Sitting on Jax's lap.
It starts because there's no where else to sit. It's a bit awkward at first and then over the course of the evening it becomes comfortable.
Eventually, over months, you start sitting on Jax's lap all the time, even when there are seats available. The Samcro boys give you guys so much shit.
When a girl starts flirting with him, the normal, you go to sit with someone else. Jax follows like a lost puppy.
The first time you sat on Jax Teller’s lap, it was purely accidental.
At least, that’s what you told yourself.
The clubhouse was packed shoulder-to-shoulder that night. Loud music rattled the walls, bottles clinked together behind the bar, and the entire main room smelled like beer, cigarettes, leather, and grease. SAMCRO had just finished handling some run two counties over, and everyone was in a rare good mood.
Which meant chaos.
Half the charter was drunk already.
Happy was winning money off prospects with some card game nobody else fully understood.
Chibs was arguing with Tig over Scottish versus American whiskey.
And Gemma had claimed the couch like a queen guarding her throne.
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.
Especially not when Jax pulled you closer into his lap like he intended to keep you there permanently.
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Summary: 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 1
Word Count: 9.5k | I do not give consent to having my work republished or posted to any other platform or profile other than my own.
Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of smut, probably inaccurate age estimates (doesn’t matter at all though), this is so long, i’m sorry.
Jax was not having a good day.
He was woken up extremely early by Clay, who had sent him to go run errands for him at the crack of dawn, so he was more tired than normal.
The two of them hadn’t been agreeing on much lately, and it was really putting a strain on their relationship, as well as Jax’s place as future president of Samcro.
Jax wasn’t a fan of being on Clay’s bad side (though he’s on it quite often), so he was trying his best to mend the strain as well as he could, but it was difficult when he wasn’t being met halfway. But that was really the only thing that was going south in Jax’s life at the moment, so it really wasn’t too bad considering his lifestyle.
He’d been up for hours already, and he hadn’t gotten the best sleep last night, so he was a little grumpy. He thought maybe since he helped Clay out earlier, he’d be in a better mood, but he was wrong.
When he got back to the clubhouse, he was planning on stopping by your place because he knew you were the only thing that would make his day better, and since it was still early, he didn’t want to keep feeling irritated for the rest of the day.
But, just as he was getting ready to head back out, Clay had called him into the chapel for a talk, and even though Jax had a feeling that talk wasn’t anything good, he still went ahead and put himself through it.
The talk had been even worse than Jax thought it would be. Clay had finally picked up on what was going on between you and him, even though neither of you were doing anything to hide it.
Jax had spent his whole life running from his feelings for you, why on earth would he go into hiding now that he’s got you?
But that was maybe something he should’ve been doing, because Clay was not happy with the amount of time Jax had been spending with you. Ever since he was made VP, there had been an intense pressure put on Jax, and an expectation for him to put all of his time and effort into the club.
That was understandable and somewhat fine, but Clay himself had been in a committed relationship the whole time Jax had known him, and he was the president of the club. Wouldn’t he understand that he couldn’t actually put every single second he had into it?
Apparently not, because he had completely ripped into Jax the second he stepped through those doors. Accusations were hurled at him, and insults that really had no effect on him were what he was met with, and Jax had to bite his tongue too many times to count.
He didn’t enjoy bickering with Clay, even though that was all they seemed to be doing lately, so he didn’t fly off the handle with him like he really wanted to. He simply took it while holding himself back, knowing that the sooner Clay said everything he wanted to say, the sooner Jax could go to you.
But that was when you had become the topic of Clay’s wrath.
He berated you, degraded you, and said all the things that would have had Jax knocking someone’s teeth out had they’d been anyone else. Clay didn’t know you, he didn’t know the first fucking thing about you, and he had no right to be speaking about you the way he was.
The more Clay talked about you, the angrier Jax had got, but he had to reel himself in. The last thing he needed was another disagreement and for more bad blood to form between the two of them, and he also didn’t feel like beating the shit out of the man who helped his mom raise him, even though Jax was three seconds away from doing just that.
He knew damn well everything Clay was saying about you was complete bullshit, but he didn’t want to say something that would make him think there was something serious going on with you and him.
Even though there is. There definitely is, and it was about time too.
Jax had been pining over you for most of his life, even though he did a very poor fucking job at showing it or doing anything about his feelings for you. He knew he was trying to run from something that was inevitable. He knew that, for as long as he had you in his life, he would always feel this way about you. Trying to run from it or hide how he felt was pointless, because there would always be countless reminders.
The polaroid he keeps tucked in the frame of his mirror - one that was taken so long ago. Both of you were so young and, well, as innocent as you could be. Even though it was from forever ago, it was still one of his favorite photos. It wasn’t the best quality, and the color had faded over time, but it was probably in better shape than most of his possessions.
In the photo, he has his arm draped around your shoulder, a small, barely-there grin on his face since he thought he was way too fucking cool to smile for pictures back then - even though he was rarely not smiling when he was around you.
You were both leaning against an old car, your legs crossed and your bodies slouched. There was an embarrassed, lopsided smile on your face, and your hair was half pink, which was still one of his favorite looks on you.
It was different, and that made it so you, because you were different too. A good kind of different. The best kind.
There were bright white clips pinning back the sides of your hair, your baby face on full display and was probably why you looked so embarrassed. For some reason, you never seemed to believe you were pretty back then, even though Jax always thought you were stunning and tried to tell you that on a regular basis, but he was subtle about it, and you’d always been clueless.
Gemma had taken the photo when you and he were waiting for your mom to pick you up from the shop after work. Jax had been there all day, and you had only been there for an hour or so since you came there from school, and he had long since dropped out at that point.
You hung out with him until your mom came and picked you up, then Gemma had given him the polaroid, and he’d kept a close eye on it ever since. He had to hide it in his drawer for a few years since Tara had become quite irritated by the sight of it, which was probably why the saturation was so poor now, but it was still one of his most cherished belongings.
Under that polaroid, on the surface of his dresser, was an updated picture. An actual photograph taken on a camera that wasn’t made twenty years ago, and it was a lot bigger.
This one was from a few years ago, and taken around the time Jax realized that he needed to get a move on if he wanted something with you - even though it still took him a few years after to actually work up the nerve.
He was on his bike, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk on his face, and you were behind him, your arms wrapped around his middle, and the biggest, prettiest smile was on your lips. With time, he got to watch you go from a shy and awkward girl to the stunning and not overly-confident, but still confident, woman you are today.
That was his second favorite photo.
There were other reminders of you everywhere he looked, your chapstick you keep in his room, your sweater that always gets left on the chair in the corner, the smell of your perfume still lingering on his kutte and his clothes.
Everything reminded him of you, really, and that was probably why he decided to say fuck it and kiss you all those months ago. He was done pretending you weren’t his entire world, he was done running from the one thing he knew would always make him happy.
And you did make him happy. Beyond happy, but having Clay know that and and use it as a form of weakness or a way to try and rile him up was not ideal.
So he lied.
When Clay informed Jax that he was aware of what was quickly blossoming into the best relationship Jax had ever been in, he fucking lied.
He lied his ass off and said you weren’t important, that you didn’t matter, that you were just another girl, but it was all a lie. One big, mean lie he had to say to ensure Clay would leave you alone and stay out of your business.
The absolute last thing he wanted was for Clay to start giving you a hard time since apparently Jax had been too invested in you lately and not the club, which was bullshit in his opinion since he’s had to watch the president of the club be all over his mother for years while still calling all the shots.
Nothing he said about you was true, but Clay seemed to believe it as he let Jax leave soon after that conversation was over, thank fuck.
It left him feeling agitated and pissed off, and when he got back to his room and checked his phone for the first time that morning, he saw that he’d missed a couple calls from you, and that you’d sent him a few texts.
The last one was sent just over twenty minutes ago, and Jax quickly shut his door as he clicked on your contact. It rang five times before he was sent to your voicemail, and he groaned, because that was when he remembered that today was the day you’d be going on a trip with your class, and you wouldn’t be back until late.
You had told him about it a few days ago, and he had meant to pass on an invite for you to crash in his room afterwards, but he just hadn’t gotten around to it.
It was too late now, and since you didn’t answer his call, he assumed he had just missed you and that you were already wrangling up your third graders and getting them ready for the trip.
He reached up and pulled off his hat, tossing it blindly onto the chair as he slumped back onto his unmade bed. His fingers messed up his hair as he typed out a text to you, and he hoped you’d get back to him soon, because he really wanted to see you at some point today, and he hoped you’d come by after you got back.
Just missed you, I guess. Sorry, meant to swing by before you left for work. Maybe you can come by after? I’ll be up late. Or I can come to yours. Have a good day.
He sent the text then looked at the screen for a few seconds, as if your top priority right now was going to be checking your phone, then he tossed it aside on his bed, his head falling back onto his pillow.
He wanted to see you before you left, but of course Clay had instantly put him to work as soon as he woke up, and it took away the brief time he could’ve been spending with you, especially since the errands he had to do weren’t all that big of a deal anyway.
Jax didn’t want to think of himself as one of those guys who needs to see their girlfriends to be able to properly start their day, but that was exactly what he was. Well, he didn’t have to see you, though he preferred to, a simple phone call would be good too.
And then there was the fact that you weren’t his girlfriend, not really, since he hadn’t put a label on it just yet. He assumed he didn’t need to, because he was with you and you were with him. Wasn’t that a label? Things had always been easy like that with you and him, he genuinely thought that you and he would easily go from friends to so much more without actually talking it out.
He knows he needs to set the record straight soon and tell you that you’re it for him, but for now, you and he were in a good place, and he liked where things were at the moment.
You never got back to him, and by the time it was nearly midnight, he stopped waiting for a reply since he assumed you’d been so busy throughout the day, you didn’t have time to answer and probably ended up crashing as soon as you got home.
He was sure he’d wake up tomorrow to a text from you, one of the cute ones you send him whenever you feel guilty about missing out on plans with him or when you simply missed his texts. You rambled, even over text, and he rather enjoyed reading your paragraphs when all you really needed to send was a sentence or two.
But he loved it. He loved everything about you, and he always had.
When he woke up the next morning, it was close to 11 AM when he rolled over and checked his phone, but instead of receiving one of your cute and lengthy texts, all he got was a single sentence.
Got in late, maybe another night.
One single, simple sentence that sounded more like the way he texts than the way you do.
While his texts usually lacked personality, yours were normally full of it. They were so you, and you texted the way you talked in person, which was bubbly and full of life.
This seemed dull, and that wasn’t like you.
But he wasn’t about to dwell or make assumptions over a text. Maybe you were tired. You said you had a late night, so maybe you were still trying to wake up.
He sent a quick text back, offering to bring you a late breakfast and promising he’d be able to spend more than just a quick visit with you since it was the weekend and he hadn’t been given any grueling orders from Clay.
While he didn’t normally wait around for a text message, he couldn’t ignore how the time was ticking by, and you hadn’t answered him. He didn’t know if you saw the text and just wanted to have a chill day by yourself, or if you genuinely hadn’t even read it yet, but when it became the late afternoon, his offer had expired since Gemma would need his help with something for the rest of the day.
That was fine, since Jax ended up being distracted until he passed out on his bed well after midnight. He half expected to wake up to a text from you, an apology message and an offer to have that late breakfast today, but when he grabbed his phone, there were no texts from you.
It was a little odd, since you usually text him every day, even the most random shit, so to have you absent from his messages was a little weird.
He got dressed as he texted you again, trying to ignore the way he felt about you having completely ignored his previous one, and asked if he could stop by your place later since he missed you.
He felt weird asking if he could come over, because usually he just shows up, like you show up at the clubhouse and let him whisk you away to his room, but things felt off right now, and he didn’t want to show up and have you be annoyed at him for it since he clearly missed out on the hint.
The day went on, and you never got back to him.
And as the days went on, all his texts to you went unanswered, and all his calls went straight to voicemail.
What the fuck was happening? What the hell had he missed? He obviously missed something major since it wasn’t like you at all to just ignore him like this. He thought back to the last time he saw you, which was last Thursday morning, and tried to remember everything that happened, and if you seemed off.
As far as he could tell, you were as happy as ever that morning. You had invited him over for takeout and old movies on Wednesday, and he ended up staying the night. There was nothing different about you that night, and you were your usual, beaming self. You had forced yourself into his arms when he arrived, then whined when he had to leave the next morning.
He hadn’t seen you since then, and he hadn’t been able to reach you since then, so he wasn’t sure when something could’ve possibly happened that is making you be so closed off with him.
Maybe you just needed some space. Maybe you were going through something right now, and you just needed a little time to yourself, even though Jax would be a little offended that you didn’t come to him if something truly is bothering you. You tell him everything, and he tells you everything, with the exception of the club, because he didn’t want you anywhere near that lifestyle. You were way too good for it.
He wasn’t ashamed of it, but he also knew that you were far too sweet and far too innocent to be caught up in that part of his life. Every other part was as much yours as it is his, though.
