AU: You are at the Vermillion bird’s court. Captive? (Mid+. Hello batsh*t craycray Caleb. He’s possessive and protective aka 100% delulu. Suggestive language, you are warned.)
Sullied goods
You and Caleb stroll hand in hand through the lively market, the world around you humming with energy.
The air is thick with the mingling scents of fresh herbs, rich spices, and fragrant blooms that seem to float on the warm breeze. Colorful silk fabrics sway in the air, their vibrant hues dancing like a painter’s palette, while intricate stoneware glimmers in the sunlight. Booths overflow with glittering jewelry and beautifully embroidered textiles that catch your eye at every turn.
Your heart races with delight as you sip from a takeaway cup of chilled oolong tea, the cool liquid refreshing against the heat of the day, the bamboo straw pressed gently to your lips. Caleb watches you with an intensity that makes your cheeks flush, his gaze never leaving your face, his lips curling into a tender smile as you take each delicate sip.
“Caleb, would you please stop looking at me like that?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them, your voice a playful mix of embarrassment and affection.
He chuckles, the sound rich and warm, his laughter like a secret shared between the two of you. A slow, teasing finger brushes over your chin, his gaze soft yet filled with something deeper, something fond. “Oh, come ooon,” he coos, his voice like velvet, “How could I not look at you when you’re so adorable?”
But then he pauses, his eyes darkening with mischief, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Especially when I think about how your lips were gracing something far larger than a bamboo straw this morning.”
Your body freezes, and a hot blush creeps up your neck. “Caleb! We’re in public, you bird-brained dum-dum!” you exclaim, nudging his hand, half-shocked, half-laughing, your words dripping with mock disapproval.
The fire in his eyes ignites with playful defiance, and without another word, he bolts, his movements lazy yet teasing, as if savoring the chase. You watch, laughing, as he stumbles slightly, running with a slow, exaggerated gait, as if pretending to escape your lighthearted judgment.
Caleb turns back with a grin, still laughing, and shouts over his shoulder, “Please, be just as cute tonight, little sun!”
You laugh, chasing him for a few moments before coming to a sudden halt at a booth where the most magnificent fan lies on the seller’s table.
Its delicate bones are carved with intricate designs that shimmer in the sunlight, and the fabric of the fan itself catches the light like a woven tapestry of a setting sun.
You reach out, your fingers barely brushing the edges, mesmerized by its beauty, the playful chase momentarily forgotten.
Caleb immediately notices your detour, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he slows to a stop. With deliberate ease, he wraps a hand around your hip, pulling you close as he presses a soft kiss to your hair. His gaze narrows, suspicion flickering across his features as he watches the seller closely, silently assessing his intentions. His eyes return to you, a silent question lingering in them, as you resist the temptation to grab the fan.
The seller, sensing your hesitation, eagerly exclaims, “Oh, young one! Please, feel free to try it out. Experience the lightness and beautiful craftsmanship in your hands.” With that, the seller picks up the fan, extending it toward you, a hopeful glint in his eye.
Caleb observes intently, his instinct sharp as he studies the situation, searching for any sign that might feel off. His eyes never leave you, even as you carefully reach for the fan, feeling the coolness of its delicate bones beneath your fingertips.
You lift it, swaying it gently upward, the sun catching the fabric, making it shimmer like a cloud of stars in your hands. Your eyes gleam with admiration as the fan’s beauty seems to match your own. Caleb’s lips curl into a smile, his voice a soft murmur in the warm air. “You like it?”
You nod, your smile reflecting the same sense of awe.
The seller, watching with delight, exclaims, “A fan fit for such a beauty.” He turns, as if struck by another idea. “But such a magnificent fan must be adorned with suitable jewelry,” he adds, picking up a piece of jewelry that catches the light—a simple yet stunning golden bracelet, glistening with a single ruby, a small apple charm glimmering in the sunlight.
