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You arrived late after your shift at the garage, exhausted and starving, only to discover there wasn’t a single empty seat left in the room.

“Aw, sweetheart,” Tig called immediately when he saw you scanning the room. “You snooze, you lose.”

“You’re in my seat,” you shot back.

“There are no assigned seats.”

“You say that every time somebody steals your chair.”

“That’s different.”

You rolled your eyes and moved farther into the room, trying to ignore how everyone suddenly looked entirely too interested in where you were going to sit.

The problem with SAMCRO was that once they noticed something, they became vultures about it.

“Sit on the floor,” Happy offered.

“You sit on the floor.”

“I am on the floor.”

You looked down.

He was.

Cross-legged.

Like some terrifying tattooed monk.

Before you could respond, Jax Teller looked up from where he sat in the armchair near the bar, beer bottle balanced against his thigh.

“C’mere.”

Simple as that.

You blinked. “Where?”

A faint smirk tugged at his mouth.

“Use your context clues, sweetheart.”

Several heads immediately turned.

“Oh, shit,” Juice muttered under his breath.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Little bit.”

There really wasn’t anywhere else to sit.

And honestly, you and Jax had always existed in each other’s space naturally anyway. You’d known him for years. He stole your fries. You stole his hoodies. You patched up his knuckles when he got reckless. Somewhere along the line, affection had become second nature.

Still—

His lap?

In front of everyone?

Your hesitation must’ve shown because his expression softened slightly.

“Ain’t a big deal.”

That somehow made it worse.

Because suddenly you were very aware that it could become a big deal.

You tried to act casual as you crossed the room.

“You’re all assholes,” you muttered to the others.

“Correct,” Chibs answered cheerfully.

Jax shifted slightly, one hand bracing against the arm of the chair to give you space.

The second you lowered yourself carefully onto his thigh, the entire room went silent for one dramatic beat.

Then:

“OHHHHH, SHIT!”

You closed your eyes immediately.

“Jesus Christ,” you groaned.

Tig nearly fell off the couch laughing.

“Look at his FACE,” Juice wheezed.

“What?” Jax snapped automatically.

“That’s the softest expression I’ve ever seen on a human being,” Opie muttered into his beer.

Jax flipped him off without looking away from you.

And unfortunately?

They were right.

Because the moment you settled against him, instinct kicked in.

His arm slid automatically around your waist to steady you.

Firm.

Warm.

Protective.

Like it belonged there.

Your stomach did a weird little flip.

You were suddenly hyperaware of everything.

How broad he was beneath you.

The heat of him through denim.

The way his fingers rested against your hip absentmindedly.

“You good?” he murmured quietly near your ear.

“Yeah.”

Your voice came out embarrassingly soft.

He smiled slightly.

And somehow that made it easier.

Conversation resumed around you after that, though the occasional smirk still got thrown your way. But after ten minutes, the awkwardness started fading.

After twenty, you stopped sitting so rigidly.

After forty-five, you leaned back against his chest without thinking about it.

Jax’s fingers tapped lazily against your side while he talked business with Chibs.

At some point you stole his beer.

He didn’t complain.

At another point his chin briefly brushed your shoulder when he leaned closer to hear you over the music.

Neither of you moved away.

By the end of the night, you’d forgotten entirely that you were sitting on his lap.

Unfortunately, everyone else remembered.

“Jesus,” Tig said as you finally stood to leave. “They nested.”

“Like fucking lovebirds,” Juice agreed.

“More like a stray dog that followed Jax home,” Happy added.

Jax snorted.

You pointed at all of them accusingly. “You’re the reason women avoid bikers.”

“We’re charming.”

“You’re emotionally illiterate.”

“Also true.”

Jax watched you the whole time you argued with them, smiling into his beer like he couldn’t help it.

It happened again three days later.

Then the next week.

Then constantly.

At first it was always circumstantial.

No room at the bar.

No free chair during church prep.

Packed booth at the diner.

But eventually?

You stopped pretending.

Sometimes there were three empty seats available and you still walked straight toward Jax automatically.

And every single time, without fail, he spread his knees slightly to make room for you before you even reached him.

Like muscle memory.

Like instinct.

The club noticed.

God, did they notice.

“You know chairs exist, right?” Chibs asked one afternoon while you sat sideways across Jax’s lap eating fries off his plate.

“They do,” you answered.

“So why are ye sittin’ there?”

You shrugged. “Comfort.”

Jax’s hand rubbed slowly up and down your thigh absentmindedly while he read paperwork.

Nobody missed it.

Tig looked physically pained by how disgustingly domestic the two of you had become.

“You guys are revolting.”

“You cry during Disney movies,” you reminded him.

“That is unrelated.”

“You cried during Finding Nemo.”

“He LOST HIS SON.”

Jax laughed against your shoulder.

The sound vibrated through you warm and low.

And maybe that was part of the problem.

Because sitting with Jax became easy in a way nothing else was.

You fit together strangely well.

His hands always found you naturally.

Your body relaxed around him automatically.

There was never hesitation anymore.

You’d curl into him during long nights at the clubhouse while he talked business.

Sometimes his chin rested on your shoulder.

Sometimes your fingers played with the rings on his hand absentmindedly.

Sometimes he’d arrive late, exhausted from a run, and the first thing he’d do was sit down and tug you into his lap like he needed the contact.

Nobody said anything during those moments.

Not even the guys.

Because underneath all the teasing, everyone could see it.

You made Jax softer.

And Jax made you feel safe.

The girl appeared six months after the first lap incident.

Blonde.

Tiny shorts.

Too much perfume.

The type that walked into the clubhouse already looking for attention.

She spotted Jax almost immediately.

Which wasn’t unusual.

Women flirted with him constantly.

You normally ignored it.

But tonight was different.

Because she didn’t just flirt.

She touched.

Hands on his shoulders.

Fingers trailing down his arm.

Leaning into him while she laughed too loudly at things that weren’t funny.

You were sitting beside him on the couch at first.

Not on him.

Just close.

But suddenly you felt weirdly out of place.

Which was stupid.

You and Jax weren’t together.

Not officially.

Even if everyone treated you like you were.

Still—

Something ugly twisted in your chest watching her smile at him like that.

So before the feeling could get worse, you stood quietly.

Jax glanced up immediately.

“Where you goin’?”

“Nowhere,” you answered lightly. “Need another drink.”

But instead of coming back to him, you crossed the room and dropped into the empty seat beside Chibs.

The table went weirdly silent.

Because everybody noticed.

Especially Jax.

The blonde blinked at the sudden shift in his attention.

“You were saying?” she purred.

He barely looked at her.

His eyes stayed on you across the room.

You were laughing at something Chibs said now, but it sounded forced even to your own ears.

Jax frowned slightly.

Then the girl touched his chest.

“You wanna get outta here later?”

“No.”

She blinked. “No?”

“No,” he repeated distractedly.

Then he stood up entirely.

Actually stood up.

And walked away from her mid-conversation.

The entire clubhouse erupted instantly.

“OH MY GOD,” Juice screamed.

“She got dumped in real time!”

Tig was choking laughing.

The blonde looked furious.

Meanwhile Jax crossed the room directly toward you like he was being physically pulled there.

You looked up as he stopped beside your chair.

“What’re you doing over here?”

You blinked innocently. “Sitting.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Chibs immediately got up. “Actually, I need another drink.”

“You just got one.”

“Aye. Tragic.”

He disappeared before either of you could stop him.

Leaving only one chair.

Yours.

Jax looked at it.

Then at you.

Then finally said, quieter this time:

“C’mere.”

Your heart stumbled.

“You have a seat.”

“Don’t want it.”

The room had gone suspiciously attentive again.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Jax—”

“Baby,” he interrupted softly, “get over here.”

The endearment hit like a gunshot.

Dead silence filled the clubhouse.

Happy actually looked up from his knife.

Your face burned instantly.

Jax seemed to realize what he’d said about half a second too late.

But instead of taking it back—

His expression just softened.

You stood slowly.

Walked toward him slowly.

And the second you settled onto his lap again, his arms wrapped around your waist so tightly it almost felt desperate.

Like he’d been off-balance the entire three minutes you were gone.

The boys lost their minds.

“There they are!”

“Nature is healing!”

“Took Romeo long enough!”

“Somebody kiss somebody already,” Tig shouted.

You buried your burning face against Jax’s shoulder immediately while he laughed quietly into your hair.

But his grip on you never loosened.

Not once.

And later that night, long after the music died down and most of the clubhouse stumbled home drunk, you were still curled in Jax’s lap when he finally tilted your chin upward gently.

“You jealous?”

You opened your mouth immediately. “No.”

His grin widened.

“Liar.”

“She was hanging all over you.”

“She was,” he agreed.

Your stomach twisted again.

Then he brushed his thumb softly along your jaw.

“But I spent the whole time waitin’ for you to come back.”

The air disappeared from your lungs.

Jax’s eyes searched yours carefully.

“You know why?”

You shook your head slightly.

“Because every place else feels wrong now.”

Your heart nearly stopped.

And judging by the way he looked at you after saying it?

His might’ve too.

When he kissed you, finally, the entire world seemed to settle into place around it.

Soft at first.

Careful.

Like both of you were realizing this had been inevitable for a very long time.

Then your fingers slid into his hair and he made this low sound against your mouth that nearly melted you alive.

Somewhere across the clubhouse, Tig yelled:

“FUCKIN’ FINALLY!”

Neither of you even looked up.

The fight was stupid. Aren’t they all?

This one really was. At least it started out stupid, but only grew into a more serious fight the longer it went on. 

Jax had come home close to midnight, a tired, grumpy man who’d spent his day dealing with club business - most of which he hadn’t yet told you about despite one of his vows being to do just that, to keep you in the loop as best as he could. 

You’re his wife, after all. You deserved that, at least. 

He’d stripped out of his clothes, leaving a trail leading all the way to the bathroom, and that was only after he greeted you with a simple, chaste kiss to your cheek without saying a single word. 

That in itself made you a little annoyed, because after not hearing from him for most of the day, and after waiting for him to come home all night, that was all you got? Well, that and a now messy hallway. 

You bit your tongue as you followed the discarded clothing trail, picking up each one and wondering how bad of a day he had to justify needlessly making the house a mess, especially after you spent a good few hours cleaning it earlier, but you doubt he noticed that with how quickly he disappeared into the bathroom as soon as he stepped through the door. 

After you picked up his jeans, shirt and boxers, you lifted your gaze and looked at Jax through the foggy glass of the shower, your eyes narrowing at how tense he looked. “Long day?” you asked, and he just grunted, shaking his head and barely acknowledging you. 

“Yeah,” was all he said, and you lifted a brow, debating on whether or not to push him further, but you weren’t cruel. He obviously dealt with some serious shit today, if the red stain you saw on his jeans was anything to go by, and wanted to have a shower in peace. 

So you left the bathroom and entered the bedroom, stuffing his clothes into the laundry bin and making a mental note to do them as soon as you wake up tomorrow in hopes to get that stain out for him - not that he’d really care anyway. Another stain would just take its place soon enough. 

You went back into the living room, where you had been patiently waiting for him to come home, and sat back down on the couch. You picked up the book you’d been reading and had set down when you heard him come home, only to receive that vague greeting from Jax before he left you alone again. 

It was less than ten minutes later when the shower turned off, and only a few more minutes passed before you heard footsteps leading up to the living room, and when you lifted your gaze from the book and met Jax’s tired eyes, you felt your heart clench in your chest. 

He was dressed for bed, wearing just his sweats, and he looked exhausted, both physically and mentally, and you wanted to help him in any way he’d let you, because you’d both been each other’s safe spaces since you started dating, and you’d like to think that was still very much true now that you’ve been married for just over a year. 

But instead of giving you an explanation, or a proper greeting, or a gruff apology for his sad excuse of one, he gave you a tight lipped smile he didn’t even try to make reach his eyes. “‘M goin’ to bed,” he said, and you squinted your eyes at him, making him pause when he already started to turn away and head back down the hall. “What?”

You narrowed your eyes at that. Yes, he was allowed to have bad days, he’s the President of a fucking motorcycle club that gets put through the ringer damn near every day, and you’d never try to invalidate that, but to have him be so short with you and so distant wasn’t appreciated in the slightest. 

Your shoulders lifted in a sarcastic shrug, “Oh, hey, babe. How was your day? Mine was good, thank you so much for asking,” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word. You just couldn’t help yourself. “That’s usually how a normal husband greets his wife, you know.”

Leaving his clothes on the floor was one thing, but pretty much ignoring you was something else, and especially since this wasn’t the first time he’s come home this week in a bad mood and essentially ignored you in your own home. 

Jax let his shoulders drop, he let out a deep huff, “Don’t start,” he muttered, running a hand over his damp hair, and that only made you even more annoyed. 

You set the book aside, having not really read much of it anyway, and sat up a bit. “Don’t start?” you echoed, narrowing your eyes, “I’m way past that. What happened to your eye?” you asked, the beginning of a black eye that was obviously forming on the left side of his face something you’d noticed while he was in the shower, but didn’t say anything about. 

Jax propped his hands on his hips, his head tilting to the side in a way that told you he was already done with the conversation. It was a look you’d seen him give countless times to others, and he’d given it to you a handful of times as well, but everyone else didn’t get the same treatment that you did. You weren’t just anyone else, you’re his wife. “It’s nothin’,”

“It doesn’t look like nothing-”

“It’s just club shit,” he cut you off, effectively making you briefly shut up. “You know how it is.”

You pressed your lips together, your arms coming up to cross over your chest. “Yeah, I do know how it is,” you agreed, trying to reel your temper back in, because as much as he was pissing you off at the moment, you didn’t want to start a fight he obviously didn’t have the energy to have right now. “But I also know that you once promised to never keep things from me. Club shit included.” 

Jax went silent at that, and you watched the way his jaw locked, a muscle in his cheek twitching slightly. He waited a few breaths, no doubt trying to calm himself down too, before he softened his expression just a tiny bit. “Babe, I promise, it’s nothin’ for you to worry ‘bout right now, alright?” he said, seeming to hope that would be enough for now. “I’ll tell you all about it soon.”

But it wasn’t enough, because lately you’d been feeling detached from him, and like he was keeping things from you, and you didn’t like that. At all. “No, it’s not alright,” you said, standing up from the couch, and his eyes lifted with your movement. “Jax, you barely said a word to me when you got home, you left your clothes all over the floor, and instead of sitting down and talking to me about it, you just told me you were going to bed. I feel like we don’t talk anymore.”

Jax exhaled harshly through his nose, and he broke eye contact with you as he shook his head. “Look, I’ve had a long fuckin’ day, alright? I told you that,” he said, his voice raising a bit as his eyes met yours again. “I don’t feel like sittin’ down and talkin’ about it, okay? Is that alright with you?” 

Your eyes hardened at that, but so did his, and you’d come to a clear stand off, despite you simply wanting him to communicate with you a bit better. But that was asking too much of him, apparently. “Fine. Whatever,” you said, letting your shoulders drop even though your whole body was tense now. “Goodnight then.”

Jax let out a short huff, and he gave you a look you’d seen too many times to count at this point. “You mad at me now?” 

Yes, you were, but he clearly just wanted to go to bed and forget about today, and who were you to stop him? “No, Jax,” you answered, crossing your arms. He gave you another look, this one almost comically unimpressed as he mirrored your stance, his own arms coming up to cross over his chest. “Fine. Yeah, I am kinda mad at you.”

Jax huffed and shook his head, muttering something under his breath you weren’t able to catch. “So I deal with bullshit all day with the club, and then when I come home and try to leave all that shit behind me, I have to deal with my wife too?”

You squinted at that, his choice of words adding to the anger you felt burning inside of you. “You don’t have to deal with me, Jax. And I don’t think that’s a very fair thing to say to me,”

“But jumpin’ on my back as soon as I get home is fair to me?” he shot back, stepping around the half wall separating the hallway and the living room. “I expected you to be the one person who wouldn’t fuckin’ push me when I’ve already had a rough day.”

“And how am I supposed to know that? That you’ve had a rough day?” you asked, ignoring the sting you felt at the way he was so dismissive of you right now, like you were just another person to him instead of his partner. 

“The lack of greetin’ wasn’t obvious enough?”

You flared your nose at that, and this wasn’t going the way you wanted it to at all. Starting a fight was the last thing you liked doing with Jax, but you also didn’t see this de-escalating anytime soon. “You’re acting like an ass right now, Jax,” you said, ignoring his question you had a feeling he wasn’t expecting you to answer anyway. 

Your choice of words had his brows raising, and his head tilting back a bit. “I’m actin’ like an ass,” he repeated, stating it rather than questioning it. “You ain’t in no position to be sayin’ that to me, babe.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re actin’ like one of those needy chicks that hang around the clubhouse instead of my wife,” he grunted, his face lacking any resemblance of the softer side of him that always seemed to be around when he was with you. 

Hearing him reduce you to a needy chick, someone who just hangs around to get laid by one of the Sons, had your jaw clenching angrily. “You’re calling me a fucking crow eater? Are you fucking serious? Why?” you scoffed, “Because I just wanted my husband to look at me for more than five seconds and to have an actual conversation with me?”

“Because you keep fuckin’ pushin’ it when you know it’s just makin’ shit worse,” he said back, as if that justified his words. “You ain’t a crow eater, but you are my old lady, and when I need a fuckin’ minute to myself when I get home, you give it to me.”

A humorless laugh left your lips. “Oh, I give it to you? Is that what I’m supposed to do? We’ve been over that, Jax. You don’t get to boss me around like one of the Sons,” you said, “And how am I supposed to give you something you never asked for? Do you want me to read your mind? So I know you need a sec to yourself instead of taking it out on me as soon as you get home?”

“I didn’t want to take it out on you,” he said, and his voice raised even more. He was clearly getting as worked up as you are. “I tried to not fuckin’ take it out on you. But you just had to go and start somethin’, huh?”

“Don’t pin it all on me, Jax. That’s not fucking fair,” you glared at him, “You can’t just expect me to be all happy and understanding when you come home and fucking ignore me, especially since you’ve been doing it all week. How is that fair to me?”

“This life ain’t supposed to be fuckin’ fair, babe,” he scoffed, his biceps flexing as he crossed his arms more firmly over his chest, and any other night you’d be all over that, but you’d gotten so mad so quickly, you couldn’t even take a second to appreciate just how hot your husband is. 

You rolled your eyes and turned away, opting to just stop looking at him since the anger in his eyes wasn’t helping you calm down at all. How is he mad at you right now? When he was the one at fault here? “Don’t give me that,” you shook your head, “That’s bullshit. You can’t blame it on the life all the time, Jax. You were given many chances to leave, and to make shit better. It doesn’t get better, and you just have to deal with it and let me in, not push me away when it gets hard.”

“I’m not pushin’ you away. I’m tryin’ to not bring this shit home with me, but clearly that ain’t workin’,” he muttered, running his hand over his mouth. “And I ain’t blamin’ it on the life either. Things get hard sometimes, like right now. I’m dealin’ with a lot of shit with the club, and I don’t need you breathin’ down my neck about it as soon as I get home.”

“Me just wanting to talk to you counts as me breathing down your neck, now?” you asked, understanding the point he was trying to make about as much as he was understanding yours. Not at all. “What’s next, I have to ask you for permission to touch you in case you had a bad day and decide to take it out on me instead?”

“Jesus Christ,” he nearly yelled, his eyes darting around the room as if he was looking for a chance to escape, as if simply hashing something out with you was such a big thing to ask of him. “That’s not what this is and you know it. You don’t have to ask permission to do shit with me, alright?”

“But I’m supposed to be able to tell when you want space, then give it to you after you already made me feel like shit for caring?” 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit-”

“Well, you did. You made me feel like some idiot who needs to get permission from you to be able to talk to you, let alone touch you,” you cut him off, “And you make me feel like I’m some afterthought, that I’m just here for you to come home to. I’m your wife, Jax, I’m supposed to be the person you come to with this kind of shit, not brush off and ignore so you can bottle it up on your own.”

“You are the person I come to with this kinda shit-”

“It doesn’t seem like it. You’d rather barely say a word to me when you come home, then go back out the next day and do it all over again-”

“‘Cause you make it fuckin’ impossible to get a word in without you flyin’ off the fuckin’ handle,” he cut you off this time, and his voice was a lot louder than before. He moved to stand in front of you, towering over you and making you regret ever opening your mouth. But there was no going back now. “I don’t need to deal with you and your fuckin’ insecurities when I’ve got enough shit goin’ on, alright?”

You narrowed your eyes, your gaze as cold as his is. “My insecurities?” 

“Yeah. What the fuck are you even complainin’ about, huh? What, I didn’t greet you properly when I got home, so that means you get to be on my case for the rest of the night? To bring up shit that doesn’t even fuckin’ matter?” he was in your face now, angrier than he’s ever been with you, and you actually shrunk back a bit. 

“You’re out of line, Jax,” you tried to reel him back in, but you feared he was already too fired up, and you’d pushed him to his breaking point. 

“You’re the one puttin’ me outta fuckin’ line!” he yelled, and you flinched at both the loudness of his voice, and the way he raised his hand to brush his hair out of his face. He caught your flinch, and instead of instantly calming down, it only seemed to irritate him even more. “You thought I was gonna hit you?”

And maybe you should’ve assured him that, no, you didn’t think that, and you’d never think he’d ever put his hands on you like that, but you were still so mad, you didn’t have much control over what you were saying right now. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you did,” you said instead, even though it would definitely surprise you if Jax were to ever destroy your relationship beyond repair by hitting you. “The way you guys treat your old ladies, the way you treat women in general. I’ve seen the aftermath of an argument between your mom and Clay. It’s not pretty.”

You knew that would hit him hard. There was nothing he hated more than to be compared to Clay, and the fact that you insinuated him possibly hurting you in the way Clay had hurt his mom was pretty low. Even you knew that. It would cut deep for him to hear that you might actually believe he’d be capable of doing that to you, even though you didn’t believe that at all, but you were just so upset with him, you wanted him to feel the way you were feeling. 

Jax scoffed and shook his head, taking a few steps away from you. “You’re unbelievable,” he said under his breath. “I ain’t Clay. I’d never put my goddamn hands on you like that. Ever. You should fuckin’ know that.”

And you do know that, but you didn’t say that. 

Instead you turned away and sat down on the edge of the couch, feeling the way the tension in the room became less angry, but remained just as heavy. The argument seemed to be over, with neither of you wanting to continue it after that. 

“I’m gonna stay out here tonight,” you said, your voice rough from holding back tears. You looked down at the floor as you curled in on yourself. “I’ll sleep on the couch. I don’t want to see you right now.”

A humorless laugh left Jax’s lips, and he turned away, heading down the hallway towards the bedroom as he muttered, “I don’t wanna see you either,” 

That was by far the worst argument you and Jax had ever had. That was the most heated you’d gotten with each other, to the point of getting into each other’s faces and letting your mouths spew words without letting your brains think of the consequences for it after. 

You and Jax were both stubborn, and he was more hot-headed now that he’s the President of SAMCRO, and the longer you’re with him, the more unwilling you are to be treated like the other old ladies you’d met. It was definitely a clash, but you and Jax are usually able to make it work. You and he are usually able to talk things through before they get to a point where everything just explodes and you end up angry with each other. 

In the years you’ve been together, there have only been a handful of times where you and he couldn’t reach an agreement, or you couldn’t get each other to see your point of views on things, and even then, they weren’t as bad as tonight was. 

You felt your eyes sting, and you quickly reached over to flick the light off before curling into a ball on the couch. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it definitely wasn’t as soft as yours and Jax’s bed, and you almost wished you’d told him to sleep on the couch instead. 

But you ignored the flat pillow that was more for decoration than to be used as an actual place to rest your head, and you pulled the throw blanket up to your chin, leaving most of your lower half uncovered. 

This was the first time you and Jax willingly chose to not sleep in the same bed. Of course there were times where he ended up crashing at the clubhouse and you had to sleep alone in the bed, and there were times where you’d fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to come home, but he’d always bring you to bed with him, because you didn’t like not sleeping next to each other. 

And even though you meant it when you said you didn’t want to see him, it didn’t change the fact that your heart was hurting, and even though it was because of him, you still wanted to be with him in your room, not out here by yourself. 

But you were still so upset, and you were stubborn and bitter and didn’t feel like getting up and putting your differences aside so you could both get a decent enough sleep tonight. 

With your luck, it would just start round two, and you weren’t in the mood to deal with that at all. 

So you got as comfortable as you could, and tried to ignore that Jax was sleeping by himself in the bed you’d been sharing with him for the last two years. 

It took you what felt like hours to finally calm down enough to go to sleep, but it wasn’t peaceful. You were barely asleep, just unconscious enough to chase away the tiredness from the fight and leave you feeling slightly more rested, but it still wasn’t a good sleep. 

You weren’t sure what time it was or how long you’d been out here, but you were able to faintly hear the sound of the bedroom door opening, and the sound of a few footsteps. Even with your eyes closed, you could see the brightness slip into the darkness behind your eyes as the hall light turned on, but you didn’t fully wake up until a few moments later. 

The sound of more footsteps barely registered in your mind, and you were almost completely back to sleep when you felt the blanket you’d been using slowly lift off of you, and then felt a familiar hand slide under your back. 

You almost thought you were dreaming, because of course Jax would be in your dreams, but then you felt your body being lifted up, and you opened your eyes. You squinted at the harsh light coming from the hall and turned your head, burying your face in Jax’s chest as he slid his arm under your legs, keeping his other one wrapped around your back. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, using his shoulder to flick the light switch off when he walked past it, and you just groaned as he carried you the short distance to the bedroom. 

You knew he was taking you to bed, and even though you were still quite pissed at him, you didn’t try to get out of his hold, nor did you tell him to stop and put you down. 

He left the bedroom door open as he walked around the bed, and he gently set you down on your side of it. The sheets and comforter were already pulled back, and you melted against your cool, much comfier pillow as Jax pulled the covers up over you. 

You instantly cuddled under them, your eyes falling shut as he rounded the bed again and got in on his side next to you. You kept your back to him as he slid under the covers and moved closer to you, and you instinctively leaned back against him. 

“I’m still mad at you,” you mumbled as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back against his chest.

A much softer laugh than all the sarcastic and humorless ones from before came out of his mouth at that, and he laced his fingers with yours under the sheets. “Yeah, I’m still mad at you too,” he said back, and you tried to fight off a smile as he buried his face in your hair. 

You thought that would be the end of it, that he just brought you to bed since he didn’t want you to sleep apart unless you absolutely needed to, and you were still very much not on good terms right now, but the soft sigh you felt against the back of your neck had you refraining from falling asleep just yet. 

“What happened before,” he started, his voice low and much more gentle than it had been earlier in the living room. “It got outta hand. We both said some shit, but it ain’t gonna break us, alright? We just needed to cool off for a bit.”

You held his hand a little tighter, because despite all the things he’d said to you during the fight, that was what impacted you the most. “No. It won’t break us,” you agreed, and you felt the way his lips curled up just slightly against your skin. 

“That’s my girl,” he mumbled, and you fought off another grin, knowing that you and he would need to actually talk things out properly in the morning, but for now, you were more than content to fall asleep in his arms like you had many times before, and you held onto the hope that tomorrow’s conversation would be much more efficient that the one from a couple hours ago.

-

When you told Tig Trager about it later that night, he made a show of clutching his chest.

“He said another chance?” Tig repeated, horrified. “Like he’s auditioning for a romantic comedy?”

You snorted into your drink. “Pretty much.”

Tig leaned back in his chair outside the clubhouse, shaking his head dramatically. “I’m offended on your behalf. If a woman tells me no, I assume she has excellent judgment.”

“You say that now.”

“No, I mean it. I’d probably write a song about it. Something tragic. She rejected me because she was wise.”

You laughed, and his face softened immediately, like making you laugh was a mission accomplished.

At the time, it still felt harmless.

That changed two weeks later.

You were leaving work when you spotted his car parked across the street. Your ex sat inside, engine running, watching the entrance.

You paused with your keys in your hand.

He got out when he saw you. “Hey.”

Your stomach tightened. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“You could have texted.”

“I did text. You didn’t answer.”

You had ignored his messages because every one of them had been some variation of Can we talk?

“I’m not interested in talking,” you said carefully.

He stepped closer. “You’re being stubborn.”

“No,” you said. “I’m being clear.”

He sighed like you were the difficult one. “I know I messed up. I’m trying to fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix. We’re not together.”

“You don’t have to be so cold.”

You took a step back. “I’m going home.”

He looked frustrated, but he didn’t stop you. You got into your car and drove away, checking your rearview mirror more than once.

That night, you tried to convince yourself you were overreacting.

But then he started appearing everywhere.

Outside the coffee shop near your apartment.

At the gas station down the road.

Once, outside the grocery store, where he approached you with flowers in his hand and a smile that made your skin crawl.

“I brought these for you,” he said.

“I don’t want them.”

He frowned. “You don’t have to make this so difficult.”

You walked past him without taking the flowers.

By the time you told Tig the whole story, he was pacing in front of the clubhouse like he was preparing for a one-man stage performance.

“He said you’re making this difficult?” Tig repeated, voice climbing an octave. “The audacity. The drama. The complete lack of self-awareness.”

“It’s not funny anymore,” you admitted quietly.

Tig stopped pacing immediately.

His expression changed so fast it startled you. One second he was theatrical outrage; the next he was focused and serious.

“He’s bothering you that much?”

You nodded. “I keep telling him no. He keeps showing up anyway.”

Tig crouched in front of where you sat on the picnic table, resting his forearms on his knees.