It was Wednesday now, and despite his best efforts to get you to talk to him, Jax had received radio silence on your end. He tried going over to your place, but you either weren’t home, or you simply didn’t come to the door, and it’s not like he could just show up at your work. You worked at an elementary school, and he didn’t have kids, so that would’ve looked fucking weird.
The clubhouse was booming, the framed mugshots shaking on the walls from how loud the music was, and every room was flooded with the guys that made up the club, as well as a fair share of crow eaters.
Yet another raging Samcro party was in full swing, and while Jax normally enjoyed the parties, it was hard to ignore the way his arm hung loosely by his side, instead of it being draped over your shoulder or wrapped around your waist. It was normal for you and him, so to not have you here was a little unnerving.
Even before you and he got together, you were always under his arm. You didn’t like crowded places, and you weren’t all that familiar with anyone who made up Samcro except for himself and Ope, so you naturally stayed close to him. He didn’t mind it at all, in fact, Jax loved having you glued to his side.
Sure, it usually meant the girls stayed away from him, and even though there were some nights he craved finding one and taking her back to his room to try and find something in her that he’d only ever found in you, he never minded having you by his side.
The thought of taking any of these girls back to his room made him cringe now, because you were the real deal. What he has with you is unlike anything else he’s ever had before, and he’d become rather spoiled by you in the months you’d been together.
He hated thinking about the nights he’d spend with you at parties, then the times he’d instantly take one of the crow eaters back to his room once you’d gone home, and he’d fuck her while pretending she was you.
It felt like a waste of time now, especially since you’d always felt something so much stronger than just a friendship with him, and he’d been too much of a coward to do anything about it until now.
But that was before. Now that he’s got you, he doesn’t want to ever let you go. Even though there was some obvious tension with you right now, Jax still wanted you and only you, and that was something he was sure he’d always want.
He’d sent you a quick text earlier, letting you know there was a party happening and that he hoped you could make it. He didn’t like how desperate he was starting to sound, but he seriously didn’t know what the fuck was going on with you. He’d never really gone this long without seeing or hearing from you, and that fact was making him feel on edge.
He wasn’t sure if you were coming tonight, so his mood was a little sour as he leaned against the side of his bike outside, his second beer of the night held loosely in his hand as he smoked a cigarette.
His eyes flickered around the lot, his shoulders slumped as he held the smoke in his mouth for longer than necessary. He didn’t want to dampen anyone’s night since he wasn’t in that good of a mood, so that’s why he is outside instead of by the bar.
It was also a way he could watch everyone who arrived, and he was shamelessly waiting for you.
And you didn’t let him down, because a few minutes later, you were here.
But even though you made direct eye contact with him, you didn’t come over and say anything to him. You just gave him a short wave before heading into the clubhouse, breaking his line of sight with you completely.
What the actual fuck was going on?
Jax assumed you had a bad day, maybe you were still stressed about whatever was bothering you the last couple days, so he gave you some time to come out and see him when you wanted to.
But then half an hour went by, and he was still sitting by himself outside, and that was when he went to find you.
He walked into the clubhouse after tossing away his third cigarette of the night - he didn’t usually smoke this much, but the way you seemed to be avoiding him was making him feel anxious. He found you at the bar, one elbow propped up on the surface as you sipped on a beer. A relaxed smile was on your lips as you talked with Juice’s girlfriend, the same girl you were chatting with the night Jax kissed you.
Tonight felt like that night, and you looked as carefree as you did that night, and for a second, Jax completely forgot that you had ignored his texts all week and hadn’t even tried to reach out to him.
Jax was already in a better mood at just the sight of you as he crossed the room, easily sliding between bodies until he reached the bar. “Hey, you,” he mumbled, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder, his lips brushing against the side of your neck as he pressed himself against you. “Where have you been? Feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”
Now that you were in his arms, Jax finally felt himself starting to relax. He wasn’t used to being away from you, and he wasn’t used to not talking to you for days on end like that.
And he missed you.
The baggy shirt you were wearing smelled like the perfume you’d been using since you were a teen, and it was a scent that he always associated with you since the first time you wore it.
He felt his shoulders drop now that he knew you were at least physically okay, but he could feel the way your body tensed up in his arms, and his relief at seeing you was quickly wearing off.
Your smile faded, and you forced out a laugh, something that had him furrowing his brows. You lifted your shoulder subtly, making him lift his head off it. As if you didn’t want him touching you right now. As if you wanted to get away from him.
“Yeah,” you muttered, and he could barely hear you over the music. “I’ve been busy, I guess.”
That was it?
Jax furrowed his brows even more as he loosened his grip on your waist, but he kept his hands on your hips since he was unwilling to let you go just yet. It wasn’t like you at all to reject his touch like that, and you’d never done it before. You’d usually melt into him and give him that gorgeous fucking smile he loves so much, but you weren’t smiling at all right now. If anything, you seemed eager to get away from him, and he fucking hated it.
There was a sinking feeling building up inside him, and he felt himself start to panic a bit, but he tried to reel it in as best as he could. “Busy, huh? Too busy to return my calls or texts? Or to come say hi when you got here? That’s not like you,” he murmured, his protective instincts flaring up inside him at your coldness. You couldn’t even turn your head and look at him. “Talk to me, baby.”
You pressed your lips together, your eyes flickering over to Juice’s girl as if you were asking her for help to get away from him, and that fucking stung worse than anything.
“Hey,” he said a little louder, but his voice was also a little desperate as he looked over at Juice’s girlfriend as well, and the look in his eyes had her quickly grabbing her beer and scurrying away to find her boyfriend. Once she was gone, Jax grabbed your waist and turned you around so you were facing him. “You’ve been avoiding me. What’s goin’ on, huh? Since when do you shut me out like this?”
You were looking down at the floor while he tried to get you to meet his eyes, and all he wanted to do was figure out what the hell was going on in that pretty head of yours, because you were acting like a completely different person.
“I’m not shutting you out, I’ve just been busy with… life, I guess,” you answered, and it was a pretty pathetic excuse. You set your beer onto the surface of the bar behind you before leaning against it and crossing your arms, finally meeting his eyes. “I honestly didn’t think you’d notice.”
Your words were offensive, as was the look in your eyes. They were cold, distant and guarded, and for the first time since he met you, he had no idea what you were thinking, and he had no idea how you were feeling.
Not being able to read you like he normally does had a look of hurt crossing his face, but he tried to mask it as best as he could. “I wouldn’t notice? What are you talking about? You’re the most important thing in my fuckin’ life, you’re a part of me, of course I’m gonna notice when you start to avoid me out of nowhere,” he muttered, and he really wished you and he weren’t in a room full of people right now.
He moved closer to you and reached for your hands, uncrossing your arms and guiding them up to drape around his neck instead. He just wanted to feel close to you right now, physically, because emotionally, it felt like he was talking to the brick wall behind you.
“You’re usually glued to my side, but then you went off and disappeared for days without a word. You thought I wouldn’t notice that? I’m never not thinkin’ about you, baby,” he rasped, leaning down so his forehead was pressed to yours. “Whatever’s got you so distant and closed off, you talk to me about it. That’s what we do. That’s what we’ve always done.”
He wasn’t sure if he was getting through to you or not, because you went back to avoiding his eyes, and he knew that if you didn’t tell him what he did to piss you off so much, he’d spend the rest of the night, the rest of the fucking week trying to figure out what he did wrong.
Your arms were tense around his neck, and he hated how you looked like you wanted to be anywhere else right now. It made him feel like he was losing you, and he didn’t know why.
“I don’t feel like talking,” you said, sounding way too casual as you slid your hands down his chest, and he felt his heart race a bit at the familiar gesture, but then you reached up and gripped his chin between your thumb and index finger, and you turned his head to the left. “The crowd’s that way if you’re looking to get laid. I’m going home.”
Jax’s eyes landed on a group of girls who were obviously interested in fucking him, and the fact that you even pointed them out had his heart stuttering in his chest. His expression hardened as he turned to face you again, and he crowded you against the bar. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I’m not interested in them, I’ve only got eyes for one girl in here,” he said, watching as you reached for your jacket. “And now you’re telling me that you’re leavin’?”
You seriously thought he’d throw everything away for a random girl who meant nothing to him? What the hell had gotten so messed up inside your head that would lead you to think things like that? He wasn’t sure if he should laugh in disbelief or be utterly offended.
“I want to leave, Jax,” you said, your voice sounding tired as you tried to move around him.
He reached for your wrist before you could get far, his skin heating up as he felt the earlier panic start to come back. “Don’t run from me, baby. We need to talk about this,” he practically begged, meeting your guarded gaze with desperate eyes. “Whatever this is. I want you. Only you. Don’t you believe that?”
Your expression was unreadable as you looked up at him. “Sure, Jax,” you said, and his grip loosened on your wrist. “Can I go home now?”
He stepped away from you, his hand falling back to his side as a defeated feeling took him over. “Will you call me later? Or tomorrow?” he asked, fearing he already knew that you wouldn’t.
“Yeah, sure,” you answered, then you turned around and left without another word.
Jax was left standing there feeling like a complete fucking idiot, and he didn’t quite understand what just happened. Never had you ever wanted to get away from him so quickly like that before. Never had you ever rejected his touch or refused to even talk to him.
He stared at the door for a few more seconds before turning away, and his eyes landed on the group of crow eaters once more. A blonde girl he may or may not have hooked up with in the past gave him a small pout. “Aw, baby, did your night just get ruined?” she cooed, leaning forward and pushing her cleavage even more out than it already was. “I can make it better, I promise. I’ll make it so much better. Let me come with you to your room.”
A feeling of nausea bubbled up his throat, but he just forced out a smile as he shook his head, not trusting his voice right now as he headed towards his room. When he was inside, he immediately locked the door in case she decided to follow him.
Now that he was away from the smell of alcohol and smoke and the deafening sound of the music, he was left to deal with the countless questions forming in his head. All of which had to do with you, and with yours and his relationship.
He’d never felt so lost and confused, and the fact that you had refused to stay and talk things out with him didn’t sit right. It had a lump forming in his throat as he swallowed harshly, his eyes flickering all over his room.
Usually after a party, or even during one, you’d be in here with him right now. But he was alone, and you felt so fucking far away.
His eyes landed on the polaroid stuck to his mirror, and he pushed off the door and walked over to it, his hand plucking it from its place to get a better look at it.
You and he were so young in the picture, and you were so close. That closeness stayed with you throughout all these years, but now it felt like you were slipping away, and he didn’t know how to stop it.
Did he rush this? Were you not ready to take this step with him after all? Had he completely misread things?
The sound of the doorknob twisting, then someone knocking broke him out of the trance he’d fallen into, and he closed his eyes tightly before turning around and unlocking the door.
“I don’t wanna have sex with you,” he said when he swung the door open, thinking it was the blonde girl who thought she still had a chance with him now that he’s with you.
But it wasn’t the girl. It was his fucking mom.
“Well, that’s a relief,” she said as she let herself into the room, and Jax felt his face flush as he shut the door behind her and locked it again - just in case. Gemma turned and looked at him, and her gaze softened as she took in the conflicted and hurt look on his face. “I assume you meant to say that to one of those girls who are always eyeballing you?”
Jax huffed, “Yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head as he looked down at the polaroid again. “What are you doing in here?”
She shrugged as she moved to sit on the end of his bed. “Clay’s shitfaced and I don’t really feel like putting up with that right now,” she answered, then her own eyes flickered to the picture in his hand. “You know, when I took that, I could’ve sworn you two would end up getting married one day.”
Jax lifted his gaze and looked over at her, then he slowly shook his head. “No. I’m not talking about relationships with my mom,”
“Why not? You listen to me complain about Clay all the time,” she stated, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on her knees. “Besides, I know her. It’s not like she’s just some random girl. She’s the girl, isn’t she?”
Jax dropped his gaze to the picture once more, his eyes trailing all over your younger self. “Yeah. She is,”
Gemma tilted her head expectantly. “So what’s going on?”
He pursed his lips, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. “I don’t know. But I fucked it up somehow,”
She furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”
Jax shrugged again and tore his eyes away from the photograph. “She’s acting different. She hasn’t talked to me in days, and tonight it was like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough,” he mumbled, a bit embarrassed that he was talking to his mom about his relationship troubles at the ripe age of thirty one. “I know I fucked up somehow, but I don’t know when, because she doesn’t want to talk to me.”
Gemma hummed, nodding slowly as she gestured for him to sit with her. “Well, when was the last time she wanted to talk to you?” she asked once he was sitting on his bed next to her.
Jax tipped his head back, frustration building up inside him as he tried to think about that answer. “Friday. Last week,” he replied, “I missed her calls because Clay had me out doing all this shit for him, and when I got back and tried to call her, she wouldn’t answer. Tonight is the first time I’ve seen her in a week, and all she wanted to do was fuckin’ get away from me.”
