and the reason I started watching SoA was because it's (loosely) based off of Hamlet, something that really shows in the first season but eventually gets pushed aside as the series continues. And that's always made me wonder about a biker romance series inspired by Shakespeare and how I would handle it.
The Tempest, where the betrayed former leader of a motorcycle gang seeks revenge against his brother years later, while his daughter falls in love with the heir of another gang is my favorite so far...of course, the Ferdinand is absolutely based of Happy, to the point I'm thinking of giving him a sweet sort of name...Sunny, Lucky, that sort of thing, the terrifying biker with a sweet name falling for the clever, beautiful daughter of a fallen leader as said leader plots revenge is just 🖤🖤🖤
oh you know what
that's why I imagine playing chess with Happy a lot, because of The Tempest
The Bet, The Biker, and The Red Rose // Happy Lowman x Reader.
A/N: not me staying up late just to finish this 💋🧡 Happy is just so in love with her. Y/N is sweet and kind...but she's also clever and strong and so, so sexy and he's just head over heels for for.
comment if you want to be added to the taglist.
Pairing: Happy Lowman x Reader.
Taglist: @volumesofforgottenlore
WARNINGS: smut; brief mentions of blood.
“Mr. Lowman.”
Whoever it was on the other end seemed to start when you said that name, but he didn’t question it...at least not to you. As he stuttered about it being some kind of mistake but going to get him, at your insistence, clearly cursing whoever had given you that name at all, you simply smiled and awaited that deep, rough voice you adored so much.
And you didn’t have to wait long.
“Who is this?” Happy Lowman snapped.
“Mr. Lowman? This is Y/N L/N, I was told that you’re working on my truck?”
And the sound of your voice, sweet and soft, shifted the air. You envisioned him leaning against the wall, jeans and a tight wife beater, muscles taunt underneath. Tattoos all up and down this bare arms and peaking through the collar, you’d always wanted a better look at them...to trace your fingers across the patterns as he groaned beneath you, exploring every inch of skin that you’d been denied and dreaming of but, oh, that was all for another day.
“Y/N,” he said, clearing his throat. “Right, I...I am definitely am working on that truck”
Which was kind of funny, considering how you made the whole thing up. But you played along because the game had started long ago and you were enjoying every second of it. And he was talking again, enjoying every word of it.
“Oh,” you said, keeping that innocent tone up, “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything, Mr. Lowman, I just wanted an idea of what might be going on with my truck. Am I bothering you?”
“Happy. You can call me Happy and, no, you ain’t a bother at all. Never.”
“Happy,” you repeated. “It’s good to meet you.”
And wasn’t it so good? To finally talk to him after years of stolen looks, watching and wanting so bad it almost ached...it was a perfect name, too. He had such a sunny smile and such pretty eyes, that was what had made him stand out so much from the others. Those eyes...that rough exterior, danger with just a little bit of sweetness to him, hidden somewhere you couldn’t quite catch. It had been enough to draw you in, like honey to a bee, and you’d been stuck on him ever since.
“You know, Miss L/N— ”
“Just Y/N is fine by me.”
“Y/N, you know, it’s kinda complicated, your truck and all. Maybe I ought to come on over and talk about it with you.”
Oh, he was plotting now! And you were loving every second of it, examining your reflection, the little outfit you’d picked just for him...a tight red tank top with the little lace trim, dark jeans, red converse sneakers. You’d painted your lips red for a touch of sin and nails pink for a touch of sweetness, hair done up in a messy-but-sexy sort of way. This old thing? You’d thrown it on for a day around the house, oh, sure the top was tight and the jeans made your ass look amazing...but you were just hanging around at home, it’s not like you were trying to impress anybody at all.
“That bad, huh? Well, sure, you can come on by. My address is in the paperwork. I’ll be home today, so anytime you can stop by is great.”
A necklace, you suddenly decided.
Something small and delicate, silver would do, and something that would glitter just low enough to draw those pretty eyes down...you wanted to tease him a little. An old silver locket, engraved with a tangle of roses, did the trick and you sauntered out to the garden to wait, a snake beneath the lilies and ready to bite.
~
You heard the bike long before he knocked on the door, the roar of it echoing in the quiet air.
The neighbors were sure to peek out the windows and between the curtains, gossip to soon spread, somebody was sure to complain about it...you were looking forward to it, for a reason you didn’t quite understand.
The bike came to a halt not too far down.
