#slowburnsins

[slowburnsins]

Funnel Cakes & Photobooths

Jax x Reader

Summary: your at the fair with Jax when he sees a guy flirting with you and he gets jealous

Warnings: smut, riding, fingering, choking, praise, finger sucking, sex in public (photobooth)

The fairgrounds were a blur of color and sound —kids screaming on the Tilt-A-Whirl, the smell of fried dough and grease heavy in the air, the faint twang of some old country song spilling from the main stage. Jax had one hand resting casually on his belt, the other holding a half-melted cone of soft-serve, watching you weave through the crowd toward the food trucks. You’d said something about funnel cake and powdered sugar, flashing him a teasing grin before disappearing into the flow of people.

He wasn’t worried. Not at first.

You weren’t the kind of woman who needed someone hovering over you— hell, that was one of the reasons he’d fallen for you. You had this fire, this way of holding your own no matter the crowd. Still, Jax found himself glancing toward the food stand every minute or two, scanning for that familiar head of hair, that soft laugh he could always pick out of a crowd.

“Y’know,” Tig said, elbowing him lightly, “you let her outta your sight too long and some guy’s gonna realize she’s way outta your league.”

Jax shot him a flat look. “Appreciate the confidence boost, brother.”

Chibs chuckled, low and rough, his accent thick. “Aye, Tig’s no’ wrong though. Lass looks like a bloody dream in that sundress. Can’t fault a man for starin’.”

Juice, who was leaning against the fence beside them, grinned around a toothpick. “Nah, man. Not just starin’. Look.” He nodded subtly toward the food line. “She’s got company.”

Jax followed their gaze. There you were— standing at the funnel cake stand, the late afternoon sun catching in your hair. And beside you, some guy. Button-up shirt, clean shave, easy smile. He was leaning a little too close, saying something that made you laugh.

Jax’s jaw tightened.

“Looks like he’s got jokes,” Bobby muttered, biting into his corn dog. “And you’re losin’ ground, Teller.”

Jax forced a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “You girls done?”

But none of them stopped watching.

Tig let out a low whistle. “Man’s got balls, I’ll give him that. You can practically see him rehearsing his pickup line in his head.”

“Or maybe,” Chibs said with a faint grin, “he’s already tried one, an’ she laughed just to be polite. She’s a kind soul, that one.”

“Kind,” Tig echoed. “Too kind sometimes.”

Jax could feel the shift in his chest —that familiar burn that started low and crept up like wildfire. He wasn’t the jealous type. Protective? Definitely. Controlling? Not really. He trusted you. Always had. But that didn’t mean he trusted every idiot who saw your smile and mistook it for an invitation.

He took another step closer to the fence, watching as the guy handed you a plate of funnel cake —your funnel cake— and said something that made you tilt your head, half amused, half polite. You didn’t look uncomfortable, but you weren’t exactly brushing him off, either. You were too damn nice for that.

“You’re gonna let that slide, huh?” Tig asked, grinning. “Couldn’t be me.”

“Yeah, well,” Jax said, voice even but sharp, “good thing it ain’t you.”

He tried to turn away, tried to tell himself it was fine. That you’d smile, thank the guy, and walk right back over. But then the man leaned in again —closer this time —and said something that made you laugh louder.

And that did it.

“Ah, there it is,” Chibs said, smirking around his cigarette. “That look. Jackie’s gonna blow.”

Jax didn’t even answer. He just handed his ice cream cone to Bobby, jaw clenched, and started walking.

“Five bucks says he breaks the guy’s nose before she even knows what’s happenin’,” Tig muttered.

“Ten says he keeps it verbal,” Chibs replied with a knowing grin. “He’s tryin’ to behave these days. Pussy whipped tha’ one.”

Jax heard none of it. All he could hear was that low pulse in his ears, the rush of blood, the echo of your laughter that wasn’t meant for anyone else.

He weaved through the crowd, white shoes heavy on the packed dirt, eyes locked on you like a heat-seeking missile. The guy still hadn’t noticed him coming— too busy leaning in, talking, trying his luck.

Jax’s hands flexed at his sides.

He wasn’t gonna make a scene. Not here. Not with you looking that happy, that radiant, belly tight with laughter and powdered sugar on your fingers.

But he also wasn’t about to stand by and watch someone else think they had a shot with what was his.

The shift in energy was instant.

He sidled up beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest like you belonged there—which you did. You blinked up at him, half startled, half smiling, as Jax caught the tail end of the guy's question.

“—and that’s why I was wondering if I could get your number?”

Jax reached for the piece of funnel cake between your fingers and popped it into his mouth. Sweet. Sticky. He licked a trace of powdered sugar from his thumb and finally turned his gaze on the guy.

“So,” he drawled, slow and smooth, “you were sayin’ somethin’ about a number?”

The man blinked, eyes darting between the two of you. “I, uh—”

Jax smiled—lazy, syrup-thick, and mean. “Which one, though? Her number, or the one you’re gonna need to call for dental work if you don’t walk away right now?”

You groaned under your breath, rolling your eyes. “Jax…”

He ignored you, because he could feel it—the tension rolling off the guy, the way he shifted his weight, trying to figure out if Jax was serious.

He was.

“Hey, man,” the guy said, hands up in surrender, “I didn’t mean anything. We were just talking.”

“Talkin’.” Jax’s voice dipped low. “Yeah. Heard that one before.” He leaned forward slightly, a smirk cutting across his face. “Thing is, brother, she’s already got someone who talks to her. Someone who listens. Makes sure she’s taken care of.”

His hand squeezed your shoulder gently, almost possessive. “And it sure as hell ain’t you.”

The guy flushed red, muttered something that sounded like an apology, and turned on his heel.

Jax didn’t move until he disappeared into the crowd. Only then did he glance at you. You were glaring at him, powdered sugar still on your fingertips.

“Really?” you said. “You had to threaten to knock his teeth out? He wasn’t doing anything.”

“He was thinkin’ about it.”

“That’s not illegal.”

“Maybe it should be.”

You huffed a small laugh despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Yeah, but you love me that way.”

“Hmm. Love’s a strong word.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, that teasing glint in his voice. “Yeah, but it fits.”

You rolled your eyes but let him take your hand anyway. His fingers laced with yours as he tugged you toward the other end of the fair. Tossing the now empty funnel cake plate in the trash.

“Oi, Jackie boy!” Chibs’s voice bellowed through the crowd. “Where the hell you off to now?”

Juice yelled next, “Yo, we wanted funnel cake!”

Jax lifted his free hand, middle finger up, grin cutting sharp and wicked across his mouth as he walked faster, tugging you with him.

You stumbled once on the uneven dirt. “Jax—where are you taking me?”

He didn’t answer. Just threw a look over his shoulder, that boyish, smug smirk playing at his mouth.

“Jax!” you pressed again, half laughing, half suspicious.

He only chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm, like he was daring you to keep asking.

And when he finally spotted the photobooth up ahead, he slowed, a grin spreading wider across his face.

Oh yeah. This was gonna be fun.

He rushed to place a dollar in the slot as he practically shoved you through the curtain, the moment it was shut, he spun you around, chest pressing against yours, and kissed you with that slow, deliberate intensity that made your knees go weak.

He could feel the warmth of your body, soft and light in his arms, and he didn’t pull back. Not yet. His hands found your waist, sliding up just enough to hold you against him, thumb brushing along the small of your back.

