Leather & Harleys

Blaire | 18+ | Writing for Fandoms | Requests are: OPEN | formerly: @spacedbrainnn

[your-space-brain]

banners i use are by: @cafekitsune

SONS OF ANARCHY

Opie Winston

Would You Say I’m Worthy?

Happy Lowman

Fall In Love

Fall In Love Pt. 2

Juice Ortiz

Narcan Dreams

Chibs Telford

Friends

Patched Over

Mayans MC

Ezekiel Reyes

The Space Between

Angel Reyes

The Way You Break

Swallowed My Pride

[thesewickedhands]

#braids 🥰

RICHARD CABRAL as COCO CRUZ MAYANS MC | 4.02 Hymn Among the Ruins

[danzer8705]

@jvalentinesworld-cokes-hyna You KNOW I love me some S2 Coco, but….. dare I say this was his best look of the entire series?….. Yes, I do dare!!!! 🔥🥵

[jvalentinesworld-cokes-hyna]

Sooooooo, I do agree this is one of his best looks probably my second favorite buttttt idk why and I will die on this hill but season 1 hair was my top fave 👀

FOR SOME REASON I SEE FERAL NERD 🤤🤣

But I even loved him bald so I think my opinion shouldn’t count 🤣🤣🤣

[your-space-brain]

my man

[sebaria]

[aimkatsz]

Yummy David!!!

[bullet-prooflove]

Give Me A Chance - EZ Reyes x Reader (feat: Michael 'Riz' Ariza)

Tagging: @annetje @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @est1887 @the-wandering-lunatic @alwaysachorusgirl @anime-weeb-4-life @vannabanana1995 @multifandomloversworld @camelia35 @queeniesdiary @est1887 @justazzie

It was the briefest touch, a brush of fingertips across his when you handed him his beer and EZ was hooked. He didn’t know what it was at first. He’s felt love before, he thinks he had it with Emily but this thing with you, it’s different. It’s fathomless and deep, a compulsion he can’t seem to stop himself giving into, which is why he ends up at this bar night after night, talking shit with you in the quiet moments.

He watches out for you in the loud ones, when the game is on TV and your patrons are getting a little too rowdy, when two drunks knock into each other and cause a fight, when someone gets a little too handsy. He makes his presence known, sometimes all it takes is a glower before things begin to settle again. You don’t ask for it, you don’t need a knight in shining armour, at least that’s what you tell him, but you appreciate it none the less.

EZ’s read enough books to know what he’s feeling, to recognise the emotions that raise up inside of him whenever he’s in your presence. That surge of protectiveness when another man enters your personal space, the tenderness when you look at him with that smile on your face, the one that makes him feel like he’s the only one in the fucking room.

Once more he finds himself captivated by your motions as he perches on a stool at the bar beside Riz. There’s an elegance to your movements, a rhythm that he can’t hear. You move like a dancer; with a fluidity and grace he could never hope to accomplish. He wonders if that translates into your more intimate moments, if your thighs will fit as perfectly as he imagines above his hips, if your back bows, arching upwards as you come, taking him deeper. The thought of it makes his body flush with heat and his cock harden against the seam of his jeans. He’s thought about a thousand nights with you, about his hands running through your hair, the swell of your curves against him as he kisses you until you’re breathless. He wants to stare into those alluring eyes of yours as he loves you with slow languid touches that have his name rolling from your lips.

“Ezekiel…”

You tilt your head as you say his name, waving your hand in front of his face to get his attention and suddenly he’s brought back to the moment.

A busy bar on a Friday night, Riz’s girl up on stage, singing a song about how falling in love isn’t really about falling at all, it’s about finding that missing piece of yourself inside someone else. There’s an honesty in the words, one he feels resonating as he looks at you.

“Ezekiel.” You say again, tapping the back of his hand with your fingertips. It’s like a jolt of electricity underneath the surface of his skin, he wants to know if you feel it too. He almost asks you before he realises, he’s missed what you’ve just said to him. “I know you’re working some beautiful mind shit up in there but you still have to pay for your drink, just like everyone else.”

It takes a second for your words to filter through to his brain. When they do his cheeks flush because he’s been so fucking captivated by you that he hasn’t realised, his wallet is still sitting in his back pocket.

“Shit sorry.” His arm jerks, colliding with his beer glass, spilling the contents of it across the bar. Riz yelps as it soaks his elbow, twisting in his seat to assess the damage. “Fuck.”

You laugh off the spillage, snatching up a cloth from under the counter before wiping up the mess. Christ, even your laugh does something to him. It sets something alight inside of him, there’s a glimmer of joy in his chest and he finds himself grinning like a fucking idiot as he clutches his wallet in his hand.

