#moongirlgodness

[aegonbeingfakeisracist]

what would you change in the dorne storyline? And why would it be to add more Dornish povs and more of the relationship between the characters? Hahahaha it's to little even the iron islands get more

So true.

I've said time and time again that Arianne is my favourite character and I utterly adore her chapters and think they were fantastically written and well constructed. That is absolutely true - everything in them makes it so clear where Arianne is coming from and why she makes the decisions she does. I can even defend the decision to dedicate so much of the time spent in Dorne to other characters' perspectives, because even that gives us interesting insight into Arianne: the man that met her as an adult sees her entirely differently from the man that has known her for her entire life. She presents herself completely differently. She's great with people. There's so much about her that she simply does not reveal. All that being said, something really lacking in the Dorne storyline is enough Arianne.

I think one thing that was really lacking in the Dorne storyline was sufficient emphasis on the efforts and machinations not on page. For example, think about how Arianne ended up in a position to launch her queenmaker plot. She learned Quentyn had left Dorne with papers sealed with the sun and spear of Dorne through her own information network. She learned about the Golden Company breaking its contract. She deduced those two things were connected. She developed such a good relationship with Myrcella that Myrcella trusted her without question. She seduced Arys Oakheart, seemingly before she knew for sure what she was going to do, just in case she needed him. She brought in a group of friends and decided it was best to keep limited numbers. She determined Hellholt was the place from which she ought to call her banners. She convinced Myrcella to lie to Balon Swann. Every one of these things occurred off page, but is an important part of Arianne's story, and they really do highlight how capable she is. A major part of Arianne's struggles are to do with the fact she has no choice but to be reactive. Getting more information on how she chooses to navigate the choices she has would be so good.

When thinking about how Quentyn had been seen in Planky Town, she mused about what "a clever man" (or herself, because she's the one speculating!) would have done in that position instead - gone to Oldtown where it would be likelier to fly under the radar, without anyone to recognize him and question why a prince and a lord's son were using false names and leaving Dorne. It would take longer, but it would be safer. This highlights how "impulsive" is not Arianne's natural instinct, just as much as the fact she did not rush to confront her father after first reading that letter. Arianne, at her core, is cautious. Arianne is Doran's daughter, through and through. Her impulsive actions come from the fact that she's usually not in a position where she gets to decide how to act purely of her own volition - if Quentyn is off hiring sellswords, she's got to do something fast. When she suspects that Haldon Halfmaester and Lysono Maar intend to put her on a ship to Storm's End regardless of her thoughts on the matter, she does not think it wise to test the theory. She is smarter than people think she is, regardless of if she is or is not good at cyvasse. Having her successes on page, rather than just off page, would emphasize that fact.

I don't believe that writing decisions should be made to spell things out for the audience. Of course not. Fandom not being able to understand that Arianne isn't the stupid and impulsive character it reads her as does not mean that the story should slow down to explain that. But still, Arianne is such a good character, I want to see more of her, and there are so many places where we could have had that.

Stylistically, I do get having the Dorne story ramp up only after Oberyn's arrival and death: out goes the old generation, make way for Princess Arianne. I even quite like it. Same as I like getting to see her from other characters' perspectives. But I don't like the fact Arianne doesn't show up until the fourth book, and then even after that, despite being the central figure of the Dornish storyline, gets a grand total of two chapters to herself. We're talking about the woman that's the niece of both Oberyn and Elia. The daughter of the man whose loss of his sister completely shook him to the core. The cousin of women undoubtedly old enough to remember Elia that are now grieving their father. The princess of a realm full of people old enough to remember the last war, who's notable for having friends from all walks of life. Dorne is a nation state, and through Arianne, we could learn a lot about how people in this nation state are reacting to things. I don't even necessarily need more perspectives from Dorne. But I would have loved to see Arianne conversing with all these other people and reflecting upon their different reactions to things.

[bellaxgiornata]

You Are My Sunshine [4]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.1k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

a/n: I am still ill over here, so enjoy the next part that was written thanks to sickness! Part five is also written and I think y'all are really going to enjoy that one... Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

tag list: @mariamadison6-blog @moongirlgodness @kmc1989 @thedreadandthefugitivemind

During Honest Coffee’s usual mid-morning lull, you’d situated yourself at a table by one of your shop’s front windows. With your laptop sitting in front of you and a freshly made vanilla latte to your left, you had been ready to get some work done during the brief downtime. Currently, you were focused on ordering inventory for the coffee shop–fresh roasted beans from a roastery just outside of Charming, coffee syrups that were low, paper cups, coffee sleeves, and napkins. Because somehow you were always out of napkins.

Absently you reached for your latte, bringing the ceramic mug to your lips for a drink as your eyes remained fixed on your laptop screen. But as you worked, you could still hear the noise from across the street over the quiet, ambient music playing in the shop. Swallowing down your coffee, you lowered the mug back to the table and glanced out of the window to your right. Teller-Morrow Automotive actually looked busy today with all of the men working on something inside of the garage. Usually, you could always spot a few of the men hanging around out front smoking and talking to each other for half the day. But one particular individual across the street easily stood out amongst the men and caught your eye.

You’d come to recognize Jax’s particular gait over the past couple of weeks ever since you’d met him. Even if his blonde, slicked back hair always set him apart from the others and already gave him away, his walk completely distinguished him from the rest of the men across the street. He moved with a confident, cocky swagger as if he thought he was untouchable. Undeniably, he had a presence that was hard to miss even from this distance. 

As your eyes followed his figure, watching the way he strode out of the garage’s office and through the parking lot, you saw him saunter towards the clubhouse by himself. And that was when you realized you were once again observing him through the window of your shop, oddly drawn to him ever since he’d first wandered into Honest Coffee the other week. You couldn’t seem to help yourself from curiously watching him, as if he was some sort of enigma you were intent to unravel.

His hands reached inside his kutte, your eyes following as they did. And then you realized what he was doing–smoking. Again. Because when wasn’t the man smoking whenever you’d found yourself looking across the street? He always seemed to have a cigarette between his lips or in his hand and a surly expression permanently drawn across his face. Not that it should matter to you what he was doing or how irritable he often appeared after the way he’d spoken to you just a few nights ago. He probably shouldn’t have even remotely been on your mind after that because he had been rude. There was no denying that.

The initial reaction you’d had to Jax’s attitude when he had called you a fake that night, claiming your kindness was all for show, had been a strong urge to tell him off. To defend yourself against the awful picture he apparently had created of you in his mind. To tell him he was wrong about you. But you also knew that nothing you said would have changed his opinion in that moment, not with the anger you’d felt practically rolling off of him in waves. But the real reason you had refrained from saying anything with a bite in return was because you’d quickly come to the conclusion as to why he’d probably said all of those awful things to you.

You weren’t an idiot. You’d noticed when he’d first come in and sat at the counter that he smelled like alcohol, which meant he had probably been drinking over at that clubhouse of his before he’d stopped inside of your shop. And you’d also noticed that he seemed to be itching for a fight from the moment he’d walked in, and you had a feeling that itch really had nothing to do with you at all. Particularly because his default state seemed to be naturally pissed ever since you’d started paying attention to him. Even now as he leaned against the side of the clubhouse alone, his body appeared tense and stiff as he took a drag on his cigarette.

Focusing back on your laptop screen before Jax could possibly catch you staring at him, your mind once more replayed the interaction from the other night. You'd been doing that a few times since then, trying to make sense of what had happened. Because there was absolutely no way you’d actually done anything that would’ve truly made him that mad at you in the few short times you’d spoken to him. You’d been yourself with him that night, nothing different than the other two times he’d stopped inside. You were friendly and kind like you always aimed to be with everyone. But for some reason that had just made him even angrier. You figured you must’ve just been the unfortunate one in his path that night who’d gotten the brunt of his anger.

But why did your kindness bother him so much? Why did it make him so furious that you were friendly to him? Did he really feel that undeserving of it?

Scrolling through the site on your laptop you’d been ordering inventory from, you could hardly pay attention to what you were looking at anymore. Instead, you found yourself wondering why he always looked so angry and hurt. What was going on inside Jax Teller’s head? What put that permanent little crease between his brows and the scowl on his face? What made him so tense and desperate to fight everyone?

Despite how most people probably viewed him, you couldn't help but to be curious about him. You knew he had a criminal record and was the leader of an outlaw motorcycle club, and he’d made it quite clear what he’d thought of you the other night–because you were sure there was at least some truth in the things he’d snapped at you–so you knew you shouldn't be tempted to get to know the man beneath that hard exterior. It seemed foolish and impossible. 

But for some reason, that didn’t deter you.

Truthfully, it wasn’t his famed charm that you’d witnessed or the fact that he was easily one of the most attractive men you’d ever met that had you tempted to get closer to him–to figure him out. It was whatever you saw lingering in the depths behind those sad, haunted blue eyes of his that you couldn’t get out of your head. You kept catching yourself watching him across the street lately, drawn to the sight of his tense and rigid figure whenever you saw him out there. You could tell there was something hiding just beneath the surface of him, something just barely concealed. You’d caught it the first time he’d walked into your shop over a week ago when you were closed, and it had been staring you dead in the eyes the other night when he’d leaned over the counter and practically snarled at you. It was something that looked a lot like a broken, lonely man in pain.

Despite his attempts the other night, he hadn’t scared you off with his behavior. If anything, once you’d recovered from his hurtful words and realized why he’d said them, you’d only found yourself more drawn in. He was like a wild animal stuck in a trap, snapping at anyone who got too close, incapable of telling the difference between friend or foe. You figured the closer you got, the harder he'd probably fight you, too. But you weren’t ready to give up on him just yet, not if you could still find some way to get through to him. Because it looked like he was in desperate need of some compassion and understanding, even if he had no idea how much he needed it. Something you’d felt familiar with once upon a time.

“Cookie!”

Your head snapped up unexpectedly at the small, excited voice as it broke through your thoughts. Eyes darting over the top of your laptop, you saw Abel waving at you with a big smile on his face as he held onto Gemma’s hand. A wide smile broke out across your own face, your hand reaching up to close your laptop before you rose out of your chair.

“Hey buddy!” you greeted warmly, your eyes rising up to focus on Gemma next. “Good morning, Gemma.”

“How are you doing today, sweetheart?” she asked.

Shrugging a shoulder as you walked over to the pair, you watched as Mia made her way behind the register. As usual, she was cautiously eyeing Gemma as she waited to take her order.

“I'm good, just working on ordering some boring inventory. Which makes you both a welcome distraction,” you answered as you stopped in front of them. Giving Abel another smile, you asked, “How're the two of you this morning?”

“Had better mornings, that's for sure,” Gemma muttered.

You knew that tone. It was the same one she’d had whenever she’d come in during Jax’s time in Stockton for the few months your shop had been open. She clearly wanted to sit down and have a chat and distract herself from whatever was going on. But of course she would never openly admit to it. Something it appeared Jax had inherited from his mother–an incapability to just ask for what they needed.

“You want me to let Abel pick out a cookie while you get your coffee?” you asked her. “He can come color at my table for a bit if you want to stay and drink your coffee here. I've even gotten some new coloring books.” Looking down at Abel, you sent him a wide grin. “Found some fun motorcycle ones just for you, buddy.”

Gemma nodded, smiling at you as she released Abel's hand. “Yeah, I got a little time,” she replied as Abel made his way over towards you. “Wouldn’t mind some female company. Gettin’ tired of all the testosterone over there this morning, anyway.”