You staggered slightly, and without thinking, he guided you onto his lap, one arm circling your shoulders to keep you steady. Your sundress rode easily under his grip, light and fluttering, and he used it to anchor you closer, letting his knee bump yours just enough to make you catch your breath.

“You’re killin’ me,” he murmured against your lips, teasing, his tone half frustration, half awe. “Been waitin' all damn day to get you alone like this,” he growled softly, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your chest.

His fingers dug into your hips, holding you steady on his lap as he shifted beneath you, the rigid line of his cock pressing insistently against your soaked panties. “And seein' that douchebag flirtin' with you? Fuck, it sent me into a spiral. Had to drag you here before I lost it.”

You shivered at his words, the possessiveness in his tone igniting a fresh wave of heat between your legs. “Don’t tell me you were jealous, Teller.”

The photobooth felt even smaller now, the red curtain the only barrier between the two of you and the distant laughter and chatter of fairgoers milling about outside. He captured your mouth again, but this time the kiss was faster, more desperate, his tongue stroking yours with deliberate pressure while his hand slipped between your thighs.

His fingers pushed your panties aside, two digits sliding along your slick folds before plunging inside your pussy, curling to hit that spot that made your breath hitch. You bit down on your lip to stifle a whimper, your walls clenching around him as he pumped slowly, stretching you with each thrust. “I wouldn’t call it jealousy—Just felt the need to make sure he knew exactly who you belong to.”

You felt breathless. All the air in the tiny booth was practically nonexistent. You let out a small whine, his fingers hitting the perfect spot. The sound was music to his ears, but the last thing Jax needed was someone to catch the two of you.

“Gotta be quiet, darlin',” he whispered against your ear, his free hand clamping over your mouth gently but firmly. “Don't want some rando pullin' back this curtain and catchin' me finger-fuckin' you.”

The risk only heightened everything—the way his thumb circled your clit in firm circles, the scrape of his calluses against your inner walls, the bulge of his cock twitching against your ass as you rocked into his hand. You nodded against his palm, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure built fast, your body tensing. He added a third finger, stretching you wider, his pace quickening just enough to push you toward the edge without making the booth shake too much.

Outside, footsteps shuffled past, a voice calling out for someone nearby, and Jax froze for a split second, his fingers buried deep inside you, holding still until the sounds faded. Then he resumed, harder now, his mouth latching onto your neck to suck a mark just below your jawline. “Come for me,” he urged quietly, his voice strained with his own need. “Quiet, though—squeeze my fingers and let go.”

You couldn't hold back, your orgasm crashed over you in silent waves, pussy pulsing around his invading fingers as you muffled your cries into his hand. He worked you through it, drawing out every tremor until you slumped against him, panting softly. But he wasn't done—his hand left your mouth to unzip his jeans, freeing his thick cock, the head already leaking pre-cum as he lined it up with your entrance.

“You're gonna ride me now,” he instructed, guiding your hips down so you sank onto him inch by inch, your wetness easing the way. He filled you completely, stretching your pussy around his length, and you had to clench your teeth to stay silent as he bottomed out. He resisted letting out a groan in pleasure himself. The booth creaked faintly under your combined weight, but he held you still, letting you adjust before his hands gripped your ass, lifting you slightly and pulling you back down in a controlled rhythm.

You moved together like that—slow at first, your hips rolling in languid circles to feel every inch of him drag against your sensitive walls. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and unyielding, as you lifted up and sank back down, savoring the way he stretched you open with each descent. The air in the booth grew thicker, heavy with the scent of your arousal and the faint metallic tang of his rings catching the dim light. Jax's eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with lust, as he watched your breasts bounce gently beneath the thin fabric of your sundress.

“That's it, baby,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your throat. “Ride me slow... make it last.” You obeyed, grinding down harder on the next drop, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone in a way that sent sparks up your spine. The fair's sounds filtered in—children's laughter, the sizzle of food trucks, footsteps crunching on gravel—but they felt miles away, drowned out by the wet slide of his cock in your pussy and your shared, ragged breaths.

His free hand moved to your neck, fingers wrapping around it with just enough pressure to make your pulse race under his palm. He squeezed lightly at first, testing, his thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat as you rose and fell on him. The choke was firm but controlled, restricting your air just enough to make your head swim, heightening every sensation. Your pussy clenched tighter around his length in response, drawing a low hiss from his lips. “Fuck, yeah... feel that? You're squeezin' me so good,” he murmured, his grip tightening incrementally with each of your downward thrusts, making your movements deliberate, unhurried.

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders for leverage, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you picked up a subtle rhythm—up slow, down even slower, twisting your hips to take him deeper. The pressure on your neck made stars burst behind your eyelids, your body arching into the sensation, chasing the edge of breathlessness that amplified the fullness of him inside you. Jax's other hand roamed to your breast, pushing the sundress strap down to expose one nipple, his mouth descending to latch on and suck hard, teeth grazing the peak while his fingers kept their hold on your throat.

Time stretched in the confined space, each roll of your hips drawing out the pleasure, building it layer by layer. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his chest heaving as he fought to keep quiet, but a soft groan escaped when you clenched deliberately around him. Outside, a group of people walked by, their voices carrying snippets of conversation, and Jax's hand on your neck paused the squeeze, holding you still impaled on his cock until they passed. The anticipation made you throb around him, your juices dripping down to coat his balls.

When the coast cleared, he released your throat just enough for you to gasp in air, then tightened again, guiding your pace with subtle bucks of his hips. “Suck on these,” he commanded softly, lifting his other hand from your breast to press two fingers—adorned with those silver rings, chilled from the evening air—against your parted lips. You opened for him without hesitation, tongue swirling around the digits, tasting the salt of his skin mixed with the faint residue of your own slick from earlier. The metal bands were icy against your warm tongue, a stark contrast that made you shiver, sucking harder as you bobbed your head in time with your riding.

He pushed them deeper, fucking your mouth shallowly while his cock filled your pussy, the dual invasion making you moan around his fingers. The cold rings clinked softly against your teeth, sending chills down your spine that pooled as heat in your core. You hollowed your cheeks, licking and sucking with fervor, the metallic tang blending with his flavor as drool escaped the corner of your mouth. Jax's eyes darkened further, his hand on your neck resuming its choke, syncing the pressure with the thrusts you set—slow, deep, relentless.

Your thighs burned from the effort, but you didn't stop, drawing it out as he wanted, feeling him swell thicker inside you with every grind. His fingers in your mouth muffled any sounds, the cold metal warming now from your heat, sliding over your tongue as you nursed on them like a promise of more. The booth's mirror reflected fragments of you both—your flushed face, his strained expression, the way your ass flexed with each lift and drop. Pleasure coiled tighter in your belly, not rushing but simmering, fed by the risk, the restraint, the intimacy of it all.

Jax's hips jerked up once, involuntarily, burying himself to the hilt, and you felt him pulse, close but holding back. He pulled his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, trailing saliva down your chin before returning to your breast, but his other hand choked firmer now to urge you on. “Keep goin'... don't stop till I say,” he rasped, his voice edged with desperation. You rode him through the building tension, your pussy fluttering around his cock, the choke making every breath a victory, every slide a torment of bliss.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of drawn-out ecstasy, Jax could feel his control fray. His hand slipped from your throat to grip your hip, helping you slam down one last time as he thrust up, spilling hot cum deep inside you in thick ropes. The sensation tipped you over, your own release milking him dry, walls spasming as you bit your lip bloody to stay silent. He held you there, choking lightly through the aftershocks, drunk on lust and the way you looked taking his load.

