Disclaimer: I will be using instances from the show, but I play loosey-goosey with the timeline to fit events for my own story. This is out of order for the SOA timeline but the correct order for my timeline. Also: I know nothing about nursing, I am flying by the seat of my pants.
Unedited and living on vibes. I apologize in advanced for mistakes. Standard warnings for SOA, nothing crazy (yet)
Again, she groaned internally. Pulling into the clubhouse parking lot. Wondering how it was possible she was here, again. She wasn’t even allowed on this side of town growing up with Phil. Now, he called her nearly once a week. Always with a bloody mess for her to clean up. This call pulled her straight from the hospital. It was an emergency, her brother had said. One she was absolutely required for. Mainly because the subject of today’s blood bath, wouldn’t let anyone else touch him. Air caught in her lungs when she stepped into the musky bar. Blood drenched the left side of his body. Flowing down from the side of his head into the white tank top that was now half a deep shade of an oddly beautiful color. Bright bloody red. Big blue eyes swept over the tight grimace and for the first time, she was able to place emotion. Pain, she thought. His honey toned skin had gone pale, sweat beading down his shaved skull, and visibly uncomfortable with the people surrounding him. Flinching back from Chib’s hands attempting to help and choking back a shot of something strong. He was wearing enough of himself to be dizzy but he stood strong. Posed like he was anticipating the next attack.
“Careful darling, he’s a little feisty today” Jax joked, patting the shoulder of the equally feisty nurse stepping up to the stoic biker. Her head tilted up, clacking her jaw and teasing the tattooed devil she’d bit. Toying with him to ease some of that tension flexing the muscle of his clenched jaw.
“I’m terrified” she said taking another step up into his space. The vicious features tracked her movement like a wolf would stalk its prey. A glare that held fierceness in an attempt to protect himself from the vulnerable position he had found himself in. Subject to the not equal, but rather capable hands of the pretty young woman.
“Should be” Happy grumbled, meeting her in the middle with a single large step forward. Finally, he thought. He was ready to get this over with. For her dainty hands to glove up and fix the throbbing ache echoing through his mind.
“Somehow I doubt that” she giggled, stepping back from the hot breath that tickled against her pink sparkled cheeks.
That’s when it happened. The candy-coated giggle told him everything he’d been waiting on. His chin lifted ever so slightly and his eyes, sharp and steady, told the story of his realization. She was getting over it. Time spent with the club helped, obviously. Becoming the club’s replacement doctor gave her better perspective. She got to see them as people, not devils.
“You gonna let me help you? Or just stand there bleeding?” Phoebe raised an eyebrow, waiting for the silent man to make a move. Her eyes swept up and down in a not-so-subtle fashion. The streaks of red blending with the ink of his toned arms. His muscles tight and flexed to hold his pain well. Art, she thought, seemingly chiseled out of stone.
He grunted, nodding down at her devious smile and taking the chair to his left. Meticulous movements started with the deep pink duffel bag of supplies. Local anesthetic, sutures, gauze, wound strips, medical tape. All laid out even and in the exact order in which she would need them. An intentional distribution to her right, silent and composed. Furrowed brows showing her deep focus as each item was opened and readied. She kept her stance, moving back and forth from the high top. Careful to be extremely gentle, she numbed each cut deep enough for stitching. She was so focused, to the point of completely overlooking something rare. Softening of dark eyes. Admiring, observing, collecting details. Her emotions clear as day and her disdain slipping. All while she was reviewing the moves in her mind for the best stitch for his cheek. She didn’t want it to scar, why she cared that much, she wasn’t entirely sure. She settled on her favorite. A lock-stitch that would keep the skin tight, and gave her an excuse to come back. Just to remove them, of course.
“I don’t know many delivery nurses that can do a perfect lock-stitch suture” Tara said softly, tone offering the statement as a question to the how she ended up here.
“I uh, I trained as a trauma medic but switched last minute when I did my rotation on the OB floor.”
