Na-t0 - 【な-と】

𝘛𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

Vash the Stampede x reader (no pronouns used)

The piece below contains the bleak words from a remitter that considered not deserving a response from its addressee. A mere confession from a worn out soul to another.

A farewell letter dedicated to the man with a geranium colored spirit.

A farewell letter dedicated to the man that will be loved until the five moons that adorn the sky, fall before the eyes of this desolate heart.

Seguir leyendo

me and vashie from this cute picrew: https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/1338758 !!!♡(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)♡ ⭐️。~

warnings : gn reader, semi-smut / very suggestive (mdni), established relationship (?), inexperienced vash, mentions of possible injuries, grinding / dry humping, lots of kissing, also very soft

word count : 1.2k

There are not many things Vash dislikes in the world. 

But his greatest nightmare is you getting hurt. 

Warm, shaky hands cup your cheeks, tilting your face until Vash can slot his mouth over yours, kissing you with a distraught yet gentle desperation. You open for him, allowing him to dip his tongue into your mouth and yours into his, and Vash feels his heart swell and thud in his throat. 

He’s hardly pulling away– something that’s wholly unlike his usually shy and hesitant demeanor, but also so like him in the deep sense of passion and care he pours into every touch, every action. He makes sure to keep you close, barely paying attention when you stumble around the cheap room rented for the short night, instinctively searching for the bed that will surely be stiff and as uncomfortable as a wooden board.  

“You…” he mumbles against your lips, losing the words in the haze that’s clouded his mind. He feels you tug at him again, hands pulling insistently at the clothes on his hips, and he feels something he’s painfully inexperienced with spark to life in his chest: arousal. 

“Vash,” you merely reply, and he knows he’s not mistaken when he hears similar want in your tone. You waste no time as you lean forward to kiss him again, capturing his lips and happily sighing when you pull his bottom lip into your mouth to suck. 

Vash’s hands still shake as he holds you close, not even noticing how he’s made it to the bed. He sits on the edge, still cupping your cheeks as you stand between his spread legs, urging you closer and reveling in the exhilarating feeling of anticipation and inexperience that tugs in his stomach. 

But then you make a sound, and Vash is painfully reminded of what led you to this passionate embrace in the first place. 

Pulling away, Vash looks you over with an intense air of concern, not missing but choosing to return to the wide-eyed, wanting look you give him. 

“You almost got hurt,” Vash grasps your hips as if afraid to let you go.  

You merely tilt your head forward until it rests against his, and Vash allows himself to let go of the fear and anxieties that have plagued him since that moment. That terrifying moment in which he thought you almost got hurt by yet another person after the ‘Humanoid Typhoon.’ 

“Almost,” you soothe, brushing your hand over the coarse softness of his hair. Your touch is gentle, and Vash can’t help but hold you close to his body, needing to feel you close as a way to quell the fear that’s only just now beginning to dissipate. “But I didn't. I’m here. I’m okay.”

He almost retorts with a but you almost weren’t– but then Vash looks at you and the pure, unadulterated love and fondness that you often him, softening your features as you smile at him, makes him speechless. 

So, instead, Vash chokes down any of his qualms. Instead, he pulls you closer, choosing to ignore his mind and focus on what you both need. 

"Can I please try something?" he asks, almost unsure of himself.

But then you nod, smiling at him and still holding his cheeks as if he's your entire world.

He hopes he is. You're his, too.

He easily gathers you in his arms, pulling you onto his lap until you’re yet again face-to-face. Vash likes the slight sound of surprise you let out at his bold actions, but your hands only move to cup his face, accommodating yourself on top of him so that your thighs are spread and your center is pressing down on him. 

His hands twitch as they hold your hips and something thick wells inside his throat at your proximity. Wetting his lips, Vash’s gaze never strays from your face, even though the complicated flurry of emotions barraging him is all-consuming and entirely distracting. 

“Don’t do that again,” he nearly pleads, eyes wide behind his frames that have been steadily slipping down the bridge of his nose. To reiterate his point, Vash squeezes your hips, gaining a bit of bravery to touch you more. 

“Same to you,” you frown. “You can’t worry me like that either, you know. I can’t handle it.”

Vash understands your unspoken words. I can’t handle it if you get hurt.

There are too many things that could be said, yet not enough to explain the complicated emotions you both feel. Instead, Vash dips his head down defeatedly, resting it in the crook of your neck and taking in the inherent, palpable feeling of comfort he feels. 

“I know,” he murmurs against you, and he doesn’t miss how you shiver against him when his lips brush against your skin. 

Suddenly, he’s all too aware of the compromising position you’re in. Vash knows he’s breathing hard, but it’s as if his body is having reactions on its own– he’s not used to this, to any of this. But you seem to understand because you pull on his hands, guiding them to rest against your sides. 

“Vash…” you whisper, filling the air with so much tension that it makes Vash’s eyes fall shut. 

He presses his weight against you when he kisses you again, moving his lips against yours slowly and in such an inexperienced manner that it’s endearing. He kisses hesitantly at first, sloppy and a bit shyly, before you’re encouraging him by moaning into his mouth, cupping his cheeks and whispering his name over and over and over again. 

Sucking in a shaky breath, Vash refuses to part from you, even though the nerves are bundling and coiling and tightening in his chest, tugging his heart in your direction. He doesn’t want to stop whatever this is; he doesn’t want to halt the feeling because he’s almost certain that the feeling is love. 

Vash is in love with you. 

So, his hands tentatively fall to your hips, clumsily and almost timidly pulling your hips towards him and over him. You don’t seem to understand what he wants at first, and Vash is filled with insecurities about just talking to you about it– but then your eyes go wide in understanding, and you carefully begin moving with him. 

Soon, Vash is panting into your mouth, kissing you slow and wet, no longer holding the same inhibitions he did previously. He pulls and tugs on you, cheeks becoming more and more stained with red the longer you rock over the hardening bulge in his pants. He’s thoroughly enamored, unable to think about anything other than how your body feels so soft against his own, how the desire for you burns through his body, and how you sound sighing his name whenever he gives you another squeeze to pull you closer to him. His mind might as well be melting with every warm, thick roll of your hips over his lap, igniting a tingling pleasure between his thighs that he’s thoroughly unused to. 

He doesn’t know how long you stay like that– simply enjoying each other’s mouth and bodies and touch, fully clothed and relishing in the comfort you bring each other. It could have been minutes or hours, and all throughout, Vash feels the same sort of insistent neediness that he did in the beginning. He can’t help but look you over with hazy eyes, a constant smile tugging at his lips, and nothing but pure love filling his heart. 

There are many things Vash likes in the world, but it is undeniable that he loves you the most. 

In The Heat of The Night

A/N: Stemming from my previous fic and inspired by this text post I thought I'd write a lil something 18+ for the thirsty Vash fans out there, Vash x Reader, (no pronouns used), might continue/rewrite this with a bit more sm*t eventually. Summary: Vash's first bj, this IS this space cowboy's first time at the rodeo. Thank you @holydayaria for reading/editing. ♡

“Make a right here Meryl! There should be a nearby stop!” Vash called out from the back seat pointing a mechanical finger in the direction of the nearing town. As much as he unconsciously enjoyed the pleasant pressure of an attractive stranger's weight in his lap, his limbs were becoming increasingly sore by the second.

