#ratboy

“Good morning, sunshine,” Tig drawled, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Doors are tricky, huh? Real sneaky bastards.”

Bunny wrinkled her nose at him but kept bouncing forward, proud as ever.

“I made breakfast! Well—they’re crumpets. Chibs told me about them once, so I thought I’d surprise you.”

That got Chibs’ attention. He lifted his brows, his cigarette halfway to his mouth. “Oh aye? Ye made crumpets, did ye, Bun?”

“Yep!” she chirped, setting the tray down right in front of him. The “crumpets” were a sad little pile of pancakes, each one stabbed several times with a fork until they looked like crime scenes. All of them were dripping in melted butter.

There was a moment of silence. Tig blinked. Opie scratched his beard. Clay muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like Jesus Christ, Rabbit.

Ratboy, though—Ratboy beamed. “They look amazing,” he said immediately, scooping one up before anyone else could react. He took a big bite, chewed once, then forced himself to swallow with a smile that almost reached his eyes. “See? Delicious.”

Bunny lit up like a damn Christmas tree. “Really?”

“Best crumpets I ever had,” Rat swore, even as Tig coughed to cover his laugh.

Chibs picked one up, poked at the fork-holes, then looked at Bunny with a slow grin. “Lass, these are pancakes wi’ stab wounds.”

Bunny gasped, genuinely shocked. “No they’re not! That’s what makes them crumpets! Holes. I had a renovation, the holes make them crumpets so … tada!”

Opie snorted into his coffee. “You mean revelation?”

“Yeah! That!” she said brightly, missing the correction completely.

Chibs, with all the patience of a saint, tore off a small corner of his mutilated pancake and popped it into his mouth. The second the butter-soaked lump hit his tongue, he knew he’d made a mistake. Too chewy, too greasy, and something faintly metallic, like she’d stabbed the poor thing with a dirty fork.

He coughed into his fist, forcing it down. “Aye, delicious, Bun.”

Clay gave him a side-eye that said liar, but the president wasn’t about to be shown up. He grabbed one, bit into it, and immediately reached for his beer to wash it down. “Good effort, Rabbit,” he muttered gruffly.

Opie, meanwhile, had already mastered the art of subtle disposal. He tore off pieces of the pancake, palmed them under the table, and let them drop into his napkin one by one. With his other hand, he patted Bunny’s arm. “Real good, Bun-bun. Proud of you.”

Tig was the least convincing. He shoved half of one into his mouth, started chewing, then immediately gagged. Ratboy kicked him under the table so hard Tig almost dropped his fork. “Mmm,” Tig forced out, his eyes watering. “Tasty. So… buttery.”

Bunny beamed, bouncing on her toes, completely oblivious. “See? I knew you’d like them! I’m basically a chef.”

“You’re something,” Clay muttered again, this time low enough only Tig heard.

Tig snorted into his napkin, which—conveniently—now held most of his pancake. He dabbed at his mouth, pretending to be polite. “Best damn… crumpets… I’ve ever had.”

Rat, bless his heart, was still eating his second one. He smiled sweetly at Bunny even as he choked it down. “You should make these every morning.”

The table groaned collectively, but Bunny clapped her hands like she’d just been crowned queen of Charming.

Breakfast—or what passed for it—wrapped up in a chorus of half-hearted compliments and a lot of secret napkin spit-outs. Bunny gathered the empty plates, humming happily, and skipped off toward the kitchen.

The moment she disappeared through the doorway, the table collectively exhaled. Tig slapped Chibs on the back, wheezing. “Stabbed pancakes, brother. I nearly died. Died.”

Chibs just shook his head, grinning around his cigarette. “She’s somethin’, that lass.”

“Something,” Clay grumbled again, pouring himself more coffee.

“At least she's trying.” Ratboy chipped in, brows furrowed in defense.

From the kitchen came the unmistakable clatter of dishes. Then a pause. Followed by a smash. Then Bunny’s soft little voice, almost sing-song:

“…oh no.”

Every man at the table froze.

