#samcro fic

[kuttesandknives]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Clay.” One word. Heavy and unmistaken.

You nodded. “That bad?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a slow breath. “Jesus…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.” He cursed against your lips.

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

That cracked something open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” You said in a whisper.

Then… “But I’m glad I did.”

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

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

[laurfilijames]

Under His Kutte

Pairing: Jax Teller x female reader

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Sending a nude photo. Fingering. Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: When Jax forgets his kutte at your house, you make good use of it.

A/N: I am such a slut for this man especially when he wears a hat, and particularly when it's backwards. I stared at this photo for too long and needed to write about it, and with the help from @ramadiiiisme, this happened. Bonus action of The Hat™️ at the end 🫠

---

The same flustered excitement you felt in your stomach every time you saw Jax stirred up again despite having only said goodbye to him a few hours ago, the benefits of him having accidentally left his kutte behind continuing to grace you.

You placed it back on the sofa where he had carelessly discarded it last night, pretending as though you hadn’t seen it there as soon as you walked out of your bedroom earlier that morning, his rush to leave after being woken up by a phone call from Chibs making him forget his most treasured item of clothing.

You sat on the barstool at the kitchen island, sipping from a cup of coffee you had been nursing, smiling into the mug when you heard your door open and Jax strut through it as confidently and comfortably as usual.

“I left my kutte,” he explained, getting right to the point while glancing around your living room quickly, lifting up the blanket and a pillow off of the loveseat before spinning on the spot to begin his search of the sofa.

“Oh, did you? I hadn’t noticed,” you lied, your cheeks feeling a flush that was partly from the heat of the coffee but mostly from the sight of Jax. He had his Reaper Crew hat on backwards, sunglasses still on, and the sunshine had kissed the skin on his face to tint it with a healthy pink that was the same whenever he was fucking you.

Finally locating it, Jax held up his vest with a smile before shrugging it on and walking over to you, his smile bright and playful, and you knew his eyes held the same sparkle behind the black lenses that covered them that you could never forget.

He leaned down and kissed you, bracing his arms on either side of your body to land on the countertop and cage you in, forcing your body to arch back into it as he delved his tongue deep inside your mouth.

You hummed when he peeled himself away from you, your eyes feeling heavy with lust as you watched him lick his lips.

“Did you forget it on purpose?” you teased, slipping your hands beneath the leather panels to feel the warmth radiating off his body through his layers of faded shirts.

He chuckled, his hands reaching up to cup your face while he nudged your legs apart with his, standing close to you where he was able to grind his hips against you.

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?”

You giggled when he grinned at you before capturing your lips again, pressing his bulge into your core to make you moan into his mouth, the fervor of your kiss growing with each pass of your tongues.

“Fuck!” he hissed, backing away from you but still holding your face in his hands. “I gotta go.”

You breathed out a disappointed sigh, tilting your head to the side as you watched him step away and try to collect himself, hoping he’d convince himself to stay for a hard and fast fuck.

His phone rang in his pocket, and he dug to answer it immediately, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Yeah, I’ll be right there. I said I’ll be right there…Five minutes! Jesus Christ.”

Jax flipped it shut and shook his head as he replaced it back in his pocket, closing the distance between you again with another smile on his face as soon as he looked at you.

“I’ll see you later.” he spoke sweetly, his tone completely different from the one he had just used to whatever poor soul had called him.

You nodded, smiling again as he kissed you once, then again, chuckling when he finally found the strength to stop and back away from you.

He stormed through to the front door in a few long strides, giving you one last grin as he shut the door behind him, and you grinned to yourself as you picked up your phone and sent him the photo you had taken just after he had called you to say he was stopping by.

You listened for the roar of his Harley to start up, feeling giddy as you waited to see if he checked his phone before taking off.

Standing, you walked over to the window, seeing him sitting on his bike looking at his phone with a huge smile on his face.

Your phone rang, his name and number lighting up the screen, and you answered through a smile so big it hurt your cheeks, “Did you forget something else?”

“Are you kidding me?” he asked, his amusement clear in his voice. “Jesus fucking Christ, how am I going to focus on anything now?”

“It’s just a little something to get you back here.”

“Like I need the help,” he said pointedly, starting his bike where it purred loudly through both the phone and the walls of your house.

“I’ll be back to deal with you soon,” he both promised and threatened, making heat surge through your body like wildfire.

“See you later, Teller.”

You hung up, tucking your lip between your teeth to stave off your smile as you looked at the photo you had sent again, feeling more than satisfied with the reaction it had gotten out of him.

You wore nothing but his kutte, your body that he had already made tired and sore from a sleepless night on full display under his leather, the bare skin on your chest bearing the claiming marks left by his mouth.

He took off quickly, his engine rumbling so loud it vibrated the house and sent a shiver down your spine, and you hoped whatever it was he was going to do was done quickly so he could get back to you soon.

You did everything you could think of to occupy yourself; laundry, dishes, even baked muffins and whipped up a casserole, knowing Jax would be hungry when he got there, or if he wasn’t, that he would be made hungry from all the things you did whenever you were together.

The impatience you felt was beginning to outgrow your arousal, the desperation in wanting to have your hands on him and his on you becoming too much to stand any longer.

Not two minutes later did you hear the distant grumble of his Harley tearing through your neighbourhood, your body conditioned over time to respond to that sound and awaken a neediness and desire that never seemed to be sated.

Even though you expected it, you still jumped when Jax barrelled through the door with a hungry and desperate look on his face as he stared you down while kicking off his white sneakers, his grin sly and crooked.

“Why the fuck aren’t you naked yet?” he panted, crossing the room to get to where you stood waiting for him.

“Isn’t half the fun undressing me?”

“Yeah, but when I’ve been staring at that pic you sent me all day, I kinda want to get to the point,” he explained, his eyebrows lifting upward while he tugged his jeans down to the floor.

He still had his ball cap on, worn with the bill of it facing forward this time, the shade casting on his face making his blue eyes glow like flames in the shadow.

Jax slipped his kutte off, placing it carefully on the back of the sofa as if making a point that he knew where it was or would be needing it again soon, and stepped toward you, tipping his head and giving you a piercing look.

“Now, get naked.”

You obeyed with a grin, crossing your arms to grab at the hem of his ‘SAMCRO’ t-shirt, pulling it over your head where you had the satisfaction of hearing Jax’s breath hitch when your tits became exposed, and tossed it on the floor beside you.

Remaining in your panties, you went to assist him with his clothes, only to have him grip your wrists, his long fingers wrapping around them securely.

“That’s not naked, sweetheart.”

You glared at him as he released you, making a point to slowly hook your thumbs in the waist of them and inch by torturous inch, crept them down your hips.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffed impatiently, even though he was still smiling.

A furious look flashed in his eyes when you pulled them back up to their rightful place, challenging what he would do, and you gasped in equal shock and fear when he grabbed onto your thong and tore them roughly down your thighs.

He crashed against your lips, kissing you with a demand that reminded you that he wasn’t playing games, your body flinching when his fingers trailed along your hip and to your soaked pussy.

Spreading your legs further apart, you moaned into his mouth, rocking on his hand as he drove two fingers inside you, hooking them to massage your g-spot.

Within minutes he had you on the edge, fucking you with his fingers until you were a whimpering mess ready to completely fall apart, but he stopped his movements and withdrew his hand from you, smirking at you with a smugness that managed to turn you on even more.

“Fuck, Jax,” you hissed, your breathing sharp as an untamed feeling ran through your veins.

“Hang on, darlin’” he drawled, his tone all-too happy considering what he just did to you.

He took off his hat and then tore his shirts off his torso, leaving him in his boxers that did nothing to disguise how large and hard he was, and had he not tugged them off himself, you were seconds away from doing it for him, your need for him increasing to the highest point when his cock sprang free.

“Put the hat back on,” you requested, your voice so lusty it was almost unrecognizable.

You squirmed in place, seeing the surprise in his features as he did as you asked and placed it back over his messy, blond tresses that crept out wildly from under it, his expression turned cocky in knowing how horny you were.

A half-satisfied smile pulled at your lips when he stood up against you, wrapping his arms behind your back where his hands carded up and down, returning your smile.

You leaned back slightly, reaching up to grip the bill of it to spin it around, facing it backwards just as he had worn it earlier.

“Happy now?” he chuckled.

You nodded, “Mhm. Are you?”

“Fuck, no!” he admitted jokingly through another laugh, reaching over for his kutte that he hadn’t for a second forgotten about you wearing earlier.

Guiding each of your arms through it, he brought it up to rest on your shoulders, holding onto the edges of its opening as his thumbs moved to rub your nipples until they hardened, making you shiver while a breathy whine passed your lips.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his mouth so close to you that his lips grazed your parted ones when he spoke.

You let your eyes close, waiting for him to give you the pleasure he was never selfish with, holding your breath until you felt his lips press onto your neck and down over your chest, his hands falling to your waist and then your hip, smoothing over the curve of your bum where he squeezed your flesh and gave it a playful slap.

Your giggle was swallowed when he kissed you, and you felt his own laugh shake through his chest when you brought your hands up to it, sliding them up to cradle his neck and let your fingers dance where his hair brushed along his bare shoulders.

In a swift motion that caught you off-guard, Jax lifted you into his arms, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist where he backed you up against the wall, thudding against the drywall as he pressed his body hard into yours.

Your nails raked across his shoulders and upper back, roaming to tangle in his hair that wasn’t trapped beneath his hat, and when he lined his cock up to your spread pussy and guided himself inside, you pulled at the strands that were woven between your fingers, his reaction to both sensations reverberating in your mouth.

Jax unleashed all his power on you, holding you up while slamming into you aggressively, the photos that hung on your wall rattling and banging with his barbaric movements.

Doing the best you could to move with him, you humped up and down in an effort to rub your clit on the coarse, wheat coloured pubes above his cock, feeling your climax begin to build again where it had been left teetering on the edge.

You caught Jax staring at your exposed tits, his vest having opened to put them fully on display where they bounced to the enthusiasm of his thrusts and your erratic rocking, his pupils blown out wide with lust.

“You look so fucking good, baby,” he growled, taking one last look at the erotic scene before meeting his mouth with yours, his kiss sloppy and rough.

A sweat started to break out on both of your bodies, your skin able to slip and glide on his easier with the harder you worked, the hair at the base of his neck damp when you moved your fingers along it.

Jax was always completely enamoured when he fucked you, but for some reason with you wearing his kutte today, he found himself in even more of a state, destroying you with reckless abandon to create the whimpering mess before him that he craved to see, the sounds he pulled from you the sweetest ones he'd ever heard. He was convinced it had something to do with the way his Vice President patch kept swaying beside your right breast as your chest shook in time to his ruthless pace, or the way the worn, faded, black leather and the white on all the labels that had turned dingey over time looked against your supple skin, and the thought of fucking you in it when it ranked him as President one day instead had him ready to explode.

The sense of pride he felt when it came to his club and displaying its logos was something he never took lightly, and seeing them on you intensified it even more, making it seem like no one else could wear them as well as you.

He became almost possessive, wanting to claim you and prove to you all the things he never vocalized all while knowing without hesitation that everything under that piece of leather was his and his only.

He kissed you roughly, not caring that the scruff on his face was turning your skin raw or that his teeth had knocked against yours more than once in his frenzy to get enough of you, feeling your pussy get wetter with every drive of his dick inside it.

“Fucking turn around!” he spat through gritted teeth, giving the order despite forcing you to do it anyway. He dropped your legs and had you spun around and planted against the wall in a matter of seconds, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck to guide you forward, pushing you down so you hinged at your waist and were bent over.

His other hand gripped at your ass to spread your cheeks apart, his cock finding your open cunt without needing any help, slamming into you so hard you had to brace yourself on the wall to stop your face from hitting it.

“God, I’m gonna - fuck! - I’m gonna cum, Jax!” you wailed, your ability to speak properly taken away when he reached around you and started rubbing your clit.

“Yeah?” he huffed, mesmerized in the sight of his glistening cock pumping in and out of you. “You gonna cream all over me, you fucking slut?”

The way he barked that name made you shiver, your mouth filling with saliva to a point you couldn't even contain it anymore, feeling it drool out as your jaw went slack and your climax billowed its way to the surface.

Exhilaration took over you, your moans and cries of approval of how hard Jax was fucking you making him increase his fervor, creating a domino effect of you growing louder and his own moans to sound out and intoxicate you further, the mix of everything so dizzying that it was impossible to imagine a better high.

Jax chuckled behind you, the sound maniacal and deliciously twisted. “That’s it, fuck…”

You let go, accepting the way his body threw you into a trembling orgasm, clenching hard around his cock as he proceeded to pound you mercilessly, hearing his grunts and growls increase in volume and consistency as he honed in on his own end.

He couldn’t look away, watching your combined milky spend leak out of you as he continued to fuck you, your ass cheeks shaking along to his irregular thrusts, the Reaper patch spread out across your back as you took every blow he gave you a sight he would never tire of.

His hand was soaked when he removed it from between your legs, bringing his fingers to his mouth where he sucked them clean, keeping his dick buried inside you until he couldn't anymore.

You closed your eyes as you worked at steadying your breath, your fingers continuing to grip the wall even as you slowly began to straighten your body, feeling full and close to him despite him having slipped from you.

Sweaty handprints temporarily stained the paint when you opened your heavy lids again, smiling at the tingling afterglow that filled your veins, that smile growing bigger when you felt Jax press his lips to your dewy neck where he kissed your sensitive skin with gratitude. You were spun around again, gentler this time, his sweet smile matching yours as he brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, your hands wrapping around his damp back to help support you as you stood on unreliable legs.

He was heavenly in his post-fuck glow, small beads of sweat dancing just below the edge of his hat, his skin tinged with a pinkish blush from his efforts, his pulse hammering in his neck. His lips looked more inviting than usual, plump and moist, and when his tongue licked across them before dipping to capture yours, you swore your own pulse ceased in its duties.

The way he looked at you when he pulled away after kissing you slowly was curious, a softness and devotion reflecting in his cerulean blues that made your heart beat faster after having just managed to regulate it.

“You look like you've got something to say, Jax,” you breathed, wondering if there would ever be a day that he would say what he felt.

He shrugged, his thumbs stroking your heated face as he tilted his head, looking between your bodies at yours clad in nothing but his kutte, seeing his cum dripping down your thigh.

“I think I'll be leaving this here more often.”

You both laughed as he kissed you again, shuffling forward to push you against the wall where he was able to press his lips to yours as much as he wanted to.

---

Comments and reblogs are the lifeline of fanfic, so if you enjoyed reading this story, please consider sharing your thoughts with me and others! 💗

Taglist: @sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989 @rhoorl

[puffins-muffins]

Control - The Beginning

Pairing: Jax Teller x Female!Reader Word Count: 7,300 Summary: You return to your hometown as a successful defense attorney to represent SAMCRO President Jax Teller, the former love of your life, in a murder trial. Years after your painful breakup, unresolved feelings resurface, and the lines between your professional duty and personal desires blur. Warnings: 18+ only please, cursing, cheating, mentions of parental death. A/N: So, this is my first Jax/SOA AU-ish fic. This establishes Jax & Reader's beginnings as teens/young adults. Feedback is so greatly appreciated! Beta'd by just myself, all mistakes are my own. I am also new to posting like this so apologies now if I've missed anything. We'll learn as we go. Please be kind.

Jax Teller leaned against his bike in the Charming High School parking lot, his leather kutte draped over his broad shoulders. With a lean, muscular build, he exuded an aura of danger on two wheels. His sandy blonde hair was a tousled mess, falling just below his ears and framing his face in a way that highlighted his rebellious charm. One flash of his boyish, crooked grin sent girls swooning, but when you walked past, you didn’t even glance his way.

Curiosity piqued, Jax straightened up. “Hey,” he called, his voice smooth yet laced with cocky confidence. “You too good to say hi?”

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“I’m Jax Teller.” He starts. “You’re Jimmy’s daughter, aren’t you?” his eyes narrowing slightly as recognition dawned. “I saw you at the clubhouse a few weeks ago when your old man patched into our charter.”

You shrugged, barely reacting. “Yeah, that’s me. So what?”

Jax smirked, intrigued by how unimpressed you seemed. “Just surprised I haven’t seen you around more,” he said, stepping a little closer. “You’re not into the whole MC thing?”

You quickly glanced him up and down, a playful glint in your eye. “Not really my scene.” 

Jax tilted his head, genuinely interested. “That why you won’t give me the time of day, huh?”

You shrugged again, a smirk creeping onto your lips. “Maybe you’re just not as charming as you think you are.”

His grin widened. Most girls would’ve melted under his attention, but you? You gave as good as you got. He liked that. “You might be right, but that’s not going to stop me from trying, darlin’,” he replied, adding a flirtatious wink. “Can I take you somewhere?” he asked, gesturing toward his bike.

