Daddy kink with Jax, him catching you waiting up for him after a late night with the club, wearing nothing but his shirt in the kitchen. Also can it be the first time you call him daddy and he’s absolutely intrigued.
Sitting Pretty.
unspoken desires can only stay unspoken for so long.
jax teller x female reader
warnings - smut. cursing. daddy kink. jax is somehow so degrading but so loving at the same time.
a/n - YEEEEEEEEEAH. murphy writing a daddy kink… who would’ve thought they’d see the day. anyway i’d call this man anything he wanted me to x
masterlist. inbox.
It’s a bad habit, the waiting up.
He tells you not to do it. Says honey, I don’t want to keep you awake. I’ll just come to bed when I get home in that gruff voice of his. He uses that persuasive tone, the one that makes you weak at the knees. I don’t know what time I’ll be back, baby. I don’t want to keep you up.
And yet, you do it anyway.
You occupy your time with tv shows, movies, books. Cleaning, tidying, cooking. Anything that’ll keep your mind from racing, wondering what Jax is doing, what the club are talking about, if they’re in trouble yet again.
But there’s none of that tonight. Tonight, you’re sat on the couch in nothing but a t shirt that belongs to your boyfriend, staring into empty space. All because you can’t stop thinking about something that happened this morning.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
The glass had slipped from your hand before you could stop it, shattering all over the clubhouse floor. A chorus of patronising but amused sounds echoed around you, coming from all of the guys sat at the table.
Jax jumps up from his seat immediately, standing up to see if you’re alright.
“Ooo, Daddy’s disappointed.”
The quip has come from Tig, to no one’s surprise. You look up from your knees to see that actually, Jax doesn’t look disappointed. There’s a sparkle in his eye that you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s mischief and curiosity and self satisfaction all at once.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It’s replayed in your head all day.
That damn look in his eye.
At first, you thought that maybe it was because you were on your knees on the ground. He’s been very vocal about how he will never, ever, get sick of the sight of you staring up at him.
But the more you think about it, the more there’s no denying that the twinkle in his eye appeared when Tig had called him Daddy. Or maybe you’re just convincing yourself to twist the situation to fit the fantasies that swirl around in your head day in, day out.
You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t hear the side door open, footsteps rumbling across your kitchen floor.
“Baby, what have I told you about waiting up?”
“Hey,” you breathe, always happy to see him. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Too busy daydreamin’,” he observes, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “Wish I could read your mind.”
“You don’t,” you laugh, securing your arms over his to squeeze him tight. “It’s not very interesting.”
He smells like gasoline and smoke, all musky and masculine. The scent of him drives you insane, like some sort of instant aphrodisiac designed just for you.
“Missed ya,” he whispers in your ear, pressing his body into yours. “Been thinking about you all day. Was secretly hoping you’d be sittin’ all pretty for me when I got back. And here you are, wearing nothing but my shirt, lookin’ like a goddamn angel.”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“What did I do to deserve a sweetheart like you, huh?”
You hum, leaning back into the firm warmth of him.
“Now tell me, my little daydreamer… what have you been thinking about?”
His hands migrate from your waist, skimming up your body so they’re massaging your tits.
“Just you,” you breathe. “Always you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He’s hot and heavy against your back, grinding his hips into your ass to relieve some of the friction that’s driving him insane.
One of his hands winds it way around your neck, squeezing ever so gently to make you even dizzier. His other hand is slipping under his shirt that you’re wearing to cup you over your panties, his middle finger swiping along the seam to feel how wet you are.
“You’re fuckin’ soakin’,” he groans, all deep and raspy. “Fuck, you’re nothing but a desperate whore after midnight. Sittin’ here, thinking about all the things you want me to do to you when I get home…”
You seem to have lost your words, rendered speechless as you buck your hips to try and get him where you want him.
“What d’ya want, baby? Tell me.”
“Fingers,” you choke. “Please.”
He whips your panties down your legs before you can even process it, kicking your ankles apart to give him better access. His fingers are dragging through your core in an instant, gathering your slick and sliding right in without any protest.
Jax curls his digits and buckles your knees as he does it, while you grip onto the countertop for dear life.
“Right there? Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Filthy girl. Filthy fuckin’ girl.”
All you can do is whine, panting for breath as he slides his fingers in and out, his pace utterly relentless.
“Oh, baby. Can you feel it dripping down your legs? Can you feel it soakin’ my hand? My favourite little whore. Just can’t think straight when I’m touchin’ you, can ya?”
He’s rasping the words right into your ear, his breath tickling your neck and giving you instant goosebumps.
“Jax.”
“Atta girl. Say my name, darlin’. Let everyone know who you belong to.”
You’re not sure if it’s the way he’s curling his fingers, or the honeyed words he’s rasping down your ear, or the fact that he’s claiming you as his so brazenly that it makes you dizzy, but it slips off your tongue before you can even think about stopping it.
“Daddy.”
His movements halt completely, both of you frozen in place. You figure if you don’t move a muscle or make a sound, he’ll carry on like nothing occurred in the first place.
That doesn’t happen.
Instead, Jax pulls you flush to his body, plastering you to his chest. One hand is still in between your legs, the other one tightening its grip around your throat. He’s panting like he’s run a marathon, body vibrating with animalistic need.
“Oh honey… what was that?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, smart girl.”
You shrug, which is the wrong move entirely.
“Nuh uh, you ain’t getting away that easy. Repeat yourself, baby. Tell me what you said.”
You’re still hesitating, reluctant to potentially embarrass yourself. Jax dips his head so his mouth his resting against your ear, teeth nipping at that spot on your neck he knows makes you weak.
“Spit. It. Out.”
“Daddy,” you breathe, somewhat relieved to not have to bottle it up anymore. “Fuck, daddy.”
“That’s my girl,” he purrs, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “That’s my fucking girl.”
His hand that was around your neck twists itself into your hair as his other hand pushes you firmly between your shoulder blades, bending you over the kitchen counter. He kicks your ankles apart, folding himself right over you.
“Daddy’s gonna fuck you now, pretty girl. Gonna fuck you until you can’t remember anyone’s name but mine.”
Both of you groan when he slides inside with no resistance. You grip the edge of the countertop for stability, knowing you’ll fly over it if you don’t hold on.
“Fuck, you feel like heaven. A filthy fucking angel.”
“Jax,” you choke. “You feel so good.”
He presses a gentle kiss to your head before setting a brutal pace with his hips, his pelvis slamming into your ass with every thrust. It takes everything in you to stay upright, knees buckling every time he pulls back and re enters.
“All mine,” he growls as he tugs your hair so your back arches. “Who do you belong to, hmm?”
“You,” you manage to squeak out. “You.”
“Hmm? Who?”
“You, Jax.”
“Say that again?”
“You, daddy. Fuck.”
“There it is. Perfect girl.”
He’s changed his angle ever so slightly to tilt his hips upwards, meaning he’s hitting exactly the right spot every time he slams into you. You’re dizzy with it, overwhelmed in the best way, gasping for air as your climax gets closer and closer.
“You wanna come? Yeah?”
All you can do is nod your head frantically, desperate for the release that’s been building up all day.
“Ask for it. Beg me like the whore you are.”
“Please,” you instantly start babbling. “Please, Jax. Want it, please.”
“So polite,” he laughs, tone dripping with condescension. “That’s not what I want to hear though, and you know it.”
You take a deep breath, willing yourself to think straight for one minute.
“Please let me come, daddy.”
That’s all he needs. He pulls his hand from your hair and slides it down your front, rubbing quick and firm circles on your clit to throw you over the edge. It does the trick instantly, your legs turning to jelly as your head tilts back and your back arches. Your orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave, uncontrollable and all consuming in the best way.
You’re squeezing him so tight that Jax can’t hold on any longer, coming inside you with a deep groan that rumbles through both of your bones.
All that can be heard is two sets of lungs heaving for air, both of you half collapsed on the cool wood of the countertop. Jax wraps his arms around you, cushioning the impact as he hooks his foot around your ankle to take you both down to the ground. You melt against him on the kitchen floor, revelling in the warmth of his body against the cold bite of the tiles. Your boyfriend presses a kiss to your hair, fingertips tracing absent minded patterns across any skin he can reach.
You’re not sure if you’ve been laying there for five minutes or an hour when Jax speaks.
“So how long have you been sitting on that one, huh?”
“Shut up,” you whine, burying your face in his chest.
“Nuh uh, daddy wants an answer,” he teases, squeezing you as tightly as he can.
“I hate you,” you laugh, trying to squirm out of his grip to no avail.
summary: The reader has her eighteen year old nephew living with her. One night, shit hits the fan, and she needs backup. Particularly a hot biker for backup
pairing: protective!Jax x Reader
word count: 3k
rating: 18+ ONLY. MDNI
warnings/tags: toxic household situation. Jax puts his hands on a punk teenager. Friends to lovers (kind of?). Underage drinking.
a/n: it’s been 84 years a few months, but I really needed this. Life is kicking my ass and what better way to make myself feel better than some scorched earth Jax teller? As always, like and reblog if you enjoyed. Missed you all.
main masterlist l jax masterlist
When your nephew moved in with you when he was thirteen years old, things were pretty normal. It was you and Brendan against the world. You did everything for him. You made sure that the fridge was always stocked with his favorite foods, and that his dresser and closet were filled with the best clothes. He was always appreciative. Until he turned eighteen.
The first time he slammed his fist into the wall, you tried to tell yourself it was just grief rearing its ugly head. He had been through a lot, so it was probably just an isolated incident.
The second time, you were angry, and tried to tell yourself once more that he was just working through the loss of his mother in the only way knew how. He was angry, and he had every right to be.
But now, after the third hole you were going to have to patch up as you stood frozen and afraid in the middle of the kitchen while Brendan paced back and forth in a rage that you couldn’t even begin to cool down, you realized - you were in over your head.
For the first time since he moved in with you, you were afraid of him. Not because of his rage, but because of the alcohol on his breath. Because of his inability to control that rage.
“I am so fucking sick of this!” He screamed at you as his fist slammed through the drywall, dust and paint chips flying back. You jumped, and you wondered what was going to happen in the next ten minutes. The fact that you may have had to call the cops worried you. Brendan was out of control, and there was only so much you could take.
“You don’t get to control me anymore,” Brendan snapped, pacing back and fourth through your kitchen now, his knuckles bruised and bleeding. You could smell the alcohol on his his breath as he huffed and puffed.
“I asked where you were!” you shot back, though your voice shook despite your best efforts. “Big fuckin’ deal!”
“I’m eighteen!” He retorted
“And you live in my house!” You shouted back. “My house isn’t a god damn hotel for you to come and go as you please!”
The air in your small kitchen felt suffocating, as if you were going to collapse right onto the cheap, linoleum floor. But you weren’t backing down from him, not this time. You had been more than understanding of his outbursts, and his tantrums. Now, you had enough.
Outside, a night, spring rain pitter-pattered against your windows, while a distant thunder hummed over Charming.
Brendan scoffed out his nose bitterly, completely unable to look at you. The rage coming off his aura was palpable, and your fear grew as he paced closer and closer to you.
“You act like you’re my mom.”
There it was. You had wondered how long it would take for him to hit you with that line. Inside, it felt like you had been stabbed right in the gut, but you didn’t dare let an ounce of pain register on your face.
“You’re right, I’m not,” you whispered. “Thank God for that.”
“Oh yeah?” His voice rose again. “You hover over every damn thing I do. You call me nonstop if I don’t answer my phone. You treat me like I’m some fucked up teenager who just can’t wait to destroy my own life.”
“I worry because I love you.”
“Yeah, well maybe I’m tired of you treating me like a child!”
“You’re drunk, Brendan!”
“So what?”
“So what?” you repeated incredulously. “Brendan, just because you’re eighteen years old doesn’t mean jack shit. You’re not an adult, no matter how much you think you are!”
He didn’t respond.
“God,” you scoffed, crossing your arms, as if you were the defiant one. “You’re just like your father.”
The second the words left your mouth, you regretted it. For a moment, you hoped and prayed that those words hadn’t left your mouth, but they did. Brendan stood before you, completely frozen. Then, his expression completely changed into something, someone you didn’t recognize. It was ugly. Terrifying.
“Fuck. You,” he snapped between his teeth.
