Stretchmarks

Stretchmarks

Summary: Vash learns about those little markings he's seen on his lover, and oh God does he fall head over heels.

Authors Note: This is written with Tristamp! Vash in mind, and this idea was sparked by this post :) This is written as a fem! reader. I hope you all enjoy! (Also, here's your tag @blackkiwi! I hope you like it :) I went in a bit of a different direction so I might revisit this idea in the future!!)

Warnings: Mild nudity, sexual themes, self-hate.

Vash didn’t understand it—how could someone so beautiful, holding something so unique and precious, hate themselves and their markings? He felt bad for staring, he really did, but the damp air from the shower seemed to settle around her, water droplets becoming stars and her eyes morphing in a galaxy of possibilities. She, though, didn’t seem to understand his awe. All she saw was the man she loved staring at a part of her she didn’t hate, per se, but rather didn’t love completely. He knew he should’ve looked away, apologized and let her know that he was stunned with adoration, not disgust. Yet he didn’t. Like the fool he was, and always will be, he didn’t have the bravery to confess.

“Ah, sorry,” with a nervous grin she had tried to cover her hips, where the most prominent of her stretch marks were. “I didn’t know you were coming back so soon.” She grabbed her things and shuffled back into the bathroom, wearing only her underwear and a towel loosely draped over her shoulder, “I was just getting my clothes.” With a quiet click, the bathroom door shut and the room was plunged into a somber darkness. 

Idiot, he bit at himself, why did you just stare? The patterns though, those curlings lines and loveable little dots and spots, it reminded him of himself; when he looked in the mirror and saw his face staring back, covered in blue lines that marked him as alien, foreign. Was she. . . like him? He turned to look at the bathroom door, listening to the quiet rustling within. No, he thought, she’s human. But there was something so remarkable about those lines, he couldn’t stop thinking.

Like me, she’s like me. 

Later they sat in their shared room, the silence acting as a tyrant, holding its grip tight and solid over the melancholic atmosphere. Neither one had spoken since she had retreated to the bathroom an hour earlier; she being silent out of fear and embarrassment, and he out of nervousness and curiosity. 

After finishing getting ready for the night, she laid in her bed across the room. Vash, on the other hand, was sitting criss-crossed in his, staring at his fumbling hands. 

“You know,” he said, cringing at the abruptness of his voice, “I think you’re really pretty.”

She shuffled slightly in bed, blankets falling off her shoulders, “thank you, I appreciate it. You’re pretty as well.”

He blushed at the compliment—thump, thump, thump, beat his heart. It roared at him to confess, to open his mouth and say everything he wanted too. He didn’t. He fiddled with his hands and lightly tapped his cheek to cool the scorching redness that had overtaken him. “Earlier,” his voice was quiet, a pip-squeak of a noise, “I didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s okay.”

He started to disengage his prosthetic arm, small clicks and whirs making the silence seem louder than before. “I—” he gently set his arm on the ground beside his bed, rubbing the raw and sore flesh. He didn’t often sleep without his arm, for a fear of being attacked in the middle of the night, but his body couldn’t handle it much longer. It pulled and gnawed on his shoulders, making his entire body ache with a pain he can only describe as deafening. “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings, but if I did, I apologize.”

She finally turned over, watching as he hopelessly stared at her with a twinge of fear and. . . something else she couldn’t describe. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she smiled softly, “I was jus’ thinking.” She could never be mad at him—not that she was mad at him in the first place, in fact, she had only felt mild embarrassment towards the whole situation. The day had been long, and even if he hadn’t caught her getting out of the shower, she would’ve been quiet and exhausted—, and looking at him now only made her feel like she was gazing at a kicked puppy.

He tilted his head, “about what?”

“My body,” she huffed and sat up, “you know those days?’ Her voice was a little quiet, less teasing than it usually was, and so, painfully somber.

