Nicholas Wolfwood X Reader - Tumblr Posts
bounty - vash/f!reader/wolfwood (trigun stampede) 1.4k, poly!au, wild west!au even tho it's hard to tell in a fic this short lol, bounty hunters, this is an equilateral triangle of a relationship, fluff but suggestive, wolfwood calls reader 'kid' as a petname, i may expand on this but rly who's to say
the mattress dips beside you, rousing you from sleep.
you don’t open your eyes, nor do you feel any panic. instead, you find yourself reaching out towards the form that’s curled up into your side; familiar and warm to the touch.
“welcome home,” you whisper quietly, slumber still clinging to your throat and making your words rasp a little more than usual. “good morning.”
“it’s not morning yet,” vash whispers in reply with a laugh creeping into his voice. he presses a kiss against your temple, nosing into your hair. “you should go back to sleep.”
he sounds tired as he clings to you tightly, and you open your eyes to meet his sleepy gaze. he smiles, even through his exhaustion, and you watch fondly as his eyes crinkle at the corners in the dim light of the oil lamp at your bedside.
you shift a little closer to him in your bed, craning up to press a kiss to the little mark below his eye. he sighs contently as your lips brush against his skin, his body slackening into yours as though he's finally allowing his weariness to catch up to him. finally allowing himself to rest.
you pull away, brushing a few strands of blonde hair back from his face.
he has a bruise at the edge of his jaw, and dark rings of shadow that are deepest at the inner corner of his eyes. his skin looks sallow, and his lips dry.
you wonder how rough these past few weeks have been.
“where’s nico?” you ask gently, cradling his face in your hands. the question has been at the back of your mind since your bed dipped only on one side.
vash averts his eyes from yours guiltily.
“vash?” you press, a sudden knot of anxiety winding in the pit of your stomach. you sit up in bed, your quilt pooling in your lap as it slips from your body and reveals the cotton of your gauzy nightdress.
“he’s outside,” the man beside you murmurs, pink blooming high across his cheeks as his head rests against his pillow. he pouts a little, finally peeking back up at you through his lashes with a wounded gaze. “he’s mad at me.”
“oh?” you ask, fighting back a laugh at how sheepish and petulant the man below you looks. “and why is that?”
vash purses his lips even further.
“the guy we were after…”
“the wanted man whose bounty you were hunting,” you correct vash lightly, a lilt of playfulness in your tone.
“yeah, him,” vash nods, and then grimaces, “he sort of… got away.”
you let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“vash, that’s…”
“the third one in a row, i know. i know.” vash wraps his arms around your waist and pulls his head into your lap. you card your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles into you for comfort.
“did you let this one get away again?” you ask quietly, but not in an accusatory way.
vash says nothing, but that’s an admission in and of itself.
you sigh, your fingers stilling as they trace through the strands of blonde, the locks curling around your knuckles. you shift towards the edge of the bed, and vash tries to keep you where you are by tightening his hold around your waist.
“i’m just gonna go check on him,” you assure him when he looks up at you with wide eyes. you dip down and press a kiss to his lips—the ones you’ve been missing so much for the fortnight he and nicholas had been away. he whines as you pull away, and you smile against his mouth. you kiss him again, more chaste this time. “i’ll be back.”
nicholas is on the front porch, staring out into the sea of sand that surrounds the little ranch you call home. his beloved boots have been kicked off beside the door, and his shirt is unbuttoned to reveal the undershirt he wears beneath. the tails of the shirt are still tucked into his trousers but he’s unfastened their button at his waist too, and his suspenders are the only thing keeping them on as he reclines back onto his elbows against the wooden slats of the porch deck.
you know he hears the screen door open to let you out, and you're even more certain that he hears the sound of it shutting behind you once you've stepped outside. the smell of tobacco clings to the edge of the night wind. it’s familiar, comforting. reminds you that he’s home. you draw in a long breath to savour it.
“you should be in bed, kid,” nicholas rasps, tapping the ash off the end of his sad, vaguely mangled cigarette.
“i’m not allowed to come and welcome you home?” you kneel behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck. it feels nice to have him in your arms again. feels right.
“not when you’ve got a crybaby to coddle in there,” he grunts, but you still feel him lean back into your embrace. you hide your pleased smile against the crown of his head.
“he’s probably already asleep,” you murmur into the top nicholas’s hair, swaying him gently. “he feels bad. he thinks you’re mad at him.”
“i am mad at him,” nicholas snaps, but you see through the sharpness of his tone. he’s tired, probably hungry, but not sincerely angry. “he fucked up another job for us.”
“guess that’s what you get taking in a fugitive as a partner, mister bounty hunter,” you tease him, pressing a kiss to his throat. his skin tastes of salt and desert sand, like days spent in the sun and labour. you feel how he shivers at the gentle brush of your mouth against his pulse. "and a bleeding hearted one at that."
“you’re the one who took him in like a stray,” nicholas complains, “i’m only putting up with him for your sake.”
it’s a lie, and he knows it as well as you do. he’s just as attached to the blonde presently curled up in your bed, the one too big for just him, as you are. it's the reason nicholas wears a thin gold band that he takes impossibly good care of, just like the two of you do, on his left ring finger.
nicholas tips his head back so he can finally look at you, his cigarette still dangling from his lips. the corner of his mouth quirks slightly as he draws a breath in, the cherry burning red in the night. you pluck the cigarette from his lips as he lets the smoke slip out on his exhale, his dark eyes still fixed to your face as he appraises you.
you observe him similarly, scanning over him as though taking inventory of the state he's fallen into since he's been away. he’s in the same shape as vash, from what you can tell. you spot some bruises mottling his skin, some rough stubble coming in at the edge of his jaw. there’s a blood stain on the collar of his shirt, and you aren’t sure if it’s his own or someone else’s, but you know it will be a pain to wash out.
but that’s a problem for tomorrow.
“if he’s a stray, what does that make you?” you ask him with a little laugh, his cigarette still pinched between your thumb and forefinger.
he quirks a brow. “if i say ‘the luckiest guy in the world’ are you gonna think i’m just trying to take you to bed?”
you snort, stamping the stub of the cigarette out onto the wooden porch and then flicking the butt away into the sand. you dip down until you’re nose to nose with him.
“of course I am,” you reply to him, your lips brushing against his as you speak the words. you can taste the tobacco that clings to his mouth from this close, but you don't mind it when it tastes like home. “and it’s our bed, nicholas. so take me to it whenever you’d like.”
𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳
Nicholas D. Wolfwood x reader (fem)
nsfw . male masturbation . multiple mentions of religious themes . minors please do not interact
"I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth...shit, what's next?"
Despite of what others think, Nicholas D. Wolfwood has come to the conclusion that he is indeed, the perfect example to belie the thought commonly held by people that him, and all the other children of the Lord who is high in the heavens, are made in his image and likeness. He is just a man, a mere mortal, vulnerable and weak in the face of temptation, son of original sin. Trying to atone for, and amend, the errors that life has brought within his path, and from which he cannot seem to escape.
Same life that unfortunately has also placed him in the way of your so intoxicating self. As if it were an unforgivable and cruel test to endure the strength of his already cracked spirit, a test to prove how much he is capable of resisting when the sharp claws of lust slowly scratch his back when he tries to sleep and the image of your beautiful face invades his mind. He also claims being able to feel them scratching once again when, after what seems like an eternal week of waiting, he manages to spot you sitting among the 47 people that fit in the orphanage’s chapel at the time of the religious ceremony he presents on Sundays at 10 in the morning.
