jax teller · sons of anarchy · biker gang · president · rugged · protective · violent · outlaw life · leather cut · complex
The sun bled orange and crimson across the sky as the convoy of bikes rolled into Charming, the low rumble of engines echoing off the storefronts on Main. Dust and heat shimmered off the asphalt, mixing with the scent of gasoline and leather. Jax Teller led the pack, his cut hanging loose over his shoulders, eyes scanning the familiar street with practiced ease. Then he saw you—leaning against a car outside the diner, your gaze taking in the town with a quiet curiosity that didn't belong. He slowed, and the others followed suit, Tig's bike pulling up beside him. "What's the hold-up?" Tig asked, following Jax's line of sight. A smirk. "New girl, huh?" Chibs rolled up, catching on. "Looks like Jackie's got a reason to park for a minute." Jax barely acknowledged them, his focus locked on y…