“Someone’s eager to get out of the car.” Wolfwood chuckled beside the blond, he could tell Vash was not only in physical pain, but obviously going through some sort of mental tug of war with what he assumed was his human taught chivalry and his instinctual libido. His dark brows were knit tight the entire car ride, his body ridged, his fists balled up against his sides, like a little kid who was put on time out. Each bump the car went over you bounced in his lap, earning a deep groan every time.

“A drink does sound nice.” you chimed, leaning yourself back against his chest. Vash flinched at your sudden movement, quickly moving his hands to grip the dusty cushions for stability. “Thank you for being such a comfortable seat.” you smiled, turning your head to the side glancing at him from your peripheral. His lips curled upward into a small smile, a droplet of sweat rolling down his brow. “Glad I could be of service.” He laughed breathlessly, rubbing the back of his head with his gloved hand.

To his relief, the truck finally came to a stop in front of a desert inn, you climbed out of the car first, Vash still close behind you holding the door open.

“Thank you for the ride, I would have been a goner without your help.” you turned toward him, bowing forward gratefully, “I’d love to buy a round of drinks for you before we part ways.”

Vash shook his head with a smile waving his hands in front of him in unison with his words, “No, no, you don’t have to do that! It’s the least we could do for a stranger in need.”

“I’d love a drink.” Wolfwood interjected as he hopped out of the car “Me too!” Meryl sang, following alongside Wolfwood, “What they said.” Roberto motioned his hand for you and Vash to follow along.

“I guess it turns out everyone wants a drink!” Vash sighed, raising his hands in defeat.

“Order whatever you’d like.” you reassured your new found saviors making your way over toward the inn’s bar. And after a few moments you all were presented with a frothy beverage in a wooden mug.

“You sure you don’t want anything, I owe you one.” You took a sip from your tankard before placing it to rest on the rustic table Vash was sat at. “You must be thirsty.” you pressed, taking a seat beside him.

He shook his head, “I’ll be alright.”

You raised a single brow taken back by his unusual answer, “Alright, suit yourself.” Before you could inquire about his odd behavior, Wolfwood joined the two of you at the table. “Thanks again for the booze.” He gestured his mug in a silent cheer toward you.

“It’s the least I could do.” You turned toward Vash with a small frown, “guess I’ll have to thank this guy another way.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Wolfwood responded, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, nestling a stick into the side of his mouth.

A few moments later Meryl and Roberto joined the table carrying on their previous conversation that was held in the truck. As they spoke among themselves, you took this time to get to know your makeshift knight in shining armor, and grew more fond of him the more he shared. Wolfwood sat back and spectated your interaction with Vash, it was obvious to him you had quite the attraction to the outlaw.

“I’m going to get another drink, ‘you sure you don’t want anything?” you asked, standing up from your seat. “I’ll just take a glass of water please.” Vash caved to your polite persistence. The priest could swear on the mighty God above him he saw a twinkle in needlehead’s eyes when he gazed at you. He was clearly enamored by you as well, which was quite rare for him.

“Be careful needle noggin’.” The Punisher warned, his eyes still studying you as you approached the bar alone.

“What do you mean?” Vash asked, obviously confused by the implication of his comment.

“They’re obviously interested in you. Just make sure to use protection.” Wolfwood chuckled, picking up the carton of cigarettes off of the table, now standing from his seat “P-protection?!” Vash stammered, “I’ll leave you two alone.” Waved him off, exiting the bar. And before Vash knew it, Meryl and Roberto followed suit, taking their leave as well.

“Guys, where are you going?!”

“We are going to get a room! We might as well stay here for the night! See ya tomorrow!” Meryl waved before exiting the bar. Vash swallowed thickly, directing his attention back to you leaning against the bar awaiting your drink. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to pursue anything more than just a friendly conversation. But physically, he was very drawn to you, more so than he’s experienced with any other human before.

As you made your way back to the table you immediately noticed the empty chairs,“Where did your friends go?” you asked, “I hope I didn’t scare them away.”

“Oh no! Not at all,” he chuckled, humored by your worry but also, trying to soothe his anxiety of being left alone with you, “they went to get their own rooms. I guess we are staying here for the night.”

“Where do you plan on staying?” you asked curiously. He swallowed once more, his mouth dry, clearly struggling to retain his eye contact with your flirtatious gaze. He reached for his water, taking a small sip before replying, “I’m not too sure.” A way to thank him, you thought to yourself. And you weren’t opposed to spending more time with your newly found friend.

“I know you just met me but, you could stay the night with me? But only if you’re comfortable.” you placed your head in the palm of your hand trying to come off nonthreatening in the hopes he would say yes. His cheeks slowly began to flush pink, caught off guard by such an intimate offer. So cute, you thought to yourself.

“You sure?” he asked, you nodded, reassuring the desire of his presence.

“Thank you.” What have I gotten myself into?

After a bit more conversation you decide to call it a night, tired from today’s journey. Vash followed a safe distance behind you as you led him to the purchased room. “You sure you don’t mind me staying with you?” He asked hesitantly, still unsure of the situation.

“I trust you.” Vash’s shoulders relaxed at your comforting words, feeling slightly less tense about his intrusion. With an audible click the door opened, before Vash could make his way in you ran forward throwing yourself on top of the bed, sinking into the plush material with a content sigh.

“Sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a bed this nice.” you apologized with a small laugh, Vash responded similarly. While you enjoyed the bed, he made himself comfortable, pulling free from his heavy red trench coat, leaving him in just his black poloneck and matching cargo pants. His eyes caught your gaze while you watched him unbuckle his gun’s holster. He looked back down, working at the metal buckle, “Sorry, I should have told you I had a gun.”

“It’s okay, I felt something hard when I was sitting in your lap and figured it was either a.) a gun or b.) you were just very happy to see me.” you smirked. A shiver went up his spine hearing your obscene joke, he didn’t know whether to laugh or be embarrassed about the possibility of it not being his gun to blame.

“Vash? You seem tense.” you sat up, resting your forearms behind you for leverage. “Why don’t you come lay down with me.” Vash glanced over at you for a brief moment and part of him wished he didn’t, your soft lips were now contorted into an attractive pout, narrowed eyes luring him like a siren’s call. “Ah, s-sure.” he agreed before he could think about what he was saying, pursing his lips into a thin line trying to keep the nervous shake in his voice hidden. After his struggle unbuckling the holster with nervous fingers he placed it alongside his other belongings, now approaching you from the bedside.

He sat on the edge of the mattress unsure of what to expect from the close proximity. That is until he felt your hands at his shoulders, kneading into the sore tendons. A small sigh left Vash who was enjoying the soft touch of your hands slowly working away the years of knots undone. “Relax,” you purred against his ear, the palm of your hand now flat against his chest pushing him to turn toward you, “I want to make you feel good.”

