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muzansfangs · 7 months ago

Note

i’m such a slut for ukitake and age gaps 😩

imagine him lusting after the reader, who is centuries younger than him. he’s technically old enough to be her father. he shouldn’t be feeling this way about her but he simply can’t help it. especially not after finding out she secretly has a thing for older men 😏😏

(bonus points if reader is his vice captain)

The Captain’s guilt.

Starring: Jushiro Ukitake x f!reader; mention to Isane, Rangiku, Shunsui and Yamamoto;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, language, masturbation, self-deprecating, dirty fantasy, age gaps but the reader is 21+, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, shy!jushiro, struggling with feelings, unprotected sex, pussy drunk Jushiro, praise kink, dom!jushiro, sub!reader, use of alcohol, nipple play;

Plot: Your Captain is falling for you. Jushiro Ukitake, a noble shinigami, finds himself lusting after his young Lieutenant. Hiding his feelings and the effect you have on him is getting harder day by day. Your presence is intoxicating, but he tries his best not to ruin your relationship. When you end up confessing not only you are into older men, but you also have a crush on him, things take a turn. Nor you, neither him are surprised you ended up screaming his name in the middle of the night, after you offered to help him with work.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Good morning, Captain”.

Another day, another smile of yours, another boner he had to camouflage in his baggy robes, as you cluelessly waltzed into his bedroom with a silver tray in your hands to serve him breakfast. Stunning and loving, his Lieutenant, his downfall from the moral principles he had always slavishly followed. He could not control himself around you.

Whilst you knelt next to his futon, you poured some tea in a cup and blew on it to cool it down. When your eyes fluttered closed, Jushiro clenched the sheets in his hands, knuckles whitening for the firm grip as he cursed himself for wanting you. You looked like an angel, taking care of him motherly, as if you genuinely cared for him. Actually, you did, and he was aware of that. He could see it in the way you risked your life on the battlefield to watch his back, when he needed some time to rest, or in the way you looked for the best doctors in the Seireitei to get some medications for him.

If only you were older, or he was a tad younger. Souls aged slowly and, even though you were four hundred-years-old, you still looked like a young woman in her early twenties. He was much older than you. Jushiro was around, when Captain Yamamoto was a black-haired man who had recently fought back the Quincy King. He was still a kid, back then, but he was there.

He could be your father, but the flesh is weak. Or this is what Shunsui had always told him.

He was not the type to hook-up with women periodically like his best friend did. Right now, however, he really wished he had half of the guts and self-confidence the Captain of the Eighth Division had. Why? Just to have you in his arms, even briefly, a fleeting moment of bliss to let you know how ardently he desired you. Jushiro wondered if you knew he cared for you more than a Captain is supposed to for his underlings. What if you knew? What if your heart throbbed in your chest upon seeing him just like his did, when you entered his quarters?

Illusions. He was so delusional. You drove him insane. A medicine to cure his sickness, but a deadly poison to his heart. Life was not treating him kind.

“Captain?” you hesitantly said then, head tilted to the side, a knot forming between your eyebrows.

He had zoned out once again, apparently. Awesome, making a fool of himself in front of you had become his speciality. Jushiro cleared his throat, cheeks flushing as he realized you were holding the cup of tea out for him to grasp. His fingers brushed against yours, a nervous smile curving his lips upwards.

“Oh, thank you! — the white-haired man blurted out, hands wrapping around the warm cup as he shot you a grateful glance — It looks like I’m getting deaf too. It must he a pain dealing with this old man” he jested, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a small sip of it.

You chuckled, shifting onto your seat to push the tray aside “Old man? I’m sorry to contradict you, Captain, but you’re not old at all. Or, at least, you don’t look old” you said casually, watching the way the rational and placid man at your left lowered his cup from his mouth slowly, interested in your observation.

“Care to elaborate?” he asked you softly, admiring the way some rays of the sun set off the color of your hair, the features of your face, causing a warm feeling to engulf his lower abdomen. This was not good. You were there, merely complimenting him, reassuring him, and he was thinking about folding you in half underneath him like some damn Neanderthal.

A grin spread on your face, eyes straying away from his “Well, you might be older than most of the Captains and Lieutenants around, but you are a fairly handsome man. — you said, cheeks warming up as you tried to be discreet about the topic — I heard a lot of women praising your appearence, not just your charisma”.

The world seemed to stop revolving for a few seconds, but when you decided to add some other words to your already fluttering note, Jushiro wished the blanket was tick enough to conceal his pulsing cock from your attentive gaze.

“And I agree with them”.

You agreed. You thought he was handsome! You, the pretty girl he loved, the girl who was making him question his morals, the sweet girl he wanted to spend every night with really thought he was handsome. He felt lucky. His pale complexion left space to pinkish hues on his cheeks, his hand trembling as he settled his cup down not to spill the tea on the bed.

Jushiro leaned slightly forward, hands clumsily covering the small tent visible through the layers “R-Really? I don’t know what to say, but … Thanks, I guess. A boost of confidence every now and then is greatly appreciated” he stammered, but your eyes had been faster than his hands, your lips parting as you watched your Captain attempting to hide away his need from you.

How sweet of him. Ukitake Jushiro, your Captain, a man you admired, who had kind of watched you grow and who had trained you for years, was currently hot and bothered because of a couple of compliments. Your heart melted, a soft smile on your lips as you decided to leave some privacy to him. After all, he still had to finish his breakfast and the poor man was surely dealing with a rather uncomfortable problem right now.

You stood up, bowing your head reverentially “I have to attend the weekly Lieutenants meeting, Captain. See you later” you said, sparing him a last glance before leaving his room as normally as you possibly could.

If only you knew how reddish the tip of your Captain’s cock was, how terribly sorry he felt for feeling that way about you, how much he wished the thick white ropes of cum erupting from his member, as he jerked off were painting your tongue, instead of a tissue. He was obviously not better than Kyoraku and he was terrified at the mere thought of his cheeky friend realizing he was practically dying to be squashed by your thighs.

Spring days in the Seireitei meant peaceful nightly strolls for your Captain, but also a chance for you to catch up with your friends during your days off. What a coincidence you were sharing a few drinks with Rangiku and Isane in a pub not too distant from the park your Captain chose to spend his free time at. When Jushiro caught a glimpse of you, chattering with your fellow Lieutenants, drink in hand and exceptionally beautiful, he froze solid and decided it was better to change his path suppress his reiatsu not to draw your attention.

Two weeks had passed since the breakfast incident and he had tried his best not to create embarrassing situations in which you had to be stuck in a room with him alone. You had noticed he had been acting strangely, as of late, but confronting him about it was not a wise move. Who were you to make your Captain, a man you were devoted to, a man who carried himself with dignity, uncomfortable? Time would have fixed the situation, or you were confident things would have worked out just fine from now on.

Jushiro was about to turn his back and leave, when he heard the noisy Lieutenant of the Tenth Division ask you a spicy question “Kyoraku Shunsui. Smash, or pass?”.

He had no idea why he stood there in the shadows, feeling like a creep, as he awaited in trepidation for you to answer that stupid question. For some reason, though, it was important for him. He expected you to blend in with mass of girls swooning at Shunsui’s door and say you would have gladly shared your bed with him. He would have not blamed you for that. Every woman he knew had a thing for his best friend.

Still, you were his jewel. He did not want you to crave Shunsui. He wanted you to choose him. He was selfish, he knew his thoughts were impure and not appropriate. He was in no position to argue with you about the men you fancied.

“Pass” you curtly said, causing Rangiku and Isane to gasp and for Jushiro’s mood to brighten up again. He leaned his back against the wall, staring blankly at the Moon above him, electrified to hear you were not one of the numerous fangirls ready to kill to be Shunsui’s partner for the night.

Rangiku slammed her glass down onto the small table “Pass? Girl, you are the Dilfs’ fucker here! I expected you to throw your panties at him! What’s wrong now?” she piped out, voice too loud for your likings as you covered your face with your hands.

People were watching, obviously, snickering and shooting leering glances at your direction. Isane blushed, shaking her head as she snapped her fingers in front of Rangiku’s face to make her get a grip of herself.

“You drank too much! Lower your voice, people talk a lot!” Isane chided her, only for you to nod your head in agreement.

“I am not into Captain Shunsui, alright? Yeah, he is handsome and hilarious, but not my type” you clarified, folding your arms across your chest, causing the red-haired woman sitting across from you to squint her pale blue eyes suspiciously. She was not going to let this go easily. You were toasted.

She smirked “Oh, that’s interesting now… — she said, leaning towards you with an inquisitive gleam in her eyes — Who is your type then? Someone older than you for sure, but let’s see. Old man Yamamoto is decidely not on the list. May it be his Lieutenant, though?”.

Isane choked on her saké, coughing a few times in shock, while you kept an intense eye-contact with Rangiku “You are going to get us kicked out of this pub. Lower your damn voice” you warned her, as the waiter passing by your table gestured for you to restrain yourselves.

“Then speak up, girl. I have all night long and tons of important men to mention publicly. — she retorted, determined to make you confess who exactly was your crush — Say it, come on”.

“My Captain”.

You had not even realized you had blurted out that answer, until you saw your friends gape at you in genuine incredulity. It was not like they had not expected you to possibly fall for your charming Captain, but you had not been that reluctant to admit you had feelings for your superior. You did not imagine yourself having that conversation either, the urge to disappear into a black hole gnawing at your liver now. You took a swig of your drink, the burning sensation down your throat helping you to cope with your audacious confession.

“Have you two fucked?!” Rangiku inquired, only for the waiter to finally lose his temper and come at your table with a livid expression plastered over his face.

“You three! That’s enough, get out of here!”.

Giggling on your way out of the pub, you took the road opposite to the one where your Captain was finding shelter. Emerging from the darkness, he palmed his forehead, your words still ringing in his head like a pleasant song he could not stop thinking about. You liked him, you reciprocated his feelings. This did not make him less guilty for lusting after you, but it gave him the chance to act more confidently around you.

Enjoying the gentle breeze blowing through his long, white locks, Jushiro resumed his walk, head light as a feather, while relishing the thought of you in his embrace. For the night, he could forgive himself.