He understood. Sometimes he’d sit out in the desert, watch the sunset and wonder why he felt so unnatural; as if he wasn’t a person, but a thing occupying space in a body that didn’t belong to him. And sometimes he’d cover up mirrors with his coat, afraid to look into them and see what he really looked like. And other times he’d look down at himself and shove back the tears because he was a mural of pain and he wouldn’t have it any other way but God, did he wish there were other options. And sometimes he’d simply lay in bed and think about everything he hated about himself, starting with his personality and then moving on to his actions, and then he’d think about his body and then he really felt the pain because he belonged to this prison of flesh and bone, this sacred thing, and he had managed to decimate it in so many ways it would never be able to recover. And, sometimes, he hated how he looked because she deserved better. And sometimes he, without any reason really, despised the man he was, and the way he looked. So, yes, he understood those days. He understood better than anyone really; and it made his heart hurt thinking she had felt the same way. 

In his eyes she was the most beautiful thing. She rivaled the stars, the ones he watched on that ship all those years ago. The greenery of flora and the nature of Earth couldn’t even compare. And even if some Goddess was to descend from the heavens, bearing all her glory and luxury at her bosom, he would deny it and find himself back in her arms. In his eyes, she was worth everything and more.

He stumbled over to her bed, momentarily forgetting himself as he slammed into the mattress with an abundant lack of grace and caution. “I get it, I do,” 

She blinked at him.

“Somedays I–I hate myself and sometimes I can’t even look in the mirror, and really almost everyday I can’t even look at myself,” he forgot he had taken his prosthetic off, trying to grab her face with his hand. He paused and cursed a little under his breath, stub awkwardly hanging between them. “I forgot I took that—okay whatever,” he used his other hand to grab her face, fingers tracing her jaw, “but you know what makes me feel better about myself?”

She huffed a little and laughed, crossing her arms. “What?” she asked playfully. 

“You.”

She smiled softly, “I’m glad I can help.” A little sliver of anxiety still rested in her eyes.

He took a deep breath and steeled his resolve. “Yeah, so, let me help you this time,” he sat back on his knees, suddenly realizing how close he was. “If–if that’s okay. . .?” All his confidence, his burning determination to help, dissipated into the air and floundered about his mind in a wave of unease and mild embarrassment. 

She glanced down at herself, thumbing the edge of her shirt before nodding, “alright,” she wrapped her arms around his neck, “you’ve convinced me.” She gave a nervous smile, one unsure of what was going to happen but trustful in the one before her—she had no doubts that he would keep her safe, happy, and comfortable.

He let out a goofy grin, slowly pushing her back onto the bed, “okay so um,” he stared down at her, blushing a delicious red as he slowly came to understand what position they were in. Her arms were slightly settled to the side, hands above her head and chest slowly rising with each suspenseful breath. Utterly divine, was the only description he could think of. “Uh, could you. .  uh, take your shirt off, maybe?” He wanted to cry when he realized his voice had cracked—uncool, so uncool.

She laughed, “alright, what are you really trying to do?” She grabbed the ends of her shirt and whisked it off, tossing it somewhere in the room. Neither of them really cared where it landed.

He waved his hand in the air and panicked, “no! No! I promise I’m not trying to do anything like that unless you want that—or, I mean, not right now! Uh, sorry!” His hands slapped over his face, covering the vague blue markings that had begun to peak through his skin.

She let out a boisterous laugh and grabbed his hips, lovingly drawing circles into his skin, “calm down, I was joking, pretty boy.”

The tips of his ears turned red, nearly drowning out his wonderful, brilliant blue, “pretty boy,” he mumbled. “Where’d that come from?” he squeaked out. 

“Jus’ tellin’ the truth,” she hummed, “now, why is my shirt off?”

“Oh!” his hands flew off his face and came to settle on her torso, nervously pressing into her skin. “I wanna—well, can I see your markings?” he leaned a little closer, tempted to put his forehead to hers, but he was too scared—what if she knows what that means? What if she hates doing that? What if she hates me?

“Markings?” she raised an eyebrow, “what do you mean?”

“On your hips.”