And then you heard his voice, deep and rough and coming closer with every step. He was on the phone with somebody, telling them that he wouldn’t make it to some meeting...he had something he had to take care of. And when he said it, he smiled, a hint of mischief in his grin. Happy didn’t even notice the gate or you, just out of view and hidden behind the big tree leaning over in the yard, boughs keeping you out of sight. He walked up to the front door, hanging up the call and knocking. The first knock was loud and hard, the next three a correction, softer. He was trying to clean up a little and you thought that was so cute.
“I’m in the garden!” you called out.
Happy came through the wooden gate, just as you were putting the gardening tools away, smiling up at him.
You had chosen the garden for a reason.
It was your pride and joy, hours of work and love poured into every flower, bush, and pot. There were poppies and lilies and roses of white and red, honeysuckle by the bay window. You planted pumpkins in containers during the summer and had a vegetable patch and a never-ending war with cucumber beetles. Wind chimes sang in the breeze and birds sang in reply.
It was your Eden.
And there was nothing more fitting than a devil in the garden, Happy smiling as he reached a hand towards you.
“Happy Lowman. Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
The touch of his skin was such sweet fire, blood alight in your veins as you smiled up at him. God, he was perfect. His hand was rough but his touch was gentle, leading you to the little table on the back porch. And you let him take the lead, playing the sweet and innocent little thing as that secret thrill burned through your veins, pretending not to notice as his dark eyes ran over your body.
Looking for the tattoo, you wondered...or just enjoying the view?
Either way, you didn’t mind, listening to that perfect voice as he told you this and that about your truck. It was old, obviously, and parts were hard to come by these days. A real beauty of a machine. He wasn’t sure what was wrong just yet, he’d have to run this test and that test and a million more tests but, once he had it figured, your truck ought to be up and running again. God, you could have listened to that man read aloud a mechanics manual and you would have been enthralled with every damn word, that’s how good his voice was.
“So, it’ll be a while before I get my truck back?”
“Should be. I can’t make any promises.”
“Damn,” you muttered. “Guess I’ll be walking to work for a while.”
“Where do you work?”
He was trying to seem so casual, you realized, just making conversation...but that mischief was back in his eyes and you could tell that he was plotting. You liked the little look he got when he did it, the way those eyes lit all up, the crooked twitch of a smile.
“Over at Angel’s Diner, my daddy was half owner and left it to me. Maybe Johnny can give me a ride…”
“I could do it,” Happy offered. “Hell, I’ll come over, give you an update, and drive you home after.”
“Oh...are you sure? I’d hate to be of any trouble.”
“No trouble at all. I’m always happy to help a lady.”
If only he’d known that you’d been counting on that offer all the while, walking him back to the gate with just the sweetest of smiles. Twice a day! A little taste of Happy Lowman twice a day...a small victory, taking the lead in this silent competition. Watching him go, you bit your lip and fantasized over every other little victory soon to come…
~
The game was easy.
You’d dress up in that sexy-but-casually-so sort of way, tights tops and dresses and heels that made your legs look so good, enjoy the appreciative look he always stole, and drive to work with Happy. If he had time, he’d stop in for breakfast and if not, he’d stop for dinner when he came to pick you up later on. You always took his order and brought it over to him, even if you’d been working in the back that day. He liked apple pie or pancakes in the morning, bacon and sausage on the side no matter what, and coffee. Black. When night fell, he liked a lot of things, rarely repeating something in a row. Steak and baked potatoes with all the fixings, pot pies, those massive hamburgers and crispy fries, ham and cheese omelettes and home fries.
And dessert.
You always got dessert together, pie or cake, a little coffee on the side. You’d share a booth as Angel’s came to a close, talking longer and longer every night.
He always tried to pry…
Ask about your college days, any adventures or wild times.
And you always managed to slip away after teasing him a little, giving him just enough of a taste to bring him back...night after night after night, him testing you and you teasing him back, a game of push and pull.
“You’re telling me that you never got into a little trouble?” Happy drawled. “Had a little secret?”
“Mr. Lowman,” you said softly, smiling with a little mischief of your own. “It’s starting to sound like you want me to get into trouble.”
Happy leaned back, grinning at you.
“Trouble’s good for the soul, honey.”
All night long and every night since, you’d been hearing that phrase in your dreams. Oh, if only Happy Lowman knew about the things you were doing to him in your head...maybe then he’d show just how sweet trouble would be.
~
He was late tonight.
And you felt silly getting worried about him, knowing that he was a big man and he could take care of himself. Hell, it was everybody else that ought to be worried with Happy on the streets. Besides, the dinner was busy and you’d been on your feet all night. Usually, you worked in the office or helped in the kitchen, but if somebody called out or quit or whatever it may be, you’d be out there taking orders and cleaning tables too. So you kept yourself busy and tried not to worry about him, seeking any little distraction.
