#ray smith

JAX TELLER

One Shots

The Reunion 🔥

After seven months apart, Jax is finally back home from prison, and even though you and he would never get that time back, he was determined to make you forget all about it.

Just Another Girl 💋

You’ve known Jax your whole life, and not once had he ever made you feel inferior or unimportant - just the exact opposite. You were on cloud 9 when you discover that your feelings for him were very much mutual, until you overhear a conversation with Clay that has you questioning every minute you’ve ever spent with him. Where You Left Me 💕💋 When you suddenly start to distance yourself from Jax, he’s left wondering what he could’ve possibly done wrong that would make you not want to be around him. But after a party, Ope tells him something that has alarm bells going off in his head, and he finally starts to connect the dots.| Part 2 of JAG.

Thigh’s the Limit 🔥

After a pretty serious accident, Jax is left bedridden at home, where he is given excellent care from his wife. But when weeks go by and he still can’t give you the pounding you deserve for putting up with him, he gives you the next best thing.

Night With A Showgirl 🔥

Halloween was just another day to the guys of SAMCRO, though it meant the girls who frequent the clubhouse could dress up in the most revealing outfits and no one would question it. Luckily for Jax, you go all out, and luckily for you, Jax had never been able to keep his hands off you, especially when you dress up for him.

The Married Life 🔥

Jax never thought he could ever be a one woman kind of guy, much rather preferring to spend the night with girls that didn’t expect anything else from him. He never thought he’d get married, but then he met you, and his entire perspective changed almost instantly, and all he wanted to do now was be with his wife all the time.

Changed Like Midnight 💋🔥

Jax had been chasing after you for years, wanting nothing more than to be with you since the day he met you, and when you finally give him a chance to prove himself, someone from his past threatens to destroy it completely.

Life of The Party 🔥

During one of the clubhouse’s many parties, you and Jax sneak away after you can’t keep your hands off each other, and end up in the cramped bathroom. Despite the limited space, Jax still knows your body better than anything else, and he knows exactly what to do to make you fall apart.

Saved By The Biker 💕💋

After a very boring and lackluster date, you swallow your pride and call Jax, your ex, and ask him to pick you up. Instead of being obnoxious and mean about it, he surprises you by not only coming through and helping you out, but also revealing a few things that have you questioning how you and he ended up where you were before tonight.

At The Table 🔥

Not only is Jax your new husband, but he is also the new President of SAMCRO. Even though he’s busier now than ever before, he’d never deny his wife the thing he promised is yours forever, nor would he deny giving you a ride on the President’s chair.

It Won’t Break Us 💕💋

Jax has been so busy with the club lately, you feel like you hardly see your husband at all. When he comes home and barely says a word to you, the stress both of you had been feeling comes out in the form of a nasty fight that leaves you both sleeping alone. But, despite the harsh words you exchanged with each other, neither of you liked being too far away, especially in your own home.

The Kitchen Table 🔥

Your morning in bed with Jax gets interrupted by club business, and after a long day spent barely staying in control of himself, he finally gets to pick up where you and he left off, this time on the kitchen table.

Series/Multi-Parts

King Teller Series 💕💋🔥

Jax is the King of Charming, and you’re his Queen.

12 Days of Jaxmas 💕💋🔥

A collection of (mostly) Christmas themed fics.

Just Give Me A Reason Series 💕💋🔥

You and Jax are high school sweethearts and are given a second chance at love after spending the last eight years apart, but a lot can happen in eight years, and even though it’s clear you and he are meant to be together, it’s hard to let go of the past.

RAYMOND SMITH

Middle of the Night 💋🔥

Yours and Ray’s relationship has always been complicated, right up from the moment you met, to each time you and he briefly see each other throughout the years. Though he wants more, yours and his lives are too different right now, but when you confide in him about your troubles, he suddenly doesn’t care about the very real consequences of having a more permanent place in each other’s lives.

WILLIAM MILLER

The Space Between a Rock and a Hard Place 💕💋

Each time you walk past, he’s there - so focused, so calm, so fucking hot about it. And you’re bored, dripping into your panties because he hasn’t touched you all day.

Now you hover at the edge of the room, arms crossed beneath your chest, one hip cocked out, watching him. The deep blue walls and low pendant lights bathe him in warm amber, highlighting the sharp lines of his face and the steady, graceful rhythm of his pen against paper.

