#sons of anarchy x reader

[etclouie]

would you finish that jax react you used as an example?

"how would jax teller au's react to you flirting with a prospect"

warnings; jax teller au’s x fem!reader, possessive!jax, some innuendo? 

divorced!jax — would be pissed. even though you're divorced he still wants you, still sees you as his wife. he'd watch from a distance, eyes narrowed until the prospect goes to touch you, which results in jax making his way towards you. his left hand goes around your shoulder's to pull you into him as he grumbles out to the prospect, "keep your hands away from my wife", before he's pulling you away to one of the dorms. 

enemies with benefits!jax — it happened at Gemma’s taste of charming fundraiser. you were helping dish out food when the prospect came over, smiling at him and offering a flirtatious compliment before he left. jax huffed from where he watched, moving across the space and behind the counter, dragging you off inside while mumbling out to you. “quit flirting with other guys, we both know they’d never make you feel how i do”

ex!jax — even though you and Jax had broke up, he insisted that you be at the clubhouse during lockdowns, and whenever you were out during lockdowns that you had a prospect with you. never did he think you’d flirt with the prospect, but when he stopped by your place to check in, it enraged him. Jax pulled you into him, kissing you deeply before he huffed against your lips towards the prospect, “get out, stop flirting with my old lady”

come celebrate my one year!!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

jax is THE "obsessed with his girl when she wears sundresses or those slip nightgowns" like theres a CRIMINAL lack of fanfic around him going bark bark awooga over that shit do u agree with me

Sundress.

it’s sundress season. jax can’t keep his hands to himself.

pairing - jax teller x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. jax is a terror.

word count - 1.5/2k maybe? i’ll check later.

authors note - you’re so right. that man is not surviving sundress season.

masterlist. inbox.

You felt it as soon as he walked in.

There’s always an atmosphere between you and Jax. A tension that’s alive, crackling, buzzing with anticipation of itself.

You’ve been waiting for the honeymoon phase to wear off for years. It never has.

All evening, he’s been watching you.

Careful, concentrated blue eyes repeatedly raking over your figure. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

Eventually, it’s making it too hard to work. You ask one of the girls to take over the bar and stride across the space, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him into the back room.

“Okay baby, I like it when you-”

“Cut it out.”

He stops in his tracks, slightly taken aback.

“Huh?”

“You heard me, Jax. Cut it the fuck out.”

He leans against the wall, cool as ever, eyes still wandering.

“Cut what out?”

“That!” you scold, smacking his chest. “The eye fucking. I’m trying to work.”

“I’m just looking at you.”

“You are not just looking at me. You look like you’re going to bend me over the bar at any given moment. Stop it.”

“I can’t help it, darlin’.”

He takes a step forward, sliding his hands across your hips and pulling you into him.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty in this dress. It’s takin’ everything in me to not rip it off you.”

You try to stand your ground, but his warm body pressing into yours is making it difficult.

“You can do whatever you want to me when we get home,” you tease, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “When we get home.”

“That a promise?”

“It is if you can cool it with the stares. You’re scaring people.”

“Good.”

He kisses you roughly, hands migrating down to palm at your ass. You moan into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck to stay steady.

“Jax,” you hiss as you pull away. “Everyone’s gonna think we’re fucking back here. Behave.”

“I like it when you tell me to behave,” he smirks, smoothing out the skirt of your dress.

“Behave,” you repeat, tugging his hair roughly. His eyes close in bliss and for a moment, you debate just letting him have you now.

Remembering the entire reason for this conversation, you slap his cheek lightly.

“Best behaviour until the end of my shift. You hear me, Jackson?”

“Yes ma’am.”

He mock salutes you before stealing a quick kiss. Opening the door for you, he smacks your ass as you walk by, laughing when you turn around to glare at him.

“I mean it.”

“Oh I know, baby.”

To his credit, he reels it in. Slightly.

He’s still watching your every move, but with a little less intensity than before. You catch his eyes occasionally, winking as you grin. He shakes his head, beaming smile on his face telling you everything you need to know.

As the night comes to a close, people start to vacate the bar and make their way home, drunk and merry. Jax sticks around, arm slung over the back of the booth as he watches you clean.

“You two gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, Chibs, we’re good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He gives you a kiss on the cheek before leaving, as you hear his bike roar to life.

As soon as Jax has confirmation he’s gone, he’s getting up, sauntering over to where you’re wiping down the bar top.

“What’s my prize?”

“Hmm?”

You look up at him with big doe eyes and he almost melts, leaning across the wood towards you.

“What’s my prize? For behaving myself?”

“You’re insufferable,” you laugh. “You’re supposed to behave yourself.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You shake your head and lean down to throw the rag under the sink. When you stand up, Jax is pressed against you, body warm and firm.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

His big hands cradle your face, rough and gun calloused.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty.”

You flush, heat rising across your chest. Jax lunges in, smashing his lips to yours and pushing you up against the bar. The lip of the wood is digging into your back as he presses you into it further, rocking his hips into yours as he kisses you.

You gasp as he bites down on your lip, so he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like beer and cigarettes and the gum he chews because he knows you like it. You tangle your fingers into his hair, trying to plaster yourself to him.

Jax leans down and presses open mouthed kisses to your ear, your neck, your collarbones, your chest. No skin goes left untouched as you tilt your head to give him more access. He smirks at how quickly you’ve relented.

“I know you wanted this,” he murmurs against your throat. “Wanted it just as bad as me, didn’t you?”

When you don’t respond, he snakes a hand around your neck, squeezing just enough.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, Jax. Please.”

He presses his lips into the junction of your shoulder as his hand slips underneath your dress. He traces you over your underwear, cupping you as he chuckles.

“Filthy girl. So fuckin’ wet.”

You drop your head forward into his chest, trying to take deep breaths so you don’t pass out.

“Can’t take my time with you like I want to,” he murmurs. “Don’t want anyone walking in and seeing you like this.”

In the blink of an eye he’s spinning you around, hand on your shoulder blades to push you down onto the bar top. He flips the skirt of your dress up, bunching it around your waist.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day. Pretty fuckin’ girl.”

Jax pulls your underwear to the side as he fumbles with his jeans, pushing them down just enough. You feel the warmth of him behind you, sliding through your wet heat with ease.

“Please,” you whine. “Don’t tease.”

“Needy baby.”

His tone is so patronising, so condescending, that on any other day you’d slap him. But in this current moment, the only thing you can thing about how is how you might die if he doesn’t fuck you soon.

“Okay, honey. I’ll give you what you want. Only because you look so fuckin’ gorgeous in this dress.”

He slides himself home as both of you groan. You rest your head on your folded arms on the bar as his hands find your hips, setting a brutal pace instantly.

His rhythm is consistent, deep thrusts reverberating through the core of you. Your knees threaten to give out as he knocks your entire body forward, his hips smacking into yours.

His mouth is running constantly, spewing filth right into your ear as he breathes down your neck.

“Prettiest fuckin’ girl I’ve ever seen. This goddamn dress. Drivin’ me insane.”

“Yeah darlin’, just like that. Fuck, baby. S’good.”

“You feel like heaven, fuck. Atta girl.”

“Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. That’s it, there we go.”

You can’t do anything but take it, babbling nonsense right back at him. He chuckles, snaking his hand around your front to circle your clit.

His fingers are your undoing, clenching around him like a vice as your legs give out. All you can do is whine his name, all high pitched and breathy.

“Fuck, baby.”

Jax comes as soon as he feels you, groaning as he rests his head on your back. He squeezes your hips a couple of times, kissing across your skin.

You’re both revelling in your post orgasm bliss when the door flies open, hitting the wall and startling you both.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, lovebirds.”

Chibs is grinning, laughing as he looks around the booth where he was sitting. He finds his keys on the floor, holding them up as he shakes his head at the two of you.

Jax pulls out of you and buttons himself up, smoothing your dress down to preserve your decency. You hide your face in his chest as he chuckles, the sound rumbling through the both of you.

“See ya tomorrow!” the Scotsman yells as he leaves, stupid smile on his face.

“What did I tell you about behaving?”

Jax can’t help but laugh at you, pulling you in to press a kiss to your head.

“Let’s go home, pretty girl. Wanna fuck you in this dress a couple more times.”

@lauratang @ladyjbrekker @myhappyplaceofstuff

[drabbles-mc]

For the "Comfort My Characters!" ask game...

Because you handle him with the same care as I do, let's do my fictional daughter's father, Juice with....

🛏 - Someone by their bedside when they wake up

I can't wait!😘

me: yeah i'll write a little drabble or somethin' for this

also me: *writes over 2k for this*

i love juice but i love you more. enjoy! 😘

He couldn’t remember the can ride at all, let alone where they’d dropped him off at the end of it. What had happened before all that came to him in snapshots that were fuzzy at the edges. The one thing that he remembered just fine was the pain, but maybe that was because he still felt it now. He remembered the pain, and the blood—the way it seeped into the fabric of his shirt, how it marred the pattern on his camouflage cargo pants. 

Unwilling to force his eyes open just yet, he tried to focus on anything other than the pain in his side. Curling his fingers into the blanket that was draped over him, he did his best to focus on the warmth that enveloped him. His comforter felt softer than he remembered, but maybe he was just feeling a little extra appreciative of the little things after everything that’d happened the day before. 

He didn’t know how long he laid there with his eyes closed, focusing on the quiet of his house and the soft warmth of his bed. Part of him was afraid to open his eyes to check the time, another part didn’t want to open his eyes because then he’d be confronted with the full extent of whatever damage he was dealing with. Whatever it was, it could wait for a few more minutes. 

The idea of wasting away the entire day laid up in bed was getting more and more appealing to him until he heard the creaking of furniture beside him. The muscles in his body tensed reflexively, not caring about the fresh wave of pain it caused. Even though he hadn’t been moving much before, now he was making a concentrated effort to sit as still as possible. 

When he heard the quiet rustling of fabric rubbing against fabric, he finally opened his eyes, albeit slowly. The room was still relatively dark—lights off and curtains drawn. Even so, it became immediately apparent to him that the bedroom that he was in wasn’t his. The pain that was making nearly every muscle he had ache was soon coupled with a fresh wave of fear, not knowing where he was or why. 

Gritting his teeth through the pain, he got himself propped up on his elbows. Not much of a lift, but enough. Enough to turn his head and get a better look around at where he was. 

Then he saw you. Chair pulled up right next to his bed, well, what he was now assuming was your bed. One leg was pulled up underneath you, the other dangling off the edge of the seat. The throw blanket you’d buried yourself in was pulled up to your chin but it wasn’t long enough to reach all the way to the floor to keep both your legs covered. Your cheek was pressed against the cushion along the back of the chair, and he wondered if you always kept it so close to the bed, or if you’d moved it closer because of him. 

The feeling that he was intruding was staring to creep in. A sensation that even the peaceful look on your face beside his bed couldn’t quite ward off. He tried to get himself into an actual sitting position, but he let out a wince in the process. 

It was a quiet sound, but in the silence of your bedroom it was still enough to wake you up. You jerked awake, blanket falling completely to the floor as your eyes flew open. “What’s wrong?” you asked, world still clearing up and coming into view. 

Juice wanted to laugh but he knew it was going to hurt if he did. He settled for a smile as he shook his head at you. “Nothing. Nothing, sorry.” 

Your eyebrows flew up to your hairline as you took in the sight of him, bruised and banged up, but finally fully conscious. “You’re awake.” 

That got a chuckle out of him, followed by a pained cringe because of the effort it took. “Yeah—almost wish I wasn’t.” There was a beat of silence, and Juice could hardly keep eye contact with you as he looked at all the worry swirling around in your eyes. It was almost too much to bear. Clearing his throat, he tried to address one of the many elephants currently parading around the room. “This your bedroom?” 

You nodded, a smile on your face. “Yeah. Um, welcome, I guess,” you said with a quiet laugh. 

He looked around, warmth creeping up his neck that he knew was embarrassment. “Why’d they bring me here? Why...why didn’t they bring me home?” 

Now it was your turn to feel heat spreading across your face. It was the first time you didn’t meet his gaze since he woke up, looking down at his hands all twisted up in your comforter. “You were in pretty rough shape when they dropped you off.” 

He nodded like that was enough of an explanation, even though you both knew it wasn’t. The guys had gotten dropped off at their own homes to fend for themselves all the time, even when they were bruised and bloody. If it was that bad, they’d just have the doctor make a house call, or Chucky would babysit at the clubhouse. Nothing like this. But Juice didn’t want to press further. 

“Also,” you started, voice even softer than it had been, “they, um, they said you told them to bring you here.” 

