Half of the room was painted when you and Tig arrived at Jax's house. Abel was coming home soon and since Clay fired all the professionals you volunteered to help out over the weekend, spare him and the prospects the time and money.
Tig didn't necessarily agree, but after your lecture about him needing the practice, he yielded. You're a lot scarier now that you're pregnant yourself.
You had Gemma clear out with a coffee and a kiss on the cheek. She'd been there before Jax got out of the hospital, you could tell because her car was in the driveway more than his Harley.
"So," Tig said, shifting his hands to his hips. "What do you want me to do?" No enthusiasm, just acceptance.
You smiled knowing he wasn't gonna volunteer himself. "Get out."
His faux smile dwindled into a frown. "I don't understand."
You scoffed playfully, snapping a rubber band from your wrist. You gathered your hair up, twisting it into a steady knot and turned to the paint. "I need the room."
With no further explanation, you reached for the brush slushed in blue and started slow strokes against the manila colored wall. He didn't ask you to elaborate again, unsure if this was a test or if you were certain, he backed out tensely, bracing for when you changed your mind.
It didn't come.
Not in thirty minutes, the first time he checked in. Probably unnerved by the lack of command. He lingered around the room. Ranted about the blue, the shade being "breath of fresh air" as if that was a color. Then he left. Not before deciding the almost pastel color complemented the carpet more than the dull tan.
Not fifteen minutes later when he came in asking if you wanted anything from the store.
Not in the next hour when he came in, saw you perched against an unpainted patch, one hand over your stomach, the other holding a white sprinkled donut he bought you, crumbs sprinkling over the mouth of the sprite he bought you.
"Want a massage?" He offered randomly.
You stopped mid-chew, eyes flicking up to him. He leaned against the door frame, dressed like he had dropped by rather than spent his morning tied up with Stevie Nicks and indecisive Jax.
Your back ached a little, but your ankles weren't sore and you still had some buzz from earlier. You shrugged.
"Did I do something wrong?" He asks after a minute.
"Not that I know of."
He nodded back, but his eyes said otherwise. Still, he didn't push, he looked down at your donut and then back at you. He smiled.
You offered one back, letting your hand fall into your lap before you extended your limp wrist. "Help me up?"
"Course'," he muttered under his breath, stepping toward you. He stepped between your legs, cupping your elbows in his palm, he pressed only slightly to steady you as he guided you forward.
You huffed, pushing up against him, your premature bump rubbing up against his shirt. "Need anything from me?" He asks, arm slithering around your back, pulling you closer.
"This," you leaned up, pressing your lips to his. Your kisses were usually warm, sweet, like gentle sparks on skin. This one wasn’t that. It was fire. Heat rolled through your chest as your fingers tangled in his kutte, gripping, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to him. The clash of teeth was eager as you captured his lower lip between yours.
Your body leaned into his, raw and hungry, almost feral. Every motion felt like claiming, a deep, urgent possession that left you dizzy. You growled low, vibrating against him, letting your primal desire slip. With hands locked, lips fused, and breaths tangled, it felt like you were binding yourselves together, lassoing him to you until there was no space left between two bodies.
When you finally drew back, your forehead rested under his chin, chest pressing against him. Your arms circled him tenderly, the fierce grip on his vest loosening as you exhaled. For a moment, you thought about the donut on the counter, and how absurd that felt after what just passed.
At 29 weeks, you hadn’t experienced any weird cravings. No onions and vinegar like your mother once shared, no caramel and pepperoni like your best friend with twins, no chicken nuggets and syrup. You’d refused anything that wasn’t sugar or dairy. But this… this almost primal need to have him close, he was smoking hot, a little kicked puppy vibe, goofy, ambitious, had eclipsed it all.
“Am I weird?” you murmured, head still resting against his chest, voice barely above his heartbeat.
“What makes you say that?” he asked, fingers running up and down your back, rolling the rings along your spine in a soothing rhythm.
“I haven’t had any cravings,” you admitted, letting a small sigh escape. Your thumb brushed absentmindedly against the curve of his ribs, a quiet nod to the heat that had just passed.
“What do you mean?” His gaze flicked down to meet yours, subtle amusement dancing at the corners of his mouth, though his touch stayed gentle.
“I mean pregnancy cravings. The craziest thing I’ve tried to eat was marshmallows and strawberry jelly,” you said, and for a fraction of a second your lips quivered, a shadow of insecurity passing over your features.
“Aw, sugar, I’m happy I don’t have to make you brussel sprouts and honey. You should be too,” he teased, and the corner of his mouth twitched up, a small smile in his eyes as he nudged you lightly with his shoulder.
You let a laugh escape, leaning into him anyway, closing the distance without hesitation. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What do you say I get us out of here? We’ve been here long enough.”
“I have to finish,” you said, glancing back at the almost-done wall.
“You will, just not that,” he offered playfully, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. His gaze softened for a heartbeat, catching yours and holding it.
The key still felt foreign in your hand as you turned it in the lock. Eight days. You'd been working here for eight days, and already the early morning routine felt like something you were playing at rather than actually doing. The click of the lock shuddered in the empty Charming street, making you glance over your shoulder at nothing.
Inside, the shop smelled like cedar and tobacco—rich, expensive scents that you were still getting used to. Mahogany shelves lined with boxes of cigars you couldn't pronounce the names of, each one worth more than your weekly paycheck. A leather chair sat in the corner for customers who wanted to "experience the product," as your boss liked to say.
Everything had its place.
Everything had an order.
You liked order.
It made sense.
It was safe.
You moved through the opening checklist mechanically, the way you'd been shown you on day one. Lights on—the soft amber glow that made the shop look warm and inviting. Computer booted up, though you still fumbled with the password. Cash drawer counted and logged. Display case wiped down until the glass gleamed.
The espresso machine in the corner was your favorite part. Your boss insisted on offering customers coffee—"It enhances the experience," he'd said in that measured way of his. You'd never worked somewhere that had an espresso machine before. Never worked somewhere that felt this... upscale.
The job felt like playing dress-up sometimes, like you were pretending to be someone who belonged in a place like this.
But it paid better than the diner. Better than the grocery store before that. And your boss didn't hover. He was barely here, actually. Some days you worked the entire shift alone, which suited you fine. No one looking over your shoulder. No one criticizing how you arranged the display or telling you to smile more, although your bosses friends where a little intimidating, but that was done of your business.
You were wiping down the counter for the second time—nervous habit—when you saw them.
Three motorcycles pulled up to the curb outside. Big ones, all shinny with chrome and black leather. Your heart did a funny little skip in your chest. You'd seen motorcycles around Charming before—it was that kind of town—but never this close. Never stopping right in front of your shop and frankly the machines where a little freaky, but they sure did look nice, you didn't know why someone would want to ride one especially with the exposure all that metal under you instead of around you.
Three men climbed off the bikes. They wore matching leather vests—kuttes, you thought they were called—with patches you didn't need to make out through the window. The Reaper. The rocker that said "California." The Sons of Anarchy. The motorcycle club everyone in town either worshipped or whispered about.
The one in front was older, silver hair slicked back, with a presence that made him seem bigger than he actually was. He moved like someone who expected the world to get out of his way. The second had scars on his face—aside from those he looked almost Charming, kind.
The third was tall and lean, dark curly hair that looked like he'd just rolled out of bed. He had a feral quality to him, something wild barely contained under the leather. A silver hoop glinted in his ear. When he grinned at something the older man said, it was all teeth and danger.
They were heading for the door.
You dropped the cloth and smoothed your hands over your skirt—a nervous gesture you'd never been able to break. Your palms were sweating. Why were your palms sweating? They were just customers. Just... very intimidating customers in leather who looked like they could break you in half without thinking about it.
The bell above the swayed as they walked in. It looked wrong somehow. Too innocent for what just entered your shop.
"Where's Zobelle?" The older man didn't bother with pleasantries, didn't even look around the shop. His face was pure rage barely kept in check as he stormed toward the counter, closing the distance between you in three long strides.
You barely had time to process before he was right there, in your space, leaning over the counter with his face inches from yours. The smell of leather and motor oil and anger rolled off him in waves.
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "He's—Mr. Zobelle isn't here right now. Can I help you with—"
"Don't give me that corporate bullshit." His fist slammed down on the counter, the vibration making you jump. "Get him on the phone. Now."
Your hand was already reaching for the phone before your brain caught up. Training kicked in—customer wants something, you get it for them. Even if the customer looked like he wanted to burn the whole shop down with you in it.
You dialed Zobelle's cell with shaking fingers. You kept your eyes fixed to the registers blinking display, waiting. Your eyes flicked up to the man in front of you—President, the patch on his vest read. Your stomach dropped before you looked back at the register.
Voicemail.
"He's not answering," you said, hating how uncertain you felt. "I can take a message, or—"
"A message?" Clay's laugh was sharp and humorless. He turned to his companions and then back again. "Christ, she wants to take a message."
The scarred one—shifted his weight. His eyes kept moving between you and Clay, watching carefully.
The wild-looking one with the blue eyes leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed. He was watching the whole thing with an unreadable expression.
"Listen to me very carefully," Clay said. He leaned forward, palms flat on your counter. "Your boss? Zobelle? That scumbag put his hands on my Old Lady. He hurt my wife. So you're going to tell me where he is, or—"
"I don't know." The words tumbled out too fast. "I swear, I don't know. I just work here. I've only been here eight days. I just open the shop and sell cigars and I—he's hardly ever here."
Clay's hand shot out and swept across the counter. Your carefully arranged display of cigar cutters and lighters crashed to the floor with a violence that made you flinch so hard you stumbled backward. Your hip hit the shelf behind you, sending a box of Cohibas tumbling down.
"Eight days," Clay repeated mockingly. He grabbed the edge of the counter like he wanted to rip it out of the floor. "And you expect me to believe you don't know how to get him on here ?"
"I swear!" Your voice cracked. You could feel tears burning behind your eyes and hated yourself for it. Don't cry. Don't cry in front of them. "I answered an ad. I needed a job. He hired me to work the register and open the shop. That's all."
Clay grabbed a box from the shelf beside you—Arturo Fuente, $400 a box—and hurled it across the shop. It hit the opposite wall and exploded in a shower of premium tobacco and wooden shards.
"—Christ!" He was yelling now, grabbing more boxes, more merchandise, throwing them with a force that made the whole shop feel like it was shrinking. "—think I'm playing around? You think this is a game?" A humidor shattered. The leather chair got kicked over. The espresso machine's carafe smashed against the floor in a spray of glass.
"Clay." Chibs spoke now. "Brother. She doesn't know."
But Clay wasn't hearing him.
You were shaking so hard your teeth chattered. Your back was pressed against the shelf, hands gripped white-knuckled on the wood behind you. This was insane. This was actually insane.
What were you supposed to do?
Call the police?
On the Sons of Anarchy? In Charming?
That was a joke.
You'd be lucky if they even showed up.
Clay turned back to you, and there was something cold in his eyes. Something that said he'd done worse than destroy a shop and would do it again. "Useless Gash."
