Jax's girl was wearing a white t-shirt that stopped right above her belly button, and a pair of low hanging cotton shorts, white too, to match with her sandals. She had a big insulated lunch bag hanging off one shoulder, and her handbag on the other, her many keyrings rattling with every step.

Half-Sack quickly wiped his hands and jogged to relieve her off the weight on her shoulders, like a true gentleman. 

"Oh my God, thank you," She sighed in relief when Half-Sack swung the heavy bag on his shoulder instead.

"It's nothing," He smiled with a shrug while she waved her face with one hand, as if that'll do anything against the day's heat.

"Let's get out of the sun," She quickly said, rushing to get in the shade and lean against the wall to catch her breath for hauling the bag around for five minutes. She could've drove here but it's such a short walk, and someone has got to think about the environment.

Half-Sack puts the bag down next to her and looks around for Jax, asking one of the mechanics if they've seen him. "He's with the red Peugeot," One of them nods their head towards the back.

"Oh," Half-Sack nods, he turns to the girl, "I'll go get him,"

"Thank you, Half-Sack," She smiles, squeezing his shoulder, making sure to avoid the black greasy stain on the fabric of his grey t-shirt.

She likes Half-Sack, he's pretty cool, it's just that sometimes she's convinced he fixes cars with his whole body instead of his hands, like, what's up with that?

Anyway, her boyfriend shows up, followed by Half-Sack. Jax's wiping his hands on a rag and he's smiling, happy to see her pretty face. A couple of big strides and he's right there in her space, bending down and kissing her, "Hey, baby,"

"I got lunch," She says between his pecks and he's smiling like a fool.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I just need you to do something for me, but first," She steps back a little, and Jax follows her, trying to get another taste of her lips, but stops when he realises he's right in the middle of their auto shop, and that's not really badass of him.

Before she can tell him what to do, she turns to the lunch bag on the floor and pull out a chocolate chip cookie, the size of her hand, wrapped in a napkin. Jax watches her go to where Half-Sack's perched over a car, elbow deep in its guts and she calls his name. He turns around, surprised, and she sticks the cookie in his face and he grins.

Half-Sack takes his hands out of the car and wipes his palms messily on his jeans, she scrunches her nose and he looks a little embarrassed when she peels off the tissue paper and presents it to him so he could take a bite.

Half-Sack takes a bite, a big one, and he's so surprised and delighted at the taste, "Did you make that?" He asks, mouth full, a little bit of crumbs falling down his shirt.

"Yes, and don't go telling anyone I gave you a cookie," She laughs when he moans and takes the cookie from her fingers, "Oh, thank you!"

She walks back to Jax, who manages to look incredibly handsome in his dirty grey t-shirt with sweat stains, and his black jeans that are surely filthy, even if their colour hides it well, but he's got dust on the knee area, so he's had to be on the floor at some point, sweating away in this summer heat, working hard. 

The rag he wiped his hands with is now tucked in his back pocket, and his hair was downright a mess, sticking haphazardly in all directions. She's sure everything was tied in a ponytail before, but now half of his hair has escaped the hair tie.

"Jax, where do you wanna eat?" She asks and he scratches his forehead, leaving a black mark on his skin, "What?"

She softens up then and links her finger on a belt hoop in his jeans, pulling him in a little. If it was any other day, or weather, she would've hugged him, regardless of her all white outfit, but it was too damn hot for that.

"When was the last time you had water?" She asks and he looks away, thinking, "I had a beer half an hour ago,"

"Jackson," She sighs and he groans, "I'm sorry, I just needed something to take the edge off, I'm tired, baby,"

"Okay, do you want to eat in the office? Or out here in the shade? I can see you guys moved the benches closer to the building," She asked.

"Outside," Jax answers and she nods, "Go wash your hands and we'll eat, yeah? I made burrito wraps,"

"I love you," He grins.

"I love you too, now go," She pushes him towards the toilets and he jogs there.

Taking the bag to the bench was easy work, considering the benches were right there, and she was determined to feed her surely hungry and tired boyfriend.

She takes out a water bottle, perfectly cold in her hands and a small plastic container, and that's when Jax comes back, face a little wet along with the collar of his t-shirt. He's grinning until he sees her take a baby blue scrunchie and hairbrush out from her handbag.

"What're you doing?" Jax asks, confused, about to sit next to her on the bench.

"I'm brushing that bird's nest, and I've got a scrunchie, it's better than that tiny band you use, baby," She says, sitting with the table to her back, feet on the ground.

"Can I eat first?"

"You'll eat while I brush your hair and tie it, sit down," She points at the space between her legs on the floor.

"Are you serious?" Jax asks while she stares at him, completely unimpressed.

"Jax," she warns him, and it's a little annoying because he'll feel much better when she brushes and ties his hair, she even got a spare clean t-shirt at the bottom of the lunch bag, that's probably cold by now because of the fresh lemonade she made, perfect for the weather.

Jax stares at her without moving and that's irritating because usually he just listens when she's trying to take care of him, but it looks like the heat messed up with his head today.

"Sit your ass down," She hisses through clenched teeth, pointing at the floor with wide eyes. Jax flinches in surprise at being scolded by his girlfriend, and he's never seen her do that face before. He's so shocked that a laugh bubbles out of his throat and before he knows it, he's sitting on the floor, his back to hers, and he's got a cold water bottle in his hands, and a plastic container with apple slices covered in cinnamon and sugar.

He's still giggling when she's brushing his hair out of his face, gathering it in her hand to tie it.

"What's so funny?" She asks with a raised brow.

"Nothing," Jax says after swallowing his apple slice and licking cinnamon and sugar off his fingers, and drinking half of the water bottle all in one go.

When she ties his hair in a bun, making sure not to do it too tight, because she knows Jax finds it uncomfortable, she smacks a kiss onto his forehead, upside down, "There, all done,"

Jax gets back up from the floor, container empty and he kisses her on the cheek, "Thanks, sweetheart,"

"You're welcome," She smiles, taking out almost everything she packed in the twenty litre insulated lunch bag.

On the table, they have homemade burrito wraps, salad, chips with dips and sauces she knows Jax and herself like. They've got fresh cold lemonade, coke in case he doesn't want lemonade, two slices of lemon cheesecake, cookies, and even more burrito wraps, all wrapped in aluminium foil.

"Darlin', you're spoiling me," Jax grins, sitting across her now, and he leans over the table to grab her chin and press a sweet kiss to her mouth.

"It's the least I could do," She smiles, cupping the hand on her chin and Jax groans, hungry and a little turned on, "Don't say to me or I'll put a ring on your finger,"

"Alright, big boy, calm down, eat first, and then talk about putting a ring on my finger," She laughs lightheartedly.

Jax kisses her again and sits back down, grabbing a burrito, "You made like ten of these, who's gonna eat all of that?" He rips the aluminium to expose the wrap and takes a huge bite, just about avoiding biting into aluminium foil as well.

She unscrews the lemonade bottle and pours him a cup, and then opens the salad container, sticking a fork in it, in front of him, "For the others, I know there aren't a lot of guys in today, so I made extra,"

"Oh, angel, you shouldn't have," He coos, stuffing salad in his mouth and a chip too, right after.

"I wanted to," She smiles, taking a satisfied sip of her lemonade.

Jax chews and swallows, then he turns around, "Half-Sack! Call everyone and get over here!"

Half-Sack does right as he's told, because he's sure it has to do with food, and who doesn't love free homemade food?

It takes Half-Sack less than a minute to gather everyone and bring them to Jax and his girlfriend, sitting at the bench. Jax wipes his mouth with a tissue, "Alright, my gorgeous girl made you losers homemade burritos, grab one and thank her,"

She flushes, smiling big when the men reach inside the lunch bag to grab a wrap, and every time, without fail, they thank her with a grateful nod. Half of them go back inside, and the other half are too excited and hungry to sit so they unwrap the burritos and take a bite right there, standing around Jax and his girl.

The wedding of Opie and Lyla gave you the perfect excuse to step outside of your usual wardrobe. It wasn’t often you got dressed up, but tonight you were making a statement.

The dress you’d picked hugged every curve just right, the fabric skimming over your full, voluptuous figure. The neckline framed the soft swell of your cleavage, accentuating the plushness of your chest. The fabric clinging to the curve of your waist, highlighting the flare of your hips. Thick thighs, a perfectly rounded butt, and a hemline short enough to show off the best of what you had to offer.

Judging by the lingering glances and appreciative smirks from the men scattered around, so did everyone else, but those in the inner circle knew you were off limits.

And while others might have been watching, one pair of eyes never left you.

Jax.

He was standing across the room from where you were, beer in hand, the easy conversation with his brothers nothing more than background noise as he watched you. His expression was carefully blank, but his gaze was scorching.

You could feel his stare like a brand against your skin, his jaw tight as he tracked your every move. You could feel it following you, growing darker with every laugh or look you exchanged with a man that wasn’t him.

And you weren’t his. Not officially. But you knew that look.

Possessive. Jealous.

So, you decided to have a little fun with him. You knew it was dangerous to tease like this, but you didn’t care. You looked good and felt good and loved the attention.

And he was watching.

And it turned you on.

You’re mid–laugh, the man in front of you saying something that barely registers in your mind when suddenly, Jax is standing close, his body crowding into yours in a way that makes it clear he’s staking his claim.