The next day came and with it some errands to run around the Soul Society. After being summoned by Captain Unohana, you were now entering your Captain’s quarters with a pile of documents to sign tightly pressed to your chest. Sighing, you were glad to find the door open. The fresh evening air provided a cool environment for Jushiro to work. It was not unusual for him to ask you to open the windows and leave the doors open on your way out.

Sitting at his desk, his haori draped over his broad shoulders, Jushiro was reading some reports about some Hollows causing troubles in the Rukongai. He would have not even acknowledged your presence, if you had not announced your arrival.

“Good evening, Captain! I’m coming in” you chimed, crossing the threshold with a small smile on your lips.

Jushiro flicked his eyes up from the papers, his lips mirroring yours in a soft smile that dropped at the sight of another stock of documents he was expected to check. Duties before anything, right?

“Ah, I see. It’s going to be a long night, I guess” he sadly realized, as you knelt down next to him and settled the files onto the desk.

“These are from the Fourth Division. — you explained, hands flatly splayed over the smooth wooden surface — You can’t stay up all night, Captain. You need to rest, or it might be detrimental for your health. With your permission, I would like to stay for the night and help you out”.

You were too sweet for him. He should have sent you away, denied your request, no matter how much he wanted to spend more time with you. He yearned for your company like a starving bear tasting honey and begging for more, striving to get to the top of the tree to reach the beehive and enjoy the nectar. However, it was night. Was he really ready to offer you a bed to sleep next to his one, once your eyelids were going to get heavy after tiring hours of work? He was going to die a painful death, admiring you and restraining himself from kissing every inch of your skin.

He had to refuse, but he knew you would protested. Therefore, he went to the extent to propose you a good compromise.

“I won’t let you work yourself to exhaustion. I will gladly accept your help for a few hours but, when it starts getting dark, you go back to your dorm” he suggested, tone placid but firm.

You shook your head, though, hand reaching for a brush and dipping it into the dark ink pot “I’m sorry, Captain Ukitake, but I will have to disobey your order and refuse your offer. — you calmly replied, signing the first document swiftly with your Captain sighing in defeat in the background — Now, let’s get this over with” you added, encouraging him by splitting the pile in halves and handing him one of them.

“You are way too lenient with me” Jushiro stated, before resuming his reading again.

And hours passed by. You chattered with your Captain, the pile of documents decreasing slowly but surely but you were not even close to be done yet. When dinner time came, you had a quick snack and persuaded your Captain to rest a little more than you did. Naturally, he promptly protested, but you ended up convincing him he would have been more proficient with some hours of sleep over his shoulders. Begrudgingly, he agreed and sleep found him easily.

While you worked, you lost the track of time. You forgot to wake him up as you had promised and you just kept on working until your back hurt. Glancing outside the window, the Moon greeted you and the clock indicated it was midnight. You were ready to grit your teeth and keep on pushing yourself to the limit, when you suddenly felt the familiar reiatsu of your Captain embrace you from behind. You straightened your back, eyes widening even so slightly, as his hands rested comfortably over the top of your shoudlers.

“I overslept. You should have called me” he pointed out lowly, gently, as you apologetically nodded your head and discarded the brush over the desk.

“I should have, but your health is more important than work to me” you objected, turning your head slightly to the side to meet his kind chestnut eyes. Jushiro was sitting right behind you, his large frame almost draped over your back like a blanket, as he grasped your wrist delicately and shook his head.

Goosebumps raised on the back of your neck, his chin grazing over the top of your head “It’s your turn to rest. Lean on me” he offered, causing your lower lip to quiver for the habit of opposing yourself to his kind offer.

But you were too tired to be helpful right now and you knew he was not going to let you continue for any longer.

“Ten minutes will be enough” you said, accomodating yourself, as he helped you lean your back against his chest, the sound of the fabric of your uniforms rustling in the friction was endearingly soothing. Just like his arms subtly snaking around your waist and your hands slithering over his bony ones, making your cheeks heat up exponentially.

You had never touched your Captain like that, albeit you wanted him to. You had played scenes like this one many times in your head, hoping he was going to do much more than simply hugging you. You needed more, you needed him. You wanted Jushiro with ever molecule of your body and, God, he desired you too. Your eyes fluttered close, his warm breath tickling your jawline, as his fingertips began to draw lazy patterns over your abdomen, trailing up towards your ribs and then stopping.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked you, his heartrate increasing notably. His hands itched to cup your breasts, to roll your hardening nipples between the pads of his fingers, to swallow your moans with his mouth. But without your consent, Jushiro was not going to go any further.

You arched your back, eyes opening again to peer up at him adoringly “Comfortable, you say? I’d dare to say I’m in Paradise” you whispered, smiling faintly, before your hands reached up to undo your shihakushō. Bold, you were pretty bold right now, under the gleaming eyes of your Captain.

You heard his breath hitch, his hands trembling when you grasped them to lead them to your breasts where he wanted to settle them “Don’t say a word. They’re needless. I want it, Captain. I’m tired to pretend” you murmured, head lolling back onto his shoulder as his large hands finally latched onto your mounds, gently squeezing them.

Your skin was like velvet at the touch, his own arousal causing him to buckle his hips up against your lower back. How shameful, how stupid of him to do such things to you, but you wanted it. His Lieutenant was begging him to go ahead and that night the kind and rational Captain Jushiro Ukitake lost his mind.

He gripped your hips firmly, forcing you to straddle his lap, his legs spreading yours wide, as he kept your back glued to his front. His fingers scambled to get rid of his own clothes, while you spared time by disrobing yourself too. Skin to skin, you were able to feel his hard rock abs graze your spine as he latched his lips over the crook of your neck.

You moaned, squeezing your eyes shut, while his hands went back to cup your breasts, stroking the hardening buds to elicit more whimpers from you. Your breath was uneven at this point, your mouth searching for his as you turned around and tugged down your pants, tired of waiting any longer.

Jushiro was awestruck, thumbs tracing your hipbones, as you rotated your hips over his “Kiss me, please” you whispered, your lips hovering over his, tempting the poor Captain to give you what you wanted. It was not too late to stop, he kept on repeating himself that, but he did not want to let you unsatisfied and the fire in his loins was consuming him too much to neglect his own need.

“Kissing you? I will do more than that” he whispered, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss. His arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you close to him, were a cage you did not want to be set free from. Jushiro was gentle, handling you with a care no man had ever showed you, even when his tongue delved into your mouth and his fingers slipped underneath the waistband of your underwear, eagerly searching for your engorging pearl.

Shockwaves of pleasure made your skin sizzle, your hands cupped his smooth cheeks, as you moaned softly. Jushiro kissed your forehead, his cock twitching in his pants, when your wetness met his fingers. All of this was for him, your heat was dripping because you craved him! He was lucky, oh he was such a lucky man.

“You are … That’s for me, right? You are so good, Y/N-san, you are doing amazing for me. I will repay you for that, my sweet girl. I promise” he whispered, his hair sticking to his forehead as his fingers finally slipped into your core.

You could not talk much, babbling small words out was all you did, your lips leaving wet kisses over his neck and collarbone to show him your gratitude and love for him. Your orgasm hit you in waves, your inner muscles spasming around his slender digits as he watched your labia smeared with your arousal as you reached your climax. You were stunning, his hand glistened in your orgasm, as he quickly yanked his pants down and you crawled towards his unmade bed, panting, awaiting for him to join you.

When his member, ramrod, pulsing, slapped against his navel, you gulped down at the impressive size hungrily pointing at you. If only people knew about this side of him, they would die at his feet. Ukitake Jushiro lacked nothing that Kyoraku Shunsui had. He was just a victim of fate. If it was not for his sickness, he would have been unstoppable. Pumping his shaft a few times in front of you, Jushiro groaned softly, hooded eyes searching yours.

“Would you look at me the same way, if you knew what I did in the privacy of my bedroom when you left that morning?” he asked you, only for you to shake your head and hoist your legs around his hips.

“Nothing would ever change my opinion of you. — you replied, the tip of his cock probing at your entrance — I love you, Jushiro” you whispered, nosing his cheek when he caged you to the bed with his strong arms.

“I wish I could tell you not to love me, but I am twice as guilty. Forgive me, if you can. I love you, I have loved you for too long to keep it to myself” he said, before entering you with a smooth thrust of his hips.

You let out a strained moan, your tight walls causing Jushiro to grunt in bliss, his brows furrowed as he pressed his forehead against yours. Bottoming out took him a few seconds. Making his way inside of you, he had the care to gradually conquer inches without bruising you in the process. Tenderly, he looked at your face, searching for any signs of discomfort. Once he found none, he pulled back enough to let his tip buried into your heat and slammed back into you a little more vigorously.

Melodic moans left your mouth, neck strained back, when he set out a slow and firm pace to hit the spot that made you wrap your legs tighter around him. His white hair seemed the beautiful and cold stalactites hanging from the roof of your barracks, when it snowed. Handsome and yours, Jushiro kissed the valley between your breasts, praises to your beauty and dedication rolling out of his tongue every now and then.

“Beautiful, you should have posed for a painter in the World of the Livings. — he stated, voice muffled by your skin, when he sucked onto your nipple — A pre-raphaelite, those colors would have suited you” he murmured, tongue tracing the bud as his hips snapped towards yours more urgently now.

Your moans had grown louder, sweaty skin smacking together creating a repetitive sound any passer-by would have recognized. But you were too lost into his eyes, in the way the Moon seemed to make his hair glow like an halo around his head, on the way his muscular body would have crashed yours, if he was not attentive.

“Jushiro, please, don’t stop! — you breathed out, a throaty moan leaving your lips, when he grabbed your ankles and set them on the top of his shoulders — I am about to come” you warned him, watching the man above you speed up his movements.

He should have been careful not to overdo himself, but how could he when he was literally drunk on you? Ah your words, oh God, they were driving him insane.

“Come for me, darling. Make me happy, come for me” he incited you, grasping your hands and pinning them to the sides of your head with his ones. Fingers locked together, Jushiro thrusted into you faster, hitting your sweet spot with a perfect aim. Impeccable, sinfully celestial, you reached your climax around him with a powerful orgasm.

