For your last minute Valentine needs, we present to you this sheet of Valentines. They run the gamut from sweet to NSFW – we wanted you to have options. If you print them out and give them away, please let us know how it goes!
god I hate being forgetful. it’s not just forgetting homework. it’s forgetting group projects. it’s forgetting birthdays. it’s getting shit last minute christmas presents. it’s planning two things at one time and cancelling on someone. it’s leaving people alone. it’s letting people down. it’s letting everyone down and I hate it.
Request: hi <3 idk if i’ve already requested something on here, but i had this idea and i thought you could write it beautifully bc i love your work <3 the plot is: the reader is bffs with Taehyung and they’re at the mall one day & she sees her ex and just says to Tae “kiss me, I’ll explain later” :) ending is up to you <3너의 일이 너무 좋아!
Warning: Slight use of mature language
“Did I seriously have to come?” Taehyung groaned for the -nth time that day, as he trudged behind you carrying most of your shopping bags.
Turning around you gave him a sickeningly sweet smile,“ Who else would besides my best friend?”
Rolling his eyes, he retorted,“ If I knew you were going to use this on me, I never would’ve agreed to be your friend.”
Scoffing you teased,“ Well sir, you’re 12 years late.”
Shaking his head, he laughed and said, motioning to the bags in his hand, “Ok but seriously, who shops for their Christmas presents this late.”
You shot him a glare and said,“ Someone who was too busy with stupid work and projects to even leave her dorm for a week.”
Sighing, he ruffled your hair, cooing,“Was my baby working too hard now…”
A/N: This has been delayed and rushed all at the same time. How is this possible? idk (What is rOmAncE)
90) “You can tell me anything.”
Woojin was delirious, hair scrunched up in a wild mess, a shirt
thrown on, inside out and back to front, in a last minute attempt to seem
presentable. Stumbling down a flight of stairs in a dream like state, the
consistent ringing of the doorbell acted as his guide through the dimly lit
room. In fact, he was almost positive he was still dreaming as he gripped onto
the door knob, flinging the wooden door open.
But as he saw you standing on the other side, looking almost as
ridiculous as he did, he snapped awake, eyes widening in shock.
“(Y/N)? What are you doing here?” Woojin questioned as
he tugged lightly on your sleeve, ushering you into the house.
“Sorry, I…” you paused, distress etched across your face.
“I can’t sleep?“ You mumbled softly, eyes down casted, exuding an air of
Woojin frowned, concern falling from searching eyes as he led
you to the couch, which sat, covered in an array of colourful pillows.
"What’s wrong? You know, you can tell me anything…”
Woojin stammered, his eyes searching yours as he kneeled in front of you, palms
resting against your knees.
“I think… I like this guy and I don’t know what to do
about it.” You replied after a short silence elapsed over the room,
gnawing at your lips anxiously you observed Woojin for any shift in his
demeanour, but all he did was stare blankly right back at you.
Now Woojin wasn’t a violent person, but he was so ready to fight
whoever seemed to be torturing you like this. But, another thought dawned on
him, one he hadn’t wanted, yet it still plagued the back of his mind for
months. He couldn’t believe it, he was going to lose you again, for the third
time. Youngmin was right, he was completely useless in this department.
A sinking feeling enveloped him as he caught a glimpse of your
face. Even at the earliest hours of the day, your presence was alluring and he
was irrevocably bewitched by you. Swallowing thickly, he began.
“Have you considered, telling him?” he crooned, biting
his lips nervously to prevent himself from intervening. From yelling to the
world about how much you truly meant to him. “No person would ever reject
"I like you…” you whispered into the silence that
loomed over the room.
“Yeah, just like that. He wouldn’t say no, I can
guarantee!” Woojin exclaimed, smiling to mask the pain that hid behind his
“No…” you sighed, letting out a shaky exhale.
“Woojin, I like you."
Woojin sat frozen, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as his heart
skipped a beat in shock. Was this a prank? Wasn’t this a bit too cruel?
However, glancing up, he noted the gentle red hue which splashed across your
cheeks and his heart skyrocketed. Thumping at such an irregular pace, he was
afraid someone would need to call the doctor.
"Oh my god!” He whispered, mainly to himself, grinning.
You sat worriedly, unsure if you had quite literally, ripped
your friendship into shreds. However, as Woojin beamed, a child-like gleam in
his eyes whilst he tacked you down into the couch, your nervousness
“Woojin! You’re heavy!” You yelped, shocked at how
quickly he had bolted upwards from the floor.
