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drakoneve · 7 months

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Long Run

request: Just something cute and sweet for tig with a gn reader, please? Anything, bro I'm starved.

pairing: Tig Trager x gn!reader

word count: 600+

warnings: mention of a cartel? typical club shit

a/n: I LOVVVEEEEE this man <333

Three years into your relationship with Tig, you should be more than used to long club runs. And, for the most part, you handled the separation well.

You could keep yourself busy with work, chores, and upkeep at the clubhouse with Gemma and Tara while the boys were gone but this work would only last so long.

Tiggy kept in contact as much as he could on the road with calling in between stops and in the evenings while on your drive home. There was the old "what happens on the road stays on the road" club rule, but since the beginning of your relationship Tig made a promise to be loyal to you and he'd yet to break it.

You'd known his reputation with men and women of loving and leaving them before ever getting involved with him, and so you'd made him promise.

This run is different, however.

The club made a special trip to Santo Padre on a favor to Marcus Alvares to help the local Mayans in town handle some cartel business, and before anyone knew it their one week in Santo Padre had turned into three.

It's why tonight you sat alone in the home you shared with Tig, cuddled up in blankets on his side of the bed watching old Criminal Minds reruns.

Being on his side of the bed, resting your head on the pillow seeming infused with Tig's favorite cologne (the one you'd been getting him since your first anniversary together), brought you the comfort of Tig while he was gone.

After several episodes and half a bag of popcorn later you'd finally begun to dose off when you heard it... the soft rumblings of an approaching motorcycle.

Out of habit you reached for the spare gun in the drawer of Tig's nightstand. Before him you had never shot a gun, but after the incident with Tara and Margaret being kidnapped incited Tig to teach you to defend yourself, which meant being able to use a gun if necessary.

You crept your way into the living room to peek out from behind the window curtains to see exactly who it was pulling up in your driveway.

Even though his helmet covered most of his hair, you could see Tig's small curls poking out the bottom, unruly as ever. He shuts his bike off and begins to remove his helmet and you decide you just can't take it anymore.

You abandon the gun in your hand on one of the couch end tables before heading out the door, barefoot and wearing one of Tig's shirts.

Tig raises his head when he hears the door, confused at first, but his gorgeous smile overtakes him as he realizes it's you coming for him.

You go as fast as your legs will carry you, throwing yourself against Tig's broad chest and wrapping your arms around his torso. His arms follow suit, wrapping around you and pulling you up off the ground for a moment before setting you back down, yet his arms don't release you.

"What are you doin' awake at this hour, baby?" he asks, voice muffled in your hair as he breathes you in. "You've got work tomorrow. Well, today, actually."

"Missed you," you confessed into his chest. Finally you bring yourself to pull away slightly, taking in Tig's face.

The bags under his eyes were slightly more defined than when you last saw him, but his blues sparkled down at you with excitement.

"You've been gone far too long, Tiggy," you scold playfully. "I don't think I'm letting you leave me ever again. I don't like it."

His blue eyes flicker over your face as his hands cup either side. "I don't wanna be away from you either, baby. You're everything."

Tig pulls you into a soft kiss. He never moves his hands from your face as he pulls away just slightly, resting his forehead against your own.

"Let's go inside, doll." Tig peppers kisses across your face. "I'm in desperate need of some lovin' from my baby, okay?"

"Mmm," you hum, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. "I can't exactly say 'no' to that, can I?"

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ozzgin · 5 days

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Yandere! Bad Guy x Reader

I am currently in my Natural Born Killers nostalgia, and so I'm borrowing its vibes and bringing you this: a bad-to-the-bone, rock-and-roll attitude yandere who constantly makes you question your own morality. Featuring an old OC!

Content: gender neutral reader, violence, murder, male yandere

He fell in love with you at first sight. A goody two shoes, quiet and obedient. Shy. Oh, terribly shy. You couldn't even meet his eyes. He knew you were the kind others would step on, take advantage of. But there was more to it, much more to uncover.

Who was it? A relative, a friend, a coworker? You know, that person holding you back, keeping you in your place. The one who'd always make you feel small and insignificant. The one who would always find something to criticize. How did it feel when you found them on the ground, bashed in and bloodied up? He was standing above the lifeless body, catching his breath, a cocky smile plastered on his face. His way of courting you.

He looked so tall in that moment, towering above your hesitant self, his gaze of a confidence and intensity you'd never known before. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get in", he said, gesturing towards a convertible he most likely stole earlier that day. What possessed you in that moment to join him without delay? Was it his charisma? Or did you know in the depth of your soul that he wouldn't take no for an answer?

You see, he's known it from the beginning. Someone like you needs someone like him. You’re a sweet little lamb lost among the wolves. The world would eat you right up if you were left by yourself. But now you have him. And he won't let his precious prey get away. Oh, dear, no. If he wants something, he gets it. And he's never wanted anything more than you.

"You didn't...even tell me your name", you sheepishly spoke up from the passenger seat, trying to keep your mind away from the crime you'd just witnessed. "Just call me Tig", he said casually with a yawn, speeding away. "Won't you be in trouble, Tig? Why would you even kill-" you tried to reason. "What kinda question is that? They treated you like shit and it pissed me off." He glanced at you with a frown, taking another drag off his cigarette. "You're mine now, so whatever happens to you is my business. Got it?" You just stared. Was that his way of asking you out?

Tig lives by his own rules, as you quickly learned from becoming his companion. Always on the run, indifferent to the world. For the most part, to your surprise, he's well-behaved. If people don't mess with him, he doesn't mess with them. Simple as that.

Anything involving you, however, sets him off terribly. Like a rabid, ferocious guard dog, he's ready to pounce on whoever approaches you the wrong way. Last week you stopped at a highway diner for coffee, and on your way back to your table, you jokingly pulled a clumsy dance move to the song playing from the speakers. Tig observed you with an amused smile, sipping from his cup. A passerby joined you, resting his arm on your waist flirtatiously. Tig's smile dropped in an instant, and next thing you knew, the whole place was splattered in blood. No one made it out.

"I didn't even finish my coffee", you whined, already used to the occasional massacre. The man hopped behind the counter and threw on a bloodied cap. "What will it be, sir/ma'am?" he pretended, dangling a takeaway cup and starting the espresso machine. "I never told you, but I used to be a barista", he declared proudly. An entirely different person from the unhinged killer you witnessed minutes ago. "What? You said you were a mechanic", you questioned with raised brows. "That's also true. I'm a jack of all trades, I suppose. You know what I'm best at, though?" He lowered himself until his forehead touched yours. "Pleasing you."

The man is romantic in his own way. He twists the key, and the engine stops. You follow him out of the car in confusion. "Why did we stop here?" He briefly lifts himself up onto the tall fence securing the bridge, and inhales deeply. "Isn't it a nice view?" he says, nodding ahead. It is a scenic sight, sure. The river slithers along the lush valley, and the setting sun gives everything a dramatic tint. "Give me your hand", he suddenly demands as he goes to grab it himself. Before you can ask for an explanation, he quickly drags a blade across your palm, and you wince in pain. He repeats the gesture with his own hand, locking his fingers with yours over the rail. You watch as fresh blood trails along your skin, eventually falling into droplets and vanishing into the river. "Now we're going to be everywhere", he remarks playfully. "Okay, but what was the point?" you insist, a little baffled.

"Isn't it obvious? Maybe this will help", he continues, procuring a ring from his pocket. "I'm saying I want to marry you, (Y/N)."

You open your mouth to answer, but he already slides it up your finger, eyes glimmering in excitement.

"You're never getting away from me, love."

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thisreadswhatever · 6 months

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The Chase: Part One

Pretty Sweet

series masterlist

[description]: jax teller x female reader

[wordcount]: 2.7k+

[summary]: Jax Teller is used to getting what he wants. At least that was the case before he met you.

[cw]: 18+ only minors do not interact - AU, follows some canon characters & themes but timeline is different. otherwise none yet, but stick with me, I have a smutty plan!

[authors note]: this has been really fun to write. thank you so much to this anon for requesting this idea! I plan on writing a good few parts of this.. as I am really loving writing this reader insert. if you have any ideas or suggestions on where you would like this to go, please let me know! I absolutely love getting your suggestions. I really hope you enjoy!

It had been a long sixteen hour drive. You sighed with relief as you sped past the large wooden slice, “WELCOME TO CHARMING”. You rolled your windows down, the wind blistering through your hair as you took in the warm California sun.

You turned the music up, attempting to drown out the events replaying in your head that led you here in the first place.

Charming wasn’t exactly on your bucket list of places to travel. Your parents had split a few years back, after your mom decided she could no longer handle the baggage that came with the Sons of Anarchy MC. Your Dad was an avid member of the Denver Charter, and she soon realised she couldn’t sit back and watch as he grew deeper into the Club. It was a quick and amicable divorce, made easier by the fact you were an only child and more than understanding of why the relationship had to end. You were old enough to see the pain your mom went through trying to make it work, and you knew that it was the best decision for them both. Your Dad on the other hand, never really got over it.

When your mom remarried last year, he decided to leave Colorado and transferred to the SAMCRO Charter. Charming was his home now. He’d been begging you to visit him for months, and despite the fact you were genuinely pleased that he was happy, seeing him so far from home and content without his family wasn’t something you’d looked forward too.

Charming was a small place, and from what your Dad had told you, it had never really left the seventies. Denver was the total opposite, a city full of life and people, and ever growing with new expanding chains of business. Even with the freezing winters, there was always something to do in Denver. But Charming? They barely had a population of fifteen thousand.

You had evaded the trip for as long as you could, blaming college assignments and exams for the reason you couldn’t make the drive. Now that you’d graduated, the excuses had run thin, and it was time to visit your Dad in Charming.

You pulled into the road of the address he had given you, entering a long unpaved driveway that ended on the outside of a dainty cabin. Your Dad’s bike was parked stagnant on the dirt. You dug your suitcase out from your trunk and walked up the wooden steps to the porch, bringing your hand to the door to knock. Before your knuckles could meet the wood, the door flung wide and your Dad lunged at you with open arms.

“You’re finally here!”, he squealed in excitement as he grasped you into a giant bear hug.

“‘Finally’ is right. That was a serious drive, Dad.”

He took your suitcase and carried it through the entryway. “Sure is. I’m so glad you got here safely, kiddo. Come on, let’s get you settled. You hungry? I was just about to make some lunch.”

You followed him inside as you observed the interior of the quaint, dusty cabin. “I could definitely eat.”

—

Your Dad showed you to your room and then became sidetracked from lunch, giving you a full tour of his new home and the complete low down of all things SAMCRO. He’d explained that the place was owned by the Club, but nobody ever frequented it unless they were in hiding. Your Dad was housed here for the long term, or at least until he could find something he liked better inside the Charming suburbs.

Once he’d caught you up, he made his start on lunch. You watched as he strolled throughout the kitchen, sitting patiently at the small round dining table.

“It’s a nice place, Dad. Not sure how I feel that you’re out here all alone though.”

“I’m barely here, kiddo. Spend most of my time down the Clubhouse.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued to make sandwiches, dropping a piece of turkey in the process. “I can’t wait for you to meet the guys, y/n. A lot more warm than the ones up in Denver. Some of them are your age too.” He placed the plate in front of you, and you grimaced at the site. Your Dad had never claimed to be a great chef.

“Thanks.” You smiled at him politely, taking a bite and struggling to swallow down the piece of dry sandwich. “I’m sure they’re great, Dad.”

“So, how’s your mom?”

You shrugged dismissively, unsure how to broach the uncomfortable topic of the newly weds. “She’s doing well. Mike is good to her.”

He nodded. “That’s good. I’m really glad she’s happy.”

