☠︎︎Tragically Samcro❦︎

Ray isn’t just any man talking you through it, he’s clinical, composed, and absolutely obsessed with you. He has never tolerated mess, never abided chaos – except for the ruin he pulls from you, slow and intentional, every detail controlled down to the shudder in your breath.

Always immaculate – hair slicked back, beard perfectly groomed, jaw strong and purposeful. His mouth is set in a knowing line, stormy blue eyes sharp behind his glasses. There’s something magnetic in the way he watches you, focused and steady. Every detail about him radiates control and confidence.

You see the way his eyes drag over you – appraising, proprietary – you know he’s reading every secret written on your skin. He won’t touch you until you’re exactly as he likes – neat, spread out, every limb arranged just so. He’ll brush his thumb along your jaw, not out of softness, but to keep you in line.

To remind you whose you are. "You want to be ruined, but you’ll do it my way – don’t make a mess of yourself, not unless I ask for it."

And when Ray talks you through it, every word is filth, never vulgar for its own sake, but always purposeful. He keeps you right at the edge with precision, savoring every shaky breath, your need, and most of all – your obedience.

"Prove to me you can be my good girl. Show me how well you take my cock.”

Every word is deliberate by design, crafted to extract your devotion.

“God, look at you. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you? That’s why you’re mine."

He orchestrates your surrender until you’re unraveling just the way he wants – every gasp and plea drawn out by his control.

When you’re mindless and wrecked, trembling on overstimulation, his voice cuts through the haze. “That’s it, darling. Give me just one more. I want to feel this perfect pussy clench around me. Let me hear how good I make you feel."

Ray owns it all, making you crave the exquisite order of his obsession – leaving you aching to submit to him again, over and over.

———————

But that hadn’t stopped someone from calling you, the melodic chimes of your ringtone continuing to fill the darkness around you. The disruption came from behind on your nightstand, the noise loud in the otherwise stillness. With an aggravated groan, you frustratedly flopped onto your back and glared up at the ceiling. 

“Goddammit, you fucking asshole,” you cursed under your breath.

You didn't need to check the screen of your phone to know whose name would be displayed across it. This wasn't the first time he'd called you in the middle of the night in the past couple of weeks since you’d broken things off with him, and he’d been shitfaced each time he had called. You thought you’d made yourself pretty damn clear when you'd chewed him out and embarrassed him in front of the other Sons that afternoon in front of the clubhouse, but still he refused to listen to you. He kept dismissing each time you’d told him that you were done with him and his bullshit.

Thirty seconds dragged maddeningly past before the call finally went to your voicemail and the cheerful noise of your ringtone suddenly ceased filling your room. As blissful silence enveloped you like a soothing blanket, your eyelids gradually closed and your body sunk comfortably back into your mattress. Generally when you ignored his calls, he’d just leave a message–which you promptly deleted in the morning without bothering to listen to–but it was still irritating that he kept interrupting your nights. 

Just as you felt yourself starting to relax and drift off towards sleep again, your phone’s ringtone trilled through your bedroom once more. Eyes snapping back open, you turned your head along your pillow and glared at your phone on the nightstand. Across the bright display you saw the name ‘Jax Teller’ taunting you, and you grit your teeth together in frustration. He didn’t usually call you twice back to back, and while a part of you felt a flicker of concern that maybe something was wrong, you reminded yourself that he wasn’t yours to worry about anymore. He didn’t deserve to occupy space in your mind, and it didn’t matter what was going on with him and his club.

Eventually your phone quieted for the second time as his call was once more sent to voicemail, and the screen of your phone grew dark. Holding your breath for a few seconds, you stared at your phone and willed it to remain quiet, hoping that Jax would take the hint and leave you alone already. But the screen lit up again, and Jax’s name once more appeared along it as your ringtone began to echo around your bedroom.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you growled.

Pushing yourself upright in bed, the sheets slid down and pooled along your lap. With your back resting against your headboard, you reached out and yanked the charging cord out of your phone with more force than necessary. Angrily swiping your finger across the screen, you felt your irritation reaching its breaking point. Clearly, ignoring him wasn’t going to work tonight.

“It’s nearly two thirty in the fucking morning,” you snapped into your phone. “The fuck do you think you’re doing calling me right now? I told you to fuck off, Jax. So fuck off.”

A heavy sigh came through the speaker, the sound somehow filled with so much pain that your stomach lurched without warning at the weight of it. You tried to ignore the tender ache in your chest, preferring to focus on your anger at him instead. It wasn’t like you’d wanted to end things with Jax right as you’d started falling for him, but you’d learned the hard way that everyone had been right about the Sons’ president. You should have walked away that first time he asked for your number when you’d taken your car in for an oil change, but that stupid fucking smile of his had been enough to hook you.

“‘M sorry,” he slurred, the evidence of alcohol in his speech. “I know ‘t’s late. Just haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

“Because we broke up,” you stated icily. “Which means I don’t want to talk to you, Jackson. We’re done.”

“C’mon, it was justa fight,” he countered. “You barely lemme explain–”

“Because I don’t fucking need to hear whatever bullshit you think is going to explain your behavior, Jax,” you shot back. “There isn’t an excuse that you could make for any of it that's going to make me feel any better.”

“‘S'not true,” he stubbornly disagreed.

Fingers gripping your phone tighter in your hand, you resisted the urge to bang your head backwards into the headboard behind you out of sheer frustration. You’d given him chance after chance for months to prove he was worth your time–four months to be exact. You’d ignored the earlier red flags, you’d tried to ignore the culture that permeated through his club with how they treated women, and you’d tried to ignore all the things everyone said around Charming about him. You had tried to get to know Jax on your own terms, giving him the benefit of the doubt over and over.