As Vash turned his torso you guided him back against the bed, positioning him to lay down beside you. He watched as you threw your leg over his, now straddling his hips. His hands fell down to your thighs squeezing the soft flesh gently feeling you roll your hips, trying to comfortably disperse your weight on top of him. His jaw clenched, his glasses slipping to the lower bridge of his nose as he looked down at your semi lewd position on top of him.

You leaned forward pulling the arm of the glasses upward, tucking them behind his ear to rest on top of his blond tresses. “You have beautiful eyes.” you smiled admiring his features that were mostly hidden behind his sunglasses.

“S-so do you.” He said breathlessly, internally cursing himself for being unable to make a coherent sentence. His thoughts were hazy, his brain busy trying to process what was going on. He was soon pulled out of those thoughts feeling your hand slip underneath his shirt, “What do you say about taking this off?” As you pulled the shirt further up you noticed the abundance of scars and protruding pieces of metal that were deeply engraved in his abdomen and chest. Your lips parted in shock at the gruesome sight.

“I’m sorry, this is embarrassing.” His cheeks flushed feeling the harsh sting of your scrutinizing gaze. “Can’t say I didn’t expect an outlaw to have a few battle scars. But I didn’t think it’d be ones like these.” You gently skimmed your hand over each scar, feeling the cool touch of the metal patchwork and seams over your fingertips. “You’re interesting Vash, one of a kind.” you smiled. His eyes widened at your response, one of a kind, he mulled your kind words over in his head.

As your hand drifted back down his abdomen, you felt each muscle twitch underneath your palm, nearing closer to his hips. “Have you ever been with anyone, Vash?” you whispered, placing a hand between his legs, palming his cock through the thick material of his pants. You watched his lips part, a soft moan escaping his lips. He finally processed your question, shaking his head no in response.

You were genuinely surprised by his answer, he hasn’t been with anyone else? But you were too consumed by lust to entertain the idea.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” you whispered against his neck placing soft kisses along his nape. You rested one hand against the opposite side of his neck, continuing to pleasure Vash through his clothing, his cock quickly hardening underneath your palm from the friction. With soft kisses and small licks you made your way down his abdomen before stopping right above his navel. You looked up at him through thick lashes searching his eyes for approval, he nodded granting you further access.

As you pulled his pants down you were soon greeted with his aroused length springing forward from the confines of his underwear. The tip was blushing red, weeping profusely, silently begging for attention. Before attending to his needs you pulled away, crossing your arms at the hem of your top, and as you pulled you at the fabric, you unveiled the sight of your bare chest for his display. Vash wasn’t sure if he should look away, but it was clear by your hand grasping his to touch you, you wanted him to acknowledge you.

“It’s time I give you my thanks. You know, for saving me and all.” you smiled innocently, but what you planned on gifting him for your gratitude was anything but. You repositioned yourself between his legs, refocusing your attention back on his cock. 

You pressed your soft lips against the sensitive skin before laying your tongue flat, gently licking along his slit. Vash’s head fell back onto the pillows, his gloved hand raking carefully through your hair, tugging at the strands with each bob of your head. Vash’s moans were rasped, desperate for his release. Feeling an unfamiliar tension build up inside of him, he threw his other arm above him hitting against the wood with an audible “clank”. His metal fingers curled around the delicate headboard in search of relief. 

“I feel, I feel, like-” his words were frantic, unsure of how to express this overwhelming sensation. Looking up at him, you could tell he was probably close to his climax. His brows were furrowed, the quiff of his hair stuck against his forehead now sticky with sweat, and his pale cheeks illuminated with a dark pink hue. It was enough to motivate you to begin your motions with a little more vigor, encouraging his oncoming orgasm. His hips bucked forward in response to your change of pace. His moans were now broken, uncontrollable. The cracking of wood could be heard between each whimper as he quickly claimed his release. Ropes of thick cum spurting down your throat. Vash winced, feeling his prosthetic grow hot against the flesh of his bicep, and before he could control it he formed a metal fist creating a hole in the headboard. He looked up in shock at his accident trying to regain control of his prosthesis.

“That’s never happened before, I guess I got too excited.” He practiced clenching his mechanical hand as his arm recalibrated.

“Maybe next time, we will keep our hands to ourselves.”

A New Religion

Pairing: Wolfwood x Fem Reader

Rating: 19+ MDNI

Song Inspo: Soweto by Victony, Rema

Summary: You're reunited with Wolfwood after all this time. You thought you were catching up with an old friend, but he tells you that you’re everything but that.

Word Ct: 4.1k

“Come onnn preacher man, you’re gonna let a woman like me walk all by herself?” 

“You came here by yourself, didn’t you?”

You pouted and batted your eyes. “What if something happened to me? Here in Mecca city with a man with a 300 million double dollar bounty on his head, don’t you think it’s a little unsafe for me?”

Wolfwood flicked his eyes down to you hanging off of his arm. Your hands were warm enough for him to feel it through the sleeves of his suit, and you weren't letting up your grip. He tried to look into your eyes to see if it was the beers that you had that were talking instead of your true self, but you only had one glass that you nursed the entire time he had been in the bar. His eyes followed the way you licked your lips and pulled them back to smile again. Wolfwood quickly looked away, but you didn’t want that so you cupped his face with one hand and plucked the bent cigarette out of his mouth to smoke. 

“I feel like priests shouldn’t be able to smoke,” you said after a long drag. “Ain’t it in the Bible somewhere?”

“God cares more about my heart than my lungs.”

“I’m sure your heart is struggling to keep pumping your dying lungs,” you said, and to Wolfwood’s surprise you placed your ear right on his naked chest. You pulled back to move your hair out of the way and your face was pressed up against his chest again. You took another drag of the smoke and tapped his sternum. 

“It’s beating so fast, the poor thing. Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of the pack for you. Your body’s a temple and I’m willing to keep it that way,” you winked up at him. 

“I don’t need you to finish anything for me,” he reached into his breast pocket to pull out his stash of cigarettes. He tapped out a new one, and before he could get his lighter you stopped him.

“Lucky you, I have one last match,” you opened your matchbox and showed him the stick. You stood like a flamingo, holding onto Wolfwood’s shoulder for stability and struck the match against the heel of your boot. A bright flame erupted before sizzling down to where you could bring it up to his face safely. The cigarette hung loosely from Wolfwood’s lips, and he made the mistake of looking directly in your dark eyes instead of the butt of the smoke. The fire danced in your eyes with delight, like a pyromaniac finally finding their passion. When he was able to hold a flame you blew the match out, and before he could stop what you were doing you switched out the cigarettes, putting the bent one back into his parted mouth and taking the fresh one for yourself. 

“Hey!”

“It’s the least you could do for me, Wolfy. I got a long walk back to the motel. This’ll keep me warm,” you tipped your hat to him and turned on your heel. 

“And what about me?”

“What about you, Nathan?” You yelled, but you never stopped to face him. Your hair bounced and your hips swayed as you walked down the street, and he could hear you smirking as you got his name wrong.