You scoffed, glancing down at his bike and then back at him, your tone teasing. “With you? On that? No thanks. I only ride with my dad.”

“Alright, Pep, another time then,” he said, his tone light and flirtatious, making you bite back a smile.

“Pep?” you asked, confusion furrowing your brow. 

“Pepper,” he explained, grinning widely. “You’re kind of spicy, and I like that. I think that nickname suits you.”

After rejecting his ride, he hopped on his bike, strapping on his helmet, ready to leave. “We’ll see how long it takes before you’re begging me to give you a ride.” he said, his voice dripping with innuendo. 

You flashed him a smirk, determination in your eyes. Cool, calm exterior. “Oh, don’t hold your breath, Teller.”

But inside, a rush of conflicting emotions surged through you. His words caused your stomach to flip. The easy banter was just a front; beneath it lay the undeniable pull between you, and you felt it tugging at your heart. As you watched him take off, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d be craving that ride sooner than you’d like to admit. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that first encounter, it was like a slow, steady burn between you and Jax. At first, you made it a point to keep your distance, though it was impossible to ignore the magnetism between you. He’d always find an excuse to talk to you in the halls, leaning against lockers like he owned the damn place. You’d roll your eyes, give him sass, but there was always that spark — the kind that lit up the air around you both.

Then came the day he convinced you to ride with him. He pulled up to your house one Saturday afternoon, engine rumbling beneath him, and shot you that devil-may-care grin. “C’mon, Pep. You’ve been avoiding this long enough.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, one hand on your hip. “I told you, I don’t do rides, Teller.”

But there was a challenge in your voice, and Jax heard it loud and clear. He just revved the engine, making it purr, his gaze never leaving yours. God, he was cute. “One ride with me. You don’t like it; I’ll never ask again. Please.”

You didn’t respond right away, but the way your heart thumped in your chest betrayed you. Something about Jax made you want to push your own limits, and this was no different. Relenting, you grabbed the helmet he offered and swung your leg over the bike behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. His body was warm and solid beneath your hands, and you could feel his heartbeat through his leather.

The bike roared to life, and before you knew it, you were speeding down the back roads outside town. Wind whipped through your hair, the world a blur of color as the adrenaline pumped through your veins. Every time Jax took a sharp turn, your grip on him tightened, but soon you weren’t holding on out of fear, you were holding on because you didn’t want to let go. The rumble of the engine, the feel of the wind, the pure freedom - it was intoxicating. And the way Jax handled the bike, confident and effortless, only added to the rush.

He’d glance back at you every now and then, smirking when he saw you weren’t just holding on anymore; you were leaning into it, craving more of that wild thrill. And with every ride, it became more than just adrenaline. It was the way he made you feel when you were with him, completely invincible, like nothing in the world could touch you.

The weeks turned into months, and a montage of memories built up between you two. Sneaking out at night, the hum of his bike your only soundtrack as you wrapped yourself around him, laughing into the wind. Bonfires by the old quarry, where he’d pull you close with that cocky grin, his touch always gentle with you.  Late-night rides to nowhere, where you’d hold him a little tighter, whispering sarcastic comebacks into his ear even as your heart betrayed you, racing faster with every mile.

Then there were those unexpected moments, the quiet ones that caught you off guard. Like when you found yourselves perched on the roof of Teller-Morrow, cocooned in your own little world. In those instances, a different side of Jax emerged—one that was introspective and thoughtful. He would often pull out a notebook, jotting down his thoughts and feelings, exposing a vulnerability that stood in stark contrast to his tough exterior. As he lit a cigarette, you would lean into him, savoring the warmth radiating from his body. You’d tease him playfully, the banter punctuated by that same smile tugging at the corners of your lips. And when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, your gaze would linger on him just a little too long. 

It wasn’t long before you realized something had shifted. The thrill of the ride was more than just the speed and adrenaline. It was the way Jax’s hand would find yours when you weren’t paying attention, the way he’d look at you like you were the only thing that mattered. It was the sound of his laughter, the way his eyes softened when he saw you, the fire and sass he loved to tease but never tried to tame.

One night, after a long ride along the coast, the two of you sat by the edge of the cliff, the ocean crashing beneath you. Jax was beside you, leaning back on his hands, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “You know,” he said after a long stretch of silence, his voice low, “I didn’t think you’d ever actually give in.”

You turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Give in to what?”

He grinned, that playful glint in his eyes. “To this. To riding with me. To… us.”

For a moment, you just looked at him, the sunset painting his features in warm, golden light. You couldn’t deny it anymore. The exhilaration wasn’t just from the rides, it was from him. 

“I guess you’re not the worst company,” you admitted, rolling your eyes even as you leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder.

He chuckled softly, his arm slipping around your waist, pulling you closer. “Yeah, well, you’re my Pep. No one else like you.”

And that’s when you knew you had fallen, not just for the rides, but for the boy who had made you feel alive in ways you hadn’t expected. The boy who saw through your sarcasm, who called you Pepper because he liked your fire, and who made your heart race faster than any ride ever could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Senior year was a whirlwind. While you were focused on your classes and keeping up with your honor roll status, Jax was slipping further away from school. He barely showed up anymore, spending most of his time at the garage or with the club. There were days when you’d catch glimpses of him, riding in with Opie, that familiar roar of their bikes, the MC patch on his back more of a constant presence than his textbooks.

You had always known Jax was different, more interested in bikes and the MC life than anything school had to offer. But now, it felt like he was already halfway out the door while you were still trying to figure out where the future would take you.

The contrast between the two of you was glaring. You were getting acceptance letters from universities across the country, each one congratulating you on your achievements. It felt surreal, but there was this gnawing ache every time you thought about leaving Charming — leaving him. You had spent the last couple of years with Jax as your constant. The idea of being somewhere without him felt like cutting away a part of yourself.

One afternoon, you met Jax at the garage after school, where he was elbow-deep in the engine of a Harley. He looked up when he heard you approach, wiping his hands on a rag, that familiar grin stretching across his face. “Hey, Pep,” he called, dropping the rag and walking toward you, pulling you in for a quick kiss. “How was your day? Ace another test?”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, nudging him playfully. “Actually, yeah. I got into Berkeley.”

Jax’s face lit up with pride. “Damn, look at you. That’s huge, babe.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you affectionately.

You leaned into him, inhaling the familiar mix of leather, grease, and smoke. “Yeah… but it’s kinda far, Jax. And I don’t know if I want to go that far. I was thinking maybe San Fran or even Fresno. Somewhere closer.”

Jax looked at you, brow furrowing a bit as he leaned against the workbench. “You’re gonna throw away Berkeley for Charming? Why?”

You shifted, feeling the weight of your answer before you even said it. “Because of you,” you admitted, voice soft but steady. “I don’t want to be miles away from you, from everything I know, my dad. I want to study law, stay close, and—”

He cut you off with a kiss, pulling you closer, his hand resting at the back of your neck. When he pulled away, his eyes were soft but conflicted. “You’re too good for this place. You’ve got this big, bright future ahead of you, and I don’t want to be a reason you hold yourself back.”

You searched his face, trying to understand where this was coming from. “You’re not holding me back, Jax. I want to be near you. Law school, everything — I can do that here.”

He let out a long breath, running a hand through his long hair. “I don’t have a plan. Shit, I’m barely gonna graduate. I’ll probably work at the garage, help with the club… I don’t know where I’ll end up, but it’s not gonna be college, that’s for sure.”

You grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I don’t care about that. I care about you. You don’t have to have some perfect plan. We’ve got time to figure things out.”

Jax smiled softly, but there was something behind it, a flicker of doubt, maybe even fear. He pulled you close, resting his forehead against yours. “You deserve more than just ‘figuring it out.’ You deserve everything. And I don’t know if I can give you that.”

You held his face in your hands, making him look at you. “You’ve always been enough for me, Jax. Always. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

Jax only kissed you, this time slower, deeper, like he was holding on to something he was afraid to lose. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper. “I could never tell you to go. I just… I don’t want to hold you back.”

You kissed him back softly, the noise of the garage fading into the background. “You won’t,” you promised.

But even as you said it, there was a part of you that knew things would never be that simple, not with the club, not with the way Jax was already tied to a world that didn’t leave room for easy choices. Still, in that moment, with his arms wrapped around you and the world at your feet, you believed that somehow, you could make it work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Two years into undergrad and everything felt different. The late-night rides and stolen moments that used to bring you and Jax together now seemed like distant memories. You were buried in textbooks and case studies, drowning in deadlines and long hours at your internship. The law classes were brutal and balancing your workload with everything else left you running on fumes. You’d chosen a college about an hour outside of Charming, far enough to give you space but close enough to keep Jax in your life.

But even with that proximity, things were… different. The once easy connection between you and Jax felt strained, pulled thin under the weight of time, distance, and the lives you were both living now.

You were sitting at a small table in a coffee shop near your campus, your laptop open and legal notes scattered everywhere. Your phone buzzed, a text from Jax lighting up the screen. Hey, been trying to call. Busy?

You stared at the message for a moment, guilt swirling in your chest. You had seen the missed calls earlier, but your study group had gone long, and then there was work. You typed out a quick reply: Yeah, sorry. Studying. You okay?

His response came fast. Yeah, just haven’t seen you in a while. Miss you.

That simple sentence hit harder than you expected. You missed him too, desperately. Lately, it felt like missing him was all you did. You weren’t the same girl who had spent nights riding on the back of his bike, laughing into the wind. Now, you were someone constantly pulled in a dozen directions, and Jax was being swallowed up by the club. He was taking on more responsibilities with the Sons, more rides, more late nights. And you knew what came with that lifestyle - the danger, the temptations. You’d heard about other women. Nothing concrete, but the rumors alone were enough to keep you awake at night.

You texted back, I miss you too. Maybe I can come by tomorrow?

Yeah. I’ll be at the clubhouse. Be good to see you.

The next day, you drove back to Charming, your stomach knotted with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. You parked outside the clubhouse, a place that used to feel like a second home, but now felt distant — like you didn’t quite belong in Jax’s world anymore. You walked inside and immediately saw him at the bar, his back turned as he talked with Opie.

“Hey,” you called, and he turned, that familiar smile lighting up his face as he saw you.

“Hey yourself!”  he said, walking over to wrap his arms around you, a tender kiss placed on your lips. The feel of him, solid and warm, instantly melted some of the tension inside you. For a moment, it felt like everything could be okay, like you were still those two kids who fell in love years ago. But as soon as he pulled away, reality slipped back in.

He led you back to his clubhouse room. Both of you sitting on the bed, his hand resting on your leg as if to anchor you both. You made small talk, catching up on each other’s lives, but the conversation felt stilted. There were gaps now, things unsaid between you, like the life he was leading in the club, the hours he spent with them, and the stories you heard but never wanted to ask about.

“School’s killing me,” you admitted. “I barely have time to breathe, let alone come back here. It’s just... a lot.”

Jax nodded, but you could see the distance in his eyes, the frustration he was trying to mask. “Yeah, you’ve been busy. I get it.”

You sighed, looking into his eyes. “Do you? Because it feels like… I don’t know, like we’re both living these separate lives. When’s the last time we spent more than an hour together?” There was always this heightened tension between you two now.

Jax’s jaw clenched, and he leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know, I know. But it’s not just you. I’ve got a lot going on too, with the garage, the club and everything…” he trails off.

“And what does ‘everything’ include?” you asked, your voice quieter, a trace of the hurt you’d been holding back slipping through.

He looked at you for a long moment, eyes shadowed with a mix of guilt and defensiveness. “What are you asking?”

You hesitated. This was the conversation you’d both been avoiding, but you couldn’t pretend anymore. “I’m asking if there’s someone else, Jax. I’m asking if the club has taken more than just your time.”

His expression hardened, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it - regret, maybe. “There’s no one else, Pep. Don’t be ridiculous.” He snapped. “But this life… it’s not easy. And you’re not here as much. I’m not saying that’s your fault, but it’s how it is.”

You nodded, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “Yeah, I get it. You’re right. We’re both busy, and it’s hard. But we’re growing apart, Jax. And I don’t know how to fix that.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “I don’t want to lose you. But I don’t know how to fix it either.”

There it was — the raw truth neither of you had said out loud until now. You still loved each other, deeply, but it was like trying to hold on to something that kept slipping through your fingers. The connection that had once felt so unbreakable was fraying at the edges, and neither of you knew if you could tie it back together.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you like it always had. For now, in this moment, you could pretend that everything was okay. But deep down, you both knew that things had changed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another year had passed, and your relationship with Jax was hanging by a thread. Between the LSAT’s, your paralegal job, law school applications, you were constantly thinking about the future. A part of you still wanted that future to include Jax, despite all the cracks.

The tension between you two had been building for months. He’d invited you to a big MC party, but things between you were so fragile that you weren’t sure if going was the best thing. The law firm you worked for was in the middle of a huge case and you didn’t think you would be able to get away from the piles of research you had in front of you. Just as you were grappling with whether to go, your phone buzzed, Jax’s name lighting up across your screen.

Hey Pep, you coming to see me, or what? ;)

The pull between duty and heartache twisted in your chest. The case you were working on was critical, your future in law depended on it, and yet, a part of you longed to see him, to feel connected again. But you couldn’t ignore the creeping sense that you no longer fit in his world. The MC lifestyle felt more alien with every passing day.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. I’m slammed with work right now… not sure if I can make it.

The moment the message left your screen, a wave of anxiety hit you. Would he be disappointed? Relieved? Part of you wanted him to push back, to make you feel like you still mattered enough for him to want you there.

A few seconds passed, then your phone buzzed again. His response appeared almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for your message just as eagerly.

You’re always slammed with work. But this is important to me. Come on, it’s just one night. I miss you.

Your heart clenched. He was good at that, making you feel guilty for choosing anything that wasn’t him or the MC. You read the message repeatedly, feeling the weight of his words.

"I miss you."

It was what you wanted to hear, but at the same time, it left you more torn than before. School, the case, it all seemed so distant now. Your mind flickered back to the last time you'd seen him, the strained goodbye, the unsaid things between you two. Maybe one night wouldn't change anything, but what if it did?

The screen dimmed as your phone idled, but you couldn't take your eyes off the words, wondering if you could keep walking this fine line between your past and your future.

You typed out ‘I'll try’ and stared at it for a long moment, your thumb hovering over the send button. It felt like a compromise, a way to keep one foot in each world without fully committing to either. But as you sent it, a pit formed in your stomach. You knew deep down that it wasn’t just about this one night—it was about all the nights before and all the ones that could come after.

Your phone buzzed again almost immediately.

That's my girl. I’ll be waiting for you.

His words sent a familiar warmth through you, but there was something bittersweet about it too. His girl. You weren’t sure if you even belonged to him anymore. Jax had a way of making you feel like nothing had changed, like the years apart hadn’t put a canyon between who you were and who you’d both become.

You sighed, glancing at the stack of case files on your desk. The logical part of you said you should stay, focus on the case. But another part, the one that still longed for the way things used to be, pulled you towards him. Like always.

You decided to work for another hour, hoping the mountain of research would drown out the thoughts of Jax and then head to the party. But time slipped away from you and when you finally glanced at the clock, a surge of panic shot through you. You were hours behind. Cursing under your breath, you threw everything into your bag and bolted out of your dorm.

The drive to Charming was long and familiar, each mile pulling you back to a life you’d tried so hard to leave behind. You hadn’t heard from him; you knew you were hours later than you planned, and he probably thought you weren’t coming. You decided to surprise him at this point, to see his face when you showed up after all. Maybe you could feel like you still belonged in his world, even if only for one night.

The roar of motorcycles echoed faintly in the distance, a sound you knew all too well. You parked a little way down from the clubhouse, your heart hammering in your chest as you walked toward the sounds of the party.

The parking lot was crowded with bikes, the familiar smell of leather and gasoline hitting you as you approached the entrance. The music was loud, people spilled out from the doors, laughing and drinking. You weaved through them, feeling the weight of old eyes on you, some curious, others familiar.

As you stepped inside, the chaos of the party washed over you. It was everything you remembered - loud, wild, and unapologetically SAMCRO. You scanned the room, looking for him, the anticipation of seeing him again made your heart race.

As you navigated through the crowded room, the air thick with smoke, alcohol, and the unmistakable roar of laughter and loud voices, you couldn't help but notice the women, Crow-eaters as they were not so affectionately referred as, draped over several members. They were scantily clad, their bodies pressed close to the bikers, and you felt the sharp sting of being out of place. Their boldness, their ease in this world, it was a stark contrast to the careful, controlled way you lived your life now.

You tugged at the hem of your jacket, suddenly hyper-aware of the more conservative clothes you wore and the way you didn’t fit in. You were polished, buttoned-up, and in a crowd like this, it made you feel like an outsider. The club girls knew their place, their roles in the MC hierarchy clear, but you used to think you belonged here. Now it felt foreign, like you were intruding on a life that had moved on without you. You weren’t one of them, and as much as you tried to pretend this night was about reconnecting with Jax, the reality was painfully obvious. This just wasn’t your world.

