Pre-TWD to S1 daryl dixon with pregnant wife? She was pregnant already when things went down and is actually close to her due date so daryl hovers a LOT.
Shade first, attitude second
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1114
Classification: Fluff
Temporal setting: Season 1
Word count: 1,5k
Divider by me ;)
The Georgia sun was unforgiving that afternoon, beating down on the quarry like it had something personal against the living, turning the pale rock into a griddle and the air into something thick enough to chew, and you were right in the middle of it with a coil of rope in your hands and a stubborn crease between your brows as you tried to help Glenn reinforce the line they’d strung between two trucks for drying laundry, your swollen belly stretching the faded cotton of Daryl’s old sleeveless shirt so tight it barely fluttered when the breeze rolled off the water.
You’d insisted on coming down from the shade near the RV despite Lori’s soft concern and Dale’s hovering glances over his binoculars, because you were tired of sitting, tired of feeling like glass and of watching everyone else move while your own body felt like it belonged to someone else entirely, heavy, round and perpetually off-balance, and you were perfectly capable of tying a knot, thank you very much.
Across camp, Daryl had realized you weren’t where you were supposed to be.
He’d gone looking for you by the tents first, crossbow slung over his shoulder, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt, already keyed up from a morning run that hadn’t yielded much more than a bruised squirrel and a bad feeling about the highway getting too quiet. When he didn’t see you sitting in your usual patch of shade with your canteen and that dog-eared baby book you’d salvaged from a gas station rack, his chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with walkers.
He didn’t call your name at first but he stalked past Carol’s tent first, then past the laundry line. Around the edge of the quarry where the drop was steep, uneven and absolutely not somewhere you should be walking alone.
When he finally spotted you standing in full sun, one hand braced on your lower back while you demonstrated to Glenn how to double the rope back through the hitch so it wouldn’t slip, he felt a spike of heat that had nothing to do with the weather.
He was halfway across the camp before he even realized he was moving.
“Ya gotta be kiddin’ me,” he muttered under his breath, boots crunching over gravel, jaw set tight enough to ache.
You didn’t see him until his shadow cut across you.
“Ya need to get outta the sun,” he said immediately, no greeting or preamble, eyes sweeping over you from head to toe like he was taking inventory. “Have ya drank water? When’s the last time ya did?”
Glenn, traitor that he was, mumbled something about checking on the generator and slipped away.
You straightened slowly, one hand still on your hip and gave Daryl a look that could’ve stripped paint. “Hello to you too, my lovely husband.”
“Dun’ ‘lovely husband’ me,” he shot back, already unscrewing the cap of the canteen hanging from his belt and pressing it into your hand. “Drink.”
“I had water.”
“When.” He grunted.
You squinted at him. “Recently.”
“That ain’t answer enough.”
You took a long sip just to shut him up, water spilling slightly at the corner of your mouth because your lips were too dry and he wiped it away with his thumb without even thinking, his touch rough but careful, like you were something both durable and breakable at the same time.
“I don’t need a babysitter, Daryl,” you said, lowering the canteen and handing it back to him. “I can tie a rope without fainting dramatically.”
His eyes dropped immediately to your stomach, round and impossibly full, the fabric stretched taut over the life you’d both felt kick just that morning.
“We’ll need one eventually,” he muttered, adjusting the strap of his crossbow and stepping closer so his body blocked some of the sun from you. “Just not for ya. ’M glad we won’t have t’ pay nobody though.”
You barked out a laugh despite yourself. “Good to know romance is alive and well.”
He shrugged but there was a flicker of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I ain’t wrong.”
You shifted your weight, wincing slightly when the baby rolled low and heavy, pressing against your spine. Daryl saw it immediately.
“See?” he said, pointing vaguely at you like that proved his entire argument. “Ya need t’ sit down.”
“I do not.”
“Yer sweatin’.”
“It’s August, Daryl. Everyone’s sweating.”
“Not like tha’.” He muttered.
You crossed your arms, which was less intimidating than you wanted it to be with your belly very obviously in the way. “I don’t want to be the needy pregnant woman who just sits around while everyone else works.”
He stared at you like you’d just suggested wrestling a walker barehanded. “Ya are pregnant though…in case ya forgot.”
You blinked at him. “No shit, Daryl. I was there when it happened.”
A few people nearby snorted, quickly pretending not to listen.
His jaw flexed but there was no real irritation in it, just worry stretched thin over exhaustion. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Ain’t about bein’ needy. It’s about bein’ smart. Doc ain’t exactly on standby, and we’re–” he gestured vaguely around at the tents, the cars, the quarry walls baking in the heat, “–out here.”
You softened just a fraction, because you knew that tone. That was the one he used when he was scared and trying like hell not to show it.
“I’m fine,” you said more gently. “I just wanted to help.”
“Yer helpin’ by growin’ a whole damn person,” he muttered, reaching out to adjust the strap slipping off your shoulder. “That’s more than enough.”
You rolled your eyes but leaned into his touch for half a second longer than necessary.
“I can’t just sit around all day,” you said. “I feel useless.”
He huffed quietly, shaking his head. “Ain’t useless, just…busy.”
“With what? Being round?”
“With not goin’ into labor in the middle of a heatstroke,” he shot back. “C’mon. Go lay down in the shade. I’ll bring ya somethin’ to eat.”
“I can walk myself, Dixon.”
“I know ya can walk, just makin’ sure ya go where I want ya to,” he said, already guiding you gently by the elbow anyway. “Don’t mean ya should be out here bakin’ either.”
You stopped him before he could fully steer you away, catching his vest and tugging him back toward you. “I swear, you hover more than Dale,” you said, smiling faintly.
“Dale don’t gotta reason,” he replied gruffly. “I do.”
You studied him for a second, from the furrow between his brows to the way his eyes kept flicking to your stomach like he was half-expecting it to disappear if he looked away too long and your chest tightened with something warm and fierce.
“I love you, you know,” you said quietly.
He looked caught off guard for half a heartbeat before recovering, shrugging like it was no big thing. “Yeah. I know.”
You laughed softly and rose onto your toes as much as you could manage, cupping his face and kissing him slow and firm despite the heat, the sweat and the faint smell of squirrel still clinging to him. He froze for a second, then melted into it, one hand splaying wide over your lower back, the other settling protectively over your belly like it belonged there.
When you pulled away, he chased your mouth briefly before catching himself.
“Go rest, ‘fore you give me a heart attack.” he muttered against your forehead. “Please.”
You smirked. “You’re really hot when you’re bossy, and it has nothing to do with the sun.”
“Yeah, well.”
You started back toward the tents, hips swaying slightly with the extra weight and he watched you the entire way, arms crossed now, expression hardening the farther you got.
“Hey!” he suddenly barked at T-Dog and Shane, who were half-heartedly reorganizing supplies near the RV. “Maybe y’all could do more than stand around jawin’ while she’s out here in the damn sun.”
Shane glanced over, amused. “She chose to be out there. Your wife, not mine.”
“Damn right she is and it don’t matter,” Daryl snapped. “Ain’t her job.”
You shook your head, unable to hide your smile as you reached the shade, lowering yourself carefully onto a chair and propping your feet up like he’d shown you a dozen times already. From across camp, you could still hear him grumbling.
“Shouldn’t even have to tell grown-ass people,” he muttered. “Sun’s brutal. Somebody else can tie a damn knot.”
You rested your hand over your stomach as the baby shifted, feeling the steady thump of movement beneath your palm and watched your husband pace the edge of camp like a guard dog who’d finally found what he was looking for but still wasn’t convinced the world wouldn’t try to take it.
Even from a distance, when his eyes lifted and found you again just to make sure you were actually sitting down you blew him a kiss only for him to roll his eyes but he didn’t look away.
Sitting on Jax's lap.
It starts because there's no where else to sit. It's a bit awkward at first and then over the course of the evening it becomes comfortable.
Eventually, over months, you start sitting on Jax's lap all the time, even when there are seats available. The Samcro boys give you guys so much shit.
When a girl starts flirting with him, the normal, you go to sit with someone else. Jax follows like a lost puppy.
The first time you sat on Jax Teller’s lap, it was purely accidental.
At least, that’s what you told yourself.
The clubhouse was packed shoulder-to-shoulder that night. Loud music rattled the walls, bottles clinked together behind the bar, and the entire main room smelled like beer, cigarettes, leather, and grease. SAMCRO had just finished handling some run two counties over, and everyone was in a rare good mood.
Which meant chaos.
Half the charter was drunk already.
Happy was winning money off prospects with some card game nobody else fully understood.
Chibs was arguing with Tig over Scottish versus American whiskey.
And Gemma had claimed the couch like a queen guarding her throne.
You arrived late after your shift at the garage, exhausted and starving, only to discover there wasn’t a single empty seat left in the room.
“Aw, sweetheart,” Tig called immediately when he saw you scanning the room. “You snooze, you lose.”
“You’re in my seat,” you shot back.
“There are no assigned seats.”
“You say that every time somebody steals your chair.”
“That’s different.”
You rolled your eyes and moved farther into the room, trying to ignore how everyone suddenly looked entirely too interested in where you were going to sit.
The problem with SAMCRO was that once they noticed something, they became vultures about it.
“Sit on the floor,” Happy offered.
“You sit on the floor.”
“I am on the floor.”
You looked down.
He was.
Cross-legged.
Like some terrifying tattooed monk.
Before you could respond, Jax Teller looked up from where he sat in the armchair near the bar, beer bottle balanced against his thigh.
“C’mere.”
Simple as that.
You blinked. “Where?”
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth.
“Use your context clues, sweetheart.”
Several heads immediately turned.
“Oh, shit,” Juice muttered under his breath.
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Little bit.”
There really wasn’t anywhere else to sit.
