VINTAGEREIGNS

— FEELING

❛ longing ❜ ❛ comfort ❜ ❛ fear ❜ ❛ hope ❜ ❛ guilt ❜ ❛ joy ❜ ❛ jealousy ❜ ❛ trust ❜ ❛ confusion ❜ ❛ safety ❜ ❛ regret ❜ ❛ tenderness ❜ ❛ ache ❜ ❛ peace ❜ ❛ want ❜ ❛ yearning ❜ ❛ hesitation ❜ ❛ betrayal ❜ ❛ relief ❜ ❛ pride ❜ ❛ vulnerability ❜ ❛ nostalgia ❜ ❛ admiration ❜ ❛ disbelief ❜ ❛ grief ❜ ❛ devotion ❜ ❛ loneliness ❜ ❛ warmth ❜ ❛ embarrassment ❜ ❛ desire ❜

— TROPE

❛ only one bed ❜ ❛ mutual pining ❜ ❛ fake dating gone real ❜ ❛ friends to lovers ❜ ❛ strangers to almosts ❜ ❛ found family ❜ ❛ rivals with tension ❜ ❛ the “oh” moment ❜ ❛ confessions at 2am ❜ ❛ sunshine x grump ❜ ❛ forbidden ❜ ❛ hurt / comfort ❜ ❛ secretly in love ❜ ❛ reunion after years ❜ ❛ accidental domesticity ❜ ❛ slow burn ❜ ❛ “just friends” denial ❜ ❛ second chances ❜ ❛ love letters never sent ❜ ❛ childhood friends ❜ ❛ exes ❜ ❛ soulmates who don’t believe in fate ❜ ❛ enemies on the same side ❜ ❛ sleep talking confessions ❜ ❛ one falling first, the other falling harder ❜ ❛ patching up wounds with shaky hands ❜ ❛ “who did this to you?” ❜ ❛ dancing in the kitchen ❜ ❛ jealousy over nothing ( but also everything ) ❜ ❛ late-night phone calls ❜ ❛ caught in the rain ❜ ❛ almost kissing but someone interrupts ❜ ❛ waking up next to them ❜ ❛ fixing each other’s tie / collar ❜ ❛ taking care of them while they’re sick ❜

"You got too much free time on your hands, baby...g-gotta find another hobby besides—mmm, fffuck—thisss..."

"You really complainin' 'bout it? I don't see you stoppin' me..."

Roman had been home for only two months of his year-long vacation, but he didn't let a day go by without indulging in his favorite hobby: You. 

You knew he had a point and he made it clear over and over with the pointed tip of his tongue, trailing along the slick, soft valley of your folds that he held open with his broad thumbs. One of those thumbs traveled to your clit to nudge it carefully, just firm enough to make your eyes flit open and down at him as his flickered up at you. His long, wide tongue lapped and traced your pussy lips before he kissed at them with his full ones, your eyes locked together when he removed his thumb to lock those velvety lips on your sweet spot, instead.

"God...right there," you hissed pathetically as another moan rolled from your lips, your head rolling back onto the pillow as your fists snatched up handfuls of the black, cotton sheets surrounding you. Roman surrounded you even more, his big, warm body wedged between your thighs, his bigger, muscular arms slipping around your hips, and his big, calloused hands palming your breasts as his thumbs nudged your hard nipples like they did your clit. His tongue picked up that work now, his mouth and mustache smothered with your lush wet as his tongue smothered your spot..."Right fuckin' there, unghh, I'm 'bout to cum."

You would have lifted your hips to meet more of his mouth but it was impossible. There was no more space between you both as Roman was impossibly close, no telling where his mouth ended and your pussy began as it throbbed once with that telltale heated pleasure before you fluttered on his tongue, fluttered with hot waves that submerged your body. Your moans mingled with his muffled ones that vibrated against your core, both of you savoring that sweet bliss that rocked you on the bed and rocked you on his tongue as only he savored the sweetness of you.

You were still moaning when he eased back onto his knees and pulled away slowly, his hands massaging down your body until they settled on your trembling thighs that he couldn't hold still even with his massive strength. Not that he was trying as he reveled in making you eat your words. You heard him confirm it with a breezy chuckle as you tried to compose yourself.

"Baby," you whimpered as your pleasure wouldn't let you loose, your pussy still grasping at those afterglow spasms that Roman watched with a handsome half-smirk as he pushed your thighs apart further. He wouldn't let you loose, either, his deep brown eyes slanting like he was in deep thought about what to do with you next as his hands kept you pinned to the bed.