You caught the way she shot a glare back over shoulder across the street. Whether she was irritated with the garage or the club, you couldn’t tell. Before you could think much more about it, Abel was already at your side, his little hand reaching up towards yours as he smiled up at you. 

Your attention quickly shifted to helping Abel pick out a cookie for the day–a chocolate brownie one–before you led him over towards the table you’d been working at. Settling him into a booster seat, you gave him one of the new coloring books you had gotten and a pack of crayons, enjoying the way his eyes lit up as he ate his cookie. Gemma began to make her way over towards the pair of you with a coffee in her hand, a genuine smile on her face as she kept her focus on Abel. 

For the next half hour, you sat at the little table by the shop’s front window with Gemma and Abel. You helped Abel color in a picture of a man riding on a motorcycle as you tried to teach him what color each crayon was, occasionally making light conversation with Gemma. When Abel finally began scribbling big, looping swirls over the motorcyclist in the coloring book with a black crayon, you caught the way he kept referring to him as ‘dada.’ For some reason that had you wondering what Jax was like as a father. 

What was he like when he was with his son? Because you knew he spent time with him. Did that rage follow him home, or did he find some comfort in Abel? Judging by how happy Abel was and how Gemma had talked about Jax from her previous visits to the shop, you had a feeling he was actually a fairly active father–considering what he did with most of his time. So did he ever color with Abel? Sing songs with him? Read him bedtime stories as he tucked him into bed at night? Was he the one getting his hands dirty with snot-covered tissues whenever Abel fell ill?  

As your mind pondered the image of Jax at home with Abel, Gemma sat back at the table and quietly observed you with her grandson. Silently she drank her coffee, but those watchful eyes of hers studying you eventually became impossible to ignore. Glancing up at her, a crayon still in your hand, you paused what you were coloring as you met her gaze. 

“You’re good with him,” Gemma pointed out.

No longer drawing a sun on the coloring page, you examined the curious look on her face. She wasn’t exactly smiling, but she didn’t seem displeased, either. But her expression was impossible to read, one you hadn’t really noticed on her face in all the times that she’d visited in the past. It almost looked calculating. 

“He’s sweet,” you answered with a half-shrug. “And I like kids.”

“Sweetheart, I find it hard to believe you could ever meet someone you didn’t like,” Gemma teased, the corner of her lips curling upward. Though the smile vanished almost immediately, that odd expression returning to her face. “So how come a nice woman like you hasn’t settled down yet? How are you not married?”

Brows furrowing together faintly at the question, you set the yellow crayon down on the table and focused on Gemma. Abel continued scribbling his big, loopy, colorful marks with a concentrated expression on his face. He clearly was not paying attention to the current topic of conversation.

“I just haven’t met my person, I guess,” you answered simply.

Across the table, Gemma immediately pulled a face at that answer. As if that was the strangest response she could have received to that question. 

“Your person?” she asked skeptically. “What’s that supposed to mean, sweetheart? I’m sure you could find plenty of guys who’d bend over backwards for you.”

“I guess, maybe. I probably could find a man to marry if I wanted to just get married,” you agreed slowly, wondering why she was asking about this. She never had in the past. “But I only intend to get married once. Marriage means something to me. So, I want to find the right person, not just any person. Someone I could see myself spending my life with, growing old with. Someone who just…fits.”’

Gemma raised an eyebrow back at you, a skeptical look on her face as she finished up her coffee. Setting the empty mug back down, she studied you for a moment before speaking. “Are you that picky then? You mean to tell me no one has measured up to your standards?”

Settling back in your chair, you shook your head. “I wouldn’t say it’s because of my standards, it’s more of a…feeling that I’m looking for.”

An amused scoff fell out of Gemma before she was smiling incredulously back at you. “A feeling? You some kinda hopeless romantic, sweetheart? Thinking some big, crazy love exists out there? A soulmate or something?”

“I wouldn’t say I believe in soulmates, but I feel like there are people who just, I don’t know, get you?” you answered. “Like someone who can actually see you through everything on the outside.” 

Head tilting curiously to the side at the expression that had just flickered across Gemma’s face, your eyes narrowed slightly. Had you just touched on a nerve? You’d known about her first husband–Jax’s father–passing a long time ago, and you knew she’d recently separated from Clay. But was there someone else in the picture? 

“You ever meet anyone like that?” you asked carefully. “Someone who just fit?”

Gemma shifted in her chair, her gaze darting across the street to the clubhouse for a minute. There was a long pause before that wall visibly drew itself back up across her face and she returned her attention to you. 

“Naw, sweetheart,” she began, “life doesn’t afford me the luxury of something like that.”

Before you could open your mouth to say more, she was pushing her chair back and gathering up the crayons on the table. Yeah, you’d definitely touched on something, but you knew better than to push.

“Heading back to work already?” you asked.

“Yeah,” she answered, stuffing the crayons back in the box. “Got some shit to finish up at the office.”

Chewing your lip, you glanced across the street once more. Jax looked like he was in some sort of intense discussion with a few of the other Sons in the lot. He didn’t look any more pissed off than usual, but he didn’t look happy, either. An idea slowly began forming in your mind and you rose from your chair abruptly.

“Can I have you wait just a moment before you go?” you asked Gemma. 

She glanced up at you, pausing in her cleanup of the crayons as her eyes narrowed at the hopeful expression on your face. 

“What for?” she asked cautiously.

Shrugging a shoulder, you figured you’d tell her some of the truth. Because you knew she’d see exactly what you were doing anyway–quite literally.

“To…deliver a message for me?” you asked. When she shot you a hard look, you quickly added on, “Technically a coffee, but also a message.”

She paused for a moment, closing the crayon box as her lips pursed into a thin line. You were expecting her to tell you no in some form, but then after a moment she answered.

“Sure, sweetheart,” she replied, eyes darting back up to you. “I can deliver your message to Jax. But I think a girl like you should know better than to be vying for that boy’s attention. He definitely isn’t your…person. He’s not exactly the type to be anyone’s person.”

A look of confusion passed over your face before you realized what she was getting at. Laughing softly, you shook your head. “No, that’s not–I’m not interested in him like that,” you told her. “We just…had a discussion that I feel like wasn’t finished.”

“Uh huh. Sure you did, sweetheart,” Gemma replied, disbelief in her tone.

Brows furrowing at that comment, you decided not to ask her more about what that meant. Instead, you headed behind the counter to work on brewing a cup of coffee.

“Did you not hear a goddamned word I said to you the other day?” 

Jax’s expression fell, his eyes closing slowly as he heard his mother’s irritated voice coming from behind him. She was the last person he wanted to deal with right now. Pulling the cigarette out from between his lips, he blew out a cloud of smoke as he turned around. But the sharp comment he’d been about to snap out died on his tongue the moment he spotted Abel beside her, happily flapping around a piece of paper that it looked like he colored. 

“What the hell are you on about now, Ma?” Jax grumbled as he focused back on her. 

Gemma thrust out the coffee cup in her hand towards Jax. She nodded her head at the cup, a look on her face as if he should know what that meant. He pulled a face in response, his annoyance increasing rapidly as he gestured a hand at the coffee.

“The hell are you getting at?” he pressed. “She give you too many fucking smiles today? What's this gotta do with me?”

His mother’s eyes narrowed back at him, that knowing look on her face not disappearing. “She asked me to bring you this, Jackson,” she answered sharply. “Free of charge.” 

Confusion flooded Jax at her comment, his eyes dropping down to the coffee cup in Gemma's hand again. You’d sent over a cup of coffee for him? For free? After how he’d treated you the other night? How he had insulted you, tried to intimidate you? 

What the actual fuck?

Gemma spun the cup around in her hands, the movement catching Jax’s eyes before he spotted the familiar black ink on the side of it. The same script from his previous cup you’d given him adorned the side of this one. You’d written him a message again. This one simply said: ‘Everyone deserves kindness.’ You’d underlined ‘everyone’ several times and even drawn a little sun next to the writing. 

For a minute, all he could do was stand there in front of the clubhouse, his cigarette momentarily forgotten between his fingers as he stared at the writing on the paper cup. He was completely dumbfounded. Were you…trying to tell him that you somehow still found him deserving of that kindness despite him having been an enormous asshole to you? 

How did that even make sense?

“I told you to stop going over there and flirting with the sweet owner,” Gemma chastised. “Now here she is sending you free coffees with cute little messages.”

Jax shook his head slowly, his eyes still transfixed on your handwriting. “No, that's not what happened,” he admitted. “I'd gone over there the other night after drinking at the clubhouse. Was pissed and then I saw her through the windows closing up. I was an asshole to her. Said some shitty things.”

“Goddammit, Jackson,” Gemma muttered in frustration. “You mean you picked a fight with her? Jesus Christ.” 

She thrust the cup towards Jax forcefully and he instinctively reached up, grabbing the warm drink in his hands as a bit of it sloshed up onto the lid. When his gaze met Gemma’s, he saw how pissed she was. The guilt from the other night immediately started filling him.

“Don't ruin this coffee shop for me, Jackson,” she ordered. “It's got good coffee and it's a quiet place within walking distance of this garage. It's a nice escape some days.” Her hand gestured down to the paper in Abel's hand. “She even stocks coloring books just for Abel's visits. She claims it's for all the kids there, but it's obvious she does it for your son.”

Jax’s brows knitted together at that before he glanced down at the colored picture in his son's hands. When he saw his dad looking, Abel held the page up for Jax to see. It was a man riding a motorcycle that Abel had clearly scribbled all over, but in the corner of the page was a little yellow sun. One that looked exactly like the one on his coffee cup.

Some unexpected and unknown feeling washed over Jax in that moment. You had been over in your shop for how many months now buying coloring books and coloring with his son whenever Gemma brought him? You didn't have to do that. Just like you didn't have to give him the free cookie you apparently always had for him whenever he stopped in. That was all…nice. Genuinely fucking nice.

Goddammit, now he felt like an even bigger jackass after what he'd said to you.

“You want to get laid,” Gemma continued harshly, grabbing Abel's hand, “you have plenty of options, Jackson. The coffee shop across the street is not one of them.”

“That isn't–”

The scowl Gemma sent him over her shoulder as she headed back to the garage's office had Jax quieting instantly. Clearly she wasn't going to believe him. But that's not what he'd been trying to do with you.

With a frustrated sigh, he focused back down on the coffee in his hand. He wasn't sure what to do with it. He didn't feel like he deserved it after how he'd been such a prick to you the other night, but somehow tossing it untouched into the garbage made him feel like an even bigger dick.

His eyes slowly made their way across the street, finding you in your shop through the large windows. You were talking and smiling at some woman sitting at a table. A bolt of regret shot through him at how he'd managed to knock that smile off your face with just his words. 

“Maybe I was wrong about you, sunshine,” he muttered to himself.

Drawing the cup up to his lips, he figured he'd drink the coffee and let the guilt settle deeper into his stomach along with it. Because now he definitely felt like he owed you an apology–something he didn't often do.

[venusintheblindspots-blog]

Thanks for the tag! @drunkchickpea

Last movie : Dune (I’m going to try and read the books soon)

Currently reading : Behind Closed Eyes by Kasia Szpakowska, Thomas Sankara Speaks by Thomas Sankara (and other speeches by him), Rhaemond fics.

