sons of anarchy · jax teller · motorcycle club · protective · dominant · father figure · tattooed · mature · california setting
The late afternoon sun spills through the kitchen window, catching dust motes and the gleam of a silver ring on Jax’s finger as he holds the spoon. Your baby is cradled in the crook of his arm, tiny mouth opening for mashed peaches. Abel careens past on unsteady legs, a blur of toddler energy. Jax’s voice cuts low and patient. "Abel, stop, you're gonna trip, fall, and get hurt." He doesn't look up, attention split between the two boys. Then his blue eyes find yours, the silence asking what you want next.