As you twitched and tightened around him, Jushiro’s mind went blank. He was not going to be just your Captain, not anymore. His, you were going to be his, as he was going to be yours. Just Jushiro Ukitake, a man in love, not a member of the Gotei 13.

Lolling his head back, he spurted his seed into you, guttural groans erupting from his throat as he filled you. Even though he had always followed the moral codes of a noble warrior, Jushiro Ukitake knew he had to sin that night. He could not let you slip from his fingers.

Someone had told him he would have fallen for a woman, sooner of later.

Therefore, sitting on a windy hill next to his best friend Shunsui, a couple of days later, he said “I plead guilty, your honor”.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Thanks to the anon who dropped this into my inbox. I did not realize how much I yearned to write for this man until I found myself writing this piece! Thanks! As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are welcomed!

Until then,

x o x o

TAGS: @dehemetera @han11dh @bakugosgirl01 @silent-spirits @coowayeoo

#ukitake jushiro x reader #ukitake x reader #ukitake smut #jushiro x reader #jushiro ukitake #bleach smut #bleach x reader

1K notes · View notes

choszen · 6 months ago

Text

★ — il capitano.

il capitano x florist! reader.

GENRE: smut.

WARNINGS: NSFW. capitano smut. masturbating. fantasizing.

SYPNOSIS: the fatui harbinger, il capitano, had been visiting the flower shop for months now. he never engaged in small talks with you, only scanning the selection of flowers in sight, and only coming by to buy bouquets of flowers. whenever you would hand him the arrangements, he would place a lot of mora on the table and would take his leave in urgency. you often found yourself wondering why never speaks, and why he always appeared to be in a hurry.

MINORS DNI ❕

CAPITANO was in haze. looking deep into those angel eyes was dangerous, especially when the said eyes were shining so brightly. it sent butterflies fluttering in the pit of his stomach, however, the captain couldn't find it within himself to look away. he didn't even want to. he felt as if his soul had been trapped in this angel's eyes forever, and that the angel was holding him captive with just a look.

“good morning, captain. you're here again!” you smiled, “which flower will you buy today? the usual? we have many lovely ones at our store.” your voice was like the music of angels, it was as melodic as the singing angels.

the first among the eleven fatui harbingers, a god amongst men, his name alone was enough to cause fear in everyone who heard it. so, why aren't you afraid of him? why aren't you shaking in fear? why don't you cower under his power? why are you staring at him with a soft smile that graced your face? what makes you believe that you can be safe around him? no one can truly be safe from the harbingers. he could easily squash you between his fingers, he knows how, but he wouldn't... why should he? he doesn't intended to hurt a girl like you, he has other things planned for you that would bring him joy. “... peonies, and lilies.” capitano spoke, voice low.

his eyes, dark and intense, tracked your every movement like a predator hunting its prey. each subtle shift of your form sent ripples through his composure, and he could feel his fist clenching tightly, the knuckles whitening as he battled against the rising tide of his desires. his control over his desires had always been difficult to come by. in the depths of his mind, the captain wonders how you'll scream his name out loud, how he will feel when he finally have his member inside of you. your body is meant for him, only his. the more he observed the way your casual clothes hugged your body, the more his thoughts wonders on how you will look without those, however, capitano pushed these these thoughts aside before they grow any bigger. now is not the time nor place for such thoughts.

“we're very lucky that you're visiting our humble shop. here are your peonies, and lilies.”

as capitano placed the stack of coins upon the counter, he didn't spare a single glance at you, his urgency propelling him swiftly away from the moment away from you. upon reaching his office, he slammed the door shut with a resounding thud, locking the door behind, ad immediately sank into the embrace of his desk chair. he leaned his forehead against his palm once he placed his helmet at the table. your scent, mixed with a sweet and delicate perfume was still lingering on his nose. the sound of your laughter still echoes in his ears, the way you smiled at him, the sound of your voice, everything about you captivated his senses as his breath hitched with desire. he wanted you to be the one to quench his flames– his growing desire.

there was a painful erection underneath the pants that he wore. he needed to relieve the pressure, the ache that was building up inside of him, and it wasn't long before capitano's hands began to fumble with his belt and once he unzipped his pants, the impressive bulge that grew more beneath his underwear was revealed. he couldn't hold himself anymore. he had spent so much time working on getting his arousal under control, yet, there it was, begging to be taken care off. ah, you should be the one pleasuring him right now, not himself. the point of his dick— his tip, kicked his stomach when he recalled your sweet scent, the way your hands brushed on his when you handed the bouquet. his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. he couldn't even tell whether he wanted to cry or laugh at the same time. his cock pulsated, growing harder and harder with every passing moment he was left alone with his thoughts.

can you even handle him? will he even fit inside you? his body is huge, his length is immense. he was big. he knows you can take him, capitano's length is for you to take only. his cock was veiny, twitching and already dripping with pre-cum as it was waiting to be touched. the thought of wrapping your lips around his cock made his mouth fell, his chest moving up and down, and sweats appearing on his forehead. he had never felt so aroused before but at the same time his hands were clammy, shaking and itching to touch himself now. the sudden feelings of capitano's fingers in his dick caused him to let out a small groan, there was a mixture of excitement and arousal flowing in him right now and all he could think of was you.

capitano had his head rolled back with a slight groans escaping through his lips, it has been a long time since he felt this pleasure again as he wrapped his lengthy digits on his cock, moving up and down in such pace. “ah~” he breathed softly, the sight of him stroking himself had turned him into a horny animal. he gripped onto his cock tightly and increased his movements, moving his fingers faster while moaning louder than usual. “t-the things... you do to me... y/n..” capitano mumbled between moans, brows ceased in arousal as he continued to stroke his cock with his thick calloused fingers. in that moment, the captain longed for your hands to caress him, fantasizing your gentle fingertips running over his warm flesh. how divine it would be to give in to your warmth, and feel your soft touch engulfing him in a cocoon of comfort and intimacy. the mere thought of your hands wrapped around his length, ignited a longing desire within him. what a relief it would be, to trade the solitude of his own touch for the blissful sensation of your fingertips.

his eyes rolled back in sheer ecstasy, each moan escaped his lips and grew louder, louder, louder. the captain's head fell heavily onto the polished table, his hands still clenching fiercely around his throbbing member, as if that grip could tether him to the world of sanity. no people should ever come close to making capitano cum so hard, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. the throbbing sensation that came with each hard and fast stroke, coupled with the increasing heat spreading throughout his whole body. “ah~ y/n... what did you do to me..?” the captain moaned aloud, his voice whiny from the intensity of his pleas. his face, once nonchalant, was now covered in shades of crimson. capitano’s mouth were open, moans and hot breath coming out. there were beads of sweat cascading down his forehead. his eyes rolled back in bliss at the overwhelming pleasure wrapped around him. he was utterly lost, unable to contain the soft whimpers and loud moans escaping his lips.

it didn't matter to capitano that the noise might alert others. his heart was beating like crazy, the feeling of being being inside you, your soft walls, made him lose all restraint on his self and he was whispering your name. capitano had never felt anything like it before. he knew you were the reason for his desire but the idea of telling you that, of showing you his love and passion, seemed too impossible and unreal. “m-my dear angel... forgive me for fantasizing about you...” his words sounded so weak. capitano closed his eyes in pure bliss. “let me make amends for my sins, my angel. please...” he begged, opening his eyes only a slit. the captain's fist were now full of cum as he stroked his shaft over and over again, his breath haggard and his chest heaving. he was going crazy and there was nothing he could do to stop it, nothing to distract him from the feeling coursing through his veins and setting him ablaze from the inside.

capitano could feel his climax approaching and his breathing became heavier and quicker. “...fuck..” he gasped, closing his eyes as he pushed against himself with his fist. “i will make you mine... y/n, my angel..” his legs trembled, his muscles twitched, his teeth were clenched. his eyes drifted shut as he surrendered his cock to the sensations of his own juices leaking down his member and fingers. he didn't know how long he had been doing this, but his body betrayed his exhaustion.

he stared at his swollen cock, and his own cum, watching the last few drops of cum dripping out of the top before it fell on his lap. what a waste. you should've been here to swallow all of it, to taste the most succulent thing that he had been saving for you, to taste every drop of it. he wanted to see your pretty mouth devouring the liquid substance of his own ejaculation.

#capitano #capitano genshin #il capitano #genshin impact #genshin #genshin smut #capitano smut #capitano x you #genshin capitano #capitano x reader

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shiningjustforreid · 1 month ago

Text

you missed my heart

— based on this song <3 even though title is title of another song ;)

where bau!fem!reader, Spencer Reid, and the bau deal with a case very close to home for reader.

word count: 5kish

a/n: i wanted to try to write something with a little more story line!! thus, this was born. it’s mostly angst because i fear that’s my forte, but there’s a little fluff and implied intimacy, as is my typical route <3 also wanted to mention i’m not from the town in this fic, but i am from the midwest, somewhat close to there! enjoy!!

warnings/tags: 18+ for dark themes and implied intimacy which reader cries after bc this case is a lot, referenced childhood neglect for reader, reader has trauma but she’s working on it, typical canon-level violence and dark content for criminal minds, case fic, season 10ish Spencer, spencer and reader are dating <3, Spencer is absolutely in love with reader (as he should be!), no use of y/n

- ✩ -

Cheery and bright December has molded into a bleary January, and it’s on one such morning that Penelope, dressed in an - almost garish, but who’s Spencer Reid to complain? - orange and yellow dress, to ‘combat the gray’, as she chirps, tells him they have a case. With three teen girls, all already found dead. Wincing, because he never understands why these local police forces wait until there’s multiple people dead when’s it’s clearly serial, he follows Morgan to the briefing room.

When he glances back to see if you’re coming, he finds your desk vacant, chair pushed in and files in a tidy pile, as is your nature. Frowning, he hurries to catch up with Morgan, only to find you already sat, all the color washed from your face, as Hotch discusses something clearly serious with you.

Then again, everything is serious with Hotch.