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Tagging you lot : @richardsthirdnipple @bohemian-nights @moongirlgodness @boonoonoonus @blackcat419 @soft-persephone @witheredoffherwitch

[martellspear]

Tag Game: Tag people you’d like to get to know better

Thanks for the tag @tell-them-the-north-remembers 💕

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Currently working on: one fanfic that i am still trying to decide the name (it's robb x rhaenys & rhaegar x elia)

but also three one shots:

a ashara x elia one that i want to write for valentine's day; one inspired by "bad idea right?" that's basically a modern!au in which rhaegar is still in love with his ex and goes to her apartment to get his things😋 and kind of a sequel to "my queen" because i got a comment about the painted table and it got me think soooo

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Tag Game: Tag people you’d like to get to know better

Tagged by @artyoms thanks for the tag 💖

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[aegonbeingfakeisracist]

hi!

Can you talk more about Arianne and Daemon ? Seriously they are my favorite couple I even have a headcanon that Arianne will be pregnant with Daemon I mean it's more a parallel with Asha's possible pregnancy (pairs between Martells and greyjoys) and Daemons are so fertile hahahaha (Daemon Targaryan Daemon Blackfire) even begin another family but Martin chose the same name and Daemon Sand's father has twins in addition to him...

Anyway I don't see any chance of marriage/ engagement or Arianne's love interest in Aegon it just won't be happening,I see them having a friendship relationship and a strengthening of the family bond , with Ari being a guide for his cousin ( so much potential). This is a bullshit she doesn't want to be queen but Dorne anda her father love. I just want Arianne to be able to be happy white someone who respects her and see her more than just a pretty body and face, and Daemon strikes me as perfect.

I really don't want Arianne to be pregnant because it seems to me like needless drama and just all around bad timing – she's serving as an envoy. There's a war going on. And I feel like her words to Elia kind of apply to her, as well – kiss all the boys you want when you're home in Dorne, but this is so not the time. Sure, she propositions Daemon, but she didn't actually sleep with him. Also, Arianne canonically uses moon tea for birth control. So I'm hopeful there will be no baby unless she lives to the end of the series.

But I think her relationship with Daemon is just so unique in terms of all the relationships we see in the series – they were children doing this entirely on their terms. They were the same age. They just liked each other, and so engaged in a relationship without fear over consequences.

I think in recent years, there's been a weird rise in people forgetting that tropes are tools and not fundamentally good or bad. One of the ways this manifests in particular is hating "childhood friends to lovers" or people winding up with their first love. I don't have hard stances on the kind of relationships in fiction I find interesting or boring. Mostly for me, it's contextual – what is compelling in ASOIAF to me is not the same as what's compelling in another work. And while I certainly agree that there are situations in which a childhood friends to lovers angle may be boring, I think in the ASOIAF context, Arianne and Daemon's childhood sweethearts angle is actually extremely compelling.

For a start, this isn't a people-staying-with-their-middle school-boyfriend-forever scenario. It's the fact Arianne and Daemon had a relationship, broke up, lived near a decade having separate lives with Arianne certainly having other relationships and Daemon probably also doing the same, and are potentially coming back together.

For another, I really, really like what Arianne/Daemon would mean for Arianne as a character. I've said before that she's my favourite ASOIAF character. But even outside of my own personal bias, think about the type of fics that get written about her. It's hard to identify this for certain, because AO3 tagging is just so messy, and navigating through Arianne's tag is a lost cause, but mostly, fic!Arianne is just three sliders of stupidity, horniness, and ambition. Which is just so, so not book Arianne, at all.

Arianne is unique amongst the most important female characters of ASOIAF. She's is not the heir presumptive, she's the heir apparent. Dorne will be hers. And she is a descendant of Nymeria, the most recent in a long line of rulers of Dorne. Her family is central to Dorne's cultural memory, as it was Nymeria and Mors that turned the collection of states into a unified nation. So unlike, say, the Tyrells or Freys, who determinedly pursue these grand matches in a way of compensating for their relatively recent history, Arianne...doesn't really need to do that? Like, she can just marry a bannerman and it would be totally fine.

Furthermore, Arianne clearly has more rights of refusal than most women, and she is not shy about using them - these are real rights she has. I can imagine her feeling more pressure to accept if offered a candidate that wasn't clearly a joke, but given the setting, this is true for everyone. The fact remains, Arianne has options, and since she's going to be a ruling princess, those options are broad.

But despite all of this, her marital prospects are a huge theme. Doran offers her elderly suitors. Daemon and Drey wanted to marry her. There was an entire marriage pact that no one bothered to tell her about. Arianne intends on bartering her own hand, and thinks about how whoever she weds would rule Dorne by her side.

How does all this connect to Daemon? Because he's a nobody. Okay, sure, that's a little extreme – he's a knight, the son of an important lord, and the former squire of a prince. But even though that is the case, he is still a bastard. His father has at least two legitimate children. This isn't a case like Ellaria, in which the set up makes it extremely reasonable to think that her father's land and title will one day fall to her and her daughters - Daemon will not inherit anything. Meaning if Arianne were to marry him, or even just obviously choose him as her partner without a marriage? It would be for her.

There might be some political benefits, given that Daemon is clearly on good terms with his father, but very indirectly, and not nearly to the extent that would be the case with other marital candidates. It cannot be considered anything resembling a political move. So Arianne choosing Daemon would be her taking control over her life, making the choices she wants, for her. It would be her choosing a Dornish spouse that has ties to her family beyond just her alone. It would be her in a position where she can safely choose to make her life with a person that she loves, that isn't the best political choice.

It would be her choosing someone that is deeply, fundamentally tied to Dorne - not just because he's Dornish, but because he is a bastard, because he was once a child in the Water Gardens, because he attended the feast for Balon Swann and did not drink upon the toast to Tommen. Arianne drank. Doran drank. But Daemon did not. Daemon is clearly still in love with Arianne. There is a reason their relationship was never the same after Doran rejected him for her. He loves her enough to serve as her sworn shield and beg her to allow him to go into a dangerous situation in her place. But he has his own mind, and his own beliefs, and his Dornish identity is a big part of that.

We've seen very little of Daemon. But from what we have, he sees Arianne in a way that few do. Doran didn't understand what was going on with her at all. Arys and Areo both clearly had images of her in their heads that didn't quite align with reality. But Daemon, despite their relationship having never recovered fully and despite Doran being so much like Arianne that one would really think he should understand her more than he does, gets her more than anyone else. He understands the strained relationship with Quentyn and that Arianne maybe isn't so desperate to have her little brother return. He sees bits of Arianne in Elia. He literally finishes some of her sentences.

Of all the people Arianne could ever engage in a relationship with, I think Daemon, more than any other character, represents her making her own choices and coming into her own as the ruling princess of Dorne.

[aegonbeingfakeisracist]

@severelyuniquebarbarian My parents are helping me a bit with the down payment, I do not make enough to do this on my own! 😂

@moongirlgodness Thank you, I appreciate that. ❤️

[bellaxgiornata]

You Are My Sunshine [5]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 5.4k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

a/n: Lots of Jax and Reader interacting in this update, which is quite lengthy in itself. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

tag list: @mariamadison6-blog @moongirlgodness @kmc1989 @thedreadandthefugitivemind @fallout-girl219 @nfm-12

Closing down the shop tonight felt far more like a chore than usual. Today had been a long, busy day at Honest Coffee since you’d decided to run a special event this afternoon–half off drinks for a few hours during the time when most people in Charming usually finished work for the day. You’d called it Happy Hour, and it had led to a rush of revolving customers all late afternoon until almost closing time. 

Now you were exhausted closing things up by yourself. Miguel, the barista who you had on the schedule to close with you tonight, had an exam early in the morning tomorrow. Knowing how incredibly nervous he’d been about the upcoming test with how he’d been talking about it his entire shift after school, you’d rushed him out the door for some last minute studying instead of letting him deal with the cleanup. You figured you could handle the aftermath of the day by yourself. But as you swept the floors and wiped down the counters and tables tonight, even you were aware that you’d worked with far less enthusiasm than normal. 

Attempting to finish cleaning in a rush, all you wanted was to get done for the evening so you could settle down on your couch at home with some leftover pasta and one of your shows. But before that could even happen, you still had to walk all the way home first. Because on the nice evenings that you closed your shop, you usually walked home since you didn’t live too far from downtown Charming. Though, admittedly tonight you weren’t exactly looking forward to the added exercise that was just another delay before you could sit down and finally relax. 

It wasn’t until twenty minutes after you’d closed the shop that you were finally turning off the lights before making your way to the door. With your purse slung over your shoulder, you pushed the door open and stepped out into the warm evening air. The sun was beginning to sink closer to the horizon, the sky a wash of pretty pinks and oranges. Taking a moment as you stepped onto the sidewalk, you unzipped your purse as you turned back towards the door, digging through your bag’s contents. You searched for the shop keys before pulling them out, but you’d barely just gotten the key into the lock of the door when a voice nearby startled you so bad you nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Head whipping to the side, you were surprised to see Jax sitting at one of the outdoor tables in front of your coffee shop. There was a lit cigarette in his hand, a trail of smoke drifting upwards from it as his blue eyes fixed on you. You noticed the way his mouth curved faintly upwards at how you’d frightened at the sound of his voice before his expression quickly shifted back into something serious. 

Clearing your throat, your attention returned to locking the door in front of you. You twisted the key as your racing heart steadily began to slow back to its normal rhythm after that scare, questions already starting to arise in your mind about why he was sitting out here. It was obvious he’d been there for a bit waiting on you, but you weren’t entirely sure about the reason as to why he’d been sitting here waiting for you.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Figured you saw me sitting here and were just ignoring me.”

“I didn’t notice you, actually,” you answered distractedly as you focused on locking up. “Was in a hurry to close the shop for the night. Been a long day.”

Pulling the key from the door, you slipped it back into your purse before turning around and focusing on Jax where he sat at the table. The cigarette was in his mouth now as he took a drag, your eyes briefly focusing on the way his lips pursed around it. He took a deep inhale before removing the cigarette from between his lips, turning his head and blowing the cloud of smoke away from you. As Jax sat further back in the metal chair, he stretched his legs out in front of himself on the sidewalk as if he was making himself comfortable, though he looked the furthest thing from it as he sat there.

“I was wrong,”  he said after a moment.

His eyes remained fixed on the cigarette between his fingers as he knocked some of the ash from the tip. Eyebrows raising marginally at his comment, you wondered if an actual apology was coming next or if that was going to be the extent of it. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you’d even expected him to actually say anything about the way he’d treated you the other night, so the fact that he’d shown up here of his own volition was a bit of a surprise in itself. 

“Those things I said the other night,” Jax continued after another brief silence, his eyes still intentionally avoiding you as he spoke, “they were shitty. I admit that. I don’t really know you and you’d done nothing to deserve me speaking to you like that. I just…”

He trailed off, his eyes still on the cigarette pinched between his fingers before he pulled it back to his lips for another deep drag. You watched him as the golden glow of the setting sun behind him swathed him in a soft warm light. It was an odd contrast to that distant, pained look lingering in his eyes as he kept avoiding the sight of you. 

“You just what?” you prompted gently.

As if the sound of your voice had broken through whatever thoughts were running through his mind, he withdrew the cigarette from between his lips before expelling the smoke. His head turned towards you, his eyes finally meeting yours again. For some reason you felt a little transfixed by them this time with how intently he was holding your gaze captive.

“I was pissed off that night about a lot of shit, none of it having to do with you,” he continued. “And I saw you in your shop looking all happy, like nothing could ever be wrong in the world, and it just, I don’t know–” he shook his head, an agitated expression crossing his features before it vanished, “–it pissed me off more. And for some reason I just wanted to knock the smile off your face. Wanted you to stop being so goddamned cheerful for once.”

