⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
a/n: just a bunch of my favourite men!
18+
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ
𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧
・Kisses you goodmorning and goodnight, every single day without forgetting
・Always helps you get ready in the morning and helps you get undressed at night. His nimble fingers always steady.
・Doesn't let anyone talk over the top of you. All he has to do is give his 'stern face' and anyone will stop talking
・His favourite place to be is in your arms. With your legs tangled with his.
・Aragorn's kisses are always passionate. Cupping your face, he doesn't care whose around. All he knows is that his mouth needs to be on yours.
𝐆𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐭
・Doesn't like to admit it, but he likes that he's taller than you
・He likes to bathe together, with you sitting in his lap, his cock hard against your back
・Your hand finds it and grips tight. Moving back and forth until Geralt grunts and lifts you up, placing his dick inside you.
・Sex with Geralt verges on animalistic. He grunts and groans when he's inside you, hands gripping tight, skin to skin, biting and sucking.
・He doesn't like PDA, but when you're alone, he needs you badly.
𝐉𝐚𝐱
・Lets you sleep in when he's home
・Without fail, gives you a forehead kiss every single day
・Loves spending money on you, jewelry, clothes, honestly whatever you want. Doesn't care what it is, if his baby wants something, then they'll goddamn have it
・Whenever he goes for a shower, he leaves the bathroom door open. Almost like an invitation (it's definitely an invitation)
・Has a prospect follow you around so that nothing bad can happen while he isn't there
・You just end up inviting the prospect inside, making him lunch, letting him watch tv etc. (When Jax finds out he's ... less than happy)
𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐫𝐨
・Completely feral and completely yours.
・Will call someone out for even looking at you a certain way
・Once hit a guy because you told him no but he kept flirting with you anyway
・Is very insecure but doesn't let anyone but you see that side of him
・So in love with you that your well-being becomes his top priority
"Babe, have you eaten today? Drank any water? If the answers no I'm gonna be pissed!"
・When you're on the couch, he'll massage your feet, you think it's sweet until he starts cracking your toes
𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧
・You're the only person he trusts wholly.
・Caraxes adores you. You always bring him a treat and sit with him and talk (he understands).
・So that obviously means you go flying with Daemon all the time.
・He never lets anyone speak down to you nor does he let people speak ill of you. (You remember what happened to Vaemond).
・Daemon would do anything for you, he'd cross any line to keep you safe.
・Loves leaving bite marks on your skin where others can see it.
・Shows his vulnerable side to you and only you
𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦
・Cried during your wedding, he didn't think anyone would want to spend time with him, let alone all their time and love
・When you shared a bed for the first time, he had moved so far away that he was on the edge of the bed
・You had to drag him toward you, and show him that physical touch is okay
・For your birthday, he always has flowers ready to give to you
・He's quite the romantic, loves slow dancing with you; even without music
・Adores when you brush his hair, he'd sit there for hours feeling the comb go through his hair
・Intimidates anyone who makes you uncomfortable, his strength rippling underneath the surface of his skin, ready to protect the one he loves the most
𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐬
・Being married to this old Scot means you are loved unconditionally
・With his hidden life, he still tells you everything that's going on
・Chibs loves gently grabbing you by the cheeks and kissing you softly.
・He sleeps on the side that's closest to the door (just in case someone breaks in)
・He wants to take you to Scotland one day, show you where he grew up etc
・Always makes sure you have a ride wherever you're going
・Before he leaves for the day, Chibs will lean his forehead against yours and whisper, "I love you."
𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧
・Will throw a blanket over you and tackle you to the ground...but out of cuteness aggression. He also likes to bite you - lightly, lightly.
・Thinks you're the sexiest thing alive and tells you all the time. Even in front of Uhtred
・Smacks your ass when it's just the two of you
・And when you're alone, he's always ready.
・Dick hard, balls heavy, Finan is leaking for you.
"Please, would you help me, my love?"
・You can't help the way he looks like this either; all flushed and needy.
・One of the perks of being married to Finan is that you know every time you fuck, he's going to make you cum.
𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫
・Loves sweeping you off your feet and spinning you around
・Has so much love for you that he hurts with it
・Likes when you help him remove his armour. He asks for you all the time
・Wants to know how your day went, if anything out of the blue happened
・Would 1000% pass the bird theory
・Loves putting his head in your lap
・If there's any danger, he pushes you behind him and tells you to stay close
"I'll never let harm come to you, I promise you that."
Running to Chibs when something terrifies (genuinely scared shitless) you, burying your face into his chest and wrapping your arms around him.
He's startled, you guys have never touched on purpose before, but he quickly holds you to him, a hand pressing protectively over the back of your head as he hushes your tears.
He's full of anger and slight panic, but he holds you to him as carefully as he can.
Nobody really notices when you start orbiting Chibs Telford.
It happens quietly.
Gradually.
Like something inevitable.
You end up beside him during parties because he’s calmer than the others. You sit with him outside the clubhouse because his company feels easy. Safe. You bring him coffee without asking how he takes it because by now you already know.
Two sugars.
Tiny splash of cream.
No one mentions how Chibs always looks for you the second you walk into a room.
No one mentions how his entire face softens when he sees you.
Mostly because Chibs himself acts like he doesn’t notice it.
But he does.
Christ, he notices everything about you.
The way you chew your thumbnail when nervous.
The little line that appears between your eyebrows when you’re concentrating.
The way your laugh sneaks up on you unexpectedly, like even your joy is shy.
And maybe if he were a better man, he would’ve kept more distance.
But he’s selfish enough to keep letting you sit beside him.
Selfish enough to keep wanting more.
Even if he never acts on it.
You know Chibs is protective.
Everyone does.
But usually it’s subtle.
A hand at the small of your back guiding you through crowds.
Walking you to your car after dark.
Quietly checking if you got home safe.
He never makes a big deal out of it.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Because every gentle thing he does sinks deeper under your skin.
And the feelings between you—
The almosts and maybes—
Have gotten impossible to ignore.
There are moments now where the air feels too thick between you.
Too charged.
Moments where his eyes linger too long on your mouth.
Moments where your hands brush and neither of you pulls away fast enough.
But Chibs always stops himself.
Always takes half a step back.
Like he’s afraid of wanting too much.
So neither of you says anything.
You just keep dancing around the edge of something dangerous.
Until the night everything finally breaks.
You’re driving home from work when you notice the truck behind you.
At first, you don’t think much of it.
Then it follows you through three turns.
Your stomach tightens.
You switch lanes suddenly.
The truck follows.
Fear crawls cold and immediate down your spine.
Maybe it’s coincidence.
Maybe you’re being paranoid.
Then the truck speeds up.
Your pulse starts hammering.
You grab your phone with shaking fingers and call the first person your panicked brain thinks of.
Chibs.
He answers on the second ring.
“Hey, lass—”
“There’s someone following me.”
The words come out breathless.
Instantly, his entire tone changes.
“Where are ye?”
You tell him quickly, voice shaking harder now.
The truck is still behind you.
Too close.
“You drive straight tae the clubhouse,” Chibs says immediately. Calm. Steady. “Do no’ stop anywhere else. Ye hear me?”
“I’m scared.”
That nearly kills him.
You hear it in the sudden sharp inhale over the phone.
“I know, sweetheart. Just keep drivin’. I’ll meet ye outside.”
The line goes dead.
And suddenly you’re gripping the wheel so hard your hands ache.
By the time you pull into the clubhouse lot, you’re genuinely terrified.
The truck slows near the entrance.
Then keeps driving.
But the fear doesn’t leave with it.
Your whole body is shaking violently now from adrenaline and panic and all the horrible possibilities your brain supplied during the drive.
The clubhouse doors burst open before you even fully park.
Chibs.
You’ve never seen him move that fast.
His kutte hangs open, expression sharp with fury and fear as he scans the lot immediately.
Then his eyes land on you.
And everything changes.
You barely get the car door open before you’re moving.
Running straight toward him.
“Chibs—”
Your voice breaks completely.
And before either of you can think about it—
Before all the careful distance and restraint can matter—
You crash into him.
Hard.
Your arms wrap around him desperately while you bury your face against his chest like it’s instinct.
Like he’s safety itself.
Chibs freezes.
Just for a second.
Shock.
Because you’ve never touched each other like this before.
Never openly.
Never desperately.
Then immediately—
Immediately—
His arms lock around you.
Strong.
Certain.
One hand pressing protectively against the back of your head, tucking your face tighter against him while the other wraps around your waist.
“I got ye,” he murmurs instantly.
His voice is rough with panic.
Anger.
Concern so intense it almost sounds painful.
“You’re alright. I got ye now.”
And God.
The second he says that, your composure shatters entirely.
A sob tears out of you.
Humiliating.
You hate crying.
But Chibs just holds you tighter.
“Shh,” he hushes softly. “Easy, lass. Ye’re safe.”
Behind him, you vaguely register the clubhouse erupting.
Tig demanding to know what happened.
Happy already heading for the bikes.
But Chibs doesn’t take his attention off you for even a second.
Your fingers clutch desperately at the front of his shirt.
He can feel how hard you’re shaking.
And something vicious rises inside him immediately.
Because someone scared you this badly.
Someone made you cry.
Someone made you run to him like this.
“Look at me a second,” he says gently.
You can’t.
Your face stays hidden against his chest.
“Sweetheart.”
The endearment slips out naturally.
His hand smooths slowly over your hair.
“You need tae breathe for me.”
You try.
God, you try.
But your breathing keeps catching painfully.
“I thought—” you gasp. “I thought they were gonna—”
Your voice breaks again.
Chibs’ stomach twists violently.
“Nothin’s gonna happen tae ye,” he says firmly. “No’ while I’m breathin’.”
The words come out low and absolute.
Like a promise carved in stone.
And for some reason, that finally calms you enough to breathe properly again.
A little.
Chibs keeps holding you impossibly carefully.
