#happy soa

Because his face looked like he’d killed people.

Which—okay, technically—

He had.

Everybody knew what Happy was. What he did for SAMCRO. The club’s enforcer. Their attack dog. Quiet violence wrapped in denim and leather and unsettling calm.

You should’ve been scared of him.

Instead, somehow, over the following months, he became the safest thing in your life.

It happened slowly.

Tiny pieces.

Happy wasn’t talkative. He wasn’t charming like Tig or smooth like Chibs. He didn’t flirt. Didn’t tease. Didn’t smile much either, unless it was sharp and brief and gone before anyone else noticed it.

But he noticed things.

He noticed when you were cold and silently draped his flannel over your shoulders before stepping outside to smoke.

He noticed when loud arguments made you tense and would position himself between you and the fight without acknowledging it.

He noticed when one of the croweaters got too mean after too many drinks and stared her down until she shut up.

And he noticed when you stopped sleeping.

“You got shadows under your eyes,” he muttered one night.

You’d looked up from the bar. “That bad, huh?”

His gaze lingered on your face.

“You ain’t sleepin’.”

It wasn’t a question.

You shrugged. “Just bad dreams.”

He nodded once.

Then the next night, without explanation, he handed you a small pocket knife.

You blinked. “Happy…”

“Keep it on you.”

“For what?”

His expression stayed flat.

“For whatever’s got you scared.”

And that—

That nearly broke you.

Because nobody had ever said something like that before.

Not softly.

Not like they cared.

Happy knew something was wrong long before he knew what it was.

You startled too easily.

Never liked yelling. Never liked doors slamming. Sometimes if somebody moved too fast near you, your whole body stiffened before you could stop it.

You hid it well enough that most people didn’t notice.

Happy noticed everything.

But he never pushed. Never cornered you with questions.

If there was one thing Happy understood, it was damage.

So he let you come to him in pieces.

One night after closing, you sat beside him outside the clubhouse while he smoked. Your knees were tucked to your chest, chin resting on them.

Quiet.

Happy was good at quiet.

“You ever hurt somebody?” you asked eventually.

He snorted smoke through his nose.

“Yeah.”

“I mean…” You swallowed. “Not club stuff.”

He glanced at you.

And because it was you, because somewhere along the line this terrifying man had started looking at you like you mattered more than breathing, he answered honestly.

“Before the club?” he said. “Yeah.”

You waited.

“My old man liked hittin’ people smaller than him.”

Your chest tightened.

Happy looked out toward the parking lot.

“One day I got bigger.”

Simple.

Matter-of-fact.

But something ugly moved beneath the words.

“And your mom?” you asked quietly.

His jaw shifted once.

“She stopped flinching after he disappeared.”

You stared at him.

Happy took another drag.

Then, after a moment, “You flinch like she used to.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t look at you while he said it.

Didn’t make you answer. Didn’t ask who hurt you.

But his voice had gone colder than winter.

And you realized something terrifying then.

Happy Lowman was a dangerous man.

But not to you.

Never to you.

Being loved by Happy was strange.

Not because he was bad at it.

Because he loved like a man who didn’t think he deserved to.

There was nothing casual about his affection.

Everything with him carried weight.

If he touched your waist, it grounded him. If he kissed your forehead, it meant he’d been thinking about you all day. If he sat beside you, thigh pressed against yours, it meant he trusted you enough to let his guard down.

And Happy trusted almost nobody.

“You know he stares at you like you hung the moon, right?” Juice told you once.

You laughed. “Happy barely stares at anybody.”

Juice nearly choked on his beer.

“Sweetheart, he stares at you like he’s planning homicide every time another guy talks to you.”

The age difference bothered Happy more than it bothered you.

Forty-nine and twenty-four.

Twenty-five years.

He thought about it constantly.

You didn’t.

Maybe because you saw him differently than everyone else did.

The club saw the killer.

The outlaw.

The man people crossed the street to avoid.

