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a-kayy47 · 7 months ago

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"Baby-Girl" - Rio X Reader

RIO MASTERLIST

Author's Note: The draft clear out continues. I know these characters aren't my usual subjects but Rio from Good Girls ... love to hate his mean ass. I think I may have a few more with him, let me know what you think 😊

Summary: It's your sister-in-law Ruby's 40th birthday so you come into town to show her and her friends a good time. Only you meet a flirty stranger who screams trouble in her house.

Word-Count: 957

Your step falters as you see the G-Wagon parked in front of yours. This is the furthest thing from the neighborhood you see luxury vehicles in. Not to mention it looks kitted out. You can't remember the last time you saw one of these around and wonder if maybe Stan rented it for Ruby’s 40th. But with all the money trouble they’ve been having it seems like an unlikely expense. Continuing to the door you knock three times. Stan doesn't answer, a stranger with a neck tattoo does. Hispanic, tall, dark hair, olive skin and dark eyes.

“Uh… is Ruby home?” you ask skeptical and the stranger steps back looking you over. He likes what he sees.

“Ruby, you didn't say you have a sister” the man calls and Ruby materializes from the corner looking nervous.

“You’re early” she smiles and it feels insincere when you see her two best friends in the house and wave. They too look uneasy.

“Thought I would get ready here instead” you explain wheeling your suitcase forward. “Oh, and Ruby’s my sister-in-law Stan, her husband is my brother” you explain. The man smirks again, his charm is infections but there's something infectious about it.

“Got it baby-girl” he nods.

“Don’t call me baby-girl, unless you’re gonna treat me like it” you smile flirting with the handsome stranger and the ladies give an audible gasp. You laugh a little at the wives crew’s reaction to a little flirting.

“Anyways Ruby, I’m gonna go get dressed and when I get back downstairs we’re leaving. You only turn forty once” you tell her running up the stairs to the bedroom. When your brother Stan suggested you take a trip to lighten things up you were reluctant at first. Beth isn’t Your favorite person despite being Rubys. But Ruby has been having a tough time and you decide to support however you can. Tonight’s theme is Vegas. You get on your showgirl jumpsuit and do a quick face before stepping into your heels. You head back down to find Beth and Mr. Neck tattoo in what looks like a heated conversation. Minding your own business you head to the kitchen without a word. You procure shot glasses and retrieve your special bottles from your suitcase, still chilled to perfection. You turn to see him standing alone in the doorway.

“Expensive bottles,” he comments.

“Who wants to celebrate with the cheap stuff?” You ask. He looks you over giving a satisfied smile and you smile impressed by his presence.

“Ruby doesn’t seem like the type,” he shrugs, coming closer.

“Of course not she’s sensible, they have kids and expenses” you say getting the bottle open.

“You don’t?” He asks and you smile.

“I don’t even know your name, you don’t get to know my business,” you comment.

“I’m Rio” he introduces, making you smile.

“No, that’s not your name. You don’t look Brazilian, so your mom named you something classic, religious” you say knowing people from your years of service work.

“You’re good,” he nods with a smirk.

“And your trouble. I know because you’re not sweating or stuttering around me like all of Stan’s other friends.” You confess.

“I'm not your brother's friend,” he responds, and you look him over again. It makes sense, he’s far too cool to be a friend of Stans.

“No?”

“Nah, Beth and I’s kids play soccer together,” he says smoothly.

“I’m sure you’re a hit with all the moms. I’d be bored of the Deanzies too” you confess pouring tequila into shot glasses and cutting the lime. Tequila before champagne is a surefire way to make sure these ladies have fun.

“You bartend?” he asks perceptively.

“Yup” You nod as Annie enters. Her outfit isn’t to theme and she takes a shot without waiting for Ruby.

“That’s like a $400 bottle of champagne” she says looking at the bottle with watery eyes.

“For Ruby” you justify.

“Who spends that on booze!” she exclaims.

“A lot of people do,” you inform and she huffs.

“You spent four hundred dollars on champagne!” Ruby emerges.

“This guy who’s into me asked me what I wanted and I said a bottle of Ace because I knew I was coming here for a milestone. Why don’t you ladies stop being the IRS and relax” you snap as Beth emerges with a black duffle and hands it to Rio.

“What does he get in return?” Ruby asks unimpressed.

“For a bottle?” You scoff. “A thank you” you shrug.

“Must be the ass,” Annie says, making you laugh.

“It’s my job to know who’s generous. Stan! Nope, Dean well god bless him, I know girls that could get him to spend mortgage money. Annie, you had a good one” you deduce handing the ladies their drinks. Beth sends you a heated glance full of animosity. Rio chuckles seemingly amused.

“What about him?” Annie asks glaring at the tattooed visitor. He raises a brow with a smirk.

“Nope; and he’s got it too. He’s possessive so he’d probably cash out on his wife and kids. You know, as an ego thing. Might leave a good tip for his regulars. Not just anyone though.” You say throwing a shot back. “Am I right?” You ask and he smiles heading towards you, his cologne is intoxicating and expensive.

“She’s trouble Ruby” he says. “Nice meeting you baby-girl” he says reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. He places it in your hands. “On me”. He walks out without a care in the world and you count five hundred dollars.

“Happy birthday Ruby!” You smile handing her the funds.

“You have to teach me how to do that” Annie remarks as Ruby and Beth look shocked.

Part Two

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a-kayy47 · 7 months ago

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LITTLE MISS DAIRY QUEEN

Chapter Two; ᴏʟᴅ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅs, ɴᴇᴡ sᴄᴀʀᴇs.

M ♡ A ♡ S ♡ T ♡ E ♡ R ♡ L ♡ I ♡ S ♡ T

Jax Teller had always been a man of flesh and instinct, the heat of the moment driving him more often than reason ever could. But standing there, leaning against his bike in the thick of the fairground chaos, he felt something raw, something primitive, something that clawed its way up his spine and seared through his chest. It wasn’t just love. Love was too tame a word for what she stirred in him.

Bluebell.

Even her name tasted like honey and wild things, rolling through his head like a prayer he’d forgotten how to say. There she was, moving through the crowd with a beauty so effortless it made him ache. She hadn’t seen him yet, and he was glad for that. Her presence alone was a torment he wasn’t ready to face, not after all these years.

Jax’s eyes devoured her, unapologetic, tracing the lines of her as though they were scripture etched into the fragile skin of his past. Her hair was longer now, cascading in dark waves down her back, catching the sunlight in a way that made him wonder how something so ordinary could look like starlight. She hadn’t changed much, not really, but there was a weight to her now, a quiet gravity in the way she moved, as though the world had worn her down but couldn’t dim her light.

And God, how she looked at those boys. Those boys. He watched her crouch down, her voice low, soft, as the younger one pointed at a bike nearby. Jax couldn’t hear what she said, but her tone carried on the breeze, warm and steady, as if it were meant to soothe the chaos that lived in the air between them.

That boy, with his blue eyes—his eyes. Jax clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, the weight of it all crashing over him like a tide. The older one stood a little further back, lanky and observant, throwing glances over his shoulder like he was guarding her. That boy’s jawline was a line Jax had seen in the mirror his whole life. It wasn’t just the resemblance; it was the way they stood, the way they moved. There was no mistaking it.

Those boys were his.

The thought staggered him. He had to grip the handlebars of his bike to keep from stumbling under the weight of it. His sons. He wanted to call out to them, to her, to demand the answers that were gnawing at his gut. But he stood there, paralyzed, as the years that had passed slammed into him all at once.

Bluebell turned, her gaze sweeping the crowd, and then it happened—their eyes met.

It was as if the universe had collapsed into that single moment. Her face, once so familiar it was burned into his soul, hit him like a fist. He saw the shock ripple through her, saw the way her lips parted like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. And all he could do was stand there and drown in her.

