softgh0stbites

[softgh0stbites]

it isn't midnight yet

pairing: caleb x reader

summary: when you realise the shift in your feelings for Caleb isn't as new as you thought and nowhere as fleeting as you hoped, wanting him turns unbearable. now, it's fifteen minutes to midnight, his birthday is almost over, and all you know is that you don't want to spend any more time avoiding what could be.

themes: childhood friends to lovers, complicated relationship dynamincs, fluff, explicit smut, so much sexual tension and build up, yearning, canon compliant, petnames, profanity, lots of making out, implied first time but whatever, nipple sucking, fingering, oral (fem receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, floor sex like seriously they fuck all over it lmao, a smidge of edging, multiple rounds, yapping during sex, praise kink, mentions of events from farspace deprivation and references to his other cards, mc is painfully desperate which is accurate for this card, they match each others freak

wc: 16.3k (don't look at me i'm ashamed)

playlist: why by shawn mendes, i wanna be yours by the arctic monkeys, dress by taylor swift, ride by somo, birthday dance by josh levi

lyns notes: IGNORE HOW LATE THIS IS PLEASE AND THANK YOU. remember when this was supposed to be short? yep. this is my very self-indulgent adaptation of no-return night! i've watched the kindled so many times it should be considered shameful and needed to be insane about it. i've unlocked levels of down bad previously unknown to man, and i have channelled those exact vibes into mc. happy birthday caleb. god bless.

For as long as you could remember, Caleb had always been just out of your reach. 

In a literal sense, that was completely incorrect. Growing up with him under the same roof meant that all your earliest memories had him embedded in them in some way or another. He had always been around, always ready to catch you if you fell or show you the way back home if you ever got lost. Older, dependable, constant; there was no end to the number of ways you could describe his presence in your life. 

But for the past couple of months, the one you’d say fit the best would be confusing.

“Sooooo, when are you going to be in Skyhaven?”

You gripped your phone a little tighter, pressing a finger to the scanner of your door and pushing it open. “Who said I was coming to Skyhaven?”

“You’ve asked me about my schedule, and my birthday is this week. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.” Caleb’s voice took on that teasing lilt you were so familiar with, and you knew the face he was probably making right now: a knowing grin paired with a raise of his eyebrows. 

“So much for trying to surprise you,” you muttered, kicking off your shoes by the doorway and walking into your apartment. “Can’t you let me at least think I’ve succeeded for once?”

“No can do. Let me know when you’re arriving so I can pick you up.” You could practically hear the smile in his voice. You unzipped the front part of your hunter uniform and tossed the corset into the laundry basket, rolling your shoulders to release the tension you had been carrying around. 

“No.”

A pause. “No?”

“The least you can do is let my arrival be a surprise.” 

He chuckled softly, and for some maddening reason, the sound made you stop whatever you were doing and listen. “Alright.” He relented, light and airy, “I can’t wait to see you.”

The drop in his tone, the way he stressed the word, something about it all made you bite the inside of your cheek hard. “Me too,” you admitted after a second, ignoring how your throat had gone dry. “I uh….gotta go. Bye, Caleb.”

“See ya.”

Ending the call, you heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed onto your couch. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes and stayed like that for a couple of minutes, trying your hardest to calm the hammering of your heart. The feeling was similar to when you were running high on adrenaline while facing a particularly dangerous wanderer.

But why on earth were you experiencing that now? 

Well, it wasn’t just now. He’d say something sweet, or stare at you for a beat too long, and it would feel as if all the air had been knocked out of your lungs, which confused you to no end. You had always known Caleb was a charming person; it was pretty obvious from how popular he had been in school as well as during his university days, but for the most part, you had been fairly immune. 

Lately, however, it seemed like that immunity of yours had worn off, and with it, the rose-tinted glasses you had been wearing your entire childhood when it came to him. As a child, you had thought that his tendency to hover around you and need to always be by your side was simply because he was fond of you. He was the older kid who had to take care of you, and for a while, you had assumed he looked at it as some sort of duty.

But now….

Caleb was the most important person in your life. When the explosion took place and he had been ripped out of it, the grief you felt was insurmountable. You could hardly process the fact that the boy you had turned to for everything was gone, leaving you with a gaping void in your heart that you couldn’t fill, no matter how much you tried. Even throwing yourself into your work hadn’t helped soothe the pain of losing him, because he was so intertwined with everything that made you you, from the way you carried yourself to how you held your gun. 

And then he returned from the dead, except he hadn’t ever actually been dead. The light in his eyes had dimmed, and he donned a uniform that turned him into someone you hardly recognised, but it was still him. The very same Caleb who faced danger with you now tried his hardest to keep you from it, terrified that he’d lose you. He held you tighter, kept you closer, and the way he looked at you was the same as it had always been, but there was something much more intense about it. Less subtle.

It wasn’t like you were any better. All the secrets he seemed to be keeping drove you crazy, and even when he was right in front of you, it still felt like he was worlds apart. You did everything you could to keep him as close as you could, to understand him better, even when it consisted of putting yourself in danger. The fiasco with the chip had been impulsive and risky, but he had gotten you out of it and still didn’t know you remembered everything that had happened. 

Perhaps it was the shock of losing him and then getting him back that caused something to shift inside of you. Now, you noticed how he lingered, feeling it in your bones every time he was around. His touch would have you freeze and hesitate in ways you never would have before. It wasn’t just innocent admiration you held for him anymore; it was much deeper than you thought it could be. At first, you told yourself it was just because you were so relieved to have him back, but as they grew more intense, you knew that those feelings were here to stay.

The territory you were navigating was so unfamiliar, and as a result, you shied away from your feelings time and time again. He’d get closer, and you’d take three steps back, forcing yourself to turn a blind eye to what was right in front of you in order to avoid messing up what you already had. You so badly wanted him to let you in, but constantly stumbled back whenever you felt yourself getting too close to the truth.

And Caleb never crossed the line. It didn’t matter how long he stared or how close he’d pull you, the moment you hesitated, he’d let you go. 

You weren’t as hopelessly oblivious as you let on; you were aware of how he felt because his feelings were a mirror of your own, even if you refused to look at them. You could see it in his eyes, how they’d narrow and go slightly hazy when he looked at you for too long. How his jaw would clench and his throat would bob, like he was fighting a war with his mind. 

Being with him was the most natural thing in the world to you, but it was moments like those that made you feel greedy for more. Your feelings for him weren’t platonic anymore.

And maybe they had never been platonic in the first place. Not really, anyway. Just friends didn’t use your body wash because it smelled like you, or promise not to get a girlfriend because you and Gran were all he needed. Friends didn’t pretend to date each other to ward off other people, and they definitely didn’t get jealous when the other paid attention to someone else. 

Opening your eyes, you aimlessly stared at the ceiling as thoughts of Caleb rolled around in your head. Thinking of him like this had originally filled you with immense guilt, considering the history you shared and how fragile everything had seemed when he reappeared. It felt almost forbidden to want more, a fruit you desperately wanted to taste but were instructed never to touch. It hung from a tree whose branches were much too high for you to reach, even when you stood on your tip-toes.

Just out of reach. 

Sitting up, you pulled yourself together and decided to focus on the task at hand. Caleb’s birthday was in less than a week, and you still had absolutely no idea what you were going to give him as a gift. Frustratingly enough, Caleb was the type of person to never talk about the things he wanted. The two of you had spent almost every birthday together, so you had pretty much given him every gift you could think he’d like, and you didn’t think he needed another three thousand-piece model to put together.

Your life would be so much easier if he were straight with you and just said what he wanted.

About gifts, of course. Nothing else.

“Should I call Gideon?”

Caleb sighed, leaning back in his chair as he examined the hologram reports in front of him half-heartedly. “Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’? He’s your friend, that’s why.” You snickered on the other end of the call. He could hear you shuffling around in your apartment, knowing how you could never stay still for more than ten minutes. 

“And?”

“I’m trying to plan a party for you.” You said, so obviously exasperated by his demeanour. “Can you not make my job harder?”

He smiled to himself at your grumbling, “Where's the fun in that? Besides, I don’t even want a party. Who else would I even call? Liam?”

Your silence spoke louder than your words ever could. “Right, but I still want to do something big for your birthday.” The pout that was undoubtedly on your lips was audible in the way you spoke, stubborn and insistent. “I want it to be special. It’s the first time we’re celebrating your birthday after… you know.”

Of course, he knew. 

“Have you considered that I only want to celebrate with you?” 

The statement was reckless, but he couldn’t help but indulge in that selfish wish. His twenty-fifth birthday had been one he spent up above the clouds in Skyhaven, alone, and supposedly dead to all who knew him. Honestly, he couldn’t have cared less about other people, but not having you by his side was the thing that hit him the hardest. Now, most of the people he had once called friends still thought he was dead, and his old life was nothing more than a distant memory.

You were all he had.

“Are you sure?” 

You sounded uncertain, like you couldn’t fathom the idea. When you were younger, he always had a party of some sort, and with his high school popularity, he was constantly surrounded by friends, but none of them ever held a candle to you. At the end of each birthday, it would always just be him and you, sneaking off to be away from the crowd and only with each other. As time went on, this tradition dwindled until the chance to get away from it all disappeared.

Even now, it sometimes felt as if he was running out of time; every second with you felt fleeting and precious. He wanted so badly to make up for the ten months he had been out of your life for, because when he found you again, there was so much he realised he didn’t know anymore. 

“It’ll be special if you’re there,” he swiped the reports away. “That’s all I want.”

There was a time when he was sure he’d never be able to let himself want more, even when he subconsciously let himself have it. Every time he pushed against the boundaries he had set for himself, you let him through without a single complaint, even pulling him closer when you didn’t quite understand what you were doing. 

“You’re always so greedy when it comes to my time.” The affectionate lilt in your voice made itself known even through the forced annoyance. He smiled

“You always let me be.”

To say you were frustrated would be an understatement. 

Caleb’s birthday, on all accounts, should have been considered a success. He wore the outfit you had gotten him, he loved the cake, and even the movie screening you had planned worked out pretty well, even if the movie was pretty boring. He seemed overjoyed at every little thing you had done, but to you, the day had felt like a repeat of every other birthday you had celebrated in the past. 

And as a result, as any well-adjusted person would, you had acted like a total lunatic the entire day. 

Instance number one: When he hugged you and said that the new outfit needed your scent on it for people to know you were together. You heard those words and instantly froze, your brain running at a mile a minute at the implication of it, even when you knew that the two of you weren’t actually together. 

Number two: “Eyes on the road.”

Getting caught staring at his chest had to be one of the top ten most embarrassing moments of your life. Honestly, who could blame you when that robot had announced it so loudly? Curiosity was a natural thing, and you were simply fulfilling that, but you were sure he hadn’t missed the follow-up glances you had taken, even if you had done your best to be subtle. Perhaps he hadn’t called you out those times for your sake. 

You didn’t even want to think about the way you shivered when he confessed he was always jealous. Pathetic. Mortifying. You were sure you were going insane, or something along those lines. 

Number three: your incessant questioning. Asking if he was enjoying his birthday, if it had all been to his liking and if he was having a good time over and over again, so anxious. He even asked you if the answer to that question was important to you for some reason. 

Damn him for being able to read you so well. As always, he was right, but it wasn’t the question that you felt was important, but rather the answer that would follow. You desperately wanted to know if he was content with how his birthday was going so far, or if he wanted more. 

But then you glanced at his shelves and caught sight of all the frames, each one having pictures of him and you. You on his back, another with you kissing his cheek at your graduation, him holding the back of your head as he looked down at you with a look in his eyes so achingly familiar that it made you snap out of it. You recalled how, instead of telling him why the question was important, you began talking. 

“Before…” you trailed off, swallowing the knot that appeared in your throat every time you spoke of the explosion. “I took you for granted. You were like the sun, and the sun is just in the sky, always shining. It’s a part of my life, so I assumed it would always be there.” In all honesty, you weren’t sure if you were making any sense, but you couldn’t exactly stop now.

A half smile laced his lips. “I see we’re talking about a very serious topic now.” 

You did your best to appear as casual as possible, ignoring the way your heart hammered in your chest as you shrugged slightly. He instantly saw through the facade, and in typical Caleb fashion, poked your cheek playfully, leaning down just a little bit. “The sun doesn’t cease to exist just because you forgot to look up. It’ll always shine wherever you can see it.”

You stared at him when he said that, taking in everything about him. The reassuring squeeze on your shoulder, the gentle way he said it, and in that moment, you saw the Caleb you grew up with. The boy who did his utmost to protect you at every corner, the one whose hand you held onto whenever you had a nightmare and couldn’t go back to sleep without him crawling into your bed and holding you. Admirable, dependable, something worthwhile looking up to. 

“But back then, I never thought about how the sun might feel a little lonely, up there all by itself.” Always waiting on you to catch up, but never making it an expectation. You glanced down at your lap as he exhaled in surprise at your revelation, thinking of how even now, just like the sun, he felt so out of reach, even though he was right next to you, forbidden for you to touch. 

“Maybe what drew me in was never the sun or its light. It was just you, Caleb. Even if you’re a dim white dwarf, a supernova, or a bunch of ruins….I wouldn’t care.”

Everything you said felt wrong. Too heavy on your tongue. A confession that would burn your tongue if you ever stripped it back and spoke the truth of it out loud. You didn’t even know if it was okay for you to say all this, however much you draped it in metaphors and flowery language. 

He seemed to be stunned into silence, and taking advantage of this, you forged on. “No matter what happens in the future, I just want us to stay like this.” You wrapped your arms around him, settling into the familiar cocoon of his embrace. “To be able to hold you close.”

There was something so painfully delicate between Caleb and you. A fault line of sorts that you usually tread on as carefully as you could, but today, you had stomped all over it without any grace whatsoever. 

“Y/n.” He breathed out your name after what felt like ages, leaning down until his mouth was just by your ear. “Time and time again, you’ve always allowed me to want more than what I thought was possible.” You could feel his breath on your skin, making your mind go completely blank with its warmth, your own breath hitching as he hugged you back. 

It still wasn’t enough.

That conversation replayed in your head, frustration churning around inside of you until it felt like it was at a boiling point. How else were you supposed to explain any of that behaviour, other than chalking it up to utter lunacy?

Freshly showered, you now stood in front of the mirror, feeling more ridiculous than ever. A sense of restlessness simmered in your veins like an itch you couldn’t quite reach, warming your skin with an insatiable heat. Moonlight streamed through the windows of your room, illuminating the space enough for you not to have to switch any lights on as you inspected your reflection. 

The dress you had on right now was a gorgeous baby blue number that stopped a little above your mid-thigh, made of tastefully shimmery fabric. The straps were black ribbons, tied in pretty bows on top of your shoulders and wrapping you up like a present, deliberately chosen by you for that very detail. It matched the outfit you had picked out for him, but you hadn’t dared to wear it earlier. You even had shoes on, a pretty pair of black Mary Janes that tied the look together.

So there you were, all dolled up after showering and feeling like a total idiot, because what insane person made themselves a gift for someone they weren’t even with? The decision to purchase it had been an impulsive one, the result of another night filled with pent-up yearning and a need for your best friend that you still didn’t dare acknowledge.

Because he was Caleb,  those violet eyes you’ve grown up being watched by and that mischievous grin you had imprinted in your mind, completely impossible to forget. Your Caleb, but not exactly.

If Caleb was the sun, then you were Icarus.

And now, it was eleven forty-five p.m.

Fifteen minutes to midnight. Fifteen minutes until his birthday was over, and as the seconds passed, you could feel yourself being pulled away from the magic of the day. Your cowardice had won, keeping you from acting on all the feelings you had for him out of fear of ruining what you already had. 

Perhaps this was how it was meant to be. What you were so afraid to want was an idea you had only ever let yourself entertain in your dreams, and dreams belonged to the shade of night. Tomorrow would come, those dreams would be forgotten, and everything would go back to normal. Briefly, you allowed yourself to wonder if he was thinking of you right now, like you were thinking of him. When he closed his eyes tonight and fell asleep, would he dream of you too?

You turned away from the mirror and looked around the rest of the room, feeling extremely foolish. Crouching down, you began to unbuckle your heels when–

Footsteps.

You stilled, knowing that the only person the footsteps could have belonged to was Caleb. You had thought that you were the only one awake, but it seemed like he couldn’t sleep either. 

Was there a chance that he was awake for the same reasons as you? Momentarily, you wondered if he was just as frustrated as you were with how today had gone; exactly the same as all the years that had come before– all except for one little thing.

He hadn’t called you Pipsqueak. 

All your life, you had been his Pipsqueak, Pips, his one and only.  You couldn’t remember where the nickname had come from or when he had started using it, but it was a constant in the same way his presence was. You didn’t think you’d tolerate it from anyone but him, but now that you thought about it, he hadn’t called you that for a good while. It had just been your name, plain and simple.

Shutting your eyes, you let yourself be pulled back into that moment from an hour ago, with him holding you in his arms like letting you go would be a crime. You could still feel the warmth of his body through the layers of his clothing, and his heart beating in his chest. You could smell his cologne, and feel the sensation of his breath on your cheek as you held you close, so painfully aware of him as he overtook your every sense. 

The memory wasn’t enough, and right there, with fifteen minutes left for his birthday to be over, you knew that it would never be. 

Greed was a sin, and you were guilty. You wanted more than just the fleeting stares and charged tension that drove you crazy with anticipation for something you knew was never going to come. You were sick of waiting around when it was so clear he wanted what you did, too: to cross that line you had been balancing on for so long now. You wanted to feel his skin underneath your fingertips and sink into your emotions instead of hiding them. 

You wanted him.

The moonlight reflected off the candy tin that sat on your bedside table. Refusing to let yourself overthink this any longer, you picked it up and made your way to the living room.

Caleb was leaning back on the couch, legs spread, one arm draped over a cushion as his fingers drummed against it, and the other toying with the dog tag of his necklace. He hadn’t noticed you standing in the doorway just yet, his eyes trained on the tag pendant with something akin to reverence. He hadn’t even changed yet. 

The sight made your breath catch.

How many nights had he sat like this, looking at that necklace the same way he looked at you? You didn’t want it to be the only part of you he thought he had, because you wanted him to have it all, just as you wanted all of him. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you padded over to him. Immediately, his attention snapped to you as he let go of the pendant, a faint smile tickling his lips at your intrusion. 

“Is this the post-credits scene?”

Of course, he’d make a movie pun. Typically, his goofy one-liners would soothe any frayed nerves, but nothing of the sort happened this time.

“I just….remembered I haven’t given you your gift yet.” You said, mentally chastising yourself for how awkward your voice sounded. His eyes trailed over your figure appreciatively, taking in the sight of you in the dress that so obviously matched what he wore. 

“Right.” He sat forward, rested an arm on his knee, and looked away from you to collect himself, before that easy-going demeanour of his resurfaced once more. The switch was so subtle that if you weren’t so well-versed in every little thing about him, you might not have caught it.  “Well, I’m here.” 

Biting your lower lip, you took another step forward and held out the tin of candy. A minute ago, using it as your excuse had seemed like a good idea, but not anymore. More than anything, you just felt silly. 

Caleb blinked, taken aback at the way you thrust the tin in his direction. Scepticism bled into his expression as he stared at it, and then up at you, trying to figure out what you were playing at. He knew you like the back of his hand, and that included your tells for when you were hiding something, all of which you were currently exhibiting. From your shifty eyes to the way you were biting the inside of your cheek, he had seen it all before. 

