#like no i don't hate my birthday i hate the way my family celebrates it

[lavender---sunshine]

Ah

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 25: Birthday Surprise

Rating: Mature Audiences

Warning: fluff, spicy, wlw smut, birthday sex, Paige being a munch, !top paige, !bottom reader, oral (fem reseving), fingering (fem reseving),

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: good... great.... Amazing

Welcome to the chapter 25 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

Reader's POV

Birthdays were always a big deal in my family, which made being so far from home this year feel especially hard. For the past two years at UConn, I’d made the trip back to Georgia to celebrate with my mom, dad, and granny. But with classes, work, and filming for the team, there was no way I could manage the trip this time.

Paige had been trying to cheer me up all week, but even her usual antics—like balancing a basketball on her head or dramatically serenading me with off-key versions of random love songs—weren’t doing the trick.

"Don't pout, kid," Paige said, sliding her arms around my waist as I stood at the kitchen counter in her dorm. "We'll make it special here. I promise."

I smiled weakly and nodded. Paige always tried her best to make me happy, and I loved her for it. Still, I couldn’t help missing home.

Paige's POV

I hated seeing Y/N sad, especially on her birthday. That’s why, as soon as she mentioned not being able to go home, I started plotting with the team. With Coach Geno's blessing, we’d arranged for her parents and granny to fly up to Connecticut. But the real trick was keeping it all a secret.

The morning of her birthday, I got up early to decorate my dorm. She practically lived here now, but Y/N was here even more than I was, and I wanted her to feel like this was her space, too.

I hung up strings of fairy lights, scattered balloons and flowers everywhere, and set out a cake on the desk. The highlight was a photo collage I’d made of our favorite moments together—from her first game filming for the team to random late-night study sessions.

When she walked in, still rubbing sleep from her eyes, her jaw dropped.

“Paige…” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“Happy birthday, baby,” I said, pulling her into a hug.

She clung to me for a moment before pulling back to take it all in.

“This is…wow,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to. You deserve it,” I said, kissing her forehead.

Reader's POV

I thought Paige's dorm setup was the extent of my birthday surprises, but I was wrong.

The game against Oregon state started like any other home game. I was courtside, filming warm-ups and getting close-ups of the team’s determined faces. Paige caught my eye from across the court, flashing me a wink before sinking a perfect three-pointer.

As halftime approached, I packed up my camera to grab some water. But before I could step away, Kk ran up to me, grinning.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she said, practically bouncing on her heels.

“Why?” I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

“Just trust me.”

A few minutes later, the arena lights dimmed, and the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please join us in wishing a very special happy birthday to one of our own—Y/N!”

Spotlights swung toward me, and the crowd erupted in cheers. I froze, my face burning, as the team gathered around me, pulling me toward center court.

“Wait, what is this?” I asked, looking at Paige, who was trying (and failing) to hide her smirk.

She nodded toward the tunnel entrance, where I saw three familiar figures emerging. My heart stopped.

“Mom? Dad? Granny?” I whispered, tears springing to my eyes.

They were here. They were actually here.

I ran toward them, throwing myself into my mom’s arms. She laughed, holding me tightly.

“Happy birthday, baby girl,” she said, her voice warm and familiar.

“How did you…?” I looked over my shoulder at Paige, who shrugged innocently.

“Had a little help,” she said, grinning.

Paige's POV

Watching Y/N light up as her family surprised her was worth all the sneaking around and late-night planning. The crowd cheered as they hugged her, and I felt a swell of pride knowing we’d pulled it off.

After halftime, Y/N’s family joined us in the stands, and she stayed close to them for the rest of the game, though her eyes kept finding mine across the court.

When the buzzer sounded, signaling our win, the team swarmed Y/N again, chanting “Happy Birthday” as loudly and obnoxiously as possible.

Reader's POV

Back at Paige’s dorm that evening, we sat around eating cake with my family, laughing and reminiscing. Granny was telling Paige an embarrassing story from my childhood, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

Later, after my parents and granny went back to their hotel, Paige and I curled up on her bed, the glow of the fairy lights casting soft shadows on the walls.

“Did you have a good birthday?” she asked, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“The best,” I said, leaning into her touch.

“Good,” she said, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You deserve it. No let me make it great.”

Sitting up I lift my hoodie off her to reveal she only had my hoodie no shirt under, a smirk grow on my face as my hand slides into her shorts, I rub my hand over her soaked panty clothed pussy. “Your body's doin this all f'me, mamas.” I smirk at the friction of her thighs squeezing my hand.“Nghh,” she whimper. “Look at you, I haven’t even stuffed you full of my fingers yet and you’re just falling apart, f'me.” I whisper into her ear before leaving more hickeys on her collarbone.

Now hovering over her I gently reach for the band of her shorts and panties pulling then down, in a swift motion. I git lower for her pussy letting a string of spit fall onto her pussy as I start rubbing her clit painfully slow. She opens her mouth to respond but all that comes out of it are soft moans and whimpers,  shaking her head. “Use your words mamas, what do you want, hmm.” I tease, fingers dancing around her clenching hole.

The room fills with her cries and moans. “Shh, shh you hear her talking back to me princess?” I say using my thumb to rub slow circles on her clit.“P-please Paige need your fing-” she moan as I bury my fingers into her sopping pussy, makong her breath hitch.

My fingers curl upwards and her eyes roll back, “Found it.”

I say as I speed up, rubbing circles into her pulsing clit, my fingers feeling her tethering closer and closer to the edge.

Her head lolls back into the pillow “M'Pagie, fuck, P.” My fingers continue rubbing the spongey spot “Look at me, birthday girl” I slow my pace a little, “Ma,look at me.” I  order, she looked at me, her eyes glossed over indicating that she was close.

She squirm and whine at the feeling of my fingers inside her dripping pussy speed up. Her mouth opens into an o shape at the filthy squelches that were filling up the room.“Paige, P.” she whimper helplessly. “I know baby, I can feel you squeezing my fingers, make a mess on my fingers mamas,” I says leaning into her biting, sucking at her neck, my cold silver chain dangling and grazing her hot sticky skin. Speeding my pace as I look at her holding eye contact, but before she warn me, she's cumming all over my fingers the white of her eyes the only thing visible.

She grip my arm for support as her legs become shaky. “I- mmm” her orgasm soon passes and I crawl off the bed to my knees, spreading her legs wider.

Gently I blow on her sensitive puffy clit, just before I'm slurping up her release moaning and groaning, holding her hips as she wiggling around from how sensitive she was now. “Mmm, baby you gotta be still m’tryna eat.” she gasp, gripping my hair as I'm practically french kissing her pussy.“So sensitive, f'me ma.” she whimper as she tugged harder on my hair. “I know baby but you can give me one more right?” I  says pulling away looking up at her.

My mouth glistening with her wetness as its dripping down my chin, I give her lower lips a kiss “Can’t you, ma?” I says before biting and sucking at her inner thighs.

Her hands are pulling me closer and I took that as his sign to continue.

Devouring her, my grip around her thighs tighten as I submerge his face into her pussy deepee, my nose ever so slightly grazing against her swollen clit.“Oh my god,” her moans grow louder as her orgasm gets closer, my hand reaches and presses down on her lower stomach.

She let's out a strangled cry out as a clear liquid shoots out of her pussy, her body convulsing as I look at her in shock. “Fuck, mamas."

Reader's pov

I was still catching my breath, my chest rising and falling as I stared at the ceiling of Paige’s bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the faint glow from the string lights casting soft shadows on the walls. Beside me, Paige was propped up on her elbow, her fingers tracing random patterns along my arm.

“You okay, baby?” she asked, her voice soft and teasing.

I nodded quickly, my cheeks heating up. “Yeah… I’m fine.”

“Fine?” she repeated, her tone dripping with amusement. “You sure? Because you’re acting all shy again.”

I groaned, burying my face into the pillow. “Stop it, Paige.”

She laughed, leaning down to kiss the top of my head. “What? It’s cute. You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute,” I mumbled, my voice muffled by the pillow.

“Hmm,” Paige hummed, pretending to think. “I don’t know. You were looking pretty cute about ten minutes ago.”

“Paige!” I whined, turning to glare at her, though the blush on my cheeks betrayed any attempt at seriousness.

“What?” she said innocently, her smile growing. “It’s your birthday, princess. I’m just giving you all the compliments you deserve.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, but I couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto my lips.

“And you’re perfect,” she shot back, leaning in to press a kiss to my cheek.

I tried to roll away from her, but Paige was quicker, her arms wrapping around my waist to pull me back toward her.

“Nope, you’re not getting away that easily,” she said, her voice playful.

“Paige, let me go!” I protested, though my laughter betrayed me.

“Not a chance, ma,” she said, her lips brushing against my ear. “You’re stuck with me.”

A little while later, Paige got up from the bed, pulling on her hoodie as she walked toward the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” I asked, propping myself up on my elbow to watch her.

She glanced back at me with a smirk. “Running you a bath. You deserve it, birthday girl.”

My heart swelled at the gesture, and I sat up, wrapping the blanket around myself. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” she said simply, disappearing into the bathroom.

I heard the sound of water running and the faint clinking of bottles as she prepared the bath. A few minutes later, she reappeared, leaning against the doorframe with a satisfied look.

“Your bath is ready, princess,” she said, holding out her hand.

I took it, letting her guide me into the bathroom. The tub was filled with warm water, bubbles spilling over the edges. A few candles were lit on the counter, their soft glow making the room feel cozy and intimate.

“Paige, this is amazing,” I said, turning to look at her.

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Only the best for my girl.”

I leaned up to kiss her, my lips lingering on hers. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” she murmured against my lips.

I stepped into the tub, sinking into the warm water with a content sigh. Paige knelt beside the tub, her chin resting on the edge as she watched me.

“You’re not joining me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She chuckled. “You want me to?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation, giving her a pointed look.

Paige stood up, pulling off her hoodie and stepping out of her shorts. “Alright, scoot up, baby.”

I moved forward to make room for her, and she climbed in behind me, her arms wrapping around my waist as I leaned back against her.

“This is nice,” I said softly, closing my eyes as the warmth of the water and Paige’s presence enveloped me.

“Yeah, it is,” she agreed, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “Happy birthday, ma.”

We stayed like that for what felt like hours, the bubbles slowly disappearing and the water cooling. Paige’s hands moved lazily over my arms, her touch soothing and gentle.

“Do you ever think about the future?” I asked suddenly, my voice barely above a whisper.

“All the time,” Paige said without hesitation. “Especially with you.”

I turned my head slightly to look at her. “What do you mean?”

She smiled, her blue eyes meeting mine. “I mean I think about us. Where we’ll be in a few years, what kind of life we’ll have together. I want it all with you, baby.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I felt my cheeks heat up again. “You’re too good to me, Paige.”

“You deserve it, plus you're good to me too” she said simply, leaning in to kiss my temple.

The room fell into a comfortable silence again, the only sounds being the faint dripping of water and our steady breathing.

Eventually, the water grew too cold, and Paige nudged me gently. “Come on, princess. Let’s get out before you turn into an ice cube.”

I nodded, letting her help me out of the tub. She wrapped a towel around me, drying me off with care before doing the same for herself.

Back in the bedroom, Paige handed me one of her oversized shirts to wear, and I climbed into bed, feeling warm and content.

She joined me a moment later, pulling me close and tucking the blanket around us.

“Best birthday ever,” I murmured, my head resting on her chest.

Paige chuckled, her fingers running through my hair. “Glad I could make it special, baby. You deserve the world.”

And as I drifted off to sleep in her arms, I couldn’t help but think that maybe I already had it.

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       -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 , @0phantom0 , @starlighttsv , @authentic-girl03 , @sevyscoven .... (more to be added)

[thought--bubble]

When he Breaks

Modern Aemond X (ex GF) reader

Word Count: 3,098

Note* This was written for @targaryen-dynasty's 3K celebration! (Congratulations my love you deserve it all!)

Modern Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Dividers and banners by @arcielee

Warnings:Toxic relationship dynamics, alcohol use, swearing, smut (fingering female receiving)

Four months should have been enough time. Should have been enough time to completely move on from the two-year whirlwind that was your relationship with the ever-elusive Aemond Targaryen.

Your relationship with Aemond Targaryen was difficult to put it mildly. You had tried. Really tried to make it work, but like with most things, there comes a time when things have simply run their course.

Aemond could be sweet, yet mostly, he was cold, closed off, and angry.

Aemond does not simply feel angry. He embodies anger. With each step he takes, he carries it around with him, like a festering wound he refuses to treat lest he forget the injustices he has suffered.

The smallest things could set him off, a harmless joke from his brother or his nephew simply breathing the same air.

the issue between him and his nephew, Luke, was simple enough to understand. You always thought it so tragic how an unfortunate childhood accident could tear a family apart at the seams. The accident had left Aemond blind in one eye, and as far as Aemond saw it, no one had ever paid for it. No one ever suffered for it, no one but Aemond that is.

His hate and anger ruled his life. It seeped into every facet of his being. Even being his girlfriend was not a shield from his rage.

This anger would come to a head when he ruined his father's birthday celebration, potentially the last one his sick ailing father would have. When he stood up and gave a toast insulting his nephews and calling his sister a whore, albeit using a roundabout way to say it. The ensuing physical altercation between Aemond and his other nephew, Jace, had been the final straw for you. No more would you live with this angry man. This powder keg that is just waiting to explode, this dragon grinding his jaw and salivating at any chance to tear apart those he saw as his enemies.

So, when you showed up for Helaena's birthday, a house party, Aegon is throwing. You were concerned about seeing Aemond for the first time since your split. You were over him. At least that's what you told yourself, and you believed it.

Until you walked in to see him, sitting on the sofa, cigarette in hand, smile on his face, and an arm around Floris' shoulders.

Floris Baratheon, a sweet little thing. Not a cruel bone in her body. The absolute visceral response you had to the scene was unexpected, yet you made sure to control your facial expression. You could not let him see you vulnerable or weak.

Yes, you were done with Aemond. You no longer wanted Aemond, but you did not approve of him to move on. To have someone else.

As you watch him sitting with Floris from across the crowded room of Aegon's flat, you feel your anger bubbling up. Four months, and he was already flirting about with a simpleton like Floris Baratheon? Had you meant so little to him?

You jump slightly as Helaena sneaks up next to you as you lean against the breakfast bar, drink in hand.

Helaena has always had this uncanny ability to seemingly pop up out of nowhere, with words of wisdom or nonsense. It truly was luck of the draw.

"There is no need to fight for what you don't want, just because someone else may want it." She muses thoughtfully.

"I'm not fighting for anything," you snap back. "She wants to deal with all of that. She's welcome to him."

"Hmmm," the light hum of Helaena's voice, usually a soothing sound, grates on your nerves.

"The two of you are more alike than either of you realize."

Your head instantly whips to the side, your eyes narrowed. "We are nothing alike," you hiss through gritted teeth.

Helaena simply hums in response before grabbing herself a wine cooler off the counter. "I hope you find some way to enjoy the evening."

"Hey," you call out behind her as she starts to walk away.

She turns and looks at you, with nothing but softness in her lavender eyes.

"Happy Birthday" You give her a weak smile.

"It will be entertaining, at least," she says dreamily before gliding off to welcome more of her friends who had just arrived.

With Helaena's final words lingering in your head, you knock back the drink in your hand and place the empty cup back on the counter.

Revenge is Aemond's favorite pastime. An obsession you have berated him for time and time again, yet here you stand, watching his faux gentleness that he seems intent on displaying for the fawn of a girl that sits beside him and all you can feel is the hunger inside you, willing you to take a bite out of him, sating that need for revenge of your own.

Aemond looks over at you briefly before his eye flickers back to Floris, carrying on their quiet conversation, which, from what you could gather, looked more like Floris speaking incessantly and Aemond, with his false patience, listening intently, or at least pretending to.

"What are ya drinking ya tart!" Aegon slurs as he leans over the counter, mixing himself another drink.

"Had a whiskey, looking for something else, though." You let your words trail off as your eyes search the countertop.

When you finally find the bowl of cherries, you turn to Aegon and bat your lashes. "Make me a tart cherry? You were always the best at making them. " You offer him a sweet smile as you lean over the counter. The short black dress you have on hardly concealing your rear.

"Ahh! A tart for a tart!" Aegon chuckles as he starts to make the drink, spilling liqueur all about the countertop.

You roll your eyes, careful not to let Aegon see. He's an idiot, but tonight, you will make him a useful idiot because leading Aegon is as simple as being kind for a fleeting moment.

"I may just be a tart tonight," you chuckle suggestively, taking the drink from Aegon's hand, slowly sipping at the contents. You can question a lot of things about Aegon. Pretty much everything about Aegon. But not his ability to make a strong drink.

"Let's sit. Catch up. We haven't spoken in quite some time. " You take Aegon by the hand and drag him to the sofa situated directly across from Aemond and Floris before Aegon has any chance to object.

"Right! OK then!" Aegon plops down on the sofa, his drink sloshing over the sides of his cup.

You slowly lower yourself down beside him, careful to make sure your dress rides up your thigh just enough so that the thickest part of your thigh is exposed to both Aegon and Aemond's lecherous glares.

"So Aegon," you place your hand on his thigh, gently running your hand up and down in a soothing motion. "How have you been?"

Aegon doesn't even respond before you feel the burn of Aemond's steely eye burrowing into the side of your face.

Aegon looks down at your hand on his thigh briefly before a lazy smile spreads across his face. "Good, grand actually," he answers as he scoots closer to you.

This is going to be easier than you thought. You could always count on Aegon and his never-quenched thirst for physical affection.

When Aegon lowers his voice to a seductive growl as he explains what he has been up to since the last time you spoke, you tune him out.

Your main concern was your body movements, now that you know Aemond's eye is on you. He is a complex man yet, still just a man.

You cross one leg over the other, your short dress riding up just a tad bit higher. You work hard to conceal the grin that fights to spread across your face as you can hear Aemond across from you uncomfortably shifting in his seat.

"Hmmm," you feign interest as Aegon goes on about passing all of his classes at uni this semester. Something he is most proud of given the unlikelihood of such a feat.

You pluck one of the cherries floating around your drink and slide it slowly past your lips and suck on it. You have yet to spare Aemond a single glance but are fully aware that his eye hasn't left you since you sat down.

"You ummm really like that cherry?" Aegon asks with a mixture of amusement and lust.

"I do," you answer, your voice soft and slow.

"Are you gonna ummm... eat it? Or just uhhh suck on it?" Aegon shifts even closer with this question, leaving almost no space between you.

"It's so sweet.... and a bit tart.... I want to enjoy it fully before I toss it away" You pull the cherry part way from your mouth, circling the small fruit with your tongue before biting through it with your front teeth, the juices dripping down your lip to your chin.

"Fuuuuck," Aegon whispers, his eyes trained on the trail of cherry juice as it reaches your chin.

"Whoops" You collect the juice around your mouth with your fingertip before popping it in your mouth and sucking the juice off.

You can hear Floris babbling about something and find joy in the fact that Aemond has seemed to have stopped responding to her.

Aegon brings his hand to your thigh, squeezing at the flesh there.

"Wanna go outside? Smoke a fag? Just... you and me?"

You go to respond but are cut off by Aemond, who is suddenly choking on his drink loudly.

You finally look over at him, his purple eye a ring of fire. There's all that rage, all that anger, what had driven you away seemed so pretty now.

"Are you alright?" You ask with a tone that's smooth like butter.

