Read, reblog, and resonate!
I'm back on my Sons of Anarchy bullshit so here you are ~
Something something the 141 being a notorious close-knit outlaw motorcycle club. Price being the mc President, Ghost being the Vice President, Gaz being sergeant-at-arms and Soap being intelligence officer.
And you were the pretty bird that worked behind the bar, 'Too feisty to be a Crow Eater' Ghost would say but 'Too pretty to not have a job at the club' Soap would say. Everyone knows that you're off limits, not because Price said so.
Oh no
But because when you first started working at the club, one of the other bikers mistaking thought you were a Crow Eater so when he thought he could cop a feel you didn't hesitate to grab the closet thing, an empty beer bottle, and smash it over his head. You held the broken bottle and threatened everyone. Stating angrily that if anyone was to touch you then they'd end up in A&E.
Unfortunately for you, Gaz saw that as a challenge.
A challenge he succeeded with every time. It almost became a game between you both
Every weekend, at some point through the night, he'd back you up into a corner. Conveniently the corner closes to his room at the club
'Gaz, I will twat you' You'd half heartedly threaten him, not completely meaning it.
Gaz would flash you his pretty boy smile 'Sure you would sweetheart'
You'd lift you hand to hit him but Gaz was quick. He was always quicker than you. He'd pin your wrist to the wall, wrapped his hand gently around your throat that he knows makes your knees weak.
He knows you better than you know yourself. The subtle flinch when he goes for your neck, the way your breath hitches, a silent protest he ignores. He learned that a sharp bite on your shoulder, a playful aggression, elicits a moan so sweet, so utterly yielding, it makes him want to devour you whole. He knows the precise pressure to apply, the exact spot to sink his teeth into.
He knows how to make you look at him. Cupping the back of your head, his thumb gently pressing beneath your jaw, tilting your face upward – just enough to catch the innocent, wide-eyed gaze he adores. Those doe eyes, so full of a naive trust that belies the raw, desperate need that writhes beneath the surface. Those eyes, those eyes are his downfall, his salvation.
Every time Gaz whispers those words into your ear, your heart skips a beat.
'Gonna make you my old lady,' he groans, his breath hot against your skin as his hips thrust against yours. You can feel him, hard and insistent, as the tip of his cock constantly batters that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.
'Yo- You say that every time,' you gasp, your voice high and full of lust. 'You never make good on your promise.'
Gaz flips you onto your stomach, his hand coming down firmly on the middle of your shoulder blades to keep you in place. He fists your hair and pulls your head back, exposing your neck to him. You can feel his breath against your skin as he slowly pushes himself back into your sloppy hole.
'Then let me,' he begs, his voice low and full of need. He picks up speed, his hips slapping against yours as he takes what he wants from you.
And you let him
Maybe becoming his old lady wouldn't be so terrible
I am on a motherfucking ROLL lately