#king offa

[enbycrip]

A thing that fills me with joy is that coins struck for the 8th century Saxon king Offa in the 8th century early medieval kingdom of Mercia, in modern England, were largely copied from coins struck for Abbasid caliph al-Mansur, which were common currency across much of early medieval Europe, Asia and Africa.

In addition to the words Offa Rex, Latin for “King Offa”, stamped across the centre of the coins, the coins also bear the slightly distorted but distinctly readable Arabic words “there is no God but Allah” around the edges in Kufic script.

Every time gammons go on and on about “clash of civilisations” and “hordes of immigrants”, remember that the actual evidence shows that we have *always* had a deeply interconnected world, materially, economically, culturally and genetically.

https://artofthemiddleages.com/s/main/item/3140#:~:text=Description%3A%20This%20gold%20coin%20was,Abbasid%20caliph%20in%20Baghdad%20(r.

[gawrkin]

Charlemagne in Post-Vulgate

So, Charlemagne is somehow descended from Ban (through maybe Ector??) and is a better Christian King than Arthur will ever be. While I won't disagree, I can't help but smell some bias there...

Beorhtric of Wessex: "What?!" Offa of Mercia: "WHAT!!?" Ecgberht of Wessex: "Uhhh..."

True History Facts ™  (Source: Trust me, bro)

Charlemagne: "Where do you guys come up with this stuff? I don't mind but... why would I destroy a perfectly good castle that contained the sacred relic?"

Ganelon: "He was an inspiration to all traitors, young and old. A true role model if there ever was"

[zenlesszonezero]

As the conspiracy reaches its finale, the Void Hunter joins the fight.

Uncover the Conspiracy in Zenless Zone Zero's All-New Version "A Storm of Falling Stars", S-Rank Agent Hoshimi Miyabi is here! With S-Rank Agent Asaba Harumasa Limited-Time Giveaway! Pre-register to obtain additional rewards.

[gameofthrones2020]

New Labour’s Constitutional Reforms

New Labour’s Constitutional Reforms and how they have destroyed the United Kingdom's Constitution and ended the UK's political union.

The Labour Party is a political party created on 27 November 1900 a centre-left party in the United Kingdom. There has been a governing party that is a ruling party of this country since it went into coalition twice during the 1920s and finally won power in the 1945 general election. The New Labour Party, or New Labour Project, aimed to attempt in the 1990s to revitalise the ability to win…

[highkingpetermagnificent]

what if i took a songwriting course so i could write songs about historical figures of varying obscurity

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Mothers day Meltdown

[mysterious circle of robed figures] JK Rowling: hello children Rowling: I was just thinking about how transs people should be eliminated from ssociety Jonathan Chait: whoa whoa whoa! joanne! Chait: you can't say it like THAT Chait: so uncouth Chait: you have to say it with your pinky finger extended

Elon Musk: si! issa no good! Musk: issa too mucha trans genocide Musk: you shoulda only post the right amount offa da trans geocide Musk: lookita me, i lika da trans genocide Musk: but i also like many other genocides Rowling: oh MY GOD Rowling: my empire is crumbling!

Chait: we're not saying you can't still be transphobic Chait: you just have to, you know, cool it a bit Chait: be genteel about it Jesse Singal: mommy mommy i have concerns mommy! Chait: see? just like that

Chait: maybe put a little disclaimer Chait: "this transphobia is for entertainment purposes only" Rowling: do you not know who I am?? I'm JK Rowling! Rowling: JK FUCKING ROWLING!!! Rowling: I MADE YOUR CHILDHOOD MAGICAL!

Rowling: no one tellss me to cool it! Rowling: i own the courtss! Chait: joanne Rowling: and another thing!!! Rowling: SSTOP CALLING ME JOANNE!

[midnight society] JK Rowling: hello children Barker: oh look who it is Barker: what are you doing here joanne? Barker: did your terfs tell you to cool it again? Rowling: Rowling: why doess everyone call me joanne

Rowling: i'm extremely mad about thiss transs football referee Barker: what? Rowling: this transs football referee Barker: Barker: what?

Rowling: there's a transs football referee and i'm really mad about it! Rowling: what, haven't you heard? Barker: joanne, why are you here Rowling: and another thing! Rowling: sstop calling me joanne!!

Rowling: people are alwayss all "joanne this" and joanne that! Rowling: wah wah wah joanne joanne joanne! Barker: do you not like your name Barker: you could change it Poe: clive Poe: just let her tire herself out Barker: no no I've got something here

Rowling: people are alwayss "oh wah wah wah joanne, how can you ssay that! your bookss are all about tolerance and love wah wah wah!" Rowling: bitch i think i know what my booksss are about! Rowling: i fuckin wrote them after all!

Rowling: blah blah blah ohh joanne Rowling: i hate when people call me joanne!! Rowling: they should fear to say my true name! Barker: oh damn look at that Barker: looks like we're having a good ol' fashioned mothers day meltdown Poe: clive don't encourage this

King: but joanne! how can you say that? King: after all the lessons of harry potter? King: you made our childhoods magical!

Rowling: people are all "blah blah blah joanne how can you like naziss now when you ssaid they were bad in harry potter" Rowling: first of all, harry potter iss fiction! Rowling: secondly, the death eaters are actually a ssinister coalition of evil transs, sspooniess, fat people, free masonss, and diane duane Rowling: always have been! Rowling: thiss iss NOT a retcon!

Rowling: that sshould be obviouss if you've read the book Rowling: UNLESSS Rowling: you're a fake potterhead, ssteve King: no of course not! i love harry potter

Rowling: DO YOU Rowling: perhaps then Rowling: you would be willing to take a blood oath to the dark lord Rowling: to belong to the dark lord body and ssoul Rowling: who is always correct King: i uh don't think i'm going to take that oath, sorry Rowling: UGH! Rowling: this is just like Radcliffe all over again!

[vershl]

NASTY green rat, get offa Shadow 😭

King belongs to @superscourge hehe

[zenlesszonezero]

As the conspiracy reaches its finale, the Void Hunter joins the fight.

Uncover the Conspiracy in Zenless Zone Zero's All-New Version "A Storm of Falling Stars", S-Rank Agent Hoshimi Miyabi is here! With S-Rank Agent Asaba Harumasa Limited-Time Giveaway! Pre-register to obtain additional rewards.

[ceruleanchillin]

141 x Reader: Biker!AU

Note(s) -

1.) Nobody asked for this, but here I am combining two obsessions. Congrats, you’re a biker’s old lady now 🎉.

Any media with hot guys in a group should have outlaw MC AUs

2.) I love roughneck Simon. Please give me more of him. I wanna talk about the guys in this AU so badly, don’t (DO) feed my inbox. BlueCollar!Simon, Mafia!Simon, Mechanic!Simon, Idc I love it all. 

3.) If you saw this before, no you didn’t (plus I added more to it). I decided to keep them all together, and it’ll just be long as hell. A long fic stored under a cut never hurt nobody.🤷🏾‍♀️

Simon

Nobody can get him as soft as you. There’s a 3-ringed barrier around his heart. Outsiders < The Club < You.

He loves doing mundane things with you, the kind of things he never saw for himself when he swore to stay single in this life. Like, after a good run fattens his wallet, letting you run wild in the shops.

“C’mon on then lovie, give us a spin.”

You squealed, spinning so the soft fabric fanned around your upper thighs. “I love it! But Si, it’s too much.”

“You let me worry about that sweetheart. Just let me see how it looks comin’ offa ya.” He gripped the very thighs you teased him with, eager for his favorite part besides your smile.

He’d pick up as many extra runs as it took to keep you in small luxuries, as long as he was the one that got to keep that look on your face.

They all have tattoos, but Simon is the king. His body art is top notch, because he’s very discerning with his artists. He’s had the best from Europe to the States. Now, he only trusts Price’s old lady, Johnny, and you. 

In fact, that’s how you met. You started your apprenticeship under an asshole who bailed before it was over, and took a chance on the dangerous shop everyone warned you away from. Mrs. Price was everything you were afraid of AT FIRST. You later understood it was because the shop is 141 affiliated, and she had to be harshly discerning to protect herself and her family.

Once you got over that phase, she was unendingly sweet, and dedicated to helping you hone your craft. 

Simon saw you when he came to fix the sink in the shop’s little kitchen. You were the only one there, intensely focused on a practice skin arm.

You were beautiful, hair wild from you tugging at in concentration, and your tongue poking out slightly. How long had you been working here?

“I knew you needed a hand around here, but that’s a bit far isn’t it?”

You jumped, startled out of your practice, the buzz of the tattoo gun stopping. “Oh my god! I don’t know what scared me more, you, or that joke.”

The two of you kept each other company in your respective tasks, until he was done. In admitting you were aching to do a real tattoo again, he found himself volunteering on instinct. 

At first you resisted, worried about the ethics in your mentor’s shop, and he came up with the genius idea of going back to your place. Smooth Simon.

By the end of the night he was sure he’d never need another artist again.

He’s often as busy as Price, sometimes more so. It takes a lot to run a charter as is, but to establish a table so far from home calls on him more than any other era in his time with the club. On top of that, he often pulls double duty, acting as an enforcer with Konig.

That’s where he really appreciates you understanding, and accepting, his lifestyle. You’ve made a home for him, and he only hopes he conveys how much he appreciates that.

—

He comes home with a headache taking up residence in every corner of his head more and more these days. It was all he could do to kick his boots off, and not collapse on the nearest thing that could hold his weight. His room felt miles away. Downside of living in the dorms.

He drug himself to the clubhouse kitchen, prepared to dig around for some painkillers, when he saw a post-it note on the island next to a napkin with two pills.

Ignore if not Si!

Dinner in the fridge + cake in the dish on the counter. Eat and get your ass in bed with me.

:)

He chuckled, headache long forgotten when he realized you were in his bed. However, his heart and stomach wouldn’t let him ignore the home cooked meal in the fridge, and once he’d savored every bite, he was a blur on his way to his room.

You were curled up in one of his shirts, sleeping soundly on the side of the bed he favored. He stripped, leaving his clothes on the floor, only stopping to deposit his kutte on the dresser, before scooping you into his arms.

“Si..” you murmured sleepily, burying your face in his chest, seeking something to lay on after being picked up.

“‘s alright sweet pea.”

“Glad you’re home, don’t let go.” You were slightly more awake now, but not by much.

“Was never an option.” He got into bed, relaxing in the warm spot you left behind, and situated you next to him in his arms. 

Assuming big spoon position, his hands roamed your form, finding momentary purchase wherever they could. He felt a little guilty for further waking you up, but it occurred to him that you must have seen the day he’d had, and had taken the time to attempt to make it a little better. You could be home in your own bed, but you chose to be there for him. He was starving for you.

His lips created the same desperate patterns across your cheek and neck that his hands created on your body. He gripped your thigh, giving the plush skin a squeeze, before hooking your leg back over his.

There was a sharp inhale of air from you, and you pushed back against him, undoubtedly feeling him firming.

He laid his other arm under your head, letting you lay your cheek against his arm as he grasped your face. He tilted it up to grant more access to your skin for his lips.

“Taking care of me pretty bird?”

“It’s what you deserve, baby.” You slurred, squirming in sensory overload at all of his attention.

“Swear m’ going flat hunting tomorrow.” His fingers skimmed over your covered heat, grinning when your lower half bucked.

“‘s what you deserve sweetheart. Somewhere to put all your nesting to good use.”

You moaned rolling your hips back into your solid wall of a man. “Don’t tease me, I can’t help it.”

“Oh, m’not teasing pretty bird, m’ appreciating.”

He’s been called on to do many dark things for the club. Price doesn’t leave room at the table for anyone not to pull their weight, and he’s even tougher on his titled men. However, the darker jobs fall on Simon more often than anyone else, because he’s thorough, and can put the deed away somewhere, somehow, every time. 

When he pulls on his mask, and just surrenders to being no one but Ghost, he’s ready to work. He never cared what anyone thought about his actions, he never had to, until you. 

