i desperately need another happy and his wife fic 🙏🏻
maybe happy is talking to one of the son’s members while his wife is talking to gemma, and the guy is all like “that girl talking to gemma is pretty hot.” and happy’s like “yeah, she is. she’s also my fucking wife.”
i hope that made sense 😭
the long awaited for and much asked for! thanks for hanging in there with me :) hoping to start writing some more again
Hap’s wife and Gemma get a manipedi
Gemma noticed her nails were looking a little bit more…haphazard than usual. It dawned on her, as she sat in the small office and worked through half a stack of bills, how long it’s been since she’s treated herself. All the stupid shit these men have her going through, the least she deserves is a manipedi!
Her and Haps wife used to go every month together, before things started getting even more chaotic than they already were, and seeing her attendance at her first and last lockdown made her a little nostalgic, so she gave her a quick ring.
“Uhuh?” The line rings twice, before the static of being on speaker phone on the car blares out.
“Oh, hello to you, too,” Gemma rolls her eyes at the brash Jersey accent, all too familiar with it, before getting right to the point. “You busy? Wanna go to lunch, get a manipedi?”
“Uh…” She pauses for a second and Gemma can hear the blinker start and stop when she makes a turn. “I’m free, just finished at my last house. Meet you at that one place the hot chick with red hair waits.”
She hangs up before Gemma can get a word in. Guess that’s decided. Ten minutes later, Gemma does indeed find her at the restaurant with the hot red-headed waitress. She’s in a booth in the corner, swirling the straw of her iced tea in business casual clothing and pointy heels.
“Your tits are spilling onto the table.” Gemma throws her purse onto the table next to the stuffed full black Coach already there.
“I know,” Glossed, full lips wrap around the straw and the sweet, tanned liquid draws up. “Clients like it — the gross, disgusting husbands do at least.”
“Selling ourselves alongside the houses now, are we?”
“I do what I must, Gem,” She shrugs with an uncaring smirk. “I’m a very expensive woman, and David cannot afford it when nobody needs…taken care of.”
Their conversation continues over caesar salads and lemon squeezed into cold, brewed and far too sweet tea.
“What color you gettin’?” She asks Gemma from the seat next to her in the tiny waiting room portion of the salon, filing through a book of colors she won’t pick.
“I’m not sure,” The older woman hums, flipping through her own book. “A dark purple would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
She hums, unconvinced. Gemma tsks at her, slamming the book to her lap.
“Well then what’s your almighty opinion, your majesty?”
They both walk out with the matching, classic french tips she always has. The only difference between the two was a simple black flower she put on her big toe — David likes it. He won’t admit to much, and he hadn’t admitted to that either, but when he’d had her feet thrown up on his shoulders and saw it for the first time, it set something off in him for whatever reason. If paying an extra couple bucks for a design gets her legs to keep shaking that much, she’ll do it for the rest of eternity.
Speaking of Happy, he’s been stuck in the garage with Chibs and some new kid all day. Like usual, the only thing he wants to do is get home and to his gorgeous, intelligent, bossy ass wife. As soon as he walks through the door, she’ll probably start complaining about some asshat she showed a home to. God, he can’t wait.
“Hey,” The new hire started, fiddling with a wrench and pushing back and forth on one of the pneumatic roller seats. “You guys seen that new billboard in town with that hot chick? It’s not law, I don’t think,”
Chibs turns to him, gives his best half not-really-a-smile-and-i’m-not-listening-to-you-or-interested hum and a nod, before turning back away. Happy barely heard of a word. The kid still keeps droning on.
“Realtor! Yeah, she’s a realtor — smiling all pretty with her tits halfway out. A fuckin’ smokeshow. Might have to catch an open house if you know what i’m saying. Probably how she sells places, anyways.” He laughs, grossly, and it echoes through the uncomfortable silence that’s filled the garage. “Can’t remember her name. Lowman, something Lowman.”
The lug wrench in Happy’s hands falls and hits the ground with a couple clangs. His head turns to face the boy, slowly, jaw clicked into place.
