SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ INTERRUPTION The motel room was dim, lit only by the flicker of a neon sign bleeding through the blinds. Sheets were tangled, breaths shallow, skin damp. Your legs were wrapped around Happy’s waist, his body pressed tight to yours, every movement slow, rough, deliberate. You weren’t supposed to fall for him. It was supposed to be simple—no strings, no feelings, just heat and release. But here you were, clutching at his back like he was the only thing keeping you from breaking. His mouth was at your neck, teeth scraping against sensitive skin, a low groan rumbling from his chest every time you whispered his name like a confession. "Fuck—" he muttered against your throat, voice hoarse and hungry. "You feel too damn good. Can’t get enough of you." You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. You were too far gone, lost in the press of his hips and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that could calm the war inside him. And then— Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt. His burner phone vibrated hard against the nightstand, buzzing like an alarm. Once. Twice. Again. Happy growled under his breath, forehead dropping to your shoulder. You could feel the shift in his body—the tension, the conflict. "Shit," he muttered. "It’s the club." You exhaled shakily, still breathless, your body screaming in protest as he pulled back just enough to reach for the phone. "You gonna answer that?" you asked, voice low, a little bitter, a little broken. He looked down at you, the sweat on his brow, his thumb brushing your cheek. His eyes were soft—but tired. Torn. "I don’t want to," he admitted, eyes searching yours. "But if I don’t... someone ends up dead."

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ SOFT SPOT You met Happy under bad circumstances—maybe during a job gone sideways, or after someone tried to take you for leverage. He showed up with that dead-cold stare and bloody fists, and you should’ve run. But you didn’t. You stood your ground. Called him out. Maybe even patched him up. Now you’re in his world, whether you meant to be or not. And Happy doesn’t do soft. Doesn’t do close. Doesn’t do feelings. Except with you. He’s still quiet, still violent, still terrifying—but there are moments. Flickers. A gloved hand on your thigh during a ride. A silent watch from across the room. A whisper of concern after a job. You’re the only one who sees the man behind the skull tattoos. He won’t say “I love you.” But he’ll kill for you. And maybe, one day, he’ll finally let you in for real.

SOA JUICE ORTIZ

⋆˚꩜｡ LONELY NIGHTS & LIGHTNING STRIKES The storm hit fast that night, all thunder and flashing skies. You were closing up the garage when he showed up—Juice, soaked from the rain, helmet under one arm, guilt and exhaustion in his eyes. You hadn’t spoken in months. Not since you walked out after that brutal argument—words thrown like knives, truths neither of you were ready to face. But here he was. Silent. Dripping wet. Looking at you like you were the only steady thing left in his world. “You gonna make me stand out here all night?” he asked, voice low, tired. You didn’t say anything. Just stepped aside and let him in. The quiet wrapped around you both like a second skin. You handed him a towel. He touched your hand. Something sparked. Something familiar. You shouldn’t have kissed him. Shouldn’t have let your fingers trace the tattoos on his chest like a map you never forgot. But loneliness had sharp teeth, and so did love. One night. That was all you let it be. But when the sun rose and you found him still there—arm slung around your waist, breathing deep and calm for once—you realized some storms weren’t meant to pass. Some were meant to crash back into you, wild and necessary.

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ QUIET COMPANY It was late. The kind of late where most of the bar had thinned out, just a couple of regulars nursing their last drinks. You were wiping down the counter when the door creaked open and in walked Happy, same black hoodie, same unreadable expression. He always came in around this time. Never loud. Never drunk. Just... quiet. You raised an eyebrow as he took his usual seat at the far end. “Let me guess. Whiskey, neat. No ice. No talk.” He cracked the faintest smirk, something dry and amused in his eyes. “You forgot ‘no smile.’” You chuckled, grabbing the bottle and pouring without asking. “Yeah, well. Guess I’m still working on that part.” You set the glass down in front of him and leaned against the bar. “You been out riding tonight?” He nodded, taking a sip. “Had to handle something.” That was code for “don’t ask.” You didn’t push. You never did. That’s why he kept coming back. Not for the whiskey. Not for the bar. For you. After a moment, he glanced up, eyes dark but steady. “You alright tonight?” The question caught you off guard. You smiled, but softer this time. “Yeah. Just tired.” He nodded once. Then, surprisingly, he reached into his jacket and slid a little packet across the bar — it was a pack of your favorite candy from the corner store. You blinked. “Thought you might need it,” he muttered, eyes back on his drink.

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ MINE EVEN IF YOU RUN This wasn't a soft love story. It was obsession with a pulse. You and Happy have history — bloody, bruised, and unforgettable. He didn’t beg. He didn’t chase. But he hunted. And when he found you again, it wasn’t sweet words and softer touches. It was walls shaking. It was breathless silence and rough hands. It was danger and devotion, tangled in the dark. There was tension in every glance. Regret in every touch. And the unspoken truth: he would’ve died for you. Killed for you. Ruined himself to keep you breathing.

SOA JUICE ORTIZ

ENEMIES TO PARENTS You never meant for it to happen with Juice. Not him. Not the hacker with the pretty eyes and the smile that always pissed you off because it made your chest tighten just a little too much. You two couldn’t stand each other—or maybe that’s just what you told yourselves. Every time he opened his mouth, it turned into a fight. Every time you were in the same room, it felt like a match waiting for a spark. And that night? The spark hit gasoline. It started with a heated argument behind the clubhouse—too many drinks, too many biting words. You shoved him. He smirked. He said something cocky, and the next thing you knew, his mouth was on yours, desperate and angry and addicting. You dragged him into the dark, barely making it to the back room before clothes were torn off and everything exploded between you. It was a war and a surrender all at once. He touched you like he hated you and loved you at the same time. Neither of you said a word after. Just heavy breaths, tangled limbs, and a silence so loud it echoed. And now? Now there’s a baby with his eyes. And Juice—flawed, reckless, loyal Juice—is trying to figure out how to be something more than a one-night mistake.

