🕯 ⭑ Favs: Bloodborne, Final Fantasy 7|8|10|13|, Mandela Catalogue, Nier - Drakengard, Deus Ex Machina, Tri-Gun, DMC, Helsing, Love & Deepspace, Horror/Psychological horror in general and anything vampire/monster romance themed is my cup of tea. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
🕯 ⭑ I'm a novice writer with no hopes to ever create anything brilliant, but I hope you enjoy my 3am scrabble pile that I'll never schedule consistently. lol. I'm pretty open to chatting, don't be afraid to ask me any questions about my rambles. I'm friendly, I swear. ༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚.
Dms: Open
Requests: Open but limited to my interests
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Current Works:
🕯 Vincent Valentine
⭑ Daydreams about Vincent Valentine [Suggestive/NSFW] [A mini series]: I II III IIII IIIII
It's been awhile and yeah I'm still floating around. I haven't picked up writing again except for small bursts so unfortunately nothing new from me. Ive been going through severe depression and a lot of tests to evaluate myself for autism and ADHD. I've just been too tired to interact much— I'm always a quiet supporter of mutuals and their stories tho. 💜
summary: To take the throne, you must also take a husband. When you meet the knight to have your hand, he is faceless, nameless. He hardly ever speaks, and never removes his armor. Every attempt to get to know him is to no avail. Frustration continues to take hold of you at your marriage to this stranger, until the tension reaches a breaking point on your wedding night.
★pairing: knight!xavier x queen!reader
★wc: 9.5k
★content: arranged marriage au. knight in armor xavier who doesn't take his helmet off. tension that comes with marrying a stranger. fluff & mild angst. smut, faceless sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv, loss of virginity. he guides you through it and frequently checks in. brief misunderstanding that's quickly cleared up. talk of marital duties and if you want an heir. slow romance. xavier has scars.
★a/n: I disappeared for a bit because writing this consumed me. also shoutout to @asiatic-apple for encouraging me to do this idea hehe ty ivy!!
★masterlist
You were barely past twenty two summers when your elder sister died, thus declaring you the next queen of your kingdom.
As the only other descendant of your family line, you had been prepared for the possibility of taking the throne since childhood. But while other prospective heirs across kingdoms longed for the day their own flesh and blood may meet an early end, you mourned for the loss of your kin.
Though you were not left to mourn for long. You wore the colors of it, but soon enough you were rushed through preemptive royal proceedings, readying you for a future that you had never quite believed could truly be yours.
Now that you were to be queen, there were things you must have. An overhaul of your entire wardrobe, for one. Gowns, jewels and perfumes must be custom tailored for your image alone, befitting your grace and power, and all the hope you embodied for a kingdom.
You must have ladies in court to accompany you and offer counsel, carefully interviewed and hand-selected to support you. You must have protection at all times, ready to die for you at any given moment.
And a queen must have a spouse, a stalwart partner to support her and all her decisions in a long, blessed life.
You had expected a prince, beloved by his people and low enough in the inheritance line of his own kingdom to allow him to wed you. Or perhaps a duke, well-liked with his handsome features and intellect. You would've even taken a general, an irreplaceable asset in talks of strategy.
What you had never anticipated was for your intended spouse to be a silent knight.
"He is to be my husband? Truly?" you ask your lead lady-in-waiting as she assists you in undressing your extravagant engagement gown. "Him?"
"The court has deemed him as such," Tara says as the velvety fabric the color of rich wine pools at your feet, moving to unlace the ties of your corset at your back. "Why? Is he truly so terrible?"
"I would not know," you say, laughing humorlessly as you think back to how still and stoic he had been. "He spoke naught for the entire engagement talks. He hardly moved, nor did he even remove his helmet."
Tara's fingers pause. "Truly? Even in the presence of his queen?"
"Not a soul made a comment on it," you huff, taking in a lungful of air when relief rushes into the release of your bosom from the corset's restraints. "And I am not queen until the ceremony which makes me his."
"It will make him yours, milady," Tara corrects gently, removing the undergarments from your weary form. "You will rule this kingdom. He is just a formality."
"He's a suit of armor," you scoff, irritation blooming into anger as you lower yourself into the steaming bath basin brought in after the long day. "I could not pick him out from any of the ones that line our halls."
"Then he is a decoration," Tara corrects as she rests her head on her elbows on the edge of the basin. "Hopefully a pretty one!"
She knows how you prefer to bathe yourself, and stays for conversation, even as you scrub at your own skin in jerky, annoyed movements.
"Only the gods know," you mutter, head tilting back as you sink further into the heated water. Your brows furrow as you stare up at the ceiling, tracing the intricate, swirling patterns there with your gaze. "Is he to always keep the armor on? Am I to marry him like that? What of our wedding night?!"
Tara coughs, cheeks an adorable pink at your blunt words, and you stifle an affectionate snort.
"Maybe he will draw the curtains?" she suggests, giggling at the thought, and you can't hold in your own laughter now at the ridiculous mental image. "And tell you not to look?"
You groan, holding your breath as you submerge yourself in the bath in favor of facing your daunting future of being married to a man hidden away from you in metal.
There is a very brief engagement period, more for show than anything else.
You suspect it also gives ample time for the court as they rush through preparations for the wedding itself. They were eager to put you on the throne as soon as possible, unwilling to leave the kingdom wanting of a ruler for much longer.
And being courted by your chosen fiancé is…well.
Courting is hardly a suitable term.
Sitting across from each other as you sipped at your tea, and he refused to lift his visor to partake in his own? Making idle comments on the weather, the color of your wedding dress, what flowers were being arranged, only to be met with stone cold silence from your husband to be?
Lovely.
You are all too well aware of the attention of your court chaperones in the parlor with you. As you are also aware of any tantrum you may want to throw not being tolerated.
You were no longer just a princess to be spoiled and entertained. You were to be queen, and to be married to a taciturn knight, who seemed to hold no possible interest or regard for you.
At one point, you swear you hear snoring coming from inside that helmet, but then his head is lifting the next.
"Am I to at least have your name?" you finally ask at one point, unable to keep all the bite out of your tone when you do.
There is an echoing hum of disapproval behind you, and your eyes slide away from the silvery helmet, gazing at the wavyleaf sea lavender dancing in the breeze through the window.
"It has been decided that it would not be for the best," one of your advisors says from behind you, and you lift your fingers to your lips, hardly muffling the bitter laugh that slips through.
"It has been decided," you repeat slowly, balling the fabric of your gown in your lap, frustration hidden underneath the tablecloth, "that it would not be best for me to know my own husband's name?"
Silence.
"That…is correct, Your Highness."
You turn your sharp gaze onto your fiancé, a smirk tilting up behind your hand when you hear the creak of his armor when he straightens a fraction under your attention.
"And does he agree to such conditions in our marriage?"
"He does," your advisor replies.
"So he will never speak?" you intone the statement, exasperated beyond measure.
"Ah…that is up to him, Your Highness," they say, and you glance off to the side again.
"And his face?"
"Again, it is not in your best interest—"
"Then I have heard enough."
You rise from your chair, delicately smoothing out the wrinkles you'd caused in your dress.
With tight-lipped smile, you nod towards the future companion of your life as he sits motionless, faceless, nameless. A complete stranger for all your days.
To hell with no tantrums. The least you could do before bearing the weight of the crown was show a little bit of how furious you were.
"Well then," you say, grinning with thinly contained malice. "I look forward to our matrimony and life together. I am sure we will be so very happy."
You ignore the sharp cries of your advisors behind you when you leave, and force yourself to keep going even when you hear the armor creak again, the chair pushed back.
You keep walking, and refuse to take any visitors for the rest of the day.
You have not looked back towards your ever present, stoic statue for your walk through the gardens.