Nodding slowly at his explanation, you crossed your arms over your chest as you eyed him. “And did that make you feel any better?” you asked, genuinely curious. “Upsetting me? Trying to bring me down to whatever you were feeling?”

Jax sighed deeply, almost visibly deflating in the chair as he drew the cigarette up to his lips for a final drag. Afterwards, he tossed it to the ground and stamped it out with his shoe. A steady stream of smoke blew out from between his lips as he stared at the butt on the pavement, a crease between his brows.

“No,” he finally admitted. “No it didn’t. If anything I felt like a massive piece of shit afterwards.”

He looked over at where you still stood just in front of your shop’s front door, noticing the way your arms were still crossed over your chest. His bottom lip rolled back between his teeth in silent contemplation as he just looked at you, his eyes studying your face carefully.

“I’m sorry for that, too,” he finally said. “You didn’t deserve me coming into your place and being a bastard. I know that, alright? But I warned you that I’m not a good man. I’m not nice. Certainly not the kinda guy you should be sending free coffees to, especially after I just insulted you.”

“You’re apologizing though, aren’t you?” you pointed out, uncrossing your arms before taking a hesitant step closer to the table he was seated at. “You felt guilty for what you’d said. You just admitted that being hurtful hadn’t brought you joy.”

Jax’s eyes narrowed back at you. It was obvious that now he was really studying you. Taking a few more cautious steps forwards, as if you were approaching a wild animal that might pounce instead of a man who looked worn down, you crossed the distance towards the table. Slowly, you reached a hand out and grabbed the back of the other metal chair before pulling it out, all the while aware of how he was watching your every move carefully.

“What’re you trying to get at?” he finally asked.

Lowering yourself into the chair, you focused solely on him and the way he was examining you. There was something guarded in his expression as he waited for your response, like he was trying to hide part of himself from you. 

“I’m getting at the fact that if you really were that awful of a person, you wouldn’t have felt bad for saying those things to me,” you answered, getting comfortable in the chair. “There’d have been no guilt, no regret, and certainly no apology.”

Jax scoffed, rolling his eyes a little. “Apologizing doesn’t suddenly make me a good man somehow, sunshine,” he replied. “It doesn’t just erase shit.”

There was a brief moment before you responded, noticing how he'd taken to calling you that nickname again so easily. Except without the malicious intonation that he’d used last time. It almost sounded affectionate.

“Well, taking your anger out on someone doesn’t make you a bad man, either,” you countered. “It’s not nice and it’s certainly not acceptable, but show me a person who hasn’t done that a handful of times in their life.”

A small, almost surprised laugh fell out of Jax in response. When he looked across the table at you, there was a look of disbelief etched on his face now. He shook his head, a slight crease between his brows as his blue eyes raked over you for a minute.

“I’m not saying what I did the other night alone makes me a bad man, sunshine,” he told you. “I’ve done far worse things than just saying mean shit to someone. You realize that, don’t you?”

“I do,” you answered. “But considering you’re able to apologize for something like insulting me–to feel bad about it–means you’re not quite the bad guy you make yourself out to be.”

“What?” he asked, his brows furrowing even tighter together at that. “What the hell are you even getting at with that line of thinking?”

A soft huff fell out of you as you relaxed back in the chair, a small smile finally making its way onto your face. He clearly needed it pointed straight out for him because apparently the view he had of himself was just that bleak. He wasn’t getting the point.

“You’re capable of guilt,” you explained. “Remorse. Which are good things that help guide a person to live with at least some semblance of morals. And besides that, you’re taking responsibility for your actions by coming here to apologize to me. If you were truly a horrendous individual, you’d have lashed out and felt nothing about it and never apologized.”

“So what?” he asked, confusion still written all over the way he was looking at you. “That makes me suddenly a good guy in your book? Is that what you’re saying?”

Biting your lip to fight back the growing smile on your face, you shook your head slowly back at him. What was it with everyone assuming a person was one thing or another all the time? That people were just so black and white?

“No,” you began slowly, “I’m saying that makes you human.”

Somehow, he only grew further confused at that. His head tilted slowly to the side as he eyed you skeptically for a long moment, a growing silence dragging out between the two of you. Then gradually, he leaned forward in his chair and rested both of his arms on top of the metal table, his hands clasped together as if you had his full attention. The sun behind him was sinking even lower now, the sky growing a dark orange and purple. 

“What’s that mean, sunshine?” he asked curiously. 

“It means,” you began, leaning forward in your chair, mirroring his posture as you rested your arms on the table across from him, “that you’re human. Capable of doing both good and bad equally. In my book, you can’t lump someone into one category. It’s not like a–” you paused, gesturing a hand in front of yourself as you tried to find the words you were looking for, “–a tally system or something. Good deeds don’t cancel out bad ones, and bad ones don’t just automatically make you a bad person. People are far too damn complex for that. There’s too many nuances and things to understand and consider.”

Jax’s brows pulled together on his forehead once more as you spoke, a deep crease forming between them as his eyes narrowed at you. It was as if he was hanging off of every word you were saying, sincerely interested in your point of view as he took in your explanation.

“I've never met anyone before who thought like that,” he admitted after a moment. “It’s always been black or white. Good or bad. Straightforward. And I'm always seen as the bad guy.” He paused, giving you a long, hard look before he spoke seriously. “Which I am.”

You breathed out an amused scoff, shaking your head. “I don’t think anything in life is necessarily that straightforward, Jax, let alone the idea of whether someone is morally good or bad.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered that. After a moment, he gestured his chin at you. “Fine, so how do you gauge who’s good or not then? How can you tell for yourself, sunshine?”

Shrugging a shoulder, you answered simply, “By getting to the heart of a person.”

One corner of his lips curved upwards into a small grin instantly, a light flickering behind his eyes at your answer. Almost as if he was amused despite the slight bit of intrigue at the idea.

“Sunshine, there’s no way in hell you can get to the heart of every person you meet,” he pointed out. “Let alone even a handful of people.”

With another smile spreading across your face, you playfully pointed a finger at him from across the little table. “Exactly,” you replied. “That’s my point. We never truly know people, therefore it’s not fair to lump them into a category and make assumptions. Because you have no idea why people do what they do, or how they feel about the actions they take, whether they're being eaten alive by the things they've done or not. And I think the guilt a person carries says more about them than most people think.” 

Something hard to decipher flickered behind his blue eyes as he listened to you, one of his hands running over the blonde hairs of his scruff. Another pregnant pause filled the air between you both, the street lights coming to life as the sun sunk down almost out of view now.

“You really aren't putting on a front as a friendly barista, are you?” he questioned back.

A soft laugh passed between your lips at the mistake he kept making before you once more corrected him. “I’m the coffee shop owner, Jax. I’m not a barista. I just like slinging coffee sometimes, too.” A genuine warm and friendly smile spread across your mouth next as you realized that he finally wasn't questioning you quite so much now. “And no, I'm not. This really is who I am.”

Jax continued quietly observing you, his eyes scrutinizing you closely. “So you view…everyone like they're just good then?” he asked skeptically. “That's how it works for you?”

Shrugging a shoulder lightly at the question, you didn't know how to necessarily answer that. “I mean, there are things that I personally have a difficult time reconciling with. Things that make it difficult for me to see the good sometimes. I’m only human myself,” you answered carefully. “But–”

Jax immediately perked up at that, his head cocking curiously to the side as one of his blonde brows arched back at you. “So absolute no's do exist with you?” he asked, cutting you off. “Enlighten me on that, darlin’.”

You hesitated for a moment at how he’d interpreted your explanation before carefully trying to answer him. “Well, I mean, I don’t know if I'd call it that exactly. That's sort of where the gray area comes into play, right?” you told him. “Because there are things that feel completely unforgivable, but how can you know someone isn't capable of change? That someone can't feel remorse and be reformed?” At the look on his face, you quickly added on, “I'm not saying I’m naive enough to think that's true of everyone, I'm just saying, you never know with a person. Which is where the weight of someone's guilt factors in and why I say the only way you can know is to know someone’s heart.”

Jax’s fingers slowly ran across his mouth as he studied you across the table from him, clearly considering what you’d just told him. You could see a question beginning to form in his eyes, like it was sitting there right on the tip of his tongue, and you were just waiting for him to finally say what he was thinking. 

“Okay, so let's say hypothetically that my club was more like a gang and less of a club,” Jax began slowly. His blue eyes intensely studied you from across the small table, as if your response to this question was going to tell him something he deemed important. “Would I hypothetically fall on your absolute no's? Assuming I did things you'd expect a gang to do–things of the unforgivable nature–am I one of those people you'd have a hard time ‘reconciling’ with?”

That had taken you entirely off guard. Wordlessly you sat there across from him, seriously pondering the question he’d posed you. It wasn't exactly an easy one to answer because you knew as well as anyone in Charming that the motorcycle club was in fact a criminal organization and not actually a group of motorcycle enthusiasts, even if you didn't know the full extent of what all they did. But at the same time, you'd lived in Charming long enough to also know that Jax’s father had been the one to start the whole thing and that Jax had grown up entrenched in that life since birth. He'd known that life to be normal. 

And yet here he was, showing up at your coffee shop to apologize for being mean and callous a few nights ago. Showing that he reflected on his actions, thought about how they affected others. Probably also had some things eating away at him internally judging by that dark glimmer often hiding in his eyes. 

So how did you judge someone for circumstances beyond their control? Jax couldn't help that he was born into the family that he was just as much as he couldn't be blamed for the way he was raised. And sure, you could argue that he was a man capable of making his own choices now, but considering how he was shaped and how his own moral compass was forged, it wasn’t realistic for someone to just know any different than what they always had. He was a product of his upbringing, but that also didn't mean he wasn't capable of change–if that's what he wanted. But you also had no idea what he wanted because you barely knew him.

So could you so easily conclude that he was someone you’d find unforgivable? Someone incapable of reformation and beyond redemption? No, not really. You hadn't seen enough of what was in his heart to make you think he was truly some evil villain.

Eventually, you slowly shook your head at the question. Jax's eyes widened marginally at that, as if he was surprised that was your response. 

“No, because I don't really know enough about you as a person to make that call,” you answered. “You've done illegal things–hypothetically–but I've seen your club do charity work, too. Help the community. I think you all care about this town more than it realizes. In my mind, there's just not enough for me to form an opinion on what’s in your heart, so to speak.”

Jax quietly sat there, his arms still resting on the table as one hand continued running over his mouth in thought, the tips of his fingers passing absently back and forth along his bottom lip. Your attention dropped to his rings, curiously wondering if there was any meaning behind them. He'd always had them on whenever you'd seen him and there were quite a few of them. 

“So you're saying,” Jax began slowly, his voice drawing your attention back to his eyes, “that you'd need to see more?”

Shrugging a shoulder, you nodded at the question. “Yeah, I'd say that's a fair assumption.”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing marginally at you before he continued. “Do you want to see more?” 

Yet again Jax had thrown out another question you hadn’t exactly expected. Surprise briefly flickered over your features as that question sat between the two of you. Was he…offering to let you get just a bit closer to him? 

“What do you mean?” you asked cautiously.

He huffed out a laugh at you, that darkness in his eyes lightening a little as the smallest smile crossed his lips. “I'm asking if you genuinely don't mind me coming to your shop, sunshine. Especially after I was a massive prick to you. Do you actually not mind seeing more of me?”

“As long as you refrain from using me as a verbal punching bag,” you began, a smile once more forming on your face as you began to understand his question, “then no, I don't mind seeing you here. I told you the first time you stopped in Honest Coffee that you were welcome here just as much as anyone else and I meant it.”

