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.
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 😫
Fuck it, researching maximum security psychiatric hospitals so I can make my stupid Bullseye post about his unseen mental journey from s3 FBI Dex who was at his lowest point in his life to post DDBA S2 Dex who was walking on Sunshine.
I support this completely and cannot wait to hear your thoughts on it. We are definitely missing an important chunk of his journey going from OG S3 Dex desperately needing guidance to DDBA S2 Dex fully embracing the maniacal whimsy.
Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 6.2k [Jax Fic Masterlist]
Warning/tags: 18+; angst, drunk rough sex, choking & spanking, suicidal!Reader, excessive alcohol use, depression, hopeful ending if you squint??
Summary: Losing your job days after receiving an eviction notice was the tipping point. With nothing left, you step into a party at the Sons' clubhouse uninvited hoping for a night that you won't wake up from.
a/n: This may or may not be triggering, please use your own discretion, though I feel like the humor and sex balance out the situation a little? Feedback (reblogs/comments/likes) is always appreciated!
Tipping the glass in your hand back against your lips, the whiskey burned as it passed over your tongue before blazing a fiery trail down your throat. Normally you preferred sipping on a glass of wine to unwind from a rough day, but tonight you swallowed the liquor down without flinching. Because tonight wasn't a normal night, and you weren’t just having a rough day.
None of it mattered anymore–not your sobriety, not your safety, and certainly not your sad, miserable existence. You'd slipped into a Sons’ party at their clubhouse with the express intention of drinking yourself into oblivion just to forget the job you'd lost earlier today and the eviction notice you'd found taped to your door four days ago. With nothing left to keep holding onto and no foreseeable way to pay your bills, you’d thrown years of caution and keeping your distance from the Sons straight out of the window when you’d walked right into their clubhouse. If the universe wanted to keep pulling at all your loose threads, then you'd shamelessly unravel until there was nothing left to undo.
Lowering the glass back onto the bartop already rimmed in the markings of previous parties, your blurry vision grew fuzzy as you stared at the amber liquid dwindling in the bottom of your glass. It was the third one you'd had in the hour that you’d been here, and you were certainly feeling its effects. But you were only just getting started.
Despite being too broke to afford alcohol yourself tonight, you'd quickly learned that if you flirted with the young guy behind the Sons’ small, outdated bar, he kept pouring you drinks without questioning your presence here. Because while you knew you weren't supposed to be here, he apparently wasn't aware of that fact. Or he’d been willing to overlook it for the possibility of getting laid.
Everyone in Charming knew that you didn't just walk into the Sons of Anarchy’s clubhouse without an invitation. It didn't matter who you were, outlaw motorcycle clubs were notoriously private, and their clubhouses were their safe havens. Uninvited visitors generally weren’t welcomed with open arms, but you'd invaded their space anyway for the possibility of free alcohol and a chance to forget for a little while. If that earned you trouble, you'd welcome it. Maybe a fist to the face or being thrown out on your ass would cut through the endless nothing that seemed to be swallowing you from the inside out lately.
“Might wanna slow down there, beautiful.”
Gaze slowly sliding up from the almost finished third glass in front of you, you attempted to focus on the dark haired guy standing behind the bar. Even in your increasing inebriation, you didn't find him the slightest bit attractive. But you still forced a smile onto your face, one that felt too heavy to maintain.
“Am I not s'posed to be drinkin’ at a party?” you faintly slurred back. “‘Cause it seems like everyone's drinkin’ here.”
Left hand releasing your grip on the glass, you sloppily waved it carelessly at the crowd of people behind you. The clubhouse was booming with life, laughter, and loud music. A smokey haze lingered in the air from all the cigarettes and joints that were being smoked inside, and while it stung your eyes a bit, it seemed to perfectly match the haze already clouding your brain.
“You're not lookin’ like you're having much fun though,” he countered dubiously.
The hand you'd waved behind yourself swung forward, landing exaggeratedly against your chest, just above the exposed cleavage of your shirt. You'd picked the sluttiest outfit you could find in your closet tonight for the occasion of no longer giving a fuck, but somehow it still wasn't as revealing as what the other girls here were dressed in.
“I'm having plenty of fun,” you assured him, drunkenly dragging out the syllables as you tried to speak coherently. “I gotta drink in my hand and you for company, right?”
The flirtatious lie rolled off your tongue and lit up his face immediately. Apparently you'd said the right thing to get him to stop probing, and you'd started wondering just how far you'd be willing to take things to keep that from happening tonight. Would you need to suck his dick in a bathroom in exchange for him to keep pouring you drinks and not asking questions? You supposed after another couple of whiskeys you probably wouldn't even fucking care if you did.
Maybe I should apply to work at their porn studio. Might need to start sucking cock just to pay rent for a new place.
A bitter laugh fell past your lips at the depressing thought, and the guy behind the bar's brows drew together in confusion. Of course he was confused because you hadn't said any of that aloud. You probably looked like some drunk idiot laughing to yourself, which only made you laugh a little harder. But you doubted coming off as crazy would make him turn you down after how much he'd been hitting on you for the past hour.
“What's so funny, darlin’?”
The laugh died on your lips as you stared at the guy behind the bar, your head gradually tipping to the side in bewilderment. His mouth hadn't moved yet somehow he'd just spoken. How was that even possible? Or were you already that affected by the whiskey? But then it slowly dawned on you that the guy behind the bar was looking just to your left, and you realized someone else had spoken just before you heard their deep voice again.
“Is it the fact that you aren't supposed to be here, yet you're getting wasted on my whiskey that’s got you laughin’?” the disembodied voice asked.
Blinking slowly three times, you stared at the guy behind the bar as you steadily came to the realization that you'd finally been caught. The guy who'd been serving you quickly turned and hurried off to the other end of the bar, leaving you to fend for yourself.
Definitely not sucking your dick now, asshole.