Your eyes widened in shock. You’d never wanted to put your hands on anyone in your life, but now? Now, it took everything out of you to not wind up and slap him across the face. You couldn’t think of a single thing to say before he started speaking once more.
“You know what?” he started, the smirk on his face a mask - a terrifying, arrogant mask. “Maybe I should’ve stayed with my dad instead of living with such a controlling bitch.”
“Brendan,” you started, but you were quickly cut off again.
“No, seriously, y/n,” he said, taking a step closer, but not taking anymore. “You took me in, congratulations. You only did that so people can tell you what a great person you are. But guess what? You’re not.”
Your nephew towered over you now, his chest puffed out, breathing heavily with anger. The smell of alcohol on his breath made you want to throw up. You weren’t going to back down, but you were really starting to wonder if he wanted that hole in the drywall to be your face.
“Brendan,” you whispered shakily. “You need to back the fuck up.” But he didn’t, in fact, he inched closer to you.
“Scared of me now, huh?”
As you opened your mouth to respond, you could see your phone light up and buzz on the counter.
It was Jax, his name and a goofy photo of him illuminating your phone screen. You weren’t sure to be relieved, or scared. If you told Jax what was going on, the way he was going to react would be unpredictable at best.
You wondered how Jax did it. How he managed to know when you needed him.
Jax wasn’t your boyfriend, even though you really wanted him to be. Jax just wasn’t the dating type, so the two of you were just friends, and he was always just a phone call away.
When you saw his name on your screen, your heart instantly felt like it dropped into your stomach.
“Great,” Brendan scoffed. “The biker.”
You ignored him, shoving past him to grab your phone. You answered, still not breaking eye contact with your drunk nephew.
“Hey,” you said quietly.
Jax immediately knew something was wrong just by the tone of your voice.
“What’s wrong?” Your eyes started to swell with tears. You looked over to see Brendan, still seething with rage. Jax would without a doubt show up if you told him what was going on, and you were afraid how Brendan would react to the outlaw showing up at your door. “Now’s not a good time, Jax.”
“Sweetheart,” he said with concern in his voice.
You swallowed hard. “I gotta go,” but you didn’t hang up, you just slid your phone in your back pocket with shaky hands, hoping and praying Jax knew to not hang up. Hoping he would stay on the other line and listen to everything.
Brendan scoffed. “What,” he said, his face so filled with disdain and hatred for you, for everyone, for life. “didn’t wanna send your attack dog after me?”
“Stop.”
“What?” He scoffed again. “You know he’s a psycho, right?”
The two of you went back and forth in a heated battle of wills for about five minutes until the flash of headlights shone through your front windows. Brendan rolled his eyes in disbelief.
“No way,” he muttered.
A moment later, the front door swung open without a knock, and suddenly, there was Jax walking past the threshold to your living room where you now stood. Brendan stayed in the kitchen.
Jax looked like a reaper coming to collect a debt. The black hoodie loose underneath his leather kutte, his black reaper crew hat on backwards. The raindrops from outside clung to the leather on his shoulders, and you were reminded of all the times you told the stubborn son of a bitch to stop riding in the rain. Another conversation for another day.
Jackson's blue eyes were filled with fury. You’d seen that look before and it almost never ended well for whoever was on the receiving end.
The second his furious gaze landed on you, his expression softened.
“Baby.”
The word came rough and immediate, and shocking. He’d never called you baby before. And for a brief second, things felt like they were going to be okay. He scanned your face, checking for any bumps, bruises, cuts. You closed your eyes with exhaustion when his large and calloused hands cupped your face.
Jax scowled as he looked up and into the kitchen. The rage in his eyes was back, as if he could change his expression with the snap of a finger.
Brendan folded his arms defensively. “Seriously?”
Jax ignored him completely.
“You okay?” He asked you gently, before looking back over to your nephew.
“Nothin’ happened,” Brendan snapped.
“You think I’m a psychopath?” Jax said with a furious smirk. He must’ve been listening through the phone in your back pocket. “Funny, because the only one acting like a psychopath…” he said, his eyebrows raised in a questioning manner. “...is you,” he said through gritted teeth, his facial expression changing on cue again.
“I’m not a fuckin’ psychopath,” Brendan responded.
“You’re screaming in her face,” Jax started, slowly walking toward Brendan. “Punchin’ holes in the wall,” he said, pointing to the fresh hole in the wall. “Scarin’ the hell outta her.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “So yeah…yeah sounds like a psychopath to me.”
“I wasn’t gonna hurt her!”
“No,” Jax said, continuing to slowly, and smoothly walk toward the kitchen like a predator approaching its prey. “You just wanted to make her think you were going to hurt her…like a coward.”
Brendan stepped forward, puffing out his chest and trying to be eye level with Jax. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“You’re right,” Jax said softly. “I don’t know you.” Jax turned over his shoulder, his eyes flicking toward you. “But I do know her. And I know that she was scared shitless.”
“You threw shit around the house,” Jax continued sharply. “You got in her face. You screamed at her.” His jaw flexed. “What exactly did you think that looked like?”
Brendan's frustration was tangible. He was flustered, and probably a little scared of Jax.
“You don’t get it.”
“No,” Jax said quietly. “I probably do. Probably better than anyone.”
Brendan didn’t say anything.
“You think grief gives you permission to be an asshole?” he asked softly, practically whispering. “You think it gives you permission to make her feel like she’s unsafe in her own god damn home?”
The room went dead silent. You could hear Brendan panting with fear now. He looked upset, almost embarrassed. And he should have been. He should have been ashamed for what he had done. But still, he wasn’t going to back down.
“Like you don’t love the fact that everybody in Charming’s afraid of you,” your jaw dropped when he said that to Jax. “Fucking hypocrite.” Then, an audible gasp from your already open mouth.
Jax went completely still, and you were scared, now.
“You walk around acting like some outlaw king and everybody kisses your ass because they’re scared of you” His eyes narrowed. “I’m not though.”
“The difference,” he said quietly, “is that I don’t go around purposely scaring women. Especially the one that would do anything for me.” He said. “That…” Jax started again, “...that’s the difference between a boy and a man.
Brendan replied with a roll of the eyes.
“Dude,” he smirked. “Stop playing hero because you wanna sleep with her.”
“Brendan!” You shouted, hoping to calm the situation before things got out of hand. But it was too late. Jax moved like a leopard, immediately closing the distance between them. Jax rushed Brendan, pinning him to the nearest wall with a slam.
“Jax!” You gasped.
But Jax already had his forearm pressed against Brendan’s chest as he crouched down to be eye level with him. The scariest part was not the fact that he had him pinned to the wall. No, what scared you the most was how calm, and collected Jax was.
“You don’t talk about her like that,” Jax said, his voice calm and lethal. “Never again.”
Brendan was silent.
“You got grief? Fine. You got anger? Good,” Jax spit as he whispered between his teeth. “Take that anger, take that hatred, take all of that negative and put it to something useful.” He pushed just a little bit harder against Brendan’s chest. “But you do not ever dump all that pain onto her because she’s an easy target.”
You squeezed your eyes shut and tears fell down your cheeks as you watched your nephew get manhandled by the person you loved. Even though he deserved it, it still wasn’t easy to witness.
Brendan was still pinned between the wall and Jax when he looked past the broad, leather clad shoulder. He looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time all night.
“I…” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”
Jax held him there another second before finally letting go. Brendan stayed against the wall for a moment before stepping away and walking towards you. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
You forced a smile and a nod at him. “I know you didn’t hun.”
“I’m gonna go to Jake’s,” he muttered quietly, before putting his jacket on and heading out the door. Him leaving was probably for the best. Space was needed. But, he turned towards you one last time before leaving. “I really am sorry.”
The front door shut behind him and silence flooded your house once more. You felt your adrenaline wear off almost immediately and as you felt yourself get weak in the knees, Jax caught you before you could even stumble.
“Hey,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest. The warmth of him hit all at once and the smell of leather, rain and cigarette smoke filled your nose. Your fingers twisted into the front of his hoodie automatically while you tried to catch your breath.
“I got you,” he said softly, one hand sliding into your hair.
That almost undid you completely. Jax was your person, your protector. And having him there saved you in more ways than one.
“I hate this,” you whispered.
“I know, baby.”
You buried your face against his chest, exhausted and overwhelmed and suddenly far too aware of the way his hand kept smoothing slowly up and down your spine like he couldn’t stop touching you now that he had a reason too.
Jax hooked a finger under your chin, tilting it up and forcing your eyes to meet his.
“Did you leave me on the phone on purpose?” he asked quietly.
Despite everything, a breathy laugh escaped your lips. “Maybe.”
“There she is,” Jax murmured softly.
The look in his eyes ruined you. The affection. The protection. The feeling of those butterflies in your stomach. It was all too much.
“I’m glad you came,” you whispered.
“Always will,” he responded simply.
Jax lifted your chin again as he noticed you breathing sporadically, but it was silent. Just you and him, staring into each other's eyes. It was clear that there was something between you, but it was just a matter of who was going to admit it first.
The rain was still hitting the window, and you saw another flash of lightning fill the room. And suddenly, you and Jax were chest to chest. You could hardly breathe, or think.
“It’s weird…” Jax murmured softly.
“What is?”
“Even though it was a shitty situation,” Jax started. “I’m kinda glad I called..”
You didn’t know what to say to him, so you didn’t say anything at all.
“Like bein’ the one you needed.”
You nuzzled in closer to him. “I always need you, Jax.” He couldn’t see your face, but you opened your eyes wide, shocked at the admission you just made to him. But quickly, his hand slid around the back of your neck. You groaned quietly and went limp in his arms.
“Careful, darlin’,” he said quietly.
“Why?”
“Because I’m tryin’ real hard to be a gentleman right now.”
“Maybe you should stop trying.”
Jax broke instantly. His mouth crashed against yours, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. He kissed you warmly, and desperately. As if the tension that had been building between the two of you over the years had finally snapped.
One hand tangled into your hair while the other pulled you flush against his chest, and suddenly you could feel everything. You could feel the strength in his arms, his chest moving in and out with each breath, and the way he kissed you like he’d been wanting to do this for far too long.
You gasped softly against his mouth, fingers clutching at the front of his hoodie while Jax kissed you deeper with a rough sound low in his throat.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered against your lips before kissing you again. Only now, the kiss was softer, gentler, but somehow with more intensity than before.
Jax broke the kiss, his thumb brushing your cheek while he gazed into your eyes. He couldn’t stop touching you. He certainly couldn’t stop kissing you, and that much was true when he leaned down to kiss you again, your tongues dancing together in perfect harmony.
When Jax finally pulled back once more, both of you were breathing heavily. He rested his forehead against yours, closing your eyes for just a moment. And then, he opened his eyes to look at you again.
“Nobody gets to make you feel unsafe,” he said quietly. “As long as you got me baby, you know you will always be safe.” He ran his rough hand down your back again. “Got it?”
And you nodded in response, wrapped up in his arms while thunder rolled outside and rain tapped against the windows. You believed him completely. You trusted him completely.
synopsis; jax spent years convincing himself he moved on. Then you walked back into the clubhouse, and every lie he'd told himself came crashing down. Now caught between the life he built and the woman he never stopped wanting, he must decide what—and who—he's willing to fight for.
tw/cw; Mature themes, Strong language, Canon-typical Sons of Anarchy violence, Criminal activity, Jealousy, Relationship conflict, Emotional angst, Possessive behavior, Love triangle elements, Second-chance romance, Infidelity.
rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 10,600
aus; exes to lovers, second chance romance, old flames, childhood best friends, returning home...
a/n; sorry this took took longer than I expected, I couldn't get my brain into beta reader mode and edit the final version but here it is and I hope you all like it!
You stand in the parking lot for a moment, taking it in. The bikes lined up like soldiers, the worn wooden exterior, the SAMCRO banner hanging proudly above the entrance. It's like stepping into a time capsule, except you're not seventeen anymore, and the world has kept spinning without you.
Your heart hammers in your chest as you push open the door.
This is a mistake, you think, even as your feet carry you forward. You should've stayed away. You should've built your new life back in Charming without looking back at the old one.
But you've never been good at staying away from the things that could hurt you.
The noise hits you first, the sounds of laughter, the crack of pool balls, classic rock bleeding from the jukebox. Then the smell: leather, motor oil, cigarette smoke, and beer. It's intoxicating in its familiarity, and for a moment, you're frozen in the doorway, overwhelmed by the weight of memory.