And honestly, you and Jax had always existed in each other’s space naturally anyway. You’d known him for years. He stole your fries. You stole his hoodies. You patched up his knuckles when he got reckless. Somewhere along the line, affection had become second nature.
Still—
His lap?
In front of everyone?
Your hesitation must’ve shown because his expression softened slightly.
“Ain’t a big deal.”
That somehow made it worse.
Because suddenly you were very aware that it could become a big deal.
You tried to act casual as you crossed the room.
“You’re all assholes,” you muttered to the others.
“Correct,” Chibs answered cheerfully.
Jax shifted slightly, one hand bracing against the arm of the chair to give you space.
The second you lowered yourself carefully onto his thigh, the entire room went silent for one dramatic beat.
Then:
“OHHHHH, SHIT!”
You closed your eyes immediately.
“Jesus Christ,” you groaned.
Tig nearly fell off the couch laughing.
“Look at his FACE,” Juice wheezed.
“What?” Jax snapped automatically.
“That’s the softest expression I’ve ever seen on a human being,” Opie muttered into his beer.
Jax flipped him off without looking away from you.
And unfortunately?
They were right.
Because the moment you settled against him, instinct kicked in.
His arm slid automatically around your waist to steady you.
Firm.
Warm.
Protective.
Like it belonged there.
Your stomach did a weird little flip.
You were suddenly hyperaware of everything.
How broad he was beneath you.
The heat of him through denim.
The way his fingers rested against your hip absentmindedly.
“You good?” he murmured quietly near your ear.
“Yeah.”
Your voice came out embarrassingly soft.
He smiled slightly.
And somehow that made it easier.
Conversation resumed around you after that, though the occasional smirk still got thrown your way. But after ten minutes, the awkwardness started fading.
After twenty, you stopped sitting so rigidly.
After forty-five, you leaned back against his chest without thinking about it.
Jax’s fingers tapped lazily against your side while he talked business with Chibs.
At some point you stole his beer.
He didn’t complain.
At another point his chin briefly brushed your shoulder when he leaned closer to hear you over the music.
Neither of you moved away.
By the end of the night, you’d forgotten entirely that you were sitting on his lap.
Unfortunately, everyone else remembered.
“Jesus,” Tig said as you finally stood to leave. “They nested.”
“Like fucking lovebirds,” Juice agreed.
“More like a stray dog that followed Jax home,” Happy added.
Jax snorted.
You pointed at all of them accusingly. “You’re the reason women avoid bikers.”
“We’re charming.”
“You’re emotionally illiterate.”
“Also true.”
Jax watched you the whole time you argued with them, smiling into his beer like he couldn’t help it.
It happened again three days later.
Then the next week.
Then constantly.
At first it was always circumstantial.
No room at the bar.
No free chair during church prep.
Packed booth at the diner.
But eventually?
You stopped pretending.
Sometimes there were three empty seats available and you still walked straight toward Jax automatically.
And every single time, without fail, he spread his knees slightly to make room for you before you even reached him.
Like muscle memory.
Like instinct.
The club noticed.
God, did they notice.
“You know chairs exist, right?” Chibs asked one afternoon while you sat sideways across Jax’s lap eating fries off his plate.
“They do,” you answered.
“So why are ye sittin’ there?”
You shrugged. “Comfort.”
Jax’s hand rubbed slowly up and down your thigh absentmindedly while he read paperwork.
Nobody missed it.
Tig looked physically pained by how disgustingly domestic the two of you had become.
“You guys are revolting.”
“You cry during Disney movies,” you reminded him.
“That is unrelated.”
“You cried during Finding Nemo.”
“He LOST HIS SON.”
Jax laughed against your shoulder.
The sound vibrated through you warm and low.
And maybe that was part of the problem.
Because sitting with Jax became easy in a way nothing else was.
You fit together strangely well.
His hands always found you naturally.
Your body relaxed around him automatically.
There was never hesitation anymore.
You’d curl into him during long nights at the clubhouse while he talked business.
Sometimes his chin rested on your shoulder.
Sometimes your fingers played with the rings on his hand absentmindedly.
Sometimes he’d arrive late, exhausted from a run, and the first thing he’d do was sit down and tug you into his lap like he needed the contact.
Nobody said anything during those moments.
Not even the guys.
Because underneath all the teasing, everyone could see it.
You made Jax softer.
And Jax made you feel safe.
The girl appeared six months after the first lap incident.
Blonde.
Tiny shorts.
Too much perfume.
The type that walked into the clubhouse already looking for attention.
She spotted Jax almost immediately.
Which wasn’t unusual.
Women flirted with him constantly.
You normally ignored it.
But tonight was different.
Because she didn’t just flirt.
She touched.
Hands on his shoulders.
Fingers trailing down his arm.
Leaning into him while she laughed too loudly at things that weren’t funny.
You were sitting beside him on the couch at first.
Not on him.
Just close.
But suddenly you felt weirdly out of place.
Which was stupid.
You and Jax weren’t together.
Not officially.
Even if everyone treated you like you were.
Still—
Something ugly twisted in your chest watching her smile at him like that.
So before the feeling could get worse, you stood quietly.
Jax glanced up immediately.
“Where you goin’?”
“Nowhere,” you answered lightly. “Need another drink.”
But instead of coming back to him, you crossed the room and dropped into the empty seat beside Chibs.
The table went weirdly silent.
Because everybody noticed.
Especially Jax.
The blonde blinked at the sudden shift in his attention.
“You were saying?” she purred.
He barely looked at her.
His eyes stayed on you across the room.
You were laughing at something Chibs said now, but it sounded forced even to your own ears.
Jax frowned slightly.
Then the girl touched his chest.
“You wanna get outta here later?”
“No.”
She blinked. “No?”
“No,” he repeated distractedly.
Then he stood up entirely.
Actually stood up.
And walked away from her mid-conversation.
The entire clubhouse erupted instantly.
“OH MY GOD,” Juice screamed.
“She got dumped in real time!”
Tig was choking laughing.
The blonde looked furious.
Meanwhile Jax crossed the room directly toward you like he was being physically pulled there.
You looked up as he stopped beside your chair.
“What’re you doing over here?”
You blinked innocently. “Sitting.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
Chibs immediately got up. “Actually, I need another drink.”
“You just got one.”
“Aye. Tragic.”
He disappeared before either of you could stop him.
Leaving only one chair.
Yours.
Jax looked at it.
Then at you.
Then finally said, quieter this time:
“C’mere.”
Your heart stumbled.
“You have a seat.”
“Don’t want it.”
The room had gone suspiciously attentive again.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Jax—”
“Baby,” he interrupted softly, “get over here.”
The endearment hit like a gunshot.
Dead silence filled the clubhouse.
Happy actually looked up from his knife.
Your face burned instantly.
Jax seemed to realize what he’d said about half a second too late.
But instead of taking it back—
His expression just softened.
You stood slowly.
Walked toward him slowly.
And the second you settled onto his lap again, his arms wrapped around your waist so tightly it almost felt desperate.
Like he’d been off-balance the entire three minutes you were gone.
The boys lost their minds.
“There they are!”
“Nature is healing!”
“Took Romeo long enough!”
“Somebody kiss somebody already,” Tig shouted.
You buried your burning face against Jax’s shoulder immediately while he laughed quietly into your hair.
But his grip on you never loosened.
Not once.
And later that night, long after the music died down and most of the clubhouse stumbled home drunk, you were still curled in Jax’s lap when he finally tilted your chin upward gently.
“You jealous?”
You opened your mouth immediately. “No.”
His grin widened.
“Liar.”
“She was hanging all over you.”
“She was,” he agreed.
Your stomach twisted again.
Then he brushed his thumb softly along your jaw.
“But I spent the whole time waitin’ for you to come back.”
The air disappeared from your lungs.
Jax’s eyes searched yours carefully.
“You know why?”
You shook your head slightly.
“Because every place else feels wrong now.”
Your heart nearly stopped.
And judging by the way he looked at you after saying it?
His might’ve too.
When he kissed you, finally, the entire world seemed to settle into place around it.
Soft at first.
Careful.
Like both of you were realizing this had been inevitable for a very long time.
Then your fingers slid into his hair and he made this low sound against your mouth that nearly melted you alive.
Somewhere across the clubhouse, Tig yelled:
“FUCKIN’ FINALLY!”
Neither of you even looked up.
Especially not when Jax pulled you closer into his lap like he intended to keep you there permanently.
Jax finds out your boyfriend hits you. The boyfriend isn't alive much longer.
Warnings: reader is in an abusive relationship
The first time Samcro ever saw you cry, it was over something stupid.
Not the reason for the tears — that part was devastating enough — but the thing that finally broke the dam.
A dropped carton of eggs.
That was it.
One second you were standing in the clubhouse kitchen trying to help Gemma cook breakfast for half the charter, and the next, the carton slipped from your hands and shattered across the floor in a slick yellow mess.
You just stared at it.
Then your breathing changed.
Then your face crumpled.
And suddenly you were crying so hard you had to brace yourself against the counter.
The room went silent.
Happy stopped mid-sentence. Chibs lowered his beer. Even Gemma paused, eyes narrowing in sharp assessment.
And Jax Teller looked at you like someone had punched him in the chest.
Because people didn’t cry like that over eggs.
Not unless the hurt started long before that moment.
You kept apologizing.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’ll clean it up, I dunno why I’m—”
“Hey,” Jax said immediately, crossing the room. “Hey, stop.”
You tried wiping your face with the heel of your hand, embarrassed beyond belief. “I’m okay.”
He crouched beside the mess before you could touch a single shard.
“You ain’t cleanin’ this.”
“I made the mess—”
“And I said you ain’t cleanin’ it.”
His voice wasn’t harsh. Just firm.
Careful.
Like he already knew something fragile was cracking apart in front of him.
Gemma quietly handed you a towel. “Go wash your face, sweetheart.”
