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wreckmetoji · 1 year

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Stargazing and Cigarettes

A fic in which Nicholas D. Wolfwood is bad at feelings

↳ Nicholas D. Wolfwood/Reader

content. gender-neutral pronouns, fluff, wolfwood got a little angy, it’s ok give him a smooch anyways

3.4k words

Some may say Gunsmoke is the epitome of misfortune. If you're misfortunate enough to be born on this hellscape of a planet, you'll die an untimely death at the hands of someone or something completely out of your control. The violent crime rates were high, and the likelihood of terminal starvation and dehydration were even higher. But, although some may say that, others– not many, however– would disagree. My favorite thing... is when the sun disappears behind the dunes. When everything is cast in pink and orange and everything is so soft and the air is cooling down. It reminds me that, even through the worst of days, things will be okay in the end, as long as I keep pushing forward. It's evenings like that you learned to appreciate the most, only with the help of your blond travelling companion. Vash had put life into a new perspective for you, had an arm around your shoulders when you were sulking about being hungry, or hot, or absolutely exhausted. He was a good person, an even better friend. You came to be quite fond of everyone, really. Vash, Meryl, Roberto, and admittedly an extra soft spot for the newest addition, Wolfwood. He was brash, cocky, and more often than not, he was a grump. He never seemed to direct his ire at you though, you had noted this at some point while the five of you sat in some hole in the wall diner enjoying a very inexpensive meal. You can't even remember what the argument was about, if you were being completely honest. Meryl would have her one-sided bicker with Wolfwood, then Vash would interject and inadvertently make himself the target. At some point you had sighed, the sheer amount of personalities in one group clashing was giving you a migraine, and looked up at Wolfwood with pleading eyes. Really, you hadn't even said anything, the look you gave him seemed to be more than enough for his eyes to widen, then narrow, turning his head to look out the half-boarded up window he was sitting next to. Not so much as a peep came out of his mouth for the remainder of the meal, and you appreciated it despite how out of character it was for Wolfwood to be completely silent. You smiled, eyes watching the stars above as you recollected the memory. The car battery had once again been neglected, decidedly leaving your little group stranded for the night. Vash had assured everyone this was as good a spot as any, since not a lot of bandits OR worms came this way, but the at least I think so tacked onto the end left everyone unsettled and eager to start the trek to the nearest town first thing in the morning. It really is beautiful, you found yourself thinking, watching the pink and orange sky slowly fade darker and darker, making way for the stars and constellations to shine so clearly, so beautifully. You sighed, sitting up in your sleeping bag and looking around the sad little impromptu camp to find everyone asleep, or trying to sleep. You and Meryl had been given the rights to sleeping in the car, however you found yourself politely declining. I stay up late, and I like watching the stars was the excuse you used. So, instead, Meryl and Roberto took the car to sleep in, leaving Vash, Wolfwood, and you under the chilly desert sky. The small fire someone, most likely Vash, had graciously started prior to heading off to bed definitely aided in your evening chills, but you knew deeper into the night would be difficult to sleep through. Letting out a small grunt, you stood from your spot, shuffling out from your little sleeping bag. Vash was a few feet away from you, face peaceful as he ever so quietly snored. A hard exhale from your nose, followed by a quick glance around camp, you noticed a missing member. A part of you would like to say you were surprised, but the other part of you thought it was very typical and on-par that Wolfwood wouldn't display such a vulnerable act of sleeping peacefully around a group of people in the middle of nowhere. He wouldn't be difficult to find, you thought with a slight smile, if the distant smell of cigarette smoke was anything to go off of. And difficult to find he was not, considering you had only taken a few strides to get around the mobile storage container on the back of the vehicle, seeing him sitting with his back against the cold metal. A cigarette hung loosely from his mouth, sunglasses fallen down the slope of his nose. Evidently, he had anticipated you before you had even spotted him, with how his dark eyes were trained on you through the corner of his vision before you even had the chance to look down at him. All you did was wave, rocking back on your heels when he said nothing. "Want some company?" You took the deep exhale from his nose as a sure whatever, sauntering over to stand beside him, pressing your back to the container, and sliding down to mimic his posture. It was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Copious amounts of prolonged silence wasn't something you got a lot of in your travels, so there seemed to be a mutual understanding to simply enjoy the moment and each others' presence. "What're you still doing up, anyways," Wolfwood finally muttered, breaking the silence. How long had it been? Five, ten, twenty minutes? Long enough for the last reaches of the sun to dip below the horizon, now only leaving you to bask in stars and moonlight. "Dunno," You shrugged, arms wrapping around yourself as you bunched your knees up, "I like watching the sun go down when I can. It reminds me that even on the worst days, everything is just temporary. With every sunset is an ending, and every sunrise is a new beginning." A small smile crept up onto your lips at the scoff he gave you. He didn't have to say it, but you knew what he was thinking. You've been hangin' out with that needle noggin too much. There was another extended period of silence. "What about you?" You returned, head tilting back against the metal behind you as you looked up at him. "No rest for the wicked, as they say," He sighed, taking the cigarette butt from his mouth and flicking it somewhere in the distance. You didn't understand what he meant by that completely, so you decided to glance away and not say anything at all. Something you and Wolfwood seemed to have a mutual understanding of was knowing when to accept you can't know everything and just move on. The quiet crinkle of plastic pulled your attention back to him, his hand fishing another crumpled cigarette from his pocket. This time you were the one to scoff. You opened your mouth to speak, but his elongated groan of disapproval beat you to the punch. "Don't wanna hear it. If I didn't know what these were doing to me I wouldn't be smokin' 'em," His words were muffled by the object between his lips, one hand cupping in front of his face to block the non-existent wind, the other flicking the lighter to life. Fair enough. He took a deep inhale, exhale following quickly suit. The plume of smoke that surrounded him and tapered off into the night sky was hypnotic, the twists and turns performing an intricate dance with a mind of its own that you've learned to describe as simply very Wolfwood. An enigma, a man of little words and a heavy burden. What that burden was, you don't think you would ever learn, but sometimes you liked to imagine the thought of getting close enough to learn. Everyone needs a shoulder to lean on, even wasteland-jaded priests. "So," Your words trailed off, eyes looking up at the stars above for anything, anything to keep you here in his presence, "Do you know anything about constellations?" "Nah, can't say I do. Do you?" "No." You shrugged, earning a teasing, low chuckle from him. It was a marvelous sound, something you could only package up and wrap it with a nice little bow to keep close to your heart. "Why'd you ask if I knew then?" He pushed his glasses further up his nose, lazily tilting his head to the side to look at you. And what a wonderful thing, being seen by Wolfwood when all you've gotten until now are fleeting glances and indirect side-eyes. At one point you started to think maybe it was deliberate, the way whenever your eyes met he would look away soon after, that perhaps you made him uncomfortable. The weight of his gaze made your cheeks heat, even if your body was cold, and hug your legs closer to your body. "I... dunno, I thought maybe you would so you could teach me a little." There was another short stretch of silence, butterflies anxiously fluttering in the pit of your stomach. "Y'know you can leave if you're cold, the fire's probably still going." If it was anyone else, you would take that as an indirect request for you to depart. Perhaps you'd even take the liberty with Wolfwood, but in this moment, you were selfish. He brought some sort of foreign comfort a fire and a moderately warm sleeping bag couldn't provide. "It's okay," You sighed wistfully, "Even with the fire and the sleeping bag, eventually it'll get too cold out. Just trying to acclimate myself sooner than later." You chuckled in good nature, but he didn't seem to find it as funny. "Heard sharing body heat helps." You nearly choked on your spit. Nearly. "'m sure needle noggin wouldn't mind helping you out. You two seem close." Ah, you got ahead of yourself. "He wouldn't mind because that's just the kind of person he is," You stated, matter-of-factly, barely catching the purse of his lips, "But... we aren't close like that. We're both dreamers, and without an anchor we'd just float away." All you got was a hum. "Plus... I think, even if there was some kind of... feeling there, I don't think he'd feel the same way. He's got enough of his own stuff going on, I don't think throwing a person into the mix would be a good idea for either party." Honestly, you hasn't realized how close you and Vash were gave off indication that there might be some kind of relationship potential. You were more than certain Meryl would have said something about it if that were the case, but perhaps you were wrong. "Didn't mean to make an assumption," Wolfwood muttered, hands plucking another cigarette out of his jacket pocket. You sighed, digging your heels into the ground as his lighter sparked up once again. "It's okay," You reassured, in the motion of standing up, "I'm gonna try heading to bed though." He grunted, his eyes sliding shut for just a moment. You used this to your advantage, snatching his cigarette from between his lips with a smirk as you stood. Maybe he didn't want you to say anything about it, but you weren't going to sit and idly watch as he chain-smoked himself into an early grave. This seemed to shock him more than anything, his hand swiping up to catch your wrist as he stood to his feet. You had managed to use some momentum to toss the now thoroughly crumpled cigarette, catching it in your other hand. As if you'd give up to him that easily, who did he take you for? All you heard was a growl, then a hollow metallic thud, and everything had happened so fast you didn't process that the noise was from your back hitting the mobile storage trailer. Your eyes were wide, mind reeling to process the precarious position the two of you were in. His hands each held a wrist, body boxing you in and enclosing you in a space that was just entirely Wolfwood. You were gazing up at him, only to be met with an equally bewildered expression. The both of you fell silent, only hearing the thump of your increasing heart rate pounding in your ears. He was close, too close, close enough that you could smell the smoke on his breath and the earthy scent emanating from his well-worn clothes. What felt like hours was probably more realistically a matter of seconds, but eventually you had gotten your wits about you to open your palm and display his much desired stolen item. Only then did he pull away, hands releasing your wrists to take a couple steps back. He cleared his throat, once again reaching in his pocket as if you hadn't just attempted to give back what started this scuffle in the first place. Swallowing, you took a step towards him, arm outstretched with the now snubbed cigarette in your palm. He said nothing, quickly taking it, placing it between his lips, and lighting it in silence. You were unsure if the moonlight was playing tricks on you, but you thought you could see pink dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "U-Um–" You stuttered, hands coming together to pick at your nail beds nervously, "I'm–" "It's fine," He interrupted, and you couldn't help but admire him even now, even as he avoided tour gaze, even as he clenched his jaw in what you could only assume was annoyance, admire the steady slope of his nose and his sun-kissed skin and growing stubble. And, subsequently, noticing the smear of ash that ran from his jaw to the corner of his lips, most likely a result of you so bravely snatching what was quite literally a burning object from his mouth. If anyone were to ask you what you were doing, you wouldn't be able to tell them. If they asked you what you were thinking, you wouldn't answer, you couldn't answer, it was completely instinctual. Maybe it was because you were still so high off of the headrush he gave you, off of his scent and his gaze and his energy, you were much more bold. Either way, you didn't think, thumb coming up to swipe the expanse of grime tarnishing his otherwise flawlessly rugged appearance. Unlike before, everything moved in slow motion. The way he reached up to once again grab your wrist, the way his other hand snatched the cigarette between his lips and flicked it away, as he had done to the other. The way that same hand came up to cup your neck, his thumb cradling your jaw, all while he was stepping closer and leaning into your personal space. "Wolfw–" "Shut up," He breathed before his lips slotted against yours. There was no malice behind his words, but a surprising inkling of desperation. How soft he was surprised you. His touch, holding your neck in one hand and your waist in the other, how soft his lips were against yours, as if he was scared to press any further into you, scared he would hurt you or scared you would push him away. You didn't, though. You don't think you ever would. By the time you had come to your senses, he was already pulling away, brows furrowed and lips slightly parted, as if he was already looking to conjure up some kind of excuse as to why he had just done what he did. You didn't want an excuse though, you didn't want another reason to pull away, and the way your hands came up to grasp the front of his shirt and your eyes gazed into him must have gotten that point across. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and kissed you again, pulling your body closer to his, lips just a little less forgiving. This time you could feel the pent up desperation, the stress, the uncertainty, and then you could feel it all melt away. His rigid and tense muscles relaxed under your touch as your hands slid up his chest, onto his shoulders, eventually cradling both sides of his neck with your hands. Your thumbs stroked his jaw, the scratch of his stubble adding to the symphony of noises you held close to your heart that were just so Wolfwood. By the time you pulled back again, you could feel the heat on your cheeks, feel the droop of your half lidded eyes, feel your heart hammering in your chest as you panted desperately for air. You stood like this for a good while, eyes lazily blinking up at him in complete disbelief, before you chuckled, "It's... really cold out." Wolfwood continued to stare at you, eyes glancing back down at your lips, and even if he began to lean in again, he didn't have the courage to see it through for a third time. "Then let's get you to bed." He lead the way, completely detaching from you with his hands shoved in his pockets. Part of you wondered if this would ever be spoken about again, was it all just a moment of passion and weakness? Did you both just desperately need something, and now you were unable to shoulder the weight of your decisions? Your mind came to a grinding halt the second he stood above your sleeping bag, gesturing to it vaguely. The fire was nothing but weak embers by this point and would do absolutely no good shielding you from the bitter cold that awaited you further into the night. "Is... Earlier, you said–" You began to whisper, pausing when you noticed Vash shift in his own sleeping bag. You swallowed, eyes downcast as you pointed to Wolfwood, then yourself, then the sleeping bag. You glanced up in time to catch him biting the inside of his cheek, before ultimately nodding and following you in and under the covers. There definitely wasn't enough comfortable space to fit two people, and it took a couple minutes of awkward shifting and repositioning to finally settle on laying on your sides, your back to his front. You had to hand it to him, it was warmer than if you were just by yourself. Forcing your eyes closed, you took a deep breath, trying to will yourself to calm down enough to actually get in some shuteye. That all went out the window the second his hand came up to rest on your hip, then slowly slide down so his arm was holding you back against him. "Wolfwood..." You whispered, barely a word at all in fear that you would wake up your nearly sleeping companion. ".... Nicholas." "Wh... what?" "Call me Nicholas." It was as if your heart grew wings and flown up into your throat, and you didn't know why, because this was something as simple as being on a first name basis, but it was the moment of vulnerability that he displayed that pushed you close to tears. Somehow finding the space, you rolled over, now face to face with the man of your affections. He didn't seem fazed in the slightest, but his furrowed brow gave him away, as did the quick flicker of his eyes, bouncing from one feature to the next, before settling on your eyes. "Nick," You couldn't stifle your grin if you tried, not with how the deep crimson crept up his neck and the tips of his ears, "Will you stay with me tonight?" He scoffed, as if it were a ridiculous question in the first place, eyes sliding shut. "Yeah. I'll stay." "Nick?" "Mmh." "Can we maybe talk a bit more about... this tomorrow?" He didn't answer you, not verbally at least, but if the way his arm tightened around your waist spoke for him, you could only assume that was a yeah, sure. You smiled, craning your neck up to place a chaste peck against his lips. You caught the stutter in his breathing, and the shift in his expression, before you closed your own eyes to welcome the warm embrace of sleep. Maybe you wouldn't know what the morning ahead of you would bring, but you knew that being right here, right now, with Wolfwood holding you so close, like he needed you... you could accept whatever challenges came your way.