“That one is going on your tab.” You tell him, holding up the empty glass to show him. “You still drinking what’s on tap?”

He nods his agreement before you turn your back to him. You’re wearing a black sheer shirt tonight with a high collar, he can see the etchings of floral tattoo creeping up your lower back and disappearing under the black vest top you are wearing underneath. He thinks about tracing it with his fingertips as you lay amongst his sheets, his lips trailing over each of the delicate petals.

“Jesus.” Riz utters taking his wallet from his grasp and removing one of the bills. “It’s like you and Angel aren’t even related.”

He removes a pen from inside his kutte and scribbles something along the outside of the bill. You’re already putting the fresh glass of beer down on the bar when Riz pushes the bill towards you, tapping the writing lightly with his finger.

“His phone number.” Riz tells you, jerking his head towards EZ. “In case the two of you decide you want to get together outside this place.”

You hold up the bill for a minute, examining it before sliding it across to EZ. “Is that a 9 or an 8?”

He leans in close, analysing the digits that Riz has scrawled block capitals on the note. The scent of your perfume floods his senses, a hint of jasmine and something that reminds him of spring. He’s never been great at differentiating; eidetic memory only works on a visual level, but he thinks he’ll remember that fragrance for the rest of his life.

“It’s an 8.” He finds himself saying.

You sigh and it feels like he’s been stabbed in the chest because he reads it as a rejection. He can feel himself withdrawing, he’s misread the situation clearly. He’s new to this, getting out of prison has fucked with his social skills, he’s pretty good with most situations but when it comes to romance, the only person he’s been with was Emily and that was almost a decade ago. He’s rusty at best.

Your hand comes to rest on his, thumb trailing over the scar on the back of his hand from a cut he’d gotten at the scrapyard in his first week working there.

“I like you.” You tell him truthfully, turning over his hand so you could follow the raised path of the scar. He inhales at the sensation of your fingertip caressing his palm. “I think you’re smart, funny and I think you have a kind heart…”

“But?” he questions.

“This bar takes up a lot of my time and a lot of my patience.” You tell him, your lips pursing together grimly. “The hours aren’t sociable; a lot of people think they can handle that…”

“…until they can’t.” He finishes for you. “You’ve been burned before.”

“Pretty much.” You summarise before meeting his gaze. “And I don’t do hook ups so that leaves with me pretty much with zero romantic prospects. I don’t have anything to give you to make this worth your while.”

Fuck those words hurt him. The fact you sound so listless, that you perceive your value to be based on what you can give other people. He wants to know who the fuck did that to you, who made you feel like you were worthless, like you have nothing to offer.

He entwines your fingers with his own before raising them to his mouth. His heated breath ghosts across your knuckles before his lips brush over the back of your hand, his umber eyes fixed on yours.

“I can handle it.” He tells you resolutely. “And you don’t have to give me anything. You finish up here and want to grab breakfast, I’m game. You wanna hangout somewhere and watch the sunrise, that works for me. You know what I do, you know my job isn’t linear. We’ll figure shit out, work around each other.”

“EZ…” You begin but he cuts you off.

“Just give me a chance.” He asks you, there’s a yearning in his voice, one that strikes a chord in your heart, because you want this with him. You want lazy mornings in the flat upstairs, him in your bed your fingertips ghosting over the shape of his tattoos as he sleeps. You want to see the sunrise from the water tower, the glow of it bathing the town in light with his arm slung around your shoulder. “Just give me one chance to prove I’m not like the others.”

He stares at you, and you stare back, you can see the honesty in his gaze, the resolution. He’d dedicated to this, dedicated to you and you want it to work so badly that you feel your resolve crack.

“Ok.” You tell him, covering his hand with both of your own. “Let’s get breakfast together.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mrsfilipchibstelford]

[mysoulisasunflower]

+ Bonus with KJ

Papa Filipe

Mayans MC | 1.3 "Búho/Muwan"

Mayans MC | 1.7 "Gato/Mis"

[your-space-brain]

baby boys

[aimkatsz]

Listening to salsa music and I’m imagining Juice in a big Puertorrican party trying to dance his ass off! I can see him shaking those hips and sexy butt!

[your-space-brain]

he’s so baby girl

[aimkatsz]

Toothpick porn again….. omg he is so hot!

[your-space-brain]

i’m feral for him

[your-space-brain]

Swallowed My Pride

Angel Reyes x Reader — One Shot

Gif does not belong to me.

Moved from @spacedbrainnn .

It had been months since you last saw him. It had been months since that last fight. The night he left was like the night your world did an entire flip. He left and made sure it was like he was never there in the first place.

