Bella ⬧ 30's ⬧ She/Her ⬧ Fic Writer
No Minors Welcome/18+
⬧My A03 Account⬧
⬧Currently Writing for: Matt Murdock, Benjamin Poindexter,
Frank Castle, Jax Teller, & Michael Kinsella
⬧Latest Fics Update:
One Night to Self-Destruct {Jax Teller}
One Good Deed pt. 6 {Benjamin Poindexter}
No Chance in Hell ch. 2 {Jax Teller}
Life Worth Living ch. 5 {Matt Murdock}
|⬧My Main Masterlist is at the bottom of this post with links to each character's fic masterlists
⬧FAQ⬧
⬧ Do you accept requests? No, I generally do not accept requests because I'm writing too many long fics.
⬧ Are you still continuing [insert fic title]? All of my stories are active even if it's been awhile since a previous update. My brain tends to jump around & I cannot control it. Blame the ADHD, but if I don't write this way, I don't write at all.
⬧Are your asks open? Yes! Always! Please come chat with me about headcanons, fics I write, the characters in general, or whatever! I am always chatty!!
⬧ What's the best way to support your writing? I love reblogs on here (without them, stories disappear), but any sort of commenting or feedback is welcomed and appreciated. I also have a ko-fi located here.
See I onow it would've been insane but like ol girl Peaches gotta protect her car
This was my thought on chapter 2 of No Chance in Hell
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8GdnXxH/
I have never seen that done to a car before in my life omg. If someone tampered with her car, Peach could've just followed the trail of blood straight to the culprit with that 🤣 But I still stand by the fact that the Sons' reaction to putting her car on a lift at the garage when they changed her tire to find that would've been so damn funny.
Juice: Uh...guys? What the hell is that?
Chibs: *low whistle* Christ, the lass is a right bit paranoid, aye? Look at tha'.
Tig: That's...that's a lot of barbed wire, man...
Jax: *shaking his head* Told ya she's bat shit. Completely fuckin' bat shit.
It's been awhile since I've updated Not Like Before, I know. But fear not, anon, I finished the draft for the next chapter the other day and just need to give it some edits. It's what I plan to update next because I want to give y'all Jax meeting his daughter.
Warnings/tags: 18+; canon typical violence, friends to lovers, mutual pining, road trip with the Devil, fake honeymoon, eventual smut
After your client disappears in the middle of a case, you suddenly find yourself targeted by the opposing side. With nowhere safe to hide in New York City, your only option is to go on the run. But Matt insists on coming with to keep you safe, so you both set out on a road trip under the guise of a honeymoon. Because you are the one person the Devil would leave Hell’s Kitchen for.
Of course a brilliant fic idea hits me as I'm trying to pack and head out the door for a weekend trip. I've been wanting to get back to Matt fully, but after writing so many stories for him over the years that all take place in NYC, I've been craving a different setting.
So what if I have a reason to take the Devil out of Hell’s Kitchen?
I need to work up a banner and a little summary, but I've got a friends-to-lovers, dangerous road trip, fake dating (and sometimes one bed my beloved 🫠) short series fleshing itself out in my head for Matt as I pack.
During the 1920s, Hell’s Kitchen (also known then as Clinton) was a working-class, impoverished neighborhood on Manhattan’s West Side, notorious for its extreme poverty, gang violence, and bustling docks. Prohibition profoundly impacted the area, turning it into a hotbed of organized crime.
In 1923, organized crime changed your life forever. Violence between gangs and the Mafia, fueled by bootlegging, reigned on the streets you used to frequent.
Clinton Church had existed since 1843. In 1923, the gang that followed the corrupt Owney Madden was preparing for their leader’s departure and decided that the church should join the network of corruption they controlled.
The convent refused to be part of the corruption that permeated Hell's Kitchen.
The attack happened on the night of May 23, 1923.
May 23, 1923, was the night you died and were reborn.
Humanity had abandoned you to harbor a darkness beyond human understanding. You were no longer like the others. You were thirsty, thirsty for blood.
The gang was reported missing. The truth is, they all died at your hands.
You grew up at Saint Agnes Orphanage; that was your home, the nuns, Father Steven.
It was your duty to accept what God had given you.
Father Steven and Sister Grace made sure your secret remained hidden, that the demon of Saint Agnes would remain just a rumor.
Deep within the Clinton Church, you willingly locked yourself in a room containing only a coffin, which would become the bed of your eternal sleep.
By 1934, you were completely dried up and kept as Father Steven's best-kept secret.
By 1955, your skin had clung to your bones. The former vitality of your skin had vanished. You looked like what you were: a dead being.
94 years later, you awaken from what seemed like a sleep that would last until the end of days.
It is 2017, and you remained frozen in time, only to be thrown into the arms of a new world.
Under Father Lantom's tutelage, you must learn to live in this new world.
In 2017, months after Midland Circle, Matt Murdock finds himself in the same convent.
summary: After what happened at Midland Circle, Matt's life had changed forever. In the arms of the convent that had nurtured him after his father's death, he decided to take refuge there and consider the man he used to be dead.
As much as he longs to leave the Daredevil mask behind, a new wave of murders is terrorizing Hell's Kitchen.
These aren't ordinary murders. It's not revenge, settling scores, or a robbery gone wrong. They resemble attacks by an animal.
The bodies found share the same pattern: a lack of blood and deep, large bites from sharp fangs. Every single one of them belongs to someone who was part of a gang, the mafia, or committed a serious crime.
What's attacking Hell's Kitchen isn't organized crime, but rather a bloodlust seeking to be satiated after years of neglect.
Matt will have to understand that he isn't the only demon Saint Agnes has spawned.
ㅤㅤㅤACT ONE: wake up dead man
warnings: this series will feature graphic depictions of daredevil's violent world, as well as graphic sexual scenes. minors dni.
notes: well, i've been a vampire fan my whole life, and i've also been in love with matt murdock for a loooooooong time; it was obvious i was going to try to blend these two worlds.
this is a fanfic i used to write a few years ago but never quite finished. i have several chapters, but i left it in the basement, lmao.
it's been years since i've written a series, so i want to start with this one to regain the confidence i used to have.
if you're interested in the series and want me to notify you when it's updated, please let me know in the comments. <3
A vampire!Reader with Matt? Are you for real?? I haven't read much for Matt in quite awhile but the way this caught my eye had me scrambling to tell you that I am very, very interested 👀
Warnings/tags: 18+; nurse!Reader, canon-divergence (no Abel or Thomas), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, girl dad Jax
Jax met you at a bar out near Fresno, California while on a run with the club. Unable to deny the instant attraction, you brought him back to your place for a few hours of the best sex of your life. Almost two months later, you realized you were pregnant with his kid and no way to contact him. Due to your hospital's budget cuts, you end up taking a job at St. Thomas Hospital, bringing both Emilia and yourself to Charming five years later, entirely unaware that the local MC is the one your daughter's father runs–and that out of the hundreds, you were the one he never forgot.