The warmth of embarrassment that he’d been feeling up until that moment paled in comparison to the sensation rolling through him now. A new sense of dread that he hadn’t been acquainted with before, not when it came to you anyway. That feeling of a secret getting out, a good and safe thing being put in danger. 

None of the guys never asked, so he never said anything. That’s what he told himself, at least. That was the reason that let him sleep at night, keeping his friendship with you tucked in his back pocket and out of harm’s way. He noticed that you never brought it up either in the times when you’d make a quick pass through the clubhouse, or when you dropped your car off at the shop. So he figured you were on the same page as he was, not that he ever thought to ask. 

Since they didn’t ask, no one in the club knew how many times Juice had left a party early, or skipped one altogether, because he was running off to see you instead. This might’ve been his first time seeing the inside of your bedroom, but he knew the rest of your house like the back of his hand. The club had no idea the number of hours he’s spent sprawled across your couch with you while you bickered over shows and movies to watch, if one more episode was going to make it just a little too late to go home. 

They didn’t know about all the times he’d look down halfway through a movie you swore you’d stay awake for, to see you passed out against his side and using his shoulder like a pillow. They had no clue about all the times the two of you had made a mess of your kitchen because you decided that when he came over it was the perfect time to try and make something new, and the chaos that inevitably ensued each time. They didn’t know about the bubble of safety that seemed to encapsulate your house whenever he would go there. 

That probably hadn’t changed. They probably still didn’t know. But the knowledge that he’d brought them right to your front door without even realizing it, made him feel like he’d blown his own cover. 

“Sorry,” he finally forced out. “I shouldn’t have told them—” 

“I’m glad you did,” you cut him off, knowing where his sentence was going. 

“Wh-what?” 

You laughed, feeling brave enough to move from your chair to the edge of the mattress. Situating yourself carefully so you didn’t move or hurt him. “I’m glad you told them to bring you here.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t even remember doing it.” 

You smiled, shaking your head. “Yeah, I mean, you were pretty out of it.” The longer you looked at him, the harder it became to ignore the cuts and bruises. Unsure if you wanted the answer or not, you asked, “Should I even ask what happened?” 

Trying to shift to look at you head on while not causing himself more pain than he could handle, he said, “I don’t think knowing is gonna make you feel better.” 

You hummed in response, knowing that he was probably right. Your next question changed tactics. “Would you feel better talking about it?” 

That got him to pause and think for a moment. You felt like if you stared at him hard enough, at just the right angle, you could see into his head and watch whatever memories he had about it replay over and over. It’d make for a much easier way to find out what was going on. 

“No,” he finally answered. A beat passed and he knew that it was on him to say the next thing. He tried to smooth the moment over, a tiny grin on his face as he gestured to the puffy comforter he was buried under. “This makes me feel a lot better though.” You laughed and he instantly felt relieved. “I don’t know how you ever get out of bed.” 

“Some days it’s really tough,” you joked. As your laughter quieted down, you allowed yourself to be brave enough to cover his hand with your own. “Do you need anything, though? There anything I can get you?” You nodded back over your shoulder towards the bedroom door. “They left me with stuff for your bandages so if you need—” 

“I’m good,” he said, stopping you before you could get yourself too worked up. “Seriously. I just can’t believe you let them drop me here.” It took an extra second but then he realized that you were still holding his hand. “Have you, um, how long have you been waiting there?” 

Your lips curled into an involuntary smile at the question, heat brushing across your cheeks as you stared intently down at your hand on his rather than looking him in the eye. “It just made more sense to stay here in case you woke up and needed anything.” 

“So you just sat in here staring at me until you fell asleep?” he asked, laughter starting to creep its way into his voice. 

If he hadn’t been so banged up, you would've given him a playful shove. As it was, you settled for giving his hand a tiny squeeze. “You were knocked out, so I guess you’ll never know.” 

He reined his laughter in until it was just a hum of amusement—it hurt less that way. It didn’t dim the little glint that he got in his eyes, though. “Thank you. For everything,” he elaborated, “obviously. But, um, thanks for staying.” 

He couldn’t remember the last time he woke up to someone waiting for him like that, but he didn’t know how to go about saying that to you. Part of him hoped you’d just know the way that you did with so many other things. When your expression softened he had a feeling you understood everything he didn’t say just fine. 

“Want me to keep staying?” you asked. “Or is it even more creepy to keep staring at you now that you’re awake?” 

He tried to stuff down his laughter but it didn’t work. The little jolt of pain was worth it because he could listen to you laughing too. “I mean, it is, but you can stay. I, I want you to.” 

You would’ve respected the answer no matter what it was, but there was no hiding the relief you felt at being told that he wanted you there. “Okay.” 

Peeling the blanket back, you slithered underneath it with him, careful to jostle him as little as possible. Warmth instantly washed over you, all that had been trapped underneath the blanket as Juice had slept. But you were also close enough to him now to feel the heat that was radiating off of his skin. Even with t-shirts and hoodies between you in the past, being pressed up against him felt like leaning onto a radiator. Now, the only barrier between you was the old tank top you were wearing, and the inch of space separating you on the mattress. The shirt he’d been wearing when they dropped him off had been torn and stained with too much blood to bother salvaging, so you tossed it and told yourself you’d just run out and grab him a new one before he woke up. But then you couldn’t get yourself to leave your room—you were thankful for that now. 

You’d felt him watching you as you got situated. You tried not to keep looking over at him, but eventually once you’d settled, covers pulled up and your book at the ready, you finally caved. “Now who’s got the staring problem?” 

He smiled and shook his head but he didn’t say anything. He also didn’t stop staring at you. There was no hiding the grin on your face as you opened your book. There was a new conversation to be had after this, when you could be fairly certain he’d recovered from any blood loss or concussions. But for now you just soaked it in. You heard the rustling of the covers as he allowed himself to sink into the mattress again. Then you felt his fingers tangle with yours. Looking over, you saw that his eyes were closed again, and you soaked up the sight of him as you ran your thumb over his knuckles. 

Send a character and an emoji for the Comfort My Character ask game!

SOA Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added!): @withmyteeth @garbinge @narcolini @juicyortiz @i-just-read-stuff

@justreblogginfics @paintballkid711 @fanfic-n-tabulous @jitterbugs927 @winchestershiresauce

@choochoo284 @artemiseamoon @nessamc

[secretlysamcro]

Till it’s gone ask🙏🏻

The first time he knew he was in love with her….

It wasn't just the sex.

That had always been good, too good. Even the first time. Rough up against the cold brick wall behind the diner. But it wasn't that. It wasn't your body or your mouth, or the way you knew exactly what to do in order to pull him apart when he needed it.

It was the before, the after, the inbetween.

Jax, on your couch, still half dressed. One arm slung behind his head, watching as you move around your kitchen in his flannel like it was your right to do so. You weren't talking, just humming under your breath, barefoot and calm, like you didn't know you'd ruined him already.

Your hair was messy. Your face bare. You spat a curse when you dropped a spoon, then bent over to pick it up and he watched you. Watched you like you weren't supposed to mean anything. You were just a fuck. Somewhere to bury himself when the voices got too loud, especially Tara's.

And in that moment, it hit him right then and there. You did mean something. The feeling sudden and sharp like a knife pushed between the ribs.

He was falling in love with you.

He blinked, tried looking away quick, like he could try to unthink it, like it was an intrusive thought he could shove back down where it belonged. But he couldn't. Because it wasn't random or sudden, not really. It had been happening slow and quite. Beneath all the fucks and fights and the tension. In the way you let him sleep in your bed without asking questions. In the way you called him out on his bullshit, even when you knew it would piss him off. You never asked for more than he'd offer, never tried to change him.

And most importantly, you never tried to be her.

And that scared the shit out of him. Because Tara had his name, his house and his kids. But you, you had his truth, unfiltered, reckless and fucking real.

"What?" you turned, two mugs in your hand, a playful eyebrow raised like you knew he was thinking something too deep.

"Nothing darlin" he said quickly, shaking his head. That smirk sliding back into place like a mask.

But behind it, he already knew it was too late.

[mysticalmallard]

With their drunk girlfriend

Finally finished I have been working on this on and off for a few days as work has been really busy. I hope you guys enjoy it I am not sure what topic the next group drabble will be so let me know what you guys wanna see next ♥︎

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

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

SoA Masterlist 🌸 Main Masterlist

Chibs

Chibs looked across at his girlfriend as she laughed loudly at something one of club hangarounds had said. It was easy to see that she was thoroughly drunk, as she stumbled about and slurred her words. He watched her with a mixture of amusement and affection, shaking his head at how adorable she was when she got wasted.

As the night progressed, Chibs kept a watchful eye on her, making sure she didn't do anything stupid or get into any trouble. He even stepped in when some drunk guy tried to flirt with her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jax

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Opie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Juice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Herman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tig

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[tinyshyteacup]

Can I possibly get Chibs smut like first time together after months of just kissing and slow burn even though both of you wanted to rush bc you both felt it😍😍😍😫😫

Probably a little softer then your request but I was feeling it. (Also wayyy longer then I intended)

TW: smut, tobacco depictions, soft chibs, p in v. 18+ MDNI

• Nightfall •

Chibs moves with the silence of a man used to danger. Soft-footed across the dorm floor, every motion careful. This Lockdown had been a joke, and you'd spent the day on your feet, helpful as you were, putting everyone before yourself.

Chibs, despite his tough exterior has always been careful with you, gentlemanly, you'd kissed, held each other, but never explored beyond that.

You hear the low clink of his rings as he gathers your sweater first, folding it loosely over the back of the chair.

His rough hands lift your tank top, your jeans, each item drawn up off the floor and out of the way with a kind of reverence.

There’s no leer to it. No smirk.

Just a soft focus behind his eyes—like he’s cataloguing every thread, every impression you’ve left behind in his space.

"You leave a wee trail everywhere ye go, don't ye..." he murmurs almost inaudibly under his breath, the hint of a fond smile in his tone, though you’re not meant to hear it.

His kutte comes off with a whisper of worn leather, hung on the same hook near the door.

Then his boots.

His belt.

His shirt unbuttons, one clasp at a time.

A slow ritual, like shedding the weight of the world with each piece.

The click of his lighter breaks the silence—small, brief, familiar. The ember glows warm orange against the low light as he steps near the cracked-open window, letting out the first slow exhale.

He leans against the sill, arms crossed, one hand loosely holding the cigarette between two fingers.

The smoke curls around him like a ghost, clinging to his hair, his collarbone, the soft shadow carved beneath his jaw.

"Still can’t wrap me head ‘round you bein’ here..." he mutters softly to himself, thick Scottish rasp coated in smoke and weariness.

"Look at what ye've bloody done… makin’ a home out o’ this mess."

He turns on instinct—maybe to stub it out, maybe just to check that you’re truly asleep.

But he freezes when he catches your eyes on him. Your voice is barely audible, soft and warm in the low dark.

"I can't sleep."

There’s no startle in him. No mask sliding back down. He just holds your gaze for a long second through the smoke, then lifts the cigarette slowly to his lips again.

"Aye," he breathes around the smoke, tapping ash into a tray. "Me neither."

He finishes it slowly, no rush. Not now. Not with you watching him like that. When the stub is pressed out and the tray is pushed aside, he moves toward the bed again—bare chest catching in the dim light, every scar, every piece of ink a chapter written into his skin.

He doesn’t speak as he pulls back the covers, slipping in behind you, one arm drawing you in automatically. His hand skims over your waist, then stills there.

"Ye wan' talk about it, love?" His voice is low, warm against the back of your neck, his accent thick and rasping.

When you shake your head no, just nudging closer, he presses a kiss just below your ear.

"Alright, then."

You both settle. His breath deepens. Yours matches.

Your fingers curl around his hand where it rests across your middle, holding him there like a lifeline. And he lets you.

He doesn't try to fix your thoughts or chase away the ache that keeps you awake. He just stays. Anchors you with his body, his heat, the steady beat of his heart against your back.

You wrinkle your nose a little, burying your face into the curve of the pillow before letting the words out in a mumble against the fabric.

"You smell all smoky."

For a beat, there’s silence, just your fingers idly tracing the lines of ink on his arm.

Then that low, husky chuckle rumbles up from his chest, warm and unguarded. His breath fans across your temple as he leans his head into your shoulder.

"Aye, well," he murmurs, smile tugging crookedly at the corner of his mouth.

"that’s what happens when y’drag an old bastard in from the window, love."

He turns you in his arms with slow certainty, careful not to jostle you, one hand slipping beneath your shoulder and coaxing you to face him. Your legs shift beneath the covers, tangling softly with his, one of his thighs pressing to yours, anchoring.

His eyes crinkle at the corners when he looks at you—tired but bright, like you’ve flicked a switch inside him.

