#how the traditions of childhood get passed down

[quotesfrommyreading]

When children are together, they develop their own rituals, traditions, games, and legends—essentially, their own folklore, or, as researchers call it, “childlore.” That lore can be widespread and long-lasting—the mind boggles to think how many generations of children have played tag, for instance. Even seemingly more modern inventions, such as the “cool S”—a blocky, graffiti-ish S that has been etched into countless spiral-bound notebooks—are a shared touchstone for many people who grew up in different times and places in the U.S. How is it that so many children across time and space come to know the exact same things?

Children themselves probably couldn’t tell you where their lore began. If you ask a kid where a particular game or rhyme came from, they’ll likely tell you they invented it, Rebekah Willett, a professor at the Information School at the University of Wisconsin at Madison who has studied childlore, told me: “They cannot trace it, and they have no investment in tracing it.” Indeed, thinking back to the lore of my own youth, I have no idea how my friends and I thought to give each other “cootie shots” with the lead of a mechanical pencil, or why everyone in my elementary-school art class would smear their hands with Elmer’s glue, wait for it to dry, and then methodically peel it off (other than the fact that it was super fun and I would do it again right now if I had some glue nearby). These things were almost like analog memes, micro-bits of culture that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere.

Also like memes, where childlore comes from is arguably less important than how it spreads and why it gains traction in the first place. The main way childlore spreads is, perhaps obviously, by children teaching it to one another. Older kids mentor younger ones both at school and at home, where siblings play a vital role in passing jokes and games down through generations. As for how childlore spreads geographically, there are a couple of key players. One is the new kid, who shows up at school with a pocketful of lore from elsewhere. The other is cousins, who are many kids’ closest peers who don’t attend their school.

Adults have a role to play in perpetuating childlore as well, albeit a supporting one. Parents and teachers share nursery rhymes, folk songs, and games with kids, and adults create the movies, books, and TV shows that kids consume. Our nostalgia for our own childhood shapes what kids get exposed to. But Steve Roud, a British folklorist and the author of The Lore of the Playground, emphasized to me that folklore is by its nature not handed down by an authority. It is of the people, by the people—even if those people are children. So although kids may crib from pop culture and adopt things they learn from adults, making something their own and using it for their own purposes is what transmutes it into childlore. PAW Patrol is not childlore; a game that kids invent on the playground using PAW Patrol characters is.

As Iona and Peter Opie, two pioneers in the childlore field, wrote in their 1959 book, The Lore and Language of Schoolchildren, “The scraps of lore which children learn from each other are at once more real, more immediately serviceable, and more vastly entertaining to them than anything which they learn from grown-ups.” And some information—such as how to summon Bloody Mary in a mirror or guarantee a snow day by wearing your pajamas inside out—you simply cannot rely on grown-ups to impart anyway.

As for what kinds of things become popular, Alex Mesoudi, who studies cultural evolution at the University of Exeter, in the U.K., pointed me toward two main forces that influence whether a particular chunk of culture will spread. One, which you could call “catchiness,” is whether the content of the lore itself is likely to be “remembered, passed on and adopted by others,” he told me in an email: For instance, a pithy song that rhymes and repeats is probably more memorable than a long, winding one. The other is the context in which you learn about a thing, and how high-status that context is—it could be the hot pop-culture trend of the moment or just associated with the popular kids at school. I’ll call this “coolness.” (And, of course, the allure of naughtiness cannot be overstated. Anything adults have deemed taboo is a hot commodity in kid society.)

  —  How the Traditions of Childhood Get Passed Down

[staryuee]

GIVING THEM A FRIENDSHIP BRACELET

꒰warnings꒱ not proofread…:3

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . how would your significant other react when you give them a friendship bracelet made by your own kind hands?

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . diluc, kazuha, kokomi, scaramouche, heizou, itto, cyno, lyney, lynette, freminet, furina, neuvillette, navia, ga ming, chiori, arlecchino

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . this reminded of primary school days of making randomly coloured loom band bracelets…sniffles, the good ol’ days of giving your crush bundled up daisies that had bugs on them from the schools yard and then immediately running away (i am a lesbian i had no such experience in just talking for the sake of poetry ☆〜（ゝ。∂)

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

“what’s this, my love?” he cautiously surveyed the tiny strings and charms with a shocked yet rather satisfied expression. so this is what you were so focused on for the last couple hours…? he can’t help but feel slightly relieved that instead of wasting away at work you were merely crafting a cutely childish gift for him.

“it’s a friendship bracelet! look, i even managed to find these cute strawberry charms for you.” you laughed and start fiddling with the short strands near his scalp, fiddling with them and folding them over to create a stem-like shape.

diluc softly exhaled in amusement, wrapping the small piece of jewellery around his already bedazzled wrist. it takes him a real good second to actually realise what you just said. awkwardly coughing into his hand, diluc catches your attention, “darling, you do realise we’re married?”

a smile possesses your face as you hook your arm with his. “of course i do! i just thought it’d be cute, you know?” he smiled in response.

diluc is no stranger to friendship bracelets. after all, him and kaeya used to make those for each other all the time. sometimes that young triplet consisting of a very dedicated jean, a shy kaeya and a mischievous diluc (sometimes a cutsey barbara who tried to eat the beads) would gather together to create and exchange such bracelets.

a tradition that diluc might’ve let go of but had never forgotten. when you go to sleep at night diluc immediately places your bracelet into a drawer where he kept all of the ones from his childhood.

K. KAZUHA — 枫原万叶

“is this a friendship bracelet? that’s very considerate of you, my love.” kazuha tilts your chin to press a feather-light kiss onto your lips, his touch so tender it was like being touched by sunlight itself. “but i thought we were passed our journey of friendship?” his hand travel down to your hips. squeezing them intently to bring you close to his flowery scent.

“or do i need to remind you that we’re lovers?” taking your hand in his, kazuha leaned his head down to press his lips against your knuckles, eyes peeking through his bangs as if to entice you. and, well, of course it did. kazuha knew just a simple glance at you paired with an affectionate grin was enough to lure you into loving his arms.

kazuha didn’t expect for a piece of handmade jewellery consisting of maple leaf charms with red string to become so sentimental to him, but it was only a matter of time till the bracelet helped become an engraved memory of you. he’d kiss it each time you were apart, hold it up against moonlight while stargazing, trying to illustrate your figure within a constellation.

wandering became more exciting. he’d get to slowly part from your lips, while still having a perpetual reminder of the love you shared with a few pieces of strings tied to his wrist alone.

kazuha, though content with this, always secretly craved to hear the sound of your voice as you called his name and reached out to him. however, within his life he’s learned one thing that has truly stood out; it’s the small things in life that mirror true beauty.

S. KOKOMI — 珊瑚宫心海

“your excellency? what is that on your wrist?” gorou tilted his head curiously, his ears twitching in tandem.

“hm? oh, this?” she shakes the coral coloured bracelet, making the beads and fish charms jingle excitedly as if they were jumping within sea waves. “haha, [name] gave it to me. it’s a friendship bracelet!” kokomi shows it off with pride, a flutter of flapping fins hit her ribcage in the form of her beating heart at the prospect of people seeing the deepness of your ocean-depth bond with just a few beads on a string.

burnout is utterly debilitating. as kokomi spends only a few minutes in her recluse corner within watatsumi, even the shimmering of pearls and the quiet sound of the shore isn’t enough to bring her fragmented energy to rest. nesting her head upon the bundled arms that laid carefully on her desk, she attempted to snooze. finding that she can just barely flutter her curled eyelashes close before an unbearable ache pinches her eyebrows into a knot.

feeling defeated, kokomi sits back up and taps her fingers absentmindedly on the wood, finding just a tiny bit of solace in the sound of clicking and clacking. wait…she quickly glanced at her wrist, noticing she completely forgot to take off her bracelet when preforming her duties. despite her fatigue, kokomi can’t help but exhale a smile. calloused fingers tweezing the bubbly fish charms in an attempt for stimuli that wasn’t so agonising.

she’s so glad she has you, even if that memory of you is withheld in something children share for an intended promise of foreverness.

SCARAMOUCHE — 斯卡拉姆齐

“are you twelve?“ scaramouche raises his eyebrows at you with a sneer, a look of either disgust or confusion on his face. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were mocking me.”

“you’re short but not kid short!” you retorted to appease him, rolling your eyes at his annoying theatrics. did he really have to be so bitchy all the time? i guess when people say that short people tend to be the most angry because all that wrath is bottled into such a teeny body it’s very true…

the friendship bracelets (yes you made two!) were a representation of his journey from the malicious “balladeer” to the slightly less malicious and more so bittersweet wanderer. a contradicting colour palette yet his frosty and asshole attitude remained the same no matter what hue of the rainbow he was dipped in (should’ve been named skittle not scaramouche).

“if you don’t like it that much you don’t have to wear it, it’s not like i’m forcing you.” a pang of disappointed squeezed your chest heavily. it would’ve been fine if he just threw it away after a week or so. you would’ve been extremely hurt yes, but it’s better than having your own lover reject a handmade gift without even a thought for your feelings.

seeing your frown lines and the way your eyebrows scrunched together, scaramouche sighed and immediately snatched the bracelets back. quickly covering them over his wrist and crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “i never said i wouldn’t wear it, stop being whiny.”

the slight embarrassment he felt was worth every stroke of blush on his cheeks if it meant he could see you smile brightly at something so childish.

S. HEIZOU — 鹿野院平藏

“it’s not our anniversary.” heizou stated simply.

“nope.”

“neither of our birthdays.”

“nope.”

“not a special achievement either.”

“nope.”

“alright, love, spill. what’s the occasion, hm? just in the mood to spoil me with your affections?” heizou threw his hands up in defeat. not being able to use his detective experience into deciphering why you decided to be so cute today and bless his otherwise uneventful day.

carefully, you wrapped the bracelet around his eager wrist. “no occasion~ just felt like giving you a friendship bracelet to show my love for you.” he raises an eyebrow. leaning to your eye level, heizou procures a look of confused distaste at your seemingly innocent admission. “friendship?” he looks away dejected, placing his hands on his hips. “and here i thought i was your very cool and sweet boyfriend.”

brushing away his dramatics and looping your arms around his neck to pull his pouty face in closer, you retaliate. “oh hush, you’re still my lovely dramatic boyfriend.” heizou smirked and leaned in impossibly close, his breath tickling your soft skin generously.

“then, could you show your love for me in another way too?” begrudgingly, you caved. moulding your lips with his while his hands gradually situated themselves on your hips. a chuckle escapes his occupied mouth, leaving a tingling feeling down your spine as you pull away, a bright smirk on his face. “thanks for the bracelet, baby~ i’ll be sure to wear it as my lucky charm during investigations!”

A. ITTO — 荒泷一斗

“well of course you’d want to bless the almighty arataki itto with such a gift! i humbly accept your offering~” itto sways a thumbs up, tongue rolling across his pointy teeth in an extravagant display of confident hubris. all in vain, of course. no amount of bravado could dull the charming blush on his cheeks; the way his grin hoisted into a genuine smile of gratitude or the way his eyes glistened with a familiar light; childlike wonder.

itto was never and has never been accustomed to such small things in life. honestly, he was lucky for a stranger to not throw insults, physical objects, hits, kicks, spit, and the like for his mere existence. a friendship bracelet was an event that was so far out of reach for the oni that the only thing he wanted to do right now was to kiss you stupid.

but, he couldn’t. he stood still, twiddling with the beads that nested against his wrist with a haze that was absentminded you felt like tapping him would cause a bubble to burst above his head for water to splash him awake.

the word “friend” doesn’t even register into his brain. he’s too content with the knowledge that your bond meant something to you. that he meant something to you.

you’ve never seen itto so quiet before. he’s usually this giant (literally) ball of energy that bounces around the place and shares an infectious attitude of confidence and joy with no restraint even to the most stoic, but right now, it was like he was that small vulnerable child again given a chance at redemption for simply living.

CYNO — 赛诺

cyno tilts his head to the side as he stares with pinched brows at the weaved threads of purple and yellow beads and charms that you held in front of you with a delicate hand. “what’s the bracelet for?”

“it’s a friendship bracelet!” taking the initiative, you wrap the bracelet around his relatively small wrist and watch in awe as it seems to match his palette perfectly. perhaps not his personality, but maybe if he wore this around regularly people wouldn’t be so frightened by his frozen features.

cyno went quiet for a moment, a look of confusion on his face. a look that made you shrink in shame. did he not like it? was something wrong with it? is it too childish for someone with such an esteemed status? all such baseless thoughts get immediately dispelled once cyno’s lips curl into a subtle grin, his eyes narrowing devilishly.

you’ve often seen this look when he’s about to score a rewarding win in a tcg tournament. but, he also had this look when…fuck. you sigh in defeat and simply let him say it. “why did the friendship bracelet break up with its partner?”

“…ha. why?”

“because it felt tied down.”

you know how in animes when someone says something very fucking stupid, it’s like the world echoes with silence to allow the person to truly feel the embarrassment from their words? you hoped that’s what cyno felt when you blank stared him with a thin line for your lips, hands clenching and unclenching as you fought the urge to squeeze his cheeks together.

“do you get it?” he asks, but before he can ramble about the absolutely articulate construction of his pun, you spring into action and press your lips passionately on his. of course, he replies eagerly. enjoying the clicking of the beads hitting together as his hand made it’s swift, instinctive movement to your waist.

LYNEY — 林尼

“mon ange…is this for me?” lyney smiles gently at you, sneaking the red bracelet onto his wrist. unable to take his away from the fine craftsmanship and the adorable details of hats, doves and some card charms. knowing you thought of him so directly and so in depth made his heart flutter the same way a dove’s wings expand after being liberated from a cooped cage.

“of course it is, it’s a friendship bracelet!” you clasp your hands behind your back, awaiting either his praise or his teasing — whatever he was in the mood for more. despite the happiness that surged through his heart like a bad game of throw the dart, believe me you shot him hard in the feels, lyney frowns.

“but, mon chéri…” he sighs in despair, a theatric hand over the very heart you had gripped tightly in your hand with a mere few beads of coloured wax. “i haven’t gotten a gift for you, i feel rather ashamed of myself.”

“don’t worry about that, this is just meant to be my good luck charm for you during your shows and…” your voice trailed off to him. not because he was uninterested but because he loved the buzzing sound of your melodic syllables each time your lips opened.

“ah, my dear,” lyney paused your affectionate rambles politely, “you’ve got something here…” you tilt your head to the side quizzically and await for him to point at it or take it out. he grins wildly. “well, isn’t that cute?” lyney chuckles softly and while leaning suuuper close to your ear, ‘magically’ pulls out a rainbow rose from seemingly no where.

“it seems we’re even now, hm?” he gestures, handing the rose over with a wink, leaving a cheeky kiss to your jawline in gratitude.

LYNETTE — 琳妮特

knowing lynette’s character and demeanour intricately, you’re aware that grand gestures aren’t at all her thing. she can barely handle a tea time conversation with someone if she’s forced to play an active role.

the bracelet sat enclosed within your palm as you rambled on about your day to lynette, feeling an unshakable amount of anxiety vomiting into your gut for no reason but overthinking. you’ve been avoiding giving her this bracelet for a week now in fear she’ll find very little value or use in something so minimal.

“you have something you want to give me.” a phrase intended as a question, but said more so as a statement.

“i…uh, how did you know?” you laugh and play with the strings of the bracelet cautiously as to not break it.

“your eyebrows are furrowed and you keep glancing away from me.” she analyses you like a real robot…i guess she’s really committed to that bit. either that or she just loves you too much that being unable to read your expressions would be a grievous sin on her part.

with a sigh of defeat, you slide over the bracelet to her with an awkward smile paling your usually joyous lips. “i made a friendship bracelet for you…thought it’d be cute.” lynette doesn’t understand people around her a majority of the time. truly, she doesn’t even want to, it’s not like she needs to either since she has her brother to leech on and others to fool with her robotic party trick and yet, she can’t help but wonder why it is you choose to defend yourself over something so sweet.

“thank you, it’s cute. i’ll wear it for my next show if i’m able to.” her lips curve upward in what to most would seem like a twenty degree uplift, but to you, it meant quite literally everything.

FREMINET — 菲米尼

nothing. no amount of experiences with his interactions with people could’ve prepared him for the absolute heart attack that was this gesture.

he loved it, too much. he wishes he could just dip back into the ocean depths. indulge in a meaningless conversation with the tidalga, or even express his feelings of adoration to you to pers. but currently, it was only you two sharing a humble moment together. no person he could lean in, no space he could rush the words he’d love to say to you in gratitude for the gift.

and you knew that. and that’s what he also loved about you. how willing you were to accept and love him even with him being less socially adept than a coral reef. feeling the cool and vibrant coloured bracelet tilt around his wrist and knot in place, he smiled wobbly.

between the silence, you knew that the quiet smile and nod meant more than his stammered and hushed words could ever express. leaning in to press a kiss to the side of his wrist and cheek, freminet manages to gulp a bit of courage and swallow his static and tingly anxiety, reaching to kiss your forehead. letting his lips linger momentarily before he backed away. “thank you…”

FURINA — 芙宁娜

heartbeat pounding in her ears. eyes narrowing into puffy circles. her bottom lip bitten brutally by her gnashing teeth. hands shaky, making her teacup tremble within her grip. why were you glaring at her so intensely?!

first the invitation for a tea party with only you two as the special guests. second the ominous letter claiming you two “need to talk.” and now, you were completely quiet and calmly snacking, drinking away several blends of tea without a word! it was absolutely ridiculous to think the one person she has entrusted her still mending heart with is ignoring all the clear signs of hesitance and vulnerabilities within the relationship despite them all being initiated by them!

“so, furina.” you clasp your hands together, an impish look transforming your usually peaceful face. her heartbeat stammers as her eyes meet yours in a tender glance. “uhm..yeah?” furina attempts to appear more courageous than she is, but truly, she’s shitting it (for lack of a better term).

the silence stretched on for too long before you giggled and pulled up a blue and white toned bracelet from your sleeves, shaking it with your fingertips with a kind smile. “i made you a friendship bracelet!”

a ghost wavered out of her frightened soul, the tea in her hand put down at this point so she can savour the comforting feeling of her head in her hands. being a gorgeous, shining star in the spotlight of fontaine’s grand stage, furina isn’t a secondhand stranger to gifts. whether they’ve been given to her personally, awkwardly, silently, with no words signed or a creepy letter attached expressing their reverence.

she wishes you’d sometimes go that route instead of matching her in these theatrics! begrudgingly, despite the little flutter in her heart, she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and looked at you with a pout that you couldn’t help but lean in to kiss.

NEUVILLETTE — 那维莱特

neuvillette hums a tune along to the orchestra of the vinyl. an accompanying sound of his pen hastily itching onto the paper adding to the rhythm. his door opens and while he’d normally remain quietly focused on his piling paperwork, he recognised this particular patter of footsteps coming towards him. you.

smiling habitually and peering his head up, neuvillette greeted you lovingly. “hello, my love. what brings you here today? did you get in trouble?” he knew the reason you’d come ushering into his office was hardly with the intention of getting him to aid you with your troublesome quarrels, but rather, you just wanting his love and affection that he was more than willing to fulfil. if time allowed, of course.

“no, no. nothing like that, yet…” you grinned and neuvillette looked at you with a playful look of disappointment at the hesitance. “i made you a gift!” with a prideful aura that was less arrogance and more pure joy, you presented the bracelet to him. he wasted no time in stirring the small bundle of fabric and beads with his gloves. “look,” you pointed eagerly, “i even managed to commission some furina and melusine charms! you know how we always joke about them being like our children? i thought i’d be a cute addition!”

he exhaled a satisfactory laugh in agreement, interlocking your hand in his to press a kiss to your knuckles in thanks. “cute, indeed. thank you, mon chéri. you’re too sweet sometimes.” you sit on the edge of his desk, watching excitedly as he places the bracelet onto his wrist. “as a gift in return, after i’m done with work, how about we take a nice stroll together? i assure you, no rain will interrupt our serenity so long as you’re by my side.”

NAVIA — 娜维娅

immediately gushes at you as your palm opens to present the gold and blue hued bracelet to her, adorned with rose charms that you personally painted in gold and a greyish blue to accentuate her outfit if she decides to wear it. it was less a decision and more a necessity.

she delicately handled the bracelet onto her wrist and kissed both of your cheeks in gratitude, “thank you so much, sweetheart! this is so cute…but what’s the occasion? it’s not our anniversary or anything like that.” navia smiled at you, playing with some of the little roses and twirling them around in appreciation.

“it’s a friendship bracelet!”

her lips pucker into a pout as she starts to coddle you within her arms, occasionally swinging you around gently. “you’re so absolutely adorable!” she nips at your earlobe, kissing it as a form of apology. “but honey, you do know we aren’t just friends right?” navia captures your cheeks within her palms. “we’re lovers!” she presses several kisses across your face, ending her affectionate spillage with a press of her lips on yours.

“oops— haha, sorry i got lipstick all over you, darling.” navia chuckled and began wiping away all the lipstick smudges from your pretty face. yet her attempts bore no fruit. instead of wiping away anything, she only made it oh so much worse. “ah well, guess we both got presents from one another today?” she snickers, twirling her wrist to show off the bracelet with a wink.

GA MING — 嘉明

if you thought this man’s eyes couldn’t get any brighter, then you’re absolutely dead wrong. if you thought he could jump high while lion dancing, you’re also absolutely dead wrong!

he could outrun god right now. if you asked him to defeat a hoard of lined up mondstadt and liyue treasure hoarders, he’d do it in a heartbeat. what possessed you to be so cute?! do you seriously think he can take another heart attack like this after the one he had during lantern rite?

you aren’t able to say much or even explain your reasons for as to why you decided to make this nor what it even is or represents before ga ming smacks his lips messily all over your face. a mixture of your own gloss from kissing you earlier and his own saliva stick to your skin sloppily and you can’t help but feel both enamoured and grossly repulsed at the mixture of sticky wetness on your cheeks as well as the love that seemed to glow like fireworks.

“mmuah~! i love you so much…are you trying to make me cry?” he pouts, becoming a giggling mess as soon as you roll your eyes at his dramatics.

he keeps the bracelet on every day. sometimes he’ll be pouty all day if he’s unable to wear it in fear of it snapping and wasting away all your precious hard work due to either his negligence or the pains of manual labour…he’ll have to cope with simply glancing at the red imprints the beads had left intended onto his skin for satisfaction.

CHIORI — 千织

“what is this?” she jingles the vivid and strong orange coloured bracelet in front of her face, appreciating the tiny details of the cute sewing equipment charms and what looked to be handmade porcelain bows embedded onto some beads.

“it’s a friendship bracelet!” you gleam at her, pride evident in your face at your creation. she hums in agreement; it was certainly something alright.

“oh. cute.” that’s all the genuine feedback she could give you without mentioning how tacky it would look with her attire — it was an affectionate gesture, one which she didn’t want to undermine and therefore, with little complaint despite her own personal conflicts, she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, extending her hand out and twirling it to admire the craftsmanship.

you won’t see her actively wearing it out in every day life, perhaps you’ll manage to sneak a glimpse of her playing with the beads while she’s going over some designs in her sketchbook but otherwise, her gloved hands contain nothing but the smell of perfume.

not that she’d admit it outright until you asked, but the real reason she refuses to wear your bracelet daily is for a simple reason; she doesn’t want it to break in order to have that constant reminder of you as she goes to bed and stares up at her ceiling with the bracelet being coddled between her fingertips.

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

“you’re so childish.” she muses, tracing her nails across the beads, eliciting a weird clacking sound as the charms and beads hit against each other. “but i suppose that’s also an alluring aspect to you.” she ushers the bracelet onto her wrist. despite it being completely covered, there was something even more intimate about her gift being a part of a hidden identity for her; your affection only intended for your gorgeous eyes and her narrowed ones.

tilting your head to her eye-level, you can smell her musky perfume. she leaned in for a kiss. her lips tasting like flavoured gloss consisting of all sorts of red berries, an accurate mirror to the rosey colour of her bright lips. a sneaky hand traced circles around your hips and waist as she attempted to take your breath away. a scythe is a befitting weapon for a woman who’s kiss was practically a notion for death.

she’s used to her children offering gifts and trinkets to her. rocks, random jewellery they crafted with glue, messy crayon drawings, sometimes even in the most macabre scenarios, blood itself. each of those, however, she cherished wholeheartedly. the same way she’d cherish the bond between you two that she’d never allow for anyone to break.

so long as she continuously receives silly gestures like this, she’s convinced she’ll be able to hold you within her embrace with very little effort.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Gold Rush (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Your whole life you have been Daemon’s voice of reason. Tonight, you choose to be the impulsive one. 