“Entertaining guests tonight, darlin’?” he mused, his smirk lazy and unmistakably possessive.

The stranger stiffened, his confidence shrinking under the weight of Jax’s casual dominance. “Uhhh,” he stammers, shifting uncomfortably as Jax’s attention never wavers from you. “I didn’t realize –“

He steps in closer, the heat of him curling around you, that damn smirk still playing across his lips.

“You realize now,” Jax cuts him off, staring at you while he speaks, before glaring back in his direction. A silent warning.

The guy mutters some excuse and quickly backs off, disappearing into the crowd.

You arch an eyebrow at Jax, unfazed. “Was that really necessary?”

His hand snakes around your waist, fingers digging into your curvy hip, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “You tell me,” He breathes out, dragging his tongue across his lips as his eyes trace every dip and swell of your body, drinking in the way your dress hugs each soft curve.

“Walkin’ around here lookin’ like that,” he continues, voice dripping with seduction, “smilin’ at guys like you don’t know exactly what you’re doin’.”

You tilt your head, your smile indicating something between amusement and challenge. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” you tease innocently. “I’m just having fun.”

Jax was about to turn away when he stopped abruptly. Without a word, his hand slid down your side, tracing the dip of your waist before he cupped a firm handful of your ass.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your body going rigid for a moment as his fingers flexed against your skin. The warmth of his palm burned through the thin material of your dress – or, more accurately, the lack of anything else underneath it.

The realization hit him immediately.

His grip only tightened, just enough to make your pulse stutter, and then came the lightest, sharpest smack. The sound was soft, but it sent a flutter through you, heat rushing to your cheeks – wetness pooling between your thighs.

He leaned in close, his voice a low rasp as he whispered against your ear. “Well, now… that’s interesting.” It sends a shiver down your spine, goosebumps blooming in its wake.

You fought the grin threatening to spread across your face as you tilted your head just slightly, giving him a sidelong glance.

“Hmm,” you hummed. “Interesting? I’d say efficient.”

You feel his fingers twitch against you, as if fighting the urge to grip, to claim. His jaw ticks, nostrils subtly flaring as he exhales the breath he was holding. And for a second, you see it – a flicker of something wild and primal in his expression.

He wants to drag you away right now, to show you exactly who you belong to. The way he looked at you was unbearable, all-consuming – like he was already stripping you bare, mapping out exactly how he was going to wreck you.

His smolder faltered for just a moment before he let out a low chuckle, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as he devoured you with his stare.

But before he can act, a burst of laughter and excited chatter breaks the moment.

Girls from Diosa descend, a whirlwind of perfume and giggles as they grab your arm. “Come on, girl! Let’s dance!” one of them squeals, tugging you away.

You go willingly, but not before looking back at Jax, catching the way his eyes burn into you. His frustration is barely concealed beneath the cool exterior he’s struggling to maintain.

You pout at him playfully, your teeth grazing your lower lip as a slow, knowing smile tugs at your mouth. With a casual shrug, you throw in a wink for good measure. You know exactly what you’re doing. And so does he.

Teasing Jax like this is a dangerous game, but damn if it isn’t a thrilling one.

That signature smirk of his – cocky and effortless – is planted firmly on his face. He tilts his head slightly, running his tongue over his teeth, tapping two fingers absently against the side of his beer bottle. He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t call you back. No, Jax is patient when he wants to be.

But that look he gives you? That easy, infuriating, I’ve already won look?

That’s the warning.

The whiskey spreads through you like fire, warm and intoxicating. The buzz hums in your body, making your limbs loose, your inhibitions slipping further away with each sway of your hips. Laughter bubbles from your lips freely, the excitement of the night pressing against you in the best way.

But what makes the heat burn even deeper is him.

Jax still hasn’t taken his eyes off you. Even as you lose yourself in the music, your body alive with the rhythm, you can feel it – that heavy stare cutting through the space between you. Every time you glance his way, your eyes meet, and the tension pulls tighter.

A song later, the warmth of the dance floor gives way to the cool air by the bar, and you lean against it, skin still tingling, waiting for another drink to keep your buzz going.

And that’s when it happens.

A careless bump – simply hard enough to knock you off balance. Cool liquid splashes down your arm, the sharp scent of bourbon filling the air as it seeps onto the floor.

“Shit,” the guy mutters, shaking off his hand. He’s drunk, unsteady on his feet, but instead of an apology, all you get is an annoyed scoff as he finally looks at you.

His gaze drags down your body before his lip curls into something close to disgust. “Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head. “What the hell are you even wearing?”

His meaning is clear. The way his eyes linger – judging and dismissive. It’s not about the dress; it’s about you in it. The implication stings, but not as much as the arrogance dripping from his tone.

You blink, the hazy warmth of whiskey quickly shifting into irritation. “Excuse me?”

He waves a dismissive hand in your face, his words slurred and full of condescension. “I mean, come on. Look at you.”

You let out a sharp breath, your temper flaring, your shoulders lock as fire flashes behind your eyes. But before you can put this asshole in his place, a shadow looms behind you.

You don’t even have to turn to know he’s there. Jax’s presence wrapping around you like a second skin.

The moment he steps beside you, his hand sliding around your waist, the humiliation burns away. His fingers press into your side – firm and possessive.

Your pulse jumps. The air shifts. And suddenly, you’re not exposed – you’re protected. A silent reminder that you are his.

The drunk finally registers Jax’s presence, his bleary eyes flickering up, and whatever drunken bravado he had before? Gone.

Jax tilts his head, his lips curling into something wicked. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to – because the calm way he speaks is even more unsettling.

“She botherin’ you, man?”

His glassy eyes dart between the two of you, panic flickering behind them, unfocused, as he finally starts to grasp his mistake.

“Nah, man,” he stammers, lifting his hands slightly as if that might undo the last thirty seconds. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Jax hums, slow and thoughtful, his fingers twitch against you. He’s still relaxed, still perfectly in control, but there’s a dark edge to him now.

“That right?” he drawls, tilting his head the other way, his grip on you tightening just enough to send a message. “See, that doesn’t really work for me.”

He stiffens, blinking fast like he’s trying to clear the alcohol from his system. “I – I didn’t mean – “

Jax clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah, you keep sayin’ that” he muses, his tone still deceptively casual. “But what I heard? Was you talkin’ shit to her.”

The guy’s mouth opens, but Jax doesn’t give him the chance.

“So, here’s what’s gonna happen,” he continues, his voice calm, like he’s explaining something simple, like he’s giving the guy a choice when you both know he isn’t.

“You’re gonna look her in the eye,” Jax instructs, tilting his head, that easy smirk playing at the edges of his mouth, though there’s nothing amused about the look in his eyes. “And you’re gonna apologize. And you’re gonna mean it.”

Jax’s fingers tap twice against the guy’s sternum before he steps back just enough to let him breathe – but not enough to make him comfortable. His stance stays loose, shoulders relaxed, but there’s an unmistakable charge in the air, the kind that makes it clear he’s still deciding how this is going to go.

The idiot hesitates just a second too long.

Jax’s smirk fades, his jaw shifting as his tongue runs between his lips, slow and calculating. His fingers flex once and the subtle roll of his shoulders speak volumes.

The guy’s eyes widen. “S–sorry,” he blurts, stumbling over the word as he looks at you, his voice uneasy. “I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have said that.”

Jax doesn’t respond right away. He just watches, his blue eyes sharp as they give the guy a once over, sizing him up like a predator watching their prey. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

Then, finally, the corner of Jax’s mouth twitches, his menacing smirk creeping back into place. He tilts his head, exhaling sharply through his nose, his voice taunting.

“There we go,” he says, amusement flickering in his features. “Not so hard, huh?” His hand claps against the stranger’s shoulder, just a little too heavy, before he steps back fully, like he’s already lost interest.

The guy nods frantically, desperate to get out of the situation. “Yeah, yeah, my bad, dude. Won’t happen again.”

Jax doesn’t say anything else, just gives the slightest nod over the man’s right shoulder.

That’s all it takes.

Before he can even process what’s happening, Chibs and Happy are already in motion, leading him away. No fuss, no disruption – a quiet removal, seamless enough that no one at the reception even notices.

Your lips twitch, heat pooling low in your belly as you watch Jax handle it with effortless dominance. The way control rolls off him in waves makes your mouth water with want. Arousal spreads through you like wildfire, licking at your skin, making you hyperaware of every inch of space between you and Jax – space you desperately want to erase.

He doesn’t move for a second. His hand lingers on you – claiming and unmistakable. His fingers tighten at your waist, and then he leans in, his lips brushing just below your ear before nipping at the sensitive skin. “Can’t leave you alone for a second without you gettin’ into trouble, huh?”

His voice is velvet wrapped danger, smooth and lazy. It sends a thrill straight through you.

You turn in his grasp, looking up at him through your lashes, a perfect mix of innocence and desire in your eyes. The whiskey hums through your veins, but it’s not that. It’s him.

The way he stepped in like he owned you, like there was never any doubt.

Your thighs press together in search of relief, pussy fluttering. A deep ache blooming in your belly, needy for him.

Slow and sinuous you lift your arm, winding it around his neck as you rise on your toes. A delicate, teasing kiss lands against his cheek, his beard rough against your lips. Your mouth hovers just over his ear as you whisper, “Call me your damsel in distress.”

