to settle down and help clear the club's name."

Angel glances at YN, watching as the kids happily greet her while some even high five her in greeting. He only has eyes for the skeletal queen that Tig's chortle startles him out of his staring. "Oh shit, boys. Ima incoming."

Everyone glances in the direction Tig is looking, but only Creeper sits a little straighter at the blonde bombshell sauntering her way towards them in a sexy nurse outfit.

"She might be hot, gentlemen, but she's not worth the trouble," Jax says. He leans back in his seat, arching an eyebrow as the woman in question nears. "What are 'ya doing here, Ima?"

"It's a party, Mr. President," she muses. "Isn't it an open invitation?"

"It is, but you also know it's YN's favorite holiday and you take sick pleasure in pissing my sister off."

The tightening of her smile is obvious, but no one says anything. "I promise to be on my best behavior," she says. "And besides, we have guests." Her eyes practically sparkle as she looks at each and every Mexican. "What kind of person would I be if I didn't show them a good time?"

Opie snorts, not bothering to cover it up or explain himself as Ima glares at him.

"We're good, mujer," Bishop says.

"Speak for yourself," Creeper mutters.

Ima hears him and practically perks up, sauntering towards him and placing herself in his lap. Everyone chuckles, shaking their head, but they figure this is a mistake Creeper needs to make and learn from for himself.

"Well while you're diddling the Sons' sloppy seconds, I'm gonna go check on mi reina," Angel muses as he stands.

Jax chuckles. "I got twenty bucks that says you can't drag my sister away from candy duty."

"You're on, vato."

"YN?" Ima petulantly pouts. "If you're looking for a good time, I'm loads better."

Creeper quietly groans as EZ starts to laugh. "So close." He pushes Ima off his lap and the blonde scoffs before stomping off when she realizes the group of men are not going to cater to her hurt feelings. "Are all the females like her?"

"Nah. Most of them are pretty decent," Jax says. "They're just being on their best behavior right now because kids are coming and going, and they know my sister will kick their ass if they step one toe out of line."

Everyone watches as Angel takes his leave, startling YN as he comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist while laying his chin on her shoulder.

"Are you really okay with that?" Bishop asks, gesturing to his secretary and Jax's younger sister. "If that's gonna be an issue, I'll warn him off."

"It's fine." Jax waves him off. "Let them have their fun. But if he tries to take her back to Santo Padre, then we're gonna have issues."

Opie laughs as EZ's smile falters. "YN is the only one who properly knows how to run the garage. If she splits, we're fucked."

Creeper chuckles as he keeps an eye out for a female to keep him company later on. "Don't say that, man. Bishop will encourage Angel to bring the girl home if it means she can get the office at the scrap yard in order."

Bishop salutes him with his beer bottle. "Chucky's a big help, but Lord knows we need someone else in there."

As the Mayans and Sons laugh over shared stories of Chucky and how he's faring down in Santo Padre now, Ima glares at the interactions from the opened doorway to the clubhouse. The hottest Mayan of the group chats up YN Teller and the other patched member she had sat on the lap of catches the attention of another passing sweetbutt. So far her night was not going well and she was not happy about it at all.

. .

Once the trick-or-treating is over for the night, you head into the bathroom to remove the golden decals from your face, leaving them only on your neck and collar bones, and then retouch your Halloween makeup. You even lose the crown before grabbing a beer and then head over to the group of men you felt at ease with.

As you're walking towards an empty seat, Angel surprises you by grabbing you by the wrist to tug you down onto his lap. Your eyes widen, though it's tough to tell with the way you're all painted up, but Opie still snorts his amusement. "Goddammit. The makeup is still covering the blush."

Hearing his words, you glance over at your best friend and flip him off as you let yourself relax in Angel's embrace. By the way he's holding your waist, he has no intentions of letting you up. So turning on his lap and snuggling down so you can rest your head on his shoulder, you ask, "Am I here because you want me here or because the sweetbutts are circling?"

"Because I want you here." You take a sip of your beer, grinning. "And because your arch nemesis keeps making the rounds, waiting for a green light from one of us."

"Of course she is." Your eyes roll as you look for the blonde in question. "She's angling for the title of old lady, no matter the charter. Whatever puts her in a higher rank than me, she'll take it and then use her position to order me around."

"What's her deal?"

"She used to fuck my brother in hopes of him giving her his crow, but then Tara came into the picture and stole his attention. When she wouldn't let up, I kicked her ass." You lift your head to take another sip of your beer, smirking when Angel groans at the thought of you being violent. "Then she honed in on Opie after his wife died and I shut that shit down. He got together with Lyla soon after and Ima tried coming in between them, so I kicked her ass again."

"You like throwin' hands, don't you?"

"If I need to, then yeah. I'm very protective of those I consider mine," you tell him. "So, if you need someone's ass beat down in Santo Padre, you know where to find me."

Angel chuckles as the hand resting on your thigh squeezes. "I'm yours, huh?"

"Mhm," you hum.

Your lips twitch as you hold his stare, your gaze briefly glancing at his lips as you subconsciously lean towards him. All the noise surrounding you seems to fall away, but before anything interesting can happen, a hand is landing on your shoulder.

"Goddammit, Tig! I was just about to win the bet," Juice complains.

Jax, Opie, Happy, Chibs, Bishop, and EZ explode with laughter, and you narrow your eyes at all of them. "What bet?"

"How long it'd take for you and Angel to hook-up," your brother muses.

Angel chuckles beneath you and you roll your eyes, standing up. As you finish off your beer, Tig says, "Hey sweet face, I heard Ima spreading some rumors about you to anyone who'll listen."

From the corner of your eye, you see the blonde in question falter in her steps, but you pay her no mind. "I don't give a shit who talks behind my back. Bitch knew better than to let me hear." Tig laughs, his gaze darting between you and Ima, but she doesn't say anything in response. Sighing, you then glance around at all the men who were hoping for some drama. "Anyone need a beer?"

As the night progresses, Angel's lap becomes your personal seat. You've tried four different times to sit on a couch or chair, especially when a sweetbutt sidled up to him when you made a trip to the bar or bathroom, but he always caught you and dragged you back towards him as you tried to pass. No one said a word and the sweetbutts backed off when they realized you were interested in him, but you had to shake your head at your brother when you could see the amusement and approval in his eyes.

You ended up having only two beers before you switched to water since you still had to drive home, and Angel stopped after three. Everyone's talking and laughing, and it makes your heart happy to see both MC's getting along.

By the third time you've yawned, Angel taps your thigh and urges you to stand up. "Come on, hermosa. Let's go."

"Go? Go where?"

"You need sleep."

Angel grabs your hand just as you catch Jax's gaze and at his arched eyebrow, you shake your head. You will not be spending the night in the dorms.

But still you walk hand-in-hand with Angel, letting him lead the way down a familiar hallway and towards a dorm that Jax most likely assigned him. Just as he moves to grab the key from his pocket, you place a hand on his arm to stop him. "As much as I wanna spend the night with you, I need to go home." Angel glances at you in surprise, mouth opening to reply, but you push on. "There's no way in hell I'm sleeping with all this makeup on," you say while gesturing to your face and upper body. "And I need my contact case for the lenses. I actually really like these."

Angel sighs, realizing you have a point. He gives up on the hunt for his room key, turning so his back is to the wall and he's holding onto both of your hands loosely in front of him. "Too bad, querida. We roll out as soon as we wake up tomorrow."

A moment of silence lingers between the two of you before your lips twitch. "Well.. you could always come back to mine." You step closer, dropping one of his hands so your hand can cradle the side of his neck before sliding back and scraping the back of his neck with your nails. His eyelids flutter as he quietly groans and you smirk. "Bed's big enough for more than one person."

"Is that right?" Angel gulps.

"Yep." You pull on his neck so he lowers his face towards you, but stop him when he's close enough for your lips to brush his. "Think of all the uninterrupted fun we could have." He tries to capture your lips, but you pull back just out of reach. "I would kiss 'ya, but I'm not about to smear my makeup all around your mouth and let those idiots out front know exactly what's going on."

His resolve seems to harden right before your eyes. "House. Now."

As soon as Angel straightens up, his grip tightens on your one hand and he practically drags you out of the hallway. You can't help but laugh at his eagerness, your laughter growing louder at the whoops and hollers you hear from both the Sons and Mayans as they watch him drag you away. Suddenly, you're very grateful for your skeletal makeup because you can feel your face and ears burning.

As you near the exit to the clubhouse, you can't help but smirk as you flip off Ima who's watching you and Angel with a frown.

Happy Halloween indeed.

#angel reyes x reader #soa gen fic x reader #mayans gen fic x reader #sons of anarchy imagine #soa imagine #mayans mc imagine #mayans imagine #jax teller #angel reyes #obispo losa #bishop losa #sons of anarchy #soa #mayans #mayans mc

1K notes · View notes

nyaskitten · 8 months

Text

I wonder how people with different jobs would adapt after the Merge.

Historians would be ELATED to find the missing pieces in so much history, like the history of the FSM, or the secrets behind the oni (I would be excited ab that tbh)

Your average teacher would be sooo sick of having soo many new students, and the subjects changing drastically to account for all the new students, and historical developments and all that, as well as likely needing to add even more topics and different methods of teaching.

Explorers like the Explorer's Club would LOVE trying to steal all historical artifacts from other realms, to put them in their musty-ass clubhouse, hopefully getting vaporized and atomized in the process !!!!!

Law enforcement would have a hard time expanding throughout the realms (AND THANK GOODNESS FOR THAT!!!) and would find it hard to impose law and order onto other realms.

There are likely wayyy more hospitals, all learning all the different things people from other realms have figured out and changing how they practice medicine and all that.

#ninjago #raine's rambles #ninjago dragons rising

125 notes · View notes

rookthorne · 1 year

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥

Bucky swore — he swore — that no harm would ever befall you, but he couldn’t fight against your own body. It would not stop him from tearing down mountains and breaking every law to keep you alive, though.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✰ Biker!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✰ 3.3k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✰ Hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, sick fic, hospital environment

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ✰ We're finishing this insane month with a bang, folks.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✰ Angel by Sarah McLachlan

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✰ Whumptober 2022 — Masterlist

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Bucky had kept watch over you for days - several very long fucking days. The illness that had you in its grasp was worsening every hour, but ever so stubbornly, you refused to get help, or let him call Stephen just to check you over.

Each day that passed brought him closer and closer to a nervous breakdown.

“It’s just the flu, Buck,” you had mumbled after a violent coughing fit. Bucky just stared, incredulously, into your much too flushed face that was soaked with sweat, and then glanced down your body to see your shivering frame wrapped in a dozen or so blankets.

If this was just a flu, he would sell every single damn gun and bullet he owned, and turn in his patch. Presidency be damned.

Bucky had seen what pneumonia could do to a person - when he and Steve were kids, Steve had been struck down more times than Bucky could count on both hands with numerous chest infections, and bouts of pneumonia that almost killed him.

It was a cruel twist of fate that you lay here before him just as sickly, and frail.

You had been so out of it that night that you didn’t even realise Bucky had moved you from his apartment, and onto the games room couch, where he and the others could keep an eye on you. Bucky hadn’t let you rest at home either - he told you it was so he could keep an eye on you himself while he ‘worked’, but the truth he omitted that the clubhouse was, in fact, closer to the hospital, than your home.

They all understood that when his Queen was down and out - whether you were a friend or a foe, you would incur his fury if even a hair on your head was out of place.

Bucky had settled himself next to the couch on the hardwood floor so he could watch your face for any sign of unusual discomfort, and he compulsively stroked your cheek with his thumb - a quiet but soft ritual of reassurance, that you were still here.

Quiet footsteps approached his side and Bucky glanced from the corner of his eye to see Peter. “Hey, boss,” Peter whispered and Bucky nodded once, too focused on you to think of anything else. “How is she?” Peter asked quietly, peering over Bucky’s shoulder to look at your face that was much too pale.

“‘M not sure,” Bucky mumbled back. He carefully moved some of your hair from your face when your eyes finally opened. “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered and he watched you smile weakly.

The dimmed lights of the clubhouse did no favours for your worsening pallor, and Bucky felt helpless. He had fought with you over whether to go to hospital and you had adamantly refused. Even after Steve, Sam, Peter, and Natasha chimed in, you foolishly stood steadfast at the fact you were not stepping foot in a hospital over the ‘flu’.

Bucky knew the real reason, though. Hospitals were hard enough to stomach when he or one of the guys landed there, but for yourself? Hell would freeze over before you’d step foot in there willingly, for your own sake.

He watched your bleary eyes focus on his face until they fell shut again, the flood of exhaustion too much to fight against. “That’s it, baby, need you to rest up,” he said quietly, resting his palm against your cheek so he could keep the hair from your face.

“Buck,” Steve spoke up, and Bucky turned his head to look at him. “She’s getting worse by the hour-”

“I am not fuckin’ taking her, Stevie,” Bucky argued, though he was losing this argument and his resolve the longer he sat in front of you and heard your wheezing breaths. “She’ll hate me, I can’t do it.”

Peter’s hand rested on his shoulder and squeezed. “Boss, you might not have a choice,” Bucky looked up at him, only to see him staring at you. “I have a bad feeling, I can’t shake it.”