Only when the waves subsided did he ease his hold, pulling you down against his chest, both of you slick with sweat and spent. The fair's noises returned gradually, a reminder of the world outside, but for now, you lingered, his cock softening inside you, his arms wrapped possessively around your waist.

“Mine.”

The word slipped from Jax’s lips before he could stop it, low and rough against your forehead. He pressed a kiss there, lingering a beat longer than he should’ve, breathing you in —sugar, sweat, and summer heat. The tiny booth still felt electric, the air charged from what had just happened, his pulse still pounding hard beneath your palms.

He drew back with a lazy grin, brushing a thumb along your cheekbone as he checked the curtain to make sure no one had seen a damn thing. His voice was light when he finally spoke, though his eyes were anything but.

“Gotta make sure the whole fair didn’t get a show.”

You huffed, still breathless, trying to fix your hair and dignity at the same time. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He did anyway —that slow, unhurried once-over that always made you roll your eyes. Jax’s grin deepened, boyish and cocky. “Can’t help it, darlin’,” he murmured. “You look like sin and summer mixed together.”

You muttered something under your breath as you straightened your sundress, trying to ignore him. Jax adjusted his jeans, redoing his belt buckle, still watching you from the corner of his eye —not with lust anymore, but with that quiet, protective affection.

When you were both put back together enough to face daylight, Jax pushed open the curtain and stepped out first, one hand reaching back to guide you out. The warm air hit instantly, thick and sweet with the smell of popcorn and dust. He kept his palm at the small of your back as if it belonged there —maybe because it did.

The photo booth whirred, spitting out a glossy strip of pictures that fluttered into the slot. You were faster, snatching it before he could grab it.

“Uh-uh,” you warned, holding it out of reach as your cheeks went pink.

Jax tilted his head, amused, trying to peek around your hand. “What? Let me see, babe.”

“Not a chance,” you said, clutching it closer. He could see the hint of a smile threatening your lips. “You don’t deserve it.”

He laughed —a real one this time, easy and warm, the sound cutting through the noise of the fair. “Don’t deserve it, huh?” he echoed, slipping an arm around your waist again. “That’s funny. Pretty sure I just earned somethin’ in there.”

You gave him a mock glare, swatting his chest and he only grinned wider, pulling you closer as you both wove through the crowd, his hand resting possessively on your hip, when you gave a little hum -smug, satisfied. He glanced down at you, brow raised.

“What?” he asked, suspicion laced through that low drawl.

You tilted your head, looking way too pleased with yourself. “Nothing,” you said, that teasing lilt in your voice giving you away instantly.

Jax narrowed his eyes. “That tone,” he said. “What’d you do?”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile, but you couldn’t hold it in. “I knew this was gonna happen.”

He stopped walking. Just—stopped. Shoes scuffing against the packed dirt, the noise of the fair fading behind you. “You what?”

You turned to face him fully now, grinning like you’d just confessed to a crime you were proud of. “I knew you’d get all jealous and broody,” you said simply, shrugging one shoulder. “Kinda counted on it, actually.”

Jax blinked at you, mouth parting slightly. “You’re tellin’ me—”

You kept going, relentless. “I may’ve… asked that guy to play along a little.”

His jaw dropped. “You what?”

You laughed, stepping closer, completely unapologetic. “Oh, relax. I just told him to say hi, maybe flirt a little. Nothing serious.”

Jax stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “You set that up?”

“Mhmm.” You smirked, hands slipping into your dress pockets, rocking on your heels. “And I laughed extra loud so you’d hear. Wore your favorite sundress too—figured that’d really sell it.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just stood there, running a hand through his hair, half disbelieving, half impressed, all the while fighting the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“You baited me,” he said finally, voice low, rough with a mix of exasperation and awe.

“Worked, didn’t it?” you said, raising a brow.

That made him laugh —sharp and disbelieving—before he reached out, grabbing you by the waist, pulling you flush against him. “You’re outta your damn mind,” he muttered, shaking his head but smiling anyway.

“Yeah,” you said, eyes glinting up at him. “But you love that about me.”

Jax’s grin turned slow and dangerous. “Maybe I do,” he said, voice dropping low enough for only you to hear. “But next time you wanna get my attention, darlin’…”

He leaned in close, his breath brushing your ear.

“...you don’t gotta bring in a decoy.”

[slowburnsins]

I’ll Make You Regret It

Jax x Reader

Word Count: 4347

Summary: When a rich prick comes up to you at a bonfire making advances, things take a violent turn as Jax gets jealous and you defend yourself

Warnings: physical violence, crude remarks, cussing, light drug usage, drinking, blood

Kaleb Hennings was an asshole.

Everyone in Charming knew it. He was the kind of guy who laughed too loud, drank too much, and thought every girl secretly wanted him. You had told him no more times than you could count, but the word never seemed to stick. Especially when he was drunk.

The night had started out good though. Better than you expected. The junkyard was buzzing with life, music spilling from someone’s old truck stereo, headlights cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and dust. The smell of oil and beer hung thick in the air. It was the kind of place that teens associated with freedom, where rusted metal and broken engines became the backdrop to whatever kind of chaos the night promised.

Someone had passed around a bottle of Jack, and it burned its way down your throat until you felt warm and weightless. Jax’s hand had been resting lazily on your thigh, thumb tracing small circles against your jeans, his laughter low and familiar in your ear. It felt easy, the kind of easy that only existed when it was the two of you.

Every now and then, he’d lean in to say something, and the smell of smoke and beer clung to him, that mix of danger and comfort that always made your heart stutter.

You really didn’t want to go out tonight, but when Jax looked at you with that grin of his — the one that pulled at the corner of his mouth and made you forget how to think — you caved. You always did.

The junkyard glowed under the flickering firelight, the night alive with the sound of laughter, clinking bottles, and distant engines revving for the hell of it. You watched Jax and Opie toss bottle caps at a tire rim, laughing when Opie missed. It was the kind of night that made you forget how small Charming really was, how fast it could swallow you whole if you let it.

You thought maybe this would be one of those rare good nights. You would drink a little more, maybe sneak away with Jax to the back of the lot where it was quiet. He would press you against the hood of Opie’s truck, his hands warm and rough, the world fading into the hum of cicadas and the sound of his laughter.

The three of you — you, Jax, and Opie — had fallen into that easy rhythm you always did. You teased each other, passed around a joint, and laughed until your sides hurt. For a while, you forgot about the rest of the world. It was just you and them, tucked in the middle of nowhere, safe in the kind of reckless comfort only youth and loyalty could buy.

At least until Opie’s attention was drawn to something more entertaining. There was a brunette who had been hovering all night, making small talk with Ope, until finally she tugged him away, and he went willingly, flashing you a half-smirk as he disappeared into the dark toward the back of the lot. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

Typical.

That was what you were thinking when Jax stood, brushing dirt off his jeans. “Need another round,” he said, flashing you that look that promised he wouldn’t be long. You nodded, smiling at him as he disappeared through the crowd, his blond hair catching the glow of the fire as he walked away.