“Oh, you seen it too, huh?” He laughs again, clearly unaware of how to read the different levels of emotions Happy’s blank face can hold.
“Yeah, I seen her.” He starts, voice just a bit rougher than usual so that it’s noticeable. The kids smile falters. “I see her in my fuckin’ bed every night. That’s my wife.”
“Oh,” He tries to stutter out an excuse with his eyes bulging wide. “I didn’t—I didn’t,”
“I ever hear you talkin’ like that about any woman, i’ll stick my pistol in your mouth. I ever hear you talkin’ about my smokeshow wife, I’ll let her know and she’ll hunt you down in your shitty ass trailer and blow your fuckin’ dick off with her glock.”
Hap turns back around, leaving the kid frozen and petrified in his place. Five minutes later he gets a text from her, a picture of her new pedicure petting Cairo, whose head lays on her upper thigh. She’s watching some true crime documentary in her silky black robe (which usually means she’s naked), drinking a glass of whiskey with her feet propped up on the coffee table and that one black flower on her big toe.
(yea sorry i won't shut the fuck up about happy lowman and his sweet babygirl who he absolutely worships!!!!! happy was raised by women & he treats his lady as such. his baby who's a canvas for new art ideas, loves his mom & aunt & grandma as if they were her own. holds the fort with ten toes down when happy is away on club business. she is sugar, spice & everything nice.)
happy lowman and the absolute diva that bosses him around
(part 2!). (part 3) (part 4)
Hap knew he was fucked from the second they all walked in the door. Dirty boots leave tiny crumbs of dried mud, and the few other men who had been on the run with him mumble confused words to each other.
Why the fuck is Happy Lowman’s house so…put together?
Everything is brown toned, and clean, and it smells absolutely wonderful. Soft, fur blankets cover a tan couch, and the only light on is one warm lighted lamp. There’s animal print towels hanging off the kitchen counters, and plants draping from over the top of them. Nobody even knew he had a goddamn house.
“You into interior design, Hap?” Tig questions from behind him, looking around in quite a bit of wonder with Chibs.
“Just…shut the fuck up, man.” Hap already sounds defeated while he rubs a hand down his face. A door creaks from down the small hallway connected to the living room, and suddenly, a huge ass dog is clomping over to the tall man.
He sighs, and mutters a greeting to the big guy while he bends over to give him a big pat on the side.
“And what the fuck is this, David?” A Jersey accent echoes through the home.
A woman, in a black silk robe and her hair up in rollers, now stands at the entry of the hallway with hands on her hips. Happy snaps right up, and starts walking towards her.
“I know, baby, i’m sorry,” Happy starts to reach out for her, to grab her waist, but when he receives a ‘mhm’ and an unimpressed look, decides not to push it. “Had no other choice, wouldn’t have brought ‘em here if I ain’t have to. You know that.”
He’s pleading basically, while she peaks over his shoulder and looks the men up and down with a mean mug.
“I want them out by noon, latest. And you’re taking Cairo out in the morning.” She disappears back down the hallway, the massive Cane Corso trotting right after.
“Damn, we get you put in the dog house?” Jax grins, arms crossed over his chest and leaning back into the very comfortable couch.
“Nah,” Hap throws his wallet and sunglasses in the catch all bowl sitting on the kitchens island. “Went better than I thought it would.” He’s quick to leave the three men to fend for themselves and walks right down that hallway after her.
She may not have wanted them in her house, but being the good host she is, still cooks up a delicious breakfast.
The men wake up to the smell wafting through the house and find her back in that silk robe with a cigarette dangling from her lips. There’s perfectly cooked eggs, french toast in the pan, and crispy bacon.
They stand there awkwardly, watching her grab plates out of one of the cabinets. She spots the three, and after setting her glass dish-ware on the counter, waves a hand with pretty manicured french tips to the bar stools at the island.
“Well, are you going to sit down?”
As the three clamber to sit, the door leading into their backyard swings open and in comes Happy, yawning, with that big dog weaving through his feet.