You do not remember at what point he had slipped in behind you. It had been a lovely day, the scent of the lavender on the breeze calming enough to lure you out of your royal chambers. And with the wedding day fast approaching, you'd take any moment of solitude you could get.
It may have not even come to your attention that he had joined you if it wasn't for that telltale creak in the armor on your third bout around the garden.
You paused, and so did he.
For a long moment, you stood there, your dress the color of a slow approaching dawn fluttering in the floral breeze. The rose and lilac shades of the skirt tighten in your grip.
"Were you sent to follow me?" you ask finally.
Another moment passes, steeped in silence.
You sigh, ready to march back within the castle walls, desperate for as much time away from him as you could manage before you were bound to him forever.
Then, you hear a gentle voice carried to you on the wind.
"No, Your Highness," the knight says, and you freeze. "I was not."
His voice is…oh.
It is much softer than you had imagined. It carries with it a calm that almost washes over you, if you weren't so irritated by his existence in the first place.
You wait for him to say something, anything else.
He doesn't.
Slowly, you begin to walk through the gardens again.
You are acutely aware of his presence now as he follows behind you.
"May I have your name?" you ask finally, unable to curb the curiosity, the uncertainty of the unknown that gnaws at your insides when it comes to him.
"You may not."
You school your expression, head held high as ever, well-practiced at hiding your frustration when you truly wanted to.
You just liked to make it be known when you could afford it.
"Will you answer any of the questions I ask?"
He does not reply.
"Why do you hide your face?"
He is quiet. When you glance back, the knight is gazing off to the side.
You're certain he will not answer you now either, and you begin to move away.
"I was instructed not to offend Your Highness."
Your brow twitches, attention snapping back to him. "Offend me?"
He nods, finally turning back to you. The helmet still renders him unreadable as he states plainly, "I am well aware of the customs of court. Typically, a member of it with a face such as mine would quickly be expelled and hidden from your sight."
"I—"
You gulped, your anger at the situation ebbing in favor of a strange sensation by the tone he uses to speak. His voice is ever soft, nonconfrontational despite what he claims, and it gives you pause in confusion.
His face?
You glance over his armor, noting he did not don a ceremonial set that day. This one did not appear ostentatious, but practical, well-crafted for durability and protection. It appeared as if it had seen battle, bearing the dents and scratches that showed of a life paved with violence, steeped in blood and victory.
It greatly contrasted the gentle way in which he spoke, and the grace with which he carried himself, even as he was six feet in armor.
Your head tilts, wondering what battle-hardened visage may be hidden underneath that helmet.
"You are scarred, then," you say aloud with the realization.
He merely nods again.
You frown.
"So I am never to see you, my intended husband, due to scars."
"It was believed the best course of action would be to hide my face from you," the knight informs calmly, not showing a hint of discomfort or annoyance in his tone as you peer so closely at him. "So as not to offend your sensibilities."
You almost laugh, the bitter sound sticking in your throat.
"Ah, yes. My delicate sensibilities."
As if you were not the one would ensure the well being of an entire kingdom, overseeing all the good and ugly it had to offer.
"And when the queen orders you to show your face?" you counter, arching an eyebrow in challenge.
"You are not yet queen," he replies bluntly, his voice still soft, ever calm as he meets your challenge readily.
You laugh, loud and sharp, sending the birds nesting in a nearby tree fluttering away.
"What a unified front we will be, my beloved," you hiss through gritted teeth before marching past him.
He catches your wrist.
You whirl around, eyes blazing at the action.
"You dare to—"
But he's letting go in an instant, and you look to your hand that he had grabbed in confusion.
In your fingers is a single, small bunch of blue-petaled flowers.
"I am aware this is not your choice," the knight says softly, and the breeze picks up, brushing between you with the gentle scent of lavender once more. "And I am sorry. If I could…"
He trails off, and after a moment of holding your breath, he bows to you.
"Your Highness," he murmurs, and you watch as he departs, disappearing back within the castle walls.
If he could what? you think all day and into the night.
You wonder it in the days to come before the ceremony, gazing at the forget-me-nots you had pressed into a favorite book of poetry.
If he could not wed me? If he could show his face? Tell me his name?
Time before the crown would be yours passes by with your unanswered questions. The nights are restless, any moment alone spent pacing.
And each morning, you wake to a small, freshly picked bouquet of baby blue flowers sitting outside your doors.
The night before your wedding, it feels hard to breathe.
You toss and turn in your bed, sleep eluding you. The knowledge of sharing it at this same time tomorrow leaves you restless, and you sit up with a sharp groan, kicking the thick blankets off.
"I just need some air," you whisper to no one, pulling your dressing gown over your shoulders and tying it tight.
You evade the guards stationed through the corridors with practiced ease, feeling a familiar rush to when you would sneak through the halls as a child with your sister, out way past your bedtimes.
The thought of her makes your chest ache, like a corset pulled impossibly tight, cutting off your ability to breathe.
Your bare feet pad across the cold floors and into the grass when you exit the castle into the gardens. You suck in a lungful of the fresh night air, breathing out a sigh of relief when the scent of lavender surrounds you.
Pacing through the flowers, you let your fingers dance along the petals, reciting the names of each species and color in your mind to calm your nerves. Your heart begins to calm in its relentless pacing.
And then pain surges through your foot.
"Argh!" you yelp, hopping back on one foot as a dull thud rings in the air from whatever you had ran into.
"Mm?"
You jump, covering your mouth to smother a surprised screech at the unexpected, distinctly human sound.
Staring down at what your poor toes had collided with, you witness the sabatons of a polished set of armor shifting.
You follow the leg into the shrubbery, pulling aside leaves and baby blue flowers to see a familiar helmet facing up towards you.
"Oh," your fiancé's soft voice emits from inside of it, and you nearly throw your hands up into the air in exasperation. "It's you."
"What are you doing?" you hiss.
You glance around you, suddenly paranoid that you would be found with him like this, just one night before when you were actually supposed to be alone.
He's quiet, and you stare down at his large frame while he awkwardly perches himself up onto his elbows in the flowers.
"Napping."
You stare at him.
And stare.
"Do you not have a bed for that?" you whisper scream.
Gods, you were going to lose your mind married to this man.
"The lavender smells nice," he replies in the most tranquil, sleepy voice you have ever heard from a man of his size and caliber, helmet turning to gaze around at the gardens. "And the sky is clear."
Your mouth opens and closes, searching desperately for a witty, scathing response.
But they all fail you when he turns back to you and asks calmly, bluntly, "Are you eloping?"
You scoff. "With who?"
His pauldrons lift and drop, metal creaking in the silliest looking shrug you have ever seen.
"A lover."
You shake your head, turning away when you mutter, "Lucky for you, I have none."
The silence that falls between you feels like an ocean separating you from one another. Once again, you are reminded that you are no better than strangers, and tomorrow…
"There is nowhere I could run," you murmur, clutching across your chest to hold your shoulders, bracing against the night's cool breeze. "I wouldn't even know where to start." You laugh humorlessly. "As if they wouldn't find me within hours anyway."
"There's a nice seaside town at the northern edge of the kingdom," he says quietly, almost sounding wistful, and you turn back to him. His armor gleams in the moonlight, his helmet tilted up towards the stars. "The people are kind, and welcoming to strangers. I think it would take them about a week to find you there."
You blink, at a loss for words once again. It's a talent that your strange fiancé seemed to have just for you, on the rare occasions he did speak.
"I can lend you my horse," he keeps speaking, the tranquility in his soft tone slowly relaxing the tension in your shoulders. "She is a kind beast. It will give you a head start."
"Do you wish to be rid of me that much?" you whisper, choosing to believe anything other than the cruel hope that you may actually have a choice for yourself.
He shakes his head, moonlight catching off the steel of his helmet.
"I made no such claims," he says, his voice steady, resolute.
This, you actually do dare to believe, and to your own bewilderment, it softens you.
