#butler!jax

[an-albino-pinetree]

It’s just hot workin’ in a suit all day- that’s all-

tmotadt AU and Butler!Jax credit: @g00bergoo !

[carnevol]

Benny Cross (The Bikeriders) | Jax Teller (Sons of Anarchy)

for @imaginaryplaythings 💕

[rascallyrose92]

I’ve noticed a similarity between my fav indie animation characters

[charmingsoa]

✶ Where the Wild Things Are: Two ✶ ■ 1960s Sons of Anarchy story ■

⌃ Jax Teller/ OC x Thomas Teller/OC ⌃

Warning: Please read with caution. This story will include: drug use, physical, verbal, and sexual abuse. miscarriages, sexual content, alcohol use, homicide, cursing, etc. ★ If You would like to be tagged in future updates, simply leave your username in the comments.

Taglist: @oskea93, @keyweegirlie @ravennaortiz

As the California sun beat down on me, the wind whipping through my hair as I rode on the back of the motorcycle, I couldn't help but reflect on the narrow-minded beliefs my parents had instilled in me and my brothers. Growing up in a conservative household where conformity and judgment were the norm, I had always been taught to view anyone who rode motorcycles as nothing but trash – individuals destined for the depths of hell.

My parents, staunch believers in their own sect of holy rollers, held strong prejudices against those who lived differently or held alternative beliefs. They saw the world in black and white, with no room for shades of gray or understanding. But as I clung to the back of the driver, feeling the freedom of the open road beneath me, I realized how misguided their teachings had been.

The rider in front of me, a stranger whose name I learned was Tig, exuded a sense of liberation and rebellion that I had never experienced before. The rumble of the engine beneath us seemed to drown out the judgmental voices of my past, and for the first time, I felt truly alive.

When the group first pulled up in front of me, I didn’t know whether to take their offer or run for the distant hills. Growing up, the horror stories of gangs kidnapping young girls and doing the unthinkable were ingrained in my psyche as my mother preached of their dangers. She would spew words of hatred and fear whenever the topic arose, warning me to steer clear of any suspicious-looking individuals or groups that might pose a threat.

As I stood there, frozen in indecision, the leader of the group stepped forward with a smile that seemed almost too friendly for someone in his position. His eyes held a glint of mischief, but there was something else there too – a hint of vulnerability that I couldn’t quite place.

"Hey there, don’t be afraid," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "We’re just a group of travelers looking for some company on the road. We mean you no harm."

I hesitated, my mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Should I trust this stranger and accept his offer of companionship, or should I heed the warnings of my mother and make a run for it? The decision weighed heavily on my shoulders, the consequences of each choice playing out vividly in my mind.

In the end, curiosity got the best of me, and I found myself nodding hesitantly, agreeing to join the group on their journey. As I climbed onto the back of his bike and we set off down the road together, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was embarking on an adventure that would change my life forever.

As we finally started to slow down upon entering a small town called Charming, I couldn't help but notice the reactions of the locals as the bikes rumbled past. Pedestrians on the sidewalk stopped in their tracks, their eyes widening with surprise and disapproval as they watched the group pass by. Disapproving looks were etched on their faces, and I could almost feel the judgment radiating towards them.

The quaint shops and cafes that lined the main street seemed to quiet down as we rode through, the sound of the engines cutting through the peaceful ambiance of the town. I could see the whispers and sideways glances exchanged among the townspeople, their curiosity mixed with a hint of fear or disdain.

The men didn’t seem to mind the disapproving looks from the townspeople – smirks on some of their faces as they revved their engines a little more as they passed by. The sound of the engines roared through the quiet streets, echoing off the old brick buildings that lined the road.

As they pulled into a side entrance of a garage, I knew this was officially the end of the line for them. I watched as they parked side-by-side, each backing their bikes into their assigned spaces. The engines sputtered to a halt, the sound gradually fading into the background as the men dismounted and stretched their legs.

I quickly gathered my things, removing myself from the bike, my legs feeling equivalent to jelly as they gathered the strength to hold up my weight. The adrenaline that had fueled me through the ride was now dissipating, leaving behind a feeling of exhaustion and exhilaration.

I leaned against a nearby lamppost, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. The men exchanged nods and grins as they gathered in a loose circle, their leather jackets creaking slightly as they moved.

One of them, a tall man with a patchwork of tattoos covering his arms, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered them around. The faint smell of smoke mingled with the lingering scent of gasoline, creating a heady mix that hung in the air.

As they lit up and took long drags, their faces relaxed into expressions of contentment. The tension that had hung over them during the ride seemed to melt away, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose.

The door to the business slowly opened, an older woman stepped onto the concrete below. Her presence commanded attention, exuding a sense of authority and confidence that made it clear she was not to be underestimated. The leather pants she wore hugged her figure, accentuating her strong and graceful movements as she made her way towards the men.

Her blonde highlights caught the sunlight, creating a halo of shimmering gold around her head. Despite the warmth of the day, there was a coolness in her gaze that hinted at a steely resolve beneath the polished exterior. I observed from a respectful distance as Gemma interacted with the men, her gestures filled with warmth and affection that spoke of deep bonds and shared history. She moved among them with ease, exchanging hugs and kisses that spoke of a familial closeness that went beyond mere camaraderie.

A tall man approached her from behind, his presence exuding a sense of quiet strength and authority. He wrapped his strong arms around her small waist, drawing her close in a gesture that was both protective and intimate. The woman’s laughter rang out, a clear and joyful sound that seemed to light up the space around them.