He remembered the taste of her skin, the sound of her laughter, the way her body had fit against his like it had been made for him and him alone. Memories clawed at him, pulling him under, and the ache that followed wasn’t just longing. It was grief. Grief for the years they’d lost, for the nights he’d spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if she was still alive, if she’d moved on, if she’d hated him as much as he hated himself.

But now, here she was, flesh and bone, and all Jax could feel was that old hunger. It wasn’t just desire. It was a pull, a gravitational force that yanked him toward her no matter how much he tried to resist. He had never stopped loving her. Not once, not for a second.

She broke the spell first, turning away, her hand resting on the boy’s shoulder like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth. Jax watched her retreat, his chest tight, his throat dry. He wanted to run after her, to grab her, to kiss her until the years between them dissolved into nothing. But he stayed where he was, rooted to the spot, helpless as she disappeared into the crowd.

And still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Bluebell. His Bluebell. She wasn’t just a woman from his past. She was the woman, the one who had torn open his chest and left his heart beating in her hands. And now that he’d seen her again, now that he’d felt the pull of her presence, he knew there was no going back.

Tara stood in the crowded room, her eyes scanning the people around her, the usual hum of conversation washing over her. But then, her gaze caught Jax. He was standing a few paces away, his eyes locked on someone across the room.

A woman. Tara's heart twisted in a mix of jealousy and suspicion, but before she could fully process the emotion, Gemma stepped up beside her, leaning in with a knowing smirk.

“You see that too, huh?” Gemma's voice was low, her eyes flickering toward Jax, then narrowing at the woman he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of.

Tara followed Gemma’s gaze. She didn’t recognize the woman at first, but something about her seemed... familiar. The woman stood with a boy, her posture protective, almost defensive. Tara’s eyes flitted back to Jax. His expression was a storm of raw emotion—longing, regret, hunger.

“That’s Bluebell,” Gemma said, her tone laced with something darker, something Tara couldn’t quite place.

Tara’s stomach dropped. She remembered the stories Jax had told her about his past, about the love he’d lost, about the pain that had haunted him for years. But she hadn't known about this woman. Not in detail.

Gemma’s gaze shifted to Tara, and her smile was cold. “You don’t know the half of it, sweetheart. She’s the one Jax chose to leave behind, the one he couldn’t save. You should thank your lucky stars she doesn’t remember what we did to her.”

Tara's blood ran cold at Gemma's words, and her eyes snapped back to Jax, still staring at Bluebell like he was seeing a ghost.

Tara's heart pounded in her chest. She felt a surge of protectiveness for herself, but also something else—something darker, something that made her wonder how far Jax had gone to protect Bluebell from Gemma and Clay's wrath. She stepped forward, her voice steady but laced with accusation. "What did you do to her, Gemma?"

Gemma's gaze flickered with something close to amusement. "Nothing that hasn’t been paid for."

Tara's hand tightened into a fist at her side as she watched Jax, his gaze unwavering, his body tense with something more than just the shock of seeing Bluebell again. She felt it—the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, like he was holding on to something inside him, something he couldn’t let go. And the woman—the woman he couldn’t take his eyes off of—stood there, oblivious to the storm she had unleashed in him.

Gemma’s words kept ringing in Tara’s ears. "She’s the one Jax chose to leave behind, the one he couldn’t save." The image of Bluebell, standing there with that boy, her presence like a pull on Jax that Tara could almost feel from where she stood, made the pit of Tara’s stomach churn.

Jealousy, hot and ugly, surged through her veins. This woman—this ghost from Jax’s past—had a hold on him, one Tara could see clear as day. And the fact that Jax hadn’t moved, hadn’t looked away from her for even a second, made Tara’s breath hitch. There was something there—something in the way Jax’s eyes softened when he looked at Bluebell. It wasn’t just a passing recognition. It was longing.

Tara's thoughts twisted. Was she really going to stand here and watch him fall back into the past? To give up everything they had—everything they’d fought for—because of some unfinished love story she couldn’t even compete with?

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. No. Not like this. Not again. Tara's protective instincts flared. She wasn’t about to lose him to some woman who had already torn him apart once before. The fact that Bluebell had the audacity to show up, to waltz into his life like nothing had changed, made Tara’s blood boil.

"I don’t like this," she muttered, barely able to keep the edge out of her voice.

Gemma noticed her discomfort, a sly smile curling on her lips. “You can’t stop it, sweetheart. You think you can just erase everything Jax feels for her?”

Tara shot Gemma a glare, but her eyes stayed locked on Jax. She could feel herself slipping—could feel the jealousy seeping into her bones, making her want to lash out, to scream, to make him see her. But she wasn’t like Gemma. She wasn’t going to make a scene.

Instead, Tara made a decision. She took a slow step forward, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on Jax. No more watching him drown in this mess.

With each step she took, the distance between her and Jax seemed to grow. She was fighting for his attention, fighting for him to see her. And with every inch she moved, she felt herself dig in deeper. This wasn’t just about jealousy anymore. It was about claiming what was hers.

Tara’s voice was tight when she finally spoke, the jealousy choking her words. “Jax.” She said his name firmly, a command, not a plea. He still didn’t look at her, but she didn’t care. She moved closer, stepping in front of him, blocking his line of sight to Bluebell. “It’s over. You have to let her go.”

Her chest tightened at the thought of Jax’s past and the depth of what he might feel for Bluebell, but this—this—was now her fight. And she’d be damned if she let him slip away from her because of a woman who’d hurt him so badly.

Jax’s eyes flickered up to her for the first time, a trace of guilt in them, and Tara’s heart nearly broke. But she held her ground, determined to shield him, even if it meant becoming the villain in this twisted love triangle.

Jax’s eyes stayed locked on Bluebell, unable to tear himself away. The sight of her, standing there, laughing with someone else, the same way she had once laughed with him, twisted something deep inside him. It was as if the years apart had never happened, as if the distance between them hadn’t been filled with pain and regrets. The ache was raw, overwhelming, and all he could think about was getting closer, just to hear her voice again.

But it wasn’t just her he was watching. It was the man beside her, that unfamiliar face. The guy had his arm around her casually, like they were something more than just strangers, and Jax could feel a pang of jealousy clawing at his chest. He didn’t know who this man was, but the way he leaned into her, the way their chemistry seemed effortless—it rattled him.

The man, tall and confident with dark hair and a slight southern drawl, noticed Jax’s stare. He looked at him like he was sizing him up, but there was no recognition in his eyes, just curiosity.

Emmett, as Jax would later learn, smiled politely but distantly, oblivious to the tension that was already building in Jax’s gut.

“Hey there, you look lost,” Emmett remarked, clearly trying to be friendly, but there was an undertone of territoriality in his voice that Jax didn’t miss.

Jax didn’t respond immediately. His eyes were still on Bluebell, but something in the way Emmett spoke made him snap out of the trance.

“Name’s Emmett Silverstone,” the man added with a grin, not realizing that his friendly overture was being met with cold silence. “And you are?”

“Jax,” he muttered, not caring to elaborate. His attention had already drifted back to Bluebell, the pull of her presence more powerful than any introduction.

Emmett, seeing the direction of Jax’s gaze, glanced back at Bluebell, who was now looking up at the two men, her expression unreadable. Jax’s heart skipped a beat, hoping—fearing—she would look at him the way she once had.

But instead, she simply smiled softly, her lips pressing together as if she was weighing her words. Then, finally, her eyes met Jax’s.

“Jax…” Her voice was the same, that soft, melodic sound he’d missed more than he could bear. But it wasn’t a greeting. It wasn’t a reunion. It was just his name, spoken with a distance between them that made his stomach twist.

Before he could say anything, Emmett was stepping in, completely unaware of the history between Jax and Bluebell. “She’s not alone, friend,” Emmett said with a polite smile. “You should’ve been around sooner if you wanted to claim her attention.”

