Still Wanna Play?

Still Wanna Play?

jason todd x afab!reader

aka jason puts you back in your place

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), soft!dom jason, (attempted) soft!dom reader

When Jason returned from patrol last night you were in a mood. The second he walked in your bedroom you’d given him those eyes, those sweet, wide eyes. The ones that let him know you want him to do whatever he wants to you, as long as he does something.

He’d settled on pinning your wrists to your stomach and holding them there as he ate you out, only breaking away to tease you about how desperate you were for him to take care of you.

And you were, to be fair.

But now, as you lay in bed next to him hours later, your mind starts to drift into what-if territory. But not your usual, worst-case scenarios. Something new. Something…interesting.

What if he was that desperate for you to take care of him? Would he even let you push him that far?

You’d never really tried to reverse your roles—you’ve been on top plenty, but always with his hands around you, controlling your pace or his words of direction.

But you really wanted to know.

You turn your body to fully face him, making quick work of removing his book from his hands and setting it open on the bedside table.

Your proximity returns quickly, nustling up against his side, placing scattered kisses along his bicep.

“What’re you doing, sweetheart?”

“Nothin’, Jay. Just wanna be close to you.”

He hums, skeptical. You’re not usually so forward with initiating, especially after you’ve already had your fun that night.

You shift up onto your knees, climbing across him to sit on his lap.

He grabs your waist and you break away from your stream of kisses. You place your hands on his wrists, though barely able to wrap them halfway around, moving his hands off of you.

He looks at you funny, unsure of what exactly you’re going for here. You guide his hands down to the bed, pressing down on them lightly before returning your touch to the sides of his face.

You lean further into the kiss, forcing him to lay back on the bed.

He pushes himself up on his elbows and moves a hand up to find your body again. You move it back down by his side again, not halting your kiss this time.

He pulls back from the kiss and looks up at you, studying you.

“What are you playing at?”

You smile, shaking your head lightly, “Just wanna play.”

You start to roll your hips on him, making him groan. He starts to shift under you again and you nip a light bite on his neck that makes him still.

“Ah.” He clicks his tongue, “You wanna be in charge? Is that it?”

You pull back to meet his eyes and nod, your lack of vocalization not helping your mission. Still though, he’s not making any moves to take over.

“Think you can do it? It’s a big job, baby.”

You nod your head quickly. “I can, Jay.” You assert. “I will.”

He tilts his head at you, smiling. “Alright then, sweetheart. Go ahead.”

This feels like a trap. Maybe it is, but you’ll be damned if you’re not going to jump at the opportunity.

In any case, you lay your body fully on top of his and trail kisses across his collar, starting to leave bruises in your wake.

You take his wrists in your hands once again, this time moving them up to pin them beside his head. Now you know he’s just letting you play your game, if not just to see where it goes. Frankly, you’re surprised he’s let you go this far.

It’s a bit silly though, you have to imagine. You, holding down this massive man by his wrists, as if anything you did could do anything to stop him from moving if he wanted to.

You continue to nip at his neck, making sure to pay extra attention where you know he’s sensitive.

He makes a low sound in his throat, something that sounds close to a warning.

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t gotta be so tough all the time.”

The look he gives you lets you know he’s biting his tongue, giving you your chance to play man-in-charge. And you are just playing, really. You don’t know it yet, but he sure as hell does.

“I know it’s hard, but you can let me take care of you for a change, can’t you?”

You start to grind down on him, earning you a low exhale from him. But you want more.

You relax your grip on his wrists and rub soothing circles on his palm, nuzzling your face further into his neck.

It’s enough to make him relax under you, which for him, is a clear sign in him placing his trust in you here. It’s what you’ve been waiting for.

“That’s my boy.” You whisper, kissing his forehead. It’s half condescending, half true to what you know he likes. He loves it when you call him yours, it makes him shut right up and go all heart eyes on you.

You’re basically making out with the sweet spot under his jaw as you move your hips back and forth over his growing hard-on.

With the way his wrists keep flinching under your hand, you can tell that he’s having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. Usually when you ride him, he’s all over you, hands caressing your body everywhere he can reach.

If you weren’t testing the limits so much here, you’d reward him for listening to you so well, but you’re not about to bide your time under these circumstances.

You lift up your hips and pull down on his boxers, freeing his length. You don’t do anything yet though, simply ghosting your lips across his cheek.

“Baby…” he groans, but this one’s less of a warning, closer to a plea. Okay, we’re making progress.

You sink down onto him slowly, adjusting to his size proving to be no easy feat from this angle.

He closes his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek as you lower yourself, inch by inch.

Admittedly, this is a lot easier when he’s kissing you and touching you and exactly where you need him, whispering in your ear how good you’re doing for him, what a good girl you’re—no. No. You can do this on your own. You can do this for both of you.

He finally bottoms out and you’re able to begin moving your hips up and down, up and down.

And you try. You really do try, but he’s just so big and even when he’s helping you (which he pointedly is not), riding him is a difficult task.

On a good day it’ll take you out of commission for walking for at least the next few days. Now, you’re not even five minutes in and you can already tell it’s going to be at least a week. Maybe you should’ve waited to do this on a night when he hadn’t already made you come three times with his tongue.

You put your weight into holding his wrists down, hoping it’ll help you gain some traction. It doesn’t do much.

It’s a big job, he said. At the time, you may have been a little idealistic about how this was going to play out. Though, were you even the one who decided to ride him, or did he put you on top? You struggle to pull back the memory now, your body giving the choice of movement or thinking—you can’t have both. Movement it is.

It’s not long before your thighs start to burn and you have to battle just to hold yourself upright. The movement you are able to make just isn’t enough. You can’t go fast enough or take as much of him as you want on each bounce. Though at this point, ‘bounce’ is generous.

Jason’s smile just grows the whole time he watches you struggle, eyes roaming shamelessly up and down your body.

“Aw, poor thing. Can’t do it?” He asks, hand coming up to stroke small circles on your hip with his thumb. This time you don’t stop him—you can’t.

“Jay…” You whine, not ready to endure his teasing. Too bad.

“What, hm? What d’you want? You’re the one in charge sweetheart, do it yourself.”

How the hell did he manage to flip this around? Actually, if you were thinking more clearly right now you’d realize that you never really managed to reverse your original roles at all.

You move your hands to lay flat on top of his chest, a position that isn’t doing you any more favors than the last one.

You throw your head back in frustration, movements halting.

“Not so easy, huh?”

You pout down at him, brows furrowed. He smiles wider and sits up all the way, giving you a sweet kiss. Okay good, he’s going to be nice about this. You hope.

His hand comes up to comb the hair out of your face, forehead resting against yours.

“Tell me what I want to hear.” He whispers.

Oh. You don’t want to. Not after all that game you talked.

You shut your eyes. “Mm…”

“Can’t hear you, baby. Speak up.” He pinches your waist for emphasis.

What are the odds he ever lets you live this down if you give in? What are the odds of him letting you finish if you don’t say it?

Cost. Benefit. Cost. Benefit. Cost…benefit…

Fine.

“You’re in charge.” You mumble defeated, but still making sure to be clear enough that he won’t make you repeat it. Though that’s never a guarantee.

“Oh yeah?”

You open your eyes and meet his teasing gaze through a lowered brow, willing him to go easy on you.

“That’s alright, baby. I can take things over for you.” He says sweetly, kissing the side of your head before pulling out of you.

You gawk at the sudden emptiness in you and move to complain before he flips you on your back, head hitting the pillow with a light thud.

He takes hold of your wrists this time, raising them above your head, pinning them together with one hand.

He uses his other hand to caress up your side, up to the underside of your breast, brushing his thumb back and forth.

“Thought you were my good girl, hm? What happened?”

You stare up at him, not quite able to formulate an answer and not quite sure if he wants an answer.

“Don’t wanna be my good girl anymore? That it?” He asks, brow furrowed with a light pout on his lips.

You shake your head fervently, you do, you really do. You are.

“No, I just—”

“Just wanted to play? Yeah, I remember.”

He lets his hand drift back down your side, dipping past your waist. His knuckles ghost over your clit, not kind enough to grant you any pressure. The teasing brush makes you whine and squirm.

“How ‘bout now, baby? You still wanna play games?”

His hand brushes past again, slower.

“Answer me.”

“No, I’m done. I’m done. Please, Jay…”

“Please, Jay…” he mimics, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

He positions himself at your core, sliding back into you tantalizingly slowly. With you as wet as you are, you know he’s not doing it to help you adjust so much as to torture you.

Once he sinks all the way in, he lets out a small groan and squeezes his eyes shut. He begins to move, the return of the sensation feeling like a saving grace.

He starts to pick up his pace, entering a rhythm that you couldn’t have dreamed of achieving when you were on top.

As he continues on, it doesn’t take him long to find that spot, meeting it with accuracy on every stroke.

You let out a broken moan, his hand once again grazing your clit back and forth in reward.

“That it? Right there, baby?” He knows damn well he’s hitting the right spot, he could draw a fucking map at this point.

“Y—yes, Jay. Please, please. Just let me—”

“I know I don’t hear you trying to give orders.” He says, hand snapping away from where you need it.

“No, I—I’m just…please.” You sound honest to God desperate and it’s enough to push his already light resolve to its end.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

His fingers finally touch your clit with intention and that alone is enough to leave you gasping.

He draws circles over your clit just exceptionally, making your breathing speed up and your legs shake in anticipation.

You look up at him, eyes pleading. “Please?” You whisper, breathless.

He squeezes your wrists, gaze still focused on where your bodies meet. “Yeah, baby. Yeah. Go ahead.”

And it sure is a good thing he said it when he did because you were over the edge like that.

His eyes snap back up to your face the second you start to tighten around him. “There she is.” He mumbles, eyes scanning your features carefully. “That’s my girl.”

His head drops into your neck, releasing your wrists above your head in favor of holding your hand. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, grip tightening as he comes right after you.

Your free hand comes down to caress the back of his head as he finishes, short hair fluttering between your fingers.

You lay beneath him, chests heaving, bodies both lax.

“Was—was I…” you trail off, still thoroughly out of breath.

He kisses your neck once and nuzzles his face in further. “Yeah, sweetheart. You were such a good girl for me. So good.”

You close your eyes and smile, because fuck does that feel good.

i'm gotham's only spidey

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." AO3: yenwayne : CHARACTER ART OF MORGAN AND SPIDEY

'what's up danger?"

i. cat's out of the web ii. spidey going solo iii. a leap of faith iv. sexiest vigilante v. @ nightcrawler_updates vi. the hunt vii. crashout viii. a little death (w mild smut)

more in a few!

Working For It

Pairing(s): Bruce Wayne x F!Reader x Selina Kyle

Summary - Bruce and Selina love to make you work for his cock.

Warnings - 18+ ONLY! Smut. Thigh riding. Fingering. Face sitting. Unprotected sex. Creampie. Multiple orgasms. Bruce and Selina are a little mean. Aftercare.

Word Count - 1.9k

“Come on, baby. We both know you can do better than that,” Selina purrs from where she lays on the bed. She’s on her side, one hand supporting her head while the other is between her thighs, playing with her clit.