"Still ain't tellin' me to stop, I see," he laughed softly again as you shivered from one of his hands that found its way back to your pussy, fingers lapping and tracing in the same sadistic swirls that dangerous tongue of his did. You craned your neck just in time to catch him tap his middle fingers along your clit and draw back, a sticky string of your wet following his caress. He let it drip on his tongue, his fingers seeking seconds before he asked with a satisfied hum, "You really don't want me playin' in this pussy all day, baby?"

His voice was nothing but smooth, slow bass, smooth and slow like his touch teasing and pushing into your little hole that gently expanded around his two long, thick fingers...fingers that then gently curled up to tease and push your g-spot as he caught your gaze again. He caught your pulse on his fingertips, too, the one he made quiver with his smooth, slow thrust up, deeper, thrusting a whiny moan out of your throat that you couldn't keep in.

"I-I'm sayin'...can I get a break?" you uttered and knew the answer was no before it even came out of your mouth. It was the way he ran his unbusy hand to fuss with his hair, pushing off the silky mane where it had fallen onto his forehead to grace his naked, hulking shoulders. His gorgeous face crinkled with furrowed eyebrows and cute wrinkles around his eyes at your ridiculous question.

Ridiculous because as much as your boyfriend loved to wear you like his favorite black, Nike sweatsuits as he chilled at the house with you...you loved how he wore you out, too.

Roman was a man of many tastes, enjoying his time away from work by locking himself in his study to read, whipping around the kitchen to cook family recipes, and exploring the scenic beaches and trails just beyond your backyard.

But his favorite taste was always you.

"You think you earned a break?" he asked you, his bearded chin tipped low to keep his eyes on both your body as it squirmed in the palm of his hand and your pretty face touched with awe at him. His husky tone was gruff, commanding yet whimsical, curious. Like he truly wanted you to think about it. 

Yet you couldn't think about anything when Roman lazily coiled the pads of his fingers to your tender spot, over and over and deeper still. Your eyes tried to find the back of your skull as you cried his name for the hundredth time this afternoon, his delicious torture starting sometime when the sun filled your bedroom.

You weren't sure when it was ending as Roman had all the time now to perfect his persecution...

"Tell me, baby. Or you gon' cum for me first?"

"...Mm, unh huh. That's what I thought. Look at this pussy pullin' on my fingers...you ain't tired of me yet."

"C'mon, sweetheart. Get up. Let Daddy make you cum on this dick. Just one more time..."

Whether the clouds absorbed the sunrays that had scattered throughout the room, or if it was simply nightfall taking over, you were overtaken by your boyfriend who relished in you until you were fast asleep at his side, his arm securing you to his strong chest where your lips smudged to his tatted pec you lightly snored on.

Before you dozed off, you knew you'd wake up alone as Roman would be in the kitchen trying his hand at baking faiai eleni for you both to have for dinner as he'd picked up the ingredients, along with a bottle of tequila, from the store last night. That's because Roman was nothing but diligent at everything he sought to do, from his lengthy career that he worked endless days to build to the leisurely days he filled with activities to spoil you with... 

"You excited to take the time off?" you inquired quietly on his first night home. He held you to his bare chest then, too, your head on his shoulder as you listened in the dark to the sigh build in his chest before it escaped his lips.

"Excited ain't the right word. Relieved, I think."

"You be workin' too damn hard, so I get that."

"Naw. I get paid real good to work hard, baby. And I love my work." Roman breathed the words with a resolute grunt, one that made you grin as you knew it to be true. But you grinned harder when you felt his arm squeeze you to him a bit tighter. "I'm just...happy to spend more time at home. You know? Spend more time with you."

.

.

.

Thanks for reading! ❤️

a/n: Don't ask me why I felt led to write this today...just know I'm madly in love with Roman more than a person who doesn't know him should be. 🥹

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𝗝𝗮𝘅 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

You’d been Jax Teller’s old lady for almost a year and a half, and by now, the club had wrapped you into its life like one of their own. You weren’t just the President’s girl—you were his. Everyone knew that. Still, that didn’t stop the playful jabs from Juice, the shared smoke breaks with Opie, and the deep respect Chibs always showed you. But there was one member who had a little more behind his eyes.

