Do you still write for Emre Sarioglu? I saw your Mango fic and it was so cute i want some Emre fluff because everyone makes him so miserable😭 just some domestic bliss
ᥫ᭡ not so relaxed mornings
ᯓ★ synopsis a small glimpse to how annoying enjoyable domestic life with emre is
❀ tags unserious fluff. reader is so done with his shit. emre’s annoying ass is hidden under his nonchalant stare.
divider by pixopix
"em." you grumble, barely even opening your eyes as you smack your arm blindly on his chest.
his morning alarm has got to be the most annoying sound in the galaxy. right next to his old man snoring.
as if he read your mind, emre lets out a gruff snort in his sleep beside you, a small "hm?" coming out from his throat.
his phone keeps beeping, signalling that it's time for you— no, him, to wake up. its a wonder why he keeps his alarm on for his days off.
"if you don't shut that shit off—" you murmur, feeling the morning crust at the sides of your eyes, squinting at the sun through the bedroom window when you finally open them, "—i'm breaking your phone."
he barely reacts. he's still asleep, obviously.
when the annoying sound goes off for another round, you groan and sit up in a hurry to glance down at his sleeping form. his arms stretched out with no care in the world as his hairy chest rises and falls.
with a sour look on your face, you reach out and pull a strand from it. one that you know is very sensitive.
"huh? what?" emre huffs and sits up, delirious and half awake. he looks around and meets your glare. "did something…. someth'n happ'n?" he mumbles, barely opening his mouth.
he mindlessly scratches his bearded jaw, blinking heavily at you, deaf to the alarm still ringing.
"shut. it. off." you grumble, before laying back down.
"oh." he murmurs, finally coming to his senses, reaching to the bedside drawer and making the noise stop.
he looks at you laying ln your side, facing away from him and hears your grumbling. nothing but nonsense like 'what's the point of having an alarm if you're not gonna wake up to it' spills from your mouth, and he starts to feel a tad guilty.
emre scooches near, propped on one arm as he leans over your shoulder.
"i apologize, precious." he coos, kissing down your arm.
you huff and lean furthur away, pulling at your shared blanket in a rush that leaves him with nothing. his bare legs shiver at the slight cold. "get away from me. ruining my sleep… i should kick you out."
he knows how moody his tired and restless lover could be.
emre murmurs another apology but he can't hide his amused smile from his voice. he's well aware of how much you value sleeping, but the grumpy frown on your face was too adorable.
"well… my duties for today was supposedly cancelled…" he throws it out there. "i guess i should pack my things—" he grins when your shoulder stiffens a bit, a sign that you're listening intently, "—instead of spending the day making it up to my one and only."
emre sighs dramatically, "looks like it can't be helped."
he turns to glance at you with one eye, watching you turn your head over a shoulder.
"ahem… you may atone," you say with a flair, "with breakfast, lunch, and also dinner."
he makes a sound of victory before pouncing on you, arm on either side of your head.
"knew i could get you to come around."
emre nuzzles into you, making you yelp at his scruffy beard.
"go away!" you push at his hard chest. "make— breakfast-!" you huff.
when you hear him snicker, you decided to pull your best move: twisting his nipples.
emre lets out an uncharacteristic high pitched squeal. he immediately jumps back, holding his pec while wearing the look of betrayal.
"that was low, precious." he basically whimpers, clutching his chest like a hurt animal.
you roll your eyes, sitting up. "grown ass man."
he’s on his feet and scratches the back of his hair. "fine, fine. i'll go and slave away…"
you watch his heart patterned boxers move against his thick thighs before leaning back against the pillows to appreciate the view of his muscular figure.
"… in the kitchen to please my captor." emre sighs in a woe-is-me manner.
when you huff a laugh at his nonsense, he turns to look at you with a wink.
A whole day late but better late than never. This was supposed to be posted on my birthday as a gift to myself but I couldn't finish writing it by then.
Anyways, more emre sarioglu x reader content
"You're up early, kuzum." A low voice greets you from behind. You pause mid-bicep curl, turning around to look at the person who has entered the gym.