Yet he'd still disappointed you.

“Baby–”

“No,” you cut him off. The anger burning within you had you fully alert now, the haziness of sleep melting away. “Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me, asshole. You agreed to a relationship. You agreed to being exclusive. But did that ever stop you from letting the fucking girls hang all over you at the clubhouse? Groping at you and flirting with you while you just fucking stood there with your smug little smile? Even when I was standing right there?”

“I never wanted them,” Jax argued, a hint of his own anger mixing in with his inebriation. “I fuckin’ told you that. Repeatedly.”

“Yeah?” you retorted. “Well maybe you should’ve been telling the half naked girls throwing themselves at you that instead. Maybe you shouldn’t have always been winking at them and encouraging it. Maybe that would’ve worked better to prove your point, Jax. Seems like a pretty straightforward solution right there.” 

On the other end of the line, you heard Jax suck in a breath, but you already knew what he was going to say before he said it. You'd heard it countless times before, so you didn’t give him the chance to speak. You furiously barreled over him while glaring through the dark at the picture hanging innocently on your wall across the room. 

“And don’t even give me that shit about having a reputation to maintain, Jax,” you continued bitterly. “I don't care that you're some MC president, that shit doesn't slide with me. I tried to ignore it, I tried to view it from your side, but there’s only so much of that bullshit a self-respecting woman is willing to endure.”

“What?” he snapped.

“You fucking heard me,” you fumed into your phone. “What would you have done if I was out drinking and letting men hit on me like that, huh? Letting them touch me while I just winked and smiled and flirted back?”

Jax audibly scoffed over the line, his irritation steadily increasing. Good. Maybe you’d piss him off enough that he’d finally leave you alone, and you were determined to ignore the sharp stinging sensation in your chest at that thought, not wanting to delve into what it meant. You’d cried over him enough after that first week, he didn’t deserve more of your tears. 

“I’d’ve beaten the shit outta any guy who touched you, darlin’,” he answered, his words still heavily slurring together. “No one fucks with my girl.”

A bitter laugh tumbled past your lips as you shook your head at his answer. What a predictable reply from the Sons’ president, and it was infuriating how he couldn’t acknowledge the disparity within it. 

“What a damn double standard that is,” you shot back. “So you can flirt and let those girls put their hands all over you, but god forbid a man pay me a compliment.”

“Look, darlin’, I get you’re pissed ‘bout the thing with Ima,” Jax continued, blatantly ignoring the truth you’d just thrust on him, “but ‘t’s nothin’ to be jealous over.”

“Jealous?” you hissed into the phone, eyebrows incredulously rising up onto your forehead. “I’m not jealous, dumbass. You disrespected me. It was bad enough you let that annoying tramp onto the back of your bike for a ride to the clubhouse in the first place considering how much trouble she’s blatantly been causing, but you let her kiss you, Jax. On the fucking mouth. In front of everyone.”

“It was a peck!” he roared over the line. “You fuckin’ overreacted ‘bout it, too!”

Your last bit of control snapped, especially since he’d woken you up after two in the morning with another one of his stupid phone calls. You had work in the morning, you didn’t want to be dealing with this right now. An agitated growl rumbled deep in the back of your throat as you sat seething on your bed and glaring at the peaceful landscape painting across the room. 

He was always so damn stubborn. You doubted that he would ever even realize just how much he’d fucked up in that moment, which hurt in its own way. Because in his mind, he’d done nothing wrong throughout the entire relationship since he’d never slept with anyone else. But you weren’t one of the girls that hung around the Sons for fun, you weren’t like any of them just looking for a good time. You’d told him that you wanted something real and serious, and you’d given him the chance he’d asked for before he completely ruined the entire thing with his need to let the girls at the club stroke his ego when you should’ve been more than enough for him. 

“This is why I ended shit,” you said, a quiet, dangerous calm in your words. “You’re immature. Your head is buried so goddamn far up your ass that you can’t even see the truth when it’s in front of you, Jackson Teller. You were in a relationship with me, meaning the other girls shouldn’t have been treating you like you were open for business, and you certainly shouldn't have let them. And it damn well meant that none of them should be kissing you. Because eventually just a peck becomes just a blow job, right?”

“No, ‘s'not what I–”

“You don't respect boundaries,” you continued, talking right over him. “That isn’t how a healthy fucking relationship works. Not with me. I told you months ago I expect exclusivity, but apparently we don't define that the same way. So we are not compatible, and you need to stop calling me.”

A sharp, unexpected bang reverberated down the hall and through your house before the same noise echoed through the phone pressed to your ear. You jolted on your bed at the sound, startled by someone banging on your front door at this hour. 

“Don't say that,” Jax demanded in your ear. “I care ‘bout you, darlin’.”

It took you a second, your mind still focused on the noise at your door and not exactly on what he’d said, but it soon clicked in your brain why you'd heard the banging twice. Eyes narrowing suspiciously at your bedroom doorway, you realized that tonight Jax hadn't just drunk dialed you, he'd showed up at your front door, too.

“Please tell me you aren't banging on my door in the middle of the night,” you retorted.

“S'what if I am?” he countered.

Lowering the phone to your lap, your fingers squeezed the device in your increasing frustration, your head tipping back as you inhaled an irritated breath through your nose. No wonder why he’d called you so many times back to back–because he was just outside. Drunk and absolutely infuriating in his audacity thinking that he could get you to step outside and talk to him. Expelling the breath sharply between your lips, you raised the phone back to your ear and caught the last bit of what he was drunkenly saying.