He took the candy tin from your hand but kept his eyes on you. The intensity of his stare made that hesitation you were fighting against surge back, and suddenly, you were once again questioning if this was a good idea at all. What if it was too soon? 

“Now that you have your present, I should get to bed.” 

You stumbled over the words clumsily, wanting to get them out as quickly as possible so you could leave and abandon what you had started. Honestly, why on earth did you never think turning yourself into his gift would be a good idea? More importantly, where the hell did you get the short-lived confidence to go through with it? Spinning on your heels to leave the room, you felt an embarrassed flush of heat curl up your neck and travel to the apples of your cheeks, ashamed of yourself. 

He caught your wrist.

All these years, and nothing had changed about you when it came to wanting something but being too shy to ask for it. He had played dumb the whole day, despite being well aware of why your behaviour was so erratic. You were a language he was fluent in, and if there was one thing he was well-versed with, it was wanting you, and from the familiar look in your eyes that reflected what he so often saw in his own, he could only assume one thing. 

But he didn’t do a damn thing about it. At the end of the day, assumptions were just that, no matter how glaringly obvious the answer might have been. He held you close, but he had the patience of a saint and would wait as long as you needed him to.

For a moment, he loosened his grip on your wrist, giving you an out. The silent question was crystal clear through his actions: you could leave if you really wanted to and go to bed….or you could stay.

The two of you had spent your lives running after one another, pulling and pushing, locked in a stalemate of your own making. This was the first time you had ever tried to break free from it, and the first time he had ever tried to keep you there with him. Every other time, he had taken a step back the moment you were spooked, but now….

You didn’t take another step.

When he sensed that you had made your decision, he tightened his fingers around you and pulled you back, closer, until you were perched on one of his legs. You flailed for a second, steadying yourself by placing a hand on his shoulder, the sudden closeness making your mouth go dry.

“You used to always watch me open your gifts.”

He was too close. He wasn’t close enough. The low, knowing timbre of his voice made your head swim, and you barely even noticed how he wrapped his right arm around your waist until he tugged you even closer while he spoke, “And say how much I like them.”

Suddenly, your nose was right by his, almost brushing against each other. Your sharp intake of air wasn’t lost on him, nor was the way you rushed to compose yourself, readjusting your position on his lap so that you weren’t all up in his face. His arm remained secure around your waist, helping you maintain your balance on his thigh. 

Caleb popped open the lid of the tin and held it out to you, pinning you in place with a single look. “It’s not midnight yet. Don’t leave me, not until my birthday’s over.”

Keeping you close had always been of utmost importance to him. You had grown accustomed to him asking you to stay, not to leave, as if he lived every day thinking that you might. 

You were determined to prove him wrong. Picking up a yellow piece of candy from the scatter of other colourful ones inside, you pressed it to the seam of his lips and fed it to him, not daring to break eye contact even for a second, lest it break the spell both of you seemed to be under. Caleb winced once it was on his tongue and narrowed his eyes at you playfully, but there was no mistaking the heat that lay just under the surface of his gaze.

“Lemon flavoured,” he scoffed, equal parts disbelief and amusement, placing the tin on the coffee table. “Whenever you give me candy, it's always the sourest one.” 

Hand back on his shoulder, you succumbed to his gravitational pull and leaned a little closer. “Don’t you like sour things?”

Growing up, you had watched him always grab the sour-flavoured things, from candy to even the sodas he had. Every time he needed to concentrate on something, he’d chew on a lemon slice. He had even suggested that little trick to you several times, insisting that it worked, and you watched and took it all in, just like you did for everything about him. You tucked the information away in your mind and subconsciously made use of it. 

So now, with the way he called you out, you found yourself wondering if he even liked sour things. Caleb saw through your misconception immediately, biting back a smile at your evident uncertainty. The tartness of anything sour helped him focus and grounded him to the moment, but it was by no means a preference. If anything, it was a reflex, one he had developed over the years of denying himself anything sweet.

And the sweetest thing of all was you.

“I think I’ll look forward to more changes after we celebrate this birthday.”

Emboldened, you brought your hand to his mouth, gently brushing the pad of your thumb over the plush of his lower lip. “You can give it to me if you don’t like it.” 

This was as explicit as you were going to get when it came to asking for what you wanted so bad, and he knew it. The ball was in his court, and there was no turning back from here, not anymore. You watched as his gaze sharpened, peering into his horizon coloured eyes as his pupils dilated at the invitation concealed in your words.

His palm found your jaw with such gentleness that it astounded you, causing you to stiffen under his touch. It wasn’t as if he had never touched you before – your relationship (or lack thereof) had always been pretty physically affectionate, so the proximity should not have made you so nervous, but this was so starkly different from every other time he had invaded your personal space. This felt far more intimate than anything you had ever experienced before, and your breath hitched in your throat when he leaned in, a quiet sound escaping him. 

Helpless, frantic even, needing you like he needed air to breathe. It encompassed everything you felt for him and more. For a brief moment, the world seemed to stand still. Time wasn’t real and didn’t have any impact on either of you as your breaths mingled and a heavy silence settled. His gaze, dark and telling, dropped to your lips, ones you had swiped lip gloss on in naive hope of this, his own parting as he looked into your eyes once more. 

And then, when the clock of life resumed its course, Caleb dipped his head and pressed his mouth to yours. 

You had imagined this happening dozens of times, even before you fully understood the depth of your feelings for him, but your little daydreams didn’t come close to the real thing. Your mind screeched to a grinding halt the moment it happened because holy shit, Caleb was kissing you. 

But the rest of you? The rest of you acted on instinct, all that pent-up yearning for this exact moment coming out all at once. His lips were slightly chapped, but you didn’t care. There was an unmistakable sense of tentativeness to the way he kissed you, only going so far as to press his lips to yours over and over.

You could hardly believe he was actually kissing you, after all the times it had almost happened, only for him to pull away last minute, and that disbelief translated into your body language. Hesitantly, you lifted your hand from his shoulder, letting it hover there awkwardly for a couple of seconds as you kissed him back. Your scattered thoughts slowly came back to you, coalescing until all you were thinking of was him.

When you were sure it was real, you curled your fingers around the nape of his neck and pulled him closer.

Something shifted in that moment, something that neither of you could ever come back from and didn’t particularly care to. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he slanted them over yours, before pulling away just enough to be able to look you in the eyes, half-lidded and swirling with longing. He dragged his thumb over your cheekbone, caressing you like you were a work of art, a marble statue that he was lucky enough to touch, and tilted his head to the other side, capturing your lips once again.

There wasn’t a single trace of his earlier hesitation in this kiss, and the contrast made your head spin. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you melted into him, hyperaware of every little thing he did, and how he tugged you into him. Caleb sucked your lower lip in between his, his tongue sweeping across the plush of it and chasing after yours. You could taste the sour aftertaste that lingered as he plundered your mouth with a desperation that mirrored your own and was still, somehow, controlled. His grip on your face tightened ever so slightly, and you faintly registered him gulping. 

Did he just–

Did he just swallow the fucking candy?

When the two of you broke apart, you knew right then and there that everything had changed. One glance at him revealed to you just how wrecked he was from the kiss, breathing heavily and eyes burning with an intensity that had your lungs empty themselves of all the air inside them.

“Y/n.” Caleb’s voice had gotten lower, huskier.  “I know that’s not your gift.”

Of course, he had figured it out. It wasn’t like you had been subtle about it, but you felt caught nonetheless, cheeks flushing with tell-tale warmth. Your flustered state only seemed to egg him on further, with him tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear as he continued. “I’ll twist your words on purpose and use them to catch you.” 

Although he phrased it like a confession, it wasn’t like this was the first time he was doing it. You were well aware of his habit of driving you into a corner to get you to speak your mind, after all, he had done it all day today, and yet you still indulged him. He and you were two sides of the same coin, crazy about each other in ways that others would never be able to understand, but unable to let it show outright for the longest time. Now that it was all out in the open, a newfound sense of confidence surged through you.

“Go on then,” You pushed him onto his back by his shoulders, your hair falling around your face and framing it like a halo as you gazed down, savouring the surprise that flickered in those all-consuming eyes of his. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Caleb’s earlier self-assuredness seemed to fade at your assumption of control in that moment as he stared up at you, wide-eyed and wanting. You took advantage of the moment, for it wasn’t very often that you left him tongue-tied, your palm cradling the side of his face. 

“Wherever you are, what I always want is for you to be drawn to me…” The words left you in a delicate whisper, like a sinner confessing to her wrongdoings, kissing him chastely as if you were trying to imprint the moment into your memory. “With the weakest gravitational pull.”

Now that was a real confession, one that he had spent most of his waking moments wishing for but never expecting to happen. One edge of his mouth curled upwards in a half-smile.

“Gravity can’t be held responsible for people who fall in love.” The statement took root in your very soul, and it was like a weight had rolled off your shoulders at the acknowledgement. You loved him, so deep and true, and had spent what felt like an eternity fighting against those feelings. In this moment, however, you felt as light as a bird, as if that gravity he had so rightly accused you of blaming had vanished. He reached up, tracing the side of your face with such devotion that it made your chest ache. 

“I’ll remember more than just this.” A promise that he sealed by pressing your knuckles to his lips affectionately. “I’ll always remember that these things came from you.”

You, who were his every dream and wish for as far back as he could recall. All those years of wishing for you on his birthday, hoping that he’d one day have you like this as he blew out the candles, had turned into reality. When morning came, he wouldn’t have to hold onto rapidly fading memories of that fleeting dream anymore. 

You descended upon him eagerly, resuming getting lost in him before he even had the chance to hold you properly. While Caleb had years under his belt when it came to practising restraint and keeping his feelings in check, yours were painfully fresh, effervescent in ways you couldn’t control just yet. They bubbled over the top, bursting forth like soda from a thoroughly shaken bottle.

When the two of you inevitably rolled off the couch, you almost laughed at the absurdity of it, but he didn’t give you the chance with how demanding his kisses were. One hand cradled the back of your head to make sure that you didn’t get hurt, because he was your protector first, and everything else came after. You barely registered one of you hitting the edge of the coffee table, causing the candy tin to fall off, all its contents scattering around on the floor. 

Nothing else mattered, just you and him. 

Caleb braced himself over you, pulling away from the temptation that was your mouth to look down at you. Fingers intertwined with yours as he pressed the back of your hand against the floor, he couldn’t stop doubt from rushing back in, because how could this be real? It felt too good to be true, even though the warmth of your hand under his told him that he was wide awake. He focused on how your hands looked when interlocked, thinking back to all the times he had only let himself hold your hand in secret, when you were asleep and none the wiser.

A single piece of hard candy rolled over to where your hands lay – lemon flavoured, because of course it was. A scoff escaped him at the irony, but its clattering pulled him out of his scepticism-addled mind. 

“See?” He lifted your other hand and pressed it to his chest, the spot right over where his heart lay. “This is how you draw me in every time without fail.” 

He took your chin between his index finger and thumb, not allowing you to respond as he kissed you again, but it was different this time. It was slow, like he was taking his time to memorise how you felt against him. The pendants of his necklace clinked against each other and grazed your collarbone, the cool metal serving as an anchor and keeping you somewhat grounded.

There really wasn’t much space between the coffee table and his couch, which resulted in the position both of you were in right now, with him in between your folded legs. The realisation made the temperature in the room go up several notches, and you squeezed his hand before whispering against his lips. 

“Happy birthday, Caleb.”

His breath hitched as he pulled away, making a show of leaning back to sit on his heels and rubbing a hand over his face. “Y/n….” 

The heat in his voice was not lost on you, making you grin. You propped yourself up on your elbows, batting your eyelashes innocently, as if you were completely unaware of what you were doing. “What? I can’t wish you now?”

But Caleb was well-versed in all your little games, having been the one to play them for the majority of his life. “You can,” He murmured, resting a hand on your knee. “You know very well you can do anything you want to me.” 

What the hell. How could he say such a thing so casually? You felt positively insane at the combination of his words and his palm on your skin, your dress riding up your thighs just a tad. He knew what you were playing at, and if the air between him and you had been heavy with unresolved tension before, it was borderline electric now. 

“This is more about what you want. It’s your birthday.” You reminded him of the fact, waiting with baited breath for the choice he would make. It was probably past midnight at this point, but you didn’t care, and the sentiment remained the same.

He hummed, his hand slipping down your leg to your calf, over the thin fabric of your knee-high socks. “I think I want to kiss you all night.”

An indignant sound from your end. “Thats it?”

You were pouting. He couldn’t help but chuckle at how adorable you looked right then. 

“You underestimate how long I’ve been waiting to kiss you,” He said earnestly, before his tone switched into something much more patronising. “What? Were you expecting something more?”

You sat up properly, pulling your legs to yourself and levelling him with a glare. “You’re so–”

Caleb tutted immediately at your withdrawal, knowing fully well he was pushing your buttons and enjoying every second of it. He reached out, hands on your waist as he pulled you towards him once more– and you let him, quickly adapting to his lap. “Play nice. Can’t be mean to the birthday boy, now can you?”

“The birthday boy is annoying.”

“And you’re still here, aren’t you?”

As if you’d rather be anywhere else. As if you’d choose anyone else to be with. You huffed, spreading your hands out over his chest as you tried to tune out the impatient voice in your head that wanted you to take his jacket off. You settled for straddling him instead. “I can leave. Go to bed.” 

“You won’t.” The smirk that decorated his mouth, a mouth that you had just kissed, was nothing short of devilish. If you were standing, your knees would have buckled at the mere sight of it. “You don’t want to.” 

Well. He got you there. 

Caleb let his fingertips wander, slipping under the hem of your dress and caressing the skin there with a maddeningly light touch. Leaning forward, he turned his head to your neck and let his lips brush against your earlobe, delighting in the shiver it sent through your smaller frame. 

“Do I get to unwrap my present now?”

Any smart retort you had about wanting to leave flew right out of your mind at his question, the smooth cadence of his voice having anticipation thrum through your veins. It was the way he sounded so sure of himself that riled you up even more, that previous heat rushing back and dancing in the minimal space between both of your bodies, present even with his incessant teasing.

All you could manage was a sharp nod, your desperation for him returning with a vengeance. The heat emanating from your skin was like a drug to him, one that he couldn’t help but indulge, his lips brushing against your pulse point and breathing against it, making you feel near feverish.

“Words,” he instructed, like they were an easy thing to form while he slowly made you lose your train of thought. “I need you to say you want this, pretty girl.”

He was insane to think that you didn’t. You wet your lips, flustered. “I want it.” 

You could feel his lips curl upwards against your skin, one hand sliding up your side and to your shoulder. He then paused, simply toying with the ribbon there for a couple of excruciating seconds, before finally tugging and undoing the bow you had tied. One side of the top of your dress slipped a little lower, and all you could do was bite down on the plush of your lower lip as he repeated the action on the other side, simultaneously loving and hating how he was taking his time. 

The shimmery blue fabric dropped to your midriff, revealing your second surprise: a pale blue lacy bra adorning your skin, a pretty thing you had purchased for the sole purpose of driving the man you were currently sitting atop crazy. He pulled away from your neck, his eyes widening by a fraction as his gaze turned smouldering, his entire form stiffening as he took in the sight of it. 

“Fuck,” he rapsed out, “Are you trying to kill me?”

“You don’t like it?” You cocked your head to the side, knowing damn well the opposite was true and acting coquettish to cover up just how violently your nerves were acting up despite that fact. 

“I like it too much. That’s the problem.” He pulled his gaze away from your lace-clad chest, forcing himself to look you in the eyes and allowing you to see the depth of the emotion that lay in his. It felt as if you were looking right at the heel of a fire as it consumed everything in its path, molten and heavy. To call it desire would have been a disservice, because it was clearly so much more than just that. It was barely concealed longing and awe, and the very thing you had been fighting for as long as you could remember. 

It was love.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeated, his hand coming up to cup your jaw with tenderness that had your heart stuttering. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been imagining this for.” 

Vulnerability cut through the haze of lust that had enveloped him and you, and you were struck by just how quiet his voice had gotten. How he looked at you like you were some divine being he had the blessing to be in the presence of, devoted and mesmerised all at once. Had he always stared at you with such reverence?

“Caleb…” He shook his head as you trailed off. 

“I just–” he swallowed thickly, struggling to get the words out. You recognised the look in his eyes, that barely concealed restraint they always possessed when you got too close, just before he’d pull away and shut down. “I don’t want this to be just–”

“It won’t be. It isn’t.” You caught wind of where he was going with this and shut it down immediately. “Caleb, I don’t just want this, I want you. All of you.”

Exhaling slowly, he let his hands drop to your waist, squeezing lightly. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly. “I’ve imagined you saying that too.”

You wrapped your fingers around his tie, tugging him closer until his nose brushed against yours and you were almost kissing again, but not quite. He was in his head, and you were determined to pull him out of it and bring him back to the present. “Show me what else you’ve imagined?”

He didn’t have to be asked twice.

Caleb met you halfway, kissing you like he was making up for all the times he couldn’t. His lips travelled down your jaw and to your neck, every little nip he gave your skin sending sparks shooting down right to your core. You squirmed in his lap, tipping your head to give him easier access, your obvious eagerness earning a groan in response.

Like a flip had been switched, he lifted you off of him, resuming his earlier position of him being on top as your back met the carpet on his floor once more. His kisses turned hot and open-mouthed, leaving trails of warmth along your fevered skin as his lips moved lower, teeth grazing the junction where your neck and shoulder met. The simple, barely there contact had a shudder run through your body, and you gripped the lapels of his jacket, needing something to hold onto you. 

“Can I touch you?” He asked softly, never wanting to cross any lines you weren’t comfortable with. The thought of him touching you made your head spin, and at your dazed nod, he slowly pushed the skirt part of your dress up, letting it bunch up around your waist. Arousal pooled in the pit of your stomach, hot and sticky, its tendrils spreading through your lower body and leaving your panties damp. 

Panties that, upon seeing, had him cursing under his breath. They matched the bra you wore, telling him just how much you had thought about because– shit, you were in a matching set of lingerie. 

“Yeah, you’re trying to kill me,” he muttered, dropping his head to your chest. You couldn’t help the breathy giggle that left you, the strands of his inky hair tickling the skin of your collarbone. “You’re stunning. Is this all for me?”

“Do you see anyone else around?”

“Good to know you still insist on sassing me even like this,” he muttered wryly, his hand wandering up your thigh and dipping onto the inner side of it. Before you could think about refuting that statement, he began kissing the swell of your breast, trailing downwards and then wrapping his lips around your clothed nipple. Wetness from his tongue seeped through the lace as he swirled it around the already-stiff peak, and as if on instinct, your legs fell further apart, eyes screwing shut. 

He hummed, evidently pleased at your reaction, tugging the bra cup holding your other breast down, exposing the pillowy flesh underneath. Shifting his attention from the one he had been teasing, he gave your other nipple the same treatment, licking, sucking and teasing until you were writhing underneath him, breathing shaky and uneven. 

Caleb dragged his fingertips up the tantalising expanse of your inner thigh, inching closer to where you wanted him most as he continued his ministrations on your breasts. Running his teeth over your nipple, he gently bit down on the sensitive peak, catching you off guard and drawing out a needy whimper from the back of your throat. 

