Request: Giles x reader. Finally have a night off together. Reader injured somewhat and he's doting on her please. cute and fluffy
⋆*✴︎⋆*⋆✧*⋆
“Y/N, I grabbed those biscuits I was talking about.” Giles called across the house as he closed the door behind him.
Moving across the house he placed his keys down on the sideboard, slid his shoes off and placed his jacket on the coat rack.
Switching the light on in the kitchen he put some water on the boil for some tea as he put the groceries away.
“Y/N. Are you ok?” he called softly as he poked his head into the corridor to peer across to the living room. Upon hearing no response he moved towards the entrance of the room. He caught a glance of you immediately, curled up on the sofa, eyes closed and head lolling. Smiling he moved back to the kitchen and carried on preparing the hot drinks and bringing them through with the biscuits. Gently placing everything down he slowly and carefully slid into the seat next to you.
Leaning forward to the coffee table he picked up the remote and turned the TV down a little before picking up his book and settling into the seat beside you. It didn’t take you long to stir. Sitting up slowly you gave the man a wonky smile.
“Rest well?” he mused as he leaned forward to pick up his mug.
You made a noise of agreement “How long have I been asleep?”
“Assuming you fell asleep not long after I left? Probably about forty minutes.” Placing his mug back on the table after taking a drink he offered you yours. Thanking him you took a big drink of your own before accepting a biscuit from him. Adjusting yourself carefully you cuddled yourself against the man and he put his arm around you.
“How’s the leg? Need any more pain medication?”
“It hurts but it’s bearable as long as I don’t move it, then we have another story on our hands.”
The man placed a kiss on the top of your head. “You’ll let me know if you need anything right? Not bottle it away like usual?” he teased.
You nodded against him “Actually… could you help me get to bed?”
The man slowly unwrapped himself from you and silently helped you to your feet. After a couple of painful and unsteady steps with his support you admitted defeat. “I might need more help.”
Without another word the man had picked you up and was carefully carrying you to your room. The past couple of days since your injury, a massive gash up your calf and a wound to the same thigh, he’d been doting on you and you didn’t want to take it for granted. He’d helped you as much as he could and today was the first time you’d ventured downstairs. He’d carried you around before to help but you could never quite get used to the feeling.
Before placing you down on the bed he gave you a kiss to the head again. As he placed you down he tucked some hair behind your ear. “Let me grab the drinks and my book. Will you need anything else?”
You shook your head and gestured for him to leave. Taking off the cardigan you’d put on earlier you changed into your pyjama top that you’d left on the bed. You hadn’t dressed up but you’d wanted to feel like you weren’t in pyjamas today even if you were still in pyjama shorts and a comfy shirt and cardigan. Wiggling on the covers you soon got yourself into a comfortable position, just in time for Rupert to return to place your mug on your bedside table and offer you a biscuit again. Happily taking one you ate it as you watched him get changed himself. This wasn’t unusual, the two of you had fallen into a pretty domestic pattern over the past couple of months.
Settling beside you he took a sip of his own drink again “We should probably take a look at and change the dressings this evening. If that’s ok? I don’t want you getting an infection.”
“Can you at least let me finish my drink first?” you joked and the man playfully rolled his eyes.
Before long you allowed the man to look at the wounds. You winced as he positioned your leg gently into a more accessible place, apologising as he did so. You watched as his hands moved to unwrap the bandage from around the dressings. You could feel the pressure it was keeping on it slightly releasing but pain blistering to the surface.
Lolling your head back and looking at the ceiling the man peeled off the dressing, happy that it seemed to be less blood soaked than it had been, a sign the wound was finally healing. After removing the dressing on the first wound on your thigh he quickly went to work cleaning up the minimal blood from the outside and quickly re-dressed it.
Then he moved onto the larger wound on your calf. He re-positioned your leg and apologised again. Moving as quickly, but as gentle as he could. The wound was doing its best to heal, he could see the scabbing pulling at your skin and had no doubt that’s why it was so difficult, and sore, to move about. Tidying up this wound you were re-dressed in no time.
Allowing the man to help you get comfy again he placed the blankets over you before disposing of the dressings. Coming back to bed he slid in beside you and placed his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. Picking up his book with his free arm he wrapped the arm over your shoulders around your side so he could read his book in front of the two of you.
You skimmed the pages as he silently read. Occasionally he’d move and place a kiss on your head.
“Do you need anything else?” he whispered.
You shook your head against him “Do you have plans tomorrow?” you questioned.
“No, I’ve made sure everything’s covered. You have me for most of the day. I have to meet Buffy in the afternoon but I was thinking that she could meet me here? If that’s ok with you?”
“If that means I get more time with you, and get to see Buffy, that’s totally fine with me.”
“She blames herself for your injury. She’s really upset with herself.”
“It was my fault.” you said quietly. “I shouldn’t have been there. I probably wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for her.”