He raised his hand.
You saw it coming like it was happening in slow motion. His arm pulling back, palm open, aimed right at your face. You couldn't move. Couldn't think. Just watched it come and knew it was going to hurt and there was nothing you could do to stop it.
But it never landed.
The wild one—moved fast, faster than someone should be able to move. His hand shot out and caught Clay's wrist mid-swing, fingers wrapping tight enough that you saw Clay's expression flicker with surprise.
"C'mon brother." Tig's voice was rough, with an edge that made the air in the shop feel dangerous in a different way. "We don't hurt women."
For a moment, nobody moved. Clay's arm was still raised, caught in Tig's grip. Chibs had shifted forward, his hand hovering near Clay's shoulder. And you were frozen against the shelf, heart hammering so hard you could hear it in your ears.
Clay's eyes narrowed.
"Look at her, brother." Tig didn't let go. If anything, his grip tightened. "She's terrified."
Something passed between them—some unspoken conversation that you weren't privy to. Chibs met Tig's eyes, gave a small nod. Whatever they were communicating, it seemed to work.
The red mist cleared from Clay's expression. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his hand. Tig released him, stepping back but keeping himself positioned between you and the President.
Clay stepped back, running a hand over his face. When he looked at you again, the rage had banked to something more controlled. Still dangerous, but leashed.
"You're right." He took a breath. Then another. He looked at the destroyed shop, at you pressed against the shelf still shaking. "Jesus Christ."
You couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. Your whole body was still locked up, waiting for the blow that never came. You didn't understand what had just happened. Didn't understand why that wild-looking man had stopped it.
Clay moved closer again—slowly this time, hands visible. Tig tensed but didn't stop him. "Listen to me, Sweetheart. Whatever Zobelle is paying you? It's not worth it. He's dangerous. And the people he associates with?" Clay shook his head. "They're worse. You seem like a nice girl. Smart enough to know when to walk away."
"I..." You swallowed hard. Found your voice. "Uh-huh."
Chibs moved toward the door immediately. Tig followed, but not before glancing back at you one more time. His expression was unreadable—not concerned, not threatening. Just... looking. Then he was out the door behind Clay.
Just like that, the motorcycles were pulling away from the curb and disappearing down the street.
You stood there in the wreckage of Impeccable Smokes for a full minute before your legs gave out. You slid down the shelf until you were sitting on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and scattered cigars and the remains of what had been a pristine shop twenty minutes ago.
Your hands were still shaking. Your whole body was still shaking.
The bell above the door swung again.
You peaked up over the counter, fear spiking through you—but it wasn't the bikers. It was Zobelle. Ethan Zobelle, your boss, standing in the doorway in his perfectly pressed suit, taking in the destruction with cold, calculating eyes.
"What happened here?" His looked calm. Too calm for what he was seeing.
You struggled to your feet, using the shelf for support. "These men—bikers—they came looking for you. They were angry. Something about—about someone's wife? They destroyed everything. I tried to call you but—"
"What did you tell them?" Zobelle stepped carefully over the broken glass, his shoes crunching against the debris.
"Nothing! I don't know anything to tell them. I just—"
"What did they look like?" He was closer now, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made you uncomfortable.
"They wore kuttes. Sons of Anarchy. The president was one of—"
"Clay Morrow." Zobelle's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "And you let them destroy my shop."
The accusation hit you like a slap. "I couldn't stop them! There were three of them and they were—"
"You should have called the police immediately."
"I tried to call you!" Your voice cracked. "You didn't answer!"
Zobelle looked around the shop again, at the thousands of dollars in destroyed merchandise, at the shattered humidor and broken espresso machine. When he looked back at you, his expression was completely neutral.
"I'm afraid this isn't going to work out."
The words took a moment to register. "What?"
"Your employment here. Clearly you're not capable of handling difficult situations. I need someone who can protect my interests." He pulled out his wallet, extracted several bills, and held them out to you. "Two weeks' severance. Consider it generous given the circumstances."
"You're firing me?" You stared at the money like it might bite you. "They were going to—I didn't do anything wrong!"
"You allowed my property to be destroyed."
"What exactly did you expect me to do against three bikers?" The words burst out of you, sharp and desperate.
"I expected you to do your job, perhaps call the authorities. I expected better even with your... limitations." Zobelle set the money on the counter—one of the few surfaces not covered in debris. "Clean out your things. Leave the key on the counter. I'll handle the police report myself."
He turned and walked toward the door, stepping over broken glass like it was nothing more than an inconvenience.
"Mr. Zobelle—"
Then he was gone, leaving you alone in the wreckage with a handful of cash and no job.
You stood there for a long moment, trying to process what had just happened. Trying to understand how your life had gone from normal to nightmare in less than an hour.
Finally, you grabbed your purse from behind the ruined counter and walked out of Impeccable Smokes.
The door locked behind you with a click that vibrated like a beginning rather then an end.
The apartment was exactly what you could afford on a cigar shop salary in Charming—which was to say, not much.
One bedroom, barely big enough for your secondhand bed and the dresser you'd found at a yard sale. A kitchen that was really just a corner of the living room with a stove, a mini fridge, and about three feet of counter space. The bathroom had tiles from the seventies and a shower that only produced lukewarm water on good days. The carpet was worn thin in spots, and there was a permanent water stain on the ceiling that the landlord swore he'd fix "soon."
But it was yours. You'd made it cozy. Thrifted blankets draped over the sagging couch. Plants on the windowsill that you religiously watered. Photos in mismatched frames. String lights that made everything look softer, warmer. Books stacked on the coffee table because you couldn't afford a bookshelf yet.
It wasn't much, but it was home.
You dropped your purse on the couch and sank down beside it, staring at the severance money Zobelle had given you. Two weeks' pay. You counted it twice, even though you knew exactly how much was there. Even though you knew it wasn't enough.
The rent was due in six days. You had utilities. Phone bill. Car insurance. And now no job.
You spread the bills out on the coffee table and started doing math in your head. Rent first—that was non-negotiable. If you lost the apartment, you'd have nowhere to go. Your family wasn't an option. Never had been. Utilities next, because you needed electricity and water. Phone system... you could maybe skip that for a month, but then how would potential employers reach you?
The numbers didn't add up no matter how many times you rearranged them.
You needed a job. Fast.
The next morning, you were up at six, printing resumes at the library because your printer had died three months ago and you hadn't been able to afford a new one. You hit every business on Main Street. The diner—sorry, fully staffed. The hardware store—not hiring. The bookshop—maybe in a few months. The bar—you'd need to waitress, did you have experience? No? Sorry.
By noon, your feet hurt and you'd been told "we'll keep your resume on file" so many times it had lost all meaning.
Day two was more of the same. You expanded your search, driving to businesses on the outskirts of town, places that looked like they might be desperate enough to hire someone with minimal experience. A tire shop—too dangerous for someone like you they said. A trucking company—no openings. A warehouse—same story.
Day three, you started applying to places in the next town over. The commute would eat into whatever you made, but you were getting desperate. You filled out online applications until your eyes crossed. Retail. Food service. Reception. Cleaning. Anything.
Day four, you got one email back. A retail store forty minutes away, folding clothes and working the register. The pay was minimum wage, the hours were terrible, and they'd made it clear during the interview that they were doing you a favor by hiring someone with "limitations." You took it anyway. You were supposed to start training the following Monday.
It wasn't enough—the math still didn't work, not with the commute—but it was something.
Day five, you counted your remaining money three times and tried to figure out how to make it stretch. You'd already been eating ramen and canned soup. Already kept the heat turned down low even though Charming got cold at night. Already drove only when absolutely necessary.
Day six, you needed groceries.
The essentials. The absolute bare minimum. You made a list bread, peanut butter, eggs, milk, the cheapest vegetables you could find. Nothing extra. Nothing fun. Just fuel.
You grabbed a basket instead of a cart—less temptation that way—and moved through the store like you were on a mission. Generic brand bread. The peanut butter that was more oil than peanuts. A half-dozen eggs. The smallest container of milk. Carrots and potatoes because they lasted and filled you up.
At the register, you unloaded your basket and watched the total climb with each swipe of the scanner. Your money was already counted and ready in your hand, bills and coins that represented what you had left until... until whenever the new place actually paid you.
The cashier—an older woman with kind eyes and a name tag that read "Dorothy"—rang up the last item. "That'll be $27.83."
You looked down at the money in your hand. Twenty-seven dollars. Even. You'd counted it twice before leaving the apartment. You'd calculated everything down to the penny based on the prices you'd memorized from previous trips.
But prices had gone up. The bread was thirty cents more. The eggs were fifty cents more.
You were eighty-three cents short.
Heat flooded your face. "I... could you take off the milk?"
Dorothy's expression softened in that way that made you want to sink through the floor. Pity. You hated pity.
She reached for the milk, ready to void it out, when a hand appeared over your shoulder. Bills—more than enough—dropped onto the counter beside your carefully counted money.
You turned and found yourself looking up—at the man from the cigar shop. Tig. The wild one. The one who'd stopped Clay from hitting you.
"Don't worry about it, sweetheart." And he looked amused.
He was wearing the same kutte, same worn jeans, same silver hoop catching the fluorescent lights. His hair was messy like he'd just woken up, and there was a smudge of what looked like motor oil on his arm. He grinned down at you, all teeth and trouble.
"I—no, I can't—" You reached for his money, trying to push it back toward him. "I can put something back, it's fine."
"Already paid for." He nodded toward Dorothy, who was already processing the transaction with a smile that suggested she found this whole thing charming rather than mortifying.
"But I don't—I can't accept—" Your voice came out higher than normal. Strained. You could feel other people in line watching. "Please, I'll just—"
"Relax." Tig's grin didn't fade. "It's a few bucks for groceries, not a marriage proposal. Though if you're interested in that..." He waggled his eyebrows.
You blinked at him. Was he... was he seriously making a joke right now?
Dorothy handed you your bags, clearly enjoying this way too much. "You two have a good day now."
You grabbed the bags with shaking hands and headed for the exit, walking fast, trying to put distance between yourself and the humiliation of not being able to afford twenty-eight dollars in groceries. Trying to put distance between yourself and Tig's charity.
But he followed. Of course he followed. You could see his boots on the pavement out of the corner of your eye.
"Hey, hold up."
You didn't hold up. You kept walking toward your car—the beat-up Honda Civic that was older than you and had a concerning rattle in the engine.
"Sweetheart, seriously, wait." Tig yelled as he skirted in front of you hands held out like he was trying to herd some lost little lamb.
"I don't need your help."
His hands we're still raised in a gesture that probably meant to be placating but just made you more aware of how much bigger he was. "Could've fooled me back there."
"I'll pay you back."
"Didn't ask you to."
"I don't want to owe the Sons of Anarchy anything." The words came out sharper than you intended, but you meant them. You'd seen what Clay did to the cigar shop. You didn't want any part of that world.
Something shifted in Tig's expression. Not anger—you'd braced for anger—but something closer to understanding. "It's not like that."