It starts so quietly that it could’ve been mistaken for nothing more than a breath.

One moment, you're teasing him—soft voice muffled by the dimness and his chest so close—and the next, he's looking at you like he’s never been kissed before in his life. Like this might be the first one that matters.

There’s no rush in him, no heat chasing the moment too fast. Just a long pause. A slight lean in. The barest flick of his gaze to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if asking for something without saying a word.

Then he kisses you.

Not hungrily.

Tenderly.

The kind of kiss that makes you forget your name, not because it steals your breath, but because it gives it back.

His lips move slowly over yours—his stubble brushes your skin, a rough whisper against your softness—but there’s no force, no pressure. Just a quiet pull.

You taste the faint bite of smoke on him, warm and earthy, but even that fades beneath the press of something more.

As the kiss deepens—as his tounge whispers across your lip, a request for entrance—his hand shifts behind your neck, anchoring you to him.

Not in control.

But like he’s afraid the world might wake up and take you away if he lets go.

You don’t realize he’s moving you until you feel the change in pressure beneath you.

The pillows beneath your head are soft, worn from years of use, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to the sheets. Somehow, in the space of a few lingering kisses and the hush between them, he’s gently rolled you beneath him.

But there’s no weight. No pressing need. His body hovers over yours, forearms braced on either side of your shoulders, the line of his thigh resting between your legs, protective, not pushing.

"Didn’t even notice, did ye?" he murmurs against your lips, voice roughened by smoke and the Scotch lilt of his amusement. His accent curls around the words like they’re only for you.

"Slippery bastard, me." You feel more than see his wolfish grin, as he tilts his head and tugs your bottom lip with his teeth.

His fingers drift down, resting at the edge of the button-up shirt you’re wearing—his shirt, too big on your frame, hem brushing your thighs. The sight makes his breath catch, just slightly.

"Jesus Christ..." he mutters under his breath, eyes searching your face as if checking you’re alright with each slow move.

Then, delicately—tenderly—he lifts the first button, slipping it free. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t undress you like a prize to be claimed. He does it like a man peeling away the world to reach you.

He pauses with the shirt hanging open, brushing his knuckles lightly along your collarbone. Not taking, not assuming. Just… being.

"Ye alright?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid to break the spell.

When you answer yes, he doesn’t move fast.

His other hand rests against your ribs under the covers, thumb tracing slow arcs over the skin below your breast, grounding you both in the moment.

“Fuckin’ unreal, ye are.” he murmurs, kissing along your collarbone, voice husky, lilting with that rich Glaswegian lilt.

His hand moves across you— mapping you like you’re a story he wants to learn line by line. The pad of his thumb traces over the gentle curve of your hip, along the slope of your waist, settling at the dip of your thigh.

His fingers still for just a breath. His eyes search yours, quietly scanning—checking that you’re still there, still willing, still you.

His voice is a rasp, barely more than a breath.

"Tell me to stop, lass, an’ I will. But if ye don’t… I swear to God, I’ll be nothin’ but gentle with ye."

And you know he means it.

Not because he says it—but because every moment leading up to this one has proved it.

The laughter. The chase. The quiet way he stood behind you in the clubhouse when things get tense. The cigarette at the window when he thought you were asleep.

Your hands move hesitantly, barely brushing his chest as you explore the warmth of him through tentative touches. The muscles there are solid beneath your fingers—etched from years of battle and burden—but you handle him like he’s fragile.

Like you’re the one who needs to be gentle with him.

Chibs doesn’t move at first. He just watches you, half-shadowed in the low light, expression unreadable—but his breath stutters softly, and that’s answer enough.

"You alright, lass?" he asks quietly, voice thick with his accent, the words low like gravel over velvet. His hand shifts to your hip, grounding you, but he doesn't stop your touch. "Ye don’t have to…"

You shake your head, slowly. “I want to.”

Your answer is barely a whisper, and he swallows hard at the honesty in it. The lines around his eyes deepen as he watches you, waiting to see what you’ll do next.

When your fingertips rise to his face, brushing the edge of his Glasglow smile, he freezes—not tense, but still, like an animal unsure if it’s being hunted or healed.

Your touch is so light it could be mistaken for air, and yet it carries the weight of things no one’s ever dared give him before.

He inhales through his nose, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

"Ye know what they are, aye?" he asks, voice low and rough, not challenging—just honest.

“Evidence, Filip.”

His lips part slightly, a small furrow of confusion in his brow, like he’s going to say something, maybe a protest, but nothing comes out.

"Evidence that you won, Scotsman" you clarify in a whisper.

He lets out a shaky exhale and leans into your touch.

Chibs moves slow—not because he’s unsure, but because he wants you to feel every second. His weight eases over you, protective rather than pressing. His skin is warm, the scent of smoke still faint on him, but it’s overpowered by something softer—soap, warmth, safety.

He pulls you closer, until his leg slips between yours, the maneuver parting your thighs beneath him.

The pad of his thumb moves in soft teasing circles around your sensitive bud, as he gently aligns his body with yours, the way his hand traces the edge of you knee is so unlike the gruffness he has with his brothers, his breath catches when your knee brushes his hip—but he doesn’t rush.

He shifts and palms himself, a slow delibrate stroke, before notching himself at your entrance.

Cool brown eyes flick to yours and back, before he presses himself forward into your heat.

The slow stretch spreads warm, outward like spilled mulled wine, a slow stain of surrender as Chibs sinks into you.

“Christ, ye ruin me, ye do.” he breathes into your skin.

You slide your arms around his neck, and your fingers brush the hair at his nape—coarse and soft all at once, salt and pepper strands curling slightly beneath your touch.

Your body arched around the intrusion, Chibs leans his forehead to yours, breathing you in like he needs you more than air.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face with a calloused palm and kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the soft place beneath your ear.

The room is quiet save for the low hum of the night outside the dorm walls. No engines. No shouting. Just the soft sound of his lips brushing against yours, and the warmth of skin meeting skin.

You're cocooned and consumed by him in every fragile cell, in every pulse of movement, as he rocks into you in a steady rhythmic roll.

You can feel the heat of him, the way he slides across the spongey spot within you in languid grazes.

Your bodies move like waves, with the same tenderness the break has as it maps its way onto the sand—time seems to slow as his thrusts continue slower, deeper.

Not demanding. Not dominant. There would be time for that, he would make sure, but now here with you, your breath hitching with at apex of each movement, it was like a prayer whispered instead of a promise made aloud.

There’s no hunger in Chibs when he loves you like this—His hands are careful, mapping you like a man reading scripture, fingers moving with reverence. He traces the curve of your waist, the slope of your thigh, like it’s a privilege, not a right.

He keeps checking in, even without words—watching your eyes, pausing when your breath hitches, brushing your hair back so gently it makes your chest ache.

When things grow closer, more breathless, he doesn’t break that tenderness. Every sigh from you makes him slow down, not speed up. Every sound you make earns a kiss, a murmur, a whispered.

Until the crash of your orgasm washes over you like the creeping of the tide, slowly and yet all at once.

Chibs stutters above you as he spills into you, the room is warm, thick with your combined breathing as you come down from your high.

The faint smell of cigarettes, soap and skin, lingers.

You let out a faint whine as he gently withdraws himself from your core.

"Its alright, Love" he murmurs, accent thicker now with affection, his lips ghosting the top of your head. "I got ye."

You lie curled against Chibs’ side, one leg draped loosely over his, Your eyes flutter open only as he shifts slightly, reaching toward the bedside table where his cigarettes lie.

The click of the lighter breaks the quiet, followed by the soft crackle of tobacco catching fire.

He takes a drag, exhales slowly through his nose, then turns his head to glance at you.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on your back, up and down your spine with near weightless affection.

"Ye all right, love?" he asks in a murmur, his voice still a little rough from earlier. There's a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better look at you.

You nod, eyes half-lidded, cheeks warm, limbs pleasantly heavy.

Satiated. Boneless. The word flits across your thoughts, sleep trying to pull you under.

"Christ, yer so bloody soft," he mutters affectionately, brushing his thumb along your back. "Could lie here forever."

He tilts his head back and exhales a slow stream of smoke, the scent curling lazily in the air between you.

You’re just starting to drift when—

CRASH.

The door swings open.

"Hey Chibs, have you seen—OH—OH GOD—OH SHIT—SWEET JESUS—NOPE."

Juice freezes like he’s just walked into oncoming traffic.

There’s a full second of silence, where all anyone does is blink.

You, clutching the blanket instinctively to your chest.

Chibs, exhaling a slow breath through his nose, cigarette held just off to the side.

Juice, wide-eyed, frozen in the doorway with a folder in one hand and utter panic blooming across his face.

"I—I didn’t know—I mean, I wasn’t tryna—like, I wasn’t gonna—" he blurts, already backpedaling verbally but somehow still standing there like a baby deer in leather.

"Shut tae bloody door, Juicy," Chibs says evenly, not raising his voice. Not yet.

Juice flails.

"No, right, right! Totally—door! Got it! I mean, you should lock it next time, man, or maybe put up a sock or something—oh God, you’re not even wearing—is that her shirt?!—shitshitshit—"

You duck your head, cheeks flushing, heart thudding for an entirely new reason.

Chibs sits up slightly, the blanket shifting over his waist. His jaw clenches, cigarette dangling from his lips now, his tone growing colder.

"Juice."

"Yeah?"

"D’ye want tae die tonight?"

Juice stares.

"No."

"Then shut the fuckin’ door and disappear before I put my boot so far up yer arse, ye’ll be coughin’ out shoelaces ‘til Christmas."

"Right!" Juice squawks, spinning on his heel. The door slams behind him.

Silence returns like a drawn curtain.

You stare at the ceiling for a second, pulse still racing.

Then Chibs lets out a sharp, exasperated laugh and mutters around his cigarette.

"Jesus Christ, that boy’s got the subtlety of a fuckin’ grenade in a china shop."

He flicks ash into the tray by the bedside, stubs the cigarette out with two fingers, and settles back in beside you, pulling you against his side again like nothing happened.

You rest your cheek against his shoulder. He's still warm.

"Ye a’right?" he asks softly, voice lower now, gentler. His fingers trace the curve of your spine again like he’s grounding you, bringing your heartbeat back down.

You nod slowly. "That was… a lot."

He chuckles again. "Aye. Jus’ pretend he got dropped on his head one too many times as a baby. Helps it all make sense."

Then he presses a kiss to your hair.

"Back to where we were, aye?" he says, tucking the blanket up over your bare shoulders, "Safe. Quiet. Just us."

You close your eyes.

[wetpussyju1ce]

jax teller x fem!reader

how to get jax teller wrapped around your finger 101: easy, really. the nicest girl in town did it. she always smells the same, clean, fresh and sweet. coconuts and tangerines. she always says hello when they meet. always w a pretty smile. she also says hello to his gang. is nice to odd and peculiar personalities. takes everything with a welcoming smile and gaze. she cares abt people. like to ask things. do small things. not too much, because she doesn't have all the time in the world, after all.

she likes to keep sweet treats and snacks in her bag, just for jax. the sweeter, the better. so when he gets an itch to smoke, she just hands him one. and she did so many times, everytime he wants to smoke, he looks around, expecting her to be there and hand him one. a small chocolate bar. a tiny cupcake. a single packaged brownie. and his stomach rumbles. feels the lack of sweetness of his tongue. starts seeing the treats she gives him at the gas station and instantly thinks of her.

when they exchanged numbers. she made a habit of calling him on the same day, at the same time every week, just to say hello and check up on him. and he unconsciously grows to anticipate her calls. gets excited. and when she forgets to call, he gets confused and shows up at her house. he feels like a teenager all over again. laying in his bed, staring at his phone, just for her name to flash on his screen.

the longer they keep meeting and seeing each other. the shorter her skirts and shorts gets. Jax doesn't notice at first. how she started with jeans. complaining that the seats of the bar were always sticky and she hated the texture against bare skin. then her skirts started getting shorter and shorter, and jax at first tried wiping the seats for her, then realised those chairs are a lost caused, so much layers of unknown liquids on them. so he just offers his lap now. she says he's comfy and she smells real nice on him, so it's a win.

and when the smell of the bar gets too much, tobacco and weed and other illegal plants wafting through the air, mixed with sweat, beer and the stench of piss around the radius of the toilets, he just shoves his nose in her hair, inhales long and deep, his own little paradise, right there, on his lap. and it has gotten to a point where if she isn't there on one of those nights, to occupy his lap, he quickly gets a headache of the smell and stuffiness and goes out to take a break, outside, in fresh air. he gets irritated. annoyed. and complains about how people need to start using deodorants.

and the small changes in his behaviour are caught on. the smell never bothered him before she came in his life. but he doesn't want to hear it. doesn't care. especially when he can go to her house. where it's quiet. and gets tucked in her fluffy soft comfy bed, after taking a shower and using her own shampoos. and he gets a kiss on his forehead and cheeks. chokes hugs the life out of her squishmallows and closes his eyes, resting his bruised up body under covers of safety, tangerines & coconuts.