When you finally spotted him, it wasn’t the reunion you imagined. There he was, in the corner, alone with another girl, a girl too close for comfort. She was laughing, her hand on his chest, and his expression wasn’t one of protest.

Your stomach dropped. You’d heard rumors swirling around for a while, whispers you hadn’t wanted to believe, but this? This was undeniable.

You stormed over, heart pounding. “What the hell, Jax?”

He looked up, startled and shocked, and you saw the guilt flash across his face. The girl backed off immediately, sensing the tension, but it was too late. The damage was done.

“Pep, wait—” he started, but you weren’t having it.

“Wait for what? For you to finish whatever this is?” You could hear the anger and hurt in your voice, and it took everything not to lose it right there in front of everyone.

Jax stood, frustration mixing with his own guilt. “Shit, Babe - It’s not what it looks like. She’s no one, I swear—”

“Then why was she all over you?” You could feel your hands trembling, the betrayal sharp in your chest. “Do you even care anymore, Jax? Or am I just holding on to something that doesn’t exist?”

He stepped closer, grabbing your arm gently. “Of course I care. Pep, you know I love you and I’m not screwing around.”

You wanted to believe him, but that image of him with her was now burned into your mind. Still, as you stared into his eyes, the same eyes that had looked at you with love for years, you found yourself softening. Maybe it was out of habit, maybe it was out of hope, but you nodded, letting out a shaky breath, not wanting to do this with an audience. “Jax, this can’t happen again.”

He nodded quickly, pulling you into his arms. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I swear.”

After the confrontation, he had come to you, apologizing, trying to explain away the situation as a misunderstanding, a mistake. And in that moment, you wanted so badly to believe him, to let the history between you two be enough to erase the pain of what you’d seen.

You stayed and he held you close that night, whispering promises that felt hollow. His arms around you were familiar, but they no longer felt like home. You could feel the space between you two, even as he lay beside you, his breath steady as he fell asleep.

You stared at the ceiling, your mind racing. Everything about this night, this life was a far cry from what you had imagined your future would look like. It didn’t matter how many times he apologized or promised to change. Something between you had shifted, and no amount of love was going to fix it. You knew deep down, as you lay there in the dark, that this had to be the end.

It wasn’t just about the girl he flirted with or the way he had laughed with her like you didn’t exist. It was about the path you were on, the future you were fighting for. It was about who Jax had become and who you had grown into. Jax had chosen this life, and in exchange, never fully choosing you. The club would always come first, and that realization cut deeper than anything else.

Your heart felt heavy as you got dressed quietly, careful not to wake him. The thought of leaving without saying goodbye tore at you, but you knew this had to be done. You had to walk away before the weight of staying crushed you.

You leaned down, placing a soft kiss on his lips, your hand resting on the side of his face, memorizing the feel of him one last time. His lips moved slightly under yours, and for a moment, you thought he might wake, but he didn’t. Part of you was relieved, saying goodbye right now would have been too hard.

Standing over him, you took a deep breath, knowing this might be the last time you’d ever see him like this, your Jax - peaceful, vulnerable. Your eyes lingered on him before you turned and walked out of the room, your heart breaking with every step.

The drive out of Charming felt endless, every mile putting more distance between you and the life you once knew. It gutted you to leave him behind, but deep down, you knew it was the only way to save yourself. You had outgrown this world, and it was time to let go of the one person you thought you’d never lose. As you merged onto the highway, the sun barely beginning to rise, you wiped away the tears that had silently fallen. This was the end, and even though it hurt like hell, you knew it was the right choice.

It had been a few weeks since that night and the heaviness in your heart had only deepened. You spent countless hours wrestling with the decision to end things with Jax. The memories of laughter and love felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by the harsh reality of your lives drifting apart. Tonight, you’d finally decided you were going to have the talk - the one that would sever the last ties binding you to him.

As you gathered your things, the clutter of books and notes on your desk only reminded you of the life you were trying to build apart from him. The stack of law books felt like a barrier, protecting you from the emotional storm you knew was about to hit. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the words you would say.

Just as you were about to walk out, a firm knock echoed through your small dorm. You paused, quizzical. You weren’t expecting anyone, and a twinge of anxiety twisted in your stomach.

“Hey,” came the gruff voice from the other side, and your heart dropped. It was Jax.

You opened the door, and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him. He looked pale, his normally vibrant eyes clouded with something heavy. His usual confident demeanor was replaced by an unsettling vulnerability, and it sent a jolt of panic through you.

“Jax? What’s wrong?”

He stepped inside, his presence both comforting and terrifying. “I—” His voice cracked, and he took a moment, visibly struggling to find the right words. “It’s your dad. He… he’s gone.”

The world around you seemed to tilt on its axis. “What do you mean, gone?” you stammered, heart racing. “What happened?”

His gaze dropped, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that made your stomach churn. “There was a deal that went south. He got caught in the crossfire. They got him to the hospital, but it was too late.”

Shock flooded your body, a cold wave that left you feeling numb. “No. No, this can’t be happening.” You stumbled back, your vision blurring as tears threatened to spill over. Your father had always been your rock, the steady hand guiding you through life, it had always been just the two of you. “What do you mean caught in the crossfire? He was just… he was fine. I just saw him!”

Jax stepped closer, his expression pained, his own tears threatening to spill over. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

You shook your head, refusing to accept the reality he was laying before you. “You don’t understand. This is… I can’t… I don’t even know how to process this.” The words tumbled out, a desperate plea for understanding that fell flat.

He reached for your arm; his grip firm yet gentle. “Please, let me help you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

The warmth of his touch ignited a swirl of conflicting emotions within you. He was the last person you wanted to turn to, yet in that moment, the desperation for comfort overpowered everything else. You felt so fragile, and the thought of facing this tragedy without him was daunting.

He cupped your face and in that moment, it was like the ground dropped out from under you. The room spun, and suddenly, everything—the fight, the tension, even your plans to leave Jax, seemed insignificant. Your dad was dead, and the club, the same club that had taken so much from you with Jax, had taken him too.

You collapsed into Jax’s arms, your tears soaking his shirt as you clung to him. And just like that, all your plans shattered. You weren’t thinking about law school anymore. You weren’t even thinking about breaking up with him. All you could think about was the fact that your dad was gone, and Jax was the only one who could understand the weight of that loss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jax made it through your father’s funeral, now bound together by grief, but even in the depths of your sorrow, it was a fragile connection. He had become your lifeline, holding you close as you navigated the crushing waves of loss. The club surrounded you, providing support in ways you hadn’t expected, ensuring that you wanted for nothing as you buried yourself in your studies during your last year of undergrad. You moved through life on autopilot, the world around you fading into a blur as you focused on school, pretending that everything would somehow work itself out.

As the months passed, acceptance letters from several schools filled your mailbox, a testament to your hard work and determination. But the joy of those accomplishments felt overshadowed by the grief that still clung to you like a heavy fog. Each letter was a reminder of a future you were hesitant to embrace. You were torn, unsure of where to go. Part of you wanted to stay close to Jax, to the familiarity of Charming, while another part yearned for a fresh start, a chance to break free from everything that haunted you.

But while you clung to Jax for comfort, the distance between you was palpable. You knew he was there, physically present, yet your relationship had become stagnant, a shell of what it once was. Jax provided a familiar solace, but it wasn’t enough to bridge the gap that had formed. The love that had once burned brightly now flickered like a candle, struggling against the grief that surrounded you both.

Everything came to a head one night at the clubhouse. As you paused outside Jax’s door, your hand froze on the doorknob, heart racing at the faint sound of laughter inside - his laughter. But he wasn’t alone. With a deep breath, you pushed the door open, and everything seemed to freeze around you.

There he was, sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt half unbuttoned, lips locked with some woman you didn’t recognize. Her laughter mixed with his, a sound that shattered your world once again. Time felt suspended as the reality of the moment set in.

“Jax!” The sound of your voice echoed painfully in the room, causing their laughter to halt abruptly. His eyes widened in shock, but they quickly filled with shame as he processed your presence. The woman beside him blinked, confusion dancing in her eyes, but you ignored her, shaking with betrayal as you stared at him. You didn’t even recognize him anymore.

“Shit! Pep, I—” he started, his voice thick with regret, but the words evaporated in the tension that filled the room.

Anger boiled within you, raw and relentless, as you stepped forward, heart racing. “You said you loved me! You promised you’d do better!”

He shifted uncomfortably, guilt etching deeper lines on his face. He couldn’t meet your gaze, knowing he had fucked up royally. The realization of what he had done hung heavily in the air, a small part of him recognizing that he had sabotaged your relationship out of fear. Fear of feeling stifled, of the stagnant love that no longer felt like home to him either.

When he reached out to touch you, desperation tinged with shame, you yelled. “Don’t! Don’t fucking touch me!” The slap was swift, fueled by raw emotion, landing with a force that surprised even you. The sound echoed in the room, sharp and definitive, as Jax's head snapped to the side, his face flushed with the imprint of your anger. The room seemed to hold its breath, and everything inside you unraveled.

The warmth and safety Jax once provided had turned cold. You could see the regret in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to undo this betrayal.

That’s when Opie appeared, his expression a mix of sadness and empathy. He stood silently, a protective barrier between you and the pain. Without saying a word, he placed a hand on your shoulder, grounding you as everything inside you threatened to collapse. Jax remained quiet, his shame on full display, knowing he had lost something precious but feeling powerless to reclaim it.

“I’ll take care of her,” Opie said quietly, his voice steady. He didn’t need to say more; Jax knew better than to push. The hurt in his eyes was evident, but it was too late for apologies.

“Pep, please,” Jax finally managed, his voice hoarse, but it lacked the strength of conviction. His eyes were desperate, but beneath that desperation lay a deep-rooted acknowledgment of his failures, the realization that he had successfully pushed you away.

“Stop,” you snapped, tears streaming down your cheeks, anger morphing into deep-seated sorrow.

He stood there, paralyzed, unable to find the words that could ever justify this.

Opie stepped forward, his presence a comforting weight, trying to navigate you out of the room. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

You turned away from Jax, feeling the ache of loss settle in your chest like a stone. Only a silent farewell passing between you. It was done. You and Jax were over.

As Opie led you away, the weight of everything crashed down on you. You had lost your father, and now, Jax too – his love that once brought you to life felt distant, unreachable. The noise of the clubhouse disappeared into the background, leaving you in a world where the only constant was your grief, and you didn’t know how to move forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving Charming felt like tearing a piece of your heart out. You had chosen the best law school you could, deliberately picking one as far away from California as possible. It was a decision that both terrified and relieved you. You needed to escape the memories, the grief, and, most of all, Jax.

As the day of your departure drew closer, the reality of it settled in, leaving you with an emptiness that clashed with your determination. You packed your things meticulously, each item a reminder of what you were leaving behind. But as much as you wanted to flee from your past, a part of you still ached for closure.

So, you agreed to meet Jax for a final goodbye, knowing it was something you both needed, even if it felt hollow. You chose a secluded spot in the park where you used to share lazy afternoons, a place where laughter once rang in the air. But today, the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken words and lingering sadness.

Jax was already there when you arrived, leaning against his bike, arms crossed, looking every bit the man you'd fallen for. His eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence felt thick, filled with all the things you couldn’t say anymore.

“So, this is it,” Jax finally said, his voice quieter than usual. There was no edge, no teasing, only rawness.

You nodded, unsure of how to respond without unraveling. “Yeah, it is.”

He looked down, running a hand through his hair, the same way he always did when he didn’t know what to say. “I get why you’re going. You need to do this.” Jax replied, his eyes searching yours for something - understanding, perhaps, or forgiveness. “It’s just… hard to believe you won’t be here.”

You swallowed, your heart tightening in your chest. All you could muster was a simple nod of understanding.

For a solitary moment, it was like time rewound, and you were back to being the two of you, before everything got complicated. Before the weight of the club, the violence, and the grief. It would have been so easy to fall into his arms, but you held yourself still, knowing that this moment wasn’t about holding on, it was about letting go.

Jax straightened, stepping closer, his blue eyes still searching yours. “I wanted this life for us, you know? A real future.” His voice broke, just slightly, and it hit you harder than you expected.

“I know,” you whispered, your own emotions threatening to spill over. “But that’s not where we’re headed anymore.”

He reached for your hand, his grip firm but tender, as if it was the last connection keeping you from drifting apart. “Just… promise me one thing.”

You looked at him, your throat tight with unshed tears. “What?”

“Don’t forget about me, alright? Even if I’m just a memory, don’t forget.”

The weight of his words settled deep inside you. You could promise that, but you weren’t sure how much of Jax would be left in you once you stepped onto that plane. Still, you nodded, because in that moment, it was the only thing you could give him.

“Goodbye, Jax.”

His jaw clenched, and he pulled you into a hug, strong and secure. The scent of leather, smoke, and something distinctly Jax, washed over you, making you dizzy with the realization that this was truly the end. And when he let go, you didn’t look back.

As you walked away, each step felt heavier than the last, there was no turning around. Not now. You had to let him go, even if part of you never would.

Part 2 - The Reunion

[tinyshyteacup]

-----------------------------------------------------------

❤️‍🔥 🥰 🖤

S M U T F L U F F A N G S T

-----------------------------------------------------------

Please read and heed the warnings. Some content will become 18+ warnings posted on each individual chapter of story, suggestive content marked on individual chapters.

-----------------------------------------------------------

• Sons of Anarchy •

Chibs 'Filip' Telford

• Scotch & Screams •

S T O R Y M A S T E R L I S T

🖤 🥰

Clinging desperately to the back of a speeding Ducati, your screams should have been lost in the chaos of Charming.

Chibs Telford can't explain the pull he feels toward you and he finds himself breaking his own rules to discover who you are and why fate seems determined to intertwine your paths.

As the complicated world of SAMCRO threatens to engulf you, one question remains will you run from or straight toward the Scottish biker ?

Whiskey & Wee Things

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 🥰

Juan Carlos 'Juice' Ortiz

A Charming Detour

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7 🥰

Part 8 🥰

Part 9 🖤

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12 🖤

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20 🖤🥰

Part 21

Part 22 🥰

Part 23

Part 24 🥰❤️‍🔥

Part 25

Part 26 🥰❤️‍🔥 18+

Part 27

Part 28 🖤 *Tw: canon level racism*

Part 29

Part 30 🖤

Part 31 🖤

Part 32 🖤

Part 33 🥰

Happy Lowman

Sugar, Spice & a Little Bit of Vice

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7 🖤

Part 8 🥰

-----------------------------------------------------------

• Mayans MC •

Johnny 'Coco' Cruz

Spare Parts

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 🖤

Part 5

Part 6 🖤

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10 🖤 *TW: S work & implied SA threats*

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13 🖤 *TW: panic attack*

Part 14 🖤

Part 15

Part 16 🖤 *TW: SA (offpage, not described)*

Angel Reyes

Novel Attraction

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

SAMCRO vs Sunscreen

Love in Lockdown ❤️‍🔥 18+

No, no needles 🖤

I fuckin' dare you ❤️‍🔥 18+

Gun Cleaning ❤️‍🔥 18+

Thinkin' 🖤

Clear Passages

Fight Good 🖤

The Biggest Crush 🥰

I'm fine Scotsman 🥰

Who Ye Are, Love 🥰

Need you girl ❤️‍🔥 18+

Husband, President

Bakery Girl's - Happy Bars RECIPE

• Tinyshyteacups, Mayday Madness •

Masterlist ||

[voxmortuus]

Hi baby. Saw the prompt list. 😎 May I have #5 ☆ { calling } them late at night to come over for Jax Teller, please?

Thank you. ♥

⇘ PAIRING:⇙ Jax Teller x F!Reader ⇘ UNIVERSE:⇙ Sons of Anarchy ⇘ WORD COUNT:⇙ 1.1k ⇘ TRIGGER WARNINGS:⇙ Fluff | Smut | Jax and his filthy mouth (language) | Foreplay | P-i-V | Pull-out Method | More fluff | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ⇘ NOTES:⇙ Sorry if this is total ass... but I hope this brings you some joy. ⇘ DIVIDER CREDIT:⇙ @nyxvuxoa ⇘ IMAGE CREDIT:⇙ This was found through Google and is not my GIF, if this is your GIF or know whose it is, please inbox me, so I can credit the creator. Thank you! ⇘ My Master Masterlist ⇙

It was just one of those nights, there's only so much scrolling you can do before things become repetitive, and boring in your feeds. Flipping between Tumblr, Reddit, and Facebook, things were becoming boring, and nothing was helping you fall asleep. Tapping the side of your phone, you flip through old photos, smiling now and again looking over Jax's face. Sitting up in bed, you check the time, 12:24 a.m. Sighing, you decide to give it a shot, chances are Jax was up anyway, so why not.