Before he can sit by you, at least to provide some comfort, Kate finds that chair, and Penelope is starting the presentation, her voice quiet, tight, as it always is when the cases make her a little more on edge.

“We are sending all of you lovely crime fighters to the small, and less lovely, town of Constantine, Michigan.”

Oh. So that’s why Hotch was seemingly deep in conversation with you.

That’s where you’re from.

“Three girls—“

She flicks through the pictures and their names, and you look absolutely sick to your stomach. Spencer fights the urge to walk to your side of the table and take your hand - you just look so scared. Taking a deep breath, Penelope braces herself to just force out the next part.

“—have been found dead just outside of town, dropped along a river that runs right along there.”

Morgan’s brows furrow, as Penelope taps through the images of the crime scenes, clearly thinking.

“This guy is bold. Dropping these girls at night is a precaution, sure, but small town like that, right by those houses, he’d get noticed.”

Rossi nods, while all Spencer can do is look at you and your tense shoulders and the way your jaw is clenched.

“He’s obviously a local. And doesn’t care if these girls get found. Sure, they’re clearly concealed some—“

He glances up at the pictures, of the teen girls wrapped in weeds and river mud,

“But he isn’t taking major precautions. I wonder why.”

Hotch nods, at each of their deductions, before he uncrosses his arms, glancing down at you before he speaks.

“Either way, three girls in 3 weeks, with the cooling off period decreasing, we need to get there soon. Wheels up in 30, no less.”

As the briefing room clears, Spencer’s at your side without pause, his palm resting against the cotton of your turtleneck, against tight muscle.

“Angel, you know you don’t have to work this case.”

You shake your head immediately, although he notices you don’t stand, hands still gripping the table in front of you with enough force to whiten your knuckles.

“I need to. I’m a part of this team, aren’t I? Plus, if there’s any way I can be of more help, since I know the area and the roads, it’d almost be wrong not to help, right?”

“Hey, breathe. I know. But Hotch already told you that you should sit this one out, didn’t he? And you told him no.”

One small movement of your head, and you finally meet his eyes. His heart twists - the apprehension in them is clear.

“I told him whatever memories this drudges up for me doesn’t compare to the lives I can potentially save. That makes sense, right?”

The hand moves from your shoulder to tuck a strand of hair from your face, thumb soothing down your cheekbone, a cold contrast to the warm flush of your skin.

“It does, angel, it does. But if you feel-overwhelmed, or too anxious, or even just a little off, please, let—“

“I’ll be fine. I can visit my hometown without having a mental health crisis.”

You didn’t mean to snap, cut him off. Sighing, you swallow thickly and look away.

“Sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant that-that I should be able to do this.”

“Should and can are two different things, my girl. You’re not weak, you-you couldn’t be. Trauma has literal physical consequences for the brain, such as making your amygdala hyperactive. Additionally, reduced activity in your prefrontal cortex can lead to—“

Letting him ramble soothes your nerves, just enough, as the two of you head to the jet. The nearly two hours of flight, where the team discusses the crime scenes and the potential profile, doesn’t have you saying much. Once, JJ asks what you think about the murder weapon, a knife, and how it relates to the unsub’s feelings about these girls. Spencer jumps in when you meet the blonde’s eyes with a deer-in-headlights look, claiming you ‘didn’t sleep well last night’ and just ‘need some time to wake up.’

In a plane full of profilers, no one believes this, of course. Rossi and Morgan’s eyes both say, you’re kidding, Reid, while JJ and Kate both sigh in tandem. Flashing Spencer a ‘thank-you-so-much-I-love-you-endlessly’ look, you then open the case file again, heart in your throat.

And your most integral organ doesn’t leave its spot in your throat when you land, and drive down a bit south to your destination, January here even more blech and dull than January in Quantico. As the SUV holding you, Spencer, Morgan, and Kate makes its way down 131, your eyes are glued out the window at the familiar landscape.

Lifeless cornfields, decorated only with gray snow and currently useless irrigation systems. Green-brown grass peeks through certain spots, and for a majority of your drive, the only buildings you pass are houses with a shutter or two missing, dirt coating the sides, shingles missing in sections, blown off by wind. The soft despair and growing hopelessness of this land is not lost on you. It never was.

As Morgan brings the vehicle into town, he grimaces, taking in the small, falling apart homes and once-was businesses.

“This is dismal, huh? I wonder how long until this place is a ghost town.”

Spencer doesn’t miss your soft sigh, or the way your fingers twist around the deep navy edge of your FBI windbreaker. When both SUVs park outside the local police station, he sets his hand on yours, just for a second.

I’m here. I’ve got you, angel girl. I love you.

Heading inside is at thankfully a somewhat new experience, at least at first - you’ve never been inside this police station, not even when you lived here. Hotch, Rossi, and JJ are already inside, and what you hoped for - that no one would recognize you on first glance - turns to be a foolish pipe dream.

“Aren’t you Paul’s girl?”

One of the officers asks, his eyes narrowing once they land on you. Suddenly, it seems like every body in this damn tiny precinct is turned your way, and you gulp down your insecurities, trying to stand tall and not turn and dash right back out that door onto salted sidewalks and into winter slush.

“Yeah. I am.”

Quiet confirmation on your part leads to surprise on your teams’ faces - sans Hotch and Spencer, of course - and a mixture of bland dislike and ambivalence amongst the officers in the room.

“Thought so. Look at you, all high and mighty. FBI, huh? I for one, would have never guessed—“

“That’s enough. She’s my agent, on this case, and you are to have no other issues with her. Am I clear?”

You thank any deity that’s listening for Hotch and his firm command, ending that officer’s insults. If he knows your dad, who knows what else he knows, and right now, you don’t want to talk to any of these men, let alone your team, who are bound to have a slew of questions.

“Kate, Morgan, I want you two to head to the morgue. Look at the wounds and see what you can add to our profile. Rossi and I will head over to the crime scene and look around. JJ, Reid, I need you to interview our victim’s families, see what we can learn about these girls.”

As half the team heads to the SUVs, you turn to Hotch, confused.

“Hotch, you didn’t tell me where I’m going.”

The unit chief sighs and glances around before turning back to you.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d be comfortable with. I can send you with Morgan and Kate, if you want?”

You shrug, still feeling people’s stares like sniper’s lasers, and meet Hotch’s eyes.

“Yeah, I could. I-I also thought I should go home. See my parents, I don’t know. They might have seen something valuable.”

Dark brows raise, and his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

“If you go, take Reid. It won’t do any good to go alone.”

As much as that makes you cringe - how little does he think you can handle? - you also know, at the bottom of your heart, that he’s right. That going home after all this time will do nothing but put you right back in that headspace you clawed your way out of not so long ago.

“I’ll go with Kate and Morgan. Thanks Hotch.”

He nods, and you shoot Spencer a quick look of I’m okay before you jog to catch up with your selected teammates for the day. As you climb into the SUV, both of them turn to look at you, questions in their eyes. Biting back a groan, you keep it short.

“I grew up here. Got out first chance I got. I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Kate looks sympathetic, and Morgan nods, soft.

“Yeah. I get that. No pressure. If you wanna talk about it ever, I’m all ears.”

Tension eases out of your muscles at Morgan’s words. Your drive to the coroner is next to silent, but as you look over the girls, covered with those white cloths, you let your mind dip into profiling mode; removed, and carefully curious.

“One stab wound, straight to the heart, no defensive wounds. That precision implies that they were unconscious when he did this.”

You muse, as you take in the colorless, innocent face of the girl in front of you.

Did I know her? Or her sister? Brother?

“There’s no marks from being restrained, either, so he had them knocked out before he did anything.”

Maybe I know their parents.

Morgan nods, looking at another one of the victims.

“They all have abrasions on the back of their heads. Enough blunt force trauma, that would knock them out.”

“He must of got what he wanted, and then disposed of them so the secret- died with them.”

Kate adds quietly, and you and Morgan both look unwell, for differing reasons. It’s not quick enough that you can drive back over to town, even though you’re dreading seeing those officers’ faces again.

Thankfully, what you see first when returning is Spencer’s face, and you make a beeline for him, as he stands by the tiny map of the - your - town. Resisting the urge to cry out the last few hours of feelings into his sweater vest, you instead take his hand, subtle, you hope. Concern immediately floods his features, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Hey, you okay? Typically, you’re the one reminding me of HR’s policies regarding interdepartmental relationships and uh, ‘PDA.’”

“Mhm. One stab wound, straight through the heart. Victims knocked unconscious beforehand, which means the unsub can’t subdue them unless they’re out first.”

The hand holding yours climbs to your bicep, fingers smoothing over the crinkly fabric of your windbreaker. He hears your checked-out tone, and knows he’ll help bring you back out of the fog later.

“Makes sense. That lines up with what Hotch and Rossi learned too. Apparently, these girls walk home from school, and this guy, whoever he is, offered them rides home because of the weather. That’s all anyone has seen, but no one has a plate number yet or any good description, just, ‘tan sedan.’”

It’s not him. God, stop it, it isn’t. Lots of people drive those cars.

Nodding, you turn to pull away, go find Hotch, presumably, give the profile, but the fingers latched in your coat tighten.

“Hotch told me that you want to go visit your parents. Is it because of the case, or—?”

“Why did he tell you that?”

Groaning, you turn back to face him, clearly just itching to give this damn profile and go hunt this unsub.

“Because, angel, he knows that you would be better off if I go with you. You know that. Besides, I’ve-well, I’ve never met your parents, and as your boyfriend—“

Spencer’s ears turn the slightest shade of rosy, and you grin, barely,

“-I’d like to. Okay?”

Screw this and his sweet smile and his puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah. After the profile, I’ll go see my parents. And you can come. I guess.”

Before you can hardly think, the seven of you have gathered in front of a small group of cops. Chin held high, you stare just over their heads, and the back of the room, where a dusty clock is hung.

“Our unsub is a 40-50 year old male who lives in the area, and probably has for a while. He manages to secure his victims by offering rides to teen girls, from the high school, back home, to help them avoid walking home in the cold weather.”

Hotch starts, voice calm and sure, and then Spencer chimes in.