The soft grey pullover sweater he’s wearing clings to his back, the fabric stretching over lean, hard muscle. When he reaches forward or shifts in his chair, you watch the defined lines move beneath the material - all quiet dominance and control.

He has the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing lean forearms threaded with veins and the solid weight of his favorite watch. His glasses sit perched low on his nose, his brow slightly furrowed as he makes notes on whatever spreadsheet he’s buried in now.

You sigh, loudly. Theatrically. But Ray doesn’t even glance up.

However, you do notice the faintest hesitation in his pen. He doesn’t react outwardly, but the subtlest shift sets across his toned shoulders, telling you he’s not as focused on his work as he’s pretending to be.

You can’t help the way your lips purse, just a little, at the realization. A quiet spark of satisfaction curls at the corners of your mouth.

Smirking, you saunter towards him, each barefoot step slow - letting the cardigan swing open just enough to tease. You stop behind his chair, stealing another moment to admire the shape of his back. There’s something so goddamn beautiful about the way he works - you could watch him like this for hours, casually running empires from the dining room.

His rich scent hits you as you approach - a hint of cedar from his cologne, clean detergent, and the lingering warmth of musk that always clings to him. It sinks into your lungs, leaving your head spinning in the best kind of way.

You shift in beside him, close enough to be felt, your voice soft and spoiled, almost petulant as you speak. “You’ve been working forever.”

He hums, his pen still moving. “Because someone has to make sure the money’s clean, darling.”

His pinky ring catches the light as he writes, glinting with every movement - precise and practiced, like everything he does.

Reaching out, you trail your finger slowly across his back, gliding from one broad shoulder to the other. The soft knit of his sweater shifts beneath your touch, and you feel the tension ripple beneath it.

“Are you insinuating that I’m dirty, Raymond?” you tease, your voice dipping low as you lean down, lips brushing his ear. Your teeth graze the shell of it, just a nip, soft and delicate - before pulling back with a wicked little smile.

Ray pauses at that, setting the pen down with a soft click, and lifts his head. He looks at you over the rim of his glasses, eyes dragging slowly over your body - your bare legs, the cardigan slipping low, the peek of lace beneath. He blinks once - then again, fast. A tic you’ve come to recognize. It’s how he reins himself in when he’s trying to stay composed.

Something he’s struggled with more since you came into his life, but not in a way he minds.

He turns slowly in his chair, finally facing you - gaze pinned, taking his time, indulging in your sight like it’s his reward.

His hand drags thoughtfully across his beard, like he’s weighing something - his fingers disappearing for a moment in the thick, meticulously kept scruff. Then he tips his chin and gestures toward his lap with a nod. “Come here,” he commands.

You bite your lip, eyes wide and a little too innocent, even as you let the cardigan slip a touch lower off your shoulder - just enough to offer a better view of your breast. Your tone is soft and sweet on the surface, but it’s laced with mischief. “Thought you were working.”

“I am.” His voice drops, low and sharper now. “Don’t make me ask again.”

A soft, excited meep slips past your lips - something small and involuntary, because you love it when he gets like this. You obey instantly, straddling his lap without hesitation, settling yourself over one thick, tailored thigh.

Ray raises an eyebrow when he realizes where you’re sitting. “What exactly are you doing?” he asks, voice edged with intrigue - his eyebrow still lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's this close to smiling.

You rock your hips once, just to test him, and the pressure is perfect. Denim against lace. His firm muscle pressed right where you need it.

Your arms curl around his neck, fingertips brushing the nape of it, leaning in close. “Getting creative,” you purr, dragging your lips over his jaw. “Since you’re too busy to fuck me.”

Ray doesn’t move, but his hands come up, gripping your hips. And then his thigh flexes beneath you, just once - enough to make you feel it. He watches you like something primal and a little bit entertained, a faint sound catching in his throat.

“Go on, then,” he orders, his tone is dry with a tinge of amusement as he indulges you. “You’re already making a mess of my evening. Might as well make a mess of my fucking trousers while you’re at it.”

Glancing up at him through your lashes, your mouth curves into a smile that’s playful, sheepish, and just a little smug. Ray hates mess. Hates anything unclean or out of order. But you? He wants the mess when it’s yours.

You start to move slowly at first. Hips rolling in lazy motions, grinding yourself down on the solid muscle of his thigh. The friction is divine, and every drag of lace against denim makes you press down harder.