[fanfictionsweetheart]

Gentle

Pairing: Happy Lowman x Reader

Summary: Happy Lowman has never been known for his gentleness. But for his Old Lady he can be.

Trigger/Content Warning(s): light smut, implied smut, aftercare

Word Count: 855

A/N: I have such a weakness for aftercare in fics and drabbles! Cross posted from my ao3

Happy wasn’t known for his tenderness. He was a biker. He was rough and harsh. The kind of man that no parent wants their daughter to end up with.

He was a killer.

If you spared him a glance you would never think he had it in him to be gentle.

You would be right of course. Even when it came to life with his old lady, the woman he claimed he loved more than his own life, he wasn’t what one would consider gentle. He didn’t speak sweet nothings into the air whenever he saw her. He didn’t hold hands, he gripped her around the waist possessively. His dark eyes didn’t seem to change and he didn’t smile in public often. Even when her own smile was ever present.

She was soft and sweet most of the time while he was hard and harsh.

To most they made no sense.

Yet she smiled at him whenever she saw him. Hugged onto his arm and pecked his cheek. The only visible gentleness was that he allowed her to do so.

This even extended into their home and sex life.

Happy didn’t make love. He fucked. And he fucked hard.

And truth be told, she enjoyed it.

His rough hands, harsh bites, and even harsher words. The occasional bruises he gave her from a night together worn with pride, just as she wore his crow with pride.

She wouldn’t have married him if she didn’t enjoy how he fucked.

Manhandling her into whatever position he wanted and using her body for his own pleasure. Bringing her immense pleasure in the process. Thighs shaking and bearing the marks of his harsh grip. Voice raw from screaming out her many orgasms of the night. Jelly legs and tear stained cheeks. He would often fuck her like he didn’t care if she got off or not…though, of course, he did, and he knew just how to get her off.

When he was done with using and abusing her body to both their ends was when the gentle side that nobody would believe existed was revealed.

He would encourage her to get into a comfortable position before getting out of bed and going about his usual after sex routine. He would get a cold bottle of water from the fridge and bring it back to her. Opening it and helping her drink a few good swallows, holding her cheek gently while slowly tipping the bottle until she nodded she was okay.

He would then go and grab two warm wash clothes. One to gently wipe away any mascara tear streaks and soothe her slightly red and swollen eyes. The other to carefully clean between her legs and cum from her body if he came on her rather than in her tonight.

After that he would grab her favorite scented body lotion and carefully massage any aches and pains away. His hands which had taken so many lives were so tender with her as he worked her over in a different way. From shoulder to fingers on both arms. From ankle to hip on each leg. Then her back and neck. And sometimes he would wipe the lotion from his hands and gently massage her scalp if he had pulled her hair that night.

The entire time his gravelly voice was used to murmur those secret sweet nothings to her. Praising her for taking him so well. Assuring her that he didn’t mean any degrading comments he made while fucking her. Telling her all the things he loved about her. While he told her he loved her before bed every night, and in subtle quiet ways that only she understood throughout their days, there was something about this moment that truly exemplified that love he felt for her.

He would bring her a snack if she wanted or needed it after the massage, typically something sweet. He would feed it to her, even if she insisted that it wasn’t necessary to do so.

He would help her into a clean pair of panties and one of his t-shirts, her favorite being an old, worn-in SAMTAC shirt. The only one he had left after they moved to Charming together. It reminded her of when they met and he knew it, that was why he kept it. He would hold her then, and run his fingers through her hair while she cuddled closer.

He would tell her he loved her.

And she would tell him.

He would kiss her lips and then her temple and smile softly, his dark eyes warm with that love.

And while she rested her head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, he would talk to her about anything, a new project for his bike or that one really weird customer at the garage or an old story from a run that he could share, until she fell asleep.

Then he would kiss her temple again and drift off himself.

No, Happy Lowman was not known for his tenderness.

He was harsh and cruel.

A killer.

But in these moments, with his woman, he was gentle.

[marvelous-slut]

Water Leaks - Tig Trager x Reader

Authors Note: Hello, hello beauties. I’m rewatching Sons so I’m back, for now. Hopefully longer this time!

Warnings: AGE GAP!! Legal age ofc. Unprotected sex. Teasing. Begging. Basically smut and as always, 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI!

Tig was known for getting himself in trouble. He liked women and they liked him.

He stepped out of his house, his helmet in his hand. He knew today would be shit, in the garage all day and then up all night for club business. He glanced up, immediately noticing your bright pink bathing suit that hugged your body perfectly. He couldn’t take his eyes off the sight of you rubbing lotion on your chest. He felt his pants get tighter as every second passed. “Fuck.” He whispered to himself.

He knew he’d be in trouble the day he met you. Your beautiful body, beautiful face. The way you talked to him like you’d known him for years, flirting away. He just didn’t imagine it would be so soon.

You look across the street, noticing him standing at his door. You smirk, knowing he’d been watching you. You wave at him and motion him to come over. Like a dog in heat, he sets his helmet down and rushes across the street.

“Hi Tig. What are you into today?” You ask, adjusting yourself on your chair, making sure your body was in full view for him.

“Uh. Yeah. Going to work. Not much fun going on.” He’s trying not to make it obvious how turned on he is, but the bulge in his pants tells you all that you need to know. You smile, pulling off your sun glasses.

“That’s a shame. I was hoping I’d have someone to keep me occupied in this pool today.” You shrug, putting the sun glasses back on and looking into the sky. Tig could kill Clay for making him work on Gemma’s SUV today. “Oh. Actually, I did wanna ask. Do you know anything about water leaks?”

“A little bit. What’s up?” He asks, trying to think of thoughts to make his friend in his pants go back down.

“Would you have time to check it out?” You ask, standing up and getting close to him. You put a finger on his kutte and smile. “I can make you something to drink while you’re checking it out.” Tig couldn’t say no, especially with you looking like this.

“Yeah, I’ve got time. Let’s go.” He follows you into the house, his chest feels tight. He enters your home, it’s decorated darkly. Horror movie decor placed on the walls, skulls and coffins. He’s a little shocked seeing as you were always dressed brightly and beaming. You notice he is looking at your decorations.

“What? Didn’t expect it?” You ask, getting on your knees infront of the sink to open the doors that cover the pipes. He can’t believe this, he’s seen many pornos start out this way but never lived it out himself. He watches you open the cabinets and lean under the sink, once you confirm the leak is still occurring you come back out. Still on your knees, you look over to him. “There’s a lot of things you probably wouldn’t expect from me.” You say, he’s trying to focus but he just keeps thinking of how good you look on your knees, how good you’d look with his cock in your mouth. You stand up, he walks over to the sink, getting down to examine what’s going on. He hears you getting into the fridge as he examines the pipes. He hears you come back over, pushing yourself up onto the counter.

“So Tig, how old are you?” You ask, you knew he was older than you. This sat off an already raging desire for him. He pops his head back out and stands up, closing the doors. He takes the glass of lemonade from your hand.

“Old enough to be your dad probably.” He says, taking a drink from the cup. You smirk, turning your head to the side. “I’m 41.” You chuckle, crossing your leg over the other and leaning forward.

“I knew you were an old man.” He shakes his head and leans against the counter.

“And how old are you? You’re like 20, how did you get this nice house?” You take a sip from your drink before talking.

“I’m actually 27 and I’m a nurse. I’ve saved up a while to get this house.” You grab his hand as you notice the bruises on his knuckles. “Your hand hurt? Looks like you’ve got in a fight or two.” You set his hand on your thigh, looking more at the bruises. He feels like he’s gonna faint and knows he needs to get out of this house.

“Maybe two. Uh. I can fix that leak or if you wanna hire someone. But I do gotta go to work.” You smile, knowing he’s right where you want him. You spread his hand apart onto your thigh.

“I think I’d rather have you fix it, if we’re being honest.” You grab the other hand and place it onto the seam of your swim bottoms. Tig usually is the one making moves on women, he’s not sure how to act right now. “But,” You start, moving his hands down your thighs and back to his body. “I know you’re a busy man. I’ll let you get to work.” You get down off the counter, your body against his. He knows he can’t fight it anymore, he pulls you in and slams his lips onto yours. He grabs you, setting you back up on the counter. You feel his warm hands run under your bottoms, quickly jerking them down. You run your hands onto him, removing his kutte and setting it on the counter beside of you.

“You know,” He whispers, you lean back as you feel his fingers touch your clit. “I’d never imagined that sweet little face of yours would be practically begging to be fucked.” You gasped, feeling him slide his fingers inside of you, moving them slowly. “I think I want to hear that sweet mouth beg me to fuck you.” Your whole body is tingling, it’s almost unbearable how turned on you are.

“Tig.” You whisper out, running your hands up the thin shirt he wears. “I want you.” He stops moving his fingers and smiles.

“Want me to what?” He needs to hear you say it, he’s holding back from ripping off his jeans and fucking you senseless. You move your hips, trying to bring yourself some pleasure. He uses his free hand and holds you in place.

“What’s wrong? You talked so much before?”

“Tig. I want you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me. Please, right here. Right now.” You let out shakily. “I’m begging you.” It’s all he needed to hear. He removes his fingers and hears you sigh in disappointment.

“I really gotta go to work.” He sees your eyes widen, in shock that he’d leave you like this. “Maybe we can finish this later.” You pull him to you, taking his still wet finger and running it to his lips making him taste you.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” He smirks, undoing his jeans as fast as he can. Before you can get another word out, he pulls you to the edge of the counter and slides himself into you. You feel yourself adjusting to him. He starts off slowly, watching how your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Fuck.” You manage to breathe out. He’s treating you like you may break. You feel his hands grab your hips.

“Tig, go a little harder.” He widens his eyes, slamming into you. Your head leans back in pleasure. He feels you clinching around his cock.

“You’re so fucking needy, aren’t you?” He asks as he continues thrusting himself inside of you. It feels like you’re intoxicated. You’d fantasized about this since the day you’d met him, but never imagined it would feel this good. “I’ve spent all this time watching you when I could have fucked you this easily?” The words make you feel dirty, but even more turned on. He pulls the top of your swim suit down, exposing your breast to the cold air. He watches as your nipples harden as the cold air hits them. He smirks, moving his lips against your neck and then to your ear. “You take this cock so well.” He feels you tighten around him, knowing you’re close.

“This is what you wanted, so finish for me.” That’s all you needed to hear. You grab onto the counter and throw your head back, feeling your legs shaking.

“Fuck! Fuck!” You scream out, letting the pleasure over take your body. “Holy fuck!” Watching you scream in pleasure is enough to send Tig over the edge, he thrusts rough and hard into you. The two of you breathe heavily, making eye contact. He grabs the papers towels that sit on the counter and hands them to you. Once the two of you are cleaned up, he helps you down as your legs are weak from the orgasm. He puts his kutte back on, running his fingers through his hair. You grab a blanket from the living room, covering yourself up as if you weren’t just totally exposed on your kitchen counter. He smirks, shaking his head.

“You don’t have much to say now?” You feel your cheeks turn red, he grabs his keys and shoves them in his pocket. “I’ll get the stuff to fix your water and come back tomorrow, deal?” You shake your head in agreement as you watch him finish off his lemonade. “I’ll see you later.” You watch him shut the door behind him. You lean against the counter, still in disbelief of what just happened.

“Fuck.” You mutter out, as you catch yourself hoping it happens again.

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Hypothetically speaking" - Juice Ortiz x Reader

SUMMARY: It's basic etiquette to not try your luck with a friend's girl. But when that friends seems to have no respect for the girl, perhaps it's basic etiquette to give her the affection she deserves.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 3k

Truthfully, everyone knew it wasn't going to work out - everyone except for you. Whether you are too pure or delusional, the thought never even occured to you, while the other members of the motorcycle club knew the bitter end the moment they saw you. At first, none of them thought much of it. That's just how Jax Teller rolled, there is nothing new in that matter. It was the subsequent weeks that made them dread the inevitable:

Jax brought you around the clubhouse to help out with the accounting, housekeeping or party-throwing. Usually, you were holding a pan, a broom or a pen in your hand. Or certain other things whenever Jax needed tending to his more carnal desires.