Jax exhales sharply through his nose, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. His fingers flex tighter against you, digging in to keep himself steady.

“You want me to save you, darlin’?” His tone is playful, but you hear it – that slow-burning restraint, the control that’s this close to slipping.

You don’t miss a beat. You want him so bad.

“No. I’d rather you fuck me.”

The shift is instant.

Jax stills, a sharp breath hisses between his teeth. His smirk fades – not gone, just different now. Darker. Hungrier.

And then he’s moving – fast. His grip is firm as he grabs your wrist and starts leading you away. Not rough, but absolute. No hesitation.

Just pure, raw intent.

The reception is still buzzing around you, the music, and the laughter – but it all fades as Jax weaves through the outskirts of the crowd, guiding you toward the dimly lit edge of the property. Past the glow of string lights, past the open spaces where people might see.

Then, suddenly, you’re against a wall.

The wood of the garden shed scratches into your back, but you barely register it because Jax is right there, crowding into you – his knee sliding between your thighs, pressing against you just enough to make you gasp.

His hands roam – one gripping your ass, the other curling around your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. In your peripheral, you catch a glint of his SONS ring, a reminder of who he is and what he’s capable of.

His breath is hot when he leans in, laced with beer and nicotine, dizzying. His chest rises and falls faster than usual, his grip tightening as he takes in the way you tremble beneath him. Like he feels it too – the arousal and the hunger.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he growls. His right hand remains on your jaw, keeping your lust blown eyes fixated on him. His other hand gripped tighter against your plush thigh, pressing into the fabric of your dress like he’s debating whether to rip it or slide it up.

You smile slyly at him, still buzzing, still feeling yourself from the whiskey and the way he claimed you before. “A little bit,” you admit, your voice dripping with daring.

Jax lets out a slow, measured breath through his nose, his fingers sliding lower, skimming the bare skin of your plump thigh.

“You’ve been a tease all night,” he rasps, his lips just barely brushing the shell of your ear. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like? Watching you, knowing what’s not under this dress?” His fingers pressing into you just a little more firmly.

You swallow hard, pulse racing. Your voice is barely a whisper as you tilt your chin up. “And what are you going to do about it?”

His last shred of restraint snapped, and his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His hands were everywhere – cupping your face, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed you firmly against the wall.

“Mine,” he growled against your mouth, the word rough and possessive as his hands slid lower, gripping the curve of your ass, and lifting you slightly so you could feel how hard he was for you.

You gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he buried his face in your neck – lips, teeth, and tongue setting your skin on fire.

"Jax," you choked out, your head falling back against the wall as his mouth traveled lower – sucking, biting, bruising – until your knees threatened to buckle.

But your body had a mind of its own, pressing into him – desperate, aching – your pussy throbbing against the hard length of him, needing more.

“You like this, don’t you?” he hissed as he trailed kisses back up to your neck. “Knowing I’m losing my goddamn mind over you.”

A wicked smirk tugged at your lips, your nails raking lightly down his kutte. “I think you love it,” you taunted. “Knowing I’m just as fucked up over you.”

Jax lets out a low grunt while his hand slipped between your thighs. His fingers found your clit, grazing it teasingly, making you jolt against him.

“Shiiiit,” he draws out, his forehead pressing to yours as he felt just how wet you were for him. “You’re drippin’ for me, sweetheart.”

Before you could retort, Jax yanked you forward slightly, and in one swift motion, he spun you around, pressing your front against the wall. His hands moved, one splayed against your hip, the other slipping back between your thighs – teasing, torturing.

His lips found the nape of your neck, sucking and biting as he pushed your dress up, the fabric gathering around your waist, exposing you completely to him. You’re utterly intoxicated – by his touch, his scent, the unrestrained intensity radiating off him.

You hear the hurried clink of his belt, the rasp of the zipper – and then his finger slides into you – curling just right, pulling a sharp cry from your lips as your legs spread wider on instinct.

Jax grins against your cheek, clearly pleased with himself. “Good girl,” he praises, voice dripping with approval.

Then he pushes another finger inside, his pace steady – driving you higher and higher while his other hand worked himself free.

Your lips parted, a deep moan escaping as you pressed back against him, rolling your hips to feel more of his fingers in your aching cunt. “I’ve been thinking about your cock fucking me all night.” You managed to stutter out as his fingers continued their assault inside you.

“Fuck,” he groaned out, his thumb gliding against your sensitive clit.

You shuddered, arching into his touch as his fingers teased you, spreading your arousal. A needy whine escaped your lips when he pulled away – and a low, cocky grunt rumbled from his chest at you.

But he didn’t linger. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you into position as the head of his cock pressed against your entrance, rubbing and teasing, driving you to the edge of desperation.

“Tell me you want it,” he demanded as he held himself there, teasing – poised to take you.

“I want you, Jax. Please.” you breathed, your fingers curling against the wall as you pushed back against him.

With one sharp thrust, he filled you, the stretch of him stealing the air from your lungs. You cried out, your hands bracing against the wall as he buried himself inside you, his grip on you tight enough to leave marks.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he paused, letting you adjust to him. “You feel so fucking good.”

You could barely form words, your body quivering as you clenched around him, your breath coming in shallow pants. “Fuck, Jax! Please.” you begged again, your voice pleading.

He didn’t need any more encouragement.

He pulled back slowly, the drag of him torturously slow, before slamming back into you. The force of it sent a shockwave through your body, and you moaned loudly, your head falling forward as he set a punishing rhythm.

“Look at you,” he praised, his hand sliding up your side, cupping your breast, the other keeping you steady as he rutted into you. “Taking me so fucking well.”

The mixture of pleasure and the exhilaration of being semi-public had you spiraling quickly, the sounds of your pleas mingling with the faint noise of the party in the background. You were his – and the way he moved, the way he filled you so completely, left no room for doubt.

“Mine,” he growled into your neck, low and possessive.

And in that moment, you knew it was true.

The force of Jax's movements had you seeing stars, your body trembling against the shed as he plunged into you relentlessly. Each motion sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, building tighter until you were barely clinging to sanity.

“Jax,” you mewled, his name spilling from your lips in gasps, your breath catching with every snap of his hips.

Your nails scraped against the surface of the wall as you fought against your impending climax. “I’m close,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as the pressure inside you reached its peak.

He didn’t slow. If anything, your words only egged him on, his pace quickening as he took you, each movement punctuated by his throaty grunts.

His hand snaked up, wrapping gently but firmly around your throat, tipping your head back so his lips could brush against you. “You’re mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

Your breath hitched, the pressure of his hand on your throat sending a new wave of pleasure crashing over you. His movements becoming more desperate and commanding. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed into the night, mixing with your breathless moans and his rough groans.

When you didn’t respond fast enough, he pulled back slightly, just enough to swat at your exposed bottom with his free hand, the sharp sting sending another rush of heat through you.

“Be a good girl,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The combination of his words, his touch, and the unrelenting pleasure coursing through you was too much. You were helpless against his assault as you cried out, “I’m yours, Jax! I’m yours!”

His growl was pure satisfaction, his grip tightening slightly on your throat as he drove into you harder, chasing his own release.

It sent you hurtling over the edge, your body clenching around him as your climax crashed through you, leaving you gasping and shaking in his arms. The intensity of it stole your breath, your cries muffled as his hand slid to cup your jaw, tilting your head back to capture your lips in a messy kiss.

The way you fell apart around him was enough to push him to his own orgasm. With a few more hard, deep strokes – a low, raw groan tore from his chest as he came. His body tensed against yours, his grip unyielding as he spilled into you, marking you in every way he could.

For just a moment, the world was silent except for the sound of your mingled breaths, the faint hum of the party in the distance, a reminder of just how exposed you were.

Jax pressed his forehead against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin as he muttered, “Fuck, darlin’. You drive me insane.”

You managed a weak laugh, your body still trembling as you leaned back against him, letting his arms hold you steady. “You love it,” you purred in full confidence.

Jax held you, his hands resting gently on your hips as you both caught your breath. His lips brushed the side of your neck in a way that sent a lingering heat down your spine, the earlier intensity now softened into something more intimate.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough, but laced with genuine care.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes over your shoulder with a small, breathless smile. “More than okay.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up in a grin, and he brushed a light kiss to your shoulder before pulling back just enough to straighten your dress. His fingers lingered on the fabric, smoothing it down over your round hips and curvy ass with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

He backed up, tucking himself back into his pants, fingers working the button and fastening his belt. When you spun around to face him, your eyes met his lazy smile, the night reflected in the spark of his blue eyes.

He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, leaning in to steal a kiss that left you breathless all over again. “In case I didn’t mention it earlier, you look fucking sexy tonight, babe,” he husked, finishing his words with a playful nip to your lips.

You giggled softly, pulling away to adjust the sleeve of your dress and run your fingers through your hair in a half-hearted attempt to fix it. “I’m gonna pull myself together before I head back. You should go first.”

Jax’s expression turned wicked, his lips twitching with amusement as he gripped you, pulling you flush against him. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing playfully as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “I can’t wait to taste me in you later,” he rasped, the gravelly edge of his tone igniting another pulse of heat in your core, your breath hitching at the sheer filth of it.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze with a wide-eyed look before your own lips curled into a teasing grin. You bit your lip, trying to regain your composure as you smoothed down your dress one last time. “I think I’ve had enough of that party for one night. Meet me at my place in thirty minutes?”