The man swallowed audibly. He knew that. You were very lucky that Buffy had realised what was happening when she did. A couple of minutes longer and you definitely would have been dead.
“I love you Y/N.”
“I love you too.” you replied. Settling yourself into the bed and him more. Allowing him to get back to reading your eyes continued to skim the pages and before long you were asleep.
Rupert took a second to admire you, he’d truly do anything for you and hated to see you injured. Putting his book down he brushed your hair behind your ear before turning off the bedside lamp. It wasn’t the comfiest position for him to sleep in at all but as long as you were comfy and happy that’s all that mattered to him right now.
⋆*✴︎⋆*⋆✧*⋆
Tag List: (open)
All:
@asgards-princess-of-mischief @trippol-threat @captainsophiestark @justsomerandomfanfic
You walk over to Rupert, who is standing against the wall.
"Care to dance, Rupert?"
"Well I um"
"I know what you're thinking. It may not be entirely appropriate in front of the student body but considering the fact that they have been calling me 'Mrs Giles" for what's border lining on 3 years now, I think it will be acceptable"
"Well then, I suppose I'd love to"
You lead him out to the dance floor and place your arms around his neck as he loops his around your waste.
"Do they really call you that?"
"More often than I'd care to think"
You both look down and chuckle lightly.
"You know, this is something I've been thinking about for quite some time"
"You? Rupert Giles thinking about the prom?"
"Not as such"
"Well then, what?"
"This, namely you"
You feel your breath catch in your throat as his eyes find your lips and he slowly starts to lean in closer. He catches your lips in a long anticipated kiss that is better than your wildest dreams, of which you've had a few. He pulls away much sooner than you'd like and you are both partially out of breath.
"I-I'm sorry I just coul-"
You kiss him, this time not so tender. This time full of passion and desire, the same passion and desire that you've been repressing for years. You pull away, only out of fear of passing out from oxygen deficiency. You rest your forehead on his and breathe deeply.
Working at Sunnydale High School got easier and easier for me. The students started to like me and I started making friends among the staff, one of my best friends on that staff was Rupert Giles.
He was so helpful when I started out. Answering questions when I needed them answered, helping me when my car broke down as well as being there when I needed someone by my side. He was my best friend that I could have had since moving to Sunnydale.
Having a good friend really makes the world a better place.
He did everything in his idea of normal to get you to love him. Stay by you, do what you asked without question. He was running out of ideas of what to do. HIs heart told him that this would all be worth his pain once you were his, in his arms and safe from the horrid things that he knew were crawling in the night.
Which led him here.
‘This isn’t stalking,’ Giles thought. ‘I just need to make sure she doesn’t get attacked while she is heading home.’
And there you were.
You were walking home, since your car had stopped working again that morning. He knew this because he was hiding across the street, observing and making sure nothing had gotten to you while he got the least amount of sleep he could get so his body could still function.
You were a sight. The most perfect person for him in the world.
And you were walking home…alone at night.
What the hell were you thinking?
Giles trailed behind you, hiding behind things when you turned around. This gave him a thrill he had never experienced in his life, even in his Ripper days in England. It was the most exciting feeling he’d ever had. He couldn’t let you go now. You were the only person who could ever make him feel like this, not even…not even Jenny Calender.
He saw you shiver from the cold and he wanted to walk up to you, hand you his coat and walk home with you in his arms, in his bed.
He shook his head and chided himself. ‘This isn’t the time.’
Giles followed you home, staring at you with longing that far exceeded the passion he felt for hunting the things that lurked in the night. He loved you. He’d do anything for you.
The clock beside me, flashing its red lights at me, told me it was 4 in the morning.
I picked up the phone, annoyed at being called this early. “What?”
A British voice that came through that caused me to shoot up. “Hello, are you busy?”
“When?”
A good silence came through the phone until you heard a groan. “I’m sorry, you were sleeping, weren’t you?” He sounded guilty and angry at himself for some reason.
“No, no it’s fine. I’m supposed to be up anyway, I have to get to the school early to help Xander redo his test that he missed last week from being out.” I took a deep breath. “What about you, what are you doing up?”
“Research.”
“On what?”
Another silence came through the line before he responded. “Ancient civilizations.”
“Which one?”
“The Romans. They are very interesting. The way they were one of the strongest military civilizations in their time, as well as ahead of their time in the art of war and soc-I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” He chuckled nervously, the sound made you laugh.
“It’s fine, I like it when you talk. It’s…nice.”
That last sentence caused you to be on the phone until you left the house to get to the school for your job. Or in time, 3 hours.
Giles called in sick that day, for the first time ever.
His room was a mess, he himself was a mess. He had been sitting in bed, laughing and holding his phone to himself like a lovesick teenager.
“She said my voice was nice.” He said to himself, laughing a little before sitting up and getting dressed automatically.
The sound of knocking came from the front door, taking him out of the haze that had filled his head from that sentence and 3 hour call alone. “Who is it?” He called out.
