Happy Lowman (Sons of Anarchy) x fem!reader - he's 49, you're 24
You tell him you like his voice when he’s calm.
So now he is actively trying to speak softer around you.
The problem is:
Happy Lowman lowering his voice just makes him sound more dangerous.
Happy Lowman had never once in his life adjusted himself for anybody.
Not his tone.
Not his posture.
Not his expression.
Not the particular way he could walk into a room and make grown men suddenly remember appointments they didn’t have and exits they hadn’t noticed before.
He was who he was.
Blunt, quiet, unnervingly intense, and possessed of a voice that usually sounded like gravel, old smoke, and a threat someone hadn’t realized they’d already received.
People either dealt with it or they didn’t.
Happy had never considered there might be a third option.
Then one night you ruined his entire life by saying, in the softest, most absentminded voice imaginable, “I like your voice when you’re calm.”
That was it.
No dramatic lead-up.
No obvious flirtation.
No declaration loaded with meaning.
You’d been sitting beside him outside the clubhouse while the night settled warm and slow over Charming, the sounds of the others inside muffled by walls and distance and the lazy hum of summer insects, and he’d been talking to you in that rare, low, even tone he only seemed to use when it was late and there was no audience and he’d forgotten, for a little while, to keep all the harder edges of himself sharpened.
You’d been leaning into his side, tracing the edge of your beer bottle with one fingertip, eyes half-lidded and sleepy and content, and he’d said something—he never even remembered what—and you’d smiled without looking up and murmured, “I like your voice when you’re calm.”
That should have been the end of it.
A normal man would have accepted the compliment.
Maybe said thanks.
Maybe moved on.
Happy was not a normal man.
Happy, unfortunately, was a man who fell in love like it was a terminal condition and then handled it with all the grace of a hostage negotiator trying to perform open-heart surgery with a knife.
So instead of moving on, he spent the next three days thinking about it with the kind of concentration he usually reserved for surveillance, violence, and occasionally choosing where to sit in a room so nobody could get the drop on him.
You liked his voice when he was calm.
Not his hands.
Not his smile—rare as it was.
Not the bike.
Not the tattoos.
Not the fact that half of Charming crossed the street when they saw him coming.
His voice.
When he was calm.
Which meant there was now exactly one thing in Happy Lowman’s life that he wanted more than anything else: to make sure you heard that voice whenever possible.
This was, in theory, romantic.
In practice, it was a disaster.
Because Happy trying to speak softer did not make him sound gentle.
It made him sound like the final warning in a hostage situation.
The first time the club noticed, Tig was the unfortunate victim.
He was standing at the bar, halfway through some long, rambling story about a woman in Lodi and a pair of handcuffs that apparently should have come with safety instructions, while you sat on one of the stools beside Happy looking far too pretty for the general atmosphere of criminal dysfunction around you, and Happy—who had been largely silent for the last twenty minutes because he was concentrating very hard on the concept of speaking calmly for your benefit—finally turned his head slightly and said, in a low, deliberate murmur, “Tig, shut the fuck up for a minute.”
The room went silent.
Not because of what he said.
Happy told Tig to shut the fuck up at least six times a day.
No, the problem was how he said it.
Soft.
Measured.
Almost intimate in its quietness.
The kind of voice a man might use if he was trying not to wake someone.
Or if he was about to explain, very patiently, why your kneecaps were no longer a guaranteed part of your future.
Tig blinked.
Actually blinked.
Then slowly turned toward him with the cautious expression of a man who had just realized he might have wandered into a serial killer documentary.
“…Brother,” Tig said after a beat, “why’d that sound like you were about to murder me in a basement?”
You choked on your drink.
Happy frowned. “I told you to shut up.”
“Yeah, I heard that part. I’m talking about the delivery.”
Happy looked at you.
You were trying not to laugh.
Which was annoying.
Also beautiful.
Also distracting.
He scowled harder.
“What.”
You bit your lip, eyes bright with amusement. “Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“It’s just…”
You glanced at Tig, then back at Happy.
“You’re trying, aren’t you?”
Tig’s head snapped toward you so fast it was a miracle he didn’t pull something.
“Trying?” he repeated. “Trying what?”
You smiled.
Happy’s stomach tightened instantly.
“Nothing,” he said.
You looked at him with open fondness and absolutely no survival instinct.
“He’s trying to talk softer.”
The room paused.
Then Bobby barked a laugh so sudden he nearly dropped his beer.
Chibs looked up from the table with immediate interest.
Juice, who had learned over time that any sentence beginning with “Happy is trying to…” was going to be worth hearing, practically leaned over the bar.
Tig stared at Happy.
Then at you.
Then back at Happy.
“Why.”
You answered before Happy could threaten anyone.
“I told him I like his voice when he’s calm.”
There was a full second of total silence.
Then the room detonated.
Tig bent over laughing.
Bobby slapped the bar.
Juice made a strangled noise that sounded almost painful.
Even Chibs, who usually had at least a little self-preservation when it came to mocking Happy to his face, covered his mouth and turned away to hide a grin that wasn’t hidden at all.
Happy sat perfectly still on the stool, expression flat, eyes dead, soul actively trying to leave his body.
You, traitor that you were, were laughing too now—quietly, shoulders shaking, face warm and bright and absolutely impossible for him to stay irritated with for more than three consecutive seconds.
Tig wiped his eyes. “You’re trying to sound sweet?”
“I’m not trying to sound anything.”
“Bullshit.”
“Watch your mouth.”
Tig clutched his chest. “Jesus Christ, there it is again.”
Happy’s jaw tightened. “What.”
“That voice.”
“What voice.”
“That one.”
Bobby was still grinning. “He sounds like he’s trying to seduce someone at gunpoint.”
You laughed so hard you had to put your drink down.
Happy turned to look at you and immediately regretted it because you were looking at him with that expression again—that soft, delighted, affectionate one that made his internal organs feel like they’d all quietly switched sides.
“You do not,” you said, still laughing.
“I absolutely do,” Juice cut in.
“Yeah,” Chibs said, enjoying himself far too much. “Ye sound like a fella saying, ‘No sudden movements, sweetheart,’ while loading a silencer.”
Tig nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. It’s not soft. It’s… worse.”
Happy stared at all of them like he was calculating how many bodies he could realistically dispose of before sunrise.
“I hate every one of you.”
“We know,” Bobby said cheerfully. “But this is very funny.”
Happy looked back at you.
You were still smiling.
Still amused.
Still entirely too pleased with the situation for someone who had accidentally caused it.
He leaned slightly closer, because apparently if he was going to be mocked either way, he might as well commit to the bit, and said in that same lowered voice, “You think this is funny?”
Your smile faltered.
Not because you were scared.
Because you visibly, physically reacted.
Your eyes widened just slightly.
Your lips parted.
And for one devastating second he watched the exact moment that voice—the one he’d been trying and failing to make gentle—went straight through you like a bullet.
The room saw it too.
Of course they did.
Tig made a sound like he’d just uncovered buried treasure.
“Oh, she likes it.”
Your head whipped around. “Shut up.”
“Oh, she really likes it.”
“She does not,” Happy said automatically.
You looked back at him, cheeks warm.
“Yes, I do.”
Silence.
The room froze.
Happy froze.
Even Tig froze, mostly because he wanted to make sure he’d heard correctly before he started being unbearable about it.
You realized what you’d said exactly one second too late.
Your entire face went pink.
Happy stared at you.
“You what.”
You swallowed.
Now every eye in the room was on you, which should have made it impossible to say anything else, and yet somehow the only thing you could focus on was Happy’s expression—not mocking, not smug, not even particularly surprised, just dark and intent and fixed entirely on you like the rest of the room had ceased to exist.
You lifted one shoulder in a tiny, helpless shrug.
“I said I like your voice when you’re calm.”
“Yeah.”
“And now you keep doing that thing with it.”
“What thing.”
“That.”
He frowned.
“I’m talking normal.”
“No, you’re not.”
He leaned closer.
Again.
“What’s wrong with it.”
And there it was.
That low, controlled murmur that wasn’t actually gentle at all, the one that somehow made every syllable feel heavier, more focused, like he was giving all of his attention to you and only you, and maybe it was ridiculous, maybe it should have been embarrassing to admit in front of half the club, but it did something awful to your pulse.
You stared at him for a beat too long.
“It makes her want to climb him like a tree,” Tig announced to the room.
You closed your eyes.
“Oh my God.”
The clubhouse exploded again.
Juice nearly fell off his stool.
Bobby was openly crying with laughter.
Chibs looked like he might actually have a heart attack from the force of trying not to laugh too hard.
Happy didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t even look away from you.
Because unlike everyone else, he wasn’t interested in the joke anymore.
He was interested in the fact that you had gone bright red and were refusing to meet his eyes, and that somewhere in the middle of all the teasing and humiliation and noise, you had effectively confessed to being affected by him in exactly the way he’d been secretly hoping for.
“Look at me,” he said.
That did not help.
At all.
You looked up because of course you did, and the second your eyes met his, the room seemed to blur at the edges.
There was still laughter.
Still noise.
Still the club carrying on around you.
But Happy had that look on his face now—the one that always made your stomach tighten, the one that said he was paying attention in a way that felt almost unfair.
“You like it,” he said quietly.
You glared weakly. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I kind of do right now.”
“Not enough.”
You should have said something smart.
Should have deflected.
Should have blamed Tig and changed the subject and escaped with whatever dignity remained.
Instead you looked at him and, because apparently public humiliation had destroyed your survival instincts too, you said, “No. Not enough.”
Something in his expression shifted.
Small.
Dangerous.
Warm.
He stood from the stool in one smooth movement and turned toward you fully, stepping into your space until the laughter around you dipped into curious silence again.
Happy didn’t touch you immediately.
He just looked down at you, eyes dark, mouth set in that hard line that somehow still felt softer when it was aimed at you.
“You telling me,” he said, still using that cursed lowered voice, “that you’ve been listening to me talk for the last week and thinking about climbing me like a tree?”
Behind him, Tig made a scandalized noise of pure delight.
You ignored him.
Mostly because you were too busy trying to breathe.
“…Maybe.”
Happy’s head tilted slightly.
“Maybe.”
“Happy.”
“Yeah.”
“Please stop talking like that.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Why.”
You stared at him.
“Because I’m trying very hard to remain a person.”
For one stunned second, he just looked at you.
Then—miracle of miracles—Happy smiled.
Not a big smile.
Not even close.
Just the smallest, rarest curve at one corner of his mouth.
But it changed his whole face.
And because the universe apparently hated you, it made him look even more unfairly attractive.
“Oh, she’s fucked,” Juice whispered reverently.
“She is fucked,” Bobby agreed.
Happy ignored them all.
He reached out, slow enough to give you time to pull away if you wanted, and touched his fingers lightly to your jaw, tilting your face up just a little.
“You know what your problem is?” he murmured.
You swallowed.
“What.”
“You keep saying things to me like you don’t know I’m gonna do something about it.”
Your pulse jumped.
“Do something about what.”
“This.”
And then he kissed you.
Right there in front of everyone.
In the middle of the clubhouse.
With Tig making the kind of triumphant noise normally reserved for sporting events and Chibs muttering, “About bloody time,” under his breath and Juice whispering “holy shit” like he was witnessing a religious experience.
Happy kissed exactly the way he spoke when he got quiet around you—slow, deliberate, controlled in a way that somehow made it feel more dangerous instead of less, one hand settling at your waist while the other stayed at your jaw, holding you steady while your brain melted clean out of your ears.
When he finally pulled back, you were blinking up at him like the room had tipped sideways.
He looked… smug.
Not obviously.
Happy would rather die than look obviously smug.
But there was something deeply satisfied in the set of his mouth, in the way his thumb brushed once across your cheek before his hand slid down to rest warm and firm at your hip.
“You still like my voice?” he asked.
You stared at him for a second.
Then another.
Then said, with all the dignity you could gather while the club lost its collective mind around you—
“Actually I think it’s ruining my life.”
That tiny smile appeared again.
“Good.”
Tig pointed at both of you like this was somehow a personal victory for him. “I knew it. I knew the murder voice would work.”
“It’s not a murder voice,” you protested weakly.
“It’s absolutely a murder voice,” Bobby said.
“Yeah,” Chibs added. “Just turns out lassie here’s into it.”
You buried your face in Happy’s shoulder.
“I hate this place.”
Happy’s arm came around you immediately, pulling you against his side with quiet certainty.
“You don’t.”
“No,” you mumbled into his shirt, already smiling. “Probably not.”
He tipped his head down just enough for his mouth to brush your temple, and when he spoke again his voice was low enough that only you heard it.
“You can tell me if there’s anything else you like.”
Your entire body went still.
Slowly, very slowly, you looked up at him.
He looked entirely serious.
Which was somehow the most dangerous part of all.
“Oh,” you said faintly.
His mouth twitched.
“Yeah.”
And while the club kept talking and laughing and pretending not to be wildly invested in the fact that Happy Lowman had apparently decided to court you by accidentally sounding like a hitman reading poetry, you stayed tucked against his side with his hand at your waist and his voice still in your ear, and it turned out that maybe being in love with a terrifying man who softened only for you was a little ridiculous, a little mortifying, and absolutely worth it.
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HAZE
Here we go.....
Angel sat on the delapitated couch outside the clubhouse, smoking and drinking with EZ, Coco, Gill…and Daniella. He took another long look at their unexpected company as she passed the blunt she was sharing with Coco back to him. They had all met her when she started working at the Silver Star auto parts shop. She was friendly, a little flirty - but it was her deep auburn curls and sly smile, not to mention the sassy mouth that paired so well with her flared hips, that kept Angel in particular coming back to test the waters. She had been to the clubhouse with her friends a few times before, but today she flew in solo with her work shirt still on and a deep scowl.
Daniella sighed feeling her anger transitioning into mellow. Twilight was moving through the last of its changing colors into night and the sun sinking was cooling off the desert air quickly - teasing them with a breeze that swirled into their corner of the porch every so often. The music from inside the clubhouse and the talk around her grew muffled as she welcomed the cloudy haze encompassing her brain. Dani didn’t know exactly what lead her course when she peeled out of the parking lot of her job. After her boss cussed her out yet again, this time in front of a customer, she picked her pride up off of the floor, gathered her things and drove mindlessly. It was no real surprise to her that she ended up where she knew she could have a brainless kind of good time. Now slumped down next to Angel, on the very couch she made fun of every time she came to the clubhouse, she blew another lazy stream of smoke into the air.
Angel blew cigarette smoke out over the top of his bottle before putting it to his lips, catching EZ’s questioning eyes. The brothers communicated silently with eyebrow lifts and nods while Coco and Gill distracted their visitor from her troubles with a random story of their own recklessness. She wasn’t laughing but her smile had made an appearance and it seemed they were quieting the storm that was brewing within her when she first arrived.
Mid story Coco’s eyes lit up with amusement, “Damn, girl you tryin’ ta get every last bit outta that shit!”
“Damn right.” Holding the sliver of a blunt with her black laquered fingernails, she extended her neck without an ounce of shame, drawing hard enough on it for him to see the red glow actually hit her nail.
With a yelp she dropped it on the porch floor, checking the condition of her nail while Angel stretched a long leg over to grind it out with his boot. She dropped her head back and let the smoke billow out of the sides of her mouth on its own, eventually blowing out the last of it and closing her eyes.
Dani now wore a softer version of the frown she had arrived with and EZ was relieved to see it. “You should come inside a while.”
“Nope.” She wrapped her arms around herself, “I’m good right here. Plotting my revenge.”
EZ’s eyes crinkled on the sides and his Adam’s apple dipped in a silent chuckle, “Was it that bad?”
Daniella’s eyes flew open and she sat up, “Yes! The absolute fucking worst…ugh!” Quickly filling them in on her boss’ behavior, she felt the frustration of her day mounting inside of her all over again. “I wanna quit, you know? Just like fuck it…but I can’t. I need the job but I deserve better than that shit. He’s such an asshole!” With arms fully extened, she flipped off the sky with both hands, then let them flop back down at ther sides. Groaning, she scrunched her face in disgust, “And the worst part is…I have to walk back in there tomorrow and smile like a good girl. Like I don’t wanna punch him in his fat froggy throat.”