“Caleb,” you barely recognised your voice with how whiny you sounded. “Please just–”

But the rest of your impatient plea would never be heard, because he chose that exact moment to slip his hand up the rest of your thigh and press his fingers against your clothed core. You sucked in a sharp breath, your hips jerking into his touch desperately. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he mumbled against your overheated skin. “Have you been like this the entire time?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, far too turned on to be embarrassed by the fact. “Please hurry up and do something.”

He shot you a wolfish grin at your whining, rubbing the pads of his fingers against your covered folds and gaining a feel for just how desperate you were for him. You looked so fucking pretty like this, spread out and wrecked even when he had barely done anything to you yet, and still begging him for more. The sight was something straight out of a wet dream to him, every bit as sinful and perfect as he had imagined. “So impatient. Won’t you let me take my time with my gift?” 

“We have the whole night for you to take your time,” you shot back, and the implication made his eyes darken considerably. Without wasting another second, he pushed your soaked panties to the side and dipped two fingers in between your folds, letting out a disbelieving puff of air now that he could feel how wet you were directly. Slick collected on his fingers, he swiped it through, bringing it up to your already sensitive clit and applying just the right amount of pressure to make you mewl. 

“The whole night, huh?” Caleb kissed the hollow of your neck, and then higher. “Showing you everything I’ve imagined might actually take that long.”

You scrambled to grasp at his arms as he began to rub your clit, your entire body reacting to the touch it was programmed for him and him alone. He watched in fascination, drinking in every lovely sound you made, from delectable sighs to restless moans. It wasn’t like he intended on being a tease, but he couldn’t help it, drunk on your reactions and wanting to see how many he could draw out of you. 

Caleb let his finger wander back down your folds, swiping it up, down, and through your wetness over and over until you were squirming. The wet sounds had your cheeks burning, nails digging into the stiff fabric of his blazer as you whined. 

“Stop–”

“Stop what?” he taunted, his nail pressing into the underside of your clit. The sound that evoked was one you didn’t even think you were capable of making, eyes going wide and desperate.

“–teasing,” you breathed out. “Stop teasing. I need more.” More of this. More of him.

That was all it took. 

He slid a finger in, almost hypnotised by how smooth the glide was, a disbelieving scoff leaving him as he once again acknowledged just how wet you were. Your mouth fell open, a satisfied gasp escaping it as he buried said finger knuckle deep inside of you. Around him, you were warm and wet and so unbelievably tight that he felt himself grow harder, straining his pants but not caring about it for a second, so transfixed with you. 

His finger was longer than yours, brushing against spots that yours never could. He moved it slowly, pumping in and out of you at a pace that was both dizzying and infuriating before easing in a second one. 

Just when you were about to complain again, he crooked his fingers inside your cunt, and you moaned, “Oh fuck.”

“Feel good?” he pressed a kiss on the spot under your ear, breathing the words against it. “This what you wanted, baby?”

The new nickname had you clenching around him as you nodded furiously. He smirked triumphantly against your skin, increasing the motions as he finger fucked you, revelling in how your body responded so compliantly, truly made for him.

“Yes, yes. Please don’t stop.” You hiccuped, too lost in the sensation of his fingers dragging against your walls to form a coherent thought. It was the way you were looking right now, half-closed eyes caught between intense desire and a certain drowsiness only pleasure could bring about, dress all bunched up around your midriff– a mess, but a beautiful mess regardless.

Caleb had always been terrible at refusing you, so why should he start now? If you asked for something, he’d do anything to get you ten of them. Spoiling you was his favourite pastime, but he was starting to realise that he loved it even more like this, when you were begging him for something only he could deliver. 

When your legs began to tremble, his resolve steeled further, wanting more than anything to push you over the edge. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mumbled, greedily mouthing at your breasts again. “Love making you feel good.”

His thumb found your engorged clit, rubbing deliberately heavy handed circles onto it. The squeal you let out was so cute, and he angled his fingers a little bit, watching as a shiver spread over your body and your eyes widened. 

A broken wail of ecstacy made its way past your lips as you tumbled over the edge, gushing around his fingers and growing so tight that it had his cock throb at the thought of being inside you. Your pussy was like a vise, sucking his fingers in deep, and he shamelessly indulged you, helping you ride out your high. Once he was sure it was over, he pulled his fingers out and nearly groaned at the sight of your release coating them.

Suddenly, the heat was unbearable. He shrugged off his jacket and grabbed at the knot of his tie, holding part of the fabric between his teeth and yanking the other end until it came undone. 

Witnessing this had two things happen to you at the same time: the first being your sharp inhale, and the second being the rush of desire that flooded your system all at once, shocking yourself with the magnitude of it all. Entranced, you watched as he discarded the tie and popped his collar, only snapping out of your reverie when you felt his fingers curl around your ankles and tug you closer. 

Fuck. 

Within seconds, his shirt was off, allowing you to unabashedly stare at the definition of his abs. You let your eyes wander because, wow, Caleb had always been extremely attractive, but the effects of it seemed to be hitting you all at once.

Having rid himself of part of his clothing, he turned his attention back to you, taking note of the appreciative glint in your eyes. You were perfect, so perfect for him in every single way, and he was going to make sure you knew it before the night was over. He found the mess of your dress and tugged it up and over your chest, uttering a single instruction.

“Up.”

You obeyed immediately, sitting up and letting him pull the material off of you, letting it join his discarded clothing without another care. After all, it was always meant to be peeled off of you, the perfect wrapping paper. Your shoes came off next, and you didn’t know which end of the room they landed up in. Left in only lingerie that barely left anything to the imagination, you had never felt so exposed and somehow still in control at the same time, because being vulnerable with Caleb was like second nature to you. 

“You look so pretty,” he cradled your face in his palms, voice soft and sincere. “I almost don’t want to take it off.”

“Almost,” you noted, teasing. He smirked down at you, snapping the strap of your bra against your shoulder.

“Almost,” he repeated, confirming that he was going to take it off anyway. He knocked your knees apart and settled in between them, resulting in you being eye-level with his chest, the silver of his necklace glinting in the dim lighting of his living room. 

And oh my god.

“Holy shit,” you muttered, a little awed. “It actually has gotten bigger.”

Caleb laughed, flicking your forehead as he gently pushed you back down, climbing over you and planting a kiss at the place he had just struck. 

“Did you think the robot assistant lied?” Amusement coated every syllable, a little muffled as he kissed your cheek, and then your lips, propping his index finger underneath your chin to angle your head better. 

“No,” you finally responded when he shifted his attention to your neck, sucking at the skin and leaving pretty little marks that would turn purple all over it. “Just confirming. You didn’t exactly let me check earlier.” You could feel his lips curve into a smile as he kissed down the valley of your breasts.

“Been thinkin’ about that all day, have you?” He glanced up at you from where he was, eyes alight with mischief. Caught, you decided to evade that question, sighing blissfully as he continued his path down your body. 

Until you realised where he was heading. 

“Wait, what are you–?”

“You have no idea,” He whispered reverently against your skin, methodically working his mouth over every part of it he could, like your body was a map he was attempting to commit to memory. “Just how long I’ve wanted this, wanted you.” His tongue flicked out occasionally, grounding you to the moment every time you felt yourself fall deeper into a daze. “Was sitting here and thinking of you, cravin’ you so bad. I do it almost every night.”

Every night. The idea made you positively woozy, cementing the fact that all the insanity you had felt in your apartment back in Linkon– it had been mutual. On some level, you had always known it had been, but hearing it like this, in such an intimate setting, made you feel braver. 

“Me too.” A breathless admittance, and it was the truth. It had always been the truth, even before you knew it.

Caleb looked up at you, both his hands slipping underneath your shins and gripping lightly. “I’ve wanted to hold you for so long, to kiss you and hold you and taste you–” he said in a manner that made it seem like he didn’t quite believe he was doing so now, rambling earnestly. “–fuck, can I taste you?”

He paused, letting the question weigh down on you. His path down your body made sense now, and you swallowed, trying to ignore how your pussy ached at the thought of it as you meekly whispered.

“You don’t have to.”

“Have to? Baby, I want to,” he kissed the spot just above your hip. “I’d beg if you asked me to.”  

You were so incredibly shy all of a sudden, overwhelmed by the sheer level of power he constantly loved placing in your hands. You recognised this was his way of ensuring you knew he was unequivocally and absolutely yours, and it set your blood on fire. Before you knew it, you found yourself surrendering.

“Okay.”

Without wasting another second, he pulled those pretty panties of yours off of you, albeit a little regretfully, and tossed them to the side as he settled in between your legs. Faced with your bare pussy, Caleb was convinced that he had died and gone to heaven already, unable to get over just how pretty it was, all flushed and glistening with need. You felt intimidated by how intently he was looking at it, trying to squirm away, but he held you there, large hands keeping you nice and spread out as he began peppering kisses over the expanse of your thighs. 

Then, without so much as a warning, he positioned your legs over his shoulders and licked a stripe up your cunt. Your gasp rushed straight to his head, much like how all his blood seemed to rush south. The taste of your slick made him groan, the sound so uncharacteristically filthy that you could feel yourself flush at hearing it, flattered and scandalised all at once. 

His tongue was tentative in its exploration of you at first, lapping at the wetness that seemed to trickle out of you uncontrollably like it was the finest of wines. He dragged over your entrance and up to your clit, flattening against it. 

“Oh,” you mewled, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging lightly. “Oh, fuck.”

The sensation of your nails lightly scratching against his scalp sent a delighted shiver down his spine, and he tightened his hold on you. He stroked his tongue over the bundle of nerves, once, twice, and continued doing so until you were whimpering uncontrollably. You were still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and this was almost too much too soon, but it felt too good to protest.

Caleb looked at you from where he was, as your fingers carded through the front of his hair and pushed it back, giving him the perfect view of you. Maintaining eye contact, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked harshly, a deep sense of satisfaction spreading through his chest when he saw how your eyes snapped shut in pure ecstasy and your jaw fell open, crying out his name so loud.

Your back bowed off the ground, heels digging into his shoulder blades, torn between pulling him closer and attempting to push him away. He was determined to make sure you knew how much he was enjoying this. He groaned, and the vibrations from it elicited a moan from you in return, the two sounds coming together and forming a harmony of pleasure. 

“Caleb,” the way you whined his name was so perfect and breathy, he nearled cummed right there and there.

His wicked mouth continued to work you over the edge, and when you felt his finger prod at your entrance again, you squealed. The sounds coming from your pussy were borderline obscene with how wet you were, your slick mixing with his spit, coating your inner thighs as well. You felt that tug in your gut again as the coil pulled tighter and tighter, on the precipice of shattering.

It was so, so good, but greedy as you were, you wanted more. 

You tugged at his hair, gently at first and partly out of your need to hold onto something tangible to grip onto to stay grounded, before pulling harder, guiding him away from your cunt. 

Amusingly enough, it looked like he was offended at being parted from it, but maintained his gentle tone. “Somethin’ wrong?” 

“I think I’m close again.”

Caleb raised a singular eyebrow. “Sounds like everything was right then.” The pout on his lips would have been kind of adorable if not for the way your arousal coated his lips and chin, a sight so erotic it made you wish you could capture it somehow. 

You let your hands drop to his neck, pulling him back up from between your legs. “I want to come with you.” 

A hungry look entered his eyes, and he tongued his cheek. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echoed, trailing your hands down his chest and abs, your nails grazing his skin with just the right amount of pressure to get him to shudder lightly. You stopped at his waistband, toying with it as your gaze flickered between it and his eyes, silently asking for permission. The ability to have an entire conversation with a single look was something he and you had mastered a long time ago, and this was no different. 

Caleb swallowed and nodded. “Okay, okay. Yeah. I want that too.”

You pushed him to the side, catching him a little off guard as he settled on his back. Sitting up, you straddled him once more, busying yourself with unfastening the button of his dress pants and unzipping them. He caught the slight tremble of your hands and smiled softly, pushing your hair out of your face and pressing a shockingly tender kiss to your forehead. Considering the situation, the contrast of it coaxed a nervous laugh out of you. 

“You’re distracting me,” you mumbled, turning your face into his hand and leaning into his touch. He played coy, thoroughly amused.

“Am I?”

“You know you are,” your hands were splayed out on his lower torso as you took a breather, overwhelmed. He didn’t care in the slightest, pulling you closer and resting his forehead against yours.

“I love being your distraction,” he hummed. “That’s how I know you’re paying attention to only me.”

A kiss to the side of your mouth brought all that confidence back. You straightened, pushing his pants down past his hips and repeated the action with his boxers, revealing his erection.

Flushed and painfully hard, it stood up against his stomach and made your eyes widen, because – holy shit – he was big. Your mouth went dry at the mere sight of it, and he tilted his head to the side, continuing in that soft cadence. “You okay?”

Shit – maybe you should have been the one asking that, because being that hard for presusmably this long had to have been extremely uncomfortable for him. Still, there he was, checking in on you instead. 

Your sweet, perfect boy. The man you loved. 

“I’m good,” you wet your lips, meeting his eyes and finding out just how much he was holding back right there, the purple of his irises almost entirely gone with how blown out his pupils were. “Can I– can I touch you?”

You caught his Adam's apple bob and wanted to bite it. 

I’ve only ever been yours to touch, his thoughts screamed back at him as he watched you wait for his response, but his tongue seemed to have trouble catching up to his mind at the moment. Everything about this was surreal to him, with you reciprocating everything he felt and showing it for the first time. “Yeah, you can.” He said after a beat, and then, as an afterthought, he added, “Please.”

Gently, you reached out and wrapped your fingers around his cock, feeling the weight of it in your hand. You didn’t miss the way he inhaled sharply, sucking air in through his teeth at the touch. His eyes fluttered shut, long eyelashes that you envied kissing the skin under his eyes as he tipped his head back. 

Seeing him like this spurred you on even further. You moved your hand a little, up his length, teasing his tip and the slit that leaked precum, spreading it around with your thumb. It made a mess on your palm, but made it easier for you to glide back down his cock, relishing the way he hissed in pleasure. 

Caleb jerked his hips into your fist instinctively, evidently trying his hardest to hold back his sounds, only letting the slightest of moans slip past his lips. You were having none of it, tightening your hold on him as you moved your hand, suddenly feeling playful. Leaning forward, you brushed the tip of your nose along his neck before pressing a kiss against his heated skin.

“Let me make you feel good,” you mumbled, syrupy sweet in your manner of speaking. It was the same tone you used to use with him every time you wanted to get your way, but instead of your usual puppy eyes, you settled for planting lazy kisses on his neck. 

“God–,” he sounded so strained, “Wait, I– fuuuuck”

You were aching for him at this point, now that you could feel him and imagine how he would feel. You ran the pad of your thumb over the vein on the underside of his cock teasingly, sucking on his pulse point, tasting the salt of his skin on your tongue. Briefly, you entertained the thought of lowering your mouth even further, until you had his tip in your mouth and–

Caleb caught your wrist, panting heavily. “Okay. Stop. No more.”

“I barely did anything?!” You protested, and he chuckled airily.

He breathed out your name, and it was completely intoxicating, an octave lower than usual and rough. “If you do anything more, I’ll come.”

“But–”

He turned his face, nose brushing yours as he breathed against your lips. “I’m not coming on your hand the first time we do this.” 

Assertive. Firm. Your train of thought came to a sharp halt, puddling into a mess of incoherence as lust took over. You nodded eagerly, crashing your lips to his again in a messy kiss, all tongue and heat and a desperation for each other that somehow hadn’t burst at the seams yet, but was about to. 

Another roll over, and the two of you were so far away from the spot you started in. Caleb was on top again, both of you caught up in your feverish lip lock. Your hands were in his hair as you pulled him as close as physically possible, and he reached behind you, finally unhooking your bra and letting it fall off, joining the rest of your discarded clothing. 

Caleb lifted your legs and hooked them over his hips, his fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs as he licked into your mouth. He pushed his hips forward, pressing his cock against your dripping folds and rocking aimlessly, coating himself in your slick. The feeling of the head of his length rutting against your clit had you make a keening sound, one that he swallowed greedily, echoing with his own moan. 

This was real. It wasn’t a dream, your nails scratching against his biceps told him as much. You bucked your hips up against his, and the feeling of you, so wet and soft, was enough to make him feel delirious. 

“You’re perfect,” he said drunkenly. “My perfect girl.”

Oh.

Hearing him say it like that was something else. Calling you his, speaking it into existence to remind himself of the fact as much as it was to remind you, not bothering to ask the question first because there was no need to. Asking you to be his was trivial, especially when both of you knew you already were. 

He hiked your legs even higher as his tip caught at your entrance, nudging at it but not pushing in just yet. Those few seconds were torture, almost what you wanted but not quite. Not yet.

One more kiss. A dulcet whisper of ‘yours’ falling from you.

When he finally sank into you, it was slow, and you could feel it everywhere, your nerve endings on fire. The stretch burned deliciously, a momentary flash of discomfort that he distracted you from with another intense kiss, until it melted into pleasure. Your pussy eagerly welcomed him, hot and velvety around his cock as he inched his way in, even when taking his time was proving to be a difficult task. You felt unimaginably good, and when he glanced down between the two of your bodies, the sight of him half buried inside of you was enough to make him go a little light-headed. 

Caleb buried his face in the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling your scent as you pawed at his arms, producing pitchy little whimpers that sounded like music to his ears. A particularly impatient rut of his hips later, he was finally all the way in you. All you could manage were shallow breaths, feeling so full that it made it hard to think straight. 

“Y/n,” there was that drunken lilt to his tone again, muffled against your shoulder. “God, fuck, you feel incredible. I could do this all night” 

His words came to life in your mind, and you moaned, positively high off the praise, your walls pulsing around him happily as you adjusted to his size. “Yes.”

“Yes? You like the sound of that?” He encouraged you to elaborate, even though he knew how your state of mind had to have been then, reduced to nothing more than a puddle. Your entire body was impossibly flushed, and he massaged your hips soothingly, feeling how tense you had gone, clenching hard.

Caleb moved his mouth to your ear and whispered, “Relax for me, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so tight.” 

You forced yourself to let go of some of that tension, breathing deeply to keep yourself at least a little bit relaxed. He kissed your pulse point, feather light, as he pulled all the way out until only his tip remained inside of you. The loss made you whine pitifully, feeling uncomfortably empty now that you knew what it was to be full of him. Lifting his head from your neck, he couldn’t help but smirk when you wiggled, silently begging for more. 

“So impatient,” he tutted condescendingly, squeezing your waist. The glare you threw his way was weak.

“You–”

He promptly shut you up with a deep, measured stroke, ensuring that you felt every single inch of him as he did. Whatever scathing quip you were about to fire at him flew right out of your head, replaced with a humilatingly wanton cry of his name, nearly sobbing in relief when he repeated the action. He had always been like this, pushing your buttons until they were completely undone. 

“I…I don’t think I’ll last long,” you warned breathlessly as he rolled his hips into yours, arching off the floor when you felt him even deeper than the last thrust. Your previously building climax had resumed its course, all that sensitivity coming back all at once. 

“I know, I can feel it.” His hand slipped down your thigh to the curve of your ass, lifting your hips slightly and leaving absolutely no space between the two of you. 

As if to prove his point, you felt yourself clench around him again, getting even wetter when the head of his cock briefly brushed against a spot inside you that had you seeing stars. You lolled your head to the side, shutting your eyes as you focused on how he was fucking you. He dropped back down, his body dwarfing you as he buried his face in your hair, hips rocking against yours. The space between you, or lack thereof, felt heavy with your mutual need and something else.