His gaze softened, a hint of warmth dancing in his eyes as he lifted a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “I’ll be there,” he promised, his tone intimate.

He stepped back, running a hand through his hair before adjusting the collar of his kutte, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the tension. There was a confident swagger in his movements, casual and unhurried as he prepared to head back to the party, but the hunger in his eyes lingered on you for just a second longer, before giving you a wink.

You slipped away toward the bathrooms, your pulse still racing and your body buzzing from everything that had just happened. The anticipation of what was still to come was almost too much to handle, but you managed to keep your cool as you disappeared around the corner.

You knew Jax was watching until you were out of sight, a faint hint of mischief still resting on his lips as he adjusted his kutte one last time before heading back to say his goodbyes.

Thirty minutes couldn’t come fast enough.

"Most people wear aprons when they cook, dear," she'd said.

"I do not need an apron," you'd replied confidently, stirring a pot of ragu with practiced ease. "I never spill."

And you hadn't. Not a drop on the silk, not a splash on the trousers. Years of cooking in your grandmother's kitchen in designer clothes had taught you how to move, how to angle your body, how to keep immaculate even while creating something delicious.

Now, as you surveyed the collection of containers covering Mrs. Patterson's counter, you felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Caponata—the eggplant dish your nonna had perfected, sweet, sour and complex. Cacio e Pepe, already prepared and just needing a quick reheat with a splash of pasta water, and maybe one more crack of black pepper. Pasta con i Tenerumi—the delicate zucchini tendril soup that was pure comfort.

A rich ragù sauce you'd started yesterday and let simmer overnight, the kind that got better with time. Chicken marsala. A frittata that could be reheated for breakfast. Containers of already-cooked pasta. A salad that just needed dressing. Rolls from the bakery you'd found yesterday. And, because you couldn't help yourself, a tray of biscotti and a small tiramisu.

"You're going to spoil that boy," Mrs. Patterson said, watching you pack everything into a series of insulated bags.

"He has a new baby," you replied simply. "He should not have to worry about cooking. He should worry only about il bambino."

"That's sweet of you." There was something knowing in Mrs. Patterson's tone. "He's a handsome one, that Jax Teller."

"Is not about that," you said firmly. "Is about family. About taking care of people."

"Mm-hmm." Mrs. Patterson didn't sound convinced, but she helped you carry the bags out to your Ferrari.

The sight of your car parked in front of the quaint B&B still made you smile. The car was so utterly out of place in Charming, so completely wrong for this small town, and yet you loved the contrast. You were out of place too, after all.

Loading the Ferrari with enough food to feed a small army was an interesting exercise in spatial reasoning. The trunk space was limited—this was a sports car, not a grocery-getter—but you made it work, carefully arranging containers so nothing would shift during the drive. The remaining bags went in the passenger seat, secured with the seatbelt.

You caught your reflection in the car's window as you closed the door. Designer clothes, expensive car, arms full of homemade Italian food. Your nonna would have been proud.

The drive to Jax's house took fifteen minutes, navigating streets you were beginning to know by heart. His neighborhood was modest—working class, houses that had seen better days but were still loved, still maintained. Children's toys scattered in yards. American flags on porches.

His house was easy to spot—partly because you'd memorized the address, partly because there was a Harley parked out front that screamed Sons of Anarchy.

You pulled up to the curb, killed the engine, and sat for a moment, gathering yourself. This was it. You were about to insert yourself even further into Jax Teller's life, into his home, meet his son properly. There was still time to turn back, to drop the food and leave, to maintain some semblance of distance.

But that wasn't who you were. When you committed to something—you committed fully. It was the family way.

Besides you where sure it would be safe.

You grabbed as many bags as you could carry—which was most of them, because you were determined—and made your way to the front door. Balancing bags on one hip, you managed to knock, then waited.

The door opened after a moment, and there was Jax. He looked exhausted—handsome still, because genetics were unfair, but exhausted. His hair was messier than usual, there was a stain on his shirt that was probably spit-up, and his eyes had the slightly glazed look of the severely sleep-deprived.

"Hey," he said, then registered the bags. "Jesus, how much food did you—"

But you weren't looking at him anymore. Your attention had zeroed in on the tiny bundle in his arms, wrapped in a soft blue blanket. You could see a small face, peaceful in sleep, impossibly delicate features, a shock of blonde hair so pale it was almost white.

"Oh," you breathed, and every bag suddenly felt weightless. "Oh, look at him. Jax, he is perfetto. Bellissimo. Look at this precious angel!"

You were cooing now, your voice dropping into that universal pitch that all women seem to instinctively use around babies, words flowing between Italian and English without conscious thought. "Che bello bambino! Look at those little cheeks! And the hair! Madonna, so much hair! He is beautiful, Jax. So, so beautiful."

Jax blinked, clearly not having expected this reaction. "You want to come in? Because those bags look heavy and you're kind of blocking the door."

"Sì, sì, of course." You swept past him into the house, still making soft cooing noises at Abel, who slept on obliviously. "But first, let me see him properly. Bring him into the light. I need to see every little detail."

"I have to—the bags—"

"The bags can wait! The bambino cannot wait! He is only this small once!" You set your bags down on the nearest surface—which happened to be a kitchen table scattered with baby supplies—and reached out. "Please? I promise I am very careful."

Jax hesitated for only a moment before carefully transferring Abel into your arms. The moment that tiny weight settled against you, something in your chest clenched almost painfully. He was so small. So perfect. So utterly dependent and trusting.

"Ciao, piccolo," you murmured, adjusting your hold with the ease of someone who'd held many babies. "Ciao, Abel. I am your Zia. Your auntie. And I am going to spoil you terribly. Yes, I am. You are going to be so spoiled."

"You're really good with babies," Jax observed, and there was something in his voice—surprise, maybe, or relief.

"I have many cousins," you said absently, completely focused on Abel's sleeping face. "Many, many babies in my family. I have been holding bambinos since I was five years old." You looked up at Jax, your expression serious. "Now. You will show me the kitchen. I have brought enough food for maybe a week, maybe little bit more. And then we will talk about what else you need."

Jax ran a hand through his already messy hair. "You really didn't have to—"

"We are not having this argument again," you said firmly, though your voice stayed soft so as not to wake Abel. "You have a new baby. You need food. I like to cook. Is simple, yes? Now, this is kitchen?"

The house was... well, it was a bachelor's house that had suddenly been invaded by an infant. You could see the attempts at preparation—a bassinet in the corner of the living room, packages of diapers stacked against the wall, bottles drying on a rack in the kitchen. But there was also laundry piled on the couch, dishes in the sink, and a general air of overwhelmed chaos.

The kitchen was small but functional, and when you opened the refrigerator—still holding Abel, because you weren't giving him back yet—you actually gasped.

"Jax Teller. What is this?"

"What's what?"

"This!" You gestured at the fridge's contents with your free hand. "There is beer. More beer. Some kind of takeout container that I think is growing something. And... is that ketchup? Just ketchup and beer?"

"There's mustard too," Jax said defensively.

"Mustard! He says mustard like this makes it better!" You were speaking to Abel now, your tone conversational. "Your papa, he does not know how to shop for food. This is very sad. We will fix this, yes? Yes, we will."

You turned back to Jax, your expression a mix of horror and determination. "You cannot live like this. Not with a baby. He needs nutrition. You need nutrition. This is..." You gestured wordlessly at the sad state of the refrigerator.

"I was going to go shopping," Jax said, but he didn't sound convincing even to himself.

"When? Between the feeding and the diaper changes and the not sleeping?" You shook your head. "No. Is okay. I have brought food. Lots of food. But tomorrow, I am taking you shopping. Or I am going shopping for you. This cannot continue."

You began unpacking bags with one hand—the other still carefully supporting Abel—moving with an efficiency that would have been impressive if it wasn't so bossy. Container after container went into the fridge and freezer, and you kept up a running commentary the entire time.

"This is caponata. You eat it room temperature or cold, is good wit bread or by itself. This is cacio e pepe—you just need to warm it gentle on da stove wit a little pasta water, very creamy, very simple. This container is pasta con i tenerumi—is a soup, very delicate, you heat and eat with the bread. And this..." You held up a large container reverently.

"This is ragù. Real ragù, not that American meat sauce. I start this yesterday, let it cook slow, slow, slow. You heat this wit any pasta, is perfetto. This one container will last you tree, maybe four meals. This frittata, you can eat cold or warm, is good for breakfast. These rolls, they are for whenever you need bread..." You pulled out a marker from your handbag—because of course you had a marker—and began labeling everything with reheating instructions in neat, precise handwriting.

Jax watched this whirlwind with something like awe. "You're really organized."

"Someone has to be," you replied. "Now, the freezer. These two containers are more ragù sauce—I make extra because it freezes perfetto and you just defrost when you need. This is chicken marsala for when you want something different. These—" You stopped, frowning at the freezer's contents. "Why do you have so much ice cream?"

"I like ice cream."

"This is not nutrition, Jax."

"It's comfort food."

You paused, considered this, then nodded. "Okay. But you also need real food. Which you now have."

With the kitchen finally stocked to your satisfaction—it had taken some creative arranging to fit everything—you turned your full attention back to Abel. He'd started to stir slightly, little movements that suggested he might wake soon.