Warnings: Velaryon! Reader (And POC!) Friends to lovers. Fluff. Eloping. Tender, loving smut.

Requested: Uh, I don’t know for markers of arousal, but they are a mess. Sub Daemon and POC reader, as requested. I finished the bingo! Yay! 

You clutch the letter in your hand, a joyous smile slowly starting to spread on your face. Uncaring of the guards, or the people around you, you hike up your skirt and race to the courtyard, screaming with all your might. 

“Daemon!” You say, laughing. “Daemon, Daemon, come quickly.” The letter is still clutched in your hand. Your light blue slippers, matching your dress, are starting to get mud soaked; you have avoided the paths to get there faster. 

Your childhood friend is in the training yard, his armor glinting under the sunlight. For once, he is not wearing the full Targaryen regalia, but rather a simple chest plate. You find yourself a bit taken aback by how handsome he looks with the sun hitting him from behind, hair shining like polished silver. He reminds you of the statues of the Seven you have seen in the royal Sept, a halo around his head. 

Daemon sets Dark Sister down when noticing your arrival. He steps aside from his sparring partner, a knight from House Lannister, as if he were meaningless. The man shouts something, probably in indignation from the abandoned match, but Daemon only has eyes for you.

Standing on the steps near the courtyard, his full attention is a heady feeling. It nearly makes you sway. He manages to look even more handsome when a bit roughed up. 

“Is that…?” He asks, pointing at the parchment in your hand. You nod. 

“He said yes! My brother said yes!” You shout, laughing. Daemon runs towards you, even more mud soaked and sweaty than you are and hugs you to him, spinning you around. It only prompts you to laugh louder. 

“You wonderful, wonderful woman.” He says, peppering your face with kisses, uncaring of the stares from the rest of the knights scattered around. You squeal when he squeezes you to him a little too hard, only to laugh right after at his eagerness. 

At the noise, Ser Harold lifts his head, but when he realizes that it is Daemon and you once more, he only shakes his head in exasperation before returning to his guard duties. 

“And has the Queen..?” You ask Daemon, in a low voice. Sudden doubts make your heart clench. Convincing her of allowing Daemon to marry you had been hard, especially considering she had a match in the Vale already lined up for him. It had taken the two of you nearly a year, and you had only managed to soften her heart by reminding her and her brother husband were once a love match too. She had agreed only if your brother agreed to it too. 

And that had been another can of worms. You knew Corlys was ambitious and wanted to see his wife, Rhaenys, on the throne. Marrying Daemon was the utmost betrayal in his eyes, for it was clear your friend would side with his own brother if there was a succession issue. Thankfully, he had given you permission, swayed by the promise that you would keep Daemon and Caraxes out of it if the worst came to pass. 

Finally, Daemon and you could marry. You were holding the very proof of it in your hands. 

“She has. But still…” Daemon gently grasped your face, tilting your head up so he could look into your dark eyes. “We must not allow them to change their minds.” 

You looked up at him, chewing your lower lip. It was not the first time Daemon suggested eloping. Running away to Dragonstone to be wed in the traditions of your shared ancestors and damn to your families. You had never dared. Despite being oddly similar to the romance tale of the Queen and King, you doubted they would take kindly to it. 

“Corlys said…” You start, softly. You do not mind being the voice of reason. It is how it has always been. Ever since you were the little girl sent to foster under Queen Alysanne’s watchful eye. Your father had thought, back then, if you could claim the Cannibal, you surely needed a strong woman to teach you to be one. 

His plan had worked. Perhaps you had not learned much about being a proper Lady, that didn’t track mud into the halls or stab others with practice swords, but by the Gods you had learned strength.  Both of you had, under her. The thing was, Daemon always thought that strength meant charging right at problems while you thought it was better to watch and think first. 

“Give me that.” Daemon complains, taking the parchment from your hand. You yelp and try to take it back, but he raises it high over his head, where you cannot reach. You try regardless, holding his shoulders and jumping up and down in a quite undignified manner. 

Daemon watches you with a smirk, eyes lingering on the bodice of your dress. It is once you exhaust yourself that you notice he is leering at your breasts, and you give him a good shove for it. 

He laughs. He pulls you by the waist and places a kiss on your forehead. 

“You are a pig.” You complain, crossing your arms over your chest. It is not the first time you have caught him looking at you, but it is the first time it feels so intentional. Daemon and you have never crossed that line before. Sure, he has looked, and you have too, but it is only natural. You are the only girl he has been around in a consistent manner. The two of you have been partners in crime since you were children. 

Daemon has had his dalliances outside of you, of course. You know he is fond of brothels and Gods know what else. You do not mind it. This wish for a match between the two of you is not about physical attraction, but rather that if you had to pick one man to be bound with and him only one woman to belong to, both of you choose each other. It’s simple. 

You love him, of course you do. But then, how could you not? Everyone loves Daemon. He is just that charming. Maidens want to be with him, knights want to be him. He is a true dragon, the finest his House has to offer. 

And you are… You. A daughter of House Velaryon, a bit too wild, a bit too unladylike. Nothing to your name but your dragon. At least in that you take pride in. What a foe, your child was. 

“Only for you.” Daemon says, brushing a stray curl away from your face. He twists his finger in it, making it coil tighter before springing back up. 

“Sure.” You laugh, and Daemon gives your hair a harsh little tug, making you yelp.

“I am serious.” He warns, a bit threateningly. His grip on your hair is firm enough to force you to keep your attention on him.  His eyes are locked with yours. “From today on, you are mine. And I am yours. I won’t… I don’t want anyone in my bed that is not you.” 

Your breath catches in your throat. It might as well be a declaration of undying love, coming from Daemon. He is not one for monogamy, your friend. That he is now saying he wants you and only you means… It means everything. 

“But you have never touched me.” You say to him, confused. 

“Of course not, you silly thing.” Daemon shakes his head. “My father would have strangled me.” 

You fight the urge to laugh. Baelon Targaryen had never been too fond of Daemon not being a proper Prince. Unfortunately, he was often so busy with his duties he had little chance of teaching either of you manners. 

No, instead, the older Prince was much more decisive. Every time he caught Daemon with one of the maids, he got rid of them and paid them a pretty sum to forget the incidents ever happened.

“They would have sent me back.” You realize, voice barely above a whisper. If he had ever caught a whiff of impropriety between the two of you, Prince Baelon would have sent you back to Driftmark so fast you would have gotten whiplash. 

“Yes. They would.” Daemon agrees, softly. His grip on your curls soften. Instead, he starts scratching at your scalp, as if to soothe the hurt. “And I didn’t… You are good. I wouldn’t have brought you dishonor.” 

The admission embarrasses him. Daemon wants everyone to think he isn't concerned with that sort of thing. It is his armor. Being the Rogue Prince, the one who makes the unexpected move, the one who doesn’t care about consequences. But he does. When it is someone he loves on the line, Daemon does. 

He loves you. You love him. Why do you have to wait a full moon for Corlys to get here? He is not the one getting married. You don’t need a fancy gown, nor do you need to be wed in a Sept, under a religion that is not yours. 

You look up at Daemon, a mischievous smile starting to form on your face. He looks at you. Not a word is needed. Daemon knows what you are thinking right away. 

His brows pinch together.

“Are you sure?” 

“Daemon.” You say, exasperated. Who does he think he is speaking to? You had not claimed the most dangerous dragon in Westeros because you lacked boldness. 

“Tonight?” Daemon searches your eyes. He finds no hesitation.  

“In the traditions of our houses.” You agree. 

“You understand that if we…” Of course you know. The bedding. Being married usually implies that. The thought fills you with dread and excitement in equal parts. You have been trying very hard not to think of Daemon in this way since the two of you were teenagers. But now, it is not only expected, but encouraged. 

“I know.” 

His hand on your waist tenses. You can feel his grip tighten, greedily. There is so much want in his eyes that it warms your blood. 

“Alright, Lady Confident.” Daemon teases, pressing another kiss to your forehead before letting you go. 

“The dragonpit, tonight. Get us the robes and Viserys.” You point at him, sternly. 

“And what will you get?” He pulls you in again, pressing your bodies flush against each other. You tremble against him, unable to help it. Daemon has such a magnetic pull on you, sometimes you feel like the two of you are never truly apart. He is constantly pulling you to him, into him, even when not in the room. He owns your thoughts, your feelings, your desires. 

But you are not about to tell him that. You like running too much, and by the Seven he likes to chase. 

“Is my presence not enough?” You tease, deftly slipping out of his grip. You start to walk away, hips swaying. Before you are truly out of his reach, you casually speak, as if it were the most normal thing to say. “My riding gear. I intend to ride a dragon tonight.” 

Daemon grabs your wrist, pupils blown. He stops you from leaving. 

“A dragon?”

“My dragon.” You snicker. “I suppose, while we are busy with that, Caraxes and my Cannibal can get to know each other.” 

His joyous laughter chases you all the way to your chambers. You spend the afternoon getting yourself ready. You bathe, soaking in the hot tub until you feel dizzy from the heat. Choosing to elope has made you unable to seek any advice from the only female presence in your life. You doubt Queen Alyssane will take well to the news of what Daemon and you are planning to do. 

Nerves clench in your stomach at the thought of bedding him. It is needed, if you wish to really be wed in the manner of your ancestors, and it has to happen tonight. Otherwise, the tradition would not be complete. 

Having grown around Daemon, you are not fully innocent. Not only have you listened to his exploits, but you also know your body well. What worries you is the fact that he has a lot of experience on you. 

You scrub yourself clean and get up, taking out your secret stash. Pearls are one of Driftmark more prized exports, and you have quite a few. Some have been ground into a fine powder that you apply over your eyelids. You like how the shimmery white contrasts against your brown eyelids, drawing attention to your eyes. 

Some women, especially near Dorne, use black pigment to make their eyelashes look fuller. You have always enjoyed the contrasts more. Velaryons have striking coloring, or so most say. The shimmery silver hair all Valyrians share, with darker skin to offset it and make it pop even more. It’s the same logic you apply to your makeup. 

Once you have scrubbed yourself to your satisfaction, you fret over choosing a shift to wear under the robes. Daemon has sent them to your chambers already, wrapped in a cloth as to not let anyone see what they are. You note that he has selected ones with a red sash, and you frown. You will no longer be a Velaryon after tonight, but you intend to honor your House. 

Perhaps the followers of the Faith of the Seven have the right of it, with the exchange of cloaks. With no Corlys to attend your wedding, you feel oddly adrift. You exchange the red sash for a light blue one. 

Finally, with no other excuse to stall, you put on your black cloak and make your way to the dragon pit. The dragonkeepers barely spare you a glance, used as they are to your antics. 

Caraxes has been brought forth, as has Balerion. Their growls and cries greet you as you step into the lower part of the pit. Your own mount is near, but kept carefully separated. He has an unfortunate tendency of biting other dragons. 

“This is an awful idea.” It is the first thing Viserys says to you, once he sees you approach. “The two of you will kill our grandmother one of these days.” 

“Good evening, Viserys.” You say, taking off your cloak. “Why, thank you for congratulating us.” 

“Thank the gods.” You hear Daemon’s voice before you see him. You turn, finding him dressed in his own set of robes. You had not doubted him for a second. “I thought you were playing a cruel joke on me. That you were… Oh.” 

He finally sees you, dressed in your version of the ceremonial robes. He freezes. 

“You look beautiful.” Daemon says, still a bit stunned. The images of him superpose in your mind. The boy he had been, the man he is now, lips stretching into the most joyful smile you have ever seen. It makes something warm and syrupy sweet nestle inside your chest, covering you in a golden glow.  So of course, he has to be a bit crude. “And all of it mine by the end of the night.” 

Viserys sighs. He looks very put upon, your recently appointed officiant. You decide not to make him wait any longer. Daemon and you marry under the traditions of your Houses that night, with only Viserys and your dragons as your witnesses. 

After the deed is done, palms and lips bloody, you race each other to Daemon’s chambers. The few servants left behind turn to stare, and as you pass, chamber’s doors open. Everyone wants a look at the two troublemakers that are making a ruckus near midnight. Gasps and scandalized murmurs are heard as the onlookers take in your appearance. The runes are painted brightly on your foreheads for all to see if your attires were not damning enough. 

You are sure the news will reach the Queen before the night is over. But as you stop in front of Daemon’s door, you can’t bring yourself to care. He lifts you up into his arms and opens the door with a well-placed kick. 

“Finally.” He says, carefully placing you inside. You laugh. Daemon busies himself with closing the door after the two of you, and it is then that you realize. 

You are married. To Daemon. Your best friend. Your childhood companion. Daemon, rider of Caraxes, the Rogue Prince, Daemon. Fuck. 

Daemon seems to be going through a similar thought process because when he turns to face you, his face is frozen into stunned realization. Now what? His eyes seem to be saying to you. So you step closer. And closer. 

And then his hands are on your waist, and he is kissing you for the first time. 

It’s devastating. There is no other way to describe it. You have been looking at Daemon ever since the two of you met, unable to look away from him, and you finally have his full attention on you. It’s terrifying. His lips move with yours, soft and tender, as if you are something to be treasured. No one knows you as he does, no one could break you as easily as he could. 

You grasp at him like he is your lifeline, hands clinging to his shoulders. There is no finesse in the way you undress him, greedy hands grasping at his robes. Daemon allows you to do so, his hands on your hips steady and calm. It is not until the robes have fallen from his shoulders, exposing his bare skin, that the two of you separate. 

“What do you need?” Daemon asks you, voice low. You look up at him, hoping to see the same desperation you feel reflected in his eyes. What you see takes your breath away. Daemon’s eyes are almost all pupils, the black having swallowed the purple you so love. His lips are swollen from your kisses, mouth slightly agape. “I’m here.” He says, and it sounds wrecked. “I am here.” 

The softness makes you want to cry. You feel overwhelmed with how badly you would like to be close to him. 

“I want… I need…” You articulate, barely. You try to take off your robes, but your hands, so deft at removing his, are slow and stupid when it comes to removing the knots. 

“Let me.” Daemon unties the knots, taking your robes away. His hands wrap around your back, pulling you close. “You are gorgeous.” 

His hands are warm against your ribs, caressing softly. He traces the curves of your waist and hips as if committing them to memory. You do not feel exposed or embarrassed, with Daemon touching you like this. You have belonged to him, heart and soul, since before you knew what the word meant. It’s only right that it is him who you give yourself to. 

Daemon kisses you again, slow and soft. His lips trace your jaw, and then, the shell of your ear. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. 

“I seem to remember you saying something about dragon riding.” He whispers, and you can hear the devious smile he must be sporting in his tone alone. 

Because you are mean, and so much like him, you bite at his naked shoulder. You expect him to yelp or curse, but are fully unprepared for hearing Daemon moan. 

The both of you look at each other, before a giant grin takes over your face. 

“You like that.” You smirk. Daemon’s brows raise.

“So what if I do?” He challenges, with a smirk of his own. You run your nails down his sides, almost experimentally. His eyes almost cross, expression morphing into half pain and half pleasure.  “Seven Hells, you are not allowed to do that!” He complains, and you laugh. 

“I do intend to ride, you know?” You whisper to him, not a hint of shame on your face. 

“Good.” Daemon goes sit on the bed and takes off his breeches. He parts his legs, letting you see his cock for the first time. “Princess, come sit on your throne.” 

You shiver slightly, feeling arousal quickly taking over your best senses. His cock is pink and almost angry looking, perfectly placed for you to sit on his lap and sink on it. You want nothing more than to have him inside you. 

“No.” You say, instead. “Get me ready first.” 

“Come here, then.” He orders, impatiently. “Let me touch you.” 

“You have no manners.” You complain, a bit irked. Daemon has the bad habit of issuing commands, instead of asking. Ever since he was a child, the people around him have yielded to his position or his charm, even to his good looks. Daemon always gets what he wants. 

And you don’t want him to think it includes you. Being taken down a few pegs is healthy, once in a while. So you remain rooted to your spot, naked and confident in your own skin. You start to run your hands along your neck and breasts, tantalizingly. You can feel yourself starting to get wet. 

His eyes track your movements in the same way a man dying of thirst might look at running water. Hungrily, greedily. 

“And you intend to be the one who teaches them to me?” Daemon’s voice comes out much breathier than he probably expects. 

“It is never late to start.” You agree, mischief making your eyes light up. One of your hands pinches your soft buds, getting them hard and alluring. Your breath is heavier, soft little sighs leaving your lips at the stimulation. 

“Fucking… Come here.” Daemon says. You ignore him, running your hands over your breasts. “Please.” He adds, a bit desperate.

You smirk. You take exactly one step towards him. The way he looks at you makes you feel bolder. Your stance widens, one hand dropping between your legs, teasing. 

“Please. Please, by the Gods let me touch you.” He interrupts, before you can do anything more. “Come here, just… I’ll behave.” 

You run your hands over your sides and wait a bit, as if pondering his question. 

“Please.” Daemon repeats. He looks wrecked and you haven’t even touched him. You wonder if this is what he likes about sex, how powerful and in control you can feel knowing that you have another person wrapped around your little finger. 

“I suppose I’ll allow you to get me ready.” You say, very graciously. You make your way to his lap and pull him in for another kiss. 

As soon as your hips are over his, Daemon tries to cheat. He lifts his own hips, trying to grind his erection against your core. You pull at his hair, in warning. He growls against your mouth, and insists on attempting to grind against you. 

You pull back from him, bracing your hands on his knees. Almost on instinct, one of his hands goes to your waist, to steady you. 

“Was that what I asked you to do?” You ask him, frowning. Daemon pouts. 

“I was getting you ready. You are so wet and warm, I bet I could just slide right in.” He complains, much like a scolded child. 

“Really? Then you must not know what getting a woman ready means.” You grin. “Allow me to teach you. Sit back and watch.” 

Daemon growls at you, face slowly starting to flush. You are not sure if he is more enraged or aroused by what he is seeing.  

“You can’t be serious. My balls are turning blue from…” 

“Not my problem.” You answer him, cheerfully. You remain sitting on his lap. The hand he keeps on your waist allows you to not need to support yourself so much. You free one of your hands and direct it to your pearl, where you rub slow, steady circles. 

Under the candlelight, your cunt glistens. You wonder what you must look like to Daemon, wantonly touching yourself on his lap. By the awed look on his face, it must be quite the sight. 

“Do you..?” He licks his lips, throat suddenly dry. “Do you need my help?” 

“Yes. Put a finger inside.” You spread your folds, feeling how slick you are. Daemon groans. 

“Fuck. That’s…” He presses his finger into your hole, slowly. It sinks right in. You sigh, please. Fascinated, Daemon pulls it back a bit, only to push it back inside and feel your walls swallow it. 

“Another. Open me up.” You say, voice a bit shaky. “Curl… Ah. Like that.” No other order is needed. Daemon adds another finger and curls it, a bit mean. It makes you sit up straighter, hands clutching at his shoulders. For a while, nothing exists, except his fingers moving inside you. Want is making you burn up, sweat collecting in the small of your back. You rock your hips against his hand, looking him right in the eyes. 

Daemon’s expression is open in a way you have never seen before. He looks entranced by you, as if he is in the middle of a religious experience. His eyes are fixed on your face, watching your mouth form soft little pants. His other hand is on your hips, aiding your movements. 

“I love you.” He says, sounding a bit broken, a bit in awe. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You press a kiss to his temple. “Ready?” 

Daemon nods, hiding his face on your chest. You grab his erection and line it up with your hole. He hugs you, tighter still, and it’s then that you sink on him. 

You curse, eyes going wide. Daemon lets out a groan. 

“Daemon.” You say, urgently. You feel like he is carving out a space for himself inside of you, as if he had not owned it already. “Daemon.” 

“I know.” He whispers back, rubbing slow circles on your back. He lifts his head and cradles your face, as if you are made of the most fragile porcelain. “My lady wife.”

“My lord husband.” You answer, equally tender. And it is then that you lift your hips and bring them down again. Daemon gives a punched out moan, hands tightening on your hips. 

You push him down to lay flat on the bed, bracing your hands on his chest to get better leverage. You lift yourself, up and down, until you have worked yourself into a frenzy and cannot stop moaning. 

Under you, Daemon has his eyes closed. His mouth is parted open, and he gives soft moans every time you bring yourself down. His hands are curled around your wrists, gently holding you to him. 

It’s not enough. It’s not enough, it feels like you cannot breathe if you are not near him. You need to be as close as you possibly can, and you need it now. 

You lay yourself down on top of him, until your breasts are squished against his chest. Daemon’s eyes open. He hugs you to him, kissing the crown of your head. 

“Thrust your hips.” You say, starting to lavish his throat with kisses. “I need…” You grind your hips against him, his pubic hair rubbing against your pearl just right. With the way you are laying on top of him, Daemon can’t get enough leverage to do anything more than shallowly thrust. You nearly cry from frustration.

“Shh… Just…” He rolls the two of you over, ungracefully. He grinds his hips against yours, with little to no technique. His back is hunched, hair in complete disarray. The blood - drawn runes on his face have smeared, leaving only red lines in their wake. You wonder if you look as fucked out as Daemon does. The thought makes you clench around him, pleasure building up, and up, until one well aimed thrust makes you scream and reach your peak. 

Daemon collapses next to you, his release painting your thighs. There is silence, for a while. Both of you look at each other, sated and exhausted by the day you have had. And suddenly, there is a pounding on the door. 

“I swear to the Seven, Daemon Targaryen, when I get my hands on you…” The Queen screams, and you dissolve into a fit of giggles. 

[bigification]

Under New Management

The smell of sweat hits hard when I enter the gym. I haven't been in a gym in years, but just the smell is enough to bring me back. There is a jacked Arab dude sitting behind the reception, I just tell him I'm here for an interview and he lets me by.

I felt so out of place here. I'm this skinny white guy walking through a gym filled with built Arab guys. I start to wonder how good my chances are of getting this job. I figured my degree in business and experience managing other businesses would be enough, but now I'm starting to wonder if I'm too much of an outsider.

I tell myself this isn't the time to overthink as I make my way to the office. I have to walk past the locker room to get to the office. I see a white guy getting into the showers, probably one of two non Arab guys I've seen here so far. I also walk past an older Arab guy who seems to be checking himself out in his phone's camera.

I find myself staring a bit too long and the man looks up from his phone, making eye contact with me. I quickly look down and continue walking.

"Are you here for the interview?" The man asks. I stop in my tracks and nervously say yes. I feel the butterflies fill my stomach as I realize he's the manager of the gym. I'm already off to an awful start. "Go ahead son, I'll get dressed and meet you there." The man points to his office down the hall. I just nod and walk away.

A few minutes later, the man walks in wearing a nice black suit and expensive looking jewellery. He sits down at his desk and gets right into the interview. I get more and more confident and the interview goes on. He seems quite nice, if a little intimidating.

"You know..." The man sounds more genuine, "I am getting too old for this job. How do you feel starting right away?" He asks. My heart sinks, I have to think quick. "Of course!" I blurt out.

"Great" he says, "it is tradition in this gym to pass down this watch through management." He takes off his expensive looking silver watch and passes it to me. I hesitate for a moment before grabbing it and sliding onto my wrist. The watch feels good on my skin, the cold of the metal is refreshing. I look at the watch and admire its beauty when I see something changing. My hands are... growing. My hands crack as the bones grow, making my hands wide and my fingers long. My thin fingers thicken as muscle and fat pile into them, and callouses cover my palms. My forearms start to thicken as veins start to surface under my skin. They grow until they burst through the button on my sleeve. I also notice my skin start to darken into a tan colour, resembling that of the man who interviewed me. Thick dark hair starts to sprout on my hands and my forearms, giving them a touch and ragged look. I feel the transformation move up my arm and to my biceps. They grow and grow, making my sleeves tight as skin around them. My shoulders broaden and my chest pumps outward, popping off the top couple buttons on my shirt. My shirt strains further as I grow two massive pecs with a thick pelt of hair covering them. The fat in my stomach melts away, revealing a defined six pack that also gets covered in dark hairs.

