#jackson teller

Jax's girl was wearing a white t-shirt that stopped right above her belly button, and a pair of low hanging cotton shorts, white too, to match with her sandals. She had a big insulated lunch bag hanging off one shoulder, and her handbag on the other, her many keyrings rattling with every step.

Half-Sack quickly wiped his hands and jogged to relieve her off the weight on her shoulders, like a true gentleman. 

"Oh my God, thank you," She sighed in relief when Half-Sack swung the heavy bag on his shoulder instead.

"It's nothing," He smiled with a shrug while she waved her face with one hand, as if that'll do anything against the day's heat.

"Let's get out of the sun," She quickly said, rushing to get in the shade and lean against the wall to catch her breath for hauling the bag around for five minutes. She could've drove here but it's such a short walk, and someone has got to think about the environment.

Half-Sack puts the bag down next to her and looks around for Jax, asking one of the mechanics if they've seen him. "He's with the red Peugeot," One of them nods their head towards the back.

"Oh," Half-Sack nods, he turns to the girl, "I'll go get him,"

"Thank you, Half-Sack," She smiles, squeezing his shoulder, making sure to avoid the black greasy stain on the fabric of his grey t-shirt.

She likes Half-Sack, he's pretty cool, it's just that sometimes she's convinced he fixes cars with his whole body instead of his hands, like, what's up with that?

Anyway, her boyfriend shows up, followed by Half-Sack. Jax's wiping his hands on a rag and he's smiling, happy to see her pretty face. A couple of big strides and he's right there in her space, bending down and kissing her, "Hey, baby,"

"I got lunch," She says between his pecks and he's smiling like a fool.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I just need you to do something for me, but first," She steps back a little, and Jax follows her, trying to get another taste of her lips, but stops when he realises he's right in the middle of their auto shop, and that's not really badass of him.

Before she can tell him what to do, she turns to the lunch bag on the floor and pull out a chocolate chip cookie, the size of her hand, wrapped in a napkin. Jax watches her go to where Half-Sack's perched over a car, elbow deep in its guts and she calls his name. He turns around, surprised, and she sticks the cookie in his face and he grins.

Half-Sack takes his hands out of the car and wipes his palms messily on his jeans, she scrunches her nose and he looks a little embarrassed when she peels off the tissue paper and presents it to him so he could take a bite.

Half-Sack takes a bite, a big one, and he's so surprised and delighted at the taste, "Did you make that?" He asks, mouth full, a little bit of crumbs falling down his shirt.

"Yes, and don't go telling anyone I gave you a cookie," She laughs when he moans and takes the cookie from her fingers, "Oh, thank you!"

She walks back to Jax, who manages to look incredibly handsome in his dirty grey t-shirt with sweat stains, and his black jeans that are surely filthy, even if their colour hides it well, but he's got dust on the knee area, so he's had to be on the floor at some point, sweating away in this summer heat, working hard. 

The rag he wiped his hands with is now tucked in his back pocket, and his hair was downright a mess, sticking haphazardly in all directions. She's sure everything was tied in a ponytail before, but now half of his hair has escaped the hair tie.

"Jax, where do you wanna eat?" She asks and he scratches his forehead, leaving a black mark on his skin, "What?"

She softens up then and links her finger on a belt hoop in his jeans, pulling him in a little. If it was any other day, or weather, she would've hugged him, regardless of her all white outfit, but it was too damn hot for that.

"When was the last time you had water?" She asks and he looks away, thinking, "I had a beer half an hour ago,"

"Jackson," She sighs and he groans, "I'm sorry, I just needed something to take the edge off, I'm tired, baby,"

"Okay, do you want to eat in the office? Or out here in the shade? I can see you guys moved the benches closer to the building," She asked.

"Outside," Jax answers and she nods, "Go wash your hands and we'll eat, yeah? I made burrito wraps,"

"I love you," He grins.

