Vincent x Reader (Asylum)

Chapter 12 ~ Age

I sat on the couch, Vincent was behind me, cuddling me. I was deep in thought, my eyes felt heavy, as if I were to fall asleep.

"So wait," I broke the silence, "how old are you?" I ask.

"32 almost 33," Vincent looked down at me, "how old are you?"

All of the blood drained from my face, I hadn't ever thought about our age. "I-I'm seventeen," I muttered. I hung my head, afraid Vincent wouldn't like me now. That didn't last long though, I felt something hard against my butt. I laughed and rolled off the couch, Vincent had a grin plastered to his face. "You're such a pedophile," I giggled.

"Your point is?" Vincent readjusted on the couch, propping himself up with one hand.

"You make a compelling argument," I paused squinting my eyes, "good work young grasshopper." I ran off into our bedroom, I knew Vincent didn't like being called young. I heard him get up and walk through the hallway.

"Apologize," Vincent demanded as he walked into our room. I giggled and flopped onto the bed, almost in a child-like way.

"Never," I retorted. Vincent looked at me and walked closer.

"Apologize," he said once again. I shook my head no. Vincent proceeded to come over and get onto the bed with me. He placed his hands on my stomach and began to tickle me. I laughed and rolled over.

"Okay, okay!" I giggled, "I'm sorry."

"You are free to go," Vincent said. I noticed Mahogany standing in the doorway.

"We are heading out to go get a few groceries, do you need anything?" She asked. Vincent picked me up and slung me over his shoulder.

"Probably just some milk and bread," Vincent replied, "but guess what."

"What," Mahogany didn't show much interest in having a conversation at the moment.

"This bitch," Vincent slapped my ass, resulting in a pathetic whimper from me, "is only seventeen years old." he added.

"Oh wow," Mahogany let out a quiet laugh, "no wonder you like her so much."

"Shut up," Vincent let me go, I fell onto the bed as Mahogany walked out. Once Mahogany was out of our apartment, Vincent sighed and laid down next to me. He sighed, "I'm going to explode," he muttered. I noticed the bulge in his pants, hadn't gone away. It almost looked painful, I thought of a way I could help.

I reached over and grabbed at Vincent's belt. He looked up at me to see what I was doing. With one swift movement, I pulled his pants down.

Oh boy!

Timeskip

I drag my sleeve across my mouth, unsure of what I thought about doing that. Vincent was pulling his jeans back on.

"You know, you are pretty fucking adorable," Vincent laid down on the bed and pulled me close. I looked up at him and smiled.

"Thank you," I said with a small voice. Vincent kissed my forehead and hair. I held onto his shirt and buried my face into his chest.

"Anytime," Vincent yawned. I felt two arms placed on my back. Vincent began rubbing circles and tracing patterns with his fingers. I slowly crept back into that sleepy feeling again. I don't know what it is, but I feel safe and at home in Vincent's arms.

That's when I noticed a scar, and not just any normal scar, it was huge. It looked like some sort of old stab wound. I brought my hand up and pushed Vincent's sleeves up. He flinched at first, but slowly relaxed. I pushed Vincent's sleeve all the way up and saw tons of scars, small, large, short, long, you name it.

"V-Vincent, what's this?" I asked, "how do you have so many?"

"I have had multiple incidents," Vincent hesistated, but he proceeded to take off his shirt. What I saw made my heart sink to my feet. His chest, and stomach were lined with perfectly parallel lines; the middle of his stomach and chest had what appeared to be stab wounds. I gasped a little and covered my mouth.

"Did you do this to yourself?" I asked. I almost didn't want to hear the answer, mostly, because I already knew. Vincent nodded slowly, hanging his head. But I saw the beauty, I saw how this made Vincent who he is. "They're," I paused, "beautiful."

"You don't have to say those things," Vincent laughed slightly. I shook my head, and made a bold move myself.

I quickly lifted my own shirt over my head. "Those scars are like mine," I smiled meekly. Vincent glanced up and saw the lines all over my hips and stomach. Though there weren't nearly as many on my stomach, I felt closer to Vincent knowing we looked the same.

"Oh my gosh," Vincent's eyes were filled with sadness. I smiled and held my hands over my scars. But Vincent reached over and held my arms out. "I love your scars," and with that, I was wrapped into a hug.

So there we both were, sitting on a bed in Paris. There we were, vaunerable and exposed. There we were, completely in love.