"Isn't it?" You hugged the bags tighter. "That's how it works, right? You do someone a favor and then—"
"Then nothing." He took a step closer. "I bought you groceries because you looked like you needed groceries. That's it. No strings. No debt. We're good."
You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him. But you'd learned the hard way that nothing in this world was free. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why help me? You don't know me."
Tig shrugged, like the answer was obvious. "You got caught up in club business that wasn't your fault. Seemed like the least I could do."
You bit your lip, trying to figure out if he was being genuine or if this was some kind of game you didn't understand the rules to. "I still want to pay you back."
"Okay. Sure. Pay me back." He said it like he was humoring you. Like he had no intention of actually collecting. "So what happened? Thought Clay told you to walk away from Zobelle, not the other way around."
The question caught you off guard. "I—what?"
"You're broke." He gestured at the grocery bags. "Counting out pennies for eggs and bread. You lose your job?"
"How did you—"
"Not hard to figure out, sweetheart. You were working at that shop eight days ago. Now you're here on a Tuesday morning looking like you haven't slept in a week." His eyes scanned your face, and you became suddenly aware of the dark circles under your eyes, the way you'd pulled your hair into a messy ponytail because you couldn't be bothered with anything more. "So what happened?"
You looked down at the pavement. "He fired me. Zobelle. Said I should have stopped you—stopped the club—from destroying his property. Like I could have—" Your voice cracked and you hated yourself for it. "What the hell was I supposed to do?"
"Jesus Christ." Tig ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more. "Wait, that asshole fired you? After we tore up his shop?"
"He said I should have called the police." You laughed, but it came out bitter. "Like that would have helped."
"Unbelievable." Tig looked genuinely angry on your behalf, which was... strange. "That's—okay, no, we're fixing this."
"There's nothing to fix. I already found another job. I start Monday." You didn't mention that it was forty minutes away and would barely cover your rent. Didn't mention that you'd been living on ramen for five days.
"Doing what?"
"Retail. Folding clothes mostly."
He made a face. "That sounds like hell."
"It's a job."
"It's a shit job." He crossed his arms. "Look, I might be able to get you something better."
Your stomach dropped. "I don't want to work for you guys."
"Jesus, why does everyone say that?" But he was grinning again, like your immediate rejection amused him. "I'm not asking you to launder money, sweetheart. We've got a legit business. Teller-Morrow Automotive. Auto shop. We need someone in the office. Answering phones, filing, that kind of thing. Basic office work."
"I can't answer phones." The words came out deadpan, matter-of-fact.
His face scrunched up, confusion written all over it. "What?"
You'd had this conversation a hundred times.
It never got easier.
"I'm deaf...I read lips." You gestured vaguely at your ears. "I doubt the garage has CapTel. The register at Impeccable Smokes was linked to a CapTel system—it showed me what customers were saying when they called. Most places don't have that."
Tig stared at you for a long moment, and you braced yourself for the usual response. The awkward backtracking. The "oh, well, never mind then."
Or worse, the pity.
But he just shrugged. "So you do the other stuff. Filing, paperwork, invoices. Gemma handles most of the phone calls anyway. She likes being in control." He tilted his head, studying you. "That why you keep looking at people's mouths when they talk?"
Heat flooded your face. You hadn't realized he'd noticed. Most people didn't. "Yeah."
"Huh." He said it like it was interesting rather than problematic. "How long you been...?"
"Born with it." You shifted your grocery bags to your other hand. "It's not—I manage fine. I just can't do calls."
"Okay. So no phones." He pulled out his phone—the irony wasn't lost on you. "Everything else though? You can do that?"
"I—yes? I mean, I haven't done office work specifically, but I can file and do data entry and—"
"Great. Problem solved." He typed something. "Pay's decent. Better than folding clothes for minimum wage, I can promise you that. Boss is a hardass but fair. You'd mostly be dealing with Gemma—She runs the office. She's..." He paused, like he was trying to figure out how to describe her. "She's tough but she's good people."
"I don't know..."
"Tell you what." Tig looked up from his phone. "I'm texting you the address. You don't want the job, don't show up. Want the job, be there tomorrow morning, eight AM. Ask for Gemma. Tell her Tig sent you. Tell her about the phone thing—she'll figure it out." He looked at you expectantly. "What's your number?"
You shouldn't give it to him. You should get in your car and drive away and take the terrible retail job and never see any of these people again.
But you were tired. Tired of counting pennies. Tired of eating ramen. Tired of being scared about making rent. Tired of people looking at you like you were less than because of your ears.
You gave him your number.
He sent the text immediately. Your phone buzzed in your pocket.
"Eight AM," he repeated. "Don't be late. Gemma hates when people are late."
"I haven't said yes yet."
"You will." He said it with absolute confidence, like he could see the future. "Because you're smart enough to know a good opportunity when you see one. And because you're desperate enough that you're counting pennies for groceries."
You wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that you didn't need his help or his job or anything from the Sons of Anarchy. Wanted to tell him that most people ran the other way once they found out about your hearing.
But he wasn't wrong. You were desperate. And he hadn't run. Hadn't even flinched. Just... adjusted. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.
"I'll think about it," you said finally.
"You do that, doll." He started backing toward his bike—a massive black and chrome thing that looked like it could eat your Honda for breakfast. "And hey—eat something that's not ramen, yeah? You look like you're about to fall over."
"How did you—"
But he was already on his bike, kicking it to life in a way that made several people in the parking lot turn and look. He threw you a salute—casual, almost mocking—and then he was gone, peeling out of the parking lot with the kind of reckless speed that should have been illegal.
You stood there holding your groceries, watching him disappear down Main Street. Thinking about how he'd noticed you reading lips. How he'd just... moved on. Found a solution. Didn't make it weird.
Your phone buzzed. A text from the same number.
Seriously. Show up tomorrow. You won't regret it.
Then another one.
Unless Gemma doesn't like you. Then you might regret it a little. But she'll like you. Probably.
You looked down at your groceries. At the bread and eggs and vegetables that you hadn't been able to afford on your own. At the evidence of just how far you'd fallen in less than a week.
You thought about the retail job. The forty-minute commute. The minimum wage. The manager who'd made you repeat yourself three times during the video interview and then talked about your "limitations."
You thought about your rent due in two days and the utilities you couldn't pay and the phone bill you'd been planning to skip.
You thought about Tig's hand catching Clay's wrist. "We don't hurt women."
You got in your car, drove home, and stared at the address he'd sent you for the rest of the night.
At seven-thirty the next morning, you put on your nicest blouse and your only pair of dress pants that didn't have a stain and drove to Teller-Morrow Automotive.
Because Tig was right. You were smart enough to recognize an opportunity. And desperate enough to take it, even if it scared you.
Even if it meant walking into the Sons of Anarchy's world and hoping you'd find a way back out.
The Trio of Trouble - Chibs, Tig, Happy x female reader (platonic)
Word Count: 2,600
Summary: The unbearable summer heat wave in Charming leads to the guys spending the day with you, what could possibly go wrong?
Warnings: strong sexual references (no smut), cursing, alcohol, Tig being a menace to society
(I know it’s basically October but I live in California and it’s hot as hell bruh, humor me please.)
Mini Series Companion: New Club Member
You deeply regret having given copies of your house keys to Tig, Chibs, and Happy.
“For emergencies”, they had said.
Yeah, and apparently empty stomachs were considered emergencies for them. You had thought you were going insane when things started getting misplaced or you would spot things that weren’t there when you had left earlier in the day.
You compile a long list of groceries and are out the door in a matter of minutes. You really didn’t want to leave the house at all today. Charming is going through a terrible heat wave, and even five minutes outside in the shade leaves you slick with sweat.
The cashier at the grocery store gives you a curious look at the huge amount of groceries you had gotten, making you cringe on the inside.
In your mind, you think of how to ask the club for a check to make up for the apparent expenses that come with being a friend of theirs.
You leave the store and struggle to load all of the heavy bags into your car. Finally, you’re on your way back home. Pulling into your driveway, you curse as you see the guys sitting on your porch, drinking beers.
Damn it all to hell.
You turn off your car and step out, Tig immediately walking over and greeting you. The sight of him and the feeling of the immense heat quickly puts you in a bad mood for whatever shenanigans you’re sure they’re going to pull.
Especially Tig. He's a real charity case.
“Hey, doll. Where you been? We missed you.” he kisses your cheek.
“How long have you been out here?” you question.
His heavy arm around your shoulders makes you pull away quickly from the excess body heat he radiates.
“About half an hour. It’s hot as hell. But we wanted to wait out here for you instead of barging in.”
Something inside of you snaps.
You frown, “You eat me out of house and home, but asking me first to go inside to cool off is where you draw the line?”
“Woah, woah! That’s Tiggy’s business!” Chibs yells out in defense from his seat on the stairs.
“I’ve never come over if you’re not here.” Happy says, shrugging.
Tig glances nervously down at you, shrugging his shoulders and sipping his beer.
“What? Your cooking is fucking incredible, doll.” he grins.
“I’m not your mother! I have to feed myself too, you know! I had to go grocery shopping again because of you! And the last thing I want is to be out here instead of laying on my couch!” you snap.
He tuts at you, hugging you into his side.
“Awe, sorry doll. We’ll help you out with that.” he drawls.
You sigh heavily as he releases you and walks over to your car and starts carrying bags. You walk to your door, ignoring Chibs and Happy. You open it and immediately turn on the air conditioning, sighing in relief.
Before you know it, they have brought in all of your groceries and even offered to put them away. Well, probably just hidden them. You expect to find misplaced groceries later on.
They situate themselves on your couch, making you narrow your eyes at them.
“None of you work today?” you suddenly think to ask.
“Hell no.” Happy says.
“The guys got it covered.” Tig grumbles.
“And why aren’t you at the clubhouse?” you ask suspiciously.
There's a moment of silence that confirms your suspicions.
“AC broke. Isn’t getting fixed until tomorrow. Clubhouse is a fucking oven right now. My balls are not having fun.” Tig shakes his head of curls.
He gestures to his crotch for, in your opinion, unnecessary and unwanted emphasis.
“And the next best place was here. You knew I’d let you in.” you conclude, rolling your eyes at them and crossing your arms.
“Somethin’ like that. Thank ye in advance, love.” Chibs grins, winking.
You palm your face, walking back into the kitchen.
“I got these for you. Was planning on going to the clubhouse later, but I guess the clubhouse came to me instead. You're already done with the twelve pack you brought?"
You grab the six pack of beers you just bought for them and place on the coffee table. Tig reaches out and you slap his hand, making him frown up at you.
“You’ve been the little freeloader all this time and you expect me to cater to you still?” you ask.
He looks genuinely offended and on the verge of tears.
“But doll, come on-“
You point your finger at him.
“You’re like a little rat coming and eating everything.”
Chibs and Happy chuckle, clinking their bottles together. Tig glares at them.
“Too bad they don’t sell Tig traps.” Happy says.
“At least wash your dishes after, jesus.” you mumble, walking away.