“Based on our geographical profile, he definitely lives in the area, and close to the St. Joe river, where he’s dumping the bodies. He has to be able to walk them there, so no one sees his car.”

“That’s why he’s picking smaller girls. So he can lift them and carry them a short distance. Additionally, so there’s less chance of resisting. He might stalk these victims beforehand, but, since this is such a small town, and he’s a local, he might already know what time their parents get off work.”

Derek explains, arms crossed, until Kate adds her piece.

“He could also be using some ruse to take them back to a garage or basement he has. Once he has them subdued, he doesn’t appear do anything else - just stabs them through the heart, ending things quickly.”

“He could be using these victims as substitutes for a girl he holds resentment for. Perhaps he feels like he’s been wronged in the past, and he’s taking out his anger.”

Rossi finishes, as the team nods along. Thank God Hotch said you didn’t have to say anything.

“Based on the acceleration rate of these kills, we guess he’ll attempt another soon. However, please don’t do anything more to make it known that we’re here - it could cause him to panic, and flee. Thank you.”

JJ tells the officers. The entire profile runs through your head on a loop, all consuming - local, 40-50 year old man, tan car, stabbing, dumped by the river, clearly confident, barely contained rage - so much so that you don’t even see Hotch coming over to you, and say your name.

“The rest of the team is going to do some interviews with potential witnesses at the high school, and look at men that fit the profile. I figured you could use this afternoon to visit your parents, with Reid.”

Discomfort pools in your stomach. Teeth catching on your chapped bottom lip, you nod, trying not to sound ungrateful - because you’re not, not really, just anxious as hell.

“Yeah. I-that’s fine. I’ll have Spencer drive us over, or I can walk, or—“

“Take a car. It’s chilly, and I don’t need either of you sick. If they’re not proving helpful to our investigation, you can always leave.”

He’s giving you an out. If you feel like you’re drowning, you and Spencer can swim right out, and Hotch knows that you need it. Nodding again, you tug your jacket tighter and nod.

“Thanks sir. I’ll- thank you. If they don’t have anything to say, we’ll go help somewhere else.”

That’s how you and Spencer end up in a squad car, with him behind the wheel - “I can drive, I can, just let me, okay, beautiful?” - and you let him, because you honestly feel like you could lose your lunch at any moment. Hands twist in your lap, and, it’s mere minutes of quiet until the tires of the car sink into the mud that’s your parents’ driveway.

Spencer almost jumps when you immediately speak, ending the silence.

“I don’t want to do this. I can face serial killers of every variety, but I can’t go in my childhood home.”

You stare out the windshield - the house hasn’t changed. The front still needs a power wash, the siding almost gray instead of white, and that one shutter is still hanging loose, barely there. Dead grass is visible through the browning slush that once was fresh snow. Vaguely, you realize that your parents gave your swingset, which sat rusting and paint peeling for years, to your neighbors. But you don’t live here anymore - and it never really felt like home, anyways.

“This is ridiculous. I need to just go in. I’m being stupid-“

“Stop it.”

Spencer interrupts, quiet, but firm. It stops your self-deprecating spiral, at least. Your eyes stray over to the mailbox, which is nearly fallen over from when those boys bashed it in with a baseball bat. Dad never fixed that. Typical.

“You have every reason to be hesitant, okay? To not want to go in there makes sense. They made your life hell for 18 years, sweet girl. As far as I know, I can’t name anyone who wants to return to hell.”

Something sort of like a smile makes its way onto your face, and you turn to meet his eyes, the coldness in your stomach warming marginally.

“But I should do this. They might know something.”

“They might. I’ll follow you anywhere, angel. You know that.”

Running shaking hands over your face, you nod, trying to collect yourself into coherent sentences.

“Mom’s probably home, but it’s-Spencer, it’s going to be a mess, and she’s not going to be welcome, just so you know in advance, and-“

Spiral slashed through again, this time because of his hand on your arm.

“Baby. Breathe. I’m not going to think any less of you. I know.”

He only calls you that when he’s talking you down from some anxiety-induced hill, coaxing you back to reality.

“I already know what I’m going to see, and I-honestly, if anything, it just gives me more respect for you. Okay?”

So, in you go. The porch creaks when your boots and Spencer’s Converse make contact, and in your mind, when your fingertips brush against the screen door and turn the knob - unlocked, how can you be surprised? - it almost feels like you’re just coming home from school.

You got out. You got out.

That mantra never left your head until almost a year of college. Inside, it’s dim - the kitchen lights are off, and that sick smell of cigarettes - ew, do you smoke? You always smell like it - hits your lungs, and you almost turn right on your toes, until you bump into Spencer. He presses a kiss to your temple, and you can breathe again, the ash cleared from your lungs.

“Paul? That you?”

“No, Mom. It’s me.”

Passing through the kitchen, trying not to look at the cracked linoleum or the days old dishes in the sink or the overcrowded countertops, you head into the living room - there she sits, in the patched together red sun faded armchair. Smoke in hand, ratty blue Bears hoodie, graying hair in a frizzy ponytail. She says your name like it’s something that somehow tastes worse than her cigarette.

The conversation you have isn’t pleasant - it never was. After she finishes making you feel as small as you ever have, you manage to give her the profile, as Spencer sits tensely next to you on the couch.

“Nah, I ain’t heard nothing.”

Sighing, you look over at Spencer, too stressed to look at body language, look for tells, to profile her, for goodness sakes. He meets your eyes, warm hazel that only shows you love, and then all that love melts away as he turns to your mother.

“Thanks, for your time, we’ll be leaving-“

Because he knows you’re on the edge of some sort of collapse, and he has his warm hand on the small of your back, when the screen door creaks again, and you freeze as boots stamp across that decades old laminate in the laundry room entry way. Keys jangle and then get hung on a worn hook, and tobacco, freshly smoked, wafts in anew.

They say you never forget the sound of your Dad coming home.

In that moment, something thick and viscous fills your lungs, and your head, and your ears ring. You hear Spencer murmur something to you, probably your name, but it doesn’t process through the molasses in your brain. He comes around the corner, and looks your way.

First comes a blip of surprise, then that lazy smirk that’s imprinted inside your eyelids when you close them for too long. Leaning against the half-wall that divides dining from living room, he looks you over. Suddenly you’re twelve, begging him to help you with algebra, and you’re nine, being called ungrateful when you ask why the heat’s off again, and you’re five, and asking when dinner is, because you just wanted to know. On instinct, you step away, and Spencer’s hand finds the curve of your back once more, grounding and sure.

“Thought I heard you. Hey kid.”

“Hi Dad.”

It’s amazing how one person can make the whole room seem so much darker, the late afternoon winter light duller now as it bleeds in through dusty curtains. When you manage to find your voice again, and tell him why the FBI is here, in this tiny Michigan town, he laughs, shaking his head, sighing.

“Damn Feds think everything is serial. I know it’s just some lowlife on ice. They won’t probably even catch him.”

Spencer makes a face, and opens his mouth, probably to make some point about the intelligence of these crimes, and someone high wouldn’t be able to do this, but you speak first.

“We should go. Help down at the station. Lots of victims’ families to interview.”

Turning to go, you flash your mom a weary smile, and then a tighter one at your dad and turn to leave, but not before cold fingers hold your arm, where your jacket’s pushed up, like a vice.

Remember remember remember remember—

“You go ahead and tell your little buddies to head home, you hear me? Both of you.”

You don’t look up, staring down at the dismally gray rug under your feet.

I slipped on that. Cut my forehead open. Let me go.

“I’ll try. See ya.”

Spencer is tugging you out the door, away from the smell of mold mixed with something distinctly bleach - mom must have been trying to clean it. He watches you, carefully, as you buckle, on autopilot, and he turns the key in the ignition. Dad’s car sits in the mud - tan sedan but they don’t mean that one do they? The SUV remains in park. Decidedly warmer hands smooth over the damp fabric of your windbreaker.

“Can you look at me, angel?”

You stare at the dirt covered siding, the pathetic grass, thumb nail headed for your wind ruined lips. It never makes it there - Spencer intertwines your fingers, hazel eyes full of quiet concern.

“That-that doesn’t define you, you know that, right?”

Shrugging, you squeeze his hand tighter. Need to feel real.

“Their lack of care, their neglect—“

“I wasn’t neglected.”

You snap weakly, even though it’s true; it just feels like such an ugly word.

“We just struggled. And they had to work a lot. And they didn’t want me to be weak. And so what if Mom would buy cigarettes by the carton, instead of milk and eggs? I didn’t want cookies, and all the fancy channels, it was fine, honest, Spence. I didn’t want those things.”

“Sweet girl, that’s- God, but they didn’t give you what you needed. You were a child. You should’ve wanted those things, but were too busy wanting hot food at dinner, and for the water not to get shut off.”

He already knew the horrors you’d crawled out of, and now, having seen your house, and the wood paneled walls, smoke smudged windows and that spot where you can see the drywall, there was no judgement in Spencer’s eyes. Dry anger, at your parents, perhaps, soft empathy for you, for sure, but no judgment.

You’re numb for the rest of the day, brain foggy, and it’s rather early when Hotch has everyone head back to the hotel, a 20 near silent minute drive up to Three Rivers. Protocol be damned, Spencer lets you hold his hand the entire way back, and instead of heading off to separate rooms - ‘HR policy’ - you follow him straight up to his, dumping your bag on the floor and turning to face him, eyes dark and empty as you work at his tie. His hands fly up to yours, stilling them.

“Easy. Hey. You’re practically dissociating, and I uh, I don’t know if I want to do this when you’re so out of it. Not because you aren’t beautiful or because I don’t want to, because—“

He stops, letting out a tiny noise that could almost be constituted as a whimper as your lips find his exposed collarbone.

“I do, I always want you, lovely, but maybe you need to process all these memories and think about this and how it’s effecting you—“

“Stop profiling me, Spence. I don’t want to think. Not about my parents, or this case, or anything. I need you to make me forget about the way those officers looked at me today-“

His shirt falls to the thin carpeted floor of the hotel. Calloused hands tug off your rain splattered coat, discarding that too.