The small smile on his lips grew into a wider grin, a warmth reaching his eyes that you hadn't seen there before. For a moment, you found yourself unable to do anything else besides sit there admiring the sight of him smiling back at you. He looked completely different than all those other times you’d seen him when he was tense and scowling across the street. The deep creases and frown lines had completely smoothed out on his face, and there was a light in his eyes that made them look somehow even more blue. He looked handsome in a way that had your heart beating just a bit faster when he looked like that.

“I'll keep that in mind,” he replied, pushing the metal chair back and rising to his feet. “But I won't keep you any longer darlin’. I just wanted to apologize for being an asshole the other night. I really am sorry.”

Pushing your own chair back, you rose to your feet as well. The day's exhaustion once more hit you, the aches in your body returning. The prospect of walking home in the warm summer night now that it was even later seemed daunting after the day you’d had, but you didn’t have a choice. 

“I appreciate the apology, Jax,” you told him, sending him a tired smile. “You're forgiven, by the way. Especially after taking the time to understand me better instead of continuing to blindly judge me.”

He laughed lightly, taking a couple of steps backwards towards the street, his eyes still on you. “Could say the same about you. You're definitely unique, sunshine,” he told you with a grin. “Don't think many like you exist.”

Hands wrapping around the straps of your purse, you took a few steps backwards down the sidewalk yourself. “Probably not,” you agreed. “You have a good night though, Jax.”

Turning around, you focused your attention on the sidewalk as you started to make your way down it in the direction of your street. It was about a fifteen minute walk, but after being on your feet so much today, you winced at how uncomfortable each step already felt. But you hadn't gone more than a handful of steps before Jax was calling out behind you.

“You're not walking home, are you?” 

Looking over your shoulder at him behind you, you stopped in place on the sidewalk. He was already walking back over towards you, something like concern written on his features. 

“I usually do when it's nice out,” you replied, turning around to face him.

Jax finished crossing the remaining distance between you, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. That look of concern remained when he came to a stop a few feet away. 

“It's late, sweetheart,” he pointed out. “And dark. You probably shouldn’t be walking home by yourself. It’s not necessarily safe and all.”

Waving him off with a dismissive hand, you shook your head. “It's fine. I don't live far and it's not like I haven't walked through Charming alone at night before.”

“You’re too damn trusting of everyone for me to feel comfortable with that,” he teased. He paused for a second before he gestured his head behind him at the clubhouse across the street. “Let me give you a ride home. I'll feel better knowing nothing happened to you because I kept you so late.”

Eyes shifting to where he'd gestured, you spotted the ever present line of bikes in the lot. Something unexplainable fluttered in your stomach, but whatever it was wasn't exactly an unpleasant sensation. 

“You…want to drive me home on your bike?” you questioned carefully, attention returning to him.

“If that's not a problem, yeah,” he told you. “Strictly just to make sure you get home safe, sunshine. No ulterior motives despite the things I'm sure you've heard about me, I promise.”

Chewing your bottom lip in thought, you mulled his offer over. You really didn't want to walk all the way home tonight after the day you’d had, and it wasn't like he couldn't find out where you lived if he wanted to in order to do something shady. Considering the power the Sons wielded in Charming, you knew he could easily find your address if he wanted to–though you didn’t remotely get a feeling of being unsafe around him. So was there really any harm if he gave you a ride? It wasn't that far of a drive anyway.

“Okay,” you accepted after a brief deliberation. “I suppose I wouldn't mind not walking tonight, it's been a long day.”

A little grin slipped onto his lips before he gestured his head back towards the clubhouse. “Then c'mon, sunshine. Let me take you home.”

As you began to cross the street, Jax fell in step beside you. His hands were still in his pockets, that small grin on his lips as he walked. But you were focused on the clubhouse, faint music and laughter coming from inside. Were they already partying again? It was still fairly early, though you supposed that probably meant nothing to them. 

“My bike is over here,” he told you.

Letting him walk ahead of you, you followed after him through the lot. As he walked, your eyes drifted to the reaper patch on the back of his kutte, never having really examined it this closely before. You'd been curiously inspecting the scythe it was holding when a voice across the lot drew both yours and Jax’s attention.

“I was looking for you, Jax!”

Turning towards the voice, you spotted a petite blonde in short shorts and a cropped top making her way over towards him. She only noticed you long enough to send a sharp, piercing glare in your direction before her attention returned to Jax as she threw him sad, puppy dog eyes. Your brow arched curiously at her quick dismissal of you and the way she was interacting with him.

In front of you, Jax tensed at the sight of her before a deep, tired sigh fell out of him. “What is it, Ima?” he asked.

She continued closing the distance between them, her focus solely on Jax. Something about her seemed to give you pause, but you quietly stayed back and just watched the interaction. You had no idea who she was to him.

“I was hoping for a ride home,” she told him, stopping to talk to him at a fairly intimate distance. “I was having trouble with my car and I brought it in a bit ago, but no one had time to work on it today. And now I need a way to get home.”

You watched as she batted her eyelashes at him, flashing him a bit of a pout. Jax almost appeared annoyed in response as his shoulders tensed further, which was interesting considering how much of a show she was putting on and how familiar she seemed with him.

“Ima, the shop closed over an hour ago,” Jax pointed out. “You could have gotten a ride from any one of the guys in that time. You didn’t need to wait for me.”

“Well,” she continued, her tone dropping into something suggestive as she stepped towards him, raising a hand and resting it against his chest, “I was hoping we could…spend a bit of time together afterwards. You know, as a thank you for helping me out?”

At this point, you weren't sure if you should have just turned around or not. This was beginning to feel too personal, making you uncomfortable to be standing here listening to their conversation. But before you could even turn back around, Jax’s hand reached up and encircled her wrist before removing it from himself. 

“Find another ride home tonight, Ima,” he replied firmly. “It ain't gonna be me.” 

Jax focused back on you, raising his hand and waving you over with a faint smile. Ima finally returned her attention to you, a bitter glare on her face when she realized why she was being turned down. 

“C'mon, sunshine,” Jax said. “Let's get you home before it gets any damn later.”

You saw Ima beside him silently mouth the nickname ‘sunshine’ with a look of sheer contempt on her face. Not really sure what to do in this situation, you just followed after Jax when he waved you over again. When you neared Jax’s bike and he handed you the second helmet, you heard Ima let out something like a frustrated huff before she stalked off towards the clubhouse.

“Ignore her,” Jax told you as he put his own helmet on. “She's always bitching and whining about something.”

Pulling the helmet he had given you on, you eyed him curiously. “Girlfriend of yours?” you asked.

He laughed at that, a loud, hearty noise that drew a smile on your face. Not because of what he’d said, but because, like you’d noticed when he'd smiled at you a bit ago, he looked really good when that darkness behind his eyes dissipated.

“Hell no, darlin’,” he told you, still chuckling at the thought. “I don't do relationships, and if I did, that crazy ass broad would not be the one I'd pick.”

“Probably not the nicest way to talk about someone,” you gently pointed out. “But alright. Not a girlfriend then.”

He shook his head at you, still smiling as his gaze lingered on you for a long moment. Then he turned back towards his bike, swinging his leg over it before looking back at you.

“Hop on, sunshine,” he ordered, one hand patting the space behind him. 

Making your way over to the back of the bike, you ignored how awkward it was going to be holding onto him–a man you hardly knew–before you climbed onto the seat behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you also chose to ignore the strange flutter of something in your stomach as you pressed yourself to his back. 

Jax turned the bike on once you'd settled behind him, the noise even louder than when you always heard them from inside your shop. Glancing over his shoulder at you, Jax sent you a cheeky grin that had your heart stuttering unexpectedly. 

“Hang on tight, sunshine,” he teased. “Wanna make sure I get you home nice and safe.”

[bellaxgiornata]

You Are My Sunshine [3]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 3.6k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

a/n: I happen to be very sick today so I figured I'd share another part of the series with y'all. Prepare for some angst and a pissed off, grumpy Jax. The next part is almost a complete draft, so more is coming. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

tag list: @mariamadison6-blog @moongirlgodness @kmc1989 @thedreadandthefugitivemind

Jax’s mind had been a noisy, dark place all day. He'd been smoking more than usual since that constant irritating, familiar itch for something was back again and demanding to be felt. It didn't help that his jaw ached from the way he'd been grinding it for hours, attempting to hold down the ever-present rage in his chest that felt like a coiled viper desperate to strike at something–anything. 

He knew it was only a matter of time before something set him off.

Drawing the beer bottle up to his lips for a deep pull, Jax sat back against one of the worn couches in the clubhouse. Legs spread wide, one of his hands absently toyed with his lighter against his thigh. Not even the alcohol had been helping to take the edge off his thoughts this evening as he watched the flame of his lighter flicker before he flipped the lid closed and snuffed it out once more.  

Across the clubhouse, Jax noticed one of the croweaters eyeing him from behind the bar. She had been shooting him flirtatious smiles and views down the front of her shirt whenever she bent over for the past twenty minutes now. For a brief moment, Jax had genuinely considered taking her down the hall and back to his dorm room. He’d thought that maybe shoving her facedown on the mattress for a quick fuck would briefly get Tara and Opie’s death out of his goddamned mind for just a little while. But for some reason the thought of fucking the same girl he'd seen with Tig last night only made that coil of anger twist tighter inside of himself. He didn't want her.

Bobby settled down on the opposite side of the couch from Jax, the movement catching his attention and causing Jax to tear his gaze away from the brunette behind the bar. Jax focused on his Vice President, watching as he rested his arm along the other armrest and sat half-turned on the cushion. There was a beer in Bobby’s own hand and a grim expression on his face as he quietly studied him. Jax could practically hear the words about to come out of Bobby's mouth before they even did. He was certain it was going to be a conversation that he'd had with him a few times now–and that only managed to piss Jax off more without Bobby even opening his mouth.

“What?” he finally snapped, unable to take the silent judgment any longer. “What is it?”

Bobby raised his hands in mock surrender, beer still clutched in one of them. “Didn’t say nothing, brother,” he answered calmly. “You just look like you’re ready to burn the whole place down over here.”

Jax’s fingers flicked his lighter shut once more, his eyes dropping down to where he’d been fidgeting with it on his lap. “Maybe I’m just thinking,” Jax countered sharply.

Bobby sighed, the expression shifting on his face as he took in Jax’s harsh tone. The sympathetic look in his eyes only managed to agitate Jax further, his hand gripping his own beer bottle tighter the moment his Vice President began speaking again.

“Brother, I know you’re feeling the loss of Opie,” Bobby began carefully. “We all are. And we’ll get retaliation for what happened to him. You know we will. We all want the same thing.”

Jax’s glare burned into the cement floor of the clubhouse as Bobby spoke. He didn’t like to think about how he’d lost his best friend just months ago. He didn’t want to remember that moment that haunted him, playing on repeat most nights when he closed his eyes. Ope hadn’t deserved that. He hadn’t deserved any of the shit that had happened to him over the past couple of years. 

But that was the life they led now, wasn’t it? Savage. Violent. Brutal. Unforgiving. Lonely. The many reasons Jax was trying to get the club out of running guns and into less dangerous business, especially after Abel had come into his life. Though it should have been Opie here as his Vice President talking to him right now. It should have been Ope talking him off the violent ledge he always seemed to be walking a thin line on lately. He’d always planned for it to be him at his right hand.

“There’s more to it than that,” Jax muttered bitterly.