You begin sorting ingredients from the fridge to start dinner. Suddenly, you hear loud banging noises before the guys start protesting. You walk back into the living room to see Tig kneeled in front of the AC, slamming it with his palm.
“Please, no! Please!” he yells out.
The AC makes noise one final time before going clicking silent.
“Oh for fucks sake.” you grumble.
“I’m going to die! I’m going to die of a heat stroke! My balls are going to explode!”
Tig sinks down against the wall, landing on the floor with a loud thud.
“I don’t know what’s worse, the heat or being stuck with Tig.” you muse.
“Oh, I know what’s worse.” Chibs grumbles, drinking his beer.
“Yeah, the heat doesn’t talk.” Happy says.
After only ten minutes of them inspecting the AC, the heat inside of the house is unbearable.
“Okay guys, they do say that distracting yourself from the heat is best. I mean, it isn’t the heat that’s the worst part, in reality. It’s the time. We just have to keep ourselves distracted for enough time until it cools down when the sun sets.”
They all look at you in silence with curious eyes.
“What? Do any of you have a better idea?” you question.
They look amongst themselves, shrugging.
“So what now?” Tig asks.
“Um, oh I have cards? Do you guys know any card games?”
You start to walk down the hall.
“Did she just ask if we know card games?” Happy asks, frowning.
“Yeah.” Chibs grumbles.
“Do you even know us?” Tig asks in disgust.
In a few moments, you’re all outside sitting in the shade with the cards laid out.
“Okay, I literally don’t know how to play anything, so you’re going to have to teach me.” you warn.
“Don’t worry doll, you’re in good hands. I’ve been told I’m a great visual teacher.”
He wiggles his eyebrows at you, his hands expertly shuffling the stack.
“And that’s why ye aren’t allowed near schools, Tiggy.” Chibs says.
You all laugh except for Tig, who just mumbles and motions for you to start in annoyance. After what seems like eternity, you have played different games and learned a lot. Both about the games and the guys as well, who have shown their competitive sides for the first time to you.
“Yer lucky we aren’t bettin’ Tiggy, I would have kicked yer arse so bad I would own ye.” Chibs gloats.
“Yeah yeah, keep laughing. Why don’t you really play now?” Tig taunts.
“We all know how delicate yer ego is, Tiggy.” Chibs reminds him.
“Yeah, a girl kicked your ass and you couldn’t stop whining on that trip.” Happy teases.
“She had a good right hook, man!”
Tig frowns and leans back, glaring at Happy.
“Whatever, that happened so long ago.” he mumbles, waving his hand around.
“It wasn’t that long ago, and you made that trip miserable. Were you mad because she was a girl or because she didn’t end up having sex with you?” you ask innocently.
He glares at you, “You’re all assholes.”
“How long did you have that scar on your head again?” you ask nonchalantly.
“Fuck you, man.” he snaps.
You all laugh, your fingers running over your cards.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Suddenly, Tig perks up.
“Do you hear that?” he asks.
“What? Is she coming back for you?” you tease.
“No! I think it’s an ice cream truck.” he snaps.
Suddenly, you all hear it clearly. You all bounce up from your seats and spot the ice cream truck barreling by the house, going at a quick speed.
“Hey, asshole!” Tig yells, starting to run.
The rest of you don’t hesitate, running after him as well. The summer sun beats down on you as you run, your breaths feeling heavy from the stifling hot air. You start laughing, turning back to look at Chibs and Happy behind you, who are laughing as well. You turn and see Tig barely reaching the truck, slamming his hands on the side. It slows to a stop, and all of you stop as well. You’re all out of breath, bending over and wheezing.
“I’m too old for this shite.” Chibs mumbles.
Happy is the only one who looks relatively okay. Tig on the other hand, is breathing heavily against the truck and has his face leaning against his arms.
Once you all recuperate, you order and walk back to the house. Tig is moaning dramatically as he licks his cone, frowning over at you as you stare at him.
“What?” he mumbles.
His confused look turns to a smirk.
“Like what you see, doll? There’s more where these skills came from, you know.” he grins.
“Alex! Get your mind out of the gutter!” you reprimand.
You shove his arm, making him stumble to the side.
“I think it’s physically impossible for him.” Happy says.
“Yeah, Tiggy’s too fucked in the head. Lost cause, love.” Chibs agrees.
“Hey! You say that like I’m some creep!” Tig argues.
“You are!” you all respond in unison.
He grumbles, walking away quickly from all of you. Eventually, you all sit on your porch and eat your ice cream in silence.
“Reminds me of when I was a wee one.” says Chibs.
“Yeah, running after the ice cream truck.” you say.
“Yeah, the other kids and me would run after it and throw rocks. Then the biggest kid would open the back door and get in and kick the shit out of the guy. Used to hide the ice cream we jacked in my folks' fridge in the garage. Never got caught.” Tig smiles, a distant but content look in his eyes.
The rest of you look at Tig with a frown. He breaks out of his trance and his eyes slowly glance over all of you.
“What?” he asks.
“What is wrong with you?” Happy asks.
“What? I was a kid, you know, doing kid shit.” Tig defends.
“I don’t think that’s normal kid shit, you psychopath.” you say.
“Well, that was normal for me.”
“So what wasn’t normal?” you ask, fearing his response.
“I don’t know, hugs?”
“That explains a lot.” you say, making Chibs and Happy nod.
A few minutes pass in the heat before Tig breaks it.
“This is stupid. The sun isn’t even going down soon. I’m bored and hot.” Tig complains.
“I don’t even know how you guys are still in jeans.” you wonder.
“You still have that old inflatable pool?” Happy asks.
“The one from last year? Yeah. Why?”
“I can go get some ice and we can fill it up.” he suggests.
“Fuck yes! I’m dying!” Tig whines.
Happy rolls his eyes and you nod your acceptance to his proposal.
“Chibs, I’ll go with him. You can get the pool out. It's in the garage. Tig, you-”
You look at his slumped form on the seat. With his wild curls all around him and his wide eyes looking up at you, you suddenly see how he manages to draw in so many unsuspecting women. But having known him for so long, you know better than to let those curls and blue eyes fool you.
“Just stay here, drama king.” you grumble.
Happy and you go to the nearest liquor store, finding the ice you need. You pay and go back home, both of you carrying the ice to the backyard over your shoulders. You stop in your tracks when you see Chibs and Tig stripped down to their underwear.
“What? I’m not getting my clothes wet! You want me naked instead?” Tig asks.
“Please no! Anything but that!” you plead.
You fill the pool up with water and Happy dumps the ice in. You go inside and change into swim shorts and a bikini top, joining them once you're done.
One by one, the guys all climb in and end up laying side by side in the pool. Somehow, they all squish together and end up fitting. Although they look a little uncomfortable, you notice they are tolerating the mild discomfort for the cold relief.
“Come on, love. Are ye just goin' to stand there?” Chibs asks.
“Don't rush me."
“Come on, doll. We’re all family here.” Tig says.
“Yeah, I’m sure you have a fantasy or two about that.” you grumble uneasily.
“You’re lucky you’re not my stepsister then.” Tig laughs.
Happy and Chibs glare at him, silencing him.
“Come on, love.” Chibs encourages.
“Alright.” you concede.
You stand by the pool and start to lean down, hissing and shivering as the cold water hits your skin.
“Better?” Chibs asks.
“Very.” you sigh.
They start drinking beer and trying their best to make you feel comfortable. After a while, you feel Tig’s eyes on you.
“What?” you snap, looking at him.
“Nothing. I can’t look?”
“Not right now, no.”
After a few moments, Tig starts laughing. You sigh in annoyance.
“What now?” you grumble.
“We’re all in the pool together.” he chuckles.
All three of you look at him like he’s grown a second head.
“And?” you snap.
“And we’re in our underwear. Which means our balls are all in the same water.” Tig giggles.
Happy and Chibs yell out, shoving Tig roughly. Your body gets jostled slightly.
“Please don’t remind me of that right now. I’m totally taking a shower after this.” you groan.
“I just realized that I could literally make my dick into a popsicle right now.” Tig says.
“Can you please stop talking about your penis?” you yell out.
“Tiggy, I don’t want to hear about ye getting a hard on when I’m right next to ye.” Chibs groans.
Eventually, the sun starts to set, but none of you make an effort to stand.
“I had fun today. Surprisingly.” you mumble, looking up at the pink and orange sky.
A fresh breeze hits you, making you shiver and sigh in content.
“This is the weirdest pool party I’ve ever been to.” Happy says.
You smile.
“I had fun, too. But I think I-“
“Shut up.” Happy glares at Tig, silencing him.
“I dunno about ye, but I could go for a barbecue right about now.” Chibs groans.
“Sounds good. Hot dogs and burgers.” you agree.
You all stare up at the sky in comfortable silence.
“Well, I’ve got your hot dog right here.” Tig says.
You all yell out in protest before standing up and leaving the pool, leaving Tig alone and apologizing. This is only the beginning of summer, and you are scared to see what the future brings.
Super self-indulgent fic comin' at ya live! No use of Y/N :) WARNING explicit smut lies ahead (loss of virginity, blow jobs, fingering, p in v) MDNI!!!
The clubhouse was hazy and loud as the party thrived. Cheers from the ring echoed through the garage. Chibs and Tig were both standing outside smoking, each one with a Crow Eater hanging off them. They were watching a new group stroll into the clubhouse, one particular woman catching their eye.
You.
It was your first SAMCRO party, your friends having been to multiple before. They'd asked you to go before, and you hadn't been against it, but you'd been busy. This was the first time you were free, so of course you had accepted their offer to go.
You'd needed help getting ready. One friend raided your closet while the other helped you with your hair and a little bit of make up. They'd found your shortest, skimpiest dress, something you'd normally wear with tights or something, but they insisted you skip that. You had a pair of boots that went with the dress well enough, and you couldn't help but blush at your reflection in your standing mirror when you'd seen yourself. You were a bigger girl, chubbier more than just curvier. Dressing like this would normally make you uncomfortable, but the way your friends were hyping you up had you grinning and ready to go.
And when you stepped into the clubhouse, you felt a little uncomfortable. You still wore more than most of the women around you, but you didn't have their figures. But you were being ushered toward the bar before you could think too long or hard about it. With a drink in your hand, you sipped and looked out over the sea of people.
A girl was straight up being eaten out on a table not far from you, and you could feel the redness in your cheeks and the wideness of your eyes as you forced yourself to look away. You went to say something about it to one of your friends just to find that they had both disappeared. Of course they had. They'd been here enough times, they knew what, and who, they wanted. You actually spotted one of them making out with a guy that had PROSPECT across the back of his leather vest.
Chibs and Tig had seen you, seen your reaction to the girl on the table, and they both thought it was adorable. They knew this was your first time here, there was no way they wouldn't remember a woman like you. They watched as you slid through the crowd, trying to find a place to exist, until you simply leaned against the door that led to their meeting room.