You’d been around rough crowds in your lifetime, but Simon was a career criminal, and so was his found family. He was sure some recollection of his deeds would reach you, and that’d be your line. In fact, he was waiting on it.

He was shocked, truly floored, to find that wasn’t what triggered you. It was how you felt he was being utilized. You didn’t like, what you felt, was the unequal distribution of the extreme jobs, and you told him as much.

When he got over his shock, his reaction was fiercely defensive of the club. It was your turn for shock, but he couldn’t help it. He felt judged about the family that owned his loyalty, by the woman that owned his heart. 

You were taken aback by his ferocity, but it didn’t change your view. It created a hotbed of tension that threatened what the two of you had built, until he understood why you felt so strongly. Simon was the one taken aback when he realized your intensity came from your love for him, not a judgement of the 141. He still couldn’t wrap his head around someone loving him to that degree. In his heart of hearts, he didn’t think he was worthy of that. That’s how he was supposed to, and did, love you.

He admitted as much when the tired topic reached a fever pitch.

Simon’s close cropped blonde hair was riddled with evidence he’d been running long, frustrated fingers through it. Those same fingers pulled a cigarette from his pack,, and lit it with a calmness that didn’t reflect the current mood.

“So now you tell me what I can and can’t do? That it then?”

You snapped at the accusation, breaking the promise you’d made to yourself not to raise your voice. “I’m not telling you what you can and can’t do, stop reframing what I fucking say!”

“Grow the fuck up, you’re not a bloody baby. You knew what I did when we got together. I protect the group, I’m meant to be the first line of defense. I pull my weight, my life be damned!”

Your eyes widened in shock at the underlying implication of his words. His own expression wasn’t familiar enough to you for you to place.

“The table doesn’t make me do the ugly bits, most times I volunteer.” He flicked ash onto the pavement, his finger tapping with more force than necessary. “Whether I die, or get pinched, I can be replaced. ‘s my job to stand in front of the ones that can’t.”

His chest heaved with trapped frustration, voice guttural, raw with emotion. “That’s my use.”

You couldn’t place a time where your heart had ever hurt for anyone the way it hurt for him in that moment. It was a physical pain, pin pricking across your chest in a wave, and momentarily halting your ability to speak. You loved this man, fuck the moon, he hung galaxies in your eyes, and that’s what he thought of himself?

Simon, studying your expression and not liking the shame it made him feel, turned away. He didn’t know what to do with shame, especially in front of you. He’d said too much, and his mind was racing to find a way to undo it. Stiffening at the feeling of your arms barely meeting around his large form, he fought the urge to pull away.

Your voice was shaky, laden with the tears you didn’t bother fighting the fruitless fight to stop. “I wish I could get you to understand how untrue that is. I wish I knew where to start.”

He turned back around, but refused to meet your eyes. That startled you. Simon had never been afraid to lock eyes with you. He backed down from no one.

“Wasn’t an answer you liked then lovie? Sorry to disappoint.” He said quietly, taking a last drag before he ended the cigarette under his boot, and walked off back towards the clubhouse.

Tears streamed down your face at a faster rate now, and you tried in vain to swipe them away quickly. You weren’t sure what to say. Not then, too much was in the air as it was, and things needed to cool, but this clearly wasn’t settled

You only knew what you wanted to do. Hold him. Hold him until he saw how fucked his outlook was, and how much worth he really had.

Long out of town rides to create a bubble with just you and him. No specific destination, you just ride until you can both believe you’re the only two people you know.

He throws you a surprise party when you get certified as a tattoo artist, and Mrs. Price releases you from your apprenticeship to a chair of your own.

No one can believe Ghost is throwing someone any kind of party, but they don’t dare deny him as he enlists them in different tasks. He took the whole thing very seriously, and left no room for mistakes. No one, not even Soap, was careless enough to spoil the surprise. Simon wanted perfection.

It was obvious to anyone who watched his love struck gaze follow you when you were around, but if anyone doubted it before, they didn’t now. This man loves you.

Simon sometimes comes to you with a design he’s made for his next tattoo. It’s never elaborate, and it’s usually more utilitarian than aesthetic. He trusts you to make it pretty, he knows you will. He just wants to better convey his idea, or so you think.

In reality, he just likes when you praise him, and he can be part of your passion. He’s constantly amazed by your artistry, and humbled that you let him be a part of it. Essentially, you two collaborate on his tattoos in an undeniably intimate way.

He unceremoniously comes to you with a scrap of paper, something he’s sketched over the past few days.

“Somethin’ f’ya to look over when you get the chance.” He mutters before giving you a long kiss and leaving the shop.

You study the lines, shaky but serviceable, and the design clear. Your mind immediately began to think of ways to tie it into his existing tattoo’s style and his tastes. All the while, you kicked your feet, ecstatic that once again, the most complex person you knew was trusting you with this responsibility.

Si had some serious, high quality pieces on his body, and he thought enough of your hand to add to that.

Simon is usually more affectionate when you’re alone. In public, it’s mostly gliding fingers across your back, or a quick brush of his lips across your forehead. BUT, sometimes his intrusive thoughts win, and he has to slap your ass. This can happen anywhere, anytime.

You’re bent over the tattoo chair, disinfecting and scrubbing, and you swear you hear his hand cutting through air before you feel the smack.

“Si!”

“You put it there sweetheart.”

Shooting range dates. You’ve been judged by some of your more…conventional friends, but you’re a gun girlie (which turns Simon on like nothing he’s ever experienced), and you don’t care. They tried to make you feel like he was being inconsiderate taking you there. Meanwhile, it was damn near your demand.

Simon loves having friendly competitions, random kisses, and exchanging shitty jokes. Seeing you get excited, and engaging in a little tech/spec talk about a gun you love, gets Simon bricked up in 10 seconds flat.

You truly believe he’s taken you in hidden parts of the range more than either of your beds at this point.

Makes you keep track of football season when he’s away. Almost put you in a box and mailed you far away from him when you assumed he meant American football season.

“Don’t ever hurt me like that again lovie, I won’t be held responsible.”

Punishes you with edging and cockwarming if you miss any important details. It’s especially excruciating when he’s just returned, and all you want is him to stretch you out. Simon is a mean dom, and he won’t be moved by sympathy.

“Please Si, I only missed one game.” you whined, trying to get him to come back to where he’d just spent time building you up to fall on his tongue, only to pull away at the last second.

He smirked, rising to his feet which clued you into the fact that he really wasn’t going to finish you off then. “That’s a bad girl. Have the missing orgasm to match.”

——-

Gaz:

Lives for where you live. Your little house is his home away from home. Sometimes the gang can be on business that keeps them on the road for weeks, and the last thing he wants when he comes back, is to continue to be locked in close quarters with other guys.

That’s when you know he’s skipping clubhouse life to crash with you for a while. You love it as much as him.

Scented candles and incense, sweet laundry detergent, soft materials, home cooked meals. It’s such a soft juxtaposition to his previous journey. 

Your hands are all over him, soothing bruises and kissing him over in mapped out patterns only known to you.

Kyle may not know the difference between a single thing on your beauty table, or much about the things in your bathroom cabinets, but he knows he loves how it all smells/looks on you when he’s running his nose across your skin.

“Baby, I gotta get ready for work.” 

Kyle hummed in acknowledgement, but kept you pinned to the overstuffed couch, kissing your thighs in his own personal ritual. The two of you had been sequestered away for two days since he’d been back, but he still couldn’t get enough of you.

“Be good for me love, I won’t make you late.”

“Liar.” You giggled when he pinched you in retaliation. “If you do what it feels like you’re about to do, I won’t make it to the shop until noon.”

“Not a liar babe, you know that better than anyone else.” He pushed your knees up until they pressed against your chest. “I promise, you’ll be the first one there. Can’t say in what state though.”

Being the club secretary, it may seem like Kyle has the plushier job at the table. Wrong. He sees as much action as the other guys, and he likes to stay in shape. That’s fine by you, because you reap the benefits when you get to watch him working out at your place.

Kyle Garrick doing burpees and up-downs in your tiny backyard, clad in nothing but gray sweat shorts, and a thin gold chain against his chest, isn’t a sight that should be free. Yet, after Kyle has finished his mission of witnessing you walk funny at least once, it’s a sight you’re treated to when he sinks back into his home routine.

You somehow think you’re safe to creep-watch from the back doorway while you enjoy your green tea, even though Kyle catches you every time. He just always knew when your eyes were on him.

Without even turning to give you a look he called your name, laughing softly. “I should start charging admission.”

“I was thinking the same thing!” You stuck your tongue out at his back, slamming the door when he revealed he somehow saw that too.

Kyle comes to the salon and hangs with you between appointments. Sometimes he watches you work, and fake flirts with customers to get you more money. He’s great for business.

“Cost a little extra, yeah? But myself, I love a bird that sweats the details.” Kyle’s brown eyes and bright smile were a lethal combination against free will, you knew this for a fact.

The soccer mom in your chair ducks her head under his attention, cheeks filling in with red, as she tells you she changed her mind about the rhinestones.

You appreciate the efforts towards fattening your wallet, but sometimes he’s so effective, you get annoyed and drag him to the break room to remind him you own him.

When you ride with him, he loves looking down and seeing the pretty designs of your nails grasping his chest. Something about the contrast of hot pink, or pearlescent purple against the black leather of his kutte does it for him.

Kyle is definitely on the calmer side most times, especially for his lifestyle, but the fastest way to break that is someone meaning you harm.

You were out at a crowded club with the 141, their ladies, and some friends of the club. It was a celebration of good finances and a successful legal dodge. 

The guys clung to a dark VIP section, there for the drinks and victory lap more than the dancing. On the other hand, you and the other girls were not there to sit idle. 

After a tense few months, the cause of your respective relationship ups and downs with the guys, you guys deserved to cut loose. The table agreed, with your men shouting words of encouragement and flirtatious innuendo to hype you up.

The whole bar was enthralled by you and the other girl’s dancing, singing, and general untethered energy. It was contagious. You especially, you had a few drinks in you, and all that could currently keep your attention was the music.

There was, unfortunately, one outsider who got a little too enthralled with the performance.

When you peeled away from the group, following the uptempo rhythm, he thought that was his time to make his move.

You felt him press up against you while your eyes were closed, assuming it was Kyle, you almost ground back against him. Then you smelt the liquor. Kyle liked a drink like everyone else, and you’d even seen him drunk, but this was someone who’d been at it for a while. Disgustingly sour, too close, and ultimately not your man.

You sent a sharp hit back with your elbow, turning to confirm what you knew. It wasn’t Kyle. He grunted, but pushed forward again making you hold your hand up in a warning.

“I don’t think so.” you waved him off, laughing at the prospect of entertaining him.

Angered by your laughter, he got bolder, shouting to be heard. “Well I think so, but I’m real interested in knowing why you don’t.”

“Because I said what I said, and I have a man.” You were tipsy, but there was an underlying fire to your words lending them solidity. “Fuck off!”

He bristled at another dismissal. “Bitc-“

Kyle had appeared, most likely having started making his way to you once the man got too close, and clapped him on the shoulder. His expression said that he had heard at least some of what was said.

“Hi baby!” You shouted, a little loud even for the club, but that made it endearing. “That’s my man.” You told the asshole.

“Use your ears before I send you home carrying them.” He was gripping the man’s shoulder so tightly you should see the sharp knuckle bones flexing, his rings catching the light.

The man looked at the kutte, and the expression on Kyle’s face, and the exact moment he realized the man would act on the threat literally became apparent.

If that wasn’t enough, you had the ladies at your back, and the table alert and waiting for the call. It was over for the bastard before it even started.

He raised his hands and scurried into the crowd, aiming for the door.

“I love you baby.” You crooned, throwing your arms around him and covering his face with kisses.

He laughed. “I love you too, even when I know I’m going to be holding your pretty hair back all day.”

When the gang has to have a tense table vote in a briefing, their equivalent to some other mc’s “church”, you always wait for Kyle. As secretary, it’s his job to gather information on other gangs, as well as any important changes in the area, and his council is called on first.