Opie lowered his cup slowly. Chibs’ brows lifted. Tig muttered, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath.

Rat was on his feet immediately. “Bun?” he called, half-panicked, half-resigned.

“I’m fine!” Bunny chirped from the kitchen. The sound of liquid splashing everywhere followed. “…I’m mostly fine!”

“Mostly,” Tig repeated, already laughing as Rat disappeared into the back.

Chibs leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “That’s never good news.”

“Place is gonna burn down one day,” Clay muttered, but he was smiling into his coffee.

Rat skidded into the kitchen like he was responding to an emergency—and, in a way, he was.

The coffee pot had exploded. Not literally, but it looked like it. The glass carafe lay in two jagged pieces on the counter, hot liquid dripping steadily off the edge and pooling on the floor. A roll of paper towels had already sacrificed itself to the flood, and Bunny was frantically pressing handfuls of them against the mess, her hands soaked.

“I was just trying to make you guys more coffee,” she explained, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “But then the thingy cracked—” she held up one piece of broken glass like evidence, “—and then it went whoosh everywhere, but I’m fixing it.”

She tossed another wad of paper towels into the puddle. They immediately floated away.

Rat sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, but his smile betrayed him. “Bun…” He carefully stepped through the coffee river to take the glass out of her hand before she cut herself. “You’re gonna lose a finger if you keep waving this around.”

“I wasn’t waving it,” she insisted, eyes big. “I was showing you.”

He blinked. “…let me help you?”

“Ok, fine…but only because that has it in for me” She gestured at the ruined coffee pot.

Rat couldn’t help it—he laughed. Full-on laughed, the sound echoing in the kitchen. Bunny pouted at him, but he just leaned down and kissed her damp cheek. “You’re a menace.”

Out in the main room, Tig called, “She burnin’ the place down yet?”

Rat yelled back, “Not yet!” then lowered his voice, grinning at Bunny. “But give her another five minutes.”

She smacked his arm with a soggy paper towel, and he only laughed harder.

Opie was next through the doorway, drawn by the smell of burnt coffee and the sound of Rat’s laughter. Chibs followed a step behind, cigarette dangling from his lips, already bracing himself for whatever awaited.

They stopped dead in the kitchen entrance.

Bunny stood in the middle of a lake of coffee, socks soaked through, clutching a wad of useless paper towels like a weapon. Rat was bent double, trying not to laugh too hard while still attempting to herd broken glass into a pile with his boot.

“...Christ almighty,” Chibs muttered, smoke curling from his nose.

Bunny looked up, all bright-eyed. “Hi! Don’t worry, I’ve got it under control. I’m fixing it.”

Opie pinched the bridge of his nose, hiding the twitch of his mouth. “Bun-bun, how about… you let us handle this? Maybe go… fold some bar towels, yeah?”

Her eyes lit up like he’d just given her the most important mission of her life. “I can do that! I’m so good at folding things.”

“Aye,” Chibs added quickly, shooting Rat a look that said say nothing. “Foldin’s a big help, Bun. Couldn’t do without ye.”

She beamed, dropped the soggy paper towels onto the counter with a slop and skipped out of the kitchen with coffee-stained socks squeaking against the floor.

As soon as she was gone, the three men sighed in unison.

“Foldin’ things,” Rat muttered, shaking his head as he grabbed the mop from the corner.

Chibs crouched to pick up the shards of glass. “Better than her bleeding oot in here.”

Opie rolled up his sleeves and started dragging soaked paper towels into the trash. “Kid’s like a hurricane in sneakers.”

Rat smiled faintly, wringing out a rag. “Yeah. But she’s our hurricane.”

By the time Rat emerged from the kitchen—mop in hand, jeans splattered with coffee—the laughter had already started.

Tig leaned back in his chair, grinning like a cat. “So, how’s married life treatin’ you, huh? You and Bun-bun playin’ house in there?”

Rat’s ears went red instantly. “We’re not married! And we were just cleaning up—”

“YOU were cleaning up,” Chibs cut in as he returned to the table, dropping heavily into his chair. “She was making the mess.” He smirked, exhaling smoke. “That lassie’s pure chaos, lad.”