It was Tig that approached you as Chibs secured both a bottle of whiskey and a table. The man with striking blue eyes and wild, curly hair placed a palm by your head, leaning against the door. He didn't cage you in, but he made his presence known, that was for sure.
“Hey, doll. Lookin’ a little lost over here.” You gave him a sheepish smile, laughing softly as you shrugged.
“I mean, I don't know about lost…” You took a sip from your drink, looking up at him. He was older, but so incredibly handsome. “My friends know how to party, but me? Not so much.”
“Then let me introduce you to my friend, and we can teach you.” He smirked, not waiting for an answer before he had draped an arm over your shoulder and was guiding you to where the Scotsman had chosen a corner. He guided you to sit in the chair between the two men. “Chibs, this is…wow, I'm sorry darlin’, I never asked your name.”
“Oh! That's okay!” You smiled sweetly, giving both men your name. You looked over the one called Chibs, who was also older and incredibly handsome. Maybe handsome was a club requirement?
“Beautiful name, doll. I'm Tig.” He scooted his chair a bit closer to yours. He poured himself a glass of the amber liquid, sipping from his glass. “Chibs, I told her we'd teach her how to party.”
“Aye?” Chibs looked you over, licking his lips as he brought his glass up. “Ye never been ta a par’y before, lass?”
“Not one like this!” You giggled a little, drinking from your own glass. Your eyes wandered out where there was no longer a woman on a table, but instead a man on a couch getting head. You blushed deeply, drinking again. “Definitely not one like this.”
“Hey, now, don't let that stuff scare ya off.” Tig pat your shoulder, a smirk on his handsome face. “There are plenty of ways to party.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! Of course! Like right now…” He gestured between the three of you, then reached for the bottle of whiskey, taking a swig directly from the bottle. He held it out to you.
“Oh, I dunno…that's a little strong for me…” You laughed nervously, but still found yourself reaching for the bottle.
“Go on, lass. Ye can do i’.” The small encouragement from Chibs had you taking a swig from the bottle. But that had you sputtering and coughing just moments later, your cheeks hot with embarrassment. Chibs pat you on the back laughing as he took the bottle from you. “Atta girl!”
“See? You're gettin’ the hang of partyin’ already!” Tig smirked, leaning back in his chair. You smiled, knowing they were just being nice.
“I appreciate that, but you guys should be having fun!” You scoot your chair back a little, giving yourself room to stand. But before you can, your chair is being pulled toward Chibs.
“We are havin’ fun. Righ', Tiggy?” You looked at him, eyes wide, and then immediately had your attention stolen by the other man moving his chair even closer to yours. They had you trapped between them.
“‘Course I'm havin’ fun. I got a pretty lady beside me and a bottle of whiskey in front of me, what more could I want?” His blue eyes were really something you could get lost in. Your skin was warm, both from the compliment and from the heat radiating off both bikers.
You were nervous, and did the only thing you could think to do. You grabbed the bottle and took another swig, not missing the way both men were grinning at you. They both turned their bodies to face you, officially caging you in with Chibs’ arm on the back of your chair and Tig's hand on your leg.
“That's it, baby, loosen up.” The curly haired man purred, leaning in closer. Being called “baby” had you flushed, and you knew they both saw it. “Drink up, babygirl. As much as you want.”
You did drink more, becoming used to the burn of the amber liquid coating your throat. This time, Chibs took it from you when you were done, taking a drink. He handed it to Tig, who never moved his one hand from your leg, other than creeping it a little further up your thigh. Your skin burned under his touch in a very delicious way. There was an energy charging around you, and you wondered if they felt it too.
“Hey! I've been looking for you!” One of your friends appeared in front of you, giggling and grinning. You felt Tig's hand flexing against your thigh, and you wondered what he was thinking. “Come dance with us!” She reached out for your hand, waiting for you to take it.
“Go on, lass.” The Scot leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “Give us a show.”
You looked at him, eyebrows raised and lips pursed, skin flushed. Tig must've heard him, or had the same thought, because he was taking his hand off of you, giving you room to get up from your chair. You swallowed hard, taking your friend's hand and letting her guide you out.
Your other friend was dancing already, grinning when she saw you. You weren't known for dancing, but you…you wanted to put on a show. So, you swayed your hips with the music, your hand carding through your hair while the other slowly traced your body. And the three of you danced for a full song before a man joined. He was cute enough, young, not really your type, but he was focused on your friend. Maybe that was the prospect that had his tongue down her throat earlier, his hands currently on her hips as she danced against him. Another young guy showed up, and another, one mimicking the other duo with your other friend. But before the third guy could touch you, you heard a sharp whistle. Hands did land on your hips, but the grip wasn't cautious or gentle. It was possessive, familiar. Before you could turn and see who it was that was keeping your hips moving, another body was pressing against your front, a rough hand lifting your chin.
“Nice show, pre'y girl.” Chibs smirked down at you, one of his hands on your waist, above the one on your hip. He was cradling your jaw so you couldn't turn your head, but you'd bet anything that it was Tig behind you.
“You really got the moves, baby doll.” Yep, there was Tig, his breath tickling the skin of your neck.
“Ya think so?” You felt breathless, looking up at Chibs from beneath your eyelashes.
“Christ.” You heard him curse, even though he sighed it out. His grip on your jaw tightened just slightly. “Playin’ a dangerous game, little girl.”
“Am I?” You bit your lip, batting your eyelashes at him. Maybe you did know what you were doing, but you never got to do this! You never got to tease and flirt and have someone reciprocate it. You heard Tig chuckle, and this time he ghosted his lips along your skin.
Chibs didn't fall for your teasing, or so you thought. He didn't say anything, instead surging forward and claiming your lips. The kiss was hot, slow but deep. Your hands gripped his vest as you took in the way he tasted of whiskey and cigarettes. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, using the grip on your jaw to angle your head just how he wanted. You felt Tig's hand grip you tighter, and he crowded closer to you.
“C'mon, brother, share.” He whined, and Chibs pulled back from you. Your eyes were wide, looking dazed, as he smirked down at you.
Before you knew it, you were being turned around, your back now against Chibs’ chest. You barely had time to register the change before Tig was kissing you now, one of his hands tangled in your hair. You gasped into his mouth when his teeth nipped your lower lip. He tasted the same as Chibs, but this kiss wasn't slow and deep, it was rough and needy. It only went on a little longer before you heard your name being called. Tig pulled back, looking pissed as hell at being interrupted.
“We should, uh, really get going.” One of your friends was blushing furiously seeing you sandwiched between the two older men, while the other was smirking and giggling.
“It's still so early.” Tig countered, not taking a step back from you.
“We have to work tomorrow.” You didn't, though. You could stay later…but they were your ride home…
“They're my ride.” You smiled apologetically at Tig, attempting to slide out from between the men that had you caged between them. It didn't work.
“Stay. We can get ya a ride home.” Tig had such a charming look on his face, and the way Chibs was gently massaging your hips had your mind turning to mush.
“I…I guess…” You bit your lip, looking to your friends. Now they were both smirking at you. This wasn't something they expected, and neither had you. “I'll call you guys tomorrow?”
“Okay! Have fun!” One of them sent you a wink, the other giggling and waving at you as they retreated.
“Now, where were we?” Tig grinned wolfishly before claiming your lips again.
You pressed back into Chibs, feeling the other man's lips kissing along your neck and shoulder. You could only handle so much more before you needed air. You broke the kiss, panting for air while both men were now kissing each side of your neck. It had you squirming between them.
“Chibs! Tig!” Mewled their names, earning groans in returning. Someone nipped your skin, but at this point you weren't sure who it was.
“Yo, Chibs, Tig!” A young guy bounced up, interrupting the men. “Jax is lookin’ for ya both.”
“Fuck.” Tig sighed, and both men stepped back from you. They shared a look between them before Chibs was guiding you back to the table you'd previously been at. He pushed your shoulders, having you sit down.
“Stay here, lass. We'll be righ’ back.” He breathed in your ear.
“Yes, sir.” You said it just loud enough for him to hear, and you couldn't help but smirk at the way his hands gripped your shoulders. He didn't say anything before slipping away from you.
They were gone for a while, and you were growing bored. You'd not been approached by anyone, though you thought one guy was going to come over before another stopped him. You wondered what that was about. You'd initially drank a little more of the whiskey, but didn't want to be too out of it by the time they returned, so you'd stopped.
Checking the clock, it had been thirty minutes since they disappeared. You were getting ready to call it, maybe call a cab to get home, but you saw them hurrying back in. Their faces were scrunched, looking irritated, but the second they saw you there, they relaxed.
“You stayed.” Tig sounded relieved, standing beside you. Chibs stood behind you, his hands on your shoulders again.
“Yeah, you asked me to.” Tig cradled your jaw, tipping your head up to look at only him.
“Actually, we told ye to.” Chibs leaned in, also watching the other man.
“Good girl for us, eh, Chibs?” Tig smirked at you, his thumb tracing your lower lip before dipping into your mouth. You sucked on the digit, knowing it would drive him crazy. And it did. “Fuck.”
“Tha's a good girl.” Chibs rumbled, huffing a small laugh. Tig pulled his thumb from your mouth, eyes wild as they looked you over.
“You ever been with two guys before?” You tried to shake your head but his hand kept you still. “Use your words, baby.”
“No.” There was a spark of something mischievous in his eye.
“E’er been wit one?” Your face erupted in a blush.
“Um…”
“Don't lie, babygirl.” You swallowed hard.
“No, I haven't.” You blush deeper, worrying your lip with your teeth. Would they still want you? Would they ditch you for a girl with more experience?
“Christ.” Chibs’ hands slid from your shoulders to your upper arms and back again, soothingly. Tig's grip was tight on your jaw.
“You want us, baby? Words.” His eyes bore into your own.
“Yes.” He grinned wolfishly.
“Good. C'mon.” Both men released you, but soon were both ushering you out of your seat and towards a back hallway. You didn't have time to ask where you were going before they ushered you into a bedroom.
Hands were everywhere. Your dress had been unzipped and dropped to the floor before you could even blink, and rough hands were cupping and squeezing your breasts. Another hand dipped beneath your panties, earning a gasp from you as fingers rubbed lightly over your clit. Mouths were on your neck, on your chest, sucking on your soft, delicate skin. You were clinging to anything you could grab hold of, one hand tangled in Tig's hair as he sucked your nipple into his mouth, the other hand holding onto Chibs’ forearm as he circled your clit over and over. You whined, eyes nearly closed in pleasure as they both felt you up.
“That's it, baby. Be loud for us.” Tig released your breast with an audible pop, grinning at you wildly. “How d'you wanna do this?”
“I…I don't know.” You felt nervous, and were starting to feel a little self conscious being naked, save for your panties, in front of the two attractive men. Chibs pulled his hand from your panties, not hesitating to push his fingers into Tig's mouth. You watched, jaw dropped and eyes wide, as the man sucked your slick off his fingers. Once they were out of his mouth, he nodded his head definitively.
“I know what we're doing. You, baby doll, get on the bed and spread those perfect legs for me.” He licked his lips, looking like a predator. You did as he said, laying on your back and spreading your legs. Your skin was flushed, and you covered your breasts with your hands.