I just finished the draft for it!! 😭🙌🏻 It needs some editing but it should hopefully be able to go up sometime next week, and y'all will get to see him finally meet Em 🥹
Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!fitness instructor!Reader Word Count: 4.8k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Fic Masterlist]
Warnings: 18+; gym rat!Reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, sexual tension, forced proximity, smut, arrogant Jax, canon typical violence
a/n: I'm going on a long weekend trip after tomorrow and wanted to give y'all another part before I left. All feedback (reblogs/comments/likes) is very appreciated!
Series tag list: @kmc1989 @lycanbeks92 @catswonderland @magic-sprinkled-daydreams @shiggynuggiez @rayray0171 @stevie75 @deesh-e @chloe-skywalker @kylorensbaby @themusingofagothicsoul @lanadelrey10 @dugiioh @latinakitty17 @persephone-in-the-reeds
[if anyone else would like to be added to the tag list let me know!]
“He's not–that bad,” Juice panted, forearms shaking as he struggled to hold the plank. “Really.”
Leaning your shoulder against the black brick wall of Iron Pulse, you stared down at Juice as he held the pose atop a blue yoga mat. Beads of sweat glistened along his brow under the fluorescent gym lights, and a tremble began advancing from his upper body and down to his legs. He still had two more of these one minute sets left to complete after this one, but he was already worn from the brutal arm and chest day that you'd thrown him through this morning, which was apparent in how out of breath he sounded.
One of your brows arched skeptically onto your forehead at his defense of Jax, not entirely certain how you’d both landed on the topic. Teller wasn’t someone you cared to place any level of thought on for any duration of time. You preferred to pretend he didn’t exist.
“Of course you're going to say that,” you flatly replied. “You willingly chose to follow whatever brainwash slop that club fed you.”
“Not–brainwash slop,” he disagreed, breathless. “It's a–brotherhood. Like family.”
“Seems more like a cult,” you countered.
Juice's head tilted just enough so that he could peer up at you from the plank he was holding on the mat, disapproval etched into the lines around his eyes. You simply shrugged a shoulder in response, not caring what he thought about your opinion of his president or his club. Your attention shifted across the gym and landed on the large digital clock mounted on the wall, monitoring the bit of time remaining as Juice held his plank. The last ten seconds of his first set ticked by slowly while he continued watching you, but you ignored the staring.
“Time,” you eventually called, glancing back down at him. “Two minute rest before the next set.”
He collapsed onto his stomach with a heavy thump, his eyes falling shut as he laid there on the yoga mat breathing heavily. Your attention wandered around the gym as you let Juice catch his breath, taking in the few others that were already here this morning.
You recognized the usual morning crowd. It generally consisted of older folks who came to get in their light workout walking along the treadmills to start off their day. Things didn’t usually pick up at Iron Pulse until most people finished work around four in the afternoon, and you weren’t here much longer after that, never wanting to work the later hours with how busy the clubhouse across the street became at night. It made you uncomfortable.
“You spend too much time listening to the town gossip.”
At the sound of Juice’s somewhat recovered voice, you focused back down on him. He was still lying flat on his stomach along the blue mat with his eyes closed, sweat trickling down his temple now. Lips twisting into a frown, you realized today wouldn’t just be friendly discussions and jokes as you finished his session, because apparently he was intent on addressing the leather-clad elephant in the room.
“It’s not all true,” Juice finished.
“Maybe not,” you conceded. “But I’ve had the displeasure of encountering Teller on more than one occasion in the time I’ve been working here. He’s a crude, infuriating asshole and you will never change my mind about him.”
Juice opened one eye, peering up at you from the mat. You shot him a look which clearly stated I-am-digging-my-heels-in-on-this. You’d never once had a normal, friendly interaction with Jax. He’d always been rude and excruciatingly inappropriate if he wasn’t downright insulting. You doubted you’d ever cross paths with a more vile human than Jax Teller.
“He’s only like that ‘cause you insulted him,” Juice told you.
Taken by surprise, your mouth fell open in disbelief at the accusation. He made it sound as if Jax’s treatment of you was entirely your fault. You stood there leaning against the wall with your mouth agape, a stunned noise sneaking out of you as you waited for him to walk back what he’d just said. When he didn’t, a nearly hysterical laugh broke through the tension before a sardonic smile ripped itself across your lips.
“Are you serious?” you shot back. “You really think this is my fault? Because I what? Stood up for myself when he made those crass comments about my body and openly propositioned me for sex? Which need I remind you–he shouted everything across the street at me. And that was before someone else started making some rather disgusting observations about my ass.”
Juice’s face drew tight into a wince, the corner of his lips dipping to the side as he propped himself up on one arm. “Okay, yeah,” he replied slowly. “That wasn’t exactly his best moment. And well, I got no excuse for Tig sayin’ the shit he did. But you called Jax some pretty colorful things in return. And I mean he’s…” He trailed off, tipping his head from side to side as he searched for the words. “Well, y’know, not exactly someone you talk to like that without repercussions. He’s the Sons’ president.”
“Wow,” you sarcastically replied, crossing your arms over your chest. “Well excuse the ever loving fuck out of me for not bowing down to Charming’s white trash royalty because he wants to fuck me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Juice argued back. “I just meant that he’s got a reputation to maintain. You sayin’ that shit publicly makes him look bad. He can’t just have you talkin’ shit to his face, y’know?”
“No,” you snapped. “I don’t know. Being some biker president doesn’t excuse the shit he said to me that first time, or all those months of him intentionally seeking me out just to harass me. Stop wasting your breath trying to paint him differently, Juice. Teller is a misogynistic scumbag. He’s repulsive and I want nothing to do with him.”
Juice ran a hand across his sweaty forehead as you scowled down at him, your mood now soured by this entire discussion and it wasn’t even ten in the morning. It didn’t matter what Juice said to you, you would never change your opinion about Teller. He’d done too much damage for you to ever believe there was something redeemable about him.
“I just think you need to give him a chance. Get to actually know him before you pass judgement,” Juice diplomatically tried again. “And not just him. The Sons aren’t that bad, either.”
Your tongue poked into your cheek as you fixed him with a pointed look, brows slightly raising onto your forehead. He’d gotten a membership here barely two weeks ago, but he’d worked things out with you and the other gym employees so that he could enter and exit through the back door instead of using the front entrance. Juice claimed it was due to the animosity between the Sons and the Iron Pulse employees, saying that he wanted to keep it quiet that he’d started coming here, not wanting to spark more issues between his club and the gym across from it.
