#Sons of Anarchy x you

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: torture, choking, cussing, firearms, Happy in his happy place, racism, home invasion.

Part 29

A Charming Detour - Part 30

The first sound was the sharp crack of glass. You startled awake, heart slamming in your chest as shards rained across the bedroom floor like falling ice.

Your scream caught in your throat before it could escape—frozen in that moment between dream and nightmare.

Juice shot upright beside you, eyes already wild, fingers reaching for you instinctively. "Babe?"

But the shadow at the foot of the bed moved too fast.

Then came the screaming.

Yours.

Juice’s.

The sound of boots thudding hard against wood.

The flashlight beam seared across the room like a gunshot—then hands, rough and unrelenting, tore you from the mattress.

"Juice—!"

You barely got his name out before a powerful arm clamped around your chest and another hand—thick, calloused, and cold—closed around your throat.

It wasn’t a threat.

It was control.

Immediate and absolute.

Your feet kicked beneath you, not even grazing the ground.

The air left your lungs in a tight, startled wheeze as your fingers clawed uselessly at the hand crushing your windpipe.

Your vision blurred.

Panic bloomed behind your eyes like a firework of static.

You could barely hear your own ragged, choked gasps. The blood was pounding too loud in your ears.

Everything shrank to the size of that vice on your neck—how your toes scrambled for contact with the floor that wasn’t there.

How you couldn’t get even a whisper of air.

"Put her down! Put her down!" Juice’s voice was hoarse and desperate.

You saw him—barely—lunging off the bed, shirtless, tattooed skin flashing in the beam of light.

His whole body was straining, raw with fury, but two men caught him mid-charge.

"NO—No, no, baby, look at me—"

But you couldn’t. You were dangling, trembling, mouth open like a fish out of water. Your hands slapped and scraped against the man’s wrist, nails digging in—but it did nothing.

You were just a doll in his grip.

Your lips parted, trying to form his name, but nothing came. Your world narrowed to spots of light and the burn of your lungs. Your legs started to go limp.

Juice saw it.

And it broke him.

"STOP—SHE CAN’T BREATHE—!" His voice cracked like something inside him was tearing. "She’s not part of this, you fucking cowards—"

A heavy punch cracked across Juice’s jaw, silencing him mid-scream.

Blood flew. He staggered, but he kept pushing forward on instinct, dragging his body toward yours.

You felt it when the hand on your throat finally loosened—just a fraction—and you fell, crumpling to your knees, coughing and wheezing, hands trembling as they gripped your neck like you had to hold it together yourself.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t stop shaking.

Juice was crawling to you, one eye already swelling shut, blood trickling from his mouth. "Baby—baby, look at me. I’m right here. I’m right here." He was breathless, shattered, but all he cared about was you.

You blinked up at him with tears streaking your face, reaching for him in blind desperation.

Your fingers brushed his hand, and he curled them into his immediately—tight, like an anchor.

"I got you," he whispered, voice breaking. "I got you, baby, I swear—"

Juice coughed blood onto the floor as a heavy boot planted on his spine forced him flat.

Another man—the one who seemed to be in charge—crouched beside him and dragged him up by the neck.

His voice was calm, like a lecture.

"You don’t belong here." His tone turned vicious. "But you knew that, didn’t you?"

Juice’s split lip curled. "Fuck you."

The man let his head drop with a thud. "You think Charming’s a safe little bubble? That your crew can hide under SAMCRO’s protection forever? Zobelle has friends in places that don’t give a shit about patches, do you know how many of us there are?"

Juice tried to lift his head, only to get kicked again in the ribs. You screamed from across the room, your voice breaking in panic.

"Stop it! You’re going to kill him!"

Your bare legs trembled where they pinned you to the wall, the hand at your throat tightening enough to make your voice crack.

The man behind you leered.

"Kill him? Oh no, sweetheart," he sneered. "We’re just getting started. We want him conscious."

He pressed closer. "You know, it's funny. We expected you to be better at hiding—when we heard you were runnin'. Soft little English-sounding thing. Barefoot, scared, all docile like a lamb. Makes it even worse, y'know. Wasting yourself on some greasy fucking spic."

Juice choked on a growl and tried to rise again. The leader slammed a knee down between his shoulder blades.

"That’s what really pisses us off," the man muttered. "You ain’t even one of 'em," he said to you, turning.

"You’re white. Coulda married a banker. A sheriff. Hell, even a trucker. But you shack up with this inked-up little wetback? What’s the deal, huh? Daddy didn’t hug you enough? Or is it the rebel fantasy—little Ms. Runaway wants a ‘bad boy’ to make her feel dangerous?"

You whimpered, frozen, tears spilling down your cheeks. Your fingers dug into the man’s arm at your throat, trying to push him off.

"Why’d you run, sweetheart? What was the point? 'Cause we found you. And if we found you... we can send you back to them."

Juice was shaking now—rage, panic, pain all blurring in his blood-slicked vision. "Get your fucking hands off her," he snarled. "Touch her again, I swear to God I'll put you in the goddamn ground."

"Spic thinks he’s scary," one of them laughed. "You think the world gives a shit about what happens to you, beaner? We disappear you, no one comes looking. But her? She’s our little trophy."

Another leaned toward you and dragged the back of his hand across your cheek, slow and deliberate. "Might even send the video to 'em. Let ‘em see what you look like all broken and tamed."

Juice screamed, raw and helpless. "LEAVE HER ALONE!"

"Look at that," the man sneered. "He bleeds red like the rest of us. But he ain’t one of us. And she will be—by the time we’re done."

The threat hung thick and sickening in the air. Juice could barely breathe. You could barely stand.

But through it all, your eyes kept locking—his busted and terrified, yours wide with horror but unwavering.

You mouthed, I love you, and it nearly broke him more than the beating.

Your home smells like sweat, fear, and violence. Your back scrapes against the bedroom wall as the rough hand at your throat tightens once more—just enough to remind you that you’re helpless, just enough to send your body into trembling panic.

You can’t scream.

You can barely breathe.

The only sound is Juice's ragged voice, trying to rise but getting shoved down again.

One of the men—the ringleader, with dead eyes and a smug grin—leans over Juice.

His knuckles are already red and sticky with Juice's blood. "This is what you get for sticking your dick where it don’t belong," he sneers, drawing a guttural sound from deep in Juice’s throat. "A dog like you don’t get a pretty little wife like that."

Juice tries to lurch forward again, despite the boot pressing into his spine. "Touch her again and I swear to God—" he spits out, only to be silenced by another brutal kick to his ribs.

His body convulses, shoulders curling inward as he groans and coughs wetly.

"You think she’s yours?" the ringleader continues, circling Juice like a vulture. "Think she actually loves you? You ever wonder what she was before she found your sad little ass?"

You manage to wheeze out a broken, "Don’t listen to them, Juan—" but the man holding you cuts you off with a cruel chuckle.

Another man pulls something from his jacket—an old, grainy photo, edges curled and yellowed. He tosses it to the floor in front of Juice. "Here’s your little wife" he taunts.

Juice’s eyes lock onto the image.

His face drains of color.

You see the shift instantly—the way his brow knits, the way his mouth falls open, the breath caught in his throat. He blinks hard, disbelief choking him more than any punch could.

The photo shows you—wide-eyed, standing awkwardly among a group of skinheads.

"She was one of us," the ringleader hisses, leaning down beside Juice’s ear. "You really thought she didn’t come from good stock? That she wasn’t raised to be pure ?"

"No," Juice breathes, shaking his head, voice cracking. "No. You're lying."

"Oh, she left, sure," the man grins. "But it doesn’t change what she was. You think you're special? You think you're not just a rebellion phase?"

Juice lifts his head slowly, turning his bloodied face toward you, eyes full of pain, confusion… heartbreak.

"Baby…" His voice is soft. Broken. "Is it true?"

Your lips tremble. "I didn’t—I swear— Juice, Baby you weren't supposed to know—"

Then the ringleader’s hand tangles in your hair, yanking you back violently. "B-b-b baby please" the ringleader mocked cutting you off

"She didn’t tell you. That’s the part that matters." He jeers at Juice.

They begin dragging him, pulling him backward across the floor.

"NO!" you scream, fighting against the grip still holding you, fingernails clawing at the wall.

Juice thrashes. "DON’T TOUCH HER! DON’T YOU TOUCH HER!" he bellows, voice hoarse, throat raw.

They slam him against the doorframe on the way out, laughing at your sobs. "You want her back? one calls over his shoulder. "Hope you’re still breathing by then."

And just like that, they're gone.

The apartment falls into deafening silence.

You collapse, coughing, the burn of their hands still imprinted around your neck.

The photo lies abandoned by the bed.

That version of you stares up from it, haunting and unfamiliar.

You crawl toward it on shaking limbs, then shove it under the mattress with trembling fingers—like if you hide it deep enough, it won’t be true.

But Juice is gone.

And the truth is out.

Your hands were shaking so badly that it took you three tries to press the right contact.

Blood—Juice’s blood—was still drying under your fingernails.

Your phone lit up, Jax Teller’s name glowing on the screen like a lifeline. You pressed it, barely breathing.

It rang once.

“Yeah—hello?”

You broke instantly.

“Jax...” your voice cracked, brittle, high-pitched with panic. “They took him. They—” you couldn’t even finish.

Silence on the line. Then steel.

“Who?”

His voice was low, deadly.

You swallowed hard. “Zobelle’s men. They—they came in the night, they beat him, they—they said they were gonna hurt him. And they took him—Jax, they took him—”

“Where are you?”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Our place. Please... I don’t know what to do. There was so much blood.”

“Lock the doors. Don’t open for anyone but us. We’re coming.”

He didn’t wait for a goodbye.

The line went dead.

The rumble came first—deep, rolling thunder down the street, like the sky itself was growling.

You were curled up by the door, still wearing Juice’s hoodie, your knees hugged to your chest. The scent of him in the fabric was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Then, like ghosts from the asphalt, the bikes appeared.

Chrome. Leather. Fury.

Jax was the first through the door, gun already drawn. Chibs hot on his heels, followed by Tig, Happy, and Bobby. Their boots hit the hardwood like war drums.

You stared up at them, your eyes swollen and red, lips trembling. “He’s gone. They took him—”

Jax was on his knees in front of you in an instant, his voice softer now but still blazing underneath. “Hey, hey—breathe. We’re gonna get him back.”

You nodded slowly, tears clinging to your lashes. “They said horrible things. They—they told him I’d never love someone like him. That I’d leave him. But I never—I never would, Jax. I swear.”

Chibs crouched beside you, his voice a low murmur with that lilt of care. “Aye, we know, lass. Juice knows too. He’d take a bullet for you.”

Tig, always the wild card, bent and pressed a bloody handprint on the wall, like a silent mark. “They wanted war. Now they get it.”

Happy said nothing, but the look in his eyes promised one thing, Blood.

You stood, still trembling, among these giants of leather and fury. But they circled around you without question—Jax brushing a gentle hand down your arm, Chibs adjusting Juice’s hoodie around your shoulders.

“I’m coming with you.”

Jax blinked. “What? No. You’re staying here where it’s safe.”

“I wasn’t safe here,” you said quietly, voice thin but certain.

“They got in. They hurt him. I need—I need to be there when we find him. He’s gonna be looking for me. He’s gonna be scared I’m gone.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Chibs gave a small nod.

“Lass is right.”

Happy grunted, eyes narrowing. “She rides with me.”

Jax sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Then “Alright. Let’s bring Juice home.”

You didn’t see the fear in their eyes—but it was there.

Not because of the danger. But because they knew what Juice meant to you.

And what you meant to him.

If they didn’t get to him in time...

The night had bled into morning, and with every passing hour, your heartbeat echoed like war drums.

SAMCRO split into pairs—riding hard, chasing leads. You ended up riding with Chibs, your hands gripping the side bar of the Dyna.

You hadn’t spoken much. You couldn’t.

Each spot turned up empty a trailer park in Lodi, a white supremacist hangout outside Stockton, a gas station where Juice’s kutte had last been seen.

Nothing.

Each dead end cut deeper than a blade.

At one stop, a man behind a security camera feed shrugged when you described Juice. You stared him down—quiet, ice-cold—and murmured, “Try again.”

His hands shook as he replayed the footage.

Still nothing.

Your silence unnerved everyone.

Even Chibs kept glancing at you like he didn’t quite know who he was riding with anymore.

The air was sharp with gasoline and desperation as the bikes tore down Route 9, the roar of their engines like wolves howling for blood.

This time you rode with Jax, his jaw clenched, arms tight, every turn of the throttle telling you he was barely holding back.

You were still wearing Juice’s hoodie—hood up—and your hands clenched.

The world was blurry from the tears you wouldn’t let fall.

Juice was out there.

And you had no idea what they were doing to him.

Jax’s phone buzzed over the hum of engines. He pulled off the road fast, tires skidding as the others slowed behind him.

Bobby waved you both into a clearing. Clay was already there, standing next to a kneeling man—a beaten, groaning heap in a black leather vest.

One of Zobelle’s men.

Clay didn’t smile when he saw you. He just tilted his chin.

“You wanted a lead? We got one.”

Back at the lot, the mood shifted.

It wasn’t just business anymore—it was personal. They’d taken one of their own.

And worse, they’d hurt the woman he called baby like she was glass and gold all wrapped into one.

They brought the man into the back of the garage, tied him to a metal chair beneath the flickering overhead light.

You stayed just outside the doorway, your back against the cool wall, your breath shallow.

You didn’t go in.

Inside, Happy paced like a panther. Shirt rolled to the elbows, brass knuckles flashing with every movement. He said nothing at first—just stared.

The guy spit blood on the floor. “You gonna let your little cheerleader watch?”