"Sit with me?" your future husband asks, offering an armored hand up to you. "The stars are beautiful tonight."
You hesitate, then slip your hand into the leather. His glove beneath the gauntlet is warm with his body heat, and he helps you sit, looking away for your decency as you adjust your dressing gown to cover yourself completely before lying back.
You hate to admit it, but the strange, stoic knight is right. There is hardly a cloud in the sky, and you can see the constellations clearly, shining brightly for you in this quiet, stolen moment.
When he says nothing for a while, you assume he has fallen asleep again.
"Why do you leave me flowers?" you whisper the question that has haunted you, relying on the certainty of him not hearing.
He shifts beside you, and you nearly jump out of your skin.
"Do I need a reason?" he asks, clear and awake.
"Well—" Words fail you, and you find yourself hating that he can manage to rob you of your gift of talk and charm, the one thing you had always relied on in your life of court politics. "I suppose not."
"Do you not like them?"
You turn your face away so he cannot see how he's flustering you.
"I made no such claims," you mutter his own words from earlier.
"So you do like them."
"Be silent," you snap, more bashful than as seriously annoyed as you have been, restlessly pulling your dressing gown tighter around yourself.
Your ears perk up when you hear the most quiet, melodic giggle.
Head snapping around, you stare at the knight, who quickly shuts his mouth.
"I said silence!" you repeat.
"My apologies, Your Highness," he replies smoothly, distinctly not following your order, and you swear you hear a smile in his voice.
You huff, throwing your head back into the flowers.
"You look ridiculous," you mutter, shifting restlessly, "by the way. Wearing your armor, lying in the garden. Napping."
"Thank you," he says serenely.
You snort, a genuine sound of amusement that slips past your lips, and you cover them with surprise.
His armor creaks when he turns to look at you.
You turn back, staring wide-eyed into the reflection of yourself in his shining helmet.
And for just a moment, you think you see a glimpse of wide eyes staring back through the visor.
You think they might look just like the starry sky above you.
Then he shifts again, and the image is gone.
You both lay your heads back once more. The atmosphere of the moment shifts, a tension different from the one haunting you for weeks making your heart flutter, your stomach lighter.
"Were you truly asleep just now?" you mumble, adjusting your dressing gown as a breeze slips past, the aroma of lavender washing over you and your faceless fiancé as you lay together in the bed of flowers.
"Mhm."
"And were you asleep when we had tea?"
"…Yes," he answers quietly, and you bite your lip to stifle a laugh at how bashful he sounds. "Just for a bit. I am sorry, truly."
A giggle escapes you, and you cover your mouth with both your hands. Still, it doesn't hide the way that you fall into a fit of laughter, all the nerves from the weeks of stress leading up to the wedding lifting from your muscles.
There's a soft, nervous chuckle echoing from inside the helmet beside you, and you turn back to your fiancé.
Who would become your husband come tomorrow.
You suck in an unsteady breath, pressing a hand to your face to hide it from him.
"Are you alright?" he whispers, shifting beside you, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze upon you even with his face completely hidden. "Are you feeling sick?"
"I am fine," you say quickly, smoothing out your dressing gown again. "Just…nervous."
Your voice gets quieter when you admit it, and you keep your face turned away. You couldn't help but feel helplessly vulnerable around him, when he could see you, and you could never read his face, could hardly ever hear emotion in his voice when he rarely spoke.
"I am too."
The whispered confession makes your heart clench, and you turn back to him.
"Truly?"
He nods, and you feel the anxiety in your chest ease, just a fraction.
"I am sorry that it's me," he murmurs, and it makes your eyes sting, something aching deep within you at how honestly apologetic he sounded.
This wasn't as fair to him as it was to you, you realize with sudden clarity. You are both the same.
You sniff, wiping at your burning eyes, and find yourself shaking your head.
"Well, you are better than some spoiled prince," you say in a choked voice, and he huffs a laughs under his breath. "I may not see your face, or even know your name, but…you have been kind to me tonight."
The warm leather of his gloves grazes across your fingers in the grass, and you hold your breath when his own fingers gently intertwine with yours.
"I only ever want to be kind to you," he whispers to you, sounding so brutally honest, the waver of his gentle words as vulnerable as you feel, and it nearly pulls a sob from your throat.
"Well," you sniff, years of training to gain control of your emotions triggering in a split second to suppress them. "If I never see you, I can pretend you look as handsome as I please."
He laughs, a gentle chuckle that has warmth rolling through your chest, and you smile.
"You should return to your rooms," he says kindly, and you see his shining armor in a new light when you let him help you sit back up, and then stand. "It will be a long day tomorrow, you need rest."
"Yes, of course," you mumble, brushing grass and stray flower petals off your dressing gown.
You gaze back up at the visor in his helmet, at the darkness within, wondering what color eyes were peering back at you.
The knight takes your hand in his once more, and you watch as he lifts it to his helmet, resting the back of it against the cool steel, where his lips would be beneath.
Your heart skips a beat, and you hold your hand close to your chest when he gently relinquishes it.
"Good night," he bids you, and you drop into a curtsy by habit.
"Good night," you whisper, "my knight."
Your wedding feels a solemn affair.
And, yes. Your groom dons armor for the event.
It is a ceremonial set, unmarred by battle. Unlike the one in the garden, when you had felt for the first time there was a human inside the armor.
His wedding armor is decorative, floral and star motifs engraved in the shining silver. There is a lovingly crafted depiction of the moon and its phases across the cuirass, and the helmet has golden wings coming out from the sides.
You must admit that it is beautiful, shimmering in the light of the chandeliers above you.
Even with the understanding you had felt the night before, you still would have preferred seeing the face of the man you were about to be bound to for the rest of your life and rule over your kingdom.
You commit to your vows, as he does his. To be wife and husband, queen and prince consort, until one of you may meet the end of your days.
The celebrations that follow are stifling. There is no parading through the streets, no addressing the masses just yet. Though the weight of the crown is now on your head, there will come another official ceremony for the people to witness. Tonight is purely for the union of the queen and her new beloved.
There are guests from other kingdoms as you wine and dine, though your husband eats nothing. He is still silent, and now present, unwavering from your side through the evening and into the night.
You only part when darkness falls, your ladies-in-waiting ushering you to your bedchambers to ready you for your wedding night. They bustle around you, speaking in hushed, excited tones, and only Tara runs over things with you directly.
"I know, my dear," you sigh, smiling at her as she tells you again where it goes, how it feels, how it may pinch or hurt but to not be afraid, it would be over quick. "I'll be fine."
You're undressed and freshened up in the tittering of excitement. The only request you dare to make is for your lavender bath oil, which you take time to rub into your skin as it thrums with a tingling, heated energy.
"I will be here first thing in the morning," Tara says as she hugs you tight, taking one last moment to fix the white lace of your delicate shift. "And remember, the candles—"
"Must be blown out, yes, I know."
You sit on the edge of your bed in the silence that follows, the first time you've caught your breath since the night before.
You think of the knight, how the glove of his hand had been warm in yours. How sweet he had sounded when he admitted to being nervous too.
Gazing at the last candlestick alight next to your bed, you lean forward to blow it out before you lose all your confidence.
Time seems to stretch on endlessly before you hear the tentative knock on your doors.
"Is it my husband?" you call out, willing your voice not to shake as much as your hands trembled where they gripped your blankets.
There is silence for a beat.
"It is," his soft voice replies, and you grip the sheets tighter.
"You may enter."
When he does, it is with no clanking of metal, no armor. Only the whispers of fabric and soft footsteps, and your heart races in your chest. You force yourself not to look towards where you feel him lingering at the door once he closes it.
It's not like it would matter. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, as you and Tara had once joked about.
Nothing seemed funny now, with the nerves nearly eating you alive.
