I got cookies tho

roderick, whose mouth is filthy when he has you under him, teeth bared in a proud grin as his cock ruts into you, making your body slide against the cot in his tent with each snap of his hips. "so fuckin' pretty, aye," he rumbles, pawing at your tits, thumbing your nipples and making you cry out. "takin' my cock like a sword takes a sheath, little dove." the northener is so pleased to see you so unraveled for him, only spurring him on to touch you more, rubbing your clit with relentless precision, firm circles meant to bring forth the sweetest of your moans. "that's it," he laughs, seeing how much you squirm, as if trying to get away from the pleasure. "sing for me, little bird. let me hear ye."

roderick, who is not ashamed to show others how much he craves you, letting his hands paw and grope at you anywhere he pleases. at meals, one of his hands is always gripping your thigh under the table, sometimes even drifting between your thighs just to cup your cunt, palm flat against it, letting you feel the warmth of his skin, staking ownership of the "pretty pussy" he so loves, as he often reminds you. or when he's having a drink with his men, grabbing a handful of your skits and tugging you onto his lap, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, mead on his breath, fingers skittering under your skirts to knead and grope at your thighs, your ass or maybe sneak a finger or two into your hole, when the boys are drunk off their ass and can barely see straight anymore. he lets you muffle your moans in his chest.

roderick, who is a big cuddler. or squisher. or both. his arms are warm and thick, wrapping around you and keeping you flush against him, not allowing you to leave until he's pleased, and you're pliant and lax in his grip. he always holds you after he fucks you, loving the feel of your naked, sweat-slicked body so close to him, rumbling softly as he noses at your temple, neck and between your tits, letting his tongue lave at the perspiration, loving to have your taste on his pallate. "wore me out, pretty bird," he'll grumble against your flesh, proud and pleased, one hand delivering a hearty smack to your ass, then gripping the flesh with a drawn-out groan. "did me so good. if i were a couple moons younger, i would've had that wet cunt around me again, aye."

roderick, who is loud and proud of his love for you, of how much he needs you, praising you in front of his men, smiling all teeth and wolfish smugness. "ah, mine pretty bird," he would whistle as you pass by while he's drinking with his men, swatting your ass with a smack, loving the way you fuss in response. "the fairest in all the realm, lads." he boasts, but throws a narrowed look to a younger boy whose eyes have been on the sway of your hips for too long. "but not for pissy, sodden little boys like the rest of you," he scoffs. "that one needs a real man to handle her. she don't get wet for squires."

It began innocently enough.

The first morning you'd wandered into the clubhouse kitchen looking half asleep after delivering invoices to the mechanic next door, Chibs had noticed you rubbing your hands together against the autumn chill, frowned, quietly poured you a second cup of coffee while making his own, added exactly two sugars because he'd watched you do it the previous day, slid the mug across the counter, kissed the top of your head in absentminded greeting, and walked away.

You had stood there completely frozen.

Happy had looked from Chibs to you.

To Chibs.

Back to you.

"...Huh." You'd stared after Chibs's retreating back. "...Does he... do that to everyone?"

Happy hadn't answered.

Mostly because he was trying very hard not to laugh.

The second incident happened a week later when you'd arrived carrying two heavy boxes of paperwork. Chibs had crossed the room without saying a word, taken both boxes from your arms despite your protests, muttered, "Ye'll hurt yer back carryin' aw that," before setting everything down where it belonged and smoothing a hand over your shoulder almost absentmindedly, his thumb rubbing a tiny comforting circle through your jacket before he disappeared again.

You had watched him leave with the expression of someone trying to solve an impossible equation.

"...Why does he keep touching me?"

Juice had made the catastrophic mistake of asking, "Did... did he smile?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"He always looks kind of... grumpy."

Juice had pressed both hands over his mouth.

Across the room, Tig had physically leaned against the pool table because standing suddenly required too much effort.

By the third week, Chibs had started saving you a seat.

By the fourth, he'd started bringing you lunch whenever he grabbed food for himself.

By the fifth, he casually introduced you to visiting charters with, "She's with me."

You assumed he meant she's here with me right now.

He meant something else entirely.

The club assumed you knew what he meant.

And because you never corrected him...

Well.

Why would you?

You were his girlfriend.

Obviously.

The entertainment value skyrocketed.

"Ye comin' to dinner tonight, lass?" Chibs would ask while pulling his cut over his shoulders.