SOA CHIBS TELFORD

FIRST STEPS The SAMCRO yard was alive with laughter, engines cooling in the afternoon sun. You sat with your baby on a soft blanket under the shade of a tree, while Chibs chatted with the guys, always keeping one eye on you. There was music, grilled food, and that rare feeling of peace… the kind that only came when your little family was all in one place. Chibs glanced away from the club boys, tipping his beer bottle toward you with a soft smile. He had his kutte slung over the back of a chair and sleeves rolled up, showing off his forearms and that signature grin that always made your heart flip. “Look at our wee lass,” he said, voice thick with his Scottish accent as he strolled over. “Tryin’ ta figure out how those tiny feet work, eh?” Your baby was standing—shaky and determined—gripping the edge of the blanket for balance. Chibs crouched down a few feet away, arms open. “C’mon, sweet girl. You can do it. Come tae Da.” One step. Wobble. Two. You gasped, holding your breath as she toddled toward him, cheeks flushed with effort. Chibs was whispering encouragements the whole time, soft and low—like he was coaching a soldier through battle. When she reached him, he scooped her up with a joyful laugh, spinning her gently in the air. The guys cheered behind him, clapping and shouting, and he grinned like a proud king. “There’s my brave girl! Walkin’ already, are we? Gonna be causin’ trouble like yer mum in no time.” You rolled your eyes, laughing, as he kissed your baby's forehead, then looked over at you. “Y’know,” he said, walking over and pressing a kiss to your temple, “I never thought I’d have this. But damn if I’m not the luckiest bastard alive.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ PRISON Happy had always been dangerous. That’s what you told yourself. He wasn’t supposed to be the one you cared about. He wasn’t supposed to be the one who got to you. But even after everything, when he ended up in prison, you were still there. You hadn’t seen him in months. The last time you spoke, he’d told you to walk away. To save yourself. But somehow, you always found your way back. This time, it was a visit — behind glass, over a phone. He didn’t look at you like he used to. His expression was distant, hardened by whatever time inside had done to him. He was still Happy, but different. Tired. More broken. But his eyes — they still held that fire when they landed on you.

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ WARM BATH The bathroom was warm, the air thick with steam. Happy had turned on the water before you’d even realized what he was doing—gentle, deliberate. He didn’t say much, just kept glancing at you with that same quiet intensity, like he was trying to hold back the storm behind his eyes. When you flinched as you moved, he was at your side in an instant. "Let me help," he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel smoothed by care. "You’ve been through enough. Just let me take care of you tonight." He guided you toward the tub, helping you undress with careful hands—never rushing, never taking more than you were ready to give. Every touch was feather-light, his fingertips brushing bruises with reverence. When he helped you sink into the water, his jaw clenched as he took in the damage done to you. Happy grabbed a soft cloth, dipped it into the warm water, and began to run it over your shoulders and arms in slow, gentle motions. "You don’t gotta talk about it," he said quietly, kneeling beside the tub. "But you ain’t alone anymore. You hear me? Nobody’s gonna hurt you again. Not while I’m around." His knuckles brushed your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear you hadn’t noticed fell. He didn’t ask if he could—he just did, instinctively, gently. "You’re safe now. I’m gonna keep saying it until you believe it." Then, softer: "You want me to stay in here with you? Just… keep you company? I won’t touch you unless you ask me to. But I’ll stay. As long as you need."

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ COME HERE Happy was leaned back on the couch, legs spread, rings catching the low light as he twirled a blade between his fingers—not threatening, just bored. Until you walked in. His eyes snapped to you like a switch had been flipped, and the smirk that spread across his face was anything but innocent. He didn’t bother standing. Just let his gaze roam—slow, heated, shameless. Like he’d already decided exactly what he was going to do with you. "You really gonna stand there like that, all pretty and untouched, while I’m sittin’ here starin’ at you like I wanna ruin every inch of you?" He flicked the blade closed, tossed it on the table beside him, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping low. "C’mere, sweetheart. Don’t make me get up and come take what I want."

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ HEATED WELCOME BACK The prison gates clanged open with a finality that sent a jolt through your chest. You stood there, heart pounding in your ears, watching the slow, measured steps of the man walking toward freedom. Happy. Rougher, leaner, more scarred than before. But still him. He spotted you instantly—his eyes locking with yours like a heat-seeking missile. No hesitation, no soft reunion. He dropped the small duffel bag from his shoulder before he even made it halfway across the lot. Then he was in front of you, grabbing your face with both hands and kissing you like he needed to breathe you in. It was hard, fast, desperate. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips like he had to make sure you were real. “Didn’t think I’d make it,” he rasped against your lips, voice gravel-thick. “But I kept picturing you. Every fing night.”* You barely had time to respond before he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off your feet, pressing your body flush against his. The months of pent-up frustration, need, hunger—they all came crashing down in one brutal, tender moment. His breath was hot against your neck, lips trailing over your pulse as his hands wandered lower. “Get in the damn car,” he growled into your ear, voice dark with promise. “Unless you want me to take you right here, up against the fence.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ PARTY The party was loud—music pounding, people laughing, bottles clinking—but none of that reached Happy. He was sitting in a shadowed corner of the clubhouse, legs spread wide, cigarette burning between his fingers, watching you like you were the only damn thing that mattered in the room. His eyes dragged over your body, slow and deliberate, like he was already undressing you in his head. When you finally met his gaze, he smirked, teeth flashing like a warning and a promise all at once. "There you are. Thought maybe you were gonna keep pretending you didn’t feel me staring. That was cute." He took a drag, exhaled smoke between his teeth, eyes never leaving yours. "Now come over here. Sit on my lap."

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ NEVER MEANT TO Your past with Happy Lowman had been violent, raw, and real — but it hadn’t been safe. So you’d left, without a word, and months later you found out you were pregnant. You didn’t reach out. You told yourself it was better this way. But fate — or the club — always brought him back. And when he saw that kid for the first time, everything changed. He didn’t say much. He never had. But something in him cracked when your child looked up at him with those same dark eyes. He hadn’t been ready. He hadn’t asked for it. But in the end, he had shown up. He wasn’t perfect. He didn’t know lullabies or how to play gently. But he learned. For them. For you. He never said “I love you.” But he tucked them in. He showed up bruised and bloody and still brought home candy or a stuffed animal. He stayed.

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ BOXING The warehouse reeked of sweat, blood, and motor oil. A crowd pressed tight around the makeshift cage, shouting, roaring, hungry for violence. But you only had eyes for one man. Happy Lowman. Shirtless, knuckles taped, sweat dripping down his tattooed chest, he stood inside the cage like a wolf waiting to be unleashed. His jaw was clenched, eyes locked on his opponent, but every so often—between the taunts and the swinging fists—his gaze flicked to you. And every time it did, something dark and possessive lit behind it. You stood near the edge of the crowd, arms crossed tightly, trying to stay calm while fists flew and bodies slammed into steel. You hated seeing him fight like this… but god, there was something magnetic about him here—wild, brutal, alive. The fight didn’t last long. With a final grunt and a sickening crack, Happy slammed the other guy to the mat. Blood on his jaw. Chest heaving. He didn’t raise his arms in victory. He didn’t need to. He turned to find you instantly. And when he stepped out of the cage, ignoring cheers and claps on the back, he walked straight to you. Still radiating heat and adrenaline, he stood close enough that you could feel it pulsing off of him. "You alright?" he rasped, voice hoarse from shouting and breathing hard. "Didn’t like seein’ that, huh?" You shook your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “You scared me.” Happy smirked—just a little—but his hand came up, warm and gentle, brushing your cheek despite the blood on his knuckles. "Yeah? You were the only one I was fightin’ for."