“Giles?” It was Buffy.
He sighed, his hopes being let up. He hoped it was you, there, wanting him.
A futile dream.
Giles put on a hoodie he had buried in the back of his closet, one he hadn’t worn in a long time, and went down the stairs. “One minute. Give me one minute.”
His desk, where he was researching last night, was covered in books he had written himself, his scrawl covered them all. All of you. There were 3 on the desk. He knew everything that was public about you…which was a lot, if he knew where to look.
He knew your birthday, your passwords to your computer and security system on the windows and doors, as well as your parents names, your mothers maiden name and place of birth.
As quick as he could, Giles swept them into a bag and kicked it under the stairs so Buffy wouldn’t see or, god forbid, question what was in them. He couldn’t have her intervening with his love for you. He was so close to being with you, he could taste his victory.
Before he could get too into the fantasy starting to form in his mind, Buffy knocked again. It was more persistent.
He sighed and opened the door. “What is it, Buffy?”
Buffy looked at him, surprised. “You okay? You weren’t at school and I was concerned…and so was that new teacher.”
Giles tried to hide the way he perked up. “Concerned?”
“Yeah, I mean, after class, they asked me where you were.”
“What do you want?”
“To know if you were okay, that’s all…and to rant a little?” She smiled wide, trying to get inside.
Giles sighed, adjusting the hoodie. “Fine.” He let her in.
She looked him up. “Nice hoodie, haven’t seen you in one before.”
He sat on the couch and Buffy followed suit. “So…” Buffy said, looking over at him with concern. “Are you sure you’re alright, you’ve been acting weird recently.”
Giles nodded. “I’m alright, it’s just stress, you know.”
That got Buffy to lay off him. He just hoped she’d never find out about his love for you.
That would be a disaster.
Buffy stayed for a while before standing up and checking her watch. “I need to get back, vampires won’t slay themselves.” With that, she left.
He sighed in relief and stood up. Giles looked at his phone and smiled wide. “She thinks my voice is nice.”
P.S.: I forgot all about this until last night and just started writing on hopes, dreams and a red bull.
I was inspired by a request for more male readers in our little btvs community. It's a little angsty and a little fluffy. Hope that’s okay !! 💖
Warning: Reader's death, smoking, drinking. Giles dealing with your death. Vague mention of people staring/homophobia but you're from the Ripper days so forgive me xo
It was Friday evening and your love was still hunched over a book. He took his glasses off, exasperated as he couldn’t figure something out. Cleaning his glasses he thought for a moment, probably realising it was time to retire to bed.
Once he rested his glasses back on his face he saw you. He jumped when he did. He sometimes did this when he was tired, forgetting everything except whichever book he was reading.
“Y/n” he spoke your name barely above a whisper but you felt it deep in your heart. His face had paled. He had never looked at you this way before. Dead serious and pained to scan your face.
You didn’t understand why his usual soft smile didn’t form, his eyes didn’t glisten in the way you adored. You frowned, taking a step towards him but he rose from his chair and moved backwards.
You were the man he loved. Had loved so deeply. So wholly.
“Ripper, what’s wrong?” You asked, perplexed.
He always had time for you. Even when he was frustrated or upset. Even when his harsher traits bled through, he was always soft on you.
“Do you not recall?” He eyes scanning your form, as if checking it really was you.
He reached for you, his love, the man he has held dear for so long. Until that fateful day had separated you, he had thought forever. He knew it was pointless, he knew he could never feel your touch again but perhaps if he imagined it, that touch. That feeling. Maybe he could transport back there.
You were still wearing the same clothes you had the day you died all those years ago. He choked on a sob and turned away from you.
It had been late one night, you were curled in bed, your side pressed against his. His hand was resting behind your head, his fingers twisting strands of your hair every so often as you slept. He couldn’t sleep, he had been reading by candlelight.
That was when it happened, the door collapsed into splinters on the floor. The snarling, clawing beast entered and lunged for you.
Something had come back to bite you. Literally.
You had both fought it fiercely, your fight complimenting each other. You knew each other's bodies so well. He took his eye off the beast for a moment, hearing a commotion in the corridor. Ethan Rayne had been coming to help, having tracked down the beast. He had needed its blood for a spell but it had got free, seeing you as its creator. As its enemy. You had summoned it and the only way it would be free was to kill you.
And that was exactly what it did.
It had been a slow death, Giles had cradled you in his arms after the threat had been removed. He stroked your face, insisting that you would be okay. He never forgave himself for the last words he spoke to you being a lie.
He had tried desperately to bring you back but all he had tried had failed. He threw himself into his studies, denouncing the dark magics and making an enemy out of Ethan.
Giles had poured himself another scotch. You had seen him daydreaming. Going back there. To those happy days.
“I just wanted to see you one last time” you said softly. He had never known you to be so earnest. He knew you loved him, of course, you always told him that. But vulnerability had always been difficult for you.