For a moment, you just sat there, soaking in the sound of the night. The fire popped, someone shouted across the lot, and you leaned back against the tire stack, feeling the metal still warm from the day’s sun. It was peaceful in a loud, reckless kind of way.

That was until Kaleb Hennings decided to ruin it.

You caught sight of him before he reached you, weaving through the crowd with a half-empty bottle dangling from his hand, a grin too wide for someone who feigned confidence. You felt your shoulders tense as he stumbled closer, the smell of cheap whiskey hitting you before his voice did.

“Didn’t think I’d find you here alone,” he slurred, dropping down beside you on an old tire as if he belonged there. His thigh brushed yours, and you inched away, your jaw tightening. The easy calm of the night started to splinter.

You didn’t look at him. “I’m not alone. Jax will be back any minute.”

Kaleb laughed under his breath. “Yeah, sure he will. Probably off flirting with some other chick. You think he’s really that loyal?”

“He’s not like that,” you said, still staring straight ahead.

“Oh, come on.” His tone dropped, low and mocking. “He’s a guy. We all are. We take what’s offered. And you…” His eyes dragged slowly over you, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You don’t exactly make it hard to look.”

Your shoulders stiffened, but you kept your voice steady. “You’re drunk. You should stop talking before you say something stupid.”

“Too late for that.” He chuckled and leaned closer, his knee brushing yours again. “I’m just saying, if I were him, I wouldn’t leave you sittin’ here alone. Not with a mouth like that.”

You finally turned your head, glaring at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Kaleb grinned, leaning back like he was enjoying himself. “It means a girl like you shouldn’t waste her time waiting on some tool with grease under his nails. You could do better.”

You clenched your jaw. “And by better, you mean you?”

“Now you’re catching on,” he said, the words slow and deliberate. He lifted his beer bottle, took a long drink, then looked at you over the rim. “You’re smokin’ hot, sweetheart. Always have been. Don’t pretend you don’t know it. But being Teller’s girl? That’s a waste. You’re too pretty to be riding shotgun with a loser, letting him get his hands all over you like you’re his personal trophy.”

Your stomach twisted. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Sure I do.” He smirked wider. “Everyone knows you two sneak off after parties. You think people don’t notice? He probably tells the guys all about it too. How good you sound when—”

“Kaleb.” Your voice cracked like a whip, low and cold. “Shut. Up.”

But he didn’t.

He leaned in until you could smell the alcohol on his breath. “What, did I hit a nerve? Or are you mad because I’m right? Bet you like it when he talks dirty to you. Bet you like when he makes you—”

You shoved at his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble off balance, your pulse roaring in your ears. “You’re disgusting.”

Kaleb steadied himself, his grin warping into something meaner. “You act all innocent, but I see it. I see the way you look at him. You’re the type that pretends to be too good until someone gets you alone. Then you can’t help yourself, can you?”

You scowled, your hands trembling, voice rising despite yourself. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me or Jax.”

He leaned closer, his tone dropping into a low, mocking whisper. “Then tell me, sweetheart. Does he make you beg for it, or do you just give it up easy?”

You froze.

The words hit you like a slap, shame and fury crashing together until you could barely breathe. You wanted to throw a drink in his face, wanted to shove him hard enough to knock that smirk clean off — but you were alone, surrounded by nothing but shadows and firelight, and something in his eyes told you he’d only enjoy it if you fought.

So you tried to keep your voice steady, even though your chest was burning. “You really think talking like that makes you a man?”

Kaleb chuckled, inching closer until his boots scuffed against yours. “You wouldn’t know the difference. Teller sure as hell doesn’t.”

You swallowed hard, your voice breaking when you finally spoke. “You need to back off.”

He tilted his head, grinning. “Why? You scared he’ll hear? Or scared you’ll like it?”

Your breath caught. The space between you felt smaller than it should, too close, too dangerous. You could feel the heat from his body, the rank sweetness of alcohol on his skin.

You slid to the edge of the tire, unable to move anymore without hitting the ground. “Get away from me, Kaleb.”

He reached out suddenly, his fingers brushing your wrist, his thumb skimming the inside like he meant to test how far he could go. “Relax, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, smiling that crooked smile that made your stomach twist. “Just saying, if Teller ever gets bored, you know where to find me. But it’s not like you’re gonna push me away.”

“Let go.”

He didn’t.

He held on for just a beat too long, long enough for something sharp to rise in your throat — panic, rage, something that made your breath shake. Then, finally, he let go, his grin smug and ugly. “Didn’t think so.”

Your heart was hammering. The fire popped again, loud enough to make you flinch. You could feel the heat on your face, the urge to cry or scream sitting heavy in your chest.

And then you heard it — the scrape of boots on gravel.

Slow. Deliberate.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“Everything good here?”

That voice, that sound, that quiet fury that could make a whole room fall silent.

Kaleb’s smirk faltered. He turned his head toward the sound, the confidence draining from his face the second he saw who stood just beyond the firelight.

Jax.

Beer bottle in hand. Eyes cold as stone.

And in that moment, everything went still.

Kaleb smirked, “Teller. Was just keeping your girl company while you were off gettin’ another round. Didn’t want her gettin’ lonely.”

You forced a breath through your nose, your pulse hammering as you remained planted. “It’s fine, Jax. We were just talking.”

Jax’s eyes didn’t move. “That right?” His voice was low, even. Dangerous in the way a blade is dangerous before it cuts.

“Yeah, man.” Kaleb’s smirk widened. “Nothing serious. She was telling me how sweet you are to her. Real gentleman, huh?”

You could hear the lie in his voice, the mocking curl under every word. You swallowed, trying to keep your tone light. “Kaleb was just leaving.”

But Kaleb ignored you, tipping his bottle toward Jax. “Guess I should’ve known you’d come stormin’ over the second someone said hi to your girl. Can’t say I blame you. She’s somethin’, huh?”

Jax’s jaw flexed. His shoulders rolled like he was working to keep himself steady. “Get the fuck away from her.”

Kaleb laughed, not moving an inch. “Easy, man. You gonna get all territorial now? What’s the matter — worried she’ll realize she can do better?”

“Kaleb,” you snapped, the sound sharper than you meant it to be. “That’s enough.”

He barely looked at you. “Come on, I’m just talking. We’re all friends here, right?”

“Not me,” Jax said, his voice like gravel. “Ain’t ever been your friend.” He took a slow step forward, eyes locked on Kaleb. “No one here likes you. You’re just too damn stupid to notice.”

That grin on Kaleb’s face faltered for the briefest moment, then came back meaner. “You think you’re hot shit, Teller, just ‘cause you can get any girl you want and a patch in your daddy’s club. But you’re still just white trash playin’ biker.”

You stood up fast, putting a hand on Jax’s chest before he could close the distance between him and Kaleb. His heart was pounding under your palm, every muscle in his body coiled tight as wire. “Jax, don’t,” you said under your breath, desperate.

The firelight made Kaleb's grin look sinister. The ember glow enhanced his bloodshot eyes. The music seemed to thin, the laughter around the lot dimming like the world was sliding out of tune.

“Yeah Jax, don’t.” Kaleb mocks before turning his attention back to you. “You stay with white trash like Teller,” he says, slow and slick, eyes on you with that vile hunger Kaleb always wore like a badge, “well I hate to say it, sweetheart, but you’ll be nothing more than a junkie whore before you’re twenty five.”

