#opie

As if sensing his attention, your eyes fluttered open, meeting his with immediate warmth and recognition. No surprise, no questioning why he was watching you sleep—just acceptance and something that looked like joy at finding him there.

"Morning," you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," he replied, unable to stop himself from reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

You smiled at the gesture, shifting closer until your head rested against his chest. The movement was natural, unguarded, and he wrapped his arms around you instinctively, pulling you into the warmth of his body. You fit perfectly there, your smaller frame tucking against him like you were made for this exact position.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger against your skin while breathing in the scent of your shampoo mixed with something uniquely you. The gesture felt right in a way that went beyond physical comfort—it felt like coming home.

"Dad! Dad! Wake up!" The sound of small feet thundering down the hallway preceded Kenny and Ellie's arrival by mere seconds.

The bedroom door burst open, and suddenly the bed was under siege by two energetic children who launched themselves at both you and their father with the absolute certainty that they would be caught and welcomed. Opie rolled onto his back with exaggerated effort, making room for both kids while keeping one arm firmly around you.

"It's Saturday!" Ellie announced unnecessarily, bouncing slightly on the mattress. "Can we make pancakes?"

"With chocolate chips?" Kenny added hopefully, his face still soft with the remnants of sleep but his eyes bright with anticipation.

You laughed, the sound warm and genuine, and Opie felt his heart expand with something that felt too big for his chest to contain. "Yea Dude, I think we can manage pancakes," you said, reaching out to ruffle Kenny's hair.

This was perfect. This moment, with his children happy and his—his what? His girlfriend? His partner? The woman he was falling more deeply for with every day?—wrapped in his arms, the morning stretching ahead with nothing but simple domestic joy...

The alarm shattered the dream like glass, dragging Opie back to consciousness with jarring abruptness. He jolted awake in his empty bed, the other side cold and untouched, the morning light less golden than it had seemed moments ago.

For a few disoriented seconds, he lay there trying to hold onto the fragments of the dream, to recapture the feeling of contentment and rightness that had seemed so real. But reality was already reasserting itself—the weight of Abel's kidnapping, Jax's barely contained desperation, and the knowledge that in a few days they'd be leaving for Belfast.

And underneath all of that, the conversation he'd been putting off for days now. Jax's words echoed in his memory "You can't build something real on a foundation of secrets."

The sounds of movement in the kitchen told Opie that you were already managing the morning routine with your usual quiet efficiency. He lay in bed for another moment, trying to gather the energy to face the day and the difficult conversation that loomed ahead—though not the conversation about Kenny's birthday party, which you'd already meticulously planned for this coming Saturday, just two days before his actual birthday on Monday.

When he finally made his way to the kitchen, he found you at the stove making breakfast while simultaneously helping Ellie locate her missing homework folder and reminding Kenny that yes, he did indeed need to wear socks to school.

The scene was so achingly normal, so perfectly domestic, that it made his chest tight with emotions he couldn't name. This was what he'd been dreaming about—not some fantasy future, but the reality you'd already built together through months of shared mornings and collaborative child wrangling.

"Morning," you said, glancing over your shoulder with a smile that made something warm unfold in his chest. "Coffee's ready."

"You're a lifesaver," he said, moving to pour himself a cup while resisting the urge to wrap his arms around your waist. Not in front of the kids—that was what you'd both agreed on as you'd carefully navigated the shift from professional relationship to something more.

But the wanting was there, constant and insistent, every time you moved through his kitchen like you belonged there.

"Dad!" Kenny's voice pulled his attention from admiring the way your jeans fit as you reached for the cabinet. "My birthday is in two days!"

"Hmm," Opie said, settling into his usual chair and accepting the plate of scrambled eggs and toast you set in front of him. "Seven years old. That's a big deal."

"It is," Kenny agreed seriously, his expression taking on the thoughtful quality that meant he was working up to something. "I was thinking... maybe I could have a party this year?"

Opie caught your eye over Kenny's head, seeing the barely suppressed amusement there. His son had no idea that you'd already spent the last couple days coordinating with the pizza place in Lodi, confirming RSVPs from his school friends, and arranging for Piney and some of the club members to attend.

"A party?" Opie said, playing along. "I dunno bud, What kind of party were you thinking?"

"Maybe we could have pizza ?" Kenny suggested, clearly trying to sound casual about what was obviously a well-rehearsed pitch. "And like a big cake."

"That sounds reasonable," you said, setting a glass of apple juice in front of him while maintaining your innocent expression. "Who would you want to invite?"

"Well, Tommy and maybe Marcus from school," Kenny said, warming to his topic now that the adults in his life seemed receptive. "And maybe Grandpa Piney if he wants to come, and some of the Dad's friends if they're not busy."

"We can probably make that happen," Opie said, reaching over to ruffle his son's hair while fighting back a smile at Kenny's obvious delight.

As Kenny launched into an enthusiastic description of the why pizza was the best thing ever, complete with detailed specifications about the benefits of cheesey goodness, Opie found himself watching you interact with his children. The way you asked follow-up questions that made Kenny feel heard, the way you intercepted Ellie's attempt to put syrup on her scrambled eggs with gentle redirection—every gesture spoke of genuine care that went beyond professional obligation.

You caught him staring and raised an eyebrow in silent question, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. He shook his head slightly, not trusting himself to explain what he was thinking in front of the kids.

Later, he promised himself. Later he would find the words to tell you about Belfast, about why he had to leave just days after Kenny's birthday despite finally having something worth staying for.

The day progressed with the familiar rhythm of school drop-offs and household tasks, but there was an undercurrent of tension that Opie couldn't quite shake. Every time he looked at you—folding laundry at the kitchen table, reorganizing the pantry with characteristic efficiency, simply existing in his space—he was reminded of the conversation he needed to have.

