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.
On the way to talk to the lord of the Night court, Lucien sees his mate Elain struggling to put garland close to the top of the tree
A/N: wanting to try something and I saw someone comment so I decided to write for them!
————————————————————————
Walking down the streets of Velaris, Lucien spots the house of wind in all its glory.
Upon entering the home of Nesta, Cassian, and his mate. He sees that the home has been decorated with glittery garland all around and a tree next to the fire place, far away enough that it doesn’t cause a fire, and Elain on a stool next to the tree trying to put a green garland around the tree.
“This is quite wood work Elain” Lucien said to his mate. Accidentally startling the woman. Elain starts to wobble on the stool and starts to fall over.
Quickly getting ready to catch Elain, Lucien braces for Elains impact with his body. He starts to feel bad for scaring her. Lucien catches Elain, makes sure that she is stable on her feet before letting go of her.
“T-Thank you,” Elain says shyly with a blush in her cheeks from embarrassing herself “Your welcome.”
“I like what you did with the decorating, it is very festive.” Lucien says looking around the house of wind, admiring Elain’s decorations.
“If you’re looking for the high lord, he is not here.” Reading Lucien’s mind.
“Oh thank you for letting me know,” Lucien starts to walk away before Elain opens her mouth.
“Since you’re here, would you mind helping me put the garland around the tree? As you saw earlier I’m not quite tall enough to reach the top and put it around the tree.” Elain looks away again, feeling bad for asking for help.
“Sure.”
Lucien takes the garland from Elains hand gently to not scare her away, as he was taking the garland their hands brush up against each other making the bond in flutter.
Before they know it, Lucien has helped Elain with putting things up high so earlier accident doesn’t happen again.
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A/N: i hope you enjoy and please let me know if there are any mistakes
Summary: Azriel can't keep his hands to himself. A modern hockey AU.
Warnings: Fighting
Word Count: 970 (lol i wish it was way longer)
Notes: Welcome to the Hockey AU 😏
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You’ll never understand how your boyfriend gets into so many fights, but here you are again, watching him pummel another player into the ice.
The crowd screams wildly around you so loudly it’s nearly deafening. There’s a chill to the air only the ice emits, the rest of the atmosphere is filled with the heat of bodies, stench of beer and stadium popcorn, and a little bit like body odor. The mostly male fans around you clutch their drinks in their hands as they throw their arms up, egging on the brawl in the rink. You’re sure if you were sitting closer, you might be able to smell the blood splattering the pristine, white ice.
“Come on, Azriel,” you mutter, wringing your fingers together. It’s said a little in disappointment and a lot in encouragement. It’s tough to watch; a player on the Springview Wolves had checked him into the glass. It hadn’t been a nice check either, all but shoving Azriel’s face into the boards. His eyes had gone dark in a millisecond, spinning on his skate and chucking his stick to the ground, his gloves following.
The player had already turned away—Warrick, number 22, the back of his jersey reads—when Az had spun around to give him a taste of his own medicine, and the hit looked dirty on your boyfriend's side because of it, hitting a player who seemed unassuming. Tamlin, number 22’s name is, you know this because Azriel and a few of his teammates had been complaining about the blond haired player all week, saying how the coach only puts him in to start fights, the rest of the time he’s usually a duster, collecting cobwebs on the bench.
Gods, you hope Azriel doesn’t lose any teeth this time.
The pair seem to mostly be wrestling right now, trying to keep their balance as their skates slide against the slick ice and the referees try to tear them apart. But once players start tussling, there’s no breaking them up until one of them hits the ice.
The benches of both teams are going crazy, shouting and hitting their sticks against the partitions. You think you saw the team captain of the Velaris Bats, Rhysand, trying to jump onto the ice to join, but the coach had held him back by the scruff of his uniform.
Cassian had already been on the ice, a winger like Azriel. The pair were nearly untouchable on the ice. It’s as if they had twin telepathy, always scoring points off of one another. He shucked his own gloves off and started a fight with another player for the hell of it, living up to his nickname ‘bloodshed.’ It looks like he’s taking on one of the Vanserra brothers, the younger, Lucien.