“Pssh…fuck him then.” Angel’s voice rolled out low and menacing enough to make her look at him. He stared back, his eyes never wavering from hers. With a shoulder shrug, he leaned a little more forward into her space, dropping his voice into a lower register. “I mean, we could always go pay his ass a visit, you know. Talk to him about manners an’ shit.”
Confused by the intensity of his expression, Dani gave him a single chuckle. Angel raised his eyebrows slightly in a silent invitation to accept his offer. She quickly looked around at the others and there was not a smile among them, making her swallow hard. No matter how much her boss deserved a good humbling, she wasn’t trying to sic a pack of Mayans on him. Turning back to Angel, his eyes were locked in on her face. His thick eyebrows were furrowed together and his normally expressive brown eyes were hard. Unconsciously, her lips parted. She’d always seen him as sexy - an erotic curiosty. The walk, the lazy drawl in the way he spoke - it added a certain smoothness to the biker thing he had going on. But then he was always smiling and cracking on somebody, too. In her head somehow, his playfulness had cancelled out the tattoos, the cut, the knife on his hip and the gun at his back. The depth of his brown eyes made it so no alarms went off when she saw bruises and bloody scrapes on his face or the bridge of his nose all swollen. Despite what the Mayans stood for, he was too pretty to really be a devil…right?
For the first time since he strolled into the shop, with his perfcet hair and rolled up sleeves, she saw him as someone who could be dangerous. She couldn’t look away. Instead of feeling repelled, that realization mixed with the weed in her system was ringing the dinner bell in her brain. Then he broke the spell by wiggling his eyebrows at her. His face lit up in a rouguish smile as they all burst out laughing at her.
“Angel!” she squeaked, laughing. “I swear to god!”
“Hey!” Angel chuckled shielding himself from her slaps to his arm. “Damn Dani! Relaaax!”
Granted, it was her first laugh that week but she couldn’t let them get away with it. Lunging forward, she took a swipe at Coco who jerked out of the way. With a glare at Gilly and EZ who were safely out of reach, she flicked her hand in annoyance. “Forget all y’all!”
Bishop sticking his head out interrupted their lighthearted moment. EZ immediately stood up straight, nodded once and went inside behind him.
Still smiling, Angel asked, “Wanna go inside? Get a drink?”
Dani shook her head no, “What I want is to smoke some more. Coco, you holding anything I can buy off you?”
Digging in his front shirt pocket he pulled out a fat joint and tucked it right back in. “Nah.”
“Cocooooo,” Dani whined, scooting her butt to the edge of the couch to be able to lean back enough to dig in the pocket of her jeans for money.
“Naaah, it’s my last one.”
Unfolding it, she held it up, “I got 20. C’mon, Coco. I need--.”
Coco had plucked the bill from her fingers with a crooked grin before she even started to plead her case. “Pleasure doin’ business witchu, mamas.”
Dani did a happy dance in her seat as Coco handed it over. Heading inside with Gill for drinks he threw a questioning look to Angel, who shook his head in the negative wanting to stay put. Seeing Daniella start to dig in another pocket, he held his lighter out, cupping his hand to block the swirling breeze, flicking it to life. After doing another little shimmy of joy, she leaned forward to light up.
“Happy now?” Angel asked.
Leaning back, she held her first long drag in, sinking into the cushions with a low hum of appreciation. Angel snorted at her performance. Twisting his whole body to face her, he waved his ringed finger in front of her face. “Good. Maybe it’ll smooth out that big ass frown on yo fo’head.”
Dani’s eyes widened and she choked, smacking his finger away. Coughing, she sputtered out smoke, gasping for air. “Fuck you,” she croaked.
Entertained by her annoyance and watering eyes, Angel’s smile was mischievious “I’m just sayin’ you gotta watch out for those lines an’ shit. Be out here lookin’ like some old ass lady.”
“Boy!”
“¡Calmate!” Angel chuckled low, blocking her next swat at him. “Damn! Try to be nice to some people, give them some fuckin’ advice…”.
Giggling and coughing she settled back into the dilapitated sofa. “I h-hate you so much.”
Pleased with himself to have gotten another laugh out of her, Angel slumped down mirroring her position on the couch, nudging her with his shoulder. Nudging him back, she brought her hand down on his leg and he couldn’t help but notice how far inside his thigh it was. The second his mind began to question it, EZ came out again with his face set in concentration and she moved it away. Slipping on a black hoodie instead of the red one he normally wore, he put his cut back on over it.
Angel frowned as EZ put his riding gloves on. With a head jerk up, he asked, “What’s up?”
“Something for Bish.”
They exchanged looks and Dani noticed Angel didn’t ask if he wanted him to go along. If he had any opinions about how close she and Angel were sitting he kept them to himself. With a nod for goodbye, EZ crossed the yard and mounted his bike. From the porch, they both silently watched until his tail light disappeared out the gate. Exhaling into the night sky, Dani held out her potent stress reliever to Angel and he took it. She watched the way he held it between his thumb and forefinger. How his eyelids dipped putting those beautiful, dark eyelashes on display, the way his cheeks hollowed just enough to make her take notice of the perfect line of his beard. The chemicals racing through her system opened her mouth before her brain could catch up.
“We could always get outta here, too.”
“Pssh!” He avoided her eyes, handing it back. “You better slow down on this shit.”
“What?” she mocked him playfully. “You scared of me, Reyes?”
Angel smirked his mouth up and let out a hiss of disbelief, “Ain’t nobody ‘round here scared of you, Danielita.”
Taking a long drag she held it in, letting Coco’s powerful herbal blend blur the edges of the lights and muffle the raucous voices and guitar-driven music coming from inside the clubhouse even more. Releasing the smoke from her lungs, she smiled softly, “You are.”
“What?”
“Scared of me.”
“Pssh! Shut the fuck up, yo.”
Adjusting her position to face him, she looked him over. Something in her was enjoying provoking him. “I mean, I ain’t afraid to leave with you.”
“Yeah?” Angel turned his body square with hers. His arm resting along the top of the couch allowed his fingertips to brush her shoulder. He toyed with a lock of her hair and studied her face. Breaking eye contact, he wet his lips. “Maybe you should be.”
Dani quickly realized that talking reckless was much easier to do when she was blowing smoke up to the sky. Choosing to look Angel in the face was heating up her neck and drying out her throat. While the sounds around them were dulled, the smell of him was intensified: sunshine and sharp citrus mixed with cold clear waters with a warm bottom layer of sweet wood smoke. The darkened corner of the porch made the scant bit of space between them feel more intimate. Dangerous indeed. Her brain may have sent the message but she wasn’t listening to the warning. Instead she welcomed back the tingling that had started earlier - feeling it spread decadent warmth through her body, building itself into a pulse point between her legs. He was absentmindedly tracing swirls over her knee with a single finger and it shot sparks up her thigh through her veins, waking up the curiosity she had held for him since they first met.
Silently, she held up the joint between them, offering it again. Angel reached for it but she pulled back her hand a little. Watching her expression change from challenging to teasing, his cheeks rose in a one-sided lift of his mouth. Rolling his eyes he reached further, pressing his lips together on an amused smile, shaking his head as she pulled it back again. She bit her bottom lip to smother the grin blossoming on her face before finally giving it to him.
Okay…that’s how you wanna play?
Angel put it to his lips still watching her expression. As he drew in a lazy lungful, his eyes flickered an enticing and unsettling heat. Changing the game, he held the joint between his middle and forefinger, presenting it just inches from her lips. His tongue appeared as he slowly wet his top lip and she mirrored his action. Leaning forward more, she almost made contact when Angel moved it aside and rocked forward to catch her lips in a soft press of a kiss. Sliding his free hand over her shoulder and up her neck to her jaw, he held her captive for another. She expected him to be rough, maybe greedy but this was silk - an intoxicating caress. When he tilted his head, coming for her again, she was ready for more but his tongue only teased her parting lips before he suddenly let go and sat back.
Blinking away the buzz in her head that his kiss created, Dani took a deep breath and forced herself to look him in the eye. Murmuring low, she pressed her lips down on the beginnings of a sultry smile. “You aint slick, Reyes.”
“Pssh.” Feeling triumphant, Angel stretched, leaning back into the couch again, “Wasn’t tryin’ to be.”
Danielle squinted at his smug expression, torn between smacking him one in the chest and climbing up into his lap to finish what he started. After a moment, she spoke, “Gimmie.”
Without turning his head, Angel held out her joint. Dani took it and let her body decide her next course of action. He looked surprised when she manuvered herself up to straddle his lap but his hands found her hips immediately. He watched her settle down onto his lap through half-lidded eyes, letting her lead. Taking a healthy toke, she rubbed her thumb over his lips, coaxing his mouth open. Raising an eyebrow at the lust-filled look on his face, she leaned down to slowly blow her smoke into his mouth. Staring into her eyes he held it in, then blew it back out. His hands remained where they were gently squeezing her off and on while he waited on her next move - letting the simple act relay his desire for more to happen. As his eyes softened more, drawing her in - Dani felt like she was sinking into a deep, dark space. Dropping her head down even more she kissed him. His hands slid up her back as she lapped her tongue over his lip, urgently dipping into his mouth to swirl with his. As she pulled away, he rose up chasing her mouth. Planting a hand in his chest, she studied his face while his hands slid back to her hips. She licked her lips, he tasted like smoke and traces of mint chapstick.
His raised eyebrows crinkled his forehead. “What was that, huh?”
Pushing on his chest, she climbed off of him to sit back in her spot on the couch. With a tiny smile of innocence, she answered, “I don’t know what you're talking about.
“Pssh,” he chuckled from deep in his chest. “No?”
“Nope.”
As she sat smoking, blowing her smoke into the night sky, she could feel him looking at her. The two minutes that passed before he spoke seemed like much longer.
“Okay.”
Dani’s eyes fluttered open when Angel’s hand brushed the side of her thigh. It was nothing much, just a knuckle or two, but the amount of pressure he used left no question in her mind that he was doing it on purpose. The tingling sensation he created skittered uninvited up her leg to her core. Then he switched to palming the top of her thigh, dragging his entire hand slowly down her leg to her knee and back up again. Angel enjoyed how she tried not to show that she felt anything but his palm absorbed the way her body stiffened then melted under his touch. She had closed her heavy eyelids again, not wanting to encourage him but also not wanting him to stop.
Clearing his throat, he sat forward with his hands on his thighs, “Alright…let’s go.”
Watching him get up, Dani didn’t move. Was he playing with her? Standing in front of her, Angel rolled his shoulders back, adjusting his cut. Looking down at her he smirked at the sudden uncertainty he saw there, reminding her that she was the one that started it all. “You said you wanted to leave. Then get on yo feet, Daniella.”
She didn’t have much of her joint left but her thoughts on Angel were clear - she wanted him. As she got up, he had already ambled down the stairs, and was walking backwards with a taunting smile, heading toward his bike parked under the awning.
“Angel?” Dani wobbled down the stairs, calling out to him. “Angel, wait.”
He paused, tucking his thumbs in his cut pockets, “Naw, dulce…you talked all that shit an’ now you--”.
“I just wanna check something.” Dani dropped the last of her joint in the dirt and tugged him down for a kiss Angel responded to with real hunger this time. Snatching her closer by her waist, he bent her slightly backwards with his aggression. She felt like her fingers were made for digging in his hair and feeling his shudder when she scraped her nails over his scalp made her want to do more. Made her need to do more.
Breaking the kiss with a firm push on his chest, she tried to steady her breathing. “Okay…I just needed to make sure that wasn’t a fluke back there.”
“Aw,” he chuckled low and dirty. “Fuck you.”
She didn’t see the next kiss coming but he made sure she felt in all the way to her toes. Sliding his hand up her side and across her breast, his palm found her raised nipple through her work shirt’s cheap material. Opening his mouth wider in response to the soft sound she made, he reveled in the velvet of her tongue slip-sliding with his. But her hands diving under his cut, digging into his back started a stirring behind his zipper that made him pull back.
“So,” he rumbled low. “How was that, princesa?”
Looking up into his eyes, Dani stroked down his back to wrap her arms around his waist. Wetting her still tingling lips, she answered, “Good.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hm.”
Pulling him down for another kiss, she forgot all about the men in the clubhouse that could come out at any time. She forgot the troublesome day that got her there. All her brain could process was the feel of him and the taste of him while he sucked her tongue rhythmically, drawing an unrestrained moan out of her that sent a tremor up his back. Her hands began to search him, fulfilling her own need for more - one dragging a path up his chest to the back of his neck and the other trailing low, liking what she found there. Angel groaned down her throat as she caressed his growing hardness through his jeans. Encouraged, she gave him a squeeze that took his breath away.
“Mmmm, Angel?” she murmured against his lips. “Who’s place is closer? Yours or mine?”
How the fuck would I know? Pulling away failed to clear his arousal-clouded brain and he blurted his first thought. “EZ’s.”
Without waiting for an answer, Angel grabbed her hand. Abandoning his bike and the plan to leave, they rushed to EZ’s trailer. Opening the door, he pushed her up the steps in front of him into the dark interior and as soon as he locked the door she was on him. He bent down to capture the fullness of her kiss, while shrugging off his cut and backing her into the tiny kitchen area. He fought to keep hold of her while he peeled out of his layered shirts, melting from the heat of her hands running over his bare chest and stomach. Spinning her around to face the counter, he lifted her hair to kiss and bite the back of her neck. She immediately reached back for him, tilting her head to the side to give him more access to the taut tendon at the curve between her neck and shoulder.
“You taste so fuckin’ good.” His rumbled words vibrated on her skin, swirling around her ears like a separate entity, stoking up her arousal all on their own.
The weed in Dani’s system did more than lower her inhibitions. It mystified her nervous system, intensifying every sensation. In the haze, she felt like Angel had more than two hands, like his lips and teeth and tongue were created superior to any other man’s. Gooseflesh broke out everywhere he touched her. It was overwhelming and confusing - but she wanted more of it. The little bit of weed Angel had consumed created a low hum in him, making him want something past his own pleasure. Making him greedy for her - her reactions, her sounds. He lifted her shirt up to her neck, running his hands up her back and over her torso before roughly snatching it off to cup and squeeze her breasts. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he slipped his other hand inside her the top of her bra cup, reaquainting himself with her sensitive nipples. Hearing her gasping reaction to the bump of his fingers flitting across her hard nubs propelled his arousal even higher. Daniella was lost in it - in him. While Angel’s hands were rough, there was something soft in the way he was mouthing and tonguing the back of her neck and shoulder. Unfastening the clasp, he held her breasts in his palms and she arched into them inviting him to play. Him tugging and lightly twisting her crinkled peaks had her reaching up to grab a fist full of his hair. Her moaning his name so sweetly while her other hand was devilishly climbing his leg seeking the erection he was grinding into her back, was an intoxicating contradiction.
Turning her around to face him, he devoured her mouth all over again. Breaking the kiss he was grateful for the scant light coming in from the yard through the trailer’s dusty window. His eyes swept over her body in the shadows, taking her beauty in quickly before returning to his lips to hers. Fumbling at the button on her jeans, he groaned down her throat when it popped loose.
“Angel,” she breathed hot onto his chest, kissing his tattooed skin, biting the tight muscle. His head flopped back as her hands tugged his pants open.
“Daaaamn…Danita, baby.” he whispered as her teeth and tongue found his nipple. Angel was torn between gripping her head while her exploration of him traveled lower or making her scream. He chose the latter. “Hold up,” he panted. “Wait.”
“Angel, I wanna--.”
Tugging her back up, he looked down into her eyes. Loving the eagerness he saw there, the way her chest was heaving. Grinding himself into her, he breathed out his need between kisses, “Let me touch you, yeah?”
He dipped down more to muffle her protest with another kiss. Tonguing down the side of her neck, his hands fumbled at her waistline. The treasure promised behind her zipper had him yanking it down to get to her heat.
“I gotta fuckin’ feel you,” he whispered, goading her with bites and suckles. “Lemme feel you.”