It was hard to see your Dad try to be okay with the fact that your mom had moved on. The awkward silence was interrupted by his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up from the table. “Finish lunch and we can head on out. The guys are getting together at the Clubhouse tonight, you can meet them all there.”

You knew an evening with a bunch of Californian bikers was going to be inevitable during your trip. At least you could get it over with on the first night.

“Sounds great, Dad.”

—

You weren’t thrilled to be back in the confines of your car so soon after your long road trip, but your Dad knew better than to ask you to sit on the back of his motorcycle.

You rolled the windows down of your car as you followed his bike through the winding road from the cabin. As you re-entered Charming, you passed by locally run stores and cafes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was a quiet, peaceful town. But you did know better. You knew what the Club’s presence actually meant for a small community like Charming. If SAMCRO was anything similar to the Denver Charter, the underworkings of this town would be anything but quiet and peaceful.

You pulled into the lot of Teller-Morrow Automotive Repairs, instantly drawn to the huge row of Harley motorcycles lined up on the inner bays.

Your Dad parked up and met you outside your car, telling you all about his new job in the garage as you walked together. He led you across the lot towards a small black door, entering into the SAMCRO clubhouse. It was impressive, a comfortable space with its own bar and lounge area. The place was full of MC memorabilia and pictures from the club’s long history. The furthest wall was centered by two large double doors that were surrounded by mugshots of the SAMCRO members. You had visited the Denver Clubhouse enough to know that room was where the decisions were made.

Your Dad introduced you one by one to several members that were there, a few of which he’d mentioned to you that afternoon. Bobby, Chibs, Trager, Juice and Opie all greeted you with open arms. They were extremely friendly and welcoming, just as your father had promised. The one your Dad called Trager seemed very pleased with your arrival, hugging you for a little too long. Your Dad managed to break the long embrace, pulling you away to start touring you around the building.

“Don’t get too close to that one, kiddo. He’s a little out there.”

You giggled as you nodded in agreement, “I’ll keep my distance.”

—

You sat alongside the club’s Secretary, Bobby, on a leather bench that faced out with a view of the entire room. You observed as the Clubhouse filled with more members and women, a handful of which were old ladies. The rest of them, very clearly single. Of all the members you’d met so far, Bobby had been the easiest to talk to. He clued you in on some of the Club’s legitimate businesses, Cara Cara and Red Woody Productions. You figured that’s where most of the girls came from, retired and current porn stars.

It was a little strange, and anyone else may have felt uneasy seeing their father in this kind of environment. But you were used to the life of girls and guns from growing up with a dad in a motorcycle club. The Denver Charter had its fair share of women in and out of their doors, but mainly just bartenders and the odd crow eater looking for a way in. These girls were more forward, scantily clothed, makeup on point, and obviously comfortable with their surroundings.

Bobby nudged your shoulder, regaining your attention from the party happening around you. “You know your Dad talks about you constantly. He’s so happy that you’re here, kid. We all are.”

You glanced over at your father, a huge smile forming as he collected a drink from the bar.

“He does seem happy. Just weird seeing him away from home.”

“You got a home here with us too now, y/n.” He placed his arm over you and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, “we’re your family as much as we are his.”

“That’s really sweet, Bobby. Thanks.”

He pulled his arm back as he chuckled to himself, his large stomach bellowing as he laughed. “I am pretty sweet.”

Suddenly, the front door opened and a roar of drunken welcomes filled the clubhouse as two more members entered. The President of SAMCRO, Clay Morrow, walked in smiling ear to ear, hands held up as though he was a celebrity greeting his adoring fans. You’d heard a lot about Clay from your father, mainly that he was the initial sponsor for his transfer from Denver, and some remarks about what an ass he was. Behind him, a much younger member followed, embracing Opie as he entered. He was different from the other members, not totally clean cut, but you could at least tell he had showered. Not only was he bathed, he wasn’t harsh on the eyes either. You watched as he talked with Opie, his hands pushing his long blonde hair behind his ears as he spoke.

“Who’s that?” You asked Bobby, your eyes never feigning from the man.

“That’s Jax. Club’s VP.”

As you watched him converse with Opie, he suddenly glanced your way, locking eyes with you. You quickly turned away from him and back towards Bobby.

“He looks a little young to be Vice President”, you mumbled as you took a swig from your beer, still conscious that he was looking at you.

Bobby laughed, “Yeah, well, he’s a Teller. His Dad was First 9 alongside Clay and Piney Winston, Ope’s pops. Jax has been SAMCRO since he came out of the womb.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing back over your shoulder. Jax’s attention had now been obtained by one of the Cara Cara girls. She was pulling him in by his cutte, batting her eyelashes at him as she leaned against the bar.

Bobby watched as you observed Jax. He sipped his drink, amused by your interest. “He’s known for his way with the ladies.”

You wanted to press Bobby further, but your Dad suddenly was stumbling over beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Come on over here, kid. I want you to meet my sponsor.”

“The asshole?”, you whispered to him as you stood up from the chair.

He snickered back at you, patting you on the back. “He’s having a good day.”

—

You were impressed by the brotherhood the Redwood Originals shared. It wasn’t unfamiliar to the Denver Charter, but the way the members of SAMCRO loved one another was palpable. You observed quietly throughout the night as they all ripped into each other with lighthearted banter and spilled beer all over the place. You were conflicted by the fact your Dad fit in so well here. It was painful to know he had chosen this life over one with you in Denver, but you still felt at peace knowing he had found a place in this family.

He was now slumped over a leather armchair in the lounge, snoozing after one too many beers. You nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him. “I’m gonna head back to the cabin, Dad. I’ll meet you here in the morning?”

“You sure, y/n?” He tried to stand up as he slurred, but his balance failed him, collapsing back into the seat. “I can lead you back-”

You chuckled, placing a hand on his head as he closed his eyes, “No way are you getting on a bike in this state. I remember the way.”

Tig overheard and slid himself beside you, placing an arm across your waist. “We’ll take care of him, sweetie. Don’t you worry. Get back safe, okay?”

You unwound from his grasp, collecting your bag from the coffee table as you searched through the contents for your keys. “Thanks Trager.”

A strange laugh left his throat as he watched you leave, before his face turned straight as a board. “Call me Tig.”

You said your goodbyes to the members that were sober enough to communicate, and made your way to the parking lot.

Jax Teller was sitting outside the clubhouse, journal and pencil in hand. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.

He smiled boldly, in a way that perplexed you. Almost like he was happy to see you, even though you’d never met. He took the cigarette from his lips as he asked, “you’re Ralph’s kid, right?”

“I usually just go by y/n.”

He placed his pencil inside the journal and tucked it snug in his cutte, standing from the bench. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing, coming all this way to see him.”

You nodded, “had to make sure my Dad wasn’t living with some crazed psychopaths, you know?”

He exhaled, his lips forming a perfect O as the smoke left his lips. “Pretty sure a few of those knuckleheads could pass for psychotic”, he teased. His mouth pulled into an infectious smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

Jax walked closer towards you, your bodies now inches apart. He held out an open pack of cigarettes, prompting you to take one. You shook your head, declining the offer.

“And what about you? How’s your level of sanity?”

Jax hesitated. “A work in progress.”

You smiled politely as you walked past him, making your way to the car. “Anyway, I was just leaving. Was nice meeting you.”

Jax’s brow creased in concern, “you heading to the cabin on your own?”

You looked over your shoulder to see him pacing behind you, flicking his cigarette to the cement.

“My Dad’s not exactly in riding order.”

“I can take you back.”

You stopped outside your car and turned to him, scoffing at how forward he was. “I met you thirty seconds ago.”

“So?” He shrugged.

“I don’t really think that’s appropriate.”

“I’m not asking to get in bed with you, y/n. You can ride the Harley with me and I’ll leave the second you’re in the cabin.”

You opened the car door, sliding into the seat. “Not gonna happen.”

“I won’t lay a hand on ya, darlin’,” he raised his hand up, smiling, “scouts honor.”

You pressed your lips together, suppressing yourself from giggling at his innocent gesture. “I don’t ride bikes.” You affirmed.

Jax cocked his head at you, confused at the statement. “Denver girl’s scared of bikes?”

Your eyes rolled at his assumption. “No offense, but I just met you. I’m not sure my safety is your concern.” You shut the car door, realising your window had been left ajar from the way there. You wanted to curse aloud that the good Californian weather enabled the opportunity to ride with the windows down.

Jax didn’t push further, nodding his head as he watched you settle into the driver's seat. “No offense taken.”

Jax leaned his head into the open window, resting his arms on the roof of the car. You turned the ignition, letting the engine roar to life. “Nice to meet you, Jax.”

“You too, darlin’. Will I see you again?”

You were looking directly at him, your faces parted only by the frame of the window between you. “I’m here for the week, darlin’.”

His lips pulled from ear to ear, smiling playfully as you put the gear in reverse, forcing his hands off the car as you pulled out of the parking lot. You peaked in the rear-view mirror, finding Jax still watching you drive away into the Charming night.

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witchthewriter · 11 months

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𝐏𝐎𝐕: You’re Jax Teller’s Old Lady - this is what your photo album looks like.

(the first photo is framed and hung in your house)

#witch the writer's moodboards #jax teller #old lady #old lady soa #sons of anarchy #opie winstone #jax teller x you #chibs telford #tig trager #juice ortiz #happy lowman #moodboard #soa #sons of anarchy moodboard #soa moodboard #pov #pov moodboard

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thelov3lybookworm · 1 month

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Mine? (part 2)

Part 1

Summary: Curse him, curse everyone.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: She's a lil small, but im hoping the next ones will be longer, so im sorry yall 😅

anyways, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

The slam of the door reverberated through Y/n's body, the vibrations racing against her heartbeat as she leaned back against it, her arms winding tighter around the little body of her daughter she held against her chest.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, cursing herself and him. Herself for opening the door and him, for, obviously, hiring a PI.

The silence after the slam of the door was deafening, and the moment of silence stretched Y/n's patience taut as Adelaide started crying again.

Adelaide shook in Y/n's arms as she heaved loud cry after cry, her chest expanding to make space for air to fuel her next scream.

Y/n released a frustrated breath, letting her head fall back against the door.

"It's okay baby, it's okay. Nothing happened." Y/n mumbled, leaning forward slightly to speak directly against Adelaide's ear, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "It's okay, you're okay."

It took a few moments, but the babe calmed down, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks, her eyes wide, sniffling and pouting as she stared at Y/n. She looked ready to start crying again, so Y/n smiled at her, gently guiding her to lay her head on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry. Did I scare my princess?"

Adelaide, of course, being a five month old babe, did not reply. Y/n kissed the top of her head, wondering if he had left yet. Y/n knew it was wishful thinking though.

Grayson was not someone you could just slam the door in the face of and he'd just leave. And now when he knew he had a daughter? Unlikely.

Y/n started walking towards the bedroom, knowing that he might start knocking again any second and wanting to be away when he did. Y/n did not want Adelaide to get scared again.

"I am so sorry, I promise not to do that again, I swear I won't let him take you from me. I will protect you. You will stay with mommy, yeah? He can't take you away- he can't."

Y/n knew she was talking to herself at this point, but ignoring the fact was easier than acknowledging it.

Quietly, Y/n shut the bedroom door behind her, carrying Adelaide towards the bed in the middle of the room and settling onto the plush mattress, humming a lullaby softly as she laid down.

At that moment, Grayson decided to knock again. It would be stupid to call them knocks even. He started banging on the door, and though it sounded muffled in the locked bedroom, Y/n wondered if he would just tear it down.

After long minutes of the banging, he stopped, and Y/n dared to hope that he'd left.

As she lay there with Adelaide snoozing on her chest, Y/n cursed him. Cursed Skye. Cursed everyone who had somehow aided in bringing her to this point.