How many nights did you spend here as a teenager? How many times did Jax sneak you in through the back door, his hand warm in yours, his smile promising trouble?
"Holy shite."
The voice comes from Chibs, who's standing by the bar with a beer halfway to his lips. His eyes go wide, and then his face splits into a grin that could light up the whole damn room.
"Lads! You're not gonna believe this!"
Heads turn as conversations quickly die out, and then it's chaos.
"No fuckin' way!" Tig practically vaults over the couch, his arms open wide as he barrels toward you, still as overly touchy as you remember and just as crazy looking. "Look who came back to Charming!"
You laugh as he sweeps you into a hug that lifts you off your feet, spinning you around like you weigh nothing. "Tig, Jesus... put me down!"
"Not a chance, sweetheart. We gotta make sure you're real."
"She's real, you idiot," Opie deadpans from his spot at the poker table, but even he's smiling. A rare, genuine smile that makes your chest tighten, past memories of you, him, and Jax getting up to no good.
Chibs is next, pulling you into a hug that smells like whiskey and Old Spice. "Missed ye, lass. Charming hasn't been the same without ye."
"Missed you too, Chibs."
Juice appears at your elbow, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. "Dude, you look amazing. When did you get back?"
"Just a few days ago," you tell them, your voice a little breathless from all the attention. "I'm still unpacking, but I thought I'd stop by and—"
"And grace us with your presence," a familiar voice cuts in, smooth and warm and unmistakably Gemma.
You turn, and there she is, Gemma Teller Morrow in all her glory, striding toward you with her arms outstretched and a smile that could melt steel. She's wearing her usual tight jeans, a low-cut top, and enough jewelry to fund a small country, and she looks every bit the queen she's always been.
"Come here, baby," she says, pulling you into a hug that smells like expensive perfume and cigarettes. She holds you at arm's length, her dark eyes scanning you from head to toe. "Look at you. Jesus Christ, you're gorgeous. Isn't she gorgeous?"
The question is directed at the room, but her gaze flicks pointedly toward the corner where Tara Knowles is standing, a glass of wine in her hand and a tight smile on her face.
"Absolutely stunning," Gemma continues, her voice dripping with approval. "I always told Jax you'd grow up to be a knockout, and look at you now. I was right."
Tara's smile doesn't reach her eyes.
You feel the tension immediately, but before you can say anything, Gemma's arm is around your shoulders, steering you toward the bar. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you a drink. You're family, and family doesn't stand around like strangers."
Family. The word lands heavy, deliberate. You catch the way Tara's jaw tightens, the way her fingers grip her wine glass just a little too hard.
You shouldn't be here, the voice in your head whispers. You're walking into something messy, something that's going to hurt people.
But then you see him.
Jax.
He's standing near the pool table, a cue stick in one hand, and he's staring at you like he's seen a ghost. His blue eyes are wide, his lips parted slightly, and for a moment, the entire room fades away. It's just you, him, and the weight of everything left behind.
He looks good, too good. The years have been kind to him—his jawline sharper, his shoulders broader, his hair still that perfect shade of golden blonde that used to drive you crazy. He's wearing his kutte, jeans that hang low on his hips, and a white shirt that clings to his chest in all the right ways.
Your mouth goes dry.
This was a mistake. This was absolutely a mistake.
But you can't look away.
"Jax," Gemma calls, her voice cutting through the moment like a knife. "You gonna say hi, or are you just gonna stand there with your mouth open?"
That snaps him out of it, and he sets the cue stick down, his movements slow and deliberate, and then he's walking toward you. Every step feels like an eternity, and you're acutely aware of every pair of eyes in the room watching this unfold.
"Hey," he mumbles when he finally reaches you, and his voice is rougher than you remember, deeper. It sends a shiver down your spine, you remember the way it used to sound in breaths next to your ear.
"Hey," you reply, and you hate how breathless you sound.
His eyes roam over you, taking in every detail, from your hair, your face, the way your jeans hug your hips, to the curve of your neck. It's not subtle, it's hungry.
"You're back," he says, and there's something in his voice that sounds like disbelief, maybe hope?
"I'm back," you confirm, and you can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips.
Gemma claps her hands together, breaking the moment. "Alright, enough staring. Let's get this girl a drink and catch up properly. Tig, move your ass. Chibs, grab her a beer. Juice, stop looking like a lovesick puppy."
The guys laugh, the tension breaking as they scramble to follow Gemma's orders. You're swept up in the chaos, pulled into conversations, hugs, and stories that make you laugh until your sides hurt.
But the whole time, you feel Jax's eyes on you, and across the room, Tara watches.
The night wears on, and the clubhouse fills with noise and laughter. Piney shows up and nearly crushes you in a bear hug, telling you how good it is to see you. Bobby gives you a kiss on the cheek and jokes that you're still too good for this place. Even Clay makes an appearance, gruff as ever but with a nod of approval that feels like a blessing.
Gemma holds court at the bar, regaling everyone with stories about you and Jax as teenagers. "You should've seen these two," she grins, her voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. "Thick as thieves. Couldn't keep 'em apart if you tried."
"Remember that time they got caught sneaking into the high school pool at midnight?" Tig chimes in, grinning. "Cops showed up, and Jax tried to play it cool, but this one—" he points at you, "she jumped the fence in her bra and panties and ran like hell."
The room erupts in laughter, and you bury your face in your hands, groaning. "Oh my God, I forgot about that."
"I didn't," Jax admits and when you look up, he's smiling, like really smiling. The kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat.
Gemma leans in, her voice dropping just enough to be pointed. "They were perfect together. Everyone knew it. Some things are just meant to be, you know?"
Her eyes flick to Tara, who's standing near the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable; she hasn't said a word the whole time you were here.
You shift uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like a pawn in a game you didn't sign up for. "Gemma-"
"What? I'm just saying." She shrugs, all innocence, but there's a glint in her eye that says she knows exactly what she's doing. "If your parents hadn't left Charming and taken you with them, who knows where you and Jax would be right now. Given me some grandbabies-"
The air in the room feels too thick, too warm. You need a moment to breathe, to think, to process the fact that you're back in Charming and everything is exactly the same and completely different all at once.
"I'm gonna get some air," you say, setting your beer down and heading for the door.
No one stops you as they all awkwardly look at each other, sipping their drinks.
The night air is cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the heat of the clubhouse. You lean against the wall, tilting your head back and closing your eyes, letting the sounds of the night wash over you—crickets, distant traffic, the low hum of music from inside.
"You really came back."
You don't have to open your eyes to know it's Jax. His voice is soft, almost disbelieving, and when you look at him, he's leaning against the wall beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," he continues, his gaze fixed on you like you're the only thing in the world that matters.
"I didn't think I'd be back either," you admit, your heart pounding. "But here I am."
He steps closer, and the air between you shifts, charged with something electric. His hand grazes yours, and the touch sends a jolt through you, waking up parts of you that have been dormant for years.
"You look…" He trails off, shaking his head like he can't find the words. "Fuck, you look good. More than good. You're fuckin' gorgeous."
Your breath catches at his tone. He's so close now that his body heat is radiating against you, and you can see the desire in his eyes. It's the same desire you feel echoing in your chest.
"You're not so bad yourself, Teller," your voice teasing, but there's an edge to it like a vulnerability you can't quite hide.
He chuckles, low and deep, and the sound vibrates through you. "You have no idea what you're still doing to me," he murmurs, his hand settling on your waist, pulling you closer.
The world narrows to this, his hand on your waist and his eyes locked on yours, the way his thumb brushes against your hip in slow, deliberate circles. You should step back and remind him that he's with Tara, that this is messy, complicated, and wrong.
But you don't, you can't.
"Jax…" you start, but the words die in your throat when he leans in, his forehead resting against yours.
"I missed you," he whispers, and the rawness in his voice nearly breaks you. "Every fuckin' day, I missed you."
You close your eyes, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat beneath your palms, fast and erratic, matching your own.
"I missed you too," you tell him, and it feels like a confession, like opening a door you've kept locked for years.
For a moment, you just stand there, breathing each other in, the world fading away. And then you hear it, a door opening and then footsteps on gravel.
You pull back, and when you look across the lot, Tara is standing there, her expression unreadable but her posture tense. She knows. She's always known. Jax was never entirely hers, not in the way he was yours.
Jax doesn't move. His hand is still on your waist, his body still angled toward you, and when you glance at him, you see it—the conflict in his eyes, the yearning, the inevitability of what's happening between you.
"Jax," Tara calls, her voice tight.
He doesn't answer right away. His gaze stays locked on you, his fingers tensing on your waist like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.
"I should go," you say softly, even though every part of you wants to stay.
"Don't," he pleads, and the desperation in his voice nearly undoes you. Those blue eyes that haven't changed a bit except for the grief that wasn't there before.
But you step back, putting space between you, and the loss of his touch feels like a physical ache.
"Goodnight, Jax," you whisper softly, and then you're walking away, your heart pounding and mind racing.
Behind you, you hear Tara's voice, sharp and accusing; you know she's worried, and she has every reason to be.
Because tonight, Jax wasn't hers. Not entirely. Not when his fingers had tightened on your waist after hearing her voice, and you knew this was only the beginning.
Three days.
It's been three days since you walked into the clubhouse, three days since Jax's hand was on your waist, three days since you felt the weight of his gaze following you across the parking lot.
Three days of unpacking boxes, arranging furniture, and pretending you're not thinking about him every single second.
You're in your apartment, surrounded by the chaos of moving half-empty boxes, clothes draped over chairs, books stacked on the floor. You've been trying to make this place feel like home, but it's hard when your mind keeps drifting back to blue eyes and a voice that makes your knees weak.
The knock on the door makes you jump.
You're not expecting anyone. For a moment, you consider ignoring it, but then it comes again, three sharp, impatient raps that echo through the small space.
When you open the door, Jax is standing there wearing jeans and a plain black t-shirt, his kutte absent for once, and his hair is slightly messy like he's been running his hands through it. His eyes are dark, intense, and when they lock on yours, you feel your breath catch.
"Jax," you whisper, and you hate how his name sounds on your lips, all breathless and wanting. "What are you doing here?"
"I needed to see you," he states, his voice rough. He steps forward, and you instinctively step back, letting him into your apartment. He closes the door behind him, and suddenly the space feels too small, too intimate.
"How did you even know where I live?"
"Gemma," he explains simply, and of course. Obviously, Gemma would tell him it's easy to see where she lies in all of this. Her pointed words and knowing looks toward Tara.
You cross your arms over your chest, trying to create some kind of barrier between you and him, "You shouldn't be here."
"I know," he says, but he doesn't move to leave. Instead, he takes another step closer, and you can smell him, the same leather, soap, and something uniquely Jax that makes your head spin. "I tried to stay away. I really fuckin' tried."
"Jax-"
"I can't stop thinking about you," the words come out in a rush, like he's been holding them in for too long. "Since the moment you walked back into that clubhouse, I can't think about anything else. You're all I see. You're all I want."
Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can hear it. "You're with Tara."
"I know," he expresses, and there's pain in his voice, conflict. "I know I am. But it doesn't change how I feel about you. It never has."
He's so close now, close enough that you can see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens like he's fighting some internal battle.
"This is wrong," you whisper, but even as you say it, you're leaning toward him, drawn by some invisible force you can't resist.
"I don't care," he declares, and then his hand is cupping your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "Tell me you don't feel this. Tell me I'm crazy, and I'll walk out that door right now."
You should tell him exactly that. You should push him away, remind him of Tara, and protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak.
But you can't.
"I feel it," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "God, Jax, I feel it, I never stopped."
That's all the permission he needs.
He closes the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that's desperate and hungry and years in the making. You gasp against his mouth, and he takes advantage, his tongue sliding against yours as his other hand tangles in your hair.
It's not gentle. It's not sweet. It's raw and needy and everything you've been denying yourself for three days.
Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. His body presses against yours, backing you up until you hit the wall, and then his hands are everywhere—your waist, your hips, sliding up your sides.
"Fuck," he breathes against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark with desire, his breathing ragged. "I've wanted to do that since the moment I saw you again."
"Jax," you whisper, and you're not sure if it's a plea or a prayer.
He kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense. His lips move against yours like he's memorizing the taste of you, the feel of you, and you melt into him, your body fitting against his like it was made to be there.