“And the way Kate and Morgan looked at me in the SUV on the way to the morgue-“

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel the flimsy quilt of the hotel bed against your back as you stare up at him, sat to your right on the edge of the bed.

“-and the way that you’re looking at me now.”

Several thoughts flash through Spencer’s eyes, and he looks you over carefully - his angel, all wide, pleading eyes and cold flushed cheeks and wind whipped hair. His hand comes to hold your face on one side, thumb easing over the high plane of your cheekbone.

“Please be sure. That’s all I ask, pretty girl.”

Because God, you do look pretty. Pretty feels like a laughable adjective, quite honestly, as you nod, and whisper please and yes again, and his mouth finds yours, and then finds your jawline, and the column of your throat.

Ethereal might be better, he thinks, as he tugs away your sweater and swallows hard, hands smoothing over heated skin to unclasp your bra. Or incandescent, he muses, as your fingers curl in his hair and his fingers trace over your stomach and hips, making you arch into his touch, desperate to forget forget forget.

There’s something so entrancing about the way you meet his eyes, hazy for a different reason than resurfacing trauma, your nails carving half moons into his back, face buried in his shoulder.

Holding you after is not just his procedure, it’s law, how you meld yourself in his lap, his knuckles skimming over your spine, his lips in your hair. When your shoulders shake, once, twice, however, he sighs.

“I know you have a tendency to display post coital dysphoria, angel, but this feels different.”

He hedges, his mouth now pressed against your forehead. The technical term catches you off guard - it’s just so Spencer. Gulping back an outright sob, you nod.

“Yeah, I-this whole case is just- it sucks.”

Eloquent, you may typically strive to be, but in this moment of bliss mixed with wounds reopening, the elegant seems unachievable. Soft lips don’t move from your skin, breaths even and deep to contrast your shallow ones.

“You’re brave. You know that? My brave girl. Hotch told you that this case was one you could’ve sat out, and you came. Why?”

You shrug, even though you know why, deep down.

“Because you care. You know the world gives heaps of hurting and upset, and you just-you just want to stop it all.”

Sleep doesn’t evade you, or Spencer, and when you wake up, it’s another misty sunrise, snow falling and sludge squelching under tires as all the team arrives at the precinct.

“We don’t currently have any missing girls, but with our unsub’s level of rage, we should see one very soon. Today, we should be focused on narrowing down our list of potential unsubs based on what we know in our profile.”

While you nod along to Hotch’s morning briefing, your mind is a million miles away.

Suppressed rage. Tan sedan. 40-50 year old male. What if what if what if—

Someone says your name. Blinking, you look up at Hotch, whose frown lines are more pronounced than normal.

“Do you know something?”

Five more pairs of eyes rush to you, and you swallow, hard.

“Does anyone right now?”

Answering a question with a question.

“I have a feeling. I think that profile describes half the town, at least. Are we going to interview every man in that age range?”

Deflection. Hotch’s eyes narrow.

“If you know something, you need to tell us.”

Spencer watches you, face tight with concern.

A beat. Shaking your head again, you look away.

“No. I don’t. Nothing certain.”

Body language.

Even as the team disperses, some to the high school, some to a couple empty tables in the tiny precinct, you feel Hotch’s eyes watch you, as you pour over names and histories and potential matches for the profile. Still, your mind remains a million miles away - or maybe about two.

After what feels like hours, but is probably minutes, slender fingers land on your shoulder.

“Hey angel. C’mere. Let’s take a walk.”

Dutiful girlfriend that you are, you stand and follow Spencer outside, into the hazy morning. He shuts the door behind you and hesitantly smooths his hands down your arms, his voice quiet.

“I love you, I-I need you to know that. To remember that. But—“

Spencer stops. You don’t look up, eyes fixed on the concrete below.

“I need you to be honest, okay? Do you know, or-or think you know, who this unsub is, or might be?”

Loosely shrugging your shoulders makes him sigh, and he runs his hands carefully up, then down, your arms, tethering you to reality.

“I never want to guilt you, you know that, but if you know something—“

“Then it could prevent more deaths. I know. I know, Spence, I do, I just, if I’m wrong, there’s consequences.”

Frowning, his hands stop their motion on your arms.

“Look at me?”

It’s not a demand, but more like a hopeful ask. You acquiesce, and he grins, a little tightly. Probably because your eyes look dull.

“There’s my girl. Why would there be consequences for you, lovely? You never have to come back here again, if you don’t want to. I’d never make you.”

Heavy sigh. Glancing away, and then back, the lump in your throat grows.

“I feel like I might know this unsub. As more than just a face and a name. As a person. But I don’t know if my past experiences are just tinting my perception of this case, or if it’s a legitimate connection.”

To his credit, Spencer keeps his face blank, but his eyes go darker.

“If you know, you need to tell Hotch. Even if it’s just an inkling. It could even lead to another person we haven’t looked at yet.”

Looking back, the late morning and afternoon fell into a blur. Hotch immediately has Kate, Morgan and Rossi check out the house of the potential unsub you’d named, while you and Spencer examined other potentials, and JJ and Hotch headed to the high school for a bit. All day, you’re quiet, hoping with everything you have that you’re wrong, that you saw something that wasn’t really there. Every interaction merges together into a convoluted mess.

When the team regroups at the station, it’s dark out, and raining icy sleet - curse of the midwest winter - when a call comes to the precinct: a frantic mom of a missing girl, or at least a girl who didn’t return home.

“We need to get out there, Hotch. If she’s been missing since the end of the school day, he could be about done with her.”

Morgan’s voice is tight, and Hotch nods. Blood rushes through your ears, your pulse the only thing you hear, as everyone piles into SUVs, and drives just past the town limits, parking with lights out along in the muddy riverbank.

You see him. And you’ve heard, that your brain, when presented with a truth it cannot accept, will literally deny what it sees. Faintly, you wonder, if this is happening now, as you scramble from the SUV, amidst Morgan’s shouts and Spencer’s hand reaching blindly for your jacket, your gun held tightly. When the headlights flash, and the unsub turns, knife in hand, some nameless, faceless girl in the mud below him, the sleet seems to be inside your head.

“Hey kid.”

The sneer you see is the man you know. Not the barely contained smirk from yesterday, in front of Spencer, or the laugh as he sips coffee with his buddies at that diner in town.

Shaking your head, hair slicked with ice and water, you step into the sludge, back ramrod tight and weapon aimed clear.

“Drop the knife. Drop it. You can’t do any good with it.”

Damn him to hell, he laughs. You try to keep your face devoid of anything, but it’s becoming a challenge. Somewhere far away, you hear Morgan repeat your command, and then Hotch too, behind you. He ignores them. Ice in your veins, on your cheeks, in your heart—

“Go ahead, kiddo. Shoot. You won’t. Dear old Dad, and all that. Bet you knew the whole time, didn’t you?”

Eyes bore into the back of your head.

“Your dad? That was your parents’ house we went to earlier?”

Silver glints in the dim light, and you step forward, hands trembling so bad you probably can’t make a straight shot.

“You left us. High and mighty, thought you were too good to live the life you were born into. Broke my heart, broke your mom’s. Pathetic excuse for a daughter, who can’t even stay and care for her parents.”

Oh God. You feel ill. Knife in the heart, allegory for how he felt (or thought he felt) when you left here and yet- the guilt won’t eat you alive. You’ll starve it out of house and home.

“I deserved so much better than you ever gave.”

You hiss, not sure if the water on your face is fresh or salt laced.

“I was your baby. And you hated me from the moment I breathed your air.”

It happens so fast. He lunges forward, knife up, and you fire on training, on instinct, bullet landing solidly in his leg.

It takes you a full five minutes to feel the rain and mud that’s coating your jeans, and hair, and face, but only seconds to feel Spencer’s arms, one around your middle, clutching the front of your coat, one over your chest, as you gasp.

“I didn’t- he was- he moved, Spence, oh my God, he had that, and I didn’t—“

“Angel, I know. You just did what you needed to.”

It takes you another five minutes to come to the realization that the wretched sobbing you hear is yours. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’d would’ve shot, even if he hadn’t moved toward you.

Two nights later, you’re wrapped in the warmth of bed, the place you decided is the safest place on earth after you began to live with Spencer Reid. Head tucked under his chin, ear over his heart, hand smoothing over the fabric of his shirt.

“Hotch said you could have a week, you know.”

He says softly, fingers dancing up your arm and over your spine, lips against your hair.

“A day is fine.”

“You don’t sound sure. You sound very unsure, actually. I’d rather you be certain before you head back.”

Sighing, you stare down at your legs, curled nearly to your chest.

“It’s our job, Spence. It’s not the first time I’ve shot my weapon at someone.”

“No.”

He allows, and you tilt your head to the side as he presses feather-light kisses to your throat.

“Do you want to, or feel like you have to meet some criteria? That this doesn’t affect you, and that you’re stronger than your past?”

“I am.”

You protest immediately, and he sighs.

“Strong enough not to let it control you, yes, sweet girl, you are. I’m not denying your strength, please, know that.”

Soft hands move your hair off your neck so he can kiss lower, and you shiver.

“But your mind is incredibly talented at allowing repressed memories to show themselves, even when you’ve pushed them down. Actually, studies show that traumatic memories are stored differently than other memories in the brain.”

“Spencer, look, if you wanna tell me about this later, I’m all ears, but-“

“I know. I know. You want to forget. Let me help, please?”

Skin to skin, after, lets you feel his heat and his lips against your forehead, kissing you even in sleep.

A house, white, siding less browned, fills your dreams. The swingset is there, rusty, even now, and the driveway has tire ruts. It must be late winter. Someone calls you, from inside, someone you don’t even know. Maybe you never knew them.

And maybe, you lived there, but it was never home. Home is burying your face in someone’s shoulder as they hug you, whether it be a tight squeeze from Penelope, or a gentle hold from JJ. Home, you think, as you turn, to walk up the road, as the voice gets drowned by wind, is sipping tea with Spencer as he reads to you, when he gathers you in his lap, when he beats you at chess, when you beat him at chess, when he undoes you with touch and tone. When he calls you his angel. The chain of that voice in your ears shatters like powder. It must have been rusted too. Isn’t everything that’s forced to endure through terrible circumstances?