Not the fact that she had gotten pregnant. Never the fact that she now had a babe to care for instead of living her life.

But for the fact that she had to cower and hide in her own home, now wondering if she could ever sleep peacefully, knowing he was out there, and that he would probably try to take Adelaide away.

She's his too. A voice inside Y/n's head mumbled, which she promptly shut down.

With a sigh, Y/n started to drift off, wishing she could just run away again.

Knowing it was wishful thinking.

But then her eyes flew wide open, and she turned, doing her best not to jostle Adelaide, and reached out to grab her phone from where it had been discarded earlier in the morning.

Unlocking it, she swiftly opened her contacts, staring at the three names at the top and debating who to call.

In the end, she settled on calling the oldest of the three.

"Y/n? This is new, is Adelaide already missing her uncle?"

Y/n sighed.

"Nash. He knows."

Silence, then-

"Fuck."

•○🌑○•

Mine taglist: @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @blocked-zombieartist @lillycore @berryzxx @cassie6392 @riddlesb1tch

#grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne #the inheritance games #tig fanfic #tig x reader #grayson x y/n #grayson hawthorne fluff #grayson x reader #grayson hawthorne x you #grayson hawthorne x reader angst

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marvelous-slut · 5 months

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MASTERLIST - you can find all my works here on this page. I hope you enjoyed reading them just as much as I enjoyed writing them. I don’t own any of the characters in these works.

* IM TRYING TO GET MY LINKS IN ORDER SO BARE WITH ME PLS *

SONS OF ANARCHY

Chibs Telford

Happy Lowman

Tig Trager

Juice Ortiz

Nothing here yet - coming soon

Opie Winston

STRANGER THINGS

Dmitri Antonov

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bullet-prooflove · 9 months

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Weak: Alexander 'Tig' Trager x Reader (feat: Clay Morrow)

Tagging: @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @kmc1989 @mortal--soul @yourwinchesterbros @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @nu1freakshow @@oureternalbond @the-wandering-lunatic @lexondeck @keyweegirlie @theplacewhereallthedemonsgo @poppyrose33 @belovedbastardremus @trublu2u @thebaileybugle @spngingerbread21 @@the-person-in-the-circle @thanossexual

It’s the vote over Cara Cara that makes Clay realise that you’re a threat. It’s the first time in years that Tig has voted in the opposite direction to him, and it makes Clay stand up and take notice.

He knows that Tig has been fucking you, he hasn’t taken much interest in it, he never does when it comes to Tig’s conquests. His Tiggy is a magpie, he sees something shiny, he taps it and then moves on to the next thing. He’s not the type to get pussy whipped, he’s dependable that way. That is, until he isn’t.

Clay starts to look into you after that. He thinks you must be some premium fucking pussy to keep Tig on the hook. However, the more he discovers the more he doesn’t get it, because you are just so normal. You aren’t a porn actress like he originally thought, you don’t have a great ass or huge tits. You aren’t even much to look at.

It’s only when he sees the two of you interacting that something clicks in his brain. When Tig kisses you, it’s soft, his thumb caressing the blush of your cheek, those rings of his contrasting against your skin. There’s a tenderness in it and Clay fucking hates it. His Sergeant at Arms is a rabid dog on a leash, when he lets him off, he expects him to go feral.

Clay decides to fuck it up.

He wants to break the hold you have on his Sergeant in Arms. He wants the other man violent, reckless, untamed. He needs the other man at his worst. The more blood thirsty the better.

He picks a night when he knows Tig’s going to be at the clubhouse and he stages a little private party. He picks a couple girls, ones that are just Tig’s type and he pays them to do whatever the fuck the other man wants. In his heart he knows that Tig’s still the same deprived son of a bitch he’s always been.

When the blonde climbs in his lap, Tig isn’t having any of it. Six months ago, he would have given her the ride of her life, he would have fucked her until she didn’t know which was up, instead he simply leaves.

Clay feels like he doesn’t even know the other man anymore.

It’s clear you’re a bigger influence than Clay realised. Tig’s become a different person since he’s taken up with you and Clay can’t have that. He needs him unhinged; he needs him loyal. He needs to destroy the other man so badly that there’s no coming back from the darkness.

In short, Clay needs to get rid of you and he realises that Amir Ghazeni is the solution to the problem because the disappearance of both his brothers ties directly back to you.

Clay remembers that visit up to Stockton four years ago, the one where Otto had asked him to get rid of a 22. and a shiny new red convertible registered to Omar Ghazeni. Nothing, related to the club, he’d assured him. One of Luann’s girls had had a problem with a Persian and taken care of it herself, Clay didn’t have to worry about the body but the car, it was distinctive. In exchange Otto had done a couple of favours for him, that had added a few more years to his sentence. Luann loved that girl like a daughter, and Otto would do anything for Luann. It’s not a leap to guess that that girl is you.

Clay has no doubt that Tig killed Kia. Jax had tasked him with cutting him loose after all that drama at the torture porn studio and he guessed that Kia must have said something Tig didn’t agree with because the next thing they know, the club are getting questioned about the younger Ghazeni’s fire engine red jacket floating in the docks.

He tries to confirm a couple of details with Otto but the other man is tight lipped. He thinks that maybe Luann wasn’t the only one, who saw you as more than just an employee. He discovers that you’ve been putting money in Otto’s commissary since Luann had been killed, and that you’ve been visiting him in prison as often as you can.

He meets with the remaining Ghazeni in secret. He keeps Tig out of it. After all he doesn’t want Amir coming after the club, just you. The terms are this, Amir can do whatever the fuck he wants with you, Clay doesn’t give a shit about the details, so long as your body ends up on Tig’s doorstep. That’s all he asks.

It goes wrong from the very fucking beginning because Clay doesn’t count on three things, the fact you carry a 9 Mil., that Tig has been teaching you how to shoot and that Jax is with you at the time.

When the Persians try to snatch you up, you’re finishing up a meeting with Nero Padilla about expanding into the escort business. Clay’s made sure that Tig is as far away as possible, he has him up in Bakersfield, checking in with Packer about a nasty spot of business regarding some ex-cult members. What he didn’t factor in was Jax attending the meeting on behalf of the club, because Jax didn’t tell him. He’d kept his cards close to his chest because he didn’t know how viable to deal would be.

It ends up with three dead Persians, one of which Jax recognises from the torture studio leading them straight back to Amir Ghazeni. The whole fucking story plays out around the table that evening, when Tig, for the first time in his life comes clean about the whole fucking thing. He tells his brothers about what happened to you, about Omar’s death when he came for you a second time, about the video and how he lost his fucking shit when Kia rubbed his face in it.

Strip me of my rank, he tells them, take my kutte, but don’t tell me that any one of you wouldn’t have done the same thing if it was someone you loved.

In the end Tig loses his position but keeps the kutte because there isn’t a soul in the room other than Clay that can begrudge his actions. Of course, the story endears you to them even more. Prior to this you were just a business partner and the girl that they knew Tig was fucking.

Now he’s telling everyone you’re his old lady, that he’s killed for you. It makes you part of the family and just like that you have the protection of the club.

It infuriates Clay but he’s sure that none of this shit can lead back to him because they’ve already found Amir Ghazeni on his yacht with a bullet in his head.

Clay doesn’t realise that they’ve taken a vote until two days later. He’s done a lot of dirty shit up until this point, the waters are so muddied that even he can’t tell what’s in the name of the club or for himself.

When he comes to table that night, he sees Jax sitting in his seat at the head of it, the gavel grasped firmly in his hand. He recognises the hardened expressions on each of his brothers faces as they march in, one after the other.

It’s Tig he looks to, the one he’s always been able to turn to in his time of need. There’s murder in those vivid blue eyes of his, he runs his tongue along his bottom lip as if he can already taste Clay’s blood in his mouth because he knows what he’s done, what he tried to do.

It’s Otto that blew him up. Otto that heard about what almost happened to you and put the pieces of his last conversation with Clay together. Otto, who summoned Tig and Jax to Stockton.

They find the recording on Amir’s yacht, the one that the Persian had made of the conversation between the two of them. Bobby thinks he was planning to use it as leverage in case the rest of the MC ever found out it was him that had taken you. The worst part Jax tells him is that he knew what Amir would do to you, that he looked at your history and decided to play it out all over again, that he told Amir to leave your body on another brother’s doorstep.

There isn’t a person in the room who doesn’t understand the implications of that, of what that level of brutalisation would do to another man, to someone that Clay was supposed to care about.

“For what?” Jax asks him. “What the fuck was all of this for?”

Clay turns his head to Tig and meets his gaze. There’s a moment of understanding between the two of them before he says.

“She makes you weak brother.”

“No.” Tig responds, shaking his head. “She makes me human.”

Clay throws back his head and laughs.

“Pussy can’t give you redemption Tiggy, you know that.”

It ends with Clay kneeling over an open grave on the outskirts of Charming, staring into the depths of the soil below him.

“Any last words?” Tig asks him as he jams the barrel into the back of Clay’s skull.

“She’s not right for you Tig, you know it and I know it…”

Tig pulls the trigger, splattering Clay’s brains into the earth before his body tips forward landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the hole. He stares down at the man he’s served for the majority of his adult life and wonders when the presidency started to twist him, when the power sunk it’s claws into his skin and shredded his soul.

“He’s wrong you know?” Jax says as Tig passes the gun to him. “She’s good for you.”

“I know.” Tig tells him, his gaze shifting back to the mass of flesh and bones in the depths of that hole. “That’s why he tried to take her away from me.”

“Go home.” Jax tells him, his gloved hand clasping Tig’s shoulder and squeezing tightly. “Tell your girl she can sleep easy tonight.”

Love Tig? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#alexander trager #alexander trager soa #alexander trager x you #alexander trager x reader #tig soa #tig trager fanfic #tiggy #tig trager x reader #tig trager

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riddles-n-games · 6 months

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Sooo, I was rereading the summary for The Grandest Game and some of the sentences just stuck out to me in a funny way. "Seven tickets. An island of dreams. Amidst it all is Grayson Hawthorne..." It sounded a little too much like the premise of a season for The Bachelor and I just couldn’t stop myse-

I apologize that my mind went there but it just happened and I had to do this. All I'm saying is, y'all should have seen this coming. I'm sorry if you didn't and were completely blindsided by this bombshell.

#grayson davenport hawthorne #grayson hawthorne #phone girl #grayson x phone girl #grayson hawthorne is THE bachelor #the bachelor #bachelor in paradise #you should have seen this coming in all honesty #if this is literally tgg i will laugh my head off #laughing evilly #muahhaha #the inheritance games memes #tig memes #the inheritance games #the grandest game #tig #tgg

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razrbladekiss · 8 months

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Thirty-seven minutes | Tig Trager

A/N: this is just a shitty little angsty one shot, which i put together in like fifteen minutes. it's supposed to be helping me get back into the swing of things with writing, but it isn't! but anyway, here 'ya go!

WORD COUNT: 900 smth

PAIRING: tig trager x fem!reader

WARNINGS: angst, strong language. you're in your cunt era

Thirty-seven minutes ago, malevolence was rippling through your veins, surging through each and every artery like hot, molten lava drifting toward that village at the volcano’s edge.

You were mere seconds from an outburst, almost spattering your last morsel of equanimity when Clay’s pompous snarl reached the drums of your ears and all you saw was red.

Ripping the man limb from fucking limb would’ve been so gratifying, you thought. Causing him that same abundance of grief that he had inflicted upon you, making him hurt, was the one thing you could only wish to happen.

But slivering so deeply into Clay Morrow seemed borderline inconceivable. Because he was formidable, and tough, and you were yet to see him crumble under the wayward burdens bestowed upon him by his club.