The desperation in his voice and his hot hand slipping inside to cup her sex over top of her underwear was a salacious call, forcing her to surrender to her own needs. Turning her back around roughly, he molded his body to hers. His long limbs wrapped around her, holding her just below her chest with his right arm and slipping his hand inside her panties with his left. His fingers found her parted place slick, her clit swollen and standing out waiting for him.
“Ohhh,” she moaned weakly. It was all she could manage as he began to move his fingers in fast circles.
“¡Cristo, dulce!” he groaned into the back of her head. Wet. So wet. So hot.
Pinned against his chest, her mouth gaped open when he drug his free hand up from her waist to return to her breast, plucking and flicking her nipple. Dropping her head back on him, she rocked against the hand working her bundle of nerves, gasping with every rotation of her hips. Limp with pleasure she was drowning - being taken down by his hands, his heat and his husky voice, heavy with his own hunger pouring hot into her ear promising to give her so much more.
More than this?
With a deep hum, he paused what he was doing to rub her vee with his entire hand before sliding his first and middle fingers down on the sides of her clit and wobbling them. Struck dumb from the switch-up, Dani’s eyes flew open and she sucked in air. The precision of his touch was a violation to whatever composure she had left. Her knees buckled from the paralyzing pleasure shooting through her limbs. Securing his firm grip on her, he kept his fingers working steady. Within seconds she was washed in heat, gripping his wrist, begging him not to stop.
It felt like forever but only a few minutes had gone by since they entered the trailer. Feeling her climax roaring to the surface, Dani hissed out a long string of curses between whines and whimpers from the added torture of his mouth’s nonstop assault on her neck and ears. The strangled sound she released had him grinding his bulge into her butt cheek for some kind of relief from the pressure building within him. The last blinding second had her up onto her toes, her hips locked forward against his hand. Angel would have given anything for a mirror to see her expression while she was giving over to it. Vibrating, her body folded forward and she caught herself, slamming her hand down on the counter to keep upright.
“Fuck yeah.” Angel stayed connected to her as she fell forward, urging her on. “That’s it, dulce. Let that shit go. Let it go.”
When the first spasm hit, two quick shrieks erupted from her dry throat. Her firm hold on his wrist became a vice grip as her body bucked against him. He covered her in murmurs of adulation, kissing and murmuring his need for her as she pulsed and twitched, wetting his hand even more while struggling to catch her breath. Leaning back, he ran his hand down her spine, followed immediately by his lips mouthing over the same path.
High off of her sexual energy, the urgency in him for them to come together had only intensified. Angel wasted no time dragging her jeans down. He hastily lifted her foot to get them and her panties off of one leg. The clinking of his belt buckle and the sound of him spitting out a piece of condom wrapper he’d opened with his teeth, made her reach back to grab hold of his hip, clenching and arching back in anticipation. Now, Angel! The nudging she felt as he searched blind for her entrance snapped her into action. Standing more upright, she scooted to the left to avoid the rangetop and lifted her free leg, half climbing onto the counter. The position opened her up as wide as she could be and still keep one foot on the floor. Angel licked his lips at the sight of her offering, running his hands over her ass, lifting and spreading her - letting out a low, rumbling sound of appreciation. Sliding his hand up her back to grip her hair, he whispered how good she felt as she rocked against his tip, slip-sliding between her folds. With every pass she quivered, reactive, inviting - mesmerising him.
“Come on,” she whined, bitting her lip hard in anticipation right before he notched into the hot, pulsing spot that was calling him.
“Ohhh fuuuuck!” Angel groaned as he pressed in, clenching his jaw tight against the feeling of her heat swallowing him up into her liquid space. Her still twitching tunnel, took him in inch by inch - inticing him to go deeper with every firm rock of his hips. Bottomed out, his body was flooded with sensation. There was no waiting any longer - he drew his hips back and snapped forward with a force that pushed a high cry out of Dani. Gripping her hip with his other hand, he moved to the right for a better alignment and began tight, sharp thrusts that had his eyes glaze over.
Daniella’s eyes were open but saw nothing as he sped up and the slap of his pelvis matched the volume of his throaty grunts. She had to plant her hands on the counter and the refrigerator to absorb Angel’s ferocity. Inexplicably synched, her high-pitched panting mixed with shrill cries told him all he needed to know. Neither of them cared about how much noise they were making or whether they could be heard outside. Every slam into her sent luxurious waves of pleasure over her. She held her breath while he battered her split, feeling another orgasm rising from depths so deep she almost feared it.
Her voice vibrated off the tiny window in front of her, filling the small space. “Oh! Oh!” she wailed out loud and long. “Oooooooaaaahhh!”
Dani slapped her hand down hard on the counter, practically climbing it to get away as her orgasm ran through her. Her toes were curled tight, her hiked up leg was shaking but Angel was not done. Wrapped up in her sounds and trembling, he dropped his head back in relief for finally being set free to bulldoze his way to release the way he wanted to. He dipped his knees and quickly shuffled forward a step to reposition himself. Twisting at the waist, he leaned to grip the flesh of her side and hip with both hands, slamming up into her while she vibrated and shook.
“Unh! Unh! Unh!” His vocalizations punctuated each jolting thrust. Her hot convulsing tunnel, squeezing and milking him, stripped any chance at proper communication from him. His ability to speak was reduced to nothing as his body took over.
Dani was barely able to remain upright. She clung to EZ’s fridge handle in order to take Angel’s force. Desperately sucking in air to fill her lungs for the gutteral cries he was smacking out of her. It was pure erotic aggression. Angel could feel himself peaking, tucking his lips in and squeezing his eyes closed tight. On the edge of orgasm, his thighs were burning and sweat had gathered at his neck. His coil was wound so tight he thought every thrust would be the last one - but it was her pleading, breathy whispers of pleasepleaseplease that pushed him over into the abyss.
“Oh!” He gasped out. Tucking his lips in, his pleasure hummed out low, “Mm! Errrmmmm!”
His hot seed filled the condom in bursts that pulled so hard on his core muscles it folded him up over her. He planted his hand on the countertop next to hers to keep from flopping his full weight forward onto her as his back stiffened and arched, dragging low huffing sounds out of him. He rested his head on the back of hers, slurring out curses in both english and Spanish between deep breaths.
The silence that followed in the small cabin as they came down was easy between them. The nervous tension only started to build within them as they began to pull themselves together in the dark. But Angel didn’t see the way Dani closed her eyes and bit her lip on the satiated smile when he kissed the back of her neck as he pulled out. And Daniella never saw how Angel caught himself reaching out to touch her while she wriggled back into her jeans or the way his soft brown eyes followed her as she disappeared into the bathroom.
0.o.0.o.0
Angel exited the bathroom to find himself in an empty trailer. The door stood wide open letting in an elongated rectangle of light from outside that spread from the doorway across the floor and up the kitchen cabinets to the ceiling. He paused to acknowledge the feeling in his chest - the little twinge of disappointment. She's gone. What did he expect? He had been alive long enough to know that sometimes women do things in the heat of the moment and then regret them, but damn.
Slipping into his cut, he looked around EZ's place, lips pursed in concentration. He didn’t notice anything they’d knocked out of place. Truth be told, he'd been in there a thousand times but he doubted whether he would be able to tell anyway. Ducking his head down to leave, he ambled down the rickety metal steps, thinking about whether he was going to go hang out at the clubhouse or just call it a night. On the last step his frowning face transformed into surprise. A few yards away, the harsh lights from where his bike was parked illuminated the outline of Daniella’s body and curls.
Hearing his boots hit the hard packed dirt, she turned around and started toward him. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Angel closed the door to the trailer. Stalling while his feelings reconfigured themselves to the truth - she had been waiting for him. “I uh…thought you left or somethin’.”
“I was waiting for you and um…I thought I heard a bike pull up.” Once closer to her, he could see her mouth twitch in the beginnings of an embarrassed smile. “It was just somebody leavin’ but I don’t know…it spooked me so I got outta there.”
Angel nodded once. They stood there looking each other over, feeling a litle exposed - uncertain if what had just happened was significant to the other. Voices and laughter outside the clubhouse wafted over to them, filling their silence.
Angel jerked his head their direction. With his eyes roaming the area, he tucked his thumbs into his cut pockets, “Wanna get a drink or somethin’?”
Watching him, she fully relaxed when she realized she still liked what she saw in his eyes. Her delay in answering made him look at her again.
“No.”
“Oh.” Angel rubbed the back of his neck to cover up his embarrassment from the rejection. “Alright.” Wanting to make a quick exit, he thumbed toward the clubhouse. “So yeah, I’m gonna--”.
Dani cut him off, “It’s just, I'm kinda starving. Lunch was a loooong time ago, you know?”
Looking up at him, she tilted her head to the side and the sly smile that caught his attention weeks ago peeked out. Angel rolled his shoulders back, seeing the ask in her eyes. Stepping forward, he closed a bit of the space between them tucking his hands in his back pockets, rocking back on his heels slightly.
“Ah, Danita-Danita…you sure it’s not from all that puff-puff-pass you were doin’?”
“Maybe.” Her smile spread and her brown eyes shone in the dark. “Either way. I’m hungry as hell right now.”
Feeling at home again in their playful back and forth, he chuckled softly, “Where you wanna go then?”
Daniella looked away, biting her thumbnail, thinking, “Everything I want is in my kitchen.” She hesitated, then added in a rush, “You coming?”
Angel raised his eyebrows in surprise at the invite. “Pssh! I ain’t passin’ up no home cooked food.” Throwing his arm around her shoulders, he steered her toward his bike. Once there he plopped his helmet on her head, glad she wasn’t protesting leaving her car behind. She held onto his cut while he fastened the chin strap.
Finished, he screwed up his eyebrows in a questioning frown. “Wait…you can cook right? I mean… ain’t tryin’ to die tonight, dulce.”
Daniella squinted and smacked his chest at the insult. Angel took a step back in mock pain, flashing the devilish smile that started this all. Pressing her lips down on a smile, she shook her head. “Fuck you, Reyes.”
“Anytime, princesa. Anytime.” Smug as ever, he threw his leg over mounting his bike and slapped the spot behind him. “But you gotta feed me first.”
here you can find the cast list, other information, trigger warnings and all the chapters for this story!
Georgia simply wanted to get away from Seattle, away from her toxic mother before she could meet her granddaughter. Pregnant and with all her savings, she and her sister moved to Tacoma, WA. All her money went into a small bakery that quickly became the heart of the small neighborhood Georgia now lived in. One customer in particular caught her eye- how could he not? Tall, heavily tattooed, with a stoic face but a certain warmth reflecting in those chocolate brown eyes every time they locked with hers. By now, the intimidating biker had become one of her regular customers, and she wasn't quite sure how to assess his presence.
Happy was a lone wolf, except when he was among his brothers. But when a bakery opened on the corner, directly across from his house, he couldn't resist the temptation to meet the owner. And before he knew it, he was making a detour every morning before heading to the club, unable to stay away from the brunette beauty with the icy blue eyes and kind smile. But he had no idea about her life, her past, or the trauma she carried with her and how much it would affect their future.
tag list; @anonymouse1807 @sjester42-blog @staley83 @mamawiggers1980 @arkytiorlecter @aimkatsz @tommyflanaganfan-blog @ravennaortiz @mayanqueenxx @youngadult9016 @bonni-98 @cindsvibes @crescentqueenxx @dallianceangelx @etclouie @kateawolf13 @punkrockcakepops @privatetruths @tinyshyteacup @jaysmentalspace @ghostlytraitortale (tagged everyone I remember who signed up to be tagged in my Happy fics but I can't find the post anymore AND now also tagged people I think are Happy fans and who might've commented on that post I can't find anymore. If you don't want to get tagged that's absolutely fine; please just let me know and I'll remove you asap! 🤎If you do want to get tagged it would be cool if you could leave a thumbs up or something like that— this time I'm gonna write the usernames down in my notes lol 🫶🏻)
please click 'keep reading' for the cast and other stuff. At the end you'll find the linked chapters in the future.
Disclaimer: I will be using instances from the show, but I play loosey-goosey with the timeline to fit events for my own story. This is out of order for the SOA timeline but the correct order for my timeline. Also: I know nothing about nursing, I am flying by the seat of my pants.
Unedited and living on vibes. I apologize in advanced for mistakes. Standard warnings for SOA, nothing crazy (yet)
Again, she groaned internally. Pulling into the clubhouse parking lot. Wondering how it was possible she was here, again. She wasn’t even allowed on this side of town growing up with Phil. Now, he called her nearly once a week. Always with a bloody mess for her to clean up. This call pulled her straight from the hospital. It was an emergency, her brother had said. One she was absolutely required for. Mainly because the subject of today’s blood bath, wouldn’t let anyone else touch him. Air caught in her lungs when she stepped into the musky bar. Blood drenched the left side of his body. Flowing down from the side of his head into the white tank top that was now half a deep shade of an oddly beautiful color. Bright bloody red. Big blue eyes swept over the tight grimace and for the first time, she was able to place emotion. Pain, she thought. His honey toned skin had gone pale, sweat beading down his shaved skull, and visibly uncomfortable with the people surrounding him. Flinching back from Chib’s hands attempting to help and choking back a shot of something strong. He was wearing enough of himself to be dizzy but he stood strong. Posed like he was anticipating the next attack.
“Careful darling, he’s a little feisty today” Jax joked, patting the shoulder of the equally feisty nurse stepping up to the stoic biker. Her head tilted up, clacking her jaw and teasing the tattooed devil she’d bit. Toying with him to ease some of that tension flexing the muscle of his clenched jaw.
“I’m terrified” she said taking another step up into his space. The vicious features tracked her movement like a wolf would stalk its prey. A glare that held fierceness in an attempt to protect himself from the vulnerable position he had found himself in. Subject to the not equal, but rather capable hands of the pretty young woman.
“Should be” Happy grumbled, meeting her in the middle with a single large step forward. Finally, he thought. He was ready to get this over with. For her dainty hands to glove up and fix the throbbing ache echoing through his mind.
“Somehow I doubt that” she giggled, stepping back from the hot breath that tickled against her pink sparkled cheeks.
That’s when it happened. The candy-coated giggle told him everything he’d been waiting on. His chin lifted ever so slightly and his eyes, sharp and steady, told the story of his realization. She was getting over it. Time spent with the club helped, obviously. Becoming the club’s replacement doctor gave her better perspective. She got to see them as people, not devils.
“You gonna let me help you? Or just stand there bleeding?” Phoebe raised an eyebrow, waiting for the silent man to make a move. Her eyes swept up and down in a not-so-subtle fashion. The streaks of red blending with the ink of his toned arms. His muscles tight and flexed to hold his pain well. Art, she thought, seemingly chiseled out of stone.
He grunted, nodding down at her devious smile and taking the chair to his left. Meticulous movements started with the deep pink duffel bag of supplies. Local anesthetic, sutures, gauze, wound strips, medical tape. All laid out even and in the exact order in which she would need them. An intentional distribution to her right, silent and composed. Furrowed brows showing her deep focus as each item was opened and readied. She kept her stance, moving back and forth from the high top. Careful to be extremely gentle, she numbed each cut deep enough for stitching. She was so focused, to the point of completely overlooking something rare. Softening of dark eyes. Admiring, observing, collecting details. Her emotions clear as day and her disdain slipping. All while she was reviewing the moves in her mind for the best stitch for his cheek. She didn’t want it to scar, why she cared that much, she wasn’t entirely sure. She settled on her favorite. A lock-stitch that would keep the skin tight, and gave her an excuse to come back. Just to remove them, of course.
“I don’t know many delivery nurses that can do a perfect lock-stitch suture” Tara said softly, tone offering the statement as a question to the how she ended up here.
“I uh, I trained as a trauma medic but switched last minute when I did my rotation on the OB floor.”
“Trauma nurses make more money” her brother grumbled. Watching Happy, watch her. Dark eyes that showed zero interest in anything, observing her like she was a goddess. Odd, Phil thought. They didn’t like each other - at all. That’s what he’d been led to believe, until he saw that smile. A tight smirk his sister only wore when she was ten chapters deep in a spicy romance novel. For the stoic biker’s murderous gaze to swoop over her with each slight shift closer. A blossoming look of adoration taking over the violence usually so deeply rooted in the sharp jaw going slack.