Like you’re fragile.
Precious.
He’s furious underneath it.
Furious enough his hands ache with it.
But every touch against you stays gentle.
Measured.
Because right now his anger doesn’t matter.
You do.
Tig appears beside him. “What happened?”
Chibs’ jaw tightens.
“Truck followed her.”
Tig’s expression darkens instantly.
“You see plates?”
You shake your head weakly against Chibs’ chest.
“It’s alright,” Chibs murmurs quickly before anyone else can question you further. “Ye do no’ gotta think about it right now.”
The protectiveness in his voice makes your eyes burn all over again.
Tig studies the two of you quietly for a second.
Specifically the way Chibs is holding you like letting go isn’t an option.
Then, wisely, he says:
“We’ll handle it.”
Chibs nods once.
Dismissal.
And Tig leaves without another word.
Because right now Chibs looks one wrong sentence away from violence.
Eventually, Chibs guides you inside.
One hand stays firm against your back the entire time.
Grounding.
Protective.
You’re still trembling slightly when he sits you down on the couch in the quieter office room.
But the second he starts pulling away, panic spikes again.
Your fingers catch his wrist immediately.
Chibs looks down at your hand.
Then at your face.
And something in his expression softens so deeply it almost hurts to look at.
“Alright,” he says quietly.
He sits beside you again immediately.
Closer this time.
Your body instinctively leans toward him.
Neither of you mentions it.
“You embarrassed?” he asks softly after a while.
You nod miserably.
“I kinda lost my mind.”
“No, ye didnae.”
“I literally ran at you.”
And there it is.
The thing neither of you knows how to address.
The closeness.
The instinct.
The fact that your terrified brain chose him immediately.
Chibs goes very still beside you.
Then he says carefully:
“Why me?”
Your heart stutters.
Because the answer feels far too honest now.
Because you trust him.
Because he feels safe.
Because somewhere along the way, you fell hopelessly in love with him.
Then Chibs exhales slowly like the words physically hit him.
“Aye,” he says roughly. “Always.”
Your breath catches.
He’s looking at you differently now.
Like the fear ripped something open between you both.
Like all the almosts are suddenly impossible to ignore.
“You scared the hell outta me tonight,” he admits quietly.
You blink.
“What?”
“When ye called.” His jaw flexes. “Thought I was gonna lose my damn mind before ye got here.”
Emotion climbs painfully into your throat.
Chibs rubs a tired hand over his face.
Then laughs softly under his breath.
“No’ exactly how I planned on this happenin’.”
Your eyebrows pull together slightly. “What happening?”
His eyes meet yours.
And suddenly the air changes.
Completely.
“Tellin’ ye.”
Your heartbeat stumbles hard.
“Tellin’ me what?”
Chibs looks at you for a long moment.
Like he’s finally too exhausted to keep pretending.
“That I’m in love with ye.”
Everything stops.
The room.
Your thoughts.
Your breathing.
Chibs’ expression turns almost grim afterward, like he’s waiting for impact.
“You do no’ gotta say anythin’ back,” he says quickly. “Christ knows I tried no’ tae feel it—”
You kiss him before he can finish.
Because you physically cannot hold it in another second.
Chibs makes this startled sound against your mouth before both hands frame your face instantly.
Then he kisses you back hard.
Desperate.
Relieved.
Like months of restraint finally snapped apart all at once.
His forehead rests against yours when you finally pull away.
“You sure?” he whispers.
You nod immediately.
“So sure.”
A slow smile breaks across his face then.
Beautiful.
Wrecked.
Completely helpless for you.
Then he pulls you into his arms again, one hand cradling the back of your head protectively while rain begins tapping softly against the clubhouse windows outside.
Tags: situationship, argument, p in v, cumming inside, that's about it. Chibs had a hard night
The feeling of your bed dipping under someone's weight made you lift your head. Blinking through the darkness, you made out the all too familiar reaper patch before closing your eyes again. It only meant one thing, Chibs.
The only man that had a key to your house, the only person that would come sneaking around in the middle of the night.
"Chibs?" your voice was soft and low, sleep laced in your tone. You could hear his heavy cut hit the floor, together with his shirt as he crawled into bed next to you.
"Ay, go back to sleep." you could hear from his voice that it had been a rough night and you knew that that was exactly why he was here. Every hard day, rough night, this was where he ended up. Your bed was a safe haven, your house a home and yet his relationship with you was undefinable.
It had happened more than once that you found him sitting in your living room, cigarette smoke filling the space as he stared out in front of him. You knew enough about his life to know better than to ask. He'd tell what he needed to, when he needed to. But that choice was on him and that was why he liked it here.
"Do I wanna know?" you asked, turning to face him in the bed. Exhaustion filled the lines on his face, his eyes downturned and sad. You reached forward, your hand stroking over his face. His eyes shut as he leaned into your touch, his own hand finding it's way to your waist.
"I wish I didn't know." he sighed, pulling you closer. All he wanted was to feel you. The heat of your body, your soft skin under his rough fingers, it all helped with grounding him.
"Alright, I won't ask." you started, feeling him nuzzle his face into the side of your neck. His beard always tickled you when he did that, sending goosebumps up and down your back. "Maybe tomorrow you'll tell me."
"Don't count on it." his lips ghosted over the skin of your neck and you felt yourself lean into him more. "You should really go back to sleep."
He kissed the side of your neck, moving his lips to your jaw and then your pausing just in front of your lips. He smelt like cigarettes and leather, invading your all of your senses with him. In this bed, in this house it was just you and him.
"Chibs," you whispered, your fingers finding the hairs at the nape of his neck. He finally looked you in the eyes before pressing his lips to yours, gently at first. Grumbling against you, his hands travelling to try and pull you even closer. "Chibs, please."
He needed you, he needed this and every time he'd get a little fix he'd need so much more the next time. He'd take, take and take and you'd give, give and give.
You let him lift your sleep shirt off of your body, giving him even more of you. The safety of your bed and home was one thing, but your body another entirely and he owned it.
He laid onto his back, pulling you to lay on top of him as your bare chest pressed against his. Tongue fighting yours as your legs straddled his waist. In all honesty, you needed him maybe more than he needed you. You loved it when he came and hated it when he left.
Your hair fell over your face as you looked down at him, one of the hands on your hip moving to hold your hair back. This sight, his messed up salt and pepper hair, the beard you loved toying with, the tattoos on his chest and the rosary that was always around his neck.
Chibs grabbed the back of your neck, need taking him over as his hand rubbed you through your underwear. Your hips rocked in motion with him, moaning softly as your hands braced against his chest. The fingers on your core aided the feeling of him getting harder under you, watching you slowly build up your release.
He tugged your underwear to the side, moving to push his own down as well. Normally he'd take better care of you, his mouth and fingers all coming in to play to make you cum. But not tonight, he needed you too much.
You lifted your hips, sitting up before sinking down on him. Your whimper made him groan, watching you shake your head to move your hair out of the way. This was everything to him, your bare body, your bouncing chest as you rode him even the nails digging into his chest were a welcome reminder to him of how much he loved being with you.
"That's it, that's a good lass," he cooed, gently bucking his hips with your tempo. You moaned at his praise, his nails pressing indents into your hips. Your pace picked up, chasing your high that you so desperately needed. "So good for me."
He pulled you down, flush against his chest to kiss you again. His hands tangled with your hair, pulling it as his hips bucked into your harder. He was chasing his high just as hard. While he didn't come here for sex, it was a welcome surprise and now he just wanted to cum and go to sleep.
"Can you cum for me, pretty lass?" he whispered, hearing your cries turn desperate. Your eyes fluttered shut, your face burrying into his shoulders as you teetered on the edge. With a few more pumps of his hips, your core tightened around him moaning out his name. He wasn't far behind, holding you down on him as you cried in overstimulation before cumming inside of you.
You stayed on top of him, catching your breath as he pet your hair. His hands were gentle, moving over your back and back to your hair. You both could've fallen asleep like that, but knew it would only leave you both sore in the morning. So against lack of better judgement, Chibs helped you lie down next to him and let your legs tangle with his.
He stared at the ceiling, watching the fan turn as you slept on his chest. The events from the day, the gunshots, the bodies replaying in his mind. Falling asleep had been getting harder and harder for him, at least in his own bed. Here it was easier, not easy but easier.
Chibs looked down at you. Your hand resting and head resting on his chest, breath rising and falling steadily. Steady, that was what you were. No matter what went on out there.
He fell asleep and woke up early, yet the bed was empty. He felt sore and aching when he stepped out of the bed, leaning down to pick up his clothes. The cut on his back being light yet oh so heavy at the same time. Glancing in the mirror, he looked and felt like his age this morning, something he hadn't in a long time. He was tired.
"You look exhausted." you stood watching from the doorframe, his gaze floating to you from the mirror. Your body was wrapped in a bathrobe, hair still wet from your shower.
"Ay, I am." He stepped to you, leaning down to wrap his arms around you. His face pressing into your wet hair and taking whiff of your shampoo. "Think I could sleep for a week and not be well rested."
You sighed, looking up at him. Whatever the day before brought was weighing on him, heavier than most things. But he made it clear that talking about it wasn't in the cards.
"I need to head out." he said, kissing the top of your head and trying to pull away. You couldn't let him just yet, pulling him back into you and cupping his face in your hands. His eyes shut again, your golden touch being too easy to melt into. "Darn woman."
"I never ask anything of you-" you started, stroking his cheeks and scars gently. "But I'm going to today."
"Go on." he said softly, hand coming up to hold yours. He was scared for what you were going to ask, but knew it couldn't be more than what he asked of you.
"Just come back to me in one piece." your request was simple in the eyes of a normal person. In his he knew it was more difficult than not, but he wasn't a man that wouldn't try.
"Nothing to worry about, lass." he smiled, leaning forward and pressing another kiss to your forehead. "Besides I got the key."