Home is something you’ve crafted, where the lawn is never dead. Where your pulse never climbs in fear before you enter the front door, only in hope, in excitement, or in adoration.

May you never return to that house. In dreams, or otherwise. Home it never was. The yard will die, and wither, and fade, and the house will crumble to the nothing is always was.

Morning sunlight melts any remaining nightmare, and when Spencer smooths his knuckles along your cheek, as you blink awake, you hear the sound of a front door squeaking shut somewhere in your brain.

It never opens all the way again.

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distantdarlings · 4 months ago

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EXPOSED // t. nott

RATING: R / 4.4K WORDS

Theodore Nott x AFAB!Gender Neutral Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* You were born with giant wings reminiscent of an Angel’s. Though you weren’t technically one, Theodore Nott couldn’t help but compare you to and treat you like one.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! PIV (not super specified though due to GN!Reader), Oral Sex (GN!Reader Receiving), Top!Theo, Bottom!Reader, very slight voyeurism (if you squint), Reader has wings (with sexual feeling), language (lmk if I missed any!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Haunted - BEYONCÉ

- - -

By the time you arrived back at your dormitory every day, your shoulders were so sore, you were ready to just knock yourself out. The continuation of your shoulders as they spread out past your body and out into the air cramped constantly when you performed that concealment spell you’d been forced to learn the moment you started school.

Even being the minority compared to the whole world, the student body at Hogwarts were not always the most accepting of different people–especially when you had enormous whitened wings that stretched out widely above your head. Spread out completely, they reached nearly ten feet across. They were your greatest inconvenience, but also your greatest love. There was little you took better care of than your wings. They were strong and white like new teeth–not perfectly pearly, but not as dingy as some of the other fliers you’d met.

You could remember when you were younger, when your father—who was also a flier—had taken you to meet some of your distant family near where they lived at the top end of the world.

There, it was freezing all year-round and the majority of the community adorned wings just as tall and strong as yours, if not moreso. You were jealous that you were always expected to hide your wings away from the world—even as a little one—when your father had been able to spread his as far as he wanted to, wherever he wanted to.

It had left a bit of a dent on your self-esteem, always having to hide a large part of yourself to fit in with others. But, as you aged, you’d come to accept it for what it was. Besides, everytime you visited your family on holiday breaks, both you and your father would take long flights early in the morning when the sun had not yet risen above the horizon and had only settled deep within the sky’s cover of clouds.

Flying with your father like that was some of your favorite memories. You were certain it wasn’t as enjoyable for him, simply because he rarely hid his wings. For you, it was as if you were stretching out joints that had been cramped up for years. Still, you were grateful for those little moments.

With a tilt of your head in each direction to relieve any built-up tension, you began to undress. You let your robe slide down your arms and into the floor. Then, you loosened your tie, undid the buttons on your shirt, and pulled your bottoms down your legs, allowing them all to fall away and into the same pile with your robe.

You whispered the reversal of the concealment spell that you had used so many times before, and closed your eyes. The warmth of magic circled your back, spreading heated tendrils in and around your wings. You could feel the feathered things slowly rising to life. You sighed in relief at the sensation, letting every joint within them pop aloud.

With a yawn, you reached your arms over your head and stretched hugely, letting your wings mimic the movements. You groaned, relieved that you were finally able to let them loose.

The only reason you weren’t frightened to let them out in your dormitory was because none of your roommates would be back until later on this evening. Every year, you purposefully planned your schedule accordingly so you’d have a few hours to yourself in the dorm room, specifically so you could have your wings out.

The only other times you were able to have them out besides when you were flying with your father on vacation, was when you were completely alone in the bathrooms or when the curtains were pulled shut around your bed. Other than that, they were tightly and magically adhered against your spine.

You weren’t sure exactly how the spell worked but it didn’t hurt until the sixth or seventh hour of having it applied. At that point, you’d be getting sore. Maybe the spell actually did fold your wings together… Hm, you weren’t sure. According to your father, there were no lasting effects of the spell on your wings or your ability to fly. But, still, it made you a bit nervous to think about.

With a small sigh, you bent over to gather up your crumpled up clothes. You tossed them into the dirty laundry hamper slid up against the end of your bed and prepared yourself to preen your wings. It had been entirely too long since you’d tended to them. You could hardly pride yourself on the care you gave them if you weren’t going to keep up with their cleaning schedule.

You settled yourself on the edge of your bed where the curtains were separated. The cold satin duvet slid against your naked legs. The fabric of your bottoms kept your hips warm as you pulled your preening comb from the small bedside dresser.

You crossed your legs and pulled the length of your left wing as far as it would go, across your thighs. The soft feathers cascaded over your skin as you began to meticulously comb at them, ensuring that every single one was treated.

Oftentimes, you’d sink into a sort of daze as you handled your preening—one filled with straying thoughts and light hums here and there. You’d found that, in the past, you became sort of deaf to the real world as you worked. Your focus was so intense that you didn’t hear little sounds, like that of a quiet door opening behind you.

And this time, your humming was just loud enough, and your combing was just distracting enough that you heard nothing as an intruder pushed the dormitory door open and slipped inside. And you didn’t hear the small gasp he let out as he saw your glorious wings. And you didn’t hear the confusion rattling through his brain as he was certain that this was the room his friend told him to meet her in to pick up his books. And you certainly didn’t hear his light footsteps as he creeped up behind you, so curious as to what he was looking at.

He’d never seen something so beautiful and majestic, except on some of the long extinct, mythical creatures he studied in class.

Though he had some inkling of self control, he couldn’t stop himself from approaching you ever so slowly, fingers outstretched and wanting desperately to touch your wings. They had to be fake, right? Some kind of costume?

Still, he couldn’t resist. It was as if your wings had cast some kind of spell on him, dragging him in so severely. He needed to touch them.

Then his fingers were brushing against the soft curtain of feathers, feeling the way the edge of his skin tingled. You gasped sharply and turned without thinking of your nearly nude body.

You made eye contact with a boy you’d recognized much too quickly. Your wings shot across your body to conceal your naked skin.

“Theo! What are you doing here?” you gasped, trying to back away from him and farther up your bed.

“I was coming to pick up some books…” his words trailed off. He appeared dazed and completely fixated on your wings. You couldn’t help but be frightened at what he might say. This was exactly the horrifying moment you’d been having nightmares about since you were young.

“May I touch them again?” he breathed, finally tearing his eyes away. He looked at you, his lips parting.

“What?” you asked, completely in shock. You were surprised that he wasn’t entirely disturbed by the sight before him. All your life, you’d been taught to hide them from people who wouldn’t understand—which just happened to be nearly everyone. You’d imagined the things that would be said once you were exposed a million times over, but you never imagined they’d be things of wonder and awe.

Still, Theo stared at you with nothing but amazement. His cheeks were dusted with pink flecks and his eyes shone with the light seeping through the windows. Suddenly, you found your wings relaxing a bit.

“Er…yes…I suppose you can,” you said, unsure of your words. Your voice trembled ever so slightly with the breaths quickly filling your lungs than pushing out.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said, seeming to snap out of his daze slightly. “I didn’t mean to pressure you. It’s just…they’re beautiful. I’ve never seen something so angelic.” He chuckled at his use of the last word. You were shocked. Never, had you been compared to your separate winged counterparts. Angels were real, but you weren’t exactly flitting about Heaven. You just had wings. Descended from Angels? Perhaps. But not an Angel.

“You’re not frightened of them?” you squeaked, knees clutched tightly against your chest.

“Frightened?” he laughed breathlessly. “Why would I be? They’re incredible.”

You laughed a bit. You didn’t even know what to say. This was going nothing like how you’d always expected it to, and that was a very good thing. And, how much more perfect could you have hoped it would go, than if Theodore Nott—one of the most gorgeous boys in school—was calling you beautiful amongst it all. You could’ve cried.

Slowly, you extended your right wing out to him, while still keeping your body covered with your left. Mesmerized, you watched as he curled his fingers in and around the feathers. It was a light, easy touch—almost like a tickle. The feathers themselves didn’t really have any sensation, just what was pulled from the follicle when it was tugged on a bit.

If you accidentally pulled one out, it only felt like pulling a hair out of your scalp, except for when you got closer to where they sprouted from your back. They were a bit more sensitive up there, as if you were pulling multiple hairs out at once. Other than that, they didn’t really have much of a feeling, besides when they were sore from being cooped up.

At least, that’s what had been your reality for the entirety of the time you’d been on earth, until Theodore Nott waltzed in and wrapped his long fingers around a handful of feathers and tugged at them.

At the feeling of him grabbing on to them and clenching his knuckles until they turned white, you noticed that an uncomfortably familiar sensation pooled rapidly into your stomach. The edges of your vision dripped with black ink spots and your lips fell open in a gasp.

At your reaction, he let go just as quickly as he’d gripped them and backed away. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

“N-no,” you panted. “Just let me catch my breath.” The remnants of the pleasure that had built in your stomach melted downwards. Heat circled between your legs, provoking more desire.

“Did it hurt?” he asked once more, head dipped down towards you and genuinely concerned.

“No, it felt… really good, actually,” you gasped.

“What, like a massage or something?” he asked. You said nothing—just glanced up at him, then back at the ground. Unsure if he was getting the memo or not, you dropped your outstretched wing into a more comfortable position and cleared your throat awkwardly.

“Er, maybe it’d be best if you—”

“Wait, I’m sorry. Please don’t make me leave. I’d love to touch you again. I won’t do that again, though.”

Your eyes met his again, confusion swirling in your mind. “Well, I’m not a zoo exhibit. I’d like for you to leave now.”

“Please, that’s not what I meant. I’m just fascinated, that's all.”

“I’m so glad I could be an object of fascination for a moment, but—”

“Hey! Stop that. I like you, okay?”

The two of you stopped moving. No sound echoed throughout the room, almost as if the air itself was holding its breath, just as you were. Your eyes widened as they stared at Theo, searching within his to see if he was joking. Surely, he could not mean that.