"He is hungry, I think," you said, swaying gently in that instinctive way people move with babies. "When did he last eat?"

"About two hours ago. He should be good for another hour or so."

"Bene. Then you will sit, and I will make you eat, and you will tell me what else you need help with." It wasn't a suggestion.

"I'm fine, really—"

You fixed him with a look that would have made your grandmother proud. "Jax. You have spit-up on your shirt, bags under your eyes that could hold my luggage, and I would bet money you have not eaten a real meal in two days. You are not fine. You are a new papa doing his best, and that is admirable, but you need help. So you will accept the help. Capisce?"

For a long moment, Jax just stared at you—this woman in designer clothes, holding his son like she'd been born to it, commanding his kitchen and his cooperation with equal authority. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"Has anyone ever told you you're terrifying, Darlin' ?"

"Sí, Many times," you said cheerfully. "Now sit. I am heating up the chicken marsala. And then you will tell me about the schedule for il bambino, so I know when is good time to visit."

As you moved around his kitchen with easy confidence—still holding Abel, because you'd effectively stolen him and showed no signs of giving him back—Jax did sit. And watched. And something in his expression shifted into something warmer, something grateful and maybe a little bit awed.

You plated the chicken marsala with care, adding a side of the pasta con i tenerumi and some crusty bread. The presentation was simple but elegant—the kind of meal that said "I care about you" without being overly fancy.

"You're really something else," he said quietly.

You glanced over your shoulder. "Is just food, Jax. Is what we do."

"It's not just food," he said. "And you know it."

You did know it. But acknowledging it felt dangerous, so instead you focused on plating his food, on making sure Abel was still sleeping peacefully, on anything but the way Jax was looking at you like you'd just solved all his problems by showing up with food and determination.

You'd been at Jax's house for perhaps two hours—feeding him, organizing his disaster of a living room while giving advice on sleep schedules, holding Abel almost the entire time and providing a running commentary on proper baby care to his sleeping form—when you heard a car pull up outside.

"That will be Mamma Gemma," you predicted.

Jax raised an eyebrow. "How did you—"

"She called earlier, yes? When I was loading the dishwasher? I heard you tell her you were fine. Which was a lie, by the way. You were not fine. You were surviving on beer and ketchup."

The front door opened without a knock—family privilege—and Gemma walked in, her presence filling the room immediately. She was dressed in her usual style tight jeans, leather jacket, boots that could probably be classified as weapons. Her hair was perfect, her makeup immaculate, and her eyes were already scanning the room, taking inventory.

Those eyes landed on you, standing in her son's kitchen in clothes that cost more than the furniture, holding her grandson, and she stopped short.

"Well," she said. "Isn't this cozy."

"Mamma Gemma!" You brightened immediately, shifting Abel carefully so you could approach her. "Ciao, bella!"

Before Gemma could react, you were kissing both her cheeks—left, right, left again casual as breathing. You felt her stiffen in surprise, not quite pulling away but clearly not having expected this level of familiarity.

When you pulled back, Gemma's expression was carefully neutral. "We doing this now? The whole European greeting thing?"

"Is how we say hello," you said simply. "Is respectful. You are family, no?"

"I barely know you," Gemma pointed out, but there was no real heat in it—more curiosity than offense.

"This does not matter. You are Jax's mamma, which makes you family. And I already told you at the dinner—you are Mamma Gemma now. So we greet like family." You smiled, completely unrepentant. "Besides, you have the good face for kissing. Very strong cheekbones."

Despite herself, Gemma's lips twitched. "Did you just compliment my bone structure?"

"Sì. Is very good. You age well. This is important."

Jax was watching this interaction with barely concealed amusement, clearly wondering if his mother was going to accept this or shut it down.

Gemma studied you for a long moment, taking in everything from your expensive clothes to the way you held Abel with practiced ease to the clean kitchen visible behind you. "You've been here all morning?"

"Since nine," Jax confirmed. "She brought enough food to feed the entire charter."

"Just enough food to feed one papa and his bambino for a week," you corrected. "Maybe little bit more, because I know familiga, they will come to visit, and they will need feeding too."

"You cooked all this yourself?" Gemma moved into the kitchen, opening the fridge, and you saw her eyebrows rise at the neatly labeled containers. "This morning?"

"I wake up early. And I like to cook. Is no trouble." You swayed gently, Abel still peaceful in your arms. "Now, you are here to see il bambino, yes? He is perfetto. Look at him, Mamma Gemma. Such a beautiful boy."

Gemma's expression softened completely as she approached, her tough exterior melting away in the face of her grandson. "Hey there, baby boy," she murmured, running a gentle finger down Abel's cheek. "Grandma's here."

You watched the transformation with interest. This was the real Gemma, beneath all the leather and attitude—a grandmother who loved fiercely, who would protect this child with everything she had.

"Here." you offered.

"You're actually willing to give him up? You've been holding him like he's made of gold since you got here," Jax said.

"He is made of something more precious than gold," you replied seriously. "But yes, Mamma Gemma should hold him. Is her grandson."

You carefully transferred Abel to Gemma's arms, making sure he was comfortable before you stepped back. The look on Gemma's face—pure love and fierce protectiveness—made your chest ache with something you couldn't quite name.

"So," Gemma said, not looking up from Abel. "I was thinking we should do a welcome home party for this little guy. Let everyone meet him properly. This weekend, maybe?"

"That is a wonderful idea!" you said immediately. "A party for il bambino! We will need food, yes? I can cook—"

"I can handle the food," Gemma said, and there was a slight edge to it—territorial, maybe.

"Of course, of course," you agreed quickly. "But I can help, yes? I am very good at the cooking. And you should not do everything yourself."

Gemma looked at you then, really looked at you, and you could see her reassessing. "You really like to take care of people, don't you?"

"Is what family does," you said simply. "We take care of each other."

"And you think you're family now?" It wasn't hostile, just clarifying.

"I am friends with family, which is close enough, no?" You smiled. "Besides, I already claimed Juanito as my brother, and you as Mamma Gemma. I am very good at collecting people."

"I noticed," Gemma said dryly, but you could see the corner of her mouth twitching.

"So, this party," you continued, because if you were going to invite yourself, you might as well commit. "What time? I will bring dessert. And maybe some appetizers. Oh! And I make very good arancini—you know, the fried rice balls? These are good for parties."

"You're inviting yourself," Jax observed, but he was smiling.

"Sì. I am very good at this too." You looked between them, your expression innocent. "Unless you do not want me here? I will understand if is just for family—"

"Don't be ridiculous," Gemma cut you off. "If you're going to keep forcing your way into our lives with homemade food, you might as well come to the party."

"Perfetto!" You clapped your hands together, delighted. "I will make so many good tings. You will see. This will be the best party for the bambino."

Gemma shook her head, but she was smiling now—a real smile, not the calculating one she usually wore. "You're like a tiny Italian hurricane, you know that?"

"I have been called worse," you said cheerfully. "You should ask my brothers."

The three of you spent the next hour discussing party plans—or rather, Gemma and you discussed while Jax interjected occasionally with suggestions that were usually overruled. You took notes in your phone, already planning dishes, already thinking about how to make this perfect for Abel.

By the time you finally left—after making Jax promise to text you if he needed anything, after giving Gemma your number, after kissing Abel's forehead and whispering promises in Italian about spoiling him—you felt lighter than you had in months.

Maybe you could build something here. And if it was reckless, if it was dangerous to get this attached, well... you could worry about how to handle that later.

The day of Abel's welcome home party arrived with typical California sunshine and your typical organized chaos. You'd been cooking since dawn—this time at Jax's house, because Gemma had grudgingly admitted that having an extra pair of hands might be useful.

You'd dressed slightly more casually today—still designer, still expensive, but more appropriate for a backyard party. A flowing Zimmermann dress in cream and gold, flat Valentino sandals, a concession to the fact that you'd be on your feet all day, minimal jewelry. Your hair was off your face, and you'd kept your makeup light and natural.

The house was already bustling with activity when you'd arrived at seven AM—Gemma had beat you there, was already seasoning meat for the grill, and had given you an approving nod when she saw you were ready to work.

"Let's do this," she'd said, and you'd grinned.

The two of you had fallen into an easy rhythm—Gemma handling the grilling and sides, you handling salads and your promised arancini, which were frying to golden perfection, appetizers, and three different desserts because you couldn't choose just one.

Jax had stayed out of the way, mostly, focusing on Abel and trying to make the house presentable. You'd caught him watching you and his mother work together several times, something unreadable in his expression.

By noon, people started arriving. Club members first—the ones you'd met at Gemma's birthday, plus a few new faces. They came bearing gifts for Abel, six-packs for Jax, and that easy camaraderie that came from years of brotherhood.

You greeted each one like family—kisses on cheeks for the ones you knew, warm handshakes for the new ones, remembering names and asking after their own families. Juice got a particularly enthusiastic greeting and an immediate scolding about the stain on his shirt.

"Juanito! You cannot come to a party looking like this! Go, I have a stain stick in my purse, you will fix this now."

"Yes, ma'am," Juice said, grinning even as he obeyed.

"She's got you trained already," Tig commented, reaching for one of your arancini.

You smacked his hand away gently. "These are not ready yet. They need to cool. You will burn your mouth."

"Worth it," Tig said, but he backed off.