You’re waiting for him right after, inviting him back to your house for the night, knowing he won’t want to stay in his dorm. He won’t show it then, but he’s disappointed, and when you get him home, you let him vent to his mind’s content.

All the while, you’re drawing him a bath, doing a light skin routine on his face, greasing his scalp, and curling up on the couch with his back against your chest.

You know his brothers have his best interest at heart, and respect his role in the club, but sometimes he can get in his head about it, and that’s when you step in.

——-

Soap:

Johnny kept his lifestyle a secret from you at first. You’d only been hooking up for a couple of weeks before you both confessed to wanting more.

The crew had mocked him relentlessly about his inability to keep a relationship casual. 

“Give it up mate, you ain’t even foolin’ yourself!” Gaz had clapped him on the back, laughing right in his face. “You start up with a girl right, and it’s over. You’re looking for a house by sunup.”

“Och, piss off with ya! I can keep it casual!” Indignant, and maybe a little drunk, he elbowed the man on the other side of him. “Tell em’ Ghost.”

Simon glanced at him sideways, bourbon halfway to his lips, careful it didn’t spill due to the prodding. “Johnny, some pretty bird starts chirpin’ in your ear and it’s curtains. Now fuck off.”

He couldn’t believe his friends, no — brothers, had such little faith in him.

Cut to a few days later, with him balls deep in you, confessing he wanted more. 

“I’ll be good to ya bon, I swear it. I’m all for ya, just be for me?”

The only thing that lessened the embarrassment of proving his friends right, was that you seemed relieved, and admitted it was what you wanted too.

He couldn’t help it. Ever since he’d been patched in, besides the camaraderie, he was enamored with the relationship between Price and his old lady. There were plenty of solid old lady/old man pairings around him, but something about the way the club queen cared for her man, kept the other girls in order, and still maintained a life for herself was astounding to watch.

He couldn’t help chasing that in every girl he’d gotten with since he’d joined up. So many girls wanted the mystique of a sexy biker, but that’s all he was for them. Either a living dildo, or an attraction they could make their friends jealous with. Things never got very far outside of the bedroom. Except once, but that didn’t go over so well in the end.

He wanted that ride or die bond so badly, he couldn’t wait to have the perfect old lady to wife up and fill a house with brats. 

With you, he prayed he was it for you, because you had quickly become it for him. 

You were a good girl. Specifically, his good girl now. He felt it was highly unlikely you would go for his lifestyle, and so he kept it under wraps at first. He knew he had to tell you at some point, but he wanted to soak up as much time as he could in case you checked out.

“Nah sweetheart, it’s nah like that. We get a little rough, but mainly, we just appreciate bikes.”

“Do ya think I have what it takes to be in a criminal organization? And with ya not knowin’ no less!?”

“Let’s talk about something else bon, did ya ken your thighs look cute warming my ears?”

Guilt eating through him like acid, especially when the club picks up on the fact that he hasn’t brought you around. Anytime Soap has a girl in his bed more than once, he’s parading around the club with her in no time. They know there’s something special about you, and that baffles them even more. Soap claims it’s because you live one town over, which you do, but Gaz calls him on his shit.

He’s hyper defensive, and fights until he’s blue in the face before he admits it’s true. He’s afraid you’ll turn out like the others, or reject him all together. He’s so far gone at this point, he’d rather you use him than leave him.

Price doesn’t like it, and councils him against lying to you any further for numerous reasons. Soap promises he’ll tell you soon, but he’s trying to convince himself as well as his president.

Eventually he couldn’t hide it anymore, but it wasn’t exactly his choice when the curtain got pulled back. 

The two of you had been to a late movie, Johnny finally having had time to squeeze in a date with you after a series of back-to-back runs. You’d suggested coming to him for once to take the burden off. Before he could object, you’d admitted that you were already in town, and he’d rushed to meet you. 

Though he was nervous about you hearing something, or seeing someone off-color that he knew, he couldn’t deny he loved the day he spent with you.

He never needed a reason to want to kiss you, but something about your soft smile under the parking lot lights compelled him right then. Maybe because your expression said just how content you were to be with him, and he buried that in his heart.

“Wait a minute.” He stopped you, lips on yours before you could ask why.

Parking lots didn’t exactly get safer as they got darker, and emptier, but he couldn’t stop once his lips touched yours. Then you started tugging on the curly hair of his Mohawk like you did when you’d really gotten into things.

He was just about to suggest he stay over at your place, when you were interrupted by a cop. You assumed he was going to warn you about loitering and apologized, but he and Johnny knew that wasn’t what it was about. He called Johnny “Soap”, and you were confused as to how they knew each other.

“Oh, Scotboy here goes back with the law a long ways back home.” The cop tried to clap Johnny on the shoulder only for him to violently dodge it. “Easy. I’m not booking you on anything…tonight.”

You were at a loss for what the cop thought he could book Johnny on, and called it out as harassment. Johnny knew, by the sick expression on his face, that the cop was eager to spill it all once he realized how little you knew about the man you were clutching. He tried to prevent that from happening.

“Yeah well, you’re just wastin’ time then, and we have a drive.” Johnny’s arm tightened around your shoulder as he started to lead you away.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what he’s told you, but if you were my daughter I’d want you to know. That’s a dangerous man you’re on the arm of.”

“Shut up.” Johnny growled, and he knew you had to be thinking about how you’d never seen him like this, but he’d also never been this angry around you.

“Johnny…” you pushed at him to try and get him to move, but he was rooted in rage.

He knew where the cop was taking it.

“This was when you were a prospect back in England right? The number you did on the guys from that other charter…interpol still talks about it. Oh wait…they never proved it was you did they?”

Johnny thumbed his nose and sniffed, jutting out his chin in utter opposition of the man in front of him. “Nah, wasnae even in the country at the time.”

“That’s right. You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve only read the reports our precinct got when you boys moved to town.” The obnoxious officer bounced his palm off his forehead in a mock gesture.

Johnny felt you squeeze his arm, grounding him for the moment, and he thought you might be saying something. His ears sounded like the Grand Rapids ran through them. A hot rage was settling into his chest, and spilling into other parts of his being.

The smug expression of the cop, one of the ones on the force who’d made things personal with the club was

“Johnny!” You shook him, finally getting through to him. “I want to leave.”

He exhaled, softening at your expression. Little tremors of adrenaline wracked through him, but he still led you towards his bike by a firm grip.

“You know, they included pictures in those files they sent over. What you did to those guys..” The cop whistled from behind you.

Johnny helped you into your helmet, watching as your eyes raced with questions, but you were so good for him. You would wait to ask him. 

He brushed his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks. “Ignore him bon. Whatever he says, please.”

“But, the real shame is what happened to Anna.” The cop continued.

In a straight shot, Johnny launched himself at him. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth!”

“They cut her up pretty bad. Was her nose always on the side of her-”

—

He knew it was bait, and he admitted as much later, but he’d taken the active grenade in his hand all the same. The wounds that piece of shit poked were too raw not to, on top of probably killing everything between you and him. 

Everything was designed to hit a critical point in him. His past deeds, Anna, and most importantly, you.

All he could think about was if he was going to lose you after tonight, there was no way he wasn’t going to make it count all over the bastard’s face.

The local police had been looking for something, anything, to get the club on, but they’d been too careful. That’s what Price had told you on the way to the precinct. Johnny had dialed for you while the cop was getting back to his feet.

“Was any of what he said true?” You were clutching your purse the way you had since you’d gotten into the car with Price and the club’s lawyer.

“I don’t know what you mean love?” Price looked at you cooly, not giving anything away, though you were sure he knew what you meant.

“Never mind.” You shook your head. “I know it’s true. Did Johnny really hurt those guys? Who’s Anna?”

Price kept his eyes on the road, while the lawyer kept his attention on his phone. The air couldn’t have been more tense,

“You should talk to your boy sweetheart. Don’t let some future desk-riding prick make you doubt the man who’d rip out his own heart just to show you it’s yours.”

You swallowed, hard, and didn’t say anything else until you got to the station.

“Um…I think I’m just going to Uber home. Tell Johnny I’ll call him.”

Price nodded, but his look was disapproving. “‘m sorry to hear that,” he adjusted his dark beanie. “But if that’s what you think is best.”

You did not call him. Not later when you were sure he had been released, and not the next day. You wouldn’t even open the never-ending text thread between you two.

He texted you early enough to be apologetic about it, and you had to push your phone to the far side of your bed to stop yourself from responding.

You went about your daily routine, getting ready for your shift at the diner. Your one room apartment didn’t allow you the luxury of pretending your phone wasn’t blowing up with text messages, but you were too afraid you’d cave if you saw the screen while attempting to silence it.

He showed up at the diner, and you pretended to be too busy in the back until he left.

He waited outside of your place, but you wouldn’t come down, going so far as to turn off the lights when you realized he was there.

No call was answered, no text replied to.

Johnny was a wreck. So much so, that as furious as Price and Ghost had been, as much as they’d come down on him, they weren’t sure he’d even heard it. They saw his regret, he did have his brothers and their families in mind, along with the fact that he was a higher ranked member who set a piss poor example for prospects and basic members. 

The fact that his stunt could’ve cost them their freedom. He saw all of that.

But he was HURTING. Physically, mentally, emotionally. It was all Johnny could do to roll out of bed and do the basics before he crawled back again. 

All the club girls dropped by his dorm. Some to be flirtatious, which he lashed out at, some to show sympathy. 

Mrs. Price and Ghost’s girl were especially gentle. It’s the darkest period in Johnny’s life, even when factoring in the Anna situation. It’s clear to all around him, you’re it for him. His soul is yours, and he’s dying without you.

It was Simon who came to you and changed your mind. He couldn't take seeing Johnny that way. The whole table was worried, but Johnny was a little brother to the taciturn specter. He’d only see him like this once before, and this was ten times worse.

In the early afternoon, the diner’s customers were nothing but truckers and elderly folks. So when the 6’4 blond with trunk-thick arms, and a permanent scowl walked in, there was no ignoring him. You noticed the kutte, and thought about making a break for the back, but his look said ‘try it’, and you thought better of it.

Instead, you wound up in a back booth with him, taking your 15 minute break. 

“‘m not the preachin’ sort, so I’ll get on with it.” He stared right through you, lighting a cigarette. “‘s no business of mine what you and Johnny decide to do, but you need to talk to him.”

You started to tell him no smoking, but didn’t feel like exerting the effort. Let your boss deal with it if it mattered.

Your hands trembled, so you put them beneath the table in your lap. “If it’s none of your business, then why are you here?”

”Because, it’s destroying him. You’re destroying him.” He turned for a moment to exhale away from your face, and then his gaze was cutting right back to you. “Lad’s a mess and a half without you. We’ve tried to sort him out, but it’s gonna take you.”

”He lied to me!“ the exclamation left your mouth without a thought to volume control, and you pointedly ignored the stares you knew were at your back.

”You knew.” he said simply. “You may not have known the specifics, and we told him not to do it that way, but you knew.”

Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, trying to express the million thoughts in your head.

”You may be a town over, but our name gets around. I know you’ve heard somethin’.” He tipped the ash in the glass of water you’d gotten him. “You’re a smart bird by Johnny’s account.”

“If you told him not to lie, then why are you telling me not to be upset?”

“‘m not, ‘m tellin’ you to hear him out. Put him out of his misery, whatever you decide.”

The man left the booth, standing back to his full height and casting a shadow over the booth.

“He’s a right fuckin’ mess. Loves you more than life.”

“More than Anna?” The name that had been swirling around in your mind came out in a semi-bitter question.

There was something that could have possibly been a flinch, but you weren’t sure. It made you regret mentioning it either way.

He stubbed out the cigarette. “He’ll be round yours by the time you get off.”

He was. Looking completely unconfident and nervous about being there. His eyes were bloodshot, and his beloved mohawk showed signs of too many anxious tugs. 

