Pairing: Jax Teller x Female!Reader
Word Count: 3.9k
Summary: Everyone still sees you as somebody else’s. Jax doesn’t. One ride home is enough to make you wonder what you could have if you weren’t.
Warnings: SMUT! 18+ only please, minors DNI!! canon-divergent, explicit sexual content, sexual fantasy (brief mention of p in v sex, light dirty talk), brief mention of drinking, forbidden attraction, infidelity-adjacent themes (no physical cheating)—this list is not exhaustive. individual triggers vary. you acknowledge responsibility for the media you choose to consume.
A/N: here's the next part in the If He Could one-shot fantasy series. this time we’re in reader’s POV !!! does she share Jax’s fantasy enthusiasm?? *wiggles eyebrows* (I bet she does) all feedback (comments, reblogs, likes) is very much appreciated & encouraged!!✨🩷
Nicky’s old lady.
God, you were so tired of hearing that.
It followed you around like it was your actual name sometimes, tossed out casually by people who thought it covered everything. Like years of showing up, helping, and quietly carrying your share of the weight could be reduced to who you came in with.
The clubhouse had thinned out, though a few guys were still around. A half-hearted game of pool dragged on in the back, the jukebox humming beneath it all instead of drowning everything out. It should’ve felt calmer than it did.
You sat at the bar with a beer going warm in your hand, chewing lightly on the inside of your cheek while you let the clubhouse noise roll over you, trying not to let it get under your skin, trying not to think about how much harder it had become to wear that label now that Nicky was gone and you were still the one here.
There was a time when it felt a lot like safety. You were younger then, in over your head and trapped in the kind of trouble that left little room for pride. Nicky found you at the right moment and offered you a way out when few others would have. A life safer than the one you’d been living.
For a while, being Nicky’s old lady felt a whole lot better than being nobody’s anything.
Gemma took one look at you and decided you would either toughen up or be swallowed whole. So, she taught you how to stand your ground, make yourself useful, and survive men like these without ever seeming fragile. In the years that followed, you built another kind of armor—beauty, confidence, and the quiet assurance of knowing exactly what you brought into a room. Between the clubhouse, the business, and everything in between, this life had taken root in you.
And over time, you became damn good at it.
You accepted the life for what it was, learning how to read a room, when to stay quiet, when to step in, and how to stay steady when things got ugly. You kept the coffee hot, patched up cuts, knew which bottle belonged to whom, who got mean when drunk, and who was all bark with no bite.
Nicky may have been why you came, but he wasn’t the only reason you stayed. Somewhere along the way, the club stopped feeling like his world and started feeling like yours.
Which was why hearing “Nicky’s old lady” grated worse now than it used to.
Because it wasn’t wrong. It just wasn’t the whole truth.
You took another sip of your beer and scanned the room. A couple of crow-eaters still lingered by the couch, waiting for a prospect to notice them. You rolled your eyes and looked away, more weary than judgmental. Everything seemed ordinary, but you still felt restless in your own skin.
When the clubhouse door swung open, your eyes lifted on instinct. The reaction was immediate, a small swoop in your stomach, and sure enough, your eyes landed right on Jax.
That had been happening more often lately, which was its own problem. You’d always noticed Jax—anyone with eyes would. He’d been around long enough, and close enough to your life, that ignoring him was never really an option. But lately, noticing him felt different, harder to dismiss, like something quiet and long-buried finally decided to make itself known.
He stepped inside with that easy stride of his, kutte open over a hoodie, white sneakers dragging lightly over the floorboards as he pushed the door shut behind him. A black hat sat low over shorter blond hair, the cut making his face look a little rougher, his beard neater, his jaw more defined. His storm-blue eyes swept the room in one quick, automatic pass before landing on you. The exchange between you was subtle enough that no one else would have noticed—a slight lift of his chin and a polite smile from you. Even so, it felt like more.
By the time Jax got across the room, you’d nearly talked yourself out of whatever you thought had passed between you.
He leaned one forearm against the bar beside you and tipped his head toward the beer in your hand. “A clubhouse beer? You hate those.”
You laughed softly, lifted the bottle slightly, and made a face at it. “Yeah, well. It’s been a long fucking day helping Gem with all the Taste of Charming shit.”
“Yeah?” he huffed. “Heard she’s had you runnin’ around.”
“She had all of us running around.” You tilted the bottle back and finished it, giving him a look over the rim that said he had no idea. Your eyes drifted toward the hallway and the back room, irritation tightening quietly in your chest. “I was supposed to catch a ride home with Ari, but Ari is nowhere to be found.”