“I don’t understand,” you spoke. “You’ve never said more than three words at a time to me, then you see I’m slightly different, and you’re suddenly interested in me. That doesn’t really add up.”

“That’s not it at all,” Theo sighed. “I was coming here to talk to you. To ask you to go to dinner with me. I’ve had a crush on you for a while. It had nothing to do with your wings. I would have just asked you out to dinner if I hadn’t seen them.”

“I thought you were coming here to pick up books?”

“That was just an excuse,” he sighed. “I panicked and didn’t want to ask you on a date when I’d just burst in on you like that.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” you laughed humorlessly. He smiled just a bit.

“I really do think they’re beautiful,” he whispered. “But they are absolutely nothing compared to you.”

That heat from earlier made itself known again, echoing loudly in your abdomen. Your pulse picked up as the compliment settled in your ears. The look he gave you was one of utter adoration—one you couldn’t believe you’d never noticed him giving you before. He couldn’t believe it either, because every time he looked at you, it was a look of nothing less than love.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” you said. “Generally, people aren’t so accepting of them.” You stretched your wing back out and let it drape across the bed in between the two of you. He sat down on the edge and let the tailend of the feathers drape across his knees. The intimacy of the moment made you flush.

“That’s stupid,” he scoffed. “They’re wonderful. The only reason anyone would think otherwise would be because they’re jealous.”

His fingers caressed softly through the feathers, tracing the outlines of them with a gentle touch. As you watched his movements, you could feel the affection blossoming in your chest. You’d never had someone so genuinely interested in you. It seemed that he cared, but not just because of what made you different. He seemed to care about you as well.

He had begun to experiment a bit, weaving his fingers through the feathers, tracing along the bottom edges, scratching his nails along the follicles. Every once and a while, a light chill would run through your skin at the feeling of him touching you and you’d shudder. The two of you would giggle quietly at your reaction before he returned to them.

He slowly worked his way upwards, exploring ways of which he could touch you. His hands moved higher, gently spreading the expanse of your wing upwards and admiring the full span of it.

Before long, he had scooted so close that his hips were brushing yours. Your other wing still covered your body, but the thought of him being so close to your naked skin had made another shudder go through you.

“Did that tickle?” he whispered, looking back to you.

“No,” you whispered. His eyes flickered to your lips, then yours to his. Then, his eyes returned to your wings. His fingers came down to trace the highest edge of them all the way down to where they met between your shoulder blades. His fingers slid between where they sunk into your back. He traced suddenly down the expanse of your spine just above the end of your tailbone. You gasped lightly. Obviously, the sensation on your skin was much stronger than your wings.

“Sorry, was that too much?” he asked.

“No.”

His index finger bent at the knuckle and traced along your back to your side, where the tip of your other wing ended. He watched as chills raised along your skin. You said nothing. Then, his hand flattened against your side. He cupped you warmly, feeling the way his large hand dwarfed your side. His thumb traced the edge of your feathers.

“Can I see the rest of you?” he whispered.

“What?” you gasped, not wanting to get your hopes up with what you’d just heard him say.

“Can I please see the rest of you?” His eyes were locked on your lips until he finished his words. They flicked back up to yours, aquamarine swirling against the light. He refused to look away.

You kept your mouth shut, but slowly pulled your wing away from yourself, exposing the rest of your body to his eyes. He looked down, drinking in the expanse of your entire body. The only bit of coverage you were granted were the bottoms still hung around your hips.

His thumb stretched slowly to trace the underside of your breast. He watched every reaction you granted him—little gasps and parts of your lips. He watched the chills continue to spread across your bare arms and legs. Soon, he followed his previous path on the opposite side of your body with his other hand. He held you comfortably between his strong hands.

“Is this okay?” he asked. And when you nodded, he gently pushed you back onto your pillows. Then he was over you, hovering with one strong arm and tracing your body from shoulder to hip with a curious thumb. He absentmindedly shyed over one nipple with a barely there touch. Your lips parted at the feeling, desperately desiring more.

“Theo, I—”

“Should I stop?” he asked, immediately pulling his hand back to watch your face.

“No!” you nearly shouted. “No, please don’t stop. I was going to ask if you—if I could kiss you.”

He smiled in response to your words. His hand returned to your body and he lowered himself onto his elbow beside your head. His face was much closer to yours now, his hands more confident. His nose suddenly brushed against yours, attempting to entice you a bit.

“Theo, before anything happens between us…,” you started. “Can you promise me that you aren’t just interested because of my wings?”

“Like I said earlier, even if I hadn’t seen them, I would have just asked you out to dinner,” he said, smiling sweetly. You returned his smile, a bit of excitement blooming in your chest at the current situation you rested in. This was everything you’d been dreaming of for months.

Then you were tilting your head up and pressing your lips to his. He responded immediately with a loving and warm kiss that encompassed the entirety of your thoughts. Your fingers curled into his uniform shirt, begging him closer to you. At your need for him, a small groan echoed against your lips as he tore away from you and roughly tore his shirt apart.

You helped him separate the pieces of fabric and slide them down the length of his arms, while he leaned back over you, strong body protecting you from all angles. Your legs split to envelop him between your thighs. With a bit of stray confidence, you wrapped them around his hips, letting them settle comfortably against him.

His lips pressed against your neck, kissing wetly along the length of your jaw. Your fingers curled into his dark hair, revelling in how soft it was. He was everything you’d ever imagined. Merlin, you wanted him so badly.

“Say the words,” he whispered against your skin. “Say the words and I’ll take you right here. Please, baby. Please say yes.”

“Yes, Theo. Please.” Your words came out in a breathless moan.

You were barely able to get the words out before his lips reattached to your neck. He leaned over to one side, completely balancing his weight on his left arm, while his right expertly undid his belt. The clinking of the metal fastener echoed in the empty space, building anticipation in your stomach.

He whispered a spell and the lock on the door in the corner clunked shut. When he turned back to you, he rose onto his knees and slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of your bottoms.

Slowly, he slid them down the length of your legs, maintaining seething eye contact the entire time. Chills spread across your skin and your wings bristled beneath his gaze. When he saw the reaction his touch gave your wingspan, he smirked devilishly. You shuddered.

Once you were exposed to him, he pressed gentle kisses to the insides of your thighs, rising higher and higher until he was face-to-face with your core. The room held its breath again as you braced yourself against the pillow, anticipating his touch.

Your wings were laid comfortably beside you, just as they were when you slept. But the moment his lips made contact with you, they were soaring off the bed and spreading out to their full expanse.

He hummed against you, vibrations traveling from your core up through your stomach. You gasped aloud at the sensation, grasping at the blankets around you.

With a bolt of confidence, you reached down and trapped his curls into your hands, fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp. He hummed again at the feeling.

He marveled at your wings spread out so gracefully, watching them closely with each ministration of his tongue. You watched as he stared up at you—nothing but adoration swam in his eyes.

He couldn’t believe what the sight of your body was doing to him. He so obviously understood why Angels were revered as Heavenly creatures now. If he had seen you with no further context, he too would have immediately bowed to worship.

When he strung you along far enough that your hips were beginning to rise off the bed, he stopped and pulled himself away from you. He returned to his previous position of hovering over you and placed his lips to yours.

The flavor of yourself was slathered across his mouth and spread to yours. His tongue traced along yours, glazing your tastebuds with his own.

With his lips pressed against yours, he slid his unfastened belt and pants down his legs, revealing toned muscles layered with golden skin. He wore dark briefs that framed him deliciously well.

He leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before lining himself up with your entrance. Though he’d granted no adjustment with his fingers beforehand, you weren't going to deny the stretch he provided, no matter how much it stung.

He pressed into you, allowing you to feel every inch of the expansion of your entrance. Fire blossomed below your waist as your fingers dug into his shoulders.

At his realization of how tight you were, he reached beneath the two of you and began to gently massage your clit, coaxing you more and more open.

With the combination of feeling running through your body, your mouth fell open and your eyes fluttered shut. Without a doubt, he was the biggest you’d ever experienced.

Once he was fully settled within you, he gave you a few seconds to breathe. You pressed your lips lovingly to his bare shoulder, reveling in the warmth of his skin.

His chest was pressed to yours and your thighs wrapped around his waist so tightly, you were unsure if you could ever part from him.

Once he began to move, though, you knew you’d never let him go. He built up a gentle pace, working you wider and wider. Once you were fully open to him, his length hit every spot within you no others were able to hit.

Your breath was coming out of you in deep, whining exhales as he pounded his hips into yours. His lips pressed gentle kisses along your jawline with every thrust.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Every part of you.” You moaned aloud at his words. Somehow, he knew exactly what you needed to hear to become more and more confident.

You’d never felt so loved in your life.

Skillfully, he built up every single feeling in your body until it coiled tightly within your stomach. You breathlessly said his name, warning of your impending finish.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he moaned against your throat. He reached upward and shoved his fingers through your feathers, parting them higher and higher, until he had a handful and gripped at them as hard as he could.

Your finish came crashing down around you. Your body rose off of the bed to meet with his and every thrust he worked you through. White flashes seared across your vision, branding the skyline with his face.

At the clenching of your own body, his finish was forced along farther and farther until he released within you. He came with a high-pitched moan into your shoulder. Your fingers remained squeezed into his shoulders until he weakened and laid down on top of you.

The two of you laughed breathlessly at the remaining aftershocks that coursed through your body. His fingers traced lovingly up the length of your exposed arm and swirled throughout your feathers.

“I don’t think anyone has ever focused so much on me,” you whispered.

“Have you ever shown them to anyone else?” he asked.

“No, just my family.”

“Well, I’m grateful you’re letting me see them. I’m not sure how I went so long without seeing your beautiful body. I shouldn’t have waited to come talk to you.”

You smiled sweetly and brushed a stray piece of hair away from his forehead to expose his bright eyes. Despite the amount of time you both waited to talk to each other, you were grateful you had taken the time to do it now. Theo was the only person thus far that had seen you instead of only your wings, and you were so thankful for that.

Then for the rest of the afternoon, you dozed with him, feeling his hands caressing your skin rather than your wings.

- - -

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