Scrolling down and finding his name, you hit the call button, and wait. Ringing you groan, maybe he was --

"Hey, Darlin'. You alright? What's up?" he asks, you can tell there's a smile on his face.

"Hey, Baby. I know it's kinda late, but would you mind coming over... I can't sleep... and I could use the company." you bite your lip a bit.

"Yeah, sure, I'll be over in 15." he stated.

After the brief conversation and a quick I love you and a hangup, you go unlock your door, knowing he'll lock it when he gets here.

Hearing the motorcycle approach, and the engine turn off, you feel this bubble of excitement pulse through you. It was a matter of time before you heard your front door open, close, lock, and the sound of boots headed your way.

Peeking his head in, he looks over you, and you smile, moving over you pat the empty space in your bed and gesture for him to join you. Taking the hint, he makes his way over, slipping off his vest and coat, tossing his hat on the table, and kicking off his boots and socks, he slips into bed.

"Your pants... your shirt... are in the way." you smirk.

He chuckles and standing back up he takes them off, dropping them to the floor before climbing back in under the covers. You scoot yourself closer, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close.

"Can't sleep?" he asked you.

Nodding, your fingers move over his chest as you look up at him and smile. "Thank you for coming over."

"It's nothin' Darlin'. I've always told you I'm a call away." he kisses the top of your head.

A soft smile graces your lips as you scoot a little closer to him and let out a small satisfied smile. But you seem you can't keep your hands from wandering on him. Slipping under the blanket, you keep your gaze on him as you move over his boxers. Smiling, you bite at your lip and kiss him sweetly.

A slight chuckle escapes his lips as he pulls you closer to him, his hand roaming your figure as he moves you to lay on top of him, holding you close, his hips move upward a bit, kissing you deeply, and he slips the shirt from your body and tosses it to the floor along with his clothes.

Pressing yourself against him, your hands move up along his sides and find your way to get tangled in that love head of golden locks. The kissing gets a little heavier between you two, the touching, how you press your hips against him, feeling him harden against you. You move your hand between your legs as you grip him through his boxers. He groans against your lips as he grips your breast, pulling you closer, and kissing you deeper.

The kissing, the touching, the grunts, and the groans were enough to send you into a feral mind. Moving his boxers down, you slip him right between your lips, your hips press yourself down, pressing him deeper inside you. You both end up groaning in unison.

His grip on your hips is tight, his fingers pressing hard against your flesh, indenting as he thrusts upward just enough to finish that last little bit you wanted to slip inside you. The streetlights are the only thing illuminating the room, your shadow cast on the walls. Looking over, he watches your shadow as you brace yourself against his chest and begin to move up and down on his cock.

Holding your thighs in his hands, he watches the way you move against him, your hands pressing into his chest as he moves his own up your body, feeling your flesh under his hands was a sort of high for him. He presses a hand against your chest, between your breasts, as he slowly guides your motions as he thrusts upward.

As you are being guided with a hand on your chest, one on your hip, and his cock between your legs, your head falls back as you let out a loud, long, drawn-out moan. Your body trembles as you pick up on the sounds, the smells, the way the air tastes. Listening to him grunt and your own moans fill the air. It's all palpable. Erotic. Addicting.

The way you both work against and with each other, it sends these shockwaves through both of you, a genuine quickie, you feel yourself building, but of course, it doesn't help with his own buildup, you can tell in his tone, in how frequent his groans become, in how his breath smells. Leaning forward, you moan against his lips. And that's when he tells you to finish with him. He lifts you up, and you grip his cock as he works your bud.

Before you know it, your whole body trembles, feeling those hot ribbons of white pour against you. Whimpering and trembling against him, you begin to pant. Achieving your desired goal, he leans against the pillow but grabs something to clean you up.

There was hardly anything spoken between you two. But you lay there, holding him close, you look up at him as he stares down at you.

"You feel good." you chuckle.

"What even was that?" he chuckles.

"I think it's called a quickie. You should be used to those." you poke.

"Ohh, is that what that was? I like those... but next time... we do a longie... not a quickie," he smirks.

"I'll play with your longie." you chuckle.

"No, Darlin', we call it a cock, longie.... please no." he chuckles. "Besides, I like the way the word cock escapes your lips." he smirked.

"You like your cock between my lips Jax..." you joust.

Gasping he chuckles. "That is true... gotta say, you're a good cocksucker." he winks.

The night continued into the morning, and eventually, you had both fallen asleep. His arms wrapped around you, his face in your hair, and you clung to him like your entire life depended on it. You were glad you called him over, much needed, and the sleep was much better with him there.

[samcrosfaith]

LITTLE MUNCHKIN

Happy Lowman x fem!oc (Bobby's daughter)

summary; Nola finally gives birth to their baby and Happy realizes immediately that it doesn't matter that he isn't the biological father (Nola's abusive ex is). This is a chapter from one of my fanfics on Wattpad called DAYLIGHT in case you wanna check it out. Or maybe I'll even post it here if enough people would be interested! 🤎

warning; this is pure fluff and super soft Happy. 🥰

HAPPY CURSED UNDER HIS BREATH as the cars rushed past him while he stood on the side of the road. After feeling his phone vibrate, he immediately pulled over to call Bobby back, who then told him that the baby was hereᅳ and he was still two hours away from Charming.

He hadn't taken a single break in between, the eight hours on his bike were clearly wearing on his nerves, never knowing if he would make it in time. Even he knew that a birth can take anywhere from twenty minutes to over a day.

Part of him was glad that Nola didn't have to wait for him in pain any longer, but his guilty conscience was gnawing at him. He should've stayed in Charming, like his gut had told him. But Jax needed him, it wasn't like he had a choice.

With a frustrated grunt, he put his phone back in his pocket, slipped his sunglasses back on and mounted his bike to finally head to Charming. There was nothing he could do, all he could do was drive faster and try to avoid the traffic as best he could so he could finally see Nola and the baby.

Knowing that both of them were okay at least eased his worries a little and allowed him to breathe again, his muscles slowly relaxing on the road.

Still, he would've wanted to be there to see their little girl being born, to hear her first cry.

ᅳ

AFTER ONLY AN HOUR Happy was crossing the halls of St. Thomas, every step fast and heavy.  Nurses and other visitors silently got out of his way when they saw the grim expression on his face, although that was just Happy's faceᅳ probably his Kutte played a role too.

When he finally got from the white, depressing hallways to the more colorful one, which meant he was on the right ward, he finally felt some calm wash over him, a sense of relief. And yet he was nervous, nervous about what it would be like to finally see the little girl he and Nola had been waiting for.

How would he feel? Would he feel anything at all? For the first time, Happy felt anxious; afraid that he wouldn't be able to accept and love the little one like he had promised Nolaᅳ it was still Alden's child, as much as he hated to even think about it.

But he didn't have much time to sink further into the spiral of thoughts as Bobby slipped out of one of the rooms and ran a hand over his face and then down his beard. He looked exhausted, but also proud.

"How is she?", was Happy's first question, no hello, nothing, the worry and guilt chiseled into his hard features. "She's pissed? Or can I go in there without getting yelled at"

Bobby chuckled wearily, slapping Happy's shoulder. "No, not at all. She wanted you there, but she doesn't blame youᅳ Nola knew from the beginning that the club always comes first."

"Still, she shouldn't even think like that", the SAA grunted, annoyed with himself. Yes, the club came first, but his priorities had changed and he wanted Nola to know that. "Can I see them?"

"Sure. Nola just fell asleep, the little one's awake but quiet", Bobby told him, bracing his hands against his hips. "I was just going to get a bag for Nola, maybe not a bad idea if someone's there just in case the baby needs something."

"Okay, do that", Happy nodded, his hand already resting on the door handle as he turned back to Bobby one more time. "She look a lot like him?"

Bobby shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "Dark hair, yes. Otherwise she looks like Nola, as if she had stolen her mother's face."

Now it was Happy whose lips formed into a faint smile. "That's good."

And with that, he pushed the handle down and slipped into the room, closing the door behind him. As quietly as he could, he crossed the room until he stood next to the bed. With the smallest smile, he looked down at Nola, visibly proud of his Old Lady who looked absolutely beautiful and stunning despite having just pushed out a child.

He timidly brushed back a few blonde strands that had come loose from her low ponytail and bent down to kiss her hair, inhaling her scent before finally taking a look at the small cot on the other side of the bed, catching his first glimpse of the baby.

His pulse was racing with excitement and anticipation as he walked around the bed and rested both his hands on the top railing of the cot. His lungs hitched and he had to swallow hard when he saw the little bundle, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, the baby noises filling his chest with love and pride.

He had never felt so much pride as he did in that moment.

"Hey Munchkin", he murmured, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. "Nice to finally see you."

As the baby looked up at him with curious eyes, opening and closing her tiny fists, a yawn slipped past her lips before she began to fuss, probably just because she wanted to be held.

And that was exactly what Happy did. With care, as if she were made of porcelain, he slid one of his large hands under her tiny head full of dark hair, the other under her back and then scooped her into his arm. Rocking her gently and never once taking his eyes off her, he sat down on the chair that stood against the wall and sighed contentedly.

No one would be able to wipe that proud smile off his face as he looked down at her and rubbed the side of his index finger across her tiny cheek, listening to the soft sounds the girl made as a tiny hand reached for his hand, her grip on his finger tighter than he expected.

Happy swallowed hard, tears of pride burning in his eyes as a storm of emotions brewed inside him. Most of them were positive, mostly pride, unconditional love and joy. But also fear and anger, anger at the man who was lucky enough to be her father.

But the longer Happy looked at the bundle, he knew that the little girl in his arms belonged to him, that it didn't matter who her biological father was. She was his, his little girl that he would, just like her mother, protect with his life.

"What's your name anyway, huh?" Then Happy realized that he had completely forgotten to ask Bobby about the baby's name.

Excitement rushed through his chest as he spotted the pink plastic wrist band around the girl's wrist and scanned it for the name. A big lump formed in his throat as he read the name Nola had chosen for the girlᅳ the name he had suggested two weeks ago when they were sitting in bed eating pizza while brainstorming a name for the little one.

Ruby Elle Munson.

Ruby had been the name that he had come up with, the first one that popped into his mind that he had really liked. And Elle was Nola's mom's name. They both sounded great together in his opinion but it was the fact that Nola chose the name Ruby that really did something to him, coating his eyes again with a layer of unshed tears. Which of course he immediately wiped away with the back of his hand before they could fall.

"So Ruby, huh?", he asked, his voice thick with emotion. "Fits you perfectly, Munchkin."

Happy chuckled at the soft hiccup sounds he got in response, running his large hand over her tiny head, still fascinated by how much hair such a small creature could have.

"You're hungry? But we'll have to wait until your mom wakes up, I think", he croaked down at Ruby, not sure if Nola had chosen to bottle- or breastfed.

"You can feed her if you want, I chose to bottle feed her after the nurse said I didn't have enough milk", Nola explained, her voice still tinged with sleep as she slowly sat up, the happiest smile on her still slightly exhausted looking, pale face. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Happy's head shot up, the man had been too distracted to notice that Nola had woken up. Slowly he stood up, closing the little distance to the bed before settling down on the mattress.

"She's perfect, more than perfect." He placed a hand against Nola's cheek, literally staring at her sincerely after pressing a gentle kiss against her lips. "I'm sorry I wasn't here, babyᅳ you know I would've loved to be there."

"Hey, it's okay", she reassured him with a coo, sliding a little closer to him with a soft groan, which immediately made Happy look up with concern in his dark eyes. "I'm fine, don't worryᅳ just still a little sore", she assured him with a soft hum. "Thanks for coming right away, baby."

"Our daughter was just born, of course I was coming right away, Nola", the SAA grunted deadpanned, slipping his arm behind her back to pull her into his side. "I want you to know that you and Ruby come first, you hear me?"

"Our daughterᅳI like the sound of that", the blonde hummed happily, looking up at Happy with her bright blue eyes, his words meaning more to her than he could ever imagine. "But what about the club? I know how importantᅳ"

Happy quickly cut her off with a kiss he stole from her lips. "I love my club, and yes, I'm always available if they need meᅳ but you and Ruby come first, my priorities have changed, little girl."

As it should be. That didn't mean he wouldn't be there for his club anymore, he would always be there when they needed him. That's what he had signed up for when he joined decades agoᅳ but he had his own little family now and he knew everyone would understand. Not to sound rude, but he didn't want to be like Jax who only saw his sons a few times a week for a few hours because he couldn't find the time otherwise, or like the others who spent their time at the club instead of at home.

He would be there for his Old Lady and their child, not wanting to miss anything Ruby would learn even if that would still take a while. Also, Nola wasn't his maid, he'd make sure to help her around the house enough so she would have the time to just sit down, relax and cuddle with their baby.

"I love you, Lowman", Nola whispered sincerely, biting back a small sob, feelings and hormones still all over the place. "I hope you know thatᅳ and I appreciate everything you do for us."

Happy grunted with a slight nod, placing another kiss on the top of Nola's head as her arm slipped around his waist while she ran her free hand over Ruby's head. "I love you too, little girl, both of you."

"I can tell that she already feels comfortable with you." With a smile, Nola lifted her gaze, kissing the corner of Happy's mouth. "She's completely relaxed in your arms, no fussing and nothing. I know we said we'd see how things would go", Nola paused briefly, nervously chewing on her lower lip. "But in my eyes, you are already her dad, Hap. She belongs to you as much as she does to me."

Nola would probably never know how much her words really meant to Happy. For a moment he was even too emotionally moved to just stare at her and swallow hard instead of answering.

After a long moment of silence, he squeezed her arm, his gaze wandering from her to Ruby. "I know she's mine, it just feels right."

"So..does that mean that you'd like to take on the role of her dad right away?" Nola lovingly nudged his arm with her shoulder, smiling proudly. "She's going to be a daddy's girl, I just know it."

Happy chuckled, nodding his head slightly. "I hope so, she's already got me wrapped around her little finger."

"Mhm..me too, apparently that's already her first talent", Nola replied with a broad grin before she snuggled back into his side and exhaled contentedly.

And Happy enjoyed the moment to the fullest, both of his girls in his arms. That's what it felt to be rich. No amount of money in the world could replace this.

[imagineredwood]

Daddy Yandere Chibs with A? Number 3?

I have a HUNGER for Daddy!!!

Summary: Chibs has honored your foolish wishes for a separation for the last month, but you still haven't come to your senses yet, so it's time for Daddy to bring you back home; by any means necessary.

Warnings: ...it's a yandere drabble 🧍🏻‍♀️ So stalking, manipulation, what could be perceived as emotional abuse because of the manipulation. As always, these are just for fun, not to be taken as a healthy or safe relationship. No means no and turning up at someone's work when they don't want you to or anywhere they're at for that matter is creepy af in real life!! Also daddy kink. I wrote it with somewhat of a big age gap in mind but it doesn't have to be read like that 💕

Also just as a reminder, since dark content isn’t for everyone, I don’t use the regular tag lists for these, only specific taglist for those who want to read the darker content. I wouldn’t want to expose someone that didn’t want to read it. So if you DO want to be tagged, let me know

"You shouldn't be here. This is my workplace. I don't have time for this."

Chibs didn't flinch as you rejected him, his stance relaxed as he leaned against the wall of your breakroom. He'd been dying to see you. He'd given you the space you had asked for, knowing that of course that wasn't what you truly wanted. But he'd given it to you anyway. You would see soon enough that being apart from him wasn't actually what you wanted at all. Yet it was going on a month now, and he had decided that enough was enough.

So he'd ridden over to your job to get you back and now here you were, acting as if you were simply too busy to speak to the man who had loved and protected you these last few years.

"Oh course ya do, Lass. You're on break. You've got,"

He made a show of looking down at his watch and calculating.

"Got 24 minutes left of break, I reckon."

You swallowed dryly, realizing that he did have a point. You took your break at the same time every day. You'd used that break to talk to him on the phone most days. Of course, he would remember. So you tried a different tactic.

"How did you even get in here? It's employees only back here."

The Son nodded, eyes warm as they regarded you, a hint of playful ridicule there as well.

"I've lived in this town a long while, love. Longer than you. All I had to do was ask."

He pulled off the wall then, standing at his full height, taking each slow step one at a time.

"Everyone knows me here. Knows us. All that yellin' about me being so controlling, yet you didn't tell your work to keep me out?"

You gulped as he stalked toward you, eyes on you every second.

"Didn't put me on some kinda list? Didn't tell them that if they saw me to call the cops? None of that?"

You stared at him as your heart pounded in your chest. He wouldn't hurt you; never. But you wouldn't put it past him to somehow manipulate you and the situation into ending with you giving him another chance. All if would take is the feeling of his hands, warm and loving as they caressed you, and your resolve would fall apart. And he knew as much.