“Bitch! I told you— ”
Snapping your head to the left, you saw Ruby, one of your waitresses, being berated by some jackass. Ruby was the youngest of your motley little crew, just a college kid working through the summer for a little extra money, and everyone was a little protective of her.
So you didn’t think as you walked over, sliding between the two of them.
“We don’t like language like that here, sir,” you said, making certain Ruby was behind you. “If there’s a problem, we can handle it. Calmly.”
But calm was not his style.
By the end of it, the diner was a mess with shattered plates and broken glass and food all over and you were trying to push him out the door, the cooks coming out of the back to help. He raised up a hand to strike, calling you something foul as he did...and he stopped. A hand was wrapped around his wrist and Happy was glaring down at him with a look you had never seen on him before.
It was absolute fury, hellfire burning in his eyes...and somehow it was both the most terrifying and the hottest thing you’d ever seen.
“Get. Out.”
And when the guy didn’t listen, well, that made it justified cause, didn’t it? Happy dragged him out by the back of his neck and through the kitchen door. For a moment, everyone stood there in silence. Then you broke the silence and started giving orders.
“Ruby, go on home. Everybody else stays to help clean up, overtime pay and the weekend off. We could use it. Johnny, two apple pies to go. Coffee too.”
They deserved a break. And you’d need it to, having to replace the window that slimeball had smashed.
Happy came back, a little bruised and a little cut up, but smiling all the same. That sweet fire burned once more, blood and body all alight, and he hadn’t even touched you...Happy wiped the blood from his lips and you tried not to kiss him there and then.
“Come on, honey, I owe you a ride.”
And you wanted that more than anything. Music played low as he drove you home, sipping on that to-go cup of coffee with one hand on the wheel.
“You alright?”
“I’m fine, Happy. It wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. People suck, you know?”
“I know that all too well.”
You smiled softly, worried about him still. He hadn’t had an easy life, had he? And yet...you wanted to be a part of him. For some reason, you just wanted to take care of him, clean him up and love him a little bit.
“Not everybody,” you whispered.
He glanced at you, a smile gracing his face and easing the fury.
“Yeah...not everybody.”
It wasn’t hard to get him inside. Though it was the first and the only time he’d ever come in, you’d been able to convince him pretty easily. After all, he was cut up and bruised and you had something his car clearly didn’t have: a first aid kit. So Happy sat on your couch, looking about your neat and cozy little house and reading the spines of the piles of books as you cleaned him up, wounds bandaged and bruises tended to. His wrist in your hand, a smile twitched upon your lips, just for a moment, as a plan came to mind.
“I like your tattoos.”
Happy paused. And he grinned, seizing the opportunity you had so sweetly given him.
“Yeah? Which one’s your favorite?”
“Oh, I don’t know...I haven’t seen all of them, have I?” A hand ran up along his arm, tracing the ink, his skin hot and growing hotter beneath your touch. “It would be hard to choose.”
It was so easy, getting his shirt off.
He wanted you to look at him, to touch him, fire burning beneath your fingertips.
It was so easy kissing him, teasing him, touching him, giving him just enough to make him chase you. And he did, following as you pulled away from that kiss and dragging you back into his arms, his lips, laughter and moans muffled between the two of you. Happy kissed and stumbled with you down the hallway, a lamp crashing to the floor as you fumbled for the door, falling onto the bed sheets together. He was laying on red cotton and you were on top, hips pressed to hips as you smiled so sweetly down at him.
And it was so, so easy getting those cuffs around his wrists, locking him to the headboard.
Let the games begin.
Hands ran over hard muscle and ink and Happy swore beneath your touch, hips bucking into yours roughly, desperate for more.
But you weren’t about to give in so easily...where was the fun in that?
No, you were going to take your time and consider payback for all those years of wanting and waiting he’d put you through. Leaning low, your lips teased the tattoos across his shoulder, tracing the snakes down his chest. Down, down, down towards the rough jeans, playing with the buttons as Happy hissed in pleasure. Even through the denim, you could feel the heat and the hardening of his cock, kissing it through his jeans.
“Fuck…”
Another kiss and another, buttons undone and zipper so slowly sliding open. He was swearing, growling, a wild animal in chains, pulling at his restraints and cursing yours.
But you were not a cruel creature.
Slipping everything down from his hips, cock sprang free, hard and aching and already dripping. Tongue slid out from between red lips, sliding up his cock and tasting him. And with that one taste, you were an addict, moaning softly.
“Come ‘ere, honey,” Happy begged, hoping sweetness would make you play nice. “I need you.”