This wasn’t what you were used to with the confident man, and you didn’t like it. You understood, you looked the same way, but you didn’t like it.

He was apologizing constantly, between spilling streams of exposition that only served to confuse you, instead of clearing things up. You finally had to tell him it would just be easier if you could ask questions instead, and he sat back and became an open book.

It went all evening, and then well into the morning. Every question led into lengthy conversation.

—

“Who’s Anna?”

“...A good lass who didn’t deserve what she got.”

—

“So it’s definitely more than just appreciating bikes. Why?”

“They’re my family, and they’ve always had my back while lettin’ me be myself. If I have to do somethin’ a lil dodgy now and then, that’s a small price to pay.”

—

“I don’t doubt you love me Johnny, you make it impossible to, but how can I trust you after this?”

“By takin’ the chance to believe me when I say I’d rather die than go through this again. If honesty brings you back to me, I’ll never leave it out again.”

The sun is rising by the time the two of you are talked out. You make him stay, seeing that his sleep deprivation was starting to collect its due. It was you who didn’t sleep while you pet his hair from where he laid on your lap, and thought over your feelings.

He wakes when you inform him he has a phone call. He tells you to answer it, and you realize it’s a gesture towards the honest leaf turn. 

He took the time to honesty dump with you, so you admit to him that while you’re still hurt, your mind's made up about taking him back.

It should have frightened you how quickly you sank back into things with Johnny, but what actually frightened you was the reason why. You realized you were just as addicted to him as he was to you. How had you lasted the past couple of weeks?

It’s a mutual obsession, only strengthened by a period of absence. Something he vowed would never happen again.

You let him give you your first tattoo, and you even let him pick the design. He couldn’t believe you trusted him with the honor, and he wound up asking if you were sure five times.

“Baby, yes!” you laughed, squeezing his cheeks as a form of cute aggression over his heart eyes. 

This was such an intimate act for him, that he made sure you were completely alone in his dorm room when the day came. The room is spotless for once, sanitized to government standards. You can’t help but notice that he’s lit candles in your favorite scent, and his playlist is all soft music for once.

He spent weeks sketching the perfect concept, and even created variations for your choosing. He went through soooo many pages, unwilling to settle when it came to his girl.

In the end, it was decided, and he got to work on the inner wrist tattoo. All the while, he was checking in with you to make sure you were good.

“It’s just a small piece baby, I’m ok.” You always pressed a kiss to his nose to reassure him and get him back to work.

He looked so handsome, locked in concentration, that it almost completely distracted from the pain. You’d seen him work before, and you loved it, but this wasn’t just work right now. He was giving you something important, and you sensed that. 

When he finally finished, he sheepishly, almost fearfully, asked you what you thought.

“It’s everything Johnny. When everyone asks who’s the talent behind it, I can’t wait to say he’s my man.”

Soap has no regard for anyone or any place when he wants you, which is all the time. You’re all over the clubhouse together. The couches, the hallways, the armory. Officially, clubhouse outer-walls are your spots during cookouts.

Gaz walked into the storage room, focused on finding a part for a customer. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed you through the empty space on a tall shelf.

“Hi, eh, Kyle!” All that was visible was your face, and he wondered for a second why you were out of breath.

“Hey (Y/N), what’re you doing back here?” He gave you a side glance and smile, his attention mainly on the organized shelves.

“I’m..” you bit your lip, unable to form another word as your eyes rolled back.

Kyle froze, realizing what was happening. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me mate?!”

“You walked in on us!” Johnny’s indignant cry came from below his line of vision.

Sooo many lunch break dates. Technically, Johnny is on shift at the garage, and should be preparing for the next day’s run, but his best girl needs him :( . You work so hard at that cafe, and they never appreciate you. Not like he does.

So when he takes the work pickup truck to get you, knowing Price has told him a million times it’s not for that, he can’t be bothered to care.

“Johnny, tell me you did not go across town to buy me this sandwich.” You already knew the answer, and you wanted to scold him for neglecting himself again. “You’re gonna be late getting back to the shop!”

“You love it though. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of ya.” 

“That’s not the point, you-“

“You’re so pretty baby.”

And you melt and forget to be upset.

You can’t stay mad at Johnny with heart eyes and loving, grabby hands. Especially when those grabby hands start to get a little more focused…

What happens in the work truck, stays in the work truck. Until he gets drunk and brags at a club party….

The fun times were well and good, but Soap knew that the day would come when you got a glimpse at the uglier parts of the life. He barely got you back, and you throwing up your hands and declaring it was all too much was all he could think about.

They’d been having issues with the Shadows MC, and it was starting to boil over. They didn’t like the 141 moving in on their territory, but his table had made it clear that wasn’t up to them. This resulted in many skirmishes he could keep under wraps, but then it came to a head.

They’d hit the Shadows hard at one of their core locations, and in preparation for retaliation, Price and Ghost had called a lockdown. This meant all old ladies, kids, and friends of the club were to hunker down at the club compound until they gave the ok.

The day was here, and he’d been dreading it. He couldn’t very well leave you out there, he hadn’t exactly been subtle that you were his girl, but surely you wouldn’t go for it.

Nothing had been asked of you so far, and he was trying his best to keep from burdening you like the typical old lady. He felt you’d be less likely to leave if he kept the weightier things from you.

He must have paced up and down your street in the dark for over an hour. His phone was blowing up with demands he ‘get his ass back to the compound’ with you, ‘NOW’, but he had to do it right. It wasn’t easy to say “We mowed down some of our enemies, and destroyed their operation, and some guys could make you pay for that.”

He could lose you tonight. He could relive his past.

When he finally did get up the nerve to tell you, he was shocked at how well you took it. He knew you were scared, and you couldn’t have been too happy either, but he loved you for your strength in that moment. 

All you did was quietly pack, while his mouth ran a mile-a- minute. Swinging wildly between telling jokes, assuring you you’d fit in just fine with the other old ladies, and apologizing. You kept telling him you were fine, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

It took a week to beat the Shadows back. In that time Johnny had been in and out of safe houses, with barely a spare minute to check in with you. If he was being honest, he was terrified.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that when he got back to the compound, you wouldn’t be there. You’d be long gone, and when he went to your place, the things he’d left (so sneakily) would be in a box waiting on the doorstep.

He was so sure of this, that he wanted to go by your place first, but his bone-weary brothers were barely sitting upright on their bikes. Battered and bruised to hell, he couldn’t ask them to indulge his paranoia. The table didn’t like to be too far from each other until they were fully assured they were whole back home.

He was the last to walk through the door, to the shock of his brothers, but he didn’t want to tell them he was probably about to scream his throat raw when he saw you weren’t there. 

He clenched and unclenched his aching fists in anxiety. ‘Just look around the room you daft fucker!’ He mentally scolded himself.

He didn’t get a chance to. You barreled into him, arms locking around his neck. He stumbled back, weariness and shock combining to make his footing unstable, but his back hit the solid metal door behind him.

“I was so fucking worried.” You whispered into his neck, and he felt his neck dampen with what he presumed were tears.

“I was too…” he admitted, finding it in him to grip you to his person with a desperate strength.

Relief flooded his body when you started pressing kisses all over his face, and all he could do was stand there. Receiving your love.

“Oh!” You tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you. “Johnny put me down, the girls told me about how tired you guys are when something like this happens. You should be resting.”

“I’ll get to that bonnie, just keep kissing me like that.” He whispered, hands slipping into the back pocket of your jeans to keep you close.

You took over as soon as you got him back to his dorm room. You helped him undress, made sure he didn’t collapse in the shower, and even straightened his precious Mohawk while he struggled to pull on the sweats you’d grabbed him. All the while, awkward apologies from him. From you, excited recollections of all the things you’d learned from the strong women around you over the week.

Johnny supposed he had them to thank. In the back of his mind he’d been wondering what flipped the switch, and gifted him the kind of welcome home he used to envy the taken members of the club for getting. You were the best girlfriend he ever had, but an old lady was something else, yet here you were, excelling at that too.

And later, in his room after the hot shower, he collapsed face first on the bed. It took one, deep inhale of the fresh linen to know someone had done laundry. He exhaled with a hum, openly appreciating the clean scent.

“Yeah, you can thank me later.” You laughed, entering the room from his bathroom.

Johnny heard the sound of a lid pop, but was too far gone to look back and see what it was. Then you straddled his back, your soft hands kneading out a week’s worth of tension, self-inflicted and otherwise. He groaned, feeling the soothing lotion follow your hands over the peaks and valleys of his muscular frame.

“Addin’ this to my tab then?” He slurred, half in the dream realm, half with the love of his life.

“Yep, but I know you’re good for it.” You leaned down, nipping his ear, and making him mewl in frustration as he hardened against the mattress, knowing there’d be nothing he could do about it at the moment.

He used the last of what he had to flip you over, mentally cataloging the adorable squeak you let out. Cupping your cheeks, he shared a soft look with you for just a moment, before he sealed his lips over yours. All he could do was hope you could feel everything he wanted to say behind the movement of his lips.

Judging by your soft sighs, he guessed you could.

He pulled away, settling half on you, half off. “I’m settlin’ my debts soon as I’m up hen. Bet on it.”

He makes Ghost promise to take care of you if something ever happens to him. 

“Johnny, shut fuck up,” Ghost glared at him, faint facial scars following his frown. “You’ll outlive us all.”

Johnny stared at him from across the meeting table, more serious than a personification of the sun had any right to be. They were the only two in the briefing room, for some reason the place felt sacred enough to Soap for such a request.

“‘m serious VP, that’s ma heart, I love her.” His accent thickened with emotion, and he sipped his bar as if to wash it back. 

                                                                                                                               His fingers flexed around the sweating glass. “‘m gonna marry her.”

“Lads and I knew that the first time you talked about her.”

Soap smiled at that, but his expression quickly returned to its serious state. “Sweet girl and me have been talkin’ about kids, preferably after.”

A fond quiet bloomed between them at that admission. The two of you had told no one else, and Johnny felt guilty violating your pillow talk confessionals, but he hoped it would get Ghost to agree.

“Want that more than anythin’ VP, but I can’t pull the trigger until I know they’ll be looked after.”

“The club-“

“Not just the club!” He ran a hand through his mohawk in frustration. 

Why couldn’t the stubborn fucking giant just agree?

“I know the club will look after them in general. I know I can trust our table, hope I can trust the other charters.” He sighed, refocusing. “You’re my best friend Simon. I just have to know my girl, and my bairn, would always have you at their back. If I died.”

“Wouldn’t happen. I’d lay my life down so you could make it back-“

Johnny shook his head, choosing not to repeat himself. Instead, he gave his friend a pleading look.

He could see a storm of thoughts and emotions competing for dominance in his friend’s mind. His expression didn’t change much, but it was in his eyes if you knew him.

He saw why Simon was resisting, he didn’t feel worthy of being looked to in that way.

Finally, Ghost responded after grinding his cigarette out in the dish on the table. “Promise the same f’me then. I’ve fucked her life up enough, shouldn’t still be doin’ it when I’m gone.” 

“On my honor.” Soap didn’t even have to think, it was an instinct.

“Then tell your missus you’re ready. I’ll cover my end.”

———

Price:

Head honcho. Chief. The Boss. Captain of the ship. It’s all the same no matter who calls him what, President Price is in charge.

He founded the club after leaving his original due to lack of loyalty, and thoughtless endeavors. He works overtime to make sure his club doesn’t fall in the same way. His code of ethics may not make a lick of sense to anyone outside of the outlaw life, but they’ve garnered the respect and admiration of some of the toughest men around the globe.

They’d follow him through hell because they know he’d be the first one in.

When they’re on a run, selling guns or attending a meeting in neutral territory, John’s mind is all business until business is done. Then it’s all you. He loves hearing his guys talk about how they’re going to spend their new check, or swapping stories about their old ladies. Sometimes, he even joins in.

But what he really wants to do is celebrate with you. Most times you’re already up at the compound. Seeing to the legitimate businesses, taking care of the girls, helping the member’s families, etc.