You took one more step back and bumped against the wall, the giant silver fridge blocking you on one side, and Chibs arm coming up to block the other. You whimpered, willing yourself to be strong as the scent of leather, cologne, and cigarette smoke flooded your senses. It all smelled just exactly as you remembered and you ached for him, the stone you'd fortified around your heart beginning to crumble.

"Even with all the arguments and disagreements, you know you've always been safest with me. Safe, and at home. You've proven your point. It's time for you to come home with Daddy now, yeah?"

You hesitated for a moment before your head was nodding slowly of its own volition. The Son clicked his teeth and offered you a smile then, eyes trailing down your front. He brought a ringed finger up and traced down the valley of your breasts, eyes raking over you how a lion would a gazelle. His voice was low when he spoke again.

"Twenty minutes left."

"Huh?"

The sentence threw you off, your break no longer on your mind as you looked at him.

"You've got twenty minutes left before they start looking for you, so I've got time. You look delicious. I won't stop until I've tasted every bite."

Dark fiction taglist 

@whitetxilwxlf @kikijackson-blog @ben-c-group-therapy @ravennaortiz @mama-mischief

[marleyelona]

LADY OF THE REAPER

ONE

[ The Devil Wears Stilettos! ]

♤♡◇♧

THE CLICKING OF SIX INCH STILETTO HEELS AGAINST THE HARDWOOD FLOORS echoed through the clubhouse as all eyes landed on the dark haired beauty, who had entered the musky establishment. The scent of sweat, tobacco, stale beer and the pungent smell of pussy filled her senses, making her scrunch up her nose in disgust. 

Everything went still as she approached. The murmured voices came to a halt, the background music became static, while the men's jaws dropped and eyes bulged out of their heads. The croweaters' eyes instinctively narrowed and some even went as far as muttered some snarky remark under their breath. The woman seemed to hear them as a sly smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

She exuded perfection and class, wearing confidence like a charmed bracelet. Her short brown curls flowed perfectly over her shoulders. Her olive skin glistened under the dim lights over the bar. But the thing that usually drew people in was her big, brown eyes and button nose, which she enhanced with her skilful hands and a make-up brush—going for the more natural look. 

"Who's that?" Tara whispered to Gemma, who sat beside her, while she held Thomas against her chest. 

Gemma let out a slight scoff as she barely glanced over at the woman, before turning back round in her chair, bringing her coffee mug up to her lips and taking a sip as the warmth flowed through her, "That...that's who we call Satan's first lady. She's trouble wrapped in a pretty package. If I were you I stay clear of that one." 

As the brunette past the matriarch, she ever-so-slightly nodded her head to the older woman, who acknowledged her with a sarcastic smile, which only made her grin properly form on her Iips as she made her way through the crowd, who have now went back to what they were doing, but some eyes still lingered on the woman's perfectly curved frame, until she reached Happy Lowman. 

"Where is he?" she demanded, her tone carrying sharp authority. Her hand rested on her hip as she held her head high, not showing one ounce of fear as she faced the Tacoma killer. 

Happy simply stared up at her, seemingly unbothered as he moved the tooth pick around in his mouth, giving her a simple shrug and grunt. 

The woman's features hardened, "Look, I don't care if he is deep in some whore's pussy right now, I need to see him." 

A sigh left Happy's lips as he noticed the slight glint of a tear forming. Standing up, her waved off the prospects' protests, "Don't look at my cards," he rasped, sending them all a threatening look that was enough to send chills down their spines, before dumping his cards down on the table, and making his way around the coffee table over to the woman. Placing a hand on her lower back, he led her over to the hall, leading up to the dorms. 

She didn't mind the placement of his hand, it felt friendly, familiar, not at all sleazy. Because back in the day, they used to be pretty close friends—but that was a long time ago. 

So, she allowed him to lead her all the way to the end of the hall to Tig's dorm room, "It's good to see you, sweetheart," Happy murmured, pressing his lips against her forehead, before gently rubbing her shoulder as he walked away, leaving her standing there, staring at the closed door. Her eyes scanned over the small cracks in the worn wood, trying to focus on anything but the unmistakable sounds of a girl moaning, as well as the creaking of the old mattress that probably hadn't been changed in decades and the familiar pleasurable grunt of her husband filling her ears.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a deep breath, composing herself, before she reached for the handle, her fingers wrapping over the oval shape, twisting the knob and pushing it open only to be met with a scene, that even though she was expecting it, made her blood boil. 

Tig lay back against the headboard, his hands gripping the hips of a young blonde woman, and from the absence of stretch marks and wrinkles on her bare back, she had to be in her early twenties at most. The girl, who was young enough to be his daughter, was straddling his waist as she rode him like she was competing in a rodeo. Her hair flying around in a tangled mess, her nails digging into his chest as her head snapped back, and a loud moan slipped from her lips and bounced off the four walls of the dorm room. 

Announcing her arrival, she slammed the door behind her. Tig's eyes met her stern gaze as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

"Annalise?" he breathed out, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of the most beautiful woman in the world—at least in his world anyway. 

Tig immediately shoved the girl off him, causing her to fall to floor in a thud. His eyes widened, his head snapping to the side as he peeped over the edge of the bed to check on her, "Sorry, baby," he whispered, before his gaze landed back on his wife, who had barely moved a muscle, her stern gaze refused to falter. 

"You know, knocking is a thing, right?" The blonde groaned, pushing herself to her feet, placing her hands on her hips, not giving a damn that her chest was on full display. But Elise paid her no mind. "Who the fuck is this?" she snarled, her gaze turning to Tig when she received no acknowledgement from the older woman, who looked extremely good for her age. 

Tig sighed, casually reclining back against the headboard, "She's my wife," he announced, his eyes never leaving Elise's beautiful brown orbs that held a fire that could even tame him. 

"Ex-wife," she corrected, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. 

Tig matched her grin, chuckling to himself as he shook his head in amusement, "Ah, technically we're not divorced, beautiful." 

Elise's eyes narrowed at the smug bastard that she was still legally married to, "Because someone won't sign the bloody divorce papers!" she snapped, her composure finally cracking, she hated that—how much he got under her skin. But what she hated more was that he knew, and he loved it. 

Finally, Elise's attention went to the crow eater awkwardly still standing in the room, "Leave," she ordered, motioning with her head to the door. 

The young twenty year old with the flawless body that would make any woman jealous, didn't argue with the woman that held the threatening aura of authority, quickly throwing her clothes on and exiting the room so quickly she almost tripped over her own feet. 

"So, where'd you find her?" Elise asked, gracefully sitting down on the edge of the bed, delicately flattening down the cotton sheets, scrunching up her nose as she pulled a black g-string out from under her thigh with two fingers, tossing it aside like it held some sort of disease. 

This amused Tig, a chuckle rumbling through his chest, "Club hang around." 

"Ah..." Elise nodded in understanding. 

Tig shuffled down the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder, immediately her familiar scent filled his nostrils as he closed his eyes taking in the feeling of having her in his arms again, "Don't judge, baby," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear, while his warm breath hit the sensitive spot on her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. "Remember how we met?" 

Elise's eyes closed as she instinctively leaned back against him, allowing the familiar warmth engulf her, "In my defence, I only ever wanted you," she said, turning her head slightly, and their eyes locked and the familiar electrical pull they always felt toward each other was still there—and Elise hated that. 

Tig reached up to caress her cheek as he admired her soft features, "You look good, baby." 

And she did. She wore a tight fitted, red dress that reached her ankles with a long slit up one side that finished just below the outline of her lace panties. And of course, she was sporting her classic stiletto heels to match. 

The spell was broken in an instant, "Don't call me that," she hissed, pushing his hand away from her face as she went to stand. 

But before she could, Tig grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, pushing her down on the mattress and pinning her there with his hand wrapped around her neck, a certain body part pressing into her inner thigh, "Then what do you want me to call you? Huh?" 

Elise swallowed the large lump that formed his her throat at the close proximity of their bodies. Their lips were inches apart, and his warm breath against hers set her skin on fire. 

Tig knew what he was doing, a smug smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, while his hand wandered up the slit of her dress, making her shiver, "When's the last time a man touched you the way you like to he touched?" 

"A-awhile..." she croaked, her voice getting caught in her throat as her breathing picked up as Tig's free hand moved her panties aside, giving him access to her heat, his fingers agonisingly slowly brushed against her clit. 

Suddenly, Tig's eyes darkened as his hand that was wrapped around her neck travelled down to her chin, his fingers wrapped around it and he roughly pulled her into a hungry kiss. 

The kiss was aggressive, his tongue immediately meeting hers as their lips moulded together like two warriors looking for a fight. His teeth pierced her cherry lips, drawing blood as he devoured the taste of her, all the while, his fingers were relentlessly working their magic on her core, eliciting deep, animal like moans from the woman struggling to keep herself composed. 

But as Tig's fingers slid into her tight folds, her eyes shot open and she shoved him so hard off her he stumbled back into a nearby wall, "Jesus Christ," she hissed, wiping her mouth with her hand, trying to remove some of the smudged lipstick, but only managing to smear it across her rosy cheeks. "I'm not here for that." 

Tig glared at her as he pushed himself to his feet, throwing on his discarded shirt, his kutte sitting draped of a chair behind Elise, "Then why'd you come, huh?" he asked, his tone sharpened with frustration—he needed some form release.

It wasn't unusual for the couple to play a twisted game like this. To keep things interesting in their marriage they had come up with a game where Tig would bring a good looking girl back to his dorm, usually one of the newest crow eaters, or some dumb bimbo from the club and as things got heated, Elise would storm in, catching her husband in the act and throw the unexpecting target out on her ass. Filled with adrenaline and a lustful need for one another, the couple would proceed to fuck each other's brains out, not giving a damn who might hear. But that was all over now. 

"I'm not signing no fucking papers," Tig sneered, pulling on his pants and doing up his belt. "You're my wife!" 

Elise sighed, "It's Gracie..." she started to say, her voice strained with emotion as she lowered her head. 

Tig noticing this, approached, cupping her chin and gently lifting her head, his eyes bore into hers. A sigh left his lips as he noticed the tears that welled like a pool inside her orbits, "Baby, what's wrong?" His features and tone softened instantly. "What's happened? Please, tell me." 

Elise Trager never cried, well, at least not in front of people. She wasn't one to show emotion around others, not wanting them to see her as weak. So, as her husband, Tig knew something must be seriously wrong for her to look this broken. 

Elise couldn't answer his question as a sob escaped her lips and her head dropped onto his shoulder. Tig didn't wait a second, his arms wrapping around her shaking form. She clung to him like he was her lifeline, her cries filling the room, making Tig's heart ache as he held her close, her face buried in the crook of his neck, her tears soaking the collar of his dark blue button-up. 

"It's gonna be okay, baby," Tig cooed, running his fingers through her hair soothingly. "I'm right here." 

Tig's mind raced with all the awful possibilities that could of caused such a heartbreaking sight, but he wasn't going to question his wife in this state. He just needed to comfort her—be there for her. And when she was ready, she would tell him. Tig just had this feeling that whatever it was...it was bad, and nothing was ever going to be the same again. 

♤♡◇♧

Words: 2197

[ravennaortiz]

Chapter 3:

Summary: Tara hires Clay's Daughter as a Nanny to help with the kids in an attempt to give her and Jax more time alone to repair their relationship. She does this as a punishment for Gemma who is not allowed to see the kids. Unfortunately Clay's Daughter has her own power play in mind and it doesn't stop with just getting Jax to cheat.

As always 18+.

Return to Masterlist and Moodboard

Jax was awake and out the door before his alarm ever had the chance to go off. He had checked in on the boys and little girl before grabbing his journals and duffle bag. He had decided to spend some time in his dorm at the clubhouse. As much as he hated to not be home with his family he just could not stomach being in that house right now. Not after what he had witnessed at Juices. The last few weeks had left him feeling unsettled. Somethings were tapping at the edge of his mind. A feeling of unease had gripped not only him but a few others as well following Clays beating of Nova. Grumblings and not exactly whispers of why was Jax not pushing for President. Why was Clay still breathing? Shouldn’t beating his own flesh and blood to near death qualify for meeting Mr. Mayhem?

Jax sighed as he closed his dorm door. Clicking the lock into place as he flipped on the lights and tossed his bag onto the couch. Glancing at his phone he saw it was almost six in the morning. As much as he wanted to go back to sleep, he knew he needed to take this moment of peace and quiet to get this thoughts down. Before the monster that was the club awoke and created chaos and headaches for all. To get all the things he had noted or had been brought to his attention over the last few weeks down. To get it all out of his head so that he could see everything more clearly like Chibs had suggested a couple of weeks ago. The same time he had warned that the mother charter had gotten too big for what Clay had done to be swept under the rug in the typical SAMCRO way.

Grabbing his journal and a pen Jax slumped onto the couch. He tapped his pen on the outside of the yellow notebook pondering if he needed to label it. Chuckling to himself lightly he shook his head before flipping t open to the first page. What was he a kid on his first day of classes he thought before staring at the first page. Where to start pondered Jax as his mind raced with everything that had happened or learned. All the questions that needed answers. A free write might be a good idea he thought but he needed a bit of structure if he was honest. Though he knew everything landed on one big question as he began to write it down. This would be the end game no matter what happened.

Does Clay deserve to Meet Mr. Mayhem?

Tapping his pen again he knew what his answer was. He knew where several other members stood. Some surprised him with how firm they were or how unsure they were. Which he figured led him to the next issue at hand. The division in the club. This had really always been an issue to a degree if he was honest. But it was much worse now and the why to that was not as simple as the beating his step sister had taken at the hands of her own father. It was not as simple as what Bobby had said when he brought up just young guns getting a taste of good pussy when not only Juice but also Half and Rat had demanded Clay pay for what he did.  While Jax could not deny the closeness they all had with his step sister he could not shake that it didn’t sit right she was sleeping around with all of them.  He knew Nova to well. Knew what she had been through watching her mom go from man to man at various clubs. How much Nova never wanted to be that type of woman. Though Opies words did echo back in his mind from their talk last night “Have you ever thought if maybe the guy Tara saw was Juice?”. He could see Nova and Juice sleeping together so he made another note.

Talk to Juice more about his relationship with Nova. Platonic? More? Was it him?

If not him. Then who was the mystery guy?

What happened that day? What did Tara truly see? Why was she out there in the first place? Did she gain anything from telling Clay?

Jax paused and frowned as he realized he was getting a little ahead of himself. He needed to note where the guys stood. Because that was just as important as any questions.

Ride or die for Nova- Juice,Half,Rat

Justice needs to be served- Chibs, Opie, Me, Padaric

Ride or die for Clay- Bobby, Piney, Otto

Unsure- Tig, Miles, Phil, Kozik, Happy,Quinn,Montez, V-Lin, West,Frankie, Greg

Jax sighed as he looked over the list. This was not going to be easy and he had not even gotten to where the old Ladies stood. While some of them had taken a hit or two from their own old men none had ever gotten the violence that Nova did. None of them had ended up in an ER at the hands of any of the men in the club. Which to be honest kinda made Jax feel this should be a cut or dry situation. Especially cause Nova was not an Old Lady. She was a daughter. Maybe if she was still under eighteen then this would be easier he thought. Or if Clay had ever claimed her as his own flesh and blood. He had always treated her as a burden and on more than one occasion had told visiting clubs and guests they could have at her.

Need to know more about Novas mom. Have Juice look into her.

Old Ladies should line up with their guys…..weak links? Why does my mom hate Nova so much? Suspect this leads back to above question…..Clay cheated would be nothing new. But first time product of cheating had been brought to light?

Possibility shes not Clays kid?

Before Jax could get any more ideas out he heard a knock at his door followed by the familiar Scottish accent of Chibs.

“Just a sec” he called as he closed his book and stood up on the couch moving a secret latch on the ceiling and storing it away. He would come back to this later. The chaos of the day was upon him it seemed as he opened the door and could hear yelling spewing from the main area.

[thisreadswhatever]

To Keep Me Safe From You: Part Three

find my masterlist here

[description]: jax teller x fem!reader

[wordcount]: 1.7k+

[summary]: just when you think it couldn’t get worse, SAMCRO decides it’s time for another vote.

[cw]: 18+, female reader (y/n), swearing, mentions of murder throughout, angst, a lil bit of fluff, knives, possible grammar/spelling errors

[authors note]: so this part takes place immediately after part two. this took some time for me to finish but we’re here! life has been really strange for me lately but writing this has really helped me get some of my inspiration back. i’m not 100% sure as to whether this should get another part or two.. if anyone has any ideas where it could go i’m totally interested in suggestions! hope you enjoy :)

“Chapel? Whose getting married?”