#nicholas d. wolfwood #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #nicholas d wolfwood x reader #wolfwood x reader #trigun stampede #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader

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mediocreanomaly · 8 months

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Oooh uncanny Vash! Yes! May we have hsfw hc with him?

Authors Note: I'm so sorry I turned this into a drabble instead of a HC list- if you guys still want general HC's lmk and I'll write it but hit with inspiration after a week of writers block. oh uh also no beta (we die like wolfwood?)

*Gender neutral reader but AFAB anatomy used. Inhuman genitalia, general uncanny bf stuff*

Uncanny Vash x Reader NSFW Drabble

Vash swallows, he knows you can see how hard he's staring. He couldn't count how many times you'd playfully shoved his face away with a smile on your lips.

"You know the reflection of your eyes give you away every time" you'd tease.

You don't laugh right now, not when your laying in front of him on the bed in nothing but your underwear, watching him through hooded eyes. God you'd be the death of him he was sure of it.

"Vash?" your voice is velvety with need "I want you"

He makes a high pitched keen at that, the two of you had been talking about tonight for awhile but he was still a bit apprehensive. You knew about his less than human traits and you loved him anyways. You never pulled away when his too long fingers laced with your own nor did you flinch when his body made noises it probably shouldn't. This was different though, he didn't want to hurt you, didn't want to be the cause of anything but your pleasure.