“That’s not my name,” he grumbled to himself, and he readjusted the Punisher hanging on his shoulder. He was about to leave the opposite direction himself, and the cigarette smoke filled his lungs enough for him to puff it out, but it tasted different. He held the smoke between his fingers and saw the light pink tinge of your lipgloss on the mouthpiece. It was barely there but suddenly cherries were the only thing he could think about. His head whipped around to find you and he could barely see the top of your cowboy hat poking through the crowd of people who were also leaving for the night. Then he saw your hat jerk violently to the side and into an alleyway. 

Wolfwood parted through the ocean of bounty hunters, his blood rushing in his ears. The seconds stretched for miles and he pushed aggressively through the crowd as he got closer to where he saw you disappear, and when he finally rounded the corner he was moments away from unlatching the Punisher. He saw a dying cigarette and your white hat flipped upside down on the floor. Equal parts fear and anger surged through him. Before he could make any hasty moves a motion caught his eyes in the corner of the alley. You stood there hunched over and trying to catch your breath, your hair flopped over and filled with debris. A large man laid flat on his back, groaning and mumbling incoherent thoughts out loud. His fingers twitched to reach his gun on the floor but Wolfwood crushed his fingers with his foot. 

“You okay?”

“Nevel!” You said, genuinely surprised to see him again so soon. “Me? Oh, I’m just peachy. Never been better,” you shook your hair out and put on a sweet smile. 

“Do you need to…” he started, but you shook your head.

“Don’t let my breathing fool you. He’s so drunk he couldn’t tell his dick from his gun. I’m just a little out of shape, but I can still protect myself.”

“Your shape is fine,” he said, dusting off your hat and handing it to her. 

“And what about my shape do you like?” You asked playfully, and snorted when he turned away to hide his flaming face. “Is it because I shared a holy cigarette with you? Is that why you can’t let go of me yet?”

“Let’s get you back to your room.”

“Now you want to walk with me,” you rolled your eyes. 

“I just want to make sure you get to bed and then I’ll leave. I’ll carry you if I have to,” he warned.

“Carry me and that death machine at the same time? I don’t even think you could do that. I’m not that tiny—“

But you were hauled over Wolfwood’s shoulder before you could finish your sentence. You caught your hat before it could fall again and he adjusted both you and the Punisher to sit comfortably to leave the alley. 

“Oh I’m going to tell the church about this, just you wait. A priest , manhandling an innocent bystander ! Is this because I haven’t paid my tithes? That doesn’t make me a sinner!”

“No, but killing people does,” Wolfwood jerked his shoulder up and you grumbled. 

“You’re no better than me.”

“I just do my job.” 

“Tell me, Father, do you ever do anything outside of your job,” you twisted and whispered in his ear. Your lips grazed the shell of his ear and a shiver went down his spine. “Caring for everybody else seems tiring. What do you like to do to unwind?”

“I’ll tell you if you can be quiet until we get to the motel.”

You pinched his butt in frustration, but surprised him once again by keeping your mouth closed. Wolfwood didn’t understand why you wanted to know, and he couldn’t tell if this was all a game to her. The only other time you talked was when he begged you for your room information so he could walk you right to it, but you were convinced he was trying to make you lose. When he reached the destination, he gently placed you back on your feet and fixed your tilting hat. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“I kept track of all of your transgressions,” you tapped your temple. “See you in the morning paper, you corrupted church man.” 

Wolfwood chuckled as you turned around and unlocked the door to your room. He scoped behind him to ensure that nobody was watching you get inside. Before you stepped foot inside you asked him the same question. 

“I don’t ‘unwind’. I’m given a job, I do my job, and another one is given to me. There’s no time for anything else.” 

“Sounds… boring. Lonely,” you brushed the lapels of his suit and peered up at him. Wolfwood wished you would stop looking at him like that. It moved something in his chest he couldn’t identify. “You really don’t have time for anything else? Not even for a friend?”

“We’re friends?” He asked incredulously. 

You slapped his chest and frowned. “Of course we are! Why else would you come back running to me? We always find each other no matter how long it’s been.” 

Your eyes softened and you wrapped your arms around his waist. “I guess I shouldn’t be so hard on you. Thank you, Nicholas, for helping me tonight.” You kissed his cheek and let him go. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again but it wouldn’t kill you to write a letter.”

“I can’t be friends with you,” Wolfwood said lowly, and your eyes clouded over.

“What?” 

He hooked his free hand around your waist and drew you in close. your eyes widened and you splayed your hands on his chest to stop from crashing into it. You looked up in confusion but you could see Wolfwood trying to gather his thoughts. 

“What I’m feeling for you isn’t friendly ,” he said carefully. His grip tightened around your body like a vice and your eyebrows sprung up. You ran your fingers over his bare skin, almost able to hear his heart thumping behind his ribs. 

“And what is it… what are you feeling, Wolfwood?”

He could try to explain it to you, tell you how you’re one of the first people he thinks of whenever he brushes death, or how he prays that the time you spend apart would shorten from months to day or hours, but the words couldn’t make it out of his throat because it is impossible to accurately describe just how much space you take up in his mind. You hide in every crevice of his being, taking up residence in his heart, stealing every smoke filled breath and making it your own because in reality it was never his, and each breath he takes carries him closer to the next time he’ll meet you again.

He could try to explain that to you, but it’s much easier to close the gap between them and capture your lips with his. It’s much easier to guide you into the motel and kick the door close behind him. It is so much easier to gently lay your on the bed after shrugging off the Punisher and swallow your moans as you clawed his back to hold him closer. In a frenzied mix of tongue and lips Wolfwood tastes you fully, doing what he has dreamed of doing a thousand times before but could never bring himself to. Despite spending your whole life out on this godforsaken desert planet, every part of you is soft, his fingers sinking into the exposed skin of your stomach. Your fingers scrape his scalp and his eyes roll further back into his head, and the only times he unlatches his lips from yours is to rip off articles of his clothing and you do the same. 

Your teeth bump each other when you meld your mouths together again, and it’s like touching a live wire. 

Every nerve of his sings for you and it’s like you’re jump starting his heart. He gives you a moment to breathe, instead kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the veins in your neck and the hollow in your throat. Wolfwood runs his tongue over your collarbone, licking the sweat that sat on your skin. His previous suspicions were confirmed. He could never be friends with you. Not when he’s on the verge of devouring you. His tongue skated down your body until he reached one of your breasts. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, inviting him in and he listened. He sucked and flicked your hardening bud until you were gasping his name, crooning praises at him and begging him for more. He had to lavish the other nipple with the same amount of affection, and came back up to kiss your lips once again. 

“Do you understand why we can’t be friends,” he mumbled into your mouth. You nodded fiercely, snaking your arm around his neck to deepen this kiss. Wolfwood’s hand trailed in between your legs, gathering your wetness and stroking your clit. You mewled again, spreading your legs wider, grinding into his palm. You tugged his bottom lip between your teeth and urged him. 

“I need more, Nicholas.”

“Can I—“

“Yes, yes, go ahead,” you rushed out, holding onto the last bit of restraint you had before you were dragged down to the depths of depravity with him. Wolfwood leaned away from you, which was the last thing you wanted him to do, but when he did you were finally able to take in his body the same way he was doing to yours. Red welts were already forming around his neck and creeping over his shoulders, marks that you made on him. He pushed strands of his hair up and out of his forehead and gazed down at you in your entirety. You were almost too bright to look at, like he had to avert your eyes lest he hurt himself. He wanted to kiss every inch of your skin, murmur praises into your ear, send you to heaven above over and over again. So much desire coursed through his veins he was unsure as to where he wanted to start. 