“...just for a few minutes. I miss you. Just lemme say somethin’, a’ight?”

“No,” you firmly answered. 

The sharp slam of his fist hitting your front door echoed down your hallway while simultaneously coming through your phone. A scowl settled onto your face, your eyes stinging from how tired you were. It was not the time for one of his moody tantrums.

“Turn around and walk your drunk ass back down my steps and back to the clubhouse,” you ordered him. “I’m not opening the door for you, Jax. When I hang up in a second, I’m turning my damn phone on silent. If you continue banging on my door, I’m calling Roosevelt to come throw you in county for the night. Understood?”

“Baby, don’t–”

“Get. Lost.”

He’d started saying something else, but you pulled the phone away from your ear and smashed your finger on the key to hang up the call. True to your word, you put your phone on silent immediately afterwards, not risking having him call you back and keeping you awake. But if he did keep banging on your door, you absolutely would call the police department and let them deal with his intoxicated ass. 

You were done with him.

But as you tossed your phone back onto the nightstand and slid down beneath your sheets, you didn’t hear anymore banging on your front door. You thought you heard a disgruntled voice outside, but as you rolled back over and closed your eyes, snuggling underneath your blanket, you ignored it. Just like you ignored that throbbing ache in your chest that he’d reawoken with his drunken call tonight.

Because Jax was not good for you and he never would be. There was no changing his nature, no matter how tragic that'd been to accept.

You’d woken the next morning to your alarm and a faint headache growing between your temples. Throwing off the sheets, you'd rushed to get ready for work, going through your usual morning routine of showering and chugging down a cup of coffee. By the time you were slipping on your shoes by the front door, you were exhausted from yet another interrupted night of sleep.

Thankfully you hadn’t heard anything else from Jax last night, and you assumed that meant he'd done what you said and walked his ass back to the clubhouse. You only lived a few blocks from it, so you weren’t exactly concerned about him getting lost or hit by a car while ambling down the sidewalk in the early morning. And as you often reminded yourself, he wasn't yours to worry about anymore.

Grabbing your keys from off the hook by the door, you opened it and prepared to head out to work for the day. But as you'd swung open the screen door, you nearly screamed at the sight of a body laying just outside on your porch. The scare was short-lived when you quickly realized who it was though, and you caught yourself before you'd actually let out a shriek. 

Standing there with your mouth hanging open in disbelief, you stared down at Jax where he lay propped up against the wall of your house and beside your front door. He was lucky you hadn’t hit him with the screen door when you’d swung it open, though judging by the state of him, you doubted he’d have noticed and reacted if you had. He looked as if he’d just stubbornly passed out there early this morning, too wasted to have done what you told him to and walked back to the clubhouse.

Finally closing your mouth, it twisted into a frown as you examined his appearance. Jax’s head was slumped to the side over one shoulder, his neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle as he lay half upright against the wall. His eyes were closed, but an angry purple bruise had bloomed around the left one. His usually groomed and styled blonde hair was sticking up in varying places and no longer slicked neatly back, the greasy strands hanging around his face. Glancing further down, you noticed that he’d passed out still clutching his phone in his hand. That’s when you saw just how battered and bloody his knuckles were, as if he'd recently gotten into a fight with someone. 

He looked like an absolute wreck laying there, and he reeked of whiskey.  A slight breeze blew past where you stood on the front porch, and the strong scent caused your nose to wrinkle instinctively at the sharp tang of it. For the briefest moment you wondered what had led him to drink quite this much last night. Was it the breakup that had caused him to overdo it? Or was it problems and stress related to running the club? 

Shaking your head roughly, you abruptly shoved that thought aside. The answer didn’t matter. Jax wasn't yours to deal with anymore. You did not care about why he'd gotten so shitfaced last night.

Turning around, you finished fully closing the front door and stuck your key into the lock, twisting it and locking up your house before carefully shutting the screen door behind yourself. Attention returning to Jax, a tired sigh blew past your lips before you bent at the waist and leaned forward, snatching his phone from his slack grip. He didn't even twitch as you took it, and you rolled your eyes at his unconscious form while straightening back up. 

Flipping open his phone, you scrolled through his contacts list before finding the name you were searching for. You hit the button to dial their number and held the phone to your ear as it rang, staring down at Jax who was still entirely unaware of your presence.

“Stupid, stubborn asshole,” you muttered. 

Resisting the urge to kick the sole of his Nike with your foot, you listened to the phone ring a couple of times before the call was finally answered. You weren’t surprised at how tired the Scotsman sounded on the other end considering how early in the morning you'd called. And if Jax was this wasted, you assumed the others had also been up late getting drunk last night.

“Jackie boy?” Chibs greeted, slurring thickly like he'd just woken. “Somethin’ the matter? ‘S’barely seven.”

“It’s not Jax,” you flatly replied. “Your president is passed out on my front porch. I need to go to work, but if he’s still there when I get back for lunch, he’s going to be the sheriff’s problem. So I suggest you send someone to collect him before the police do.”

Not waiting for Chibs to respond, you hung up the call and snapped Jax’s flip phone shut. With a careless flick of your wrist, you tossed it down at Jax, watching as it bounced off his chest with a soft thunk before it fell into his lap. 

Your lips pressed together as you stood there, taking in how pathetic he looked all bruised and stinking of alcohol. This wasn't the man you'd met months ago at Teller-Morrow Automotive, the one who'd charmed you and left you tongue tied. He looked nothing like the cocky, arrogant bad boy who did whatever he wanted damn the consequences. 