All you can do is whine and moan as you roll your hips, almost desperately, against Bruce’s bare thigh. His back is against the headboard, eyes dark as he watches you cover his thigh in your slick. His cock is rock hard, the head red and dripping precum. He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“I don’t know, Selina. I don’t think she wants my cock that badly.”

His words have you whining out of frustration. You do want his cock. You really do, but the slicker his thigh gets with your juices the less friction there is, making it harder to keep your pace and chase your pleasure. 

“I do,” you gasp. “I do want your cock! I want it so badly.” 

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you senseless?” he asks. 

You nod eagerly. You do. You really do. It’s been on your mind more often than it hasn’t all week and it’s been driving you crazy. But both of your lovers seem content with torturing you instead.

“Gonna be a good girl and come on my thigh then?”

“Yes. I want to be your good girl,” you mange to choke out. You try angling your hips differently, getting your clit to fully press against his body, but it doesn’t really work. Instead it only leaves you more frustrated than you were before.

Bruce must take pity on you because the next thing you know you’re being briefly lifted from his thigh while a towel is draped over his thigh.

“There we go. That’s better,” he coos. The hand on your hip, that’s been keeping you stable this entire time, gives you a gentle squeeze.

You have already started rutting against him again, the friction created by the towel giving you more control and feeling of it dragging against your engorged clit feels amazing and has you finally getting closer to your release. 

Bruce is enjoying the fucked out expression on your pretty face as you moan and fuck yourself on his thigh. You’re so goddamn wet that you have already soaked the towel, seeping through the fabric and clinging to his skin. His attention is pulled away from you as Selina moves. She pushes her tongue into his mouth and he moans into the kiss. His free hand comes up between her thighs, his fingers easily sliding through her slick folds and he pushes them up inside of her. She moans as she starts to fuck herself onto his fingers and he takes the opportunity to wrap his mouth around one of her nipples.

Your eyes are completely focused on Bruce and Selina. You love watching your two lovers kiss and touch each other. It adds to your own excitement, adding to the pressure building up deep inside of your lower stomach. Selina’s gaze meets yours, mischief dancing in those green eyes of hers.

“I think she should only be able to have your cock if she can cum in the next 30 seconds.” 

Bruce chuckles and it’s clear he’s agreeing with her. They both love torturing you so much and you’re so intoxicated by both of them that all you can do is listen to them because you want it. You want his cock. No, you need his cock. You need to feel him splitting you open and filling you up so badly, until you’re so fucked out you can’t remember your name anymore. 

“20 seconds,” Selina calls.

As mean as he can be at times, Bruce is still nice enough to keep a grip on your hips, continuing to give you the leverage that you need as you continue to grind your soaked cunt against him.

“Ten seconds.”

They both can tell you’re close by the way that your moans continue to grow louder and louder.

“5 seconds, baby. Time’s almost up.”

By the time that Selina reaches 3, you’re crying out Bruce’s name, your head thrown back and your eyes shut, as your orgasm steals away your breath. He catches you as you collapse against him, your head coming to rest against his chest as your body shakes and you trying to regain control of your breathing. As you come down from your high, catching your breath, he praises you and tells you what a good girl you are for them. Selina’s hands come to rest on your hips and she presses feather light kisses to your sweat soaked skin, adding her voice to his praises. 

Their words start to spark more heat inside of you, a growing need starting to build back up from deep within. There’s only one thing that you can think of that will help soothe it.

“I can’t believe the two of you timed me,” you mutter once you finally feel recovered enough. “I better get my reward.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bruce replies. You feel Selina pull away and he gently flips your positions so that you’re now laying on the bed with him on top. He presses his lips against yours in a slow and sweet kiss. You sigh into the kiss as your hands come up to cup his face.

He pulls away sooner than you would like for him to, resting on his knees as he gets you to wrap your hips around him and he lines his cock up with your entrance. You gasp and your back arches as his cock starts to push inside of you. That delicious stretch as your body accommodates his large size has your fingers gripping the bedsheets. He bottoms out inside of you and stills for a moment. 

Selina kisses you before settling her legs either side of your head, facing Bruce. Her pussy is absolutely dripping with need, her clitoris red and engorged, poking out from beneath its hood. You swallow thickly at the sight, your cunt squeezing around Bruce’s cock, drawing a deep groan from him. You have to taste her. As you tug her down to get her to sit on your face, Selina laughs.

 “Always so eager to please,” she purrs, already gently rolling her hips. 

You answer her by wrapping your lips around her clitoris and sucking, drawing a moan from her. Pleased, you release her clit and lap up her arousal, groaning at her taste. 

Your groan quickly turns into a moan as Bruce slowly pulls out before roughly thrusting back into you. He sets a steady pace, each thrust making you moan against her pussy. You’re still so sensitive from your previous orgasm you can feel the pleasure quickly building up inside of you. Your nails dig into Selina’s muscular thighs in attempt to try and ground yourself.

Though you can’t see either of them right now, you know that they are kissing. Their moans and groans are muffled and his pace has slowed, letting the pleasure that's been building up inside of you slowly fizzle out.

As you roll your hips, looking for some friction and trying to get him to move faster again, you push three of your fingers inside of Selina and wrap your lips around her clit again. You know when you have found that sweet spot deep inside of her by the way that she suddenly gasps your name and her body squeezes your fingers while her thighs squeeze the side of your head. Her nails scrape against your skin and she rides your face more insistently, chasing after her high.

Bruce’s pace slows down even more. He drags his cock against the walls of your cunt, making sure you can feel every last vein, as he watches Selina fall apart thanks to your deft tongue and fingers. Her mouth drops open as she cries your name and her entire body shakes as her orgasm crashes into her. The sight is almost enough to have him cumming right there. She rolls off of your face, collapsing against the mattress as she breathes heavily.

He sees his chance and moves forward. Your mouth and chin are covered in her release. He can’t help himself. He licks a stripe from your chin to the tip of your nose, groaning softly at the tangy taste. You giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss and happily letting him push his tongue into your mouth. 

As the two of you kiss, Bruce starts to move again. This time faster and a little bit harder than before. Each thrust has you moaning wantonly as your nails start to dig into his back. The springs of the mattress creak with each thrust and his head comes to rest in the crook of your neck.

Slender fingers surprise you as they press against your overly sensitive clitoris and start to rub tight circles against it. You’re sure that you must be drawing blood as the grip you have on him tightens the closer you get to your climax. Pleasure is thrumming through every inch of you and you know he’s as close as you are. His thrusts are growing sloppy and his usually grunts and groans are turning into moans of your name.

“Come on, baby. Let go.” 

You have no idea which one of you Selina is actually talking to. Perhaps both of you? In the end it doesn’t really matter. You get there first, your body locking up and squeezing his cock as the edges of your vision turn fuzzy and all you can hear is your heart thumping away in your ears. Bruce falls straight over the edge with you, the squeezing of your cunt too much for him, and he buries himself as deep as he can, as he fills your pussy with his cum.

By the time you come back to your senses, Bruce has already pulled out of you and is cleaning you up, while Selina has your head resting in her lap and is gently stroking your hair. The feeling of the damp washcloth coming in contact with your pussy has a sharp gasp leaving you as you realise just how sore you are down there. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss to your knee. “Got a bath running for you. Should help with your discomfort.” 

“And I’ve ordered takeout from your favourite place,” Selina says. “You must be starving.”

“Sounds good,” you reply. She’s not wrong, you are hungry, and food from your favourite place sounds absolutely divine.

Your orgasms have left you completely boneless and exhausted, but it’s the good type of exhausted. One where you feel so content with your life and loved by the two people that you love most in this world. It also leaves you pliable and easy for Bruce to manhandle as he lifts you from the bed. You curl into his embrace, snuggling against his body, which has him chuckling. As he carries you toward the en-suite, you find yourself desperately fighting to keep your eyelids open as sleep tries to claim you.

The feeling of hot water washing over your body doesn’t help. It’s a battle the entire time to keep yourself awake. One that both Bruce and Selina seem to find amusing.

It’s only after your bath and your food has arrived that you wake up a little bit more. The smell of the food making your stomach growl and your mouth water as your body decides that eating right now is way more important than trying to get some sleep.

Once you’re full, you have no issues with falling fast asleep. Especially when you’re finally tucked in bed with both of Bruce and Selina’s bodies pressed against your own.

Jason but he wears this helmet 😼

141Rugby!au [18+]

• Part One - Pink Tape •

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!reader

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You've recently started a new job as a physiotherapist for an English Rugby Union team. It's your job to ensure that all the players are in top shape for upcoming games against other strong teams. This job is absolutely perfect for you: good pay, good hours, a fun and exciting atmosphere to be apart of. But there's just one thing you can't seem to understand– the same four players seem to need more attention than the rest.

chapter summary - your introduction to the rugby union team and your new job as their physiotherapist. and the team winger ensures you have a warm welcome lol.

rating - 18+

wordcount - 7k

chapter warnings - fem!reader, slow-ish burn [but not really cause ik you're here for the porn], gaz has insane rizz in this, f!masturbation, oral [f!receiving], fingering?, praise, strong language

disclaimer - physiotherapist, or staff x player sexual relations are not allowed in the real world. but please keep in mind this is fanfiction. it's fake. if you have an issue with inappropriate relations with faculty, blurred morals [etc], then please do not read. additionally, reader be fucking in this series. all four. separately, and at once. it's not cheating, i promise. it's consensual sharing <3

Gaz is a winger, or wing – fast, agile and play on the "wing" or outside edges of the field. this position tends to score the greatest number of tries.

see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words

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When you received the phone call that you had been hired by one of the best rugby union teams in England, you were overjoyed.

It was a dream come true to be a physiotherapist for a professional sports team, and although you were excited to be apart of such an incredible work environment, you were also excited to see a significantly higher amount of money enter your bank account on paydays.

Your first day, you woke up earlier than usual, a good twenty minutes before your alarm. Nerves swirled in your stomach as you got ready for the day, completing your usual morning routine and getting dressed. Putting on the team's colours, with staff across the back made a smile grow wide across your face. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a while, butterflies fluttering rapidly around your stomach as the time ticked closer to the start of your workday.

Before you headed out, you pulled out your phone and searched the team up one last time. You tapped on the first link, and then proceeded to find the team list that had every player and their statistics available to the public. Their age, height, weight, the amount of games they've played, the amount of tries they've scored. In most of the photos, the players were posing in ways that made you roll your eyes– pointing at the camera, shouting with a fist in the air, pointing at the logo on their jersey with a huge grin. You couldn't help but laugh a little.

As you scrolled, perched on the end of your bed, four specific players caught your attention, your thumb hovering over your screen before you could scroll on. There was just something about them that made them stand out, even when they looked similar to everyone else– the same shirt, same background in the photo, same layout of statistics between them.

The scrum-half was posing like many of the others– pointing dead at the camera, a cocky grin on his face. In the photograph, he had a freshly shaven mohawk, too, the sides trimmed neat and the strands on top sitting perfectly on top of his head, as though he had got himself all done-up for picture day. Even in the photograph, you could tell simply by the way he grinned at the camera that he'd be cocky on the field. All good scrum-halves were, to be fair.