I feel my pants tighten as my ass perks up and my thighs thicken. I grab my crotch with my massive hand and feel my dick grow larger and larger until a visible bulge forms in my pants. I feel the scratch of hairs growing all down my legs. Suddenly my feet burst from the dress shoes I was wearing, revealing my massive hairy feet.

Finally I feel my face shifting around. My brow bone becomes more prominent and my nose becomes larger. I feel my face sliming down as a big bushy beard grows on my face. I also feel the hair on my head recede until it's only a short buzz cut.

I sit there for a moment, getting used to my body as memories flood into my head. My childhood in Pakistan, moving to America when I was a young man with my father. He bought this gym, allowing me to workout constantly. And now he is passing the gym onto me.

"I am proud of you son. I'm happy you get to take over the family business." Father says to me.

"Thank you father." I respond in a deep voice with a heavy accent.

I walk out of the interview room, and back through the locker room. As I walk through, however, I see that American man getting out of the shower. I would normally be okay with the occasional American being at the gym, but today I was not feeling as generous. I approach him as he is drying off outside the shower.

"What the hell are yo-" the man tries to say, but he pauses as I forcefully grab his wrist. Suddenly the once skinny man begins to rapidly grow. His biceps became massive, his pecs thickened, and his stomach fat melted away revealing a defined six pack. Every part of his body continued to grow, his ass grew fat and round, his dick doubled in size, now being the thickness of a pop can, and his thighs thickened until they rubbed together. His skin started to darken, going from a pale white to an almost bronze brown colour and thick dark hairs sprouted all over his body. A thick forest of hair quickly covered his chest, stomach, arms, and legs. His thin blonde hair became a wavy jet black buzz cut as his once clean shaven face grew a thick beard.

"Good workout brother." I give him a firm tap on his shoulder and he nods back at me. He is a beast of a man, and a loyal customer at the gym, one of many good men who come here.

[amaranthineghost]

| MATCHING PAJAMA PANTS AND LATE NIGHTS ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando x reader

ꕥ summary: how lando spends the holiday season with his girlfriend.

ꕥ authors note: didn't know what type of christmas imagine to write tor lando so I just decided to do this <3 also I'm impatiently waiting for the mini vegas helmet of his I ordered (I'm just a teenage girl <3)

ꕥ warnings: suggestive words

THE HOLIDAYS WITH LANDO NORRIS consisted of a few must-do things. ever since he started dating her, there were things he had to do with every celebration, christmas being no exception.

MATCHING PAJAMAS AND LATE NIGHTS ON SNOWY ROADS

a good portion of the season was spent in the warmth of his mclaren, driving through snowstorms with the heat blasting and whatever music their hearts desired. they'd yell the lyrics at the top of their lungs, breaking into laughter with every voice crack and anytime they'd forget a word. lying on the hood of his car to stargaze on the outskirts of the city where light pollution hadn't yet touched the sky. all in their matching pajama pants.

if he didn't have as much money as he did, he'd surely have spent it all on matching sets for the two of them to wear all throughout the holiday season.

he adored the matching sets they wore together, smiles gracing his face as he stared at her lovingly as she wore the patterned pajamas he'd picked out. there was something so heart-warming to see her wearing the same thing he did.

he loved laying around the house in each other's presence, words unspoken would be exchanged through actions such as simply lifting the sherpa blanket one was under to invite the other into the comfort of their warmth, wrapping themselves in each other's arms or slipping into the same hoodie as she laid on his chest. they'd lay on their couch by the apartment window, watching the snow fall through the spot on the window they wiped with their hands.

decorating the christmas tree with ornaments passed down from generations, telling fond stories with each trinket and heirloom in their possession. it inevitably brought them closer to share such a peace of life and tradition with each other that they'd honor closely. he'd tell her stories of his childhood where he'd place various decorations on the tree, watching her inspect them in her hands. they'd been passed down from his parents to him to share with his love, though they'd visit his parents for a portion of the holidays.

ynusername

liked by landonorris and 32,283 others

ynusername I love the winter weather because I've got my love to keep me warm

view all 1,929 comments

oscarpiastri made me third wheel, but didn't even tag me.

ynusername we kind of forgot you were there

oscarpiastri yeah. I know.

user not them forgetting about poor oscar in the backseat 😭

landonorris he's fine

SKIING AND SNOWBALL FIGHTS

trips to various snowy countries and vast mountains were inevitable, despite lando traveling quite often for his career. he'd love ski trips before and even more so with her involved. he'd help her gear up, teaching her the way to do it without falling on her face so she'd be able to keep up with him. starting out, he'd rush to her every fall, cooing at even the slightest bruise forming, kissing it with his cold lips. but as she improved, she could find him bent over laughing, hand on his stomach before he'd trek his way to give her a helping hand.

late nights after skiing turned to snowball fights in the dark between the group that shared the cabin. lando often brushed off his girlfriend's attempts to give him a jacket, claiming he'd be fine. he'd end up getting sick and she'd be the one to take care of him.

landonorris

liked by ynusername and 502,827 others

landonorris ouch ☹️

view all 5,102 comments

ynusername I won the snowball fight

landonorris you only won because you nearly gave me a concussion

oscarpiastri she nearly did us a favour there

user why does lando never wear a coat 😭

ynusername I've been asking the same thing

user bro is just built different

lilymhe why is yn on the ground ?

landonorris I tackled her 😊

user BBYE NOR PQNDO ADMITTINT HE TAKXLED HIS GITRIENR 💀

ynusername the spelling goes crazy

BAKING AND BOARD GAMES

double dates were a frequent go-to thing between the couple and their friends, alex and lily. it was a good time for the couples to hang out and catch up from the chaos from the season. mostly organized by their girlfriends who simply wanted to spend more time together, and the boys being dragged along, mostly alex. lando was the one who had clung to his girlfriends arm, begging him to let her go, and it was only fair to make alex go with too.

they'd frequent christmas markets, with lando spending an unnecessary amount of money on anything his girlfriend pleased because he loved to spoil her, despite the comments of others saying she was using him for it. he'd gladly let her though.

they'd walk with mugs of hot chocolate steaming out of the cup with whipped cream and peppermint sticks. she'd laugh at her boyfriend for the whipped cream on his upper lip, lily joining in when alex had gotten the same style of white mustache. she'd withhold the napkins from his grasp, enjoying the sight before her as lando tried to reach around her back where she'd hide them in her palm. he'd gotten so close to her face, he'd smudge the cream across her lips too.

"that's what you get!" he'd exclaim to her before laughing it off and wiping away the remnants that smeared across her face with the swipe of his thumb. he'd suck off the sweet, watching how her eyes dilated and her throat move as she gulped.

he leaned in close to her ear, whispering to her so the other couple wouldn't hear, "I bet you'd taste sweeter." he'd pull away to watch her face malfunction, as she'd open her mouth but words failed to form as her face became red and flush. she'd end up just shoving him by the shoulder, pushing the napkins into his hands.

landonorris

liked by ynusername, alexalbon, and 628,910 others

landonorris she does NOT mess around when it comes to monopoly

tagged—ynusername, alexalbon, and lilymhe

view all 3,820 comments

user STOP THE DOUBLE DATE

user I know right 😭😭😭 I'm so painfully single

alexalbon yn is on board game ban

ynusername ☹️

alexalbon you bit me

ynusername I'm just a teenage girl

alexalbon you're 22

ynusername don't remind me

user not alex and yn bickering like siblings 😭😭😭

user right?! like the duo we never knew we needed

ynusername he's too ugly to be my brother

alexalbon you'd be adopted.

ynusername 😧

user no one asking what they even made like I wanna know

oscarpiastri something burnt probably

landonorris you weren't even there though

ynusername it was definitely burnt though and all lan's fault.

user yn calling him lan 🥺

ICE SKATING AND CANDLE-LIT READS

rinks set up around london would be occupied by the group of couples who'd find themselves falling over laughing as they tripped over the ice. they'd fail to keep their balance as they skated around the ice. he'd be bent over tying her skates as she watched from over his shoulder, carmen and george and alex and lily as the couples gripped each other for dear life. she'd break out into a toothy smile, exciting looking back at her boyfriend as he'd finish lacing her skates, watching her breath exhale from her nose, the pink across her face from the chilling cold.

she'd stumble on her feet at the unfamiliar feeling of walking across the ground to the gate that'd lead then onto the ice, taking the intial step with her boyfriend not far behind. his gloves hands firmly placed on her hips, making her stomach flutter even though she'd felt his hands on her numerous times before.

they'd fall countless times, racking up the number of bruises on their body that lando would later kiss it better as she laid in bed. candles lit as the only light in the room as she read. she knew it was bad for the eyes, but it was a one time thing—not.

he'd lift the cloth that covered her body, kissing every mark that ruined her even skin, which proved to be majorly distracting to her reading—his plan all along as she'd engross herself between the pages of whatever novel she'd held. moving his warm breath across her skin, from her arms to her waist and hips to the sides of her thighs where her breathing got particularly shallow. he'd groan when she tried to push him away, though he knew not in disinterest.

ynusername

liked by landonorris, lilymhe, and 71,927 others

ynusername

view all 2,928 comments

user THE SNOOPY SHEETS

user id like to think lando sleeps peacefully in her girly bed.

ynusername he does

landonorris I can't believe you just told them that

ynusername I'd post the proof

landonorris YOU HAVE PROOF?

lilymhe post it

ynusername for my queen, yes

landonorris NO

user YN BLACKMAILING LANDO IS CRAZY

user I aspire to be like them

they'd end up at his family's house for the rest of the christmas holidays, spending times in front of the fireplace with boards games at their feet—shed play over lando's shoulder despite being on ban.

eventually she'd shove him from his place and take over—he just couldn't do it like her.

"what the hell?"

"lan, you suck, just let me play!"

"you're banned from playing!"

"ok and?"

[sideysvault]

‧˚ʚ Unwavering commitment ɞ˚‧

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!reader

wc: 1847k

Warnings: [sfw] mature themes & slight canon divergence.

────────

Rhaenyra had always kept you by her side. From the suffocating walls of the Red Keep to the isolated Dragonstone, and to wherever the vying for the Iron Throne took her: You were right next to her. A fanciful promise made in childhood had turned into an everlasting oath the two of you kept close to your heart.

However, to the untrained eye the relationship between the pair would look like nothing more than a servile friend orbiting around the all encompassing presence of the Queen. But there had always been something unspoken lingering underneath the surface. And anyone with some tact and who paid attention enough could see it.

It had all started innocently enough. As a young girl, you naturally admired the Realm’s Delight. Everyone could see the strong values and sensibilities in her that are often found to be lacking in other members of the Royal Dynasty.

As a childish friendship between the two emerged, so did the excitement before any interaction, the sensation of flusteredness whenever the two of you would touch. Your heart saw no difference between a sweet, intimate embrace or the slightest brush of hands while walking down the garden. Anything was enough to ignite agitation, and the eagerness that you felt to serve and protect the Princess transformed into something more personal, more intimate. All these feelings were brushed off as merely inocuos admiration for a girl who was brave enough to live outside the bounds that were forced upon her, a girl charming (And powerful) enough to get away with it.

Everything culminated when you gifted her a pin with your family's badge, not only symbolizing the unwavering devotion you had in her as your queen and confidant, but as family as well. Even still, you tried to spare no thought about it. It really did not matter if you were in love with the Realm’s Delight or not. Either way, the result was the same: A tight bond that would keep the two of you together no matter how grim the circumstances. A kind friendship based on respect and honesty. That was all that really mattered.

⋆

Life in Dragonstone transcurred in a simple routine. The volcanic island had a certain air to it: It was filled with tradition and legacy, which would occasionally become a painful reminder of the impossible path that Rhaenyra was thrown into, dragging you in it as well.

Still, on certain lights, when the bay is calm and the wind blows strong, the intimidating presence of old Valyria can transform into a beautiful sense of hope and possibility. Maybe not everything was lost, and perhaps there could be a future for the family that you held so dearly to your heart.

While your blood was of noble descent, power and influence had never been curses inflicted by the Gods on your family. You had taken the pursuit of knowledge as your calling. Remaining determined on learning, your closeness with the Royal Family had allowed you to remain a maiden, occasionally acting as a personal advisor to the them, advocating for the righteous path when needed.

There had been transient moments where you would almost feel certain that Rhaenyra might feel the same way you did. Especially when the youth’s intrepidness still ran through your veins. Drunken admissions, reading together in the forest, the way her eyes would trail down on your body and how her smile always seemed softer when it was directed towards you. But as the years passed, the men did too. Even Alicent, to some extent. You’d finally accepted that the Gods would never gift you with even the smallest brush of lips, or any undeviating affection. And so, you stayed by the family's side, lovingly taking care of her sons, and balancing time between your studying and long conversations with your Princess.

When the devastating war for succession began, you never left Rhaenyra’s side. No matter how seemingly insignificant your loyalty was to her during these trying times. The strong feeling of devotion never left the two of you, but the Queen had less and less time to spend by your side, filled with sorrow and duty. Those years of unspoken thoughts and undefined roles began to weigh over the two of you.

But following Daemon’s silent departure, the routine in Dragonstone shifted.

The Queen would often find herself on the balcony of her private chamber, observing the landscape that the coastal body of Blackwater provided. She figured that the mild wet air and the periodic disturbance of the water was as good as any stimulant for thought and contemplation.

On the other hand, your favorite pastime was observing Rhaynera’s dragon-like features twitch and turn in synchronization with her thoughts. The Queen was a sight to behold. With the wind blowing tiny silver hairs that had managed to escape the tight grip of her braids, her light blue eyes, ever calculating. And her painfully firm side profile that left no room for speculation.

You were a central piece in the dance of the family again. Commonality now consisted of long conversations at night, mornings filled with you lovingly braiding her hair, afternoons occupied with advising Jacaerys in whatever new feat he felt like pursuing that day. You loved that boy as if he was your own. You had loved him as a vivacious happy child, as a defying teenager, and now, as an unhappy young adult.

For a little while, you tried to mediate between the boy and his mother, but he’d never listen.nHe was a youthful man eager to help and prove himself. A dangerous combination for mindfulness. He wasn’t receptive to what he considered cowardly advice from frightened officials. You had promised him he’d have his vengeance against the Targaryen demon. After what he did to Lucerys, you’d hang his dismembered head by its silver hair yourself. But nothing could make the boy understand that before that could happen, you all had to play the game first. So you would just accompany him, give him reassurance when needed and restraint when necessary. Just as you always did with his mother. In somber days, all they both needed was someone to be truthfully kind to them. To bring some sense of normalcy and wisdom to the situation.

But offering companionship and practical support was a full time role. Even if you held no formal position in the dynasty’s structure, Deamon had unknowingly left a vacancy open. The one of The Queen’s Consort. Providing wifely duties was too much to bear, no matter how much you loved it. You had never been this close to the thing you desired the most. Being on the sidelines was much less sickening than yearning and having a taste of a precious thing that would never become.

⋆

A strangely harmonious night, Rhaenyria had asked you to come to her private chambers. By her bed layed a beautifully crafted black gown. With all the old traditional Targaryen features except for one key detail: The embroidery that was reminiscent of dragon scales was made in your favorite color.

You softly caressed the embroidery, afraid that it would crumble under your touch. You furrowed your eyebrows as you softly asked “Nyra, what is this?” Your friend gave you an enthusiastic smile as she said “You must try it on”. Happiness was not a look you had the privilege to see on her face, so you obliged.

As you undressed, the cold wind made your skin burn with anticipation. Or perhaps it was the presence of your friend that even while facing the wall you could still catch her occasionally glancing at your body through the mirror. It felt dangerous, and you weren’t sure where this was going. But one thing was for certain: If every tissue on your skin came alive with a simple glance from her, it would be the end of you if she’d ever touch your unadorned flesh. Maybe the Gods were being merciful, after all.

You stand in front of the mirror next to her, as you turn to get help with tying up the back of the gown, With a deep look on her eyes as she helps you get it fully on. You were trying to concentrate in holding your breath in, in a futile effort to get a hold of your heartbeat. You weren’t born of ash and dragon blood. You weren’t cut for games like this.

The queen was standing behind you, observing you through the honest lense of the mirror. Feeling the warm breath on your neck felt like Paradise. Until you saw the image reflected in the mirror: A scene that could only be interpreted as a loving couple. Rhaenyra seemed to be in a sort of trance; with a proud smile on her face as she ran her hands through your body's silhouette. The fabric hugged your body perfectly. Just as you were starting to feel accustomed to her touch around your waist, she grabbed something in her left pocket, and a small worn out metal object appeared. It was the pin with your family’s badge. She’d kept it all this time. Even in war, even in famine. She lovingly pinned it on your new gown and grabbed your left hand to place a soft kiss on its palm. Wearing a customized Targaryen dress was one thing, but adding your house to the mix was making you feel overwhelmed with a mix of confusion and hope.

You were dangerously close. The mirror reflected a royal pairing, and in typical Targaryen extravagance, a royal pairing that could afford to be truly in love. The image reflected a softness only reserved for our dearest. You sighed and pulled away from her embrace. You couldn’t hold it in anymore, tears began to run through your face instinctively, embarrassed and angry, you pleaded “Don’t be cruel, I beg of you.” Nyra looked hurt, but she immediately took you in her arms, trying to apeace you, but you just covered your face with your hands. The Queen, however, quickly pried them off, she was looking at you in a way you couldn’t decipher. Concern was present, but there was something else. You suddenly feel the way her breathing changes as she leans down to your face. She pushed you against the wall as she kissed you. It was heated and frantic. Filled with the powerful relieve of years of buried desire. There was no return to the suppressed modesty anymore. Your breath became irregular and your stomach turned in excitement as you explored each other.

Whenyour palms reached to cup her face, your skin came in contact with the warm tears running through her face. It was real. You could feel the warmth in Rhaenyra’s body as she intertwined her fingers with yours.

It was in her private chambers on that cold night where she filled your body with tender chaste kisses as she whispered “Always” while humming your name again, and again against your buzzing skin.

“I love you”.

Nyra had said it like an oath.

────────

Notes: This is my first wlw writing, I’m so nervous and excited. This fic is very dear to my heart. I’ve been with girls before but I feel like I can finally be open about it! Please everyone take care of yourselves and take care of each other! Feedback is appreciated but queerphobia will get you blocked! This is a safe space -Sidey xxo

[sqquidzz]

If the Hashira Adopted a Child with You

Hashiras x fem!y/n

Summary: How would the Hashira feel about adopting a child and the process of raising them together and living life. Includes Rengoku, Sanemi, Gyomei, and Obanai.

Tags: Fluff, Insecurities, Brief Mentions of Past Trauma, Married!Y/n, Some Angst, Crying, Arguments, Major Character Death, Grieving, Sadness and Fluff with Bittersweet Endings, Mentions of Blood and Gore, Injury, !Spoilers for Demon Slayer Manga!, etc.

A/N: Hello lovelies!!! I'm so sorry I haven't been posting content. I was dealing with a few family issues and wasn't able to get to writing. Thankfully, the issues have been resolved, however, I never got back to writing because I almost forgot about this account! I hope you guys will enjoy this fic! This fic idea was courtesy of @rupkatha-banerjee!

Rengoku:

When you first mention the idea of adopting a child, Rengoku immediately agrees that it is a great idea with his signature smile

You have been hesitant to ask him if adopting a child is okay because you are aware of his family's traditions of how as the woman holds the child in her womb, she must stare at a fire to bring the bright colour of flames to the child's hair

The nest day, Remgoku insists to take you to an orphanage that he had come across during patrol the night before

You both take a wagon into the city, and soon you come across the orphanage that Rengoku mentioned

You walk in and are immediately greeted by the sight of children running around everywhere, and the owner comes over to greet you

You spend some time talking and playing with the children, but you notice a small boy sitting in the corner of the main room alone

You come over to him and greet him, but he says nothing, staring at you behind his blonde bangs with dead orange eyes

You realize that the boy's eyes and hair distinctly remind you of Rengoku, and feeling empathy for the boy who seems to be unable to get over the fact that his family was gone, you decide to adopt him

At first, it was very hard

The boy would not say one word to you or Rengoku, sitting in the corner of the bedroom, simply staring into nothingness

But that didn't stop you, and you say by him every day talking to him about your life and Rengoku and all the other Hashira

You would especially tell him about Tanjiro's adventures with Zenitsu and Inosuke, laughing to yourself as you recount the hilarious events (you got to know these things thanks to Rengoku)

Soon enough, the boy, who you decided to name Yuki, warmed up to both you and Rengoku, and was talking non stop with both of you, playing outside and helping around the house

You spent as much time with him as you could, teaching him basic skills and educating him

He got to meet all the Hashira and met the infamous trio as well as Nezuko, who he surprisingly warmed up to the most

However, when you got the news that Rengoku had passed on during a mission, you and Yuki we're devastated

Yuki shut down completely, not speaking to anyone, leaving you back at step one

Seeing the state of your son, you cried and cried tears that were bottled up ever since your childhood

Through your sobs and wails, you could see your son moving towards you

You realize he was embracing you, and from that day, you both promised to save each other and never leave each other, no matter the cost

You continued to raise Yuki, watching him as he followed his father's footsteps to become the new Flame Hashira

You were concerned that he would one day not come back, but you had faith in him

One fateful day, your time had come to an end

You had successfully lived to old age and passed on peacefully with your son by your side, as he kept his promise to never leave you, ever

Sanemi:

When you first proposed to adopt a child, Sanemi was afraid

He was scared that he was not cut out to be a parent due to his severe anger issues and aggressive nature, especially after thinking about what happened with Genya

Obviously, Sanemi being Sanemi, he lashed out at you, asking: "Why the fuck would we need to adopt a kid!? Stop being fucking stupid!"

Instead of bursting into tears and running away like he thought you would, you hugged him from behind and said with a smile: "You'll be an amazing father, trust me."

By the time Sanemi turns around, there are tears in his eyes, and he silently cried into your shoulder with you rubbing comforting circles into his back

The next day, you two both go to the orphanage in the city in hopes of adopting a child

As you enter, you immediately get along with the kids, playing and talking with them as Sanemi sticks to one corner

However, a little boy about 7 years old comes up to Sanemi and asks in a harsh tone "What do you think you're doing oldie?!"

Sanemi being Sanemi again, he retorts back yo the kid, and before you can stop them, they are both having a screaming match

You realize in that moment that this not is the right one for your Sanemi

He was able to match Sanemi's temper, and he seemed to be enjoying himself just as much as you could see that Sanemi was

You decide to take him home, and while the owner tried to warn you, you simply tell her that he's the right one

However, the nest few days in the house were chaos, to say the least

The house was never quiet, with yelling and screaming bouncing off the walls so often that you were temped to get earplugs, but you wouldn't trade it for the world

The boy you adopted, who you named Sake, seemed harsh on the outside, but was a real sweetheart on the inside, just like your Sanemi

However, it took just one sentence to ruin this to what seemed like beyond repair

The normal arguments were going on between Sanemi and Sake, but it seemed to be more serious this time

Before you could intervene, Sanemi, out of a fit of rage, yelled, "Just because we adopted you from that orphanage doesn't mean that we won't dump you back there!"

The silence hung like a blanket that was too heavy, suffocating everyone under the weight

Tears rolled down Sale's face as he looked to Sanemi in shock, betrayal and hurt shining in his eyes

You watched as Sake's eyes dulled so much that his eyes almost looked black, void of emotion, and his tears dry up instantly

You recognise the look on his face

That was the look you had on your face when you were abandoned by your family, a defense reflex for when you knew that if you were to cry, things would just become even worse

"Sake....?" You called to him, but he doesn't seem to see you

Before you or Sanemi can do anything, you hear something come from his mouth, too quiet to be heard the first time, but then you realize what he is saying

"I'm sorry.... I'm sorry...."