“Hm,” was all she said back for a few seconds as she shifted her gaze to the floor. “Well, we all go through things we don’t want people to see us go through. But you love her, and she loves you. I can’t remember a time you two weren’t in love with each other. You just need to be there for her, like I know you will be. Maybe she just needs a little more time, and she needs you to give that to her.”
Jax locked his jaw as he looked down at the old stains on his jeans. “I miss her,”
Gemma smiled at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, brief hug before she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You two are gonna be fine. You’ve known each other too long to not be,” she said as she stood up and took the polaroid from him, putting it back in its place on his mirror. She opened the door to his room, then paused and looked back at him. “There’s some blonde out here waiting for you. I’ll send her on her way. Night, baby.”
Jax groaned and ran his hands down his face as she closed the door behind her, and he quickly stood up and locked it for the third time before he unzipped and kicked off his jeans, then tossed his shirt onto the floor and got into bed. It was still early, but he was done partying for the night, because he’d never be able to enjoy himself because of whatever was going on with you and him.
The next day, Jax was actually working in the shop for once when Ope stopped by, Kenny and Ellie hanging off him with big, innocent smiles directed up at their dad. “Hey, man,” he greeted, prying Ellie’s hand off his arm so he could greet Jax with their usual half hug. “How are you doing?”
Jax shrugged, wiping his greasy hands on the cloth before shoving it back into the pocket of his jeans. “Not bad,” he answered as Ope gestured for his kids to go look at the vintage car that was in the shop for repairs.
“Oh yeah?” he laughed once they were away. “You’re lyin’ to me now?”
Jax let out a huff as he shook his head. “It’s kinda hard to be in a good mood when your kids have seen my girlfriend more than I have this week,” he muttered, hating the fact that he felt envious of an eight and an eleven year old. You’re Ellie’s teacher, and Jax actually felt jealous that she’d gotten to see you every day this week. How low could he possibly get?
Ope furrowed his brows, a confused look taking over his face. “What? What are you talking about?” he asked, “She was just here last night, was she not?”
“Yeah, for about five seconds before I tried talking to her and she went home,” he mumbled, giving his best friend a defeated look. “I don’t know what I did, but she’s pissed at me.”
“She’s never been pissed at you,” Ope said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you and her get into a fight when she was here last Friday? You tend to say nasty shit when you’re tryin’ to prove your point.”
Jax couldn’t even feel offended at that, because he was too busy feeling confused instead. “Friday? What are you talking about? I didn’t see her on Friday,”
Now Ope was wearing an equally confused expression. “Well, she didn’t come here to see any of us,” he laughed, then continued when Jax narrowed his eyes. “She came over Friday morning before work. I would know, I was the one who told her where to find you.”
Jax felt his ears start to burn at that, and he straightened up a bit. “I never talked to her on Friday,” he stated, but his voice was quiet, like he was finally starting to figure it out.
“Well, maybe she waited as long as she could for you and Clay to finish talking, but she had that big school trip last week. She probably would’ve been late if she waited any longer,” Ope offered, and Jax just nodded slowly.
You were here on Friday, but Jax had somehow completely missed you. You never mentioned anything about that last night, not that you’d really mentioned anything at all, but Friday was also the same day he realized something was off.
“I’m gonna go see her,” he said, already moving across the lot to where his motorcycle is. Ope just waved him off then went to go collect his kids, and Jax was off to your place.
It was after school now, meaning you should be home, so when Jax arrived at your house, he was fully expecting you to answer the door.
But as he raised his hand to knock for the fourth time, he was growing more agitated than before. “Come on, baby, I know you’re home,” he said, loud enough so you could hear him, but not loud enough to cause a scene for any of your neighbours to see.
When you finally swung the door open a few seconds later, you looked just as gorgeous as you did last night, but also just as annoyed. “What?” you asked, your voice sounding irritated as you leaned against the doorframe and crossed your arms.
You’d changed into your after work clothes, which was just a long shirt and comfy shorts, and it was one of his favorite looks on you, but then again, he thought you looked hot in everything you wore.
“What?” he echoed, narrowing his gaze as he shook his head. “You didn’t call me last night when you got home. And something tells me you weren’t going to call me today either, am I right?”
You didn’t answer him, you just gave him a blank look. “What do you want, Jax?” you muttered, then straightened up when he pushed past you and walked into your place. “Hey-”
He turned to face you once he was standing in your living room, and he mirrored your stance, his arms coming up to cross over his chest. “What the fuck is goin’ on? You’ve been MIA for days, and now you’re giving me the cold shoulder,” he said, watching the way you clenched your jaw. “Talk to me, please. What did I do to piss you off so much?”
You glared at him for a few seconds, then you stood up straight, blindly reaching behind you to close the door. “Nothing,” you lied, and he knew you were lying, and he was sure you knew that too. “I’m fine.”
Jax shook his head as you moved to stand in front of him, and then you were draping your arms around his neck, but you still had that far away look in your eyes, like this was just something you had to do, rather than something you wanted to do. “No, you’re not,” he said back, but you just shook your head.
Then you were leaning up and pressing your lips to his in a firm kiss, the first one you’ve shared all week. And Jax immediately melted into it, his lips moving softly against yours as his hands instinctively went to your hips. He couldn’t help it. He’d missed you way too fucking much this week, and even though you were all over the place, he was greedy for you. For any part of you.
The kiss was filled with frustration from both of you, longing on his end, and bitterness on yours. One of his hands came up and cupped the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss until he physically couldn’t kiss you anymore.
When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours like he normally does after kissing you, but then you flinched, and the relief he felt had once again disappeared.
Jax stepped away, his jaw locking a bit as he looked down at you. “Tell me what’s wrong. Something isn’t right with us, and I wanna know what it is,” he demanded as he crossed his arms, finally having had enough at this point. “You’ve never acted like this with me before. Did I fuck up somehow? Say something to make you mad?”
You huffed quietly, your shoulders dropping as you rolled your eyes. “You really want to talk right now?” you asked, moving towards him again, your hand reaching out to tug at the belt loop of his jeans. “I can think of something a lot more fun to do.”
Jax felt the usual desire building up inside him at your words, and your suggestive action, but he caught your wrist in his hand, gently guiding it away from his jeans. “No, baby. We need to talk first,” he said, his voice firm as he tried to get you to meet his gaze. “No more bullshit.”
Why you were suddenly coming onto him like this after you seemed to be repulsed by him last night was beyond him, and your odd behaviour just concerned him even more.
He was always ready for you, but right now, his body wasn’t reacting to your advances because even it knew something was wrong, and he knew that if he were to say fuck it right now and have sex with you without actually figuring out what was wrong, it would just feel so… wrong.
Something was bothering you, and he couldn’t focus on anything else until he knew what it was.
Jax pulled you over to the couch, guiding you to sit before he knelt down in front of you, forcing you to look at him now that he was at your eye level. “I can feel you pulling away from me, and I don’t like it one goddamn bit. I can’t fuckin’ stand it, baby,” he mumbled, taking your small hands in his big ones. “And I’m not gonna let you distract me with sex until we’ve talked this out. You’re way too important to me for that shit.”
He felt the way you tried to pull your hands from his, but he just tightened his grip. “You don’t want to have sex with me right now? You seriously just want to talk?” you asked, your voice laced with disbelief, and he wasn’t sure why that was such a big surprise to you since he’d talked to you a hell of a lot more times than he’s had sex with you.
Before he could open his mouth and question you on it, you continued,
“I thought sex was all this was to you. I thought this was all you wanted from me. Is it not?” you asked, “Or is that just something else I was wrong about?”
That had him reeling back a bit, his lips parted as his gaze narrowed. “Jesus Christ, baby, is that really what you think?” he couldn’t hide how offended he felt by your words, or the way a feeling of anger built up inside him at your question. “You can’t be serious, I- yeah, sex with you is amazing, but it’s not all I want. It ain’t even close.”
You scoffed and looked away, but he reached up and guided your gaze back to his, his eyes hard and his jaw set.
“I care about you more than anything, more than just the physical shit. You’re my best friend, my ride or die. Yeah, I want you physically, but it’s so much more than that. Haven’t I made that clear by now?” he asked, hoping like fuck he was getting through to you at least a little bit, because if this was just about sex, then that would be an easy fix.
It wasn’t.
You let out a groan of frustration, your eyes squeezing shut as you tipped your head back. “Fucks sake, Jax. Haven’t you realized this yet?” you muttered, roughly pulling your hands away from his as you stood up and put some distance between you and him. “I heard you. I fucking heard you when you told Clay I’m just another girl to you. That I’m not important. That I’m nothing.”
Jax froze, his eyes widening as his heart stopped beating inside his chest. His blood ran cold, and he felt a light sweat begin to form on his skin - a telltale sign that he had been caught. He’d been caught doing something fucking horrible to the one person he knew that never deserved it.
It all made sense now. You’d come over to the clubhouse on Friday morning, and you heard him lie his fucking ass off to Clay in an attempt to shield you from this side of his life. That’s why you’d been ignoring his calls, that’s why you’ve been avoiding him, that’s why you wanted fucking nothing to do with him last night.
You thought you weren’t important to him. You thought you weren’t the most important person in his life. You thought he wanted you for just sex and nothing else.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He slowly stood up, his expression one of horror and guilt. “No, that’s not true. I swear to God it’s not true,” he swore, taking a step towards you. “Baby, you gotta believe me. That was a fuckin’ lie, okay? I said that shit to protect you, to keep Clay off your back.”
You glared at him, a humorless laugh leaving your lips. “Cut the shit, Jax,”
He shook his head quickly. “No, I swear. I never meant for you to hear that shit. It was a lie. A fuckin’ stupid lie to keep you away from all this bullshit,” he pressed, sounding more desperate than he ever had in his life. “You’re not just some girl to me, you’re everything. I love you, I’ve loved you for so long.”
“Oh, don’t even try to fucking lie to me right now, Jax,” you muttered, glaring at him even more as your eyes filled with tears, and he had never hated himself more than he did right now. “I fucking heard you. You said I meant nothing to you, and you implied that we were just fucking around. You expect me to just believe you lied about that? I heard those words come from your mouth with my own ears.”
Jax hated it when you cried, because it made him panic more than anything else ever had. It was one of the worst sights to see, your pretty eyes tinting red and filling with tears, but these ones were all because of him, and that made it even worse.
“Please. I swear on my life, I’m telling the truth. I wanted to make Clay think you didn’t mean anything to me so he’d back off and leave you alone. It was all bullshit to keep you away from all this fuckin’ darkness I have around me,” he begged, taking another step towards you. “Everything I’ve done is for you, to protect you. I love you more than anything.”
You shook your head quickly, your body tensing up as you crossed your arms tighter across your chest, a way to protect yourself from him. “No. No, don’t you fucking say that. You don’t get to say that to me,” you said, shoulders beginning to shake a bit. “You don’t get to tell me you love me when you’re a liar. You can’t tell me that when I don’t even know what’s real and what’s not anymore.”
Jax’s heart shattered at the obvious wall you were building up around yourself. You were building it up to protect yourself from him. “I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby. I never meant to hurt you. Never. I just want to protect you,” he whispered, his throat closing up as his own emotions started rushing to the surface. “I know I fucked up. I know I fucked this up, but you need to believe me when I say that you’re my whole goddamn world. I love you.”
You winced at his words, tears beginning to roll down your face in waves as your whole body began to shake. “I’m so fucking confused,” you cried, covering your face with your hands as you sobbed. “You don’t know how much it hurt to hear you say those things about me. You, of all people. It felt like I was fucking dying, Jax. I was a mess for days.”
He moved quickly, his strong arms wrapping around you like a shield. You resisted for a few seconds, but he just held you tighter, and you slumped against him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he rambled, pressing a series of kisses to your temple and to the top of your head. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”
Jax slowly moved down until his back was against the front of the couch, and you were on his lap, your sobs muffled against his neck. He’d never felt so helpless before as he held you, his own eyes burning with tears he didn’t even deserve to shed right now.
“You’re my heart, and I was scared of what this life would do to you, so I lied to try and keep you away from it. At least until you warmed up to it,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your head. “You’re the only thing that’s ever made sense to me, baby. I’d fuckin’ die for you, I swear I would.”
You were his past, his present, and he wanted you to be his future too. He couldn’t live without you, he wouldn’t. He didn’t know how to, and he didn’t want to. He didn’t know how he was going to fully fix this distance he put between you and him, but he wouldn’t give up on you. That was one thing he’d never do.
Your eyes were red and you had streaks of tears on your cheeks when you pulled away from his neck. Your face was flushed, and your bottom lip was trembling as you looked at him, and yet you were as pretty as ever to him. “I want you to tell me everything. I want to know everything, even the things you don’t want me to know, okay?” you weakly requested, “That’s the only way this will work. And as long as you don’t say things you don’t mean about me, even if you think you’re just protecting me.”
Jax felt like his heart was in his throat as he slumped back against the couch, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His thumbs wiped at your tears, the tension in his body fading a bit as looked up at you. “My pretty girl,” he rasped, his voice quiet as you hesitantly leaned into his touch. “You deserve so much more than me. But you’re mine. And I promise I’ll tell you everything. Anything you want to know.”