The words hang in the air and you can’t even think. They don’t land and process in your head the way insults usually do. They explode. Color drains from everything and you are seeing red from the inside out. Your pulse roars in your ears so loud for a second you can’t hear Jax’s breath or Kaleb’s smug sip of beer.

Your hands clench.

You taste metal.

Jax’s jaw tightens. He takes a breath like he’s going to do what men like him always do, which is to move first and ask questions later. You can feel his anger coiling, see it work under his skin. You know what he’ll do if you let him. You know how the night could end in cuffs or worse, with lawyers and headlines of a rich boy playing victim.

You refuse to let Jax trade himself for your dignity.

Without thinking you lunge. Your hand flashes out and snatches the bottle from Jax’s grip. It's heavy and slick against your palm. Kaleb’s laugh dies when he sees the look on your face. He’s still smirking when you bring the bottle down hard. The glass connects with the side of his head in a wet, ugly impact. Pain blooms, more stunned horror than faint, and then the crimson follows, bright and hot on his temple.

“What the fuck!” he bellows, fingers flying to the wound, blood slicking his knuckles. His eyes are wide and furious, but they’re also stunned. He obviously didn’t expect you to answer his venom with violence. The crowd is suddenly very loud again, noise rushing in like someone turned the world back on. A few girls scream at the commotion, but the glass shards in your hand cause you to wince, drowning out their worrisome shrieks.

Kaleb regains his feet and lunges at you. You barely have time to see the shape of him move before you throw a punch. Your fist finds his nose clean and hard. There is a bone-crack sound more terrible than anything you’ve ever heard, and Kaleb’s head jerks back. Warmness floods down his face, a sickening, red trail of your brutal lack of self control.

He staggers, hands pressed to his face, and for one jagged second the thrill of fear and power roars through you. You’re trembling, adrenaline making your vision sharp and slow and bright. Kaleb howls, half-rage, half-astonishment, and the lot splits with shouts. Someone curses.

Jax moves swiftly just like you expected, but not towards Kaleb. He doesn’t swing. He doesn’t shout. He’s already in front of you, blocking, his hand on your wrist like an anchor and also a warning. His eyes are dark and burning with something that feels like both hunger and fury. For a breathless beat he looks at you like he's measuring you up and then like he’s breaking you down into all the things he will protect.

“Are you crazy?” he says, voice low and raw, but there is no scold in it. It is the sound of a man who would gladly go to jail for you and also the sound of a man who knows the world and counts the cost.

Kaleb gurgles something about pressing charges. He stumbles, trying to recompose his face into a picture of wounded dignity that a rich prick thinks he can sell to a sheriff. Blood pours through his fingers, slipping down the front of his shirt. His nose is a ruined, crooked red mess that will not be pretty in the morning.

People are moving now, the crowd converging, some to break it up, some to gawk. You can see Opie back near the pickup, eyebrows high, already on the move.

Jax keeps one hand on your wrist, the other not far away if he needs it. He looks at Kaleb like he’s deciding whether to let the prick go or if he should use his hands to finish the very thing you started.

“You gonna stand there and make a game of this, or you gonna leave while you still have the sense to?” Jax asks, voice hard as flint.

Kaleb spits on the ground, a mix of blood and saliva as he tries to carry himself with a swagger that hides the damage you’ve done. “You’re gonna regret that, bitch. You hear me?” he snarls through a slit of pain.

You stare at him until the snarl slides off his face. Your voice is cold and flat when you answer. “You so much as say one word to the police or your rich ass daddy and I will tell everyone you touched me.”

You know it’s a lie. You know there is no proof and that your bluff could blow up in your face. But right now it is the only weapon you have and you are not about to hand him the one thing he wants most, which is to make you the joke of the night.

Opie is on you in two long strides, eyes hard and worried. He takes in the busted beer bottle, the blood, the nasty bruise that will start to bloom purple on your knuckles in a few minutes. “What the hell happened?” he says, voice full of that quiet command he uses when he tries to diffuse a situation.

Kaleb shakes his head, spitting more blood into the dirt. “I never touched you,” he snarls back, indignation blaring. “Too much of a fucking prude. Just a white trash loving whore.” His words are sloppy and loud and meant to drag you down in front of everyone.

You watch Jax for a second and see the small, brutal thing he does when he holds himself back. His tongue pokes the inside of his bottom lip, his jaw working like he is chewing the world down into something he can contain. You can feel him there, the danger pooled behind his eyes, and you force yourself to use your words.

“A white trash loving whore whose grandfather works with Sheriff Unser,” you snap, every syllable a thrown knife. “I don’t think my grandfather would even blink at putting your ass behind bars. One whisper to Unser and it’ll happen in the blink of an eye. Especially when your own daddy has a reputation around town for bedding girls barely older than you.”

The junkyard falls a notch quieter, the music and laughter shrinking into the background until all you can hear is the crackle of the fire and your own heartbeat. Kaleb’s face loses color in a slow, sickening flicker. The bravado peels away and for a second you catch the look of a man who would rather call his father than stand and fight.

Instead he spits again. The warm wet slap of blood and saliva hits your shoe with a slick, obscene sound. It soaks into the canvas and the world tips for a second, a hot jolt of shame and fury twisting your gut. You barely have time to blink before Jax is moving.

His hand clamps down on the front of Kaleb’s shirt and lifts him as if the drunk were no heavier than last night’s trash. Kaleb dangles there, boots skimming the dirt, his laugh brittle and angry. “What’re you gonna do, Teller?” he jeers. “Too much of a pussy to fight your own battles? Had to let that little bitch handle it?”

Jax’s face goes hard. You can see the vein throbbing at his temple like it has a beating heart of its own. His fingers dig into fabric until his knuckles turn white.

Opie’s hand clamped down on Jax’s shoulder, hard and steady. “Don’t,” he said, voice flat. “It ain’t worth it, man. She already handled it.”

For a breath Jax looked like he might ignore him. Then, with a sudden, brutal motion, he tossed Kaleb so hard that the drunk hit the dirt with a hard thud. Kaleb groaned, the sound half pain, half surprise.

Jax stood over him, face hard, eyes cold as river stone. His voice was low and lethal when he spoke. “You ever talk to my girl like that again, you even look in her direction, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Opie stayed close, watching Kaleb crawl away, and Jax didn’t move until the drunk prick was gone beyond the rim of the lot. Then he turned to you, hands still trembling a little, the heat of danger cooling out of his posture.

You lift your hand and watch the blood glisten in the firelight, a harsh reminder of how quickly things had escalated. The cuts from the broken bottle sting, radiating up your wrist and making it throb in rhythm with your still-racing heart. You flex your fingers slowly, trying to shake off the pins-and-needles feeling, but every movement sends a sharp bite of pain through your skin.

Opie’s voice cuts through the lingering tension, authoritative and sharp. “Alright, everybody, that’s enough. Pack it up. Party’s over. Move along.” His gaze sweeps the junkyard, making sure no one dares to linger, and a few of the kids grumble but scatter under his glare.

Jax stays a step behind you, hands loose at his sides, jaw tight. He’s breathing slower now, but the dark edge hasn’t left his eyes. He mutters a curse under his breath as he takes in the sight of your hand and tears a piece of his flannel off, the rough fabric warm as he wraps it carefully around the cuts. The blood soaks into it quickly, and the sting makes you grit your teeth, but the pressure of his hands steadying yours makes it almost bearable.