Jax felt a flare of anger, but it wasn’t directed at Emmett. No, it was at himself, for not being there, for letting things fall apart between them.

Bluebell shifted slightly, as if uncertain, then gave Jax a quiet look that said everything without saying anything at all. It was a look that broke his heart, but it also pushed him away, reminding him of all the things that had torn them apart in the first place.

“I’ll talk to you,” Bluebell said finally, turning her back to Emmett and stepping a few paces away. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “But not here. Not in front of him. Let’s go somewhere else.”

Jax’s pulse quickened. He couldn’t believe it. She was giving him the chance to speak with her, after all this time. He followed her without a second thought, eager to bridge the gap between them, but terrified of what might happen when they finally spoke.

As they walked away, Emmett watched them for a moment, his expression unreadable. He didn’t know the history, didn’t know what this was about, and it didn’t seem to bother him. He was still beside Bluebell, ready to step in at a moment’s notice if the situation took a wrong turn.

But Jax didn’t care about Emmett. All that mattered now was the distance between him and Bluebell, the chance to finally speak to her in private, away from the noise, the confusion, and the years that had been lost.

They stepped into a quieter space, a small alcove just beyond the crowd. Bluebell turned to face him, her posture tense, but her eyes searching his face, as if trying to read him.

Jax’s boots struck the ground as he moved toward her, each step heavy with the weight of his resolve. His jaw was clenched tight, the tension in his shoulders radiating as he stopped just inches from Bluebell, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that matched the storm inside him.

"Are they mine, Bluebell?" The question came out sharper than he intended, his voice rough with a mix of longing and anger. He didn’t care about anything else in that moment—only that truth, that connection to the life he’d been kept from.

Bluebell’s face tightened, but she didn’t look away. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of an immediate answer, and for a moment, Jax’s chest tightened with the weight of the silence between them.

Finally, she nodded, once, her voice quiet but firm. "Yeah. They’re yours. Always have been."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The kids, his flesh and blood. For a second, it felt like the ground beneath him shifted, like everything he’d been living for, all the mistakes, all the years of loss, suddenly mattered in a way he hadn’t expected. But before he could let himself feel that, Bluebell’s voice cut through the haze.

"You can’t be around them, Jax," she said, her eyes hardening with an unspoken conviction. "Not if Gemma and the club are involved. It’s too dangerous for them. Too dangerous for you."

Jax’s chest tightened, and his hand twitched at his side, itching to grab her, to make her see reason. He stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous as he spoke. "You think I’m just gonna walk away from them? From my kids? No. I’m their father. I’ll be around whether you like it or not."

Bluebell’s eyes flickered with frustration, but she held her ground. "You don’t get it, Jax. The club—the life you’re still in—it’s a liability. It’s dangerous for them. For everyone involved." She shook her head. "I won’t let them get caught in the middle of that."

Jax’s hands balled into fists at his sides. The words, her words, stung in a way he hadn’t expected. "So that’s it? You’re just gonna keep me away from them because of the club? Because of what I’ve done? What she’s done?" His voice was thick with pain and anger. "You really think I’d let anything happen to them? That I’d let them suffer for the mistakes I’ve made? Damn it, Bluebell, I’ve changed. I can change. I will change."

But Bluebell shook her head again, her face softening, but her resolve unwavering. "I don’t care if you’ve changed, Jax. I don’t care what you say. What I care about is keeping them alive. Keeping them out of the kind of world that gets people killed. You’ve already seen it—hell, you’ve lived it. But it’s not just your life on the line anymore. It’s theirs."

Jax stood there, torn between his love for her and his children, and the reality of the life he couldn’t seem to shake. "So what, then? You’re just gonna keep them from me? Forever?"

Bluebell’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she held her ground. "I’m doing what I have to do to protect them, Jax. I’m doing what I’ve always done. If you want to be a part of their lives, if you want to be their father, then you have to let go of the club. Let go of that life. I can’t live in a world where they’re caught in the crossfire of it all. You understand that, don’t you?"

Jax’s chest tightened, and the frustration, the anger, the love—it all collided inside him, a storm of emotions he couldn’t contain. He took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You don’t get it, Bluebell," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I can’t just walk away from it. I can’t."

Bluebell sighed deeply, her voice breaking. "Then you’ll lose them, Jax. Because I can’t have you near them if you’re still in that world."

The weight of her words settled on him like a lead blanket. She was right, and they both knew it. But as much as he hated it, he also knew that she would never let him back into their lives if the club was still a part of him.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was deafening. Finally, Jax exhaled slowly, the fight draining from his body.

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do, Bluebell?" he whispered, his voice filled with pain. "What do I do now?"

She looked at him with something close to sympathy but a certainty that told him this wasn’t up for debate. "You make your choice, Jax. You choose them… or you choose the club. And if you choose the club, then you’ll have to stay away. It’s that simple."

Jax stood there, the weight of her decision crashing down on him. His heart ached for the family he could have had, the life he could have built with her and their kids. But as much as he loved them, as much as he wanted to be there for them, he knew there were some things he couldn’t leave behind.

The anger building inside him like a fire that couldn’t be contained. "I am their father, Bluebell. And I’m not asking for permission." His voice was low but filled with the kind of certainty that only came from a man who knew exactly what he wanted. "You don’t get to make that choice for me. I’m in their lives. I’m not walking away."

Bluebell’s face softened for a moment, but the worry in her eyes remained. "Jax, you don’t understand—"

"No," he interrupted, taking another step toward her, his voice rising now. "You don’t understand. I’m not leaving them. I’m not gonna let them grow up without knowing who their father is. You think I’ve spent all these years feeling this ache in my chest for nothing? I’ll fight for them, for us, no matter what the hell it takes."

Her breath hitched as she stepped back, her eyes narrowing. "You can’t keep putting them in danger because of your stubbornness. The life you’re living—it’s not just your own anymore. There’s too much at risk."

Jax shook his head, frustration building with every word she spoke. "I’m not backing down, Bluebell. You think I’m just gonna sit by while you keep them from me? You think that’s what I’m gonna do? No." He stepped closer, his tone harder, more forceful. "You don’t have a choice. I’ll be there for them, for you, even if you fight me every step of the way."

Bluebell’s voice cracked, but her resolve didn’t waver. "Jax, if you bring the club into this—if you bring Gemma into their lives, I’ll never let you see them again. I can’t let them live in that world."

Jax took a deep breath, his chest tightening as the weight of

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a-kayy47 · 7 months ago

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a-kayy47 · 7 months ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑫𝒊𝒅 𝑹𝒖𝒏 𝑺𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉

𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑇𝑊𝑂.

Pairing: Happy x OC/Commissioned

Word Count: 2k

@a-kayy47.

ANNIE.

You had gotten home much later than you promised Kayleigh.

Opening the front door and stepping in, you could feel the warmth of your home. It was cosy, even with the lights turned off, and you could feel yourself loosen up. The familiar scent of rosemary lingered in the air, a testament to the essential oils you religiously diffused. The soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the gentle creak of the wooden floorboards beneath your feet were comforting reminders of the sanctuary you had created.

Walking up the stairs, you aimed for your daughter’s room. Without fail, every single night you gave her a kiss while she was asleep. No matter what time you got home, you still did it. It let your baby girl know you were home, safe, without waking her up. It was like she had a sixth sense when it came to you.

On those nights when you hadn’t kissed her, she knew. She would wake up the next morning and say, “did you forget to do something last night?”

So, at nearly four in the morning, you dragged your tired arse up to her room and smooched her cheek. Her hair was a mess on the pillow, her arms wrapped around her favourite toy. Kayleigh looked so much younger while she slept. It reminds you of those years before Charming. Struggling to make ends meet, doing it all on your own. Eighteen with a newborn. No one to lean on. No partner. No family. Just your strength. And the desire to make your daughter’s life the best it can be.