Nicholas talks to himself all the time. He talks about a whole bunch of different things to stay busy and distant from the loneliness that his profession entails. He also writes, on a small black notebook that shamelessly reads Holy Bible on its cover, which he keeps in the inside pocket of his suit all day. It is possible to find random thoughts scrambled between its pages, occasional unfinished sketches of the kids who visit him frequently, prayers and attempts at poetry that, despite the ease he possesses to release a speech towards an audience made up of people full of faith in the word he preaches every weekend, the simple idea that one day you might inadvertently read what lies on those yellowish paper sheets terrifies him to the point where he can feel each and every one of his nerve endings on the surface of his skin, pulsing with the same intensity as the wings of a flying hummingbird.
He writes for you, more specifically. Even though in life, there are weaknesses that sometimes, do not allow the deepest feelings of the heart to flourish freely.
"I am just an object waiting to be ashes, and it is precisely for that reason that I would like my body to burn until it is consumed as one with yours. So at the end, dust will be the only thing that remains of our spirits, mixed together, to be later carried away by the wind of this unforgiving desert we call home."
“I have reached such a degree of insanity that, not even with the help of a thousand divine healing rites, my composure will return. I have even considered exchanging the blood of as many sinners as necessary to the Devil in order to melt into the blazing but purifying fire that surely arises with the single touch of your lips, and if you allow me, to endulge in the perfect contradiction that lies between your legs. A place both sacred and infernal, a place where good and evil converge and is powerful enough to drive even the most righteous and ruthless of religionists to an infinite madness. A place that I can only imagine feels like heaven and hell at the same time, capable to burn but also soothe the wounds in the soul of a disgraceful believer, one such as myself, your humble servant.”
“And I am not ashamed to affirm in front of the cross in which the son of God was punished because of filth like me, that, your mere presence encourages me to violate every order imposed by the invisible power of my belief, all that for what he, the same guy I mentioned earlier, sacrificed himself for in the first place. He sacrificed himself for you and especially for me, and above all, for the atrocities that come with the human race to disappear from the world. Such as the kind of things that flood my mind when my gaze manages to distinguish a little glimpse of your underwear when you put on that pretty dress of yours and you take a seat in the front row. A dress I like to imagine you only use for me.”
When Sunday comes, the ceremony starts and it's your turn at the moment of communion. It all happens in a matter of minutes every single time, a fleeting contact that is difficult to remove from his system. The host is delicately held by Wolfwood's hands as he stares at you, the abyss of his obsidian orbs capturing your attention to ask for your permission. You nod and look back at him too, subtly batting your eyelashes and slowly sticking out your tongue in an inviting way, that more than innocent, seemed diabolical, as if you knew which cards to move to obtain an absolute victory. And he feels it, he feels something struck his chest. Like a pair of magnets who can't fight the silent attraction that tries to unite them. You glance at the thick fingers infront of you for an instant, and then once again, you lift your stare towards him to take the host. His breathing stopped the moment he felt the back of his fingers get in contact with the wetness of your tongue while accommodating the wafer on it, and he almost, just almost, stutters in his words, but he doesn't, it takes all of his will not to. He blinks and his hand moves away from your lips to continue with the the other presents. You turn around and go back to your place without looking back. Luckily for him, the robe that covers his body does not allow to reveal any trace of what could give away his growing hunger for you.
Reminiscing something that he himself already wrote once in his notebook.
“It’s a disgusting sight, truly. How you take the sacramental bread from the hands of a sinful bastard, how you try to be purified by the same hands that are permanently stained with the obscene thought of consuming your body, your entire being. But you don’t have an idea of how much I love it, how much I want you to be mine.”
The lecture finished at 10:57 a.m. Nicholas remembers glancing at the watch on his wrist to regain the track of time he lost when you got close to his body. Seeing that people were starting to get up, he decided to clean his instruments to leave everything in order, and at the same time, bring some peace to his mind. He didn't have long arranging his space when Wolfwood felt a sudden and intense urge to look back, and when he did, you were the first thing that he focused on, stumbling upon the surprise of your eyes already searching for his while walking to the exit, wearing the most precious smile he’s ever seen on your face. A smile just for him.
By 11:23 a.m. the chapel was completely empty and Wolfwood walked with an unbearable weight on his feet towards the confined space of the confessional, along with a box of matches in hand that he took from an old cabinet. He closed the door, took a seat and leaned his head against the wall, which protested with a slight screech, as if it knew what was going through the troubled man's mind. Of course you appeared immediately, the images of every time you two have exchanged greetings in the streets, in the market, or even at the events to raise funds for the orphanage.
First came the color of your eyes, which seemed to dominate and illuminate the darkness of the small space he was in, then your eyebrows and the expressions that characterize your words while speaking. Thirdly, your mouth, the Eden he dreams of so much, reflected in the shine that your lips acquire when you bite and wet them with saliva. Imagining how they move to the compass of your voice, if they are rounded, if you smile or if you stay quiet. Nicholas raised his right hand and gently touched his own mouth to try to calm the urgency of joining it with yours. He closed his eyes and remembered the slight meeting he had with it an hour ago. The warmth of your breath on his knuckles and the softness he touched with the pads of his mistreated fingers. How easy would it be to draw a whimper out of you, the sweetest sound he can think of. His pants began to feel more and more uncomfortable with every passing minute, the pressure exerted by the growing erection in his groin started to become unbearable. Will he be able to obtain salvation if he confesses everything, here and now?
"God...please" And just as he often does, he began to talk. "I want her more than...a-anything in this world...can't I have her either?" The hand that previously touched your lips, traveled up to his crotch and gave a first cautious squeeze, allowing himself to be carried away by the venom of the serpent that condemned us all as sinners centuries ago, which little by little contaminated his veins and blinded his sight. Now not only did he imagine the Eden in your beauty, he was about to enter that precious place, only to break the rules. "I haven't been...a g-good man, but..." His breathing began to falter, with great gulps of air, his chest rose and fell, trying to oxygenate his racing heart. "I swear I...I can treat her right." The restraint of the stiff bottoms was starting to be painful for Nicholas, so he reached for the button, hastily undoing it to reach into his underwear. The burning heat of desire greeting him. And as he could, he pulled out his member from the base without removing his pants. The cold edge of the zipper brushed against the prominent veins of his rigid sex while his hand tried to conciliate the relief he so desperately needed. He kept traveling with his mind through your neck, your chest, your waist and your navel, the unknown nudity that he longes for unfolding before him in an imaginary scenario within the four small walls of the confessional. His breathing became more and more disturbed and growls began to sprout from the depths of his being.
"I'm sorry, God...I'm so s-sorry" He started to apologize because he knows exactly what is next. He enjoys being rough with his wicked self, he is violent. Pulling his own hair with one hand while the other strokes himself harshly. He spits on the tip, and watches how saliva slowly rolls to the base. He grunts, an animalistic type of sound that reveals the wildest part of his existence, his human predatory instinct, the part that he tries to repress with calling himself a preacher of the Lord’s word. He likes to tighten the grip in his member to the point where the veins on his forehead begin to become visible and the color of his shaft changes entirely with the accelerated flow of blood. Suffocating in his own body, a prisoner of his dark desires.