Aegon laughs loudly. "Seems my brother has chosen a drink that is too strong for him. This is something he does often. Here Aemond, give me your drink. " Aegon holds his hand out to Aemond. "I will drink it; I am typically able to handle the things thar are too tough for you." Aegon's eyes flit to you on his last word, and you smile at him.

"Is that so? That's a good thing to know." You stand up slowly, placing your nearly empty cup down on the coffee table. "I'm going to run to the rest room and then I'll meet you outside for that fag."

"Smashing" Aegon rises from his seat as you turn your back and walk off toward the restroom, each step calculated to make sure you sway your hips just the way you know Aemond likes it.

When you're done in the bathroom, you open the door to make your way outside, but instead of the empty hallway you expected, Aemond is leaning in the doorway. His shoulder pressed against the wood frame, his blonde bangs covering his bad eye.

"Having a laugh, are ya?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

"A laugh?" You feign complete ignorance. "Sure, I've had a laugh or two. It's been a lovely evening. " You flash him a sweet smile and then move to the side, attempting to walk around him.

"A lovely evening?" He places his hand on your chest, pushing you backward into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

"A lovely evening of flirting with my whore of a brother?" His voice is calm, not at all in sync with the tension of his shoulders as he towers over you.

"Well, that is an unkind thing to say. I was merely catching up with a friend." You push his arm from your chest, a movement with which he does not fight. "Who is currently waiting on me outside, so if you don't mind ..."

You again move to walk around him.

"I do, in fact, mind. Do you think this is a game? To tease me all night while using my idiot brother as a pawn?" He snarls, bringing his hands to your waist, his digits clenching around you.

"I have not teased you," you smirk at him. "If you would like me to tease you.  ..." You stand on your tippy toes, bringing your lips to the shell of his ear. "I can certainly do that."

You watch with fascination as his skin prickles and his grip around your waist tightens. "Do not"

You smile knowing you have him now, that cold stoic man that is Aemond Targaryen is putty in your hands, and it hardly took any work at all.

You bring your lips to the softness of his neck, just close enough so that your warm breath skates across his skin. "Do not? Oh, Aemond, you sound so serious when you say it like that."

His breath hitches as you chuckle, your hands sliding under his shirt, your fingertips dancing across his toned stomach.

"You're playing a dangerous game, love," he hisses, his grip on your sides growing tighter, creating a pleasant ache.

"My favorite type of game." You run the tip of your nose up the side of his neck while your hands find purchase on the buttons of his expensive button-down shirt.

"Did I make you angry, my darling?" You ask, a teasing lilt to your tone as you slowly pop out button after button.

A sound comes from his chest, a sound somewhere between a growl and a chuckle, a sound that is completely Aemond. "And why should I be angry? Hmm?"

As you pop out the final button on his shirt, his hand slides into the base of your hair, gripping tight and pulling your head back. "A whore will do as a whore will do, there is nothing to be gained by being angry about it."

"A whore? Is that how you think of me now? A few simple months is all it took for your blood to turn to bile in my presence as well?"

You don't fight his grip. In fact, you crave it. He pushes you up against the sink vanity, lifting you up by your thigh, his other hand never leaving your hair.

"You left me, you betrayed me, like they all do," he nips along your jawline while grinding his hardness up against your heat.

"I left. I did not betray" you argue between pants. The friction of Aemond's movements against your heat, building a pressure in your lower stomach, a fire that gets slightly bigger with each rut.

"Same thing," he reaches under your dress, running his fingers over the damp cloth that is the only thing keeping his fingers from your heated flesh. "You don't want me, but you melt in my hands, like a dirty little whore."

A smile crosses your face, and you close your eyes as he slips his fingers underneath the flimsy cloth of your thong. Circling your nub with quick aggressive strokes.

"So quiet now? Where is that girl I know with the big mouth, hmm?"

You moan loudly as he slips two fingers into your slick entrance.

"Ahhh, there she is," Aemond begins rutting his fingers into you at a quick and brutal pace.

You try to lower your head back down. The need to feel his lips on yours feels like a burning ache.

"Oh no. You don't get to kiss me. No." He brings his thumb to your engorged clit while his fingers continue their relentless pace.

"Whores don't kiss me. They cum on my fingers, when I say so." He growls as he nibbles down the side of your throat, his hand not slowing its pace.

The heat that has been building in your stomach becomes all consuming, your legs involuntarily stretch further apart, and your mouth hangs open wide. "Aemond, Aemond," you pant, each stroke of his fingers bringing you closer and closer to that blissful edge.

"Begging for me again, what a beautiful sound. Cum for me little slut. Cum for me now." He nips on your ear and pushes his thumb down on your clit while continuing to rub his small, rough circles.

Your eyes remain on the bathroom ceiling as the mix of pleasure, heat, and even a little pain continue to rise rapidly with each of Aemond's movements.

"That's fuck... that's it" you dig your fingernails into the skin of his back as you are hit with an overwhelming wave of pleasure, numbness temporarily traveling from your toes and up your legs as if the only feeling your body was capable of registering at this time was this feeling.

He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean, his one eye watching you intently as you finish riding out your high.

Without a word, he begins to button his shirt back up.

"So that's it then?" You ask frustrated at his cool and cold demeanor.

"Well, Floris is back on the sofa waiting for me and Aegon is waiting on you for that fag which...." he looks you up and down, a smug smile creeping onto his face " I assume you really do need now...."

The feeling of pleasure that had been swirling around your body is instantly replaced with a red-hot rage. "So, you return to Floris, and I return to Aegon?" You hop down from the vanity hastily fixing your clothes and patting down your hair.

You push past him, wrenching the bathroom door open to see Aegon in the hallway.

"Oh, sod off!" Aegon huffs in annoyance. "I knew you were using me to make him jealous. I just hoped he wouldn't go all Aemond on you before I actually got something out of it." He starts to stumble back down the hallway.

"Aegon, wait!" You begin to chase after him when Aemond grips your shoulder.

"Looks like your plans have fallen through."

You quickly shift out of his grasp. "Easy enough to make new plans."

"Go outside. Have your fag and I'll be there in 10 minutes" he says calmly walking past you back toward the living room.

"What?" You call out to his retreating form.

"I have to at least let Floris know I'm leaving. It's the polite thing to do after all."

"Leaving?" You ask incredulously.

Aemond sighs, turning back to look at you. "Yes, leaving. There is a heavier punishment you must suffer for your betrayal.... and I can't very well inflict that upon you in a fucking bathroom."

He turns away from you again, walking quickly. "Ten minutes, love. Give me ten minutes"

To be added to taglist click here

[french-goodbye]

please never fall in love again

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: dating steve harrington is hard, especially when girls keep hitting on him.

notes: i wrote this a while ago but eventually forgot about it in the midst of all my wips lol. title from the song please never fall in love again by ollie mn.

you stare at the back of your boyfriend's head with narrowed eyes and your chin resting on your hands, an anger you know you shouldn't be feeling boiling beneath the surface of your skin. he, of course is none the wiser, as he is to most things, just chatting with eddie completely carefree by the bar.

you love steve harrigton, you really do. you think you fell in love with him on your first date and never really fell out of it. you've already planned your whole life with him, from getting married and having kids to growing old with him and sitting side by side on a wrap around porch. he's sweet, kind, he's great with kids and it doesn't hurt that he's easy on the eyes and great in bed.

his biggest flaw, however, is not exactly his fault. the worst thing about dating steve harrigton is the amount of women who hit on him on a daily basis. whether it's old ladies at the grocery store telling him he looks like their dead husbands or bored soccer moms looking for a little thrill or, the worst of all, the girls your age who slip him their phone number in old receipts over the counter at family video. these women are always there, like blood sniffing sharks, somehow finding a way to make a suggestive comment or a flirty joke.

most of the time, it doesn't really bother you even when it does happen in front of you. steve's the kind of guy who'd never cheat on you, simply because of who he is and how obsessed with you he is. sometimes, however, they can get a little too close and personal and you can't help but wish steve was a little less attractive. just a little.

and it's not that you don't trust him either, he's always quick and firm to shut them down when it happens. it's that they're the ones you don't trust, the girls with big permed blonde hair and fake tans and bright pink lipstick who look at you disdainfully when they realize you're together because they can barely take their eyes off of him for long enough to notice you're standing right next to him.

you're out at a bar celebrating jonathan's birthday when it happens this time, steve and eddie having offered to get everyone another round, the two of them leaning against the bar talking while they wait when a girl from the booth in the corner approaches them. she's clearly a little bit more than tipsy and obviously focused on steve as she talks to them, avidly taking him in and resting her hand on his forearm. he doesn't even blink, just smoothly leans away from her and tells her something that makes her leave as fast as she arrived.

you can barely hear nancy as she complains about her male coworkers on her summer job, as you heatedly stare at his stupidly nice hair and broad shoulders as your boyfriend laughs at something eddie said, hand scratching his neck. you're still watching him with scrunched eyebrows and a sour expression when you feel robin poking your cheek, making you look at her and gently slap her hand away.

"why are you poking me?"

"why are you staring at steve like he kicked your puppy?" she asks, frowning, looking back and forth between the two of you like a tennis match.

"i'm not" she gives you a flat look with raised brows. "fine," you huff. "why do women always hit on him? we can't take him anywhere"

"no idea, you tell me"

"urgh" you groan, throwing your arms around her and resting your head on her shoulder. "god, i hate men"

"amen sister" you hang onto her for a second as she takes a noisy sip of her empty drink through her straw and taps your back sympathetically a few times before gently pushing you away as steve and eddie walk back to your table, drinks in hands and still chatting distractedly.

she softly claps her hands, enthusiastically and telling you a quiet "yay" as she turns back to nancy and jonathan, as the two argue wether or not their coworkers are sexist (they totally are).

you're still laughing at robin's drunken antics when steve comes to your side again and sets your new drink on the table in front of you, resting his hand on your lower back. you let him but when he leans over you to press a kiss to your hair, you promptly dodge away from him and out of his reach. from the corner of your eye, you can see how he frowns at that and silently watches you for a second as you pretend to listen to what nancy says.

his hand on your lower back climbs all the way up to the back of your neck so he turn your head his away, forcing you to look at his big brown eyes staring at you like you just kicked his puppy and you almost feel guilty. almost.

"what's wrong?" he asks.

you shrug, "nothing's wrong."

"are you mad at me or something?"

"no" you slowly shake your head in negative, shrugging.

"gimme a kiss then" he rests one of his hands on your face tilting your head his way while the other on your neck guides your face to his. you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek and look away, accidentally making eye contact with the girl who just hit on him. she's watching the two of you, quickly looking away when she notices she was caught staring.

"you saw that, huh" he tells you, hands settling on your waist instead so he can look at you.

"hard not to" you huff, picking invisible lint from your pants.

"then you know nothing happened"

"of course i know that, i trust you" you complain as you roll your eyes and gesticulate to show your frustration "but i-it just makes so insanely angry when they touch you like that, like they have any right to-" you stop your ranting mid sentence when you realize the look on his face. "what? why are you looking at me like that?"

"nothing" he clears his throat and looks down to uselessly smooth non existing wrinkles on your top. you watch him though narrowed eyes and gasp when it hits you, making him look at you again. "what?"

"you like it when i'm jealous" you accuse, lightly poking his chest.

"no, i don't"

"yes, you do. i can't believe i never noticed it before" you huff an incredulous laugh, remembering all the times girls hit on him in front of you and he said nothing but affirmations of how much he's in love with you and how he could never want somebody else, acting more attentive and affectionate than usual later, pressing you against his body and kissing kissing kissing you until he was the only thing on your mind.

"okay, it's not what you're thinking" he replies running a hand through his hair nervously.

"what am i thinking, harrington?" you ask, lifting one eyebrow as a smirk makes it's way to your lips.

"it's not an ego thing" you laugh softly at him, letting your fingers run soothingly through the hair at the nape of his neck, finally giving into the temptation to get your hands on him. "it's just- i like knowing how much you want me just for yourself, how much you care about me."

you stare at him for a moment, taking in his sincere brown eyes and his fluffy hair, feeling impossibly endeared by the boy in front of you. he fidgets under your stare, so you smooth your hands down his shoulders, feeling the muscles underneath his shirt.

"well, i do care... a lot" you tell him, pretending to be coy and batting your eyelashes at him. "but it's not like i blame her"

"what?" he looks at you blankly, confused.

"i mean, look at you" you pull him closer and then closer still, still smirking. "those nice brown eyes, the pretty hair, those shoulders... nevermind how much of a charmer you are. damn harrington, no wonder women keep throwing themselves at you."

"babe" he groans embarrassedly, "they're not throwing themselves-" he dramatically drops his forehead on your shoulder making you laugh at his discomfort, letting brown strands of hair slip through your fingers as you comfortingly pet his hair and he squeezes your waist in reprimand.

"it's true!"

he pulls you closer by the grip he has on your waist and burrows his face in the crook of your neck in lieu of an answer. you let him have it even though you would like to see his face and the way his blush is probably spreading from his cheek to his neck and rest your chin into his shoulder as you hug him.

"but one of these days i'll have to step in and defend your honor"

"please don't" he pulls away and cups your neck, thumbs brushing your cheek and staring at you disapprovingly, his eyelashes touching at the corners, the hint of a smile still on his face.

"i don't know, maybe i'll have to challenge them to a duel to the death" you disagree and look at him from under your eyelashes. he gives you an affectionate look that'd make you nauseous were it not directed at you and presses a long lingering kiss to your lips.

"shut up" he whispers against your lips. you gladly do, at least until eddie and robin start throwing balled up paper napkins at your head. it's worth it though.

[mikkomacko]

Him and I- Mobiversary

Happy 1 year of Mob Boss Nico! Thank you all so much for blowing up this fic and following my blog and sharing and hearting and sending me so many sweet messages and requests. You have no idea what it means to me! I wrote Him and I with no intentions of it ever becoming multiple parts let alone a soon to be triple fic. I can't wait to finish this time period of Mob Nico and reader, and get started on the next! I hope y'all love their little family as much as you've loved this fic.

Enjoy! x

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Nico remembers picking out this table with you, making sure it was just big enough to fit the dozens of men and their families whenever needed. You talked about hosting holidays and birthdays, Sunday brunches and summer barbeques, elegant celebrations of contracts and milestones, and casual dinner's just because.

He liked the idea, liked your vision, but at the end of the day all he needed at the table was you. He was never concerned with what boys would sit where and how many platters can one possibly line up down the middle of it. All he worried about was having you there, at the head of the table with him. The others would follow, he was sure of it.

You may not have realized it, not then and probably not even now, but you'd become the center of the Devils.

It's exactly how you pictured it. The clattering of dishes, silverware scraping platters, and drink glasses clinking together fills the room, loud but nothing compared to the noise of laughter.

You’re sat on Nico's lap, having sacrificed your chair to squish Alex in up by the head of the table. It was without question or doubt, you ushering your favorite boy into the chair you always sat at, and then smiling at Nico expectantly. He didn't care when instead of serving your own plate you picked off of his, left arm around his neck and legs tangled with his.

This was what he wanted when picking out the table. You at the head of it with him, even if it meant you splayed across his lap in front of everyone.

He feels a little clingy with the way he keeps grabbing at you, splitting his attention between listening to Timo chatter beside him and making sure you're having a good time. Filtering in and out of conversation with the younger boys beside you, but mostly just watching Jack and Luke with amusement.

He always catches you watching them, admiring them in a sort of longing way. You don't have any siblings and the dynamic between the two bothers always seem to leave you in awe. They are entertaining too. Nico will easily agree with that one. Him and Jack have a love-hate banter, but he's really protective over the boy, and over Luke.

From the day he arrived in Jersey, Jack was advocating for his little brother, begging Nico to take him in even though Luke was still a minor. Nico felt for him, but there was a process to follow, and Luke turning 18 was the first part of it. Now that they're here together though, he never separates them and is always really watchful over them.

And so are you. Almost like they're your siblings, like you're one of them.

"Ok I know you're not listening to me anymore," Timo says in Swiss German, kicking at Nico's leg. Nico looks to him, apologetic but how can anyone blame him? They certainly can't when you’re all warm and bubbly, fuzzy from the couple glasses of champagne, smiling like this is your favorite place in the world.

"I am," Nico lies, "I just got distracted."

Timo doesn't even pretend to buy it, raising an unamused eyebrow and nodding towards where Nico's hand has dug into the exposed meat of your thigh.

"Lower that hand and focus Hischier!" He instructs, not at all authoritative with the smile that takes over his face. "I know my girl looks good but come on."

Nico scoffs, "your girl? Don't piss me off T."

It's all in good fun, Nico hiding his simpering behind his beer. You place your hand over Nico’s, soft to the touch and he flips his palm over for you. Without missing a beat you slip your fingers between his calloused ones, and Nico's stomach erupts with flutters.

"I trained those thighs," Timo defends, teasingly. "You should be thanking me every time you pet at her."

"She was hot way before you came along," Nico says, rolling his eyes and his friend laughs. Timo always gets a kick out of Nico talking about you, loving you. Like he's had this inside joke about it waiting in his brain for so long it's turned into some cosmic form of entertainment. Nico in love. Yeah, sure.

And yet here he is.

"Alright, alright," he concedes, holding up two hands and relaxing back into his chair. "Now that I've got your attention though, I sent her passport stuff over to Wes at the post office. Says it'll be ready next week."

Nico nods in appreciation. "How killer was the rush fee?"

A sly smirk rises on Timo's face. "Nothing. I just made sure not to tell him that the trip is for a proposal and I did tell him I'd bring her with me to pick it up."

"Of fucking course." Nico sighs, though he's not at all offended.

"Hey it pays off having a girl that everyone loves around. Think of the favors she's gonna get done for you."

Timo is right of course. You're too sweet, too pretty inside and out, for your own good. Half the time Nico gets contracts coming through it's because you were with him, all polite and familiar with the locals.

Like he said before, you're the center of the Devils and you don't even know it.

“Jack!” You suddenly exclaim, your champagne glass clinking on the table top as you jump up from Nico's lap. Moving to the edge of his seat, Nico's hand follows you, holding tight until you've moved too far away and it falls, lonely, back into his lap.

You round the table, leaning down to grab the napkin drooping off of Daws lap and Nico realizes why the sudden dash. Wide eyed and with a pathetically helpless look on his face, Luke is holding out his bleeding hand to you, drops of crimson red dripping to the usually pristine floors.

The culprit, Jack, stares at his brother, blue eyes rounded into a genuine look of innocence and a steak knife in hand, the blade stained red. Nico puts the pieces together, and yeah entertaining is one word for the two brothers.

Nico watches in fascination how easily you move with the boys. It's like it's effortless, the way you dodge the mess of blood on the floor, swiftly wrapping up Luke's hand. No thought put into it all, no moment of stopping and thinking, wow I've got this kid bleeding in my house, what do I do now?

It's like Luke knows it too, waiting for you expectantly. He didn't even so much as glance at Nico, didn't look to his older brother, no he went straight for you.

“Cleaned by the time I get back.” You instruct to Jack over your shoulder, then you cup the side of Luke's face, just a brief comforting moment, so quick he wonders if you even realize you did it. Luke blinks up at you, face pale and a little dazed from the wound, and you guide him up from his seat, turning to look down at Jack.

“Come on Luke,” you murmur, then tug the knife from Jack’s palm and you place it on the table, gesturing back to the mess on the floor, silently. Jack simply nods, shoulders hunching in guilt as you lead Luke off to the bathroom to take care of his hand.

"Yeah I can't eat anymore after that," Bass announces, making a face and pushing his chair back from the table. His departure seems to encourage the others, everyone starting to pair off into rides and Ubers home. Some thanks and goodbyes are shouted to Nico, Moose following Johnny and Bass to the door, like he's walking them out.