"We don't have to do this," he whispers, and you shiver from hearing his voice so clearly without the helmet, in the intimate silence of your private rooms this late at night, knowing what was to come. "If you do not want to."
"It is my marital duty, as it is yours."
"But if you do not desire—"
"Do you not desire it?" you counter, finally pushing yourself up to sit.
The question left unspoken hangs in the still, tense air between you.
Do you not desire me?
He was kind the night before, but had always been detached before. Even if he was polite, it did not mean that he wanted this. That he wanted you.
Why do you so badly wish for his desire?
You gaze aimlessly towards your doors, where the shadow of him hovers on the precipice of confirming the last step of your marital bond, and you swear you can feel him hesitate.
"I do not want you to be uncomfortable."
"Then do not make me uncomfortable," you reply easily.
Tara's advice echoes through your mind, and you shift forward onto your hands and knees, emboldened as you crawl to the end of your large, plush bed.
"Men are supposed to enjoy it," you murmur, gripping onto one of the posts at the corner of your bed. "I see no reason why a woman cannot as well."
The knight lets out a heavy breath.
"A woman can enjoy it," he assures you, his gentle voice suddenly low. "A gentleman will ensure his wife enjoys it."
Something burns inside you with the sound of his voice, ringing so clear in the privacy of night, so dark with intent. The tension that has lingered between you goes to your head, and turns into a heat simmering low in your stomach, your thighs squeezing together.
You know now why you crave his desire.
"Then show me," you whisper.
You desire him.
And he finally moves with the sound of that desire in your voice when you call for him.
Your knightly husband approaches the bed slowly.
"Lay back," he commands you, gentle but firm, and you should be irritated by it. You were to be ruler, not him.
But something in the way this gentle knight waits patiently at the edge of your bed, stripped of the armor that protects him, has you heated with anticipation, shifting slowly to lay yourself out for him.
"You know what happens?" he breathes the question out, still hovering on the edge of something more. "In the marital act?"
"Yes."
One of your hands fists into the sheets by your head, the other in the soft fabric of your wedding shift.
"Do you know you should be readied first?" he breathes, the bed finally dipping beneath his weight.
You find it hard to breathe when you feel him climbing up the bed towards you. Your husband, faceless and nameless but yours, and gods that shouldn't excite you so much. But it has your core throbbing, thighs clenching together in search of some relief.
"Answer me, Your Majesty," he murmurs your new title, low voice dripping with sinful promise, and you jump with a gasp when his fingers graze lightly along your knee.
"No," you rush out, shaking your head even if he cannot see it in the darkness of the room. "I was not aware of that."
His hand curls around your knee, lifting your leg up slowly, easing your thighs open until they fall apart.
"Before I give you my cock," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the inner part of your knee, and you whimper quietly at the filthy words. "I use my fingers."
The knight brushes his lips a bit higher, then stops.
"Do you permit this, my queen?"
You blink rapidly, surprise melting way to a warm feeling of awe that he's asking for permission, and how he uses your title with reverence. It gives you a moment to think as he waits patiently for your honest answer, and the tension through your muscles begins to ease.
"Yes," you admit in a hushed whisper, the truth a breath from your lips. Then you confirm, louder, "Yes, I do. I…want it."
His hand is bare on you, large and warm, and you feel the slick on your thighs when you rub them together subconsciously.
You suck in a breath, and correct yourself quieter, a confession, "I want you."
He lets out a shaky exhale, grip tightening on you. Your knight nods against your thigh, and slowly kisses up it.
"Have you done any of this before, my queen?"
"No," you breathe out, gripping your shift for purchase when he slips the fabric up over your stomach so you are bare to him. "I—well, I have touched myself, out of curiosity."
Your voice trails off with the admission, and you cover your face with your arm.
"Have you felt a climax?" he asks, unashamed.
You bite your lip, flustered. "Once or twice, yes," you whisper, and he hums in approval against your inner thigh.
He kisses it softly, rubbing circles into your other thigh with his fingertips. You can feel the callouses on each one, and you wonder how he looks when he wields a sword.
Does he fight with a shield, or in a dueling stance? A longsword or a greatsword? Is he graceful and elegant, or aggressive and relentless?
When he kisses your skin again, he whispers against it, "Would you give me the honor of touching you now?"
You nod, then remember he can't see you either, and say, "Yes." In a quieter voice, you add in a whimper, "Please."
Seconds pass while you hold your breath, watching for his touch where you need it most.
Then, your breath escapes you in a long whine when his rough fingertips barely graze against your slit.
"Oh!" you gasp in surprise at the sensitivity from him touching you intimately in the darkness, even if just barely.
Your hips twitch and jerk up, and his palm finds your thigh, pressing it down by instinct.
The way he wields control is graceful, heady and addicting to be under, and you decide his fighting style must be elegant. Precise, measured.
Is he just an esteemed knight, or a general? Or perhaps of royal blood, a bastard of some far kingdom thrown into military service? How long has he trained? Where has he lived? Who has he fought?
"Do you want me to keep going, Your Majesty?"
Your lashes flutter, and you nod rapidly. "Yes, please."
His fingers press against you again, confident and gentle. They trace along your slit again, collecting your slick, all the way up to where you have found you are most sensitive.
"You are already wet," the knight murmurs, sounding surprised and…pleased?
It makes your sex clench, and you whine, wiggling your hips impatiently.
He presses down on your thigh more firmly, keeping you parted for him to collect more of the slick dripping from your entrance.
Then his touch trails up, pressing firm, slow, tight circles into that bundle of nerves and oh.
"There you are," he whispers, pressing kisses into your inner thigh as you moan quietly, hips rolling up into his touch. "How does it feel?"
"It feels like—" you break off with a choked gasp when his thumb flicks across it, then rubs it faster, making your mind go blank for a moment. "Hot. Tight. Good. Like pleasure."
He kisses your thigh again, and you swear you feel his lips tilting up against your skin.
Is he…smiling?
"I can use my mouth as well," he informs you, his voice calm, almost innocent, and your eyes widen at the thought. "Would you like me to try?"
You bite your lip as you try and imagine what he would look like with his face pressed to your sex, if only you could see it. What colors eyes would be peering up at you as he tasted you?
But somehow, the thought of him still being invisible to you as he kisses the most intimate part of you has excitement coursing through your veins.
"Do it," you murmur, the nature to command coming as easily to you as it does to him.
He needs no further instruction.
His hot tongue licks a long, flat stripe up your core, and you gasp, hips bucking up.
"Oh gods—"
His lips close around where his fingers were just driving you mad, and he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, tongue circling it as he plays you like a beloved instrument, like he was a talented musician as well as a soldier.
It has you whining, thighs closing around his head as the pleasure grows hotter, sharper. It builds up quickly in the pit of your stomach, and you try and get impossibly closer.
When he pulls back, you whine in disappointment, and his answering chuckle has you trembling.
"I need to prepare you," he whispers, the tips of his fingers prodding at your entrance, and you stiffen by reflex. His other hand strokes gently at your thigh, easing your legs back open. "Relax for me. I want you to feel that climax you've felt before. Do you want that too?"
You suck in a deep breath.
"Yes, I do."
The knight slowly dips the tip of one of his fingers inside you, and you bite your lip.
But he pulls back out, testing just his fingertip a few times, before sinking it in further.
You hiss in a breath at the unfamiliar sensation, and he pauses.
"Do you not like it?"
"It's—" you steady your breath, adjusting to the feeling of his thick finger a few inches deep in you. "It's different."
"Do you want me to continue?"
You roll your hips in a test, and you both gasp when your cunt sucks him in further, clenching around him by reflex.
The knight groans quietly into your thigh, and you answer, "Yes. Keep going."
He carefully thrusts his finger in until he's completely inside you and, gods, it's long. The calloused tip strokes at your tight walls, and you moan, parting your legs further for him.
"You're so warm," he breathes against your skin, brushing his lips down to your sex again to attach them back to that pleasure spot.