Jax chuckled at you as he made his way through the hall. He slumped himself along the edge of the bed, your towel still draped across his lower half. His arms rested on his knees as he ran his hands through his hair, sighing out loud. “Nobody’s getting married.”

You sat next to him, crossing your legs on the bed. “You really, really, need to tell me what the hell is going on, Jax. You owe me an explanation at this point. This whole thing is just insane.”

“‘Chapel’s just our word for ‘vote’, I guess.”

You hadn’t meant to discuss that further, but there was a wave of relief that set over you regardless. At least now you knew there would be no impromptu wedding on the horizon.

“So Chapel means to vote. Okay.. so what is there to vote over? You said you won’t hurt me.”

He lifted his head to meet your eyes, his voice was soft, almost exasperated. “Yeah, well, that wasn’t really my decision to make.”

“And that means..”

“It means I went against the club.”

Waves of fear crashed into you as reality hit like a ton of bricks. Your mind replayed over the events of the last several hours. Despite it feeling like a lifetime ago, Jax had tied you to your chair to do nothing more than kill you, and now you had no choice but to trust him to save your life.

“So at Chapel.. They’ll vote if I still have to die?” You shook your head as the words left your mouth, tears welling in pools under your eyelids. “Jax I didn’t hear anything, I wasn’t lying when I told you-”. Jax pulled you into his chest before you could finish, hugging you tight. “I know, I know. I told you, nobody is going to hurt you. But they already decided, and I went against the club's decision. Tomorrow there won’t be another vote on you, that’s done. And once they realise I didn’t get the job done..”

Oh. Another realisation hit, the bricks piling onto what was left of any hope you had. This wasn’t just about you anymore. “They have to vote on you.” Your voice was low as you tried to suppress the lump in your throat. You dried your tears with your wrists, pulling yourself up to look at his face. “You have to tell them I never heard anything, you have to make them understand.”

Jax was looking down on you as you laid against his chest. He tried to reassure you with a smile, but he didn’t say another word. He hugged you tight, and for a moment it felt like you’d known him for eternity. Before you could get used to the feeling, his arms loosened around you and he rose from the edge of the bed, walking towards the bathroom. “Come shower with me.”

———

“You read a lot of books, huh.” Jax wasn’t asking a question, because he already knew the answer after scouring the house all night while you were his hostage.

“Well- most of my books are back home, but yeah, I do.”

Jax seemed so nonchalant about everything. He casually cracked three eggs from the fridge into the pan on the stove while he spoke. “And where’s home?”

Your eyes squinted at him over the kitchen island. “I told you last night.”

Jax smiled. “Washington, right?” You watched as he flipped the eggs, now sticking a little too much to the hot pan in front of him.

You avoided answering. The sudden interest confused you and you pondered over whether he’d changed his mind, if he wanted to know your hometown to find your family or chase you down if you ran. You snapped yourself out of the thought, suppressing your fear. “Do you read?”

He turned from the eggs to meet your eyes, pausing for a moment before subtly shaking his head. “I write.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, trying to hide your shock. The murdering biker stranger writes. “That’s interesting. What do you write?”

He shrugged, “Just journals and stuff.”

“I would’ve never guessed that about you.”

Jax leant over the island, placing a plate of scrambled eggs in front of you on the countertop. “Bet you never guessed I was a chef either.”

You grinned politely and thanked him, poking at the dry eggs with your fork. “There’s definitely a lot we don’t know about each other.” Jax tucked into the remaining eggs over the stove, scraping at the hot pan.

Suddenly you were giggling, and then you were laughing so hard you almost choked. It was unthinkable how fucking bizarre this entire situation was. “What’s funny?” Jax was looking at you across the kitchen island, completely bewildered by your sudden amusement.

You had to catch your breath before explaining, “Last night you had taped me to a chair with every intention to end my life, and this morning you're cooking me eggs. I think I’ve lost my mind.”

Jax chuckled with you, “I’m a man of many talents, darlin’. Though I can admit that I’m still shocked you wanted me to stay.”

You pulled yourself together before standing from the bar stool at the island, heading back down the hall toward the bedroom, “I’m going to get ready for work, try not to take anymore hostages while I’m gone.”

____

The rays from the California sun had burned through the windshield of the car all morning, turning it into a makeshift oven. Your thighs hit the fiery leather of the passenger seat as you got in, the heat radiating into you. It was almost impossible for you to sit still through the warmth of it. The stench of stale cigarette smoke had intensified throughout the car, and the smell brought you right back to the events of last night. Driving home with your stranger, completely oblivious to the gang’s death sentence, and everything else that would follow. The sound of the engine roaring to life abruptly disturbed your replay of events as Jax pulled out of the driveway.

“You can make a left at the end of the road. It’s faster.” He nodded.

Jax didn’t speak as he drove, it seemed as if he was totally preoccupied by his own thoughts. You wished your mind would be as silent.

You were overwhelmed from trying to understand, too many questions and uncertainties racing in your head. What was going to happen now? If Jax couldn’t stop the club, would they kill him for going against their decision? If Jax was dead, then they knew you were still breathing, and they’d come after you next. You’d have to leave town. How could you save yourself now?

Maybe you could escape before the impending doom you had been sentenced to. Or maybe they’d kill you before you got the chance.

“I have a question.”

Jax glanced your direction, but you couldn’t tell if he was even looking at you through his dark sunglasses. “What exactly is it they think I heard?”

Jax peered over his sunglasses, and you could tell he was looking at you as he cracked a smile. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

You rolled your eyes, “you probably should’ve while you had the chance.”

Jax scoffed. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

His arrogance was no longer charming, instead now all it did was fill you with rage. “Can you blame me for not trusting some stranger who startled me into losing my car keys in the pitch black after work? Who held me at knifepoint, taped me to my armchair and held me hostage for hours? The same stranger who decided it was a better idea to spare my life and fuck me on my kitchen counter? I can’t be crazy for questioning whether I’m going to make it out of this alive. I could at least know what it is they want me dead for!”

Jax chuckled, he was too calm for your liking. “You did ask me to stay darlin’, that was all consensual.”

“Did I consent to being the target of your murder plot?”

Jax gritted his teeth, his playfulness was gone. “Look, I know you don’t really know me and it’s probably better if you didn’t. But I am sorry, I’m sorry for all of it- well, most of it-“ for a moment it seemed like he was going to smile, and then it was gone. “This is some serious shit I’m piled in.” He shook his head contemplating. “But I’m not going to let them kill you because of a dumb misunderstanding. And even if you heard everything, we don’t kill women.”

“You sure do sound like a group of martyrs.”

“I know what I am, y/n. Last night I told you I was a normal guy. I’m not. I’m not a normal guy, I’m not a good guy, and I’m definitely no damn martyr.”

Your ears rang with every word. You knew you should’ve ran for the hills the second he’d cut the tape from your wrists.

Jax pulled the car into the diner, parking alongside your abandoned Honda.

“I guess this means I have to find another locksmith. I’ll probably get my brakes cut if I go to Charmings finest mechanics now.”

Jax laughed, “cutting breaks isn’t really our style, babe.” He reached down into the well of the car door as he spoke, pulling out your lost keys, the metal dangling between his fingers.

Your eyes narrowed at him as you snatched the keys from his grasp.

Jax turned to the steering wheel, looking out of the window as he spoke. “Told ya, not a good guy.”

None of this made any sense. This man you barely knew, that needed you dead, had somehow sent a crushing pain through your chest. Maybe it was the confirmation that this had been his goal the entire time, this wasn’t a game, it wasn’t a joke. Jax Teller had to kill you, and for some reason, you weren’t dead yet.

You wanted to scream at him, tell him what a piece of shit he was. You wanted to yell and tell him how much you hated him and this dumb ass biker gang. You wanted to tell him last night was the worst and best night of your life. But the words wouldn’t form. Instead, you shoved your weight into the passenger door before quickly jumping out and furiously slamming it behind you. Childish but he got your point. Tires screeched as he sped off from the diner, leaving you stood there, frozen, tears streaming down your face.

You knew that was probably the last time you’d ever see Jax Teller again.

———

find my masterlist here

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

(Sorry for the late submission 😭) but I would LOVE #8 with the one and only Ms. Lyla Winston!

Masterlist

Toffee and Rum Raisin

Contains: Fluff

1.0K words

Money can't buy happiness, but it can buy Ice cream and that’s basically the same thing.' - Unknown

"What are you going here?"

You sighed, "It's so hot, the AC at went died and I know for sure it would still be running here."

Lyla chuckled, "It is. I'm editing so I could use the company anyway."

She walked you through the set and into the editing studio before waving at the couch for you to sit, "What's on the agenda today?"

Lyla smiled, "Custom video, a guy who's really into cake and sprinkles. No nudity so I don't get to see you all flustered."

You shook your head, "Hey, the only T and A I want to see is yours. It's different for you because it's your job, our roads are paved because of your excellent production skills."

Lyla shot you a look, "You're laying it on thick, what do you want?"

You shook your head, "I told you what I wanted, I want to hang in the cool with you."

Lyla tapped the seat next to her, "Well come and make yourself useful and help me. I'll show you how to edit the sound so the background noise is gone."

You huffed, "I thought I was helping by sitting here and looking pretty." Nevertheless, you did as she asked and sat beside her.

Lyla moved in close enough that your arms touched as she showed you how to isolate the audio for the film, it seemed easy enough and after twenty minutes of you asking every question you could think of, you were well on your way to helping her get the video up, "I'm surprised you trust me with this."

She smiled, "I keep telling you that you should come and work with me, you'd be good at this."

You shook your head, "I love my job." You paused, "But if it wasn't there I would be here in a heartbeat."

"That's good to know. How are you doing over there?" You noticed she had stopped taking glances at your screen after a while.

You pointed at the progress bar, "I'm further along than you. I've got a few more things to remove here before I go onto the next scene."

Lyla sighed, "Wow you're fast, are you sure you haven't done this before?"

You nodded, "Yep, positive. I just have a great teacher."

Lyla leaned over and pecked your cheek, "You're too sweet to me."

****

One video turned into two, which turned into six and by the time the sun was setting, you and Lyla had gotten enough done that she could take the weekend off, "I'm impressed, you're really good at that."

You sighed, "I did enjoy it." She opened her mouth to speak but you stopped her, "But I'm going back to my day job, if I have to listen to the same lines over and over again, day in and day out, I will go nuts.

Lyla smiled, "Ok them, what do you want to do?"

You tapped your pocket, "I have ten bucks in my pocket and a craving for ice cream, you wanna come with?"

She nodded, "Hell yeah."

You hopped in her car and she drove you to the park where they had the best ice cream stand in all of Charming, with its blue and white pinstripes and big twisty ice cream cone sign. You could hear the milk bar music from the speakers as you walked closer. There was a flash of little legs and blond hair as a child ran up to you, "Auntie, auntie, are you here for the picnic?"

You could see Jax and his wife waving from the distance and Abel pointed over to the stand, "Can we get ice cream?"

Lyla shook her head and pointed to his shirt, "I think I can already see some chocolate ice cream on your shirt, little man, I don't think your mummy and daddy would like it if you had any more."

Abel seemed unfazed, "Ok, but are you here for the picnic?"

You sighed, "Well, Auntie Lyla and I are going to get ourselves some ice cream and them we'll see if we have time, is that alright?"

He nodded, "Yes ok." With that, he was off again, running back towards his mother and father on the grass.

You chuckled, "He is such a cute kid."

"I know right." She nodded towards the stand, "What do you want my dear?"

"The usual, Toffee in a cup with caramel sauce and chocolate shavings." You took her hand with a smile, "I think I know what you're going to get."

She rolled her eyes lovingly, "Yeah, and what is that?"

You held back a smile, "Rum and raisin because you're a little old man inside."

Lyla elbowed your rib, "I am not an old man, it just tastes good."

You walked up to the stand hand in hand and ordered before sitting down at the picnic tables, "We're going to have to go over there and sit with Jax for a while."

You sighed, "I know, it's just we see them every day. It would be nice to have some time to ourselves."

Lyla chuckled, "It will hurt his little feelings. Plus, we're Abel's favourite aunts anyway and I don't want to lose my spot."

"Alright." You pointed to her ice cream, "It looks so boring, you didn't even get toppings."

She blinked and took her spoon before taking some from the scoop and holding it in front of your face, "Just try some."

You gave it a sniff, the cold dessert giving only sweetness then leaned in and ate it, "So?"

You shook your head, "Nope, it tastes like creamy rum. If I wanted to relive my twenties I do it in style and drink whiskey."

Lyla huffed, "I find it hard to believe you got drunk in your twenties."

You held back a giggle, "Hey, there were many nights where I was three sheets to the wind singing the backstreet boys out of a car window."

"I bet that was a sight to see." There was such fondness in her eyes, "Jax is waving us over, we better go and say hello."

You nodded, "Alright, but when we got home, I digging up some photos I have of me on Bourbon Street on mardi gras. You'll see, I was wild."

Lyla grinned, "I can't wait."

Fin

[kuttesandknives]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Sons of Anarchy Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Opie Winston/OC Characters: Opie Winston, Jax Teller, Tara Knowles, Tig Trager, Clay Morrow, Juice Ortiz, Half-Sack Epps, Piney Winston, Gemma Teller Morrow, Bobby Munson, June Stahl, Otto Delaney Additional Tags: Angst, Eventual Romance, Slow Build, Sons of Anarchy is Its Own Warning, mature content, Follows some source material Summary:

Following the loss of his wife, Opie Winston is spiraling. The weight of his choices and actions, sticking with the club despite everything that's happened, is making him second guess every single thing he does. Will anyone bring him back from the brink of the edge?

[laurfilijames]

Bulletproof

Pairing: Jax Teller x female reader

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Mentions of being shot through a bulletproof vest. Bruises and welts. Swearing. Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: After a close call in a gunfight, Jax turns to you to remind him of all the things in life worth living for.

A/N: I'm sorry I couldn't help it. This is a teeny bit angsty and full of feelings. I needed to write something "short and sweet" (it's neither of those 🤣) to get my writing back on track, and well, here's this... enjoy!!

---

The buzz of your phone that sat on the nightstand beside your head woke you from a decent sleep, taking you a few minutes to register it was happening for real and not in a dream, a soft moan passing your lips as you reached over for it and hit the button to accept the call.

“Hello?” you answered, your voice groggy and unable to disguise your sleep, your eyes too heavy and blurred to have read on the screen who was on the other end.

“Hey, it’s me,” Jax’s voice registered in your ear, making you become a little more alert and sit up while running your hand over your hair.

“I’m on my way over,” he explained, his tone short and wired, like he was on edge or adrenaline was pumping through him.

Glancing over at the alarm clock, you simply agreed, not asking any questions, knowing if he was calling you and needing to see you at this hour that something more than just sex was on his mind.

The roar of his Harley came through before he hung up, and flinging the covers off while swinging your legs to the side of the bed, you did the same.

You walked through to the front door, wearing only his Reaper t-shirt that had become your nightly staple, flicking the bolt to unlock it as you leaned against the frame, peeling back the curtain that covered the small window to look out onto the dark street as if he would be rolling in any second despite him having just left to get there.

Letting your eyelids close, you continued to lean, wrapping your arms around yourself to try to keep some of the lingering warmth from your bed on your skin, partly hoping that Jax would be tired and ready for sleep when he arrived.

The familiar rumble of his engine sounded in the distance and grew louder with each second, and an automatic smile tugged at your lips, your heart picking up pace just as his motorcycle did to quicker close the gap between him and you.

You watched through the window, your fingers toying with the thin fabric as you held the curtain aside, seeing him roughly push down the kickstand with his white sneakers before quickly standing up and dismounting his bike, unfastening his helmet at the same time.

The way he was rushing made your pulse hammer, his deliberate strides a clear display of his desperation, and you opened the door for him before he blew through it and knocked it off its hinges, his expression a mix of frenzy and relief as his blue eyes landed on you.

Gloved hands gripped your cheeks roughly, pulling you into him equally as much as he pressed himself into you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss so hard it stole your breath.

A slightly surprised gasp blew out of your mouth when he parted from you and gave you an opportunity to get air back into your lungs, your eyes searching his features with concern as you took in the sweat clinging to his reddened cheeks, his hair damp and darkened.

His chest rose and fell sharply, and tearing off his gloves, he raked his long fingers that held a home for his chunky rings through his messy tresses, exhaling a shaky breath as he looked down at the floor and then back up at you.

“Jax, what happened?”

He shook his head and chuckled falsely, pulling his bottom lip in his teeth before looking at you with what he must have thought was a convincing expression.

“I’m fine.”

His eyebrows sat high on his forehead and brought out the creases on it as he stared at you, and when you held his gaze almost challengingly, he blinked away the moisture that you caught building up in them and moved into you again, his sigh emptying out into your mouth as he kissed you slower this time, but with equal passion.