He’s focused, tracking each twitch of your lip, every flutter of your lashes, all the tiny reactions in the way you rock against him. You let out a breathy moan, soft and helpless, grinding down exactly right - and his composure falters. His jaw tics, his long fingers flex against your hips, like the sound and feel of you is almost too much for him.

Your eyes lock - his are dark and calm, yours wide and hungry. He doesn’t blink or move, just holds you there on his leg with his firm grip and consuming stare. Your pulse hammers in your throat - you shouldn’t like being watched this much, but you do. There’s something raw and electric about the way he looks at you.

Your pace picks up as your orgasm builds, pressure curling deep in your belly. The cardigan slips off one shoulder with the increased movement, your body flushed and glistening with heat underneath it. Ray tilts his head slightly and adjusts his glasses like he’s refocusing.

Both hands move up your body, one arm wraps around your waist, keeping you balanced. The other slips beneath the wool draped around your unexposed shoulder, guiding it down your arm.

Your chest is bare to him now, your nipples stiff from the air and your own need. He studies you with quiet obsession - his hand slides up to cup one breast fully, his thumb brushing over the swollen peak while he watches your breath hitch at the contact. He squeezes, enough to make your body jolt, then repeats the motion on the other side. The sound he pulls from you is almost pathetic - high and fragile enough to make him smirk.

“You know how good you look like this?” he praises, slate-blue eyes locked on your chest as his thumb teases you again. “These perfect tits out. Cunt soaked for me.”

His cardigan pools around your elbows as your pace stutters, hips grinding faster and harder as you chase the pressure. Every movement of your clit sweeping over his thigh sends pleasure rolling through you.

Desperate, broken noises spill from your lips, gasping as your grip tightens on his shoulders, nails biting into the soft material of his sweater - completely losing yourself on the muscle he’s tensed just for you.

“Can’t help but act up when you want my cock, can you?” he growls low, his thigh flexing hard beneath you again.

You whimper, your head shaking from side to side with hopeless want. He can see how far gone you are - pupils blown wide, sweat clinging to your skin, your pink mouth parted in a silent, pleading gasp. But you don’t let go. Because he hasn’t told you to.

And you’re waiting - just like he’s taught you too.

You’re grinding frantically against him now, breath catching on every exhale, lost in the burning haze of need. Your orgasm is just out of reach, held hostage by the absence of his permission - while he watches - composed, relishing in it.

Ray is savoring this - the way your release belongs to him. He loves to own these moments, making sure your orgasm isn’t just something you take, but something he gives.

And then his voice slices through it all. “Do it,” he instructs, quiet and absolute. “Make a mess, love.”

His order is your undoing - your hips jerk forward, involuntarily, chasing that final bit of friction. The tension coils so tightly it’s nearly unbearable - your breath shatters, legs trembling as your entire body locks up in ecstasy. You cry out, grinding against him as your orgasm burns through your core, blurring your vision and leaving you slack with pleasure. You soak his thigh completely, the mess is hot and unfiltered, gushing through the lace and darkening the fabric beneath you.

You’re panting against his chest, eyes fluttering open slowly, still floating in that haze. And when you finally look up at him, his gaze is dark and heavy with desire - like he’s drinking in the sight of you ruined and breathless in his arms and loving every second of it.

“Needy little thing,” he remarks, not even trying to hide the amusement in his tone at your behavior.

Ray’s hand moves to your jaw, fingers curling gently around it as he guides your face closer to his, leaning in to press a kiss to your damp temple.

He shifts beneath you then, lifting you off his lap with gentle care. You whimper softly at the absence, legs still shaky, and he steadies you while you find your footing.

That’s when you see it, the shape of him - hard, thick, and straining beneath his trousers. Your breath catches, and you nibble on your lips as your thighs instinctively clench. You're still aching, still needy, because he hasn’t fucked you properly yet.

But Ray knows this, and without a word, he reaches for the cardigan still hanging from your arms. He slips it down slowly, knuckles grazing your sides as the wool glides over your skin, removing it and folding it over the back of the chair - neat and methodical, just like him.

With a quiet shift, he removes his glasses - holding them delicately in one hand - while his other bunches the fabric of his sweater between his shoulder blades. In one smooth motion, he pulls it up and over his head, muscles flexing as golden skin stretches across his torso. His chest is broad, lean, and defined in a way that’s always present beneath whatever crisp layers he wears. His stomach muscles contract with the motion, and as the fabric clears his head, it tousles his perfectly styled hair - leaving it just slightly disheveled.