Nonetheless, the other Sons have gotten to know you personally and it was that new friendship that bore dread in their chests. You seemed to have a curious talent for making people feel seen. Even the smallest of details never escaped your attention. Refilling the bar for the night, you'd always find time to ask Happy about his mother's health and how he was holding up. Chibs and Tig have come to expect you to ask them about their children. Their answers rarely changed and so did yours: 'I'm sure they're thinking about you.' The biggest surprise came from the prospects as they had grown accustomed to everyone pushing them around and yelling at them. So when you'd ask them whether they were hungry, at first they were sure it was some kind of a test or a ruse.

For Juice, those little signs of a soft heart were nails in his coffin. Whenever he was spending several hours in front of the computer, you'd appear with a drink and a small snack. On top of that, you always made it seem like these small acts of service are something obvious - it would be entirely strange to not care for others simply because you can. Usually, your presence would slow down his progress as Juice was willing to exchange his worktime for a conversation with you. As desperate as it may sound, he came to the conclusion that his job will still be there in twenty minutes but you will be gone the moment Jax enters the clubhouse and takes you away. Sometimes he wondered if he had Teller's charisma, would you give him a chance? Considering you were seeing his friend, he never planned on acting on his feelings. Even the thought made him cringe: fantasizing about fellow member's girl? That's a rather large 'no-go'.

As usual, the dread settled in the men's chests when you entered the clubhouse. Then, it grew ten sizes as they all silently realised that the inevitable was about to play out in front of their hungover eyes. You passed the threshold in a somewhat hesitant manner like you always did, unsure whether you're interrupting something or are even wanted there. Bobby, Tig and Chibs greet you but they're unable to hide a strange sadness to them. None the wiser, you chalk up their lack of humour to the aftermath of a night filled with vices.

The clubhouse is a temporary ruin. Bottles and glasses are scattered across all flat surfaces. One of the tables is slanted, missing one of its legs. A few pairs of bright-coloured underwear are lying here and there. Something tells you that yesterday you missed a truly historic night of fun.

"Is Jax around?" you ask. The men exchange a meaningful gaze but it goes unnoticed by you. "He left his shirt at mine yesterday afternoon, I was hoping to return it."

Tig's face cringes. There's a sorry look in his eyes. "Sweetheart-"

"He just left, actually," Bobby interjects. "Don't know when he'll be back."

You look between them, beginning to sense tension. "Alright," you answer, unsure what to make of the situation. "Then I'll just leave it in the dorm room."

Their silence makes you wary like there's a piece of information that you're missing while it's fairly obvious to others; something hidden in plain sight. You walk past them, when Tig's conscience puts up a fight once more. He makes a step towards you, hoping to stop the disaster about to unfold. Chibs, however, grabs his arm before the man can realise his plan.

"He's made his bed, brother," the Scotsman says in a low voice lest you hear their conversation.

"Come on, man," Trager answers with a look of disbelief on his face. "She doesn't deserve that."

"Aye, she doesn't." The man nods. His stern expression reveals that he, too, is more than unhappy with the unfolding events. "But it's already happened."

Juice is either really lucky or terribly unlucky to be walking down the corridor at the same time as you. His lips widen in a smile and he's about to call out to you, when he notices the white t-shirt in your hand. In a split second of considering his selfishness and your feelings, Juice decided to act against his own interest. He picks up his pace and manages to block the dorm room door just as you were about to put your hand on the handle.

"You really don't want to go in there. Trust me." Juice is trying his best to sound like he's joking but he's not a good liar - especially when you're the one he's attempting to deceive. True feelings are slipping through the cracks and you notice his nervousness.

"What do you mean?" you ask. The weirdness of the guys' behaviour that day is putting you on edge. What on Earth is going on? "It's not like there's a biological warfare behind that door."

Two laughing voices are audible from inside the room: one belongs to Jax, the other probably to a woman. Something stirs inside you, anxious and dreadful but you push it further down. No need to get upset before you get all the facts, right?

"See? Everything's fine," you say to Juice, although the reassurance is really for yourself.

The door swings open with a slight moan of the hinges. Then, as you take in the scene before you, it feels like time has slowed to a halt. Jax is sitting on the edge of the bed, scandily clad in the thin bedsheets. Maybe he covered himself when he heard the door open or he wasn't planning on getting up just yet. In the bathroom doorway stands Ima, dressed in a rather tacky purple lingerie - the cheap kind that desperately tries to have some semblance of luxury. Had the situation been less agitating, maybe you'd think that it's a fitting piece of garment for a woman of her sort.

It's hard to say whether it's the shock or resilience but you manage to keep yourself whole. The last thing you're going to do is cause a scene.

"Brought your shirt." You disturb the akward silence. Jax's expression is unreadable but Ima appears rather amused - there's a sly grin on her face. Her quiet snickering makes tears pool in your eyes. "Thought you might want it back."

Wanting to evacuate as fast as you can, you lay the t-shirt on the dresser by the door and turn around to leave the room. Juice hesitantly whispers your name as you brush past him but you can only muster a quiet apology.

Jax, suddenly realising the consequences of yesterday's impulsiveness, hastily puts on a pair of pants. He keeps yelling your name, begging you to stop and let him talk to you properly but you don't give in. Running out of the dorm room, he's stopped by Juice, who grabs his arm.

"I think you've done enough, man," Ortiz states in an angered tone.

For a moment, the two of them stare each other down in silence. The tension feels like a forest fire - one moment of carelessness might lead to a true disaster.

Both men are aware of the other's affections. It is only now that they admit this knowledge.

"You need to back off," Jax whispers. Juice is disillusioned that the Vice President would have no inhibitions in caving his face in.

But lovers oh-so-frequently tend to grow just a little unwise the more they love. Perhaps that has made all the difference on that dreadful morning.

"No," Juice says while shaking his head, "I think I should go after the crying girl who just saw her boyfriend naked in a bed with someone else."

"That's not your concern."

Looking over the blond's shoulder, Juice catches Ima's malicious amusement. She knew exactly what she was doing and not for a moment did she feel bad about it. When he looks at Jax again, his dark eyes carry more contempt than anger. "Apparently, she's not your concern either."

Before the young Teller can continue their argument, Ortiz is running down the hallway. Bobby, Chibs and Tig ask him something but he only gives them a disinterested 'later' and continues his search for you.

Despite the perfect view of the parking lot from the rooftop, you didn't notice Juice approaching you. Only when you heard the rattling of the ladder did a wave of shame flood your mind. You didn't want anyone seeing you like this, especially people of formidable grit. Some part of you dreaded being considered weak. If you were just a little more honest with yourself, maybe you'd realise that what you were truly afraid of, was the outside confirmation of what you'd already believed about yourself - too weak, too emotional to ever fit in this life.

The shame, however, seems to evaporate the moment you see Juice's apologetic expression. He always had a strange air about him, an aura you couldn't quite explain. Something about the man makes you think that you could tell him the most asinine or embarrassing thing and he would never think less of you.

With a hesitant, quiet 'hey', Juice sits down next to you. Despite his own desires, he leaves a gap between the two of you. His eyes keep switching between looking at his fiddling hands or the side of your face as though he's unsure what's the correct course of action.

"I'm stupid, aren't I?" you finally speak up. Turning your head to look at Juice, you notice a sudden change in his expression - for some reason, he looks like he's about to burst into tears, too. "Believing that he would settle for me?"

There's so much he wants to say. An entire monologue is prickling at his tongue. You'd be the one settling for him, not the other way around. Never. But Juice manages to keep those thoughts to himself for now as they are not what you need to hear at this moment. Maybe, just maybe, one day he'll get to show you that whoever you decide to marry, no matter how noble or rich, you will be the one settling for them.

"There's only one stupid person in this situation and it's not you," he says in a serious yet gentle tone. "Okay, maybe three stupid people."

Despite his resolve, Juice is only a man and he, too, must break at some point. His hand fearfully reaches for your cheek. When you don't pull away, he hesitantly wipes away a tear rolling down your face.

"Three?" you ask in a quiet voice.

"Jax is one, for obvious reasons." With the back of his hand, Juice wipes away the other side of your face. "Ima is two. And the third... is me."

Confused, you furrow your eyebrows. "You? You're not stupid, Juice. Why would you say that?"

"I'm the king of stupid, actually." He lets out an airy, bitter chuckle. Suddenly feeling small, he retracts his arm. "I just tried to cover for my dick friend, so the girl I'm in love with doesn't get her heart broken. Extra stupid points for running after her like a lost puppy that just wants to make her happy."

"That sounds more lovely than stupid," you manage to whisper before another wave of emotions wreaks havoc. Tears stream down your face again but this time it's not only the bad feelings - there's something nice among them, too. A sense of relief and belonging; an overwhelming realisation that you're loved as a person and not only as a woman.

He doesn't complain or lecture you. Neither does he attempt empty words of comfort and encouragement. Juice doesn't know what he should say, so he settles for silence. However, his quietness speaks volumes. With a soft expression on his face, he keeps wiping your tears away.

"What do I do now, Juice?"

"Whatever you want," he answers with a strange lightness to his voice. It appears that his response is not something carefully woven but rather a cliché.

You sniffle loudly and although there's nothing attractive about that, it's candid. In Juice's eyes, it only makes you more beautiful. "Right now, I don't know if that list is very short or ridiculously long."

A corner of his mouth rises in a nostalgic smile. He seems to be recalling a memory.

"Remember that one time when you couldn't sleep and found me working at the clubhouse?" Juice asks. You only nod, unsure why he would suddenly remind you of that. "Remember what you told me when I talked about all the things I still needed to get done?"

"It's only three things," you repeat under your breath. Truthfully, you have almost forgotten entirely about that conversation. Juice had been going on about all the complicated steps that had to be done before calling it a day but, in the end, it was only three things. Granted, three time-consuming, challenging things but only three nonetheless. You never thought your comment meant so much to him.

"Exactly," he says as though he had just given you the perfect recipe for anything and everything. "I'm suggesting, you do two things now. First of all, get over the guy that couldn't appreciate you."

"Sounds smart but I'm not sure I know how to do that," you admit with a nervous chuckle. Jax Teller has been a tornado to your soul: came suddenly, wreaked havoc and simply moved on. There is no one to clean the mess, no one to put the pieces back together except those that survived. And you're still at the stage of debating whether you have, actually, survived Jax Teller.

"I guess the first step is not going back to him."

As simple as it sounds, the solution might just be one of the hardest things you've ever done. Nothing good comes easy, as they say. If it's true, you're going to reach for something truly incredible with this resolution.

"And the second thing I should do?" you ask. Deep inside, you're paying he's about to suggest something silly or relaxing.

Suddenly, Juice turns shy. This biker guy with tattoos and a loaded gun is fiddling with his hands and stubbornly avoiding your gaze. Despite his appearance, you think he's adorable.

"Well, uh..." He clears his throat in a vain attempt to get rid of his shakey tone. "If you want, no pressure of course but if you find it in yourself, then maybe you could at least think about grabbing dinner with me?" Whatever your expression looks like, it must make him even more nervous as Juice immediately begins downplaying his question. "Like I said, no pressure. I know it's bad timing all things considered, so it's cool if you don't want to, it's okay-"

"I'd love to," you interrupt him.

For a moment, he silently stares at you like a deer caught in headlights. "Cool. That's, um... nice."

You see him ever so slightly cringe at his awkward response but you don't think him weird. No, the nervousness makes you all the more convinced you want to go out with him - the anxiety proves that he cares more than he's brave enough to admit.

"Can we add a third thing?" you ask hesitantly.

Juice smiles at you as if today is the best day of his life; the kind of smile that slowly mends broken hearts. "What's on your mind?"

"Say, just hypothetically, how annoying would it be if Ima's car had slashed tires?"

He nods slowly, a shadow of mischief dancing across his handsome features. "Really annoying."

"And if she had to pay for new ones and there'd be a bullshit charge on the receipt like premium air or something?"

The man laughs. How can a sound leave you breathless?

"She would have a really fucking shitty day," he answers.

"Just hypothetically, I'd be satisfied."

"I think I know a guy. Just hypothetically."

Silence falls between you again. It's not tense. No, it's quite the opposite - the silence of two people who can just be. Now that happiness or at least a lack of sadness has entered your face, Juice is staring at you with an expression you can't describe beyond soft. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was not looking at you but at a rare, priceless treasure he has spent his whole life searching for. But you do know better; you know that, perhaps, people can be priceless, too.

A dark thought suddenly clouds your mind: Jax used to look at you the same way. Not always, not for long but he did. And yet, as he has proven, it meant nothing for him.

You push those thoughts away with all the almost-depleted strength you have left. It's no use crying and ruminating about the past when you have your future sitting right next to you. A bright, terribly good-looking future, one might even say.