Frankly, getting to him was simply impossible. And, if you could strike a chord within that phlegmatic prick, Tig wouldn’t even let you try.

It wasn’t worth it, he guaranteed that seeking revenge for the shit the SAMCRO President did to you—to the man that you love—wasn’t worth thinking about.

Because he might’ve made Tig dive head first into yet another ire-fueled, gun-wielding battle that could’ve ended a hell of a lot more bloody than what it did, but that was a part of this life.

You understood that. You understood what Tig’s life—his line of work—entailed, but it was tough. Coming to terms with it all—every last thing—was painful, and sometimes you wished that Clay didn’t depend on him so much.

But he did. And there was nothing that you could’ve done to change that, or put a stop to it. So you got along with it.

You got along with it until you couldn’t.

Ten minutes ago your face was reddening, rage dripping from every pore as you became privy to the events of the day. Eagerly—desperately—you awaited an explanation.

An explanation that never came.

An explanation that you needed, but one that you never got. And, for that, you were irrationally angry.

“I just hate that he’s got you wrapped around his little finger, Tig! It’s gonna get you seriously hurt one day!” You expressed your repugnance, stamping into the clubhouse.

Tig was hot on your heels.

“I’m sick of finding out through Jax, or Juice, that Clay has put you into yet another situation that you might not find your way out of—“

“Baby—“

“No! Don’t baby me, Alexander.” Pissed, you threw back at him as you stopped dead at the front door. “You’re not getting out of this by sweet-talking, or fucking me, like you always do.”

Being an authoritative figure suited you, he thought. Being put in his place by you was so sexy, he thought.

But you had also yelled at him—“humiliated” him—right in front of his club, and he was irked at your boldness.

The boldness that he lauded, of course, but the boldness that no old lady should’ve conveyed before the Sons Of Anarchy.

Because old ladies were supposed to be submissive. They were supposed to take orders, know their place, and abide by the rules set in place by the club.

That wasn’t your thing, however.

“I—I can’t take this anymore.” Frustrated, you retorted. “This fucking club—“

“Hey!” Tig yelled, pointing at you.

This unbending—frightening—look washed over his face, and for the first time ever, you felt yourself tremble underneath his gaze.

“Don’t talk shit about this fucking club!”

Your heart was pounding.

“I’m serious!” He barked, cornering you.

Tig was intimidating, everybody and their fucking dog knew that. Everybody knew what he did, or what he had the capability of doing.

But you weren’t scared of him.

Not anymore.

You puffed out your chest a little, refusing to be backed up against the wall. You walked a little closer to him. Two noses almost brushed against one another.

“And so am I.” You said, biting back tears. “I am so fucking serious about this—“

“About what?!” Tig was yelling again now.

He was so short tempered. But never with you.

Sucking in a deep breath, you began by saying “about how this club—more like fucking cult—is ruining our relationship that we have been trying so hard to rebuild!”

It was like a weight lifted, but it maimed him.

Because you hadn’t known Tig before the Sons, nor would you ever know that version of him. But he thought that you enjoyed him being part of such a tight brotherhood, a ready made family that supported the pair of you, not just him.

And there were benefits to Samcrow, there always were. But Tara had told you what it was like getting involved with them, and you chose to ignore the warning.

Until now.

“It’s like everything you do revolves around the club.” You say, as if it’s not the most obvious thing in the world. You take a step toward Tig, making him take a step backwards.

Fists clenched.

“We had something good, Tig. We really had a beautiful thing. But the Sons Of Anarchy have brainwashed you into thinking that, if you’re not here twenty four hours a fucking day, that some shit will happen and the club will crumble.”

He rolled his jaw.

“I promise you, nothing bad will happen if you take a day to spend time with your old lady—y’know, the woman you married.”

“You spend too much time with Tara—“

“And that’s such a bad thing?!” You hurled his way. “I spend my days in this shithole! I have no other fucking friends aside from the club and their wives, and it sucks! And now you’re mad at me for spending time with the only female in this gang that I can tolerate?!”

“Not a gang!”

“Oh, fuck off!” You stomp toward the front door, leaving a bitter taste in the mouth of your husband.

Tig couldn’t wrangle his composure. He couldn’t bring himself to go after you as your heels clicked along the uneven concrete, and you mithered to yourself about how worthless he was.

He didn’t care.

He couldn’t find a reason to care.

You disrespected his club, so he threw away the vows that he made to you.

Only temporarily, of course.

Because in thirty-seven minutes, he’ll be at your knees begging for forgiveness.

#tig trager #tig trager x reader #tig trager x you #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fic #sons of anarchy fandom #tig trager fanfiction #tig trager fic #sons of anarchy imagines

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purplerain85 · 1 year

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Broken Promises

Pairing: Happy x Reader

Summary: Happy Gets taken by the Chinese….. and never comes home alive. You in your pain and heart break take it out in the SOA just like you promised if he didn’t come come home.

Warnings: heart break, angst, fire set to a building/garage, swearing, fighting, arguing

A/N as Cricket @withmyteeth asked me “Why am I this way!” Honestly I don’t know

Tags 🏷️ @withmyteeth @yourwonkywriter @raewritesfiction @darklydeliciousdesires @darqchilddaydreamz @redpoodlern @redwood-orginals @reyeswritesmc @chibsytelford @twistnet @twistnet-reblogs @nestorsgirlfriend @nessamc @blowmymbackout @drabbles-mc @rebelwrites @jvalentinesworld-cokes-hyna @challengeahellcat @indefiniteimagines

You knew what you were getting into when you said yes to being Happy’s Old Lady. But this! This is not what you were expecting, Happy is the one who kills not the one who gets killed. You were shattered beyond repair, you knew you would never ever be whole again. Under the heart break was anger so much anger.

Jax Promised you he would bring him home alive, he told you he would when you told him he needed to be brought home safely or you promised you would burn their stupid little club to the fucking ground. You terrified Tig (Tig doesn’t get scared often) he told Jax “we need to make sure we bring him home Jax. She is just as scary/crazy as Happy! As much as her crazy turns me on, I can guarantee you she will burn this place to the ground!”

“We will figure out a way to bring him home, the Chinese are not going to hurt him beyond some bruising and cuts. Plus she may be crazy as him but she has a habit of not following through, there is a reason she never does anything without Happy’s say.” Jax says. Oh how wrong he was!!!

When the Chinese drove up and tossed Happy’s body out of the van. Everyone was panicked Jax looked like he was going to drop right there. Chibs walked over and grab Jax by his shirt and said “You had better find some way to break this to Y/N! You promised her he would come home to her alive and you better hope we can keep her calm or we are going to be fucked, you may think she won’t do anything without Happy’s say. But Jax DEAD MEN DON’T TALK! She will be a ticking time bomb and unstable time bomb!”

Jax said he would but he couldn’t admit to everyone that he was scared to tell Y/N that Happy wasn’t coming home. So he made a personal club decision without asking the club. He called Y/N and when she didn’t answer he left her a voicemail “Hey Y/N we got Happy back but not how we wanted…. Umm I am sorry”

Nero stopped by Happy and Y/N house to see if you needed anything and the door was partially opened, so he walked in and panicked for a quick moment. The house was a complete disaster furniture was over turned and ripped apart, lights were broken, the tv was shattered, it looked like someone broke in the house until he found you in the bedroom on the closet floor you were a complete mess. “What happened to the house Y/N?” Nero asked as he came closer to you.

Your voice was hoarse “he couldn’t even be a man and tell me to my face! He pulled a cowardly move and left a voicemail and FUCKING VOICEMAIL NERO!” “I cannot even begin to even know where to start.” Nero gives you the saddest look you have ever seen and know there will be more. “Nero I just wanna be alone. I am not going to do anything stupid”

Nero huffs but does get up and leaves and makes a call to Jax’s and asks where everyone is and he tells him everyone is at his house “ok I am just leaving Y/N house I will be at your place shortly”

You heard that everyone was at Jax’s house, you got up and went to the back yard to grab all the gas cans and couple packs of dynamite that Happy had left. You were going to show Jax that leaving you a voicemail and underestimate you. You packed up the car and headed to the clubhouse. You see all the crime scene tape you figured no one was there but still did a quick sweep.

Then you drenched the clubhouse and set up pieces of the dynamite, you said you were going to burn this place to the ground and you were going to make sure there was nothing left.

Nero walks into Jax’s house and yells out for Jax “JAX!!!! What the fuck were you thinking!!! You left her a fucking voicemail! Telling her husband died you couldn’t be fucking club leader and tell her to her face!” Everyone is in complete shock and looking at Jax. Tig has a look of angry and shock and Chibs looks like he is about to murder Jax. “Be lucky that she says she won’t do anything stupid” Nero continues.

“She won’t do anything Nero like I said before she doesn’t do anything without Happy’s say….” Jax had started saying

But Chibs cut him off “You don’t understand Jax’s There is a reason she never did anything without his say! He Kept Her Sane! He Kept Her Grounded! Without him she is unstable and there is no saying…….” Then there was a massive explosion that was felt all over Charming. Everyone ran out of the house and could see the biggest fire and the blackest smoke they had ever seen.

They all knew it was the clubhouse.

When they got to the clubhouse there were cops and firefighters and right in front was Y/N watching it burn. Some of the cops told the club that there was nothing they could do right now Y/N did so much damage that there is nothing they could do.

Jax walked over yelling at Y/N and shoved her “What the Fuck Did You Do!” “Y/N the fuck were you thinking! I did the best I could!” You slowly turned to Jax and sneering at him and for a rare moment in his life he was scared.

“The best you could! The best you Could! You Promised me that he would come home Alive! YOU DID WHAT WAS BEST FOR YOU! Not for the Club, Not for Charming, Not For me and especially NOT FOR HAPPY! You did what was best for YOU! You self centred Jack ass!” You and start hitting, slapping, punching Jax who took it for the most part tell your fist connected to his jaw and then he back handed you, “You stupid psycho bitch I said I would bring him home and even though he didn’t come back alive at least he came home!”

Then you completely blacked Out and kneed him in the crotch and started going for his face then Chibs and Tig came over to separate you two Chibs ended up pinning you to the ground “just breath lass, I know you are hurting.” You fight and fuss against Chibs “Get him the fuck out of her before she kills him.” Chibs yells

“You wanna know the difference between you and I is?! You will never know the pain I feel, but it will be close and as Happy and I call it, it’s an eye for an eye! You better hope there is something left of her in there. You made the biggest mistake of not looking into my past you just took Happy’s word, unlike your brothers they know what I am capable of.” you sneer at Jax

Jax looks at you and then at his brothers then to you with your sickly smirk on your face and then at the clubhouse before he mumbles “Tara” and drops to his knees

#happy lowman x angst #happy lowman x you #happy Lowman #sons of anarchy #jax teller #chibs telford #tig trager #david labrava x reader #Angst

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drakoneve · 7 months

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Destined Meetings

request: Hey, do you think you could write something where the reader is related to tig somehow, and they're in charming for work or college and they start a relationship with juice? Cute and a little angsty at first?

pairing: Juice Ortiz x Trager!Reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: club crimes, reader's mom isn't the best + suggested childhood trauma, alcohol and drug (maryj) use

a/n: there will be another part for sure, but i might make this a bit of a mini-series, lmk what you think. happy reading!

Tig hardly ever talked about it, but he'd been married once. He would rather die than ever admit he loved anyone but Dawn and Fawn, but he loved her. And you, his sweet, sweet Y/n.

His heart clenched at the thought of you. You were only two years old at the time of the accident. The day your mother decided she had had enough of Tig and the life he came with and that she needed to run.

It was that day, when your mother pulled out of Charming and never looked back. She only made it two towns over before she took a reckless turn right off an overpass into oncoming traffic.