“No hospital.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped to your pale face and he stared, shocked that you had woken so soon. Your breathing was laboured, your voice alarmingly weak, and it looked like you were fighting for every second you stayed conscious.

“Sweets, we have to-” Peter started, crouching down to your level next to Bucky.

“I said no hos-” A violent coughing fit wracked your frame and Bucky launched forward.

“Easy, easy,” he soothed, manoeuvring your shaking body so you would be sitting up. “Hang on, baby, hang on,” his palm landed hard against your spine between your shoulders, and Peter was ready with a bowl when you coughed up a hawk of phlegm.

With you sitting up and forward, Bucky slipped in behind you to hold you to his chest. It was killing him, seeing you like this - he could feel every rattle and cough in his own ribs.

Bucky was so preoccupied with soothing you; he missed the shared look of worry between Steve, Sam, and Peter. If Natasha hadn’t gone to bed after spending the whole day with you and missed this violent fit, she would have taken charge and called an ambulance, regardless of Bucky’s protests.

The coughing fit eased and the rattle of your lungs only instilled a sense of fear in Bucky that finally overrode any need to comfort you.

You had to go, and you had to go now.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, mindful to keep up the soft touches on your back and shoulders while you fought for breath. Peter moved the bowl away and walked back to the others, talking quietly amongst themselves. “We have to go, I’ll be there the whole time, I promise. You remember that promise I made you?”

You nodded slowly, and rested your head against his shoulder. “Please, no,” you whispered hoarsely. “If I have another fit, I’ll let you.”

Bucky sighed and looked up at his family, all of whom were watching the two of you like hawks. “Okay, just rest, baby, I’ll take you if you have another fit,” Bucky said, loud enough for the others to hear. They looked uneasy and Sam went to say something, but Bucky silenced him with a sharp glare - you had made a compromise, it was okay.

You relaxed into Bucky’s chest and he tried his hardest to calm down, desperately ignoring the way your chest stuttered with every breath.

It was going to be okay.

Time seemed to drag the longer he sat with you in his lap, your ragged and heavy breaths that hitched with every single inhale and exhale drove him to the brink of nervous collapse.

Steve, Sam, and Peter were still sitting at the bar playing a game of cards, for which Bucky was immeasurably grateful that they had stayed up with him, even under the illusion of ‘club business’ - he had to pretend everything was normal, that he wasn’t untethered.

Cards hit the bar with a slap and Bucky heard Steve grumble, annoyed at yet another loss, when it happened.

Bucky was watching old cartoons on the TV mounted to the wall when he felt you shift slightly, and he looked down to see your one visible hand in the bundle of blankets lying abnormally still. You always had a slight twitch in your sleep, and if you were positioned right while lying next to him when you slept, you would tickle his side or neck and wake him.

“Okay,” Bucky mumbled, “you’re alright.”

A single bead of sweat trailed down the side of your face and down your neck, where your pulse was racing. Bucky frowned and gently grabbed hold of your chin, tilting it backwards so the back of your head rested against the couch.

You were pliant - a limp weight in Bucky’s arms.

There was no visible change to your pallor, aside from your lips being abnormally pale compared to what they were before, and there was no change to your breathing.

Bucky, however, could not help feel ice cold dread burn through his veins - the heavy weight of it settled deep in his stomach like an anvil.

“Can you hear me, doll?” The cards on the bar behind him stopped shuffling, and Bucky heard the bar stools creak and scrape against the floor. “Baby?” He watched your face for any sign of acknowledgement, any sign that you had heard him.

Nothing.

He could feel the presence of the others standing behind him and he willed his heart to settle. “I think she’s asleep.”

“You feel it, too?” Bucky looked up at Peter and gaped. How the hell?

“Yeah,” Sam cut in. He moved to sit in the recliner next to the couch. “I do.”

Your face twitched, and Bucky stared wide-eyed with fear, searching your expression for something, anything. “I don’t-”

“Boss,” Peter started, and Bucky looked at him quickly. He was shuffling his feet against the floor like he was preparing to run. “Boss, we gotta go-” Peter pointed at your face and Bucky turned to look back at you.

Horror struck, he watched your lips become tinged with blue, and your breaths, once laboured and slow, turn into shallow pants - almost like you were gasping for air that wouldn’t come.

All hell broke loose.

“Buck-” Steve yelled, but Bucky had already pulled you flush to his chest, and slipped his arm under your knees, and the other behind your shoulders.

“Fucking MOVE!”

Peter sprinted to the door and ripped your car keys from the wall, his light feet pounded against the cement when he ran to your car to start it. The car revved to life just as Bucky reached the doorway.

“Go! Go, go!” Sam shouted, grabbing the keys to their bikes. Steve caught his keys when Sam threw them, and Peter ran from your car to his bike.

“Parker! You’re up front!” Bucky heard Steve yell as he ran to your car, ignorant of the break in hierarchy - you were fucking dying, to hell with it. “We’ll be right behind you!” Steve shouted, and his bike roared to life.

Bucky managed to manoeuvre you into the passenger seat with little fight. You were a deadweight, and that terrified him more than any nightmare he had ever experienced.

Hell, this was a nightmare come true.

“Baby, stay with me,” Bucky rushed, his hands eerily steady while he buckled you in. He slammed the door shut and slid into the driver’s seat, forgoing his own belt in favour of peeling out of the lot behind Peter.

You coughed wetly next to him, and Bucky turned to look at you - his breath hitched as fear twisted his gut into a fisherman’s knot when a rivulet of phlegm dribbled from the corner of your mouth.

Your lips were too fucking blue.

“Baby,” he called, his eyes returning to the road as he ran red light after red light. “I’m takin’ you to the hospital, stay with me, c’mon!”

The engine roared as the revs climbed, his foot heavy on the accelerator with unprecedented desperation. Your car needed a set of red and blue lights - an ambulance was much too slow, compared to the speed Bucky maintained.

Peter was riding ahead, close enough to create a triangle formation with Steve and Sam who were right on Bucky’s tail, their bikes tearing down the road and ready to intercept and prevent anything from getting in the way.

Another coughing fit wracked your already slumped frame just as Bucky pulled up to the hospital. “Fuck!” He flew out of the driver’s seat, not caring that the car was still running. You fell easily into his embrace when he pulled you from the passenger seat and against his chest once more.

“Steve!” Bucky shouted, gesturing with his head towards the emergency doors of the hospital. “Go!” Steve ran through the double glass doors and Bucky could see a group of nurses run to him while he pointed towards the two of you.

God, he never wanted to feel your deadweight in his arms ever again, Bucky prayed, adjusting you so your head lolled against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Bucky murmured against your temple, jogging towards the doors, where a medical team of doctors and nurses waited. It was a mantra he’d chant on repeat if you would just wake up. “They’ll help, I’ve got you.”

There was a faint hiss by your ear, and the soft feel of cotton against your palms and tips of your fingers when they twitched against the fabric. A steady beep echoed by your head, and the smell of disinfectant burnt at your sinuses, but no matter how hard you struggled, you could not open your eyes.

Where am I?

“She’s improving with the course of intravenous antibiotics,” a soft voice, one that was entirely unfamiliar, began. It was coming from your feet and you strained to hear it over the combined noise of instruments cluttered at your head. “However, we will continue to keep her for observation.”

A ruffle of fabric, then paper, and another voice spoke. “Thanks, doc.”

That voice. Bucky.

There were footsteps and a small sigh, then the sound of someone sitting down in a chair. You could hear the sound of a phone keyboard - clack clack clack.

No matter how hard you tried, your eyes refused to open. Your chest felt like it was in a vice, a band around the entire width of it that constricted when you inhaled.

The person shifted in their seat, and then a hand - one that you had held so many times before - held your own. Callused, rough, but ever so soft, and gentle. Bucky, he was sitting right next to you, and you needed him; stuck in the darkness because your eyes refused to open, and you were scared.

The monitor by your head beeped at an increased rhythm, and you felt Bucky’s hand grip yours tighter.

“Doll?” His chair scooted along the floor and you could feel his presence at your side, much closer and within reach - if only your body would let you reach out. “You’re alright, you’re safe.” You heard a quiet plunk when Bucky placed his phone on the surface by your head, and then you felt his now free hand against your jaw. “Can you open your eyes for me, baby girl?”

Bucky’s thumb brushed your cheek when your eyelids fluttered, and they slowly opened. Your vision was blurred, but you could make out the cotton sheets over your legs, and the plain sterile walls that enclosed you on all sides.

“Hey,” Bucky breathed and your eyes roved lazily to meet his, the soft smile he wore enough to steady your heart rate. “How’re you feelin’?”

You blinked once, your mind still much too foggy to comprehend anything. Bucky seemed to realise this. “You’re in hospital,” he squeezed your hand and leant forward. “You gave us all a hell of a scare last night, doll.”

The flow of oxygen to your nose began to annoy you, and in your groggy state your arm moved to tug it away when Bucky stopped you. “No, no, leave it, you need it.” A quiet whine left your throat in protest and Bucky smiled gently, bringing your hand back down and placing it on your stomach.

“Wha’ happen?” You slurred, staring at Bucky through half-lidded eyes.

“This ain’t no flu, sweetheart,” Bucky sighed, staring back into your face. You suddenly noticed that his eyes were puffy. “You basically stopped breathing on me last night. I broke a dozen laws trying to get you here,” he chuckled. “You’ve got pneumonia, and a chest infection.”

Your eyes widened slightly at the news and Bucky leaned back in his seat, rubbing his face with one hand, while the other still held yours.

The door to your room opened and Bucky looked over, while you continued to stare at him. Pneumonia?

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky said quietly as Steve came into your field of very limited vision.

Steve squeezed Bucky’s shoulder, offering him a cup of something, and then Steve looked at you, a soft smile on his face. He looked relieved. “Hey, Sweets,” he said quietly. “Gave us all a damned heart attack last night.”

Guilt churned in your stomach and you frowned, looking between the two of them. “‘M sorry.”

Bucky sighed, and Steve shook his head. “No apologisin’,” Steve started, walking back towards the door. “Though it would be good if you weren’t so damn stubborn.” The door clicked shut behind him and Bucky chuckled, shifting in his seat again. He looked so uncomfortable.

“Wan’ you,” you murmured, squeezing his hand slightly.

Bucky raised his brows around the cup he was sipping from, and he looked at the bed. It was true, he pulled money from the club’s stash to make sure you got a room on your own - by some miracle it was enough, but the bed was still fucking small.

“I don’t think I’d fit, baby,” he whispered, placing the cup by your head and leaning forward again.

“Don’ care,” you insisted, using what little strength you had to lift his hand and tug on it.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky stood, letting go of your hand so he could take his boots off. “Those drugs they have you on made you needy, huh?” You nodded slowly and Bucky smirked. “No funny business, missy, doctor's orders.”

A huffed laugh escaped before you could stop it and you coughed harshly. Bucky only winced in sympathy.

“No funny-” You tried when it passed but Bucky shushed you.

His hands snaked their way underneath your shoulders and hips, lifting you up with a playful grunt of exertion, and moved you to the side of the bed. “Don’ be an asshole, Barnes,” you murmured, rolling your eyes.

Bucky grinned cheekily and moved your legs over so he could sit on the edge of the bed. “Never, baby,” he breathed and you smirked. Asshole, you thought sluggishly.

“I’ll get you back,” you threatened. Bucky rolled his eyes while he adjusted some of the wires to loop up and over your head.

Finally, Bucky shifted up the bed and laid back, lifting his legs with a loud and dramatic groan. You had to resist the urge to laugh at his antics, so you settled on poking him in the side while he tried to get comfortable. “Hey!”

The monitor by Bucky’s head picked up in rhythm when the change of position made you feel woozy, and Bucky frowned. “C’mere,” he moved his arm to rest under your shoulder and pulled you close. You cuddled up to his side and rested your cannulated hand on his middle. “That’s it, need you to take it easy for me, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured against your forehead.

Slowly you adjusted to the new position, and took as deep a breath as you could.

“This is a hell of a lot more comfortable than those damn chairs,” Bucky murmured into the crown of your head. “How you feelin’?”

“Sore,” you whispered back sleepily. Every inhale was an effort against the elephant on your chest, but with Bucky holding you, you could forget about it, if only for a moment.

Bucky’s hand rubbed your shoulders and back for a while, and you were almost lulled into a comfortable sleep when he spoke again.

“I almost lost you.”

His voice, always so strong and full of authority, wavered with unbearable fear.

With every last ounce of strength you had left, you moved your arm so you could rest your hand over his heart, the beat steady and true.

“Love you,” you slurred, the current of sleep doing its damndest to pull you under.

Bucky’s free arm moved so he could gently grab hold of your cannulated hand, and with practised ease, he intertwined your fingers as your eyes drooped shut - unable to fight against the current any longer.

“I love you more, sweetheart.”

This ‘experience’ with pneumonia is almost identical to the one I had as a teenager with my mother. That shit is scary!