His hand slides under your shirt, his palm warm against your skin, and that's when reality crashes back in.
"Wait," you gasp, pulling back. "Wait, we can't—"
"Why not?" His voice is rough, his forehead resting against yours.
"Because you're with Tara," you say, and saying her name out loud feels like a bucket of cold water. "Because this is wrong. Because I can't be the other woman, Jax. I can't."
"You're not the other woman," he says fiercely, his hands framing your face. "You've never been the other woman. She's—"
"She's your girlfriend," you interrupt, stepping out of his embrace. The loss of his touch feels like a physical ache, but you force yourself to put distance between you. "She's your girlfriend, and I'm not going to be the reason you cheat on her."
"I don't want her," he says, and there's desperation in his voice now. "I want you. It's always been you."
"If you really want me, if this is real, then end it with her first. But I can't do this, Jax. I can't be with you while you're with someone else." Your voice cracks on the words, and as much as you want to say 'fuck it' and lead him to your bed like all those years ago as fumbling teens, you can't.
He stares at you, conflict written all over his face, and for a moment, you think he's going to argue. But then his shoulders slump, and he runs a hand through his hair.
"Fuck," he mutters, and the word is heavy with frustration.
"You need to go," you say softly, even though every part of you is screaming at you to take it back, to pull him close and damn the consequences.
"I don't want to go," he states, his eyes locked on yours.
"I know," you whisper. "But you have to."
For a long moment, he just looks at you, and you can see the war raging behind his eyes. Then, finally, he nods.
He crosses to the door, his hand on the knob, but he pauses before opening it. "This isn't over," he says, looking back at you. "You and me, this isn't over. It was never over."
"Jax-" you breathe, voice pleading.
"I'm gonna fix this," he tells you, voice firm. "I'm gonna make this right. And then I'm coming back for you."
Before you can respond, he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
You slide down the wall, your legs giving out, and you bury your face in your hands. You can still taste him on your lips, still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin.
What the hell have you done?
The universe, you decide, has a sick sense of humor because over the next three days, you run into Jax everywhere.
Day One: The Grocery Store
You're in the cereal aisle, debating between two brands, when you feel that prickle of awareness that tells you you're being watched. You turn, and there he is, leaning against his shopping cart at the end of the aisle, a small smile playing at his lips.
"Stalking me, Teller?" you call out, trying to keep your voice light even though your heart is racing.
"Just shopping," he shrugs, pushing his cart toward you. "Didn't know you'd be here."
"Liar," you say, but you're smiling despite yourself.
He stops beside you, close enough that you can smell his cologne, and peers into your cart. "Frozen dinners and wine. That's sad, babe."
"I'm still settling in," you defend, even though he's right. You haven't had the energy to cook real meals.
"Let me cook for you. As friends," he adds quickly, and the offer is so casual, so domestic, that it makes your chest ache. Though the look in his eyes says there's nothing friendly about what he's feeling. "Just… let me take care of you. Please."
You should say no. You should maintain your boundaries and keep your distance until he sorts out his situation with Tara.
"Okay," you hear yourself say instead.
His smile is blinding, and your stomach tightens remembering that same excited smile from when he'd see you sneaking out to his bike after midnight. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," you confirm, and you're rewarded with a look of such pure happiness that it makes your knees weak.
His hand brushes yours as he reaches past you for a box of cereal, and the touch sends electricity shooting up your arm. His eyes darken, and you know he felt it too.
"Saturday night," he says, his voice low. "I'll bring everything. You just have to show up."
"It's my apartment, Jax. I kind of have to show up."
He grins, nudging you as if he'd missed your brand of brattiness. "Smart ass."
You watch him walk away, and you can't help but notice the way his jeans hug his ass, the confident swagger in his step. When he reaches the end of the aisle, he looks back, catching you staring, and his grin turns wicked.
You're in so much trouble.
Day Two: The Gas Station
You're pumping gas, lost in thought, when a motorcycle rumbles up to the pump across from you. You don't have to look to know it's him; you'd recognize the sound of his bike anywhere.
"We've gotta stop meeting like this," Jax grins, pulling off his helmet and running a hand through his hair.
"You're the one who keeps showing up wherever I am," you point out, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at the sight of him.
"Charming's a small town," he says with a shrug, but there's mischief in his eyes.
He starts pumping his gas, and for a moment, you both just stand there in comfortable silence. But then he speaks again, his voice softer.
"I've been thinking about that kiss."
Your breath catches as your eyes widen as you look around in case anyone's listening. "Jax. We can't just-"
"Can't help it," he admits, his eyes locked on yours across the pumps. "I close my eyes, and I'm right back there, with you against that wall, your hands in my hair…"
"Stop," you whine, but there's no force behind it.
"Tell me you haven't been thinking about it too," he challenges, and you almost think he's going to grab you and kiss you right here.
You can't because you have been thinking about it constantly, obsessively, to the point where you can barely sleep, and when you do sleep, you dream of him...
"That's what I thought," he states smugly with satisfaction in his voice.
Your pump clicks off, and you busy yourself with replacing the nozzle, needing something to do with your hands. When you turn back, Jax is right there, having crossed the space between the pumps.
"I'm working on it," he comments quietly, and you know exactly what he means. "The thing with Tara. I'm working on it."
"Okay," you nod slowly, because what else can you say?
His hand comes up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and the gesture is so tender it makes your throat tight. "I meant what I said. I'm coming back for you."
Then he's gone, swinging his leg over his bike and roaring off into the afternoon, leaving you standing there with your heart in your throat.
Day Three: Main Street
You're walking out of the hardware store, carrying a bag of supplies for your apartment, when you literally collide with someone.
Strong hands grip your arms, steadying you, and you look up into familiar blue eyes.
"Jesus, we really need to stop meeting like this," you state, echoing his words from yesterday.
"I'm starting to think fate's trying to tell us something," Jax says, and he hasn't let go of your arms yet.
You're standing in the middle of the sidewalk, people flowing around you, but it feels like you're in a bubble, just you and him and the electric current running between you.
"How's the apartment coming?" he asks, nodding to your bag.
"Slowly," you admit. "Turns out I'm not very handy."
"I could help," he offers immediately. "I'm good with my hands. You remember that, right?"
The innuendo is clear, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. "Jax."
"What?" He grins, all innocence. "I meant fixing things. What did you think I meant?"
"You're impossible."
"You love it," he says, and the word love hangs between you, heavy with meaning.
His thumb is stroking your arm through your shirt, a small, unconscious gesture that's driving you crazy. You should step back and put some distance between you, but you can't seem to make yourself move.
"Dinner's still on for tonight, right?" he asks.
"You're really going to cook for me? I didn't know you could cook. Last I remember, you and Ope used to microwave hot dogs from the garage and call it gourmet."
"I'm a changed man. I know how to cook... now, and if you're lucky, I won't even burn it," he teases, flashing those charmingly pearly whites. "Seven o'clock?"
"Seven o'clock," you confirm.
He leans in, and once again, for a heart-stopping moment, you think he's going to kiss you right there. But instead, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "Can't wait."
Then he's stepping back, his hands sliding away from your arms, and you immediately miss his touch.
"See you tonight, darlin'," he smirks knowingly, and then he's walking away, leaving you standing there trying to remember how to breathe.
That night, you change your outfit three times before he arrives. Too bold, too casual, too... 'this might lead to sex if we're not careful'. So you settle on a simple dress.
When the knock comes at seven on the dot, you take a deep breath and open the door.
Jax is standing there with two bags of groceries, wearing jeans and a grey henley that makes his eyes look impossibly blue. His hair is slightly damp, like he just showered, and he smells incredible.
"Hey," he greets as his eyes roam over you appreciatively. "You look beautiful."
"You brought a lot of food," you say, trying to deflect from the compliment.
"I'm making my mom's pot roast recipe," he says, stepping inside. "It's kind of involved."
You follow him to your small kitchen, watching as he starts unpacking ingredients. There's something surreal about having Jax Teller in your kitchen, domestic and comfortable, like this is something you do all the time.
"Can I help?" you offer, standing behind him a little awkwardly, not knowing what to do with yourself.
"You can keep me company," he tells you, shooting a smile over his shoulder. "And maybe open that wine I brought."
You do, pouring two glasses and settling onto a barstool to watch him work. He moves around your kitchen with surprising confidence, chopping vegetables and seasoning meat. You find yourself mesmerized by his hands—the way they handle the knife, the sureness of his movements.
"You're staring," he says without looking up, but you can hear the smile in his voice.
"You're in my kitchen," you counter. "I'm allowed to stare. I'm also still in shock that you can cook, and it's not dollar store ramen with little hot dogs in it."
He glances at you then, and the heat in his eyes makes your stomach flip. "Stare all you want, darlin'."
As he cooks, you talk—about everything and nothing. He tells you about the club, about the garage, about his boys. You tell him about where you've been, what you've been doing, carefully skirting around the question of why you came back.
But eventually, he asks.
"Why did you come back?" He's standing at the stove, stirring something, but his eyes are on you. "To Charming, I mean. After all this time."
You take a sip of wine, considering your answer. "I don't know," you express finally. "Maybe I was running from something. Or maybe I was running toward something."
"Toward what?"
You meet his eyes. "I'm still figuring that out."
He holds your gaze for a long moment, and you can see the question in his eyes.
Was it me? Did you come back for me?
But he doesn't ask, and you don't answer.
Dinner is incredible—the pot roast tender and flavorful, the vegetables perfectly cooked. You eat at your small table, knees bumping underneath, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Finally, you reach across the table, covering his hand with yours. "Thank you for this. For cooking for me."
He turns his hand over, lacing his fingers with yours. "Thank you for letting me."
The moment stretches between you, charged and intimate, and then his thumb is stroking across your knuckles, and you're leaning forward, and he's leaning forward, and-
Your phone buzzes on the table, shattering the moment.
You pull back, grabbing it, and your stomach drops when you see the name on the screen.
Gemma.
"It's your mom, I should-" you start, but Jax nods, not a look of disappointment on his face as much as knowing.
"Answer it."
You do, and Gemma's voice fills your ear, warm and commanding. "Hey, baby, I'm just calling to check on you. You settling in okay?"
"Yeah, Gemma. Everything's good." You don't tell her that her son is sitting at your table after having cooked you the best meal you've had for a long time.
"Good, good. Listen, we're having another family dinner at the clubhouse this weekend. You better be there."
You glance at Jax, who's watching you with an unreadable expression. "I'll be there," you promise as you watch him to see if he gives anything away.
"Perfect. And honey? Don't be a stranger. You're still family. If you need anything, we can send a prospect around," Gemma states, and you realize this is more than just coming home, this is family, this is the club.
When you hang up, Jax is smiling softly. "She really has adopted you again, hasn't she?"
"Apparently," you muse, putting the phone down, you'd always gotten on well with Gemma, even when you were a teenager getting caught by police on the back of Jax's bike at 3am. "Is that going to be a problem?"
"No," he states, and there's something fierce in his voice. "It's not a problem at all."
After dinner, he helps you clean up, and the domesticity of it—washing dishes side by side, his arm brushing yours—feels almost more intimate than the kiss you shared days ago.
When everything is clean and put away, you both linger in the kitchen, neither wanting the night to end.
"I should go," Jax whispers finally, but he doesn't move. Almost like if you'd asked him to stay, he would have.
"Yeah," you agree, but you don't move either.
He steps closer, his hand coming up to cup your face. "I'm working on it," he tells you again. "I promise."
"I know," you whisper.
He leans in, and this time his lips brush against your forehead, a gesture so tender it makes your chest ache. "Goodnight, darlin'."
"Goodnight, Jax."
After he leaves, you lean against the closed door, your heart full and aching at the same time.
This is dangerous, you think. This is so dangerous.
But you can't seem to stop.
You tell yourself you're not going back to the clubhouse.
You spend the day of Gemma's dinner trying to convince yourself to text her with an excuse—you're not feeling well, you have plans, anything to avoid the inevitable tension of being in the same room as Jax and Tara.
But by the time the sun sets, you're pulling on your favorite jeans and touching up your makeup, because you've never been good at denying Gemma Teller anything.
The clubhouse is already buzzing when you arrive. The guys are gathered around the bar, beers in hand, and the smell of grilled meat wafts from the kitchen. Gemma spots you immediately, her face lighting up like you're the prodigal daughter returned.