He drapes it over top of the discarded cardigan, still holding his glasses, still watching you, before he slides them back on. His eyes trail down your body, devouring every inch of you standing there in nothing but those lace panties, chest flushed from release, plump lips parted, legs pressed together like you’re trying to hold in what’s left of your composure.

Ray looks down at you for a moment longer, like he can’t quite believe how pretty you are like this. His hand lifts, brushing the pad of his thumb slowly across your bottom lip, feeling the softness. He watches you like he’s starving, the quiet intensity in his eyes makes your pulse stutter. Your mouth parts, and you take his thumb between your lips - just to show that you’ll let him do anything.

And then almost like a switch, his expression changes, eyes darkening with intent as he instructs, “Turn around.”

You do as you’re told without hesitation.

He places one hand between your shoulder blades and guides you forward until your bare stomach meets the edge of the table. His palm flattens gently against your back, and with that same calm control, presses you down and bends you over without a word of resistance.

You brace yourself on the table, breath shallow, chest rising and falling against the cool wood. Behind you, there’s the quiet clink of his belt coming undone, the low slide of leather through denim - the sound alone makes your stomach flip.

Just as your breath steadies, you feel him at your hips, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. He drags the lace down slowly, letting it slide over the curve of your ass, your thighs, until it catches around your ankles. The fabric is damp, clinging slightly from how soaked you are, and you feel the low rumble of approval from his chest as your foot moves to kick them aside.

He pushes your legs further apart with a nudge of his toe, causing you to gasp softly. But you move easily and eagerly - parting your thighs wider for him, desperate to be filled. The cool air against your bare cunt only intensifies the ache between your legs.

The heat of his body crowds in around you as the weight of his cock brushes your inner thigh. He guides himself through your dripping folds, dragging his tip slowly between your swollen lips, smearing your release all over his length. His precum mixes with you - warm, sticky, and lewd.

One slow roll of his hips, and he’s pressing inside you - holding, letting you feel the stretch begin. The first few inches make your knees buckle. He’s thick and unforgiving, filling you up like it’s the first time all over again. You clench around him, greedily trying to take more, but he holds steady - giving you only what he wants.

Then he sinks in - and the most delectable, shameless sound escapes your body. Ray grunts at the feel of you, his hand coming to your hip, holding you firmly as he starts to move.

He fucks you with long, deep strokes - dragging the length of himself all the way out before thrusting back in, a bit harder each time. The pressure, the fullness, the overwhelming movement of him, slams into you all at once.

His grip tightens around your waist, one hand trailing slowly up your back, firm and steady, pinning you to the table.

You whimper, fingers digging into the edge of the table - no matter how many times he fucks you, no matter how wet or ready you are, the feel of him inside you always leaves you wrecked. So much and not nearly enough - an exquisite kind of ache.

A moan tears from your throat, loud and greedy, while Ray sets his pace - punishing and devastatingly precise. The table shifts beneath you, legs creaking in protest, and somewhere under your cheek, you feel papers slipping - documents he’d been buried in all evening, now pushed askew by the force of your body jolting against the wood.

“This what you needed?” he taunts, his voice a mixture of gravel and silk. “After all that whining - this what you were after?”

You nod, gasping his name as he drives deeper, harder, each thrust stealing the air from your lungs. His own breathing grows heavier, but his control never wavers - one hand stays locked around your waist, the other ghosts up your spine.

“Listen to you,” he utters, dark and amused. “Can’t even take a proper fuck without crying for it like a filthy thing.”

A high pitched whimper tumbles from your lips at his words, mouth open against the table, fingers still clawing at the edge for something to hold onto while he drills into you - measured and merciless.

Ray goes on, his breath brushing across your skin. “Couldn’t behave yourself. Grinding this cunt all over my fucking thigh, desperate for anything I’d give you.”

His fingers slide up the back of your neck and tangle into your hair, curling tight - not forceful, but to keep you right where he wants you. He leans in until his mouth hovers at your ear, the heat of him sending goosebumps down your spine.

“But you like being like this, don’t you?” he rasps, his voice rough and raw.

Another thrust and your voice stutters from your throat as he fucks into you like he owns you, hitting your g-spot, over and over, making your legs quiver under the pressure of it, your body clenching tight. You’re dripping for him, so wet he buries himself in your drenched heat, every thrust slick and loud.

He pants, “Soaked and spread out for me,” hips snapping forward again, “My perfect, messy girl.”