You saw the man who brought you coffee exactly how you liked it without asking. The man who silently fixed the broken lock on your apartment door. The man who checked your gas tank every time he borrowed your truck. The man who woke up snarling from nightmares and softened instantly when he realised you were touching his face.

You loved him so violently sometimes it made your chest ache.

And Happy—

Happy was doomed the second you smiled at him like he was something worth loving back.

The bad day started before sunrise.

A gun deal gone wrong. A Mayan dispute. A prospect screwing up badly enough that Clay nearly put him through a wall.

Three hours of sleep.

Two fights.

One police tail.

And by the time Happy got back to the clubhouse after midnight, he was exhausted, pissed off, and wound so tight he felt like a live wire.

The second he walked into his place, he knew something was wrong.

You were sitting curled on the couch in his shirt, half-asleep with a book in your lap.

Waiting up for him.

His chest tightened immediately.

“Baby,” he muttered.

You blinked awake. “Hey.”

Your voice was soft with sleep.

God.

He loved your voice.

Happy stripped off his kutte and gun automatically, setting both on the table before crossing toward you.

You smiled tiredly when he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“You eat?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

Lie.

You touched his wrist gently.

“You okay?”

“No.”

Honest.

You studied him for a second before standing carefully.

“I'll make coffee,” you said softly. “Fresh pot.”

Happy watched you move around the tiny kitchen.

Bare legs. His shirt hanging off one shoulder. Sleepy eyes.

Home.

Something ugly in his chest loosened a little.

Until his phone rang.

Happy answered immediately, irritation already clawing back up his spine.

“What?”

You glanced over at the sharpness in his voice.

Whatever Chibs said had Happy swearing instantly.

“No, I handled it—”

Pause.

His expression darkened.

“You let him go where?”

Another pause.

Happy pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Jesus Christ.”

You moved carefully around him, setting a mug of coffee down beside the couch.

Quiet.

Gentle.

Trying not to interrupt.

Happy listened another thirty seconds before finally snapping.

“Well maybe if the idiots used their fuckin’ heads for once—”

He cut himself off with a harsh growl, frustration boiling over as he lifted both hands sharply toward his head.

Not toward you.

Never toward you.

Just frustrated movement. Angry energy. Exhaustion.

But you—

You flinched.

Hard.

A sharp recoil backward. Shoulders hunching instinctively. Eyes squeezing shut for half a second.

Like you expected impact.

Like you’d seen raised hands and learned exactly what came after them.

The entire world stopped.

Happy went dead silent.

On the phone, Chibs was still talking.

Happy couldn’t hear a fucking word.

Because you looked terrified of him.

Not emotionally.

Not metaphorically.

Terrified.

His stomach dropped so fast it felt like being shot.

Your eyes opened immediately when you realised what you’d done.

“Happy—”

He hung up on Chibs without a word.

You looked horrified.

“No, no, I didn’t mean—”

“You think I’d hit you?”

His voice sounded wrong.

Rough.

Too quiet.

You froze.

Happy stared at you from across the room like he’d just watched the earth crack open.

“No,” you said quickly.

Too quickly.

His chest caved in.

“Baby.”

You shook your head immediately, panic climbing your face now.

“No, Happy, I know you wouldn’t, I just— it’s reflex, okay? I didn’t mean—”

“You flinched.”

The words sounded devastated.

Not angry.

Devastated.

And somehow that made this worse.

You swallowed hard.

Happy took one careful step toward you.

Then stopped.

Because you looked nervous.

Jesus Christ.

He felt sick.

“There ain’t a universe,” he said hoarsely, “where I put my hands on you.”

“I know.”

“You scared of me?”

“No!”

Instant.

Certain.

But tears were suddenly burning your eyes because you realised he believed it now. Believed he’d hurt you somehow.

Happy looked genuinely wrecked.

You had seen this man stitch bullet wounds without blinking. Seen him smile after breaking someone’s nose. Seen him walk into violence like it was breathing.

But this?

This had shattered him.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” you whispered.

Happy stared at you for a long moment.