You don’t know what the hell their mother ate when she was pregnant with them, three of her seven sons in the NHL. Eris, the eldest, plays on the Auburn Foxes, while her second born, Pyrolas, has been with the Badgers. That is always a team you dread watching the Bats play. With the amount of fights Pyrolas starts and finishes, it’s a surprise the hot-headed player is still welcome on any team.
Azriel knocks one of Tamlin’s legs out from under him but his competitor doesn’t go down yet, keeping himself propped up on a knee. They’re punching wildly, hitting more helmets than skin, but crimson paints the ice from split knuckles.
You chew on your lip, praying that it ends soon. It’s gruesome, and now that Cassian has joined in, grinning feral with bloody teeth, other players have joined the fray. The referees are useless, and they can only watch the onslaught of Bats players fist-fighting with the Wolves.
The coaches are screaming their heads off from the benches, but there’s too much testosterone in the air for any of the players to hear, let alone take their threats seriously. You know Cassian’s going to be punished in practice for starting a team-wide brawl, and you hope Azriel won’t be added to that punishment.
Tamlin gets in a good hit to the face, cutting the bridge of Azriel’s nose on his helmet. You sigh sadly. You love his nose, all straight and perfect. Something low in your stomach twists, thinking about a scar cutting across the bridge of it.
Azriel retaliates not with words, but his fists. He tugs the back of Tamlin’s lavender jersey over his head and pummels him, hands moving so fast the blinded player can’t keep up. His fingers scrabble for purchase, clawing into Azriel’s black jersey, but it doesn’t seem to make the man falter at all.
Finally, Tamlin takes the fall, sliding the rest of the way to the ice. Azriel has his hand pressed to Warrick’s back, keeping him pressed to the ice, his left hand cocked, ready to deliver another blow should he need to.
A referee skates in, pulling your boyfriend away from the felled player. He ushers Azriel to the penalty box while someone else collects his stick and gloves. Miraculously, his helmet sits on his head, and he’s handed a towel to wipe the blood from his face and knuckles, and Azriel looks beyond pissed off.
Cassian’s ejected from the game, but it doesn’t look much like he cares, receiving pats on the back and friendly shoves from his teammates. He thrives on the bloodshed, Mother help whoever locks him down. They’ll be dealing with eternally busted knuckles and missing teeth.
The few minutes Azriel has to spend in the sin-bin are long, but at least you can take a moment to calm your racing heart, knowing he can’t start a fight while he’s in time-out for his actions.
The only thing you have to worry about is the remaining period after he gets out of it.
Mmmmm... This request might sound strange but this is something i do. What is it you ask? Well its that i check up on my parents(mostly my mum), like most of the time whenever they are sound asleep i always have this feeling to check up on them. Making sure they are breathing, if they're ok all that worried stuff, what's funny is that my mum always catches me watching her (shes a light sleeper) and im like "oh dang sorry" then leaves.
So like how would TF141 react to reader always checking up on them? Literally sneaking into their room to see if they're ok lol
(Is this request weird? Im overthinking....)
Price
You couldn’t help it but you had to keep checking in on him. Who knows what could happen while he’s sleeping, he could have a coughing fit and die. You twist the doorknob to his room and let yourself inside, he was sleeping quietly which worried you as you know he snores. Loud. You tiptoe over to his body and as you got close he began to speak “Kid, this is the third time. I’m alive and well now can you please get some rest” he lifts his duvet and you slid right beside him.
Soap
You walked up to his body and knelt down onto the ground. Your head was level with his and you smiled softly when you realise he’s breathing healthily. You could feel the air out of his nose hitting you in the face but then he stopped breathing for a second and his eyes shot open. He bounced away from you and turned on the lamp next to his bed “Steamin’ Jesus. What are you doin’?” You apologised profusely and ran out of his room.
Gaz
You stood at the foot of his bed, watching. The rise and fall of his chest told you all you needed and as you left to leave you heard a small sigh come from behind you “Again? You need to break out of this. It’s creepy” is all he says before turning on his side and going back to sleep.