“Trauma nurses make more money” her brother grumbled. Watching Happy, watch her. Dark eyes that showed zero interest in anything, observing her like she was a goddess. Odd, Phil thought. They didn’t like each other - at all. That’s what he’d been led to believe, until he saw that smile. A tight smirk his sister only wore when she was ten chapters deep in a spicy romance novel. For the stoic biker’s murderous gaze to swoop over her with each slight shift closer. A blossoming look of adoration taking over the violence usually so deeply rooted in the sharp jaw going slack.
“Something you just never fail to remind me” she sighed, rolling her eyes at the comment she was starting to hear more and more often “not everything is about money Phillip.”
Happy’s features changed, a slight readjustment she’d caught this time. A reaction to either the statement or the pain medication they’d given him finally doing the work. Phoebe couldn’t quite make out which, considering the stare shifting on the soft pink of her lips. But hers changed with his, dropping her wall just an inch to play the game. Correcting the shimmer of her gloss back and forth while she cleaned up the thick gash on his cheek. Tease, he thought. Admiring the pretty mouth that had invaded his mind like an armed intruder. Taking everything hostage in place of one thought. The warmth, the wet, the harsh bite that made his jeans tighten just watching it move. Her lips and the way they formed certain words, tucking between her teeth to hold back her smirk, pressing together when her brother said something stupid.
“It is when you don’t got none” Phil snorted, irked with his sister theory that money wasn’t the thing that made the world go round. He did it to himself. He’d hid the reality of it from her as long as possible. She only just starting to understand how screwed the little family, that only consisted of the two of them, would be if the money the kutte brought him stopped.
“We made it work” she scolded him with her eyes. Saying enough was enough.
It wasn’t easy, and as much as she hated it. The money from the messy life he chose for them did help. The local mill was cheap, mind-numbing labor. Something he endured far too long to take care of his little sister. Lost in the ache of life being ridiculously hard, for no apparent reason. Bills that never ended. Bills that until she returned home from university, she never knew about. All the secrets he’d kept while she’d been away and the moves of their deadbeat dad causing far more problems for the young man than he’d ever admit willingly. It took weeks of back and forth about his decision to join the club but somehow, they’d seemed to find a middle ground.
Phil was a zombie before the club. It was the only reason she’d found a way to get over it. Her brother had his smile back, he was social – which was incredibly rare for him. He was trusted, and he talked to everyone. Laughing, joking, questioning, and advising. He was different. Bolder, more himself. He found a family that actually liked him for the quiet quirks, and seemed to love him just as much as she did. People who accepted his sister and her fierce attitude as a package deal. Out of all of the bad things the club brought to their doorstep, the brotherhood of it was the most beautiful. The only part worth it, Phoebe thought.
“Why labor and delivery?” Tara asked, admittedly curious considering her line of work in neonatal. Tara knew the nurse far better than the rest of them. Though, she only knew the side of her from work. Spunk in her step, always smiling, and never letting a hectic day get under her skin. The trauma training explained a lot, how she seemed to have far more stamina and quick thinking than the rest of the pediatric nurses on staff.
“The pink scrubs.” Her brother cracked, taking a few steps back when her hand shot out to swat at him.
“Do you ever shut up?” She asked, pulling a chair just in front of her wound biker. “Honestly I really liked the mom’s” Pheobe smiled up at the doctor who looked surprised. “I did trauma at first because I like getting my hands dirty,” she gave a playful jazz hands, flaunting her bloody gloved finger tips. He was mesmerized, his gaze swept over her once more, locking on the gorgeous color of him on her. “But I don’t know, watching how much strength it takes to create life, it felt bigger, more me.”
“I like her” Tara smirked, leaning back into Jax and watching the effortless stitching knot at the end of his gashed cheek “hands like that you could’ve been a surgeon since you like to get messy.”
“Please don’t tell him that,” her chin gestured to her brother now thankfully waiting for a beer by the bar “I’ll have to hear about how much more money I could’ve made.” A grunt left the man in front of her, that perhaps could’ve been a chuckle if he didn’t look so frustrated. “Do I get to know how this happened?” she asked through her lashes, blinking at the now vacant stare watching her each move like it was an attack in motion. Her hand took hold of his chin to force him still when he didn’t answer, angling his face towards the light. Chasing the flicker of something more in his expression like they were playing hide and seek. “Yeah I didn’t think so, but worth a shot.” She spread a thin layer of ointment over his cheek bone and went straight for the top of his head.