“Is that why you need to hide where you go to work out from them?” you questioned, tipping your head condescendingly to the side. If he was going to make you think about Jax far more than you’d wanted to at the start of your day, you weren’t going to go easy on him. “Because they’re not that bad? Because they’re such good, nice, upstanding guys? Guys who wouldn’t care about where you choose to go in your free time?”
Juice released an exaggerated huff as he rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll stop hiding it,” he relented. He gestured a hand across the gym, waving it at the propped open front door behind him. “I’ll leave through the front like everyone else today. No more hiding where I go in the mornings. Happy?”
“Congratulations, it only took you nearly two weeks to stop hiding from your club,” you deadpanned.
Gaze shifting back to the clock on the wall across the gym, you noticed his two minutes of rest time were finished. Grateful to give Juice a reason to stop talking about the Sons and focus back on why he was actually here, you crossed your ankles and stubbornly set your jaw.
“Begin the next set,” you ordered. “Another front plank. Hold it for a minute.” Still feeling embittered by the entire discussion he’d dragged you into, you added, “Then you’ve got a final set and stretches before you can exit out of the front door to a round of applause from me.”
With a heavy sigh, Juice rolled back over onto his front along the mat before pushing himself back into a plank. “For someone who hates him so much,” he muttered under his breath, “you sure sound just like him.”
By the time your shift had ended at Iron Pulse, your mood hadn’t improved much. Juice’s comments had plagued you throughout the day, which unfortunately kept Teller lingering in the back of your mind like a terrible headache you couldn’t shake. It didn’t help that you’d had to deal with multiple gym members refusing to put their weights away and wipe down their machines after they’d used them, so your mood had only worsened when you’d finally gotten to your own workout.
You’d felt it during your entire routine–you were off today. It was a struggle to get through your usual chest workouts, fighting just to push yourself to complete each exercise. It was as if the plates had somehow become exponentially heavier on purpose solely to make you even more bitter. Because you hated feeling weak. That usually only happened during your period weeks, and that was irritating enough, you didn’t need to be thrown off your game when you weren’t even menstruating.
But your bad day was finally over. Now you'd get to go home, and you were looking forward to briefly washing up in the shower, cleaning away the stench of sweat and gym which clung to you like a second skin. The warm water would ease your tense, sore muscles as you relaxed beneath the shower spray, letting all the negative things from today flow down the drain. Afterwards, you planned to make pasta for dinner, which you were excited to devour with how ravenous your workout had left you.
So the absolute last thing you'd wanted was to see the odd, uneven tip of the back end of your Toyota as you approached it. The repetitive buzz and whir of tools over at the Sons’ garage drifted across the street, carried towards you on the late afternoon breeze as you came to a stop by the trunk of your car. You took one look at the awkward slant of your Toyota before the black gym bag hanging on your shoulder slid down your arm and collapsed onto the sidewalk beside your feet with a solid thunk.
The back right tire of your car was entirely flat, and it now sat dangerously close to the rim. The rubber of the tire looked as if it had melted into the asphalt in the heat of the day, and your shoulders sagged miserably at the realization that you’d most likely need a new one.
“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Eyes snapping shut, you fought down the sting of frustrated tears that abruptly sprung forward. Pressing the palms of both your hands against your closed eyelids, you sucked in a deep breath and held it, trying to calm yourself down so you could think. You knew that there was a spare tire in the trunk of your car, and you theoretically knew how to swap them out. You could change it yourself, though you questioned your ability to accomplish the task before one of the guys over at Teller-Morrow Automotive noticed you and probably came to bother you.
They were also the only mechanic shop in Charming. The next closest was probably thirty miles away from the small town. Could you manage to drive that far on a spare tire? You’d never driven on one before, yet it seemed do-able. But it was getting late and you doubted a garage would be open too much longer tonight, which meant that your car wouldn’t get fixed until tomorrow, leaving you stuck trying to find a way back to Charming without your Toyota. Paying for a ride would only add to the cost of just getting the flat fixed, and that was already going to be pricey–you didn’t make a fortune as a trainer.
How had this even happened? You’d driven here without issue earlier this morning, and your car had been parked on the street all day. You hadn’t driven it since you’d arrived at work. Had there been a slow leak that’d been steadily deflating while you’d been at the gym?
“Why today?” you groaned, hands scrubbing down your face. “Why this?”
“I see you’ve already found the flat, Peaches.”
That irritatingly familiar voice had you tense instantly, your face still buried in your hands. The unmistakable lilt of arrogance and amusement grated on your nerves, darkening an already bleak day. Your tongue pressed against the back of your teeth as your back straightened, anger already igniting in your chest. You were not in the mood to have an argument with him.
Your hands slowly slid down your face and fell to your sides as you looked over, your eyes easily finding him. Teller swaggered across the street towards you, the corner of his lips quirked into a wide grin. His eyes ran over you twice, gaze lingering along your ass and your chest before they drifted over to the flat tire you were currently lamenting.
“Looks pretty done to me,” he commented. He pointed a grease-stained finger at the tire as he added, “You’re gonna need a new one.”
“Yeah, no shit,” you ground out.
He glanced back at you, eyes alight as he openly reveled in your misfortune. “Relax, darlin’. I came over here to help.” He paused, the corners of his lips curling back further. “But only if you ask me real nice.”
The audacity of this asshole. I’d rather prop my car up with his stupid face and change the tire myself.
“You’re the last person I’d ever ask for help,” you retorted.
Jax casually shrugged his shoulders as he neared, the grin lingering on his lips. “Suit yourself, Peaches,” he said. “But you still gotta flat to deal with.”
Your eyes narrowed suspiciously back at him, your mind beginning to slowly mull over the entirety of the situation. While it was possible that you had run over something and punctured the tire which had led to a slow leak, it also seemed just as likely that Teller might’ve popped your tire on purpose simply to mess with you. The last time you’d encountered him nearly a week ago, you’d certainly pissed him off. Maybe this was his way of getting back at you, especially since he’d left you with that threat of needing to watch yourself. He seemed far too pleased with your misfortune right now, and he did stand to benefit from you paying his garage for the work. Then there was the obvious satisfaction he’d gain from you having to need his help with something.
“Did you do this?” you demanded, pointing a finger at your tire. “Is this your idea of a joke? Or some kind of payback for hurting your fragile ego?”
Jax’s grin vanished at the accusation, his own eyes narrowing to slits. The mischievous glint in them extinguished, suddenly replaced with the usual simmering disdain and irritation he harbored for you. You studied him closely, searching for any signs of an admission of guilt.
“You serious, Peaches?” he questioned, voice lowering as he took another step closer. “You think I got nothin’ better to do than sit around and slash your fuckin’ tire or somethin’?”
“I definitely wouldn’t put it past you,” you bitterly replied. “You stand to benefit financially, and you get to annoy me about it. Sure sounds like something you’d do.”