“They let you out of Heaven for that?” He asked, you laughed at this. Appreciating the sentiment, the way Giles saw you as nothing but goodness.
“You really think they let me in there? It’s just darkness. Like I’m waiting for something. But what, I don’t know”
“To be here, surely. To assist us on the Hellmouth”
“Makes sense I guess, I always though a Hellmouths were a myth” You shrugged. Staring at him, wishing so deeply that you could touch him. Hold him.
You spoke for hours, he caught you up on his life since you had gone. He glossed over the trauma, the way he had spent many sleepless, bitter nights trying to get you back. Trying to forget the pain. He drank, he fought. He did anything to feel something that wasn't the emptiness of losing you.
Soon, he grew tired and curled up in his chair.
“Sleep, love” you whispered, leaning in as if to press a kiss to his forehead before recalling that you couldn't. You didn't sleep so you just enjoyed your time in his home. Being enveloped by his scent. Reading the spines of his many books and watching over him as he slept.
When he woke he was sure he had been dreaming. Surely you hadn’t been there. Telling him you had chosen to visit him out of everyone on Earth. Though he supposed if it has been the other way, he would have chosen you. Every time.
He walked into his kitchen to brew some tea. There you were leaning against the counter, looking at him that way that made him melt. That made that smile creep onto his face, the one that was just for you.
The last time you had looked at him that way, so carefree, had been decades ago. You were leaning against a wall taking a drag from a cigarette. You ran a hand through your hair, watching him with that look as he walked towards you.
He pulled you into him when he reached you, taking the smoke from your hand and putting it to his lips. A playful smile on his face as you pecked his cheek.
You walked through the streets, glaring at any onlookers and slung your arm over his shoulder as you walked. He grinned, sliding his hand around your middle. enjoying the stares. Enjoying the horror in their stupid little faces.
He had felt untouchable. Invincible. With you by his side. You hung out in demon bars, your combined power earning you respect. That, or the amount of bar fights you had been in and won.
Giles had been on the phone for half of the morning, it was the weekend and he seemed to be calling some sort of meeting. When they arrived, you could tell you were in the presence of a Slayer. One with friends by the look of it, something unheard of back in the day.
Giles was asking (near pleading) with them to help find a way to make you corporeal again.
“We have to, it, ah, I believe there was a scroll or a prophecy of some sort-“
“Giles, make with the slowness”
"Calm down, G-man"
“You said yourself, you can never bring anyone back or they’ll be all ooky and changed”
“But this- he’s different I’m sure of it”
“Giles, be rational”
“I have never seen anything so clear”
“He’s not a slayer or anything powerful…”
“He’s in the room you know” you rolled your eyes. You had already said all this yourself to Giles. You both knew better than to mess with resurrection spells. Not again, anyway.
“No, he’s much more than that. He’s the love of my life” Giles stated solemnly, despite the words he uttered being one that would usually denote joy. He looked as if he was on the verge of tears.
The Scoobies all exchanged glances. They had never really thought too much into Giles’ dating preferences before. Plus they had never really seen him so vulnerable and it made them all a little uncomfortable. Tears welled in Willow’s eyes as she moved to comfort him.
Buffy, although not as visibly emotional as Willow, resolved to fix his sadness. She was incredibly fond of Giles and suddenly her one mission in life (besides the slaying, of course) was to reunite you and your love.
It was sweet, how much these young people cared for him. You and Ripper had been a lot less mature at their age. You had broken every rule in the book, and then some.
They hit the books immediately. You could do nothing to help except tell them to rest when they all looked like they were going to pass out. Or offer them advice when you caught them talking about their cute little mortal dramas. They became increasingly fond of you, you were an honorary Scooby.
Then one day, they found something. That could maybe bring you back.
“Are you serious about him?” Buffy asked, scrutinising your face as she reread through the book's warnings.
“Dead” your eyes glistened with humour but you didn’t smile. She seemed to nod her approval, something that made the man stood beside you relax slightly. It was clear he took his watcher role very seriously. It was nice seeing him this way.
It would only be for twenty four hours it was the best they could do. And much more that you could have ever asked for. Any more than that and their own life forces could drain away. You hadn’t really thought about the sacrifice these people were making until it came down to it. Resurrection spells could mess with the mortality of any of the casters.
All four of them made a circle around you, holding hands and muttering words you didn't understand. You felt conflicted, you were desperate to be with him, to touch him the way you once had. To feel that intimacy that could never be replicated. But you didn't want to come back as something evil or nasty and hurt him all over again.
They all started shouting, appearing to be possessed by something. Smoke filled the air and then a blinding light. And suddenly it all went quiet.
“Alright love?” You grinned, the smoke clearing. Your eyes meeting his.
He rushed to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands. Pressing a kiss to your lips, but not stopping there. He pressed kisses against your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. As if he wanted to make sure each part of you was real. That each part had his adoration.