You would blink.

"...No?"

He'd pause.

"...Ye workin' late?"

"...No?"

"...Right." He'd kiss your forehead anyway. "See ye tomorrow."

You would spend the next six hours wondering why he kept giving you affection immediately before rejecting you.

"He definitely hates me," you'd sigh to Gemma one afternoon.

Gemma choked on her cigarette. "...Honey."

"He keeps patting my shoulder like I'm a kid."

Gemma looked over toward Chibs, who at that exact moment was quietly fixing the broken strap on your handbag with a multitool because he'd noticed it tearing three days earlier.

"...Sure."

"I think he feels sorry for me."

Across the room, Tig nearly inhaled an entire peanut.

Clay lasted another six days before finally cornering Chibs after church.

"You and the girl."

"Aye?"

"You know she's not wearing a ring."

Chibs frowned.

"...She disnae like jewelry."

"...Right."

"And she's always fiddlin' wi' necklaces."

"...Makes sense."

"...She's happier without them."

Clay blinked. "...You asked?"

"Aye."

"...When?"

"Couple weeks ago."

In reality...

You had been wearing a necklace when Chibs asked, "Does that chain ever bother ye?"

You'd answered, "Honestly? Yeah. I don't really like wearing jewellery."

He had thoughtfully nodded.

Problem solved.

From then on, he simply never bought you jewelry.

Because he'd listened.

Clay walked away with the overwhelming realisation that Chibs had somehow developed an entire relationship inside his own head using perfectly real conversations that meant completely different things to you.

The club unanimously voted not to interfere.

Mostly because it was fascinating.

The misunderstanding reached legendary status during poker night.

One of the prospects, who hadn't been around very long, asked, "Wait... how long have Chibs and her been together?"

Tig answered without looking up from his cards.

"Depends who you ask."

"What?"

"If you ask Chibs? Four months."

"...And her?"

"...She thinks he barely tolerates her."

The prospect stared.

"...You're kidding."

"Nope."

"...How?"

"We don't know."

"...Why doesn't someone tell them?"

Happy looked up from his cards.

"Because this is funnier."

Everyone nodded.

Then came your birthday.

You hadn't told anyone.

Except one afternoon, while filling out paperwork, you'd casually mentioned to Juice that you weren't doing anything because birthdays weren't really important.

Unfortunately...

Chibs had overheard.

The next morning you walked into the clubhouse.

Everyone was there.

Cake.

Decorations.

Music.

Half the charter.

A ridiculous number of balloons.

You stopped dead. "...What's happening?"

Chibs looked genuinely confused.

"...Yer birthday."

"...How did you—"

"Ye mentioned it."

"I... I didn't think anyone remembered."

His expression softened immediately.

"As if I'd forget."

The room went silent.

Your chest tightened.

"...You remembered."

"'Course I did."

You smiled despite yourself.

"...Thank you."

He leaned down and kissed your forehead.

Again.

The room collectively held its breath.

You watched him walk away afterward.

Then quietly whispered to Gemma...

"...He's so nice when he feels guilty."

Gemma actually slapped both hands over her face.

Across the room, Tig slid twenty dollars across the table toward Happy.

Happy accepted it.

"What was that?"

"I bet she'd still think he hated her after today."

"You were right."

Three more months.

Seven.

Entire.

Months.

Chibs carried your bags. Walked you to your car. Remembered your coffee order. Started calling you "my lass" so naturally nobody questioned it. Bought your favorite pastries every Tuesday because he'd noticed the bakery only made them then. Wrapped his jacket around your shoulders whenever it rained. Held doors. Touched your lower back in crowded rooms. Sat beside you automatically.

And every single time...

You interpreted every gesture as Scottish politeness mixed with pity.

Because obviously if a man actually liked you...

He would tell you.

Wouldn't he?

The disaster finally arrived courtesy of a visiting charter.

A younger member spent most of the afternoon openly flirting with you.

You laughed politely.

You were kind to everyone.

Meanwhile, across the room, Chibs watched with the calm expression of a volcano deciding whether today was finally the day.

Happy noticed first.

"...Uh oh."

Tig followed his gaze.

"Oh no."

The visitor laughed at something you'd said and casually rested a hand on your arm.

Chibs stood.

Walked over.

Slipped one arm around your waist with effortless familiarity.

Pressed a kiss against your temple.

Then looked directly at the other man.