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel imagine #alternate universe #biker au #rookthorne's works #Angel

520 notes · View notes

ravennaortiz · 4 months

Text

Day 20: Frosty

Summary: Fluff Guero x Reader

"Your wrong sweetheart" stated Guero as the two of you burst into the clubhouse. "Oh really? " you asked with your head cocked to the side and arms folded. The two of you had been playfully bickering all morning. "Bad move to tell a woman shes wrong" stated Manny eavesdropping from his seat where he played cards with Gilly, Bishop and Creeper.

"These young'uns don't have any common sense" stated Creeper as Bishop and Gilly nodded. "Maybe you guys can help proof my point" stated Guero as he shot you a smug look. "Doubtful, they will agree with me" you replied confidently as you elbowed him out of the way to get to the table.

"Shouldn't have engaged them" mumbled Gilly as he shot a look at Manny who just shrugged. "What are you two arguing over?" sighed Manny as he sat his cards down. "Who the superior Christmas Creature is" you stated before adding. "Frosty or Rudolph. I say Rudolph because.." Manny lifted his hand as the other three men laughed. "My baby sister is right. That is the final answer. Never tell her shes wrong again if you want to continue on this side of the ground." stated Manny with a shake of his head. "Told yuh" you stated as you stuck your tongue out at Guero before heading back out of the clubhouse.

"You really couldn't back your favorite brother in law up for once?" asked Guero looking at Manny. "I barely tolerate you Frosty Boy" replied Manny before going back to his game.

Tag List@darqchilddaydreamz

#ravennasmasterlist #christmas #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #guero mayans mc #guero fanfic #guero mayans #guero mayans fanfiction #guero x reader #mayans mc imagines

26 notes · View notes

trans-axolotl · 11 months

Note

hey i love your posts on anti-psych organizing, the work you're doing is really inspiring <333 i was jw if you have any advice for people who want to contribute to the movement but have certain accessibility challenges? for example in my case i have very high social anxiety which makes public speaking hard and i also have difficulty processing denser criticism/theory in written form due to cognitive symptoms, etc. and it makes me feel like i don't have much to offer to help but i would love to get more involved if possible!! tysm in advance if you answer this happy pride btw <3

Happy pride anon! Thanks so much for this question, I think it's really important!

There are so many ways to contribute to antipsych/mad liberation movement, and it's so important that our spaces are accessible! When we're fighting for our rights as mad and disabled people, we deserve to have our access needs respected, and to be able to show up in whatever ways work for us. I talk a lot about writing and theory on here just because Tumblr is a place I go to write, but theory is not something that feels always relevant or important in many spaces. Community and accessibility always comes first!

Whatever you have to offer to the movement is enough and valued. I'll list off some ideas I have, but honestly, whatever you feel passionate about and your own ideas are likely to be better than what I can list off.

Creating art! whether writing, drawing, mixed media, anything, creating art and sharing it with others really can be an important way to honor our experiences and share them with others.

Finding out where a psych ward near you is, and writing cards, sending in care packages with things like books, puzzles, fidget toys, things like that. Happy to write out some more tips for that if people are interested.

Graffiti! even if you're just using a sharpie to write alternative crisis line numbers that don't call the cops on posters for the 988 hotline, putting up psych abolition stickers near hospitals, things like that.

Going to protests. There aren't a lot of specific mad pride/antipsych protests, but depending on your area, there might be some stuff happening in July for mad pride! I know there's an event happening in Vermont on July 15th.

Creating reading groups. I think theory is not more important than lived experience and isn't necessary to read super dense academic stuff, but I know for some people it can be a really powerful experience to read stuff that validates your experiences and offers new ways of understanding. Creating a book club where you can read stuff with other people, talk about it together, discuss questions and confusions you have together, can be a way to make it more accessible then trying to navigate it on your own. And it absolutely doesn't have to be theory that you read, it could be memoirs, fiction, nonfiction, anything that interests you!

Finding out what is already going on in your location. Even if there isn't specific antipsych groups, a lot of cities will have mental health support groups, mental health clubhouses, peer support, etc. Sometimes there will already be projects going that you can figure out ways to get involved.

Writing reviews of hospitals/psychiatrists/treatment providers to better give people in your community an idea of what to expect.

Community building. I think that a lot of times, we can feel really isolated and that the psych system can make it hard for us to be connected to each other and learn the skills to support each other. Joining groups like the Hearing Voices Network, other peer support groups, local support groups, clubhouses, etc, can be a really important step just to build relationships and get involved without necessarily having to create specific projects.

Learning what resources are near you and building up a resource library so that you can share things like coping skills, peer respite, local orgs with other people in your community!

Understanding the laws around psych hospitalization, mental health, medications, etc. If new laws are proposed, giving feedback, emailing hospitals about policies, things like that.

Self care and rest. So often we are in crisis, constantly going, feeling the pressure to be involved. Resting can be part of resistance! Taking the time to care for ourselves, our community, embracing joy, play, recreation, is so important. Our survival can be resistance in a system that doesn't want us free.

These are just some ideas, and are not a complete list. I really believe that everyone's contributions are worthy and valuable, and that whatever people have to offer is worth celebrating. Our movements should be accessible and considerate of all of our different needs, and figure out ways to empower each of us to participate, and to get rid of barriers together. My way of engaging with antipsych stuff is absolutely not the only or best way, and I always love to hear from other people about their approaches!

TL;DR: Theory and public speaking are not the only ways to particpate, and accessibility is important! Whatever things you are passionate about are good places to start brainstorming. There are multiple options of things like art, sending care packages, and getting involved in local community.

Followers, please feel free to add on your own ideas or ways you participate! Would love to hear all the amazing ways we're all engaging with this movement.

#asks #antipsych #psych abolition #mad liberation #mad pride #disability justice #neurodivergence #also this goes for any followers please feel free to let me know what i can do to make things more accessible on this blog!#i'm always happy to try to write summaries of posts and things like that #a project i've been working on for a while but that isn't live yet is plain language and easy read guides to some antipsych topics #plain language guides will be ready sooner than easy read guides bc i don't have as much familarity with using symbols and those norms #but that is something that's important to me!

62 notes · View notes

shyanddreamy · 6 months

Text

A beautiful soul

Juice Ortiz x Reader

Summary: By the way his sad eyes looked at you, you knew he was lying. Something big was happening. Something awful. And even though he wasn't asking for your help, you couldn't help but feel that you had to do something.

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, attempted suicide, drug use.

Author´s note: I can't deny it. I love this man too much. And the one shot is a bit long, so it's going to be in two parts, but I hope u all enjoy it <3

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

Since everything was clean and tidy, you had nothing else to do for the moment. You thought it could be a good time to put some music and take a beer, but a loud noise coming from the bathroom startled you. Probably that bath had seen horrible things, but it wasn’t one of that kind of noises. And you knew who was inside. He had caught your attention by passing so fast some minutes ago he didn’t even bother to say hello. You thought he could be in a hurry to use the toilet, but perhaps it was something worse. As you walked towards the bathroom door, you heard another thump.

“Juice? Are you good?”, you asked after knocking softly.

It took him a few seconds, but he ended up answering.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.”

But he didn’t sound credible at all. You waited out there trying to identify what was going on inside, and even though you were aware that it might be a bad idea, you brought you hand to the handle, realising he hadn’t locked the door. So, slowly, you opened it. Once you made sure that the boy hadn’t his trousers down his knees, you raised your voice again.

“Hey. Are you feeling well, sweetheart?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I do”, he quickly answered. Juice instantly rubbed his face, but it wasn’t enough to hide his watery eyes. And he knew you had noticed it. “I’m okay. I promise. I just need…”

His voice cracked in the middle of the sentence, so he shook his head and sat down on the toilet avoiding your gaze.

“I just need to be alone. Just close the door, please”, he added, but you didn’t do exactly what he was asking.

You did close the door, but with you inside the bath. And then, you took a sit on the floor, next to his feet, and put your hand up to his knee.

“Hey. Look at me, Juicy, please”, you asked him tenderly. It took him some seconds to calm himself down, but when he did it, you could see how sad he looked. “It isn’t good to be alone when you feel like shit. And even if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m a good company.”

“Okay. Thanks”, he muttered with a slight smile on his face that made him look even sadder. “I’m good. I just needed to breath.”

“So, do it with me. Breath.”

Juice closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out moments later.

“Good. Again”, you told him.

You spent some minutes like that. Juice was breathing while you were caressing his leg tenderly. And by the time he opened his eyes again, he actually seemed calmer.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Why don’t you wash your face and come outside?”, you suggested him. “There isn’t much work on the garage, so we could have a beer.”

“I’d like that.”

You spent a few hours talking calmly in the counter bar. It was obvious that something was still troubling Juice, but he got better as time went on. You tried to carry on a light and funny conversation, feeling a warm sensation every time you got a smile from him. And when his brothers arrived at the clubhouse, they joined you.

You loved those guys more than anything. They were your family, all that you had. And the moments when you were in the clubhouse drinking and smoking all together were mostly the best part of the day. That meant they were still alive for another day, and it was all that mattered to you. Nevertheless, they had been busier than usual lately. Obviously, it was due to club business you weren’t allow to know, but after so many years with them, you were more than used to their laws. It was fine, anyway. You listened to whatever they wanted to tell you willingly and didn’t ask questions when they preferred to remain silent. You tried not to get overly involved, but there were occasions when you knew they needed you to intervene, even if they didn’t ask for your help. And, right now, Juice was one of those occasions.

“Do you want to go for a ride?”, you asked Juice while picking up the empty beer bottles. His brothers had already left except for Chibs and Bobby, who were finishing a cigarette before heading home too.

“There’s somewhere you need to go?”

“Not really”, you answered. “I just felt like a night ride.”

“Yeah. Okay”, he nodded. “I’m a bit tired, but it could be nice.”

“Great.”

“That’s how young people say they want to bang nowadays?”, you heard Bobby saying. Nor had he made any effort to lower his voice.

Chibs laughed, as well as Juice, while you two were already walking towards the door.

“You’d be dying to know, wouldn’t you, Bobby?”, you added before winking at him. “Drive home safe, old men.”

“We’ll do”, Chibs responded. “Hope you do too, darling.”

You got on Juice’s bike behind him and once he started, you gave him directions on which way to go. You get out Charming and drove for a little more before you told Juice to stop on a side of the road.

“Why have you brought me here?”, Juice asked as nothing remarkable was around you.

“It’s quiet. And the sky is beautiful without the city lights”, you told him. Juice just leaned on the bike next to you and looked up at the sky realizing that the shining stars were actually a great view. “When I’m not in the mood, I like to come here. Gives me peace”.

He understood what you were referring to, so he decided to just stare at the stars.

“Thanks”, he suddenly muttered. “Not for this. I mean, not only for this. This is really nice too, I promise, but I meant to what happened this afternoon. In the bathroom. And for not telling the boys.”

“I figured you wouldn’t want them to know.”

“You were right”, he nodded. “But you don’t have to worry about anything, Y/N. I’m good. Like, really good. I swear.”

Juice tried to sound credible, but you didn’t believe him at all.

“I still remember when you were a prospect. It was few after I started hanging up with the club”, you told him. “The boys were hard on you, as they always do with prospects, but you always had a wide smile on your face no matter what.”

As you said so, Juice couldn’t help but smile.

“That is. That smile”, you added. “You were so fucking adorable. You still are.”

“C’mon, shut up”, he said while tapping your shoulder with his gently. “You’re gonna make me blush.”

“But it’s the truth. You were so cute, but also a bit foolish. That one still after being patched”, you continued. “Do you remember the accident with Tig and the Doberman?”

“How could I forget? I could never forget it, as well as Tig”, he joked.

“It was a big mistake. Hilarious, but dangerous”, you assured him. “But still, the club loved you since day one. And they still love you so much. Even if they’re a bit mean sometimes, they’d do anything for you. You are one of them. You’re their brother. And if you ever need to talk to them, for whatever the reason is, they will listen to you.”

When you stopped looking at the sky to look at Juice, you noticed a few tears down his cheeks. He had started crying in silence at some point. And you felt your heart breaking at the sight of it.

“Come here, baby.”

When you hugged him, Juice returned the embrace needily. You felt his arms around your body tightly, and since he had his head hidden in your neck, his tears were wetting your skin. His cry was almost frantic, so you did your best caressing his nape and his back.

“It’s okay, Juicy. Let it all out. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“Do you want some coffee?”, you asked Chibs the moment he crossed the workshop’s door.

“Please”, he answered, so you served him a cup of warm coffee. “Thanks, love.”

“How’s your day going?”

“Good. Quiet”, he said. “Yours?”

“Quiet, too.”

“That’s good”.

Chibs took a cigarette and offered one to you. It might seem a bit boring to have a day like that, but it was on the contrary. Those days were great because you didn’t have to worry at all about if the boys would come back home safe and sound. And those days weren’t too usual.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“About what?”, Chibs answered, frowned.

“Juice.”

“I don’t want to talk about the kid’s sex life.”

“It’s not like that, asshole”, you told him while trying to hold back a smile. “What I was going to ask was if you had noticed something strange with Juice.”

“Strange?”

“Yeah. Like, I dunno, weird.”

“I’m not following you, lass.”

You took a drag on your cigarette and slowly released the smoke. You knew you shouldn’t be having this conversation, but you needed to. You just had to try to be subtle.