"Can you just hold me?" you ask him quietly. The heartbreak of Jax's choice and the elation of Juice's confession have left you tired and vulnerable beyond all imagination. Such opposite emotions are ripping you open in conflicting directions. It's like dying and being reborn all at the same time.

"As long as you need, baby."

Juice wastes no time happily fulfilling your request. He brings your legs over and across his own, nudging you even closer towards him. Gently, he pulls your head to rest in the crook of his neck. As strange as it may sound, the man feels like a fortress protecting you from past and future heartbreaks.

[etclouie]

hey lol, still a month left of the event!! still loads of time if you’re looking to get in a request

welcome to louie's one year anniversary picnic event

hey, it's officially been a year since i created this blog!! so to celebrate i wanted to host a little event, it's been a hell of a year and i'm beyond grateful for everything and everyone!

⋆˚✿˖° — event rules;

— you can send as many requests as you want, though please limit it to one request per ask!

— there may be loads of requests, so please be respectful while waiting for your request to get seen to! (i'm also out on the 30th at tyler, the creator so requests may be slow out that day!!!)

— my usual rules apply, please read and heed them before sending in a request!

— event deadline is july 1st 2025! any submission made after july 1st, will not be written! please accept this fact, and refrain from submitting any requests after the deadline, please and thank you

— the masterlist of works produced from this event can be found here!!

⋆˚✿˖° — who can you request;

— as it is my one year anniversary, i'm opening up requests to any character on my masterlist!

— there's a total of 78 characters listed on my masterlists, loads to choose from but please keep in mind that i'm only one person and may fall behind!! (everything will be x fem!reader or gn!reader)

⋆˚✿˖° — games;

🌱 — get to know me. send in a question from this list, and i'll answer it honestly (or send in any other questions you might have about me)

🪷 — prompts. choose a character, and a prompt/s from reuniting lovers prompts, three hundred assorted dialogue prompts or morning after starters and i'll write a fic

🌷 — build a fic. choose between building either a sfw fic or an nsfw fic along with a character and i'll write something for it

🍓 — reacts. choose an au and a situation, and i'll tell you how i think they'd react (idea credit to @nottsangel) || feel free to send in a character that has multiple au's if you're curious about them all

🧁 — recs. send in a character or fandom and i'll rec a fic or author!

⋆˚✿˖° — tag system;

i decided on doing this event differently to my last two, so to navigate easier, here's the tags i've used

⸝⸝ ꒰ louie’s one year 🍪ㆍ₊⊹ is the main tag, everything i write for this event will be found under here

🌱 — louie's one year is for all questions answered about me

🪷 — louie’s one year is for all prompts

🌷 — louie's one year is for all build a fics

🍓 — louie's one year is for all reacts

🧁 — louie's one year is for all recs

if you wish to to avoid spam, please block/filter out all 6 tags!

© 2025 etclouie. I do not condone reposting, plagiarising or translating my work in any form. my blog is 18+, strictly no minors !!

[brunettemarionette]

𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 😈 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞.

💜femalemechanic!reader x sons of anarchy

🔮summary. When you first got hired at Teller-Morrow, you thought you'd just be turning wrenches and fixing bikes, but it quickly became obvious that you're the new favorite around here.

But when a customer gets too bold and puts hands on you, suddenly everyone is reminded you're untouchable when the guys step in.

🌙t.w. Sexual Harassment. Threats of Violence. Intimidation. Mild Language/Crude Remarks. Physical Confrontation

✨wc. 1.1k

This post is what inspired this little femalemechanic!reader series I'm going to do so reblogs, comments and feedback are very highly appreciated. Please feel free to send ideas my way or inbox me (even if just for anonymous feedback). Hope you all enjoy!

The sound of wrenches clinking and engines rumbling filled the air at Teller-Morrow, the familiar scent of oil and grease clinging to your skin like a second layer.

The shop had quickly become a second home to you, though you still didn't fully understand the club's inner workings. What you did understand, however, was that the Sons of Anarchy seemed to take an unusual interest in your presence.

At first, you chalked it up to them being friendly.

Jax, for instance, always seemed to be around when you needed something though, in hindsight, you never actually asked for help. "Need a hand with that, darlin'?" he'd offer, even if all you were doing was tightening a bolt. He'd lean against a nearby workbench, arms crossed, watching with an amused smirk.

It was nice that they were all so willing to help, even if it sometimes felt like you had too many supervisors at once.

Opie had a similar habit of being conveniently nearby. He never lingered as obviously as Jax, but he was always nearby. "Just grabbing this," he'd say, reaching for a tool, rag, or something completely unnecessary. He'd stick around longer than needed, watching with that unreadable expression of his.

Then there was Tig. He had no concept of personal space; that much was clear. "Damn, girl," he'd say, leaning way too close for someone who didn't need to be in your workspace. "You sure you weren't born to work on bikes? 'Cause I swear, watching you turn a wrench is the highlight of my day."

You'd roll your eyes, laughing it off. Tig was just like that with everyone.

Even Chibs and Juice had their own ways of hovering. Chibs would tease, calling you lass and finding ways to keep you engaged in conversation, while Juice, sweet but a little awkward tried to get your attention with random trivia or stupid bets with the other guys.

And then there was Happy, who'd just silently walk into your work area and take a seat, watching as you tinker, all while moving that toothpick around in his mouth before stalking off again wordlessly a while later.

It was all a little overwhelming, but you figured this was just how the Sons were—flirty, overprotective, and oddly competitive with each other. Besides, it was nice to feel included. You'd never had this kind of easy camaraderie before in this environment, and you weren't about to question it.

Gemma, on the other hand, saw right through them. She watched it all unfold with a knowing smirk, arms crossed like a mother watching her kids make fools of themselves.

Even Clay seemed amused by the way the guys found excuses to be around you. "Bunch of idiots," he muttered one afternoon, shaking his head as Jax and Juice argued over who got to hand you a wrench before Happy silently handed one to you.

Gemma chuckled. "Let 'em have their fun."

You, of course, remained blissfully unaware that you were the fun.

That all changed the day a customer got a little too comfortable.

You were at the front of the shop, wiping your hands on a rag as you explained the details of a tune-up to a man who had just brought in his car. He was middle-aged, maybe in his late forties, with a cocky smirk that immediately set off warning bells, not that you noticed.

Smiling politely, you handed him the clipboard, explaining the breakdown and keeping your tone professional. "So, with the labor and parts, you're looking at about—"

"You got a pretty face for a mechanic," He interrupted, looking you up and down.

You blinked partly in shock at his audacity and the other in surprise he was so bold in his words. "Uh, thanks?" You tried to steer the conversation back. You were used to men either hitting on you or speaking down to you. "So, if you're good with this, we can—"

"You sure you wanna be doing this?" He smirked, leaning in slightly. "Seems like a waste. A girl like you should be doing something... prettier. A pretty girl like yourself should have a guy taking care of her."

You felt your stomach twist, your grip tightening on the clipboard, trying not to yell at the customer. "I like what I do," you said, clearing your throat and trying to keep your voice even. "Now, if you're good with the estimate—"

He didn't let you finish as his hand slid to your waist, fingers pressing just enough to make your skin crawl. "Come on, sweetheart," he drawled. "maybe I could take you out sometime. Show you what it's like to be treated right. Show you how a real man—"

The hand was gone before you could react. One second, the guy was standing too close, and the next, he was stumbling backward, Jax's fist curled in his collar. The sound of the impact—fabric twisting, shoes scuffing against the concrete—was sharp, final.

Jax's voice was low, dangerous. "You touch her again, you're leavin' in a body bag."

The shop had gone silent. Tools were set down, and chairs scraped against the floor as Tig, Opie, and Juice moved in. Chibs cracked his knuckles, and Happy—who still hadn't said a word—was now staring the guy down with an intensity that made your stomach drop.

The customer, who had, up until now, been cocky and self-assured, realized too late that he had made a very big mistake. His hands shot up in surrender. "Hey, man, it was just a—"

"Get the hell out," Jax snapped, taking a step closer. "Now."

The man didn't hesitate. He turned and practically ran out of the shop, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process, leaving his car behind without a second thought. The moment he was gone, the tension snapped like a rubber band.

It took you a second to realize you were still holding the clipboard in a death grip. You exhaled, forcing yourself to loosen your fingers. Opie was suddenly in front of you; his usual stoic expression softened. "You okay?"

You blinked at him, still processing what just happened. "Uh, yeah. I mean... that was a little intense."

Tig grinned, but there was still something dangerous in his expression. "Welcome to the family, sweetheart. No one touches what's ours."

You frowned at that. "Ours?"

Jax smirked, running a hand through his hair like he hadn't just threatened a man's life. "Don't think too hard about it, darlin'."

You did think about it. For about two seconds. And then you shrugged, figuring it was just their way of saying they had your back, but one thing was clear—this wasn't just a job anymore. These guys weren't just co-workers. They were family, and they had just made one thing very clear.

You are untouchable.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

please please please something w jealous / possessive jax

answering as a blurb because I think we all need this on a saturday night in november. smut warning obvs

“Do I not give you enough attention, pretty girl?”

All you can do is whine in response, eyes rolling back in your head as his hips slam into yours.

He had you bent over the kitchen counter the minute the two of you got home, wasting no time ripping your panties down your legs and folding you in half the way he wanted.

“Is that why you kept looking at Chibs? Hmm? You think he can give you something that I can’t?”

You try to shake your head, but a particularly sharp thrust sends you careening forwards. You’re convinced you’d fly over the countertop if it wasn’t for Jax’s bruising grip on your hips.

“You’re mine,” he grits out, mouthing at the spot underneath your ear. “Mine, you hear me?”

Your knees buckle as you grapple for leverage, your boyfriend’s hips the only thing keeping you upright. Your breath is coming out in short, sharp pants, lungs burning as you try to process the intensity of the moment.

“Say it.”

“J-Jax, baby- fuck- huh?”

“Tell me you’re mine. Say it. Now.”

Jax wraps a huge hand around your throat, plastering your back to his front as he hits a spot inside of you that makes you weak.

“I’m yours,” you manage to breathe out. “All yours, Jax.”

“Gonna make sure you don’t forget it. Make sure everyone else knows it too. You’re not gonna be able to walk for a week, darlin’. And you’re gonna wear these bruises all pretty, yeah? Just in case there was any fuckin’ doubt about who you belong to.”

You see stars when you come, legs shaking and sweat dripping down your back. Jax sinks his teeth into your shoulder when he finds his release, marking you up for good measure.

“How the fuck am I supposed to cover up a bite mark, Jax?”

“You’re not,” he murmurs, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “That’s the point.”

[etclouie-masterlists]

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fandoms;

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© 2024 etclouie. I do not condone reposting, plagiarising or translating my work in any form.

requests are open here !

[f1samcro]

Insecurities

Masterlist

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

You and Jax had been together for years. He’d made a dumb joke when he was 15, and 14-year-old you folded. Gemma had been hesitant when you two announced your engagement four years later, and even more hesitant when she watched her 19-year-old baby boy promise you to, “Treat you as good as my leather and ride you as much as my Harley.”

She watched as you sat at the bar to finish your homework (you finished school whilst Jax chose to drop out), watched as you would look after Jax after a tough run. By the time you were 20, she was itching for grandkids. She had accepted you. Decided that you were good for Jax, brought out this soft side in him that he would’ve completely lost if you weren’t there. So when you and Jax told her when you were 21, that she would be a grandmother, she was ecstatic. But then you also told her a few weeks later that you had lost the baby. So she approached your next pregnancy, three years later, cautiously. And then you had Abel. Thomas followed two years later. You and Jax, at the ages of 28 and 29, were the king and queen of Charming. And Gemma loved you, albeit, she got frustrated with the boundaries you’d set when it came to the children and the club, but if she said anything, she would have Jax to deal with. It wasn’t like you kept the boys fully away from the club. But you rarely let them at the clubhouse, and never told them what their dad was really off doing on his work trips. But she liked you. She respected you. So, Gemma Teller-Morrow, kept her mouth shut for once. 

Until now. For someone who was often confident, not taking shit from jealous crow eaters, you were awfully quiet. Ima was saying something to you, before turning, flipping her hair and storming off. You quietly walked to your car, leaving the lot without a word. So, Gemma texted Jax, worried. And he promised to talk to you later that night.

By the time he got home, the kids were asleep, and his dinner was in the oven. He ate quickly before walking through the house to find you. Maybe you hadn’t heard him coming home, because you were standing in front of the mirror, twisting and turning, prodding and poking. “Darlin’?”

You jump, turning from the mirror and dropping your hands. “Hey, baby.”

“What’re you doin’?”

“Nothin’. Was boutta shower.”