“You’re fuckin’ bat shit,” he shot back. “I got better things on my mind to think ‘bout that ain’t you, darlin’. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Your nose scrunched. “Ew. I wouldn’t call your attention something to be flattered by, Teller,” you retorted. “I’d rather never share air in your vicinity.”
With a heavy roll of his eyes, Jax took two steps backwards throwing his hands up into the air as if he was done with you already. “Whatever,” he said. “You still gotta problem to deal with, and if you wanna be a fuckin’ priss about it, go ahead. Next closest garage is near Stockton, and they’re closin’ in forty. Have fun figurin’ your shit out, darlin’.”
He swung around and started to cross the street, the reaper on the back of his kutte taunting you with its ghoulish smile. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip, you gnawed it in frustration as your attention returned to the flat tire. As much as you hated to admit it, Teller unfortunately had a point, you did need to deal with this. Taking it into Teller-Morrow would’ve been the easiest and fastest solution–the garage was right there across the street. It’d save you from having to slip on a spare tire or call for a tow to another shop before attempting to try to find a ride back out to Charming.
But the idea of having to ask Teller for help and dealing with the Sons sounded like sheer torture. He could charge you whatever he wanted for the service just to be an asshole, and you’d be helplessly at his mercy. The thought of that alone made you want to run headlong into oncoming traffic. But despite that, forcing yourself to set aside your pride and interact with him for a brief period of time solely for the sake of fixing your car might be worth it in the long run. Even if you heavily suspected the flat was his doing all along. You doubted–or at least desperately hoped–that whatever he put you through and whatever he charged you in the end would still be less than the hassle and expense of the alternative.
Sucking in a deep breath, you fought down the nauseating twist of your stomach. Jax hadn’t stopped in his retreat towards the garage, making it quite clear that he wasn’t going to wait for you to change your mind. Closing your eyes, you slowly exhaled the breath you’d taken, hating what you were about to do with every fiber of your being.
“Wait,” you called out.
Jax paused mid-stride at the sound of your voice, stopping just before he stepped up onto the curb across the street. The slow, smooth way he casually turned back around towards you, with his head slanting to the side and that irritatingly smug smirk stretching over his lips, made you want to double over and vomit right on the street. But you forced yourself to push on, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.
“Can your garage fix my flat?” you reluctantly questioned. The words were acid as they passed over your tongue, burning on their way out. “I’d rather not drag it all the way out of town this late.”
“‘Course we know how to fix a flat, Peaches,” he called back. He began taking a few measured steps back towards you with a glint in his eye that you didn’t like. “But…”
For the love of God, do not ask me to say please. I may just murder you.
“But,” he continued, the smirk sliding further across his face as he sauntered towards you, “I don’t tolerate hostility in my place of business. So I’m gonna have to ask that you’re friendly to my staff, darlin’.”
Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your nails digging sharply into your palms. He continued closing the gap between you both, obviously pleased with having the upper hand around you for once, which only heightened your suspicions about the tire. He knew exactly how to get under your skin and you absolutely hated that. And you knew he’d expect you to be friendly while dealing with the guys at the garage or he’d find some other way to fuck with you.
“You good with that, Peaches?” he pressed.
“Yes,” you tersely grit out between your teeth.
“Good girl,” Jax drawled. Stopping in front of you, he held out his hand, palm expectantly upturned. “Gonna need your keys then, darlin’. And you’ll get your car back whenever we’re done with it.”
With your lips pressed firmly together in frustration, you slipped your hand into the side pocket of your biker shorts, pulling out your car keys. It felt as if you were handing part of your soul over to the devil when you reluctantly dropped them into Jax’s awaiting palm. His fingers curled around your keys, and the thought of him touching and driving your Toyota made your skin crawl.
“Better get it back in one piece,” you warned him.
“Hey, I run a respectable business, Peaches. Don't insult me,” he reprimanded, though his smirk continued to taunt you. “You gonna want a ride home? ‘Cause I can have a prospect drop you off.”
“Hard pass,” you immediately declined. “I'd rather walk.”
Shortly after you'd arrived home, you'd headed directly for your shower. Covered in a light layer of sweat from the mile walk back in the summer sun, you'd welcomed the warm water once it fell over you, but it ultimately hadn't done much to relax you after the day you'd had.
You'd spent half the night afterwards wondering if you'd made a huge mistake leaving your car at the Sons’ garage. Would they fuck things up further? Oversell you on a tire and their labor? Take their sweet ass fucking time and finish your car days later, claiming they were backed up and busy? Cut your brake lines for shits and giggles?
Your mind had raced with hundreds of scenarios while you'd made dinner and ate it. By the time you'd finally sat down on the couch before bed, you felt as if you'd just done one of Dominic’s crossfit workouts. Your brain was like a bowl of oatmeal–thick and sluggish.
Laying stretched out along your couch, your eyes were half-lidded as you watched one of your guilty pleasure shows before bed. You'd been gradually starting to drift off to the soft hum of your television, succumbing to sleep with how worn out you were, until a rumble of engines and a flash of headlights cut through the room and caused your eyes to snap fully open.
The headlights shining through your living room windows cut off at the exact same time one of the engines outside silenced. A cold trickle of fear inched its way up your spine as you went entirely still on the couch, your heart beginning to pound in your chest. A car door slammed shut in your driveway and your head darted up from the couch pillow, your entire body suddenly alert as you looked out the living room window.
It was hard to see much through the darkness outside, but you spotted a figure pass up the path that led to your door. Along the street sat a dark gray van, the lights shining down the road as it idled and completely blocked your driveway. Two sharp raps came at your front door next and fear seeped into your bones, your body sinking into the cushions.
Who the fuck was at your door? It was just after nine at night on a Thursday. You had no one planning to stop by, and certainly no one who would be showing up in multiple vehicles. Your mind raced as your breath came in shallow bursts, eyes still lingering on the familiar looking gray van parked outside. Where had you seen it before?
You startled on the couch when the person behind the door called your name through it, a soft shriek of surprise slipping out of you. Clutching the pillow beside you on the couch, you gripped it as if it would somehow protect you from whoever was outside.
“You home?” the voice called again. “Look, I know it's kinda late, but Jax asked us to drop off your car. Said you'd probably need it for tomorrow.”
Sitting rigid on your couch with your nails still digging into the soft fabric of the pillow, you gradually began to process what he'd said. The adrenaline coursing through your veins steadily began to fade as everything started to piece itself together. It was just the Sons dropping off your fixed car. But why so late at night? The garage had closed down hours ago.
Rising up from the couch in confusion, you carefully crossed the living room and headed to the front door. You turned on the outdoor lights before leaning forward and looking out through the peephole, not wanting to blindly open your front door without double-checking who was standing there first. A dark haired man stood on the small porch, and he was wearing a leather kutte which resembled the ones the other Sons wore, except his boasted a single patch which just read ‘prospect.’