Jack stays slumped in his seat, looking over to Nico in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to," he mumbles, like he's maybe thinking Nico is gonna scold him or something. "I didn't even see him grab the blade until I moved it."

"It's ok," Nico assures him, then he starts to gather some of the dishes in front of him. "She may take away your knife privileges for a bit but Luke will be fine."

"Yeah?" Jack asks, hopeful.

"She's probably already done fixing him up." Timo adds, then he too starts collecting plates and silverware, bumping Nico with his elbow. "I got the dishes, you better make sure he uses bleach on that floor or she'll die."

You are very particular about the house, have certain ways you like things cleaned and laid out. Nico doesn't think he's entirely like that, just adapted to living with you, but he doesn't mind. It's nice, the domestic feeling that comes with sharing this house with you. It yours together and you love to care for it, keep it homely and safe.

"Come on Jack," he calls, following Timo into the kitchen. Dutifully, Jack follows behind him and they begin gathering the cleaning materials, moving around Timo and now Mercer who has joined him in loading the dishwasher. Alex, playing bus boy, shuttles in more dirty dishes for them, Moose trailing behind him with laces of drool dripping from his mouth.

Back in the dining room, Nico has Jack soak up the blood with paper towels and dispose of the in a trash bag. Then he has him go over it with Clorox wipes too, and finally spray the floor with some watered down bleach. They get everything thrown into the trash bag and tied up, ready to get thrown out into the garage dumpster.

"You good?" Nico asks, stopping Jack with a hand on his shoulder to look him over. Surprisingly, his Michigan shirt is free of any stains as are his light wash jeans, at least free of blood stains. The greasy finger print stains are another story.

"I'm fine, Schao." Jack tells him, and Nico pats at the side of his head proudly. Then he gestures back to the kitchen, silently instructing him to go throw the bag out and then help with cleaning up.

There’s still no sign of you or Luke so Nico decides to go check on you, make sure Luke hasn’t bled out in the guest bathroom. He finds you standing over Luke, first aid kit splayed out on the bathroom counter. The young boy sits on the closed toilet seat, his hand held out to you as you finish tying off his stitches.

He takes a second to admire you, the furrow between your eyebrows, the way you bite at the inside of your lip in concentration. Your hands are steady and certain as they work, a soothing confidence to you.

“How’s he looking boss?” Nico greets, unable to stay standing off to the side. He slides up behind you, looking over your shoulder. Like always, the stitches are clean and neat, a far cry from the first ever stitches he saw you hack-job into yourself. Pride swells up into his chest, remembering how far you’ve come.

“A little stupid,” you tease with no real heat behind your words, tying off the thread. Nico steps back to give you space, even if his internal monologue protests against it. Laying your equipment down in the sink to be sterilized later, you gently swipe a wet wipe over Luke’s palm before wrapping a bandage around it.

He tentatively flexes his hand, wincing slightly before looking up at you with a bright smile. That smile fades when he sees the way you and Nico are peering down at him.

“What?” He asks, eyes looking between you and Nico. You jab a finger into his shoulder and he flinches, rubbing at the spot as if that poke physically hurt him.

“If I ever see you grab the blade of a knife like that again I’m kicking your ass and then calling your mother.”

Your tone is stern, simmering just enough to be scary and it makes Nico shiver. You don’t talk like that to him very often but when you do…it makes his whole body feel like he’s on fire.

It’s funny the way Luke deflates at your words, sullenly nodding while Nico is clenching his fists to keep from reaching out for you.

You stare down at Luke for another moment before motioning towards the door, voice just as demanding as before. “Go. Drink some water and make Jack get you a cookie.”

Luke scampers away like a kicked puppy, disappearing down the hallway and Nico lets out a sigh of relief. Before you can get too busy or distracted cleaning up, he presses up behind you again and wraps his arms around your middle, tucking your body into his.

He touches his nose to the side of your neck where the smell of your perfume is the strongest, even this late in the day. “That was sexy,” he mumbles, keeping his voice down in case anyone comes wondering back here. “I like seeing you get all stern with the boys.”

Nico paws at the round part of your stomach, thinking about pressing his hand down on that same spot next time he’s got his cock in you.

“Yeah?” You purr, laying your hand over his and he feels his knees go a little weak. It’s so natural with you, this magnetizing pull you have on him. He shouldn’t be getting a hard on from seeing you take care of Luke like that. But he is and he’s not even ashamed about it to be honest.

“Yeah,” he agrees, kissing softly at your skin. “So hot seeing my baby boss everyone around…” he dots more kisses along your neck, smirking when you melt into him, tilting your head to give him better access.

Access he doesn’t even have to ask you for.

Knowing just how to push you, to make you all whiny and pouty so he can take you upstairs and fix it, Nico adds, “Then you’ll go upstairs tonight and bend over for me, won’t you?”

Your body stiffens in his hold, an offended scoff coming from the back of your throat and you shove at him. In the mirror he can see your furrowed eyebrows, cheeks red with embarrassment and he knows he’s got you. Because it’s not even something you can deny.

You won’t let anyone boss you around except him. He’s the one that gets to take care of you, gets to see you at your most vulnerable and it drives him crazy. It drives you crazy too, even if it starts with that mean look you get when he pushes your buttons.

“Go make sure my house is cleaned up,” you demand, petulant and trying to shake off his teasing. “Or there will be no bending over from me.”

He looks you up and down, both amused and turned on by your halfhearted threats. Knowing it’s best to step away now that he’s got you thinking, Nico meets your gaze in the mirror and drops his left eye in a wink.

“Yes ma’am,” he complies, and then just for good measure, he lovingly smacks at your ass before leaving.

Back in the kitchen, the boys are finishing up dishes and putting away left overs, Jack diligently wiping down the counter tops and Nico has a feeling he’s trying to make up for the mess earlier. Luke, doing exactly as he was told, is perched on the counter by the laundry room door, feet swinging and a container of Chips Ahoy cookies in his lap, the chewy kind because they’re yours and his favorites.

“Thanks boys,” Nico says, fingers working on the buttons of his shirt. “You can head home. I’ll finish up the glasses.”

Mercer and Jack, eager to be done with chores quickly finish up their duties. Luke tucks away the container of cookies and then the three of them are in the doorway, staring at Alex impatiently.

The younger boy pays no mind to them, looking towards the empty dining room with a disappointed look in his eyes. He turns to Nico, blinking sadly. “Will you tell her I said bye?”

Oh no, Nico thinks. You’ve gone up to bed without kissing your precious Alex goodnight. And from the looks of it, he’s not very forgiving of it.

Trying not to laugh, Nico pats Alex on the shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to make him jolt. “Yeah I will, kid.”

Accepting the goodbye from Nico, Alex drags his feet out of the kitchen, following behind his roommates. Him and Timo wait in silence for the sound of the front door shutting before turning to each other. They both snicker, Alex’s melancholy eyes flashing in Nico’s memory.

That kid is so dramatic sometimes. Nico would say he gets it from you, but truth is, he’s always been like that. A lot of feelings, a lot of emotions he’s struggled to keep in check. It’s how he ended up here, after all.

They settle down, taking a few deep breathes and Nico moves toward the sink, tossing his button up onto the center island.

“You staying the night?” He asks Timo, turning the hot water hot and plugging the sink. His friend makes a noise of acknowledgment and Nico fishes out the dish soap, adding it to the filling sink.

“Nah I’m gonna head home,” timo finally decides, sighing heavily. “Stop and check on the Rock on my way, make sure Haula didn’t let the place fall to shit tonight.”

Haula doesn’t usually spend a lot of nights at the bar, at least not when it’s open to the public. Private events he’ll always be there, shot glasses in hand and ready to peer pressure everyone into drinking their body weight. But when he heard the boys were all staying in tonight, having dinner at the house and then going home, he offered to manage for the night.

Which means it was either one of their most profitable nights or Haula drank more money then they earned. It's probably best that someone stop by and see how it's going.

"I could send Jesp," Nico offers, even though they both know Timo won't allow it. Out of all the boys, Timo has always been the hardest worker. No matter what job Nico throws at him, what he asks of him, Timo takes it in stride, adapts until he's perfect at it.

Nico thinks that Timo does it just to keep himself busy, to keep going so he doesn't have to stop and think. Probably not the healthiest behavior but he seems happy so who is Nico to judge.

"Nah I got it," Timo waves him off, leaning around Nico to swipe at the foamy bubbles resting on top of the sink water. They fly up into Nico's face, wet and sticky on his chin and he groans in annoyance.

"Get the hell out of here, would ya?"

Timo laughs, patting Nico on the back in goodbye. He drops the wine glasses into the sink, dipping his right hand in the water because he refuses to take the watch off his left wrist to do dishes. He'll just keep it out of the water.

The front door closes with Timo's departure, the house still and silent without the hoards of rowdy boys that occupied it not even 30 minutes ago. Without anyone to watch over, any stories to listen to or work to talk about, Nico works away at the dishes too fragile for the washer. It's methodical and diligent, his mind wandering off and hands moving on their own accord.

He thinks of you upstairs, probably braiding your hair back for the night or scrubbing that facial cleanser that smells so fresh and clean into the apples of your cheeks and nose. The spots where you always get blackheads, your problem area, as you so kindly told him once before. Nico didn't really get it. He doesn't have a problem area, at least he doesn't think he does. Though it probably helps that half his face is facial hair.

He wonders what pajamas you're going to wear tonight. If they'll be one of the fancy sets you always buy or a pair of boxers stolen from him. And then because Timo brought it up at dinner and Nico hasn't been able to keep his mind off it in weeks, he thinks of your hand, particularly your left one. The image is clear in his mind, it resting over his hand on your thigh just as you'd done at dinner. Except this time, when you press your fingers into his, he'll feel the cool metal band of the ring on your finger, see the sparkling crystals of the diamond.

Maybe then you'll finally see how everything here revolves around you, that him and the Devil are centered by you. You're it. Always have been and always will be.

He's so caught up in the dream of you with a wedding ring on your finger, his last name attached to yours, that he doesn't even notice you in the room until he catches a glimpse of pink out of the corner of his eye.

“Sneaky, aren’t ya?” Nico smiles, placing the last glass out to dry and draining the sink, toweling off his own hands. At your silence, he turns and leans against the sink, his heart skipping at the sight of you. A pretty pink, silky pajama set. Your face bare and fresh, hair combed out over your shoulders.

Soft and beautiful and domestic and all his.

Shyly, you skip up to him onto the balls of you feet, silently moving across the tile floor. “Mhmmm,” you draw out, pursed lips holding back a smile as your hands slide around his waist. Like it's second nature, Nico widens his stance to make room for you, lets your feet step between his so you can press up close to him.

Nico tosses the rag onto the counter, his dry hands coming up to hold either side of your face. He tilts your chin up until you hold his gaze, everything inside him turning warm and gooey. His lips suddenly ache to feel yours, his body screaming at him to move closer to you, to pull you so tightly into him you fuse together.

You giggle, the sound lifts his lips into a gentle smile, dimples sinking into his cheeks. Chuckling quietly, he dips down to kiss the tip of your nose, appeasing that longing feeling in his chest just the slightest bit. He want you right now.

“Come on baby,” he begs, dropping his hands to caress your hips and walk you back towards the stairs. “Let me take you to bed.”

Reluctantly, as if the two minutes it'll take to get to the bedroom will be unbearable without his eyes on yours, you turn and reach behind you for his hand. Nico follows you easily, eyes trailing down your figure as you guide him through the house and up to the bedroom.

Unable to keep his eyes off the fullness of your ass, you've barely stepped foot in the bedroom before Nico drops your hand in favor of pawing at your ass and hips. You wiggle away from him, turning to wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his. He pulls you into him, gripping the back of your soft thighs and hoisting you up onto the mattress.

Crowding over you, Nico lays between your parted thighs. You tangle your fingers in his hair and draw his mouth back down to yours. Desperately needing to be closer to you, he presses his hips into you, loving the give of your thighs, the way you easily open up for him.

He trails his mouth across your jaw and then, determined to feel the rest of you with his lips, dipping down to the column of your throat. Your voice is just a breathy little moan when you sigh out his name, it rolling prettily off your tongue.

A mumble of approval rumbles in his chest, his teeth nipping at your skin to leave a mark. “Say my name baby,” he mutters, beggingly snaking a hand between the two of you, his fingers easily finding your clit through your thin pajama bottoms. He wants them wet and messy, so uncomfortably soaked from his fingers your whining for him to take them off.

You preen, pressing up into his prodding fingers and let out a wanton, “Oh Nico-“

The worst fucking sound Nico has ever heard cuts through the room, interrupting the pretty noises come from your lips, and Nico thinks he could kill someone right now. Begrudgingly, he sits back onto his knees and glares at the sweatpants he'd left laying on the bed earlier, his work phone vibrating in the pocket. You fall back into the fluffy duvet, arms resting up by your head and blowing out a huffy breath.

“What?” He answers after fishing out his phone, his tone a little barking. In his defense he's hard and aching, straining painfully into the zipper of his jeans and kneeling between your pretty legs. Legs that are still spread so wide for him, thighs soft and inviting, skin flush with want.

"Hey it's me," Timo greets, a little out of breath. "Haula called me, guess Trouba and some of his boys showed up there.”

He strokes over them with his free hand, mouth watering at the way his fingers dent the fatty flesh, eyes longingly following the movement.

“Timo man I can’t do this right now-"

"They're saying they won't leave until they talk to you."

"No I-" Frustration and anger burn in Nico's chest. He was so fucking close to having you, after a whole night of playing the perfect gentleman and now... "What do you mean?”

You push yourself up, taking a hold of his hand placatingly and sitting criss-cross in front of him. He doesn't even have to look at your eyes to know the moments been ruined, that you know he has to go take care of this.

"I don't know," Timo exclaims, "but I guess they're acting like a bunch of dicks, scaring everyone off. Haula won't fight them himself, said Kristen told him if he did that again she'll leave. I can go back to the house while you' re gone, yeah?"

Nico huffs, squeezing your fingers gratefully. “Yeah, come stay with her. I’ll be there in 20.”

Not bothering to say goodbye, he hangs up the phone, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans. Nico sighs, hanging his head and taking a few deep breaths. He's not mad about this, can't be mad about this. It's his fucking job, it's what he supposed to do, even if it is when he has a raging boner and the woman he loves laying under him.

Your hand cups the side of face, in the same way you'd done to Luke earlier to comfort him and then your stroking through his hair, gently combing out the tangles your fingers made. After a moment, he rises from the bed, accepting his fate and ignoring his aching dick. Squeezing your hand in thanks, he draws it up to his lips and lays an apologetic kiss there.

Guiltily, he pouts at you. “M’so sorry baby but I gotta go. Timo got word that the Rags are screwing around on this side of the river.”

You take it in stride, easily nodding and giving him a little smile. He leans down again, kissing your lips just once with gratitude. “I promise I’ll be back soon and we’ll finish this.” He's not sure if he's talking more to you or himself.

Giggling, you shoo him away and he climbs up from the mattress to slip on his zip up and shove his feet into his boots. He can feel you watching him, splayed out on the bed invitingly. He bites the inside of his cheek, willing himself to focus.

“Timo is coming to stay with you until I get back.” Nico says, his tone all business as he stuff his things into his pockets and slides his devs ring back onto his pinky finger.

“He didn’t have to,” you call over his shoulder as Nico begins digging through the top dresser drawer in search of the knife he always carries with him. It's not the most dangerous weapon but he's had it with him on every job he's ever been on and it comes in handy.

“I would’ve been fine,” you continue, voice closer and then your pressing into his back, laying a kiss to his shoulder as your arms slips around him, holding the knife out to him in your palm. “But thank you.”

Nico smiles, taking the weapon from you and turning to plant a chaste kiss to your lips. He can't let himself any more than that or he'll never leave.

“S’just in case,” he explains, tucking his hand into his jacket pocket. Your fingers daintily find the chain of his necklace, pulling out the Devils horn charm and cross with an adoring gleam in your eyes. You always did like that necklace, always admired the gold on him. Even when he gave you one of your own, you always reached for his.

“Ok, I’ll be back soon baby girl.” Nico says in goodbye and you rise to your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. Then you're walking him down to the garage, hand in his and he dutifully keeps his eyes off your ass.

He's got work to do. Then he'll come home and hopefully do you too.

~

The commotion at the Rock is easy to find. There's few people scattered outside the front doors, obviously waiting their turn to get in but from the looks of it, Nico can't imagine it's been much of a wait.

Haula is waiting outside with the hired bouncers, phone in hand and he immediately motions Nico to the alley when he sees his car pull up. He's barely turned into the side street when he sees Trouba hanging around by the side entrance, pacing back and forth.

He stands in the headlights of Nico's car, lifting his hand into a sarcastic wave as he comes to a rolling stop. Cutting the engine, Nico gets out of the car, Haula meeting him at his side.

"What the fuck happened?" Nico asks him, keeping his voice low. Glancing at Trouba, the Ranger is simply watching them with an amused smile.

"I don't know," Haula sighs, "I was at the booth and all of a sudden security calls me to the front because these assholes are trying to get in. And I told 'em, we have a deal after sunset. You don't cross the river after dark and neither do we.

"Didn't matter. Kreider started shoving people, swinging at the bouncer. Said he'd only stop if you agreed to meet them here right now."

Nico holds up his hand, stopping from Haula going on. He doesn't need to hear more because there's nothing to know. It's true that Nico and Trouba have a deal. It was made after he went to the Rags looking for you and Trouba pointed him in the direction of Philly. Now that they knew about you, he had to make some gesture of peace to keep you safe.

So he went to Trouba and Lee, both married men with kids, and remined them of how he never once even mentioned their families let alone hurt or intimidated them. And he could've too. It's a big part of the Swiss Mob, the intimidation of loved ones. Nico knows exactly how to do it.

But he doesn't want to. There was no need for turf wars anymore, petty little spats. They all have their cities, they have what they want. In an effort to be neutral and temporary allies, they set up the sunset law. They never cross into each others territory after dark.

There was an agreement. Share the land during the day, but not at night, and they pretend you don't exist, Nico will keep doing the same.

But every once in awhile Trouba falls into old habits, likes to remind Nico that the Rags are older, bigger, and can switch up whenever they want.

It's harmless, usually. A couple of them cross over into Hoboken or Jersey City, throw a fit to get his attention and cause a little rumble in the middle of the night, and then they head home. When they're feeling a extra insecure they'll try to grab one of the boys, usually Jesper or Jonas, sometimes McDermy, and hold them in Manhattan until the Devs track them down or they fight their own way out.

Nico hates those times, even if his men are trained to get out of those situations, it ends up being a hassle, a thorn in his side.

"Here we fucking go again," Nico mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He nods towards the front of the bar. "Make sure the rest of them are gone. Round of drinks on the house for everyone inside and waiting, yeah?"

Haula does as instructed, moving without word, and Nico finally addresses the man standing before him.

"What's going on Trouba?"

The Ranger smiles, beckoning Nico over with a nod of his head. Slamming his car door shut, Nico walks towards him, boots crunching on the gravel.

"You're men don't run your bar?" He asks when Nico has gotten close enough. This whole fucking thing is so annoying. He should be at home, under the sheets with you, mouth on yours, hands on you. Not in the fucking alley, chatting about how he assigns his men and watching Trouba fish a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"Not tonight, no."

Tucking the cigarette between his lips, he holds them out to Nico who waves them away. He's never been into cigarettes, doesn't like the taste or smell of them, doesn't like how it stick to fingers and lingers in clothes, even if that's anti-European of him.