His eyes glistening with tears that threatened to spill. He hadn't felt this happy in so long. He didn't think of what would be coming after today. Couldn't allow himself to. For now, he had the man he loved back in his arms. And that was all that mattered.
“Thank you all, truly. I will never forget this” He turned to them briefly but you pulled him back into you. Craving the contact. Craving everything you had lost for so long.
“We’ll, uh, get going” One of them muttered awkwardly as they raced each other out of the door.
But neither you nor Giles were listening. You slid your hand up his chest, unbuttoning the waistcoat he was wearing slowly. Your lips exploring already claimed territory.
You were lost in each other. He was yours and you were his. For tonight and long after.
I was wondering if you had time maybe to write a small fic (or one shot whatever you’re comfortable with) where the reader is Buffy’s cousin ( also library assistant or whatever you would like ) and the reader and Giles are in a secret relationship ( maybe smut?? ) and they’re navigating that and Buffy finds out and it’s this whole thing. If you’re busy I totally understand or if you just don’t want to, again it’s okay. I really do enjoy your work 🥰.
Not Unavailable, More Unimpressed
pairing(s): Giles x Summers!Reader
summary: what started out as a short term fling has gotten increasingly complicated when the reciprocity and sincerity of feelings is called into questions. pt.1 of ???
warnings: smut, fem!reader, drinking, hand job, a bit of breast worship, clothed grinding, riding, slight choking, age gap (Giles is in his mid to late 40's, reader is in her late 20s/ early 30s), reader has nipple piercings bc I said so and I think they are hot
an: This fic will contain smut so be warned. You are responsible for your own media consumption, read at your own risk.
The man at the bar was a mystery to you. He didn't quite fit into the bar atmosphere. He wasn't one of the barely legals or illegals who snuck in eager to drink, he wasn't one of the old guys who came to hit on the bottle girls, he didn't smell like a smoker or shoot whiskey like a drinker. He was also British, something that left an odd taste in your mouth.
You couldn't call yourself a regular here, more often than not you found yourself at the Bronze, purely per Buffy's request, which had okay enough booze and slightly better music. Here, some place clearly meant for an older crowd called Jack's, is where the older man sat. Alone, he sat at the far corner, sometimes looking longingly at the stage like he was a performer. He didn't look like a performer though.
He was older than you. He was greyed out and looked like he came from when TVs were still in sepia tones. He looked like Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird, like he was always a moment away from scolding someone. It didn't help that he always looked tired, like a lot of his age came from stress. If that was the case, it still didn't make sense as to why he chose a bar to be his spot to wind down.
It was loud. Not in the way that the Bronze was, a type of loud filled with life. A loud spurred by rowdy souls, people who couldn't let loose at home, so they came to one of the only shitty bars in the small town to drink a shitty beer and watch their favorite sports team lose. Not to mention the countless barely legals who got into fights with the bartenders after they failed to get their underage friends a drink. Jack's wasn't a place to have fun, it was the place to avoid doing something reckless during your midlife crisis. You were only there because of convenience, and after being there for a half hour were already beginning to get a migraine.
Job hunting was rough. When you moved to Sunnydale on behalf of your aunt, she offered to let you stay under her roof, but being a grown woman who got up to grown woman shenanigans, it would be more than distasteful to do it in Joyce's home. You were lucky enough that the housing market was great in the area, with all the supernatural happenings so one chose to move to Sunnydale, but that still didn't mean that a decent looking apartment wouldn't cost you a nice sum of money every month.
I could just work here, was your first thought. You were once a young college student also desperate for money, you had bartended, you could always go back if you lacked self-respect. You had a degree dammit, sure you didn't have a doctorate, but you shouldn't need one to get a nice quiet desk job. Neither option was all that fulfilling, but something told you that bartending in a town when demons just roamed the streets didn't seem like a great idea.
The mystery man looked like he had a nice job. Maybe a nice car. Possibly a nice house. He looked financially stable, and fuck was that hot. What did he do? What was there to do in Sunnydale? You could ask.
You looked at his hands to see if there was a ring or any indication that there was someone waiting for him wherever he came from. Maybe a picture of a kid, maybe a photo of a significant other. Nothing. Nothing.
You slinked over to the seat beside him, not meaning to make your presence immediately known yet he still looked up as he felt the heat of someone else beside him. His glasses perched low on his nose and his grey hair tussled. His eyes were green. He was pretty.
"Hello?" He looked at you confused. He took a moment to drink you in. Younger, gorgeous, clearly bold.
"Hello."
"Are you waiting for someone?" You shook your head.
"No. Are you?" and he'd be lying if he said he was.
☽✯☾
"You know, I don't do this often." He said between the rare breaths that were allowed in between suffocating kisses. Whatever he took up in his free time must've involved a great workout regimen. His hand sat comfortably at your neck, and you basked in the warmth that it provided in his cold apartment. His other held your cheek, his thumb mindless rubbing against it in a way that was hypnotizing. It almost had a numbing affect, your skin not being able to get past the feeling making your brain pause as he kissed your lips.