“Something you just never fail to remind me” she sighed, rolling her eyes at the comment she was starting to hear more and more often “not everything is about money Phillip.”
Happy’s features changed, a slight readjustment she’d caught this time. A reaction to either the statement or the pain medication they’d given him finally doing the work. Phoebe couldn’t quite make out which, considering the stare shifting on the soft pink of her lips. But hers changed with his, dropping her wall just an inch to play the game. Correcting the shimmer of her gloss back and forth while she cleaned up the thick gash on his cheek. Tease, he thought. Admiring the pretty mouth that had invaded his mind like an armed intruder. Taking everything hostage in place of one thought. The warmth, the wet, the harsh bite that made his jeans tighten just watching it move. Her lips and the way they formed certain words, tucking between her teeth to hold back her smirk, pressing together when her brother said something stupid.
“It is when you don’t got none” Phil snorted, irked with his sister theory that money wasn’t the thing that made the world go round. He did it to himself. He’d hid the reality of it from her as long as possible. She only just starting to understand how screwed the little family, that only consisted of the two of them, would be if the money the kutte brought him stopped.
“We made it work” she scolded him with her eyes. Saying enough was enough.
It wasn’t easy, and as much as she hated it. The money from the messy life he chose for them did help. The local mill was cheap, mind-numbing labor. Something he endured far too long to take care of his little sister. Lost in the ache of life being ridiculously hard, for no apparent reason. Bills that never ended. Bills that until she returned home from university, she never knew about. All the secrets he’d kept while she’d been away and the moves of their deadbeat dad causing far more problems for the young man than he’d ever admit willingly. It took weeks of back and forth about his decision to join the club but somehow, they’d seemed to find a middle ground.
Phil was a zombie before the club. It was the only reason she’d found a way to get over it. Her brother had his smile back, he was social – which was incredibly rare for him. He was trusted, and he talked to everyone. Laughing, joking, questioning, and advising. He was different. Bolder, more himself. He found a family that actually liked him for the quiet quirks, and seemed to love him just as much as she did. People who accepted his sister and her fierce attitude as a package deal. Out of all of the bad things the club brought to their doorstep, the brotherhood of it was the most beautiful. The only part worth it, Phoebe thought.
“Why labor and delivery?” Tara asked, admittedly curious considering her line of work in neonatal. Tara knew the nurse far better than the rest of them. Though, she only knew the side of her from work. Spunk in her step, always smiling, and never letting a hectic day get under her skin. The trauma training explained a lot, how she seemed to have far more stamina and quick thinking than the rest of the pediatric nurses on staff.
“The pink scrubs.” Her brother cracked, taking a few steps back when her hand shot out to swat at him.
“Do you ever shut up?” She asked, pulling a chair just in front of her wound biker. “Honestly I really liked the mom’s” Pheobe smiled up at the doctor who looked surprised. “I did trauma at first because I like getting my hands dirty,” she gave a playful jazz hands, flaunting her bloody gloved finger tips. He was mesmerized, his gaze swept over her once more, locking on the gorgeous color of him on her. “But I don’t know, watching how much strength it takes to create life, it felt bigger, more me.”
“I like her” Tara smirked, leaning back into Jax and watching the effortless stitching knot at the end of his gashed cheek “hands like that you could’ve been a surgeon since you like to get messy.”
“Please don’t tell him that,” her chin gestured to her brother now thankfully waiting for a beer by the bar “I’ll have to hear about how much more money I could’ve made.” A grunt left the man in front of her, that perhaps could’ve been a chuckle if he didn’t look so frustrated. “Do I get to know how this happened?” she asked through her lashes, blinking at the now vacant stare watching her each move like it was an attack in motion. Her hand took hold of his chin to force him still when he didn’t answer, angling his face towards the light. Chasing the flicker of something more in his expression like they were playing hide and seek. “Yeah I didn’t think so, but worth a shot.” She spread a thin layer of ointment over his cheek bone and went straight for the top of his head.
A deep gash straight across the left side of his skull. It was close, too close. A deep groove where the path of bullet had ripped right through his skin. Inches from cracking the skull and exposing the pink mushy tissue that held all the stoic man’s secrets. She wanted a peek inside his twisted mind, but not like this. She stood, gently moving his head as she stepped closer to his front. He took in a deep breath. Her watermelon sugar was faint, washed out by the antiseptic she seemed to embody all the same. It would’ve been easier to view from the back, but there were a lot of eyes watching. She made the situation work, body blocking watching eyes for her next steps.
“This is going to hurt” she hummed before pressing hard to clot the bleeding, he growled at the pressure. Feeling the throb of the wound grow with each dab of the gauze. “I told you.” She chuckled, reaching for a fresh piece of cloth. “I’ve got him” she smiled, jolting her chin to send the hoovering bodies all on their way. She didn’t want eyes over her shoulder, and the man underneath her was holding far too much tension in his body. “Here” she whispered, stepping in closer with one of his knees slipped perfectly between her thighs. She encouraged his head down, letting his forehead against her stomach that acted as a perfect pillow. The weight he was holding on his shoulders dropped into her. A hand shot up out of instinct, gripping the back of her thigh with each tug of stitching pulled through his skin. Thank you, he thought. Not daring to speak out loud. She was gentle, precise, and quick.
“Is it safe to assume this was not friendly fire?” she asked dabbing the area of red to keep sight on the ragged edges. Happy grunted, gripping at her leg like it was his own personal stress toy. “You know a few inches down and you’d be dead” she tied the final knot, dabbing it clean once more before applying the bandages. She snapped her gloves off, hooking a finger under the chin still resting against her “you should be more careful.” Her step back, hesitated. Brushing her thumb across the salt and pepper stubble. “Good as new.” She gave a lopsided smile, pivoting on her toes for her bag. He lost the view of her smirk with her turn but his eyes didn’t leave her. Watching her bright pink scrubs shift against her hourglass figure, wild curls sticking out of her messy bun. Cleaning up her equipment and garbage as if stitching up a bullet hole was just another Tuesday. Marveling at the fact he’d gotten to touch her today. That she let him touch her today.
-
Happy had thought about it from every angle, and not one piece of the puzzle fit into place when it came to the young woman. The sudden shift in her fierce behavior. Recognizing the pain and guiding him through it with a big step over the line of disinterest she’d drawn clear between them. Happy didn’t know much. Not unless it came to his fundamentals. The club, the bar, and getting away with murder.
He did know a tease when he saw one, and when a woman was only interested in him for the sausage in his jeans. It wasn’t like that for her. She was being kind. Uncharacteristically so in the presence of him. Meaning - something changed, and Happy missed it. He never missed anything, he thought. He’d never added much to the list of known, until today. After that, one thing he did know, he wanted her. And Happy Lowman was excellent at getting what he wanted.
“Why are you in my bed?” Her shaky vocals filled the room. Stepping into, in her words, a disturbing view. Black socks, baggy blue jeans, an unholy ones patch leaning back on her headboard.
“Phil” he grumbled, doing his best to keep his eyes down. Keeping the banter alive as he skimmed the pages of a book he hated to admit, wasn’t bad. It wasn’t his usual read, but it was there, and he was bored. He’d already examined each detail of her before settling in for the two hour wait. Trailing over her desk, everything perfectly organized and pastel. Her pens, her sticky notes, the stickers all over her laptop. Everything pretty, most everything pink, and confusing all the same. Looking at her, it made sense, but getting to know her, it didn’t. She was strong, definitely stronger than she let on. But soft, equally so. A beautiful balance, he thought while shuffling through her closet. Pinks of all shades, creamy white, baby blues. Dresses, jeans, and of course, the majority baby pink scrubs. A spandex blend of fabric designed for comfort in the never-ending steps she took throughout her work day. Which today, very obviously so, wore her down.
“I’m having a hard time believing my brother let a man into my bed.” She crossed her arms, leaned on the door way to support the exhaustion taking over.
“Let me inside,” he put down the book down, finally taking in the view that was her “got in here on my own.” Her bun loose, wild ringlets slipping from the silk scrunchy. The fabric clinging to her splattered with bodily fluids that clearly weren’t hers. Her bright white socks, and a fatigued expression that was sliding on the scale to irritation.
“Okay, great,” she said awkwardly “can you get out now?”
“No” he rasped, short and harsh. Going back to the book he’d stolen from her bedside table.
“Did you-” her eyes fixed on the pages, bookmark removed and turned to the beginning “did you lose my fucking page, are you kidding?” His finger hooked where it was separating the pages, flipping back to the middle where she’d left it this morning. She groaned, dropping her bag at her feet and her head from her shoulders. “Look” she took in a lung filling breath, pulling the silk scrunchie from her messy bun with her heavy exhale “I had a really long day, I’m not interested in whatever game we’re playing right now.” The heavy mop of bouncy curls dropped wild and free.
“You let me touch you.”
“You were in pain, it’s my job.”
Pheobe would love to ignore him, but considering he didn’t seem interested in leaving, she groaned her next steps forward into the room. Slipping off her rings and creating a small pile of gold jewelry on her desk. Right next a picture of four. The petite beauty that was her mother in the center, an oversized man that resembled Phil a little too much, and two younger versions of her and the now giant biker from years ago. Her delicate touch brushed the edge of the vintage frame, mentally saying hello to her mother like always.
“Letting me touch you aint your job.”
“It helped, didn’t it?” She asked, collecting fresh clothes from the wooden dresser at her right, snagging her towel for the hot shower screaming out for her aching muscles. He grunted, in a surprising agreement to the fact, but more concerned with why she cared at all. “You better be gone when I get back.” She dismissed the second grunt that was demanding her to stay put for the questions he had.
She did an incredible job of hiding it, but she was flustered. The feeling of his palm sliding up and down the back of her thigh had replayed on a loop the entire day. It was nice, she thought. Soothing, and not just for him. Her real answer would’ve just encouraged him, and she didn’t want that. So, she kept it to herself, like she did most things. The fact being, she didn’t know why she did it, she just did. Everyone responds to pain differently, he obviously wasn’t a talker, but touch. Touch did something to him. She’d watching his micro expressions which each brush of her thumb or gentle touch to his face. An unintentional second nature to help, and a silent apology for the hell she’d put him through the past few weeks.
She took her time, exfoliating, touching up the shave to her legs, and washing away the smell of antiseptic and newborn spit up. Hoping the lack of interest and her hollow threat was enough to send him on his way. If she knew Happy at all, she’d know he had a very one-track mind. And his predatory gaze had fixed on her. He wouldn’t be leaving, especially without answers. A cloud of steam followed her steps out, the heat of the room from her blow dryer stuck to her dewy skin. Pretty, he thought. The moment she came into view. Pajamas, gripped to her curves tight. Little feet with white nail polished toes. Ivory skin kissed by the California sun just enough to give her the appearance of tan.
“Please Happy, I have to be up in like four hours” she whined. Fighting the growing interest for why he was still here. He grunted, legs crossed and turning to the next page of the fantasy novel he was now losing interest in due to the sight. Her thick thighs that he was dying to bury his head between. The hem of her baby tee rising against her stomach as she tied up her curls in a satin bonnet. The dip of tight cotton fabric between her ass cheeks as she moved around the room. Unwinding from the day in her own way with her routine on display. Exact, he thought. Everything she did was very exact. The way she hated her food to touch unless it was sandwiched together on her fork. Her medical supplies always placed in the order she’d need them. Her closet organized by color, every single thing having a place. Even her nightly routine was exact, unwinding slowly before his eyes. He liked things neat, orderly. It’s the only way life made sense to him, and it was helping him make sense of her. She moved with ease, unaware of her grace spilling over the sides of walls built up to protect herself from men like him. She no longer saw him as a threat, but more an experiment you can’t seem to look away from. Not something you should get close to per say, but something far too interesting to not at least take a few notes. “You are the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met” Phoebe groaned, tugging at the duvet he was weighing down “if you’re really staying can you at least get under the blanket.”
It wasn’t exactly an invitation, but he took it as one. Tucking her bookmark where it belonged, folding the corner to mark his own page for later. Taking to his feet and dropping his kutte from his shoulders. She paid very little attention to the man over staying his welcome, slipping into the peach sheets with her heart in her throat. Well, she tried not to pay attention, but her eyes. They just kept shifting. Watching his grey tee shirt strip from him in one swift move, followed by a hitch in her breath. A Glock, black metal reflecting the lamp light as he placed it down on her bedside table. His slender body chiseled and toned. Muscles that appeared sculpted to be nothing more than the perfect display for art. Decorated with his mix of colored inks, making himself a true masterpiece to observe. She could’ve fought harder, forced him to leave, called her brother and demanded he handle the situation. Considering Phil is the reason she was in this mess in the first place. She was too tired to fight, and admittedly interested in what he had to say. Because as far as she’s ever known, he doesn’t exactly say much.
“I like these” he rasped, fiddling with the baby blue cotton hem of her shorts. She took his hand, returning it back to his own space and tugging the covers up over them both. “Why’d you do it?”
“Why do you care?” She shifted in closer, she hesitated, but she reached in. Brushing her thumb over the swollen apple of his cheek. Watching him consider his next words carefully.
There were a lot of things he could’ve said. Things like her lip gloss, a sparkly sheen over her pink lips that he sees every time he closes his eyes. Her teeth, that pearly white grin, and how badly he wants to feel them sunk deep into him once more. Warmth, the moist heat that seemed to stitched into his skin with the faintest mark left behind by her bite. The scent of sweetness like lingered in his mind like an addiction, turning him on his heels if he catches even the faintest smell of something similar. Two ocean eyes blinking up at him and waiting for something. He wasn’t very good at saying something, but something about her softened features made words feel comfortable, easy.
“You letting everyone touch you like that?” He asked, low, gravely, and remaining absent from the words. The absence of his tone couldn’t cover up the eyes. The spark that brought a single second of life to the coal irises admiring her drowsy features.
Phoebe’s sleepy smile tugged into a lopsided grin, blinking the curious blues up at the stoic features “not everyone.” Her hand tucked under her cheek, her expression equal parts confused and fascinated.
“Thought so” a soft raspy chuckle bounced around in her mind. The low sound wasn’t forced, a genuine slip of something that he’d kept locked up. She’d barely seen him smile, but each time she did, it was always in her direction. Warming her cheeks from soft pink to a rosy tint of flushed red.
“You’re still an asshole” she said softly through a tiny yawn she tried to contain. Blinking back the sleep and reminding herself of who this man is. The club’s enforcer, as Phil had put it. He didn’t detail it, or elaborate when asked, but she knew. The inked collection of smiling faces against his abdomen told her everything. Childlike in design and unfitting for the hateful features he wore just as well as the kutte.
“Gonna have to get over that” he hushed, gently reaching for her. Correcting the gaze admiring his ink, up. The hateful features were slipping, giving this last attempt everything he’d gotten from their battles of back and forth. She didn’t respond well to force, or having her body sized up like a piece of meat. What he had come to find out, she responds best to laughter. Smiles, and friendly exchange. Her softness required attention, proof he could meet her where she was. So that’s exactly where he put himself, dead center in uncharted territory.
“I won’t” she whispered, biting her lip at the words she was already losing faith in. Her blinks slowed, face snuggled in to the feather pillow.
“Yeah, you will.” He moved back to his own space, watching the sleepy smile fall into rest. He followed her lead, admittedly exhausted himself. Rolling to his back, clicking the table lamp off and admiring a new view. Glow in the dark stars all across her ceiling. Perfect constellations recreated and adding a soft light to her room at night. His gaze shifted between them, and her. Her settling in despite, technically, having a stranger in her bed. Her lack of fear in this specific circumstance was far from naïve. The last person on this earth that would be considered a threat to her after today, was him.