Your hands slipped up beneath his kutte, the heat of his skin pouring off of him as you rubbed his back in soothing motions, the act comforting yourself as much as it was him.

The familiar taste and smell of smoke assaulted your nose and transferred onto your tongue, knowing whatever stress he was under right now had caused him to light up one cigarette after the other to try to settle his nerves.

As your kiss faded out, Jax rubbed his nose against the side of yours, his breath hot on your cheek, the stickiness of his skin transferring onto yours.

He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing for a moment while he let his hands roam up over your bum and onto the small of your back, bringing your body even closer to his.

Swaying slightly on the spot, he nuzzled his face into yours even more, a moment of softness before he met your lips again, claiming you in another kiss that started slow and quickly increased in fervor.

His breathing became laboured, struggling to draw in enough air as he kissed you harder and with more desperation, his hands gripping at your flesh beneath his worn shirt.

You could feel his hard cock pressing into you as it strained against his jeans, making you rub yourself on it a couple of times with a teasing grind of your hips, your fingers moving down his stomach to work at the button and zipper while he shrugged out of his kutte.

It landed carelessly on the floor beside you, and you couldn’t mistake the slight wince on his face before it disappeared in his hoodie as he lifted his arms and pulled it over his head, immediately moving back to capture your lips again.

He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his jeans, walking forward to force you back and further into your house, your hand rubbing him through his boxers before diving inside the waistband to take hold of his cock, stroking the hot, velvety skin of his length that made you moan into his mouth and him push harder on yours.

Both of you blindly made your way toward your bedroom, only pausing your kisses briefly to peel the white t-shirt that clung to his body off of him, your breath knocking out of you as he slammed you against the wall and began lifting the hem of the shirt still covering your body.

Once your naked form was available to him, he trailed his lips down your neck and along your collarbone while his hands smoothed all along your waist, one moving to your breasts where his fingers plucked one of your peaked nipples, the other traveling downward to slip between your legs.

“Jax…” you breathed, your tone needy and filled with lust, the sensation of his fingers entering and withdrawing from your slick hole making your eyes close and your head knock back on the drywall.

After losing yourself in ecstasy for a couple of minutes, you refocused, needing him more than ever, your thumbs hooking in the band of his boxers to tear them down his legs.

Jax took your hand and turned to lead you the short distance to your room, giving you a view of his back where your eyes were drawn to different spots of dark colouring that weren’t part of the ones that made up the large tattoo that covered almost all of it.

Peppered between the image of the Reaper and letters that spelled out ‘California’ were round bruises, his skin raised with welts, and your heart sank in realization of what had caused them; the impact of the bullets that had hit him unable to be disguised even with the protection of kevlar.

You instinctively reached out to lightly trace each one, counting three in total, a mix of emotions rushing through you that were half grateful and half terrified.

“I’m fine.” He repeated the same lie as before, glancing back at you as he paused in his steps and turned to face you.

You dove into him, wrapping your shaky arms around him to hug him so tight you didn’t care if it hurt, feeling his arms encase you in return and his lips press multiple times on the top of your head.

A sourness crept up your restricted throat, your guts twisting almost painfully at the thought of one of those bullets striking a place the bulletproof vest hadn’t been covering, and you frantically began kissing him everywhere you could reach, starting on his chest and making your way up his neck, your hands moving to cup his cheeks where your thumbs smoothed back and forth on his blond scruff. Your lips met again, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths as you transferred all your worry and grief into a display of love, his cock nudging at your core to remind you of what it was he needed right now.

The oncoming tears stung when you squeezed your eyelids together tightly, one slipping out and down your cheek as you retrained your focus on the feel of his tongue tangling with yours instead, the simplicity of needing to just be with him beginning to outweigh anything else.

You finally made it into your room, sitting on the bed and scooching yourself back to lay down with spread legs as he settled between them and sank overtop of you, continuing to kiss you with as much ardor that the skin around your mouth was already beginning to feel raw.

His knee pressed up on your thigh to guide it higher, spreading you out further as he covered your body completely with his, his fingers running along your scalp to send shivers across your skin.

You adjusted your hips, angling yourself to allow for his leaking head to push through your folds, lingering with just the tip of him inside you that somehow already made you feel full.

The skin on his back was tacky as you ran your hands gently up and down it, feeling his muscles flex as he began to move against you, his cock stretching you out inch by inch as he slowly pushed all the way in.

It was ironic; catching glimpses of the silver shell casing that hung from the chain around his neck in the light shining in through the window as it wagged and glided along your chest, filling the space between your hearts that hammered furiously and proved his vitality as if it hadn’t been threatened.

As soon as Jax had pulled into your driveway he felt better, the need to see you and be with you at the forefront of his mind, having bolted out of the clubhouse the minute he had changed out of his tac vest and clothes that were sprayed with holes from the gunshots he could still hear going off in his head.

Now that he had felt your lips against his and the softness of your skin beneath his palms, he was filled with an appreciation for you that he knew he took for granted too many times before, the relief he felt at being with someone who made him feel alive after a close call with death sobering him in a harsh bite of reality.

The way you made him feel was undeniable, giving him a vigor that was too often misplaced and diluted even though you showed him a brighter side to all the darkness that surrounded him, his lack of commitment to anyone but his club wrongly applicable even to you.

He thrusted harder into you, deepening his strokes as he peeled his mouth from yours to watch his cock pump in and out of you, the sound of your pleasure coming out in beautiful whimpers and soft moans while requesting more from him reiterating every reason why he came here tonight in the first place.

Jax dove against your lips again, needing to kiss you in order to stop himself from saying things that he feared may only be a result of how fucking scared he had been earlier, but deep down knowing the words that portrayed how he felt weren’t coming from a place of fear.

It felt different. Crazed and desperate and meaningful, the way he fucked you hinting at something more intent and unwavering than usual.

Sex with Jax was always mind-numbing and intense, but you never let yourself get too far into things knowing he could be gone before you even woke the next day and carrying on without thinking twice about it meaning anything more, his nonchalance always reminding you to take nothing from it other than pleasure.

Gone.

The potency of that little word had your eyes burning again, burrowing an emptiness in your chest that ached to be filled by anything he was generous enough to give.

There were never any labels put on what you were to each other or what this was, but the possibility of losing him at any moment made you desperate to show him what he meant to you, your fingers digging into the flesh on his upper arms so hard as if adding marks of your own on his body would make him stay with you forever.

You reached your face upward to press harder against his mouth, happy when he reciprocated and drove his tongue deeper inside yours, the long, rolling motions of his hips continuing, only now with more calculated force.

Heat bubbled within you, building up into that familiar tingle that taunted to be chased, every nerve in you warning of what drew nearer with each pump and drag of his long cock in and out of you.

The way his hands roamed your body in a calm, but needy way had your mind spinning, like the more he touched you the more it grounded and convinced him that he was still here to enjoy something this good; the gravity of today in no hurry to lose its effectiveness.

Jax paused for a moment, rubbing his hand over your forehead as he searched your eyes for permission or assurance or something more that scared even you, the sound of your panting breaths the only thing audible in the dark quiet of your room. He dipped down to brush your lips again, his scruff holding onto the sweat that had effectively coated every part of his body, lightly teasing with a softer kiss before resuming the purposeful tempo of his hips, the silence between you able to voice that you were both ready to find your high together.

Letting your bodies say what your words couldn't, you met his pace, grinding and rolling deliberately in time with him, the need to help him find his release with the use of your body seeming more important tonight than it ever had.

Jax gripped your face tightly, his fingers squeezing your jawline in an almost frantic way, groaning into your mouth desperately as a signal of his climax.

His thrusts never faltered, continuing to pound you while his hot cum filled you up in aggressive spurts, throwing you into your own orgasm as your clit rubbed against the coarse hairs on his groin. The feel of his cock sliding his thick seed in and out of you drew out your high, prolonging every blissful spark and shudder that tore through your body, the way his sweaty form laid heavily on top of yours a necessary weight that helped you stay rooted in the moment.

He remained buried inside you while you kissed, catching your breaths by sharing each other’s until he slipped from between your legs and crashed onto the covers beside you, his arm falling over his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

Despite having just been as close to him as you possibly could be, you felt a vacancy and longing for him, glancing over at him where you watched him close his eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly as he drew in sharp breaths.

His necklace fell to the side from where it rested on his pec, hanging in his armpit as he continued to breathe, and you carefully picked it up between your fingers, the silver cold against them and a stark contrast to the heat that radiated off his body.

Even though his eyes remained closed, you couldn’t mistake the pained look on his face, a sort of fear and vulnerability that was rare to see on his features, his mortality shattering the usual invincibility that was layered on falsely by his cockiness.

Your chest felt tight, watching him let everything the adrenaline had prevented him from feeling earlier course through him, and you leaned over and traced your fingertips along the creases beside his mouth before pressing your lips to his, relieved when he didn’t hesitate to kiss you back.

His arms came down to wrap around you, pulling your body to rest more on top of his, his hands carding over your back in a comfortable, soothing way.

You couldn’t recount the times sex with Jax had turned into a quick goodbye between smiling kisses and promises to see each other soon only to have days turn into weeks, convincing yourself and him that this was nothing more than a casual, fun fuck, having to disguise the way your heart ached for him and how many butterflies erupted at the mention of his name alone.

None of that mattered tonight, no longer caring if you let your cards show, the severity of tonight outweighing any need to try to stifle your feelings or bother denying that you felt more for him than you ever intended to let happen.

Jax remained pensive and quiet, his boisterous self clouded by his brush with a graver fate, but with the occasional kiss to the top of your head and the way his heartbeat had steadied in your ear, you knew he was comforted in your embrace.

As you laid entwined in your sheets, your leg hooked over his waist while he held your hand and played with your fingers, interlacing them and listlessly running them through his, you thought how you would never be able to control or guarantee if he would be yours to love forever, the way he lived his reckless life a threat to any sort of assurance.

A soft smile tugged at your lips when Jax shifted slightly lower on the bed to line up your face with his, kissing you slowly and clutching your hand in his where he brought it into his chest.

His nose rubbed against yours a couple of times before he settled his head on your pillow, a quiet hum sounding from his mouth, his blue eyes shining with a vitality and promise that for at least another day, he was yours.

---

Please consider reblogging and commenting if you enjoyed reading this story! 💗

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989 @rhoorl

[puffins-muffins]

this one GUTTED me 😭😭😭

Part 1 | Part 2

Female reader x Jax Teller MAJOR SPOILERS!, & explicit language If you're under the age of 18, haven't finished the show or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Jax walks with heavy steps, leading his best friend to his final ride. The rest of the club carry Opie in silence, their faces touched with grief. Jax’s face is unreadable but he hasn’t cried yet, he can’t. He just stares ahead, like if he lets himself blink, he might just fall apart.

Tara stands off to the side, her arms folded and eyes locked on Jax. There’s distance between them, has been for a while now but Jax still chooses to ignore it, brush it under the rug, act as if everything is okay, he knows why it feels like there's a brick wall between them though, and Tara? she suspects it, just hasn't had the guts to confront him yet. Either way, she has secrets of her own. Trying to protect the boys by any means necessary so the fact that Jax has been so distant recently only makes it that tiniest bit easier.

The boys lower the casket into the back of the hearse Jax’s eyes lingering on the black wooden box, just enough to feel like he was doing right by his best friend one last time. Then he slams the door shut. Hard and final, the echo hanging in the air of the lot.

Jax sits on the rooftop, silent and still watching as the hearse drives away.

The last goodbye.

Below him, the rest of the club gathers, exchanging quiet condolences. Hugs, nods, the occasional exaggerated back pat that says more than words ever could. Lyla sits beside Gemma, her shoulders shaking and her face buried in her hands. Gemma’s leant in close, whispering something he’s sure is suppose to soothe Lyla. Tara's standing away from the crowd, her facial expression tight. She’s muttering something to Unser, passing him some sort of paperwork, though Jax can’t quite work out what it is.

All he does know, is he doesn’t want to be down there. Doesn’t want that kind of comfort. Not from his Mom, his club or his wife. He pulls out a fresh writing pad from inside of his kutte, his last one placed with Opie in his casket. He lights a cigarette before pulling out a pen and starting to write. Because keeping these journals going? It’s the only thing keeping him sane.

"You good brother?" Chibs' voice snaps Jax out of his own head, stopping his pen mid sentence of his thoughts. He glances over his shoulder as the Scotsman approaches, tucking his little book back into his kutte.

"No" Jax mutters, his voice rough, the words weighing in his chest. He takes a long drag trying to keep it together, but he's finding it so fucking hard. He stops himself before he can say anything more, shaking it off. Chibs gives him a heavy slap on the back, the kind that says he's not alone, but he isn't going to press any further.

"You know we got this yeah?" Chibs growls, a promise laced within his words. "This pope shit? we got it handled. And those... assholes. Who did this to our boy? their time's comin".

Jax nods slowly, because he knows just as well as Chibs that those fuckers? dead. He climbs down the ladder, walking straight over to his old mans bike, pressing his hand to the tank for just a second before turning back towards the main clubhouse.

It's quieter inside, Gemma's already there, waiting. She steps out grabbing his wrist like she's trying to anchor him. "You okay baby?" she asks, her voice low and steady, like she already knows the answer, she's just trying to find the cracks. "Tara's looking for you" she adds like she’s trying to test the water. She feels it too. The way him and Tara are different now, how she’s so focused on work and those boys she has little attention left on Jax. She feels it, but hasn’t said anything, yet.

Jax pulls his arms back gently, brushing back the sweat from his head as he tilts it slightly “Where is she?” He questions reluctantly.

It’s been just over two months since that night Jax walked out of your apartment, and still as much as he twisted your entire soul, as much as you know it was messy, toxic and wrong. You can’t get him out of your fucking head.

‘The best way to get over someone is to get under someone new’ your bestie told you with a smirk, zero remorse in her words and they’ve been playing on a loop in your head ever since. So tonight, you finally took her advice.

You’re sitting across from some guy you barely know in a dimly lit restaurant somewhere just outside of Charming. The candlelight flickering against your wine glass. You’re dressed to distract, body hugging outfit and matching heels that force you to strut. You’d forgotten what it felt like to get dolled up for someone, actually make an effort. And the guy? He’s not bad. He’s actually kinda cute. Tall, clean cut, good manners. He holds the door open, laughs at your sarcasm and keeps the conversation flowing.

You didn’t expect to enjoy yourself tonight, you thought you’d sit here dwelling on everything that’s been happening. But here you are, smiling, laughing, letting someone else have your complete attention. But no matter how good this guy smells, he doesn’t smell like leather and cigarettes. He doesn’t look at you like he wants to ruin you, and he doesn’t carry that chaos in his eyes, the sort of chaos that you had come accustomed to.

You return to the table after slipping away to the restroom, smoothing down your dress before sliding back into your seat. The bottom rising up just slightly but you don’t bother to adjust it, your dates already watching you like you’re the only woman in the restaurant.

“Your phone hasn’t stopped going off” he says, nodding towards your purse. Not in a suspicious or angry way, just letting you know.

“Oh, really?” You murmur, reaching for your bag with a raised brow and pulling your phone out. The second you see the name on the screen, your heart gives a traitorous thud. Because of course, the one time you finally weren’t thinking about him, he sure as hell was thinking about you. You skim through the texts quickly, and yeah he sounds fucked. Wrecked, even. Your stomach sinks instantly, the words hitting different. Not calculated or trying to get under your skin, just lost.

But you've been here before, and every time you've paid for it in ways he'll never understand. So even though part of you wants to reply, wants to know what the fucks wrong, you lock it without responding. You tuck your phone back into your bag, sitting up a little straighter and smile at your date, like you're not cracking under the hem of your tight dress.

His car eases up to a stop outside your building. Your mind is anywhere else but here. You hadn't answered the texts, haven't even re read them, tried to push Jax to the back of your mind, and focus on yourself for once. Your date looks over to you, his hand resting lightly on your thigh, waiting for some kind of cue. He's been nothing but respectful all night. Easy conversation, soft touches and gentle smiles.

The way his grip tightens snaps you out of your thoughts. "You wanna come up?" maybe you ask out of loneliness, maybe spite or maybe you just wanna feel something that wasn't this.

The question hangs in the space between you both, he raises his brow slightly, almost surprised at the question "Is that what you want?" he questions, keeping his eyes on you as you leave the car, he follows shortly circling around to meet you at your side. You don't answer with words, instead you lean in to him, kissing him. And when he kisses you back, you smile into it.

Down the street, Jax is sat slouched in the drivers seat of his car, hood up and a cigarette burning between his fingers, half forgotten. He hadn't told anyone where he was going after the wake, he couldn’t. The minute he had a moment alone, away from the club, away from Tara, he slipped out without a word.

And drove here, to you.