Sitting up, you slipped away from the bed, your back to him. A black dress, heels you’d already stumbled out of in the hallway, you hadn’t bothered with much today...but it didn’t take much to make Happy excited, you’d learned that pretty quickly. He seemed to like you in just about anything, as long as there was a little bit of lace. Dress slipped down at your feet in inky darkness, left in nothing but a lacy black thong. The mirror over the dresser allowed you to see his pretty eyes all alight, tracing your body, up and down and up again.
“Beautiful…” Happy whispered. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Smiling over your shoulder, you came back to the bed to straddle his lap, soft hands grasping his aching cock.
And it was then that Happy finally found the tattoo that had eluded him for so long:
A rose.
Single, blood red with a black stem, inked between your breasts. It was tiny and delicate and his eyes could hardly leave it as you began to play with his cock. But you were no different, unable to look away from him...caged up, hips bucking to the rhythm of your hand as you pumped his cock so slow and sweet. Mischief came again, he was plotting quickly...but you were quicker and you always would be.
“Love you like this,” Happy muttered between deep, guttural moans. “Fucking beautiful, I want...I want a picture.”
“Oh?
“To keep. To look at you forever and ever.”
“Why? So you can win your little bet?”
He froze. But you were pumping his cock faster and faster, cum dripping just a little, leaning forward to kiss his neck so sweetly. Sighing beneath your touch, you grinned into the nape of his neck kissing him again.
“Happy, baby, if you win...all the fun might be over! And I don’t want that. Do you?”
“You knew,” he whispered, a wild, sharp grin growing slowly across his face. “You knew the whole time, you played us...you picked me. Why?”
“Cause you have pretty eyes.”
Sitting up, you froze, cock still aching in your grasp. and played your hand.
“I’ll make you a deal: you can have your precious picture...but when you do, game over. You go home, hard up. Or...you can let me keep playing and I might give you the picture anyway. What’s it gonna be, baby?”
“You. I want you.”
And you gave him exactly what he wanted.
Thong tossed aside, you positioned yourself over him...and slowly, so slowly, slid down his length. Dripping from him the way you always had, hot and slick, Happy slid in sweetly. But even then, his length and girth was a little more to get used to, so much bigger than fantasies and delicate fingers. Inch after inch slid in until he was buried within you, moaning over the perfection of it. You took a moment to adjust, head back in bliss, until moving when Happy begged for it between guttural cries of pleasure.
Hips rocked together, riding him slowly, breasts bouncing with every rise and fall of your hips.
He kept his wild eyes on you, on that little rose blooming between those perfect tits, but you were too blissed out to see it...that trouble alight in his eyes, hands moving quickly...the click of a picked lock, all too easy.
Like an animal, Happy pounced and took control, pinning you to the bed.
Lips and teeth attacked your neck, your nape, your breasts, leaving bruises and bites that would only be seen come morning and remain for days on end as little trophies. Hands wrapped around his shoulders, moaning his name so softly, and his hips began to slam into yours. Happy’s pace was both brutal and beautiful, better than a fantasy could have ever been. Cock slamming into and out of you, hips moving hard enough to make you shake, your slickness dripping down his cock as pleasure burned within. Faster, faster, a kiss to his neck became a bite, deep enough to draw blood. Happy growled, hips slamming again, a hand tangled in your hair and pulling you back to look at him.
“You want me, honey?” he rasped. “Then you got me. I’m yours and you’re mine. Forever.”
“Yours…”
“My woman. My honey. Mine all mine.”
And there was nothing else you would rather be. Pleasure burned like hellfire, cumming as his cock was buried within you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
“Yeah? Who do you want?”
“Happy…”
“Who do you belong to?”
“Happy…”
“Who do you love, honey?”
“Happy! I love you, I— ”
“Love you.” Happy finished.
And with that, he came inside you, seed spilling out between cock and cunt. His buried his face in your neck, moaning softly, still holding him tightly. By morning, his back would be covered in bloody scratches and a bite mark would ache so sweetly, your neck and breasts covered in bruises, love staining you both.
For a moment, you remained still.
Somehow, Happy pulled you into bed with him, laying naked on your chest and wrapped in sheets together.
“I’m taking you out,” he decided.
“Yeah?”
“Not to the diner. A real date. Dinner, a walk, you can swing by my place and meet my dog.”
“That sounds...perfect.”
You dreamed little things like that too. Date nights, cooking for him, walking his dog on autumn afternoons, sipping coffee together. It was all yours, everything you’d wanted and more. You were smiling at the thought of it now. Reaching over him, you rustled through the jeans he’d discarded and pulled out his cell phone. Leaning against his bare chest, you guided his hands over your breasts, Happy playing with them as you sighed sweetly...and took the picture.
“You win.”