“I told you to get lost,” you chastised. “But you can't even listen to that, can you, Jax Teller?”

Jax didn't answer–not that you expected him to. With his head still hanging limp at that awkward angle over his shoulder, you knew he’d be feeling the poor choice to pass out on your porch for the rest of the day. 

“You're a mess, you know that?” you continued, aware that he couldn’t hear a single thing you said. “You're throwing your whole life away and it's such a shame to watch. If you'd just stop letting that damn club control you, you might actually be able to listen to that heart I know you've got buried inside of you. But you're too busy always trying to drown it out with booze instead.”

You'd seen glimpses of the man he could be in the time you'd been with him. It was why you'd stayed for as long as you had, because you’d seen a warmth hidden behind that guarded exterior and you'd wanted to see more of it. But he hadn’t given you much more of himself, always too concerned with being the man he claimed he was expected to be as the Sons' president instead of just being Jax Teller.

“And it's not my problem,” you whispered to yourself.

With a defeated sigh, you turned and stepped down the stairs of your front porch, leaving Jax laying unconscious and propped up beside your door. While you made your way to where your car sat parked in the driveway, you caught the distinct rumble of a motorcycle roaring to life through the early morning from just a few blocks away. A telltale sign that Chibs at least had the good sense to listen to you. 

“Mmm,” you breathed in protest, eyes still closed.

“I know,” he murmured against your shoulder. “Too early.”

His voice was lower than usual, softened at the edges in a way only you ever got to hear. No careful composure standing between him and the world. Just Ray, solid and bare behind you, his palm smoothing over your hip after what must have been a while spent awake, deciding that if he had to pull you from sleep before a civilized hour, he was going to make it worth waking for.

You smiled faintly into the pillow. “Is it?”

“For you?” His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Tragically.”

The sensation made you squirm before you could stop yourself, your chin tucking toward your shoulder as a tiny giggle slipped out of you, breathy and still half-asleep. Ray’s arm held you close, keeping you tucked against him while his mouth followed the movement, kissing along the side of your neck where he knew you were sensitive.

“So why are you waking me up?”

“Because we have somewhere to be.”

That should have made you suspicious. It would have, if his mouth hadn’t moved lower again, pulling a shallow breath from you while every other thought scattered before you could hold onto it.

“Somewhere can wait,” you mumbled.

Ray’s breath touched your neck, and you felt the faint curve of his mouth against your skin. “Not indefinitely.”

He kissed the spot where your pulse had quickened, trailing back toward your jaw as though he had all the time in the world, despite whatever plans he was keeping from you. His hand moved from your waist to your hip and back again, a steady, reassuring touch that made you relax against him.

“You sound like a man with plans.”

“I am a man with plans.”

“On my birthday?”

“For your birthday.”

You meant to open your eyes at that, but his touch, so gentle and deliberate, distracted you before you could. Ray had never been careless with you, not with his hands, not with his affection, not with the pieces of himself he gave so gradually—so carefully—that you sometimes forgot how much he had already handed over.

His fingers traced over of your stomach, lower now, possessive without being demanding. His mouth found the side of your throat again, lingering there while he drew you closer, your back fitting against his broad chest. The sound he made rumbled through him and into you, barely heard but impossible to miss. Your body answered before you were awake enough to pretend otherwise, hips shifting into the cradle of his palm as a sleepy little sound slipped from your throat.

Your eyes finally opened, though the world stayed small for one last breath, held between Ray’s hand on your body, his mouth at your skin, and the solid shape of him behind you. Slowly, your gaze drifted toward the nightstand, landing on the fresh bouquet waiting there in a simple glass vase.

Your favorite flowers, full and lovely without feeling staged, arranged with smaller blooms in colors you loved. The stems were gathered with a satin ribbon tied neatly around the middle, simple and exact in a way that felt unmistakably like him. He hadn’t chosen the biggest arrangement or the most expensive, only the right one.

His lips brushed your shoulder again, his voice low and close enough to send a swoop through your belly.

“Happy birthday, darling.”

The words settled over you, not an announcement so much as a touch all their own. You blinked at the bouquet, at the ribbon around the stems, at the exact colors he had chosen, and your chest gave a helpless little squeeze before you could stop it.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Ray’s hand stilled against your stomach.

You turned your head enough to look at him. His eyes were already on you, blue and unguarded without his glasses, clearer in the morning light as he watched for your reaction with the satisfaction of a man who had been looking forward to this moment far more than he would ever admit aloud.

“You got my favorite flowers.”

“Of course.”

The answer was so simple that it caught somewhere beneath your ribs. He said it so easily, remembering the shape of your joy as though it required no effort at all, because to Ray, there had never been any other option but to know you that well.

You blinked, emotion rising before you could stop it, and Ray’s expression shifted immediately. His hand came up to your face, knuckles brushing gently along your cheek.

“No tears yet,” he said softly. “It’s barely begun.”

“Yet?”

His mouth curved, pleased in the private way that made your chest ache. “You’ll need to pace yourself.”

You huffed a small laugh, but he caught it with his mouth before it could fully leave you, his lips gentle at first before turning firmer when you angled into him in an effort to get closer. The faint scrape of his beard brushed over your mouth as his tongue slid against yours, coaxing you open with that same careful intent he brought to everything else. The kiss deepened naturally, familiar and devastating all at once.

Your hands found him beneath the sheets, sliding over his shoulders, his chest, anywhere you could reach as he drew you in and settled over you. Bare skin met bare skin, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm, the weight of him enough to make the rest of the room fall away.