“I saw him a bit blue yesterday. That’s all.”

Chibs kept his frown for a few seconds more before shrugging his shoulders and taking a sip of his coffee.

“It may be just club’s business. You know how the kiddo is. Sometimes he’s too sensitive for his own good. But he’ll get over it”, the Scottish briefly explained to you. It was a pity that you were sure that what was happening to Juice was more serious than that. “Anyway, I saw him well last night. You should be near him more often. You really do good to him.”

“Are you talking about me, brother?”, Tig’s voice interrupted your conversation. “Because Y/N really does so much good to me. Mainly if she’s naked on my bed. That’s so fucking good.”

“That only happens in your dreams, Tiggy.”

“I know. And those are my best dreams.”

Unlike most croweaters, you hadn’t slept with each and every one of the Sons. You had hooked up with some members from other charters as Happy, and also a few times with Chibs, but it was years ago, and you just did it because you really felt like it. But you had already seen them too many times passed out, throwing up or even bleeding to death, so it was different now. And you cared too much about them to be thinking about meaningless sex.

“We were talking about Juice”, Chibs told him.

“Yeah? And you know where that fucker is?”, Tig asked. “He has not turned up at his workplace. I mean, business’ workplace. And he should be here to do his shift at the garage, but it looks like he’s going to skip that too.”

Chibs’ eyes were on you, and consequently Tig’s too.

“I don’t know where he is”, you answered without even needing to be asked. “Last time I saw him was when he drove me home yesterday.”

“Maybe he’s sick”, Chibs suggested. But by the way he looked at you, you knew he was thinking about your previous conversation. It was strange that he didn’t show up all day without a single explanation. “You should go and check on him.”

“I have to do some shopping for the clubhouse, but I can drop by his house in the evening.”

“Good. Need some help?”

“Nah. I’ve got it.”

“When are you gonna come to my place and check on me?”, Tig asked, as whenever he had the opportunity to suggest anything sexual.

“Keep dreaming, Tiggy.”

It was already dark when you were knocking on Juice’s door. He didn’t answer, but you knew he was in there because there was light. You knocked harder and still nothing, so you started to worry. Maybe Chibs was right and he was sick, like very sick. Or maybe it was his other problems for which he had been crying on your shoulder for at least twenty minutes last night. Luckily, the door was unlocked when you tried to open it. Unfortunately, what you found inside gave you the chills.

In the living room, on the coffee table, there was an empty pill bag. There were only two left. And Juice was lying on the sofa apparently unconscious.

“Fuck”, you barely mumbled before running to the sofa.

You tapped his face repeatedly while calling out his name. Having no result, you shook his chest insistently.

“For fuck’s shake, c’mon Juice. You can’t do this to me!”

When a kind of sound, which formed no words and made no sense, escaped from his mouth, you felt hardly relieved. He was still there, but the situation looked pretty bad. Without any other option, you turned him on his side and stuck two fingers on his throat. Moments later, he threw up.

“That’s it, babe. That’s good”, you encouraged him while keeping your fingers on his mouth. You continued like that until you thought all the pills were out of his stomach. Only then, you allowed him to lay on the sofa again. “C’mon Juice. You have to talk to me.”

He was barely opening his eyes and trying to mutter something, but you couldn’t understand a single world. As a few more seconds passed, he slightly started recovering his conscious.

“Good. I’m good”, he finally said.

“Of course you are, baby. You’ll be good”, you answered him. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay? C’mon, we have to get you up.”

You put one of his arms around your shoulders and made an effort to pull you both to your feet. He wasn’t helping at all, but you couldn’t let the two of you fall. So, slowly and making sure of every step before you took it, you made your way towards the bathroom.

“How are you so damn heavy?”, you asked more to yourself than to him. At least, his legs worked well enough that you didn’t have to drag him all the way down.

Once you reached the bathroom, you sat him down on the toilet making sure he didn’t fall forward. The best thing to do would be to put him directly in the shower, but it could be dangerous as you couldn’t handle him easily, so he could slip and fall. Instead, you opened the tap to wet his face, his head, and his nape with your own hands. His t-shirt was stained with vomit, so you took it off too. The cool water seemed to work to wake him up a little more.

“I’m good”, he repeated. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. Just stay with me, okay?”, you asked him while cradling his face in an attempt to get him to look at you. “Have you taken anything else? Other drugs? Booze?”

“Don’t know. Beers. Pills.”

Although he was much better than a few minutes before, he slurred the words, and you weren’t sure if he really knew it was you with him. Tomorrow morning, he would probably remember little or nothing at all.

“Why did you do that? You wanted to overdose? Was it an accident?”

“Was sad. And scared”, he muttered. “They won’t forgive me. He’s black. And he won’t stop pushing me.”

As you noticed he was starting to cry, you rushed to end the conversation.

“It’s alright, baby, don’t talk more”, you asked him softly. “You need to sleep, okay? And tomorrow you’ll be better. I promise you.”

With his arm around your shoulders again, you left the bathroom to go to what you thought was his bedroom and carefully laid him down on the bed. Then you took off his boots and, after a few more seconds of thought, his trousers too. It was just for his own comfort, and he didn’t complain at all.

“I thought the first time I saw you like that would be under different circumstances”, you muttered before covering him with the sheets. By then, he was almost asleep. However, you still had things to do.

Juice had scared you to death, but you were glad he was better now. You washed your face and put your hair in a bun before going back to the living room. There was vomit on the floor and on the sofa, which had to be cleaned up. It was awful and the smell was disgusting, but it was what you had to do.

Almost half an hour later, when all was done, you went back to Juice’s dorm once again to make sure he was well. Seeing him sleeping peacefully made you smile. You didn’t want to leave the house in case he needed anything else, but it felt wrong to lay on the bed next to him without being invited to. You finally decided to sit down on the floor next to the bed. After making yourself as comfortable as possible in that position, you took your eyes to him and caressed his arm tenderly. If you were lucky enough, you could fall asleep for a few hours.

When Juice appeared in the kitchen the next morning, you were already there making breakfast.

“Good morning”, he said, shyly.

“Good morning”, you answered. “How are you feeling?”

“My head aches.”

“You have an aspirin on the table. Next to the coffee”, you told him. He took a sit on the chair and seconds later you put a plate of scramble eggs in front of him. “You should eat something.”

He did as you said after taking the pill with a sip of coffee. And with another cup of coffee, you sat down next to him.

“Do you remember something about last night?”

“Something”, he muttered. “I just knew you were here because I saw your shirt on my bedroom.”

“I had puke on mine, so I took one of yours from your closet. Sorry for opening it without permission.”

“It’s fine.”

“We should talk.”

“Can you first tell me what happened?”

“You OD’d”, you answered. “I found you unconscious on the sofa. Made you throw up, cleaned you, and took you to bed.”

“Did I… Did I say anything?”

“Something. That’s why we should talk”, you nodded, but Juice didn’t seem very convinced. “You OD’d on purpose, Juice. You fucking scared me to death. I need to know what’s happening.”

“I don’t…”

“You can trust in me”, you interrupted him, putting your hand over his kindly. “Please, Juice. Trust in me.”

“But you can’t tell the club. Under no circumstances.”

“I won’t. I swear.”

It took him a couple of minutes and a few sighs, but he finally got up the courage to speak.

“The sheriff has found something in my profile. He’s threatening me with it”, he confessed.

“What it is?”

“My dad. He’s black”, he said, making a great effort not to burst into tears. “If the club find out about this, I’m out. Blacks are not allowed in the Sons. And I can’t lose them. They are everything I have. The kutt is all I have.”

Now, the three sentences he had said last night before almost start crying had sense.

“But you didn’t know he was black.”

“They won’t care. The truth is what it is, and I can’t let them know it.”

“Have you told anything to him?”

“Whom?”

“The sheriff.”

“No. Not yet”, Juice answered.

“Have you done anything for him?”, you asked him.

“No”, he denied. “He arrested me yesterday. He’s been pushing me so fucking hard. When he finally let me go, I came here, and I couldn’t… I didn’t know what to do. Just wanted everything to stop.”

You pressed the bridge of your nose for a few moments as you tried to ignore the pain in your heart. It was a fucked-up situation, but you couldn’t let the emotions out. It wasn’t the right moment.

“I’m gonna think about it, okay?”, you assured him while taking his hands with yours tightly. “But you can’t tell the sheriff shit, you hear me? Don’t tell him anything. No matter how hard he pushes you, you keep your mouth shut. You have to hold on a little longer.”

Juice pursed his lips but ended up nodding anyway.

“Okay. I’ll do it. I can do it.”

“Of course you can. I know you can.”

“I don’t know how to thank you for everything you are doing for me, Y/N”, he sadly said. “I’m full of shit and you shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Just don’t OD again. That’ll be enough”, you told him with a slight smile.

“I can do it too. For you.”

Juice finished his breakfast before going to take a shower. And barely forty minutes later, you both went to the TM. As soon as Juice parked the bike, all eyes were on you. You had agreed that, if they asked, Juice would tell them that he was very sick to his stomach. You would tell that you had gone to his house to check on him and spent the night there due to his illness. And after that conversation with his brothers, not without first scolding Juice for not telling them yesterday what was wrong with him, everything went back to normal.

You were all day around the clubhouse and the workshop as always, but your head was somewhere else. Juice could break down at any moment, so you have to find a solution as soon as possible. Things could get very ugly if Juice talked to the sheriff.

In the afternoon, some boys were in the garage while others had gone to do some club’s shit, including Juice. When you approached Chibs and asked him to talk in private, he frowned, but followed you anyway to one of the dorms.

“You know that I love you all so fucking much, right?”, you asked him.

“Of course I know, darling.”

“And you know that I only want what’s best for the club, right?”

“What’s going on?”

You had sworn hours before that you wouldn’t do exactly what you were going to do right now, but you couldn’t do anything else. You hadn’t more time to think and it was the only thing that could work. With each passing day, the danger of Juice doing something he shouldn't was growing.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but it’s all I can do.”, you told him. “Just, please, listen to me.”

“Whatever it is, speak up”, he said. Chibs hated to beat around the bush.

“Okay. Here we go”, you sighed.

When Juice arrived at the clubhouse, he had hardly stopped his bike when Chibs told him to accompany him to the garage. Juice had a small, carefree smile on his face, but as soon as he saw you waiting in the garage too, it faded slowly. Chibs went in after Juice and pulled the shutter. The door that connected the workshop with the clubhouse was already closed.

Juice gave you an accusatory, hurt look, as he already knew that you had betrayed him. You heart ached, but you remained impassive.

“So, you have been talking to the sheriff. Talking about your black daddy”, Chibs remarked deadly serious after standing in front of Juice, who immediately looked at you again. “No, don’t look at her. I’m the one who’s talking to you.”

“I didn’t…”, Juice tried to speak, but Chibs didn’t give him the opportunity.

“Shut the fuck up”, he ordered, and Juice obeyed. “You overdosed yourself last night as a coward because the sheriff was threatening you. Probably with ratting us out.”

You noticed Juice’s eyes watery, and you felt the urge to intervene, but you couldn’t. Chibs had allowed you to stay on the condition that you did not interrupt him while he was speaking.

“I’m sorry”, Juice mumbled. “I’m so sorry, brother.”

“What does your paperwork say?”, Chibs asked him, but Juice just shook his head without understanding the question. “Your birth certificate. Under race. What box is checked.”

Juice frowned and cleaned the tear that had escaped down his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Hispanic.”

“So, that’s what you are”, Chibs said. “Half of us don’t know who the hell our fathers are. The paperwork is the only thing that counts.”

As Juice opened his eyes in realization, more tears fell from his eyes. He was smiling but also crying. He looked so happy and so sad at the same time.

“You really tried to OD yourself for this”, Chibs muttered as if still finding it hard to believe.

“I haven’t told him anything. I swear.”

“I know, brother. I know”, Chibs nodded. “And next time you see the sheriff, you tell him he can go and suck your daddy’s big black cock.”

Listening to Juice laughing was almost healing for you after everything had happened. Chibs wanted to scare the kid a bit because he couldn’t be trying to kill himself every time a pig threatened him, but he wanted as much as you to help Juice and make sure he was well.

“He can’t do a goddamn thing against you with that, yeah?”

“Yeah”, Juice answered after sniffling.

The moment Chibs pulled him in for a hug, Juice reciprocated without hesitation. He wasn’t crying anymore, but it was obvious that he needed such a gesture of affection from his brother. And you knew you could rely on Chibs for this. Your intuition had been right in believing that talking to the Scottish would be the right thing to do, but nothing would change the fact that you had betrayed Juice. He had trusted on you to tell you his deepest secret and you had failed to him. And knowing that you couldn’t bear it if Juice threw it in your face after finishing his conversation with Chibs, you decided to cross the door and leave in silence.

Part 2→

#juice ortiz #juice soa #juice ortiz soa #sons of anarchy #soa #chibs telford #chibs sons of anarchy #soa chibs #tig soa #tig trager #soa fanfic

31 notes · View notes

todaysdocument · 7 months

Text

Order with Notice of Entry Judgment

"granting access to all accredited sports reporters to the locker room without regard to their sex"

Record Group 21: Records of District Courts of the United States Series: Civil Case Files File Unit: [Melissa Ludtke and Time, Incorporated v. Bowie Kuhn, Commissioner of Baseball, et al.]