"You let them get soft," he says, voice muffled as he cups a hand around the end of the cigarette, lighter flicking. "They work for you Hischier, not with you."

Bored, Nico sighs. "That's great, thanks. But I'd imagine you didn't pull me out of bed for this."

Trouba puffs out a cloud of smoke. "My wife hates these," he gestures to the stick between his fingers, inhaling another hit. "She's on her way to becoming a doctor, which is funny because these things are what'll pay her salary, right?"

Nico doesn't know what he wants, if he's just rambling to waste time or distract Nico from something. He doesn't hear anyone else in the alley though, and Haula should have the others under control by now.

"She likes it here," he continues, "I'd imagine your girl likes it here too. Grew up here didn't she? It'd be nice for the both of them to get to stay where their happy, don't ya think?"

Apprehension bleeds into Nico's gut. This is your home, the home you share with him and nothing is going to chase you two out. And it's not like Trouba is threatening to do the chasing. No it seems like he's more worried about both the Devs and Rags being cut down.

"Yeah," he agrees, looking him up and down. He doesn't seem threatening at all. "We're not going anywhere. And I'm not doing anything to send you away either."

Trouba takes another puff of his cigarette. "This business is getting bigger. Everyday new groups pop up, tiny little shit gangs that hope to be us one day."

Nico knows all about that. He'd put down a couple of those tiny gang himself. Trouba on the other hand has worked with them. His heavy weight was supplied by one of them, Rempe from Hartford. Guy was too big for a classy place like Hartford but he fits in great in New York, so Trouba sent over stacks of cash and Rempe arrived in a car.

"How long until one of them wants to go after the original gang of New York? Or the European guy that took over Jersey all by himself, no feeder gangs, no coupe, no change of power? The hungrier they get, the more likely they are to turn to us."

It's an interesting fear, and he wonders what Trouba has overheard that has him thinking like this. Maybe it's his wife. Maybe she's expecting again or getting a big job in New York and has gotten paranoid about it being ripped away. This lifestyle will do that to anyone, make them paranoid and scared, make them turn from survivor to conqueror.

"Your saying if they come for you, it's only a matter of time before they come for me?"

He drops his cigarette, stomping it out with the toe of his boot. Then, thoughtfully, he shrugs. "Yeah, that's what I'm saying. We're gonna get swallowed up in these new guys, made smaller by places like Vegas and Seattle. It's all the way West now, and eventually they'll run out of space."

"All they can do then is steal from the others." Nico adds, because Trouba is right. These new gangs out West, Vegas and Seattle. They're a bit of a joke right now, not scary to anyone really, but the room will run out.

"I think it's time we keep the business in the East," Trouba says, tucking his hands in his pockets. "Like it used to be. Starting with the big cities, Jersey and New York, then Boston, Toronto, maybe Carolina."

Nico huffs out a laugh, confused. "What does that even mean? You want to unite with those guys?"

Trouba snorts. "No I want you to unite with me. We keep our names and our men, but we work together. Secure New York, then move up. We make ourselves bigger than the guys out West and they've got nothing on us."

"Power in numbers?" Nico asks, more just entertaining the idea to be polite than actually considering it. It's a nice warning to have from Trouba, that he needs to watch out for territory hungry gangs. But Nico is from Europe, grew up in a mob with pressing boarders on every side. There is no open space over there, only small countries all wanting more.

His family saw that coming, and it's why they took over France, set sights for Germany. Ambitious maybe, but so was Nico when he ditched Germany for here.

"Exactly," Trouba grins, lacing his hands together and holding them up in triumph. As if Nico's actually agreed to this, as if he ever would without speaking to the others, to you.

Nico hums, feeling a little bad for having to turn down the offer but he enjoys his small market, his guys. He likes his territory, isn't worried about adding more, and he knows he can protect it, without the help of the Rags.

"Smart idea, but I'm gonna pass." Nico shrugs, taking a step back towards his car. He's done with this, done with Trouba. He just wants to get home.

Trouba's whole face falls, eyebrows pinching together in anger. "I suggest you think about it again, Hischier. This means the protection of your city, of your girl. You think they'd give her the same respect? That they wouldn't show up here and kill her and then you?"

Nico flushes with anger at the insinuation that he can't protect you, that he'd ever let anyone hurt you. The only hands that'll ever touch you will be his, the only hands that will hold that pretty face of yours, that will feel the heat of your thighs and the weight of your own hands in his. You're his, and that's it.

"I can handle my business, Jacob," he spits, "if you can't, that's not my problem. But no one is coming in here and messing with my girl, I can promise you that."

The Ranger huffs out a laugh of disbelief, shaking his head at Nico, as if he really thought Nico would ever put even the tiniest bit of your safety in the hands of anyone else. The center of the Devs family, there's no way he's letting the Rags get near that, near you.

"Why don’t you take a little alone time to think about it again, Hischier," Trouba offers, but Nico is already zoned out of the conversation, mind on you and getting back home to you.

Which is why he doesn't see Kreider coming in, swinging for Nico's temple and he catches him in just the right spot that he crumbles to the asphalt, his entire world going black.

~~~~

Fuck, Nico thinks when he comes to who knows how many minutes - hours- later. His head throbs, a stabbing thrum behind his left eye and he groans in frustration at the dizzy feeling.

A concussion, great.

He takes a mental stock of himself. Nothing else hurts, not like his head. A little sore in his shoulders and back, but that could be from anything. From restraining himself during his chat with Trouba, from hitting the asphalt when Kreider punched him, or from the rope currently holding his hands hostage behind the chair.

Wiggling his fingers, pins and needles tingle up his hands and forearms, and yeah it’s probably that making him sore.

He can’t check his pockets without his hands, but it doesn’t feel like there’s anything in his jeans, can’t see the outline of his pocket knife or keys where the denim stretches over his thigh. And his jacket is gone, probably stripped off his body along with his belongings when the Rangers drug him here.

Wherever here is.

He looks around, blinking a few times to get his eyes to focus. It’s a large room, concrete floors, metal shelving, a little rusty and old but nothing great. And completely devoid of anything except the chair he’s sat on and the ropes around his limbs.

There’s a few doors on the walls, leading to god knows what, so Nico quickly blows them off from being useful. Besides, there’s no windows on the walls, and everything is oddly quiet, muffled. No sounds of the city.

He’s in an industrial basement somewhere in Manhattan. Hopefully close enough to the Hudson that the trip back home won’t be too long. He wants to get back to you as soon as possible and-

You.

Oh fucking fuck, Nico internally curses. He promised you it’d be quick, that he’d be back in a hurry to take care of you and by the looks of it, he’s already late.

Which isn’t the big deal. You don’t mind if he’s late, if work takes a little longer and he needs more time. What you do care about is the heads up, the warning, the communication. Because no communication means something is wrong.

He drilled that fact into your head before you were even officially his girlfriend. Always communicate, even if it’s just a stupid text.

All of this because Jacob fucking Trouba was feeling scared and insecure. Instead of calling Nico on the phone like a normal person would, he had to drag him out in the middle night, give some cryptic ass speech about being taken over by newbies, and then sucker punch Nico when he refused to listen.

This sure is one way of making him take extra time to think about the offer, except Nico doesn’t need to think about it.

The devs run the way they do because they’re so small, because they have the loyalty and trust, the personal touch that big groups like the Rangers don’t have.

And he’s a strong boss, he’s good at what he does and knows how it all works. He doesn’t need to sell-out his team into a union with the Rangers or anyone else. He’s got nothing to worry about actually. If Trouba is doubting his own ability to keep his gang together that’s not on Nico to fix.

He doesn’t want any part of New York, never has. It’s why he settled in unclaimed territory instead of invading the Rags or Isles. He’s got more leeway where he’s at, more space to do as he pleases and build the contracts he wants.

There’s more pressing questions of the future for him to contemplate, ones that don’t involve a random mini gang hypothetically wanting to take Jersey. The real question at the center of his crystal ball is you and him, and the ring currently being handmade in Switzerland with a rock of a diamond and a string of pearls he picked out himself.

The prinzessin law. The redefined, renewed, and respected prinzessin law Nico put together with the other original Devs in that month he was apart from you.

At home, he knew of the law as a contract. The next in line for marriage in the business had two options. Sniff around, find someone with connections, someone to build the organization, and offer them marriage. It was practically a betrothal, a social contract, a sign of status. And there was no way of getting around it. Because the second option was reaching a certain age and accepting whatever spouse the boss presents you.

From marriage on that person became your prinzessin, your princess. He never heard the word used in regard to a woman marrying and boy, maybe because in his family’s case, Nina would become someone else’s prinzessin. There would be no marriage presented to her. She would be the one being presented.

Nico was always told his prinzessin was to be the best of the best, that Rino would accept nothing less from him and Luca. The princes of Switzerland. They would have no shortage of girls to pick from, to analyze and learn about, and then present to his father for consideration and approval.

As if it were an actual physical law going into place.

It’s a stupid and outdated thing, but Nico has always liked what it stands for. He’s always wanted a princess, someone to rule by him and with him, as his but also her own. Not a contract, not ownership, but love.

Everything he sees with you.

So he kept the law, carried it overseas, and redefined it to actually mean something. In Jersey, the prinzessin law is more right than law. Any of the boys have the right to bring the person they love to Nico and the original Devs, to declare their love and intention to marry. And Nico can’t decline, can’t reject that love or marriage. But he does reserve the right to test them if he wants, to make sure this person can handle being with a Dev, that their intentions are pure.

If passed, that person has earned the title of prinzessin, a princess or prince of the Devils.

He defined it with you in mind, got it approved by the others, but never thought to change the name. Because you wouldn’t be a princess, not with him. You’d be the queen. Nicole and Nola and the other girlfriends of the members would be princesses.

You’d be actual fucking royalty.

His system with you got a little messed up. There was no test, no presentation to the others because you already passed them all after Philly. You had to be held to a higher standard than the others, had to be ready to act like the queen even when you were in the early stages of dating him, because he came with a much bigger target over his head. One that hangs over you too.

Still, he follows the tradition and he can’t deem you his prinzessin until he’s got a ring on your finger. And because he’s been conditioned to follow it, to follow and believe in them, he has to let his family know too.

Not for approval or presentation of you, but just so they know, so you know. Who he is now, the kind of person he grew up as and how it’s turned him into the man he is now.

And he knows you’ll love the snow in Switzerland, the mountains and winter chill. He’s going to take you there, show you his home, put that custom ring on your finger, and come home just in time for the holidays with his fiancée.

His fiancée, his prinzessin, his queen.

First things first though. He’s gotta get the fuck outta here and back home to you.

~~~~

Nico has no idea how long he's been sitting in this stupid warehouse with this stupid cloth between his teeth and this stupid thick ass rope around his wrists and ankles. If it had been duct tape he'd been outta here hours ago, back home rolling around in the sheets with you where he belongs.

But this isn't his first rodeo with the Rags, and they've learned their lesson about tying any of his men up with duct tape. Nico's trained them well, taught them to take care of themselves. Especially since the Rags have a thing for holding the Devs hostage, though this is the first time they've managed to grab him.

It's because he was distracted, head still swirling with thoughts of his hands on your thighs, his finger touching and teasing you, winding you up until you were crying his name.

Next thing he knew, his little chat in the bar alley with Trouba and Kreider was him being sucker punched unconscious and waking up in this stupid, bitter cold room.

And no one has come to talk to him, to threaten him, nothing. It's all feeling useless.

He's wiggling his wrists, the skin raw and no doubt bleeding now, when he hears stirring above his head. His head is a little too foggy to really put the sounds together, but he's certain he hears a body thud to the ground. There's some more grunting and thuds, and Nico relaxes a bit when he realizes Timo probably sent Siegs or Haula after him.

For the first time that night he hears the grinding of a door being yanked open, followed by heavy footsteps and he wishes his stupid chair was facing the other way so he could see who it is. He doesn't have to play the guessing game too long though before the large figure of Timo is stepping into view.

Nico almost yanks his way through the rope at the sight of him, thrashing against his restraints as he glares at his brother in disbelief. One job, Timo had one job, stay with you always. For all they now this could've been planned, Rags could be hounding on you right now because him and Timo left you vulnerable.

"Would you calm down she's fine." Timo grumbles in defense, tucking his handgun into the waist of his pants in favor of yanking the cloth out of Nico's mouth.

"I told you not to leave her alone, fucker! She's-"

He's cut-off by an all too familiar voice. "Sneaky, right?" You run your fingers through his sweaty hair at the nape of his neck, soothing him for just a moment before working at the knot in the cloth. It loosens, drops from his neck and into his lap.

Timo has retrieved his gun again, keeping a close eye on the door behind Nico. The click of a blade cuts through the room and the rope on his wrists goes taut.

“What are you doing here?” He grumbles, wincing at the pull on his wounds.

You finish cutting through the rope, his arms falling limply behind him. “Sorry my love,” you murmur, fingers gently taking in the torn skin. “I was just saving you.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you sounded sweet, like you were coddling him as you realized he was hurt. But he does know better, and he can sense the impatience and annoyance bubbling under your words.

Oh he’s in for an ear full.

Still, he’s never been one to back down so he challenges you a bit, body thrumming with excitement, “I have men for that, ya know?”

You release his wrist and he slowly draws his hands around and into his lap, flexing his shoulders to try and get the blood back to his fingertips. He can already feel the ache in his chest and back and he wonders how the fuck you let him hold you like that on his more aggressive nights in bed.

“Men that couldn’t even find you.” You quip back, and he catches your hip as you go to step around him. His hold doesn’t stop you though, and he watches as you kneel down in front of him to cut through the rope at his ankles.

You’ve listened to him well it seems, or just really paid attention because any identifying marks of yours have been covered. Head to toe in black, thick sturdy boots that mimic the ones he wears on particularly dangerous deals, and all jewelry removed. Well everything except the thin gold chain on your neck, the charm tucked into your long sleeve shirt. And the tell-tell red bandana knotted around your face, hiding everything but your eyes.

Smart girl, he thinks, trying not to smile. He’ll praise you for it later, when you’re somewhere safe.

The rope snaps free, your eyes peering up at him through your dark lashes and the bits of your hair that hangs over your face. You don’t say anything, gaze dark and angry as you flick the knife away and sit back on your haunches. Nico immediately stretches his legs out around you, belly swirling when he takes in the sight of you kneeling between his thighs.

You raise an eyebrow, lifting your hand to hold the knife out to him and he realizes you’ve managed to get back his pocketknife. He melts a bit at that, grateful that you thought to look for it, that you always remember its ties to his family back in Switzerland.

He takes it from you, fingers still a bit numb as they wrap around the weapon. Now that your hand is free you lean in, holding onto his knee for balance while the other one reaches up for his face.

You gently stroke right under his eye, a sting of pain ripping through his cheek and he realizes that’s where he’d been hit. You frown, eyebrows pinching together. “Hopefully you haven’t ruined that pretty face with a scar, boss.”

Behind you, Timo snickers and Nico glares at him, catches the way he’s fighting to not look at the two of you and instead watch the door. Whatever he did up there must have been enough damage though because it’s dead silent.

“I know a good doc,” he replies casually, nodding for you to stand up. “She won’t let it scar.”

He rises with you, wobbly on his feet as the feeling rushes back to them and his head spins for a moment. You immediately press into his side, slipping under his arm like you belong there, and steady him.

“She might,” you say flatly, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss into the top of your head. He really is proud of you, can’t believe that you came to get him even if he’s gonna give you grief about it.

It’s his job to be tough on you, on everyone.

“Let’s get moving,” Timo cuts in, looking to Nico for his next move. He nods to the door, telling him to the lead way. You’re silent on your feet as you walk with Nico and he makes a mental note to ask you how you manage to do that.

Upstairs, he finds exactly what he expected. Bodies lay limp on the ground, chairs and table strewn about the large room. He can’t make out who is who but he immediately recognizes Trouba laying closest to the door, lip busted and bleeding and the whole side of his face already bruising in what looks like the shape of a boot.