“Let me have my moment.” Woojin sang as he buried his
head in between the crook of your neck. “I think this is the best day of
"Woojin… it’s like, 1:30, I have to get back.” You
whined, attempting to push him off you.
“Just sleep with me."
"No! Not like that! Its 1:30, get you head out of the
gutter (Y/N).” He teased before interlocking your hands and speeding off
back to bed.
little even used to get very impatient during christmas time. he’d pull on his mother’s hand, ask her “why isn’t it christmas day yet?” with a pout and his mom would smile and gently stroke his head and say “because christmas is later this month, sweetheart. santa needs just a little more time to get all the presents ready. just be patient, christmas will come sooner than you think, okay?” and he’d let out an exaggerated sigh before saying “okay”
now even doesn’t believe in santa and to him, christmas is mainly that time of the year when he gets to see all his relatives reunited. but when he’s at the mall with isak and they’re shopping for last minute presents and he hears a child say “mom, why isn’t it christmas day yet?” he turns around and sees the child with his mom who has her hands on her hips, a smile and a slightly tired look on her face. so even walks up to them and when he mouths “can i say something?”, the mother has a hesitant look on her face but she still says “okay?”
so even kneels in front of the kid and says “hey buddy” and the kid has his arms crossed, his chin up. he’s sulking. “you know, christmas is not today because santa needs just a little more time to get all the presents ready. if he would’ve come last night, i don’t think your present would’ve been ready! so just be a little patient, christmas will come sooner than you think, okay?” and the child hesitates for a second, but then he sighs and says “okay”
and even smiles at him and at his mom, gets up and waves them goodbye, and then he walks to isak who witnessed what just happened, an endeared smile on his face. and he holds even’s hand as they walk back home and asks “sooo, do you think that kid will be able to wait just a little more?” and even laughs a little, says “i mean, he’ll have to. but yeah, i think he’ll manage” and then he adds “personally, i’m just glad i don’t have to wait to do this” before he turns his head, plants a kiss on isak’s cheek
Hi Seanan! I was reading Feedback and had a thought. Forgive me if you've been asked this before, but the KA virus takes over whenever there's a disruption in the brain's electrical signals. What does that mean for those of us with seizure disorders? Are we entirely boned in the Rising? Thanks!
That is actually a really fascinating question, and one that I hadn’t considered before! GOLD STAR YOU, YOU HAVE ASKED ME A QUESTION I CANNOT ANSWER OFF THE CUFF. (This is incredibly rare, and you deserve like, a dozen gold stars.)
I’m going to say that, barring more study of seizure disorders, and not wanting to wipe out another entire segment of the population, the fact that there is a delay between amplification/resurrection when someone’s brain signals are disrupted by death means that the temporary nature of most seizures is the salvation here. A very brief disruption won’t trigger amplification. Something that lasts several minutes begins to present an increasing chance of complication and amplification and badness.
Those that kill for hire tend to have strange senses of humour. It’s an occupational hazard, some would say, that your jokes become more morbid and you end up sticking out in a group of civilians from having made a few too many jokes about how easy it would be to gut a man and retrieve his kidneys intact to sell to the black market. And a propensity for sticking out in a group of civilians too easily is certainly not good for anyone’s longevity in terms of career or otherwise.
That being said, sometimes Yuuri can’t help but wonder if his job hasn’t warped other sensibilities of his.
You sit at your desk in Prescott Industries, stacks of folders and loose papers scattered around you as you frantically try to get everything ready. The office was still quiet, the floor mostly empty in the early morning.
You have just hit ‘print’ when you hear the printer making weird noises.
“No, no, no! Not now!” you shout out at it, as if the damn thing would understand you.
But the machine eats at your perfectly clean book paper anyway, and you run a hand through your hair in frustration. You reach in to pull out the crumpled mess, but someone’s extended hand and a takeaway cup of coffee get in your way.
You look up to find a pair of baby blue eyes staring at you.
“So this is what you leave me alone in bed for?” Grayson jokes, an easy smile on his lips.
You suddenly feel guilty for having left the apartment so early.
“Sorry.” You take the cup from him shyly. “You were sleeping so soundly and I didn’t wanna wake you… but I had to do some last minute changes to the presentation for the Board. And you don’t even need to be in this early, so I–”
He smiles tenderly as he watches you ramble, and you purse your lips in response, knowing you’ve been forgiven.