Where He Softens | Chibs Telford x reader | one shot
A/N
I felt like writing something domestic and romantic today, maybe even fluffy and comforting. Just dancing around the kitchen with one of your favorite bikers🖤
It was late at night. Everything had already gone silent, a streetlight flickered through a small gap in the curtains. The entire neighborhood was probably asleep by now, peaceful in a way Charming itself never truly was. Somewhere out there engines still roared and deals were still being made, but inside the house there was only the low hum of old rock music drifting through the living room. You lay curled up on the couch beneath a soft blanket. The fabric brushed against your bare legs while the faint scent of cigarette smoke and old whiskey still lingered in the room from earlier that evening. You weren’t asleep. Just waiting for your old man to come home.
The front door finally opened with a quiet creak. You didn’t move immediately, though the corner of your mouth twitched softly the moment you heard heavy boots crossing the wooden floor. Chibs always tried to be quieter when he thought you were sleeping, despite the fact a man built like him could never truly move silently. You cracked an eye open just enough to see him. Leather kutte. Exhaustion weighing down his broad shoulders. There was dried blood across one of his knuckles and the familiar scent of cigarettes, cold night air and gunpowder followed him inside the house. His tired eyes landed on you almost instantly. “There’s my girl…” His Scottish accent came out rougher than usual, exhaustion dragging through every word. His gaze was tired, though beneath that tiredness there was still adrenaline lingering in his stare. The kind that told you his mind was still stuck somewhere back at the clubhouse.
A soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you slowly sat up at the sight of your old man wandering into the living room. “Long night, dear?” Your voice soft, your tiredness of the long wait lingered in your voice like a whisper. “Aye.” He exhaled quietly, rubbing a hand over his beard. “Club shit.” the way he exhaled, even the way his fingers traced the outlines of his facial hair told you exactly what kind of night it had been. You could almost guess how much he had been smoking this evening when the stench of cigarettes and iron filled your nostrils even though he wasn’t even close yet. As you quietly waited for your old man to finally fill up that empty spot on the couch with you.
Your eyes followed him toward the kitchen while he grabbed the whiskey bottle from the cabinet, though halfway through pouring himself a glass he stopped. His gaze shifted toward the radio instead. Toward the old rock song humming softly through the house. Then back toward you. A slow grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “C’mere.” You laughed quietly underneath your breath. “Chibs, I'm comfortable”. “Woman,” he pointed toward you with the whiskey glass. “Get yer ass over here”. You didn’t have to think twice, you were touch starved for him all day anyway. You got up, the blanket hitting the ground beneath you as you made your way to your old man.
His arms sneaked around your waist, as his rough hands found your lower back. Caressing hands sliding up your back, the fabric of your shirt almost non-existent beneath his touch. The old rock music softly humming around the both of you. Your hands deliberately found his chest, the leather of his Kutte brushed your fingertips, a soft smile appearing on your lips at the familiar feeling. His body finally seemed to loosen bit by bit beneath your touch, the tension slowly draining from his broad shoulders. They clearly had been carrying too much today, you could feel it in the way he exhaled against the top of your head. It was heavy, tired. Almost like he had been holding his breath for hours.
The kitchen light cast golden shadows across the room while the music continued softly around you both. Chibs pulled you closer without hesitation, slowly swaying with you in the middle of the kitchen as if the outside world suddenly didn’t exist anymore. Your cheek rested against his chest while his rough fingertips traced lazy circles against your lower back. “You smell like cigarettes,” you mumbled. A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest above your head. “And bad decisions,” you added softly as the faint scent of iron reached your nose. “Aye,” he muttered slowly. “That too.” You could feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek. It was slow and steady, just like the rhythm of both your feet shuffling beneath you. The kind of rhythm that made your entire body slowly melt into him without even realizing it.
Your fingertips slowly slipped from his chest toward his hand, carefully intertwining your fingers with his much larger ones. The dried blood across his knuckles already darkened, cracked between his rough skin. Your feet follow into his as he slowly leads you through the kitchen. Moments like this, definitely were your favorite ones. The love for him crawling beneath your skin, goosebumps giving away exactly what you were feeling for him. Your thumb brushed over the bruising gently, almost absentmindedly. Chibs noticed instantly. Of course he did. His gaze dropped toward your hands before a quiet breath escaped him. “Sweetheart…” He muttered slowly. “M’fine”. “I know” You spoke softly, though your fingertips still traced over his knuckles anyway. “Doesn’t mean I can’t care”. For a moment he just looked at you, the look in his eyes was enough of an answer.
The song on the radio crackled softly through old speakers while your bodies kept swaying together across the kitchen floor. The whiskey glass still rested forgotten on the counter behind him, abandoned the second he had pulled you into his arms instead. Outside, somewhere far down the street, a motorcycle roared briefly before silence swallowed the sound again. You rolled your eyes softly underneath your breath while his hand slowly traveled higher along your spine, fingertips disappearing into your hair for a moment. The touch made your eyes close briefly. Comforting. Familiar. Home.
Chibs lowered his head slightly, lips brushing against your hairline while he kept swaying with you to the music. No tension. No chaos. No SAMCRO bullshit. Just him. Just this. His grip tightened slightly against your waist before he spoke again, voice quieter now. Softer. “Best part o’ my day is comin’ home tae ye, lass.” Your eyes closed completely at those words, arms slipping further around him underneath the leather of his kutte. Outside, Charming was still turning beneath violence, engines and bloodshed. But here in the kitchen, wrapped up in Chibs Telford’s arms while old rock music hummed softly through the house, the world finally felt still for once.
After a while of heavenly slow dancing and just enjoying his warmth and touch, one of his masculine hands found your cheek, cupping your jaw. His lips found yours slowly, almost like he needed to savor the moment. The familiar taste of whiskey and cigarettes lingered on your lips as you caught on with his slow and yearning rhythm. The sound Chibs made against your lips while his thumb caressed your jaw, made your knees weak. The kiss wasn’t hungry, it was something more than that. Something you can’t simply put into words. It was a kiss that would carry an entire day of missing each other. A kiss that made him forget everything he had to do on behalf of the club. The slow sway between your bodies never fully stopped, feet still catching on to the rhythm of the music. Neither of you rushed to let the other go, simply swaying together beneath the dim kitchen light.
thinking about chibs telford refer to himself as old man during sex.. 18+
fem!reader, mdni. cw. implied age gap. 'old man' in the dirty, dilfy way, not club way
the position he’s got you in is simple, quite comfortable really: laid flat on your stomach, side of your face resting on tightly crossed arms. a scrunched pillow sits under your stomach, acting as a prop of elevation for chibs.
he cages over you from behind, arms bent beside yours, lips ghosting the shell of your ear from the closeness. his slow and laboured rhythmic breathing matches the pace of his leisure fucking — the focus on depth and feel rather than the speed. every small, half wind of his hips produces the faintest of exhales from you both, your blissed sounds merging and muffling.
every slight bump of his cock into your cunt moves you, the pair of you fluid in motion, moving like tiny waves against the bed. your ankles cross and lift as your knees bend, another point of elevation tightening your pussy’s hold on chibs.
“aye, wee lassie,” he murmurs at the new feel, muttering into the patch of skin behind your ear. “not gon’ last,” he adds between a couple pumps, pressing a needy littler of kisses to where he just spoke — beard skimming the sensitive spots along the back of your bare shoulder.
his pace quickens ever so slightly, barely noticeable really. but it’s as if he’s chasing the edge. his chest brushes up against your back with the subtle increase of speed, strands of his greying hair falling from the pushed back position and mixing with yours below.
“you gon’ come with your old man?” he asks, the question practically rhetorical — no need for a vocal answer. voice low and accent thick as he whispers directly into your ear. “aye?” he hums, waiting for acknowledgement and nipping at the lobe of your ear.
you muster a nod, the motion rather haste. a measly whine accompanies the action and your eyes flutter closed. with his hands planted just in your view, his fingers only a short couple inches away — you reach for his hand. and when he feels your touch, he’s lifting a palm to place atop the back of your hand, fingers lacing into yours.
you clench around him intermittently, your breathing hitching and growing all the more strained with every rock of his cock.
“yer right there, aren’t yer, lovie?” he muffles into your hair, his forehead resting on the side of your head — strength in his neck seeming to be lost.
“yeah,” you murmur, the whinge following the word is rather pathetic.
his grip tightens on your hand, knuckles whitening atop of yours. “then let go.”
⎯ ☆ ⎯
id actually give my last £7.42 to spend a night with this man. pls man you’re my fav scot PLS. fully prepared for no one to read this bc have never spoken about him on my page before
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."
Summary : You’ve been dating a Son for years now and he treats you like shit, from cheating on you openly to insulting you like you're the worst person he knows. Everyone in the club knows it, including Chibs, who’s been quietly burning for you this whole time.
Warnings : Smutty but not full smut, swearing, drinking alcool, fighting, abusive/violent bf... Classic SOA content lol
A/N : First fic i'm posting on this account and my very first SOA fic ever, hope you'll like it<3
PS : thinking of doing a part 2 if ya'll want it!
I always hated how quiet the garage got after sundown.
During the day, there was the hum of engines, steel clanging, music bleeding from old speakers in the corner and the constant chatter of the guys drifting in and out. It was comforting, like noise could somehow hold me together. Now, standing alone with grease-stained hands and a half-drained coffee on the workbench, it felt like the silence said too much. I was just finishing up a tune-up on some random guy’s Softail when I heard the familiar grumble of a Dyna pulling in, I didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.