"There she is!" she announces, loud enough for everyone to hear. She pulls you into a hug, then holds you at arm's length, her eyes scanning you approvingly. "Look at you. Stunning, as always."
"Thanks, Gemma," you say, smiling despite yourself.
"Come on, baby. Sit with me." She loops her arm through yours and guides you to the bar, where she's already claimed two stools. "You're family, and family sits at the head of the table."
The pointed emphasis on family isn't lost on anyone, least of all Tara, who's sitting at a table in the corner with Jax. Her jaw tightens, and she takes a long sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving you.
Jax, for his part, looks like he's been hit by a truck. His gaze locks on you the moment you walk in, and it doesn't waver. He's wearing a black t-shirt that clings to his chest, his kutte draped over the back of his chair, and his hair is slightly messy.
The way he's looking at you like you're the only person in the room, like Tara doesn't even exist, makes your stomach flip.
"Alright, everyone, listen up!" Gemma calls, clapping her hands together. "We've got our girl back, and I think that calls for a celebration. Let's hear some stories. Tig, you start."
You let out a whiny groan, knowing this could be bad.
Tig grins, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, I got a good one. Remember that time these two-" he gestures to you and Jax, "decided to 'borrow' Clay's bike and take it for a joyride?"
You groan, burying your face in your hands. "Oh God, not this story. I blame Jax-"
"Yes, this story," Tig insists, his grin widening. "They made it about ten miles before the engine started smoking. Clay was pissed. But this one-" he points at you, "she looked him dead in the eye and said, 'At least we didn't crash it.'"
The room erupts in laughter, and even you can't help but smile at the memory.
"She had balls," Chibs states, raising his beer in a toast. "Still does, I reckon."
"Damn right," Gemma agrees, her eyes gleaming. "She's always been a firecracker. Jax knew how to pick 'em back then."
The comment hangs in the air, heavy and deliberate. Tara shifts in her seat, her expression tight.
"What about the cop story?" Juice pipes up, grinning. "That one's legendary."
"Oh, Jesus," you mutter, but you're laughing now, the memories flooding back.
"Alright, alright," Jax speaks for the first time since you arrived. His voice is low and warm, and it sends a shiver down your spine. "I'll tell it."
He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and his eyes find yours across the room. "We were seventeen. I'd just gotten my bike, and we were cruising around town, being stupid kids. Cop pulled us over for a busted taillight, and he was being a dick about it, threatening to impound the bike."
"And then?" Juice prompts, even though everyone in the room already knows the story.
Jax's lips curve into a slow, wicked smile. "And then this princess..." he nods toward you, "she gets off the bike, walks up to the cop, and lifts her shirt."
The room explodes with laughter and wolf whistles, and you cover your face, laughing so hard your sides hurt.
"She flashed him," Jax continues, his voice full of admiration. "Just like that. Cop didn't know what the fuck to do. He stammered something about a warning and let us go."
"Best distraction he's probably ever seen," Tig cackles, wiping tears from his eyes.
Gemma leans in, her voice dropping just enough to be pointed. "See, that's what I'm talking about. They were chaos together, but they worked. Some people are just meant to be, you know?"
Her gaze flicks to Tara, who's staring down at her wine glass, her knuckles white.
You feel a pang of guilt, but before you can say anything, Gemma's already moving on, launching into another story about the time you and Jax got caught sneaking into a drive-in movie.
The night wears on, and the stories keep coming. Bobby tells the one about you beating Tig at pool and winning fifty bucks. Opie reminisces about the time you helped them fix a bike when you were sixteen, your hands covered in grease and a smile on your face. Even Clay contributes, mentioning how you once punched a guy who was hassling you before Jax stepped in.
"She's always been one of us," Chibs nods, raising his beer. "Welcome home, lass."
"Welcome home," the others echo, and the warmth in their voices makes your chest tight.
But every time you glance at Jax, he's already looking at you, and the heat in his eyes is unmistakable.
Eventually, you excuse yourself to find the bathroom. The hallway is dimly lit and quiet, a stark contrast to the noise of the main room. You're just about to push open the bathroom door when you hear footsteps behind you.
"It's down there." You turn, and Jax is standing there, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
"I know where the bathroom is, Jax," you say, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.
"Right." He steps closer, and suddenly the hallway feels too small, too intimate. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't get lost."
"I've been here a hundred times," you remind him, but you don't move away.
"Yeah," he says, his voice dropping. "I remember."
The air between you crackles, charged with something you can't name. His eyes roam over your face, lingering on your lips, and you feel your pulse quicken.
"You having a good time?" he asks, stepping even closer, and you can feel the warmth coming off him.
"Yeah," you manage as you look up at his face. "The guys are great. It's like I never left."
"You shouldn't have left," he states, and there's an edge to his voice now, something raw and honest. "You should've stayed. With me."
"Jax, it wasn't my choice, my parents-" you start, and then huff, "Plus, you're still with-"
"I know, I know. I'm with Tara." He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "But fuck, you're making it really hard to remember that."
"I'm not doing anything," you protest weakly.
"You're breathing." he's so close now you can feel his minty breath. "You're existing. You're here, and you're beautiful, and you're everything I've wanted for years, and I can't-" He breaks off, his jaw clenching.
"Can't what?" you whisper.
"Can't stop thinking about you," he says, his voice rough. "You look good tonight. You always look good, but tonight… fuck."
The words hang between you, a reminder of the line you're both toeing.
"You're all I can think about," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers linger on your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. "Since the moment you walked back into that clubhouse, you're all I can fuckin' think about. When I wake up, when I go to sleep, when I'm at the garage. Even when I'm with her... it's always you."
You should step back. You should remind him that this is wrong, that he's with someone else, that you can't do this.
But you don't.
Instead, you lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed, and for a moment, it's just the two of you in the dim hallway, the rest of the world fading away.
"This is a bad idea," you whisper, but even as you say it, you know you don't mean it.
"Probably," he agrees, his forehead resting against yours. "But I don't care."
His hand slides to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, and you feel the tension coiling between you, tight and electric. Your hands come up to rest on his chest, and you can feel his heart pounding beneath your palms.
"I'm ending it," he says suddenly, his voice fierce. "With Tara. I'm ending it. I just need to find the right time, the right way. But I'm done pretending she's what I want when you're right here."
"Jax," you breathe, and you're not sure if it's a warning or an encouragement.
He leans in, his lips hovering just above yours, and you can feel his breath on your skin. "Tell me to stop," he whispers, once again giving you the chance to stop him. To walk away from this.
But you can't; the words won't come.
And then, from the end of the hallway, you hear Tara's voice.
"Jax?"
He pulls back, his jaw tightening, and when you open your eyes, you see the conflict written all over his face. But there's something else there too, determination.
"I'm just gonna-," you say, motioning away as your voice shakes.
"Wait," he breathes, his hand catching yours. "I meant what I said. I'm ending it. Soon."
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, and then you're slipping past him, your heart pounding, your mind racing. As you walk back into the main room, you feel Tara's eyes on you, sharp and accusing.
And you know, without a doubt, that everything is about to change.
You're standing outside the clubhouse, getting some air, when you hear the door open behind you. Tara. You can feel her presence, sharp and cold, like a blade against your back.
"We need to talk," she asserts, her voice tight and controlled.
You turn slowly, and she's standing there with her arms crossed, her expression hard. She's beautiful—you can see why Jax was attracted to her—but there's something brittle about her right now, something fragile beneath the anger.
"Okay," you say carefully, not knowing exactly what she was going to say or accuse you of, but she had every right to.
"Are you happy?" she asks, and the question catches you off guard.
"What?"
"Are you happy?" she repeats, stepping closer. "Breaking up my relationship? Coming back here and stirring up all this shit?"
"I'm not trying to break up anything," you say, but the words sound weak even to your own ears.
"Bullshit," she snaps, her eyes narrowing on you. "I see the way you look at him. I see the way he looks at you, how everyone clearly thinks you're 'great' together. You think I'm stupid?"
"No," you say quickly. "I don't think you're stupid."
"Then don't treat me like I am," she states, and there's pain in her voice now, beneath the anger. "I know what's happening here. I've known since the moment you walked back into that clubhouse."
You don't know what to say. Part of you wants to deny it, to tell her she's wrong, but you can't. She's not wrong. You knew from the time you and Jax set eyes on each other again that it would lead here.
"I didn't come back here to cause problems," you say finally. "I didn't even know if I'd see him again."
"But you did," she states firmly, as if your moving back to Charming was something you'd done to spite her. "And now everything's falling apart."
"Tara, I-"
"Do you know what it's like?" she interrupts, her voice rising. "To watch the man you love look at someone else the way he looks at you? To know that you were always the second choice, that you were just a placeholder until the real thing came back?"
The words hit you like a physical blow. "I'm sorry," you whisper, and you mean it. "I'm so sorry."
You knew Tara had chased Jax in high school, even when you were just friends messing around, but Jax had never been able to see anyone but you. Not any of the girls who used to giggle and flutter their lashes, but the best friend who'd flip off cops as they outran them.
"Sorry doesn't fix this," she says, and there are tears in her eyes now. "Sorry doesn't change the fact that he's never been mine. Not really. He's always been yours."
You feel tears prick at your own eyes. "I didn't ask for this."
"Neither did I," she states almost angrily, at you? At Jax? For falling for a man whose heart was already taken? "But here we are."
For a moment, you both just stand there, two women caught in the orbit of the same man, and you feel a strange kinship with her—a shared understanding of what it means to love Jax Teller.
"He's going to choose you," she expresses finally, her voice flat. "You know that, right? He's going to choose you, and I'm going to be left with nothing. He'll always choose you."
"You don't know that," you say, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they're a lie.
"Yes, I do," she nods with a sad sigh. "I've always known. I just didn't want to admit it."
She takes a step back, wrapping her arms around herself like she's trying to hold herself together. "You should know something," she says. "About Jax. About this life."
"What?"
"SAMCRO is his priority. It always will be. The club comes first, before everything—before you, before me, before anyone. If you think you're going to ride off into the sunset with him, you're deluding yourself."
"I know what I'm getting into," you tell her, but she shakes her head.
"No, you don't. You think you do because you knew him when we were teens, but this life—it's dangerous. It's violent. It's messy. And it will consume you if you let it."
"I can handle it," you declare, and there's more confidence in your voice than you feel.
She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "That's what I thought too. But you can't handle it. No one can. This life breaks people."
"Then why are you with him?" you challenge. You knew Gemma wasn't exactly welcoming to Tara; she kicked the doc down more times than you agreed with, but it wasn't your place.
"Because I love him," she states simply with a small shrug of her thin shoulders. "And love makes you stupid."
You don't have a response to that.
She wipes at her eyes, composing herself. "I'm not going to fight for him," she tells you. "I'm not going to beg him to stay or make a scene. But I want you to know what you're getting into. I want you to know that this won't be easy, and it won't be pretty, and there's a good chance it will break your heart."
"I know," you say softly.
"Do you?" she asks, and there's genuine curiosity in her voice now. "Do you really know? Or are you just caught up in the romance of it all, the bad boy biker and his long-lost love?"
"I know him," you state firmly. "I've always known him. And I know he'd choose me over anything, even the club."
She stares at you for a long moment, and then she nods slowly. "Maybe you're right," she says. "Maybe he would. And maybe that's what scares me the most."
She turns to go, but pauses for a moment, having more grace than you probably would have. "For what it's worth," she speaks without looking back, "I hope you make him happy. I hope you give him whatever it is I couldn't."
Then she's gone, disappearing back into the clubhouse, and you're left standing alone in the dark, your heart heavy with guilt and anticipation and fear.
Because she's right about one thing, this won't be easy.
But as you think about Jax, about the way he looks at you, about the way his touch sets your skin on fire, you know you're willing to risk it.
You're willing to risk everything.
The rain starts just after midnight.
You're in your apartment, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and the faint smell of cardboard and dust. The place is a mess—clothes draped over chairs, books stacked haphazardly on the floor, your bed barely made. You've been here for a few weeks, and already it feels like you're drowning.
You pour yourself a glass of wine and sink onto the couch, staring out the window at the rain streaking down the glass. The storm matches your mood—restless, chaotic, unrelenting.