Tig could remember the look on Unser's face as he approached the older man in the TM parking lot like yesterday, and how he wished he could go back and convince your mom not to go. Or to leave you, at least.

Unser had just began working with the club back then, and this case in particular had always stuck with him. A woman trying to escape her outlaw husband with their baby daughter who ends up getting into a horrific accident that ends up killing them both? One of the saddest stories Unser had ever heard.

Except for the fact none of it was true.

Because there you stood, alive and well, right in front of the Chief's desk.

"I know it sounds crazy," you shake your head, hopeful look on your face. "I wouldn't believe it either, actually. And I don't really have any proof other than my memories, but I'm sure it's him."

The aging polaroid in you had provided him of a much younger Tig and a woman he recognizes to be your mother back when she was pregnant with you.

"No, no," he waves your worries away. "I believe you. In fact, I remember your mother, vaguely, and you look a lot like her."

You grimace. "Yeah, I've been told a few times. So do you know where I can find Alexander?"

Chief Unser pulls a pen from his shirt pocket and begins writing on a slip of paper on his desk. "This is the address of the Teller-Morrow, the automotive shop your dad works at. I would take you there myself, but I'm swamped here."

"Oh, it's no issue," you shrug and take the slip of paper. "I can get there myself. Thank you for everything, though."

You turn and begin to leave when Unser calls for you to stop.

"I forgot to mention, your dad goes by 'Tig.'"

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Juice stretched out his arms and popped his neck while he wiped his hands with a rag. Two weeks of waiting for one part was finally over, and he could get this damn Taurus out of the shop. He tossed the rag into his toolbox when a sleek black car comes rumbling into the lot.

He leaves the garage to get a closer look and notices the car is actually a classic, a well taken care of (or well restored) '69 Chevy. While he admires the car he notices you, too.

Your hair is partly clipped back, with enough loose enough to frame your face in a casual look. You're pretty, and admittedly he'd be more distracted by you but Juice can tell by the look on your face you're nervous. Juice would know, it's a look he's had to learn to hide.

By sight and sound nothing seemed to be wrong with your car, and Juice can't help but wonder why you're here.

You shut the engine off and exit your vehicle, all the while silently composing yourself. Heart thudding in your chest, you wonder if you're doing the right thing.

Juice takes the moment you shut the door to approach further.

"Hello," he greets politely, friendly smile on his face. "I'm Juice, and I'll be taking care of you today. What seems to be the problem?"

"Oh, no," you shake your head and laugh nervously. "Nothing's wrong with her. I'm actually-"

You pause, close your eyes for a second and bite the inside of your bottom lip. Juice can't help but watch you fondly, finding you oddly adorable.

Finally you open your eyes and flash a bright, genuine smile.

Damn, I'm made, he thinks.

"This is gonna sound completely insane," you explain, nervously clasping your hands together. "But, um, I'm looking for Alexa- well, no, Tig, Tig Trager."

Juice raises his brows. "Tig? Uh, I don't know if now's the best time."

It's true, he's currently in Oakland with Jax and Chibs on quick business.

"Look, I know it's inconvenient and you don't know me," you plead. You're closer now and Juice can smell your sweet perfume and practically feel your hopefulness. "But until a couple months ago I had no idea my dad was even alive. And then I found out I was here for weeks before realizing he's here, too."

Your dad? There has to be a story there. Juice raises his hands to either side of your arms, holding you still in hopes to assure you.

"It's okay," he says sternly, but in an endearing way. "Tig's not here right now but he should be soon, so let's head on inside and you can tell me a little bit about you. Just to be sure, no offense."

You smile, relieved to be believed to some extent rather than none. "Thank you, Juice. Thank you."

Juice leads you into the Teller-Morrow through the garage entrance into the larger building. From what you could see on the outside you wouldn't have imagined such a spacious clubhouse inside.

Inside were several pool tables, a couch with mini pieces about, a bar with stools, and other tables each with their own set of chairs. Decorations littered the walls and floors and you laughed to yourself as you noted a nearly full ashtray on almost every surface and a wall completely dedicated to mugshots.

Juice leads you to the bar where he gestures for you to sit as he makes his way around. You slip onto a stool and watch patiently as Juice finds two glasses and turns to you.

"What's your preference?"

You shrug, "Whatever, I'm not partial. On the rocks, though."

He serves you and pours his own drink before setting the bottle down and leaning on the bar on his elbows in front of you.

"So tell me about you," Juice presses softly. He can tell by your fingers circling the rim of your glass that you're not excited for this conversation but he has no choice. "You said you've been here for a few weeks, where'd you live before?"

"Nevada, mostly," you tell him before sipping on your drink. "My mother moved us around a couple times and we lived in Colorado for a while before eventually settling in Sparks."

"Why'd you guys move around?"

You drain the rest of your drink quickly in hopes it'll support you through this conversation. Juice begins to refill your glass without being asked.

"I didn't know it then, but my mom was running from the Sons," you confess.

Juice's eyes widen slightly as he looked you over. What could you know about the club? They were notorious around Charming sure, but with their recent run ins with the ATF has the club struggling and making choices they wouldn't normally make.

You continue, "It wasn't until I graduated high school and I left that she told me my dad was actually alive. Then she told me about the Sons of Anarchy, and everything else I did on my own."

Juice nods, unsure of what to say. He nurses his drink for a moment before reaching for your hand.

"This life is complicated, but we're a family here."

The gesture, simple as it is, riles up all the pent up feelings you've mastered all your life comes rushing forward as tears brim your eyes.

"Family," you repeat and pull your hand from Juice to wipe your tears. "What a weird concept?"

The two of you talk well into the evening and you end up migrating to the couch with a bottle and a large bowl of buttery popcorn. Juice made good company. He's genuine, gunny, and from the way he talks you can tell the Sons are something special to him.

He tells you about himself in turn for the vulnerable information you've given him. You learn he was born and raised in New York before coming to Charming, and he has a little sister behind in the city. Juice tells you he works in the TM garage alongside what he does for the club.

"I'm not stupid," you tell him once you notice his hesitance. "It's not hard to find information on the club from the locals around here."

He chuckles softly, "Yeah, I'm sure. If you have any questions, you can ask me."

Before you can the rumbling of bikes coming into the TM parking lot distracts you. Instinctively you grabbed Juice's hand, but let go just as fast as you'd grabbed him. Luckily before he can say anything the door bursts open and income more Sons.

The first is a younger blond man with piercing blue eyes and you notice the President patch on his left. He greets Juice happily before his eyes look to you, and he looks confused but seemingly brushes it off and goes to the bar.

Your dad walks in near arm in arm with another handsome man with scarred cheeks, obviously older than he is in the polaroid you own, but otherwise he seems the same. Its as if he can feel your gaze as he turns to meet his blue eyes to your own.

You stand, trying to ignore the thumping of your heart in your chest. "Hi, Tig," you greet, silently cursing the waver in your voice. Immediately the polaroid is out of your back pocket and in your hand. "My name's Y/n, and my mom's Y/m/n."

He takes the polaroid from you without a word and holds it carefully in his hands. His friend has stepped away towards Juice, likely for questioning.

"I saw Unser earlier today," you continue on. "He told me that I have a grave here in Charming, so does mom. Funny, considering she always told me you were the dead one."

You take a shaky breath in, trying to keep from bursting into tears. "I just... I wanted you to know I'm not dead, very much alive. I don't, like, expect anything from you I just knew I had to say something."

Tig finally breaks away from the polaroid to meet your eyes again, and it makes you feel a bit better to see his blue eyes are as tear filled as your own.

He raises one hand to cup your cheek, thumb moving to wipe your tears. "Losing you was the worst pain of my life," he admits softly.

His words crumble your resolve, the walls you'd spent your adolescence building to protect yourself fell faster than they were constructed. You practically fall into his arms, and the two of you break down as you hold each other.

As you sob into Tig's chest he merely cradles you the way he wishes he'd been able to all these years. The way he deserved to have been there for you. He holds you tight against him like he's afraid you'll dissipate and it'll be decades before he sees you again.

"We're gonna be okay, baby," he tells you. "We're gonna be okay."

This time, he's not going to be letting you go so easy.

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drabbles-mc · 2 years

Text

Convince Them

Tig Trager x F!Reader

Whumptober 2022: No.23 At The End Of Their Rope- Forced To Kneel

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, violence, implied/referenced sex work, blood/injuries

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: Maaaan this fic really just made up its own mind as we went along. @withmyteeth I feel like this is definitely not what we discussed. But! It’s...something! It sure is something.

SOA Taglist: @espieviolet99 @mijop @chibsytelford @thanossexual @anditsmywholeheart @i-just-read-stuff @bport76 @unicornucopia-fuckers @buckybarneshairpullingkink @shadow-of-wonder @punkgoddess-98 @paintballkid711 @black-repunzel99 @lexondeck @jitterbugs927 @fanfic-n-tabulous @mijagif @garbinge @frattsparty @winchestershiresauce @bellisperennis0 @crowfootwrites @redpoodlern @beardburnsupersoldiers @mveggieburger @choochoo284 @littlekittymeow @beardsanddetectives @i-love-scott-mccall (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

No matter how many times the guys told Tig not to go rogue, not to play cowboy when there was his life and everyone else’s on the line, if the situation presented itself, he couldn’t guarantee that he would do what they asked.

That was why, when he got a call on his club burner from an unknown number and heard an unknown man’s voice on the other end of the line, he decided that he would show up wherever he was told to go. He didn’t take the time to reach out to the rest of the club. He was already on the road, so in his mind there would be no point in going to the clubhouse to let them all know just for all of them to go back out with him. He could call, sure, but then they were going to want him to just sit around and wait for them to catch up, and he didn’t want to do that either. It was a pretty short list of things that Tig didn’t think that he would be able to handle on his own.

The address that they told him to go to sounded familiar. He knew the street, even if he didn’t know the specific building number and what he was going to find there. But he was smart enough to know that none of it was a coincidence.

He parked outside the nondescript brick building. He knew what happened on this strip. But as he sat there, unbuckling the clip of his helmet, he tried to figure out why he was really being brought back here, especially when he’d been there just the day before. This wasn’t a hot spot for club business—the only times he ever came here were off-hours. The only times he ever came here, he was with you.

Hanging his helmet off the handlebar, he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his kutte. Your number was one of the few that were in his burner. The call went to voicemail, which wasn’t too out of the ordinary. You weren’t the type to constantly have your phone on you, especially not when you were working. You had never been a woman who was there at Tig’s every beck and call. It was one of the things that he loved about you, strangely enough.

He knew better than to call you over and over again. Instead, he left a short and simple voicemail. “Hey, baby, it’s me. Got a…weird call today. Just checkin’ to make sure you’re alright. Call me back.” He paused for a beat. “Love you.”

He swung his leg over the bike, putting his phone away once his feet were planted. He took a deep breath, discreetly feeling to make sure that he still had his gun and his knife. It didn’t matter that he never went anywhere without them—he still had to check.

Walking up to the door of the building he’d been told to go to, he looked around for the telltale signs of nefarious activity. The windows that weren’t boarded up were tinted dark enough so that no one walking by was going to be able to see what was going on inside. The cameras that they had on the outside of the building were discreet, but Tig knew enough to know what to look for. He looked directly into one, flashing his one-of-a-kind Trager smile. He waved, rings clinking together as he wiggled his fingers.

When he wasn’t greeted by anything, he knocked on the door. Leaning against the frame of it, he spoke up in a slightly mocking tone. “Got an order here for a large cheese—”

The door was unlocked and opened from the other side. Before Tig could even glance to see who it was, he was being roughly yanked through the sliver of an opening that they’d created. It was hardly big enough to slide him through, his shoulder banging against the doorframe before the heavy metal door was slammed shut behind him again. He was being pushed and shoved in what was apparently the appropriate direction without anyone saying much of anything to him.