As you made your way down the stairs, you saw your neighbor/baby-sitter/best friend asleep on the couch, her phone inches away from her face. You know she kept it close in case of emergencies.

When you first moved to Charming, you had gotten along with Dallas within minutes of meeting her. You remember it like it was yesterday. You had been so scared moving to a new town. And yet, she made you feel at ease instantly.

She had shaken your hand gently with soft hands and long acrylic red nails. Dallas seemed to glimmer (and she did – never leaving the house without covering herself in shimmer cream.) You liked her instantly. You could tell she was genuine. Because there was a sadness in her eyes that she covered up as much kindness as she could.

And so, you trusted her with Kayleigh. She didn’t mind babysitting, not at all. It also helped that you gave her free makeup and hair appointments. It was a win-win. Especially when Kayleigh had gotten attached to the town’s former beauty queen.

You smiled, covering Dallas with a blanket before heading to your own room. Sleep came quickly but lasted only a few hours.

HAPPY.

The Club needed Happy for an … issue. They always came to him when they had these particular problems. He was good at it. Harsh, unyielding and discreet. Okay, sometimes not so discreet. But he handled it, no matter how gruesome it became. Because sometimes a gun wasn’t the best way to get a man to talk.

When Happy was younger, he used to grapple with the thoughts of guilt and shame. With age, with more violence; that slowly disappeared. Like clouds moving to cover the sun, those feelings too were covered.

Now the only thing that seemed to redeem Happy was his family. That’s what made him feel the light. The weight of death was easy to shrug off when those he loved surrounded him. His mother, his sisters, his aunts, nieces and nephews; they mean the world to him.

But the Club is, his life. And what they ask, he will do.

That’s how he got to where he is now. Tig the only other Son with him as they pried information out of the man in front of them.

The lights were dimmed, the walls had been painted a dark brown – nearly black. The floor was covered with a tarp, the closest bench had various tools atop it, some clean, some bloodied.

There was a constant drip, drip, drip, of blood. Only Happy could hear it, Tig had turned up the music to cover the screams. Except this man hadn’t been screaming. The only noise that came out of him was a deep grunt.

He was tied to a chair. Pinkies cut from the bone. Taking ten digits to eight.

Happy was quite impressed by the way this man held his tongue. No information spilled from his mouth. Not yet.

Happy wiped his brow, the sweat mixing with the blood on his hands. Tig's eyes met his, a silent conversation passing between them. They needed answers and this was taking too long.

Out came the sharper tool, and though resilient, the man was beginning to falter. Happy knew this was it, he could see it in the man's eyes—desperation, fear, and the tiniest flicker of surrender.

"Just tell us what we need to know," Tig growled, his patience wearing thin. But the man remained silent, his resolve steadfast despite the agony he endured.

Happy's thoughts drifted briefly to his family, the light in his otherwise dark world. He wondered what his mother would think if she saw him now, covered in blood, forcing confessions out of men. But he shook the thought away; this was his life, and he had made peace with it.

"Last chance," Happy said, his voice cold and unyielding. "Talk, or we'll make you wish you had."

The man's eyes flickered with a moment of hesitation. Happy leaned in closer, and the man spilled information like a teakettle boiling over.

ANNIE.

You felt as if you had barely slept.

The alarm beeped and you thought ‘surely I pressed the wrong button.’ But you heard the tapping of feet on the ground and then a small body rushed towards you.

“Mum!” Kayleigh wrapped her arms around you and kissed your hair. Blinking away the drowsiness, you smiled at her and dragged her closer to you.

“Hey baby,” you murmured, snuggling into her. Happiness bubbled in your stomach as you stroked her hair. Soft and smooth, even if it was a partial nest on her head. But as the timer kept going off, you knew you had to get up for another day.

Exhaustion had gotten the better of you, and autopilot had kicked in. After packing Kayleigh’s lunchbox for school, getting her ready and then yourself, you locked the front door and got the both of you in the car.

You didn’t notice the black car parked in Dallas’ driveway. Not until Kayleigh asked if your neighbor had gotten a new car.

“Huh? Oh, uh. I think she would have told us if she got a new one,” but you looked in your rearview mirror as you drove away.

The salon was already open by the time you arrived. School drop off was always longer than expected. Especially with the type of parents that were there. Always wanting to talk (gossip) or complain.

You knew not many liked you. Saw you as too outspoken,

But you couldn’t get the thought of that big black car in Dallas’ driveway. She had left before you woke up. She always did.

And usually she sends you a message – yet you realized she hadn’t. There was nothing from her. And that’s when the alarm bells went off. You knew her job, and that it had its’ risks.

“Shit,” you muttered. Something felt wrong; and you couldn’t turn to the police. So, there was only one choice.

You rang Gemma from outside the salon. Her appointment wasn’t for another four hours; so, you couldn’t wait for her to come in. You had to chase after her… and god did it make you feel anxious.

Months ago, you swapped numbers. You thought she was just being polite, but little did you know she saw you struggling. A mother alone, barely any help, working as many jobs as she could handle. Gemma felt for you. So, she offered to help whenever you needed it.

And you need it now.

“Hey Annie, is everything alright?”

“Um, no. I don’t think it is – my friend. I think she’s in trouble. I need your help.”

At the other end of the line, Gemma was tickling Thomas on the tummy as he laid down. His feet kicking in the air. She was enamored by her grandson and nearly missed your words. She thought maybe her appointment needed to be rescheduled.

Your heart was beating so fast you thought you might be having a heart attack. You were a mix of hot and cold, sweating and freezing.

“It’s okay honey. Just tell me what’s up and we’ll get it all sorted out.”

HAPPY.

It took a while for the fucker to break but he did in the end. Now the two Sons rode in a beat-up van, in the back, the man’s body was wrapped in the tarp. Dead. It was always going to end that way. But some guys just held out hope that it wouldn’t. This one did, until his right hand had no fingers left. And his left ear was gone.

The van rumbled along the highway, a trail of dust kicking up behind them.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sweat and cigarette smoke, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood. The silence between them was comfortable, each man lost in his thoughts.

There was a sudden and constant buzz in Happy’s pocket. His mobile rang. He was the type of person to always check his phone as soon as it went off. Always scared it could be his mother – or about her.

But the caller ID was familiar.

Happy picked it up and answered.

“Really? Yeah no, no it’s fine. Just let us … get cleaned up and we’ll be there.”

“Who was that?” Tig asked, one hand on the wheel, the other holding a cigarette.

“Gemma…she needs us to help someone.”

“Do we know this person?” Tig urged on. He was a glutton for gossip just like the mother’s at drop off and pick up.

“Nah, but she seems pretty important to Gemma.”

Tig took another drag, “huh, wonder why.”

Happy tucked the phone back in his pocket and stared out the window, the landscape blurring into shades of brown and green. Tig took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, the smoke curling around his face like a ghostly veil.

"You think this is gonna be trouble?" Happy asked, breaking the silence.

Tig shrugged, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "When ain't it? But if Gemma's involved, you know it's important. We just gotta handle it."

Happy nodded. He knew the drill. They both did. Loyalty to the club and to each other was paramount. And if Gemma needed them to do something, they weren't about to question it. Especially as she asked them personally.

But before they could help with Gemma, they had to dispose of the body.

The address and information Gemma messaged confused Happy. He knew this town, and something didn’t make much sense.

“What's the matter?” Tig glanced over, noticing the tension in Happy's jaw.

“This is a fucken salon Tig.”

Tig barked out a laugh, “I mean it ain’t our job to question…and I ain’t questioning Gemma. But ugh, you think we gotta go in?”

Happy glanced at Tig, bemused. “Guess we’ll find out. But I’m not sittin’ around gettin’ my nails done, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Tig chuckled, the sound deep and rough. “Ya know what. I might.”