Jax looked around too, following your line of sight.
A soft snort slipped out as you rolled your eyes. “She’s probably getting bent over something with Chibs right behind her.”
Jax let out a quick, warm laugh—head dropping for a second before he looked back at you, the smile still there, curving a little crooked at his mouth and softening the usual firmness of it. His lips parted just enough on the tail end of it, and for one stupid second, your eyes caught there before you made them move. The sight of it coaxed a smile out of you too—despite how tired you were—easing some of the anxiousness in your chest.
His eyes moved over you a little more closely. “You been alright, sweetheart?”
The usual answer almost came out on autopilot. Fine. Managing. But the truth slipped free before you could stop it.
“Better than I thought I’d be.”
The empty bottle turned slowly against the bar beneath your fingers, your eyes dropping to it for a beat before lifting back to him. Hiding behind the usual bullshit got a whole lot harder with Jax looking at you that way. He didn’t say anything, just held your gaze with something earnest and almost comforting in his expression.
“It’s weird.” Your head tipped slightly, attention wandering past him for a moment. “Some days I feel guilty because I’m not falling apart the way everybody probably thinks I should be. Some days him being gone feels a hell of a lot easier than I want to admit.” A swallow caught in your throat. “And some days I’m just tired of being seen the same way all the time.”
His expression made your stomach turn over. Not pity. Not judgment. Understanding.
Which somehow felt worse.
You exhaled a small breath that almost passed for a laugh. “Well. That was probably more honest than you were askin’ for.”
Jax’s mouth softened a little. “Doesn’t make me think less of you.” He kept his eyes on yours as he added, his voice gentler now, “Maybe it’s easier because you’ve been doin’ the hard part alone for a while now.”
Your throat tightened, and you hated that it did.
Looking down, you shook your head once, more to buy yourself a moment than anything else. “Anyone ever tell you you’re annoyingly perceptive?”
It should’ve sounded more teasing than it did.
That drew a low chuckle out of him, his lips pressing together like he was holding back a bigger smile. “Blessin’ and a curse, darlin’.”
It would’ve been really easy to stay in that moment a second too long and make it into something more than it was. The air had shifted just enough to make you keenly aware of where he stood, the way he looked at you, and how quickly the rest of the room faded with his attention settled on you.
It’s not like the attraction had come out of nowhere. It’d been there a long time, in small, easy-to-dismiss ways. The way he looked in a white tee, the warmth of his hugs, the rough drag in his voice when he said your name. He’d always gotten to you. You just hadn’t let yourself sit with it long enough to call it anything.
Now it was harder not to. Being around Jax started doing things to your body before your mind had the chance to catch up. Something slow climbing up your chest, a stammer in your pulse—a restless pull in your stomach that only got worse the longer he stood there looking at you.
It was ridiculous how quickly he could get you there without touching you at all, and maybe that was the most dangerous part. The rush of it felt good, intoxicating enough to make staying right where you were feel like a worse idea by the minute.
You pulled back before it got any more obvious. Pushing off the barstool, you reached for your bag and slung it over your shoulder, giving yourself something to do besides sit there under his stare. “I should probably go,” you said, trying for casual. “I’m exhausted.”
Your eyes drifted toward the hallway, irritation flickering again. “I’ll have one of the prospects give me a lift home.”
“What? No.” Jax straightened a little. “I’ll take you.”
A small shake of your head was all you gave him, doing your best to keep your expression even. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” His eyes stayed on yours. “But I want to.”
The words were matter-of-fact, but there was something too quick in the way he said them. His mouth tugged at one corner; your pulse fluttered before he added, a touch more casual, “Long as you don’t mind the bike.”
Your body reacted again, immediate and shameless. The thought of wrapping yourself around Jax on the back of his bike, close enough to feel him under your hands with that low vibration working between your legs, turned you on so fast it almost pissed you off. You kept your face as still as you could manage, teeth catching lightly on your bottom lip.
“No,” you murmured. “I don’t mind the bike at all.”
Outside, the sky over the lot was still holding onto the last of the light, soft pink and faded orange near the horizon while the rest of it cooled into that dusty blue-purple the valley got right before dark. The air had a little bite to it compared to inside, but it did nothing for the heat already moving under your skin. The parking lot was mostly empty, washed in weak yellow light, a few bikes still lined up in crooked rows. Jax led you over to his without saying much, holding out the spare helmet once you got there. Your fingers brushed his when you took it, your pulse giving that same stupid little flutter all over again.