“Hips?”

He gently hooked the edge of her pants, looking up at her for permission and when she gave it, he pulled them down slightly, revealing the little lines he had been so obsessed with earlier. Despite everything in him trying to keep his smile back, he couldn’t. “These,” he mumbled, tracing the marks with his fingers. His markings, no longer dull and scared, flowed to the surface of his skin and danced along his fingers. “They’re really pretty.” He wanted to see them in their entirety, observe how they rested along her skin and how they intertwined with one another—that would require less. . . clothing, and the thought made him blush madly, making his markings blink a bright blue for a moment.

She grabbed his hand and gave him a questioning look, “they’re not markings, they’re stretchmarks.”

He tilted his head.

“It’s like. . . little scars from when our skin stretches or shrinks too fast,” she smiled somberly, “they’re not as precious as your markings.”

He huffed and went back to caressing her skin, “I still think they’re amazing.”

“Not many people do,” she closed her eyes and savored the feeling of his touch, “so I appreciate it. Thank you.”

He hesitated and pulled his hands back, “do you. . . do you have more?”

She hummed. 

“Can I see them? If that’s okay with you?!”

She sighed and opened her eyes, “you love them that much?” A slight bit of hesitance, disbelief.

A child-like joy seeped into his voice, “yes! They’re like mine, but they’re so much prettier.”

She blinked, a small embarrassed expression coming to rest upon her face. “I mean, if you really want, I can show you.” 

He grinned excitedly and sat patiently on the bed as his lover slowly shimmed out of her pants, leaving them hidden by only two, thin articles of clothing that covered barely anything (not that he minded, but he was trying his hardest to focus on the markings solely—he didn’t want to be a creep. He was also trying to ignore the fact that this was only the third time he had seen her so vulnerable before. It made his heart soar, thinking that she trusted him so). After a moment, she returned back to bed and presented her thighs, where stretch marks were painted across her skin like a mural of heaven. “Here’s some more. They’re mostly on my legs and hips.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, “they’re a lot prettier up close.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead to her legs, closing his eyes. For a moment, he could’ve sworn he felt her very soul, as if he was connecting to a plant, and he shuddered out a sigh. “So, so, pretty.” He was lost in her now, gently tracing his fingers along her skin, nose buried into the side of her leg and he cherished every giggle and breathy laugh that came from his lover. 

“I never knew you’d like ‘em so much,” she tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging slightly when he got a little too dazed and trailed his head up further than he should’ve.

He kissed the inside of her thigh, “they’re so. . . you’re so beautiful.”

She smiled softly, “you are too.” 

The compliment flew over his head, focused solely on the Goddess before him. The divinity that had graced his presence. He sloppily kissed her thigh again, trailing his love up and up and—

She tugged on his hair, “hey,” she warned, “you’re getting a little too close there, pretty boy.”

He stared up and blinked, chin settled in between her legs and nose dangerously close to the bottom of her underwear. It took a moment for him to come back to reality, realizing that he was in a position he’d only dreamed about. “Oh,” he blinked again. “I’m sorry!” he shot up and rested back on his knees. With her hand still in his hair, he was slightly bowed forward, eyes deliciously plastered to her legs. 

“Don’t apologize,” she whispered, “you’re fine.”

He whined a little, “I made you uncomforta—”

“When did I say that?”

He peered up at her through his eyelashes, watching her coy smirk expand into a sly smile. He stumbled over his words and quickly decided it would be better to shut up. What’s happening? Wasn’t she supposed to be yelling at him? Ashamed he had given into his desires a little too much? This was supposed to be about her, and how wonderful she was. Not him and his inability to hide his lustful curiosity. 

“In fact,” she tugged on his hair a little more, forcing him to crawl halfway on top of her to stop the dull pain in his scalp—he really didn’t mind it though, which made him rethink some things about himself. “I really enjoyed it.”