Clay grunted, never looking up from his paper. “Chaos is one word. Liability’s another.”

Opie shook his head at that, shooting Clay a look, but Tig was already laughing again. “Liability? Naw, she’s like… like the clubhouse unofficial mascot. You know, adorable, breaks shit, nobody’s ever really mad at her.”

“She’s a literal bunny,” Chibs said, his smile tugging wider at his own joke. “Cute wee thing hoppin’ aboot, leavin’ destruction in her wake.”

“Bunny the Bunny,” Tig echoed dramatically, and then he slapped Rat on the shoulder. “And you’re her keeper, kid. Better keep her fed and watered.”

Rat tried to glare at them, but it came out sheepish more than anything. “She’s trying. She just wants to help.”

Opie’s low chuckle rumbled through the room. “And we all love her for it. Don’t mean we’re not gonna laugh when she floods the kitchen.”

The whole table erupted again, and Rat sat down with a groan, covering his face with both hands. Still, when Bunny bounced back into the room carrying a basket of freshly folded towels—half folded correctly, half folded into strange triangles like origami—Rat couldn’t stop smiling.

The roar of bikes outside signaled fresh company. A moment later, Juice and Jax pushed through the clubhouse doors, brushing the road dust off their kuttes.

“Missed all the fun, boys,” Chibs greeted them from his chair, cigarette dangling from his lips. He wore a grin far too smug to be innocent. “Bunny made us breakfast this mornin’. Crumpets.”

Juice’s eyebrows shot up. “Crumpets? No way.” Then he cracked up, already imagining the disaster.

Chibs just smirked, smoke curling.

“Aye, stabbed pancakes swimming in butter, a real treat.”

Jax’s mouth tugged into something between a smirk and a grimace. He shook his head, grabbing a beer from behind the bar. “Jesus christ. As long as she didn’t burn the place down, I’ll count it as a win, we're gonna need public liability insurance at the rate she's going.”

“She’s got other talents,” Chibs said, tilting his chin toward the bar.

They all looked.

Bunny sat cross-legged on the countertop like it was the most natural thing in the world, socks still faintly stained from her coffee spill. In front of her, Ratboy perched on a stool, leaning in close. Between them was a pack of cookies, half gone.

Bunny giggled as she pressed one against Rat’s lips, and he bit it delicately, like she’d just handed him the rarest treat in the world. Then he returned the favor, breaking a cookie in half and holding it out for her. She leaned forward, accepted it with an exaggerated “mmm,” and beamed.

It was sickeningly sweet.

Juice laughed again, shaking his head. “You two are like a Disney movie.”

“Like somethin’,” Tig muttered from across the room, grinning wide.

Jax just smirked into his beer, not bothering to hide the roll of his eyes. He tolerated Bunny the way a man tolerates sunshine when he’s got a hangover: she was there, she wasn’t going away, and—if he was honest—she made the clubhouse a little brighter. Not that he’d ever admit it.

The clubhouse settled back into its usual rhythm, but the morning’s chaos lingered in everyone’s mind.

Tig, sprawled across the couch, chuckled to himself every time he pictured Bunny’s proud face over those mutilated pancakes. “Funniest damn thing in this place,” he muttered, grinning like an idiot. “Could watch her trip over doors all day.”

Chibs, nursing his beer, just shook his head. “Swear tae God, that lassie’s responsible for half my grey hairs.” He tugged at his salt-and-pepper beard with a sigh that was equal parts weary and fond.

Opie, more serious, leaned on the bar. “I’m worried about her safety at least ninety-two percent of the time,” he admitted quietly. “Girl’s a walking accident. But…” He didn’t finish, because he didn’t have to. They all knew Bunny had wormed her way under his big brother armor.

And Rat—Rat didn’t say a word. He just sat at the bar with her, eyes soft, watching her laugh as he brushed the crumbs off her cheek. Like she wasn’t just Bunny, the club girl, the chaos magnet, the walking disaster. To him, she was something bigger.