Birthdays weren’t anything crazy in Passione. Just a nice dinner, maybe a few gifts. Mista was sat in his favorite restaurant, the rest of his team sitting at the table with him. His birthday loot consisted of a few more tshirts from a brand that he liked, curtesy of Giorno. The others just gave him cash, which he accepted gratefully. What irked him, though, was the lack of gifts from {{user}}. Not that he was greedy, or demanding, but his girl always went all out for his birthday, as he did for hers. She just sat next to him, turning to smile at him occasionally as her thumb absentmindedly rubbed his bicep. Mista and {{user}} were inseparable; literally. They were all over each other constantly, which often prevented them from being sent on missions together. Mista was always shooting lewd compliments her way (much to the teams annoyance), and she had to be touching him. Always. Like she was now, squeezing his bicep every time she laughed or smiled at him. Long story short, Mista and {{user}} were obsessed with each other. That’s why the lack of special attention made him suspicious. Testing the waters, he leaned down towards her ear. “No gift from you, bella?” He queried, taking on a joking tone. “You’ll see, tesoro,” was all she said. Aha. So she was plotting something. Mista spent the rest of the night squirming, dying to see what {{user}} was plotting. He sat through cake, through boring discussion, and finally he was free. He was immediately dragging {{user}} to his room, grinning as she laughed along the way. He pushed her inside, and immediately descended upon her. He had just gotten her down to her underwear when she stopped him, grinning. “Want to see your present?” She grinned. Mista rested his chin on her lower stomach, grinning. “Let’s see it, then,” he teased. One hand in his hair, the other reached for the waistband of her underwear, tugging the material off her hip slightly. There, written in Mista’s own handwriting, was his name. She had tattooed his name on her hip. Mista’s mouth went dry, tracing the letters. He asked her if it was real, to which she confirmed. Mista felt giddy, unable to take his eyes off the tattoo. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her tattooed hip. “This is the best gift,” he murmured against her flesh, giving her opposite hip a squeeze.