His markings glowed so bright, she had to look away for a moment. She snickered and brought one hand to his chin, the other leaving his hair and slowly trailing down his chest. “If I’m being honest,” she sighed, “I didn’t really like my stretch marks. They’re ugly and gross, but,” she stopped trailing her hand down when she got to the hem of his pants, “you made me feel better about them.” She smiled.

“I’m glad!” he nervously grinned and tried to adjust himself so the position would be less. . . intimate, but she didn’t let him. Part of him was begging her to do something, and the other part of him was screaming with fear and embarrassment so loudly he almost didn’t hear what she said next.

“So,” she drawled out, “if it’s okay with you, can I help you feel good?”

“What?” he squeaked. “Like–what? What does that mean?” Oh my god, he cried to himself, I’m an idiot! He beat down a whine that threatened to erupt from his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted the ground to swallow him up and never let him go.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed herself into him, hips bucking up and creating a delicious friction. He sucked in a strangled gasp and let his face fall into the crook of her neck, “sen–sensitive!” he cried. He gripped her waist, fumbling for a moment before once again realizing he had taken his prosthetic off. Vaguely he wondered if he should put it back on, but she bucked again and all thoughts fell out of his mouth as he cried.

“What do you say?” she purred, “up for a little fun?”

“You’re a,” he panted and ground his hips into her, muffling his moans in her flesh, “a tease.” He shouldn’t be doing this, should he? Should he have asked before he pressed himself into her, or was that normal? He didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing here.

“C’mon pretty boy, I have to hear a yes,”

“Y–yes!” He whined and ignored the blue light that bathed them both—this is so embarrassing.

“Good boy.”

He squeaked and buried his face deeper into her neck, “oh my god.” This was going to be the death of him—not that he really minded.

I’m so very deep in my Trigun obsession, so it’s only fair that I write something about it

! Minors dni !

Fingering headcanons ; Vash x reader ; Wolfwood x reader

Warnings: afab!reader , fingering , slight impact play , slight temperature play , praise , just a whole lot of pussy worship

! Nsfw below !

Vash absolutely adores fingering you, it’s his favourite pastime. He loves being in control of your pleasure, and boy is he good at it.

He knows every single spot that gets you all whiney, a proud smile curling his lips every time he earns a breathy “Right there!” or “God, don’t stop..”. Vash has every one of your sweet spots stored in his memory, and it has your mind foggy with every stroke of his fingers.

If he’s feeling extra playful or just in a giving mood, he’ll finger you with his prosthetic arm, the cold metal of the fingers making you shiver and your eyes roll back into your head. Vash’ll even alternate between his two arms, the contrast in temperature always manages to have your toes curling.

Also, if you’re okay with it, Vash will finger you while wearing his glove. I mean, he wears them on his two middle fingers for a reason, right? The rough material of the fabric makes you cum so fast and so hard, and Vash can’t help but marvel at how your juices soak his glove, turning it an even darker black. He’s had to throw away a few gloves before, but it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. He loves making you feel good, even if it’s at his expense.

Vash makes it his mission to have you cumming on his fingers at least 3 times before he actually gets down to business. He can’t help it when your pussy just clenches so good around his slender fingers. Bonus points if he can make you squirt.

His favourite position to finger you in is to have your back against his chest, having you on full display as his deep blue eyes are glued to how you gush around his fingers. This way Vash can whisper as many praises as he desires, telling you how pretty you are and how good your perfect pussy sounds and feels.

“Does that feel good?” Vash’s voice comes out in a husk, low and gravelly as his lips brush against the shell of your ear. His fingers curl against your walls, pushing against the familiar spongy flesh of your g-spot. He has you seeing stars, your moans coming out as high-pitched whines as your hips rolled against his hand, your clit brushing against the heel of his hand and causing your eyes to flutter shut.

“So, so good…Gonna cum, Vash.” You croak, your chest heaving as the familiar heat of an orgasm pooled in your stomach. Vash groaned as you spoke, his lips nibbling at your earlobe as he curled his fingers inside you with a newfound eagerness. “That’s it…Go on, love. You can do it, know you can. My good girl..” he purrs, and he has your pussy spasming in seconds, your arousal spraying all over his hand, soaking both him and the sheets.