“Hi, baby,” She mutters when the dog patters over to her feet and nudges against her knees. “You missed your daddy, huh, Cairo? My sweet baby, he’s such a good boy,”
Cairo gets a couple pieces of scrambled egg and sausage, the spoiled boy he is, before the rest is separated onto plates with powder sugar dusted french toast and fresh fruit.
“Eat and get out of my house.” She pushes the last plate in front of Jax, who sat the closest to the fridge, before leading Cairo to his bowl full of nothing but the best possible options. Sometimes, Hap thinks that dogs groceries are more expensive than theirs, with all that raw shit.
“Get me a water.” Happy speaks up for the first time that morning, at least outside of their bedroom. She remains right next to her baby, doesn’t even glance up.
“Uh, sweetheart,” Jax starts with a mouthful of french toast after they all sit in a minute of awkward silence. “I think your old man’s asking for a water.”
“Oh,” She scoffs, leaning against the island, and pointing to the fridge. “My man doesn’t talk to me like that. Get him a goddamn water blondie.”
The rest of the breakfast is as awkward as you’d assume. The three stand by the door after they’re all done eating, and pretend like they can’t hear the two talking in the kitchen twenty feet away.
She leans her back against the sink with all six feet of Hap crowding around her.
“David, you know I said I was fine with the club shit as long as you kept it out of my house. You know that, I’ve said that for all seven fucking years of our marriage-“
“Seven years?” Tig can’t help but breathe out under his breath. “I didn’t know he was even goddamned married.”
“I didn’t know he had a house.” Jax responds.
“Hell, nobody knows ‘is name is David.” Chibs exasperated.
“Ain’t ever gonna happen again,” Haps voice interrupts their hushed conversation. “I swear on my life, baby, I swear on yours, it’s a lot more fuckin’ important to me, it ain’t happenin’ again. This was the last option, I swear, it won’t even be an option again. Never again.”
His big tattooed hands cup her face as gently as possible while she pouts up at him all pretty.
“David,” She starts again, gently and sweetly, pushing up against his chest, and wrapping around his waist. “If I ever see another reaper that doesn’t belong to you in this house…near my baby…you will never see the light of day again.”
Jax decides to lead himself and the other two men outside after that.
(yea sorry i won't shut the fuck up about happy lowman and his sweet babygirl who he absolutely worships!!!!! happy was raised by women & he treats his lady as such. his baby who's a canvas for new art ideas, loves his mom & aunt & grandma as if they were her own. holds the fort with ten toes down when happy is away on club business. she is sugar, spice & everything nice.)
Anon Request: Happy x reader and maybe a fight breaks out at a party at the clubhouse and reader gets badly hurt and happy just looses his shit!! Thank you!
A/N: it's actually a crime how long its been since i've written for SOA omg. this was so much fun!!!! i hope you enjoy 🥰
The chaos level at the clubhouse had gotten to such a point that Charming PD had stopped responding to the noise complaint calls about it. They were long past the point of no return—the party was just going to have to burn itself. Which, to be fair, it usually would around 2AM or so when the booze was pretty much gone and the adrenaline started to wear off.
It was only midnight so there were still a good few hours to go before things began to fizzle. And, since there were some guys in from out of town, you knew they were going to wring everything they could out of each and every minute. Eventually the out of towners would start slinking off to whatever cheap motel room they’d booked for themselves, the local guys drifting off to their dorm rooms. Most of them would be heading off with whoever the love of their life was that night.
You didn’t have to wait for the clubhouse to empty out completely, but Happy wasn’t going to feel right leaving until things quieted down enough for him to believe that things would continue to be relatively safe after he left. And you weren’t going to go home without Happy.
“Bartender, one more,” you said jokingly as you waved your empty water bottle at the prospect behind the bar. He looked ready to quit—whether it was for the night or the club altogether you couldn’t quite be sure.
Still, he gave you a tired smile as he reached under the bar and grabbed another water bottle from the pack they kept. “Better slow down—don’t wanna get too out of control,” he said with dramatized concern as he slid it across the bar to you. The water was always room temperature because the fridges and coolers were sacred spaces reserved for beer only, but it was your only non-alcoholic choice besides the crappy coffee they occasionally had on-hand.