Their lips met in a brief but tender kiss, a display of affection that was unapologetically open and genuine. There was a sense of ease and comfort between them, a connection that ran deep and unspoken, forged through years of shared experiences and challenges.

My eyes moved away from the couple as the door reopened, this time revealing a blonde man. He looked to be in his early 20s – shoulder length hair resting against his work shirt. I don’t know how I looked to those around, but it was almost like how a cartoon character’s draw drops to the floor – he was gorgeous. I watched as he stepped off the stoop, sauntering over to the circle of men, clapping them on the back as he welcomed their return.

I was so caught up in the enigmatic presence of the blonde man that I failed to notice another individual had quietly slipped into the corner with us – the older woman with a knowing smile playing on her lips. Her voice, smooth and seasoned, cut through the hazy atmosphere around us.

"You lost, kitten?" she inquired, her tone a curious blend of amusement and concern. Her eyes, framed by fine lines that whispered of wisdom and experience, held a glint of something indefinable, as though she saw more than just the surface of things.

Startled by her sudden appearance and the unexpected nickname, I turned to face her, momentarily at a loss for words. The air between us crackled with a kind of unspoken understanding, as if she could see right through the facade I presented to the world.

“Sorry-“ I stammered. “I – uh-“

A smile spread across her face as she placed her hand on my arm, her touch warm and comforting. "You must be the little one the guys picked up on their way home. Tig told me all about you when he called a little while ago."

Memories of when we stopped at the gas station hours before came flooding back – the smell of gasoline, the flickering lights, and the sound of chatter from the other customers. I remembered my eyes connecting with Tig’s as he spoke animatedly in the glass box, his voice carrying a sense of urgency and excitement.

"What’s your name, sweetheart?" the woman asked, her eyes kind and curious.

Tucking a loose red strand of hair behind my ear, I replied, "Catherine. Catherine Landry." My voice was low, almost a whisper, as if unsure of my own presence in this moment.

The woman's smile widened, a glint of recognition flashing in her eyes. "Catherine Landry," she repeated softly, as if savoring the sound of the name. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Catherine. I'm Gemma."

As I started to speak, the sound of gravel crunching beneath heavy steps caught my attention, drawing my gaze away from Gemma. I turned, my eyes following the path of the approaching figure with blonde hair that glinted in the bright sunshine.

He walked with purpose, his strides confident and measured, his presence commanding attention. The gravel shifted under his weight, creating a rhythmic pattern that seemed to echo the beating of my heart.

As he drew closer, I noticed the intensity in his gaze, the way his eyes seemed to search and assess, taking in every detail of the scene before him. There was a certain magnetism about him, a silent strength that seemed to radiate from his very being.

Gemma's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of recognition crossing her features as she greeted him with a nod. "Hey baby," she said, her voice warm and welcoming.

As the two embraced one another, I stood there, a silent observer to the intimate moment unfolding before me. The man's eyes remained fixed on me, a hint of curiosity and something else I couldn't quite decipher lingering in their depths.

Gemma's arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her embrace filled with a sense of familiarity and comfort. There was a closeness between them, a bond that seemed to transcend words and time.

I watched as they held each other, their connection palpable in the air around them. It was as if they shared a history, a story that only they knew, leaving me on the outside looking in, a stranger to their world.

As they finally pulled away, a silent understanding passing between them, the man turned his gaze back to me. There was a question in his eyes, a silent inquiry that hung in the air, waiting to be answered.

As Gemma turned her attention back to me, her warm smile lighting up her face, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within me. "Catherine," she began, her voice filled with a sense of familiarity and fondness, "This is my son, Jackson."

Jackson. The name echoed in my mind, stirring something deep within me. I looked up to meet his gaze, finding a pair of eyes that held a hint of curiosity and a touch of amusement.

Gemma's introduction caught me off guard, her words painting a picture of me as a lost soul in need of rescue. "She's the little thing that Tig and the guys picked up along the way," she explained, her tone lighthearted but tinged with a hint of motherly concern.

I couldn't help but inwardly roll my eyes at her explanation, feeling a twinge of annoyance at being likened to a stray puppy. It was true that I had found myself in an unexpected situation, but I was no damsel in distress in need of saving.

As I exchanged greetings with Jackson, a sense of curiosity sparked within me. There was something about him, a quiet strength and a depth in his eyes that hinted at hidden layers beneath the surface.

Jackson smirked and his eyes roamed up my body, a wave of self-consciousness washed over me, causing a slight flush to rise to my cheeks. His gaze held a hint of mischief and confidence, leaving me momentarily flustered in his presence.

"It's nice to meet you too," I replied, trying to maintain a composed demeanor despite the flutter of nerves within me. There was something magnetic about Jackson, an undeniable charm that drew me in even as I felt the weight of his scrutiny.

Gemma's proud voice interrupted the moment, drawing my attention back to her as she spoke of her son. "Jax is the leader of the group," she said with a hint of pride. "Along with my other son, Thomas." The revelation that there were two brothers leading the group took me by surprise. “Club comes from a strong line of Teller men," Gemma continued, her tone filled with reverence and hope for the future. "Hoping to continue that tradition in the future." She affectionately patted Jackson's chest, her gesture a symbol of both maternal pride and a legacy to uphold.

Jackson rolled his eyes at his mother's suggestion, a hint of amusement danced in his gaze.

"Trust me," he stated, his deep voice carrying a sense of authority that cut through the air, "She's really the one in charge."