It has you gasping, thrashing gently when he circles his tongue around it, his finger slowly pumping into you.
"Oh gods that—"
He hums against your core, and your lips fall open in a soundless cry from the added pleasure of the vibration of his soft voice there.
"Pleasurable?"
"Very," you moan, bucking your hips into his face when he slowly prods another finger into your tight hole.
The longer he thrusts his fingers into you, the less tense you feel. Your body relaxes, accepting him, sucking him back in whenever he began to draw back for another thrust of his fingers.
And when he begins to curl them, and brushes those calluses against somewhere that makes pleasure spark hot down your spine, you cry out softly.
"There," he mumbles to himself, and strokes that spot again.
"Y-you—"
Words escape you for the first time in your life, and you reach down by reflex, your restless fingers tangling into his hair.
You gasp softly at the same time he moans, his fingers thrusting into you with fervor. Your eyes roll back as you stroke our own fingers through his hair, impossibly soft, longer than you had imagined.
Was it brown? Blond? Perhaps a more fantastical color that hid under his helmet?
The wet sounds of his hand smacking against your skin with each thrust of his fingers into your soaked cunt is obscene, and has your toes curling, grabbing onto his hair tighter. Hot pleasure keeps growing in your gut until you feel yourself about to burst with it.
He moans again when you subconsciously yank at his hair. He's still stroking that spot each time you suck him back in, his tongue rubbing against you, and you climax against your knight's face with a nameless moan for him.
It's a high pitched cry, loud, restless, and mellows out with quieter groans as he works you gently through each wave of pleasure.
His soft kiss against your overstimulated nerves makes you twitch, and he smiles against your stomach.
"You should be ready now," he murmurs, and your mind spins at the thought of more. "If you still…?"
"I still want to," you confirm breathlessly, tugging at his hair, and the answering grunt is delicious, sparking more desire in your soaked cunt, a longing to be filled by him completely.
He pulls himself up over you, and you hear the rustle of fabric, then him grunting quietly, wet slaps echoing, before you feel it.
You jump as the head of him slips through your slick. It's curved, bigger than his fingers, and you clench in anticipation of taking it all.
It catches on your entrance, and you whimper when he begins to slip in.
"Tell me if it's too much," he whispers, his voice suddenly shaky as he lowers himself onto his arms over you. "My queen?"
"Yes," you breathe, trembling as he begins to sink into you.
He does it in short thrusts, rolling his hips to almost slip out of you before slowly easing himself back in, giving you time to adjust.
And gods, he is big. Impossibly long and thick, throbbing deliciously as your body welcomes him in.
A part of you can't help but be glad that you can't see it, knowing you'd be overwhelmed by both seeing the size of him, and being under his sharp gaze as you squirm beneath him.
When he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, you both sigh in unison.
Your knight gives you another moment to adjust. His hand finds your thigh, stroking gentle circles into it with his thumb, and you wonder if he even realizes he's doing it.
Then he thrusts into you once, filling you completely, and your eyes flutter shut.
When he does it again, a whimper escapes from your throat, and he promptly stops.
"Does it hurt?" he asks, hushed in the darkness.
You fingers flex and clench into the sheets above your head multiple times, trying to find the words he'd stolen from you along with the breath from your lungs.
"…No," you answer honestly after a tense moment. Even if you cannot see his eyes in the night, you still find yourself gazing off towards the side in shyness. "It…feels good."
Your knight—no, your husband—pauses above you.
Then, ever so slowly, he rolls his hips, grinding his pelvis into that spot above your folds that makes your toes curl.
"And this?" he whispers, dark and intense, and you bite your lip.
"G-good," you stutter out, breath hitching loudly when he bucks into you once with an obscene sucking sound, and then does it again.
"This?"
"Good," you gasp, grabbing at your pillows, head thrashing to the side when he keeps bucking into you.
Your skin slaps together with each deep thrust, loud and wet, the sound filling up your large chambers along with the scent of sweat and musk. He's impossibly deep, picking up speed, making it hard to think clearly.
"Very good," you breathe, voice shaky with mounting pleasure.
"Truly?" he breathes right next to your ear, his lips grazing it.
You whine loudly, your hand flying up to try and find purchase on his back.
But his skin is bare, no hinges of metal to hang onto. It's soft, smooth, only for your fingers to run across the occasional raised skin across his shoulders, down the span of his broad back.
Scars, you think, and wonder what each one looks like as you blindly trace them.
Your mind spins with the knowledge of him, this strong and silent man, being exposed to you at last, only for you not to see one bit of him.
But he's all around you, deep inside of you, utterly consuming you with every thrust and grind of his hips against yours. Your fingers curl against his back a few times, desperate to ground yourself.
When your nails scrape against him, and he lets out a quiet grunt, your scattered thoughts fizzle out.
Do it again, is all you can think when your mind comes back to you, even as you can't find the words to tell him. Make that sound again.
You eagerly dig your nails into his back, and he spasms above you, pulling out almost entirely only to thrust back into sopping cunt, bottoming out and bucking up into you rapidly.
"O-oh," you moan breathlessly, both hands coming up to grab at him.
You dig your grip into him at every spot you grab, leaving marks you'd never see. Your back arches off the bed each time he grunts and moans quietly into your ear from the sensation.
He feels good, you think distantly, more drunk off the knowledge than the finest of wines you'd consumed on your wedding night. All the opulence and celebration pales in comparison to this moment, when you and your husband were one—faceless and nameless as he is, he is yours. You're making him feel good.
His chest presses to yours as he leans his weight into you, his arms wrapping around your torso to hold you tight to him. He breathes against your ear, quick and shallow, as he makes soft, broken sounds.
Too distracted by the deep grind of his hips into yours, stimulating you right where you need it, you don't realize for a few moments that the broken sounds he makes are the syllables of your name.
You come apart for him with a sharp cry that breaks halfway, mouth open in soundless pleasure while your cunt spasms around his cock, drenching him in your sweet release.
"You—" he gasps, dull nails digging into your hips as they lazily thrust up to meet his own, riding out the waves of your climax. "Did you—"
He breaks off with a strangled moan, and gives a few last, deep thrusts before he's suddenly gone.
You whine at the loss of him when he slips out and away so easily. Your eyelashes flutter as you force your eyes open, transfixed by the dark shape of him over you as his hips jerk, hand moving quickly while grunting quietly, and your thighs are coated in something warm and wet.
"What…?" you breathe, your mind slowly playing catch-up, blinking rapidly. "Why did you…?"
Your thighs twitch when he runs his fingers across them, collecting his release with yours, and smearing them onto the sheets below you.
"Your maids will deliver it to your court advisors in the morning." How he still manages to sound so calm while catching his breath, you have no idea, and it makes something dark and ugly twist where pleasure just bloomed in your gut. "For proof of the marital duty being fulfilled."
"But you didn't—" you breathe heavily, pushing yourself up onto your arms as he shifts off the bed. "You were supposed to finish inside of me. There is no fulfillment unless you do so."
"It is close enough. They cannot tell the difference."
You watch his shadowy figure move, hearing the rustle of fabric.
"And now you are leaving?" you snap. "Just like that?"
"Not yet," he answers, his hushed, unbothered tone only infuriating you further.
He moves through the dark, towards the direction of your vanity, and you turn to stare at the wall. Anger stews in you, your body tense despite the lingering pleasure, knuckles tight in the sheets as you hear the pitcher of water being poured.
You don't want to look towards him.
You don't.
But you give into that inexplicable temptation anyway, that curiosity that lingers for any impossible glimpse of him, only for your breath to catch in your throat.
While you had been expecting the same tall figure drenched in shadows, you were graced with a sliver of moonlight peeking through your curtains to fall across his back, still turned to you.