You nodded too fast and disappeared into the bathroom before anyone could see you completely fall apart.
Jax watched the door shut behind you, eyes catching on something before it closed.
A bruise.
Faint yellow-green fingerprints wrapped around your wrist where your sleeve had ridden up.
His entire expression changed.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
“You see that?” he asked quietly.
Chibs sighed. “Aye.”
Happy only grunted.
Gemma looked toward the bathroom door with something grim settling into her face.
Jax stood.
“Who is he?”
Your boyfriend’s name was Kyle Mercer.
Nobody liked him.
That should’ve told you something months ago.
He was controlling in ways that sounded reasonable if you explained them too fast.
He hated when you wore makeup because “guys stare.”
He hated when you stayed late at work because “you obviously care more about strangers.”
He hated when you came to SAMCRO gatherings because “those biker assholes fill your head with nonsense.”
And he especially hated Jax Teller.
Which, honestly, should’ve been another warning sign.
Jax had known you for years. You worked part-time at TM when they were overloaded, and you’d become woven into the edges of the club naturally after that.
You laughed loudly.
You brought coffee orders nobody remembered asking for.
You patched cuts without flinching.
And you looked at people like they were worth listening to.
Jax had been halfway in love with you long before Kyle showed up.
He just never said it.
Then you started dating Mercer.
And over time, you got quieter.
Smaller somehow.
Like you were folding yourself inward bit by bit.
Jax noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He noticed every damn thing about you.
You tried to leave Kyle three days later.
That was the thing that finally got you hurt badly.
You’d packed a bag while he was out.
You almost made it to the door.
Then he came home early.
The shouting started immediately.
“You think you’re too good for me now?”
“No,” you whispered. “Kyle, please—”
“You been fucking him?”
Your stomach dropped. “What?”
“That biker piece of shit. Jax.”
“No!”
The slap hit hard enough to send you sideways into the wall.
Your ears rang.
You tasted blood instantly.
Kyle grabbed your jaw before you could recover.
“You embarrass me again,” he hissed, “I’ll make sure nobody wants what’s left of you.”
A knock thundered at the door.
Kyle froze.
Another knock.
Harder.
Then:
“Open the fuckin’ door.”
Jax.
You’d never heard his voice sound like that before.
Not loud.
Not angry.
Worse.
Controlled.
Kyle sneered. “Perfect timing.”
He dragged you toward the door by your arm despite your protest.
When he yanked it open, Jax took one look at your face and went utterly still.
The split lip.
The swelling already forming near your cheek.
The fear you couldn’t hide fast enough.
Something lethal entered his eyes.
“Kyle,” he said quietly, “take your hand off her.”
“You don’t tell me what to do in my own—”
Jax hit him before he finished the sentence.
Not a punch.
A fucking explosion.
Kyle crashed backward into the entry table.
You screamed his name instinctively — not because you wanted to protect him, but because violence that sudden was terrifying no matter who it was aimed at.
Jax barely seemed to hear you.
Years of rage detonated all at once.
Every bruise he’d noticed.
Every flinch.
Every fake smile.
Every time you insisted you were “just tired.”
Kyle swung back once.
Jax put him through the drywall for it.
The neighbors would later say the sounds coming from the apartment were horrifying.
Furniture breaking.
Bodies hitting walls.
A man begging.
And another man answering with silence.
By the time Chibs and Opie dragged Jax off him, Kyle Mercer’s face barely looked human anymore.
Blood soaked the floor.
Jax was breathing like an animal.
“You touch her again,” he snarled, trying to lunge forward again, “I will fucking bury you.”
Kyle spit blood onto the carpet.
Jax kicked him in the ribs hard enough to crack something.
“Jax!” you cried.
That stopped him.
Immediately.
He turned toward you.
And the fury vanished so fast it was almost frightening.
“Baby,” he said softly.
Not possessive.
Not intentional.
Just instinct.
You started crying again.
Jax looked wrecked at the sight of it.
He crossed the room slowly this time, like he thought moving too fast might scare you.
“You okay if I touch you?”
Nobody had asked you that in a very long time.
You nodded once.
The second his arms wrapped around you, the adrenaline keeping you upright disappeared entirely.
You collapsed against his chest shaking.
“I got you,” he murmured, one hand cradling the back of your head carefully. “I got you now.”
Behind him, Chibs looked down at Kyle and muttered, “He’s still breathin’. Barely.”
He sounded disappointed.
Kyle Mercer died two nights later in hospital.
Internal bleeding.
Too much damage.
SAMCRO made sure nobody looked too closely at why witnesses suddenly changed parts of their stories.
Officially, it was a drunken fight.
Unofficially?
Nobody in Charming was particularly interested in justice for a man who beat women.
You, meanwhile, sat on the roof of Jax’s house wrapped in one of his hoodies while the town buzzed below you.
You hadn’t spoken much since the news broke.
Jax found you there after dark.
For a minute he just stood beside you silently.
Then he held out a beer.
You accepted it with a quiet thanks.
“You scared of me now?” he asked eventually.
Your head snapped toward him immediately. “No.”
But he didn’t look convinced.
“He’s dead because of me.”
“He’s dead because of what he did.”
Jax leaned against the railing beside you.
Moonlight caught the bruises healing across your face.
His jaw tightened at the sight.
“I would do it again,” he admitted. “That’s the part that probably should bother you.”
You stared at him for a long moment.
Then asked softly, “Did you love me before this?”
The question hit him hard enough that you saw it physically.
His eyes closed briefly.
“Yeah,” he said.
No hesitation.
No escape route.
“Long before this.”
Emotion climbed into your throat sharp and painful.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You were with somebody.”
“He hurt me.”
“I know.”
“No,” you whispered, tears returning. “I mean before that. He hurt me before he ever hit me.”
Jax went still.
Because he understood exactly what you meant.
The isolation.
The fear.
The shrinking.
The way abuse started quietly enough you almost didn’t notice yourself disappearing.
His hand reached for yours carefully.
“You ain’t disappearin’ anymore.”
You looked down at your joined hands.
At the cuts across his knuckles.
At the man who’d burned half the world down the second he realized someone hurt you.
Then you leaned into him.
And Jax exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years.
His forehead rested against your temple.
Protective.
Reverent.
Certain.
Nobody ever touched you again without fear of what Jax Teller would do about it.
A/N: I’m back on a Sons of Anarchy and Supernatural crossover kick. Oh well :/ I hope you enjoy!
The engines from SAMCRO’s bikes were still cooling when you, Sam, and Dean finished off the last of the monsters. The smell of burnt flesh lingered, acrid and sharp, but you’d gotten used to worse. What you weren’t used to? A dozen bikers staring at you like you’d just stepped off a UFO.
Jax broke the silence first, jaw tight, blond hair falling into his eyes, “You three mind telling me what the hell just happened?”
Dean leaned against the Impala, wiping blood from his machete with a rag. “Nope.”
You rolled your eyes. “What he means is, it’s complicated. And dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Tig let out a disbelieving laugh. “Darlin’, you just torched a—whatever the hell that was—like it was a birthday candle. I think we can handle a little honesty.”
Sam stepped in, ever the peacemaker. “Look, we deal with things… not from this world. That’s what you saw. You don’t have to believe it, but it’s the truth.”
Most of the Sons looked unconvinced, but Jax kept his gaze on you. He wasn’t dismissing it, not after watching you drive a blade into a creature that should only exist in nightmares. There was something calculating in his eyes—part leader, part survivor.
“So what, you just travel town to town, cleaning up messes like this?” Jax asked.
Dean smirked. “Pretty much. Sam does the research, I kill the things, and Y/N keeps us both from ending up in jail.”
That earned a snort from Chibs. “Aye, sounds like she’s the brains of the family.”
Dean pretended to be offended. “Hey now, I do plenty of brain work.”
“Like what?” you shot back, grinning. “Deciding which pie to eat first?”
Even the Sons cracked a laugh at that, the tension easing for just a moment.
Jax glanced around at his crew, most of them still shaken but alive, “Well, whatever the hell you are, you saved my guys tonight. That means something.”
You gave him a small nod. “We’re not here for thanks. Just… be careful. Not everything can be solved with a gun.”
Tig muttered, “Could’ve fooled me,” but Jax shot him a look that shut him up quick.
Sam’s voice was softer when he spoke, directed at Jax. “Keep them close. Family’s the only thing that gets you through this kind of world.”
That struck something in the biker president. His expression shifted, just slightly, like he was carrying the weight of his entire club on his shoulders. He gave a short nod.
Dean slapped the Impala’s roof. “Alright, Hallmark moment’s over. Time to hit the road.”
You paused, ripping out a piece of paper from your journal, writing down numbers. “Here,” You said, “if you see anything… otherworldly, we’re just a phone call away.”
You gave the piece of paper to Jax, and as you slid into the backseat, you caught Jax’s eyes one last time. There was gratitude there, but also a flicker of understanding—like he knew the road you and your brothers walked was darker than anything SAMCRO had ever faced.
The Impala roared to life, and just like that, you were gone—leaving Charming behind with its patched bikers and their new secret about the monsters lurking in the dark.
The camp was too quiet when John Murphy was gone. Nobody wanted to say it out loud, but his absence sat heavy over everything like smoke after a fire. Some people were relieved. Others pretended not to care. You weren’t one of them.
You stood near the dropship entrance, arms crossed tightly over your chest as Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake returned from the woods. The second you saw only the two of them, your stomach dropped.
“Where is he?” you demanded.
Bellamy avoided your eyes.
Clarke looked exhausted. “Y/N…”
“No.” You stepped closer. “Where’s Murphy?”
Silence. That was answer enough.
“You left him out there?” Your voice cracked. “Alone?”
“He tried to kill Bellamy,” Clarke argued softly. “The camp would’ve torn itself apart if he stayed.”
“And now he’ll die out there instead?”