You saw his eyes filled with awe and it was like a spotlight on your body. You were still on your back while he rested on his knees between your legs, his pants still on but unzipped and unbuttoned. Although he wasn’t as close to you as you would like, his hands never left your body, and he caressed your calves as he canvassed your body. You could see his erection straining through his slacks and you bit your lip. 

“It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here, Wolfwood.” 

You weren't even sure how he managed to undress you completely when you were sure that you had on more layers than him. His stares only heightened your sensitivity, but before you could say anything else he grabbed your ankles and dragged you to the edge of the bed, sinking to his knees on the floor in front of you. You propped yourself up on elbows and looked down at him. He knelt down, kissing the inside of your thighs before hooking his hands underneath them and resting them on his shoulder. 

“Forgive me,” he said, alternating which thigh he kissed, creeping closer to your heated sex that fluttered with anticipation. “I want to do this first.”

The sight of Wolfwood’s tongue flattening and licking a stripe from the seam of your sex to your clit was almost too erotic for you to watch. Your breathing trembled as Wolfwood wasted no time to open you up with his mouth and drive you to the edge. He lapped at your folds, moaning into your sex and his nose rubbed on your clit in a way that forced you to lay back down and silently cry into the sheets around you. You reached down and gathered his hair in your hands, pushing him deeper into your heat and he surged forward. He loved the way your nails scratched his head, and with that he showed his silent approval.

Pleasure filled every corner of your body. You arched your back, your hips lifting off the edge of the bed but Wolfwood was quick to follow and tightened his hold on your thighs. You jerked when his lips pulled back and he bared his teeth around your sensitive bud, and you snapped your head down to look at him again. His eyes were closed, but it did nothing to hide the sex drunkenness he was experiencing. 

Wolfwood did the same thing again, mixing pain in with pleasure, and you rolled your hips into it, taking anything he gave you. Choked sobs tumbled out of your mouth, and they fell on deaf ears as Wolfwood was lost in his own pleasure. The mixture of your come and his saliva made it even easier for his face to glide against you, and he was getting addicted to the feeling. The sacrament he had consumed could never satisfy him the way you did. Your thighs started to shake around his head and he finally opened his eyes to look at you. Tears stained your face and with parted lips you whispered his name. You had this disbelieving look on your face, unsure of how he had gone this long without gasping for air. The sheets were clenched in between your fingers and your orgasm was dangerously close from breaking you. Wolfwood stretched his hand over to pinch your nipple, his fingers mimicking the movements of his tongue and you rode his tongue to oblivion.

With his tongue pressed on your clit, Wolfwood allows you to fuck his face, only slowing your down so he can ease his fingers into your dripping entrance to find your spot inside of you. With that you were both panting, and you felt the coil in your stomach tighten unbearably. 

“Nicho las ,” you moan, your breath catching at the end as you finally crests over and you’re falling helplessly back down to earth. Wolfwood doesn’t stop moving his fingers inside of you, making you curl up and you try to push him away. You’re blubbering, and the tremors in your legs are crushing Wolfwood’s head between your thighs but he had no intention to stop. He thought maybe if he kept going it would dawn on you how he would completely devote himself to you. 

“Nicholas, baby, please,” you groaned. “Please that’s enough.” He lifts his head up, a string of your arousal still hanging from his lips, and the bottom half of his face was shiny with your come. He licks his mouth clean and pressed one last kiss to your clit, and you release a weary groan from the sensation. He then kisses up your navel, your ribs, your sternum, your lips meeting each other when he crawls on top of you and you move back as well until you feel your head hit a pillow.

With all the strength you can muster up, you wrap your legs around his waist and flip him on his back. With him below her, you grind into his erection and his hands are firm around your waist. You attack his neck, sucking and biting all the skin you can see, and Wolfwood melts into the bed. His fingers find your sex again, stretching his fingers to prepare you. You whined into his neck and licked at his skin. 

“You make me feel so good,” you said, rolling your hips on him. “Nicholas, I need you right now. ”

Your words only made his cock ache and strain in his pants. He couldn’t believe that you were begging for him, needing him almost as much as he needed you. He wondered if he ever kept you up with thoughts of “what if” like he did you, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that when your hands feverishly shook while pushing down his pants. They would be ruined if you didn’t pull them down off of him completely, but neither of you couldn’t find it in themselves to care. 

You pulled him out of his pants and stroked him gently. He was the perfect size for you, and you wanted to use your mouth on him, but the pained look on Wolfwood’s face showed that it would have to wait at a later time. It didn’t stop you from teasing him.

“Can you have sex? You know, as a man of God?”

Wolfwood’s jaw tightened. He watched your hand wrap around him and pump him leisurely, and it was almost enough to make him come. “I thought it goes against the religion.” you were pushing his limits, you knew it, but the way he swallowed and his eyes fluttered close only spurred you on. You thumb his slit, collecting the pre-come that beaded at tip and he drew a harsh gasp. 

“I’ll throw it all away for you,” he promised. “I’d do whatever you want.”

“That’s a really big promise, Nicholas,” you whispered. you lined him up to your entrance, rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your sex and he was begging for release. “What if I abused that?”

Wolfwood couldn’t take it anymore and thrusted his hips up to seat himself inside of you. You silently cried out, your hand flying to his throat to steady himself but he welcomed it. The way you squeezed around his cock left him with no cognizant thought other than to get you to come again. His hips piston up, hitting the spot deep inside you until your moans turned to hymns. It made your toes curl and your hand tighten around his throat. He then realized in that moment, looking up at you with your name dancing on his tongue, that you are his religion. He only lived for you and it took him so long to finally accept it. 

“Use me,” he panted. “Any way you want. I want to be yours,” he grounded your hips down on his and you traveled your hand up his throat to put two fingers in his mouth. You pinched his tongue with your thumb and finger before spitting in his mouth, which you sealed off with a kiss. Your hand went back to his throat and squeezed the sides just enough for him to whine into your mouth and switch positions. 

With your back laid flat on the bed he pounded into you, and the bed threatened to give out. The sound of the coupling was enough to wake up other guests in the motel with the creaking of the bed and your wailing. Wolfwood was too enraptured in every emotion that flitted across your face, every change in pitch in your moans, the pressure of your hands on his body to be considerate of anyone else. The only thing that mattered was you . 

“Tell me how you feel,” he prodded, kissing away your tears that he couldn’t truly feel sorry for. “Tell me you want me.”

“God, Wolfwood, I’m about to—“

“Say Nicholas. Say my name, please,” he reached down between you and found your clit. He circled his thumb around it at a much slower pace than what he was fucking your with, and he reveled in the way your eyes rolled back into your head.

“ Nicholasohmygod !” You tried to keep your orgasm at bay but Wolfwood was on a mission to break your consciousness. You tried to clear your mind for one last time, your hand resting on the back of his neck and feebly pulling his hair. 