More people arrived—old ladies, friends of the club, what seemed like half of Charming's population. The backyard filled with laughter and conversation, the smell of grilling meat and your Italian cooking mixing in the air.

You moved through the crowd like you'd been doing this for years, making sure everyone had food and drinks, directing people to where things were, playing hostess in a house that wasn't even yours. Gemma noticed, you could tell, but she didn't comment—just watched you with that calculating expression that suggested she was still figuring you out.

You were refilling the appetizer table when you noticed someone—a club member you didn't recognize, leather vest marking him as SAMCRO—leaning against the side of the house with a lit cigarette, smoke curling up into the air. He was standing near the back door, right where the smoke would drift inside, where Abel was currently sleeping in his bassinet.

Something hot and protective flared in your chest.

You set down the tray you were holding and walked over with deliberate purpose. Without hesitation, without asking permission, you reached up—he was tall, you had to stretch—and plucked the cigarette right out of his mouth.

"Hey! What the—"

You dropped the cigarette into his beer bottle, where it died with a quiet hiss. Then you looked up at him, your expression serene despite your rapidly beating heart.

"No smoking around il bambino," you said firmly. "The smoke, it is bad for baby lungs. You want to smoke, you go to the front of the house. Far away from the door."

The man—older, with the kind of face that suggested he didn't take orders from anyone—stared down at you. You dressed like you'd stepped out of a fashion magazine. He was easily six feet, two hundred pounds of muscle and motorcycle club authority.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" His voice was low, dangerous.

You didn't flinch. "I am someone who cares about the baby. And you are someone who will smoke somewhere else, per favore." Your tone was still soft, still polite, but there was steel underneath. "Andiamo. Go. Now."

"Listen, sweetheart—"

"No, you listen." You switched to rapid Italian, your voice dropping even lower, and while he probably couldn't understand the words, the tone was unmistakable. A string of very creative suggestions about where he could take his cigarette and what he could do with it, delivered with the kind of authority that came from generations of Italian grandmothers who took no shit from anyone.

The man took a step back, actually looking uncertain now.

"È chiaro?" you finished, raising one eyebrow. "Is clear?"

From somewhere behind you, you heard a deep rumble of laughter. Clay had witnessed the entire exchange, and he looked absolutely delighted.

"I think the lady made herself clear," Clay said, still chuckling. "Maybe take your smoke out front."

The man looked between you and Clay, seemed to realize he wasn't going to win this one, and nodded stiffly. "Yeah. Sure. Front of the house."

"Grazie," you said sweetly, like you hadn't just backed down a full-patch member of an outlaw motorcycle club with nothing but attitude and Italian curses. "This is very kind of you."

As he walked away—carefully moving to the front of the property—Clay approached you, shaking his head with what looked like admiration.

"That was something else," he said. "You just made him. back down with only your voice."

"He was smoking near the baby," you said simply, like this explained everything. "This is not acceptable. Besides...he doesnt look so tough."

"And the Italian?"

You smiled innocently. "I was just explaining very clearly why he should move. He understood, I tink."

Clay laughed again, full and genuine. "Oh, I think he understood just fine. Remind me not to get on your bad side."

"You are Papa Clay," you said, patting his arm affectionately. "You know better. Now, you need more food? I have more arancini ready."

As you walked back toward the kitchen, you could feel eyes on you—club members who'd witnessed your confrontation, old ladies who were whispering and smiling, Gemma who was watching you with something that might have been approval.

And Jax, standing in the doorway with Abel in his arms, looking at you like he couldn't quite figure out what he was looking at.

You caught his eye, smiled softly. "We protect il bambino."

The party continued, loud and joyful, full of laughter and love and the kind of family chaos that transcended blood. You moved through it all like you belonged there, collecting people and moments and building something that looked an awful lot like home.

you’d arrived at the clubhouse when the boys were in chapel, waiting for them to get out as you hadn’t seen Jax all day. the thump of music from the current party happening making your head spin a little as you sat down next to some of the other girls you knew. 

staying where you were sat as the chapel doors opened, watching him intently as he spoke to various people as he walked over to you. 

his hands going to the couch behind your head as he leaned down to kiss you, your hands soothing across his chest while he mumbled against your lips. 

“hi darlin’, you okay?”

nodding in response, eyes darting around the busy room before standing from the beat in leather couch. 

hands soothing across his chest and under his kutte, the leather outlining the broadness of his shoulders. a pleased hum leaving you at the sight of him, while a knowing smirk worked its way onto his face. 

reaching for one of his hands and leading him outside, mumbling out about just wanting to go home, but the words go in one ear and out the other. his attention locked on your hips as you walked, glancing over your shoulder at him at his lack of a reply and swatting at his chest. 

“mhm sorry sweetheart”

his voice held that lustrous tone, one you’d grown familiar with. leading him towards your car, his mind wandering even further before your soft hands are cradling his face. 

“can drop you off in the morning for your bike, would rather not flash everyone we pass”

the way his hands fall to your hips, and even under your skirt show he knows why you don’t want to go home on his bike. but the thoughts in his head started to take over, head nodding at any and all words falling from your lips while his hands kneaded at your ass under your skirt. 

“Jax, are you even listening?”

the words fall from your lips softly, despite the hint of frustration plastered across your face. he’s nodding again, but more sincere than before— actually listening this time. 

“you don’t wanna ride because you don’t wanna flash everyone, got it”

his hands continued exploring your body, palming and kneading at all the skin he could get his hands on. huffing out a breath of air as he leaned in to kiss you, soft at first before it became needy. his left hand leaving your body to fumble with the handle of the car door, getting it open and helping you inside. 

letting his eyes flicker across your body appreciatively before he was leaning in to kiss you again, murmuring out against your lips. 

“this okay darlin’? not pushing you, am i?”

shaking your head no in response, only to be met with a more serious look on Jax’s face. resting your hands on his shoulders and drawing shapes with your thumbs. 

“words, use your words”

“it’s okay, this is okay”

and the smirk on his face made you smile, a swell of pride filling his chest as he climbed further into the car, your body scooting back as far as you could go to give him more room. 

thighs spread as he settled as best he could between them, his big hands flipping up your skirt as his smirk deepened at the sight of your panties. 

the delicate lace clinging to your curves, his head dropping to kiss across your throat and up your neck to whisper huskily in your ear. 

“these for me?”

nodding as his thumbs hooked into the waistband and slowly pulling them off, a groan falling from his lips at the sight of your pussy drooling between your thighs. 

hands moving down to tug at his belt, trying to get it open and sighing as it wouldn’t budge. 

“eager huh?”

he chuckled out, sitting up on his knees as much as he could and working open his belt. watching him through your lashes as he shoved his jeans and boxers down enough to free his cock, the head of him already leaking precum. 

pulling him down into another kiss and feeling him smirk against your lips, his cock laying heavy against your thigh.

“need you Jax”

another chuckle left him before he was kissing you again, all teeth and tongue as he rutted against your thigh.

whining at the feeling of him pulling back, watching him through hooded eyes as he reached forward into the front seat looking for your bag. 

simply watching him as you knew what he was looking for, hearing him curse as he couldn’t find one. 

“you always have one, what happened?”

shaking your head in amusement at his question, hands reaching up to cradle his face and pulling him down into another kiss, shorter this time but still filled with the same level of need as the others. 

“last time i was here late with you, used it then”

a deep sigh pushing from his lips before they tugged up into a pout, his body pulling back from yours slightly. 

irritation painted across his face while his blond locks framed his face, his mind racing and the thoughts of just continuing this when you both got home the foremost in his mind. 

“got some at home, can finish this there”

he’d grumbled out, moving his hands to tuck himself back into his boxers before you were stopping him. 

arms going around his neck and pulling him back down into another kiss, soft and chaste. whispering softly against his lips while holding his gaze. 

“need you Jax, can’t start something and give up halfway through. besides, i’m on the pill”

the proposition has his breath catching in his throat, eyes searching yours and finding nothing but surety.  hearing a mumbled and barely audible ‘christ’ fall from his lips, before he was contemplating again. 

“we’ve never done it without one before”

but the soft and reassuring look on your face was all he needed. another kiss before pressed to your lips until he was pulling back and taking hold of his cock, pumping himself a couple of times before swiping the head of him through your folds. coating himself in your wetness before nudging himself at your entrance.

eyes flicking up to yours for permission, and getting a nod of approval. 

hands grabbing at his biceps as he pushed into your warmth, walls pulsing around him and a shaky groan falling from his lips at the feeling. 

the thing is, you and Jax had had sex many times before, but this was new. you’d never let him fuck without a condom before, didn’t want to risk anything. 

but the feeling was new, and really welcomed. 

it made you both feel closer. 

the feeling of you around him was so familiar yet so new at the same time. Jax loved being inside you, helped ease him down after a long day, but this? this was possibly his new favourite. 

“fuck feel so good darlin’,”

his groans were needier, the feeling of you around him had groan after groan leaving his lips like a fountain. 

his arms on the seat on either side of your head as he slowly started to rock his hips, each drag of his cock had your fingers digging into his arms, nails making little crescent moon indents across his skin. 

a cry of his name toppling from your lips caused his pace to pick up, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the confined space. 