"I love you too, now go," She pushes him towards the toilets and he jogs there.

Taking the bag to the bench was easy work, considering the benches were right there, and she was determined to feed her surely hungry and tired boyfriend.

She takes out a water bottle, perfectly cold in her hands and a small plastic container, and that's when Jax comes back, face a little wet along with the collar of his t-shirt. He's grinning until he sees her take a baby blue scrunchie and hairbrush out from her handbag.

"What're you doing?" Jax asks, confused, about to sit next to her on the bench.

"I'm brushing that bird's nest, and I've got a scrunchie, it's better than that tiny band you use, baby," She says, sitting with the table to her back, feet on the ground.

"Can I eat first?"

"You'll eat while I brush your hair and tie it, sit down," She points at the space between her legs on the floor.

"Are you serious?" Jax asks while she stares at him, completely unimpressed.

"Jax," she warns him, and it's a little annoying because he'll feel much better when she brushes and ties his hair, she even got a spare clean t-shirt at the bottom of the lunch bag, that's probably cold by now because of the fresh lemonade she made, perfect for the weather.

Jax stares at her without moving and that's irritating because usually he just listens when she's trying to take care of him, but it looks like the heat messed up with his head today.

"Sit your ass down," She hisses through clenched teeth, pointing at the floor with wide eyes. Jax flinches in surprise at being scolded by his girlfriend, and he's never seen her do that face before. He's so shocked that a laugh bubbles out of his throat and before he knows it, he's sitting on the floor, his back to hers, and he's got a cold water bottle in his hands, and a plastic container with apple slices covered in cinnamon and sugar.

He's still giggling when she's brushing his hair out of his face, gathering it in her hand to tie it.

"What's so funny?" She asks with a raised brow.

"Nothing," Jax says after swallowing his apple slice and licking cinnamon and sugar off his fingers, and drinking half of the water bottle all in one go.

When she ties his hair in a bun, making sure not to do it too tight, because she knows Jax finds it uncomfortable, she smacks a kiss onto his forehead, upside down, "There, all done,"

Jax gets back up from the floor, container empty and he kisses her on the cheek, "Thanks, sweetheart,"

"You're welcome," She smiles, taking out almost everything she packed in the twenty litre insulated lunch bag.

On the table, they have homemade burrito wraps, salad, chips with dips and sauces she knows Jax and herself like. They've got fresh cold lemonade, coke in case he doesn't want lemonade, two slices of lemon cheesecake, cookies, and even more burrito wraps, all wrapped in aluminium foil.

"Darlin', you're spoiling me," Jax grins, sitting across her now, and he leans over the table to grab her chin and press a sweet kiss to her mouth.

"It's the least I could do," She smiles, cupping the hand on her chin and Jax groans, hungry and a little turned on, "Don't say to me or I'll put a ring on your finger,"

"Alright, big boy, calm down, eat first, and then talk about putting a ring on my finger," She laughs lightheartedly.

Jax kisses her again and sits back down, grabbing a burrito, "You made like ten of these, who's gonna eat all of that?" He rips the aluminium to expose the wrap and takes a huge bite, just about avoiding biting into aluminium foil as well.

She unscrews the lemonade bottle and pours him a cup, and then opens the salad container, sticking a fork in it, in front of him, "For the others, I know there aren't a lot of guys in today, so I made extra,"

"Oh, angel, you shouldn't have," He coos, stuffing salad in his mouth and a chip too, right after.

"I wanted to," She smiles, taking a satisfied sip of her lemonade.

Jax chews and swallows, then he turns around, "Half-Sack! Call everyone and get over here!"

Half-Sack does right as he's told, because he's sure it has to do with food, and who doesn't love free homemade food?