She woke up alone. The towel she’d dropped on her floor was hung up. Her bag placed in on her desk chair. Her book gone and replaced by a pink sticky note. A phone number in tiny scribble was all he left. Phoebe would love to say it was the last, and only time. But despite never calling his number, it ended up being a habitual habit. He never asked, but she never said no. Silent steps through the sibling’s house, the subtle creak of her bedroom door. The clatter of his pant chain against her side table followed by a quiet thud of his gun resting to their left. A heavy dip in her mattress rolling her right into the protective presence of gun oil and leather filling the room. Always on the nights Happy knew Phil was with the club and always gone before she woke up in the morning.
when i say this story is my child - i mean it - I'm obsessed with my plan - thank you for reading, hoping you like it as much as i do.
divider credit: @strangergraphics
This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Female reader x Jax Teller
MAJOR SPOILERS!, & explicit language
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Jax walks with heavy steps, leading his best friend to his final ride. The rest of the club carry Opie in silence, their faces touched with grief. Jax’s face is unreadable but he hasn’t cried yet, he can’t. He just stares ahead, like if he lets himself blink, he might just fall apart.
Tara stands off to the side, her arms folded and eyes locked on Jax. There’s distance between them, has been for a while now but Jax still chooses to ignore it, brush it under the rug, act as if everything is okay, he knows why it feels like there's a brick wall between them though, and Tara? she suspects it, just hasn't had the guts to confront him yet. Either way, she has secrets of her own. Trying to protect the boys by any means necessary so the fact that Jax has been so distant recently only makes it that tiniest bit easier.
The boys lower the casket into the back of the hearse Jax’s eyes lingering on the black wooden box, just enough to feel like he was doing right by his best friend one last time. Then he slams the door shut. Hard and final, the echo hanging in the air of the lot.
Jax sits on the rooftop, silent and still watching as the hearse drives away.
The last goodbye.
Below him, the rest of the club gathers, exchanging quiet condolences. Hugs, nods, the occasional exaggerated back pat that says more than words ever could. Lyla sits beside Gemma, her shoulders shaking and her face buried in her hands. Gemma’s leant in close, whispering something he’s sure is suppose to soothe Lyla. Tara's standing away from the crowd, her facial expression tight. She’s muttering something to Unser, passing him some sort of paperwork, though Jax can’t quite work out what it is.
All he does know, is he doesn’t want to be down there. Doesn’t want that kind of comfort. Not from his Mom, his club or his wife. He pulls out a fresh writing pad from inside of his kutte, his last one placed with Opie in his casket. He lights a cigarette before pulling out a pen and starting to write. Because keeping these journals going? It’s the only thing keeping him sane.
"You good brother?" Chibs' voice snaps Jax out of his own head, stopping his pen mid sentence of his thoughts. He glances over his shoulder as the Scotsman approaches, tucking his little book back into his kutte.
"No" Jax mutters, his voice rough, the words weighing in his chest. He takes a long drag trying to keep it together, but he's finding it so fucking hard. He stops himself before he can say anything more, shaking it off. Chibs gives him a heavy slap on the back, the kind that says he's not alone, but he isn't going to press any further.
"You know we got this yeah?" Chibs growls, a promise laced within his words. "This pope shit? we got it handled. And those... assholes. Who did this to our boy? their time's comin".
Jax nods slowly, because he knows just as well as Chibs that those fuckers? dead. He climbs down the ladder, walking straight over to his old mans bike, pressing his hand to the tank for just a second before turning back towards the main clubhouse.
It's quieter inside, Gemma's already there, waiting. She steps out grabbing his wrist like she's trying to anchor him. "You okay baby?" she asks, her voice low and steady, like she already knows the answer, she's just trying to find the cracks. "Tara's looking for you" she adds like she’s trying to test the water. She feels it too. The way him and Tara are different now, how she’s so focused on work and those boys she has little attention left on Jax. She feels it, but hasn’t said anything, yet.
Jax pulls his arms back gently, brushing back the sweat from his head as he tilts it slightly “Where is she?” He questions reluctantly.
It’s been just over two months since that night Jax walked out of your apartment, and still as much as he twisted your entire soul, as much as you know it was messy, toxic and wrong. You can’t get him out of your fucking head.
‘The best way to get over someone is to get under someone new’ your bestie told you with a smirk, zero remorse in her words and they’ve been playing on a loop in your head ever since. So tonight, you finally took her advice.
You’re sitting across from some guy you barely know in a dimly lit restaurant somewhere just outside of Charming. The candlelight flickering against your wine glass. You’re dressed to distract, body hugging outfit and matching heels that force you to strut. You’d forgotten what it felt like to get dolled up for someone, actually make an effort. And the guy? He’s not bad. He’s actually kinda cute. Tall, clean cut, good manners. He holds the door open, laughs at your sarcasm and keeps the conversation flowing.
You didn’t expect to enjoy yourself tonight, you thought you’d sit here dwelling on everything that’s been happening. But here you are, smiling, laughing, letting someone else have your complete attention. But no matter how good this guy smells, he doesn’t smell like leather and cigarettes. He doesn’t look at you like he wants to ruin you, and he doesn’t carry that chaos in his eyes, the sort of chaos that you had come accustomed to.
You return to the table after slipping away to the restroom, smoothing down your dress before sliding back into your seat. The bottom rising up just slightly but you don’t bother to adjust it, your dates already watching you like you’re the only woman in the restaurant.
“Your phone hasn’t stopped going off” he says, nodding towards your purse. Not in a suspicious or angry way, just letting you know.
“Oh, really?” You murmur, reaching for your bag with a raised brow and pulling your phone out. The second you see the name on the screen, your heart gives a traitorous thud. Because of course, the one time you finally weren’t thinking about him, he sure as hell was thinking about you. You skim through the texts quickly, and yeah he sounds fucked. Wrecked, even. Your stomach sinks instantly, the words hitting different. Not calculated or trying to get under your skin, just lost.
But you've been here before, and every time you've paid for it in ways he'll never understand. So even though part of you wants to reply, wants to know what the fucks wrong, you lock it without responding. You tuck your phone back into your bag, sitting up a little straighter and smile at your date, like you're not cracking under the hem of your tight dress.
His car eases up to a stop outside your building. Your mind is anywhere else but here. You hadn't answered the texts, haven't even re read them, tried to push Jax to the back of your mind, and focus on yourself for once. Your date looks over to you, his hand resting lightly on your thigh, waiting for some kind of cue. He's been nothing but respectful all night. Easy conversation, soft touches and gentle smiles.
The way his grip tightens snaps you out of your thoughts. "You wanna come up?" maybe you ask out of loneliness, maybe spite or maybe you just wanna feel something that wasn't this.
The question hangs in the space between you both, he raises his brow slightly, almost surprised at the question "Is that what you want?" he questions, keeping his eyes on you as you leave the car, he follows shortly circling around to meet you at your side. You don't answer with words, instead you lean in to him, kissing him. And when he kisses you back, you smile into it.
Down the street, Jax is sat slouched in the drivers seat of his car, hood up and a cigarette burning between his fingers, half forgotten. He hadn't told anyone where he was going after the wake, he couldn’t. The minute he had a moment alone, away from the club, away from Tara, he slipped out without a word.
And drove here, to you.
No plan, just basic instinct. What he didn’t expect, was to see another man's car parked out front. To see you slide out of the passenger seat, laughing softly and then leaning in to kiss someone who wasn't him. He watched as you lead him in to your building, his hands clenched around the steering wheel, watching with those dark eyes, his stomach twisting with pure fucking jealousy.
But he pushes it down, because he knows he has no right to be angry, you were never his, not really. You fucked behind closed doors, behind his marriage, behind his club and behind all the lines he swore he wouldn't cross but did anyway. But the idea of someone else being in your bed, touching you in ways only he used to, hearing how you sound when you come undone makes him want to fucking snap. Still, he didn't move. He told himself he'd wait, wait until the guy left, even if it took all night, because he needed to see you. He didn’t deserve to, and he knows that, but he needed to anyway.
You let your date undress you with slow hands and soft kisses, the kind of intimacy that's more about escape than connection. No wild passion, no urgency just movement. Its the first time you've done this with someone who wasn’t Jax. Maybe that’s why it feels so strange. Not wrong, just...different. Unbeknownst to you, just a few floors below, Jax is stewing in the drivers seat, the cigarette long burned out, grief sitting heavy in his chest, alongside rage and something uglier, maybe betrayal, confusion or even guilt.
Back inside, you try to stay in the moment, focusing on the weight of another mans hands, the rhythm, the sounds filling the room, but your mind keeps drifting back to the nights laced in leather and danger. To the low sound of Jax's voice in your ear, the way he used to hold your wrists down in place like he knew exactly what you needed before you could even ask. And no matter how hard you tried to shake it, it was him that your body craved.
Eventually, you just wanted it to be over. You arched your back, gasped in all the right places and gave your best impression of something only Jax had ever been able to pull from you. And your date, he didn't notice, didn't ask, just finished alongside you.
Jax perks up the second he sees movement from your building entrance. He sits forward, eyes narrowing as the guy you went up with, now returns. His hair messy, shirt half buttoned and still adjusting his belt. The sight makes his jaw clench and his chest tight. He watches as the guy strolls casually towards his car completely unaware of the eyes on him. Only once he was out of sight did Jax move, shoving the car door open and doing a light jog across the street. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say once he gets to you, but it didn’t matter, he just knew he had to see you.
The sound of the door buzzing pulls you from your spiralling thoughts. You were still in nothing but your favorite oversized tee. Skin warm, face still flushed from earlier. Part of you wishing you left your date downstairs. Wishing you hadn’t tried to chase comfort in something that only left you feeling… even emptier.
You step towards the door with a sigh, pulling your tee down just a little as the intercom buzzes again. “Great…not only is the sex boring but he’s a forgetful bastard too” you mutter under your breath, picturing your date coming back for whatever it was he couldn’t keep track of. You swing the door open, fully expecting to see him standing there.
But it’s not him.
His eyes are red and tear streaked. He wasn’t even trying to hold it together. This isn’t the Jax you’re used to. Even the last time he had been here, frustrated, torn and full of guilt, he didn’t look like this.
This was something else entirely. “Jax…” your voice cracks a little, quiet and careful “…what’s wrong?”
He opens his mouth like he had the words, like he wanted to say something. But nothing comes out. His lips tremble as his throat tightens. And then, still without a word, he braces his arm against the door frame, and begins sobbing into it. His shoulders heaving like everything just snapped all at once.
“Come here” you say softly, guiding him to the couch. He doesn’t resist, but still doesn’t speak. You sit him down, moulding himself into the sofa as you sit beside him, close, but not touching. Giving him the space he needs to fall apart.
Your chest also tightens at the sight of him. You fucking hate seeing him like this. This isn’t Jax, he doesn’t cry for no reason, he doesn’t do this for attention, he doesn’t do this at all. He’s hurting, and you can tell. But no matter how much time has passed, no matter what fucking bullshit he’s dragged you into, you know pain when you see it, and it’s written all over him.
And for a while, he doesn’t say a thing. Just sits there, his hands clasped and his eyes fixed on the floor like he’s looking for the right thing to say.
Eventually though, he drags his hands along his face as he lifts his head slowly “Op…Opies dead”.
You never knew Opie, but you didn’t need to. You knew enough from the way Jax spoke about him, that rare softness in his voice when he did. The stories, the loyalty and the bond than ran deeper than blood. Opie wasn’t just a friend, he was his brother, his constant.
And now? He’s gone, which makes perfect sense as to why Jax looks like he’s one second from a complete fucking breakdown.
“Jax…I’m so sorry” you say quietly but genuinely. Because you are sorry. You hesitate a second before reaching out, your hand settling on his knee. It’s the first time you’ve touched him in months and you can feel the shift in his body immediately. How it eases under your touch. Enough to remind you that even after all this time, he still finds comfort in you, whether you want him to or not.
“We just said our goodbyes…” he whispers, “…had a little wake at the clubhouse…I, fuck. I feel like I’m gonna….” his knee bounces beneath your hand, and you can feel it, how close he is to breaking.
His voice cracking and his breathing becoming uneven. “He was my moral compass” he chokes out “I went to him with shit I couldn’t say to anyone else, not the club… not T…” He adjusts his position now, taking in a deep breath, his way of pushing the emotions back down.
“Sorry for showing up here, messing with whatever shit you had going on” his jaw ticks, the thought of you with another man, but he continues.
“We were inside Stockton…” he begins telling you what happened, the short version, the version he has to tell to people who aren’t part of the club. “…workin’ somethin', with a guy, carries weight, big name and money. Thought he would get us out of this shit we’ve been buried in” He stops, his jaw flexing as he adjusts his position on the sofa “he wasn’t suppose to be there. Got himself arrested to be inside with us” he holds his chin in his hands, deep in thought.
“There was a pipe in the other room, made us choose. One of us wasn’t getting out” his lip trembles, like he’s reliving it all again. “They beat him to death right in front of me” he says it like it’s still happening, like he can still see it, still hear it. “I couldn’t fuckin’ stop it” the tears flow again.
You don't say anything, not with words anyway. You just place your hand over his, gentle but still unsure. His hand is cold, but you squeeze, just enough for him to feel it. Just enough to say you still care. You pull away your hand before he can react, walking towards the kitchen.
There's an aching throb in your chest that wont go away. The kind that comes when you've used your body for the wrong reasons, when you've given someone else part of you, that deep down you know you only want one other man to receive.
The Jameson is right where you left it, the bottle that only ever gets touched when Jax Teller is around. You hate the stuff, usually. But tonight, things are different. You grab two glasses, bringing them back and setting them on the table. Jax doesn't say anything but his eyes flick to the bottle, then the glasses, finally landing back on you. He watches as you pour, heavy handed and unapologetically. The silence is loud now, heavier and sadder.
"Not like you" he mutters, nodding towards the bottle on the table, the faintest smile finally tugging at the corner of his mouth. It's not much, but its something.
You glance down at the glass in your hand, giving a half hearted shrug "Yeah, well...been doing a lotta shit that's not like me lately" You swirl the last of your drink.
You've both been talking for a while now, both looser, the edge worn down by the alcohol. The tension softening under the weight of everything you've been through in the last hour, or maybe the last two months. He hasn't said anything in a while, just sitting there, his eyes glazed over, watching you a little too hard. Then his voice cuts through the quite.
"Last time I was here..." he pauses, like he's unsure whether he should continue "...I told you I couldn't leave Tara or my boys"
You shake your head immediately "Don't..." you mutter, "...you're not here to talk about that"
"I meant it" he says, ignoring your warning "I still mean it"
You exhale sharp through your nose, your patience wearing thin and the whiskey running low.
"I'm not tryna reopen shit y/n...I just need you to know why I said that" he turns to look at you, his jaw clenched tight. "Tara's got ties" he sighs "Legal ones, she's a doctor. She's clean, smart...I'm a patched up criminal with a club full of felons" he lets out a humourless laugh "If she wanted to take those boys from me..." he trails off, looking away "she could…most days we don't even speak. I come home, kiss the boys and count down how long till they're asleep. It's like we aint even pretendin' anymore"
You press your lips together, trying to keep your own emotions in check. "So why stay?" the words come out like a whisper, like part of you didn't actually want to ask out loud.
"Cause I'm scared if I dont... I'll lose em for good"
You understand what he's saying. You've always known what Jax carries on his back. His kids, the patch, his own demons. You're not heartless, and you'd never outright ask him to throw away his world for you. But still, it feels unfair. So you decide to drop something on the table, something to balance the scale.
"I slept with someone tonight"
He doesn't move at first, not even a twitch. But you see it, the way his jaw tenses, the way his grip around the glass tightens. His eyes don't meet yours, not yet. They hover over your bare thighs, then somewhere past you, like if he doesn't look at you, he won't feel it as much.
"Yeah?..." he says, he leans back on the couch, not saying anything else, not asking questions, just taking it all in. You wait for a reaction. Anger, jealousy, a stupid comment, but neither come. He's just silent. And that? that's worse, because Jax doesn’t do silence unless he's trying real hard not to say something he cant take back. Finally, he licks his bottom lip, letting out a breath "Did it work?" He arches a brow, the question written on his face.
"No" you say softly, almost embarrassed "thought it would though".
He nods slowly, like the confession eases something in him, or maybe it makes it worse, you can't tell.
"You fake it?" he asks, his mouth twitching at the edges, like he's trying not to smile.