Rafe, my boyfriend. Well, if you could even still call him that… We’d been together five years, but the last two had felt like I was clinging to a ghost in a kutte. Before he patched in with SAMCRO, he was different, kind, attentive and loving. He used to wait up for me after long shifts, bring me flowers from that corner shop I liked, and trace his fingers over the grease on my cheeks while looking at me as if I was all dolled up. Now? Now he always smelled like bad whiskey, cheap smoke, and woman’s perfume I didn’t wear. I knew, I always knew. I could smell her on him before he even kissed my cheek when he bothered to do it. Still, I stayed. Pathetic, right? I’d tell myself I was giving him time, maybe the club life had just pulled him too deep. I was hoping he’d find his way back eventually, that maybe he still loved me underneath it all… Or maybe I was just scared of what it would feel like to finally be alone after five years. Suddenly, a voice broke into my thoughts, Scottish, rough but warm, like gravel under velvet; Chibs.
“You still here?”
I turned, brushing hair back from my face.
“Yeah, just wrapping up!”
He nodded, leaning against the tool cart, arms crossed, that easy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was always around, like a quiet kind of shadow. Helpful, observant, somehow safe. If Rafe was a wildfire, Chibs was the steady flame next to it.
“You don’t have to wait on Rafe, y’know.” he said, eyes scanning me in that way he always did, subtle, like he was trying not to get caught looking.
“I’m not.” I lied, holding back a sigh. “Just needed to finish up on this bike.”
Chibs arched a brow, unconvinced. “Right.”
The thing about Chibs was he never pushed. He never called me out, never asked the questions hovering in the air between us. But I saw it in the way he looked at me, like he wanted to say something, yet wouldn’t out of some misplaced loyalty to his brother. He walked over, grabbing a rag off the bench and handing it to me as our fingers brushed.
“S’late, ain’t safe out here alone.”
“I’ve got a wrench and a bad attitude.” I smirked, trying to lighten the moment. “I’ll be fine, Chibs”
He didn’t smile back, not really. His lips twitched, but his eyes stayed steady, watching me closely, reading me too well. I turned back to the engine on the lift, half-hoping he’d walk away before I cracked under the weight of his gaze. Instead, he stepped a little closer.
“Alright grease monkey, that’s enough for tonight.”
I blinked, turning to look at him again. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His voice was firm, but the corners of his mouth lifted now. “You’ve been at it for hours. C’mon, come inside, party’s goin’ ! The guys’ll wanna see you.”
I exhaled a quiet laugh, wiping my hands on a rag.
“You know I don’t go to those.”
“Aye, I do know that.” He tilted his head slightly. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna ask.”
I looked at the clock, just past nine. I could already hear the faint thump of music bleeding from the clubhouse, smell beer and something being grilled, maybe weed, followed by laughter and voices I knew like my own heartbeat.
“I’m not really in the mood, Chibs.” I said back, softer now. “You know why I don’t…”
He didn’t interrupt. He just watched me patiently, arms folded, waiting me out as I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck.
“It’s just not my scene. Not when I’ve gotta watch him... Do what he does.”
Chibs didn’t look away, but he didn’t press either. He let the silence sit between us for a beat before gently nudging my arm with his gloved hand.
“You’re one of us, you always fix our bikes, keep us rollin’.” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know more about what goes on around here than half the crow-eaters who do show up at the runs, you’ve earned the right to take a break and knock back a beer with your friends. That’s all it is, nothin’ more.”
I hesitated. I did love the guys, all of them, they treated me like family. Tig called me ‘wrench princess’, Bobby brought me coffee when he did early runs, and Juice once tried to show me how to use Bitcoin… Poorly. Even Clay, for all his gruffness, respected what I did and made sure I was safe. And Jax? He always made it a point to call me ‘part of the machine’, always reassuring me when I felt like I didn't do enough for the club. I wasn’t patched in, I wasn’t dirty and I wasn’t stupid. I knew about the guns, the runs, the blood and the deals. But they never dragged me into it, never used me, and maybe that’s why I stayed as long as I had, why I hadn’t walked away from all of it or from Rafe. Because they made it feel like home. Chibs caught the flicker in my eyes and grinned, just a little.
“C’mon, just for a while!” he coaxed, voice lower now. “If it’s shite, you can go. I’ll even walk you out myself.”
That last part, quiet, unassuming, hit a little harder than I expected. My stomach twisted again. I threw the rag down and sighed.
“You’re annoying, you know that?”
He chuckled lowly. “Takes one to know one.”
—
The second I pushed through the doors of the clubhouse, the noise hit me like a wave; rock music pounding low and steady, the smell of sweat, smoke, and booze heavy in the air with voices rising over it all like some chaotic symphony only the Sons could compose. It was alive in here. Chibs gave me a small nudge as we stepped in, reminding me I wasn’t just passing through, I belonged here. I tucked a few loose strands of hair behind my ears and scanned the room. Juice spotted me first and his face lit up the moment he did.
“Yo! Look who finally crawled out of the garage!”
Tig turned around in his chair, eyes going wide and dramatic.
“The wrench goddess graces us with her presence! Quick, someone pour a shot before she disappears like a ghost!”
I laughed in spite of myself. “You’re all such idiots.”
“That’s why you love us sweetie.” Bobby called from the pool table.
I gave him a mock salute and walked over as Juice handed me a beer, cold and already opened. He bumped my shoulder with his own, grinning like a kid.
“We thought you were gonna spend your whole life under someone’s carburetor.”
“I might prefer the carburetors.” I responded dryly. “They don’t talk back.”
Tig raised his drink at my words, bumping it with mine.
“Cheers to that.”
For a few minutes, it felt good, normal even. I joked with them, let them tease me about the grease still smudged on my temple, let myself laugh and not think too hard about the man who hadn’t even noticed I was still working at the garage late at night… Or so I thought. Because just as I turned toward the bar, I felt it, his sharp, angry eyes. Rafe was standing near the back corner, half-leaning against the edge of the bar, a drink in one hand and his other dangerously low on the hip of some bleach-blonde from Luann’s studio. She was giggling at something he said, her long nails tracing lazy circles into his leather cut. He hadn’t noticed me at first but now, his gaze was locked on mine, unreadable. He didn’t move, didn’t smile, just watched like I was the one out of line for showing up, for daring breathing in his world. Chibs stepped subtly closer beside me, like he’d felt the shift in the air too. He didn’t say anything, just handed me another napkin and nodded toward the couch.
“C’mon darlin’, you deserve to sit somewhere that doesn’t smell like axle grease.”
I hesitated, my stomach tight, throat dry but I still nodded, keeping my chin up as I walked right past Rafe. Right past the girl with the too-short skirt and the fake laugh, toward the leather couch where the guys were gathered. He didn’t stop me, he never did, yet his eyes stayed on me the whole way. The leather couch was cracked and worn, but it felt like the most comfortable thing in the world once I sank into it. Bobby handed me a fresh beer without even asking the moment he noticed my already empty one, while Tig had started telling some half-true story about a bar fight in Reno that ended with him singing karaoke in a stolen wedding dress. I laughed so hard my ribs ached as Juice nearly choked on his drink.
“You guys are fucking idiots!” I said again, but it came out softer this time, affectionate.
“At least we know how to have fun.” Tig shot back, raising his glass yet again. “To our girl, finally joining the damn party!”
Chibs sat beside me as we all cheered, close but not too close to me, his arm resting along the back of the couch, fingers brushing the edge behind my shoulders. I could feel the heat from his thigh against mine, even through the layers of denim. And as the night wore on, the space between us slowly started to disappear. Not on purpose and not all at once but in those small, accidental ways, like his leg pressed against mine for just a second longer than it needed to or, my shoulder brushing his when I leaned in to hear something Bobby said. My second beer turned into a third, then someone shoved a shot of Jameson into my hand, and everything got a little fuzzier at the edges after that, it got warmer even. Like I’d finally stepped out of a cold shower I hadn’t realized I’d been standing in.
“You remember the time Juice tried to wax his eyebrows?” I giggled, covering my mouth.
Juice groaned, rubbing his face with both hands.
“Why is that the memory you go for?!”
“Because you looked like a surprised lizard for three weeks, you moron!” Bobby howled, shaking with laughter.
“Babe, you’re heartless for bringing that up…”
“Did you see it?” I turned to Chibs, eyes half-lidded from the alcohol and the heat of the room. “His face was like–"
I widened my eyes comically, mouth open in mock horror.
“Aye, I saw it.” Chibs laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Almost crashed my bloody bike when I did.”
We were laughing again, and I leaned against him without even thinking, just a small tilt, a shift in weight. His body was solid and warm next to mine, and he didn’t move away. I don’t know if it was the whiskey, the steady rumble of his voice, or the way his fingers brushed the back of my neck when he leaned in to tell me something about the band playing on the jukebox. But suddenly, I didn’t feel quite so careful.
“You’re not so bad for a grumpy old Scot!” I teased, smirking as I turned my head to look up at him.
His eyes were dark in the low light, smile slow and sincere.
“I’ve been called worse.”
We were close now, closer than we’d ever been. I could feel his breath on my skin, feel the electricity in the air like the seconds before a summer storm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rafe still watching with that girl hanging on him. Yet, I didn’t care. Not right now at least, not when I was laughing like I hadn’t in months, not while Chibs was looking at me like I was worth more than 5 years of broken promises and late night lies.
“D’you want another drink?” he asked, voice rough but gentle.
“I’m good! I think if I have another one, I’ll end up singing with Tig.”
“Oh please, do.” Tig said immediately. “You owe me a duet!”
“You wish.”
I leaned my head back against the couch, letting my hand rest on the cushion between us. Chibs didn’t say anything, but a moment later, his pinky gently brushed against mine. It was such a small thing yet my heart flipped anyway as I looked at him, surprised to see that he was already looking at me. There was something in his eyes I hadn’t seen in a long time, want, yes, but also care. That quiet fire he always carried, just waiting to be seen. Rafe could burn everything down around me, but Chibs... Chibs was the warmth I’d forgotten I deserved and I was starting to wonder if I wanted to stop pretending I didn’t feel it, too. The laughter started to fade as the room shifted around us with the drinks flowing, voices rising, bodies starting to drift like gravity had changed. Bobby was mid-story when two girls sauntered over from the bar, all legs and lip gloss, giggling as they leaned in a little too close. One had her hand already on Bobby’s arm before he even noticed. Tig’s eyes lit up like Christmas.