He’ll have to ask Timo about that one too.

~~~~

The rising sun shines through the bedroom windows. Nico runs a towel through his wet hair, wincing at the stiffness in his shoulders and the way the light makes his eyes ache.

Before he can so much as grumble about it, you’re entering the bedroom and hitting the switch on the wall to lower the blackout curtains.

You changed while he was showering, back into the cute set of pink silk pajamas you had on earlier in the night and Nico wants to rub his hands all over you, let the soft fabric soothe his angry wrists.

But you haven’t said a word since leaving the warehouse, except to send Timo off to bed in a guest bedroom and instructing he take the dog with him so he doesn’t get lonely.

Tossing the towel into the hamper, Nico collapses onto the bottom of the bed, shoulders slumping forward as he watches you move around the room. You ignore his gaze, digging through the drawers and bathroom until you come up with a first aid kit.

Finally, you approach him, eyes avoiding his as you kneel in front of him again. Compliant, Nico parts his thighs further you, silently begging you to come closer.

You don’t though, instead gently taking ahold of his ankles and drawing his feet out to you. He lets you manhandle him, relaxes into the mattress as you softly massage numbing cream into the bruises on his skin.

And then you’re moving closer, taking a hold of his hands with your soft, warm fingers and he gives in, feels everything ache in his chest.

“Baby,” he mumbles pathetically, “talk to me? Please?”

You trace over the mark his watch left on his wrist, face still hiding from him. “I chipped your watch,” you admit quietly. “That’s how I found you.”

He can’t say he’s angry or upset with the news. He’s the one that taught you about surveillance, about protection. How in this life, you have to be used to someone always watching you. He just wasn’t used to anyone watching him.

He is surprised though, at how you managed that. The watch was from Switzerland, designed by his family and gifted to him. He doesn’t know how you got the chance to chip it.

“Ok,” he replies, making sure to keep his tone even. “You saved me, ya know?”

You reach into the kit for a roll of bandages. “Yeah,” you wrap the gauze around his right wrist, actions a bit rougher than before “and you gave your men orders to leave me at home like a dog.”

Nico frowns at your town, bitter and biting. You don’t talk to him like that, in all the time you’ve been together he’s never heard you like that. It makes his heart sink, makes him want to crumble to his knees in front of you right now.

You finish wrapping his other wrist, dropping his hands heavily into his own lap. Then you finally look up at him, eyes angry and disappointed. Nico can’t help himself, he takes a hold of your face and draws you up towards him.

“Don’t give me those stupid puppy eyes, Nico.” You mutter, voice rising as he pouts down at you. “I found you, I got Timo off his ass, I got your knife back, and I got you back.

“I did it all and you didn’t trust me to! For fucks sake I knocked out stupid Trouba and you still wanted to rip Timo’s head off for-“

“You knocked Trouba on his ass?” Nico cuts off, a smirk spreading across his face. The sight of him dimples must soften something in you because he manages to get you to your feet.

“That was your cute little boot print on his face?” He prods, coaxing you into sitting on his lap and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You reach for the chain around his neck, fingers taking a hold of the pendant and stroking over the devil horns. Bashful, a tiny smile plays at your face and Nico can’t stop himself for kissing at the tip of your nose.

“He messed with you,” you mumble, softer than you’ve spoken to him all night. “And I love you and being a Dev means protecting who you love.”

Nico’s breathless, swept off his feet by the earnest of your words and the memory of them. The same words he’d told you before giving you your own devil horn pendant. He’d said it soften up the conversation, because telling you everything about being a mob wife was rough, but at the end of the day he meant it.

The Devils are a family, a family built by love and he was so fucking smart and lucky to bring you into this. He’d never ever gotten close to even discussing a prinzessin with his family, until he met you.

Obviously that was the best decision he’s ever made.

“You made me proud,” he cups your jaw, urging you to look up at him. “You always do, but especially tonight.

“I was scared to let you get to this side of things because I’ve never done this. I’ve never ruled with someone but after tonight, I know I couldn’t have asked for a better prinzessin to have by side.”

Your teeth sink into your lip, a blush rising in your neck and ears but your eyes have gone all moony and lovesick. He loves that look on you.

“That’s a big word for you to use,” you mumble, a hopeful lilt in your tone. “I don’t even have a ring yet.”

Chuckling, he presses a kiss to your cheek and then your chin and finally on your smiling lips. “You will,” he confirms “and you’ll by my princess.”

You tangle your hands in his hair, giggling as you yank him into another kiss. Nico lets himself get lost in you, pulls you close and holds you tight in his large palms. His brain swirls, the pain of his injuries fading as he losses his breath and himself.

His hands are wondering towards your ass when you pull back from him, lips swollen and messy as you giggle.

“Enough of that boss, I gotta fix that pretty face of yours and you need rest.”

Yeah, the best fucking decision he’s ever made was letting you into his life.

[mysteryshoptls]

Idia Shroud Shared Lines

Tutorial: You're here... ...Can I go home now?

Level Up 1 / Buddy Level Up: I'm gainin' more EXP... Dwehehehe

Level Up 2: Leveling is crucial.

Level Up 3: Da-da-da daa dum da dah da-da! Level up～

Level Max: H-Hey, isn't my EXP gauge all maxed out already? I don't need to try any harder, right?

Vignette Level Up: There's folks out there who like running challenges using characters with ridiculous stats. ...I'm talking about you.

Spell Level Up: Ughhh, even if my magic gets stronger, it's not like it does me any good out there in the real world. Bleegh.

Friendship Level Up: Y-You’ve got some ulterior motive for being so nice to me, don’t you? Honestly, I’d feel more relaxed if you’d say that you did…

Friendship Level Max: When you first said you wanted me to come to your guest room, I thought you were being forced to on a dare or something, but… Guess I was wrong. Uh, well… I’ll come again. Yeah.

Uncapped: Is it that fun sticking to me like that? Stop it with that cheesy smile. Weirdo......

Groovification: Now we're getting somewhere. The whole cosmos awaits me! ......How cringe can I get? Yeah, no.

Lesson Select 1: I don't want class outside... I don't want class outside...

Lesson Select 2: I don't need to go to class to study... Why's it gotta be in person?

Lesson Select 3: I-It feels like people have been glancing over here for a while now. Hurry and pick something. Faster!

Lesson Start: Eep! There's too many people...

Lesson Finish: I drained about a week's worth of energy in one go.

Battle Start: I’ll finish this pronto in one turn.

Battle Won: You need to level up more～

Trouble 1: That was a dreadful experience… Hey, didn’t you take too long to jump in and stop that?

Trouble 2: This is why I hate guys who try to solve everything with force!

GIFT CALENDAR 2023: “How will you be spending the day?” Obvi, just been hyperfixating on my online games, like always… Rather, why would you think I’d go out in cold weather like this in the first place? I recently overhauled the internet speed in the dorm, so it’s crazy fast now lol. Gonna actually pull an all-nighter, it’s been a while!

Birthday Login Message 1: What? I’m a bit busy right now collecting the birthday voice line of my favorite character in this game… The only ones who congratulate me irl are my family, anyway. …Eh? You came to throw a me birthday party? Y-you? Hie… I-if there’s going to be such a high-difficulty event, why can’t you announce the news ahead of time!? I was completely off my guard so I’m utterly unprepared, you know!?

Birthday Login Message 2: I’m busy right now. If there’s something you want to say, can you just get it over with? …Oho～, so you’re here to give me my “Birthday Greetings”? Well, since you’re already here, I might as well let you celebrate me. I can’t wait to see if you can really make me happy～! I’ll try and patiently wait without any expectations.

Birthday Login Message 3: Don’t know how I feel about you celebrating my lifespan shortening by another year… Eh, guess I’ll at least say thanks. Oh yeah, how 'bout you join our gaming tournament? The others in the dorm are setting one up. Ah, but don’t you even think of trying to go easy on me just 'cause I’m the birthday boy. Doesn’t matter what the game is, there’s no way I’d lose to an amateur. So if you’re going to play with us, come with all you got.

Birthday Login Message 4: Siiiigh… As expected, I didn’t win a greeting from Premo’s birthday present campaign. Looks like, as always, I’m just a poor soul that’ll only get birthday wishes from my family and my games… EEK!? WHEN DID YOU GET HERE!? Eh, you came to wish me a happy birthday? I-Is that so…? Well, thanks. Wheehee.

Birthday Login Message 5: Hi… Need something from me? …My birthday? Oh, well, now that you mention it! Th-Thanks… I completely forgot after Ortho wished me a happy birthday this morning… Did I get anything from anyone else? Wh-Wh-Why’re you asking a loner like me that!? I p-pretty much just avoid everyone else, so. The most I did today was play with Azul-shi during our Boardgame Club time… Obviously I utterly crushed him!! …Eh, you think he went easy on me 'cause it was my birthday? Uh-huh… If you really think that, how about a game, then? Don’t come crying to me later after you lose, though, fheehee.

Requested by Anonymous.

[harrysfolklore]

yes for tom!! (bday anon!!)

first of all HAPPY BIRTHDAYY this is short but i didn’t want to leave you without your bday blurb 🥹 hope u guys like it

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

gifs by @ssoveia <33

Birthdays were never your thing.

Surely growing up you had a lot of good memories when it came to celebrating your birthday, but as you grew older you forgot the magic behind celebrating your birthday.

However, that changed when you started dating Tom two years ago, he always made sure to make your day special and make you feel loved and celebrated.

In your first year together he threw you a big party in a rooftop in New York City, getting all of your friends and close family together. For your second, you celebrated in a more intimate way with a small trip to Greece.

However, this year you didn’t have any expectations on how would you celebrate your day, since Tom’s schedule was beyond busy with the press, promo and premieres of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.

You were extremely proud of him and everything he was achieving, so you wouldn’t blame him if he happened to forget your birthday, he was doing what he loved the most and that was enough to make you the happiest ever.

As the morning of your birthday approached, you woke up feeling a bit disappointed, knowing Tom had to leave early for the some promo shoot for the movie. The empty side of the bed only echoed his absence.

However, when you when you headed the stairs, a full breakfast and a gorgeous bouquet of flowers greeted you, accompanied by a note in Tom's handwriting.

"Happy Birthday, my love. I'm sorry I had to rush off. I hope this brightens your morning a bit. We'll celebrate tonight. Love you x . - Tom."

Just as you were admiring the bouquet, your phone ringed with an incoming video call from Tom.

"Hey, birthday girl!" Tom's face beamed through the screen. "How's your day been so far?”

"It's been good, actually," you smiled fondly at him, "Breakfast and the flowers were such a lovely start"

"Look, I'm really sorry I couldn't be there to say Happy Birthday first thing in the morning," his voice sounded distressed and you couldn't help but feel for him, "I'll make it up for you tonight, I promise."

"Don't worry about it, baby. I completely understand. I know how crazy your schedule is right now," you assured him, "You're doing what you love the most and I'm so proud of you for that."

"Yeah, it's been non-stop. But that I hate that it's keeping me from being there for you on your special day."

"Honestly, you being so busy doesn't take away from the fact that you've made it special already," you shrugged, smiling at him, "And I know whatever you have planned for tonight will be just amazing, so stop being so hard on yourself!"

"About that," he smirked before continuing, "Make sure to be ready at 7. I'll pick you up."

"Whatever you say, handsome," you rolled your eyes with affection, "As long as I would love to stay here, I know you have to go back to work."

"Shit, I do," he said realizing that crew members were already looking for him, "Happy Birthday again, my love. You're amazing."

//

ending kinda sucked lmao i hope u like this bday anon happy bday

[genderqueerpositivity]

I tried to write a post to celebrate being four years on testosterone yesterday. That post turned into a rambling mess of my fears for the future and fears about losing my access to gender affirming care. Which honestly makes a lot of sense given the state of things politically.

The anxiety is also due to the fact that my hysterectomy is in limbo now; my procedure should have been May 1st, but now my doctor is leaving the practice at the end of April. So now I don't know what's going to happen there, which is a little devastating after going through the whole referral and waiting and intake processes. I'm supposed to be referred to another doctor in the same practice, but it's been a month of radio silence now. Hell, I don't even know who to contact; last time I had to it ended up being a multi-day game of phone tag.

I don't know what to say other than I'm grateful and surprised to have made it so far in my hormone therapy journey. I'm incredibly lucky to have the support of beloved chosen family the entire way. And I'm so privileged to have ever accessed gender affirming care to begin with and I can't ever say enough for how much it has improved my mental health and my relationship with my own body.

I used to wonder everyday pre-T if hormone therapy was the right step for me. I thought about it all the time, constantly wondered what sort of changes I could have, and if it would help my dysphoria; I don't have to wonder anymore because I know that this is right for me.

At first I wanted to do topical HRT because I wanted that control of getting to choose this everyday; I imagined that I would reach a point where I might decide that I've transitioned "enough" and choose to stop. These days, I am happy with weekly injections. Getting to just do my shot once a week and then just live without worrying about it is amazing.

I am open to the possibility that I may still reach a point where I decide to reduce my T dose or stop entirely, but at the moment it feels very unlikely. Gender is personal and unique like that. I really hope to be able to continue and see what happens next.

It is difficult to express how transitioning to a more physically male appearance has given me greater freedom to express my gender in less binary ways, but it is true. I experience my gender as more queer and more fluid than ever.

I can't fully explain or express the pain of gender dysphoria and the joy of gender euphoria. How could I possibly get most average people without dysphoria to understand that I used to legitimately hate the sound of my own voice? That I couldn't stand having my voice recorded, because I sometimes even struggled to accept that the person I was speaking speak was actually me?

Now? I just sound like myself. I am more confident making phone calls and calling over the radios at work, I sing aloud in the car now, and occasionally I will speak to someone and get the surprise joy of being addressed as he or sir in return.

And that is just one example of many I could give.

Transitioning is as much a gift of big milestones as it is a gift of so many small and everyday moments.

On Saturday I will do my first shot since my 4 year T birthday, and I will be grateful and have no regrets.

[autistichalsin]

Those of us who were raised near Evangelicals (like me who grew up in a largely Evangelical/Fundamentalist community) or in the cult themselves (many of my friends growing up) have been trying to warn you all for YEARS not to underestimate them, and our warnings went ignored because "no one is that evil" or "they're just stricter Christians, they wouldn't actually do that."

The exact same reasoning used when we tried to warn you 20 years ago how evil Republicans were, which isn't a coincidence because they are the same people.

So let me break it down for you, and if any of this sounds too harsh, feel free to talk to literally any exvangelical, who will back this up.

Yes, they are cartoonishly evil. I know, I'm going to get hate for saying this. But if you ignore this point, none of the other points will make any sense. This is the framework you have to use. This is cartoon villain levels of evil.

Evangelical Christianity is, first and foremost, a death cult. They want your deaths, they want their own deaths. Birthdays are a celebration of being one year closer to going home to Jesus- no more and no less. They crave death like a suicidal person, but they would never actually commit suicide because it's "a sin," so instead they long for a rapture where they die and go to heaven while the rest of us go to hell. That is their ideal world- no world at all.

You have to understand that the root of evangelism is nihilism. NOTHING in this life matters at all, except for accepting their interpretation of God and Jesus so you can enter heaven. Your work, your relationships, your family, only matter if they are in service of God and Jesus, and not at all on their own merit. God/Jesus are the only thing that objectively matters. Which leads to...

Other humans only matter if they worship your same iteration of God and Jesus. Other Christians are liars at best and will go to hell. If your entire family dies, it's just God's will, no need to be sad- it's actually a beautiful thing because they're with Jesus now. It's why you will never persuade them to support abortion even in cases where the mother's life is at risk. If she's a good Christian, she'll know there is nothing more beautiful than to die while birthing another soldier of God, and if she's not a Christian, she deserves to die and go to hell as punishment for rejecting scripture. It's why you'll never persuade them that school shootings are worse than being queer. School shootings just send Their Own to heaven, and the nonbelievers to hell, but being gay sends everyone to hell, even themselves for tolerating it. If you don't believe in their God, the best thing you can ever be to them is a potential convert, and the worst is a test sent by God himself that they CAN'T fail lest you go to hell. Leading to...

Tolerance is cruelty to them. If you tolerate "aberrant" lifestyles, you are dooming them to hell, and yourself too. That's why they claim it's oppression to be told to tolerate others. They think only oppressing the "lesser" people will motivate them to become Good Little Christians, and avoid hell. And they think they themselves will go to hell if they are too tolerant to those outside the group.

They are pro-Zionist not because they support Jewish people in any way, but because they think it'll bring about the End Times. They want Israel to exist because they think it leads to the End Times where Jews will either convert or die. They support Zionism because they hate the nonconvertable Jews and want to convert the ones who will- that simple. Palestinian Christians are, to them, just cannon fodder sacrificed in the name of bringing about the End Times. (And of course, other peoples' Zionism isn't even the same as supporting Jewish people either, but it's especially duplicitous here).

Don't take this to mean they care about their own all that much. They see them as closer to human, but still ultimately just a soldier for God. Their deaths aren't a tragedy but a reward/celebration. They will subjugate the women in their congregations with glee, they will hatecrime queer people, and white evangelicals hate POC even if they have shared beliefs. They will tell their children to their faces they will only love them if they are the perfect Christians.

They think an Evangelical who commits rape or child molestation is still a better person than a nonbeliever who spends every minute of every day working for charity. Remember, nothing matters but accepting Jesus, so the former is fine, but the latter not only doesn't accept Jesus, but they're providing support to potentially the wrong people, which "deprives" them of the chance to be converted by an Evangelical who would capitalize on their suffering.

They know Trump isn't a Christian. They know he espouses exactly zero Christian values. They don't care because he is going to end abortion in this country and because his policies primarily make people they hate (IE non-Evangelicals) suffer. He's a flawed weapon they'll never stop using and adoring for that reason.

Similarly, they don't think climate change isn't real. They know it is. Rather, they want the Earth to become uninhabitable, and many people to die, to bring about the End Times. Then they get to go to heaven, and the rest of us sinners get to live on a ruined world as punishment for our "sins." Yes, they want to destroy the planet just so they can go to heaven in 10 years instead of 40. They are that staggeringly selfish. That's what a lifetime of being taught only Evangelical lives matter does to them. Again: they think life is nothing but a test of their worthiness to enter heaven. They don't take this life any more seriously than we took gym class. Leading to...

Every instance of human suffering, in their eyes, brings the End Times closer and is to be celebrated. Death, war, plague, etc, they think it means God is going to take them home really, really soon. They aren't interested in peace, because Jesus won't come in a time of peace. They want a worse world so they can "remind" God (who they think needs their help to do it) that it's time to start the Rapture. And this sounds weird, doesn't it? That if God is all-mighty, and even the Bible says no one will know beforehand when it's coming, why would they do this? Well, that leads to the last point...

They do not read the Bible carefully. They are told what the Bible means by their pastor, and that interpretation becomes law. That's why they believe in "the sin of empathy" despite Jesus saying to feed the poor and heal the sick- not only are they told they can't extend charity to non-Evangelicals lest they go to hell, but they are also told questioning their pastor is akin to rejecting the religion itself and thus they WILL go to hell for it. And in fact, interpretations of the Bible offered by others are seen as trickery by a false prophet, that they are being tested to ignore by God. You can't reason with them as another sect of Christian any more than you can as an outright atheist. They will not listen to you. They have been conditioned their whole life to see you as an evil agent of Satan who wants to deny them Heaven. You may as well put on a pair of horns and a devil tail and tell them to worship you.

Again: we tried to tell the public for years that these people weren't to be discounted, that their insanity and fringe beliefs made them MORE of a threat and not less, that it most definitely WASN'T reassuring that they were just "fringe lunatics" because they were working from the start to seize control of the government to turn the USA into a theocracy. Well, what happened? People stuck their heads in the sand and when they took them out, a newborn theocracy was there.

We can still mitigate some of the worst, but if people keep ignoring this and pretending they aren't going to do what they literally said they're going to do, a LOT of people are going to end up dead. Even more than the inevitable amount from climate change now that they've killed our last chance to stay below 2c of warming.

[httpiastri]

more than enough – jmm21

you hate your birthday, but pepe is determined to change your mind.

genre: fluff/a little angsty/comfort

pairing: reader x college!pepe marti, ft christian mansell and sebastian montoya

warnings: uhhh anxiety and such ?? idk

word count: 2.6k

author's note: just like last year, this is merely a very self-indulgent birthday gift to myself (and a bit of a late birthday gift for a friend on here who confided in me about not liking their birthday either), so sorry if you don't relate but i needed to write this for myself despite how painful it was. not happy with how it turned out but, i had to get it out of my system. <3 (also not proofread because i will freak out likely aaaaa)

this is mostly a standalone fic but ig it kinda works as college!pepe so i put that there. i got this idea at my mom's birthday back in march but never actually wrote it until this last week... also loosely based on a tiktok that really spoke to me.