You nodded slowly, your shaky hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. “We’ll start slow. Take our… take our time,” you stated, your breathing starting to even out, though your voice was still quiet. “But no more lies, Jax. No more secrets, or I swear I will never talk to you again.”
Like hell he’d ever let that happen. “No more lies, no more secrets,” he vowed, and he hoped like hell he’d be able to stick to it. In this world, his job had always been to protect you, he wasn’t about to stop now. You were his biggest weakness, but you also made him stronger, because thanks to you, he has something to fight for now. “I’ll never stop lovin’ you, baby. Never. You have to believe that.”
He heard the way your breath hitched, and felt the way your hands gripped his shoulders tighter, and he watched as a small, hesitant smile formed on your face. “I do,” you murmured, then pursed your lips. “Well, at least I think I do.”
Jax shook his head, one of his hands coming up to cradle the back of your neck, and he pulled you flush against him. “I should’ve found a better way to protect you,” he muttered, his other arm wrapping tightly around your waist. “I’ll make this better. I’ll make it right.”
He had to, because he couldn’t live without you.
-
Once again, I apologize for this being so long, I didn’t plan for it to be, I swear. Thank you for 6.2k followers x | @montgomery-929496 @skel-skell
Nothing makes Jax Teller harder than his innocent partner. She's everything Jax wants - soft, naïve and clueless.
༘⋆ Inexperienced ! reader who can get off from dry humping alone.
'You're doing so well, baby,' He whispers, pushing damp hair from your eyes.
The rough denim dragging against your clothed cunt was just right. 'Feels good, doesn't it?' You let out a small, pathetic, whine. 'You're doing good, baby.' he assures - rubbing his cheek against yours.
Your hips buck desperately, mewling every time your panty clad cunt bumps against his bulge. 'm'close Jackie,' you cry into his mouth, your nails scraping through his hair.
'My pretty girl' he hums softly, rubbing his hands up and down your shivering body as you hit your peak.
༘⋆ Inexperienced reader with an oral fixation.
You'll toy with Jax's rings, then lift his index finger to your lips and suck it into your mouth.
'Open wider, baby, c'mon' He mumbles fixated on your pretty pink lips stretched around his fingers.
༘⋆ Inexperienced reader who comes in her panties from sucking Jax off.
another series master list..... yes, i should be finishing the ones i've started... but here we are.
i have developed an unhealthy addiction to single mom reader fics (im not even a mom, i have no interest in being a mom !! but they go so fucking hard???) i did my BEST to be unspecific but i may have mentioned blush a few times throughout idk.
Jax's adopted sister by circumstance. I don’t make the rules, but I do write them. Your dating life sucks so your daughter picks a father for herself. I'll be listing the TW part by part this time bc it'll vary per section.
Part 1 - juice
Part 2 - coffee
Part 3 - happy
Part 4 - camera
Part 5 - fever
Part 6 - sunshine (mdni)
Part 7 - fast
Part 8 - surprise
Part 9 - daddy
Part 10 - mommy
Part 11 - jealous
Part 12 - girl
general taglist: @vaugarkel @coffeedreaminanreadin
if you want to be added just lmk
Can you share one of your sluttiest, smuttiest, thought about Jax Teller
Sluttiest, Smuttiest Jax Teller Confessions #1
Jax trying so fucking hard not to cum inside of me. Like when he’s on top, missionary style. Our foreheads pressed together, both our skin touched with sweat. His jaw clenched so fucking tight it looks like he’s in pain from how hard he’s trying to hold back.
I can see it in his face. His eyebrows almost touching in the middle, the little wince that makes the soft wrinkles at the edge of his eyes show when he drags his cock out slow, just to push it back in even slower. And the way he stares at me, like he’s almost fucking begging me to save him from drowning.
And every single time, I make it harder for him. Wrapping my legs around his waist, locking him in deeper daring him to lose control. His fucking chain, swinging side to side, it fucking mesmerises me. He fucking knows it too. That lazy fucking smirk curls on his lips. All fucked out and dangerous, the kind of smirk that says…
“I know what you’re tryna fucking do darlin”
My nails dig into his back, right over the reaper tattoo. He buries his head where my shoulder meets my neck, biting me in response, his breath hot against my skin.
“Fuck…I’m gonna cu…”
He doesn’t even finish the sentence, just pulls back enough to brace himself. One hand wrapping tight around my throat, as he lands with just four more deep deliberate thrusts before pulling out with the most primal fucking moan that’s come straight from within, like it pains him to have to leave my body.
His hands tightening against me as he cums all fucking over me. Stomach, tits, every-fucking-where. Hot and messy and he keeps making those animalistic grunts, like he’s never had to do something so hard in his fucking life.
And when it’s done, when we’re both just about lucid but breathless, he doesn’t just roll off and leave me there. He lingers. Moving slow, careful, like I’m something he could possibly break. The same man who just had his hand around my throat and his cock buried so fucking deep, has been replaced by someone softer, still dangerous of course, but in this moment? Fucking gentle. A gentleness that’s only meant for me.
He grabs at anything, a towel, his t shirt I don’t know, but he swipes over my skin, steady, with no rush. Like this part matters just as much to him as the rest. Once we’re all clean again, he leans back over me, rubbing his nose against mine like he doesn’t want to let us out of the moment just yet. Then, he kisses me, still fucking grinning. Pressed up against me, so fucking warm and intimate.
“You gotta stop doin’ that sweetheart”
And even though he’s smiling, there’s a warning in it, a real fucking warning. Because he knows exactly what I did. And next time? He won’t pull out.
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pairing: jax teller x female reader
setting: pre-canon, before wendy. late 2000s. they're texting on a flip phone okay.
warnings: nsfw, 18+. sexting. oral, p in v sex. breeding kink, possessive behavior, power dynamics (consensual)
words: 1.4k
a/n: thanks to @daryldixonpls for the inspo on how this post is formated. decided on trying something a little bit different this time around. honestly this entire fic is inspired by a tiktok video i came across. given this is set in the late 2000s, emoji's are not a thing BUT in terms of funsies here, i used them just once to add to the ambiance. they're not mentioned though, if that makes sense lol. enjoyyy. ps: i did not proofread this and i also wrote it in like 2 hours' time, so...
tag list: @daryldixonpls @bellaxgiornata @laurfilijames @tinyshyteacup @secretlysamcro @slowburnsins @rideandruin @tragicalkindredsamcro (if i forget anyone else please let me know!!)
Jax stared at the text longer than he should’ve. Parked behind the wheel of an unmarked black van on the edge of Charming, he was supposed to be watching the road and not his phone. One of Unser’s trucks was headed out to Nevada, and with theft spiking along the route, SAMCRO had stepped in to babysit. Call it private security. Call it paying back a favor. Either way, his eyes weren’t where they should be.
His eyes shifted once up to the empty road ahead and then back to the phone burning a hole in his hand.
YOU: Can I trace the veins with my tongue, baby?
Normally, he'd laugh and text back something filthy or smug, because that's just how they played. She'd flirt, he'd bite, they'd find a way to meet up later and burn it out of their systems. That's the way it'd always been.
But today had been absolute shit. One of the guys had been picked up on some bullshit warrant. Gemma had been stirring the pot again, constantly dropping blatant hints that she wanted Jax to have some babies. Clay was being a dickhead, like usual. Tig was kissing Clay's ass, following him around like some lovesick puppy.
He began typing out a response.
JAX: Where you at?
Admittedly, you frowned at his text. Not from sadness but the ripple of disappointment. It was lacking the usual filth that you'd become spoiled with any time the two of you had a round of sexting together.
YOU: Your house.
For a moment, you paused and contemplated sending the second portion as you tipped back a shot of whiskey. Then, you typed it out because... fuck it, right?
YOU: You cranky today or what?
Jax glanced down the second his phone buzzed, brows furrowing. He glanced up again, watching as Unser's truck left the warehouse lot without a hitch, then back down to your text message.
JAX: No.
I'm just trying to not blow my fuckin' load right now.
Your hand tightened slightly around the spare key that'd been swirling around the corner as you waited for him to show some sort of zest in the conversation. That fuckin' response did it, made your stomach flip and your thighs clench.
Here you were, in his fuckin' house surrounded by Harley memorabilia and his bourbon, causing the prince of Charming to almost bust a nut clear across county lines.
YOU: Yeah, don't. I want to swallow it. 🍆💦
Jax could've left two minutes ago, but he was still parked on the side of the road, toothpick perched between his lips as he ground his molars.
JAX: Nah. I'm fucking that pussy and cumming inside it. You want to taste something? You can taste it leaking out of you after.
He hit send and tossed the phone into the cupholder, then put the van in drive and drove straight to his place. Usually, he'd detour at Charming to drop off the van and then ride home in his bike, but he had other pressing matters to tend to.
She barely had time to turn around in the kitchen before Jax was inside. His hoodie was half-zipped, jeans hanging low, jaw set like he hadn’t taken a full breath in hours.
“Jax-”
“Shut up.”
His voice was low and dangerous. Not angry but definitely wound tight. His blue eyes swept over her body like it pissed him off how much he wanted her, like every breath she took was one more second that he had to wait.
He kicked the door shut with his boot and stalked toward her; every step measured like he was keeping himself from snapping. The air shifted.
“You wanna send me texts like that?” he asked, eyes locked on your mouth. “You wanna say shit, like you’re gonna trace the veins with your tongue?”
You swallowed. Heat bloomed low in your belly, stumbling to formulate a coherent response. “I-”
He grabbed her chin, tilting her face up hard enough to make her gasp. “Nah. No backing out now. Get on your knees.”
Her legs moved before her brain did, knees hitting the hardwood just as he tugged his belt open with one hand.
“You don’t get to tease me all day and not back it up.” He pulled himself free, thick and already aching hard, tip flushed. “You wanna trace something?”
He stepped forward, cock right in front of your face now, and let out the softest, filthiest groan when your breath hit it.
“Then fuckin' trace,” he growled. “Start with the vein running up the side. You know the one.”
You did. You leaned in, tongue dragging slow and deliberate from the base up along that thick line of pressure, and his hand fisted in your hair immediately, hips twitching forward on instinct.
“Fuck. That’s it.”
His voice cracked around the edge, throat tight like he was holding something back. Like letting go too soon would ruin him and the filthy reputation he'd built up until this point.
“Yeahhhh… just like that. Make me regret not burying it in you first.”
Your tongue moved slow, tracing that thick vein like you promised you would. You felt his hand twitch against the top of your head where his hand rested now, all while a low groan escaped his mouth.
You hollowed your cheeks, and you took him deeper, just to prove you could. That about made him come undone completely, voice stuttering for a moment, the kind that cracked him open just enough. His breath quickened, his hips bucked forward as he clenched his hand around the counter.
You gagged just once, eyes fluttering as you looked up at him with more determination, and then you repeated the same movement again, swallowing his entire cock with ease this time around, causing that same vulnerable whimper to leave him.
His head had tipped back now just for a split second, hand bunching around your hair while his hips bucked forward again. He was on the verge of an orgasm, you could feel it. The way his cock throbbed against the roof of your mouth, the way his thigh clenched right where your hands rested. Your mouth got him worked up twice in one night and that, that was a badge of honor you'd wear with the utmost pride.
It's like he could sense the fucking pride behind your tongue. The second you backed off and glanced up at him with tear pricked eyes, intending on taking him in your mouth again.
He grabbed your arm and yanked you up to a standing position, putting a halt to your plan. He crashed his mouth with yours, all tongue, teeth, and amicable frustration now. Your ass hit the counter and you think he's going to take you right there, but instead, he growls against your mouth.
"Bedroom. Now."
You took a few steps, but he was already behind you, hand wrapping around your wrist to tug you faster, guiding you straight through the hallway.
He shoved the bedroom door open and kicked it shut with his boot.
You turned to face him, but before you could speak, he was on you again, hands gripping the backs of your thighs as he lifted you like it was nothing and dropped you onto the mattress.
“You think you can just say shit like that?” he said, crawling over you, his necklace dangling low between you as he settled between your thighs. “Send me those texts."
You smirked, breath catching. “Maybe I like getting you worked up.”
He scoffed, hand gripping your jaw. “Yeah? Then you better take what you started.”
And then he was there. Inside you in one long, slow push that had your eyes rolling back. No warning, no teasing this time. Just thick and deep and hot, his forehead pressed to yours as he held still for a second, barely breathing.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, dragging his hips back just to sink in again, deeper. “You feel that? That’s mine. You’re mine.”
You whimpered, legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.
He kissed you then but not in a hurry like before. This one was deeper. Heavier. Like he needed it.
“You said that you wanna swallow me,” he whispered against your mouth, “but I’m gonna fill you up instead. Gonna come so deep you’ll be leaking by the time I’m done.”
He started moving. Slow, purposeful strokes that had your hands clutching the sheets, his name falling from your lips over and over.