He respects what you do, what you’re capable of, beyond borders. However, he can’t help but be jealous. You always come to him first, tight hug and a long soft kiss, but then you’re quickly looking over his guys. The men revel in it, almost becoming kittens under your motherly ministrations. Especially Soap and Gaz, who you’re in the same age group as, but you scold all the same.

When the last man has been sent on his way, he’s dragging you away to the little bedroom off his office. He knows you find it amusing, to see his selfishness win out over any tiredness he’s feeling.

Before the door can even close, he’s pulling you close and kissing you his favorite way. A kiss he didn’t know he was capable of until you became his wife. Anytime he was gone too long, you did something that knocked him off his feet, or your affection wasn’t directed solely at him, he kissed you that way.

He cradled your head, holding you steady when he pressed his lips to yours. He left no room for there to be room between the two of you. Rough thumbs slid under your chin, tilting your head up slightly before he slid his tongue between your lips. He knew he had to release you soon, let you remember how to breathe, but it was hard to fight the hunger.

“Nothing flatters me like my big biker husband being unable to share me for two seconds.” you teased, but your teasing came out in short puffs, as your lungs weren’t cooperating with you at the moment.

He could feel you swaying, going dizzy, and he brushed his beard over your ear to make you squirm before he said. “Jump love.”

You did, feeling his heavy hands grasp your thighs seconds later. He slid your legs over his hips, encouraging you to lock down around his waist.

“I’m just making sure you take care of what’s yours.” he thrust upward, hardness touching. “I promised it to you that first time.”

He laid you across the bed, staring down at you with a darkened smirk. “Take some responsibility for the state of your possessions.”

He’s the head of an organization that now exists in several countries. All that responsibility is tiring, even for a man so skilled at navigating it, and there’s been many a day when all he can do is lay his head down for the pain of the headaches.

You can’t count how many times you’ve come up to the club when he didn’t come home, only to find him furiously puffing a cigar and downing shots to dull the pain. 

The guys had families to feed, there were good men behind bars for them that needed to be taken care of, he had tables back home that needed guidance, there were property expenses, legal retainer fees, and more. Much more.

That meant more risky non-legit work, which meant stretching the legitimate business to cover what that brought in. He had to know when it was time to expand, when it was time to halt, and when it was time to move to something else.

But he’s just a man, one man, and you’re there to remind him of that. 

“John?” You had been expecting to find him in his office, but the moment you stepped into the club house, you saw him at the bar.

He wasn’t alone. 

Phillip Graves, president of the Shadows MC finished off his drink and clapped John on the back. 

“We’ll talk again.” He nodded his head towards you with a wink and a smile. “Ma’am.”

Your narrowed eyes followed him out of the door, remaining there until his motorcycle’s engine was a distant roar. At that point, you turned back to your husband.

He was gripping his forehead, lit cigar balanced on the heavy crystal ashtray next to him. The last remnants of whisky mingled with the melting ice in his glass, which he threw back before attempting a fake smile.

”Hello darling, you just close up shop?”

”Yeah, and I got home to find my husband wasn’t there. What the fuck John? You said you were going to work on this.” 

You tossed your purse on the counter. “And Graves?! I can’t even-“

”(Y/N), don’t start.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not have that in me right now.”

Sighing, you placed one hand on his back, using the other to put out his cigar. He protested with a disapproving grunt, but was too tired to do more than that. Your face softened at that realization.

He pushed back from the bar a little, allowing you to slide onto his lap, legs splitting over his thighs. “I’m just worried. You can lead a table, you can lead the whole organization, but you can’t carry the whole thing on your back.”

You cupped his head like he often did to yours, and massaged the base of his skull. His eyes slid shut, body going lax, and he practically purred.

Leaning down, you scattered gentle kisses on his face, careful to leave no spot untouched, before going in for a whiskery kiss. It was here John took over, thanking you for the attention.

“You know that it’s not you I don’t trust right?” you asked between kisses. “It’s him.”

“I know, and you know I value your judgment.” He got underneath your shirt, hands rubbing your sides slowly. 

There was a moment of domestic peace and quiet. You massaging his temple, and he massaging your sides. Though you trusted the capable man going soft under your hands, you hoped he wouldn’t regret whatever Graves was bringing to your door.

John doesn’t come to your shop often, but it’s not because he doesn’t support your career. It’s because he can’t watch you work for very long without wanting you biblically on every surface.

You love his open attraction to you, so it’s not exactly the easiest thing to ignore. No matter how much you try to stay focused on the job, the man is the love of your life, and he looks handcrafted by god.

Hunched over a client’s thigh, your brows were drawn in concentration on the elaborate Victorian cameo piece.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see John lounging in the plush desk chair he’d dragged over. A good distance to respect your client, but close enough, he could keep eyes on his favorite person.

Your client was amused, laughing through a wince, she nodded in John’s direction. “You’ve got a not-so-secret admirer.”

“I’ve been caught lovely, what to do now?”

”Ignore you.” You quipped before glancing up at your client. “He’s my husband.”

”Oh,” she hummed. “That explains the heart eyes.”

At that, you did have to look up, instantly wishing you hadn’t. It was a visual trap. 

John, sitting there like the king he was, manspreading with no shame. Black beanie, tight jeans, dark sweater with his royal kutte draped over the sweater, and leather boots. You told him more than once he could model, to which he feigned offense. 

“Focus on your work.” John admonished, but the smirk he said it though was pure sin.

Your eyes had strayed below the belt, and John was fully aware of this. Reveling in it really.

”Don’t you have a bike to fix? A prospect to bottle feed?”

”Nope,” his arms crossed behind his head, an action you saw out of the corner of your eye. “I belong to my missus this evening.”

Your client cooed, undoubtedly enjoying the banter between you and John. You did too, too much, and his bit about belonging to you made you have to pause and readjust yourself.

”Every evening really.”

”That’s nice John.” You hissed, lifting the gun from her skin to wave him off.

Your client laughed, trying hard to hold herself steady for you.

“Don’t encourage him.” you turned yourself at an angle slightly, trying and failing to ignore him. 

“Well, it’s really far more than just evenings isn’t i-“

You lifted your foot from the pedal, and placed the tattoo gun on the tray next to you. 

“Kitchen, now.” You gave your client a sheepish smile. “We were due for a break anyway hun. Can I get you anything?”

She was visibly entertained by you and John, after all, the two of you had become a legendary couple in these parts for a reason.

“I’m good, take your time.”

John winked at your client, strolling behind you into the back. You waited until he was in the kitchenette before sliding the door closed.

”You’re such an ass.” But your hands were already under his sweater, running up and down his chest.

You appreciated that he took up so much space in the little room, forcing the two of you together. You could blame the room’s dimensions for being all over him, and not your unwavering attraction to the man.

“I haven’t seen you in 15 hours, yes, I counted. I’m always counting when it comes to you. You can’t ask me to behave.” 

Large hands slid into your hair, fingers interlocking to cradle your head. He didn’t even have to pull you in to kiss you, and he grinned, clearly also appreciating the size of the space.

“You think she’s a big enough fan to give us thirty?”

You actually have three rings. Your engagement ring, your wedding ring, and one of John’s rings that he gave you the first night you fucked.

In the quiet of the briefing room, somewhere you were surprised to be, you sat on his lap. The two of you soaked up the afterglow, the party raging outside fading to a dull noise outside of your own world. Coming down from your high, you let out a soft noise of surprise when John gripped your hair to kiss you with one hand. The other hand grasped your own, the one that had come to rest on his chest when you’d ridden him into his throne.

He slid the silver, braided band onto your ring finger, promising. “The first to come”

He loves to get in the ring and show off for you. Sometimes, there’s a loud mouth from a visiting club, or another table visiting, and John takes them to the ring they have in the back of the club’s compound. 

Usually, it’s Konig’s or Simon’s domain, but it’s not because John doesn’t love dishing it out as much as them. That becomes apparent when he delivers careful, strategically brutal, blows to his opponent. Enough to win, and then a few more to humble.

You had long ago stopped lying to yourself about how much it turned you on. So when John emerged from the ring, panting, abs catching the compound’s lights on a sheen of sweat, you always dragged him off. Under the guise of cleaning him up of course ;).

John’s breeding kink goes wild when he sees you with a baby, or any kid really. He’s been around the club life long enough to see many couples welcome kids. One of the first outings the two of you made as an official thing was to the hospital to see the birth of a member’s baby.

His old lady bonded with you, and you were quickly given child holding privileges. It came so naturally to you, and John felt what he figured the two of you would get to eventually quickly build itself a home in his chest. New Kink unlocked: breed you on any surface he could find.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, it was hypnotizing. His family around him saw it for what it was. Their president had this future scene, starring you and him, written all over him.

He thought the intensity of it was something he had to keep under wraps until he noticed you had the same feelings. 

Baby showers, shopping for 141 babies, school drives and charities the club did for the local youth, seeing cute kids on social media. It didn’t matter, John caught on to the fact that you fucked him like a feral rabbit whenever you got that maternal glint in your eye. He didn’t call you on it until after you were married. The day when your shop receptionist went on maternity leave. 

You’d been going on all through dinner, and then while doing the dishes, about how cute the kid would be, and you loved helping her with her nursery, and how she was already glowing. The more you ranted, the harder he got, until finally, he trapped you against the counter.

“I reckon it’d be easier to just say you want to be a mum.” he lifted one leg to his waist, and bucked against your clothed heat. “Say it.”

You stammered, eyes wide, pupils blown. “J-John..”

“Say it.” his voice somehow found a lower octave to sink to, choked with desire.

“What are you talking about?” you whined, embarrassed at being found out.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m hard as steel love, you feel that?” he grabbed your wrist, kissing the knuckles before quickly brushing them over his length. 

“That’s how bad I want to make you a mum, can’t you just admit it too?”

Tilting your chin up, he placed tiny kisses under your chin, purposely dragging his beard across the soft skin after each kiss. 

“C’mon then, tell your husband the truth so I can give us what we both want”

You whimpered, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt. “John..”

“Go on, invite me in.” he slipped his index finger in the top of your panties just enough to play with the elastic. Stretching it until it threatened to fly back against your skin before he eased it back in place.

You moved forward in an attempt to make his finger slip lower, and he laughed darkly, holding you in place. Shaking his head, he repeated his precious statement.

“Give me a baby John.” you huffed, frustration rising until all that you could do was spill the truth. 

Gasping, you felt the cold tile of the counter beneath your thighs. You tried to process how he’d gotten you up there so fast, but your mind didn’t want to focus on anything other than your husband kneeling before you with the most determined look you’d ever seen.

As he slipped your panties and pajama shorts down your legs, he whispered how it’d be best if you prepared an excuse for work while you could still think straight.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Ambitious King.

Long live the King of Beasts, he who shines like the sun.

He stands atop the heap, clutching victory in his righteous grasp.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

"We've come to finals of the interschool Spelldrive tournament!" an announcer blares over the stadium. "It's down to the wire, and this will be the deciding round. With the scores tied, it’s anyone’s game!!"

A crowd chomps at the bit for a winner to emerge from the field. They lean forward in their seats, clutch onto hope, stuff their mouths with soda and popcorn. This is a show, the players, actors, and they, the audience.

Leona allows himself a smirk.

We’ll give’m a real show-stopper then. That crown is as good as mine.

“What should our strategy be this time, sir?” a teammate—a Scarabia student—asks.

They’re huddled shoulder to shoulder, one student contributed from each of the seven dorms. Their allegiances may lie in different places, but they all wear the same black and violet uniform. They are all Night Ravens, united under one banner: his.

“We’ll finish this in a single decisive blow,” Leona replies, snapping his goggles on. “I’ll take the disc and score us that final point. The rest of you, cover me.”

“You heard the boss,” the smallest player says. It’s Epel, tiny but feisty—a contrast to his big blue eyes and lilac waves of hair. “Don’t worry, Leona-senpai! I’ll fer sure keep’m offa yer tail!”

“That’s what I like to hear, kid.” He raises his head and calls, “Clear!”