Both men laughed, but Tig was just that unpredictable that Happy thought one day he might.

They pulled up to the salon, the white exterior blended with the rows of shops. It was a small strip of stores, becoming busier and busier as the day went on. The sunshine glared down on the men, and both slipped their sunglasses on.

Tig threw his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot. “Ready?”

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a-kayy47 · 7 months ago

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I Lost Our Baby - Happy Lowman

Request; 13- “I lost out baby” with happy from soa please

Requested by Anon.

Summary; Y/N is on her way to the clubhouse when she gets into a crash. When she’s in hospital, she receives the worst news she could have.

Keep reading

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a-kayy47 · 7 months ago

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a-kayy47 · 7 months ago

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Jealousy and Violence

Description: The party is in full swing when she arrives with her roommate. The night ends with Opie pissed and looking for violence.

Word Count: 3,035

Warnings: normal SoA warnings, and mentions of attempted SA nothing graphic or detailed

SoA Taglist: @arkytiorlecter @aimkatsz @ravennaortiz @darqchilddaydreamz @mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @hatersaremymotivators @theshynerdsworld @thefrogytimes @youngadult9016

♥︎ If you wish to be added or removed from this taglist comment or message me ♥︎

Parts

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 •

SoA Masterlist ♥︎ Main Masterlist ♥︎ Series Masterlist

Opie stands near the entrance of the clubhouse, his mind a swarm of different emotions. He's nervous, excited, and a bit worried about how the night is going to go.

As he waits he sees a car pull up, and his heart skips a beat as he sees Jessica stepping out. His excitement quickly turns to a wave of disappointment as he notices she has a guy with her.

He watches as she talks to the guy, clearly having a conversation with him. Opie scowls at the sight of them together, the guy's hand on her shoulder. He can't hear what they're saying, but the sight of Jessica with another man bothers him more than he cares to admit.

He clenches his fists as they make his way over to him, feeling a pang of jealousy. He's already mentally preparing himself to play nice, even if he's less than thrilled about this new development.

As they approach, Opie tries to school his expression into something more neutral. He gives them a fake smile, his eyes lingering on the guy's hand still on her shoulder.

"Hey, you made it," he greets them casually, stuffing his hands into his pockets to hide his clenched fists.

Jessica smiles back at him, oblivious to his inner turmoil. "Yeah, we almost got lost trying to find this place," she says with a laugh, gesturing at the guy beside her. The tall, muscular guy standing next to her smiles as well, his eyes running over Opie.

"Yeah, it's a bit tucked away," Opie mutters, his gaze flitting between the guy and Jessica. "So this is your roommate?" he asks her, trying to sound nonchalant. In the back of his mind, he can't quell the flicker of jealousy.

"Yeah, this is Michael," Jessica introduces them, gesturing at the guy standing beside her.

The guy gives Opie a friendly smile, extending his hand. "Hey, nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you."

Opie eyes the guy warily, taking his hand in a firm handshake. "Yeah, same here," he mutters, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. He glances at Jessica, hoping she hasn’t noticed his unfriendly demeanor.

Jessica, being her sweet self, doesn't seem to pick up on the tension. She smiles at both of them, oblivious to the undercurrents.

"C'mon, let's head inside," Opie suggests, trying to break the awkward tension. "It's a bit rowdy inside, but it'll be fun." he mutters, holding the door open for them.

"Good, this one could really use a drink, with the day she had" Michael sighed, walking Jessica inside.

Opie raises an eyebrow at Michael's comment. "A bad day, huh?" he asks, trying not to sound too eager for details. He follows them inside, his mind still fixated on the fact that she has a guy with her.

Jessica groans, her shoulders dropping. "Ugh, yeah. The places I went didn't have any positions available, and the interview I had this afternoon..." She pauses, shaking her head. "Ugh, total disaster...but i dont wanna talk about all that right now" she sighs waving her hand dismissively.

The mention of the interview piques Opie's interest. He glances at her, intrigued. "What happened at the interview?" he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

Michael grumbles upset beside her at Opies question. She lightly swats him to shut him up "..I'd really rather not talk about it" she answers Opie while giving Michael a look.

Opie's curiosity is heightened by her vague response. He can tell there's more to the story, and he wants to know what happened. But he can also see that she's not keen on discussing it further, and he doesn't want to push her.

He shoots a curious glance at Michael, wondering what he knows that he doesn't.Micheal makes another disapproving noise making Jessica glare at him.

"Welp...since I'm not wanted in conversation here I'm gonna head to the pool table...I just got paid and I'm feeling lucky" Michael mutters ruffling Jessica's head, messing up her hair and making her swat at him again laughing.

"Hey, not the hair!" she protests, trying to fix her messy hair. Opie watches their playful interaction with a mix of emotions. He can't help but feel slightly annoyed, noticing the ease and familiarity between the two.

Michael chuckles at her protest, his hand moving to ruffle her hair once more. Opie clenches his jaw, having to forcibly resist the urge to pull her away from him. He's never felt this possessive over anyone before and it's unnerving.

Michael heads off towards the pool table, leaving Opie and Jessica alone. Opie glances at her, watching her smooth down her hair. "You two seem close" he says, unable to keep the hint of jealousy out of his voice.

Jessica finishes fixing her hair, oblivious to the edge in Opie’s voice. "Yeah, Michael’s my best friend," she replies with a fond smile that causes a pang in Opie’s chest.

"Best friend, huh?" Opie mutters, the word feeling bitter on his tongue. He knows he's being ridiculous. Jealous over a simple friendship. But he can't help the feeling of resentment towards this Michael guy.

Jessica hums thoughtfully "Yeah, he and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember, basically grew up together" she replies not seeing why he's so interested.

She glances at him, noticing his scowl. "What’s with that face?"

Opie realizes he's scowling and quickly changes his expression. "Nothing," he grunts, not wanting to admit the truth. He knows he has no right to feel this protective over her, but he can't shake off the jealousy.

Jessica doesn't buy it, but she doesn't press him. Instead, she glances around the room, her eyes resting on the dancing people and the crowd. "Is it always like this?" she asks, watching the chaos.

Opie follows her gaze, taking in the rowdy atmosphere of the party. "Yeah, pretty much," he mutters, "This is a regular SAMCRO party. Things can get a little wild."

She hums as she takes in her surroundings, her eyes still scanning the room.

Opie watches her, studying her face. He wonders what she's thinking, if she's enjoying this chaos or if she's overwhelmed. He hesitates for a moment before finally speaking. "You, uh, want something to drink?" he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets awkwardly.

Jessica nods, her eyes finally focusing back on him. "Yeah, I could use a drink," she replies. "Nothing strong though...I guess im driving tonight." she says gesturing over to Michael taking multiple shots surrounded by a crowd of people cheering feeling quite comfortable in his surroundings.

Opie nods in understanding, his eyes flickering to Michael and the crowd around him. He feels another pang of jealousy, seeing the ease with which the man is fitting in. He swallows it back though, focusing on Jessica. "Alright, I'll get you something light." he says, leading her over to the bar.

The bar is packed with bikers and women, and they have to squeeze their way through the crowd. Opie keeps his hand on the small of Jessica's back, guiding her through the crowd of people. He can feel the heat from her body, and he has to resist the urge to pull her closer.

When they got to the bar he place an arm either side next to her on the bar, effectively creating a cage around stopping anyone from bumping into her while also not touching her himself.

The closeness of her body, the way she fits perfectly in the space he’s made for her, it’s almost too much for him. He can smell her perfume, a light floral scent, and it’s taking all his willpower not to bury his face into her hair.

He signals to the bartender, a pretty brunette in a tight top, who looks like part of the “entertainment” that Jax arranged earlier. The bartender gives him a sultry smile, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary. Opie grits his teeth, feeling uncomfortable under her gaze, but he pushes it aside and orders two beers.