“Say it again,” he grunted, pace building. “Say what you want.”
“I want you to come inside me,” you breathed, voice trembling. “Please, Jax.”
That did it.
He buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, hips grinding deep as he came. Hard, low groans spilling from his chest as he gave it to you, everything he’d been holding in since you sent that damn text.
⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
18+
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ
𝐉𝐀𝐗
・When it's just the two of you at home, Jax smacks your ass whenever you're near him
・He loves the way you say his name when you're surprised
"Jax!" You gasped, turning to face him.
He was standing there, with that lopsided grin and mischief in his eyes:
"What else am I supposed to do when you walk by?"
・Tells you everything about the club; Jax is all in. He trusts you with the Sons' secrets.
・Jax sleeps closest to the door; using his body as a shield, even in sleep
・During the night, he'll mumble all sorts of random things
・Everyday Jax will gently cup either side of your face and place a kiss to your forehead.
・Calls you 'sweetheart,' 'darlin'', 'babe.'
𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐄
・His height makes some things really easy, and others very difficult.
・Something too high for you to reach? Easy, call out for your husband and all is well
・Bored? Climb Ope like a tree and he won't move a muscle.
・He's gotten used to your ... quirks. And he finds them endearing.
・Opens doors for you, holds out his arm when the walkway is tricky.
・He can be quite the gentleman at times
・One night he came home from doing ... a ... run, and he walked through the door, all busted up and bleeding.
"What the hell happened?" You jumped from the couch and walked over to him.
"Nothing it-"
"Club business, I know," you finished his sentence and motioned for him to sit down.
・Your big biker husband kept wincing when the alcohol pad touched his wounds
"Why not go to Tara," you asked,
"I want you to clean me up..."
𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐒
・Loves to read. He'll sit in his chair with a newly bought book, glasses on his nose and sit there for at least an hour.
・When it's time to eat, he always makes you a plate first
・His loyalty is unmatched. Once he's connected with someone, he has their back no matter what
・That's why he loves you so much, because that loyalty goes both ways
・Once a stray cat followed you home, you had to secretly clean it and hide it once Chibs was home.
・But the little meows were difficult to explain
・Don't worry he is now part of the family
・Chibbs calls you mo chridhe (my heart), mo gràidh (my love),
・But when you're 'introuble' he calls you by your full name. You do the exact same thing for him. And he knows he's in deep shit.
𝐓𝐈𝐆
・Will stand at the fridge and eat cheese out of the bag, then ask if you want any
"No I don't want your fingery cheese," you say from your spot in the loungeroom.
"Oh! Is that cheek? Are you giving me cheek??"
"That I am, big boy."
・You never havea actual fights. But play fighting? Oh yeah, you guys live for that.
・But it's not all fun and games with Tig.
・Some moments can get heavy, and he needs you there to help him get through it
・He literally only ever calls you 'baby.'
・And then at home he comes up with random terms of endearment;
"Snickerdoodle, come sit next to me-"
"Pumpkin, I love you!"
"Weeny beeny, see you later!
𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘
・When you try to stay up and wait for him, you end up crashing on the couch
・And when he sees you there, a rare smile appears on his face. It's the kind of smile that no one but a select few are able to see.
・More introverted than talkative, Happy opens up easily to you. You have his trust. And that trust means he will look after you no matter what you've done.
・You both love riding. Arms wound tightly around his waist. Wind wipping through your hair, you feel alive.
・He hates other people flirting with you. He lets them admire, because he knows you're incredibly beautiful.
・But any person who gets too close is met by a towering figure behind you.
・Both of you are like crows; collecting things and showing them to one another.
"Look! Found a button!
"Cool babe, I found an acorn."
・And you keep your collection in your shared room
𝐉𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐄
・Always blushes when you wink at him
・Nearly everything you do flusters Juice... even simple gestures like hand holding.
・He likes things to be a certain way, so you just let him go crazy and move everything around (he also ends up being the one to clean the house)
・He loves sharing his food with you; it makes him feel warm inside. Like he's provided for you in some way
・Actually likes getting away from the club sometimes. Just you and him, with the ability to live in your own bubble for a day or two.
・Always makes your appointments for you
・Has your number saved as 'angel'.
・Makes dinner most nights. He loves feeding you.
・Is his cooking brilliant? ... pretty close actually.
・His nicknames for you are; 'baby,' 'sweets,' 'sexy,'
synopsis; jax spent years convincing himself he moved on. Then you walked back into the clubhouse, and every lie he'd told himself came crashing down. Now caught between the life he built and the woman he never stopped wanting, he must decide what—and who—he's willing to fight for.
tw/cw; Mature themes, Strong language, Canon-typical Sons of Anarchy violence, Criminal activity, Jealousy, Relationship conflict, Emotional angst, Possessive behavior, Love triangle elements, Second-chance romance, Infidelity.
rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 10,600
aus; exes to lovers, second chance romance, old flames, childhood best friends, returning home...
a/n; sorry this took took longer than I expected, I couldn't get my brain into beta reader mode and edit the final version but here it is and I hope you all like it!
You stand in the parking lot for a moment, taking it in. The bikes lined up like soldiers, the worn wooden exterior, the SAMCRO banner hanging proudly above the entrance. It's like stepping into a time capsule, except you're not seventeen anymore, and the world has kept spinning without you.
Your heart hammers in your chest as you push open the door.
This is a mistake, you think, even as your feet carry you forward. You should've stayed away. You should've built your new life back in Charming without looking back at the old one.
But you've never been good at staying away from the things that could hurt you.
The noise hits you first, the sounds of laughter, the crack of pool balls, classic rock bleeding from the jukebox. Then the smell: leather, motor oil, cigarette smoke, and beer. It's intoxicating in its familiarity, and for a moment, you're frozen in the doorway, overwhelmed by the weight of memory.
How many nights did you spend here as a teenager? How many times did Jax sneak you in through the back door, his hand warm in yours, his smile promising trouble?
"Holy shite."
The voice comes from Chibs, who's standing by the bar with a beer halfway to his lips. His eyes go wide, and then his face splits into a grin that could light up the whole damn room.
"Lads! You're not gonna believe this!"
Heads turn as conversations quickly die out, and then it's chaos.
"No fuckin' way!" Tig practically vaults over the couch, his arms open wide as he barrels toward you, still as overly touchy as you remember and just as crazy looking. "Look who came back to Charming!"
You laugh as he sweeps you into a hug that lifts you off your feet, spinning you around like you weigh nothing. "Tig, Jesus... put me down!"
"Not a chance, sweetheart. We gotta make sure you're real."
"She's real, you idiot," Opie deadpans from his spot at the poker table, but even he's smiling. A rare, genuine smile that makes your chest tighten, past memories of you, him, and Jax getting up to no good.
Chibs is next, pulling you into a hug that smells like whiskey and Old Spice. "Missed ye, lass. Charming hasn't been the same without ye."
"Missed you too, Chibs."
Juice appears at your elbow, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. "Dude, you look amazing. When did you get back?"
"Just a few days ago," you tell them, your voice a little breathless from all the attention. "I'm still unpacking, but I thought I'd stop by and—"
"And grace us with your presence," a familiar voice cuts in, smooth and warm and unmistakably Gemma.
You turn, and there she is, Gemma Teller Morrow in all her glory, striding toward you with her arms outstretched and a smile that could melt steel. She's wearing her usual tight jeans, a low-cut top, and enough jewelry to fund a small country, and she looks every bit the queen she's always been.
"Come here, baby," she says, pulling you into a hug that smells like expensive perfume and cigarettes. She holds you at arm's length, her dark eyes scanning you from head to toe. "Look at you. Jesus Christ, you're gorgeous. Isn't she gorgeous?"
The question is directed at the room, but her gaze flicks pointedly toward the corner where Tara Knowles is standing, a glass of wine in her hand and a tight smile on her face.
"Absolutely stunning," Gemma continues, her voice dripping with approval. "I always told Jax you'd grow up to be a knockout, and look at you now. I was right."
Tara's smile doesn't reach her eyes.
You feel the tension immediately, but before you can say anything, Gemma's arm is around your shoulders, steering you toward the bar. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you a drink. You're family, and family doesn't stand around like strangers."
Family. The word lands heavy, deliberate. You catch the way Tara's jaw tightens, the way her fingers grip her wine glass just a little too hard.
You shouldn't be here, the voice in your head whispers. You're walking into something messy, something that's going to hurt people.
But then you see him.
Jax.
He's standing near the pool table, a cue stick in one hand, and he's staring at you like he's seen a ghost. His blue eyes are wide, his lips parted slightly, and for a moment, the entire room fades away. It's just you, him, and the weight of everything left behind.
He looks good, too good. The years have been kind to him—his jawline sharper, his shoulders broader, his hair still that perfect shade of golden blonde that used to drive you crazy. He's wearing his kutte, jeans that hang low on his hips, and a white shirt that clings to his chest in all the right ways.
Your mouth goes dry.
This was a mistake. This was absolutely a mistake.
But you can't look away.
"Jax," Gemma calls, her voice cutting through the moment like a knife. "You gonna say hi, or are you just gonna stand there with your mouth open?"
That snaps him out of it, and he sets the cue stick down, his movements slow and deliberate, and then he's walking toward you. Every step feels like an eternity, and you're acutely aware of every pair of eyes in the room watching this unfold.
"Hey," he mumbles when he finally reaches you, and his voice is rougher than you remember, deeper. It sends a shiver down your spine, you remember the way it used to sound in breaths next to your ear.
"Hey," you reply, and you hate how breathless you sound.
His eyes roam over you, taking in every detail, from your hair, your face, the way your jeans hug your hips, to the curve of your neck. It's not subtle, it's hungry.
"You're back," he says, and there's something in his voice that sounds like disbelief, maybe hope?
"I'm back," you confirm, and you can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips.
Gemma claps her hands together, breaking the moment. "Alright, enough staring. Let's get this girl a drink and catch up properly. Tig, move your ass. Chibs, grab her a beer. Juice, stop looking like a lovesick puppy."
The guys laugh, the tension breaking as they scramble to follow Gemma's orders. You're swept up in the chaos, pulled into conversations, hugs, and stories that make you laugh until your sides hurt.
But the whole time, you feel Jax's eyes on you, and across the room, Tara watches.
The night wears on, and the clubhouse fills with noise and laughter. Piney shows up and nearly crushes you in a bear hug, telling you how good it is to see you. Bobby gives you a kiss on the cheek and jokes that you're still too good for this place. Even Clay makes an appearance, gruff as ever but with a nod of approval that feels like a blessing.
Gemma holds court at the bar, regaling everyone with stories about you and Jax as teenagers. "You should've seen these two," she grins, her voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. "Thick as thieves. Couldn't keep 'em apart if you tried."
"Remember that time they got caught sneaking into the high school pool at midnight?" Tig chimes in, grinning. "Cops showed up, and Jax tried to play it cool, but this one—" he points at you, "she jumped the fence in her bra and panties and ran like hell."
The room erupts in laughter, and you bury your face in your hands, groaning. "Oh my God, I forgot about that."
"I didn't," Jax admits and when you look up, he's smiling, like really smiling. The kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat.
Gemma leans in, her voice dropping just enough to be pointed. "They were perfect together. Everyone knew it. Some things are just meant to be, you know?"
Her eyes flick to Tara, who's standing near the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable; she hasn't said a word the whole time you were here.
You shift uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like a pawn in a game you didn't sign up for. "Gemma-"
"What? I'm just saying." She shrugs, all innocence, but there's a glint in her eye that says she knows exactly what she's doing. "If your parents hadn't left Charming and taken you with them, who knows where you and Jax would be right now. Given me some grandbabies-"
The air in the room feels too thick, too warm. You need a moment to breathe, to think, to process the fact that you're back in Charming and everything is exactly the same and completely different all at once.
"I'm gonna get some air," you say, setting your beer down and heading for the door.
No one stops you as they all awkwardly look at each other, sipping their drinks.
The night air is cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the heat of the clubhouse. You lean against the wall, tilting your head back and closing your eyes, letting the sounds of the night wash over you—crickets, distant traffic, the low hum of music from inside.
"You really came back."
You don't have to open your eyes to know it's Jax. His voice is soft, almost disbelieving, and when you look at him, he's leaning against the wall beside you, his shoulder brushing yours.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," he continues, his gaze fixed on you like you're the only thing in the world that matters.
"I didn't think I'd be back either," you admit, your heart pounding. "But here I am."
He steps closer, and the air between you shifts, charged with something electric. His hand grazes yours, and the touch sends a jolt through you, waking up parts of you that have been dormant for years.
"You look…" He trails off, shaking his head like he can't find the words. "Fuck, you look good. More than good. You're fuckin' gorgeous."
Your breath catches at his tone. He's so close now that his body heat is radiating against you, and you can see the desire in his eyes. It's the same desire you feel echoing in your chest.
"You're not so bad yourself, Teller," your voice teasing, but there's an edge to it like a vulnerability you can't quite hide.