“Don’ go gettin’ shy on us now, swee’ thing.” The Scot tutted, pulling your hands away and pressing them into the bed on either side of your head for a moment. It was a silent command: keep your hands here. You didn't have time to think about it, immediately distracted by Tig pulling your last article of clothing from you and flinging them somewhere into the room. “E'er sucked cock b'fore?”
“O-once.” Your hips jolted as you felt Tig's breath fanning across your pussy. Your hands struggled to stay where they were.
“Be a good girl and take care of Chibs while I take a taste.” He had barely finished talking before Tig was licking a long stripe up your slit, flicking your clit with his tongue. You whined, back arching, eyes watching Chibs let his jeans and briefs gather around his thighs. His cock was hard, leaking just slightly, veiny, and bigger than the one you'd come in contact with before. It made you nervous but also excited.
“Sit up, on your elbows.” You immediately obeyed, leaning on your elbows so your upper body was elevated. He kneeled on the bed, stroking himself next to your face. “Good girl. Open up.”
You opened your mouth for him, and he slid just the tip in and rested it on your tongue. He watched you, expectantly, and you closed your lips around him. You swirled your tongue around him, lightly tonguing the slit before sucking on the head harshly. The older man groaned, tipping his head back and threading his fingers through your hair. You bobbed your head slightly, taking a little more of him into your mouth. Just as you did that, Tig slid his tongue into you, starting to tongue fuck your pussy. You moaned hotly, almost pulling off of Chibs if his hand hadn't kept you in place.
“Feel's good, eh, lass? Don’ le’ him distract ye too much. You've go’ a job ta do.” His words were dominating, but he had an amused and playful smirk on his face.
Tig chuckled, sending vibrations through you, and you whined around the cock in your mouth. But you sucked on it, licking anything you could, bobbing your head so you took more and more of him into your mouth. You felt one finger pressed into you, Tig's tongue lapping at your clit as he thrust the digit in and out of you. Just as you grew accustomed to the one, a second finger was pressing into you, scissoring you open. You whimpered around Chibs, looking up at him as you attempted to take even more of him into your mouth. You heard him curse under his breath, and he thrust his hips forward. You gagged around him as the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, but he didn't pull you off. Tears filled your eyes but you tried to suppress gagging again, even as he fucked your mouth. A third finger entered you, stretching you wide, and your body clenched around the intrusion. Tig groaned against you, sucking harshly at your clit. Your eyes screwed shut, tears spilling, as you felt your orgasm slamming into you. Chibs pulled you off his cock, just in time for you to let out one of the most pornographic moans they'd ever heard as you creamed around Tig's fingers.
“Ooo now that's a good girl.” Tig grinned up at you, pulling his fingers out and licking them clean. You could barely catch your breath, chest heaving. Your pussy was still tingling, from the orgasm but also from the way his mustache and beard had tickled your sensitive flesh so deliciously.
“Go’ a pre'y good mouth on her, too.” Chibs grinned, teasing you as he ran his hand through your hair.
“Can't fucking wait to fuck this pussy.” Tig grinned, slapping his hand directly onto your pussy, making you yelp and clamp your legs shut. Fuck, that shouldn't have felt as good as it did.
“Who said you ge’ firs’ go?” Chibs’ eyebrow quirked, and Tig frowned a little.
“Well, I'd say we could both go first but-”
“We can’ break her on her firs’ try.” He rolled his eyes, but the thought of both of them stuffing your virgin pussy clearly made his cock twitch.
“I know, I know. That's for another time.” He sent you a wink, just now acting like they weren't talking about you like you weren't there. “Whaddya think, baby? How d'you want to lose your virginity?”
“What, um, what are my options?” You felt silly asking, but you were inexperienced with this. You'd watched porn with two men and a woman before, but they were so experienced and you were so…not.
“Well, let's see…we could spitroast you…you know what that is, right, princess?” Your cheeks were a deep red, but you nodded. They both chuckled. “Dirty girl. We could do that, or one of us could fuck your cute, little pussy while the other fucks your ass. Or we could take turns, one of us fucking you and then the other, but I'm not so sure you could handle that.”
“I can handle anything!” You were determined to, at least. It earned another chuckle from both men, and another slap to your pussy. You yelped again, this time glaring at Chibs, who hadn't lifted his hand away. “Hey!”
“If ye can handle anythin’ then le's take turns.” He was challenging you, you knew it. He pulled his hand away, clapping Tig on the shoulder. “Ye can go firs’.”
“I owe ya one, brother.” The blue eyed biker stripped his clothes off in record time, and he pulled a condom from his jeans pocket. Rolling it on, he didn't hesitate to climb between your legs, teasing himself along your folds. “Ready for me, baby?”
“Yes.” You breathed, rolling your hips in hopes of enticing him to push into you. And it worked. He lined up, slowly pushing into you, working himself in little by little, until his pelvis was flush with yours. Your body ached, desperately trying to become accustomed to this foreign intrusion, but after a few moments, you desperately needed him to move. Rolling your hips to encourage him, you whined. “Fuck me, Tig.”
“When you say it like that…” He grinned, pulling back until just his cockhead was inside you before snapping his hips forward and pressing as deep into you as he could go. It punched a moan out of you, and your hands sought purchase on his shoulders. Again, he did that, and again you moaned hotly.
Soon, he was picking up the pace, rolling his hips languidly as he fucked you. Chibs sat next to you on the bed, just watching for a moment before his hand wandered to toy with your breasts. He gave a sharp pinch to your nipple right as Tig snapped his hips forward, making you cry out loudly. Thank god the party was loud. Tig pulled your hips up so your ass was on his thighs, pressing himself ever deeper into you. With the new position, every drag of his cock nailed that perfect spot inside you, and soon you were clamping down around him.
“Tig!~” You came for the second time, legs clamping around his body as he continued to thrust into you with wild abandon.
“Fuck, yes, that's a good girl. Love this pussy. So tight.” He groaned, his hands gripping you tighter and tighter as he got closer and closer. “Fuck, I love virgins.”
It made you flush, but at least he was having a good time. You felt like another orgasm was building, but with just two more thrusts, he was emptying himself into the condom. Your whole body felt fuzzy as he kissed you, rough and sloppy, not pulling out just yet. Everything he did made you breathless, and when he finally pulled out, you whined at the loss.
“Don’ sound so sad, swee’ thing. Now's the real deal.” Chibs teased, earning the finger from the other man. He was already naked, already had a condom on, and you thought he was going to slide right into you. But no. He was manhandling you over, flipping you so you were on your stomach before he brought you up to your knees and elbows. “Now tha's a sigh'.”
“You're tellin’ me.” Tig leaned against the headboard, watching the way your tits swayed as Chibs pushed into your aching cunt. Your head dropped down, but Chibs reached out, pulling your head up by your hair so you were looking right at Tig's face.
“Watch him, lass. Be’ he gets hard again.” Chibs teased, pulling out before roughly pushing back into you. It rocked you forward, and a moan forced itself from you. Again, he pulled almost all the way out before snapping his hips forward, again and again and again. Every time it made your tits jiggle, and every time it made Tig's cock slowly start twitching back to life.
“Aw, would ya look at that. Looks like we get to spitroast ya tonight after all, baby.” He grinned, sitting up on his knees and coming closer to you. You shifted so your palms were flat on the bed, holding you up higher. “Damn, you're a good girl.”
“Aye.” The other man agreed as he watched you take Tig into your mouth. He slipped his hand from your hair, letting the other man thread his fingers into your perfect locks. Now, he was able to grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he properly fucked your swollen cunt.
You moaned and whimpered and drooled around the cock in your mouth, already coming back to the edge of orgasm number three that you'd been so close to. A sharp slap to your ass is what did it for you, your eyes shutting tightly and a high-pitch sound squeaking out around Tig's cock as you clenched around Chibs’. You were so thoroughly fucked out, you wanted to collapse, but both men were still going. You gagged around Tig, but that didn't stop him from thrusting into your warm, wet, hot mouth.
“Fuck, I can't wait to see you swallow everything, baby. You gonna do that? Be a good girl for me?” You would, at least try.
“She will.” The gruff voice, the definitive answer for you, had you clenching around him again, making the Scot groan. “Good fuckin’ girl.”
“I'm close, baby. Swallow it all.” Tig thrust into your mouth three more times before he went rigid, and hot, salty cum sprayed across your tongue. You swallowed as quickly as you could, even though the rough pounding you were getting from Chibs was making it hard to think. When he pulled out of your mouth, you stuck out your tongue, showing you swallowed it all. “Fuck yeah, that's my girl.”
“Good job, lass. Now, one more for us.” Another sharp smack landed against your ass and you cried out. Without warning, fingers were rubbing harshly at your clit, and your hands were clawing at the sheets.
“Ohhh, fuck!~” You whined, sounding just like the girls in the pornos you'd seen. Your teeth bit into your lower lip, your thighs clamping together, and you felt number four crash around you. “Chibs!~”
“Tha's righ'. Cream around my cock.” He grunted, thrusting forward a few more times before emptying into his condom. It took him a few moments before he was pulling out, and you dropped completely prone to the bed. You heard both men chuckle at your blissed out state, a goofy smile on your face.
“You alright, doll?” You simply nodded, humming an affirmation. “Everything you dreamed it would be?”
“Mhm, even better.” You murmured, closing your eyes. You were exhausted, achy in all the right ways.
“C'mon, lass, get cleaned up. ‘S important.” He rolled you over onto your back, a damp towel in hand, wiping at you gently. He was wearing his briefs again, and you barely registered Tig getting up and putting on the bare minimum as well. The curly haired man lit a cigarette, handing one to Chibs when he was done with you.
“C'mon, honey, get some rest. We'll take ya home in the mornin'.” He helped you move under the sheets, head against the pillow. You had a man sitting on each side of you, and you wondered if this was going to be the only time you'd get to experience them. You hoped not. They were something else.
TW: shitty bf, tig says he wants to kill readers shitty bf, verbal abuse (shitty bf calls reader a bitch multiple times and cusses her out), illusions to physical abuse not descriptive, ima being ima, blood (ima gets her face slammed by gemma), detailed sex scenes later in this series, shitty bf cheats on reader also later in this series.
Tropes: slow burn (sorta. Tig pines for reader for a while lol) friends to lovers?
AN: I’m fixated on reader working at TM if you couldn’t tell😝 my first tiggy x reader fic also! This is broken up into multiple parts. I originally planned on this being a one shot, but as I was writing, I decided to do a slow burn… whoopsies. Also reader is midsize. I’m not skinny, so I choose to not write reader as skinny.
“Babydoll” pt.1
“See you later, beautiful.” Tig said, smiling ear to ear as he stepped into the office. “Good night Tig. Y’know, you always have some sort of way to flirt or a compliment for me. Will you ever run out of ways to try to flirt with me?”