You can't stop thinking about this afternoon. The way you and Jax seem to orbit each other, the look on Tara's face when she caught you together again, the conversation outside the clubhouse.
But now, alone in your apartment with the rain pounding against the windows, doubt creeps in.
What have you done?
You've upended Jax's relationship. You've inserted yourself back into his life after years away. You've let yourself fall back into old patterns and feelings without thinking about the consequences.
And what about Tara? Despite everything, you feel guilty. She loves him, and you've taken him away from her.
But he chose you, a voice in your head reminds you. He's ending it with her. He chose you.
You take a long sip of wine, trying to quiet the warring voices in your head.
Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and your heart leaps when you see Jax's name.
Jax: You okay?
You stare at the message for a long moment before responding.
You: Yeah. Just thinking.
Jax: About?
You: Everything. Us. How fast this is all moving.
There's a pause, and then your phone rings. You answer on the second ring.
"Hey," you say softly.
"Hey," he replies, and just the sound of his voice makes you feel calmer. "Talk to me. What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"
"I don't know," you admit. "I just… this is all happening so fast. At first I was just moving back to town, and now…"
"Now you're mine again," he finishes, and there's satisfaction in his voice.
"Yeah," you whisper, holding the phone to your ear as you picture the smug grin on his face. "Now I'm yours."
"You having second thoughts?" he asks, and there's an edge to his voice now, something vulnerable. Like he's worried that you've changed your mind, and you'll leave again.
"No," you say quickly. "No, it's not that. I just… I feel guilty. About Tara. About how this all went down."
"Don't," he says firmly. "Don't feel guilty. What happened with Tara was on me. I should've ended it a long time ago. I should've ended it the moment I realized I was still in love with you."
"When did you realize that?" you ask.
"Honestly, I don't think there was a time I didn't know," he says simply. "I've been in love with you since we were kids, and I never stopped. Not for a single day."
Your throat tightens with emotion. "Baby-"
"I know this is fast," he continues. "I know it's messy. But I don't care. I've wasted enough time pretending I could be happy with someone else. I'm not wasting any more."
"I'm scared," you admit in a whisper.
"Of what?" he asks gently, a sound most wouldn't know Jax was capable of making.
"Of this. Of us. Of how much I feel for you." You take a shaky breath. "What if it doesn't work? What if we're better as a memory than as reality?"
"We're not," he says with absolute certainty. "We're better together. We always have been."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know you," he expresses. "I know the way you laugh when you're really happy. I know the way you bite your lip when you're thinking. I know the way you look at me like I'm the only person in the world. And I know that what we have—it's real. It's always been real."
Tears prick at your eyes; he's right. He always is. You remember the heartbreak from when your parents told you that you were moving, the despair of having to leave him behind, "I love you."
"I love you too," he mirrors with a loving whisper, the sound only a person regaining their love can make. "And I'm coming over."
"What? Jax, it's late, and it's pouring-"
"I don't care," he says. "I need to see you. I need to hold you and remind you that this is right."
You try to call out his name and stop him, you didn't want him out there on his bike in this weather, but he's already hung up.
You set your phone down, your heart racing. Part of you wants to tell him not to come, to give yourself space to think, to process everything that's happened.
But a bigger part of you, the part that's been in love with him since you were teenagers, wants nothing more than to have him here, in your space, holding you and making all the doubts disappear.
You stand up, pacing the small living room, your mind racing. The rain continues to pound against the windows, and you wrap your arms around yourself.
This is happening; this is really happening.
And despite the fear, despite the guilt, despite everything, you want it.
You want him.
You've always wanted him.
The knock comes twenty minutes later, knuckles rapping impatiently upon the wood. You cross to the door, your heart pounding, and when you open it, there he is.
Jax.
He's soaked from the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead, his white t-shirt clinging to his chest. His eyes are wild, desperate, and when he looks at you, it's like he's seeing you for the first time.
"I can't do this anymore," he says, his voice rough and urgent. He steps inside, forcing you to back up, and he kicks the door shut behind him. "I can't stay away from you. I tried. I fuckin' tried, but I can't."
Your breath catches. "What are you-"
"I don't want Tara," he says, and the words come out in a rush, like he's been holding them in for too long. "I don't want her. I never did. She was… she was a distraction, a way to forget you, but it didn't work. Nothing worked."
He steps closer, and you can see the rain dripping from his hair, the way his chest heaves with every breath.
"I talked to her," he admits as he watches your expression. "I ended it. I told her it was over. That I couldn't keep pretending when all I wanted was you."
"Jax," you whisper, and you're not sure if you're relieved or terrified or both.
"You're all I want," he says, his voice breaking. "You've always been all I want. And I know this is fucked up, I know it's messy, but I don't care. I can't keep pretending."
Your heart is racing, your mind spinning. You should tell him you need time. You should remind him that this is complicated. Instead, you reach up, your hand cupping his cheek, and you whisper, "Then don't."
That's all it takes.
He closes the distance between you in an instant, his hands gripping your waist as his lips crash against yours. The kiss is desperate, hungry, years of pent-up need and longing pouring out all at once. You gasp against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his wet hair, and he groans, the sound vibrating through you.
He lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist, and he carries you deeper into the apartment, his lips never leaving yours. You crash into a stack of boxes, sending them tumbling to the floor, but neither of you cares.
"Bedroom," you manage to gasp between kisses, and he nods, his grip on you tightening.
He navigates the chaos of your apartment, his mouth trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes you shiver. When he finally reaches the bedroom, he lays you down on the bed, his body covering yours, and for a moment, he just looks at you.
"You're so fuckin' beautiful," he murmurs, his hand cupping your face. "I've dreamed about this. About you."
"Jax," you whisper, your hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest. "I need you."
That's all the permission he needs.
He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, and then his hands are on you, tugging at your clothes with an urgency that makes your head spin. Your shirt comes off, then your jeans, and soon you're both bare, skin against skin, the heat between you almost unbearable.
His hands roam over your body, mapping every curve, every inch of skin he's been denied for so long. His lips follow, trailing kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. When his mouth closes around your nipple, you arch into him, a moan escaping your lips.
"Fuck, I missed you," he murmurs against your skin, his hand sliding between your thighs. When his fingers find you, slick and ready, he groans. "So wet for me already."
"Jax, please," you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand.
He doesn't make you wait. He positions himself between your legs, his eyes locked on yours, and then he's pushing inside you, slow and deep, filling you completely.
You both moan at the sensation, your bodies fitting together like they were made for this, for each other. He stills for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispers, his voice strained.
"Move," you beg, your nails digging into his back. "Please, Jax, move."
He pulls out almost completely, then thrusts back in, hard and deep, and you cry out, your body arching beneath him. He sets a relentless pace, his hips driving into you with a desperation that matches your own. Every thrust sends sparks of pleasure through you, building and building until you're teetering on the edge.
"Look at me," he commands, his hand gripping your chin. "I want to see you when you come."
You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his blue eyes nearly undoes you.
"That's it," he murmurs, his thumb finding your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel you."
The combination of his words, his touch, the way he's filling you, it's too much. You shatter as your orgasm crashes over you in waves, and you cry out his name, your body trembling beneath him.
"Fuck, yes-," he groans, and his rhythm falters. But he doesn't stop, doesn't let up, drawing out your pleasure until you're trembling beneath him.
Finally, he pulls out, and you whimper at the loss. But then he's flipping you over, pulling your hips up, and he's sliding back inside you from behind.
The new angle is deeper, more intense, and you bury your face in the pillow, muffling your cries as he pounds into you. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, and you love it, love the way he's claiming you, marking you as his.
"Mine," he growls, and the possessiveness in his voice sends another wave of pleasure through you. "You're mine."
"Yours," you gasp. "I'm yours, Jax."
He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit again, and you're coming again before you can even process it, your body shaking with the force of it.
"Fuck, I'm gonna-" he starts, and then he's coming too, his body tensing as he spills inside you, your name a broken prayer on his lips.
He collapses on top of you, both of you breathing hard, and for a long moment, you just lie there, tangled together, your hearts racing in sync.
Eventually, he rolls onto his side, pulling you with him so you're tucked against his chest. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your back, and you close your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you into a sense of peace.
"I meant what I said," he murmurs after a long silence. "I don't want Tara. I want you. I should've done it sooner. I should've done it years ago, before I ever got involved with her."
"You couldn't have known I'd come back," you say.
"Doesn't matter," he says firmly. "You were always the one. Even when you were gone, even when I thought I'd never see you again, you were always the one."
Your throat tightens with emotion, and you lean in, kissing him softly. "I love you," you whisper against his lips. "I've always loved you."
"I love you too," he says, and then he's kissing you again, deeper this time, pouring everything he feels into it.
When you finally break apart, he's smiling. "You're mine," he says, his voice firm, possessive. "You've always been mine. And I want everyone to know it. I'm not letting you go again."
Tears prick at your eyes, and you lean in, kissing him softly.
He smiles against your lips, and for the first time in years, you feel like you're exactly where you're supposed to be. He pulls you closer, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip, and you can feel him already starting to harden again against your thigh.
"Again?" you ask, breathless with laughter.
"I've got years to make up for," he says, rolling you onto your back and settling between your legs. "And I plan on making up for every single one of them."
This time, he takes his time—kissing every inch of your skin, learning your body all over again, making you come twice before he finally slides inside you. And when you finally fall asleep hours later, tangled together in your bed, you know that this is just the beginning.
pairing: jax teller x reader
warnings: 2.3k. smut/fluff. mentions of sex trafficking, mature themes, ex-stripper reader, mentions of murder, spanking, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, hair pulling, backshots, drinking
summary: jax lets you crash in his dorm room while your busted caddy is getting fixed… and y’all get real comfortable, real fast.
a/n: edited 06.10.26 | read on a03
The thing about small towns is that everyone notices everything. By day seven in Charming, you'd been noticed by basically everyone. You were used to attention, but this was different. In Vegas, attention was professional and transactional. Here, it was personal. People wanted to know your story. Where you came from. Why you were here?
You gave them nothing. You smiled and deflected every question with the kind of practiced ease that came from years of customer service. You were just in town visiting a friend. Your old car broke down. You'd be leaving real soon. Nothing to see here.
But they kept looking. Jax kept looking too, but in a different way. He'd stop by his dorm every evening, always with some excuse. Update on your car, question about parts, did you need anything from town? And every time, you'd let him in, and you'd talk, and it felt dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with Vegas or cops or the hard drives hidden in your suitcase.
You'd gotten comfortable with each other. Comfortable enough that on night seven, when he showed up with Chinese food and some whiskey, neither of you commented on it.
"Your engine's more fucked than I thought," he said, settling onto the bed next to you while you sat cross-legged against the headboard. "I had to order parts. They won't be here until next week."
Next week. Another week in Charming, another week of being visible, another week of risking it all. "How much is this going to cost me?"
“Let’s not worry about that right now,” Jax quipped.
“Jax...” you whined, poking out your bottom lip in exaggerated sadness.
He mimicked your pout, and you couldn't help but smile. "I'm serious. We'll figure it out. You're not the first person to roll through here with more problems than cash."
You picked at your lo mein, not hungry but needing something to do with your hands. "I can't stay here forever."
"Nobody's asking you to."
"Aren't you curious?" The question came out before you could stop it. About what I'm running from?"
"You told me. Self-defense, Vegas, bad situation," he said, taking a bite of his lo mein.
"That's not the whole story."
"I figured." He took a swig of his drink, watching you over the rim. "You gonna tell me the rest?"
You should keep your mouth shut, finish your food, and maintain the careful distance you'd built between yourself and everyone in this town. But there was something about Jax. Something in the way he looked at you like you were a person and not a problem, like your past was just information and not a judgment—that made you want to trust him.
Trust got you hurt. But you were so tired of being alone.
"My manager was laundering money through the club," you said quietly. "Him and some other guys. I found out by accident because of some paperwork I wasn't supposed to see, overheard some conversations. I didn't think much of it at first. Vegas, you know? Everyone's got something shady going on. But then I realized it was bigger than that. Trafficking. Girls from overseas, promised dancing jobs, ending up in... other situations."
Jax's expression had gone very still. "You have proof?"
"I have hard drives with about five years of financial records and some very incriminating emails." You met his eyes. "That's why he came at me. He figured out I knew. He was going to kill me, Jax. So I killed him first."