“Won’t lie to you,” he said as he planted his feet to stop, “I lied about the pizza.”

“Shut the fuck up,” the man’s voice was cold, but it wasn’t enough to bother Tig.

“Guess this means you won’t be giving me a tip then?”

A split second later, the tip of a gun was being pressed hard directly into the middle of Tig’s back. The man behind him gripped him by the back of the neck, pulling him back. Whoever he was, was taller than Tig because Tig could practically feel the way that the man was speaking downwards to him.

“I’m not gonna ask again.”

“You didn’t really ask the first time, to be fair.”

The comment earned Tig a hard shove, one that nearly sent him tumbling to the ground but he managed to catch himself. He huffed, rolling out his neck as he continued down the only open hallway. He assumed that this was the direction he was supposed to be doing in, not that there were many options. Whenever he reached the appropriate door, he assumed he’d be given another cue in the form of a push.

It certainly wasn’t the type of place that Tig would want to stay. But he knew that the girls who were here probably didn’t have much in the way of options. He frowned for a moment at the thought, and it brought him back to wondering why he was told to come back here.

“Up the stairs,” the man spoke and the gun was pressed into Tig’s back once again as he reached the end of the hallway.

Sure enough, there was a poorly-lit, grungy staircase to his left. Tig’s gut was telling him to turn around and take this guy out. And if there hadn’t been the very small possibility that you were also going to end up getting roped into this, he would have. But he wasn’t going to put you in that kind of danger, no matter how badly his fingers were itching to reach for his gun.

As if the man behind him could read his thoughts, he said, “I’d just fucking go, man.”

“No elevator in this place?” Tig turned to try and glance over his shoulder but he was roughly shoved again before he could get a good look. The guy was tall, white, and had long dark hair. That matched the description of way too many people in their area of California for Tig to try and narrow it down.

“It’ll be worth the walk,” he reassured him.

That sent a jolt of fear down Tig’s spine that he didn’t want to admit to. Your voicemail recording was playing on repeat in his head as he made his way up the stairs. There weren’t even that many steps but it felt like the staircase was stretching out to be longer and longer with each step that he took.

“Second door on the right,” the man instructed.

Tig listened, albeit begrudgingly. He reached, turning the knob of the door and pushing it open. He didn’t feel himself sucking in and holding his breath as he stepped in, but he let out a long exhale as he looked around the room. It was nothing special. There was a bed, a dresser, a timer on the dresser. The brick walls weren’t decorated with the exception of a few strings of lights that weren’t currently plugged in. Although Tig had the feeling that even when they were, they didn’t really do much to set the mood. Mood wasn’t the reason that people showed up to these rooms anyway. Most of the light in the room was being thrown by the singular light in the middle of the ceiling, a little bit coming in from the hall and the open door now as well.

He turned around, finally able to fully face the man who had been pushing and shoving him the whole way here. Tig took in the full image of the man in front of him. Aside from his height, and the tattoos that were on his hands and creeping up the side of his neck, there wasn’t really much to set him aside from anyone else Tig would’ve passed on the street. And yet he was standing there with the nagging feeling that he had definitely seen this guy before.

Tig looked around the room and back at the man, speaking with a much cooler, calmer demeanor than how he really felt inside. “No offense, man, but you really aren’t my type. And,” he gestured to the room, “I at least need a motel room or something. Have a little class.”

The guy shook his head before holding out his hand. “Gun.” He motioned for Tig to hand over his weapon.

This was the moment. Tig could either shoot his way out of this, or let it play out. He knew that there was no way that it was just him and this other asshole in the building. Shooting him was going to unleash who knew how many other people onto him. So he made the logical play and handed his gun over.

“Knife, too,” the man said.

Tig sighed, but he unclipped it and handed the blade over. He watched as the man set them just outside the door. Nothing about any of this was making sense. So few times in his life had Tig ever just been along for the ride like this. And now he didn’t even have his weapons.

He was staring at the empty doorway for a few seconds that felt much longer than that when he heard the clicking of heels on the hallway floor. His face contorted in confusion—the sound alone let him know that that wasn’t you. It seemed that with every passing second there were more and more questions popping up.

Then the young woman teetered into the doorway. One arm crossed over her chest so that her hand was gripping onto the opposite bicep. Her eyes were cast down towards the floor, nervously shifting and twisting her feet in her heels.

Tig’s eyes went wide as he took in the sight of her. She wasn’t you, but he knew her. You knew her, too. The last time that the two of you saw her, though, she was looking a lot happier, and a hell of a lot less banged up. Bruises littered her cheeks, arms, and legs. The skin of her knees was torn up and scabbed over, and he could see that it was the same case with her elbows. There was bruising along her neck that weren’t from a fun time that got out of hand.

The sight of her, even with all of the bruising, let him know why he recognized the man standing behind her. He had some generic fucking name. He was pretty sure it started with a J. Jerry? Jimmy? Something like that. On more than one occasion after Tig had dropped her back off at their usual spot down the block, he’d materialized to collect his cut of the payment. Tig would watch the exchange in the mirror of his bike. She never looked happy about it, and why would she? But the guy had never gotten rough with her, not where everyone could see, anyway.

Despite knowing better, Tig’s whole demeanor softened as he looked at her. He wanted to reach out and pull her into a hug. “Oh, what’d they do to you, doll?”

“They?” the man barked as he pushed her farther inside the room. It was gentler than when he was man handling Tig, but not by much. “She came back to us like this after she saw you!”

Tig’s eyes went wide as he shook his head. “I didn’t do this.” He looked genuinely appalled at the accusation. “I’m, we’re not into that.”

“So these just magically appeared on her?” he held the woman’s arm up, showcasing the bruising that continued on the underside of it.

Tig winced at the sight. “You’re looking for someone else, man.”

“I don’t fucking believe you.”

Tig shrugged, holding his hands out in a small act of defeat. “Nothing else I can say. This wasn’t me.”

He could see it in the girl’s face that she must have tried to tell this guy all of this already. Tig honestly wouldn’t be surprised if a couple of those bruises were from the man who seemed to be so upset about her having any in the first place.

Knowing better, she still spoke up anyway, her voice sounding as small as she tried to make herself. “Jay, it’s—"

“Stop,” he cut her off, and she shrunk even more. He turned his attention back to Tig. “You put one of my best girls out of commission for who knows how long. Until all this shit fades out,” he gestured to the cuts and bruises, and Tig saw the way that she winced at the callous address of it all.

“I told you, I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” he pulled a gun from his own waistband and aimed it at Tig’s head. “You cost me. And now it’s going to cost you. You and your club.”

Tig let out a laugh, because quite frankly the man’s gall was amusing to a point. Clearly he’d been looking for any way to try and sink his claws into the club and he was going to try and use this as his opportunity to do it. “You think my club is gonna pay up any money because some scumbag put one of your whores out of commission?”

“You’re going to convince them.”

He barked out another laugh. “Not gonna happen, Jay.”

“It better. Or your girl is gonna have a real rough go of it.”

Tig’s face contorted in confusion. He nodded towards the woman who was still standing nervously just past the doorway. “She’s cute, she’s a good time, but she’s not my girl. You putting her out of commission for even longer is just gonna be a bigger problem for you, brother.”

It was Jay’s turn to laugh. “Oh, believe me, it’s not gonna be my problem.” He let go of the girl’s arm only to nudge her towards the door. “Go on. You don’t gotta see this.”

Apprehension was etched into her features, but she did as she was told. She spared an apologetic look back at Tig before shuffling out the door. The sad look in her eyes did nothing to quell Tig’s worry and confusion.

It got quiet again. The two men stood staring at each other, waiting for the other to do something. Tig found himself reaching for weapons that he no longer had, inwardly cursing himself for handing them over. He was halfway through strategizing how to get out, how to get his things back, when he heard more footsteps coming his way. These ones were heavier, definitely not the dainty heels of the poor girl that they’d just sent on her way. There were also multiple sets of footsteps this time. Tig found himself taking a small step back, trying to put a little more distance between himself and the door just in case.

Then the door opened wider. Another man materialized. He was a little shorter than Jay, but built much wider. He’d just have to stand in the fucking doorway to keep Tig from being able to get out through it.

He wasn’t Tig’s concern, though, not when he saw the state that you were in as the man dragged you into the door. Your feet were barely coming up off the ground, the toes of your boots scuffing the floor with every labored step.

Whatever had been done to the poor girl who worked for Jay, you’d gotten that treatment and then some. Something told Tig that you were in the state that you were in because you hadn’t said or done the things that those men wanted you to. That was perfectly on-par for you—you knew how to keep your mouth shut. It was usually how you stayed out of trouble. It had never left you so bloody before.

He tried and failed to keep a straight face as he refocused on the men behind you. “I don’t know what you think this is gonna do. Doesn’t change the fact that my club isn’t gonna do shit for you.”

You did your best to take a deep breath despite your stuffy nose and the gag in your mouth. The fabric that was strung through your mouth felt like it was regrettably becoming a part of you at this point. Your wrists tingled and burned from the restraints around them. Your whole body ached. If it hadn’t been for the man dragging you along, you would’ve crumbled to the ground a long time ago.

Despite your exhaustion, when Jay landed the first hit, cracking his fist against Tig’s jaw, you still let out a whimper. The man holding onto you tightened his grip on your arm to silently tell you to get it under control. You tried, but you still felt yourself cringing as each requisite blow landed.

You watched the exchanges between them, both verbal and physical. You knew that the clock was ticking and that before you knew it, the attention was going to be back on you. If just the sight of you bruised and bloody wasn’t enough to get Tig to break, they were going to try and wear him down a little more before doing more damage to you. It was going to be a long and painful back and forth.

Tig spit some of the blood from his mouth onto the floor. He looked at Jay, setting his shoulders back before saying, “You’re going to have to do better than that. Your girls have smacked me around better.”

“Better, huh?”

Jay’s breathing was labored, but he could work a gun just fine winded. He roughly grabbed your arm that the other man wasn’t holding onto, pulling you in front of him and using his free hand to grab his gun. He pressed the tip of it against the side of your head. You whimpered, tears leaking out onto your cheeks.

“This better?” he asked Tig.

Tig was doing his best to keep a straight face. You knew him well enough to see the panic in his eyes. “It’s not gonna sway the club.”

“It’ll sway you, though,” Jay argued, “and you can sway the club.”

“Not gonna happen.” He said it with a certainty that stung you a little bit. You knew it was coming, but you just wanted to be out of here and safe. The likelihood of that was getting less and less with each passing second.

Jay shrugged nonchalantly. “Last chance.”

He saw the way that Tig’s expression didn’t falter. Letting out a deep sigh before stepping back from you. You heard the click that you knew all too well and another whine, some sort of a plea came out muffled. It didn’t matter, though. Seconds later, there was a loud bang and you felt the tearing through your side. You screamed in pain against the gag in your mouth, body dropping to the floor as you succumbed to the pain and exhaustion. You fell to your knees, doubling over further so that your forearms were braced against the floor, still bound at your wrists.

It almost got Tig to buckle. He almost dropped down to hold, you, to try and stop the bleeding. But he couldn’t crack now. What little bit of self-restraint he still had was spent keeping his eyes trained on the man pointing the gun at you.

“Not gonna shoot your way through this one, man,” Tig said with a shake of his head, although the confidence wasn’t there like it had been before.

Jay heard it, too, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. “You sure about that, Trager? I’d hate for your girl to bleed out on the floor here all because you didn’t want to talk to your club.”