The bond between Jackson and Gemma was palpable from the very beginning. It was clear to anyone who observed them that they shared a special connection, a closeness that went beyond words. Jackson was the one closest to his mother, their relationship built on a foundation of trust, understanding, and unwavering loyalty.

In contrast, Thomas seemed to be as far removed from Gemma as possible. There was a distance between them, an unspoken divide that hinted at unresolved issues and unspoken tensions. While Jackson and Gemma thrived in each other's company, Thomas seemed to seek solace elsewhere, distancing himself from the intricate web of relationships that defined their family dynamic.

Jax and Gemma's bond ran deep, a complex tapestry of emotions that intertwined their fates in ways that were both captivating and destructive. They fed off each other's energy, their connection fueled by a sense of mutual need and dependency that bordered on obsession.

Thick as thieves one moment, brutal enemies the next, their relationship was a rollercoaster of emotions that played out like a high-stakes drama. Time slipped away, leaving behind a trail of unresolved conflicts and simmering tensions that threatened to erupt at any moment.

The heat that Gemma placed between her two sons was a double-edged sword, igniting a fire that fueled their passions and their conflicts in equal measure. Theirs was a relationship fraught with complexity, where love and loyalty mingled with jealousy and resentment, creating a volatile mix that kept them locked in a perpetual dance of push and pull.

Thomas felt the weight of his mother Gemma's favoritism like a heavy chain, binding him to a perpetual cycle of disappointment and resentment. From a young age, he watched as Gemma showered his older brother Jackson with praise and attention, leaving him in the shadows of Jax's achievements. Despite his best efforts to earn her approval, Gemma's preference for Jackson was unwavering, creating a toxic atmosphere of rivalry and animosity between the Teller brothers.

"So, from what I heard, you’re hitching to San Francisco?” Gemma spoke as she looked at me with curiosity. “What’s so important down there that you had to leave home for?” She pushed past her son, taking hold of my arm as she started walking up towards the building.

“From the looks of you-“She did a once over. “Looks to me like you’re running away from something – midwestern lifestyle, perhaps?” Gemma's keen observation caught me off guard, her words cutting through my carefully crafted facade. I shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way I hadn't anticipated.

I cleared my throat nervously, feeling the weight of my confession hanging in the air. "My parents are very conservative – conservative and very religious," Her eyes closing in understanding, Gemma listened intently as I opened about my inner conflict. "They're lovely people – " I began to backpedal, feeling a need to qualify my earlier statement. "But the life I want to live doesn't match with how they want me to live. I want to be able to be free and do what I please, but they're all about the image and how the Lord wants us to live our lives."

"You ran away?" Gemma's voice was filled with concern and empathy, her eyes searching mine for answers.

I nodded slowly, the memories of that night flooding. "Left in the middle of the night after my father beat me with a switch," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. My eyes cast down to the ground, unable to meet Gemma's gaze as the shame and hurt of that moment washed over me once again. "He called me awful names, and my mother just sat there and watched."

Gemma's back straightened, a steely resolve entering her expression as she processed my words. "Doesn't sound to me like they're lovely people," she stated firmly, her voice tinged with indignation.

I shrugged my shoulders, “That’s just how they are – been like that my whole life.” I knew I shouldn’t be making excuses for them, but they were my parents. “I’m the only daughter – I was supposed to be the epitome of a perfect daughter.”

“What could be so bad that your daddy beats you?”

I watched as she pulled out a cigarette, gesturing for me to take one as well. She quickly lit the end of the stick, the smoke invading my lungs with ease. “I started messing around with boys at an early age – sex, drugs, dancing. Sex was my go-to though. They didn’t want their only daughter being known as the town whore, which I guess I became. I was supposed to save myself until I was married – only letting my wedded husband lay between my legs.”

Gemma chuckled, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Sounds a lot like my folks," she remarked, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and humor.

"I just needed to get away, and after seeing all those people on the nightly news coming out here and living life their own way and being free and peaceful –" I paused, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air. "I just need that in my life right now. A life where I can be free and do whatever I want to do. And if that means I have to do negative things to get to that place, then so be it."

As I spoke, I felt a mix of determination and uncertainty churning within me. The longing for freedom and self-expression had grown into a burning desire, fueled by the stories of those who had dared to defy conventions and carve out their own paths. The allure of a life unbound by limitations and expectations beckoned to me like a distant star, promising a sense of liberation and authenticity that had eluded me for so long.

“You know –“Gemma started. “The Frisco area isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Her tone matter of fact. “I know it looks all peace and love on the tv screen but it’s really just a bunch of homeless hippies that are looking for attention and free handouts.”

I let out an annoyed sigh.

"Listen, little girl," her voice took on a more serious tone, the lines on her face softening with a mix of concern and affection. "You've accomplished the biggest goal you set for yourself – you made it all the way to California." She paused, letting the significance of the moment sink in before continuing.

A wide smile slowly spread across her face, reflecting pride and admiration. "By what you just told me, that was the ultimate goal. Now, I know going a little further south for the whole peace and love movement was the next quest, but I think for your sake it would be better for you to stay here."

“I don’t know anyone here, though.” I was grasping for excuses.

Her face twisted in a mix of concern and determination. "You weren't gonna know anyone down there either." She tossed her cigarette down, the ember extinguishing under the pressure of her heeled shoe. "You've managed to meet a whole crew of men that will now look after you if you choose to stay. You've met me and Jax – you'll get to meet Thomas when he decides to come home. You're no longer around strangers, baby doll. We can be your family – a family that'll treat you right."

