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Anon Request: Happy x reader and maybe a fight breaks out at a party at the clubhouse and reader gets badly hurt and happy just looses his shit!! Thank you!
A/N: it's actually a crime how long its been since i've written for SOA omg. this was so much fun!!!! i hope you enjoy 🥰
The chaos level at the clubhouse had gotten to such a point that Charming PD had stopped responding to the noise complaint calls about it. They were long past the point of no return—the party was just going to have to burn itself. Which, to be fair, it usually would around 2AM or so when the booze was pretty much gone and the adrenaline started to wear off.
It was only midnight so there were still a good few hours to go before things began to fizzle. And, since there were some guys in from out of town, you knew they were going to wring everything they could out of each and every minute. Eventually the out of towners would start slinking off to whatever cheap motel room they’d booked for themselves, the local guys drifting off to their dorm rooms. Most of them would be heading off with whoever the love of their life was that night.
You didn’t have to wait for the clubhouse to empty out completely, but Happy wasn’t going to feel right leaving until things quieted down enough for him to believe that things would continue to be relatively safe after he left. And you weren’t going to go home without Happy.
“Bartender, one more,” you said jokingly as you waved your empty water bottle at the prospect behind the bar. He looked ready to quit—whether it was for the night or the club altogether you couldn’t quite be sure.
Still, he gave you a tired smile as he reached under the bar and grabbed another water bottle from the pack they kept. “Better slow down—don’t wanna get too out of control,” he said with dramatized concern as he slid it across the bar to you. The water was always room temperature because the fridges and coolers were sacred spaces reserved for beer only, but it was your only non-alcoholic choice besides the crappy coffee they occasionally had on-hand.
“Ah, let me live a little,” you said, playing into the ruse as you twisted the cap off. After taking a long sip, you asked him, “Think you can bring last call around a little earlier than usual? Get everyone outta here a little sooner? That a decision you can make?”
He shook his head. “There are no decisions that I can make.”
You laughed, knowing the truth of that statement. You’d seen plenty of prospects come and go throughout the years, and none of them ever had a single ounce of pull. As was the way of things.
“Happy won’t leave if you tell him you wanna get outta here?”
You scoffed. “Of course he will. I don’t wanna have to do that though.”
The two of you were sharing a laugh over that when you felt a hand rest on your shoulder. You knew without having to look behind you that it was Happy. Reaching up, you rested your hand on top of his before tilting your head back to get a halfway decent look at him.
“Were your ears burning?” you asked, humor laced into your tone.
The prospect chuckled at that from the safety of the other side of the bar, but when he saw the look on Happy’s face he immediately changed his tune. Suddenly there was nothing more important to him than making the sure bar-top was wiped down to perfection.
You tapped his hand to get his attention back on you. “What’s up?”
“Checking in.” He gave your shoulder a light squeeze.
You nodded, spinning around on your seat so that you were facing him. Leaning back, your back and elbows rested against the very edge of the bar. You let your legs hang wide so that Happy could easily stand between them—his preferred place to be. He took the invitation, stepping in closer to you. With practiced ease he rested one hand on either side of you before leaning in to kiss you.
You didn’t rush your way out of the kiss. When he pulled back, it wasn’t far, and you could still feel his breath against your skin. You smiled. “Doing better now,” you said, able to speak quieter than you had been since he was so close.
He nodded, stealing a quick kiss. “Good.”
Reaching behind you, he grabbed the beer bottle that the prospect had knowingly set on the bar for him. He was stepping back, turning around ready to head back into the fray. You caught his hand before he got too far. The tips of your fingers barely caught his but it was still enough to stop him in his tracks.
When he turned to face you again, there was a look of mild confusion on his face. Raising your eyebrows, a slightly pleading expression on your face, all you said was, “Hap?”
He didn’t need to ask any follow-up questions. Taking another sip of his beer, he said, “Soon. Promise.”
That was a satisfying enough reassurance. You let go of his hand, a smile just starting to curl the ends of your lips. “Thank you.”
With a nod he was gone and heading back to where most of the Redwood guys were lingering by the pool table. It’d been at least a couple hours since anyone had actually used it for pool, though. At this point in the night, it was a dancefloor riddled with shot glasses. A recipe for disaster, but that never seemed to matter to anyone.