But he kept finding excuses to delay. The club meeting that needed his attention. The phone call from Jax that required immediate discussion. The broken cabinet hinge that suddenly seemed urgent to fix.

You moved around him with patient understanding, seeming to sense that something was weighing on him but not pushing for explanations. It was one of the things he loved about you—the way you gave people space to process their emotions without making them feel abandoned.

When you passed him in the hallway carrying a basket of clean towels, he couldn't resist reaching out to catch your waist, pulling you gently against him. You set the basket down immediately, turning in his arms with a knowing smile.

"Distracting me again Ope?" you asked, your voice carrying that teasing quality that had become more common as your relationship had evolved from careful formality to genuine intimacy.

"Can't a man appreciate the woman in his life?" he countered, his hands settling comfortably on your hips as he looked down at you.

"The woman in his life?" you repeated, your smile widening. "That's rather smooth, Winston."

"I have my moments," he said, and before he could overthink it, he bent down to press a kiss to your forehead—the same gesture from his dream, but grounded in reality this time.

You made a soft sound of both contentment and perhaps surprise, leaning into him in a way that suggested you were craving this contact as much as he was. "I have to finish this, kids will be home in three hours," you murmured against his chest. "And you have that thing at the clubhouse in two."

"I know," he said, but he didn't let go, not yet. "Just needed a minute."

"Rough day?" you asked, your hands sliding up to rest against his shoulders.

"Something like that," he admitted, unable to fully voice the turmoil churning beneath his carefully maintained exterior.

You were quiet for a moment, just holding him, and the simple comfort of your presence was almost enough to make him forget about Belfast and kidnapped babies and the dangerous mission that loomed on the horizon.

"Whatever it is," you said finally, "We can talk about it."

The casual certainty in your voice, made his heart clench with something that might have been hope or might have been dread. Because what if you didn't want to figure it out together once you knew what "it" actually entailed?

By the time evening rolled around and both kids were tucked into bed with stories read and nightlights turned on, Opie found you at the kitchen table with your notebook, reviewing the final details for Kenny's surprise party on Saturday.

Or at least, he thought both kids were tucked in until he heard the soft patter of small feet in the hallway.

"I thought you were asleep, Ellie." Opie said as his daughter appeared in the doorway, her favorite stuffed rabbit clutched to her chest.

"I forgot to ask something," Ellie said seriously, padding over to where you sat at the table. "Is Juice coming to Kenny's party?"

You exchanged an amused glance with Opie before answering. "He said he's planning to be there, sweetie. Why?"

"Because Juice is so cool," Ellie said, her eight-year-old enthusiasm making her bounce slightly on her toes. "He knows everything and he has those really awesome tattoos and he always tells the best jokes. And he said at that big sleepover that he'd show me how to do a wheelie on a bike when I'm older, which is going to be so cool."

"A wheelie, huh?" Opie said, making a mental note to have words with Juice about making promises to his daughter that involved the potential of bodily harm.

"And his motorcycle is so shiny," Ellie continued, clearly on a roll now. "And one time he brought me a chocolate bar just because. He's basically the coolest person ever."

The dreamy quality in his daughter's voice made Opie's eye twitch slightly, but you were clearly trying not to laugh at Ellie's enthusiastic recitation of Juice's many virtues.

"That's very nice, honey," you said gently. "But it's time for bed now. We have a big day on Saturday and you need your rest."

"Okay," Ellie agreed, apparently satisfied now that she'd confirmed Juice's attendance. "Night, Dad. Night!"

She threw her arms around Opie's neck for a quick hug, then did the same to you before scampering back down the hallway to her room.

After you'd both listened for the sound of her bedroom door closing and the creak of her bed as she climbed back in, you turned to Opie with barely suppressed amusement dancing in your eyes.

"Well," you said, your lips twitching with the effort of holding back a smile. "That was adorable. I think someone has her first case of hero worship."

"Think we should warn him?" Opie asked.

"And ruin his look of confusion when she follows him around all afternoon?" you said, with a grin. "Absolutely not. It'll be hilarious."

Opie groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "Why did it have to be Juice? Out of all the guys in the club, why did my daughter have to develop a crush on Juice?"

"Because he's nice to her and pays attention to her," you said, your attempt at seriousness undermined by the laughter in your voice. "And because he has 'cool tattoos' and apparently gives her chocolate."

"I'm going to kill him," Opie muttered.

"She's eight," you reminded him, finally giving in to your laughter. "It's innocent. She probably thinks he's like a character from one of her cartoons—cool and fun and superhero-adjacent."

"I know it's innocent," Opie said, lifting his head to look at you. "But she's my little girl. She's not supposed to notice anyone is cool until she's at least thirty."

"Thirty?" you repeated, still grinning. "That seems a bit excessive."

"Forty, then," he amended. "And by then Juice will be old and less likely to teach her dangerous motorcycle tricks."

You shook your head affectionately, returning your attention to your party planning notes even as your smile lingered. "For what it's worth, I think it's sweet. She clearly feels safe around your brothers, which means you've done a good job making sure she knows they're family."

The observation was accurate but did nothing to ease Opie's discomfort with the image of his daughter gazing adoringly at one of his brothers. "I'm still having words with him about the wheelie thing."

"Probably for the best," you agreed diplomatically. "Now, back to the party planning before we get distracted again..."

"Okay, so I confirmed with the pizza place this afternoon," you said, consulting your notes with the careful attention you gave to everything. "We have the party room reserved from one to four, which should give the kids plenty of time to eat and play without anyone getting too overstimulated."

You were sitting with your hair pulled back, looking so perfectly domestic and settled into his life that it made his chest ache. The party planning had consumed most of your free time, coordinating schedules and dietary restrictions and making sure Kenny's favorite kind of pizza would be available.