A deep gash straight across the left side of his skull. It was close, too close. A deep groove where the path of bullet had ripped right through his skin. Inches from cracking the skull and exposing the pink mushy tissue that held all the stoic man’s secrets. She wanted a peek inside his twisted mind, but not like this. She stood, gently moving his head as she stepped closer to his front. He took in a deep breath. Her watermelon sugar was faint, washed out by the antiseptic she seemed to embody all the same. It would’ve been easier to view from the back, but there were a lot of eyes watching. She made the situation work, body blocking watching eyes for her next steps.
“This is going to hurt” she hummed before pressing hard to clot the bleeding, he growled at the pressure. Feeling the throb of the wound grow with each dab of the gauze. “I told you.” She chuckled, reaching for a fresh piece of cloth. “I’ve got him” she smiled, jolting her chin to send the hoovering bodies all on their way. She didn’t want eyes over her shoulder, and the man underneath her was holding far too much tension in his body. “Here” she whispered, stepping in closer with one of his knees slipped perfectly between her thighs. She encouraged his head down, letting his forehead against her stomach that acted as a perfect pillow. The weight he was holding on his shoulders dropped into her. A hand shot up out of instinct, gripping the back of her thigh with each tug of stitching pulled through his skin. Thank you, he thought. Not daring to speak out loud. She was gentle, precise, and quick.
“Is it safe to assume this was not friendly fire?” she asked dabbing the area of red to keep sight on the ragged edges. Happy grunted, gripping at her leg like it was his own personal stress toy. “You know a few inches down and you’d be dead” she tied the final knot, dabbing it clean once more before applying the bandages. She snapped her gloves off, hooking a finger under the chin still resting against her “you should be more careful.” Her step back, hesitated. Brushing her thumb across the salt and pepper stubble. “Good as new.” She gave a lopsided smile, pivoting on her toes for her bag. He lost the view of her smirk with her turn but his eyes didn’t leave her. Watching her bright pink scrubs shift against her hourglass figure, wild curls sticking out of her messy bun. Cleaning up her equipment and garbage as if stitching up a bullet hole was just another Tuesday. Marveling at the fact he’d gotten to touch her today. That she let him touch her today.
-
Happy had thought about it from every angle, and not one piece of the puzzle fit into place when it came to the young woman. The sudden shift in her fierce behavior. Recognizing the pain and guiding him through it with a big step over the line of disinterest she’d drawn clear between them. Happy didn’t know much. Not unless it came to his fundamentals. The club, the bar, and getting away with murder.
He did know a tease when he saw one, and when a woman was only interested in him for the sausage in his jeans. It wasn’t like that for her. She was being kind. Uncharacteristically so in the presence of him. Meaning - something changed, and Happy missed it. He never missed anything, he thought. He’d never added much to the list of known, until today. After that, one thing he did know, he wanted her. And Happy Lowman was excellent at getting what he wanted.
“Why are you in my bed?” Her shaky vocals filled the room. Stepping into, in her words, a disturbing view. Black socks, baggy blue jeans, an unholy ones patch leaning back on her headboard.
“Phil” he grumbled, doing his best to keep his eyes down. Keeping the banter alive as he skimmed the pages of a book he hated to admit, wasn’t bad. It wasn’t his usual read, but it was there, and he was bored. He’d already examined each detail of her before settling in for the two hour wait. Trailing over her desk, everything perfectly organized and pastel. Her pens, her sticky notes, the stickers all over her laptop. Everything pretty, most everything pink, and confusing all the same. Looking at her, it made sense, but getting to know her, it didn’t. She was strong, definitely stronger than she let on. But soft, equally so. A beautiful balance, he thought while shuffling through her closet. Pinks of all shades, creamy white, baby blues. Dresses, jeans, and of course, the majority baby pink scrubs. A spandex blend of fabric designed for comfort in the never-ending steps she took throughout her work day. Which today, very obviously so, wore her down.