Then, slowly, carefully, he lowered himself onto the couch instead of approaching you.

Giving you space.

Like he thought maybe you needed protection from him now.

That hurt worse than anything.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly.

His head snapped up immediately.

“No.”

The force behind the word startled you.

“You don’t apologize for that.”

His jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

“Whoever taught your body to do that— that ain’t on you.”

Silence filled the room.

Heavy.

Breathing hard, you wrapped your arms around yourself.

Happy watched every tiny movement.

“C’mere?” he asked quietly.

Not demanding.

Asking.

Like he’d accept no.

You nearly cried at that alone.

Slowly, you crossed toward him.

Happy stayed perfectly still while you approached, like he was afraid sudden movement would scare you again.

The second you sat beside him, he exhaled shakily.

Then very gently—so gently—you felt his hand settle against your knee.

Not restraining.

Grounding.

“You listen to me,” he said quietly, huis eyes locking onto yours. “I would break my own hands before I ever used ‘em on you.”

Your throat tightened instantly.

Happy looked furious.

Not at you.

At the idea.

At the existence of whoever had made flinching instinctive.

“You understand me?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them.

“Yes.”

“No.” His voice cracked rougher now. “I need you to hear me.”

He shifted closer carefully.

“You are the only good thing I got left some days.”

Your breath caught.

“And if anybody ever hurts you again, I’ll bury ‘em.”

You laughed weakly through tears. “Happy—”

“I mean it.”

Oh, you knew he did.

That was the thing.

Happy didn’t say things he didn’t mean.

Ever.

He lifted one hand slowly.

Paused.

Waited.

You understood immediately.

He was making sure you were okay with him touching you.

Your chest nearly split open.

You nodded once.

Only then did he touch your face.

His palm was warm and rough against your cheek.

“So pretty,” he murmured sadly. “Shouldn’t look scared around me.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“You were.”

Your eyes filled again.

Happy closed his eyes briefly like the sight physically hurt him.

Then he pulled you carefully into his lap.

Not rushed.

Not possessive.

Protective.

You curled into him automatically, forehead against his neck.

Happy held you like something precious.

Fragile.

Like he was terrified you’d disappear.

“You know what the worst part is?” he muttered eventually.

“What?”

“That for one second…” He swallowed hard. “For one second I saw you look at me like everybody else does.”

Your heart broke clean in half.

You pulled back immediately.

“Happy Lowman.” His eyes met yours. “You are the safest person I have ever known.”

Something raw crossed his face.

“You hear me?” you whispered fiercely. “You’ve never scared me. Not once.”

His hand tightened slightly on your waist.

“You flinched.”

“Because somebody else taught me to.”

Silence.

Then finally, “Not you.”

Happy stared at you for a very long time.

Like he was trying to believe it.

Then his forehead dropped against yours.

And for the first time since you’d known him—

Happy looked fragile.

“You deserve better than this life,” he whispered.

You smiled sadly.

“Too bad,” you murmured. “I’m in love with you.”

His eyes closed immediately.

Like the words hit somewhere deep.

Dangerous.

Permanent.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t rough.

Wasn’t hungry.

It felt reverent.

Careful hands cradling your jaw.

Slow mouths and whispered breathing.

Like he was trying to love every bruise nobody else could see.

And when you curled against his chest afterward while the room finally went quiet around you, Happy held you through the night without sleeping once.

Just in case you woke up scared.

Just in case you needed reminding.

That nobody would ever hurt you again.

She sat at the bar, glass untouched, her hands white-knuckled around it. Every slam of the door, every burst of laughter made her flinch.

Happy stood close. He hadn’t said much all day, but his silence was heavy — the kind that made even his own brothers give him space. He’d barely taken his eyes off her, always within arm’s reach, a constant shadow.

The tension snapped when the front door slammed open.

Three men stepped inside. Two Mayans hung back near the door, hands hovering close to their belts, but the one in front strutted in with a sneer like he owned the place.

Her breath hitched. Her stomach dropped.

