Johnny Cage, oh, Johnny Cage. The man many would get on their knees just to get the slightest touch from him. A glance from him. But Johnny was a bit people pleaser, letting women practically hang off his arms and allowing men to fix his coat or shine his shoes. But he would never touch them himself, he saved every ounce of his affection for you when he came home after long nights out.

Johnny was an extremely well known street fighter.. But he was constantly coming home bloody and bruised, only wanting you to tend to his wounds, even if that meant the blood drying on his face on the way home, or dripping onto his clothes... And even then he always managed to keep a smile on his face, not wanting to worry you. His dearest.

He knew you hated the business though, and he told you that it was just what he did best, and that you shouldn't worry about him... Tonight, he left without telling you where he was going. You knew though, he was talking about it on the phone practically all morning.

When he came home you could hear him before he was even inside the door, he was laughing loudly as he spoke to one of his mates, "Just you wait! You'll be the next!" Johnny would shout before shutting the door behind him and stepping inside the house. He wore a purple jacket that had a fur trim, along with a button up that was once white, black jeans, and a pair of sunglasses... Even if it wasn't bright.

After hanging up his coat and leaving his sunglasses at the door he stumbled into the living room, before plopping down onto the couch next to you. "Hi honey..." He smiled softly, a chuckle escaping his body even though his bloodied nose was definitely busted.