The winger held a finger to his lips, shushing the camera with a slight quirk in his lips, as though he was trying not to laugh when the camera went off. He was the only player wearing a cap, one with a Union Jack printed on the front, and you wondered whether he was allowed to do that, or he somehow managed to just keep quiet and get away with it. What amazed you the most though was the sheer amount of tries he had for his age. He was one of the younger players of the team, but his try-count for the previous season was impressive.

The number eight made your eyebrows shoot up as you took in the sheer broadness of him. His shoulders barely fit into frame, and he had his arms crossed over his chest, making his biceps and pectorals grow bigger in front of the camera. He had a passive look on his face, dark blond hair recently cropped by the look of it, and one of his eyes was bruised and slightly swollen– a recent black eye. His arms were huge, one tattooed, and you couldn't help but stare a little longer at the expanse of his chest before scrolling on.

The flanker, and captain, was the fourth player that caught your attention, especially with his neatly-kept facial hair. Like the number eight, he had his arms folded across his chest and his face was void of a smile or a wink. He looked serious, definitely, and you wondered what kind of a captain he was to the rest of his team. He was in his late thirties and would be probably nearing retirement, but he had played a large number of games over the years, so his experience would be unmatched.

You looked up briefly at the small time at the top of your phone screen, and jumped to your feet when you realised that, holy shit, you had to go. It'd be so embarrassing if you were late on your first day of work.

Quickly, and with first-day nerves churning in your stomach, you grabbed your bag and all that you needed before sprinting out the door, the cool morning air kissing your skin as the sun peaked over the horizon.

•º•º•

Meeting the team was even more nerve-wracking than you thought. When you arrived, the coach welcomed you and gave you a rundown of all you needed to know about the players and other staff. He then introduced you to the other staff, assistant coaches, team physicians and nurses, sport directors and personal trainers. There were so many people that worked with this team behind the scenes, it almost made you feel a bit out of place.

Sure, you were qualified and literally one of the best sporting physiotherapists in the United Kingdom, but the idea of working with such an infamous team was making doubts worm into your head. You shook your head and took a deep breath as the coach led you into the main meeting room of the stadium, where the players talked strategy and game plan between games and during the off-season.

The room was full of players, nearly forty of them if you had to make an estimate. The main thirty-three, including the starting fifteen and the bench, as well as other players that looked to be recovering from injury or training to become apart of the main squad in the next season.

The murmur of conversation died down when you and the coach entered the room, and you suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious as all eyes fell onto you. The coach stood beside you, patting a comforting hand on your shoulder as he got his players attention with a short whistle.

"Lads, meet our new physio," he said, and then introduced you by name, urging you to smile and offer a polite wave to the crowd of sportsman sitting in front of you. The coach continued. "She's bloody good at her job, so she'll be able to get you lot into working shape quick as a flash. But, that doesn't mean you can go 'round acting like idiots and getting hurt by doing stupid shit–"

You laughed to yourself as the coach divulged into a very coach-like rant, grilling the players about looking after themselves and taking care of their bodies, especially with the start of the new season rapidly approaching. They all needed to be in top shape.

"And remember," the coach said, and then pointed at you. "Physiotherapists are not doctors or nurses, so don't be crying to her with a cut finger, got it? You roll an ankle or strain your neck, or something– god forbid– worse than that, then you make an appointment to see her, got it?"

There was a collective murmur of acknowledgment from the team, many eyes still focusing on you. You smiled politely, and thanked them for their time before the coach was gently leading you back out of the room and into the spacious hallway. The walls here were lined with photos and trophy cabinets detailing every win and award this team has ever had.

The coach shook your hand one last time. "It's a pleasure to have you on, miss. I appreciate you taking the job at such short notice, too. Our last physio..."

You stifled a laugh at the disbelief on the coach's face. "What?"

"Our last physio got scared off," the coach almost laughed. "She was an older lady, real nice too, and had been with us for a while. But we've got a new wave of younger players that do stupid shit and get themselves hurt, so she wasn't exactly happy when they'd turn up every day with a new muscle to be strapped up."

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. "How was she scared off? Surely a bunch of twenty-something year old union players aren't the scariest of people."

"You'd be surprised," the coach joked. "Nah, I'm kidding. She retired, but what I said is true. A lot of the younger players'll probably be knocking at your office door within the next couple of weeks, so prepare yourself for that. Most of them you can just give an icepack and send them on their way, though."

You smiled, nodding. "Right, sounds easy enough."

The coach smiled too. "You will probably have regulars, too, by the way. Players that have had pretty bad injuries that need weekly physio, but the info's all in your books. If you have any questions, come and find me. Or ask Price, I'm sure he'll help you."

"Price?"

"The captain. John," the coach said. "Most of the boys call him Price, or cap, but you can call him whatever you feel comfortable with."

You nodded, eyes drifting down the hallway, admiring the gleam of the silver and gold trophies stacked in trophy cases along the wall. You turned back to the coach. "Do a lot of the players have preferred names?"

"Some, yeah," the coach nodded. "But they'll tell you when you get to know them a bit more. And don't stress if you don't remember names within the first week or so. You have plenty of time to get used to it."

You smiled, the nerves in your stomach beginning to ease. "Thanks, coach."

After the talk in the hallway, the coach led you to your office, which had a large window overlooking the training grounds. The field was in immaculate condition, mowed to perfection with a light veil of due covering the grass. The white goalposts reflected a couple of fragments of golden, early-morning sunlight.

Your office was a good size, which surprised you. You had your desk and shelving units that were stocked full of books and folders, no doubt about each player's injury record for the past hundred-odd years. And on the other side of the room, the carpeted floor shifted to linoleum, cabinetry and a medical bed placed in the centre of it. There was a door beside it, no doubt leading to the cupboard where all your physio equipment would be kept.

"Is this alright?" The coach asked, gesturing to the room.

"Is this alright?" You said in slight disbelief, looking around the room. "This is amazing. Thank you so much."

The coach smiled again. "No worries. Come get me if you need anything but otherwise, good luck and have a great first day."

He left the room and allowed you to be alone with your thoughts for a moment. You took a deep, calming breath, taking a good look around the room. You then looked out the window, where the players were now jogging out onto the field for their first practise of the season. You smiled softly, watching them interact with each other, throwing balls and pushing the scrum-machine out onto the field.

The nerves in your tummy were almost completely gone now. You were going to be just fine.

•º•º•

Your first two weeks were eventful, especially when getting used to a whole new working environment. You spent most of the time researching current players injury history, particularly those who had repeat injuries, or injuries that required extensive physio over the season. A couple of sprained ankles, a few over-worked muscles in the back and shoulders, even a torn ACL which had been receiving extensive physiotherapy for the last one and a half years.

Early into your third week with the team is when you met Gaz.

He had sauntered into your office with the sun streaming through your window, the rest of the team out doing warm-up drills on the training field below. He smiled widely at you, flashing his perfect teeth, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners.

He wanted to make an appointment for a possible strain to his wrist. He emphasised that it had happened over the weekend after a bit too much to drink. You asked him to elaborate and he simply told you he fell out a window. A window.

"How on earth do you just fall out a window?" You asked, beginning to book his appointment on your computer.

He shrugged, eyes watching you carefully. "Not sure. Can't remember much."

"I thought you weren't meant to be drinking during the season?"

He smiled bashfully. "Yeah, I'm not. You're not going to tell coach, are you?"

He battered his eyelashes, and you rolled your eyes. "I won't. But I'll take a look at your wrist now, if you want."

Of course he wanted you too.

You deducted that it was simply a strain, and nothing that a good, tight bandaging won't fix. You bandaged him up and told him he was good to go.

"Will... will I need to come back to make sure it's healing well?"

"No," you told him. "It's a pretty simple strain. Just make sure to change the bandages, especially after training. You should only have to wear the bandages for a week or two."

"Uh..." He looked from his wrist, back to you. "I... I don't know how to wrap my own bandages."

You raised your brows. "Really? A rugby union player can't tape himself up?"

He shrugged. "Nope."

You sighed, shaking your head. How was it possible that a professional sports player couldn't wrap a simple sprain-wrap around his wrist?

"Fine," you conceded, patting him gently on the arm and slowly leading him towards your door. "I can change it after each practise, but you should definitely learn how to do it yourself, okay?"

Gaz beamed. "Thanks, doc."

"I'm not a doctor, Kyle," you said. "I'm a physio."

"Same thing," he smiled wider. "See you after practise, doc."

And that's what happened. For the next two weeks.

He claimed he just couldn't wrap it himself. It hurt too much, you see. You were the only one who could wrap it secure enough that he felt safe to play.

"I thought I told you to learn to do this yourself, Kyle." You said, wrapping fresh pink tape around his wrist, smoothing your fingers across his hand and lower arm in the process. It was just a few days after he initially came to you.

"You can call me Gaz, doc," he corrected, eyes watching your hands. He trailed the movement of your fingers, before his eyes shifted upwards and scanned your face. He watched you with his warm brown eyes as you fixed the strapping tape into place. "And I just can't seem to do it as well as you."

You scoffed. "Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere, Gaz. You need to learn to do simple strapping by yourself, got it?"

"Will you be proud of me when I finally learn?" Gaz joked, eyes still on your face as you finished strapping his wrist.

"Very," you said, pulling away and examining your handiwork. It was good, as usual. "Does that feel secure enough."

Gaz was still looking at you, his eyes drifting over your face as you looked down at his wrist. He hummed a reply, and that prompted you to look up and meet his gaze.

"Gaz?" You questioned. "Does that feel good?"

The warmth of your fingertips ghosted over the pink tape, and Gaz could feel the ticklish sensation beneath it, his skin warming beneath the bandage. "Oh, yeah," he blinked, then looked down at his wrist. "I– what–? Doc, pink tape?"

You smiled. "What's wrong with pink?"

"Nothing, nothing," Gaz shook his head. "Yeah, uh, that feels good. Thanks."

•º•º•

The very first game of the season came in your fourth week as the team's physiotherapist. It was against a team from Scotland, that had travelled down to play the team on English soil.

You found yourself skimming your teeth nervously along your nails, your stomach drawing tight and heart racing as you sat on the bench beside a couple of medics, their medical bags at their feet. The sky was a steely grey, the smell of rain lingering in the air and the wind picking up a tad, blowing icy wind across the field. No doubt, if the rain decided to fall today, the field would turn to mud.

The game was held in a much smaller stadium than usual, not like Twickenham in London that could fit upwards of 80,000 people. Nevertheless, the stands were packed full of whistling and cheering spectators. The shouting and waving of colourful flags increased when the teams jogged out onto the field in a line, and you found yourself clapping alongside the crowd. You found Gaz immediately, his wrist bound in white tape rather than the pink tape you had bound it in a couple of days ago. You smiled to yourself, realising that he had bandaged it up himself.

You hummed to the national anthem, too nervous to open your mouth and sing. You had watched this team play a million times before, but this was different. The anxieties were stacking up within your conscious, and you wondered whether it would have been better to have a strong drink before you came.