"Emre" you greet, setting the dumbbells down. "What are you doing here?"
"I woke up to find that I'm all alone in bed when I'm pretty sure I was sharing it with someone last night." He pouts, turning the speaker off. "Couldn't wait for me?"
"This is the best time to use the gym since no one else is using it." You shrug, grabbing your towel. "So? What do you want?"
"Came to say goodbye. I'm leaving for a mission and won't be back for a month or so."
Right. Yes. He was to accompany Dr. Ziegler on a medical mission. An omnium explosion had caused radiation and Overwatch had been asked to help. Or more specifically, Dr Ziegler's assistance had been requested. Emre was there to help coordinate efforts and make sure everything would run smoothly.
"Australia, right?" You ask, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest. Today was your birthday after all, and honestly, you'd been looking forward to at least celebrating a little before he left. It was why you'd decided to work out so early in the morning, wanting to get your daily exercise out of the way so that hopefully, there was some time to spend with him.
"Yeah. I'm sorry I can't stay and celebrate your birthday this year." He leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. "I promise I'll be back as fast as I can, and then I'll make it up to you."
"It's alright." You take his hand in your sweaty ones, giving it a squeeze. "We both know that the mission comes first, and we both agreed upon it before committing to this relationship."
"Still," he huffs, lifting your chin with his index finger. "Today is your special day, I want to be there."
"Like you said, when you come back you can make up for it." You smile softly, hiding the pain in your chest. "Stay safe, alright?"
"I promise," he murmurs, slotting his lips against yours. You sigh into the kiss, feeling his hand rest on the back of your head as he greedily devours you.
"See you soon." He pulls away when the both of you run out of breath, lips puffy and swollen.
"See you soon."
He takes his leave first, fingertips lingering on your skin for as long as he can before he has to let go. You turn back to the gym equipment, all motivation to continue your workout vanishing into thin air, and sigh, burying your face into the towel.
No point in remaining in the gym if you're just going to stand there stoning. Throwing the towel over your shoulder, you grab your water bottle and leave, bumping into Jack, who wishes you a happy birthday. You nod politely, thanking him and hurry to your room, not wanting to run into anyone else. You weren't quite in the mood to be wished happy birthday by an entire group of people, you just wanted to be alone for a while.
Water slides down your bare skin as you stand underneath the shower head, eyes closed.
What a start to your birthday. Your boyfriend leaving for a month.
You know that it's inevitable, that you won't always have him around for every occasion but it doesn't make the fact hurt any less. Scrubbing away the dirt, you pop the bubble resting on your arm, smiling a little as you watch it disappear.
You remember his surprise gift to you for Valentine's Day — a romantic dinner followed by a scented bubble bath. He'd joined you in the bathtub, his laughter music to your ears, his touch electrifying. You remember how he'd found your fascination with popping bubbles amusing, watching you poke the bubbles unlucky enough to be within arm's reach with fondness in his eyes. Then he'd joined in, blowing bubbles to send them into the air so that you could reach up to pop them.
After a while, you'd turned around, popping the bubbles that littered his shoulders and he'd done the same, counting how many bubbles he had 'defeated' until you'd splashed some water at him and declared yourself the winner because you had 'removed all the bubbles on him before he could do the same for you'. Laughing, he'd splashed water back at you, calling you a cheater but you pointed out that there had been no rule against using such a move.
Back in the present day, you wash the soap off, towel yourself dry and change into a fresh set of clothes before heading to the pantry to grab your mandatory cup of morning coffee.
"Happy birthday!" Lena chirps before dashing away. You smile a little, waving in her direction before going back to your task of making coffee. You reach for your cup that is sitting on the shelf just inches from your fingertips, straining as you attempt to hook a finger at least on the surface of your cup.
Emre must have purposely put it on that shelf the night before, that bastard.
"Having trouble?" A familiar boisterous laugh sounds beside you.
"Thank you, Reinhardt." You take the cup from him.