Her voice softened, the edges of her tough exterior melting away to reveal a deep sense of care and protection. "We've seen the world through different lenses, faced our own battles, and carved out our own paths in this chaotic dance of life. But amidst all the chaos, we found each other – kindred spirits bound by shared experiences and unspoken connections."

The older woman's eyes held a glimmer of hope, a silent plea for understanding and acceptance. "You have a home here, among friends who will stand by you through thick and thin, who will lift you up when you stumble and celebrate your victories as their own. Take a chance on us, darling. Let us be the family you never knew you needed, but always longed for deep in your heart."

I would end up staying in that small fucking town for the next 25 years – my whole world coming to revolve around the Teller family and the Sons of Anarchy.

[velka-art]

I…. I did a thing???

Gotta serve those costumer with a flawless service!

[foldedchip]

[skelefun-art]

hey guys here’s some work doodles🤲🏻

[thegettingbyp2]

Hey! Just letting everyone know, I'm opening up requests for Jax Teller from Sons of Anarchy! I'm watching it for the first time at the moment and I love him so much! If you send a request, please can you not send any spoilers for the time being, I'm just at the end of S3 so don't want to ruin anything!

I'm planning on having a writing night and I've got a couple of requests but please keep sending them in for anyone I'm currently taking requests for (people I'm not taking requests for are on my masterlist), including Jax!

[chanandlersstuff]

You all that are dying out there for Benny Cross, let me tell you something you will never survive the OG version Jax fucking Teller.

If you have the hots for blonde bikers that smoke like a fucking chimney, girl, you'll have a fucking volcano for Jax, trust me.

[cosmicanakin]

𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 ✺

𓈒ㅤׂ 𖦹 wanna see some more? head to navigation.

ᯓ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 !

001. ୨୧ vinnie hacker

002. ୨୧ hayden christensen

003. ୨୧ jensen ackles

004. ୨୧ paul walker

005. ୨୧ drew starkey

006. ୨୧ jared padalecki

007. ୨୧ jax teller

008. ୨୧ austin butler

009. ୨୧ chad michael murray

010. ୨୧ glen powell

ᰋ ݁ ᘛ ݂ extras. c.ai or search up @ flirtaous !

⭑ fyi inbox is open 4 requests && yap sessions !!! ⭑ do not plagiarize or repost my works on other platforms.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

“The Bikeriders” (2023) feels like the First 9 spin-off to “Sons of Anarchy” that we never got.

[an-albino-pinetree]

So, instead of trying to start something new/in the works- I went back to something really old, inked and coloured it, and I am okay✨ with the result

(Also, hopefully I don’t have to explain this, but, the “dishes” comment, isn’t because she’s a woman, and this is like 1974- It’s him explaining that if she really wants to help him out, there’s a bunch of shitty, boring, cleaning to be done) 👍🏻

AU credit : @g00bergoo 🚂

[carnevol]

Jax Teller (Sons of Anarchy) | Benny Cross (The Bikeriders)

[ofcourseiwillmydarling]

I’m 20 and a full - time student.

You can call me ‘Honey’ or whatever you like, i don’t mind nicknames :) My pronouns are she - her.

— I <3 metal and rock but I’m also a big Lana Del Rey fan! My work will probably be influenced by her aesthetic and songs :)

I love to write - or at least, attempt to - and make moodboards ! English is not my first language so I apologise in advance for any grammatical errors - inconsistencies in my work (and introduction lol). I am really big on bikers - motorcycle clubs (fictional and not) and most of my work will focus on them; I do, however, plan to write for the walking dead and supernatural in the future.

! DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE A MINOR. I cannot control what you might read - stumble upon on tumblr but please do not interact with me or my posts if you are underage.

— Please keep messages kind and respectful! This is a judgment free zone, I’d like it to be a safe space for everyone! No judgement or being mean; feel free to share your smuttiest thoughts on our favourite men (and women ;P) , do not be shy to interact with me! I love to talk and hear about random thoughts <3

As in for my writing (and moodboards) - requests - prompts, I will mainly write for Jax Teller, Johnny Davis & Benny Cross. Again do not be shy to send in your requests about the characters not mentioned here! I will write for any character of your choice, the ones mentioned above are a very small fraction of a loong list. Please keep in mind this is my first time posting any of my work, be patient and do not be afraid to send back a feedback or criticism to help me improve !

Most of my work will be x fem! reader, but I will gladly write gender neutral or whatever you have in mind! I will try to keep it as neutral as possible, so if you’d like something more close to what meets your criteria (physical appearance, personality, style etc) feel free to send a VERY specific prompt — if you like, we can discuss it in DMs to get the best outcome :) — and even pictures, whatever you believe might help me create the best possible answer for you. <3

— About my moodboards…be as specific as possible! The majority (if not all) of the pictures I use come from Pinterest, I will try my best to credit the rightful owners but its nearly impossible to trace the original creators - owners. If they are yours PLEASE!!! notify me so I can give credit or remove!

Feel free to send me DMs, asks, prompts, rambles…whatever you like! I love to chat and meet new people, especially if we share the same interests!

Lastly, I am new to tumblr and how everything works so bear with me! I will try to update this introduction and, in the future, add a masterlist for my work :)

Love,

Honey <3

[charmingsoa]

✶ Where the Wild Things Are: Three ✶ ■ 1960s Sons of Anarchy story ■

⌃ Jax Teller/ OC x Thomas Teller/OC ⌃

Warning: Please read with caution. This story will include: drug use, physical, verbal, and sexual abuse. miscarriages, sexual content, alcohol use, homicide, cursing, etc. ★ If You would like to be tagged in future updates, simply leave your username in the comments.