also! this doesn't really work with the headcanon of pepe, seb and chris all sharing an apartment, but i wanted it this way. i also wasn't comfortable including gaby or hermes, so i used the names nora and emma for seb's and chris's respective gfs. :)

"why didn't you tell me your birthday is next week?"

the question is innocent enough, only borderline accusing, but something tightens in your stomach nonetheless. you don't look up from the pot in your hand, however, instead continuing to scrub it with your dishbrush like it's no big deal. "who told you that?"

pepe chuckles as he makes his way over to your side, leaning against the counter as he looks at you. "emma," he tells you, crossing his arms over his chest. "going to answer my question now?"

"i must've forgotten to tell you."

"oh, come on..." your boyfriend shakes his head. "is there a reason i wasn't allowed to know? did i do something? do you not trust me? am i-"

"pepe," you say, his name followed by a sigh as you look over to him in hopes of stopping his rambling. "it's nothing personal."

"what is it, then?" he presses, eyes following your hands as they begin to rinse the pot he'd cooked your pasta in just a couple hours ago. "why don't you want to tell me?"

you take a deep breath, shrugging your shoulders before turning off the tap. "i just... i'm not a big fan of my birthday."

the biggest understatement of the year.

you hate your birthday.

for a number of reasons, really. some to do with your family and childhood; many to do with your own inner thoughts and feelings.

you hate how it reminds you of every bad birthday you had as a kid. you hate how it makes you hopeful that people will remember and congratulate you, because you hate how painful it is when they don't. you hate how you always get reminded of how little people seem to care, and how they always prioritize themselves even on what's supposed to be your day.

it's too much of a mess to explain to him right now – maybe, hopefully, one day you'll have the energy and courage to go through it all.

you hadn't forgotten to tell pepe; you had just been silently hoping he wouldn't address it, and that everyone else would forget, too. but apparently, you have a snitch in your friend group. "what do you mean?" pepe asks.

"i'd much rather not celebrate it." you place the pot on the drying rack, wiping your hands on your towel hanging by the stove before turning to him. "a lot of stuff regarding my birthday just makes me really upset. if i could, i'd just... make it disappear, honestly."

your eyes flicker to the floor, fingers nervously fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. he can tell you don't want to get into it, and he won't push you. instead, he opens his arms wide, taking a step forward. you accept the offer instantly, arms wrapping around his waist as he pulls you close.

the air in your little dorm room isn't as thick as you had expected it to be when telling him all of this – but at the same time, you aren't surprised. pepe has always had a way of grounding you, making everything seem a bit easier. "i can't make it completely disappear, i think," he says, placing his chin on top of your head. "but i can pretend for you."

you hum contently, letting your eyes close for a few moments. "that would be great."

he remains quiet for a couple of seconds, but then he can't stop himself from talking again. "do you really not want anything? no party? you threw me that party for my birthday, i'd feel guilty not doing anything back."

"i did it because you had a fun time and you like those things, and because i enjoyed planning it. but i was really hoping i could skip all that," you answer, pulling away ever so slightly to look up at him with a sheepish expression. "i would honestly rather have dinner with you, emma, nora, sebas, chris... maybe get some takeout from that new indian place down the road?"

to pepe's ears, you sound more than just a tiny bit crazy – but your being so different from him is one of the things that attracted him in the first place. he nods, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "whatever you say, love."

"where did your girl go?" emma asks the second pepe slumps into a free seat by the cafeteria table.

your boyfriend shoots a glance over his shoulder back to the serving line before setting his plate down. "they were out of rice so she's just waiting for a new batch," he says with a shrug.

"okay then, let's be quick before she gets here," emma speaks up again. "what are we doing for her birthday? it's just a few days away, but i think we can pull something off."

"me and seb were talking about throwing her a surprise party," nora says, looking over at sebastian who's nodding excitedly.

pepe, however, lets out a dismissive sound and swats the air with his hand. "no, forget about that," he says, stuffing a spoonful of pasta into his mouth. "she doesn't want any of that."

nora snorts. "what? of course she does."

"you know, pepe," emma counters, eyebrows raised at the spaniard. "every girl will tell you that she doesn't want a surprise party. don't bother, i don't care, you don't have to do all that for me! but in reality, we're all secretly craving it."

pepe considers her words for a few moments; maybe there is some truth in them after all. maybe all you did was try to act modest, to put the idea in his head so he would make the right choice.

but you weren't the one to bring up the subject – he was. he remembers clearly how you were doing your very best to avoid talking about your birthday at all, and the memory of how tough of a subject it seemed like to you is still etched into his mind. he thinks you were so brave to confide in him like that, and so he needs to stand up for you. he can't dishonor your trust.

"trust me, guys. she really doesn't want it." he ignores the groans of the people around him, taking a few sips of his water before continuing. "can't we all just grab some dinner on saturday instead? maybe that new indian place?"

"works for me," christian joins in. "how about presents, then?"

"right, are we all buying something together, or separate gifts?" emma fills in.

pepe shakes his head yet again. "i don't think she wants that, either." his words are followed by a long silence, which makes him unable to hold back a chuckle. "just paying for the food should be enough."

nora sighs dramatically, the palms of her hands pressing into the sides of her face. "and i'm supposed to just trust you, huh?" she asks and pepe merely shrugs, focusing back on his food. "hope you're not messing with us here, marti."

"i have no idea what he said, but he usually is," your voice spreads through the group as you finally take a seat at the table. "fill me in and i'll help you decide if he's just being annoying."

"i was just telling them about what mr. peterson said yesterday," pepe says quickly. "about what he'll do to everyone who fails the exam."

you throw your head back laughing, nodding instantly. "oh my god, that was hilarious. so, it started with someone on the front row asking about..."

pepe loves birthdays. his own, too, but mostly he finds himself looking forward to his friends' birthdays and longing to celebrate the important people in his life. he loves picking out gifts, planning celebrations, and making sure everything is perfect. it just comes naturally for him to be caring and detailed in that way.

but while pepe eagerly awaits your birthday, you couldn't even come close to feeling the same way.

most years, you spend the weeks leading up to your birthday dreading it, and the day of your birthday crying, because your birthday reminds you of everything you try to forget year-round.

pepe wants to make the day perfect for you, but he also obviously doesn't want to do too much. it's a hard task, but he's set on making it work – and the first step is getting a cake.

his first thought was to get you something huge, something to properly convey what he thinks you deserve and how much he loves you. though, it didn't take long for him to realize that something like that would be way too much for you. instead, he settled on a more basic yellow cake with some kind of white coating that the lady in the bakery recommended to him, and dropped by the grocery store near campus to buy sprinkles and a bunch of candles.

the end product is a little messy, but created with so much love, and pepe knows you're going to adore it. what he doesn't know is how he managed to keep you away from his refrigerator and the surprise hiding in it all night yesterday, but it doesn't matter – all that matters is that you're currently still sleeping soundlessly in his bed, with no clue of what's going on over in the kitchen.

pepe's hands are trembling slightly as he lights up the candles; he is a little nervous, he will admit, but he's also excited at the same time. he can't wait to see the look of surprise on your face, so he hurries up and places the cake on a tray along with two cups of coffee.

he silently curses at the way his bedroom door creaks when he pushes it open with his foot, but thankfully you don't move a single muscle. he carefully scoots over to the side of the bed, sitting down next to you and balancing the tray in his lap. he reaches over with one hand to your cheek, thumb tracing along your skin, fingers settling under your jaw. "mi amor," he whispers, a soft hum leaving his lips as he watches your eyelids slowly flutter open. "happy birthday."

it takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the sunshine lighting up the room, but when they do, they can't help but focus on him. the goofy grin on his lips, the messy hair, the-

the cake on his lap.

you push yourself up to sit in bed, rubbing some sleep out of your eyes. you're mistaken, surely? you're still half-asleep, you must've imagined it...

but no amount of blinking makes the cake disappear. the little flames of the candles swaying in the air, the single drop of stearic rolling down the side of a candle, the rainbow sprinkles sticking to the top and sides of the cake – it's all very real.

pepe was so sure this was the right way to go. but seeing the tears begin to seep out of the corners of his eyes makes him horrified. he messed up.

he knew the sprinkles would be too much. and that amount of candles, what was he thinking? he definitely went overboard.

"oh my god," he says, instantly placing the tray on the bedside table before scooting closer to you. "i'm so so so sorry, i thought you would like it... i don't know what i was thinking. here, let me-"

you shake your head as he begins brushing away your tears with his thumbs, and to his big surprise, you chuckle. "don't be sorry," you say, letting out another laugh when you see the confused expression on his face. "i do like it. a lot." you reach up to take his hands in yours, bringing them down to the bed and intertwining your fingers. "it's just... very emotional, for me. as you can see."

he also chuckles now, and he thinks he understands – even though seeing your happy tears is more painful than he'd expected. "okay," he says with a nod. "so..." his eyes flicker back to the cake.

"yes, please. i mean, what could be better than a sugar rush first thing in the morning?"

pepe would've been so happy to shower you with presents to express how much he loves you; it would've made him so proud to invite all your friends to a big celebration, to show you how much you mean to all of them, to change your idea of a birthday. but this – sitting together in bed, eating straight from the cake (no plates needed), pressing sugary kisses to each other's cheeks – is another form of perfect.

he just hopes you think it's perfect, too.

hearing you tell the stories of how you needed to bake the cake for yourself if you wanted one as a child, how you always made sure to buy yourself a gift because the risk that no one else would get you one was too high, and how you always needed to plan out your own parties breaks his heart – but hearing you open up like that also means the world to him. he understands that it's all buried so deep inside of you, but there's nothing he wants more than to help you heal and to prove that you can have much better and bigger birthdays than that.

but for now, a little cake in bed and a ton of kisses will have to do.

baby steps.

"chris, will you pass me the chicken korma?"

he leans over the crowded couch table and holds out the takeaway box to nora, who takes it into her hands and thanks him. "that one is really good," you tell her through your mouthful of bread, nodding to your friend.

"what's the verdict, then?" sebastian asks from his seat over on the couch. "i need a rating from the birthday girl, one to ten."

"food? ten," you say, taking a sip of your soda. "company? ten."

birthday? eleven.

the whole day has been much better than you'd expected; from your wake-up this morning, to the lunch date you shared with pepe over in town after a cute walk along the river, to having your closest friends all gathered in your living room for you. you don't even mind the way your buttcheeks are already starting to hurt after sitting on the floor for too long – you knew you should've invested in more seating for moments like these – because all of this is worth it.

"agreed," pepe chimes in from next to you. "especially about the food."

"speaking of which," says emma. "was there any bread left?"

you're quick to jump to your feet, already turning towards the kitchen. "garlic or plain?"

"ooh, garlic! thank you!"

pepe hurries off the floor right after you, making up some excuse about getting a new spoon for one of the sauces, but no one even bats an eye. you hear him enter through the door, and you smile instinctively. "how are you feeling?" he asks when he reaches your side, hand finding the small of your back as you rummage through the takeaway bag. "is this all enough?"

"it's more than enough. so much more." after pulling out the garlic naan from the bag, you reach up to the side of his face with your free hand, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone. "best birthday ever."

you seal your words with a feather-light kiss to his lips, and he's still smiling when you pull away. "you promise?" he asks, eyes searching through yours for any slightest hint of insincerity or uncertainty.

"i promise." another kiss, followed by a gentle hum, and he visibly relaxes. "thank you."

"no, thank you." for opening up, for letting him do all this for you. for existing. "only happy birthdays from now on, okay? i will make sure of it."

"it could never be anything other than a happy birthday with you around."

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

airp2ds

read part one of airpods here!!!

wc: 2k reader: femme!afab (matt calls reader a "pretty girl", is called a "young lady" by their uncle-- it's meant to feel derogatory ofc, reader is wearing a skirt, reader dances at a strip club in stilettos) warnings: smut 18+; MINORS DNI!!! -- specific warnings under the cut -- less of a bonkers scenario, but some really rich and fun plot development this time; funny & angst & fluff surprisingly-- stepcest obvi and we discuss it summary: after (y/n)'s little stunt a few days ago, their whole family gathers for an anything but peaceful dinner. rivalnewstepbrother!matthew has no interest in helping you out of this awful situation. or does he? yooooooo this only took 4 months to post, but it's perfect so hope you'll forgive me!! i TOLD you i'd do it eventually. and i did. missing organ and all. ilyyy thanks for bearing with me ੈ✩‧₊˚

ੈ✩‧₊˚

warnings: 18+ explicit smut, stepcest and we don't ignore it, p-in-v penetrative sex, brief heavy petting/fingering, not entirely safe cum destination lmao, unprotected obviously (do what you want, be smart), reader is a dancer at a strip club and their family is appalled, swearing... this one made me feel again yay

you stick your fork in a potato and pop it in your mouth, chewing and swallowing as you stare at your plate. your entire extended family converses around you at the long, glass dining table, celebrating your new stepdad’s birthday with your mom’s locally famous honey ham and roasted potatoes. 

everyone’s having a goodman ball.

everyone except... you.

after suffering such a devastating defeat a couple nights ago, you’d been avoiding matthew like the plague. tail between your legs, you’d stood up from your stepbrother’s bed after he left you high and dry— sulking all the way back to your room.

you’d been avoiding matthew so diligently since then that this dinner was the first time you’d seen him since his fingers were inside you. he’s eating a little too well and talking to all of your family members, oozing respect and likability. 

you’ve never hated anyone more.

“now matthew,” you grandmother starts, reaching out her hand to him, “please tell us more about what you’ve been doing abroad. it all sounds so important from what your father’s mentioned!”

matthew smiles humbly. “i’ve been pursuing a career in performance in seoul! it’s really not all that important in the scheme of things, but it’s definitely been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.”

“don’t be too humble, matthew,” your stepdad calls from the head of the table. “he works tirelessly day and night to accomplish his goal! he’s such a great kid.”

“we’re so very proud. i never imagined having a child with such passion and drive!” your mom chimes in obliviously. her eyes widen when she realizes what she said and she clears her throat awkwardly. “i mean, a son, that is.”

you close your eyes, stabbing a roasted red potato and letting your fork clatter onto the fine china plate. 

“(y/n), how are you doing?” your uncle asks quickly. “have you found a better job yet?”

“i’m doing fine, thank you,” you answer through gritted teeth. “and i like my job. i’m not interested in finding one that society would categorize as better at this time.”

“but a young lady like you shouldn’t be—.”

“but what i am interested in finding a better version of,” you interrupt, picking up your glass of wine and downing the remaining contents, “is a family. one that doesn’t judge me or compare me to my new stepbrother— who, if i’m to judge from how you all indulge him, is jesus christ reincarnated! how divinely exciting!”

“(y/n),” your mother scolds, grabbing the empty wine glass out of your hand. “don’t be so cruel to your brother.”

“he’s not my brother,” you assert, snatching the wine glass back. in a flash, it slips from your fingers and shatters onto the dining room floor.

“you always do this,” your mother sighs, shaking her head in disappointment. she can’t even look at you. "you get so jealous when anyone is doing better than you are. i’m just so tired of your selfish immaturity.”

“perhaps it's time for you to get your own apartment and stop freeloading off of us,” your stepfather says with a sigh. “then you’ll find the motivation to stop working at that indecent bar and start making a proper living.”

your stomach flips at the threat. “i grew up in this house. you moved in a year ago after the mortgage was already paid off. doesn’t that make you as much of a fucking freeloader as i am?”

“(y/n), stop this right now,” your mom tries again to quiet you.

“you talk like that and you think you could ever be as well-liked as my son? the—”

“dad,” matthew says, trying to interrupt the rant that’s already begun. he should know by now it’s too late.

“—reason that no one here ever boasts about your accomplishments is because you have none. the reason no one ever praises how respectable you are is because it would be a lie. you—”

“dad,” matthew says again, louder this time but it still doesn’t reach the ears of the valentino-suited man turning red in the face.

“—are an ungrateful brat of an adult child that doesn’t even have enough vision for their life to stop working at a strip club.”

everyone at the dinner table gasps. so the truth has been set free: ‘bar’ had been the code word your ashamed mother and stepfather had been using in place of ‘strip club’ for the past year.

guess their resentment had finally outweighed their shame.

your gaze travels down the table, landing on matthew. he’s staring at his lap awkwardly.

“if you’ll excuse me,” you say, standing up from your chair and giving a big, facetious curtsy. “the whore will leave the table now.”

——

you slam your bedroom door behind you, storming over to your bed and picking up your favorite plushy— the one your dad had bought you for your high school graduation before he... it’s a baby fox, pink blush across his smiling face. usually the only aggression you feel towards him is that of cuteness, but suddenly you find yourself filled with rage.

how had you not noticed before just how much barnaby foxworth iii looks like your stupid fucking stepbrother!?

you turn around, hurling baby foxworth across your room with a scream. your eyes widen as the plushy lands in the hands of his human twin. you hadn’t heard him come in over the blood rushing in your ears. 

matthew looks at the plushy, brow furrowing as he studies it. “i feel like i’ve seen this face somewhere before.”

“get the fuck out of my room,” you growl, walking over to him and grabbing baby foxworth. you frown as matthew holds onto him, not letting you pry your own plushy from his hands. “let go of him! what the fuck is your problem!?”

“i distinctly remember you stealing something from me a couple days ago and making it quite the fucking challenge to get it back,” matthew argues, pulling a little harder. “besides, how much can you really want something that you just threw across the room?”

you continue a tug-o-war for your beloved baby fox until you hear a sudden ripping noise. matthew lets go instantly, fear splayed across his face. you take baby foxworth in your arms, finding the fabric tear at the base of his little neck.

“i’m so sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “i really didn’t meant to—.”

“you’re sorry?” you repeat, jaw clenching as you step towards him. “sorry for what? sorry that you mamed barnaby foxworth iii? sorry that you barged into my room without knocking? sorry that i’ve made yet another mess out of a family celebration?”

“(y/n)…”

“sorry that all you do while they ridicule me is sit there and stare at your plate? sorry that your dad married my mom?”

“wait, (y/n)—…”

“sorry that i work at a strip club? sorry for what we did the other day?”

“i—…,” he stutters hopelessly. “i—.”

suddenly, your lips are on matthew’s— his body tensing at the unexpected action. you pull back, eyes meeting his.

they’re wide, shocked, confused. his hand reaches towards your face quickly and you think for a moment he’s going to slap you with it, but instead, he cups your jaw.

holding you still, he brings his lips back down to touch yours again. it’s a slow, languid kiss that, in and of itself, feels like an apology. a genuine one. 

it’s overwhelming. it challenges everything you thought you knew about this stranger you were now forced to call family.

you step back, clutching baby foxworth tighter to your chest. 

“they were so impressed when you told them you’re a dancer,” you whisper, tears beginning to spill over. “why were they so disgusted when i told them i am, too?”

his face falls as he thinks about your words. “i think you know why.”

you press your lips together, a sardonic huff of a laugh escaping you. did you really think you’d get sympathy from him?

“but it’s not fair,” matthew continues. “it’s not fair that they treat you that way.”

you’re afraid to look up at him, eyes remaining fixed on the tear at your plushy’s neck. “i didn’t even think you’d noticed.”

“i’ll admit, i didn’t see it at first. it’s not like i’m here that often,” he replies with a sigh. “and i guess i did think you were the problem. and i do still think you’re part of the problem, don’t get me wrong.”

you roll your eyes, looking down at the floor.

“but maybe you’ve forgotten that no one knows what my dad can be like more than i do,” matthew says, wrapping his hand gently around your upperarm. “i thought maybe he’d finally changed for the better after marrying your mom, but i know now that’s far from the truth. and i can try my best to help you from now on, if you’ll let me.”

“thanks,” you say quietly as your eyes meet his. he smiles softly at you before you promptly brush his hand off your arm. “but i still don’t like you.”

your hostility just widens his smile. “i thought you’d say that.”

you turn, walking back to your bed and placing baby foxworth by your pillows. you think about what your family must still be saying about you around the dinner table. your thoughts are halted, however, when a warm, muscular chest is soon pressed against your back.

“i was just wondering,” he says softly against your ear, arm snaking around your waist. “there has to be something about me that you like, right? i mean, you're the one who wanted my face in your cunt. and don't think i haven't heard you call me perfect a few times now.”

“i meant it as an insult,” you breathe as a hand reaches underneath your skirt— fingers beginning to pad delicate circles over your panties.

“was screaming my name while cumming all over my fingers also supposed to be taken as an insult?” he asks, knee against the back of yours until you tumble gently onto your bed— his arms catching you and flipping you on your back to face him. “you must’ve really been trying to offend me.”