“jesus, so so good”

his tone dropped an octave lower, the last word catching in his throat as you clenched down on him. 

the feeling too much, too good.

and you both felt it. 

the pool of heat in the pit of your stomach grew with each push and pull of his hips, breath hitching in your throat before mumbling out to him. 

his thrusts holding that same punishing pace he always set, your car rocking slightly with each rock he gave. 

his right arm pulling back from next to your head, his hand shaking between your body to press his thumb to your clit. drawing circles in time with his thrusts, causing you to clench down around him again. 

“shit— not gonna last long if you keep doing that baby”

the admission had a thrill of excitement running down your spine, knowing that you’re the reason he’s so close already just by letting him fuck you without a condom. 

every delicious drag of his cock against your walls kept pushing you closer, mixed with the figure eights he was drawing across your clit. your words coming out in a breathless whine. 

“Jax— close baby”

the confession had him groaning again, the pool in his belly matching the intensity of yours. his thrusts stuttering and his head dropping to your shoulder, groans muffled against your skin. 

“that’s it, fuck, cum f’me darlin’”

the soft approval had your head nodding instinctively, dominant hand holding his jaw and pulling him down into a kiss. gasping against his lips with another deep thrust before toppling over, the coil in your belly snapping and your climax hitting you with a cry of his name. 

his thrusts sloppy, working you through your release and working himself towards his own. 

the way your breath continued to hitch, moans breathless and needy spurring him on. 

“fuck baby, where? where’d you want it?”

since he buried himself inside, the question was floating around his head. 

not wanting to make any decisions on it himself, he put it off until he had verbal confirmation from you. 

“insides okay, don’t have anything to clean up with if you didn’t” 

the words had a choked out chuckle leaving him, despite the moment you were both having. 

his hips continued their sloppy thrusts against yours, chasing his climax and burying his face in against your throat. 

both arms on either side of your head again while your fingers brushed through his hair, lips pressing a softer than expected kiss to his temple. 

a muffled groan of your name toppling from his lips as his climax washed over him. the flutter of your walls around him having pushed him over. 

his cock throbbing in your warmth before spurts of cum filled you, his groans turning needy again and his body staying on top of yours. 

continuing to rake your fingers through the blond locks as his hips stilled against you, his cock remaining buried to the hilt as he basked in the aftermath of his high. 

“fuck darlin’, too good t’me”

laughing softly at his words, watching him intently as he pulled back enough to meet your gaze. big hands soothing across your thighs while he reluctantly pulled from your warmth, and another groan leaving him at the sight of his cum dribbling out of you. 

“can’t go back to fucking with a condom, y’know that? feel too good”

The loud fans buzzing overhead in the pavilion was not helping the scorching July heat. If anything, it was just moving the hot air around even more. Your niece begged you and your sister to go to the flea market while on summer break, so here you were dying of heat exhaustion while the three of you looked at the crap people were selling. 

Nothing had caught your eye, but your niece wanted everything. A picture of a tree, a bracelet that looked like it was from the early 2000’s that you were sure if you looked in the basement of your parents you could find, a trench coat, and a flute, which you were extremely tempted to buy so it would annoy your sister. 

Your eyes were scanning a case of rings out of boredom at this point when you hear your niece gasp. 

“No!” Your sister sternly says. 

“But pleaseeee,” your niece whines, “pleaseeee mom. I really want this.”

“Absolutely not.”

Looking over, you see your sister and niece standing in front of a table with dolls and play furniture. The corner of your mouth quirks at the scene unfolding. 

“You are not getting one, end of story.”

Your niece looks like she is about to start crying while looking at your sister. Walking to the booth, you notice that the dolls are not new by no mean. These are genuine antique dolls equipped with creepy eyes that look like they are following you and some have faded paint. 

“Auntie pleaseeeeee.” Your niece turns to you and begs. You look at your sister who is looking into your soul with the burning fires or hell. “I want a doll so bad,” she looks at you with puppy dog eyes that somehow have tears welling up in them. This kid needs to get into acting, sheesh. 

Looking at the hanging tags, you look at the uninterested vendor, and then to your sister, who looks like she was going to strangle you at any second if you bought a creepy doll. 

“I don’t know,” you look back at the dolls, “They are kinda expensive.” Your eyes flick up to your sister, who looks less mad, and you look back to your niece, “You have plenty of toys. Why don’t we see if there’s some ice cream or something we could spend money on instead of this?”

The tears that were starting to well up in her eyes magically disappeared and her small hand grabbed yours and your sisters. 

Turning your head to your sister, she looks over at you and you smirk. Her face drops, and you mouth “you owe me” to her. Laughing, you shake your head, and the three of you head towards the food vendors.

later that night:

Bottles clink as music blares throughout the clubhouse. Your sister was in the same class as Jax and the two of them continued to be friends even after they graduated school, so from time to time he invites you two to the club. Juice and Jax were standing next to you two as you guys chatted. 

You were nursing a bottle of beer, that was now warm, and your sister was yammering on about something. “Oh thanks by the way.”

That snapped you back to reality for a second. Your eyebrows knit together, “Huh?”

“For not buying that creepy ass doll at the flea market. I do NOT want that thing in my house. She’s always been obsessed with those things.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “I was half tempted to, but I figured I shouldn’t.”

“Creepy doll?” Juice asks confused. 

“Yeah,” you sister stars, “We went to the flea market today, and my wonderful child about cried over some creepy ass doll. The thing is probably haunted, and I do not want that attached to me, her, the house, hell even the dog.”

Jax, Juice, and you laughed at her comment. 

You set the bottle down as your sister turns to him. “Their eyes FOLLOWED, yes I mean followed you.” She shivers, “They are creepy as fuck, and I am not dealing with that.”

Tig walks behind the bar as you laugh and set down your beer. 

Your sister continues, “It’s bad enough that she has one of those baby alive dolls that can crawl on the floor.” Her eyes slit over to you. 

“What?” You hold your hands up defensively.

“You know what.” She shoots you an accusing look, “You get her the creepy and loud toys.”

“Well, that’s my job as her aunt.” You laugh. 

“I hate dolls.” Comes from behind you. 

The four of you stop talking and laughing. Turning, you look at Tig standing with two bottles in his hands. 

“What?” You laugh. 

“I hate dolls.” He says with full seriousness. “They give me the heebie jeebies.” 

Juice doubles over in laughter and Jax laughs at him. 

“I forgot about that.” Jax continues laughing. 

“Well I’m glad someone is on my side.” You sister says into her bottle. 

You open your mouth to ask him to explain, but before the words could come out Tig already was walking away from the group. 

A couple of weeks later you had to get your oil changed, so where else to go other than Teller-Marrow. 

“Hey girl,” Gemma says as you walk into the office. 

“Hey,” you drop the keys on the desk, “Just here for an oil change.”

Gemma grabs a clipboard and starts filling out some paperwork as you look out the windows towards the guys. Juice looks up and a bright smile spreads across his face and he waves at you. Waving back, a small smile forms as he walks up to the office. 

“Hey!” He says as he grabs your keys. 

“Hey Juice, just an oil change.”

You sit down in the chair next to the desk Gemma is sitting at. Juice walks out with your keys, while you and Gemma chat. 

About 30 minutes later Juice walks back in as the two of you were catching up. “All done, here you go.” As he drops the keys in your lap. 

“Thanks!” You say as you stand up. “Hey!” You yell to him as he begins to walk out. 

He stops and looks at you confused, “Yeah, what’s up?” 

“I have an idea, come here.”

Gemma shoots the two of you a look as you walk out the front to a bench. You sit on the seat and he hops on top of the table. 

“You know how Tig said he was scared of dolls a couple weeks ago?”

His eyebrows knit together, “Yeah?” He says confused. 

“How would you feel about helping me pull a prank on him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I will go get a creepy ass doll, and we hide it in his house somewhere.”

“No.” He shakes his head at you.

“No??” You look up at him. 

“I do not want to be apart of this.”

“Why?” You question. 

“Because I do not want him to kill me, or something worse.”

“Ugh,” you groan. “Then just tell me where he lives.”

“Yeah,” he hops off the table, “That’s really not going to happen.”

“Juicee,” you draw out. “I though you like to do this kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, not when my life is going to be on the line.”

“I’ll help.” You hear from behind you.

Snapping your head, you see Happy standing on the side of the building with a cigarette pulled to his mouth. 

“What?!” Both you and Juice question and yell at the same time. 

Happy stares at the two of you, “I will take any change to fuck with Tig.”

“When the hell did you even get here,” you question looking confused. 

“Don’t worry about that. You have the doll?”

“No. But I can get one, and you,” you point at Juice, “Will distract Tig, while Hap and I plant it.”

“NO!” Juice yells. 

“Yes,” you and Happy say at the same time. 

“I didn’t agree to this shit,” Juice mumbles as he walks away with his hands up in the air. 

Looking back at Happy, you smile, “Give me an hour to get the doll and come back. Do you think that there is enough time to go to his place and get back without Tig getting suspicious of Juice?”

Happy just nods his head and walks away without another word while throwing the cigarette butt on the ground. 

about an hour later:

You pulled back up to the shop, eyes darting around to make sure Tig wasn’t around, waiting for Happy to appear. Looking down at your phone, a thud on your car startles you. You drop your phone on the floor somehow and look up to see Happy standing at your passenger door just staring at you. 

Unlocking the door, Happy opens it and slides in without at word. Grabbing your phone off the floorboard, you look at him and he just stares back at you, “Sooo, are you going to tell me how to get there?”