Ghost
You watched from the door of his room but it was sort of awkward. He was already awake as soon as you walked in and you looked at one another like neither one of you were supposed to be there. He knew you did this little thing anyway and one time he did it himself after a nightmare he had once. So he understands your concern for the others.
Just found this and instantly knew someone had to write about it. Can you possibly do it with a small reader taking down one of the 141?
I know you literally just sent this but I follow that account on TikTok and already had that saved how embarrassing. I think it’ll be funny if a small reader took down Ghost like that ngl
He charged towards you and in a face paced motion you jumped into the air, hooking your legs around your superiors neck.
Swinging your body weight around you successfully catch him off balance and bring him to the ground.
Everyone else in the room was gobsmacked. You were so small in comparison to Ghost and you managed to take him down.
The lieutenant didn’t look too happy while you celebrated with Soap and Gaz but he definitely didn’t want you trying that again.
Immediately, your eyes bug out at the sound of your husband coming home and bursting through the door. Your hands that had been playing with the teddy bear on the bed stills, and you freeze for a moment.
Your daughter, Kamiko, also now having been surprised at the noise, looks up at you to gauge your reaction and dictate how she should feel, eyes like Katsuki’s blinking up at you. You gnaw your lip as there’s another yell, one of your name, and you’re quick to look at your daughter and hold a finger to your lips to keep her quiet, though giggling softly to ease her. She giggles back, and you shush her softly.
“YOUVE GOT SOME EXPLAINING TO DO!”
Okay. Maybe spending an unspeakable amount on pastries was fair to make him rage. But in your defense, you never get to go into that bakery!
Katsuki knows the absolute fortune you tend to shell out for their pastries, and he tries his damn hardest to keep you out of there. He knows they’re good, but he tells you that ‘that’s not the point.’
So, naturally, when he went to work and you and Kamiko made your way to run errands, the smell of chocolate and cinnamon rolls were just too enticing to ignore. You’d made your way into the quiet bakery and grabbed things that would surely be appreciated by Katsuki.
Apparently, however, he saw the damage on his credit card before your kindness can show.
Whups.
You’re quick to lay down on your side- back facing the door and body curled around Kamiko- still holding a finger to your lips, and when she gives you a nod of understanding, you close your eyes just in time for angry feet to storm down the hallway to your room. You hear the door fly open, and you can feel the crimson eyes of your husband boring into the back of your skull.
“I’m going to absolutely destroy you-“
“Dadda,” your two year old whispers, and you hear her ease out a soft ‘shhhh.’ “Mumma sleepin’.”
“Is she?” He snarls, unconvinced. “And she let you stay awake? Just because?”
“Was sleepin’ too, dadda. Woke me up…”
Where she learned to be such a good liar, you’ll never know.
You hear Katsuki let out an impatient exhale through his nose, clearly weighing his options as your breathing continues its rhythmic pace, mimicking sleep. Kamiko’s tiny hand pats your cheek affectionately. “Dadda, shhhh…”
Katsuki sighs dramatically, and you are surprised to feel the soft peck against your temple, massive, calloused hand smoothing down your back. “We will discuss this later,” he snarls in your ear. “Get some rest, Kami. I’m gonna start dinner, okay?”
“Okay dadda!” She chirps, and when you hear his feet pad away and the door close, your eyes fly open and a smile spreads wide over your face.
“You’re such a little troublemaker!” You growl playfully, taking the little girl into your arms and kissing her all over. She squeals at your affections and gently shoves your face away. “Ohhh just like your mommy! And your uncle Denki! He’s gonna be so-“
“I KNEW YOU WERENT ASLEEP!”
The door slams back open, and a disgruntled Katsuki immediately flies back in, gathering you and Kamiko in each arm. You two shriek, but the smiles on your face absolutely plastered, unbudging from your faces as he manhandles you- Kamiko, with a raspberry on her cheek back onto the bed, and you, over his shoulder mercilessly.
“YOU SPENT ¥13000 IN THAT STUPID BAKERY?! AND YOU GOT OUR DAUGHTER TO LIE TO ME?!” He’s trying as hard as he can to keep the smirk off his face, though you hear it breaking through in his shouts.