You laugh under your breath, rolling your eyes. That's all he needs to know that you did. "He didn't even notice" you add, slightly proud but there's a flicker of something hollow in your eyes.
Jax tips back the rest of his Jameson, wincing as it goes down "Shit…" he mutters, setting his glass back on the table.
You both laugh, that worn out familiar kind of laugh. The kind that used to fill your apartment before love started creeping in through the cracks you both swore didnt exist.
"I came back so many times" he lets out, his thumb brushing over his jaw. Your head turns sharply, caught of guard. He's not looking at you though, he's staring at his empty glass like it might just judge him. "I'd be parked just down the street...engine still runnin, thinkin' about comin up, but I'd just...I'd just fuckin ride off"
You laugh again, this time its not so forced "Thought I was going crazy...I knew I heard your bike some nights"
"Yeah...that was me" Its quiet after he says that, not awkward or angry just the kind of silence that lingers when two people have said everything without really saying anything at all.
You hesitate before you ask, your fingers fidgeting with the rim of your glass, your eyes stealing glancing at him. "Can I ask you something?" you almost whisper, like you're afraid the question might break the moment. Jax's nod gives you the green light. "Did you ever...tell Opie...about us?"
He doesn't respond at first, stretching out the silence full of things you don't quite understand but you can definitely feel. "Yeah. I told him..." He finally breaks the silence, low and rough. "Told him I was seein' someone, that it wasn't clean, or simple. But it felt... right"
You don’t say anything, you just watch him, noticing the way his shoulders curl inward like he's trying to protect something. "He never judged me, but he didn't say much. He liked to let me figure out my own shit' but I could tell he knew I was tangled up in somethin' I'd struggle to walk away from" He shifts, rubbing the back of his neck "He knew me better than I ever knew myself"
You reach out without thinking, your hand brushing away the smallest trace of a tear "I’m glad you told him"
He nods again, slower this time. "Me too" he holds your hand against his face "He would've liked you". The words fall from his mouth naturally and somehow, that means more than you expected it to.
Tara sits at the kitchen table, the house is dead quiet. The kind of silence that forms a humming sound. There’s a glass of wine sitting next to her, untouched.
She tried looking for Jax after the wake had settled. Waited around the clubhouse until the sky turned dark. Checked the lot, the chapel, the garage, even drove to crematorium, hoping that maybe he just needed some space.
But he wasn’t anywhere to be found.
Her phone rings, shaking her out of whatever day dream she was sat in. Unknown number. She hesitates, letting it ring once more before finally picking up. “Hello?”
“Tara Knowles?” The voice is calm, but a hint of sternness travels through it. “This is D.A Tyne Patterson. I believe you and I have some unfinished business”
Tara closes her eyes, inhaling sharply, the weight on her shoulders suddenly feeling heavier. “Why are you still calling me?” She asked but part of her already knows.
“You say you want out? You want to keep your boys safe? Then help me stop him before this war spreads further than Charming”
Tara says nothing for a long time. The air is thick and she can hear the clock ticking louder now. And then she speaks. “What do you need?”
“Everything” Patterson voice doesn’t change, the same sternness as before peeking through.
Tara nods, wiping a hand down her expressionless face but her heart splitting beneath the surface. “Okay”.
Photos & gifs do not belong to me 🐦⬛
Ugh. ngl I struggled with this one, it ended in so many different ways. I couldnt fucking think of a way Tara would just be like ok cool you're with someone new? Take the boys I’m off! bye see ya! so it got deep & as much as I LOVE angst I wasn’t even planning on them being in the same room again, BUT I acted on the vote that I took, and you all wanted to see them back together again, hehe. So will deffo be a 4th (& final) part but it’s gonna take me a while to weave that shit in. Also, I’ve got like 3 other things I’m in the process of writing which probably isn’t smart but that’s my brain for you lol.
Thank you all for the love & constant support. Honestly means so much, the comments, the likes, the reblogs, everything. This fandom, though small (in comparison to others) honestly, is the fucking best. Love you all 🫶🏽
The Trio of Trouble - Chibs, Tig, Happy x reader (platonic)
Word Count: 2,600
Summary: The unbearable summer heat wave in Charming leads to the guys spending the day with you, what could possibly go wrong?
Warnings: strong sexual references (no smut), cursing, alcohol, Tig being a menace to society
(I know it’s basically October but I live in California and it’s hot as hell bruh, humor me please.)
You deeply regret having given copies of your house keys to Tig, Chibs, and Happy.
“For emergencies”, they had said.
Yeah, and apparently empty stomachs were considered emergencies for them. You had thought you were going insane when things started getting misplaced or you would spot things that weren’t there when you had left earlier in the day.
You compile a long list of groceries and are out the door in a matter of minutes. You really didn’t want to leave the house at all today. Charming is going through a terrible heat wave, and even five minutes outside in the shade leaves you slick with sweat.
The cashier at the grocery store gives you a curious look at the huge amount of groceries you had gotten, making you cringe on the inside.
In your mind, you think of how to ask the club for a check to make up for the apparent expenses that come with being a friend of theirs.
You leave the store and struggle to load all of the heavy bags into your car. Finally, you’re on your way back home. Pulling into your driveway, you curse as you see the guys sitting on your porch, drinking beers.
Damn it all to hell.
You turn off your car and step out, Tig immediately walking over and greeting you. The sight of him and the feeling of the immense heat quickly puts you in a bad mood for whatever shenanigans you’re sure they’re going to pull.
Especially Tig. He's a real charity case.
“Hey, doll. Where you been? We missed you.” he kisses your cheek.
“How long have you been out here?” you question.
His heavy arm around your shoulders makes you pull away quickly from the excess body heat he radiates.
“About half an hour. It’s hot as hell. But we wanted to wait out here for you instead of barging in.”
Something inside of you snaps.
You frown, “You eat me out of house and home, but asking me first to go inside to cool off is where you draw the line?”
“Woah, woah! That’s Tiggy’s business!” Chibs yells out in defense from his seat on the stairs.
“I’ve never come over if you’re not here.” Happy says, shrugging.
Tig glances nervously down at you, shrugging his shoulders and sipping his beer.
“What? Your cooking is fucking incredible, doll.” he grins.
“I’m not your mother! I have to feed myself too, you know! I had to go grocery shopping again because of you! And the last thing I want is to be out here instead of laying on my couch!” you snap.
He tuts at you, hugging you into his side.
“Awe, sorry doll. We’ll help you out with that.” he drawls.
You sigh heavily as he releases you and walks over to your car and starts carrying bags. You walk to your door, ignoring Chibs and Happy. You open it and immediately turn on the air conditioning, sighing in relief.
Before you know it, they have brought in all of your groceries and even offered to put them away. Well, probably just hidden them. You expect to find misplaced groceries later on.
They situate themselves on your couch, making you narrow your eyes at them.
“None of you work today?” you suddenly think to ask.
“Hell no.” Happy says.
“The guys got it covered.” Tig grumbles.
“And why aren’t you at the clubhouse?” you ask suspiciously.
There's a moment of silence that confirms your suspicions.
“AC broke. Isn’t getting fixed until tomorrow. Clubhouse is a fucking oven right now. My balls are not having fun.” Tig shakes his head of curls.
He gestures to his crotch for, in your opinion, unnecessary and unwanted emphasis.
“And the next best place was here. You knew I’d let you in.” you conclude, rolling your eyes at them and crossing your arms.
“Somethin’ like that. Thank ye in advance, love.” Chibs grins, winking.
You palm your face, walking back into the kitchen.
“I got these for you. Was planning on going to the clubhouse later, but I guess the clubhouse came to me instead. You're already done with the twelve pack you brought?"
You grab the six pack of beers you just bought for them and place on the coffee table. Tig reaches out and you slap his hand, making him frown up at you.
“You’ve been the little freeloader all this time and you expect me to cater to you still?” you ask.
He looks genuinely offended and on the verge of tears.
“But doll, come on-“
You point your finger at him.
“You’re like a little rat coming and eating everything.”
Chibs and Happy chuckle, clinking their bottles together. Tig glares at them.
“Too bad they don’t sell Tig traps.” Happy says.
“At least wash your dishes after, jesus.” you mumble, walking away.
You begin sorting ingredients from the fridge to start dinner. Suddenly, you hear loud banging noises before the guys start protesting. You walk back into the living room to see Tig kneeled in front of the AC, slamming it with his palm.
“Please, no! Please!” he yells out.
The AC makes noise one final time before going clicking silent.
“Oh for fucks sake.” you grumble.
“I’m going to die! I’m going to die of a heat stroke! My balls are going to explode!”
Tig sinks down against the wall, landing on the floor with a loud thud.
“I don’t know what’s worse, the heat or being stuck with Tig.” you muse.
“Oh, I know what’s worse.” Chibs grumbles, drinking his beer.
“Yeah, the heat doesn’t talk.” Happy says.
After only ten minutes of them inspecting the AC, the heat inside of the house is unbearable.
“Okay guys, they do say that distracting yourself from the heat is best. I mean, it isn’t the heat that’s the worst part, in reality. It’s the time. We just have to keep ourselves distracted for enough time until it cools down when the sun sets.”
They all look at you in silence with curious eyes.
“What? Do any of you have a better idea?” you question.
They look amongst themselves, shrugging.
“So what now?” Tig asks.
“Um, oh I have cards? Do you guys know any card games?”
You start to walk down the hall.
“Did she just ask if we know card games?” Happy asks, frowning.
“Yeah.” Chibs grumbles.
“Do you even know us?” Tig asks in disgust.
In a few moments, you’re all outside sitting in the shade with the cards laid out.
“Okay, I literally don’t know how to play anything, so you’re going to have to teach me.” you warn.
“Don’t worry doll, you’re in good hands. I’ve been told I’m a great visual teacher.”
He wiggles his eyebrows at you, his hands expertly shuffling the stack.
“And that’s why ye aren’t allowed near schools, Tiggy.” Chibs says.
You all laugh except for Tig, who just mumbles and motions for you to start in annoyance. After what seems like eternity, you have played different games and learned a lot. Both about the games and the guys as well, who have shown their competitive sides for the first time to you.
“Yer lucky we aren’t bettin’ Tiggy, I would have kicked yer arse so bad I would own ye.” Chibs gloats.
“Yeah yeah, keep laughing. Why don’t you really play now?” Tig taunts.
“We all know how delicate yer ego is, Tiggy.” Chibs reminds him.
“Yeah, a girl kicked your ass and you couldn’t stop whining on that trip.” Happy teases.
“She had a good right hook, man!”
Tig frowns and leans back, glaring at Happy.
“Whatever, that happened so long ago.” he mumbles, waving his hand around.
“It wasn’t that long ago, and you made that trip miserable. Were you mad because she was a girl or because she didn’t end up having sex with you?” you ask innocently.
He glares at you, “You’re all assholes.”
“How long did you have that scar on your head again?” you ask nonchalantly.
“Fuck you, man.” he snaps.
You all laugh, your fingers running over your cards.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Suddenly, Tig perks up.
“Do you hear that?” he asks.
“What? Is she coming back for you?” you tease.
“No! I think it’s an ice cream truck.” he snaps.
Suddenly, you all hear it clearly. You all bounce up from your seats and spot the ice cream truck barreling by the house, going at a quick speed.
“Hey, asshole!” Tig yells, starting to run.
The rest of you don’t hesitate, running after him as well. The summer sun beats down on you as you run, your breaths feeling heavy from the stifling hot air. You start laughing, turning back to look at Chibs and Happy behind you, who are laughing as well. You turn and see Tig barely reaching the truck, slamming his hands on the side. It slows to a stop, and all of you stop as well. You’re all out of breath, bending over and wheezing.
“I’m too old for this shite.” Chibs mumbles.
Happy is the only one who looks relatively okay. Tig on the other hand, is breathing heavily against the truck and has his face leaning against his arms.
Once you all recuperate, you order and walk back to the house. Tig is moaning dramatically as he licks his cone, frowning over at you as you stare at him.
“What?” he mumbles.
His confused look turns to a smirk.
“Like what you see, doll? There’s more where these skills came from, you know.” he grins.
“Alex! Get your mind out of the gutter!” you reprimand.
You shove his arm, making him stumble to the side.
“I think it’s physically impossible for him.” Happy says.
“Yeah, Tiggy’s too fucked in the head. Lost cause, love.” Chibs agrees.
“Hey! You say that like I’m some creep!” Tig argues.
“You are!” you all respond in unison.
He grumbles, walking away quickly from all of you. Eventually, you all sit on your porch and eat your ice cream in silence.
“Reminds me of when I was a wee one.” says Chibs.
“Yeah, running after the ice cream truck.” you say.
“Yeah, the other kids and me would run after it and throw rocks. Then the biggest kid would open the back door and get in and kick the shit out of the guy. Used to hide the ice cream we jacked in my folks' fridge in the garage. Never got caught.” Tig smiles, a distant but content look in his eyes.
The rest of you look at Tig with a frown. He breaks out of his trance and his eyes slowly glance over all of you.
“What?” he asks.
“What is wrong with you?” Happy asks.
“What? I was a kid, you know, doing kid shit.” Tig defends.
“I don’t think that’s normal kid shit, you psychopath.” you say.
“Well, that was normal for me.”
“So what wasn’t normal?” you ask, fearing his response.
“I don’t know, hugs?”
“That explains a lot.” you say, making Chibs and Happy nod.
A few minutes pass in the heat before Tig breaks it.
“This is stupid. The sun isn’t even going down soon. I’m bored and hot.” Tig complains.
“I don’t even know how you guys are still in jeans.” you wonder.
“You still have that old inflatable pool?” Happy asks.
“The one from last year? Yeah. Why?”
“I can go get some ice and we can fill it up.” he suggests.
“Fuck yes! I’m dying!” Tig whines.
Happy rolls his eyes and you nod your acceptance to his proposal.
“Chibs, I’ll go with him. You can get the pool out. It's in the garage. Tig, you-”
You look at his slumped form on the seat. With his wild curls all around him and his wide eyes looking up at you, you suddenly see how he manages to draw in so many unsuspecting women. But having known him for so long, you know better than to let those curls and blue eyes fool you.
“Just stay here, drama king.” you grumble.
Happy and you go to the nearest liquor store, finding the ice you need. You pay and go back home, both of you carrying the ice to the backyard over your shoulders. You stop in your tracks when you see Chibs and Tig stripped down to their underwear.
“What? I’m not getting my clothes wet! You want me naked instead?” Tig asks.
“Please no! Anything but that!” you plead.
You fill the pool up with water and Happy dumps the ice in. You go inside and change into swim shorts and a bikini top, joining them once you're done.
One by one, the guys all climb in and end up laying side by side in the pool. Somehow, they all squish together and end up fitting. Although they look a little uncomfortable, you notice they are tolerating the mild discomfort for the cold relief.
“Come on, love. Are ye just goin' to stand there?” Chibs asks.
“Don't rush me."
“Come on, doll. We’re all family here.” Tig says.
“Yeah, I’m sure you have a fantasy or two about that.” you grumble uneasily.
“You’re lucky you’re not my stepsister then.” Tig laughs.
Happy and Chibs glare at him, silencing him.
“Come on, love.” Chibs encourages.
“Alright.” you concede.
You stand by the pool and start to lean down, hissing and shivering as the cold water hits your skin.
“Better?” Chibs asks.
“Very.” you sigh.
They start drinking beer and trying their best to make you feel comfortable. After a while, you feel Tig’s eyes on you.
“What?” you snap, looking at him.
“Nothing. I can’t look?”
“Not right now, no.”
After a few moments, Tig starts laughing. You sigh in annoyance.
“What now?” you grumble.
“We’re all in the pool together.” he chuckles.
All three of you look at him like he’s grown a second head.
“And?” you snap.
“And we’re in our underwear. Which means our balls are all in the same water.” Tig giggles.
Happy and Chibs yell out, shoving Tig roughly. Your body gets jostled slightly.
“Please don’t remind me of that right now. I’m totally taking a shower after this.” you groan.
“I just realized that I could literally make my dick into a popsicle right now.” Tig says.