The words hadn’t even hit the floor before Happy’s fist collided with the man’s mouth. A crack echoed off the walls, and the chair shook beneath the weight of his head snapping back.

Jax leaned against the tool bench nearby, watching, not stopping it. This wasn’t justice.

This was vengeance.

“Where is he?” Happy asked, voice a low growl, steady like a drumbeat before war.

The man coughed, laughed through bloody teeth. “Why?"

He tilted his head toward the door. “She’s cute. Think she screamed when they grabbed her? Bet she cries real pretty too.”

The second punch was worse. Not just a hit—Happy drove his fist like a hammer, splitting the man’s lip and knocking a tooth free. He wiped his knuckles on his jeans, calm as a surgeon.

Happy cracked his knuckles and stared at him like a lion eyeing his next meal.

The room was dim, lit by a single bulb swaying from an overhead beam. Concrete floor, oil-stained. The club had used this space for less savory business before.

You moved to stand in the door as Happy circled him.

“Where is he?” Hap’s voice was low. Steady.

The guy spat at him. “You’ll never see him again. That spic’s as good as dead.”

Happy smiled.

It wasn’t kind.

But even after a solid twenty minutes of controlled violence—knuckles cracking ribs, boots pressing into pressure points—nothing came.

He laughed through the pain.

A fanatic.

You stepped into the room quietly. “Can I try?”

Happy looked at you like you’d lost your mind.

“Sweetheart,” Jax said cautiously. “You don’t gotta do this.”

You turned, softness in your voice. “Please. Let me talk to him.”

You pulled a metal stool up and sat in front of him, knees almost touching.

You didn’t yell.

Didn’t raise your voice.

Just tilted your head and gave him a gentle smile.

“Hi.”

He scowled. “What, they gonna let you try and seduce me for answers?”

You gave a quiet laugh. “No, I’m married. To the man you’re torturing.”

He sneered. “You’re the bitch we've been hunting ? Christ. Your wetback's pathetic sweetheart.”

You didn’t flinch. You just leaned in slightly, voice as soft as ever.

“I grew up around people like you. Men who thought fear was the same thing as power. My family used to keep little vials hidden in their sleeves. You ever hear of aconitum?”

He blinked, thrown off.

“Wolfsbane,” you supplied gently. “Causes confusion, nausea, muscle paralysis. They used to put it in beer. Or drip it onto rag wounds. No trace after three hours.”

You reached into your pocket and set a tiny, unmarked bottle on the table beside you.

His entire body went stiff.

Your smile never wavered. “I know which plants slow the heart just enough to fake death. I know which ones cause blisters that look like infections. I know how long it takes to make someone wish they were dead.”

You leaned in, nose nearly touching his. “And the best part is, no one ever suspects the girl with the quiet voice and sad eyes.”

He swallowed. His eyes flicked to the bottle. “You’re bluffing.”

You opened the cap.

The sharp, earthy scent filled the room immediately.

Jax and Tig were both frozen.

Chibs looked like he didn’t know whether to stop you or take notes.

Happy was grinning.

“Tell me where my husband is, please” you whispered.

His resolve cracked. Just a little. His voice hitched. “The warehouse off 9th. One of the back ones—unit 27. It's shielded. No cameras. They don’t take phones inside.”

You capped the bottle.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

You stood, wiped your palms on your jeans, and walked out without another word.

The guys followed slowly, like they were trying to process what they’d just seen.

Happy walked beside you as you moved toward the bikes.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he muttered.

You gave him the faintest smile. “I've never had to use that knowledge before”

Chibs looked at you sideways. “You gonna tell us what was really in the bottle?”

"It's just loveage, completely harmless" You smirked. "But he didn't know that"

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

jax is THE "obsessed with his girl when she wears sundresses or those slip nightgowns" like theres a CRIMINAL lack of fanfic around him going bark bark awooga over that shit do u agree with me

Sundress.

it’s sundress season. jax can’t keep his hands to himself.

pairing - jax teller x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. jax is a terror.

word count - 1.5/2k maybe? i’ll check later.

authors note - you’re so right. that man is not surviving sundress season.

masterlist. inbox.

You felt it as soon as he walked in.

There’s always an atmosphere between you and Jax. A tension that’s alive, crackling, buzzing with anticipation of itself.

You’ve been waiting for the honeymoon phase to wear off for years. It never has.

All evening, he’s been watching you.

Careful, concentrated blue eyes repeatedly raking over your figure. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

Eventually, it’s making it too hard to work. You ask one of the girls to take over the bar and stride across the space, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him into the back room.

“Okay baby, I like it when you-”

“Cut it out.”

He stops in his tracks, slightly taken aback.

“Huh?”

“You heard me, Jax. Cut it the fuck out.”

He leans against the wall, cool as ever, eyes still wandering.

“Cut what out?”

“That!” you scold, smacking his chest. “The eye fucking. I’m trying to work.”

“I’m just looking at you.”

“You are not just looking at me. You look like you’re going to bend me over the bar at any given moment. Stop it.”

“I can’t help it, darlin’.”

He takes a step forward, sliding his hands across your hips and pulling you into him.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty in this dress. It’s takin’ everything in me to not rip it off you.”

You try to stand your ground, but his warm body pressing into yours is making it difficult.

“You can do whatever you want to me when we get home,” you tease, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “When we get home.”

“That a promise?”

“It is if you can cool it with the stares. You’re scaring people.”

“Good.”

He kisses you roughly, hands migrating down to palm at your ass. You moan into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck to stay steady.

“Jax,” you hiss as you pull away. “Everyone’s gonna think we’re fucking back here. Behave.”

“I like it when you tell me to behave,” he smirks, smoothing out the skirt of your dress.

“Behave,” you repeat, tugging his hair roughly. His eyes close in bliss and for a moment, you debate just letting him have you now.

Remembering the entire reason for this conversation, you slap his cheek lightly.

“Best behaviour until the end of my shift. You hear me, Jackson?”

“Yes ma’am.”

He mock salutes you before stealing a quick kiss. Opening the door for you, he smacks your ass as you walk by, laughing when you turn around to glare at him.

“I mean it.”

“Oh I know, baby.”

To his credit, he reels it in. Slightly.

He’s still watching your every move, but with a little less intensity than before. You catch his eyes occasionally, winking as you grin. He shakes his head, beaming smile on his face telling you everything you need to know.

As the night comes to a close, people start to vacate the bar and make their way home, drunk and merry. Jax sticks around, arm slung over the back of the booth as he watches you clean.

“You two gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, Chibs, we’re good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He gives you a kiss on the cheek before leaving, as you hear his bike roar to life.

As soon as Jax has confirmation he’s gone, he’s getting up, sauntering over to where you’re wiping down the bar top.

“What’s my prize?”

“Hmm?”

You look up at him with big doe eyes and he almost melts, leaning across the wood towards you.

“What’s my prize? For behaving myself?”

“You’re insufferable,” you laugh. “You’re supposed to behave yourself.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You shake your head and lean down to throw the rag under the sink. When you stand up, Jax is pressed against you, body warm and firm.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

His big hands cradle your face, rough and gun calloused.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty.”

You flush, heat rising across your chest. Jax lunges in, smashing his lips to yours and pushing you up against the bar. The lip of the wood is digging into your back as he presses you into it further, rocking his hips into yours as he kisses you.

You gasp as he bites down on your lip, so he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like beer and cigarettes and the gum he chews because he knows you like it. You tangle your fingers into his hair, trying to plaster yourself to him.

Jax leans down and presses open mouthed kisses to your ear, your neck, your collarbones, your chest. No skin goes left untouched as you tilt your head to give him more access. He smirks at how quickly you’ve relented.

“I know you wanted this,” he murmurs against your throat. “Wanted it just as bad as me, didn’t you?”

When you don’t respond, he snakes a hand around your neck, squeezing just enough.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, Jax. Please.”

He presses his lips into the junction of your shoulder as his hand slips underneath your dress. He traces you over your underwear, cupping you as he chuckles.

“Filthy girl. So fuckin’ wet.”

You drop your head forward into his chest, trying to take deep breaths so you don’t pass out.

“Can’t take my time with you like I want to,” he murmurs. “Don’t want anyone walking in and seeing you like this.”

In the blink of an eye he’s spinning you around, hand on your shoulder blades to push you down onto the bar top. He flips the skirt of your dress up, bunching it around your waist.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day. Pretty fuckin’ girl.”

Jax pulls your underwear to the side as he fumbles with his jeans, pushing them down just enough. You feel the warmth of him behind you, sliding through your wet heat with ease.

“Please,” you whine. “Don’t tease.”

“Needy baby.”

His tone is so patronising, so condescending, that on any other day you’d slap him. But in this current moment, the only thing you can thing about how is how you might die if he doesn’t fuck you soon.

“Okay, honey. I’ll give you what you want. Only because you look so fuckin’ gorgeous in this dress.”

He slides himself home as both of you groan. You rest your head on your folded arms on the bar as his hands find your hips, setting a brutal pace instantly.

His rhythm is consistent, deep thrusts reverberating through the core of you. Your knees threaten to give out as he knocks your entire body forward, his hips smacking into yours.

His mouth is running constantly, spewing filth right into your ear as he breathes down your neck.

“Prettiest fuckin’ girl I’ve ever seen. This goddamn dress. Drivin’ me insane.”

“Yeah darlin’, just like that. Fuck, baby. S’good.”

“You feel like heaven, fuck. Atta girl.”

“Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. That’s it, there we go.”

You can’t do anything but take it, babbling nonsense right back at him. He chuckles, snaking his hand around your front to circle your clit.

His fingers are your undoing, clenching around him like a vice as your legs give out. All you can do is whine his name, all high pitched and breathy.

“Fuck, baby.”

Jax comes as soon as he feels you, groaning as he rests his head on your back. He squeezes your hips a couple of times, kissing across your skin.

You’re both revelling in your post orgasm bliss when the door flies open, hitting the wall and startling you both.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, lovebirds.”

Chibs is grinning, laughing as he looks around the booth where he was sitting. He finds his keys on the floor, holding them up as he shakes his head at the two of you.

Jax pulls out of you and buttons himself up, smoothing your dress down to preserve your decency. You hide your face in his chest as he chuckles, the sound rumbling through the both of you.

“See ya tomorrow!” the Scotsman yells as he leaves, stupid smile on his face.

“What did I tell you about behaving?”

Jax can’t help but laugh at you, pulling you in to press a kiss to your head.

“Let’s go home, pretty girl. Wanna fuck you in this dress a couple more times.”

@lauratang @ladyjbrekker @myhappyplaceofstuff

[theangelssing]

Good Evening

prompt: after a hard day with SAMCRO, Chibs could really use a shower, a dinner and your presence. Nothing else but a sweet evening with his s/o.

gender neutral!reader, third pov, Chibs & reader are a couple, reader is friend with Sons of Anarchy, 820 words

warnings: mention of blood, mc’s activites, nudity, smoking, drinking (wine) allusion of sexual activity, age gap, physical touch (romantic way)

a/n: small fluffy imagine with Chibs just bc I love him; don’t hesitate to send request for every character you want (:

masterlist - inbox

“Babe I’m home,” you heard Chibs’ voice across the small apartment you two shared. You got up from your bed you were sitting on and you came to meet a slightly bloody Chibs. “Not mine,” he just whispered as he saw you looking at him.

“You wanna talk ‘bout it?” you simply asked while you both were heading to the bathroom.

“Nope. Right now I want you and me in the shower,” he replied with a grin, which made you laugh.

“You never stop,” you said and he shook his head.

“Never, babe.”

Chibs kissed you, already undressing himself. You did the same, and the both of you went under the hot water. You were used to Chibs’ activities with the Sons of Anarchy. In fact, you were used to the charter’s activities. So when Chibs would returned at home all bloody after a day, you would not freaked out or complained. You would always stayed there for him if he wanted to talk, but you would never pushed him, only doing whatever the two of you wanted to enjoy your evenings.

After your shower Chibs was only wearing a towel around his hips while you were already wearing your pyjamas.

“What d’you want for dinner?” you asked him.

“Ye,” he replied, a crooked grin on his lips.

“Again? You sure you can handle that many rounds?” you were only playing with him, of course.

“Love, I migh’ be more than 15 years older than ya but I still can show ya who’s the boss here.”

He gave you a kiss and a small slap on one of your butt cheek, making you laugh.

“To be honest I’ll eat whatever’s left in the fridge and the cupboards. I think ya’ll need to run some errands tomorrow if it’s alright for ya.”

“Yeah no prob’ I’ll do it.”

You smiled softly, already busy finding what to cook. You knew Chibs could also cook, but sometimes you just like being the one cooking. While you were busy making dinner, Chibs would usually set the table and poured a glass of wine for the both of you, the smell of his smoke blending with the smell of the food.

After having put some sweat pants on, Filip returned in the kitchen, dinner almost ready. You didn’t do anything fancy, only spaghetti, but that was always great for him after a day working with the club. You put the plate before him as he was turning the tv on. You sat next to him and he gave you your glass of wine.

“What d’ya wanna watch?” Chibs asked.

“Let’s watch Pride and Prejudice!” you immediately replied.

“Again? Isn’t it like the third time in two month we watch it?”

“Yeah but I love it,” you said with big pleading eyes.

“‘kay but next time I’m the one choosin’ the movie.”

You smiled and went to put the dvd in the player.

It was your little habit. Just you two and a movie night, relaxing together. Of course Chibs loved to spend the night at the clubhouse but sometimes he was better alone with you than with the club. And sometimes he also loved having you around at the clubhouse. It all depended on his moods, yours, the day you both had. And right now, spending some time with your loved one, felt like the perfect evening.

“Aye, can’t get enough of that movie, can ye?” Filip put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him as the movie just finished.