You watch as Vash's iris dilate watching you intently, he could see better than any human could in the dark something he was currently using to his advantage. Yet despite the longing look on his face he doesn't move, just lets his fingers flex and unflex at his sides as if it's causing him physical pain to not be touching you. That won't do at all. You reach out gingerly and take his hand in your own. His skin is cool to the touch, it's honestly a bit refreshing considering how obnoxiously warm all of Gunsmoke is. Although his fingers would feel better other places.

"You won't hurt me Vash, I trust you" and you do, more than you probably should.

Vash's breathing stutters and another whine bubbles up from somewhere in his chest.

"Mayfly...what if I go too far? What if I-"

"You won't" you interrupt. "And we have a safe word remember? Even if something happened I'd just say donuts! and we'd be done"

He weakly smiles at that, the silliness of the word easing a bit of the anxiety that's surrounding him but you can tell he needs a bit more convincing. You move forward and run a hand under his shirt, tracing out the scars the litter his body. He shivers and you can hear the creaking of his limbs as he leans forward.

"Mayfly..."

Whatever he was going to say dies on his lips as you push his shirt up and litter kisses along his abdomen trailing down his blonde happy trail lower and lower until you stop right above the sweat pants he has on, luckily he was smart enough to have changed out of the ridiculous leather outfit for tonight...not that it didn't look good on him.

Vash can feel his will power slipping away, he should be stronger than this but he's not. You've barely even touched him and his mind is going fuzzy with thoughts of you being bare under him.

"Vash?"

He glances down at you, the room suddenly feeling too hot, he blinks lazily and you get of glimpse of his extra eyelid clearing his eyes.

"I need you" you let your breath fan his hip and have to rub your thighs together when a low growl rips though Vash.

He drags you up further on the bed and you feel his body straightening out. Vash is already tall, but he has a habit of hunching so humans don't realize how tall he really is. You can hear the snap and groan of bones as he hovers over your body, seven feet at least if not more.

His hands roam over your body cool skin making you shiver as he pulls your underwear away to expose you fully. Any protest about you being the only one bare are fully interrupted when Vash makes an eager chirp noise. He opens his mouth revealing a row of razer sharp teeth and is it sick that only makes you more aroused?

An abnormally long tongue darts out of his mouth to drag across your aching sex. You whine throwing your head back as Vash eats you out, moaning when the thick muscle presses against your puffy walls. It reaches deep inside you, Vash seems fixed on mapping you out, exploring every part of your body he can. You mewl which causes drawn out clicks from the man- or plant between your legs.

He pulls his head back and you make a soft protest at the loss but it doesn't last long. Vash focuses his tongue on your aching clit as two fingers move to replace the empty space his tongue left. You cry out, thanking every god you can think of that Vash's fingers are longer than most, or at least certainly longer than any normal persons ought to be as he curls against a spot that makes you see stars.

"Mayfly please, need to taste you" he begs proving his point by burying his face back between your legs, assaulting your bundle of nerves.

You shudder as you cum, burying a hand in the mess of blonde hair that's adamant on taking you apart. It's almost comical when Vash looks up at you. Eye's so dilated there's almost no white or blue to be seen, mouth lulled open too far, putting his teeth and serpent like tongue on full display, faint feathers already beginning to peak out along his cheeks. Something probably meant to be an apex predator watching you as your own release drips off his face.

Vash makes a trill noise and crawls on top of you, long limbs framing your form as he leans down to kiss you. You can taste yourself when he presses his tongue into your mouth, you reach up to card your hand along his under cut rewarding you with as purr as his chest rumbles against your own. Speaking of which, you lazily peak your eyes open to see he's undressed, when did he even do that?

He pulls away to look between the two of you and you finally see Vash fully. Something akin to flower petals sit between his legs, they flare out, thin lines of some sort of bioluminescent slick string from petal to petal. There's a slit nestled among the flower, when something wet begins to protrude from it. It reminds you a bit of a tentacle although it looks smooth and is covered in the same substance at the petals. You tentatively reach down and the member wraps around your hand, it pulses slightly trying to chase release. Vash's chest rumbles with a growl as he buries his head against you neck bucking his hips slightly, an embarrassed keen joining his sounds of pleasure.

"So pretty..." you breathe watching the way Vash's body so eagerly reacts to you.

"Mayfly please- no teasing I can't take it" he whines, although it sounds a bit off like two voices slightly delayed over each other. That was new, what else could Vash do?

You guide Vash to your entrance and he's all but panting, his body creaks and groans as his real form shows through more and more, you can see the bones of his hips and spine jut out against his skin but he seems to out of it to notice, not that you want him to hold back. You want to show Vash he can be himself, that you won't run.

He lifts his head to look at you, his eyes widening when he sees your face. You look intoxicating, your cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing, eyes hazy with lust. He swears something short circuits in his brain his instincts screaming claim. He can't help it, he jerks his hips forward sinking into you in one motion.

You moan at Vashs sudden movement, he doesn't give you time to recover either, growling and whimpering as he fucks into you.

"a-ah m'sorry Mayfly, can't help my-myself" he whines between noises, you can't respond but you show him your okay by crashing both your lips together, moaning into his mouth which he dutifully swallows down.

His body is vibrating, a deep rumble coming from his chest paired with the sound of something snapping and ripping. Multiple pairs of large white wings sprout from his body reaching up high enough to touch the ceiling. Some of them curve out in pleasure while others wrap around your body as if protecting you from the outside world. Vash's breath catches and he mewls as he thrust before biting down against your neck.

You arch into him and he tightens his grip on your hips, fingers long enough they almost fully wrap around your waist. He makes a cooing noise as he licks up any of the blood beading from the wound soothing it down.

"Mine" he snarls in your ear, you moan squeezing down around him making his wings flex as a needy whine leaves his mouth.

You can feel his cock moving in you, fucking itself even deeper into your wet pussy, it's a bit odd but certainly not unwelcomed especially when you can feel the tip of it's blunt head massage at your womb.

You can hear the bed creak from how rough Vash thrust against you. his body shivers and he makes a shrill noise. His hand flies down to grip at the sheets, you hear it rip he cums with a cry.

It's warm, filling you to the brim and he pumps you full of it. It doesn't seem to stop, continuously leaking out of him as he shows no sign of slowing down.

"May-mayfly cum on me- want to feel it, want you to feel good too"

His movements are desperate and you can feel his own cum frothing at your entrance as he spills into you then fucks it back in. You reach up to claw at his back and he shivers when you touch along where his wings meet flesh. His hand moves between your bodies to press against your clit and it's all it takes to send you over the edge.

You tremble crying out his name as you finish. Vash howls at the feeling burying his face against your neck as he finally spills all he has left into your pussy. You can tell the blanket is soaked from how much Vash came but you're too tired to do much about it but shift slightly out of the wet spot.

The two of you breathe when you hear a small whimper from your boyfriend. His kisses along the bite he left and looks at you teary eyed.

"I'm sorry Mayfly was I too rough? Did I hurt you?" he ask looking you over, you silence his worries with a kiss. He melts into it with a pleased hum, loud purrs starting back up.

"I love you" you stroke your fingers softly over the feathers that still cover his cheek and temples, a happy chirp leaves his lips as he turns to kiss your palm.

"I love you too"

#vash x reader #vash x you #uncanny vash #trigun x reader

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pinkanonwrites · 1 year

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Stargazers, New and Old

Another Vash fic! Forgive me, TWST Fans, I’m so deep in the paint on this guy it isn’t even funny.

Vash the Stampede/Reader, +3,000 Words, GN!Reader, Mutual Pining, Cuddling, Stargazing

Through your shared time as drifters, you and Vash had spent plenty of time together beneath the stars.

Granted, it was usually from the roof of whatever cheap hotel the two of you were staying at for the night, tearing into snacks and idly chatting about whatever Vash had or hadn’t accidentally managed to blow up that day. There’d even be a celebration sometimes, if things went right! Townsfolk would spill into the street, drinking and dancing and celebrating another one of Vash’s many perfectly timed victories as they piled your table high with heaped praise and overflowing mugs of alcohol. As hectic as they could end up being, you often got plenty of enjoyment out of the fuss, watching Vash stumble around sheepish and drunk as his praises were sung up to the starry evening sky.