His skin is pale and smooth, with a dusting of a pink flush across his broad shoulders. There is a long, faded scar across the back of the right one, nearly covered up by the hair that falls past them. The soft strands appear white, perhaps silver. Or maybe it's just the pale moonlight that makes it appear so.
When your husband begins to turn back towards you, you quickly look away, eyes readjusting to the darkness once more while he approaches.
I should have kept looking, you think when you feel the edge of the bed dip under his weight. What color are his eyes, I wonder? How sharp or soft is his brow? Are his lips full? Thin? Is his nose—
You jump at the cool cloth that presses between your thighs, a sharp hiss escaping through your teeth.
"Sorry," he whispers as he gently wipes away the evidence of your coupling from your sensitive flesh. "I tried to warm it between my hands."
You soften slowly, the tension held tightly throughout your body melting away as he cares for you. The act has something warm curling up inside your chest, your eyes suddenly hot and heavy.
"Why didn't you do it?" you whisper, still gazing off to the side, even when you feel his gaze upon you in the dark. "Why did you not fill me?"
His hand slows in wiping down your thigh. Instead, his thumb swipes across it, and you shiver at the light, calloused touch.
"Do you want children?"
"I am expected to have an heir," you answer quickly, automatically, the duty of it instilled in you.
"But do you want one?" he presses. His insistence is gentle, yet unwavering. "And do you want it now? Right as you have become queen of a kingdom that needs your guidance?"
You turn fully onto your back, gazing at where he hides from you in the shadows.
But even though his face is unknown, his name still a mystery, his voice is a comfort. It is a warm balm to your soul, when you didn't even know it was aching under the pressure of your new position.
"I was never given the choice," you whisper, unsure.
"I am giving you the choice now," he answers, strong and gentle at once.
You swallow thickly, allowing yourself the precious moment he had given to you. A wedding gift greater than any other, to be able to think and dream only for yourself.
"Not yet," you admit, quiet and intimate, for his ears alone.
"Then I will not fill you," he confirms, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles into the sore muscles of your thigh, and your eyes flutter shut with a sigh. "Not yet. Not until you ask me for it, if you ever do."
You push yourself up onto your arms.
"Then you will do what I ask of you?" you breathe, a hope inside of you suddenly blooming.
"You are my queen." It is a repetition of his oath, only for you to hear now. His soft voice is a caress to your senses, as much as his hands that find your waist, stroking lightly up your sides.
It's quieter still, intimate with devotion you hadn't dreamed of receiving from him when he adds, "And you are my wife. I will do as you command me."
You shake your head.
"What I ask of you," you insist in correction, feeling the need to give to him what he had given to you. The same grace, equal footing to stand on. "As your wife, I merely ask it of you."
He moves closer, leaning over you, the bed dipping further under your combined weight when you lay back again.
"Then what do you ask of me?" he whispers, blindly feeling for your hand in the sheets.
When he brings it to his mouth, he presses a lingering kiss to the heel of your palm, and your heart skips a beat.
His voice is unbelievably tender, the moment reminiscent of a stolen secret, just like the night before, when he adds softly, "My wife?"
You let out a shuddering breath, reaching for him. Your hands palm up his chest and down his stomach, feeling it's soft but toned, the muscles jumping under your touch.
"Let me see you?"
You feel him stiffen above you at your hushed request, and you reach blindly for his face.
"Please?" you ask, your fingers meeting his skin, gingerly tracing a few inches of his jaw before you pull them back.
You lose your breath when he catches your hand in his.
Slowly, he brings it back up to his face. His long fingers direct your palm open, and you let him guide it to his cheek. A soft, keening noise leaves your throat when you feel him sink into your touch.
"Do you truly wish to see me?" he asks, breathless and unsure. "You may not be pleased."
"Yes," you answer instantly. Swallowing thickly, you add, "I wish to see my husband on my wedding night."
He drops your hand, and you almost feel disappointment before he's leaning over and past you.
Then, a moment and a match flaring to life later, your room is suddenly awash in the warm, gentle glow of candlelight.
You blink rapidly, gazing across his chest once your vision adjusts.
Scars litter across otherwise unblemished skin, and your fingertips dance across each one, down to the soft roundness of his stomach that was hidden underneath that heavy armor.
Your heart is lodged somewhere in your throat when he slowly leans back, letting you see all of him.
And, gods above, he is beautiful.
You suck in an unsteady breath, glancing over his face. You're overwhelmed by all of him all at once, more so than when he had been inside of you in the dark, in awe of how ethereal he was in the lone flickering candlelight.
Your husband's eyes are blue, bright like a spring's sky, calm as the surface of a lazily running river. His brow is both soft and sharp, his nose handsome. His cheeks are soft and flushed when his gaze shies way from your scrutiny, and his lips so full, so pink.
And his hair was long, a color of which you'd never seen the likes of before. You had thought it was white, perhaps silver-toned in the moonlight, until the candlelight cast it golden, creating a glowing halo effect around his head.
"I know," he murmurs, and you blink out of your daze. "The scars are unsightly. I am sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"No," you say quickly, cupping his face eagerly, and his eyes widen, shooting back towards your own.
Glancing over them now, you can't imagine why anybody would call his scars such. The faded red of the raised skin did nothing to eradicate the ethereal beauty of his face. To keep such a handsome, angelic visage hidden away forever seemed more than a shame, it felt like a crime.
You trace the pattern of the first scar, how it splits into two through his eye. First, you graze your touch up into his light brow, where the light hair won't grow back from the healed skin. Then you follow the line down across his elegant cheekbone, to the edge of his jaw.
Moving gently, your thumb brushes up along the raised edge of the next scar jutting from his bottom lip, and you feel his breath stutter on a shaky exhale right against your skin.
"You are beautiful," you whisper, breathless with honesty, caressing the corner of his lips with your thumb.
You watch with held breath when you graze it along his bottom lip, dizzy with how he willingly parts it for you.
Your hands come up to cup his face, and you peer up into his eyes.
The blue is impossible to see now, swallowed up by his dilated pupils. Even so, there is an emotion that wavers in them, in how his eyes flicker across your face, the thinnest shred of restraint held in the tension of his arms resting on the bed around you.
"And you are my husband," you breathe against his lips.
You recognize the emotion when he looks down at your own lips, his calloused thumb brushing up under your chin, grazing along your jaw.
Longing.
"Will you give me your name?" you breathe, fingers trailing down his nose, tracing the shape of his lips, addicted to mapping out the sight of him, in case you never got the chance again. "My husband?"
He exhales, the sound shaky as you feel the warmth of it against your fingers. His eyes are so deep and blue just in the candlelight, and you find you cannot wait to see them in the light of day.
"Xavier," your knight without his armor whispers, and you feel warm with an indescribable hope when he leans in. "My name is Xavier."