He frowns, obviously not believing a word you say, “Give me five and I’ll join you.” You stiffen for a second, before nodding and slapping a forced smile on your face. He raises an eyebrow, before crossing the bedroom and grabbing your hips. “Abel have a good day at school?”

“Yeah. Said they did painting,” you refuse to meet his eye, until one hand reaches up towards your chin.

“What’s goin’ on, baby?”

His hand moves to cup your jaw, thumb running across your cheek bone. You smile softly, “I’m just tired. Thomas was running around all day.”

You can tell he doesn’t believe it, that he really knows what’s going on. Jax leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, “I love you. I’ve loved you for 14 years, and I know when you’re lying to me. Now go shower, I’ll wait.”

“I thought you wanted to shower together?”

“You need a minute alone. It don’t matter what I want. Gotta look after my girl, even if it means I gotta let her shower alone when she’s feelin’ bad ‘bout herself. Go shower, I’ll get you some pyjamas and find a movie.”

He gently nudges you towards the bathroom, closing the door behind you. 

When you came back out, your favourite pair of winter pyjamas was on the bed, flannel with little bunnies on them, and your favourite disney movie was on the small TV in your bedroom. You change quickly, glancing at the mirror, only to see that Jax had covered it with a sheet. The door opens, “Feelin’ better?”

You nod, staring at the covered mirror, his arms wind around your middle once he makes his way to you. He was warm, always was, “You’re warm.”

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek and nudging you towards the covered mirror. He reaches out and pulls the sheet off and then wraps his arms back around you, “Look at you. Most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. My wife. Mother of my children. Ima doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about. You’re even more beautiful than you were when you were 14. Havin’ my kids did you good.”

He holds your chin towards the mirror, so you watch as he holds you close and talks. And then he lifts you up and deposits you in the bed. You notice that he’d pulled the covers back earlier, as he pulls them back over you. And then the mirror is covered back up, and he’s next to you, pulling you into his chest and playing the movie. You still partly felt horrible about yourself, but he’d helped. A little. So, you curl up into him, “Thank you.”

He looks down, brushing hair behind your ear, “You’re welcome, darlin’, now shh, the movie’s playin’.”

[mysticalmallard]

♥︎ Defending Their Girlfriend ♥︎

🦆:These were all supposed to be drabbles, but I got a bit carried away, so they are more like oneshots and I didn't want to edit any of them down. Because they all came out so long I've only done Jax, Juice, Kozik, Tig and Chibs. I may do a separate one another time for Happy and Opie if that is something you guys want ♥︎

SoA Taglist: @arkytiorlecter @aimkatsz @ravennaortiz @darqchilddaydreamz @mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @hatersaremymotivators @theshynerdsworld @thefrogytimes @youngadult9016 @meera10

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

⚠️ Warnings ⚠️ : VIOLENCE, ABUSIVE BEHAVIOUR, SEXUAL ASSAULT, CREEPY MAN, SEXIST men, swearing and other general SoA Warnings there is nothing too graphic but if you don't like reading about any of the topics listed please DO NOT read the rest of this post!!!, ONLY YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE for your OWN media consumption!!! ⚠️

SoA Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Jax

On a hot summer night, Jax and his girlfriend were out for a night walk, enjoying the quiet streets of Charming together.

As they walked, a group of young men, all of them a little tipsy on alcohol, passed by. One of the men catcalled Jax's girlfriend as they walked by, making a crude and sexist comment.

Jax took immediate offense, gritting his teeth in anger. He stepped up to the man, who looked startled by the tall, furious biker suddenly in his face.

"Excuse me?" Jax growled, his eyes locking onto the man who had made the inappropriate comment.

The man took a step back when he spots the club patches, suddenly realizing who Jax was.

"N-nothing, man, it's cool," the man stuttered out, trying to backpedal. But Jax wasn't satisfied he was already too angry. The other guys had stopped and were starting to circle, realizing the situation was getting heated.

"Oh, it's *not cool*, man," Jax said in a dangerous tone, his eyes flickering to the other guys slowly surrounding them. Jax wasn't worried, though - he lived for this. The tension in his body made it clear he was ready to defend his girlfriend, his pride at stake.

His girlfriend tugs at his sleeve worried "Jax it's okay...let's just go"

"Nah, this isn't okay, babe," Jax responds, his voice firm but gentle. He turns his head to look at his girlfriend, seeing the hint of worry in her eyes. He softens slightly. "He's disrespecting you. Me. *Us*."Jax turns his attention back to the man who started this whole thing. "You need to apologize. Now," he demands, his voice a low rumble, his eyes fixated firmly on the guy.

The man, still looking nervous but a little bolder behind his friends, scoffs and throws a cocky grin. "And if I don't?" He asks in a mocking tone.

Jax's eyes narrow, anger flaring again. He closes the space between them, getting right in the man's face. "Then you're gonna have a huge problem on your hands." The threat in Jax's voice is clear.

The man shoves Jax back when he gets in his face Jax stumbles back, but catches himself quickly, the shove only adding more fuel to his anger. He takes a step forward again, his shoulders squared swinging at him connecting with the man's jaw.

The man falls backward, clearly not expecting Jax to strike so quickly. The other men hesitate, not expecting to deal with a fight.

Jax stands over the man, glaring down at him. "Don't ever disrespect my girlfriend again," he snarls.

The man is clutching his face, a look of fear in his eyes as he looks up at Jax. He nods shakily. "S-sorry, man," he stutters out, clearly intimidated.

"Now apologize to my girlfriend," Jax's tone is firm. He's not backing down until the guy apologizes properly.

The man looks up at Jax's girlfriend, shame on his face. He mutters a quick, "Sorry, ma'am."

Jax's girlfriend looks relieved, but she's clings onto Jax's arm standing close to his side, clearly still feeling uncertain about the situation.

Jax looks down at her, silently asking if she's okay with the half-apology. She nods slowly, looking somewhat reassured.

Then, Jax looks back at the man on the ground, eyeing the other men who are still standing around, ready to step in if necessary.

"This is your only warning. Don't say that kind of shit again." Jax's voice is cold and firm. The message is clear - he won't tolerate anyone disrespecting his girlfriend like that again.

Juice

Juice and his girlfriend were sitting on the couch in his living room watching tv, when suddenly, she received a phone call from her parents. She reluctantly answers already knowing what they were gonna say. They were trying to convince her to end her relationship with Juice. Juice overheard bits of the conversation and could feel the tension in the room. He knew that they disapproved of their relationship.

Juice squeezed a pillow in frustration, but he couldn't just sit there and let her parents talk her out of their relationship without a fight.

He took the phone from her hand and took a deep breath before speaking. "Hey, I know you don't approve of this relationship, but I love her and I'm not going to let you talk her out of being with me without giving me a fair shot."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, but he could hear her parents murmuring in the background. They clearly didn't like his interruption.

"Listen I am sure you have some good qualities or our daughter wouldn't date you, but we don't want her dating some criminal thug from a motorcycle gang," her father said, his voice filled with disapproval.

Juice clenched his jaw, stung by the man's words. He couldn't help but feel the anger rising within him, but he tried to keep his cool.

"I may be in a motorcycle club, but I am not some mindless thug. I have a brain, I have a heart, and I have feelings just like anyone else, and i love your daughter sir...I don't know what she sees in me to be honest with you...she could have anyone she wants and she chose me...but I am going to stay with her as long as she wants me to be" he said with clenched teeth.

There was another moment of silence on the other end of the phone as her parents continued to murmur in the background.

Juice could feel the tension building up inside him, but he was determined to prove that he was worthy of her love. He glanced back at his girlfriend, who was sitting on the couch beside him, her eyes watching him intently. She gave him a small smile, knowing that he was defending their relationship fiercely. He smiled back at her before turning his attention back to the phone.

Her father spoke up again, his voice now filled with a hint of annoyance. "Look kid, we just don't want our daughter mixed up in some dangerous lifestyle. Motorcycle clubs are not known for their stability or their law-abiding ways, and we don't want her getting hurt or in trouble."

Juice took a deep breath before responding, his voice firm and steady. "I understand your concerns, sir, but my club is not like that. We have rules and structure and we take care of our own. We don't just go around causing trouble for the hell of it."

"But you DO cause trouble, don't you?...you say you love our daughter, but you can't, not if you want her involved in that lifestyle," her father says matter-of-factly.

Juice closes his eyes and sighs, stung by her father's words. He knew that her father had a point. His life in the club was dangerous, and he had seen firsthand how it could cause harm to those he cared about. But he couldn't deny his love for her. He couldn't just easily walk away from her.

" I know the life isn't perfect, sir, and yes, sometimes there is trouble, but I promise you I would never let anything happen to your daughter. I would protect her with my life. And as far as loving your daughter...I do, I love her more than I could even explain to her...but i am gonna try my best to show her every damn day"

Her father was silent for a moment, as if contemplating his words. Juice could hear him talking to his wife in the background, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He waited anxiously for his response, his heart beating faster in his chest.

Finally, her father spoke up, his voice slightly more compassionate than before. "Look son, we love our daughter and we just want what's best for her. We want her to be happy and safe, and we're afraid this life you're involved in will only bring her pain."

"Come visit let me show you, meet me atleast before jumping to conclusions with gossip you hear from people who don't know me or the club....your daughter loves you guys so much and I don't want us being together creating tension in your relationship with her" he sighs down the phone trying to find someway of fixing things.

Her father was silent for a moment, mulling over Juice's invitation. He could hear him speaking to his wife in the background, and Juice could only hope that he was coming around.

Finally, her father spoke up again, his voice filled with resignation. " Fine, we'll come meet you. But we're only doing this for our daughter's sake, not yours."

"Fine with me, sir," is all he says before hanging up.

His girlfriend scoots over to him. "What did they say? They weren't rude were they? I swear I've told them so many times the club isn't a gang but they don't listen" She rattles off nervous to what was said.

He gently holds her face, looking in her eyes to get her to stop rambling. "Hey, hey, don't worry about it," he says, trying to soothe her. "It was a little rough at first, but I managed to calm them down. They agreed to come meet me."

"They did?" She asks in disbelief. "How did you manage that? I've asked before, but they said they were too busy"

He laughs softly, amused by her surprise. "I can be pretty convincing when I want to be," he jokes. "I just spoke my mind and made it clear I was serious about you. And I guess your dad didn't want to stand in the way of his baby girl's happiness."

He tightens his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. He can feel the warmth of her body against his and the softness of her hair against his cheek. He nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent.

"I'm here for you," he whispers, his voice low and intense. "I'll always have your back."

Herman Kozik

Kozik pulled up to his girlfriend's house but as he pulled up he saw her standing outside with her ex. The ex was yelling and she was crying, with tears streaming down her face. Kozik gets off his bike and could immediately sense the tension in the air.

The ex, noticing Kozik's presence, turned and scowled at him. "Who the fuck are you?" he spat.

"I'm her boyfriend," Kozik replied, trying to keep his cool. "And you need to back off from her, man."

The ex's face contorted into a sneer. "Boyfriend?" he said, his voice dripping with venom. He turns back to her "are fucking kidding me with this shit?...huh? we were just having a little spat and you go and sleep with some biker dickhead..huh? I always thought you were a bit of a whore but really? I give you your space and you treat me like this?.." With every word the ex steps closer to her, she steps back as best she can away from him until she's against the building.

"w-we broke up. You kept cheating on me so I ended it. Its been 5 months...please just leave" she says shaking.

The ex lets out a scoff as he continues his advancement on her, he's just a few steps from her now. Kozik doesn't like the look on her face and steps between the two of them putting himself in front of her. "Back off man, I'm not going to tell you again." Kozik's tone is firm as he shoves him.

The ex stumbles back, a look of anger and disbelief on his face. "Who do you think you are, you biker trash?! You think you can come here and take my girl? She's mine!"

Kozik stands his ground, not backing down. "She's not your girl anymore, she's mine and she asked you to leave, so do it."

The ex takes a step forward, his hands balling into fists, "Or what, you're going to kick my ass? I'd like to see you try biker boy"

Kozik keeps his cool, staring the ex down. "I don't want to fight you man, but I will if you don't leave. She doesn't want you here."

Kozik looks over his shoulder at his girlfriend she looks terrified.

His voice softens, "Go inside love, i'll be in after" he says not wanting her nearby should things get violent.

She shakes her head softly glancing between them "n-no...please I don't want you to get hurt"

"I'll be fine baby please go inside" he pleads with her and she relents slowly walking around, the ex hurling insults at her as she goes when she goes to move past him he lunges forward grabbing her wrist causing her to scream.

The moment he touches her Kozik tackles him to the ground. He was caught off guard as Kozik takes him down. The Ex landed hard on the gravel, his back hitting the ground with an "oof". He tried to get up but Kozik was already on top of him, pinning him down.