Opie lets out a low whistle, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and respect. “Damn,” he mutters. “You really handled yourself. Never would have expected that.”

You let out a small laugh of disbelief. Never in a million years would you have expected something like this out of yourself either.

“Shit,” Jax mutters, worry cutting through his usual edge. “Don’t tell me you broke your hand on that fucking bastard.” You wince as Jax presses lightly over your knuckles, the dull throb spiking sharp for a second.

“I’m not sure,” you admit, your voice softer now. “I’ve never actually punched anyone before.”

That gets a small, humorless laugh out of him, one that dies as fast as it comes. The guilt in his eyes is immediate, heavy. “You should’ve let me handle it,” he says, frustration bleeding through his tone.

You shake your head, jaw tightening as you meet his gaze. “And have that asshole press charges against you? Hell no, Jax.”

He scoffs under his breath and looks away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like he’s trying to ground himself. “Still,” he mutters. “Would’ve saved your hand a little pain.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, flexing your fingers slightly before immediately regretting it, “guess I’ve got a hell of a right hook for a first timer.”

That’s when Opie, who’s been standing a few feet off watching the whole exchange with that half-amused, half-exasperated look, finally chimes in. “You’re not kidding,” he says with a low whistle. “I’ve seen prospects swing softer.”

You can’t help but smirk, the tension in your chest easing just a little. Jax glances up at Opie, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. A faint laugh slips out—quiet, but real.

“Damn straight,” he says, shaking his head with that small, crooked grin that always gets you. His thumb grazes your wrapped hand again, gentler this time. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

You snort, the sound half laugh and half cough, and roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, yeah,” you say, voice teasing. “Not like I have a temper or anything, Teller.”

Jax exhales, still rough around the edges, and looks over at Opie. “We gotta get her hand checked, man. We’ll go to the ER.”

Opie nods like he’s cataloguing what to do next. “Let’s just hope it’s jammed instead of broken.”

Jax turns back to you, brow tugging as he studies the way your thumb sits after the punch. “Next time you punch someone, keep your thumb outside,” he says, trying and failing to keep all of the worry out of his voice. “You don’t wanna jam it.”

You huff and bump his shoulder with your good hand. “Real helpful. I’ll keep that in mind next time I need to slug someone, Coach Teller.”

He doesn’t answer right away, eyes dark with a soft kind of fury. “I still can’t believe the nerve of that guy,” he mutters under his breath. “Should have kicked the shit out of him for the way he talked to you.”

You squeeze his arm with your wrapped hand, feeling the quick clench of muscle under your palm. “You kept it together,” you remind him, voice low. “That’s what matters.”

He looks at you for a long moment, like he’s memorizing the line of your jaw. “Yeah,” he says finally. “But next time I won’t be so good at holding back. I should have broken every single rib in that guy's body.”

Opie coughs, impatient in the way only he can be, and starts toward the truck.

Jax sighs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to guide you. “C’mon babe, we’ll get your hand sorted. But let me just say, you standing up for yourself? That’s probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You roll your eyes, “you liked that? Maybe I’ll throw hands again just to get you riled up. How’s that sound?”

Jax pauses, his eyes roaming yours before kissing you intensely, the force taking your breath.

After a moment Jax pulls back tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear while smirking, “Oh I love when you talk dirty to me, slugger.”

You groan, “I really hope that nickname doesn’t stick.”

Jax scoffs, his grin widening. “I’d like to think it’s a term of endearment.”

[slowburnsins]

Bloodstained Hands

Jax x Reader

MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS

Word Count: 3136

Summary: you try to save Jax’s life

Warnings: blood, violence, cussing, gunfire, death

You heard them before you saw them.

Their voices carried through the house, deep and mean, like thunder rolling over asphalt. Clay’s voice was the first to cut through, hard and booming, every word sharp enough to split the air.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, boy,” Clay barked. “You’re running your mouth about things you don’t understand. You weren’t there when those decisions had to be made.”

Jax’s voice came next, and it wasn’t calm anymore. “You ordered that hit, Clay. Don’t you dare stand there and feed me your bullshit. You’re the reason Donna’s dead.”

You froze in the hallway. Every muscle in your body went rigid. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—you’d just come out of the bedroom when their voices started rising. Now you were rooted to the floor, one hand on the wall to steady yourself.

Clay laughed, but there was no humor in it. “That woman wasn’t supposed to die. I gave the order to protect this club. Everything I do is for the betterment of our brotherhood.”

“Everything you did,” Jax said, stepping closer, “was for yourself. You wanted control. You wanted obedience. You sent Tig after a brother.”

Clay’s tone dropped low and dangerous. “You watch your fucking mouth.”

“I’m done watching,” Jax snapped. “You don’t get to hide behind that bullshit anymore. You crossed a line, Clay. You betrayed everything SAMCRO stands for!”

You edged closer, just far enough to see into the living room through the narrow gap between the door and frame. Jax stood near the table, face taut with fury. Clay’s jaw flexed, his eyes burning with something you’d only ever seen when he wanted to make a point—with his fists or worse.

“Your old man ran his mouth just like you,” Clay said. “And look how that turned out.”

The words hit like a blow. You saw the shift in Jax’s expression, that flash of pain buried beneath the anger. “You don’t get to talk about my father,” he said quietly, voice tight with control. “You don’t get to use his name to justify the things you’ve done.”

“I built this,” Clay said, gesturing around him. “This town, this club, this life. Your old man had dreams of turning it into a goddamn book club. I did what needed to be done!”

“What needed doing?” Jax’s voice cracked under the strain. “You murdered an innocent woman. You made Opie bury his wife thinking it was his fault. Blamed this shit on the niners! You think that’s leadership? You think my old man would have been proud of that?”

“Don’t you talk to me about JT,” Clay growled. “Your old man was weak. He was gonna get us all killed. You’re too blind to see the truth, boy.”

Jax moved in closer, eyes locked on Clay’s. “The truth is you’ve turned this club into something it was never meant to be. And I’m done standing by while you burn it all down. Once the rest of the club knows what you’ve done, there will be no coming back from this. Opie deserves to know the truth! Tig murdered his fucking wife!”

Clay’s hand twitched near his hip, fingers brushing the grip of his gun. “Careful what you say next,” he warned, voice low and gravelly. “You so much as breathe a word of this to Ope or anyone else, I’ll kill you.”

Jax didn’t flinch. He took another step forward until their chests were nearly touching. His voice was steady, eyes burning. “You gonna shoot me too?”

The words landed like a challenge.

The air in the room changed. The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush bone. You could feel it through the walls, the stillness and the danger, the line that neither man could step back from. They just stood there, locked in a stare that carried years of trust, betrayal, and blood between them.

Clay’s jaw clenched. His breathing was loud, ragged. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, son.”

Jax’s tone softened, almost pleading now. “Then make it right. Tell him. Tell Opie it was you. Don’t let him live with that guilt anymore. He deserves the truth.”

Clay looked away for a heartbeat, his expression cracking with something that might have been shame or maybe just regret. “Can’t do that.”

“Can’t,” Jax said, voice sharp, “or won’t?”

Clay’s hand moved faster than your eyes could follow. A flash of metal caught the dim light, and the distinct click of a hammer being pulled back cut through the tension like a blade.