“Has he touched you?”

“No.”

“Threatened you?”

“Not exactly.”

“But?”

You looked down at your hands. “He keeps acting like my answer is temporary. Like if he waits long enough, I’ll change my mind.”

Tig's jaw tightened.

“That’s not okay,” he said.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to handle this alone.”

You glanced up at him. “I don’t want you to do anything stupid.”

Tig put a hand over his heart. “Me? Stupid? Never.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Okay,” he admitted. “Occasionally stupid. But only in very specific situations.”

Despite yourself, you smiled.

His hand dropped, and he reached out carefully, touching your wrist just long enough to reassure himself you were okay.

“Tell me if he shows up again,” he said. “Any time. I mean it.”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

He looked personally offended. “Bother me? I’m practically a professional at being bothered. This is my specialty.”

You laughed softly.

Tig's eyes lingered on your face for a moment too long before he stood.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Call me.”

You promised you would.

For a few days, things were quiet.

Then one evening, you came home from work and found your ex sitting on the steps outside your apartment building.

Your heart dropped.

He stood when he saw you. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You stopped several feet away. “Why?”

“I wanted to apologize.”

“You’ve apologized.”

“I mean it this time.”

“I don’t care.”

His face hardened slightly. “You don’t have to be cruel.”

“I’m not being cruel. I’m asking you to leave me alone.”

He took a step toward you.

You took a step back.

Something about the way he looked at you then—frustrated, impatient, entitled—made fear prickle down your spine for the first time.

“Please leave,” you said.

He sighed heavily. “I drove all the way over here.”

“That was your choice.”

“You’re really going to make me leave?”

The way he said make me turned your stomach.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m calling someone.”

His expression changed again, this time to irritation. “Who?”

“You don’t need to know.”

You hit Tig's name.

He answered on the second ring.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The nickname hit you like a lifeline.

“Tig,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Can you come by my apartment?”

There was a pause.

“Are you okay?”

“My ex is here.”

Another pause, shorter this time.

“I’m on my way.”

You hung up and kept your eyes on your ex.

“You called your friend?” he asked, sounding disdainful.

“Yes.”

He laughed under his breath. “That’s dramatic.”

You almost laughed at the irony.

“You need to leave,” you said again.

Instead of leaving, he sat back down on the steps.

“I’ll wait.”

You stayed near the curb, phone in hand, pulse thudding in your ears.

The sound of a motorcycle reached you before you saw Tig.

He pulled up fast, engine rumbling, and swung off the bike before it had fully settled.

Tig looked from you to your ex and immediately spread his arms.

“Wow,” he said loudly. “This is not the romantic reunion I was promised.”

Your ex stood. “Who are you?”

Tig ignored him and walked straight to you.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, though your hands were shaking.

Tig noticed.

His expression changed.

When he turned back to your ex, his dramatic energy was still there, but now it was edged with something sharp.

“So,” Tig said, “let me get this straight. She told you no. Multiple times. And your response was to wait outside her home like the world’s least charming porch decoration?”

Your ex bristled. “This is between me and her.”

Tig tilted his head. “Interesting theory. But when someone is scared, the people who care about them tend to get involved.”

“I’m not scared,” you said automatically.

Tig glanced at you.

You looked away.

“Okay,” he said gently. “Maybe not scared. Maybe just done dealing with this bullshit.”

Your ex crossed his arms. “She’s overreacting.”

Tig's eyebrows shot up. “Overreacting? My brother in Christ, she asked you to leave her alone. That is a complete sentence.”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

Tig smiled, but it wasn’t his usual easy grin.

“It concerns me when someone I care about is uncomfortable,” he said.

Your ex looked at you. “You really need him to fight your battles?”

Before you could answer, Tig gasped dramatically.

“Fight? Sir, I came here for a conversation. Possibly a strongly worded monologue. Fighting is so much paperwork.”

Your ex scoffed.

Tig's smile vanished.

“She said no,” Tig said, voice calm now. “You need to respect that. You need to stop coming here, stop waiting for her, and stop acting like you’re entitled to her attention.”

For the first time, your ex looked uncertain.

“You’re threatening me?”

“No,” Tig said. “I’m telling you the truth. She does not want contact with you. If you keep showing up, this stops being annoying and starts being a serious problem.”

Your ex looked at you again, searching your face for hesitation.

There was none.

“I want you to leave me alone,” you said clearly.

He stared at you for a long moment.

Then he muttered something under his breath, turned, and walked to his car.

You watched him drive away before your knees started to shake.

Tig noticed immediately.

“Hey,” he said softly, moving closer. “Come here.”

You stepped into his arms before you could second-guess yourself.

He wrapped his arms around you carefully, one hand smoothing over your back.

“You’re okay,” he murmured. “He’s gone.”

You nodded against his chest.

Tig rested his chin lightly on top of your head.

“I would like to formally apologize,” he said after a moment.

You sniffed. “For what?”

“For not arriving with a cape. I feel like I missed a real opportunity.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“There she is,” Tig said warmly.

You pulled back enough to look at him.

“Thank you,” you said.

His expression softened.

“You don’t have to thank me for showing up when you need me.”

“But I do.”

He brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

“You called me,” he said. “That means something.”

“It means I trust you.”

Tig's eyes flickered with surprise and something deeper.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That means something.”

He walked you up to your apartment and waited while you unlocked the door.

“You want me to stay for a while?” he asked.

You hesitated.

“Please.”

TIg grinned. “Excellent choice. I make a very good emotional support biker.”

Inside, he settled onto your couch while you made tea.

“Do you take sugar?” you called from the kitchen.

“I take my tea with unreasonable amounts of affection,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself.

When you brought him a mug, he accepted it with exaggerated gratitude.

“This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” he declared.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, patting the couch beside him, “you invited me inside.”

You sat next to him.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The quiet felt different now—less tense, more intimate.

“I hate that he made you feel unsafe,” Tig said finally.

You looked down at your tea.

“I kept thinking I was overreacting,” you admitted. “Like maybe I was being rude by ignoring him.”

Tig turned toward you, scandalised.

“Rude? Sweetheart, someone repeatedly ignoring your boundaries is the rude part. You are not required to entertain a man because he refuses to understand the word no.”

You smiled faintly.

“I know that,” you said. “I just needed to hear it from someone else.”

Tig's expression softened.

“You never have to justify protecting your peace,” he said.

You looked at him then, really looked at him.

At the concern still lingering in his eyes.

At the way he was trying to make you laugh without dismissing what had happened.

At the ridiculous sincerity of him.

“You care about me a lot, don’t you?” you asked quietly.

Tig blinked.

Then he sighed dramatically and set his mug down.

“Oh no,” he said. “We’ve reached the emotional honesty portion of the evening.”

You laughed.

He smiled.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I care about you a lot.”

Your heart skipped.

“How long?”

Tig leaned back against the couch and looked at the ceiling.

“Do you want the dramatic answer or the truthful answer?”

“Both.”

He considered this.

“Dramatic answer: since the dawn of time.”

You laughed again.

“Truthful answer,” he said more softly, “for a while now. I just didn’t want to make things complicated.”

You stared at him.

“Tig…”

He looked back at you.

“I didn’t want to pressure you,” he said. “Especially with everything going on. I just wanted you to know you had someone in your corner.”

“You do make a very good emotional support biker,” you said.

He grinned. “Thank you. I’ve been working on my certification.”

You set your mug down.

“I care about you too,” you said.

Tig froze.

“Wait,” he said carefully. “Like care care? Or like thank you for the tea and emotional support care?”

You smiled.

“Like care care.”

For one second, he looked genuinely stunned.

Then he pressed a hand to his chest.

“You’re telling me this while I’m wearing my least romantic shirt?”

You laughed so hard you nearly doubled over.

Tig laughed too, the tension finally breaking.

When the laughter faded, he looked at you with a softness that made your chest ache.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

You nodded.

He cupped your face gently and kissed you slowly, like he was afraid of rushing the moment.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Well,” he said quietly, “that was worth every dramatic monologue.”

You smiled.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he said. “But I’m your ridiculous now, if you want me to be.”

You kissed him again instead of answering.

A week later, your ex sent one final message: I understand. I won’t contact you again.

You blocked the number anyway.

TIg approved.

“Healthy boundaries,” he said solemnly. “Very attractive.”

Life settled after that.

Tig still showed up at your apartment with ridiculous stories and terrible snacks.

He still turned ordinary conversations into theatrical performances.

He still made you laugh when your anxiety threatened to swallow you whole.

But he also listened.

He checked in.

He made sure you felt safe.

One evening, months later, you sat on your couch with your feet tucked under his leg while he complained dramatically about a minor inconvenience involving motorcycle parts.

“And then,” Tig said, gesturing with a chip for emphasis, “the universe personally decided to test my patience.”

You smiled at him.

He paused mid-rant.

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” you said. “I just like looking at you.”

Tig blinked.

Then he pointed at you.

“See? This is exactly the kind of thing I need to hear more often.”

You laughed.

He leaned over and kissed your forehead.

“I love you,” he said.

You looked up at him.

“I love you too.”

Tig smiled, bright and unguarded.

“Well,” he said, “that settles it. We’re officially disgustingly in love.”

You snorted.

“Disgustingly.”

・The first time Jax sees you, it’s at a forced truce sit-down in a dingy neutral bar on the edge of Charming territory, your father’s crew on one side of the room and SAMCRO on the other.

・ You’re sitting quiet and untouched in the middle of all that leather and testosterone, offering the waitress a soft “thank you” when no one else even looks at her.

・ Jax isn’t supposed to notice anything but the patched president across the table, but your kindness hits him like a bullet. He tells himself it’s nothing. He’s wrong.

・He starts showing up at places he has no business being—county fairs, the farmer’s market on the outskirts, anywhere your father might let you breathe outside his clubhouse walls.

・ You’re sweet in a way the MC life never allows: laughing at kids chasing ducks, helping an old lady carry groceries, eyes wide and innocent when you catch him watching from across the lot. Jax Teller, who’s buried bodies and watched his own allies burn, feels his chest crack open every single time.

・The first secret meeting happens because you slip him a note under the table during the next sit-down. Just your handwriting on a napkin: “Riverside bridge. Midnight. Don’t bring your kutte.” He rides there half-convinced it’s a setup, gun in his waistband, heart hammering like he’s eighteen again.

・ When you show up alone in a sundress, no makeup, hair loose, he realizes he’s already gone. You talk for hours about nothing—books, dreams, the stars—and he forgets the war outside this stolen moment.

・Your father finds out within weeks. He drags you into chapel, slams the door, and tells you in no uncertain terms that Jax Teller is poison, that if he ever catches you near him again he’ll put a bullet in Jax’s head himself and make you watch.

・You cry that night, but the next morning you find a small note that shouldn't be there. “Still worth it?”

・Jax starts risking everything. He lies to Clay, to Gemma, to the whole damn club. He hides his bike two miles from your house and walks the rest so no one hears the pipes. He keeps a second phone just for you, tucked inside his cut like contraband.

・ Every time he kisses you—slow, reverent, like you’re made of glass—he whispers against your mouth, “I wasn’t supposed to want this. I wasn’t supposed to want you.”

・ It starts to eat him alive. He watches you try to play both worlds: smiling at your father’s table while your eyes keep drifting to the door, terrified someone will notice the way you light up when his name is mentioned.

・ He sees the bruises your father leaves on your wrists when you argue. Jax punches a wall so hard he splits his knuckles because he can’t kill the man without starting an all-out war that would bury you both.

・ You become his safe place. In the middle of the night, after a run gone bloody, he shows up at your window covered in someone else’s blood.

・ You clean him up without a word, fingers gentle on his face, whispering that he’s still good inside. No one has ever looked at Jax Teller like he’s redeemable—until you.

・ He cries in your arms that night and hates himself for it, but he comes back every time the darkness gets too loud.

・ Your father tries everything to rip you apart: locking you in the clubhouse for weeks, sending prospects to follow you, even threatening to ship you to a cousin in Nevada.

・ Each time Jax finds a way around it, stealing you for stolen hours in motel rooms off the highway, on the back of his bike under the stars, anywhere your father’s reach can’t touch. The secrecy only makes the love burn hotter and the guilt sharper.

・ The first time he says “I love you” it’s during a screaming fight on the side of the road after your father nearly caught you together. You’re both shaking, terrified, adrenaline and fear mixing with something deeper.

・ Jax grabs your face, forehead pressed to yours, voice raw: “I love you. God help me, I love you, and I don’t know how to stop. Even if it kills me. Even if it kills us.” You answer by kissing him so hard you taste blood.

・Gemma finds out eventually. She corners Jax in the garage and tells him he’s being a selfish bastard, that this girl is going to get him killed and the club with him.

・But she sees the look in his eyes, the same helpless, stupid, all-consuming look John Teller once had for her and she softens just enough to warn you once: “You break my boy’s heart, little girl, and I’ll bury you myself.”

・ You don’t flinch. You tell her you’d rather die loving him than live without him.

・The relationship becomes a constant knife-edge of bliss and terror. Stolen kisses behind gas stations, whispered promises over burner phones at 3 a.m., Jax’s hands shaking when he touches you because he’s terrified every time might be the last.

・ You’re still sweet, still kind, still innocent in all the ways the world hasn’t managed to ruin yet, and Jax clings to that like a lifeline. He tells you one night, voice cracking, “You’re the only pure thing I’ve ever touched. Don’t let me ruin you.”

・Your father finally snaps and sets up an ambush on a run Jax is leading. Bullets fly and blood runs. Jax takes a graze to the side protecting one of his brothers, but the message is clear: stay away from my daughter or next time it’s fatal.

・When you sneak into the hospital that night, dressed like a nurse so no one recognizes you, Jax pulls you into his bed despite the stitches and holds you so tight you can barely breathe. “I’d die for you,” he whispers into your hair. “...but I’d rather live for you. Tell me how the fuck we make this work.”

・In the end you're just a modern day Romeo and Juliet, two kids from warring houses who were never supposed to fall, but did anyway. You keep choosing him every single day even when your father screams, even when the club threatens excommunication, even when the body count starts rising.

・ And Jax keeps choosing you right back, the VP who was supposed to be cold and ruthless, now soft only for one girl: the sweet, kind, innocent president’s daughter who somehow made the devil fall in love.

・ Because once Jax Teller loves you, he doesn’t stop. Not for clubs. Not for war. Not even for death. He’ll burn the whole world down before he lets your father take you from him. And you—sweet, kind, innocent you—will stand right beside him with your hand in his, ready to fall together.

Once he got to the door he held it open for you both. Once you were all inside he closed the door and began getting undressed. He watched as Rat helped you out of your clothes, planting kisses along the crow on your neck and shoulder as he did. Your little moans making him harder. After a few minutes Rat had you cumming on his fingers as Tig watched pumping his cock slowly as he watched your Old Man prep you for him.

“Watch and learn how a real man fucks” Tig had stated as he pushed you onto the bed. Hands spreading your thighs apart easily as Rat watched. Your Old Mans eyes rolling before locking onto your slick heat as Tig teased you with his tip.

“Good kitten. Just like that, taking it so well” murmured  Tig as he started to slide in slowly making you gasp as he stretched you. Biting his lip as he moaned as your soft walls gripped and fluttered along his length. “Fuck baby” he hissed as you tightened around him in response. “So tight” he groaned as he started to slowly fuck In and out of you for a few minutes as your hands fisted the bed sheets beneath you. All you could do was take what Tig was offering you as he slammed his cock deep within you. His fingertips digging into your hips already starting to leave bruises. Your muffled moans and the way your body gripped him tighter spurred him on “Good kitten. Just like that, taking it so well” murmurs Tig as you buck your hips trying to urge him faster. “Please” you whimper after a few minutes as you feel that familiar coil in your belly tighten. Tig was silent as his hands wrapped around your neck as he fucked you hard and fast. Stretching you in a way that was both pain and pleasure. Your moans were cut off as he tightened his grip, eyes wild as he watched your face as he used you. When your eyes started to roll he let go and pulled his cock from you.

 Pulling from you he flipped your body over in a swift movement before shoving himself back inside of you. Grabbing your hair in one hand he used it to pull you back towards him while the other hand slapped your ass. Tig was panting as he fucked you harder and faster his pace starting to falter. A rush of fluid and your clenching body told him you had cum again. Tig frantically pumped in and out of you a few more times before he released himself deep inside you. After a couple minutes he pulled from you slowly. His eyes fixed on your core as he dripped out of you and onto the sheets below, your hole clenching around nothing and your moans muffled as you sucked Rat off.

Scooping some of the mess up he spread your ass cheeks and pushed into your puckered hole making you gasp and gag around the cock in your mouth. Tig spent a few minutes stretching you before moving to his knees and guiding the head of his cock to your ass. “You can take it Doll” he murmured as he inched further in slowly as he felt you tense some. Tig jerked you off Rats cock as he sunk all the way in. “Wanna hear ya Doll” he murmured as he released your head. You practically sobbed as you buried your face into the mattress, hands clutching the bed sheets. Every muscle tense, every nerve on edge as your body tingles with pleasure. Your mouth hung open, a whine escaping as Tigs grip tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as he groaned. His eyes locked on the sight of himself disappearing into you as he picked up the pace. It’s like your  drowning in pleasure, every cell thumping in time with your heartbeat. Pussy desperately clamping around nothing, dripping onto the sheets below you. His thighs smack against yours, jolting you forward with every thrust as you drooled onto the pillows. “Fuck,” he groans, his voice low and strangled with bliss. “S-so good,” you manage to cry out as he  continuously hits home, making you fall apart. “You like that?” Tig demands as he delivers a firm  smack to your ass as he  continues his picks up his pace as he feels his balls tighten and his cock twitch. Slamming harder and pressing into you deeper. He presses his hand flat to your lower back lower back, pushing down making you arch more, practically present yourself to him as you moan into the sheets, biting into the material as tears pour down your face at the sensations building inside you. Your hands find Rats trying to ground yourself as Tig uses you.

“I… I,”you finally manage to get out, panting as Tig continues to fuck your ass, landing slaps t each ass cheek.  Your eyes rolling back as you moan out again. “I’m gonna cum”

“You gonna come Doll? Can’t hold on any longer? Gonna make a mess because you like my cock deep in your ass hmm?” Tig asks a smirk on his face watching as you come undone beneath him.”All while your Old Man watches, nasty little Kitten”.  Letting out another cry you jerk and twitch under him as your orgasms washes over you triggering his own.

Tig was humming to himself later that night as made his way down his basement stairs. He was ahead of schedule which was probably a good thing as he was still unsure how he was going to get his last conquest. He had been dropping hints and trying to lay the ground work to wiggle in but you and your Old Man had rebuked him at every turn. He had hoped you might be interested after hearing from Rats Old Lady about how good he was but you had simply said noted and moved on. Tig slumped onto his couch with a beer as he ran through all he knew about your and Juices sex live. There had to be a way in that wasn’t crossing the line right? Maybe casually toeing it? He thought to himself.

Return to Masterlist

You don't arrive in Charming like a whirlwind.

You arrive quietly.

Renting the little yellow house three streets over from Teller-Morrow because it was cheap, because the porch sagged just enough to scare away people looking for perfect homes, and because the backyard had enough room for the rescue dogs you insisted on fostering until they found families.

You work at the veterinary clinic on the edge of town.

You wave at people.

You bake when you're stressed.

You smile at everyone.

Including the tattooed biker with dead eyes who looks like violence wrapped in leather and denim.

Most people smiled at Happy because they were afraid.

You smiled because you were happy to see him.

The difference unsettled him.

The first conversation lasts twenty-three seconds.

"Morning."

He nods.

"You headed to the garage?"

"...Yeah."

"Tell Jax I found that escaped husky."

"...Okay."

"Thanks."

He walks away.

Twenty feet later—

"...Happy?"

He turns.

"I like your smile."

He stares.

"...Didn't smile."

"I know."

"You imagined it."

"Maybe."

You grin.

"It looked nice anyway."

For the rest of the day, Tig asks him why he keeps touching the corner of his mouth.

Months pass.

Then more.

Happy begins collecting pieces of you the way other people collect photographs.

The way you always kneel before greeting a nervous dog so you don't tower over it.

The fact that you read while waiting for your laundry to finish.

The way you absentmindedly hum when you're concentrating.

That you always buy two coffees because someone inevitably forgets theirs.

That your favorite season is autumn because "everything gets quieter."

That thunderstorms make you sleepy.

That your laugh changes depending on who's telling the joke.

He never means to memorize any of it.

It just...

Stays.

Chibs notices first.

Of course he does.

Happy starts disappearing.

Not literally.

Just..

Whenever you walk into the clubhouse, conversations lose his attention.

When someone mentions your name, he looks up.

If your truck drives past the garage, his eyes follow it without conscious thought.

One afternoon Chibs catches him standing outside TM for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

"What're ye doing?"

Happy doesn't answer.

Chibs follows his line of sight.

You're across the street buying flowers from the elderly woman who sets up a stall every Friday.

"...Ye waitin' fer somebody?"

"...No."

"Then why're ye standing here?"

Happy considers the question.

"...She's over there."

Chibs sighs.

"Aye."

"Mm."

"So why're ye over here?"

Happy blinks.

"...Didn't think about it."

It gets worse.

Happy starts carrying things he'd never carried before.

Ibuprofen.

Bandages that aren't for gunshot wounds.

Dog treats.

Granola bars because you forget lunch more often than you remember it.

An umbrella.

Tig discovers all of it while borrowing Happy's truck.

"What the hell is all this?"

Happy doesn't even look up.

"Stuff."

"For who?"

"...Her."

"You carrying emergency snacks?"

"...She forgets."

Tig stares.

"...Jesus Christ."

The realization arrives slowly.

Painfully.

Like a knife being pushed in one impossible millimeter at a time.

Happy stops volunteering for the dangerous jobs first.

Not all of them.

Just...

Some.

If there are two equally capable men available, he lets someone else go.

If Clay asks for volunteers, Happy actually hesitates.

The hesitation horrifies him.

One evening he catches himself mentally calculating whether a particular job is worth the risk.

Not for himself.

For you.

He sits in silence for almost an hour afterward.

A week later, Chibs finds him behind the garage cleaning weapons that don't need cleaning.

"You've been polishing that pistol fer twenty minutes."

Happy grunts.

"Mm."

"What's wrong."

"Nothin'."

"Liar."

Silence.

The rag keeps moving.

Metal gleams beneath his hands.

Finally—

"...She asked me somethin'."

"What."

"'You gonna be careful?'"

Chibs smiles faintly.

"And?"

"I told her yeah."

"...Were ye lyin'?"

Happy doesn't answer.

Because he doesn't know.

It happens on an ordinary Tuesday.

Which somehow makes it worse.

No shootout.

No raid.

No funeral.

Just rain.

The garage is quiet except for the steady tapping of water against the roof.

Happy and Chibs are alone.

One fixing a motorcycle.

The other pretending to.

Happy has tightened the same bolt six times.

Chibs finally gives up pretending not to notice.

"Spit it out."

"...What."

"Whatever's eating ye."

Happy doesn't answer immediately.

His hands stop moving.

For a long while all that's audible is rain.

Then—

"...She scares me."

Chibs looks over.

"...The lass?"

Happy nods once.

"How?"

Another silence.

Long enough that Chibs thinks the conversation is over.

Then Happy speaks so quietly the rain almost swallows the words.

"...She makes me want to be alive for a long time."

The wrench slips from Chibs' hand.

It hits the concrete with a sharp metallic crack.

Neither man moves.

Happy keeps staring at the motorcycle.

Like if he doesn't look at Chibs, maybe he won't have actually said it.

Chibs simply...

Looks at him.

Because in all the years he's known Happy Lowman—through prison stories, cartel wars, blood-soaked nights and impossible mornings—he has never heard the man say anything remotely like that.

Not I love her.

Not I want her.

Not I need her.

Those would've made sense.

This?

This is something else entirely.

"...Jesus."

Happy nods once.

"Yeah."

Chibs clears his throat.

"So..."

Nothing comes after so.

Because what do you say to that?

Happy speaks first.

"I never thought about getting old."

"No."

"I figured I'd die in the dirt somewhere."

"...Aye."

"Didn't care much."

"I know."

Happy's jaw tightens.

"Now..."

He exhales.

"...I think about fifty."

Chibs frowns.

"Fifty?"

"What if I don't make it."

"...Happy."

"What if sixty's nice."

Chibs stares.

"What if she's there."

The words are almost whispered.

"What if she's making coffee in some house somewhere."

Another pause.

"What if we've got dogs."

Happy rubs a hand over his face.

"What if she falls asleep on the couch."

His voice catches slightly.

"So now..."

He laughs once.

It isn't amused.

"I look at jobs."

He shakes his head.

"And I think..."

Another silence.

"...Can't die today."

Chibs feels something tighten painfully in his chest.

Because Happy Lowman—the man who had always seemed almost detached from his own mortality—is talking about retirement.

About mornings.

About growing old.

About ordinary days.

Not because he suddenly fears death.

Because he wants life.

A life.

With you.

"...Have ye told her?"

Happy actually looks offended.

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

He gestures vaguely.

"...Look at me."

Chibs does.

"I am."

"Exactly."

"...Happy."

"She's twenty-four."

"Aye."

"I'm..."

"Forty-nine."

"I know."

"She deserves..."

He trails off.

Something easier.

Something lighter.

Someone who doesn't have blood under his fingernails.

Someone who doesn't wake from nightmares already reaching for a weapon.

Someone whose future isn't measured in club politics and enemies.

Chibs sees every unfinished sentence pass through Happy's eyes.

"...Ye don't get tae decide that fer her."

Happy says nothing.

Three days later you're at the animal sanctuary outside town, trying to coax an elderly mastiff into taking his medication.

Happy appears carrying fence posts before you've even asked for help.

"You didn't have to come."

"I know."

"You busy?"

"I was."

"What changed?"

"You called."

"I asked if you had a shovel."

"So?"

"I didn't ask you to spend all day."

He shrugs.

"I wanted to."

You smile.

"Thank you."

He nods.

The rest of the afternoon passes quietly.

Repairing fencing.

Moving feed.

Checking gates.

It's peaceful.

Near sunset, you climb onto the fence rail to admire everything you've built.

Happy joins you.

Not too close.

Just close enough.

The dogs race across the fields below.

The sky burns orange.

"It's pretty," you murmur.

"...Yeah."

"I'm glad you're here."

His heart almost stops.

You lean your shoulder against his.

"So..."

"Hm."

"You ever think about getting old?"

Happy freezes.

"...Sometimes."

"I do."

You smile at the horizon.

"I think it'd be nice."

"...Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"I want a little house."

He swallows.

"Big garden."

"...Mm."

"Lots of dogs."

His chest actually hurts.

"And..."

You laugh quietly.

"I know this sounds silly..."

"What."

"I hope whoever I fall in love with gets old with me."

Happy closes his eyes.

Just for one impossible second.

When he opens them again, you're still smiling at the sunset.

Still unaware that you've just cracked his heart clean open.

"I don't need excitement forever," you continue softly. "I just... I want somebody who's still there when my hair goes grey."

You glance at him.

"What about you?"

Happy looks at the horizon.

Then at the dogs.

Then finally at you.

For once in his life, he decides not to hide.

"...Yeah."

"You do?"

"I'd like that."

You smile.

"I think you'd be good at it."

"...Getting old?"

"Mhm."

He lets out the smallest laugh.

"I don't think anybody's ever said that to me."

"They should have."

You study him for a moment.

"You know..."

"What."

"I've never been able to picture you disappearing."

His brow furrows.

"What."

"I don't know."

You shrug.

"Whenever I think about my future..."

Your cheeks warm.

"...You're kind of... there."

Happy's breath catches.

You look away, suddenly embarrassed.

"I probably shouldn't have said that."

"No."

"No?"

"I'm glad you did."

You finally meet his eyes.

They're softer than you've ever seen them.

"I've been trying," he says quietly, "real hard..."

"To do what?"

"...Not want things."

"What things?"

He takes one slow breath.

"...You."

Silence.

"I want mornings."

Another.

"I want coffee."

Another.

"I want dogs."

His hand hesitates before finding yours.

"I want grey hair."

Tears gather in your eyes.

"I want..."

His thumb brushes your knuckles.

"...As much time as I can get."

Your voice is barely audible.

"With me?"

He nods.

"So much it scares me."

You don't answer with words.

Instead, you step closer until there isn't any space left between you, reach up to cradle his face in both hands, and kiss him with all the quiet certainty of someone who had been waiting for him to find the courage to say what she'd known for months.

When the kiss finally breaks, your forehead rests against his.

"You know what I want?"

He shakes his head.

"You."

A smile—small, rare, and entirely genuine—finds its way onto Happy Lowman's face.

Not because the future had suddenly become guaranteed.

Nothing about your lives could ever promise that.

There would still be danger.

Still be loss.

Still be days when the road ahead looked uncertain.

But for the very first time, Happy found himself hoping to see the end of that road.

Not because he feared dying.

Because he had finally found someone worth living beside.

And as the sun disappeared behind the hills and the dogs barked happily in the fields around them, he slipped his fingers through yours and silently made himself a promise he had never made before.

He would fight for tomorrow.

Not out of duty.

Not for the club.

Not even for himself.

“Have sex with me-“

“Yeah, I- I heard you the first time, that’s not-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “It’s eight in the fuckin’ morning-“

“It’s eight fifteen.”

That earns you a flat look, and you smile innocently.

“That’s fifteen extra minutes, it matters-“

“Not for this. And- I ain’t even showered yet-“

Your nose wrinkles. “Why haven’t you showered?”