The bartender turns to look at Jessica, giving her a not so subtle once-over. Opie bristles at the way the woman glances at Jessica, taking in her pretty face and flattering outfit. He can see the bartender mentally comparing herself to Jessica and finding herself lacking.

The bartender hands them their beers, her gaze flickering back to Opie. She leans over closer to him, showing an ample amount of cleavage. "If you need anything else, you let me know, okay?" she purrs, her voice dripping with suggestive undertones.

Opie thanks the bartender, gritting his teeth at her blatant flirting. He can feel Jessica tense up in front of him. He quickly grabs the beers, steering Jessica away from the bar.

They find a small table in a quieter corner and sit down. The music is still loud, but they can at least hear each other talk. Opie watches as Jessica takes a sip of her beer. Her fingers around the glass are slender and delicate, and for a moment he imagines what they would feel like on his skin. He chases away the thought and takes a gulp of his own beer.

The silence between them is awkward. Opie doesn't know what to say. He's not a conversationalist on a normal day, and right now he's too busy trying to keep his jealousy in check.

Jessica breaks the silence. "So...how long have you been part of the club?" she asks, taking another sip of her beer.

Opie shrugs, fiddling with the label on his beer bottle. "Since high school. Jax and I have been friends forever. Both of our dads were founding members, so i guess we always have been apart of it in some way....we became prospects at the same time." He glances at Jessica, noting the curiosity on her face.

She hums in understanding, her gaze drifting over the room before returning to Opie. "So, it's like a family thing then?" she inquires, genuinely interested. Despite the noisy and rowdy atmosphere, Opie feels himself relaxing a bit, his shoulders untensing.

"Yeah, you could say that," he replies, the corner of his lips twitching into a smile. "It's more than just a club. It's our brotherhood. Each and every member looks out for one another. It's...it's hard to explain." He takes another sip of his beer, watching her intently.

The hours fly by as they talk. Opie finds himself opening up more than he usually does. There's something about Jessica that makes it easy to talk to her, she listens intently and doesn't judge, offering advice and witty comments that make him chuckle. It's easy, comfortable and Opie finds himself growing more fond of her with each passing minute.

The longer they talk, the more Opie forgets about the party happening around them. The chaos, the music, the shouting, even the other members fade into the background. He's too fixated on her, her smile, her laugh, the way she tilts her head to the side when she's listening. He's drawn to her in a way he's never experienced before.

The two of them are in a comfortable bubble, immersed in conversation, when suddenly they are interrupted by Michael stumbling back to the table, swaying slightly. He slings an arm around Jessica's shoulders and grins at Opie.

"There you are!" he exclaims, his voice slightly slurred. His face is rosy, and he's obviously had a few drinks. He grins at Opie, then turns to Jessica. "I've been looking all over for you, Jessssiee...do you still feel upset that the guy tried to make you blow him for a job??."

Jessica's face flushes with embarrassment, her expression immediately going from relaxed to mortified in seconds. She shoves at Michael's chest, trying to push him away. "Michael!!" she hisses in a voice between a whisper and a yell, "Shut up!!"

Michael cackles, clearly enjoying himself. He turns to Opie and leers, a dopey grin plastered on his face. "Yeah, she was not happy about that, man...not at all."

Opie's eyes narrow at Michael's words. "What the hell are you going on about, man?" he snaps, feeling his irritation rising.

"Ignore him...It's nothing really, just a sleezy guy at the job interview I had" Jessica says, shrugging, pulling out a bottle of water from her purse handing it to Michael.

The mention of a sleazy guy makes Opie's blood boil a bit. He clenches his jaw, his protective instincts kicking in. "What do you mean 'sleazy'? What the hell did he do?" he asks, fixing his gaze on Jessica, his eyes suddenly intense.

Jessica avoids Opie's gaze, busying herself by fussing with the hem of her top. "He just made some inappropriate comments, that's all" she replies, her voice nonchalant.

Michael scoffs, opening the water bottle and chugging it. "Yeah right he told you that you would only get the job if you blew him then he tried to stop you from leaving....that's a little more than inappropriate Jessie" Michael pouts up at her still pissed that she wouldn't let him do anything about it when he first found out.

Opie feels a surge of anger at Michael's words. Someone had made a pass at her, tried to manipulate her into something like that? He feels a possessive need to protect her, to make sure no one ever puts her in that position again. "Who the hell was this guy?" he growls, his voice dangerously low.

Michael shrugs "she wouldn't tell me who but I know the bar....Real dodgy looking shack on the outside of Charming heading north.." Michael mumbles ignoring the look Jessica was giving him.

Opie absorbs the information, immediately recognizing the bar Michael is talking about. He's been there before, on club business, and it's definitely a seedy place. Thinking about Jessica being in that environment, being propositioned like that, makes his blood boil.

"I know that place," he mutters, still clenched jaw. He turns his gaze back to Jessica, his expression stormy. "You're not going back there, understood?" he says firmly. It's not a request.

Opie marches away from the table, his mind churning. He spots a group of members near the pool table and heads over to them. They greet him with nods and smiles, but he's not interested in pleasantries right now. "Jax, need to talk to you," he says gruffly, his tone making it clear it's important. Jax, sensing the seriousness in Opie's voice, straightens up. "What's up, brother?" he asks.

Opie leans in, his voice low so only Jax can hear. "Jessica had an incident at a bar downtown," he starts, "Some sleazeball tried to make her blow him for a job and would let her leave."

Jax's brows furrow, his protective instincts kicking in as well. "Who was it?" he asks, already starting to feel angry for Jessica's sake.

"Don't know yet," Opie replies, frustration seeping into his voice. "But we're gonna find out....do you think some of the guys are sober enough for some shit kicking?"

Jax chuckles at that, a dangerous smile forming on his face. "Oh, there's at least a few of us left who can still walk without stumbling over our own two feet." He glances around the room, sizing up a few of the other members who seemed relatively sober.

Jax grins, slapping Opie on the shoulder. He turns to the other members, yelling for their attention. "Hey, we got a situation needs taking care of, who's sober enough to ride?"

A few of the members perk up at that, the excitement of a possible confrontation overriding their inebriation. They stumble over to Jax and Opie, some more steadier on their feet than others.

"Alright," Jax barks, "We gotta go teach some bastard a lesson about treating women with respect. You in?"

The members nod, eager to get on their bikes and cause some damage. They all love a good fight.

"Then let's get moving," Jax says, turning to Opie. "Lead the way, man." Opie nods, already heading for the door.

Jessica watches as they all storm pass her heading outside "Opie...what's going on?" She asks him as he stomps by.

He stops, looking at her for a moment before answering. "stay here I'll be back in awhile," he says bluntly.

His tone is gruff and dismissive, but there's a hint of worry in his eyes. Before she can say anything else, he's out the door, leaving her standing there worried and confused.

As Opie steps out into the night, flanked by Jax and the rest of the MC, his mind is already focused on the task at hand. They mount their bikes, the engines roaring to life. The adrenaline is pumping through their veins, fueling their anger and determination. They know they're about to do something illegal, something that could have consequences, but at this moment they don't care. This is about protecting one of their own, about sending a message to any dirt bag who thinks it's okay to treat women with disrespect.

Jessica walks outside followed by Michael still trying to figure out what is going on.

As they step outside, Opie's eyes immediately catch sight of Jessica and Michael. He curses under his breath, not wanting them to be involved in what he's about to do. He glares at both of them, his eyes hardening.

Her eyes widen as she sees the raw anger etched on his face. She tries to call out to him, but the roar of the motorcycles drowns out her voice.

Michael has a neutral look on his face. He understands whats happening and why. he knows its not something the club would stand for.

Glancing from the group of bikers to Jessica he sighs.

"Come on lets go inside and wait for them to come back" he says calmly putting an arm around her to guide her back inside. He looks over his shoulder locking eyes with Opie giving him a short nod.