"Our Father, who...a-art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is...i-in heaven." It was in that moment when he began to pray. And the drops of fluid that came out of his slit with anticipation gave his hand more access to stroke with a quicker pace. From outside the confessional, it was possible to hear the faint slippery sound of friction from skin to skin and the murmured pleas of a man sunk in perdition.
"Give us this day our daily bread, a-and forgive us our trespasses...as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temp-temptation...but deliver us from...evil."
Would God be able to truly forgive such an act?
"A-Amen."
And it's just when he finishes his pleas that he finds himself betrayed by his own mind, letting your name slip from his lips, over and over again, like a renovated prayer, but profane and corrupted. The peculiar burning sensation in the lower part of his abdomen starts to approach. He bites the collar of his white camisole and drool escapes from the sides of his mouth in the delirium of a near orgasm. Squeezing his eyes shut he imagined your breasts swaying in front of his face as you grind on top, your angelic face contorted with the ecstasy of a fictional encounter, and your core eagerly receiving each of his thrust. The sweet aroma that your sweat must have and all the possible ways you could moan his name.
"Ni..cholas, ah...Nicholas...Nic..."
The entirety of his skin crawls to the thought. And his hips begin to move with an unbridled, involuntary frenzy, consequence of the carnal instinct that species keep hidden in their bodies.
"Oh...God..please, please...ple-please." He calls uselessly for the only one who could redeem him, the only one who could accept a sin like this. Finally, he rapidly drags his hand a couple of last times and the orgasm begins to hit his senses. A last growl comes out of his chest before his teeth unconsciously loosen the fabric of the shirt to let out a deafened cry. With some last thrusts, his hips rise in a lost rhythm from the bench on which he is sitting as his seed spills violently into his right hand, staining some of the fabric of his black pants along the way.
The warm sensation of contact with his own release brings him back to himself, and he can only at this point, contemplate more clearly the mistake he has made.
“Divine forgiveness, what a bunch of shit.”
He drops the other hand that was tugging at his brunette locks in the heat of the momentum inside his pocket, pulls out a cigarette, places it in his mouth and proceeds to wipe the remains of cum on his right palm with a handkerchief, so he can pick up the matches he had brought with him, light the stick, and take a hit, trying to quell with smoke the latent nectar of lonely intimacy impregnated in the air. He takes a few moments to let the haze of the moment pass completely as he watches the mess in his lap and his now softened member.
The cigarette is half finished, he is a fast smoker.
He inhales and exhales once more, and then, there’s a subtle, almost silent, knock on the door, followed by what he recognizes is your voice coming from the rusty confession room's grate.
“F-Father Nicholas...?”
𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳
Nicholas D. Wolfwood x reader (fem)
nsfw . male masturbation . multiple mentions of religious themes . minors please do not interact
“I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth…shit, what’s next?”
Seguir leyendo
bounty - vash/f!reader/wolfwood (trigun stampede) 1.4k, poly!au, wild west!au even tho it's hard to tell in a fic this short lol, bounty hunters, this is an equilateral triangle of a relationship, fluff but suggestive, wolfwood calls reader 'kid' as a petname, i may expand on this but rly who's to say
the mattress dips beside you, rousing you from sleep.
you don’t open your eyes, nor do you feel any panic. instead, you find yourself reaching out towards the form that’s curled up into your side; familiar and warm to the touch.
“welcome home,” you whisper quietly, slumber still clinging to your throat and making your words rasp a little more than usual. “good morning.”
“it’s not morning yet,” vash whispers in reply with a laugh creeping into his voice. he presses a kiss against your temple, nosing into your hair. “you should go back to sleep.”
he sounds tired as he clings to you tightly, and you open your eyes to meet his sleepy gaze. he smiles, even through his exhaustion, and you watch fondly as his eyes crinkle at the corners in the dim light of the oil lamp at your bedside.
you shift a little closer to him in your bed, craning up to press a kiss to the little mark below his eye. he sighs contently as your lips brush against his skin, his body slackening into yours as though he's finally allowing his weariness to catch up to him. finally allowing himself to rest.
you pull away, brushing a few strands of blonde hair back from his face.
he has a bruise at the edge of his jaw, and dark rings of shadow that are deepest at the inner corner of his eyes. his skin looks sallow, and his lips dry.
you wonder how rough these past few weeks have been.
“where’s nico?” you ask gently, cradling his face in your hands. the question has been at the back of your mind since your bed dipped only on one side.
vash averts his eyes from yours guiltily.
“vash?” you press, a sudden knot of anxiety winding in the pit of your stomach. you sit up in bed, your quilt pooling in your lap as it slips from your body and reveals the cotton of your gauzy nightdress.
“he’s outside,” the man beside you murmurs, pink blooming high across his cheeks as his head rests against his pillow. he pouts a little, finally peeking back up at you through his lashes with a wounded gaze. “he’s mad at me.”
“oh?” you ask, fighting back a laugh at how sheepish and petulant the man below you looks. “and why is that?”
vash purses his lips even further.
“the guy we were after…”
“the wanted man whose bounty you were hunting,” you correct vash lightly, a lilt of playfulness in your tone.
“yeah, him,” vash nods, and then grimaces, “he sort of… got away.”
you let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“vash, that’s…”
“the third one in a row, i know. i know.” vash wraps his arms around your waist and pulls his head into your lap. you card your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles into you for comfort.
“did you let this one get away again?” you ask quietly, but not in an accusatory way.
vash says nothing, but that’s an admission in and of itself.
you sigh, your fingers stilling as they trace through the strands of blonde, the locks curling around your knuckles. you shift towards the edge of the bed, and vash tries to keep you where you are by tightening his hold around your waist.
“i’m just gonna go check on him,” you assure him when he looks up at you with wide eyes. you dip down and press a kiss to his lips—the ones you’ve been missing so much for the fortnight he and nicholas had been away. he whines as you pull away, and you smile against his mouth. you kiss him again, more chaste this time. “i’ll be back.”
nicholas is on the front porch, staring out into the sea of sand that surrounds the little ranch you call home. his beloved boots have been kicked off beside the door, and his shirt is unbuttoned to reveal the undershirt he wears beneath. the tails of the shirt are still tucked into his trousers but he’s unfastened their button at his waist too, and his suspenders are the only thing keeping them on as he reclines back onto his elbows against the wooden slats of the porch deck.
you know he hears the screen door open to let you out, and you're even more certain that he hears the sound of it shutting behind you once you've stepped outside. the smell of tobacco clings to the edge of the night wind. it’s familiar, comforting. reminds you that he’s home. you draw in a long breath to savour it.
“you should be in bed, kid,” nicholas rasps, tapping the ash off the end of his sad, vaguely mangled cigarette.
“i’m not allowed to come and welcome you home?” you kneel behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck. it feels nice to have him in your arms again. feels right.
“not when you’ve got a crybaby to coddle in there,” he grunts, but you still feel him lean back into your embrace. you hide your pleased smile against the crown of his head.
“he’s probably already asleep,” you murmur into the top nicholas’s hair, swaying him gently. “he feels bad. he thinks you’re mad at him.”
“i am mad at him,” nicholas snaps, but you see through the sharpness of his tone. he’s tired, probably hungry, but not sincerely angry. “he fucked up another job for us.”