And with that, the players peel off into their own positions. The other team, uniforms pristine white and hemmed in royal blue, are patiently waiting. Leona pulls up to the center of the field where the referee and the opposing team’s leader await.

When he looks, he falters.

It’s a face that is frighteningly similar to his own.

The same skin color, the same lion ears and tail, the same construction of the features—if not softer and more friendly. His mane is held up in a ponytail, bright red-orange that fades into a golden yellow. He’s younger than he should be, missing the slight creases under his warm brown eyes and the lines that flank his perpetually smiling mouth.

“Falena?”

An icy dread creeps up from his core. The world around him seems to slow and come to a complete stop.

But this can’t be. My brother is 10 years older than me. He’s no longer a student, he’s—

“Leona? Is something wrong?” Falena inquires with a cheeky grin. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to play against family.”

Annoyance flares up.

Brother or not, Leona detests that smile. The smile of a man that has robbed him of everything.

“Dream on,” he snarls back. “I’m overthrowing Royal Sword Academy and you."

The referee lets the disc drop and blows into his whistle. “BEGIN!!”

"Aaand it's started!!" the announcer declares.

His body instinctively kicks into action. He swipes the frisbee, keeping it afloat in a blaze of blood-red magic.

RSA swarm him, magical pens at the ready.

“Protect him…!” he hears Epel shout. “Protect the king!!”

His team charges, each of them trained on their target. NRC and RSA, reflecting the other, copying movements as they bound around on the field, seeking an opening or cutting it off.

Leona blows into enemy territory, furiously racing to the goal post.

"What's this?! It looks like Captain Kingscholar of the NRC team has already devised a plan to secure victory. They're closing off any aid the RSA team can offer to each other!"

The crowd revs up like an engine coming alive, a slumbering city waking. Blood thunders in his ears, louder than his audience.

"Oh no, you don't!"

"Oooh, and here comes the upset! It's Captain Kingscholar of the RSA team, come to interfere with the game plan!"

Leona swerves, and a stream of fire narrowly misses him. "Tsk!"

A flash of red and gold, and there's his brother at his side. "Sorry, Leona. It won't be that easy."

"Knock it off. I don't have time to play games with you!"

He dives, trying to shake Falena off--but he pursues, relentless in the chase. They thread each other in the sky, trading spells.

Explosions of heat and color. Shards of ice whizzing by, columns of water. Windy whips lashing at them. All-consuming light and darkness.

"This is amazing, folks! We are witnessing a brotherly quarrel the likes of which we've never seen before... Look at that dazzling display of flight technique and spellwork!"

Through it all, Falena' laughs.

So carefree, so cheerful. A knife twists in his chest, and the anger spikes again.

"That's enough...! I'm ending this," Leona snarls.

His magic collects in a single sphere. There is no body to it, no true shape--only a contained vortex of gales. They violently churn in an endless cycle, raising a storm in a jar.

He sends it hurtling at Falena, who moves to conjure a barrier--

Too late.

The ball expands, releasing its energy in one deep sigh. The audience is slammed back into their seats, the players blown to the ground or sent crashing into the bounds of the stadium. They're dazed, confused, scrambling to rebalance on their brooms.

The path, he sees, is clear.

Now...!

He lets out a monstrous roar and blitzes for the goal post. The disc sparkles, charging with power for the final blow as he gallops toward his prize.

The announcer hops back on, his voice frantic. "Could this be it?! Can Captain Kingscholar of the NRC team reclaim the throne from his brother?!"

Noise builds around him. RSA players calling out to each other, NRC players changing his name, the crowd cheering.

It's now or never.

Leona spikes the disc with all his might. It clears, the winning shot like a shooting star. Some golden object encapsulated in a blaze of fire.

The adrenaline in his blood sings with triumph. His tired muscles, his heavy breathing, the sweat upon his brow--badges of honor.

The sound intensifies, joined by whistles and shrieks. Feet stomping, hands clapping. People standing and hugging their neighbors. (Leona thinks he sees Crowley among them, sobbing uncontrollably.)

“This is incredible, ladies and gentlemen! You’ve just witnessed history being made today…! Night Raven College has snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, breaking Royal Sword Academy’s 99 year win streak!!"

Leona slowly returns to the ground, dismounting from his broom. He lands beside Falena, who is sprawled on his back and wearing the usual smile.

"Ahahah, looks like you beat me," he says casually.

"... Fool. Get up, you look ridiculous. The acting king of the Sunset Savanna shouldn't be rolling around in the dirt." Leona looks away, but awkwardly offers a hand.

Falena laughs and accepts it, hauling himself up. "That's a funny joke. When did you get a sense of humor?"

He scowled. "I didn't make one."

"Are you still half asleep? And you still beat me?" Falena punches him in the bicep. "That's my talented big bro."

"What... big bro?"

There it is again: something cold and sinister inside of him. The lingering feeling of wrongness.

Suddenly, the adrenaline in him turns toxic, and he feels as though his flesh and bones are burning. Leona seizes Falena by the shoulders and shakes him.

"What the hell is going on... Gaaah!"

A metallic screech fills the stadium. Pain blossoms in his ears, and Leona rushes to guard them, hands dropping away from Falena.

"Oops, sorry! Technical difficulties, folks!" the announcer apologizes. "It looks like even our equipment wants to cheer for Captain Kingscholar of the NRC team, the star player of today! Let's give him a round of applause!!"

They explode with excitement, Clapping and calling out louder than he can think.

"What a judicious young man!"

"He controls such powerful magic with ease...!"

He stands there, shocked, at the rain of adoration. Him, recognized? Respected, saluted, and seen as the wonder he is? Him?

His mind clouds.

What is this,,,?

"Leona-saaaan!!"

He turns, finding his teammates jogging over, Epel at the head. There are members of his own dorm with them--Ruggie, Jack.

"We gotcha now, Leona-san! Thought you could get away without getting your fur ruffled, huh?" Ruggie snickers, then gives Jack a thumbs-up. "Alright, fellas. You know what to do!"

"Hah, the hell is this? I didn't ask for a surprise after working my tail off."

"Sorry, Leona-senpai! Ruggie-senpai's orders!" Jack says very seriously. "This is the only way to give you a proper sendoff for carrying us to victory... You've earned it!"

"1, 2, 3...!"

"Wha...?!"

Leona is seized and hoisted into the air with a collective whoop of excitement. Tossed up, up, up. The stadium lights glaring, sound blasting.

He returns back to his peer's arms, and heaved up again. Down and up, down and up. Each pass makes him more nauseous, blinded and deafened by the dizzying joy.

"Long live the king! Long live the king!!" they chant.

The king... me? Leona fights against it, pushing as hard as he can.

But his body is tired, his mental capacities drained, his emotions worn. The situation, too sweet, too cloying.

I'm... the king... I won. This is my prize.

He closes his eyes and lets himself fall.

This time, for good.

When he opens them again, he swears he sees a dark figure flying high above the stadium. Not on a broom, but floating of his own accord. A pair of horns protrudes him his head, and he glimpses a pair of ghostly white hands clapping.

One additional spectator with glowing green eyes.

"Congratulations, Kingscholar."

[prncssie]

minors mdni

hobie is just so needy today.

it really is his fault but it’s driving you up the wall. he’s the one who insisted on tagging along with you but now he wants to complain. you’re not giving him enough attention, you’re not shopping fast enough, you’re not leaving soon enough. it’s all because of that damn chocolate.

you’re an innocent bystander in all this, for once. he’s the one who discovered it and the one who bought it. originally, he did try to attempt you to try it with him but you flat out refused.

you’re too busy, having to work long hours for the next few days. the last thing you want is some mysterious aphrodisiac running through your system.

hobie has all the time in the world, though. because he doesn’t work a conventional job he figured he’d be the perfect subject. especially after you told him just how doubtful you were.

there is just dozens of products claiming to do the same, both cheaper and expensive. to you, aphrodisiacs are just another scam for the touch starved. never did you think the king of physical affection himself would introduce it into your relationship.

that was a mere few hours ago. now, he’s tugging at your sweater. he will not let you go for more than five seconds without him feeling you up. every time you find yourself stopping to flip through the clothing rack, hobie’s hands are wandering over your body.

“stop it,” you push his hands away from your body for the umpteenth time. this time, they’ve wandered underneath your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin.

the last time you gave him the benefit of the doubt, he’d nearly unclipped your bra.

from an outside perspective, hobie is doting on you with his arms wrapped around you and his head resting on your shoulders. only you know how he squeezes at your tummy and laps the skin on your neck.

“hobart,” you sneer. you’re tempted to push him away from you completely.

that gets him. he hesitates, but only for a second. the shock of his government name leaving your lips doesn’t stop him for long. he’s too far gone, too deep in thinking with his dick. “call me that again and i’ll shove my whole dick in you right now.”

“try it. i’ll kill you, then myself.” you push a hanger on, passing up another skirt. you’re doing your best to make the most of what you have. this is supposed to be a relaxing little treat to yourself for all your hard work. instead, you’re fighting to keep hobie away from you.

you’re only successful for two more seconds before he’s back at it, trying to undress you in public. he tells you he can’t help it. you just look too good and smell too sweet. he’s intoxicated off the strawberry poundcake perfume you’re wearing and the way your ass looks in your jeans.

he pushes against you. groaning into your ear when he fits so snugly against you. the chocolate really has him on fire. just hearing your voice has precum leaking. he’s already addicted to you without it. with it, he’s convinced he’s ready to have baby now. “come on, ☆. let’s just go home. i’ll bring you back tomorrow.”

“baby, i can’t. i work tomorrow.” you untangle your limbs. in the end, you decide it’s better to be separate. he can’t control himself and you can’t control him.

it’s to no avail. just as quickly as you find yourself finally free from his grip, he’s pulling you back into his chest. “okay. then the next day.” he digs his nose into your scalp. the smell of your black vanilla shampoo turns him nearly animalistic

meanwhile, you’re suffocating in his loose black crop top. you wouldn’t care if the corset underneath wasn’t squishing your face. “still can’t. i have class.” you have to lift your head, much to his dismay.

one look at you changes that. it’s a fair trade, he rationalizes with a hungry stare. “okay? then skip it or some shit. i don’t care.” his hands dip down rather quickly. he gropes and grabs, despite your quiet shriek.

“get offa’ me.” you all but shove him, head whipping around to check if anyone saw. you’re lucky the mall is deserted so early in the morning on a weekday. the run of the mill teenagers are busy in class. “i swear to god if you do that again i’ll grind you into dust.” you point a finger at him but you’re sure you don’t look threatening at all.

he reaches for you again, scowling when you narrowly dodge him. “promise?” hobie quips with an annoying raise of his brow. his voice drops to a whisper when he finally catches you and tugs you close. “you can’t even suck me off in the dressing room?”

your face is burning with a fire you’ve never felt before. where he got the confidence to say such words, you have no idea. in public, at that! “are you actually serious?” you pinch the tips of your ears. sure enough, they’re warm with humiliation. does he have no shame?”

oh he’s serious all right. he’s so serious he drags you off to the dressing rooms himself. thanks to his lifelong experience in breaking laws and the learned creeping that comes with living a double life, he slips right by the employees with no problems.

he’s careless, bumping all against the walls, in a rush to lock the door behind you. you’ve never seen him this eager before. sure, during your usual times he’s excited. but right now, he’s nearly cumming before you’re doing anything.

“you’re sure you wanna do this? you really wanna? right here?” you’re quieter than usual, feeling as if it’s required while you’re sneaking around.

“the more you ask me, the longer this will take.” even the way he requests for you to shut up isn’t the same. there is no threat backing up his words, even when he closes the space between you.

you’re curious. some chocolate had your usually composed boyfriend like this? you’re not going to lie to yourself and pretend his change in behavior doesn’t make you feel some type of way.

usually it’s you shaking with need and making a mess everywhere. never have you had this much power in your relationship. if you weren’t on a time crunch and in the privacy of your home, you would have definitely taken your time with him. “you’re the one who needs me. i’ll change my mind.”