Angel Ignacio Reyes. It was a fleeting love, fiery and hot until the very end, when it was a burned bridge. He broke you. He was your world, and then he ripped himself away in fear that you would be the next one that would burn him.

You accepted his every fault until he left. He left and took a piece of you with him, and you were never the same. The last thread, it was snipped.

You went from waiting on him to waiting tables day and night at two different jobs to rebuild your world. Every day and every night with hardly any sleep, to support yourself and get yourself out of Santo Padre.

“Thank you, honey.” An older white woman told you early one morning as you took her empty plate. You offered a smile as you turned away, taking the plates to the kitchen.

“I’m going out for a minute.” You told the line cook and stepped out the back after taking your apron off. Your work attire included all black, and you scuffed your shoe against the concrete as you pulled out your phone from your back pocket. It made the heat practically unbearable.

No messages, as usual, but you could distract yourself with some social media. That didn’t last too long as an oddly familiar sound of rumbling filled the air. It started soft and got closer and closer until it was practically on top of you — then, it cut.

It sounded like a hauntingly familiar person, and you looked up from your phone to a pair of dark eyes.

He stared you down as you swallowed and immediately went on defense. The way he looked at you with a burning ember between his lips felt like his hand was clutching around your heart and squeezing it.

“What are you doing here?”

“What’s it look like?”

“Why?” The immediate rebuttal was exasperated. “You can’t show up after months of no contact and want to talk.”

“Why can’t I?”

He was so fucking stubborn, kicking his bike on its stand before his heavy boots signified he was standing right in front of you. Intoxicating, burning smoke surrounded you before he flicked the cigarette away.

“Because it’s not right, Angel. We haven’t talked for a reason.”

“I can’t be with you anymore, [First name.]”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t give myself over. This life, this world, you don’t need to be in it. You need to get out of here. Go make something of yourself. You’re too good, amorcito.”

He seemed stunned that you held it against him, but who wouldn’t? He started an argument just to leave you, disappear in the night with his bag of things as if he were never there. The only thing that reminded you he existed was his cologne on the sheets and when it faded, so did he.

“I know.” He finally said, almost sheepish now as his dark eyes looked away. He shoved his hands in his pockets, making the chain on his wallet rattle.

“So why come here?”

“I gotta talk to you.”

“About what?” You were snappy, but for good reason. He hurt you, and his mere presence caused anxiety.

“Us.”

“There is no us, Angel.”

“Maybe I want there to be.” This shut you up, and shut you up fast. “If it isn’t too late.” He knew he was regretting it when he looked at you sleeping that night, thinking it was okay, but he was gone that next morning. “I think about you all the time. Your face is there when I sleep, I-I think about how you’d worry about me when I was gone, but, now nobody cares if I live or die out here.”

He was choking you up, the tears forming in your eyes as you shook your head. His calloused hand caressed your cheek and brought your face back to look at him.

“I’m crawling back to you. I’d… I’d take it all back if I could, dulcecito.” He promised. “You said it. I’d be back. Your memory is driving me crazy, reina.”

“Your words aren’t enough.”

He stared at you as a tear slipped out your eyes and he let out a breath before he slid down on both his knees before you. He didn’t beg, he just slid down and stared up at you. “You own me, querida.” He breathed, as your breath halted. “Yours, forever. If you just take me back and let me… let me fix it, I’ll do anything.”

— end —

[your-space-brain]

The Space Between

Ezekiel “EZ” Reyes x Reader - One Shot

Gif does not belong to me.

Moved from @spacedbrainnn

The way he looked at you could’ve melted a nun. His dark eyes were so brooding, with so many thoughts trapped behind them that he just couldn’t voice. His complicated mind held so many trapped notions that wouldn’t forth from his lips. He was given the curse of remembering everything.

You were his object of affection. He looked at you and the corners of his lips turned up, the subtle action lighting up his whole face. You watched him walk to you and raise his hand, to touch your fingertips to his.

You did the same, touching your fingertips to his rough ones, if it wasn’t for the clear barrier between you of glass. Instead, you were met with the smooth coolness, and he pulled his hand back as quickly as it was put up.

You could never be too sure in prison. There were eyes and ears everywhere, and as EZ picked up the black phone, so did you.

“Hey, mi ciela.” The phone receiver was pressed close to his mouth, so he could talk lower, so the others didn’t hear. He didn’t need you used as a weapon against him on the inside. His voice slowly soothed your nervous system.

“Hey, EZ.”

“How are you doing out there?”

“It’s lonely.”

“…I know.”

He didn’t regret taking the heat for the Reaper Run. He didn’t regret the beating that he got from the cops. He regretted leaving his heart behind on the outside.

“Have you been taking the money that I told Angel to give you?”

“Do I ever?”