Bellamy’s jaw tightened. “He made his choices.”
You glared at him. “So did all of us.”
For a moment nobody spoke.
Around camp, people avoided looking your way. Some guilty. Some cold. Murphy had done terrible things. You knew that better than anyone. You’d screamed at him more times than you could count. Threatened to punch him at least twice a week. But you also knew the version of him nobody else bothered to see. The scared one. The lonely one. The boy who cracked jokes because silence made him think too much.
You shook your head and turned away.
“Y/N—” Clarke called after you.
“I’m bringing him back.”
Bellamy scoffed. “You won’t find him.”
You grabbed your knife from the table beside the dropship. “Watch me.”
—
The forest was colder at night. Every snapped twig made your heart jump. You pushed through branches, calling Murphy’s name under your breath even though you knew yelling would get you killed.
Hours passed. No Murphy. Just darkness and distant animal cries.
You stopped near a creek to catch your breath, frustration burning in your chest.
“Murphy,” you muttered bitterly. “You better be alive after all this.”
A branch cracked behind you.
You spun around—
Pain exploded across the back of your skull. The world tilted violently before darkness swallowed everything whole.
—
When you woke up, every inch of your body hurt. Your head throbbed. Your wrists burned. It took several blurry seconds to realize your hands were tied above you.
Stone walls.
Torchlight.
A cage.
Panic surged through you until a rough voice spoke beside you.
“Well, this is awkward.”
You turned sharply.
There he was. John Murphy sat chained against the wall beside you, bruised and bloody, one eye swollen nearly shut. Relief hit so hard it almost hurt.
“Oh my God,” you breathed.
Murphy stared at you in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came after you.”
His expression shifted instantly from shock to anger. “Are you insane?”
“Probably.”
“They followed you?”
“I got jumped before I could even find you.”
Murphy groaned, letting his head thunk back against the wall. “Great. Fantastic. Now they’ve got two idiots.”
Despite everything, you laughed weakly.
His eyes flicked toward you. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“You’re welcome, by the way.”
Before he could answer, footsteps echoed outside the cell.
Grounders.
Murphy’s entire posture stiffened instantly. The door creaked open. Two Grounders entered carrying blades and ropes. Your pulse spiked. One grabbed Murphy by the arm, yanking him forward. He hissed through clenched teeth.
“Hey!” you shouted instinctively.
The Grounder backhanded you so hard your vision blurred.
Murphy snapped.
“Don’t touch her!”
The Grounders ignored him.
You watched helplessly as they dragged him toward the center of the room. Murphy fought hard despite the obvious exhaustion weighing him down. It didn’t matter. They forced him to his knees. One Grounder spoke in their language while another heated a metal blade in the fire nearby. Fear crawled icy fingers down your spine. Murphy looked at you then. Really looked at you. And suddenly his expression changed.
Less anger. More regret.
“You should’ve stayed at camp,” he muttered quietly.
“Not happening.”
The Grounder pressed the hot metal against Murphy’s shoulder. His scream ripped through the room. You jerked violently against your restraints, tears springing to your eyes.
“Stop it!” you screamed.
Murphy’s breathing turned ragged as smoke curled from burned skin.
The Grounders moved toward you next.
Murphy immediately struggled harder. “No. No, leave her alone!”
You had never heard fear in his voice before. Not real fear. One of the Grounders grabbed your chin roughly while the other heated the blade again. You tried not to panic. Tried not to let Murphy see it. But your hands shook violently.
Murphy caught it immediately.
“Hey,” he said quickly, voice strained. “Hey, look at me.”
You did.
His face was bruised and bloodied, hair falling messily into his eyes. But he was looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him standing.
“Don’t let them see you scared,” he whispered.
The blade touched your arm. Pain exploded through you. A cry tore from your throat despite your efforts. Murphy swore viciously, throwing himself against the chains hard enough to bloody his wrists.
“That’s enough!” he shouted.
The Grounders only laughed. Hours blurred together after that.
Pain.
Cold.
Fear.
Eventually the Grounders left, locking the cell behind them. Silence settled heavily between you and Murphy except for your uneven breathing. You slid weakly against the wall, trying not to cry. Murphy looked worse. Much worse. Blood stained his shirt, and burns covered parts of his arms and chest.
Still, the first thing he asked was, “You okay?”
You let out a shaky laugh. “You look like death and you’re asking me that?”
“Didn’t answer the question.”
“I’ve been better.”
He nodded slightly, relieved anyway. For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then quietly, Murphy said, “Why do you care so much?”
You looked at him.
“At camp… everyone hates me,” he continued bitterly. “Bellamy barely tolerated me before. Clarke thinks I’m a psychopath. Half the camp wanted me dead.”
“You’re not a psychopath.”
Murphy scoffed. “Debatable.”
“You’re angry,” you corrected softly. “And scared. And messed up. But not evil.”
He stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with the words.
“No one’s ever crossed the woods for me before,” he admitted.
Your chest tightened painfully.
“Well,” you whispered, “get used to it.”
For the first time since you woke up in that horrible place, Murphy smiled.
Small.
Broken.
Real.
Then he shifted painfully closer until his shoulder brushed yours. And in the darkness of the Grounder cell, chained together and exhausted, the two of you sat side by side waiting for morning.
Summary: Professor Dean and Sam Winchester had every girl in their class. They don’t care about rules, consequences or the trail of broken hearts they are leaving. What happens when both men try to convince you they are in love with you as only you are left?
Pairing: Professor Sam Winchester x Reader; Professor Dean Winchester x Reader, OFC Lara Sofie, OFC Michael Robert, Gabriel x sister!reader
Warnings: angst, unrequited love, stupid bets, hurt feelings, violence, language, arguments, remorseful Winchesters, mentions of sexual intercourse, embarrassed reader, tears, heartbreak, arguments, parents trap, violence, more will be added in later chapters…
Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.
That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.
AN: "Smoke eater" — a self-appointed slang term for a firefighter.
Get ready for an AU! Several SPN characters will make their appearances: Sam and John Winchester, Castiel as "Cas Novak," Ellen and Jo Harvelle, Jack Kline, Benny Lafitte, Gordon Walker, Meg Masters, Chuck Shurley, Nick (yes, even him), and more!
Series Tags & Warnings: (18+ only) There will be a lot of heart, a lot of fun, drama, heartbreak, protective Dean, and even a murder mystery. Rating for eventual smut, perilous situations, and other chapter-specific tags.
🎵 Listen while you read:
The Smoke Eater Playlist: YouTube || Spotify
❤️🔥 Chapters:
Part 1 - Class and Style - Podcast Version!
Part 2 - Lieutenant Winchester
Part 3 - Got a Hold on Me
Part 4 - Rocky Road
Part 5 - Twitterpated
Part 6 - Just Casual
Part 7 - Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle
Part 8 - Likewise, Baby
Part 9 - Do Not Disturb
Part 10 - Toil and Trouble
Part 11 - Heart of the Home
Part 12 - All in the Family
Part 13 - Boiling Point
Part 14 - Message in a Bottle
Part 15 - The Good Part
Part 16 - Break Down the Gates
Part 17 - The Real Deal
Part 18 - V for Vendetta
Part 19 - Sacrifice
Epilogue - Easy as Pie
Series Complete!
🔥 Bonus One-Shots:
Something Real**
Now that you and Dean are officially engaged, you take some much needed time off together for a family vacation. But even with the wedding set for next year, the two of you are still at odds when it comes to one key part of your future together…
(Want to listen to the podcast version? Keep scrolling below!)
Serendipity
Now that you and Dean are married, you begin to live out the next phase of your dream. However, reality has to check in some time.
🎙️ Podcast Fics:
❤️🔥 Podfic: Listen to Part 1!
A "podfic" is where you can listen to the story narrated. Cover image and narration by @talltalesandbedtimestories
❤️🔥 Or listen to the official Idling in the Impala episode of Part 1 on YouTube:
Podfic Time – “Smoke Eater” by Zeppelin_SkiesCongratulations to SPN FanFic Pond member zepskies (Zeppelin_Skies on AO3) on her “Leap Year” e
To listen on Spotify.
Listen to the Idling in the Impala podfic episode of the sequel story, Something Real below:
Podfic Time – “Something Real” by Zeppelin_SkiesI loved getting the chance to bookend Zeppelin_Skies “Smoke Eater” series with the narration
⋆˙⟡ Tag Lists || Fic Library Blog ->
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Join My Patreon ⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories. Top-tier patrons can even send me requests!
Author’s Note: Welcome to the Masterlist of ‘Leaving Breadcrumbs behind’. This is a Hawaii 5-0 series, with a right now unknown amount of chapters. Please leave feedback and don’t shy away from messaging me or asking to be tagged!
Enjoy.
Love,
Lis
Summary: This series follows Steve McGarrett’s way of finding out what his fiancé’s secret is and why she is leaving breadcrumbs behind for him to find out. Why did she shoot him? What is this all about? Why codes? And who is behind this?
summary: After a one-night stand turns into an unexpected pregnancy, you must navigate fear, uncertainty, and growing connection with a man you barely know.
summary: Hotch is sick and refuses to go home and take care of himself, so the team decides you’re the best person to handle it. Or, handle him. It turns out your boss isn’t the only Hotchner sick today.
word count: 5.3 K FLUFF OMFG
-
The team was already placing bets on who was going to bite the bullet and tell Hotch to go home. All heads would end up turning to you.
“Why me?” You huff.
“You’re the only one who is going to make it a foot past the door and you know it.” Emily bites the end of her pen, spinning around in her chair to face you.
“Statistically, Y/n would be able to get the furthest into the office before Hotch kicks her out.”
“Pretty boy,” Morgan shakes his head while sitting on the edge of his desk, “He does not kick Pretty Girl out.”