"Sounds good," Opie said, settling into the chair across from you even though what he really wanted was to pull you into his lap and stop pretending that the careful distance you maintained was anything other than torture.

"Alice confirmed that her and Tommy are coming." you continued, checking items off your list. "And Piney said he wouldn't miss it for the world. He's even talking about bringing that remote control car he's been working on as a gift."

The way you said "Piney" with such casual familiarity, the way you'd seamlessly integrated yourself into not just his life but his extended family, made Opie's heart clench with feelings he was trying very hard not to examine too closely. Not yet. Not when everything felt so precarious.

"What about the club guys?" he asked, though he already knew you'd been coordinating with Gemma about who would be available.

"Chibs said he'll be there, and Juice is bringing some kind of elaborate Lego set that he swears Ken will love," you said, your smile soft with affection for the club members who'd become part of your extended circle.

"Jax said he, Tara and Abel would try to make it." You said quietly.

You didnt know that Jax's son was missing, kidnapped and taken to Ireland, and birthday parties probably felt impossibly trivial to Jax and Tara in the face of that kind of crisis. Opie nodded, grateful that he didn't have to explain tonight.

"You didn't have to do all this," he said quietly, watching the way the kitchen light caught in your hair. "Plan the whole party, coordinate with everyone. That's above and beyond."

You looked up from your notes, your expression softening in a way that made his pulse quicken. "I wanted to," you said simply. "Ken's been so excited about turning seven, and after everything he's been through... I wanted to make sure he has a day that's just about being a kid and having fun."

The casual reference to Kenny's grief, to the loss that had shaped both of his children's young lives, made something twist in Opie's gut. You understood his kids in a way that went beyond professional caregiving. You loved them—not because you were paid to, but because they'd become a part of your life in all the ways that mattered.

"Marcus's mom called to confirm they're coming," you continued, returning to your list. "And she asked if it would be okay if Marcus's little sister tagged along since she doesn't have childcare that day. I said yes, but I wanted to check that that's actually ok."

"That's fine," Opie said, though he was barely processing the logistics anymore. He was too busy watching the way you chewed on your bottom lip when you were concentrating, the way your fingers tapped against your notebook as you mentally ran through your checklist.

This was his life now—club brothers attending his son's seventh birthday party, you coordinating with his father and his friends like you'd always been part of this world.

"Oh, and I ordered Ken that dinosaur video game he's been hinting about," you said, glancing up with a conspirator's smile. "I know you probably already got him something, but I figured he'd love it and it can be from both of us if you want."

From both of us. The casual way you said it, like you were already a parenting team, like your role in his children's lives was permanent and unquestionable, made Opie's throat tight.

"That's perfect," he managed, his voice rougher than intended.

You tilted your head slightly, studying him with the perceptiveness that never failed to catch him off guard. "You okay? You've seemed distracted all day."

"Just tired," he lied, which was partially true. He was tired—tired of taking things slow, tired of maintaining appropriate boundaries, tired of pretending that what he felt for you was anything less than the kind of feelings that had fundementally changed all there lives for the better.

But there was also Belfast looming on the horizon, the knowledge that in just a few days he'd be leaving for Ireland. And here you were, planning his son's birthday party with the same dedication you brought to everything, completely unaware that the life you were slowly piecing together was about to be disrupted by violence and danger.

He should tell you. Jax's words echoed in his memory "You need to tell her, brother. She deserves better then some excuse about club business."

But watching you now, so focused on making Kenny's birthday perfect, so settled into the domestic routines they'd created together, he couldn't bring himself to shatter the peace with the reality of what was coming.

"I was thinking we should get there early on Saturday," you said, returning to your planning. "Maybe around twelve-thirty? That way we can make sure everything's set up before the kids start arriving at one."

"Makes sense," Opie agreed, trying to focus on the practical details instead of the way your shirt had ridden up slightly to reveal a strip of skin at your waist.

"And I figured we'd do presents after pizza but before cake," you continued, scribbling a note to yourself. "That way Ken's not too full to enjoy opening them, and the other kids won't get too antsy waiting."

The meticulous planning, the consideration of every detail to make sure Kenny's day was perfect—it was so quintessentially you that Opie felt his carefully maintained control starting to slip.

"Come here," he said suddenly, the words escaping before he could think better of them.

You looked up, surprised by the intensity in his voice. "What?"

"Just... come here," he repeated, pushing back from the table slightly to make room.

You set down your pen slowly, your expression curious but not wary, and stood from your chair. When you were close enough, Opie reached out to catch your hand, tugging you gently toward him until you were standing between his knees.

"What's going on?" you asked softly, your free hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"I'm just..." He trailed off, not sure how to articulate the tangle of emotions churning in his chest. "I'm grateful. For everything you do for the kids. For how much you care about making Kenny's birthday special."

"Of course I care," you said, your thumb stroking against his shoulder in an unconscious gesture of comfort. "I love those kids. And I love—"

You caught yourself, the words dying on your lips as you seemed to realize what you'd almost said. The air between them felt suddenly charged, loaded with all the things unsaid as you took things slow.

"You love?" he prompted, his hands settling on your hips with a possessiveness that felt both natural and terrifying.

"This," you finished, but he could see in your eyes that it might not have been what you'd been about to say. "I love this. Being part of your family. Being here."

Opie pulled you closer, close enough that he could rest his head against you while you stood between his legs, your fingers sliding into his hair in a gesture that felt achingly intimate.

"Slow is killing me," he admitted quietly, the confession muffled against your shirt.

He felt you take a shaky breath, your fingers tightening slightly in his hair. "I know," you whispered. "Me too."

"Then maybe we should reconsider the timeline," he said, lifting his head to look up at you. "Maybe slow doesn't have to mean we're not moving forward."