Placing both of your hands flat along the sticky bar counter, you carefully spun to the side on your stool, swaying faintly at the movement. You came unexpectedly face to face with Jax Teller, the Sons’ president, and it took you so off guard that your brain instantly went blank at the sight of him. You'd only seen him occasionally around Charming, usually on the back of his bike and moving far too fast for you to see much, but now that he was leaning against the edge of the bar barely a foot away from you, you could clearly see him. And he was someone you would be willing to fuck for some free drinks.
He had the prettiest shade of blue eyes that you’d ever seen, like the rolling waves of the ocean glistening in the afternoon sun. His long blonde hair was perfectly slicked back, and his facial scruff was just neatly trimmed enough to add to that edge which radiated off of him. Jax was thick and broad beneath the black leather kutte and the white t-shirt he had on, and in that moment, you completely understood why he managed to fuck as many girls as he did.
“Why?” you countered, arching a brow back at him. “You gonna tell me I need to suck your dick in exchange for it?”
Jax’s plush lips parted slightly in surprise, clearly not expecting that response to his question and imposing presence. One blonde brow slowly ascended questioningly upwards onto his forehead as he leaned further onto his forearm resting against the bar.
“What?” he asked.
“Your precious whiskey,” you explained, gesturing your head towards your glass. The movement caused the room to temporarily spin, but you carried on. “Not supposed to be drinkin’ it, right?” you said, words still slurring together. “So do I gotta commit a felony for you? Fuck you in a backroom or somethin’ for it?”
The corner of his lips twitched faintly upwards before his tongue deliberately rolled out between them. Mesmerized by the flick of pink briefly wetting his lips, you stared at his mouth while his entire demeanor shifted. It was subtle, but even you’d noticed how his posture had relaxed and his stern expression had eased.
“You ain’t gotta filter on you, do ya, darlin’?” he mused. Jutting his chin at your drink on the bar, he asked, “How many of those have you had?”
Picking up the glass of whiskey in question, you brought it to your lips and tipped it back. A small smile crept itself across Jax’s lips as he watched you down the rest of the liquor in two deep swallows. As you set the empty glass back onto the bar, you licked the bitter residue from your lips before answering him.
“That made three,” you said. “But I wouldn’t mind a fourth. Or maybe the whole bottle.”
His smile faltered at your last comment, and his pretty blue eyes–of which there occasionally seemed to be more than two–narrowed suspiciously back at you. The noise of the party continued to fill in the silence that sunk between you both, a boisterous laugh breaking out above the sound of pool balls clattering a few feet away.
“You good?” he asked.
“Huh?”
Jax reached a ringed hand out and grabbed your empty glass from beside you on the bar before lifting it up in front of your face. Your attention focused on his muscular forearm instead of the glass, eyes tracing over the ink of his tattoo. The urge to lick it crossed your mind and you barely refrained from acting on impulse.
“Three of these in an hour?” he questioned. “You’re barely stringin’ sentences together and you look ‘bout ready to fall off that stool. I don’t think you need more, I think you need some water and to go home, sweetheart. This ain’t the place for you.”
The concern on his face was so unexpected that a laugh bubbled straight out of your throat. Clumsily reaching out, you managed to snatch the glass from his hand, ignoring the look of shock that washed across his face at the bold gesture. Your other hand raised before you firmly pointed a finger in his face, only mere inches from his nose.
“Don’t tell me what I need, pretty boy,” you disagreed, wagging your finger at him. “And don’t pretend to care ‘bout my well-being. You don’t give a fuck ‘bout it.”
A frown settled on his lips as he pushed off the bar, one hand smoothly swatting yours out of his face. He took a step closer, his presence impossible to ignore as he leaned forward and got directly in your face. The heavy scent of cigarette smoke, leather, and gasoline rolled off of him, and the fan of his warm breath along your lips had your eyelids fluttering. He might’ve been getting annoyed, but you were getting aroused.
“Watch it, darlin’,” he warned in a low rumble. “It’s not smart to be sticking fingers in my goddamn face like that. I’m bein’ nice right now.”
Leaning further towards him, you held his piercing stare with your own as best as you could while swaying along the bar stool. What the fuck did you have to lose at this point? If he wanted to shoot you in the middle of this party with the gun no doubt hidden in his kutte, then at least you wouldn’t have to wake up tomorrow worrying about where the fuck you’d be sleeping in a couple weeks. That’d be a weight off your shoulders.
“Then don’t,” you challenged.
He blinked back at you, and a small crease slowly formed between his brows. His blue eyes dipped down towards your lips, and you became very aware of how close his were to yours. You were barely resisting the urge to smash your mouth onto his now. Maybe he’d let you, maybe he’d slap you. Maybe you’d have been content with either outcome.
“A’ight,” he finally conceded.
He straightened back up, which put an unfortunate amount of distance between you both, something you weren’t particularly thrilled about. You could’ve used sex to help shut your brain off, and drunken sex probably wouldn’t have hurt your situation tonight. Why not live a little and fuck the Sons’ president? You’d always heard the hype about his bedroom skills, now you were curious to see them for yourself.
“The fuck is goin’ on with you, huh?” Jax demanded. Crossing his thick arms over his chest, he fixed you with a pointed stare. “Clearly somethin’ is, darlin’. No one is stupid enough to come in here acting like this, especially not to my fuckin’ face.”
“I’m gettin’ evicted and I just lost my job,” you slurred back. Raising the empty whiskey glass in your hand, you shook it irritably in the space between you both. “Can’t exactly afford the alcohol poisoning on my own. So, care to help a girl out?”
The tension in his shoulders eased marginally at your explanation as his attention dropped to the glass you were shaking in the air. The corners of his lips dipped downwards before his gaze returned to your face. “So you’re havin’ a bad night, that it?” he asked.
A humorless laugh slipped out of you as you shook your head, swiveling back towards the bar on your stool and setting the glass down in front of yourself. “It’s not a bad night,” you corrected him, “it’s a bad everything. I’d be thrilled for the rest of that bottle or a car rollin’ over me. I’m not exactly feelin’ picky.”
