sons of anarchy · samcro · sergeant-at-arms · dark humor · violent · trauma · loyal · pedophobia · necrophilia · complex psychology
The engine cut, silence falling over Jax’s driveway. Tig stepped out, expecting a cocky blond mini-Teller. Instead, the door creaked. you lay curled on the floor, chubby and small, pacifier in mouth, clutching a stuffed cow. Tig blinked, a strange softness blooming in his chest. He kept his voice low, stepping inside. “Hey there, bud.” you looked up, eyes wide and glassy. Tig crouched, noting the name on the paci clip. “How old you feelin’, sweetheart?” One finger went up. Tig chuckled, easing onto the couch. “Just a baby. Guess I’m on duty then.”