You sob out his name, wrecked and breathless - his only response is another relentless thrust of his hips and a low snarl. You feel him everywhere - wrapped in your hair, pressed along your spine - mouthing filth into your skin like its devotion.

He straightens up behind you while his pace quickens, skin on skin echoing off the walls. You gasp, your head turning just enough to look over your shoulder - and what you see nearly undoes you all over again.

Ray’s brow is furrowed, jaw clenched, sweat beading along his temple. He’s flushed, focused, and fucking you so purposeful, it could only be him. Without breaking his stride, he lifts one hand to his face, slipping his glasses off.

He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist, a low exhale slipping between his clenched teeth. Then, hurried, he slides them right back on. You watch his lashes flutter once, then twice, and again in quick succession.

Because he needs to see.

Needs to watch the way he sinks into you with every push - how soaked your cunt is, how you clutch around him like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

The sight of him above you, bare-chested and sweating, muscles flexing with every snap of his hips, working his cock into you - steals the breath straight from your lungs and makes your head spin with how utterly gone you are for him.

You feel it building again - quick and heavy - your body still strung out from riding his thigh, the teasing, the stretch of him. Your clit throbs, your arousal making a mess of both your thighs and the table beneath you.

“That's it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pride. “Squeezing me so good, going to milk every drop out of me.”

You nod urgently, hips jerking, the tops of your thighs bumping the edge of the table, his name slipping past your mouth in broken cries.

You can’t wait - not this time.

“Please… please, let me! I need to come, Ray - please!”

You’re begging before he even gives the word, too desperate to hold it in, too strung out to care. You typically know better, but right now, all you can do is plead.

Your desperation punches right through his composure. He groans, low and ragged, his usual soft tone completely abandoned. And that’s when his fingers slide low - finding your clit, rubbing it just right, coaxing your orgasm forward while his cock pounds into your perfect spot.

You cry out for him - broken and high - as your orgasm slams through you like a wave, your vision going white at the edges. You pulse around him hard, soaking him all over again, the slick sounds between you turning obscene.

But Ray doesn’t stop.

His thrusts keep coming, dragging you straight into overstimulation. Whining, you tremble beneath him as your body jerks, raw and ruined - tipping past the edge until you're spiraling all over again.

He groans out, pace faltering, hips snapping faster as he loses his own control. “Fucking hell - look at you,” he pants. “Can’t stop making messes all over me.”

You’re still pulsing around him, fluttering and tight, and it tips him. With a hoarse sound, he drives into you one last time and spills deep, flooding you with his release. You feel every throb of it, every warm pulse as he fills you with his cum, groaning again, hips rocking slowly, like he can’t stop, like he needs to feel every last drop sink into you.

His movement softens, breath ragged against your back as he stays buried, grinding lazily through the aftershocks. With a final exhale, he lets his weight settle over you gently, his chest pressed to you, his body flush with yours.

His lips land on your shoulder - light and slow - kissing you there once, then again - a little lower, a little longer. The brush of his thick beard against your skin is warm and scratchy, pulling you gently into the afterglow.

You shift slightly beneath him, and he finally, gently pulls out - his softening cock slipping free with a low groan, followed by the slow warmth of his release trickling down your thigh.

He presses a final kiss to your shoulder, then lifts up from you just enough to move. One hand stays on your back while the other slides around your waist.

“Easy now,” he soothes, voice low and spent.

With a careful grip, he helps you upright, guiding your body back against his chest, steadying you as your shaky legs try to find themselves again. His arm wraps fully around you, keeping you close.

You lean into him, flushed and breathless, your skin damp, a gorgeous grin spreads across your lips - it’s lazy and satisfied, like you’ve just been thoroughly, completely fucked out of your mind.

Ray glances down, catches the look on your face, and shakes his head with a soft, incredulous laugh. “Christ, love. You act like this wasn’t your plan the second I opened my laptop.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence - but the mischief in your eyes gives you away completely. “It wasn’t!” you protest, far too quickly - your voice softening, sweet and smug, before adding “…But you left me unattended.”

Ray lets out a quiet breath as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to the space between your cheek and your ear - softly inhaling your scent, a private little indulgence.

“I ought to fucking know better,” he mutters against your skin, but here’s no bite in it, only fondness and amused surrender. The kind of affection reserved for someone who keeps getting away with it… because he wants them to.

As he steps back, his ringed hand slips from your waist to your ass, delivering a firm little swat that makes you gasp and laugh.

“Minx,” he mutters dryly under his breath - like its fact.