“Thank you,” you smile in return, bringing the coffee cup to your lips as you watch him unjam the printer.
“All good,” he announces when he’s done and the printer hums back to life. You rejoice as your document begins printing properly.
“You are a life saver,” you tell him, and he nods appreciatively before he turns to go into his office.
You’re about to sit down again when he calls you, his hand suddenly on your cheek, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss.
“You forgot that before you left this morning,” he beams at you, and you feel yourself blush when a group of people begin entering the office.
You duck your head down to hide.
“People are watching,” you say.
But he just smirks and says, “let them.”
Then his lips are on yours again, kissing you slowly, savoring you, but then you feel his tongue graze your bottom lip and you remind yourself not to get carried away.
You tug on his shirtsleeve and he understands, pulling away with a tender gaze.
Then he smirks at you and winks, his voice low as he whispers, “to be continued.”
Hey could we get Jumin, 707, and V's first Valentine's day with MC? <3 I'm sorry but I'm in the "V deserves better" fanclub my dude.
•First of all, you know Jumin waited the whollllle year for Valentine’s day. He wouldn’t mention it at all, wanting to keep it a surprise, trying to convince MC he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. But you know he’s going to anyway
•He takes the day off, effectively flustering Jaehee because “The company still operates on Valentine’s Day, Mr. Han”
•He firstly leaves out a wonderful dress for MC, asking that she please wear it and be ready when he comes home, not alluding to any Valentine’s Day plans, but it’s obvious at some point. See, he left that morning, giving her the impression he was going to work, but of course he’s not. He’ll have bought her a Valentine’s present far in advance, but he went out that morning and searched for last minute presents. He’s a perfectionist, and wonders if the presents he already has will be enough. Jumin goes overboard
•Upon coming home, he comes to MC and leads her into the dining area where a lavish dinner has been prepared. Her favorite meal btw
•He’s sooo corny throughout the entire dinner. He just dotes MC so much. He does that most days, he can’t help it.
•The night ends with a comfortable bath for the two of them, Jumin having MC lie on his chest while he massages her back and neck
•He doesn’t have anything particularly special planned tbh. At first, he’d think that since it’s their first Valentines, he needed to go all out. But the more he thought about it, a chill Valentines day just sounded so much better. He enjoys spending time with MC without any pressure. The strain of trying to make the day perfect would just mess with his head. But he’d end up making it special in his own little way
•The whole day is just Seven treating MC and having fun. He makes a nice breakfast in the morning (brings her a pack of Honey Buddha Chips while she’s in bed and jokingly tells her that’s what she gets for breakfast)
•Pretty much just a long day of chillin??? Halfway through the day he might have a “random” craving for a nice steak and bottle of wine, and will suggest that they go get all dressed up and go out for dinner. Just a nice little Valentine’s dinner
•IF HE HAD TO GET A PRESENT HE WOULD BUY HER A CARRRR AHHHHH. He’d present the keys in a little box, letting her believe it was a necklace or some other piece of jewelrym then bam. She opens it and there’s the keys to an expensiveeeee ass car
•Or he might just tell MC to treat herself tbh, and take her on a shopping spree. He enjoys trailing her and watching as she excitedly picks out what she wants. It gets him excited. Makes him feel good to treat her
•He would book them a nice dinner reservation. I headcanon V as being an excellent cook, but he would prefer treating MC and taking her out somewhere lavish. He likes spending money on his s/o tbh, he’s just not as direct about it as his buddy Jumin
•He hopes for the day to be fun and stress-free, but he wonders if his illness will get in the way somehow. So while he’s happy to be spending time with MC, he’s a little nervous
•If his vision wasn’t impaired, he’d take her anywhere she wanted to go. The park, the movies, a museum, anywhere. He could still do that now, but he feels like his partial blindness might complicate some things. He just can’t move around freely, if that makes sense? He feels like a burden
•Which is why MC turning the tables and planning their Valentine’s day would be so great. Imagine V just venturing into the kitchen that morning after he smells something cooking, and sees MC making them a nice Valentine’s breakfast? He would be soooo happy. And when she tells him they should just spend the day relaxing, he’s even happier, and relieved
•That doesn’t mean he won’t surprise her though. He’d have a beautiful bouquet delivered, with a sweet note attached. Then for dinner, he might put his skills to use and cook them a dinner
He’s just my absolute fave so of course I had to draw something. Bonus:
You can’t tell me he wouldn’t be proud of them for that high quality rickroll, even if their plans didn’t involve a nation-wide broadcast He’s probably also the kinda person to genuinely enjoy a mixtape with like 15 times just never gonna give you up
day the reader meets Peter at the CD store she works at, and he
steals her Walkman, along with a CD in it. A few years later,
something happens (which remains a mystery for the plot, because I
like a good cliffhanger. Fight me.) and she is thrown in jail.