Taglist: @oskea93, @keyweegirlie @ravennaortiz @ghostlyteacups @yelchinweasleylothbrok

“What does that say?”

As I strained my eyes to decipher the hastily scribbled grocery list, a sense of curiosity mingled with apprehension crept over me.

"Molasses?" I muttered to myself, puzzled by the seemingly random assortment of items the guys had jotted down. Gemma had entrusted me with the task of procuring supplies for the party scheduled for that evening, a gathering that seemed to hold a special significance for the denizens of the club.

Rumors circulated among the women who frequented the garage that the impending celebration was not just any ordinary affair; it was, in fact, a veiled homage to the enigmatic figure of Thomas Teller, the unspoken son whose presence loomed large over the club. Despite my three-month tenure in Charming and my proximity to the club, discussions regarding Thomas Teller were few and far between.

Gemma, with her characteristic candor, would occasionally broach the subject of Thomas, only to be met with stony silence from Jackson and Clay. The mere mention of the younger Teller seemed to evoke a palpable discomfort among the group, shrouding his identity in a cloak of mystery and intrigue.

As I raised my head from the perplexing grocery list, a deep voice jolted me out of my reverie. My gaze met the steady, yet kind eyes of a tall man standing beside me, his presence commanding attention in the bustling store.

"Need help with something?" he inquired, his tone warm and inviting.

Surprised by the sudden interaction, I stammered, "Excuse me?" My confusion was met with a reassuring smile that never wavered from his face as he gracefully moved closer, exuding an air of confidence and authority.

His uniform, crisply tailored and adorned with a gleaming gold star, hinted at a position of respect and responsibility. The badge on his chest caught the light, casting a radiant glow that seemed to illuminate his aura.

"You just looked a little lost – need help finding that item on your paper?" he offered, his offer of assistance genuine and sincere.

With a chuckle, I glanced back and forth between the kind stranger and the jumbled list in my hand. "No, just trying to read chicken scratch is all," I admitted with a smile. "I'm just guessing at this point and hoping I'm right."

As the stranger's eyes crinkled with amusement and he chuckled softly in response to my comment, I offered a small word of thanks before turning the corner, the cart's wheels protesting with a squeak under the pressure of my push. The aisles of the store seemed to stretch endlessly, filled with the soft hum of shoppers and the occasional rustle of products being restocked.

"Miss, wait—" the man's voice called out, his body swiftly catching up to me moments later. His voice was gentle yet insistent, prompting me to pause in my tracks as I glanced back at him.

"I didn't get to catch your name?" he inquired, his eyes holding a glint of curiosity and warmth.

I hesitated for a moment, struck by the unexpected turn of events and the genuine interest in his question. With a soft smile, I turned fully towards him, the aisles of the store fading into the background as our brief encounter took center stage.

"Oh, um –“ I stumbled. “Catherine. My name is Catherine.”

His smile widened. “You got a last name, Catherine?” His eyes sparkled with mischief; a playful glint that made my heart skip a beat.

His smile causing me to smile back, “Yeah, it’s Landry. Catherine Landry.” The air between us seemed to crackle with a newfound energy, a connection forged in the unlikeliest of places.

“Well Catherine Landry, I know everyone in this town, and I never laid my eyes on the likes of you. Wanna tell me how that happened?”

I watched as he politely acknowledged the older woman that walked past us in the aisle – the woman greeting him as Sheriff Hale.

I shuffled nervously on my sandaled feet, feeling a mix of apprehension. "Oh, well, I got here about three months ago," I began, noticing his eyes narrowing in curiosity as he listened intently.

"I was actually on my way to San Francisco, but a group of bikers picked me up and brought me here, and I've been here ever since."

He stayed silent for a moment, his expression unreadable as he leaned against the shelf, absorbing my story. "Bikers? You talkin about the Sons of Anarchy?" he inquired, a hint of recognition coloring his voice.

I nodded my head, "Yeah, I've been helping out at their garage, and Gemma and Clay have been letting me stay at their place until I can get on my feet. Everyone's been real friendly," I shared, a warmth in my voice as I spoke of the unexpected hospitality I had received.

A loud sigh escaped from the sheriff's pursed lips, his expression turning serious as he leaned his head back. "Darlin—" he began, his tone weighed down with a sense of caution. "Nothin' about that group is friendly – trust me." His words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow of doubt over the rosy picture I had painted in my mind.

A confused look floated over my face, uncertainty creeping into my thoughts as I processed his warning. "Especially when it comes to the Teller family and their band of goons," he added, his gaze steady and unwavering.

The atmosphere between us shifted palpably, the once easy camaraderie giving way to a tense undercurrent as the sheriff's words lingered in the space between us. His close proximity, once a source of comfort, now felt stifling, the weight of unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air.

"Well, when they pick a random girl up in the middle of nowhere after she was abandoned by some asshole in the dead of night, I think that's pretty genuine of them. Especially since they never asked for anything in return," I retorted, my voice tinged with a hint of disdain.

As I stood there, the sheriff's gaze piercing through me, I felt a surge of defiance rising within me. The bond forged with the bikers, flawed as it may be, held a sense of authenticity that transcended the sheriff's warnings and doubts. In a town where secrets whispered in the shadows, I clung to the glimmer of connection and acceptance that had found me in the most unlikely of places.