You feel like bursting into tears upon hearing this, and you go to hug your son

You got a glimpse of Sanemi's face, who was equally as shocked, not only by his words, but the reaction that he got due to them

Sanemi managed to snap out of it, and immediately came to join your hug, apologising for what he said, trying to reassure him that they wouldn't abandon him and telling Sake to not apologize for what Sanemi had done

At these words, Sake broke, sobbing into you and Sanemi, wailing so loudly that your's and Sanemi's hearts broke

After what seemed like forever, Sake had fallen asleep, exhausted by all the crying

As you tucked him in, Sanemi sat in the kitchen, a look of hopelessness on his face

"I told you I'm not cut out to be a father," Sanemi's voice echoed in the startlingly quiet house

"Mistakes happen, but it is up to us to fix them," you simply reply as you both watch the sunset, too filled with sorrow to say any more words than those

The next day, you wake to find Sake not in bed

This frightens you, and you rush out of your room in search of him, only to find him sitting outside, plucking the grass

You remember one memory where Sake and Sanemi were fighting about pulling the grass, and they both ended up pulling grass from the ground and throwing it at each other

They both got an earful from you, but you could see them grinning at each other like idiots

That memory made you smile, but your smile faded when you saw the dull look in your son's eyes

You don't even realize it, but Sanemi walks towards Sake from behind you and kneels infront of him, looking him straight in the eye

"No matter what I or you say or do, I will never abandon you like I was abandoned, never," Sanemi whispered as he looks at Sake for any sign of acknowledgement

After a few agonizing minutes, Sake's head slowly rises, and you can see tears glinting in his eyes

"You mean it?" he asks, and you know he's trying to stop his tears

"Yes, both of us do," Sanemi promises, and you give Sake a smile when he looks to you

Another minute passes by, and your concern slowly grows, before the tears in Sake's eyes overflow and he's jumping into Sanemi's arms, wailing loudly again, but this time in relief

You join their hug and tears of your own are shed, and you all sit there together on the grass, sobing and comforting each other, knowing that this quite promise to be together always was made

After that day, everything goes back to normal, and you witness as your son grows up to become a Demon Slayer alongside his father, creating a new breathing technique based on Wind Breathing and rising the ranks

As the final battle comes and goes, you find yourself at Sanemi's side as he quickly approaches his demise due to the Demon Slayer Mark

You and Sake hold both his hands as he takes his last breath, never leaving his side until the very end

Despite your Sanemi being gone, you try your best to live and enjoy life

You visit the Kamados and Zenitsu, Insokue, Kanao, and Genya with Sake, and you help take care of them with the occasional visits from Urokodaki and Tengen Uzui

As the days go by, you soon find yourself lying on your bed, drawing your final breaths with Sake at your side

You can tell he is trying to hold back his tears, but they flow anyway, and you brush them away with your boney, frail hands

You lips barely mouth the words I love you before your last breath falls from your lips and you pass on peacefully of old age with Sake at your side, and you know he will stay at your side, always

Gyomei:

When you tell Gyomei that you would like to adopt a child, tears stream down Gyomei's cheeks

You were afraid you made him cry out of sadness, but he reassures you that he cries tears of joy

Out of excitement, you drag Gyomei with you to the city is hopes of finding a child in the main orphanage of the city

However, before you arrived, you caught a glimpse of a little girl in an alley dressed in rags, desperately feeding a ghastly thin cat a small piece of meat

You approach her from behind and tap her arm

She immediately flinches away from the touch, looking up at you with frightened eyes

Gyomei slowly follows, and seeing his holding form, the girl crawls back helplessly, tears starting to stream down her dirt ridden cheeks

Gyomei simply sits down infront of the girl and holds out his large but surprisingly welcoming hand

The girl takes his hand hesitantly, and finds that ur is warm, though hard to the touch, is pleasantly comforting

It seems that exhaustion took her over as she slumps into his hand, her head resting on the hand that lays on Gyomei's warm palm

The cat she was feeding also goes to brush up against his hand and curls next to it contently

You knew from the moment you must take her and the cat in as your children

The first few days was filled with a lot of cleaning

The girl, who you decided to name her Sayo at Gyomei's request, was frightened at first by the unfamiliar environment, but soon warmed up to getting in the bath as Gyomei guided her

To give her privacy, he stepped out as you washed her, and you got to know how she ended up on the streets

You reassure her that you and Gyomei will take care of her, and that her cat is also safe, as Gyomei was washing him outside in the garden

She told you the cat's name was Cookie, because she loved cookies but could never have them often because they were too expensive

As you walk out of the shower with her, you find Gyomei on the porch feeding Cookie some meat from your and his kitchen

Sayo walked over to Gyomei and sat next to him with no fear, touching him lightly as if she didn't want to scare him since he was blind

Gyomei smiled slightly, and both Sayo and Gyomei sat together petting Cookie, as you watched them bond silently with only the setting sun as their witness

As the years went by, Sayo got more used to you and Gyomei

She met all the Hashira, the Kamados and Tanjiro's crew, as well as Master Kagaya and those at the butterfly estate

She especially got along with Kanao, with both of them being soft spoken and their similar pasts

As Sayo grew, she helped out at the butterfly estate, especially as the Demon Slayers prepared for the final battle, helping develop the Anti-Kibutsuji drug

Once the battle was over, news had reached both you and Sayo that Gyomei had passed on fighting valiantly against Muzan Kibutsuji and the Uppermoons

You and Sayo were devastated, but despite that, you both decided to live on to keep Gyomei's memory alive in your hearts, knowing that he was not really gone, but he was resting in both your hearts, eternally

Obanai:

When you finally brought up the suggestion to adopt a child, Obanai almost spit out his tea

Obanai couldn't help but think of all the things that could go wrong if he were to become a father

The one thing he couldn't get over was the fact that any kid would probably be too scared to even look at him because of his scar

Obanai obviously didn't say anything to you, but you could see the inner turmoil he was going through on his face

"Relax, Obanai! I know you'll do great as a father!" you gave him your signature smile and Obanai knew that he couldn't say otherwise

It took a few days to convince Obanai to actually come with you to the orphanage, for Obanai was afraid that, with so many kids around, the bandages around his scar would be pulled down accidentally, leaving the monstrous thing out in the open for prying eyes

Instead of shutting Obanai down, you let him voice all his concerns at once, knowing that Obanai would like to be able to voice his concerns before you look for a solution

"It's not possible to say that those things won't happen, but you just have to trust me," you smile as you run your fingers through Obanai's straight, jet-black hair

Obanai had said nothing after, simply watching the moon shine it's pale light over the both of you, the only witness to this affectionate moment

The nest day, Obanai wakes you early and says, "Come, Y/n. If we want to go to the orphanage, we better leave before traffic picks up."

At Obanai's words, you immediately brighten up, reading Obanai about how he was the one waking you up to go to the orphanage

After you hassle around the house trying to get ready, you and Obanai share breakfast that he made for both of you and you head out to the city soon enough

As you enter the orphanage, you experience a sense if nostalgia, for you remember the time you spent in the orphanage as a child before being thrown out because of shortages in supplies

Obanai sulks behind you, giving a nasty glare to whoever tries to come up and talk to him

However, one child comes and tugs on Obanai's haori lightly

Before Obanai can turn and tell the kid to "fuck off", he notices the bandages around one of her eyes

Quietly, he could hear her say, "You have bandages just like me."

Obanai's eyes widen slightly, and he brushes his bandages unconsciously with his hand

The girl simply stares at him, not saying anything more as the awkward silence continues

Unknowingly to Obanai, you have been watching this interaction, and you tell the owner of the orphanage that you'll take her in

As you, Obanai, and the little girl all take a cart back to your home, you see from the corner of your eye that the little girl is leaning against Obanai, probably sleeping, and Obanai is simply sitting there, watching the sunset

You knew you had a feeling that this child was right for you and your Obanai

It was the middle of the night when you realized the little girl you adopted was not in bed

You immidiately started to panic, startling Obanai awake as you run around the house trying to find her

You end up finding her outside, staring at the moon, her bandaged eye now uncovered, revealing the gruesome scar that hid beneath

You were unsure of how to approach the little girl, who seemed so lost as she simply stared at the moon, however, Obanai walked over from where he was standing behind you, taking a seat next to the girl

You realized that his mouth was not covered with bandages as it usually was, displaying his equally large scar that ran from the corners of his mouth

The girl looked over to Obanai, eyes wandering over his face curiously, before stopping at his scar

She reached out, tracing the scarred over tissue around his mouth, her mouth agape in what you thought was surprise or awe

After exploring Obanai's face, tears pooled in her eyes and ran down her pale cheeks, and she whispered, "You look like me."

You smile as Obanai agrees with the little girl, taking her hands in his and holding them against his scar

"No matter who tells you you're ugly because of your scar, or if you think your own scar is ugly, remember that you are not the only one suffering. You can always come to me," Obanai said sweetly as he lets go of her hands, though her hands stay on his face

The night grows deep as the little girl continued to shed tears hidden behind a wrapped face, the moon as witness to this moment as feelings are shared for the first time

As years go by, yours and Obanai's daughter, who you named Rin, became a Demon Slayer alongside you and her father

She made many friends on the way, meeting Tanjiro and Nezuko, as well as the rest of their friends and the Hashira and those who worked at the Butterfly Estate

She got along very well with Genya, though he was too shy to speak to her at first, and they shared everything with each other and bonded due to the face that they both have a scar running across their faces

You couldn't help but smile as you saw your daughter laughing along with Kanao as Tanjiro and Zenitsu were chased by Inosuke

Everything felt perfect... until the final battle

As a Demon Slayer yourself, you were present during the fight against Muzan Kibutsuji, trying to defend your comrades as best you could while keeping an eye on Obanai

However, you must have been engrossed in the battle, for by the time Muzan was ended, Obanai was lying on the ground, almost lifeless, with lacerations running across is face and multiple wounds that were bleeding profously

You hold him in his finaly moments, pressing a slight kiss to his forehead as Rin joins you, holding his hand and shedding tears that streamed endlessly down her blood-stained cheeks

Obanai simply whispers the words, "I love you" before the grip on Rin's hand grows slack

Your own tears fall as you and Rin silently grieve the loss of a father and a husband

But the battle wasn't over yet

Muzan has passed down his blood to Tanjiro, causing him to become the Demon King, and drawing out the battle further as the sun still rose, not fazing the new Demon King in the least

You and Rin struggled to fight due to the injuries you both sustained, but you both managed to buy enought time for Kanao to bring Tanjiro back

As everyone embraced in joy as Tanjiro became human again, you and Rin cried silently to the side, still grieving the hole that your family now has

After the final battle, you try to enjoy the days that you have left

You were one of the rare Demon Slayers to have unlocked your Demon Slayer Mark, causing your demise to come rapidly as you reached the age of 25

Your daughter sits at your bedside as you struggle to keep breathing

You know Rin is struggling to hold in her tears, and you caress her scar, giving her a loving look before the light dulled from your eyes and your arm dropped lifelessly

As you reach the light, you can see a faint silhouette of a man, holding his hand out to you

You know it is Obanai as you reach out to take his hand and wrap him in your embrace, both reunited once again

Back down on Earth, Rin's tears fall from her eyes, but she is smiling, knowing that you were finally reunited with your one true love

[babygirl-riley]

Small Traditions

Simon starts to notice the small signs that his mother would do when he was young to what he now does with his girls

A/N: GUYS naturally I had to use @ave661 art cause listen ovaries HURT anytime she posts the dad!simon series 😭

“That she's gettin' older and I wish that you'd met her. The things that she'll learn from me, I got them all from you.”

Warnings: angst, fluff, dad!simon, mentions of childhood trauma, missing mom hours, swearing

Taglist

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family

Simon was finally able to actually spend time with his baby girl. He was gone for a while, 3 months to be exact. Which made his baby 6 months old, he missed out on appointments and her first roll over on her tummy. So when he came home, he made it a mission to spend anytime and every time with her.

When she woke up early in the morning he turned to you, feeling you getting up. “No love stay asleep, ‘ll get the little one.” He mumbled, waking up a bit.

You hummed and laid back down immediately passing back out. Simon put on a black shirt as he adjusted his sweats as well. He made his way to his babygirl’s room. She was standing up holding onto the rail of her crib. Her smile beaming as she giggled, jumping up and down.

“Ah isn’t the little rascal,” Simon smiled chuckling lightly. She reached up for him as he picked her up. She placed his head on his shoulder and gripped his shirt. “I’m happy to see ya too princess.”

Simon changed her diaper and started to make his way into the kitchen. His daughter cooed as he held her close. She would play with his shirt or put it in her mouth. “See ya starting’ to teethin’.” He said softly, letting her suck the shirt.

After making the bottle he went into the living room to put on the tv. He set her on the couch with him on the edge, she was old enough to hold the bottle herself so he just watched. Her hands gripping her bottle as she chugged the milk down.

Simon chuckled now sitting on his calfs. “Damn little one, ya that hungry?”

He never knew if she was listening or even understanding by how her eyes would just stare blankly. As he stared at her, he noticed the small things. The features that would bring his heart to swell but also break a bit. The dimples that she had were in the same spot that his mother had.

Simon picked her little feet up and played with them as he thought. His mother would be proud of where he is at. The family he created after all the pain he went through. Never would have thought to be a father, after what he saw with his father. He was afraid to become him. To be him. Yet here he was, with a baby girl.

“Grandma would have loved ya,” He mumbled kissing her little socked feet. She sighed as she fought back a laugh, she was very ticklish on her feet. Just like Tommy, as kids Simon used to piss him off by tickling his feet. Simon inhaled deeply before shaking his head. He didn’t need to get emotional, there was no need. However just the way his daughter had some of the features conjured them. “Would love the way you look so much like me, have some similarities from her, hell Uncle Tommy would make fun of actually settling down.” He chuckled to himself.

He never thought even before the tragedy of his family that he would settle down. Family was plagued by his father. His childhood made Simon not want to give his own children one solely on fear of course. Yet here he is. Half of him and half of you. He would never trade it for the world.

Simon has even noticed the things he would do that his mother would do before his father was shunned away from the family. The way she would hum particular child songs to calm both him and his brother down. How when dad wasn’t home, she would whip up a random treat, particularly peanut butter bars. In which, your child has become addicted to them. Or when putting him to bed she would say ‘never forget, you’re smart, you’re handsome, and you’re loved.’ Instead his babygirl would be replacing handsome with beautiful.

Simon would only do it when you weren’t around, whispering it softly. Even though he doesn’t know you usually are around the corner, listening to him, with tears. Simon noticed these things as time grew on with his daughter. It didn’t hit him until now. Thinking of all the things that his mom would do with her grand baby. The family dinners. The babysitting. The holidays. All of it.

Simon noticed that tears were at the edge of his eyes. He shook his head and coughed then grabbed her little feet and softly ran his thumb from her heel to her tiny toes. “Ya made me soft ya brat.” He tickled her foot as she let out a laugh kicking his hands away.

Years gone past and now he has three of them. He stood in the kitchen as he placed lunches in certain boxes. You needed help as you did hair and gathered their school things. Simon never could do hair hell not even his youngest’s hair and she was 1. “Dad! I can’t find my shoes!” Millie yelled as she ran down the stairs.

Simon sighed and smirked. “Well since you didn’ put them away, I threw them in the trash.”

Millie stopped in her tracks and had the same smirk that was on his face on hers. “Uh huh, really though please.”

Simon smiled and nodded. “‘ight ‘light, they’re in the closet with the coats,” She shook her head and went towards the door. Simon placed the last thing in the last box. “Start puttin’ them in ya room yeah?”

Millie nodded and looked at him. “Aye,” She walked up to him and lifted her finger. “Love ya see you after?”

Simon looked down at her finger, his mom would tap his finger, going once up and they would switch sides and tap again. It was their way of saying bye and love you when dad had his beer and game review on. Simon smiled and tapped her finger as they flipped them over to do it again. “I’ll be pickin’ ya both up.”

“Daddy! Daddy,” His head snapped up to see his second daughter soaring down the stairs. “Look what mum did!” Her hair was in to braids that linked into one large one. A smile beaming on her face. Showing one of the dimples his mother once had.

Simon chuckled grabbing a small piece of it before placing his thumb on her cheek. “Looks beautiful Alli,” He said softly then kissed her on her forehead. Simon looked up the stairs and saw you smiling down, holding the newborn. “Ya takin’ them?”

You nodded as you walked down the stairs. “Yes I have to grab more things from the store.”

Simon and you already talked about the store and her taking Millie and Allison to school. Simon pushed and pushed to only get pushed back, eventually compromises came and he staying to give you a break from the 2 month old. Then he could pick up the girls after school. You handed Tessa over to Simon. “Already changed just needs to be held. Needy this morning.” You whispered kissing Simon softly on the lips.

“Roger,” He mumbled as he kissed her one more time hearing Allison fake gag. Simon chuckled as he turned handing you the boxes. “Packed and ready.”

“Thank you,” You smiled, grabbing them, and ushering the older two out the door. “I’ll be back!”

“Bye dad!” Millie yelled walking out first.

“Bye daddy!” Allison followed suite turning to sign ‘I love you’ with one hand.

Simon did it back cradling Tessa between his chest and bicep. You smiled at him, kiss towards him. He smiled as the door shut. Tessa wiggled and started to whine. “Shh shh,” He whispered looking down at her. “It’s ‘light we can go down stairs and watch somethin’ yeah?”

Later that day Millie and Allison opened their lunch boxes that day and found a small sugary snack with a note attached reading; ‘what do you call an angry carrot… A steamed veggie.’ They always loved it, having notes from dad that had terrible jokes even if Millie would roll her eyes and smirk. She loves them.

You didn’t know about it until the next day. You were check boxing everything that was needed to grab as Simon helped with Tessa. When you opened it you saw the note, chuckling to yourself. Millie stood next to you and looked at you. “Dad says that Grandma Riley would leave jokes for him and Tommy.”

You looked over at her and up to the stairs, making sure he wasn’t coming yet. “Oh really?”

“Yeah,” Millie smiled. “I always read ‘em to my friends. Just don’t tell him. His head will inflate more.” She joked grabbing her box.

You smiled as you watched Simon come down the stairs in his uniform. “I shouldn’ be long,” he mumbled having his balaclava in his pocket. Millie frowned as did Allison. “I told Uncle Price I’ll be late to take you two.” He smiled at them as their faces calmed into a soft content expression.

Simon handed Tessa to you and kissed your cheek. “I’ll be home no later than 8.” You nodded and watched them go out the door.

Simon opened the door for both Millie and Allison to get in as they went down the street. “Was Grandma Riley fun?” Millie asked nonchalantly as she looked out the window.

Simon could feel his throat hitch from the sudden question. “Yes.”

“Do you do things like she did to us?”

Simon looked in the rear view mirror for a brief moment. Only if she knew, all the things his mother taught him has been passed down to his girls. After his father was kicked out for good his mother was more open about good parenting, she always was of course. However there wasn’t any hidden signs or anything of the sort. Even when he was older, when confrontation came around, she was kind and gentle. Since both him and his brother didn’t know how to handle or deal with situations as so. 

Simon taught his girls to be polite and kind to everyone. Just like his mother was. Everything she did that he remembered he wanted to pass along. Simon inhaled for a moment. “Ya know the finger taps,” Both her and Allison nodded their heads. “That came from grandma. It was our sign to say love you and bye.”

Allison smiled. “Did she do the night routine?”

Simon smiled. “Yes.”

It was silent again before Millie shifted a bit. “Grandma Riley sounded cool.”

Simon smiled again and nodded. “She would have loved all of ya.”

It was good silent as he stopped in front of the school, as kids packed to go inside. Allison opened the door and turned with her finger out. Simon and her did the signature finger taps as she hopped out. He waited until she caught up with friends that were right outside the car. Then he went to Millie’s school.

“What happened to them?” Millie asked, Simon knew that eventually the girls would put two and two. Uncle Tommy and Grandma Riley not around, yet dad talks highly of them? It would make a tween curious.

Simon took a second to think of the answer. He never told you until 3 years of your guys’ relationship. Millie was too young to know but he couldn’t lie to her either. “Someday I will tell you.” Was all he could say to it.

Millie nodded and chuckled. “Was she terrible at the jokes like you?”

Simon laughed a bit. “Terrible? My jokes are amazin’!”

Millie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Yeah yeah.” Simon pulled up in front of the school and he turned to her. She unbuckled and lifted her finger, smiling. “Glad you keeping’ traditions dad. Grandma would be happy.”

Simon felt his chest tighten as he smiled it off. Doing the taps. “She would be happy indeed,” He nodded his head to the school. “Get goin’ ya love the joke today by the way.”

Millie laughed as she opened the door and shook her head once more. “Yeah maybe.”

Simon watched until she got into the school and drove to the base. “You would have loved ‘em mum.” He mumbled to himself as he kept the tears at bay.

Even through all the hardships, he will be forever grateful for his mother and her teachings. He hopes that one day that she will meet his family, the family that he knows she would have loved. To see how much as changed in Simon that he thought that could never happen. So she could see that not only her that showed him unconditional love even through the darkest parts but how his girls have showed him as well.

Simon sighed as he relaxed. Yeah, she would have loved them all.

[transform4u]

I woke up this morning to find my earphones were still in and my phone playing something called “southerncountrybro.mp3”. Ever since then, I’ve been zoning out all day. For example, I snapped out of my trance and found I had an American flag hoodie and camo pants in my Amazon cart. What’s happening to me?

You hold your phone to your ear, the initial crackle of “southerncountrybro.mp3” filling your senses. A steady beat begins to pulsate through your headphones, each thud pushing away stray thoughts and grounding you. The rhythm is unwavering, almost hypnotic, and as it settles in, other sounds start to weave in—soft, buzzing noises like a hive of bees, the distant rumble of tractor engines, and the occasional metallic creak of old machinery.

Gradually, the steady beat evolves, and the familiar strains of John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads” start to seep through. The bass takes over, a steady thump that seems to synchronize with your heartbeat. Each pulse of the song reverberates through you, creating a cocoon of sound that drowns out your thoughts. The song’s rhythm becomes a relentless force, gently but insistently draining away your ability to think clearly.

As the melody envelops you, you find yourself slipping away from the present. Your mind’s eye drifts back to a place that feels both familiar and distant—a memory of growing up in a dusty, rundown trailer. Beer cans are scattered across the floor, remnants of a life that was harsh but somehow comforting. Your father’s voice echoes in your memory, rough and commanding, urging you to get to work on the farm. The scene feels almost tangible, a vivid snapshot of your past.

You remember how he would sit down with a cold beer after a long day's work and tell stories about his own childhood, always ending with some piece of wisdom that shaped who you are today. You admired him then and still do now—a man who stood up for what he believed in, no matter how unpopular it may have been at times.

The anger that once fueled those intrusive thoughts has faded away, replaced by an ironclad resolve to protect what is yours—your family name, your traditions, and most importantly, yourself from any outside influence that threatens them. Your eyes narrow as you envision those who challenge these values; they will meet their match in someone like yourself: tough as nails and proud as hell.

"A real man stands up for what he believes in, son. Never let anyone tell you otherwise."

Those words have stuck with you through the years, shaping how you view yourself and your place in society. You believe in being strong, assertive and unapologetically Christian – traits that set you apart from those who challenge traditional values or embrace "woke" ideologies. This mindset has only been reinforced by your experiences growing up in a conservative community where faith and family were at the center of everything.

The thought of gay people and their agenda makes you boil with fury. You can't stand how they're trying to force their lifestyle on everyone else, how they want special treatment just because they're different. In that moment, all homosexuals seem like threats to everything that matters most to you – family values, traditional gender roles, and respect for history. Your anger grows stronger with each passing second until it becomes an all-consuming fire within yourself. As the memories of your past flood back, you can't help but feel a sense of pride in your heritage. In this moment, the image of the Confederate flag emerges in your mind’s eye, vivid and bold. It flutters with a sense of pride and belonging, a symbol of your heritage that seems to light up your inner world.