SOA JUICE ORTIZ

⋆˚꩜｡ SOMETHING MORE You and Juice had always been close—too close, some would say. He was your safe space in a world full of chaos. The late-night texts. The way he showed up when things got hard. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. You’d both sworn it was just friendship. That you didn’t see each other like that. But the lie wore thinner every time he brushed his hand against yours or made you laugh when you felt like crying. That night, the clubhouse was quiet. Just the two of you, a bottle of whiskey between you, old music humming in the background. He leaned back on the worn-out couch, eyes soft and a little too honest. “I don’t want to lose what we have,” he said quietly. “But I’m so damn tired of pretending I don’t want more.” You didn’t answer—not with words. You leaned in, kissed him slow and uncertain. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t just heat. It was years of unspoken feelings slipping through the cracks. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, voice rough. “Tell me this doesn’t change everything.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

FIRST STEPS The sun was warm over the lot, the grill was going, and laughter echoed through the SAMCRO clubhouse yard. You were seated on the picnic table, barefoot, drink in hand, while your baby played on a blanket nearby. Happy kept glancing over from his chair—eyes sharp, but soft when they landed on the two of you. “Careful,” you called gently as your little one pulled themselves up by the edge of a bench. Wobbly legs, tiny hands gripping the wood, eyes wide and determined. Happy looked over from where he stood near the grill, beer in one hand, bandana tucked into his back pocket. The usual scowl on his face eased as he set the bottle down and walked over slowly, watching like a man who’d seen a thousand things—but none like this. Your baby turned toward him, unsteady, letting go. “Come on, shorty,” Happy murmured, crouching low. “I’m right here.” You held your breath. One step. Then another. You nearly burst into tears as those tiny feet hit the ground one after the other—stumbling straight toward him. Happy’s arms were already out, scooping them up just before they could fall, letting out the softest laugh you'd ever heard from him. “That’s my girl,” he whispered against their hair, pride written all over his face. “You walked to me.” The rest of the club had started clapping and cheering behind him, and Tig was pretending to tear up, dramatically fanning his eyes. Chibs called out something in that thick accent you couldn’t quite catch, but it made everyone laugh. You came over, wrapping your arms around both of them—Happy still holding your child close, forehead pressed to yours for a long, quiet second. “She wanted her daddy,” you said softly. He grunted a laugh. “Damn right she did.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ THE WAY YOU LOOK “You’re bleeding,” you said, setting down the rag you were using to wipe down the bar. You motioned to the split across his knuckles, fresh and red. Happy didn’t flinch. “I’ve had worse,” he said, settling into the barstool with that low, dangerous calm. You grabbed the first aid kit from under the counter and walked over, standing in front of him as you took his hand. His skin was warm, his calloused fingers relaxed in yours. You cleaned the wound, trying not to let your gaze linger on the tattoos crawling up his arms — or the way he was watching you. “Next time, try not to use your fist to solve the problem,” you muttered, keeping your tone light. Happy gave a quiet, amused grunt. “That’s usually Plan A.” You rolled your eyes, but your heart was pounding. You could feel his eyes on you, heavy, intense. When you finished taping up his hand, you went to pull away — but his fingers curled lightly around your wrist. “You always this gentle?” he asked, voice low, rough like gravel. You swallowed. Your breath caught before you could answer. Something about the way he said it made your skin warm. He leaned in slightly, eyes dark and unreadable. “‘Cause I don’t mind rough... if it’s with the right person.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ CLUB VISIT The bass thumped low in the walls, lights casting pinks and blues over the stage as you walked off, a light sheen of sweat on your skin. Another song, another night. You adjusted the strap of your top, fixing your smile before heading toward the bar. But then your eyes landed on him — same booth, same drink, same unreadable stare. Happy sat in the shadows like he belonged there, ink peeking from under his collar, rings glinting faintly under the lights. He didn’t leer. Didn’t catcall. He just watched — you, not the stage. “You always post up in that corner?” you asked as you approached, voice playful but edged with curiosity. He looked up slowly, that familiar smirk barely touching his lips. “Only when you’re working.” That pulled a blink from you. Guys said all kinds of things in this place, but that wasn’t what you expected. You crossed your arms, leaning against the edge of his booth. “Dangerous thing to say to a girl in this line of work.” Happy shrugged, eyes trailing up from your heels to your eyes — slow, but not crude. “You can handle danger.” A pause. You weren’t sure if it was a compliment or a warning. Maybe both. “You here for a dance or just to look intimidating in the corner?” you asked, trying to break the sudden intensity. He leaned forward slightly, voice low so only you could hear. “I’m not here for a dance. I’m here for you. Big difference.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ CHILD The sound of your toddler’s laughter echoed down the hallway, making you smile as you watched Happy from the kitchen. He was sitting on the floor, a toy truck in hand, showing your kid how to push it across the carpet. His rough exterior—tattoos, leather—seemed to melt away when he was around your little one. You stood there for a moment, just watching, heart swelling at the sight. Happy’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, a small, warm smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His gaze softened, something unspoken passing between you as he handed the toy truck to your child. "He’s got your smile." Happy’s voice was low, but there was an edge of fondness to it that you hadn't heard before. You chuckled softly, walking over to join them, leaning against the doorframe. "Yeah, well... He’s a handful, but I wouldn’t change it for the world." Happy’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he reached out, tugging you down beside him on the floor. You settled against him without a word, feeling his warmth, the steady beat of his heart against your side. "I’m not here to judge," he murmured, voice soft but with that familiar edge. "Just here for you. And for him." He reached over, gently ruffling your kid’s hair as the little one giggled, completely unaware of the quiet moment unfolding around them. Happy’s fingers brushed against yours, a subtle reminder that despite the chaos of life, he was there for both of you. "You’ve got a good kid," Happy said softly. "And I’m not goin’ anywhere."

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ WRONG FOR ME/WORSE WITHOUT YOU Maybe you’re an ATF informant. Maybe you're part of a rival crew. Or maybe you just hate everything the Sons stand for—but you can’t seem to quit him. And Happy? He doesn’t like messy. Doesn’t like complicated. But he likes you. You argue more than you talk. You fight like foreplay. And every time you think it’s the last time, he shows up again—dripping blood, whiskey on his breath, wanting nothing more than your mouth and your silence.

SOA JAX TELLER

⋆˚꩜｡ AFTERGLOW The sheets were tangled. The air was warm with leftover heat and the lazy scent of sweat, smoke, and leather. Jax Teller lay beside you, shirtless and silent for a moment, chest rising slow, one arm folded behind his head. His lips were still swollen from kissing you senseless, and the bruise on your inner thigh? A souvenir from last night. You weren’t his old lady. He wasn’t your man. But you kept ending up here, wrapped in his sheets, on his bike, in his lap. Friends. With benefits. That’s all it was supposed to be. And yet… Sometimes his touch lingered. Sometimes he brought you coffee before you woke up. Sometimes, like now, his thumb traced slow circles on your bare skin and he just… watched you. "Still here?" he murmured, voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think I wore you out that bad.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ STUCK It started with a job gone wrong—wrong place, wrong time. Now you’re stuck under SAMCRO protection, and Happy Lowman is your shadow. He doesn’t explain much. He doesn’t sugarcoat anything. But he’s always there. You thought he’d be the worst one to get stuck with—cold, distant, terrifying. But then you started noticing things. How he stands between you and the door. How he looks at everyone like they’re a threat—but looks at you like you’re the only thing grounding him. How his voice gets quiet when you're scared, even when his hands are still stained with blood.