Opie acknowledges the short nod from Michael with a slight dip of his head. He knows that Michael will look after Jessica while he's gone and it eases his mind a bit.

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a-kayy47 · 7 months ago

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𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫 ───────❥

ℜ𝔦𝔬 & OC 𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

Set in season four of Good Girls; Epiphany Martinez is a freshman in college, heavily into the party scene. she lives her life on the edge with Molly under her tongue. when her co-worker, Annie puts her onto a new dealer attraction arises and the lines between business & pleasure blur.

🚫 Drug usage + smut + violence + age gap relationship

▋ O C; Epiphany Martinez ▋

Chapter List ╰┈➤☄

[ Prologue ]

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Six

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Epilogue

TAGGED

@darqchilddaydreamz

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a-kayy47 · 7 months ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑫𝒊𝒅 𝑹𝒖𝒏 𝑺𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉

Pairing: Happy x OC/Commissioned

Word Count: 1k

@a-kayy47.

ANNIE.

The bar was a sticky place, with a sign out the front that said ‘Frank’s.’

It wasn’t as if Frank was ever at his own bar. He was too busy doing … something else. Not that he would tell you. Your relationship with your boss was strictly professional. Not like he hadn’t tried anything. But you shut that shit down immediately.

Your legs ached. Feet feeling like they were made of blisters. A headache had been forming for a good two hours and you knew you needed sleep. You had no idea how many times you’d heard the playlist. Metallica, Black Sabbath, Led Zepplin. The clientele had a particular taste.

This was your fourth shift in a row. Hours on your feet, serving assholes (and some relatively nice assholes). Pouring drink after drink. You had had worse jobs than this, but you were on track to start a career. Well, you were hopeful.

So yes, this isn’t your ideal job, but you had to pay the bills somehow in this little fairytale town of Charming.

You moved here two years ago, and seemed to be stuck here since. There was something about the town that you liked. Some things that you didn’t.

You looked at the clock on the wall, then checked your watch; 1:55 am. You had five more minutes till your shift ended.

“Thank fuck,” you sighed, picking up stray glasses from the counter.

Looking around at the people in the bar, your heart ached as you thought about your daughter. Your sweet, feisty little girl. Kayleigh. Only eight years old and ready to conquer the world.

She was the reason you did all of this. Worked so hard, endured blisters and cranky assholes. Smiled when you really wanted to scream.

Being a single mother wasn’t easy. But you wouldn’t change it. Not for the world.

You were brought back to the present when the bell on the door jingled. In came three men, three bikers: with their kuttes and heavy boots. Usually, you could hear if bikers were coming to the bar. Their bikes were so loud you could hear them a mile away.

And yet, you knew who they were, the Sons of Anarchy. The real power in this town.

Your other job, as a stylist, loosely connected you to them. Gemma Teller-Morrow has been your client for a year now. Doing her hair and makeup. She rarely talks about the club, but lets you vent whenever you need to.

You couldn’t see the men’s faces at first. The lighting was so low.

There was the sound of pool balls being knocked together, a heated conversation on one of the circular tables. Even though you had been in the bar for hours, you could still smell the strong stench of alcohol.

As the three men sat down at the bar, you hadn’t noticed but one couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

HAPPY.

Happy was a man of few words. Often keeping to himself yet possessing an observant eye. That’s how easily he saw you. With your long black, blonde hair, curvy body and spectacular green eyes.

Oh, those eyes.

He had seen you around before. In town. The grocers. Sometimes when he picked Gemma up, he saw you in the window of the beauty store.

You were something else.

A person like you didn’t seem to belong in Charming. It was too corrupt. And you seemed too good for this life.

It’s why he suggested this bar after the night the boys had had. It was a deal gone south and he needed a pick me up. As did the others. But his wasn’t about a drink.

He just wanted to see you.

“Three beers, any beers, honey,” Tig said. The tiredness in his body echoing through his words. Happy and Chibs nodded, their arms resting on the bar’s surface.

“Coming right up,” you said with a quick smile. They’ll be your last customers. And then you can leave.

Turning around, you opened the fridge door and got out three bottles. Popping the caps, you placed them down. And someone caught your eye.

“Um, enjoy,” you said and looked at your watch. Time to clock off. Time to see your daughter. To get off your feet and … possibly relax. You took another peek at the stranger and saw him already looking at you.

Your cheeks burned.

But before you could even leave the main bar area, there was a loud crash behind you. The shattering of glass, shouts, and as you swiftly turned around, an outright brawl had started.

The three bikers had stood up and faced the chaos. With chairs now involved, you couldn’t believe your eyes. Especially as your shift ended.

Fuck.

The owner of the bar wasn’t the most decent man, but he did have safety measures in place…like a gun in the back office and a metal bat underneath the bar. But he told you to never call the police.

Opting for the bat, you turned off the music and screamed at the top of your lungs.

“STOP THIS FUCKING SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT!”

It was quiet for a heartbeat. Then another. On the third, you thought you were out of the woods. But then an idiot just had to throw another punch.

Within seconds the brawl started again. Fists swinging, jaws crunching, eyes swelling. You were too tired to deal with this.

That was, until there were three-gun shots and everyone, but the three bikers crouched down.

“Listen to the lady,” was all the bald man said as he tucked his gun away.

The men went silent, their eyes wide like an owl’s and they ran. The door opening and closing constantly. Incessant squeaking until it was you and the three men.

A small grin was fighting its’ way onto your face. No one had helped you like that. Not even the other employees when things got too much. Everyone just thought you had it handled.

“Thank you,” was all you said as they sat back down. “These are on the house.”

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a-kayy47 · 7 months ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑫𝒊𝒅 𝑹𝒖𝒏 𝑺𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉

↳ 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐚𝐧.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝐴𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑦.

Charm admist chaos. Who could have known his heart belonged to someone so close, yet, so incredibly far.

↳ 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐚. 𝐎𝐫 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞.

𝐴 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑠 𝐺𝑒𝑚𝑚𝑎 𝑇𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟-𝑀𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤'𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡.

A woman who would do anything to keep her daughter safe. No matter the cost.

Two people in a small town. One with power, and the other desperate to keep her life afloat. What could one offer the other? Happy's Club always comes first, and Annie cannot catch a break. How will this start? How will this end?

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a-kayy47 · 7 months ago

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Perspective

Bishop Losa x F!Reyes!Reader

For @narcosfandomdiscord Book of Balancing In Between: Fanwork whose setting is in a liminal space (i chose the carniceria after-hours)

Warnings: 18+, language, light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, reader is the oldest Reyes sister

Word Count: 2k

A/N: MAAAAAAAAN it's been a while since i've written for Bishop and i simply just love giving him complicated relationships with Reyes Women.

You knew better than to sit with your back to the door no matter where you were or what time it was. But, after how the last few weeks had gone you were too tired to think about it. You were too tired to think about it, it was two in the morning, and out of all the places in the world to sit with your back to the door you figured that Felipe’s shop was one of the safest. So there you were, camped out at one of the small tables inside the shop with your back to the door.

It'd been a long time since you made a point to notice the sound of motorcycle engines. It was like having the fan on at home or the window down in the car as you drove, noise that you heard but never really listened to. The sound of the bike engine went in one ear and right out the other, but the shifting lights and shadows of the singular headlight coming through the front windows of the shop are what caught your attention. Then you heard the rest of it.

Taking a deep breath, you wiped at the tears in your eyes, the ones smeared across your cheekbones. Raking your fingers back along the sides of your head, you tried to take breaths deep enough to get your heartrate and your breathing back on track.

The sound of the engine went away, the light streaming through the window went away too and sent all of the shadows running with it. You sat perfectly still, and within seconds, right on cue, the bells above the door chimed as someone pushed it open.