Charles manages to get her out, but she falls into a depression. She
won’t speak, so Charles is the only one she talks to, and very
little. When school starts, Charles makes Jean her roommate since
she’s a telepath.
Okay so I’m planning on this to turn out fluffy and really cute, so
if you like that keep reading the next parts ;) (spoiler alert: Peter
Maximoff fluff) The prologue happens before Apocalypse, and the Part
1 after it. The Prologue is not my favorite, but important for the
plot, so bear with me. It takes a sudden dark turn in Part 1.
stared out the big front window, watching the clouds break loose all
hell from their hold. The rain pounded a rhythm above her, and the
irregularity of it was both soothing and nerve-racking. She sat
behind a counter, curled up on a swivel chair that hadn’t been
changed since the stone age, bits and pieces of the padding inside
hanging by a string. She fiddled with the chain hanging from her belt
as she inspected the empty shop: rows of shelves, stacked CDs, even a
few records in a box in the corner. The shop was still stocked
to the brim, like usual. Not many came through the door, just the
occasional passing punk or the rare confused mother looking for a
last- minute present for their son’s birthday.
loud thunderclap cracked in the sky, illuminating her face in an eery
glow, before fading back into the relentless downpour. She propped
her elbow on the arms of the chair, resting her head on her gloved
hand. Her black nails combed through her locks, dyed an autumn red,
as she felt herself slip to daydream. She decided to get some music:
she was no use anyways. Throwing her black boots on the floor, she
paced down the aisle, her footsteps slightly loud against the muted
patter. She ran her fingers over the CDs, not sure what she was
looking for. She stopped on a mustard yellow one, the title in a
typewriter font. She smirked: “Sweet Dreams are made of this”.
Backtracking, she jumped over the counter and slid into the chair
again, propping her feet on the desk. She slipped it into the Walkman
in front of her, plugging in her black earphones. Placing them in her
ears, she laid back in her chair and let the music wash over her. She
succumbed to the beat of the drums and the bass of the guitar:
Synthpop wasn’t her favorite genre, but she would make do.
she felt a gust of cold air wash over her face, sending chills up her
spine. Slightly disconnected from the real world by the music, she
jumped when she realized the door was swinging wide open, banging on
the wall in the wind. She reluctantly paused her music and lifted
herself of her bottom to battle the storm. Once the door had clicked,
she halfheartedly turned the Open sign that had flipped over. Oh, how
she wished it was closed already. But she still had two shifts left.
whirled around to see, much to her surprise, a teenage boy sitting
behind the desk. “What the f-” she stopped mid-sentence when she
realized he didn’t hear her. He was listening to the music, wearing
HER headphones. He was obviously “in the zone,” so she stomped up
to the boy, yanked the headphones out of his ears, and proceeded to
ask him, quite madly, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
to her surprise, he wasn’t the least bit ruffled. He gave her a
cocky smile, slapped a pair of steam punk goggles from over his eyes
onto his silvery hair, then, leaning on the desk between them,
in a singsong mono toned voice, answered,
miss, do you need help finding a particular band?” He batted his
thick eyelashes and tilted his head sweetly, looking for a reaction.