Your expression was soft, understanding, and something that looked like relief. "What did you have in mind?"

Before he could answer, before he could figure out how to ask for what he wanted without crossing lines that might be too soon to cross, your phone buzzed against the table with an incoming message.

You glanced at it, then back at him, torn between the moment and the practical responsibility of checking what might be important. "It's probably Alice confirming something about Saturday," you said apologetically.

"Go ahead," he said, even though every part of him wanted to keep you here, in this bubble of almost-confession and barely-restrained wanting.

You checked your phone, and he watched your expression shift from distracted to focused. "She's asking if we want to coordinate on gifts so we don't duplicate anything. And Piney wants to know if we need him to pick up any last-minute supplies."

Just like that, the moment was gone, replaced by the practical necessities of party planning. But as you settled back into your chair and returned to your notes, Opie found himself memorizing this scene—the domestic comfort of you in his kitchen, planning his son's birthday with the dedication of someone who'd already claimed a permanent place in their lives.

In a few days, he'd be on a plane to Belfast. But tonight, he had this—had you, had the illusion of normalcy, had the promise of a future that felt both impossibly close and devastatingly fragile.

By the time the club party came to an end, his girlfriend was stumbling around bumping into things. Chibs chuckled and steadied her, slinging her arm around his shoulders to support her.

"Come on, lass, you're wasted," he said, leading her towards the exit. She giggled and leaned heavily against him, her legs apparently made of jelly.

"I'm not drunk," she protested, slurring her words. "I'm just... a little impaired."

"Uh-huh, sure you are," Chibs said, humoring her. "Just hold on tight, okay?"

He guided her to the parking lot where his bike was parked. He helped her on to the back seat, making sure she was sitting securely. As he straddled the bike, she wrapped her arms drunkenly around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder.

"Mmm, you smell good," she mumbled, nuzzling her face against his neck. "Like... leather and... and... danger."

Chibs chuckled and shook his head, starting up the engine. "And you smell like beer and trouble, lass."

The ride back to her house was slow and careful. Chibs kept a steady pace, mindful of the inebriated passenger clinging to him like a koala. She kept giggling and commenting on how fun it was to be on the motorcycle, her words a slightly slurred mess.

When they finally arrived at her house, Chibs dismounted and helped her off the bike. She stumbled a bit, but he caught her, holding her against his chest.

"We're here, love," Chibs said, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "You made it in one piece."

She looked up at him with glassy eyes, her face flushed from the alcohol and the wind. "I had the best night ever," she declared, grinning goofily.

He chuckled and shook his head again. "I'm glad you had fun, but you're going to have a hell of a headache in the morning."

He led her up to her porch, his arm around her waist to keep her steady. She leaned on him heavily, her steps uneven.

Once they got to her front door, he pulled her keys from her purse and slowly unlocked the door. He steered her inside, flicking on the lights as they entered the quiet house.

He helped her to the couch and sat her down. She immediately flopped onto the cushions, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

Chibs looked down at her, a mixture of amusement and concern on his face. "Stay there, okay? I'm gonna get you some water."

He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her on the couch. He rummaged through the fridge, finding a bottle of water. When he returned to the living room, she was already fast asleep, her body sprawled across the cushions.

Chibs couldn't help but smile at the sight of her asleep. He knelt down next to the couch, taking a moment to study her face. She looked so peaceful, a stark contrast to the wild laughter and stumbling from earlier.

He carefully placed the water bottle on the table, then reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes.

He sat down on the edge of the coffee table, his gaze never leaving her. He knew he should probably leave her to sleep off the alcohol, but part of him didn't want to go. He liked being near her like this, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath.

After a few moments, he let out a soft sigh. Reluctantly, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Sweet dreams, love," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur.

He stood up, giving her one last glance before reluctantly turning away. He switched off the lights as he left, shutting the front door behind him quietly.

Happy

Happy sat on the couch in his dimly lit apartment, holding a glass of whiskey, his eyes fixed on his girlfriend who was currently stumbling around, giggling to herself. She was clearly drunk, and had been for a while.

"Hey there, princess," he called out, setting his glass down on the table. "You need to sit down and rest before you fall down."

His girlfriend looked at him, her eyes half-lidded and glassy, a wide smile spreading across her face. "I'm fiiiine," she slurred, taking an exaggerated step forward, nearly tripping over her own feet. "I can totally walk."

Happy chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I've seen more coordination from a newborn deer," he said, standing up to approach her. "Come on, sit down before you hurt yourself."

His girlfriend pouted but didn't protest as he gently took her by the elbow and led her to the couch. She flopped down onto the cushions with a heavy sigh, looking up at him with a grin that was equal parts cute and ridiculous. "You worry too much," she said, waving a hand dismissively.

Happy sat down next to her, shaking his head again with a slight smile. "Maybe," he admitted, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. "But someone's got to keep an eye on you when you get like this."

His girlfriend snuggled into him, resting her head on his chest and letting out a content sigh. "You're so comfy," she mumbled, her words slightly slurred. "Like a big ol' teddy bear."

Happy chuckled again, gently running his fingers through her hair. "That's me," he said, his tone both dry and affectionate. "Big Bad Biker Teddy Bear."

His girlfriend giggled, nuzzling her face against his chest. "Mmm, I love your chest," she said, her hand slowly snaking down to rest just above his belt buckle. "It's so... hard and muscley."

Happy raised an eyebrow, a devilish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Is that so?" he said, his voice dropping a note lower. He gently took her hand in his, preventing her from moving it any lower. "You're very handsy when you're drunk."

His girlfriend pouted again, trying to pull her hand free, but Happy held it fast. "I'm always handsy with you," she whined, looking up at him with puppy-dog eyes. "Don't you like it when I touch you?"