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warnings: dom reader/sub character, honeymoon fucking, porn with plot, angst, old people fluff, emotionally stunted vincent my beloved, blowjob, deepthroating, praise, body worship, handjob, alcohol and cigarette consumption, mentions of past failed relationships & slight body horror, drunk sex, reader is around vincent’s age and was a former SOLDIER, not exactly married, just two dumbasses playing around their feelings so sort of an accidental confession?
w.c: 3.5k
notes: this was actually supposed to be with barret but then my favoritism won. im sorry yall😔
“are you two married or something?”
the question popped up out of nowhere and the way aerith just dropped the question, paired with a cute smug face, was not helping the situation at all. the young woman seemed ready to dive into your personal life and learn all about the 30 years of long history between you both, eagerly awaiting an answer while tifa sighed and shook her head in the background.
when vincent first joined avalanche with a personal grudge in mind, he was the most silent person around besides him. sitting at the far back, in the corners, hiding away whenever he could and only holding a conversation with barely handful of words used. and yet when you decided to tag along for “the shits and giggles” as you said, vincent had been more… social.
mostly with you or cid, but the fact vincent valentine started to hold conversations more, not linger in the background and even actively stay in the main room to share drinks together after an ass-kicking was undeniably present. the broody man seemed to just hover around you, perpetually hunched hunk of a mass lingering near you like a shadow, always ending up reminiscing of your old days of working for shinra.
it was a surprise to the team to find out you were once a soldier for shinra around the same time vincent was a turk. someone who was as wild, carefree and rebellious like you bending to the will of a greedy corporation just felt… out of character. peculiar. unlikely. but the faded black and white photo you pulled out from your wallet proved it. you and vincent, side by side, much younger and softer without the cold glare life had planted in your eyes and certainly breaking the rules by not wearing the standard issued uniform.
either way, the second most silent member of avalanche had noticed something else on the two of your persons. a red piece of cloth — eerily similar to the material and color of vincent’s bandana — wrapped around the handle of your ōdachi style sword, and three headed dog keychain jingling from the butt of vincent’s gun.
the red cloth around your weapon handle, that could be explained by the simple “you being you” and your love for eccentric, popping bright colors. but the keychain on vincent was one that was hard to explain. the man was as dead as a corpse rotting away at the nearest hole in the earth and perhaps even as cold as one, if not colder, yet here he was donning a charm on the end of his threatening weapon, letting the weirdly cute thing jingle around whenever he whipped the weapon out to twirl it in the air with a dramatic flourish before firing with a loud BANG!.
there were just small pieces of you two on each other so much to the point that a drunk cid had accidentally mistaken one of you for the other at the bar. not so surprising considering the both of you enjoyed wearing a seemingly matching shades of red, long outer wears. something aerith and cait sith cooed out about it being ‘old couple cutesy-dudesy’. words vincent grunts loudly at while you merely grin and play along, goading the younger ones into believing you could very much potentially be an item and not just some old work buddies. the younger ones eat it up every time.
standing atop the roof of the chocobo farm, you enjoy your privacy as the thin cigarette in your hold warms your cold fingers. the sky was clear this night, indicating a good clear, sunny day all day tomorrow. it would be a good day to head out in your opinion. to make way towards the next town. even with the door leading to the stairs that took you down to the second and first floors of the farm house was closed shut, you could hear some of the music blasting, the loud cheers and calls for singing along to the party song. they sure as hell had a lot of stamina when it came to partying, you have realized. something good ol’ vinnie and you can’t exactly seem to keep up with now that you were both pushing your 60s.
“i thought i told you to drop that bad habit of yours” the low timbre of vincent’s voice scared you for a moment, making you jolt where you had been leaning against the rails.
”by the dead, make some noises when you’re creeping around next time, will you? nearly made me drop my cigarette and start a fire” you complained under your breath, leaning back away from the railings so at least you won’t be dropping the lit ciggy to the grass. the fright left quickly, replaced by some anxiousness and the need to defend yourself filling its spot as vincent raised a brow at you, staring at the cancer stick in your hold and to your face. there was slight pink on your cheeks — either from the alcohol you’ve chugged earlier when competing against barret or from the chill winds, he doesn’t know — a pink that he uncharacteristically found endearing.
”a whole decade of scolding your ears off about your stupid habits and yet you still have yet to let it go. are you really this dumb or should i scold you for a few more decades as well?” the former turk grumbled, clearly disappointed to see you with a lit cigarette in hand. and yet he reached out all the same, taking the stick from your loose hold to take a slow inhale himself. the warm orange glow lit his face in warm colors, giving more eerie colors to the lone red glow of his right eye. but the effects of hojo’s doings or chaos being infused into his body never scared you. in fact, you liked him even more with the eerie eye glows and uncontrollable growls and rare purrs.
”you say that yet look at you, doing the same mistakes as me” huffing at the unfairness he brought to you, you wait as he puffs out the smoke in one slow exhale, taking the cigarette away from you when you held out a hand expectantly. his refusal to hand you your cigarette back left you huffing at him, the petulant look on your face making vincent grin as he dodges your attempts to take the tobacco back. sooner or later, you would start ranting about the unfairness of his long limbs and stealing things that were not his.
4, 3, 2 —
“vinnie, i swear by gaia” ah, there it was. that little grumble of a ’threat’ you give him before full on out throwing your body at him to get back whatever it may be that you had lost to him.
”you’re going to ask for your cigarette back, and if i say ‘no’ — which we both know that i will — you’ll throw yourself at me?” and there it was again, that little twitch in your brows and the way you run your tongue over your fangs in hopes of holding back your words. he had you all figured out, after all. a whole 30 years had passed since you went your separate ways and yet you still act the same way. nothing about you had changed except for the few strands of grey from stress of shinra and having to deal with the young ones at avalanche now, and the smile lines around your eyes and lips.
you had already gotten grey hairs and yet he wasn’t around to witness them, vincent realized, feeling a sense of failure at the way he had just seemingly left you out of nowhere to deal with life and shinra all alone by yourself. what good was there to him in the first place? first failing to keep lucrecia safe, then failing to keep her son safe and now failing you. he always failed those closest to him, didn’t he? choosing to run and hide away because he was dealing with some shit, forgetting that those around him were dealing with their own demons too.
such a failure—
“vincent” blinking, shaking his head to clear out his thoughts at least for this night, the lone glow of his eye turned to look at you. you had your cigarette back in hand, but the tobacco roll seemed to be the least of your worries as you stood by his side, holding him by the arm as if to stabilize him. or had you heard his inner turmoil? that would be embarrassing. you were already dealing with the drawback symptoms of mako injections and yet his selfish idiocy would force you to look after him as well. no, this time, he’ll be the one to look after you. this time, you can lay your head on him and rest.
gloved hand grasping at your bare one, his bigger hand wrapped like a protective embrace around the scarred and marred one of yours. burnt from years of handling lighters and zippos, scarred from the decades of serving under shinra, left calloused from the countless battles. squeezing your hand as if to convince himself, vincent took his time to drink in your visage.
ah, how much you had changed and yet how so little as well.
there was a certain heaviness in your gait now, a droop to your shoulders that did not fit someone as bright and confident as you, and shadows that seemed to cling even with the full moon shining down just for you. you have changed, but vincent wanted to be by your side all the same.
”i’m fine, [name]” grumbling low at the back of his throat, the former turk’s gaze never leave the sight of you in all your current glory, taking his time to stare at every stress lines, every laugh lines, every strand of hair that was on the process of going grey greedily for he had not seen you for the past near 30 years. and he had remembered with a sudden start that yes, he had missed you. he had missed his closest friend, his companion, the only one who had been the one constant in his life.
vincent valentine had missed his [name].
”just… reminiscing” another squeeze to your hand, but this time, you returned his shy touches back at him, holding his hand tighter in your hold as if he would leave you again, just like that day 30 years ago.
”mmh.. either way, i’m glad to have you back here with me, vinnie”
”…i’m glad to be back by your side too, [name]”
“you know that you don’t have to do this unless you really want to, right? i wouldn’t want you growing uncomfortable around me just because we’re a little tipsy and ditzy right now”
“i know that, [name]” vincent muttered against your lips when you pulled back just enough to make sure for the nth time that he was okay with doing this, chasing afterwards to silence your charming drunk rambles. you would have never guessed how touch starved your idiot was until now, with him climbing up to straddle your lap, the golden claws of his gauntlet leaving bits and pieces of tears in your shirt, right where they fisted at the collar of your clothes.