He chuckles, low and deep, and the sound vibrates through you. "You have no idea what you're still doing to me," he murmurs, his hand settling on your waist, pulling you closer.
The world narrows to this, his hand on your waist and his eyes locked on yours, the way his thumb brushes against your hip in slow, deliberate circles. You should step back and remind him that he's with Tara, that this is messy, complicated, and wrong.
But you don't, you can't.
"Jax…" you start, but the words die in your throat when he leans in, his forehead resting against yours.
"I missed you," he whispers, and the rawness in his voice nearly breaks you. "Every fuckin' day, I missed you."
You close your eyes, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat beneath your palms, fast and erratic, matching your own.
"I missed you too," you tell him, and it feels like a confession, like opening a door you've kept locked for years.
For a moment, you just stand there, breathing each other in, the world fading away. And then you hear it, a door opening and then footsteps on gravel.
You pull back, and when you look across the lot, Tara is standing there, her expression unreadable but her posture tense. She knows. She's always known. Jax was never entirely hers, not in the way he was yours.
Jax doesn't move. His hand is still on your waist, his body still angled toward you, and when you glance at him, you see it—the conflict in his eyes, the yearning, the inevitability of what's happening between you.
"Jax," Tara calls, her voice tight.
He doesn't answer right away. His gaze stays locked on you, his fingers tensing on your waist like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.
"I should go," you say softly, even though every part of you wants to stay.
"Don't," he pleads, and the desperation in his voice nearly undoes you. Those blue eyes that haven't changed a bit except for the grief that wasn't there before.
But you step back, putting space between you, and the loss of his touch feels like a physical ache.
"Goodnight, Jax," you whisper softly, and then you're walking away, your heart pounding and mind racing.
Behind you, you hear Tara's voice, sharp and accusing; you know she's worried, and she has every reason to be.
Because tonight, Jax wasn't hers. Not entirely. Not when his fingers had tightened on your waist after hearing her voice, and you knew this was only the beginning.
Three days.
It's been three days since you walked into the clubhouse, three days since Jax's hand was on your waist, three days since you felt the weight of his gaze following you across the parking lot.
Three days of unpacking boxes, arranging furniture, and pretending you're not thinking about him every single second.
You're in your apartment, surrounded by the chaos of moving half-empty boxes, clothes draped over chairs, books stacked on the floor. You've been trying to make this place feel like home, but it's hard when your mind keeps drifting back to blue eyes and a voice that makes your knees weak.
The knock on the door makes you jump.
You're not expecting anyone. For a moment, you consider ignoring it, but then it comes again, three sharp, impatient raps that echo through the small space.
When you open the door, Jax is standing there wearing jeans and a plain black t-shirt, his kutte absent for once, and his hair is slightly messy like he's been running his hands through it. His eyes are dark, intense, and when they lock on yours, you feel your breath catch.
"Jax," you whisper, and you hate how his name sounds on your lips, all breathless and wanting. "What are you doing here?"
"I needed to see you," he states, his voice rough. He steps forward, and you instinctively step back, letting him into your apartment. He closes the door behind him, and suddenly the space feels too small, too intimate.
"How did you even know where I live?"
"Gemma," he explains simply, and of course. Obviously, Gemma would tell him it's easy to see where she lies in all of this. Her pointed words and knowing looks toward Tara.
You cross your arms over your chest, trying to create some kind of barrier between you and him, "You shouldn't be here."
"I know," he says, but he doesn't move to leave. Instead, he takes another step closer, and you can smell him, the same leather, soap, and something uniquely Jax that makes your head spin. "I tried to stay away. I really fuckin' tried."
"Jax-"
"I can't stop thinking about you," the words come out in a rush, like he's been holding them in for too long. "Since the moment you walked back into that clubhouse, I can't think about anything else. You're all I see. You're all I want."
Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can hear it. "You're with Tara."
"I know," he expresses, and there's pain in his voice, conflict. "I know I am. But it doesn't change how I feel about you. It never has."
He's so close now, close enough that you can see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens like he's fighting some internal battle.
"This is wrong," you whisper, but even as you say it, you're leaning toward him, drawn by some invisible force you can't resist.
"I don't care," he declares, and then his hand is cupping your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "Tell me you don't feel this. Tell me I'm crazy, and I'll walk out that door right now."
You should tell him exactly that. You should push him away, remind him of Tara, and protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak.
But you can't.
"I feel it," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "God, Jax, I feel it, I never stopped."
That's all the permission he needs.
He closes the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that's desperate and hungry and years in the making. You gasp against his mouth, and he takes advantage, his tongue sliding against yours as his other hand tangles in your hair.
It's not gentle. It's not sweet. It's raw and needy and everything you've been denying yourself for three days.
Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. His body presses against yours, backing you up until you hit the wall, and then his hands are everywhere—your waist, your hips, sliding up your sides.
"Fuck," he breathes against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark with desire, his breathing ragged. "I've wanted to do that since the moment I saw you again."
"Jax," you whisper, and you're not sure if it's a plea or a prayer.
He kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense. His lips move against yours like he's memorizing the taste of you, the feel of you, and you melt into him, your body fitting against his like it was made to be there.
His hand slides under your shirt, his palm warm against your skin, and that's when reality crashes back in.
"Wait," you gasp, pulling back. "Wait, we can't—"
"Why not?" His voice is rough, his forehead resting against yours.
"Because you're with Tara," you say, and saying her name out loud feels like a bucket of cold water. "Because this is wrong. Because I can't be the other woman, Jax. I can't."
"You're not the other woman," he says fiercely, his hands framing your face. "You've never been the other woman. She's—"
"She's your girlfriend," you interrupt, stepping out of his embrace. The loss of his touch feels like a physical ache, but you force yourself to put distance between you. "She's your girlfriend, and I'm not going to be the reason you cheat on her."
"I don't want her," he says, and there's desperation in his voice now. "I want you. It's always been you."
"If you really want me, if this is real, then end it with her first. But I can't do this, Jax. I can't be with you while you're with someone else." Your voice cracks on the words, and as much as you want to say 'fuck it' and lead him to your bed like all those years ago as fumbling teens, you can't.
He stares at you, conflict written all over his face, and for a moment, you think he's going to argue. But then his shoulders slump, and he runs a hand through his hair.
"Fuck," he mutters, and the word is heavy with frustration.
"You need to go," you say softly, even though every part of you is screaming at you to take it back, to pull him close and damn the consequences.
"I don't want to go," he states, his eyes locked on yours.
"I know," you whisper. "But you have to."
For a long moment, he just looks at you, and you can see the war raging behind his eyes. Then, finally, he nods.
He crosses to the door, his hand on the knob, but he pauses before opening it. "This isn't over," he says, looking back at you. "You and me, this isn't over. It was never over."
"Jax-" you breathe, voice pleading.
"I'm gonna fix this," he tells you, voice firm. "I'm gonna make this right. And then I'm coming back for you."
Before you can respond, he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
You slide down the wall, your legs giving out, and you bury your face in your hands. You can still taste him on your lips, still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin.
What the hell have you done?
The universe, you decide, has a sick sense of humor because over the next three days, you run into Jax everywhere.
Day One: The Grocery Store
You're in the cereal aisle, debating between two brands, when you feel that prickle of awareness that tells you you're being watched. You turn, and there he is, leaning against his shopping cart at the end of the aisle, a small smile playing at his lips.
"Stalking me, Teller?" you call out, trying to keep your voice light even though your heart is racing.
"Just shopping," he shrugs, pushing his cart toward you. "Didn't know you'd be here."
"Liar," you say, but you're smiling despite yourself.
He stops beside you, close enough that you can smell his cologne, and peers into your cart. "Frozen dinners and wine. That's sad, babe."
"I'm still settling in," you defend, even though he's right. You haven't had the energy to cook real meals.
"Let me cook for you. As friends," he adds quickly, and the offer is so casual, so domestic, that it makes your chest ache. Though the look in his eyes says there's nothing friendly about what he's feeling. "Just… let me take care of you. Please."
You should say no. You should maintain your boundaries and keep your distance until he sorts out his situation with Tara.
"Okay," you hear yourself say instead.
His smile is blinding, and your stomach tightens remembering that same excited smile from when he'd see you sneaking out to his bike after midnight. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," you confirm, and you're rewarded with a look of such pure happiness that it makes your knees weak.
His hand brushes yours as he reaches past you for a box of cereal, and the touch sends electricity shooting up your arm. His eyes darken, and you know he felt it too.
"Saturday night," he says, his voice low. "I'll bring everything. You just have to show up."
"It's my apartment, Jax. I kind of have to show up."
He grins, nudging you as if he'd missed your brand of brattiness. "Smart ass."
You watch him walk away, and you can't help but notice the way his jeans hug his ass, the confident swagger in his step. When he reaches the end of the aisle, he looks back, catching you staring, and his grin turns wicked.
You're in so much trouble.
Day Two: The Gas Station
You're pumping gas, lost in thought, when a motorcycle rumbles up to the pump across from you. You don't have to look to know it's him; you'd recognize the sound of his bike anywhere.
"We've gotta stop meeting like this," Jax grins, pulling off his helmet and running a hand through his hair.
"You're the one who keeps showing up wherever I am," you point out, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at the sight of him.
"Charming's a small town," he says with a shrug, but there's mischief in his eyes.
He starts pumping his gas, and for a moment, you both just stand there in comfortable silence. But then he speaks again, his voice softer.
"I've been thinking about that kiss."
Your breath catches as your eyes widen as you look around in case anyone's listening. "Jax. We can't just-"
"Can't help it," he admits, his eyes locked on yours across the pumps. "I close my eyes, and I'm right back there, with you against that wall, your hands in my hair…"
"Stop," you whine, but there's no force behind it.
"Tell me you haven't been thinking about it too," he challenges, and you almost think he's going to grab you and kiss you right here.
You can't because you have been thinking about it constantly, obsessively, to the point where you can barely sleep, and when you do sleep, you dream of him...
"That's what I thought," he states smugly with satisfaction in his voice.
Your pump clicks off, and you busy yourself with replacing the nozzle, needing something to do with your hands. When you turn back, Jax is right there, having crossed the space between the pumps.
"I'm working on it," he comments quietly, and you know exactly what he means. "The thing with Tara. I'm working on it."
"Okay," you nod slowly, because what else can you say?
His hand comes up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and the gesture is so tender it makes your throat tight. "I meant what I said. I'm coming back for you."
Then he's gone, swinging his leg over his bike and roaring off into the afternoon, leaving you standing there with your heart in your throat.
Day Three: Main Street
You're walking out of the hardware store, carrying a bag of supplies for your apartment, when you literally collide with someone.
Strong hands grip your arms, steadying you, and you look up into familiar blue eyes.
"Jesus, we really need to stop meeting like this," you state, echoing his words from yesterday.
"I'm starting to think fate's trying to tell us something," Jax says, and he hasn't let go of your arms yet.
You're standing in the middle of the sidewalk, people flowing around you, but it feels like you're in a bubble, just you and him and the electric current running between you.
"How's the apartment coming?" he asks, nodding to your bag.
"Slowly," you admit. "Turns out I'm not very handy."
"I could help," he offers immediately. "I'm good with my hands. You remember that, right?"
The innuendo is clear, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. "Jax."
"What?" He grins, all innocence. "I meant fixing things. What did you think I meant?"
"You're impossible."
"You love it," he says, and the word love hangs between you, heavy with meaning.
His thumb is stroking your arm through your shirt, a small, unconscious gesture that's driving you crazy. You should step back and put some distance between you, but you can't seem to make yourself move.
"Dinner's still on for tonight, right?" he asks.
"You're really going to cook for me? I didn't know you could cook. Last I remember, you and Ope used to microwave hot dogs from the garage and call it gourmet."
"I'm a changed man. I know how to cook... now, and if you're lucky, I won't even burn it," he teases, flashing those charmingly pearly whites. "Seven o'clock?"
"Seven o'clock," you confirm.
He leans in, and once again, for a heart-stopping moment, you think he's going to kiss you right there. But instead, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "Can't wait."
Then he's stepping back, his hands sliding away from your arms, and you immediately miss his touch.
"See you tonight, darlin'," he smirks knowingly, and then he's walking away, leaving you standing there trying to remember how to breathe.
That night, you change your outfit three times before he arrives. Too bold, too casual, too... 'this might lead to sex if we're not careful'. So you settle on a simple dress.
When the knock comes at seven on the dot, you take a deep breath and open the door.
Jax is standing there with two bags of groceries, wearing jeans and a grey henley that makes his eyes look impossibly blue. His hair is slightly damp, like he just showered, and he smells incredible.
"Hey," he greets as his eyes roam over you appreciatively. "You look beautiful."
"You brought a lot of food," you say, trying to deflect from the compliment.
"I'm making my mom's pot roast recipe," he says, stepping inside. "It's kind of involved."
You follow him to your small kitchen, watching as he starts unpacking ingredients. There's something surreal about having Jax Teller in your kitchen, domestic and comfortable, like this is something you do all the time.