“I’m having a hard time believing my brother let a man into my bed.” She crossed her arms, leaned on the door way to support the exhaustion taking over.
“Let me inside,” he put down the book down, finally taking in the view that was her “got in here on my own.” Her bun loose, wild ringlets slipping from the silk scrunchy. The fabric clinging to her splattered with bodily fluids that clearly weren’t hers. Her bright white socks, and a fatigued expression that was sliding on the scale to irritation.
“Okay, great,” she said awkwardly “can you get out now?”
“No” he rasped, short and harsh. Going back to the book he’d stolen from her bedside table.
“Did you-” her eyes fixed on the pages, bookmark removed and turned to the beginning “did you lose my fucking page, are you kidding?” His finger hooked where it was separating the pages, flipping back to the middle where she’d left it this morning. She groaned, dropping her bag at her feet and her head from her shoulders. “Look” she took in a lung filling breath, pulling the silk scrunchie from her messy bun with her heavy exhale “I had a really long day, I’m not interested in whatever game we’re playing right now.” The heavy mop of bouncy curls dropped wild and free.
“You let me touch you.”
“You were in pain, it’s my job.”
Pheobe would love to ignore him, but considering he didn’t seem interested in leaving, she groaned her next steps forward into the room. Slipping off her rings and creating a small pile of gold jewelry on her desk. Right next a picture of four. The petite beauty that was her mother in the center, an oversized man that resembled Phil a little too much, and two younger versions of her and the now giant biker from years ago. Her delicate touch brushed the edge of the vintage frame, mentally saying hello to her mother like always.
“Letting me touch you aint your job.”
“It helped, didn’t it?” She asked, collecting fresh clothes from the wooden dresser at her right, snagging her towel for the hot shower screaming out for her aching muscles. He grunted, in a surprising agreement to the fact, but more concerned with why she cared at all. “You better be gone when I get back.” She dismissed the second grunt that was demanding her to stay put for the questions he had.
She did an incredible job of hiding it, but she was flustered. The feeling of his palm sliding up and down the back of her thigh had replayed on a loop the entire day. It was nice, she thought. Soothing, and not just for him. Her real answer would’ve just encouraged him, and she didn’t want that. So, she kept it to herself, like she did most things. The fact being, she didn’t know why she did it, she just did. Everyone responds to pain differently, he obviously wasn’t a talker, but touch. Touch did something to him. She’d watching his micro expressions which each brush of her thumb or gentle touch to his face. An unintentional second nature to help, and a silent apology for the hell she’d put him through the past few weeks.
She took her time, exfoliating, touching up the shave to her legs, and washing away the smell of antiseptic and newborn spit up. Hoping the lack of interest and her hollow threat was enough to send him on his way. If she knew Happy at all, she’d know he had a very one-track mind. And his predatory gaze had fixed on her. He wouldn’t be leaving, especially without answers. A cloud of steam followed her steps out, the heat of the room from her blow dryer stuck to her dewy skin. Pretty, he thought. The moment she came into view. Pajamas, gripped to her curves tight. Little feet with white nail polished toes. Ivory skin kissed by the California sun just enough to give her the appearance of tan.
“Please Happy, I have to be up in like four hours” she whined. Fighting the growing interest for why he was still here. He grunted, legs crossed and turning to the next page of the fantasy novel he was now losing interest in due to the sight. Her thick thighs that he was dying to bury his head between. The hem of her baby tee rising against her stomach as she tied up her curls in a satin bonnet. The dip of tight cotton fabric between her ass cheeks as she moved around the room. Unwinding from the day in her own way with her routine on display. Exact, he thought. Everything she did was very exact. The way she hated her food to touch unless it was sandwiched together on her fork. Her medical supplies always placed in the order she’d need them. Her closet organized by color, every single thing having a place. Even her nightly routine was exact, unwinding slowly before his eyes. He liked things neat, orderly. It’s the only way life made sense to him, and it was helping him make sense of her. She moved with ease, unaware of her grace spilling over the sides of walls built up to protect herself from men like him. She no longer saw him as a threat, but more an experiment you can’t seem to look away from. Not something you should get close to per say, but something far too interesting to not at least take a few notes. “You are the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met” Phoebe groaned, tugging at the duvet he was weighing down “if you’re really staying can you at least get under the blanket.”