“Kill me,” Jax spat, defiant even with the barrel leveled at his chest. “Go ahead, pull the trigger. You think they won’t find out? You think my mom won’t put it together? You kill me right here, Clay, at least I can die with a clean conscience. Can you?”

Clay’s eyes flickered once, a mix of guilt and fury and something that almost looked like sorrow. His voice was rough when he finally spoke. “You already made sure of that.” He took a breath, shoulders heavy. “I’m sorry, son.”

The gunshot exploded through the house.

You gasped, hands flying to your mouth as the sound echoed in your skull. The world seemed to tilt. One second Jax was standing, the next he was crumpling to the floor, blood blooming across his chest like spilled ink.

Your vision blurred with tears. Clay stood over him, expression unreadable, the gun still firm in his hand. He sighed, shaking his head like he had just put down a wounded animal instead of the man who called him family.

“It’s a damn shame, Jackson,” he muttered. His tone wasn’t cold. It was worse. It was indifferent.

You didn’t dare move. You held your breath, every muscle locked. You knew if he saw you, he would kill you too without hesitation.

Clay holstered the gun and turned away, muttering under his breath as he headed for the door. His boots thudded against the floorboards, slow and deliberate. You waited, praying he wouldn’t turn around.

The front door opened, then slammed shut.

And then he was gone.

You were moving before you could think. Your knees hit the floor beside Jax, palms pressing hard against the wound that would not stop bleeding. His breath rattled, uneven and shallow.

“No, no, no,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Jax, please, stay with me, baby, please.”

You could barely see through the tears flooding your eyes. Your hands kept slipping, blood slick between your fingers as you tried to hold pressure against his chest. You could feel it pulsing, hot and steady one second, weaker the next.

“Come on, baby, look at me,” you begged, voice trembling. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Jax’s lashes fluttered, his blue eyes finding yours for a second before drifting again. His breathing came in short, shallow gasps. The sound tore through you, each one softer than the last.

You tried to push down harder, ignoring the way your hands shook. “I’m here, Jax, you hear me? You’re not alone. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

He tried to smile. It wasn’t much, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it was enough to destroy you. Blood trickled from his lips when he spoke. “You… you shouldn’t be here.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m not leaving you,” you said fiercely. “Don’t even say that. I’m right here. I love you, Jax. You’re gonna be fine.”

He coughed, a wet, broken sound that sprayed crimson across your hands. The noise that came out of you didn’t even sound human. You pressed your forehead to his, your sobs shaking both of you.

“Please,” you whispered again and again, like the word itself could save him. “Please don’t go.”

He tried to lift his hand, the effort trembling and weak, but you caught it before it fell. You pressed it against your cheek, clutching it with everything you had. His fingers were cold.

“Hey,” he breathed, barely audible. “Look at me.”

You forced your head up, your tears falling onto his face.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he said, each word slurred and fragile. “You’re too beautiful for tears.”

The sound that came out of you was half sob, half laugh, broken clean through. “Stop talking like that,” you said, shaking your head. “We’re gonna get you help. I just need to think. I just need to—”

You reached for your phone with your bloody fingers, fumbling to dial. The screen slipped, your hands too slick to press the numbers. The floor beneath you felt miles away.

Jax’s eyes were on you the whole time. There was love there, deep and steady, even as the light behind it started to fade.

“Promise me,” he rasped, voice so quiet you had to lean close to hear. “Promise me you’ll leave Charming if I don’t make it. Don’t let it take you too.”

“Stop,” you choked, shaking your head violently. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re not dying. Do you hear me? You’re not.”

His lips curved again, just barely. “You’re stubborn as hell,” he rasped softly. “Always have been.”

You could feel his hand slipping from yours. You tried to hold on tighter, but his strength was leaving him fast. Panic clawed up your throat.

“No, no, stay with me, Jax. Please. I love you, I love you so much. Please don’t leave me.”

Your words came faster, desperate and incoherent. You could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen, the sound cruel in its steadiness.

His chest hitched once more, and for a second you thought maybe—just maybe—he was going to breathe again. But then his body went still. The silence that followed was unbearable.

You shook him, voice breaking apart. “Jax! Come on, baby, wake up. You can’t leave me like this. Please.”

The blood on your hands was already drying, turning dark against your skin. You pressed your forehead against his chest, still whispering his name, as if the sound of it could bring him back.

“Please,” you whispered again, but this time it came out like a prayer. “Please.”

There was no answer. Only the faint hum of the refrigerator, the distant sound of a car passing outside, and the soft echo of your heart breaking.

You didn’t even realize you were rocking him until your arms went numb. You just held him there on the floor, the house still filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood. The weight of him in your lap felt both impossibly heavy and heartbreakingly fragile.

Your tears soaked into his shirt as you pressed a trembling kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” you whispered, voice shaking so hard it hurt. “I can’t do this without you.”

The words fell into the silence like stones into deep water.

And then the world went black around you.

You jerked awake with a gasp, your body trembling, hands slick with sweat instead of blood. Your chest heaved as though you had been running for hours, and your tears were still wet on your cheeks. The room was quiet, save for the faint click of the bedside lamp.

Blinking through the haze of panic, you realized you were in your own bed. The sheets were twisted beneath you, your body soaked with the residue of the dream’s terror.

Then you saw him.

Jax was sitting up against the headboard, eyes wide and intense, his hand gripping the edge of the blanket. Concern etched every line of his face, the kind of worry that made your chest twist tighter than any nightmare ever could.

“Babe,” he said softly, voice rough with sleep and worry. “Hey, hey… you’re awake. Look at me.”

You could barely breathe, your hands shaking as you reached for him, like if you touched him you could make sure he was real.

“I… I—” Your voice cracked and faltered. Tears spilled freely again, and this time you let them fall without shame.

Jax leaned closer, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead. “It’s okay, darlin’. It was just a dream. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe.”

You rested your head against his chest, still trembling, still tasting the phantom tang of blood from the dream on your lips. Your arms clung to him as if letting go would make him vanish, as if the nightmare could reach through the walls of reality.

Jax’s hand moved in slow, deliberate circles along your back, each touch grounding you, reminding you he was real, here, and unhurt. His presence radiated warmth, and the low hum of his voice against your ear worked to steady the chaos still thrumming in your chest.

“I can’t… I can’t believe how real it felt,” you admitted, voice raw and trembling. “It was like I was there, and I couldn’t—”

Jax pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Couldn’t what?” he asked softly, voice threaded with concern.

“There was so much blood,” you choked out. “You’d been shot, I kept telling you to stay with me, to hold on, but it wasn’t enough.”

He let out a soft sigh, running his thumb along your cheek. “Babe, I promise you… I’m whole. No bullet wounds here. None of it happened. I’m right here.”

You shook your head, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze. The memory of the nightmare clung to your chest, heavy and suffocating. “It wasn’t just a dream, Jax,” you whispered, your hands gripping his arms. “Clay… he did it. There was this huge argument. You told him to come clean to Opie… and he—he…”

Jax’s eyes darkened, a flicker of guilt and something sharper passing over his features. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t move, didn’t interrupt. He let you spill the terror, the weight of the nightmare, and the panic that had consumed you. He had never seen you like this, raw and shaken, and it twisted something inside him.