He kissed you like he could feel every little place you gave in to him, the surrender of your mouth, the lift of your hips, the gasp you tried to swallow when his tongue moved deeper.

Ray had woken you with his mouth on your skin, with flowers waiting on the nightstand, and now he seemed intent on making this the first real gift of the day too, the thorough pleasure of being loved until there was nothing left in your head but him.

You sighed against his mouth as the hard length of him pressed between your thighs, and Ray drew back only enough to see you, close enough that his breath still touched your lips. His hair was mussed from your fingers, his eyes gone a shade deeper now, the blue sharpened by want as he looked over your face.

You could feel how badly he wanted you, the thick press of him against your slick skin, restrained only because he knew you liked the slow ruin of it all.

His palm pressed into your leg as he eased it higher over his hip, opening you to him more. Ray noticed the eager tilt of your hips, the way you opened wider around him, the involuntary pull of your breath when he dragged the blunt head of his cock through the needy wet of you.

He didn’t rush to give you what you wanted. Instead, he slid through your cunt with maddening control, brushing over your clit just enough to make your body tense beneath him before easing back, drawing the want out until it bloomed deep and aching.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, your mouth parting beneath his when the next pass stole the air from your lungs. Ray kissed you through it, lips plush, tongue coaxing, the faint shape of his smile brushing yours when your hips lifted to chase him.

He knew. And that was the infuriating part. He knew exactly what he was doing to you—from the tremor in your legss and the way your breath thinned when he teased the head of his cock against your entrance without pushing in. His hand settled at your hip, keeping you close as he gave you just enough pressure to make your body flutter around nothing, pulling back before you could take him.

“Ray,” you whined, half warning, half plea.

His mouth brushed the corner of yours, pleased and far too satisfied. “I know.”

 His eyes stayed on your face while he teased you, the last of his composure held together by sheer will and the pleasure he took in watching yours unravel.

“You’re impatient this morning,” he noted, voice low against your mouth.

“You woke me up,” you protested, your bottom lip pushing out in a sleepy pout.

“I did.”

“So do something about it.”

That pulled a rough sound from him, more want than amusement. His fingers pressed into your hip as he kissed you again, stealing the rest of your complaint while he settled against your entrance.

Your pout vanished into a trembling exhale as he finally sank into you, and Ray stayed close enough to take the sound into his mouth. He watched you through it, eyes fixed on your face as your lips parted and your lashes fluttered as your body adjusted around him. He took his time, almost cruel in his patience, making sure you felt every inch of him.

“Christ,” he groaned, the word barely making it out.

Your legs locked around his hips as he pressed deeper, taking his time until he was fully inside you. His eyes shut while he steadied himself, the polished control he carried so easily everywhere else thinning to almost nothing at the wet, heated feel of you around him.

You shifted just enough to take him deeper, and his whole body went taut. Another rough sound caught in his throat, his mouth brushing yours without quite kissing you. He had teased you for so long, made you needy for him, but now that he had you, now that he was buried inside you and fighting himself for patience, the waiting was ruining him too.

Your hands slid over his back, feeling the flex of muscle beneath your touch as he finally rolled his hips into you with enough purpose to sink you deeper into the sheets and pull a broken sound from your throat.

Ray did it again, finding a rhythm that narrowed the world to his body over yours and the delicious drag of his cock inside you. His chest pressed to yours, his mouth moved from your lips to your cheek, your jaw, your throat, kissing wherever he could reach as his composure started to fray.

You felt everything he gave—his weight over you, the flex of his hips and all the rough little sounds he made whenever you clenched around him. Each thrust reached deep enough to scatter whatever thoughts you had left, and when your nails dragged down his back, his pace faltering briefly before he caught himself.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed against your neck.

Your hips titled to meet him, and the change in angle made your mouth fall open, pleasure flashing brightly behind your eyes. Ray felt you tighten around him, felt the tremor move through you, your nails pressing into his back as you tried desperately to keep him right there.

His grip shifted lower on your thigh, guiding you into him while he did it again.

“There?” he asked, though the look on his face said he already knew.

You nodded, too far gone to make it graceful, begging him not to move away from that spot.

Ray pressed into you deeper this time, his control thinning with every sound he drew out of you. He’d always known how to make restraint feel filthy, how to make patience its own kind of indulgence.

His touch moved down your side, over the dip of your waist and the curve of your hip, fingers pressing there to pull you into the next thrust. His eyes stayed on you, hunger cutting through the last of his composure as your body drew around him again.

“Darling,” he groaned against your throat. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

The praise went through you in a swirling rush, your cunt closing around him hard enough to pull the air from his chest. Ray’s hand flexed at your hip, his composure catching on a rough sound before his mouth found yours again, hungry and less careful than before.

“That’s it,” he breathed against your lips. “You take me so well.”

You turned your face into him, overwhelmed by the gentleness as much as the pleasure. Him inside you, the scrape of his beard along your skin, the devotion in the way he kept looking at you. It was too much and not enough, your body aching for more even as he gave you everything.

Ray shifted just enough to make you whimper, his hips still working into you as he slipped between your bodies and found your clit. Your back arched at the first touch, a sharp cry catching in your throat before his mouth covered yours, swallowing it down like he wanted to keep it for himself.

 “That’s where you need me, isn’t it?”

All you could manage was another frantic nod, fingers curling at the back of his neck as the room filled with the sounds of your pleasure.