The game started and within minutes, Gaz had the ball. He avoided one, then two opposition players, before breaking into a sprint along the sideline. You watched him speed past the bench, the benched players up on their feet and cheering. But it was short lived– Gaz was spear-tackled by one of the Scottish players, tumbling off the field and skidding through the grass. The crowd and bench turned from cheering, to jeering.

You sprung to your feet to get a better look, watching as the Scottish player helped Gaz to his feet, giving him a firm slap on the back as Gaz handed him the ball. He looked pissed off as he jogged back onto the field as the Scottish players readied their lineout. You watched as he rubbed at his wrist, flexing his fingers a few times with a grimace on his face.

"Ah, shit..." you mumbled, noticing the way he held his wrist close to his body. Some of the bandaging was slowly peeling away, making you sigh through your nose. Maybe you should have just done it for him, for goodness sake.

England won the lineout, and the ball was passed rightwards through the team. The captain grabbed the ball from the air, taking it to ground as two Scottish players wrapped their arms around his legs and midriff. Other members of his team came to his aid, a ruck building as more and more players attempted to volley the ball back into their possession. But England held on, with Gaz spotting an opportunity when the ball was popped out of the ruck by the scrum-half with the mohawk.

Gaz broke into a sprint just as the scrum-half turned and saw him, throwing an impressive pass over the top of other players' heads. The entire bench let out a sound of astonishment when Gaz leaped, snatching the ball from the air with one hand and managing to hold onto it. The crowd erupted into cheers as the winger dodged one Scottish player, and then took off down the sideline once more.

Take two, and he seemed to be more successful– speed building until opposing players were dropping behind, unable to keep up as his legs blurred with his pace, grass kicked up behind him. He reached the try-line, diving through the air near the corner and slamming the ball down, his body sliding through the grass behind it. The crowd cheered louder, and so did the bench– and you, too. You were on your feet alongside the subbed players and the other medics, clapping as both the captain and the scrum-half ran up alongside Gaz, patting him on the back and the top of the head.

Sitting back down as one of the water-boys ran the tee out for the conversion, you looked up to find Gaz running towards the sideline, beckoning at you to come closer.

You scooped up your medical bag and met him just over the sideline.

"What's wrong?" You asked, and Gaz answered you by outstretching his arm, offering his wrist to you. The tape was beginning to peel off, brushing against his forearm, and Gaz's brows were pinched, jaw clenched.

"It's painful still?" You asked another question as you quickly began to unwrap the tape.

He nodded, wincing when you ripped the rest of the tape off, taking a couple of his arm hairs with it. You whispered an apology as you kneeled down, unzipping your bag and pulling out a fresh roll of injury tape– bright pink, of course. You heard him groan as you stood back up, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"What's with you and pink tape, doc?" He asked you, voice a bit hoarse. Probably from yelling at his fellow teammates over the past ten minutes. The boys all tended to just shout at each other when they wanted something done, which you found incredibly amusing.

"I like pink," you told him, making quick work of re-taping his wrist as the kicker lined up his kick and concentrated on his conversion. Your eyes flicked up to Gaz's face for a moment. "I thought you said you didn't mind me using pink tape?"

Gaz offered you a cheeky smile, and you realised the two of you were quite close. You could see the thin layer of sweat covering his dark skin, his face glistening beneath the strong overhead lights. He flashed his charming smile as he began slowing his breathing, moving out of puffs, the rise and fall of his chest calming. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and smell the light tang of sweat beneath his cologne.

You felt something flutter in your stomach as a smile stretched onto your face. It didn't last, and you immediately felt embarrassed– instead, you dropped your head back down and quickly finished strapping the bandage just as the kicker converted a successful two points.

"No, I like pink," Gaz said after a prolonged pause, eying you carefully as you stepped away and scooped your medical bag off the ground. "It reminds me of you, actually. And it might be my good luck charm, you never know."

You scoffed, shaking your head as you backed off the field. "Whatever, Garrick."

Gaz flashed his smile again. "If I score another try, it'll be because of this pink tape." Then, he winked and jogged back to where the game reset was taking place.

You found yourself shaking your head, smiling to yourself as you return to the bench. A good luck charm. Whatever.

•º•º•

A couple of hours later, you were back in your office, running through a few extra things before heading home. The team would have nearly finished celebrating their 31 – 14 win, and would soon begin to head home, ready for a new day of training in a couple of days time.

Typing one last report into your computer, there was a knock at your door. It opened, and Gaz stuck his head in.

"Hard at work, doc?" He asked, slipping into the room. He gently shut the door behind him, leaning up against it.

You smiled at him. "I'm finishing one last report, then I'm heading home for the night. Are you boys finished your celebrations?"

Gaz grinned. "Yeah, just about. Just thought I'd pop over and say thank you for redoing my bandages.”

You noticed he looked bashful when he said it, his eyes darting away from yours when the words left his mouth, roaming around your office. His eyes found the medical bed in the corner of the room, staring at it as he finished his sentence.

"It's okay, Gaz, don't worry," you told him, reassured him. "It's my job, anyway." You finished with a laugh, and his dark eyes found yours again. You began packing up your belongings when he shuffled further into the office, his wrist on full display. The pink tape was soggy and mud-stained, and you frowned at him when he held it out to you like a shy child showing they had broken something.

You didn't say anything. You didn't have too. You simply beckoned him towards you, urging him around the desk as you picked up a half-used roll of pink tape from one of your desk drawers. You made him peel the old bandage off.

"I don't understand how you got that so... wet," you remarked, casting a look of disgust at the old bandage now sitting in the waste-paper basket near the base of your desk. "This tape is meant to be water-proof."

Gaz barked out a quiet laugh. "It's probably got a bit of beer on it. And I did spend... you know, a bit of time in the shower, rinsing off the mud and all that."

"Right..." You mumbled, slowly wrapping the pink tape around his wrist.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, except for the low buzzing of the overhead light, and the distant voices from other players beginning to go home.

Gaz watched you silently, his eyes never once leaving your face as you wrapped his wrist. You felt the weight of his stare, the warmth of his gaze, and it made your body slowly begin to heat up, something tight pulling in the base of your gut. You ignored him at first, focussing solely on reapplying the tape. But when you had finished, you made the mistake of looking up and into his deep, dark eyes while still standing in close proximity with him.

His pupils had expanded, his eyes darting all over your face as you gently held his wrist. His fingers had grabbed hold of your arm, the searing heat of his fingertips making heat prickle on the back of your neck in nervousness.

"Does that feel secure?" You managed to whisper, throat drying. "I– does it feel–"

"You gonna let me kiss you, doc?" Gaz whispered an interruption thick with lust, his tongue darting out to swipe against his lower lip. "Please let me."

You bit your bottom lip, eyes scanning his face and waiting for him to tell you that he's joking. But it didn't come. Instead, you were left there, standing in a haze of his cologne and shampoo, his entire body radiating a warmth that made your legs begin to tremble.

"Kyle..." You murmured.

He groaned, eyes closing for just a second. "God, you're killing me here, doc."

"Gaz," you corrected, barely above a whisper. "I– we can't. I'll lose my job–"

"You won't," he responded instantaneously. "You... you won't, doc, I promise. Just... god, just one. Let me just–" he cut himself off with a low groan as he lowered his mouth to yours, brushing his lips so gently against yours that you weren't sure they even touched. He hummed, eyes fluttering shut as he spoke against your lips, his words ghosting across your face. "Just once... one kiss, that's– that's it."

He closed the gap all the way this time, slotting his mouth against yours with a hum from the back of his throat. You were still surprised, struck across the face with confusion as he moved his lips against yours, the warmth of his mouth making your brain short-circuit. His hands moved to cup your head, holding your face to him as he licked your bottom lip and attempted to slip his tongue into your mouth.

"God, you're so good." He whimpered against your mouth, before shoving his tongue further inside, yours meeting his with force.

But with a low whine, you stopped him– placing a hand to his chest and pushing him away. He grunted, breathing hard as he opened his eyes, leaning his forehead against yours. He dropped his arms, grasping at your hips instead, trying to bring you closer, but you resisted with a stab to your heart.

"We can't..." You breathed, slowly backing away. Gaz dropped his arms and watched you shift away from him, the corners of his mouth downturning.

Gaz exhaled with the tip of his tongue pressed to the inside of of his cheek. "I know."

"M'sorry–"

"Don't you dare apologise," Gaz said sternly. "I'm sorry. I'll... I'll see you later, doc. Have a good weekend."

You sighed. "Gaz–"

But he was already gone, closing the door softly behind him, leaving the rich smell of cologne in his wake, lingering around your office like incense.

•º•º•

You thought about the kiss the entirety of the weekend, and it was like it was eating you alive. Every time you got a message from the staff group chat, or an email from the coaching administration, your heart lurched out of your chest. Not because you were scared that you'd somehow been found out, but because seeing the name of the team pop up on your lock-screen make you think about him.

The winger. Gaz.

You couldn't help it– he was just so warm against you, his mouth soft and inviting as the solid, wet heat of his tongue slipped into your mouth and drew the breathiest of whimpers from you. Your body grew hot at the memory, and the memory of his hands on your face, holding you, cradling you as though you were the most perfect thing on earth. All for him, too.

You expected a wave of regret and humiliation to his you over the weekend break, but nothing came. The only thing that did come was, pun absolutely intended, you.

You just couldn't help it. The memories of the way he made you feel, how he felt, had been festering inside your brain long enough that it needed to be expelled someway. And that way was best fit for the later hours of the night, when you were curled up beneath the covers of your bed, your fingers teasing the wet hole of your cunt, another on your puffy clit.

You just couldn't help it. Rethinking the kiss again and again as you sunk two fingers inside yourself, pumping them at the phantom feeling of Gaz's lips against yours, the muscular plains of his chest and abdomen pushed up against the soft curves of your body, his hands keeping your face against his. He felt so good, smelt so good.

The noises slipped from your mouth as you fucked yourself with your fingers, the sheer amount of your arousal evident by the soft, wet squelches and the sensation of it rolling in pearls down your bare thighs. Your clit was so puffy, so sensitive, that you were coming around your fingers in barely a minute, moaning Gaz's name into the dark emptiness of your bedroom.

You needed him. So bad.

And that's why you called him the following morning. Why you picked up your phone, still in bed with your blankets bunched around you, and dialled his number. Why you waited patiently until he replied with a deep, sleep-clogged voice and why you invited him over. Why you got excited when he accepted almost right away, and why you showered with your heart thrumming, buzzing, racing in your chest. Why you answered your door with a bright smile and allowed him to crowd you back into the entrance hall of your flat, closing and locking the door behind him. Why you let him back you against the wall, his hands straight away grabbing your face, fingers warm on your soft skin, and especially why you let him slot his mouth against yours.

You weren't thinking about anything but him at that point. Not about your job, the coach, the captain or any other player. You were thinking of Gaz, the winger, the rugby union player that was currently dropping to his knees in front of you and pulling your trousers down with him. He kissed your bare legs as he helped wriggle your trousers away from your ankles, kissing the sides of your knees as his hands roamed up your legs.