He tasted like fine wine. He smelled like old books. You half expected him to quote a classic at you, you didn't know him well enough to gauge if he was the type. His tongue contradicted his previous statement. These weren't the kisses of a man out of practice, that or he did it so much in his youth it was impossible to forget. Something like riding a bike.
"For a man who doesn't do this often, you're mighty good at it." He smirked; you could feel it against your lips. You wished you could see it, but he had the lights in his bedroom turned low and you weren't sure you wanted to open your eyes in the fear that you were dreaming. It was warm, he was so warm. So warm it was noticeable when his lips left yours and moved to your neck, hovering under your ears. His breath fanning against your neck was enough to send shivers down your spine.
"You haven't even seen how good I am, darling." The pet name alone made you weak in the knees, but you would be damned if you swooned at someone called you darling. Granted, you couldn't help how your mouth went dry or how your pussy clenched at nothing, but he didn't need to know that. He was going to find out, but he can find out later when your lust ridden brain stopped listening to reason and pride.
"Show me, then."
He dipped his head to kiss you, grabbing a fistful of your hair to tip your head back and you let him, grabbing on to his broad shoulders to stabilize yourself. You were pressed between the wall and him, pressing him even closer as you fisted his shirt to pull him closer, but he was hesitant to oblige. He was teasing, you could tell by the way he smiled into your kisses, pulling away like he needed air while you chased after his lips.
"You having issues breathing, old man?" The hand at your neck squeezed, not enough to choke you but enough to make your head even dizzier. His other hand travelled to any piece of skin he could get his hands on. Feather light, his fingers ran across your arms, then your collarbones, before knocking the straps of your dress off your shoulder. His kisses moved slow, his tongue damn near like languid waves that you were somehow managing to drown in.
Still, you chased after him, and still, he ran. His lips ran to the corner of your mouth, to the skin of your neck his hand didn't engulf, to where your strap lay useless. His kisses scorched your otherwise cold skin, his mouth sucking hickeys and then immediately soothing them.
He was so soft. Soft in how his hands found the back of your dress, soft in how his eyes looked into yours, asking permission without even saying a word, soft like the way the fabric slipped of your body and onto the floor. Soft like the bed he laid you on. Even soft in the way he continued to tease you, his knee meeting the crotch of your panties and him meticulously unsnapping your bra as if you couldn't tell he knew how to do it.
He then paused for a minute, finally coming across something he hadn't experienced before. His fingers took the ball of cool metal between his fingers, and you moaned at how it pulled ever so slightly at your nipple.
"What are these?" You chuckled.
"I got 'em pierced ages ago. Drunk night out with a few friends my senior year." He continued to play with the metal ball, well aware of how you keened and ground yourself into his knee.
"So, I can play with them." Fuck. It was how he said it. Like a nerd you might've messed around with in school because he was a good tutor but also because he had that nerdy charm to him. Like playing with your body was a game of Operations he had been so eager to play and was determined to get good at. It was easy to imagine Giles like that, fogged up glasses, eyes concentrated and focused on figuring out what buttons to press to get a prize. There was the curiosity in his lust-blown eyes, and in your lust addled brain you were fine with being his toy.
"Please do." He didn't need to be told twice. Avid learner he was, he went in, his large hands easily covering your breasts. His fingers pulled at the bars, drawing whimpers out of you the more he prodded. It wasn't too rough, Giles was too soft to ever be truly rough, but the feeling of his gaze, your clothed pussy rubbing against his soft slacks, and his large hands over your chest was getting a bit much. And he hadn't even put his mouth on you yet.
It didn't take long for him to realize the feeling of your pierced tits in his mouth was one of the best things he's felt, and it felt even better for you. A wet patch had long since been growing and he certainly felt it too, it egged him on. He wasn't even in you, he hadn't even tasted you, and you were almost there. You were so close.
You grabbed at anything you could, his shirt, his sheets, his hands that held yours as you rocked yourself onto his knee until you saw stars. Then he grabbed your face and swallowed your moans as he kissed and kissed you until you came down. A moment of clarity hit you, and you pulled on his shirt. "Off." you told him simply, and he obliged. You smashed your lips into his, peeling off button after button until the shirt was thrown to the side and his undershirt beneath was discarded with even less care.
"Issues with patience, darling?" You shook your head.
"Not fair I'm practically naked and you were fully clothed." His retort was cut off by your lips as you sat up to meet him, his hands absent-mindedly finding your breasts and yours finding his belt and making quick work of it before he even realized what was happening. You kissed him through it, anyway, still chasing after him as he pulled away to curse at the feeling of your hand around his dick.
"Gods." he muttered, words tumbling out clumsily as you rubbed the tip of his cock. He never had the control to pull away fast enough for an adequate breather, just a second to get a breath out and pray. You were flattered. His hand seemed like it wanted to swat you away, but it didn't have the strength to betray his brain like that. It felt good. Too good. So good he couldn't even think, and Giles never stopping thinking and now he was drawing blanks. He was sure you had mocked him once or twice, which went through one ear and out the other.