“So you think talkin’ shit at our clubhouse and drinkin’ our booze is the answer?” Jax shot back. “‘Cause it ain’t.”
Glancing sidelong at him standing next to you, you frowned at the probing way he was watching you and the chastising tone of his voice. This was not what you’d come out here for. He was making you think and feel and you wanted neither of those two things tonight. You wanted to be completely numb–whatever made you feel as close to dead inside as possible.
“I don’t needa Son to therapize me,” you shot back, still slurring your words. “I just wanna get shitfaced and shut off my fuckin’ brain. Stop pretendin’ to give a shit. You're not known for caring, you're known for fucking.”
His eyes narrowed at your bluntness–all four of them. “Who said I can’t do both, huh?” he argued. “Maybe the shit you’re sayin’ sounds concerning, but maybe I’m not above takin’ you in the back and fuckin’ some sense into you, either.”
Falling quiet at the harsh way he’d snapped back, your fuzzy mind began repeating the words ‘fucking some sense into you’ over and over. Arousal rippled through you like a slow wave rising up from the base of your spine before engulfing you in its heat. With one hand, you slowly nudged the empty whiskey glass along the bartop towards him, and his gaze briefly drifted down, watching it slide over to him.
Tipping your head at the empty glass, you ignored the way he swam in your vision. “Pour me another,” you ordered him, “and you can try as hard as you want.”
Jax had poured you two more shots before you'd lost the ability to keep your hands to yourself. With the alcohol and your attraction burning inside of you like gasoline and a lit match, you'd grabbed a fistful of his perfectly styled blonde hair while you’d been at the bar and yanked him towards you, crashing your lips onto his and effectively shutting him and his “compassion” up.
Somehow you'd stumbled through the clubhouse party shortly after you’d shoved your tongue into his mouth, letting Jax guide you around the people and the twists and turns that you couldn't fully remember before you'd ended up in some sort of bedroom. He’d barely shut the door before your hands drunkenly fumbled to remove his clothes, your eyes not quite seeing straight. Jax had been far more deft at peeling you out of all your layers, getting you naked so quickly that you hadn’t been aware of it at first.
Somewhere through the cloud of alcohol swirling in your mind, you vaguely remembered his teeth sharply tugging on your nipples and biting at your shoulders, and you could somewhat recall the way he'd plunged two thick fingers deep inside of you while you’d been backed up against a wall. But unfortunately the copious amounts of whiskey in the short span of time had already made that part of your evening rather blurry and indecipherable.
Though you were very present now. Or as present as you could be while being quite so under the influence.
At some point Jax had thrown you down onto the mess of sheets along his bed without any warning. The soft impact of the mattress hitting your stomach had left you slightly breathless, and you hadn’t quite recovered before you’d felt Jax climbing over the back of you. His bare, broad chest pressed you deeper into the bed as he ducked his head beside your ear, his hot breath intoxicating as it grazed over the side of your face.
“You wanna stop thinkin’, huh?” Jax rasped. “Need it so rough you can't hear those stupid fuckin’ thoughts of yours?”
One of his hands came into view beside your head, fingers curled into a fist that pushed into the mattress as he held himself over the back of you. You could feel the weight of his cock resting between your ass–hard and heavy–but the slow glide of a calloused hand slipping around your throat quickly stole your attention along with your breath.
His fingers tightened around the sides of your neck, the rough pads digging into the sensitive skin before he quickly jerked your head backwards and towards him with his firm grip. The pressure of his fingers closed off just a fraction of your airflow, causing your vision to tinge white as the wall in front of you blurred out of focus. The rings on his fingers were a cold contrast to the heat of his palm soaking into your flesh, and you went slack beneath him on the bed almost immediately.
“This what you wanted?” he asked, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
You could squeeze harder. End it all now.
A strangled ‘mmph’ was the only assent you could muster in response, his fingers still partially blocking your airflow. But the muddled state of your mind was addicting, and the shifting of his naked body behind you only increased the dizzying sensation tingling in your brain with all of the whiskey. He could’ve done anything to you right now and you’d have allowed it, even taking your breath permanently.
So completely out of it as you lay slack beneath him, you hadn’t realized what he’d been doing until he pressed the thick head of his cock against your entrance. There was no hesitation that followed. With both of his muscular thighs bracketing yours between them, he rutted his hips firmly forward into your ass and slid his cock entirely inside of you. A gasping, garbled noise flung itself out between your lips as Jax continued to hold your head back with the single hand wrapped around your neck.
“Fuck, that’s it, that’s it,” he groaned.
Eyes falling shut at his gravely voice beside your ear and the faint tickle of his beard along your shoulder, a soft moan came strangled from your throat. He was large enough that the stretch of him filled your pussy with an unfamiliar yet delicious sting that you could feel throbbing all the way in the back of your skull. Trapped beneath him on the bed, you shifted your hips along the mattress, weakly pushing back against him in a desperate attempt for him to do more than press his nearly full weight into you.
“This what you need?”
His question came punctuated when he drew himself back until he’d almost slipped out before brutally slamming forward, his hips ramming right into the swell of your ass with an obscene sound. The resulting pleasure burn shot through you like a bolt of lightning straight up your spine and you groaned in response. Spurred on by the noise, Jax quickly set a rough rhythm that had your body molding itself into the mattress beneath him. He still hadn’t loosened the grip around your throat, and bright spots of colors began to bloom across your closed eyelids as the world around you felt like it was quite literally melting away.
Make it all disappear.
“Needed a rough fuck to fix your fuckin’ head?” he panted beside your ear. “That what you’re lookin’ for, darlin’?”
“Ha–harder,” you gasped out.
A sharp grunt met your words, but Jax didn’t hesitate to comply. The hand he’d been pressing into the bed to steady himself over the back of you landed on your shoulder, and suddenly all of his weight was bearing down on you. His chest against your back crushed your own chest into the mattress beneath you, and you grew even more lightheaded as your neck relaxed into the hand around your throat.