Bodies flush against each other, chest pressing against his– suddenly, this wasn’t about pleasure anymore. Your breaths and heartbeats converged into one, skin to skin and connected in the way both of you had longed for, all that waiting and wanting coming to a head in this fragile, beautiful moment. Every gasp was a proclamation of your feelings, spilling clarity over them in a way that words never could. He was yours just as much as you were his, two souls melding into one. 

You would never be separated again.

The words sat on the tip of your tongue, a mere eight letters forming all three of them. They should have been easy to say, but you found yourself holding back, not wanting them to come out like this. Caleb's fingers found yours, intertwining with them and squeezing as he pressed the back of your hands into the carpeted floor. Heavy emotion mixed with the sheer levels of bliss coursing through your veins as he moved inside you, steadily climbing to the peak of its crescendo.

When you came, it was much more intense than the first time, your mind dissolving into a jumbled mess and a ragged moan of his name leaving your throat. You got so tight around him, causing his pace to stutter, and then slow down a little bit, switching into shallower thrusts. For your sake, you realised.

“We– we can stop if it's too much,” he muttered, but the desperate rutting of his hips against yours told you a different story. He hadn’t come yet, and though you were so sensitive to every little movement of his now, it felt too good to want it to stop. You felt insatiable, wanting him to fall apart just as you had and to be the one he fell apart for. 

So you choked out hoarsely, “More.”

“Fucking hell,” his voice had taken on a tone you had never heard before, “Are you sure?”

Instead of responding verbally, you locked your legs behind him, dragging him deeper into your soaked cunt and mewling at the feel of him. 

And then, because you could never resist pushing his buttons, you purred, “Didn’t you say you could do this all night?”

Caleb’s eyes snapped to yours, narrowing slightly at the taunt. The air crackled with a newfound intensity, contrasting the sweet intimacy that you had just shared with him, slipping into darker territory. “I did,” he drawled, pulling out completely before snapping his hips to yours again, the roughness of the move a stark difference from his previous gentleness. You were helpless to the intense waves of pleasure washing over you while he fucked you, succumbing to them with an enthusiastic groan. “You want that, huh? Want me to fuck you all night?”

The way he phrased it was filthy and so wrong in all the right ways, a dark lilt injected into his tone. Seemingly knowing the effect it had on you, he let go of one of your hands, cupping one of your breasts instead. Instinctively, you arched up into his touch, and he grinned, rolling your nipple under his fingers before pinching it. He savoured the way you whined, wishing he could permanently imprint the sound in his memory as he continued to tease the pebbled bud, tugging and flicking it. His ministrations only amplified the ache between your legs, despite you being quite literally stuffed full of him.

“Come on,” he taunted playfully. “Say it. Say you want me to fuck you all night.”

A rush of shame curled around you, the vulgarity of the statement having you exhale sharply. You reached up and pulled him back down into a kiss, hoping it would distract him, and for a couple of seconds, it seemed like it did. He hummed contentedly, but then broke away and pinched your nipple again, this time harsher than before. 

“Say it, or I stop.” 

That was wholly counterintuitive, especially since that meant he would essentially be blue-balling himself. However, your ability to think logically had flown out the window a long time ago, and you shook your head desperately when he actually began to slow down a little, rolling your hips upwards and babbling.

“I want it– want you to fuck me all night.”

“Good girl.” 

Oh, you definitely liked that, judging by the way your pussy fluttered around him so eagerly. His messed-up hair fell into his eyes as he set a punishing pace, groaning at how silky smooth the glide was. At how you fit together so perfectly. 

And god, you looked absolutely debauched, a vision with your flushed skin and red marks littered all over your neck and chest. The sight of you like this had to have been the very definition of sin, glossy eyes and pathetic little whimpers falling from kiss-bitten lips that encouraged him to fuck you even harder. He forced himself to look away, glancing down at the spot where the two of you were connected and watching how his cock disappeared in you, your cunt hungrily gripping and sucking him back in every time he rocked away. 

“Look at you,” He crooned, notching himself in you completely and staying still for a few, cruel moments.. “Look at your pretty little pussy taking my cock so well. It’s like you were made for me.”

Your sensitivity from the overstimulation had circled back to pure need by now, and an agonised moan left those swollen lips of yours at the stilling of his movements. Your nails dug into his skin, the sting making him hiss. His cock throbbed inside of you, so, so close to coming undone. When you curved off the carpet, he splayed a hand over your stomach and took a moment to admire how large it looked against you, before pressing down firmly. 

“Caleb, please,” the look you threw his way was addictive, so desperate and wanting. How could he ever refuse you, especially when you were looking at him like that? 

“Anything,” he dropped his mouth to yours, breathing out against it and pinning your hips down. His hand on your stomach slid lower, dipping into your folds, dragging your slick up to your engorged clit and rolling it between his fingers. Your shriek of surprise and pleasure was nothing short of delightful. “I’ll give you anything and everything you ask for.”

Caleb began rutting into you again, angling his hips slightly differently now, going even deeper. As a result, he brushed against that spot that had you seeing stars once more, and you cried out. 

“Oh my god, right there– please don’t stop, please, please–!” 

His grip on your hips turned bruising, sure to leave marks, but neither of you cared in the slightest, lost to the overwhelming pleasure. He fucked into that spot over and over, lewd, wet sounds echoing through the living room every time his body met yours. Your vision blurred as you clawed at him, so far gone. 

“Won’t stop,” he groaned, reassuring you that he was now done teasing. “Y/n I– god– stay with me, okay?” He was borderline frantic with his thrusts now, his composure having crumbled away completely and leaving you with a frenzied man, chasing his high and determined to give you another, drowning in the depths of his own emotions. “Don’t ever leave me.”

It was a statement he had spoken several times before, between the lingering stares and tight embraces that lasted a little too long. Constantly asking you to never leave him, holding on so tight in fear that he’d lose you. Somehow, in the midst of the haze of bliss you were caught in, you managed to catch on to what he was saying. 

“Never,” you whimpered, cupping his face and holding him close. “I’m never leaving you, I’m yours.” 

Caleb nuzzled into your touch and pressed his forehead to yours. “And I’m yours.” 

He littered burning kisses over the expanse of your neck, pressing them to your chin and cheeks as well, spilling his affections onto every bit of you that he could. Your fingers found purchase in his hair once more, tugging and using your hold to angle his face so that you could kiss him again.

With one final pass of his fingers over your clit, your third orgasm slammed into you. You sobbed out his name through the waves of euphoria that crashed through your body, setting your entire body alight from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Caleb helped you ride through your high, grinding into you and drawing out the white-hot pleasure that licked at you so tantalisingly. It felt as if you were falling into the abyss, but as always, he was there to catch you.

Caleb came shortly after, unable to hold off any longer with the way your pussy clamped down on him, tight and hot and demanding in the most delicious way. His thrusts slowed down as he lazily rode his high, pumping into your trembling form slower. Your walls spasmed, and he grunted, pressing his lips to yours and muffling your whines. 

The kiss veered into something much softer, just a breathless brush of your lips as you calmed down, head descending from the clouds. He pulled out gently, humming softly when you hissed and pressing his lips to your forehead in lieu of an apology. 

“You’re incredible,” he said quietly. Silence ruled the room for a couple of seconds; the only thing you could perceive was the quickened beating of your heart, and every spot where his skin touched yours. Nothing but him existed in the little world you had created for yourselves, and the two of you stayed like that for a bit, basking in each other's warmth. 

“Caleb,” you murmured his name, the syllables feeling heavy on your tongue. The words you wanted to say so badly stuck in your throat, and your vocal cords refused to cooperate. Those sunset eyes of his found yours, captivating in every sense of the word, and he lifted your hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it tenderly. 

“I know.” He whispered. “I know.”

But he didn’t. How could he, when you had taken so long to figure it out yourself? He looked at you so lovingly that it made your chest hurt, and you let out a shaky sigh, overwhelmed by how ardent your feelings for him were, how real and messy and intense. You felt like a lone ship out at sea, but Caleb was that lighthouse in the distance, leading the way back home. He was the sun high up in the sky that brightened your days, coaxing you out of the dark and into the light, and you’d gladly burn just for the chance to stay close to him.

And so when your lips met and your thighs straddled him once more, there wasn’t any teasing. He smiled into the kiss and cradled the back of your head as you descended further into the darkness, into your feelings and into him.

The sun was rising. 

Early morning breeze slipped through the gaps in the windows of his balcony, but you barely felt the chill, focused on the way the glass reflected your figures. The slowly brightening sky made it seem as if both of you were bathed in a warm glow, and with how you were leaning back against him, you felt that glow within, too. You traced the outline with your finger, feeling the condensation catch and drag, dripping down the window panes. 

Caleb pulled you back into his arms, lying down with you, his hand rubbing soothing circles on the small of your back. You settled on your stomach and propped yourself up on your elbows. In the hazy morning light, you took a moment to study him.

“It feels like a dream.”

His gaze was steady when it found yours, his voice soft in an almost awestruck manner. “You dreamed about me before?”

“Of course. I dreamed you called yourself a dummy and promised to follow me around like a little tail.” You couldn’t help letting a quip slide now that the heat from just minutes ago had subsided. Now, you were clad in his shirt, the very same one he had discarded so eagerly, and he had on pants, but was shirtless. You reached out and touched the dog tag pendant of his necklace, toying with it between your fingers. 

Caleb was a man of his word; you always knew that, but you had learned just how determined he could be that night. As promised, he remained entangled with you all night, until your joint gasps and moans of pleasure had imprinted in your memory. It was the culmination of all those years of waiting, hoping, and wanting so hopelessly, and he showed you all of it. You let him, digging your heels in the dirt and refusing to run away anymore. 

He scoffed in amusement, trailing his touch upward and gently massaging your shoulder blades. He looked so lovely like this, dishevelled hair and cheeks flushed pink from the exertion of your earlier activities. A choked-up feeling invaded your throat as you got serious, dropping the pendant.

“I also dreamed that your signal was lost in a tunnel. There was only darkness, nothing else…” Your eyes hardened as you thought back to your fear of losing him and how badly the explosion had shaken you. Part of you didn’t know why you were bringing this up again, but the other half made it crystal clear: all that grief and fear was a fundamental stepping stone in your relationship with him. In order to admit it, you had to let it all out. “And then….I couldn’t find you anymore.”

Your voice was small and unrecognisable. You interlaced your fingers together and swallowed the lump that was steadily building in your throat. You felt him shift a little closer, closing his larger hand around both of yours and squeezing.

“That day will never happen.”

His touch was comforting, the motion of his thumb rubbing against the back of your hand bringing you an inexplicable sense of peace. “Losing signal, not being able to see what’s around me– none of that matters.” He dipped his head closer to yours, his lips curving upwards just slightly. “My flight path is in your hands, and I already know my destination before I take off.”

His voice was soft, like he was afraid to speak any louder lest it break you. Your breath caught, lower lip quivering at how sweet he was. You were speechless, but that was okay, because he wasn’t done. “There’s only one place I want to reach. It doesn’t matter what obstacles stand in my way.”

Caleb lifted one of your hands, pressed a kiss to your knuckles, and you almost fucking cried from how tender the action was, the emotion in your chest practically bursting out of it. Then, he pressed your palm against his heart and whispered, despite him and you being the only two people around, so reminiscent of the way he’d let you in on secrets when you were children.

“Its coordinates have been recorded here a long time ago.”

How had he dissolved all your lingering anxiety so easily? It felt as if he had caught it and tucked it out of your sight. Suddenly, you felt light again, and everything you had been trying so hard to say burst forth. Keeping those feelings to yourself for any longer would drive you crazy, and you needed him to hear them coming from you straight. 

“I love you.” 

The three words tumbled out of you gracelessly, but that imperfection made it real. Your vulnerability made your voice tremble, but you didn’t care, and neither did he. You saw the light in his eyes brighten and his grin widen as he pressed your hand against his chest harder, letting you feel how his heart sped up. 

You had called him the sun, but if he was the sun, then to Caleb, you were the moon. Incandescent, radiant, beautiful and for the longest time, it truly did feel like he had been chasing you through the skies, only to have to settle with glimpses at interludes and intervals when the evening reigned. Having to keep his love for you to himself during the day and letting it breathe during the night, when no one could see it in the dark. Now, those two celestial bodies collided, and the result was a supernova.

And it was as easy as breathing for him to say: “I love you, too.”

A watery giggle left you as you leaned forward and rested your head on his shoulder, nuzzling against him. He turned his face, resting his cheek against your forehead for a couple of seconds.. 

“I didn’t get to make a wish before blowing out the candles at the restaurant. Can I make one now?”

A perplexed look took over your features, and he had to resist kissing the furrow of your eyebrows away. “You had your eyes closed for so long, but you didn’t make a single wish?”

Although you were making fun of him for it, you got to your feet and padded to the kitchen, ignoring the soreness between your legs as you grabbed a cupcake. Finding a candle, you inserted it on top and lit it, before making your way back. As you plopped down, you asked, “Do you want me to sing ‘happy birthday’ again?”

He sat up and shook his head. “No, it's okay. I already know what I wanna wish for.”

Caleb cupped your hands that held the cake, leaning forward. The flame on the candle flickered as your only witness to this precious moment, and his infectious smile spread to you. You could see yourself grin in the reflection of his eyes, and it only made you smile wider, subconsciously leaning in as well. 

“I wish we’ll always fly under the same sky and be in each other’s lives.” He glanced at the candle. “And I’ll wish that every year, I’ll follow these coordinates on this day as I venture through the darkness. All because they’ll lead me back to you.” 

You were beaming when he blew the candle out, eyes shining with how deliriously happy you were. It was a look that, up until this point, he had only ever seen in his dreams. Placing the cupcake down, you drew closer and settled into his arms again. It was a new day, his birthday was over, and he was a year older, but none of those changes were the ones that mattered. This was the only one that did.

“In that case,” you whispered, nose brushing against his as you looked into his eyes. “I’ll wait for you to find me every year.”

The sun had risen, and for the first time, Caleb didn’t have to wake up.

fin.

[softgh0stbites]

thinking about “i love you.” I love you said in the blanket of night, their lips brushing against yours, their warmth a hearth to make your heart at home. I love you said in the airport hallway, just shy of the gate, a thousand other words held in each other’s hearts, bated breath awaiting return. I love you with sand pressed between each other’s skin, a day where the ocean is not a roaring beast but a gentle friend, glittering with the sun’s kiss, bodies relaxed and bright with the knowing of belonging.

[softgh0stbites]

This is so cute 😭

[softgh0stbites]

Vincent Buys Condoms: A Chaos Theory Interlude

Was gonna post this later but ya'll can have a treat for the 4th of July even though I don't celebrate lol.

Some of you might remember that I filled a request for Vincent buying condoms ages ago. I had a lot of fun with it but it was my first time writing from his pov and not my best work lol. I always intended to eventually improve it and make it more of a standalone part of Chaos Theory once I was more comfortable writing his pov. So now that I'm seriously considering the sequel, here it is!

I would highly recommend you give this a go even if you've read the original, cause I've made a lot of changes. This one is much more explicit 😉

This is set after chapter 17 of Chaos Theory and contains spoilers and mature sexual content. Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

It is frustratingly late by the time Cid finally relents, giving up bickering over the route to the northern continent. The man's insistence on having the last word, coupled with his general arrogance had meant the entire discussion became an endeavour in patience that Vincent hadn't wanted to deal with. Eventually he had just walked out, jumping from of the cockpit while Cid continued to bark at the back of his head. Vincent doesn't care, he has things to do, well, he has one thing he needs to do before departure that he's absolutely dreading.

He can't stop thinking about last night, the disjointed erotic scenes of it replaying over and over in his mind since the radio turned to static this morning. Everything had moved so fast and the press of your teeth to his throat had prevented him from being able to think straight. He hadn't planned on taking his clothes off, but he hadn't been able to say no to your begging, kiss swollen lips. Your hands had felt otherworldly, warm, comforting and sinful against his bare flesh, and he'd wanted more. He had wanted to give you everything, even as his monsters simmered in wait underneath his skin. He had been handling it, everything had been fine, but then you'd soaked his chest and turned him into a beast.

He still doesn't understand why that happened, how it happened. He doesn't know why you react so strongly to his physical presence. It doesn't make sense. Never in his new life has he ever been given any indication that his touch elicits a supernatural reaction, although you are the only one he has held with his own free will. His body is disgusting, not fit to give or receive pleasure, but you'd taken it from him anyway, screaming and begging for something he never could have envisioned.

A shudder, hot and tingling drips down his spine from the memory, from the echo of your voice in his head. You had been delirious with pleasure and want, confused and uncertain but trusting him, crying out for him and no one else. You had been incoherent, mindless, but only his name had slipped broken from your lips. His body grows warm as the harsh beat of the coastal sun threatens to undo him.

He had almost lost control, in some ways he had, and it's just not good enough. He had been far too close to giving in. Somehow, spurred on by your cries he'd ended up with the head of his cock rubbing at the bare, scorching heat of your folds. You had been so wet, dripping while your body tried recklessly to pull him inside. You had begged for him, verbally, desperately, your wants impossibly clear. He had only been able to resist because of the lingering discomfort from how you had used his chest. Next time he knows he won't be able to.

You make him lose control, slicing a million shallow cuts to the fraying ropes that keep his control in check. He should hate what you do to him, he wants to hate it, instead he just craves it. He wants to give in, wants you to keep slicing. He needs for you to cut the noose taught around his neck and drag soft fingers through the secrets hidden among the viscera of his empty chest.

He inhales the hot air, overheated, struggling to clear his head as he reaches his destination. He doesn't have any idea how to handle your eagerness, but he needs to be prepared. He remembers the flippant way you had previously mentioned having a materia, but a single mention is not enough. He refuses to make assumptions or take unnecessary risk. He trusts you, somehow, but he has been tricked before. He blinks suddenly to clear his head, it is a disservice to compare you to her, he understands that, no matter how difficult it may be, so he is not going to. You are sweet and bold, reckless, so he must be the one with a clear head.

He stares at the shop sign with distaste and sighs, gathering his composure. He needs to do this, it's non negotiable. He allows some of the intrusive thoughts inside, just for a moment, trying to use their hiss of doubt to steel his discomfort. He needs to do this because he does not deserve to feel the bare pleasure and warmth of another so intimately. He needs this because he will almost certainly be a disappointment, losing himself the moment he slips inside, at least with a barrier he might stand half a chance.

The automatic doors shudder, blasting Vincent with a wave of refreshingly cool air. He steps inside, cloak swishing in the breeze, cringing internally as something beeps loudly, announcing his presence. He takes in the store and the wide eyed stare of the woman behind the counter. He tries to relax his shoulders and adjust his body language, he doesn't want to be perceived as a threat.

“E-excuse me Sir,” she stammers, managing to find her voice half way through, transitioning smoothly into a clearly practised spiel. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No,” Vincent replies dismissively, walking straight past her. He dislikes being rude, but he will not see her again and does not have the time or patience to make small talk, or discuss intimate matters with a stranger.

The pharmacy is larger than he expected, rows of aisles labelled haphazardly with the ridiculous standard font of this era. The typeface is looping, slanted oddly and frustrating to understand at a glance. He squints at the words, eventually finding what he's looking for, a single, nondescript aisle labelled 'family planning.' His brow furrows with the disgust he feels for the term.