[stamp] MICROFILM SEP 26 1978 [stamp] MICROFILM SEP 26 1978 58 UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK MELISSA LUDTKE and TIME, INC., Plaintiffs, -against- BOWIE KUHN, Commissioner of Baseball, LELEAND MacPHAIL, President of the American League of Professional Baseball Clubs, the NEW YORK YANKEES PARTNERSHIP; The Mayor of the City of New York; The Commissioner of Parks and Recreation for the City of New York; and the Director of the Economic Development Administration of the City of New York, Defendants. [stamp] U. S. DISTRICT COURT FILED SEP 25 1978 S. D. OF N. Y. 77 CIV. 6301 ORDER [handwritten] + Judgment In accordance with its opinion of this date, the court now ORDERS that plaintiffs' motion for summary judgment be and is hereby GRANTED, and defendants' motion for summary judgment is hereby DENIED. It is further ORDERED: 1) That defendants, their officers, agents, representatives, servants, employees, and all persons acting in concert and participation with them, be and they hereby are permanently enjoined from refusing to admit plaintiff Melissa Ludtke to the locker rooms of the clubhouses at Yankee Stadium solely on the ground of her sex; 2) That defendants shall adopt one of the al- ternative methods referred to in the court's opinion of this date to protect the privacy of ballplayers within the locker room while granting access to all accredited sports reporters to the locker room without regard to P-043-B 58 FPI.MI--9.9.75.150M.4345 their sex; and 3) That a copy of this injunctive order shall be served on the "city defendants", dismissed from this action by order of the court dated April 14, 1978, forth- with. Dated: New York, New York September 25, 1978 SO ORDERED [signature] Constance Baker Motley CONSTANCE BAKER MOTLEY U. S. D. J. [stamp] JUDGMENT ENTERED [handwritten] - 9/26/78 Raymond F. Burghardt CLERK P-043-B - 2 - FPI.MI--9.9.75.150M.4345 INDEX NO. 77 Civ. 6401 (CBM) UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK MELISSA LUDTKE and TIME, INC., Plaintiffs, -against- BOWIE KUHN, Commissioner of Baseball, et al., Defendants. ORDER WITH NOTICE OF ENTRY CRAVATH, SWAINE & MOORE Attorneys for Plaintiffs ONE CHASE MANHATTAN PLAZA NEW YORK, N. Y. 10005 Tel. No. HAnover 2-3000 [stamp] FILED U.S. DISTRICT COURT SEP 25 4 05 PM '78 S.D.OF N.Y. UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK MELISSA LUDTKE and TIME, INC., Plaintiffs, -against- BOWIE KUHN, Commissioner of Baseball, LELAND MacPHAIL, President of the American League of Professional Baseball Clubs, the NEW YORK YANKEES PARTNERSHIP; The Mayor of the City of New York; The Commissioner of Parks and Recreation for the City of New York; and the Director of the Economic Development Administration of the City of New York, Defendants. 77 Civ. 6301 (CBM) NOTICE OF ENTRY OF ORDER [stamp] LAW DEPARTMENT CITY OF NEW YORK 78 SEP 25 P3:42 OFFICE OF CORP COUNSEL PLEASE TAKE NOTICE that an Order, of which the within is a true copy, was entered and filed in the office of the clerk of the above-named Court on the 25th day of September 1978. September 25, 1978. CRAVATH, SWAINE & MOORE Attorneys for Plaintiffs, One Chase Manhattan Plaza, New York, N. Y. 10005 TO: Allen G. Schwartz, Esq., Corporation Counsel, Attorney for Municipal Defendants, Municipal Building, New York, N. Y. 10007

#archivesgov #september 25 #1978 #1970s #baseball #women's rights

22 notes · View notes

simkhira · 8 months

Note

Atp I’ve been obsessed with your blog for years 😩 you inspire my gameplay so much. Do you have any tips for making the law career active?

Aww, thank you so much! 🤎 There are some active lawyer careers that you can download - however, I prefer to create a "law office" (preferably in a San Myshuno high-rise penthouse - and functions as a cafe or library), then use the "Get Together" club system to create a "club" of lawyers... and set their "clubhouse" as the office so that they can all show up there. THEN - Discover University's lawyer career has "work from home" options - so I always have my lawyer sims perform those work tasks in the office... if that makes sense?

I think this is a good mod-free way to play with 'The Lawyers' in game.

#simkhira replies

24 notes · View notes

garbinge · 2 years

Text

Best Friend

Opie Winston x TellerSister!Reader

Summary: Dealing with the after math of Jax’s death.

Warnings: Canon level mentions of death, suicide, cigarettes. Cursing. Angst. tons of angst. when you think there’s been enough angst, oh look theres more. *All my fics are 18+.

A/N: Me? Back from a multi month long writing hiatus with a super angsty reader insert SOA fic? Who would have thought. Not me! This is my first ever reader insert so please be kind. If you notice anything that gets too descriptive, let me know and I’ll happily edit it! Also my first time writing for SOA. As always thanks to Tay for chatting this through with me. xo Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.3k

SOA Taglist: @drabbles-mc (Not sure how many SOA fics i’ll have in the future but happy to add anyone to any potential future fics!)

The clubhouse was packed. It was a sea of kuttes, Harleys, and people from all different charters, all different clubs, and they all came to pay their respects for the late and great Jax Teller.

You sat inside, surrounded by people you’ve known your whole life practically, yet the disconnect you felt might as well have you surrounded by strangers. People approached you, paying their respects for the loss of your brother. And your mother. And your sister-in-law. They would have offered their condolences for your father but that was 20 years ago so it wasn’t exactly socially acceptable anymore.

As people offered their sorrows and condolences your eyes didn’t leave the casket. It represented so much. The death of your baby brother, for one. But also it felt like the last conscious piece of you was sitting in that box with Jax. He was really the only one that got it. The life you lived, the choices you made. Perfect siblings were definitely not the way anyone would have described the two of you. You fought. You hated the decisions he made, and likely vice versa, but he was blood. Your little brother. And now you were left with the numbness of the same cycle all again, but this time, alone.

The service wasn’t long, it was just a few people saying a few words and the casket would be taken over to the cemetery tomorrow. You opted out of any last parting words, it definitely said a lot by saying nothing, but after 3 funerals in the past year, there wasn’t much more you had in you to say. Leaving before the post-funeral party began was a must, something about getting drunk in the place that caused the downfall of your family wasn’t exactly high on your to-do list. You grabbed a pack of cigarettes that was left unattended and snagged a lighter before quietly sneaking out without saying goodbye to anyone.

The lit cigarette hung from your mouth as the car key sputtered in the ignition of your car, causing a couple pairs of eyes to glance over at the noise. There was no problem ignoring the glaring eyes until your eyes met his. Opie nodded to you and you fought back every instinct you initially had to flip him off and just nodded back keeping your face solemn, praying your car would start and you could just get the hell home. Just as it seemed like he was going to get up to help, the car started and as the relief filled your soul, you pressed the gas like your life depended on it.

Home didn’t feel much like home anymore, but lately thoughts had you wondering if it ever really did. You clicked the answering machine that was blinking obnoxiously to let you know there were multiple missed calls. More condolences. One after the other. The frustration and emotion was so built up that you finally had just lost it and you threw the phone off the small entry table, pulling the cord out of the wall on its journey flying across the living room and into the wall leaving a nice mark to commemorate the moment. A scream left your mouth and just as you fell silent your cell phone began to ring.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” you mumbled, closing your eyes in defeat. The name was mocking you as you stared at your phone ringing. Opie Winston. But for some reason, you didn’t hesitate much. You answered it, staying silent for a minute, not really sure what to say but after a couple seconds you spoke up.

“What’s up?” the attitude dripped off your tone.

“Didn’t think you’d answer,” he sounded surprised.

“Didn’t think you’d call,” the annoyance in you grew.

“You’re my best friend, why wouldn’t I call you?” Opie responded.

You scoffed at the use of the endearment. Best friend. Best friend? There was nothing about yours and Opie’s friendship as of lately that could be considered best. Hell, you wouldn’t even have considered it friends. Sure, you met Opie first and were even friends first. You were the reason he even knew Jax. But the minute he met Jax was the minute it all changed for you and your friendship with him, especially as you all got older. Sure, there were moments in time where the 3 of you were inseparable, throughout middle school and high school, especially. But the minute Opie joined the club with Jax it was like you were voted out of the friendship. There was apart of you that wouldn’t even have been surprised if Clay had brought it up for a vote between the boys. The club ran deeper than whatever friendship you held with your brother so it definitely would overrule your friendship with Opie.

You held on for as long as you could to the trio but eventually it was a lost cause. You and Jax made it work, with the involvement of Gemma in the club, Jax didn’t hide much from you the same way he wouldn’t with her, even despite Clay’s arguments. It’s not to say you knew all the club secrets and moves but you had the big picture shit painted for you just fine. But Opie never felt like he could be the one to be honest with you like Jax could, and that put a wedge there. You tried a lot, and just when it seemed like it had maybe turned in your favor, Opie got locked up and right then and there was when there was no coming back. There was a glimmer of hope for the friendship when Donna died, as fucked up as that sounds. But death brings family closer, right? Wrong.

So that’s why you sat there rolling your eyes as Opie casually called you his best friend when you honestly felt like you hadn’t really known the man in years.

“What do you want, Ope?” You asked plopping down on the couch bringing your hand to your temple to massage the headache that was forming.

The line was silent for 30 seconds as Opie thought about what to say.

“It was a nice service,” he said, thinking quickly off his feet.

“It was a fucking funeral, Opie. There was nothing nice about it.” You spoke just as quickly back to him. Before he could respond you spoke again. “You realize my brother is dead right? Your best friend. He killed himself. Right into an 18 wheeler like beloved JT, and you’re calling me to tell me it was a nice service?” You scoffed before finishing your sentence, “respectfully, please just leave me alone. You had no problem ignoring me through your prison stint, you had no problem ignoring me when you came back to the club, and you had no problem ignoring me every other time I fucking needed you, so please have no problem doing it now.”

It was definitely a build up of tension that you held against him coming out right now, mixed with the overwhelming feeling that tomorrow you had to bury your baby brother next to his deceased wife and your deceased mother and father.

“Okay,” he said, but didn’t hang up.

That irritated you more. “Okay?” you frowned and huffed, mocking the words out of his mouth.

“Not sure what you want from me, Y/N.” Opie kept his voice steady. It wasn’t mean or rude, it was simply the truth. This was Opie Winston, he didn’t know what you wanted.

You took in what he said. What did you want?

He broke the silence, which wasn’t exactly like him, which meant he was trying.

“You know I lost everybody too. That’s why I called you.”

“So I’m a last resort, cool.” You weren’t sure how much more Opie was going to dig himself into this hole but at the same time you knew you were digging one also.

“You know what I meant.” His tone was exhausted, not wanting to fight with you.

“No Opie, that’s the problem I don’t ever know what you mean. I don’t know you anymore.”

There it was. This was either going to stop here before it got any deeper or this was going to get messy, fast.

“I’m sorry,” he said, defeated.

“Yea, me too.” The breath you took was deep as those three words left your mouth.

“I’m here if you want company,” Opie added, hoping to break the tension, but instead making you break.

“I don’t want to chill and act like none of this is happening. I want to get the fuck out of here, I’m sick of Charming. This town took everything from me. Your stupid fucking club took everything from me. What am I left with? Nothing.” You began your rant which was far from over but Opie decided to speak up.

“I’m telling you I’m here for you.” There was frustration in his voice now, annoyed that everything he said was causing you to fight back.

“Why are you still here?” You asked him, seriously. The line was silent.

“Y/N..” He eventually let out under his breath.

You shook your head. “Save it, Opie. You didn’t call when Gemma died, you don’t need to offer me your helping hand now that Jax isn’t here. You dealt with Donna’s death just fine, you don’t need me and I don’t need you,” you shrugged as if he could see you.

That one cut deep and like clockwork, Opie cut back deeper, “you didn’t even like Gemma.”

“I could say the same for you about Donna,” your rebuttal was quick, and just like he put a knife in you, you put one right back. It was a game now for you two, but this jab might have taken it too far.

“I loved Donna.”

“I did too. I was there. While you were away,” your voice cracked and trembled at the memories. “Jax didn’t visit. Jax didn’t take his paychecks and buy groceries for your kids. He didn’t check in on Donna. I did. Because you were my family, despite all the bullshit. And you know what makes me even more of a fool? I would have done it all again even if I knew that when you came home you were going to toss me to the side for my brother, for the club. Because that’s how much I cared. But time and time again you never show up for me and I’ve had it. It took for me to lose everything to realize it.” You were staring at the picture of your family. You, Gemma, JT, Jax, baby Thomas.

“What do you want me to do?” It was a typical response from Opie, looking for direction. It caused a genuine but sad laugh to escape from your mouth.

“You do what you do best, Ope.” You nodded your head in approval as you spoke, “wear that reaper patch with pride, every time you look at the blood that drips off the scythe, remember everyone you’ve lost. Including me. Then look around that fucking god forsaken table while you’re in church, take in those faces around you, look at that skull on your rocker and bask in it. Because they all mattered more than every single person you lost.”