 "All I'm sayin is for a beautiful girl such as yourself, those men, the Teller brothers included, want nothing more than to use you for their own satisfaction and then spit you out when they're done with ya," His words cutting through the charged silence like a knife, his warning ringing in my ears with a chilling clarity

"I've seen it happen too many times to count – I would hate to see you get hurt,"

In response, I deadpanned, my voice low and steady, "I don't need you to worry about me, Sheriff Hale." The words slipped from my lips with a quiet resolve, a hint of defiance coloring my tone.

Who knew that those words would come back to haunt me in the coming years. That I would come to rely on Breckon Hale when everything around me and my unborn daughter was falling apart and people were dropping left and right…

I stood off in the corner as the party was in full swing, observing the lively scene unfolding before me. Gemma, the life of the party, moved with effortless grace, her magnetic energy drawing people towards her like moths to a flame.

The hang-arounds as Gemma called them clung to random members, kissing and rubbing themselves against them in full view of those around.

The air was thick with the mingling scents of alcohol and weed, creating a heady mix that added to the party's vibrant atmosphere. Some guests sat at tables, their focus on white lines meticulously arranged in front of them, lost in their own world of ephemeral highs and fleeting escapes.

Meanwhile, I found myself nursing the same bottle of beer for what felt like an eternity, content to observe from the sidelines. The pulsating music throbbed in the background, a constant reminder of the lively energy that enveloped the room.

My gaze drifted to Clay, a towering figure with a presence that commanded attention. His strong arm draped lazily over Gemma's shoulders as they weaved through the crowd, engaged in animated conversations with various partygoers. There was a familiarity in their interactions, a silent understanding that spoke volumes about their shared history.

Sitting in the dark corner of the room near the exit, I couldn't help but notice Jackson Teller and his imposing friend, Opie. Their presence exuded a certain aura that drew the attention of those around them. I observed as they engaged in conversation, their camaraderie evident in the easy way they interacted with each other.

Jackson, or Jax as he was known, seemed to have a magnetic pull on those around him. I watched as he would momentarily disappear with different girls, only to reappear after a few minutes, his charm and charisma leaving a lasting impression. The younger women seemed drawn to him like moths to a flame, captivated by his rugged good looks and confident demeanor.

Despite having been a part of the scene for three months, my interactions with Jax had been limited to brief exchanges in passing. There was a certain enigmatic quality about him that intrigued me, a sense of mystery that shrouded him in an air of intrigue.

“He’s a looker!”

I jumped at the unexpected sound of Tig's voice, my heart racing as I turned to see him take a seat next to mine. His words cut through the air with a casual confidence, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he spoke of the irresistible allure of Jackson Teller.

"No girl, woman, hell even man, can resist looking at that handsome fuck," Tig remarked, his tone laced with a mixture of admiration and jest as he leaned back, taking a swig from his bottle. A laugh escaped him, the sound blending with the ambient noise of the party.

I attempted to feign interest in the wall behind him, but Tig's keen perception saw through my guise. His knowing gaze bore into mine, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a knowing smirk. "You should see the younger Teller if you think Jax is hot shit," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "That little fucker can run circles around his brother in the looks department, and that's saying something."

My curiosity piqued at the mention of the elusive Teller son, Thomas. Tig's description painted a vivid picture of a young man exuding an unparalleled confidence and allure. "Thomas has an arrogance about him, worse than his brother," Tig mused, his words tinged with a mixture of amusement and admiration. "Even a nun would drop their panties for that son of a bitch."

"Isn’t this party for him – for Thomas?" I inquired; my voice tinged with curiosity as I met Tig's gaze. His nod confirmed my suspicions, the once jovial expression on his face giving way to a more somber demeanor.

"Yeah," Tig began, his tone carrying a weight of significance. "Gemma throws one every time she gets even one word that Tommy may be heading home – this is the fifth one so far this year." His words painted a picture of anticipation and longing, the repetitive nature of these gatherings hinting at a deeper yearning for the return of the elusive son.

I shifted my gaze towards Gemma, the matriarch of the Teller family, her radiant smile illuminating the dimly lit garage. Her watchful glances towards the entrance betrayed a mix of hope and apprehension, her maternal instincts on full display as she awaited the possible return.

Tig's next words drew my attention back to him, his mention of the underlying drama between the three of them casting a shadow over the festive atmosphere. "There’s a lot of drama between the three of them – Clay being the main denominator," he revealed, his words hinting at a complex web of relationships and conflicts that lay beneath the surface of the seemingly celebratory occasion.

"How so?" I pressed, unable to resist the pull of the unfolding drama, even as I acknowledged my status as an outsider, a mere stranger who had stumbled into their world by chance. Their familial intricacies were none of my business, yet the allure of the untold story was too compelling to ignore.

Tig reached for his cigarettes, offering me one in a gesture of camaraderie. I politely declined, opting to watch as he lit his own cigarette, the tendrils of smoke curling lazily into the air. "For starters," he began, his words punctuated by puffs of smoke, "Clay and John – the boys' father – were good friends. They were the ones who initially started the club." My curiosity deepened as Tig delved into the history that bound these characters together, shedding light on the origins of the tangled web of relationships that defined their lives.

"Well, they both had a thing for Gemma," Tig continued, his tone carrying a hint of admiration. "Which I can't say I blame them because she's fucking gorgeous." His candid remark added a layer of complexity to the already intricate dynamics at play, hinting at unspoken tensions and unrequited desires that simmered beneath the surface of their shared history.