There is so much more choice than he had expected and his eyes glaze over an overwhelmingly large assortment of boxes and unfamiliar brands. He sighs, he'd hoped this would be straight forward. He remembers what he used to use, in a past life far too long ago, but of course that appears to no longer exist. He allows a brief moment of silence for the last box he purchased, still sitting in a drawer at the Shinra manor, unopened and likely more than 20 years out of date.

He scans the aisle, surprised and concerned at the assortment, endless bright packaging catching his eye. He tilts his head at a box labelled, flavoured, and wonders for a brief moment if you might prefer for him to taste like—his lip curls with distaste—banana or strawberry. Definitely not.

He searches the next row, finding a plain box that looks promising until he notices the fine print, extra lubricated. He can't help a small smirk from forming underneath his cowl. While he may end up choosing those, that benefit will certainly not be required. It is a relief to only need to be concerned about the opposite problem, and it is not a problem because he is more than happy to use his tongue to remove any excess if you end up too slippery. He forces his attention back to the aisle. He needs to focus. There isn't enough time for him to be distracted by thoughts of your taste. He pictures your legs squeezing his shoulders, frantic hands pulling at his hair while salty-sweetness coats his lips and drips from his wrist. He stills himself, continuing that train of thought is far too dangerous.

There are multiple boxes advertising patterns, bright text boasting that they are, ribbed for her pleasure. His brow furrows, he is unfamiliar with those. Would that actually be pleasurable for a woman? He’s not sure. He does not think he would like texture inside of himself, but you had seemed to enjoy his glove last night. Maybe there is some merit. He considers the purchase for a moment but then comes to his senses. He is perfectly capable of pleasing you without any external aid, and does not ever intend to imply otherwise. 

The next shelf is full of larger boxes with much more discrete packaging. The text is small, advertising insertable, vibrating objects and textured rings. He is curious but the packaging is non descriptive. Are the rings for him to wear? He's not sure what purpose that might serve or what benefit it might bestow. It is strange that all of this debauchery is out in the open, visible at a normal pharmacy. He expected for there to be the barest of selection, but instead this aisle could easily compare to a speciality store. He wonders if the world is just like this now, or if it is just because he is in a resort town.

Vincent keeps looking, eyes glazing past words like, ‘tingling,’ ‘long lasting’, and ‘minty.’ It is good that there is choice, but this is so much more difficult than it used to be. He sighs, modern people truly are degenerates. Finally, right at the bottom, where he has to bend at the knees to inspect them, he finally finds the regular ones. He selects a smaller sized box advertising a reasonable amount of lubrication and a larger than average length. That will do. This has all already wasted too much time.

He walks to the counter, purpose in his step. He just wants to get out of here. He pauses for a moment at the end of one of the aisle, an assortment of breath mints catching his attention. Cid had been making a not so subtle dig at his hygiene this morning when he had offered gum, but now Vincent considers that the man may have had a point. While he doesn't really need to brush his teeth, if he is going to be kissing regularly, he may need to make some changes. He observes the packaging, trying to match the colours with what he had seen Cid pull from his pocket, that single piece this morning had been far more enjoyable than he'd expected.

Vincent picks up the closest match he finds and heads to the counter. The same woman that had stared earlier gives him an extremely funny look as she rings up his purchase. He forgives her, he probably does look ridiculous, an inhuman monster purchasing condoms. Her eyes narrow when he pays with cash instead of the strange plastic cards that everyone now seems to use. She struggles to count the change for him, not able to do the arithmetic or recognise the coins. Vincent sighs, the world truly has gotten worse in his absence. 

He walks back to the Bronco, squinting in the sunlight while his new purchases weigh heavy in the pocket just behind his gun holster. The light is harsher now and he can feel it burning the pale skin of his face. He disappears as much as he can into his cowl, still uncomfortable being outside.

Vincent spots Barret as he turns the corner to the dock and sighs when the large man beckons him over. He's tempted to just keep walking but he can sense the malice in the man's gaze, hidden behind dark sunglasses.

“If you hurt her,” Barret grunts, gesturing towards the plane with his head. “I’ll shoot you.”

The man is clearly extremely serious.

“Noted,” Vincent replies.

He appreciates Barret’s protectiveness even if it makes him want to lash out. The mere insinuation that he might hurt you incites his monsters to fury, even when he knows they cannot be trusted. He will always put your needs and wants above his own, no matter how much of a struggle it may be for him.

Barret dismisses him with a wave of his gun arm and Vincent quickly walks away, thankful the conversation had not been excessively painful. 

He heads down to the dock, spying you immediately, standing underneath one of the plane's broken wings and speaking animatedly with Aerith. You are even prettier today than yesterday, eyes bright and clear. Vincent can see the pleasure he gave you last night in the relaxed set to your shoulders, and the slight twitch of your thighs as you shift your weight. He's filled with a selfish pride, knowing how much he affected you but it's quickly replaced with regret. He had wanted to stay to keep you company in the morning. It is almost unforgivable to leave someone you care about to wake up alone after such an intense night.

Your face visibly lights up when you catch sight of him, waving as you walk closer. You stop just in front of him, looking up with those sweet eyes and a soft smile. He wants to pull you into his arms and hear the cute squeak he knows you would let out, but stops himself. His shoulders relax, lingering tension and frustration over the morning leaving now that he's close to you. All he needs to do now is wait until the plane is ready to depart, and brooding in wait is one of his favourite past times, was one of his favourite past times. He's gotten much less out of it recently, ever since his thoughts became filled with endless curiosity over how loudly he might be able to make you cry his name.

“Can you help Aerith and I reach something?” you ask, voice sweet and hopeful before trailing off. “We’re both too short,” you pout. 

He nods, hiding a small smile behind his cowl, though he's sure you see through his hidden expression. The apprehensive way that you ask him for things is cute, like you expect him to say no. He would never deny you anything.

“Thanks,” you smile, turning with a wave of your hand, asking him to follow. He falls into step behind you, immediately distracted by the sway of your hips and the curve of your ass. He tries not to stare but quickly gives in. He finds frustration with this part of himself, how his attraction starts from nothing but then becomes overwhelming and difficult to resist. He wonders idly if you even realise how much you affect him.

He doesn't know how he's going to get you alone tonight, or manage to spend long enough with you for it to be meaningful. He does not want to have to disappear before the morning again, you deserve so much more than a cold bed. He sighs, stepping closer to the plane, wondering what sort of commotion he will need to stage later in order to get you alone.

[softgh0stbites]

Hey🥰, I just wanted to let you know that if you put words like “horny” in the tags, then Tumblr won’t put your post in the character tags… Which is why I didn’t see your new Vincent fic until just now 😭. It was perfect, exactly what I needed, hnggggg. He’s so fucking hot without even trying and you captured him so well. Thanks for blessing my eyes 🥵

OMG I DIDNT KNOW THIS AHHHHHHH tysm for telling me rev i had no freaking idea T^T omg no wonder it didnt reach anyone!!! I'll have to fix that. ALSO THE HIGHEST PRAISE FROM YOU WHAAAAT- i really love your vincent as well and im so blessed to hear you say something so sweet about my interpretation as well because I often think about Chaos Theory when Im writing T^T

[softgh0stbites]

Your Vincent is so pathetic it's hot and I'm crazy for him

He's on that lover boy loser cruise and I'm obsessed with it too ♡ Happy you enjoy!~

[softgh0stbites]

*reblogs a horny post*

*beloved mutual likes or reblogs horny post*

That's right I knew you'd like that you little slut..

[softgh0stbites]

Smitten 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Rating: 18+ NSFW

Pairing: Reader x Vincent Valentine

Tags: smut, pretty Vanille, a little first-time dirty talk, exploring, oral, mentions of creampie

Summary: You've had a really bad day, something that makes you wanna escape into the clutches of your recent beloved. He's always pleased when you ask for his help, especially if it's with his body.

Notes: Hello ♡ I wanted to post a lot sooner and not quite this ramble, but I've had a really shitty month so far. I found out I was being cheated on in my very serious and long relationship and— well. It makes you not really want to write sex or romance for awhile ♡ I'm doing a bit better, but posts from me will be sparse as I try to get my spark back. Thanks for waiting on me, and thank you for all the support on my other works.

Say yes to heaven. Spell it out on his lips with your teeth. Humor a gentle kiss lost in iridescent sunlight, filtered by curtains so sheer it hides nothing. You're used to this flavor, the taste of unsaid confessions and affections. They drip like liquor onto the seam of your lips, honeydew and smoke, a visceral combination. Addictive and you're not complacent.

Your fingers seek him out in the light, brushing along the slopes of his cheeks. His soft voice rings out in the stillness, his hand finding purchase at the hollow of your throat. Every crevice is sticky, the growing humidity sounding in your ears just like his half-growls into your jaw.

Not all dances are rushed, not every rhythm is smooth, but you find that in these moments tucked away— you love how imperfect it is. Even when Vincent holds you like he doesn't deserve too, as if you're his personal rosary to wrap around his hands— to confess every sin into your body, you're shy.

Joy is too holy for him. A purpose he's convinced needs to be returned.

How could an angel ever clip its own wings like this?

The amount of fixation in his smoldering gaze sets your heart ablaze, constantly trying to close your parted knees to force him in positions where it's harder to see it. He never relents, airy sighs escaping his mouth as he convinces you to let him partake. You're sure you can feel his previous load leaking from you, but it hadn't stopped him from overstimulating you both. He loved watching you fall apart and loved testing himself at the same time.

You had begged for him to clear your mind. He had simply done as requested. His eyes were so full of mirth when he had undressed you, your frustrated tears from a bad day still staining your cheeks. He kissed every tender patch of skin and nibbled his marks on you so you won't forget. And as he settled you in front of him and held your leg above his hips, circling your sex with his fingers and cock, you had forgotten what you were so wound up about.

That felt like hours ago.

So as his cock drags through your walls deliciously, you wonder if he ever thinks about it— what he calls his own appendage, what he thinks of talking during sex. Neither of you truly spout conversation during your activities, it's always hunger and passion, but you want to hear vulgarity.

You want poison from his mouth in your ear, to hear his faux sympathy as he tears you apart to build you back up. You stretch your body languidly, leaning your head back to press a kiss to his rather smooth chin. Your hands tap at his thighs, hips, any spot you can reach to let him know you want to switch from this cuddling position.

Vincent understands immediately, scooping you into his arms and rolling on top of you, balancing most of his weight on one arm. His eyes flecked in worry, a hand tracing down your cheek.

"Are you alright?" His voice is a little hoarse, his chest still heaving a little, tongue darting out to gather the sweat on his upper lip.

Your face lights up avidly, cherry colored fluster in patches across your naked form.

"I wanted to know...." You tried to let it out, but become tongue tied staring at his quizzical expression. His hard length is still pressing into your thigh.

Vincent tilts his head, the braid of his long hair falling over his shoulder. You had finally convinced him to let you play with it, to help him take care of it, especially before sleeping, so it wasn't always spiky— although you treasured that part about him too.

"What might you want to know?" His hand cupped your cheek, engulfing it realistically, thumb sweeping under your eyes and around the apples of your cheek, "Gauging your reaction, it must be something quite peculiar."

His lips quivered, betraying his amusement at your loss for words— seeming to have fun in this position.

You narrowed your eyes as your teeth worried the bottom of your lip, "How do you think about my..." You slowly took his hand from your face, both hands wrapped around his wrist as you slid it down your chest, along your tummy and towards your mound. His eyes darkened as his fingers found your nectar still warm, sticking to your skin, "What do you call it?"

Vincent smiled sharply, thinking twice about what he should say considering his heart wad hammering at your boldness, "I see, it's that kind of question." His fingers played with you idly, as if it was a normal thing to do as he stared you deep in the eyes, "Are you expecting me to say nether regions? Maybe thingy?" He teased.

You gaped, hips squirming against his fingers as they toyed with you, "Well, no! I don't think you're that old or immature," You scowl playfully, your other hand pinching his cheek and stretching the corner of his lips into a smug, crooked grin.

Vincent nipped at your digits as they fluttered back down to his shoulder, curling into the braid. His sharp features were so uncharacteristically soft in this light, in this bed, with his hands making playful love to you.

He let out a long sigh as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, "Normally, it's your flower, my secret garden," You feel his lips twitching.

"And other times?" Your heart is racing, and he slides a finger inside of you, lips now trailing down the bridge of your nose, sprinkling kisses along your bridge, and to your cupids bow.

"Slit..." He hisses as he feels you tighten around his finger. His face is almost redder than yours as he buries it into your chest, licking and sucking his way down.

You've never heard him say something like these words before your eyes are lidded, breathe picked up like a current on the wind.

"Vincent...." You moan, hands on his shoulders, begging for him to lower still, "Dont stop talking—...please..."

He obliges you, drawing his tongue all the way down your center until he reaches the hood of your clit, pressing a ghost of a kiss there. His finger is still pulling and pushing, coaxing that tide of pleasure within while keeping it at bay.

"Poor thing, you're drooling here..." To implicate his words further, he makes a show of sucking up the wet mess on your inner thighs, tongue sweeping the creases of your folds as well. The slurping sounds humiliate you, but you don't ask him to stop. This is what you wanted, a part of him unfiltered. You can tell he's getting off on speaking so much as well, his cock is twitching into the bed sheets, his hips subtly shifting against them for some relief.

"I want to know what you want to hear me say? Does it turn you on so much?" Vincent gazed up at you from between your knees, tongue flat against your hood as he began to add kitten licks with his soft kisses. As you're thrashing on the bed he knows getting a straight answer out of you isn't going to happen— not with your pupils blown wide like you've been caught with your wild fantasies.

"You want me to call it your cunt?" He asked while slipping another finger inside to continue the stretch. His teeth perfectly executed the word, it sounded so divine and yet so shameful. Your legs trembled as you gripped his shoulders tighter, bending at the waist to observe him better.

"Or do you prefer if I refer to it as your pussy? Maybe I should call it mine..." He sighs breathily, caught up in the fantasy itself, his cheeks are red betraying any of the smugness he had before. His cock is absolutely leaking, your hips grinding against his mouth and chin.

You grab his hair forcefully, hauling him up with little resistance and clashing your mouths together. Your hand reaches between you both, a startled groan erupting from your lover as you move his hand away. He readjusts between your knees, hands cupping the curve of your waist. Your hand guides him to your entrance, the sounds obscene as you fail and his cock slips over your lips. A whine escapes you, your other hand still fisted in his braid, his mouth is busy kissing you languidly, letting you do as you please with him.

"I cant...anymore— please, fuck me...I need it.." With a loud gasp you join again as one— the tension melting from your body as he hits home within. The grip is tighter, your walls are covered in more slick, and it feels hotter. He's already shuddering as he pushes into you, balls pressing against your ass, tongue licking at your mouth as he sets the pace just how you like it.

"So vulgar..." He smiles, moans tumbling from his mouth, "I'll do whatever you ask, just to feel your pleasure." He admits thickly, diving back to your lips for more.

And he makes good on his word.

[softgh0stbites]

If you're having a really shitty month or so and you and Vincent are close enough to ask each other for comfort— what is Vincent's go to way to make you feel better? Could be smutty or non smutty ♡ Vinny comfort headcanons would be so nice

I have also been having a month lmao, so I feel this.

Vincent is very perceptive, so he'll quickly work out that something is bothering you. He won't say anything, but he'll subtly start picking up extra chores around the house, and make sure that your favourite icecream is suddenly in the freezer. He'll do lots of small things to make your life easier. He's not great at cooking, but he'll run you a bath and wash your hair and give you a massage if you seem receptive. He's good at massages, having been a turk and learnt pressure points and all.

Vincent feels like he's not good at giving comfort and that he doesn't know what to do, but he's just always so damn touch starved that he's actually quite good at it. He'll try to give you space to start with, but if you don't want it then he'll dial up the affection. I think he relies a lot on your ability to be upbeat in order to regulate his own mood, so if you're upset then he'll sort of instinctually be seeking comfort and reassurance from you as well. He doesn't really know what to say to reassure you, but he'll listen if you want to rant.

And of course, the nsfw bit. If you're stressed and want it then he'll just make you come over and over again until you pass out, as many times as you can handle, every day, multiple times a day, without expecting anything in return. It stops your thoughts from spiralling, even just temporarily, and he likes seeing you blissed out and boneless, feeling you curled up against him and trusting him.

[softgh0stbites]

Work in progress

[softgh0stbites]

(7) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

Your time with the aunt-nephew duo, despite all their peculiarities you chalk up to rich people stuff, is going so well until it gets to the small talk part. You never thought it'd come to almost beating the living daylights out of your savior, but here you two are. Fuck that guy.

genre: fluff, comedy | word count: 9K | read on ao3

< previous | next (wip) >

note: howl pendragon-coded rafayel, yayyyy! what's that? "what's with the summary" you say" well... THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGGGGGGG (rafayel didnt intend that to be the outcome at all. when ur so emotionally intelligent and a lil bit manipulative and want to help her unwind but it backfires on you bc your pookie doesnt play like that. ur kinda proud but again. that wasnt the intended outcome)

“Hello.”

Just hearing Mom say that with a voice so thin and tired that some of it doesn’t get picked up through the phone is enough for your heart to shrink in place like a child who’s aware of an incoming scolding would.

“Mom,” you gasp. You’re standing barefoot on the cool white tiles, their chill bleeding up through your soles. The clothes clinging to your body are too big, borrowed, the soft collar of someone else’s sweater sagging against your neck. “Mom, it’s me — it’s me.”

There’s a sound — a breath being sucked in too fast, and then her voice rises, making the speaker pop and crackle against your ear: “Oh my God. Oh my God!—”

“Is the ferry okay?” The phone cord coils loosely at your side, warm from the sun that slants through an arched window and makes the gold fixtures on the table gleam. You keep winding it around your fingers without thinking, make it tight enough to cut blood circulation, letting it bite into your skin before unwinding it again. Then again.

Please tell me it didn’t sink, please.

The plastic sheath creaks faintly with each nervous pull, a rhythmic distraction just steady enough to stop you from breaking open. “The ferry — is the ferry alright? Did it — did it make it back?! The fishermen — I thought they were — I tried to get them before the they hit the rocks but — fuck, I — I don’t know if it made it—”

“Who is that?” another voice shouts suddenly from the receiver, rapidly accelarating in proximity and booming with rage and fear. You can hear the sound of Mom’s phone being snatched. “Who is that?! Give me the — Is that you?!”

“Dad,” you choke, fighting the tremble in your bottom lip.

This is his breadwinner. Your entire family’s livelihood. The fact that a possible sinking after you were thrown overboard hadn’t occured to you until you were underneath a warm shower and letting your thoughts flow with the water is worse to you than being the reason why the ferry was lost. You truly don’t know what to say.

“Dad I — I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to — I thought I could get them back in, the boat was listing, the rocks were farther so I thought it would be fine, and then the wave — I don’t even know if the ferry’s — oh god, the ferry—”

Mom interrupts your babbling. “Shhhh, shhh, the ferry’s fine, baby, it’s fine, those people drove it back here—”

Your elbows come down on the luxurious table and you sink down on your forearms from relief, rubbing your face with your free hand. The position is a bit awkward because you have to hold the receiver of this old rotary phone to your ear, but you couldn’t care less.