“Hiding here?” he drawled, his eyes locked on her. “You think these gringos can keep you from me?”

She shrank back on the stool, fingers clutching the glass, but Happy was already moving.

He stepped forward, body a wall, the kutte stretching across his shoulders as he squared himself in front of her. The Mayan’s smirk faltered.

“Well, well,” the man spat, recognition flashing. “Lowman. Didn’t know you were babysitting strays.”

Happy’s expression didn’t shift. His voice came out low, steady, lethal. “She’s not yours.”

“She stole from me,” the Mayan snapped. “She belongs to me until I say otherwise.”

Happy’s eyes darkened. His voice cut sharp. “She belongs to me. And you’re still breathing by my mercy.”

The Mayan barked a laugh, trying to cover the tremor in his voice. “You gonna start a war over some bitch? Over her?”

Happy didn’t blink. “You started it when you laid hands on her.”

The words hadn’t even settled before Happy moved. One second he was still, the next his fist smashed into the man’s face with a crack that echoed off the walls.

The Mayan hit the ground hard, groaning, blood already pouring from his nose. His friends went for their cuts, but SAMCRO was faster. Chairs scraped, boots thundered, and in seconds the doorway was blocked — Chibs, Tig, and Juice forming a wall, weapons glinting in their hands.

“You make one move,” Chibs growled, brogue sharp as steel, “an’ you’re not walkin’ outta here.”

The two froze, hands half-raised, caught between loyalty and self-preservation.

Happy bent low, hauling the Mayan up by his collar. Blood smeared his knuckles, but his grip didn’t falter. His face was calm, terrifyingly calm.

“You ever touch her again,” he said, voice low enough that the room had to strain to hear. “You even look at her again — I’ll make sure they never find all your pieces.”

The Mayan spat blood, trying for bravado, but the fear in his eyes betrayed him. “She’s mine,” he rasped.

Happy slammed him back into the ground so hard the breath rushed from his lungs, his skull connecting with the hard wood beneath him. Then he straightened, adjusting his kutte like nothing had happened. “Get him out,” he ordered, voice flat.

The two Mayans hesitated — until Tig stepped forward, grinning wild with a knife in his hand. “You heard the man. Take out the trash.”

They scrambled to drag their brother out the door, the blood trail marking every step. The rumble of their engines faded fast into the night.

---

The silence that followed was heavy, electric.

She hadn’t moved from the bar, eyes wide, chest heaving. Her hands shook so hard the glass rattled against the wood.

Happy turned, his boots loud in the hush, and crossed the distance in three strides. He slid the glass from her hands before it shattered and set it aside. Then his palm pressed firm against her back, grounding her.

“Mouse,” he murmured, voice gentler now, for her alone. “It’s done. He won’t touch you again.”

Her throat worked, but no sound came. Then her shoulders crumpled, and she pressed her face into the cool leather of his kutte. A sob tore out, muffled, raw.

Happy didn’t flinch. Didn’t shush her, didn’t try to stop it. He just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and let her cry, his hand moving in slow, steady circles against her back.

When her sobs finally eased, hiccuping into silence, his chin dipped close to her ear.

“You’re mine now,” he said quietly. “That means nobody lays a hand on you again. Nobody. Not while I’m breathing.”

Her fingers curled into the leather, clutching it like a lifeline. She didn’t trust her voice, but she nodded, small and certain.

Happy’s hand lingered at her back, steady, immovable. Publicly, he was stone and violence. Privately, he was the only safe place she’d ever known.

—

The bar slowly came back to life after the Mayans were gone, but only on the surface. Laughter rang false, drinks poured heavier. When Happy finally led her down the hall, his hand steady at her back, the room grew quieter still.

As the door clicked shut behind them, the brothers exchanged looks.

“This ain’t over,” Jax said flatly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Mayans don’t take a beating like that and just walk away.”

Chibs nodded, his eyes hard. “Aye. Boy’ll be runnin’ his mouth, paintin’ Hap as the villain. They’ll want blood for it.”