You’re bathed in the warmth of a religious upbringing, the deep, foundational beliefs of the South intertwining with your emotions. The flag, the music, the memories—they all reinforce a sense of unity and pride. It’s as if the song, the flag, and the memories are all part of a singular, affirming force that redefines your perspective, pushing aside complexities and filling you with a profound, if uncomplicated, sense of belonging.

You glance down at your phone, the Confederate flag now a bold backdrop to the screen. Tweets from Republican politicians flood your feed, each message resonating with an increasing sense of agreement. You find yourself nodding along, a sense of camaraderie settling in with each word. There's a strange blend of satisfaction and discomfort—an acknowledgment of how easily you're swayed, despite a nagging self-awareness of your vulnerability.

As you ponder this, memories of your father and life in the trailer start to fill your mind. The farm, the long hours, and your father’s stern guidance begin to blend into a vivid, almost tangible recollection. It’s as if each memory is a thread, pulling you back to a time and place that shaped you. With each recollection, you feel a deep-rooted connection to the rugged, hardworking life you once knew.

Suddenly, your body starts to shift, molding itself into a striking embodiment of a quintessential Southern hick. Broad shoulders and a powerful chest emerge, a testament to years of hard labor under the sun. Your muscles swell and define themselves, arms rippling with every slight movement, veins running across your skin like a map of strength and endurance.

Your core hardens into a chiseled six-pack, a visible result of relentless work and dedication. Your legs, now thick and robust, reflect the countless hours spent navigating farm terrain. The sun-kissed bronze of your skin deepens, each sun-soaked day contributing to this golden hue.

Your face transforms to match the new physique. A chiseled jawline and rugged features come into sharper focus. A few scrapes or scars, badges of a life well-lived. Your eyes, a piercing blue, radiate confidence and kindness, reflecting the down-to-earth nature you cherish. A strong, straight nose, marked by past scrapes, and full lips that curve into a relaxed, easy-going smile complete the look. A rugged stubble or well-maintained beard adds to your Southern charm.

You’re now wearing a sleeveless plaid shirt, the fabric faded and well-worn, showcasing your muscular arms. The jeans, classic and durable, are held up by a sturdy leather belt with an ornate buckle. You hair grows out into a mess of blonde locks, all topped with a ratty little baseball cap.

As you continue to listen to the throbbing beat of “southerncountrybro.mp3,” your phone buzzes with a flurry of texts. First, it’s Jamie, your best drinking buddy. “Hey man, you up for hitting the bar tonight? Got some new brews to try and a game to catch!” Jamie’s text is followed by Megan, one of the hottest girls you know: “Hey, saw your post—want to grab a drink later? 😘”

The notifications keep coming. Sarah, another friend, texts, “You’re gonna love the new fishing spot I found! Let’s hit it this weekend.” And then, a message from Derek, a buddy from your gym, “Bro, new weights just came in. You gotta see this!”

Each text you get starts to sink in, twisting who you are like a country boy back in his element. At first, it’s just a small shift, but before you know it, it’s like you’re turning into a real down-home Southern fella.

You find yourself becoming someone whose charm and enthusiasm are so big they drown out any hint of subtlety. You’re all about being direct and to the point, with no time for fancy talk.

Bluntness becomes your thing. When you talk, it’s like swinging a hammer—straightforward and no-nonsense. You ain’t got time for complicated issues or all that political mumbo jumbo. Instead, you’re sticking to catchy slogans and the lively banter from your favorite talk radio. Your views turn into a mix of loud claims and simple phrases, just like your newfound straightforward style.

Your view of the world gets smaller and simpler. Those big, fancy issues? They don’t matter much now. You’re all about sticking to the good ol’ traditional values and the routines that make life easy. Forget diving into current events; you’re sticking with plain talk and the comforts of Southern life.

You dive into your Southern roots with a passion that’s almost obsessive. The more you think about your old man and the life you grew up with, the more you latch onto the traditional values that shape this new you. Any city doubts or liberal ideas you once had start to fade away, replaced by a strong loyalty to the old-fashioned ways.

Your hobbies come into focus: trucks, beer, and hunting. These become the heart of your weekends and what you talk about the most. Tailgating, fixing up your truck, and spending time outside become what you’re all about. Simple pleasures take over, and your humor gets straight to the point, with good ol’ Southern jokes and stories.

"Hey, buddy!" Stacey's message pops up on your phone screen while you're out on the town with the boys. You can barely make out what she's saying through all the noise and commotion around you. The music is blaring, people are shouting, and it feels like everyone else is having a better time than you are.

You try to focus on Stacey's message but it doesn't seem to be working; your mind feels foggy and slow. "Wanna come over for some...BIG DUMB… FUNun…" You repeat those words over in your head as if they were some kind of mantra, hoping that maybe they'll help clear things up for you. But no such luck – all that happens is more confusion sets in as thoughts of 'fun times with Stacey' begin dancing around inside your head like a bunch of drunken flies.

Next Charlotte sends you a sext – Your dick instantly starts to grow hard as she invites you over for some fun. But then reality sets in – one too many baby mommas already, and they're all probably expecting something from you at this point.

Your dick grows even bigger now, reaching an impressive 10 inches long despite your better judgment telling you otherwise. Your mind feels like it's shrinking by comparison; it's the size of a pea now as thoughts of Charlotte and her invitation dance around inside your head like a bunch of drunken flies. You laugh dumbly and chug down another beer, trying to ignore the fact that there might be consequences later on for acting so impulsively.

Charlotte sends you a picture – it's just her in a sexy little number, posing provocatively with one hand on her hip and the other holding up an empty beer bottle. Your mind immediately starts to shift gears; thoughts of sex, working out, and drinking more beers become your only focus.

You've become the stereotypical dumb, horny southern hick that everyone seems to think you are. All those negative labels they've given you start to feel like badges of honor now as your mind continues its downward spiral into nothingness.

You take a swig of your beer. As you think about working out, fucking, and drinking, your mind wanders to the gym where you push yourself to new limits each day. The satisfaction of feeling your muscles grow stronger fuels you not only physically but also mentally. After a grueling workout session comes the reward – unbridled passion with some dumb bitch with big tits.

But that's all there is to you now, or should I say Beau… always thinking your dick is bigger than anyone else's and using it as leverage when dealing with others – especially women! You act like you owns the world just because you can bench press twice your body weight and has this insatiable appetite for conquests. It makes your bros roll their eyes every time you open your mouth about how "alpha" you is or how many notches are on your belt from all those "bitches" who fell for you just because they thought they could tame The Beast!

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul (here!), Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. I've been thinking about maybe programming a small fan-made mini-otome using these ideas. Just for some practice for school while also being self indulgent hehe

Riddle Rosehearts

Very traditional, but this is expected. He asks your closest of kin (a cat, to his horror) for permission to propose. Regardless of Grimm's answer, there is already a ring that's been purchased. This is merely formality

He comes up with an elaborate plan to execute the 'perfect' proposal. Riddle maps it all out and runs multiple drafts by his childhood friends. Everything must go perfectly - or else you might not accept. Is it likely that not presenting you with exactly 12 red roses with the spikes trimmed and arranged with 6 sprigs of baby's breath will be the reason you decline? Likely not. Will he chance it though? No.

Despite all his planning, he is a nervous wreak. Our red prince is great at masking it though. He plans an entire evening down to the last detail. You both go to a upscale restaurant that serves your favorite cuisine under the pretense that you're celebrating an amazing jab offer Riddle received the day prior. There's dinner, dancing, a romantic atmosphere, and delightful conversation (he prepared conversation topics in advance in case he felt nervous).

Oh look, there just so happens to be an outdoor garden to take an evening stroll through. Would you like to go?

Of course you would, and he asks you to wait outside as he visits the restroom. After you pass through the back door, a nearby waiter slips him the bouquet of twelve roses that he dropped off in the morning. He counts them, checks the stems, the ribbon holding them together, and with a relieved sigh he reaches into his pocket.

Riddle nestles the engagement ring within the core of the center rose, and for a moment his anxiety quells. He looks through the outside door's windowpane, and sees you patiently waiting for him while admiring the garden lights. The anxiety returns, but he's ready. With a knuckle-white grip on the flowers, he passes through the doors.

"My Rose...My apologies to have kept you waiting. There was a matter of great importance to attend to - pardon? No! Not that- ugh. I was not in the restroom! Only you would make such a childish remark on such an important day...No, do not apologize. I was not referring to my career. Perhaps these flowers will provide some clarity? I hope they are to you liking."

When you notice the ring, he gently takes it and gets down on one knee. Riddles heart rattles against his ribcage, and his the mask of calm falters. He holds out the ring with one hand, and the other lightly trembles as it reaches for yours.

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my spouse? I promise that you will be cared for dearly, and that I will work tirelessly to become a husband that you will be proud of. I swear this vow to you on the Rosehearts name."

{Riddle's ring is a mix of new and old. Tradition dictates a diamond for a wedding ring, but he knows better. Riddle wants you to think of him every time you see this ring, so he chooses to stray. Three rubies sit nested in diamonds. The color of his hair, which you love to poke fun of so much. It represents how he is willing to consistently change while still holding on to his core values, all so he can become a husband worthy of you}

Trey Clover

A simple man, and therefore takes a simple approach. The depth of his proposal lies in the timing. He does not know when he will be ready to commit, or how to tell if you are ready to as well.

Trey puts proposing off for the longest time. He acts in baby steps. The idea toys with him for months, until one day he convinces himself that he is ready. After that he slowly begins to look at rings, and think of ideas. He wants to be original, but would that overwhelm you? He would sooner die than do something tacky like a public proposal at a concert or event...but is that something you might want?

If there is one thing Trey is certain about, its that rejection would break him. He knows that your relationship would never be the same if he proposed too early, or if he managed to royally screw it up. He's not a fan of attention. This is awful. Oh Great Sevens it's a pressure that he never dreamed of having to undergo.

But if he doesn't propose...would you? Are you waiting for him? what if you're thought process is the same as his?

Completely out of character for Trey, he ends up proposing on impulse. He woke up one morning and saw the ring tucked away in his sock drawer. For the millionth time he had to face the "I should just do it," thoughts and decided to act on them

The day is new, neither of you had work, and a quick glance over his shoulder proves that you would be soundly sleeping for at least the next hour. So what's he do? Trey puts on his nicest casual clothes. Nothing formal, but also nothing that is sloppy. Then he marches downstairs and starts to make breakfast. He decides to prepare tarts, a reminiscence of your days as students and where you first met. As he arranges them on a platter, he places the ring inside one made with your favorite flavor. It peaks out just enough for anyone to notice, and with a huff Trey steps back to admire his work.

His hands are slightly clammy, and quickly moves to busy himself in fear he might chicken out. It helps for a time, until he hears your footsteps approach the kitchen, followed by a sleepy 'good morning' and arms wrapping around his torso

He steels himself, and turns over in your arms to kiss the top of your head. With a nervous laugh, Trey gestures to the platter of fruit tarts and smiles at how the sight of food causes you to perk up. Like clockwork, you reach for your favorite flavor and quickly notice the metal chunk inside

He reigns in panic as you dig the ring out and eye it with a quirked brow. A moment of silence passes before it clicks, and you whip to gawk at him with the largest bugeyes he has ever seen. Wordlessly, Trey takes the ring, wipes off any crumbs with his shirt, and takes your hands in his

"I'm sorry to spring this on you so early in the morning. It must be quite the wakeup call, huh? Haha...The truth is, I've wanted to give this to you for such a long time. I simply did not know how. I had a burst of courage this morning, and am honestly running on pure adrenaline. I love you...I want to spend our lives together. Will you marry me?"

{Trey's ring is a single pearl on a gold band. He feels that the ring should reflect it's wearer, and you are one of the most naturally beautiful people he has ever seen. There is beauty in simplicity - in seeing things as they are with no modifications. You do that for him, and he loves how your relationship is authentic}

Cater Diamond

Marriage? Huh. See, in the past that was a no-go. Very constricting and he didn't enjoy the idea of getting linked to someone in that regard. An s/o with no legal binding? Sure. It's just a title anyways, right? That kind of thing shouldn't matter in the long run.

Except it did end up being relevant, and now Cater wants to beat himself up because he explicitly told you once things were getting serious that he wasn't interested in marriage. You were fine with doing either and left the decision up to him. Very nice of you to be so nonchalant , and now he knows that marriage isn't 'off the table'. There is a chance.

A chance that requires him to both propose and take back his initial stance. Which is kind of humiliating. The take back part, not the proposal. Cater is confident that he can blow you away. He doesn't need shoddy internet advice, or to to do extensive research to be perfect. Nope. It's all in his noggin. He knows you like the back of his hand and therefore can concoct a speech to woo you easily.

So what comes first, the chicken or the egg? Does he try to casually tip you of that he's interested in getting married before trying to propose? No. That would be incredibly dull and ruin the element of surprise. Cater always hated those crappy half-baked romance films where the loser male lead is all 'oh honey I promise I will propose. Just give me time,' because hello???? You spoiled it??? Also don't make promises that you don't plan to keep, douchebag. How dull.

He decides that it's all or nothing. Cater spends an entire night online shopping for a ring. He already knows all of your sizes...don't ask how or why. Anyway, ordering is a cinche. Just ignore his eyebags the next day and his snappy attitude. He can't even whine about how tired he is because that would mean he has to say why he didn't sleep and -EUGH. He is torn between his two loves. Complaining for attention, and wooing you for attention. It's rough.

It comes in the mail, and after checking the package he decides to seal it back up again. It looks untouched thanks to his skills. Then, he sets up the living room to look like he is filming a video for his magicam. Specifically an unboxing video, and makes sure to let you know that it's from one of your favorite companies.

You take the bait, and he asks you to join him. Even if your camera shy, he insists that for just this one video you hop on. He might be a bit tricky and give you ideas about the product in the box (making sure to align them with a hobby or fandom that you're into). He sets the camera to record, plops down casually at your side, and hands you the box cutter. Go crazy.

Cater can't help but giggle when you open the box - just to pull out another small box. You eye it cautiously, now suspicious that this might be a prank. He urges you to open the box, and you do so while holding it at arms-length away from your face.

The ring's gem sparkles in the camera light, and he watches amused as you pull it closer. With a shaky hand, you take it out of the box and inspect it. With the way you side-eye him, Cater can tell that you're wondering if this situation is a cruel prank...

"Tada~~ You like? -- WAIT! Before you get upset just let me explain! There is no video. That was a lie, and I'm sorry for it. I surprised you good though, right?...ahem, uhm. I'm not pranking you. If you feel the same, then I want for us to get married! I know what I said before, and I take it back. The time we have spent together made me realize that I only felt that way - well, because I was unable to imagine liking someone enough to share my life. At least until I met you. So...do you want to marry me?"

{A diamond for a diamond. Diamonds are reflective. They glitter, and are clear. They are also viewed as the best choice for a ring, but in actuality they have are not. They're only considered perfect because of marketing. In actuality, they're quite the opposite. This same reasoning applies to Cater - and you understand. Yet, you still love him. The diamond represents himself, and the heart shape is to remind you how much you mean to him}

Deuce Spade

He may be young, but he is not stupid...alright. Deuce is not always stupid. Sometimes? Yes. He makes poor decisions and lets his emotions get the better of him.

This? Not a poor decision, and he will never EVER think twice about it. From the moment the idea entered Deuce's head, it was decided. HE would become your husband. Nothing would stop him.

It began during his final year at Night Raven College. Graduation approached, and everyone was excited. Everyone, except for one person. You. He didn't notice it at first, being too hung up over how he actually managed to do well in school. Get this, he even became Heartslabyul Drumhead after Riddle graduated! What an honor! His mother was proud of him, and he was proud of himself! He had career aspirations, plans to get a home back home, and even a lovely s/o to flaunt. Life was great.

What...do you mean? That you're not going back with him? The Queendom of Roses is such a beautiful place! He's certain that you'll love it and can become adjusted. Why do you want to stay at this academy? Was three years not enough?

Deuce has never gotten mad at you before. A little miffed, sure, but never frustrated. He didn't like it. Not these feelings, or how he failed to notice that you planned this from the start. He was so wrapped up in his own happiness, that he failed to see that you felt troubled over his assumptions. It stung. In a moment of weakness, he left you alone, scared that he might raise his voice at you.

He needed to think. Alone. Thankfully he moved past sharing a room with Ace when Deuce became Housewarden. His phone rang many times. Some calls from you, Ace, his mother...for once, Deuce didn't think her advice could help him. Not when he was so confused.

He thought over his dreams for after college. They were the same that he had since prior to enrolling. Nothing changed...except for you and the other unexpected friends he made along the way. It began to settle within him that the unpredicted parts were more important to him than what he initially planned. The image of him as a successful worker, on his own, and being successful were all hollow if they didn't include you. Deuce wasn't upset that you planned to stay at NRC, he was upset that you didn't plan to stay with him.

Or did you? He interpreted it as such in the moment, but he's not so sure. All Deuce knows is that you're his best friend and the love of his life. If you stay here without him, will that change? He doesn't want to find out.

The next day, he's determined. It's impulsive, this he knows. Yet it's what feels right in his heart and Deuce has always trusted his gut instinct. This choice is entirely on him. No one's advice to excuse it if you don't reciprocate, and yet he isn't afraid. He might not have a ring, or fancy offerings. All he has is his love to offer, and a willingness to work around any obstacle. The hurt from the night prior sill aches in his chest, but he has done difficult things before. The pain merely serves as a reminder for how he hurt you, and what his future might be like if he doesn't act.

He finds you before breakfast. When the first rays of sunshine peak over the horizon and the air is still moist with morning dew. You lingered in the hall of mirrors, specifically near the portal to Heartslabyul Hall. Your presence startled him, and he nearly headbutt you from the speed he was going through the portal. Were you...planning to visit him? His heart shuddered in a mix of guilt and happiness. Even after the way he behaved, you still cared.

Upon closer inspection, you appear just as disheveled as him. He must have caused you a great deal of worry...damn it. He can't even be mad at himself. Not with things as they are.

Before you have a chance to speak, he hushes you. Deuce's jaw sets in determination and he reaches into his uniform pocket. He pulls out a paper ring. One that children often give each other on the playground when playing family. He then gets down on one knee, and holds it out with both hands.

"I am sorry. I never intended to hurt you, or push my ambitions on to you. I simply love you more than anything else, and was afraid that you did not want to be together anymore. I was afraid...that being apart would take away what we have. I realize that I was wrong. I didn't see it happening, but being with you has caused me to develop dreams beyond what I initially planned. Nothing I imagine feels right, unless you are in the picture. I don't have a proper ring prepared just yet...but will you marry me? I promise that no matter where we are - for better or worse, I will make you happy. I swear it!

{Your initial ring is made out of his most recent homework assignment. It's frail, and one drop of water will break it. However, he meticulously folded it and it is the byproduct of many imperfect prototypes. The paper ring truly represents who Deuce is. It's rushed, fragile, and full of love}

{He chooses a vintage ring. With both of your initials engraved on the center, he hopes that this ring attests to a promise no matter where you both are. It's rose-gold, not as bright as pure gold but still beautiful. The mixed color represents the different worlds you both come from, as well as your melded life}

Ace Trappolla

Ace tends to get comfortable, and when that happens it is difficult to ignite change. However, he is also headstrong. More than many give him credit for. So once the problem is identified, it's only a matter of time until he does something about it. What he does isn't necessarily always the best solution, sure; however, when threatened he will indeed act.

Initially Ace did not plan to find love. For a long time, he rejected it and passed his feelings off as a small crush. You're attractive, he's a man, a lil of this and a lil of that - who wouldn't feel a little heart throb once in a while? It only became an issue when you became one of his best friends. It felt like he was betraying you with these thoughts. They became a problem.

His first solution was to repress them further. Like stated, he noticed a problem and so he acted. Was this the best choice? No. It ended in a dumpster-fire. Any time another student even remotely expressed interest in you, Ace felt threatened. He couldn't spend time at your side without indecent thoughts popping up. Not like 'that' (geez, get your mind out of the gutter people), but more so domestic. Ick. What was happening?!

He couldn't hold it in, and his confession will forever be known as a feels-dump that started with you sharing half of your grilled-cheese with him because he missed lunch.

Yeah. Humiliating. Ugh.

Now you're his partner, of a long time. A very, very, very long time. Years post graduation. You both have settled into life together, so why tack a title? It's not like those mean anything, right? Everything was perfect as is, and weddings are expensive. You never brought it up either, so why worry?

Well, those titles do mean things in the eyes of the law. Ace never thought to get documentation about emergency contacts and whatnot updated. So when hit his head and got a concussion when jogging? The hospital wouldn't let you in. Not until he woke up, which was the longest four hours of your life.

You didn't express how much it bothered you, but words weren't necessary. The muted panic that you tried to hold back was enough. He expected you to enter his room angry, but instead all he got was defeat. That sight alone hurt worse than the leg.

The event got Ace thinking about things he hadn't in a long time - like marriage. He got too comfortable after letting the thought go once. To him, you were already irreplicable. Years do that, and he's certain that you feel the same way about him. If his young self could see him now...pah, he was such a turd. All 'I don't need anyone,' and empty words to play tough-guy. Little did he know that the person he would need the most in life was only a dimension-hop away haha.

It's that simple, really. No panic or nervousness. Ace decided definitively that he was going to marry you, and it only took years of being an airhead to figure it out.

He spends the night in the hospital for surveillance, and the staff is kind enough to prove you with a cot to sleep on. He stubbornly drags it next to his bed, and once you're sleeping soundly he 3slips a bandage over your ring finger to take the measurement

He planned to go buy the ring instantly after being discharged, but you wouldn't leave his side. Nagging about bed-rest and taking it easy...ugh! He needs to do this thing! No, he can't tell you about it. It's a secret!.....ugh, fine. One more day. Just because he loves the attention.

The next morning after, he's excitedly going to the nearest jewelers. He doesn't have a particular ring in mind, but he's done some research! It's the idea behind the ring that's important anyways....alright. Maybe he'll call up Cater.

Ace does nothing extravagant. He sticks to comfort. You, him, both eating dinner while watching a movie on the TV that evening. He quickly scarfs down his meal within the first 10 minutes and runs to your shared room after ditching his dishes. Stashed in his wallet, he pulls put the ring and hides it in his palm.

Ace tries to be smooth. He dims the living room lights, and sits down closer to you than before. He moves to take your hand with the one holding the ring, and sneak it on to your finger.

It fails, obviously. Who wouldn't notice someone trying to shove a piece of metal on their finger? You pull away on instinct, and the ring falls between the couch cushions. He freaks out for a moment and sifts through them as you continue to eat between giggles. Only when he holds the ring up in triumph do you quiet down.

"Not so funny now, is it? - Nah, just kidding. It was pretty funny....although I wanted this to be a bit more romantic. Eh. It's fine. From the look on your face, I'm guessing that you know what this is?...Uhh. Yeah. I thought it was a good time, y'know? We've been together so long that I already do think of you as my partner. I think you feel the same? Feel free to jump in if not....but, yeah. I love you. A lot. I'd really like to make it official, and I'm sorry it took me so long to get the guts to ask. Will you marry me?"

{Tradition is for chumps. Ace wanted to get something fun and eye-catching. Many suggested otherwise, but this felt right. Your relationship has never been conventional and never will be. Hell, screw 'conventional,' because it's perfect as it is and so is this ring. He knows that this ring will draw your attention, and that's all he cares about}

End Note: None of the ring pictures are mine. I pulled them off of google images because - well, I had ideas and tried to find rings to match them. I write fanfic, not weld jewelry.

[darlingshane]

cheers to new traditions

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: Though you were the same age, grew up in the same street and went to the same school, you and Michael lived in two different worlds. It isn't until you're both full-grown adults that get the chance to know each other better. It's on Christmas day. He's miserable, you're miserable, and both decide to ditch dinner with your respective families to make your own new tradition.

CW: 18+, smut, some angst, making out, vaginal sex, smoking, smoking weed, drinking alcohol, eating food, childhood neighbors, pet names, reader has tattoos and piercings.

Word Count: 7k

— Links: AO3 // Michael Masterlist.

Michael must get out of the house to get some air before resorting to something more radical to deal with these people. He’s saving that for later, or for when he has no other choice but to. By that time everyone will be so buzzed and no one would be able to tell the difference from him being high or not.