He moved with steady purpose, thumb circling your clit while he drove into you with the same focused restraint that had been ruining you all morning. Pleasure gathered heavy and insistent, swelling with every thrust. You held his gaze as long as you could, watching his composure slip in small, beautiful increments, until he angled his hips just right, pressing deeper, dragging against the spot that made your whole body seize beneath him.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice strained. “Come for me.”

The words pushed you right to the edge, your nails digging into his back as your body wound around him. For one desperate second, you hovered there, caught on the drag of his cock inside you, the steady pressure of his thumb, the sound of him losing control above you, and then it broke.

It hit you in a full-body rush, clamping around him as pleasure tore through you in waves. You cried out his name, and Ray groaned into your skin, his pace stuttering before he caught himself and gave you more, pushing you through it while your cunt fluttered around him.

You felt him start to slip, jaw clenched near your cheek, his control fraying with every pulse of your body around his. His mouth stayed on your skin, rough kisses pressed wherever he could reach, less careful with each one.

His hips drove deeper, rougher now, chasing what he had held back too long. A guttural groan dragged from his chest as he buried his face against your neck, body crowding yours with a need that felt almost frantic after so much restraint.

You were still shaking when his hand locked at your thigh, pulling you into him through one thrust, then the next, before he held himself as deep as your body would take him. His body went rigid over yours, shoulders tense beneath your hands, mouth open against your throat as he came with a broken sound. You felt him pulse inside you, the hot spill of his release filling your cunt as his hips pressed in with one last helpless grind, like even that deep, he still needed more.

“Fuck,” he breathed, your name following after, wrecked.

The sensation made you whimper, still too sensitive, still clenching around him in little aftershocks that dragged a rough sound from his chest. Ray’s mouth moved against your skin, not quite a kiss, more like he needed somewhere to put the force of it while his body shuddered once above yours.

He stayed buried inside you, his body covering yours as both of you came down in the gray morning light. Your fingers traced weakly over the back of his neck, feeling the damp heat of his skin, the uneven rise and fall of his breath. Ray pressed a kiss to your shoulder, lips lingering warm on your skin, because he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave you yet.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured against your skin, voice satisfied and ruined.

You laughed weakly, still trying to come back to yourself. “You’re very pleased with yourself.”

Ray’s eyes flicked to yours, gentled by something private. “No.”

“No?”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, his gaze moving over your face with the kind of attention that made you feel seen down to the smallest, most hidden parts of yourself. “I’m pleased I got to have you like that.”

Your heart did something stupid in your chest.

Before you could answer, he kissed you, lingering just long enough to ruin whatever clever thing you might have said. Eventually, he slipped from the bed and disappeared, returning a few moments later to get you cleaned up with the same tender care he gave everything that involved you.

When he left the room again, you heard movement beyond the bedroom, then the low clink of ceramic. He came back shortly with a fresh cup of coffee in your favorite mug, steam curling above the rim as he crossed the room in nothing but lounge trousers, his glasses back on now, the only real sign that the day had started when neither of you had quite left the bed.

You looked at the cup, then at him.

Ray settled beside you, body angled toward yours against the pillows, close enough that his fingers trailed absently over the ends of your hair while you drank your coffee and admired the bouquet again, bright and fresh against the rumpled mess of the room, your favorite flowers arranged with such precise care that it almost hurt to look at them.

You took a sip, the coffee rich and perfect on your tongue, exactly how you liked it. It settled something in you even as the rest of you remained a little undone from the way he had woken you. Ray’s fingers moved through your hair with an absent affection. Even after having you, even after coaxing every sleepy sound out of you, he still seemed to need some small point of contact.

Your gaze drifted lazily across the room, over the bouquet on the nightstand, to the clothes you had discarded the night before in your rush to get your hands on him. The memory tugged a smirk from you before your attention moved on, landing near the bedroom door, where both of your suitcases stood neatly against the wall.

The smirk faded into suspicion as you took another sip of coffee, because dignity felt important in the face of whatever he had clearly already done. With as much nonchalance as you could manage while sitting naked beneath the sheets after being loved senseless before breakfast, you lowered the mug.

“Ray?”

Beside you, his fingers paused in your hair for half a second.

“Darling?”

“Why is our luggage out?”

Ray remained relaxed against the pillows, his face calm in a way that only made you more suspicious. His fingers resumed their path through your hair, the touch so easy and affectionate you almost thought he could soothe the question right out of you.

“Oh,” he said, with the careful casualness of a man who had been waiting for this exact moment. “That’s part of your birthday surprise. I did tell you we had somewhere to be.”

Surprise flickered through you, cutting through the last haze of the morning. “I thought we were just going to brunch?”

“We are.”

You turned your head slowly and stared at him.

Ray finally glanced at you, and there it was, that infuriating little shift at the corner of his mouth. Just enough to tell you he had been waiting all morning for you to notice and enjoying himself far too much now that you had.

“Why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like brunch has logistics.”

His expression softened, though the amusement stayed tucked in his eyes. “It does, in this case.”

“Raymond.”

He looked entirely too fond of you for a man currently refusing to explain the suitcases by the door.

You sat up a little straighter, the sheet shifting around your chest as you held your coffee with both hands. “What did you do?”

Ray reached over and took the mug from you before answering, setting it safely on the bedside table. Leaning in, he placed a kiss to your cheek before settling back against the pillows.

That made your suspicion deepen.

“Oh, absolutely not,” you protested. “You only take things out of my hands when you think I’m about to drop them.”

“I’ve known you long enough to know better.”

You gave him a look. “Long enough to know I need an explanation.”

He shifted toward you, one knee bending on the mattress as his hand found yours, his thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles, not to distract you this time, but to steady you before he gave you the truth.