But if you honestly had to choose? You’d say you enjoyed nights like these much better.

Sometimes Gunsmoke’s two suns would sink deep into the horizon and the two of you would find yourselves between towns, lost to the sands of the evening desert. Not too often, really. Usually Vash was quick to make sure you had at least the basic amenities readily nearby: food, running water, a creaky old motel mattress that was only barely better than sleeping on the floor. He was fine going without them for an evening or two, but he hated to put you out in any way. But sometimes you’d get stopped up along the way, or have to stealth around a bandit camp, or get distracted watching wild Thomases scamper up and down the sandy hillsides, and end up somewhere in the empty desert, iles from the nearest town.

Luckily both of you were prepared for this kind of thing at this point, Vash even proudly showing off some of his little “survival trinkets” he’d scooped up before meeting you, like a miniature campfire set that packed away into a pocket-sized tin.

“Ta-da!” And that was where the two of you found yourselves now, tucked around the fire at the base of a large dune, Vash presenting you with a metal camping mug full of instant noodles with all the pride and bravado of a chef presenting a five-course meal. “Your majesty, may I present…. Dinner!”

"Why thank you, chef." You took the mug with both hands, letting the warm metal soothe the calluses on your palms. As Vash prepared himself a mug you cracked him a sly smile. "Or are you more my court jester?"

"What, was 'knight in shining armor' already taken?" He chuckled, cupping his own mug in his gloved palms and sipping carefully. "YEOWCH! Still pretty hot! Be careful, m'kay?"

"I will." You blew on your own cup of broth before sipping it. Shuffling over a bit, you let yourself lean heavily into Vash’s side, leeching his excess body heat. A single glance up showed the rosy-red blush that began to creep across his face at the contact, but you chose not to comment on it. “It’s really amazing how cold the desert can get during the night.”

“It’s actually because there’s no humidity. Without the water in the air to hold the heat, it cools off a lot faster.” Vash took another slow slurp of his noodles, staring out over the vast landscape beyond your tiny fire. “Deathly hot in the daytime, dangerously cold in the night… It’s a really formidable place.” A familiar, distant expression overtook Vash’s face at that. He did his best to hide it from you but you’d long since caught on to it, those moments where his walls faltered and you could damn near watch in real time as the melancholy of a man who had seen far too much began to creep in along the edges.

“And yet, here we are.” You simply responded, gesturing to the small campfire with your mug before holding it up to Vash. You never really felt like you could offer him much in these moments, simple placations and apologies feeling far too hollow. But at the very least, you could offer this. “Cheers to surviving? Despite everything?”

He chuckled, low, soft, and tired, bringing his cup up to yours to clink the metal rims together. “Despite everything.”

You let your head thump gently against Vash’s shoulder, the two of you absorbing the cool silence of the desert night. There was little need for words between sips of noodles and broth; the silence with Vash never crept into uncomfortable. As the fire and your supper dwindled in unison the sky inched ever further towards utter blackness. With no towns within a good dozen or so iles in any direction the deep velveteen shades of space were even more apparent than usual, long strips of indigo and blue speckled with pinpoints of distant light.

“All done?” Vash finally spoke up, taking your empty mug from your outstretched hand. “I’ll take care of these if you want to get the sleeping bags ready.”

“Sure.”

The first few times you had slept out beneath the stars, you were adamant about having your sleeping bag a reasonable distance away from Vash’s. ‘Personal space,’ you insisted, even as he joked that you’d be too wooed by his natural charms if you slept any closer. But over time you just couldn’t help yourself. Getting to know Vash, to really know him, seemed to go hand in hand with your own sleeping bag drifting ever so slightly closer and closer to his with each passing night. Now you barely even blinked as you rolled the two of them out, side by side.

With a belly full of warm food and the promise of a cozy place to sleep ahead, the exhaustion seemed to wash over you in a sudden, leaden wave. You barely had the energy to kick your shoes off, shuffling yourself awkwardly into the bag until it was pulled nearly up to your chin. When Vash turned back around from putting your mugs away he barked out a short, surprised laugh.

“Comfy in there?”

You nodded, biting back a yawn as your eyelids fluttered. You watched through bleary lashes as Vash put the cap over the top of the pocket bonfire, snuffing the flame with a soft hiss and plunging his silhouette into moonlight. You could catch the vague shimmer off of his glasses lenses, the glint on the pauldron of his prosthetic arm, and the barest hint of a soft smile by the light of the five moons.

“I’ll finish cleaning up, why don’t you get some sleep?”

You nodded again, humming softly as you let your eyes slip fully shut and melted into the darkness behind your eyelids. “Mhm… Thank you, Vash.”

You swore that as the comfortable fuzz of sleep crept further into the edges of your mind, you felt a warm, metallic hand pat you gently atop your head.

And then, blackness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You normally slept incredibly well with Vash by your side, safe in the knowledge that whatever may happen, he’d be there to protect you.

Which is why it came as a bit of a shock to you when you jerked suddenly awake, the fog of some already-fading nightmare seeping away from your consciousness. Even as you struggled to recall it the details continued to slip away, flashes of smoke and gunmetal and blond hair streaked with clumped, drying blood all that remained on the peripheries of your subconscious. It left you as most nightmares do, feeling hollow and distinctly paranoid.

The chill in the air certainly didn’t help either. Even within the plush confines of your sleeping bag you could feel the cold cutting through, leaving your entire body tense and shivery, muscles aching. You certainly wouldn’t be getting back to sleep any time soon.

But just as you saw fit to roll over and curse your bad luck, you noticed Vash. He was sat upright, leaning back on the heels of his palms, sleeping bag pooled around his waist as he tipped his head up towards the night sky. His face was lit in profile by cool, white moonlight, and without his familiar tinted lenses on you could see the reflection of a thousand little stars in his aqua-colored eyes. A look of incredible serenity was upon his face. You almost hated to disturb it.

But at some point he must have felt your eyes trained upon him, because he turned his attention to you, and that distant, moony gaze seemed to focus into something soft and concerned.

“What are you still doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” You sat up and immediately regretted it, the frosty wind cutting straight through your thin, linen shirt. “Aren’t we getting up early tomorrow to beat the heat?”

“Yeah… Guess I just couldn’t sleep, is all.”

“Me neither.”

You fell silent again, following Vash’s gaze as it trailed back up towards the marbled sky. Shivering, you tucked your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them as your eyes flit back and forth across those tiny, oh so distant specks of light. It was hard to even imagine that each one was just like one of your two suns, even harder to imagine that somewhere out there is where humans originally came from. Was Earth somewhere in this milky spiral of stars? Could you find it, one day, if you really looked hard enough? Or was it already too far gone, too distant or dim or lost to the hubris of the people who came long before you? You supposed you’d never really know for sure.

“Do you know any constellations?”

You startled a bit when Vash broke the silence, and just barely in the moonlight you could see him put up his hands as a sort of ‘Sorry!’ gesture. He’d had time to adjust to the dark, so maybe he could see you better than you could see him.

“Not really.” You replied. “I know what some of them are called but I could never figure out how you were supposed to find them.”

“Want me to show you? It’s really not that hard, if you know what to look for.”

You nodded, scooting your sleeping bag as close to Vash as you could get. He wrapped his right arm around you and rested his chin on your shoulder, reaching up towards the sky with his prosthetic. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him, thrumming like an old yet sturdy machine. He outstretched a single finger, a thin glow of blue-green energy pulsing beneath the metal as he pointed.

“See that bright one, right there?” His voice was barely above a murmur, hesitant to break the silence of the vast desert. “Follow my arm, it’s gonna be just at the tip of my finger.”

“I…Think so? Is it just to the left of that kinda red one?”

“There you go! That’s the main point of Luridae, the Scorpion. It’s supposed to be the tip of the tail. If you draw a line to the one right below it, then the one below that, you follow the trail and make like, an upside-down hook shape. Seven stars.”

“But how is that supposed to be a scorpion?”

“You’ve gotta use your imagination!” He laughed at your furrowed brow, moving his hand a bit further to the right and up. “If you can find Luridae you can find Sula, the Spear. That’s an easy one, it’s those five stars in a straight line, see? It points right towards the tail.”