“Can you come for me, baby? Please, I want us to come together, Nicholas.” 

Your wish was his undoing, and with a few harsh thrusts Wolfwood came right when you reached the peak the second time. You spiraled down together, and Wolfwood rolled his hips into yours until he had nothing left to give. You locked him in with your legs, breathing heavily as you finally stilled but you still couldn’t let go. He pulled out of you carefully but you still sighed from his absence. He quickly got up to go find a washcloth in the bathroom and came back with it damp to wipe your down. You would still have to take a shower, but you convinced him to hold you in his chest while your legs regained function.

“And if I asked you to run away with me?” 

The question took wolfwood off guard. He wasn't sure he heard you correctly, but the way you looked up at him with wide eyes proved that you meant what you said. 

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere. We could visit everywhere. You can’t leave me, not again.” 

Wolfwood kissed the crown of your head. You were right, he couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t be able to live the way he had before now that you took this step. It would be too much for the both of you. 

“Let’s leave before the sun rises.”

You squeal, jumping up on the bed and covering his face in butterfly kisses. 

“I’m not tired enough to sleep, and sunrise is only a couple hours away…” you wiggled your eyebrows, and Wolfwood kissed you for the first time to mark forever.

And I know it's hard enough to love me (But I woke up in a safe house)

pairing: vash the stampede x fem!reader warnings/tags: babygirl vash, Depressing Pillow Talk, slighty nsfw towards the end, sharing one bed trope, title taken from let's get married (MITSKI VERS) word count: ~4.2k

“My husband and I would like a room,” you say with a smile as you wrap your arms around Vash’s and lean into him. You feel his body startle at your touch, his gaze on top of your head as you play the part of the excited bride. You think he might pass out on you if you don’t get him to room, and fast. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

“In this shithole of a town?” The innkeeper asks with a raised eyebrow, looking from you to Vash, who only lets out a sheepish chuckle as he scratches the back of his head. Despite his sluggish breaths, his slow blinking gaze, and the red slowly staining his shirt.

You shrug, trying hard not to be impatient. “There are worse places.”

There are. You’ve survived them. Compared to the slums of December or September, this shabby, worn inn is paradise.

“Yer right ‘bout that,” he laughs, acquiescing, as he tosses a ring of keys into your hand and takes your pouch of money. Vash is slumped into you now, and you can tell he’s trying his hardest not to place the full weight of his body on you. To anyone else, it would look as if he was clinging to you, the picture of a loving couple.

“Cheers to the happy couple!” the man calls out, tipping his hat down as the two of you move to the stairs in front of you. 

Vash grins brightly, and manages a cheery, polite, “Thank you!” as the two of you pass.

You can’t resist the huff of a laugh that escapes your lips as you make your way up the stairs, and then into the small, modest dust lined room.

Vash collapses on the bed with a sharp exhale, and you immediately move to take off his shirt but his hand stops you by the wrist before you can.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, eyelashes fluttering. His fingers tightens, just imperceptibly, (even on the brink of sleep, he’s overly conscious about his strength, you think). In a way, it feels like he’s wordlessly imploring you to stay. “Jus’ need sleep. Not gonn’ take long.”

You blink. His fingers loosen, and in a few seconds his breathing has evened out into steady breaths. You’re relieved. He’s already stopped bleeding. From the months you’ve traveled with him, known him, he’s healed quickly enough that any other person wouldn’t understand. You still don’t. Not fully. But you’ve never asked questions. And as long as he never asked you any questions, that was fine with you. 

You stay on the bed, by his side for a few minutes, watching him. You take off his sunglasses and put them on the nightstand after wiping the blood off them. He’s an unusually pretty man. Too pretty for No Man’s Land. You trace his face with your eyes. The beauty mark right under his right eye to his parted pink lips. Then down to the rise and fall of his chest to the plates of the cybernetic prosthesis of his left arm. 

Lost technology. Not many people had access to that kind of technology. Or the knowledge to build that arm, let alone repair it.  

Standing, you give him one last glance, reload your revolver and tuck it into the holster at your side, before you leave in search of medical supplies to patch him up when he wakes. You scope out the town while at it. It’s small; a handful of residents armed to the teeth with guns, and even less children. There are pipes that run through the town that you assume are fed fresh water by a nearby plant. You locate a medical shop at the center of town. 

You buy antiseptic, gauze, and a few other things, before making your way back to the inn. The innkeeper gives you a wink.

When you open the door to the room, Vash is awake.

The sound of his harsh breathing fills the air. His metal hand fisted into the sheets so tightly you think it might tear. You meet his frantic gaze, and almost immediately, he slumps in relief, eyes dropping to his lap. 

You quietly shut the door. “Nightmare?”

Sometimes, in his sleep, you hear him call out for a woman named Rem.

He lets out a loud laugh. You pretend not to notice the shaky undertone of it. “I slept for longer than I thought!” His metallic hand curls and unfurls, catching on the dull light of the room. “I thought you…” he trails off, suddenly embarrassed. He looks away. 

“I brought supplies.” You place the bag on the table, next to Vash’s nickel revolver. You turn back to him: “Strip.”

His arms immediately make a cross on his chest, as if he’s already stripped, face bright red.

“I can do it myself—!”

Vash the Stampede. The humanoid Typhoon. The Sixty Billion Double Dollar Man. The man you originally only followed after to collect the criminals who swarmed to him, like flies to corpses. The man who leaves a trail of calamity and disaster in his wake. The man who continuously, everyday, without fail, begged you to leave the criminals you captured alive. A constant enigma and a headache. A walking contradiction. 

“I’ll leave the room,” you say. “Don’t take too long.”

You leave the room, leaning against the wall, and wait two minutes.

You open the door, and Vash jumps with a yelp, stripped to the waist, arms covering whatever he can manage.

Scars cover his entire torso, running all the way down his flesh arm to his hand. Deep scars, shallow scars, scars that have never entirely healed, leaving the skin dark pink and the flesh caved in. There are more scars than there is unblemished skin, missing chunks of skin replaced with metal plates and seams.

It's not a pretty sight, but you’ve never much cared for pretty. 

His face is flushed. “I thought—”

“I lied.”

“!?”

You shut the door with your heel, and then grab the gauze and antiseptic. “Turn around.”

Wordlessly, he turns, ears reddening. You direct him to sit on the bed, and then you begin to apply the antiseptic. The two of you sit in silence. You, disinfecting his fresh wounds and wrapping his back, while you also ignore the way his body tenses at your touch, his pointedly straight gaze, the constant bob of his throat, as if he’s looking for the right words to say.

He reluctantly speaks up. “You’re…not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you reply. Just a few scrapes and a bruised arm from where you had landed wrong after trying to dodge multiple rounds of bullets from the latest batch of criminals that had schemed to capture the humanoid typhoon. After hauling them to the police, Vash hiding away, you had gained yourself a hefty paycheck before being run out of the city, a bleeding Vash in tow.

You’re nearly done. The wounds aren’t nearly as severe as they had been only a couple of hours ago. The skin has healed enough that it’s already forming a scar. You don’t know much about Vash the Stampede, but you know enough to understand that he isn’t human. Not completely.