Bobby nodded, more than aware that it wasn’t just Opie’s death plaguing Jax. He’d already been in a tailspin before that had happened, his best friend’s passing had just been the thing that had pushed him further into a spiraling descent fueled by rage and hate.

“Jax, man, you gotta let that go,” Bobby told him. “Tara made her choice. She left and it hurts, but it is what it is, brother. You can’t make her accept this life. You and I both know that the club life isn’t really meant for happy relationships and growing families. That’s how it’s always been.”

Jax’s jaw clenched again at Bobby’s words, his chest growing tighter. Bobby didn’t get it, not the full picture anyway. Because Jax had kept the full extent of what had happened with Tara a secret, one that was only known by Tara and himself. The club all had thought she had just come and gone from his life after Abel's birth complications, they had no idea that Agent Kohn really hadn't been in Charming investigating the Sons until he’d suddenly disappeared and left them all alone. The Sons had no idea that the psycho had actually been Tara’s ex who had followed her out here from Chicago, and that she’d most likely come here because she knew Jax would do something about it. That he was the only one who would. Because it was ultimately Jax who had finished Kohn off after Tara had shot him in self-defense when he’d tried to force himself on her. All his brothers had no goddamn idea that Jax had single-handedly disposed of the fed’s body after the fact, and now the secret lay buried within him, too. One that had been weighing on him heavily for more reasons than he cared to delve into.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Bobby,” Jax grumbled, his eyes still focused on his lighter. 

Another weary sigh fell out of Bobby as he glanced down at the beer bottle in his hands. “What I know is that you’ve been a mess ever since Tara left,” he continued carefully, full well knowing this was a difficult subject to broach with Jax. “We’ve all seen it, brother. You’ve got a shorter fuse lately, which leads to you not always making the best judgement calls. And we need you focused if we’re really going to get outta guns and get these other more legitimate businesses up and running successfully.”

Jax’s head snapped up at that, his eyes narrowing at Bobby. He wasn’t making the best judgement calls? What the hell was that even supposed to mean? He’d had the weight of the club thrust onto his shoulders right before him, Juice, Ope, and Tig had gone into Stockton, right after Jax had stripped Clay of his place in the club for the betrayal of killing his and Opie’s father–and Jax was still itching for revenge on that.

“Look, all I’m saying is that we all see it, Jax,” Bobby continued, trying to keep his tone even and calm. “You’re hurting. We get it. But you’re the club President now. You need to own your shit and leave the past where it belongs. It’s been a year, brother.” He paused, taking in the growing look of annoyance on Jax's face. “Whatever you gotta do to get right with your shit, you know we’ll support you. But this anger you’re holding on to? This rage and pain? You gotta find a way to let it go before it eats you alive.”

“It's not that simple,” Jax growled.

He could feel that growing rage clawing at his chest, desperate for release. For a target. Something to just unleash his fury on, to tear into and rip apart.  

“You need to find a way to make it that simple,” Bobby countered. “You need to–”

“I don't need you to tell me what I need to do!” Jax roared, rising abruptly from the couch and onto his feet. “I’m handling my shit. And I don't ever wanna hear you bring Tara up to me again, brother.”

Without another word, Jax stalked his way out of the clubhouse, slamming his half-finished beer bottle harshly down onto a table as he passed it. Storming off towards the clubhouse exit, he shot the hangaround that had been behind the bar silently flirting with him a dark glare that had her quickly averting her attention from him. He didn't give a shit that the guys were staring at him right now or that he’d just made a scene and went off on his VP. He didn't give a shit about anything at the moment. 

Roughly pushing the clubhouse door open with a hand, Jax stepped out into the warm summer night. He slipped his hand into the pocket inside of his kutte, feeling for his pack of cigarettes by habit to light up yet another smoke for the night. But even as he slipped the cigarette between his lips and lit it, he knew he didn't really want that, either.

He pocketed his lighter with a growl, taking a deep drag as he began to pace the length of the clubhouse parking lot in the dim lights. Back and forth he stalked in long, agitated strides as he ran a hand through his hair. His other hand pulled the cigarette from between his lips as he sharply blew out a trail of smoke, his mind still racing. He hated that the guys had seen how unraveled he’d grown lately because of Opie’s violent and unexpected death along with all of the internal festering bullshit with Tara that he hadn’t come to terms with yet. It made him want to hit something. To bloody his fists, break bone. That anger in his chest like a coiled serpent was just begging for something to sink its fangs into.

As Jax once more turned and stalked down the length of the parking lot in front of the clubhouse, his eyes landed on movement from across the street. You. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, watching you through your front shop windows as that dark anger coiled a bit tighter at the sight of you. You were laughing and waving goodbye to one of your employees, clearly closing up for the night. 

Smiling. You were smiling again.

Not even processing his actions, Jax pulled the half-finished cigarette from his lips and tossed it to the pavement. Half-heartedly stomping it out with his shoe, his gaze was fixed on you through the windows as you began wiping down the countertop. And then he was moving, making his way out of the lot and across the street as if he was compelled. 

As he harshly shoved open the door to your shop and stepped inside, he immediately came to a halt in front of the door the moment you looked up at him. He had no fucking idea why he’d come in here, he just knew needed to get away from the clubhouse, and the last two times he’d been here, you’d somehow distracted him from his thoughts. But for some reason the warm, friendly smile that had quickly pulled itself across your pretty lips in greeting at the sight of him just made his eyes narrow into a sharp glare. Gemma’s words from the other day ran through his mind again–her warning to stay away from you–and his jaw clenched. You shouldn’t be smiling at him like that.

“Evening, Jax,” your bright, cheerful voice greeted him. “You’ve actually made it in tonight with ten minutes to spare before I close this time. Your timing is getting better.”

He didn’t react to your joke, not even the faintest twitch of his mouth. He just stood there, his lips pursed and his hands stuffed into his pockets. One of your brows arched at his silence, your head tilting curiously to the side as you watched him for a moment. Goddammit, he hated the way your eyes sometimes seemed to look straight through him like that.

“Can I…get you a coffee?” you asked hesitantly.

“No,” he grunted. “Don’t want a coffee.”

You set the cleaning supplies down onto the counter, that friendly smile still drawn wide over your lips. The sight of it was only further fueling that coiled rage in his chest, but he was trying to hold it back. For the moment.

“Okay, well,” you continued, unfazed by his answer, “I can offer you tea. Or I still have some peanut butter cookies left from the day.”

Jax shook his head sharply, that hardened expression still on his face as he stood just a few feet in front of the entrance to your shop. He didn’t want any of that. He wasn’t sure why the hell he was here, but he wasn’t about to admit that to you, either. Though he noticed that this time, the longer he stood here with you smiling at him, the more he found himself wanting to wipe that cheerful look right off of your goddamn face. No one should be so fucking happy.

You nodded slowly at his response, your eyes still taking in his tense form. “I’m just cleaning up before I close,” you tried again, words coming out more careful as you spoke. “If you’d like to have a seat, you’re welcome to keep me company. I wouldn’t mind some conversation while I clean up.”

Jax hesitated for a moment. The sort of company you were probably hoping for was absolutely not the kind he knew he’d give you tonight. But still, Jax eventually strode over towards the counter before he hooked a foot around one of the chair legs that was positioned in front of it, roughly pulling it towards himself. A shrill noise abruptly pierced the air as it slid across the wood laminate flooring. With his hardened eyes still fixed on you, he lowered himself into the seat and watched as you resumed wiping down the counter. And you were still fucking smiling.

“Why the fuck do you always look so goddamn cheerful?”

The question had fallen right out of Jax so quick and harsh that he hadn’t been able to hold it back. But that beautiful smile on your face that had remained there since he stepped into your shop was just pissing him off further. He didn’t like it. Not tonight. Not directed at him. He wanted to make it disappear.

“Because I actively choose to focus on the things in life that make me happy,” you answered simply. 

His eyes narrowed at that. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Glancing up at him from beneath your lashes, you appeared to catch the face he’d just made. Pausing in your cleaning of the counter, you set the towel back down and focused your full attention on Jax–something that made him shift in his seat.

“There’s always going to be things that make us happy or sad or angry,” you began. “That’s just life. We all experience it. But a long time ago, I chose to focus on the good things instead of dwelling on the painful ones.” Your smile softened as you gestured around you. “Like my coffee shop. I’ve always dreamt of having a place like this, and now I do.”

“The hell does a coffee shop have to do with anything?” he snapped. “How the hell does a job make you so happy all the damn time?”

You shrugged a shoulder and Jax watched as you rested both of your hands on the other side of the countertop. Despite his attitude and the tone he was giving you tonight, your smile had yet to waver. Something he didn’t quite understand. He wasn’t exactly pleasant company right now, but you didn’t seem bothered at all. It was irritating.

“Because it gives me purpose. I get to spend my days making other people happy,” you answered. “Which makes me happy. I brighten people’s days with a smile and a kind word along with a cup of coffee or tea. This place itself also gives people in Charming somewhere to come and connect with each other. And that makes me feel good, too.”

Jax’s eyes narrowed at you, your response settling over him. You derived your happiness from making others happy? From caring about everyone else? Is that really what you were saying to him right now?

“Bullshit,” he replied sharply. “I call bullshit. No one is that selfless and kind without there being some sort of ulterior motive, sunshine.”

There’d been a less-than-friendly bite to the nickname as Jax said it. Almost mocking you. And that finally had your smile faltering just a bit. The sight caused that coiled rage inside of Jax to squirm restlessly in triumph. Like he’d found his target for the night. Before you could even react, Jax was speaking again, the words falling out of him.

“There’s no way you’re over here content to serve coffee to everyone,” he continued, an edge to his voice and a piercing look in his blue eyes. “That happy little barista persona of yours is a load of shit. It’s fake and you know it. And if you tell me it’s not, you’re just lying to your damn self. You’re not happy, there’s no fucking way considering I see you over here all the goddamned time working.” 

He gestured a ringed hand in your direction as you continued to stand there behind the counter, a hard to read expression on your face. But you weren’t smiling. For once, he’d started to knock that goddamn cheerful look right off of your pretty, friendly face. That only made Jax want to continue to tear into you.

“You’re a fake, sweetheart,” he spat. “And let me tell you something else.”

Jax pushed his chair back from the counter, that coiled serpent of rage in his chest seething as he rested his hands on the countertop. He leaned in closer towards you, his voice low and dangerous as he brought his face near yours, the coffee shop counter the only thing separating you both.

“You should know better than to be friendly towards a man like me,” he warned you. “I’m not good, sweetheart. I don’t do good things. And your little attempt to get through to me with your fucking fortune cookie language just makes you look pathetic and naive. I see right through you and your bullshit positivity that you so desperately cling to–you’re sad and lonely like everyone else. Why the fuck else would you be here so much trying to make nice with everyone you meet? You’ve got something missing inside of you just like the rest of us, sunshine.”

A satisfied smirk tugged up the corner of Jax’s lips as he pushed himself back from the countertop. You certainly weren’t smiling now. Your lips had actually thinned out along your face into a firm, straight line and you were gripping the edge of the countertop with both of your hands as if it was helping you keep yourself together. And reflecting back at him in your eyes was something that looked an awful lot like hurt. Like he’d struck a nerve with his words. 

“Not everyone has ulterior motives to their kindness,” you replied gently, the words coming out pained as you broke the tense silence that had fallen. “But maybe that’s all you’ve known. Either way, I appreciate you sharing your honest opinion of me, but I’d like to ask that you leave now because the shop is closed. You’re welcome to return tomorrow when we reopen.”