The constant noise of clubhouse parties was something that you had learned to tune out over the years. The loud music and din of multiple conversations turned into static for the most part. You could lock into the conversations that you were part of, or that were taking place right next to you, but other than that you let it all fly clean above your head. It suited you just fine, much like staying perched either at a safe distance from the throes of it all at the bar, or the safety of sitting with Happy who would inevitably have a protective hand or arm on you.
A five-minute break from the noise sounded nice, though; even if most of it was just static to you at this point. Hopping off your stool, you started to head over towards where Happy was now camped out. While he might have swapped out cigarettes for toothpicks lately, he still kept them in an old cigarette pack. A fact that you found as endearing as you did smart. You also knew that within that pack he was currently holding in his kutte, there was a joint. One that you’d slipped in there before the two of you left for the party. It seemed like as good of a time as any to cash in on it.
Leaning over the back of the sofa where he was sitting, you rested one hand on each of his shoulders. You slid them down to his chest as you leaned lower so you could speak quietly against his ear.
“Got a lighter for me?” you asked.
He was reaching for it before you even finished the question. “What do—” he stopped himself short, the answer coming in the form of you reaching into the pocket of his kutte. He chuckled, allowing you to take it even though you would make the world’s worst pick-pocket. He snuck a kiss against your jaw as you pulled away from him. “Stay outta trouble.”
You laughed as you began to weave you way towards the door. “Always do!”
Fake pack of smokes in one hand, lighter twirling between the fingers of the other, you did your best to duck and weave through the clusters of people without drawing attention to yourself.
There were only a few more strides separating you from the door when you heard the sound of shattering glass behind you. That on its own wasn’t cause for concern—everyone was dropping and throwing and breaking things all the time. What worried you was the fact that it was followed by yelling.
Your grip tightened around the lighter involuntarily as you turned around to see what was going on. This much booze and testosterone locked up inside one building, a fight breaking out was more likely than not. Especially with guys in from out of town.
You watched it turn from a one-on-one scuffle into a multi-man brawl in real time. The sigh of exhaustion you let out was involuntary. The only upside was that when it was all SOA patches, and they were inside the clubhouse, you could be fairly certain that no one was going to pull a gun. It’d be all fists and smacking heads off tables, which would still do damage but nothing permanent.
The only thing that stopped you from still heading outside to smoke was seeing Happy get up off the couch he’d been so comfortably sitting on just moments ago. What the rest of these guys did was their own business, but Happy was yours. You shoved the pack and lighter into the back pockets of your jeans, admitting defeat for the time being.
Breaking up fights wasn’t something you made a habit of, kind of like how Charming PD didn’t bust up clubhouse parties. All things ran their course. You hung around just close enough to get Happy’s attention if you needed it, to stop him from taking things too far. He was a man with no internal off-switch, so you had to be an external one.
You lingered outside the fray. Realizing that your night was about to get longer than you had originally bargained for, the thought crossed your mind to spark up your joint right then and there. Because apparently there wasn’t going to be any peace and quiet to be found.
Your gaze dropped from the bedlam for hardly a second, just long enough to flip open the cigarette pack so you could see your joint amongst all the toothpicks. But you didn’t even get the chance to reach for it. The second your gaze locked onto it, you were getting knocked clean off your feet by someone knocking into you. The man who had gotten shoved into you hadn’t been paying attention and neither had you. It was collateral damage, or at least it had started off that way.
Staying down wasn’t an option—not a safe one anyway. You got back up on your feet quickly, the frustrated, “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” falling from your lips before you thought twice about it.
The man who had bowled you over hadn’t noticed you before, but he sure did now. He spun back on you, lip busted and anger in his eyes. “The fuck you say to me?”
You hadn’t said it to him, not really. If anything it was a statement directed at everyone in the goddamn clubhouse, Happy included. But between his tone and the way he was looking at you, you were ready to let him take it personally. “Sounds like you heard me just fine,” you snapped.
For a big guy, he moved faster than you had been ready for. You backpedaled when he tried to step in closer to you, but with his reach it didn’t end up mattering. The sting of his rings cutting into the skin of your cheek was a sharp pain, the kind that distracted momentarily from the throbbing of getting socked in the jaw. It wasn’t the kind of punch that would knock you out, but it certainly knocked you down. You were all palms and heels as you tried to back away enough to get upright again. You’d gotten halfway there when the toe of his boot connected with your stomach.