He exhaled, a faint chuckle leaving his lips. You never did. You were so stubborn. You were about as headstrong as he was, if not more. If the situation was different, you’d argue with him.

“You need to. It’s my money.”

“I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about you.”

“I’m good, miel, I’m good.”

“There’s money on your books?”

“Yes. Don’t worry about me. I got me, querida.”

“I know, but…” There was a moment of silence, your desperate eyes looking at his calmer, more stoic ones. “Are you keeping busy in there?”

“I try. They rip books down the spine so you only get part of them. Kind of hard to read a book when you start and stop right in the middle.”

You frowned, and changed the subject again. “Does it hurt bad?” You asked of the marrings on his skin from the police batons.

“Not too bad. Reminds me to keep moving.”

“Did they—”

“Reyes.”

They didn’t need to say it. Time’s up. 5 minutes, once a week. Your heart jumped in your throat as he stood.

“I love you.” You were desperate. He looked you right in your eyes, and you knew he wouldn’t say it.

‘I love you.’ He mouthed, before nodding as if to confirm it before he turned away. You could never be too careful. Showing emotion just got you hurt in there. 604,800 seconds, you would wait, just to get your 300 seconds with him.

— end —

[your-space-brain]

Patched Over

Filip “Chibs” Telford x Reader - One Shot

Gif does not belong to me.

Moved from @spacedbrainnn .

The filter of the cigarette sat between your lips. You didn’t smoke, but the last couple of weeks had been more than tempting.

You knew you should’ve ended this thing between you and Angel before it started, but you couldn’t. The Mayans had you in their clutches, and Santo Padre was home, and somehow, you found peace in the violence.

The intoxication of the smoke muddled your mind, and you found it to be the only thing to distract you from what had happened. Normally, what happens on a run stayed on a run, but how were you supposed to act when what happened on a run met you at home and slapped you in the face?

Angel had gotten Adelita pregnant. You found that out when you strung together the timeline and now you sat on the edge of the scrapyard, nursing your wounds with a cigarette.

“[First Name].”

“Go away. I don’t want shit to do with you.” You spat at Angel.

There was silence.

Then, there was the shifting of metal, boots crunching the scrap.

“What part of ‘I don’t want shit to do with you’ did you not—”

“Aye, lass. Cannae get a word in?”

A chill ran up your spine. That wasn’t Angel’s voice. That was Chibs, the President of SAMCRO. They had been visiting for a couple of days, for some old deal that Jax wanted them to have.

Taking a deep breath, you exhaled the smoke.

“Can I join ye?”

You nodded, and watched as his leather boots crossed the sidewalk, before he grunted when he sat down, old joints cracking.

“A little early for a cigarette, isn’t it, dear?”

You shook your head. It was never too early for a cigarette with this bullshit you were in.

“Guess I’ll have one myself.”

He tapped a cigarette out of his pack before he looked over at you, taking a moment to light the nicotine siphon. You finally let yourself look over at him, in all his glory, his hair almost exclusively gray now.

“I heard about what’s going on with ye. With Angel.”

The humiliation sank in.

“Who hasn’t heard?” You asked, the sarcasm dripping off your lips as you turned your eyes to him. The question made him frown, and that was all the information you needed.

“For what it’s worth, ye didn’t deserve that. It shouldn’t be that way.”

“But it is this way.” You told him softly, flicking ash off the burning end of your cigarette.

“And it shouldn’t be. Nobody in my club would’ve done that to ye…”

Processing the words, you swallowed before you dropped the cigarette, letting it fizzle out in the sand.

“Even you?” You asked, and he put his arm around your shoulder. He pulled you in to the smell of cigarette smoke, leather polish and cologne. His lips fell right by your ear, smoke billowing out of his lips as he spoke.

“Especially me, lass.”

The promise made you shiver, but all you could do was lean in, leaning to him, letting him encase you. He want one of these younger guys, he was a man that knew how to treat a woman. He had expertise.

“So take me home.”

— end —

[your-space-brain]

Friends

Filip “Chibs” Telford x Reader - One Shot

Gif does not belong to me.

Moved from @spacedbrainnn .

Little Clay.

That’s what they called you, Little Clay. You were the daughter of Teller and Morrow, Jax’s half sister who was untouchable. You were a princess, the pride and joy of Gemma and Clay, and everyone knew not to flirt with you, unless they planned to be intimidated.

And threatened.

That’s why you’d been talking to Chibs. Late night drinks here, a smile there, a wink thrown in the mix and you found yourself festering with feelings for the man twice your age.

But, you couldn’t care less.

You’d never talked about anything exclusive. There were never any lines drawn, anything. So when you saw him with a Crow Eater hanging around his hips, you couldn’t be jealous.