He caught himself thrusting into your hand before he caught himself, grabbing your wrist. "Hang on." He choked out, but you didn't listen. Your hand moved up and down his shaft terribly slow, and it was almost worse. Watching you spit on your hand and collect pre-cum from his tip and spread it like some sick simulation of what it would be like to be in you, and yet he couldn't help but watch his hand completely cover yours as you pumped him. Don't cum yet.
"I said hang on." His breath was ragged and his voice was deep. This time he meant it. "There are condoms in the top left drawer. Take one out for me, love." And you did as such. Did it with so much assurance that you slid it on without him even needing to ask you. Slid your panties off and sank down so fast neither one of you was ready.
You both sat there a moment, feeling your nerve endings tingle and burn, like you were both on fire. But you were on fire together. Like you could feel every atom in your body, like it had all been reduced to nothing but water, you were both feeling everything and anything yet absolutely nothing at the same time. So much feeling any nuance got lost in the moment. Just being there, breaths away, with a complete stranger you were sleeping with because he was pretty and looked financially stable.
You kissed him, a real kiss. Spontaneous. One with a feeling neither one of you could decipher and both assumed meant nothing. You rode it out until you had both exhausted each other, you falling on top of him and him catching you.
"Would you like to use my shower before you go? Did you need a ride home?" You cheesed to yourself. And they say chivalry is dead.
"Yeah, that would be nice." You had already rolled out of his bed in search of your dress and waiting for feeling to return to your legs. "I never got your name."
"Giles. Rupert Giles." You giggled as you shook of your dress after picking it up from the floor. Sounds about right.
"And what do you do for a living, Mr. Giles."
"Do these things typically end in interviews?" He made no effort to get out of his bed, he even had the decency to turn away while you get dressed as if he wasn't just balls deep in you.
"No, but I am new to town and would like to not be broke."
"I'm a librarian." Of course, you are. "Have you any interest in literature?" You did. You were a nerd. You had tried convincing yourself you weren't for years, but you majored in philosophy and minored in classic literature; and no one likes philosophy majors.
"I dabble a bit. Got a degree from all the reading I did if that counts." He looked at you like he knew you were trying to make yourself sound cooler. Nerd calls to nerd.
"Well, plenty of places are always hiring. The turnover rate is quite atrocious here." And even new to town, you believed it.
"I just might."
☽✯☾
You did end applying, you even ended up getting the job. Apparently, your little cousin's high school was in desperate need of a library assistant. You also had the pleasure of freezing when you saw Giles again and watching your little cousin greet her favorite teacher.
It was almost worth it for the look on his face, though.
You and the Scoobies try to have a normal Thanksgiving. Try, anyway.
[ w — age gap (20+ years), older man/younger woman, injured! reader, assumed unrequited love, short story, tv show-compliant only, slight canon divergence ]
— divider cred: @/inklore
Living above the Hellmouth meant that nothing would ever be normal. No holidays, no birthdays would ever be like the average person’s.
Thanksgiving and Christmas was the same. Monsters and creatures of the dark never took days off, not with their insatiable need to be evil.
Buffy sighed as she staked what was probably the 20th vampire of the night. Thanksgiving was a time to sit down with friends and family, having a lovely, large dinner and being thankful for the people in your life and the things you had.
But not for the Scoobies.
You huffed, rolling your sore shoulder. A vampire had taken a good chunk out of of your neck, but the second he tasted your blood, he instantly revolted, and you took a stake to his heart.
“You good?” Buffy asks, eyeballing your shoulder.
“Yeah.” But you hiss a little as pain flares through it. “It’s just gonna take a minute to heal. I’ll put some bandaids on it when we get back.”
Buffy cheerily and knowingly chips in a, “I’m sure Giles would disapprove.” That prompts you to give her a deadpan look.
“You know that he doesn’t like me like that,” you reply. You shove your hands into your pockets. “It’s a one-way street. Can we talk about something else?”
She shrugs. “Sure.”
The two of you walked side by side out of the graveyard. Buffy sighs, tilting her head down.
“I really wish Christmas could be normal,” she admits. “I miss it, from when I was a kid. It’s so much different from now.”
“Not as involved with monsters, you mean?” you say, and Buffy nods in confirmation. “Yeah, me too. I feel so… apathetic about it anymore. It doesn’t feel as important, as fun as it used to be.”
“Cons of being apart of the supernatural world,” she adds.
“Truly.” You laugh. “Not to mention—” A scream rips from your throat. Cold heat washes through you and up your spine, all the way up to your skull. Your head jolts back at the pain, and the cold heat leaves as the wooden stake leaves your body, now replaced by odd, liquid warmth.
Oh, you’re bleeding. Bleeding out, perhaps.