”i’m just…” mumbling against your lips, the chapped lips of his stole a few more kisses before reluctantly puling away from your lips, looking down at himself where the clasps of his cloak had been undone to give you more skin to gnaw at. fingering one of the many buckles that held the leather skin tight around himself, vincent hesitates about what to do or say to you.
of course, you had already seen the horrors hojo had left behind on his skin; the healed autopsy scar with its thick stitches and bunched up flesh, inner elbow of his where the old scars of hundreds or so needles had pierced to keep him tethering to life while his body is cut open again and again to force chaos and protomateria inside him. you held no qualms about the scars he carried, saying that you had your own scars too and all didn’t matter in the end because vincent was still vincent to you. scars and all.
but, he still felt a sense of reluctance when it came to taking the leather off. something about baring himself whole to you again, in such a vulnerable state, made him feel… something. anger at having shown you marks of his weakest moments? shame for letting your sharp mind realize that he is still yet to come to accept the changes chaos made to his body? embarrassed because he was so desperate to feel your touch on him?
vision spinning and rolling around, vincent didn’t realize his bigger physique had been successfully flipped around so that he would be the one to lie on his back atop the soft cushions of your room until he saw your stupid grinning face shining down on him. ah, he had let down his guard again, and you had taken the chance to make a fool out of him. but if this happens every time only when he is with you, vincent held no complaints.
”how about we take it one step at a time, v? let me take the lead this time and we’ll figure out what you like, yeah?” leaning over him, you pepper kisses on his flushed cheeks, making chaos rumble deep in his chest like an overgrown spoiled cat under your care.
humming instead and telling chaos to shut up in his consciousness, vincent helps you takeoff his pants when your finger tugged at its hem. lifting up his hips, allowing you to take off the leather clothing, followed by his boxers that had an embarrassing small spot of wetness on the front, valentine hid his face behind his hands at the look on your face. one filled with so much love and tenderness, it made his stomach grow warm and mind grow dazed. he couldn’t bring himself to look down at you, not when you were peppering old gun shot wounds on his thighs with such care.
“you’re so pretty, vinnie. it makes me jealous sometimes, looking at your gorgeous figure and handsome face” mumbling words against his skin, dragging your lips over the new and old wounds, there was heat on his cheeks and ears. he knew he was flushing red like some idiot, swayed by some few words that you whispered against his flesh as if carving your convictions of his beauty into his soul.
”don’t—“ breath hitching, the former turk curses himself out in his mind at how whiny his words came out just now. you were a disease to him, did you knew that? even worse than chaos or the materia in him, like some tiny sentient liquid of poison that traveled into his heart whenever you wanted.
”don’t say useless things like that” swallowing down the moan that threatened to escape, vincent fists his hands into his hair, hoping the tugging pain into his scalp would distract him from the shameful feeling of his cock slowly twitching to life.
”but i’m being genuine here, vincent. you’re beautiful to me and i appreciate every moment we’ve spent together. and i would never regret anything that is between us” trailing kisses down his rising and falling stomach, he could feel you paying closer attention to the end of the autopsy scar there before turning to kiss the tip of his cock. the embarrassment he felt could be enough to kill him at this point, and vincent low-key wished it would choke him to his early grave right here and now.
”i will never regret you”
a sharp gasp tears through the tortured man’s mouth, letting go of his hold on his hair to look down at you between his legs, mouth swallowing his now hard cock slowly, inch by inch until he could feel his own tip nudging your throat all the way inside. choking on his saliva, vincent wanted to push your head off of himself. too tight, too warm, vincent was sure he was losing his mind and that his cock was melting into a puddy in your throat if it hadn’t been for the small outline he could see through your hollowed out cheeks.
”d-don’t! speak with your mouth full you-oughh.. mmhg ffffuck—!” throwing his head back, the soft bounce of the mattress made his head swim. paired with how you hummed around his dick, making his legs twitch violently, vincent was already growing short on breath as he panted like a dog. the choked out groans and the occasional breathy whimper that left him didn’t sound like him at all. vincent sounded like a stranger to his own ears.
“nnngh.. ha-aaagh [n-name], sloouwwh.. slow down a-a bit..♡︎~” whimpering, he hadn’t even realized that he was letting out the most pathetic sounds of his life when your hand patted against his own, lacing your fingers together. he could only choke on his noises, briefly raising his head up to look down at where you had gotten yourself so comfortable between his thighs. that soft look in your eyes while you damn near milked his soul dry made his ears burn up again, hiding behind his free arm just as quickly as he had peered up to stare at you.
vincent can’t bring himself to look again, in fear that it would be the last push, making his already weak will against you crumble entirely and cum down your throat. in shame, the old friend of yours tries to hold himself back as much as he could. stomach rising and falling in quick repetitions, the hand you’ve laced together squeezing around your fingers tightly, tugging and legs jerking in threat of closing around your head. a strange tasting pre dripped down your mouth, leaving behind trails of himself inside you already. had he known he was already breaking in your hold, you’re sure your idiot of an old co-worker would have made a sweet noise that did not fit his image.
trying to speak his name, to try and comfort him that it was okay to lose himself, you caress the inside of his thigh with your free hand. the constant vibrations your mouthful of talking made around his cock was the last straw. pulling his leg away, feeling himself sweat under his leather top, the red eyed man choked on his own moan when he felt his tip nudge against your throat, spilling himself down your mouth with a weak, pitiful whine that could be mistaken as your name.
perhaps it had something to do with him not longer being a human, but when the former turk came, he spilled a good amount of load. enough to make you pull away without being able to swallow all of them. cooing out some words of encouragement, your tight fist strokes him through his high, making his legs shake under the sudden strain.
”e-enouughh.. [n-name], that aagh hagh.. that’s enough..” pawing weakly at your wrist, you hum at his words before eventually letting goof your grip around his softening dick that spurted out the last few drops of his cum.
”feel better?” you ask him quietly, lying down on top of him with your full weight, knowing that he liked the heaviness that helps to ground his mind to reality. vincent’s breath was still jittery, yet to truly come down from his orgasm high. until he does, you decide to just wait for him, peppering more kisses on the small slip of skin where his top clasp that was undone.
”..y-yeah… uuhmg. all go-ood”
“has everyone packed everything? we will not be coming back if one of you forgot something behind, y’all know that right? gasoline is expensive around these parts” cid does his own little version of a roll call, standing on the top of the stairs that led to the inside of his aircraft.
some of the group called back out full of energy, some merely grunted groggily, their last night party hangover still yet to leave. some dug through their bags, mumbling under their breaths about making sure everything was indeed packed. you were of the last group, brows furrowed as you felt that empty feeling in your head that just screamed you forgot something. whatever it may be.
”uhhh, i think i might be missing something. let me just check my room real qui—“
”your gloves” vincent called out from behind you, the pair of old, worn out leather pair in his own gloved hand that he held out for you. ah, you probably left it behind while packing your things in your early morning haze. the leftover alcohol in your system clearly didn’t help.
”ah, right. sorry” holding your hand up, you feel the slight weight it gives as vincent places it in your grasp, his hand wrapping your fist around them and lingering for a moment bit too longer.
”if you leave it again, i’ll find them for you” the glow in his eye seemed to burn just a bit brighter when he said his promise, gloved hand pulling away from yours with the warmth left wrapped behind yours still.
and you made sure to glare at a few of the younglings who snickered at the background.
I'm so confused— I write Vincent valentine/reader smut and this feels incredibly copy-paste response because in no way are any of my writings political? Also this is chapter 5 and does not have 15 chapters? Is this some strange troll???
Ngl I saw an email where I got another comment on this chapter and raced excitedly to read it only to feel more confused and agitated?
What do you think of Vinny’s new outfit???? 🥵🥵🥵 It reminds me of the devils line thing you wrote and I just can’t get enough
Oh my goodness, I really really loved the odin outfit but this one I was like HOT DAMN. They DEFINITELY know what they're doing to him and I can't say I dislike it! I think I have similar headcanons wit you that he should have some scars and disfigurement so while that would make this outfit extra ✨️spicy✨️I'm happy we got this one too ohhhhhh
AND YES SAME. I was literally just reading your post about face sitting with the muzzle on and OH- YOURE COOKING
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.
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.
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.
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