Tears fell from your eyes as you said it. It was harsh, but it was the truth. You weren’t going to hold back anymore.

“What are you going to do?” Opie didn’t seem phased by the words, but he was also good at hiding his true emotions.

“I’m going to pack my shit up and leave. Tonight. Because I can’t bury my baby brother. I won’t do it. I’m taking the kids and I’m leaving.”

Opie was silent. You knew he wouldn’t tell anyone. They’d ask him and he’d lie, while you might not have known Opie anymore, you did still know him at his core. He wouldn’t rat you out.

You nodded your head at the silence on the line, “thanks for checking in Ope, have a good life.”

And with that you hung up. It was the oddest sense of closure. It was everything you’ve ever wanted to say to him, but the numbness of everything happening made it impossible to feel completely relieved. You didn’t dwell in it too long, you got up, wiped your tears, and held yourself to your word. Beginning to pack up your necessities, you quickly sent a text to Nero that you would be at his place soon to pick up Abel and Thomas. There wasn’t much to pack, clothes, some mementos. But not much, just the photos you held dear to your heart, some jewelry Tara had given you, some things that were left behind in Gemma’s will and that was it. A new life meant a new life. Despite the hold this town had on your brother, you knew this is what he would have wanted. If you couldn’t do it for yourself you would have solace knowing you were doing it for him.

Your whole life sat packed by the door in 3 bags total. The keys swung around your fingers as you headed toward the door to go pick up the kids before you’d come back, pack the car up and go.

Without a thought, you swung the door open and jumped back when you weren’t met with the usual open space. A 6’4” tall body stood at the door. No kutte in sight, his beanie snug on his head. He effortlessly held a backpack slung over his shoulder and a duffel bag in his left hand.

Taking it all in, you finally felt it. Closure.

“If you’re gonna take that shitty car on your Charming dash, I figured you were going to need a mechanic on the road with you.” Opie said, staring down at you.

“I don’t need a mechanic,” the words would have gutted Opie if you didn’t follow them up with your next few.

“I need my best friend.”

#opie winston #opie winston x reader #opie winston x y/n #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy fanfic #soa fanfic #soa #soa imagine #teller sister reader insert #teller sister #garbinge

189 notes · View notes

fanficimagery · 2 years

Text

A Spider Among Bikers

Finally reunited with your sister, you tried to keep the reality of what you went through a secret. Of course, it was only a matter of time before you had to tell her.

Words: 8.1K Author's Note: Is it still called a crossover if you only mention other characters/agencies from another fandom? Sons and Marvel AU. Trigger warning for KGB grooming and all that.

One minute you're fighting alongside your fellow Widows, intent on taking out ex-Widow Romanoff, and the next you are being blown backwards off your feet by a small explosive. Small red orbs dance in front of your face, disappearing into your mouth and nostrils as it clears away a haze that had been pulled over your mind long ago.

You sit up alongside your sisters, glancing around in confusion and fear as agents Romanoff and Belova explain that you're free- that General Dreykov had controlled all of you, but that he no longer had that power over you. They tell you the base is going to explode and to evacuate immediately. Then after everything has settled, agents Belova and Vostokoff take you and the other Widows in, giving you a place to stay and time to collect yourselves before going off on your own or whatever it was you decided to do. You stayed for nearly a year, trying to piece together everything you knew about your past life and whether or not it was worth going back to.

It was.

At least going back for your sister it was when you did a little digging. She married a member of some motorcycle club whose members were a bunch of criminals, taking care of his two kids and slowly drowning in debt. So after trying to remember anything you could about Lyla and your parents, you packed up what little belongings you had and returned to the states for the first time since you were eight.

Lyla Winston no longer worked in the porn industry and instead chose to bartend at a bar that only served bikers and their friends. Teller-Morrow Automotive was a front for the Sons of Anarchy and whatever they chose to do that kept the money coming in, and connected to the automotive garage was the clubhouse where all members hung out and partied.

Hesitantly walking into the parking lot, you're aware of the gazes following you. You don't want to step on any toes by just entering their building, so instead you head over to a grouping of picnic tables where a couple individuals are having a smoke break- one with a mohawk shaved close to his head and tattoos on either side of the strip of hair, and the other wearing a beanie despite the warm weather as he strokes his full beard. Opie Winston. Your apparent brother-in-law.

"Hi." You're anything but a shy, sheepish woman, but you have to put up a front. At least for now until you can explain your past. "Um, do you guys know if Lyla Winston is here? I was told I could find her here."

The man in the beanie, Opie, tenses and you gulp, shoving your hands into the pockets of your shorts as you try to make yourself as small as possible under his stare. "She is. Who are you?"

"YN. I'm, uh, I'm her little sister."

"Bullshit."

You wince at his tone and your eyes widen as he stands up from the table. The man was tall. Lyla definitely had good taste. "I-I am! Promise. C-Can you just go get her? She might not believe you if you tell her who's asking for her, so tell her I was the one who broke mom's glass cabinet but that she took the blame so I wouldn't get the belt."

Opie continues to stare you down, but eventually he sees something in you that makes him believe you might be telling the truth. He looks down at his friend and gestures to the garage. "Go tell her. See what her reaction is." His companion nods and hurriedly gets up, jogging towards the building. You exhale, shoulders sagging just a bit. "I'm gonna ask you again, who are you? And don't lie to me."

"I-I'm not. I'm YN. Lyla's younger sister by only a year."

He crosses thick arms over his chest as his eyes narrow. "Why hasn't she mentioned you before?"

You shrug. "I don't know. Maybe because-"

The sound of glass shattering makes you pause and you immediately glance at the clubhouse opening. Many of the garage workers have stopped working, everyone now staring at the blonde woman who's now running out of the clubhouse. Opie moves to intercept her, but she slaps away his hands and stops just a couple feet in front of you, eyes wide with disbelief.

It's Lyla. Definitely Lyla all grown up.

Your eyes water and your throat tightens, and she reaches for you cautiously as if you're going to disappear on her, but holds herself back from making contact. "We used to have a dog when we were little," she says. "What was its name?"

Your brow furrows as you try to recall memories from your childhood. "We didn't have a dog. We had a cat and you.. you named it Fergus."

Lyla sobs before closing the distance between the two of you, her arms around your neck as yours wrap around her waist. "We thought you were dead!" She cries. "How are you here right now? Mom and dad never called and.." She trails off, sobs wracking her body.

Your eyes sting with more tears before they spill over, and you smooth your hands up and down her back. You're more than ready to answer her, but another masculine voice stops you. "Ope? What's going on, brother?"

You glance at Opie, watching as he glances between you and the several members of his club standing nearby. "Your guess is as good as mine. Says she's Lyla's sister."

"Didn't know she had one." Now the blue-eyed, blonde man is staring suspiciously at you.

"Neither did I."

Lyla, having been keeping an ear out on her surroundings, releases you and whirls around while standing protectively in front of you. "She was kidnapped when I was nine. We didn't- I thought she was-"

"Shit." Opie curses as Lyla breaks down again.

As Opie pulls his wife into a hug, you stand just behind her and let your gaze dart over those closing in on you to quickly catalog who's who. Jax Teller, Clay Morrow, Gemma Teller-Morrow, Happy Lowman, Chibs Telford, Juice Ortiz, Tig Trager.. each and every one of these individuals are someone you've done research on before you ever stepped foot inside Charming, California.

Opie glances down at you, expression still neutral. "Come inside. Let's talk."

You gulp and nod, crossing your arms over your chest and keeping your head down, intent on following after him and your sister. But Lyla pulls herself free from him and she wraps an arm around your shoulders to tuck you under her arm, leading you into the clubhouse herself. As she leads you towards a couple of sofas, someone shouts for everyone to clear the hell out and for a few guys to keep an eye on the garage.

Lyla sits you down on a sofa and sits as close as possible to you, Opie sitting on her other side and Jax sitting on yours. Across from you, Clay and Gemma take a seat as the others scramble for a seat themselves. Two other individuals join you- Opie's father Piney and another individual known as Bobby as they quietly inquire what the hell is going on after seeing Lyla's tear-stained face.

"Where have you been all this time?" Lyla finally asks.

Her question quiets everyone down and they all stare at you in anticipation. You exhale softly. "Believe it or not, I've been in Russia." Her eyes widen and you immediately slip into the language that now spills effortlessly off your tongue. "It was hell, but I'm home now."

Someone mumbles, "Holy shit," and you crack a small grin in Juice's direction.

"How'd you get away?"

"You know that Avenger that goes by the name Black Widow?" She nods. "She set us free last year."

"Us?" Jax murmurs.

You glance at him and solemnly nod. "Human trafficking." That was as close to the truth as you'd tell them for now. Someone inhales sharply and Lyla starts to sniffle all over again. "When I- when I was taken, I was just coming back from the restroom at the mall. One second I'm walking down a hallway, and the next everything has gone dark and I'm waking up in the back of a truck with numerous other crying and scared little girls."

"Oh my god." Lyla reaches for your hand and you flash her a tearful smile.

"They drove for hours and when we were finally let out, we were in some lot surrounded by cargo shipping containers. There was a man and he.. he walked up and down, picking and choosing the girls he wanted. The ones that didn't get chosen were shot and killed right away." There's gruntled mumbling of disbelief and anger, but you press on. Squeezing Lyla's hand, you keep your gaze on the coffee table in front of you as you blink away tears. "That's.. that's the only clear thing I can remember from before. My time in Russia.. it's all fuzzy. Jumbled," you say. "Like I know I was constantly busy, always doing something, but when I try to think exactly what it was I was doing.. it's just- it's static."

"Maybe that's for the best." Your eyes dart up at the words to see Gemma's dark eyes pinning you to your seat. Everything about her screams tough bitch, but the sympathy in her eyes lets you know she believes everything you're saying.

"If that Avenger lass set you free last year, why are you only coming now? Why weren't yer family notified?" Chibs wonders.

You shrug. "Whatever agent Romanoff was doing in Russia; I don't think it was sanctioned by the government. I don't think finding us was her objective, but she couldn't leave us there, so she and a couple of friends set us up somewhere so we could heal before deciding what we wanted to do. Over the months, some stuff started coming back to me and I just- I felt dirty. Ashamed. And after a while, all I wanted was my sister. Not mom, not dad, but Ly."

Lyla immediately hugs you. "I got you. You're home now. It's going to be okay."

"I'm sure you've been through hell, girl, but I'm gonna need a DNA test to prove you are who you say you are."

"Clay." Jax tenses in his seat, but the gruff man shakes his head.

"We've been through too much- the club's been through too much- to just let someone waltz in and play on Lyla's past like this. If the DNA's a match, I'll apologize. If not.."

"I'll do it." You gulp as every stare falls on you once more. "I don't know what you guys have been through, but if this will ease your minds about whatever suspicions you have about me, then I'll do it."

Everyone goes quiet and Clay stares at you a moment longer before nodding. "Okay." Then looking at Jax, he says, "Make the appointment with your old lady. The sooner, the better."

Jax gets up and heads over to the bar, pulling out his phone to make the call. Lyla tugs on your hand, garnering your attention and she flashes you a weak smile. "You don't have to," she murmurs. "I believe you."

You lean forward, touching your forehead to hers. "This is your family now, Ly. It's okay. I'm fine with whatever tests they want to run."

Jax makes his way back over, breaking up the family moment. "Tara said her friend's free right now. They can draw the blood and put a rush on it to see if there are any similarities."

Clay nods and gestures to the clubhouse doors. "Go. Let us know the results."

"Come on." Lyla stands, tugging on your hand so you're standing as well.

Opie passes Lyla a set of keys. "Take the truck. Jax and I will follow."

"Okay." He kisses your sister's cheek before staring at you and offering a terse nod.

Lyla leads you out of the clubhouse and into the parking lot, pointing out the truck she's going to drive. You climb into the passenger seat without a word, briefly glancing at Jax and Opie as they climb onto their motorcycles.

The drive to the hospital is quiet, your head leaning against the headrest while your arm sticks out the window as the wind rushes over it. Then all too soon, Lyla is pulling into the parking lot of a hospital and parking, Jax and Opie parking nearby. You and Lyla hop out of the truck, and when you meet her in front of the hood she's quick to grab your hand and tangle your fingers together.

Jax and Opie lead the way into the hospital as Jax looks for Tara- who Lyla quickly explains is Jax's wife- and then a brunette is politely introducing herself while leading you and Lyla to one of the back rooms. You hardly bat an eye as she and her friend explain the blood taking process, and readily lay your arm out so they can tap a vein.

A handful of minutes later and you're sitting in the hospital cafeteria next to your sister with Jax and Opie sitting opposite you. You're relaxed in your chair, staring straight ahead but not really seeing. You've zoned out.

"So since you've convinced Lyla and you're not freakin' out about having your blood taken,'' Opie starts, "I'm gonna just assume you've been tellin' the truth and really are Lyla's little sister." Your lips twitch at his gruff tone and you offer him a nod. "Then let me be the first to say welcome home." He holds his hand out for you to shake and you do. "I'm Opie. Your brother-in-law."