Jax pounded relentlessly into you from behind, his cock diving deeper and deeper until you swore you could feel him in your stomach. Your entire body burned with nothing but pleasure, your skin nearly buzzing with it as his sweat slicked body moved along the back of yours. Dizzy with overstimulation, you could feel each pull of his abdominal muscles along the back of you with every one of his savage thrusts.
“Like it filthy then?” he asked, growing breathless. “Want me to fuck this little pussy hard?”
With your eyes still closed and your mind more than half gone, you’d entirely succumbed to Jax. Nothing else existed in this moment, not any of your problems and not any of your pain, just the dangerous draw of completely losing yourself in him. You wanted to drown in this moment, to let your approaching climax sweep you away into nothing.
“Need you to fuck me raw,” you breathlessly begged.
The request sounded nearly as strangled as you felt, and Jax temporarily hesitated behind you when he caught it. A low, animalistic growl rumbled in his chest, and you felt it vibrate through your own body beneath him, stirring all the way to the tips of your fingers curled around the messy sheets. Humming faintly in approval, your pussy tightened around his cock where it sat temporarily stalled inside of you.
You swore you’d only blinked your eyes open before he’d moved. One second you’d been lying flat on your stomach with him over the top of you, a hand around your throat as he fucked you, and the next, Jax had your ass in the air. His hand was now shoving the back of your neck down into the bed with such force that you doubted you could’ve moved if you’d wanted to, your cheek smashed into the dark brown sheets. His other hand held both of your wrists locked at an angle behind your back that created a sharp pull in your shoulders.
It seemed as if you’d unlocked something inside of Jax with your request, because his self-restraint had suddenly vanished. Two sharp, stinging smacks came down hard on your ass, the noise cracking through the room. When Jax had restarted his pace, he fucked into you with a savageness you hadn’t anticipated. His cock repeatedly slammed into a spot so deep inside that your breath caught in the back of your throat as drool spilled out of your lips, wetting the bed beside you.
You could feel your release steadily building with each rough, unsteady thrust of him from behind. Eyes partially rolling back behind closed eyelids, a slow, satisfied grin slipped onto your lips. Jax continued to grunt and snarl behind you like a wild animal, the rough sheets scratching against the side of your face. Maybe he wouldn’t strangle you here in his bed and fully silence your thoughts completely tonight, but for now you’d settle for the close second of bliss as he ruthlessly used you.
Tugging on his discarded shirt from the night before over his head, a sharp pain throbbed between Jax’s temples. He hadn’t drank nearly as much he could have last night, but the nearly two hours of sex with you afterwards hadn’t exactly helped matters. As he slid his shirt down over his chest, he studied the handful of bright red scratch marks and the few bitemarks that now adorned his skin. The corner of his lips drew up in a faint, pleased grin before his eyes drifted back towards his bed.
His empty bed. You’d passed out in it at some point when he’d needed a break to take a piss, and when he’d stepped back into his room from the bathroom, you were curled up naked on top of his sheets entirely done for. He’d tucked you beneath the blankets before joining you, not having the heart to kick you out of his room like he would’ve done to any of the other girls considering how rough your night already seemed. But somehow when he’d woken this morning, you’d already disappeared. With how much whiskey you’d downed last night, Jax was surprised you’d even managed to wake up before him.
Stepping over towards his nightstand, Jax swiped the pack of cigarettes and his lighter from atop it. Guilt steadily pooled in the pit of his stomach as he glanced once more at where you’d slept beside him last night. Had he been too rough with you and that’s why you’d ducked out? He admittedly hadn’t meant to be quite that intense and take things so far, but you’d seemed to be enjoying yourself and encouraging him to be rougher and rougher with you.Truthfully, no girl had ever asked him to ‘fuck them raw’ before, and the memory of your hoarse voice begging for it even now set his blood on fire.
With a shake of his head, Jax tried to shove the memories of last night from his mind. He didn’t need to get hard thinking about his time in bed with you, he needed a fucking smoke. You were probably fine. You might’ve woken up in the middle of the night and come to your senses, realizing a girl like you didn’t belong in a place like this lying beside a man like him. At least he’d tried to show you his version of compassion last night–as much as Jax knew how to give it to a sad woman that he barely knew.
Heading out of his room and down the hall, Jax could hear a few of the other guys already waking up in the main room of the clubhouse. Painful groans mingled with low chatter as Jax stepped out of the hallway, his eyes squinting at the harsh sunlight pouring in through the windows. Heads turned in his direction and Jax nodded in greeting, slipping a cigarette out of the pack in his hand.
“Sounded like you had a good night, Jackie boy,” Chibs stated from a couch.
Jax slid the unlit cigarette between his lips as they twisted into a sly grin. You hadn’t exactly been the quietest while he’d been fucking you all night. He’d even got you screaming a few times.
“Looks like you had a good night, too,” Bobby said gruffly, half-heartedly gesturing a tired hand at Jax’s neck from his seat at the bar. “Fuck a vampire? ‘Cause it looks like she was searchin’ for an artery.”
“You’re just jealous you don’t meet anyone half as fun, old man,” Jax shot back around the cigarette between his lips.
“Seemed like a wild one,” Chibs agreed, leaning back on the couch. “Never seen the girl in here before, but she had some balls with the way I heard her talkin’ to you at the bar, Jackie.”
Jax chuckled softly as he flipped his lighter open, bringing the flame up towards the tip of his cigarette while recalling your boldness. You’d certainly lost your filter, or maybe you never had one to begin with. But the door to the clubhouse swung open before he could light his cigarette, and a distraught prospect stepped inside as the flame of his lighter hovered before him. The prospect waved a sharp hand towards one of the windows that overlooked the street, and the terrified look in his eyes had Jax flipping his lighter shut and removing the unlit cigarette from between his lips, pressing it firmly between two of his fingers as he tipped his head to the side.
“What is it?” Jax asked.
“There’s a–a body on the street?” the prospect stammered.