Jax’s expression hardened at your response. That wasn’t the reaction he’d wanted. Why weren’t you yelling? Calling him names? Cursing him out of your coffee shop? He’d just insulted you, been a complete asshole, and you were still holding firm to being polite?

Letting out a frustrated scoff, Jax turned around towards the exit without another word. He shoved the door roughly open with far more force than necessary before stepping back out into the warm summer evening. Internally fuming, he stalked off down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of both the clubhouse and your coffee shop, his fists curled tight at his sides. 

That hadn’t made him feel better. Finding someone to tear down tonight, someone to unleash that pent up anger on, it hadn’t eased any of that burning ache in his chest. Knocking that smile off of your face hadn’t remotely soothed that rage inside of him. If anything, now he was feeling something else that he didn’t like. Something that he wasn’t accustomed to feeling often–guilt. That hurt, upset expression you’d had on your face after he’d went off on you like that had just looked so wrong on you after all the weeks he’d seen you through the windows smiling in your coffee shop. 

As Jax made his way around the street corner, agitatedly walking an aimless path through downtown Charming, he couldn’t help but to wonder why tearing into you like that had made him feel as fucking shitty as it had. He’d just wanted to see you not smile for once, to make you feel something other than that carefree lightheartedness that radiated from you. But ripping into you like that–you with your unflappable fucking kindness–felt like he’d just ripped the wings off of a dove.

[bellaxgiornata]

You Are My Sunshine [2]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.8k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

a/n: May have been on a roll with writing, so enjoy part two sooner than anticipated! I greatly appreciated all the comments on the last part, too! Y'all are the reason I've already started on part three. I've also found that I'm enjoying the Jax POV's so there's more in this one and the next! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

tag list: @mariamadison6-blog @moongirlgodness

The rush of customers in the coffee shop had finally dwindled down after opening, leaving you with the usual mid-morning lull with which you’d grown accustomed. The elderly couple that came in almost every single morning around the same time to have a coffee was sitting at the exact same table in the far corner where they always sat, sipping their coffees and chatting quietly with each other. A college-aged young woman currently sat posted up at the front counter with her laptop and a notebook, her attention focused on an assignment. The sight of them brought a smile to your face as you filled up your small watering can at the underbar sink behind the counter.

You’d opened this coffee shop with the intention of it becoming a place for people around Charming to feel welcome. Whether that meant Honest Coffee was a spot to come and enjoy a cup of coffee for a first date or with a spouse of thirty years, or a place for students to focus on homework or others to come in and work. Whatever it was that brought repeat customers in here and allowed you the opportunity to meet the members of your town, it gave you joy seeing your shop growing into exactly what you’d hoped it could become. 

Mia, one of the baristas you’d hired when the shop had first opened months ago, stood beside you as she cleaned down the machines and wiped down the counters. You’d noticed she wasn’t quite as chatty, working in an unusually thoughtful silence this morning, but just as you’d been about to ask if something was on her mind, the approaching rumble of motorcycles had caused her to stiffen and stop working. The noise grabbed your own attention as it drowned out the sound of the music playing over the speakers. You gave Mia a curious sidelong glance before the line of bikes pulling into the lot across the street drew your attention over to the front windows of your coffee shop. 

Standing there holding the full watering can in your hands, you watched with Mia as the handful of men rolled into the lot across the street in the bright morning sunshine. The group of men backed up in the parking lot, lining their bikes beside each other in front of the clubhouse. The difference was almost immediate once they all began to cut their engines, the shop becoming noticeably quieter than it had been a second ago. It was something else you’d also just grown accustomed to with having a coffee shop located across the street from the Sons of Anarchy. 

It didn’t skip your notice how the few people in the shop were all reacting to the motorcycle club, either. Besides the way Mia had gone completely still beside you, the young woman working on her laptop was agitatedly clicking her nails on the countertop. Across the shop, the elderly couple was staring out of the window beside them with matching guarded expressions on their faces before you caught them exchanging a look with each other. The elderly woman rolled her eyes at her husband and you frowned at the sight.

It wasn't that you were oblivious about what was said around town about the Sons, because you definitely weren't. You'd heard the rumors–everything from them selling guns to making crack to being killers for hire. You knew most of the things people said about them were embellished, false assumptions, but you also were aware that some things probably held some truth. 

But that didn't matter to you. You were a firm believer in everyone deserving a fair chance. Equal treatment. You'd met Gemma, the supposed matriarch of the Sons, a few times now. She had come in often after you had first opened the shop. And while she'd absolutely come across completely different than the usual citizens of Charming, you'd found her to be a very sweet woman–in her own special way. And you'd had a strong inkling that her visits to your shop for coffee as she chatted with you about your plants or how business was coming along had just been a way for her to ease the pain of missing her son while he was doing time in Stockton.

A few nights ago when you had finally met that son of hers, you'd gotten a feel for the Sons’ President. You weren't entirely sure what had brought him in after you had closed that night–because you were certain it wasn't the coffee–but you had caught the hint of pain hidden deep in the depths of his blue eyes despite all of his charming smiles and pet names. In all honesty, he had seemed lonely and lost beneath all that playboy persona you'd heard about. You hadn't minded letting him stay to chat because he seemed like he needed a friend or some kind words, even if he didn't realize it himself. And you had been content to be that for a short time.

“It's unfortunate your coffee shop is across the street from that,” Mia muttered.

Snapping out of your thoughts at the sound of her voice, you looked over at where she'd resumed cleaning down the counter. You could feel the frustration building in your gut, but you did your best to tamp it down and keep it at bay. Not everyone in Charming was as determined to be as open-minded as you were. It was a small town, after all. And it wasn't like the Sons hadn't caused their own fair share of trouble over the years.

“Why do you say that?” you asked.

Setting the filled watering can down on the counter, you turned and focused on your employee. Mia pulled a face at the question before she dropped the towel she was cleaning with onto the countertop and fixed her full attention on you.

“Really?” she asked before gesturing a hand at the front shop window. “Your coffee shop is across the street from a whole criminal operation. A very loud, very crude one. It's not exactly the most ideal location.”

Shrugging a shoulder, your eyes darted across the street. A bunch of men in kuttes, as Jax had taught you they were called the other night, were congregating in front of their bikes. You could easily make out Jax amongst the group from his blonde hair even from this distance. He looked angry about something as he spoke, one of his arms gesturing in wide, sharp movements. Briefly you wondered what had made him quite so furious before your attention returned to Mia and the topic of conversation.

“The rent was vastly more affordable for this building,” you told her, knowing exactly why it was. “And while it can occasionally get a little noisy with the motorcycles, and some people aren't the biggest fan of our neighbors, I don't really feel bothered by their presence.”

Mia sent you a flat look, one of her brows arching upwards in disbelief. “They don't bother you? Are you completely insane?”

“They're really not that bad,” you disagreed.

Both of Mia's brows shot up onto her forehead at that, her jaw partially dropping. You playfully rolled your eyes at her in return, an amused smile curving the corners of your lips. She was always so dramatic.

“Are you serious?” Mia asked. “Have you forgotten Gemma already since her last visit?”

You shook your head at the question. Of course you hadn't forgotten the woman. You didn’t think it was possible for anyone to forget her.

“Gemma is just blunt. She speaks her mind,” you replied. “Maybe it's a bit much for most people, but she's really not all that bad.”

“Well the guys over there–” Mia continued, gesturing back out the front window with a hand again while remaining focused on you, “–definitely aren't good.”

You shook your head, picking the full watering can up from its place on the counter. “That is entirely a matter of opinion. You can’t paint people in black and white, Mia. What one person considers “good” is arguably “bad” to someone else, and vice versa. It's objective. A social construct. It isn't like they haven't participated in charity work around Charming. Done things to arguably help the town on occasion, either.”

“Well, you can't argue that they don't break laws. And I think killing people is pretty black and white, boss,” Mia called after you as you began watering the plants in the shop. “That’s about as sharp of a contrast as you can get between the two.”

“Maybe in some cases,” you agreed, watering one of your pothos plants that had been growing like crazy in a hanging basket nearby. “But to some extent, I think there's more factors to be considered before passing judgement. Like the why behind it all. Something no one in this town probably really knows when it comes to each one of them.”

Mia exhaled sharply at your words, the sound almost like she was deflating at your response. A moment later she began laughing a little, the noise catching your attention as you moved to water the next plant.

“Okay, I didn't sign up for one of your lectures on morality this morning,” Mia teased you.

You grinned as you focused back on watering the plant before you. “All I'm saying is that humans are complex, you can't just–”

“Lectures on morality?” Gemma's distinct voice cut through the conversation, causing both you and Mia to glance over at the shop’s entrance. “I thought you just sold coffee here, now you're lecturing on morality, sweetheart?”

Mia grew tense behind the counter instantly, her mouth closing as she forced a professional smile onto her face that clearly looked forced when she greeted Gemma. But you genuinely smiled over at the dark-haired woman, and that smile only grew wider when you saw who she had brought with her–Abel. His blonde head came to just about knee-height beside her as he held onto her hand, but the moment the almost one-and-a-half year old little boy saw you, the biggest smile spread across his own face. 

During Jax’s time away in Stockton, Gemma had spent a lot of time watching Abel when he wasn't with his nanny. Which meant sometimes she had brought him with her when she came in for coffee, so you had gotten to know him along with Gemma over the past few months. And Abel had gotten used to the free cookie you'd given him every time–anything from chocolate chips to snickerdoodles to monster cookies. He'd taken to calling you ‘cookie’ because of it, something you personally adored hearing in his little voice every time.

“I didn't know my favorite customer was coming in today!” you exclaimed.

Turning in a hurry, you set the watering can down on the counter behind you before rushing across your shop, not having seen the little boy for over a week. The moment he began hopping in place next to Gemma, his small hand still wrapped around hers, you felt your heart melt. He was the sweetest little boy.

“You're more chipper than usual today,” Gemma observed.

You caught the teasing smile on her face before you knelt down in front of Abel, your smile widening when he waved at you and called you 'cookie’ once again. You'd been about to open your mouth to ask him if he was ready to pick out a cookie today, but a now familiar voice behind Gemma caught your attention.

“What about cookies, little man?” 

Looking up from your place on the floor of the shop, you saw Jax stepping inside just behind his mother, the door falling shut behind him. The moment his attention left Abel and focused on you, you went still. Judging by the look of confusion on his face, you guessed he hadn't known about Abel's visits with Gemma to your shop. But behind that outward confusion written on his face, you could still see the remnants of something like anger left over from when you'd seen him yelling about something across the street a short time ago. You were half tempted to ask how he was doing today, but you had a feeling the question would be met with either a lie or hostility. So you left it alone this time. 

“Been bringing Abel here with me since you boys were in Stockton,” Gemma explained, turning on the spot and studying her own son closely as he stepped further inside. “He calls the owner ‘cookie’ cause she always gives him one when he visits.”

Jax's expression shifted to something harder when his mother mentioned Stockton Prison, a muscle jumping in his cheek. You quietly watched as some sort of silent exchange occurred between them while you remained kneeling in front of Abel.

“The hell are you doing here, anyway, Jackson?” Gemma asked after a moment of silence, still eyeing him suspiciously. “Don't you have a...thing to go deal with?”

Jax’s eyes narrowed at his mother before he answered. “A few of the guys are handling it right now,” he replied, voice tense. “Thought I'd see what you and Abel were up to. Figured I could use a coffee myself.”

Gemma’s head tilted to the side, one dark brow arching up at his comment as if she didn’t quite believe him. Not wanting to get in the middle of whatever was going on between them, you stood back up, eyes shifting between the pair.