It’s been an hour since guests arrived. The main show hasn’t even started yet, and he’s crawling up the walls already. So, he heads out to have a smoke in the solitude of the cold and an empty street full of cars from people coming over for the holidays to visit their families.

It’s still daylight, but the downcast weather is as grey as his mood.

By the stoop of the house, he lights up a cigarette and looks down at the snow collecting on the pavement's cracks as he takes his first drag. A noise ahead, a door closing, pulls his stare up from the ground to see someone coming out of the neighbors’ house across the street.

It’s you, clad in a dark, short coat with a hood pulled over your head. You turn the corner of the house to stop by the bare tree on the side yard. You seem to have the same idea as him, cause shortly after you lean against the brick wall, you produce a lighter and smoke from your coat’s pocket.

He has to make an effort to remember your name. It takes him a moment cause you two were never friends. Though you're the same age, grew up in the same street, rode the same school bus for many years, and had a couple of classes together, Michael and you lived in two different worlds. He was the popular one, the jock who always got into trouble but hardly ever saw any consequences. And you were a band nerd, who also took pictures for the school paper, and never had more than two close friends. You were basically the definition of what the cool kids considered to be a loser. However, you never felt anything as such. You knew what you liked and stuck to your close-knit group. Whatever other people thought about you and your friends was of little importance.

Through the fog in his mind he fishes a memory of that time you two were paired to work on a project for history class. It was an interesting week to say the least. He did as little as possible and though you were really apathetic about it too, you two managed to get a passing grade.

But there's one thing that juggles his memory to recall every letter of your name and that is realizing that you were, and still are, one of Tiffany's closest friends. She and Richie didn't get together until a couple of years ago, and during that time, Michael and you never even stumble upon the other cause they’ve kept their circles apart.

Michael stares at you for a long minute before deciding to cross to the other side of the street to say hi. Partly cause he's curious to know how your life turned out, and partly cause he'd rather do anything else than go back inside.

You're taking a drag of your smoke when his feet come to a stop right in front of you. The first thing he notices up close it’s that there's no cigarette between your lips. The familiar smell tells him it's a joint. It's held in a hand wearing a fingerless glove that shows chipped nail polish and an array of small tattoos adoring your knuckles.

“What? Do I have something in my face?” a cloud of smoke collides with the icy air as it emerges out of your mouth.

“No, I just… I grew up across the street. I'm-”

“Carmy. Berzatto. I know you,” you interrupt dryly.

“Mikey actually,” he scoffs.

“What do you want, Berzatto?”

He shrugs, tucking his hands in his jeans’ pockets.

“I just wanted to say hi. I don't know if you remember this, but we used to go to school together.”

“Yeah, I remember.” You take another drag and look to the side dismissively.

Michael can take a hint, and that hint tells him that you're not exactly in the mood to talk to him or anyone else for that matter.

He's not sure why he needed to though. If it was just a means to escape his own misery or just because he saw something in you that reminded him of himself.

He starts walking away, mumbling a barely audible “have a nice day,” but your voice stops him in his tracks.

“Do you want a hit?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he sees your hand holding up the joint in his direction. His lips pull up at the corners before accepting your offering.

“Yeah, I'd like that,” he picks it up from your fingers and takes a long puff.

“What are you running from, Berzatto?” you question as he fills his lungs with the intoxicating aroma of your weed.

“I don't know. This fucking day I guess.”

“So you still live at home.” You state, knowing pretty well that he in fact does.

“Something like that. What gave it away?”

You shrug, “woman's intuition I guess. I saw Tate Weems the other day and had the same rugged look of — I don't know what the hell I'm doing with my life. Also, Tiff told me.”

“So first-hand information. No intuition at all. But you're not comparing me to Weems, right?”

“What? You two aren't buddies anymore?”

“I was never buddies with that scumbag. You have to know that.”

And hopes that you do know it, because he'd never associated himself with someone like that. Despite the fact they were in the same team and often had to tolerate the guy for the sake of the game, he'd never call Tate a friend. Especially after what he did to two girls back in school. One of them being one of your closest friends growing up.

“Hm, so you know.”

“I know,” he gently nods, handing your joint back so you can take a hit.

“Heard you beat the shit out of him a few years ago when he came into your shop and that you almost went to jail.”

Michael starts puzzling the pieces together in his mind realizing that you know more than you first led on.

“Tiff again?” His brow raises.

“Richie told me, actually.” You point out before bringing the joint to your lips.

“You know they're having dinner at my place,” his head tilts to the side to point at his house, “you could come in and say hi.”

“I know. They told me.”

“Hm, it looks like they've told you a lot of things, why are you pretending you don’t know who I am?”

“Force of habit. I didn’t want to give you the impression that I’ve ever thought about you.”

“You didn’t want to give me the impression? Why? Have you ever thought about me?” His head leans to the side as one corner of his lips quirks up.

“Not really. Not in the way that you’re implying. If I ever thought of you, it was just me wondering where you ended up.”

“And what did you imagine I'd end up doing?”

“I don't know… Something with sports was my best bet. You seemed really into it back then. Thought you'd go pro.”

“I loved playing, I just wasn't anything stellar. You'd know if you ever went to any of our games.”

“I think I went to a couple. But we'd only hang out in the parking lot and just get blazed.” Drawing a smile you pass the joint to Michael again. “Just like this.”

“I used to get high after the game, so you and me… Not that different.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“So, where did you end up, sweetheart?”

“Take a guess.”

“Shit, I have no idea… I think I saw you around with a camera taking pictures for the school paper, yeah? I could see you doing that or something related to art.”

“I still take pictures as a hobby. But you're not too far off, I'm a tattoo artist.”

“That's neat. You’ll have to show me your work, maybe I'll let you do my next tattoo.”

“I'm pretty good,” you boast, “but yeah, you should come by the shop and see for yourself first.”

“I will,” he lifts the cig up to his mouth.

Talking to you really puts him in a better mood, and vice versa. But it's still not enough for him to rush back home. Despite the cold and him forgetting to put on a jacket, he'd rather freeze his balls off than return to the cursed circus that is the Berzatto household.

“So, what are you running from?” He parrots the same question you asked him a few minutes ago.

You draw a wry smile before answering.

“Same as you, I suppose. This crazy day. We shouldn't have to be forced to socialize with people once a year in the name of tradition. It's like when you were a kid and your mom invited all the kids from your class to your birthday party, even the ones you hate cause she didn't want anyone to be left out.”

“I hear you, sweetheart.”

“It'd be great if we could trade places. If I went to yours, and you went to mine, do you think they'd notice?”

Your quip makes him laugh and hang his head down for a beat. Then, he looks over his shoulder for a moment to gaze at the Berzatto house.

“Here's a better idea… let's get in the car, ditch these assholes, and have dinner somewhere else. Just you and me.” He suggests.

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“You're crazy, Berzatto. We can't just bolt. It's Christmas.”

“Why not? We're two fucking adults, you know what I mean?” His tone turns on a dime from a taciturn speech to pep talk aided with hand movements. “We can do whatever we want. Would you rather spend the day having fun with a semi-stranger like me or be miserable with people you've known your whole life?”

Pressing your teeth on your bottom lip, you consider for a few seconds.

“When you put it like that… What the hell. Let's go.”

“Attagirl.”

You follow Michael closely toward his car, but he realizes that the keys are in the house and in order to leave he'd have to go inside to get them. But that isn't going to stop you.

Your car is just at the end of the street, and conveniently you have everything you need in your coat's pockets, including your car keys, so you take yours instead.

The whole thing is crazy… He's nuts and so are you for following along. But it gives you a rush to quickly steer the car out of the neighborhood before anyone notices. They will, eventually. It's early to tell, there's too many people in the house to say where everyone is at all times. Maybe at actual dinner time they'll notice you're missing but for now, you're just going to enjoy the ride and see where it takes you.

No matter the consequences, this is already better than having to endure another Christmas hearing the same tired arguments with your family, and holding yourself back from punching your cousin's boyfriend for his relentless sexist remarks.

Driving aimlessly for a good fifteen minutes across the city, you suggest a few places but end up settling your destination at The Beef. You've walked by the place a handful of times, but you never stepped inside until now.

There, Michael trades his thermal shirt for a blue, short sleeve t-shirt with the shop's logo, giving you a chance to see the ink adorning his arms. You decide to make pizza from scratch and while you let the dough rise for over an hour, he tells you the story about each of his tattoos.

Music plays in the background to fill the awkward silences while you have a drink and eat some snacks to make time until Michael deems the dough ready to turn into a pizza. Which prompts you to ask several questions about food and the restaurant. You can tell he's quite in his element and it really suits him.

Once he's given shape to the dough, you help him pick and spread an array of toppings on your pizza. His elbow nudges yours as he effortlessly sprinkles a heap of mozzarella on top.

As he puts it on the oven, you sit on the counter and nurse your soda.

“It suits you, you know? This, being a cook,” you tell him as he grabs his drink.

“Yeah?” the corners of his lips automatically quirk up.

“Yeah, I'm kind of impressed, to be honest. I could never whip out pizza dough from scratch that easily. I tried once, but I just don't have the patience for cooking it I guess.”

“Hm, thank you. So, tattooing butts for hours doesn't require patience?”

You snort. “I haven't tattooed that many butts, but it requires more focus than patience.”

“You'll have to show me sometime.”

“How to tattoo asses? Yeah, I could even tattoo yours if you want to.” You say casually, sizing the way his eyebrows raise at your unexpected proposal.

“What would you put on my ass if you could?”

“I don't know… Turn around,” your pointer finger draws a circle in the air, “I need to see the canvas first.”

He plays along and takes a spin around to show you his backside. The kitchen suddenly feels hotter than when you first entered. You draw your eyes down to survey, critically of course, the small, firm shape of his butt, hugged by a pair of jeans.

“Do you want me to pull my pants down?” He smirks, glancing over his shoulder.

“No, I’m good,” you laugh, “you can turn around. I think I got a pretty good idea of what I’d do.”

“Yeah?” he tilts the beer bottle in his hand over his lips.

“Uh-hm, I'd simply put – bite me – one word on each cheek, you know? I've pitched that idea to a few people, but they never went for it.”

“Maybe it’s cause I’m high as fuck, but I’d like that.”

“Yeah, you should mull it over later when it wears off. My rule of thumb is never get a tattoo when you’re high or drunk. You’d be surprised by the atrocities I had to cover up over the years because of that.”

“I bet,” he takes another sip of his beer before pointing at the line art inked on your fingers. “You got more than those?”

“Yeah, I have a few more.” But they’re all covered by a cozy sweater and black jeans.

“Can I see them?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “they’re in very compromising places. If you play your cards right, maybe I’ll show you later.”

“Alright, it’s on, sweetheart,” he bites his lower lip, and takes that as a challenge.

You’re surprised how easy it feels talking to him. You can't recall the last time you clicked with someone that organically fast. Though you were aware of certain aspects of his life, you only knew each other in passing. You always had this idea of him that he was kind of a douche for what you heard about him. And you should know better by now than to pass judgment on people from rumors and gossip.

If you had known he was this delightful, you'd try harder to get to know him earlier.

Before the pizza is out of the oven your phone finally goes off to have someone wondering where the hell you are.

Michael watches you, amused, as you lie your ass off over the phone. You tell your brother you had to leave to take Tiffany to the hospital cause her water broke and Richie was wasted, and you were the only one sober and close enough to drive her.

“You should be ashamed of yourself for using your friend like that,” Michael scoffs, “you better pray nobody sees Tiff the rest of the night.”

“They won't. You should work on your excuse for when you get the inevitable call.”

Michael pulls out the phone from his pocket to see there are a couple of texts from Sugar and another one from Richie.

His expression changes quickly when his smile fades away.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah… yeah, everything's fine.” He sighs, texting Richie back, almost regretting his decision of ditching Christmas dinner, solely for the fact of leaving Carmy and Nat to deal with hurricane Donna. Nonetheless, they've grown up and don't need Michael to hold their hand anymore.

They'll be okay, he convinces himself.

Despite having second thoughts for just a moment, he really doesn't feel like going back home. He's enjoying your company more than he expected, and he's excited to see where the night leads.

While you devour the delicious pizza you've made together, the conversation flows nicely, jumping from topic to topic, getting a good sense of the other. Though you both seem different at first glance, as you dig deeper into his thoughts, it feels like looking into a mirror. You and Michael have trouble fostering good romantic relationships, neither of you have the best track record. You use humor to mask that unbearable pain you carry, and tend to be really impulsive. Being here is proof of that last one. But you do share some good traits too… you're both also undeniably loyal to your friends, wildly independent, and have no problem speaking your mind, which can be troubling sometimes.

There's a certain ease in the way he looks at you that makes your heart soar in ways you haven't felt in s long time. Perhaps it’s the weed talking, but there’s definitely a raw electricity bubbling surrounding the table you’re sitting at. And the longer you stay together, the more you feel like doing something you might regret.

This is not how you saw today going, but it's certainly a welcome change from the tired Christmas traditions and family matters. Which might sound selfish but neither you nor Michael would be in the first place if you had healthier relationships with your relatives.

“I don't think pizza ever tasted this good,” you say after finishing your last slice.

“You should send your compliments to the chef.”

“I could even kiss him,” you blurt out without thinking, and watch his eyes grow wide from across the table. “Do you think he'd like that?”

“I uh… I think he'd love that.” Michael licks his lips, drawing a grin.

There's a moment of silence as you stare at the other, capturing that sizzling electricity that's daring you to taste his mouth.

You lift your glass of water and take a sip first before leaning over the table to follow that impulse.

“My compliments to the chef,” you murmur under a breath an inch away from his mouth. The hairs of his beard prick your skin before fully pressing a chaste kiss on his lips. They're warm and soft, just like you’ve been imagining for the past hour.

He desperately wants to dive deeper just as much as you do, but after a couple of seconds you manage to hold that urge and pull back.

“Hm, thanks, sweetheart,” he utters when you settle your back against the chair and offers his beer bottle up in your direction. “Cheers to new traditions.”

“Cheers,” you clink your glass with his bottle and take a sip together of your respective drinks.

“Should we maybe start cleaning up?” you clear your throat, and gesture at the table, almost spoiling the moment.

“Is that really what you want?” His brow playfully lifts.

“No, that’s not what I want.”

“Why would you suggest that, then?”

“I guess I’m just trying to give you an out. We had a perfect evening. If we keep going down this path, we might do something that could potentially ruin it. Unless that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want an out and I don’t think there’s nothing we can do to ruin this.”

“No? Then what do you wanna do, Michael Berzatto?”

His eyes pin you a look that almost sets you ablaze. “You. I wanna do you.”

“Yeah?” Given that you started this, you could let him do the next move, but you’d be damned to wait like an idiot for him to make the move after having him say that with such conviction. So, you stand up, walk around the table to straddle his lap. His hands are drawn automatically to your hips, inviting you to get comfortable.

Under a very dim light of the orange neon sign illuminating his face, Michael mirrors your smile as you cup his face in your hands, leaning closer to capture his lips once more, with feeling. He's quick to respond to the urgency of your tongue, delving past the front lines of your teeth without hesitation. It takes you a moment to grasp a good rhythm together but once you're there, nothing can't stop the fervent desire of that unholy union.

It's hot and messy and utterly intoxicating.

You hold tight to his neck while he digs his fingers at the curve of your hips, pulling you flush against his center, letting you feel the hardness of his bulge growing beneath thick denim layers.

“Hm,” his breath catches, and he breaks the kiss to ask. “Have I earned seeing your tattoos?”

You scoff, wiping the corner of your mouth with a thumb.

“You definitely have.”

This time, before you can take off your sweater, he's the one gripping the hem and sliding it up your torso, pulling it over your head, exposing your bra. Your skin is kept warm under his palms when he places them on your sides while he admires the collection of tattoos on your arms, chest that spread to your back. There's one in particular that sits between your breasts that catches his eye. It's partially covered by your bra, but he can clearly see a snake coiled around a dagger. He uses his point finger to pull down gently to see it fully.

He draws the snake softly with his fingertip, making your skin buzz before noticing the twin studs of your piercings adorning your erected nipples, poking behind the delicate fabric of your bra.

Pressing his teeth to his lip, he lets his wandering fingers invite themselves to touch one of your pierced nipples over the cotton layer.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

Your core twitches at the way his voice husks paired with the pressure of his thumb playing with the barbell attachment.

“Yeah, it feels real good,” you sigh in bliss as he tugs the cup of your bra to uncover your tit and feel your skin across the pad of his thumb.

“Does it feel better with piercings?”

“Definitely,” you wink at him.

“You're so damn sexy,” he breathes, locking his lust-drown eyes with yours as he removes your bra completely.

Baring your teeth, you respond by sliding one of your hands down to his crotch to caress the hard bulge straining the blue denim. You curl your fingers around it, watching him struggle to bury a grunt in his throat. He curses a “fuck” instead and forces himself to inhale deeply.

You observe his mouth up close as his tongue juts out to wet his lips before dipping his head to kiss your pointed peak.

It sends chills down your spine to have the tip of his tongue playfully swirling around the piercing before sucking your nipple between his lips. Your core is most pleased and excited, and you can feel it in the way your walls slick.

He's fully grown in your fist when you feel an intermittent buzz near your hand.

“Is your dick vibrating?”

“It's my phone,” he scoffs, releasing your nipple.

“Oh. Right.”

“There,” he quickly pulls his device from his pocket and tosses it on the table without looking at it.

It keeps buzzing while he dives to mouth to put neck, tickling your skin with his beard.

You try to focus again, but his phone keeps going off.

“Maybe you should pick it up.” You suggest.

Michael pulls his head back with a sigh and checks it up just in case. There are a handful of texts and calls from Richie and Nat, asking him to come back home because Donna got into a car accident. They say specifically that she drove the car into the house which it's something he has trouble imagining. That's borderline, even for Donna.

As quick as it started, it ends. His buzz is killed again by his own mother.

He doesn't give you the details right away, all he asks is for you to drive him back. It's during that drive that he tries to explain it with the little details he knows.

The siren lights are quickly on sight as soon as you enter the street. There’s an ambulance and a police car park in front of the Berzatto house when you drop him off.

He rushes out of the car without so much as a goodbye, which you completely understand. There are neighbors scattered all over the street, watching the shitshow. You have to drive a couple streets over to find a decent parking stop. Then you walk back to your parents’ house just as they are serving dessert. They aren’t creeping in the streets like the rest, but they still peek out the window, trying to find out what’s going on.

You climb upstairs to your old room. Sitting in the dark, you look out the window, having front row tickets to witness a tow truck coming into the scene to pull out the car that’s been shoved right through the facade. A couple of police officers go around taking statements from the Berzattos and friends, and some of the closest neighbors. They ring the bell at your house at some point too. The ambulance drives away with Donna and Natalie in the back.

People go back into their homes as the commotion slowly clears out. You see Tiff leaving with Richie, and at the end there’s only Michael, his brother, and one of their uncles you can’t name left in there, assessing the aftermath of the crash.

They stay there, guarding the house until the Faks come back to board up the hole in the wall as a temporary measure.

By the time you leave your parents’ house, they’re still working tirelessly under the freezing veil of the night to cover that up.

You don’t see him, and he doesn’t see you leave either.

It's a shame the night had to end like that. You're not a stranger to bizarre situations, but Donna Berzatto driving her car into the house was beyond perplexing.

When you finally pull up in the parking space in your building's garage you notice there's a zippo lighter with a Red Sox’s logo on the side left on the passenger seat that you don't recognize. It must have fallen from Michael's pocket. So, you keep it safe to give it to maybe use it as an excuse to show up sometime by his joint and give it back.

A couple of days pass, and you are still holding onto that lighter, unable to build up the courage to return it.

You had a moment together. A very beautiful, sexy moment you won't ever forget but is it enough to justify you showing up out of the blue? Perhaps. You've never doubted yourself like this before. And it takes you until the day before New Year's Eve to finally push yourself to stop by The Beef.

Richie is up front, ringing customers. His blue eyes widen when he sees you waiting in line.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“It's good to see you too, jagoff. Is that how you greet all your customers?” you scoff.

“No, sorry. I just wasn't expecting you.”

“Yeah, well, first time for everything, right?”

“Right. So it doesn't have anything to do with you stealing Mikey on Christmas.”

“I don't know what he's told you, but it was his idea. Anyway, is he around? He left something in my car.”

“What? His dignity?”

“Shut up, Richard. Is he around or not?” you glance over the service window to the kitchen but can't quite tell if he's there or not.

“He's out back having a smoke. Go to the left, bend the corner past the parking lot. Find the red fence by the trash cans,” he gestures directions with a hand.

“Got it.”

You head out, following Richie's directions toward the back door of The Beef to find him there, pacing the length of the fence with a cigarette in his hand.

“Hey, Berzatto.”

As Michael turns around his face beams up quickly in surprise.

“Oh, hey. Shit, I didn't know you were coming.”

“Yeah, sorry. I thought about calling, but I didn't get your number and with everything you got going on… I didn’t wanna bother you. Here,” you offer the zippo in his direction, “you left it in my car.”

“Appreciate it,” he half smiles, tucking it into his pocket. “I’ve been meaning to call too. I got your number from Richie. But uh… I guess I felt weird using it. I didn't think you'd wanna see me again after what happened.”

“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

“That we are.”

You both softly laugh for a second.

“How’s everything? Is Donna okay?”

“That’s a loaded question. But considering what happened and what it could’ve been… everyone’s fine. And Donna… She's Donna.” He resigns, sinking his head between his shoulders.

“What about you?”

“I uh… I’ve been staying with Richie for a couple of days until I find a place. I just needed to get out of there, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

He throws the butt of his cigarette to the ground and puts it off with the toe of his shoe.

“Did I ruin our moment the other night?”

You shake your head, “you didn’t ruin anything, Michael. I had a great time with you. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah? I had a great time too.”

“Hm… maybe we should finish what we started sometime if you’re up for it.”

“Yeah, I… I’d love that, sweetheart,” he pauses for a moment to lick his lips before confessing. “For the sake of honesty, I should tell you that you left something here too.”

“What did I leave?”

“You should see for yourself.”

He beckons you to follow into the kitchen through the staff door and into his office. He closes the door and out of one of his drawers he pulls out your bra. Of course, you left that.

“Came here early the next day and found it on the floor.”

“God, I didn’t even notice. I’m such an idiot sometimes.”

“We were high as fuck, don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Well, thanks for keeping it safe I guess,” you shove it into your bag and clear your throat. “Be honest, would you have given it back if I hadn’t come here?”

“Huh?” he half laughs, “what do you think I am? Some kind of pervert that keeps trophies of their hookups?”

“No. I didn't say that. Just wondering.”

“You know… I wasn't sure if I was gonna see you again or not, but it wasn't my intention to keep it. I guess I was hoping I could give it back if that meant I could talk to you again.”

“That's a good answer.”

“So, about that thing we gotta finish…”

“Right. I’m free tonight if you wanna come over.”

“Straight to the point. I like that.”

“I’m not a fan of wasting time.”

“Yeah, yeah, me neither,” he scoffs. “We close at ten, I could be there before midnight.”

“Okay, give me your phone.”

He hands you his phone so you can call your number to have his registered on your phone and then put your address in his contacts.

“Text me if you change your mind. No hard feelings if you do, but don’t leave me waiting like an asshole, got it?” you give him a warning look as you hand the phone back.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He places it on the desk, and before you can leave out the door, he grabs your waist and gently pushes your back against the wall.

You swallow as his lips lean closer to whisper in your ear. “I promise I won’t leave you hanging. I haven’t stopped thinking about you, sweetheart. It’s… it’s the only thing that’s kept me going these past few days.”

He kisses your cheek while your lips curve into a grin, saying back, “I haven't stopped thinking about you either.”

“That's good,” he hums at the curve of your neck, scratching your skin with the coarse hairs of his beard, inhaling your scent as you slip your fingers at the back of his nape.

One hand draws the curve of your ass, at the same time his lips part to leave a wet kiss on your neck before finding your lips. Using his tongue as bait, you fall easily into the alluring trap of his mouth. The kiss is slow but firm, offering you a taste of what's to come. You can feel his excitement in every swirl and the way he presses his body against yours, hoping there would be no layers in between.