“I shower after coffee,” Dean mutters, turning his mug in his hands. “If I don’t, Sammy’s stinkin’ up the kitchen from his run.”

“Oh- Okay.” You clasp your hands behind your back, peering at his tight jaw, his mussed, soft-looking hair. “Is that… A yes?”

Dean’s eyes widen on yours. You’re worried he’s going to choke on the air this time. “Yes?”

“Are you going to have sex with me,” you clarify, and his mouth falls open.

“I- I’m- You’re-“ His throat bobs, and he starts to look around the room with a worried squint. “Are you fuckin’ with me?”

You frown. “Why would I be fucking with you?”

“’Cause, sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He lets out a sharp breath. “Is it Sam? Did he put you up to this? ‘Cause I told him- That kinda prank, it’s off the table-“

“What kind of prank?” You’re a little lost, and there’s shame starting to burn up your neck.

A prank. He thinks it’s a prank.

It’s not. You’re so serious it’s almost embarrassing. You wouldn’t have asked him if you weren’t. You’d almost talked yourself out of it, after spending too much time convincing yourself into it. Nights of tossing and turning in bed, an insatiable and aching heat between your legs and the sheets bunched around you in a mockery of a body. Weeks of watching the boys slip out of bars with women that seemed to fall into them like magnets while you spun around, alone on a barstool without any prospects.

Months, of watching Dean with a flush he never saw. An adoration written all over your face he didn’t seem capable of noticing. You’d tried to stomp it out. Your stupid, useless little crush. Dean was older. Seasoned and desirable in the way that made you wonder if he was even real sometimes. Out of your reach, tantalizing, and impossible to just forget about. 

You’d neglect your feelings in the hope they’d die, but he’d water them until they were in full bloom and overtaking your heart and mouth and head. He’d buy the snacks you like and let you chose the movie. He’d open doors and let his hand linger on your lower back, he’d smile at you in the dim light of the Impala and make you feel like the only person in the world, he’d call you when he was away on a separate hunt every single night, just to update you. He’d play wrestle you for the remote, and somehow never manage to wonder why he always won when he’d see you take down men closer to Sam’s size with barely a grunt of effort.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” he’d whisper in your ear, when he had you pinned on the floor beneath him, and you’d have to swallow down your moan.

He’d get up, turn on the TV, and leave you on the couch while he went to the bathroom. You’d sit with your knees to your chest and your breathing uneven, unable to focus on anything but the ghost of his body over yours. The heat of him, the way his arms had caged you in, his knee pressed far too close to your neglected core.

If Dean knew how you dreamed about him—how those moments followed you into bed, every single night—you’re so sure he’d never look at you again. He doesn’t see you like that, you’re sure. You’re the kid they took in, the annoying girl who’s got too much mouth on her and not enough experience, in every possible way.

You’ve never done sex. You sort of just missed the window, where it’s supposed to happen, and then it became too big a deal, then you met Dean and you were lost. What was the point of being with anyone else, when you had his shoulder bumping yours in the hallway. When you were so hopelessly in love with him, you think your heart might beat out of your chest like a cartoon every time you see him.

So you made a choice, a few weeks ago. A choice it took a lot of courage to work yourself up to following through on

You just need to have sex. With someone. Anyone. Preferably Dean. It just needs to be done and over with—one time, where he doesn’t know he’s taking your virginity, where he’s peacefully oblivious of your worship of his very existence—and then you can try to move on. Once you’ve had sex, it won’t be this big monster you shy away from anymore. It’ll just be another thing.

So you’re asking Dean. Outside of your alternate motivations, it’s a sound strategic call. You know about his prowess. He’s bragged to you about all his five-star reviews. And maybe that always made you gag over a toilet bowl after, but if it did, that’s none of his fucking business.

Maybe you’re not up to par with his usual partners, but you can do your makeup, or he can turn off the lights, or whatever else makes it easier for him. Anything that makes him touch you. You won’t even cry about it in front of him.

But he thinks it’s a prank. Why would he think it’s a prank.

“You know,” he says, watching you wearily. “Sammy gives you a tenner, you come and ask me for sex, everyone gets a good laugh at Dean. Good joke. Classy.”

You wrap your arms around your stomach, shrinking slightly into yourself. “It’s not a joke,” you mumble. “I- I was serious.”

“You were serious?”

He says it like it’s insane. You shrug, fixing your gaze on the floor. A joke. He thinks fucking you would be a joke.

“Sweetheart-“

“You don’t have to,” you take a step back, trying to sound casual. Like your heart isn’t being torn to ribbons.

You really hadn’t expected him to leap at the opportunity, but this is so close to cruel it hurts. Tears are threatening your eyes, and a lump is forming in your throat. Pathetic, a voice spits in your head. Why the fuck would he ever want to fuck you.

“Wait, just- Hold on-“

You look up, faster than you want to admit. Dean staring at you with pale face and slack jaw, throat working like he’s swallowing his own words every second. You wait, because you’re a fucking useless idiot. Bouncing nervously on your feet—they’re smarter than the rest of you, they want to run—and trying not to melt under his gaze.

“You’re actually askin’ me to fuck you?” He rasps, and you nod.

It’s the tiniest motion of your head. Dean shifts in his seat, staring at you with wide, dark eyes.

“Why?”

“Why?” You frown, saying the first, easiest, least embarrassing reason that pops into your head. “Because- You- You’re good at it?”

“I’m good at it,” Dean repeats. “You wanna fuck me ‘cause you think I’d be good at it?”

You wish he’d stop saying fuck like that. With a harsh ending and low drawl. “I don’t think,” you offer. “You’re the one who said you would be.”

Dean’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t look amused. “I could be lying, sweetheart.”

“I don’t think you are.”

He stares at you. His eyes flick up to the ceiling—maybe he still thinks he’s on a prank show—and he lets out a sharp, slow breath from his nose.

Then he shakes his head, and you feel the echo of your heart as it howls in pain.

“No,” he mutters. “I ain’t- Doin’ that. Not just ‘cause you- No.”

You blink at him, the world blurring a little. You stumble back, and Dean says your name, moving to his feet. You shake your head, moving back another step. Your eyes are stinging with tears, but that’s not his problem. He’s allowed to reject you. You’re also allowed to cry about it.

“Sweetheart-“

“It’s fine.” Your voice is too high. Too wobbly. “It’s- That’s okay.”

“No, just- Fuck-“ He rubs his jaw. “Listen to me, alright-“

“You don’t have to explain,” you shrug weakly. “It’s okay.”

Dean gives you a disbelieving look, but you move further back before he can try to make you feel better about the rejection. It’s not going to help.

“I’ll just-“ You look over your shoulder. To the door, just one more step back.

Dean says your name again. When you look back, he’s reaching to you, trying to beckon you back into the kitchen. You smile, tight and watery.

“Thank you for your consideration.” You say, because you’re a fucking idiot. Dean certainly looks at you like you’re one.

You flee the kitchen. He calls your name again, but this time you don’t look back.

Rejection is fine. You’re fine. You’re so fine, you lock yourself in your room for the rest of the day and eat so much ice cream your stomach hurts. Because it’s fun. It’s fun to cry over something you never even had.

At least you anticipated this. You have a very solid plan B.

If Dean won’t sleep with you, you’re going to find someone who will. You’re going to get it over with. This week.

You’re learning something about yourself.

You are not good at flirting.

The first thing you try is the bars. Sam and Dean slide into a booth, and you go to get the drinks. A guy makes eyes at you, and you smile sweetly in return. When you bring the drinks back, you set the beers down in front of the boys and turn back on your heels to give the bar-guy a shot.

Dean says your name, and you freeze. You always do that for him. It’s a habit you don’t think you’re able to break.

“Where’re you going?” He frowns at you, one arm slung around the back of the seat. Around where you’d usually sit.

“Bar,” you say lamely, and the lines on his face deepen.

“Why, you forget something?”

“No.”

“Then what-“

Dean cuts himself off, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. To the bar. To the man, waiting for you with a smirk, because you promised you’d be back.

Dean grunts your name, low and rough, and if he asked you to stay, you don’t think you’d be able to tell him no.

Things have been strange, since the kitchen. Neither of you have brought it up, and Dean hasn’t stopped treating you the way he always has, but there’s something charged beneath it. A live wire that frays and crackles, every time your fingers brush or your eyes meet. You’ve caught him staring at you with an open mouth a few times. Last week he tried to talk to you, alone in the Impala while Sam got snacks from a gas station. You announced that you had to shit, and scrambled out of the car.

You don’t want to talk about it, and Dean has no right to make you. He’s not the one who got his heart broken. He’s not the one who sort of wants to cry, whenever your eyes meet.

He certainly has no right to glare at you, when he puts together what you’re doing. He said he wasn’t going to sleep with you, and you’re a grown woman. You can, if you so please, have casual sex with a stranger. It is your right.

“You can’t be for real, sweetheart-“

“Dean.” Sam stares at his own beer, looking like he wants to vanish into the floor, and Dean scowls.

“C’mon, Sammy- Tell her she’s being crazy-“

“Crazy?” You snap, and Dean leans back in surprise. “You fuck around all the time, how is it crazy that I’d do the same thing?”

“It’s not- You just- You don’t-“ He swallows. “You don’t do this-“

“I do now.”

“Sweetheart, just- Sit down-“

You flip him off, and march back to the bar before he can ask with a little more conviction. You just need to break out of his orbit. To force yourself to realize that there are plenty of other men, and not having Dean isn’t the end of the universe.

Unfortunately, you sort of just keep proving the opposite.

“What’s a pretty little thing doin’ in a place like this?” The first guy at the bar asks, and you fumble.

You have no idea. You giggle nervously and spin in your chair, speaking words you can’t really hear. He seems into it—no matter how pathetic you must be coming off—until his fingers brush your arm, and you flinch back because his skin is cold. It sends a shiver up your spine that’s not the hot rush of Dean’s touch, but the sliver of a snake.

You go home alone that night, and you don’t look Dean in the eyes. He tries to talk to you, before you retreat to your room. You ignore him, because that’s the only way this is going to work. 

But you try again and again and again, and you never get anywhere. They always touch you, and it all falls apart. You look at them too long, and you can’t manage to squeeze them into a Dean shaped hole in your heart, and there’s no way forward. You try dating apps. That goes worse. Every dick pic you get sent just makes you wonder if sex is even something you want. They’re all worm-shaped and ugly. At least dildos come in nice colors. Maybe you should just buy a dildo.

No. You’ll just pretend it’s Dean all the time, and that’s the opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing here.

So you keep trying. And you keep failing. And Dean’s been looking at you weird—brow pinched and jaw set, every single night—and you’re getting desperate and fuck it.

“Sam.”

Sam hums, not looking up from his book. You clear your throat, leaning further over the table.

“Sam.”

“I’m listening, what’s-“

“Have sex with me.”

Sam, to his credit, doesn’t choke. He just goes very, very still, and looks up at you with an expression close to horror. He says your name slowly, and you shake your head, holding up a single hand.

“Just- Listen-“

“No?” Sam gapes at you. “I’m not- I’m not going to listen to that- Jesus Christ-“

“Come on, we could turn off the lights, and- I wouldn’t make it weird-“

“It’s already weird-“

“You’d be doing me a favor-“

“I’d be making a death wish!” Sam’s voice drops to a hiss. “Dean would fucking kill me.”

 You roll your eyes. “Then don’t tell him, dumbass.”

“No, I- I’m not doing that.” Sam shakes his head, like he’s trying to jolt the image free. “To you. Or him.”

“To him?” You narrow your eyes. “I- What the fuck would this do to Dean?”

Sam gives you a puppy-eyed, hopeless look. “I… Can’t say.”

“Sam Winchester-“

“Why are you asking me?” Sam whines. “I’m not- You’re not even into me-“

“Exactly, there would be no strings attached-“

“That’s not healthy-“

“Fuck off, like you don’t have casual sex-“

“I mean, I do, but I’m not-“ Sam cuts himself off, sighing dramatically. “Just- Why would you even want to have sex with me?”

You flush, but shrug. It’s just Sam. It’s easier to tell him than Dean. “I want to get it over with.”

“Get it over with?” Sam echoes. “It- You mean sex?”

You nod, and Sam blinks.

“Are you a virgin?”

“Maybe.”

“You- You’re-“

“Don’t be an asshole-“

“No, I’m not- I mean- It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. It actually-“ Sam frowns at the air. “It makes sense, I guess.”

That makes you scowl. “It makes sense?”

Sam shrugs, giving you an apologetic smile, and you can’t even think of an argument. You sigh, your shoulders slumping, and Sam clears his throat.

“You know I’m not going to sleep with you, right?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, and he nods slowly.

“Does Dean-“

“No.” You point a stern finger at him, and Sam raises his hands in surrender.

“I think you should-“

“Sam. I’ll cut your balls off.”

“I- Okay.”

You give him one last glare, and go to leave. But before you can go, the question scratches up your throat. You turn around, hands tucked behind your back, and speak softly. “Would you?”

Sam blinks. “What?”

“If you didn’t- Know me,” you mumble. “If we weren’t like- Friends. And you just met me, and I asked you- Would you?”

Sam snorts, and you scowl.

“I’m serious-“

“Yeah, I know you are.” Sam’s lips twitch. “It’s just- Yeah. I would. Of course I would.”

You stand a little taller. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean- You know you’re attractive, right? If you just didn’t, like, annoy me. I’d be in.”

“I do not annoy you-“

“You’re annoying me right now.”

You laugh despite yourself. Sam smiles, his voice dropping to something gentler.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you,” he says your name slowly. “I just- Don’t want to be lucky.”

You huff in amusement—if Sam isn’t lying, aversion to luck is a family trait—but dip your head. “Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome. And-“ Sam pauses, looking you up and down with a strange expression. “I’m sure the whole- Thing will work out for you. There are… People. I think you’re going to figure it out.”

“You need to sleep with her.”

Dean needed to stop drinking coffee when people walked into the kitchen. This was the second shirt he’d ruined in as many months, and it was because everyone kept saying crazy fucking shit.

“Sammy, what the fuck-“

Sam said your name, and Dean’s hands fisted on the table.

Again. Son of a bitch, he was about to go through this again. The first time had been bad enough. You’d looked at him with glossy, hopeful eyes, practically begged for him to fuck you, and Dean had wondered if he’d died in his sleep last night and been dragged back to hell. Forced to experience some new kind of torture Crowley was developing, where everything he’d ever wanted was just a stretch away from his fingertips, and he wasn’t allowed to take it.

He had to be the noble one here. The wise, old asshole who didn’t take advantage of you. Taking you up on that offer would be one of the worst things he’d ever done. It would be selfish, and cruel, and a worse fate than anything else. To get what he wanted, for one night, then never fucking have it again. To get hooked—because he would, he fucking knew he’d never be able to kiss and touch you once then go back to just living—and turn into an addict willing to do anything to get another hit.

Dean would’ve turned into a bigger creep than he already was. Instead of stares and long, shameful showers with his cock in his hand and your name on his lips, he’d stuff your panties in his pocket and press them to his nose while he fucked himself raw. He’d get possessive, he’d snarl at anyone else who got to close, he’d fall to his knees and beg you to stay if you ever decided you had enough of him.

And he knew that last thing was going to happen eventually. You had a whole life ahead of you, and he was stuck here. In this dim bunker with blood on his hands and under his feet and staining his past and future all at once. He swam in a river of it. In front of him, behind him, washing over him all the time, there was just fucking blood. You deserved better than that. Better than Dean. You deserved the fucking world.

So he’d told you no, and you’d looked at him like a wet fucking kitten he’d kicked into the rain, but it had been for your own good. You’d get over it. Dean was the one who had to watch you flirt with douchebags at the bar. Who couldn’t get in another bed anymore, because he kept getting kicked out for moaning your name.

He was the one who was rooted here forever. You’d find something softer. Something good.  He’d accepted that, with a lot of beer pushing it down. You’d find something better, and that was what he wanted.

Sammy knew all that. Dean had gotten drunk once and confessed his stupid, undying feelings, then sworn Sam to secrecy in the morning. He’d kept his word, only shooting Dean sad looks whenever you went off to flirt and smirking whenever Dean called you on a hunt.

But now he was asking Dean to sleep with you. Like he’d lost his damn mind.

“No,” he grunted, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Look, Dean, I get that you’re being cool and righteous and whatever-“

“I’m not fuckin’ her, Sammy- I shouldn’t.” He shot Sam a glare. “You know why I shouldn’t.“

“Yeah, well, I think your why is pretty stupid.” Sam said flatly. “You’ve never even asked her if she’d be- You know. Open to it-“

“I know she’d be open to it,” Dean scowled at his coffee. “But that’s- I ain’t doing it, Sammy. Never.” Not like that.

Sam was silent for a moment. When Dean looked up, he was staring at him with wide eyes. “She asked you first, didn’t she.”

Dean frowned. “What’d you mean, asked me first-“

“To take her virginity.”

He hadn’t taken a sip of coffee again. This time, he managed to choke on nothing at all. “To- What?”

Sam leaned back slightly. “Did she not ask you to sleep with her?”

“No, she did, I just didn’t fuckin’- She’s a virgin?”

“I guess,” Sam shrugged. “You know that’s not a big deal, right?”

Dean grunted. His head was spinning. Of course it wasn’t a big deal, he didn’t care. He’d wanted you before, he wanted you now, that wasn’t the fucking issue.

But you’d asked him.

You’d asked him to fuck you. You’d wanted him to- Do it. Take it. Pop it, whatever. You’d chosen Dean, to be the guy, and he’d told you no, and then you’d started flirting around with other people, and you could’ve ended up with someone dangerous, someone who took advantage of you, who thought your inexperience was hot for all the wrong reasons and hurt you and-

Dean paused. He looked at Sam. Sam blinked, and Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“How the fuck do you know that.”

Sam swallowed, taking a small step back. “Uh…”

“Sam-“

“She might’ve… Asked me.”

“She what-“

“I said no!” Sam said quickly. “I told her I wouldn’t. But- You know.” Sam cleared his throat. “If you’d said yes to her the first time…”

Sam gave him a pointed look. He was asking to get punched in the fucking face.

“No.”

“Dean, just-“

“No. I’m not takin’ advantage of her, Sammy, I’m not-“

 “It’s not taking advantage of her if she wants it!”

“She doesn’t want it-“

Sam snorted. “Oh, fuck off.”

Dean blinked, leaning back in his chair. Sam turned a little red, wincing at himself, but didn’t back down.

“Wow, Sammy. Big claws, huh.”

Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. “Dean… Just- Think about her, okay?”

Dean almost laughed. “All I fuckin’ do is think about her-“

“Then think a little harder.” Sam said flatly. “Before both of you get actually hurt.”

Dean didn’t have an answer to that. Sam didn’t seem to be asking for one. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Dean alone. With only his coffee mug and thoughts for company. A dangerous thing to do. Dean could talk himself into and out of almost anything, if the logic police weren’t there to stop him.

He was going to do something really fucking stupid and selfish, and it was all Sam’s fault.

“Come in!” You call to the knock on your door, glancing up from your laptop as the door creaks open.

Dean shuffles into your room with his head bowed. Your face heats, and you slam the laptop closed. He doesn’t need to see you scrolling through hookup websites and think any lower of you. You’re already losing sleep over the worry you’ve fractured something between you beyond repair.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he swallows.

“Uh- Hey.”

“Hi.” What the fuck is wrong with you.

Dean’s lips twitch. “Hey.”

You start to pull the sheets between your fingers, trying not to ogle him too obviously. He’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt, and it’s sexier than all the profile pics you’ve spent hours staring at. His hair is a mess, and there are bags under his eyes, and you don’t think you’ve ever wanted to climb over him more.

“You, uh-“ He glances at your computer. “You busy?”

“No- No.” Never for him. You shove your computer onto your bedstand, moving to sit on your knees. “What’s up?”

Dean’s throat bobs. He runs a hand through his hair, huffing something close to a laugh, and shakes his head. “Jesus.”

“What-“

“Nothin’.” He clears his throat, giving you a strange look. “Did you ask Sam to sleep with you?”

Your mouth falls open. You almost trip sitting down. “I- I didn’t-“

“You didn’t?”

“No, I mean- I- He wasn’t supposed to tell you,” you whine, avoiding Dean’s stare. “I didn’t- Fuck-“

“Hey- It’s- Woah-“

Dean crosses the room in a few strides, grabbing your wrists with firm, warm hands. You’d started to pick at your nails with the anxiety. You hadn’t even realized it.

“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart,” he mutters, his thumb dragging a circle on your wrist.

You nod, your voice only a breath. “Okay.”

He’s so close. You can count all his crow’s feet, map his stubble, trace his lips with just your eyes. He’s still frowning at your wrist, so you allow yourself to stare.

Then he looks up. And you freeze in panic, but don’t manage to look away.

Dean’s tongue flicks over his lips. Your breath catches. Neither of you move, and you let yourself have it. For a single second, you imagine that Dean is here, in your room, on your bed, and that means something. You get lost in the warmth of his proximity, the calloused but soft feeling of his touch.

“Sammy told me something else,” Dean mutters, scanning over your slack, flushed features.

“Yeah?” You whisper, and he nods tightly.

“Yeah. Said you’re, uh-“ He clears his throat. “Said you’ve never- You know.” He cringes. “Been fucked.”

Your mouth falls open. You think you’d like to die now. “Dean-“

“Is that why you asked me?” His grip tightens on your wrist. Not allowing you to pull away. “’Cause you just wanted someone to take it?”

You drop your gaze to his crotch. There’s a soft bulge there. You’d drool over it, if you didn’t think you were going to explode any second now. 

Dean says your name, and you shake your head.

“Don’t,” you mumble. “Don’t just- Feel bad for me- You said no, that’s- It’s fine-“

“What if it’s not.”

Your eyes shoot up. You’d think he was joking, if he didn’t look so fucking serious. His jaw is set. His eyes are blown out and fixed on yours. Your mouth hangs stupidly open, and Dean smiles softly.

“Huh?” You manage to choke out, and he almost chuckles.

“What if I wanted to. Help you.”

“But-“ You blink. “You don’t.”

Dean shakes his head. “Wrong, sweetheart. I do-“

“You said you didn’t-“

“I lied.”

You stare at him. He doesn’t back down.

“Would it mean something?” He muttered, reaching up to trace the curve of your cheek. “If I did it?”

You nod weakly, leaning into his touch. It sends violent, hot shivers through your whole body. Almost like a fever. You don’t want the cure. “Would it matter to you?” You ask, and Dean’s eyes flash. His fingers curl on your cheek. He leans an inch forward, then another inch. Your lips brush, the lightest possible touch, and you let out a soft, uncertain whine.

Dean pushes forward, his lips fully crashing into yours, his kiss demanding but certain. He presses over you, pulling you a little further up on your knees. You grab the collar of his shirt for balance, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to kiss him back with as much fervor as he’s offering you.

“De- Dean-“ You gasp against his lips. “Dean-“

He groans, his arm sliding around your back so he can pull you tight to his chest. You melt into his arms, and his kisses turn messy. Open mouthed and rough, his tongue dragging over your teeth as his fingers dig into your hips. You run out of air fast, but don’t try and pull away. You don’t want this to ever end, and you’re afraid that if you dare to break the moment, it will never be repaired.

High gasps start to escape your throat, though, and Dean pulls away. He cups your face between his hands, frowning slightly, and presses his brow against yours. You struggle for air, almost pressing forward to try and kiss him again, but he holds you in place.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he mutters, rough and thick. It’s the same voice he uses on you during hunts. When he’s giving an order you didn’t ask for.

Usually, you protest or ignore him. Right now you’re putty in his hands. He could tell you to follow him to hell, and you would. You’d do anything, just for him to never let go.

You inhale unevenly, and Dean rubs your upper back. His hand slipped under your shirt, and his palm is broad and warm. It—annoyingly—helps a lot.

“There you go,” he murmurs, watching you under hooded eyes. “That’s a good girl.”

You whine again. “Dean-“

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it.”

He doesn’t fucking look sorry. His lips are twitching, and there’s a smug glint in his eyes that’s almost dangerously intoxicating.

“Better?” He asks, and you nod, slumping closer to his chest. He doesn’t push you away.

This might be real.

“Are you sure, ‘bout this?” Dean rasps, and you almost giggle.

“Yes.”

“I’m old, sweetheart-“

“I like it.”

Dean blinks, and you stutter, so sure you should shut up but not really sure how.

“I- I mean- I like you, so- I don’t care if you’re old- I like you old- I like you-“

Dean smirks, holding your face so firmly against his  you can’t shy away.

“You- Can you- I mean- If it’s just- Just sex- You can forget I said- I think you being old is hot-“

He finally takes mercy, and shuts you up with a long, rough kiss. You hum, pushing further up on your knees, and climb slowly into Dean’s lap. He sucks on your lower lip, angling your head back as your core settles against his bulge, then pulls back with a low sigh.

“Not just sex,” he mutters, dragging his thumb over your swollen lower lip. “Not with you, baby.”

You nod, smiling wider than you probably should. “Cool.”

Dean grins back. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool ‘cause you like me,” he teases, shoving your hips down, right over his crotch. “Of ‘cause I’m old.”

You face burns. All you can do is stare and him and whimper, “You’re spritely.”

Dean huffs, in disbelieving amusement. “Spritely? You think I’m-“

“Youthful,” you babble quickly. “You’ve got a lot of…” You flush as he stares at you, sort of wishing he’d just kiss you and shut you up. “Youth.”

Dean’s mouth curves up. “Youth, huh.”

You nod, and he chuckles, pressing the lightest kiss over your lips.

“Hurts when I bend over now, honey, don’t think that’s very youthful of me.”

“So don’t bend over,” you mumble, and Dean snorts.

“Demanding, aren’t we?”

You shrug, trying not to turn into a puddle and miserably failing. Dean kisses your cheek, then under your eye, tracing his mouth down so he breath tickles your ear.

“Mouthy and demanding,” he rubs your hips, dragging your hips back and forth across his crotch. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna fix that.”

You whimper, and Dean’s grin grows.

“You like that, huh.”

“Dean-“

“Ah,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, moving away before you can chase his lips. “You wanted my help. This is how I’m gonna help, baby. Takin’ real good care of you,” he thrusts his hips up, and you whine as the hard outline of his cock hits your clothed pussy. “Just like this.”

 You nod, pressing your face into the crook of Dean’s neck. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on. It’s different, with Dean’s hands wandering your sides and his voice right in your ear. Your heart pounds and everywhere gets slick with sweat and arousal, just his dirty talk reducing you to a heap of confused nerves. Dean’s lips drag over your jaw, and you curl further around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he nips at your throat.

“Just gotta do what I tell you, alright?” He mutters, squeezing a handful of your ass. “Can you do that, baby? Do it for me?"

You nod quickly, and Dean chuckles against your skin.

“Eager,” he drawls, pushing his fingers slowly under the hem of your shorts. “Eager and soft.”

He squeezes your ass again, his fingers brushing against the edge of your pussy. You grind backwards, trying to push him to where you need him so very desperately. He lets you, teasing his fingers over the lips of your pussy, and you whine in his ear.

“Sit still,” he grunts, and you have to bite your lower lip, but you force your hips to come to a stop.

It earns you a sharp slap of your ass, and a kiss on the side of your head. Worth it.

“That’s right,” he mutters, letting those thick fingers dance back over your cunt.  “Good work, baby girl. You fuckin’ love the attention, don’t you. Eager to please me, eager to make me proud.”

You swallow, hugging him so tight you’re a little worried you’ll choke him. Dean doesn’t even flinch. He dips two fingers into the wetness of your heat and groans right in your ear, spreading the arousal everywhere between your thighs.

“If you’re gonna hide that pretty face,” he grunts in your ear. “At least fuckin’ kiss me.”

Nervously, you wander your lips over the strong curve of his shoulders, the arch of his neck. Dean moans in your ear, his cock jumping in his jeans. His fingers keep wandering near and around your pussy, and you get a little bolder. Kissing up his jaw, over his cheek, the top of his lip. You’re panting, trying to focus on your job as Dean keeps pulling and teasing you with his touch.

“Shit,” he moans your name, tracing around your flutter entrance. “That’s it, baby, just like that-“

 Dean grabs your jaw with his free hand, like he can’t fucking help himself, and slams his lips against yours. You squeak in surprise, but kiss him back, grinding down onto his hand. His fingers dip inside of you for a moment, and you moan. Dean grunts and shoves those fingers inside of you.

Your mouth falls open, your eyes widening at the thick, pleasurable stretch. He feels so good, so fucking right, you’re worried his cock might kill you.

“Look at you,” Dean coos, smirking at your slack face. “Just my fuckin’ fingers, baby. Keep breathin’, or this is all we’re doing tonight.”

You take a deep breath, sharp and sudden, and Dean smirks in approval.

“Good girl,” he pushes his fingers a little deeper, scissoring them and bumping against a spot that makes your whole body jerk.

“Dean-“

“Shh,” he kisses you, crooking his fingers to rub against that hidden button, and you mewl against his lips. “You feel that, baby?”

“Mmm- Mhm.” You press your cheek against his, eyes fluttering as Dean keeps pushing and tickling deep inside you. “Feels good.”

“I know it does, sweet girl,” he wraps his hand back around your neck, guiding your brow to press back against his. “It’s that special little spot, gonna make everything feel good.”

His words are sweet and mocking all at once, and it sends a new gush of arousal between your legs. You watch him with wide, clouded eyes, and Dean’s smile softens for a single second. He kisses you, more gentle than before, and pulls his fingers slowly out of your cunt.