“It’s not—”

Tig’s argument was cut short by the sound of another gunshot. You buckled beneath the impact, lying completely flat against the floor. You cried against the cloth in your mouth, tears cascading down your cheeks and eventually hitting the filthy floor beneath you. Blood was starting to pool around you, and the sight of that is what finally broke Tig. His body acted of its own accord as he dropped to his knees, immediately reaching for you, wanting to pull you close to try and help.

“Ah-ah,” Jay spoke up, pointing the gun right at your head even though his eyes were locked on Tig’s. “Give me a better answer, Trager. I can wait all day. Doesn’t look like she can, though.”

Tig looked down at you, unable to stomach the pleading look in your eyes as tears stained your bruised cheeks. If you had the strength, if your wrists hadn’t been bound, you would’ve reached for him to beg. You never asked him to choose between you and the club, because you knew where you were going to rank. But now that you were staring death in the face, you couldn’t help but to try and beg despite the fact that you couldn’t talk.

But then you saw it, the slight frown that tugged at his lips. Your heart sank in your chest. Your eyes fell shut, more tears slipping out as you tried to get right with the fact that this was it. Sobs wracked your body through the pain.

Even though it hadn’t been your intention, your painful acceptance of what was about to happen, kicked Tig into gear and got him to change his mind. He cleared his throat, holding his hands up in an act of surrender.

“Alright,” he sounded choked up, and that was new for everyone present, “alright. Just, just let me get her out of here.”

There was a sickly satisfied smile on Jay’s face as he lowered his gun. “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Tig didn’t respond as he moved to loop your still-bound arms around his neck. He scooped you up, trying to move you as little as possible as he swiped up his things. They played their game well, knowing now that he wasn’t going to risk you dying in order to take them out. For the moment, Tig’s worry was you, but his mind was already turning with ideas and plans for revenge. This would all get brought to the table, but paying these assholes off was the last thing that was going to be discussed.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #soa #soa imagine #tig trager #tig trager x reader #tig trager x you #my writing #fanfiction #tig trager fanfiction #drabblesmc

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thisreadswhatever · 1 year

Text

To Keep Me Safe From You: Part One

find my masterlist here

[description]: jax teller x fem!reader

[wordcount]: 3.1k+

[summary]: after overhearing a conversation that could be detrimental to the future of samcro, the club has voted that you have to die. fortunately for you, jax has to complete the kill.

[cw]: 18+, female reader(y/n), swearing, mentions of murder throughout, knives, smut, cliff hanger, possible grammar/spelling errors, generally following the show but slightly AU

[authors note]: so this one shot turned into something more and will be getting a part two as i'm not done with this scenario. i realised during this just how hard it is for me to write in a way where i don’t want jax to come tape me up and murder me... so sometimes the reader (y/n) makes some really questionable decisions, simply because i would let this man get away with anything. i hope you enjoy it :)

“We really talking about offing a chick right now?” Juice stared at his fellow members with wide eyes.

“She heard everything, Juice.” Even though he was whispering, Tig’s panic was loud and clear. “You wanna be the one to risk prison time over some waitress in a diner?”

Jax slammed his hand on the table, “We. Don’t. Kill. Women.”

Bobby looked around at the eyes now peering towards their table before shaking his head at Jax in disapproval, “We also don’t talk about club business outside of Chapel, for this exact reason.”

Tig doubled down now he knew Bobby agreed. “She heard too much. I saw it in her eyes, Jax. I can handle the hit. I’ll follow her out back, it’ll look like she was mugged. No witnesses. No trace.”

“Do you hear yourself right now brother? We don’t even know if she heard-” Juice stopped abruptly as he saw you walking over to their table, bill in hand. You smiled at the blonde haired man sitting at the end of the bench, avoiding the 5 other guys glaring at you. “Is there anything else I can help you guys with today?” He grinned back at you, taking the bill from your hand, “I think we’re all done here.” He placed three twenty dollar bills inside the wallet, a very generous tip, before handing it back to you. “Thanks for stopping by, boys. Get home safe.”

“You too, darlin.’”

Jax watched you walk away, making sure you were out of range before addressing the other members. “See? She heard nothing. That ain’t no witness that’s going to talk to feds. She’s not even spooked.”

Tig scoffed and Bobby lowered his eyes at Jax, “Maybe we should take a vote, Pres.?”

Jax was really pissed now, even contemplating killing a woman made his blood boil. But Bobby was his VP, and he was right, this wasn’t a decision he could make himself. Jax let out a large exhale, glancing at you as you cleaned the last remaining tables. He leaned into the table, “Fine, we vote. All in favor of murdering the poor innocent diner chick. I’ll start. Nay.”

He was the only one who voted so. Juice had almost sided with him, but everything Tig had said persuaded him to change his vote. Tig had panicked the rest of the members into actually killing a woman. Jax was outnumbered, and there was nothing more he could do. While you were finishing your night shift, the Sons of Anarchy had just sentenced you to die.

Jax had managed to get Tig to back off, reluctantly agreeing to let him carry out the hit instead. He figured at least he could kill you quickly, saving you from Tig’s twisted methods. The other members had left, leaving him the only 4 seater vehicle they had brought out that evening. Although you didn’t know it, Jax was waiting for you across the parking lot, leaning against the hood of Piney’s car, cigarette in hand. You shut the door to the diner behind you, fumbling with your purse to find your car keys. You were too preoccupied with the broken zipper on your bag to realise the same blonde haired man from earlier was still there, and approaching you.

“Lost somethin’ darlin’?”

“Shit-”, his voice startled you, causing you to drop your purse and everything in it across the lot.

“Fuck, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He helped as you collected the strung out items across the tarmac. “You didn’t mean to scare a girl leaving work on her own in the pitch black at this time of night?” You snapped at him as you searched for your belongings along some hedges. Jax handed you a tube of lipstick and your reading glasses, that had somehow survived the fall.

“I guess I didn’t think that one through. Sorry about that.” He stood up, extending a hand to help you. You barely acknowledged as he spoke, ignoring his hand, as you were desperately scanning the floor.

“Well you’re gonna be really sorry. You have to drive me home. My keys aren’t here..”

“Fuck- you cant find them?” He dropped to his knees again, searching the ground with you. You could barely see in the carpark, you had no chance of finding them until daylight.

“No, they’re gone. What the fuck am I gonna do now?”

Jax stood up, pacing the length of the car park still searching for your keys. “They gotta be here somewhere.”

“This is useless. Can you just take me home?”

Jax smiled, “least I can do darlin’.” He extended a hand to help you up from the ground again, but this time, you took it.

He started walking towards his car, holding a pack of cigarettes out at you. You didn’t smoke, but you also didn’t usually get into cars with strangers, either. You weren’t sure what had come over you, and you felt wary about the whole thing, but you didn’t have many options left with no car keys, and he seemed nice enough. You followed him to the car, taking a cigarette from the pack and holding it up to your mouth as he lit it for you. “I don’t even know your name and I’m about to get in a car with you.” He chuckled. “Names Jax Teller. And I can assure you, I’m a normal guy, just ignore the kutte.”

“Okay then.. Jax. You gonna tell me why a normal guy such as yourself is waiting for a girl outside her place of work at almost midnight?”

He held the car door open for you with a reassuring smile, “I’ll explain on the way home.”

You looked at him through narrowed eyes, “you better get me home in one piece.” You got in the car, flicking the half smoked cigarette on the floor as Jax shut the door behind you.

The inside of the SUV was a mess, the dash covered in raunchy magazines and parking fines. It was hard to think about anything other than the stench of dry oil and stale cigarettes. Jax began to drive, and you directed him on the way to your house, although you got the feeling he didn’t need your help anyway.

“I can get one of the guys to come change the locks on your car tomorrow morning. Get you a new set of keys.”

“That’d be great. You guys locksmith’s or something?”

Jax grinned, one hand on the steering wheel, glancing between you and the road as he drove. “Something like that. We run an auto repair shop out in Charming.”

“Oh. So is this your thing?”

Jax looks at you puzzled, “my thing?”

“Getting girls keys lost so you have to give them a ride home?” Jax shook his head, amused by your assumption. “You’re actually the first.”

Watching him while he drove gave you the chance to study him in fine detail. You’d noticed his good looks earlier at the diner, but now you could see Jax looked like he belonged in a hollywood movie. He held the steering wheel with one hand, the other on the gear stick, his fingers draped in silver rings. His beard was coated in a layer of stubble, with long shaggy blonde hair that tucked behind his ears. He was undeniably attractive. If anyone was going to lose your car keys, forcing you to drive with them for a ride home, you were glad it was him.

He turned on your drive slowly before parking, reaching into the glove box adjacent to you. He searched the compartment, and a load of CD’s fell to your feet. “Shit sorry. There’s no pens in here. You got anything in that bag you can use to write your number down? You know, for the keys.”

“I could grab a pen from inside.”

Jax nodded in response, “I’ll walk you to your door.”

Before you had the chance to say anything, Jax was out of the car and making his way to the passenger side door to open it for you. It was all a little surreal, you’d only met him a few hours before, yet he had shown you more courtesy than any man you’d previously encountered.

You walked with him to the front porch, then searching under the mat for the spare house key. You thought to yourself how you’d have to find a new hiding spot for it tomorrow. You unlocked the front door. As you walked in, switching the lights on as you entered the kitchen, you knew Jax was standing at the door, patiently waiting. You hesitated for a second, debating on the idea of having this random stranger enter your house. On one hand, you knew it was the dumbest idea you’d ever had. On the other, he was charming, respectful and like nobody else you’d ever met before. And you knew that after tonight, you’d probably never see him again. “You can come in if you want, I’ll just be a sec’.”

Jax stepped through the doorway, looking around as he followed you to the kitchen, “nice place you got here.” You searched the ‘drawer of everything’ in the kitchen to find an old receipt and pen. “It was my best friend’s house before she went back to Washington. She’s letting me stay here while I save for my own place. I get cheap rent, she gets a free house sitter.” Jax was standing behind you, making you overtly aware of how close he was. “Y/N.” He was reading from the receipt over your shoulder as you wrote down the number to your home phone. “I never did catch your name at the diner. It’s pretty.” You handed him the crumpled up paper, and he placed it in his pocket.

“And you never answered my question.” You turned to face him as you spoke, to find the beautiful blonde stranger holding a large blade against your stomach. “Living room. Now.”

You froze in fear, unable to move. You realised you’d made a huge mistake. You had known the risk of letting him in. You knew better. And now it was too late. You pushed through the lump in your throat to get words out, “Just take what you want and leave. It’s all yours.” “I don’t want your shit, y/n. Walk. Now.” You did as he said, walking slowly towards the living room, feeling the cold blade now pressed against your back. “What do you want?” He pulled your arm back with his free hand, stopping you in the living room. He gestured toward the armchair that sat between the TV and couch. “Sit down.”

“What are you doing, Jax?” You didn’t want to sit, you wanted to run. You wanted to buy yourself some time.

“I said sit down!” Jax’s voice cracked as he yelled at you. Hearing him yell sent a shiver down your spine, and you snapped into the chair in front of him immediately. You could see his face now. His eyes were vacant, completely shifted from the warm, courteous man you’d thought he was when he entered your home. It seemed he’d grown 10 feet taller now, towering over you while you sat frozen and vulnerable in the chair beneath him. He brought himself down to your level, with the knife now at your side, the blade touching your arm.

“You wanted an answer to your question?”

You nodded.

“I waited for you because I have to kill you.”

“To kill me?” Nothing was making any sense. “To kill me..” You repeated, looking straight into his eyes, “but you don’t even know me.” Jax placed the knife into the sheath, and back onto his belt pocket before pulling a roll of duct tape from his kutte. You recognised the tape from the drawer you had searched earlier, but that couldn’t be possible, you told yourself. You never saw him take it.

“You heard some stuff tonight that could ruin lives. And there’s a group of outlaws that want you dead now because of it.”