“Ah, let me live a little,” you said, playing into the ruse as you twisted the cap off. After taking a long sip, you asked him, “Think you can bring last call around a little earlier than usual? Get everyone outta here a little sooner? That a decision you can make?”
He shook his head. “There are no decisions that I can make.”
You laughed, knowing the truth of that statement. You’d seen plenty of prospects come and go throughout the years, and none of them ever had a single ounce of pull. As was the way of things.
“Happy won’t leave if you tell him you wanna get outta here?”
You scoffed. “Of course he will. I don’t wanna have to do that though.”
The two of you were sharing a laugh over that when you felt a hand rest on your shoulder. You knew without having to look behind you that it was Happy. Reaching up, you rested your hand on top of his before tilting your head back to get a halfway decent look at him.
“Were your ears burning?” you asked, humor laced into your tone.
The prospect chuckled at that from the safety of the other side of the bar, but when he saw the look on Happy’s face he immediately changed his tune. Suddenly there was nothing more important to him than making the sure bar-top was wiped down to perfection.
You tapped his hand to get his attention back on you. “What’s up?”
“Checking in.” He gave your shoulder a light squeeze.
You nodded, spinning around on your seat so that you were facing him. Leaning back, your back and elbows rested against the very edge of the bar. You let your legs hang wide so that Happy could easily stand between them—his preferred place to be. He took the invitation, stepping in closer to you. With practiced ease he rested one hand on either side of you before leaning in to kiss you.
You didn’t rush your way out of the kiss. When he pulled back, it wasn’t far, and you could still feel his breath against your skin. You smiled. “Doing better now,” you said, able to speak quieter than you had been since he was so close.
He nodded, stealing a quick kiss. “Good.”
Reaching behind you, he grabbed the beer bottle that the prospect had knowingly set on the bar for him. He was stepping back, turning around ready to head back into the fray. You caught his hand before he got too far. The tips of your fingers barely caught his but it was still enough to stop him in his tracks.
When he turned to face you again, there was a look of mild confusion on his face. Raising your eyebrows, a slightly pleading expression on your face, all you said was, “Hap?”
He didn’t need to ask any follow-up questions. Taking another sip of his beer, he said, “Soon. Promise.”
That was a satisfying enough reassurance. You let go of his hand, a smile just starting to curl the ends of your lips. “Thank you.”
With a nod he was gone and heading back to where most of the Redwood guys were lingering by the pool table. It’d been at least a couple hours since anyone had actually used it for pool, though. At this point in the night, it was a dancefloor riddled with shot glasses. A recipe for disaster, but that never seemed to matter to anyone.
The constant noise of clubhouse parties was something that you had learned to tune out over the years. The loud music and din of multiple conversations turned into static for the most part. You could lock into the conversations that you were part of, or that were taking place right next to you, but other than that you let it all fly clean above your head. It suited you just fine, much like staying perched either at a safe distance from the throes of it all at the bar, or the safety of sitting with Happy who would inevitably have a protective hand or arm on you.
A five-minute break from the noise sounded nice, though; even if most of it was just static to you at this point. Hopping off your stool, you started to head over towards where Happy was now camped out. While he might have swapped out cigarettes for toothpicks lately, he still kept them in an old cigarette pack. A fact that you found as endearing as you did smart. You also knew that within that pack he was currently holding in his kutte, there was a joint. One that you’d slipped in there before the two of you left for the party. It seemed like as good of a time as any to cash in on it.
Leaning over the back of the sofa where he was sitting, you rested one hand on each of his shoulders. You slid them down to his chest as you leaned lower so you could speak quietly against his ear.
“Got a lighter for me?” you asked.
He was reaching for it before you even finished the question. “What do—” he stopped himself short, the answer coming in the form of you reaching into the pocket of his kutte. He chuckled, allowing you to take it even though you would make the world’s worst pick-pocket. He snuck a kiss against your jaw as you pulled away from him. “Stay outta trouble.”
You laughed as you began to weave you way towards the door. “Always do!”