You shake your head, still not even bothering to give them your attention. You continue writing your report, feeling multiple sets of eyes boring into you. Another sneeze can be heard from the office upstairs, you have to fight the urge to look up at his window.
It didn’t take a genius to know that Hotch was sick, it was apparent the second he walked in this morning. Coat buttoned up to his chin on a warm April morning. Red nose and a faint rasp in his voice.
“He’s pale.” JJ comments, “Like hospital pale.”
That has your attention. Your head snaps up to look up at the windows where your boss is sat at his desk working. They’re right, he does not look good.
“So, who’s feeling brave?” Rossi asks, walking out of his office and gesturing to Hotch. “I already tried earlier this morning.”
Rossi’s eyes fall to you.
“No.”
“Bella!” He praises, walking down the steps to come closer to your desk, “Kid, you’ve got the right way with people.”
“And you’re his favorite.” Morgan adds, you flip him off over your shoulder.
From behind you, Reid mutters, “Statistically speaking, the likelihood of him allowing any of us to question his well-being without consequences is extremely low. Y/n, however is-”
“Enough.” You roll your eyes and get up from your desk. You hate that this worked.
Everyone was quick to celebrate their success until you look over at them after climbing up the stairs, the bullpen going silent. You knock on the doorframe as gently as possible.
“Sir?”
He waits for a second or two before looking up from his computer, his eyes still sharp but glossier than normal. His cheeks look flushed, and now that you’re this close you can see that he’s sweating. He’s too warm, and it looks like he’s holding himself up with sheer will.
“You’re sick.”
“I’m functional.” His fingers still hover over the keys.
“That is not the same thing.” You lean against the frame now, you can feel the focus of everyone coming from behind you.
The corner of his mouth twitches, “What are they saying out there?”
“That you’re stubborn. And a workaholic. And that you’re going to pass out dramatically if we don’t get you home.”
“That last part sounds like Morgan.”
You cut him a look that shows you aren’t going to let him change the subject.
“I’m fine-” A sneeze cuts him off before he can finish whatever reason he was about to sell you for why he’s fine to stay.
“You were saying?” You raise your brows with an unimpressed look.
“You need rest.” You add quietly, taking a step into his office. Your fingers hover over the edge of his desk.
“We have a briefing and new case loads-”
“You need rest.” You repeat, “You have an entire team to delegate this to. Go home for the day.”
“Are you telling me what to do?” You can tell he’s using his energy to show you an entertained face.
“Highly suggesting.” You quip.
Your eyes hold on each other, something unspoken passing between you two. It feels warm and familiar. Every time you two are alone it turns to this eventually. The tension burns past all forms of professionalism.
He exhales eventually, “Fine. One day.”
Your smile was immediate.
“I’ll walk you out.”
Hotch pushes back his chair and stands, instantly swaying.
“Hotch-” you reach out. He stabilizes himself on the desk, bracing himself.
“I-uh-I’m fine.” He says it more like a reflex rather than actually expecting you to believe him.
“You’re really not.”
His knees buckle for a half second, “Morgan!”
You reach out a hand to help Hotch stay up, Morgan was quick to get to you.
“Can you help him down to my car?” You ask, looking directly at Morgan, “I’m gonna pack up his stuff and then I’ll drive him home.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Morgan reaches out an arm under Hotch’s. He hesitantly takes it and they slowly walk out of the office together. You close his laptop and grab all of his current and upcoming case files.
Rossi tilted his head toward Hotch and Morgan “You driving?”
You answer while walking out of his office before Hotch could, “No.”
“He almost passed out while standing up, he’s not driving.” You go over to your own desk and grab your things. “I’ll keep my phone on.”
JJ smiles softly at you, “Text us when you get there.”
You nod and walk ahead of Hotch and Morgan to hit the button for the elevator. Your car was thankfully not too far away in the garage. Morgan managed to get a sneaky ‘favorite’ in before you pulled out of the garage, him waving at you both.
The drive was quiet at first. Hotch was leaning back in the passenger seat, one hand bracing his temples and blocking his face. He can’t even keep his eyes open at this point.
“You should’ve told someone sooner.” Your voice soft, breaking the silence.
“I didn’t want to disrupt the team.” His voice still full of gravel.
You look over at him, “Hotch, you are the team.”
He didn’t even bother trying to fight you on that one. The car went back to the silence until you were nearly halfway to the Hotchner residence. His phone ringing loudly from the pocket of his briefcase.
“It’s school.” He straightens immediately in his chair and answers, “Hotchner.”
“Mr. Hotchner? This is the school nurse, Jack is running a fever and isn’t feeling well. We need someone to come pick him up. I know his Aunt Jessica is out of town for the next three days.”
His face fell instantly, “I can be there in twenty minutes.”
You turn around hearing all of this, you know you already passed the school.
“Y/n, you don’t have to do this.”
“You’re sick.” You smile, “He’s sick.”
“I can take care of my son.” His voice is tight, but it isn’t defensive.
“Hotch, I know you can. But what are you going to do?” You ask, raising your brows with genuine concern. You don’t want to outright tell him he can barely take care of himself, how does he expect to take care of an eight year old.
He studies your face, looking for signs of pity or judgement. All he can find is care and concern.
He nods, “Thank you.”
You don’t say anything back, you don’t need to. You simply smile and keep on driving.
-
Hotch looked steadier walking down the hall than he did back at the office. If you had to guess, it would be purely parental adrenaline fueling him. In the nurses office Jack is sitting on a cot, his cheeks are flushed to match his dad.
“Hey, buddy.” Hotch’s voice is softer than you typically hear.
“Hi, Dad.”
Jack sat up a little straighter, looking over his dad’s shoulder to spot you. His expression froze still before a surprised grin graces his face.
“Y/n!”
You smile and take a few more steps into the nurses office to crouch down to his level.
“Hey, Jack. I heard you aren’t feeling too well.”
He shrugs you off, trying to play it cool. “I’m okay.”
You reach a hand out to brush his hair off his forehead, “You’re pretty warm, bud.”
Jack closes his eyes and leans into the touch. Hotch notices, of course he did.
“You came with Dad?”
“Yeah, I drove him.”
You vaguely hear the nurse telling Hotch about how his fever was still rising. She insists on taking his temp one more time before leaving.
“Any chance you can do him next?” You ask, nodding your head to where Hotch stands with his arms crossed.
Hotch cuts you a glance that reminds you he’s your boss.
“Kidding.”
“Are you feeling sick as well?” The nurse turns her focus back on Hotch.
“Yeah, it would seem the family is coming down with it.” He sighs, reaching out his arm to check the time on his watch.
“Well, hopefully you aren't the next one, honey!” She winks at you and turns back to the paperwork on the counter behind her. Hotch doesn’t bother to correct her, not the time. He’s lacking enough energy to explain the dynamic and who you actually are to them.
“Dad, you’re sick too?” A worried expression takes over Jack’s face. His eyes are wide with concern. You beat Hotch to the punch.
“Just a little bit.” You answer, “Don’t worry, we’re gonna take care of him and you. Teams take care of each other.”
He nods and mutters a quiet ‘that’s good’. You can see how tired the little guy is, his eyes are watery.
“Ready to go home, buddy?” Hotch asks.
He nods again, getting up and slowly walking out. You follow both of the sick boys, as they lazily walk out to the car. The drive is quiet, you have the radio playing softly. Jack is curled up in his seat in the backseat, you can see him fighting to stay awake. He watches you in the mirror, and pretends he isn’t. Hotch catches him a few times too.
“Are you staying?” he asks at one point.
You glance over at Hotch before answering him, “If that’s okay with your dad.”
Jack looks at his dad. He looks back at him, his expression turns sweet when looking at his son.
“Yeah, she’s helping us today.”
Jack visibly relaxed back into his chair.
“Cool.”
You bite back a chuckle, focusing on the road ahead of you. By the time you’re pulling into the driveway, it’s not even noon. The neighborhood is quiet. It’s the middle of the day during the work week, most people aren’t home right now. Hotch is never at home right now.
“Alright,” You turn around to face Hotch from your seat still, “Operation Get Better starts now.”
Jack perks up, “Is there soup involved?”
Hotch huffs out a quiet laugh that turns into a cough. You turn back to look at him, cutting him a concerned face.
“I’m fine.” He mutters.
“Mhm.”
You all moved into the house together, Jack close to your side. Hotch was grateful the house was actually in a fairly clean state. Jack kicks off his shoes at the door and plants himself on the couch with a groan.
“We just need fluids, rest, and probably cartoons.” You continue walking past the living room to the kitchen.
Jack nods, “Doctors say cartoons help?”
“Of course! Ask Spencer the next time you see him.”
Hotch is sure you’re banking on Jack forgetting by the time he sees Spencer next, unless he actually has unleashed some cartoon fact on you already. He tries to ignore a wave of dizziness that rolls through him. You clock it instantly.
“Sit.” You insist.
“Y/n-”
“You don’t get to argue today.”
Jack looks between you two, “Dad, you should listen.”
He looks defeated as he stares back at his son. You would be concerned for how you’re ordering your boss around if it weren’t for his cute rosy cheeks. He is far from your boss right now and you both know it. Defeated, he sits down.
You let out a satisfied ‘hmph’ before turning back toward the kitchen to see if Hotch actually has what you need to make soup. Thankfully, he’s well stocked and you’re able to navigate yourself around the kitchen as if you had done it a hundred times. Every once and a while you catch Hotch looking over the back of the couch and watching you work.
“She’s pretty cool.” Jack whispers loud enough for only his dad to hear.
You continue stirring obliviously at the stove, your sleeves pushed up while humming along to something that he’s sure played in the car earlier.
“Yes.” He quietly agrees, “Yes, she is.”
-
The smell of chicken noodle soup has completely taken over the house. Hotch and Jack were sitting at the counter now that you were nearly finished.
“Do you cook like this often?” Hotch asks.