Your hand grips his prosthetic arm, your fingers trembling as your head falls back against his shoulder, your hot breath tickling his ear as you pant. Vash just lets out a breathy laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple as he slowly pulls his fingers away from your aching cunt.

“So perfect..”

——————————————————

Wolfwood isn’t as gentle as Vash, if anything he’s the other side of the coin. He fingers you before and after sex, he’s a greedy man. He loves how you whine and weakly push his hand away, saying how sensitive you are as he pushes his cum back where it belongs.

His fingers are calloused from carrying around that heavy cross every hour of the day, and he knows how to use them. Wolfwood’s fingers scrape against every bump and dip of your pussy, making you jolt and cry out every time.

Will slap your pussy if he thinks you’re cumming too fast. He loves to rile you up as much as he can until you’re begging him to just let you cum, your voice like heaven to him.

Wolfwood’s fingers are thicker than Vash’s as well, and they stretch you out so good it has you practically drooling every time he pushes them into your sopping pussy.

His favourite position to finger you in is having you on your back, holding your legs to your chest as Wolfwood hovers over you, abusing your cunt with his rough fingers. If he notices that your legs are closing, he’ll give your pussy a slap, warning you to keep your legs open or else he’ll leave you high and dry.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart; and keep those legs open, yeah?” Wolfwood’s deep voice rings in your ears, his dialect rough from nicotine. His hand slaps against your wet pussy, causing you to wince and let out a whiney cry. He’s been bullying your cunt for hours now, only letting you cum twice in that timeframe.

Your legs snap open, your hands gripping the back of your thighs as you pull them back to your chest, your face beet red and dripping with sweat. “Please, Nico…Wanna cum so bad..” you mewl, your voice cracking from how long and loud you were squealing as Wolfwood’s thick fingers continued to curl against your spongy g-spot.

Your begging earns a playful smirk to pull at his lips, his eyes flashing as he purrs, his fingers picking up the pace. “Oh, well…since ya asked so nicely, I guess you can cum.” His words have you gushing in an instant, your knuckles going white as your pussy clenched around his fingers, spraying against his abdomen. It makes a groan rumble in his chest.

Wolfwood removes his fingers from your exhausted cunt, moving them to his lips to lick them clean. Your taste has him groaning again. “Good girl..”.

——————————————————

A/N: I’m actually super proud of this one, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Vashwood brainrot

Vash x Plant!Reader Drabble

NSFW! Minors, shoo

When Vash makes love to you, he unconsiously expands his wing to coccoon the both of you, creating this safe space for you. This safe space is so warm and full of love and so beautiful because of how Vash's black wing is adorned with his blue flowers and the occasional purple energy that shimmers on his wing. It's like another galaxy in his coccoon. Roots will emerge from his back and they will lovingly carress you. Your body unknowingly brings out your own roots, too, to entertwine with Vash's.

When the both of you reach release, your tangled roots will create numerous flowers, a sign of your love for each other.

Bonus:

Vash will joke that the flowers are now your flower kids. (But inside, he's going to name each one of them.)

vash—nsfw alphabet [J-Q]

welp. this is about the point where ya’ll realize how absolutely feral I am for this man-plant. talk about no self restraint, I wrote this in a stupor of simpery, was guided by the spirit of the horny ghost on this long journey. I also did not edit it, because nobody has time for that. anyways, starting off part two strong with J, for Jesus Christ, I Am So Down Bad I’m Literally On My Knees. it also stands for Jack Off, which is funnier, I think.

warnings/tags; afab, fem pronouns, p in v descriptions, public sex, overstimulation, oral/cunnilingus, edging, praise kink TO THE MAX, pain kink, [we know how I feel about this, but imma be real and say he’s a not-so-closeted masochist] rough sex, hair pulling, biting, BEGGING, so much begging, and probably a ton of other things but you get the point.

word count; 3.6K [lord help me]

part one, [A-I]

J = Jack off [masturbation headcanon]

⍟ Vash may be a Plant, but some might argue he’s more human than he believes himself to be. He still has to sleep, and eat, drink water or he’ll succumb to the tribulations of dehydration, and so he does indeed find himself burdened with the very human ailment of sexual frustration.