“Where the hell are you?” Dad spits.

Mom cuts in again, her voice warbling with restrained sobs: “We thought you were gone. The coast guard said the water was too cold — and after that kind of storm your chances weren’t… that it was too late to keep searching. But we didn’t stop. We didn’t stop, do you hear me?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. They were drifting and I thought if I could just — if I could just get there in time. I didn’t — I thought I could help. I really thought I could do something right for once and instead I nearly—”

Ruined everything.

You can hear the ocean just beyond the glass in the silence that follows.

“Where are you now? Where have you washed up? I don’t recognize the number, who are you with?” he says, more insistent now. “We looked everywhere in the surrounding islands.”

“Someone pulled me out — he said this is his aunt’s place — Orphias she said, I think? The owner’s name is Talia.”

Your father swears under his breath, sharp and furious. “Private island section? That’s miles off route and from the Teeth! How—”

“I don’t know! I can’t make sense of it as well, but I didn’t pry. Beggars can’t be choosers.” When you receive no answer, you bite down on your lower lip. “Dad?”

“You stay put, we’re on our way now.” You nod even though they can’t see it. The hand not holding the phone presses to your chest, as if that might calm the erratic thump beneath. “Stay on your toes, alright? I don’t like this. The storm couldn’t have taken you that far — who did you say it was that saved you?”

“This guy — Rafayel. The nephew. He brought me here from what he told me.” You hear an intake of a big breath. “Don’t ask. I don’t know. He was—”

You stop yourself. If you talk anything related to Rafayel, Dad would freak the fuck out. A naked man on the beach so far away from the ground zero of your fall who you had to piggyback to his aunt’s house? Nothing you could say would be able to salvage any part of that sentence.

“Okay,” he says. An engine starts in the background. “Okay. How are you doing? Are you hurt at all?”

“Took you long enough to ask,” Mom nags in the distance.

“I’m okay now, I think — I’m dry, she gave me clothes — I had a hot shower…”

Dad starts ranting to himself under his breath in the unique way that he does that’s reminiscent of a sped-up tape put in another room you hear the muffled echo of. “Jesus Christ. You scared the life out of us. Hours. Gone for hours. You don’t just venture out during a fucking storm and— ”

And of course it’s Mom who stops it. “—Don’t, not now. We’ll talk about it when we see her.”

That’s how you know you’re in for a lecture. You deserve it, though. The ferry’s safety more than makes up for it.

“Are the fishermen okay?” you say, a bit ashamed to remember to ask about them this late into the conversation, but it’s fine you think — shame is a familiar companion nowadays, what’s more for the late night conversations you have with her?

“Yeah, they made it. One of ’em got a concussion, another one fractured his arm. That storm shook the poor fellas like a rattle.”

And the third one brought you here.

Yeah, that checks out.

It’s the kind of confirmation you needed. And your family, of course. An identity verification of some sorts and a guarantee that nothing bad would happen to you. Though the second part of that sentence, you feel guilty just thinking about after getting taken care of by a host like Talia who took in a stranger into her home. A wet dog, in a sense.

You move to lean against the wall next to the telephone, tilting your head back to rest on the smooth, cool surface of the wallpaper. There is a slight ache in your shoulders from the strain of the stress (and also the almost-drowning, but mostly the stress of losing the ferry), but the exhaustion is a familiar one, the kind that comes from a day spent pushing against the world, one that you welcome feeling, now that you know you haven't fucked up that colossaly. Relief, in other words, is the best drug.

"Can you get this Talia on the phone?" Mom asks. "We need the island code to find the coordinates, baby."

"You guys don't know about any Orphias?"

Dad grumbles. "You expect someone to know every single grocery store in the city?"

"Well. If it's a luxury store and the person in question is a store connoisseur—"

"Okay, alright, smartass. If you can talk back like that, I guess you're fine."

"Talia, please?" Mom reminds you. She sounds lighter, though, after hearing the brief bickering.

“I sure hope you haven’t gotten yourself into some weird island cult.”

As if to answer her question, light footsteps fade into your awareness from the outside and you turn your head to the direction of the source just as a gentle knock on the door resonates. It’s Talia hovering in the entryway, the light from the spacious hall casting a soft glow outlines her figure in the warm, golden haze of the afternoon, somehow made brighter by the smile on her face.

"Just wanted to say I prepared some snacks for you, in case you were hungry," she offers, keeping her voice down in a whisper to not interrupt yor call. She seems to hesitate, then adds, "And also... if you're not, that's all right too. You can take your time. There's no rush."

You can't help the smile that crosses your face, grateful and touched. "Thanks. Actually, could you..." You gesture with the old corded phone, once again mentally shrunk into a kid half her height when you say, "My parents would like to speak to you. Just to give their thanks. And directions. To fetch me. If that's alright?"

"Of course," she replies, fully entering the room and stepping forward to take the receiver from your hand. "I understand, they must've been worried sick. Don't worry, I'll handle it. You go to the kitchen, it's just on the left from the hall. Help yourself to whatever you'd like. I'll be right there in a moment."

Kindness is inherently woven into her attitude in the same way the scent of the sea lingers in the fabric of the sweater she's given you, reinforcing the decision of not telling the details of your arrival to your parents. You’d hate to put a woman like this in a bad position.

You murmur a quiet, "Okay, thank you," and leave the room, the hushed conversation of numbers and coordinates becoming background noise as you make your way to the kitchen from where the inviting aromas of baked treats are emitting from. It’s the melody from a pungi to your snake.

The door to the kitchen creaks open under your hand, hinges sighing into a stillness too perfect to last, and immediately you’re greeted by a chaotic shock of what you first think is a purple Cookie Monster perched on the marble countertop. You stand frozen for a while, blinking rapidly to understand just what you're looking at. 

Rafayel is halfway to toppling a tall rectangular tin off the highest shelf, arm stretched, the draped sleeve of the damn curtain he has on brushing precariously close to the burner on the gas stove, which is clicking softly beside him, the faint heat of a forgotten flame warming the copper kettle that rattles lazily against its cradle. He’s framed by the cabinetry that gleams beneath glass-paned arches — crystal knobs and shell-tiled backsplash gleaming in the slanted afternoon light, inside them are shelves forming a sort of shrine: delicate teacups, polished silver tins, bundles of dried herbs bound with gold thread, and much more you can’t quite identify from your angle.

One leg is tucked under him like a smug little prince, the other dangles, toes tapping against the edge of an opened carved oak cabinet, and the sound of clinking make you notice the anklets he has on. It's feline, the way he's trying to balance. Either get on the counter with both knees, or don't. What is he thinking?

"You're going to break the counter or the cabinet standing like that," you say flatly.

He turns his head half-way to give you a view of his profile, dusky violet hair tucked behind one ear, a long, dangly purple gem earring catching the light, swaying with the movement. It's weirdly painting-esque, especially with the ensemble he has on, which fits his overall vibe, and you really shouldn't be surprised it does. Because of course the butt-naked meet-cute conversational-hazard man dresses like a Studio Ghibli fever dream styled by a Milan Fashion Week intern on mushrooms. 

“Are you calling me fat?” He frowns with a displeased pinch between his eyebrows. “I’ll have you know I’m streamlined for agility.”

Your gaze drops to the sash tied too elaborately around his waist holding the curtain in place, and the peach-colored gems and tassels at the ends of them hanging dangerously close to the open flame, and point to it with a hand. "Are you fireproof as well?"

He scoots away from the stovetop, but doesn’t give up on his destination — one particular tin. “Ah.”

"Get down before you light yourself on fire."

He sighs and pouts at that, but slides off the counter nevertheless, with a surprising grace that doesn’t quite match the amount of fabric he has on, his bare feet slapping softly against the cool marble tiles inlaid with spiraling shell patterns.

"Fine. But only because you asked nicely," he says, brushing invisible crumbs from his curtain. "You didn’t. But I imagined you might’ve if I waited long enough."

He twirls once, with the idle flourish of a flower being spun between someone's fingers, the heavy velvet draped around him swishing in soft, watery folds. It's almost hypnotic. You want to run your hands through the fabric to see if it's as soft as it looks. 

"So? Thoughts?"

You identify the curtain as a wisteria purple robe. It has beautiful peach-colored patterns that shine with his every move. Underneath, a waistcoat that's in the same peach-tone hugs his frame with a couple misbuttons — embroidered with faint glints of coral gold that shimmer when he moves. A silk shirt spills open beneath it, loose-laced and collarless, you can see from the yawning sleeves of the robe that its cuffs are unbuttoned and trailing down his wrists. The ensemble being held around his waist by the sash aside — which you think is a tassled curtain tie back — his base clothes are white, the shirt and the slacks.

You blink at him. At least he knows how to color code, you'll give him that. 

"You're giving sentient curtain from Beauty and the Beast."

"Thank you," he beams. “I knew you would appreciate my vision. See these embroideries? They mixed apricot yellow and cerise to—”

"That wasn’t—"

"It was. Don’t backpedal now." He’s disinterested in furthering that conversation, attention distracted with the tin he’s fiddling with. He sniffs its contents with a frown. "Huh. Smelled better from the high shelf.”

You subtly throw your head back and close your eyes, exhaling, then, drift toward one of the tall stools tucked under the curved lip of the kitchen island and hop on one of the middle ones. You tune Rafayel out as you gape at the feast right in front of you. Snacks? These are snacks?

God, rich people.

Folded grape leaves stuffed with lemony rice, thin slices of cured meat, wedges of blue and brie and something veined with wine, jewel-toned berries, pistachios still in shell, and golden crackers fanned into spirals, pastries and oh gosh — meticulously arranged as though she was expecting guests. This was the kind of thing that gets instagrammed, not eaten.

"—altitude nostalgia. Did you know humans smell differently at different elevations?"

But your stomach has been grumpily bubbling under its breath for a while now, and this is food, and the combination of those two things makes you an uncaring, shameless heathen. Your mouth is watering. Who even cares that one plate is probably worth more than you are. Fuck it. In a single motion, your elbow is on the table and you're leaning over the plates, already grabbing a handful of the closest pastry and taking a huge bite.

It's flaky and buttery and filled with cheese and walnuts, and the crust practically melts on your tongue. You have to fight the urge to moan in delight, and subsequently come to realize the sound of your chewing is too loud. Rafayel's talking has ceased.

A featherlight touch on the wrist that might otherwise have you suspect you brushed against fleeting clothing hanging in your closet snaps you from your blissful, mindless gorging trance, and you turn to find Rafayel staring at you. His face is blank, and there's a slight tilt to his eyebrows, gaze flitting between your eyes and puckered lips, his hand on your wrist to stop the pastry from meeting its tragic end between your teeth.

"What?" you ask, muffled and full-mouthed, lips sticky, and cheeks bulging with the remains of the pastry. You try not to feel self-conscious about the crumbs on the sides of your mouth. Instead, you raise an eyebrow. "Don't judge. I'm a growing woman."

"Growing into what? A pearl? Slow down. Chew."

"You're not my dad, what's it to you?"

"I just don't want you to choke when I just saved you from drowning, you know. But you've got some..."

"Got some...?"

He points to his own cheek and mouth area, mimicking the mess you have on your person. Then, without warning or hearing what you might say in return, he reaches out and wipes away a fleck of crust on the corner of your lips. It might be an intrusive or an impulsive thought he might have given into, you don’t know, but your face warms at the proximity regardless of the context or the reason behind it, the sudden familiarity of his gesture, and the way his thumb lingers, brushing lightly across the swell of your bottom lip as if to savor the texture. You're suddenly acutely aware of the intimacy of the act and he fact that you met this man only hours ago.

What is this? Is he just very touchy?

The copper begins to hum, steam from it rising in polished spirals, catching the light through a stained-glass transom high above the doorway.

You jerk back, wiping the rest of the mess with the back of your hand, and avoid the view of his hand staying frozen in the air, hovering in the spot where your face was, and the perplexed look on his face. "I got it."

His fingers curl inward as he retracts his hand, sliding it to his side. He doesn't respond, simply watches you in silence, his eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment as he rubs his thumb and forefinger together before smoothing out again, and you wonder if maybe you should've said thank you, after all. But the moment has passed, and the thought of apologizing now seems awkward, so you do the next best thing, which is to change the subject.

"What's that for?"

“This,” he announces, tilting the tin so the embossed label is emphasized with the light falling on it — a stylized silver fish leaping over a crescent moon — “is a Moonpetal brew. Aunt Talia only brings it out for very special occasions."

You eye the tin, then him. "Moonpetal? Sounds like something out of a fairy tale."

Or out of a very expensive, fancy health food store, the kind that promised enlightenment in a biodegradable pouch.

"Everything is a fairy tale if you know what perspective to look at," he says, his voice regaining some of its melodic lilt. He pops the lid with a soft thwack and a fragrant cloud billow out – notes of jasmine, something salty-sweet sea-salt caramel, and an underlying freshness that reminded you of rain on warm stones. It's surprisingly lovely.

He dips two fingers into the tin, his rings clinking faintly against the metal, and pulls out a pinch of what looks to be dried, silvery-white petals mixed with tiny, dark, almost iridescent leaves. He brings them close to his nose, inhaling deeply, eyes fluttering shut for a dramatic moment that makes his long lashes brush his cheek. "I missed this."

"Haven't been around lately, then?"

"You could say that," he answers, the way he dips his head to stare at the tea makes the purple waves of his hair shift like disturbed water. There's a particular undercurrent to his smile that you could only describe as something distorted underneath the surface of the sea.

Talia re-enters the kitchen then, catching you off-guard. You were too engrossed in the exchange to notice her arrival, but the sound of her humming catches both of your attentions. Her shawl is gone, lilac skirt swishing around her ankles and cream-colored blouse, which she's rolled the sleeves of to her elbows, is buttoned to her throat. The sun from the windows puts its spotlight on her immediately, making the shells on her earrings shimmer, the silver and opals winking in the light, and you notice that her nails are painted a pale purple.

"Sorry about that," she says. "It took longer than e — good gods, Rafayel."

Rafayel turns to her and spins, letting the robe flare, and strikes a pose. It's such a childish move that it takes you aback. "How did I do?"

"I remember that robe," Talia murmurs. She's smiling, though, even as her hand goes to her heart, clutching at the fabric of her shirt. "You used to run around with it all the time. You'd sneak in my room and steal it to play superheroes." Her eyelashes are damp, and the lines at the corners of her mouth are deepening in a way that suggests laughter. "I should've known you'd find it. You never could keep away from that thing."

You feel compelled to look away from the moment, and stuff a cube of cheese in your mouth, focusing your attention on the smooth marble counter, veined like seafoam. Somewhere above, a crystal suncatcher swings lazily from a brass hook, scattering color across the whitewashed archways.

"Hard to part with," he agrees. He runs his fingers through the folds of the sleeve, tracing the embroidery, his smile morphing into a distant, nostalgic shape. "This is a good look, right?"

"It is, you look just like a prince," Talia replies, her words holding an otherwise undetectable ‘humoring him’ element that comes off as genuine — and you have no doubt that she is being genuine, it’s obvious from her face that Rafayel is quite endearing to her.

Her attention turns to the kettle on the stove when it starts to whistle, and a flicker of surprise crosses her features. "Oh, were you going to make tea, dear?"

"Uh-huh." Rafayel glances at her and nods. "Moonpetal, to soothe her nerves."

“Good thinking, I was going to get that out for you anyway,” She steps closer, peering at the tin, her eyebrows lifting in mild surprise. "But didn't I put that on the highest shelf?"

"I came just in time to witness his mountain climbing expedition," you insert yourself into the conversation. With a smirk, you point to the open cabinets. "He's lucky the entire kitchen didn't come crashing down on him."

Talia gives him a disapproving frown, but her vast sunrays pf fondness breaks through the unenthusiastic storm clouds. She reaches out to gently adjust the collar of his robe. “Well, since you’ve already retrieved it for me… Come, let’s make it properly together.”

Talia brushes past him to retrieve ceramic cups painted with mother-of-pearl scales. Her fingers linger on his shoulder, a fleeting touch that seems to weigh more than it should.

You feel horrible for interrupting, but it’s worse to just sit there and be served. “Is there anything I can—”

Both aunt and nephew shut down the idea at the same time and their voices blend in different octaves of refusals, making you unable to differentiate who said what. So you sit back and make youself invisible for the time being, watching as Talia moves to the counter beside the stove, the colorful, slightly oversized duckling that is Rafayel trailing after her.

Both of them look out of this world. Or rather, the world of ordinary people you live in. It’s a weird feeling how you’ve intruded in this world, sitting on the kitchen island as they make tea together may just be the equivalent of the economy and business classes coming closest together when they’re separated by a curtain.

“Show me how you remember we steep it.”

Rafayel is an artist contemplating which color he should start out with as his hands hover over the teapot, and you nibble a pistachio shell into splinters as a thought crosses over your mind. They don’t seem too familiar with each other for some reason.

Well, it’s not your business.

The Moonpetal tea, surprise surprise, is what one would think liquid moonlight would taste on the tongue — cool and fresh and effervescent on your tongue, with a lingering salt-kissed sweetness that makes your shoulders relax against the wrought-iron chair. You’d helped Talia arrange everything on the patio overlooking the valley, where seabirds wheel in arcs below like scraps of paper caught in a draft, and was engaging in small talk here and there when she leaned forward, sunlight catching the opals at her throat.

“Your parents mentioned you’ve been managing their ferry? That’s wonderful! Such an important role,” she says, refilling your cup which has a thin gold band on the rim, delicate and precise. (Everything in this house is.) The porcelain clinks softly. “You must feel so connected to the sea.”

Your fingers spasm around the saucer, droplets of tea sloshing dangerously. Of course the conversation has stirred this way. You were hoping for your parents would arrive before that and you wouldn’t have to go through the ‘So, what do you do?’ question. The idea of discussing the life you're already averse to talking about with a rich woman, no less, is more daunting than the cult thing.

And worst of all, it's hopeless already, right off the bat. She's trying to be poetic about it, but there's nothing romantic about being the wheel of the car that transports people on a day-to-day basis. You aren't sure sure if you're connected to the sea. If anything, you're connected to the people who use the sea to connect. A bridge of sorts.

“Um, well. Yes. For a long time, actually.” A pause. The breeze picks up, ruffling the wisteria hanging from a lattice overhead. “I, uh, worked on the same ferry since I was fifteen or sixteen. I left a few years ago, but...”

“I assume it was for school," she prompts, her smile gentle, encouraging, but you feel anything but pacified. Your stomach plummets darkly at the mention of school, at the memories of sitting on a bench in a crowded campus and knowing you were nothing. Knowing you were less than the people around you, and the sinking realization that all of it had been for nothing because you were crawling back home at the end of the day, the world still as large and uncaring as ever, leaving you behind to rot in the past. Just another faceless, nameless drop in the ocean.

“Yes,” you say, the word brittle. “School.”

There's a silence, filled by the low hush of the wind.

You can't bear it. Not to make it awkward, you stumble over your words with the grace of a newborn calf trying to ice skate. "I — I got my degree and everything, it's just that the, um. Job hunt wasn't successful. So." You try to force a laugh, but the sound sticks in your throat.

Talia hums thoughtfully. "So many young people are struggling with the same problem these days. It's hard to find steady work." Her fingers tap the table, a gentle, contemplative rhythm. "What a blessing it is for you to become the captain of the family business!"

Yeah, lucky me.