The silence stretched between you, heavy with implications. You'd just confessed to murder. To a man you barely knew. In a town where you had no allies and no escape route. Possibly the stupidest thing you'd ever done, and you'd done some stupid things.
"Where are the hard drives?" Jax asked finally.
"Safe."
You set down your food, appetite completely gone now. "I know it was stupid to keep it. I should've destroyed it, but it's insurance. If they find me, if the cops come after me, I can trade it. Information for immunity. Maybe."
"Or you could use it to take down a trafficking ring."
You laughed, bitter and sharp. "Nobody's going to care."
"I care."
The words hit you like a truckg, unexpected and overwhelming. You looked at him and saw something in his face that made your chest tight. Concern maybe. Anger on your behalf.
"Why?" you asked. "You don't know me. I'm just some girl who rolled into town with a broken car."
"You're not just some girl." He set down his drink, leaned forward. "You're smart. You're a survivor. And you're sitting on evidence that could save lives. That's not nothing. That's not just some girl."
You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him.
"I can't stay here," you said. "Once my car's fixed, I need to go. LA, or maybe further. Mexico, if I have to. Somewhere they won't find me."
"Orrr," Jax said slowly, "you could stay. Let me help you. SAMCRO's got resources. We've got lawyers, connections. We could figure this out."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because it's the right thing to do."
"Bullshit." You stood up, pacing the small room in your pink nightgown, feeling trapped and restless. "Nobody does the right thing just because it's right. There's always an angle. So what's yours? You want the hard drives? You want to use it for leverage? You want—"
"I want you to be safe." Jax said while watching you spiral.
You stopped pacing. Turned to look at him. "What?"
He stood up too, and suddenly the room felt very small. "I want you to be safe," he repeated. "I want you to not have to run. I want you to not have to look over your shoulder every five minutes. I want—" He stopped, ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck. I don't know what I want. But I know I don't want you to disappear."
The air between you felt electric, charged with something you didn't want to name. You'd been attracted to him from the start but this was different. This was dangerous.
"Jax," you said, and your voice came out softer than you'd intended. "I'm a mess. I have a pink revolver in my purse and I tend to ruin everything I touch. I'm not... I'm not someone you want to get involved with."
"Little late for that."
You moved closer, drawn to him like gravity, like something inevitable. Your hand came up, fingers trailing down his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart. He sucked in a breath, and you felt power surge through you—the same power you'd felt on stage, the knowledge that you could affect someone, make them want you.
But this was different. Because you wanted him too. What you didn't know was that your Cadillac could've been fixed already. That the parts had come in yesterday. That Jax had told Juice to hold off, to wait, because he needed you to stay. Just a little longer.
Your hand slid lower, tracing the line of muscle down his stomach, and you felt him tense. "Tell me to stop," you whispered.
Jax doesn't say anything. Your fingers found the waistband of his white boxers, and you hesitated for just a moment. This was a line. Once you crossed it, there was no going back. You'd be trusting him with more than just your secrets. Without thinking, you pushed him down onto the mattress and followed, positioning yourself between his legs. Face down, ass up, the way you knew would drive him crazy.
You slid your hand inside, slowly, from the bottom of the fabric, and wrapped your fingers around him. He was already half-hard, and you felt him grow harder in your warm grip. Jax sucked in a sharp breath.
"Fuck," he breathed.
You pulled him free from his boxers, and God, he was pretty. Thick and hard in your hand, flushed perfectly in your fist. You stroked him once, twice, watching his face strain, watching the way his eyes went dark with want.
"I wanna taste you," you said.
You were soaking wet, heat pooling between your thighs, and you realized with startling clarity that you trusted him. Actually trusted him. This man you'd known for seven days, who'd offered you shelter and kindness and asked for nothing in return. You took him in your mouth without preamble, no teasing, just straight to satiating your hunger.
The tip of him hit the back of your throat and you gagged, but you didn't pull back. You took him deeper, hollowed your cheeks, let yourself gag and choke around his thickness. He was so hard, so swollen in your mouth, and you could feel him getting lost in it—the warmth, the wetness, the way you were completely surrendered to this.
He couldn't help but think about what your actual cunt would feel like if your mouth was already driving him this fucking insane.
You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, strips of spit falling from your swollen bottom lip, connecting you to him. His cock looked so beautiful against your pink nails with their Hello Kitty decals. Pretty and obscene and perfect. You looked up at him through your lashes, and the expression on his face made heat pool between your thighs.
You looked divine like this. He couldn't stop staring at your submission, and the way you were giving yourself over to him completely. You took him deep again, and this time you didn't stop.
"Jesus Christ," Jax groaned, his hand coming to the back of your head, not pushing, just holding. "Fuck, darlin'."
You hollowed your cheeks, took him deeper, and felt your nightgown ride up your thighs. You were wearing a matching pink thong underneath—of course you were—and you knew the moment Jax noticed because his other hand came down hard on your ass.
The smack echoed in the small room, and you moaned around him, the vibration making him curse. He did it again, harder this time, and you arched into it, wanting more.
"You're so fucking perfect," he said, his voice rough. "So fucking—"
You felt him getting close, felt the tension in his thighs, the way his breathing changed. But before he could finish, he pulled you off him, repositioning you with surprising gentleness given the urgency in his movements.
"Need to be inside you," he said.
"Yes," you breathed. "Yes, Jax, fuck."
He positioned you on your hands and knees, slid your pink thong to the side rather than taking it off, and you instantly felt the head of his cock press against you. You were so wet he slid in eassily, filling you in one smooth thrust that made you both groan.
"Look at me," he said, his hand coming to your jaw, turning your face toward him. "Need to see you."
You looked back over your shoulder, met his eyes, and he kissed you.
It was sweet and brutal at the same time, gentle and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours while he fucked into you with steady, deep strokes.
The intensity of it overwhelmed you, and you fell forward, face pressing into the pillow as he continued to move inside you. You were practically drooling, mumbling incoherently into the fabric—his name, pleas, sounds that weren't even words.
Then you felt his hand wrap around your hair, gathering it in his fist. He pulled, firm and commanding, lifting your head up and back so your neck arched.
"Want everyone to hear you getting rammed into this bed, darlin'?" he growled in your ear, his voice rough and possessive. "Want the whole clubhouse to know who's making you feel this good?"
You clenched around him involuntarily, the words and the dominance of it sending a shock of pleasure through you. He groaned at the sensation.
"Fuck, that's it," he said, pulling you up further so your back was against his chest. His hand came to your jaw again, turning your face toward him. "You feel so good," he murmured against your mouth. "So fucking good, darlin'."
You couldn't speak, could only moan and push back against him, chasing the pleasure building in your core. His hand slid around to your front, found your swollen clit, and you shattered as he rubbed circles on your bud.
"That's it," he encouraged, his rhythm faltering. "That's it, darlin, come for me."
Waves of pleasure crashing over you, and you felt him follow moments later, his grip on your hip tightening as he came with your name on his lips.
"Stay," he said. "At least for a while. Let me help you."
"I don't need help. Just fix the Caddy"
"I know. But maybe you want it anyway."
He collapsed beside you on the bed, immediately pulling you into his arms. You went willingly, letting him tuck you against his chest, your head finding the space between his shoulder and his jaw like it was made for you. His arm wrapped around you, solid and warm, while his other hand came up to stroke your hair, fingers gentle as they worked through the tangles.
Your legs tangled with his, and you felt his heartbeat start to slow beneath your palm. This intimacy after was almost more overwhelming than the sex had been. You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the last seven days, the last three years, the last lifetime of running and surviving and never quite being safe.
"I don't know how to do this," you whispered against his skin. "The staying thing. The trusting thing."
His hand moved from your hair to your back, tracing slow, soothing circles.
"We'll figure it out," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
taglist 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ back to nav 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ resources
@bethexo07 @queenreignssupreme @bluevenus19
i need you, i need you babe like i have never needed anyone
Warnings: mention of swearing, infidelity, punching, blood, jealousy, possessive jax, and etc.
AN: written with earlier seasons jax in mind cause he was just outrageous
all my work is fictional, purely entertainment related and belongs to me.
JACKSON TELLER IS AN ABSOLUTE ASSHOLE. BUT YOU STILL LOVE HIM.
You were beyond pissed off. The rage that was surging through your veins was a cause for concern. Earlier that day, you had walked in on Jax and Ima. You weren’t naive in the slightest. The way the bleached blonde stood there, with nothing but his large shirt over her naked figure, as-well as the unmistakable look of guilt mixed with panic that flashed across Jax’s face told you everything you needed to know.
He didn’t have to explain it. His expression alone had already confessed.
Humiliation burned hot within your body as you spun on your heel, shoving past the clubhouse door before anyone could stop you. Every curse you muttered under your breath grew louder with each step, your vision blurred by the tears gathering behind your eyes. You refused to let anyone see you cry.
Hearing Jax’s pleading apologies hollered from the clubhouse doors , you didn’t stop. All it did, was piss you off more.
The drive home felt endless, the moment you stepped through your front door, you locked it and let the silence swallow the apartment. Your phone hadn’t stopped buzzing since you’d left. Call after call. Text after text. Jax’s name illuminated your screen so many times you had lost count.
“Please answer me darlin”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Let me explain sweetheart.”
I’m coming over.
You ignored every single one and ultimately, blocked his number. The phone was tossed onto the couch before it could vibrate again. You wanted nothing to do with him, not his excuses nor his apologies.
It’s not like you two were official or anything but it still hurt deeply. You thought you meant more than an easy hook-up to him. Especially after he confessed not that long ago, that he wanted something more with you, something real.
And that he was going to earn your love and work for a relationship with you.
But not anymore. You felt kind of stupid, it’s not like concerned friends didn’t warn you that he was trouble. Actually, you felt utterly idiotic. You’d given him a chance, lowered every wall around your heart and let him in. You spent your precious time on Jax, and trusted that maybe, he was going to be different with you.
And this was how he repaid you, with lies and betrayal. The mortifying realization settled in you that every bit of hope you’d placed in Jax had been wasted. The embarrassment buried deep into your chest, burning far worse than anger ever could. More than anything, you were furious with yourself for believing he deserved the chance in the first place
You decided that it was enough. This—whatever it is, between you and Jax was done. It was done dictating your life and living in your head rent free.
You were officially done with Jackson Teller, wiped your hands clean of him and that’s that. Moved on and all.
But little did you know, he wasn’t ready to be done with you.
It had been about a week since discovering Jax’s shameful hookup with Ima. You continued to ignore every single desperate attempt he made to speak to you. Every-time he showed up, knocking on your front door, your roommate would tell him off and send him away. If you spotted him in public, you’d just ignore his presence, pretending he didn’t even exist.
That stung him more than anything. You meant more to him than he could ever put into words and he wasn’t lying when he told you he wanted something real. He did, every moment he’d spent with you had made him believe he could have a future worth looking forward to.
The truth was, he simply didn’t know how.
The weight of his own mistakes and his fears all crashed down on him that night. Alone with his thoughts, he reached for the bottle of alcohol, hoping it would quiet the relentless noise in his head.
Instead, it dragged him back to the version of himself he left behind the moment he met you. One drink became several, and before he knew it, he’d fallen into an old habit. One he’d swore he’d never repeat.
It wasn’t an excuse, he knew that. Being drunk didn’t erase what he’d done and if he admitted out loud that all he imagined during the affair was you, that wouldn’t help either. None of it would ease the betrayal you had witnessed with your own eyes. It only made him hate himself more because he’d managed to destroy the one thing he genuinely wanted to protect.
As his calls went unanswered and every text remained unread, the sickening thought of losing you made him feel far worse than he could ever imagine. Jax hadn’t just ruined his chance with you, he became exactly the man he promised he wasn’t going to be anymore.
It was now Friday night, another day without seeing you—feeling you in his arms, had gone by. He spent the entire day wallowing in self pity, and his dear members couldn’t stand to see him drown himself in more whiskey than he already had.
They’d convinced him to get out of the clubhouse for once. Just a late-night ride, maybe a drink at one of the local bars, and kill a few hours before heading back. Anything to get his mind off you.
It didn’t work.
They’d stopped along a lively area of downtown, where the sidewalks buzzed with people drifting between restaurants and bars mixed with music spilling out into the night. Motorcycles lined the curb while conversations and laughter echoed through the streets.
