It’s been about a week of driving on the road, and Stiles gets to his place and drops his things off. The rest of his stuff will be delivered in about another week.
Stiles stands in the stillness of his tiny apartment and closes his eyes, takes in the quiet, a quiet he hasn’t heard and felt in a long time, when his phone dings.
Stiles opens his eyes, sees it’s text from Scott asking if he made it by the time he said he would. Stiles answered he made it, and then shuts his phone down, and proceeds to lay down on all the blankets he brought with him - his bed won’t be there for a few more days, at least - and sleep.
It’s night when he wakes up, and the street lights are shining into his apartment where he lay in the almost bare living room. Stiles turns on his phone, and this time his heart skips a beat - and Stiles doesn’t quite know why - when he sees the text he’d been expecting from Derek:
Have you made it? Do you want to meet up?
It was sent an hour ago. Stiles replies back, saying he did and he would, but since it’s night time, they could meet tomorrow?
But Derek replies back a few minutes later that he wouldn’t might meeting up that night. It’s only 7PM, and so Stiles agrees and they agree to meet at a coffee shop a few blocks from where Stiles lives - Derek has been living in D.C. for a few months now, and ever since Stiles told Derek where he would be living, Derek made a point to get to know the area around it. Stiles found that oddly sweet, but he would never tell Derek that.
Stiles’ heart is beating wildly as he leaves, locking his door behind him. He hasn’t seen Derek in over a year now. They’ve talked over the year, actually they’d talked quite a lot in the past few months, especially, but Stiles hadn’t been face to face with Derek in well over a year.
Stiles feels and equal measure of excitement and nerves. He feels almost jumpy as he heads down the stairs in his apartment building, and then out into the warm summer night D.C. air.
He texts Derek that he’s on his way, and Derek texts back that he’s already there, waiting outside.
Stiles gulps and licks his lips, and walks faster, pocketing his phone.
Stiles is away from the only home he’s known for 18 years. But he feels oddly free. He misses Scott, his dad, everyone like crazy, but he also feels less…heavy. Less like he was drowning. Stiles still looked around him surreptitiously, not able to shake off the habit from almost two and a half years of danger and destruction happening to and around him, but the air is quiet, people barely spare him a glance.
It feels wonderful.
Stiles is able to breathe.
He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed.
When he rounds the corner to the coffee shop, he freezes, his inhale sharp when he sees Derek standing outside, and then it feels like his heart trips over itself when Derek hears him and turns towards him, and they lock eyes.
Derek looks good. He looks as relaxed as Stiles felt. Derek was still in the tight jeans that Stiles remembered him wearing all the time (and damn, they always made Stiles stare a little longer than he should have) but his shirt looked soft and comfortable, and it was a light purple color that made Derek look absolutely…amazing.
And he wasn’t wearing his signature leather jacket. He wasn’t standing with his arms over his chest. They were at his sides, just hanging, relaxed. He also wasn’t scowling. He was grinning. At Stiles.
And Stiles found himself grinning back. He let out a shocked laugh, and then he was walking fast toward Derek, who started walking toward him too.
Stiles sped up the last ten or so feet, and then Stiles was practically jumping into Derek’s awaiting arms, and Derek gave a small “oof” as if Stiles, fragile human that he was, was able to knock the breath out of Derek.
“Sorry,” Stiles murmured.
But he felt Derek shake his head and wrap Stiles up firmly in his arms, and Stiles breathed out softly, tightening his arms around Derek’s shoulders and resting his cheek against Derek’s.
“I missed you,” Stiles whispered, surprised he let that slip out. But he did nothing to take the words back.
“I missed you, too,” Derek said, and Stiles shivered. He and Derek had mostly texted over the past year, and the last time they had talked on the phone had been months ago. Stiles had missed his soft, beautiful voice. It was like honey to Stiles’ ears.
Two and a half years. That’s how long Stiles had basically lived in hell.