It takes Half-Sack less than a minute to gather everyone and bring them to Jax and his girlfriend, sitting at the bench. Jax wipes his mouth with a tissue, "Alright, my gorgeous girl made you losers homemade burritos, grab one and thank her,"

She flushes, smiling big when the men reach inside the lunch bag to grab a wrap, and every time, without fail, they thank her with a grateful nod. Half of them go back inside, and the other half are too excited and hungry to sit so they unwrap the burritos and take a bite right there, standing around Jax and his girl.

Jax laying back on the bed once both of your clothes are tossed away, his muscles rippling and his smile lazy. He’s a vision and he knows it. “Take a seat,” he rumbles, tapping his lips twice.

You freeze. It isn’t a statement. It’s a command. But your mind and pussy aren’t in agreement with what you should do. “Not sitting on your face,” you mumble.

Desire isn’t the issue. You’re wet, and you have been since he dragged you to the bedroom, your lips still swollen from his kisses. But sitting on his face? You’ll smother him.

The flash in his cerulean eyes tell you, however, that your answer is the wrong thing to say.

“I said…” You shriek when he grabs your thighs and positions you over his face. You grip the headboard and try your best to hover, but your legs shake when his fingers dig in. “Take a fucking seat.”

“You won’t be able to breathe!” You almost choke when his tongue darts out to taste you, your legs burning the more you fight it. “Jax, let me just bounce on your cock.”

You’ll happily take a seat on his big dick and ride it like your life depends on it.

He chuckles, the vibration combined with the scratch of his beard making you whine. “Baby, if your pussy is the thing that kills me, I’ll die a very happy death,” he tells you in a seductive purr, flicking your clit. You can’t resist much more. “And you’ll ride my cock after you ride my face.”

You bite your lip hard. “Pinch my thigh twice if you can’t breathe.”

“Like I give a fuck about breathing when I’m indulging in my pussy,” he says almost to himself. “Sit.”

The single word comes out in a snarl, and your fight melts away. You feel his rings dig into your thigh once you finally sink down, grounding him and not pinching you. He practically growls against your folds and begins to eat like you’re his last meal, your head falling back.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper, and he moans in agreement. You wish you could pull his hair or see his eyes, but you don’t need to to know he’s in his personal sort of heaven. “Please.”

Your body writhes in bliss as his tongue plunges deep, surrendering to the need in both of you. A small part of you still worries if he can breathe, but he’s too busy feasting on you to care. He once said you were divine, like the taste and feel of your pussy was made just for him. You believe it because no one else can do what he does.

Not that he’d let you find out. He isn’t inclined to share you, and you don’t want him to. Why would you want another man when you have Jax Teller demanding that you sit on his face?

“Jax! There! Right there!” you cry when he adds two fingers, your hand coming up to play with your breasts. They ache, wishing his hands and mouth were on them. They would be soon enough.

Every lick and thrust is deliberate, his fingers and tongue sinful and worshipful. He devours you, grunting as your hips move up and down. He encourages you to keep riding him as your orgasm builds. You’re going to make a mess all over his face, and you want to.

He pulls his tongue out long enough to rasp, “Come for me.”

You do, gripping the headboard again as your orgasm rips through you. You’re vaguely aware of him groaning as your wetness coats his mouth and chin, and he licks up everything he can. Your body is still shaking when he moves you down his body, his face shining and his smirk enough to heat you up all over again.

“See, baby? Didn’t smother me,” he points out, guiding you over his cock. “Now take a seat again. I know my greedy pussy needs my cock.”

You smile, your head still spinning. “You cocky son of a-”

He drives his hips up as he pulls yours down, both of you moaning as you stretch around him. “Be good and ride me.”

How can you say no to that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jax’s jaw tightened.

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

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

But none of them stopped watching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that did it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jax’s hands flexed at his sides.

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

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

The shift in energy was instant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was thinkin’ about it.”

“That’s not illegal.”

“Maybe it should be.”

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

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

“Hmm. Love’s a strong word.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh yeah. This was gonna be fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw dropped. “You what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leaned in close, his breath brushing your ear.