“Lie down,” he whispers before you can protest, and you swallow, but obey.

Dean hums in approval, rubbing a massive hand on your thigh.

“Everything off,” he says, and you go still.

“Everything?”

“Mhm,” he raises his brows at your flushed expression. “That gonna be a problem?”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach. You don’t want to disappoint him, but he’s going to see you. Really, fully see you. God, you really don’t want him to see you and change his mind, and-

“Hey,”  Dean takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “You want my help?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe, and that’s all it takes. 

Dean rips off his shirt first—makin’ it even, he says—then makes quick work of his jeans. You don’t get more than a second to marvel him—flushed, tanned chest and thick everything, and heavy cock that does not look like a worm—before he’s touching you. He shimmies your shorts down, then peels your shirt over your head, leaving you in only your underwear. For a moment he just admires you, palming his cock with a tiny grin, and you roll onto your stomach.

Dean laughs, tapping your ass with a single finger. “Gettin’ shy, baby?”

“Shut up-“

“Ah.” He drags that finger down your clothed pussy. “Who tells who what to do?”

Your face burns, and you press your face further into the pillows. Dean chuckles, and you feel the bed shift as he crawls over your body. You can feel the heat coming off of him, feel the drag of his cock somewhere near your ass as he whispers in your ear.

“You were doin’ so well,” he drawls, unhooking your bra with a single hand. “Don’t get shy on me now.”

It doesn’t help. You keep grinding, trying to get some friction with the sheets. Dean’s hand comes down on your pussy with one, sharp smack, and you squeal, pushing back against his hand.

“Needy fuckin’ baby,” he mocks. “Can’t even help it, can you. Still tryin’ to be good for me.”

He hooks two fingers around your panties, pulling them tight so they push against your clit. You push back against his hand, and he smirks against your ear.

“You want a little more?”

You nod, and he snaps the fabric down, sending a tiny shock through your body.

“Say please-“

“Please,” you gasp, moving your arms up to hide your face. “Please, Dean- More- Oooh-“

Dean’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles. Your words fall off, and he fists a hand in your hair, tugging your head back to allow him to kiss you again.

He’s not cruel, with how he touches you. He’s generous, but controlled. Every stroke of your clit is deliberate, making your head spin and your mouth fall further open. That seems to be exactly how he wants you, though, because he pushes his tongue further down your throat and flicks his thumb back and forth, working you up into a writhing frenzy.

When his fingers finally push back inside of you, Dean almost seems unwilling to pull back and stop kissing you. You’re bent back and pliant under him, whimpering happily as he feeds his fore and middle finger into your hole.

“Greedy little pussy,” he rasps against your lips. “Know you’re gonna strangle my cock, baby, son of a bitch-"

He groans, like he’s the one being fingered into oblivion. He’s set a harsh pace with his wrist, snapping his fingers in and out of your cunt without relent. His thumb moved away from your clit, replaced by the heel of his palm, rubbing in tight, unrelenting circles on your swollen clit.

Every single time, he hits that spot inside of you, and your head is starting to get light. All the electricity and heat in your body is pushing down into your core, building like a bomb and threatening to explode. You almost sob, with how overwhelming the sensation is. Dean notices, kissing you a little softer.

“Poor girl,” he mutters. “Already like this and I’m not even properly fuckin’ you.”

“Your- Your hands,” you push out the word between sharp breaths. “They’re big.”

Dean grunts, his cock jumping near your ass. “Yeah, sweetheart? You like how fuckin’ big my hands are?”

“Mh- Mhm.”

You try to kiss him again. He pulls back, moving his hand impossibly faster against your cunt.

“Words,” he grunts. “You’re not stupid enough to not speak, not yet.”

“Like it,” you breathe out. “Love- Love it, Dean, oh- Oh my god-“

You moan again, and Dean grunts. His hips are starting to jerk near your ass, making him rut against you as his fingers work.

“Your close,” he mutters, pressing his fingers fully inside and crooking them against that gooey spot. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Now.”

His voice must have some kind of supernatural power over you, because that pressure in your lower tummy bursts, and your orgasm rips through you link a hurricane. Your thighs clench, trapping Dean’s hand between your legs, and he groans, rubbing his fingers harsher and harsher against your g-spot. You’re shaking and rolling beneath him, and he has to grab the back of your neck and pin it down to keep you still.

Dean works you through your orgasm, whispering low praise in your ear as you float back down to earth. Your pussy feels empty, when his fingers finally pull away. Your eyes are slightly crossed, and your smile is dazed and a little stupid.

You don’t even squeak, when Dean grabs your thigh and flips you over. You keen, back arching and body twitching, but you’re mostly just staring stupidly and happily up at him. Dean swallows, his chest rising and falling fast, and leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. You hum, eyes fluttering shut, and cup the back of his neck to hold him against you.

He drags his fingers lazily through the mess between your thighs, sending pleasurable little shivers up your spine. He drags your panties fully off your body, holding them up to his nose and taking a deep, long whiff before tossing them off to the side. He gathers your arousal on his fingers and slowly pulls away, rising over you with parted lips and gleaming, almost wholly black eyes.

Dean sucks your juices off his fingers, lapping them up with his tongue and a lazy, knowing smirk. Your breath catches. You almost push up to try and grab him, but you’re still foggy and boneless from the orgasm, and he shoves you back down with a broad hand splayed over your tummy.

“Dean-“

You cut yourself off under his stern gaze, swallowing nervously.

“Please?” You try again, and he chuckles.

“You’re cute.”

“I- I am not-“

“Yeah, you are. Cute when you cum for me,” he dips his fingers back into you, smirking lazily. “Cute when I touch you. Cute when you beg.”

“Deeeean-“

“Deeean,” he mocks, squeezing your upper thigh. “Listen to you. Fuckin’ adorable.”

You flush, a new wave of arousal hitting you like a rising tide, and you don’t even understand how you could possibly be ready that fast. Dean watches you pussy tremble and flutter, letting out a slow, rough breath.

“Son of a bitch,” he shakes his head, his hand moving to rub against his cock. “You got no idea what you do to me, baby, no fuckin’ idea.”

You swallow, watching him move against himself, almost enchanted. He really is prettier than is fair, in every possible way. His cock is thick and long, flushed at the head and leaking pre-cum against his thumb. Your tongue flicks over your lips, as you try to mentally measure the girth and length of him. You’ve taken toys before, when you got really curious. He’s bigger.

“You wanna touch, sweetheart?” He prompts, and you nod, your tongue flicking over your lips.

Dean pushes his hips forward, slowly taking your hand and guiding it against his shaft. He’s warm. Warm and hard. You dance your fingers down the length of him and he grunts, a vein ticking in his neck.

“Easy…” He rasps, and you nod nervously.

You find his balls, give them a light squeeze, and Dean catches your wrist.

“That’s enough.” He mutters, twining your fingers together. “Jesus, woman, gonna blow it before I even get inside of you.”

Your eyes widen. You’d almost forgotten about that part.

“That’s not going to fit inside of me.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, it will.”

“No, I mean like- It can’t-“

“It can.”

“Dean, I’m serious-“

He shuts you up with a quick rough kiss, and you go embarrassingly limp. His cock rubs between the folds of your pussy, bumping and pressing against your clit, and your breath hitches. Oh, God.

“Just do what I tell ya,” he mutters. “We’re gonna make it fit.”

You do. It is very easy to do what Dean tells you, when he follows through on all his promises. When he gives you such low and certain orders, and you find yourself molding perfectly around his cock.

Because it does fit. Somehow, Dean spreads your legs and kisses your pussy once—as if he can’t help himself—before crawling over you and slowly pushing the head of his cock inside of you. It’s tight at first. He grunts, pressing his brow to you shoulder, and rubs tight circle around your clit with his thumb.

“Open up for me, baby,” he rasps. “C’mon.”

You go limp with every inch he feeds you. The stretch is glorious, pulling you apart with every drag over your fluttering walls, every low grunt of your name from Dean’s lips. His determination to tease you seems to dissolve, by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, his balls pressed against your ass. He pants in your ear, hot and heavy, and cradles your body in his arms like it’s fragile.

“Slow,” he mutters, and it sounds like he’s talking to himself more than you. “Gonna go slow.”

You keen, at the first, lazy thrust of his hips. A lewd, wet sound fills the air, and the head of Dean’s cock pushes right up against that already abused spot inside of you, making stars dance behind your eyes. Every roll of Dean’s hips makes your whole body spark. He kisses all over your face, his own voice thick and wrecked as you clench around him.  

“Takin’ me so well, baby,” he rasps. “Feels good, doesn’t it. Feels so fuckin’ good, bein’ filled up with cock like you deserve-“

His words fall into a moan, his hips snapping forward, and the air gets knocked from your lungs. A sound you’ve never heard escapes you, and Dean chuckles, kissing your open mouth as he repeats the motion.

“Yeah, you like that.” He pulls almost fully out, then slams back forward. “Say it, baby girl, say you like it-“

“I like it,” you gasp out, sounding drunk to your own ears. “Love it, Dean- Fuck- Fuuuck-“

Dean captures your mouth in another kiss, and sets a brutal, drilling pace. You’re split open with every thrust, your every nerve on fire as he fucks you like a machine. He never gets too fast, just hard. Over and over and over again, until you’re gasping for air and clawing at his shoulders. That pressure turns molten and demanding, threatening to burst. Dean’s fingers dig into your hips. He moans in your ear, his own words staring to slur.

“Tight,” he moans. “So fuckin’ tight- I- I can’t- Shit-“

Dean’s hands fumble, dragging over your thighs and as he gropes for your pussy. Two fumbling fingers find it, rubbing tight circles, and you cry out, clenching down on his cock.

“Let go, sweetheart, need you to let for ‘f me- Fuck-“

Your orgasm hits you even harder than before, and your vision goes white. Your pussy flutters and clenches, something hot gushing out as your body trembles with overwhelming pleasure. It’s a strange sensation, but not bad. Not even close. You think you scream with pleasure, but Dean slams his mouth over yours and muffles the sound.

His hips stutter and jerk. You whine his name and he grunts, slamming forward and burying himself at the hilt as his cum spurts deep inside you, mixing with your own release.

You’re almost gone to the world. Dean lies over you, kissing you as you float back down, murmuring praise you can barely hear.

“Gonna clean you up,” he grunts, and you whine when his weight disappears.

“Deeean.” You grab at the air and catch his bicep. “Stay.”

You pout at him, eyes watery and hopeful. He just chuckles, kissing your knuckles before drawing back up, and promising to return.

He better. You really don’t want to let go of him now.

Dean brings a wet, warm towel, and cleans between your thighs. You didn’t realize how sore you were until he touches you with such light hands, but it’s a good kind of sore. When you moan, it’s not even really in pain.

He brings you water. A snack and a fresh shirt, that he bundles you in like a penguin. You somehow end up curled against his chest, half asleep and smiling against his bare, warm chest.

“I like you,” Dean says suddenly, and you beam. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so bubbly in your life.

“I like you too-“

“No,” his jaw works, the words low and tight. “I like like you- Like- Fuck-“

He runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. It’s almost adorable.

“You- You’re just- That really wasn’t nothin’ for me, sweetheart, not even close-“

You take his trick. You push up on his chest, press your lips together, and kiss him until he shuts the fuck up. He kisses you back immediately, cupping your face between shaking hands. You smile against his lips, pulling back just enough to whisper, “I like you too.”

Dean’s eyes snap open, his voice hoarse. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you flush. “A- A lot.”

Dean grins. He smiles wider than you knew he could, and slams a shorter rougher kiss against your lips before pulling back again. Like he can’t stand not to look at you for too long.

“Can I take you out?” He says, and you nod.

“Can we have more sex,” you whisper, and he laughs, pressing another kiss against your lips.

“Any time you want, baby.” He says. “You’re mine now.”

✦End note: drooling for him ✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦

There’s no way the universe should be this insistent on fucking you over.

Your shitbox of a car died a day before you were set to present your research at a conference in upstate New York in the middle of January. It was the biggest opportunity of your medical school career so far, and was going to secure your residency. But you couldn’t afford to fix it or buy plane tickets and there was no bus that could get you from Pittsburgh to Syracuse in time.

So when your program advisor called you into his office to say he found another student driving to the conference that would be willing to carpool, you nearly jumped for joy. Until the next words out of his mouth put a bullet in the brain of your newfound hope.

“-Jack Abbot! You’ve met him, right? You’re in the same year.”

Yes, you had met Jack Abbot. Several, miserable times. 

Every interaction you’d had with Jack ended with you seething and him smirking. He seemed to be addicted to pushing your buttons every chance he could.

But you didn’t have a choice. And you’d definitely made sure to verify that Jack was your only option. You must have asked every other student you had classes with, but they were either flying or not going at all. So you were stuck with him.

Stuck in the confined space of the cab of his small truck, side by side on the bench seat, for five and a half hours.

Everything about him pissed you off. His perfect curls were irritating, especially since you were sure he used 15-in-1 soap to wash it, the woodsy scent of his aftershave made every breath feel agonizing, and the way his legs were spread wide was obscene. It was his car, you had no right to complain that he was taking up so much space. But god did you wish he was cowering against the door like you were. You wished he put more space between the two of you, but the small cab left about a foot between you, even with you folding your body into the farthest corner your seatbelt allowed. It was entirely too close for comfort.

You’d made it a point to avoid looking at him as much as possible since this disastrous ride had begun 2 hours ago. So far, you’ve managed to mostly succeed, focusing on the falling snow and the freezing scenery outside. But you felt his eyes on you every few miles. His gaze was hot whenever it landed on you. You could feel it, even through your thick sweatshirt and jeans. 

But Jack didn’t say anything. He hadn’t said a single word since you’d met him in front of your apartment building at 1 pm and loaded up your bags into the covered bed. It was unusual for him. Normally, he liked to goad you into a reaction, sending barbs your way constantly. So the silence unnerved you. You didn’t know how to exist in a space with Jack Abbot when you weren’t on the defensive.

And then the universe decided to fuck you even harder.

The snow was falling even harder as Jack pulled off the freeway and onto a smaller back road. You wanted to question him, but you didn’t want to be the one to break the silence. Plus, you didn’t know where you were. For all you knew, Jack had driven through this area a thousand times before. 

But the farther you got down the road, the heavier the snow was getting and the slower Jack was driving. You hadn’t seen another car or building for the past 30 minutes and the plows clearly weren’t running out here. 

And then - truly the cherry on top- the engine started sputtering.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jack braked hard, the tires slipping slightly as he pulled off the road onto the shoulder.

“What the fuck?” You looked over at him for the first time in an hour.

Jack threw the truck in park before he was grabbing his coat. “Stay here.”

Where the fuck did he think you were going to go? You were in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a snowstorm. The cab of the truck was pleasantly warm, and the burst of cold air when Jack opened his door convinced you even more that you were not going to get out.

You watched him round the front. He popped the hood of the truck, hiding him from view. What the hood didn’t hide, though, was the cloud of smoke that billowed out.

“Oh fuck me,” there was no way you were making it to the convention. You checked your phone. No service. Of course.

The hood slammed shut and you jumped, looking up to watch Jack walk back around to the drivers side. He slid back in, shutting the door hard behind him and scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“We’re fucked.”

“What are we going to do?” You chewed on your bottom lip as you looked at the land around you. “I do not want to die of hypothermia in your shitty truck.”

“My truck isn’t shitty,” he sounded like a petulant child.

“It just fucking died on us,” you leveled a glare at him. “I’d say that makes it shitty.”

He grumbled something under his breath.

Both of you sat in silence for a moment.

“We need to find somewhere to shelter,” Jack was looking out the windows.

“There is nothing out - ”

“There,” he was pointing into the trees at something that you could not see. Everything blended together in the dim lighting and haze of falling snow.

“What?”

“There,” Jack started gathering a few things scattered around. His phone, his water bottle, and the keys made the cut, all being stuffed into the pocket of his heavy duty coat. “There’s a cabin.”

“Bullshit there's a cabin. I don’t see anything,” you really didn’t. All you could see was a mass of black and gray and green.

“There is,” he opened his door again. “Are you coming or are you going to freeze to death here?”

There wasn’t much of a choice. You could already feel the chill creeping in through the thin glass of the windows now that the engine was dead. You could follow Jack into the woods and either find shelter or freeze to death in the snow, or stay in the truck and freeze to death in the carcass of his shitbox.

No matter what, the threat of hypothermia was real and, even though you weren’t officially a doctor yet, you knew the risks. So you gave one last long suffering sigh, and opened your door. 

You were immediately thankful you’d put leggings on beneath your jeans that morning. The temperature change slapped you in the face as soon as you stepped out into the ankle deep snow.

Jack was rifling through the bed of the truck, pulling out his duffel bag. You watched him hesitate for a minute, before abandoning the garment bag containing the suit he’d packed. You tried not to think about just how good he’d look in a formal get up.

“Grab your shit,” Jack was pulling on a pair of gloves. His cheeks were already rosy from the freezing wind. “We’ve gotta get there fast.”

You gathered your things, yanking your own gloves and coat out of your bag. You left your own garment bag containing the gown you’d thrifted for the final banquet in the bed alongside the covered poster board for your research. It was going to be ruined if you and Jack ever made it back to the truck alive, given that there was not a chance you’d be making it to the conference, you didn’t bother trying to save it.

“Lead the way,” you slung your bag over your shoulder, pulling the hood up over your head to try and shield you as much as possible from the chill.

Jack led you across the frozen road and down into the treeline. The snow came up to mid calf, soaking your feet through your boots. Very quickly, you started to shiver, trying to curl into yourself as you walked.

You were both grateful and pissed to see the shape of the cabin come into view. You needed to get warm, but you did not want to admit Jack was right. 

It took about 20 minutes for you to reach the front porch. By now, the snow was falling so hard that you couldn’t see the road or the truck through the haze.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Jack tried the door handle, sighing with relief when it swung open. 

The inside of the cabin was simple. About the same size as your studio apartment back in Pittsburgh. It was dark, but you could see a fireplace against one wall, across from a full sized bed. There was a small kitchenette and a small bathroom you could see through a half open door. The whole place was dusty and looked like it hadn’t been used since last summer, but it would have to do.

Both you and Jack tumbled in. It was cold, but at least the sturdy wooden walls kept the wind chill out.

“You got a lighter?” Jack was already moving towards the fireplace, inspecting a few of the logs piled next to it. He seemed to approve of a few of them, piling them up.

“Yeah, here,” you fished a lighter out of your jacket pocket, tossing it to him as you set your bag down on the bed. 

You watched him for a moment. He shed his coat, pushing the sleeves of his sweatshirt up as he set a few scraps of newspaper alight. With a gentle few breaths, he grew the flame before placing it under the pile of logs he’d formed in the fireplace. It took a moment, but gradually the flames grew until there was a bright, flickering fire lighting up the small room. 

You could feel the warmth it was putting off starting to seep into you, but it wasn’t enough. Your coat was still on, but you were shivering beneath it. 

Jack noticed, doing a double take over his shoulder when he saw you still standing by the bed.

“Come over here.”

“I’m fine,” your voice was unsteady.

“You need to get warm,” Jack was untying his boots, digging through his bag for a new pair of socks as he discarded the damp pair he’d been wearing. “You’re gonna get frostbite.”

“No, I’m not,” but you were moving towards him, crossing the small room to stand beside him in front of the fireplace.

“Take off your clothes.”

You looked over at Jack like he’d grown a second head, ready to tell him off. But the words died in your throat when you saw he was stripping his shirt and hoodie off, leaving him bare from the waist up. You froze for a moment, eyes wide and brain buffering, until his hands grabbed for the zipper of his jeans.

“What the fuck?!” You spun around, trying to will your blush away.

“We need to get into dry clothes and get warm,” the shuffling sounds of his clothes hitting the floor was tempting you to turn around. You wanted just a little peak.

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t.”

And then Jack’s hands were at your waist, pulling up your sweatshirt.

“Woah!” You spun away from him, putting distance between you and begging your heart to slow down its rapid beating.

“I’m not letting you blame me when your toes fall off,” Jack crossed his arms over his chest. He’d changed into a plain black t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and thick wool socks. God damn it, he looked good. “I won’t look, but you need to change.”

“Fine,” you walked back towards your bag. “Don’t look.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack’s eyes raked over you once before he was turning back to face the fire.

You moved quickly, stripping out of your layers. You’d been planning on being in a nice, cosy hotel and convention center, tucked safely away from the cold, so you’d only brought jeans, slacks, and your comfortable sleep shorts. Tight, spandex shorts that left very little to the imagination. The leggings you wore under your jeans were soaked up to the thighs with melted snow and unwearable.

So you grabbed your most modest shorts, although ‘modest’ was a stretch. They were tight and short, covered completely by the oversized crewneck you pulled on after. You didn’t have too many options for socks, stuck with a relatively thin pair of white ankle length ones. Your nice, insulating ones were soaked from your trek through the snow.

“Is it safe yet?”

You glanced over at Jack, silhouetted against the fire. His shoulders looked a hell of a lot broader than you’d realized, the muscles of his arms standing out. God fucking damnit.

“Yeah, it’s safe,” you cleared your throat, looking away from him as you moved your bag away from the bed, setting it on the floor by the nightstand.

“That’s what you’re wearing to not freeze?”

His judgmental tone made you bristle, reminding your traitorous mind that you did, in fact, hate this man.

“I didn’t have a lot of options,” you unnecessarily straightened your duffel, looking anywhere but at him. “I didn’t plan for you to get us stranded in the fucking woods. I packed for a fancy hotel and a conference, which is where we would be if you didn’t try to kill us.”

“I didn’t try to kill us,” he scoffed. You risked a glance at him. He was digging through his own bag. “I took a shortcut to go around the traffic on the interstate. Here.” 

He wadded up a pair of flannel pants and threw them at you. You caught them, trying not to take a deep breath. They smelled like detergent and that addicting smell of his cologne.

“These are fucking ugly,” the idea of wearing his clothes and being stuck in such a small space with him triggered your fight or flight instinct. Seeing as flight wasn’t a reasonable option with a blizzard outside, you decided to fight. 

“By all means,” Jack rolled his eyes. “Freeze to death because my pants are ugly. I’d finally get some peace and quiet.”

“The fuck do you mean ‘peace and quiet’? I didn’t say a fucking thing the whole car ride!”

“Yeah, and it was fantastic.”

Grumbling to yourself about what a dick he was, you gave in. You were fully aware he was trying to get you to wear the stupid pants. You could sacrifice your pride to put them on and deny him the satisfaction of you going silent.

“Maybe if I’d said something, we wouldn’t be stuck here,” you tugged the god awful pants up over your shorts, having to double know the waistband to keep them up around your hips.

“Oh so you agree, this is your fault,” Jack looked smug. He sat down on the rug in front of the fireplace, his legs spread out before him. His feet were blisteringly close to the flames. You hoped his stupid socks caught on fire.

“How is this my fault? I didn’t tell you to drive off the main road in the middle of a snowstorm. This is your fault,” begrudgingly, you made your way towards him. You sat down 3 feet away from him, relishing the wave of heat that greeted you once you were close to the fire. The rest of the space was slowly warming up, but the cold still seeped in through the fogged over windows and wooden walls.

“Well I wouldn’t be stuck out here if I didn’t have to drive you to this stupid convention,” Jack leaned back on his palms. He looked calm and relaxed, and that made you even more irritated.

“Oh, so you only took this backroad because of me,” you stretched out your hands to warm your frigid fingers. “Glad you admitted this was attempted murder.”

“‘Attempted murder’ my ass,” he shook his head, narrowing his eyes. His gaze scanned you from head to toe. You told yourself the shiver that ran through your body was from the cold. “I would be nice and cosy in my apartment if it wasn’t for you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I only agreed to go to the conference because you needed a ride.”

“Bullshit,” you scoffed. That didn’t make any sense. Why the hell would Jack do that? He’d been a massive dick since you met him. Every group project or hospital rotation you ended up on with him was hell. He pushed your buttons, poking and prodding at you with sharp little quips until you snapped.

Jack didn’t say anything. He turned his face back towards the fire, focusing on the flickering flames.

“Jack…?”

He stayed silent. 

You didn’t know what to say. You were confused. He hates you, so why would he agree to be locked in a car with you for an extended amount of time. Maybe he truly did want to lure you out into the woods and kill you. 

But why? Sure, you were classmates, both competing for residency spots in a technical sense, but that wasn’t strictly true. It pained you to admit it, but Jack was in a league of his own. He was smart. Annoyingly so. He was constantly at the top of your class, leading test scores by a mile. You weren’t stupid, not at all, but Jack was something else. You weren’t competition for him.

“Did you…” How do you ask a classmate if he planned to kill you? You swallowed hard, suddenly very nervous. “Did you bring me out here to - to get rid - ”

“Jesus Christ, [name],” he finally looked at you again, sitting up and resting his elbows on his outstretched legs. He looked horrified. “You think I agreed to drive you, took a shortcut, and sabotaged my truck to - to what? Kill you?”

“Then why did you agree to drive me?” You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

“Just drop it, ok?” He scrubbed a hand down his face, rubbing at his jaw and looking away.

“Just doesn’t make sense,” you were mumbling. You scanned him, reading the tension in his shoulders.

“Drop. It.” This was the most emotion you’d seen him exhibit in all four years you’d been in school together. His jaw was clenched.

In the flickering light, it was hard to tell if his cheeks were flushed from the rising heat of the fire or if he was actually blushing.

“No, I’m not going to drop it,” you finally had a chance to push his buttons, but you also wanted to know why he’d go out of his way to drive 12+ hours round trip if he wasn’t presenting or trying to network at the conference. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I like you, alright?” He buried his face in his hands. “I’ve liked you for years. I wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to spend time with you. I like being near you, I like talking to you when you’re not being a bitch - ”

“Don’t you fucking dare call me a bitch, Jack Abbot,” you were still trying to process his confession, the wheels in your brain turning at a snails pace.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re right. I’m so sorry, I’m fucking this up,” Jack took a deep breath, lifting his head to look at you. His expression was pained. “I like talking to you when you’re not trying to piss me off, and even when you are, I still enjoy it. You’re smart, you’re gorgeous - incredibly gorgeous. And we’re about to graduate soon, we’re both leaving for residency in a few months and I couldn’t - I couldn’t not say anything.”

You didn’t know how to respond. Jack paused for a moment at your silence, but then he carried on like he couldn’t stop.

“I practiced this whole little speech for the gala at the end of the weekend,” he laughed sardonically, running a hand through his curls. “I was gonna pull you to the side, somewhere pretty and romantic and tell you how amazing I thought you were, how beautiful you looked in whatever dress you brought. I was gonna ask you out on a date when we got back to Pittsburgh. And then I fucked it up. I swear, I didn’t know my truck was going to die.”

He was definitely blushing now. “And I didn’t take a shortcut. I went the long way around to get more time with you since I knew you’d ignore me as soon as we got to the hotel. But I really was trying to avoid traffic on the interstate! I just didn’t expect it to start snowing so hard.”

For a second, you were quiet. You still didn’t know how to respond, but words fell from your lips before you could stop them.

“The car ride back would have been awkward as fuck if I said no.”

Jack laughed, eyes crinkling as he shook his head. 

“Yeah, it would have been,” he sobered up, hope sparking in his eyes. “But I was willing to risk the humiliation if there was a chance you’d give me a shot.”

Would you have given him a shot? You didn’t know. For years you’d been so insistent that you hated him, but you couldn’t deny that you’d been attracted to him since day 1. You’d noticed him immediately at orientation, but you hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to him until the first randomly assigned group project in your cadaver lab. He’d been a know-it-all, correcting your technique with a scalpel, raising one of those condescending eyebrows and judging every move you’d made. It rubbed you the wrong way, and clouded your perception of him.

You’d written him off after that, but the two of you kept being forced together. Same professor assigned group projects, similar friend circles, same hospital rotations. Every interaction just reinforced your view of him. It pissed you off every time you caught him staring at you, every time he sat next to you in lectures, asked to share your notes, when he poked and prodded and teased you.

But everything looked very different with the knowledge that he’d been into you since the beginning. Now, he looked less like a piece of shit that wanted to torment you and more like a lovesick puppy that wanted your attention. Either way, it wasn’t a flattering look for him, but the latter option was much more forgivable than the former.

“So?”

You jumped, ripped out of your thoughts to find Jack staring at you again. 

“So…?”

“Do I get a chance?” He looked terrified of what your response would be.

“I - ” you didn’t know. Your mind was spinning, trying to parse out your feelings and figure out exactly how you were feeling about the situation.

“It’s ok if you don’t feel the same way,” his hand ran through his hair again, tugging at his curls as he went. “I get it, I’ve been a dick - ”

“No - I mean, yes you have been, but,” you took a deep breath. “I - I don’t know. I had no clue you felt this way. I’m just… trying to process this.”

“Ok, yeah, yeah that’s ok,” Jack was nodding, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Yeah, I mean, you don’t owe me an answer. And you can say no.”

He laughed again, but it was gruff and self deprecating.

“I swear I’m not going to kill you if you say no.”

“Gee, that makes me feel so much better.”

Both of you were quiet for a moment, and then you burst out laughing. A real laugh, not the sad imitation Jack had let out previously. You felt hysterical, the situation did not call for the intensity of the laughter spilling from you, but it did help to diffuse the tension that had been rising in the confined space.

When you were able to calm yourself, both of you gasping for breath and staring into the flames, your thoughts turned back to everything. You were hesitant to just accept, still struggling to reframe the last 3 ½ years now that you had more context. But you were curious. 