Fake pack of smokes in one hand, lighter twirling between the fingers of the other, you did your best to duck and weave through the clusters of people without drawing attention to yourself.
There were only a few more strides separating you from the door when you heard the sound of shattering glass behind you. That on its own wasn’t cause for concern—everyone was dropping and throwing and breaking things all the time. What worried you was the fact that it was followed by yelling.
Your grip tightened around the lighter involuntarily as you turned around to see what was going on. This much booze and testosterone locked up inside one building, a fight breaking out was more likely than not. Especially with guys in from out of town.
You watched it turn from a one-on-one scuffle into a multi-man brawl in real time. The sigh of exhaustion you let out was involuntary. The only upside was that when it was all SOA patches, and they were inside the clubhouse, you could be fairly certain that no one was going to pull a gun. It’d be all fists and smacking heads off tables, which would still do damage but nothing permanent.
The only thing that stopped you from still heading outside to smoke was seeing Happy get up off the couch he’d been so comfortably sitting on just moments ago. What the rest of these guys did was their own business, but Happy was yours. You shoved the pack and lighter into the back pockets of your jeans, admitting defeat for the time being.
Breaking up fights wasn’t something you made a habit of, kind of like how Charming PD didn’t bust up clubhouse parties. All things ran their course. You hung around just close enough to get Happy’s attention if you needed it, to stop him from taking things too far. He was a man with no internal off-switch, so you had to be an external one.
You lingered outside the fray. Realizing that your night was about to get longer than you had originally bargained for, the thought crossed your mind to spark up your joint right then and there. Because apparently there wasn’t going to be any peace and quiet to be found.
Your gaze dropped from the bedlam for hardly a second, just long enough to flip open the cigarette pack so you could see your joint amongst all the toothpicks. But you didn’t even get the chance to reach for it. The second your gaze locked onto it, you were getting knocked clean off your feet by someone knocking into you. The man who had gotten shoved into you hadn’t been paying attention and neither had you. It was collateral damage, or at least it had started off that way.
Staying down wasn’t an option—not a safe one anyway. You got back up on your feet quickly, the frustrated, “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” falling from your lips before you thought twice about it.
The man who had bowled you over hadn’t noticed you before, but he sure did now. He spun back on you, lip busted and anger in his eyes. “The fuck you say to me?”
You hadn’t said it to him, not really. If anything it was a statement directed at everyone in the goddamn clubhouse, Happy included. But between his tone and the way he was looking at you, you were ready to let him take it personally. “Sounds like you heard me just fine,” you snapped.
For a big guy, he moved faster than you had been ready for. You backpedaled when he tried to step in closer to you, but with his reach it didn’t end up mattering. The sting of his rings cutting into the skin of your cheek was a sharp pain, the kind that distracted momentarily from the throbbing of getting socked in the jaw. It wasn’t the kind of punch that would knock you out, but it certainly knocked you down. You were all palms and heels as you tried to back away enough to get upright again. You’d gotten halfway there when the toe of his boot connected with your stomach.
The kick knocked the wind out of you. You couldn’t get up, couldn’t even try to yell for Happy. All you could do was wait for it to be over. Shutting your eyes tight, you waited for the second blow. But it never came.
There was a grunt followed quickly by the sound of shattering glass. You caught the castoff spray of whatever had been in the bottle that had gotten smashed. Opening your eyes, you looked up to see that Happy had not only seen what had happened, but was dealing out retribution for it. Breaking the bottle against the back of the guy’s head had been a warning shot.
Rage wasn’t a strong enough word for what you saw flaring up in Happy’s eyes. The guy who had knocked you down was bigger than Happy, too, but that didn’t matter. Happy’s rings broke skin easy too, the mess he was making of that guy’s face made the cuts along your cheekbone seem like nothing in comparison. In no time Happy had the man on the floor. Happy gripped him up by the collar of his shirt, lifting him just enough so that when his next punch landed it smacked the back of his head off the floor at the same time.