Happy's grip on her hand tightened just a bit, enjoying the game. "I never said I didn't like it," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But you seem a bit too wasted to be playing those kinds of games right now."

His girlfriend huffed, looking for all the world like a petulant child being denied a treat. "I'm not that drunk," she protested, wriggling a bit in his lap.

"look I'll prove it" she said holding a hand up going to touch her nose with her pointer finger but misses completely.

Happy couldn't help but laugh at her failed attempt. "Yeah, you're definitely wasted," he said, amused. "If you can't even touch your own nose without missing, I think it's safe to say you're done for the night."

His girlfriend stuck her tongue out at him, a childish gesture made even cuter by her inebriated state. "You're no fun," she muttered, resting her head back against his chest. "You never let me have any fun."

Happy chuckled again, resuming his stroking of her hair. "Trust me, princess," he said, his voice dropping back to a deeper, huskier tone, "We can have plenty of fun when you're sober. And you'll remember it the next morning."

His girlfriend nuzzled against his chest again, her eyelids drooping as the alcohol began to pull her towards sleep. "Promise?" she mumbled, her hand once again trying to snake back towards his lap.

Happy gently moved her hand away again, though he couldn't help but smile at her persistence. "I promise," he said, his voice soft. "You get some rest, and we'll pick this up in the morning when you're not seeing double."

Jax

Jax glanced over at his girlfriend, who was slumped against his side, her eyes half-lidded and a goofy smile on her lips. She'd had a few too many drinks and was now completely wrecked. He couldn't help but chuckle seeing her like this.

"All right, come here," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. He could feel her body sway slightly, her head lolling against his shoulder.

"Yurrrr so strong," she slurred, giggling.Jax rolled his eyes, his lips curling into a small grin.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a big, strong man," he teased, gently patting her on the head. "Let's get you to bed, yeah? You're completely hammered."

He carefully helped her to her feet, keeping a tight grip on her as she wobbled. "Come on, babe. You're not walking anywhere like this." He guided her towards his dorm, one arm wrapped around her waist to keep her steady.

Once they were in the room, he sat her down on the edge of the bed with a soft thump, then knelt down in front of her to take off her shoes. "You're a real light-weight, you know that?" he teased as he slid them off her feet, setting them aside.

"Am NOT," she tried to protest, but the words didn't quite come out right. She wobbled again, nearly toppling forward before Jax caught her.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there. Don't go falling over now." He gently pushed her down onto the bed, helping her get comfortable amongst the pillows and blankets. He sat down on the bed next to her, watching her with a mixture of fondness and amusement.

She let out a contented sigh as she settled, her eyes fluttering closed. She mumbled something incoherent, and Jax couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head in amusement. He leaned down, brushing the hair away from her face before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Get some sleep, babe."

He sat there for a moment, listening to the sound of her soft, even breaths as she started to drift off. He knew she'd be out for the night, and he'd have to look after her in the morning when she woke up with a killer hangover. But for now, she was safe and sound in his bed, and that was all that mattered.

Opie

Opie returns home late one night after a long day to find his girlfriend already on the couch in the house, a bottle of beer in her hand and a flush to her cheeks. He can already assume she is drunk and he has to bite back a smirk, knowing the kind of trouble you get into when she is inebriated.

As soon as she hears him enter, she jumps to her feet, almost toppling over, but just about saving herself by grabbing the back of the couch. “O-Opie,” she stutters, a goofy smile on her face. “You're home.”

“Yeah, I’m home,” he replies, unable to hide the amusement in his voice as he takes in the state of you. “And you’re a little drunk, aren’t you?”

"No....I have only had to beers" she whined frowning at the 2 bottles on the table.

Opie chuckles when he spots the bottles realizing she found the super stong home brew he got as a gift from Bobby. “Those ain't beer, baby,” he says, shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest. “That's Bobby's 'special brew'. It would get most people drunk within minutes. How are you feeling?”

"I'm totally fine," she mumbles, her words slurred as she tries to lean against the couch but misses and almost falls to the ground if it wasn't for Opie's lightening reflexes. He quickly catches her before she hits the floor and pulls her body up against his chest.

"Yeah, you're definitely not fine," he murmurs, holding her close to him. He can't help but feel amused by how adorable she is when she's drunk. "You're gonna have a hell of a headache in the morning, baby."

She groans and buries her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I feel funny,” she mumbled. “And spinny.”

Opie laughs softly and holds her closer against him, his arms wrapped tightly around her as he tries to steady her. “That’s because you’re drunk, sweetheart,” he says gently, running his hand up and down her back. “Just lean against me, okay?”

She nods and sighs contently as she leans against him more, burying her face in his chest once again. “You smell good, Opie,” she mumbles, her words still slurred and her breath warm against his chest.

He chuckles softly at her drunken compliment and tightens his arms around her, holding her even closer against him. “And you smell like a distillery,” he teases, his voice filled with affection.

She groans again and pouts up at him, her lips in a cute little frown. “You’re mean,” she sulks, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout. “You’re not supposed to be mean to me when I’m drunk, you’re supposed to be nice and tell me I’m pretty and buy me chicken nuggets.”

Opie grins, amused by her drunken requests. "You want chicken nuggets?" he teases, lifting an eyebrow. "At this hour?"

She nods enthusiastically, practically bouncing on the spot in her excitement. "Yes! I'm starving," she whines, her eyes wide and pleading. "Please, Opie, I want chicken nuggets. Please please please."

He laughs, unable to resist her adorable drunken plea. "Alright, alright," he says, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "I'll get your chicken nuggets, baby. But you have to promise me one thing."

She nods eagerly, her focus solely on the promise of food. "Anything," she slurs, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

He grins down at her, amused by her eagerness. "You gotta promise not to throw up on me, okay?" he teases, gently poking her on the nose with his index finger.