What a blessing, to be a failure in the outside world and have to return to the safe haven of the familiar. To know that the only place that values you is the one you feel so humiliated to feel such relief in stepping foot on again. And to feel that way, to feel embarrassed, ashamed of that sense of security and joys you've come to rediscover connecting with people and taking control of the ferry that was a ball and chain to you when you were younger; to feel unworthy, and small, and like a little girl again, a child in oversized clothes playing dress-up in adulthood. Lucky, lucky, lucky.

You bite your lip. Hard. Enough to draw blood and distract yourself from the shame that burns on your cheeks. Don't cry, don't cry, please don't fucking cry in front of a literal stranger. Your knuckles turn white from gripping the handle of the teacup.

"Not captain," you correct, attempting a weak smile, though the corners of your lips feel weighed down, refusing to rise properly, staring at the dregs of tea leaves swirling into shapes that look suspiciously similar to sinking ships.. "My dad is the captain. I'm just helping out."

"Don't be modest! Captain-in-training, then," Talia insists, her own smile never faltering. "That's a huge responsibility. One that takes dedication, and skill, and commitment. It's not something that everyone can manage." She lifts her teacup in a subtle toast. "And from what I hear from my nephew, you're quite the hero. Without you, who knows what those fishermen's fate could've been—"

The world narrows to static, blurring underwater as memories surge — your mother’s disappointed sigh when you moved back home, classmates’ LinkedIn posts gleaming like knives (Curatorial Assistant @ Metropolitan Museum!), the ferry’s deck tilting beneath your boots as waves swallowed the bow…

“—really admire that kind of dedication,” Talia was saying when you tune back in. "But what did you study, if you don't mind me asking?"

Your lungs refuse to inflate properly, and you get in a careful cough in to get rid of that feeling. It doesn’t work.

Rafayel’s chair screeches suddenly as he stands, his robe billowing like a storm cloud. It startles you.

He's been so silent this whole time that you forgot he was there, curled up in his chair and observing the two of you speak, his head tilted in a way a cat’s would while watching a bird from a window. Now, his sudden motion makes the wisteria above shudder, and the wind picks up, sending the purple hair tumbling across his shoulders in waves of silk, his earring swaying.

"I'm bored," he says, the words clipped. He gives his aunt a pointed glance. "Are we done here?"

Talia's brows furrow. "Don't be rude. We have a guest, Rafayel." Her chiding is gentle, but firm. There's a certain authority to her that reminds you of how a parent would scold their child.

"Well, she clearly is. Look at her," he gestures toward you with a flourish of his sleeve, and for a second, his smile is a slash of lightning across his face. “Soooooo bored. All that landlubber talk is making her wilt. Glub glub glub, job job job. That's how it sounds. I can't stand to watch anymore."

Your mouth drops open. Landlubber?

But before you can protest, he's rounding the table, the hem of his robe dragging over the stone tiles, his bare feet making no noise. When he reaches you, he extends a hand, the gesture grand and sweeping. A prince from a fairy tale. The beads and thin chains of the bracelets you hadn’t noticed because of the concealing layers of fabric clink and shingle with the motion.

"Come," he says. "I want to show you something."

You stare at his offered palm, at the delicate bones and tendons that shift beneath the skin, the fine tracery of veins that run up the inside of his wrist.

"Umm," you trail off, wary of his motives and stealing a glance to a suspiciously calm-looking Talia. There's no trace from her earlier admonishing, it's all soft interest and a certain understanding now you aren't privy to. You wonder what that means. "It's okay, I'm not—"

"Yes, you are, you hate these talks," he cuts you off, and his hand stays suspended in mid-air, waiting. Patient, yet insistent. His fingers twitch. The sea breeze plays with the ends of his hair. Then, softer, gentler: "Indulge me."

Rafayel brings you to a damn lagoon, of all things.

Of course there's a secluded lagoon tucked away right in the middle of the island. Of course this happens to be an atoll.

As a kid, you'd spend hours scouring the coastline, looking for hidden places to be candidates for your secret base away from your siblings. It was thrilling, discovering a place that was yours and yours alone, untouched and untainted. Raf's cove and grotto became that for you, in a way, a private oasis that's yours to explore and enjoy. Except that it wasn't just a simple nook in a rock, rather, it was a legitimate, actual, real-life hidden paradise.

But this is something else. This is... a level of fantasy you're unfamiliar with. A shock and flash of endless blue, opening your eyes to sunlight after staying in the dark for a long time.

Everywhere is a kaleidoscope of hues, shades, and tints — a thousand variations of green and blue that shift and blend and shimmer in the afternoon light, creating a dazzling display cupped in the bowl of sugar-white sandbars, cradled within the surrounding forest that forms a ring around it. The water is crystal clear and pristine, reflecting the sky and the surrounding landscape with mirror-like perfection.

As you step closer, the sand squishes underfoot, cool and silky against your toes, and the sound of the lapping waves is a soothing backdrop to the rustling leaves and chirping birds. You swear you can see parrotfish nibbling at coral pillars and striped damselfish darting through shafts of sunlight and the shadows of large schools.

Yeah, you wouldn't take one step outside if this was where you lived.

You can't help the wonder from spilling forth, hundred percent sure that your eyes must be sparkling. "Wow..."

"Admit it," Rafayel says, already knee-deep in the shallows, and you sputter at the sight of the hem of his robe floating on the surface, the luxurious velvet a violet stain on the waters that's drifting and rippling gently. Not only is he ruining the fabric by not taking it off, but his pants are also intact. Can velvet even go in the washing machine? What is his pants made out of? How much would the dry cleaning bill would be? Oh god. Fucking rich people. "This beats talking about spreadsheets."

"We weren't even talking about spre—"

You're interrupted by something flying at your face, a pearly moon snail shell that thumps harmlessly against your collarbone before it ricochets off you and plops into the water with a plink.

“Catch!” He lobs another — a spotted cowrie this time — and instinct makes you lunge sideways like a goalkeeper avoiding a penalty shot. The shell sails past into a tide pool where three startled hermit crabs abandon their lunch.

“Are you five?” You swat at the next projectile, a spiraled whelk that left sand grit in your palm.

His grin sparkles with mischief as he flicks his impossibly long hair back, the wavy strands sweeping behind him, a silken curtain unfurling in a gentle breeze, and you ignore the Mom-like urge to tell him to tie his hair up. “You’re smiling.”

You weren’t — until he says it, and then you're fighting a traitorous twitch of lips as he bends to pluck something from the seabed, and there the lower half of his hair goes, getting wet. The robe is halfway ruined at this point.

Water sluices off his arms as he presents his prize, a conch shell blushed pink as dawn clouds, still glistening with seawater.

You open your hands to the sides, shaking your shoulders once. "What are we doing?"

He's not looking at you, instead, he's holding the conch between his palms, his long, slender fingers curving around its elegant curves. "You'd rather stay and talk more with Talia about what your shame thinks you're failing at?"

Your smile drops. The hot flashes are immediate. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused," is the casual response. An infuriating smile curls across his face as his thumb traces the delicate contours of the conch, lingering on a particularly rough patch.

"Listen here," you snap, stomping up to him, and the splash is louder than intended. "I don't know where you got that from, you don't know what you're talking about—"

"Don't I?" Rafayel interjects with a knowing look.

He leans in, his lavender scent wafting over you, a hint of saltwater and a curious muskiness that reminds you of the depths of the ocean.

"You think these hands," he turns your palm upward, tracing saltwater calluses you'd tried scrubbing away with pumice stones, "are any less worthy than ones clutching a piece of paper from some ivory tower and treat it as a golden ticket to life?" His touch lingers over a fresh rope burn near your thumb webbing, and the heat of his skin seeps into yours. "How are you any less of a person? Is the fisherman's soul any less noble than that of the scholar's, or the artist's?"

You're speechless for a moment, staring at his hand cradling yours, the smoothness of his unblemished, ring-clad fingers a striking counterpoint to the weather-worn texture of yours. You try to pull your hand away but he doesn't relent, staring right into your soul with those horizon eyes of his.

“Of course not. That’s not — that’s not what this is about.”

“Isn’t it?”

His habit of answering with more questions is starting to grate on your nerves. You catch a brief flash of hurt in his quick blinks when you yank your hand away, feeling the sharp edge of his rings scrape against your skin. “What do you know about any of this? You’re just a wealthy kid who can afford to drag velvet through saltwater and mud like it’s nothing and — and you go around wearing a fur with nothing underneath, what... Spare me the lecture on shame or the dignity of hard work, you’re the last person who should be talking to me about it.”

He laughs in your face. He. Laughs. In. Your. Face.

And not a polite, demure chuckle either, no, the man throws his head back and cackles like a witch on a broomstick. Like you’ve just said the funniest thing in the world. Your blood boils. You're ready to grab the conch and bash his pretty face in, or at least shove his smug ass to dunk his head in the water, anything to get that mocking look out of his features. How dare he, to belittle you like that, to act like the entire conversation is a big joke. To mock your struggles and experiences and make them seem so trivial, when it's something that's been plaguing you since forever. Just because he's a trust fund brat doesn't give him the right to ridicule you—

"Yeah, okay. Alright. I get it." His laughter dies down with a loud exhale that has weight behind it, a distant look on his face that goes from somber to a prickly smile that raises the little hairs on the back of your neck. "I don't think it's me who you're angry at. I'm not the one calling my work, and the work of my family, worthless. Inferior. Isn't that right?"

The gentle approach suddenly turning into an unabashedly exposing angle hit you in the sternum, knocking the wind out of you, your chest starts to rise and fall in a panicked rhythm, hands curling into fists at your sides. "I'm not fucking doing this," you murmur, turning on your heels to march the other way.

"Where are you going?" Rafayel calls after you, infuriatingly light and playful in a way that gives away its purpose.

You’re not going to take this lying down.

"Don't talk to me," you throw back without looking.

"Why are you so determined to be miserable?”

You freeze mid-step, heart racing as you pivot on your heel. Your gaze locks onto him, eyes wide with disbelief, and your lips part in a silent gasp, any clever retort you could come up with having slipped away just when you needed them most. "What did you just say to me?"

He is a demon from the depths of hell, cloaked in a guise so enchanting it could make angels weep, cradling the conch shell still, turning it over as though contemplating an orb of secrets. The smile playing on his lips curls like a wicked crescent moon, glinting with trouble and utterly devoid of remorse, giving you the dread that he’s privy to every shadowy thought that dances through your mind.

"You don’t get to live what you meticulously planned in your little dream journal when you were sixteen, isn’t that what this is? End of the world as you know it?"

That is the final straw.

You realize now that you’re no more than an insect pinned under glass, a specimen for his twisted analysis during your fleeting stay in his world. The way he speaks, dripping with condescension, casually dismantling any shred of common sense and courtesy while he picks you apart — it all coalesces into a singular point of white-hot rage.

As soon as the words "My dream journal?" leave your mouth in a shriek that’s raw and torn from your throat, you're already on the move, a storm surging forward to retrace her path.

Your hand snatches his collar, fingers bunching into the soft fabric of his ridiculous robe, and you yank him down with a force that knocks the smirk clean off his face.

“You think this is about some childish fantasy? This is my life you’re sneering at and feel oh so comfortable just telling me to stop being miserable like a king demanding a court jester to stop the performance! You stand there, draped in… in whatever that is, looking like you’ve never had a real problem in your entire existence, and you dare to—to—"

Words fail you for a moment, choking on the sheer audacity of him. You jab a finger in his face, trembling. “You know nothing! Nothing about what it’s like to pour your heart and soul into something, to sacrifice, to believe you’re finally on the right track, only to come to hate the world you fought so hard to become a part of laugh in your face and send you crawling back with your tail between your legs! To have that piece of paper, that golden ticket, turn out to be worth less than the fancy toilet paper in your aunt’s gilded bathroom!”

The outburst rips through you and shakes your lungs, shuddering and violent as a rogue wave. Rafayel’s provoking smirk is gone and has been for a while now, replaced by a chilling attentiveness that is almost a calculated switch flip. He isn’t playing with the conch anymore. The silence that envelops him is more taunting than any argument could muster, as if he’s forgotten that it was he who kept prodding the beehive that is your emotions.

His eyes, wide and glazed over, seem to have lost their focus, and his lips part slightly. There's a subtle shift in his stance — not retreating, but leaning ever so slightly toward you in the space between you that has compressed.

But you don't see it.

Instead, you're consumed by the pounding of your own pulse echoing in your ears and the solid presence of him beneath your grip that you want to crumple up like paper. The warmth emanating from his skin where your knuckles graze the curve of his collarbone register as your own with how your blood is on fire. You’re too far gone, drowning in a turbulent sea of anger and humiliation, the raw sting of a confession laid bare keeping you blind to how still he’s become, blinding you to his dazed expression, as if he's caught in the eye of something both sacred and shattering.

“It’s not just about not getting to live what I planned!” you continue, voice cracking, like a mirror, or a dream, the pent-up shame and frustration of months, years, finally breaching the dam. “It’s the looks! The pitying smiles! ‘Oh, back so soon?’ ‘Couldn’t hack it out there, huh?’ It’s seeing everyone else move on, build lives, while you’re stuck in reverse, replaying all your failures! It’s the crushing weight of knowing you disappointed everyone, especially yourself. And then,” the words tumble out of your mouth like sea glass, smooth and worn down by years of turmoil and emotion. “then the worst part is… sometimes… sometimes it doesn’t even feel that bad. Being back on that ferry, feeling the deck under my feet, the people, the salt spray on my face… it feels right. It feels like breathing again after nearly drowning. And that, that tiny bit of relief, that’s the most shameful part of all! To find comfort and secretly enjoy the thing you were supposed to leave behind because it means you’ve failed at everything else! What did I do it all for if I was going to end up right back where I started, then?”

You take a moment to swallow down the angry tears, not looking up from your shaking hand about to rip his necklace right off. “Every single day I betray myself whenever I feel any kind of joy here. So yeah. Yeah, it is the shame. Is that what you wanted to hear? Does it feel good to hear that you were right?”

The ensuing quiet is deafening, filled only with the sound of water gently lapping against the shore and the occasional squawk of a seabird overhead. You can almost hear the ghost of his damned smirk in the breeze, can imagine his smugness, the satisfaction of having cracked open your vulnerabilities and laid them bare for his observation and mockery. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing the humiliation in your face, the stinging in your nose that signals imminent tears, the tightness in your chest that threatens to suffocate you.

"No," he says softly, and the unexpected tenderness in his tone startles you.

Your head snaps up in a whip of your hair, your watery glare piercing through him, daring him to continue his charade of concern or pity, whichever cruel act he chooses to indulge in next. But his face betrays none of that. Instead, his features are etched in an earnest, worried way that's as foreign as his touch had been to you.

His brows are drawn together, lips pursed in a slight frown, and his irises are a stormy plum, darkened with a sincerity that seems out of place in the vibrant colors of the lagoon. His fingers twitch and relax, a rhythmic, anxious pulsing that makes the opals in his rings catch and refract the light, casting tiny, scattered prisms on his skin.

What is he, a child? What’s with the sudden remorse? He’s the one who provoked you to get the reaction he wanted. This isn’t a bonding moment, nor was it indended to be so. He taunted you without using a single offensive insult, made assumptions about you that hit all the weak places, all from his high horse — just to appear backpedaling at the very last second?

Yeah, no. You don’t fuck with that. He’s playing with you, the bastard.

"We’re done here," you spit, drop the grip you have on him, and begin marching off toward the direction of the manor, hoping to put enough distance between you and him before the dam breaks and the flood comes, your feet kicking up small splashes of water.

You stop though, sniffle vindictively, holding a finger up as if you just remembered something, and turn around, "One more thing. I hope you enjoyed making a show out of me and the momentary entertainment you got. Because the moment you take a step outside this island and cross my path, the first thing that I see that'll fit in my hand will be used to knock you flat on that dumb, pretty face of yours," you promise. "I don't care if you're rich enough to get me in trouble. Trust I have more reach than you. I don't even care you saved my life. Fucking stay away from me."

"You think my face is pretty?"

"Go fuck yourself!" The scream is so loud and sharp that the flock of seagulls perched on the rocks scatter in alarm, taking flight in a cacophony of screeches and flapping wings, leaving him alone in the center of the lagoon, his silhouette a lone figure in the midst of the disturbed waters and the swirling sand.

Rafayel stares at the wake of your departure, the conch shell in his hand. A slow, drunk smile unfurls across his face — half-dazed, half-devotional — as his knuckles drift upward, the pad of his thumb catching on the swell of his bottom lip.

As you round a curve shaded by flowering jacaranda trees, their purple blossoms fallen confetti on the path, you hear them. Voices. Familiar voices. Your parents. They are alare ready on the patio, Mom is sitting in one of the wrought-iron chairs, her shoulders hunched forward as she speaks animatedly with Talia, who is perched on the edge of her own seat, listening with that same serene attentiveness. Dad stands a little way off, near the balustrade, his arms crossed, looking out at the view, though his posture is stiff, alert.

The sight of them, solid and real, and oh-so-familiar, nudges a younger version of yourself from deep inside. You are suddenly a child again, wanting nothing more than to run to your mother and sob on her shoulder, to have your father stroke your hair and murmur comforting words after a nightmare.

“Mom? Dad?”

Their heads snap up. Mom gasps, a choked sound, and then she is out of her chair, stumbling slightly as she rushed towards you. “Oh, my baby! My baby!”

She collides with you in a fierce hug, her small frame trembling against yours, the familiar scent of her soap and worry enveloping you. You cling back, burying your face in her hair, the fight with Rafayel momentarily forgotten, replaced by a wave of overwhelming relief and a fresh surge of guilt for the fear you’d put them through.

Dad is there a second later, his big hands gripping your shoulders and rubbing your back, his eyes, red-rimmed, scanning you from head to toe. “You’re alright? You’re really alright?”

“I’m okay, Dad,” you manage thickly. “I’m so sorry I almost lost the ferry—”

“No, no, don't,” Mom sobs, pulling back to cup your face, her thumbs wiping at tears you hadn’t realized were falling. “We thought… we thought…”

“We’re just glad you’re safe,” Dad finishes, gruff with emotion. He turns to Talia, who has risen and is watching with a soft smile. “Mrs. Talia, we… we can’t thank you enough.”

“It was truly no trouble at all,” Talia says warmly. “Though, I must correct you. It was my nephew Rafayel, who found her and brought her here. He’s the real hero of the hour.”

As if summoned, Rafayel has appeared at the edge of the patio, presumably sneaking through while your family was having a group hug, his purple robe now clinging damply to his frame, the ends darkened and heavy. He's avoiding your gaze, his own fixed on a particularly interesting patch of flagstone near his bare feet, a subtle pout playing on his lips, looking less like a Ghibli prince and more like a drowned, petulant kitten.

Your parents turn to him, their expressions shifting to awe and gratitude.

“Rafayel, is it? Young man, we owe you everything,” Dad says, extending a hand.

“Yes. Yes, we do. Thank you, dear,” Mom echoes, stepping closer. “How can we ever repay you?”

“No need.” He finally looks up, his smile radiant, but his body language awkward, almost shy, as he takes Dad's hand in a firm shake. His fingers, long and pale, are a striking counterpoint to Dad's work-roughened grip, the glint of his rings catching in the sunlight and highlighting his slender digits. "I'm happy to help. Anyone would've done the same in my place."