"Hi, Opie."

"And I'm Jax. Opie's best friend." The blue-eyed blonde shakes your hand as well.

"I'm, uh, I'm YN," you say. "I wish I could tell you more about me, but I don't have much to go off of."

"Don't even worry about it. I'm sure you'll be makin' new memories pretty soon."

The next hour passes agonizingly slow, but it's never silent. Lyla shares what little stories from your childhood she remembers, about how she met Opie, and asks if you have any place to stay or where you'll be staying. You inform her you have a motel room that suits you just fine and you kind of really want to stick with her for as long as you can. Jax and Opie are worried about whatever funds you have running out, but you assure them that Yelena and Melina set you up with funds that's sure to last you for quite a while (they were really your funds you saved up over the years for targets you'd taken out for the Red Room, but they didn't need to know that. At least not yet).

When Tara arrives at the table with an envelope in hand, everyone tenses. And she smiles- beams, really- while telling you what you already knew. You and Lyla were siblings, and the blood tests proved it. Lyla broke down into sobs again and you pulled her into a hug, chuckling but crying along with her. Opie and Jax stand, make their way around the table, and pull you into hugs of their own while welcoming you to the family. Even Tara hugs you, tears in her eyes before telling you all she has to go back to work.

The drive back to Teller-Morrow Automotive is a bit more lighthearted, but Lyla quickly schools her expression when she parks and gets out. She keeps her hands to herself as everyone starts to slowly come out from the clubhouse and your arms cross over your chest to hug yourself.

"Well?" Gemma drawls. "Are we kicking some ass or throwing a party?"

For a moment you and Lyla say nothing, and then she's practically jumping up and down in celebration. "My sister's back, bitches!"

Clay smiles and Gemma smirks, and the other men around you whoop and congratulate her. They introduce themselves to you this time- Juice, Bobby, Happy, Piney, and Chibs. Tig tries to flirt, but you laugh him off, and then Gemma's pulling you into a side hug. Clay apologizes and you forgive him, and then you're being ushered inside and asked what you like to eat because there's going to be a huge party for you the following day.

Lyla ends up staying with you at the motel that night, but only after she agrees to Opie's demands that a Prospect stand guard outside your room. She filled you in about her life after you'd gone missing and how she landed a job as a porn star. She had been hesitant to reveal that fact about her life, but you surprised her by being accepting of her chosen lifestyle.

You'd fallen asleep in the same bed in the early morning hours, only to be woken up by someone repeatedly kicking the mattress. You and Lyla immediately sat up, glaring at the intruders. Moments later, as your vision cleared, you watched as Opie and Jax snorted with laughter.

"Holy shit. If that DNA test hadn't been taken yesterday, that twin death glare would've convinced me," Jax had said.

You and Lyla groaned at the men, falling back onto the mattress and wanting nothing more than to grab a few more hours of sleep. Opie told you to do just that, but the two of you better be up and dressed for the night's activities since Gemma had the sweetbutts cleaning the clubhouse from top to bottom since six that morning.

Later, after a late lunch, Lyla tells you to grab a change of clothes so you could get ready at her house. Opie introduces you to his kids and then Lyla drags you to the bedroom. You shower first and then her, and she tries to talk you into a different outfit when she sees what you chose- dark skinny jeans, a fitted short sleeve shirt under a loose cardigan and a pair of Doc Martens. You were comfortable in your own skin, but around so many new people you just wanted to dress comfortably with no intention of impressing anyone.

There are actual streamers and balloons and a welcome home banner when you get to the clubhouse, and you hardly bat an eye at all the scantily clad women that your sister refers to as sweetbutts who have high hopes of sleeping with anyone and everyone in a kutte. You're hugged and kissed on the cheek by a few people, and then Jax is jumping on the bar and informing everyone exactly what the party is for while introducing you. There are several whoops of cheer and even more whistles of appreciation, and you sheepishly wave while trying to put Lyla in front of you.

Lyla leads you around the clubhouse so you can mingle and get to know more people, and then you're grabbing a plate of pizza and a beer and taking a seat on the sofa. Eventually though she gets roped into being behind the bar, leaving you all alone. Opie checks on you every once and a while, he and Jax scaring away any member of SAMCRO who'd taken to sitting a little too close to you.

As the night wears on, Happy takes a seat on the opposite corner of the sofa you're on to glare away anyone who bothers you. Every time someone gets close and then quickly backpedals after an introduction, you glance at Happy and offer him a brief smile before people watching once more.

Juice plops on the empty space between you and Happy, and he waggles his eyebrows at you. "You've been nursing that beer the entire night. Live a little."

When he pulls forth a bottle of vodka that he'd been hiding by his side, you arch an eyebrow at him. "I'm not really a fan of the hard stuff."

He scoffs. "What? All that time with the Russians and they didn't teach you how to hold your liquor?"

Happy punches Juice's thigh and you flash both men a grin. "Juice, I can drink your pretty ass under the table. I just choose not to."

Juice beams and Happy rolls his eyes. "You've done it now."

"Line them up, sweetheart. You just issued a challenge and I'm jumping on that."

"Whatever. I'll be back." You get up and head over to the bar, asking Lyla for a tray of empty shot glasses. She raises an eyebrow at you, and you explain Juice has just challenged you to a drinking challenge. She laughs, gets you the shot glasses, and wishes you luck.

When you get back to Juice and Happy, you sit on your knees next to the coffee table and start lining up the shot glasses in two lines. Juice laughs and uncaps the vodka, filling each shot glass. Then once they're all filled, he grabs the first one in his line as you do the same.

"Cheers."

You and Juice clink shot glasses, and you down the first shot. One by one, you and Juice down them, gathering a small crowd who start laughing when Juice cringes at one particular shot and you're still throwing them back without a grimace.

On the last shot, Juice hesitates, already looking a little green around the gills. He shoots back the shot, but more than half dribbles out of his mouth and you shoot yours back without any issue. The men and women surrounding you whoop and cheer, and you reclaim your seat on the sofa when Jax assures the sweetbutts will handle the shot glasses so you don't have to clean up. Juice burps and gags, but keeps down his liquor. He sways in his seat and before anyone can do anything, he drops sideways so that his head is in your lap.

Laughing, you wave off Chibs as he goes to move his brother. "He's fine. Let him sleep it off for a bit. I don't think I can leave before the party's over anyway."

Chibs looks a little surprised, leaving Juice on your lap, but not taking his leave before snapping a quick picture of his passed out brother while you're still sitting pretty as a flower.

It's been a little over two months that you've been back in the states, and you've recently come back to Charming after visiting your parents. You fed them the same story you did your sister, and they accepted your words without question. They didn't like that you were living under the radar, so after a quick call to Yelena who in turn called her sister Natasha, you were mailed your identification cards and every other important document you needed to get by without being questioned by any authorities.

You are the complete opposite of your sister Lyla, but the Sons of Anarchy and their Old Ladies have become quite fond of you. In fact, they've also become a bit protective as well. But it isn't until the little town of Charming throws a fundraiser for every organization within the town that the club starts to realize there may be more to you than meets the eye.

Every organization had a booth lining the street of downtown Charming, selling food and giving away goodie bags to those who bought food from them or donated to their cause. And apparently there was a perk for whichever organization raised the most cash, so Gemma was determined to finally beat the fire department. She didn't look too happy by the time you and Lyla dropped by, and she admitted the damn fire department had more visitors than the club's booth. And on a whim, you asked her how much money they usually made at these things.

Once Gemma absentmindedly tells you that each booth usually makes anywhere from $200 to $800, Lyla and Jax are the only ones to raise an eyebrow as you smile and take off the small backpack you had donned for the day. Reaching in, you pull out a checkbook and write a check for $5000. You hand it over and take a cup of chili in return, and wink at Gemma when she finally reads how much you'd just donated.

Gemma blinks in shock and awe. "What? Baby.."

"I'm good for it. Trust me."

Jax takes the check from his mom, his own eyes widening a second later. "What the fuck?"

You laugh and eat some chili, shrugging. "Just think of it as a thank you for all that you guys have done for me."

Lyla can only smile as Jax whoops and cheers, rushing around the table to pull you into a hug and swing you around. After all, she and Opie were no stranger to taking some of your money so you could help them with some of their debt. It was a struggle for them to accept it, but when they realized you had more than enough cash stashed away, they thanked you profusely.

Little by little, your guard falls around the club. Not enough to let them know what you'd truly been through, but enough to stop blushing and even flirt back a little to give the men a taste of their own medicine. The first time you'd done it, Tig choked on his beer and Piney laughed so hard that Opie had to up his oxygen.

Lyla managed to convince Gemma to hire you on as a bartender at the clubhouse, but they made it clear that you were to step outside if they ever mentioned club business. You had absolutely no issue with it and immediately dropped whatever you were doing when Clay or Jax gave you a single look. So of course, after you've settled down and finally started to live like a civilian, it all comes crashing down.

The core members of SAMCRO are hanging around the clubhouse with Gemma, Tara, Lyla and yourself with them. Everyone's just killing time after a long day in the garage and the atmosphere is the most comfortable you've ever felt since you've been here.

You're on the way back from grabbing a few beers for the guys when a suit walks into the clubhouse, two duffel bags hanging off his shoulders. You see him first and slow to a stop, and then tense when you realize who he is. You know him. You've worked for him. And now here he was looking smug as can be.

"Hey, man," Jax calls out. "We're closed for the night."

Suit smiles at Jax and shakes his head. "I'm not here for you. I'm here for her." He points at you and everyone tenses. "Hello, YN."

Your expression goes cold as you slowly set the bottles in your hand on the nearest table, keeping the suit in your eye sight the entire time. "You're not welcome here. Leave."

"Aw. Is that any way to speak to an old friend?" Immediately, everyone's standing and coming to crowd on either side of you. Suit scoffs at their reaction. "Cute." Then he meets your gaze head on. "I got a job for you."

Immediately you shake your head. "No. Yelena and Melina got me out of that life. I've gone straight."

"YN?" The hurt in your sister's voice is enough to make your expression crack and you glance at her, expression showing just how fucking sorry you currently are. "What's going on?"

"Later, Ly. Please."

Her eyes widen when she hears your voice crack, but then the sound of a bag being tossed on the ground makes you look forward once more. You glance at the duffel bag on the floor and then back at the suit. He smirks. "Is two hundred and fifty thousand enough to make you stray?"

The men and women surrounding you go eerily quiet, so quiet that you hear a mumbled, "Fuck," somewhere to your right. Your jaw clenches as tears sting your eyes and when you glance to your left, you find every Son staring at you in surprise.

"Check it." Clay's deep voice is enough to make you cringe and you helplessly watch as Tig scurries forward, unzipping the bag.

"Holy shit," Tig murmurs. He looks up at you and then at Clay, eyebrows raising. "Looks legit."

Your head hangs as you sigh, but then you quickly pull yourself together. Standing tall, head held high, you ask, "Who's the target?"

"One of your favorites which is why I sought you out for it," Suit says. "Specializes in human trafficking. Specifically children."

"Oh hell no," Gemma mutters.

"I don't have a uniform. I got rid of everything." The second duffel bag is tossed at your feet and you mentally roll your eyes. Of course. "You were so sure, weren't you?" You ask as you scoop up the duffel bag and place the strap on your shoulder.

"What can I say? I know the targets that'll bring you back into the fold no matter what. Once a Widow, always a Widow."

You flinch and then step towards Tig, zipping the bag up and taking it with you. Looking at Clay, you say, "I'll explain everything when I get back. I promise." The man in charge looks you up and down, and you're just grateful he's not raging at you for keeping secrets. He nods and then you glance at Opie. "Can I use your dorm to change?"

"Yeah. Come on."

Without meeting anyone else's gaze, you follow after Opie and grab Lyla's hand on the way. Opie leads you to the dorms, using his key to open up his own personal dorm. Once inside, you toss the duffel bag full of cash onto his bed and walk into the bathroom without a word with the other bag still hanging from your shoulder.

Setting the bag on the sink, you unzip it and sigh. It's your suit- shoes, holsters, and weapons included. Then with another sigh, you strip and get redressed in the appropriate clothing. The black skintight, reinforced body suit still fits like a glove. You slip into your shoes before grabbing your belt and clipping it on. The thigh holsters clip onto your belt to make sure they don't slip off and then you holster your glocks into each one. There's another holster that you slip your arms into, clipping it together along your collarbones, while a triangular pack sits between your shoulder blades. You slip two electric batons into the pack so their handles sit just above your shoulders, and then you wrap two bracelets with widow bites around your wrists.

You quickly tie your hair up into a ponytail and once you're finished, you toss the empty bag under the sink. Steeling yourself, you clear your mind and then step back out into Opie's room.

Lyla and Opie's eyes widen when they see you.

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into, kid?"

You gulp. "When I told you everything that happened to me? That was the watered down version," you quietly tell them. "The full version is.. it's worse. Way worse. But I can't explain right now. I have a job to carry out."

Lyla steps forward, eyes filling with tears. "You don't have to do this."

"I do." You allow your expression to fall for a brief moment before schooling it once more. "Keep the money hidden until I get back, yeah? And if you guys are willing to hear me out, I'll explain everything then."