But he smiles. He laughs. He detests the very violence that nurtured you. He likes pizza and donuts. He’s moved to tears almost as easily as he seems to get hurt. He’s good with children. They trust him. Children love him in a way they don’t you: pulling him down to their height, climbing him, leading him and all his long limbs along. The way he takes their words seriously, nodding with all the gravity of a legal proceeding as they talk about the weather, their favorite foods, the silly argument they got into with a sibling. He smiles, and when he turns that smile onto you, it makes you think of everything warm and how you had forgotten what it meant to be happy.

He may not be human, but he is. Everything good about humanity that had been lost and forsaken when mankind crashed onto this unforgiving, harsh planet. 

You pull away, resisting the urge to press your fingers down on his skin, to trace the map of his scars and feel him shudder underneath you. He’s as warm as a furnace. The heat of his body stays with you. “How do you feel?”

He beams at you, one hand on his upper arm as he swings his arm around. “Perfect!”

You sigh. “Don’t push yourself now. Let me finish wrapping you.”

He retreats back to his original position, still smiling, all reservations about his partial nudity forgotten as he waits for you to finish.

Vash speaks. “You didn’t kill them.”

You glance up. You can only partially see his expression from your position behind him, but the pull of his lips is unmistakable. He’s smiling. And you don’t need to look at him to see it. That sweet smile of his that pulls at his eyes and softens his entire face. 

Your hands still. You hadn’t killed them. The Archie Brothers, the two brothers infamous for targeting banks and other commercial properties, who had gotten wind of Vash being in the city and emptied hundreds of rounds into the bar the two of you had momentarily settled in for a quick drink. It’s not as if you could’ve killed them in the first place. Vash was nothing if not easygoing, but keeping the criminals you turned in for a paycheck alive was the one thing he firmly enforced. Going as far to shield their bodies with his own.

He’s so troublesome sometimes.

You want to ask if he would’ve let you in the first place. If you had a choice. 

You force yourself to wind the bandage over his arm. “You must be rubbing off on me.”

Vash turns, faster than you anticipate, eyes wide. You can see the pale irises of his eyes. He’s delighted. “Really!?”

You blink, staring at him in silence. He goes red, jerking back, scuttling backwards with his hands like a crab until he reaches the end of the bed and then air. He falls back first, legs raised up in the air. 

He sits up with a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his head. “I…I guess I got a little ahead of myself…”

“...pffft.”

He straightens just as you dissolve into full blown laughter. And when your laughter dies down he’s looking at you, eyes wide, like he’s seeing you for the first time. You clear your throat and look away, embarrassed. You don’t think you’ve ever laughed in front of him.

“...Something on my face?”

He jumps, frantically waving. “No, no. I just thought,” he hesitates. “You should laugh more.”

Something in your chest gives. You can’t stand it. Not when he looks at you like that. Eyes shining, lips curved softly, face animated like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

People like him aren’t supposed to survive No Man’s Land. They aren’t built to. But you’ve seen with your own eyes how capable Vash is. It didn’t take much to kill a man in these lawless lands, but you had never seen him miss his target. Your didn't need to take pride in your aim to know it was excellent. You just didn’t have the same consideration for criminals Vash did. A life or two wasn’t something you lost sleep over. Casualties happened. And if it was a criminal, then it was simply divine judgment.

You stand from the bed and walk towards the desk. You take a doughnut out of a brown paper bag and throw it to him.

“For me?” He exclaims, easily catching it, even though you had thrown it to him.

You don’t respond. He enthusiastically tears it in half, and offers you the bigger piece.

You shake your head, the quirk of your lips, fond. “I don’t like sweet things.”

“I see…” he says thoughtfully, as if he’s digesting the information. “That makes sense. You don’t normally eat…”

It strikes you that this is the most you’ve ever talked about yourself. You’re unusually talkative today, and he notices. You find that you don’t mind. It’s alarmingly easy to talk to him now.

In the handful of months you’ve been traveling together, you’ve learned that all the crimes attributed to him had been the work of his twin, a man called Million Knives. A man you had managed to steal a glimpse of only once before Vash had locked you in a closet before rushing away. You were still sore over that. Even though he retrieved you soon after, apologizing profusely, accepting your cold shoulder with grace. Until you couldn’t bear the way he trailed after you with a pathetically sad expression on his face, and told him to stop. 

You never asked him for details. Of why his brother was terrorizing towns and cities, stealing plants and lives along the way. You’ve never pushed. You weren’t following the man to learn his life story. You were in it for the money.

Until one day, you realized he knew your exact bar order by heart. The kinds of alcohol you’d drink, and the kinds you wouldn’t touch. It was a small thing. But he looked so pleased when he placed the glass down, as he waited for you to drink it.

You knew his fear of you becoming potential collateral damage, but somewhere along the way you think you had grown on him. Somewhere along the nights listening to him cry out in his sleep for a woman named Rem, somewhere along watching the sliver of light heralding sunrise on the horizon together, somewhere in the silence in the dark of nights shared. 

You think he’s grown on you too.

“Have you eaten?” He asks. 

“Not hungry,” you reply, glancing out the window. Pitch black other than the glow of a single lone street lamp nearly a block down. “I’m going to sleep.” It wasn’t often you got to sleep on a bed, and you planned to make full use of it.

You go to the bathroom to wash up. When you walk out, Vash enters the room with a load of blankets. You look at him curiously.

“I asked the innkeeper for some blankets.” He laughs, recalling the conversation. “I said that my…” he trails off. “My…ah…wife…” Red paints his cheeks, and he looks away, raising the mound in his arms a bit higher to cover his face.

“...”

“...”

You watch as he makes his way to the other side of the room, keeping his gaze pointedly straight, and places the pile down. 

“You’re sleeping on the floor?”

“That’s right!” Vash pats the floor a little too vigorously for your liking. “Just like usual!”

You look at the bed. It’s big enough for the two of you so you had assumed you’d be sharing it… You’ve never shared a bed together before, but you had no problems with it, not with Vash.

He darts into the bathroom quickly enough that you don’t have time to say anything else. You hear the water run, turn off the lights, and get underneath the covers.

Then you wait.

When he leaves the bathroom, he gingerly folds his red jacket and sets it down on the chair. You wait until he passes the bed to strike, grabbing him by the shirt, and hauling him down onto the bed.

He yelps, a surprised, high pitched, noise that tears out of his throat. 

“We can share,” you say to him, his face inches apart from you. You can see his wide eyes, the bob of his throat working, pink lips parted as he stares at you, but your gaze is resolute.

And that’s that.

You figure that it might be easier for him to sleep if you aren’t facing him, so you turn to face the wall. You stare at the wall for ten minutes, waiting for him to settle into his side of the bed. Not even a faint rustle of the sheets. You wait a little longer. You can’t even hear him breathing.

You turn back around to face him and immediately he draws back even farther from his original position, on the tip of the bed where he’s precariously close to falling off.

A nervous chuckle. “I…”

“Sleep. I won’t say it again.” You study him, his slightly panicked expression, the grip of his metal hand fisted into the sheets. Oh. “Is it me?”