Juice

Juice leans against the doorframe, watching his girlfriend stumble around, completely intoxicated. She's laughing and swaying attempting to dance, clearly not in full control of her actions.

"How much did you drink, baby?" he asks, stepping closer.

"Dunno," she slurs, grinning sloppily at him. "A lot."

Juice chuckles, shaking his head.He moves in and scoops her up, pulling her into his arms with ease. She's lightweight to him, and he easily supports her against his chest.

"Let's get you to bed, you're wasted." he says, carrying her towards the bedroom.She giggles uncontrollably, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he carries her. She's making these little hiccup sounds that would be cute if not for the fact that they're coming from a drunk woman.

Juice sets her down on the bed, carefully arranging her head on a pillow. She's still giggling and murmuring incoherent words, clearly oblivious to the world around her.

"You're a mess," he says, rolling his eyes but there's a hint of fondness in his voice. He pulls off her shoes and lays a blanket over her.

She's attempting to say something but it's coming out as garbled nonsense. He leans closer to try and make out her words but they're not making any sense.

"Shhh," he soothes, smoothing a hand over her hair. "Just sleep it off."

He settles down on the edge of the bed, watching her as she fidgets and mutters to herself, her eyes fluttering shut and then opening again. She keeps reaching out for him, her hand flailing in the air as if trying to grab hold of something.

He can't help but chuckle at her antics, despite the situation. He reaches out and takes her hand in his, giving it a squeeze to reassure her.

She mumbles something that sounds like his name, her fingers wrapping around his.

"Yeah, it's me," he replies, his voice soft. He continues sitting there, holding her hand and stroking her hair until her breathing becomes steady, signalling she's fallen asleep.

He sits there for a few more minutes, quietly watching her. She looks so peaceful now that she's asleep, a complete contrast to the stumbling mess she was just a while ago.

Slowly, carefully so as not to wake her, he gets up and turns off the bedroom light, leaving the door slightly ajar so he can hear her if she needs him.

He goes to the kitchen filling a bottle with water and ice taking it back into the bedroom leaving it by her side going into the bathroom to find some painkillers.

He comes back into the room, carrying a couple of painkillers. He sets them down on the bedside table, making sure they're within reach for when she wakes up.

He looks down at her sleeping form, contemplating waking her up to give her the medicine, but decides against it. She's in deep sleep, and he doesn't want to disturb her. Instead, he pulls up a chair and sits down to keep an eye on her, just in case she wakes up and needs anything.

Herman

Kozik and his girlfriend had spent the evening at a party hosted by the club. As the night went on, his girlfriend had indulged in a few too many drinks, while he had remained relatively sober.

As the party began to wind down, Kozik noticed that his girlfriend had become quite drunk. She was stumbling around, struggling to speak clearly, and seemed on the verge of passing out.

Seeing her in this state, Kozik knew he couldn't leave her on her own. He made his way over to her, gently placing his arm around her to help her stand steady.

"Hey, sweetie," he said, his voice soft and caring. "I think it's time to get you home."

His girlfriend protested, insisting that she was fine and wanted to stay at the party longer. But Kozik gently but firmly shook his head.

"No, babe," he said, guiding her towards the door. "You've had a little too much to drink. We need to get you home and into bed."

His girlfriend groaned, but she was too drunk to put up much of a fight. Kozik led her out of the party and helped her into the passenger seat of her car.

As he buckled her seatbelt, he could see that she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Just hang in there," he said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We're almost home."

The drive was quiet, with his girlfriend dozing off in the passenger seat. Kozik kept his eyes focused on the road, his hand occasionally reaching over to pat her leg reassuringly.

When they finally arrived at her house, he helped her out of the car and guided her up the driveway. She stumbled on the way to the front door, but he was there to catch her, holding her steady against him.

Inside, Kozik helped his girlfriend into bed, pulling the blankets up around her and making sure she was comfortable. She mumbled something about wanting to stay awake and chat, but her eyes were already shutting.

Kozik chuckled softly, sitting down beside her on the bed. He brushed the hair back from her face and tucked the covers in around her.

"It's time to sleep," he said gently. "You'll feel better in the morning. I'll be right here."

His girlfriend nodded sleepily, her eyes closed now. Kozik stayed by her side, watching her breathing even out as she fell asleep. He leaned back against the headboard, content to keep watch over her until morning.

As the night went on, Kozik found his mind drifting. He thought about the party they had just left, his brothers back at the club, and the life they lived. But throughout it all, his thoughts kept returning to the woman asleep beside him.

He knew he was lucky to have her. She was feisty, spirited and beautiful. And she was all his.

Tig

Tig was watching his girlfriend's every movement from a safe distance. Not because he was worried, but because watching his girlfriend when slightly hammered was always fun. She always let her inner self shine when she's had a few drinks. She's not as shy and reserved when she's like that.

Right now she was giggling up a storm with some of the guys from the club. Her cheeks were a rosy shade and her eyes were bright. A little smile played on his lips as he took another long sip from his beer.

He chuckled to himself, watching as his girlfriend stumbled on her own two feet. She reached out and grabbed onto the nearest person to steady herself, who just so happened to not be him. His smile disappeared into a slight frown, and he took a few steps closer.

He quickly intervened and wrapped an arm around her, steadying her. He kept a tight grip, not too tight but tight enough to keep her from toppling over. "You okay there, sweetheart?" Tig asked, his voice holding a touch of amusement.

She looked up at him, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed with alcohol. A huge smile graced her face and she let out a small giggle. "TIGGY!! I'm good, just got a little dizzy." She replied, leaning a little closer to him, clearly tipsy.