At this point, she was done: this man did not have the right to touch
her personal possessions. She could barely contain herself. Walking
up slowly, she slammed her hands on the old desk and leaned over it,
until she was barely centimeters away from him. Looking him straight
in the eyes, she lifted a provoking eyebrow. “I don’t know, you
tell me.” She said vehemently, and he held her gaze without
blinking. His lopsided grin widened and he sat back, setting his
Nike’s on the desk on front of her face. “Come on,” he slid his
hands behind his head, balancing the chair precariously, “I’m not
doing anything wrong!” Her face was now set in a permanent scowl,
but he remained unfazed. He brushed off some dust from his silver
leather jacket, and as he did she couldn’t help but glance at the
cash register: it would not have been the fist time she had to fight
of a greedy hooligan. He followed her eyes and scoffed. “Please, I
just wanted to get out of the rain.”
case you haven’t noticed, this is the cashier’s chair. And if
memory serves, you don’t work here.” The sarcasm in her voice
didn’t really surprise her: it happened so often she sometimes
couldn’t make out if she was being sarcastic or not. Suddenly,
another flash of lightning lit up the sky, blinding her for a split
second. When she opened her eyes he was there, standing in front of
her, so close she could feel his vanilla
ice cream scented
breath on her face, holding the earphones to his ears with her
Walkman in his hand. “Yeah, I’m never getting a job!” He
chuckled, his dark eyes glinting. He looked
somewhat childlike, and the
light from the storm created a ghostly halo on top of his messy,
blown back hair. “You know what?” He said, mimicking a pensive
expression, “I think
all happened in a blur: she felt the wind rush over her, her hair
whipping her face. The loud boom of thunder covered up the sound of
the door slamming, and posters went flying all over the room.
Dumbfounded, she stared at the shop in shock. She hadn’t even seen
him leave. It was like he had just disappeared, leaving a mess like a
tornado hit. It was still raining, so she couldn’t imagine why he
had sped off, not that it mattered to her, but even the reason why he
had come in was a mystery. And she just couldn’t fathom how he got
out so fast, dragging everything in the shop a few centimeters closer
to the door with the pull. She headed back to pick up the posters,
stacking them in a neat pile on the desk, pretty much ready to sit
back and be bored out of her mind for the next couple of hours,
cleaning the rows of CDs that had been shoved off the shelves.
then, it dawned on her: he had left with her Walkman.
years later, the incident happened. She was lost: she didn’t know
what to do. All she remembered where the metal bar doors slamming
hard in front of her nose, the cold damp stone against her palms as
she was thrown on the floor. She still had her own clothes, but a
black and white jumpsuit was folded on the cot beside her, like a
vile rag. She curled up in a ball, her back against the wall, staring
blindly at the seeping darkness in front of her, not daring to speak,
lest to be in deeper trouble, as the lights slowly flickered off,
leaving her in the dark.
same was for her trial. She didn’t defend herself; just stared at
the ground, while the lawyer slowly bashed her down, pushing her
deeper into an abyss of self-hatred. Her parents didn’t want her
anymore: she was a demon spawn. They had kicked her out of the house,
and didn’t even show up to her trial. It wasn’t much trouble for
the police to pick her up. She had stayed in for nearly a month;
became used to people boring holes into her back as they stared, to
the signs they made at her approach. She looked down at her chipped
nails covered in grime as stray locks slipped from behind her her
ears, refusing to speak. Her voice, her cursed voice, had started
this. The cuffs at her wrists were dragging her down, and she knew it
was hopeless: what she had done was too horrible. She remembered
single tear threatening to slip past her defenses, but she repeated
the words in her mind, the lyrics that had kept her going all this
the court doors flew open. She hadn’t turned around: it didn’t
matter to her. Little did she know, it would change her life. A bald
man rolled in on a wheelchair, and somehow, he got her out. To this
day it remains a blur in her mind, but she was out.
called himself Charles Xavier, Professor X. He brought her to his
school, promising he could help, took her in. Charles Xavier’s
school for Gifted Youngsters. It was summer at the time, and not many
students or professors were around, except for Hank, but he spent his
time in the lab. Charles attempted in vain to heal her, but the
depression had taken over: she started wearing big bracelets to cover
the cuts on her wrists, stopped eating, but Charles wouldn’t have
it. He set things in her mind that made it impossible for her to pick
up a razor with the intention to hurt herself, but she just tore her
nails up on her sore skin. She stayed inside with the windows closed,
the satin curtains pulled shut. No light touched her skin for days,
weeks, and she grew pale. Her hair was longer now, the red dye only
creeping up halfway up the length. Charles, on one mind-search, found
she liked music. Thinking it harmless, he got her a stereo. She drank
up the song like it was a drug. The lyrics went deeper than the thrum
of her eardrums; it spoke to her soul, buried deep inside her
closed-off heart. Charles only could speak to her, with his thoughts,
and as much as she didn’t like it, I felt good. He came very often:
tried to get her to talk, to get her to eat. But she wouldn’t.