Trying to calm the nerves that their arrival had sent coursing through you, you began unlocking the front door. When you finally opened it, you came face to face with the man you swore you remembered you’d overheard them calling Rat before. He offered you a friendly smile which immediately set you on edge before he raised a hand in the air, jingling your car keys in the space between you both.
“Your car is finished,” he told you. “Jax wanted us to drop it off. It's parked in the driveway.”
He gestured his other hand towards the car that had shined its lights through your window, and your gaze followed after it. Your silver Toyota sat innocently there as the van continued idling behind it. You now understood that it was Rat's ride back to the clubhouse.
Turning your attention back towards him, your brows furrowed as you glanced down at the keys in his hand. “I don't understand,” you said, looking back up to meet his stare. “Why’re you dropping it off? Don’t you guys want me to come in and pay for the repair first?”
Rat's expression grew sheepish, his hand still holding your keys out to you. “Well, uh,” he began, tone turning a little awkward. “Jax said that there was no charge.”
Suspicion washed over you in an instant, your eyes narrowing back at him. No charge for the new tire and the work his guys did to put it on? Something was definitely going on, and now you were regretting taking your car there. Was he expecting you to owe him a favor for this? The idea made you internally cringe.
“Why?” you pressed.
“He said to tell you that there's–” he paused, his sheepish smile growing a little wider and more uncomfortable, “–there's nothing that he could ever want from an uptight, self-righteous bitch. Including her money.”
Your mouth fell open in shock, your eyes widening slightly. So Jax was throwing your insult back at you, the one from the other day? The one that pissed him off for some unknown reason? All because you'd said there was nothing you'd ever want from him? This was certainly proof that it'd somehow struck a nerve, especially if he was still thinking about it enough to have a prospect deliver that message along with your car.
Is his ego truly that fragile?
Reaching out, you finally grabbed your keys from his outstretched hand. Rat looked relieved when he took a step back, as if he was glad that he'd completed the task he'd been given without having to enter a verbal sparring match with you.
“If he's expecting a thank you, he's not getting one,” you stated.
“Don't think he'd want one anyway,” Rat replied.
His hand rose and fell quickly in a half-hearted wave before he turned and cut through your grass, heading straight towards the gray van parked in the street at the bottom of your driveway. You watched him for a few seconds, fingers toying with your keyring, before your gaze shifted to your Toyota. Your eyes dipped down to the back tire, and as a cool breeze brushed past your cheek, the suspicion that Jax had been the one to pop it still lingered at the forefront of your mind.
Warnings/tags: 18+; nurse!Reader, canon-divergence (no Abel or Thomas), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, girl dad Jax
Jax met you at a bar out near Fresno, California while on a run with the club. Unable to deny the instant attraction, you brought him back to your place for a few hours of the best sex of your life. Almost two months later, you realized you were pregnant with his kid and no way to contact him. Due to your hospital's budget cuts, you end up taking a job at St. Thomas Hospital, bringing both Emilia and yourself to Charming five years later, entirely unaware that the local MC is the one your daughter's father runs–and that out of the hundreds, you were the one he never forgot.
Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!fitness instructor!Reader Word Count: 4.8k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Fic Masterlist]
Warnings: 18+; gym rat!Reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, sexual tension, forced proximity, smut, arrogant Jax, canon typical violence
a/n: I'm going on a long weekend trip after tomorrow and wanted to give y'all another part before I left. All feedback (reblogs/comments/likes) is very appreciated!
Series tag list: @kmc1989 @lycanbeks92 @catswonderland @magic-sprinkled-daydreams @shiggynuggiez @rayray0171 @stevie75 @deesh-e @chloe-skywalker @kylorensbaby @themusingofagothicsoul @lanadelrey10 @dugiioh @latinakitty17 @persephone-in-the-reeds
[if anyone else would like to be added to the tag list let me know!]
“He's not–that bad,” Juice panted, forearms shaking as he struggled to hold the plank. “Really.”
Leaning your shoulder against the black brick wall of Iron Pulse, you stared down at Juice as he held the pose atop a blue yoga mat. Beads of sweat glistened along his brow under the fluorescent gym lights, and a tremble began advancing from his upper body and down to his legs. He still had two more of these one minute sets left to complete after this one, but he was already worn from the brutal arm and chest day that you'd thrown him through this morning, which was apparent in how out of breath he sounded.
One of your brows arched skeptically onto your forehead at his defense of Jax, not entirely certain how you’d both landed on the topic. Teller wasn’t someone you cared to place any level of thought on for any duration of time. You preferred to pretend he didn’t exist.
“Of course you're going to say that,” you flatly replied. “You willingly chose to follow whatever brainwash slop that club fed you.”
“Not–brainwash slop,” he disagreed, breathless. “It's a–brotherhood. Like family.”
“Seems more like a cult,” you countered.
Juice's head tilted just enough so that he could peer up at you from the plank he was holding on the mat, disapproval etched into the lines around his eyes. You simply shrugged a shoulder in response, not caring what he thought about your opinion of his president or his club. Your attention shifted across the gym and landed on the large digital clock mounted on the wall, monitoring the bit of time remaining as Juice held his plank. The last ten seconds of his first set ticked by slowly while he continued watching you, but you ignored the staring.
“Time,” you eventually called, glancing back down at him. “Two minute rest before the next set.”
He collapsed onto his stomach with a heavy thump, his eyes falling shut as he laid there on the yoga mat breathing heavily. Your attention wandered around the gym as you let Juice catch his breath, taking in the few others that were already here this morning.
You recognized the usual morning crowd. It generally consisted of older folks who came to get in their light workout walking along the treadmills to start off their day. Things didn’t usually pick up at Iron Pulse until most people finished work around four in the afternoon, and you weren’t here much longer after that, never wanting to work the later hours with how busy the clubhouse across the street became at night. It made you uncomfortable.
“You spend too much time listening to the town gossip.”
At the sound of Juice’s somewhat recovered voice, you focused back down on him. He was still lying flat on his stomach along the blue mat with his eyes closed, sweat trickling down his temple now. Lips twisting into a frown, you realized today wouldn’t just be friendly discussions and jokes as you finished his session, because apparently he was intent on addressing the leather-clad elephant in the room.
“It’s not all true,” Juice finished.
“Maybe not,” you conceded. “But I’ve had the displeasure of encountering Teller on more than one occasion in the time I’ve been working here. He’s a crude, infuriating asshole and you will never change my mind about him.”
Juice opened one eye, peering up at you from the mat. You shot him a look which clearly stated I-am-digging-my-heels-in-on-this. You’d never once had a normal, friendly interaction with Jax. He’d always been rude and excruciatingly inappropriate if he wasn’t downright insulting. You doubted you’d ever cross paths with a more vile human than Jax Teller.
“He’s only like that ‘cause you insulted him,” Juice told you.