“Can you please stop talking about your penis?” you yell out.
“Tiggy, I don’t want to hear about ye getting a hard on when I’m right next to ye.” Chibs groans.
Eventually, the sun starts to set, but none of you make an effort to stand.
“I had fun today. Surprisingly.” you mumble, looking up at the pink and orange sky.
A fresh breeze hits you, making you shiver and sigh in content.
“This is the weirdest pool party I’ve ever been to.” Happy says.
You smile.
“I had fun, too. But I think I-“
“Shut up.” Happy glares at Tig, silencing him.
“I dunno about ye, but I could go for a barbecue right about now.” Chibs groans.
“Sounds good. Hot dogs and burgers.” you agree.
You all stare up at the sky in comfortable silence.
“Well, I’ve got your hot dog right here.” Tig says.
You all yell out in protest before standing up and leaving the pool, leaving Tig alone and apologizing. This is only the beginning of summer, and you are scared to see what the future brings.
Second (2nd) attempt at posting this one so let's hope it works lol. 18+ minors DNI!! Explicit smut lies ahead (oral [female receiving], loss of virginity)
An infamous SAMCRO party. That's where you'd found yourself at the present moment. The friend who had dragged you alone was long gone into the sea of drunken…what were they called? Croweaters? It was actually a pretty clever name, you had to admit.
You were on one end of the bar, drinking a plain soda. You needed to be able to drive your friend home when she would inevitably end up too drunk to even stand, let alone drive. Fidgeting with the black and grey plaid skirt you'd worn, you thought for just a moment that you saw her, but in an instant your vision was blocked by what seemed like a horde of half-dressed women. You were incredibly over dressed, compared to the rest of the party. You had on a low cut, black top, and your skirt went a little lower than mid thigh, which was far longer than anything else you'd seen tonight. If you hadn't had a little weight on you, your friend would've dressed you in something of her own. Not that you were a prude but…jesus.
“Darlin', are you havin’ any fun?” A larger man with scraggly, shoulder length hair and bushy beard asked. You blushed deeply, sipping on your drink.
“Yeah! Absolutely!” No, not really. You'd much rather be at home, doing some old woman hobby like crocheting or something.
“Nah, I don't buy it.” Another man said, joining you on your other side. He had some of the most striking blue eyes you'd ever seen, and his curly hair gave him a wild look. “But I bet I could change it.”
You couldn't help it. You laughed. How drunk and desperate was this guy to hit on you with everyone else surrounding him?
“That's okay, really. But thank you.” You didn't miss the looks of confusion shared between the men, but he went off.
“Not sure Tig's used to being turned down by a young, hot piece of ass.” Scraggly man added. So blue eyes was named Tig. But you sputtered a little.
“I guess I'm young but not sure I tick the hot box.” You joked, laughing as you took another drink.
You didn't know if he was going to say anything else, because he was being dragged away in the next instant by two actual hot pieces of ass. That was okay. You were used to looking cute at best, especially when in the company of women that rivalled porn stars. Actually, you thought a few might really be porn stars. You were a bigger woman, curvier, even in places men didn't normally appreciate. You knew you didn't, at least. Your breasts were big enough but not impressive. Maybe they would've been on a smaller frame.
“Hey, Y/N!” You were pulled out of your musings by your friend suddenly slinging herself around your shoulders. You gave her a shocked smile, laughing slightly. “Loosen up! Have a shot!”
“Oh, no, I don't need-”
“C'mon! Pour us some shots!” She yelled to the little guy behind the bar. He did exactly that, pouring you and her both shots. Fuck. You hated shots, but there was no getting her to back down.
“Fine.” You gave her a tight lipped smile before downing the shot with her. You didn't know what it was, but it burned going down, that was for sure.
“WOO! Come dance with me!” Grabbing your hand, she dragged you away from the bar, ignoring any and all protests coming from you.
“You know I don't dance!” You called over the loud music, but you couldn't help but laugh as she attempted to get you to dance with her. A set of hands suddenly landed on your hips, a body pressed against your back.
“Here, let me help.” That was the same voice from before. Tig. Your friend was grinning at you wildly, the two of them all but forcing your body to move to the rhythm of the music.
“Isn't this so much fun!” Your friend squealed, laughing at how red your face had gotten. You were sure her fat mouth was about to voice the detail too if it weren't for another Son coming up behind her to mimic what Tig was doing with you.
“Now this is a party!” The newcomer was a cute, young guy with what could only be described as a mohawk. Your friend still had your hands in hers, raising both of your arms so the men behind you had more space for wandering hands.
You let it happen, which was a surprise to even yourself. You danced, which was crazy alone, which strangers. With men you didn't know. If your friend remembered this, you'd never live it down. One of Tig's hands pressed into your lower stomach, holding you close against his hips, the other dangerously close under your breasts.
“Having fun now, doll?” His mustache tickled your skin as he spoke against your neck.
“A little.” You teased, turning your head ever so slightly. One shot wouldn't make you drunk. No, you were high on this feeling of being wanted. Even if it was just for tonight, or until a better girl caught his eye.
“Juice!” Your attention was brought back to your friend, who no longer had your hands in hers, and was instead wrapping herself around the younger biker. You could already feel your body starting to slow down, not moving as much with the beat of music.
“C'mon, don't give up on me now. We were just getting started.” This time, he didn't just speak against your neck, he kissed it as well. You allowed yourself to be swayed back into dancing. He nipped at your skin, making you gasp, your neck craving subconsciously to give him more access. “Atta girl.”
You didn't do this. You didn't party. You didn't dance with men. Men didn't kiss your neck, or touch your body. To be fair, women didn't either. You just didn't do this. You kissed a couple boys in high school, and a girl in college, but that was the furthest you'd gone with anything. Tonight was going in an unexpected direction.
“Yo, Tig!” Another man was calling your dance partner, and suddenly hands were slipping from your body.
“Don't go anywhere.” He gave you a pointed look before disappearing into the crowd.
What the fuck was going on? If Tig tried to push further…would you go with it? He looked old enough to be your dad, but he was handsome. Charming. Experienced, for sure. The opposite of you. You could probably trust him to show you a fun time. You hoped, at least. You turned back, heading to the bar, when you saw Tig talking to the scraggly guy from before. He met your eye and winked before turning his attention back. So, you went to the bar. You'd stood there for all of ten seconds before the young guy was leaning across the counter.
“Get ya a drink?”
“Nah, I'm good.” You smiled. It looked like he was going to say something else, but a hand was suddenly against the small of your back, and a body was leaning in close.
“Scram, prospect.” Tig jerked his head, and the guy was gone in seconds. “Not interested in competition.”
“Trust me, there's no competition.” How did that sound? You blushed, but he laughed. Clearing your throat, you turned towards him, hands smoothing over his shoulders. “You, uh, still interested in helping me have a fun time?”
“More than anything.” He grinned, the hand on your back snaking down under your skirt to grab your ass.
“I'm no prude but I'd rather some form of privacy and not…that.” You nodded towards a girl being eaten out on the pool table.
“That's too bad.” He frowned for a moment before laughing. “I'm just kiddin'. Come on, I got a place for us.”
That was how you ended up here, on your back against the bed of some random bedroom, with Tig's tongue halfway down your throat. Your little makeout sessions in the past had nothing on this. His hips pressed against yours, and you could feel the growing bulge pressing against your core. He felt big, and that was a bit daunting, but you weren't backing down now. His lips broke from yours, allowing you to gasp for breath as he kissed and nipped along your neck and collarbone.
“Tig, if I tell ya something, promise not to be weird about it?” You weren't sure if you expected him to stop, but he bit into the juncture of your neck and shoulder a little rougher instead. It drew a moan from you.
“You gonna tell me you secretly got a dick or somethin’? Cause honestly, doll-” One of his hands slid up your leg and pressed against your panties. “I don't feel one.”
“N-no, it's not that.” You actually huffed a laugh. “I'm a virgin Don't make it weird or anything but-”
“How old are you?” His head pulled back, eyes searching your face. Your very red face.
“Twenty-six, thanks for asking.” You could almost see his eyes bugging out of his head. “It just never came up.”
“It's a good thing I did.” He teased, making you laugh. He gave you another kiss, tugging your lower lip with his teeth. “Babydoll, I'm not gonna make it weird, but I'm gonna make it memorable.”
At first, you weren't exactly sure what that would entail, but now, with his head under your skirt and panties on the floor, you had a pretty good idea. Your back arched off the bed, one hand buried in Tig's curls, the other one covering your mouth to keep your noises down. One of his fingers pressed into you while his tongue circled your clit. A second finger joined shortly, and your clit was sucked into his mouth harshly. You know you tugged his hair, and the way he groaned against your core sent shivers down your spine.
“Oh~ Tig!” Your other hand dropped to his hair as well, your jaw dropped as you moaned hotly. He twisted his wrist, the pads of his fingers catching that perfect spot inside of you and pressing into it over and over again. Within seconds, your legs were shaking and you were filling the room with a borderline pornographic sound as you came.
“I could listen to that all day long.” He was grinning as he popped his head up, his fingers still working you down from your orgasm. That was far better than anything you'd ever given yourself before. Pulling his fingers from you, he licked them clean before standing. “I'm gonna grab a condom. Get ready for the main event.”
You watched as he stripped himself of his clothes, admiring his body. He was soft and hard in all the right ways, and you found yourself wondering how he got each scar. You had to remind yourself that this was a one night thing, and nothing more.
“That's still a lot of clothing, darlin’.” You hadn't taken anything else off, but your skin was hot.
“Sorry, I'm…not…” You pursed your lips, raising up on your elbows. “I think I'd be more comfortable like…this.”
“Hey, I get it, baby, I do. Just know I wouldn't be in here, with you, if you weren't scalding hot.” He gave you a kind of goofy grin, joining you on the bed once more. He slotted himself between your legs, his lips pressing into yours heatedly. He barely pulled back, breath brushing your lips as he spoke. “Can't promise this won't hurt, but I promise I'll make it up to you.”
“I'm ready.” You nodded, surging forward to kiss him again. His teeth tugged at your lip, his tongue slipping into your mouth as he lined himself up. Slowly, he pushed into you, carefully working himself into you until he was fully seated. Your breath hitched, the burn overwhelming for a moment. But you'd give him this, he didn't rush you. Instead, he continued to kiss you hotly, until you were breaking away for breath. “I'm good.”
That's all he needed to hear. Rolling his hips, you whined at the way his cock dragged through your walls. Your nails bit into his shoulders, but he didn't seem to mind. If anything, it seemed to spur him on. He pulled out almost all the way before pressing back into you as far as he could go. Over and over, slow but deep. Soft, heated pants filled the room.
“I'm not going to break.” You rushed out, one of your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.
“Oho, atta girl.” He huffed a laugh, his thrusts picking up speed. Soon, the sound of skin slapping skin joined the noises of the room. “Fuck, I love virgin pussy. You feel so good wrapped around me.”
“Yes~” You definitely loved the feeling of him inside of you. How had you waited so long for this?
“That's it. Taking my cock like such a good girl.” He groaned, and his praises made you hot. Your fingers tugged at his hair, a lewd moan spilling from you as he hit that perfect spot inside of you again. “Shit, baby, sing for me.”
“Tig~” You bit your lip, back arching. You could feel your second orgasm rising faster and faster. His head dropped to your chest, and you felt his teeth nipping at your breasts. He sucked some of your skin into his mouth, sucking a dark mark into your skin. That's what did it for you. The coil was bound so tightly, and finally snapped. “Tig!”
“Perfect fucking pussy.” He groaned against your skin. You don't know how much longer he pumped into you before he was releasing into his condom. All you knew was that you felt fucking great. You heard him whistle at you, and you refocus on him with a lazy smile. “Earth to Y/N. You good?”
“I'm great. Thanks for that.” You both chuckled at the way you phrased it, but there was no going back. “So, you know my name?”
“Heard your friend yelling it earlier.” He confirmed, slowly slipping out of you. He disappeared into the bathroom, discarding the condom before returning. You sat up, looking down to see if there was a way to cover the hickey he gave you. Of course, there wasn't.
“Thanks, for this.” You gestured to your chest, trying to appear irritated, but you couldn't pull it off. He was too charming to be mad at. Standing from the bed, you swayed for a moment before collecting your panties from the floor. “Give me a minute to clean myself up and I'll be out of your hair.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” He'd pulled his boxers and and jeans back on, lighting a cigarette as you stepped into the bathroom.
You looked a mess, and you felt a mess. But…a mess in the best way. You didn't regret waiting, and you were so glad you'd decided tonight was the time. You doubted any of those little pricks you dated in high school could've made you feel so good. You did as you said, cleaned yourself up, pulled your panties back on, and reentered the dorm room you'd claimed. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning back on one hand while he smoked. He held the cigarette out to you, but you declined.
“Hey, just so you know, I'm honored to be the one to deflower you.” He looked sincere for a moment before smiling. You couldn't help but laugh.
“I told you not to make it weird.” You walked past him, to the door. “Thanks, though. You were quite the gentleman.”
“Not sure anyone else would agree, but I'll take it.” He chuckled, standing from the bed and putting out his cigarette in a dish. Grabbing his shirt and his kutte, he finished getting redressed. “If you ever find yourself looking for some more fun…”
“I know where to find you.” You leaned up, kissing his cheek before leaving his room.
Summary: Daphne Bridgerton is your closest childhood friend, her eldest brother, Anthony, is the love of your life. After avoiding each other for years, you both finally lose control.
Length: 3.2k
Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader
Content Warnings: Unprotected sex, sex in public, penetrative vaginal sex, orgasm, 'caught in the act' vibes, best friends brother.
Bridgerton master list
(tag list)
Like many other close family friends of the Bridgerton’s, their home was always a beacon of safety and comfort, especially for you. You were Daphne Bridgerton’s first friend, and you had remained close well into adulthood, she wrote to you still from her new life with the Duke. Unfortunately, Daphne would not be able to meet you in Mayfair this season, the Bridgerton’s playing host while your mother and father were out of the country. It was your third year out; you had a few hopeful matches in mind, not realizing how difficult the season might be with unobtainable love staring you in the face.
“We are so glad to have you this year, y/n. It has been so long since we have seen you around the Ton” Violet Bridgerton was as much your mother as your own.
“Father’s responsibilities have been consuming these past few years. Mother and I hardly made it to the season last year. I am glad to be here, spending some time in familiar places” You smiled, linking arms with her as she escorted you to the ballroom. Your parents had entrusted your match to you, however, had requested the viscountess to keep a watchful eye.
Waltzing into the drawing room, just like old times, Benedict and Colin, discarding their playing cards, exclaimed with joy, rushing to greet you as if a long-lost sibling had returned. There was nothing as lonely as being an only child, deep in the countryside.
Eloise was fretting in the corner, fingers agitated, tapping the outside of a book. This was to be her coming out year.
Anthony entered from the far side door, his feet skidding to a halt at the sight of you.
“You arrived” Anthony said flatly, turning on the ball of his foot, and exiting as quickly as he had come in. Embarrassed, you frowned, smiling chastely praying no one would notice his strange behaviour. It had been a year since you had last seen each other.
“I apologise, he is so bizarre in the mornings lately” Violet squeezed your shoulders, leading you over to a table laden with treats. Sitting on the settee with Hyacinth and Eloise, eating small cakes and discussing the books being read amongst you were some of the precious things you missed about living in the city.
In an unsuspicious amount of time, you excused yourself from company to find the washroom. Anthony stood outside the drawing room, leaning against the wall, unblinking and mind drifting elsewhere. You ignored each other walking past, which felt a lot like tiny shards of glass embedding into your heart. Locking yourself in the washroom, trying desperately to keep tears at bay, you looked into the mirror and told yourself it did not matter. You were going to find love this year, somewhere else.
When you opened the door, Anthony had moved, he was nearly pressed against the door, waiting for you to come out. He stuffed himself into the washroom with you, closing the door as silently as he could.
“Why are you here?” He asked. He looked different from a year ago, he had changed quite a lot more than you were expecting. He had shortened his hair and filled out into his body. His hands looked the same, the same ring on that damned finger, flexing in distress and awkward guilt.