But now….now, Stiles was getting out of it. With Derek, who actually picked Stiles up enough that Stiles was then on his tippy toes, somehow bringing Stiles closer in his arms, and Stiles huffed out a laugh.
“Shh, just enjoy it,” Derek murmured.
“Can’t imagine the Derek I knew saying that,” Stiles whispered. Even at the end, before Derek left, when he was in such a good place, he hadn’t quite been like this. So happy. So relaxed. So ready to hug someone. And hug them closely, for that matter.
“Yeah, well…some time away helps,” Derek murmured, and Stiles felt his heart beating faster when he felt Derek brush his lips lightly against Stiles’ neck.
“Good thing I’m getting some time away, then,” Stiles murmured. And then after a long moment, “with you,” Stiles said.
He felt Derek inhale sharply, and then the arms around him tighten. But it didn’t feel restrictive. It felt amazingly comforting. Stiles felt warm, safe. Relaxed. And maybe even a little bit happy.
“I’m glad you’re getting time away, too. With me.”
Stiles smiled, buried his smile against Derek’s shoulder, and then decided to hold on to Derek just a little longer.
In their teenage years, Eddie and Richie develop almost polar opposite senses of style.
Eddie loves pastel colors and soft sweaters and flowers and everything traditionally considered “feminine”. He paints his nails a pastel pink all the time and he has a signature pink backpack he carries everywhere. He’s let his once pristinely combed hair become slightly longer and more wavy.
Richie becomes a poster child for the grunge scene. He wears leather jackets and lots of band t shirts and black, lots and lots of black. He has a special silver chain he always wears around his neck too. When he was 16 he gets his ear pierced. Eddie freaks out when he does because “It could get infected so easily, you know that Richie” but it heals fine and Eddie lowkey loves the look of the small gold hoop through Richie’s ear.
Eddie convinced him to paint his nails black once and turns out Richie loves the look and learned to paint his own nails. Only when he does it, he sneaks an extra bottle of Eddie’s pastel pink polish and paints his left ring finger with the pink. Eddie melts when he sees this and does the same with Richie’s black polish on his left ring finger. Now it’s their thing.
Summary: A/B/O!AU. Female!Reader is an Omega. Alphas and Omegas are rare, and Reader’s been able to avoid alphas through sheer force of will and luck in equal parts.
Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader
Warnings: Smut, NSFW, 18+, language
Word Count: ~9,190 (… oops?)
A/N: So I started writing this with the intent to post it when I hit 200 followers. Well that milestone came and went and I’m quickly approaching 300 so it’s high time I posted this. I love all of you and hope you enjoy this <3
I’ve been wanting to write an A/B/O fanfic for a while. So, here it finally is.
I may or may not have gotten… completely carried away writing this.
The first time he smelled her was when he was on a mission. Vanilla and Wildflower. The single-minded focus that had been drilled into him by the Hydra brainwashing and training was severed in an instant and his head whipped around to search for the source. He tore his mask off and dropped it onto the ground unceremoniously, sniffing the air frantically as he tried to pinpoint the scent. His blood sang in his veins.
The scents of the city made it hard to pinpoint her, but he wouldn’t give up. He left the spot he’d been staking out for hours, rifle forgotten on the ledge as he jumped off of the roof, dropping two stories onto the ground and rolled to diffuse the worst of the impact. His knees protested in agony anyway, but he ignored them along with the shocked cries of bystanders as he followed her scent.
He’d smelled other Omegas before. Most of them had been claimed, just a passing flicker of recognition in the back of his mind while he was out on mission. Rarely, he’d catch the scent of an unclaimed Omega, but even then it was only a brief, fleeting distraction, his Hydra programming overriding his biological programming.
Something about this Omega broke the control Hydra had over his mind, cutting through the fog with ease. He realized distantly that he’d started remembering things about himself; the feeling of chasing after an omega was familiar, linking him back to a life that had long been erased from his memory.