“Well, hello, trouble.”
“And make it double.” Bobby added, looking at them up and down.
The girl beside him twirled a strand of platinum hair and smiled.
“You boys look like you need a little company…”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Tig purred, hand already on her hip. “I always need a little company.”
And just like that, they were gone, Tig and Bobby disappearing into the din with their new toys, trailing tequila and cackles behind them. Suddenly, Juice stood up, phone to his ear, catching my eye briefly.
“Jax needs me.” he said, already heading toward the hallway. “Don’t drink all the good stuff without me!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I murmured back, snickering.
And just like that... it was just me and Chibs. The music seemed louder now that we were alone. A slow, pulsing beat vibrating through the floorboards, some heavy blues track, the singer’s voice gravelly and low, remonding me of the smoke curling around the walls. I shifted on the couch, stretching my legs out in front of me, boot toe grazing his. He didn’t move, didn’t speak as he just sipped his drink while he looked at me with those dark, heavy-lidded eyes that had started to feel too intimate. Too dangerous.
“You always watch people like that?” I asked, lips curling slightly around the rim of my bottle as I took another sip.
“Only when I want to.”
The way he said it wasn’t flirty, well not really. It wasn’t playful either, it was a quiet punch to the ribs, a statement laced with something rougher. He didn’t lean closer, didn’t touch me, he just looked, like he was trying to memorize every angle of me under this low yellow light. I set my drink down slowly, pulse quickening. My leg was still brushing his, that tiny point of contact sparking like live wire. The air between us had shifted completely, thick with unsaid things and bad ideas that suddenly didn’t feel so bad.
“You know…” I started, voice a little husky now. “You’ve got a habit of looking at me like that.”
His brow lifted slightly. “Like what?”
“Like you’re trying not to say... Something.”
His jaw flexed, just a little.
“Maybe I am.”
I leaned in slightly, slowly, until the scent of him was all around me, a mix of leather, soap, whiskey and the faint smoke from the joint someone had passed around earlier. I didn’t touch him, but I was close enough that I felt his exhale ghost over my cheek.
“You never say anything.” I said quietly.
“Would it matter if I did?” he asked, voice deep, as if the words were being pulled from somewhere he didn’t want to open.
I swallowed hard, heart pounding like a drum behind my ribs. I didn’t answer because I didn’t have one. Instead, I let the silence stretch again, the weight of it settling between us like gravity. His hand was still resting along the back of the couch, fingers just inches from my bare shoulder. I didn’t move away, I didn’t want to. His gaze dropped to my mouth and lingered there for a second too long, making my breath hitched just a little, just enough for him to notice. Everything about this moment was unsaid, and yet so loud. My skin felt too tight, like my body was suddenly aware of itself in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. I wasn’t even sure whose move it was, maybe neither of us would make it.
But god, did we want to.
The tension didn’t feel like air anymore, it felt like heat, the crackling of something that could burn the whole damn room down if either of us dared to light the match. He leaned in, slowly, deliberately, just enough to bring his lips close to my ear.
“You smell like motor oil and sin, darlin’.”
A laugh escaped me, breathless and shaky, even though I didn’t feel like laughing. I turned my head slightly, and we were too close, lips only inches apart. One shift and we’d be done pretending.
“Maybe I am.” I whispered back.
His eyes flicked to mine, and there it was; want. Clear and dark and unfiltered. His fingers twitched against the back of the couch, as if he wanted to reach for me but was holding himself back with the thinnest thread of control. He tilted his head slightly, voice thick.
“You’re playin’ with fire, love.”
“I don’t care to be burned.”
He didn’t move, he just stared and for one unbearable, electric second, I was sure he was going to kiss me. But then, the door to the clubhouse creaked open again, laughter, footsteps and fresh air spilling in behind it. I jerked away instinctively, breath catching in my throat, heart slamming into my ribs like it wanted out. The moment broke. Chibs leaned back slightly, his hand slipping away from the back of the couch like it had never been there. Yet his eyes stayed locked on mine, still dark, still burning and still wanting. And mine? Mine were doing the same damn thing. Chibs shifted like he was about to speak, his lips parting, brows tightening just slightly. Something unreadable moved across his face but I didn’t let him finish as I picked up my bottle, still cool but slick with condensation, and took a long, slow pull. My throat burned from the heat of it, or maybe from the heat of him. I didn’t know and I really didn’t want to know.
“I’m getting another one.” I said flatly, setting the bottle down harder than I meant to. “Bar’s calling.”
He didn’t stop me, yet his eyes followed every single step I took. I moved fast, like the bar was some kind of safety, as if the burn of liquor could wash away whatever the hell had just passed between us on that couch. It had happened. That thick, charged air, the way my skin was still buzzing, his breath on my cheek and the gravel in his voice when he said I was playing with fire… I didn’t want to admit how much I liked it, how much I wanted more and how starved I felt by it. No one had looked at me like that in years, with such need and respect, like I was more than something to use and discard the moment something younger and easier came along. But it wasn’t just about how he looked at me, it was how I felt when he did.
I made it halfway to the bar, heart thudding against my ribs like I was still back on that couch with his thigh pressed to mine and his gaze hot enough to melt steel. And then, a hand. A large, rough, too-familiar hand clamped hard around my upper arm that yanked me, the sudden force jerking me backward. The voice hit me like a sharp slap.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Rafe hissed, face twisted into a snarl like I’d just betrayed some sacred rule I hadn’t agreed to.
I jerked my arm, but he didn’t let go.
“I work here, remember?” I said coldly, yanking harder. “You know, the job I show up for everyday?”
His eyes were bloodshot, jaw tight, and I could smell the cheap beer mixed with even cheaper whiskey on his breath even through the haze of the room.
“I meant in here, in the goddamn clubhouse! You know you’re not supposed to be—”
“Not supposed to be where?” I cut in, voice rising. “Around the people I’ve known longer than you’ve been loyal to anything? Around the only ones who actually treat me like I exist?”
Rafe’s eyes narrowed, and his grip on my arm tightened.
“You’re my regular!” he spat, leaning in close. “You don’t parade around here like some thirsty little—”
“Finish that sentence.” I snapped, heart slamming in my chest. “I dare you.”
For a second, we just stood there, locked in this battle of stares, breath, heat, and rage. His jaw twitched again. He didn’t finish it.
“You think I didn’t see you? Sitting there all cozy with Chibs like a fucking biker groupie?” he spat again, lower now, more venom than volume.
My laugh was sharp and bitter as my heart skipped a beat.
“Oh, now you care? What happened, did the porn star’s mouth get tired?”
His face shifted, something ugly behind his eyes while his body tensed like a coil pulled too tight.
“You don’t talk to me like that!” he growled, and his hand moved from my arm to my wrist, gripping it hard enough to make my fingers tingle. “Not in front of them.”
I tried to yank away again, harder this time, but he wouldn’t budge. His body was pressed too close, voice too low, and every alarm in me was going off now.
“They’re not watching, they’re too busy to glance your way.” I responded through clenched teeth, trying to twist free. “And you don’t scare me, Rafe–”
“You should be fucking scared of me!” he shot back, face inches from mine now. “Because you don’t walk into this room, make me look like a fool and get away with it, you bitch.”
My heart thundered, but I didn’t let it show. I glared at him, breath fast, anger burning like acid in my throat.
“Let. Me. Go.”
He didn’t and his grip tightened as an anwser. Not just in his fingers, but in his whole body, like something in him was about to snap. Even though I’d stood up to him before, this was different. He was losing control and right know, I didn’t know if he cared who saw it. Rafe’s grip kept tightening, his thumb pressing into the inside of my wrist so hard I felt the pulse there stutter. His face was flushed, jaw locked, the tendons in his neck straining.
“I said, what the fuck are you doing in here?!” he barked, voice loud enough to cut through the music, heads starting to turn.
The room didn’t go silent, not yet, but it shifted, the kind of shift that happens before a fight. That low crackle of tension rolling through the air like a warning siren. I saw Bobby’s head turn from where he sat at the bar while Tig froze mid-laugh, hand still on that girl’s hip. Even Jax, halfway across the room near the pool table with Juice, looked up with a slight furrow in his brow. I tried to pull my arm back again, twisting hard this time as I tried to keep calm.
“You’re hurting me, asshole!”
“Then maybe listen for once!” Rafe snapped, voice rising to a full-on shout. “Instead of crawling around this place like some clubhouse slut—”
“Let her go.”
The words cut through everything, low and deadly. Rafe froze. I didn’t even have to look, I felt him and recognized that voice a little too well, the sound of it making me shiver slightly. Chibs. He was standing behind Rafe, weirdly calm. The calm that meant danger with that heavy stillness. Rafe turned, still gripping me, still full of that shitty, drunken pride.
“Back off, old man.” he groaned, sneering. “This doesn’t concern—”
Chibs took a step forward, voice dropping an octave.
“I said, let her go.”
There was no arguing with it. The command in his tone, the weight behind every syllable and something in Rafe knew it, too as his jaw twitched, eyes darting around like he was suddenly aware of the eyes now on him. Tig had stepped away from the blonde while Bobby was half-risen from his stool. Juice was at the edge of the room, watching like he’d only need one word to come here, even Jax was moving in slowly now, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Rafe looked back at me then at Chibs and finally, with a muttered curse and a shove of my arm, he let go. I stumbled slightly but didn’t fall, my skin throbbing where his fingers had dug in, but I straightened fast, chest heaving. Chibs didn’t look away from him, not once. Rafe squared up like he wanted to push back, like that dumb, drunk part of him still thought he could win. Chibs just took one more step, voice still eerily calm.