You don’t look up from the pot, “Always, I love to cook.”
After pulling down two bowls, you bring one over to Jack first.
“Careful, it’s hot.” You warn.
Jack pulls it closer with both hands. You grab the other bowl and put it in front of Hotch and then just lean against the edge of the counter facing them. Jack takes the first cautious bite after blowing on his spoon.
“This is… really good!”
You gasp dramatically, “Is it?”
“Mhm!” He nods eagerly.
You turn to Hotch who is watching both you and Jack, so you raise an unimpressed brow.
“Eat.”
“I am not eight years old.” He reminds.
“Correct.” You smile, “Which means I shouldn’t have to tell you.”
He raises a brow to match yours. You can barely see it, but the corner of his mouth that is typically in a frown wavers which tells you he’s hiding his amusement. It’s moments like these, looking into his warm brown eyes, that you get confused on what you mean to each other. It’s clear to see the care, and warmth right on each other's face.
He pauses, before taking a sip of his own.
“... This is very good.”
You beam, “Did you hear that Jack?”
He nods, but it doesn’t take long for his cough to pick up. You rub soothing circles on his back that do nothing.
“Alright,” You huff and begin walking down the hallway toward the stairs, “Where would I find medicine?”
“Bathroom cabinet.” He calls after you.
You make your way to the guest bathroom and find a thermometer, fever reducer, and kids medicine. No adult medicine. You peek your head outside to the hallway, as if Hotch was going to catch you. You know he’s in no state to be running upstairs, so it’s safe to check his bathroom. Which means going into his bedroom.
You’ve never been in his room before, even with all the times you’ve been here. There’s never been a reason. Unsurprisingly everything is in perfect order, including adult cold medicine. You also grab a couple wash cloths before bounding back down the stairs.
“I hate medicine.” Jack whines dramatically.
“Everybody hates medicine, but we can make your dad go first.”
You snort at Jack’s grin, pointing at his dad with his own laugh. Hotch does a good job going first, taking the small cup from your hand after you measured it out. You do the same for Jack after.
“Temp check.”
You take Jack’s temperature, the same as it was at the nurses office. You move onto Hotch, who huffs before complying.
“Higher?”
“Managable.”
You all make your way back to the living room, Jack was visibly fading away with exhaustion. You and Jack take the couch and Hotch takes the armchair. Jack’s eyelids droop between the cartoons, he slowly shifts closer to you.
“You okay, Jack?” You reach out a hand to press his hair back off his forehead.
Half-gone, “Just sleepy.”
“Come here.”
You help him pull his blanket up over his shoulders while he settles his head in your lap. You freeze for a second, your hand hovering over him before it feels natural. You run your hand over his hair, after a few minutes his breathing evens out. Hotch is watching you both from the armchair, unable to look away.
“You’re very good with him.” His voice is low enough for Jack to sleep through.
You look down at him, “He makes it easy.”
“Jack doesn’t trust people easily.” He reminds.
“I know.”
It gets quiet in the room again, the house faintly humming with life. The refrigerator cycling, TV cartoons, wind brushing against the windows, and Jack’s deep sleep breaths. You finally look up at Hotch, his eyes already on you.
“You should really rest too.”
“I’m fine.”
“You have a fever and you’re sitting upright.”
He doesn’t deny it.
He looks around the room, his eyes falling on Jack. You absentmindedly trace circles over Jack’s back, everything feels so calm.
“The house feels..” He pauses, looking for the words.
You wait.
“..warm. It feels right.”
Your chest tightens immediately. You’re sure if Jack’s head wasn’t in your lap right now, your body would force you to stand up.
“I don’t want to sleep away a minute of it.” He continues.
“You won’t.”
You keep your voice as soft as possible. He meets your eyes.
“I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
Something in his face shifts, you think it's a relief. Maybe something deeper. Maybe something too dangerous for either of you to admit or put a name to.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“I know.” You reply.
Jack stirs slightly before burrowing in closer to your lap. You smile and pull the blanket up a little closer. Hotch watches for another long moment, then he decides to recline the chair. He closes his eyes, but doesn’t fall asleep right away. He just rests, letting the sound of Jack breathing and your quiet presence anchor him.
The house stays warm.
-
Jack stirred first. It started with a cough that became restless and ended up with him looking at you with a disoriented look while he rubbed his eyes.
“Hey, buddy.”
His voice comes out gravely like Hotch’s did this morning, “I’m hot.”
“I know,” You gently guide him upright, “Let’s cool you down a bit.”
You look over at Hotch and are thankful to see that he’s still out cold. The tension in his shoulders finally dropped, replaced instead with the kind of exhaustion that is built up on days of no sleep. Maybe even years of it.
“Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”
Jack nods, and he takes your hand as you both walk upstairs together. You get him a cool wash cloth and place it on his forehead after tucking him in. You negotiated another round of medicine as it’s been hours and it’s wearing off.
“Cold!” he mumbles the second it makes contact
“Sorry, it’s a necessary evil.” you whisper.
“Are you staying?” He’s already drifting back again.
“I’m just gonna be right downstairs.” You promise, “I’ll check in on you, and you just call my name if you need anything.”
“Okay.” He murmurs, eyelids fluttering closed.
Within minutes, he was asleep again.
-
When Hotch wakes up, it’s darker out now. Evening is settling around them, the TV is off and a new scent takes over the house.
You move quietly around the kitchen, cooking some fresh vegetables and rice to add to leftovers and make them stretch a little longer. Something comforting and warm enough to fill the house with the smell of home.
Currently you have Garcia on speaker while working through a sinkful of dishes.
“- yet you’re still there?” She practically shrieks, you immediately dry your hands to turn your volume down.
“I’m making sure that two people I care about don’t starve or pass out.”
Garcia hums knowingly, “Mhm, that’s what you’re calling it now.”
“I actually called to ask you about the cases, but you’re the one that keeps circling back.” You huff, rinsing another dish.
“Yes, yes, crime fighting and moral obligations,” You can hear her typing away, “I gave Rossi the stuff you sent over earlier and he said it was good. The team is very curious-”
“Garcia.” You warn.
“Morgan is starting a pool-”
“I’m hanging up.” You groan.
“Wait!” She yells loudly, “How is he?”
You dry your hands with the kitchen towel, “He’s resting. He’ll be okay.”
“And Jack?”
“The same. His fever is going down.”
A pause.
Garcia awes, “You’re good for them, you know.”
You don’t answer.
“Okay.” Garcia’s voice is gentle, “I’ll let you go, call if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
“Night, Mama Bear.”
You sigh, “Goodnight, Garcia.”
You shake your head and turn around to lean against the sink, nearly jumping out of your skin when you see Hotch leaning against the doorway. He looks way too charming in a casual hoodie and sweatpants, a small smirk on his face. Sleep is still lingering in his eyes, but he looks better.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to hear Garcia call you mama bear.”
“Yeah, she’s been pretty insufferable since she found out I was still here.”
He steps into the kitchen slowly, still a little disoriented from sleep.
“I just checked on Jack.” Your voice is soft, “He’s asleep upstairs. The fever is still there, but it’s lower.”
He nods, relief flashing across his face, “Thank you.”
Hotch says it in a way that carries weight. Gratitude layered with something deeper. Something warmer. He leans across the counter from you, studying your face in the kitchen light.
“You didn’t have to stay all day.”
He heard you going over your case notes with Garcia and making sure the team was still pushing through all their work without him there.
“I know.”
“You had paperwork. Your own life. Your own-”
“Aaron.” You cut him off sweetly.
The use of his first name hung between them. Rare. Careful. Intentional.
“I stayed because I wanted to.”
Silence takes over the kitchen, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It was charged in that simmering way you both had ignored for months.
“You step into chaos like it’s second nature.” He finally breaks the silence, “At work. Here. With Jack. With me.”
You smile, “It feels right.”
“You make me feel safe.”
Your hands still, no longer twisting the kitchen towel you’ve been holding since you were doing the dishes. His eyes are looking over you while he searches for the words.
“I try to keep a distance. It’s part of leading the team. It’s part of protecting the team.”
“I know.”
“But with you-” He exhales slowly, “It’s harder.”
Your heart went from skipping to beating erratically.
“This thing between us?” You ask quietly.
He nods, his eyes refusing to leave yours.
“It’s not one sided.” You admit.
The air in the house shifts. Neither of you move closer together. Neither of you move away.
“I worry about what it means,” He says honestly, “For the team. For Jack. For you.”
“All valid concerns.” You agree.
“And yet, today felt…”
“...right.” You finish for him.
He nods, and takes a half step closer to you. He reaches out his hand for yours and you take it, letting him pull you into his side. You melt into him while he wraps his arm around you.
“What would this look like?” You ask after a moment.
“I would say slow, but you already fit in so well.” He confesses, “I’m already going to have a hard time letting you leave.”
“Then maybe we just… start dating.” You reply.
The simplicity of it made something in Aaron’s chest lighten. He hadn’t felt like this in years.
“Casually.” he agrees.
“Casually.” You echo.
You sway together in the kitchen, some of his weight on you as the time passes and his strength weakens.
“You need more cold medicine.” You mumble into his chest.
He exhales a laugh, “You got it.”
You step away to grab the bottle and pour some for him.
The corners of his mouth lift, “Are you staying?”
You meet his gaze, steady and calm.
“For a little while longer, if that’s okay.”
His answer is immediate, “It is.”
-
Jack was groggy when you went upstairs, his sheets tangled around his legs in bed.
“Dinner time, bud.”
He blinks up at you, “Soup?”
“Not this time.”
You help him out of bed and together walk downstairs and join Aaron at the table.
“How’re you feeling, buddy?” He asks right away.
“M’okay.” He looks between you two, “Did something happen?”
“What do you mean?” You ask, while passing out food onto their plates.
“Daddy won’t stop looking at you.”