Tig leaned on the bar, still grinning, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Question is, how much are they willing to spill over one little Mouse?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jax replied, his voice steel. “Happy’s made his choice. She’s under his protection now. Which means she’s under ours too.”

Silence fell, heavy and inevitable. Every man there knew — the real fight hadn’t even started yet.

---

Behind the closed door of his room, the world felt different.

Happy sat on the edge of the bed, boots off, kutte draped over the chair. She stood in his t-shirt, hem brushing her thighs, the soft lamplight making the bruises on her skin look even starker.

When she stepped closer, her hands on his shoulders as she trained kisses along his neck, he caught her wrists gently. “You don’t have to do that.”

She frowned. “Do what?”

“Sleep with me,” he said simply. “Not ‘cause I helped. Not ‘cause you think you owe me.”

Her chest tightened, and she shook her head. “That’s not why. It’s because I want you. I always did.”

Happy’s eyes searched hers, his stillness breaking just enough to show the storm underneath. He let go of her wrists, his hands sliding slowly up her arms. “Say it again.”

“I want you,” she whispered.

That was all it took.

The kiss started soft—almost fragile—until Happy crushed his mouth to hers and swallowed the sound she made. His hands locked on her waist, dragging her close like he couldn’t stand the space. She climbed onto his lap, straddling the thick press of his thighs, grinding against him as her fingers tore at his shirt.

Happy kissed like he fought—rough, relentless, hungry. His tongue pushed past her lips, teeth scraping her bottom lip until she whimpered. His hands slid up her t-shirt, palms wide and possessive, thumbs stroking over her hip bones like he was marking territory. Every touch said mine long before the word left his mouth.

When she yanked the shirt over her head, his breath hitched, eyes dark and fixed on her bare skin. Not just lust—something hotter, deeper, dangerous. His hands skimmed up her ribs, calloused palms catching on sensitive skin, mapping her like he had all fucking night to memorize every inch.

He rasped, voice breaking. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful.”

Her mouth crashed back onto his, harder this time, teeth and tongue. He growled, flipping her onto her back, his weight pinning her to the mattress. His shirt and jeans hit the floor, leaving tattoos, scars, and raw muscle pressed against her. His mouth dragged down her throat, biting bruises into her skin before soothing them with slow licks that only left her more desperate.

His hand slid between her thighs, fingers stroking, teasing until she gasped and writhed. Still, he paused, waiting for her pull, her nod, her silent yes. Only then did he push into her, slow and steady until she broke with a moan, nails clawing his shoulders.

Happy’s forehead pressed to hers, his breath hot and ragged. “Mine,” he growled, low and certain. “You hear me? Always mine.”

He started slow, grinding deep, making her feel every inch, but his control shredded quick. Each thrust hit harder, dragging her body into the mattress. Her nails raked over scars and ink, gripping him like she couldn’t survive without it. His hands clamped her hips, dragging her onto him, hard enough to bruise.

He kissed her like a starving man, devouring, biting, claiming her mouth while he claimed her body. Every thrust was a claim, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, his groan vibrating against her lips.

The air was thick with leather, sweat, smoke—the kutte tossed over the chair watching like a ghost. Shadows danced over his tattoos as his body worked above hers, the scars on his chest and shoulders rough beneath her fingers. Every push of his hips sent her higher, breaking her into breathless cries he silenced with his mouth.

“Mine,” he rasped against her ear, voice torn and raw. His hand caught her wrists, pinning them to the mattress, his body caging hers. Strength and gentleness collided in the way he held her down and still fucked her slow and deep, like he was carving his name into her from the inside out.

Her body broke first, tightening around him as the climax ripped through her. She sobbed his name into his mouth as he drove her through it, relentless. He followed with a guttural groan, thrusting deep, grinding until he emptied himself inside her, shaking with the force of it.

When it ebbed, he stayed buried in her, heavy on top but never crushing, his breath ragged against her skin. He kissed her hairline, words rough and reverent.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, quieter now, but no less lethal. “Nobody touches you. Not while I’m breathing.”