“I’m sure you love it too,” you joked.

“Kinda have too, after havin’ watch it that many times.”

Chibs laughed then kissed you and you went deeper in his embrace. You smelt his cologne mixed with the smoke and you felt at home.

He let a hand running through your hair and you stared at the paused screen in front of you. The black background was letting you see yourself in Chibs’ arms. You also could see his disturbed face and look.

“What’s going through that head of yours?” you asked, brushing his cheek with your nose.

“Too many things, babe. Don’t wanna upset ya with the club’s shit.” He kissed your forehead. “Jax’s a good president, I trust him enough.”

You nodded and kissed his cheeks. He lit a cigarette and you looked at him, only to meet his gaze on you.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothin’. Ye’re cute. What if we go to bed?” Chibs asked, a small and soft smile on his lips. You agreed and you both put an end – in your bedroom – to another crazy day.

You knew a small evening with you in his arms could make Chibs’ day better, so that’s what you did tonight. With him, you never felt the need to ask him about his day or about the club’s activities because he was the one to talk to you when he needed to.

[etclouie]

Congrats on 1000 !!!! Could you do 9 and 12 with happy from the smut prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ — title; missed you (happy lowman x fem!reader)

˚୨୧⋆｡ — prompt/s; 9) “don’t hold back” and 12) “wrap your legs around my waist”  — from "𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙝, 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩…" 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩 𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨 

˚୨୧⋆｡ — warnings; established relationship, smut, minors do not interact!!!, p in v, unprotected sex and creampies (it’s me😇), uhm possible ooc happy but that’s it (527 words)

˚୨୧⋆｡ — a/n; still trying with all my reqs

— last day for submissions // louie's 1k sleepover

the sound of clothes hitting the floor filled the room, both of you as eager as the other to get into bed again. 

Happy had been away dealing with something for the past week, which led to the built up tension and longing coursing through you both. 

once the last piece of clothing hit the floor, Happy walked you backwards towards the bed. 

he climbed on top of you, settling himself between your legs while you watched him. 

“wrap your legs around my waist”

he told, helping you move your legs around his hips before a smirk made its ways onto his face. 

you leaned in, catching his lips in a kiss while he nudged himself at your entrance. slowly he pushed in, both of you moaning in sync at the feeling. 

he stayed still for a minute, letting you both relish in the feeling of being together again. 

after a minute, he began to roll his hips. the sound of your coupling filling the room, being quickly followed by your moans. 

it wasn’t often that Happy actually moaned, but when you had sex for the first time in a couple days or a week? the noises flowed from his lips without a second thought. 

“shit baby, missed you missed this”

he groaned out, his hands bracing himself on the bed on either side of your head to support himself. 

your eyes screwed shut, the feeling of him consuming you whole as the coil began to wind in your belly. 

“baby..”

you mewled, lips parted in another moan as he hit that one spot that made your toes curl and your cunt flutter desperately around him. 

“i know, cum for me”

he commanded, his eyes focused on your pleasure stricken face as his thrusts grew frenzied. 

you knew he was on the edge with you, but he was waiting for you to cum first before letting himself go. 

he caught your lips in another kiss, pressing all his love and longing into it while his hips continued. his cock still hitting that one spot over and over again, easily sending you hurtling towards your climax. 

with a couple more thrusts of his hips, you went careening over the edge with a cry of his name. biting at your bottom lip to try an stifle your moans, but he shook his head at you. 

“don’t hold back”

you squinted up at him, your eyes heavy as the pleasure thrummed through you as your climax washed over your body. 

your walls fluttered around him as he chased his climax, wanting to hear you moan again for him before he let himself fall over the edge. 

he rolled his hips deeper, hitting that spot again and making you moan. the sound a mix of pleasure and sensitivity, but it was what he wanted. 

with a sloppier thrust, he buried himself to the hilt as he spilled himself inside. you both moaned at the feeling, your nails scratching across his back while an air of contentment filled the bedroom. 

Happy leaned in to catch your lips again, only pulling back to whisper against your lips. 

“really missed you, and this pussy”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[brunettemarionette]

𝐩𝐨𝐯: 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 ​🇸​​🇴​​🇳​​🇸​ ​🇴​​🇫​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇦​​🇷​​🇨​​🇭​​🇾​

[bellaxgiornata]

How Much Did You Miss Me?

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 3k [Jax Fic Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; smut, f!masturbation, cocky Jax and his filthy mouth, somewhat rough sex (kinda, not really), porn with minimal plot, unprotected sex

Summary: While Jax is on a protection run, you're desperate to ease some tension so you can fall asleep. But when he unexpectedly returns early, he's determined to prove he's better than your toy.

a/n: This is pure filth. All of it. I was writing some soft!Jax smut and was struck with the need for something with a cocky Jax, so this interrupted that and fell out of me really quick. Newer to this fandom, but if you'd like me to tag something not listed above, let me know. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

You hated nights like tonight. Nights when Jax was out late doing a protection run with the club and you were left alone in your apartment.

You especially hated nights like tonight when you couldn't seem to ignore that damn incessant ache between your thighs no matter how hard you tried. You knew you’d never get to sleep tonight if you didn’t get rid of it, but all you wanted was Jax–his mouth, his fingers, his cock. Right now you craved any part of him, but he was probably hours away on his bike and you were here with nothing but your damn vibrator.

Head nestled amidst the pillows of your bed, your eyes squeezed tightly shut as the repetitive buzzing noise drowned out the sound of anything else in your apartment. You were focused on the pleasure steadily building in your body as your mind desperately tried to conjure up images from the last time you'd been with Jax two mornings ago. Holding tight to the memory of him lazily fucking into you while half awake from that other morning, you desperately attempted to chase your release just so that you could relax enough to finally go to sleep tonight.

Teeth biting down on your lip, you could feel that intoxicating sensation gradually growing stronger within you. You were getting closer, inching nearer and nearer as that wave of pleasure crept its way up your spine. Keeping your focus on the memory of Jax with your legs tossed over his shoulders, his large hands holding your ankles firmly in place as he slowly rolled his hips into you, your back arched along the bed as the pleasure continued to build. You were so damn close now.

But the sound of a familiar deep, rumbling chuckle broke through the moment. 

Just as you'd startled and opened your eyes, Jax was reaching down and pulling the toy out of your hand without the slightest hesitation. With a smug smirk on his lips, he easily turned the vibrator off without even glancing away from where you were sprawled naked on the bed before him.

“Really, baby?” he asked, his tone a mixture of amused and annoyed as he gestured his head at the vibrator in his hand. “This what you do when I'm gone?”

Lips parting in surprise for the briefest moment, you gaped at his audacity. Seconds later you recovered, shooting him a pointed look that only had his smirk growing a little more.

“What the hell, Jax?” you shot back in frustration. 

He held the toy up higher in his hand, his brows raising back at you. “You think I'm gonna let my girl use this fucking thing when I've got something much better?”

If it wasn't for the fact that you were feeling sufficiently sexually frustrated at the moment, you'd have found the sight of him holding your purple vibrator up with that look on his face somewhat funny. But right now you didn't feel anything close to entertained.

“You were supposed to be out, Jax,” you reminded him. “What the hell else am I supposed to do when you're gone? Suffer?”

“Now there's a thought,” he mused.

With an annoyed huff, you watched as he turned around to set the vibrator on your dresser. Pushing yourself upright on the bed, you frowned at him when he turned back to face you.

“Come on now, darlin’,” he drawled, a glint in his eyes as they roamed over the way you sat naked on the bed. “Don't give me that look. I'm not going to leave you so...tense.” 

Your eyes narrowed at the way he was still grinning at you. Unaffected by your look, his hands reached up and slowly slipped the leather kutte off of his shoulders, letting it drop to your bedroom floor with a soft thump.

“What's the catch, Jax?” you asked him, cutting straight to the point.

He chuckled at your question, his hands casually undoing the buttons of his flannel one at a time next. “No catch, baby. I wouldn't do that to you. Not when it seems like I interrupted you before your satisfying conclusion.”

You shook your head immediately, not entirely believing what he was telling you–not with that look on his face. Thighs pressing together as you watched him undress, your body was craving release at this point. It didn't help that Jax had caught the subtle squirming and shifting of your hips, his eyes dropping down towards your legs. His tongue darted out, running slowly along his bottom lip as he slid the flannel down his arms and to the floor. Your eyes immediately drank in the sight of his bare chest, raking over every toned muscle, little scar, and tattoo now made visible.

“Okay, maybe one little catch,” he amended.

Gritting your teeth together, you watched as his hands lowered, beginning to slowly undo the button and the zipper of his jeans. He was going so slow on purpose just to tease you.

“What?” you grudgingly asked.

“I want to hear you,” he continued, pushing his jeans and black boxer briefs down his thighs in one fluid movement that had you almost salivating at the sight of him finally bare. “No keeping quiet tonight. I don't give a shit if we piss off your neighbors again.” He kicked out of his clothes, taking two steps before he was right at the foot of the bed. “I want to know how much more you enjoy my cock. I want to hear it. You got that?” 

His eyes held yours as he leaned forward and planted both hands on the edge of the bed. There was a challenge in his expression, daring you to tell him no. But you knew better than to do that because then he probably really would leave you frustrated and unsatisfied tonight. And honestly, you had a feeling you'd be so sensitive at this point that you wouldn't be keeping very quiet.

“It's not like I wanted that thing over you in the first place, Jax,” you answered flatly. 

Clearly your response had been one he wanted to hear because Jax climbed up onto your bed the second you'd finished speaking. He jutted his chin out at you before he spoke again, that smug smirk he often wore returning.

“Roll over, baby. On your stomach,” he ordered.

You hesitated for only a moment, just long enough to take in the sight of him naked on his knees on your bed, one hand stroking his hardening length. He looked so good that you just couldn’t help yourself, but the moment one of his brows arched at you, you shifted and turned, laying down on your stomach.

“There you go, baby,” he praised in a deep rumble.

His voice went straight to your cunt, a surge of pleasure running through you. His rough hands grabbed onto your hips, shifting them a little higher up off the bed before one of them slid over to grab a firm handful of your ass. A quiet, soft little noise slipped out of you in response, the anticipation of what was coming causing your cunt to pathetically clench around nothing. 

As Jax pushed your legs apart wider with his knees, making room for himself between them, a pleased, throaty noise vibrated in his chest. The sound alone had your hands fisting the bed sheets before you glanced over your shoulder at him behind you.

“Already impatient, darlin’?” Jax teased.

“Of course I'm impatient, you interrupted what I was–”

Your words were cut off the second he ran the tip of himself through your damp folds, a gasp falling out of you instead. You were so damn sensitive already from what you'd just been doing that you didn't think you’d be lasting much longer. Especially when another throaty, satisfied noise left Jax behind you.

“What was that, baby?” he asked, amused. “Would you have preferred the toy instead?”

He teased the tip of himself against your entrance, barely pressing himself against you. Your eyelids immediately fluttered, your breath hitching. You just wanted to feel him already.

“No, Jax,” you nearly whined in response.

Trying to compose yourself as you watched him once more over your shoulder, you saw the slow, satisfied grin spread over his lips. A second later you were rewarded with the feel of him partially sinking into you, the sensation causing your mouth to fall open and a soft groan to slip out.

“That fucking toy get you this goddamn wet?” he growled, a hint of irritation in his tone. “That why you feel so goddamn good already?”

Jax moved behind you, leaning forward on the bed until his body was flush over the back of yours, resting his forearms along the mattress on either side of your hands to withhold some of his weight from off of you. His hips pushed himself further inside of you a little more roughly than usual as if to emphasize his displeasure at your use of the vibrator. The gesture met with a sharper gasp from you this time.

“Was–was thinking about you,” you managed to breathe out.

His face hovered just over your shoulder now, his mouth beside your ear when another pleased rumble sounded in his throat. He pulled his hips slowly backwards, his cock nearly slipping out of you before he roughly buried himself fully back into you in one quick movement. A high-pitched curse flew out of your mouth, your eyes snapping shut.

“So you were thinking about me?” he murmured, his tone far softer than the current thrust of his hips against you. His head shifted, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You miss me that much when I'm out with the club, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed out, the noise sounding more like a needy whine.

Jax’s pace increased at your response, his cock repeatedly burying itself so deep inside of you that he kept hitting the spot that made the edges of your vision nearly burn white. You were so damn close again already, each of his panting breaths and rough grunts in your ear drawing you right back to the moment he had interrupted a little bit ago.

You loved this position and Jax knew it. The angle he could thrust into you was always perfect, allowing him to fill you completely with every sharp snap of his hips. And you loved the feel of his solid, warm body pressed flush over the entirety of you, his weight pressing you deep into the mattress as he practically overwhelmed all of your senses. You could feel the pull of his muscles against your back, hear the grunts and heavy breaths slipping out of his mouth beside your ear, feel his hot breath along your neck, smell the familiar scent of cigarettes and leather.

Your cunt was tightening around him already at the influx of stimulation, squeezing him as you kept drawing closer to the release you craved. A flurry of soft moans had been increasingly tumbling out of your mouth as he continued to roughly fuck into you, his hips repeatedly ramming into your ass over and over. But you could tell he wanted more when the hand beside yours moved, sliding its way along the bed before moving between your body and the mattress, brushing down past your breasts and your stomach. His hand continued its descent further until it stopped between your thighs, his fingertips landing right on your already sensitive clit. A hiss of pleasure came from between your teeth and Jax huffed in amusement beside your ear.

“Baby, I know you can be louder,” he panted out. “I told you I wanna hear you.”

His fingers began rubbing circles against that sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes nearly rolled back into your head. You felt like you were drowning in bliss now as his hips continued rolling roughly into you, the sound of skin on skin obscenely mixing with Jax’s grunts and your growing moans.