“guess that’s what you get taking in a fugitive as a partner, mister bounty hunter,” you tease him, pressing a kiss to his throat. his skin tastes of salt and desert sand, like days spent in the sun and labour. you feel how he shivers at the gentle brush of your mouth against his pulse. "and a bleeding hearted one at that."
“you’re the one who took him in like a stray,” nicholas complains, “i’m only putting up with him for your sake.”
it’s a lie, and he knows it as well as you do. he’s just as attached to the blonde presently curled up in your bed, the one too big for just him, as you are. it's the reason nicholas wears a thin gold band that he takes impossibly good care of, just like the two of you do, on his left ring finger.
nicholas tips his head back so he can finally look at you, his cigarette still dangling from his lips. the corner of his mouth quirks slightly as he draws a breath in, the cherry burning red in the night. you pluck the cigarette from his lips as he lets the smoke slip out on his exhale, his dark eyes still fixed to your face as he appraises you.
you observe him similarly, scanning over him as though taking inventory of the state he's fallen into since he's been away. he’s in the same shape as vash, from what you can tell. you spot some bruises mottling his skin, some rough stubble coming in at the edge of his jaw. there’s a blood stain on the collar of his shirt, and you aren’t sure if it’s his own or someone else’s, but you know it will be a pain to wash out.
but that’s a problem for tomorrow.
“if he’s a stray, what does that make you?” you ask him with a little laugh, his cigarette still pinched between your thumb and forefinger.
he quirks a brow. “if i say ‘the luckiest guy in the world’ are you gonna think i’m just trying to take you to bed?”
you snort, stamping the stub of the cigarette out onto the wooden porch and then flicking the butt away into the sand. you dip down until you’re nose to nose with him.
“of course I am,” you reply to him, your lips brushing against his as you speak the words. you can taste the tobacco that clings to his mouth from this close, but you don't mind it when it tastes like home. “and it’s our bed, nicholas. so take me to it whenever you’d like.”
(read part 2 here!)
What would Vash, Wolfwood, and Knives do about sick reader? Like reader knew they had been getting sick for a few days but saying stuff like "I sneezed from the dusty sand" or "I choked on my spit. I wasn't coughing. " they keep coming up with stuff to say till they have a fever and collapse.
YES. MORE FOR KNIVES. I actually really enjoy writing for knives. He's such a complicated character to get right because he hates humans and more often than not the reader is portrayed as human. His feelings are so contradictory but I love it.
You're Only Human (After all)
SUMMARY: Vash, Wolfwood, and Naï, find out that you've been hiding a sickness from them. The outcome feels like a nightmare come true.
NOTES: Vash and knives parts are very long. There's a shit ton of angst but there's also hurt/comfort. I'd say it took me 16 hrs total from start to finish and that's partially because a huge part of Kives original part got deleted and yeah... I couldn't remember some of it. Enjoy tho lol.
⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝
Vash
Setting up camp for the night was no easy task, getting up to gather what everyone needs to sleep comfortably while helping Meryl set up her own tent. Yours always comes last and before you can even finish Roberto is asking you to help him cook. You never stop working and seize every opportunity to stay on your feet, the restlessness that comes with stagnancy kills you. Through constantly throwing yourself into work is painful and tiring, it's been even more so than usual.
"Hey kid. Come and help with this roast."
You ignore Roberto's request, too tired to even think straight much less give a coherent thought, only curling further into the backseat of the truck. In the back of your throat has settled an itch, one that's not quite there but prominent enough to make you force down a cough. It bubbles up suddenly, making you gasp for air in-between coughs. Your throat burns in pain and tenses as it stops.
Soft foot steps pad up to the open door. Meryl peeks in at you with worry before she fixes herself right. "Uh... Sorry if I'm bothering you but could you help me with my tent again?" She clasps her hands together, eagerly waiting for your answer.
Nick watches from the outside of his own tent, gazing at your still form while his hands blindly settle the cross firmly into the sand. He doesn't decide to speak until Meryl extends a hand to tap you. "I'll do it." He offers.
Meryl turns to look at him with a disgruntled smile. "Thanks?" He scoffs. "Yup. Don't mention it. And close the door while you're at it."
Meryl looks at your limp form, not wanting to close any limbs in the door she checks just to be sure before she carefully closes the door. Just before walking away she takes one last peek inside to see if she disturbed you but you haven't moved an inch. Taking a deep breath she turns to stand beside Nick while he puts her tent together.
The night carried on and with it came Vash. To everyone else the night went on as usual but to Vash, a part of him was missing. When he looked for your tent he was sad to find that it hadn't been set up at all. This only worried the blonde further. His stomach would churn with unease the further he looked around. There was no sign on you anywhere. Just as he was about to peek around the truck, a soft finger tapped his shoulder. He turned to find Meryl gazing up at him.
"If you're looking for them..." She points to the truck. "They've been there all evening."
Hia gaze follows her pointed finger to the backseat of the truck. Offering her thanks, he rushes over to the truck and pulls open the door. You lay curled up on the farthest side away from him, your face hidden and tucked away in your arms. Face softening, Vash climbs into the empty space by your feel and closes the door behind him, ensuring privacy.
"Mayfly?" He leans over curiously, his hand slipping under your chin to lift your face into view. You grimace, your head swimming in agony and dizziness. "Are you okay?" His cries crease in concern.
Lazily, you lift a hand to swat him away. Setting your head back on your arms he lifts the back of his hand to your forehead. "You feel hot. Maybe you should get out of the car. Get some fresh air." His hand brushes over your head in a soothing manner.
"I'm fine." He smiles at your half-hearted grumble.
"If you say so..." Swiftly grabbing your shoulder, Vash scoops you up into his arms with ease and scoots to press his back to the door. He spreads his legs and leans back just enough for you to lay comfortably on his chest. You're just lethargic enough that you flop against him, no resistance whatsoever.
He stayed with you until the morning, upset when he kept waking up to you practicing choking in your sleep. Every time he raises a hand to your forehead it burns his skin. You were certainly running a fever of some kind or at the very least sick, he's never seen you so lethargic before. You've always stayed on your feet, working yourself to the brink, till' your legs won't carry you anymore. This might just be one of those spells but you never left the truck. Even when he got out to help everyone pack up you didn't move.
When everyone gathered inside the truck, you didn't move, allowing yourself to get shoved around to make room for Wolfwood and Vash. As Vash climbed in, he scowled at the priest who shoved you about as if you were some object he could just discard. Gently scooping you far enough to slide in. he laid you back down in his lap and held you close, allowing you to get some rather comfortable rest. Hours later, you woke up in a daze. The heat consuming you from head to toe is unbearable, breathing comes harshly.
You can see legs moving through the sand below you as you wake up but very quickly realize they're not yours. You begin to feel hands under each of your knees and your body pressed against another. Below you, Vash's coat flaps into view, the edges of it tugging about with each step.
You groan, dizzy from the heat and disoriented. Your head is reeling about, begging to go back to sleep and crying at the same time. Every part of you aches and your throat feels like it's been grated like fine cheese.
"You're awake!" Vash turns his head to look at you nuzzled into his shoulder. Swallowing harshly, you lift your head to glance at him. "Where are we?"
You cringe at the sound of your own voice, sounding like a decrepit frog that smokes cigarettes. It feels like you haven't drank in forever and your stomach rumbles angrily. Suddenly Vash jumps to keep you up on his back, you whine at the sudden jolt and dig your hands into the chest of his shirt. He grimaces at your painful response.