Tig never stops with the innuendos. He flirted hard, always had. You’d roll your eyes, laugh it off, think it was just Tig being Tig. But after a rough run-in with a rival charter and one too many shots of whiskey at the clubhouse, he cornered you outside, near the row of bikes.

“You know,” he said, voice husky, “if Jax ever does somethin’ stupid and breaks your heart—I’ll be there.”

“Tig, come on—” you smiled, trying to brush him off.

“No. I mean it, doll. I’d burn this whole town down for you.”

You didn’t even get to respond before the clubhouse door swung open—and there stood your old man, staring right at the two of you.

𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗯𝘀 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Being with Chibs meant being protected—ferociously. He was a man of loyalty, not just to the club, but to you. He called you “mo graidh” like it was a prayer. You were his anchor.

Opie had a soft spot for you almost immediately. You were gentle with Chibs, never pushing, never judging. Opie never meant for it to become something else. But over time, the way you always asked if he’d eaten or how you never looked at him like he was broken—it started to ache.

He began leaving you little things. A music mix. An old book you mentioned. Candy you liked. He never signed any of it. Never confessed. But the guilt gnawed at him.

And one day, Chibs picked up on it. He held up a note you’d just found in your purse and asked, “Did Opie write this?”

You weren’t sure whether to lie or not.

𝗧𝗶𝗴  ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Being with Tig was chaos—but a chaos that felt oddly like home. He was reckless and romantic, sometimes too intense, but always made you feel like the center of his storm. The club had mixed opinions on your relationship, but they knew better than to question Tig’s loyalty to you.

That didn’t stop Juice from falling—hard. The way you handled Tig’s madness, the way you always showed up at the clubhouse with food or bandages, or how you laughed like you weren’t surrounded by violence—it got to him.

Juice would watch you from afar. He’d offer to help when Tig wasn’t around, he was always polite, always quiet. But the day Tig went missing after a botched run, Juice stayed up all night with you. And when you cried into his shoulder, he whispered something he’d never admit again:

“If it was me, I’d never leave you wondering.”

𝗢𝗽𝗶𝗲 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

You were the light Opie didn’t know he could still have. After everything he’d lost, you brought warmth back into his life. The club loved seeing him smile again. You were his steady. His healing.

Chibs knew better than to let himself feel anything. But he did. Against his better judgment, he fell for the way you looked at Opie like he hung the stars, for the way you always showed up with that damn homemade apple pie, and for your stubbornness when it came to protecting the people you loved.

He never acted on it. Never would. But once, late at night, after a few too many drinks and a fire crackling behind the clubhouse, he looked over at you, laughing on Opie’s lap, and muttered under his breath:

“Lucky bastard…”

You heard him, but you weren’t sure if you were supposed to.

𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Being with Happy Lowman wasn’t for the faint of heart. But he never once made you feel unsafe. If anything, you’d never felt more protected. He was surprisingly attentive. Loving. But possessive? God, yes.

Nobody crossed you.

Except maybe Jax.

Jax Teller always had charm to spare. And he wasn’t doing anything wrong, per se. But the compliments were a little too sweet. The looks, a little too warm. He laughed a little too easily when you were around.

You mentioned it once, joking. “Your prez’s got a little soft spot for me.”

Happy’s response was immediate. “One more look like that… and he loses an eye.”

You weren’t sure if he was joking. You hoped he was.

But the next day, Jax wouldn’t meet your eyes.

𝗝𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗲 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Loving Juice was like learning a new language—gentle, tentative, full of small, sweet gestures. You were patient with him. The club was shocked at how well you fit into Juice’s quiet little world. But you fit.

Happy never said much, but he watched everything. He admired you silently—how soft you were with Juice, how fiercely you defended him when others made jokes. You fascinated him. You made him feel, and he hated it.

It came to a boiling point during a run. You were loading a truck, Juice busy on a call, when Happy walked up behind you and muttered, “You ever get tired of soft? I’ll show you how real love feels.”

𝗝𝗮𝘅 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

You’d been Jax Teller’s old lady for almost a year and a half, and by now, the club had wrapped you into its life like one of their own. You weren’t just the President’s girl—you were his. Everyone knew that. Still, that didn’t stop the playful jabs from Juice, the shared smoke breaks with Opie, and the deep respect Chibs always showed you. But there was one member who had a little more behind his eyes.