“If we live,” you broke the silence that had fallen over the room. “If we make it out of this fucking murder cabin, I’ll give you a chance.”

Jack snorted, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Then we better survive.”

The two of you sat there in front of the fire for a few more hours, passing bags of chips and candies back and forth, trying to make the time go by and conserve the batteries of your phones. You drifted in and out of conversation and silence. Surprisingly, you found yourself enjoying talking to him. For the first time since you’d been introduced, you had a pleasant conversation. Neither of you brought up his confession or your tentative acceptance.

Instead, you asked about him. And you learned a lot, shockingly. You knew the basics; he was a few months older than you, he was too smart for his own good, and he’d sold his soul to the Army and would be doing his residency at a military hospital. You almost envied the fact that he got to skip the stress of match day. Almost. You would absolutely not trade that stress in exchange for the next 10 years of your life.

Jack was from Maryland, and he was getting to go back to do his residency at Walter Reed. You saw his eyes light up with hope when you told him your first choice for residency was John Hopkins, but he didn’t say anything. You’d be pretty damn close to each other if you got lucky, but you didn’t dwell on that.

His first name was actually John, and he looked disgusted by it, but his expression softened when you laughed after he revealed he was actually John Andrew Abbot III. You pretended not to notice that, too.

You shared information of your own, also. Jack smiled when you told him about your childhood pets. He laughed when you told him silly stories from undergrad. He stayed quiet, letting you speak when you shared about struggling to make ends meet while still in school.

It endeared you but also pissed you off that he knew just how to react. He was empathetic and sweet when he wasn’t pushing your buttons.

You liked talking to Jack, you realized. You liked getting to know him.

The two of you had started yawning about an hour ago, but neither of you were ready to stop talking. It was only when the conversation finally lulled and you found yourself fighting against your increasingly heavy eyelids.

“We should get some sleep,” Jack was pushing himself up from the floor, dusting off his hands and sweats as he went. He extended a hand to you, and you found yourself not hesitating to take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. His hand was warm and steady, and you found yourself fighting off a twinge of disappointment when he let go. “You can take the bed.”

“What? No,” there was only one bed in the one room cabin. It was so small, there wasn’t even room for a couch. The only other furniture in the space was a small kitchen table and two chairs, and a beaten up armchair covered by a thin white sheet. “Where are you going to sleep?”

He shrugged, shifting his duffel closer and moving the clothes in it around until he seemed satisfied with the shape. “Here, in front of the fire. I can make sure it keeps going all night.”

“No,” you grabbed his arm, stopping him from moving towards a small linen closet neither of you had bothered to peek into so far. “No, you’re not sleeping on the floor. We…” 

He raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking between your face and your hand still holding onto his bicep. You let go, taking a step back.

“We can share the bed,” you glanced over your shoulder. The bed was small, probably full sized. Just barely big enough to fit the two of you, although you’d have to scoot pretty close to the edge to avoid touching. 

“I’m not complaining about sharing a bed with you,” Jack looked at the bed too. “I think I’ve made myself clear about that - ”

You swallowed hard. You hadn’t let yourself think about that aspect of his confession. In fact, you’d beaten it back into the shadowy corners of your mind as aggressively as you could. You wouldn’t survive however long your confinement was going to be if you let yourself think about the more physical implications of Jack being into you.

 He looked down at you. The light from the fire was dancing across the planes of his face, knocking the breath out of your lungs with how ethereal he looked. He was handsome everyday, but he looked unreal in this lighting. 

“ - but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You haven’t told me how you feel, and you haven’t agreed to go out with me - not that that means you have to… y’know…” he seemed to be struggling to find the words. He was blushing again. “Be… be that close to me.”

“I - ” you paused, searching for the right words. You really were starting to be willing to give him a chance, especially with how well your conversations had gone. And yes, fine, maybe you’d been physically attracted to him from the beginning, but when you’d found yourself in moments of weakness before, you’d imagined any sort of physical or intimate encounter being… well, not nearly so emotionally charged. In those late night fantasies, it was rough, aggressive, something born out of hate and frustration. But now, he looked nervous, his eyes soft and apprehensive. You once again didn’t know how to handle this type of interaction with him. 

So, you decided to be an adult about it. For fucks sake, you were 26. You could share a bed with a man who just confessed he’d been in love with you for years and who you’d been fantasizing about for just as long.

You cleared your throat, taking your hand off his arm. “We can share a bed without… without it being anything more.”

“Right, right, of course,” Jack let out a breath. “As long as you’re ok, then yeah.”

“Yeah,” you were a big fat liar. “It’ll be fine.”

So the two of you got ready for your doom. You gathered your toiletries as Jack threw a few more logs on the fire to hopefully keep it going all night.

The bathroom thankfully had running water, even if the rest of the cabin had no electricity, so you were able to take turns brushing your teeth. You went first, taking many deep breaths and giving yourself a silent pep talk in the small, dark room. 

“All yours!” Your smile and chipper attitude felt forced when you let him have his turn. You sat on the side of the bed with your bag, digging through it, searching for nothing to give your anxious hands something to do.

“You ready for bed?” 

Jack came out of the bathroom, crossing to the other side of the bed and starting to pull back the covers. You stook, giving him a nod and pulling back the ones on your side. Both of you slipped in silently.

“Good night,” Jack rolled over, his back to you, facing the front door.

You followed his lead, turning your back to him and trying to snuggle in underneath the thin blankets. “Good night.”

Jack’s pants and the residual warmth in your clothes from sitting in front of the fire for so long helped lull you to sleep, and quickly, you found yourself falling under.

When you woke, it was to a warm presence at your back and freezing air nipping at the exposed skin of your face. It was completely dark in the room, no light coming in through the windows or from the now extinguished fireplace.

You pushed back, chasing the heat behind you. That’s when you became aware of several things at once. 

That warmth behind you was Jack. The entire length of his body was pressed against yours and his arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, one above and one below, keeping you firmly in place. Those arms were underneath your sweatshirt, one palm resting just below your breasts and the other right above the waistband of your borrowed pants. His face was nuzzled in the crook of your neck, breath hot against the sensitive skin.

You tried to shift, to move out of his hold and restart the fire so that you didn’t have to confront exactly how hot the skin on skin contact was making you deep inside.

Jack didn’t let you move, though. His arm tightened around you, tugging you back against him even more firmly. That was when you really felt him. The hard length of his cock was pressed against your ass.

He was still asleep, but that didn’t stop his hips from grinding forward. You gasped, clenching your thighs together. Involuntarily, you pressed back against him again. His hand shifted up, sliding over your breast and loosely squeezing the flesh.

“Jack,” your voice was quiet and broken around another gasp as he pushed his length against your ass again.

He mumbled something incoherent, before squeezing your breast again. The hand on your stomach dipped lower, his fingers just beginning to slide underneath your bottoms.

You were existing between sleep and waking, half convinced this was some sort of extremely vivid dream.Your pulse was racing, hips pushing back to meet his at every sleepy movement. Both of you were breathing harder, the cold seemingly beaten back by the rising heat between you. 

“[Name],” you could just barely make out the slurred groan of your name breathed against your neck. It sparked even more heat in your core to hear him say your name.

“Jack?”

God, you sounded fucked out already. Jack’s hand was pushing even farther into your pants and under the shorts you wore beneath.

The first brush of his fingers over your folds had you whining, and that was when Jack finally woke up.

You felt him freeze behind you, his hands tightening on reflex, dragging his fingers through your folds and against your clit. It ripped an embarrassing moan out of you, your hips pushing back against his cock in response to the jolt of pleasure.

“[Name]?” Jack’s voice was sleepy and confused. 

“Jack,” you whined in response.

“Oh fuck,” he pulled back, hands leaving you. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Wait - ” but Jack wasn’t listening

“Fuck, I told you I wouldn’t try anything, I’m so fucking sorry. That - I can’t believe I did that. Fuck.”

“Jack, stop,” he was sitting up, elbows on his knees and hands in his hair. The heat in you died when you saw him so upset. “Jack, look at me.”

“I’m sorry - ”

“Stop apologizing,” you pushed him flat onto his back, swinging a leg over his hips and leaning over him. Your hair created a curtain, closing the two of you into a little bubble.

“But I - ”

“Shut up!”

And then you kissed him. He froze for a moment, but he quickly melted into you, his hands coming up to grab your waist. He let you lead for a moment, his lips following the slow, languid rhythm you set.

Until your tongue swiped over the seam of his lips. Then, his hold on you tightened and with a firm buck of his hips, he was rolling you onto your back. He settled between your legs, grinding his length against you as his tongue stroked against yours, licking into your mouth and swallowing the noises that leaked out of you. Your hands tangled in his hair, holding him to you.

“Fuck,” Jack pulled back, gasping for air. His forehead rested against yours. “Are you sure - ”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” you bucked your hips up against his, tugging on his hair as you did. He groaned, meeting your thrust. “Wanted this for a long time.”

“I thought you hated me,” Jack’s hand was slipping back underneath your sweatshirt to push it up. His thumb dragged over your newly exposed pebbled nipple.

“Yeah, I did,” your back arched, pushing your chest even further into his hand. “Doesn’t mean you’re not hot, though.”

“Yeah?” He was smirking, his lips ghosting over yours. “I’m just that irresistible?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you pressed your lips against his, drawing him into a filthy kiss. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him back down so you could chase your own pleasure with his body. One of your hands slipped under his shirt, dragging your nails down over his chest and abs.

He moaned, grabbing your hand on his chest and pinning it to the mattress beside your head. He broke the kiss, nipping at your lower lip as he went.

“Unless you want this to end way too soon, you better fucking stop that,” his voice was low and ragged, fingers flexing against your wrist.

“Stop what?” You wanted to both know exactly what was driving him crazy, and to play dumb and rile him up.

“Touching me,” he ducked his head, nipping and sucking at the skin of your neck. “Looking so fucking good underneath me, all of it.”

“See,” you bit back a whimper. “I don’t think you really want me to stop.”

Your back arched and your hips bucked up again as he sucked a dark mark into the skin below your jaw.

“I don’t, but I don’t want to cum in my pants, either,” he moved lower, to a new, unblemished patch of skin. “So either take your pants off or tell me to go take a cold shower.”

“Gotta let go of my hand first,” your teeth dug into your lower lip as he licked a stripe up your neck.

“Are you gonna keep it to yourself?” Jack pulled back to look down at you. You grinned back up at him and he rolled his eyes.

“No.”

He laughed, releasing you and sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. His hands came down to the drawstring, undoing the bow at lightning speed, pushing the pants down your hips. Jack groaned as your shorts came back into view.

“These little fucking shorts,” he stripped the pants off you, lifting your legs into the air as he did. “Made me hard earlier.”

His hand trailed over your hip, brushing across the fabric until he was stroking a finger over your covered slit. Your teeth bit into your lip even harder to smother the whine that he was drawing out of you.

“You’re fucking soaked,” that little smile tugging at his lips was smug and self satisfied. He pressed into you a little harder, circling your covered clit through the spandex. “Is this all for me?”

“You’re an ass,” your teeth were gritted. Every circle he made had your hips twitching up, little sparks shooting from the light touch.

“I think you like that about me,” Jack’s hand left you for just a minute, long enough for it to slip beneath the waistband of your shorts. For the second time tonight, the first with both of you fully aware, his fingers dipped below your soaking folds.

Jack leaned forward, his unoccupied hand braced against the bed by your head. His eyes fixed on yours, chest heaving as he watched every shift of your face while his hand moved. He was exploring, teasing, fingers wandering through every soaked inch of you, the tips just barely dipping into your entrance and then moving back up to circle your clit.

“Fuck,” you were panting, trying to move your hips against his hand, guiding him to the right spot. But every time his fingers found where you needed him, he’d move them away, smiling as he worked you up.

“Jack, I swear to god, I’ll - ”

“You’ll what? Hmm?” He slowed to a stop, his index and middle finger sandwiching your clit between them, pressing down to keep you from rocking into them and chasing your pleasure. “C’mon, tell me what you’ll do.”

“If you don’t make me cum in the next 2 minutes,” his cocky demeanor made you want to simultaneously punch him and kiss him. You hated it, but it fueled the heat and desire curling low in your stomach. Judging from the hard length of him you can just barely make out through his sweats, he was enjoying it, too. “I’ll never let you touch me again.”

His face fell, hardening into determination. “Is that so?”

“Yes - ”

Jack’s fingers pressed directly against your clit, rapidly drawing tight circles around your clit. It was like an electric shock to your body after so much of his teasing. Your back arched, eyes falling shut as your moans filled the air.

“How’s that? Is that what you wanted?”

“Shut - fuck - shut up!”

You were impossibly close, already wound so tightly that you were dangerously close to snapping beneath him.

“I thought you liked it when I was a dick?” Jack leaned even farther over you, his lips closing around your nipple, flicking the bud with his tongue and scraping over it with his teeth. 

“Stop fucking talking, Jack!” You felt him laugh against your skin, sending vibrations through your breast. 

Your hand tangled in his hair, yanking at the strands. He groaned, switching to your other breast and sucking hard.

You cracked, thighs trying to snap closed around his hand and hips. He didn’t let you, pushing his body even farther into yours to keep them open as he worked you through it. Your legs shook and your hips jerked against his fingers that were still going, drawing even more tremors and cries out of your lips.

You writhed beneath him, forced to let each wave crash over you as Jack held you through it.

“Fuck - no more,” it was nearly impossible to get air into your lungs, but as the sensations died down and overstimulation, Jack backed off.

He pushed back up, easing his hand out of your shorts. He let you breath for a moment, his hands rubbing over your thighs until their trembling slowed to a stop.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” your voice was breathy.

“Can I fuck you now?” 

You cracked your eyes open to look at Jack. There was a small wet patch on his sweats, right over the head of his cock. Fuck, he looked long and thick.

“Yes, please,” your hands found the waistband of your shorts, pushing them down.

Jack laughed, his hands joining yours to help remove the shorts from your legs. 

“I should have made you cum 3 years ago,” he threw the shorts over his shoulder once he got them free from your ankles. “So nice and polite.”

“Shut up and get naked, asshole,” you sat up, reaching for his sweats, tugging them down his hips. 

Suddenly, you were face to face with his cock. He was bigger than you though. The flushed length of his cock slapped against his stomach when it was freed, the leaking head smearing clear fluid against his abs.

You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned forward, licking a stripe up the length from base to tip. The skin was smooth and soft, his cock twitching beneath your touch.

“Fuck!” Jack’s hand grabbed your hair, pulled your head back and away from him as he hissed. “Don’t do that. You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Isn’t that the goal of sex?” You smiled up at him, straining against the hold he had on you to try and get your tongue back on him. 

“Yeah, but I’m trying not to embarrass myself and end this way too soon,” Jack guided you by your hair, easing you down onto your back again. “You can blow me later, right now, I think I might die if I don’t get inside you.”

“Then hurry up,” you lifted your legs, hooking them around his waist and pulling him down onto you.

“Alright, alright,” Jack slipped a hand between your bodies, grabbing himself by the base. You forced yourself to breathe as his tip swiped through your folds, coating his cock in your fluids before he was lining himself up. He pressed in slowly. You felt yourself part around him, your walls stretching around the crown of his head. You were impossibly full, and he was barely in you.

He kept pushing in, both of you panting and looking down, eyes locked on where you were joined. You didn’t think you could take anymore, but he kept going, your walls sucking him in and pulling him into your depths.

“Fuck,” your head dropped back when he bottomed out. He ground forward, staying fully seated inside you and letting you adjust.

“Oh shit,” Jack sat up between your legs, hands gripping your hips, keeping them pressed fully against his. The shift in angle had you keening. “Look at that.”

Your eyes cracked open, trying to figure out what he was talking about.

“Can fucking see myself, holy shit,” one of his hands left your hips, tracing around the very visible sight of his cock outlined in your lower stomach. You were transfixed, watching with bated breath as his fingertips brushed against your skin. Goosebumps broke out across your body at the sensation.

“I wonder…” Jack trailed off, eyes still focused on your stomach. His hand moved, gently laying over the outline of his cock. He let it sit there for just a moment, palming his length through your skin.

And then he pushed down. 

Both of you cried out at once. You’d already felt full, but the added pressure of his hand made his length feel even bigger. He was everywhere, completely consuming you from the inside out.

“Holy fuck!” His hips jerked into you, snapping against a spot deep inside you that had you arching in his hold.

“Oh fuck, Jack!”

“Yeah? You feel that?” Jack started moving, his hips withdrawing and punching back into you, rapidly working his way up to a punishing pace. You couldn’t answer with words. He was pushing the breath out of your lungs with every thrust. “God, you’re so full of me, baby.”

And then Jack hiked your legs up over his shoulders, releasing the pressure on your stomach in exchange for keeping your thighs pressed tight to his chest. It opened you up even more to him.

“Oh my god,” Jack bent forward, burying his face back in your neck, pushing your legs into your chest, folding you in half. He was rutting into you, groaning as he chased his pleasure.

You were getting close again, too. Every thrust had the neatly trimmed hairs at the base of his cock grinding over your clit as his tip slammed home against your g-spot. Your eyes were closed, lost in the pleasure. You couldn’t move, completely pinned beneath him and forced to take the overwhelming pleasure.

“Jack! Please!” Your hand tangled in his hair again, holding the strands tightly. It was your only lifeline and you used it to tether yourself to reality. 

“Oh fuck,” Jack was panting into the skin of your shoulder. “Fuck, I’m close. C’mon, cum for me. Please, need to feel you.”

You were so close, only a hair's breadth from your peak.

When Jack bit down on your shoulder and his hips stuttered, you came again. You clamped around him, walls spasming and squeezing while he rutted even deeper into you. Jack was groaning your name while he spilled deep inside of you. The hot pusles of his release propelled your own, the two of you pushing each other even higher.

He finally let go of your legs, helping to ease them down until they were resting on the mattress on either side of his hips. He didn’t move to pull out, though. The two of you stayed wrapped around each other, his softening length buried inside you, until the cold was too much to bear.

“So,” Jack gingerly climbed off of you, the cold air rushing in. “Can I take you on a real date now?”

“If you get me a washcloth to clean up with and get the fire started, I’ll marry you as soon as we get out of here,” you were shivering now.

Jack grinned, leaning back down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Promise?” 

Your foot caught the edge of the third step. The laundry flew from your grip, sending sheets and towels flying as your weight shifted violently forward.

You launched. Your knee slammed hard against one step, and before you could even register the ache there, the sharp edge another one scraped violently across your cheekbone.

For a second, the world just went completely quiet. You were crumpled on the steps, the breath knocked clear out of your lungs, staring down. The pain in your knee was loud and throbbing, and your face felt… numb.

"Doll, what happened? Are you okay?"

Jack’s voice broke the silence. You looked at him, his gaze sweeping over the scene. Because of his leg, he couldn't just drop to his knees or rush up the stairs to scoop you up; he had to take each step deliberately. The frustration of his own physical limitations was already written in the tight line of his jaw.

"I'm fine!" you managed, your voice sounding small. "Just... dropped the towels. And added another bruise to the collection." You tried to laugh, pulling yourself up to sit straight.

Jack reached the step just below you. "Don't move. Stay exactly where you are."

His tone was rigid. Stripped of all warmth.

"Jack, seriously, it’s just a scrape—"

"I said, don't move," he snapped, his fingers gently but firmly clamping onto your chin to tilt your face upward into the dim stairwell light.

That was when you felt it. A strange trickling sensation creeping down your cheek. Something dripped past your jawline. You reached up to touch it, but Jack caught your wrist mid air, holding it tightly away from your face.

But your fingers were already stained red.

"Oh," you whispered, the adrenaline suddenly spiking. "That's... blood." You tried to deflect with a nervous laugh. "Does the cut matches the bruise on my knee? A matching set for the collection. I'm keeping you in business, Doc."

Jack didn't laugh. He didn't even smile.

"Shut up," he said. "Don't make a joke out of this."

"Jack, I'm just trying to—"

"I don't care what you're trying to do." He snapped, letting go of your chin. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it firmly against your cheek. "Apply pressure. Hold it there."

You took over, pressing the cloth to your face, the sting finally waking up beneath the numbness. "Don't talk to me like that. I just tripped."

"Because you were running! How many times do I have to ask you to slow down?" Jack’s hands were trembling slightly. "You treat your own safety like it’s a punchline. 'Another bruise to the collection.' Do you have any idea what it’s like for me to hear a crash and know I can't run down there to catch you? Do you know what went through my head when I saw you lying here?"

His voice cut through your defense mechanism. You looked at him, he was angry and terrified. And, you knew, he was trapped by a body that wouldn't let him be the protector he desperately wanted to be.

"I wasn't trying to minimize it," you said softly. "I joke because I'm embarrassed, Jack. I'm clumsy, and I hate that I make you worry."

"I don't care about being worried," Jack replied. "I care about you being safe. I spend all day at the hospital patching up people who didn't see the accident coming. And you... you're rushing through our own home like you're invincible. And I can't... if something happens to you, I can't get to you fast enough. You know that."

The silence returned, heavier this time.

Jack gently reached out, taking your hand away from the handkerchief to check the bleeding. The edge of the cut was clean, but it was deep enough that it would probably need a few butterflies, if not a stitch or two.

"It needs to be cleaned properly," he murmured. "Can you stand?"

"Yeah," you whispered, wincing as you shifted your weight onto your bruised knee. "I can stand."

"Good." Jack took a deep breath. Once he was stable on his good leg, he offered you his hand. "Let's go fix you up. No more jokes."

"Okay. No more jokes," you agreed, letting him pull you up into the kitchen.

Jack guided you to a stool by the kitchen island. Without a word, he moved around, pulling a first-aid kit from the cabinet and grabbing a damp washcloth from the sink.

"Keep pressure on it," he ordered softly, setting the kit down.

When he turned back to you, he pulled up another stool, carefully positioning his stiff leg out to the side so he could sit close enough to work.

"Okay, take the cloth away. Let me look."

You pulled the blood soaked handkerchief from your cheek. Almost instantly, a fresh crimson stream welled up from the split in your skin, tracing a rapid path down your jaw and dripping onto your collarbone.

Jack’s brow furrowed. He took the damp washcloth and gently tapped around the wound, trying to clear the area to see the actual depth of the laceration. "Hold still. I know it hurts."

The cold water hit the raw nerves, and you gasped, leaning back instinctively. "It stings—god, Jack."

"I know, I know. Don't pull away from me." His hand was firm on the back of your neck, holding you in place. But as he wiped a fresh layer of blood away, the wound immediately filled again, spilling over. The edge of the step had sliced deep, right over the prominent curve of your cheekbone where the skin was tight.

He waited a beat, pressing a clean piece of sterile gauze against it, counting silently under his breath. One minute. Two minutes. When he pulled it back to check, the blood welled up just as fast. It wasn't clotting. The edge of the cut was jagged, grinning open in a way that made his stomach do a sick flip.

Jack let out a frustrated breath. He didn't say anything, but the professional shift in his posture told you everything.

His ER doctor self had completely taken over.

"I-Is it bad?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"It’s deep," Jack said, his voice felt cold. "It tore right through the dermal layer. It’s too wide for butterflies, and because of the location on your face, it’s going to keep opening every time you talk or blink. I can't close this here. It needs a layered suture, and it won't stop bleeding until it gets one."

He packed a thick stack of sterile gauze against your cheek, taking your hand and forcing your fingers to hold it there with heavy pressure.

"We're going to the hospital," he said, already standing up. The sudden movement made his brace click sharply.

"Jack, can't you just do it? You have a kit, you're a doctor—"

"I don't have a local anesthetic or the proper fine gauge monofilament sutures in the kitchen cabinet," he snapped, his voice cracking with sudden panic. He grabbed his car keys and his and your jacket from the hook by the door. "If I try to patch this up with what I have here, you’re going to end up with a massive scar on your face. We’re going to the hospital. Now."

The drive was quiet. He kept his hand firmly on the steering wheel, his eyes locked on the road, while you sat in the passenger seat, pressing the now heavy gauze to your face.

You looked over at his profile, his jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle was jumping in his cheek.

"Jack," you whispered, the movement pulling painfully at the cut. "I'm sorry."

He didn't look at you, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Just keep pressure on the wound, please. We're almost there."

-

The doors of The Pitt hissed open, swallowing you both into the familiar air of the emergency department.

Tonight, you were the intake.

"Jack? What the hell happened?"

Robby said from behind the central desk, his eyes darting instantly from Jack’s tense face down to you. He saw the blood soaked gauze you were holding tightly against your cheek and the dark stain on your collar.

"She took a fall on the stairs," Jack said, sounding entirely professional, though the tight grip he kept on your elbow betrayed him. "Laceration to the zygomatic arch. It’s deep. It’s been bleeding consistently for minutes. I couldn’t get it to clot at home."

"Alright, let's get her into Room 4, it's empty," Robby said, immediately stepping into gear, stepping beside you. "Can you walk okay? Did you hit your head? Lose consciousness?"

"My knee is a little banged up, but my head is fine," you muttered around the cloth, feeling a flush of embarrassment as a couple of nurses glanced your way. "Just... really clumsy."

Robby guided you onto the examination bed. "Let’s take a look."

You layed down and slowly pulled the gauzes away. Without the constant pressure, a fresh bead of dark blood immediately welled up. Robby leaned in, using a piece of sterile gauze to gently dab the edges of the wound. He winced slightly, assessing the deep split over the bone.

"Yeah, you really did a number on this," Robby murmured. "It’s a clean tear but it’s deep. It’s definitely going to need a few sutures. I'll get the lidocaine and—"

"I'll do it," Jack interrupted.

Robby paused, looking up at Jack, who was standing at the foot of the bed.

"Brother, you know the protocol," Robby said softly. "You don't treat family. Let me handle it. I'll make the lines clean, I promise."

"It’s my wife, Robby." Jack said, he stepped closer to the bedside, his eyes locked on the wound. "I’m doing the stitches. I need to do them."

The two doctors locked eyes for a long moment. Robby knew Jack, he knew his friend's frustrations, he knew how much Jack hated feeling helpless.

Letting Jack treat you wasn't standard, but Robby knew that forcing Jack to stand by and watch someone else patch you up would be worse.

Robby sighed, stepping back. "Fine. But I'm staying in the room to assist. And if your hands shake even a millimeter, I'm taking the needle."

"They won't shake," Jack said.

He moved to the side of the bed, carefully adjusting the stool so his rigid leg could extend comfortably.

Jack snap on a pair of sterile gloves, and when he pulled the tray of instruments closer, where a nurse put all the necessary.

"Look at me," Jack murmured softly. He picked up the syringe of lidocaine. "This is going to burn. A lot. Hold my knee if you need to. My good one."

You reached out, gripping his good knee tightly. He didn't flinch as your fingernails dug into his skin. "Okay, you're going to feel a little pinch."

The needle pierced the edge of the cut, and a sharp burning sensation flared across your cheek. You squeezed your eyes shut, gasping as the medicine flooded the tissue. Jack’s was completely steady as he repositioned the needle to numb the entire perimeter of the wound.

Within a minute, the burning subsided into a heavy weight.

Jack worked in absolute silence. He used a small suction tip to clear the pooling blood, exposing the deep layer of tissue beneath. With a needle driver, he began the meticulous process of closing the deep dermal layer first.

You only could feel the gentle tugging of the thread as he pulled the edges of your skin back together. You watched his face. His brow was furrowed, his eyes entirely locked on the millimeters of flesh he was mending. The anger from the stairwell was gone, completely replaced by an aching tenderness.

Every movement of his hands was incredibly precise, deliberate, and gentle.

Robby stood by, cutting the sutures as Jack tied off each knot. "Nice tension," Robby commented quietly, validating his friend's work. "That's going to heal beautifully."

Jack didn't reply. He just kept sewing, treating your face like the most fragile and precious thing in the world.

By the time he tied off the final knot, the wound was closed, reduced to a thin black line across your cheekbone.

Before Jack could even reach for the dressing supplies, Robby quietly stepped into his line of sight, a non adherent telfa pad and a strip of medical tape already in his gloved hands. "I've got the dressing, Jack. Step back for a second."

Jack blinked, the sharp medical tunnel vision breaking as he looked up at his friend.

He didn't argue.

His hands were just starting to develop a microscopic tremor from the adrenaline crash, and he knew it.

Robby offered you a warm smile as he leaned over the bed. He placed the small protective gauze pad directly over the neat row of black stitches, securing it firmly to your cheek with the clear tape. "There you go. That’ll keep it clean and protected. Excellent handiwork, by the way. You won't even be able to see the scar in a few months."

Jack dropped the instruments onto the tray. He pulled off his gloves, tossing them into the bin, and took a deep breath.

"All done, baby," he said softly. "You're okay."

"Thank you," you murmured, with an uncomfortable feeling in your chest.

The ride back home was calm. The dashboard clock glowed a late hour as Jack pulled the car into the driveway and cut the engine.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

"Let's get you inside," Jack said softly. He had the night off.

He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. He opened the door and offered you his hand. As you stood up, your leg wobbled, and Jack immediately caught you. He held you close, bearing your weight as he carefully guided you into the house.

He led you straight to the living room, easing you down onto the couch. He disappeared for a few minutes, and when he returned, he was carrying a plush blanket, a fresh ice pack, and a glass of water.

He carefully lowered his weight onto the couch beside you and draped the blanket over your lap, then gently held the ice pack against your bruised knee.

Looking at him, seeing the dark circles of exhaustion, the faint smear of dried blood on his forearm that he hadn't fully washed off, and his unconditional care, the dam broke.