It wasn’t exactly an invitation, but he took it as one. Tucking her bookmark where it belonged, folding the corner to mark his own page for later. Taking to his feet and dropping his kutte from his shoulders. She paid very little attention to the man over staying his welcome, slipping into the peach sheets with her heart in her throat. Well, she tried not to pay attention, but her eyes. They just kept shifting. Watching his grey tee shirt strip from him in one swift move, followed by a hitch in her breath. A Glock, black metal reflecting the lamp light as he placed it down on her bedside table. His slender body chiseled and toned. Muscles that appeared sculpted to be nothing more than the perfect display for art. Decorated with his mix of colored inks, making himself a true masterpiece to observe. She could’ve fought harder, forced him to leave, called her brother and demanded he handle the situation. Considering Phil is the reason she was in this mess in the first place. She was too tired to fight, and admittedly interested in what he had to say. Because as far as she’s ever known, he doesn’t exactly say much.
“I like these” he rasped, fiddling with the baby blue cotton hem of her shorts. She took his hand, returning it back to his own space and tugging the covers up over them both. “Why’d you do it?”
“Why do you care?” She shifted in closer, she hesitated, but she reached in. Brushing her thumb over the swollen apple of his cheek. Watching him consider his next words carefully.
There were a lot of things he could’ve said. Things like her lip gloss, a sparkly sheen over her pink lips that he sees every time he closes his eyes. Her teeth, that pearly white grin, and how badly he wants to feel them sunk deep into him once more. Warmth, the moist heat that seemed to stitched into his skin with the faintest mark left behind by her bite. The scent of sweetness like lingered in his mind like an addiction, turning him on his heels if he catches even the faintest smell of something similar. Two ocean eyes blinking up at him and waiting for something. He wasn’t very good at saying something, but something about her softened features made words feel comfortable, easy.
“You letting everyone touch you like that?” He asked, low, gravely, and remaining absent from the words. The absence of his tone couldn’t cover up the eyes. The spark that brought a single second of life to the coal irises admiring her drowsy features.
Phoebe’s sleepy smile tugged into a lopsided grin, blinking the curious blues up at the stoic features “not everyone.” Her hand tucked under her cheek, her expression equal parts confused and fascinated.
“Thought so” a soft raspy chuckle bounced around in her mind. The low sound wasn’t forced, a genuine slip of something that he’d kept locked up. She’d barely seen him smile, but each time she did, it was always in her direction. Warming her cheeks from soft pink to a rosy tint of flushed red.
“You’re still an asshole” she said softly through a tiny yawn she tried to contain. Blinking back the sleep and reminding herself of who this man is. The club’s enforcer, as Phil had put it. He didn’t detail it, or elaborate when asked, but she knew. The inked collection of smiling faces against his abdomen told her everything. Childlike in design and unfitting for the hateful features he wore just as well as the kutte.
“Gonna have to get over that” he hushed, gently reaching for her. Correcting the gaze admiring his ink, up. The hateful features were slipping, giving this last attempt everything he’d gotten from their battles of back and forth. She didn’t respond well to force, or having her body sized up like a piece of meat. What he had come to find out, she responds best to laughter. Smiles, and friendly exchange. Her softness required attention, proof he could meet her where she was. So that’s exactly where he put himself, dead center in uncharted territory.
“I won’t” she whispered, biting her lip at the words she was already losing faith in. Her blinks slowed, face snuggled in to the feather pillow.
“Yeah, you will.” He moved back to his own space, watching the sleepy smile fall into rest. He followed her lead, admittedly exhausted himself. Rolling to his back, clicking the table lamp off and admiring a new view. Glow in the dark stars all across her ceiling. Perfect constellations recreated and adding a soft light to her room at night. His gaze shifted between them, and her. Her settling in despite, technically, having a stranger in her bed. Her lack of fear in this specific circumstance was far from naïve. The last person on this earth that would be considered a threat to her after today, was him.