“please don’t play with me, right now. i ate the whole fucking square and i swear to – if you don’t do something, i’ll suck it myself.” he’s so frantic to remove the layers of silver belts, it takes him nearly twice as long. you aid him, taking pity. it’s you so many times on that end of the stick. even though you’ve never eaten an aphrodisiac, having hobie as your boyfriend is enough.

you giggle when hobie shuffles toward you, pants hanging loosely. he doesn’t share your sentiment. apparently, nothing about this is funny. he doesn’t argue back. just pops his dick in your face.

your wrap your fingers around the base and already, he’s groaning. for once he has to brace himself against you, hands resting in your shoulders.

“y’know you have to be quiet right?” you glance up at him. you test his reactions with slow jerks of your wrist. you don’t really need to when he’s already this worked up but it’s nice to the one causing the soft sighs.

his breath fans over your face and warms your cheeks. between his glistening shaft and his tightly wounded face, you don’t know where to look. “don’t let this, fuck. don’t let this go to your head.”

it’s far too late for that but you don’t tell him. you just smile to yourself instead and swirl your tongue around his tip. you’re teasing, he knows, but he honestly doesn’t care. his senses are heightened so much this feels like enough.

jokes on him, hobie is unprepared when you do begin to swallow him. he shocks himself when he gasps and pushes your head away. it’s so uncharacteristic of him that even he is embarrassed about it. “shit, baby. could have said something first.” he feels pathetic avoiding your gaze and even more so he meets his own in the mirror.

you shake your head, tongue darting out to lick the slightly salty remnants off your lips. “you don’t get to annoy me all day and push me away.” it would be unfair if you didn’t enjoy this, right? it’s only right after all he’s put you through. you owe it to him to leave him shaking.

he’s just about to chastise you and defend his honor when you’re right where you started. this time, however, you’re forcing yourself to take as much as you can.

hobie is constantly bumping against your throat with the way you’re bobbing your head. tears prickle your eyes and occasionally you gag but it’s all worth it. all when his hand is flying to cover his mouth and the other one has a grip on your hair.

contrary to popular belief, he isn’t forcing your head down but pulling your head away. he’s far more sensitive than he thought, too sensitive for his own good.

his hand is barely sufficient to keep his cries to a minimum, alternating between telling you to stop and to keep going.

your nails dig into his skin, being your main defense from being yanked off. you only stop to come up for air. your thumb circles around his tip with enough pressure to have him shuddering. your breath fans over his skin when you press wet kisses along his shaft.

“baby,” hobie speaks with his clenched in a fist, knuckles in his mouth. it serves as a warning. his brain is too far incapacitated to form sentences.

“if you’re gonna cum, do it in my mouth.” you mumble, words ghosting over him. it’s embarrassing enough to be giving him a blowjob in the mall dressing room. the last thing you want is cum stains littering your top.

it only takes his dick being enveloped in the warmth of your mouth for him to be shooting out thick ropes. hobie whines, using the hold he has on your hair to pull you off.

you wait until his eyes are on you to make a show out of swallowing his load, mouth opening to display the disappearing evidence.

it’s probably a mistake on your part when you physically see the hunger return in his face with a vengeance.

“fuck that was hot. let’s go home and do it again.”

your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. “what?” you don’t understand how he can already be thinking of another round when he was just griping about his sensitivity. “but what about me? i want to stay.” you watch him scramble to redress himself, accessories and all. your eyebrows knit together because there is no way some chocolate can do this.

“i’ll bring you back tomorrow,” he insists, pulling you to your feet. whatever secrecy you still have is thrown out the window when he pushes the door open with enough force to have it ricocheting off the wall.

“but i can’t. i have work, remember?” you cup the back of your head as he leads you through the store, right to the exit. you didn’t have time to fix your hair. he’s been so inconsiderate, it’s not fair.

“okay then we’ll go the next day.”

“ ‘bie, i have class – ” you really have to look at what they put in this stuff.

“then fuckin’ skip it. i don’t care.”

[gaybananabread]

OOH for tickletober can you do 30 with lee!MK and ler!Wukong? I LOVE THE BABIES IM WATCHING SEASON 5 RN

TickleTober Day 30 - Trick-or-Treat

~UGH I recently finished season 5 and- my heart?? AUGH! These babies have my entire soul; I’m more than happy to wreck them. I can’t decide if I like seeing Dadsy or Dad-Wukong more; expect some fics about those soon! Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy! Happy spooky season!~

Lee: Mk

Ler: Wukong

Summary: After learning that Wukong didn’t celebrate Halloween, Mk sets up a mock Trick-or-Treat route for his mentor to enjoy. However, it seems the king would prefer the tricky side of the holiday. After all, a good scheme and hearty laugh could be its own treat.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

“I think I got it.” Wukong nodded as a pumpkin pail was shoved into his hands. He’d never participated in Halloween before; when Mk heard that, he wasted no time in teaching his mentor all about the traditions.

“Great! Remember, it’s Trick or Treat. I’ll be over there!” Mk smiled and jogged off to one of the little shacks he’d constructed, ready to give Wukong the full Trick-or-Treating experience.

“Right…” The monkey man chuckled as he watched the kid run off, shaking his head. His “mask” was a skeleton face on a piece of paper, but Mk had assured him that even the simplest costume counted. With a fond sigh, he approached the first “house.”

“Uh…trick or treat?” Wukong stood in front of the door of the crude shack, a bit impressed that he’d been able to make six of them in an hour.

“You have to knock!” Mk whisper-shouted from inside, the sound of fabric rustling meeting the monkey’s ears. What was he doing in there?

With three steady knocks, the Monkey King tried again. “Trick or treat!”

The thin wood door opened, revealing Mk…with a sheet over his head. There were two little holes cut out for eyes, though they were dreadfully lopsided. It took everything he had not to laugh at the endearing sight.

“Helloooooo!” Mk drew his “ooo” sounds out to sound ghostly, dropping a few pieces of candy – hair illusions, no doubt – into his pail. “Happy Halloweeeeen!”

“Thanks, kid,” the orange-furred monkey said affectionately, backing away from the shack. The moment he did, he heard more rustling, then saw his mentee high-tailing it to the next little place. He really was going all out, wasn’t he?

Wukong took slow strides over to the next little shack, giving Mk time to set up whatever silliness he was doing. That time when he knocked, the door was answered by a witch; well, it was Mk in a cheap witch mask and black robe, but the monkey had to compliment his quick-change skills.

“Eeyeee-he-he!” The kid did his best witch cackle, which had Wukong biting his lip to keep from laughing. It was so bad… “Here’s yer candy, ye scoundrel!” Again, more likely-hair candies, though that handful contained little green orbs. Very on-theme: he liked it.

The next few stops were similar scenarios, each of Mk’s appearances different than the last. He’d seen the boy as a sock-handed Frankenstein, a toilet paper mummy, and a vampire with a suspiciously similar cloak to the witch’s.

The last house, however, looked different than the rest; the door was a blanket, and the place looked smaller than the others.

“Uh…what happened here, bud?” Wukong stood back a foot or two, giving the kid any space he might need.

“I kinda ran out of wood when I made this one, so I got creative.” The monkey could hear his slightly nervous chuckle from behind the blanket, though there was a mischievous edge to it… “I’m ready for ya!”

Wukong shrugged and approached the little shack, knocking on the frame of the “door.” Instead of a festive Halloween character, however, he was met by Mk in one of Taang’s sweaters and corduroy pants. “Git offa my lawn!”

“Uh, bud? What’s this about?” The Monkey King chuckled as he took a few steps back, avoiding a swing from the old Mk’s cane – his staff, which he was putting to excellent use.

“Not everybody wants you darn Trick-or-Treaters in their yards. You’ll crush my petunias!” Mk lightly swung his staff, aiming for his mentor’s feet. Wukong dodged it, huffing amusedly. When he was a full five feet away from the shack, Mk went back inside.

Now, he knew there was probably some method to the kid’s madness, but he wasn’t in the mood to think too hard. The activity was called Trick-or-Treating. Since he wasn’t getting any treats, he’d have to play into the tricky side.

Carefully, he climbed onto the roof of the shack, taking special care to make sure it didn’t collapse under his weight. Then, he leaned over and knocked on the frame.

When Mk came out, already scolding him in the mock-old tone, Wukong’s tail wrapped around his waist, hoisting him into the air. The kid yelped, kicking and laughing already as he came face-to-face with his mentor.

“Monkie King! You were supposed to be at the door!” He squirmed as the king brought them back to solid ground. It was probably for the best that they moved; he really didn’t put enough effort into that last shack.

“That’s if you want treats,” Wukong grinned, using his tail to tug his mentee closer. “I was feeling tricky.”

Before Mk could ask what he was doing, he felt the king’s paw-claws kneading his sides. He squealed, falling into a bright giggle fit as Wukong began tickling him. “Mohohohonkie Kihihing! Th-thihis ihihihisn’t pahart of ihihihit!”

“Hey, traditions can change. Aren’t you all about progress and new beginnings?” He teased, watching the boy squirm and twist in his tail’s grip. It was a little difficult to hold the strong boy still, but he managed.

“Nohohot lihike thihihis!” Mk whined as he kicked his feet, pushing weakly at Wukong’s hands. He really wasn't trying to push him away; it just felt impossible to stay still.

“Not like this, huh? Then how about this?” The immortal smiled as he dug into the boy’s stomach, targeting his navel. As expected, he shrieked, the whiny giggles ramping up to bright belly laughter.

“GYAHAHAHA! NAHAHAT THEHEHERE!” Mk’s thrashing doubled as his worst spot was attacked, his arms starting to actively try and defend. He was strong; so strong that Wukong had to pull him in against his chest, trapping the boy in a tickle-hug.

“You were right, kid. I really do love this holiday.” Wukong’s ever-present shit-eating grin grew fond as he listened to his mentee laugh his head off. He was so rarely at ease anymore; seeing him completely carefree, hearing that crazy laughter, made Wukong’s heavy heart a little lighter.

“HAHAHALLOWEEN IHIS SCAHAHARY, NOHOT FUHUNNY!” Mk was still trying to argue the point of the holiday, still sane enough to form coherent sentences. He was slipping fast, but he still had to try.

“I feel like it can be both,” Wukong teased. “Plenty of haunted houses have actors that pop out, scare the pants off you, and then do stupid stuff to make you laugh off the adrenaline. Scary and funny.”

“SHUHUHUSH!” It was always so unfair when the Monkey King had good reasoning behind his silly arguments. He’d have to rewatch Monkie Cop to pick up that talent.

“When have I ever done that on command, kid?” The monkey snorted to himself, dragging a single finger up the kid’s spine to hear him squeal. “And here I thought you knew me…”

“Y-YOUHU CAHAN’T- NOHOT BOHOHOHOTH!” Mk was rapidly losing his ability to think as the orange-furred monkey teased both of his worst spots. That was just uncalled for, and incredibly unfair!

“Uh, yeah I can. Watch me,” Wukong sassed, taking the boy’s plea as a challenge because of course he did. One paw remained on Mk’s navel while the other snaked around to his back, scribbling up and down his spine.

Mk promptly lost it.

“NAHAHAHAHA! MOHOHONKIEHE KIHIHING!” Squirming and thrashing beneath the evil touches, Mk tried and failed to get away. The monkey really wasn’t tickling him that hard, but the sensitivity of the spots made it excruciatingly ticklish nonetheless.

The kid could only take so much of that relentless teasing. Within a minute of the intense tickles’ starting, he was tapping out, stomping his foot against the ground. “NOHOHO- GYAHAHAHA! NOHO MOHOHOHOHORE!”

Wukong quickly recognized the boy’s surrender, stopping his tickles in favor of soothing back and belly rubs. His tail remained around the kid’s middle, giving him a reassuring little squeeze every few seconds.

“You okay, kid? Didn’t go too far?”