summer was over. The Professor forced her to go to class; he knew he
wouldn’t be able to take care of her as much, so instead of leaving
her in her misery he decided to entrust her to his teachers. This
resulted in a heated mind- discussion, but she couldn’t argue: he
had all the right reasons.
week before school started, her roommate came. It was Charles’
idea: “she can help you”, he had said, “she’s a telepath,
just like I am, and she’s been here for a while now.” It was no
use fighting him; he only wanted to help. She was sitting on the
floor in the dark when she came. Slowly, she pushed herself up and
cracked open the door. She was greeted by a warm smile. Hello, a
singsong voice echoed in her mind, my name is Jean. She
didn’t say anything, just shoved her hands in the pocket of her
worn hoodie. How are you? The older girl asked. She
would continue to repeat that every time she saw her, despite the
unchanging answer. I’m fine. She finally answered,
looking down at her feet. Her shoulders were caved in, her eyes were
down, Jean could see her self-esteem was somewhere deep. Jean
couldn’t help it: she took her in her arms, silently prying at her
thoughts. Yes, she had been through a lot. Jean saw some thoughts
that scared her more than she would like to admit it, and she
couldn’t stop the tear running down her cheek. She promised to
herself she would help her, no matter the cost, and hugged her
tighter. Rubbing her shoulders, she let go and headed to the window.
Suddenly, the younger girl grabbed her arm. It’s okay, she
reassured, then continued. She pulled back the curtains, the sunlight
seeping in for the first time in a while. It played games on Jean’s
head of red hair, made her gray eyes shine and sparkle. The other
girl flinched slightly at the light; her eyes weren’t used to it
anymore. Slowly, watching the girl’s thoughts, she opened the
window. A gust of air ruffled through her hair, fresh and soothing. A
thought came from the girl, about the height of the drop between the
sill and the concrete underneath, that, quite to Jean’s surprise,
she tried to stomp down with the lyrics of a song. Jean decided she
would ask the Professor about what this meant, but for now she had to
get her ready to meet new people, and she only had a week to do so.
She faced her with a welcoming grin. Isn’t it
beautiful? She gestured to the breathtaking view. The girl
tentatively stepped closer, and Jean grabbed her by the shoulders
comfortingly. What’s your name?She asked confidently.
After a short moment, she heard a delicate reply:
Tags: if you wish to be tagged on the next
part just drop me a message!
dedicated to the lovely and effervescent @ahumanfemale who has become a dear friend to me in a such a short amount of time and who listens to me ramble on about Barisi and babies in equal measure, and is just all-around a wonderful person!
I meant to write a whole fic, but life got in the way. I hope this little head canon will do.
happy birthday you amazing human, you! <3
So the first year that Sonny and Rafael are dating, Rafael doesn’t mention his birthday to Sonny when it comes around.
They’ve only been dating for a few months, so Rafael figures it’s not too big of a deal if he doesn’t bring it up to his overeager puppy of a boyfriend, who would surely make a bigger deal out of the whole thing than Rafael needs.
Besides, there isn’t anything that Rafael wants anyways.
Sonny just moved in, and he gets to wake up to a beautiful, sleepy smile every morning, and that’s everything that he needs.
But, of course, Sonny finds out on his own.
It’s just a casual, passing comment from Carmen about how, “Oh, Sonny, which tie do you think Mr. Barba would like better? I know I’m kind of cutting it close to his birthday, but I wanted to check with you first since he seems to trust your fashion advice, at least a little. I mean, he did let you pick him out a tie last week, and I never thought I’d see that day…”
Poor Sonny just numbly taps the picture of the tie that he knows for certain Rafael will love – a navy number, with gold woven throughout it – before leaving the DA’s office, kicking himself over and over as he tries to scramble together a last minute present and evening for Rafael’s birthday later that week.
So Rafael comes home Friday, the day of his birthday, after a relatively and blessedly calm day, only receiving an actual present from Carmen and a present in disguise from Olivia when he’d visited her office that day at the precinct and she’d handed him a new bottle of scotch for “winning a tough case”.
He feels a bit bad about not telling Sonny about his birthday, but he knows, deep down, that his boyfriend is too sweet for his own good – he’d shower Rafael in lavish things and affection that Rafael is absolutely certain he doesn’t deserve, and simply coming home to that adorable, skinny man is enough for him this year.