You heard the slaps and thuds of fighting as you fall to the ground. You try to have some semblance of control as you collapse in pain, but it doesn’t work. You bump your head into a headstone and more liquid oozes down your skin.
You hear the familiar hissing sound of dust. Buffy’s won. Now you see her over you, terror and fear written all over her features.
“[Name]? [Name]? You with me?”
You gulp, attempting to focus and swallow down the pain. “Kinda,” you hiss.
“Healing magic? Can it fix this?” she inquires hurriedly.
“Probably,” you reply, becoming more and more breathless.
“I’m gonna put pressure on it, okay? The second you feel any sort of clarity, start chanting.”
You let out a loud cry of pain, more blood coming out and staining your shirt. The pain signals the adrenaline in your body. It takes you a couple seconds longer than what you hope before you start chanting in Latin.
It feels strange, your body stitching itself back together. The strange feeling of blood coming out of your body disappears. You huff, the chant ending a minute later. Buffy takes her hands off the wound and you watch her examine it.
“How’s it look?”
“Looks good, head wound is gone, too,” she says. “But we need to get you back to the Magic Box. Giles and Willow might have something they can help you brew up to get you fully healed.”
You lean up using your elbows and hands. You take Buffy’s hand and let out groan of pain as you get to your feet. You two walk out of the graveyard and head to the Magic Box. You thank God it’s dark and no one can see you and your best friend walk through the streets of Sunnydale with her holding you up.
The Magic Box comes into sight not ten minutes later. Buffy uses her key to open the door, but neither of you expect to see the floor of the Magic Box completely cleared out, with a large, decorated table filled to the brim with food and drinks.
Xander is the first to turn his head up and see you and Buffy.
“Happy Thanksgiving, you guys!” he says.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Xander,” you speak breathlessly. And that’s when he knows something is wrong. His eyes trail down to your bloodied shirt and widen drastically.
“Oh, crap.”
“Oh, crap is right.” Buffy sets you down in one of the nearest chairs. “Get the others and tell them [Name] needs a healing potion… or some sort of healing magic. The wound isn’t as bad as it looks, but she needs help crossing the finish line.”
“On it.”
Xander heads to the back to get the others, who come rushing in not a moment after he gets them.
Unfortunately for you, all you can focus on through one eye (the other squinted in pain) is Giles, and the look of worry and concern on his face.
“She’s very pale,” Giles says. His voice is clearly worried. It almost seems borderline… terrified?
“Blood loss,” you say in a shakily exhale. “Healed, yes. Blood back inside the body? Not so much.”
“Can you do anything, Giles?” Buffy asks.
“Let me see the wound and we’ll see.”
You raise your shirt, showing off the nasty scar. It’s not fully healed, maybe three-quarters. You look away, eyes meeting Buffy’s, who’s expression is borderline teasing and full of amusement. You roll yours in return.
“Nothing out of my capabilities I can’t heal,” Giles says. He looks up at you and adds, “But I do have to touch it to heal it.”
You shake your head. “It’s fine.” The second Giles places his hand on the injury though, a large wave of nausea makes you shudder and groan.
“She looks like she needs a trash can,” Xander pipes.
“I’ll get one,” Anya offers, disappearing behind the counter momentarily to grab one. She places it next to you and you thank her.
Giles’ warm hand leaves your lower torso. The wound is completely healed, although you still feel faint from the blood loss. He looks at you again, scanning over your sick expression.
“I’ll be fine in a bit,” you tell, a smile appearing on your face. “I think some food in my stomach would do me some good. Thank you, Giles.”
“You are most welcome,” he replies, standing. “And I think you are absolutely correct. Shall we eat?”
Buffy nods and speaks for everyone’s hungry stomachs. “We shall.”
Dawn sits between you and Buffy. Xander, Anya, and Dawn are on the other side of the table. At the head of the table, between Xander and Buffy, is Giles. Just like a father should be, you think, humored.
“So… What happened? How’d you get such a wound?” Willow asks.
You and Buffy answer in unison: “Vampires.”
“Thought we were done and one caught us by surprise with one of the stakes,” Buffy explains. “[Name] used her magic, but she couldn’t heal it all the way.”
“Glad you both made it back,” Xander said happily. “This Thanksgiving dinner we put together would’ve been a total bust.”
Everyone laughs in agreement and digs into the food. Unknowingly to you, Giles can barely keep his eyes off of you, only looking away to take a bite of food off of his plate. Though he does try to it make it obvious.
Indeed, he’s glad you made it back. He’s glad he’s able to heal your injuries. Life would certainly be a lot more dull without you around.
But as Anya hands you the gravy, you catch Giles staring at you out of your peripheral vision. There’s a look on his face, one you know well, because it’s the same one Spike gives Buffy when she’s not looking.
You smile and raise your glass in a toast. “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.”
Everyone raises their glass cheerily, downing a swig.
You thank this Thanksgiving for giving you hope. Even if it doesn’t last.