“You touch her like that again…” he started, his accent thickening, rough like gravel. “And it won’t be words I use next time.”
Rafe flinched and he didn’t respond, not verbally at least, his eyes did all the talking. Just gave Chibs one last, filthy look, then turned and stormed out of the room, shoving past Jax on his way out the door. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind him as silence hovered, thick and electric. Then Chibs finally looked at me, eyes scanning my face, then dropping to my wrist and upper arm. His jaw clenched when he saw the red marks.
“You alright?” he asked, voice still low but gentler now.
I nodded quickly, too quickly.
“I’m fine.”
The truth was, I didn’t know what I felt. Anger? Shame? Relief? A mix of those three. And under all of that... the way I was still shaking inside. The way Chibs had stepped in without hesitation, like it wasn’t even a question, like I mattered to him. The silence hadn’t lasted long. The door banged open again, harder this time, the metal rattling in its frame. Rafe stormed back in, rage written all over his face but now, his right hand gleamed with brass knuckles, clenched tight at his side like he’d been waiting his whole life to use them.
“You think you can humiliate me?!” he yelled, voice cracking, pointing straight at me as he stalked forward. “You think you can disrespect me in front of the Sons and walk out like it’s nothing you ugly bitch?!”
Shouts erupted instantly. Bobby stood so fast his stool clattered to the floor as Juice stepped forward, hands already raised. Jax moved from the pool table in long strides, voice sharp and warning.
“Rafe don't!”
But Rafe wasn’t listening. He was zeroed in on me, like nothing else in the room existed. His lip curled, his fist raising, brass catching the light, as he shouted.
“You think you can make me look weak?" He screamed, eyes bloodshot from rage. "You wanna act like one of the guys? Then take it like one!”
He raised his fist. I didn’t even have time to move as Chibs did it before me. He was a blur as he shoved Rafe back hard enough to send him stumbling a step, and in the same breath, his fist connected clean with Rafe’s jaw, the crack of bone-on-bone echoing through the clubhouse. Rafe reeled then roared as quickly as he received the punch. Before anyone could stop him, he twisted around fast and swung. The brass knuckles connected with Chibs’s cheek with a sickening crack.
“No, stop it!” I shouted as I watched Chibs go down, the force of the blow knocking him to the floor. “You piece of shit—”
He hit hard, rolling onto his side with a groan, blood already trailing from his temple. Tig snarled, grabbing me and dragging me back behind him with one strong arm, shielding me as chaos erupted. Rafe didn’t hesitate. He charged straight at me the moment our eyes locked again. But this time, he didn’t get far; Jax slammed into him from the side, tackling him with a grunt while Juice grabbed his other arm. Happy, silent as a shadow, appeared from nowhere and landed a hard elbow to Rafe’s ribs that made him stagger.
“Enough!”
The voice was gravel and command. Clay. He stepped into the center of it all, the room seeming to still the second he did, like the walls themselves respected the weight in his voice.
“Everybody fucking STOP!”
Breathless silence. Rafe writhed, still trying to break free, blood on his lip now, eyes wild. Chibs groaned on the floor, pushing himself up slowly, blood dripping down the side of his face, the bruise on his cheek already swelling. I was frozen behind Tig, every nerve in my body firing. I could still feel the phantom heat of Rafe’s fist in the air, like he’d almost reached me, like I’d come that close to… I swallowed hard, shaking. Tig turned slightly, eyes scanning my face.
“You okay?” he asked gruffly, voice low and tight.
I nodded at him in response but my eyes were locked on Chibs still on the floor, still bleeding and trying to get back up. In this state, because of me. He stepped in when no one else had moved fast enoug because he didn’t even hesitate for a second. At that thought, something in my chest clenched so hard it almost hurt.
—
The harsh fluorescent light buzzed faintly above as I slammed the bathroom cabinet open, rifling through the clutter inside like it was the damn thing’s fault Chibs was bleeding. Gauze, alcohol wipes, a half-used tube of antibiotic cream… I grabbed them all with shaking hands. Behind me, the toilet lid creaked under his weight as he sat, elbows braced on his knees, blood trailing from his temple, staining the collar of his shirt. His face was already swelling, red, purple, angry and I hated it.
“I told you not to get involved when he gets angry like that!” I snapped, not turning to look at him yet, focusing instead on tearing open a pack of sterile gauze like it’d personally offended me. “I told you I could handle it–”
“Didn’t look like handling from where I was standin’, lass.”
Chibs let out a soft grunt that might’ve been a laugh or a wince, probably both. I finally turned, brows furrowed, jaw clenched. He looked like hell; blood drying in streaks, one eye already darkening around the edge and even like that, my stomach twisted when I looked at him.
“You didn’t have to get hurt.”
I stepped between his knees and dabbed at the gash above his temple with a soaked cotton pad, maybe a little harder than I needed to. He flinched slightly but didn’t stop me.
“Didn’t exactly plan it…” he muttered, the thick rasp of his accent curling around the edges of his voice. “Wasn’t gonna stand there and let the bastard swing at you.”
“Well, now you’ve got a busted face.” I pressed the gauze harder. “So congratulations!”
“Always wanted a shiner.” he said dryly, lips twitching at the corners. “Girls love ‘em, yeah?”
I scowled, glaring down at him. “You think this is funny?”
His smile faded, noticing how serious I was.
“No, I think it’s fucked.”
I slowed, hand hovering for a second before gently dabbing again. This time, more carefully.
“I’m serious, Filip. He could’ve really hurt you.”
“He did hurt me but I’ve had worse.” he responded with a flash of teeth. “And if it meant keeping him off you… Worth it.”
I froze for just a second, heart thudding hard in my chest, fingers tightening slightly on the alcohol pad. I stared down at the gash, at the soft stubble along his jaw to the blood I was wiping off like it was mine to take care of. The silence stretched.
“You didn’t need to protect me.” I said finally, voice lower now. “Not like that.”
He looked up at me, just one eye clearly focused, and it burned through me more than I wanted to admit.
“Yeah, I did.”
Something in the air shifted. I turned back quickly to grab more gauze, something, anything to keep my hands busy. But my pulse was sprinting now, my face was hot and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his body had moved in front of mine like it was instinct to the way he hadn’t even blinked before stepping in.
“You’re stubborn.” I muttered, voice tight.
“You’re worse!” he shot back. “Tryin’ to tell me not to get involved when some arsehole’s about to knock your teeth in...”
I swiped ointment across the gash and tried to ignore the way his breath hitched when my fingers brushed too close to his damp skin.
“You’re lucky he didn’t crack your skull.”
He tilted his head slightly, smirking, even though it pulled at the swelling.
“Skull’s tougher than it looks.”
I met his eyes again and this time, I didn’t look away. Neither did he. The bathroom suddenly felt too small, too full of everything I hadn’t let myself feel all night.
“Idiot.” I whispered, not moving.
His grin faded, but that heat in his eyes didn’t.
“No, just not willin’ to watch someone treat you like trash.”
The words settled into the air like smoke; heavy, lingering and clinging to my skin. My heart thudded so loud I could feel it in my ears, pulsing in time with the silence that stretched out between us. I was still standing between his knees, his breath brushing the fabric of my shirt. Close but not close enough to push past the ache that had been building in me for what felt like months, years… Forever. I stared down at him, chest tight, jaw clenched, my hands still smeared with blood that wasn’t mine but somehow was. His blood. Because of me. He was looking at me like he was holding himself back with both hands and a locked jaw, like he was fighting something bigger than pride or timing. Something deeper, and I hated how much I wanted him to lose that fight.
“You shouldn’t say shit like that…” I sighed, shaking my head, voice tired.
He tilted his head slightly, a lazy flicker of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Why not?”
“Because you say it like it means something.” I whispered, barely able to breathe.
His smirk faded, and his gaze locked with mine, so sharp and so bare that I could hardly stand to look at it. That heat that was always there under the surface was fully alive now, crackling between us like a live wire. His eyes dropped for a second, slow, dragging down my face to my lips, then back up as my whole body tensed under it, like he’d just touched me without laying a hand on me.
“It does mean something.” he responded, softer now. “Don’t pretend you don’t know that.”
God, I did know. I felt it every time our hands brushed over a socket wrench, every time his voice dipped low near my ear when he asked for a part, every time I caught him watching me like I was something he wanted to memorize. I swallowed hard, heart threatening to crack open right there in that bathroom.
“You don’t get to say that. Not when I’m still with him.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked as he took a deep breath, trying to hold something back in before he exhaled, words spilling out from his lips the moment he did.
“You think I don’t hate that?” he rasped, finally breaking. “You think I don’t lie awake at night, knowing he’s next to you? Knowing he’s got what he doesn’t deserve, while I’m out here pretendin’ I don’t want to rip his fuckin’ throat out for touchin’ you?!”
The breath caught in my lungs. I couldn’t move.
“I see how he looks at you.” Chibs went on, voice thick with barely held control. “Like you’re a thing he owns, like he can break you down until you’re too tired to walk away.”
He leaned forward slowly, deliberately, until his face was just inches from mine. I could smell the blood and whiskey and the heat of his skin.
“But I see you, lass. I see you. And you’re not nothing. You’re not small. You’re… fuckin’ brilliant. You shine, even when he’s trying to snuff it out.”
My fingers curled at my sides as my whole body trembled.
“You need to stop.” I breathed, even though I didn’t mean it. “Please.”
His voice dropped to a near-growl, deep and soft like a warning and a confession all at once.
“Tell me to stop lookin’ at you like this, and I will.”