You squinted, trying your best to follow Vash’s instructions. Sure enough, just up and to the right of that bright star was a line of five, neat in a row like someone had sketched them up there.

“I see it! It’s right there, right?” You brought your arm up right next to Vash’s, sides of your arms touching all the way up to your palms as you traced the line in the sky with your fingertip. Even the metal of his prosthetic was unnaturally warm, just enough to be comfortable, like it was still holding its heat from the evening sun.

“Yeah, you got it!” His cheek was nearly pressed to yours, and you could feel him smile at your success. The excitement was infectious, leaving you feeling floaty and light despite your exhaustion. “Wanna try a few more?”

“Sure! What about up here?” You tipped your head all the way back, staring straight up into the night sky, only to wince at the sharp twang of pain you felt in the back of your neck. “Ow.”

“You okay?” Vash’s face filled your vision, expression soft with concern. You just shrugged, rolling your shoulder and pressing your fingertips into the tense muscle.

“I’m fine, just tweaked my neck a little. The cold just makes all my muscles kind of achey."

Vash's hand rested on the side of your arm, almost hot to the touch against your chilled skin. How could he possibly run so warm? You wanted to melt into nothing more than a little ball curled up in the palm of his hand, dozing in the pleasant warmth it provided. Meanwhile his eyebrows had flown up his forehead, blinking incredulously at you.

"You're freezing! Why didn't you say anything?"

"I dunno! I didn't wanna bother you? Besides, I didn't notice until I woke up, anyway!"

He frowned at you, unconsciously jutting out his lower lip in an adorable pout that made your heart stammer in your chest. He made a lot of faces like this, smug little smiles after a trick shot or delighted beaming grins over dinner, even those soft, bittersweet little expressions he'd shoot your way when he thought you weren't looking; faces that made you want to just throw caution to the wind and lean in and kiss him until you both ran hot and breathless.

But you couldn't. Vash liked to joke about how fearless you were, unafraid of tailing after the Humanoid Typhoon through each town and city he blew through, but you weren't that brave. Not enough to risk the possible rejection of the person you cherished most in the world, even if he was under the impression he was doing it for your benefit. No, you were nowhere near that brave. Not yet.

"Maybe you'll just have to share with me then, if you want to keep warm!~"

"Can I?"

You both stiffened, neither of you expecting your response to actually come out of your mouth. Vash was clearly trying to tease you, you could see that now by the wide eyes and startled red fluster on his cheeks, but you'd been so deep in your own thoughts you hadn't even registered it properly until the words were already out of your mouth. You clammed up quickly, the back of your neck feeling hot and prickly as you cupped your hands over it and turned jerkily away from him.

"Ah! Sorry, I didn't- I wasn't really thinking I was just- You know I should have known you were just joking, so… so let's just go back to sleep. Sorry. This is weird… sorry."

You'd definitely said sorry way too many times. And he'd definitely noticed. But maybe he'd actually cut you some slack for once and not point out how effectively you'd just humiliated yourself in front of him. Or maybe you could just roll yourself up in your sleeping bag like a pill bug and in the morning you'd forget this entire exchange even happened.

"...Do you really want to?" He mumbled, warm fingertips resting on your upper arm again and sending a shiver down the length of your spine. He didn't pull away even when you flinched at the contact, voice staying hesitant, small, almost like he was trying to soothe a skittish animal. "I don't want you to freeze or anything. I really don't mind."

"It's not weird?" You'd almost mustered up the courage to ask 'I didn't make things weird?' but you chickened out at the last moment catching a glimpse of Vash's soft expression when peering at him from the corner of your eye.

"No, it's totally fine! I run kind of hot anyway. I can be your heated blanket." Seating himself all the way upright, Vash opened his arms to you, and it took everything you had not to dive into them the second the gesture was offered.

Trying not to look as eager as you were, you slipped carefully out of your own sleeping bag, shuddering as you were buffeted by the evening air. It was a bit of an awkward clamber, one you tried desperately not to think too hard about as you burrowed your way in right next to Vash. He was a big guy, and the sleeping bag was barely big enough for him to begin with, so once you got yourself situated you found that you were basically snug up against him from your ankles all the way up to your neck. And oh, was it everything you'd imagined to be and more. You were curled up into his right side; he'd tucked you up in such a way that your head was resting right on his shoulder with his arm slung around you, keeping you close. The thin fabric of your pajamas did nothing to quell the heat that rolled off of Vash's body and seeped into your own. It was a familiar, achingly safe kind of warmth, like falling asleep in an afternoon sunbeam coming through the window and landing across a soft mattress. It felt right. It felt like home.

"Comfy?" His voice was so soft a murmur you could barely make it out, and you nodded for fear of any words being let out giving away your true feelings on the situation. How were you ever supposed to sleep on your own again, knowing that this bliss was just within arms reach? "That's good. Hey, try looking up now?"

You blinked up at the night sky, an endless expanse of stars and moons stretched over your heads. His free arm rose again, fingertip tracing an abstract, polygonal form against the starry backdrop.

"Rivus Minor, the Little River. You can follow it across the sky, just like this. Follow my hand, okay?"

"Yeah." You whispered, for you didn't think you had the strength nor the courage to speak any louder. You'd follow his hand as it traced the stars. You'd follow him to the driest, most desperate towns, the true wastelands. You'd follow him through hell and back out again, to the most barren edges of No Man's Land and back, a thousand times over. Even if he tried to leave you behind, for your protection he'd say, for your safety, you wouldn't be able to help but follow. You'd follow him through blood and gun-smoke and tears and keep following beyond. As long as Vash was there, you couldn't help but be there too.

"Okay. I'll follow you."

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun x reader #vash the stampede #vash #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #pink chat #my writing

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ms0milk · 10 months

Text

𝟏𝟎 | 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐟𝐨𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 (part one & two.)

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"Trembling tears, a fit of chill against the garden ground and a hold so tight on your prince’s arm you wouldn’t blame him for striking you. A golden hand keeps the cry quiet and the other presses gently into your cheek, tangled in loose hair, to try and soothe you, worried red eyes so like the Champion."

cw (I) another impressive attempt on your life and a haunted seaside garden. much blood, a dislocated joint, nasty (does not even being to describe it) dabi skin descriptors: melting ripping bleeding blehk, and one major burn wound. y/n reminds the group that murder is her job description but does also get her shit rocked. some long awaited tenderness and a loss of faith (II) bkg gets desperate. admit that you want to live, please. 5.3k

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You suppose you should be used to this by now. When have you ever been allowed to live for yourself?

Bakugou charges as you do, as you drop your sword from him entirely and race together to the flame mage.

You grunt and land first in attack range. There aren't enough soldiers in this haunted castle for you to expect any backup to come towards the sound of a fight.

With a heft of your shoulder you swing your halberd from your back and across the man’s head, but he sidesteps faster than any fighter should be able and leaps over your prince’s back when he aims an explosion through the trellis. The sound of the blast could deafen alone but the frustrated cry that follows chills you. Bloodthirsty. Flower petals shower the battleground-garden and perfume mingles with gunsmoke.

It’s him. You knew he was here. The man wears the dark cloak you remember and everything about him that you hoped was a nightmare, scars and rotting flesh, shines outright under the moonlight. His hair glows, his smiling teeth glow, and he drops a blue flower from between his fingers. Bakugou catapults forward with his longsword as you’re thrown back with a kick and narrowly miss getting skewered on the garden gate.

“Thought I might find ya here Highness.”

The shock of his appearance from the shadows only dulls your reaction for a second because when you drop to the ground between the mage’s legs you know that he won’t be able to dodge both you and your prince. Your prince who is bracing his forearm with another range-demolishing blast.

Why is he here– how is he here? Why does he only dodge and flutter and grin? Where is the fire? He might really be a ghost.

“Show me those flames you blue bitch!”

“Don’t need fire to kill you, princeling.”

You see what’s going to happen before Bakugou does. From your spot poised on the ground you shoot up, halberd falling from your hands, and leap into the mage’s arms to contain the knife he pulls from a holster. It cuts you shallow down the arm like you knew it would and he grabs hold of you exactly like you feared. No matter how badly you want to be rid of him, no matter how deeply it pains you to keep him and tend him, your queen would never forgive you for Bakugou’s death.