His face trailed up your inner thighs, dragging his nose against the smooth skin, eyes flicking from your clothed core to your pretty face. You partially gaped down at him, chest heaving, your palms flat against the wall to ground yourself. Gaz's mouth found your core through your underwear, already soaking the fabric, and he nudged it with the point of his nose, catching on your clit. He smiled against you as he pressed a kiss to your clothed cunt, and you rewarded him with a pretty little moan that echoed through your quiet flat.

"Mm, jus' so wet already," he said it as though he was in genuine disbelief, but the smile never left his face as he placed another hot kiss to the underside of your underwear, his hands now kneading the fat of your arsecheeks, pushing you away from the wall and closer to him. "Soakin' these pretty little things, hm? Don't want to ruin them, do we, baby?"

You mewled down at him, one of your hands settling on his shoulder as he gently shifted your underwear to the side, exposing your glistening core. He groaned, low and breathy, eyes transfixed on where your leaking hole clenched around nothing, your clit sitting all pretty between your puffy lips. He groaned again, pushing you closer to him and settling his face right up between your legs, his mouth immediately attaching to your clit.

He sucked it into his mouth with a gentle scrape of his teeth, a scrape that sent bolts of electricity through your system, your back arching off the wall as Gaz's hands returned to your arse, groping. You could vaguely feel your underwear pushed into the crevice of your thigh, but you weren't focussing on that– you were focussing on the way Gaz circled your clit with his tongue, before he dragged his tongue through your wet folds and around your hole.

You moaned loudly, and Gaz hummed in response against you, his tongue running in tight circles around your slick hole, licking over it. The sensations were making your body light up, fiery hot pleasure coursing through your veins and you were worried that you were going to come before he even put his tongue inside you. You gripped at his shoulder as finally, finally, he slipped his tongue inside you, a loud whine ripping from his throat.

You could barely keep your eyes open, trying desperately to remain eye-contact as he held your gaze, tongue moving in and out of you, lapping up each drip of your arousal. He was vocal, too– grunting and whining as his tongue moved, his lower-face no doubt drenched. His hands gripped at the flesh of your arse like it was his lifeline, his fingers squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing each time his tongue licked into you.

The world around you was spinning, the morning light streaming in from the small window above your front door. You can't believe you were in this situation. But here you were– leaning against the wall of your hallway, one of England's best rugby union winger's gripping your arse, his face buried between your legs and eating you out the best you'd ever had.

"Gaz, Gaz, oh my god–" You whispered, honeyed with your on-coming orgasm. It was building, burning hot inside you, slowing the thoughts of your brain and forcing you to hone in on the feel of Gaz's solid, wet tongue inside your cunt.

He only broke the movements of his tongue for a moment, his nose still nudging your swollen clit. "Tha's a good girl, baby. Say my name while you're comin' round my tongue." Then, his tongue was back inside you, thrusting in so deep that stars burst behind your pupils and your body wracked with shudders.

You came, moaning out a blissful "Gaz–!" as your orgasm washed over you– no, slammed over you. You gushed around him, your legs trembling in his hold, sweat beading along your hairline as the warmth overtook you. You moaned out again, stretched around a desperate whine, as he licked you through it, sucking up as much of your arousal as he could before he reluctantly pulled away, placing one last kiss to your clit before sliding your underwear back into place.

His entire lower face was wet, glistening with you. You groaned, shutting your eyes as he got to his feet and proceeded to kiss you, rubbing your slick all over your face as well. He smiled into your mouth, tongue probing for yours, meeting it and passing on more of your slick. You moaned, and he moaned too.

"Been wanting to do that for so long," Gaz said in between kisses, his hands on your hips now, rubbing you against his front. You could feel the tent growing in his trousers, and a whimper escaped you. He dragged his mouth down your neck, sucking and biting and licking, spreading more of your sticky arousal across your bare skin. "Pretty little thing she is too, isn't she?"

One of his hands dragged down between your legs as he said that, fingers rubbing through your folds over your soaked underwear. You whimpered, and he hummed, increasing his speed. He still didn't move your underwear, just kept rubbing at your wet, puffy clit with his fingers, his hand moving back and forth between your legs.

"I– I take it your wrist is all better now?" You questioned him, almost out of breath as he rubbed your clit. He was using his injured wrist, the pink tape still visible working between your thighs.

Gaz smiled against your neck. "I had a great physio, didn't I? The best physio..." he increased the speed of his fingers, rubbing you quicker, circling your clit. Your arousal was further dampening your underwear, small whimpers falling from your lips, overstimulation creeping up. Gaz licked at the pulse point behind your ear. "You're just so good, doc. Such a good girl. So fuckin' good letting me play with this pretty pussy, hm? So fuckin' good."

You mewled, turning your head so you could kiss him. This time, it was your tongue shoving into his mouth, and he moaned quietly around your tongue as your lips moved together. His fingers sped up, circles deepening.

"M'gonna come, Gaz..." You whispered, and he shushed you with a kiss. When he pulled away, he did so with a low whine, eyes raking down your body, absorbing each and every little bit of you with his dark eyes.

"You can come, baby," he told you softly. "Come in these pretty things–" he punctuated his sentence by pinching at the fabric of your underwear, pulling it back and letting it slap against your clit, before resuming his previous movements. "–and ruin them for me, yeah? Come all over them and I'll take them home, how's that sound?"

You moaned loudly, clawing at his clothed back.

He chuckled deeply. "Yeah? You like the thought of me takin' these home and wrappin' them around my cock? Hm? Want me to fuck them while thinking about this pretty pussy? O'course you do, doc, cause you're just such a good girl for me. So good, 'n such a good fuckin' pussy too."

That made you come– slick flooding the gusset of your underwear, soaking through and dampening his fingers. He hummed, pleased, against you, his mouth roving over your neck and jaw again as you came. You were breathing hard, and the weight of Gaz's hard cock was making you even more breathless, pushed up between your thighs.

Heaven on earth, it felt like.

But it ended all to soon. Way to fucking soon. Gaz's phone began ringing in his pocket, and he fished it out with his fingers still tacky with your arousal. He kept you pinned to the wall with his body as his eyes swept over his phone screen and he sighed, showing you the screen too. It was the coach, and he mouthed an apology as he answered.

The phone call felt like it went on for an eternity (it was probably just over a minute) and you watched as Gaz's brows drew together in frustration. When he hung up, he angrily shoved his phone back into his pocket and rested his head against your shoulder, groaning as his hands circled your hips, massaging the pliable flesh there.

"What's wrong?" You asked, and he groaned into your neck again.

"I forgot I had sprint training today."

"Oh..."

"Yeah... fuck, m'sorry–"

"Don't apologise," you said, taking his head into your hands. "You need to stay at the top of your game, don't you? And you don't want to make coach mad, either."

"S'pose you're right," he mumbled, and then leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips. "See you tomorrow?"

You smiled. "See you tomorrow."

•º•º•

When you got to work the next day, you found a new set of folders on your desk. Placing your belongings down, you picked up the next folder, which had a new patient for you to begin working with, who had received a small injury during the last game that had gotten a bit worse over the weekend.

Your mind was still lingering on thoughts of your and Gaz's encounter yesterday morning, but you picked up and opened the file anyway, intent on not letting sex, and that handsome winger, distract you from doing your job.

"Pulled muscle in the calf, hopefully not a tear..." You read through the file. You flipped the file shut, reading the name on the front. "MacTavish, nicknamed Soap," you laughed. "What kind of name is Soap?"

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

my first chapter of this series. let me know what you thought, and stay tuned for the next one !!

The Nanny

When babysitting your neighbor's kid, trouble seems to find you.

Author's Note: SOA AU - No Tara, Clay, or Gemma. Trigger warning for violence! This was supposed to be up for Valentine's Day, but as you can see... that wasn't the case lmao.

Charming, California is one of those picture perfect little towns where everyone tries to be prim and proper, and act like their shit doesn't stink. And in the short time that you've lived here, you quickly realized that the law-abiding citizens hated the fact that Charming was home to a MC, the Sons of Anarchy.

It doesn't bother you to see them riding down the streets as you're out and about, but you do find it hilarious that a majority of the locals either gasp in outrage upon seeing the bikers or avoid them at all costs. You find the bikers very easy-going, but then again the club president is your neighbor.

Jax Teller had taken it upon himself to introduce himself when you were moving in, carrying boxes for you and flashing a rather charming smile as he pumped you for information about yourself. You knew what he was doing, and it was rather laughable, but you had nothing to hide and were a rather boring person, so you gave the information freely. Between the two of you, he was more interesting as a MC president whereas you stayed home and lived off the money your brothers made. Jax seemed interested in what your brothers did for a living that they were able to provide you with the life you have, but you explained they made their money because of the family business that provided private security for celebrities and individuals with a high profile. You helped them with scheduling, but they still did a majority of the work.

Finding out Jax has a son (Abel) makes your heart warm towards the biker, and then warm up to the club when his brothers visit every now and then. Juice was really just a goofball when he wasn't doing business for the club, Chibs was a secret sweetheart, Tig was a little crazy, Happy was hard to read, but it was Opie who was the most normal of the bunch.

You settle into your home quite nicely, working from your little office when your brothers need help to prevent any scheduling conflicts. Then in your downtime, you either have a book in hand or waste time on your gaming system. Jax and his brothers have been over a couple of times, drinking a beer to wind down or eating whatever leftovers you happen to have after you've already eaten.

This morning, however, you've just finished making breakfast when there's a knock at your front door. With a strip of bacon in hand, you answer the door and are surprised to see Jax and his son Abel standing there.

"What's up, Teller?"

He immediately smiles and your eyes narrow. "I hate to do this on such short notice, but my nanny canceled. Do you think you could watch Abel for the day?"

You glance down at the blonde boy, shrugging. "Is he cool staying with me?"

Jax glances down and nudges his son, but Abel merely asks, "Do you have more bacon?"

You open the door wider as you chuckle. "Sure, kid. You want some eggs and hashbrowns too?"

"Yum."

Abel walks into your house without a care in the world and you meet Jax's amused gaze. "So are there any rules I should abide by? Are you one of those dad's that limits screen time or bans sugar?"

"Nope and nope. No allergies either."

"Cool."

"Thank you. I owe you."

As Jax starts to walk down your porch steps, you say, "I'm a slut for food, Teller. Bribe me with food and I'll say yes to anything."

"Anything?" He peers over his shoulder and arches an eyebrow. You scowl at him.

"Almost anything."

Jax laughs. "Don't cook tonight then. I'll bring some cheeseburgers and fries from this diner that makes pretty good food."

"Alright."

. .

. .

When Jax returns later that night, Chibs and Happy follow after learning he was picking up food from the diner. What surprised them, however, was that while Jax parked in his driveway, he started taking the food to his neighbors house. But Chibs, nor Happy, said a word and followed their president with their own food when he didn't protest.

Jax is poised to knock on the door when he hears, "Don't you- don't you dare do it, kid. If you do it, I will personally wait until you turn seventeen to kick your little ass." The words give Jax pause because what the actual fuck! But then Abel's giggling makes him grin.