And she knew it wasn’t just sex—it was a brand, a vow, and he’d kill anyone who tried to take it from him.

Happy pulled the blanket over them, keeping her tucked against him, And for the first time in longer than she could remember, she fell asleep safe.

Inside the comfort of the dimly lit room, clinging to each other like a PROMISE, the world felt safer.

Outside the Mayans were already plotting and the consequences would be deadly.

Happy pulled his cut on roughly, throwing open the door of his dorm and storming out. "Are you fucking kidding me?" the scorned croweater called after him as she hastily pulled her clothes back on. Happy ignored her, glowering at the Prospect behind the bar and shoving him out of the way before grabbing a glass and pouring himself a shot. Throwing it back he pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened his contacts. His thumb hovered over your number. This was not the first time he had been unable to perform with a croweater in his bed. At least not the first time since he had met you. No matter how hard he tried - even going as far as trying to close his eyes and imagine it was you underneath him - he couldn’t do it. You had officially ruined anyone else for him and he was pissed. It wasn't meant to be this way. You weren't meant to do this to him. To affect him like this. He stalked out of the club house, jabbing his thumb against his phone roughly and calling your number.

It took several rings, and Happy was sure it was going to go to voicemail, before you picked up. "Hey honey," you crooned down the phone. Just the sound of your sweet voice had a zing shooting up Happy's spine, his skin prickling with desire. It was like your mere presence, even through a phone, was a shot of espresso that woke up every one of his nerve endings. He had never felt so vulnerable. "You up?" he asked gruffly. He heard you sigh through the receiver. "Really Hap?" you asked, your tone teasing. "Four nights in a row, you sure you wanna go there?" Happy grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He knew why you were teasing - when you had started sleeping together Happy had made it clear that this was extremely casual. "Don't expect me to be here every night," he had specifically said. You knew he would probably still be sleeping with whichever croweater landed in his bed on the nights he wasn't with you, but you had never complained. Happy liked that.

But now… now he wasn't so sure casual was what he wanted. And the idea of you sleeping with anyone else - which you certainly had the right to - made him want to cave somebody's skull in. He wouldn't though. He was pretty sure that wouldn't win him any favours with you. "You up or not?" he repeated, starting to grow antsy. He was having trouble physically staying away from you, couldn't even go an hour without thinking about you. Your smell, your taste, the feel of your skin under his fingertips, the way you said his name, how you laughed at the things he said because you actually found them funny and not just because you were trying to gain something from him. Somehow in the short span of your casual trysts you had wormed your way beneath his skin, the very being of you curling around his heart and squeezing it tightly. It scared the fuck out of him but it was something he couldn't deny. Happy didn't know how to go about this, but surely just being with you was a start. Your light chuckle came through the phone. "Come over."

You smiled as you heard his bike pull into his spot out the front of your house. His spot. You rolled your eyes at yourself. You knew you were getting attached the moment things had begun with Happy. But you were quite proud of how you had handled him being so adamant about this being casual. Of course he wanted to keep things casual - surely no man in his position, a bad boy MC member surrounded by all the women he could get his hands on up and down the west coast, would want to be tied down to just one person. It hurt, but you found it easy to squash those feelings. It surprised you though, the frequencies of Happy's visits these past few weeks. His presence in your life had gone from once or twice a week, to every second night to now 4 nights in a row. Maybe there was a sweetbutt shortage? He pushed the door open and paused when he saw you standing close by waiting for him. "Should be keeping this locked," he said, motioning to your door.

You smiled softly and walked over to him, leaning past him to push the door closed and lock it. "Happy?" you asked, referring to the lock now being in use. "I'm always Happy," he deadpanned. You let out a laugh and Happy felt his heart squeeze in his chest. You stopped laughing when you noticed how intensely he was staring at you. Happy was already a very intense guy but something seemed off with him. "You ok?" you asked, taking a tentative step towards him. "You really can't get enough of me huh?" you asked, testing to see if teasing him would make him relax a little. Happy moved quickly, gripping your jaw almost painfully as he pressed his mouth to yours. You gasped in surprise and he pushed his tongue into your mouth, pulling a moan from you as you gripped his t-shirt under his cut. You grasped the leather, pushing it down off his shoulders before breaking the kiss and tugging at his shirt, helping him pull it over his head.