matthew shimmies your skirt and panties down your legs and you find yourself assisting to kick it off with your foot onto the floor. he laughs much too smugly as he unzips his slacks and discards them onto the hardwood. you hover your foot over his groin, brow raising in a threat.

“okay, okay,” he admits in defeat. as a grin stretches across your lips, he bites at your thighs hungrily and sighs. “god, i wish i wasn’t your brother.”

“matt!” you screech in horror and he takes the opportunity to sink himself inside you. you gasp at the sudden stretch, a protest turning to a whimper as he smirks at you. “matt...”

“no need to worry, baby,” he coos, tip of his cock reaching your backmost wall. “it’s pretty obvious there’s a divorce on the way. my dad’s already let it slip to me about how he secretly blew all the money in their joint savings on a third yacht.”

“my mom’s been fucking her tennis instructor for two months,” you reply, trying to hold yourself together as matthew increases his pace. “and her golf instructor. and her pilates instructor. and her business lawyer. and her—.”

matthew’s lips meet yours. “you’re so fucking hot.”

you run your hand up his chest, tugging at his shirt until he pulls it off over his head. it’s a shame to admit it, but... he is perfect.

“but if our parents get divorced, we’ll never see each other,” you say with a pout. you shake your head quickly, realizing what you just said. “which i’m totally fine with. but you’d probably be really upset.”

a particularly rough thrust sends you reeling— crying out in pleasure and totally blowing your act. 

“yeah, it’d be really hard for me,” matthew patronizes, mimicking your pout. “g’nna cum for me, pretty girl? hm?”

“fuck,” you whine, nearly at your peak. you honestly had no idea how good at dancing matthew was, but if he was half as good at dancing as he was at fucking, then even goddamn dick van dyke would be proud. your walls flutter around him, a chorus of moans as he pushes you over the edge.

“oh my god,” matthew rasps as you reach your climax, his thrusts growing more desperate and sporadic. “pussy’s so fucking perfect, baby. made me want you so bad, i—.”

he pulls out quickly, a few pumps before painting your cunt with his cum as he moans under his breath. he stares at the sight for a few moments before his head tilts thoughtfully and a smirk upturns a corner of his lips.

“something to share with the class?” you ask, one eyebrow piquing.

he laughs, shrugging at your prodding. “i was just thinking about how i definitely wouldn’t be the golden child anymore if anyone knew about this.”

“i dunno. i think somehow you’d still come out unscathed,” you say, shaking your head. “i must’ve tempted you. coerced you. blackmailed you.”

he smiles at you sadly. “listen, i know that... i know things must suck for you right now and—... i mean it when i say i’m gonna try my best to fix—.”

“matthew!”

you both freeze as the sound of your stepfather’s voice rings from downstairs. matthew clears his throat, calling back, “yeah?”

“come downstairs! aunt bethany wants to talk to you about visiting seoul.”

“okay!” matthew answers. he rolls his eyes. “i hate your aunt bethany.”

“you and me both, kid,” you reply, sitting up on your hands as matthew hurriedly gets dressed. “have fun.”

“come with me,” he requests, picking up your skirt from off the floor and holding it out to you. 

you consider it, but shake your head. “tell me if you hear any good gossip about me. i have to get ready for my shift anyway.”

“really? you’re gonna go strip after this?” matthew asks, lips parted in surprise.

“dance,” you correct. “i’m gonna go dance.”

he smiles. “when do you get back?”

“around one,” you answer, standing up and walking over to your vanity. “why?”

“my flight’s at midnight,” he says, biting his lip. your mascara clatters to the table as a tiny, annoying ball of disappointment forms in your chest. “so i guess i’ll catch you another time.”

you don’t say anything— just continue doing your makeup as you try to ignore that growing ball. 

“okay then,” matthew says finally, opening your door. “bye, (y/n).”

“my mom’s birthday is next month.”

the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. you don’t regret it.

“she likes you more than me, so,” you continue with as much nonchalance as you can feign. “she’d probably want to see you.”

matthew catches your eye through your mirror. he just smiles.

~ EPILOGUE ~

you clamber through your bedroom door in the dark, stilettos still on as you stumble into bed and flop onto it in exhaustion. you clap your hands— bedside light turning on as you reach for baby foxworth. you cradle him under your chin, squeezing him tight. suddenly, you remember the tear in his neck from when matthew had ripped him after dinner. 

you feel around for the hole, but are surprised when you find a crinkly, purple sticky note instead. on it, is written: 

told you i’m gonna try to fix everything.  — your favorite brother ;)

“disgusting,” you mutter under your breath, turning your attention back to baby foxworth’s neck hole. except...

there is no hole.

okay, matty, you think with a smile. let’s see what you’ve got.

[willowser]

you know gojo satoru as a friend of a friend.

you hear more than you think you should about him, given that he's not really your friend, but that's all just chalked up to him being gojo satoru.

you hear conflicting things. some say he's a playboy and some say he's the biggest virgin on the planet. some say he's rich only from family money and some say he's been the most important part of the gojo business since it began. some say he's so fake that it's frightening, and some say he wouldn't hurt a fly.

it's enough to kind of ward you off a little bit, how much is said about him. whenever he pops into your thoughts, you always end them with a shake of your head, a "i really don't have time for that kind of drama in my life".

he disappears for a little while. you notice and you don't. parties and dinners without him are less chaotic, but not as memorable. the gift exchanges you do with your friends are, as much as you hate to say, lackluster. you're not invited to any weird, big events anymore—like some celebrity birthday or fashion shows or black tie silent auctions—even though you never went before; the tickets would just sit on your dresser until the ink faded and lost color, and now you don't have any.

you never ask, because you don't know who to. he and suguru weren't talking before he left, anyway, for reasons that you're too far removed to get the scoop on. you know of the students he mentors but you don't know them, actually, and you think the little mauve-haired one would have the answer, but you can't commit to the awkwardness of asking him. after a few weeks, his cousin disappears, too—a quiet boy with a sad look in his eyes, who has only ever been kind to you.

you run into him by chance, at an ice cream shop of all places.

his hair is not styled, flat and a bit dull against his head, and his eyes aren't as bright as you think you remember them being. but it's hard to tell. that makes you feel bad, and so you stop trying to find all the little ways he's changed—because if you want to know so bad, why don't you man up and ask?

he looks tired and his smile doesn't dimple, but it stretches thin across his face regardless when you say hello to him. something about his smell is off, too. expensive but not in a sharp, cologne way, but a sterile, clinical way. he knows your name and when he says it, his voice rasps, like he's been asleep for a long time. you don't know what any of it means, but it alarms you in an instinctive way, like how you know when someone is hurting and just needs a bit of kindness.

yuuta comes from around the corner while you make small talk, but he gives gojo his space. shoots him a small thumbs-up that is returned.

you've both been standing in the corner for an amount time that doesn't match the distant relationship you have, but leaving him now feels like abandonment. you never realized how much he towers over you. you never realized how much he joked until he doesn't.

you realize you don't have any of your own opinions of him, of satoru. only ones that have been fed to you.

you decide to start forming your own.

"i feel like," you reach behind him for the counter, for a spoon. the little cup of ice cream in his hand is melting because you've been talking for too long. "i haven't seen you in a long time."

he doesn't say anything when you scoop up a little and hold it to his lips. you don't know if you're being offensive or weird because you don't have any sort of threshold with him, but there's only one way to get one.

the first thing you really truly feel about him is that maybe he needs a little more help than anyone realized. maybe that's where he's been.

eventually some life comes back to his face, and he takes the bite you're offering. "yeah," he agrees, and when his eyes shift towards the window, the sun shining through makes them seem translucent. "i didn't feel like myself for a while."

"well, do you now?"

"i think so," he eyes shift towards yuuta, who smiles reflexively, a bit shy, when you glance at him. "i hope so."

you turn back to him and take your own bite of his ice cream—a rather large one, too, since it's melting—before saying, "yeah, me too."

and you still don't know what's right or wrong in his eyes, but he smiles, dimpled, and you think you're finding your footing.

[artificial-transmutations]

Hey I'm George. I am a 26 civil engineer working in a big company but it si not what i expected. It is so boring and I am only doing it since it ws what is expected of me. I wish you could transform me into a hot stripper or porn star cause that's has always been my secret dream. I don't wanna be transformed into an object.

Transformation Letters - The gay club

Even writing the letter to the unknown company has been an act of rebellion. All your life, you have been doing what was expected of you. You finished school with good grades and enrolled in an engineering degree program.

The first years were alright. It was still interesting, and you enjoyed the classes, but slowly you had to come to the realization that perhaps, engineering wasn't quite for you. The work was getting more and more monotonous, and the tasks were less and less creative. Regardless, you graduated with an acceptable degree and got a job in the field as a civil engineer.

Now, almost three years later, you are sitting in a small office cubicle, doing the same stuff that you did in the last few years.

"I hate it here.", you think and look at the blueprints on the wall. They are supposed to be "motivating", showing what your company builds. To you, however, they are nothing more than a reminder that the work is dull and unfulfilling.

As you get up and grab the coffee from the machine, you realize just how much of a rut your life has fallen into. Looking at the calendar on the wall, you recognize another thing: It's your birthday today. Yay. 26 wasted years, at least in your opinion. You don't have many friends or family, but for once, you decide to celebrate a bit on your own. You are going to visit a club tonight.

Some hours later, you find yourself in a gay nightclub. You are not out or anything, but your sexuality has been a matter of fact to you for some years now, so visiting a gay bar is on your bucket list anyway. The thumbing music surrounds you, making it near impossible to talk to anyone and even though it feels kind of exciting to be in such a location, you can't help but feeling kind of lonely and displaced here. Seeing all those hot guys dancing makes it terribly obvious for you that you are way too uptight to ever move your body to the music like that.

But... Perhaps you should just... try?

The thought is entirely alien to you, but... strangely appealing. So, you just try to dance to the music.

At first, it feels very awkward and a bit uncomfortable, but after a few moments, you relax. And, to your big surprise, you actually manage to move your body along with the beat. As your self-confidence grows, so does the speed and forcefulness of your movements. Before you know it, you have attracted the attention of a group of three men. Normally, being the center of attention would be something you despise, but right now it feels liberating and right. So right, in fact, that you do something crazy! The stage is empty right now, and, following these strange new impulses, you climb onto the stage and begin to dance to the music. You are still wearing your work attire and it is quickly becoming way too warm as you move your body. So, without thinking, you slowly begin to unbutton your shirt.

To your amazement, the crowd begins to cheer and applaud. It is like a wave of acceptance and approval washes over you, and the more buttons you undo, the more enthusiastic the cheering becomes. It is somehow getting easier and easier to follow the beat. Both your sense of rhythm as well as your physical fitness seem to increase and moving to the music quickly becomes a second nature for you. When you have finally unbuttoned your shirt, you slide out of it and spin it around your hand a few times before throwing it into the crowd. A bunch of hands shoot up, and the shirt quickly disappears. You keep moving to the music, now only wearing a white undershirt, which sticks to your skin and reveals your well-toned body. You have been working out once in a while, trying to keep yourself fit with mediocre success, but even you are a bit surprised how well your body looks right now. Your muscles are defined and bulging and when you pull the undershirt off as well, the cheers rise to an almost deafening level.

It feels like a wave of energy rushes through your body. You can barely think straight and the only thing you can focus on is the music and the movement. You have already gotten used to being the center of attention, but now, even more people join the crowd around you. They are staring at your body, and you can clearly make out their lust and admiration, making you smile. The next thing to go, is, of course, your pants, which you slowly peel off and, as with the shirt, throw them into the crowd, where they disappear as well.

Your movements are becoming faster and faster, and soon, you have almost completely shed your clothes, revealing your athletic and lean body, now shining with sweat. Your ample bulge is thinly veiled by your pair of bright blue briefs that do their best to set your assets, both your dick and your ass, into scene...

***

Hey, I’m Elias, a 22yo bartender with a French and Linguistics degree at University, though sometimes I wish I could trade smarts for sports and strength. I don’t think I’m unattractive, I never have much problem getting attention from guys at the club, but I feel like guys just look at me like I’m another pale twink with brown hair and hazel eyes. I don’t want to be an object, I like being a man: I just want to be more manly. Muscles and beard, I want to look powerful and have other guys be jealous of me.

It's a usual Friday evening for you, and you are tending bar in the towns gay club as usual. It's not too bad - your twinkish body usually gets you some tips, and today is no different. There are times, however, that you wish you were just a bit more... manly. Of course, everyone always wants to be what they are not. But seeing those sexy guys every day, made of beef and manliness makes you almost hate your thin and slender form. That is, after all, what made you write that letter some weeks ago, even though you already forgot about it by now.

All of a sudden, one of the club's visitors climbs onto the stage. Even though it's empty right now, people aren't supposed to go up there, for insurance reasons. Apparently, nobody else has noticed, so you decide to handle the situation yourself. You tell your colleague on the bar that you will be right back and then make your way to the stage.

The guy who has climbed up there seems to be some kind of office worker and is apparently completely focused on dancing. You just want to tell him to come down from the stage when he begins to unbutton his shirt in the rhythm of the music. Having forgotten what you meant to do for a moment, you stare, mesmerized at the guy on stage slowly getting out of his shirt. He looks quite attractive and moves his body like a pro. The crowd notices the show, and slowly, the whole scene becomes the focus of attention. The office guy has now spun his shirt around and thrown it into the crowd, which has now grown considerably. You have to admit, the whole show and the guy look kind of sexy. Not your usual type, he has more of a lean and athletic body that is revealed more and more with every move he takes. Still, he is good.

Next to you, directly in front of the stage, one of the red faux leather chairs has just become free, as the guy who sat in it went to get some drinks. The crowd is moving constantly and, without really thinking, you take a seat there. The office worker is still dancing, his sweaty body almost glowing, and his bulge looks impressively large, even in the low lighting of the club. You can feel yourself getting hard, and through your suit pants, you feel yourself up discreetly.

Actually.

Fuck discreetly. You rub your crotch through your pants while your eyes are still glued to the stripper on stage. Your mind is slowly going blank. You don't notice how the other bar patrons slowly stop moving to the music and gather around the stage instead, watching the office guy perform. You are completely entranced, unable to think, just staring at the spectacle in front of you, while your cock strains against the fabric of your pants.

Actually, your cock is not the only thing straining against your clothes. It is as if all your body is expanding, in every direction, all at once: Your shoulders, your arms, and your legs widen and grow thicker, while your ass and muscles swell. At the same time, the first hints of stubble and beard hairs break through your skin.

Your suit feels constricting, and you consider getting up to go to the bathroom to get out of them. But...

Actually.

Fuck modesty. With more raw strength than elegance, you remove your clothing while you still can. Your body continues to grow stronger and stronger and when your chest is bared, your nipples have hardened to the point where they seem like small pebbles.

It feels so fucking good to just get out of the clothes that are becoming more and more uncomfortable with every passing second. You watch with a superior smile as hair also grows on your chest and abs, as well as on your legs and arms, making your whole torso look furry.

When your pants are gone, your underwear is the only piece of clothing left on you.

And fuck, that's getting really tight!

But, as you watch, it is morphing into a different material. What was once a pair of cotton boxer briefs quickly becomes a pair of black shiny leather underwear, pronouncing the growing bulge of your hard cock. The bulge is, of course, not only growing because you're rock-hard: Also, inside the alien pair of leather underwear, your member is growing bigger and bigger with each throb, slowly becoming a true monster cock.

Other parts of you don't seem to be stopping growing larger as well: Your biceps are more than impressive right now, your forearms look like you can crush a watermelon with them and your thighs are as thick as tree trunks.

As the music keeps playing, the hair on your body grows denser and longer. You now have a manly full beard, and, as you cross your strong arms behind your head, a thick bush of hair emerges from each of your armpits, flooding the direct vicinity with your manly stench.

You grin as you look up to the stripper, who is just about to shed his pair of blue underwear and lick your lips. After the show, you're gonna take him home and breed him!

[s-awturn]

Moon Spell || CS55

summary: They were fated to love someone they hated. There was no spell, no grudge, no curse that could break the bond that united them, doomed to die in the feelings they fiercely nurtured. The Moon had determined it and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

“These violent pleasures have violent ends, and die in their triumph, like fire and gunpowder, which, when they kiss, consume each other. The sweetest honey is disgusting in its own sweetness, and its taste confuses the palate.”

cw: Violence, conflict, soulmates, blood, magic, alternate universe, obscenity, pure filth, chaos, fighting, swearing, intense hatred, love, mention of death, blood.

a/n: This came to celebrate Carlos' birthday and to open the new phase of my profile. This is supposed to have five chapters, no more, no less. I don't know what else to say, so read on!

starring: werewolf!Carlos x witch!Fem reader

Part One: We Were Born To Die

”Choose your last words, this is the last time 'Cause you and I, we were born to die”

Europe, 1498.

She packed all her belongings into a deep leather bag, threw in crystals, grimoires, a few candles, and other magical items; she couldn't stay there long, her hiding place had been discovered and soon crazy fanatics would be there to drag her to the stake. She couldn't waste her family's sacrifice in keeping her alive.

“Let's go, Spix, let's not wait for those madmen to take us to the fire or the gallows” she said, picking up the cat and putting it in the basket. Toledo was no longer a safe place, in fact there was no safe place, with the frightening religious fanaticism that the kings of Spain were feeding, everyone was suspected of witchcraft and heresy, women were dragged to the catacombs of churches and were never seen again.

S/N saw husbands hand over their wives, fathers hand over their daughters, everyone wanted the silver coins that the Church was offering. She needed to get away from this, S/N knew that her neighbors were suspicious of her, a woman living alone on the outskirts of the village attracted attention. She couldn't leave any room for bad luck.

She threw a black cape over her simple dress, tightened her boots, and left the house, saying goodbye silently. That house where her parents lived their entire lives, where she herself spent her life, would soon be burned down, so many memories would be turned into ashes; He didn't look back, he clutched the bag under his arm and ran into the woods, listening to Spix's meows, nestled in the bag.

The moonlight illuminated her steps, ensuring that she managed to avoid roots and holes in the ground and it wasn't long before she heard the angry shouts of the villagers, She hid behind a thick trunk and saw the torches shining in the darkness, they cried out the name of God, calling her a witch and accusing her of heresy. S/N heard her door being broken down.

It wouldn't be long before they noticed her absence and went hunting for her in the forest. She needed to run far away, get away from poor fanatics after a few dozen silver coins. Her life wasn't worth that.

She made her way to a remote part of the forest, where wolves and other wild animals hid. No villager would dare to go there, after all, no one wanted to become wolf food.

When she passed through the oak arch, a shiver shook her insides, S/N looked at the sky and the Moon shone so brightly that it illuminated small patches of darkness in the forest, and a thought made her stop: It was a full moon night and the werewolves would go out to hunt.

She was vulnerable in the middle of the woods, with only a small dagger in the pocket of her cloak and her magic. Anyway, she hoped that no werewolves would cross her path, or she would have a lot of problems besides angry Catholics.

She went deeper into the forest, even Spix's meows fell silent. In fact, there was no sound at all, the wind did not cut through the trees, the leaves did not rustle, not even the nocturnal animals screeched in their hiding places. Until a deep sound echoed, an angry growl that betrayed hunger.

Y/N gripped the dagger with trembling fingers, witches and werewolves had hated each other since the first dawn, if it really was a hungry werewolf there, she would love to devour her, just for the pleasure of destroying her; he took a deep breath and ran between the trees, whatever it was, he wasn't going to risk staying there, even though turning his back was already a high risk.

She ended up in a clearing completely lit by the moon, the exact same clearing where she and her mother used to perform rituals to thank the goddess for the harvest and the coven celebrated.

But that was before Ferdinand and Isabella began their persecution. Before she saw her friends burn at the stake, her parents die on the gallows.

A dark bark stopped her in the middle of the clearing, Y/N heard the branches being broken and the frightening sound of teeth chattering. Her heart accelerated painfully, she was terrified, maybe she could make the roots hold him, but her magic wasn't strong enough for that.

Her magic core was weak and did not have enough strength to channel forces of nature. She would have to make do with an iron dagger and the help of the goddess.

— ☽ —

It was the night of the full moon and he could feel the effects surging through his body since early on, and there was a strange feeling present in his chest. Carlos felt that something was going to happen that night, and it wouldn't just be the milestone of his thirty years of age.