"YOU DONT FUCKING TOUCH HER!" He screams in his face. The Ex tries to struggle against Kozik's hold, but it's no use. Kozik's grip is tight and strong.

"Get off me!" the Ex snarls, but Kozik just presses down harder, his face inches away from the Ex's. The ex turns his head to the girlfriend "you fucking see what you've done huh? You little whor-" Kozik doesn't let him finish punching him in the jaw.

"YOU SHUT UP DONT CALL HER THAT"

The ex let out a groan as Kozik punched him. His head slumped back into the gravel, reeling from the impact.

"You bastard!" he groaned, but Kozik didn't let up. He leaned forward, his face just inches away from the Ex's.

"You listen to me and you listen well," Kozik growls. "You're going to leave her alone. You're not going to speak to her, you're not going to call her names, and you're sure as hell not going to touch her again. Do. You. Understand?"

The Ex nods, his expression a mix of anger and fear. Kozik lets go of him and stands, taking a step back. The Ex sits up, his jaw sore, and glares up at her.

Kozik blocks his view standing in front of his trembling girlfriend.

The Ex gets to his feet, his hand rubbing his bruised jaw. "You think this is over?" he spits.

"It's over when she says it's over," Kozik replies, his voice hard and determined. "And she's already made it clear she doesn't want anything to do with you."

The Ex opens his mouth to reply but stops himself, his eyes darting between Kozik and his girlfriend. He clearly wants to say more, but he knows he's out matched.

"You're done here," Kozik says firmly. "So do yourself a favor and save yourself the beating and leave. Don't come back." Kozik stares him down, daring him to do something after a long while the ex stalks off back to his car across the street.

Kozik stays in a protective stance in front of her until the car disappears around the corner.

The moment he is out of sight he turn back to her. She's shaking, her eyes wide and tear-streaked. Kozik gently cups her face with his large, calloused hands, his expression softening.

"Baby, it's okay," he says soothingly. "He's gone. I'm here. You're safe now."

Kozik wraps his arms around her, holding her tight against him. He rubs soothing circles on her back, trying to calm her down.

"Shhh, it's alright love," he murmurs into her hair. "I got you. I got you."

They stand like that for a few moments, her clinging to him like a lifeline, him holding her close and protective. Finally, she pulls back a bit, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. Kozik brushes the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, his touch gentle and caring. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, alright?"

Tig Trager

Tig was at her place when the doorbell rang. Tig, being the gentleman he is, answered it for her.

"May I help you, ma'am?" Tig inquired to the older woman waiting outside.

The old woman glares at him, her eyes narrowing as she looks him up and down. “You’re making too much noise! Always driving that loud motorcycle, playing music late at night. It’s completely disrespectful!”

Hearing the womans shrill voice his girlfriend comes up behind him knowing he has a short fuse with these kinds of things. "I'm sorry, we'll try to keep it down from now on" she says not wanting to cause any issues with her neighbour.

The old woman huffs, clearly not satisfied with the response. “You young people have no respect these days. In my day, we knew how to behave properly. But I guess your generation doesn’t care about how your actions affect others, do you?”

Tig’s temper is reaching its boiling point, but he manages to keep his cool for now. "Respect goes both ways, lady," he says, his tone cold and calculated. "We’ve been keeping the noise down as much as we can. Maybe you should try investing in some earplugs or something."

The old woman looks affronted by Tig’s response. “How dare you speak to me like that! I have lived here for years before she even considered buying that house, and I will not be disrespected by some biker thug!”

Tig’s temper ignites at her words. “Biker thug? You call me a thug?” he scoffs, his voice rising in anger. “I was a Marine. I fought for this country. What have you done besides sit in your rocking chair and complain?“

The old woman looks taken aback by his words, her eyes narrowing further. “I don’t care what you’ve done. You’re still making too much noise and disturbing the peace. Maybe she should consider moving if you can’t handle living in a civilized neighborhood.”

Tig’s fists clench at his sides as he struggles to keep his composure. "Civilized neighborhood? You call this place civilized when all you do is nag and complain? Maybe you should learn to mind your own damn business and stop worrying about how loud we are."

"You watch your tone, young man! I have the right to live in peace and quiet, and I will not let some criminal with a bad attitude tell me otherwise." The old lady’s eyes flash with anger.

Tig is on the verge of losing his temper completely. "Criminal? I’m not a criminal," he says through gritted teeth. "And you don’t have the right to tell her what she can do in her own home. We’ll keep the noise down as much as we can, but we won’t be silenced just because you don’t like how we live."

The old woman huffs again, clearly not satisfied with Tig’s response. "I’ll be watching you. One more loud noise and I’ll call the police and repor-."

Tig doesn't let her finish and just slams the door in her face mumbling under his breath "Damn old lady." He huffs, turning to face his girlfriend. "Can’t she mind her own damn business? People these days, I swear. I bet shes just all pissy cause she ain't getting any... do you think Piney would take one for the team?" he asks jokingly pulling a giggle from her. "But seriously," he continues, his expression turning serious. "Don’t let her give you any grief....but you know you would have any issues if you just live with me....we can be as loud as we want there." He says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively putting his hands on her hips.

"I know, I know," she says, giggling again as she rolls her eyes at his antics. "And as tempting as that offer is... Its a little too soon for us baby...besides I dont think you can handle all this every day...do you think you could keep up old man." she says, running her hand over his chest.

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I can definitely handle it baby doll." He says, his hands moving up her sides. "I can keep up just fine. In fact, I could probably wear you out before you could wear me out." He grins, pulling her closer to him.

"Wanna prove it, Trager?" She challenges peering up at him through her lashes.

A sly smirk spreads across his face as he eyes her up and down, taking in her seductive curves. "You bet your sweet ass I do," he growls, his hand moving to her hip, pulling her flush against his body. He cups her chin, lifting her face up to meet his gaze. His eyes darken with desire as he leans down to her ear, his breath hot on her skin. "You're playing with fire, darlin'," he whispers, his voice low and rough. His arms snake around her waist, pulling her closer still. His hands wander down to her ass, giving a firm squeeze. "You sure you can handle it?"

She gasps softly as he touches her, her body responding to his touch. "I can handle anything you throw at me, Trager," she whispers back, her eyes locking with his.

"Is that so?" He grins, nipping at her ear. "We'll see about that."

He scoops her up into his arms, holding her against his chest with ease. He strides over to the couch, setting her down on it before crawling over her, his body covering hers. He takes her wrists in his hands, pinning them above her head. He gazes down at her, his eyes filled with hunger and desire. "You still think you can handle it, doll?" She shivers as he holds her pinned beneath him, his body pressed against hers. She can feel his heat, his strength, the hardness of his muscles.

She meets his gaze boldly, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, I know I can handle it. But can you handle me, old man?"

He chuckles moving his lips hovering over hers but a loud knocking comes from the door once more causing them both to groan

"I CAN STILL HEAR YOU" The voice of the woman breaks through ruining the moment.

Tig growls in frustration, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Damn it," he mutters. He sits back on his heels, running a hand through his hair "Let's just ignore her hmm? she has to leave eventually"

She sighs "Tiggy, baby, we are not having sex in earshot of that woman total mood killer"

He sighs heavily "I could kill her if you want.. I'm sure no one would miss the old hag" he offers only half joking.

She swats his chest laughing "Don't you dare, she'll end up haunting me forever" she pouts.

Tig laughs, amused by her playful swat. "Okay, no killing the old bat," he agrees reluctantly holding his hands up.

"But seriously, how do we shut her up? You deserve to be able to make as much noise as you want in here without being hassled by some nosy neighbor."

She pauses, thinking for a moment. "I don't know... maybe I could talk to her again and try to reason with her. Or we could get some soundproofing for the walls."

He frowns thinking for a moment "...or you could just move in with me...you could sell this place or rent it out...I have a spare room you could turn into your own space if you want...I dont think it's too soon" he asks again completely sincere.

She looks at him, surprised by his proposal. "Move in with you? But... are you sure? I mean, it's a big step."

She can see the sincerity in his eyes, and a part of her is intrigued by the idea. Living with Tig would certainly be different than living alone, but the thought of waking up next to him every morning is pretty appealing...

"I'm sure," he says firmly. "I want you closer to me, and it would solve the nosy neighbor problem. Plus, I could keep you safe easier."

He reaches out and gently tucks a strand of her hair out of her face. "Besides, I like the thought of waking up with you every morning."

Chibs

Chibs and his girl were at the mall, walking up to the escalator hand in hand. While going up, Chibs' sharp eyes caught sight of something unpleasant. He saw a man standing a step bellow them discreetly aiming his phone under his girl's dress, attempting to take a picture.

Without skipping a beat, Chibs snatches the phone out of his hand. He holds it firmly, staring the man down. The creep froze, realizing he'd been caught, his eyes darting around nervously.

Chibs' grip on the phone tightened. He glanced at his girl who was visibly uncomfortable and quickly caught onto the situation, her cheeks flushing with anger.

"Ye thought ye could just take pictures of my girl without being seen, eh? Not on my watch," Chibs growled, his voice low and dangerous.

He opens the phone Chibs flicks through the images on the man's phone, each one more sickening than the last. His anger mounts as he realizes this creep has been a repeat offender, taking pictures of alot of unsuspecting women at the mall.

His jaw clenches tightly as his eyes narrow on the man, his voice dropping dangerously low. "Ye got quite the habit, don't ye? Takin' pictures up lassies' skirts without their knowledge," he seethes.

He hands the phone to his girl, making sure she sees the evidence. She looks at the pictures, her expression a mix of disgust and anger.

"I'll take care of this, don't ye worry," Chibs reassures her, turning his undivided attention back to the guy. His voice is firm and commanding, "Ye've got some explainin' to do, laddie. What's yer name?"

But they've reached the top now the man quickly trys to scramble past wanting to get away. Despite the man's attempt to flee, Chibs' reflexes are lightning fast. Before the guy can take 2 steps away, Chibs seizes him by the collar, yanking him firmly back.

"Nah, ye ain't goin' anywhere," Chibs hisses, his grip like iron, effectively boxing him in.

A small group has gathered around seeing the commotion his girlfriend quickly explains what's going on with a shaky voice so they don't get the wrong idea about what Chibs was doing handing the phone to a dad wearing dog tags with his two teen daughters so he can see for himself. The dad looks at the phone, his expression hardening as he sees the pictures. He passes the phone to one of the older girls, who also peeks at the images. She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Oh my God," she whispers.

The crowd surrounding them grows, with murmurs of disgust and outrage. Chibs holds the man firmly, his eyes scanning the gathering crowd.

The dad and few other men from the crowd help him hold the man down on the ground, none of them caring if they hurt him or not.

The man squirms in the grip of Chibs and the other men, but it's useless against their combined strength. Chibs holds him tight, his eyes narrowing angrily.

"Nuh-uh, laddie. Ye ain't gettin' away from this," he growls.

One guy in the crowd heads off to fetch mall security, and they arrive within a few minutes, taking the situation in.

The security guard approaches Chibs and the rest of the men holding the man prisoner. "What's going on here?" he asks, a sense of authority in his voice.

"This creep was takin' pictures up my girl's skirt on the escalator," Chibs explains, his voice a dangerous rumble.The security guard's eyes widen slightly as he nods in understanding, he then turns to address the man. "Is this true?"

"I... um... I...," the man stutters, his protests falling flat under the intense gazes of Chibs and the others.

"Save yer excuses, laddie," Chibs interrupts, his tone firm. "We all know what ye were doin'. There's the proof, right in yer damn phone."

The security guard nods, taking the phone from from her to have a look. His expression hardens as he goes through the images. The man's face is a mask of shame and fear as he's cornered.

"Alright, we'll be taking him into custody, and call the police" the security guard says to the crowd around them. "You can all return to your day now."

The people gradually disperse, the thrill of the spectacle wearing off. Chibs nods at the security guard. "Make sure he pays the price for what he's done," he adds, his voice hard and unforgiving.The man is taken away by the security guard, struggling but ultimately unable to escape.

Chibs turns to his girlfriend who still looks shaken. He puts his arm around her, pulling her close.

"Are ye alright, love?" he asks gently, his voice softer now the immediate threat is gone."I... I think so," she says quietly, her hand clinging to his. "I just can't believe someone would actually do that."

Chibs tightens his grip on her, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Aye, it's sick. But ye don's have to worry about him no more. He's goin' to get just what he deserves."

Chibs gently kisses the side of her head, his lips lingering against her hair. He draws her closer to him, his strong arms wrapping around her protectively.

"I'm sorry ye had to go through all that, lass," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "Don't worry, I'm here for ye."