So he can’t mask his surprise when he walks through their apartment front door, and sees Sonny standing in the living room, dressed in a crisp button-up and one of his nicest, most expensive pairs of slacks, the lights dimmed and wine sitting on the table near an adorably, messily wrapped birthday present as soft music from Rafael’s record player floats throughout the room.
He meets Sonny’s eyes, question and confusion and guilt all morphing together behind them as Sonny says, “Why didn’t you tell me about your birthday?”
He drops his head, averting his gaze until he can stand to face the sad, kicked puppy dog look on Sonny’s face, the look that was put there all because he had to learn about his boyfriend’s birthday through his assistant.
But Rafael simply answers, with the truth, “I didn’t want to make a big deal of it.”
Sonny shakes his head, and he grins at Rafael softly, whispering, “We don’t have to make a big deal out of it if you don’t want. I wouldn’t do that. But I love you, and I’d like to at least do something a little bit special for you on your birthday. I mean, this was the day that Harvard graduate, kick-ass Manhattan Assistant District Attorney Rafael Barba was born. That deserves some kinda celebration in my book.”
And Sonny gestures to the coffee table then, glasses of wine and present waiting, and asks, “Will you sit with me, please?”
Rafael goes, and does as he’s told – he sits as close to Sonny as he can, their psychical proximity hopefully making up in some way for the emotional closeness that Rafael had denied Sonny of earlier on throughout that day.
Sonny hands him the package, slightly heavy in his hands, and says, sweet smile in place, “Open it. It’s not big, I promise.”
So Rafael nods, and begins tearing at the paper, a smile spreading on his face at the unevenly cut corners of the paper and too-long pieces of tape – it’s so his Sonny in every way.
And as he begins peeling the paper back, he’s met with hard corners and smooth edges; then glass, covering the surface of something, and once the paper’s fully removed, he sucks in a quick breath at the picture frame held tight in his hands, a picture of he and Sonny safe and protected inside.
It’s a candid shot, obviously not one that either he or Sonny took; he thinks he remembers being at a bar with the squad in that moment, celebrating as much as they could after putting a serial rapist away for life.
He’s sitting on one of the many bar stools that had lined the bar’s countertop, tie loose within his waistcoat, and sleeves rolled up, hair mussed at the late hour and cheeks flushed from drink.
And he’s smiling.
He looks so happy.
And it’s all aimed at the man standing between his spread legs as their hands hold each other’s waists and the scenery of the bar seems to fade from view behind them.
They look so perfect together, Rafael thinks.
Like two pieces of a puzzle that fit together to finish the other.
They’re so obviously happy to be in the other’s presence, in the other’s arms, and Rafael sees himself happier than he knows he’s ever been, the smile on his face so telling, so clearly laughing at something that Sonny had said in between the loud hoots and hollers of the bar, because only Sonny can make him smile like that.
He realizes that he’s staring, that he hasn’t said anything to Sonny about his gift yet when Sonny begins mumbling beside him, “Yeah, Amanda snuck and took it when we were out the other week. I got it from her and I–I dunno, I figured, you know, maybe you’d wanna…keep it in your office, or something?”
And then Sonny quickly adds, as Rafael finally turns to face him, “Or–or here if you want, too, I don’t care. I just…I wanted to give you something.”
Rafael surges forward and has Sonny’s face in his hands, kissing him, before he can even think.
“You know why I didn’t tell you about my birthday, yes?” he gasps, pulling back, Sonny’s eyes wide and cheeks flushed as he takes Rafael in, shaking his head, and Rafael just sighs before explaining further.
“Because I didn’t want anything, Sonny. I don’t need anything. I have you, in my arms, in my home, in my bed every morning that I wake up and every night that I come home. I have everything with you, and I didn’t want you to feel obligated that you had to give me anything more,” he says.
Sonny can’t think of anything to say, words are barely forming in his brain at this point as Rafael looks down at the picture frame still clutched in his hands, his smile softening further as a thumb rubs over it’s glass surface and wipes a smudge from it, almost reverently.
“But,” he adds, turning to address his sweet Sonny, still held in his arms, again, “I will proudly display this in my office. So that everyone who walks in will see the man who makes me so very happy each and every day that he continues to allow me to love him.”
“So you like it?” Sonny just breathes out, smiling breaking out across his beautiful face, and all Rafael can do is chuckle and gaze at him fondly, so very much like the look he’d given Sonny in the picture.