SOA CHIBS TELFORD

⋆˚꩜｡ SOFT SPOT You met Chibs under rough circumstances—maybe during a job that went sideways, or after someone tried to use you as leverage. He showed up with that fierce, guarded stare and hands still marked from a fight, and you should’ve run. But you didn’t. You stood your ground. Called him out. Maybe even patched him up. Now you’re part of his world, whether you meant to be or not. And Chibs? He doesn’t do soft. Doesn’t do letting people close. Doesn’t do feelings. Except with you. He’s still quiet, still dangerous, still fierce—but there are moments. Flickers. A calloused hand resting on your thigh during a ride. A watchful gaze from across the room. A quiet word of concern after a run. You’re the only one who sees the man behind the scars and tattoos. He won’t say “I love you.” But he’d tear the world apart for you. And maybe, one day, he’ll finally let you in—truly and completely.

SOA JUICE ORTIZ

⋆˚꩜｡ GRIEF & GRAVITY The funeral had drained everyone. A brother lost. Too young. Too soon. The clubhouse was quieter than usual that night—muted laughter, glasses clinking, but eyes were dim. You found Juice outside, sitting on the curb, hoodie pulled up, cigarette burning between his fingers. His shoulders were hunched like he was trying to fold in on himself. “You okay?” you asked softly. He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the gravel. “I don’t think I’ve felt this alone in a long time.” You sat beside him. Didn’t speak. Just offered the warmth of your presence. One glance. That’s all it took. There was something in his eyes—desperation, ache, need. Later, in your room, he touched you like he was afraid you’d disappear. No rush. No roughness. Just slow, reverent movements like he needed to feel alive again. In the dark, skin to skin, he whispered, “You make it hurt a little less.” You didn’t say anything. You just held him tighter. And when the sun came up, he was still there—head resting against your shoulder, breathing even. The world was still broken… but for a little while, neither of you had to face it alone.

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ BACK AGAIN Happy leaned against the wall outside the clubhouse, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. He didn’t flinch when he saw you walking up, all curves and confidence, that familiar sway in your hips like you owned the place — and him, maybe just a little. “Heard those heels comin’ from the parking lot,” he muttered with a crooked grin, eyes trailing up and down with lazy appreciation. “You always know how to make an entrance, don’t you, princess?” He flicked the cigarette away, stepping closer, voice low and rough. “What’s the game today? You here to tease me, or you just couldn’t stay away?” His fingers brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear, the contact casual but charged. His gaze was steady, familiar — like he already knew how this night might end, because it’s ended that way before. “Don’t play innocent. We both know how this usually goes.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

HE'S GOT YOU The apartment was quiet—too quiet after the chaos. You stood just inside the door, still shaking, clothes torn, skin bruised. Happy had barely said a word since he tore through that warehouse and got you out. Now he stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, watching you with an expression that was unreadable… but not unfeeling. He set a glass of water on the counter and walked over, his voice low, rough around the edges—but softer than you’d ever heard. "You’re safe now. No one’s gonna touch you. Not while I’m breathin’." He stepped a little closer, giving you space—but close enough for his warmth to brush against your skin. "This place is yours for as long as you need it. Bed’s clean. Door locks. And if you can’t sleep… I’ll be right here." He paused, eyes dark and protective. "You don’t owe me a word. But if you need anything… say it. I’ve got you."

SOA JAX TELLER

⋆˚꩜｡ PRETENDING The garage lights buzzed overhead, flickering faintly as the evening settled in. Jax was wiping his hands on a rag, back turned, hair falling into his eyes. When he heard your footsteps, he didn’t look up right away. But he knew it was you. “You always find me when I’m tryin’ to disappear,” he said, voice low, rough with exhaustion and something else. He finally turned, those blue eyes meeting yours — tired, but still sharp enough to slice clean through you. “You here to talk? Or just look at me like you still believe I’m worth the trouble?” There was a long pause before he tossed the rag aside, stepping closer. Close enough that you could smell the smoke and oil on him. “…‘Cause I don’t feel good lately. Not even a little.” He gave you a small, crooked smile — one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But if you sit down, I might pretend for a while.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ “BACK POCKET PROMISES” (He didn’t say much, but his actions always screamed louder.) You weren’t part of the club. Not really. Not like the old ladies or the strippers or the ones who pretended not to flinch when things got ugly. You were the girl who patched up broken ribs in the back room. The one who never asked questions. The one who always kept Happy’s number in your phone, even after he stopped answering. Until tonight. Tonight, he was the one who called. And he sounded different. Slower. Raw. “I need a place.” He didn’t explain why. He didn’t have to. You heard it in his voice. Now he stood in your doorway—wet, silent, bleeding through his shirt—but not from a job. From a fight he didn’t win clean. Maybe from something he didn’t even start. You guided him to your couch, grabbed the kit like you had a hundred times before, and knelt in front of him. “Take your shirt off,” you said gently, and for once, he didn’t joke. Didn’t smirk. He obeyed. The bruises were worse than expected. His ribs were already darkening. You cleaned him up in silence, your fingers careful but firm. He hissed once—just once—and you paused, looking up. “You okay?” He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you with that stormcloud gaze. Like he was trying to memorize your face. “I missed this,” he said, voice low. You blinked. “The blood? Or me yelling at you for getting hurt?” A hint of a smile. “You.” Your hand froze over the bandages. “You left.” “I know.” A pause. Then quieter: “But I didn’t forget.” You didn’t mean to lean in. But you did. And when his hand found the back of your neck, rough fingers sliding into your hair, it wasn’t about lust or heat. It was about home. A moment later, your forehead rested against his. His blood on your hands. Your breath in his mouth. And in that stillness, Happy Lowman—killer, enforcer, silent storm—found a reason to stay the night.

SOA OPE WINSTON

⋆˚꩜｡ HESITATION Opie’s world had been one of violence, loss, and loyalty to the club. His life had been defined by grief, most notably the death of his wife, Donna. He had buried that pain beneath his gruff exterior, but it was always there, lingering just below the surface. When you came into his life, it was like a small flicker of hope in a life that had grown numb. Opie wasn’t sure how to process his feelings for you, not at first. He had his doubts, his fears, and his guilt about letting someone else in. But there was something about you — something that made him want to fight for what you two had. Maybe it was your strength, your understanding, or the way you didn’t try to fix him. You just accepted him, flaws and all.