But none of it reached him as his thoughts never left you. Leaning against his bike, he pulled another cigarette from the crumpled pack in his pocket, lighting it with ease. He took a long drag, the smoke curling into the night as his gaze remained fixed on nothing in particular.
“…Oh, shit.”
The hushed remark from Juice made every head turn. “What?” Tig asked.
Without saying a word, Juice simply pointed across the street. Every pair of eyes followed and there you were.
Walking down the sidewalk beneath the glowing streetlights, arm looped comfortably around a man none of them recognized. Your head tipped back as you laughed at something he’d said, the sound filling the street.
“Jackie boys’ gonna lose it.” the Scotsman muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
You looked beautiful, no one could deny that. Completely dressed up, hair catching the light with every step while your smile remained so heartwarming. You looked like every thought he’d had of you brought to life.
And you were smiling at someone else.
Jax’s grip tightened around the cigarette until the paper crinkled between his fingers. His jaw clenched so hard, it ached as his chest twisted with something ugly and familiar.
Jealousy.
That should’ve been him making you laugh, him walking beside you and him feeling your hand wrapped around his arm.
Instead, he was standing on the opposite side of the street, watching another man live the dream he’d spent countless nights imagining. Every laugh that left your lips felt like a punch to the ribs, every smile aimed at the stranger was a reminder of what he had thrown away.
Jax couldn’t look away. As much as it hurt, he couldn’t tear his eyes from you. And then he did something stupid.
Without thinking, Jax put his cigarette out and jumped over the railing, then made his way towards you, which undoubtedly alarmed his members. He was always a hot-head, acting more on emotions than rational thinking when it came to certain situations. Situations that included you? He became absolutely terrifying.
He crossed the street with that unmistakable stride, his jaw still locked so tight. Before you or the man beside you could react, he stepped between you both and drove his fist straight into the stranger’s face.
The crack that followed made your stomach drop, you were certain you’d just heard his nose break.“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you shouted, shoving Jax back before he could swing again.
The man stumbled, clutching his face with a groan. He barely spared him another glance, his eyes already fixed on you, burning with pure rage.
“The fuck’re you doin’ with another guy?”
A bitter laugh escaped you, “You’re one to talk.” His brows knitted together as you spat back angry words. “He’s my friend.”
Jax scoffed, clearly not believing you. His shoulders tensed as he took another step toward the poor man, ready to throw another punch.
You grabbed the back of his leather kutte, yanking him to a stop. “Would you quit acting like an ass?” you snapped. “He’s not into women.”
“…What?” You threw your hands up in disbelief at his daunting expression. “This is Cam.” His face then contorted into this unknowing blank look.
“Cam… who got engaged last month.” A second passed. “To a man.” His eyes slowly drifted back to the dazed man still holding his bleeding nose.
“…Oh.” Your glare could’ve burned straight through him and that vice president patch he wore.
“Yeah. Oh.”
For the first time ever, the intimidating blonde biker looked completely deflated. “…Well.” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “i- jumped to conclusions.”
“You think?”
Cam let out a pained laugh regardless of the blood running from his nose. “I’d accept an apology…” he winced in pain, “…preferably before I sue you.”
The biker sighed, looking like he wanted the pavement to swallow him whole. “…Yeah.” He scratched his beard, refusing to meet either of your eyes. “That’s… that’s fair.”
You folded your arms across your chest with a huff. “Congratulations. You assaulted a gay man because you got jealous.” His ears turned a faint shade of red, you couldn’t deny that you were slightly amused at his embarrassment.
“…When you say it like that, it sounds real bad.”
“It is real bad.” Cam shook his head with an amused snort.
“I told you.” he mumbled through his hand over his nose. “Your boyfriend’s got issues.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” you shot back. The words left your mouth a little sharper than you intended, leaving a hurtful jab at his heart.
But that was his own fault.
The man on the ground let out a snort, still clutching his nose. “Yeah? A not-boyfriend doesn’t act like this.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose and let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Come on.” you said, gently helping your friend back to his feet. “Let’s get you to the ER.” He winced again but nodded, keeping a hand pressed against his rapidly swelling injury.
Before turning away, you looked back over your shoulder at Jax. “And you…” You pointed a finger at him, your expression firm. “Pick up my call.”
For a second, he simply stared and then he nodded “Yeah.” he answered gently. “I will.”
It wasn’t a sign of forgiveness but it was enough to make the tight knot in his chest loosen as relief washed over him.
You wanted to talk to him. Maybe he completely screwed everything up and he’d acted like an idiot. Which ultimately caused him to break your friend’s nose because jealousy got the better of him.
But you were still willing to hear him out and as terrible as it sounded, he’d take that small victory.
His club members exchanged knowing glances, Chibs smirked while Tig muttered, “Guess breaking a guy’s nose actually worked.”
He shot them a glare that immediately shut them up. Meanwhile, you continued walking toward the parking lot, your friend leaning slightly against you.
After a few moments of silence, Cam glanced sideways at you. “He’s hotter in person.” He admitted, sounding genuinely impressed even though the man in question literally just punched him.
You groaned. “Shut up, Cam.” He chuckled, then instantly regretted it as pain shot through his face.
“Ow—okay, okay. Still… looks like a hotter version of Brad Pitt.” You rolled your eyes so hard they almost hurt.
Cam mumbled through his hand, “You know i’m right.”
You couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of your lips, pretending to be far more annoyed than amused.
Behind you, Jax caught that hidden smile before you disappeared around the corner, and for the first time in a week, he let himself believe there was still a chance to make things right.
AN: inspired by that one scene in desperate housewives when carlos accidentally beats up justin, thinking he was cheating with gabby
Likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!!
It wasn't often when Jax wasn't busy with the club, but there were rare nights he'd come home early from the clubhouse–nights where you spent time as a family. This time he'd offered to watch the boys while you ran out for a quick grocery trip without toting them around and calming meltdowns in the produce aisle.
Which is how you found him seated at the kitchen table with Abel and Thomas when you returned, everyone's heads bowed down over the table while Play Doh tools were scattered along it next to the bits of colorful smears of clay. Laden with a handful of grocery bags, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight, especially when both little blonde heads darted up to greet you as you stepped into the kitchen.
“Mama, look!” Abel exclaimed. He proudly held up his arms, displaying a few round lumps of bright blue stuck together in his palms. “I made a kitty!”
“That's great, buddy,” you said. “I like his ears!”
Heading over to the counter, you set the grocery bags down as Thomas bounced up and down on his knees in his chair. Looking over your shoulder, you saw him raise his small hands and hold up a smushed ball of green that was truly indecipherable.
“It's a turtle!” he explained, grinning a toothy smile.
“What a cute turtle!” you gushed. “Did you make him all by yourself?”
Thomas nodded wildly, his attention returning to the glob of green that he claimed was a turtle. He picked up a rolling pin before running it over the turtle, which is when your gaze shifted to Jax. He was quiet in his seat, head still bent down as stray blonde hairs framed his face. His hands were busy molding yellow Play Doh between them, the color embedded in his rings and nails, but you couldn't quite tell what he was constructing.
“And what's dad making?” you asked.
Taking a few steps away from the counter, you crossed the kitchen and stopped beside him, peering just over his shoulder. Jax straightened in his chair, his hands resting on the table and giving you a clear view of his creation. You looked down at the two yellow balls stuck to either side of a long, thick length of rolled out Play Doh before a single brow flicked up onto your forehead. Both boys were leaning over the table to get a better view while Jax simply looked up at you, a gleefully boyish smile stretched across his lips.
“What is that?” Abel questioned, brows furrowed.
“Yeah, babe,” Jax began. “What is it?”
The kick to his foot beneath the table was so subtle that the boys didn't catch it, but a devious glint flickered in Jax’s eyes.
“It's an elephant,” you lied to the boys. “Dad made an elephant.”
“With a really big trunk,” Jax added, shooting you a wink.
Ugh the little “you alright darlin’” with that slight lift of his chin. I’m already dripping. Yourself & Jax are only acquaintances at the moment, so there’s no big chit chat, nothing you could actually write home about. But the way he greets you? That swift lil movement, is more than enough to get that kewchie poppin!!!!
୨ৎ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜.
Very rarely are you actually sat at the same table when in the clubhouse, but the moments you do happen to look out for him, his eyes are already on you. If I was being polite I’d say he was “undressing you with his eyes” but nah, this guy is full blown fucking you with them. Picturing you bent over the clubhouse table, legs spread, panties to one side. Imagining the warmth of sliding inside and curing that insatiable ache you have going on down there.
୨ৎ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑.
You’ve already worked it out, most of the time he doesn’t even need to pass you, he chooses to. Placing that rough and calloused hand anywhere he can on your body. Not in a creepy way but in a I need to touch you so imma find a way kinda way. That ring covered hand of his will find its home on your lower back, on a shoulder or just by your waist and you can’t be sure if you imagined it (of course you fucking have a thousand fucking times) but you’re almost certain he’s even left a fingerprint or two on your ass.
୨ৎ 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚢.
Just because he doesn’t use his words doesn’t mean he isn’t looking out for you. He knows he doesn’t know you well enough to tell you what to do and who to talk to…but when you do stray and talk to one of the random club hang arounds, oh his eyes are stuck on you like glue. He’ll be posted up, drink in one hand, blue eyes squinting trying to asses both you and the unsuspecting male from a distance, trying his best to read and get to know your body language. Thankfully, for their fucking sake none of them have ever tried anything stupid with you… cause if he did think something was up? Oh it’d be stuck. He hasn’t figured out why yet, (because he fucking likes you duh) but if anyone EVER tried something dumb like that but he’d burn this fucking clubhouse down and the asshole with it just to make sure you were ok.
୨ৎ 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚙 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚎.
Oh, that fucking lip bite. That fucking lip bite. Whether it’s in your direction or not, that tiny little mannerism of his makes your head fucking spin. And he knows he’s sexy with it, the way his eyes crinkle at the edges, how they shine with pure fucking mischief. ugh fuck me rn. & your favourite bit? Seeing just a flash of his tongue as it flicks out to wet his bottom lip, wishing it was your lips instead. Yes I completely mean ya pussy lips.
His laugh is something you’d ride if you fucking could. The sound of it slides over your entire body like honey left out on a hot day, leaving little flutters and swoops as it rolls through the room. It’s dirty and dangerous and the sound alone fills the atmosphere like a storm incoming. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t imagine how his laugh would sound right in your ear, saying all the filthy shit you could ever fucking imagine. Who’s my good girl? You want this dick huh? close enough to feel the rumble of that said storm as it finally hits and he whispers how bad he wants to drag you to his dorm and fuck you silly.
Ahhhhh!!!! Just a lil something to ease my way back into the world of secretlysamcro. FUCK how I’ve missed you all. I’ve got a thousand fics to catch up on so bare with me 👉🏽👈🏽 I might start doing these little pieces whilst I work on something big 🥹😮💨 loves you all hehe | also I don’t know where the pinks come from? Trying something new hehe
first jax blurb be nice! szn 1 jax bc thats all i know so far ok muah ty fictober
The sound of your front door opening and shutting only momentarily stole your attention from the bunny tail you were trying to attach to your bodysuit. The engine roaring from a few streets over and stopping at yours told you who it was before checking but either way, you had known Jax was coming at some point tonight to say bye before heading out for SAMCRO business.
“I’m in my room!” “Holy fuck”
It’d be a lie to say he hadn’t scared you, and the flinch gave it away anyhow. Turning with your hands on your hips to look at the man. Already staring at you.
Primarily at the skintight black bodysuit.
“Hello to you too” “Where are you goin’ in that?”
You laughed, but he was dead serious, walking slanted toward you with a dangerous head tilt.
“A Halloween party with the girls from work, you know this,”
Jax scoffed out a chuckle at your chill demeanor, but truly what had he expected? Not for you to change surely.
“Right, where, sweetheart, the hell are you goin’ in this?”
Smiling, you cupped his face, giving him a kiss before pulling away to put on your bunny ears and posing, pursed lips and a little hip shake to pull it together. “You're ridiculous” Jax mumbled, his sideways smirk shattering the tough act.
“Don’t worry, baby” You waved off his concerns, smoothing a hand over a patch on his vest. “People ‘round here know who my man is” Your joking tone earned another chuckle from the blond, dropping his head.
“You’re so lucky Clay’s draggin’ my ass to Nevada-” “I look so good!”