The kick knocked the wind out of you. You couldn’t get up, couldn’t even try to yell for Happy. All you could do was wait for it to be over. Shutting your eyes tight, you waited for the second blow. But it never came.
There was a grunt followed quickly by the sound of shattering glass. You caught the castoff spray of whatever had been in the bottle that had gotten smashed. Opening your eyes, you looked up to see that Happy had not only seen what had happened, but was dealing out retribution for it. Breaking the bottle against the back of the guy’s head had been a warning shot.
Rage wasn’t a strong enough word for what you saw flaring up in Happy’s eyes. The guy who had knocked you down was bigger than Happy, too, but that didn’t matter. Happy’s rings broke skin easy too, the mess he was making of that guy’s face made the cuts along your cheekbone seem like nothing in comparison. In no time Happy had the man on the floor. Happy gripped him up by the collar of his shirt, lifting him just enough so that when his next punch landed it smacked the back of his head off the floor at the same time.
The ringing in your ears was cut through only by the sound of Happy’s grunts of exertion. If the stakes had been different, this would have been the point where you would have called him off. This time, though? This time you were content to let Happy go unchecked. Every dog deserved to run off-leash once in a while.
When Happy finally let the guy drop, his head landed against the wood floors with one final thump. The guy was still breathing, but he wasn’t conscious. The sight of it gave you enough strength to try and get your feet back under you.
Happy stood upright, and for a moment you thought that was the end of it. Then he reached into his kutte and pulled out his gun. Your eyes went wide, but between your breath and your jaw you couldn’t force any words out.
“Hap!” Jax’s voice rang out above everything, although things had quieted considerably when people caught wind of just how badly Happy was hurting one of their own. Even before the gun it was far outside the realm of a typical club brawl. Jax stepped in close but wasn’t touching him. “That’s enough.”
Happy shook his head. With quick efficiency he slid his hand along the top of his gun, the click of a bullet sliding into the chamber unmistakable. “No, it’s not.”
Then Jax reached out. He firmly, but carefully, pushed Happy’s hands down so that the gun was no longer pointed at the man’s head. His voice dropped lower. “Not here.”
You could see the way Happy was grinding his teeth, a last-ditch effort to contain all the anger bubbling up inside him. One wrong word and Happy was going to be pointing that gun at Jax next. “Then where?”
There was no right answer that Jax could give him. And at a certain point Happy wasn’t going to give a damn what the flash on Jax’s kutte said—president or not he wouldn’t be able to stop Happy from getting the pound of flesh he felt he was owed.
“Happy,” you said, ignoring the throbbing in your jaw.
His attention went right to you. There was blood dripping down your cheek from where you’d been cut, and you had one hand on your stomach from the kick. The fire in his eyes didn’t die out, but it shrunk, which was all you needed. He shoved the gun back into his kutte as he stepped over the man towards you.
When he was close enough, he had his hands on the outside of your arms, his grip firm and protective. The warmth coming off his hands, the callouses on his palms, they were tiny reassurances that allowed some of the tension to fade from your muscles.
“Take me home, Hap,” you said, unable to hide your exhaustion.
You didn’t miss the split second of hesitation. You knew why—in his mind the job wasn’t done. But then he saw the tears in your eyes. Nodding, he ushered you so that you were beside him, one of his hands resting against the small of your back.
He paused beside Jax, eyes boring into his. “Handle it.”
Jax nodded, knowing that it was the only correct response. “We will.”
The two of you were standing beside Happy’s bike. Normally he’d hand you your helmet and the two of you would hop right on, but this time all you had it in you to do was collapse against him, your good cheek pressing into the smooth leather of his kutte. You shut your eyes tight as his hand rested against the back of your head. Deep breath in, deep breath out, just enough to keep you from crying.
“I’m sorry.” He murmured the words against your temple. Two words that were incredibly difficult to come by when it came to Happy Lowman. He didn’t say them lightly and you didn’t take them lightly either.
You nodded, head still pressed against him. “I know.”
He kissed the edge of your forehead. “I love you.”