Your fists bang against his back, nails digging in, but he’s unrelenting, and you whine out when he makes a fake move to drop you. “I-I wanted coffee cake!” You titter, screwing your eyes shut. “Kami! Help me!”
“Go, dadda!”
“WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON!” You bark in betrayal.
“The winning side,” he snickers, turning on his feet to carry you out of the room. “If you help me punish mumma, I won’t punish you so bad, Kami.”
“Yeah!”
“NO!”
Was it worth having one of the cupcakes getting smushed into your face? Not really (though him kissing you through the frosting was definitely worth something!)
Was it worth the memory you’d only added to the vault as a family?
nothing is funnier to me in the acotar series than feyre throwing her fucking shoes at rhysand, a high lord, with enough precision to wack him in the back of the head, knowing full well he is powerful enough to kill her had he wanted too
i literally think about this daily and get a chuckle out of it like the gall and the audacity honestly had me floored and in tears laughing the first time
Warnings: No smut but Reader is topless. Lots and lots of fluff
Contains: Establish relationship, Aged up (late 20s-early 30s) Kiri and Reader have a daughter together, shower scene, Kiri is just super soft and takes care of Reader
Summary: Kiri comes home from a late night patrol to find his wife curled up and sick on the sofa.
A/N: This is so self indulgent and I will not apologize for it. Do I have 500 other things I should be working on? Duh. But I am sick and would like to be coddled so yeah.
WC: 1.2K ish
Eijiro walked through the front door shortly after midnight. The lower half of his body was still clad in his hero costume but he had a jacket covering his upper half. He tugged off his boots and that was when he noticed the flickering blue light coming from the living room.
He cautiously investigated since you were usually in bed when he got home this late. He half expected to find his 5 year old up and sneakily watching her favorite show but instead he found you. Bundled up on the edge of the sofa, all wrapped up in a blanket with a box of tissues at your side and a trash can just below, nearly full of used ones. Throat lozenges littered the coffee table filling the space between your barely eaten bowl of soup and your half-drunk water bottle.
Your mouth hung open and he could faintly hear the garbled sound of congestion when you breathed. He also noticed the dampness of your shirt collar, covered in sweat, and when he just hovered his hand over your forehead he could feel the heat radiating off you.
Quickly, Eijiro went into the bedroom and kicked his way out of his pants, discarding the jacket on the plush bench at the end of the bed but he never really slowed down on his way to the bathroom. He cranked the shower water as hot as it could possibly go and pushed the head away so the spray stayed clear of the stone bench in the back, doing his best to keep the sitting area dry. Then he turned on the little diffuser and waited until the scent of eucalyptus hit his nose before he pulled on sweats and made his way out to you, making sure the door was shut firmly behind him.
He remembered when your daughter was sick, nose so stuffy there was no chance of her breathing through it, you took her into a steam-filled bathroom to help break some of it up. That had to work for you too, right?
You stirred when he pulled back the blanket, bringing your limbs in close to your chest, and when he lifted you into his arms you grumbled incoherently at him. “Eiji, baby, put me back. Don’t wanna get you sick.”
He tried so hard not to laugh at your nasally tone and failed, snickering, “We’ve been together for well over a decade and I think I’ve been sick once that entire time.”
“Four times.” You corrected with a stern gaze.
“Eating bad sushi and getting food poisoning doesn’t count. So, two. Now, please stop arguing and lemme take care of you.”
“Fine. But, can you take care of me on the sofa? ‘M so cold and my blanket was warm.”
“Nope. You’re cold ‘cause you got a fever. And ya sound like you’re starting up a snot factory.” He lowered his voice as he carried you past your daughter‘s room. “Gonna get you in the shower, okay?”
You didn’t try to get out of it at all. He set you down on the bathroom counter, the room now full of steam, “arms up for me… atta girl.”
The shirt was discarded in the hamper and he didn’t bother to slip you into another one just yet. He picked you right back up and brought you in the shower with him.
The bench managed to stay mostly dry, and what water did splash on his sweats, Eijiro didn’t mind one bit. Your legs straddled his lap when he took a seat, chests pressed against each other with your head tucked into the crook of his neck.
“Smells good, Eiji. Haven’t been able to smell anything all day.”