No plan, just basic instinct. What he didn’t expect, was to see another man's car parked out front. To see you slide out of the passenger seat, laughing softly and then leaning in to kiss someone who wasn't him. He watched as you lead him in to your building, his hands clenched around the steering wheel, watching with those dark eyes, his stomach twisting with pure fucking jealousy.

But he pushes it down, because he knows he has no right to be angry, you were never his, not really. You fucked behind closed doors, behind his marriage, behind his club and behind all the lines he swore he wouldn't cross but did anyway. But the idea of someone else being in your bed, touching you in ways only he used to, hearing how you sound when you come undone makes him want to fucking snap. Still, he didn't move. He told himself he'd wait, wait until the guy left, even if it took all night, because he needed to see you. He didn’t deserve to, and he knows that, but he needed to anyway.

You let your date undress you with slow hands and soft kisses, the kind of intimacy that's more about escape than connection. No wild passion, no urgency just movement. Its the first time you've done this with someone who wasn’t Jax. Maybe that’s why it feels so strange. Not wrong, just...different. Unbeknownst to you, just a few floors below, Jax is stewing in the drivers seat, the cigarette long burned out, grief sitting heavy in his chest, alongside rage and something uglier, maybe betrayal, confusion or even guilt.

Back inside, you try to stay in the moment, focusing on the weight of another mans hands, the rhythm, the sounds filling the room, but your mind keeps drifting back to the nights laced in leather and danger. To the low sound of Jax's voice in your ear, the way he used to hold your wrists down in place like he knew exactly what you needed before you could even ask. And no matter how hard you tried to shake it, it was him that your body craved.

Eventually, you just wanted it to be over. You arched your back, gasped in all the right places and gave your best impression of something only Jax had ever been able to pull from you. And your date, he didn't notice, didn't ask, just finished alongside you.

Jax perks up the second he sees movement from your building entrance. He sits forward, eyes narrowing as the guy you went up with, now returns. His hair messy, shirt half buttoned and still adjusting his belt. The sight makes his jaw clench and his chest tight. He watches as the guy strolls casually towards his car completely unaware of the eyes on him. Only once he was out of sight did Jax move, shoving the car door open and doing a light jog across the street. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say once he gets to you, but it didn’t matter, he just knew he had to see you.

The sound of the door buzzing pulls you from your spiralling thoughts. You were still in nothing but your favorite oversized tee. Skin warm, face still flushed from earlier. Part of you wishing you left your date downstairs. Wishing you hadn’t tried to chase comfort in something that only left you feeling… even emptier.

You step towards the door with a sigh, pulling your tee down just a little as the intercom buzzes again. “Great…not only is the sex boring but he’s a forgetful bastard too” you mutter under your breath, picturing your date coming back for whatever it was he couldn’t keep track of. You swing the door open, fully expecting to see him standing there.

But it’s not him.

His eyes are red and tear streaked. He wasn’t even trying to hold it together. This isn’t the Jax you’re used to. Even the last time he had been here, frustrated, torn and full of guilt, he didn’t look like this.

This was something else entirely. “Jax…” your voice cracks a little, quiet and careful “…what’s wrong?”

He opens his mouth like he had the words, like he wanted to say something. But nothing comes out. His lips tremble as his throat tightens. And then, still without a word, he braces his arm against the door frame, and begins sobbing into it. His shoulders heaving like everything just snapped all at once.

“Come here” you say softly, guiding him to the couch. He doesn’t resist, but still doesn’t speak. You sit him down, moulding himself into the sofa as you sit beside him, close, but not touching. Giving him the space he needs to fall apart.

Your chest also tightens at the sight of him. You fucking hate seeing him like this. This isn’t Jax, he doesn’t cry for no reason, he doesn’t do this for attention, he doesn’t do this at all. He’s hurting, and you can tell. But no matter how much time has passed, no matter what fucking bullshit he’s dragged you into, you know pain when you see it, and it’s written all over him.

And for a while, he doesn’t say a thing. Just sits there, his hands clasped and his eyes fixed on the floor like he’s looking for the right thing to say.

Eventually though, he drags his hands along his face as he lifts his head slowly “Op…Opies dead”.

You never knew Opie, but you didn’t need to. You knew enough from the way Jax spoke about him, that rare softness in his voice when he did. The stories, the loyalty and the bond than ran deeper than blood. Opie wasn’t just a friend, he was his brother, his constant.

And now? He’s gone, which makes perfect sense as to why Jax looks like he’s one second from a complete fucking breakdown.

“Jax…I’m so sorry” you say quietly but genuinely. Because you are sorry. You hesitate a second before reaching out, your hand settling on his knee. It’s the first time you’ve touched him in months and you can feel the shift in his body immediately. How it eases under your touch. Enough to remind you that even after all this time, he still finds comfort in you, whether you want him to or not.

“We just said our goodbyes…” he whispers, “…had a little wake at the clubhouse…I, fuck. I feel like I’m gonna….” his knee bounces beneath your hand, and you can feel it, how close he is to breaking.

His voice cracking and his breathing becoming uneven. “He was my moral compass” he chokes out “I went to him with shit I couldn’t say to anyone else, not the club… not T…” He adjusts his position now, taking in a deep breath, his way of pushing the emotions back down.

“Sorry for showing up here, messing with whatever shit you had going on” his jaw ticks, the thought of you with another man, but he continues.

“We were inside Stockton…” he begins telling you what happened, the short version, the version he has to tell to people who aren’t part of the club. “…workin’ somethin', with a guy, carries weight, big name and money. Thought he would get us out of this shit we’ve been buried in” He stops, his jaw flexing as he adjusts his position on the sofa “he wasn’t suppose to be there. Got himself arrested to be inside with us” he holds his chin in his hands, deep in thought.

“There was a pipe in the other room, made us choose. One of us wasn’t getting out” his lip trembles, like he’s reliving it all again. “They beat him to death right in front of me” he says it like it’s still happening, like he can still see it, still hear it. “I couldn’t fuckin’ stop it” the tears flow again.

You don't say anything, not with words anyway. You just place your hand over his, gentle but still unsure. His hand is cold, but you squeeze, just enough for him to feel it. Just enough to say you still care. You pull away your hand before he can react, walking towards the kitchen.

There's an aching throb in your chest that wont go away. The kind that comes when you've used your body for the wrong reasons, when you've given someone else part of you, that deep down you know you only want one other man to receive.

The Jameson is right where you left it, the bottle that only ever gets touched when Jax Teller is around. You hate the stuff, usually. But tonight, things are different. You grab two glasses, bringing them back and setting them on the table. Jax doesn't say anything but his eyes flick to the bottle, then the glasses, finally landing back on you. He watches as you pour, heavy handed and unapologetically. The silence is loud now, heavier and sadder.

"Not like you" he mutters, nodding towards the bottle on the table, the faintest smile finally tugging at the corner of his mouth. It's not much, but its something.

You glance down at the glass in your hand, giving a half hearted shrug "Yeah, well...been doing a lotta shit that's not like me lately" You swirl the last of your drink.

You've both been talking for a while now, both looser, the edge worn down by the alcohol. The tension softening under the weight of everything you've been through in the last hour, or maybe the last two months. He hasn't said anything in a while, just sitting there, his eyes glazed over, watching you a little too hard. Then his voice cuts through the quite.

"Last time I was here..." he pauses, like he's unsure whether he should continue "...I told you I couldn't leave Tara or my boys"

You shake your head immediately "Don't..." you mutter, "...you're not here to talk about that"

"I meant it" he says, ignoring your warning "I still mean it"

You exhale sharp through your nose, your patience wearing thin and the whiskey running low.

"I'm not tryna reopen shit y/n...I just need you to know why I said that" he turns to look at you, his jaw clenched tight. "Tara's got ties" he sighs "Legal ones, she's a doctor. She's clean, smart...I'm a patched up criminal with a club full of felons" he lets out a humourless laugh "If she wanted to take those boys from me..." he trails off, looking away "she could…most days we don't even speak. I come home, kiss the boys and count down how long till they're asleep. It's like we aint even pretendin' anymore"

You press your lips together, trying to keep your own emotions in check. "So why stay?" the words come out like a whisper, like part of you didn't actually want to ask out loud.

"Cause I'm scared if I dont... I'll lose em for good"

You understand what he's saying. You've always known what Jax carries on his back. His kids, the patch, his own demons. You're not heartless, and you'd never outright ask him to throw away his world for you. But still, it feels unfair. So you decide to drop something on the table, something to balance the scale.

"I slept with someone tonight"

He doesn't move at first, not even a twitch. But you see it, the way his jaw tenses, the way his grip around the glass tightens. His eyes don't meet yours, not yet. They hover over your bare thighs, then somewhere past you, like if he doesn't look at you, he won't feel it as much.

"Yeah?..." he says, he leans back on the couch, not saying anything else, not asking questions, just taking it all in. You wait for a reaction. Anger, jealousy, a stupid comment, but neither come. He's just silent. And that? that's worse, because Jax doesn’t do silence unless he's trying real hard not to say something he cant take back. Finally, he licks his bottom lip, letting out a breath "Did it work?" He arches a brow, the question written on his face.

"No" you say softly, almost embarrassed "thought it would though".

He nods slowly, like the confession eases something in him, or maybe it makes it worse, you can't tell.

"You fake it?" he asks, his mouth twitching at the edges, like he's trying not to smile.

You laugh under your breath, rolling your eyes. That's all he needs to know that you did. "He didn't even notice" you add, slightly proud but there's a flicker of something hollow in your eyes.

Jax tips back the rest of his Jameson, wincing as it goes down "Shit…" he mutters, setting his glass back on the table.

You both laugh, that worn out familiar kind of laugh. The kind that used to fill your apartment before love started creeping in through the cracks you both swore didnt exist.

"I came back so many times" he lets out, his thumb brushing over his jaw. Your head turns sharply, caught of guard. He's not looking at you though, he's staring at his empty glass like it might just judge him. "I'd be parked just down the street...engine still runnin, thinkin' about comin up, but I'd just...I'd just fuckin ride off"

You laugh again, this time its not so forced "Thought I was going crazy...I knew I heard your bike some nights"

"Yeah...that was me" Its quiet after he says that, not awkward or angry just the kind of silence that lingers when two people have said everything without really saying anything at all.

You hesitate before you ask, your fingers fidgeting with the rim of your glass, your eyes stealing glancing at him. "Can I ask you something?" you almost whisper, like you're afraid the question might break the moment. Jax's nod gives you the green light. "Did you ever...tell Opie...about us?"

He doesn't respond at first, stretching out the silence full of things you don't quite understand but you can definitely feel. "Yeah. I told him..." He finally breaks the silence, low and rough. "Told him I was seein' someone, that it wasn't clean, or simple. But it felt... right"

You don’t say anything, you just watch him, noticing the way his shoulders curl inward like he's trying to protect something. "He never judged me, but he didn't say much. He liked to let me figure out my own shit' but I could tell he knew I was tangled up in somethin' I'd struggle to walk away from" He shifts, rubbing the back of his neck "He knew me better than I ever knew myself"

You reach out without thinking, your hand brushing away the smallest trace of a tear "I’m glad you told him"

He nods again, slower this time. "Me too" he holds your hand against his face "He would've liked you". The words fall from his mouth naturally and somehow, that means more than you expected it to.

Tara sits at the kitchen table, the house is dead quiet. The kind of silence that forms a humming sound. There’s a glass of wine sitting next to her, untouched.

She tried looking for Jax after the wake had settled. Waited around the clubhouse until the sky turned dark. Checked the lot, the chapel, the garage, even drove to crematorium, hoping that maybe he just needed some space.

But he wasn’t anywhere to be found.

Her phone rings, shaking her out of whatever day dream she was sat in. Unknown number. She hesitates, letting it ring once more before finally picking up. “Hello?”

“Tara Knowles?” The voice is calm, but a hint of sternness travels through it. “This is D.A Tyne Patterson. I believe you and I have some unfinished business”

Tara closes her eyes, inhaling sharply, the weight on her shoulders suddenly feeling heavier. “Why are you still calling me?” She asked but part of her already knows.

“You say you want out? You want to keep your boys safe? Then help me stop him before this war spreads further than Charming”

Tara says nothing for a long time. The air is thick and she can hear the clock ticking louder now. And then she speaks. “What do you need?”

“Everything” Patterson voice doesn’t change, the same sternness as before peeking through.

Tara nods, wiping a hand down her expressionless face but her heart splitting beneath the surface. “Okay”.

Photos & gifs do not belong to me 🐦‍⬛ Ugh. ngl I struggled with this one, it ended in so many different ways. I couldnt fucking think of a way Tara would just be like ok cool you're with someone new? Take the boys I’m off! bye see ya! so it got deep & as much as I LOVE angst I wasn’t even planning on them being in the same room again, BUT I acted on the vote that I took, and you all wanted to see them back together again, hehe. So will deffo be a 4th (& final) part but it’s gonna take me a while to weave that shit in. Also, I’ve got like 3 other things I’m in the process of writing which probably isn’t smart but that’s my brain for you lol.

Thank you all for the love & constant support. Honestly means so much, the comments, the likes, the reblogs, everything. This fandom, though small (in comparison to others) honestly, is the fucking best. Love you all 🫶🏽

xoxo secretly samcro

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: Firearms, tooth rotting fluff 🥰

Part 7

Sugar Spice & a little bit of Vice - 8

The first thing you notice is the scent.

The soft cocoon of blankets around you.

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

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

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

Your eyes blink open slowly.

It takes a second before it hits you—

This isn’t your room.

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

And then it clicks.

The robbery.

Happy’s place.

His bed.

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

You roll slightly onto your back.

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

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

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

Waiting.

Protecting.

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean to sleep for so long…”

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

“You needed it, girl.”

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

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

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

There’s a pause.

You glance at him, unsure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

You look up at him, puzzled.

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

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

You hadn’t noticed the tremble.

But he had.

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

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

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

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

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

He watches you. Not invasive. Just present.

Guarded but solid.

Your heart aches in a quiet, unfamiliar way.

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

But he didn’t.

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t talk much.

He never does.

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

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

“Girl. Sit with me.”

You don’t ask what’s in the bag.

You’re not that naive anymore.

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

Not afraid.

Not exactly.

But aware.

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

No pretense, no drama.

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

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

“Sit,” he says simply.

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

But he just lifts an eyebrow, waiting.

And so you do.

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

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

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

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

Almost tender.

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

“You ever see a .45 before?”

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

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

You nod, uncertain if he expects more.

“You scared?”

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

“No. Just… trying to understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s no illusion here.

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

Maybe kill.

You know that.

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

Someone very careful.

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

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

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

Happy notices.

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

Big, calloused hands.

Warm and rough.

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

Holding, not restraining.

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

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

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

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

Not a word. Not even a breath wasted.

But it feels like everything.

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

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

You don’t ask. Not yet.

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

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

You nod. Barely.

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so,” you whisper.

You didn’t expect to feel this calm.

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

Instead, you feel… safe.

Not because Happy is harmless.

But because, with you, he chooses to be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[etclouie]

girl dad jax girl dad jax girl dad jax

girl dad

ᯓ★ fem!reader

ᯓ★ jax and reader have a son together too in my head (so four kids total)

ᯓ★ i am a certified girl dad! jax believer

ᯓ★ soa masterlist | main masterlist

girl dad! Jax who was adamant from the moment you found out you were pregnant that it would be a girl

when finding out what the baby is, and the nurse announces that the baby is in fact a girl, Jax gives you a ‘told you so’ look

girl dad! Jax who boasts and brags that he’s having a girl to the rest of samcro, and already knows she’ll be loved by them too

talks to the baby bump about her various different uncles, and all about their different personalities

girl dad! Jax who is always with his baby girl whenever he’s home, doesn’t want to let her out of his sight because he’s so in love with her

you’ve most definitely come home to see them both cuddling on the couch on numerous occasions, bonus points with some random cartoon playing on the tv

girl dad! Jax who has grown weak to her puppy dog eyes and has him wrapped around her little finger

she gets whatever she wants from him and he’s not upset about it, simply shrugs if you point out that she has him wrapped around her finger

girl dad! Jax who is always there to kiss her booboos better after a little bit of playing rough with her brothers

if he hears her cry from playing rough with the boys, he’s scooping her up in his arms and kissing at any pain she has, wants to make everything better as soon as he can

girl dad! Jax who plays all the ‘girly’ games with her when the boys don’t want to

when you’ve been unable to find either of them, you’ll find them both in her room either having a little tea party or playing dolls together, even finding Jax making the high pitched voices that neither of you thought were possible

girl dad! Jax who treats his little girl like a princess and even takes her to go see all the new princess movies in cinema

has the biggest smile on his face when she puts on the different princess dresses, her small face all giggly as they watched the movies together

girl dad! Jax who has a complete family after his baby girl arrives, she’s the missing piece to complete his family 

he loves his boys, and always will, but his little girl just competes him. 

requests are open here !