The helmet strap clicked into place under your chin while you watched Jax swing one long leg over the seat. He held it steady beneath him with an ease that made it obvious how natural this was for him—both feet planted, one hand dropping to the bars, his shoulders shifting beneath the kutte as he got comfortable.
After a moment spent watching, aroused by how good he looked doing something so simple, you took a breath and stepped in close to climb on, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other catching lightly at his side for balance. It was practical, just a way to steady yourself, but it still gave you too much—the flex of muscle beneath leather and cotton, and the simple, unfair fact of how sturdy he felt.
You knew exactly how to do this. How to settle into the seat, how to fit yourself behind him, how to move with the machine before it even started. And once you were there, close behind Jax with your knees bracketing his hips, it hit you all over again how much you had missed it. The bike. The power under you. The way it woke your whole body up.
Jax reached for the handlebars, and you were instantly, stupidly aware of all of him—the width of his back, the heavy shape of him in front of you, the play of muscle in his forearms as his hands settled into place, and exactly how little space there really was between your bodies now.
The bike rumbled to life between your legs, low and deep and rough enough to knock a breath out of you. Your arms went around his waist on instinct, palms flattening over his stomach, and the second you touched him, you felt the smallest tension move through him.
Your mouth went dry. Beneath your hands, he was all warmth and solid muscle, enough to send your mind somewhere filthy before you could stop it. The faint scent of soap lingered on his skin, mixed with leather and smoke now that you were this close. Your thoughts came in flashes. What he’d feel like over you. What those shoulders would look like above you. What exactly those hands would do if they weren’t busy keeping the bike steady.
You leaned close, your mouth near his ear. “Take the long way home.”
Jax turned his head just enough for you to catch the slow, satisfied curve of his mouth, a smirk he didn’t even try to hide before he rolled the throttle.
Wind rushed over your skin, cool and sharp, but your body stayed hot. The engine’s steady vibration settled deep, every shift of the bike pressing you tighter to him, every turn dragging your body against his in a way that stopped feeling innocent almost immediately.
It all felt too good too fast.
Your hands stayed spread over his stomach, and the longer you held on, the more your thoughts slipped. Beneath your palms, the flex of him every time he moved made it impossible not to think about how easy dominance seemed to come to him.
You started to wonder what that same dominance would feel like in bed.
What he’d be like if he ever stopped holding himself back around you. Not sweet. Not soft. Would he take his time just to make you beg for him. Would he pin you down with that same certainty he rode with, already knowing you’d take whatever he gave you.
The next curve pressed you flush to his back, a gasp catching in your throat as your thighs hugged in tighter and your chest pressed more firmly against him. You should’ve adjusted, given yourself some space, but you stayed where you were, feeling all of him through layers that suddenly didn’t feel like enough.
Your mind went straight to his hands on your thighs, guiding them apart, his mouth at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you moan. That gravelly voice of his in your ear, telling you exactly what he wanted, but holding back just long enough to make you ask for it first.
You shifted once on the seat and the vibration hit lower that way, dirty enough to make you suck in a sharp breath. Relief shot through you before shame could. Suddenly you were very, very aware of the fact that if this ride lasted much longer, you were going to be in real trouble.
Because if this had been anybody else, you would not be thinking about what Jax Teller would feel like buried inside your pussy. You would not have been picturing the set of his jaw while he fucked you or wondering if he’d finally lose that control when you came around his cock.
Your cheek rested briefly against his shoulder, the edge of town sliding by in a blur of streetlights and dark storefronts, and more than anything, you wanted to know what he’d do if you stopped being good.
Just once. Just to see what happened if you pressed your mouth to his neck, if you let your hands wander lower. If you told him to pull over and dragged the quiet, dangerous restraint right out of him with your own hands.
The thought hit you so hard it made you hold him tighter. Jax had to feel the way your arms cinched around him, the way your body kept melting into his with every mile. Maybe he thought it was the ride. Maybe he knew better.
By the time the edge of town had disappeared behind you and home was only a few turns away, your body was wound tight with restless energy. Your thoughts had turned fully indecent and you weren’t even trying to stop them anymore.
Imagining him gripping your chin and making you look at him, that focused intensity in his eyes never wavering. His voice low and rough in your ear, telling you how good you were for him, how wet and tight you felt. Just the thought of hearing those words in his voice sent a thrill straight through you.
And more than anything, you hated knowing you were going to have to let him go.
He pulled up in front of your place too soon.
The engine dropped into a low idle before he killed it, and the sudden quiet made everything feel louder somehow. Your breathing. Your heartbeat. The fact that your arms were still wrapped around his waist like they hadn’t spent the whole ride getting you into trouble.