“N-naha, you’re all goohohod…” Mk panted as he caught his breath, cheeks flushed and eyes wrinkled at the corners with a smile. He really did have fun, as cruel as the tickling method was.

“Good. Want any water?” Wukong was getting better with taking care of mortals, recognizing their needs and trying to meet them. “Big Blue was making some nice lemonade tea if you wanna grab some.”

“Really?” Mk’s eyes lit up at the mention of the Arnold Palmer. Sure, it was out of season, but he still loved the drink. “Yeah, let’s go!” He sprung up, taking off for the shop like nothing even happened.

“This kid, I swear…” Wukong shook his head and chuckled before summoning his cloud, zipping after his mentee. He was a goofy and unpredictable boy, and the monkey wouldn’t want him any other way.

“Race ya there, kid!”

[inkz123]

Impressing King Nootnoot

Based offa this post haha

[ya-what--ya-erster]

Albert DaSilva is autistic and we all know this from exactly one moment in King of New York when Race hugs Albert and he makes a face like "OMH get tf offa me"

[theloveinc]

i need to be the princess that knights!kiribaku are charged with guarding and taking care of..

imagine taking them on a little stroll through the castle gardens.. making them flower crowns.. making them steal some honeycomb from the hive on the tree.. sneaking little kisses in the hedge maze..

going to the market in secret.. Eijirou doing most of the talking while Katsuki bullies the vendor into lowering the price..

and yk.. having them outside my bedroom doors (in my bed snuggling me.. keeping their princess warm..) <3

Why am I like... dying at the thought of Kiri being so excited to guard your room at night because it means getting to take his big, heavy armor off early and sleep and get his nut off in your bigass royal bed???

And usually he's back up at 2am trying to get his knighty tighty whities on before trading spots with Bakugo, but since your recent...... developments... with them both, Bakugo's just crowding right into the bed with both of you and getting his sloppy seconds in the morning (and hitting Kiri on his fat head for taking up you and the whole bed).

...I feel like it's a big whole scandal in the castle when your attendant walks in with your hairbrush and outfit for the day and three groggy, naked people with bedhead sit up instead of just one.

(She's scurrying away and immediately telling not only the other maids and guards, but also the king... and Bakugo and Kiri are pulled away to be lectured except you go with them and fight back and then everyone and their mama knows you have two guards wrapped around your finger and it's this WHOLE. damn. THING.)

Or like... trying to canoodle with Bakugo while he's on duty in between his salutes to other guards, and it's so embarrassing because you're a royal, for god's sake! Stop hanging offa him like a barnacle, he doesn't want the general to see!!! But he also can't get enough of it, the feeling that you are his just as much as he is your sworn knight...

And then you do get caught! But thankfully it's only by Kiri who gets all whiney for not being there to be canoodled by you, too, and it's all just. SO CUTE.

(and yes to all the moments when Bakugo harasses a gardener to pick the most perfect rose for him to bring you, or Kiri shows up with bee stings all over his ass and tears in his eyes just so your tea can be perfect for the week, or at the market when you're not royal and guard but regular civilians with no sponserbilities... I am going to CRYYYY)

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Elon's Back

King: submitted for the approval of the Elon Musk: [rising from bushes] eyyyy stephano king Koontz: oh steve! it's your friend! King: he's not my friend Koontz: but clive said- Barker: ah ha ha King: goddamn it clive!! now you've got everyone saying it!

Elon Musk: eyyyy stephano king wottsa matta for you Poe: steve can you please tell your friend to leave us alone King: he's not my friend! we're not even acquaintances! Musk: eyyy stephano king why you no lika da elon Musk: see, i giva you da check King: i don't want it! stop!

King: elon, maybe you shouldn't give verified checks to terrorists on twitter Musk: eyyyy why you calla it da twitter wottsamattaforyou, you deadnama da twitter! Musk: ya musta respecta de transition! Musk: eyyy you lika da joke? elon maka da joke Musk: da one joke Musk: elon only needa da one joke

King: elon, that's illegal Musk: eeeeey i identify assa da helicopter! King: you could go to jail Musk: eeeey you gotta da blue hair! whya you so a woka stephano king? King: for real, elon, you could get in trouble Musk: eeeeeey uh Musk: uh Musk: Musk: eeeeey i identify assa da helicopter!

Poe: look steve i know you like playing with your friend King: he's not my friend!!! Poe: but he's really kind of obnoxious King: he's not my friend! he just keeps showing up! Poe: you need to tell your friend that this is a private gathering King: he's not my King: goddamnit!!

Elon Musk: eyyyy now i tella da story Musk: here a picture offa da nazi frog King: that's not a story! King: that's just a meme! Musk: you no lika da memes??? issa good memes! Musk: eeeey stephano king i breaka you face!

Musk: you no lika da elon? eyyyyy i showa you all! Musk: i buya dissa campfire!! Musk: now itsa mine? Musk: [stomping on fire] now whosa laughing ey??? ey??? paisano!!! Poe: King: Barker: Lovecraft: Koontz: Musk: [stomping on fire] now whosa laughing???

Musk: [stomping on campfire] i owna da campfire!! letta datta sink in! King: elon! your pants are catching fire! Musk: [in flames] mama mia!! why da jewish media do thissa to me???

[wonder-worker]

"Please greet my lady the Queen in my humble name. I would have written her a letter of counsel if the King’s business had permitted her to read it. Let her rest assured that I am as faithful to her ladyship as I can be."

-Alcuin about Cynethryth, Queen of Mercia, written to a nun at the court of King Offa (c. 786/7) / Stefany Wragg, Early English Queens, 650-850: Speculum Reginae (Lives of Royal Women)

"Alcuin’s letter is brief but reveals the queen [Cynethryth of Mercia] as an active and educated political agent at the Mercian court. Firstly, he offers his counsel to her. This reveals that Cynethryth’s position as queen included offering her advice to her husband, and implies that she formed her own opinions. Secondly, he notes how the queen herself is literate. In mentioning that she should have been able to legere, ‘to read’, and, given her witnessing of charters and her later disputations against the learned clerics of the Church, it seems that Cynethryth may have been able to read Latin herself. In fact, Joanna Story believes that this message to Hunðryð (and that of the next letter in this discussion) may have been a response to contact initiated by Cynethryth herself. Finally, he attempts to reassure Cynethryth of his loyalty to her. Alcuin’s loyalties were sometimes strained between his Northumbrian homeland, the Mercian court, and Charlemagne, especially when they were at odds with each other."

[catboyklug]

sam & max hcs

title

this is specifically for sam & also max bc im most confident w my interpretations of them but once i play & finish tdp i'll make a post for every single other character .

quick disclaimer that this is for my sorta-AU thing where i make sense of the games and cartoon and comics by saying that each was an autobiographical (or just biographical) piece of media that they signed their rights away to. the comics were more or less exactly what happened, the cartoon was scripted half the time (with the bad day on the moon episode actively having been staged) and the games are more or less 1:1 to what happened except for the occassional references to them being. games.

also this isnt a totally exhaustive list

sammy

canon to get it outta the way: he's black, bisexual, autistic and might be trans & objectum (i hc him to definitely be the last two lmao) . i hc he has Narcissistic Traits tee em and also might have OCD

he started developing arthritis in his 20's, which was made only worse by his horrible posture due to his career path of Massive Fucking Nerd. though he fixed his back posture-wise by the time he formed the freelance police, he still is in a lot of pain near constantly.

even when he makes jokes, he wants to be taken seriously at all times. he wants you to laugh at his cleverness, not at the fact that you find him inherently funny. he tends to take this a bit far sometimes, which is part of one of the many reasons as to why he treated max so terribly in the early telltale games

since he was a pup he's tried to hide the fact he's bisexual, even if he's completely normal abt max being out as gay and doesn't see an issue with it in any sense of the term

he really wanted to be an engineer for years, but the intense sexism of the field, a desire to stick around with max, and the fact that other jobs would pay him better lead him to abandon the thought

though he wouldn't mind having children, he doesn't actively want them as much as max does. this doesn't mean he dislikes children at all, though - he actually likes them more than max does, at least conceptually

not too long after the cartoon's release, he lost contact with most of his family, excluding ruth. this was fully intentional on his part: max's refusal to talk to his family except at gatherings he stole food and drugs from inspired him to take more control of his life and contact with people he's related to

he sort of wants to grow his hair out again, but isn't sure what style to get... (i like drawing him w afros though)

completely opposite to max's feelings, sam feels a strictly familial or platonic attraction to lumpy. and platonic being based offa that plato fun fact is very very definitely relevant here i think (im sorry)

if he went with any other job, it'd have to be letterist, full stop. he has several styles of handwriting and they're all gorgeous

he's a super sweet, incredibly silly drunk, and lets himself relax and show more of his dog mannerisms when drunk enough (thank you celebrity poker 2 i love you)

maxamillion

canonically a narcissistic psychopath who might have schizophrenia. its ok i can reclaim him<333 (no i cant but my partner can) he also has a horrible family life but his family stuck together out of mutual hatred and a desire to reap society's rewards for the nuclear standard

this horrible shithead has prolly claimed to have every physical disability at some point but he's only been diagnosed w/ hypermobile joint disorder / ehler-dahlos

in the more modern time of 2024, he usually sticks to only mocking people for things that are a. traits he shares with them or b. actually disturbing, inhumane or generally Yucky

he's wanted kids for years, which is why he's constantly not-so-subtly mentioning it.

he's a deeply unprofessional drag queen AND drag king and loves playing around with both sides of the coin. he also does drag creature stuff but that's just how he normally looks so!

thanks to the autism and schizophrenia he's very touch averse. the only people he really wants touching him are sam (and sometimes, maybe, rarely, flint paper)

to say that he doesn't have any familial affection for lumpy is understating it. he uses lumpy as his personal (and fully consenting) stimtoy whenever he feels like it, regardless of where or who might see 'em.

he sometimes pretends he's still president to make people do stuff for him. this only works on sam though

though he's physically capable of handwriting so gorgeous it rivals sam, he saves that for the disgustingly cheesy, 'anonymous' love letters he sends him every year or seven

he's a mainer. a mainiac if ya will. grew up closer to the south and he's got some relatives from mass so he's got that masshole/bostoner accent. he's usually good at hiding his accent, but it's obvious when you ask him to say shit like "clam chowder" and "lobster" and "fish"

though he hates most country music, he still loves johnny cash

HES A SYSTEM BTW!!!!

botha them

they invented paralell play. sam w his computers and his papers and max with his drawing and stabbing the desk until it looks like a modern art piece

they're both extremely jealous of other people, but somehow have both missed that. sam's worried he's too jealous and overprotective, while max thinks he could stand to be a little more obsessive

one of their favorite things to do together is go to the comic book store and laugh at how horrible their childhood favorite comics have gotten (or always were)

every wedding shown is canon in some way, but around the telltale games sam started thinking they were just 'ironic' and 'a joke' and etc. despite the EXTREMELY high budget each had. he knows better now

max's whole "not making fun of anyone unless they're enough like him (or suck)" actually extends to sam as well. he's more than fine with making fun of someone bc they're fat or whatever despite the fact he clearly isn't. this is MOSTLY because he keeps forgetting he and sam don't share every single experience.

though sam is against drinking as a whole, the two sometimes go out to horribly shitty bars to get the worst in junk food & beer. every time they do, max happily proclaims that it was the best date EVER.

max almost likes sam's singing, sometimes, but this is usually only because he just really likes sam's voice

neither of them know how to use modern technology. when one finds out a single way a single program or feature works, they excitedly show the other like they just found the missing link between humans and neanderthals or whatever

sam helps with max's injections since max really seriously can't handle needles. it's the worst for the both of them, but the treats and snacks and ten-hour-long movie binges after help with the fear

generally speaking, max can get up and out of bed any time from around 6 to 13. sam gets up at 6:30 or 7:45 exactly every day, which means he usually makes breakfast if he feels up to cooking.

other than the aforementioned horrible bars, they have a lot of 'weird' date locations, like the dog park, the local sewer system, hell, etc.

yeay