But, everyone else saw it plain as day.

“Oh come on, Clay Jr.” Tig was dancing on your last nerve while you were attempting to finish up an audit for the garage. You sat in Jax’s mechanic shirt while you wrote on a clipboard and typed on your calculator. “Give me one chance.”

“I’m not in the mood, Tiggy.”

“Why do you gotta give me such a hard time?”

“Because I’m a giver. It’s what I do.”

“But one chance. Let me take you out on the dance floor. We can even dance around the shop.”

“I’ve got two left feet.”

“Please—”

“Alexander Trager.” You spat the words colder than you intended and he feigned offense.

“What? Can’t stand to see Scottie have another woman—”

“What about Scottie?” The thick accent boomed throughout the garage as his boots preceded him. You looked up and tried not to show that your heart was pattering for him.

“Nothing. Just talking.” Tig smirked knowingly as he backed up and walked off, a toothpick in his lips as he exited. You looked down at your paper and tried to force yourself to get back to work.

“Lass? He givin’ ye a hard time?” His accent was undeniably bouncing around in your head while you tried to focus, unsuccessfully, due to his intense stare.

“No more than usual.” You replied to him as your pen marked against the paper, before you looked at the calculator.

“Ye sure?”

“I’m sure.” You didn’t give him that pretty smile you normally did. Hell, you didn’t even hardly look at him.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“Nothing.”

“Ye can’t lie ta me like that.”

“I’m not lying.”

It was becoming a war of who was more stubborn, who would outlast. He gave a sigh before you heard the flick of the lighter, then cigarette smoke filled the air and you felt the scent of tobacco wash over you.

“Ye can’t lie ta me.”

“I’m not lying, Chibs.”

That’s when he knew. He was always Filip to you. Always.

“Tell me what’s eatin’ that pretty li’l head up.”

Sighing, exasperated, you gave up. Dropping your pen down, you stared up at him as it clattered and rolled off the desk.

“What are we?”

“Whataya mean?”

“I mean, what the hell are we? You can’t tell me we’re just friends. You can’t tell me that we haven’t been shamelessly flirting, dancing around the idea that we’re not something. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Your eyes searched his dark ones as he sighed, before he took another drag of the cigarette.

“Lassie, ye’re…”

“Half your age. I know. I don’t care. What are we?”

“What do ye want us to be?”

“More than this. I want you to not have fucking women—”

You were cut off by his little smirk. “Is that what this is about? The women?”

“Shut up.”

His smirk widened before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m yers, sweetheart. I’m yers.”

— end —

[your-space-brain]

Narcan Dreams

Juan Carlos “Juice” Ortiz x Reader - One Shot

Gif does not belong to me.

Moved from @spacedbrainnn .

“I’m fine.” He would say.

“It just takes the edge off.”

“I’m not even doing that much.”

“It’s just a downer.”

“I’m not high.”

“Why are you asking so many questions?”

“What do you care?”

“It’s not even a drug.”

There were so many questions you’d ask and he would always have an answer. He always did. He was hidden behind brown eyes and a drug that suppressed the system that got nervous. It didn’t excite anything but the script was controlling his marionette strings.

Oxycontin.

He was becoming more and more apparent with it, and he knew that, but he needed it. He desired it, to the point he couldn’t control his eyes. They would get heavy and his mind would feel like it was crawling down his spinal cord. He was becoming too evolved in it.

Then, you found him.

He was laying there on the ground, his mouth open and he was hardly breathing. The sight alone, him there like a wax figure that had fallen over, sent a chill over you that felt like you were plunged into a dreadful ice bath.

“Shit.” The word fell out of your mouth as you collapsed on your knees beside him. His face was clammy and sweaty in your hands. Patting his cheek, you said his name.

“Juice.” It didn’t seem to do anything, so you popped him a bit harder as he didn’t have a response. Cradling his face, his body was dead weight, his head rolling in your hands before you saw the foam forming at the corner of his lips.

“Fuck, Juice. I told you to stop messing with this shit.” The words were to yourself to keep your mind from hitting fifth gear in manual overdrive. When you began to dig in your bag, your hands were shaking.

“Where is it? I know it’s in here.” Things shuffled around noisily but it didn’t matter. None of it did. None of the things in that bag were what you were looking for until you found it.

Narcan.

Popping the cap off, you shoved the nasal spray into his nostril and popped the plunger all the way in. The mist travelled his nose to his brain and hit the capillaries and nerves of his cerebral overdose. Then, like he was never down, his body jerked and his eyes opened.

“What’s happening?”

“Shut up.” You snapped as you tossed the vial away.

“What?”