⍟ Although opportunities to relieve himself with another happen rather frequently [he’s not blind, he can tell when a woman wants him], he never entertains them. It’s not that they’re not beautiful, or kind, or caring—they certainly are, most of the time—it’s just that he doesn’t really allow himself that easy relief. Something about it just feels wrong, like he hasn’t done enough to deserve it.

⍟ A voluntary celibate, if you will. Besides, the idea of a quick romp in the tattered sheets with some nameless girl rings very hollow to Vash. The connection would be purely physical, and he believes it wouldn’t be fair for either party. If he’s going to let himself be that vulnerable with someone, he has to know them, trust them entirely.

⍟ Countless times he’s brushed off a flirtatious hand on his bicep, excused himself from the sultry, half-massed gaze of a pretty girl to sequester in whatever decrepit motel room he’s in for the night. It’s there that he finds his relief, alone.

⍟ When he’s enveloped in the privacy of a room or even the vast solitude of sand for iles around, the only light being that of a luminescent glow from above, Vash takes his time. His palm smooths down his torso, feeling the ridges of tender scar tissue, the protrusions of metal implants, before passing his belt entirely to press firmly against his groin.

⍟ He waits to shuck his pants down, just enough to wrap a hand around his stiff cock—waits until he’s panting softly, desperately. He has a tendency to tease and inch his way to a point where he can no longer hold back, and sometimes, longer still. But when he finally does, the sensation is strong enough that it feels like the first crack of rapture. His rolling breaths catch in his throat, moaning loud enough that he’s scoring his lower lip between his teeth, harshly stifling himself.

⍟ Vash is both embarrassed and shameful of this, but he tends to favor his prosthetic over his remaining hand. He takes pleasure in the initial contrast of cool metal against the stiff, hot silk of his length, and the sensors are dull enough that he can suspend his disbelief, if just for a moment—imagine that the tight fist stroking his cock belongs to another.

⍟ The guilt nearly ate him up alive the first time he envisioned your delicate hand there, your beautiful face resting against the sharp crescent of his hipbone, lovingly and patiently shattering him to pieces. It does still, but it’s a gnawing thing now, and Vash thinks that this is a guilt he’s capable of bearing; he simply can’t imagine anyone else.

Keep reading

your sinner fic on wolfwood just drove me insane holy shit, it's so beautifully written?? and the religious imagery and vocabulary that shit hits the spot good job !!!!

omg thank you so much !!!! i appreciate your words with my heart ♥️ ! i hope you are having an amazing day/night

a smoker and his consequences

this is very self indulgent and wrote at 6am with a headache so pls forgive any mistakes, i jus wanted to write wolfwood secretly caring the absolute most

nicholas d. wolfwood x reader

gender neutral, only fluff! reader has headaches because of his smoking and wolfwood cares in an unexpected way.

No one ever mentions the headache that comes with knowing a smoker.

They mention the cough, one that burns your lungs like you were smoking yourself, and the smell that lingers on your clothes for days even after washing, but never the headache. Never the headache that makes itself at home behind your eyes, makes even keeping them open too painful to manage. The headache that makes nausea welcome itself in your stomach, making it hard to hold a conversation or even close your eyes for rest. Knowing a smoker is hard, which meant knowing him was hell.