"When Tommy and Jax were small – I think Jax was 12 and Tom was around 9," Tig continued, his voice laden with a somber tone that echoed the weight of the past, "John caught Gemma and Clay in bed together. It was obvious that they were fucking around behind John's back," Tig's words cut through the silence like a knife, laying bare the ugly truth that had festered beneath the surface for so long.

"One thing led to the other and Clay ended up shooting John point blank out behind the clubhouse." My hand instinctively flew to cover my mouth, a gesture of shock and disbelief as the enormity of the revelation washed over me. Tig's gaze remained fixed on the floor, his silence speaking volumes about the weight of the burden he carried, the knowledge of a dark secret that had shaped the lives of everyone involved.

Before I could utter a word, the rhythmic click of Gemma's heels echoed across the room, drawing my attention away from the tumultuous thoughts swirling in my mind. As she approached where Tig and I sat, a subtle shift in his demeanor was unmistakable, his features softening at her familiar presence. With a tender gesture, Gemma leaned down and planted a delicate kiss on Tig's stubbled cheek, a gesture that spoke volumes of their shared history and unspoken understanding.

"She's a bit too young for you, Tiggy," Gemma remarked casually, her words carrying a hint of playful admonition. In that fleeting moment, a glimpse of their intricate dynamic unfolded before me - a mix of affection, protectiveness, and perhaps a touch of possessiveness. Tig's response, a wry smile tinged with affection and a hint of defiance, revealed a complex interplay of emotions beneath the surface.

“I can look but I promise I won’t touch.” He sent a wink my way before letting Gemma have his seat.

We both watched as he walked towards the older crew, smiling and flirting with the women around. “He’s something else that’s for sure,” Gemma smiled, her eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement.

I just nodded my head, Tig’s claim still buzzing around in my brain like an annoying fly. “Heard you had a run-in with our trusty sheriff today,” Gemma remarked casually, her gaze piercing as it met mine.

Her words caught me off guard, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of unease at the thought of being watched. “I have eyes all around this town, sweetheart. You didn’t think I would let you go to the grocery store without someone following, did you?” Gemma's laughter rang out, sending a shiver down my spine.

I nervously tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to appear nonchalant. “I didn’t realize he was the sheriff until some lady spoke to him. Is he someone not to talk to?”

Gemma's expression turned serious as she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He may wear the badge, but not all that glitters is gold in this town. Be careful who you trust, darling. Not everyone has your best interests at heart,” she warned cryptically, her words lingering in the air like a warning bell.

I slowly leaned back in my seat; my gaze still fixed on the older woman. “Why?” My voice a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

She turned to look at me, her expression unreadable. “Why what?” she countered, her eyes searching mine.

Choosing my words with caution, I asked, “Why can’t he be trusted? He is the sheriff of the town; shouldn’t that count for something?”

Gemma let out a sigh, her features softening slightly. “Being the sheriff doesn’t always guarantee trustworthiness, my dear. In a place like this, power can be a double-edged sword. Not everyone wields it with honor and integrity,” she explained cryptically, her words laden with a weight I couldn't quite comprehend.

"Breckon comes from a family that has been very powerful for many years, and they don’t like the fact that a new powerful family has moved into the area – this club has more power in its pinky toe than the whole police force has in all its arsenal. We, this club, protects this town – Clay, Tig, and Jax – they are the ultimate kings of Charming," Gemma explained, her voice laced with a mix of pride and caution.

She paused, her gaze intense as she took my hand in hers, the weight of her words sinking in. "And honey, if you play your cards right, you can be the queen Jackson needs," she added, her tone soft yet filled with an underlying sense of urgency.

The guy had barely said a handful of words to me in the past couple of months, and here Gemma was talking about how I could be his queen.

“I don’t know Gemma?” I pulled my hand away, feeling a mix of confusion and apprehension creeping over me.

Her features started to harden as she fixed me with a piercing gaze. “Like I told you from the beginning, I see a lot of myself in you. I was a runaway, lost and searching for my place in the world, until the club found me. I became the woman I am today because of those men, and I see that same potential in you. I can shape you to be the next great queen – the wife, mother, and far into the future, grandmother that Jax and the next generation need.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and my heart pounded in my chest, unsure of what to make of her proposition. “You’re young – you’ll be able to learn everything there is to know very quickly,” Gemma continued, her voice firm with conviction. “Just be faithful and know your place – be the old lady that your husband needs – deserves. Bow down to his every wish and command.”

As her words echoed in my mind, I felt a mixture of fear and fascination at the prospect of stepping into this role that Gemma saw for me. The weight of her expectations and the legacy she spoke of loomed large before me, leaving me to ponder the choice laid out in front of me – to embrace this path and all it entailed, or to forge my own destiny apart from the shadows of the past.

“I’m a total stranger to you guys – some little runaway,” I stammered, trying to push back against the weight of Gemma's expectations. "You can’t seriously consider me to be the next big thing for this club, for your son. Surely you have someone else lined up for such a spot?"

Her earrings tapped against her neck as she shook her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You’re it, kid,” she replied, her voice filled with unwavering certainty. “From the moment my son laid eyes on you, I knew that you were the girl for him. He may not say much in person, but the way he gets when you’re around, it tells me everything I need to know.”

My eyes strained as they stared at the floor, the weight of Gemma's words causing my head to spin. “I uh-“ I quickly stood up, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over me, threatening to pull me into its disorienting embrace.

“Doll, you okay?” Gemma's voice cut through the haze; concern etched on her features as she rose from her seat.