I stopped for a moment, trying to get the words out but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because he was still staring up at me like I was the first calm after a storm he asked for. His hands stayed by his sides, fists clenched like if he let go, they’d end up on me while mine twitched toward him, just a little, like instinct. The silence was a held breath between us, thick with all the words we weren’t allowed to say. Longing was a living thing in that room and it was devouring us both. I forced myself to look down, to focus on what I was supposed to be doing; cleaning the blood, keeping my hands busy and pretending like I could control the way my pulse was thrumming in every inch of me. I dipped another pad in antiseptic and pressed it gently to the cut on his cheekbone, even though my hands were trembling. He didn’t flinch this time, he just watched me, eyes burning into my skin like fire. I grabbed the gauze and tore it open, the sound loud in the thick quiet between us. My breath hitched as I pressed it against his skin, gently taping it down, pretending I didn’t feel the way his thigh brushed my knee, acting like my fingertips weren’t shaking from being this close to him. But then, he spoke, desperate.
“Tell me to stop.”
My hands paused. His voice wavered, like it hurt to say it.
“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t feel it. Tell me to fuck off, and I’ll walk out that door and never bring it up again. I swear to Christ, lass!”
His accent was thick, every word soaked in restraint and hunger and something rawer than I could handle. It felt like it was tearing him open just to ask. I looked at him, really looked this time. His bruised face, his split lip, the blood I’d cleaned and those eyes, pleading with me now. Like he was begging me to rip his heart out, or save it. He didn’t care which as long as I did something to it.. I opened my mouth to lie, to keep pretending. But for the first time, my mouth didn’t obey.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
His breath hitched, sharp and shaky, like a man resurfacing after being held underwater for far too long. A sound caught in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a groan, as his eyes closed for half a second like he needed to feel that moment sink in, as if my words hit somewhere he hadn’t let himself hope existed. Then his hands were on me. One slid around my waist, warm, rough and claiming, the other gripping my hip like he’d been waiting years to touch me. I didn’t move, I couldn’t. My heart was too loud. He pulled me in slow, tugging me closer between his knees until the heat of him pressed against me and I felt every inch of what he’d been holding back. His voice was low when he spoke again, barely there, more breath than sound.
“Say it again.”
I swallowed, my hands still hovering uselessly with the roll of gauze.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
His forehead dropped forward, resting against my stomach for a second, the weight of it all finally catching up to him. His hands tightened on me, possessive and reverent all at once, and I felt something deep in me splinter under the force of it. His lips brushed the fabric of my shirt as he spoke, breath hot and ragged.
“Christ, you don’t know what you do to me…”
And God help me, I wanted to know, every inch of it. His forehead stayed against my stomach, the air between us thick and barely breathable while one of his hands slid from my hip to my lower back, pressing me in just that little bit closer. My hands had fallen to his shoulders, half-forgotten bandages still dangling from my fingers, and I could feel the tension in him, coiled and hot beneath his skin. When he lifted his head, it was slow, as if he didn’t want to miss a second of me. His eyes roamed up my body, dragging heat with them, until they landed on my face again and this time, he didn’t try to hide what was there; want, hunger, need… Underneath all of it, something deeper. Something that made my chest ache just looking at him. His hands moved again, both sliding up to my waist now, fingers digging in like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold me like this but couldn’t stop himself. I could feel the warmth of him through my jeans, the flex of his thighs against mine, the bruised, bloody heat of his breath ghosting just below my lips. He didn’t move fast, he didn’t need to. The space between us was already burning.
“You sure?” he asked, voice rough and low like smoke curling up from something on fire.
“Yeah.” I nodded, breath hitching. “I’m sure.”
His eyes locked on mine for a heartbeat longer, like he needed to feel the truth of it, then he leaned in, so slow it made my stomach twist in anticipation. He kissed me just once, soft and careful, like it was the first time he’d ever kissed anyone in his life. But then he pulled back a breath’s width and looked at me like that wasn’t nearly enough and it wasn’t. The next kiss was deeper, his mouth opening against mine as he tugged me down toward him, hands gripping my hips tighter, like he was finally letting himself feel. My fingers slipped up into his hair, careful of the cuts, but hungry for him all the same. He groaned softly against my lips as I pressed closer, knees brushing the outside of his thighs, the warmth of him pulling me under. His hands slid up my sides, dragging under my shirt just enough to make my breath catch, palms rough and warm against my already burning skin. My hips rocked into his, instinctive, and the way he gasped into my mouth made my knees go weak.
“Fuck.” he murmured, lips barely leaving mine. “I’ve wanted this for so long…”
I kissed him again, deeper, slower, our breaths tangling as I straddled his thighs right there on the closed toilet lid, his hands sliding up to my back like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go. Our bodies pressed flush together now, hot and desperate, like we were trying to make up for every second we’d spent pretending we didn’t want this.
“Filip…”
I breathed his name into his mouth, and something in him snapped just slightly, his hands gripped me tighter, mouth kissing mine with more heat now, more need, tongue sweeping against mine as his fingers slid under the hem of my shirt, gripping bare skin and pulling me impossibly closer. The kiss deepened, stealing breath and thought until there was nothing left but the sound of our panting, the scrape of denim against denim, and the way his hands felt like they’d been made to hold me. He broke the kiss first, just barely, lips brushing against mine as he looked at me, eyes wild and wanting.
“We should stop here.” he murmured, voice ragged and full of fire. “Unless you tell me otherwise.”
I stared at him, from his swollen lip, bruised cheek, the way he was still bleeding just a little from under the bandage I’d pressed on too hard. I ran my fingers over the line of his jaw, heart thudding.
“I’m not ready to stop.”
His mouth curved, slow and dark, eyes gleaming with something raw and real.
“Then I won’t.”
He didn’t wait for another word. His mouth crashed into mine like he’d been starving for it, like the dam had finally broken and everything he’d kept inside was pouring out all at once. His hands gripped my hips hard, dragging me down against him so I could feel every inch of the tension he’d been holding back, every ragged breath and barely restrained groan. I gasped into his mouth as he ground against me, slow but heavy, making it impossible to think. My fingers twisted in his shirt, fisting the fabric tight like it was the only thing keeping me upright, and I rocked down in time with him, chasing that pressure like I couldn’t breathe without it.
“You feel that?” he growled against my lips. “That’s what you do to me, every time you look at me like you don’t even know you’re killin’ me.”
My head tipped back as he kissed down my jaw, rough stubble dragging over my skin in the most delicious way. His lips found the hollow of my throat, slow and warm and open-mouthed, and I whimpered, actually whimpered, when he sucked gently at the skin there like he wanted to leave a mark just for him. One hand slid up under my shirt, spreading wide against my bare back, heat blazing from his palm as he traced the line of my spine with his fingers. The other hand stayed firm on my hip, holding me in place as he rocked me into him, again and again, every movement feeding that slow, desperate burn that had been building for far too long. I felt drunk on him, on the way he touched me like he couldn’t believe he was, on the way he looked at me like he’d dreamed of this and didn’t know if it was real. His lips found mine again, hungry and hot, kissing me deeper now, tongue brushing mine in slow, languid strokes that made my toes curl. I could feel him, hard and wanting through his jeans, and when I shifted just right, the groan that tore from his chest nearly undid me.
“Tell me what you want, love.” he breathed, forehead pressed to mine, breath hot and desperate. “Because I swear to God, I’ll give you everything. Just say the word.”
I looked at him, bruised, panting, flushed, and felt something deep in me crack open, raw and wanting.
“I want you.” The words came out like a confession. “I need you.”
He kissed me again, hard and deep and aching, and it felt like everything I’d ever kept locked away was finally being answered in the heat of his mouth, the grip of his hands, the fire burning between us. But even as his hands roamed and my shirt lifted slowly over my hips, there was a reverence to it, like he wasn’t just undressing me, he was unraveling me piece by piece. He pulled back for half a second, his gaze dropping down the curve of my body as if he was memorizing it, hands trailing after the fabric while he peeled my shirt off and tossed it to the side.
“Jesus Christ.” he whispered, voice hoarse. “You’re beautiful.”
And when his hands came back to me, rough and reverent, it wasn’t just heat that flooded my veins, it was everything. Every moment we’d ignored, every touch we’d denied, every time we’d looked away. Now, we weren’t looking away anymore. His hands returned to my skin like he was learning me by feel alone, palms trailing up my ribs, fingers splaying wide as if he needed to cover every inch. He looked up at me, still seated between my thighs, and his eyes… God, those eyes. Dark and fierce and starving as if he couldn’t believe I was really here, acting like if he blinked, I’d vanish. His hands slid to my back again, pulling me closer so our chests brushed, the friction unbearable in the best way. I felt every shift of muscle beneath his grip, every breath stutter through him as I rocked down again, my thighs bracketing his.
“For fuck sake, lass…” he groaned, his lips brushing against the swell of my chest, “I’ve dreamed about this more times than I care to admit.”
“You could’ve fooled me.” I murmured, breathless.
“I didn’t think I deserved to touch you like this.” His grin was crooked, a little dangerous, but softened by the flush of heat in his cheeks. “Didn’t think I had the right.”
“And now?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.
His fingers dug into my hips, dragging me in again, somehow closer.
“Now I’m past givin’ a damn.”
His mouth was back on me before I could breathe, fevered and hot, his lips trailing from my collarbone to the edge of my bra, tongue teasing just enough to make my fingers knot in his hair. I arched into him, a gasp escaping before I could catch it. The sound made him growl low, the vibration thrumming through my chest as he kissed me again, deeper, slower, like he needed every second of it burned into his skin.
“I could stay here forever…” he sighed against my throat. “You feel like home.”
The words hit something in me so deep it ached and I knew he meant it. This wasn’t just lust or adrenaline, this was years of stolen glances, swallowed feelings, biting down on want and pretending it wasn’t there. But it was, it always had been. I reached down, my hand slipping under his shirt this time, feeling the ripple of muscle and some old scars. He hissed softly at the contact but didn’t stop me, instead, he leaned into it, like the pain meant something if it was from me. Our foreheads touched again, breathing each other in.
“I don’t want to stop.” I whispered, voice trembling as my thumbs swept over the planes of his chest. “But I’m scared.”