The second the words left his mouth, every Son averted their attention straight to the window to look. Taking a few steps forward and peering through the glass, Jax squinted at the bright mid-morning sunlight that worsened the throbbing in his head. He could just make out a dark form lying halfway in the street. His eyes narrowed further before he recognized the dark tank top and the faded denim shorts, and then the color drained from his face. His pulse slowed to a near stop as your drunken voice entered his mind.
“I’d be thrilled for the rest of that bottle or a car rollin’ over me.”
Jax’s stomach gave a sharp lurch before his head snapped over his shoulder, his eyes fixing on the prospect. “So you just left her in the goddamn street?” he demanded, fury in his eyes. “Did you even check her for a fuckin’ pulse?”
“I mean I didn’t think–I wasn’t sure she–”
Tossing the unlit cigarette carelessly across the room, Jax purposefully strode through the clubhouse without wasting another second on the stupid prospect. Fear climbed itself up his chest, ensnaring his heart as it continued unsteadily pounding inside of him.
He’d thought you were just being overdramatic when you’d said all those things last night about not wanting to wake up, even if some small part of him still screamed in alarm at your words. He’d assumed you were just some girl having a real shit go of things lately and looking to blow off steam, but as he pushed open the door to the clubhouse and hurried through the parking lot with the others following behind, his stomach dropped straight to the ground.
He'd been so fucking wrong.
A good ten feet from where you lay in the street sat a shattered bottle of Buffalo Trace Whiskey, the glass shards scattered across the pavement and glinting in the morning sunlight. Carefully stepping around it, Jax tried to swallow the thick lump forming in the back of his throat. You must’ve woken sometime in the middle of the night and thrown on your clothes after leaving his bed. You’d probably stumbled through the passed out bodies littering the clubhouse and stolen that bottle from behind the bar before coming out here and chugging it.
It was definitely you laying halfway in the middle of the street. Two large crows were circling your feet, one of them pecking at your shoes where the heel had snapped off it. You laid half-curled on your side with your back towards him, and Jax’s heart shattered into as many pieces as that bottle of whiskey behind him as he continued to approach your lifeless form. He shouted at the birds until they flew off to perch on a building across the street, watching and waiting nearby. Their presence didn't ease his increasing fear that maybe you weren’t arlight.
When he finally reached you, Jax genuinely could not determine whether you were alive or not. Your chest didn’t seem to be visibly rising and falling as if you were breathing, and you were laying near a puddle of dried vomit not even a foot from your face. Splatters of it were dried on your shirt and shorts, staining your clothes in sick. He carefully crouched down beside you, his nose scrunching at the repugnant scent of warm vomit in the air as he scanned over you. That unwelcome, churning increased in his gut when he saw a handful of scrapes and cuts along your hands and legs, injuries you’d probably sustained from when you’d blacked out and fallen on the pavement.
“She okay?” Bobby called out.
The other Sons who’d woken early despite their own hangovers gradually neared the curb, all of them craning their necks in concern to get a look at the possible dead body in front of their compound. Slowly reaching out a hand, Jax gently placed two fingers along your neck and searched for a pulse. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he found it, the softest, trembling beating beneath his fingers. Exhaling heavily in relief, Jax glanced up at his brothers who’d gathered along the side of the road, each of them eyeing your unconscious form on the ground with unease.
“Yeah,” Jax croaked out, surprised at the sound of his own voice. “She’s still got a pulse.”
Focusing back down at where you lay in the street, Jax brushed a few fingers lightly along your cheek in an attempt to rouse you as he called your name. Except you didn’t react to his touch or his voice, still lying unconscious in the middle of the street. That guilt from earlier rose up inside of himself, curling around his heart as his fingers trailed down the side of your neck and towards the bitemarks he’d left on your shoulder. He should’ve known it wasn’t sex and booze you needed, and he shouldn’t have used you like he had last night. Not when you were quite this bad.
“What’d you do’, darlin’?” he murmured. “Shouldn’t be fuckin’ doin’ this to yourself.”
With a heavy sigh, Jax slipped one arm beneath your knees while wrapping his other arm around your shoulders. Carefully lifting you up from off the street, he cradled you against his chest, refusing to leave you just lying in the middle of the road. You hung limp in his hold, your neck slung back at a jarring angle across his arm as one hand slid off your stomach and dangled helplessly towards the ground. You looked nothing like the girl he’d met last night, the one who’d had a sharp tongue and a wicked smile that set his heart racing. While he might not have really known you, he’d started to like you in the short time he’d spent with you, and you were far too young to be throwing your life away like this.
“Looks like alcohol poisoning,” Tig pointed out, scanning over your limp body in Jax’s arms. “Should probably get her to the hospital. Gotta feelin’ a cold shower ain’t gonna cut it for her.”
“I’ll call her an ambulance," Bobby offered.
Bobby began to pull his cell phone out of his pocket, but Jax looked over at him, quickly catching his eyes and shaking his head. You’d told him last night that you’d lost your job and were getting evicted from your apartment, he figured the last thing you needed was a massive ambulance bill on top of the hospital bill. That'd probably just land you right back in this state–or worse.
“I’ll drive her myself,” Jax said. “Gonna borrow the van and bring her in. Make sure she’s good.”
Ignoring the curious looks the others sent him, Jax carried you through the parking lot and towards one of the black vans parked in front of Teller-Morrow. He knew this was unlike him. At most, Jax probably would’ve called an ambulance and tasked one of the prospects to sit with a girl who’d drank far too much, so a personal ride to the hospital seemed rather out of character. But he couldn’t leave you with someone else, it didn’t feel like an option. Especially not with how vulnerable you looked hanging motionless in his arms.
Carrying you across the lot and towards the black van parked in front of the garage, Jax’s gaze kept drifting down to where you lay seemingly lifeless against his chest. A frown sunk onto his lips at the limp way you dangled in his arms and the blank expression on your face. For some unexplainable reason, he felt like you’d somehow become his responsibility after only a few hours of your company. And yet he felt like he’d failed you last night, getting you drunker and fucking you like an asshole instead of seeing that you’d needed help.