Tears slipped down your cheeks.

"Hey," Jack murmured, his brow furrowing as he set the ice pack down and instantly reached for your face. "Hey, what’s wrong? Is the local anesthetic wearing off? Is it hurting?"

"No," you choked out, your voice thick and trembling. You shook your head, immediately regretting it as the movement pulled at the tight stitches. "No, it doesn't hurt. Jack, I'm so sorry."

"Sweetheart, you don't need to-"

"I do," you interrupted, a sob catching in your throat. You reached out, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly. "I'm so, so sorry. I know I make a joke out of being clumsy, but I hate that I frightened you. I hate that I made you feel... helpless. I know how much you want to protect me, and I was careless. I didn't think about how it would affect you to hear me fall and not be able to just run down there. I'm so sorry for being reckless with myself."

Jack stared at you, his eyes softening.

He reached out, his thumb gently catching the tears on your cheek, careful not to touch your wound. He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne.

"Thank you for being honest with me" Jack whispered into your hair, his hand gently stroking your back. "But you don't have to carry that guilt. I was angry because I was terrified. When I'm at work, I can control things. I have a team. But when it’s you... here... Seeing you hurt, and knowing my own body slows me down from getting to you... it scares me, baby."

He pulled back to look into your eyes.

"I know accidents happen," he said softly. "But I just need you to take care of yourself, because you are the most precious thing in my life. Okay?"

"Okay," you sniffled, wiping your nose with the edge of the blanket. "No more running on the stairs. I promise. I'll take them like a snail."

A smirk broke across Jack’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. It was the first time he had smiled all night. "A snail might be a bit too slow, but I'll take it."

He leaned in, carefully placing a kiss on the uninjured side of your face, then another on the tip of your nose. "I love you, doll."

"I love you, my Jackie."

"Lay back, you need rest," he commanded gently, helping you settle on the couch. He placed the ice pack back on your knee and tucked the blanket securely around you. He picked up the TV remote and settled back against the cushions next to you.

As the soft sounds of a night time program filled the air, Jack's fingers gently stroked your head, lulling you to relax and close your eyes.

After a few seconds, you drifted off to sleep, feeling completely safe and secure in the tranquility of home.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

“Motherfucker!”

You angrily hit the coffee maker that has been causing the entire emergency department trouble for the majority of today’s shift. Langdon had watched you struggle earlier this morning before swooping in to fix the problem with a swift hit to the side of the machine and an off hand comment about having the ‘magic touch’. So, you imitate his actions now — hoping another dose of caffeine will help get you through the last couple hours of your shift. The machine stops its incessant beeping just as it had hours ago, but instead of brewing a fresh cup of mediocre coffee, the interactive screen goes completely black. 

Great. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and take in a deep breath. If Jack were here, he’d miraculously show up beside you with a latte in hand. You don’t know how he does it, but the man just knows exactly what you need and when you need it — you’ve taken to calling it his ‘sixth sense’. In reality, that’s Jack — observant and steadfast. 

You miss the night shift.

It’s not that you dislike the day shift. In fact, you happily accepted Dana’s request for your help covering for Donnie during his paternity leave. In Robby’s words: they needed another nurse practitioner on the day shift and there’s only one that he trusts. A part of you thinks that it was just flattery to get you to come to the light side, but deep down you know that Robby only knows how to speak honestly. Lena wasn’t necessarily happy to let her best help switch shifts for an extended period of time, but she also knows that the ED is a team — sure the staff is split between day shift and night shift, but things only run smoothly when the shifts help each other out. 

Jack wasn’t too keen on the idea. 

He couldn’t stop you of course — Lena is your supervisor, not him. But that didn’t stop him from voicing his concerns. Jack Abbot has always been protective of his nightcrawlers, but there was something verging on possessive in the way he told Robby that this is simply a temporary arrangement after he realized he couldn’t change your mind. 

“Should I call Ahmad to escort the caffeine criminal off the premises or do you have a handle on the situation?”

Robby’s voice breaks through your thoughts. You let out a sigh before turning to face the day shift’s senior attending. His expression, usually threaded with deep exhaustion and stoicism, is teetering on the edge of playfulness while a small smile tugs at his lips. 

“Y’know what, Robinavitch? We never had this problem when we had the old machine. Mr. Coffee only had three buttons and never betrayed me.”

Robby lets out a breath through his nose — not quite a laugh, but the closest he’ll get to one this late into his shift. Gloria had decided to get the department a fancy new coffee maker that makes individual cups instead of a full pot a few weeks ago to celebrate improved patient satisfaction scores. What was meant to be a gesture of goodwill from upstairs has become the staff’s worst nightmare.

“You sound like Jack.”

You roll your eyes, but you also know no one has been more upset about this change than the night shift’s senior attending. Robby has always brought his own coffee from home, but Jack has been relying on the emergency department’s supply of shitty coffee for the entirety of his career at PTMC. You’d asked him about it once when you first started working together and he’d revealed under fluorescent lights that there was something comforting about the way it reminded him of the coffee rations he’d receive during his deployments. 

“Have you talked to Jack recently?”

Robby attempts to sound nonchalant; however, you know him better than that. You’ve come to terms with the fact that he’s worse than the night shift nurses. Always needing to be in the know about everything and everyone. He swears that it’s because he’s the senior attending, so it’s his responsibility to keep an eye and ear on all of his staff. But Jack isn’t like that. He’s always been reserved and professional during shifts, always keeping his staff at a distance so he doesn’t get too attached — everyone except for you. In between cups of coffee and rooftop conversations, you managed to slip through the cracks of that cool, steely exterior.

“We talk during handover, but that’s not exactly the same as working a twelve hour shift with someone. Why? Anything I should be concerned about?”

Robby’s lips pull into a tight smile at your response, but anxiety finds its place in your chest. During handoff about a week ago, Mateo had pulled you aside to ask if you had any idea what was going on with Jack. Your brow furrowed as Mateo filled you in about Jack’s sudden change in demeanor with his staff — the once calm and collected attending has been increasingly impatient and scattered. You’d reassured Mateo that it was probably just stress related since Jack hadn’t had a day off in months — and even then he spent his rare off-call moments volunteering as a SWAT medic. You figured that Jack had finally hit a wall and was running on fumes, but Robby’s words were now making you second your assumptions.

“Nothing of concern, just looking out for you and Jack.”

Robby has this tone that makes it seem like he knows more about your relationship with Jack Abbot than you do. You know about his history with the night shift’s senior attending physician, but Robby hasn’t been there for the close calls at three o’clock in the morning when Jack puts his complete trust in your hands without a second thought. He hasn’t been there for the nights that seem to drag on for days when it seems like the sun will never rise again. He hasn’t been there for the hushed conversations in stairwells when the night feels darkest and the only comfort to be found in PTMC is in each other’s presence. 

It’s not a bond built on flirtation — God knows, Jack Abbot flirts with everyone. And does that make you a little jealous? Maybe. And were you hoping that the distance created due to being on day shift for a few weeks would help you create some boundaries with the man? Possibly. But here you are, still infuriatingly infatuated with a man you have absolutely no chance with. 

“I can assure you there’s no Jack and I.”

“Mhm.”

That damn tone again. You want to smack that smug look right off of his stupid face, but before you get the chance to fire back a commotion outside abruptly ends your conversation. The two of you move in tandem, Robby holding the door to the break room open as you duck under his arm before surveying the scene. Your eyes immediately widen as you spot Langdon attempting to keep two infuriated men on their separate gurneys as they yell over each other. He meets your eyes before moving his gaze to Robby, relief flooding his features.

“A little help here?”

You and Robby share a brief, knowing look before dividing and conquering the situation. Robby steps in, wheeling one of the men away while you follow after Landgon who is moving with the other. 

“What’s the story here?”

You have to shout over the man’s incessant yelling, but Langdon ducks his head down slightly as he navigates the gurney through the ED to hear you better in the chaos. From not too far away, you hear Robby yell for Whitaker to take over his unruly patient so he can go find Ahmad for back up. Langdon’s shoulder bumping into yours pulls your attention back to your own situation.

“Bar argument gone ugly.”

The man laying on the gurney is bleeding profusely from lacerations on his forehead, but is cognescent enough to keep loudly threatening the other patient that came in with him. You manage to get a closer look at his wounds once Langdon locks the gurney in place and through the deep crimson you see little, semi-translucent pieces of debris. Your brow furrows as the light catches one of the pieces.

“Is that glass?”

Langdon nods before meeting your eyes with a crooked smile plastered on his face. 

“Beer bottle to the head. Told you it got ugly.”

You let out a breath before gloving up with Langdon. As the two of you attempt to assess his injuries the man begins to fight you both off, pushing your hands away before either of you can start getting control of the bleeding. You pull back hoping to get the man’s attention so that Langdon can start giving him the care he needs. 

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to calm down so that we can take a look at your injuries. Can you tell me your name?”

Finally, the man’s eyes land on you but they are filled with nothing but unbridled fury. You fight off the urge to take a step back from the situation and, instead, stand your ground. 

“What I need is to get my hands on that son of a bitch who tried to fucking kill me. Can you help me with that?”

You raise both of your hands as the man fights off Langdon once again. He gives you an exasperated look as his shoulders slump in annoyance. 

“I can not, this is a hospital not a fighting ring. What I can help you with is getting your bleeding under control and taking that glass out of your head before you get a nasty infection. How’s that sound?”

Your tone is stern but gentle as you attempt to talk the patient down. For a moment, his face softens in understanding and you almost let out a sigh of relief after having gotten through to him, but then Whitaker’s voice tears through the moment.

“I’ve got a runner, incoming!”

“Oh, shit.”

Langdon’s tone makes your heart rate spike, but before you get a chance to turn towards the commotion Whitaker’s very angry patient shoves you into the wall.

“We need some help in here! You good?”

Langdon’s worried eyes are locked on you as he tries to keep the two patients from tearing each other apart. Your shoulder took the brunt of the impact, but you had managed to stay on your feet which saved you from any additional trauma. After catching your breath, you leap in to help restrain the patient who just assaulted you.

“Sir, please. We need you to calm down!”

Your words fall on deaf ears as he continues to lunge at your patient who is now being held back by Langdon. What a fucking mess. You haven’t had a situation like this since last year’s Fourth of July night shift when two drunken men came into the E.D. after one of them practically eviscerated his buddy’s legs after shooting off a firework directly at him. Your eyes desperately meet Langdon’s, hoping he’s in the same boat as you, and he gives you a similar look of bewilderment.

“Whitaker! Ahmad! Anyone!”

Langdon’s voice is strained as the man in his arms struggles against his hold. You’re using all of your strength to pull Whitaker’s patient away from your own, but he’s got at least a foot and a hundred pounds on you. Keeping him restrained is taking all of your strength. Finally, Whitaker’s shoes squeak as he slides into the room.

“Woah, what can I do?”

Langdon gives him a ludicrous look before his eyes land on you.

“Give them a hand, will ya?”

Whitaker immediately jumps in to help you. You were hoping the additional body could help even the odds with these men; however, they seem to be getting more violent by the minute. The man in your grasp reels back and shoves Whitaker, who stumbles back. Now with only you holding him back, he takes this as a chance to take a swing on Langdon. 

“Absolutely not!”

You grab his arm and pull back before he can land a punch. The man lets out a desperate, angry cry and swings his arm back hard. His elbow connects with your nose with a loud crack. The room explodes further than you thought was possible as you spit out the blood draining into your mouth due to the blow. The searing hot pain blooming across your face blinds your vision. 

Fuck, that hurt. 

You blink once, then twice — your eyes finally adjusting to the damage. Your patient has seemingly settled down enough to be left alone, while Langdon has your assailant in a chokehold as Whitaker tries to pin his arms behind his back. 

“What the hell is going on in h—?”

Robby’s words die in his throat once his eyes land on you. His face twists into concern for a brief, fleeting moment before a dangerous rage washes over his hardened features.

“Knock it off before I knock you out.”

Robby’s voice is ice cold and it suddenly pauses the entire room. The only noise filling your ears is everyone’s heavy breathing. Robby lets everyone cool down for a moment before barking out orders.

“Ahmad, get this man out of here. Whitaker, take over the patient who didn’t attack one of our nurses. Langdon, with me.”

Everyone complies instantly and you let out a relieved sigh as the tension in the room finally dissipates. Robby makes his way to you in two large strides with Langdon behind him. He drops his head to meet your eyes which have regained their comforting warmth.

“How you doing, Slugger?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing, really.”

Robby raises a brow as you spit more blood on to the floor, narrowly missing his sneaker. Langdon gives you a similar incredulous look. Obviously, your attempts to brush off their concern have fallen on deaf ears. Great. Two hours from shift change and now you’re a patient. 

This day can’t get any worse. 

Robby takes another step forward and carefully places a hand on your chin and gently tilts your head up toward the ceiling. You grimace immediately at the bright, fluorescent lights above you.

“You’ve got two black eyes, a broken nose, and you’re bleeding all over the floor. This isn’t nothing.”

His voice is surprisingly gentle and his features soften into a look you can only describe as brotherly concern. You sigh defeatedly, squeezing your eyes shut as the adrenaline in your body begins to subside giving way to an invasive and persistent shooting pain in your head. Robby’s hands find your shoulders — you aren’t sure if the physical contact is meant to provide you comfort or a precaution in case you pass out. Either way, you appreciate the way his delicate hold grounds you back into this moment.

“I’m going to have Langdon take you to an empty room and do a full exam. Okay?”

You open your eyes again and nod at his question. Robby’s posture relaxes slightly, obviously relieved that you didn’t stubbornly push back against his orders. He rubs your shoulders reassuringly for a moment before speaking again.

“We’re going to have to document all of this. Dana is dealing with a situation in chairs, but I’ll have her come find you when she’s done.”

You nod again, pursing your lips together into a straight line. You don’t love the idea of making a big deal out of this, but you also know that violence against health care professionals is at an all time high. The last thing this department needs is you trying to push this under the rug. Finally, Robby releases his hold on your shoulders and allows Langdon to step in.

Robby runs both his hands through his hair as he watches Langdon lead you towards a room at the back of the ED. He moves towards the hub in the center of the large room, gripping the countertop as he allows himself a moment to gather his thoughts. This is a nightmare. He needs to call Gloria about the situation that just happened. There’s  a stack of paperwork that needs to be filled out. Someone has to alert the authorities. And worst of all, he needs to call Abbot.

Hopefully, the asshole that assaulted you will be off the premises before the night shift attending rips through the emergency department. Not because he cares for the wellbeing of your assailant — more so that he doesn’t necessarily want to bail his best friend out of jail tonight. Robby sighs as he digs his phone out of his pocket. He finds Jack’s contact easily in his favorites and presses the speaker to his ear. To his surprise, the call immediately goes to voicemail. Robby knows that Jack has the day off; however, he’s always easy to reach — especially if you’re on shift. So, he dials the number again and presses the phone to his ear. But just like before, he is once again met with Jack’s voice apologizing for missing the call. That’s odd. His brow furrows, but before he can think about his friend’s odd behavior further he’s distracted by a concerned voice behind him. 

“I heard about what happened. Dana’s almost done in chairs. How can I help?”

Robby turns to look at Perlah who is currently trying to catch her breath from her obvious sprint over to him.

“Do you know who their emergency contact is?”

If he can’t get ahold of Jack, he might as well let your other loved ones know what happened. Perlah side steps the attending and logs in to one of the computers on the other side of the counter. It only takes a couple seconds to pull up your digital file and a smile spreads across the nurse’s features as she spots the name listed.

“Abbot.”

Of course he is.

“I can’t get a hold of him.”

Perlah’s expression reflects his own confusion for a moment until she remembers a conversation she had with you in the break room earlier this morning. 

“He’s gone fishing.”

Robby’s eyes shoot to his hairline as a laugh bubbles in his chest. He attempts to picture his friend in a boat by himself on the river with a fishing rod in his hand, but his mind cannot seem to compute that absolutely ludicrous concept.

“Abbot is fishing?”

“Apparently they convinced Abbot to actually take a day off, put his phone on do not disturb, and find a hobby that doesn’t involve getting shot at.”

Robby’s eyes drift to the room he watched Langdon escort you to as he attempts to wrap his head around the information he was just given. Jack Abbot is fishing on his rare day off because you asked him to find a hobby that doesn’t involve putting himself in harm’s way — and he listened. He wants to be impressed, but instead he’s just annoyed at the two of you — he’s fucking tired of watching the two of you dance around your feelings for one another. He looks down at his phone again, still confused at how his paranoid best friend could actually relax when he’s unreachable while you’re still on the clock.

Oh. 

The realization hits him like a slap to the face and he looks up at Perlah who is still anxiously waiting for the attending to start barking out orders. 

“Do you think you can manage to get their phone?”

Perlah frowns for a moment, confused by his question. And then her face lights up as she comes to the same realization as the attending standing in front of her. A smile pulls at her lips as she nods at Robby’s request.

“I think I can manage that.”

Jack Abbot enters the emergency department like a hurricane — his presence immediately disrupting the fragile peace they’ve managed to establish since your assault. Robby meets him at the door, stopping him before he can cause any unnecessary damage. 

“Where is she?”

Robby frowns. Abbot’s voice is lacking its usual warmth — in its place is a fiery, impatient intensity. 

“Let’s just cool down for a second. She’s alright — getting checked out by Langdon as we speak. Okay, Jack?”

Abbot’s brown eyes darken at Robby’s words. His posture stiffens and he’s suddenly aware that he’s no longer looking at his best friend. No, the man standing before him is a devoted soldier with one mission and God help anyone who gets in his way — he certainly isn’t dumb enough to stand between the two of you. 

“Exam room 11.”

Abbot brushes past Robby without another word and marches toward the back of the emergency department. He finally feels like he can breathe again as he enters the doorway and watches Langdon press an icepack to your nose. You flinch away from him and Frank lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You are a horrible patient.”

“Well, you’re a horrible nurse. You have to be gentle.”

Abbot leans against the doorframe, his body relaxing now that he’s heard the sound of your voice. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips at your defiance. Eventually, Langdon pulls the icepack away from your face and his blood runs cold as he gets a look at your injuries. It takes every ounce of what’s left of his self control to stay put, instead of forcing Robby to let him know who did this to you.

“I’ve got it from here, Langdon. You can get back to work.”

Both of your heads snap towards the attending standing in the doorway, but Jack’s eyes never leave yours. He watches as your expression shifts from confusion to relief before taking a few steps into the small exam room.

“Hey, Abbot. I’m actually almost done here. The rest of the exam will only take a minute.”

Jack finally regards the other man in the room, but his demeanor shifts to annoyance as Langdon continues to occupy your personal space — as he watches another man’s fingers glide gently over your cheek while he’s standing right there. The sight makes him sick to his stomach as a pervasive, ugly feeling claws at his chest.

“Langdon. Out. Now.”

Langdon’s movements suddenly still and the room immediately feels too small for the three of you. Luckily, the resident does what Jack says and exits the room without sparing you a second glance. Jack’s cold demeanor melts as soon as he hears the door close behind Langdon. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Jack’s voice fills the room and you finally feel safe. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you hear his boots take careful, calculated footsteps move towards you. This is a dream — it must be. Jack’s fishing today, unreachable until after your shift ends. But then he’s standing in front of you, invading your personal space in a way that’s so undeniably him. You finally look up, meeting his piercing gaze and you swear his jaw ticks slightly as he takes in the full extent of your injuries. 

“It looks worse than it is.”

It’s a lie, but all you want is to smooth out the worried creases on his forehead. Jack tilts his head slightly at your words — considering them for a moment. His hands move slowly allowing you time to pull away, but you let him cradle your face with a tenderness that feels misplaced in this environment. His thumb gently brushes under your eye, where deep purple bruising has made its temporary home, and you flinch away from his touch before he even makes it to the worst of your injuries. Jack pulls his hands away from you and you involuntarily frown — a smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he watches the way you chase his touch. 

“Do me a favor?”

You nod at his question — not fully trusting your voice at this moment. Jack bows his head slightly, meeting you eye to eye. His gaze is a raging wildfire of emotions. It’s a stark contrast to his calm demeanor and steady hands.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You roll your eyes at this as he stands to his full height again. His hands find their way back to you again, settling on your knees as he begins assessing your injuries further. You lean in closer to him without even thinking about it — it’s like Jack Abbot is the sun and you’re simply a planet trapped in his orbit.  

“How are you here?”

Jack’s brows knit together at your question, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. His thumb absentmindedly rubs gentle, grounding circles against your scrubs as his gaze trails over every visible wound on your face. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re supposed to be fishing.”

His face scrunches at your words, but he doesn’t stop his careful assessment of your condition.

“I got a call.”

“Your phone was on do not disturb — you were unreachable.”

“To everyone other than you.”

Your breath catches in your chest at his words. He says it nonchalantly, but the significance of that statement lands harder than the elbow you took to the face. You’re the only person that Jack would let interrupt his day off. Hell, you’re the only reason he took a day off to begin with. 

“But how… Perlah.”

Jack’s head tilts as he watches you put the pieces together. Not too long after Langdon got you into the exam room, Perlah found the two of you. She helped Langdon with the exam for a few minutes before cursing that her phone had died before she made an important call. You had offered her your own, thinking nothing of the interaction. But now you understand exactly what transpired when Perlah left with your cell. 

“Yeah, scared me half to death when it wasn’t your voice on the other end.”

Your frown deepens at that. You can only imagine the fear that clawed its way back into Jack’s chest — can only imagine the unwanted memories it brought up. Your eyes glance down at his left hand, where a silver wedding band permanently resides. You remember the morning on the roof when Jack finally told you about his late wife after a particularly difficult shift. The two of you had lost a young woman whose vehicle had been struck by a drunk driver. You watched Jack go above and beyond for the woman in a way you’d never seen before. And you noticed the way his entire demeanor shifted once he had to call it after an hour of compressions. Jack slipped out of the ED the moment that the day shift showed up and you followed after once you completed handoff. You found Jack on the edge of the roof — not surprising on any other day, but a concerning visual after what you just witnessed that night. He knew you’d find him — you always do. And as you took your usual place, leaning your elbows against the railing right behind him, he finally opened up about the worst day he’s ever experienced. You listened as he told you about how his wife was in an accident. How she was dead on impact and EMS found her phone on the scene. How Jack was her only emergency contact. How he despises that the last time his wife called him he never even got to hear her voice. How he knows he’s your emergency contact. How his heart can’t go through that again. 

“I’m sorry, Jack. The last thing I wanted was for you to worry about me on your day off.”

Jack’s brow furrows at your words.

“Sweetheart, all I do when I’m not with you is worry.”

You both let that sentence linger in the room for a few moments. Jack continues to trace shapes into your shrubs as you attempt to calm your nerves as you realize how intimate this conversation feels. Finally, Jack breaks the silence.

“Can you just come back to the night shift so I can stop freaking out every time my phone rings throughout the day?”

You almost smile at that.

“Donnie comes back in two weeks.”

You mean for that to be comforting; however, this only makes Jack’s body stiffen in response. His head drops as he lets out a long sigh.

“Two weeks is too long.”

“You’re not my boss, Jack.”

Jack pulls his hands away and you watch as he runs them through his short, grey curls. He looks exhausted — and you suddenly feel guilty that his relaxing day off has turned into this. 

“You’re right, but sweetheart, I can’t do this without you anymore.”

A part of you wants to throttle him because of that nickname and how easily it falls off his lips — how it’ll only feel right when it’s his voice saying it to you. 

“Do what?”

Jack looks at you and his face twists into confusion as he realizes your question is genuine.

“Get through the fucking night.”

A beat passes. You desperately want to just say yes. It’s what you want isn’t it? Returning to the night shift — returning to him. But that’s also the problem. What is this? You thought your switch to day shift would give you some sort of explanation, but your time away has only made you more confused. Would it actually just be easier if the two of you only saw each other during handoff? No domestic moments between cups of coffee, no more mornings spent side-by-side on the rooftop, no more stolen, fleeting touches as he passes you on your way to the hub. You know what you are to Robby — to everyone on day shift. It’s simple. But with Jack — it’s never been simple and maybe that’s the problem.

“What if I want to stay on the day shift?”

Jack recoils like you just threw a punch at him. Guilt claws up your throat as you watch his face fall. It’s a lie — you know that it is. You love everything about the night shift, but you also don’t know how much longer you can keep playing this game with Jack before you simply fall apart. 

“Why would you want that?”

“Because at least I know where I stand with everyone here.”

Jack’s brow furrows — you hate that it’s cute. That everything about him draws you in.

“You don’t know where you stand with me?”

You shake your head and he scoffs — the sound is surprisingly cold. He looks at you, brow pinched into a scowl. And then he realizes that you’re serious. Your expression is nothing but unashamed honesty and his head cocks to the side at that. Do you really think he’s been stringing you along this entire time? That this has all been meaningless flirtation? That you mean nothing to him?

He takes a step forward, slotting himself between your knees. Your breath catches as he reaches up and gently cradles your face. His touch is different than before — all professionalism has been cast aside and is now replaced with his overwhelming adoration. Without thinking your fingers grab the hem of his black t-shirt. He smiles as he feels you nervously pick at a loose stitch before he ducks his head and his lips finally meet your own. Your grip on his t-shirt tightens as he moves his hands through your hair. Now this is a dream. The kiss is soft and restrained — you know he’s holding back due to your injuries. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. Jack pulls away too soon for your liking, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he places his forehead against yours. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve been yours since the minute you walked through the fucking door.”

You bite your lip as you attempt to hold back the giddy grin that begs to spread itself across your face. 

“You never said anything.”

Jack pulls away at that, not far — just enough to get a good look at you. The look on his face is incredulous — like it’s absurd you don’t know that his entire life revolves around you at this point.

“I thought I made myself abundantly clear.”

You laugh at that and Jack steals a kiss from your lips just because he can.

“I take it Robby gave you the rest of the day off?”

You nod, smiling as you feel Jack thread his fingers through yours.

“He told me to go home after Langdon finished my exam — who you should apologize to.”

Jack’s jaw clenches slightly as his brow furrows. 

“Him being here was unnecessary.”

You watch him for a moment, trying to understand what happened between the two men that never seemed to have any sort of animosity prior to today. And then your hand tightens around Jack’s as you realize what happened.

“You were jealous.”

Jack rolls his eyes.

“I have no reason to be jealous.”

You raise a brow at his statement. He’s not wrong — he has no reason to be jealous of Frank Langdon, but you know the resident somehow got under his skin. He may be able to maintain his facade of nonchalance to the rest of his staff, but you see right through him.

“What makes you so confident?”

You grimace and lick the sticky mixed drink from your fingers without thinking, giving a one-shoulder shrug.

“You could say that,” You admit, “I’m here for my friend.”

The biker laughs, his eyes growing dark and interested at the sight of this tiny girl with curves for days licking her hand like a pretty little kitty. What luck.

“Yeah?” he drawls and shifts his weight, taking a half step closer to her. He breathes her in, mouth watering at the scent of her light perfume and something that’s her. He always did love a natural woman.

“Where’s she at now?”

You stall at the question and wipe your spit-cleaned hands on the creamy sweater you wear, shrugging again and tossing your hand out at the crowd of people drinking and laughing.

“In there somewhere,” You say and then frown, “I hope anyway. She was my ride here.”

The biker barks a laugh and gives you a crooked grin, “Well, since it looks like your friend has ditched you, why don’t you come hang out with me and mine?”

He gives you a once-over, shameless, “Unless you’d rather stand around like a loser.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out past your lips at his tease, and you find yourself smiling at the biker, accepting his offer.

“Don’t wanna be the loser, now do I?” you tease right back.

He laughs again and drapes an arm around your back, his fingers snagging the loops of your shorts as he begins to lead you deeper into the clubhouse. You flush and try not to let his presence affect you so much, but it’s difficult to say the least. It has been way too long since the last time a man had paid you any attention.

“Tig,” the biker introduces as he walks, “Your turn, kitten.”

Kitten?

You swallow down the noise you want to make at the nickname and introduce yourself. The table he leads you to is full of men. At the head sits a younger blonde, and you recognize Jax instantly. An older man with scarred cheeks sits on his right. You immediately feel like a rabbit in a den of wolves the second they catch sight of you standing beside Tig.

“What’s this?” The older man drawls, and you can hear his Scottish accent over the loud drawl of music, “A wee lass, Tiggy?”

Any feelings of safety go right out the door when Tig gently pushes you forward and sits down before snagging your hip and tugging you down to his lap. You grunt, and your spine locks up, eyes wide as you look between the men.

“Mhm,” Tig drawls, and you suck in a sharp breath when his hand lands on your thigh. It’s warm and big and sweaty. You feel heat bloom in your cheeks when he uses his hold to drag you back, your ass meeting his crotch, “A lost little kitten. Her friend left her, so I offered her our company.”

You look back up when you hear a familiar, raspy chuckle. Jax is watching you with those blue eyes you remember meeting back in high school. Him, a senior, and you, a freshman. Jax had been on his way to the office, his cheek bruised from a fight. You can’t help but wonder if he remembers you.

“How generous,” The Scot drawls and tips his head at you, “Call me, Chibs, love. The broody one is Jax.”

“I know,” You say and curse yourself when you get a round of raised brows. You clear your throat and gesture at Jax, “I went to high school with you. I was a freshman when you were a senior.”

Jax smirks then and shifts from his careless sprawl to something more calculated. He leans forward, head tilting to the side, and rests his right ankle on the opposite knee.