You grasped at the skin of his torso, mapping over the various ink he had. You skimmed quicker over the smiley faces, aware of what they represented. Now was not the time to think about what his hands, which were gripping onto your jaw and the side of your neck, were capable of. Happy leaned in, kissing the side of your neck roughly, smiling as you shivered against him. "'Course I can't get enough of you," he admitted, his brain trying to catch up as his traitorous mouth took over. "What did you do to me huh?" he asked, pulling back and pressing his forehead against yours. "Can't get you out of my head. Can't even get my dick up for anyone else. Can't sleep, even if I do you're in my fucking dreams anyway," he panted out. Your heart was pounding in your chest at his words, but you tried to school your face, smirking and your eyes hooded heavily. Happy growled and brought his lips to yours again, kissing you roughly and grunting with appreciation when you gave as good as you got. He walked you backwards, having been in your house more than enough to know the layout.

He got as far as the loungeroom and decided this was good enough. He roughly tugged your shirt off of you, his hands immediately pawing at the bra you were wearing, his lips and teeth trailing harsh kissed down towards your breasts. You moaned, your hands grasping at his shoulders. None too gently he pushed you down onto the lounge, falling to his knees in front of you and pulling you by your hips towards the edge of the cushion. He leant forward, pressing a kiss to the skin of your stomach before gripping the waistband of your pants and panties and pulling them down your legs. He gripped the back of your thighs and pushed them back toward you, spreading you lewdly. You whined and wriggled under his grasp, but he only pressed you back farther, the burn in your hips toeing the line between pain and pleasure at the filthiness of it all. Happy groaned as he took you in, the slickness that had begun to gather at your entrance, the way you spread out so pretty for him.

He knelt forward, his mouth landing on your pussy so suddenly you yelped and jumped in your seat. Happy continued to hold you down, running his tongue up and down the centre of you, dipping his tongue in and out of your hole at times, his mouth watering at the taste of you. He lapped and moaned, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head as he feasted, pulling whimpers and moans from you as the shuddered beneath him. He placed his lips over your clit and sucked harshly, making you arch and shriek under him, your hands falling to cover your own mouth in surprise at your outburst. Happy looked up at you and laughed while keeping his mouth on you, the vibrations making your toes curl. "Happy," you whined, trying to sit up and grasp his head. "Want you to fuck me," you breathed out shakily. Happy pulled back, this sight of his lips covered in his spit and your slick making your pussy clench. He harshly smacked your thigh. "You're gonna let me enjoy eating your pretty pussy and then," he smacked you again, making you gasp. "I might fuck you." Who was he kidding. There was no way he wasn't fucking you tonight.

He resumed his measures, rolling his tongue through your folds, before swiping it over your clit repeatedly. His fingers were suddenly pushing at your entrance and you felt your stomach clench as they slipped inside of you. Clenching your teeth, your head flopped back and your legs began to shake. Happy didn’t let up and suddenly, you were crying out, unable to stop as your orgasmed tremored through you. Happy pulled away only when you began to jerk under him, oversensitive. He stepped back up onto his feet and began to unbuckle his belt, smirking at the spent mess that was you. He roughly pushed his jeans and boxers down, gripping himself and passing his hand over in a couple of pumps. Suddenly, your eyes were open entirely and you slipped onto the floor on your knees in front of him. You pulled your bra off before grasping the shaft of his cock and pulling the head straight into your mouth, rolling your tongue over the slit. Happy grunted in surprised, gripping the back of your head.