“It’s eucalyptus… I think that’s supposed to help, right?”
You turned your head and pressed a kiss to the hinge of his stubble covered jaw. “Yes, baby, think this is helping already.”
He smiled happily to himself and continued to lazily run his hands across your bare back.
He leaned his head against the shower wall, letting his own eyes dip shut. The steam seeping into his sore muscles and the cracks in his skin that still remained from his patrol. He’d been considering the benefits of installing a sauna when your quiet snores hit his ears.
For just a little while longer, he held you in the warmth of the shower to get as much congestion broken up as possible and ease whatever aches you felt. But, when the time came to get out, he turned the water and wrapped a towel around you. “Sit up for just a second, love, lemme dry you off.”
You did as he asked, even with eyes shut, and once he had a clean shirt on you, he helped you lay back in bed.
“Covers?” You nodded and he pulled them up to your chin. “I’ll be right back.”
He kissed your forehead and quietly padded out of the room. The living room was easy to pick up, he just brought your bowl into the kitchen and grabbed a few things to set on your nightstand in case you needed them.
A full bottle of water, your tissues and lozenges and some medication too. Once all that was good to go, he finally crawled into bed beside you. Holding you close for most of the night until you decided you were too hot and shoved off of him, kicking your half of the blankets off in a sleepy dramatic fashion that he had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep himself from busting out laugh.
Come morning, Eijiro heard the bedroom door creak open and saw that head of messy ebony hair slowly make her way into your guy’s room.
“C’mere, little pebble.” His voice was groggy, thick with sleep but his daughter walked over to his side of the bed with a pout on her little face.
“But, mama always wakes up wif me.”
“Well, dada’s going to t’day, sound good?”
She started to grin as you stirred.
“Ei, s’okay, I can take her.” He turned his head to see your exhausted eyes just barely open. “You got home late, stayed up with me, and have another shift t’night. You need sleep too, babe.”
He shook his head. “Nope. I’m takin’ the day off. Texted Kat last night.”
Your eyes opened a little wider. “Crap, I did get you sick!”
Eijiro just chuckled and kissed you smack on the lips despite your protests. “You did not get me sick. What you didn’t do was call me to come home early to take care of you yesterday, so, I’m doin’ it today.” He tossed the blankets off him and scooped your daughter up in his arms. “Let’s go make mama some breakfast, yeah? Then we can all come back and eat it in bed.”
The little girl squealed with joy at the impromptu plans while Eijiro leaned down to give you another quick kiss.
“Take such good care of me, baby.” You mumbled to him softly.
okay so i say there’s three of them. the youngest is bakugou daisuki, who’s still a teen about 13/14. has a sweet little giggling laugh that sometimes slides into him snorting. lisps when he’s excited and somehow managed not to catch the anger issues from his mother and brothers so similar to his father. the ends of his blonde locks are curly instead of sharp spikes and is slightly over grown. hair is naturally ombre brown to blonde. freckles on his nose bridge and acne on his cheeks. should wear glasses all the time but not a fan of how they look. yes he walks around half blind most of the time. isn’t as naturally smart as his brothers but will try his best so his scores aren’t far off what theirs once were. more of a creative type, likes to draw, watch anime, collects figurines and has probably seen every show on netflix. from all genres and languages. looks up to his pro hero brother and tells everybody about him. daisuki wishes he wasn’t so awkward and had natural suave like akatsuki but figures it might come with age.
middle is our gorgeous pro hero, bakugou katsuki who is between 22-24. busy with his job, so never gets to see his siblings as often as he likes and hardly replies to the group chat. though does pick up phone calls from them and you only. loves feeding them, buying them gifts and is the biggest hype man when they accomplish something. a slap on his little brothers back with a teethy grin, “let’s go dai!! i told you you could fuckin do it!” and daisuke is humbly smiling at his brothers affection. i don’t need to say much about katsuki we all know him lol. dedicates his life to his job and his pretty girlfriend. admires his older brothers patience and personality in general. how akatsuki always manages to get what he wants while katsuki knows he would have to try harder if he did it. weird to think considering katsuki is the most ‘successful’ brother with the strongest quirk.