“No, I don’t think so.” The tall curly haired man said, winking at you while doing so. You jokingly roll your eyes and stand up from your chair. “I’m going home, tig. Derek is waiting on me. He’s already called me three times wondering where dinner is.”
“Doll, why don’t you just end things with him? He’s always bitchin’ and moaning at you. He doesn’t deserve you, you know that, right?” He says, beautiful blue eyes staring into your eyes. “I know tiggy, but I love him. We’ve been together forever. This is just a rough patch.” You respond, sighing as you reach for your phone. “He’s calling me again. I really gotta go tig. See you tomorrow.” You wave to tig as you walk away. Tig waves back with a small smile on his face.
You answer your phone and get in your car. Your call automatically connects to your speaker, and unbeknownst to you, tig can hear your boyfriend over the car stereo. Tig can hear Derek yelling and cussing at you for staying late at the office again, and tig lets out a deep sigh. He walks to the clubhouse doors and reaches in his pocket for a blunt and lights up. He wishes you would just leave Derek. He’s a shithead who doesn’t deserve you.
You don’t see him like that though. You’re high school sweethearts. You met Derek when you were 14 and he was 15. He was the football team’s quarterback who fell for the sweet, shy girl. When you both turned 18, you got your own place together and have been living together for 5 years.
On the drive home, your boyfriend eventually stops yelling at you. But only to tell you he’s sick of this shit and to pick up dinner on your way home. He’s not usually physically violent, only the one time a year ago. He just has a short temper and yells, you tell yourself. You dry your tears as you head to the drive thru of you and your boyfriend’s favorite fast food place.
Chibs steps out of the shop and walks over to Tig. “Ye wanna share?” Chibs asks. Tig passes the blunt without saying a word. Chibs takes a drag and passes it back to tig. “Ye wanna talk ‘bout whats goin’ on? I can see it on ye face. Is it Y/N?”
Tig let’s out a deep sigh, “Yeah. This dude is such a fucking prick to her. I just wanna put a bullet in his head. He doesn’t fucking deserve her.” He takes another hit of the blunt and continues, “She’s so fucking precious and he doesn’t see it. He treats her like shit and she stays because it’s all she knows. I can give her what she fucking deserves.”
“Aye. She’s a beautiful woman, brother. But ye know when someone’s in love, or what they think is love, it’s hard to leave that. Like ye said, it’s all she knows. Maybe ye just gotta talk to her and show ‘er what real love should look like.” Chibs says, taking the blunt from tig’s ring clad hands.
“I try though! I tell her every single fucking day how beautiful she is. How stunning she looks, how good her perfume smells. All these things her boyfriend should be doing! She always smiles and says thank you, and reminds me she has a boyfriend.” Tig complains. “I crave her, Chibs. I wanna give her the fucking world. She’s too good for him. I fucking hate this dickhead. He treats her like shit and gets away with it. It’s not her fault, I don’t blame her.” He says, taking another hit of the almost finished blunt. Tig continues, “I know she’s infatuated with him and can’t see just how bad things are. She overlooks the bad by looking at all the good. I just want her to see there’s better guys out there.”
Christ you have such a beautiful ass, Tig could spend all day tangled up in this bed, spanking it, biting it, fucking it. He’s already pressing deep, his hand tangled in your hair pulling your head back as he thrusts into you.
Already he can feel the climax building at the base of his spine, that ferocious wildfire surging through his nerve endings as you cry out his name for the third time that evening.
“That’s it baby, give it to me,” He mutters as your entire body tightens around his cock. “Come on, give it to me.”
You hit that peak and euphoria, it explodes thorough his body like an IED, tearing at his sanity as his hips stutter, his release spilling into you. When he pulls out, his palms come to rest upon your cheeks keeping them spread as he watches his cum leak out of you.
“God, I just want to fuck you all over again.” He whispers, smacking your ass and you moan like a whore into the pillow because you just can’t get enough of him. “Think you can take another load?”
“I don’t know Trager.” You murmur, glancing over your shoulder with that sinful smile of yours. “Do you think you’ve got another in you?”
Love Tig? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
Summary: her heart is so full.
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Word Count: 975
A/n: we are done with this series... I CANT BELIEVE IT OMG WERE DONE WITH IT 😭
THANK YOU TO YOU ALL FOR COLLOWING THIS SERIES EVEN THOUGH IT TOOK ME MONTHS TO FINISH IT ASJHAJDHDF 😭 ILY ALL SO MUCH ILY ILYY
im so happy heheh 🥹
anyways, enjoy!🥹❣️
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"Mommyyy."
Y/n sighed, bowing her head and rubbing her eyes, water dripping from her fingers. She had only just gotten into the bath and Adelaide already missed her?
"Yes my love?" she called out.
"Where are you?"
"In the bath, baby."
Adelaide’s response was only the soft pitter patter of her feet as she ran into the bathroom, the door unlocked because Y/n knew her little girl loved following her around and if she had locked the door, it would have resulted in a tiny tantrum.
"Mommy, where is daddy?"
Adelaide had returned from school half an hour earlier, the car ride back home filled with her babbling about everything that had happened that day. Y/n had no choice but to nod along like she understood it all, while half the stuff she could not even make sense of.
It made her wonder if she even knew english.
Y/n raised her brows at her five year old. She only just remembered that her daddy was not home?
"Baby, daddy had some work. He will be returning soon."
Adelaide pouted, leaning against the tub and swirling her finger through the milky water.
"I miss him."
Y/n nodded solemnly. "Do you want me to call him?"
Adelaide’s eyes lit up. "Yes momma! Please."
Y/n wiped her hand on a nearby towel and picked up her phone to dial up her husband’s number.
"Hello?"
Y/n had the call on speaker phone, so before she could respond, Adelaide did.
"Daddy! Where are you?"
Y/n could hear the smile in Grayson’s voice. "I’m just parking the car sweetheart. Come greet me?"
Adelaide only giggled and ran off, leaving the bathroom door open. Y/n sighed again, shaking her head.
Adelaide was a daddy’s girl through and through. And he was just as smitten by her as she was him.
Y/n would never want it any other way.
"You there, love?"
Y/n blinked, turning her attention to her phone. "Yes."
He paused for a moment. "I forgot what I was supposed to say." he exhaled a frustrated breath, prompting Y/n to giggle.
From the other end, Y/n heard Adelaide’s voice squeaking and squealing and smiled, deciding to end the call. Her husband would soon be coming to say hi anyway.
My husband.
Despite being married for four years already, the thought made her blush every time.
The two had gotten married almost a year after he had proposed. It took the two almost twelve months to convince Liam and her father that Grayson actually loved Y/n. Y/n’s mother, despite being disappointed in Grayson, had forgiven him quickly.
Maybe she saw the way Grayson looked at Y/n, or maybe it was her mother’s heart that only wanted happiness for her daughter. Whatever it was, she had accepted the two’s engagement within the first month. It was the men of the house who still held a grudge.
Y/n’s father and brother would constantly poke at Grayson, at times borderline bully the poor man. But Gray did not budge on his decision to marry her, even knowing that there was a chance that her family would never accept him and always hold animosity towards his very existence.
And that very determination of his to stay with Y/n swayed her father and brother, and while they still weren’t too friendly with him still, things were constantly getting better.
"Mommy’s in there." Y/n heard just a moment before Grayson appeared in the doorway, Adelaide in his arms.
His brows rose the tiniest fraction when he realised Y/n was in the tub. "Well, hello mama. How are you?"
Y/n shook her head, suppressing her smile at the way he shot her a suggestive smirk. "Good."
Adelaide squirmed in Grayson’s arm before he could say anything else, attention already drifting.
"Daddy, I drew you in school today. Let me show you."
She was gone then, leaving Y/n with her husband, who’s lips spread in a flirtier smirk.
He walked closer to her, leaning in while eyeing her shoulders. Y/n could already see the gears in his head turning, already thinking of ways to persuade Y/n to let him join. He began leaning in when she splashed some water on him, making him jerk away.
"Y/n! What was that for?"
She giggled, leaning back in the tub, shaking away the few tendrils of hair that had escaped her bun. "Just felt like it."
He scowled at her, then before Y/n knew what was happening, he began tickling her.
Well, I didn’t think about the consequences.
"Gray- Grayson stoop."
He finally relented after a long moment of making Y/n laugh hysterically, her stomach squeezing.
If anyone who had known Grayson five years ago saw him now, so happy and warm, they would not believe it. But Adelaide had somehow, without even knowing, healed her father. He was happier now, he did not hide his emotions behind a mask, he smiled at everyone he talked to.
"That’s what you get for being mean to me."
She just smiled at him, her heart so full, and grabbed the collar of his shirt, not caring that she left behind prints of her hand, and tugged him close.
He let her do so without a complaint, smile on his lips when she finally kissed him.
"Daddy!"
Y/n pulled away, laughing lightly. "Go, daddy, your princess has summoned you."
He chuckled back, standing straight, but seemed to change his mind as he pecked her lips once more. "I’m yours."
Random confessions of love had become a habit of his now.
Kissing her forehead once he jogged out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Leaving her to smile to herself like a giddy teenager.
[summary]: Jax Teller is used to getting what he wants. At least that was the case before he met you.
[cw]: 18+ only minors do not interact - AU, follows some canon characters & themes but timeline is different. otherwise none yet, but stick with me, I have a smutty plan!
[authors note]: this has been really fun to write. thank you so much to this anon for requesting this idea! I plan on writing a good few parts of this.. as I am really loving writing this reader insert. if you have any ideas or suggestions on where you would like this to go, please let me know! I absolutely love getting your suggestions. I really hope you enjoy!
It had been a long sixteen hour drive. You sighed with relief as you sped past the large wooden slice, “WELCOME TO CHARMING”. You rolled your windows down, the wind blistering through your hair as you took in the warm California sun.
You turned the music up, attempting to drown out the events replaying in your head that led you here in the first place.
Charming wasn’t exactly on your bucket list of places to travel. Your parents had split a few years back, after your mom decided she could no longer handle the baggage that came with the Sons of Anarchy MC. Your Dad was an avid member of the Denver Charter, and she soon realised she couldn’t sit back and watch as he grew deeper into the Club. It was a quick and amicable divorce, made easier by the fact you were an only child and more than understanding of why the relationship had to end. You were old enough to see the pain your mom went through trying to make it work, and you knew that it was the best decision for them both. Your Dad on the other hand, never really got over it.
When your mom remarried last year, he decided to leave Colorado and transferred to the SAMCRO Charter. Charming was his home now. He’d been begging you to visit him for months, and despite the fact you were genuinely pleased that he was happy, seeing him so far from home and content without his family wasn’t something you’d looked forward too.
Charming was a small place, and from what your Dad had told you, it had never really left the seventies. Denver was the total opposite, a city full of life and people, and ever growing with new expanding chains of business. Even with the freezing winters, there was always something to do in Denver. But Charming? They barely had a population of fifteen thousand.
You had evaded the trip for as long as you could, blaming college assignments and exams for the reason you couldn’t make the drive. Now that you’d graduated, the excuses had run thin, and it was time to visit your Dad in Charming.