Taken by surprise, your mouth fell open in disbelief at the accusation. He made it sound as if Jax’s treatment of you was entirely your fault. You stood there leaning against the wall with your mouth agape, a stunned noise sneaking out of you as you waited for him to walk back what he’d just said. When he didn’t, a nearly hysterical laugh broke through the tension before a sardonic smile ripped itself across your lips.
“Are you serious?” you shot back. “You really think this is my fault? Because I what? Stood up for myself when he made those crass comments about my body and openly propositioned me for sex? Which need I remind you–he shouted everything across the street at me. And that was before someone else started making some rather disgusting observations about my ass.”
Juice’s face drew tight into a wince, the corner of his lips dipping to the side as he propped himself up on one arm. “Okay, yeah,” he replied slowly. “That wasn’t exactly his best moment. And well, I got no excuse for Tig sayin’ the shit he did. But you called Jax some pretty colorful things in return. And I mean he’s…” He trailed off, tipping his head from side to side as he searched for the words. “Well, y’know, not exactly someone you talk to like that without repercussions. He’s the Sons’ president.”
“Wow,” you sarcastically replied, crossing your arms over your chest. “Well excuse the ever loving fuck out of me for not bowing down to Charming’s white trash royalty because he wants to fuck me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Juice argued back. “I just meant that he’s got a reputation to maintain. You sayin’ that shit publicly makes him look bad. He can’t just have you talkin’ shit to his face, y’know?”
“No,” you snapped. “I don’t know. Being some biker president doesn’t excuse the shit he said to me that first time, or all those months of him intentionally seeking me out just to harass me. Stop wasting your breath trying to paint him differently, Juice. Teller is a misogynistic scumbag. He’s repulsive and I want nothing to do with him.”
Juice ran a hand across his sweaty forehead as you scowled down at him, your mood now soured by this entire discussion and it wasn’t even ten in the morning. It didn’t matter what Juice said to you, you would never change your opinion about Teller. He’d done too much damage for you to ever believe there was something redeemable about him.
“I just think you need to give him a chance. Get to actually know him before you pass judgement,” Juice diplomatically tried again. “And not just him. The Sons aren’t that bad, either.”
Your tongue poked into your cheek as you fixed him with a pointed look, brows slightly raising onto your forehead. He’d gotten a membership here barely two weeks ago, but he’d worked things out with you and the other gym employees so that he could enter and exit through the back door instead of using the front entrance. Juice claimed it was due to the animosity between the Sons and the Iron Pulse employees, saying that he wanted to keep it quiet that he’d started coming here, not wanting to spark more issues between his club and the gym across from it.
“Is that why you need to hide where you go to work out from them?” you questioned, tipping your head condescendingly to the side. If he was going to make you think about Jax far more than you’d wanted to at the start of your day, you weren’t going to go easy on him. “Because they’re not that bad? Because they’re such good, nice, upstanding guys? Guys who wouldn’t care about where you choose to go in your free time?”
Juice released an exaggerated huff as he rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll stop hiding it,” he relented. He gestured a hand across the gym, waving it at the propped open front door behind him. “I’ll leave through the front like everyone else today. No more hiding where I go in the mornings. Happy?”
“Congratulations, it only took you nearly two weeks to stop hiding from your club,” you deadpanned.
Gaze shifting back to the clock on the wall across the gym, you noticed his two minutes of rest time were finished. Grateful to give Juice a reason to stop talking about the Sons and focus back on why he was actually here, you crossed your ankles and stubbornly set your jaw.
“Begin the next set,” you ordered. “Another front plank. Hold it for a minute.” Still feeling embittered by the entire discussion he’d dragged you into, you added, “Then you’ve got a final set and stretches before you can exit out of the front door to a round of applause from me.”
With a heavy sigh, Juice rolled back over onto his front along the mat before pushing himself back into a plank. “For someone who hates him so much,” he muttered under his breath, “you sure sound just like him.”
By the time your shift had ended at Iron Pulse, your mood hadn’t improved much. Juice’s comments had plagued you throughout the day, which unfortunately kept Teller lingering in the back of your mind like a terrible headache you couldn’t shake. It didn’t help that you’d had to deal with multiple gym members refusing to put their weights away and wipe down their machines after they’d used them, so your mood had only worsened when you’d finally gotten to your own workout.
You’d felt it during your entire routine–you were off today. It was a struggle to get through your usual chest workouts, fighting just to push yourself to complete each exercise. It was as if the plates had somehow become exponentially heavier on purpose solely to make you even more bitter. Because you hated feeling weak. That usually only happened during your period weeks, and that was irritating enough, you didn’t need to be thrown off your game when you weren’t even menstruating.
But your bad day was finally over. Now you'd get to go home, and you were looking forward to briefly washing up in the shower, cleaning away the stench of sweat and gym which clung to you like a second skin. The warm water would ease your tense, sore muscles as you relaxed beneath the shower spray, letting all the negative things from today flow down the drain. Afterwards, you planned to make pasta for dinner, which you were excited to devour with how ravenous your workout had left you.
So the absolute last thing you'd wanted was to see the odd, uneven tip of the back end of your Toyota as you approached it. The repetitive buzz and whir of tools over at the Sons’ garage drifted across the street, carried towards you on the late afternoon breeze as you came to a stop by the trunk of your car. You took one look at the awkward slant of your Toyota before the black gym bag hanging on your shoulder slid down your arm and collapsed onto the sidewalk beside your feet with a solid thunk.
The back right tire of your car was entirely flat, and it now sat dangerously close to the rim. The rubber of the tire looked as if it had melted into the asphalt in the heat of the day, and your shoulders sagged miserably at the realization that you’d most likely need a new one.
“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Eyes snapping shut, you fought down the sting of frustrated tears that abruptly sprung forward. Pressing the palms of both your hands against your closed eyelids, you sucked in a deep breath and held it, trying to calm yourself down so you could think. You knew that there was a spare tire in the trunk of your car, and you theoretically knew how to swap them out. You could change it yourself, though you questioned your ability to accomplish the task before one of the guys over at Teller-Morrow Automotive noticed you and probably came to bother you.
They were also the only mechanic shop in Charming. The next closest was probably thirty miles away from the small town. Could you manage to drive that far on a spare tire? You’d never driven on one before, yet it seemed do-able. But it was getting late and you doubted a garage would be open too much longer tonight, which meant that your car wouldn’t get fixed until tomorrow, leaving you stuck trying to find a way back to Charming without your Toyota. Paying for a ride would only add to the cost of just getting the flat fixed, and that was already going to be pricey–you didn’t make a fortune as a trainer.
How had this even happened? You’d driven here without issue earlier this morning, and your car had been parked on the street all day. You hadn’t driven it since you’d arrived at work. Had there been a slow leak that’d been steadily deflating while you’d been at the gym?
“Why today?” you groaned, hands scrubbing down your face. “Why this?”