“You’re gonna be fine, darlin’,” he assured you, carefully readjusting you in his grip as he neared the back of the van. “This ain’t the end for you, a’ight? You got more shit ahead of you. Probably picket fences and all that, yeah? I’m not gonna let you duck out early ‘cause of some bullshit. You got that, wild girl? You ain’t fuckin’ done yet.”
You have no idea how close this hits to home for me, and probably for a lot of your readers. Your writing is absolutely wonderful and this was spectacularly written.
Thank you so much 🤍 I know there's many of us out here struggling with depression, but I didn't quite realize how many might resonate with this story/Reader. I'm definitely working on a sequel, but I can't decide if it I might do a bit more. Suicidal!Reader and heavy angst with Jax is really speaking to me lately, and I feel like there's a bit more lurking here with them.
Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!fitness instructor!Reader Word Count: 3.6k [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
Summary: You'd loathed Jax Teller from the first time he'd catcalled you. Unfortunately working at Iron Pulse, the gym located across the street from the Sons of Anarchy's compound, meant run-ins with him were inevitable. After nearly a year of his harassment, you immediately assume the death threats you begin finding are Teller's idea of a prank–until you're forced to stay at the Sons' cabin in the middle of nowhere.
a/n: I've been craving an enemies to lovers series with Jax, so here we go! Feedback (reblogs/comments/likes) is always appreciated!
Blowing out a tired breath between your lips, you bent over and picked up the black gym bag which you always stored in the breakroom during your shifts. With a slight grunt of effort, you slung the strap over your shoulder, your biceps and upper back muscles burning from overuse. You’d squeezed in a grueling workout after you'd completed your last training session for the day with Miriam–the sixty-eight year old woman who happened to be your favorite member of Iron Pulse.
Sidestepping the little café-style table in the breakroom, you bypassed the vending machine and small fridge as you headed towards the door which led back out to the gym. With every slow drag of your gold Nikes over the tiled floor, the ice in your protein shake made a quiet thunk thunk against the side of the shaker bottle you carried. Tuesdays were always your longest days.
Stepping back out into the gym, you became once more entrenched in the heavy clank of weights hitting the rubber mats as multiple men loudly grunted and groaned in exertion over the music playing on the speakers–Wade’s playlist now that you were done for the day. Breathing in the pungent odor of stale sweat clinging to the rubbery floor mats and leather benches, the distinct smell overpowered the strong disinfectants used to wipe everything down. The front door, which was always propped open in an attempt to ventilate the space, never did much to eliminate the smell, but you'd long since grown accustomed to it.
A light sheen of sweat coated your forehead, and you raised your free hand up, dabbing the back of it along your skin as you headed past the row of squat racks positioned along the wall. Bringing the shaker bottle to your lips, you drank down the tangy strawberry kiwi drink that you’d been looking forward to post-workout, the cold liquid helping to cool you down. But as you strode towards the exit, each of your limbs lagging at the effort, you could feel eyes following you through the gym, the pressure of them lingering against your backside.
There were very few female lifters that visited Iron Pulse–though truthfully there were few which even lived within the boundaries of Charming–but you also happened to be the only female employee at the gym. Which meant you’d grudgingly accepted that the eyes of the men here often followed you through the mirrors which lined the walls whenever you were at work. It was impossible to get through a single set of squats or Romanian deadlifts on leg day without multiple sets of eyes attempting to discretely watch your ass in whatever shorts or leggings you wore.
It was something you'd always hated about gym culture–women's bodies were generally treated as if they were intentionally on display. You'd never joined the gym all those years ago looking for attention, it was something you'd done solely for health and a hobby, a hobby which eventually turned into your passion. It was unfortunate that “gym bros” often made the opposite sex feel so uncomfortable and unsafe to simply step a foot into a gym let alone venture anywhere beyond the treadmills at the front.
Continuing past a group of dip stations and ignoring the heads which tracked your progress towards the exit, you found Wade leaning his thick forearms along the front desk. His dark blonde head was bowed over as he stared at something on his phone, finger absently scrolling across it. When he caught your approach from his peripheral, Wade tipped his head back and looked up from his screen, greeting you with a friendly smile.
“Finally heading out for the night?” he asked. “Thought you'd never finish your workout. You were goin’ at it for a while.”
“I added a few new sets into today's rotation,” you told him. Readjusting the strap of your bag along your shoulder, you stopped in front of the desk. “My Tuesday routine started to feel stale.”
“Been there plenty of times myself,” Wade commiserated. His green eyes flickered to your right, the corners of his lips curving in disapproval. “You should watch out, though. We got a murder of them outside right now,” he warned you.
Slanting his head towards the front windows of the gym where his attention was focused, your gaze followed the movement to where he'd gestured. Loitering around on the lot across the street were a handful of Sons, each of them smoking cigarettes. Those of you who worked at Iron Pulse had long since started referring to them as crows, the term derived from the way they often called themselves SAMCRO. It was a way to throw their name back at them, and it seemed rather fitting since the group of them did commit murder together–allegedly.
The Sons’ muffled voices and laughter carried through the open door of the gym on a warm breeze, the deep rumble of it causing your shoulders to tense. In the late afternoon sun you spotted a flash of gold hair outside, and your stomach instantly dropped to the floor beside your Nikes. A scowl settled onto your face as your gaze locked onto their president, watching him take a drag on the cigarette in his fingers. A long trail of smoke blew past his lips as he clapped one of the men beside him on the back.
Asshole.
You despised Jax in particular. You had ever since that day you’d first started working at Iron Pulse. When your shift had ended and you’d been heading out to your car parked on the street, ready to make your way home after a long day, he’d shouted some obscene comments at you that he stupidly thought sounded flirtatious. His crude remarks were then followed by a handful of lewd ones directed your way from a few of the other Sons that’d been outside with him, which he only laughed at.