our oldest is 25/26 bakugou akatsuki who i’m split between being a lawyer or an athlete but i’m gonna go with athlete because it’s more fun lol. same vibe as gojo like he would have gojo/kuroos voice. super cocky, super confident, works hard and knows he’s good at what he does. a lil whore, never in a relationship but always photographed with girls and he knows he’s attractive. has a lean sporty body opposed to katsuki’s massive big build. taller than katsuki at 6,4, bright red eyes and a friendlier face too. i wanna say he plays volleyball because haikyuu we love haikyuu and he’s rich like big rich. not as rich as katsuki but much more materialistic with his rolex on his wrist and pulls up in a new 2022 bmw. also very busy so gives his siblings tickets to his games often and daisuke turns up a lot with his friends. (usually uses it as date ideas with girls he likes but they usually end up just wanting to see akatsuki) natural flirt, loves to annoy people and his anger issues come out when people mess with those he loves. like sadistic, smiling angry type. if someone tries to mess with him he just laughs completely uninterested so it always backfires into the other person. defo knows how to fight, spars with katsuki sometimes and his quirk isn’t half bad either.
all three of the brothers are generally quite quiet. they’re loud with people they love and know but to strangers daisukis mastered the clueless stare even though he exactly knows what’s going on, katsuki’s got his resting bitch face to show he doesn’t wanna be there and akatsuki has a stare like he knows he’s better than you. makes everyone too nervous to approach him because he’s so very pretty and sorta mysterious like you wanna know what he’s thinking.
one thing they don’t argue about is food. i know, siblings usually argue about food but they seem to get along so well when food is at the centre of them all. they share politely and if one brother really wants something around the table they’d let him have it. or if both do they’d have no problem halving it. probably comes from how katsuki loves to feed people whatever he cooks, daisuki hates cooking and loves katsuki’s food, then akatsuki loves to see his brothers eating happily.
they hug each other all the time. happy hugs, sad hugs, congratulation hugs, tired hugs, ANYTHING between them is solved by hugs. akatsuki coming to meet katsuki in a coffee shop and he’s so tired from the way his coach has been pushing him. “you okay aka?” and akatsuki is rubbing his eyes with a sigh, “yeah man, just a bit—” and katsuki silently slides in the booth beside him to put his arms over his shoulders and let him lay on his shoulder.
they love laughing at peoples misfortunes. all three of them. when one person falls over infront of them or someone does something embarrassing, one is staring at another which stares at the other and they all burst into laughter.
they play games together. if it’s online shooters, or on the nintendo switch a mario three player game. daisuki always laughing at how shit his brothers are and katsuki’s always grumbling, “yeah sorry i’m busy savin’ japan and can’t spend all day at the fuckin computer.” katsuki gets so bitter when he loses, especially when his daisuki goes, “whatever katsuki” and kills him.
katsuki and daisuki hide behind akatsuki in family situations or when meeting new people. akatsuki being the least introverted out of the three and also the oldest means even adult katsuki doesn’t need to do too much. just the usual “hello”, “goodbye” and “work’s okay.”
katsuki loves to annoy daisuki. does it whenever he can. type to walk into his room and just look at his stuff, make a couple annoying comments to get daisuki annoyed and walks out again. ironic because katsuki never wins when he tries to annoy akatsuki, always switches on him and he ends up angry.
akatsuki and katsuki fight the most. then katsuki and daisuki. akatsuki and daisuki hardly do LOL they’ve got the biggest age gap so they kinda understand each other better and know how to work around each other as to not be annoying.
only daisuki lives at home at the moment so he gets completely spoiled by his parents. also two rich brothers means there’s nothing he doesn’t get. has akatsuki telling the family, “when i was his age i never got this shit. i had to beg to get a fucking gameboy and dai just mentions he wants a ps5 and he gets it before it’s even released.” “you’re the one that got it for me akatsuki.”
ALL THREE DONE BABY MODELLING. they were cute babies and their parents are fashion designers so they had links. daisuki’s been in baby gap adverts, katsuki’s has been in toothpaste adverts and akatsuki’s been in nappy adverts.
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