“I see you’ve already found the flat, Peaches.”
That irritatingly familiar voice had you tense instantly, your face still buried in your hands. The unmistakable lilt of arrogance and amusement grated on your nerves, darkening an already bleak day. Your tongue pressed against the back of your teeth as your back straightened, anger already igniting in your chest. You were not in the mood to have an argument with him.
Your hands slowly slid down your face and fell to your sides as you looked over, your eyes easily finding him. Teller swaggered across the street towards you, the corner of his lips quirked into a wide grin. His eyes ran over you twice, gaze lingering along your ass and your chest before they drifted over to the flat tire you were currently lamenting.
“Looks pretty done to me,” he commented. He pointed a grease-stained finger at the tire as he added, “You’re gonna need a new one.”
“Yeah, no shit,” you ground out.
He glanced back at you, eyes alight as he openly reveled in your misfortune. “Relax, darlin’. I came over here to help.” He paused, the corners of his lips curling back further. “But only if you ask me real nice.”
The audacity of this asshole. I’d rather prop my car up with his stupid face and change the tire myself.
“You’re the last person I’d ever ask for help,” you retorted.
Jax casually shrugged his shoulders as he neared, the grin lingering on his lips. “Suit yourself, Peaches,” he said. “But you still gotta flat to deal with.”
Your eyes narrowed suspiciously back at him, your mind beginning to slowly mull over the entirety of the situation. While it was possible that you had run over something and punctured the tire which had led to a slow leak, it also seemed just as likely that Teller might’ve popped your tire on purpose simply to mess with you. The last time you’d encountered him nearly a week ago, you’d certainly pissed him off. Maybe this was his way of getting back at you, especially since he’d left you with that threat of needing to watch yourself. He seemed far too pleased with your misfortune right now, and he did stand to benefit from you paying his garage for the work. Then there was the obvious satisfaction he’d gain from you having to need his help with something.
“Did you do this?” you demanded, pointing a finger at your tire. “Is this your idea of a joke? Or some kind of payback for hurting your fragile ego?”
Jax’s grin vanished at the accusation, his own eyes narrowing to slits. The mischievous glint in them extinguished, suddenly replaced with the usual simmering disdain and irritation he harbored for you. You studied him closely, searching for any signs of an admission of guilt.
“You serious, Peaches?” he questioned, voice lowering as he took another step closer. “You think I got nothin’ better to do than sit around and slash your fuckin’ tire or somethin’?”
“I definitely wouldn’t put it past you,” you bitterly replied. “You stand to benefit financially, and you get to annoy me about it. Sure sounds like something you’d do.”
“You’re fuckin’ bat shit,” he shot back. “I got better things on my mind to think ‘bout that ain’t you, darlin’. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Your nose scrunched. “Ew. I wouldn’t call your attention something to be flattered by, Teller,” you retorted. “I’d rather never share air in your vicinity.”
With a heavy roll of his eyes, Jax took two steps backwards throwing his hands up into the air as if he was done with you already. “Whatever,” he said. “You still gotta problem to deal with, and if you wanna be a fuckin’ priss about it, go ahead. Next closest garage is near Stockton, and they’re closin’ in forty. Have fun figurin’ your shit out, darlin’.”
He swung around and started to cross the street, the reaper on the back of his kutte taunting you with its ghoulish smile. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip, you gnawed it in frustration as your attention returned to the flat tire. As much as you hated to admit it, Teller unfortunately had a point, you did need to deal with this. Taking it into Teller-Morrow would’ve been the easiest and fastest solution–the garage was right there across the street. It’d save you from having to slip on a spare tire or call for a tow to another shop before attempting to try to find a ride back out to Charming.
But the idea of having to ask Teller for help and dealing with the Sons sounded like sheer torture. He could charge you whatever he wanted for the service just to be an asshole, and you’d be helplessly at his mercy. The thought of that alone made you want to run headlong into oncoming traffic. But despite that, forcing yourself to set aside your pride and interact with him for a brief period of time solely for the sake of fixing your car might be worth it in the long run. Even if you heavily suspected the flat was his doing all along. You doubted–or at least desperately hoped–that whatever he put you through and whatever he charged you in the end would still be less than the hassle and expense of the alternative.
Sucking in a deep breath, you fought down the nauseating twist of your stomach. Jax hadn’t stopped in his retreat towards the garage, making it quite clear that he wasn’t going to wait for you to change your mind. Closing your eyes, you slowly exhaled the breath you’d taken, hating what you were about to do with every fiber of your being.
“Wait,” you called out.
Jax paused mid-stride at the sound of your voice, stopping just before he stepped up onto the curb across the street. The slow, smooth way he casually turned back around towards you, with his head slanting to the side and that irritatingly smug smirk stretching over his lips, made you want to double over and vomit right on the street. But you forced yourself to push on, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.
“Can your garage fix my flat?” you reluctantly questioned. The words were acid as they passed over your tongue, burning on their way out. “I’d rather not drag it all the way out of town this late.”
“‘Course we know how to fix a flat, Peaches,” he called back. He began taking a few measured steps back towards you with a glint in his eye that you didn’t like. “But…”
For the love of God, do not ask me to say please. I may just murder you.
“But,” he continued, the smirk sliding further across his face as he sauntered towards you, “I don’t tolerate hostility in my place of business. So I’m gonna have to ask that you’re friendly to my staff, darlin’.”
Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your nails digging sharply into your palms. He continued closing the gap between you both, obviously pleased with having the upper hand around you for once, which only heightened your suspicions about the tire. He knew exactly how to get under your skin and you absolutely hated that. And you knew he’d expect you to be friendly while dealing with the guys at the garage or he’d find some other way to fuck with you.
“You good with that, Peaches?” he pressed.
“Yes,” you tersely grit out between your teeth.
“Good girl,” Jax drawled. Stopping in front of you, he held out his hand, palm expectantly upturned. “Gonna need your keys then, darlin’. And you’ll get your car back whenever we’re done with it.”
With your lips pressed firmly together in frustration, you slipped your hand into the side pocket of your biker shorts, pulling out your car keys. It felt as if you were handing part of your soul over to the devil when you reluctantly dropped them into Jax’s awaiting palm. His fingers curled around your keys, and the thought of him touching and driving your Toyota made your skin crawl.
“Better get it back in one piece,” you warned him.
“Hey, I run a respectable business, Peaches. Don't insult me,” he reprimanded, though his smirk continued to taunt you. “You gonna want a ride home? ‘Cause I can have a prospect drop you off.”
“Hard pass,” you immediately declined. “I'd rather walk.”
Shortly after you'd arrived home, you'd headed directly for your shower. Covered in a light layer of sweat from the mile walk back in the summer sun, you'd welcomed the warm water once it fell over you, but it ultimately hadn't done much to relax you after the day you'd had.