You let go slowly, hands sliding from his stomach, and the loss of contact felt immediate. Annoying, really.
Using his shoulder for balance, you swung your leg over and climbed off. The ground felt strangely unsteady after the ride, your pulse still humming beneath your skin as you adjusted the strap of your bag and took a step back.
When you slipped the helmet off and handed it back, his fingers brushed yours. Barely anything, but it still felt electric. Neither of you moved right away. You just stood there with the last of the evening fading around you, the bike ticking softly as it cooled, silence stretching between you. The way he was looking at you made it hard to be the one who broke it.
“Thanks for the ride,” you murmured.
Jax nodded once, the helmet hanging loose from his hand. “Anytime.”
Instead of letting you go, he swung off the bike and came around to your side, walking with you across the short stretch of driveway to the porch. He stayed close enough that you could still feel the warmth of him beside you, and by the time you reached the steps, the ride might have been over, but your body had not gotten the message.
Keys in hand, you turned toward him, meaning to say goodnight and end it there, but something in his face stopped you. He looked more serious now, more settled in whatever he was about to say.
“Ya know,” he began, his voice softer than before, “I see all the ways you help the club. With my mom. Down at the shop. All of it.”
Your eyes lifted to his, surprise flickering there. “Jax, you don’t have to—”
“Yeah,” he cut in quietly. “I do.”
Something in the way he said it made your heart clench, because he’d clearly been paying attention for a while now. He shifted his weight, one hand resting near the railing, his eyes still on you in that calm way that somehow felt more dangerous than if he’d done something reckless.
“A lot of people still see the old version,” he went on. “Somebody tied to a patch. That kinda thing.” His mouth tightened slightly before he added, “But that’s not all you are. Hasn’t been for a long time.”
You just looked at him, your stomach dropping and flipping all at once.
Maybe because you hadn’t expected it. Maybe because it was the exact thing that had been sitting under your skin all night, the thing you never said out loud because it sounded petty when it wasn’t. It was personal. It was years of being folded into somebody else’s name after giving pieces of yourself to a life that had long since become your own.
Jax glanced toward the door, then back at you. “You’ve been holdin’ more together than most people know.” His gaze dipped briefly, the toe of his white sneaker scuffing against the worn porch step, and when he looked up again, his eyes were as blue and sincere as you’d ever seen them. “I’m real grateful for you, darlin’.”
A flush crept up your neck again, softer this time. Not embarrassment. Something more tender than that. Too close to relief.
“I do what I’m supposed to,” you managed, your voice catching more than you wanted it to. “Same as everyone else.”
He gave the slightest shake of his head. “Nah, it’s more than that.”
With your bag hanging from your shoulder and the last of the ride still humming in your body, you stood there and let his words settle into places you’d kept shut for a long time.
Exhaling a breath, you ducked your head and tried for a smile, because this man was absolutely wrecking you. “You always this good at saying exactly the thing you shouldn’t?”
A small, sincere smile touched his mouth. “Only when I mean it.”
Your gaze dropped to his lips before you could stop it. It was quick, but not so quick that it went unnoticed, and when you looked back up, something in his expression had changed.
“You should get inside,” he told you, his words quieter this time.
“Yeah,” you answered, though your feet didn’t seem interested in listening.
Jax moved in just enough to make your pulse stumble. His left hand found your upper arm, warm through the fabric, and the touch alone was enough to set every nerve in your body on fire before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek.
It should’ve felt innocent, but he didn’t rush it. His mouth lingered long enough for the touch of it to settle into your skin, the soft scrape of his beard brushing lightly against your cheek, and when he pulled back, the air between you felt even thinner than before.
“Goodnight.”
The words stuck slightly on the way out. “Goodnight, Jax.”
This time you made yourself walk to the door. You could still feel the ghost of his mouth on your skin and hear his voice in your head—none of which should have been enough to do this to you.
What you should’ve felt was guilt. You’d just spent the whole ride wrapped around another man, thinking things you had no business thinking, looking at Jax like maybe you wanted him to know. You should’ve hated yourself for that.
That realization slid through you, settling somewhere ugly and honest.
You didn’t feel guilty enough. Not for the way your body had come alive the second you climbed on behind him. Not for the thoughts you’d had with your arms around his waist and your mouth near his ear.
If anything, standing there with him under the dull porch light only made one thing clear: you wanted to know what might happen if you weren’t “Nicky’s Old Lady.”
And when you looked back once before going inside, Jax was still there, watching you like the night had left something unfinished between you.
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