You'd fuck him right here, right now if you could. But alas, everything good comes to an end and once more, The Beef is proven to be the worst place for a hookup when Richie knocks on the door, calling Michael's name.

Separating your lips, you both let out a tired sigh, pull yourselves together before opening the door.

Anxiously waiting for Michael to show up at the end of the day, you order some food, take a nice bath and pamper yourself for the occasion. You put on some makeup, do your hair and rummage the bottom drawer of your dresser where you keep your sexiest lingerie. You choose a lacy set of your favorite color that suits your body perfectly. On top of that, you put on a t-shirt dress with the logo of your favorite band.

Michael texts you when he’s on the way, and you go around the apartment one more time to make sure nothing is out of place.

It's close to midnight when Michael shows up with a bottle of wine in his hands.

“You look nice,” his mouth says nice, but his eyes are clearly devouring you from the dark hollow of his browns.

“Thank you. You clean up good too, Berzatto.” You can tell by his new outfit that doesn’t include a logo of the beef printing on his chest, and the fresh cologne smell that follows him into your space. He’s trimmed the edges of his beard too. The cut is cleaner below his cheeks that light up in the warmth of your home.

To get in the mood, you first settle at the breakfast bar where you two share a glass of wine and some light conversation about your day. A couple of sips is enough for you to lean in closer and kiss him. You don’t wanna be too loopy for this so you choose to make a move before emptying your glass. He doesn’t protest. He gladly welcomes you into invading his space, tasting the striking red spirit lingering in his tongue. It’s a gentle dance at first. Once it grows restless, there’s no way to stop it. You make your way into the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes on the floor until your back hits the mattress.

You didn’t think his eyes could turn darker, but they do. They’re like two apache tears recently collected from lava, almost iridescent at the glow of a night lamp nearby. He observes you from above, capturing the beauty of your body wrapped only in the skimpy lingerie you picked and all the inked art.

Michael bends forward, sans shirt, smoothing a palm at the curve of your ass protected by the shape of a dragon.

“Did you put these on for me, sweetheart?” one of his fingers playfully tugs the elastic of your panties on the side of your hip, making it snap against your skin.

Biting your lip, you nod, and beckon him to come closer.

He still has his jeans on when he settles between your legs, allowing you to feel how hard you’ve made him. It’s his time now to seize your mouth as if he was dying of drought. Your lips bruise at the unwavering frenzy of his kiss. His hips press and press firmer between your legs, stirring a longing of arousal to pool in the sheer fabric of your panties.

He pulls his head back, leaving you panting to pepper your chest with kisses instead. His beard leads the way, prickling your skin before his lips and teeth touch the surface. He pushes your bra down to expose your tits. Drawn to the metal adorning your peaks his tongue juts out to play with them.

You push one of your hands between your bodies to open his fly and measure his hardness on your hand. He adjusts his hips slightly up to make some room for you. His cock barely fits in the curl of your fingers when you pump his shaft down a few times over the texture of his underwear.

“Fuck, you're gonna make me come.” His breathing falters, turns into a grunt, when you tug his underwear down to feel his skin directly against your palm.

“It's okay if you do. I don't mind,” you run the tip of your tongue along his cupid's bow when he lifts his head to look at you.

“You don't, don't you?” one of his hands slots between your legs, cupping your pussy.

You shake your head. “I wanna make you come.”

“Yeah?” he purrs, rubbing his nose against your cheek. “Wanna make you come too, sweetheart.”

“Then take these off, babe.” You order, giving a small tug to the waistband of his jeans.

Michael rolls to the side and quickly slips the rest of his clothes off while you kneel on the mattress and reach to pick up a condom from the nightstand.

His hands are fast to rid you off your lingerie and invite his palms to touch every inch of your skin while you get into position. You end up on top of him, rolling the condom on his generous erection before sinking onto it. Even though your walls are tender and sick to welcome the stretch, it takes you a moment to slowly take him during that first descent. You have to adjust your hips twice before you can fully fill yourself with his cock.

His enthralling stare stays on you, capturing every gesture, every breath, every move you make that renders him speechless. His heart races when you brace a palm on his chest while you use your opposite hand to rub your clit. He's never seen or had anyone or anything more beautiful than you on top of him, fucking him like this. It's absolutely enticing to have someone like you confidently ride his body to the maximum pleasure.

All his blood and thought nicely flows down to his center and has to make an effort to distract himself from coming too soon. He uses that moment to carve every curve and landmark of your body in his hands. He inspects every tattoo, tracing them in his memory to keep himself from spilling inside you.

When you grow used to the position, you bend forward, tucking your arms against his chest. You capture his mouth, and keep your hips rocking steady, gradually faster, while he keeps his fingers glued to your ass, aiding your moves.

“God, you feel so good,” you hum softly into the kiss and his cock twitches inside you.

He groans into the kiss, mumbling a “fuck, you feel amazing, sweetheart”, and uses his grip on your ass to move you faster.

Taking the hint, you hold yourself up, straightening your posture. You clutch your palms to his broad chest firmly, while your hips pick up the pace. His body vibrates beneath you pounce after pounce. His fingers skin deep at your skin, the closer you ride him to the edge. You exert your body shamelessly bouncing on his dick until you reach that final line. He squirms and grunts and struggles to breathe while you tirelessly earn his orgasm. His cock jerks wildly inside you, prompting your own walls to tremble and collapse around him as you come undone.

Your body is still shaking when you slip him out of you and fall limp on top of his torso. His arms curl sweetly around your back, soothing your spine with a hand, as you place your head on his shoulder.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” his voice comes out breathless.

“Yeah, I’m good… that was… amazing.” You draw some air to keep your voice even. “You want me to get off you?”

“No, please. You don’t have to move, sweetheart, I got you.” he laughs softly, tightening his hold around you.“And yeah, that was… amazing. You’re amazing.” He repeats for lacking better words to express how good it felt to finally have you like this.

“Do you wanna repeat later?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he responds so quickly it makes you chuckle.

You finally lift your head to look at him and capture the stunning afterglow of his orgasm illuminating his face. He looks tired but utterly overjoyed

“Cheers to new traditions, yeah?”

“Cheers, sweetheart,” he says and you both touch your lips together once more.

[quotesfrommyreading]

Although some elements of childlore last and last, others come and go with the culture of the moment. But even then, Willett told me, kids often build on what came before, whether they realize it or not. For instance, COVID-19 has shown up in many kids’ games, including coronavirus tag— which is, of course, built on one of the most classic kids’ games there is. (Roud suspects that in Victorian times, European children played cholera tag or something similar.) Another example Willett gave, from one of her studies, was a game based on the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who—monsters that can move only when you’re not looking at them. Even though the game was inspired by pop culture, Willett noted that a game where you creep up on someone while they’re not looking is a very old structure. One such game, Grandmother’s Footsteps, dates back to at least the 1900s, she writes.

  —  How the Traditions of Childhood Get Passed Down

[nothomegal]

ITS CHRISTMAS EVE (or at least where I live bc timezones) and I would like to gove Pyramid Head smoochies under mistletoe pls 😌

Aww I was having this idea too! And since it's Christmas allow me to bless you with a drawing!...

...And a lilttle one-shot!

"Mistletoe"

(Pyramid Head x GN Reader)

Warning: suggestive implications by the end, but mostly fluff!

Word Count: 1k

Christmas was always a funny holiday for (Y/N). Either because they never truly felt connected to it or because they haven't felt the 'magic of Christmas' since childhood. Don't get me wrong, they would still put some decorations when they could, but ever since they came to Silent Hill such tradition was lost.

Not like they mind it too much though, they already have the absolute best gift and company they could ever ask for! Just tell me, who in their right mind would be upset about having a nearly 8ft tall demi-god creature as your forever partner? You have to be chronically insane to turn down such blessing!

And speaking of the creature, (Y/N)'s daydream was interrupted when a large hand curled around their arm and stopped them. They shoot a curious glance to their lover, who was already looking at whatever got his attention.

Right above them, placed on the old metallic door frame with, what they suppose is duct tape, were hangign a bunch of oddly shaped pieces of paper. Some pieces where green, others painted green, and all of them where kept together with a piece of damaged red cloth that was tied as a bow.

(Y/N) stares at that weird construction with furrowed brows, really trying to grasp what the hell they're looking at. Pyra was still as well, but his head tilted towards his human as he curiously observes their reaction. Seems like they too have no clue what is this-.

However, (Y/N) manages to make out the shape of it and instantly burst out laughing.

—"No way! No way someone actually made one!"— you say between laughs.

The beast simply observes them, letting out a low wondering rumble. Is that another pointless joke humans have? (Y/N) is laughing hard so it must be something very funny or very stupid.

After the laughter had ceased, (Y/N) takes a look at their monster and suddenly remember what he wanted in the first place. Oh, right. They were supposed to explain what is that.

—"Okay, okay."— you say between giggles as you point at the object. —"That thing over there is supposed to be a mistletoe. Remember when I told you about Christmas and how people decorate that one fuzzy tree? Well, this thing is also kinda a Christmas tradition. People hang it somewhere high and when two step or pass underneath it, they have to kiss."—

While (Y/N) explains, Pyra listens to them carefully. But the second they mention the kiss part, the air between them shifts and becomes... Odd. And Pyra himself still, way too still.

(Y/N) of course feels the change, and is quick to start clarifying.

—"But of course, it's optional. It's not like you're forced to kiss anyone. If anything, I never did! So I suppose this will remain as a silly tradition some-"—

Their speech is replaced by a tiny gasp when the monster suddenly grabs their jaw, gently lifting and moving their gaze where he needed. Their eyes narrow slightly when they noticed a tongue peek out from his helmet and slowly, almost shily, wiggle towards their face.

—"Aww. What a polite guy."— you chuckle as a little blush creeps on your cheeks. —"Well of course I'll give you a kiss."—

Ever since they introduced this new method of showing affection, it wasn't rare to witness Pyra ask for a 'kiss' once or twice. It's kinda funny to see how shy he gets, always taking it slow and giving them enough time to stop or pull away. Do they do that? Nuh-uh! Do they think it feels gross? Weird, yes. But (Y/N) is deranged so it's fine.

The pink muscle soon presses against their lips, and they respond by giving it a kiss while holding it in place gently, totally unbothered by its wet and slippery texture. They could feel Pyra practically melt into the gesture, he does it every time. It's small, but is the closest they can get to an actual kiss, and the intimacy and specialness of it seems to get the beast to his very core.

After some second, when (Y/N) attempts to lean back, a pair of big arms gets a hold around them, cementing them in place completely and pulling them closer to the monster. The said beast lets out a low menacing growl as his tongue licks their cheek and part of the jaw. The message was clear...

M̵̞͔̥̏̌̊o̷͕͒̓͑ͅŗ̷̭̝̓̾e̵̠̤͓̅̒̋.

He wanted more.

Despite the apparentaly hostile growls, (Y/N) showed no intimidation and simply chuckled as they roll their eyes.

—"Someone is feeling frisky, huh?"—

Another, and a bit louder, growl resonated from inside the beast's helmet. His grip around them tightening and the tongue sliding along their lips, almost begging for them to kiss it again.

—"Calm down tiger. We both know if we continue you'll get too carried on."— you coo, sliding one of your hands along one side of his helmet.

He groans with certain displeasure, but his grip soon losens as he slightly tilts his head into their touch, yet he doesn't let go neither.

—"If you're really feeling like doing it then let's go somewhere else. You don't want anyone to see me naked, don't you?"—

This time their answer is no longuer a growl or a sound, but the same pair of big hands lighting their form up and swinging over a broad shoulder.

Before starting to walk however, the monster reaches up and snatches the little paper mistletoe. (Y/N) of course notices that and can't hold back the little laugh.

—"Well well, see you really liked this particular tradition."—

They get no response as the monster resumes his walking. But the small squeeze on one of their thighs was enough proof to know that they got it right and it won't be the last time the see the little item.

After this little interaction, and probably after what's about to come, (Y/N) doubts to ever be able to feel that magic of Christmas again.

However, they realize that they still experienced something new. The magic of the mistletoe.

Is that an actual thing? Who knows.

But it worked on Pyra so it must be a thing, right?

It worked well after all.

...Too well.

[bad268]

kimi x toto wolffs daughter like fluff of their families and how they reacted and how they treat kimi

+ can you do a kimi antonelli oneshot where the reader is Toto and Susie's daughter and its when Kimi came to watch Jack's race (if you know what I mean) and him and reader are already together but it's just all adorable.

thank you!!

I've Never Lost (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Wolff! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (I combined these two, hope yall don't mind)

Warnings: None

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 1191

Summary: What started as a family outing has turned into a bet, and Kimi doesn't lose.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

Ever since you were teenagers, it was a tradition to go out karting with your family. It was standard procedure to go karting during the off-season or non-race weekends. Granted, you were never a driver, but once you started dating Kimi, he said he would drive you around the tracks. Before you and Kimi started dating, you would just watch Jack and your parents race, but now, you were finally able to join in the fun.

It was the middle of summer break, and Kimi was leading the F2 championship and ready to sign a contract with Mercedes for 2026. It was time for your regularly scheduled karting competition. 

This was the first time Kimi was going to be joining. You had told him before that you wanted to race with your family, so he made sure he would be able to go out with you and get to know your family as your family and not his boss. 

“I’m gonna win,” Jack boasted as he led the way into the karting track. Your mom and dad laughed, following hand-in-hand behind him. You and Kimi were just behind Jack, chasing him toward the entrance of the track. “I’m gonna bet you and Kimi and Papa and Mama because I’m the best.”

“I bet you are, Jacky,” You laughed as you caught up behind him and threw him over your shoulder. Kimi fell back a little as he chuckled at your antics with your brother. He knew this was what you two were like, but it was always funny seeing it in person. It only happened a few times around the paddock since you two were more conscious of your images in front of so many cameras, but in the track in the middle of nowhere, you two were free to be as rambunctious as you wanted.

Jack and your parents never complained. You didn’t have the most normal childhood with growing up surrounded by fast cars that could kill you. You had nothing holding you back out here, and Jack loved to mess around with his older sibling.

“You better not go easy,” Toto chucked as he and Susie walked passed Kimi who had stopped and watched you spin Jack around upside down from your shoulders. How he got in that position, nobody knows. Kimi’s attention snapped over to Toto at that moment in confusion at first before he continued his advice. “They’ll both be mad if they find out you went easy. They’re both extremely competitive. And this is Y/n’s first time in a kart after some time, so you should make it memorable.”

“You won’t be mad if we win?” Kimi countered with a smirk. He had grown up around Toto and Susie enough to view them as second parents, but he also had to remember they were his bosses. However, right now is a family outing, not a work event. It was everyone for themselves.

“You say that like your double seater is going to beat three single seaters,” Susie laughed when she came back into the conversation with passes for everyone to get on the track. “But go ahead and think you still stand a chance.”

“Oh bring it on,” Kimi challenged as he held his hand out for her to shake, “Why don’t we place a bet? Loser buys dessert?”

“Just you and me or if any of us beat you two?” Susie teased before agreeing.

“I’ll take my chances with all three of you,” Kimi replied with a smirk since he couldn’t keep a straight face. He gestured down to his outstretched hand again, “So, do we have a deal?”

“Consider it made,” Susie responded as she shook his hand before handing him the two passes for you and him to get the kart. Kimi turned around to see you and Jack still messing about, so he went over to tell you what was going on.

“Jack, come over here,” Toto called, causing you to almost drop him, but you gently set him down on his back on the asphalt. Jack jumped up and ran over to Toto, thinking something was wrong. “We need to strategize.” Toto and Susie then took Jack down to the track and started planning for how they were going to win.

“Did we do something wrong?” You asked as you walked in step with Kimi and took your pass to show the marshals.

“No, but I made a bet with your parents, so they need to strategize,” Kimi explained as he threw an arm around your shoulder while you sat trackside until the session before you were finished. 

“You? Made a bet? With my parents? Your bosses? Willingly? Who are you?” You joked as you placed the back of your hand on his forehead, checking for a temperature. “You don’t have a temperature. Are you sure you’re fine?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” He chuckled, pushing your hand away from his forehead and instead held it against his cheek. “You always say to let loose around them more. I’m just taking your advice.”

“You’re learning, I’m impressed,” You teased, moving your finger to tap his nose. “Next, you’ll be rough-housing with Jack and me.”

“I think I’ll stick with things that don’t hurt me,” Kimi scoffed with a smile as he pulled you closer into his chest while you watched the karts go around.

“Oh, and bets don’t hurt your pockets? I see how it is, rich man,” You joked as you leaned your entire body weight into him. “Do I at least get to know what the bet is before the race?”

“Loser buys dessert after,” Kimi chuckled.

“We’re in a double seater, dummy!” You exclaimed in shock. “They’re gonna be so much quicker than us! You made a bet you know you’d lose!”

“One, you underestimate my driving ability. Two, you think that wasn’t the point? Think how much harder Jack will try to win knowing there’s something at stake,” Kimi explained, and your jaw dropped. This reverse psychology was going to win your brother over in a heartbeat. “Plus, I know Jack and your parents are insanely competitive. I know you. They’re gonna do anything and everything to win, and it’ll be a real race.”

“You are crazy, but I love it,” You whispered as you left a kiss on his cheek before standing up and moving to the karts. You two put on your helmets and everyone took their places in their karts. Jack looked back at you and Kimi and signaled that he was going to catch you. Right as you sat down, you looked up at Kimi, who was still adjusting his helmet. “We’re not going easy on them though, right?”

“No never,” Kimi answered quickly as he took his seat in the driver’s seat. He fiddled with the seat and wheel for a second before the look in his eyes told you exactly what he was thinking. “This is technically a championship, and I’ve never lost. Buckle up because you’re not breaking my streak.”

You tightened your belts and braced yourself. This was the best (and only) way to get back onto the track.

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[coco-loco-nut]

Peter

pairing: George Russel x Reader

summary: George broke his promise to you, never coming back

a/n: no Carmen hate, I couldn't bring myself to write another sad ending

requests open masterlist ttpd masterlist

_____________

George Russell was everything to you. Your childhood best friend, first and only love, and first heartbreak. You used to follow him around like a lost puppy, him your fearless leader as you made up adventures. You look at the old cedar closet in your childhood bedroom, the one the two of you believed would lead to Narnia one day.

"Y/n, you okay?" your friend nudges you, noticing you not paying attention to the race. The two of you lay in your bed with snacks, as tradition dictates between you and her. Even after all these years, George still holds the place of your best friend, even after he's hurt you.

"Was it something I did? Why doesn't George call anymore?" you ask the question that has been on your mind for the past could years. Your mind travels back to the last time you saw him.

"Y/n, please don't cry, It's just goodbye for now, not forever," George says before leaving for another race. He just said that the two of you need to take a break while he focuses on his racing for the next couple months and you go to university.

"You'll come and find me?" you sniffle, not wanting him to leave, knowing the truth deep down.

"Of course, I promise, just have some growing up to do," George references your favorite book, wiping the tears from your eyes. You were just babes, barely 18.

"Cheer up, I got us tickets to Silverstone next weekend, my job even threw in paddock passes," your friend throws a piece of popcorn at you. She was there when you realized George wasn't coming back to you anytime soon. She made you promise not to let the lamp burn waiting up for him.

"Can't wait," your stomach churns at the thought of getting a glimpse of him and his new girlfriend. You will never admit that you stalked her socials and professional life. It always hurts more when people mention to you how well he's doing when you can't seem to move on.

As you enter the paddock with your overexcited friend, you can't help but let your thoughts be filled with George. Is he still a mind reader like he was for you? Did he still steal the scene in every room he walked in, always attracting your gaze?

"He looks good," your friend says saltily, in solidarity with you, as you look at the video of him playing on the video board.

"Life was always easier on him," you hum, shaking him from your mind. You scan the crowd, noticing the fellow Brit not far from you, but you don't realize he also notices you before his attention is brought back to his girlfriend. It's like you exist under the same moon but live in different galaxies now, a hurtful realization for both of you.

"Can we go explore another place, I don't want to hang here any longer," you don't need to provide any more explanation before your friend pulls you to another area, unknowingly causing the two of you to cross George's path. He says nothing, only staring at the both of you as you don't notice him. The last memory he has of you popping into his mind.

"It's just goodbye for now," George mutters under his breath, kicking himself mentally for unintentionally forgetting about his best friend.

"What was that, George?" Carmen asks, utterly confused.

"Nothing," he brushes the question off. I grew up, I can still find her. George toys with the thought before the guilt of thinking about you while he is with his girlfriend makes him stop. The guilt of the promise he never kept adds to the pit in his stomach.

"George, are you okay? There's something off about you today?" Lewis asks.

"I'm not sure," George says before telling Lewis all about you, the closet that you two thought led to Narnia, your first kiss, your first 'I love you', your last goodbye, and his broken promise.

"Sounds like you really messed up, so what are you going to do?" Lewis processes the story told to him by his teammate, vowing to look you up later.

"I don't know," George sighs, leaning back in his chair. He imagines you waiting at home after the racing season and your first year at Uni.

You never told your friend how you spent your first semester waiting for George, letting the lamp burn at night. You turned down countless guys asking for dates in the hope that you'd return, standing outside your dorm, ready to tell you all that he learned.

You will never say anything because you never lost the love, it just changes with your perspective. You learned from your broken heart. You stopped sitting by the window waiting for his return, realizing George was lost to the racing part of his life. His Instagram post of him not even 30 kilometers away from you partying with other drivers during your first year of Uni, captioned 'the Lost Boys' solidified that for you.

Now you both were 25, and you grew up. The shelf-life of those fantasies had expired long ago, and despite your heart wanting him, it was time for you to move on. You tried to hold onto those days when you had each other, but there is only so much oil in a lamp to burn, and it is time to turn out the light. As you turn it out, there is a knock on your door.

"Y/n?" George's voice calls out as your hand reaches the handle. You cautiously open the door.

"George?" You say, utterly confused. His heart sinks a little, expecting you to call him Georgie.

"I grew up, I'm sorry, but I'm here now, please forgive me," George pleads, and you invite him in.

"You broke your promise," is all you say as you sit in a chair across from him in your living room.

"I know, and I'm so sorry, seeing you at Silverstone reminded me how stupid I am," George says, moving closer to you. Your head snaps up.

"Silverstone? George that was months ago. I'm sorry, the woman who waited by the window turned out the light. You have a girlfriend now and after everything I don't think I can be just your friend," you say, trying to figure out why he's here.

"Had. I had a girlfriend. When I saw you all I could remember was that last conversation, and I realized I was trying to fill the hole in my heart where you were," George says and you stay silent for a moment, taking his words in.

"I don't think I could take another heartbreak like that," you whisper. George and Lewis social media stalked you and old friends. George noticed that you never moved on from him, staying single. When his mind wouldn't leave the idea of you, he very gently broke it off with Carmen. She deserved better than someone who was filling the spot of someone else. "You forgot about me," you accuse, even if it is the truth.

"I never will again, please, I finally finished growing up, I finally came to get you," his eyes fill with tears, putting the ball in your court.

"One week. You get one week to prove your case, I'll make up my mind from there," you relent slightly, keeping the ball in your court so you get the final say in what happens. No more promises that are oceans deep.

two endings

[lalacliffthorne]

christmas with the modern!batboys!roommates - as headcanons 💕

because there's way too much I wanna talk about to just put it into a meek lil drabble!!! and I actually can't wait for christmas now. 🎄

merry christmas ya filthy animals 🎀

it's about halfway through November when you decide on spending your Christmas at the flat

reason is the fact that all of your three roommates will, for once, also be staying for the holidays

usually, Rhys is forced into an awkward, stilted celebration with his father that mostly consists of very tense dinners, coffees and him trying to flee to his room for as much time as possible

Azriel always visits his mother, and Cassian usually either stays at the flat or visits the orphanage he spent half of his childhood in to help with the kids

but this year, Rhys' father isn't even in the country because of some business deal

Rhys jumps at the opportunity to avoid one awful holiday and decides to not go with him and instead spend christmas at the flat

Azriel's mother is seeing someone new who invited her to spend the holidays in the mountains

Az really doesn't want to be third-wheeling, so he, too, decides to stay home

(you're a bit surprised he's so unbothered about his mother dating someone new

he is quite protective of her

but then again, Az is quicker than even Mor at stalking someone on the internet

and out of all of you, has probably the best intuition when it comes to people

which means the new guy seems to have passed all the first hurdles)

Cassian doesn't let it show too much bc he doesn't want them to feel bad about how things usual go

but you can tell he's beyond happy to have them there

Mor's also staying in town and will be over for Christmas Eve

you usually always go home for the holidays

but sometimes, it's time for new traditions, right?