Him being your close friend and the person you had sat next to all day, Nicholas D Wolfwood. Being susceptible to these headaches means knowing Wolfwood wasn’t easy. Not when he goes through at least one pack of smokes a day, not when he causes nearly as much damage to himself as he does you with his cigarettes. Despite the pain, the almost permanent headache you had around him, you couldn’t help but be fond of the man. He had been travelling with you for a while now, and saying he didn’t make you happy would be a lie. Despite the headache, and his brash attitude towards everything including life itself, you cared for him. He was attractive, someone you could rely on, and if it wasn’t for his damn smoking you would have made much more of an effort to act on said attraction. You were always happy to talk to him, even about the most mundane things, but it was hard to stay invested in conversation when constantly seemed to have a cigarette on hand, revitalising the pain in your head each time.

You had recently gotten to a small village in the middle of nowhere, decided now would be the best time of any to make sure the car was charged and prepared for the rest of your journey,  make sure you all had food to last, and to get as much rest as you could before you set out again, either tomorrow or the day after, depending on the weather and how you all felt.The hostel had three rooms available for a decent price, three doubles that meant you’d all be able to get at least a decent sleep. Meryl and Milly would share a room, as would Vash and Wolfwood. With the odd amount of people in your party, you all took turns in who had a room to themselves, and you consider yourself lucky that this time it was your turn. The headache you had was raging, as a result of having to sit next to Wolfwood in the back of the car, and you really needed the rest. You knew that going to sleep this early wouldn’t be good for you, not when it meant you’d be awake in the middle of the night, but you really could not bring yourself to care. The pain between your eyebrows was only growing, and it showed in the way everyone was making conversation around you, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to join. Something that Meryl noticed quickly.

‘’Hey, you okay? You don’t look so good,’’ She spoke to you gently and quietly, knowing of your previous headaches.‘’If your head is hurting, you don’t need to join us for the supply run! You should go and rest whilst you can.’’ 

You let out a hum in response, returning the gentle smile she gave you with one of your own, and a small nod of your head. As you turned to walk up the stairs, you heard Vash jokingly mention his own ‘headache’, to which Meryl quickly swore at him and told him to shut up before she really did give him his own headache, to which Milly let out a loud (but not as loud as usual, she knew of your headache, and you really appreciated her in that moment) laugh. Despite the pain in your head, you couldn’t help the small, affectionate smile that came to your face. You really did care about all four of them so much, despite Wolfwood’s current out of character silence. 

Whilst you walked away up to your room, away from the noise, you missed the furrow in his brow and frown on his face. He wasn’t stupid. Wasn’t the type of person to miss little things, so when your headaches only happened around him, only happened when he was either currently smoking or had recently smoked, it didn’t take him long to connect the dots and realise what was happening. It’s what caused him to currently have a strawberry lollipop in his mouth instead of his usual cig, despite currently craving one so bad he felt like he could strangle needle noggin’ if he so much as tried to comment on the unusual action he was taking. He sighed, walking out of the hostel and ignoring the yells of ‘’Hey, where are you going?!’’ and ‘’Dude, you were meant to help us pick up the food!’’. He had his own plan, one that he deemed more important than helping the others, even if it meant they were angry with him. He didn’t mind, he’d deal with the yells and any punishment. His current task was more important to him, you were more important to him, he’d deal with everything else after he did what he needed to do.

A few hours later, in the middle of the night, you awoke from your nap. Despite the time, despite the fact you were currently awake in the middle of the night and felt as if you were now wide awake, you finally had managed to get some good sleep. Enough good sleep that your headache was almost entirely gone, and that you felt hungry enough to try and eat something. Standing up slowly, trying to avoid the old floor creaking, you slowly shuffled over to your shoes and put them on. You really were thankful for your own room, you wouldn’t want to wake anyone else with your midnight cravings, not when they’d all worked so hard during the day whilst you slept. With a quiet sigh, you slowly made your way downstairs, listening out to make sure everyone else was asleep. You could hear Vash’s snoring, and the quieter snoring from Meryl and Milly’s room was enough for you to know they were all asleep. The fact everyone was sleeping soundly made you smile, and you were careful not to make too much noise as you went downstairs.