"Did she just threaten to kick Abel's ass, Jackie?" Chibs wonders, smirking.

"I think so."

"No, no, no! You blue-shelled me?! You're like two. How do you even know how to play this?!" Jax snorts and finally knocks. The trash talking suddenly ceases before… "It's open! If you're friendly, welcome! If not, I got a little ankle biter in here and I'm not afraid to sic him on you!"

Jax laughs some more and enters the house, walking to where he hears all the commotion. Walking into the living room, he can't help but smile at the sight of YN and Abel sitting side by side on the couch, attention focused on the TV where they're apparently playing Mario Kart.

"You bring the goods, Teller?"

"Burgers and fries as promised."

"You are currently my favorite Teller." Still your attention is on the TV, your trash talking his kid being kept very polite all of a sudden. Jax, Chibs, and Happy have no idea what's going on, but suddenly one of the characters is spinning out because of a banana peel and then Abel's giving a long, suffering sigh as the other character passes the finish line. "Yes!" You jump up, pointing down at Abel. "Sucks to suck, kid. Now come on. Your pop's got the goods."

When you finally look up at Jax, you momentarily freeze when you see Chibs and Happy there as well. "Oh. Hey, guys. Kitchen's this way."

Everyone follows you into the kitchen and you immediately grab drinks from the fridge. When you turn around, Jax is divvying up some food for himself, Abel, and you. You pass out the beers to the men and you have cans of Sprite for yourself and Abel. Then as you take the last remaining available seat since Jax kept Abel on his lap, you thank Jax for the food before digging in.

"So did you have fun today?" Jax asks his son.

"Yeah. I got to color and watch TV and play games."

Jax glances at you and you shrug. "I made do. I would have gone to the store to pick up some stuff for him, but I didn't know if you'd feel comfortable with me taking him anywhere."

"I appreciate that."

"So what about you? Is your nanny good or will you need another favor?"

"Uh, she actually might be out for a few more days."

You nod. "I can do it. Is it cool if I take him to the store with me tomorrow morning? I forgot how much little kids snack throughout the day."

"Yeah. I have an extra car seat you can use and I'll leave you some cash."

"Nah. Don't even worry about it. I'll be snacking with him, so I can front the bill."

But still, cash ends up thrown onto the table from both Chibs and Jax. You have a feeling it'd be useless to argue, so you say nothing.

After dinner, Jax helps you clean up before they all take their leave. He tells Abel to tell you goodbye and your heart absolutely melts when you crouch down, and Abel hugs you.

You visibly melt as you hug the little boy back and then pull back to tweak his nose. "Okay, you're officially my favorite Teller again."

Abel smiles at you as Jax laughs and then you bid everyone goodbye at the door.

Abel ends up preferring your company to that of his nanny, so Jax ends up splitting his son's time between the nanny at his house and you at your own house when you have nothing going on.

On this particular day, after a lunch of sandwich and chips, you and Abel are lounging in a kiddie pool right in the middle of your front yard. You even went as far to put up a canopy to have the pool half in the shade and half in the sun, and are soaking in a sports bra and a pair of black tights that look like shorts.

You're sitting in the shade, sipping on a juice box as Abel stands on the other side playing with water blasters. You hear the rumble of a motorcycle, unsurprised to have Jax checking in.

As the blonde walks up, you smile innocently as he laughs. "Where did the pool come from?"

"The store." You shrug. Abel takes the moment to load up his blaster with lukewarm water and shoots his dad with it. Jax doesn't bother dodging the stream. "We saw a commercial for the waterpark and since we can't go there, I brought the water to us."

Wiping water from his face and using it to slick his hair back, Jax crouches next to the pool and asks, "How much do I owe you?"

"Not a cent, Teller." You sip on your juice, grinning. "I haven't been in one of these since I was a kid. This is for me as much as it's for Abel. He just gave me the excuse of getting one and chilling in it without looking like an idiot."

"Well I don't know about that…"

He trails off and you gasp in mock outrage. As he laughs, you say, "You're lucky I respect the kutte and the fact that you have a phone in your pocket somewhere. If I didn't, I'd drag your butt in here with us."

"Next time." Jax splashes his son and then stands before Abel can shoot him point blank with water. "Am I grabbing dinner tonight?"

"Nah. Abel already made a request. He wants chicken tenders and fries."

"And what the little man wants, he gets?"

"Obviously." You roll your eyes playfully. "Plus, it's an easy meal and I enjoy it too."

"Alright." He chuckles as he starts making his way back towards his motorcycle. "Don't stay in the pool too long."

"Yes, sir." You mockingly salute him, lips twitching when you see him momentarily tense before relaxing once more. "See you later."

. .

. .

It's past Abel's bedtime by the time Jax makes it home, and already he's prepared for his kid to either be bouncing off the walls or very cranky. But as he nears YN's house, he notices that it's mostly dark. All the lights are off with the exception of the porch light and a couple of lamps he can see through the windows that peer into the living room. And the TV, of course.

Instead of knocking, he lets himself right in. It's almost too quiet, but he can hear the TV playing rather low in the living room. Heading there, he walks up to the sofa and can't help but smile at the sight that greets him. YN is laid out across the sofa with Abel on her chest, his back to her front. Both are knocked out cold.

Without second guessing himself, Jax pulls out his phone and snaps a quick photo. Chuckling to himself, he then walks around the sofa as he pockets his phone and crouches down. "Hey. YN," he gently calls out while shaking her shoulder.

It takes a few shakes before you wake, sleepily humming until Jax's voice coaxes you until you're fully awake. Your arms wrap around Abel on instinct and when you notice Jax's smirking presence, you relax. "What time is it?" You mumble.

"A little after ten."

"Really? Fuck. I guess the sun really did kick my ass if I'm this sleepy."

"Yeah." Jax chuckles and then carefully starts to gather Abel in his arms. "Sorry about showing up so late."

"Don't even worry about it." You sit up, rubbing your eyes and yawning. "You know I adore your kid." As you follow Jax to the door, you remind him about going away for a week and not being able to watch Abel, but that you'll have your phone on if Abel wants to talk.

Jax laughs. "I swear, my kid loves you more than me sometimes."

"It's only because I'm a better cook," you muse.

Jax opens his mouth to argue, but ends up shutting it and shrugging. "You're not wrong there."

As Jax then exits your home, you bid him goodnight and watch until he disappears into his home.

When you explained to Jax that your brothers made their money because of the family business that provided private security for celebrities and individuals with a high profile, you weren't lying. Nor did you lie when you also explained you helped them with scheduling for said high profile individuals.

What you chose to leave out, however, was that your family had such a great record with security because no one wanted to fuck with a family who had connections to two different cartels through your dearly departed parents.

However, before you settled into the calm life of personal security, your brothers made a name for yourselves as ruthless hitmen amongst the cartels and you… you were a little unhinged when you were caught up in the moment as one of their torturers. You worked for the cartels when they needed you to, but when you and your brothers wanted to distance yourselves, it was the cartels who helped set up your security business.

The week spent with your brothers is just to visit and catch up with those who all three of you came to see as uncles. It was most definitely not supposed to end up with you being caught off guard by a fist to the face. Someone who didn't know all what you were capable of took advantage of the fact that you were a woman who was close to big names within the cartels. They thought you to be easily taken down and used as leverage, but what they didn't count on was you hiding daggers on your persons. The fight was dirty and bloody, and by the end of it you were spitting mad.

You have the urge to carve into someone that your brothers are trying to quell for once when your phone rings. You pull out your phone mid-pacing, and then freeze upon seeing Jax's name on the screen. But it's not a normal call- it's a video call.

"Fuck."

"What?" Your elder brother asks. "Who is it?"

"It's my neighbor. Most likely his kid Abel since I babysit him most of the time." Your brothers glance at each other and you roll your eyes. "I've told you about them. Now toss me my hoodie. I can't let them see my face like this."

Before the call ends, you answer it but make sure to angle the camera away from the bruised side of your face. "Hey, Jax, give me one sec," you say. Your brother tosses you a hoodie and you quickly pull it on after setting your phone down. Then you take a seat at the kitchen table, turning off a few lights so it's a little darker and you can hide within your hood. Picking up your phone and keeping only half your face on camera, you smile. "Hey, guys, miss me?"

Jax's smile falters, but Abel immediately starts talking, telling you all about his day with his dad. He tells you he misses your food and play time, and you assure him you'll be home soon. You tell him about hanging out with your own family and even make your brothers wave at the camera when you switch it on them. Abel's little voice telling them hi makes you smile and then Jax is telling Abel to go watch some TV before bed.

Left alone with Jax on the phone, his smile vanishes. "What happened?"

"What do you mean?" You refuse to meet either of your brothers' gazes as you can feel them staring at you. "Everything's fine."

"Bullshit." Your brothers snort and you huff. Very reluctantly, you pull your hood down and maneuver the camera so it catches your full face. Jax's expression hardens. "Fuck."

"Don't worry. It looks worse than it is."

"What the fuck happened?"

You shrug and quickly glance at your brothers, but they're back to doing their own thing. "Went out drinking with the family and got caught in a brawl. It's been handled."

"So I don't have to gather the boys and kick some ass?"

His words make you huff a laugh. "Nah. I'm pretty sure I put the guy in a hospital."

"You took down a dude?! Now that's hot. I wish I could have seen that."

Uncaring that they're eavesdropping, your brothers burst out laughing and you sigh. You can't help but smile and you end up rolling your eyes when Jax laughs too. "Whatever. How's Abel really doing? Is he driving his official nanny insane yet?"

"Not really. He's just moping around."

"Aww." You coo. "Well I should be home soon. I'll take him to the park or something."

Jax's teasing smile turns genuine. "You know, I've never told you this, but I appreciate everything you do for Abel. You don't have to do anything, but you still treat him like family."

"What can I say? I like kids." You shrug. "And my idiot brothers will never give me any nieces or nephews."

"Hey!" Both your brothers protest.

You grin at them before looking back at Jax on your phone. "I should get going though. We have a meeting with the uncles here in a bit and I need to get ready."

"Alright. No more fights unless I'm there to avenge you. I can't have my favorite girl looking like she's in an abusive relationship."

Snorting, you say, "No promises. Tell Abel goodnight for me and to come up with a plan for what he wants to do when I get back home."

"Will do. See you soon."

As soon as you hang up, your brothers start making teasing kissing noises. "Oh shut the fuck up."

Valentine's Day has never been a day that you really cared for. Sure it was sweet to see teenagers and kids swap gifts and/or cards, or to buy candy half off, but it didn't bother you to have a significant other on this day. But you do remember how good it felt to get a gift as a kid, so you want to make sure Abel has a good day.

With your time spent with Abel, you've come to know that he loves certain fruits and chocolate. So after heading to the store for a quick shopping trip, you return home with strawberries, bananas, and melting chocolate. Then after cleaning the strawberries and chopping up some bananas, you dip them all in the ooey-gooey chocolate before letting them harden while fixing up a white dessert box with edges that say Happy Valentine's Day.