“I said, shut up.” You repeated as you sighed. His brows knitted as if he didn’t know he just nearly ended his own life, and when you hauled him up by the leather that was almost desperately attached to his body, he nearly choked.

“Do you understand that you could’ve just died?” He swallowed when you got nose to nose with him, your breathing slightly labored because you were at your whit’s end. If you weren’t holding his cut, you’d have been trembling.

“Died, Juice. Dead. Gone. Without me. You’d leave me here with these fuckers." The realization made his brows lower as he sighed, his breath so dangerously close to your mouth as you sighed yourself.

“I can’t lose you, idiot. You’re a fucking idiot.” The verbal abuse spewed from your mouth out of fondness. You didn’t care.

“I need you. Do you not get that? I’ve questioned you for a reason—”

“[First name], breathe—”

“No.” The tears began to form. “Dammit!” You let him go to push them from your eyes, cussing more at yourself than at him.

“[First name]—”

“Dammit, Juice.”

“I’ll… I’ll work on stopping. I can’t see you like this.” He spoke honestly as he took you by the shirt this time, pulling himself up to stare you in the eyes with his large brown ones. “I promise.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

— end —

[your-space-brain]

Fall In Love Pt. 2

Happy Lowman x Reader - One Shot

Part 1

Gif does not belong to me.

Moved from @spacedbrainnn

You thought you had everything you wanted. You thought that leaving Happy, that dangerous life, getting the ring you always wanted would bring you such happiness.

But it was a facade.

Not a single thing you thought would bring you joy did. The ring you wore, it was smoke. It was joyful for a moment then it was gone again. Lake Isabella, all those plans with Happy, his dog Opie, all of it wasn’t a thing.

You went with the safe choice and your heart was not fulfilled by it. You craved the tattooed man that brought you peace amidst the violence he lived in.

You had messed up, and you messed up bad.

The old Comet you drove roared to life when you started it. Sure, Joseph wasn’t all that bad but he wasn’t as thrilling as Happy was. He didn’t touch you and give you sparks the way that Happy did. He didn’t say your name and make your heart stammer. It just wasn’t right.

But, you knew what would make it right.

Each gear clicked from Park down to Drive. Highway 178 was begging for you to drive it the fifty-one minutes it would take you to arrive in Bakersfield. The car idled as you stared at the diamond ring before you rolled down your window and tossed it at your own door. It clattered, a discarded relationship you’d just ended.

It was fifty-one minutes of hell, twenty songs and forty-five miles of you going to find Happy in Bako.

The dog announced your presence before you did, standing at the window and barking at your car as you exited it. The bike in his familiar driveway signified he was home and you didn’t bother to knock.

Opie whined at your feet, the bulldog begging to be petted as you crouched down and gave him the loving he asked for.

“What are you doing here?” When you looked up, he was shirtless. His body was a mosaic of art and tattoos as you stared at him. There was a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. He must’ve just woken up.

“I came here for you.”

“Why?”

He was a man of few words. Still was, that would never change.

“Because I owe you an apology.”

“I’m okay.”

“I didn’t ask if you were okay. I came to say I’m sorry.”

“You did.”

“Dammit, Happy.” The words fell out exasperated as you straightened up, while he sipped the mug of coffee. He only grunted in reply. “I made a mistake.”

This caught his attention. He looked at you with a furrow in his brows. Everyone told him that you made a mistake but to hear it come out of your mouth stung.

“I made a mistake and I want you… I want us.”

He was silent as Opie whined at your feet, his whole back end wiggling as he wagged his tail, waiting for more attention.

“Okay.” That was all he said. Just, okay.

“Okay?” You asked softly. That couldn’t be as simple as it was… could it?

“Okay.” He confirmed, behind the mug. That’s when you saw it, a small curl of the corner of his lips. A small, faint smile.

— end —

[your-space-brain]

Fall In Love

Happy Lowman x Reader - One Shot

Part 2

Gif does not belong to me.

Moved from @spacedbrainnn.

If Happy wasn’t a shell before, he was now. Things had been different since you left and moved on to Lake Isabella. Lake Isabella was a little town near his of Bakersfield, and it was what you fell in love with. You swore to him all up and down that you would move there… together.

So why weren’t you together?

Well, anyone could tell that you two were in love. You’d brightened the man’s days and his attitude. He was still closed off, but anyone could see the light in that man’s eyes when he met you. Big brown eyes, from icy murky waters to those of a puppy in love, and now, they were just guarded.

You had been talking about forever since the two of you had gotten together. Something about meeting him had fixed you.

“So you want a ring, huh?” He smelled of Lucky You cologne and leather polish. He had just shined up his leather and taken care of it while you were finishing some paperwork for work.