I softly pushed her away, my movements unsteady as I tried to regain my composure. “Yeah, I just, uh, I just need some air,” I mumbled, my words coming out in a shaky whisper as I turned towards the door, desperate for a moment of respite from the intensity of the conversation.

Stepping outside into the cool night air, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, the sensation of the breeze against my skin a welcome contrast to the heaviness that had settled within me. The sounds of the club faded into the background as I focused on grounding myself, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions and expectations that had been thrust upon me in such a short span of time.

As I leaned against the wall, the faint glow of the moon casting a silver sheen over the scene before me, I couldn't help but wonder where this path would lead me and what kind of choices lay ahead. The world of the club and the role that Gemma saw for me loomed large in my mind, a daunting and uncertain future stretching out before me like an uncharted territory waiting to be explored.

The gravel crunched under my shoes as I kicked the rocks around, the sound echoing in the quiet night air, a hiss slipping past my lips as one stubbornly became lodged underneath my foot.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, a surge of frustration coursing through me as I pressed my body against the cold exterior of the building, seeking a moment of respite from the discomfort. Bending over, I hastily unbuckled my shoe, the darkness around the garage enveloping me like a shroud.

The area surrounding the garage was cloaked in shadows, the absence of light so profound that it felt almost suffocating. In the inky blackness, shapes morphed and merged, playing tricks on my eyes and heightening my sense of unease. It was in this darkness that I sought refuge, hiding from Gemma and the weight of her expectations that bore down on me like a heavy burden.

“I wouldn’t be kicking those rocks if I were you.”

The deep voice sliced through the stillness of the night, causing my body to shoot up in surprise, my heart racing in my chest as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, heralding the presence of an unseen figure. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as a chill ran down my spine, a sense of apprehension settling over me like a heavy cloak.

As the tall shadow emerged from the darkness, my breath caught in my throat, uncertainty and fear mingling in the air between us. The figure loomed before me, their features obscured by the veil of night, a silent and imposing presence that sent a shiver of unease down my spine.

The mysterious figure's long, disheveled blonde hair swayed slightly in the night breeze, framing his face in a wild and unkempt manner. Strands of hair partially obscured his features, adding to the air of enigma that surrounded him.

His attire spoke of a ruggedness that matched his imposing presence. The dirty jean jacket draped across his broad shoulders, its fabric worn and faded from time and use. The jacket seemed to carry unseen stories within its frayed seams, hinting at a life lived on the edge of society.

Beneath the tattered jacket, a pair of ripped jeans covered his long legs, the denim worn thin in places, revealing glimpses of skin underneath. Each tear and fray in the fabric seemed to tell a tale of hardship and survival, of a journey marked by hardship and struggle.

I struggled to find my voice; my words caught in my throat as I met the gaze of this mysterious stranger. "Pardon?" The word slipped out of my mouth, barely more than a whisper in the stillness of the night.

As the figure moved closer, his presence looming over me in the dim light, a knot of fear tightened in my stomach. His voice was low and gravelly, carrying a hint of menace that sent a chill down my spine.

"The rocks—" he began, his hand reaching for the cigarette between his lips, a faint ember glowing in the darkness.

"They've been known to put shards of glass in the rocks," he continued, his gaze unwavering as he spoke. "Don't ask me why, but they find it funny when one of you broads end up bleeding like a stuck hog. And don't even bother asking them for help," he continued, his tone grim and foreboding. "Because they'll just wave you off like a piece of trash."

I looked down at my bare foot, the warning from the mysterious figure still ringing in my ears. His words had cast a shadow over the carefree evening, injecting a sense of unease into the night air. My gaze flicked back up to meet his, a mixture of skepticism and gratitude in my eyes.

"Thanks," I muttered quietly, my voice tinged with uncertainty. Quickly, I bent down to buckle my shoe back on, the mundane task grounding me during the strange encounter. With a deep breath, I straightened up and began to walk back towards the distant sounds of laughter and music from the party.

Just as I thought I had left the enigmatic figure behind, his voice reached me once more, stopping me in my tracks. I turned back to look at him, a questioning expression on my face as he spoke again.

"You looked pretty bored in there," he observed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Gemma—" He shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "She can suck the life out of ya sometimes."

As the mysterious figure's boots crushed the rocks underfoot, his tall frame loomed over my shorter stature, his presence casting a shadow over me. I instinctively took a step back, a mix of unease swirling within me.

His words painted a picture of the party I had just left, now tainted by his cynical observations. I felt a surge of defiance rise within me as I bristled at his insinuations.

"You don't really wanna go back in there, do you?" he questioned, gesturing towards the lively gathering. "Have to listen to Gemma talk your ear off or have one of those grown pigs try to get you into their bed."

His words cut through the night air like a knife, highlighting the darker undercurrents of the social scene before us. My gaze followed his motion towards the partygoers, a sense of discomfort settling in the pit of my stomach.

"Or are you trying to get Jackson Teller to notice you like all the rest of the females in this town?" he continued, his tone laced with a knowing edge. "He has a bedpost full of notches, sure you wanna be one of them?"

The audacity of his words fueled a fire within me, igniting a spark of anger that blazed to the surface. "What the fuck is your problem?" I shot back, my voice sharp with indignation.

He merely shrugged his shoulders, the smirk still playing on his features. "I know how women work, especially when they get around my brother."

[persephone411]

Not me and my friend pretending that The bikeriders was a Sons of Anarchy prequel or that Benny was Jax son while watching the movie