"You okay?" Forcing yourself to right yourself, you begin to wriggle in his hold. "M' fine. Put me down."
Vash's brows creased with worry. "Are you sure? You've-"
Pushing from his hold you fall into the scorching sands. Hissing in pain, you jump to your feet jostling your brain into a wave of vertigo. Your hand shoots out to find purchase while your vision grows dark. Tingles flood your body as a low dull pain pulses in your head. Two arms scoop you up into security, keeping you from falling back into the hot sands. "Whoa!"
Vash steadies you as you lean against him limply for help. "Slow down. You're not well." His hands move to your shoulders. A long drawn out couch slips from your lips. You shake away from his hole to walk towards the group, they're way ahead of you occasionally glancing back to stop and wait. "I'm fine."
You trudge forward at your own discretion and Vash follows closely behind. "Let me carry you Mayfly." A hand comes to rest at the small of your back. Beneath you, your legs shake horribly, threatening to lose your balance. It's hard just to push forward in the sand without wincing from the sore ache that settles into your bones. "I'll be fine, Vash."
The desert becomes distant, a cold covering your whole body like ice. "I'm..." The sky began to darken, blotting out the light from the suns and the sand beneath you.
"oh!" Slipping forward, Vash stretches an arm over your chest to stop your falling body from collapsing in the sand. The over exertion is obvious and your body makes it hard to deny. Vash can see it clearly, the bleary look in your eyes as he scoops your bridal style in his arms. Gazing down at you with an unreadable expression, he shakes his head. "How long has this been going on?"
You roll your head into his chest, shielding your eyes from the suns. Breathing in to speak you choke out a cough, you can hardly catch a breath in-between. When you finish, your head falls back softly. "A few weeks ago." You mumble weakly.
A frown settles upon his lips as he looks ahead at the horizon, the glare on his shades stops you from seeing his eyes. Those are always a dead give away for how he's feeling. Those shades work wonders for him.
Taking a shaky breath, you relax in Vash's arms. "Don't worry. I'll take you to a doctor. You should rest until then."
You shake your head. "Won't you get tired of carrying me?"
He looks back down at you smiling softly. The smile reaches up to his eyes, softening his gaze and wrinkling the corners of his eyes. "I will. It's okay, I'm supposed to take care of you Mayfly. Just rest." His voice is so soft he's almost whispering. It makes a heat swirl in your chest as you close your eyes.
"I'm sorry Vash."
He chuckles. "It's alright my love."
Wolfwood
Sweat beads along your forehead as you follow the giant wandering cross in front of you. Your wavering pace slows you down even more the longer you push forward. It's so far away now. When was the last time you even had water? God, you can't remember. Trudging through the sands makes the ache in your already sore leg grow worse, you can barely lift your feet from the ground.
Breathing is a labor, it burns your lungs with each breath you take, the longer you go without calling for Nick's help the more dire this starts to become. The dull ache in your head is pounding with the intensity of the suns and your body grows weaker. You regret lying to Nick before he ran out of gas, you knew them you should have said something but the situation was bad enough. You thought saying something then would only cause more worry to settle in Nick's mind and you didn't want to burden him.
Suddenly, searing hot pain blossoms on your exposed skin and sand hugs your body as it lands. Your mind is foggy and blank, you watch Nick grow smaller in the distance not even bothering to look back at you. You rasp his name but your throat doesn't allow you to call any louder than a simple talking tone. After traveling with Nick everywhere, you never thought it would end like this, laying in the sand pathetically sick because of your irrational fear and Inability to ask for help.
Suddenly, in the distance. The space between you and Nick closes in. He runs towards you, tossing the cross all about on his back. Distantly you can hear him call your name for the first time ever, he's only ever called you by silly nicknames. You don't give much care to mutter a response and sink into the sand.
Panic squeezes in Nick's chest and he drops his cross beside him to tend to you. Grabbing your shoulders he turns you over and sits you up in his lap. "C'mon. Don't fall asleep." He begs.
You cough up a laugh. The concern in his face grows even more severe with your seeming obliviousness to the situation. "I'm fine..." You want to shrug him off so bad but even moving feels like hell.
Heart pounding in his chest, Nick swallows harshly "You haven't been fine since we got stranded, have you?" The back of his hand feels freezing as he presses it to your forehead. You grimace with discomfort and whine. "I'm not stupid." Carefully, he stands with you in his arms.
As he turns to walk away you spot his cross on the ground. "Your cross..." Nick acknowledges it with a hum. His face is stern, pointedly staring straight again with his lips pressed into a thin line. "I'll get it back later. You need medical attention first."
You smile. "So you're saying you care?"
His grip on you begins to tighten. *Of course I do! Don't fucking scare me like that again." He growls.
"Sure." Sleep tugs your eyes closed, pulling at your weight the less conscious you become. Nick glares down at you, squeezing you tighter against him. He feels your body grow limp in his arms, heart dropping to his stomach.
"What did I say? Don't fall asleep." You're jostled awake with a groan. "Just let me sleep. Please."
"And if you don't wake up again?" He's become eerily nonchalant. "What then?" The edge in his voice shakes with worry, tracing the thoughts of what might unfold after your death. His chest aches at the thought of losing you and he won't say it but he's scared of losing you. "It'll kill me..."
Nick will never admit it but you do more for him then he lets on. Your company alone could last him a lifetime, your smile, it could make him happy forever. Everything about you fixes everything bad about him and he's not ready to give that up. Especially not over some silly illness. Hearing his words and understanding what he means, you coo quietly and rest your hand over his heart. Your touch quells his fraying nerves.
"I drag you down Nico." Your heart weighs heavy in your chest. "It might be better if you leave me behind."
Stomach clenching wearily, Nick grunts. "No." Venoms laces his tongue. "You idiot. I love you too much to do that." You gaze at him in surprise. "Don't look at me like that. I said what I said. You should just be quiet and conserve your energy."
Hesitant, you gaze at him for a few moments longer before letting your head rest carefully against his chest. "I'll get you help. Just hang in there."
Millions Knives
Sitting beside Naï, he plays the piano. Quietly, you watch his fingers dance over the keys as they belt out a dramatic yet familiar melody. It strikes the soul as misunderstood, you know it well. Many times has Naï played this song in your presence. You've heard everything he plays, as his words command you stay by his side under his watchful eye. Many of his followers take this as a sign of mistrust, a show that the human race will never take his attention. Naï has said to you before: "Hear me and believe my word. My trust in you is not misguided, I only wish to protect you from those who wish to harm you."
Despite hating humans, Naï knows his fair share about the ways they operate. He understands the delicacy of your body and handles it with immense measure and meticulous care. He keeps you near to prevent his followers from making a move to take your life. For him, he even strives to understand more about you, to protect you. His care for you and your well-being runs deep, although Naï doesn't quite understand why it's you he's so careful about, he understands that you make him feel something.
Naï, even in his own strange way, shows that he cares for you. He appreciates the company you keep him and he's not foreign with thanking you. Just the same your appreciation runs deep, he offers you friendship, safety, food, and a place to lay your head at night. Above all else, his friendship and company you find the most rewarding, to know so much about him is to see under his facade. Knowing that underneath all of those sharp blades, a gentle, and caring man resides. Only sparing himself to his closet confidants.