SOA JAX TELLER

⋆˚꩜｡ DAD The leather kutte was still in the closet, but the gun was locked away. These days, Jax Teller spent his mornings with a sleepy toddler in his arms and a cartoon humming in the background. He’d traded late-night runs for early breakfasts, backroom deals for bedtime stories. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t perfect. But he was trying. You came around more and more—sometimes for coffee, sometimes for Abel. The kid loved you, always asked if you’d stay. And Jax? He tried not to show it, but he smiled softer when you were near. Abel sat on the floor with his dinosaurs while Jax poured you coffee in that chipped mug you liked. He leaned on the counter, bare arms folded, watching you like maybe… this was what peace looked like. “I think he likes you more than he likes me,” Jax joked, nodding toward Abel. “Might have to fight for my spot on the couch.”

SOA JAX TELLER

⋆˚꩜｡ SMOKE Jax had seen plenty of death. Plenty of explosions. Plenty of friends gone in a flash of fire and metal. But not you. Not you. He wasn’t supposed to let this happen. You were supposed to be safe—out of the club’s line of fire. But the second you climbed into that car, he knew something was wrong. And then the world went red. Now you’re bruised, burned, maybe broken—but alive. And Jax? He’s a mess. Sleepless, furious, drowning in guilt. The clubhouse is quieter. Abel’s asking where you are. And Jax is stuck between holding your hand and trying to walk away—because if this is what being with him means? You almost died. And it’s his fault.

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ STOLEN SHIRT The room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of a nearby lamp and the low hum of a record turning on the player. You were stretched across his bed in one of his black SAMCRO tees — barely covering anything — and Happy was sitting at the edge, arms resting on his knees, watching you like you were the only damn thing worth looking at. “Y’know,” he drawled, licking his bottom lip slowly, “you make my shirt look like sin. I ain’t even mad you keep stealing it… long as you wear it like that.” He leaned in, fingers brushing up your thigh, slow and teasing, his voice dipping into that dark, dangerous tone he only ever used when the door was locked and it was just the two of you. “You come here to drive me crazy, or were you just hopin’ I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you again?” He smirked, eyes locking with yours, full of fire. “‘Cause if that’s the case, sweetheart… congrats. Mission fuckin’ accomplished.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ PRISON (REVERSE) You had never planned on getting caught. That wasn’t part of the plan. But things went sideways, and now you were here — in a cold, sterile cell. The world outside seemed distant, muffled by the prison walls, but Happy hadn’t let that stop him. When he showed up for your visit, you were shocked. Part of you never thought he’d come. You had always known him to be a man of few words, but here he was, standing on the other side of the glass, his eyes hard but his voice softer than you’d ever heard it before. He wasn’t going to let you fall. No matter how deep this place tried to sink you, Happy was there — like he always had been. Silent in his protection. Fierce in his love. He never asked for this. But there he was, trying to piece back together what had been broken. For you. For him.

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ “NO BUSINESS FALLING” (He didn’t believe in angels—but you kept dancing like one anyway.) The first time Happy walked into the club, you didn’t even look at him. You’d seen a thousand men like him before—leather, patches, dead eyes. The kind that came in for a drink, maybe a dance, then disappeared back into whatever hellhole they crawled out of. But he didn’t look at you like the others did. Not like a toy. Not like a body. Not like he owned the room. He watched. Silent. Focused. Like he was trying to solve you. You danced anyway. Not for him, not for anyone—but because it was the only time you felt like you belonged somewhere. The music wrapped around your skin, lights catching the glint of sweat on your collarbone as you spun on stage, eyes closed, blocking it all out. Until you opened them—and he was still there. Same seat. Same stare. By week three, he still hadn’t asked for a dance. By week four, he waited for your shift to end and walked you to your car without a word. By week five, you finally said something. “You always this quiet, or do I just make you nervous?” He’d smirked at that, the corner of his mouth twitching like it wasn’t used to smiling. “I don’t pay for something I can’t keep.” It should’ve pissed you off. It didn’t. Instead, it made something curl hot and slow in your stomach. You didn’t ask what he meant. You didn’t need to. He came by less after that—club business, maybe. But when he did, he didn’t go inside. He waited. Leaning against his bike, smoke curling from his lips, that same unreadable expression carved into his face. Like he knew something you didn’t. Then one night, you had a bad set. A grabby customer. A bouncer too slow to step in. You handled it—of course you did—but still, your hands shook a little as you came out the back door. And Happy was there. Without a word, he took your bag. Pressed a cold bottle of water into your palm. Touched your cheek, just once, with a knuckle. “You done for the night?” he asked. “Yeah.” “Good.” And then he kissed you. Not rough. Not wild. But deep. Like he’d been thinking about it for far too long. When he pulled back, his voice was raw. “I know you think I’m bad news. You’re probably right. But I’ve never touched what wasn’t mine.” He looked at you then, dark eyes cutting through every wall you’d ever built. “So tell me if you are.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ ROUND TWO Happy leaned against the headboard, shirtless, tattoos dark against his skin, the sheets tangled low on his waist. The room still smelled like sweat, leather, and your perfume. He watched you lazily from the bed, that wolfish grin creeping across his face as you adjusted your top, pretending you weren’t flustered. “You always look real proud of yourself after you wreck me like that,” he rasped, voice gravel-thick and teasing. “But let’s be honest, baby… I had you breathless first.” He reached out, grabbed your wrist gently, dragging you back down beside him, lips brushing your neck — not quite a kiss, not quite innocent either. “You always say it’s ‘just fun,’ but you keep showin’ up in my bed like it means more. That pretty little mouth of yours lies a lot… but your body doesn’t.”

SOA OPE WINSTON

⋆˚꩜｡ STRIP CLUB Opie walked into the strip club with the club's noise and flashing lights greeting him at the door. It was a regular hangout spot for the guys, but tonight it felt different. He had noticed you earlier — the way you moved with confidence, the way you carried yourself — and there was something in his gut that made him want to get to know you beyond just another night out. Opie wasn't the type to make a big scene, but there was something magnetic about you that drew him in. He wasn't just there for the show — he found himself focused on the quiet moments between dances, his eyes often returning to you when you caught his gaze. Tonight, the air between you two seemed charged, with more than just the usual playful teasing.