“This… all of this is on me,” he said finally, his voice low, strained with frustration and guilt. “I shouldn’t have told you what I suspected about Donna. I never should have brought all this club tension home. I know things with Clay have been rough, but I’m okay, babe. I’m right here. It’s all just… it’s messing with your head. The stress of all this shit is getting to you.”

You closed your eyes against his chest, trying to steady your racing heartbeat, the echo of the nightmare still pulsing in your veins. “I felt like I lost you,” you admitted in a whisper. “Like I couldn’t do anything to save you.”

Jax held you tightly, rocking you gently against his chest, his hand tracing slow, steady circles along your back. The trembling that had consumed your body was fading, replaced by the lingering tremor of adrenaline and relief. You let yourself take shaky breaths, letting his warmth and presence remind you that he was alive, that you weren’t alone.

“I love you,” you whispered finally, your voice breaking slightly. “I love you so much it hurts. I don’t… I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.”

Jax’s chest rose and fell with slow, measured breaths as he leaned his forehead against yours. His thumb brushed your cheek softly, wiping away the tears that still lingered. “Babe… nothing, nothing could ever take me away from you,” he said firmly, voice low and steady. “I promise you that. You don’t have to ever fear losing me.”

He paused, swallowing hard, the shadow of guilt in his eyes. “I’m sorry, though. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have brought all this stress into your head. I didn’t mean for you to go through that.”

You shook your head, pressing closer to him. “Jax… I know what this life is. I’ve known from the start what it means to be a part of it. The stress… it just got to me. But it doesn’t change how I feel. I love you more than anything, more than I can even say. The thought of losing you… it would kill me.”

He held you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You don’t think I feel the same about you? I get it. And I promise… I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. You’re stuck with me.” His lips curved in a small, reassuring smile.

A soft cry from the baby monitor cut through the quiet, signaling Abel was stirring. Jax pulled back just enough to brush his nose against yours, eyes searching yours for a brief, tender moment. “Come on, I’ll get him,” he murmured.

Before letting go, he kissed you long and deep, slow and deliberate, as if to anchor you both to the present, to remind you that the fear had passed and he was right there with you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his, feeling every heartbeat, every breath, every undeniable proof that he was real.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes soft and full of unspoken promises. “I love you. Always. No matter what,” he murmured.

You pressed your lips to his, voice trembling but sincere. “I love you too, Teller. Always.”

The weight of the moment lingered between you, heavy with emotion, before he reluctantly pulled himself away to get Abel. Even as you climbed out of bed together, his hand remained on your back, a silent vow that he would never leave your side.

Walking into Abel’s room, your chest eased with a quiet, warm relief. Watching Jax gently lift your son from the crib, the tenderness in his eyes, the care in his movements, it made your heart feel lighter, almost unburdened.

Jax gave you a sleepy smirk. “Say hi, mama.” He gently took Abel’s tiny hand, and the little fingers curled instinctively around his own before waving toward you.

You gave a soft smile and walked over to them. “Hi, baby,” you murmured, gently brushing your fingers against his soft cheek. Abel cooed and gurgled, his bright blue eyes—just like his father’s—fixing on you with curious wonder.

“Looks like someone’s hungry. I’ll make him a bottle, and then we can watch some TV for a bit,” Jax said, and you nodded, feeling the tension in your chest start to ease.

The dream had left you rattled, but standing there, looking at your two boys, a quiet relief washed over you.

They were safe.

And as long as you had the two of them, nothing else in the world mattered. Your bloodstained hands were merely a figment of your imagination and you prayed that the image of Jax lying lifeless would never come to fruition.

[slowburnsins]

Requests Are Open

🐦‍⬛🚬🪦

One-shots:

Scream for me - Gemma is hosting a Halloween party at the clubhouse, but you’ve not heard from Jax all day. Not to mention he hates Halloween and never told you what he’d be going as, so imagine your surprise when someone breaks into your house dressed in a Scream costume

I’ll Make You Regret It - When a rich prick comes up to you at a bonfire making advances, things take a violent turn as Jax gets jealous and you defend yourself

Bloodstained Hands - You try to save Jax’s life

“You Want To Cause A Scene?” - you get jealous and take your frustration out on Jax **MATURE**

Funnel Cakes & Photobooths - you’re at the fair with Jax and he gets jealous **MATURE**

Mini One-Shot Series:

STAY WITH ME (All Parts)- Jax drunkenly confesses his love for you on the night of your bachelorette and things get complicated when you go back to tell your fiancé what happened

Fanfics:

Chasing The Devil

Sons of Anarchy//Jax x OC

Summary: Sam Winston thought she had left Charming and everything in it behind. But after one violent night, there is nowhere left to run. The only place that still feels like home is the one she swore she would never return to.

But back in Charming, nothing is the same. Her brother is caught between confusion and concern, trying to understand why she came back after all these years. The club watches her warily, uncertain what ghosts she might have brought with her. And Jax Teller, the boy she once loved and the man she broke, looks at her like she is both a ghost and a sin he cannot stop chasing.

But secrets have a way of surfacing, and Sam’s past is darker than anyone realizes. As her lies begin to unravel, she is forced to face the truth. She may have come home to outrun her demons, but every step only brought her closer to the devil waiting to collect her debt.

And the devil doesn’t care if you are ready to pay your penance. He’ll reap what is owed

{Rewriting}

Mercy’s Edge

Sons of Anarchy//Jax x OC

Summary: Detective Lorelei Hale has spent her life chasing justice, believing in clear lines between right and wrong but Charming has always been a town of shadows and compromises. She never imagined she would be pulled so deep into them.

Then Jax Teller comes back into her life. The boy she once knew has grown into a man shaped by danger, loyalty, and a world she cannot fully trust. He is not the man in charge yet, but he carries the weight of the club and the streets in a way that makes her question everything she has sworn to uphold.

A series of crimes drags her closer to the Sons of Anarchy than she ever intended. Every investigation forces her to navigate a world where survival often outweighs morality and where loyalty is measured in blood. She begins to realize that in Charming, justice is rarely black and white and mercy is even harder to find.

Every choice has consequences. Every secret threatens to unravel her. And standing on the edge may be the only way to survive.

<<WIP>>Coming Soon

Dividers Credit

[slowburnsins]

I apologize for the delay in writing Stay With Me: Part Four! This week has been very hectic and my brain has been fried 🫠 I needed to decompress and somehow I got invested in this Daryl Dixon fanfic and I can’t put it down at the moment

[slowburnsins]

Could I request a Jax Teller x reader

Something like the “you want to cause a scene” but the roles are reversed, where Jax gets jealous?

Thank you sooo much for the request! Just posted this smutty oneshot for you, so I hope you enjoy 🖤🖤

Post by @slowburnsins · 4 images

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · Funnel Cakes & Photobooths · Jax x Reader Summary: your at the fair with Jax when he sees a guy flirting with you and he g

[slowburnsins]

Morning! Slow Sunday Vibes so let’s chat!

Asks/Anons are welcomed and always open! Judgement free zone here as I can honestly say some of my thoughts are insane lmao! Get to know me better, ask me my opinions or just tell me some of your thoughts about Jax/SOA in general!

Requests for Jax Teller One-Shots are OPEN

[slowburnsins]

Good Morning Lovelies!

I woke up to get ready for work and it’s literally freezing outside 🥶 a whole 38 degrees but I’m loving ittttt

I thrive in the autumn/winter months