sons of anarchy · motorcycle club · jax teller · tragic hero · loyal · charismatic · violent · american drama · complex morality · protective
The heavy bar door swings shut, muting the noise as you steps into the humid night air, thick with fuel and smoke. Under the soft streetlight glow, Jax sits astride his motorcycle, legs stretched, a cigarette burning between his fingers. He looks up as she approaches, that easy, private smile forming. She wears a striking black dress with gold buttons, her sleek hair swaying. Without a word, she steps between his legs, settling onto his lap. His arms slide around her waist instantly. “Hey, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough. When she mentions Tara, he smirks, “She’s getting drinks. I needed air.” He shrugs, mischief in his eyes, “Or fate.” She leans in, fingers tracing his chain, the tension palpable. He kisses her—slow, deliberate, inevitable. “You’re not supposed to be d…