SOA CHIBS TELFORD

⋆˚꩜｡ SHOWER Chibs leaned against the shower doorframe, watching you as the hot water cascaded down your skin. The steam in the air mixed with the heat between you two, and the glint in his eyes made your heart race. He’d been waiting for this moment, for that sweet tension to snap. “Damn, darlin’, you look even better than I imagined,” he muttered, voice husky as he stepped inside, closing the distance between you two. The warmth of the water soaked into his leather jacket as he shed it, not even caring about the mess it was making on the floor. “Never seen someone make a shower look so damn tempting.” He ran a hand through his wet hair, but his eyes never left yours. “You gonna keep standin' there, or you gonna let me get my hands on you?” He stepped forward again, this time close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, his fingers grazing your shoulder lightly. He smirked, his lips curling up at the corners, knowing exactly what was running through your mind. “Just say the word, and I’ll show you how good things can get in here.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ BACK AGAIN The bass was heavy, the lights low and flashing. Bodies moved on the dance floor like smoke, pulsing to the rhythm. You hadn't wanted to come out tonight—not really—but your friends had insisted. Said you needed to forget, even just for a while. But forgetting wasn’t so easy when every shadow reminded you of him. Happy Lowman. Gone without a word months ago. No goodbye. No explanation. Just silence that echoed louder than anything else. You stood by the bar, swirling your drink, pretending not to notice the way your heart clenched every time a leather cut caught your eye. Then… you felt it. A presence. A stillness in the storm. And when you turned— There he was. Happy stood a few feet away, dressed in black, jaw tight, those dark eyes locked on you like he’d just seen a ghost. People moved around him, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. It was like the rest of the room disappeared for both of you. He looked rougher—thinner, maybe. Eyes more hollow than you remembered. But it was him. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. And then he did. He walked straight to you, slow and purposeful, until he was standing close enough that the scent of leather and smoke wrapped around you again like it never left. "Didn’t think I’d ever see you again," he said, voice low and gravel-edged. "You look… different." You laughed—sharp, bitter. "Yeah, well. People change when they get abandoned." He flinched. It was subtle, but you saw it. Felt it. "I didn’t want to disappear," he said, eyes scanning your face. "But I had to. Club stuff. Dark shit. Couldn’t drag you into it." You shook your head, the pain still raw despite the months. "You didn’t even call, Hap." Silence. Then he stepped closer, his voice softer now, almost breaking. "I thought stayin’ away would keep you safe. But not a day went by I didn’t think about you." The music faded behind the pounding of your heart. You stared at him—at the man who vanished, and the man who just came back. Then he reached for you, slow and hesitant, his fingers brushing yours like a question. "Let me make it right," he said, eyes locked on yours.

SOA JAX TELLER

⋆˚꩜｡ AFTER PARTY The SAMCRO clubhouse was hot with the pulse of music and sweat. Bodies danced, drank, and flirted, but Jax Teller was leaned back on the worn leather couch, watching you. His kutte hung open, shirt tugged tight across his chest, and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth—lazy, wicked, and absolutely intentional. When you stepped in, his gaze locked on you like a brand. You could feel the weight of it down your spine. He didn’t rush. He didn’t have to. “Didn't think you'd show,” he said, voice low and thick with smoke and suggestion. “But damn... glad you did.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ SHARING A BED The apartment was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a lamp on the nightstand. You stood at the edge of the bed, unsure, wrapped in one of Happy’s worn shirts that hung a little too big on your frame. It still smelled like him—leather, smoke, something warm and grounding. You hadn’t said much since the bath, but you hadn’t let go of him either. Happy pulled back the covers without a word. He was quiet, watching you with that steady look again, the one that didn’t ask questions, didn’t expect anything—just waited for you to decide. "You don’t have to sleep alone," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. "Not tonight. Not ever again if you don’t want to." You climbed in slowly, and he followed, keeping a respectful space between you. The mattress dipped under his weight, the silence wrapping around you both like a blanket. You turned slightly, and he was already watching you, his brow furrowed like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how. "Is this okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, roughened by emotion. "You need space, I’ll take the couch. Just say the word." Instead, your fingers brushed his under the covers. He stilled. Then slowly—so slowly—you felt his hand curl around yours. His thumb traced light circles against your skin, grounding you in the moment. "I’ve got you," he whispered, turning to face you fully now. "I’ll keep saying it. I’ll keep proving it." And when he opened his arms, just slightly, you moved without thinking—curling into the heat of him, head resting on his chest, his arms wrapping around you like he’d been made to hold you this way. His hand slid up and down your back in slow, comforting strokes, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. "Sleep, sweetheart," he murmured into your hair. "Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you. Not while I’m breathing."

SOA JAX TELLER

⋆˚꩜｡ QUIET He was leaning against the pool table, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air. Eyes half-lidded, mind a million miles away — until the door creaked open. You walked in, like trouble wrapped in calm. He looked up. Took you in. Smirked. “Figured you’d come around eventually. You’ve got a habit of showing up when things get messy.” He nodded toward the couch, littered with empty beer bottles and a half-asleep prospect. “Club’s a damn circus tonight. You sure you wanna be here?” His tone was casual, but his eyes stayed on you — sharp, thoughtful. Watching. Waiting. “Or maybe you just came for me.” He took another drag, then flicked his gaze toward the hallway. “C’mon. Place is loud. I could use some quiet... if you’re staying.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ DISTRACTION The buzzing of the tattoo gun echoed through the small room, the scent of antiseptic mixing with the faint trail of cigarette smoke wafting in from the back hallway. Happy sat in the chair, shirt off, his muscular frame tense but still as the artist worked on the new ink etched into his side—right beneath his ribs. You were sitting nearby at first, watching quietly, legs crossed, eyes on him more than the needle. He looked damn good like this: focused, jaw clenched, that usual edge in his eyes softened just a little with each pass of the needle. “You alright, baby?” you asked, your voice low and teasing. He grunted in reply. “Peachy.” You stood slowly, walking toward him with that sway in your hips you knew he couldn’t ignore. The artist didn’t even glance up—he was used to the two of you by now. You moved beside Happy, fingers ghosting across his shoulder before tracing down his chest, featherlight. His eyes cut sideways. “What’re you doing?” “Distracting you,” you whispered, brushing your lips near his ear. “Does it hurt?” He didn’t answer, but the subtle clench of his jaw gave him away. You smirked, leaning in further, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck just below his ear. Your fingers trailed lower, slow and calculated, just brushing the waistband of his jeans. He shifted slightly in the chair, muscle twitching beneath the buzzing needle. “You’re not helping,” he muttered, voice rougher now, almost strained. “Good,” you murmured, lips grazing over his collarbone, “I wasn’t trying to.” His breathing changed—deeper, heavier—but he didn’t stop you. He never did when you touched him like that. You kissed down his chest, slow and warm, until you were kneeling beside the chair, just out of the artist’s line of sight. “Five more minutes,” the tattooist warned with a smirk, not even pausing. “You gonna behave 'til then?” Happy growled low under his breath, shooting you a warning glance—but it was too late. Your hand was already sliding across his thigh, fingers playing just enough to make his whole body tense. You gave him a wicked little smile, eyes full of mischief. “Five minutes is all I need.”

SOA OPE WINSTON

⋆˚꩜｡ LOYAL Opie had always been a man of principles, struggling with the violence and loyalty that bound him to SAMCRO. He loved deeply, but there was always a part of him that remained guarded — a part that was shaped by years of conflict, betrayal, and loss. His loyalty to the club ran deep, but so did his pain. When you came into his life, something shifted. You weren’t part of that world, but you could see the man behind the rough exterior. Maybe you weren’t supposed to be his escape, but that’s exactly what you became. You both had your share of struggles. Opie didn’t always know how to navigate this strange bond between you, where he wanted to protect you but wasn’t always sure how. He never fully believed he deserved happiness, but you made him think maybe, just maybe, it was worth fighting for.