“A fuck ton of money and the woman of my damn dreams. Best bet I ever made.”
~
The picture was the talk of the club.
Y/N L/N, so good and sweet, naked in bed with none other than Happy Lowman...bruises and love bites all over, lipstick smeared, looking at Happy over her shoulder and not at the camera, as though he was the only thing in the world...and he was looking at her too, a lovestruck little pair.
Somebody had already printed it out and hung it on the wall by the time Happy came in to collect his reward.
“Chick tattoo,” Opie grinned. “It’s a pretty one, too.”
“She’s a pretty one,” Tig remarked, a low and appreciative whistle singing through the air. “The tat just tops it.”
Happy agreed, of course, grabbing his winnings and ripping down the picture all at the same time. This was his to keep, they’d just been lucky enough to get a glance. Cries of disagreement were quickly silenced by a cold, dark glare, the club knew better than to test Happy when he got like that. And they also knew, all at once, that this girl was more than just a fun little fling.
But Happy already knew that.
Waiting for him in the car, you were wearing a new little dress, dark red and low enough to let that red, red rose just barely peek out. Grinning at the sight of you, Happy got in the car and drove off, a hand resting on your thigh and squeezing softly, a love long playing softly on the radio.
The very first thing he bought with his winnings were roses for you, red and sweet.
Hii, I was wondering if I (volumesofforgottenlore, it's a sideblog) could be added to the taglist for The Bet, the Biker, and the Girl? I can be a pretty slow reader but I would still love to read them. Also sorry if I got the title wrong, I'm bad with names, but I hope you understand what I mean
because these ones are still getting reblogged to this day
ara ⟢ what do you think makes a monster?
lyra ⟢ when do you feel most at ease?
pegasus ⟢ what is your "light at the end of the tunnel"?
cygnus ⟢ did you build forts when you were a kid? What did they look like?
aquila ⟢ what's your favorite cheesy joke?
delphinus ⟢ what does your name mean, and why was it given to you?
pavo ⟢ what's your favorite commercial?
sagittarius ⟢ what is something random that most people don't know about you?
hydrus ⟢ which of the four seasons is the worst suited for your personality and why?
andromeda ⟢ what is a world record you think you could totally beat if you really wanted to?
fornax ⟢ what quality does a person need to have for you to instantly like or click with them?
puppis ⟢ what's the most stupid / disappointing / bad movie or tv show you have ever seen?
capricornus ⟢ what's your funniest relationship/friendship dealbreaker?
vulpecula ⟢ what did you think adulthood was like in your teens?
auriga ⟢ if you could live anywhere in the world for a year, where would you want to go?
serpens ⟢ if you had the opportunity to be immortal, would you take it? why (not)?
cetus ⟢ what's a common practice in your social circle or family which you noticed is uncommon outside of your circle?
orion ⟢ what is a red, a beige and a green flag of yours?
ursa minor ⟢ if you could live multiple lives of your choosing, what would they look like? who would you be, where would you live and what would you be doing?
asks are open :)
A/N: the story begins! All the characters mentioned in the poll will have his own version of the story, so read them all or pick your favorites, the choice is yours. I’ll be posting them in the order the poll decided and Happy (my beloved) is first up after this!
Tell me if you want to be added to the taglist.
You were such a good girl.
On the surface, at least. Daddy had been strict and stern, a no-nonsense fire fighters, and Mama had been religious and scared of pretty much everything outside of the cozy little house you had grown up in. So you had learned from an early age that it was easier to simply put on a smile and follow the rules...and it was so, so much more fun to break them in secret. Maybe you’d been born with a little bit of trouble in your blood, but you couldn’t just smile all the time, as sweet as you were. Something out there called to you and you had never been able to stop yourself from chasing it, no, you had simply learned to be smart about it. You’d learned where the best parties were, how to sneak in and out of the house, what excuses worked to ease a worried parent or suspicious somebody. Most of all, you had learned the fact that a good girl reputation was a cover for, well, just about anything.
Nobody ever expected that a good little girl like you could be up to trouble, did they?
It had been simple, growing up in Charming.
You stayed out of trouble in the daylight, found plenty of trouble in the dark, and your secrets had remained quiet for all of your days. Finished high school, moved away for college, came back after Mama had passed and Daddy had taken ill to take care of him. Settling back in Charming seemed simple too, it wasn’t a bad place to live and you had everything you wanted. A decent job, a home, and plenty of chances to steal those good, long looks at the local bikers.
They were the real trouble.
The Sons of Anarchy, handsome and dangerous, each more tempting than the last.