The look in your eyes when you looked up from the coffee table while he wiped his hands was enough to stop a grown man in his tracks.

You were so pretty sitting there, that little smile on your face as you spoke. “Of course.” You told him.

“Okay then.” That small smile curled on the corner of his lips as well.

But then things shattered.

It was midnight in Shafter, and he was driving your car home. The smiley faces on his abdomen had been growing and you didn’t know what that meant, but all you knew was that it wasn’t good. The club kept things in a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ manner, and all you knew was that they kept him away from you.

The tears down your face could’ve stabbed Happy right in the throat. “But what about us?” You asked as you stared at him, one of his hands on the wheel as you rode passenger in your own car. He was choked in the throat but it didn’t show. He just didn’t speak, hidden behind a theatrical plain mask of no emotion.

“You haven’t had time for us in months, Happy.” He swallowed and his lack of reply made you demand your next words. “Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car, Lowman.” He did. He stopped and you stepped out in the pouring rain, stomping off and leaving. He waited, waited for you, drove around for you but you’d already gotten a taxi to your best friend’s, Jax’s.

All of these memories came to surface every time he looked in his mother’s eyes. She loved you, so much. You still talked to her.

“She’s got a new man in Lake Isabella, Hap.” She told him as she rocked in her chair. “I tried… to tell her not to do it, baby.” He looked over at her as a sigh fell out of his lips.

He didn’t say anything, but it showed in those brown eyes that seemed emotionless. They were big as he pet the dog laying in his lap.

“I know, mom.”

Everyone knew. You settled. You were scared to fall in love. And he missed you more than anything.

- end -

[your-space-brain]

The Way You Break

Angel Reyes x Reader - One Shot | Slightly NSFW, Minors DNI

Gif does not belong to me.

Moved from @spacedbrainnn.

It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than friends with benefits. It wasn’t supposed to be more than physicality.

You never complained once when Angel had the little follow-alongs that hung around the Mayans on his arm, instead of his voice in your ear. You were good, and you didn’t open your mouth once.

However, it seemed the moment that you didn’t, it was the moment that he did.

“What was that fuckin’ gringo doing hanging around your hips?” His words were venom, cold and icy, spitting from his lips. If anything, he looked like a cornered, feral cat, ready to fight and hiss at any given notice, puffed up to be bigger than he was.

“What does it matter to you?” The two of you were arguing in the garage, where the music still played on, the chattering and cheering from card games still could be heard. It was like a toying taunt of what could be, if you weren’t arguing with Angel.

“He shouldn’t be looking at you like that, reina.”

“What does it matter what he looks at me like? We aren’t anything but friends. Friends with a little extra added in. You made that clear. You didn’t want to be tied down to anyone.” Even as you said it, it hurt. “You don’t get to put boundaries out for us and not follow them. If you get to have girls on each arm, I can have someone flirting with me, too.”

This seemed to have stunned the dark eyed male into silence, yet his anger was still palpable. The jealousy was strong. It seemed to float off of him like sunlight and heat off the asphalt on a summer day.

“I’m not doing this ‘more than friends, less than a relationship’ bullshit with you, Angel. It’s all or nothing if this is how you’re going to act.”

He stepped closer, speechless, and you took a step back. His ringed hand came around your throat, gently, and you swallowed at the contact touching your pulse points.

“You’re mine, dulcecito.” He made it clear. The way his voice dropped an octave showed that he was being serious, more serious than anything else he could muster. He stared in your eyes, seemingly cold and brazen.

“Then you’re mine too, pretty boy.” As you spoke, his thumb found your bottom lip and his thigh forced yours open, making sure you were unable to shut them.

His thumb made your lips part and your breath hitched as he pressed you against the wall that was only a few millimeters from your back. His hand tightened on your throat, just enough to make added pressure to excite you where you wanted him most.

“You’re gonna work for it this time, amorcito.”

Angel loved calling you names that included little in them. That’s because you were his, his girl, his little everything. Pressing his thumb into your lips, you made sure to lewdly wrap your fingers around it and suckle on the tip. That only made his brows furrow further, concentrated, focused.

He never left you unsatisfied either, so with a simple motion, his thigh was pressed right between your legs where you wanted him. Your whimper was enough for him to remove his thumb mid-suckle to slide his thumb down your throat carefully.

“Let’s be honest with each other… you know I can’t resist you. You don’t even have to work that hard.” Angel was so very attentive, your rosy lips just begging to be kissed, but he didn’t give in just yet. Instead, he kissed the top of your forehead.

“I just want to watch you break again for me, muñeca.”

— end —

[your-space-brain]

Would You Say I’m Worthy?

Harry “Opie” Winston x Reader - One Shot

Gif does not belong to me.