Aaron’s face immediately goes into his hands, his elbows resting on the table. You can see the red peeking through his fingers. You clear your throat to let him take this one.
“Uh-” Aaron coughs, something tells you it has nothing to do with his cold, “Y/n and I are seeing each other. Like really good friends. She’s gonna hang out with us more.”
“Cool.”
Jack picks up his fork and begins shoveling in the food in front of him. You and Aaron both exchange surprised looks.
“How do you feel about that, Jack?” You ask.
He shrugs, “You both take care of people, and you both save people from the bad guys.”
“That’s true.” Aaron nods.
“And,” Jack continues, “You both worry about each other a lot.”
Your chest tightens, and you smile fondly at him. This kid is smart.
“You wouldn’t be upset?” Aaron asks, caution still in his voice.
He shook his head instantly, “I think we’d be a good team!”
His words land heavier than an eight year old could have ever intended. You reach over to brush his hair off his forehead again.
“That’s a pretty great way to think about it.”
Dinner was lighter even with the heavy eyes and exhausted bodies. Jack managed to clean his plate before his blinks started to slow. You barely touched your food, a headache setting in. You wince after grabbing all the plates. Aaron notices. Of course.
“You okay?” He asks.
“Fine.” Your answer is automatic, “Just tired.”
Jack squinty, getting his second wind, “You sound like dad did this morning.”
You sneeze before anyone else can say anything else. You whip around after to look at them at the table.
“Oh no.”
“Y/n is sick!” Jack shouts.
“Yeah, I should probably head out.” You clear your throat which is starting to feel scratchy. Aaron gets up from the table to walk you to the door.
“No.” Jack’s voice firm, still at the table, “Y/n, you said that teams take care of each other.”
You turn to Aaron, quietly muttering ‘this kid is good’.
“He’s so going to the BAU.”
“God, I hope not.”
You both turn back to Jack who is looking at you with wide concerned eyes.
“You don’t have to-”
“We do have the guest room. Extra blankets and medicine. Amazing soup leftovers.” Aaron grins.
“You make a very good point.” You sigh.
Jack pumps a sleepy fist in the air to celebrate, followed by a yawn and a coughing fit. You immediately crouch down and rub his back, Aaron places a hand on your shoulder in silent thanks.
It didn’t take much to get Jack to go to bed for the night after that. One cartoon and snuggle with you were negotiated, and the promise that you would be here in the morning. After that, both you and Aaron followed him up the stairs to tuck him in. One last round of meds before bed, slowly pulling his door shut.
You lean against the door, Aaron leans against the wall opposite you. A shiver runs down your spine, you rub the goosebumps on your arms.
“You’re getting worse.” he comments.
“I’m fine.” You can’t even ignore how bad your voice sounds when you speak.
“C’mon,” He takes your hand in his and leads you through his room to the bathroom, “You need medicine.”
“Yes, sir.” You tease weakly.
He hands you a fever reducer and some cold medicine without comment.
“You know,” You hold the pills in your hand, “this feels a little like karma.”
“For?”
“Bossing you around all afternoon.” You smirk.
A wide smile stretches across his face, “You’re still taking them.”
You eye him for a moment, before rolling your eyes and throwing them back and chasing it with some water. He doesn’t step away, instead boxing you in against the bathroom counter, making sure you stay upright.
You aren’t that sick, yet. Instead his care charges the moment with the close contact. Neither of you back away, still just drinking each other in.
“You know,” Your voice hushed, “I can’t get you sick back yet since you’re still sick.”
His mouth twitches. He knows what you’re doing.
“You’re sick.”
“So are you.” You counter.
“That isn’t responsible-”
“But what’s the harm?” You innocently raise your brow, but the way you bite down on your bottom lip is far from fair.
He exhales, he’s close enough that it fans across your face. Months of almost moments that have bounced between you two. Lingering glances and quiet conversations.
His voice is low and strained when he finally speaks, “I’ve thought about this,”
“Me too.” You interrupt.
“More than I probably should.”
You nod, “Same.”
You chuckle and he reaches a hand forward to brush his thumb across your cheekbone.
“This is a terrible idea.” He continues.
“Yet, you’re still pressing me into this counter.”
He hadn’t even realized he was doing it, but he is pressed against you now. Your ass meeting the edge of the counter.
“And even if this is a terrible idea, I’m willing to risk it.”
His breath caught at that. For a moment he studied your face like he was memorizing every inch. His touch is warm, careful in a way that makes you ache. You lean into his hand.
“You’re sure?”
You know this is him trying to give you an out. A safe exit away from a future relationship with your boss and his son that you already care too much for.
“I’ve been sure for months.”
That is all he needed to hear.
The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant from both of you. As if you were both desperately afraid of breaking the other, but when his hand shifted to cradle the back of your neck you took the opportunity to card your fingers through his hair. All the months of restraint breaking while the kiss deepens. Warm and searching each other in a way that is long overdue.
You exhale softly against him, he pulls you closer by wrapping his arm around your waist to hold you both steady. When you both can’t catch your breath, you pull away and rest your forehead against his.
Bitter cherry flavored cold medicine has never tasted so good.
“So worth the risk.”
He let out a rare loud surprised laugh, the sound erupts butterflies within you at how warm and unguarded he is right now.
“Definitely.” He agrees, “We’re going to have to be very careful at work.”
“Absolutely,” You nod, “I plan to be extremely professional while secretly thinking such naughty things about you.”
“That sounds distracting.”
You slide your hands around his torso, “You’ll survive.”
You tilt your head up to capture his lips in another quick kiss. And another. And another. You only pull away to turn to the side and sneeze loudly, shaking you both in your spot.
“I’m so sorry we got you sick.”
“It was worth it.”
AN// goddddd i love needy hotch! and sweet lil jack 🥹 also i developed a cold this week while writing this (which i did not have at the start of writing this) which did feel like a form of karma for something… anyway i hope you enjoyed 💋
not sure if you’ve ever done this before BUT can u do something with bau!reader and at the end of a case the unsub attacks reader while the whole team is there and aaron has to step in. and he’s like more aggressive than normal. idk if that makes sense but thank you 😁
under restraint
it makes COMPLETE sense 🤭 cw; fem bau!reader, established relationship, typical cm violence, anger and comfort <3
Unfortunately, you'd forgotten the one rule.
Don't turn your back.
Whether you were the unsub’s intended target or you were simply the most accessible, he lunged at you. It was part of his MO; jumping his victims from behind, catching them off guard and at their most vulnerable. You knew that was the MO. You should have seen it coming.
One second, you were following Emily out of interrogation, and the next, you were being yanked backward. His hand knotted in your ponytail, fingers tightening as he grabbed a fistful of your hair. With a rough, forceful jerk, he hauled you back, the motion sharp and unrelenting.
But just as quickly as he had taken ahold of it, you were released.
Balancing yourself, you turned around just in time to see Aaron shoving the guy backward into the one-way window. The impact rattled the glass, a tremor running through it as the force of the shove pinned him there.
You barely had time to process the sting erupting in the back of your head, your mind trying to comprehend what the hell had just happened. Or what was currently happening.
Aaron had his forearm pressed against the unsub’s chest. His muscles strained against the sleeves of his green polo, tension running through his arm and shoulders as he held him there.
"Back off." Aaron's voice came out low and sharp, the command leaving no room for argument.
The unsub - clearly harboring a death wish - sneered and attempted to fight the restraint anyway, but Aaron didn’t budge. In fact, he only pressed in harder, forcing him flat against the wall with controlled, unrelenting pressure.
"I said. Back off." He snapped, his jaw tightening and his eyes full of fury. "If you dare lay another hand on her, I’ll make sure you answer for it.”
He only broke his stare-down to glance toward you, then the others, tilting his head slightly to the left. A silent, authoritative: Get her out of here. Now.
You were still standing there, frozen, your gaze locked on Aaron. You couldn’t move - you didn’t want to - even though you knew you should put distance between yourself and the unsub. Every instinct pulled you toward him, toward the safety and protection you knew he would give.
Then hands were on you, guiding you back. As you were exiting, more officers rushed past and into the interrogation room, ready to assist in subduing the unsub.
That was then you began to notice the throb. You reached back instinctively, fingers brushing the tender spot, and even the slightest touch sent a sting coursing through you, making you wince and suck in a tight breath.
Aaron emerged shortly after, slamming the door behind him with a thud that echoed through the room. Despite vibrating with rage, his voice was measured as he asked, "are you alright?"
"I think so." Your eyes squeezed shut, slightly scared to ask your follow-up question. "He didn't manage to rip any hair out, did he?"
"Nah," Morgan interjected, waving his hand. "You're gonna need some Advil or somethin' though. That's gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning."
You nodded, keeping your eyes shut for a moment longer, before opening them and finding Aaron's immediately. The anger was still there, held tight in the tension of his body. His jaw remained set, shoulders rigid, as if he were braced for the unsub to make another move - ready to protect you again if needed.
"Thank you," you said softly, your hand finding his arm, fingers curling around it.
Your words seemed to pull him out of it, breaking through the anger that had hardened his expression. His features softened, tension easing from his face as he exhaled. "I’m sorry I didn’t stop him in time.”
"Aaron, honey," the endearment slipped past your lips before you could stop it. "You've done more than enough. Thank you."
His lips fell into a line and gave a small nod, not entirely convinced he had, but relieved you were out of harm's way. With him.
Aaron's hand settled on the small of your back, rubbing it gently in a steady, soothing motion before it stilled. When you winced again from the pain radiating through your scalp, he murmured, “let's get you something for your head.”
Jax froze mid-step in the yard, a coil of tension snapping tight through his body. His hand instinctively flexed like he still carried a gun at his side. The quiet life didn’t erase reflexes like that.
Ellie stepped out onto the porch behind him, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “You expecting company?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Because he knew those engines.