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

“Daddy!” She screamed, rushing the line of bikes before he had even parked, the dragged out cheer vibrating in her chest due to the rush of her steps. It was met with throaty laughter, a rumble louder than his engine as he walked himself backwards into his usual spot. 

“C’mon,” he clapped his gloved hands together, leaning down to grab her. He plopped her down in front of him on the bike and there went it, flutters so overwhelming you felt like you had a serious case of morning sickness all over again. 

Jax made his way behind you and dropped a heavy arm over your shoulder. “What are you guys doing here?” 

“We’re stealing him for lunch,” you leaned into him, chin gesturing to Happy and your girl contently sitting on the bike. 

The two of you watched a memory in the making. Happy explaining the throttle, the clutch, what it is and how it works despite her not having a clue to what even half those words meant. She smacked against the tank, stretched her arms for the handlebars but her chubby arms were too short to get anywhere close.

Happy was in awe of her, smiling so wide he looked like a damn cartoon character. You pulled out the little silver camera that stayed in your purse these days, capturing that sight three times over, and through it all you kept side-eyeing the blonde beside you. 

Jax doesn’t linger. He doesn't lean his head against yours and take one too many deep breaths like he’s just waiting for you to notice. He doesn’t talk to you anymore.

It started around the time of Tara’s return to Charming. He didn’t cut you out, never, but it was different. Distant in ways that were reasonable, separation that would be expected when your brother goes and gets himself an old lady.

Then Opie died, and he cut everyone out.

His wife, you, the club. This version of the man you call brother was rare, and after everything he’s done for you, you couldn’t possibly pretend it was normal. 

“You okay?” You bumped his shoulder, poking at the heaviness he wasn’t holding very well today. Your life with leather was just starting, but his was reaching the bottom of a very hard rock. He needed to let it out, but all you could do was open the door, he had to walk through it on his own.

“Yeah, darling,” he kissed the top of your head, pouring all his love into it with a deep inhale of your hair that smelled like the same damn shampoo you’ve used since you were ten, “all good.” 

You could push, pry, but knew it wouldn’t go far. It never does, but you hate seeing him like this. Tired, and fighting too hard to keep the walls up between the president, husband, and the monster he sees in himself.

You only ever saw the version of him you met when you were five. The kid who bullied people off the swings so you could have it all to yourself.

Then he became the angry teen who beat up any guy who dared to make you cry. The prospect who held you through your grief when your father died. The fresh patch who drove you to college himself so you didn’t have to lift a single box. The brother who held your hand through labor and you didn't even have to ask. The first man aside from your father to show you unconditional love in its purest form.

Even now, this broken version of your truest friend. You can see him doing his best, doing what he was built for, and struggling with every part of it. 

He never let that happen to you, and you couldn’t let it happen to him. 

“Hey Jax,” you called out, stopping him before he got too far, “I’m not Opie, no one is,” you shrugged with a sad attempt at a smile, “but you can always come talk to me.” 

He didn’t give you much, but he did grin. A glimpse of something real but rare these days. 

Little girl's never ending string of words was silenced by her favorite meal at Happy’s favorite diner. The hostess greeted them like old friends, grabbing a kids menu and a bucket of crayons on the way to a big booth in the back corner like it was second nature. Followed by the immediate arrival of a perfectly sized bowl of mac and cheese neither of you had to order before it appeared. She had a crayon in one hand, a grip full of noodles in the other. Smashing the cheddar goo in her mouth like a feral animal. 

“How many times have you guys been here?”

“Just for lunch,” he shrugged, coloring alongside her. Crayon dragging at the corner of the page until her name was spelled out in chunky bubble letters just like always.

You didn’t think it was possible to fall deeper but there you went, head first, diving right into the deep end. Eating, chatting, carrying the conversation because as much as you’ve grown to love him for it, talking to Happy is essentially talking to yourself. 

You talk, he listens. She talks, he listens. He talks, the world is probably ending. 