You've just filled the box with chocolate covered fruit when your phone rings and you can't help but smile at the name. You're no stranger to how handsome Jax is, but you know better than to go there with him.

"Hey, Teller, to what do I owe the pleasure of your hot voice?" You immediately answer.

Jax's laughter meets your ear before, "While it's nice to hear you like my voice, I'm actually calling on behalf of Abel."

"Aw. What does my favorite Teller need?"

"You know I'm your favorite Teller, YN." You hum, not denying his words. "But Abel is requesting your appearance here at the shop because he has a very important question to ask you."

"A very important question?" You muse. "What does Abel have to…" You trail off, the amusement in Jax's voice suddenly making something make sense. "His question doesn't happen to coincide with what today is, does it?"

Jax chuckles. "I am not ruining the surprise."

"I swear to God, Jax, if I end up crying I'm going to kick your ass."

"I look forward to it. Now get pretty and get your ass over here. Do not break my kid's heart."

"Never. And I'm always pretty, Teller."

"...yeah. You are." Your eyes widen at his words, but you don't say anything. Jax then clears his throat. "I'll see you soon."

"Y-Yeah. I'll be there in ten."

You can feel yourself blushing as you hang up, but quickly put it out of your mind as you hurry to your room to get dressed. You pull on a black sundress that's covered in sunflowers, the flowy skirt hitting right above your knees. You step into some black wedge sandals and quickly tie your hair up in a messy ponytail. You apply the basic amount of makeup and spritz some perfume around your body.

Heading downstairs, you throw all your necessities into a purse and then grab Abel's box of chocolate covered fruit before heading out.

The drive to Teller Automotive isn't a very long one, and you're soon parking in the lot. You leave your purse in the car, but you keep your box of fruits in hand. You get several wolf whistles as you cross the parking lot, but you merely laugh off Tig and Chibs' teasing.

Before you can enter the auto garage, Jax walks out, a smirk in place. And then before you can ask him what he's smirking for, your gaze is drawn downward to Abel who walks out behind him… and oh. You fuckin' melt.

Abel's hair is slicked into a faux hawk, a red bow tie is clipped to the very crisp white button shirt that's tucked into a pair of tiny faded jeans. In his hands he's holding a teddy bear that's adorned with a miniature Sons of Anarchy kutte, and a red carnation. The adorableness of it all makes you melt and tear up at how cute he is.

"Oh my goodness. You look so handsome," you tell him.

As you crouch so you're more at his level, you make sure the skirt of your dress still covers everything. Abel blushes as he asks, "Will you be my Valentine?"

"Hell yes I will." Abel smiles as he hands over your gifts, and Jax and the others- who were apparently listening in- whoop in celebration. "And as my Valentine, it's only fair that I give a gift as well. Strawberries and bananas covered in chocolate. Your favorite," you tell him.

Abel is so ecstatic over his gift that he nearly knocks you over as he hugs you. When Chibs ask him what he's got, he's more than happy to run off and show his uncles what you've given him. Jax offers you a hand up and as soon as you're steady on your feet, you notice him looking at you in a certain way.

"What?" You huff a laugh, carefully wiping away your tears that never fully fell.

"You are amazing, you know that?"

"Hardly. Tiny Teller is just adorable as hell." You can feel yourself starting to blush so you glance down at the teddy in your hand. "Where did you find a tiny kutte anyway?"

"It's actually Abel's. The guys had it made for him when he was born and he wanted your teddy to have it."

"I'll take extra care of it then." When you glance back at Jax, you ask, "So does Abel have to stay or can I take my valentine out on a date?" You have no idea what Jax had been thinking, but it's like your words make him snap. From one second to next, he goes from staring at you in awe to gently grasping your face and pulling you into a kiss. You gasp but quickly return the sentiment. And when Jax pulls back, still cupping your face in his hands, you ask, "So me wanting to take your kid out on a date really did it for you, huh?"

Jax barks out a laugh and you smile as he leans in for another quick kiss. "Been wanting to do that for a while actually."

"And you waited until this moment to do it," you muse. "Jokes on you though. You gotta stick around and listen to your boys tease you about this while I take Abel out all on my lonesome." You kiss him for a third time and then step out of his reach to holler, "Little Teller, let's go! It's you and me, buddy. Whatever you wanna do."

As Abel approaches with a lot less fruit, he asks, "Can we eat pizza in the park?"

"We sure can. Now say goodbye to your dad so we can go stuff our faces."

Dating Jax Teller is rather thrilling. You do not care to know what goes on in the club unless it pertains to any woman trying to sleep with him, or when Jax needs someone to vent to. Then, and only then, do you let your opinion be known about what goes on with the MC.

But while you have nothing against the MC, you still prefer to spend a majority of your time with Abel. Sure you'll show up to some parties so all the other women know Jax is off limits, but you're content to do activities with little Teller wherever he wants to be for the day.

You thought it was cute Jax tried to shield you from the violence the club was capable of, but never pressed him for information when you noticed he looked stressed about something. This time, however, you wish you had pressed him for information when he asked you to stay in with Abel.

It's nighttime, and you and Abel are relaxing in front of your TV as you watch some new Pixar film about dragons and their riders. The two of you are dozing off when your front door is kicked in, which then makes you jump into action. But you're not just defending yourself, you have a little boy to think about. So before you can find a proper weapon, you're left standing in front of Abel who is now clinging to your leg as he whimpers in fear.

"Jax Teller chose a pretty one this time."

"Fuck off."

The men all chuckle in front of you. "Take her."

. .

. .

The Sons of Anarchy roll up to a subdivision that's still in development, cautiously dismounting their motorcycles and arming themselves. A new MC had established themselves in a neighboring town, looking to make a name for themselves, and they thought knocking down the Sons a peg or ten was what they ought to do to establish their foothold in the MC world for good.

The encroaching MC took to ambushing the Sons whenever and wherever, and the people of Charming were starting to become afraid of strolling their pristine streets. Even the Sheriff was looking to the Sons to end the conflict, but they could only do so much. Unfortunately, one of the fights involved a chase on motorcycles as the Sons were making a run, and the son of the enemy President took a bullet to the right side of his chest and fell. His injuries then resulted in a coma which set off to this little meeting.

As they creep through the eerily quiet streets of the deserted subdivision, Opie flanks Jax. "I don't like this, brother. Something feels off."

"I agree," Chibs says. "We should have put the club on lockdown before ridin' out."

Jax sighs. "Too late now."

Juice, Happy, and Tig jog up to homes still under construction, trying the doors or looking for any signs that someone's been there. It isn't until they get to the end of the block that they notice one home has been vandalized and they know that's where they're supposed to go.

Every Son cautiously enters the house, nose wrinkling as the state of the house. But in the middle of the living room, there's an odd clearing around a small round table. And on that table sits a folded notecard.

The Sons seem to freeze, but then Jax is marching towards the note. Snatching it up, the words written make him tense as his world starts to tilt. "Fuck. They're going after Abel."

As the note flutters to the floor, the Sons all race after their President as he flees the house.

The note read, [A son for a son.]

On the way to YN's, Jax instructs half the Sons to break off and check on the club, while also making calls to get everyone on an official lockdown. Jax, Opie, Chibs, and Happy race to his neighbor's house.

When they pull up, a few neighbors are peering out their doors looking a bit distraught. Immediately, they know something terrible has happened, and that feeling is only intensified when they spot the broken down door.

Rushing to park in YN's front yard, guns are pulled from the back waistband of their jeans. Jax takes point as he enters the house and his heart drops to his stomach. The house is an absolute mess, furniture and glass broken.

The TV is still playing some cartoon movie and when he walks further in, he curses at the sight of a body laying in a pool of blood.

Happy peers over his shoulder. "Now we know she can hold her own."

"Find them. Now."

. .

. .

Sitting in the bathtub, Abel clings to you as his face hides against the side of your neck. Your face hurts from the numerous punches you took, your lip is split, your arms have multiple lacerations, and there's blood dripping into your eyes. But your worst wound is definitely the bullet wound to the left of your abdomen, and you're grateful that Abel's weight is putting pressure on the towel you had pressed against the wound.

It's been quiet for what seems like forever, but suddenly you hear movement. Shakily raising the gun you'd taken from one of the intruders, you take aim and dare the next motherfucker who enters to be someone intending harm on you or the boy in your lap.

The door gently swings open, but no one is there. Your arm hurts from holding the gun up and then you see someone try to peer around the door jamb. You can only partially see his face, but the voice- you recognize the voice even if you rarely hear it when you're at the club.

"Baby girl?"

"...Hap?"

The stoic man steps fully in the doorway, putting his gun away as you drop yours in the tub. Abel shifts as he whimpers and you wince. "Jax! Upstairs bathroom!"

Abel realizes his uncle's voice and dad's name, so he moves to turn. Happy is quick to lift him, his eyes widening at the blood soaking his clothes. "S'fine. My blood," you tiredly tell him. "I didn't… I didn't let them touch him."

"You did real good." Happy's assurance makes you smile, but you're just so tired. As your eyes slide shut, you hear, "Hey! Don't do that. Stay awake, YN."

"Tryin'…" Pounding footsteps race up the stairs and it isn't long until Jax, Chibs, and Opie are pushing their way into the bathroom as well. Jax takes Abel right away, eyes scanning the room before they land on you. Happy and Opie move to help you out of the tub, but Chibs is quick to point out your bleeding wound. The last words you say are, "Call my brothers," before darkness consumes you."

. .

. .

Jax is pacing the hospital waiting room, blood covering his shirt and hands from where he carried Abel. Chibs had taken Abel back to the club to clean him up and fill in the others about what was going on, but now he's back and filling in the Sheriff about what they had walked in on at YN's house. Thankfully Jax and YN's neighbors liked them, and were honest about hearing gunshots before the Sons had frantically rolled up.

Opie and Happy are the only two sitting patiently, but their attention is drawn to a large group of men entering the room. Two men in particular glance around before making a beeline for Jax, but the others hang back by the door. It's evident these men mean business as they stand guard, their suits standing out among the scrubs, kuttes, and regular clothing of the others sitting in the waiting room.

When Jax notices the newcomers, his shoulders sag at the sight of YN's brothers. But his interest is piqued with the suited thugs behind the brothers, tattoos visible along their hands and neck.

The brothers quickly introduce themselves as Noah and Theo, both of their expressions grim.

"What happened?" Noah asks. He's the elder of the two, his muscled torso covered in a button down with their sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

"They were after my kid," Jax immediately tells them, voice low. "She took a bullet for him and she's in surgery right now."

Both brothers' jaws clench.

"Do you know who they are?" Theo asks, tapping away on his phone.

"Yeah. It's another MC. They attacked us on a run and the son of the President took a fall off his bike. He's in a coma, so the President went after my kid in return."

"And your kid was in the care of our sister," Noah realizes.

"Yes."

Noah sighs, running a hand down his face. Then after a few more taps and texts, Theo grins. "Found them."

Jax frowns. "Found who?"

"The people responsible for putting our sister in the hospital."

Jax then tenses. "This is club business, man. We'll handle it."

Both Noah and Theo tense, but end up chuckling. Jax's jaw clenches, but he keeps his anger in check.