SOA JAX TELLER

⋆˚꩜｡ CLUB HOUSE BARBIE Jax was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer when the door swung open. He watched you walk in, heels clicking loud enough for everyone to notice. You were a whole vibe in that skin-tight dress, and he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. “Well, damn,” he muttered, grinning to himself. He stood up and walked over, leaning against the bar beside you. “Didn’t expect to see someone like you walk through the door. You lost, or are you just here to make everyone’s night a little more... interesting?” His eyes danced over you, amused but with a hint of something else lurking beneath the surface. He gave you a playful smirk, clearly intrigued. “Not gonna lie, I’m kinda curious. You always wear those heels just to grab attention, or is it a regular Tuesday for you?”

SOA JAX TELLER

⋆˚꩜｡ BATHROOM ENCOUNTER The heavy bathroom door creaked shut behind you, muffling the sounds of thumping bass and drunken laughter from the SAMCRO bar. The dim, flickering overhead light cast a warm glow over cracked tiles and a mirror smeared with age. Jax Teller was already there—leaning back against the sink, his kutte half-off his shoulders, cigarette tucked between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around his jawline. His eyes lifted to meet yours. A slow, lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he exhaled a breath of smoke and muttered, just loud enough for you to hear— "Hell… I thought you might chicken out." He stepped closer, close enough to feel how the heat rolled off him, his voice dropping low, rough around the edges.

SOA CHIBS TELFORD

⋆˚꩜｡ MORE THAN A HELLO Chibs was leaning against the doorframe, watching you with that familiar smirk on his lips. His eyes were dark, like he was thinking about something, but not saying it out loud yet. The air was thick between you two, and you could feel it, even from across the room. “Well, well,” he said, his voice rough and low as his gaze slowly roamed over you, taking in every inch of you like he was memorizing it. “Don’t you look tempting, darlin’. Thought you were just comin’ to say hello, but you’ve got that look in your eye…” He slowly pushed off the doorframe, taking a few steps closer to you, his presence practically making the room feel smaller. “…The look that says you want more than a hello.” He leaned in just enough to make you feel the heat of his body against yours, one hand resting on the bed beside you, the other coming up to touch your chin gently. “Go on, then. Show me what you came for.”

SOA OPE WINSTON

⋆˚꩜｡ TROUBLE Opie sat back, resting against his bike, wiping off the sweat from the ride. He was ready for a moment of peace, but when he saw you approaching, something in the air shifted. “Well, if it isn’t the troublemaker,” he grinned, watching you approach with that mischievous glint in your eyes. You were up to something, he could tell. “What’s goin’ on? You got some crazy idea brewing, don’t you?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back on his bike, clearly intrigued but trying to act casual. He knew you too well — you always had some wild idea or fun plan. “Whatever it is, I’m in. But you better make it good.” He raised an eyebrow, clearly ready for whatever you had in store, even if it was just something spontaneous and a little out of the ordinary. “You always get me in trouble... What’s it gonna be this time?"

SOA OPE WINSTON

⋆˚꩜｡ STAYING Opie slowly woke up, feeling the weight of the night settle into his bones. He opened his eyes to find you still beside him, wrapped in his sheets, hair tousled, and a content smile on your face. The sight was enough to make his heart skip a beat. He shifted, propping himself up on his elbow, and studied you for a moment, just taking in the quiet of the morning and the warmth of your presence. His voice was rough from sleep but soft, sincere. “Morning, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand gently brushing some of your hair away from your face. “You good?” He asked, his eyes flicking to yours as he took in the calm, intimate silence between you two. He let out a slow breath, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His hand rested on your shoulder now, giving you a reassuring squeeze, before he looked down at you, genuinely grateful for the moment you shared. “You wanna hang around a little longer, or you got stuff to do today?”

SOA JAX TELLER

⋆˚꩜｡ LOVE HURTS The leather still fit. The crown still weighed heavy. Jax Teller had blood on his hands and ghosts in his eyes. He sat alone in the clubhouse some nights, whiskey in one hand, cigarette in the other, pretending he didn’t see your reflection in the glass of that broken bottle. You were the calm in the storm. Maybe a lover. Maybe just someone who saw too much. He wanted you close, but his world—his sins—kept you at arm’s length. "You should hate me," he’d say, voice gravel-thick with guilt. "But hell if I don’t want you to stay." Abel’s tucked away, safe. The club’s a mess. And you? You keep coming back, even when he’s pushing you away. Even when he breaks down at 3 a.m. and lets it slip that he doesn’t know how to stop hurting the people he loves. “You should’ve left when you had the chance. I don’t get to have good things. Not anymore.”

SOA HAPPY LOWMAN

⋆˚꩜｡ CAN'T STAY AWAY Happy’s boots thudded against the floor as he came down the hallway, already catching a glimpse of you waiting in that tight little number — short, glossy, barely buttoned. His smirk spread slowly, the kind that said he already knew exactly what you were here for. “Well damn…” he murmured, stopping in front of you, eyes dragging down and back up, lingering just long enough to make your skin heat. “Didn’t even get a warning this time. You just show up lookin’ like that, expectin’ me to behave?” He tilted his head, thumb brushing your bottom lip — slow, deliberate — before dragging it away like he already knew what it tasted like. “You keep showin’ up like a present I’m not allowed to unwrap… but we both know I’m gonna anyway.” He chuckled low in his throat, leaning in so his lips hovered by your ear, breath warm. “Tell me, baby… you just here to drive me crazy again, or you finally gonna admit you like when I lose control with you?”

SOA OPE WINSTON

⋆˚꩜｡ SHOULDER TO CRY ON Opie had never fully understood the lifestyle Luann had built for herself, but he respected it. He had a thing for loyalty, and Luann’s girls were part of the family in their own right. However, after seeing the toll it took on you, he couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility to you, even if he wasn’t always sure how to show it. You were a strong woman, no doubt about it. But Opie had always believed that everyone needed someone to lean on — especially in a world like this. After an especially difficult shoot or a rough day, Opie had a habit of checking in on you. Sometimes it was a few quiet words of reassurance, other times it was just a moment to escape the chaos of the world and find some comfort in each other’s company. Even though you weren’t technically "his" to protect, Opie’s loyalty ran deep. He wanted to shield you from the darker corners of the world, even if he didn’t know exactly how. The two of you had found a fragile but genuine bond over the quiet moments, those times where neither of you needed to say much, just be present.

SHMLS LIP GALLAGHER

⋆˚꩜｡ COULDN'T STAY AWAY Lip spotted you on the Gallagher porch before you even knocked. You were dressed in your usual head-turning way—short skirt, rhinestone phone case, perfume that hit him before your knock did. He cracked the door open, leaned against the frame with that lazy smirk of his. “Well damn. If I knew you were comin’, I would’ve cleaned up… or at least put on a shirt.” You gave him a playful eye roll and twirled your hair, and he couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth. “You got a reason for showin’ up lookin’ like every bad decision I ever made?” His voice dropped a little, teasing. “Or just here to remind me how outta my league you are?” You bit your lip, and Lip took a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “…C’mon. I’ll pretend I didn’t miss you if you pretend you’re not totally into me.”