“Looks like we got a little high school reunion going on, Chibs,” He murmurs, and a round of laughter rumbles around the table, “Hate to say that I don’t remember you though, sweetheart.”

You shrug, unbothered, “I didn’t expect you to. We didn’t exactly run in the same circles.”

Chibs looks you up and down, his scars stretching along his cheeks as he drags his tongue over his bottom lip. “So why’d you come here, then?”

“Yeah, Kitten,” Tig drawls behind you, and you feel him adjust his weight, his thighs spreading to better support your added weight, “Why?”

You swallow and fight down the urge to squirm under their combined gazes. Christ, this was awful.

“I guess some of your members met my friend yesterday and invited us to the party. I didn’t want her to come alone, but then she disappeared the second we got here, so..”

You trail off and shrug, chewing your bottom lip, a nervous habit that you’ve not been able to break. You know that you shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t a place for a girl who once cried because she spilled a bowl of ice cream on her cat.

“Like I said,” Tig rumbles, and your eyes flick to his hand when it flexes along your thigh, “Lost.”

“You’re scaring the lass,” Chibs drawls and stands suddenly. You watch him round the table and pluck your watered-down mixed drink from your hands, “Let’s get ye a proper drink.”

“So,” Jax says and catches your attention again, “What have you been up to since High School? Got kids, boyfriend? End up going to college?”

You blink at him, surprised that he was even interested in anything that you’ve been doing. You thank Chibs when he passes by with a fresh glass, glancing down at the amber liquid and taking a careful sip. You grimace when the whiskey burns down and settles warm in your stomach. You’d always preferred fruity drinks, but you weren’t about to complain.

“Uhm, College,” You begin and shift on Tig’s lap. You are short enough, and he is big enough, that you can cross your ankles and swing them back and forth. You’ve no idea that the longer you sit there, so fucking adorable to these hardened men, you are creating a very big problem for yourself.

Because you see, these men didn’t get soft things in their lives, so when they did. Well, they stopped understanding the concept of letting go.

They listen to you chat; the sound of your voice, soft and a little airy, makes them relax back into their chairs. They take turns asking you questions, anything to keep you talking. You don’t even notice your glass emptying, having grown so comfortable in their company. It isn’t until you yawn and check your phone that you frown.

“Damn,” You mutter and tuck your phone back in your shorts, “I should head home. It’s late, and all I’ve done is talk your ear off.”

Tig’s hand tightens on your thigh when his brain registers your words. He shifts under you, his free arm winding around your waist to keep you from getting up from his lap. Tig noses at your hair, breathing you in again.

“No need to rush off, kitten,” He murmurs and shares a look over the table with his brothers, “Stay a while, have a couple more drinks.”

Chibs is already rising to refill your glass, dark eyes locking with yours over the table when he leans forward to grab the bottle of whiskey and pour before you can protest. Your cheeks go pink, and you are swiftly reminded that these men aren’t the kind old men who come looking for directions at your job. No, these were hardened, dangerous people who were most likely criminals. You lick your lips and debate with yourself.

You could do what you usually did and refuse the drink, take a cab home, and text Louise in the morning to make sure she survived. Or, you could accept the drink and stay.

Maybe if you hadn’t been drinking for the past couple of hours, you would have made the right choice. Instead, you sit back, allowing Tig to take your weight and bring the glass to your lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip.

“...I guess I can stay a little longer,” You murmur and seal your fate with those few words.

Tig grins against your hair and presses a featherlight kiss there before leaning back in his seat and taking you with him.

“That’s a good girl,” He rasps behind you, and you flush at the praise, lips twisting into a tiny, pleased smile. Their attention was addictive, and you could easily see yourself falling into them if you weren’t careful.

Who knew that rough bikers with bad pasts were your kryptonite?

One drink turns into two and then a third. By then, you are feeling the liquor more than you might at home. The party is in full swing still, and the SAMCRO men have yet to let you go. You had watched other women, ones wearing less than you, slide into the dark corner only for Jax or Chibs to dismiss them casually, their focus on whatever you were talking about. You blushed and stuttered out each time, not used to anyone giving you their attention like they were.

“There you are!”

You blink at the voice and look, giving Louise a shy smile when she happens to spot you. She stops at the edge of the table, a pout on her pretty lips as she looks at your seating arrangements.

“Hey, Louise,” You greet. You are genuinely glad to see her. Trouble followed her like a bad stink.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” She bites out, and you jerk, eyes going wide at the heat in her voice. Your hands clench around your glass, and you feel Tig tense under you.

“And here you are, being a fucking slut.”

“Whoa now,” Jax drawls and sits up from his lazy slouch, blue eyes narrowing in on your friend, “We’ve been keeping her company. You’re the one who left her the second you two got in.”

Louise sets her jaw and crosses her arms tight over her chest. You loved her, but she was the type of girl who couldn’t stand not to be the center of attention. You could feel the jealousy pouring off her from across the table.

“So? She’s a big girl,” Louise snaps back, and you flinch at the glare she sends her way, “I thought you were better than this. You’re supposed to be the innocent one.”

Your jaw clenches and your frown, lip wobbling, “I’ve just been sitting here, Louise.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, cocking her hip, “Yeah, right. Why would men like them want your attention?”

“Oi,” Chibs barks, and his expression is dark when you cut your eyes over at him, “I think tha’s enough, girly.”

“He’s right,” Jax says and cocks his head, jerking his chin back across the room, “She doesn’t need you right now, so go on back over there and hang off the prospect’s arm.”

Louise’s face goes bright red, and you wince when she stomps her foot like a literal child before rounding back on you and pointing a manicured nail in your direction.

“Fine. Find your own ride back home,” She spits and turns on her heel, marching back into the crowds.

You watch her go, dumbfounded and hurt by her bad attitude. You suddenly feel very small, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip, your shoulders hunching in embarrassment.

Tig shares a look over the table with the other men. Your change in demeanor is obvious after your friend's departure, and it makes them burn with annoyance. Not at you, but at Louise for dragging you down.

“Don’t listen to her, Kitten,” Tig murmurs in your ear. He is close enough that you feel his breath, warm and smelling like whiskey, on the back of your neck.

“She’s a jealous thing,” Jax comments and leans back in his seat, relaxing again now that the corner had been restored to order once more.

You clear your throat and lean more of your weight into Tig, his broad chest warm and comforting, “Yeah. She’s always been like this. Can’t stand not being the center of the world.”

“Why are you friends with her?” Jax asks, and Chibs grunts, also curious.

Tig tightens his grip around your waist, his biceps flexing against your stomach. You can feel the muscle twitch against your tummy where your cropped shirt rides up. You swallow hard and tug at your shirt, but your messing just makes it worse.

“I, uhm,” You begin and shrug, “I dunno. I’ve been friends with her since first grade, so not being her friend doesn’t sound right.”

The men make low sounds of understanding. Before Ope passed, he had been Jax’s best friend since elementary school, so he could understand your situation with Louise. But that didn’t give her the right to talk to such a sweet thing as you as she had, though.

“Shouldn’t be friends with someone like that, baby girl,” Jax comments idly and watches as Tig shifts under you, tucking you into his chest like he is trying to hide you away from the world. Chibs sends him a look, and the blonde just smirks back.

Your lips draw into a little pout, and you take a pull from your glass to hide your displeasure at his comment.

“Jackie Boy’s right, pet,” Chibs drawls, and you look at him over your glass. He shifts in his seat, thick legs spreading out as he balances a bottle of whiskey on his thigh. The VP had stopped using a glass about an hour ago. His accent had only gotten thicker the longer the night went on.

“Don’t need wee cunts draggin’ ye down with them.”

Your cheeks burn, and you open your mouth to defend your friend, only for Jax to beat you to the punch.

“Mhm,” he grunts and rolls his shoulders, “She talk to you like that often?”

You nibble your lower lip. You shouldn’t answer. You feel like a bad friend from what little you’ve said about Louise so far. Still, you find yourself shrugging.

“Only when she drinks,” you say and then frown heavier, “Which is… a lot.”

“See,” Tig rumbles behind you. His lips brush your ear with every word, making heat bloom with each time his voice rasps, “That’s borderline abuse, kitten. You shouldn’t deal with that.”

He shifts and lifts a hand to cup your jaw, gently guiding you to turn and look up at him through your lashes. Tig has a very hard time controlling himself at the sight of those pretty eyes looking at him like that. All it would take is a little nudge, and he could kiss you.

But not yet.

“How about we be your friends instead?” Tig drawls and his lips curl into a soft smirk, his thumb smoothing along your jaw, keeping your attention on him.

“We’d treat you much better than she does, baby.”

You make a low sound in the back of your throat, eyes going wide and glassy. Tig says friends, but you feel like it’s far more than that with how the three of them keep looking at you. Like all things with these men, you know that any choice you make with them will probably be a bad one, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when you want this something fierce.

“I-,” You clear your throat and look between them, nodding along, “I would like that. To be friends.”

Chibs laughs, low and rough, and Jax echoes the sound, his blue eyes darken into something stormy, and he drags his tongue over his teeth.

“Yeah, baby girl,” He drawls, and the three of them share a look over your head, “Friends.”

---------

Louise moved out of the apartment after that night. She had been pissed after Tig had dropped you off a day after the party. She’d yelled and screamed, furious and jealous that boring you had somehow gotten the attention of three very handsome men. You had tried to explain that it wasn’t like that. That you were just friends with the bikers, and Louise refused to believe you.

The three of them had been nothing but courteous to you while you’d stayed at the clubhouse on the TM lot, going so far as to let you borrow some of their clothes and let you sleep in Chibs’ room since his was the cleanest. Tig had bought you breakfast, and they had entertained you with wild stories and memories. It had been the most fun you’d had in a very long time.

Only for your good mood to be flushed down the drain the moment you stepped into the apartment you shared with Louise. She was still pissed, still seething over the fact that you had stayed at Teller-Marrow instead of coming home with her that night. You had stood there, dumbfounded and struck as she laid into you, face red and voice pitched loud enough that Tig had heard it from outside on the sidewalk.

Louise had tried to demand that you pack your things, but you’d been quick to remind her that you were the main provider between the two of them. You constantly covered for her half of the bills, her half of the food. And maybe that had been hanging over your head because you suddenly find yourself snarling right back at her.

If anyone was packing their bags, it was going to be her.

You’d grabbed a bag and a couple of changes of clothes after that. You didn’t want to be around the apartment while Lousie packed her things. Your room had been locked, so it wasn’t like she could take anything if she was feeling truly petty.

Tig had caught you after fleeing the building, snagging you by the arm, his grip tight but not enough to actually hurt you. He’d toss himself into oncoming traffic if he ever happened to do something that fucking stupid.

“Hey, hey,” He steps in front of you, big hands on your shoulders, steadying you, “What’s goin’ on, baby. Talk to me.”

You sniff and wipe your face, unaware that you had even started crying, “Louise is what’s going on. She’s still pissed at me.”

Tig’s jaw sets in frustration, and he gently tugs you closer, one hand splaying across your back. He leads you back to his bike and carefully manhandles you back on, his hands shifting to bracket your hips and keep you steady.

“Don’t listen to her, kitten,” Tig murmurs and cups your face, smoothing his thumb over the apple of your cheek, “She’s just jealous. You don’t need her anymore, got me?”

“I kicked her out,” You rasp and let out a slightly hysterical wet laugh, “I can’t believe I did that.”

Tig shares your laugh and shifts his weight, lips curling into a smirk at your breathy admission, “Yeah? That’s great, baby. Way to hold your own.”

And it was a good thing. Because if you hadn’t, then he was, and that wouldn’t have been a very pretty sight to see. So instead of marching into your apartment and tossing Louise’s shit off the balcony, Tig sets his spare helmet on your head and buckles it under your chin, blue eyes meeting your own when he hooks a finger under the strap and gently tilts your head back.

“You can stay at the clubhouse with us while she moves out,” Tig murmurs and searches your face, blue eyes catching yours again, “The guys won’t mind having you around.”

You drag your teeth over your bottom lip, uncertain, but wanting, “ I dunno. I don’t want to impose.”

Tig scoffs and rolls his eyes, lips tugging up in a grin that’s all teeth, “Baby, you wouldn’t be imposing. Besides, we’re friends. And friends let friends help, right?”

You can’t help but laugh, your eyes squinting at the corners as you give a reluctant nod. Tig had you there.

“Yeah,” You murmur and wipe your face again, your laugh softening, “Yeah, we’re friends.”

And that’s how you ended up back at the clubhouse, your bag of clothes tucked away in Chibs’ room, and your ass parked on a stool at the bar. The clubhouse was a lot nicer without dozens of bikers and croweaters crowding the place, and you could feel yourself really start to relax. The glass of bourbon certainly helped, and so did the three men who lingered around you.

Jax and Tig stood on either side of you while Chibs manned the bar, the three of them listening as you recounted your reunion with Louise earlier that day. You sigh heavily when you finish and then sip from your glass, lips tugging up into a grimace.

“Well,” Chibs breaks the silence, “Ye’ll have a quiet apartment when ye go back home, lass. Tha’ sounds like a win to me.”

You huff a laugh and nod along. Chibs wasn’t wrong about that, and it felt pretty freeing to admit. It would just be one more thing you would have to get used to.

Though you really should have known that being just friends with a bunch of rough, possessive bikers wasn’t going to last very long. Not when you would be here, in the clubhouse with them for the next couple of days. Where they would have unrestricted access to your attention while you weren’t at work.

Things started off innocently enough at first. A lingering hand here, a whispered word there. You’d come home from your little office job, wearing a blouse that made your tits look perfect and a little pincle skirt that they wanted to see around your hips instead. Jax would pass you a glass, his fingers brushing yours and his free hand settling on your hip, gently leading you to sit on the couch with him.

Chibs would be there in front of you, sitting on the table, reaching down to tug off your heels and dig his fingers into the tense muscles of your ankle and calf. Tig would loom behind you, big hands working a stubborn knot out of your shoulders.

And you let them. You didn’t say a word of protest as these dangerous men doted on you after a long day dealing with corporate assholes.

One would think that their behavior would change after you went back home to your apartment, but that wouldn’t be the case at all. If anything, they got worse.

At first, as the weeks progressed, you’d get a text from one of them. Short and to the point while you were at the office.

<dinner tonight?>

You’d stare at the message from Jax, debating whether you had the energy to deal with your friends after a long day, before messaging him back.

< Bring your own booze this time.>

You’d arrive at your apartment building to the sight of at least two bikes in your extra parking spot each time, and if one wasn’t present, then they surely would be before dinner was served. Things felt far more intimate inside your apartment, three pairs of sturdy boots, and three kuttes hung up by your door. Standing in your kitchen, watching the men bicker over the TV remote in the living room, everything feels a lot more than just friends.

But that was just wishful thinking on your part.

You busy yourself with turning the oven off and then carefully removing the pan from within. Jax takes his chance then, shuffling into the kitchen and sliding in behind you, big hands settling on your hips after you set the pan down on the counter. He snickers when you jump, meeting your scowl with a smirk of his own when you turn to glare up at him.

“Easy, baby,” He rumbles. He digs his fingers into the meat of your hips, his thumbs dragging along your lower back, “Just me.”

You huff at him, lips quirking up as you roll your eyes at his touchy behavior. You can smell the whiskey on his breath. They always got more handsy after a couple of drinks.

“What are you doing, Jax?” You question while you check the bottoms of the rolls, making sure that none of them are too burned. His hands flex, and you tense when his thumbs drag dangerously close to the top of your sweatpants, sliding just under the elastic. You feel your cheeks grow warm, and you almost drop the next roll you pick up.

“Takin’ care of you,” Jax rasps behind you, and his thumbs sweep lower this time, his nails dragging into the skin just above your ass, “You’ve had a long day, and then you come home and take care of our dumbasses.”

You lick your lips and shrug, pretending that you don’t feel like you’re about to explode from his touch alone, “It’s just dinner. You know I like to cook.”

“Still,” Jax murmurs and gently tugs you into him, your back meeting his chest. He dips down, dragging his nose along the shell of your ear and up, breathing you in, “Ain’t gotta do all this for us, mama.”

You feel heat explode in your face and in your stomach. That was new, and you definitely liked it. A shiver wracks up your spine, and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes going heavy with sudden arousal that you’re having trouble shoving down.

The three of them catch your reaction, and Jax grins behind you. He pulls you back again, pressing a kiss just behind your ear, “Go sit. Let us deal with the rest.”

“Aye,” Chibs drawls, and he is suddenly there, reaching across the counter bar and curling his fingers along your jaw, gently lifting your head so you could face him. He smooths his thumb over your lower lip, pressing down just so with his nail.

“Dinner is done, so sit a spell, ma. Let us take care of you.”

You find yourself sitting at the dining table with a plate of food in front of you and your brain feeling just a little fuzzy. The boys are acting like that hadn’t just purred filth in your ear moments before. You blink and eat your dinner, watching them laugh and cut up like children until their plates have been cleared. Before you can take them like you usually would, Jax and Tig are already up, taking over your sink while Chibs slides into your space and tugs you back to the living room.

A bottle of wine and a slim-stemmed glass wait on the table, and Chibs lowers you to the couch before cracking open the bottle and pouring you a healthy glass of the red. You take it and sip, watching him over the rim as he turns the TV down and settles beside you on the couch.

The atmosphere feels different, charged. Still comfortable and easy, but there is a lingering feeling of more that lurks in the room.

“Sweetheart,” Jax begins once the dishes have been done and everyone has found a seat in the living room. You feel yourself tense, not liking the tone of his voice. Jax sits in front of you, pushing the bottle of wine down the table, “We need to talk.”

Your heart immediately lodges in your throat, and every worst-case scenario you can imagine runs through your mind. Your hands tighten around your glass, and you have to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth physically. Your voice is a soft croak.

“..Okay…”

“Ain’t anything bad, Kitten,” Tig says from where he lounges in your armchair, socked feet kicked up on the coffee table, “So don’t freak out.”

You give a little wheezing laugh and nod, doing your level best not to do exactly what he said not to do and freak out.

“We just wanna talk to you, propose something,” Jax continues and clasps his hands together, his thumbs rubbing over scarred knuckles. He watches you closely, blue eyes raking over your sweatpants and t-shirt, looking adorable and rumpled like usual.

“Listen,” Chibs chimes in from beside you, and his hand finds your thigh, squeezing the flesh there, thumb digging into the meat, “We’ve done some soul searchin’, love, and we’ve all agreed that we want to be more than friends with you.”

You feel your mind go a bit blank at his words, each one bouncing around your skull like a ping pong ball. You blink and look between the three of them, brow furrowing.

“What?”

Tig huffs from his seat and leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, “Look, Kitten. We wanna share you, in every way that your little brain can think of.”

He meets your eyes, his own dark with arousal and need, “Do you want that?”

“Tig,” Jax bites out and sends the other man a glare, “We said we’d give it to her slow, not toss her in the fuckin’ ocean.”

Tig shrugs, impatient and unrepentant, “She can handle it.”

You could definitely not handle it. You feel like you’re in a daze, mind fuzzy and full of their words as you sit there and listen to Jax and Tig bicker. These men wanted you. They wanted you in the way that you wanted them.

Was it crazy? Absolutely. But you had learned a lot by being friends with these men, and one of those things was living life by the edge. They lived by their own rules and conduct, and didn’t care about social norms.

Maybe you shouldn’t either.

“Lass?”

Chibs’ voice breaks through your spiraling thoughts, and you turn to give him your full attention. He smiles at you, a tiny thing that makes the scars on his cheeks stretch across his face, “Ain’t gotta decide anything right now.”

But despite his assurances, you did want to choose right now. You were tired of pretending that what you felt for these men didn’t exist when it damn well did.

So, you throw caution to the wind and say fuck it.

Chibs grunts when their kitten suddenly snaps a hand out and grabs his kutte, tugging him forward and kissing him like it was going out of style. He immediately falls into the kiss, lips tugging up in a smug smirk when he hears twin groans of want coming from his brothers.

He cups your cheek with one hand, the other curling around your waist and tugging until you sit in his lap. He adjusts so that your knees sit on either side of his hips, effectively straddling him. His hand grips your hip, and a low groan escapes his throat when you grind down without thinking. Chibs tightens his grip, moving you how he wants and hissing through his teeth when he feels your heat through the layers you both wear.

“Ah ah,” You hear Jax tut, and then there was a hand threading through your hair, his fingers tangled in the thick strands as he leads your head back. Jax stands, looming over you with a smirk, while Chibs leans in, his beard scraping along your throat, where he presses open-mouthed kisses along your flesh.

“Share, VP,” Jax rumbles and leans down, his lips brushing against your own, his eyes locked with yours, “There’s enough of her to go around.”

Jax kisses you then, rough and needy, his tongue sliding into your mouth to explore you with a low groan of pleasure. It’s sloppy and wet, but fucking perfect.

Not to be left out, Tig stands and shoves Jax out of the way, leaving you a panting mess with kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks before he closes the distance to claim your waiting mouth for himself.

Kissing Tig comes with a lot more teeth. His tongue is hot and heavy in your mouth, demanding all of your attention as it curls around your own slick muscle and sucks. The action makes you whine, eyes rolling with pleasure before it’s suddenly taken away again, only to be replaced with another set of lips that leave you desperate for oxygen.

“Tha’s it, lass,” Chibs purrs in your ear. His accent curls around each word, and you feel slick start to bloom in your core, leaking down to soak into your panties.

“Ye look divine, sat ‘ere in my lap, our hands on you.”

Tig chuckles, the sound low and rough, and noses against the side of your head, eyes locked on the way Jax licks into your mouth like you were the best-tasting thing left on this planet. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy with lust as you squirm on Chibs’ lap, surrounded by the three of them. He wants to see more, wants to see how well you could take all three of them. To see you worked open, pleasure painting your face until you couldn’t remember anything but their names.

But not yet. Not when this thing between the three of you was so new.

Chibs is the one to put a stop to the mess of kisses and wandering hands. He shoves Jax and Tig away, giving you the chance to take a much-needed breath as you lean back and settle against his chest. He holds you close, his hands smoothing up and down your sides as you calm down.

Tig pouts but sits down beside you, leaning back on the cushions as you run a hand through your hair and take a couple of deep breaths. Jax watches you closely, blue eyes sharp.

“You okay, babygirl?”

You nod. Your brain still feels a little fuzzy, but you’re pretty sure that’s from lack of oxygen and not feeling stunned.

“‘M okay,” you rasp and laugh softly, “More than okay.”

“See,” Tig crows and snags one of your hands, lifting it up to press his lips against your knuckles with a grin, “I knew she could take it.”

Jax rolls his eyes and sits back, though his eyes never leave your face, “Never said she couldn’t, brother. Just didn’t want to chance scaring you away.”

You huff a soft laugh and shake your head at them. Your other hand is snagged by Jax, and he tangles your fingers with his own, “I don’t think you guys could ever scare me.”

Chibs hums behind you, his dark eyes soft as he leans in to kiss the back of your skull, lingering there to breathe you in, “We don’t ever want to scare you, sweet girl.”

Jax cuts in then, and any butterfly feelings you were having in that moment sober up at the look on his face. You swallow hard and meet his eyes, knowing that whatever he was about to say is important.

“You know we aren’t good men,” He begins, and you nod even though it wasn’t a question. Jax licks his lips, looking appeased when you do so, “We aren’t nice men, sweetheart. This isn’t a happy hold hands and go watch a movie relationship.”

You nod along then. You’d understood that the night Louise had dragged you to the clubhouse.

“Good,” Jax intones softly, “Because we don’t want to scare you, baby, but sometimes we have to do scary things. You understand that?”

You swallow hard at that. You weren’t ignorant about SAMCRO. You’ve lived in Charming your entire life after all. But you also knew that while they were dangerous, no one in the club ever went out of their way to hurt anyone in the town they lived in. That would be an insult to what they stood for.

“Yeah,” You say and meet his eyes, steeling yourself at the intensity you see there, “I understand.”

Jax searches your face, the other two doing the same, looking for any kind of doubt you might have over your choice. He smirks when he finds none there and lifts the hand he holds to press a kiss to your knuckles, lingering there with a heavy look in his eyes.

“Glad we understand each other then, sweetheart,” Jax murmurs and then leans in, his lips pressing against your brow, “We’ll make sure you don’t regret this.”

------

Having three different boyfriends was a lot of work. Surprisingly, they were easier to deal with when they were all together. They balanced each other out, leaving you there to bask and enjoy their presence with ease. But there were days when you’d only see one of them at a time, and their greed knew no bounds.

After receiving a key to your apartment, there would be days when you would come home, and Jax would be lounging on your couch, white shoes by the door, and his shirt tossed in the recliner while he stretched out on the couch. You’d smile and pet his blonde hair, gently tugging until he woke up.

“Sorry,” He’d say and give you that weary smile Jax wore when he felt the world closing in around him, “Needed somewhere quiet.”

You’d just smile and shrug, not bothered that he had used your apartment as a safe space, “Go back to sleep. I’ll make you some tea.”

Jax would grumble and drag you down to the couch instead, wrapping his arms around your waist and smooshing your face in his chest, his face buried in your hair as he breathed you in. He’d roll the two of you, slotting his body over yours as he pressed greedy kisses to your cheeks and throat, his lips finally meeting your own when you whined at him to stop teasing.

Other times, it would be Chibs. He liked to swing by the office you worked at for your lunch, always bringing by your favorite but never the same thing too many days in a row. Your coworkers would coo and caw, whispering loudly about you dating an older man, and…wait.

Didn’t they see you with someone else just the other day?

But you don’t pay them any mind, too busy greeting Chibs and pressing a kiss to his scarred cheek when he offers you a to-go cup of your favorite tea.

“Yer lucky I like ye, lass,” He’d grumble, but you could hear the smile in his voice, “Hard to drive a bike with a flimsy cup in hand.”

“You don’t have to keep bringing me lunch,” You point out one evening, and Chibs scoffs, giving you a glare.

“Like hell, lass,” He rasps and reaches out, thumbing away a crumb that had lingered on the corner of your mouth, “Ye’d miss me too much.”

And then there was Tig.

Tig, who liked to call you in the morning, his voice slurring over the speaker as music blasts in the background and someone else starts yelling.

“Hey, babycakes,” Tig would slur, and you would sigh, already getting out of bed and putting your house shoes on, “Think you could come save your poor boyfriend?”

You’d show up at the bar, and Tig would drag you in for a sloppy kiss with too many teeth and tongue, leaving your lips swollen before promptly passing out in the passenger seat of your car. You’d roll your eyes and drag him inside, setting a bottle of water and some painkillers on the table for him to take in the morning.

Tig would drag himself up and drape across your shoulders, pressing soft kisses to the back of your head, his voice rough with a hangover.

“Always takin’ such good care of me, mama.”

It was something new with them almost every day. They would surprise you with something, whether it be good or bad. And if it were bad? Well, they knew how to go all out.

The first time their way of life had affected you, you had nearly ended everything that night. You’d been fast asleep on the couch, having dozed off during a movie on the rare night that you were without one of your boys.

The loud pounding of your front door jerked you awake, making you tumble off the couch and to the floor. Before you could try and figure out what the hell was going on, you’d heard Jax through the door.

“Baby, come on,” He’d snarled and smacked his hand on the door, “Open up, baby, we need your help.”

You’d scrambled to open the door, terrified and with your heart in your throat. Jax and Chibs came stumbling in, Tig limp between the two of them. Blood soaked their clothes, and you could feel your hands start to shake when they carefully laid him out on your couch.

“Towels,” Jax barked, and you jumped when he snapped his fingers at you. Chibs had already dropped and was tugging Tig’s jeans.

“Sweetheart,” Jax snarled, “Towels. Now.”

Your feet were moving before you could consciously think to move. You drag out every towel in your hallway closet and shove them at Jax and Chibs. Your stomach turns at the smell of iron, and you can’t look at how red everything was.

“Snap out of it, baby,” Jax barked, and you jerked your head up to face him. His brow was furrowed, his face pale and strained. “We need you with us.”

“Bowl of water, love,” Chibs grunted then and jerked his chin in the direction of the kitchen, “On to it, lass.”

You’d toiled at the edges after that, fetching whatever they needed to stabilize Tig until their doctor could make it to your apartment. You stand beside Tig when they are done, carefully avoiding looking too close at the blood-soaked towel wrapped around his upper thigh.

“Hey.”

You blink, glancing down at Tig when his raspy voice meets your ears. He lifts a hand and cups your cheek, wincing when it makes his leg twitch, “Don’t cry, baby. I’ll be right as rain.”

You sniff and wipe at your face. You hadn’t even realized that you’d started to cry until he pointed it out. He grins up at you, but the sight of blood in his teeth and his pain-filled eyes does little to make you feel better.

“What happened?” You ask and look away from Tig to the other two, eyes raking down their bodies, searching for wounds or blood that isn’t from Tig.

“Not for you to worry about, Kitten,” Jax had immediately said and fished out a cigarette, lighting up as he began to pace the living room. Chibs settled by Tig, keeping the towel tight around the other man’s thigh as he watched Jax smoke like a chimney.

“What?” You demanded and narrowed your eyes. Your voice went sharp, and your jaw set stubbornly, “Tig’s bleeding out on my couch and you’re going to tell me not to worry about it?”

You flinch at the look that Jax sends you, but you don’t apologize or take anything back. You couldn’t not over this.

“Yeah,” Jax drawls and stops in front of you, looming, “I expect you to be a good girl and not ask any fucking questions.”

You swallow hard at his harsh tone and frown. Your hands clench at your sides, and you feel an unfamiliar well of anger begin to burn in your chest.