It was the kind of trouble kind that you had never dared to chase, though the temptation was certainly there, burning so sweetly in your blood whenever you heard the roar of a bike or passed them by in the streets. It came alive as little fantasies that haunted you in the dark, always taking form of your very favorite biker…
Fantasies of his hands on your body, rough on soft skin…
Of his voice whispering in your ear, so sweet as he dragged you deeper and deeper into that lovely darkness…
But a fantasy was just a fantasy and, what’s more, it was a secret. And your secrets were well kept.
Except for the tattoo.
But that had been your own fault, hadn’t it? That little bit of ink staining your skin, a secret no one had ever discovered until too many drinks had made you a little more mouthy than usual. That night, a little drunk and talking with your girl friends at a quieting down party, the topic of tattoos had come up with discussions of what one would get and the fear of pain.
“It doesn’t hurt that much,” you’d said, taking another sip.
“How would you know?”
“Cause I got one back in college. Really, it hardly hurts.”
And after that, it had become something of a topic around town, the rumor spreading quickly. It was proof that Charming needed better things to do and much better gossip, if the thought of you having a tattoo was so damn interesting to everybody. But, no, you weren’t telling so-and-so what it was and, no, you certainly weren’t about to show it to anybody. The gossip was nothing more than an annoyance...at least until the night you discovered just how far it had spread.
Driving home one night, a storm pouring down, when a bad day had gotten a little bit worse: the truck broke down.
And you had been forced to walk through the rain and find the first building out there, ending up at the famed clubhouse. How many times had you fantasized about this place? In your mind, it would be dark and smokey, the music would be thrumming loud enough to shake your bones. And you would walk through the crowd and catch his eye, wearing that little black dress and your favorite heels, lips red and eyes alight in the dark. He’d ask you to dance...he’d take you away with him...and from there, the fantasies were a little different every time. But now you were rain-soaked and trapped in the crowd, waiting to use a phone that still hung on the wall and you were a little bit happy he hadn’t noticed you, looking like a drowned cat and all, if he was even here.
Was he here?
It wasn’t your fantasy...but you couldn’t stop yourself from searching the crowd quietly as you waited, hoping to see him, if only for a moment.
He was just so pretty to look at and another fantasy would be just the thing to warm you up…
“A tattoo? You’re kidding me. Y/N L/N with a tattoo?”
It was his voice, wasn’t it? You knew it all too well, your heart skipping at the sound of it. Your man...or at least he was in your mind. And you listened through the clamor, the music, the laughter, catching the conversation as much as you could. A small crowd of women hung around a table, keeping you out of view as you listened to every word of it.
“What is it?” one of them asked.
“Where is it?” another man added.
“Butterfly. Basic chick tattoo. Think about, fresh outta high school, wants to do something wild. So she gets a tattoo and picks something small and pretty, puts it where nobody's gonna see. Butterfly on her thigh."
“Is she basic? Seems smart to me and kinda...thoughtful. If she has a tattoo, I think it means something to her. She'd thought about it for a while."
"Nah, I'm with Opie. Basic chick tattoo, maybe a heart or a flower."
"Juicey has got my vote. She's a clever girl, she picked something special. She reads a lot, doesn't she? Always see her with a book, maybe something related to her favorite."
"Exactly!"
"Maybe something on or around her ankle? Or her back? I feel like those are mostly covered, that's good territory, innit?"
"Gentlemen, I say we make this interesting."
"Oh? And what do you have in mind?"
"A betting pool. Every man who wants in throws a little money in the pot. The winner is whoever comes to the club with a picture of her, revealing the tattoo. Winner take all."
"I'm in."
They all were in, apparently, everyone at the table and a couple others that stumbled along, a tidy little sum coming together as every man thought over his plan to win the bet and answer the question of that mysterious tattoo. And slowly, a new fantasy began to take form in your mind. It was a chance to chase trouble again, wasn’t it? Better trouble than you had chased before, a chance to make all of your little fantasies come true.
Let them play their little game.
And you would play yours, aiming to win a far better prize than some cash. You wanted a biker. And all you needed to win was that little tattoo and some trickery.
~
It was easy enough to set the trap.
After all, there was only on mechanic shop in town and he just so happened to work there, at least on paper. The storm was long since over, the sun shining down over Charming. He was off and away somewhere and you were standing in front of your bedroom mirror, fixing your lipstick as the cell phone rang and rang and…
“Teller-Morrow Automotive, how can I help you today?”
“Hi, this is Y/N L/N. I’m calling about my truck. It broke down last night and I was just hoping to see if there was an update on it, they told me the guy working on it was...”
Dear Reader, what is your tattoo and who is your biker?
Blackbirds // Jax.
Butterflies // Opie.