The mage’s hand is calloused when it grasps the back of your neck and Bakugou’s warcry sounds off. It dies as a growl though, when an arm wraps around your throat. Keeping you tight in the crook of his elbow, the mage, so much taller, straightens up and lifts you to tippy toes and clawing hands as you try to keep the rotting arm from choking.

“Pause lovebirds,” he grins. He smolders. He lifts his hidden knife beside your head and twirls it delicately in the free air before leaning down to speak to you. “Are you the little monkey?” Bakugou vibrates where he’s forced to stand still just a few yards away when the mage presses both his temple and his knife to your cheek, “The little monkey from the forest?”

The ghost is too familiar when he touches you but you don’t seem to be the object of his entertainment. Why does he want your prince? His nonchalance burns you with rage hotter than any part of his body now that he doesn’t quite feel like using his flames. Where are they? You’re no bargaining piece, why does he bother toying with you?

“Fight me, coward!”

“No can do.” A rough knuckle, purple with scars and stitches, tickles down your cheek to your lips, “I suspect this one doesn’t fight that fair.”

His arm tightens around your neck and it’s impossible not to gasp and try to raise your head higher. Every time you so much as struggle, Bakugou jerks toward your captor and freezes again like he’s playing a game of statues. This wasn’t supposed to be your evening. If your stupid fucking prince could focus in a fight you wouldn’t be wracking your brain for escape routes right now, and you certainly aren’t going to die before you find his bedchambers.

“Relax,” the ghost whispers to your prince with lips at the shell of your ear, “Killing her couldn’t start a food fight.” And then with every chilling stretch of his cheeks, he grins again, “You’re the only one that needs to die.”

One flick of the knife and two of the stupid blue ribbons that tie your tunic closed, fly away in pieces on the sea wind. Bakugou very nearly explodes. Boots literally sparking where he stands, the glass beneath him splinters. The arm against your throat pulls closer.

How dare they– two boys in a pissing contest. You can land ten heartstopping shots from the back of a saddleless horse. You can cut through a man’s neck with a chipped sword in one blow. Fires in a rainstorm, poison and perfect bullseyes, broken bones, blood in your eyes, only death will stop you.

“Just step off the balcony or something,” the flame mage sighs. He flourishes his little blade and hooks his rotting arm so tight against your jaw that the flesh brushes your lips. It’s getting too hard to breathe and the garden is locked in deadly stalemate. “I just need you dead, I don’t have to be the one to do it.”

Bakugou, who doesn’t dare press forward with the knife to your temple, seethes. Barely still and entirely vibrating, he can’t contain his explosive magic and the heat sparkles around his figure like vengeful fairies.

This ghost isn’t using magic for a reason. The blood in your prince’s eyes is too thick for him to see and the mage is too excited to torture him to register you as a threat. He’s smiling, “What happened to ‘you’re mine’ huh? You gonna–”

The next sound out of the mage’s mouth is a scream to shatter heaven.

Blood fills your mouth– behind your tongue and down your throat– past your lips and gushes hot down the front of your perfect white tunic. The flame mage tastes like ash and you’re biting him hard enough to break teeth. You’ll get him to use his flames. You won’t let go until you break clean through. You’ll eat him alive before he lays a finger on your jackass princeling.

The rotting flesh pulls apart at jagged seams in your teeth and you know you’ve caught live nerves from the way he rushes to drop you. Black scars pull away from red meat and steaming blood smears your face like a smile. War is where you flourish, war is where the world slows.

The ghost drops you as you free a chunk of flesh from his arm, spitting, grinning, and his knife takes aim for your back. Bakugou has hardly processed you enough to move. The only sign of life from your prince are his ember eyes and the pinpoints of light roaring to life behind them as he leans forward into a silent charge. You can only imagine the sight, his guard painted in blood and from the feel of it– smiling. Wildly, victoriously. Is that why his eyes are so wide?

You drop heavy onto your feet and breathe a great gasp of free air as you pivot to catch the mage’s knifehand, but what catches you is a sunstone. A hot iron, molten glass.

You were going to disarm him, twist between his too-long legs and bury his own blade in his throat, but you aren’t the only person war slowed the world for.

The ghost snatches your bicep before Bakugou can even take a full step and immediately his fingers burn through fabric. His hand is big enough to wrap around your arm entirely and two things happen at the same time. “You want flames?!” He gasps. He grasps you with his ironhot hand and instead of escaping him all you can do is scream as he brands you.

There are few things in the world you can compare to this pain. To the sear that consumes the entire left half of your body– the way your body panics and pours sweat from every pore at a loss for what to do. The only breathes you can gather are between screams, soundless some, and tearful gasps from your spot held against the ground.

“Y/n!” Bakugou is airborne now and your body scrambles to flee without your permission, but the ghost uses all that desperate momentum to pull up hard on your scorched arm, face pressed to the ground– back curling– running out of– crack– until your shoulder breaks from its socket.

Your prince explodes on impact.

What you wouldn’t give to be five years old again. In a golden field, getting checked by your mother for ticks. Eight, with the queen’s hands cupping your cheeks. Eleven, pitching your own tent beside your master’s on a camping trip and falling asleep to the patter of rain. Something soft like that. Sixteen, winning your first tournament with one wooden polearm and skipping out on your own victory feast for fear of crowds. Twenty-one, above the library, under the oak. Six years old in a velvet carriage with Bakugou’s hands in yours.

Smoke consumes the garden and moving is hardly an option.

A golden flash leaps and crackles between short bursts of blue shield and even with your ringing ears you know that Bakugou howls as he fights. He bursts through his own smoke clouds like rainbow fury when the mage cuts the air with a short burst of flame, and skids sparkling to a crouch beside you. He’s waiting for something. Veins popping, fists screaming, pressed brows like he could kill with a blink. He keeps your dazed body under his own like a prey animal when the mage emerges from the black plumes. Glowing from the inside, a searing skeletal blue.

“Kacchan back!”

An unseen force throttles the ground from behind you and black lighting is unleashed from the sky. Bakugou collects you in his arms. War slows time for him too.

As the mage charges forward your prince lifts you carefully into his hold, a hand so strong against your back and another wrapped behind your head. His bicep and a flat open palm cover both of your ears and you only realize what’s going to happen as you’re blasted into the air.

Like being carried to bed, flying feels like sleep in your prince’s arms. Your shoulder is numb and your eyes are heavy until the weight of landing rockets through your fragile body and again you’re screaming like a nightmare.

You and Bakugou crash through a trellis on the far side of the garden where smoke doesn’t conceal demons, but your prince can only do so much to keep your arm from moving in what you now realize was an emergency landing.

“Where’re my little monkeys?”

On your back behind blue flowers, it’s clear now– so much easier to see, and your adrenaline is finally lending a hand in survival– Deku and the mage across the garden. Fire licks the ghost’s white hair but doesn’t burst from his fingers. Is he hiding? Is he trying to conceal himself? He could have this whole castle in seashell ashes if he wanted to but obviously he needs something else.

“Fuck– Y/n awake, stay awake–”

Hands. Cool hands on your cheeks and chest, squeezing and pulling. Numbness doesn’t last long though when Bakugou rips your burnt sleeve from your body and as you shout again, agitated blue flames burst to life a few feet away. He squeezes his palm over your mouth and when fire ignites in the flowers above you, presses the weight of his body down onto you.

Chest to chest on the garden floor you say a silent prayer. A scream sheaths itself in your throat so that the fire without eyes cannot find you and when heat dies down, Bakugou is the first to move. Just a tilt of his neck down to look at you. His expression– what he must be looking at–

Your wide eyes, both cheeks painted with mageblood and tears rolling like waterwheels between the fingers he holds against your face.

Before the prince can pull himself away like he seems so desperate to do, you jerk your good arm across your body and press his hand harder against your mouth. Don’t move, you glare and begin to reach with your other.

There isn’t a moment that your arm feels free of the fire; if only dislocation severed nerves. Prince Bakugou hovers above you on his knees exactly where you keep him and for the first time it’s not a scowl that greets you but something so much more upsetting. Shock? Awe? You reach higher. His golden face and sooted tunic place him in a painting that his mother would wear. Higher. His touch doesn’t hurt, in this second only his hands are not a threat to you. You can’t reach any further.