Noah says, "If you think it'll remain club business when YN wakes up, then that means my sister hasn't confessed the family secret."

Jax freezes. "What secret?"

"We had to get our start somewhere when our parents died," Theo tells him. "And it just so happened that each of our parents came from very powerful, very wealthy families. We worked our way to the top of the food chain and became rather notorious until we wanted out and settled into the business we currently have."

Noah starts to smirk. "Your club business just became cartel business, my friend. And our uncles are livid that their little girl was attacked."

Jax glances at his boys, but says nothing.

"We'll find them and keep them occupied," Theo says. "When YN is released, she'll be out for blood."

"And she'll get it," Noah muses. "After all, she is quite the little torturer."

When you wake up, you're unsurprised to find Jax by your bedside. You are surprised, however, to learn that he knows about your past thanks to your brothers promising bloodshed. You groan, but then remember Abel. And after assurances that Abel is fine, you relax.

You're anxious to know where you stand with Jax as he explains why you ended up in the hospital. He feels guilty for not telling you what was really going on or putting you on lockdown, along with the club, but you don't blame him for what happened. Dating the President of an MC, you were bound to be pulled into the violence sooner or later, and with your past you knew you could handle it.

When he runs out of steam, it's your turn to start apologizing for not telling him about your life with the cartels. You make sure he knows that you would have never endangered Abel, and if your past had come calling, you would have made sure that they were protected at all costs. Jax assures you he's not mad, but he did wish you would have told him given you knew about the roles some of his brothers played in the club.

But what's done is done, and Jax is more interested in what you plan on doing since your brothers have gone quiet after calling him to inform him that they've got a majority of the MC tucked away in a building that no one can hear the impending mayhem.

"They broke into my home and put a bullet in me just to get to Abel and send a message to you," you say, expression turning thunderous. "The one who shot me doesn't get to walk away. Hell, the ones who fuckin' raised a gun in Abel's direction are lucky that they'll be limping away after I'm done."

"Limping away?"

You slowly smirk at him, lowering your voice. "I'm not gonna draw out my punishment, but my brothers and my uncles' men sure as shit ain't gonna sit back. They're gonna make sure they get the message that they fucked with the wrong people."

Jax huffs a laugh and then ends up staying for as long as the nurses would let him, only leaving when YN's brothers came or he had to go pick up Abel so he'd see that YN was fine for himself.

Then after two and a half days, you're released.

You're still sore, but you've got nothing but vengeance on your mind. When your brothers send you the address of where they're holding several individuals for you to interrogate, you get dressed and head for Teller Automotive.

Some of the guys are surprised to see you up and about, but you wave off their concern as you continue towards the club portion of the shop.

The usual sweetbutts are milling about, cleaning up and most likely getting ready for a party since it is a Friday. You spot Jax and Juice at the bar as Juice taps away on a laptop.

"Boys," you greet as you walk up behind them. "Whatcha workin' on?"

Jax turns in his seat, eyes subtly widening as he stands. "You're out! Why didn't you call me?" He's quick to carefully take you in his arms, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

"Because if I'd have called you, you'd have taken me home and coddled me."

"Well yeah. You were shot."

"I got shit to take care of, Teller, and I'm not wasting another day."

"Then what are you doing here?"

You shrug. "I just thought that you'd want to see the MC face their consequences."

"Now? You're going to do that now?" He asks, his gaze darting down to your covered abdomen.

"Yep. "My brothers procured a place just on the outskirts of Charming where we won't be interrupted. You in?"

"Well, yeah. Obviously."

"Good. Then gather whoever's in and follow me."

As you sit in your car, you watch Jax as speaks with several of brothers to see who he's going to leave in charge. And after everything is settled, only five follow Jax to their motorcycles- Opie, Happy, Juice, Tig, and Chibs.

You start your car and start to drive, pausing by the gate until Jax and the others start to roll out. You take off, keeping your speed down as you drive through the town. But the moment you get to the road leading out of Charming, you step on the gas and race towards the location your brothers sent to you.

You drive along an empty stretch of road until you turn down a dirt road which is surrounded by empty crop fields that have seen better days. The road leads up to a dilapidated farmhouse, a very rusted horse corral, and behind all that is a barn where several vehicles have parked.

You park and get out, waiting for Jax to find the perfect spot to park their motorcycles. Once they do, you wait until they gather around.

"I know this started off as club business, but now it's cartel business. I can't have you questioning me in there."

"This is your playground," Jax says. "We're just here for a show."

You nod and then turn towards the barn doors, pushing them open with the help of Chibs and Tig when they get stuck. Inside, several men are hanging about on turned over crates or bales of hay, some even sitting at a small wooden table playing cards. Music plays softly in the background, but it's cut off the moment your presence is noticed.

Immediately, every man and woman scramble to their feet as you approach.

In the middle of the barn, there's a line of eight men with burlap sacks over their heads sitting in chairs with their wrists tied down to the armrests and ankles tied to the legs. Walking down the line of men, you snatch the sacks from their heads.

"Wakey, wakey, motherfuckers." Each man is clearly exhausted, agitated, and pissed off.

You save the MC President for last, smirking as he sneers at you. "Stupid bitch." He seethes. "Let us go. Right now."

"Bitch," you muse. "If you're going to insult me, at least call me a cunt. Or whore. Those words have much more of an impact."

"Cunt."

Your fist whips out, striking him across the face so hard that his head jerks to the side. He turns to glare back up at you, spitting blood that lands on your pant leg. "Now, now. If you're going to insult me again, at least be creative about it. Your lack of creativity is sorely disappointing." He roars at you, trying to free his wrists and feet, but you merely laugh and continue to pace in front of his men. "Now I'm sure you're all wondering why you're here and it's quite simple, really." You stop pacing, expression hardening. "You fucked with the wrong woman."

Then like a switch has been flipped, you go back to smiling and pacing, gesturing wildly as you talk. "Normally I wouldn't touch MC business with a ten foot pole, but you fuckers messed up. You broke into my home and went after a child under my care- a child that I hold very near and dear to my heart. So, now your piss poor attempt at taking over territory that doesn't belong to you has now come under cartel jurisdiction, and I will make sure that any stupid motherfuckers who dares to come after the Sons of Anarchy will pay a price."

"Fuck that. We didn't cross any cartel!"

"Oh honey," you mockingly coo as you come to a stop in front of the one who spoke. "I am part of the cartel." Turning around, you walk towards a long table and lift the cloth laying atop of it. Beneath the cloth, there's a variety of weapons. You tuck a glock into the back waistband of your jeans and then grasp a dagger in your dominant hand. Then turning to walk back towards the bound men, you smirk. "Now what I want are the assholes who attacked me and dared to point a gun at a child. You give me those men and the rest of you can walk out of here."

Silence.

Dead fuckin' silence.

"Nothing?" You chuckle. "Come on, guys. Give 'em up. I swear it's not worth protecting them. I mean, I can probably figure it out. Eyes are windows to the soul and all that rot. You might have been wearing masks, but I still remember those cowardly glints very well."

"Fuck you! I ain't no coward."

"Bingo!" You shout, pointing the tip of your blade at the culprit. Walking up to the guy, you can't help but laugh as he realizes his mistake and clamps his mouth shut. "One down, one more to go."

"I ain't telling you shit."

"No?" Switching the dagger to your other hand, you pull the glock free from behind your back. You step close to the man, taking aim at his crotch. "Are you sure about that?"

He cruelly smirks. "You're all talk and no-"

BANG!

The guy immediately starts screaming, his buddies struggling in their chairs, and you laugh. When you glance around the room, you see those you consider family chuckling and the Sons cringing in sympathy as they cover their crotches. You walk around so you're standing behind the screaming fool, swapping the dagger and gun in your hands so the dagger is back in your dominant hand. "Going once… going twice…" He continues to scream, and you sigh when no one else speaks up.

And then before anyone can comprehend what you've done, you've dragged the blade across the guy's neck.

As he gurgles on his blood and his friends shout obscenities at you, you walk around so you're standing before them once again.

"That's three of my men you've killed already," the President says. "I think fair's fair."

"I want the last one," you say. "One last guy and you're good to go."

No one says anything, but the President's expression hardens. There's a cold glint in his eye that you're very familiar with, and you know that should he walk out of these barn doors, he'll do anything and everything for revenge. "Samuel. I sent Samuel."

The Samuel in question squawks and you smile beautifully at him over the shoulder before staring at the President once more. "Harsh. Selling out your own guy like that." You saunter up to him, sighing. "But he's the thing; I hate snitches."

Then before the President can blink, you take aim and pull the trigger. The bullet hits him right between the eyebrows.

The struggling, bound men all seem to cease movement and you turn towards them. "Now that that's out of the way…" You walk back towards Samuel, scoffing at his whimpering. "You might get to live today, Sammy, but not without something to remember why messing with the Sons a big no-no."

"And w-what's that?"

You slowly smile. "Open your fist, Samuel. Lay your hand flat against the armrest."

His eyes widen as he whimpers, but he hesitantly does as you've said. Then when his hand is nice and flat, you drive your blade through the back of his hand, pinning it to the arm rest.

As he screams, you sneer at him and then start to make your way towards the Sons. On your way, you hand off your gun before coming to a stop in front of Jax and pasting on a smile as you glance at each Sons. "Who's hungry?"

"Marry me," Happy grumbles.

You laugh at him, winking, and then glance back at Jax. "You're a little psycho," he says.

"Only when the occasion calls for it. But seriously, can we go get food?"

Jax laughs as he sidles up to your side, sliding an arm along the back of your shoulders. "Do burgers sound good?"

"Burgers sound marvelous. I also want a vanilla milkshake."

"Good. We'll go grab some and surprise Abel. He's been itching to go to your house again."

"Ugh. Your kid is so adorable. But maybe let me settle in before you grab him. My abdomen is on fire and if we tell him I'm sick, maybe he won't be so hyperactive."

"Let me see."

Begrudgingly, you lift the hem of your shirt and glance down. Sure enough, you've bled through your bandages. "New plan; No Abel."

"What? But-"

"Nope." Jax squeezes you to his side as you sigh. "You're gonna go home, Chibs will follow to patch you up, and I'll go pick up some food. Abel can go one more day without seeing you."

"Boo."

The Sons chuckle.

"What about us?" Juice asks, gesturing between himself, Tig, and Happy.

"I don't care, Juice. Do whatever you want."

As they head towards their motorcycles, Jax walks you to your car.

"So, are you really okay with this?" You ask. "Okay with me and all that I'm capable of?"

"Yeah." Jax nods. "More than okay, actually. It's good to know that should shit find its way to your doorstep again, you'll handle it."

"Damn right I will." You swing around so you're standing in front of Jax, arms wrapping around his waist as his go around your shoulders. "I will protect Abel with my life again and again. Never doubt that."

"Just Abel?" His eyebrow arches.

"You're a close second," you muse. Leaning up on the tips of your toes, you peck his lips. "Now seriously. Food, Teller. I need food."

"Yeah, yeah." He kisses you again. "Go home and get settled. I'll be there soon."