“It is the beginning of the social season. I am here to find a husband.” You stated plainly.
“A husband?” He scoffed, charming disdain painted across his face.
“Yes, it is what young ladies do in polite society. Was that unclear?” You asked. Your lack of facial expression and tone seemed to startle him, he had no idea what you were thinking.
“Why are you acting this way?” Anthony stuttered forward, getting uncomfortably close.
With the melancholic drop of your shoulders, and a heavy exhale, you pushed past Anthony and made your way back to the drawing room. It was so like him to put the narrative back on you. Anthony should have asked himself why he was acting this way – after all, it was he who decided not to court you. It was he who decided to kiss you beside the carriage that night. It was he who decided the two of you should not speak any longer. It was he who broke your heart.
The remainder of the evening was free of Anthony, filled with laughter at the dining room table over a delectable dinner. The Bridgerton’s sense of family was everything to you – even if Gregory and Hyacinth were bickering for most of the meal, it still felt as it was meant to. Violet showed you to the guest room, it had not changed much over the years, it smelled the very same.
“I am sorry Anthony could not join us for dinner” Violet’s voice echoed with somber searching. Perhaps she had heard the two of you in the washroom?
“Do not be,” You said quickly, “His time is his own, he does not owe me anything” Violet bowed her head, words fighting against her lips. She instead pursed them into a smile and closed the door behind her. Those shards of glass moved again, every second in this house, nausea held you hostage, terrified of running into him in the halls.
Daphne was the only other person alive who knew what had happened between Anthony and yourself. She had been disappointed in him, angry with the way he had handled everything. While she promised there would never be a change to your friendship, it had never really been the same. You tossed and turned far longer than normal; your mind flooded with images of the past. Thrusting yourself out of bed, it was clear you were not going to be sleeping tonight, you decided that a distraction may be best. In your nightgown, candle in hand, you remembered your way to the study.
The study was clear of any inhabitants, it was tidy, and the few cases of books loomed high over you, reaching the ceiling. Nothing in the Bridgerton house seemed to change, except Anthony, and it was perpetually for the worse in your opinion. You selected a book randomly from the nearest shelf and perched yourself on the seat closest to the window, looking out over the square. Lounging sleepily, you read in the low candlelight, only disturbed by the creaking of the door, an unexpected sound, making you jolt.
“I knew you’d be in here” Anthony said softly, entering the room with caution as your emotionless face watched him. “You were always in here when we were children. No one could ever find you” His smile was humorless.
“You did” You waited before responding, wondering why he was here, speaking with you, “Why are you here, right now, Anthony?” You demanded.
Anthony moved to the seat across from yours, sitting gingerly, holding eye contact in the hopes you would not tell him to leave. You allowed him to sit, his hands folded in front of him.
“I don’t know” Anthony rubbed desperately at his forehead, “I just got up, and felt myself pulled here, some unknown force, dragging me to you” Anthony admitted. You had always been attracted to each other, always gravitating towards one another.
“I did not choose to come here; my mother asked a favor of yours. I would never have chosen to be this close to you. You destroyed me, Anthony” Tears welled to your eyes, “We cannot be near each other – you made that it very clear, you took what you wanted of me, and cast me aside” Hands pressed down on your knees, you pushed off, making for the closest exit. Anthony dashed around in front of you, placing his body between you and the door for the second time today.
“Goodnight, Viscount Bridgerton” You curtsied formally, hoping the rules of social engagement were enough for this man to understand the dangerous position he was putting both of you in, yet again.
Anthony’s hand trembled, reaching out, taking yours into his. His fingers tangled between yours, his grip strengthening when he realized you were not pulling away. His thumb affectionately circling the skin on wrist, the sound of his swallowing resounding across the empty room, his anxious tongue flicking over his lips. If anything was clear, it was the internal battle that seemed to be always happening inside Anthony’s mind.
His touch, the supreme legacy of your existence. His unsteady breath, captivating your common sense. The thrilling space between you slowly closing, heads bobbing forward as if intoxicated and unable to control oneself, meeting together in the middle in an exhilarating kiss, just like you had remembered it.
His lips were shamelessly enthusiastic, as if made for this very purpose, just for you. His forceful hands weaved into your loose hair, pulling you deeper into every kiss. You were overcome, that old bold, need for him to find its way out of the labyrinth you had designed for it. Anthony’s fingers pressed to your hips, his teeth nipped eagerly at the skin on your neck, softs sighs of delight followed.
It was when his hand moved sensually to your breast that you broke free of the enchanting dance you had found yourself in so many times before with him. Your body did not reflect the same pleasures, you took his hands from your body and laid them at his sides, and stood tall and stepped back.
“I am here to secure a husband, for my future” Tears found their way back to you.
“Y/n…” Anthony shook his head, stepping forward, trying to hold onto you again.
“If you cannot give me what I seek, please, stop hunting me down. I want a life with you, Anthony. I will love you until my dying breath… But you, you will never grow up” You said finitely, again, pushing your way past him and fleeing back to your room.
~
Most of the next day was spent in tired indifference, you remained in your room, preparing for the first ball of the season. Tears had stained your pillow the remainder of the night, each knock at the door struck a chord of hope in your heart, wishing for Anthony.
Eloise and Violet helped you into your gown, the ladies’ maids fixing your hair and face. Violet ran a motherly thumb under your puffy eye, her compassionate heart shining through her eyes and tender smile. You gave a little nod, knowing there was never anything you could hide from her – she knew everyone in the Bridgerton house better than she let on.
The Viscounts escorted Eloise into Lady Danbury’s estate, greeting the Queen and Lady Danbury ahead of you. Violet linked arms with you in solidarity, following Anthonys actions and proceeding into the ball.
“Who will you be accepting dances from this evening?” The Viscountess asked quietly.
“I am not restricting myself to names, I will dance with any eligible man who asks” You answered politely.
Violet gave your forearm a squeeze, “That is very sensible” She nodded, releasing you, sending you off into the lion’s den. You met up with Eloise, taking a short turn about the room to appear social, greeting the other young ladies who you’d met years previous. There were several older men who seemed to take an interest in you as you moved about the room with your friend. No one really stood out to you, no true love at first sight, much to your dismay.
Retiring to the wall with a glass of lemonade in hand, you watched the gorgeous young women excited to dance with suitors and recalled how that was never an experience you had.
Soon enough, one of the suitors who had shown interest in a season previous approached, positioning himself next to you. Lord Harlan Grahame was intelligent, considerate, and not entirely horrible to look at.
“Lord Grahame” You curtsied, a familiar smile finding its way back onto your face.
“Miss y/n, I do hope your mother and father are quite well” He remarked, having known them for many years now, he had noticed their absence.
“They are in abroad, my father has business to conduct in Greece and my mother only saw fit to tend to him during this time” You explained, “I am being hosted by the Bridgerton family. How is your family?” You asked in politeness.
“Fantastic, Mother has moved herself to the country and hopes to get yet another dog soon” He laughed, clearly happy to be free of her in his home. Laughing along with him, you spied Anthony, discreetly looking on from across the ballroom. The conversation between yourself and Lord Grahame was easy and hardly uncomfortable. He was charismatic enough that you could see yourself becoming quite fond of each other in no time at all. He made small jokes at no one’s expense, he offered refreshments frequently and complimented you in kindness. You could see and accept a perfectly happy future with the Lord.
Across the ballroom, sheer asperity brewed live in Anthonys eyes for all to see. He was known to have a temper amongst society. With a final twitch of his left eye, Anthony’s feet picked up under him, carrying him in your direction. Violet watched on, fear and embarrassment ready and willing in her chest.
“I apologise” You mumbled preemptively to Lord Grahame as Anthony arrived to interrupt your conversation.
“Miss y/n, may I have this dance?” Anthonys eyes were terrifying, filled with rage and jealousy. You paused, contemplating antagonizing him, forcing his hand, backing him into a corner. But relinquished, excusing yourself from Lord Grahames company, taking Anthony’s hand as he swept you off to the dancefloor.
You did not meet his eye, your nails dug into the skin on his hand in resentment. You said nothing to each other for the first several minutes of the dance.
“You cannot marry him” Anthony muttered in quiet, helpless indignation.
Giving him a great look of disbelief, “Who are you to tell me who I can marry? I do not answer to you, Viscount” You growled into his ear as he pulled you in tighter.
Anthony finished the dance, bowing to you, holding onto one of your hands with unbelievable force. He walked swiftly from the dance floor, conspicuously pulling you along behind him, and into a room down the hall.
“You cannot blame me for acting this way!” He yelled, “If I have to see you speak to another man this season, if I have to witness another man watch as you walk by – You have driven me to the brink of insanity” He heaved, frantic energy filling his body.
“What would you have me do? Spend my life in loneliness, a Spinster? Would that be convenient to you, Anthony?” You parried.
His hands ran through his hair stressfully, at a loss for words, unable to express himself in the way he wanted. His intention had not been to yell when he sequestered you away to this side room.
“I was fine! You left Mayfair, and I was well. Now, here you are – and God help me, I am intoxicated every second we are in the same room. Your presence is the most decadent drug, forcibly hypnotizing me. I am powerless to you” Anthonys words were like honey, carried on the end of a bee sting.
“You made your choice!” You yelled back at him, hoping the music was loud enough outside.
“I was young, y/n! I made the wrong choice!” He retorted, his words shaking, and unfiltered for the first time in a long time.
There was a second of unblinking silence between you before magnetic energy pulled you into each other, deranged nipping at each other’s lips ensued. Hands grabbed and grasped at skin and hair, trying to force your beings into one person. There was a white-hot craze that seemed to come over the both of you, and you had felt it before, a few times.
Anthony sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, biting and kissing in a spontaneous fire.
“Someone will hear” You moaned into his ear, as his teeth moved their way down your neck. Anthony did not seem to care, his mouth on your chest, fondling and sucking on your breasts, still sitting pertly in your dress. He was simply uncontrollable, his behaviour now inherently superior compared to when he had been speaking.
Anthony maneuvered your body across the room, hands comfortably held in places of control, his left on your lower back, his right splayed across your throat like the prettiest necklace. You reached the door, his hands twisting your hips to face it. Your palms met the wood, bracing as Anthony bent you slightly, kicking your feet apart with his. Anthony hiked up your gown, undoing his pants in the same instant and buried himself inside of you.
You mouth gaped silently, aghast at the entire situation, but thanking God above for the opportunity.
“Oh my god,” Anthony gnarled into your ear from behind, “Just like I remember it” He moaned, sinking deeper and deeper it felt like. Every thrust led with intense and vicious primality, his hands wrapped around each of your upper arms, for leverage. He was right, it was just how you remembered – overwhelming, devastating, unforgettable. You had thought about your secret affair with Anthony every day since you had moved away. The pleasure Anthony elicited from you sent you into a familiar haze, deep and indefensible. Every movement, every sound from him made you feel greedy, always wanting just a little more.
The way he pounded into your smaller frame rattled the wooden door you were leaning on.
“Anthony! They are going to hear!” You squealed in a whisper back to him.
“Let them” He panted, “If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I’m fucking my future wife” Anthony’s hand found its way into your hair, pulling your back sharply for a profound, wet kiss. Anthonys fingers sunk into the flesh of your hip, painfully pleasant as his nails clambered for an anchor. Your body arched back involuntarily, Anthony powering through fast, harsh thrusts as he found his inevitable end, placing sloppy kisses on your shoulder as he slowly finished moving inside of you.
You both leaned on the door in exhaustion, bodies heaving in unison.
Anthony placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, stepping backwards and rebuttoning his breeches, fixing your dress behind you. You turned to face him slowly, knowing he could very well go back on every word he had said not moments before.
The softest smile enriched his face, his eyes lit in such a way that you had never seen them. His arm dashed out, pulling you into a grinning embrace, smooching dear kisses upon your lips.
“Loving you causes me delirium, y/n” He nipped at your nose, your foreheads planted together, eyes closed in tranquility.
As you stood, the doorknob gently turned and Violet Bridgerton slid her head through the gap, assumingly checking on the both of you; you had been in here for a little while longer than societally acceptable for two young single people.
Her hand flew over her heart, “Oh thank God!” She exclaimed, smiling ear to ear, a sense of pride glistened in her eyes.
“I cannot wait to write Daphne” The viscountess cheered quietly, finding it hard to contain her excitement. “I knew that you would find each other” She chuffed, slipping out, closing the door. Your foreheads knocked together again, never having a minutes peace in such a large family – you stood there a moment longer, relishing such a long awaited and monumental confession of your love.
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Here you can find all chapters to GONE WITH THE SIN. COMPLETED!
Miranda 'Randi' Morrow was finally living her dream after getting her dream job in Seattleᅳ even though she had to give up a lot and leave behind for her dream, including the Tacoma Killer, with whom she had been in a relationship for three years. Part of her had always regretted not fighting harder for her relationship, but on the other hand she had now what she had always wantedᅳ although she wasn't sure if it was still her dream or if her priorities had changed during her time with Happy. When her brother called in a lockdown, however, she realized sooner than she liked how much she regretted letting go of what had been most important to her. Besides her dream job, her old love being back in her life and a new rival, Randi had to decide what she ultimately wanted.
·.·.·༄ 𝑾𝑬𝑳𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑮𝑶𝑵𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑰𝑵!
click on keep reading to see the cast, other information and all the chapters at the end of this post!
want to get tagged in the chapters? Let me know in the comments! 🤎
Please point me towards full SOA fics, I beg 😫. I MISS them and the Fandom.
I would love to!
These are just some of my fave stories( its so hard to choose cause i love them all) from each of these lovely writers in no particular order! I highly recommend checking out each of their masterlists! Some also have stories they are currently working on that are just as great as the completed pieces! Side note if I may suggest checking out the Mayans Fics/Fandom cause there is amazing writers and stories there too!
His Anchor-by @darqchilddaydreamz . Her Hoodie series is also amazing!
Stay Put and Shooting Stars by @drabbles-mc
Flower Crowns by @mysticalmallard
The Prospect of Affection and Different Kind of Knight by @withmyteeth
The Canvas Series and Worship At Your Alter by @bullet-prooflove
Love Me Like You Do by @mischiefnevermanaged89-blog
Marked and Love In the Rain by @etclouie
Skin and Bones by @samcrosfaith
Face the Consquences by @dallianceangel
The Flannel Stays On by @persephone411
What Lovers Do by @puffins-muffins
Under His Kutte and Flat to Filled by @laurfilijames
Chalk Drawings and Charming Life by @garbinge
Sundress by @violentdelightsandviolentends
My Dove by @kdogreads
Haunted by @juancarlos-ortiz
Bad Girlfriend and Rekindle by @marvelous-slut
Kuttes and Bruises by @secretlysamcro
Too Drunk To Fuck by @mystra-midnight
Your Mine by @cregansgf
Cooling Down by @little-horror-smut
Riding Home for Christmas by @berberriescorner
All Eyes on You by @rayslittlekitten
The Know How by @spaghettificationandpretzels
I hope this helps! These were all my brain could think of at the moment!
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Request anon here! I would be honored if you were to make it a part of the young rio first love universe as a flash forward 🤩 I feel I might be part of the few who loved that fic! You honestly did your thing with that one, as you always do obviamente
ANONS 1st REQUEST
Thanks for the idea I really like the request! Young Rio was cool but I don't think he'd really the Rio we know and love at that age yet, and Rio being Rio is what makes him fun 😉
So, I'll see what I can do with this prompt (🎁 Holiday ghost of Christmas past – A lost love reappears to rekindle romance.) and your previous scenario request. This could be a wildcard winner of the Holiday Game since I think it'll be something people will like. We can do a little early voting her & now. Also, we'll see where it goes since I haven't started writing yet, but I don't plan on anything near as long as FORGIVELESS or even DRINKS.
Y'all know what to do, vote and chime in in my inbox or comments if you have anything else to let me know 💗
Do you all want to secure this idea as a definite for the holiday updates?
Securing the request...
Yes! A flash-forward of "First Love" based on anon's idea and the holiday prompt
No, not feeling it. I'll take a stand alone sometime next year 2025