"Nonsense," Dad insists, pumping Rafayel's hand enthusiastically. "You went above and beyond.”

"There must be something we can do. A reward, a gift, anything. It's the least we can offer."

"Oh, no. Really, you're too kind. Seeing her safe is the only reward I could ask for."

"But—"

"I won't accept anything, please, I insist." As they speak, the two of you lock gazes over their heads, and his smile stretches a fraction wider. "Besides," he continues, returning his attention to your parents. "There's no greater treasure than reuniting a family."

The conversation that follows is a short one. Your parents want to take you home as soon as possible and get you checked out by your doctor. They are adamant to pay Rafayel though, or at least send a gift, and he remains unfailingly polite and gracious in his refusal, which is infuriating since you know him to be the opposite of those things.

In fact, every part of this is irritating. The exchanged numbers with Talia, the promise of staying in touch, the hugs goodbye; all of it feels surreal, like it's happening to someone else, and you're merely an observer, hovering somewhere outside your own body. And then, just like that, it's over. You are being ushered away and find yourself in the boat your parents have taken here instead of the ferry. The motor chugs to life, and the shoreline slips away, carrying with it the island, the manor, Talia, and Rafayel.

He's standing on the dock, the sun beginning its descent behind him, his silhouette growing smaller and fainter. He raises a hand in farewell, a gesture that seems both oddly formal and strangely intimate. You don’t return it.

You miss Raf so bad.

“Are you absolutely sure you’re alright?” Mom's voice carries over the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull, a question she'd posed at least a hundred times. Dad is keeping one ear on the conversation, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigates through the choppy waters. “No headaches or dizziness?”

Wrapped snugly in a blanket she had insisted upon, you feel the boat's engine thrumming beneath your feet, a comforting vibration that seems to resonate with your bones. "I'm fine, Mom. Just tired," you slur your words, leaning into her shoulder. The warmth and familiar scent of her lull you into a drowsy haze now that you're fully safe.

“Let me just check,” she tuts, her hand gently probing your side through the blanket. “You said you hit your side when you fell?”

You remember the sharp pain when you tried standing up on that beach, the way you’d clutched your side, the blood staining your ripped turtleneck and the sand you were resting on. “Yeah, I think I got a nasty cut on the rocks or something.”

Mom frowns, her fingers pressing more firmly. “Where? I don’t feel anything. Are you sure it was this side?”

You sit up, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach, pulling the blanket away and lifting the hem of the borrowed sweater, then the t-shirt underneath. Your fingers trace the skin of your side, where the jagged rocks of the Teeth should have left their mark.

There's nothing.

Not a scratch, not a sore bruise, not even a faint pink line to indicate where the bleeding stripeis had been. The skin is smooth, unblemished,.

You stare, bewildered, your mind racing back to the searing pain, the crimson stain, Rafayel not wanting to be piggybacked because he was afraid of hurting you further. It was real. You recall it clearly.

“See?” Mom sighs, relieved. “Nothing there. You must have just imagined it in all the chaos, poor thing.”

[softgh0stbites]

i missed drawing him v_v

[softgh0stbites]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Eclipsed Affections

Rating: Sfw but suggestive + a lil vulnerable Vincent.

Pairing: Vincent x Reader

Summary: You and Vincent have interacted much for the past week since your last encounter. Though ever the softie, he can't help but interrupt your brooding session on the beach with no idea of how to make it up to you. Read these for previous context: Where Desire Slumbers & Dawn's Resolve

Notes: I am not writing a serious fanfiction but my heart hurt for the way I left the last ramble post and I needed some closure- ♡ I think Vincent can be misunderstood sometimes as a character, that he is cold- but I think he's incredibly kind but awkward to show it usually through acts of service instead of words of affirmation (at least right now) I was up late at night everytime I came back to this so there's probably a lot of misspellings and maybe some parts are rushed but I hope you enjoy~ ♡ also someone please listen to Under The Weather by Corpse and tell me it doesn't match him GODDDD I need someone to bounce ideas off of and music ♡ I'm so into writing for this man.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It had almost been a week since your last encounter with Vincent. The memory of that moment lingered vividly despite you trying your best to clear it up. It was the way your heart had plummeted as he left you standing there, dumbfounded, embarrassed, dejected... maybe even a little angry; that made moving on difficult. His eyes, boiling with anguish, had seemed to plead with you, almost begging you to stop him. But the butterflies in your stomach had long since dropped dead, leaving you unsure of what was right anymore. You rarely locked eyes, but it wasn't like you didn't see him after that. He seemed to do anything to stay away from you and vice versa, even when the others would watch with curiosity you didn't want to entertain.

You sighed, shaking your head to clear the intrusive thoughts while your hands busied themselves breaking apart bread. You were hungry, ravished from your journey but you didnt feel like sitting with the group and cooking out over a grill or sitting at one of the pubs. Especially if he was there, so close to you but distant anyway. Utensils would’ve been helpful, but you didn’t have any, and the loaf crumbled unevenly under your grip. Seated on the beach of Costa del Sol, you watched the dreary sun slowly sink toward the horizon. Its soft, molten orange glow only annoyed you more—it was the same color as Vincent’s eyes, mocking you.

The bread crumbled further as your hand tightened, frustration bubbling over as you muttered a string of curses. Reaching for the jar nestled in the sand beside you, you unscrewed the lid with quick, practiced fingers. The honey glistened inside, and you dipped your fingers in, spreading it on the bread without care for the sticky mess. You didn’t mind. You could always lick it off later.

'I wish it was him licking it instead with an apology,'

Groaning at the stray thought, you shoved the honey-slathered bread into your mouth, chewing loudly in a futile attempt to drown out the ache in your chest. That night, when you had cried quietly into your pillow, it hadn’t been for yourself. No, it had been for him. You ached for the man who was so convinced he didn’t deserve even the simplest affirmation.

You finished the bread and licked your fingers one by one, your tongue sliding between each digit methodically. The sticky residue would’ve been a nuisance if you decided to join Aerith and Tifa for cards later, though the thought felt distant. They’d already noticed your mood over the past week, pressing you despite your insistence that it wasn’t a big deal.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you stared out at the darkening waves, the scrape of loneliness rising behind your eyes. Even the sun was abandoning you, slipping away to hide behind its lover, leaving you here in the itchy sand with sticky fingers and crumbs on your face.

Amidst the rhythmic sound of lapping tides, the soft clink of metal broke through, unmistakable and familiar. Your heart sank and burned all at once. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Of course it was him. Of all times, why now? He probably wasn’t even here on his own volition—maybe the group was waiting on you for something.

The clinking stopped, and the last light of the sun threw his shadow over you. You clenched your thighs with your palms, steadying yourself before forcing out the words.

"Is something happening? I’ll just be a few more minutes." You squeezed your eyes shut, willing your voice to stay even despite the hammering pulse in your throat. "Please."

The final word quivered with unspoken desperation—a silent plea for him to leave. If he wanted you to move on, to stop feeling this way, he needed to walk away. You couldn’t see him, couldn’t smell him, or you’d be undone all over again.

But he didn’t leave.

The sand shifted behind you, and a steady warmth radiated at your back. Something soft brushed against your bare shoulders, and the hair on your neck stood on end. Opening your eyes, you glanced down at the shadow cast over you. Vincent had seated himself at your back, lounging lazily with one leg outstretched, the other bent at the knee. His head drooped slightly forward, his posture casual despite the tension crackling between you.

Irritation bubbled in your chest, mixing with the undeniable yearning to lean into the silent comfort he was offering.

"That wasn’t an invitation, you know," you muttered, a sharp edge in your voice.

If it bothered him, he didn’t let it show. "I thought we were sharing nice views," he replied, his tone as dry as ever.

"You’re facing the wrong way, and the sun’s leaving us behind," you sighed, your exhaustion seeping into your words. Despite yourself, you scooted a little closer, cautiously leaning into his back. He didn’t move away.

Despite everything, you wanted this. You should’ve known it would take time, patience, effort. A soft chuckle rumbled through him, low and unhurried, and you couldn’t help but wonder if his humor was that dry or if he’d caught on to what you were implying.

"Would you prefer I turn around?" he asked, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. There was a quiet note in it—almost like he was asking for forgiveness.

You leaned further into him, your head brushing against his shoulder blades. He was so tall that even the small bump made your neck ache, but you didn’t care.

"Do you even know how much..." You stopped, stumbling over the words in your head. "Do you... think of me?" The question slipped out in a whisper, hesitant and vulnerable.

If he could feel the way your heart was hammering against your ribs, you’d have thrown yourself into the waves out of sheer embarrassment. You could handle it if he said no if he finally shut you out completely. But deep down, you knew better. There had been too many moments—unspoken glances, the brush of his hand against yours while unpacking boxes, the way he always seemed to linger near you. His body betrayed what his face worked so hard to hide.

"Often," he admitted, his voice low and steady.

Before you could respond, he shifted behind you. The next thing you knew, his legs slid around your frame, his knees bent and enclosing you as his arms rested lightly over them. You were trapped, but the weight of him didn’t feel oppressive. Instead, it was grounding. Comforting.

"Too often," he added, his breath warm against your ear. The tone of his voice was thick, lazy, syrupy, and god when it brushed the shell of your ear you wanted more.

He didn’t quite touch you, and you knew that if you wanted to, you could get up and he wouldn’t stop you. He’d let you leave. But something about this moment felt different—this was far too forward of him.

Tilting your head back, you looked up at his face, catching his eyes for the first time in what felt like a month. He was beautiful in the way only he could be, his hair sticking to his skin from the heat, a dusting of peach along the tops of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. But it was his eyes and their slight vulnerability in dusky depths that held you. He watched you as you watched him, and your mind lagged, struggling to process that he actually thought of you.

Your lips tilted into a half-smile. "Well, you don’t show it, do you?"

You reached up, your fingers brushing toward him instinctively a part of you knowing he wouldn’t push you away. There was something different about him, it was something softer. You noticed his mouth working at the top of his neckline, lips parting and closing again, before he let out a sigh so heavy it seemed to carry all his restraint.

"How would you like me to show it?" he asked, his tone challenging, dripping like poison unto you. A poison you'd drink yourself stupid with.

"Vincent," you began, bracing yourself for the vulnerability in your next words, "I don’t want you to pull away from me anymore." Even as you said it, you felt the rise of panic, ready to run if he rejected you again. You didn’t think you could handle another cold refusal.

But instead of answering, his hand settled near your waist, hovering as if asking for permission. The heat of his palm radiated through your clothes, and even though he didn’t touch you, you could feel the electricity in the air between you. He leaned forward, tilting his head down to meet your gaze fully. Your neck began to ache from the angle, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. His bangs fell into your eyes, tickling your nose, making you shiver.

God, he had to be ridiculously flexible to contort down to you like this.

"I can’t—" he started, his voice faltering as the sun flared in his eye. He swallowed hard, his words thick and heavy. "I need— I want, but I can’t..." His voice cracked slightly, and your breath caught as you stared at him. His lips, parted ever so slightly, were the perfect shape, a cupid’s bow you couldn’t stop imagining against your own. You wanted to feel their softness with your fingertips, your teeth, your tongue.

Gathering your courage, you let yourself lean against him, resting your head on his collarbone if only it wasn't covered with his cloak, buckles, and leather. Your lashes batting up at him shyly. "You want?" you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. "Tell me."

Your voice made your cheeks burn, the sound of it so unfamiliar, almost foreign. This was all so strange like one moment you were trying to forget him, to bury this infatuation, and the next, you were slotted between his thighs with him looking like he wanted to devour you whole.

Slowly, carefully—as if not to startle you—he moved, although he probably never could with how loud his movements were in general. The crinkle of leather and the soft click of his gauntlet sounded loud in your ears as he raised his hand, sliding it under your jaw. His touch was impossibly gentle, his glove cool against your skin as he tilted your face upward, stretching your neck a little further, exposed. He was studying you like he was committing every detail to memory. His thumb brushed a lazy, feather-light stroke along the side of your jaw, over the sweep of your ear and towards your temple. His gauntlet fingers left a trail of icy fire in their wake, making your mouth dry and you felt your resistance to forgive crumbling under his care.

He touched you as if you were glass, his grip sweet and fragile. The ocean breeze picked up, ruffling your clothes and making you shiver as you closed your eyes, momentarily overwhelmed.

"Everything," he finally murmured, the word purring from deep in his chest, thick with vulnerability. "Anything you’ll give me. Whatever you need from me." His tongue darted out briefly, wetting his lips, and your gaze lingered on them, sinful and inviting.

You couldn’t stop yourself. Shifting, you captured his hand in yours so it didnt hang useless between you, turning to nestle on your knees so you could meet his gaze at eye level. Your head spun with thoughts, ideas of what to ask for or what to take since he was offering so freely. But something nagged at you. Something twisted about this self-service he was offering.

As you leaned closer, you noticed the bleary haze in his eyes, half-lidded and dusky. You inhaled sharply, catching the faint scent of liquor. It was bitter and strong. The realization hit you like a splash of cold water.

"Are you—?" you started, pulling back slightly, unwilling to let this go further if he wasn’t in the right state of mind.

He stilled, and for the first time, a rare and crooked grin spread across his lips. His sharp canines flashed, making you swallow hard. You didn’t know what he found so amusing, but the sight of his grin struck something deep in your chest. He carded a hand over his face, ruffling his dark locks and leaving himself even more disheveled than before.

After a moment of composure, he answered, his grin fading as he met your gaze with quiet intensity. "No. Unfortunately, I’ll never have the luxury of letting go." His tone was heavy, but his lips quirked faintly, almost self-deprecating. "You’re not some villain out to steal my virtue, so don’t trouble yourself."

His hand slid back under your chin, guiding your face closer to his as his gaze dropped to your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed instinctively, thinking this was it, finally...

"What if I am a villain out to steal your virtue?" you squeaked, half-joking, half-desperate.

His breath ghosted over your cheek as his nose bumped against the top of your cheekbone. Slowly, he inhaled, as if memorizing the scent of your skin. His nose brushed lower, gliding along your jaw before returning to hover near your lips. The sensation sent shivers racing down your spine.

"Tough luck," he murmured, a quiet smugness in his tone as if to say it was never in question to begin with, his virtue. He continued his gentle ministrations, making heat pool low, fire stocking your belly. His lips were whispering over the places his nose touched, but only slightly, not daring to touch you quite yet. He had said that touch was very important to him, so the act of this was unthinkable to you. You hadn't thought you'd be sitting here being stock still as he took pleasure in teasing you with haunting trails of that mouth. You were almost worried he would end up finding sticky honey and crumbs if he continued at this pace, hoping to god it wouldn't ruin the moment.

In all the silence passing between you again, he was making you lose your train of thought to reply, your throat swallowing as his lip just barely fluttered over your pulse point before he continued to make you squirm.

His voice low and velvety, a dangerous whisper. "What do you plan to do with my virtue once it’s yours?"

He was entertaining you while also asking a weighted question, his face pulling back slightly to meet your gaze as your eyes opened. You could see how strong his restraint was, like stone, ceremoniously holding himself together without letting a single crack show. But now, here with you, those cracks were visible, his facade slipping as his eyes stayed fixed on yours, the weight of his stare pinning you down.

Before you could answer, he spoke again, his voice softer, almost as if the words weren’t meant for you.

"I’ve already given more of myself to you than I meant to," he admitted, the frustration clear in his tone. His eyes dropped for a moment before meeting yours again, his brow furrowed. "You shouldn’t want me. You’re something I was never meant to touch, but I keep reaching for you. I can’t stop."

The raw honesty of his words made your heart ache. You could see how much he hated admitting it and hated the truth of it. His problems felt like they went far deeper than just a man betrayed by Shinra and left to wander alone. There was a darkness clinging to him, a weight heavier than regret, and it was clear it had been with him far longer than you realized.

You took his hand that was still in yours, raising it to your cheek and nuzzling against his knuckles. The cool material of his glove contrasted with your skin, but you didn’t care. Slowly, you lowered his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss there, like a quiet apology for being the source of such turmoil.

"You haunt me too," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. You kissed each of his fingers as he watched you, his gaze flickering occasionally toward the darkening horizon, like he needed to steady himself. "You’re my ghost, drowning in regrets I don’t know anything about." You paused when his teeth bit down on his bottom lip, the flash of his sharp canines staying in your mind. "But I’d never think less of you for struggling with what you carry."

Before he could retort with self-pity and dismissive ideas about himself and what you should think of him, you squinted your eyes as if to say; Save it. You weren't usually so bold, but this idea that you're sitting in front of him being vulnerable as well. Another crash of water against the tides pulled you both from the intense stare off, your mind struggling to catch up to all that was occurring but nothing about Vincent was simple- you knew it. He was already giving you so much more than he ever did, spoke to you more than he ever had, you couldn't falter in this moment. Your hands were trembling at the idea that you could make one wrong move or simply open your eyes to find you had fallen asleep on this wide beach.

After a moment, you let go of his hand and rested your head on his shoulder. It felt silly to want to hold him tight, especially after a moment ago when you’d wanted him in an entirely different way, not as tender. But right now, more than anything, you wanted to make him feel safe. If this was all you could offer, then so be it. Your arms carefully wrapped around his neck, cautious not to brush against his skin. Your fingers wanted to slide into his hair, but you wouldn't push it considering his shoulders were still stiff regardless of the golden shoulder pads he wore underneath the cloak. His gauntlet shifted softly as he pressed his hands against your upper back, his fingers spreading wide as he pulled you closer with a quiet, low grumble. He finally slumped a bit forward, cheek resting in a tilted fashion on the side of your head, puffs of his breath stirring your hair.

You stayed silent as the moments passed until your eyes began to close from exhaustion, both emotional and physical. Vincent didn’t seem to mind. The quiet was his element, his steady breaths and the sound of the tide lapping against the shore, keeping you from fully drifting off.

You knew he wouldn’t say anything like I fancy you, I love you, or even I like you. You could deal with that. Maybe you’d never hear those words from him, and maybe he didn’t want your love, only your kindness. It didn’t matter. As long as he stayed like this, as long as he was yours in these moments, you could be content. This version of him was yours to keep, and you wanted to hold onto it selfishly.

Still, the thought of him opening up to others someday, making meaningful connections, or finding peace in conversation was comforting. You didn’t want to keep him entirely to yourself. But here, now, in the warmth of his hands on your back, his thumb brushing softly against your shoulder and rubbing lazily down to your lower back and up again, the quiet comfort he shared with you, this was yours.

Vincent was your forbidden fruit, and you were more than keen to sink your teeth into him. Gently at first, but firm if you must.

[softgh0stbites]

I'm not dead, I swear, and I'll have an update soon! ♡

[softgh0stbites]

vincent for a friend.

[softgh0stbites]

AO3: [read the fic here!]

---

rated M, 4818 words

An older piece from a Mer AU for the pairing, it's been far too long since Vincent has laid eyes on his landbound lady love, and he has a special surprise for her on this date night~

Written a couple years ago, I do have this AU outlined, as well as some older asks about the AU itself and Vincent's design. I will absolutely have more posted for it, and if you're curious about it (or anything else), by all means, ask away! I love rambling about Vincent, Reilena, FFVII, my AUs, and just in general, ♥♥♥

[softgh0stbites]

҉ ⁀➷ 𝑺𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑭𝑳𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑺

╰ 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃 LOVE AND DEEPSPACE: SPRING AND FLOWERS