"Can I help?" you offer, standing behind him a little awkwardly, not knowing what to do with yourself.
"You can keep me company," he tells you, shooting a smile over his shoulder. "And maybe open that wine I brought."
You do, pouring two glasses and settling onto a barstool to watch him work. He moves around your kitchen with surprising confidence, chopping vegetables and seasoning meat. You find yourself mesmerized by his hands—the way they handle the knife, the sureness of his movements.
"You're staring," he says without looking up, but you can hear the smile in his voice.
"You're in my kitchen," you counter. "I'm allowed to stare. I'm also still in shock that you can cook, and it's not dollar store ramen with little hot dogs in it."
He glances at you then, and the heat in his eyes makes your stomach flip. "Stare all you want, darlin'."
As he cooks, you talk—about everything and nothing. He tells you about the club, about the garage, about his boys. You tell him about where you've been, what you've been doing, carefully skirting around the question of why you came back.
But eventually, he asks.
"Why did you come back?" He's standing at the stove, stirring something, but his eyes are on you. "To Charming, I mean. After all this time."
You take a sip of wine, considering your answer. "I don't know," you express finally. "Maybe I was running from something. Or maybe I was running toward something."
"Toward what?"
You meet his eyes. "I'm still figuring that out."
He holds your gaze for a long moment, and you can see the question in his eyes.
Was it me? Did you come back for me?
But he doesn't ask, and you don't answer.
Dinner is incredible—the pot roast tender and flavorful, the vegetables perfectly cooked. You eat at your small table, knees bumping underneath, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Finally, you reach across the table, covering his hand with yours. "Thank you for this. For cooking for me."
He turns his hand over, lacing his fingers with yours. "Thank you for letting me."
The moment stretches between you, charged and intimate, and then his thumb is stroking across your knuckles, and you're leaning forward, and he's leaning forward, and-
Your phone buzzes on the table, shattering the moment.
You pull back, grabbing it, and your stomach drops when you see the name on the screen.
Gemma.
"It's your mom, I should-" you start, but Jax nods, not a look of disappointment on his face as much as knowing.
"Answer it."
You do, and Gemma's voice fills your ear, warm and commanding. "Hey, baby, I'm just calling to check on you. You settling in okay?"
"Yeah, Gemma. Everything's good." You don't tell her that her son is sitting at your table after having cooked you the best meal you've had for a long time.
"Good, good. Listen, we're having another family dinner at the clubhouse this weekend. You better be there."
You glance at Jax, who's watching you with an unreadable expression. "I'll be there," you promise as you watch him to see if he gives anything away.
"Perfect. And honey? Don't be a stranger. You're still family. If you need anything, we can send a prospect around," Gemma states, and you realize this is more than just coming home, this is family, this is the club.
When you hang up, Jax is smiling softly. "She really has adopted you again, hasn't she?"
"Apparently," you muse, putting the phone down, you'd always gotten on well with Gemma, even when you were a teenager getting caught by police on the back of Jax's bike at 3am. "Is that going to be a problem?"
"No," he states, and there's something fierce in his voice. "It's not a problem at all."
After dinner, he helps you clean up, and the domesticity of it—washing dishes side by side, his arm brushing yours—feels almost more intimate than the kiss you shared days ago.
When everything is clean and put away, you both linger in the kitchen, neither wanting the night to end.
"I should go," Jax whispers finally, but he doesn't move. Almost like if you'd asked him to stay, he would have.
"Yeah," you agree, but you don't move either.
He steps closer, his hand coming up to cup your face. "I'm working on it," he tells you again. "I promise."
"I know," you whisper.
He leans in, and this time his lips brush against your forehead, a gesture so tender it makes your chest ache. "Goodnight, darlin'."
"Goodnight, Jax."
After he leaves, you lean against the closed door, your heart full and aching at the same time.
This is dangerous, you think. This is so dangerous.
But you can't seem to stop.
You tell yourself you're not going back to the clubhouse.
You spend the day of Gemma's dinner trying to convince yourself to text her with an excuse—you're not feeling well, you have plans, anything to avoid the inevitable tension of being in the same room as Jax and Tara.
But by the time the sun sets, you're pulling on your favorite jeans and touching up your makeup, because you've never been good at denying Gemma Teller anything.
The clubhouse is already buzzing when you arrive. The guys are gathered around the bar, beers in hand, and the smell of grilled meat wafts from the kitchen. Gemma spots you immediately, her face lighting up like you're the prodigal daughter returned.
"There she is!" she announces, loud enough for everyone to hear. She pulls you into a hug, then holds you at arm's length, her eyes scanning you approvingly. "Look at you. Stunning, as always."
"Thanks, Gemma," you say, smiling despite yourself.
"Come on, baby. Sit with me." She loops her arm through yours and guides you to the bar, where she's already claimed two stools. "You're family, and family sits at the head of the table."
The pointed emphasis on family isn't lost on anyone, least of all Tara, who's sitting at a table in the corner with Jax. Her jaw tightens, and she takes a long sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving you.
Jax, for his part, looks like he's been hit by a truck. His gaze locks on you the moment you walk in, and it doesn't waver. He's wearing a black t-shirt that clings to his chest, his kutte draped over the back of his chair, and his hair is slightly messy.
The way he's looking at you like you're the only person in the room, like Tara doesn't even exist, makes your stomach flip.
"Alright, everyone, listen up!" Gemma calls, clapping her hands together. "We've got our girl back, and I think that calls for a celebration. Let's hear some stories. Tig, you start."
You let out a whiny groan, knowing this could be bad.
Tig grins, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, I got a good one. Remember that time these two-" he gestures to you and Jax, "decided to 'borrow' Clay's bike and take it for a joyride?"
You groan, burying your face in your hands. "Oh God, not this story. I blame Jax-"
"Yes, this story," Tig insists, his grin widening. "They made it about ten miles before the engine started smoking. Clay was pissed. But this one-" he points at you, "she looked him dead in the eye and said, 'At least we didn't crash it.'"
The room erupts in laughter, and even you can't help but smile at the memory.
"She had balls," Chibs states, raising his beer in a toast. "Still does, I reckon."
"Damn right," Gemma agrees, her eyes gleaming. "She's always been a firecracker. Jax knew how to pick 'em back then."
The comment hangs in the air, heavy and deliberate. Tara shifts in her seat, her expression tight.
"What about the cop story?" Juice pipes up, grinning. "That one's legendary."
"Oh, Jesus," you mutter, but you're laughing now, the memories flooding back.
"Alright, alright," Jax speaks for the first time since you arrived. His voice is low and warm, and it sends a shiver down your spine. "I'll tell it."
He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and his eyes find yours across the room. "We were seventeen. I'd just gotten my bike, and we were cruising around town, being stupid kids. Cop pulled us over for a busted taillight, and he was being a dick about it, threatening to impound the bike."
"And then?" Juice prompts, even though everyone in the room already knows the story.
Jax's lips curve into a slow, wicked smile. "And then this princess..." he nods toward you, "she gets off the bike, walks up to the cop, and lifts her shirt."
The room explodes with laughter and wolf whistles, and you cover your face, laughing so hard your sides hurt.
"She flashed him," Jax continues, his voice full of admiration. "Just like that. Cop didn't know what the fuck to do. He stammered something about a warning and let us go."
"Best distraction he's probably ever seen," Tig cackles, wiping tears from his eyes.
Gemma leans in, her voice dropping just enough to be pointed. "See, that's what I'm talking about. They were chaos together, but they worked. Some people are just meant to be, you know?"
Her gaze flicks to Tara, who's staring down at her wine glass, her knuckles white.
You feel a pang of guilt, but before you can say anything, Gemma's already moving on, launching into another story about the time you and Jax got caught sneaking into a drive-in movie.
The night wears on, and the stories keep coming. Bobby tells the one about you beating Tig at pool and winning fifty bucks. Opie reminisces about the time you helped them fix a bike when you were sixteen, your hands covered in grease and a smile on your face. Even Clay contributes, mentioning how you once punched a guy who was hassling you before Jax stepped in.
"She's always been one of us," Chibs nods, raising his beer. "Welcome home, lass."
"Welcome home," the others echo, and the warmth in their voices makes your chest tight.
But every time you glance at Jax, he's already looking at you, and the heat in his eyes is unmistakable.
Eventually, you excuse yourself to find the bathroom. The hallway is dimly lit and quiet, a stark contrast to the noise of the main room. You're just about to push open the bathroom door when you hear footsteps behind you.
"It's down there." You turn, and Jax is standing there, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
"I know where the bathroom is, Jax," you say, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.
"Right." He steps closer, and suddenly the hallway feels too small, too intimate. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't get lost."
"I've been here a hundred times," you remind him, but you don't move away.
"Yeah," he says, his voice dropping. "I remember."
The air between you crackles, charged with something you can't name. His eyes roam over your face, lingering on your lips, and you feel your pulse quicken.
"You having a good time?" he asks, stepping even closer, and you can feel the warmth coming off him.
"Yeah," you manage as you look up at his face. "The guys are great. It's like I never left."
"You shouldn't have left," he states, and there's an edge to his voice now, something raw and honest. "You should've stayed. With me."
"Jax, it wasn't my choice, my parents-" you start, and then huff, "Plus, you're still with-"
"I know, I know. I'm with Tara." He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "But fuck, you're making it really hard to remember that."
"I'm not doing anything," you protest weakly.
"You're breathing." he's so close now you can feel his minty breath. "You're existing. You're here, and you're beautiful, and you're everything I've wanted for years, and I can't-" He breaks off, his jaw clenching.
"Can't what?" you whisper.
"Can't stop thinking about you," he says, his voice rough. "You look good tonight. You always look good, but tonight… fuck."
The words hang between you, a reminder of the line you're both toeing.
"You're all I can think about," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers linger on your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. "Since the moment you walked back into that clubhouse, you're all I can fuckin' think about. When I wake up, when I go to sleep, when I'm at the garage. Even when I'm with her... it's always you."
You should step back. You should remind him that this is wrong, that he's with someone else, that you can't do this.
But you don't.
Instead, you lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed, and for a moment, it's just the two of you in the dim hallway, the rest of the world fading away.
"This is a bad idea," you whisper, but even as you say it, you know you don't mean it.
"Probably," he agrees, his forehead resting against yours. "But I don't care."
His hand slides to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, and you feel the tension coiling between you, tight and electric. Your hands come up to rest on his chest, and you can feel his heart pounding beneath your palms.
"I'm ending it," he says suddenly, his voice fierce. "With Tara. I'm ending it. I just need to find the right time, the right way. But I'm done pretending she's what I want when you're right here."
"Jax," you breathe, and you're not sure if it's a warning or an encouragement.
He leans in, his lips hovering just above yours, and you can feel his breath on your skin. "Tell me to stop," he whispers, once again giving you the chance to stop him. To walk away from this.
But you can't; the words won't come.
And then, from the end of the hallway, you hear Tara's voice.
"Jax?"
He pulls back, his jaw tightening, and when you open your eyes, you see the conflict written all over his face. But there's something else there too, determination.
"I'm just gonna-," you say, motioning away as your voice shakes.
"Wait," he breathes, his hand catching yours. "I meant what I said. I'm ending it. Soon."
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, and then you're slipping past him, your heart pounding, your mind racing. As you walk back into the main room, you feel Tara's eyes on you, sharp and accusing.
And you know, without a doubt, that everything is about to change.
You're standing outside the clubhouse, getting some air, when you hear the door open behind you. Tara. You can feel her presence, sharp and cold, like a blade against your back.
"We need to talk," she asserts, her voice tight and controlled.
You turn slowly, and she's standing there with her arms crossed, her expression hard. She's beautiful—you can see why Jax was attracted to her—but there's something brittle about her right now, something fragile beneath the anger.
"Okay," you say carefully, not knowing exactly what she was going to say or accuse you of, but she had every right to.
"Are you happy?" she asks, and the question catches you off guard.
"What?"
"Are you happy?" she repeats, stepping closer. "Breaking up my relationship? Coming back here and stirring up all this shit?"
"I'm not trying to break up anything," you say, but the words sound weak even to your own ears.
"Bullshit," she snaps, her eyes narrowing on you. "I see the way you look at him. I see the way he looks at you, how everyone clearly thinks you're 'great' together. You think I'm stupid?"
"No," you say quickly. "I don't think you're stupid."
"Then don't treat me like I am," she states, and there's pain in her voice now, beneath the anger. "I know what's happening here. I've known since the moment you walked back into that clubhouse."
You don't know what to say. Part of you wants to deny it, to tell her she's wrong, but you can't. She's not wrong. You knew from the time you and Jax set eyes on each other again that it would lead here.
"I didn't come back here to cause problems," you say finally. "I didn't even know if I'd see him again."
"But you did," she states firmly, as if your moving back to Charming was something you'd done to spite her. "And now everything's falling apart."
"Tara, I-"
"Do you know what it's like?" she interrupts, her voice rising. "To watch the man you love look at someone else the way he looks at you? To know that you were always the second choice, that you were just a placeholder until the real thing came back?"