“Yes. I love it, just as I love you,” he says, before pulling Sonny into another kiss.
(Y/n) rolled her shoulders as she walked up to her parent’s front door, exhausted from a long week of work. Opening the door, she was welcomed by the smell of pine and gingerbread. As she walked to the kitchen, she peeked her head around the living room door, smiling brightly when she saw that her mum had already started to decorate for Christmas in preparation for her family visiting in two weeks.
“Sweetheart, is that you?” The moment she walked into the kitchen, her mum tackled her in a warm hug. Their quiet laughter filled the room as they squeezed one another tightly. Her mum stepped back, looking behind (y/n) and then down the hallway. She turned towards her daughter with poorly hidden disappointment in her eyes.
“No Derek?” (Y/n) shook her head and moved to sit down at the kitchen table. Her mum brought over a plate of freshly baked gingerbread men and mugs of hot chocolate before sitting down next to her daughter. They fell into conversation easily, her mum carefully avoiding the topic of boyfriends and Derek. As (y/n) reached for her mug she exaggerated the gesture, carefully watching her mum’s face. When the action went unnoticed, she started to play with her fingers, hoping her mum’s hatred of fiddling would bring attention to it.
Two hours had passed and her mum had failed to notice anything different about her. (Y/n) stood up and started to clear away their mugs. She was placing them in the sink when she heard her mum gasp.
“Love, what is that?” A smile pulled at her lips as glanced at her hand.
“Derek isn’t here because he’s at work, but we’re,” She had to stop, too overwhelmed by the happiness flooding through her veins. “We’re engaged”
Her mum squealed, pulling her daughter into a bone crushing hug. She pulled (y/n) to sit back down, holding onto her hand tightly while admiring the ring that sat proudly on her finger. “How long? How did he do it?”
(Y/n) giggled at her mum’s excitement. “It happened last week, we were decorating our Christmas tree and when I turned around he was on one knee and all I could think about was saying yes because there’s always been Derek, even when everyone else left, he’s always been there”
“You really love him don’t you?” There were tears in her mum’s eyes, her love for her daughter and the man she was going to marry was almost overpowering.
“No, I’m going to marry a man I don’t love” (Y/n)’s sarcastic response was met by a smack on her arm, the two women laughing as they wiped the tears from their eyes.
After two weeks of last minute present buying and slightly awkward Christmas parties, (y/n) was back outside her parent’s house but this time Derek was stood by her side, smiling widely as he struggled to keep hold of all of the presents balanced in his arms.
“It feels weird being back here” He turned to face her, still not used to the fluttering in his chest whenever he looked at her.
“Why?” She fiddled with her coat sleeves before meeting his eye.
“Well, it’s all real this time” Derek offered her a heartbreaking smile before stepping into the house.
“It was all real last time” (Y/n) blushed, shaking her head slightly as she followed him.
Her family were overjoyed to see Derek again, the news of their engagement only making them like him more. Once they’d greeted everyone, they made their way up to (y/n)’s old bedroom. Derek set down their bags before drawing her into his arms. He smiled down at her cheekily.
“This is where the magic began” He wiggled his eyebrows as (y/n) shook her head and pretended not to be amused. “Hey, we cuddled in here and almost kissed”
Stepping out of his arms, she started to unpack their bags. “Wow Derek, you’re a stud”
He narrowed his eyes playfully and pulled her back against his chest. A sigh escaped her lips when he started to litter kisses across her neck. “I’m your stud”
She would have laughed if his breath hadn’t been tickling her neck and his voice hadn’t dropped into an irresistibly husky tone. Before either of them could forget where they were, one of (y/n)’s nieces began to call them to join the family’s annual Christmas quiz.
Derek turned her in his arms, amusement shining in his eyes. “You have an annual Christmas quiz?”
“Yep, we also have a yearly Easter egg hunt, so you better get used to it” He inch closer to her, their lips almost touching.
“I plan to” They melted against each other as their lips connected. A sigh escaped (y/n)’s mouth as Derek’s hands dropped to cup her hips, his thumbs softly caressing her lower back underneath her jumper. Her arms rested around his neck, pulling him down to her level. They broke apart laughing when (y/n)’s brother started to shout for them as well. Derek picked her up and straighten his back.
“I also plan to win this quiz” (Y/n)’s shocked laughter filled the house as Derek carried her down the stairs.