The riotous ache against your collarbone crescendos when you seize your limp arm above your head and snatch it back into its socket, only then allowing a dreadful sound out of your chest. Trembling tears, a fit of chill against the garden ground and a hold so tight on your prince’s arm you wouldn’t blame him for striking you. Fire doesn’t find you. A golden hand keeps the cry quiet and the other presses gently into your cheek, tangled in loose hair, to try and soothe you, worried red eyes so like the Champion.

A fight is still happening off in the distance and every now and then ‘Alderan’ echoes through the scorched flowers. Deku’s black lighting crackles– if that’s even his magic– if the gods didn’t open up night skies to save you. His gentle voice bellows, calling for the castle guards as he fights.

When Bakugou finally pulls away, blood and saliva string between his fingers from your face and you’re heaving with the realization that you couldn’t breathe at all. It’s disgusting, your panting and bruised body. A royal guard still conscious should be ready to fight not kept hidden by her prince, held together by his strong hands like the strings on a child's toy. How long has the mage been hiding in Takoba? You should have known– you did know– and now you need to fix this.

“–told you so,” you rasp between gasps and the prince immediately covers your mouth again. An anxious red climbs the column of Bakugou’s throat to his ears.

The prince is thinking too hard. Darting eyes and unsteady fingers assessing you. Too much attention. He keeps you hidden exactly behind the thickest parts of the climbing flowers and the undulating furrow of his brows tells you he doesn’t plan on letting you up. Gods, again and again you wish you knew what that look meant and of all the times you’ve been too close today he picks right now to be noble. As the battle churns up storms behind you, as Deku tries to keep the mage from stealing your prince away.

“Keep that smart mouth shut and stay here,” he growls, finally collecting the words. The shocking sore of your shoulder weighs it like lead when you shoot up to grab him, but Bakugou pushes you down as he rises and steps back into the smoky garden exactly fast and far enough away that you can’t catch him when you reach with your good arm.

He’s in a hurry to get away from you and for the first time you cannot stop him.

You can only watch as your prince bolts across the destroyed garden, over dead flowers and smoldering soil, to leap above the mage’s blindspot. While sidestepping the crackling black whips that Deku slings from his hands, the flame mage can’t find your prince in time. He’s too busy rupturing blood from the wound on his arm and dripping steaming puddles across the clearing. Why doesn’t Bakugou question the lack of flames? You don’t dare scream out to him, and give away your prince’s position. Bakugou vaults over a gate and into the air, pointing his open palms directly down and loosing a terrible twinkling explosion over the mage’s head before launching to Deku’s side to charge another blast into the bellflower dust bowl. Your halberd catches blue light on the ground twenty meters away, dead between your hiding place and the fight.

At the same time as blue flickers in the settling dust storm, thunder begins to churn somewhere deep inside the castle. If you weren’t at the edge of the garden you might mistake it for the distant sound of ocean waves. But high tide is silent tonight. Clicking teeth and the scent of ignition, the rotten taste of the mage on your lips, and not a peep from the sea. What is coming to life inside the lifeless castle?

You prince does not notice the great bellied rumbling, does not strike again to ensure the mage is dead, Deku does not pull him from the battlefield– you have to get back out there. Your pride as a guard screams to you yes, but worse than that, so much worse than that, your prince and the little Champion can’t taste murder. They wait at the edge of the dustbowl safely for the mage to collapse or emerge like proper sparring soldiers. They don’t know how to kill. They need to strike, strike and strike, until their opponent is retching blood, but they are just a prince and a champion. Princes should be pretty and should not lose. Champions protect like shiny trophies– guards kill. You kill. Kirishima hardly fights outright for fear of breaking jaws and ribs, murder is your job. Shinsou and Uraraka’s job– where are they? Your prince can’t smell what you can and it is going to kill him.

Up, up fuck, get up. Adrenaline will keep you steady if you can just fucking stand. Your body does not fight you but it does not comply. It wont move the way you need it to, it won’t stop trembling from the touch of seabreeze on your raw and bleeding arm so you’ll have to beat it into shape. Two legs standing, a proper shape to save your prince. Something is heating up the air of the cursed blue garden. You bring a fist down on your thigh to feel life in your nerves, to remind your body it needs feeling– not to hoard it in your shoulder, not to hoard it in your burn. Bakugou and Deku, green golden shapes in the distance, prepare to attack as dust settles. You don’t have time. Another beating fist at your kneeside.

From the sound of it, a storm has come to life inside the castle. A squawk here or a series of thumps there, like an animal in a box. Is it backup? Soldiers? Something deep inside, louder than the mage’s laughter and your heartbeat and the stars of your prince’s magic, is fighting to escape.

As you drop your first foot flat to the ground, the rancid air from a sudden pillar of fire propels you to standing in its periphery. It’s almost soothing. It’s almost like letting your full weight into bedding until you open two eyes to half of the blue bellflower prison up, very much, in flames. The mage alone stands in its center and every meaty part of him radiates blue. The gums between his too-big smile glow. The castle groans ahead.

“Stay back!” Your prince barks somewhere in the new smoke before you can even worry about his being maimed or mauled or burned to a crisp. Curse it all, right? You won’t waste this momentum. The rock in your ribs shifts like a hiccup and for one second– relief, rage, grief – you know that your legs will carry you at least ten good paces as you tear forward in a sprint. Curse everything. Bursting bruised from the place your prince meant to hide you, you hope it all burns and that this wretched place falls into the sea. Even as you kick your halberd to life, toe of your boot kicking the polearm from the ground into your right hand, even as you cross the burning threshold of mage’s last attack into hell, even as Bakugou drops from the sky where Deku floated them both to avoid the fire–

“Y/n don’t–!”

What pushed the mage to use his flames again? What is it that keeps your heart pumping? What was he holding back? Who do you live for? There’s no time. Your white-haired ghost takes one crackling step towards the castle and your prince, and heat swells thick around the garden while you flutter light footed, weapon raised, to strike him from behind. Bakugou’s hands come to you again even in a time like this because the flex of your fingers reminds you of the dance of his. Horrible creature. As time slows, it dawns on you that war might not be what does it.

Fire is upon you. Deku pushes forward as if he’s fireproof and your prince has both hands raised but not enough time to charge his magic. You can feel him looking at you. The mage has unhinged his jaw like a hunched and bleeding serpent to do the sun’s job and burn you all alive. Blue spills from him, in every direction it begins to flow and eat the pathetic flowers alive. It heats up iron flower beds and trellises, it warms your face at first and reminds the bubbling skin of your arm to sear. It all happens in the span of one foot lifting in your stride and the other landing in your charge and in the second you ready the halberd’s spear at your good shoulder, the second the flames explode from the dead star in the center of the garden, the simple castle doors fly open.

The mage’s glowing smile drops. His flames blink out like birthday candles and the clearing is cold again.

Spidersilk and shoreline, and the lone flushed face of the Takoban Queen. She hovers panting in the doorway, arms still up from throwing open the doors and she is so hauntingly beautiful not even your prince knows what to do with his attention for a moment.

You remember though, you know what to do, for the first rule of hunting with your Master is mercy. Kill swiftly greedy human, be thankful. The second is ruthlessness. Fire dies around you so quickly you’re lightheaded when you leap with your last thundering step, no longer silent– when the mage remembers his Alderan plaything and spins much too-late to face you.

Doused of flames like a wet cat, he catches the shaft of your weapon before your good arm and sanguinary pierce his heart, but you don’t need the spear to land. The weight of your body forces it through his shoulder as you land and you only need the momentum, because when you release your polearm the rotting man cannot stop you from riding it like a zipline to his chest and plunging a dagger up to the hilt. Bones crack.

He wants a monkey? Fine.

Before he remembers fire you hoist your body onto the halberd shaft wedged tight through his collarbone and tip yourself over his shoulder onto his back while the wheeze of his collapsing lung plays you on.