Rose Red // Happy.
Sunny // Ratboy.
Starry, Starry Night // Juice.
Tyger, Tyger // Tig
Constellations // Kozik.
Stay Gold // Chibs
Voting ended onJul 25
Sooo...I'm writing all the tattoo stories, all smutty, all romantic, all with Dear Reader getting the guy. But which version do you want to read first?
a random thought: Reader is a good girl in Charming. Sweet, hard-working, daughter of a retired fire fighter, just an all around sweetheart who never stepped so much as a inch outta line.
She's a pretty little thing, too, and that has not gone unnoticed by the club...not a one can deny taking a good, long look as she passes them by in the street or the supermarket, through the crowd of the local theater or at the diner. A loooong look, eyes up and down as Reader pretends not to notice a thing. Yes, she's a Good Girl...
So imagine the club's surprise when they find out about the tattoo.
A couple of girls hanging around the club had gone to school with you and, supposedly, you had gotten a tattoo years and years ago. A tiny little thing, apparently, and well hidden too, because not a soul had ever seen it, even in the hottest summer months when you'd be wearing those little shorts and pretty sundresses. The tattoo, what or where it was and whether or not it existed at all, had become something of a discussion of note within the club.
"Butterfly," Opie insisted during another round of poker. "Basic chick tattoo. Think about, fresh outta high school, wants to do something wild. So she gets a tattoo and picks something small and pretty, puts it where nobody's gonna see. Butterfly on her thigh."
"Is she basic?" Juice questioned. "Seems smart to me and kinda...thoughtful. If she has a tattoo, I think it means something to her. She'd thought about it for a while."
"Nah, I'm with Opie. Basic chick tattoo, maybe a heart or a flower." Happy said, shuffling his cards a little.
"Juicey has got my vote. She's a clever girl, she picked something special." Chibs spoke. "She reads a lot, doesn't she? Always see her with a book, maybe something related to her favorite."
"Exactly!" Juice grinned.
Tig was thinking it over a little, finally piping up.
"Maybe something on or around her ankle? Or her back? I feel like those are mostly covered, that's good territory, innit?"
"Gentlemen," Jax finally said. "I say we make this interesting."
"Oh? And what do you have in mind?" Happy grinned."
"A betting pool. Every man who wants in throws a little money in the pot. The winner is whoever comes to the club with a picture of her, revealing the tattoo. Winner take all."
Opie threw his cards down, a mischievous grin matching Jax, like two Cheshire Cats.
"I'm in."
They all were in, apparently, everyone at the table and a couple others that stumbled along, a tidy little sum coming together as every man thought over his plan to win the bet and answer the question of that mysterious tattoo. But...if they had not been so invested in themselves and the mystery, they might have noticed a familiar face in the crowd, waiting to use the phone out of desperation and listening to a conversation she was never meant to hear.
Oh, Reader is a Good Girl, truly. Kind, keeps herself to herself, sweet as can be...but even a good heart can be tempted into a little trouble from time to time.
Like a little tattoo she kept hidden...
And a biker who had never been quick enough to notice those good, long looks she had been stealing.
Maybe he could win the bet...and maybe she could win herself the biker.
A/N: is this my first imagine for Creeper? I think it is and, if so, I’m happy it was this one. Very cute and cozy, with only a bit of blood. <3
Pairing: Creeper x Reader.
Neron Vargas was something of a private man.
Careful and quiet by nature, he kept to himself for the most part, cards close to his heart at all times. It was, perhaps, something he’d been doing as a kid. You don’t live the sort of life he’d lived without learning a few harsh lessons and learning to be careful of others. So it should not be a surprise that most people didn't even know you and your neighbor had been "a thing" for quite some time now.
After all, you were pretty quiet too.
Quiet and soft and sweet, always sitting on your balcony with a book in your hands and a cup of coffee on a little wrought iron table as the sun set over the city...nobody really seemed to take notice of you but, oh, Neron certainly did.
The way you walked, the sound of your voice, all of the little details he could pick up in casual conversation, he noticed everything.
He noticed the scent of your honeysuckle perfume lingering whenever you passed him by.
The way that you smiled at him, when so many others averted their gaze in fear, always smiling whenever you passed him in the halls or met alongside your doors at the same time (and maybe he made sure to hang around, just to be at his door at the right time).
He noticed how sweetly you called him Mister Vargas and he liked the way you said it.
When he finally told you his name was Neron and you asked if you could just call him Nero, he liked that even more.
So it wasn't long before he made a move.