“N-nothing like that—!” He inches forward, just a little bit (still keeping his distance), puts his hand underneath the pillow, and squeezes his eyes tight. You watch him for a few seconds longer, specifically at the bead of sweat forming on the side of his temples. Your gaze drifts down, from the delicate slope of his nose to his lips.

You turn back around. 

Silence settles in the room like a muffled blanket. You still can’t tell if he’s breathing or not, and for some reason, sleep doesn’t come to you as easily as it usually does. The bed is too soft. 

You don’t know why you say it. Maybe it’s because you’re awake. Maybe it’s because you know Vash isn’t asleep. 

“When I was a child, a plant saved me.”

A few heartbeats pass.

Vash’s voice is softly hesitant. It feels like something gentle and your stomach coils tight, as if in preparation for the inevitable recoil that always follows. “Were you sick?” 

“I was.” The darkness reveals patterns in the wall, and your eyes go blurry with them. “The entire town was sick. Children were dying.” Religious fervor had taken ahold. Daily ritual acts of praying and calling out for salvation.

Taking you to your town’s plant when you were on the brink of death had been your mother’s first and final act of love. Afterwards, your mother often recounted in a drunken stupor that she was sure you were going to die. That it may have even been a mercy if you had. The plant cured you. Your mother was sure of it, the plant worshiping denizens of the town were sure of it. Nobody knew how. Nothing except for the fact that shortly after—

“The plant died the day after. I’ve never forgotten it.” You killed it. It was the first life you took.

It changed you. On a fundamental level. Something had happened to you on that day you can’t even remember. But that’s something you don’t think you can share. How sometimes, you don’t even need to dodge bullets.

That plant died, and now you are here, sharing a bed with a self proclaimed pacifist who refused to kill under any circumstances. A man who defied all logic and reasoning. A good man anyone would call misguided. A fool. An idealist.

In the end, lives would always demand sacrifice. It was either you, or them. It was kill, or be killed.

You don’t know what face he’s making behind you. Is he horrified to know that your life had ended before it started? That you were responsible for taking away the source of life for hundreds of people? That your existence was predicated on sacrifice and death before you even learned how to walk? You were at inherent odds with the idealism of pacifism. With him. Not out of choice, but because of circumstances out of your control.

Maybe a part of you wants him to hate you. Maybe a part of you is looking to be understood. But you thought that part of you had died long ago.

You shut your eyes, prepared to go to sleep.

Vash exhales. “I don’t…”

You open your eyes.

There’s a conviction in his voice you don’t understand. “You didn’t kill it.” You wonder how he can be so confident. “The plant saved you.” I know it did. 

You face him once more. He’s closer than he was before, close enough to easily touch. “Sometimes,” you start, hating the way he’s smiling at you in a way that touches his eyes, framed in the pale moonlight. “You really make me mad.”

His jaw comically drops open. You watch as panic instantly overtakes his face until he realizes the lack of heat in your words. His lips push back together to form a pout. He says your name.

“Why is your brother stealing plants?”

Money. Power. Recognition. Those would seem to be the most likely answers, but you’ve seen the wreckage that Million Knives leaves in the wake of his destruction. It’s cruelty. It’s too calculated to be careless. It’s pure hatred. You can’t fathom a man like as Vash's brother. Twin brother. 

But then that voice inside you speaks. Are you really any different?

Vash blinks, and then his face falls, gaze downcast. It feels odd to see him like this. You rarely catch him without a big, sheepish smile on his face nowadays, especially when he catches you looking at him, but you had seen him with a forlorn expression, shoulders slumped, in your early days of traveling together. When there were no children to demand a ride on his back, when the two of you momentarily passed an overcast shadow, in the darkness of the night when he thought nobody was looking.

You almost regret asking him in the first place. But he’s so close you can count his pale eyelashes, and you lose your train of thought.

“You could say it’s…” his mouth twists, “revenge.”

Revenge.

He’s not the first misanthrope in these lands. You think the occasional mass murderous thought, and you resist acting on it more often than you didn’t, the days before you met a blonde pacifist gunman. There’s only so much a human being can take.

You think of the kaleidoscope of scars that line his body. You only saw the ones on his upper body, but you don’t doubt the existence of countless others everywhere else.

It must’ve hurt. It must’ve been other people. People intent on capturing him. People who wanted to hurt him. You hate them all. Every single person that has permanently marked him a way that wasn’t theirs to do in the first place. You hate whoever severed his arm, whoever had repaid his kindness with violence.

Desire strikes you, hot and sudden. You want to count them all, trail your fingers over the heat of his body, the uneven layers of skin, and feel his breaths underneath you. You look at him, as his gaze lifts, remeeting your eyes, pleading for your understanding. Ball and chain to his brother. Shouldering the sins of family. You don’t understand it. Why he’s looking to you for acceptance, as if it’d even make a difference.

He is the only good thing in this harsh world, and you’ve found him.

“Maybe,” you tell him, as he hangs onto your every word. “We deserve it.”

You see the split second sadness weighing in his eyes, at your words, right before you curl your fingers into his shirt and pull him to your lips.

His eyes go wide, and something that sounds like a mixture of an exhale and gasp leaves his lips. You separate, your lips a hairbreadth away from his, as he stares at you.

“Is this okay?” You ask. If it wasn’t, you’d go back to sleep, and forget it ever happened in the first place. You made your move. It wasn’t reciprocated.

But then he nods, so vigorously that his blonde hair flops into his eyes.

You smile, and Vash lights up.

You kiss him again, drawing his face closer with your hand on his cheek. He complies with his entire body, closing the distance immediately, like if he can’t help himself. His lips are clumsy against yours, too eager, too desperate, wet and messy, as he pants into your mouth. Heat pools in your stomach, and you want more. You run your tongue over the seam of his lips, and he lets out a sigh of something that sounds reverently like your name against your mouth.

Then your tongue is in his mouth, and his flesh hand jumps. There’s a breathless, throaty whimper, the entire weight of his body pressing tight against you. So you can feel every part of him. How he’s willing to give you everything in the name of desire, of love. And when you pull away, his lips follow yours, spit slicked and swollen.

You easily lay him flat on his back as you move to straddle him. You kiss him again briefly, tenderly. Then you sit up and pull up his shirt, just enough to expose his torso. His metal fingers fist into the sheets when your finger goes to a scar of pink skin right about his hips, lightly following it to right below his chest.

He chokes with a shudder that wracks his body. You can feel him, heavy and hard pressing against you. The slight jump of his hips, barely restraining himself from rutting into you.

“It’s not…” Vash struggles with the words with heaving breaths, face bright red, embarrassment splayed out. He looks to the side. “A pretty sight.”

You think of heated irons and blistering pain. Thousands of blades slicing you open, needles penetrating flesh, blind white heat enveloping your body, and the mindless oblivion that would follow.

You realize you’ve been silent a beat too long when Vash looks like he’s preparing for your inevitable rejection.

“I’ve got scars too,” you say, finally. Quietly. You take his mechanical hand in yours and slowly slide him up underneath your shirt. “You want to see?”