Hey guys! It’s Blaire from @spacedbrainnn . Just moving my writing onto a main blog!

You were head over heels for the man and there was no stopping it. He was all brooding, troubled and mysterious and you could do nothing to stop yourself from the head first dive that you’d taken since you met him.

He hardly spoke, but he left you notes here and there. You’d been assisting SAMCRO for the longest time since Chucky arrived, who was a good friend of yours, and you’d caught one another’s eye. After that, it was subtle glances and a smile here or there, or even a wink if you were lucky.

‘Have a good day.’

‘Here’s a shitty daisy like flower.’

‘I hate the color of this sticky note.’

‘How’s our two fingered friend doing?’

‘I’m keeping this pen.’

Those intimate sticky note letters were barely legible and hardly anything to scoff at. What he thought was just a running joke, you enjoyed, and kept each one in a little container beneath the bar top. He didn’t know the effect he had on you, or anyone for that matter, since he lost both Donna and his kids.

“What’s it say today?” Chucky was the first one to ask as he began to wipe down the top of the deep mahogany bartop.

“‘What’s the sky look like from your end?’” You read to Chucky with a little laugh. “He asks me these questions but doesn’t give me a place to reply to them at.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want you to.” Chucky offered as he shrugged, getting back to work on making the bartop shiny and clean.

“How would you put it? ‘I accept that’?” You teased, earning a smile out of the chipper, barely fingered man.

A roar of bikes signaled that some of SAMCRO’s finest had returned, making both Chucky and you raise your heads slightly to peer through the window.

Opie was trailing Jax and Bobby as they pulled up, his long hair flicking beneath his helmet as he pulled into the drive. He stopped a bit after his parking space and backed it in, before hitting the kill switch and discarding his helmet on the handle bars.

He didn’t speak when he came in, all leather and hair being smoothed out below silver ring clad fingers. “Hey darlin’.” Jax greeted as she threw him a wave, ignoring his charm, but Opie didn’t stay long and disappeared down the hallway.

“He doesn’t speak too much, does he?” You asked Jax, and he shook his head.

“Nah, not too much. It’s been a while since he spoke freely.”

—

Every Friday night was a Crow Eater party. It was a time when you would come for a while, before things got too terribly wound up, and then you would leave. You were sipping a beer, leaned on the bar, looking around but there was a pair of familiar eyes missing.

“Where’s Ope?” You asked Chucky, who shrugged.

When you didn’t get a reply, you handed the amber bottle over to Chucky for safe keeping before you wandered off down the hall to see if he was in his dorm.

Lo and behold, through a crack in his dorm door, he was kicked back in bed, still fully clothed minus his boots, an arm over his eyes with only the lamplight on. He looked peaceful, until you disrupted that by lightly knocking with one knuckle.

“Come in.” It was a slurred mumble as his eyes finally opened again. They were dark and swirling as you stepped into the meticulously neat room, the only thing out of place being a couple of motorcycle parts out on the desk.

“Hey, not joining the party?” You asked as you came to sit in his wooden desk chair.

“Nah. Not my scene.” He replied as he grunted, moving to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and sit up, his back popping while his muscles protested wickedly.

“Oh, that’s fair.” He nodded as you said it, having been half asleep, but he just yawned quietly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

He wasn’t prepared for what you were going to ask him next. “Why don’t you ever give me a chance to reply to your notes?” The man, for once, looked absolutely dumbfounded. He ran a hand over his beard as he thought about a reply, before clearing his tatted throat.

“I guess… I didn’t think you’d want to.”

This shocked you. Your brows knit for a moment as he calculatedly watched him, a frown on your lips. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

Several reasons popped in the burdened man’s head. He was a killer, he lost everything he loved to this club and if he let you in, you were pretty much signing your own death warrant to Mr. Mayhem. You were putting a black listed card in your own hands.

Finally, he gave a heavy sigh and replied, his eyes dropping to his socked feet. “If I let you in, you very well could be ending your life by picking me.”

This caused you to recoil a bit. “So you’re not even giving me a choice?” You asked him.

“No. I’m not worth anyone getting themselves killed or hurt.”

He seemed so cut and dry with this response, as if this was already made up in his head, as if he didn’t want to risk being the sole reason another life dropped for loving him. He already beat himself down to know he wasn’t worthy.

“You don’t get to make that choice. You don’t… get to pick what’s best for me.” You told him with a shake of your head. “Why can’t you let me try?”

The words were stuck in Opie’s throat as you reached out and caressed his beard. He swallowed carefully, before he pressed his lips to your palm.

“I can’t make your decisions for you. I can only advise you that this might not be best.” He murmured, before you made him look you in the eyes.

“I’m picking you.”

— end —