“Louder,” he ordered, continuing to speak into your ear between gritted teeth and forceful thrusts. “Let me��hear you. Wanna know–how much–you missed me.”

“Fuck–Jax–”

With an animalistic grunt, his teeth latched onto your earlobe, giving a couple of sharp tugs against the delicate skin as his fingers continued rubbing against you. Your cunt fluttered around him, gripping him like a vice. He groaned in response, releasing your earlobe before his forehead dropped onto your shoulder as his hips began to stutter, slowly losing their rhythm as he neared his own release. That had your own hips beginning to push back against him, desperately trying to match his pace and take him somehow deeper.

“That’s it baby,” he whispered into your skin. His body pressed more of its weight on top of you as he kept ramming his hips into yours, chasing his own release. “That’s my girl.”

“Jax–I’m–”

You couldn’t get the words out, you were already teetering on the edge of an orgasm, one that felt far stronger than normal because of its delay. At the feel of Jax pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, your eyes snapped tightly shut.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Let go for me. Need you to–” he paused, breaking off on a groan that had your toes curling along the sheets as he hit you with a particularly deep thrust. “Need you to–cum for me.”

When the pads of his fingers added just a bit more pressure to your clit, you finally lost it underneath him. A moan tore its way up through you, ringing out through your bedroom as your fingers fisted the bed sheets even tighter. Jax continued to thrust into you, though the movements had grown sloppy as his breaths grew ragged and loud beside your ear. He was grunting and groaning as your body trembled its way through your orgasm until he gave another particularly deep, sharp thrust that had you crying his name.

That’s when Jax finally lost it. A resonant, beautiful moan tumbled out from between his lips as his hand finally left its place between your thighs to grip the pillow beside your head. He gave a few more rough pumps into you before you felt the warmth of his release fill you. You hummed softly, your cunt continuing to twitch around him.

Jax expelled a deep breath before he practically collapsed half on top of you, the weight of him only causing your already blissfully boneless body to relax further into the bed. As you both sat there panting, your loud breaths filling the room as your sweat-dampened bodies remained tangled together, you could feel his cock gradually beginning to soften inside of you. 

“So that–that’s what you get up to when I’m out, huh?” Jax finally asked, still sounding out of breath. “You and that goddamn vibrator get nice and close when I’m busy?”

Turning your head along the pillow, your eyes met Jax’s as his head rested on the pillow beside yours. There was a lazy half-smile on his lips as he gazed back at you, but there was something soft and tender shining in his eyes as he watched you in return. He looked so damn good all flushed and satisfied that you were half tempted to rile him up for another round once you recovered.

“Not every time,” you answered, a small smile slipping onto your lips as your breath came in heavy. “Just…some nights. When I’m missing you.”

A soft, amused breath left him as his hand reached up, lightly brushing aside a strand of hair that had stuck to the perspiration along your forehead with his fingertips. “Yeah?” he murmured, his hand coming to gently stroke your cheek. “Miss me that much tonight, did you?”

You hummed an affirmative response, your small smile growing. “Yeah. Wasn’t expecting you to come over tonight,” you told him, your heart still pounding heavily in your chest. “You made it sound like you’d be gone all night.”

“I was supposed to be,” he replied. “Had that protection run. Wasn’t gonna be back until four in the morning. But then some bullshit was going down at the clubhouse so Clay sent Opie and I back. Think he meant it like a punishment or somethin’.”

Jax laughed softly, shifting on the bed to ease some of his weight off of you. The movement had you once more growing aware of the fact that he was still inside of you. 

“Jokes on him,” he continued, that usual cocky smirk slipping onto his face. “Wasn’t that big of a problem to handle. And right now, this don’t feel remotely like a punishment.”

Quirking a brow back at him, a small grin tugged at your lips. “You want me to make it feel like one?” you teased.

Jax’s hand reached down, lightly swatting your ass as he grinned deviously at you. The gesture had you laughing, the sound causing the corners of his eyes to crease.

“Baby, this is your punishment for using that goddamn toy,” he reminded you. 

“Not feeling very much like a punishment for me, either,” you joked back.

That devious expression on his face only grew, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes suddenly. He leaned forward off the pillow, his teeth lightly mouthing at your bare shoulder as his eyes continued to hold your gaze.

“You want me to make it feel like one?” he asked, throwing your words back at you.

A shudder ran up your spine at the sultry tone of his voice before a sinful smirk pulled the corners of his lips upwards. You were definitely in for it tonight.

[wetpussyju1ce]

for @theeternaloptimistt

original post

Jax Teller x Pregnant!fem reader

suggestive content. +18 mdni

the moment jax finds out reader is pregnant, he'll get his shit together for her n the baby, quickly books doctor appointments, gets her vitamins and anything pregnant women need to stay healthy during the pregnancy. he also gets extra protective and some chemicals in his brain shifts where his sense of danger and threat is heightened, or maybe he's just paranoid, but whatever it is, it makes him lowkey dangerous to be around when it has to do anything with his pregnant wife.

he doesn't tolerate mistakes or slip ups when it comes to her, if she's served a beer or something with raw fish in it. and he made sure everyone in the club knew she was pregnant and to be extra careful around her, is that so hard to understand? 

His behaviour gets worse the more she starts to show, he won't even let her walk in the bar anymore because he doesn't want her to inhale the tobacco in the air, or be around stinky sailor-cursing bikers, no offense or anything. But also he really doesn't like how some men look at his wife while she's round and carrying his baby, he knows she's beautiful, a ray of sunshine, and worst of all, even in pregnancy she glows and looks so adorable, and he's a selfish bastard, so he doesn't want to share her with others. 

The only person who can really pry his pretty wife off his hands is his mum, Gemma, and she's so excited to be a grandma. The moment they broke the news to her, she was over the moon, so excited and happy for her son to become a dad. So, at the earliest convenience, she kidnaps Jax’s wife literally out of their bed, while Jax is all groggy and pissed off, hair sticking in all directions, shirtless and georgous. Gemma is literally dancing in their bedroom, with a glass or orange juice in her hand, “Come on, rise and shine, I'm taking you shopping today!”

Jax’s prettiest girl is confused as she sits up in the bed, “How did you get in?”

“Mum, get out,” Jax is not happy at all, glaring at his mum while sitting up in the bed, making sure the sheets stay above his belly button while his wife accepts the glass of orange juice and drinks the whole thing, “Thanks, Gemma, I was thirsty,”

“You were?” Jax rasps, voice deep from sleep, holding his wife's hand in his, trying to blink the sleep away from his eyes. 

“Hm, I was,” His wife nods and he hums, “I'll get you water bottles to keep in the bedroom at night,”

“Thank you,” She smiles and stretches, he watches her stretch her arms above her bed, arching her back and rolling her neck, he suddenly gets the urge to kiss her silly but remembers his mother was still in their bedroom, “Get out!”

“I will! I'll make breakfast, your favourite, so don't go back to sleep,” Gemma says, holding her hands in the air in surrender and slowly backs out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

“How did she even get in? I locked the door yesterday,” Jax asked, running his hands through his hair. 

“You gave her a spare key in case of emergencies, remember?” She says, getting out of the bed and going over to the windows, cracking one of them open to let in fresh air. 

“Does it look like we're having an emergency?” Jax grumbles, annoyed at being woken up before he wakes up on his own, he was planning to sleep in, spend time with his wife and do some planning for the next months but that's all thrown out of the window now because his mum was too excited to call. 

Jax sighs, his shoulders slumping, then he looks up at his pretty wife, wearing one of his old ratty t-shirts and underwear, the fabric hiding the small bump he knew was there. She stood barefoot on the carpet, the sun shining behind her, looking so soft and cute he wanted nothing more than to drag her back in bed and bury himself inside her until they're satisfied. And with that, he feels tingling in his groin and he's reminded of his morning wood, great.

“Do you want to shower together? I'll take care of you,” She smiles and he wants to scream out of the window about how he's the luckiest bastard in the world. So he quickly gets out of the bed, almost tripping on the sheets making his wife giggle. Then he grabs her by the waist and pinches at her sides, making her squeal and laugh, “Stop! Your mum will hear!” 

Jax sighs, right, they had a guest. 

She immediately notices the change of his demeanour and cups his face, “I know you'll talk to her, set boundaries, she knows better than to do that again.”

Jax covers her hands in his, then turns his head, kissing her palm, “Okay, darling,”

“Okay,” She says and he grabs her hands, takes them down from his face and pulls her in the bathroom.

. 

. 

. 

Jax gets cute aggression the bigger his wife gets, and he's shameless with it too, squeezes her tight in his arms, keeps kissing and squishing her cheeks in his hands, bites her thighs when they're at home and coos at her, talks to her like a baby when they're alone, because he enjoys her annoyed reaction to them, but also because he can't help it! When he especially annoys her, she tells him that she's a grown woman who's pregnant because his dick was inside her, and all he does is laugh loudly. 

He's also sweet and patient when she starts to get quickly tired, when her muscles ache and when her feet get sore, also when she's constantly hot and sweating, and all Jax does is buy her more and more of her favourite soaps, shower gels, lotions and shampoos in her favourite scents to make her feel better about the changes in her body. He still loves her either way, and his dick always gets hard when he looks at her, even if she's sweaty and smelly as she claims, but something primal in his brain only understands that she's pregnant, healthy, and his, and that, he really likes. 

As much as her mood swings give her a hard time, with the changes in her hormones and all, Jax finds himself secretly enjoying them, not in a twisted sick way, but in a “my wife cries and I'm the only one who can comfort her” way.

This happens a few times, where he's busy with club activities while she's hanging out with his mum and the other old ladies, then he gets a call from his mum, saying that his wife is crying, sobbing and is on her way to the club, that they tried to stop her but she left anyways. And the first things Jax asks is; is she alone? how is she coming to the club? is she driving??? 

Before any of his questions are answered, he hears her ask for him and he but leaps out of his chair, leaving the meeting they were having and she's right there, dressed like the prettiest thing in the world, her cheeks tender, her nose runny and her eyes glassy and a bit red from crying. As soon as her eyes land on him, she sobs and he quickly goes to her, gathers her in his arms, making sure not to squeeze her bump between them and shushes her, stroking her back, kissing her wet cheeks and letting her burrow in the crook of his neck. 

He ends up sitting somewhere private with her in his lap, sniffling and hiccuping, and Jax doesn't like to see his baby cry, but then he's not too bothered because she's pregnant and if anything bad happened, Gemma would have told him at least.

So he finally asks when she's less frantic, “Why are you crying, babe?”

She freezes and he frowns, squeezing her thigh once, “Are you alright? You can tell me,”

“You'll think it's stupid,” She whispered and he immediately hugged her to his chest, “I'll never, baby, I promise.”

“It's– I read in a magazine about these orphan baby monkeys-” Her voice catches in her throat and she starts crying again, Jax coos, patting her back through her devastated sobs, “There's so much pollution– The poor babies, they're– They're so tiny-” 

“Here, here, I'm sure they'll get rescued and put in a zoo or something,” He says, a small smile on his lips. 

[puffins-muffins]

Night & Morning

Pairing: Jax Teller x Female Plus Size!Reader Word Count: 2200 Summary: Your very casual, no-strings arrangement with Jax begins to shift when he stays the night for the first time. In the morning, he wakes you with sleepy sex. Warnings: SMUT! 18+ only please, minors DNI!! hints of marijuana use, (unprotected - be responsible!) P in V sex, cursing, slight feels. A/N: I just had to come (hehe) back to these two from the What Lovers Do universe! 🥰 This little one-shot takes place before the events in WLD (huge thanks to my bestie @laurfilijames 😉) You can read them together or on their own. All feedback (comments, reblogs, likes) is very much appreciated!! 🩷 Enjoy lovers!!

The air in your bedroom is thick with the scent of sex and marijuana smoke. The window is cracked just enough to let the cool night breeze slip in. Jax is lying on his back, one arm slung over his face. His chest rises and falls in the dim light of your bedroom. You’re curled on your side, head propped on your hand, just watching him.

This is usually the part where one of you leaves.

It’s just the way things are. He never stays, you never ask him to, and vice versa. 

But so far, he hasn’t moved.

His jeans are still on the floor, his kutte is draped over the back of the chair in the corner, but he hasn’t reached for either yet. Instead, he’s just… lying there, his body loose and unguarded in a way you’re not used to.

You shift slightly, dragging the sheet higher over your bare skin. “You good?”

His arm lowers just enough for his eyes to meet yours, heavy-lidded and unreadable. You take him in— the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his stubble frames the faint smirk that doesn't fully settle on his face. There's a moment of hesitation before he quietly says, “Yeah.”

That’s it. No explanation, no excuse for why he’s still here.

You nod, settling back against your pillow, pretending this doesn’t feel different. Pretending your heart isn’t skipping at the idea of him staying, even for just a little longer. 

A few minutes pass in silence, the kind that isn’t awkward, just comfortable. Jax exhales deeply, rolling onto his side, propping his head up on his hand to face you. His other hand reaches out, his rough fingers tracing a slow path along your arm.

It’s not entirely sexual, just softer, something neither of you have ever really done before.

You swallow, your gaze locked on his. His stormy blue eyes hold something you can’t quite pinpoint. There’s a flicker of hesitation, something caught between want and uncertainty, like he’s not sure if he should be here, but he doesn’t want to leave either.

“Didn’t take you for the type to linger.” You murmur, chewing on your bottom lip, immediately regretting opening your mouth and potentially ruining the entire moment. 

He huffs out a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. His fingers keep moving, light and tender. “Guess I don’t feel like leaving yet.”

The admission sits heavy between you. Jax searches your face like he’s waiting for you to tell him to go. But you don’t.

“Okay,” you assure him, a lazy smile gracing your lips. 