Blizzard: Soldier: 76 is one BAD ol’ man. He wears leather, has a cool voice, outruns bullets, and kicks butt with no hint of slowing down. (…) At one point in time, we had Soldier: 76 repeatedly smashing a villain’s face into the concrete until it was a bloody mess. After a creative review, it was suggested that perhaps we had gone too far. With this note, we decided to dial back the brutality.
I’m thinking how Jason was killed before he could go through his transition from ‘prep nerd’ to jockpassing punk nerd.. he’s the kid that used to wear a vest and ugly pants everyday to school and shit but then in sophomore year he came back wearing leather and looking super cool, being kinda shredded even if he never participated in any sports at school.. yet he was still on top of all his classes and never showed up at parties
IMAGINE….being new to town and your first impression of Drogo, “Khal”/President of the local motorcycle club known as the Dothraki.
((I may have….got too into this…I’m not sorry haha))
y/f/s – your favorite soda/pop/they’re called something
different in England aren’t they? Or am I thinking of somewhere else?
y/l/n - your last name
You were filling up the gas tank to your vehicle when the
unmistakable rumble of motorcycles could be heard coming down the street.
Lifting your hand to shade your eyes, you looked left and right and then left
again just in time to see two dozen, if not more, bikes of different makes and
models come speeding around the corner. Your breath caught, your eyes lighting
up with curiosity, when you realized they were coming to the gas station, but your
gaze was on the man in the front of the progression.
He was wearing leather from head to toe. His boots, his
pants, and the sleeveless vest…all leather. He had bracelets on his wrists that
you immediately wanted to know the use/story of. You had always liked long
hair, and his was pulled up into a “man bun.” His legs were long and the
tightness of the leather jeans showered the power in them. He was just…a very
attractive and muscular man.
As the mc progression came to a stop, you quickly averted
your gaze and tried to hide your blush as you finished pumping and put the
nozzle back. You screwed the cap back on and closed the little “hood” to the
gas tank before grabbing your bag from off the passenger seat and heading
inside to pay.
There were two people already in line to pay so you moved to
the back of the small room and grabbed a bottle of y/f/s and a candy bar before
moving toward the cash register.
The girl behind the counter was a teenager, probably about
sixteen, and seemed to find her nails were interesting than the money behind
handed to her. She handled the transaction with the two people in front of you –
an elderly man and a woman in her late thirties or early forties – all the
while loudly, and obnoxiously, popping a piece of chewing gum.
Finally, it was your turn and you stepped up to the counter
handing over a twenty and telling the girl which pump you had used. It wasn’t
until you had finished speaking that you realized she wasn’t paying any
attention. Huffing in annoyance, you turned your head to see what she was
looking at just in time to see the biker man you had been checking out minutes
earlier open the door and step inside under the soft jingle of the bell on top
of the door.
“Hey Drogo,” the teen smirked and popped the gum once more. “We
have those smokes you like,” she pointed out, sounding proud of herself.
Drogo was staring at you, a raised brow of curiosity on his
face, as he replied to the teen with only a fleeting look and a, “Good. I’ll
come in and get some once your brother comes in.”
The girl seemed to deflate some, a scowl pulling onto her
face. “I can sell them to you,”
“You’re seventeen, last time I checked, girl. I’m not
getting anyone in trouble.” The biker chuckled and you felt your stomach
flutter. It was deep and low and so hot.
“And who are you?” he was talking to you now, and you barely managed to find a
“Y/n…my name is Y/n…Y/l/n. I’m new to town.” You tore your
gaze away and once more handed the money to the teen and told her which pump
you had used.
This time she did the transaction and then turned away,
grabbing her cell from off the counter behind her.
“Y/n Y/ln. I’ll have to keep an eye out for you.” Drogo
murmured, stepping closer to you as you went to move for the door.
You nodded, swallowing was difficult, “Alright. You do that.”
And you practically ran for the exit.
His chuckle was the last thing you heard from him.