"I was told it was your birthday today! Happy birthday, little one!" He booms, slapping you on the back. You lurch forward from the force, throwing out your free hand to stabilise yourself and notice something inside your cup.
A note.
"You should read it somewhere private." Reinhardt has a knowing look in his eyes. "Maybe when drinking your coffee."
"Right." You take the piece of paper out and set it on the counter. "Did you help with it in some way?"
"Who is to say?" He grins, leaving the pantry.
You open up the note as you sip your coffee, and immediately recognise the handwriting.
Emre.
He's written plenty of notes to you before, whether it be a simple sticky note stuck to your bedside table letting you know that he'd left for a briefing and had prepared breakfast for you, or a card detailing how much he appreciated you.
A bittersweet smile makes its way onto your face when you see the first line.
Happy birthday Y/N!
I'm sorry that I can't celebrate your birthday with you this year. Believe me, I really would prefer to remain with you for your special day but duty calls. I'll see you in a month's time, I promise. Until then, I'll miss you and your coffee. Make me a cup when I get back, kuzum. I'll leave the choice of beans to you, you're the expert after all. You always make the best coffee, I love that about you, and so many other things that I don't have time to write down on this small sticky note.
I love you.
Emre
You slip the note into your pocket and bring the still steaming mug of coffee to your workspace. Stuck to the top left corner of your monitor is yet another sticky note. It's written in the same handwriting and starts with the same line, wishing you a happy birthday, but the words that come after are what make your heart ache.
I know I've told you many times that I love you, but I've never quite told you why. You're hardworking, caring, and always looking out for others. I love how you always do what you can to do good in this world, even when it's difficult. I love the way you bring out the best in others, and it makes me proud to be your boyfriend. I love the way your nose scrunches when you concentrate really hard, the way your voice rises in pitch when you're excited, the way you laugh without a care in the world.
I love your smile.
I love your eyes.
I love you.
Emre
You pocket this note too, and start work. Colleagues come and go, with the occasional birthday wishes from those who know it is today and you politely nod, thanking them. Lunch is special, with your team ordering food in along with a cake and the pantry is filled with terribly off-key birthday songs. The candles decorating the cake go out with a puff of breath and everyone digs in.
Freja shows up once the celebration is over and hands you a folded piece of paper.
"Emre said to give this to you. Happy birthday."
"Thanks, Freja." You smile, taking the paper from her hand.
"Enjoy the day, even if he's not here."
"Yeah, I'll do my best."
She nods, then leaves. You unfold the paper and chuckle to yourself when you see a sticky note attached to it. The paper itself is blank, but there are words on the sticky note.
"Really, Em? You could have just asked Freja to pass me the sticky note or written it on the paper itself. Then again, it wouldn't be consistent if you did the latter and the former would have revealed what you wanted to say to Freja, so either doesn't quite work." You shake your head in amusement and begin to read the sticky note.
Every moment we spend together is precious to me. If you asked me to choose my favourite one, I couldn't give you an answer because I love them all. I am, however, biased towards a few of them.
I remember when we were caught in the rain because it started pouring while we were walking in the park. We ran to the nearest shelter, laughing all the way. You shrieked when you accidentally stepped in a puddle, devastated about your soaked socks and shoes, but mainly concerned about how cold your feet were. I felt bad that you were the only one with wet socks so I stepped in a puddle myself. Even with your hair messily sticking to your face and your wet socks, you were still the most stunning person I ever laid my eyes on.
I remember the first time you introduced those fancy coffee beans of yours to me. The look on your face when I told you I couldn't really taste the difference between the cafeteria's coffee and yours, the disbelief in your eyes when I said both tasted nice. You could have stopped making coffee for me after that, saved the money for other things but you insisted that I continue to drink your coffee until I could taste the difference. You didn't know if it would pay off, but you kept going anyway.
I like to think that your plan worked. I think I can taste some differences now, but you'll always be the expert. I look forward to trying whatever new beans you buy when I get back, kuzum.
I love you.
Emre
You remember each of those moments as clear as day.