He nodded once, his fingers brushing the side of my face, thumb gently tracing my cheekbone.
“So am I.”
Somehow, that made it better. Because this wasn’t something we were rushing into. It wasn’t reckless. It was a slow burn that had finally reached its flame, and we were both standing in the fire, choosing to stay.
“I’ll wait as long as you need. ” he said quickly, looking me straight in the eyes. “But I’m not walkin’ away again, love. Not unless you tell me to.”
I pressed my lips to his, soft this time, just a slow, searing kiss that said all the things I couldn’t speak yet. When I didn’t pull away, when I let my fingers trail down the curve of his ribs and he let out that broken, needy sigh against my mouth, we both knew; there was no going back.
“For now, all I know for sure is that I need you.”
His hands trembled as they moved to the button of his jeans, the soft click of it opening louder than it should’ve been in the quiet heat between us. I didn’t stop him. My breath hitched, but my hands were already working at the hem of my own jeans, fingers brushing his as we fumbled together, too caught in the burn to care.
“Fuckin’ hell…” he muttered, eyes locked on mine like even now, he needed permission.
I gave it without words, just a slow lean in, my lips brushing his again as I rolled my hips down against the hardness pressing up through his jeans. His breath stuttered, one hand gripping my thigh like he was holding back a quake. Every part of me felt alive under his touch while his rough palms smoothed up my sides, one slipping around to cup the back of my neck as he pulled me into another kiss, deeper now, more urgent. It wasn’t gentle anymore. The kiss turned hungry, almost wild, lips colliding like we couldn’t get close enough as I moaned into his mouth, his other hand sliding down, fingers curling into the waistband of my jeans, tugging me closer until I was pressed flush against him. My pulse thundered, there was no space left between us, no hesitation, no shame. Just heat, needy hands, shaky breaths and desperate need. I started to unbutton my jeans, working them down inch by inch as our mouths refused to part. I could feel the heat of his skin where my shirt had ridden up, his fingertips trailing lower, feather-light but burning all the same. He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes glazed, jaw tight. His gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower while his chest rose and fell like he’d just run five miles.
“Tell me if this isn’t what you want.” he insisted, voice hoarse, wrecked. “Tell me now. I swear to God I’ll stop.”
But I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t ever want him to stop. I answered by sliding my jeans down another inch, watching the way his pupils blew wide. He sucked in a breath like I’d knocked the wind out of him, head tilting back slightly as if the sight alone was enough to undo him. I leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“I want this.”
His whole body shuddered under me, that was all he needed. He pushed his jeans lower, finally freeing himself from the tight denim, groaning as the cool air hit him and I was right there, knees bracketing his thighs, the heat between us unbearable. He gripped my hips again, guiding me slowly toward him, his mouth trailing fire down my neck as I rocked forward, both of us chasing that tension, finally giving in. It was slow, fevered. A push and pull of restraint and raw need. And then—
Knock knock.
“Hey, everything okay in he—”
Jax’s voice froze mid-sentence as Chibs and I froze with it. It was like the whole goddamn world screeched to a halt. Jax stood in the doorway, hand still on the knob, eyebrows slowly shooting to his hairline as he took in the sight of me straddling Chibs shirtless, jeans half-down while Chibs sat there, lips kiss-bruised, shirt pulled up, hand still clutching the waistband of his own pants.
“Jesus Christ.! Jax yelped, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the situation. “Well, that answers that.”
“Get out Teller!” Chibs growled, voice rough and tight with tension.
“Hey, I knocked!” Jax raised both hands, still smirking. “I was checking on the bruised-up Scotsman you dragged into the bathroom, not looking to catch a porno.”
My face burned so hot it could’ve lit a match. I reached for my shirt blindly, barely able to breathe through the shock and mortification, while Chibs let out a long, slow sigh through his nose, clearly trying not to explode. Jax started to back out, chuckling under his breath.
“You two can go back to pretending you’re ‘just friends’ later. Clay wants a word when you’re, y’know, done.” He winked, laughing. “Try locking the door next time.”
Then it finally clicked shut.
Dead silence. I stared at the door like it had personally betrayed me. Chibs groaned, head falling back against the wall behind the toilet.
“Fuckin’ hell.”
I let out a breath that turned into a laugh, my forehead falling to his shoulder as my whole body shook with it.
“That was so bad.”
His hand ran down my back, a warm, heavy glide that still held heat despite the absolute disaster that just occurred.
“Still worth it.” he sighed, voice low and honest.
I pulled back to look at him and even with everything, my jeans still half-on, my heart still hammering, I saw it in his eyes. He wasn’t joking, he meant it.
Summary: just a little song fic. It's been ages since I've had any kind of inspiration so it was really nice to get this down. Please enjoy! Based off the song Precious by The Big Push. Please give the song a listen while you read! ❤️❤️
Link to song -> HERE
“What do you mean it's over?”
Your voice is a cracked mess, so many emotions - anger and hurt and sadness - swell through you. You stare at Filip, heart in your throat.
“Exactly what it means, lass,” he answers, and there is a bone deep tiredness in his voice, across his face, “I cannae choose between ye or the club anymore.”
You swallow, your throat already feeling raw and you haven't even cried yet. Your hands fist at your sides, shaking at his answer, at his excuse. Four years of being with Filip Telford, and he throws it all away.
“You're a coward,” you say and take a deep breath, face set impassively. Chibs reaches for you and you take a step back. You couldn't let him touch you, not after this.
“Lass - sweetheart.”
You turn on your heel, away from him, refusing to look. This was on him. You blink back tears, but your voice is thick when you speak again.
“I'll be out by the weekend.”
That had been two years ago, and Chibs had never regretted something more than that in his entire life. He had done it to keep you safe, to keep you away from the shit the club had gotten involved in. Filip had wanted you back the second you had turned your back to him, but he was a stubborn bastard, and had let you walk away instead.
Chibs had buried himself in the club after that, which wasn't hard after he took the president patch, not with all the changes that needed to happen. It took nearly two months for things to settle after Jax had joined the crows the same way his father had, but there was still so much to do.
It took Tig literally kicking him out of the office, for Chibs to finally do something other than drink and reminisce about better times.
“You're killin’ yourself man,” He'd said and physically grabbed Chibs by the back of the kutte, dragging him out of the room, “Go out to that bar you used to like. Heard that they've got a new act.”
Tig had slammed the door in his face and locked it right after, leaving Chibs to frown and curse under his breath before reluctantly getting on his bike and going to the bar he used to take you on the edge of town. It was your favorite because of the atmosphere. Nothing too rowdy, just folks hiding away in booths to drink and enjoy the live music.
It ached to pull up to the building, and it hurt even worse when he walked inside. Nothing much had changed, and Chibs tucked himself into a table near the back, ordering a whiskey when a waiter swung by his seat.
He loses himself for a while then, falling back into memories of your voice, how you'd laugh at his shit jokes until you snorted. The way your lips felt against his brow after a long day dealing with club bullshite. Fuck. Filip missed it. Missed you.
The change in music suddenly grabs his attention, and Chibs glances up and nearly chokes on his whiskey. There, wearing those cute skinny jeans that made your legs look like they went for miles and one of his old flannels, stood the object of his thoughts. His feet perked like he wanted to jump up, to stride across the bar and demand what you were doing here. The other, bigger, part of himself told him that he didn't have that right. He'd lost it two years ago.
The music changes to something melancholy but oddly upbeat, and Chibs locks on to the way you sway to the beat, hips moving with the rhythm, your lips around a cigarette. And then you are singing and Filip is lost to you.
“Today your face became a silhouette,
A blurry pattern in my mind
Unwanted amnesia, they say that things get easier
But I still miss you all the time.”
His heart pounds in his chest, hand clenching so tight around his glass that Chibs is surprised it doesn't crack. God, he had forgotten how lovely you sounded.
“I found no therapy in cigarettes - Chibs watches you take a long drag, smoke floating around you as you breathe out - “And yet I smoke them still.”
“A self-imposed slow death, is all I'm craving since you left
But what I really wanna say.”
Chibs scoots forward, throat working as he stares you down, the way your voice nearly cracks on the next words.
“Precious love don't go away
I need you more than I have the heart to say
I don't know how, or why, but I would die
A broken doll without you
Precious love, don't go away
Don't go away.”
Chibs feels his heart stutter in his chest. Had he truly hurt you that bad that night? He wasn't a fool, well he was, but Filip wasn't fool enough to not know that this wasn’t about him. He takes a deep pull from his glass, guilt and something desperate rising up inside him.
“Give a penny to the celebrant
Eyes are covered by the veil
A wooden box goes down and all we have lies in the ground
And who said love prevails?”
You take a deep drag from your cigarette, a long forlorn sigh escaping from your lungs as you walk the stage slowly, eyes casting over the men and women inside the bar. Chibs watches you, the way your head nods to the best, the way your hips sway to the lead guitarist.
“Precious love don't go away
I need you more than I have the heart to say
I don't know how, or why, but I would die
A broken doll without you
Precious love, don't go away
Don't go away.”
Chibs stands. He couldn't take this anymore, not without doing something, not without letting you know that he still wanted you, needed you more than he needed fucking oxygen to breathe. He lopes forward, boots heavy against the floor and stops, knowing that you would see him there.
Your words stutter on the next line when you turn, eyes going wide when they land on him, and Chibs knows that he has you.
“Today your face became a silhouette
I told myself that I don't mind
But words like that won't help
Cause you can't tell lies to yourself.”
You step to the edge of the stage, voice breathless, husky with emotion, with want.
“Cause I miss you all the time.”
Chibs moves before he can think, stepping around patrons until he stands in front of you. The stage isn't tall, more like a short platform, so it makes it easy for him to reach out and snag your hand with his own. Filip looks at you, fingers tight, voice desperate.
“Come home, sweetheart.”
And you? You grip his hand just as tightly and follow him.