You ordered the universal safety meal of chicken tenders but when his burger came out your mouth watered. One look at your star struck expression and the worlds best dad was officially in the running for worlds best old man. You ate your fries, she ate his, and he let you take bites of his burger every time you asked for just one more until the whole thing was gone and he was finishing off your plate instead. 

Dates were a luxury, he said he had the time, but you knew the truth when you let him stay that night. It was only going to get worse, but his promise held weight because he didn’t make many.

It was getting worse, but it was going to get better, and in the meantime, he made time.

He would always make time. 

The time to push her for hours on the swing because it was her happy place. The time to help cook, clean, and hold you both during much needed rest. The time to make you feel heard without having to say a word.

He did balance well. It was one of the only things he did well that wasn’t tied specifically to some form of violence. All of it seemed to come so easy, like part of him was just waiting for someone to come by and wake him up.

It was an average night, the kind that was quickly becoming the new normal. 

The breeze was warm coming in through the kitchen window, and leftovers from dinner were already stored neatly in the fridge. She had a bath and smelled sweet like lavender and honey. You got to take a baby free shower while he forced her to watch yet another classic from his childhood that made her eyes droop in a matter of minutes. 

You came shuffling down the hall in the smiley face slippers you bought last week, a pajama set that matched hers, hair tied up and wanting nothing more than to fall into the curve of his side. 

Ding dong

For the briefest moment you were convinced you were cursed, one thing after another. 

“I got it,” Happy muttered, lifting off the couch with your baby girl in tow. 

It was one of the many unspoken rules he has.

You don’t pump your own gas anymore. You don’t go to the grocery store alone once the sun's gone down. It’s practically a law that he reads the nightly bedtime story. Amongst the ones you know, there are ones you’re still learning, but not this.

You, under no circumstances, are to open the door to your own home. 

You didn’t fully understand why, you didn’t care enough to ask, you brushed it off the way you do everything else. That world’s best old man award goes to Happy Lowman, because for all his quirks his priority was just to keep you safe. 

He passed her off on your way towards the kitchen, parting ways with a kiss to your forehead because it just happened to be within reach. Her head fell against your shoulder with a soft thud and a yawn to pair. You juggled her, her cup, the gallon of milk. You had your hands full and your ears turned on, picking up the unmistakable sound of Jackson Teller at your front door. 

You rounded the corner and the two of them were standing awkwardly. Happy looked like a little boy who got caught with his pants down, Jax looked like he’d walked in on his parents getting it on, and you were far too amused by all of it. 

“It’s for you.” 

“Yeah it’s my house,” you giggled, shuffling your way around the couch, “trade me?”

You passed him a sippy cup of cold milk for bedtime and let little girl kiss her uncle goodnight before handing her back off to daddy.

Once Happy disappeared down the hall Jax’s expression did a one-eighty. He went from borderline traumatized to smug as hell like usual. He trailed behind you back to the kitchen, fighting to keep quiet but that could only ever last so long between the two of you. 

“You move fast.”

“Slut shaming coming from you is crazy.”

He chuckled softly and accepted the coffee cup he had no intention of touching while taking a good look around. Your house was cleaner, neat even. No dishes in the sink, dishwasher running. Laundry mountain had been excavated, and all her toys from play time had already been returned to the toy chest. 

If Jax didn’t know you so well he wouldn’t think much of it, but he’s seen your childhood bedroom and the filth you let pile up during postpartum. He knows exactly how you tend to keep things. 

“It looks good in here.” 

“Apparently he likes things neat,” you gestured to the stack of mail organized by size and priority. Yet another thing Happy had taken care of while you and your mini were busy washing off the day. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” 

You didn’t expect it to be that easy, but you didn't actually expect him to show up at all. The softness of your tone, full of love and support, broke him down.

He went off, words wobbly and unsure. It seemed you weren't the only one experiencing the exhaustion of one thing after another. The patch and the weight of the damn president flash. Tara and the mess she was making of the life she chose. 