“You don’t get to say that when something like this-,” you gesture at Tig and your ruined couch, “Is going on. I won’t be kept in the dark.”

Jax glares at you, taking a step forward, making you tilt your head back to stare up at him as he chain smokes like a train, “Watch your tone, girl.”

Before either of you could start arguing, your front door burst open, and you were forced to move when a dark-haired woman with a medical bag strode in and began to ask questions. You grit your teeth and fall to the wayside, watching as Chibs explains that Tig had been shot in the thigh and that your apartment was closer than the clubhouse.

Jax snags your arm, and you find yourself dragged into the kitchen, away from the gruesome sight of one of your boyfriends getting a bullet dug out of the meat of his leg. Jax presses you against the fridge, making sure that he has your full attention.

“Listen to me, baby,” he rumbles and grabs your jaw, fingers digging in just enough to make your nose crinkle in discomfort, “You don’t know shit because not knowing keeps your ass safe.”

You glare up at him, lips pursed in frustration, “That’s not fair. I don’t want to be kept in the dark, Jax.”

The blonde sighs heavily and scrubs a hand through his hair, fingers gripping for half a second before he lets his hand fall back to his side, “We can’t do that. It ain’t safe for you.”

You feel true anger swell up in your chest. You wouldn’t do this thing with them half-assed. You would be in all the way or not at all. Even the thought of something happening to one of them and being uninformed about it makes your stomach hurt.

“I don’t want secrets between us,” You say tightly, your voice is loud enough that the ones in the living room could hear you, “You’ll be open with me about everything, or I don’t want to be a part of this.”

You force yourself to meet his startled expression. It was obvious that Jax hadn’t expected you to go that far right off the bat, but you are firm in your choice. You cross your arms tightly, eyes swelling with tears that you sniff back.

“I can’t handle secrets, Jax.”

The silence that settles over the room is only interrupted by the pained wheezing from Tig while their doc stitches his thigh back up. Jax stares at you, his jaw set, before he shoots a look at Chibs, who’d been listening in the entire time. They share a silent conversation before Tig groans dramatically and tosses a hand over his eyes.

“Jus’ fuckin’ tell ‘er,” He slurs, voice rough from blood loss and the shit show that had happened that night, “Ain’t losin’ my fuckin’ kitten over somethin’ stupid.”

You and Jax stare each other down for a full minute after Tig’s outburst, neither of you willing to back down until Chibs sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Just tell ‘er, Jackie Boy. This won’t be the first time somethin’ like this will happen.”

You shoot a thankful look at Chibs and then focus back on Jax, who looks like he is seconds away from blowing his top at having his men turn on him. He chews his lips and then closes his eyes, nostrils flaring before he opens his eyes and meets your own.

“I sent Tig and Juice for a little recon into Niner territory. They’ve been moving product through our parts, and I wanted to know what it was. They got caught, and Tig got shot in the thigh before they could get out.”

You don’t necessarily feel better knowing what happened, but you do feel better, more settled, now that there wasn’t anything being kept from you. You lick your lips and peek at Tig, who catches your eye and winks at you like he wasn’t bleeding out on your couch.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” You find yourself asking. There is an odd detachment to your voice. You understand that you are asking a dangerous question, but seeing one of your lovers hurt as this pisses you off now that you’ve gotten over the fear.

“Retaliation,” Chibs drawls from where he leans in the doorway of the kitchen now. He smokes his own cigarette, the cherry burning bright red as he takes a pull, “Ain’t lettin’ them get away with somethin’ like this.”

You nod slowly and prop yourself up on the counter. Your eyes slide back over to Tig, and your stomach rolls at the sight of the red towels that have been tossed around him. He is pale, gaunt-looking, and you hate that there isn’t really a way you can help him right now.

Jax, even if it was like pulling teeth with him, kept you more in the loop after that. SAMCRO had their retaliation a week later, and a party was thrown in honor of stealing the rival gangs’ product. The clubhouse blasted with loud music, and you were swiftly reminded of your first night here. It didn’t feel like nearly half a year had already passed by then.

You take up the role of Tig Watcher, which wasn’t a very hard job when the man didn’t feel like leaving your side. The two of you took up one of the couches in the common room, your feet tucked under your body, while you sipped from a glass of whiskey, and Tig used your lap as a pillow. Your free hand had made a home in his curly hair, absentmindedly petting him while you listened in on Jax’s conversation with Chibs and Happy.

Only for a frown to grace your lips when an unfamiliar woman decided to step into their space. Your eyes narrow at the sight, watching the other woman lean into Chibs. Tig follows your line of sight and laughs, blue eyes squinting in amusement.

“Uh oh,” He drawled and pinched your thigh with a snarky grin, “Someone is jealous.”

“She’s new,” You comment instead of admitting that you are indeed jealous, “Everyone knows that we’re together.”

“Not her,” Tig murmurs and shifts with a wince, rolling so that he faces the crowds of drinking bikers and hangers-on, “You gonna do something about that?”

You tap a manicured nail against the glass you hold, jaw setting in growing annoyance. The longer she hangs off your boyfriend, the tighter your chest begins to feel. Finally, you huff and tap Tig on the shoulder, gesturing for him to rise, “...yes.”

It didn’t happen often, but the boys weren’t shy in giving or receiving affection from you. Every now and then, you had to get possessive. Because your boys are flirts, and would stand there and just let another woman hang off of them if you didn’t step in. You still aren’t sure if they do that on purpose or not.

Tig giggles like the schoolgirl he is and flops back down on the couch, stretching like a house cat as he watches you lope across the floor, “Go get ‘em, Tiger!”

You ignore Tig and slide into Chibs’ space, leaning into his arm as you steal his beer and take a sip, grabbing his attention as you did so, “Tiggy needed you, love.”

Chibs glances down at you, brow cocking up as he looks from you to Tig, who is still grinning like a cat who got the cream. He then cut his eyes at the woman whom he just now really noticed, and a smirk curled his lips when he understood what was happening.

“Aye, does he now, love?” Chibs drawls and gives you his full attention, his back to the woman standing half a step too close. “He looks fine ta me.”

You roll your eyes at him, though your little act is already starting to break when your lips twitch with amusement. Jax steps in seconds later, a big hand setting firm on your lower back. You see the newbie huff and puff like an ornery hen and have to bite back a smirk. Thankfully, Happy is an actual saint and snags her attention, grumbling as he guides the poor woman away.

“What's going on here?” Jax drawls curiously, blonde brow cocked as he looks between you and Chibs.

“I think our wee lass is jealous,” the Scot murmurs, accent full of humor as he smirks over your head at Jax.

“Oh?” The president says, and his hand slips from your lower back to your hip, where he gently shoves you into his brother's chest. You grunt, but Chibs just grins and sets his beer away so that he can grip your waist with both hands and loom over you. “That right, baby?”

You pout at both of them, but then break immediately, cheeks going pink as you laugh, unrepentant.

“Maybe just a little,” you say and tug at the zipper of Chibs’ kutte, fixing the leather over his shoulders, “Can't have anyone thinking that they've got some kinda chance.”

They both snicker at you before Chibs shifts and catches your chin in a scarred hand, tilting your face up so that he can kiss you gently, “We’re yers, ye possessive beastie.”

You sigh into the kiss and drag him into another right after he stops calling you names, licking into his mouth while Jax crowds in from behind with a low sound of pleasured interest. His hands slide down your back to cup your ass through your jeans, and you feel the blonde grin against your hair when he squeezes his hands, massaging the thick globes of your cheeks.

“Oi,” Tig grouches from his spot on the couch when he sees the three of you tangled up in the corner, “Injured one over here. I demand attention.”

You laugh as you break your kiss with Chibs, and you hear the other two scoff, their hands staying right where they were.

“You’ve had her all night, Tig,” Jax called back, and then bends, his lips finding the smooth arch of your neck. Your eyes flutter with pleasure, and Chibs hums, one hand inching up the front of your shirt to splay his hand over your soft stomach. He slides it up. Fingers ghosting just under the curve of your breast, nails picking at your bra.

“Aye,” Chibs drawls and snags your lips in a quick kiss again, “Learn ta share, brother.”

-----

Your favorite days, however, are the ones where the four of you can just…be.

It’s the weekend, and the boys have taken over your apartment like usual. The atmosphere is heavy in a lax, slow way. It was hot outside, and none of you felt like venturing out just to be soaked with sweat within the first couple of minutes. Tig and Chibs shared the couch, both nursing beers and watching some fake crime show that you listened to them commentate on with half an ear.

You sat with Jax in the recliner, dressed in a pair of lounge shorts and one of their shirts that had SAMCRO stamped across the back of it like a brand. His arm was wrapped around your waist, your face tucked under his chin while he scrolled his phone with his free hand, eyes heavy-lidded as he watched you and his brothers. It wasn’t often that they were able to indulge like this, and Jax wanted to make sure that it stayed that way for as long as possible.

He feels you shift in his lap and immediately makes room for whatever you were doing, watching you with soft blue eyes. Jax knew that his relationship with you was the exact opposite of traditional, but the four of you made it work, and that was all he cared about.

“Tired, baby?” He asks, voice low so as not to bother the others. He watches you shake your head and shift again, your legs sliding to bracket his hips as you face him. The blonde is interested very quickly, his hands landing on your hips and squeezing. He gently tugs you forward and then kisses you, the embrace soft and sweet, but not short of passion.

One hand smooths up your back, fingers tangling in your hair as he angles you to deepen the kiss, his tongue dipping past your lips to stroke your own, slick muscles twining together in a wet dance of spit. You shift, sitting up on your knees so that you can bury your hands in Jax’s hair, fingers tight in the blonde strands.

His other hand cups between your thighs, and he groans at the heat he finds waiting for him there. Jax’s lips curl into a grin when he presses further, fingers sliding under your baggy shorts to stroke over slick-soaked panties. You huff into the kiss, brow furrowing as you sigh at the exploratory touch.

“Oh,” Tig rumbles from the couch, “Chibs, look. A show just for us.”

They watch your face contort in pleasure, teeth digging into your lower lip when you break the kiss to groan. Jax’s fingers had wiggled past the barrier of your underwear, stroking folds sticky with arousal. He circles your entrance, a rough laugh escaping his throat when his teasing makes you leak all over his hand.

“Fuckin’ soaked already,” He rumbles and smirks at the other two, extracting his hand so that they can see shiny, slick stringing between his fingers. Jax brings his fingers to his lips and sucks them in his mouth, tongue swirling to clean them off as he meets your eyes.

“Taste better every time, doll.”

You make a rough sound when Jax suddenly moves. His forearms slide under your thighs, and he stands, lifting you with him as he turns and lopes to your bedroom. He kicks the door open, and you grunt when he tosses you on the bed. Tig and Chibs have already appeared, their eyes dark with growing arousal as you stare up at the three of them.

“Been a couple of weeks since we all three had you, kitten,” Tig murmurs and slinks forward, one hand sliding into your hair and gripping tight, “You want that again?”

A low whine escapes your throat at the harsh treatment, but you wouldn’t want it any other way. He tugs your head back, angling your chin up to look at him while he smirks down at you, “Stuff all those pretty holes you have.”

A ragged breath left one of the others, and when you look past Tig, Chibs looks near feral, his eyes blown with lust and memories of the last time they had you like that. He lopes forward, His thumb sweeping over your bottom lip when Tig tugs your hair to angle you at the other man.

“Looked like a god damn temptation,” Chibs rasps, “You leaked us for days, lass.”

“And she will again,” Jax says as he appears on the other side. You feel like a rabbit surrounded by a pack of vicious wolves, all ready and salivating for just one bite.

“Ain’t that right, mama?”

Sex with all three of them is always a filthy, filthy series of events. Hands everywhere, your focus on who is who absolutely destroyed, and so much fucking pleasure that it teases on the edge of pain. You lie over Jax, brow sweaty and hands clenched in the sheets as he grinds up into you, cock thick and dragging over sensitive nerves that make stars flash behind your eyelids. A mix of drool and precum drips from your lips, cheeks hallowed and lips stretched taut around the cock in your mouth.

“Tha’s it, lass,” Chibs rumbles and hisses when you swallow around him. His hand tightens in your hair, holding you still as he shoves forward, cock bruising the back of your throat. You gag, tears welling and streaming down your cheeks to mix with the mess that’s already there.

Behind you, Tig’s eyes are locked on the way your ass takes his lube-slicked fingers as he works you open. He drops forward, pressing wet kisses to your spine, grinning when you whine and arch under him. His fingers scissor and circle, dragging over velvety walls as he preps you.

“Gotta open you up good, ma,” Tig purrs filth in your ears, lips dragging over your flesh with every word, “You know how big I am.”

You make a muffled whine, eyes rolling when Jax suddenly snaps his hips up and forces Tig’s fingers to slide deeper inside of you. You clench, shuddering and quaking between the three of them as they use you for their own pleasure.

Tig eventually eases off and then shifts, taking his cock in hand and dragging it over your lube-soaked hole with a grin. The sounds in the room are like music to his ears, and Tig relishes the muffled moan you make when he nudges forward and slides the tip inside.

“Fuck,” Jax hisses, and his head falls back, brow furrowed as the added pressure makes your cunt squelch and tighten around his dick, “Feels like fucking heaven, baby.”

Chibs locks onto the way Tig begins to work his way inside, his mouth watering when he watches your body stretch to accommodate the biggest of the three of them.

“Tha’ feel good, sweet girl?” He purrs above you and slows his snapping pace into slow rolls of his hips, choking you with his prick, “Arse stretched around Tiggy’s cock?”

You garble around his cock, drool falling in great globs from your chin, hitting Jax in the chest where he lies under you. He laughs and scoops the mess up in his fingers before pressing it back up and smearing it around your lips, swollen and tight around Chibs.

“Don’t waste, baby,” He coos meanly, “You know better than that, Ma.”

You are gone, fucked dumb, and raw between the three of them. Your thoughts circle around nothing but the feel of them, each moving, using you. It was degrading and demeaning, but it was the best fucking feeling in the world to be stuck between the three of them.

“Gettin’ close, love,” Chibs warned you, voice tight as that edge grew closer and closer. His hips stuttered when your throat worked him, and he cut his eyes down at Jax, “Where do ye want it, Prez?”

Jax grunts, face red and glistening with sweat, hips a steady rhythm as he fucks you, cunt sucking him in over and over. He laughs when the question registers, lips curling into a smirk.

“Paint that pretty face, Chibs,” he rasps and hisses when his words cause your pussy to leak even more, gummy walls dragging him closer to the edge, “We can help clean her up afterwards.”

“Fuck,” Tig snarls, and your entire body jars with his next thrusts, balls smacking the thick fat of your ass, “Not fucking fair. You know I love cleaning her up.”

Jax snickers, a ragged sound cutting through the laughter when your nails dig into the muscles of his arms. He smirks up at you, meeting watery eyes that didn’t hold a fucking thought.

“Fucking animal,” Chibs growls above you and grits his teeth. He tightens his grip on your hair, holding you firm while his free hand fists his cock tightly, brow furrowing as he curses and slides free of your mouth.

Hot spurts of cum splash you in the face, landing across your forehead and over the bridge of your nose. More hits your cheek and then your lips, sliding down to pool in your mouth. You swallow the load and then lick your lips, eyes clenched shut as you search for more. Chibs laughs and scoops up his spend, feeding it to you bit by bit, watching as your pretty tongue licks it up like it’s the best tasting thing in the world.

“Chibs,” Tig whines from behind, and the Scot takes pity on the other man, fingers dragging through the mess of cum and drool before pressing the sticky mess against his lips. Tig groans and laps it up, cock twitching where it’s buried in your ass.

The sight makes Jax swear, hands clenching around your hips as that tension snaps and he comes with a low snarl of your name on his lips. You whine at the feel of his cum filling your cunt, walls quivering and cunt pulsing as you clench and cream around his dick, body shuddering as you come for the umpteenth time that evening. You breathe heavy, eyes still clenched shut, and mouth full of cum. You sag down, brow pressing against Jax’s chest while Tig whines and ruts into you from behind.

Tig grunts around Chibs’ fingers as he comes, drool sliding past his lips to splatter across your back, his hips stuttering as he empties himself inside of you. Chibs wipes his hand on the sheets, and the hand in your hair softens, petting you instead of restraining.

“You okay, love?” He rumbles and cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb just under your eye.

“...Can’t see,” You rasp, voice wrecked from taking his cock, “Please clean me.”

Jax laughs softly and shoves at Tig with his food, “Come on, man. You’re crushing us.”

Tig groans and reluctantly extracts himself, whining again when he pulls out. His hand grasps your cheek and spreads you open, and Tig watches his spend leak sluggishly from your puckered hole. Below that, the mess from Jax stubbornly clings to puffy folds, and Tig grins as he swipes his fingers through both, gathering the sticky mess on his fingers before he shoves it in your mouth.

You hum and curl your tongue around his fingers, cleaning his digits without a thought, body still loose and pliant between the three of them. Tig backs off after that, sliding off the bed to escape to the bathroom and gather a couple of damp rags.

Chibs helps you rise from Jax, big hands steady on your body when Tig comes back to clean you up. You hiss against Jax’s chest when the lukewarm water meets your cunt, body recouping after the thrashing the boys left you with.

“You did so good for us, baby,” Jax coos in your ear and cups your cheek, leaning up to press his lips to your brow, lingering there for a long moment, “Are you okay?”

You nod after a moment, eyes heavy with exhaustion. You know that you’ll be sore to the point of immobilization after all the aches and pains settle in. You twitch and roll off of Jax now that you are clean, groaning when you curl up on your side, and it makes pain twitch up your spine from your backside.

“I thought we agreed that Tig’s too big?” You rasp and send them all looks of betrayal. Only Chibs has the decency to look even the slightest bit apologetic; Tig just grins, smug, while Jax shrugs one shoulder, trailing the tips of his fingers along your back.

“I wanted it,” Tig rumbles and crawls up the bed. He settles in behind you, tossing an arm around your waist as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, “Wanted that tight little ass around my cock. Don’t tell me it was too much for you, sweetheart.”

Jax scoots up the bed and rests against the headboard, taking the offered cigarette when Chibs taps one out where he has taken up space at the end of the bed. Jax sits back, one arm behind his head, toned body on display, and takes a long drag, the cherry glowing bright.

“No,” You grumble and roll so that you can bury your face in Tig’s chest. Chibs wraps a hand around your ankle, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your flesh, “Some warning next time would be nice, though.”

Tig just huffs and kisses the top of your head, rolling his eyes as the other two snicker at your pouty behavior.

“You love us,” Jax teases from her perch and nudges you with a foot, lips twisted up in a smirk, “Admit it, baby.”

You sigh heavily and roll back to your back, eyes meandering from Jax to Chibs to Tig before you huff and smile, eyes soft with affection.

“Yeah,” you murmur, and smile when Tig buries closer, “Yeah, I do love you guys.”

It had been a month since you started receiving random gifts. From chocolate to flowers to coffee. You had no idea who was sending them but it definitely put a smile on your face.

Walking out of your house you saw an envelope under the wiper of your car. Reaching over you saw there was no writing on the front, tearing the envelope open, you found a letter. Climbing into your car you started reading

“Light of my life,

I think it’s time I revealed myself! I cannot stop thinking about you and would like you to meet me at the lake at 7pm tonight and look for the fairy lights. I hope you give me a chance!

Your Secret Admirer xx”

Your first thought was that tonight would be the end and you were going to get shot or stabbed. Pushing the thoughts out of your mind you reversed out of your drive heading to Teller-Morrow but making a stop to get a coffee on route.

The lot was quiet but that was to be expected at 7.30am, parking your car you grabbed your bag, coffee and letter before heading into the building.

“What’s got you smiling at 7.30am?” Jax asked, nudging your shoulder.

“My secret admirer wants me to meet them tonight” you grinned at him but was slightly confused at why his mood dropped as soon as the words left your mouth.

“Right” he nodded before walking off.

Screwing your face up at what just happened you brushed it off to him being in a bad mood and decided to get on with the day.

“What has got ye knickers in a twist?” Chibs asked Jax.

“Nothing” Jax huffed.

“It’s gotta be something?” Tig asked “like you are acting like a child that’s just been told Santa isn’t real”

“Fine” Jax sighed wiping his hand on the rag “it’s just Y/N’s secret admirer wants her to meet them tonight and she’s super excited, I’ve never seen her so happy and I just know that I’m never gonna get my chance”

Placing a cigarette between his lips he sighed again watching the guilty glances Chibs and Tig shared.

“Okay so we need to confess” Tig half laughed.

“Y/N's secret admirer is us” Chibs said.

“Wait what?” Jax said, raising his brow at his brothers.

“Look we thought we would help you out” Tig smiled slapping his hand on Jax’s shoulder “we know for whatever reason you don’t have the balls to ‘fess up to her so we have been doing this for the last month, dropping hints on who it is but she hasn’t clicked on but she is meeting you tonight brother”

“Are you kidding me? You two have been playing Cupid the last month?”

“Yeah” Chibs laughed “look yous two are perfect for each other and all of us think you are meant to be, so your mom is currently with the prospect and they are setting up the picnic for tonight”

“I can’t believe you lot” Jax laughed “thank you”

You couldn’t help but keep checking the time, you were excited for tonight. You had never had someone show so much interest in you before. But deep in your gut you felt like you already knew this person as they knew what chocolate you liked, what your go to coffee order was.

Reaching into the draw of the desk you saw a gift box sat there, running your fingers over the wrapping you pulled it out. How did they get in the office? There were only three people with a key you, Gemma and Jax.

Opening the box, you froze. How did they get this?

Taking the half of the bumper car token out of the box, you ran your fingers over the plastic. There was only one person in the world that had the other half of the last token from a date when you were 16. That person was Jax.

Flipping the token over, your thoughts were confirmed when you saw your initials and half a heart carved into the back of it. Instantly you grabbed you keys as you turned your half into a keyring, lining your half up with it, it was a perfect fit.

Your secret admirer was Jax.

SOA TAGLIST

The California sun hung low and golden over the lot, turning the asphalt into a shimmering black sea. The air smelled of charcoal smoke, sizzling meat, and the faint tang of motor oil that never quite left the grounds. Gemma had declared it a "family BBQ," which really meant half the club, a handful of prospects, and way too many crow-eaters circling like perfume-drenched vultures.

You'd shown up in a black cropped tank top that clung to your curves from the heat, ripped jeans hugging your hips and thighs, scuffed boots, and your hair twisted up in a messy bun with a few stray strands sticking to the back of your neck.

You had no idea it made every Son in the vicinity lose focus the second you stepped out of your car.

"Damn, darlin'," Jax drawled from where he leaned against a picnic table, beer in hand. His blue eyes tracked you like you were the only thing worth watching in the whole yard. "You clean up nice after work."

You laughed, waving a hand dismissively as you grabbed a plate. "This is the opposite of cleaned up, Teller. I smell like a garage."

"Best smell in the world," Opie muttered from beside him, deep voice low enough that you almost missed it. He offered you a cold beer, his big hand brushing yours a second longer than necessary.

Tig was already grinning like a shark, elbowing Juice. "Twenty bucks says I get her to smile first."

Juice scoffed, adjusting his mohawk. "You're on. I've got the tech jokes. Chicks dig that."

You caught the tail end of their conversation and shook your head, amused. "You two betting on who can tell the worst joke? Count me in for the laughs."

Tig's grin widened. "See? Already winning."

The backyard behind the clubhouse was packed. Music thumped from a speaker someone had wired up, classic rock mixing with the pop of bottle caps and the sizzle of burgers Gemma was flipping like a pro. You moved through the crowd easily, helping where you could—handing out plates, refreshing drinks, laughing at the prospects' clumsy attempts to impress everyone.

The crow eaters noticed you immediately. A cluster of them near the coolers—tight dresses, sky-high heels, heavy makeup—eyed you with thinly veiled disdain. One blonde in a tiny denim skirt whispered something to her friend, both of them glancing at your grease-streaked tank top and smirking. You smiled politely at them anyway. Club girls were part of the life; you figured it was best to be friendly.

You had no clue they were losing a war they'd declared the moment you arrived.

Chibs spotted you first at the folding table Gemma had set up for cards. He was shuffling a deck with practiced ease, Scottish accent thick as he called out, "Lass! Come sit. These idiots don't know a straight from a flush."

You slid into the chair beside him without hesitation. "I don't really know poker," you admitted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The motion made your tank top shift slightly, drawing more than a few eyes. "But I'm a quick learner."

Chibs's grin was slow and warm. "That's my girl." He scooted his chair closer. Close enough that his knee pressed against yours under the table and you could smell the leather and faint cologne on him. "Right, then. Lesson one."

His hand covered yours as he showed you how to hold the cards properly, fingers lingering. You focused on the rules, nodding seriously while he explained suits and ranks. The other Sons drifted over one by one, forming a loose circle around the table.

Jax took the seat across from you, Opie beside him. Happy loomed nearby, toothpick rolling between his lips as he stared down a couple of hang-arounds who wandered too close. Tig and Juice kept up their betting, tossing bills into a growing pile every time you laughed at one of their lines.

"Alright, darlin'," Jax said, dealing the next hand with a smirk. "Story time while we play. Back when Opie and I were sixteen, we thought it was a good idea to boost Clay's old Chevy and race it down Main Street."

Opie chuckled, a rare deep rumble. "Ended up in a ditch. Clay made us detail every bike in the lot for a month."

Gemma appeared behind you, wiping her hands on a towel, a knowing grin on her face. "Don't let them fool you, sweetheart. They were little shits. I caught Jax trying to sneak a girl out his window more times than I can count."

You burst out laughing, nearly dropping your cards. "I can picture it. Leather jacket, cocky grin, probably thought he was invincible."

"Still do," Jax winked.

Chibs leaned in again, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, "Focus, lass. You've got a pair of kings. Play 'em right, and you'll clean these boys out."

You followed his advice. To everyone's surprise and your own, you started winning. Hand after hand. The crow eaters who had sauntered over were either given a polite distracted smile or straight up ignored. One girl in a mini dress tried to drape herself over Tig's shoulder while batting her lashes at Jax, but both men were too busy watching you chew on your lower lip in concentration.

"Another one?" Juice said, eyes wide as you laid down a full house. "You're a natural!"

You shrugged, cheeks warm from the praise. "Beginner's luck, I guess. Chibs is a good teacher."

Chibs's hand rested on the back of your chair now, thumb occasionally brushing your shoulder. "Aye, that's it. Pure talent."

Happy didn't say much, but every time one of the girls laughed too loudly or tried to insert herself into the conversation, his dark eyes would lock onto them with that flat, unnerving stare until they found somewhere else to be. The toothpick between his teeth snapped once when a brunette leaned over the table a little too far in an attempt to show off her cleavage while asking you for "tips" on how you stayed so "fit working on cars."

You answered earnestly, oblivious. "Just the job, really. Lifting parts all day keeps you moving."

The girl's smile faltered when none of the Sons even glanced her way.

As the sun dipped lower and the string lights flickered on, the competition grew more obvious to everyone but you. A redhead in heels tried to pull Juice away for a dance, but he waved her off with a quick "Maybe later, I'm up against her next."

Tig told an increasingly filthy story that had the crow eaters giggling and pressing closer. Yet, his eyes kept sliding back to you every time you reacted with a surprised laugh and a playful shove to his arm.

Opie stayed quiet, but he kept refilling your drink and handing you fresh napkins when grease from your burger got on your fingers. Jax told more stories—teenage escapades mixed with club lore—and you hung on every word, completely at ease in the middle of all of them.

You won more hands as the pile of chips and the betting money in front of you had grown ridiculous.

"Jesus Christ," Tig laughed, throwing his cards down. "She's killing us. I'm in love."

You rolled your eyes, thinking he was just being his usual dramatic self. "It's just cards, Trager."

Chibs's arm draped casually along the back of your chair now. "Told ye. Natural talent."

The crow eaters had mostly retreated by then, shooting dirty looks your way when they thought you weren't watching. You caught a few of the glares and offered friendly smiles anyway, assuming they were just having an off night or maybe jealous of the guys' attention in general. Club dynamics were still new to you.

Eventually Gemma called everyone over for dessert, homemade pie and more beer. You stood up, stretching your arms overhead without thinking. The motion pulled your already cropped top up more as half the yard seemed to pause.

"Food's ready, sweetheart," Gemma said, looping her arm through yours and steering you toward the tables. She leaned in, voice low and amused. "You're causing quite the stir tonight."

You blinked, lost, "Me? I'm just hanging out. Everyone's been really nice."

Gemma's laugh was rich and knowing, and Clay gave a subtle wink after hearing it. "I'm sure they have."

The night wound down with more music, a few people dancing near the speaker, and you joining in for one lazy slow song with Juice, who kept stepping on your toes and apologizing with a flushed face. Chibs stole the next one, spinning you smoothly while the others watched. Happy nodded at you from the shadows when you passed, a rare almost-smile tugging at his mouth. Opie and Jax kept finding reasons to be near you—offering jackets when the evening cooled, asking if you needed anything.

By the time you were saying your goodbyes, the Sons were clustered together, throwing glances your way as you hugged Gemma.

"The girls were so nice!" you told the matriarch, then shook your head. "I don't know why they kept glaring at me though…"

The crow eaters stood on the outside, almost pouting, arms crossed as none of the Sons were with them. They'd lost the competition you hadn't even known you were in, and they'd lost badly.

The remaining Sons watched you talk to Gemma, a look of confusion on your pretty face. Tig let out a low whistle. "She's gonna be the death of us."