"She's taken."

Silence.

The visitor immediately raised both hands.

"My mistake."

He walked away.

You stared.

Completely frozen.

Very...

Very slowly...

You looked down at the arm still around your waist.

Then up at Chibs.

"...Taken?"

"Aye."

"...By who?"

He looked at you.

"...Me."

"...What?"

"...Me."

"..."

"..."

"...You're joking."

The color drained from Chibs's face.

"...Joking?"

"I thought..." You laughed nervously. "...I mean..."

"...Wait." His voice had gone frighteningly quiet. "...What d'ye mean ye thought?"

"I thought you didn't like me."

The clubhouse became so silent that someone dropping a wrench in the garage outside sounded like a gunshot.

Chibs simply stared.

"...Didn't..." He blinked once. "...Like ye."

"You were always just... being polite."

"...Polite."

"You kiss everybody on the forehead."

"...No."

"You don't?"

"...God, no."

"You hug everyone."

"...No."

"You—"

"I've been courtin' ye fer seven bloody months."

Your mouth fell open.

"...What?"

"I thought we were together."

"...WHAT?"

The word echoed through the clubhouse.

Behind you, Tig slowly sat down on the floor because his legs had finally given out.

Happy buried his face in both hands.

Juice made a noise suspiciously close to a sob.

Chibs was still staring at you with the shell-shocked expression of a man who had just discovered he'd been living in an alternate universe.

"I've..." He rubbed a hand over his face. "...I've been introducin' ye as my girl."

"I THOUGHT YOU MEANT YOU WERE INTRODUCING ME BECAUSE I WAS STANDING NEXT TO YOU."

"...I invited ye to dinner."

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST BEING NICE."

"I HELD YER HAND."

"YOU WERE HELPING ME DOWN THE STAIRS."

"I CUDDLED YE DURIN' THAT FILM."

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE COLD."

"I KISSED YE."

"I THOUGHT THAT WAS JUST... SCOTTISH!"

"...Scottish?"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

The room exploded.

Laughter.

Real laughter.

The kind that hurt.

Tig actually rolled onto his back, tears streaming down his face while Happy leaned against the wall laughing so hard he couldn't breathe, Juice disappeared into the bathroom because he was laughing too loudly to stay in the room, even Clay was wiping tears from his eyes, and Gemma pointed accusingly at every single member present.

"I TOLD YOU IDIOTS TO SAY SOMETHING."

"We thought they'd figure it out!" Tig wheezed.

"IT'S BEEN SEVEN MONTHS."

Chibs ignored them completely.

His eyes never left yours.

"So..."

His voice had become uncertain now, vulnerable in a way you had never heard before.

"...Ye really thought I hated ye?"

You nodded miserably.

"...I thought you were just... too nice to tell me to go away."

His entire face crumpled with horrified disbelief.

"Oh, love..."

He stepped closer, both hands gently cupping your face as though you might disappear if he moved too quickly, his thumbs brushing beneath your eyes before he rested his forehead against yours, letting out a long, helpless laugh that sounded equal parts exhausted and impossibly fond.

"I've been in love wi' ye since the second week."

Your eyes widened.

"...Really?"

"Aye."

"I thought..."

"I know."

"You never said anything."

"I thought I did."

"You never asked me out."

"I thought I'd already done it."

"When?"

"When I asked if ye wanted tae spend Friday night wi' me."

"...I thought you needed help organizing paperwork."

"...Christ."

You started laughing then.

Not because it was funny anymore.

Because it was so absurd there was nothing else to do, and soon Chibs was laughing too, forehead still resting against yours, until the embarrassment melted into something warm and ridiculous and oddly precious, because somehow, against every law of common sense, the two of you had managed to spend seven months accidentally caring for one another with complete sincerity while speaking entirely different emotional languages.

"So..." you murmured once the laughter faded. "Would you... maybe like to actually ask me?"

His smile was slow, genuine, impossibly soft.

"Lass..."

He brushed one final kiss across your forehead before meeting your eyes.

"Would ye do me the honor of bein' my girlfriend?"

You grinned so widely your cheeks hurt.

"I'd love to."

Behind you, Tig shot to his feet.

"FINALLY."

Happy looked at Chibs.

"...Can we tell people you're dating now?"

Chibs slipped his hand into yours, interlacing your fingers with an ease that suddenly made perfect sense, smiling without taking his eyes off you.

"Aye."