The ringing in your ears was cut through only by the sound of Happy’s grunts of exertion. If the stakes had been different, this would have been the point where you would have called him off. This time, though? This time you were content to let Happy go unchecked. Every dog deserved to run off-leash once in a while.
When Happy finally let the guy drop, his head landed against the wood floors with one final thump. The guy was still breathing, but he wasn’t conscious. The sight of it gave you enough strength to try and get your feet back under you.
Happy stood upright, and for a moment you thought that was the end of it. Then he reached into his kutte and pulled out his gun. Your eyes went wide, but between your breath and your jaw you couldn’t force any words out.
“Hap!” Jax’s voice rang out above everything, although things had quieted considerably when people caught wind of just how badly Happy was hurting one of their own. Even before the gun it was far outside the realm of a typical club brawl. Jax stepped in close but wasn’t touching him. “That’s enough.”
Happy shook his head. With quick efficiency he slid his hand along the top of his gun, the click of a bullet sliding into the chamber unmistakable. “No, it’s not.”
Then Jax reached out. He firmly, but carefully, pushed Happy’s hands down so that the gun was no longer pointed at the man’s head. His voice dropped lower. “Not here.”
You could see the way Happy was grinding his teeth, a last-ditch effort to contain all the anger bubbling up inside him. One wrong word and Happy was going to be pointing that gun at Jax next. “Then where?”
There was no right answer that Jax could give him. And at a certain point Happy wasn’t going to give a damn what the flash on Jax’s kutte said—president or not he wouldn’t be able to stop Happy from getting the pound of flesh he felt he was owed.
“Happy,” you said, ignoring the throbbing in your jaw.
His attention went right to you. There was blood dripping down your cheek from where you’d been cut, and you had one hand on your stomach from the kick. The fire in his eyes didn’t die out, but it shrunk, which was all you needed. He shoved the gun back into his kutte as he stepped over the man towards you.
When he was close enough, he had his hands on the outside of your arms, his grip firm and protective. The warmth coming off his hands, the callouses on his palms, they were tiny reassurances that allowed some of the tension to fade from your muscles.
“Take me home, Hap,” you said, unable to hide your exhaustion.
You didn’t miss the split second of hesitation. You knew why—in his mind the job wasn’t done. But then he saw the tears in your eyes. Nodding, he ushered you so that you were beside him, one of his hands resting against the small of your back.
He paused beside Jax, eyes boring into his. “Handle it.”
Jax nodded, knowing that it was the only correct response. “We will.”
The two of you were standing beside Happy’s bike. Normally he’d hand you your helmet and the two of you would hop right on, but this time all you had it in you to do was collapse against him, your good cheek pressing into the smooth leather of his kutte. You shut your eyes tight as his hand rested against the back of your head. Deep breath in, deep breath out, just enough to keep you from crying.
“I’m sorry.” He murmured the words against your temple. Two words that were incredibly difficult to come by when it came to Happy Lowman. He didn’t say them lightly and you didn’t take them lightly either.
You nodded, head still pressed against him. “I know.”
He kissed the edge of your forehead. “I love you.”
You let out a weak chuckle, one that kicked up the ache in your muscles. “I know that too.” Taking a deep breath, you leaned back just enough so that you could look him in the eyes. “I love you.” You tried not to flinch as he thumbed away some of the blood on your cheek. “Get me outta here and you can clean me up for real when we get home.”
He nodded. “I will.”
The small smile you gave him was tired, but it wasn’t fake. “I know you will.”
(divider by @secretlysamcro 🖤)
SOA Taglist: @darqchilddaydreamz @withmyteeth @garbinge @justreblogginfics @i-just-read-stuff @jitterbugs927 @paintballkid711 @winchestershiresauce @proceduralpassion @nessamc (idk who else is still left 'round these parts who reads soa but feel free to ask for a tag if you'd like one! xo)
Anybody remember that time when Happy Lowman kicked the living crap out of the cop car? Yeah that scene wasn’t scripted David Labrava decided to do it to make it all seem more realistic and the reactions from the guys are all real lol
turnnoffyourmind
jimmyeatworldofficial
blakekathryn
yousharknotpass
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