His words rang in your ears like sirens, putting all your senses into override. You couldn’t catch your breath before Jax was binding your hands together in front of you so tightly you could see the skin pulling under the tape. “And you want me dead too?”

Jax paused to look at you, matching your eyes, before looking down, continuing to tape your hands. “Doesn’t matter what I want.”

Nothing made sense. You hadn’t heard anything they talked about. He had totally got the wrong idea, and if you could just explain it, he could understand.

“Jax, please listen to me. I didn’t hear anything. I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

He closed his eyes as you pleaded with him, “Stop. Talking.”

You pulled your wrists up, trying to touch him with your fingertips, as if that could reach the kind part of him you thought you had seen. Your bound hands pulled at his shirt as you begged.

“I didn’t hear a thing! If I heard some fucked up shit why would I get in a car with you? Why the fuck would I let you in my house!” You felt faint, your ears beginning to ring as adrenalin circulated your veins. He tried to ignore you, and started to tape your legs. You wanted to think straight, to talk sense into him, but your eyes began to fill with water, tears unwillingly streaming down your cheek. “I didn’t hear anything,” you sobbed, “I’m not lying to you.”

Jax dropped the roll of tape on the floor. His hands covered his face as he rubbed his eyes, the words “jesus christ”, muttered through his teeth. Suddenly he stood up, pacing to the kitchen. You couldn’t see him, but you could hear the flicking of a lighter. You sat there, bound by tape, in silence, afraid if you said anymore he would come back to finish you off.

Some time had passed. Jax had paced the kitchen before venturing into your bedroom. You’d spent the last few hours weighing your options. You could try to run, but you wouldn’t get anywhere with your hands and legs bound together. If you could get to the phone in the kitchen you could call the cops, but he’d see you before you could even dial the numbers. You weren’t sure how long you sat there, trying to think of anything that may save you. Your planning was halted when you heard footsteps coming from the bedroom. Jax lowered himself down to you, pulling the knife from the sheath. He pointed it towards you, and you braced yourself, knowing any plan you could make was too late. You closed your eyes, awaiting your fate, when you heard the sound of tape ripping and your hands were released from the bind. You didn’t move a muscle. Jax’s eyes smoldered. “I’m not going to kill you.”

You pulled the tape from your wrists, stinging as you peeled back the residue from your skin. “You’re not?” “I can’t kill a woman. And even if I could, I can’t kill you.” He cut the tape binding your feet. You gulped, still sat in the chair as if the tape had never been cut in the first place. You could run now, you should run now, but you didn’t want to.

“What about the outlaws?” your voice was almost a whisper.

“I’ll handle them.” You watched as he began to walk towards the front door. “I’m really sorry for all of this, y/n. I just couldn’t do it.” His face was full of shame, his voice clouded in regret.

You didn’t have time to contemplate before you yelled, “wait!”

Jax stopped in the kitchen, “What?”

“You can’t just go.” You leaned into your knees to stand from the chair, legs stiff from being in the same position all night. As you stood you stretched your legs creating instant relief as you walked towards him. Your mind yearned for the same relief your body had, but now you were just really fucking angry. “You bring me here, tell me I’m going to die, tape me up and then decide you’re not going to murder me anymore. Now you want to just leave? And pretend this never happened?”

“I can’t stay.” He sounded guilty, and his lack of eye contact was further proof of this.

“Why the hell not?” You were standing arms length apart, looking up at the man who was tasked with your murder, yet now you were pleading with him to stay. “What are you even talking about, Jax?” You tried to step closer to him, but he inched back.

“If I’m not killing you, I need to stop whoever is going to instead.”

You didn’t respond, as you were still trying to understand why you needed to be saved at all.

Jax softened, “I know you’re confused but this is the only way I can keep you safe.”

“To keep me safe from you.”

He took a deep breath, taking your face in his hands. His blue eyes had melted, any anxiety he had been wrestling with tonight had passed.

After everything that had happened, somehow, here, in this man’s presence, you felt safe. You now knew he wouldn’t hurt you. He held you there in his hands, searching your face, looking for a different way out. Something in that moment shifted, the air around you moved as if it were wrapping you in string, tying you to Jax, bringing you closer together. He leaned into you, kissing you on the head, seemingly like the beginning of a goodbye. But he didn’t speak, and no goodbyes came. Instead he placed his forehead along yours, breathing you in along with whatever thoughts plagued his mind. You didn’t understand how or why this was happening, and you got the idea that Jax didn’t know either. Before you could make sense of it, he took you into his hands and kissed you. He pulled your face tight to his, securing you to him by the grip his fingers had through your hair. The tension between you was palpable, every movement of his tongue against yours was fierce and urgent.

His hands released and lowered to your waist, pushing you into the open island in your kitchen as you stumbled backwards on your feet. The cold countertop was pressing against the back of your jeans, contrasted to the warmth of his mouth on yours, his hands now tugging at your waist band.

He lifted his hand back to your face, feeling your lips beneath his thumb before sliding it down your neck. The corners of his mouth stretched into a smile as he kissed you.

“I knew there was a reason I couldn’t kill you.”

His tongue lapped against yours, gentle and kind with every touch yet urgent with his hands on you. Groans fell from your throat in response.

You had feared this man all night, and now you were drunk from his lips, and utterly desperate for more.

———

part two

let me know if you want to be tagged in part 2 :)

find my masterlist here

#reads whatever writes #jax teller #soa #jax teller x reader #jax teller x you #jax teller smut #fanfiction #jax teller x y/n #jax teller fiction #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fic #imagine #juice ortiz #tig trager #bobby munson #samcro #smut

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hunterbunter3000 · 2 years

Text

Y/n: ...Bucky are you wearing a bra.

Bucky: uuhhh yes

Y/n: Are you wearing... my bra?

Bucky: What?! No! I'm just-

Y/n: is it the black lacy one?

Bucky:

Bucky: Baby, I can explain--

Y/n: TAKE IT OFF

Bucky: NO I WANNA WEAR IT

#LET HIM WEAR IT #YK HE HAS TIG OL BITTIES #avengers x fem!reader #avengers incorrect quotes #marvel #marvel incorrect quotes #funny incorrect quotes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x you #x reader #bucky barnes x yn #black!reader #black!fem!reader #sebastian stan

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thelov3lybookworm · 2 months

Text

Mine?

Summary: Grayson's world is about to turn upside down.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: ehehehe

•○🌑○•

Grayson sighed, rubbing at his brows.

"So you're telling me we need to get Y/n's approval for this project?"

"Yes." Aaron Galathynius stared Grayson down until he looked away, frustrated.

"But she is missing. She won't answer my calls, and you refuse to give me her location. What am I supposed to do?"

Grayson was sure that even if she hadn't been ignoring him like her life depended on it, she would have rejected the idea without even considering.

Galathynius gave him an unamused glance before turning to the papers spread on the table. "You do know that's my daughter you're talking about."

Grayson refrained from letting him know exactly who he was talking to. That without Grayson's grandfather, the Galathynius family would still be some nobody business, hoping desperately to make it.

But he only stopped himself only because he was friends with Aaron's daughter and would do anything to talk to her again, and fighting with her father was probably the fastest way to make sure she never talked to him again.

Grayson sighed again, picking up his coat and shoving his arms through. "Call me when you are ready to answer my questions, and maybe we can proceed."

Turning, Grayson stalked over to the glass doors and stormed out, letting them swing shut behind him.

Once in his car, Grayson pulled out his phone, staring at her contact name. She would not pick up, Grayson knew. She would leave it ringing just like she had been doing over the past year.

But still, trying to contact her was better than wondering about what he had done wrong for his best friend to ignore him so.

So he tapped his screen, and stared until the call cut off by itself after ringing for a good few minutes.

Grayson sighed, turning to stare out the window at the scenery that passed by.

Gray knew sleeping with her was a bad idea, but he hadn't been thinking. He hadn't thought that it would get this serious when he refused to apologise.

But he'd just found out about Eve's betrayal a few hours before Y/n had visited him in his bedroom and he wasn't really thinking, and that led to things escalating faster than Grayson could understand. And the next thing he knew, he stared down at her limp and spent form in horror, sated with the pleasure he had delivered.

She had smiled at him softly before she realised he did not look happy. Then she had shot up, reaching out for him. He leaned back, staring at her before stumbling out of bed. He could see her heart breaking, but he could not let himself think too much about the fact that he was the reason she got hurt.

"This was a mistake."

He'd mumbled out the three words that had broken the friendship that the two of them shared, and as he walked away towards his wardrobe to clean up, he could have sworn he had heard her curse him.

Heard her heart shattering.

But he could not bring himself to care as he hurriedly put on clothes. When he'd stepped out, she was nowhere to be seen, the clothes he had ripped off her body and discarded haphazardly on the ground gone, the only thing left behind her lingering scent.

He had seen her once after that, coming out of his mother's house when he went to visit her regarding something about the foundation. She'd had tears in her eyes and her arms wrapped around her body, as if to protect herself. He had tried to talk, but of course, he had been ignored.

Now, as the Hawthorne house rolled into view, Grayson told himself what he was about to do was not wrong. That this decision was for the best.

"Zabrowski? I need you to find someone for me."

•○🌑○•

The apartment complex looked posh, but it was nothing compared to what Grayson was used to. Still, he had to give it to Y/n. She had always been good at picking out the perfect things.

Grayson stared at the elevator door, making sure he did not let his anticipation and nervousness show as he neared the fifteenth floor, where Y/n had taken residence in according to Zabrowski.

Zabrowski had also mumbled something about a child in passing, but Grayson had forgotten all about it until a few hours ago.

As the elevator doors dinged open and Grayson stepped out, he wondered if Y/n had finally found someone. Wondered if she had stopped just having hopeless crushes and actually acted on her feelings for whoever, that maybe she was now pregnant as he rang the bell of apartment 1502.

He got his answers the moment the door in front of him opened, and out peeked the head of his best friend.

"Y/n."

Her name escaped him on a thin exhale, a weird feeling spreading through Grayson's chest. He watched as her lips parted in shock, her eyes only widening a fraction.

"Grayson?"

He dared to smile at her. "It's me-"

A loud cry broke the moment between the two, and Grayson's interest piqued when Y/n whipped around, letting go of the door as she ran towards where the sound was coming from.

Grayson knew it was wrong of him to push the door open and look for himself. but he could not help the curiosity.

He watched as the simple white button up shirt she was wearing puffed a little with air, her leg muscles flexing and contracting as she moved, stared as her shirt rode up a little to show the denim shorts she was wearing.

He watched as she ran towards the couch set in front of a wall of glass, looking out over the forest of buildings, and bent to...

Pick up a baby.

Looking at her cooing softly at the child was a shock to Grayson's system as she had always said that she did not want kids, or at least not until she had seen the whole world and was far older.

Grayson was damn sure she could not have seen the world in just one year, so either she had changed plans, or the baby was unexpected.

Grayson also knew he had been her first time.

Horror spread through his chest when Y/n turned around a little, smiling down at the... blonde baby with grey eyes wearing a cute litte pink onesie, who giggled back at Y/n. Her mother.

Grayson could not take his eyes off of the child, and it was a long moment before Y/n turned to him fully, her eyes widening.

Grayson finally glanced up, meeting his best friend's eyes. His voice cracked when he finally spoke, his eye stinging.

"Mine?"

Y/n did not reply, stalking over to the door and slamming it shut in his face. The loud crash echoed in the empty hallway, the sound deafening, heartbreaking.

But Grayson did not pay it much attention, the only thing ringing in his ears his own voice asking the question and the unsaid answer.

Mine?

Mine.

•○🌑○•

General Taglist (only tagging people who i either know read these books or people who sked to be tagged in everything 😉) : @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @berryzxx

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