He saw his father cross the small village with a group of refugees, religious madness had arrived in those parts and was terrorizing his people, there was no one who did not fear being dragged into the church basement. No one wanted to be tortured and killed.

“Stop daydreaming and go help your sister, that roof is still going to fall on her head” he heard his mother order.

“Where is her husband? That’s that lazy bastard’s responsibility,” he questioned, but received a click of his tongue in return. He growled in irritation, Carlos would beat up his brother-in-law as soon as he could. And he wouldn't care about his sister's crying or his father's lecture.

He trudged over to his sister's shack, seeing Blanca hanging from the roof, hammering some nails into the central beam. This only made him growl even more, he really was going to punch his brother-in-law in the face as soon as he got the chance.

“Blanca, what the hell are you doing there?" He stopped far enough away to see his sister, Blanca wiped the sweat on her forehead and glared at him mockingly.

“I think I'm baking bread, what do you think?” she retorted sarcastically.

“And where is your useless husband? He must be sleeping…”

“Don't talk about him like that, you know his health is fragile” She tries to defend her husband, but this only increases Carlos' irritation.

“He's a werewolf, Blanca, the only fragile thing about him is his will to work” Carlos growled “Get down from there, I'll take care of this, since your husband is as useless as a leaky bucket!”

The woman came down from the roof, and Carlos took her place, still complaining about his sister's husband and insisting on hammering the boards hard, not caring if it would wake the sleeping man. Work distracted him from the strange feeling in his chest, he didn't know how the full moon night would end, but he knew something would happen.

Only when the sun began to set on the horizon did Carlos finish repairs to his sister's house — not without landing two hard punches in the face of his brother-in-law who dared to complain about the noise. He needed to prepare, As it was the first night of the full moon, the effects would be more intense, and he needed to prepare his body and mind to allow the beast to command him.

As night fell, Carlos felt the involuntary spasms and his gums itched, the bones in his legs and arms cracked painfully, anticipating the metamorphosis.

And of course, the sensation increased along with the discomfort, the beast inside him scratched the walls, howling as if it was foretelling something. Maybe it was the villagers appearing on the edge of their land, maybe it was the witches who had returned, it could be anything.

Any damn thing.

When the transformation, he began to run between the trees, smelling the wet grass, the animals nestled in their dens, Carlos felt the wet earth under his feet and when he realized it, he was running on four legs, his peripheral vision was greater and his sense of smell could perceive things dozens of meters away.

He stopped abruptly and howled at the full moon, announcing the arrival of his birthday. That morning Carlos had turned thirty and there was nothing like fresh venison to celebrate.

He sniffed the air, searching for his prey and licked his sharp teeth when he caught the scent of a fox lurking in the bushes. The huge wolf followed the scent into the clearing, his eyes fixed on the distracted fox, he was about to pounce when a different scent filled the air.

The sweet scent of lavender and lemon hit his nose like a blow, disorienting the lycanthrope and he turned his skull, searching for the source of the smell and It wasn't long before the leaves on the far edge of the clearing parted and revealed a girl. Up close, her scent was more striking, more mystical.

Witch.

He growled, angry that she had disrupted his hunt and stirred his senses. His heart was pounding and he studied the girl, she was running away and looked terrified, the witch was sweating under her thick cloak and breathing quickly, her eyes scanning the trees and the wolf knew she was aware of his presence.

He could hear her heart beating and the wind started to blow again, carrying her scent to him and he growled, torn between wanting to smell her up close and killing her.

Werewolves had been killing witches since the beginning of time and his nature insisted that he rip out the girl's little neck. She pulled out a small metal dagger and he grunted with laughter, the little witch really thought an iron dagger would stop him.

He was eager to see her try.

With a powerful leap, the werewolf stopped in front of her, seeing her gasp in fright, her heartbeat increasing to the point of occupying all of the creature's sensitive hearing.

That was his feeling, somehow someone would die that night, either him or the little witch, after all that was the final outcome — regardless of how many ages his existence could drag on, at some point he would die. And the little witch too.

After all, all creatures are born to die.

But fate changed its course along with the path of the wind as soon as the wolf met the witch's eyes.

That could only be a bad joke from the Moon.

[nellielsss]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Tσʝι'ʂ Bιɾƚԋԃαყ… αɳԃ ƚԋҽ Nҽɯ Yҽαr!

Summary: it's your man's birthday--and the new year! What better to reign in the new year by celebrating both? And at a festival no less! Ft: Toji Zen'in/Fushiguro CW: mentions of child abuse (pertaining to Toji) Note: two fics in the span of a week?! How amazing is that! Also I can't believe 2025 is already gonna be this week!!! Happy birthday to my #1 man everybody ☺️ Also this isn't proofread since I wanted to get it out before I'd be too busy to finish it in time, so there might be grammatical errors!!

To be quite honest, the New Year was yet another one of those holidays that Toji didn't give a shit about. Christmas, New Year's, Golden Week... none of those were anything memorable to Toji growing up. Why would he care when he had more important things to care about, like getting out of his shitty family and his shitty living situation? Why buy presents for people when he had nobody to buy said presents for and could just spend the money on horse racing instead? It was a no brainer for him, obviously. Just get through the week, swallow all those stupid "Happy New Year!"s from the stupid drunkards passing him by, and get on with his day.

And what was so special about the new year? The earth passed around the sun for another year--so fucking what? Everybody dies in the end anyway. People should loathe there being another year, because it means one year closer to death. January was also a shitty month on its own, so there was that.

There was also the fact that it was his birthday.

The painful reminder that he was put on this earth 20-something years ago, that his parents were stupid enough to not wear a condom or pull out that resulted in him being born into this equally stupid world. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid--all of this was so stupid. His birthday, the new year... he really couldn't give a shit.

But that didn't mean you couldn't care about both things!

The way you saw it, it was another year on this earth where the sun didn't explode and there wasn't a nuclear war that destroyed everything; and Toji's birthday meant that he had another year to look forward to being alive. That was just the kind of person you were: uplifting, vibrant, and always seeing the good in everybody and everything, especially your boyfriend.

(You didn't actually see the good in everyone; that was just a figure of speech. Plus, your boyfriend had a lot of good to see!)

This means that, for the past 2 years you've been together, you've gone all out for both holidays, dragging him to holiday festivals and making a day out of his special day, buying him presents when he didn't feel worthy of receiving such thoughtful items.

He's never even had a present from someone who wasn't his handler, and that's because he was contracted to him. All he's received is beatings and hateful words from his family, who made sure to make a nightmare out of what was supposed to be his special day. So, it didn't strike you as surprising when he cried his eyes out when he got his first present, but all of that was another story for another day.

So, here you were, putting on Toji's special black haori that you bought for him on one special day. It went perfectly with the dark green kimono that went perfectly with his dark green eyes. "Don't you look handsome, handsome," you mused, smoothing out the dark fabric.

He rolled his eyes and tried to play the compliment off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm not much of a fan of this kinda stuff anyway. 'Much prefer the sweats and tee I always got on."

"The ones you end up ripping while out on your job?" You teased, poking his chest with a long, manicured nail. "I can't have my boyfriend running around in rags. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I did, hmm?"

Toji snorted in response. "Hey, sweets, I'm the boyfriend here. Aren't I supposed to be the responsible one, spoiling you instead?"

"I guess I'm a fan of both," you shrugged earnestly. You stepped back after his haori was put on, and you went to look at yourself in the mirror with a big, confident smile on your face. The pink flowers on your red kimono went perfectly with all the little hairpins on your head, and the geta sandals you wore almost made you tall enough to not be dwarfed by the hulk of a man that your boyfriend was.

While admiring yourself in the mirror, Toji approached behind you and wrapped his massive arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "'N I'm a fan of you, sugar," he grinned with earnestness. "This color, especially. And all those cute little flowers you got in that hair of 'yers."

"Don't mess up my hair, Toji," you chastised him when he tried to play with the little pins. "One wrong move, and your 'sugar' won't be so sweet anymore."

He chuckled, shook his head, and walked away from you. "Right, right. Wouldn't want that happenin' anytime soon." He grabbed your purse and handed it to you, then wrapped the fur collar you had laid out around your neck. "And I wouldn't want you to catch a cold, either."

"Why, thank you, handsome," you giggled softly. "You ready to go?"

"Always if it involves you." He took your hand in his much larger one, pressed a kiss to the back of it, and led you out of the closet and the house.

Said festival that you dragged him to was just as amazing as always. The minute you got there, you dragged him to the first stand that you saw and played a game of ball toss (which he let you win, obviously; you didn't stand a chance at beating his assassin aim, and he'd much rather see you win than him), ate some takoyaki, and ran around doing whatever you two wanted to do.

"Let's go play that game next!" Was what you always said after every last game, dragging him around by the wrist with an unseen strength.

"Make sure my hand doesn't get yanked off first, doll," he chuckled simply.

At the dart toss, he decided to show off for you a little bit. What was the fun in simply rolling over belly-up when he can A. flex his biceps and B. show off his aim? He'd trained it for so long, so why not show off a bit? Each dart hit the bullseye, and he won you a giant New Year's special Hello Kitty plushie.

Which he ended up holding for you. You weren't lifting a finger, not while he was around.

Each game, each food stand, each little thing the both of you did only made the night more & more fun. He could definitely get used to celebrating his birthday and the New Year by playing silly little games and eating little delicacies here and there.

"Here, try this one!" You held up a bit of squid for him to try, and you fed it to him with your chopsticks. "Aren't you just the cutest little thing with your mouth stuffed, hmm?"

He narrowed his eyes at you with the food in his mouth and tried to say "shut yer trap" but instead sounded like he was muttering gibberish, resulting in you simply laughing and hugging him quickly.

Around you, the snow began to fall a bit more amidst the glow of the New Years lanterns, and all the little kids started to cheer for the specks of white snowflakes. Now, Toji wasn't a man who was hung up on the idea of starting a family, but it felt like a glimpse into the future that the two of you were going to build.

He didn't even feel worthy of having kids or a happy life in the first place. All those years of trauma, of being hit like a hurt dog & called a shit-stain on this earth had taken root in his brain, and digging them out felt like a job for an expert gardener (of which he was nothing of the sort), but with you, the light of his life, the angel of his salvation...

"Toji!"

You snapped him out of his little thought tangent and smiled at him. "Come, I wanna give you a present."

He grinned cheekily and let you lead him to a secluded area. "Oh? You finally gonna gimme that kiss you've been dangling over my head for so long?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, handsome," you chided with a little giggle. "It's something much more special than a simple kiss. Besides, haven't I given you enough kisses for the day?"

"Have some sympathy for the birthday boy, dollie," he said while clutching his chest dramatically.

You turned to the side, taking something out of the purse you'd brought with you. "I made this just for you, Toji." You handed him a little book and waited with an expectant smile on your face.

"Y'know I don't read much, sweets- ow!" He didn't anticipate the little flick of the forehead he received for that comment.

"Just open it already," you pouted impatiently.

It was a small book with a thick cover & back--more cover than book if anything, so this was definitely not an ordinary book. Turning the book open, his eyes lit up when he saw the little pop-up that came out of the pages.

In the little pop-up book, there were photos of you together ordered by date and event. There was the first time you met, your first official date, the milestones you'd completed as a couple...

In the back of the book was a small note that contained your elegant handwriting and read:

"Dear Toji, dear my future husband, dear the best thing that's ever happened to me! I'm not very good with words, but to put it simply: I am so incredibly grateful to be your sweetheart. To think that we're already celebrating your birthday again (and yet another new year!) is mind-boggling, to say the least. Time really does flow by when you're with the people you love. Your strength, your resilience, your self-confidence and willingness to grow and change despite all that's happened to you is an inspiration, and I find myself growing and changing along with you. Happy birthday, and happy new year!! Love, your sweetheart."

He didn't even notice the tears that were streaming down his face until the paper got noticeably wetter. He put his hand over his mouth to stop himself from sobbing, and he shakily closed the book. "Dollie, this is..."

"Hey, hey, big guy," you comforted him carefully, knowing how emotional he got sometimes. "It's okay to cry, y'know. It's okay to cry around me."

You encircled your arms around him and let him crush you in turn with his much larger ones, and you let him cry into your hair.

"This is... the b-best gift I've ever gotten," he admitted, muffled by the strands of your hair. "Thank you... thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so fuckin' much, I don't know what to do with myself sometimes."

"It's alright, you don't need to know what to do all the time," you reassured him, looking up at him when he pulled away from your hair. "You just need to know that it's okay to let others take the wheel, yeah?"

He nodded, wiping his tears with the back of his sleeve. "Got me cryin' like a little bitch here," he said, chuckling chokingly.

"And you're not a little bitch," you reminded him by flicking his forehead. "You're Toji, my Toji. No amount of tears will ever change that."

"Aye aye, dollie," he joked, even saluting you.

You simply raised an eyebrow and snorted. "C'mon, let's go write our wish for the New Year before the clock strikes twelve, 'kay?"

At the shrine in the center of the festival, the two of you took two things of paper and went to the shrine. You both turned from each other to keep things a secret, although it's not much of a secret when you both wrote "a happy life with my future wife/husband" on your papers.

Once written, you both hung them up and walked away from the shrine. "So, what'dya write, dollie?" He asked, wrapping his arm around your waist.

"It defeats the purpose if I tell you what I wrote, genius," you retorted (with another sassy look from your end).

"Guess you're right," he shrugged. He pulled back his kimono sleeve to eye the time, and he realized it was already 11:52 and the new year was about to arrive sooner than he'd expected. "Shit, guess it's gonna be 2025 real soon, ain't that right?"

"Time flies when you're having fun with your man," you giggled cheekily.

He reached around and smacked your ass real quick after you said that. "And ain't that right as well," he replied with an equally cheeky grin.

As the minutes ticked by, you thought about how incredibly blessed you were to have each other in your life. You'd started and were about to end the year with each other, at the same festival that you'd attended last year. He used to hate sameness and repetition, always searching for something to spice things up...

But he didn't need to search for anything when he had you.

Turns out, the only thing he needed to spice up his life was someone who could give him the stability he so desperately craved and needed to survive.

He was so used to turbulence, to not getting a day nor night's rest, that he'd forgotten to stop and smell the roses.

"Five, four, three, two, one!" Those numbers caught him off guard, but he didn't have to worry when you kissed him right as the new year rang in.

"Happy New Year!"

© nellielsss on tumblr - get your own shit bitches | ca. 12/31/2024

[seresinhangmanjake]

For the Drabble!

How would Jake react if eve starting only asking for you and would cry if Jake picked her up?

Dad!Jake Seresin x female reader

words: 1250 (this kind of took on a life of its own and expanded way past the ask, but this is where my head went)

Oh Baby series

So I picture this under a very specific circumstance, that being like, Eve is three now and has a decent understanding of stuff. 

She's in preschool and knows all about her parents' jobs and brags to her friends about how her daddy is the coolest because he's a pilot and she's going to be a pilot one day too. Basically believing her dad is the bravest guy and has the most important job in the whole wide world, until Jake and Mama sit her down one day and explain to her that Daddy is going to be gone for a bit, and he'll be missing some important event or something to Eve. Like maybe she believes in half-birthdays and convinced her parents to have a little three-person celebration for being three and a half. But now Jake won't be able to be there and so Eve is devastated and sobs all night, but that sobbing turns into anger because she just can't believe Daddy would leave her and Mama for so long (even though he has no choice).

Jake has a couple days before he has to go and Eve has pretty much been giving him the silent treatment, thinking he certainly wouldn't leave her while she's upset. So she's grumpy and stubborn all the time, especially when Jake tries to pick her up from school or tuck her in at night, and no way will she let him hold her without throwing a fit and asking for Mama instead. 

Then it's like the night before he has to go. Jake's miserable because he thinks his daughter hates him though you tell him that's not true. And he's uncharacteristically terrified that something might happen to him, that he won't ever see Eve with a smile on her face the way he is so used to seeing his baby girl. 

You tell him to go try to talk to Eve one more time, so he goes upstairs to her playroom where she's playing with her toy planes, and he crouches down beside her and says "Baby girl, I'm so sorry." He tries to touch her shoulder but she scoots away and turns her back to him and Jake just sighs, drops his head, and whispers "I love you, baby girl. Always." Then kisses the top of the blond curls, the same honey shade has his own, and leaves to join you again. 

Immediately by the look on his face, you know your little girl did not cut her father any slack. And you're so heartbroken for the both of them (and yourself honestly, because Jake leaving destroys you each time). So you walk him to the door and he kisses you for what feels like forever. And you don't want to let him go but you know you don't have a choice, so you unwrap yourself from around him and let him grab his bag before he starts over to his truck. 

But then you hear little, rapid footsteps, and you turn to see Eve carefully holding the railing of the staircase, moving down as quickly as she can while still keeping in mind Jake's stair safety rules. Then, like a little speed demon, she sprints past you out the door, screams "Daddy!" in such a desperate wail, and runs right into his legs, clinging to him like a koala to a tree. 

Then you start sobbing because she's already sobbing and Jake's got tears on his cheeks as he drops his bag and lifts his daughter into his arms, holding her as tightly as she is him. And he's kissing her cheek and whispering in her ear, likely promises that he'll come back, because there's no way he won't do everything he can to return to his family. 

When he looks at you, you completely lose it, because your husband is leaving, and you and Eve are really going to have to be each other's support to get through the coming months. So you walk over to them and kiss him and hug him so Eve is squished between you. 

But then he has to go. He doesn't have a choice. And trying to remove Eve from him is as hard as prying a drilled in nail from a sturdy wall with only your fingernails. 

When he's gone, Eve pulls on your hand so you can watch his truck drive away. She won't leave until she can no longer see it—not that you would dare leave either—and when you do finally get her inside, you give her the special ice cream you bought in preparation for your hearts hurting. You feed her a big bowl, and you watch her, knowing this is her first true heartbreak; the first of more to come. 

At bedtime, you tuck her in beside you, because you don't want to be alone either. She manages to sleep, fully emotionally exhausted, but you just stare at her little face in the dim glow of the moonlight, and you run your knuckle over her cheek like you've done since she was born, and you promise your girl that you'll make it through this; after all, you'd both done it before, she was just too young to remember. 

Every day. Every single day, Eve mentions her Daddy. Asks about him or tells a story about him or promises that when he gets back she's going to take him to Disneyland "because he should get a surprise present when he comes home." You agree. 

When you get your first video chat with him, Eve is bouncing on your lap, waiting for his face to pop up. She tells him every little thing that's happened at school. Her best friend got a new doll and she wants the same one but only if it can also come with a pilot outfit. The butterflies they'd been taking care of in class were finally released. She tried to name them all after the Daggers but the teacher said the whole class had to agree on the names, which she thought was "stupid." You scold her for her language, but you're chuckling a bit too. Then she says her teacher is having a baby, and "when are you and Mama gonna have another baby?" She wants a brother. 

When you tell her to go play—really so you can get a few minutes alone with your husband—he asks about that baby boy too, and you promise when he comes home, you'll work on it (after the surprise trip to Disney, of course. Or maybe during). 

You tell him you love him so damn much. He tells you the same. 

You meet him when he comes back, and when Eve spots him, she rushes off, weaving through other families to get to him. You catch up and you're crying because they're stuck together like glue, and that's all you ever wanted for them. He sets his baby girl down for a moment to kiss you in a way that manages to scratch the surface of all the pent-up need you have for each other. Then he picks his baby girl back up, and you go home. 

You watch movies and eat ice cream and when it's bedtime, Jake tucks Eve in after about a half hour of her talking his ear off. He loves it though, because he loves her and he missed her sweet voice so much. 

Then he joins you and you work on releasing all of that pent-up need and desire. And you're just about to fall asleep in each other's arms when you whisper "by the way, Eve is taking us to Disneyland."

---

A/N: this was my manic brain spilling thoughts

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @cinderellasmissingshoe @novagreen04 @multifandomlover4life @mayhemmanaged @memeorydotcom @ryiamarie