You let out a weak chuckle, one that kicked up the ache in your muscles. “I know that too.” Taking a deep breath, you leaned back just enough so that you could look him in the eyes. “I love you.” You tried not to flinch as he thumbed away some of the blood on your cheek. “Get me outta here and you can clean me up for real when we get home.”
He nodded. “I will.”
The small smile you gave him was tired, but it wasn’t fake. “I know you will.”
(divider by @secretlysamcro 🖤)
SOA Taglist: @darqchilddaydreamz @withmyteeth @garbinge @justreblogginfics @i-just-read-stuff @jitterbugs927 @paintballkid711 @winchestershiresauce @proceduralpassion @nessamc (idk who else is still left 'round these parts who reads soa but feel free to ask for a tag if you'd like one! xo)
Frank with a very clingy/cuddly reader? Like, always holding his hand, hugging him, practically glued to him 24/7. Idk I just wanna be all over him all the time. Just like, cling and bite.
Listen, Frank likes it and I think he doesn't even notice?? Like he's not thinking to himself "damn she's always touching me" or "this girl is a little needy," he's just sooooooo physically instinctual. He's not thinking how to navigate your clinginess, he's just responding to it, giving you what you need. If you come up to his right side while he's jotting something down, he just kinda smoothly transfers you over to his left side so he can finish writing. Or if you're in his lap and he needs to stand up, he's positioning you with your legs around his middle and just taking you with him, patting your ass and saying something like "alright come on lil' monkey." I think if you're especially clingy, he becomes especially sturdy in response. It gives him a job to do. Like, it's ok for you to be soft because he'll just carry the load for the both of you.
(and if we wanna be really dirty, this is where cockwarming comes into play)
And also, HE'S CLINGY TOO lol. If you're within arm's reach, he's touching you. He cannot keep a hand to himself if the opportunity is there. He's always just nuzzling up to you and saying, "Just so fuckin' cute readin' your book [or insert literally any activity you're doing]" I really do think the most healed and secure version of Frank is the CLINGIEST man. Like he's all simpy for you. He's always giving you puppy eyes if he's on the couch and you're not and he's saying "All alone over here sweetheart. S'like you're abusin' me or somethin'". ok drama queen! He just wants you to put your hands in his hair while he rests his cheek on your tits.
“I asked chatgpt” well I journeyed to Rivendell to seek council of Elrond Half-Elven, wise among men and wizards alike, and he invited me to a meeting with representatives of all the free peoples of Middle Earth. It turns out that my trouble is but part of the trouble of all the world, the origins of which lie in earlier, grander ages—but none of us stand alone!
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Johnny would carry around a piece of mistletoe during the holidays, randomly placing it above you saying “how did ‘at get thir bonnie, ya know the rules” while his hands wrap around your hips to dip you while he kisses you
vs
Simon buys a bunch of mistletoe and places all over the house and is somehow always next to you when you're under it, you swear it's like he is guiding you underneath it “sweet’art look up, won’ ya give me a kiss?” he whispers to you before wrapping his hands around you, lifting you slightly as he kisses
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Soap x reader: SFW/Fluff, cuddling, soap being the gorgeous man he is <3
Imagine cuddling with Soap on the couch.
Johnny sits with his usual manspread as you sit in his lap sideways, a comfortable blanket draped over yourself as you snuggle into the muscular soldier.
“Comfy, bonnie?” He murmurs softly as he plays with the strands in your hair. You nod against his broad chest, giving a subtle hum. His large arms wrap around you, pulling you closer into him.
“Mm, my gorgeous girl. My wee girl.” He whispers as he peppered light kisses to your jaw; his accent thick with comfort. You preen at his praises. Your mouth quirks up ever so slightly with warmth.
It had been far too long since you fucked with Johnny.
Nothing felt right. Nothing that you came up with would give him an aneurysm and you couldn't be doing with that. It had to be good. It had to be downright evil.
It struck you while you were sitting in your car during your oil change. You had seen videos on tiktok about pranking boyfriends by buying "premium air." It was perfect. Just the right amount of stupid while still being reasonable enough to get him to believe it.
Johnny looks like his head might fly off and leave steam seeping from his neck where his head used to be. But he's not mad at you. No, not you. He was going to hunt this prick down.