She woke up alone. The towel she’d dropped on her floor was hung up. Her bag placed in on her desk chair. Her book gone and replaced by a pink sticky note. A phone number in tiny scribble was all he left. Phoebe would love to say it was the last, and only time. But despite never calling his number, it ended up being a habitual habit. He never asked, but she never said no. Silent steps through the sibling’s house, the subtle creak of her bedroom door. The clatter of his pant chain against her side table followed by a quiet thud of his gun resting to their left. A heavy dip in her mattress rolling her right into the protective presence of gun oil and leather filling the room. Always on the nights Happy knew Phil was with the club and always gone before she woke up in the morning.
when i say this story is my child - i mean it - I'm obsessed with my plan - thank you for reading, hoping you like it as much as i do.
divider credit: @strangergraphics
This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.
Laughed so hard I think I hurt my liver. @redfoxwritesstuff @nuggsmum @dianamolloy @caffiend-queen @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @theheartofpenelope just read it girls.
Apparently people have been adopting dogs and either killing them themselves or dropping them to a kill shelter (and one even said they were flying them to poor Asian areas to be eaten) under the Twitter hashtag #pitbulldropoff
This is completely cruel and evil and word needs to get around about these demons so everyone knows what these demons are planning to do to dogs once they get ahold of them.
If you know someone or if you yourself is planning to give away a pitty by craigslist soon, DONT and wait for awhile!!!! They act like they’re going to adopt them and act all nice then they get rid of them, don’t be fooled!!
This may not be lbgt related but I couldn’t not reblog it to here. This blog is a platform that gives me a voice and I’m using it. Spread this. please.
Every single breed of dog has the potential to kill. Every. Single. One. I have encountered far more violent dalmatians, chowchows, chihuahuas, and others compared to pitbulls. You are disgusting if you think the reported pitbull attacks can justify killing off an entire breed you vile excuse for a human being.
I am a veterinary science major who has studied many breeds and their behaviors and other traits. You don’t think labs have killed kids? That goldens haven’t? Pitbull attacks are the ones that are showed to media the most, while other instances of breeds attacking is kept on the downlow because of the appearances and stigmas around the breed. The main reasons for pitbull attacks? Their owners. Either they were abused or were not kept inside. Many attacks by dogs are also energetic excited pooches wanting to play but not knowing their strength (it’s how my doberman has left me scratched up).
I have been attacked by chow mixes, labs, collies, etc, but never a pitbull. I have a pit and she has only ever saved my life MULTIPLE times. You can’t justify the murder of an entire breed.
Killing a breed won’t save kids, responsible dog owners will.
This is horrible and not a joke, pitbulls are already targeted for abuse but this is a another level. Do whatever you can to make sure this spreads around and gets stopped
IVE HAD THREE PITS THEY ARE THE SWEETEST BABIES EVER
NO
NO
PEOPLE USE THEM TO FIGHT AND MAKE THEM MEAN CAUSE OF THEIR BUILD THEY ARE SWEET AND ADORABLE AND SMALL BABIES WHO 100% ADOPT HUMAN CHILDREN TO PROTECT AND TAKE CARE OF
Pitbulls are bred as guard dogs. they’re supposed to look&sound scary. They’re also the sweetest goddamn boys to the ones they guard.
Dalmations are carriage dogs, and bred to attack anything not their horses or their owners.
Both of these dogs are good and valid dogs and deserve life beside the humans they bond with. Killing any one breed, even if you’re scared of them, is pointless, cruel, and stupid. wtf.
I have a pit and he is literally all bark no bite. He will bare his teeth if you come in our yard or knock at the door. A Fed Ex guy knocked at the door and Jake jumped at the door, barking so loud, the frickin guy dropped the package and ran down the sidewalk and into his truck.
But if someone comes in our house that he doesn’t know, he whimpers and runs out of the room.
My cousin has a pitbull mix and another cousin has a full blooded pitbull and they are the sweetest dogs ever! How people could this is astounding and heartbreaking.. those people need to stop.. #ITSNOTTHEBREED #ITSTHEOWNER
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