The words hit you like a physical blow. "I'm sorry," you whisper, and you mean it. "I'm so sorry."
You knew Tara had chased Jax in high school, even when you were just friends messing around, but Jax had never been able to see anyone but you. Not any of the girls who used to giggle and flutter their lashes, but the best friend who'd flip off cops as they outran them.
"Sorry doesn't fix this," she says, and there are tears in her eyes now. "Sorry doesn't change the fact that he's never been mine. Not really. He's always been yours."
You feel tears prick at your own eyes. "I didn't ask for this."
"Neither did I," she states almost angrily, at you? At Jax? For falling for a man whose heart was already taken? "But here we are."
For a moment, you both just stand there, two women caught in the orbit of the same man, and you feel a strange kinship with her—a shared understanding of what it means to love Jax Teller.
"He's going to choose you," she expresses finally, her voice flat. "You know that, right? He's going to choose you, and I'm going to be left with nothing. He'll always choose you."
"You don't know that," you say, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they're a lie.
"Yes, I do," she nods with a sad sigh. "I've always known. I just didn't want to admit it."
She takes a step back, wrapping her arms around herself like she's trying to hold herself together. "You should know something," she says. "About Jax. About this life."
"What?"
"SAMCRO is his priority. It always will be. The club comes first, before everything—before you, before me, before anyone. If you think you're going to ride off into the sunset with him, you're deluding yourself."
"I know what I'm getting into," you tell her, but she shakes her head.
"No, you don't. You think you do because you knew him when we were teens, but this life—it's dangerous. It's violent. It's messy. And it will consume you if you let it."
"I can handle it," you declare, and there's more confidence in your voice than you feel.
She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "That's what I thought too. But you can't handle it. No one can. This life breaks people."
"Then why are you with him?" you challenge. You knew Gemma wasn't exactly welcoming to Tara; she kicked the doc down more times than you agreed with, but it wasn't your place.
"Because I love him," she states simply with a small shrug of her thin shoulders. "And love makes you stupid."
You don't have a response to that.
She wipes at her eyes, composing herself. "I'm not going to fight for him," she tells you. "I'm not going to beg him to stay or make a scene. But I want you to know what you're getting into. I want you to know that this won't be easy, and it won't be pretty, and there's a good chance it will break your heart."
"I know," you say softly.
"Do you?" she asks, and there's genuine curiosity in her voice now. "Do you really know? Or are you just caught up in the romance of it all, the bad boy biker and his long-lost love?"
"I know him," you state firmly. "I've always known him. And I know he'd choose me over anything, even the club."
She stares at you for a long moment, and then she nods slowly. "Maybe you're right," she says. "Maybe he would. And maybe that's what scares me the most."
She turns to go, but pauses for a moment, having more grace than you probably would have. "For what it's worth," she speaks without looking back, "I hope you make him happy. I hope you give him whatever it is I couldn't."
Then she's gone, disappearing back into the clubhouse, and you're left standing alone in the dark, your heart heavy with guilt and anticipation and fear.
Because she's right about one thing, this won't be easy.
But as you think about Jax, about the way he looks at you, about the way his touch sets your skin on fire, you know you're willing to risk it.
You're willing to risk everything.
The rain starts just after midnight.
You're in your apartment, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and the faint smell of cardboard and dust. The place is a mess—clothes draped over chairs, books stacked haphazardly on the floor, your bed barely made. You've been here for a few weeks, and already it feels like you're drowning.
You pour yourself a glass of wine and sink onto the couch, staring out the window at the rain streaking down the glass. The storm matches your mood—restless, chaotic, unrelenting.
You can't stop thinking about this afternoon. The way you and Jax seem to orbit each other, the look on Tara's face when she caught you together again, the conversation outside the clubhouse.
But now, alone in your apartment with the rain pounding against the windows, doubt creeps in.
What have you done?
You've upended Jax's relationship. You've inserted yourself back into his life after years away. You've let yourself fall back into old patterns and feelings without thinking about the consequences.
And what about Tara? Despite everything, you feel guilty. She loves him, and you've taken him away from her.
But he chose you, a voice in your head reminds you. He's ending it with her. He chose you.
You take a long sip of wine, trying to quiet the warring voices in your head.
Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and your heart leaps when you see Jax's name.
Jax: You okay?
You stare at the message for a long moment before responding.
You: Yeah. Just thinking.
Jax: About?
You: Everything. Us. How fast this is all moving.
There's a pause, and then your phone rings. You answer on the second ring.
"Hey," you say softly.
"Hey," he replies, and just the sound of his voice makes you feel calmer. "Talk to me. What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"
"I don't know," you admit. "I just… this is all happening so fast. At first I was just moving back to town, and now…"
"Now you're mine again," he finishes, and there's satisfaction in his voice.
"Yeah," you whisper, holding the phone to your ear as you picture the smug grin on his face. "Now I'm yours."
"You having second thoughts?" he asks, and there's an edge to his voice now, something vulnerable. Like he's worried that you've changed your mind, and you'll leave again.
"No," you say quickly. "No, it's not that. I just… I feel guilty. About Tara. About how this all went down."
"Don't," he says firmly. "Don't feel guilty. What happened with Tara was on me. I should've ended it a long time ago. I should've ended it the moment I realized I was still in love with you."
"When did you realize that?" you ask.
"Honestly, I don't think there was a time I didn't know," he says simply. "I've been in love with you since we were kids, and I never stopped. Not for a single day."
Your throat tightens with emotion. "Baby-"
"I know this is fast," he continues. "I know it's messy. But I don't care. I've wasted enough time pretending I could be happy with someone else. I'm not wasting any more."
"I'm scared," you admit in a whisper.
"Of what?" he asks gently, a sound most wouldn't know Jax was capable of making.
"Of this. Of us. Of how much I feel for you." You take a shaky breath. "What if it doesn't work? What if we're better as a memory than as reality?"
"We're not," he says with absolute certainty. "We're better together. We always have been."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know you," he expresses. "I know the way you laugh when you're really happy. I know the way you bite your lip when you're thinking. I know the way you look at me like I'm the only person in the world. And I know that what we have—it's real. It's always been real."
Tears prick at your eyes; he's right. He always is. You remember the heartbreak from when your parents told you that you were moving, the despair of having to leave him behind, "I love you."
"I love you too," he mirrors with a loving whisper, the sound only a person regaining their love can make. "And I'm coming over."
"What? Jax, it's late, and it's pouring-"
"I don't care," he says. "I need to see you. I need to hold you and remind you that this is right."
You try to call out his name and stop him, you didn't want him out there on his bike in this weather, but he's already hung up.
You set your phone down, your heart racing. Part of you wants to tell him not to come, to give yourself space to think, to process everything that's happened.
But a bigger part of you, the part that's been in love with him since you were teenagers, wants nothing more than to have him here, in your space, holding you and making all the doubts disappear.
You stand up, pacing the small living room, your mind racing. The rain continues to pound against the windows, and you wrap your arms around yourself.
This is happening; this is really happening.
And despite the fear, despite the guilt, despite everything, you want it.
You want him.
You've always wanted him.
The knock comes twenty minutes later, knuckles rapping impatiently upon the wood. You cross to the door, your heart pounding, and when you open it, there he is.
Jax.
He's soaked from the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead, his white t-shirt clinging to his chest. His eyes are wild, desperate, and when he looks at you, it's like he's seeing you for the first time.
"I can't do this anymore," he says, his voice rough and urgent. He steps inside, forcing you to back up, and he kicks the door shut behind him. "I can't stay away from you. I tried. I fuckin' tried, but I can't."
Your breath catches. "What are you-"
"I don't want Tara," he says, and the words come out in a rush, like he's been holding them in for too long. "I don't want her. I never did. She was… she was a distraction, a way to forget you, but it didn't work. Nothing worked."
He steps closer, and you can see the rain dripping from his hair, the way his chest heaves with every breath.
"I talked to her," he admits as he watches your expression. "I ended it. I told her it was over. That I couldn't keep pretending when all I wanted was you."
"Jax," you whisper, and you're not sure if you're relieved or terrified or both.
"You're all I want," he says, his voice breaking. "You've always been all I want. And I know this is fucked up, I know it's messy, but I don't care. I can't keep pretending."
Your heart is racing, your mind spinning. You should tell him you need time. You should remind him that this is complicated. Instead, you reach up, your hand cupping his cheek, and you whisper, "Then don't."
That's all it takes.
He closes the distance between you in an instant, his hands gripping your waist as his lips crash against yours. The kiss is desperate, hungry, years of pent-up need and longing pouring out all at once. You gasp against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his wet hair, and he groans, the sound vibrating through you.
He lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist, and he carries you deeper into the apartment, his lips never leaving yours. You crash into a stack of boxes, sending them tumbling to the floor, but neither of you cares.
"Bedroom," you manage to gasp between kisses, and he nods, his grip on you tightening.
He navigates the chaos of your apartment, his mouth trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes you shiver. When he finally reaches the bedroom, he lays you down on the bed, his body covering yours, and for a moment, he just looks at you.
"You're so fuckin' beautiful," he murmurs, his hand cupping your face. "I've dreamed about this. About you."
"Jax," you whisper, your hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest. "I need you."
That's all the permission he needs.
He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, and then his hands are on you, tugging at your clothes with an urgency that makes your head spin. Your shirt comes off, then your jeans, and soon you're both bare, skin against skin, the heat between you almost unbearable.
His hands roam over your body, mapping every curve, every inch of skin he's been denied for so long. His lips follow, trailing kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. When his mouth closes around your nipple, you arch into him, a moan escaping your lips.
"Fuck, I missed you," he murmurs against your skin, his hand sliding between your thighs. When his fingers find you, slick and ready, he groans. "So wet for me already."
"Jax, please," you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand.
He doesn't make you wait. He positions himself between your legs, his eyes locked on yours, and then he's pushing inside you, slow and deep, filling you completely.
You both moan at the sensation, your bodies fitting together like they were made for this, for each other. He stills for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispers, his voice strained.
"Move," you beg, your nails digging into his back. "Please, Jax, move."
He pulls out almost completely, then thrusts back in, hard and deep, and you cry out, your body arching beneath him. He sets a relentless pace, his hips driving into you with a desperation that matches your own. Every thrust sends sparks of pleasure through you, building and building until you're teetering on the edge.
"Look at me," he commands, his hand gripping your chin. "I want to see you when you come."
You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his blue eyes nearly undoes you.
"That's it," he murmurs, his thumb finding your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel you."
The combination of his words, his touch, the way he's filling you, it's too much. You shatter as your orgasm crashes over you in waves, and you cry out his name, your body trembling beneath him.
"Fuck, yes-," he groans, and his rhythm falters. But he doesn't stop, doesn't let up, drawing out your pleasure until you're trembling beneath him.
Finally, he pulls out, and you whimper at the loss. But then he's flipping you over, pulling your hips up, and he's sliding back inside you from behind.
The new angle is deeper, more intense, and you bury your face in the pillow, muffling your cries as he pounds into you. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, and you love it, love the way he's claiming you, marking you as his.
"Mine," he growls, and the possessiveness in his voice sends another wave of pleasure through you. "You're mine."
"Yours," you gasp. "I'm yours, Jax."
He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit again, and you're coming again before you can even process it, your body shaking with the force of it.
"Fuck, I'm gonna-" he starts, and then he's coming too, his body tensing as he spills inside you, your name a broken prayer on his lips.
He collapses on top of you, both of you breathing hard, and for a long moment, you just lie there, tangled together, your hearts racing in sync.
Eventually, he rolls onto his side, pulling you with him so you're tucked against his chest. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your back, and you close your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you into a sense of peace.
"I meant what I said," he murmurs after a long silence. "I don't want Tara. I want you. I should've done it sooner. I should've done it years ago, before I ever got involved with her."
"You couldn't have known I'd come back," you say.
"Doesn't matter," he says firmly. "You were always the one. Even when you were gone, even when I thought I'd never see you again, you were always the one."
Your throat tightens with emotion, and you lean in, kissing him softly. "I love you," you whisper against his lips. "I've always loved you."
"I love you too," he says, and then he's kissing you again, deeper this time, pouring everything he feels into it.
When you finally break apart, he's smiling. "You're mine," he says, his voice firm, possessive. "You've always been mine. And I want everyone to know it. I'm not letting you go again."
Tears prick at your eyes, and you lean in, kissing him softly.
He smiles against your lips, and for the first time in years, you feel like you're exactly where you're supposed to be. He pulls you closer, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip, and you can feel him already starting to harden again against your thigh.
"Again?" you ask, breathless with laughter.
"I've got years to make up for," he says, rolling you onto your back and settling between your legs. "And I plan on making up for every single one of them."
This time, he takes his time—kissing every inch of your skin, learning your body all over again, making you come twice before he finally slides inside you. And when you finally fall asleep hours later, tangled together in your bed, you know that this is just the beginning.