You'd spent half the night afterwards wondering if you'd made a huge mistake leaving your car at the Sons’ garage. Would they fuck things up further? Oversell you on a tire and their labor? Take their sweet ass fucking time and finish your car days later, claiming they were backed up and busy? Cut your brake lines for shits and giggles?
Your mind had raced with hundreds of scenarios while you'd made dinner and ate it. By the time you'd finally sat down on the couch before bed, you felt as if you'd just done one of Dominic’s crossfit workouts. Your brain was like a bowl of oatmeal–thick and sluggish.
Laying stretched out along your couch, your eyes were half-lidded as you watched one of your guilty pleasure shows before bed. You'd been gradually starting to drift off to the soft hum of your television, succumbing to sleep with how worn out you were, until a rumble of engines and a flash of headlights cut through the room and caused your eyes to snap fully open.
The headlights shining through your living room windows cut off at the exact same time one of the engines outside silenced. A cold trickle of fear inched its way up your spine as you went entirely still on the couch, your heart beginning to pound in your chest. A car door slammed shut in your driveway and your head darted up from the couch pillow, your entire body suddenly alert as you looked out the living room window.
It was hard to see much through the darkness outside, but you spotted a figure pass up the path that led to your door. Along the street sat a dark gray van, the lights shining down the road as it idled and completely blocked your driveway. Two sharp raps came at your front door next and fear seeped into your bones, your body sinking into the cushions.
Who the fuck was at your door? It was just after nine at night on a Thursday. You had no one planning to stop by, and certainly no one who would be showing up in multiple vehicles. Your mind raced as your breath came in shallow bursts, eyes still lingering on the familiar looking gray van parked outside. Where had you seen it before?
You startled on the couch when the person behind the door called your name through it, a soft shriek of surprise slipping out of you. Clutching the pillow beside you on the couch, you gripped it as if it would somehow protect you from whoever was outside.
“You home?” the voice called again. “Look, I know it's kinda late, but Jax asked us to drop off your car. Said you'd probably need it for tomorrow.”
Sitting rigid on your couch with your nails still digging into the soft fabric of the pillow, you gradually began to process what he'd said. The adrenaline coursing through your veins steadily began to fade as everything started to piece itself together. It was just the Sons dropping off your fixed car. But why so late at night? The garage had closed down hours ago.
Rising up from the couch in confusion, you carefully crossed the living room and headed to the front door. You turned on the outdoor lights before leaning forward and looking out through the peephole, not wanting to blindly open your front door without double-checking who was standing there first. A dark haired man stood on the small porch, and he was wearing a leather kutte which resembled the ones the other Sons wore, except his boasted a single patch which just read ‘prospect.’
Trying to calm the nerves that their arrival had sent coursing through you, you began unlocking the front door. When you finally opened it, you came face to face with the man you swore you remembered you’d overheard them calling Rat before. He offered you a friendly smile which immediately set you on edge before he raised a hand in the air, jingling your car keys in the space between you both.
“Your car is finished,” he told you. “Jax wanted us to drop it off. It's parked in the driveway.”
He gestured his other hand towards the car that had shined its lights through your window, and your gaze followed after it. Your silver Toyota sat innocently there as the van continued idling behind it. You now understood that it was Rat's ride back to the clubhouse.
Turning your attention back towards him, your brows furrowed as you glanced down at the keys in his hand. “I don't understand,” you said, looking back up to meet his stare. “Why’re you dropping it off? Don’t you guys want me to come in and pay for the repair first?”
Rat's expression grew sheepish, his hand still holding your keys out to you. “Well, uh,” he began, tone turning a little awkward. “Jax said that there was no charge.”
Suspicion washed over you in an instant, your eyes narrowing back at him. No charge for the new tire and the work his guys did to put it on? Something was definitely going on, and now you were regretting taking your car there. Was he expecting you to owe him a favor for this? The idea made you internally cringe.
“Why?” you pressed.
“He said to tell you that there's–” he paused, his sheepish smile growing a little wider and more uncomfortable, “–there's nothing that he could ever want from an uptight, self-righteous bitch. Including her money.”
Your mouth fell open in shock, your eyes widening slightly. So Jax was throwing your insult back at you, the one from the other day? The one that pissed him off for some unknown reason? All because you'd said there was nothing you'd ever want from him? This was certainly proof that it'd somehow struck a nerve, especially if he was still thinking about it enough to have a prospect deliver that message along with your car.
Is his ego truly that fragile?
Reaching out, you finally grabbed your keys from his outstretched hand. Rat looked relieved when he took a step back, as if he was glad that he'd completed the task he'd been given without having to enter a verbal sparring match with you.
“If he's expecting a thank you, he's not getting one,” you stated.
“Don't think he'd want one anyway,” Rat replied.
His hand rose and fell quickly in a half-hearted wave before he turned and cut through your grass, heading straight towards the gray van parked in the street at the bottom of your driveway. You watched him for a few seconds, fingers toying with your keyring, before your gaze shifted to your Toyota. Your eyes dipped down to the back tire, and as a cool breeze brushed past your cheek, the suspicion that Jax had been the one to pop it still lingered at the forefront of your mind.
Hey! I loooove One Good Deed, are you still planning on updating this fic? Thanks!!!!
Hello, anon and thank you!! 💕I do absolutely still intend to update One Good Deed, I just temporarily stalled on the next chapter for a handful of reasons, one of which being me tweaking the plot of that next chapter. But I've been getting some lovely comments and interest still in that series, and seeing that y'all are still wanting to see what's going on with Dex and his Tulip, I am hoping to start outlining the next part after I finish writing the endings to a couple of drafts for something in a different fandom. I just need to shift my brain to our whimsical psychopath before I can work on writing for him. And since I try to write him as true to character as I can (mental illnesses included), getting into his head to write him is truly...an entire process and experience 🙃
Frank Castle should be behind bars. I mean, he deserves a fair trial, but he's murdered people. Yeah, right. Bad people. I mean, like the ones who killed his family or the ones who came after me.
Daredevil | Matt Murdock x Reader | Rated: E || AO3
A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.
Pairing: teenage!Jax Teller x teenage!Reader
Warnings/tags: angst, infidelity, relationship breakup, mentions of abuse/alcoholism, no happy ending (*may eventually turn into the prologue/prequel to a future enemies to lovers/second chance series*)
Living with an alcoholic, abusive father, you'd never quite known love. Until you met Jax at sixteen, then your whole world shifted. Despite all the warnings Charming tried to preach about the club, you finally found safety and a home among the Sons. But after graduation when Jax had finally patched into SAMCRO, you were hit with a harsh realization–you were always going to lose it all.
Genuinely cannot tell if I'm feeling so disgustingly nauseous because of my period, or because I'm upsetting myself with writing an angsty Jax thing that's making me feel physically ill 😫