"Where'd ya go? Hmm? Wha' slimy bastard made ya shill out £300? I just wanna talk to 'im. That's all." He trembles as he tries to cool his tone, the last thing he wants is for you to feel guilty about being tricked. Little does he know he's the one getting scammed here.
"What do you mean? Premium is good right? I figured it was worth the money." You bat your lashes at him, playing up the innocent act as hard as you can. You know he’ll fall for it easy.
“Premium AIR? AIR?” Johnny looks so utterly bewildered and borderline homicidal you almost feel guilty. Almost. “That son of a bitch is playin’ tricks, Love. He’s swindled ya. I’m killin’ ‘im. That’s it, I’m killin’ ‘im.”
You can’t hold it in any longer, the giggles escaping and turning into a hardly contained snort. “Johnny just- just relax” you choke out, trying desperately to school your face.
“You- you’re fuckin’ with me.” He turns away petulantly when the realization settles in. “You’re the absolute worst, ya know that? The absolute worst.”
“I’m not that bad” you chuckle, turning him around.
“You’re pretty damn bad. Absolute menace. I’ve no clue why I love you.” He smiles despite himself, knowing he would let you mess with him as much as you like.
the 141 aren’t stupid -- they wouldn’t carry a photo of you in their vest or helmet. no name written anywhere, nothing on their body that could potentially trace to a woman back home.
but they all carry something.
simon has a hair tie on his wrist. black, cheap, the kind you buy in packs of fifty and lose all over the damn flat. it sits under the cuff of his glove, biting into his skin, reminding him exactly why he needs to make it home. it always smells like your shampoo for a bit before it starts to smell like his own sweat, he finds himself a new one on the bathroom floor before each deployment.
price wears a watch. it’s not the watch that’s about you, really. it’s that he started setting the second time zone to match yours. he checks it more than he should, especially at night when he can’t sleep and it’s three a.m where he is and eight a.m where you are. he’ll think: ‘she’ll be making coffee, i wonder what she wore to bed’ and that’s the closest he lets himself get to mixing you with work.
kyle wears a bracelet. it’s thin braided yarn, the kind of thing you learned to make as a kid at camp. you made it on a slow sunday afternoon while he was half-asleep on your thigh. he said ‘oh, that’s sick, darling. ta!’, put it on and hasn’t taken it off since. it’s absolutely filthy these days. and when it starts to fray, he simply keeps re-knotting it, sometimes johnny has to help get it tight.
johnny carries a folded square of paper that’s gone so soft it feels like fabric, he keeps it safe in a zipped pocket on his kit. it’s a grocery list in your looping handwriting that you’d left him on the kitchen counter one morning. eggs, soy milk, the good butter, berries, your stupid crisps, wine (red). it’s got a small heart in the corner -- that’s the most worn bit because he brushes his thumb over it every night.
Memorial murals around the world for George Floyd, whose murder by Minneapolis police on 25 May 2020 sparked uprisings in cities around the US, and protests against police racism in various cities around the world.
Imagine if one of Halsin’s children inherit his bear shape shifting ability.
Imagine Halsin going off into the woods one day as a bear and his partner shouting in alarm after him, and when he turns and looks and sees their child bounding after him as a bear cub.
Imagine Halsin teaching the child how to fish in the river and which berries he can eat as a bear that won’t upset the tummy when they turn back into people and bringing honey down for them to eat and which trees give the best back scratches.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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“A kiss may be grand, but it won’t pay the rental, on your humble flat, or help you at the automat.”
Like literally the most famous song about how much girls love jewellry is just explaining the importance of getting jewellry for when your partner leaves you penniless and alone.
The founder of Girl Scouting in the US, Juliette Gordon Low, funded her first troop by selling her pearl necklace, which was her only belonging after her husband died and left everything to his mistress.
She founded Girl Scouts to teach girls self-sufficiency so they wouldn’t have to go through what she went through when her husband died and she didn’t know how to take care of herself.
While we’re on the subject, let’s please also remember that historically disenfranchised communities who had to worry about frequently being run out of town often bought expensive jewelry with their limited funds not because they were greedy or tacky or classless, but rather because you can’t sew a real estate investment into the lining of your coat, and the powers that be can’t freeze a diamond necklace the way that they can freeze a bank account.