“Go right.”

About 10 minutes later the two of you pull up outside of a small, ranch style house. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you lean over the center console into the backseat as Happy gets out of the car. 

You grab the doll and get out. Walking up to Happy, he looks down at the doll dangling by your thigh. “That’s not creepy.” He looks back up to you. 

“If I got something creepy creepy he would be onto us, so let’s start small and go from there.”

He doesn’t respond to you, and walks around to the back of the house. Sliding a window open, he looks at you. You look at him, then to the window, and then back to him, “You have got to be kidding.” 

“This was your idea.”

You sigh dramatically and drop the doll through the window. Your hands press into the window sill as you put your head through. Pushing, you attempt to hoist yourself through the window, but to no avail it was not working well. “Umm Hap? A little help here.” You grumble. 

His hands land on your waist, and help lift you up when you press up again. He helps guide your legs through the opening as you slide inside. The two of you probably looked like the worlds worst robbers right now.

Huffing, you stand up and turn to Happy, “ I am not going back out through there.” 

You slide the window closed, and you lean down to grab the doll. Looking around, you see the hallway with a couple of doors, and you see the open concept of the living room kitchen combo. You had slid into what you assume is the dining area, but there was only a small table pushed up against the wall with two chairs. 

It was oddly homey in here; very clean and doesn’t smell. Heading down the hallway, you see a smaller door than the rest of them which you assume is a linen closet. Opening it up, there were random things thrown on the shelves, and there was a shelf at the top with some random blankets and towels pushed up there. 

Going back to grab the chair, you push the towels over slightly, and place the doll between the wall and the towels and blankets. You step back down and head back to the kitchen with the chair. Happy looks at you through the window, and you hold your finger up to ask for one more minute. You run back and close the door, not without taking a picture first of course.

Unlocking the back door, re-locking it, and closing it behind you. You and Happy go back to the car. As you begin to leave he looks over at you, “Where’d you put it?”

“In some closet.” You open your photos up to show him. He shakes his head as he gives you directions back to the shop.

Several weeks goes by without Tig ever saying anything about finding the doll in his house. You and your sister had been to the club a couple of times between you putting the doll in his house, and the only people that know about it were you, Juice, and Happy, and possibly Gemma. Because she knows that the three of you were up to no good when you got your oil changed. 

About 5 weeks after putting the doll in Tigs house, your phone vibrates on the couch next to you as you watch TV. It buzzes again, and again. Sighing, you grab it to see you had 4 texts from Juice. 

Juice: DUDE

Juice: HE FOUND IT

Juice: HES AT THE CLUB YELLING

Juice: I CANT HOLD IT BACK

You: I swear to god juice if you break i will be the one killing you

Tig was not happy. He was fuming actually. Flinging the door open, he scans the inside to see almost all the guys are in there. “Which one of you motherfuckers did it!” He yells. 

Everyone stops what they were doing and looks back at him. His eyes were crazy as he looked through the room at everyone. 

“I asked a fucking question. Which one of you fuckers did it?”

Jax looks at him with total confusion, “What are you talking about man?”

“Oh don’t play coy with me. I know it was someone here. And I am going to figure it out.” He spits out.

“What are you talking about?” Jax asks again. 

“The doll.”

Jax cracks a smile, “The what?”

“You fucking heard me,” he seethes, “That stupid fucking doll in my hall closet.”

Juice looked like he was going to combust if he made eye contact with Tig. He was very interested in the gash on the bar, which was conveniently next to his phone, that he was discreetly texting you on. He looks up to see Happy staring into his soul. He didn’t know what was worse: Tig yelling about the doll or Happy looking at him like he would kill him if he cracked. 

Tig turns to some of the guys and keeps yelling about the doll in his closet, so Juice takes this chance to slip out of the clubhouse without him noticing. 

About a week later you went to the clubhouse on a Friday night to hangout because you didn’t have anything else to do. You were chatting with Jax when Juice appeared looking frantic. 

“I can’t do it anymore.” He looks at you. 

Jax looks between the two of you extremely confused. 

“Every time Tig looks at me I feel like I’m going to bust. I can’t keep it back anymore.”

“Holy shit.” Jax laughs, “You two did it?”

Your eyes shoot to Juice, “You motherfucker!”

“I’m-I’m sorry!” He squeaks out, “I haven’t told anyone, other than Jax right now, and it’s eating me alive.” 

“You didn’t even do anything but distract him!”

Jax looks over at you, “Then who helped you get to his house.”

Your eyes flick to Happy, who was standing in the corner of the room for a split second, before looking back at Jax. 

“No fucking way,” he laughs while shaking his head. 

“Jax,” you look at him, “You have to keep this between us.”

“Do you know how crazy he’s been since he found that doll?” 

You laugh at Jax. 

“He’s talking about getting security cameras for his house!” Juice flicks his eyes between you and Jax. 

You laugh so hard tears start to form in your eyes. You look over to see Tig walking towards the bar, which makes you laugh even harder. 

“What’s so funny?” Tig asks as he approaches.

“Oh nothing,” you laugh some more, wiping tears from your cheeks, “Just something Juice said.”

You look over to Juice, who now looks like he has saw a ghost, “I’m, uh, going to go blow my nose.” 

“Blow your nose?” Tig questions.

Before anyone else asks Juice more questions, he runs away. Which makes you laugh even harder. 

“What’s up with you giggle shits?” Tig asks. 

“Oh nothing, what’s up with you?”

“I’m about to lose my mind actually.” He turns to Jax, “There was a fucking doll on my front lawn this morning.”

A laugh breaks from your mouth before you can stop it. 

“You,” he seethes. 

“Me?!” You point to yourself. 

“Yeah you,” he walks forward. “You did this?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The doll. On my front lawn. It was you.”

“Tig, I seriously have zero clue what you are talking about.” Because you have zero clue about a second doll, and he can see it in your eyes. 

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” you hold out your pinky. 

He looks down to you hand then back to you. 

Jax laughs at the sight.

Tig shakes his head and locks his finger with yours. 

You were sitting in the office with Gemma helping her organize a few things when the two of you hear yelling from the garage. You and Gemma look at each other before she opens the door. 

“I know someone here is doing this to me!” Tig accuses everyone while he was was pointing frantically at everyone. 

“Bro we don’t know what you’re talking about.” Someone yells back.

“If one more fucking doll shows up at my house,” he continues to point at everyone, “I’m going off the walls. You haven’t seen crazy yet!”

You cackle and Gemma turns to you, “Spill.”

You laugh some more and give her the run down of the first doll. “I seriously have zero clue about these two other dolls. I’m dead serious.” You look out the windows to see Tig still yelling, but you see Happy standing by his toolbox looking to the office. 

“Holy shit,” you laugh out. 

“What?” Gemma questions. 

“It’s Happy.”

She shakes her head, “He is one crazy motherfucker.”

Later that afternoon you stepped outside to leave. While walking to your car you notice Tig walking around like Mr. Sir from Holes after shooting the lizard chasing after Stanley. Quietly laughing to yourself you shake your head while unlocking your car. 

“Hey.” Comes from your side. Looking over, you see Happy smoking by a table. You change your course and head over to him. Raising your eyebrows as you approach him, you see the corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly. 

You can’t hold the grin back when you see him trying to hold a smile back himself. “I can’t believe you,” you laugh.

“What can I say, I like to fuck with Tig.”

Shaking your head once again, you look at Happy, “Gemma knows now.” His face drops slightly at the words. “Butttt," you draw out, "you know she’s not going to say anything. Juice on the other hand,” you look over to where Juice was now hiding behind a toolbox as Tig pass by, “Might spontaneously combust if he holds this back any longer.”

“He doesn’t know anything about the other two, that was just me.” 

You close your eyes and hold back a laugh. “Happy, you are one crazy motherfucker. This has gone on for 6 months now,” you laugh. 

A year later:

The door to the club bursts open. Everyone stops, the room quiets completely, and everyone turns to see Tig standing in the doorway with something hanging down by his side. He steps in, light illuminating his figure and the doll dangling between two of his fingers, fire burning in his eyes, and what can only be described as fear mixed in as well. 

“What’s going on Tig?” Jax calls out. 

“Someone here,” he looks around, “Is twisted.” Juice looks like he’s about to cry, meanwhile you’re attempting to hold back laughter. 

“This,” he gestures down to the doll, “Was sitting on my bed. First the doll in my hall closet, oh funny haha, then the doll in front yard oh sooo funny, and then the creepy cracked doll at my front door.” His eyes slit, “Then this. I walk into my house, go into my room, flip on the light, and this thing is sitting on my bed. I looked at it and it spoke.” 

“Spoke?” Someone calls out. 

“YES.” His head snaps. He holds the doll up and it makes a sound. The room was dead silent when the words come from the doll, “Let’s have a tea party, Alex.”

The room went from dead silent to an eruption of laughter. Banging on tables, people doubled over in laughter, and tears streaming from peoples faces. “It’s not funny!” Tig screams. 

You have zero clue how, but you know Happy found an Amazing Ally doll. He played the long game, and he won. Looking over, you see Happy is grinning and laughing as Tig throws the doll in the trash can.

Happy looks at you and winks. What was supposed to be a one time joke, has now turned into terrorizing Tig, and Happy seems to be enjoying this way more than he should. 

Here is Doris in all of her glory