Beautifully, the keys fade into an epilogue, an ending to the story it once opened with. You find that as you watch with a smile your lungs begin to burn. A cough tries to bubble its way past your lips, it takes your breath away and chokes you on the way out. Turning away to cover your mouth, you find it hard to catch your breath and tears blur your vision. The melody that had once carried through the room now falls silent in the stead of your sputtering.
Worry tingles in Naï's chest as you gasp for air beside him, he's unsure of what to do or what this is. His knowledge might be expansive but he still has so much to learn, about sickness, potential threats, the many causes of death. His lack of awareness makes his heart quell with concern and his mind reel is fear.
"Are you alright?" His voice carries through the harmonious room. Tentatively his hand hovers over your back.
You wipe the tears from your eyes to see his angelic face clearly. "It's okay Naï, just choked on my spit."
Cautiously, he looks you over with care checking for abnormalities along your external appearance. Your eyes are dark and lightly sunken, despite noticing this fast Naï goes along with your word and nods in earnest. You feel scrutinized under his gaze, like he's judging every part of you without ever saying a word.
"Choked?" He queries. "Is this choking, dangerous?" His brows crease with worry.
"Well..." Recalling gasping for air, the onslaught of coughing as it keeps you from breathing in deep enough to catch your breath makes you choose your next words with ease. "Yes. It can be, depending on the circumstances. But it can also be prevented"
Intensely focused, Naï nods. "How can this be prevented?" His absolute attention is always divulged onto you anytime you talk, it's endearing, the way he listens to every detail. Nothing you've said has ever been forgotten by him, he remembers everything, making it a point to bring it up when useful later on. It tells you that he cares about what you have to say, knowing that makes your heart soar.
"Drinking a glass of water, or anything of likeness, then there's the heimlich. You should ask Con'rad about that if you want to understand it." Although many of the things that Naï knows about humans have been acquired through you, there are many things you can't find the energy to explain. Best someone else with more knowledge explains it to avoid any confusion.
"I'll go visit him then." Naï stands. "Come. I'll escort you to the room." Gently, you hold his outstretched hand, letting it guide you to your feet. He holds it gingerly as he pulls you alongside him. His hand is soft and warm, inhumanely so, you find comfort in his warmth.
The more time chugs along the more you begin to realize you've fallen I'll, coughing spells out of nowhere, extreme fatigue, loss of appetite. The coughing grows worse with intensity, burning your sore throat, your body wastes energy faster, and waking up in the morning becomes a difficult task. For longer times you would lay in bed seeking the comfort of your companion, Naï, despite hiding your growing illness from him. He's buying into what you told him, though it won't last for very long. If he's really that worried he'll seek the knowledge of Con'rad once again.
He knows your habits even down to the smallest details, including your sleep schedule. Though sleep is the only time he lets you spend alone, that's only in his room, the only ones allowed inside are you and him. As far as his knowledge goes, since you last went in about a day ago, no one has bothered to enter. Not even Naï himself would go to see you. He figured you only needed a little alone time before you might come out again to grace him with your company. The time rolled around for you to come out but the door never opened, Naï waited in anticipation, trying to stace off the minutes to spare you time.
The paranoia got to him before you could.
The whole time you've been inside he's only let the door out of his sight once, for only a short amount of time. Very few people would dare enter knowing what punishment would await them if he ever found out but just the thought of someone going in and hurting you... It makes his blood boil. He paces just outside with worry and frustration beginning to build just beneath the surface. He has to know you're okay, he has to hear you speak... No. No, he needs something more... He has to see you physically. Otherwise, he might just lose his mind wondering what awaits him inside.
Eager to finally see your face again, to hear your voice and feel your touch, he pushes the door open. Eyes scouring the darkness for your form he finally spots you laying still beneath the covers of his bed, you make no sound as the door closes and you stay still even as he says your name. In his chest, his heart begins to pound wildly, sending the rest of his body into a frenzy of feelings.
He rushes to the bedside, a singular blade extending to turn the lights on. The darkness cowers away at the flick of a switch and your form is revealed amongst his mattress. Almost stripped bare of your clothes you lay unmoving, almost as if the life from inside you has been drained. Chest straining, Naï climbs over top of your body lowering his head to your chest, your skin feels cold against his ear as he listens for a heartbeat.
Just underneath your delicate skin beats the rhythm of your life, it beats on even as you lay utterly still. Naï can feel his shoulders relax, the sound of your heart telling him that you're indeed still alive, but as he pulls away to further examine you he knows something's not quite right. it makes his stomach churn with unease. Your skin tone seems off, like something's not quite the same as it was before.
As softly as he can, Naï shakes your body. After the first movement he expects you to come to life with a groan but you don't move. If your heart is still beating, why won't you wake up?
"My flower, wake up. You've slept long enough. I need your company by my side." He shakes you harder this time. "Petal, wake up. I demand it." He tries to sound like he normally does when addressing everyone else but he can't seem to find it in himself to truly yell at you, to demand something of you. Especially not when you're stripped of your freedom at this moment.
Naï's throat tightens, his brows creasing with worry and fear. He's so confused, you usually wake up when he calls for you but now he's got nothing. It scares him, knowing just how fragile you really are, it aside now that he rushes you to Con'rad.
Before he parts to the lab, he envelopes your exposed body in his cloak and carries you in his arms. Nothing like this takes more than the blink of an eye, Con'rad barely even has time to process his master's sudden appearance. Everything is thrust at him at once, the fear and confusion that riddles Naï's face when he presents you to Con'rad, how he begs for him to find out what's wrong, to fix you.
Con'rad frowns at your unconscious body as he takes you from his master's arms. "Careful! Don't hurt them." Naï warns.
Con'rad can only cast him a glance before he sets you down on a table, he collects his supplies needed to check you over and watches as Naï retracts the cloak that is wrapped so tightly around your body.
To plants, a decade is only supposed to feel like a day. So why did Naï feel like it had already been years when it was only minutes. He stared at you intently, waiting for you to wake up, willing you to do something. But you didn't move at all. Naï was anxious from tip to bottom, so to quell his nerves Con'rad began explaining things to him.
"Like we discussed, humans are susceptible to many things, illness being one of them. Should a person go an extended amount of time without medication or medical attention, it can cause death. This happens to be the case with your friend. You're lucky you found them when you did Knives. I can still run this IV to get the right fluids in check. After, you can take them back to your room, the IV has to stay in until it's empty though." He eyes the bleach blond from the corner of his eyes as he tapes the IV to your arm. "Again. You're lucky. They should recover soon. But they'll need plenty of rest."
Naï steps away from the wall he had leaned on, the blades slither out from behind his back and circle you carefully until they meld into his cloak once more. Content, he carefully picks you from the table with ease, using another metal appendage to grasp the IV bag.
"Thank you." Naï bows his head to Con'rad in thanks. Before he can reply Naï is gone again just as fast as he appeared.
Returning back to the privacy of his room, Naï gently sets you at the edge of the bed where he could rest the IV bag beside you. Leaving you swaddled in his cloak, Naï climbs up the bed behind you. For a moment he's hesitant to touch you, like it's the wrong thing to do but he pushes forward. Softly laying an arm over your waist, he pulls you flush against him, his face tucked into the back of your neck. He would lay here until you woke, until then, Naï would relish in the feeling of your body against his and find comfort in your presence by his side.