Tig chuckled and instinctively tightened his arm around her. "Yeah, I can tell. You should slow down on the drinks, doll." He teased, looking down at her with a mixture of affection and mild concern.

"I'm fine, really. I can handle my boooze." She stated, trying to sound firm, but the slur in her voice gave her away. She stumbled again and Tig quickly caught her again, pulling her closer against him to keep her steady.

Tig rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, you're doing a real good job handling your booze right now.." he replied sarcastically. He let out a chuckle, his hand gently rubbing her back, soothingly.

She pouted and smacked his chest playfully. "Shut up, I'm not even that drunk." She retorted, her voice still a little slurred. "I had like, three beers and a shot then another one...Oh then Bobby made a toast so i had another few. I can handle that."

Tig raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. "Oh thats all, huh?" He teased, his tone laced with amusement. "Yeah, sweetheart, that sounds mighty reasonable for a lightweight like you."

She huffed in mock annoyance, but couldn't help the grin that tugged at the corners of her lips. "I am not a lightweight." She argued, but her unsteadiness and rosy cheeks said otherwise.Tig couldn't help but chuckle at her denial. He continued to hold her close, enjoying the feeling of her warmth pressed against him. "Right, sure you're not. That's why you can barely stand up straight on your own."

"I can stand just fine, thank you very much!" She retorted, her drunken confidence taking over. She tried to step away from him to spin in a circle and prove her point, but she stumbles again, wobbling on her feet.

Tig quickly wrapped an arm around her again and pulled her back towards him. He chuckled, now finding her attempts to prove her point even more amusing. "Yeah, you're a regular ballerina on those feet, darlin'."

She went quiet too quiet. And has a weird look on her face

"Ah shit" Tig groans and quickly scooped her up with practiced ease, knowing what was about to happen. "Looks like it's a one-way ticket to the porcelain throne for you, sweetheart." He joked as he started to rush her towards the nearest bathroom.

Once they reached the bathroom, he gently set her down in front of the toilet just in time before she started to retch into it. He knelt down beside her, holding back her hair as she emptied her stomach. Tig winced in sympathy as he heard her getting sick.

"There you go, get it all out, doll." He comforted, rubbing her back soothingly. He was thankful that the bathroom was mostly empty, and he knew the guys would keep other people out.

Once she was done, she slumped against him, weak and shaky. Tig pulled her onto his lap, holding her close and letting her rest her head against his chest. He gently stroked her hair, trying to soothe her. "You're gonna be feeling like hell tomorrow, baby." He said with a playful hint of amusement. He knew she was in for a rough morning, but he was also secretly enjoying having her so dependent on him for awhile.

Opie wasn’t used to places like this—the clean, organized chaos of a first-day classroom was a world away from the roar of engines and the weight of SAMCRO life—but he’d promised Ellie he’d be there.

Then he saw her.

Clara Bennett. She was kneeling beside a small girl who had dropped her pencil, helping her up with a gentle laugh. Her hair was tucked neatly behind her ear, soft sunlight catching the strands just right. The long nearly pleated skirt and soft sweater casting softness and colour against her skin. And when she looked up, her eyes met his—and something clicked.

“Mr. Winston?” Her voice caught him off guard. There was a hesitation, a flicker of disbelief that made his chest tighten.

“Uh… yeah. Opie,” he said, voice rough, a little nervous. He gestured to Ellie. “This is… Ellie.”

Her eyes widened, and then—like a bolt of memory—her smile grew, recognition blooming across her face.

“Opie? Oh my God… Opie Winston?” She stood up, a little unsteady on her feet as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “We went to school together!”

Opie blinked, a laugh escaping before he could stop it. “Yeah… wow. That’s… been a long time.”

Clara shook her head, laughing softly. “A long, long time. I can’t believe it. You… you haven’t changed that much, actually. Still look like trouble waiting to happen.”

“Some things never change,” he said with a smirk, watching her tilt her head, the same way she had back in high school—curious, sharp, and just a little teasing.

Ellie tugged at his hand again, but Opie barely noticed. Clara crouched down to meet his daughter’s gaze.

“And who do we have here?” she asked, voice light and warm. “You must be Ellie?”

“Yeah,” Ellie whispered shyly, her fingers clinging to Opie’s hand.

“You’re gonna love it here,” Clara said, ruffling her hair gently. “I’m your teacher, Miss Bennett. We’re going to have so much fun this year.”

Opie shifted his weight, clearing his throat, and for a moment the room felt impossibly soft and quiet. “Yeah… she’s in good hands, huh?”

Clara’s eyes softened. “She is. She’s lucky, this is one of the quieter classes” Her voice carried a hint of teasing, and he gave a short laugh.

“Yeah? That's good, she'll like that,” he murmured. Then, curiosity flickering in her gaze, she asked quietly, “How's Jax… he still around?”

“Yeah,” Opie said, surprise at the question. “He’s… he’s doing his thing. Keeping busy. You know him.”

“I do,” she said softly. “He was always… something.” Her eyes crinkled with amusement, nostalgia sparkling there.

They shared a quiet laugh, and Opie realized just how grounding her presence was—like a reminder that life didn’t always have to be chaos, violence, and noise.

The rest of the morning blurred into forms and introductions, but every time Opie’s eyes met hers, he felt a flicker—a tiny warmth, a pull of something he hadn’t realized he missed.

---

Later, at Pickup:

When Opie returned to pick Ellie up, Clara was at her desk, organizing papers. She looked up, caught his gaze, and smiled—a little soft, a little knowing.

“Hey, Opie. How was Ellie’s first day?”

“She did good,” he said, leaning casually against the doorway. Then, almost instinctively, he added, teasing and familiar, “Still can’t believe ‘Sunshine’ ended up as my kid's teacher.”