Knew them like a heartbeat.
A line of bikes rolled up the dirt road, dust kicking high behind them. Six riders. Leather cuts. Brotherhood stitched into every mile they’d ridden to get here.
Jax exhaled slow.
“They found me.”
The bikes came to a stop in the yard, engines cutting one by one.
For a second, nobody moved.
Then Chibs swung his leg off his bike first, helmet coming off, eyes locked on Jax like he wasn’t sure if this was real.
“Jesus, Jackie…”
Jax let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Hey, brother.”
That was all it took.
Chibs crossed the distance in a few long strides and pulled him into a rough hug, clapping him hard on the back. “You just disappear, no word, nothing? Thought you were dead.”
“Had to be,” Jax said quietly. “At least… that version of me did.”
Bobby stepped up next, shaking his head with a half-smile. “Well I’ll be damned. You actually did it.”
“Yeah,” Jax replied. “Guess I did.”
Happy gave a small nod, eyes scanning him like he was checking for damage. Tig smirked, though it didn’t quite hide the relief underneath. Juice looked like he might cry and laugh at the same time. Opie just watched him, pride sitting heavy in his expression.
Then Ellie cleared her throat from the porch.
“Well,” she said, hands on her hips, “you boys gonna stand there all day looking intimidating, or are you coming inside?”
Six pairs of eyes snapped to her.
Jax turned slightly. “Ellie—”
She waved him off. “Anyone who rides like that’s gotta be starving. I made enough for ten.”
Tig leaned toward Chibs, muttering just loud enough, “I like her already.”
Chibs elbowed him. “Shut it.”
Bobby tipped his head politely. “Ma’am, we wouldn’t want to impose—”
“You’re not,” Ellie cut in. “You’re his people, right?”
A beat.
Jax met her eyes.
Then nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “They are.”
She smiled. “Then get in here.”
Dinner was loud.
Louder than anything that house had seen in a long time.
Plates piled high, beer bottles clinking, voices overlapping. Ellie held her own at the head of the table, unfazed by the chaos, throwing back just as many smart remarks as she got.
“So,” she said, pointing her fork at Tig, “you always this dramatic, or is that just for special occasions?”
Tig grinned. “Only when I’m trying to impress a pretty woman.”
“Try harder,” she shot back, not missing a beat.
Juice nearly choked laughing. Happy smirked into his drink. Even Chibs let out a low chuckle.
Jax sat back in his chair, watching it all unfold.
Watching them fit—his old life and his new one colliding in a way he never thought could work.
And somehow…
It did.
Later, the sun dipped low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and gold.
Ellie stood, gathering plates. “Alright, y’all. Porch is that way if you need air. Jax, you’re on dish duty later.”
Jax huffed. “Yes, ma’am.”
She squeezed his shoulder as she passed, quiet but grounding.
Then it was just the men stepping out onto the porch.
Old ghosts meeting open sky.
They spread out across the wooden boards—leaning against rails, sitting on steps, beers in hand.
For a while, nobody said anything.
They didn’t have to.
Then Chibs broke the silence. “Nice place you got here, brother.”
Jax nodded. “It’s hers.”
“Yeah,” Opie said, glancing back toward the house. “She’s… good for you.”
Jax’s jaw tightened slightly. “Yeah. She is.”
Bobby leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “We didn’t come to drag you back.”
Jax looked at him, something cautious flickering in his eyes. “Then why are you here?”
Bobby met his gaze. “Because you’re family. And family checks in.”
A pause.
Then Bobby added, softer, “And because… we needed to see it for ourselves.”
“See what?” Jax asked.
“That you made it out,” Chibs said quietly.
The words settled heavy.
Opie nodded. “We all saw it, man. What that life was doing to you.”
Juice looked down at his hands. “It was eating you alive.”
Happy didn’t say anything—but the way he looked at Jax said enough.
Tig exhaled, unusually serious. “You were carrying too much.”
Bobby took a slow sip of his beer, then set it down. “I’m glad you left,” he said simply.
Jax blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah?”
Bobby nodded. “Yeah. Because we all saw how the club was eating you up inside.” He gestured toward the fields, the quiet, the life Jax had built. “This? This looks like a man who finally put that weight down.”
Silence stretched again—but it wasn’t heavy this time.
It was… understanding.
Jax swallowed, eyes drifting out over the land. “Wasn’t easy.”
“Wasn’t supposed to be,” Chibs said.
Opie stepped closer, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “But you did it.”
Jax let out a slow breath.
“Yeah,” he said. “I did.”
The screen door creaked open behind them.
Ellie stepped out, arms crossed loosely. “You boys gonna get all emotional out here, or can I join?”
Tig grinned. “Depends. You bring more beer?”
She held up a bottle. “Always.”
That earned a round of quiet laughter.
Jax reached for her as she stepped beside him, his hand settling at her waist without thinking.
Natural.
Easy.
Home.
She glanced up at him. “Everything okay?”
Jax looked at his brothers—then back at her.
For the first time in a long time…
There was no pull to leave.
“No,” he said, a small smile forming. “Everything’s right.”
And under the wide Texas sky, past and present finally sat side by side—without tearing him apart.
Texas stretched out around him in long, golden waves—fields bending under a late afternoon sun, a sky so wide it almost made him uneasy. He wasn’t used to space. He was used to chaos.
Used to blood.
Walking away hadn’t been clean. It never is. You don’t just leave that life behind without it clawing at your back. But he’d done it anyway—sold what he could, burned what he couldn’t, and rode until California was nothing but a memory in his mirrors.
That’s how he ended up on a dusty road outside a small town no one had heard of.
And that’s where he met her.
Her truck had broken down halfway across the road, hood popped, steam curling into the hot air. Jax almost kept riding. Old instincts told him not to get involved.
But something made him slow.
She was standing there, hands on her hips, sunburnt nose, boots planted like she owned the land under them. Blonde hair pulled into a messy braid, flannel tied around her waist.
She didn’t look helpless.
She looked… irritated.
Jax cut the engine. “Trouble?”
She glanced at him, eyes sharp but not unfriendly. “Depends. You know anything about engines, or you just like asking obvious questions?”
A ghost of a smirk pulled at his mouth. “I know enough.”
“Then congratulations,” she said, stepping aside. “You just volunteered.”
⸻
Her name was Ellie.
She owned a farm just outside town—land passed down through her family, stubbornly held onto while everything else around it modernized. Cattle, a few horses, crops she swore at more than she praised.
Jax fixed her truck.
She offered him a beer.
He stayed.
At first, it was practical. A place to lay low. A few days turned into a week. Then another.
He helped fix fences. She taught him how to handle the horses without getting kicked. They worked side by side in an easy rhythm—no questions he didn’t want to answer, no pressure to explain the shadows behind his eyes.
Ellie wasn’t naive. She saw the scars. The way he scanned every road, every stranger.
But she didn’t push.
And that… that was new.
“You’re not from around here,” she said one night, both of them sitting on her porch, boots up on the railing.
Jax huffed a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”
“City doesn’t sit on you right,” she replied. “You move like you’re waiting for something to go wrong.”
He stared out at the dark fields. Crickets chirping. Wind soft against the trees.
“Old habits.”
She took a sip of her drink. “You running from something?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Then, quietly, “Yeah.”
She nodded like that was enough. Like she didn’t need the details.
“Must be pretty bad,” she said. “For you to end up all the way out here.”
He glanced at her, something shifting in his chest. “Or maybe I finally got smart.”
That made her smile.
⸻
It crept up on him—the way she laughed, loud and unfiltered. The way she worked harder than anyone he’d ever known, hands rough but steady. The way she looked at him like she saw everything… and stayed anyway.
It wasn’t explosive.
It wasn’t reckless.
It was… steady.
And that scared him more than anything.
⸻
“You’re leaving,” Ellie said one morning.
It wasn’t a question.
Jax froze halfway through saddling one of the horses. “What makes you say that?”
She leaned against the fence, watching him. “Because men like you don’t stay.”
He swallowed hard. “You don’t know me that well.”
“Don’t need to,” she said softly. “I’ve seen that look before. Like you don’t think you deserve to stop running.”
That hit too close.
He set the saddle down, jaw tightening. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“No,” she agreed. “But I know what you do now.”
Silence stretched between them.
“You fix things,” she continued. “You show up. You don’t lie to me.” Her voice softened. “That counts for something.”
Jax looked at her—really looked.
At the dirt on her jeans. The stubborn set of her shoulders. The hope she wasn’t quite willing to admit.
“I don’t want to bring my past here,” he said quietly. “To you.”
Ellie stepped closer. “Then don’t.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Maybe not where you’re from,” she said. “But out here? You decide who you are.”
That night, Jax sat alone on the porch long after she went inside.
The old life called to him in the quiet. The chaos. The pull of it.
But for the first time…
It didn’t feel stronger than what he had right in front of him.
The next morning, Ellie found him in the barn, fixing a broken gate.
She leaned against the doorway. “Truck’s running fine, by the way.”
He nodded. “Good.”
“So,” she said, heart clearly on the line now, “you gonna disappear on me, or what?”
Jax wiped his hands on a rag, then walked toward her.
Slow. Certain.
“I’ve spent my whole life running toward the wrong things,” he said. “Figured… maybe it’s time I stay for the right one.”
Her breath caught. “And what’s that?”
He stopped in front of her, close enough to feel the heat of her skin.
“You,” he said simply.
For a second, she just stared at him—like she was making sure this was real.
Then she smiled.
And kissed him.
⸻
Months later, the bike still sat in the barn.
Dusty.
Unused.
Jax traded leather for worn flannel, long rides for early mornings, gunfire for the low hum of cattle and wind.
The ghosts didn’t disappear.
But they got quieter.
Because out there, under a Texas sky that never seemed to end…
Jax Teller finally found something worth staying for.
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