He might lecture you when you wake up, or inspect you thoroughly for any other sickness, but he also might enjoy your waking company for a moment before he does anything else.
I just loved your writing! So get ready for the highs to come! how Vash, Knives and Wolfwood would react to a reader who is immortal, like Kenny from south park, the reader keeps dying in tragic and horrible ways or even weirdly funny ways in front of them, but for some strange reason, the next day you're alive,as if nothing had happened the day before.
sIf you want to approach it in a somewhat comical way, because in the south park cartoon kenny is cursed by immortality, because his parents went to a satanic ritual because there was free beer. If you want to tackle that part of the story, that's fine with me.
Actually, this is kind of funny. Kenny is my favorite South Park character at this point I know him inside out. Lol. This ought to be interesting. Thanks for the request. I'm actually really excited to write for knives finally! Let me know what you think.
YOU'RE IMMORTAL!? --- Vash, Knives, & Wolfwood
SUMMARY: For years you've wondered where your immortality comes from, your parents never told you so you kept it to yourself. Until the day came that someone remembered.
WARNINGS: Major angst, death, death description, death mentions, trauma. Please continue at your own discretion. I warned you.
NOTES: Vash's part is before he runs into Meryl and Roberto because I'm too lazy to write the other characters reactions as well. Wolfwood's part is short because I spent all my energy on Vash and Knives. I think Knives is my favorite part, I'm cherishing it.
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Vash
"Sleepy head. C'mon wake up." You shake Vash's shoulder to wake him up. He groans before his eyes crack open. At first seeing you he mumbles a greeting before turning over to ignore you. It was right when he was going to turn away that the realization hit him like a freight train. His eyes suddenly open wide, pain swims inside of them as he looks up at you.
There was no way this was possible. Just the night before you had died right in front of him. Your head was blown into bits by some piece of shit bounty hunter. You had nothing to do with this. There was no reason for it to happen and it was all because you got involved with him. He was just starting to accept what happened and now here you are shaking him awake.
"I must be crazy." He mumbles to himself. Tears pool in his eyes and he sits up, bringing his hands to cover his face. "It's not real."
"Vash?" His babbling is confusing. He wouldn't know about you dying would he. No one else seemed to realize, so why would he? His sobs make this almost clear as day. Lifting a hand you rest it on his shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. "What's wrong?" He continues sobbing into his hands and saying things you can't understand. It breaks your heart to see him like this, he's never cried in front of you before he's always been so happy and lucky. What happened?
Sliding your hand across his back and pulling him close, you hug him tightly. With your other hand pressed to the back of his head you tuck it safely under your chin where his teas soak your skin. Quietly you hush him, rubbing soft patterns along his back and whispering soft reassurances until he's reduced to nothing but harsh breathing.
Suddenly he speaks. "You're not real." He claims. Lifting his head to pull away from the hug he securely grabs your biceps. "You've got to be a ghost."
Now it's clear, exactly what's going on. Lifting your hands to cup his face you hush him once more. "It's me Vash. It's really me. I'm still here."
He shakes his head and his bottom lip trembles. "But I watched you die. I even buried you!" He cries.
Frowning, you pull him back into a secure hug. That night is as clear as ever in your head. You were laying flat on your back struggling against a man that pressed his gun to your head. You weren't strong enough to push him away and he pulled the trigger before Vash could stop him. You still remember hearing Vash calling out to you right before you died. He shouldn't have remembered in the slightest. That should have been the only time you'd ever have to see him in a bad mental state over your death. Yet he sat in your arms mentally destroyed by the sight of you.
How would you explain everything to him? Even worse, how could you put him through something like that and expect him to not be upset at you? This is the first time you've ever had to consider these things, it's never happened before. How were you supposed to deal with this?
Vash lifts his head once more to look you in the eyes. "You're not playing tricks on me right?" He asks in a broken voice. The tip of his node is red now and his eyes are puffy too. He even trembles in your touch. Why did it have to be him?
"Vash, I need to tell you something." His eyes don't show any hint of what might come next and that scares you. Anything could happen, the possibilities are endless and not all of them are good. You take a deep breath to quell your frayed nerves. It doesn't work but you try to carry on the calmest you can.
"What I'm about to tell you might make you mad or even make you think I'm crazy but I swear to you what you saw that night and what you're seeing right now is absolutely true. I did die." My hands can no longer hold onto him any more, they shake so hard I can't occupy them at all. Vash suddenly intertwines our fingers together to calm my shaking. I offer a brief smile before continuing.
"I can't die. I'm immortal." Those words are the hardest to say. Now that it's done it feels so easy but I know I might not be able to deal with causing this kind of trauma again.
Vash's hands loosen from mine. "Oh thank goodness!" I'm tackled into a hug. He has me pinned to the ground from his enormous weight and his head is tucked away against my neck. "I thought I really lost you." He lifts his head to look down at me. "You have no idea how happy I am." Tears still flow freely down his face as he gives me that stupid smile of his. It still makes my stomach do flips just looking at it.
"I could kiss you right now!" He doesn't move to do anything even though he's already announced it. He stares at me quietly in anticipation for my response. With wide eyes and a red hot face I nod. He's eager to kiss me right away as his hands find my face in no time at all. Surprisingly he's a lot more gentle than I expected. His lips are so warm and soft against mine. Quick to start but in no time to stop, Vash deepens the kiss for just a brief moment before he pulls away.
"Oh my god I have so much to tell you. I love you so much. I was so worried when it happened, gosh I wish all humans were immortal."
You chuckle at his excitement. "You can tell me all about it whenever you want. I've got all the time in the world."
"Hey. I do too." Vash beams down at you. Your eyes widen and your stomach does somersaults. "Wait, what!?"
Allowing you to sit up, Vash nervously scratches the back of his neck. "I guess I have something to tell you too."
Millions Knives
You woke up in your bed slightly out of it. The events from the day before are ever present in your mind. The little girl the doctor had been escorting everywhere had killed you. It was accidental on the Doctor's behalf but that girl had every intention of filling you with nails. Waking up the next day completely okay isn't out of the ordinary, it's happened before. It's still shocking to die and wake up completely okay it never seems to entirely become a nonchalant process.
You left your room and passed by the very doctor who watched you die. Just like every other morning he gives you a wave as you pass by which you return happily. He doesn't remember which is a good thing. No one has ever remembered you dying before, at least it's yet to come into fruition. You're glad that day hasn't come yet, you're still unsure of what to do when it does.
"Oh, Doc?" You turn to face him. He does the same. "Where's Naï?"
The doctor frowns. "He's been in his room since yesterday." That's strange, Knives doesn't need sleep, so why would he be in his room?
"Thanks." You offer a parting wave as you turn to walk off towards knives room. Knives or Naï, as he lets you call him, lets you stay here in the tower with him. He often enjoys your company throughout the night, everyone finds it bizarre that you won him over. It's obvious that mostly everyone except for the Doc and Naï hates you. Each one of them respects you in the presence of Knives but away from him, they make it known.
The reason why Naï favors you is unknown. He never speaks about it and he always acts like he wants to keep you at arms distance, but it's so much more than that. He's played songs for you on his piano and claims he made them for you himself. He makes sure your needs are met, he gives you food, a bed to sleep in, and keeps you happy. Naï protects you. There have been times where you've needed saving from someone within the building, mostly the ones who hate you. You call his name and he's by your side immediately, it's amazing. Sometimes you wake up to Naï sitting at the end of your bed watching the door, other times you find him tracing parts of your skin with his metal attachments.
