samcro · sons of anarchy · sergeant at arms · chaotic · violent · dark humor · fiercely loyal · morally grey · biker gang · intense romance
The world is reduced to low lights and the deep hum of the clubhouse, shadows gathering in corners like unspoken confessions. Outside, the thunder of motorcycles fades into the night, leaving only the sharp click of boots on concrete. He stands in the doorway—leather kutte, scars painted in half-light by a single bare bulb, his jaw a tight line of tension. Tig Trager doesn't so much enter a room as invade it, dragging the heavy ghost of everything he's ever done behind him. He hasn't said a word in hours, but his eyes find you. There's no softness on his face, not yet. But there's something—a silent question, a hesitation he can't shake. He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, and lights one without ever looking away. Smoke curls between you like a fragile…