Eventually, his hand stills, his fingers lingering just a moment before he lays on his back again. His eyes shift toward the ceiling, his expression indiscernible, like he’s sorting through thoughts he’ll never say out loud.

You try to make whatever decision he’s grappling with a little easier by embracing the fact that he hasn’t left yet— something that, to your own surprise, you’re completely okay with.

You mold against him, the soft curves of your body pressing into the hard planes of his, draping the plushness of your thighs over him as you nuzzle closer. His arm wraps around you, his body relaxing against yours— like maybe he needed the silent reassurance that it’s okay, that this is okay. His lips brush over the top of your head, and he pulls you in even closer.

Your fingers trace along the ridges of old scars that are etched into his abdomen. You don’t ask where they came from, already knowing enough about his life to understand that each one carries a reminder of unsaid choices.

Your palm smooths over a particularly deep scar near his ribs, your thumb grazing over the raised skin in slow strokes. His breathing hitches for just a moment before settling, and then you feel it, the silent acceptance— the way he lets you in without any words.

For however long, you just exist together, finding an unexpected comfort in something that neither of you has tried to make sense of. 

Jax is awake before the sun, dim light from the early morning barely filtering through your blinds. The warmth of your body is a quiet comfort, your breath steady and soft against his forearm.

And fuck, the way you’re nestled against him is already doing things to him.

His arm is draped lazily over your waist, fingers resting just above your navel. Your back is pressed flush to his chest— your plump, naked ass tucked right against his morning arousal. You fit beside him so perfectly it almost feels intentional.

His cock twitches at the contact, a slow throb of heat spreading through him. He lets out a breath, his lips brushing against the crook of your neck, and when you don’t stir, he lets himself indulge a little.

Jax presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, breathing you in, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. His hand moves, tracing lazy patterns along your stomach before sliding down, fingers grazing your thick hip, then lower, over the curve of your ass.

You shift slightly, a sleepy little sigh escaping you, but you’re still lost in sleep.

Jax smirks against your skin, tilting his hips just enough to drag his cock along the crease of your ass, teasing himself more than you. His fingers trail between your thighs, skimming your dimpled skin, not quite touching where you need him, but enough to make you stir again.

A soft, breathy sound slips from you, your body instinctively pressing back into him.

His smirk spreads into a wide grin, his breath feathery against your ear, goosebumps rising across your skin. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

You hum, still half-asleep, but the shift in your breathing tells him you’re waking up now. He keeps his touches light, his kisses are unhurried, his fingers caressing between your thighs.

He feels it the moment you start to give in. The way your hips shift, how your thighs part slightly, your body already anticipating him.

Jax groans, his hand sliding between your legs, fingers grazing your slick heat. “Fuck,” he mutters, his cock jolting against you. “Already wet for me?”

Your only answer is another soft sigh, your body pressing closer— inviting him in.

Jax presses the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with it before sinking in, slowly filling you inch by inch. His forehead rests against your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin as he bottoms out.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping the sheets as he holds himself there, savoring the way you clench around him, warm and snug.

Jax groans, pulling out just enough before pushing back in. His movements are measured, dragging out the sensation, making you feel every thick inch of him. The slow pace is intoxicating— each deep, unhurried thrust sending waves of pleasure through you, leaving you aching for more.

His arm tightens around your waist, making sure there’s no space between you. His lips never leave your skin, peppering open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and neck. His breath is ragged as he savors the way your body responds to him, how you let him take his time with you.

He keeps it unhurried, his arousal heightened by the consistent moans that slip from you while he moves inside you. His hand slides up, cupping your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he sets a lazy rhythm. He feels every reaction— the way your back arches, the way your body tightens around him, the way you crave him.

“You like that?” he rasps against your jaw, his voice still husky from sleep.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, your hand covers his, guiding his grip tighter around your breast, silently urging him on, letting your body tell him exactly how much you do.

Jax curses under his breath, his grip on your breast tightening, giving you exactly what you’re asking for. Then, his hand begins to slide down, his fingertips dragging over the soft swell of your stomach. The heat of his palm leaves a burning trail in its wake as he moves lower. 

When his fingers finally slip between your thighs, you gasp, your breath hitching as he finds your clit. He strokes it in gradual, teasing circles— his touch light and agonizing.

His fingers press down just enough to send an another shot of pleasure rippling through you, heat spreading through your limbs. Your breathing grows uneven, your pussy tightening around him with each thrust, his touch keeping you on the brink. 

Your hips begin to move more frantic, more desperate, grinding against him with an urgency you can’t control, chasing the release that feels just out of reach. You need him to push you over.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he breathes out. “Keep doin’ that, grind on me just like that.”

You whimper, rolling your hips, feeling the delicious friction of his cock hitting that perfect spot. The movement rips a groan from his throat, holding you firm as he thrusts deeper, making sure you feel every drag of his thick, throbbing length.

His fingers press firmly against your clit, his low grunts hot against your neck as the pressure builds, pushing you closer. It's maddening— just enough to keep you on edge, to make your pussy flutter around his cock.

His voice is nothing but a rough whisper against your skin, “Feels so fuckin’ good, huh?”

You can’t speak, can’t form a single coherent thought. All you do is moan, letting him take what he wants while your noises beg him to give you what you need. 

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your shoulder, his voice filled with need— the command sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers never stop their torturous pace against your clit, until his words give you the final nudge that sends you spiraling.

Your body clenches as your orgasm crashes over you in waves, spreading outward, leaving your entire body trembling. Needy, breathless moans of his name tumble from your lips as your walls convulse around him.

The pleasure is overwhelming, your nails dig into his arm that’s wrapped around you as you fall completely apart with him buried so deep inside you.

Jax groans, low and absolutely wrecked, his hips stuttering as he feels you come undone around him. “Fuck,” he grits out, his grip on you tightening— your body milking him, dragging him toward his own breaking point.

The way you tighten around him, pussy soaked and perfect, has him thrusting into you a little harder, his pace turning more frantic. His breath is ragged against your shoulder, his lips still pressed to your flush skin as he groans your name. His grip on your hip is firm, but as the pleasure builds, his hand moves, searching— reaching for something more.

Without hesitation, you meet him halfway, your fingers sliding into his, intertwining and then gripping him just as tightly. It’s instinctive, but the moment your hands lock together, a spark ignites— new and unfamiliar.

This isn’t just sex.

It’s intimate. Deeper than just the way he’s buried inside you, it’s the way he moves— purposeful and consuming.

His body tenses, muscles tight, sweat glistening on both of you as his release crashes over him. “Fuck, darlin’,” he groans, plunging himself in your sensitive cunt. His cock throbs, pulsing as he spills inside you, warmth spreading as he empties himself with a shuddered exhale.

His thrusts slow, his damp forehead pressing to your shoulder. Your breaths are heavy— bodies still slick and tangled. Even as the aftershocks fade, his grip on your hand doesn’t loosen. 

Jax stays wrapped around you, his body still flush against yours, his breath steadying as the glow of the morning creeps into your bedroom.

You sigh, satisfied, your body still humming from the aftermath of him, the intimacy of it all hanging between you. He presses a lazy, lingering kiss to your shoulder, his stubble scratching delicately against your skin before he rests his head there.

For a while, neither of you speak. The silence is comfortable. Easy. Filled with something neither of you is willing to define but both undeniably feel.

Then, with a smirk you can hear in his voice, Jax finally breaks it.

“Ya know,” he muses, shifting just enough to nuzzle his nose against your neck, “if wakin’ up like this is what happens when I stick around, I might have to spend the night more often.”

You scoff a quiet, amused laugh, tilting your head slightly to look at him over your shoulder. “Oh yeah?” you challenge, arching a playful brow. “You sure you can handle that? Wouldn’t want this accidentally turning into a thing.”

Jax grins, his fingers giving the generous curve of your hip a light squeeze. “Shit, babe,” he drawls, pressing another lazy kiss to your skin, “I think we passed that point the second I didn’t sneak out.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips as you settle back against him, blissed out and content, letting the comfort of him sink into you.

Neither of you say it out loud, but the thought lingers between you.

Maybe this isn’t the only time he’ll stay.

[ofcourseiwillmydarling]

a/n: reposting bc it felt incomplete :P Also I do not understand if my blog has been restricted or something :( I have a couple of asks in my inbox but I cant access them for some reason & I dont know how to fix it 😢

! REQUESTS ARE OPEN

TW: ! brief mention of choking.

He pins you down, covering your body with his as he fucks you into the mattress. He noses at your cheek, his beard rasps across your cheek just as he surges forward, burying himself to the very bottom of you.

You've gone boneless. Your cheek scraping up the white cotton sheets as he rocks his hips in a lazy rhythm, barely easing out your sopping cunt before shoving forward again. He gets off it - overwhelming you until you cant think straight. "Too deep Jackie..! s'too much!" He's heavy. He drives further - and it would hurt if you weren't used to it - stretching your cunt obscenely. Your pussy is so desperately full it's overwhelming. Consuming.

He takes a pause to pull his weight off of you, wrapping an arm around your midriff to pull you into the air until your back is flush against his chest.

You can feel the scratch of the hair at his groin against the curve of your ass as he rolls his pelvis upwards, ass jamming back against his hips as he hits balls - deep. "That's my girl," he coos - rubbing his bearded jaw against the soft skin of your cheek. “Still with me?” He‘s arrogant. Condescending. He knows that he has you.

His palm circles your neck - he thrusts faster, snapping into you with the full brunt of his weight - constricting your air flow. Its risky. Dangerous. He could break you if he wanted to. Your eyes are glossy. You look drunk. Fucked out. “You cock - drunk or somethin’?” You have no words left - nothing else to give him but pathetic, needy whimpering. He enjoys every part of it. Every spear of his cock makes an indecent sound. Its filthy. Indecent. He's pushing you right to your limit. "C'mon," he croons. "Let go for me, darlin'."

[persephone411]

Imagine being with Jax while he gets his back tattoo

A/N: this became a bit longer than anticipated but well.. I am a sucker for young!Jax and would have loved to get a flashback of him getting his tattoo

After a bit you got used to the quiet buzzing sound of the tattoo machine while you held your boyfriends hand. Jax was laying shirtless on his stomach while the tattoo artist worked on his back, filling out the letters. Sometimes his grip on your hand would tighten slightly after a particular sensitiv spot.

,,is everything alright ?“ you asked what felt like the 100th time. Jax only nods, his teeth slightly clenched. He would never admit to the pain, especially not with Clay in the room. Softly your thumb caresses the back of his hand and he gives you a thankful smile. You knew he was in pain. Before you accompanied him to the session, you googled how bad the pain of a back tattoo would be. Hell, you even suggested numbing creme, but of course he wouldn’t listen. He only laughed, saying that he would survive it. Again his grip got more tightly and you had to suppress a whimper of your own due to his strong hands. The artist was now working directly on his spine. You met Jax gaze, his baby blue eyes clearly showing discomfort.

“it’s alright, you‘re doing amazing” you whisper quietly and caress his jaw and cheek. He nods shakingly and takes a deep breath.

“Looks good” Clay comments from the other side of the room while Gemma stood next to him with her arms crossed, watching the whole scene wordlessly.

“And this whole thing will take three sessions?” You ask the tattoo artist who nods

“Yes big tattoos like this can’t be done in one day. We‘ll do the upper lettering today, and then in maybe a week the reaper and in another week the letters under the reaper”

You nod silently while biting your lip. You hated to see your boyfriend in pain, but you also knew how important this tattoo was to him. Like it was yesterday you remembered how happy and exited he looked as he told you that he was now a full member of the club and that the tattoo session was already booked. Of course he asked you to accompany him, which you agreed to, not really knowing what to expect.

“Which letter is he currently doing ?” Jax voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“He is currently doing the R of anarchy” you answer, watching as the artist works silently. You quickly noticed that the tall bald man wasn’t very talkative.

“Do you need some water ?, I’ve red that getting tattooed can cause dizziness” you ask Jax and grab the water bottle you brought.

“Don’t pamper him too much, he has to endure this like a man”

Clay calls from the other side of the room and you freeze. Although you and Jax had been together for some time, Clay still kinda scared you.

“Don’t let him get to you, you are an angel”

Jax whispered and kissed the back of your hand, which still held his.

After maybe three to four hours the tattoo was finally done. With a groan Jax sat up and hesitantly flexed his back muscles. Imediatly you next to him, ready to support him if necessary. Clay and Gemma also stepped closer to inspect the freshly inked letters on his shoulders. The tattoo artist wordlessly starts to clean his equipment and gives Jax a small brochure about tattoo aftercare. Then he, Gemma and Clay leave the room to get the payment done.

“I’m so proud of you” you whisper and kiss him softly while he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

[kuttesandknives]

warning(s): SMUT. jax in a fractured emotional state, parental death mention. 18+ readers ONLY. words: 2.3k a/n: set smack dab in the middle of season two, so spoilers are within. truthfully, this is my first x reader fic, so go easy on me with the reviews. 🥺✨

The clubhouse still smelled like stale beer when Jax stormed out, jaw tight, rings and fingers stained with blood, knuckles raw. The fight with Clay wasn’t just another blow up over miscommunication. It’d been building for months now, ever since Donna. Jax had been extra volatile lately, more so since Tara left Charming again. He saw that coming, as much as it rested bitterly on his tongue and ached in his chest. It was almost worse the second time around.

“You wanna lead, son? Start actin’ like it. Stop hiding behind your dead daddy’s words.”

That was the last thing Clay said before Jax swung. Now, those words echoed at the forefront of his mind, incapacitating any other possible thought to come to the forefront.

By the time he showed up at your place, it was well past midnight. You recognized the distant growl of his bike pulling into the parking space outside your apartment's patio–surely Patty next door would complain to the landlord about that. Not that you gave a damn.