In the almost year since your unfortunate first encounter with him, you’d grown tired of the inappropriate and insolent way he continued addressing you. His eyes always shamelessly roamed over your body in a way that made your skin itch, and you hated how he took you in like you were no different than all those loose women that hung around at their clubhouse. As if you were some sex toy to be used for his pleasure instead of an actual person standing in front of him.
“You want me to walk you out?” Wade offered. “Help keep them at bay for you?”
Glancing back at Wade where he was still leaning against the front desk, you took in his slightly larger than six foot frame. He was broad chested and muscular, chiseled from all of the hard work he put in at the gym himself. But despite his upper body being as thick as a tree trunk, you knew he wasn't going to do much to intimidate and deter Teller from harassing you. Those men had egos larger than their list of criminal activities.
“No,” you declined. Offering him a half-hearted smile, you already felt exhausted at the prospect of yet another fuckboy Teller encounter on the horizon. “I can handle the bottom feeder on my own, I just wish I didn't have to deal with him at all.”
“It's because he likes you, Princess Peach,” Wade teased.
A dramatic roll of your eyes met the ridiculous remark. “Fuck off, don't be gross,” you admonished. “He's a sleazeball with the emotional capacity to rival my coffee maker. The only thing that guy likes more than loose women, cigarettes, and alcohol is his right hand.”
Wade cracked a grin as he pushed away from the front desk, straightening up and pocketing his phone in his sweatpants. “You use that one on him yet?”
“I've used plenty of insults on him,” you told him, attention traveling back towards the window in annoyance. Jax was impossible to miss among the group of Sons outside, and your scowl deepened when you easily found him again among the sea of leather. “Yet somehow the idiot won’t stop harassing me. If only the feds would come pick him up and give him a nice, long vacation in Stockton.”
“One can only hope,” Wade wistfully agreed.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” you said, lifting your protein shake in salute at him. Reluctantly turning towards the door, you muttered miserably, “Assuming I survive the walk to my car.”
As soon as you stepped outside onto the sidewalk, you could feel the palpable shift in the air. It wasn’t just the late afternoon heat or the sun blazing down from overhead in contrast to the air conditioning you’d felt inside the gym, there was a buzzing in the air heightened by the Sons’ raucous laughter and chatter coming from across the street. The hair at the nape of your neck bristled in response, but you fought the urge to duck your head and shrink yourself in their presence. Because that was exactly what Teller would’ve wanted, and you refused to ever give him a crumb of what he desired. Instead, you confidently strode down the sidewalk towards your silver Toyota at the end of the street, drinking your protein shake as if you were completely unbothered by the notorious bikers just thirty feet away.
Except you weren’t. They made you uneasy no matter how well you hid it when you interacted with them. They were dangerous criminals. You’d heard plenty about each of them through the rumor mill around town. Even Teller’s mother, Gemma, made you wary, though she’d never done more than offer you what seemed like a genuine compliment at the grocery store once. Despite how you held your ground whenever Jax goaded and insulted you, deep down you were terrified of the day that you might finally encounter the monster lurking beneath all those arrogant smirks and dirty comments.
Their booming voices drifted across the street as you counted down the distance between you and your car with each of your steps. Twenty-five feet. Twenty feet. Fifteen feet. It wasn’t until you were just three cars away from the back of yours that you heard the high-pitched, distinct whistle tear through downtown. Grip tightening around the purple shaker bottle in your hand, your lips pursed together in frustration.
So close. You’d been so close to just getting in your car and going home without a confrontation. But no, he couldn’t give you a single ounce of peace, could he?
With a slight turn of your head, you saw Teller sauntering across the street, flicking his cigarette carelessly over his shoulder. The corner of his lips were drawn back into a sordid grin that made your gut twist in disgust, but it was the fact that he was making a straight line towards the driver’s side of your car that made your body ignite with irritation. It only meant that he had every intention of blocking your escape, forcing you to endure another unwanted interaction with him before you could end your day.
“Lookin’ good, Peaches,” Jax called over to you.
Raising your chin indignantly at him, your jaw tightened at the way he always called you that. Princess Peach was a joke nickname that the guys you worked with at Iron Pulse had given you around the time you started. It was only due to the fact that you did two leg days a week, both heavily glute focused, and because you were obviously more feminine than them. All of you had nicknames that you playfully referred to each other as at the gym–Wade was generally known as Dorito because of his small waist and thick upperbody–but Jax had found out yours and purposefully turned it into something filthy.
“And you’re still looking like a fuckboy, fuckboy,” you countered coldly.
Jax laughed off the insult, his eyes dancing with mischief as he sidled over to your car and leaned his shoulder against the driver’s side door. His gaze openly trailed up and over your body, taking in the skin revealed by the olive green set you were wearing today–biker shorts and a fitted top with a low neckline. Your lips drew back in aversion as you stopped by the trunk of your car, feeling as if it was his hands roaming over your body instead with how he was looking at you. When his attention lingered on your bare thighs, you saw the slow roll of his tongue between his lips and you glanced down at the half-finished protein shake in your hand.
If this didn’t cost so damn much, I would douse you in it, jackass.
“Can you fuck off already?” you snapped. “I’m not really in the mood for egotistical bastards tonight. Or any night, really.”
His tongue gradually ran the length of his bottom lip as his gaze continued to wander up and over your breasts, leisurely taking his time and intentionally making you uncomfortable. Your teeth ground together as your frustration mounted, anger sparking inside of you at his openly vulgar behavior. When he did finally look up, he met your glare with a look of indifference. His head casually dipped to one side as his lips quirked in amusement, enjoying your irritation.
It shouldn’t be illegal to smash his stupid, smug face through a windshield. That should be considered a civic duty.
“What’s the rush, Peaches?” he quipped. “Got somewhere to be?”
“Yeah,” you agreed bitterly, gesturing your drink at him. “Anywhere that’s far away from the walking cancer in front of me. Move.”
His brows rose marginally upwards, but his arrogance remained intact. “Walkin’ cancer now, huh?”