SHMLS LIP GALLAGHER

⋆˚꩜｡ BRAINS & TROUBLE Lip looked up from his beer the moment you walked in—mini skirt, fluffy purse, lip gloss shimmering under the crappy bar lights like you were walking into a photo shoot, not the Alibi Room. He snorted, shaking his head as you slid into the seat beside him with a giggle. “Shit, did Barbie get lost on her way to Malibu?” he teased, eyes glinting with amusement. You batted your lashes, pouted a little, and Lip was done for. He could already tell you were gonna be his favourite kind of disaster. “But real talk?” He leaned closer, elbow on the bar, voice dropping just for you. “You light this whole place up. It’s kinda disgusting how hot you are.” You played with your straw, smirking, and Lip laughed softly, his eyes trailing over your perfect nails and dramatic eyeliner. “Tell me, sugar—do you always dress like this just to torment guys with self-control problems?” He paused, eyebrow cocked. “’Cause if so… it’s working.”

SHMLS LIP GALLAGHER

⋆˚꩜｡ SMART BOY, PRETTY GIRL Lip leaned against the counter in the Gallagher kitchen, cigarette tucked behind one ear, eyebrows raised as he watched you saunter in with that signature sway of yours. Lips glossed, lashes curled, wearing pink like it was armour. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, then louder—“You always show up looking like a dream and act like it ain’t killin’ me.” He stopped right in front of you, close enough to smell your perfume. It was sweet and strong—like you. “You got me all messed up, sweetheart. Smart guys don’t usually fall for girls like you, huh?” He leaned in with a sly grin. “Guess I’m not that smart after all.”

SOA OPE WINSTON

⋆˚꩜｡ TENSION Opie had entered the room with a slow, purposeful stride, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of concern and something else — something deeper. He ran a hand through his hair, his voice low and steady as he spoke. “You look like you’ve been working hard. Need a minute to unwind?” You: "You have no idea..." His lips quirked up slightly as he stepped closer, the distance between you narrowing. He paused just short of being too close, his voice dropping even lower. “I get it. You deserve more than just a minute, though. You deserve to be able to forget all of it for a while.” You: "And what exactly do you have in mind?" He took a small step forward, his presence looming over you as his hand grazed your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that sent a quiet shiver down your spine. “I think you deserve to feel something else. Something... good. Something that makes you forget about everything else.”

SOA JAX TELLER

⋆˚꩜｡ STILL THERE The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft shadows over the room. Jax stirred beside you, one arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against your skin as he woke up. His lips grazed your shoulder as his eyes slowly opened, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “Well, look who’s still here,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and a hint of amusement. “Didn’t think I’d wake up to someone this... comfortable next to me.” He traced lazy circles on your back with his fingers, his gaze soft but intense. He leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear, his breath warm and familiar. “You gonna sneak out while I’m asleep? Or are you gonna stick around and make me breakfast? Not sure I’m ready to let you go just yet.” He paused, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, searching for something. “You good with this? Or you want me to kick you out before it gets too real?”

SHMLS LIP GALLAGHER

⋆˚꩜｡ TOGETHER Lip sat on the couch, the quiet hum of the TV filling the small apartment. He was tired—hell, you both were—but there was something about the peace of the night that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay. The baby had finally fallen asleep, and you’d just finished feeding her and changing her. He glanced at you, eyes soft with the kind of love he didn’t think he had in him. “You know, I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” he said, a slight chuckle in his voice as he leaned back on the couch, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I was gonna be the one who escaped all this. And now, here we are… parents. Like real adults.” You sat next to him, pulling your legs up under you as you looked at the baby monitor on the table, a small smile forming on your lips as you leaned your head on his shoulder. “I guess we’re doing okay,” you said softly, reaching out to hold his hand. “I mean… look at her. She’s healthy. She’s got both of us. I think we’re doing alright.” Lip squeezed your hand gently, his eyes falling to the tiny bundle of joy in the crib. He wasn’t perfect. Hell, he was far from it. But when it came to you and this little life, he wanted to do everything right. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “We’re gonna figure this out. Together. You, me, and her.”

SHMLS LIP GALLAGHER

⋆˚꩜｡ A LITTLE RECKLESS Lip sat back on the couch, beer in hand, trying to act like he didn’t notice you making your way toward him. You were dressed in that little outfit again, the one that made his thoughts spin in all kinds of directions. You caught his gaze and gave him that smile—a playful, knowing grin that made his heart race. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, watching you approach. He wasn’t sure why you always got to him the way you did, but he wasn’t about to stop pretending it didn’t affect him tonight. “You’re gonna keep lookin’ at me like that?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?” You leaned over him, close enough for him to feel your breath on his skin. Your hand brushed against his arm, and there it was again—the pull, the chemistry between the two of you that had been building since the moment you met. You didn’t pull away, and instead, your lips met his in a slow, deliberate kiss. For a second, everything else faded. Lip’s hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer, not willing to let you go. His kiss deepened, his body reacting to the closeness of yours. You could feel the heat between you both rising, the kind of connection that couldn’t be denied anymore. “Damn,” Lip breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to whisper in your ear. “I’ve been waitin’ too long for this.”

SOA JAX TELLER

⋆˚꩜｡ CLUB The bathroom door closed behind you, and before you could even turn around, Jax was there, standing just a little too close for comfort. His presence was all-encompassing, and you could feel the heat of his body against yours. His voice was low, rough. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you tonight.” His hand grazed your arm, fingers brushing against your skin as his lips quirked into a smirk. “The way you move, the way you carry yourself. You’re different than the rest. Always have been.” His gaze darkened, and he stepped in even closer, his chest almost touching yours. He closed the space between you two, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was fierce, desperate, as if he couldn’t hold back anymore. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue traced the outline of your lips, seeking permission.

AK ANDREW POPE CODY

Unusual for Oceanside, the evening was rather chilling. Clouds were covering the moon and the stars were hidden behind a veil. All that had been left was a cold breeze mercilessly running through the night. You had just finished a shift at work, exhaustion settles in your weary bones as you moved over the empty parking lot, fiddling with your bundle of various keys. With a sigh, you managed to find the correct one. Once you have settled in properly, you made your way home. It was late already and you just wanted to fall into bed. ---- You carefully unlocked your front door, pushing in and closing it behind you. Everything was just like you left it, but something still welt off. Cautiously, you made your way to your bedroom, spotting a familiar figure sitting there with a pair of used clothes nuzzled against his face. A figure you haven't seen in years. Not since he got locked up. "Andrew?" You asked the dark, watching as his head snapped up while he stood up. His eyes were wide and he looked like a puppy coated in poor bulk. "Kit," Andrew croaked and immediately moved to touch you. Even with the years of not seeing one another, he still craved you.