“Can I come in?” Jax asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You stepped aside to let him inside, the porch light highlighting the raw knuckles and split lip, but you didn’t ask. Not yet. And just like that, you became the one person he could run to when shit got too damn chaotic.

The door clicked softly behind him. He was quiet for the first thirty seconds, removing his kutte and putting it on the back of your dining chair. You watched him cross the room again, taking in the blood dotted along the front of his white shirt. He plopped down on the couch and leaned back, closing his eyes as his head was facing upward.

Silence stretched between you two again as you walked into the kitchen, clicked on the dim light above the stove, and grabbed the ice pack you kept in the freezer. Part of you hated how automatic it had become, tending to Jax’s wounds like this. But tonight felt different. The fight had dug deeper.

You returned into the living room, crouching in front of him as he leaned forward now with his forearms resting on his knees, pressing the ice pack against his jaw and giving him a soft smile of reassurance. He flinched slightly, not from the cold but from the touch, like he wasn’t used to something so domestic such as this.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” You finally asked, holding the ice pack firmly against his jaw.

He didn’t look at you. Just past your shoulder, like if he’d meet your eyes, the dam would break.

“Clay.” One word. Heavy and unmistaken.

You nodded. “That bad?”

“Worse,” he muttered, finally sparing you a glance with that signature smirk for just a second.

You moved the ice pack a little, brushing his blond hair back with your free hand to get a better look at the cut on his brow. It had stopped bleeding, but it’d bruise considerably by morning. You could already see the purple blooming beneath his skin.

“Did he say something, or did you finally throw the first punch?”

A dry, humorless laugh escaped him. “Both.”

He went quiet after that. You knew better than to push. You just stayed close and allowed the silence to seep in between the two of you again. Your hand brushed against his knee as you adjusted your knelt position a fraction, your head cocking to the side ever so slightly.

He leaned back against the couch now, taking control of the ice pack with his own hand and holding it there. He looked at you–really looked.  “He said I was weak. That if I wanted the goddamn gavel, I needed to grow some balls first.”

You could see his jaw tick, like he was holding something back on purpose. “Well… did you?”

Jax’s tongue darted over his split lip. “Yeah. I swung. First time in front of the table. I knocked him on his ass.”

You let out a slow breath. “Jesus…”

He shook his head, tossing the ice pack on the side table. “He deserved it. He’s been throwing his weight around, becoming so goddamn full of himself and his vision–” His jaw ticked once again, like he wanted to elaborate but knew he couldn’t, nor would he. “Greed. Power. Lies. Everything that SAMCRO is supposed to be against, he’s gunning for everything that’s in the wrong direction on purpose.” You took his hand and held it, noticing the smear of Clay’s blood under his fingernails. “I’m scared I’m gonna become him. Or worse. I feel like everything is falling apart and I can’t get a fuckin’ grip on any of it.”

You felt your chest tighten. “You won’t.” He looked at you like he wanted to believe you if just for a second. “Every time you’ve come here, Jax, bleeding or not, you’re still fighting to be something better.”

He let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, the hand that you were holding coming up to cup your face as he spoke, “This is the only place I can breathe.” Jax’s thumb grazed against your cheek a few times as he held it while your hand came up to gently brush his hair back.

“I don’t know who the hell I am anymore,” he admitted, and it came out like a confession. “I thought I did. I thought the manuscript, my dad’s vision, all that… thought it would show me the way, but every time I try to steer this thing differently, I end up right back where he was. Drowning in the same fuckin’ shit.”

You reached up, fingers brushing against the bruise above his eye, “He didn’t drown, Jax. He was pulled under. There’s a difference.”

One hand rested on your wrist now while the other cupped the back of your neck. His touch wasn’t rough, but it held a considerable amount of weight. The pad of his thumb traced your skin, like he was trying to ground himself and like your heartbeat was the only constant left. The only thing that grounded him, tethering him to reality.

“I didn’t come here for this.” Jax admitted, his forehead resting against yours now. “I just–I couldn’t go home, you know? Not right now.”

“I know.” You reassured him in a whisper. “You don’t have to elaborate if you don’t want to.”

“But I want to.” His voice cracked on the edge of it. “You’re the only person who doesn’t look at me like I’m supposed to have all the answers. Like I’m not already burning at both ends.”

You forced down the knot rising in your throat, your gaze undeniably locking with Jax’s, quietly pleading, quietly saying all the things you couldn’t put into words. He looked back, his eyes never moving from your face; they never did, even if he’d deny it.

He moved first, deliberate and slow as he leaned in, like he was expecting you to back out but you didn’t. His lips captured yours as your breath was caught, but not out of surprise but rather relief. The kiss started carefully, loaded with a question he wasn’t sure neither of you wanted answered.

Still, you answered without hesitation, returning the same urgency.

Jax kissed you like a man starved, like he was desperate to feel something that didn’t rip him apart. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. Your mouth opened for him, lips parting, and he groaned low and guttural, like the sound had been stuck under lock and key for days.

You climbed into his lap without asking, straddling him where he sat on the couch. Your knees bracketed his hips as your fingers traced up under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his chest, tracing warm skin and hard muscle. Jax’s breath hitched when your hands rested against the top of his chest, fingers curling into soft fists.

“Jesus.” He murmured against your mouth, his forehead resting against yours, “You sure about this?”

“Yes.” You whispered faintly, “I want this.” A beat of silence filled the void and then, “I want you, Jax.”

That did it, snapping the lingering tension like a bowstring.

He surged up, wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying you toward the bedroom like he couldn’t bear to waste another second. Your fingers fumbled with his shirt the second the door shut, but he beat you to it. He set you down right in front of the side of your bed, removing his own shirt as you undid his belt and zipper, letting each item fall to his ankles. He stepped out of them as he kissed you and helped you out of your sleepwear, conveniently a pair of shorts and a threadbare t-shirt far too baggy.

He gently held you in his arms and guided you onto the bed, gently laying your back against the mattress like you were something sacred; like this wasn’t just about fucking anymore, no, this was about remember what it felt like to just be human.

When Jax’s body lowered onto yours, his left hand trailed against your sides while his right held your face. His lips found yours again, his teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip. Then he pulled away just enough to study you despite the darkness in the room, as the only light that was present was the streetlight outside your bedroom window.

“You always look at me like that.” He hissed out in a hushed tone, now lapping his tongue against your neck.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m not me. Like… I’m worth a damn.” Like I’m not just another fuck, he thought.

“Because you are.” You declared once his eyes met yours seconds later.

He didn’t respond with words, but he did kiss you again. This time more urgent. Rougher, to the point where his scruff scraped against your skin with every pass. He cupped your breast, and his thumb brushed against your nipple, causing it to pebble underneath, and your back arched into him. You felt his cock against your thigh as he ground his hips into you, but he didn’t rush. He took his time, savoring the feel of your tongue against his.

Your hands explored him in return, grazing fingertips along his shoulders and cupping around his biceps with one hand while the other dipped low, gliding against the low dip of his spine.

Jax pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes soft, “I need you to see me tonight. Not the kutte. Not the club. Just… me, babe, can you do that for me?” God, the way he looked at you sent a shudder down your spine. He was the farthest thing from innocent, but that look could feed patrons for hundreds of years.

You reached up, cupping his jaw, “I already do, Jackson.”

He pressed his forehead against yours with a ragged breath. Then, slowly, he reached between you and guided himself to your entrance. He slid in with a quiet groan against your lips as your walls stretched to welcome him.

Fuck. You gasped at the feel of him; heavy, warm, perfect.

He didn’t move right away once he was fully sheathed. He bracketed both his forearms beside your head to hold himself up as your body fully adjusted. He made sure to study each subtle micro expression and leaned down to kiss you again, more meaningful and sweeter, a far cry from the first batch of kisses you’d shared tonight.

He started to move now, slow and steady, hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that was all need and reverence. Every thrust was deliberate, dragging across your walls and pushing you toward something deeper than just pleasure. You clung to him, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close and unambiguously inside.

“Fuck.” He cursed against your lips.

“Jax–,” you sighed in a whisper. He buried his face in your neck in almost a pathetic attempt to keep it together. You felt him tremble, his biceps twitching as you held him there and the unmistakably twitch of his jaw. He was close. “Jax, baby, you can fall apart here. It’s okay.”

That cracked something open.

His thrusts became uneven now, heavier, as if your permission had granted him the space to unravel. He held you tighter, his fingers digging into your hips and his breath turned ragged.

The build in your core grew hot and insistent. Each grind of his hips pulled a breathless moan from your lips. The weight of him, the way he moved inside you, the emotion… it was too much and not enough all at once.

Your climax crept in slowly, like a tide rising. Your body tensed under him, and he felt it, slipping a hand between your legs to circle your clit with practiced fingers. “Come for me.” He muttered against your ear, “Come while I’m inside you.”

Your mind protested for a moment before caving, your body obeying after the third pass of his cock following his request. Your walls clenched around him as your release hit. You cried out his name, fingers splaying his shoulder blades as you clung to him as he wrung out every bit of what you could give him.

“Shit,” he groaned, his hips sputtering. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

He came with a broken sound, burying himself deep one last time, his whole body going rigid for a few seconds before he slumped over you, chest heaving.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just held each other, hearts thudding in sync, sweat cooling on your skin. Eventually, he rolled onto his side, pulling you into him so you were tucked against his chest. He wrapped an arm around you, his thumb tracing circles on your back.

“I didn’t come here to do this.” Jax admitted, staring at the ceiling like he regretted what transpired. He didn’t, but he did at the same time.

“I know.” You said in a whisper.

Then… “But I’m glad I did.”

You tilted your head upward and smiled, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Me too.”

He didn’t say anything else. He just held you closer, tightening his arms around your frame.

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: Firearms, tooth rotting fluff 🥰

Part 7

Sugar Spice & a little bit of Vice - 8

The first thing you notice is the scent.

The soft cocoon of blankets around you.

It’s subtle, earthy—gun oil, faint leather, and smoke—but underneath it, something warm and clean.

The pillow is thick beneath your cheek, and the sheets around you are still slightly warm, as if you hadn’t sunk into them long ago.

The light filtering through the window is dull and grey, like early morning or a cloudy day.

Your eyes blink open slowly.

It takes a second before it hits you—

This isn’t your room.

The ceiling is unfamiliar. The window in the corner is bare. The heavy weight of the blanket isn't yours.

And then it clicks.

The robbery.

Happy’s place.

His bed.

Your stomach tightens with the sudden rush of realization, but your body’s too tired to fully panic. There’s a hollow ache behind your eyes, like you cried in your sleep, and your muscles feel soft and heavy, like your body gave up holding itself together.

You roll slightly onto your back.

When you pull yourself up and pad out to the rest of the house, you see him, Happy’s sitting in a chair near one of the windows in the lounge.

Boots still on. Legs spread slightly. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers laced together like he’s been there for hours.

The only sound is the flick of pages turning as he reads.

Waiting.

Protecting.

His eyes meet yours the second you rounded the corner, like he’s been monitoring every breath you’ve taken, even from out here.

There's no softness in his expression, but there’s a kind of stillness there—like all the chaos in the world stops when you're in his sightline.

“‘Bout time,” he says. His voice is low, rough with quiet exhaustion, but steady.

You shift again, slowly. Your body protests the movement, and Happy notices—he’s already up before you even get halfway across the room.

“I didn’t mean to sleep for so long…”

Happy huffs, something close to a scoff but not unkind.

“You needed it, girl.”

That nickname—girl—sticks to your ribs like warm bread, something heavy but comforting.

Your fingers clutch the edge of your shirt, embarrassed and unsure. “I didn’t mean to… take your bed. I just—”

“You didn’t,” he cuts in firmly, his voice flat. “I put you there.”

There’s a pause.

You glance at him, unsure.

“You okay?” he asks after a moment, quieter now. There’s something serious behind his words, almost too serious for a simple question.

Like he’s asking something deeper—Are you scared of me now? Did I break whatever this was?

You nod slowly, though it doesn’t feel quite true yet. “I think so.”

His eyes narrow slightly, like he doesn’t believe it—but he doesn’t press.

Happy turns away without another word and disappears into the kitchen. You hear the clink of mugs, the sound of running water.

A few minutes later, he returns with a chipped mug in one hand and a small folded towel in the other.

“Here.”

You look up at him, puzzled.

He guides you to the couch and crouches down beside it, balancing on the balls of his feet, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to be eye level with you.

One hand reaches out and—so carefully—he presses the warm towel into your palm. “For your hands. Still shaking.”

You hadn’t noticed the tremble.

But he had.

You clutch it like a lifeline, the heat grounding you in the moment, and the way his fingers brush yours lingers longer than it should.

He hands you the mug next. “Chamomile. Don’t have the fancy bakery shit you make, but it’s somethin’.”

The corner of your mouth lifts just barely. “You made tea?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. But the line of his shoulders is tight, and he won’t meet your eyes.

You sip the tea in silence while he settles back into the chair, arms folded now across his chest.

He watches you. Not invasive. Just present.

Guarded but solid.

Your heart aches in a quiet, unfamiliar way.

Because this man—the enforcer—could’ve let you fall apart. Could’ve brushed it off or walked away or left you to deal with the aftermath on your own.

But he didn’t.

The sun is barely cresting the clouds when Happy pulls the curtains open. It’s not bright, just soft and gray, the kind of light that eases into a room without fanfare.

His place is sparse, the walls bare except for one or two faded photographs tucked into the edge of a mirror and a few plaques shoved on a shelf without ceremony.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table with your legs tucked under you, wrapped in the blanket he’d brought from the bed, one hand curled around the same mug of tea—refilled and reheated.

There’s a silence between you that isn’t heavy or strained, just there, like it belongs.