“You once told me you wanted to have brunch on the Amalfi Coast.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. For a moment, the words just sat there between you, too lovely and impossible to make sense of.

Ray kept his eyes on you, voice soft and even, almost too gentle for the way your heart had suddenly started to beat.

“More specifically, you wanted a giant waffle with whipped cream and fresh strawberries,” he continued. “Mimosas. Blue water. Lemon trees. The sort of view that makes you feel insufferable for getting to sit in it.”

You blinked at him, still trying to make the words fit together. “I said that ages ago.”

“You did.”

“I was kidding.”

“No,” he said, thumb moving over the back of your hand. “You were wishing.”

You could only stare at him, trying to absorb the fact that he had taken one silly, impossible thing you said offhand, turning it into reality.

“Ray,” you breathed out, and something in his face changed at the sound of it.

“The bags are packed. The plane is ready. There will be a car here soon, and another waiting when we land.”

He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, holding your gaze over them. “You don’t have to think about a single thing today unless you want to.”

The words barely made it past the emotion in your throat. “You’re taking me to Italy today?”

“For brunch,” he answered, pleased enough with himself not to bother hiding it. “Among other things.”

A shaky laugh slipped out of you, full of wonder. “You are unbelievable.”

“I suppose I’ve been called worse.”

“Raymond.”

His fingers curled around yours, steadying without crowding, already there to meet the emotion gathering in your chest before it could overwhelm you.

“I wanted you to have it.”

You looked down at your joined hands because his face was suddenly too much. The life he had already given you, and now this, all of it gathered in your chest so quickly you barely had time to swallow it down.

When you looked up again, Ray was watching you with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

His thumb brushed beneath your eye before the tear could fall, his expression changing the second he caught it. Leaning in, he kissed the damp place his thumb had touched. “I wondered when this might happen.”

You gave a watery laugh, catching his wrist as tears gathered again. “Don’t.”

“I’m not making light of it.” His voice lost every trace of amusement, his mouth lingering close to your cheek. “Not when it matters this much.”

You looked at him, helpless beneath the weight of it all. The suitcases by the door, the flowers, the coffee, the certainty of him sitting beside you like flying you to Italy for brunch was simply a thing that happened when he loved someone.

“I just…” You shook your head, overwhelmed all over again. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

All you could do was look at him, your chest too full for anything else.

“I hear the things you wish for before you decide they’re too much.” His gaze held yours, calm and devastating. “They all matter to me.”

You had to swallow before you could say his name. “Ray.”

“I love you,” he said, as simple as it was ruinous. “And I have no interest in letting you spend your life pretending you don’t want things just because you’ve learned not to ask for them.”

That hit way too deep for you to even answer.

He kissed your forehead, lingering there. “So yes, darling. When you want something, even if it’s fleeting, I’m going to notice.” He stayed close, mouth still touching your skin as he spoke. “And when I can, I’m going to give it to you.”

That was the part that undid you most. Not the money, the planning, or the impossible ease with which Ray seemed to make entire countries available to him. It was the fact that he listened so closely. That he knew the difference between a throwaway joke and a want you never expected anyone to take seriously.

You tucked your face into the side of his neck, pressing closer as your eyes filled all over again. “This is extravagant.”

His hand moved over your back, steady and affectionate. “I prefer efficient.”

You pulled back enough to look at him. “You are not calling a surprise trip to Italy efficient.”

“It has been arranged with very little inconvenience to you.” He adjusted his glasses at the frame, the gesture so composed it nearly made the whole thing worse, though you could still hear the smile in his voice. “That does seem to qualify.”

The restrained amusement in his face nearly made you cry all over again. It was such a Ray answer, precise and dry and entirely too calm for a man who had just announced he was flying you across Europe for waffles.

Your gaze slid toward the luggage again. “When did you even pack?”

“This morning.”

“You packed my suitcase this morning?”

“I did.”

“Ray.”

“You have options.”

“That is not what I’m worried about.”

“I know what you like.”

You gave him a look, though the smile already tugging at your mouth made it difficult to look truly accusing. “You know what I like, or you know what you like seeing me in?”

His eyes moved over your face with open appreciation. “Both.”

The answer was too honest to be smug, too tender to be anything but devastating.

You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile wider. “And what if I wanted to pack something else?”

“We’ll buy it there.”

“That is not a normal solution.”

“No,” he agreed, “but it is a solution.”

You laughed for real this time, the sound loosening the heaviness in your chest. Ray’s expression changed with visible satisfaction, that unmistakable pleasure he took in making you laugh, in watching the emotion ease out of you until it became something lighter.

He slid his fingers through your hair once more, then let his hand rest at the back of your neck. “We need to leave in an hour.”

“An hour?!” You looked down at yourself before giving him a pointed look. “I’m naked.”

“I had noticed.”

“Ray!” you chided, trying to sound scandalized and failing completely.

“I’m only saying it has not escaped my attention.”

You swatted his chest, but he caught your hand and kissed your palm before letting it go.

“You have time,” he said. “Shower. Dress. Panic a little, if you must.”

“I’m not panicking.”

His eyes flicked briefly to the luggage and back to you.

“I’m processing,” you corrected before he could say anything.

“Of course.”

“Don’t of course me.”

His mouth did that barely-there thing again, amusement tucked into one corner, trying to behave and failing only because he adored you too much.

You looked at him for a long second before reaching for your coffee. Ray handed it to you before you even had to lean, and the ease of that small gesture made your heart squeeze, almost as much as everything else he had done.

You took a sip, watching him over the rim of your mug. “You really planned a whole trip around waffles?”