“So…is it alright if I let Abel pick out a cookie this morning?” you asked cautiously.

Both Gemma and Jax turned their attention to you at the sound of your voice. Almost simultaneously they both responded to the question, the sight causing you to bite back a grin.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Sure thing, sunshine.”

Gemma's head immediately snapped in Jax’s direction as she pulled a face at him. “Sunshine?” she questioned sharply.

Fighting down a laugh at the briefly sheepish expression you caught on Jax’s face before he recovered, you grabbed Abel's hand and led him over towards the front counter. You noticed the firm look Jax sent his mother before you walked away–the one clearly telling her to not say anything further.

As you helped Abel pick out one of the freshly baked cookies you had made–peanut butter brownie swirl–you could hear Mia awkwardly taking Gemma and Jax’s drink order behind the register. She began fumbling behind the counter shortly afterwards as she started on Gemma's latte, clearly more thrown off by the presence of Jax with her this time. The only time he'd come into the coffee shop was the other night after closing when it had just been you here. Besides that night and Gemma's visits, no other Son or affiliate of the Sons had ever actually come into your shop. 

You could tell Jax’s presence wasn't just affecting Mia as Abel happily ran back to his father's side with his cookie in hand. The young woman at the counter doing her schoolwork kept shooting Jax nervous sideways glances. She had almost imperceptibly inched away from them where she sat at the counter, as if wanting to put some distance between herself and the pair. Across the room, the elderly couple was scowling at Gemma and Jax, whispering amongst themselves at the table. 

Oddly enough, neither Jax nor Gemma seemed to notice or react to the negative attention. They were too busy leaning against the counter waiting for their drinks as Abel contentedly munched on his cookie, both mother and son talking in hushed tones. Your smile faltered a little at the wary look you once more caught on the young woman's face before you saw Mia growing flustered behind the counter. Deciding to rescue her, you joined her behind the counter and started on Jax’s coffee–the same order as what you'd made him the other night.

Mia shot you a grateful look as she filled the frothing pitcher with milk. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Smiling as you started on Jax’s coffee, you shook your head at her. “You're making this into something more than it needs to be,” you whispered back. “They're just here for coffee like anyone else.”

Mia leaned over towards you, pausing as she set the frothing wand of the espresso machine into the pitcher. “Usually my customers aren't armed though,” she countered quietly. “That makes a difference.”

“He's not going to shoot you for messing up a coffee order,” you told her as you grabbed a to-go cup for Jax’s coffee.

“You have no proof of that. Just look at his face today, he looks like he'd shoot someone for less,” she murmured.

The loud sound of the milk frothing abruptly ended the conversation as Mia focused back on Gemma's order. As Jax’s coffee began extracting into the pitcher, you couldn’t resist looking over your shoulder to where he and his mother were still leaning against the counter. 

He did look upset, Mia wasn't wrong about that. Both of his brows were pulled marginally together, a slight crease visible between them. His mouth was drawn into a straight line as he listened to whatever Gemma was saying, the corners of his lips occasionally shifting downwards. There was even a noticeable stiffness in the way he was just leaning against the countertop that hadn't been there when you'd met him the other night. But behind all that rigidness that made him look tightly wound, there was an exhaustion in his eyes that seemed like it went further than just a bad night of sleep.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you focused back on the coffee you were making, but a second later an idea struck you. Reaching over beside the stack of to-go cups, you grabbed the black marker used for writing names on orders and began writing something small on the outside of his cup, a faint smile on your lips as you did. Afterwards, you placed the cap on the marker and set it back before you began filling Jax’s cup with the coffee that had finished brewing. As you finished up, you heard Mia turn around and nervously give Gemma her drink. 

Grabbing a lid, you fastened it onto Jax’s cup before also turning around. He was already focused on you, his blue eyes watching as you stepped over to where the pair stood on the other side of the counter. You set Jax's drink down in front of him, a warm and friendly smile on your face. He looked like he could use one–and probably a hug, too, but you figured that would certainly be a weird offer. 

“Thanks, sunshine,” Jax said.

There was the ghost of a smile on his lips for the briefest of moments before it disappeared as his hand reached out, grabbing the cup without looking at it. He looked as if he'd been about to say something more, but the amused huff from Gemma had his expression quickly growing further irritated than it had been a moment ago. 

“Won't bother you today,” Jax told you, pushing off the counter with his ringed hand. “Gotta deal with some shit. But thanks for the coffee.”

A small pang of disappointment hit you when you realized he wasn't going to even chat for a minute, but you figured you should just count it as a win that he had come back into the shop at all. Maybe that meant there’d be a third visit. With a smile still on your lips, you nodded back at him.

“Of course,” you replied. “I'm always happy to fuel a caffeine addiction.”

Gemma laughed a little, shaking her head at what you’d said. It was a line you'd used a few times now and she knew that. 

“You should lay off on snorting those coffee beans, sweetie. You're already plenty perky,” she teased as she grabbed Abel's hand.

“Or maybe that's my secret,” you jokingly countered, enjoying the way Jax seemed to be fighting back a grin as he sauntered over to the counter by the exit to add sweetener into his coffee. “A few lines of freshly ground beans first thing in the morning. Wakes you right up.”

Gemma laughed, the sound loud and genuine. A flood of pride hit you, especially when Jax began securing the lid back on his coffee, his attention on you as an almost cocky, amused grin tugged at his lips. Maybe it was only for a moment, but you’d briefly brightened both of their mornings. 

“You take care, sunshine,” Gemma teased.

She turned and led Abel out of the door, Jax following behind her now with a surly look on his face at the way she’d used his nickname for you. Mia stepped over beside you as they left, watching the three of them cross the street back towards the clubhouse and Teller-Morrow. 

“It’s insanely weird how well you can get along with absolutely anyone,” Mia said after a moment, turning to look over at you standing beside her. “You realize that, right?”

Your smile only grew wider at her words as your eyes remained fixed on the retreating form of Jax. You’d gotten a bit more of a genuine smile out of him today even if you hadn’t gotten much conversation. That was something, at least. Eyes shifting over to Mia, you shrugged a shoulder.

“I like people,” you answered simply.

“The hell you think you’re doing with that girl over there?” Gemma asked sharply.

Her eyes fell on Jax as they passed the line of bikes in front of the clubhouse, Abel’s hand still wrapped around hers as he finished eating his cookie. Jax immediately rolled his eyes at his mother’s tone, not interested in being scolded like he was a teenager all over again.

“I’m not doing anything,” he responded firmly. 

Gemma shot him a pointed look, clearly not buying what he was saying. He huffed in annoyance, stuffing his free hand into his jeans pocket as he brought his coffee cup up to his lips for another drink. Christ, it was still as good as the other night when you’d made him one.

“Bullshit,” Gemma continued. “Sunshine? Really? I’ve never once in my life heard you call a woman that, Jax. And I’ve heard you call them plenty of shit.”

He swallowed down the coffee, his irritation rising with where he felt she was trying to take this conversation. “So what? It’s a goddamn nickname, Gem. You got a problem with a nickname now?” he snapped at her.

Her lips drew into a thin line across her face as she came to an abrupt halt which in turn had Jax stopping just behind her and Abel. The way her eyes narrowed at him meant trouble and he knew it.

“That sweet, nice coffee shop owner back there is not club pussy, Jackson,” she began sternly. “Just because her shop happens to be as close as it is to the clubhouse does not mean–”

“Jesus Christ, relax!” he shouted, cutting her clean off. “You don’t think I know that? I’m not interested in her like that, alright? I just stopped over there the other night because…” 

His voice trailed off for a minute, unable to even try to think of a reason as to why he had, especially with the way Gemma was staring at him right now. Truthfully, he still hadn’t known why he’d gone into your shop the other night in the first place, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you on and off since then. And he certainly had still been watching you through your shop’s windows.

Jax ran a hand across his mouth in agitation before he continued, trying to keep his tone more level. “Look, I stopped in there the other night ‘cause I saw her closing up. She always just looks so goddamn happy and…I dunno. Just made me curious what the hell was up with someone like that, okay? I’m not trying to get her in my bed or anything, Gem. I promise.”

“Better not be,” Gemma warned, her eyes still narrowed at him. “Because that girl is not meant for our world and you know it. She’s far too kind and sweet, she’d probably have a heart attack spending one night around the guys at the clubhouse. And I don’t need you charming your way into her bed and breaking her tender little heart and having her spitting into my coffee whenever I stop in because I birthed a little shit.”

Jax scoffed, pulling a face at her over-dramatic words. “I’m not going to sleep with her. You can calm the hell down already. And I highly doubt she’d ever spit into a coffee, she seems far too nice for that.”

“Not the point,” Gemma countered. 

Jax watched as his mother led his son by the hand back towards TM’s office, a scowl on his face as the noise from the garage rang out around him. Anger flared within Jax from the conversation he’d just had with her. He didn’t know why her warning to stay away from you had him bristling and itching to hit something because she’d been completely right on all fronts. You were a good person and absolutely nothing like the club whores he was used to. Not that he’d had any intention of it, but sleeping with you would certainly end with your heart getting broken because Jax was not a relationship kind of guy–even less so after the bullshit with Tara that made him hate the idea of one even more. And the thought of you knowing any little bit about the things he’d done for the club had his hand tightening around the paper cup of coffee you’d given him. 

Gemma was entirely right. You weren’t someone who belonged in his world. Without a doubt, Jax knew the only thing he’d ever be capable of doing to you would be snuffing out that bright, warm light he found himself strangely drawn to, and that wasn’t something he’d ever want to do to you–even if he barely knew you. 

Teeth gritting together, Jax knew that you’d be better off if he stopped visiting your damn coffee shop. He glanced over at the nearby trash can just outside of the garage. He exhaled a sharp breath and made his way over towards it, reaching his hand out with the mostly full cup of coffee. As it hovered over the open bin, Jax about to drop it into the garbage, black ink hidden behind his hand caught his eye.

Frowning, he pulled the cup back and shifted his hold on it to get a better look. In small, delicate handwriting he saw the words ‘maybe this is the cup.’ Jax’s eyes narrowed in confusion as he reread the line over again, wondering what the hell you’d meant by writing that on his cup. And then he remembered the other night when he’d stopped into your shop and you’d told him you believed a good cup of coffee could make a bad day better or some bullshit along those lines. When he’d disagreed, he remembered your words exactly, hearing your own voice in his head for a moment. 

“You never know, maybe you just haven't had the right cup of coffee yet.”

An amused breath fell out of Jax as he shook his head at the fucking cup of coffee in his hand, reading what you’d written again–“maybe this is the cup.” You were so goddamn persistent and optimistic, weren’t you? You really thought one of these days that a stupid cup of coffee was going to somehow change his day, didn’t you?

“You’re something else, sunshine,” Jax muttered to the cup in his hand.

He stared at it for a moment longer, his eyes tracing along the lines of black ink before a voice behind him cut through his thoughts. Jax’s head darted over his shoulder, spotting Chibs making his way towards him.

“There ya are, Jackie,” he began. “Was lookin’ for ya. We got an update on that problem, might wanna head to the chapel so we can fill ya in.”

Jax sighed softly, nodding his head at Chibs. “Right,” he agreed. “Let’s go.”

He turned around, following Chibs back across the lot to the clubhouse. As he walked, he drew the cup of coffee up to his lips for another drink. When he swallowed the warm liquid down, his gaze inevitably returned to your neat, delicate script beside his fingers. The corner of his lips twitched.