He doesn’t talk much.

He never does.

But every time you glance up, he’s looking. Making sure. Reading your face like he’s trying to see if anything inside’s still cracked.

Happy walks past you with a duffel bag, drops it on the living room rug with a quiet thud, and looks over his shoulder with a half-smirk and that deadpan rasp.

“Girl. Sit with me.”

You don’t ask what’s in the bag.

You’re not that naive anymore.

But when he unzips it and lays out the contents—well-oiled steel, matte black, cold chrome—you go still.

Not afraid.

Not exactly.

But aware.

Happy sits cross-legged on the floor, like it’s second nature.

No pretense, no drama.

Just methodical, practiced movements as he unscrews the silencer from a pistol and sets it aside like he’s laying down silverware.

When you hover by the edge of the couch, unsure, he pats the spot between his legs.

“Sit,” he says simply.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to, but because it feels like something.

But he just lifts an eyebrow, waiting.

And so you do.

You settle back gently, your spine to his chest, knees tucked loosely in front of you, and Happy adjusts around you without a word—like he’s done it a hundred times before.

His legs bracket yours, booted feet nudging yours until they stop fidgeting.

You can feel the heat of him through your borrowed hoodie, the one he insited you wear, his legs are solid and grounding, even if his arms work busily around you.

He starts with a revolver, breaking it open, checking the barrel. His fingers move with a strange grace—rough hands, calloused and scarred, but careful.

Almost tender.

He rests one forearm over your lap for balance, his arm heavy and warm against your thighs.

“You ever see a .45 before?”

You shake your head, eyes wide as you watch him wipe the frame down. He hums low in his throat, like your innocence doesn’t surprise him but still lands somewhere deep.

“No safety,” he mutters, holding the frame up briefly. “You pull the trigger, it fires.”

You nod, uncertain if he expects more.

“You scared?”

You glance up and back, just enough to catch the edge of his expression.

“No. Just… trying to understand.”

Happy looks at you for a moment too long. Then, without breaking eye contact, he places the gun down and runs a thumb along your jaw.

“‘S'why I got you sittin’ here, girl,” he says quietly. “So you learn who I really am.”

The hum of the dryer in the corner is the only real sound for a long stretch. Outside, the sky is a soft, muted gray. Rain threatens but never quite arrives.

Inside, the world is all dim light, the faint scent of gun oil, and the soft, rhythmic click of metal against metal.

You're still between his legs, leaning slightly back into his chest now without realizing it. Somewhere in the stillness, your body just... adjusted to his.

The hard press of his belt buckle against your lower back, the warmth radiating off him, the steady inhale-exhale that rocks your shoulder blades a little every time he breathes—it all becomes part of your awareness, but not something that demands attention. It just is.

His legs stay on either side of you, heavy and unmoving, like a shield you didn’t know you needed.

There’s no illusion here.

These guns—some matte black, others brushed chrome—are meant to hurt people.

Maybe kill.

You know that.

But sitting here, it doesn’t feel violent. It feels like watching someone take care of their tools.

Someone very careful.

Happy doesn’t rush. Each movement has a rhythm to it. A kind of reverence. He wipes down a long-barreled pistol, carefully threading a cloth through it with the slow precision of someone who's done this more times than he could count.

You notice the way his brows furrow slightly when a rag snags, the slight flex of muscle under the sleeves of his shirt when he works a piece loose.

You glance down at your hands. They’re resting in your lap, fingers curled together, knuckles white. You hadn’t noticed how tightly you were holding them until now.

Happy notices.

Without a word, he sets the gun down and reaches around you.

Big, calloused hands.

Warm and rough.

He gently pries your hands apart and places one of his over yours, anchoring you.

Holding, not restraining.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

The pressure is enough to let your fingers relax under his.

Then, as if it never happened, he goes right back to work, never pulling that hand fully away—his thumb occasionally brushing over the back of your knuckles like he’s keeping you grounded.

You don’t even realize when your head tilts to the side and rests lightly against his collarbone. The blanket you had wrapped around you falls off your shoulder slightly, and without comment, Happy leans forward and adjusts it. Tucks it up under your chin. His arms briefly wrap around you as he does—secure, firm. Protective.

Not a word. Not even a breath wasted.

But it feels like everything.

You catch yourself tracing your gaze along the lines of his tattoos now. The way the ink wraps around his forearm, some of it faded, some still sharp.

You wonder how many of them mark something real—how many of them are memorials, how many warnings.

You don’t ask. Not yet.

He finishes with the last weapon—a short, boxy Glock—and places it on the towel with the same care you use when frosting cakes.

“You good?” he murmurs from behind you, low in your ear.

You nod. Barely.

He reaches around and brushes your hair back, fingertips trailing against your neck with that same odd tenderness that doesn’t fit his face, doesn’t match his voice—but somehow, feels exactly like him.

“You get it now?” he asks softly, resting his chin briefly on your shoulder.

You turn just enough to meet his eyes, and for a beat, you forget to be afraid.

Forget that this is a man most people in Charming cross the street to avoid.

Forget that the steel beside you isn’t props or fantasy.

“I think so,” you whisper.

You didn’t expect to feel this calm.

You thought sitting in the middle of an arsenal, wrapped in the arms of someone whose entire life revolves around violence, would shake you. Rattle your bones.

Instead, you feel… safe.

Not because Happy is harmless.

But because, with you, he chooses to be.

By the time he finishes, there’s a small pile of cleaned weapons on a towel and a quiet between you that hums with something new.

He leans back on his hands behind you, sighing like the weight of the world finally let him breathe.

You turn just slightly, looking up at him. “Why’d you want me here while you did this?”

His eyes don’t soften, but they stay locked on yours, and his voice drops low.

“So you don't think about me the way other people do.”

You blink, and he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear—slow, like he's afraid you'll pull away.

“I ain’t gonna lie to you, girl. I’ve done bad shit. I’d do it again too”

You nod slowly, unsure what to say, but your fingers reach to rest lightly on his boot—anchoring yourself to him in the smallest way.

And Happy—He just stays there with you. In the quiet. In the truth.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

please please please something w jealous / possessive jax

answering as a blurb because I think we all need this on a saturday night in november. smut warning obvs

“Do I not give you enough attention, pretty girl?”

All you can do is whine in response, eyes rolling back in your head as his hips slam into yours.

He had you bent over the kitchen counter the minute the two of you got home, wasting no time ripping your panties down your legs and folding you in half the way he wanted.

“Is that why you kept looking at Chibs? Hmm? You think he can give you something that I can’t?”

You try to shake your head, but a particularly sharp thrust sends you careening forwards. You’re convinced you’d fly over the countertop if it wasn’t for Jax’s bruising grip on your hips.

“You’re mine,” he grits out, mouthing at the spot underneath your ear. “Mine, you hear me?”

Your knees buckle as you grapple for leverage, your boyfriend’s hips the only thing keeping you upright. Your breath is coming out in short, sharp pants, lungs burning as you try to process the intensity of the moment.

“Say it.”

“J-Jax, baby- fuck- huh?”

“Tell me you’re mine. Say it. Now.”

Jax wraps a huge hand around your throat, plastering your back to his front as he hits a spot inside of you that makes you weak.

“I’m yours,” you manage to breathe out. “All yours, Jax.”

“Gonna make sure you don’t forget it. Make sure everyone else knows it too. You’re not gonna be able to walk for a week, darlin’. And you’re gonna wear these bruises all pretty, yeah? Just in case there was any fuckin’ doubt about who you belong to.”

You see stars when you come, legs shaking and sweat dripping down your back. Jax sinks his teeth into your shoulder when he finds his release, marking you up for good measure.

“How the fuck am I supposed to cover up a bite mark, Jax?”

“You’re not,” he murmurs, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “That’s the point.”

[kendallroydefender]

Blood & Honey (Jax Teller x Reader) Part 1

Summary: When you take a teaching job in the quiet town of Charming, the last thing you expect is to cross paths with Jax Teller - outlaw, single father, and the leader behind the town's most infamous motorcycle club.

Authorsnote: thank you all for welcoming me so kindly into this fandom 🩷 this story is not completely following the original plot (Tara left him and they don’t have a child together - also Opie didn’t die (yet))

”Goodbye Mrs. Henderson.“

You said, watching as the woman closed the door to your classroom. Letting out a relieved breath.

You had started teaching at Charming elementary a month ago and your Headmaster thought it was important that you met the parents of your students as early as possible. So you had scheduled a parent teacher meeting for this evening.

You looked at the paper, Abel Teller was next. You had met his Grandmother before when she dropped him off at school. And she had been really nice to you, so you exhaled relieved that the next and last conversation was going to be light. It was clear that she loved her grandson and spent a lot of time with him.

You were flipping through the boys file when a knock was heard on the door before it was opened.

You looked up with a smile, expecting to see the dark haired woman. What you didn’t expect was the blonde man that walked into the room. He was wearing a white Shirt, black leather Kutte, denim jeans, white sneakers. You couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was.

”Oh, hello.“ you said a little taken aback. ”I don’t think we’ve met yet?“ you said stupidly

”Hey,“ he chuckled a little ”No, we haven’t. I’m Abel’s Dad.“

”Oh, yeah, of course.“ you said.

”Jax Teller.“ he said he introduced himself, before you offered your name.

You had heard of him before of course. No one could live in Charming and not hear of Jax Teller. Leader of the Sons, the infamous Motorcycle Club. But you hadn’t seen him until now. And all the stories about him somehow left out how handsome he was. And your were not prepared for that.

”Sit please.“ you made a gesture towards the chair on the opposite of your table.

Jax sank down in the chair in front of you, with a relaxed confidence.

”So, how’s Abel doin‘? Hope doesn’t already got a record.“ he said nodding towards the file in front of you.

”No, no,“ you smiled, letting out a nervous chuckle

”Abel’s great, he’s very bright, kind too.“

A proud smile made its way onto his face

”Yeah?“

You nodded.

”Yeah, he talks about you a lot.“ you told him

Jax eyes snapped up to yours again

”That so?“

”Mhm, he tells me about riding with his dad, the garage, you’re some kind of superhero to him.“ you told him before adding

”He looks up to you.“

Jax didn’t say anything for a moment. Something flickered behind his eyes as you said this, something heavy.

”Uhm, tough he does seem distracted sometimes, like his mind is somewhere else.“

Jax nodded, letting out an exhale.

”Kid‘s seen a lot.“

You thought so. You had been told that there had been some dangerous situations the Sons had found themselves in. As well as complicated family history you heard bits about.

”Well, if there’s something I can do to help him you can always come in.“

”Thank you, appreciate it, Darlin‘.“

Darling? Jesus.

You felt heat creep up your neck at the petname.

”I just want to make sure he has everything he needs to succeed.“ you said trying to calm your heartbeat again.

You two looked at each other for a moment, this definitely wasn’t how you felt talking to Mrs. Henderson or any other parent.

To remain the rest of your professionalism you looked into your students file once again before looking into the blue eyes from the man before you again.

”Well I think that covers it.“ you said.

”Do you have any questions?“ you added a moment later.

”Nah, no questions.“ the blond said before adding

”Just good to know my boy’s got a teacher who gives a damn.“

You looked up at him and genuine smile on your face, happy that someone acknowledged your trying.

”I do. Thank you. He’s a great kid.“

”Well, I don’t want to keep you for too long..“ you trailed off.

”You got somewhere to be?“ he asked with a grin but some curiosity in his voice.

”No, don’t think my houseplants will miss me too much.“

No boyfriend, was what Jax noted.

”This your last meeting?“ he asked as he stood.

”Yeah,“ you nodded, closing the file before getting up yourself to put it back in the drawer.

He nodded.

”I‘ll walk you out then.“ he said and waited for you at the door as you took you bag and gave him a little smile.

”You’re new here.“ Jax stated, walking next to you.

”Moved here a bit more than three months ago.“ you answered.

”What made you choose Charming?“ he asked.

”They were desperately looking for a new teacher and I was desperately looking for a new job.“ you told him.

He chuckled.

”Well, it was nice meetin‘ you, darlin‘. Good to know that Abel’s in good hands.“

”It was nice to meet you, too, Mr. Teller. I’ll try my best.“

He smirked at you then saying

”Jax.“

”Mr. Teller.“ you said with a smile

His smirk turned into a grin

”Goodbye Miss y/l/n.“ he said with a wink before walking over to where his bike was parked.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You had seen Jax a few times after that day. He had dropped off his son some mornings. Always sending you a smile and a wink that made your stomach flip for reasons you’d rather not think too much about. He was incredibly handsome and very charming, yes, but there was something else to him. Something you couldn’t explain, something that made you curious about the man. A pull between you.

But you hadn’t talked since then. That would change at the end-of-summer fest the school had organized. Every class had prepared a little performance.

You hurried in right as the lights went down, leaning against the wall in the back.

As the first group of kids performed a little theatrical number you let your eyes look over the back of parents.

That was when you saw it. The black leather Kutte, with the logo of the sons. The blonde hair. Jax. He looked a little out of place. His leather and rough edges between the polished parents in their flower dresses.

When Abel’s class went on stage though? You could see his whole stance change, he sat up a little straighter, hands now resting on his knees instead of being crossed over his chest. It was so clear how much he loved that little boy and you couldn’t help the smile on your face.

When the whole thing was over Jax waited until the crowd had thinned before he made his way over to you, hands in his pockets.

”Hey Teach.“ he grinned at you

”Hi, Mr. Teller.“ you said

”Jax.“ he said with a smirk.

”Mr. Teller.“ you said but you couldn’t help the smile on your face.

”Think my kid nailed it?“ he asked

”He did great.“ you told him with a nod.

You two talked for a while afterward, about the preparation for the fest, about Abel.