Tig never stops with the innuendos. He flirted hard, always had. You’d roll your eyes, laugh it off, think it was just Tig being Tig. But after a rough run-in with a rival charter and one too many shots of whiskey at the clubhouse, he cornered you outside, near the row of bikes.

“You know,” he said, voice husky, “if Jax ever does somethin’ stupid and breaks your heart—I’ll be there.”

“Tig, come on—” you smiled, trying to brush him off.

“No. I mean it, doll. I’d burn this whole town down for you.”

You didn’t even get to respond before the clubhouse door swung open—and there stood your old man, staring right at the two of you.

𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗯𝘀 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Being with Chibs meant being protected—ferociously. He was a man of loyalty, not just to the club, but to you. He called you “mo graidh” like it was a prayer. You were his anchor.

Opie had a soft spot for you almost immediately. You were gentle with Chibs, never pushing, never judging. Opie never meant for it to become something else. But over time, the way you always asked if he’d eaten or how you never looked at him like he was broken—it started to ache.

He began leaving you little things. A music mix. An old book you mentioned. Candy you liked. He never signed any of it. Never confessed. But the guilt gnawed at him.

And one day, Chibs picked up on it. He held up a note you’d just found in your purse and asked, “Did Opie write this?”

You weren’t sure whether to lie or not.

𝗧𝗶𝗴  ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Being with Tig was chaos—but a chaos that felt oddly like home. He was reckless and romantic, sometimes too intense, but always made you feel like the center of his storm. The club had mixed opinions on your relationship, but they knew better than to question Tig’s loyalty to you.

That didn’t stop Juice from falling—hard. The way you handled Tig’s madness, the way you always showed up at the clubhouse with food or bandages, or how you laughed like you weren’t surrounded by violence—it got to him.

Juice would watch you from afar. He’d offer to help when Tig wasn’t around, he was always polite, always quiet. But the day Tig went missing after a botched run, Juice stayed up all night with you. And when you cried into his shoulder, he whispered something he’d never admit again:

“If it was me, I’d never leave you wondering.”

𝗢𝗽𝗶𝗲 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

You were the light Opie didn’t know he could still have. After everything he’d lost, you brought warmth back into his life. The club loved seeing him smile again. You were his steady. His healing.

Chibs knew better than to let himself feel anything. But he did. Against his better judgment, he fell for the way you looked at Opie like he hung the stars, for the way you always showed up with that damn homemade apple pie, and for your stubbornness when it came to protecting the people you loved.

He never acted on it. Never would. But once, late at night, after a few too many drinks and a fire crackling behind the clubhouse, he looked over at you, laughing on Opie’s lap, and muttered under his breath:

“Lucky bastard…”

You heard him, but you weren’t sure if you were supposed to.

𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Being with Happy Lowman wasn’t for the faint of heart. But he never once made you feel unsafe. If anything, you’d never felt more protected. He was surprisingly attentive. Loving. But possessive? God, yes.

Nobody crossed you.

Except maybe Jax.

Jax Teller always had charm to spare. And he wasn’t doing anything wrong, per se. But the compliments were a little too sweet. The looks, a little too warm. He laughed a little too easily when you were around.

You mentioned it once, joking. “Your prez’s got a little soft spot for me.”

Happy’s response was immediate. “One more look like that… and he loses an eye.”

You weren’t sure if he was joking. You hoped he was.

But the next day, Jax wouldn’t meet your eyes.

𝗝𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗲 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅

Loving Juice was like learning a new language—gentle, tentative, full of small, sweet gestures. You were patient with him. The club was shocked at how well you fit into Juice’s quiet little world. But you fit.

Happy never said much, but he watched everything. He admired you silently—how soft you were with Juice, how fiercely you defended him when others made jokes. You fascinated him. You made him feel, and he hated it.

It came to a boiling point during a run. You were loading a truck, Juice busy on a call, when Happy walked up behind you and muttered, “You ever get tired of soft? I’ll show you how real love feels.”