Everything fell pretty quickly into place after that. Dinners at your place, breakfast together at that little diner he liked on Sunday mornings, pancakes or pie for breakfast every time, he looked forward to that. You'd wait up in his place on nights the club kept him busy, keeping dinner warm for him in the little oven, and he would spend the night when he finally rolled in, kissing your shoulder and neck lazily as he laid beside you. He'd stay in at your place whenever he had time off, basking in the cozy little details of your life.
If anyone else had been paying attention, they certainly would have realized that the two of you were tangled up in each other...
But that's the thing about quiet people.
No one pays any attention to them unless they want something from them, content to ignore them, and the quiet are often content to be ignored, to a degree. Maybe most of them didn’t want to be bothered with “I want, I want, I want,” and all that.
Which was probably why Jason had come creeping around.
The guy living across from you, Nick or Nate or something like that, and Nero was a scummy loser with scummy loser friends, all of whom liked to take an appreciative look at you as you passed them by in the halls.
That was all it had ever been.
A few impressed looks, eyes glancing at you up and down.
You simply ignored that and they never went beyond a look, which is why Neron had ignored it too. Maybe he’d liked that his lady was a pretty little thing and the power of having something everybody wanted but could never get. Maybe he liked being the man on your arm, the pride of being the one to take you home. Besides, he wasn’t the least bit worried. You were loyal and in madly love and he was terrifying to anyone but you. His appearance alone was enough to scare off trouble and, when it wasn’t, his reputation did the trick.
Until Jason came along.
Jason was just a little bit dumber than the other scumbags. He'd very quickly gone from brief looks, to outright leering, and then to crude remarks, always met with a glare as you slammed the door in disgust.
If Nero had been there, he would have handled it that night.
But the club had kept him away a little bit and, as you told him everything on the phone, he could feel his blood boiling in his veins, hotter than hellfire.
"Maybe I should say something to the landlord..." you murmured softly.
Visions of you laying on your bed, playing with your hair as you often did, filled his mind and calmed him a little bit. He wondered what books were one your nightstand, waiting to be finished...which of your notebooks were on your bed, pens scattered, a story still be written. It eased his fury a little. But just a little...and nowhere near enough to save that idiot.
"You don't need to do that, mi vida. I'll handle it."
"Nero-"
"You're my woman," Nero reminded you, softly yet sternly, sensing the anger he was holding back through the phone. "Mine. I won't let somebody like that treat you like this."
So before going home to you, he stopped to talk to a neighbor.
It didn’t take him too long to convince Nathan/Noah/Whatever to tell him were Jason lived...and that he ought to move out. Some of the neighbors thought he was too annoying and somebody was bound to do something about that eventually.
And after that, he paid Jason a little visit.
That talk went down with a little more blood.
By the end of it, Jason’s car windows were smashed out in a snow of glass, his front door was kicked it, most of the windows were busted in the house, a hefty amount of damage had been done to just about every room, and the little bastard was laying at Neron’s feet, bleeding and barely conscious...but still awake enough to shiver were Neron leaned low and smiled, a cold grin reserved for only those he hated most.
“I’m not a cruel man, Mister Greene. I’m a protective man, something I sure you can understand. And if not, just understand this: if you ever speak like that to her again...if you disrespect her or so much as look at her, I. Will. Kill you. Understand?”
He nodded weakly.
And with that, Neron stepped over him and walked though the smashed door, broken glass crunching beneath his boots.
Neron didn’t go home quite yet.
He stopped at little little place you liked and bought dinner first, walking through the door with a bag of takeout and a smile on his face. Making certain to clean up first, he had changed his shirt and fixed himself up just for you. If it weren’t bruises on his knuckles and a cut across his cheek, nobody would have even suspected. Of course, you knew the truth long before he stepped through the door...but you didn’t care. You just kissed his bruises and cleaned the cut up proper, a little yellow star-shaped bandage on his cheek.
“I love you, mi vida. You know that, right?”
“I know,” you was your soft reply, smiling a little bit. “I love you, too, Nero. But you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I’m always gonna worry about you. I’m your man, Y/N, that’s my place. My duty. I protect you and love you and worry about you and I do whatever it takes to keep you safe. So you better get used to it. Because that’s never going to change.”
“My man?”
“Your man.”
“Mmm..” you were smiling against his lips in an almost kiss. Neron’s arms around your waist as he pulled you in close. “My man. I like that sound of that.”
“Me too.”
It was easy being with you.
Easy and quiet and loving, cuddled up on the propped-up couch with takeout and an old black-and-white movie playing on TV...something with Marilyn Monroe in it. But in all truth, Neron didn’t remember too much of it. He was far too busy kissing and loving on you to pay all that much attention to it.
There was nothing better than being loved by you and loving you.
That was no place he’d rather be than by your side.