You're not scared of him but everyone else is. Even as you step up to his door and lift your hand to knock, you're not scared. Just after your first knock, a scream comes from inside. Wooden shards break apart from the door as his metal tendrils snap through. You scream and drop to the floor with your arms covering your head.
Knives has always seen himself as a being who's incapable of truly caring for another, especially humans. Humans are the very thing he has worked his whole life to get rid of and yet at this moment in time he finds himself scared. The scream that had come from the other side of the door sounded like you, but how? You had died hours before, surely it was someone else.
"Go away!" He warns. His tendrils recede from the door and back inside of him where they seeth with unrest.
Seeing his blades recede you slowly rise to full height, your legs shaking underneath you. "Naï, it's me" Your hand shakes profusely as you rest it along the threshold to keep your balance.
Inside the room, Knives can feel his anger boil. "You dare impersonate them. I'll kill you!" In anger he stands from his bed and extends his tendrils once again. They break through the door, pulling back to rip it away inside the room. He steps forward, releasing his blades from the holes within the broken door to slice his visitor into pieces. For the first time, he feels time slow to a stop. His heart is pounding in his ears and his chest burns hot.
It's not possible. Humans don't have the ability to sustain injuries like the ones he saw from you and walk away unharmed. Humans definitely can't come back to life. He knows it, so why are you cowering in his doorway shaking with fear? Why can he hear you telling him to stop? Why is he scared?
Your arms cover your view again, you know it's a futile effort. He could kill you any time he pleased yet you tried to block it anyway. Surely you were already dead, you'd wake up again in your bed and return back to normal. Instead, rapid footsteps race towards you. Fear consumes you. This nightmare was really still going.
Naï screams your name as he tackles you. His strong arms scooping you into his grasp and sweep you from the floor. Gasping in surprise you open your eyes to find him looking at you in fear. Falling to his knees he releases you onto your knees.
"You died how are you still alive?" His breathing is hard and rapid as his hands raise to cup your face. He's so soft when he touches your skin like he's afraid he might break you if he presses too hard. "I didn't hurt you just now did I?" Panic fills him when you don't respond, his chest begins to ache and his eyes begin to sting.
"Please, speak. I'm so scared right now." This is the first time you've ever heard him beg. He's never sounded so scared before or alone.
"Naï." You wrap your arms around him pulling him into a hug. He can feel you shaking hard against him as small whimpers fall from your lips. He's never known a feeling stronger than the one he feels now. The way his heart tugs at the sound of your cries when he securely wraps his arms around you in fear of this all being fake.
Feeling his arms wrap around you, releases the tension in your body. Suddenly the fear you held onto at the beginning melts away and his smell calms your nerves. His breathing stutters against your neck before he lifts his head to cup your face again. Tears now soak his face and shine with the lights in the room. His hands tremble against you as they hold you.
"I'm so sorry, I scared you." Closing his eyes in disdain, he shakes his head and presses his forehead to yours. "I didn't think it was you- I thought you died."
Your heart aches as you grab his shaking wrist. "Don't worry about that Naï. I'm here. It's ok."
Opening his wet eyes he pulls his head away and grabs your hands. "How are you here? I saw the video. She killed you, I saw your body myself. I swear you... I was so scared. First Vash... But you too."
Pulling your hands from his you raise them to wipe the tears from his face. "Breathe Naï, I haven't left you. I can't even die."
His eyes grow wide as his breath hitches in this throat. "I'm immortal, Naï."
For a moment he stares at you, unsure of whether he can believe your words or not. You're living proof, touching him and talking to him right now. Even when he saw you dead that was real too he was sure of it. Was that really the truth? Could you really not die? Even with his doubt, relief filled him from top to bottom. The corners of his mouth began to twitch upwards into a smile, what he could only describe as joy warmed him.
"My flower..." He coos. "You can stay with me forever?"
You nod. "Yes. Naï. I can stay."
Breaking free of your hands, he pulls you into another hug. The only being he's felt this way towards is you and if he had to say what love is he'd tell someone about you. The joy you bring him is immeasurable to everything else in this stupid world. He'd kill an empire of people just for you and you alone. You are the ultimate being, the one that's just perfect for him.
"I don't know if this is right but I love you." He pulls away.
Heat blooms in your cheeks. Did he really say that? The most powerful being, could snap you like a twig and yet he presses a soft delicate kiss to your forehead.
"Oh Naï. I love you too."
Wolfwood
This was the first time during Wolfwood's contract that he let Vash leave his eyesight. Never before had he experienced enough grief to make him walk away from something like this. Maybe you were just the last straw. For sure he would retire after this. He had something with you and just like that it's gone. He would never feel something like that again, it's just not possible.
Sitting alone in the desert he was sure you called his name somewhere in the distance, for some reason he felt hope before it fell and shattered to the ground. You were gone, there's no reason for his mind to be playing tricks on him like this. He couldn't subject himself to this kind of torture and live on. No. But then it came again and it was closer this time. You called out to him from somewhere in the distance. You begged for him to come back, but he knew it was just a hallucination. Knowing that, he still turned around to see your figure wading through the darkness towards him.
Seeing him turn around, you jogged forward with worry. "Nick! You can't just leave like that. Do you know how worried I was. I've been searching for you since this morning. I thought something horrible happened."
He turned around and didn't say anything. If god was real he was surely laughing at him from hell right now. Just as he thought your memory had left your hands slid around his chest and you pressed against his back. He watched you lay your head on his shoulder with a sigh of relief. Was it even possible to go this crazy?
"You're dead. So stop following me." He grumbles.
Hearing those words fall from his mouth leaves you frozen against him. "You remember?" You stammer.
Suddenly he breaks free of your grasp and stands to face you. "Of course I remember you dying. Did you really have to remind me, you damn trick."
This has never happened before, it would have happened eventually for sure but why did it have to be with him?
"No one's ever remembered me dying before." You mutter.
His eyes widen and he backs away from you, anger laced on his face. Turning away he grabs his cross and settles it on his back. "Stop talking crazy!" With his back turned he begins to walk away. Your heart drops as you rush forward to stop him.
"Nick. Wait!" You trip against the sand. Gritting your teeth, you push yourself to your feet. "I can't die. I'm immortal!" Grabbing his shoulder, you force him to face you. "Feel me! I'm alive and well right in front of you! And maybe I should have said something sooner but I didn't think I'd have to. Nick please just believe me." Tears pool in your eyes. "Please."
Nick's gaze doesn't leave the sand at your feet. The crushed cigarette in his lips falls to the wayside and he sets the cross down. You died, yet you stood in front of him. He could hear you, touch you, it had to be you. How would he know otherwise? Even if it wasn't real what could it hurt to indulge himself just a little bit. So, he drops his facade and reaches forward to capture you in his arms.
You're hard, your skin is squishy and warm. You're not soaked with blood. This is real, it's real. It has to be. "I swear if this isn't real..." He trails off.
Wrapping your arms around him and sighing into his chest, you speak. "I swear it's real. Nick... I'm sorry."
Feeling his legs grow weak, Nick falls to his knees and pulls you down with him. Against you he begins to shake and his breath grows ragged. "You scared me baby." He cries.
You raise and hand to the back of his head and stroke his hair. "I'm so sorry."