♡ Jax Teller — Soulmates/Second Chances

Jax is the one who got away, the man you loved with every fiber of your being when you were both too young and too reckless to make it work. Back then, your relationship was a wildfire—passionate, all-consuming, and chaotic. You’d spend nights riding on the back of his bike, arms wrapped around his waist, feeling like the world couldn’t touch you. But the club, his family, and the weight of his destiny pulled you apart. It was right person, wrong time, and when it ended, it shattered you. Years later, after you’d both lived separate lives, you cross paths again—maybe at a gas station on the outskirts of Charming or at a bar where you didn’t expect to see him leaning against the counter, that same damn smirk on his face. The second your eyes meet, it’s like no time has passed. He’s rougher now, hardened by loss and violence, but the way he looks at you still makes your heart stutter. Jax doesn’t hesitate—he walks right up, cups your face, and kisses you like he’s been starving for it. From there, it’s a slow burn of rediscovery. You help him heal from the guilt and pain he carries while he reminds you what it feels like to be truly alive. The club life keeps trying to pull him away, but this time, he fights for you. You’re his soulmate, and no amount of blood or time can change that. It just took a second chance to prove it.

♡ Opie Winston — Childhood Sweethearts

Opie’s been in your life since you were kids, growing up in Charming together. You remember him as the lanky boy who’d share his snacks with you at recess and scare off anyone who messed with you. He was your first crush, your first dance at a school event, the one who taught you how to climb trees without falling. Life pulled you apart—his marriage, the club, your own path—but you never stopped thinking about him. When you come back to Charming after years away, he’s a widower, hardened by loss, but those familiar hazel eyes still light up when he sees you. You fall into old habits: late-night talks on his porch, fixing up his truck together, laughing about the dumb things you did as kids. The shift happens slowly—his hand brushing yours, a hug that lasts too long—and suddenly, you’re not just friends anymore. He’s hesitant, scared to love again, but with you, it feels like coming home. You’re his second chance at happiness, and he holds onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him steady.

♡ Happy Lowman — Opposites Attract

Happy’s the last guy anyone would picture with you. He’s the club’s enforcer. Silent, intense, with a body count that’d make most people run. You’re the sunshine to his storm, maybe a nurse who patched him up once or a florist who accidentally delivered flowers to the clubhouse. At first, he terrifies you, all grunts and tattoos, but then he keeps showing up—fixing your leaky sink, glaring at the creep who won’t leave you alone at the bar. You’re soft where he’s rough, chatty where he’s quiet, and yet it works. He’s drawn to your warmth, your refusal to flinch when he tells you about his darker side. You tease him until he cracks a rare smile, and he starts bringing you little things—a bullet casing he turned into a keychain, a cactus because “it’s tough like me.” You balance each other: you soften his edges, and he keeps you grounded. No one gets it, but when he pulls you close after a long day, it’s clear you’re his exception, the one person he’d kill—or die—for.

♡ Tig Trager — Forbidden Love

Tig’s wild, unpredictable, and totally off-limits. Maybe you’re a cop’s daughter, or worse, related to someone in a rival MC. The first time you meet, it’s electric. He’s all dark humor and suggestive grins, and you’re trying not to fall for it. You know getting involved with him is a bad idea; your family would flip, and the club would never approve. But Tig doesn’t care about rules. He sneaks you away for midnight rides, leaves flirty notes under your windshield wiper, and kisses you like he’s daring the world to stop him. The tension builds—stolen glances at club parties, secret meetups in abandoned lots until you can’t deny it anymore. He’s a mess of contradictions: loyal to the club but willing to risk it all for you, crude one minute and tender the next. You’re caught between worlds, but when he tells you he’d burn it all down to keep you safe, you believe him. It’s dangerous, messy, and undeniably addictive.

♡ Chibs Telford — Older Man/Younger Woman

Chibs is older, wiser, and carries the weight of a lifetime of scars—both literal and emotional. You’re newer to Charming, maybe a mechanic’s apprentice or a waitress at the diner, full of energy and sass that catches his eye. He calls you “lass” with that gravelly Scottish accent, teasing you about your “young folk ways,” but there’s a spark there he can’t ignore. You’re drawn to his quiet strength, the way he commands respect without raising his voice, and how he listens when you ramble about your day. At first, he resists, thinks he’s too old, too broken for someone like you but you wear him down with your persistence, sneaking into his orbit until he’s making excuses to see you. He takes you on long rides and shares stories of his past over whiskey, and soon, you’re the one patching him up after a fight, your hands steady against his battered skin. You bring light to his world, and he grounds you with a love that’s steady, fierce, and unshakable.