The pacing of his strides gave it away before he even opened his mouth to speak. “Shouldn’t turn your back on the bad guys, querida,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder.

Something about the feeling of the callouses on his palm against the exposed skin of your shoulder was more comforting than usual. Reaching up, you threaded your fingers with his. “Only bad guys who come here tend to be pretty good to me, so I think I’ll be alright.”

His hand fell away from your shoulder as he walked to sit across from you, and you begrudgingly let his hand slip out of yours. Leaning back in the chair, you watched as Bishop sat down across from you. Once he sat, he immediately leaned forward onto the table, hands resting in the center of it close enough for you to hold if you wanted to.

There was something so familiar about the way he looked in the patchy light coming through the windows from the streetlamps outside. It reminded you of when you’d first met, first really gotten to know each other. A lot had changed since then, and it reminded you of all that too.

“What’re you doing here, Obispo?” you asked, mirroring his position but not taking his hands in yours again just yet.

“You weren’t home,” he offered up simply.

You chuckled. “And why were you—”

“Because you didn’t stop by the clubhouse.” He pulled his phone from his kutte and tossed it onto the table. “And you didn’t answer your phone.”

Tears were gathering in your eyes again but you still smiled at him. “Something going on that I should know about, then?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

Bishop looked at you, studied the expression on your face. He could see the puffiness of your eyes, the way that the tears beginning to creep over the edge were not the first ones that you’d shed for the night. He saw the tiredness in your eyes, even though only the smallest traces of light were hitting your face.

“Why here?” he asked, completely avoiding your question.

“What?”

He made a tiny gesture, a flick of his hand motioning to the expanse of the shop. “Why do you end up here at three in the morning when shit goes sideways?”

You chuckled. “It’s only two in the morning, first of all.”

“You know—”

You pointed to his kutte. “Can I?”

There was a pause, and the look on Bishop’s face let you know that he was contemplating holding out on you until he got some answers from you, but he’d never been good at turning you away. Reaching back into his kutte, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lighter. You watched as he went through the motions that were so second-nature to him now, placing it between his lips and sparking the lighter, waiting to make sure it’d catch. He pulled one drag off of it before holding it out to you. You let your fingers touch for a second longer than necessary before taking it.

The inhale that you took off the cigarette in your hand was the steadiest one that you’d taken for most of the night. You tried to savor it, the steadiness and the burn you felt. Closing your eyes, you let your breath sneak back out one calculated centimeter at a time.

Finally opening your eyes again, you found Bishop still staring at you, that same unique mix of anger and concern in his eyes that never truly seemed to go away. “The worst thing happened here,” you said, quieter than you intended.

Bishop’s frown deepened in a way you didn’t know was physically possible. Nodding, he kept his voice just as quiet as yours as he said, “I know.”

You brought the cigarette back to your lips for a moment to buy you some time. “So now, when other bad things happen, sometimes I’ll come here. Get some perspective…or some shit like that.”

The tacked-on ending got weary but genuine chuckles out of both of you. “Right. Some shit like that.” Bishop took a moment to light up a cigarette of his own. “Still don’t like it.”

You hummed in amusement. “You don’t have to.”

“I do if you’re gonna keep comin’ here.”

“Only if you’re gonna keep comin’ after me.”

It was a sweet moment, one of small smiles and tendrils of smoke making it even harder to get a clear picture. But you each knew how the other looked even in pitch black darkness. There was a warmth about it, separate from the scorch down the back of your throat. You almost wanted to reach out with your free hand to take his.

But then the moment passed. Pressing the knuckle of your thumb across your brow, you asked, “So, did you come hunt me down tonight to tell me something that I already know?”

His expression faltered. “I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think I would’ve known by now that my brother got shot?” Ash fell from your cigarette onto the table, a mess you’d be sure to clean before Felipe found his way back to the shop again. “You didn’t think that between the hospital, and his girlfriend, and my other brother that’s part of your fucking club,” your palm slammed down on the tabletop, causing it to rattle, “You didn’t think that with all of that, I wouldn’t find out?”

“Querida, I—”

“Ah-ah,” you shook your head. “You didn’t come here to break the news to me, Obispo. When you called me a few hours ago? That was to try and break the news. And you were still too late on that, by the way. But the rest of it? Showing up to my house? Here? You only go that far when you know you’re up shit creek with no fucking paddle in sight.”

Neither of you said anything then. The longer you looked at Bishop, the less you felt that you knew what he was thinking. If tradition held, he was probably trying to come up with excuses for a few things: why EZ got shot, why he wasn’t the one to tell you, and why there wasn’t blood running down the streets of Santo Padre yet. You didn’t need the laundry list for it all, but you’d played games like this with him enough now to at least be curious about the answers.

The same thing happened when you found out Ezekiel had killed a cop and was going to prison, and when Angel was joining the club, then again when Angel was looking down the pipe at eighteen months in Chino, then again when you heard that not only was Ezekiel getting out of prison, but he was getting out of prison and funneling himself right into the club alongside his brother. The same song and dance again and again over the years, and to think that neither of you would’ve had to learn the steps if Bishop hadn’t found you here, alone in the shop in the middle of the night, scrubbing at the floor because you were convinced that the last of your mother’s blood still hadn’t been washed away after the police department left.

Clearing his throat, he started again. “I didn’t think that you should be alone.” He paused, waiting for you to start right up again. When you didn’t, he continued, but tentatively. “I’m sorry that you head to hear it from…” he trailed off, realizing that you hadn’t said through which avenue you found out.

“Gaby,” you filled in the blank, shaking your head as you remembered the sheer terror in her voice.

“I’m sorry about that.” He sounded genuine as he was saying it. Before the scoff in the base of your throat could make its way out, he said, “I am. But would hearing it from me have felt any better? Would you have ended up,” he gestured to the carnicería with both hands this time, “anywhere else?”

You chuckled, a bitter sound. “You almost had a decent apology going for a second there.”

He took a deep breath, and you could see it on his face that he was actively fighting the urge to say the first thing that came to his mind. “I am sorry. And I am fucking here. And if you ask me to do something for you right now, I’ll do it.” He waited for you to look him in the eyes again. “What do you want right now?”

Pulling every last bit you could from your cigarette, you snubbed it out. Smoke cascaded from between your lips as you sighed. Leaning forward, you dropped your head into your hands as you tried to wrap your head around Bishop’s question, about what your answer to it was.

“Where’s Ezekiel?” you asked.

“Out of town. Gaby’s with him.”

You nodded, hands dropping back to the tabletop. “Right.”

He covered one of your hands with his. “What do you want right now?”

You focused on the warmth seeping from his palm into the top of your hand. You zeroed in on the way he dragged the pad of his thumb across your knuckles. Looking at his face, you felt yourself getting pulled underneath the waves of desperation in his eyes. He always looked so sad, and so earnest about it. And the undertow of it all always seemed to get you.

Turning your hand, you interlocked it with his. “I don’t know.”

“Thought this place was supposed to give you some perspective?” he asked, a twinge of a smile on his face.

It got you to laugh if nothing else. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you said, “Maybe I just gotta sit here a little longer.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

He squeezed your hand before standing up. You tilted your head to the side as you watched him walk deeper into the shop. “What’re you doing?”

He crumbled the last of his cigarette into the small trash can by the bookshelf. Picking it up, he brought it over to the table where the two of you were sitting. “Cleaning this up before you forget,” he said as he swiped the butt of your cigarette and the ashes from it into the trash can. Once he brought it back to its rightful spot, he sat down across from you again. “And I’ll sit with you.” He watched as the tears started welling in your eyes again. “And I’ll bring you home before Felipe comes back.”

You managed a smile, and despite all the mess and the hurt, you felt a little bit of relief at his offer. Nodding, you gave a soft but sincere, “Thank you.”

He took your hand in his. “Whatever you need.”

(divider by @silkholland 💞)

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