The seller steps closer, moving around the booth with quiet intent. His gaze locks onto yours, his steps slow and deliberate as he approaches you. Caleb’s watchful eyes follow his every movement, a protective tension coiling in the air between them.
The seller is just about to reach for your hand, when Caleb intercepts with swift precision.
“That's fine, thank you. I’ll take it.” Caleb says firmly, his voice laced with authority, but the seller ignores him, grabbing your wrist with more force than necessary, attempting to fasten the wristband onto you.
Caleb’s wrath is inevitable. He moves swiftly, grabbing the seller by the shoulder. In the ensuing commotion, your iced tea slips from your grasp, spilling onto the ground, the cool liquid splashing across your robe and Caleb’s.
A muscle twitches in Caleb’s jaw, his eyes dark with fury. “I said: That. Is. Fine.” He snatches the wristband from the seller’s hand and pushes him away, his strength sending the seller stumbling back.
“Lord… I… I meant no harm,” the merchant stammers, but Caleb’s deathly stare silences him. The seller, at a loss for words, retreats slowly, his face pale as he returns to the confines of his booth. He’s no longer a man, just a thing before Caleb's wrath.
“Don’t. Ever. Touch her again” Caleb says with icy finality, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His words hang heavy, each syllable weighted with an undeniable threat that seems to freeze time itself. “Unless,”
Caleb leans in, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Unless, of course… you’d rather test how well you can count your profits without fingers.” He tilts his head, watching the merchant’s throat bob in fear, then chuckles, low and dangerous. “… I’m willing to bet you’d lose track after one.”
“Ca—!” The syllable barely escapes before he stops you, his thumb pressing softly yet firmly against your lips. The touch is warm, reassuring—an unspoken command. His gaze remains locked on the seller, unwavering, sharp with authority, yet when he turns to you, his expression softens. A silent plea, a quiet insistence. “My precious little sun,” his voice a low, steady anchor.
With a flick of his wrist, Caleb places a handful of golden coins on the desk, the weight of the exchange unmistakable. The discussion is closed, the matter settled. He meets the merchant’s shaken gaze, a slow, razor-sharp smirk stretching across his lips—cold, amused, and utterly merciless. “Enjoy counting while you can,” he hums, tapping a single coin with deliberate ease. “Might be your last chance to get the numbers right.” Then, without another glance, he turns away, leaving the weight of his presence lingering like a shadow.
He takes your wrist, the same spot where the seller’s hand had briefly lingered, his touch tender. His amber eyes flicker with something much softer now, a hint of genuine worry. “Are you okay, little sun?” he asks, his gaze searching yours, as if trying to read every flicker of emotion.
You throw up your hands, eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you for real?! Of course I’m fine, Caleb.” You smile faintly, easing his concerns. “The seller was just—”
But Caleb stops you, his thumb gently tracing your lips, silencing your words. He shakes his head, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and concern. “Of course, you’re not fine,” he whispers, his eyes darkening into voilet as he steps closer. “You’ve been…” His voice falters, and for a moment, he hesitates, as if the words taste bitter on his tongue. “Sullied,” he finally murmurs, the word heavy with distaste.
He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and then his tone softens, “Let’s get you cleaned up,”
Caleb casts one final, warning glance at the booth, a last reminder to the seller. He then turns back to you, his gaze softening, lips brushing against your hair. “How does a bath sound, little sun?” he whispers, his voice laced with a playful promise.
“Let see how much foam it takes to flood the bathroom”
Writer’s note: Ye I live for crazy Caleb. This is ofc inspired by how insanely authoritative he was in the Fleet and against Viper. And crazy Caleb gives me the butterflies ngl send help
I doodled this after his release and I was like «yea that’s… unsavory» but I’ve just realized that my mind is utterly in the gutter with this one so I might as well share it to the interwebz
LETS JUST PRETEND I WAS STUDYING HANDS OR SOMETHIN’
AND: HOW TF did my past self call that we got to shove at least SOMETHING in his pretty lil mouth ok I’ll shut up not