Opie stares you down. "What you said about the human trafficking, that was real, right? It wasn't just something to get us to trust you?"

"All real," you say. "I just didn't mention what the human trafficking was for. Or that I remembered every goddamn detail of it."

He looks at you and then tersely nods. "Okay. I can't speak for the rest of the guys, but I'll hear you out."

"Thank you."

Opie then cracks a grin. "The guys are gonna flip when they see you in this get-up. Especially Juice. I think our little Puerto Rican has a crush on you."

"Yeah? Well I doubt it'll go anywhere now when he realizes just how much blood I have on my hands. Now let's go. The sooner I leave, the sooner I can get back."

Opie turns to open the door, but Lyla steps up to you, grabbing your hands and squeezing them in comfort. "For what it's worth, I'll love you no matter what. You're my little sister, YN, and no matter what you have to tell us I'll still be there for you."

"Thanks, Ly." She smiles as she rests her forehead against yours, and then looks up to kiss your forehead.

Opie and Lyla walk out ahead of you, and you take a moment to slip back into the person you were raised to be. With confidence oozing out of your every pore, you walk back out into the front of the clubhouse.

Juice is the first to spot you and as predicted, he's stunned. His jaw drops open, his eyes widen, and one by one the Sons look to see what's got him speechless.

"Holy shit," Jax's own eyes widen. "YN?"

"I think I got myself a new fetish," Tig says.

Letting a smirk slide across your lips, you saunter forward until you're standing next to the suit. Feet shoulder width apart and hands clasped behind your back, you nod at those you've slowly come to see as family. "Thank you for taking me in. When I get back, we'll have a much needed discussion."

"Damn right we will," Clay says.

You nod at him and then glance at Gemma, Clay's very own wife, and are relieved to see the amusement in eyes. Her gaze darts between you, Juice and Happy, and you're surprised to see the heat both men are staring at you with. You've caught Juice stare at you that way a few times, but not so obvious like he is now and Happy.. well that's new.

"I'll see you all soon."

Suit touches your elbow and you loosen your stance before turning on your heel, marching after your temporary boss.

It's been two weeks since you've been back to the clubhouse, but to be fair you were buying a house and getting your shit in order. It wasn't too close to Teller-Morrow Automotive in case the club took issue with your past and didn't want you around, but you weren't going to let their distrust of you drive a wedge between you and Lyla. You had just reconnected with your sister and you'll be damned if you're forced to leave her yet again.

So you found a house, purchased it, decorated it, and briefly settled in before deciding to head back over to the clubhouse.

Dressed comfortably, you grab a duffel bag you had thrown into your closet and slide into your brand-new black Chevrolet Camaro to drive towards Teller-Morrow. The sun has gone down by the time you get there, but it seems like they've got a party going on. And not wanting to do this in front of everybody, you head back over to your own house and text your sister. You tell her you're ready to explain your story and those who wish to hear are more than welcome to come over. You text her the address to your home before making yourself a cup of tea and sitting outside on your porch to wait.

Twenty minutes later and the roaring of motorcycle engines pierce the still night air. The house and property you had chosen was well away from any dwelling, but it was the kind of isolation you approved of. Numerous headlights dot the dirt road leading up to your house, followed by the headlights of a large SUV.

Clay and Jax lead the way, followed by Opie, Tig, Bobby, Chibs, Juice and Happy. When the SUV parks, you smile as Lyla readily hops out and eagerly jogs up to meet you on the porch. Gemma's not that far behind either.

Lyla immediately pulls you into a hug, exhaling in relief, but it's Gemma who says, "Hey, baby, job go well?"

You grin at her over Lyla's shoulder. "So well I took another. Head on in." You gesture to the front door. "Let's take a seat in the living room."

Gemma heads in without having to be told twice and you pull out of Lyla's embrace to tug her along. Opie flashes you a grin, ruffling your hair, and you swat at him then at Jax as he tries to do the same. You push Lyla inside and then Clay, Chibs, and Bobby give you a nod as they walk in behind your sister.

"Aw. No suit?" Tig frowns.

"Stop sexualizing my suit. It's weird."

"It's hot."

"I murder people in that suit."

"Even hotter."

You snort, chuckling as Happy shoves Tig into your house. "Thanks, Happy."

He shrugs. "He's not wrong."

"Jesus Christ." Happy flashes a faint grin before heading inside and then Juice stops right in front of you. You grin at him. "If you tell me my suit does it for you too, I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Fine. I won't say a thing."

"Good."

"But-"

"Nope. Inside." You shove at Juice, smiling at his laugh as you continue to push him inside your house. Everyone's grabbed a seat in your living room and you walk up, setting your empty cup on a side table. Exhaling, you tuck your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. "Alright, so first thing first, the whole ordeal I told you about human trafficking, that was real. I just didn't give the details of what the human trafficking ring was for."

"What exactly was it for?" Jax wonders.

"The KGB had a program to train little girls in combat and espionage. It's not hard to mentally break a child, put her on a strict diet and start her on lessons." You shrug, desensitized to what you've been through. "As soon as I got there, we were put on strict diets and had a workout routine. Then we had etiquette lessons and ballet lessons, and then they moved on to combat. It was basically a fight ring for little girls and those who didn't make it, they died."

Lyla gasps, hand flying to her mouth.

"Once we were trained nice and good in combat, weapons training started. We had to kill our first victim by thirteen. If we didn't, we would be mentally broken all over again before being told to try again."

"Jesus Christ." Bobby shakes his head in disbelief.

You sigh. "At sixteen, the seduction lessons start. And then at graduation, you're sterilized. After all, the KGB couldn't have their little assassins getting knocked up and becoming distracted."

Everyone's stunned quiet.

"How do we know you're not lying?" Clay asks.

Your right hand wraps around a USB drive in your back pocket before you pull it out and toss it at Juice who catches it with ease. "That's every file they had on me from the early days when they took me up until after graduation. There's a laptop under the TV already plugged in. Watch it if you have any doubts."

Juice looks at Clay and the elder man gives him the go ahead. Juice scrambles out of his seat, heading towards your TV and the laptop residing on the shelf underneath it. You walk over behind the seat your sister is sitting on, standing behind her and crossing your arms over your chest as you mentally prepare yourself for what everyone's about to see.

Juice sits beneath your TV with the laptop in his lap, everything on the laptop being showcased on TV for all to see. He's mumbling to himself as he clicks through the files, searching for the videos that'll backup your story. He finds them and immediately plays the first one.

The first video is shaky and a bit grainy, and it shows exactly what you first told them. The person handling the camera walks up to the back of what appears to be an 18-wheeler and the moment the door is pushed up, the terrified screams and cries of little girls pierce through the speakers. Your eye twitches, but you continue to watch as they pull every single of you out- faces tear stained and little bodies trembling. One by one, girls are either chosen or waved off, and then the video cuts out as soon as gunshots ring out.

The next video shows a small group of girls huddled together wearing nothing by white tank tops and underwear. Lyla gasps when the camera passes over you and you reach forward to grab onto her shoulder to remind her you're home. On the screen, the girls are being measured and weighed, and then told what each girl can or cannot eat.

You're fine watching the process of everything you've been through, but the moment they get to when the combat training starts, your facade cracks. The first fight you'd been in leaves you bloodied and crying, and thrown into an isolation room where you scream and cry some more for your mom, dad, and sister. At ten years old, they threaten that if you don't start giving it your all then they're going to kill you and go after your sister. That makes Lyla and Opie tense, and you end up having to quietly assure them all those people are dead. There is no more threat.

With the threat of them taking your sister hanging over your head, you become better. You lose a couple more fights, but the fights that truly count are the ones you win and graduate to the next level with. Weapons training was a breeze since you actually paid attention to that, assembling and disassembling coming very easy to you. But the moment you have a gun in hand, aiming it at a person tied to a chair with a sack over his head, you hesitate. The trainers see it and you're tossed into another isolation room. When the video cuts to silent footage of you sitting in the corner with your hands pressed to your ears and screaming your lungs out, you wince.

"What did they make you listen to?" Gemma asks.

"They'd replicated my parent's and Lyla's voices," you admit. "I had to listen to them telling me to do what I was told and then Lyla screaming as if she was being murdered."

"How did you know it wasn't real?" Opie asks, voice rough.

"Because when they finally pulled me out, they told me that the next time it wouldn't be a fake recording."

The next video footage is of you in the shooting range again, expression blank and aim true. You pull the trigger three times before effortlessly switching hands, shooting another three times. This time when there's a bound man sitting in front of you, you don't bat an eye before pulling the trigger.

There's more combat training, more brutal than before, and ballet lessons that completely confuse everyone. They watch as you go from a terrified eight year old girl to a disciplined, lethal eighteen year old. There's an entire graduation ceremony where those who survived the lessons are in black catsuits while scientists, doctors, and generals applaud all around you. And then it ends with you in a hospital gown, laying on a surgical gurney while being pushed into a surgical room.

When the videos end, no one utters a word.

"I.. have so much blood on my hands," you say. "I didn't want you to know who I was and then prevent me from being with my sister."

"We all have blood on our hands, kid," Clay says.

"Not like me."

"No, not like you," he agrees. You hold Clay's stare as he figures out what his next step is. Eventually, he sighs after glancing between you and Lyla. "Do you plan to continue this line of business?"

"I hadn't," you admit. "But money is money and after purchasing this land and this house, I'm gonna need some form of income."

"Is there any way this will blow back on your sister or the club?"

"Nah. When I take a mission, I wear someone else's face. Mine is never on display unless it's pure recon."

"Wear someone else's face?" Juice wonders.

"Photostatic veil. I got all kinds of cool gadgets." Juice's eyes light up and you grin. You have a feeling he's going to love the basement of your house where all the weapons and gadgets and computers reside. "I'll show you sometime."

"No matter what I say, you ain't leavin', are 'ya?" Clay asks.

You shrug. "If you really don't want me around, I'll steer clear of the club, but I'm not leaving Lyla."

"I figured." You smile as he huffs. "As long as you don't endanger my club, I don't give a shit what you do."

"Aw. You're sweet." Clay rolls his eyes as everyone chuckles. The tension in the room ebbs away and you walk over to the hall closet. "And as thanks for looking out for my sister and being so cool when I first got here," from the closet, you pull out a duffel bag and rejoin everyone before tossing the bag onto the coffee table, "that's for you. Well for the club, but yeah."

"Is that- is that what I think it is?" Tig asks, eyes sparkling as he stares at the bag.

"Why don't you open it and find out."

Tig scrambles out of his seat and quickly unzips the duffel bag. He barks out a laugh, pulling out stack after stack of cash.

"YN?" Lyla turns in her seat, staring up at you in awe and you shrug at her.

"I took a second job while I was away. Wasn't a big fish, but he still had a decent penny attached to his name."

"Holy shit." Juice is next to Tig, pulling out stacks of money too. "How much is in here?"

"A hundred and fifty grand." Chibs swears as he's tossed a stack and you chuckle. "Divide it up, pay off debt, or do whatever. Every other job will be a generous donation to my new favorite MC so long as my identity stays between us. It won't do any good if everyone knows I'm a Black Widow."

"I feel like a sugar baby. Is this what being a sugar baby feels like?" Juice asks.

Jax snorts as he stands up, heading for you. He pulls you into a hug, kissing your temple. "Thanks, darling. You have no idea how much this money is going to help us out."

"Yeah, well.."

"I got a question," Gemma says. She waits until she has your attention, until Jax slings an arm around your shoulders and faces his mom too, and then continues on. "Have you ever met that Captain America fella?"

Everyone seems to exhale in relief and you laugh. "Actually, yeah. I had to get Natasha to set me up with my legal documents and he flew out with her to deliver them."

"And?" She raises an eyebrow at you.

"And.." You shrug. "And nothing."

"Oh bullshit. He as good looking as he looks on TV?"

Your nose wrinkles as you shrug again. "He's okay. Not really my type."

Lyla scoffs. "Please. Captain America is everyone's type."

"Hey." Everyone chuckles at Opie's pout.

"Nah. He's too.. clean cut. If I had to choose someone, I'd choose his best friend Sergeant Barnes."

"The Winter fuckin' Soldier!" Juice exclaims. "Seriously?!"

"Oh hell yeah." You grin. "That broody, long haired, metal armed man.." You trail off, humming in delight as Lyla and Gemma bark out a laugh at the glint you get in your eye. "That man looks like he can fuck."

"That man looks like he'll murder you!"

"If I got out during sex with that metal hand wrapped around my throat, I'd die a happy woman."

"Jesus Christ," Tig swears. The poor man looks a little too turned on as he stares at you, but surprisingly he doesn't hit on you. "Are you sure you're Lyla's baby sister?"

"We got the DNA test to prove it."

Mostly everyone is still chuckling as Jax tights his arm around you. "Well I know one thing for sure, life just got a whole lot more interesting in Charming with its very own Black Widow now residing here."

#soa gen fic x reader #sons of anarchy imagine #soa imagine #marvel imagine #lyla winston #opie winston #juice ortiz #jax teller #gemma teller #clay morrow #tig trager #happy lowman #sons of anarchy #marvel

653 notes · View notes