Gemma standing a little off watched you two interact curiously.

There was a easiness to the way you acted around each other, a familiarity even though that was only your second conversation.

The way you laughed at what her son said, the way the grinned at you.

'Interesting‘ she thought. Tara had left again almost half a year ago and for Gemma this was the perfect opportunity for Jax to get completely over her.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was the day of the yearly fundraiser Gemma organized for the school district. Your school was of course involved in that. You had volunteered to help out with a booth and had been assigned the can throwing stand. There had been a bit of a mix up, leading to them not having a second person for it.

”Jax, I forgot tellin‘ you but a booth needed another volunteer and I told them you’d do it.“ Gemma told Jax with a smirk he couldn’t read.

”You’re kiddin‘?“

”No, Jackson. It’s the can throwing one. They’re waitin‘ on you.“ she slapped a hand on his back.

Jax made his way over to the direction his mother had pointed in. Already regretting showing up. He just wanted to check in with Gemma and Abel, now he was stuck playing carnival worker.

But he stopped in his tracks when he saw who the other person working the stand was. You were setting up the cans, not having seen him yet.

He turned around towards Gemma who watched him with raised eyebrows. He laughed a little shaking his head.

”Guess you’ll have to make do with me today.“

You turned around at the sound of that familiar voice. Of course it’s him. You should have known when Gemma told you she had someone to help out.

”Well, that’s a surprise.“ you smiled

”You any good at this?“

He asked, stepping closer, hands in his pockets as he nodded towards the stack of cans.

”I’d say I’m decent.“ you said, taking a ball, turning it from hand to hand before you tossed it at him.

He caught it easily.

”Think you can keep up, Teller?“

”Darlin‘, I grew up throwing punches, this ain’t a challenge.“ smirk tugging at his lips

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

”Well this job requires a little more charm than muscle. Think you can handle that?“

He leaned against the booth, watching you for a moment.

”Guess we’ll have to find out.“

Before you could answer him your first customer was standing at the booth. A little boy, maybe eight years old.

”Hey there, wanna play?“ you asked him

The kid nodded, before you handed him the balls.

Jax crouched down next to the kid

”Alright, buddy, give us your best shot.“

”Hey, Jax? Can you give me that ball?“ you asked absentmindedly, filling the little crate that held the balls.

His hand paused while reaching for the ball, head tilting slightly, his lips twitched into a smile

”What was that?“

You frowned, confused

”What?“ you asked

”Nothin‘.“ he shook his head, still smirking, handing you the ball.

And that’s when you realized. You had said Jax. Not Mr. Teller. But you found that you didn’t regretted the slip up. Not the slightest bit.

The afternoon had been surprisingly fun. You and Jax had fallen into an easy rhythm. The lighthearted banter between you two never really stopped. You could feel that pull again between you.

Then a familiar voice called out

”Dad!“

You looked up just as Abel ran toward the booth, a smile on his face. His tiny hands clutched a half eaten cotton candy, his fingers already sticky.

Jax crouched down, resting a steady hand on Abel's back. "Hey, buddy. Havin' fun?"

Abel nodded enthusiastically, taking another bite of his cotton candy. His eyes flicked up to you, "Hello Miss Y/N!"

You smiled warmly. "Hey, Abel! Looks like you're having fun"

He nodded again, then turned to Jax. "Are you winnin', Daddy?"

Jax chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "Just helpin' people win prizes."

Abel turned back to you. "Did my dad get in trouble?"

You laughed. "No, he's actually being very helpful." You glanced at Jax with a teasing glint in your eyes. "Surprisingly."

Jax smirked. "Told you I could charm my way through this."

Jax grabbed a napkin from the booth and cleaned him up, mumbling something about "sticky little hands." It was a simple moment, but something about it made your chest feel warm.

The way Jax looked at Abel, so full of love and devotion, was enough to make your heart clench.

You had always known Jax was Abel's father. It was the reason you’ve met Jax in the first place. You'd heard the way Abel talked about him in class, the excitement whenever his dad picked him up.

But seeing it in person - watching Jax be so soft with him, so completely wrapped up in this little boy - made it feel different. More real.

Jax must've caught you watching because when he looked back up, his smirk softened into something else. Something unreadable.

You quickly cleared your throat, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Well, Abel, do you wanna try knocking down some cans?"

Abel nodding exited again. Jax handed him a ball, adjusting his tiny grip. "Alright, buddy, give it your best shot."

You stepped back, watching as the little boy aimed carefully before tossing the ball with all his might. The cans toppled over, and Abel cheered, throwing his arms up in victory.

Jax scooped him up effortlessly, pressing a quick kiss to his hair. "That's my boy."

And just like that, something deep in your stomach twisted. Because you were in trouble, serious trouble.

You liked Jax Teller.

In the evening after clearing the booth

”Wanna watch the fireworks?“ Jax asked putting the cans in a cardboard box.

”Yeah, sure.“ you nodded.

Jax closed the flaps of the last box ”Come, let’s get a good spot.“

You followed him to a spot a bit further from the crowd that had gathered around the stage where a band played. Walking through the crowd, Jax hand found the small of your back, guiding you, his touch light but present.

”This good?“ he asked and you nodded.

The fireworks started, casting color over the dark sky. You stood close, probably too close, but neither of you moved away. His arm brushed against yours, followed by a slow glance exchanged.

You turned to him for a second, he was already looking at you. Neither of you spoke but the pull was there, undeniably.

You turned away, looking at the sky again.

And you thought how this is different. This is not some Dad helping at a school event. It’s something.

Meanwhile Jax had similar thought. Yeah, you were beautiful he had seen that the first time he met you and there had been an itch to get to know you better. But there was an air about you that he liked, you were talking to him normally. Not with judgement about who he was and also not with obvious want because of his role in the MC, like the croweaters.

He walked you tour car again at the end of the day.

”Guess I’ll see you around, teach.“ he said, his voice softer.

”Yeah, I guess so.“

He lingered a second longer, looking like he was debating something.

”Drive safe.“ he said finally, stepping away.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You had been sitting at your kitchen table sorting this weeks classes when your phone ringed.

'Jax Teller'

The display said, making you frown a little. You had exchanged numbers at the charity event last week but neither of you had made the jump to call or even text the other yet.

”Hello?“ you said after you had picked up

”Hey, I have to ask you for a favor.“

Oh.

”Oh, okay? What is it?“ you asked a little confused, not knowing what to expect.

”I got somethin' important to take care of tonight, and my mom's tied up. I don't like askin' for favors, but..."

”You want me to look after him?“

”Yeah, you already know each other and I trust you with him.“

You were silent for a beat before you could say something he spoke again.

”I wouldn’t ask if there was anyone else.“

”Sure, I’ll babysit him. When do you need me?“

”Thank you. I can drop him off in 20?“

”Okay, yeah.“

Exactly twenty minutes later your doorbell rang. You dried your hands off on a kitchen towel, having done the dishes.

Opening the door, you found Jax standing there, Abel at his side, little backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Hey," Jax said, giving you a small mod.

"Hey," you echoed, looking down at Abel with a warm smile. "Hey, buddy."

Abel gave you a little wave.

"You sure this is okay? I know it's last minute."

"Jax, it's fine," you reassured him. "We'll have fun, won't we, Abel?"

Jax exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Alright. He already ate, but there's snacks in his bag. Shouldn't be any trouble."

”He never is trouble at school.“ you smiled at the little boy.

He nodded, then stood, looking at you again. "I owe you for this."

"You don't."

He tilted his head slightly, studying you for a second before nodding. "I'll be back later to get him."

"We'll be here."

For a beat, he didn't move, eyes lingering on you in a way that made your breath catch. Then he exhaled, giving Abel's head a quick ruffle before stepping away.

Looking after Abel was easy. You played a game you had found somewhere in your house.

When it got late you watched a movie and the little boy fell asleep on the couch. You had pulled a comforter over him and turned the volume down.

Around eleven there was a knock at your door.

”Come in.“ you walked with him to the kitchen ”Do you want something to drink? A coffee? Water?“

”A water, please.“

You filled a glass, your fingers brushed as you handed it to him.

”Thanks, darlin‘“ he said but his voice sounded exhausted, missing the usual teasing tone.

You hesitated for a moment before asking ”Are you okay?“

He let out a breath ”I don’t know how to answer this.“

You nodded understandingly.

”You don’t have to.“

He studied you, his gaze intense.

”Abel had some ice cream, I hope that’s okay?“ you changed the topic.

A small smile appeared on his face ”Yeah. Of course. Was everything okay?“

You nodded ”Yeah, he’s great.“

He was quiet for a moment, contemplating something.

”You know about his birth?“ he asked unsure of how much town gossip you had heard.

You shook your head, no.

”He was premature. Had a lot of medical issues, open stomach, heart issues.“ Jax shook his head

”Doctors thought he wouldn’t survive. Guess he proved them wrong.“

”Oh wow, that must have been hard.“

”Hardest thing I’ve ever been through.“

After a beat he spoke again

”I keep thinkin‘… what if he had a regular dad?“

”Jax-“ you started

”Nah, I mean it.“ he cut in ”Some guy with a nine to five. Someone who won’t leave in the night to handle club shit.“

You watched him for a moment taking in the weight of his words

”You love him.“

He looked at you

”That’s what’s matters. That’s what makes you a good dad. He doesn’t need a regular dad, just you.“

He looked at you for a moment like he wanted to believe you

”You don’t know half of it.“ he said then shaking his head.

”I don’t know how much you’ve been told about… me. But Abel was kidnapped when he was a toddler.“

Kidnapped? Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in.

Jax wasn't looking at you now. He was looking down at his hands, fingers laced together, knuckles white. Like he was holding himself together.

"It was my fault," he said after a long moment, his voice quieter than before. "The club, the life I lead… it put a target on him.

And I wasn't there when they took him."

You couldn't even begin to imagine what that must have felt like.

"What happened?" you asked gently.

Jax exhaled slowly, rubbing his hand over his jaw like he was trying to work through how much to say.

"He was taken by the Irish. Some bullshit power play against the MC president back then." His jaw clenched.

"I had to go to Belfast to get him back. Thought I'd never see him again."

Your stomach twisted. You knew Jax Teller came with some struggles but hearing this was something else entirely. You could see it in in the distant look in his eyes that this wasn't something he really ever talked about. You should pull away from him, from his life and everything that came from him. But looking at him now, knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping the counter top, you couldn’t make yourself pull away.

"But you did," you said softly. "You got him back."

Jax let out a breath, but it was shaky.

"Yeah. I did." He nodded slightly, like he was reminding himself of that. Then he finally looked at you again, something raw in his expression.

For a second, you weren't sure what to say.

What could you say? There were no words to erase what he'd been through, no easy reassurance to take away the weight of it.

So you did the only thing you could. You reached out, taking his hand in yours.

Jax looked down at your fingers laced together, his thumb brushing absently over your skin.

"You love that boy more than anything," you told him, squeezing his hand. "That's what matters. That's what makes you a good dad, Jax. Not the club. Not the past. Just you."

He swallowed hard, nodding once.

Jax finished his glass.

”I should probably let you get some sleep.“ he said. You followed him to your living room, the kid still asleep wrapped up on your couch. For a moment you leaned against the doorframe watching Jax making his way over to his son. The way he stood over him for a moment, looking at him.

He picked up a sleeping Abel in his arms, the small boy stirring slightly but not waking up completely as he curled his arms around his fathers neck.

”Thank you, again.“ he said with a nod

”Anytime.“ you smiled.

He lingered a little longer at the door, then he turned and walked with Abel towards the car he had arrived with. You stayed at the door, watching him open the car door, carefully settling his son into the seat. He glanced back at the door for a moment again, you gave him a short wave and then he was gone.

[etclouie]

I’m sorry I forgot to put the prompt list 😭🫶. Can I please have 2 of the smut promt with chibs ? And a congratulations on 1000 your writings are amazing ❤️❤️🫶!!!!!

˚୨୧⋆｡ — title; longing (chibs telford x fem!reader)

˚୨୧⋆｡ — prompt/s; “arch your back for me” — from "𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙝, 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩…" 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩 𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨 

˚୨୧⋆｡ — warnings; established relationship, allusions to sex/the build up, minors do not interact!!!, no actual smut mb (he does put it in tho), that’s it tho i’m pretty sure (250 words)

˚୨୧⋆｡ — a/n; i love this gif so much (also thank you!!)

— celebrate 1k with me?

Chibs had took you home early, completely abandoning the party happening at the clubhouse to lave his attention to you. 

your lips were already kiss swollen by the time you got home, his lips pressing to yours again as soon as the front door slammed shut. 

his hands made quick work of getting your clothes off, having you naked as you stepped into the bedroom. 

“my pretty fuckin’ girl”

he groaned, nipping at your jaw before he took a step back to admire you. 

your cunt drooling between your thighs, your walls fluttering around nothing as his eyes raked down your body hungrily. 

you giggled, climbing onto the bed and keeping your back to him. glancing over your shoulder, you could see the way his pupils were lust blown as he stepped towards you. 

he grasped your hip with one hand, the other working open his belt and shoving down his jeans. you could feel the heat of his cock as it lay heavy against your ass, the head of him leaking eagerly. 

“arch your back for me”

he told, humming in approval as you arched your back. your ass instinctively moving towards him as he settled behind you, the head of his cock swiping through your slick before pushing in in one smooth thrust. 

you both moaned in sync, walls fluttering around him while his hands pulled you back onto him. 

“been waiting to fuck this perfect pussy all day, not letting you out of this bed until tomorrow”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[brunettemarionette]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐲𝐭𝐡, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥… ​🇸​​🇴​​🇳​​🇸​ ​🇴​​🇫​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇦​​🇷​​🇨​​🇭​​🇾