You pulled into the road of the address he had given you, entering a long unpaved driveway that ended on the outside of a dainty cabin. Your Dad’s bike was parked stagnant on the dirt. You dug your suitcase out from your trunk and walked up the wooden steps to the porch, bringing your hand to the door to knock. Before your knuckles could meet the wood, the door flung wide and your Dad lunged at you with open arms.
“You’re finally here!”, he squealed in excitement as he grasped you into a giant bear hug.
“‘Finally’ is right. That was a serious drive, Dad.”
He took your suitcase and carried it through the entryway. “Sure is. I’m so glad you got here safely, kiddo. Come on, let’s get you settled. You hungry? I was just about to make some lunch.”
You followed him inside as you observed the interior of the quaint, dusty cabin. “I could definitely eat.”
—
Your Dad showed you to your room and then became sidetracked from lunch, giving you a full tour of his new home and the complete low down of all things SAMCRO. He’d explained that the place was owned by the Club, but nobody ever frequented it unless they were in hiding. Your Dad was housed here for the long term, or at least until he could find something he liked better inside the Charming suburbs.
Once he’d caught you up, he made his start on lunch. You watched as he strolled throughout the kitchen, sitting patiently at the small round dining table.
“It’s a nice place, Dad. Not sure how I feel that you’re out here all alone though.”
“I’m barely here, kiddo. Spend most of my time down the Clubhouse.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued to make sandwiches, dropping a piece of turkey in the process. “I can’t wait for you to meet the guys, y/n. A lot more warm than the ones up in Denver. Some of them are your age too.” He placed the plate in front of you, and you grimaced at the site. Your Dad had never claimed to be a great chef.
“Thanks.” You smiled at him politely, taking a bite and struggling to swallow down the piece of dry sandwich. “I’m sure they’re great, Dad.”
“So, how’s your mom?”
You shrugged dismissively, unsure how to broach the uncomfortable topic of the newly weds. “She’s doing well. Mike is good to her.”
He nodded. “That’s good. I’m really glad she’s happy.”
It was hard to see your Dad try to be okay with the fact that your mom had moved on. The awkward silence was interrupted by his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up from the table. “Finish lunch and we can head on out. The guys are getting together at the Clubhouse tonight, you can meet them all there.”
You knew an evening with a bunch of Californian bikers was going to be inevitable during your trip. At least you could get it over with on the first night.
“Sounds great, Dad.”
—
You weren’t thrilled to be back in the confines of your car so soon after your long road trip, but your Dad knew better than to ask you to sit on the back of his motorcycle.
You rolled the windows down of your car as you followed his bike through the winding road from the cabin. As you re-entered Charming, you passed by locally run stores and cafes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was a quiet, peaceful town. But you did know better. You knew what the Club’s presence actually meant for a small community like Charming. If SAMCRO was anything similar to the Denver Charter, the underworkings of this town would be anything but quiet and peaceful.
You pulled into the lot of Teller-Morrow Automotive Repairs, instantly drawn to the huge row of Harley motorcycles lined up on the inner bays.
Your Dad parked up and met you outside your car, telling you all about his new job in the garage as you walked together. He led you across the lot towards a small black door, entering into the SAMCRO clubhouse. It was impressive, a comfortable space with its own bar and lounge area. The place was full of MC memorabilia and pictures from the club’s long history. The furthest wall was centered by two large double doors that were surrounded by mugshots of the SAMCRO members. You had visited the Denver Clubhouse enough to know that room was where the decisions were made.
Your Dad introduced you one by one to several members that were there, a few of which he’d mentioned to you that afternoon. Bobby, Chibs, Trager, Juice and Opie all greeted you with open arms. They were extremely friendly and welcoming, just as your father had promised. The one your Dad called Trager seemed very pleased with your arrival, hugging you for a little too long. Your Dad managed to break the long embrace, pulling you away to start touring you around the building.
“Don’t get too close to that one, kiddo. He’s a little out there.”
You giggled as you nodded in agreement, “I’ll keep my distance.”
—
You sat alongside the club’s Secretary, Bobby, on a leather bench that faced out with a view of the entire room. You observed as the Clubhouse filled with more members and women, a handful of which were old ladies. The rest of them, very clearly single. Of all the members you’d met so far, Bobby had been the easiest to talk to. He clued you in on some of the Club’s legitimate businesses, Cara Cara and Red Woody Productions. You figured that’s where most of the girls came from, retired and current porn stars.
It was a little strange, and anyone else may have felt uneasy seeing their father in this kind of environment. But you were used to the life of girls and guns from growing up with a dad in a motorcycle club. The Denver Charter had its fair share of women in and out of their doors, but mainly just bartenders and the odd crow eater looking for a way in. These girls were more forward, scantily clothed, makeup on point, and obviously comfortable with their surroundings.
Bobby nudged your shoulder, regaining your attention from the party happening around you. “You know your Dad talks about you constantly. He’s so happy that you’re here, kid. We all are.”
You glanced over at your father, a huge smile forming as he collected a drink from the bar.
“He does seem happy. Just weird seeing him away from home.”
“You got a home here with us too now, y/n.” He placed his arm over you and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, “we’re your family as much as we are his.”
“That’s really sweet, Bobby. Thanks.”
He pulled his arm back as he chuckled to himself, his large stomach bellowing as he laughed. “I am pretty sweet.”
Suddenly, the front door opened and a roar of drunken welcomes filled the clubhouse as two more members entered. The President of SAMCRO, Clay Morrow, walked in smiling ear to ear, hands held up as though he was a celebrity greeting his adoring fans. You’d heard a lot about Clay from your father, mainly that he was the initial sponsor for his transfer from Denver, and some remarks about what an ass he was. Behind him, a much younger member followed, embracing Opie as he entered. He was different from the other members, not totally clean cut, but you could at least tell he had showered. Not only was he bathed, he wasn’t harsh on the eyes either. You watched as he talked with Opie, his hands pushing his long blonde hair behind his ears as he spoke.
“Who’s that?” You asked Bobby, your eyes never feigning from the man.
“That’s Jax. Club’s VP.”
As you watched him converse with Opie, he suddenly glanced your way, locking eyes with you. You quickly turned away from him and back towards Bobby.
“He looks a little young to be Vice President”, you mumbled as you took a swig from your beer, still conscious that he was looking at you.
Bobby laughed, “Yeah, well, he’s a Teller. His Dad was First 9 alongside Clay and Piney Winston, Ope’s pops. Jax has been SAMCRO since he came out of the womb.”
You raised your eyebrows, glancing back over your shoulder. Jax’s attention had now been obtained by one of the Cara Cara girls. She was pulling him in by his cutte, batting her eyelashes at him as she leaned against the bar.
Bobby watched as you observed Jax. He sipped his drink, amused by your interest. “He’s known for his way with the ladies.”
You wanted to press Bobby further, but your Dad suddenly was stumbling over beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“Come on over here, kid. I want you to meet my sponsor.”
“The asshole?”, you whispered to him as you stood up from the chair.
He snickered back at you, patting you on the back. “He’s having a good day.”
—
You were impressed by the brotherhood the Redwood Originals shared. It wasn’t unfamiliar to the Denver Charter, but the way the members of SAMCRO loved one another was palpable. You observed quietly throughout the night as they all ripped into each other with lighthearted banter and spilled beer all over the place. You were conflicted by the fact your Dad fit in so well here. It was painful to know he had chosen this life over one with you in Denver, but you still felt at peace knowing he had found a place in this family.
He was now slumped over a leather armchair in the lounge, snoozing after one too many beers. You nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him. “I’m gonna head back to the cabin, Dad. I’ll meet you here in the morning?”
“You sure, y/n?” He tried to stand up as he slurred, but his balance failed him, collapsing back into the seat. “I can lead you back-”
You chuckled, placing a hand on his head as he closed his eyes, “No way are you getting on a bike in this state. I remember the way.”
Tig overheard and slid himself beside you, placing an arm across your waist. “We’ll take care of him, sweetie. Don’t you worry. Get back safe, okay?”
You unwound from his grasp, collecting your bag from the coffee table as you searched through the contents for your keys. “Thanks Trager.”
A strange laugh left his throat as he watched you leave, before his face turned straight as a board. “Call me Tig.”
You said your goodbyes to the members that were sober enough to communicate, and made your way to the parking lot.
Jax Teller was sitting outside the clubhouse, journal and pencil in hand. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.
He smiled boldly, in a way that perplexed you. Almost like he was happy to see you, even though you’d never met. He took the cigarette from his lips as he asked, “you’re Ralph’s kid, right?”
“I usually just go by y/n.”
He placed his pencil inside the journal and tucked it snug in his cutte, standing from the bench. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing, coming all this way to see him.”
You nodded, “had to make sure my Dad wasn’t living with some crazed psychopaths, you know?”
He exhaled, his lips forming a perfect O as the smoke left his lips. “Pretty sure a few of those knuckleheads could pass for psychotic”, he teased. His mouth pulled into an infectious smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.
Jax walked closer towards you, your bodies now inches apart. He held out an open pack of cigarettes, prompting you to take one. You shook your head, declining the offer.
“And what about you? How’s your level of sanity?”
Jax hesitated. “A work in progress.”
You smiled politely as you walked past him, making your way to the car. “Anyway, I was just leaving. Was nice meeting you.”
Jax’s brow creased in concern, “you heading to the cabin on your own?”
You looked over your shoulder to see him pacing behind you, flicking his cigarette to the cement.
“My Dad’s not exactly in riding order.”
“I can take you back.”
You stopped outside your car and turned to him, scoffing at how forward he was. “I met you thirty seconds ago.”
“So?” He shrugged.
“I don’t really think that’s appropriate.”
“I’m not asking to get in bed with you, y/n. You can ride the Harley with me and I’ll leave the second you’re in the cabin.”
You opened the car door, sliding into the seat. “Not gonna happen.”
“I won’t lay a hand on ya, darlin’,” he raised his hand up, smiling, “scouts honor.”
You pressed your lips together, suppressing yourself from giggling at his innocent gesture. “I don’t ride bikes.” You affirmed.
Jax cocked his head at you, confused at the statement. “Denver girl’s scared of bikes?”
Your eyes rolled at his assumption. “No offense, but I just met you. I’m not sure my safety is your concern.” You shut the car door, realising your window had been left ajar from the way there. You wanted to curse aloud that the good Californian weather enabled the opportunity to ride with the windows down.
Jax didn’t push further, nodding his head as he watched you settle into the driver's seat. “No offense taken.”
Jax leaned his head into the open window, resting his arms on the roof of the car. You turned the ignition, letting the engine roar to life. “Nice to meet you, Jax.”
“You too, darlin’. Will I see you again?”
You were looking directly at him, your faces parted only by the frame of the window between you. “I’m here for the week, darlin’.”
His lips pulled from ear to ear, smiling playfully as you put the gear in reverse, forcing his hands off the car as you pulled out of the parking lot. You peaked in the rear-view mirror, finding Jax still watching you drive away into the Charming night.