“You smell like lung cancer,” you shot back, nose faintly scrunching at the scent of him. “Standing in your vicinity probably gives people lung cancer.”
Jax stared at you, shifting against the side of your car as if he was settling in for a bit. Shooting a quick glance across the street, you saw the other Sons had grown quiet. They were all still hanging around and smoking on the lot beside their clubhouse, but now they were silently watching what they could of the exchange occurring across the street with their president. Which only meant that Jax was going to act like a bigger prick on purpose, always needing to show off like he was some big shit.
Your eyes narrowed further when you spotted a familiar shaved head across the street–Juice. He’d started coming to Iron Pulse recently, having just started training with you the other week. Admittedly, you thought he seemed like a nice guy during your sessions, and you had no idea how he’d wound up involved with all these assholes. But the fact that he ignored Jax’s treatment of you had you questioning your judgement of the younger Son.
“Y’know,” Jax drawled, catching your attention again, "I guarantee you’d be less of an uptight bitch if you got properly laid. You seem overdo for a tune up.”
Eyes turning into slits at the words ‘uptight bitch’ passing over his tongue, you wished you could set him on fire with just a glare. It wasn’t the first time he’d called you that, but it never failed to make your pulse thrash in your throat and fury burn like wildfire within you.
“Someone needs to fuck the attitude outta you, Peaches,” he continued, tipping his chin at you. “It’s a shame that body is wasted on such a high-strung prude.”
“And you’re disgusting,” you spat back. “All of you are. Any self-respecting woman would never let a gross prick like you anywhere close to her.”
“That so?” he pushed.
“You’re more used up than all of the women you guys pass around combined,” you shot, squaring your shoulders. “You're a neon sign advertising STDs, Teller. There’s not a shred of you worth wanting because you’ve already given yourself to half of northern California hundreds of times over. You’ve got nothing I’d ever want.”
The condescending smirk finally vanished from his lips, and something darker and unfamiliar passed over his features instead. Jax pushed off the side of your car and you hesitated, surprised at the sudden shift in him. Normally when you both exchanged insults, he'd throw them confidently back before eventually sauntering off with a sleazy grin while leaving you internally fuming. But something felt different this time.
He took three slow, deliberate steps forward as he closed the small distance between you both. Advancing on you like a mountain lion, he moved with languid, calculated steps, giving the distinct impression that he was preparing to launch himself at you and attack. Your spine stiffened at his approach, pinned down by his weighted stare and the flicker of something heavy in it. It wasn’t until the toes of his Nikes nearly met yours that he stopped and leaned forward, intentionally invading your personal space. The scent of leather, smoke, and body spray–something warm like cedarwood–hit you hard as his face hovered directly in front of yours, making it impossible to avoid the dangerous glint in his eyes.
With your lips pressed firmly together, you glared unwaveringly back at Jax, attempting to maintain your outward composure. Though you could feel your heart wildly beating inside of your chest while your breath kept catching in the back of your throat. He'd come so close that his own warm breath fell past his parted lips, dancing over your cheek with each exhale. You could see each faint fleck of darker blue embedded in his stormy eyes as the apparent threat lingered coldly inside of them.
“You’re lucky I let you talk to me like that, darlin’,” he warned in a low rasp. “Ain’t a lotta girls who’d be stupid enough to say shit like that to my face. Even less would get away with it.”
You raised your chin again, hard stare meeting his in a challenge as you ignored the erratic thrum of your heart. “And what’re you going to do about it?” you questioned in a low hiss.
Jax shifted, and with his nose so close to yours, you couldn’t tell if the tip of it had just brushed against yours or not. You ignored the uncomfortable flip in your stomach, fighting to keep your voice level as you continued to hold your ground. The last thing you’d ever want to do was show Teller a shred of fear to latch onto, even if you could feel it running through your veins.
“Are you going to shoot me in the middle of downtown Charming, Teller? Right in broad daylight?” you pressed. “All because I won’t stand here quietly and let you objectify me like every other girl in your path?”
His nostrils flared with a sharp, irate exhale that made your heart jolt straight into your throat. Jax had never gotten this visibly pissed off before, but his anger was written in the tight lines around his eyes, the downturn curve of his lips, and the ever twitching muscle in his cheek. It appeared this time you'd finally and unexpectedly pushed on a nerve, and while satisfaction warmed your chest, a pinprick of fear squirmed in your stomach.
It didn't take much to figure out that Jax wasn’t used to being challenged by a woman, especially one who kept shooting down his advances and meeting him verbal spar for verbal spar. One of these days, you wondered if you’d push your luck fighting back against him just a little too far and he’d finally lash out at you. He was known to have a temper, and with what you were currently glimpsing, you didn't doubt the truth of that.
“Didn't think you were that sensitive.”
The jab slipped out of you before your brain to mouth filter could properly kick in and prevent you from continuing to push him. When he moved, you swore your heart stopped as all of your muscles pulled taut in anticipation of what was coming. Swallowing thickly, you felt your knees lock, but he simply leaned in even closer, his mouth hovering beside your ear before a deep warning rolled off his tongue and straight into it.
“Better watch yourself, Peaches.”
A cold chill ran through you, goosebumps lightly dappling your forearms at the whispered threat. He intentionally smacked his leather-clad shoulder right into yours as he started to make his way back across the street and towards the Sons’ compound. Stumbling back a step at the rough impact, you slowly released the quivering breath you’d unintentionally been holding. Your skin tingled with adrenaline at the shoulder check, your body reacting to the slight shove more than it had to any pre-workout you’d ever downed.
Turning your head over your shoulder, you tracked his swaggering gait as he moved across the pavement, and the urge to throw an insult at his back bubbled inside your throat. But you bit your tongue, holding the thoughts inside and resisting the desire to have the last word. It wasn't just that Jax was a waste of your time, or that arguing with him was a poor use of breath, but this confrontation with him had been a little different from the others. He'd never gotten quite so visibly riled before, and you wondered if you’d finally stopped toeing the line with him and accidentally crossed it.
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