You remember the way his brown locks were plastered to his face with rainwater, the mirth in his eyes as he purposefully slowed down his pace to match yours, the warmth of his hand as he pushed your soaking wet hair out of your face. The small curve of his lips as he smiled softly at you, making your stomach flip. The electrifying touch of his fingertips as they brushed against your skin, leaving ghostly imprints. You remember the way he tucked you against him to keep you as warm as possible, an arm around your waist.
"Stay warm, aşkım. I can't have you falling sick on me."
You had fallen sick the next day, but so had he. Dr Ziegler had not been impressed in the slightest, especially after she heard how the both of you went into an air-conditioned mall to dry off.
You remember the first cup of coffee you had made for him. You'd spotted him about to make his cup of coffee when you'd stopped him, offering to make a cup of coffee for him.
"I promise you. It will change the way you look at coffee." You'd said in the most serious tone you could muster.
He'd raised an eyebrow at you, but slid his cup over, much to your delight. You'd measured out the beans, ground them and poured out a steaming hot cup of dark brown liquid.
"Try it, but don't finish the cup. Wait until it's cooled off a little then try it again." Your eyes had twinkled in excitement.
"There's a correct way to drink this?" He'd asked incredulously. You'd simply grinned back at him, eager to see his reaction.
He'd lifted the cup to his lips, and then "I don't taste the difference."
Your face must have shown every inch of disappointment and despair because he'd very quickly apologised over and over again.
"I'm sorry, aşkım! I'm so sorry! I'm very very sorry!" There had been panic in his eyes.
"Your taste buds are terrible." You'd muttered under your breath, turning away as he'd hugged you from behind, murmuring apology after apology.
What you would give for him to be hugging you from behind right now.
Cassidy passes you a gift wrapped box of your favourite snacks, wishing you a happy birthday before disappearing into the training room with Reyes who quietly wishes you a happy birthday once his teammate has entered the room. You thank them both and head back to your room to nibble on one of the snacks.
You take out the three sticky notes and slot them in your notebook for safekeeping, index finger tracing over the dried ink before closing the cover. Emre really had thought ahead, planned out a way for you to experience your birthday as though he were by your side. You have to thank him when he gets back from Australia, maybe with a card of your own.
Laying on your bed, you roll over to where he'd been sleeping the night before, inhaling his scent, feeling some semblance of the comfort he always brings. His spot is always warmer than yours, which was why you always ended up on his side when morning came around.
"Like a cat." He'd said before, when he came back to find you all curled up on his spot.
You feel something hard beneath the pillow and frown, slipping a hand underneath to feel for the foreign object and pull out an album.
A photo album.
On the cover, your initials and Emre's are engraved within a heart. On the other side of the cover, written in marker is a note from him.
I hope you like this final surprise for your birthday. It's hard to find photos of you when you keep running away from cameras, but thanks to some good friends I've managed to put this together. We should fill up the empty slots with more photos of our own, don't run off the next time a camera appears, alright? You always look amazing, I promise.
Happy birthday.
I love you.
Emre
He'd really scoured the ends of the earth for the photos in the photo album. Heck, there were photos you didn't even know existed, and you were pretty sure Amari was the reason why they appeared. The sniper always knew how to hide away in spots where no one could find her while keeping an eye on her target.
You flip through the pages, recalling the moments from which each and every photo was taken. From your initiation into Overwatch to your first mission to the first birthday you celebrated with Emre as your boyfriend. He'd cooked that night's dinner, lit scented candles, and kissed you for the first time. His touch had been warm, gentle, hesitant even, until you'd kissed him back with everything you had.
You pause on a photo of you slumped over a table, an empty glass of champagne beside you. Next to the photo is written 'they said 'I love you' but will never remember it. Does it still count as their first time saying it?' in Emre's own handwriting. You chuckle to yourself, whispering a quiet 'yes' to the wind, hoping that it will carry it all the way across the world to where he is right now.
When you reach the end of the photos, a sticky note is pasted on the next blank page with three simple words written on it.