♡ Juice Ortiz — Fake Dating

♡ Jax Teller — Soulmates/Second Chances

Jax is the one who got away, the man you loved with every fiber of your being when you were both too young and too reckless to make it work. Back then, your relationship was a wildfire—passionate, all-consuming, and chaotic. You’d spend nights riding on the back of his bike, arms wrapped around his waist, feeling like the world couldn’t touch you. But the club, his family, and the weight of his destiny pulled you apart. It was right person, wrong time, and when it ended, it shattered you. Years later, after you’d both lived separate lives, you cross paths again—maybe at a gas station on the outskirts of Charming or at a bar where you didn’t expect to see him leaning against the counter, that same damn smirk on his face. The second your eyes meet, it’s like no time has passed. He’s rougher now, hardened by loss and violence, but the way he looks at you still makes your heart stutter. Jax doesn’t hesitate—he walks right up, cups your face, and kisses you like he’s been starving for it. From there, it’s a slow burn of rediscovery. You help him heal from the guilt and pain he carries while he reminds you what it feels like to be truly alive. The club life keeps trying to pull him away, but this time, he fights for you. You’re his soulmate, and no amount of blood or time can change that. It just took a second chance to prove it.

♡ Opie Winston — Childhood Sweethearts

Opie’s been in your life since you were kids, growing up in Charming together. You remember him as the lanky boy who’d share his snacks with you at recess and scare off anyone who messed with you. He was your first crush, your first dance at a school event, the one who taught you how to climb trees without falling. Life pulled you apart—his marriage, the club, your own path—but you never stopped thinking about him. When you come back to Charming after years away, he’s a widower, hardened by loss, but those familiar hazel eyes still light up when he sees you. You fall into old habits: late-night talks on his porch, fixing up his truck together, laughing about the dumb things you did as kids. The shift happens slowly—his hand brushing yours, a hug that lasts too long—and suddenly, you’re not just friends anymore. He’s hesitant, scared to love again, but with you, it feels like coming home. You’re his second chance at happiness, and he holds onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him steady.

♡ Happy Lowman — Opposites Attract

Happy’s the last guy anyone would picture with you. He’s the club’s enforcer. Silent, intense, with a body count that’d make most people run. You’re the sunshine to his storm, maybe a nurse who patched him up once or a florist who accidentally delivered flowers to the clubhouse. At first, he terrifies you, all grunts and tattoos, but then he keeps showing up—fixing your leaky sink, glaring at the creep who won’t leave you alone at the bar. You’re soft where he’s rough, chatty where he’s quiet, and yet it works. He’s drawn to your warmth, your refusal to flinch when he tells you about his darker side. You tease him until he cracks a rare smile, and he starts bringing you little things—a bullet casing he turned into a keychain, a cactus because “it’s tough like me.” You balance each other: you soften his edges, and he keeps you grounded. No one gets it, but when he pulls you close after a long day, it’s clear you’re his exception, the one person he’d kill—or die—for.

♡ Tig Trager — Forbidden Love

Tig’s wild, unpredictable, and totally off-limits. Maybe you’re a cop’s daughter, or worse, related to someone in a rival MC. The first time you meet, it’s electric. He’s all dark humor and suggestive grins, and you’re trying not to fall for it. You know getting involved with him is a bad idea; your family would flip, and the club would never approve. But Tig doesn’t care about rules. He sneaks you away for midnight rides, leaves flirty notes under your windshield wiper, and kisses you like he’s daring the world to stop him. The tension builds—stolen glances at club parties, secret meetups in abandoned lots until you can’t deny it anymore. He’s a mess of contradictions: loyal to the club but willing to risk it all for you, crude one minute and tender the next. You’re caught between worlds, but when he tells you he’d burn it all down to keep you safe, you believe him. It’s dangerous, messy, and undeniably addictive.

♡ Chibs Telford — Older Man/Younger Woman

Chibs is older, wiser, and carries the weight of a lifetime of scars—both literal and emotional. You’re newer to Charming, maybe a mechanic’s apprentice or a waitress at the diner, full of energy and sass that catches his eye. He calls you “lass” with that gravelly Scottish accent, teasing you about your “young folk ways,” but there’s a spark there he can’t ignore. You’re drawn to his quiet strength, the way he commands respect without raising his voice, and how he listens when you ramble about your day. At first, he resists, thinks he’s too old, too broken for someone like you but you wear him down with your persistence, sneaking into his orbit until he’s making excuses to see you. He takes you on long rides and shares stories of his past over whiskey, and soon, you’re the one patching him up after a fight, your hands steady against his battered skin. You bring light to his world, and he grounds you with a love that’s steady, fierce, and unshakable.

♡ Juice Ortiz — Fake Dating