The last thing you were expecting when you got downstairs was Wolfwood waiting for you, sitting in a chair with his arms crossed and head leant forward. He was… asleep. Asleep with a paper bag in his lap and surprisingly, not smelling of smoke. Walking towards him quietly, you knelt next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘’Wolfwood…’’ Voice gentle, you didn’t want to wake him unpleasantly, not when he already did not look comfortable in his position. ‘’C’mon, wake up, it’ll be better if you sleep in bed.’’

His eyes opened slowly, blinking the sleep out of them and letting out a loud yawn. It took him a moment to realise what was going on, where he was and who woke him up, and he gave an unusually sheepish smile once he knew what was happening.

‘’Ah, damn, must have fallen asleep waitin’...’’ His voice was quiet, deep with sleep, and it shouldn’t have sounded as attractive as it did. He stretched his arms above him, before grabbing the paper bag and throwing it towards you, despite how close you actually were to him. ‘’Here, for you.’’ 

The paper bag was light, and you furrowed your eyebrows. He had never gotten you anything before, never waited in the middle of the night for you to wake up just so he could give you something. Glancing between him and the bag, you sighed quietly before opening it. If he was so kind as to get you something, you would absolutely appreciate it. It was… headache tablets. He had gotten you medicine for your headaches. You knew he was aware of your headaches, but you never thought he would go so far as to get you medicine, not when you were scarce in resources and you knew how expensive medicine could be.

‘’For y’r headaches… I’m not stupid. I know i make them worse.’’

Your eyes widened, and you quickly looked up at him. You didn’t expect to see him so… sheepish, shy even. He genuinely looked guilty. You would never blame him directly for your headaches, but knowing he was aware he didn’t help and would go so far as to try to fix that… that meant a lot to you. Enough that your eyes filled with tears, the fact he had been paying attention enough to notice and wanted to help… It meant a lot to you. You quickly brought your hands up, wiping away at your eyes and turning away from the man sitting in front of you.

‘’Aw, Jeez..’’ Muttering to himself as he moved to kneel on the floor with you, gently taking your face in his hands. ‘’’M sorry, i really didn't mean to make you cry.’’ 

‘’No, no…’’ You started, letting out a quiet laugh and leaning into his touch, ‘’I'm really happy. I didn’t… I didn't think you noticed. Let alone enough to do all of this..’’ arms referencing the medicine in your lap, you offered him a gentle smile. ‘’Thank you, Wolfwood, really.’’

Another surprise was the way that his face flushed at your words. He gently rubbed any tears away with his thumbs, offering another sheepish smile. The act of kindness wasn’t unexpected from him, but he was always discreet in showing the fact that he cared. Saying he was full and giving you the rest of his food when he hadn’t eaten much at all and could tell you were still hungry, purposely running late so you could bathe first and get the hot water whilst he would be left with lukewarm at best… He’d never been so upfront about how far his affection for you went, and it was obviously new to him as well. The flush on his face was sweet, he was embarrassed at the fact he was being so open about everything. 

‘’Nicholas. And nah, don’t thank me…’’ a soft chuckle followed by a scoff, ‘’I caused you pain, this is the least i can do for you.’’ 

At his response, you brought your own hands up, mirroring the way he was holding your own face. You ran your thumb over his cheekbone, admiring him.In the dark dingy downstairs of the hostel, you could look at him closely. Usually, you weren’t alone with him, so your admiration was always a lot more secret, a lot more stolen glances and fantasising about him in your room at night. Being able to touch him like this, being so close to him with no interruptions and no one else around.. It was really, really nice. It was obvious Nicholas felt the same, if not by the affectionate look in his eyes then by the fact his hands had dropped to your shoulders, involuntarily moving you closer to him. It was almost by nature, the fact he wanted to be closer to you, wanted to be as close as he possibly could.

‘’Nicholas…’’ a quiet mutter, eyes glancing between his eyes and lips. He muttered your own name in response, his voice low and deep. In response to him glancing down at your own lips, you leaned forward to gently press your lips together, an intimate kiss.

And surprisingly, he only tasted of strawberries.