Her eyes widened in recognition, and a laugh spilled from her lips—light, musical, full of warmth. “Opie Winston… some things really do never change,” she said, shaking her head.

“Guess not,” he said, and for a moment, the roar of his world—the club, the danger, the chaos—faded.

Ellie tugged at his hand, bouncing on her heels. “Daddy, can we read a book?”

Opie glanced at Clara, whose smile softened him even more. “Yeah, kiddo,” he said. Then, in a low murmur only she could hear, he added, “Might have to stop by more often, Sunshine.”

Her laugh rang again, softer this time, a chord struck in the quiet of the school hallway. And Opie found himself watching her a little longer, letting the warmth linger, imagining a world outside the club that might just have some room for light.

Opie found himself lingering outside the school a few days later, not quite intentionally. Ellie had begged for a story after class, and he had promised, but when he saw Clara organizing papers at her desk, that familiar pull tightened in his chest. He ducked behind a pillar for a moment, scanning the lot as if he had pressing business elsewhere.

“You’re early,” Clara called lightly, catching his eye as he stepped into the hallway. Her voice carried that calm authority he’d always remembered, the warmth underneath unmistakable.

He muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Wouldn’t want to be the dad who keeps his kid waiting.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said, smirking. “No doubt Ellie would have a lot to say on the matter.”

Opie felt a small laugh escape. “Yeah, I think she’d file a formal complaint if she could.” He leaned against the wall near her desk, watching as she sorted through papers with careful, efficient movements. Something about the way she moved, calm and deliberate, made his chest feel lighter—like the world had softened just a little.

“Opie,” she said suddenly, eyebrows raised. “ I saw you the other day with Jax. He’s still… running things, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, the muscles in his jaw tightening briefly. “Keeping busy. You know him. Never sits still long.”

Clara tilted her head, eyes thoughtful. “Always the same, huh?” Her voice carried nostalgia, amusement, and a quiet understanding. “Some things don’t change… and some things do. Like you.”

Opie’s smirk was half-shy, half-amused. “I’ve changed some. Can’t let the old me stick around too much, or the club’d eat me alive.”

Clara’s smile softened. “Maybe. But it’s good to see pieces of that old Opie—makes me feel like time didn’t just sweep everything away.”

Ellie tugged at his sleeve, and he crouched, picking her up. “Alright, kiddo. Storytime.”

Clara leaned over, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Mind if I join? I haven’t read that one in years.”

“Sure,” Opie said, feeling a warmth creeping over his chest.

---

Later, outside the school lot, casual teasing begins

As they walked toward the car, Clara nudged him gently. “So, ‘Sunshine,’ huh? Still calling me that after all these years?”

Opie’s smirk returned, the rough edges softening around her playful tone. “You earned it, Bennett. Always did.”

Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Some things stick,” he murmured, voice low. “Like your stupid laugh.”

Her laugh rang again, light and teasing, and Opie felt the pull in his chest—a flicker of warmth he hadn’t known he missed so desperately. For a moment, he let himself imagine life outside the club, life that included sunlight, laughter, and soft edges.

—

The clubhouse smelled of motor oil, stale beer, and leather. Opie leaned against the bar, nursing a whiskey he didn’t really want, just needed. Jax was sorting paperwork nearby, half-listening to the chatter of the guys.

“You look… distracted,” Jax said finally, eyeing him. “Something on your mind?”

Opie scratched the back of his neck, avoiding Jax’s eyes. “Nah… just…” He hesitated, voice rougher than he intended. “…Ellie’s teacher. ‘Sunshine.’

Jax froze for a second, then cocked an eyebrow. “Wait… as in… Sunshine Bennett?” His smirk was equal parts teasing and disbelief. “Holy shit. You’re talking about Clara Bennett?”

Opie’s cheeks heated instantly, and he scratched the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “Yeah… yeah, her. She’s… uh… my kid’s teacher. First day, and… she’s… nice. Calm. Smart. Makes me feel… I don’t know… something different.”

Jax laughed, shaking his head. “Something different? Op, you—” He waved a hand. “I get it. You’ve got a kid, and now you’re staring at your old crush from high school like a dumbass.”

“Don’t call it that,” Opie muttered, voice low, covering his blush with a rough laugh. “It’s… it’s nothing like that. She’s… grounded. Normal. Makes me… feel light, man. Like the world’s not just… chaos.”

Jax leaned back against the bar, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Light, huh? Opie Winston talking about light. Didn’t see that coming. And you actually call her ‘Sunshine’?”

Opie groaned, slapping a hand to his face. “Yeah… yeah. Stop saying it…”

“Can’t help it, man,” Jax said, smirking. “Sunshine Bennett. Christ, I remember her—always that bright, impossibly sweet one in our class.”

Opie let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah… that’s her. Sunshine.” The nickname rolled off his tongue, awkward and warm all at once. And for a fleeting moment in the chaos of the clubhouse, he felt… lighter.

Jax leaned back, smirking, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Man… can you believe this? Your high school crush is now your kid’s teacher. Talk about a plot twist.”

Opie groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t start…”

“Oh, I’m just saying,” Jax said, shaking his head with mock seriousness. “Classic single dad scenario right here. You, the club, the dangerous lifestyle… and the sweet, grounded teacher who has no idea what she’s walking into. You’re telling me you don’t see the inevitability?”

Opie flushed deeper, muttering under his breath. “Jax, seriously…fuck off”

Jax just laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m just saying, man… she’s Sunshine, the girl you made heart eyes all the way through high school, And now you’ve got that dad thing going. You’re halfway there already. Don’t fuck it up.”

Opie rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the small grin tugging at his lips. Jax’s teasing only made the warmth in his chest grow, reminding him that maybe there was room in his life for something soft, normal, and steady. Something warm. Something like Sunshine.

Tagging: @kuttesandknives