It was hard not to cut in, because of course you had your thoughts, opinions, judgements too. The club has bled all over her life, their family, but she knew what the club was. They’re not subtle, the good the bad the ugly, it’s all out in the open. He spoke quietly like he was tucked in a confessional rather than your dimly lit kitchen, mumbling about his boys and what the hell to do next. Until he was sniffling, palms pushing into his eyes to keep the tears contained. 

“I know how much you love her,” you sighed, hand petting over his slicked back blonde hair gently, “but if she can’t accept who you are, is it worth it? Our life is messy, but it’s our life Jax. It’s all we’ve ever known.” 

He looked up, stern with the thought she trapped inside his head. “We could have better.” 

“Do you want better?” 

His face quivered, head dropping from his shoulders. The answer was complex, multipart and too much for either of you to process in one night. 

Better? Yes. Away from the patch entirely? Not so much. 

“Yeah, me neither,” you huffed, resting your head against his in support, "you can stay in her room if you want, she sleeps with us anyway.” 

He nodded politely, palms rubbing his eyes hard. “How’s that been going?” 

“Well he’s the one putting her to bed, so you tell me.” Your comment brought his smile back. A small victory in the form of a silent bounce to his shoulders that lightened the weight that the gavel had burdened him with just enough to clean his face up. “I won’t make you stay but I think you should. Take the night, take a breath, it’ll help.” 

“You sound like mom.” 

“I changed my mind, get out,” you pointed to the door dramatically and he rolled his eyes, holding your knee like it might fix the disconnect in his mind. 

After a few hushed whispers and sibling banter while getting him set up, you made your way back to them. Feet dragging underneath you as you finished getting ready for bed. Teeth brushed, hair fixed, dropping the bottom half of your pj set from your hips and fumbling with the sheets. Happy helped, moving them both to give you more room, lifting the covers for easier access to fall right into his side and take your rightful place against his chest. 

“You mean what you said out there?” 

“Nosy,” you whispered, taking a moment to admire her attached to his other side. Fisting the sheets tight, tiny little snores filling the room. You tucked her hair out of her face, leaning over his torso to kiss her cheek goodnight. You finally settled, head on his chest, steady beat thumping in your mind, “which part?”

“You happy here?” 

You hummed, absentmindedly tracing the lines of his inked torso, trailing into quiet laughter when the thought filled your head. “I’m happy with Happy.” 

He fought his grin but it was there, twitchy corners he couldn’t help but give into. “Funny.” 

“So I’ve been told.” You climbed over top of him, maneuvering around your daughter with ease, lips connected to his neck. 

He pushed you off carelessly, grunting out a simple, “no.” 

“Seriously? She’s dead to the world,” you lifted her arm and it landed back down on the bed with a thud, “see.”

“Not happening.” 

“Chivalrous too,” you snickered, coming up for another kiss, hips rolling in a teasing grind, “very sexy.” 

He groaned into your mouth before he could stop it, “quit your shit.”

“Make me.”

He flipped you, too easy, pinning you into the mattress by the neck. Not rough, not violent, just holding you in place while you giggled quietly. 

“It’s bed time,” he murmured, black voids taking in your adorable little huff of defeat. 

“Yes sir,” you teased, hands up in defense. 

He leaned down for one gentle kiss before rolling back over. You on one side, her repositioned on the other, it’s how he slept best under normal circumstances. The night was peaceful. He held your hand against his chest, thumb circling the sacred space between knuckles. He hushed her when she stirred, accepting her in closer until she was draped across him entirely so she was in constant contact with you both.

As peaceful as it was, it was sleepless. Knowing his president was a room away kept his brain awake, those words of wisdom still ringing true. 

Keep doing what you're doing, it’ll happen. 

this chapter is secretly my favorite...thank you for coming to my ted talk. love you, bye.

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