“And mimosas,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. “And the view.”

“Oh.” Your smile turned almost whimsical as the thought of it settled over you. “The insufferable one?”

“The very one.”

There was something about the way he said it that made the whole thing ache again. Not because of the plane or the coast waiting across the water, but because he had listened. He had remembered. He had taken one passing wish from your mouth and built a birthday gift around it, not because he needed to prove he could, but because loving you had made him want to.

You set the mug down carefully and moved into his lap.

Ray accepted you without hesitation, hands finding your hips as you settled over him beneath the loose tangle of sheets. His head tipped back against the headboard, eyes lifting to yours, and for a moment neither of you said anything. The bouquet breathed sweetness into the room, the morning sitting pale and still around you, his hands steady at your waist even before he drew you closer.

“You’re meant to be getting ready,” he reminded you.

“I know.”

“And yet.”

“And yet,” you echoed, sliding your arms around his shoulders.

His hands moved up your sides, thumbs brushing your ribs. “Have I overwhelmed you?”

The question was gentle enough to make your heart somersault.

“A little,” you admitted, touching his face before concern could settle in. “In the good way. The way where I don’t know what to do with all of it yet.”

Ray’s hands settled more firmly around you. “You don’t have to do anything with it.”

“I do.”

“No.” He kissed you once, soft and brief. “You only have to let me give it to you.”

Your eyes held his before you dipped your lips to his, kissing him long enough that his hands drew you closer at the waist. When you pulled back, the emotion was still there, sitting high in your chest, but excitement had started breaking through it now, giddy and impossible to contain as the reality of what he had done finally sank in.

You took his face in both hands before he could retreat into all that careful composure, thumbs brushing over his cheeks as the coarse edge of his beard scratched softly against your palms. You looked at him like there was no possible way to love him more and still, somehow, you did.

“You extraordinary, gorgeous man,” you said, kissing him again, quick and happy this time, your smile ruining the shape of it before you could help yourself. “I love you. God, Ray, I love you so much it’s ridiculous.”

His smile came slowly before it broke wide enough to change his whole face. The corner of his mouth lifted, his beard shifting with it, blue eyes creasing at the edges as he looked up at you with helpless fondness. He looked almost bashful, pleased in a way he couldn’t hide.

And that only made it worse.

“Thank you. For all of it,” you told him, kissing him again because you couldn’t seem to stop. “For listening. For remembering. For being completely insane in the most romantic way possible. For making my life feel this beautiful.”

His thumb brushed along your side. “You haven’t seen all of it yet.”

Your exhale came out a little dazed. “There’s more?”

“It’s your birthday.”

You rested your forehead against his, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face even with all that emotion still caught behind your ribs. “One hour?”

He nodded, and your eyes fluttered shut for a second as you let yourself picture it: blue water, sunlight, drinks by the coast, Ray across from you in sunglasses, calm as anything, pretending this was a reasonable way to spend a morning simply because you had once wished for it.

When you opened your eyes, he was watching you.

“You’re doing that thing.” Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to.

“What thing?”

“Looking at me like that.”

His gaze held yours, unguarded and fond. “I like watching you receive things.”

Your breath caught a little, and he must have seen it, because his hand came up to touch your cheek.

“You spend a great deal of time convincing yourself you don’t need much,” he continued. “I don’t care for it.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“No,” he agreed. “Because I love you.”

The simplicity of it stole the teasing right off your tongue.

Ray kissed you before the moment could turn too heavy, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. You melted into him for one breath, then two, before he pulled back with visible restraint.

“Shower,” he reminded you, though he didn’t sound especially pleased about it.

You pouted. “You’re sending me away?”

“I’m ensuring we make the flight.”

“You’re very committed to these waffles.”

He chuckled. “I’m committed to you having the exact birthday I promised myself I’d give you.”

You pointed at him, blinking quickly. “You have got to stop saying things like that.”

“I’ll try.”

“You won’t.”

“No,” he replied, kissing your fingertip. “I won’t.”

You climbed off his lap and out of bed reluctantly, Ray’s eyes following you across the room with enough interest to make you feel it down your spine. There was nothing subtle about the look on his face, no polite appreciation, no easy restraint. Just his dark, intent focus moving over you until he blinked hard, once, and again, reminding himself there was somewhere else to be. You made it halfway across the bedroom before glancing back, very aware that if you stood there naked for a minute longer, neither of you was making that flight.

“Ray.”

“Hm?” His brows lifted, innocent in a way that didn’t suit him at all.

“Stop looking at me like that. We have logistics.”

That got a real laugh out of him, fuller than you expected, and you were still smiling when you stepped into the en suite.

Behind you, the bed shifted, followed by the sound of him moving through the room, already turning the morning back toward the plan ahead. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, flushed, thoroughly loved, and still not entirely convinced you’d heard him right.

Your birthday had barely begun, yet somehow Ray had already made it feel like the kind of day you would remember for the rest of your life.

Bella's 4k Follower Celebration Writing Challenge Masterlist

Bella's Tuna-Tober Masterlist [Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, and Michael Kinsella]

Collection of Short Blurbs [Baby related one shots & blurbs featuring Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, and Michael Kinsella]

Masterlist of Matt Murdock Fics

Masterlist of Frank Castle Fics

Masterlist of Benjamin Poindexter Fics

Masterlist of Michael Kinsella Fics

Masterlist of Jax Teller Fics

Additional Characters:

William Miller [You Bring Me Back to the Light]

Raymond Smith [Set Me on Fire]

Daryl Dixon [Masterlist]

Sam Winchester [Masterlist]