"Hey, can I talk to you for a second?"

Your voice rises over the sound of the movie, and with a curious look, Rhys turns it on mute before looking your way, Cassian, lounging in one of the armchairs, craning his neck to do the same when you worm yourself out of Azriel's arms where you have been curled up for the past half an hour, barely paying any attention to the TV.

You can feel Azriel's eyes on the side of your face when you grin sheepishly.

"I - I think I'm gonna stay here as well for Christmas."

Cass crunches his brows in surprise. "What about your family, don't you go home usually?"

"Yeah." Rhys grins. "Won't you be missed?"

You huff at him.

"They might come here for a few days during the holidays, but -" You shrug and grin at them. "I don't know, I feel like I want to stay here this year." You frown in thought. "Would be weird to just leave you all here."

Cassian starts grinning toothily, and just that would have convinced you that this is definitely the right decision. But then you turn your head and find Azriel staring at you, the golden spots in his eyes seeming to twinkle in the warm light, and your heart does a flip.

Yep. Definitely worth it.

and with that and the knowledge that all of you will be spending Christmas at the flat together - you decide on going all in.

everything starts with the flat.

it's your home, your place to be after all

and it deserves to be spruced up and decked to completion

which is why it becomes first thing on your big Christmas list

because the boys usually don't spend the holidays at the flat, there aren't really any decorations in storage down in the basement

so the next Saturday, you and Rhys hit the high street and every place in town needed for the perfectly decorated flat

you get fir garlands and fairylights, together with an unholy amount of candles

in a concept store next to the café where you take a much needed break around lunchtime, you find funky glass baubles

(you make sure you take the black camera and one of the motorcycles)

in another store, you find big stars made out of thick paper for the windows, even light up ones, along with stockings and some candleholders for the big dining table in the living room

(because of course there will be a ridiculous amount of food, if the way Rhys has been buried in cookbooks for the past few days is any indication)

you even get a new set of dishware

on the market, you score some big wreaths

Rhys buys mistletoe; so much of it, you're wondering whether he wants to plaster the whole house

you get ribbons and wrapping paper, festive cookie cutters, trinkets and more candles -

then, the next morning, Rhys turns up the Christmas music, and you get to decorating

because Cassian is tallest, he is tasked with anything that involves hanging things up the second he steps through the front door

fastening garlands and fairylights to the doorways, putting up the light up stars you got for the windows and the one for your room that fits its colorscheme

and hanging up the mistletoe

you place garlands over the mantle of the fireplace, together with fairy lights and candles

the window sills get the same treatment, while outside, Rhys fights with a long string of tangled lights to wrap around the balustrade of the balcony and the bushes

for safety reasons, the stockings are hanging underneath one of the windows and not above the fireplace

(you don't want any accidents involving burning stockings)

you found some pillow cases and a cozy blanket for the couches that fit the theme, and the coffee table is decorated with more candles and a wreath with bows you tied meticulously

you even set up the big dining table in the living room, with more garlands and candles and some of the baubles, and the new dishware

(you rarely use that table because you always eat in the kitchen anyway, so it can stay like that until the holidays)

the bookcases get covered in fairylights and little trinkets, the mirror gets a stole of fir

you're hanging up the biggest of the wreaths with a big red bow at the front door of the flat when Azriel comes home

the corner of his mouth kicks up when he sees you, some glitter on your face, a black bow in your hair and beaming at him

and his eyes actually twinkle a little when he sees the decorated flat

Cassian is positively buzzing with happiness when he hangs up the final wreath in the kitchen window

Rhys has hung some fir branches over the table, with some baubles and ornaments dangling from them and candles sitting on the wooden tabletop

every room smells like pine and firewood and it makes your heart skip with happiness

Rhys smirks and drops his arm onto your shoulder

"not bad, darling. not bad at all."

and with that, the festive time between decorating and the actual holidays begin

and you plan to enjoy every second

one of the first days of December, all of you embark on the most important mission of all:

finding the perfect tree

there's a pop up outdoor place selling trees a little walk away from the flat

Rhys, extravagant as usual, wants to take the huge fir tree right at the entrance

you manage to convince him that even though your apartment does have very nice high ceilings, a tree the width of both Cassian and Azriel combined would be just a little over the top

Cassian votes for a slightly crooked specimen that's about two feet taller than him

("it's got character.")

in the end, Azriel is the one who finds the perfect one

"What about that one?"

Turning at the sound of Azriel's deep, calm voice, you slip past a bickering Rhys and Cassian, and Az looks down at you when you shiver happily and slide your cold hand into his pocket, curling yourself into his side.

It's gotten really freaking cold.

Squinting, you look up at the tree you're standing in front of. It's probably a foot taller than Cass, it's branches thick and close together and it's top just the tiniest bit crooked.

"Huh." You feel a smile slowly spreading over your face, turning your head without looking away from the tree. "Hey, dumb and dumber."

Azriel snorts softly.

"Who's who?" Cassian appears next to you, crunching his nose to suppress a sneeze as he offers you his elbow to hide your freezing hand in.

"If you gotta ask,", Rhys mumbles from Azriel's other side before dodging Cassian trying to kick his shin, his nearly violet eyes twinkling when he smirks.

Not you, you mouth up at Cass and earn yourself a wide grin and a wink.

"What about that one?" Azriel threads his fingers through yours in his pocket, nodding towards the tree in front of you.

Both Cassian and Rhys tip their heads to the side in unison.

"Hm." Rhys doesn't sound as opposed as with every other tree that has crossed your way so far.

"It's big, but not too big, it's got character -" You shrug and look back and forth between them. "I think it's perfect."

"Let's check." Cassian lets go of you, and you're about to look up at him with a confused frown when strong arms wrap around your waist and lift you off your feet.

You squeak and sway and feel a deep chuckle against your back. You look up to find yourself face to face with the tree top, then you get slid back to your feet.

"Yup." Cassian straightens and pats your head. "Perfect height."

You scowl up at him.

"I mean, it's not as perfect as the first one -" Rhys gets cut off by three people groaning and snickers.

"But it's pretty close, so -"

"Thank God,", Azriel mumbles into your hair, and you giggle.

you go home with the tree and a white amaryllis that'll hopefully be in bloom by Christmas and that you want to use as centerpiece for the dining table

Cassian carries the tree like it's not a foot taller than him and probably just as heavy

that weekend, you put it up

Rhys and you bicker about the best way to detangle the ball of fairylights

by the time you're finished and turn towards the tree, Azriel holds up one end of the neatly laid out fairylights with a deadpan look

it takes some more bickering about the perfect way of wrapping the lights around the tree until the huge fir tree is twinkling from every angle

and then little by little, you distribute all the the baubles and ornaments evenly

Cassian is responsible for the top branches and you, begrudgingly, for all the ones at the bottom

the whole slightly chaotic endeavour is accompanied by the sound of Christmas music, hot chocolate and the crackling fireplace

when you're almost finished, Cassian lifts you up, completely ignoring your soft squeak, and Rhys hands you the tree topper

the golden star goes right on the top, and then you're done

that evening, you all just sit and stare at the tree

it's magnificent and slightly chaotic

really mirrors living in the flat, you think

and with the tree up, all the festive activities can truly begin

you bake gingerbread cookies, happy to huddle up in the warm kitchen as it progressively gets colder outside

you go gift shopping with Feyre and Mor, who get along like a house on fire

when Feyre drops you off at home after and helps you carry your bags upstairs, Rhys opens the door

you're pretty sure the blush in Feyre's cheeks does not stem from the cold

even as she huffs at Rhys' blatant flirting

you get dragged out for another round of gift shopping with Cassian a few days after

it ends with the two of you buying a dutch oven for Rhys and almost forgetting it on the Christmas market when you stop for mulled wine and food on the way home

since Feyre is going home for the holidays, you have a little celebration the second weekend of December

you kick the boys out of the flat for the evening

the two of you make a whole small roast, dancing around the kitchen to Christmas music and have dinner in the living room

the tree is lit, and the first presents have found their way under it, all wrapped up more or less craftfully

you watch classic christmas movies and eat on the couch

when the boys get back later that night, the both of you are so full and happy, Feyre actually beams at Rhys in passing

you think he might faint

after saying goodbye to Feyre at the door, you turn, and he still stands in the hall, looking a little dazed

when he glares at you like a silent "not a word", you grin and tackle him in a hug

bc

he's adorable

the day after (probably in an act of revenge on Rhys' side), the both of you engage in a gingerbread house building competition in your kitchen

there's Christmas music, hot chocolate and containers and bowls with icing and dozens and dozens of different decorations spread all over the counter while you set up camp at the kitchen table

when Cass and Azriel come back from the gym and their own Christmas shopping in the late afternoon, the kitchen is absolute chaos

and Rhys and you have switched from hot chocolate to mulled wine and are slightly tipsy

both Cass and Azriel lean into the doorframe, staring at Rhys and you as you giggle and bicker, trying to kick at each other under the table

you're a little dishevelled, wearing a pair of wide pyjama pants, fuzzy socks and a loose t-shirt, your hair a mess and specks of icing all over your nose

Rhys looks equally unkempt for once, slightly flushed and violet eyes twinkling as he grins, icing on his dark t-shirt

when evening rolls around, you're completely exhausted

but both of your houses are standing

they are a bit wonky

but very pretty

complete with white icing, windows made from melted candy, roof tiles and cotton candy for smoke rising from the chimneys

Mor, who drops by that evening, acts as impartial judge and rules a tie

neither you nor Rhys really are too bothered by it

you're mostly proud they've not collapsed into heaps yet

Rhys smushes your face between his sticky hands and leaves a smacking kiss on your forehead that ends the competition before calling dibs on the first shower

and Azriel decides, when you crawl onto the couch where he's already sprawled out on the cushions and bury yourself in his chest, your body aching and feeling sticky

that even though he doesn't really care for sweets

you smelling like gingerbread and icing could make him come around to it

he doesn't say it, but when he wraps his arms around you and drags you up his body, curling around you to bury his face in your t-shirt and humming, you decide that this is definitely becoming a tradition

(even tho the next few days, Rhys and you get nauseous at just the sight of anything sweet)

the closer you get to Christmas, the more giddy you get

Azriel takes every chance he gets to crowd you under one of the many twigs of mistletoe Rhys has snuck into every possible spot in the flat and kiss you until your heart nearly gives out and your knees are jello and you can feel his lips curve against yours

to be fair, the other two don't really hold back either

Cassian has the time of his life leaving smacking kisses onto the cheeks and foreheads of whoever ends up under a sprig of mistletoe next to him

it's cause to different stages of crunched noses and huffs

from amused (Rhys) to fits of giggling (you and Mor) to grumbling (Azriel)

and Rhys likes to dramatically pretend he's about to smooch the shit out of you, sweeping you up and dipping you back and everything, causing you to break into fits of snickers and Azriel to roll his eyes

you're pretty sure to see his lips twitch tho

you go to the Christmas market a few more times

with Rhys, because he wants to sample every food that's sold there and you would never pass up a chance to eat and gossip

then with all the boys and Mor, on an icy cold evening, to look at the decorations all over the shops and drink mulled cider

it's so cold you're permantely glued to Azriel's side, your fingers laced with his in his pocket, your arm wrapped around his elbow

he lets you slide into his coat as far as possible when you're waiting for the hot beverages, his chin resting on your head when you bury your face in his chest, his lips pressing against your forehead when you peak up at him, nose pink from the cold

the way he's staring down at you makes your heart hop and swerve, and Azriel's lips twitch

then, a few days before Christmas, Mor turns up and takes you ice skating

it ends in giggles, the two of you holding onto each other and singing aloud to the Christmas music from the speakers

you get waffles and hot chocolate after and Mor drags you with her into several clothing stores because she still doesn't have an outfit for the celebrations

it's when you decide she's gonna sleep over on Christmas Eve

because the thought of her going home in the evening and then coming back on Christmas Morning is just ridiculous

and when you promise she can sleep in your bed, all by herself, Mor beams

"okay!"

(you'd be sleeping in Azriel's room anyway)

the boys don't mind

quite the opposite

Rhys actually huffs bc he didn't think of it earlier

you have Christmas movie nights, with snacks and gingerbread and hot chocolate, the tree glittering and the smell of pine making your heart skip happily

gingerbread decorating competitions

and evenings where the fire is crackling and you are curled up against Azriel on the couch, reading with his arm wrapped around your shoulder and lips absentmindedly pressing against your temple

and then the afternoon before Christmas Eve, you take advantage of having the flat all to yourself and lock yourself in your room to wrap all your presents

in the end, you're sitting on the floor, surrounded by paperscraps and bows, with sticky tape on your forehead and a small heap of presents in front of you

wrapped to the best of your abilities and carefully labelled

they go onto the growing pile of presents under the tree, and you award yourself with a bubble bath

(wrapping gifts is hard, okay?)

you got the Dutch Oven you bought for Rhys with Cassian, along with a pair of purple fuzzy socks (mostly so he stops stealing yours) and fancy pickles

the guy has weird interests

Cassian's boxing gloves have seen better days, so you and Mor got him a new pair, with his name embroidered in deep red stitching at the wrist

you also bought him a set of hair care, after he once accidentally used yours and was in awe about how soft it made his hair for a solid three days

for Mor, you found a small shop on etsy that makes custom jewellery with recycled materials

you got her a necklace with a little charm with a little deep red stone and a matching bracelet, both dainty and slim

as well as a kit for a fancy bubble bath

as for Feyre, she already got her present a few days before and now lugs it home with her

you and Mor bought her a set of fancy oil paints

you also got her two mugs

one says coffee

the other paint water

you hope it means she stops accidentally poisoning herself

as for Azriel

his gift makes your heart hop with nerves

on Christmas Eve, Mor comes over, and Rhys whips up a three course dinner

you eat in the kitchen, Mor and you occupying the couch and giggling into your wine glasses

then you move to the living room and watch Home Alone

at 11, you all suddenly feel the need to move

so you bundle up with coats and scarves and hats before piling out of the flat

outside, it's so cold, your breath rises in thick white clouds

you take a long walk around the neighbourhood, looking at the lights and decorations everywhere

some people have wrapped their outside trees and bushes in fairylights

some have hung stars that light up porches, balconies and windows

you're actually not the only ones on a walk

there are still quite a few people out, probably with the same idea as you

you walk next to Mor, your arms linked together and awing softly at the glimpses you catch at decorated living rooms and twinkling trees

Rhys and Azriel are behind you, talking quietly between themselves

and Cassian is walking a little bit ahead of you, sniffling against the cold air, ridiculously broad in his thick jacket, a hat pulled over his head and seemingly lost in thought

after a while, you let Mor fall back to the other two and catch up with him

shivering happily, you wrap your arm around his and bump your shoulder softly into his side

"you okay?"

your voice is soft, and when you look up at him, your heart does a little warm pulse

because Cassian, big, vibrant, boisterous Cassian is completely quiet and calm

he looks at the houses with the lights and the twinkling trees in the living rooms, and one corner of his lips tips up gently

"yeah."

as you're staring up at him, something's suddenly swelling in your chest, making it hard to breathe

bc for one second, the only thing you see is a very little Cassian, alone in an orphanage on Christmas

you really try not to allow the sudden pressure behind your eyes to surface

but then Cassian looks down at you and gently bumps his elbow into your side, grinning softly

"got my family."

and that pressure spills over and with it the tears as your chin wobbles and your chest aches

"duh", you press out, voice weak and trembling, and Cassian smiles, bigger and crooked

you realise what that look on his face is when he tucks you into his side and lets you bury your face in his jacket until the tears have died

complete peace.

"Hey."

The quiet, deep voice travels through you, and you shift, grumbling quietly.

There's a soft breathed smile, then warm, rough fingers brush over your cheek, and lips press against your forehead. You can feel them move when the familiar deep voice, soft and rough with sleep, vibrates through you and causes shivers to run over your spine.

"C'mon baby, wake up."

Your heart does a little skip, and the warm haze of sleep slowly slips away. You exhale slowly, then you force open your heavy eyes, and something in your chest rises in a soft flutter.

Azriel's face is only an inch away, all sharp cheekbones and soft lips and tired eyes, and something in your chest dips over at the sight of his warm amber iris dragging over your face.

"Hi,", you mumble, voice thick and raspy with sleep, and the corner of Azriel's lips tips upwards, causing your heart to rise.

With a quiet sound, you shift closer, your arms sliding over his bare shoulders as his dip and wrap around your waist, pulling you into his body until one of your legs drapes over his hip and you're completely pressed together. There's something shifting at the back of your head, keeping you from just burying your face in the warm crook of his neck and going back to sleep -

Your heart misses a beat, your eyes dart up as suddenly, a flutter builds in your chest, and Azriel's lips curve, up and up until his cheek creases.

"There it is." His voice, deep and low, husky with sleep and vibrating with a hint of amusement, sends your heart tumbling as his gaze drags over your face. Then he blinks, and something softens in his eyes, a slow twinkle growing in his iris as his gaze drags over your face. One corner of his lips curves upwards.

"Merry Christmas,", he mumbles, low, deep, and steady.

If your heart hasn't stopped before, it definitely does now, and you need a couple of seconds until it works again. Then a smile spreads over your face, slow but growing until it is ridiculously wide.

"Merry Christmas,", you whisper back, breath hitching and voice thick with sleep and something pulsing and swelling under your ribs.

The twinkle in Azriel's eyes grows; your breath hitches when he dips his head, and something tipping over in your chest when he presses his lips onto yours, warm and slow and unhurried.

He only pulls back once he coaxes a soft sound breaking from your throat. Your heart is thrumming and one corner of his lips has curved lazily as he stares at you, a few strands of hair curving over his forehead, the rest so tousled, you just can't resist burying your fingers in it as warmth spreads through your body and your hearts start fluttering as giddiness starts spreading through your chest.

Slipping your arm tighter around Azriel's neck, you pull him down to kiss him again, deeper and firmer and causing your breath to shudder and Azriel to groan softly. His hand slips under your hoodie, palm slowly roaming up your back with the softest pressure, pushing your closer.

When you pull back, breathing shakily, warmth rushing through you and gather in your cheeks, Azriel nudges his nose against yours, a soft rumble building in his chest.

"Sleeping in on Christmas morning, so rebellious,", he mumbles, and you lightly kick his shin, causing a tired smirk to spread over his face that makes your heart topple and still.

Oh.

Azriel is about to pull you back in and roll you over when suddenly, the door bursts open.

You jump, Azriel huffs and rolls his eyes, and when you crane your neck to look over your shoulder, Cassian is standing in the doorway, only wearing a pair of checkered pyjama pants, hair pulled back haphazardly and grinning wildly.

"Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals. Get your asses out here." He winks. "It's present time."

knowing that he is not going to let up, you grumble and dig yourself out of your blankets

your heart starts hopping as you pull on some pyjama pants and fuzzy socks

Cassian hugs you so tightly, you can't help but fall into a fit of giggles when he lifts you off your feet with a dramatic groan

squeezing you for a solid few seconds in which you squeeze him back with all your might, he lets you slide back to the floor and presses a kiss onto your cheek before letting you pass

Rhys and Mor are already in the living room

the giddy feeling in your chest grows when you sink into Rhys who's sitting on the back of the couch, squeezing his middle tightly and feeling him hug you to his chest, pressing a kiss onto your hair before he straightens and pats your bum

you press a sloppy kiss onto his cheek in revenge that makes his nose crinkle and a snort break from your throat

then you drop down next to Mor on the carpet

you feel like your heart is expanding to impossible sizes when she wraps you up in a ribcrushing hug and leaves kisses all over your face until you giggle

Cass and Azriel come into the living room, and Rhys hugs Azriel so tightly he huffs, but you can see the muscles in his arms straining when he hugs him back

Mor beams up at Az when sinks onto the floor behind you, squeezing her shoulder before he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your neck

and you feel like you might burst

you open your presents, with the tree glittering and the fire crackling

Rhys fangirls over his pot and the pickles

Mor gets teary eyed over the jewellery and leaves more smacking kisses all over your face

and Cassian actually looks like he might be speechless when he unpacks the boxing gloves

he wraps you and Mor up in a hug so tight, you're completely smushed together

you even get a selfie from Feyre with her mugs and a deadpan look that makes you giggle for a solid minute

it's Azriel you're really watching though, as he unwraps the last gift with his name on it

you see him still for a second before he pulls out a very old camera

you feel something twitch nervously in your chest

"I - found it at an antique store. I remember you showed me a similiar one and that you said how difficult it is to find one like it today." you grin lopsidedly. "I got it repaired, it's working again."

Azriel blinks

then he raises his head, and you're pretty sure your heart just stops

because the way he is staring at you is flaring and deep and heated and burning with something that causes your breath to stop

his throat works, and he carefully slides the camera back into its case and places it on the floor

then he reaches out and drags you over the floor until you're trapped between his legs

your heart gets stuck in your throat when his arm slides around your waist

your breath falters when his hand comes up to cradle your face

and the world stills when he pulls you forward and kisses you like it's the first and last time and there's no one else in the room but you

and he doesn't need to say it

you can feel it all in the way his breath shudders when he exhales and somehow pulls you even closer, until you're flush against his chest and your arms wind around his shoulders and he kisses you harder

only Rhys clearing his throat makes you remember you're in fact not alone

something dips over in your chest, and you can feel heat wash over you when you somehow manage to break the kiss, breathing harshly as your fingers dig into Azriel's hair

you pull back a little and look at him, just to really be sure, and your heart tightens at the way he's looking at you

kinda like you're beginning and ending and everything in between

something swells in your chest, begins rising, and you can't help it

you beam at him, your heart thrumming against your ribs, and Azriel drinks it in like he's dying of thirst

you somehow manage to turn in Azriel's arms, curling into him as you stare at your friends that bicker and laugh, and your heart swells when Azriel buries his nose in your hair and holds you like he's not planning on ever letting go

after unwrapping, you have a big, fancy breakfast in the kitchen, with waffles and pancakes and eggs and bacon

you sit curled up in one corner of the couch, with Azriel behind you, chest in your back and arm wrapped around your waist

you spend the day all together

watching Christmas movies, playing boardgames

Rhys drives you all into bankruptcy at Monopoly, twice, and you beat Cassian at trivia (again)

when it gets dark in the afternoon, Rhys disappears into the kitchen, and Mor drags the rest of you to a classical Christmas concert in a church nearby

you all sit together, Azriel and Cassian flanking you and Mor, Azriel's fingers linked with yours

when you inevitably get teary eyed towards the ending, Mor squeezes your other hand and sniffles

when you get back to the flat, you're met with scents more delicious than anything you have ever smelled before

your stomach grumbles, Cassian groans, and Rhys appears in the doorway to the kitchen and grins

"to the table, please"

to say he went all in would be too little

he supplies you with a whole seven course dinner

soups, salads, a whole freaking goose, and two kinds of dessert that make your mouth water even though you already feel like you won't be eating anything until next Christmas

the whole living room is lit

the tree is twinkling, the candles are flickering and the fireplace crackling

Cassian's rambunctious laughter mixes with Mor's ringing giggles and Rhys' deep laughs, and Azriel sits next to you and grins, his arm draped over the back of your chair that he has pulled so close you can feel the side of his body pressing against yours

and you think that maybe, making new traditions was the best idea you ever had

it's really only topped by your decision to move into this flat.

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secret-ly-here @knmendiola @luvmoo @azriels-mate2 @bookishbroadwaybish @maybe-a-winchester @stayinglow-exploringworlds @harrystylesfan2686 @icey--stars @ssmay123 @ailyr92