You sucked him in greedily, pumping him in and out of your mouth as spit began to pool. Happy breathed heavily, his nostrils flaring as he met your stare. He wasn't the loudest guy in bed but you had come to learn how to tell he was enjoying himself. His grip tightened on your head and suddenly he was pulling himself out of your mouth. You whined and made to reach for him but he stepped around you and took a seat on the lounge. "Ride me," was all he said, reaching his hands out to you. You stood and walked over to him, straddling over his thighs has he gripped your waist. Reaching under you, you grasped his cock in your hand and moved his tip to your entrance. You lowered yourself slowly onto him, your pussy gripping as he slid in. Happy sighed and rested his forehead against your collarbone. Slowly you began to move, whimpering as his cock nudged against that sweet spot, nestled so perfectly against your walls. You moved leisurely, switching your direction and movements, gasping and moaning at the feeling of him inside of you.

Happy's hands were gripping your skin so tightly you knew there would be a bit of bruising. He was grunting softly and you could tell he was getting impatient. You sped up your motions only a little, smirking when Happy looked up at you, his jaws clenched and irritation in his eyes. "Don't be a fucking tease," he ground out, trying to pull you up and down on him quicker. You held your ground, grasping the side of his face as you planted your lips on his. Happy bit down on your bottom lip, making you gasp and pull away, your hips stuttering long enough for him to take control. He pulled you off of him, somehow spinning you both quickly off the lounge. Suddenly you were pushed onto your knees, facing the back of the lounge, your arms rested against the backrest. Happy gripped your hips roughly from behind you, his thumbs spreading your ass cheeks apart, his dick pushing its way back into the warm confinement of your pussy. You shuddered and moaned as he pushed in and out of you rapidly, leaning over you to bite down on the junction of your neck and shoulder.

His hand slipped under you, pressing his fingers against your clit and rolling over it as he fucked you harshly. Your eyes started to roll back, your moans becoming broken and your stomach coiled tighter and tighter. "Gonna let me cum in you tonight," Happy asked, his own voice strained. "Gonna let me fill you up like a good girl?" His hips snapped against yours, your skin almost feeling raw. You nodded dumbly, words no longer achievable. Happy's chest rumbled in approval, and he continued to rub light circles over your clit. The coil in your stomach snapped and you cried out, your second orgasm slamming into you so suddenly your arms collapsed beneath you and your face pushed into the lounge as Happy continued to pound in and out of you. He gripped your hair, pulling your head up as he pushed harshly in and out one, two, three more times before stopping with his cock filling you up entirely, groaning as he came. He pulled himself out of you, watching as his spend pooled at your hole, a proud smirk on his face.

Hes been watching you for twenty minutes now and you’re still not finished. Hell, you hadn’t even started on your hair yet and that was a whole other world of over complication. You were currently working on a thick swathe of black eyeliner that came to a sharp point at the outside corner of your eye and the concentration on your face is adorable. Occasionally you’d stop and tilt your head as you examine your work with a critical eye then begin again, fixing some imperceptible imperfection that will be running down your face in a few hours anyway.

Forty minutes in and you release your hair from the comically large rollers and begin to style your hair. Again, you didn’t need to. A messy bun, piled haphazardly on your head with wispy tendrils framing your face was his favorite but of course you would rather die than be seen like that. Especially not in front of the club girls. Fuck no, he smiles. You needn’t worry about them, they couldn’t ever compare to you.

An hour has gone by and still transfixed; he watches you stand and drop your robe. His cock twitching to life in his jeans when you walk over to the bed, tits bouncing and hips swaying as you approach. His posture changes as you arrive, he sits up a little straighter, caressing your hip as you pass by and begin to dress in the clothes you had set out and judging from your outfit; skinny jeans and a cropped tank, tonight was gonna get messy.

“Can you fasten this for me, Babe?” Her voice brings him gently from his reverie and he stands and takes the silver chain from your hands, the electricity of your touch still rushes straight to his cock. It's why you still have a hold on him. He fastens the cool metal around your throat and revels in the sense of pride that puffs out his chest when he sees his name on the pendant. You’re his.