It’s almost soft, the way you press your ear to his spine and listen to the heartbeat there while securing your legs around his hips. It’s too slow to even count as living, but then a glass slipper clicks once in the haunted garden and this rotting heart comes to life for a moment. The queen takes one wide-eyed step forward and you wrap your mangled arm around the ghost’s head, driving the dagger to his throat from behind. Light glows at the back of that long empty hallway behind her. Soldiers presumably, her guards. Just how fast was she running to create such a delay? You can’t even imagine her seafoam fragility sprinting through smooth stone halls, tripping, desperate– sweating, sick– and for what?

Ragged breath now, the flame mage wheezes back a step in his effort to keep your blade from making good on its threat and slitting his throat. Your body weight, halberd and grabbing murdering fingers pull on his eye sockets and jaw, driving him another step and another step backwards. He uses both hands to keep your good arm from killing him, but there are no hands left to pry you from his back or your weapon from his shoulder and suddenly there is no more garden to back through. It’s almost terrifying how suddenly you realize that your plan tonight is to die.

If your body wasn’t completely out of adrenaline and heartache, depleted and locked in place around a furnace like the shell of a dying beetle, you would be more upset about it. You would give more time to thoughts of Takoba and your Mitsuki. You would have eaten dinner. If you were still alive, would you have found Bakugou’s bedchambers? Sat with him there? Is he capable of conversation? Would you have found out?

The salty wind is at your back again and there is still enough life in you to buckle under the pain of your shoulder and to taste the cookies from Uraraka’s first aid kit. Guided by autumn air, over the mage’s pierced collar and your beautiful polearm and through his shaggy white hair, he drops one of his hands from you and reaches ahead for something at a great distance. What good is longing in death? Fool.

He’s not quite fighting anymore. He leans backwards away from your blade but knows that he cannot dislodge you. He does not use his flames. The mage reaches silently, your eyes following the line from his long beautiful fingers, to the seashell queen. He reaches out to her as Deku dives at a sprint and your prince propels himself through the air to reach you.

The white castle finally purges itself of thunder and the first of the Takoban guards catch up with their Queen as you and the flame mage tip backwards, exhausted, over the lip of the garden and into the sea.

Bakugou will never be free of you. Not when you dropped your dagger poised to kill and reached your bloody hand out for him, right alongside the mage grasping for the frozen queen. Your eyes, pleading for help, before slipping silently off the edge of the cliff. Did you even realize?

Takoban guards trip over themselves like children but when the rocket thrusters at his hands sputter out he knows that the Takoban master is among them. The queen is swarmed by a hundred soldiers and medics who pour out of the tiny little doors into a garden half of them didn’t know existed. At their generals’ orders, some stumble through the melted flower beds to secure their Alderan guest.

“Izuku!” Bakugou wails as his momentum dies halfway to the cliff. He tears forward without magic as Deku races ahead, gaining speed, and hurdles himself off the garden after you, hiding from Aizawa’s eyes. One black whip straight up into Bakugou’s awaiting arms and the other flashing through the air to reach you before high tide can.

The rotting man at your chest does not ignite or try to slow your shared fall. You don’t cry or flail and you hate to admit it’s because you’re losing the fight with your body to stay conscious. What they don’t tell you about falling to your death is that you cannot breathe in freefall, and that your stomach screams the whole way down, and that dying is not peaceful.

You are not awake to feel relief at the little Champion’s magic wrapping round your chest and hips and you don’t feel the pain in your arm when he whips you back into the air like the arc of a pendulum for his friend to catch. No one sees the mage hit the water.

Your prince screams with determination when the weight of the whip seems almost tight enough to snap the limbs he’s wrapped it around, and at their breaking point a lurch drops all the tension from his fingers and sends both you and the Champion soaring back up over the edge of the clearing and into the air. Deku can figure out his own landing because the prince is already peeling back and rioting through incoming guards, rushing forward to try and stay underneath you.

“Don’t you drop her!” He bellows. Not after he waxed so fucking poetic about his responsibilities and certainly not after you asked him, so quietly, to save you.

Your consciousness returns when you land squarely on a group of guards all throwing their bodies atop one another for cushion and any multitude of clashing armor and broken bones, grunts and screams, ringing out, your voice among them. When you’re falling to your death they don’t tell you that landing is your reward. That surviving is the real punishment.

To feel your brain hit the side of your skull and test the flexibility of longbones meant to walk, not crumble. Grit of dirt and ash grate your raw wounds terribly in the sea of armor and hands and you don’t think you’re the one screaming until a fit of cough seizes your lungs and for a moment you’re no longer able to.

“Y/n– Move– Y/n, look at me.”

Where you expect too-warm golden hands, Aizawa’s wild hair frames your rapidly deteriorating vision. He wades through the rubble to reach you and something pink like Uraraka hovers behind him. The queen is lost somewhere under a pile of desperate guards. Where is Bakugou?

“Your arm–”

“I’m okay!” You flinch when the old guard lowers himself to you.

“Your– Y/n listen–”

“I’m okay!”

For some reason you can’t think of anything else to say or bring yourself to picture the state of your body. Rare and genuine worry for your prince keeps your heart beating but you can’t quite remember how to make the sounds of his name to ask for him. The old guard doesn’t move in the chaos. Does he look broken from lack of sleep or because he’s looking at you?

“I’m okay,” you murmur again.

He watches for a moment with unsettlingly wide eyes, both hands flat on the ground, and then nods. “You’re okay.”

Another voice above asks, “Can you walk?”

“No,” you respond too truthfully and too quickly to filter your answer. Where is your prince? Bakugou– you need him. You need the relief of your hands over his beating heart. You crane from your spot in the dirt littered with groaning guards.

“Then sleep.”

‏‏‎ ‎

Shinsou carries you on his back through the disarray, back into the castle. You aren’t awake to witness the terrified air of Takoba or the group of soldiers tasked with restraining Bakugou against the ground while they wait for Aizawa to complete his questioning.

Caught and trapped, roaring under the weight of ten bodies, blond hair plastered across his forehead as his eyes bare bloody holes into Shinsou who carries you away past him without a glance. The prince screams for you and for treachery and still you don’t open your eyes for him.

As the young guard takes you through the little doors, he steps cautiously past the half and half Takoban prince laid out beautifully and peacefully unconscious among guards on the ground directly inside.

Shinsou breathes deep for the first time in an hour and slumps with relief as he walks through the once-empty hallway that is now filled, at every corner, with jagged towering ice.

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#a hymn to black water #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha #fantasy au #mha #fantasy bakugou #fantasy bakugo

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setsuntamew · 8 months

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✖ Vash mopes and Wolfwood gives him some perspective ❌ Legato tries to help Knives survive being grounded the only way he knows how: making graphics and watching anime together ✖ AOL Instant Messenger is carrying this chapter ❌ All the unabashed, joyful cringe of being 17 [read chapter 6 on AO3]

aka, the most self-indulgent high school AU we’ve ever written and why I had to perfectly recreate LiveJournal on AO3 ;D

a joint project between @arahith, @dragonofeternal, and @setsuntamew ✌

#vashwood #millionsummers #vash the stampede #millions knives #nicholas d wolfwood #legato bluesummers #trigun #knives millions #trigun maximum #trigun stampede #fanfiction #gunsmoke high #I coded a S1 LJ layout for the first time since uhhh 2007 probably #the world should appreciate my hard work (it's stupid and I love it)

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steddieasitgoes · 5 months

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@steddiemas Day 8 Prompt: Hanukkah Traditions

Tags: Established Relationship, Jewish Eddie Munson, Hanukkah Traditions, Hanukkah Fluff, Eddie Munson Is A Menace, Good Uncle Wayne Munson

wc: 1553 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Logically Steve knows there are other holidays celebrated in the month of December. He’s heard the conversations about family Hanukkah celebrations in passing walking the halls of Hawkins High. Noticed the way the house three doors down always put up blue lights instead of the traditional red and green. He even vaguely remembers learning about the holiday in grade school.

It’s just never something that has come up in his own life until now.

He hadn’t known Eddie was Jewish until two weeks into his hospital stay back in March when he caught Wayne mumbling in another language under his breath. Never one to shy away from opening his big mouth, he asked Wayne rather rudely what he was doing and Wayne, gruff yet patient as ever, explained the Hebrew prayer to him in English.

It was the first and last time either of them ever brought it up, probably because Eddie woke up the following day, and gone were the days of sitting in silence hoping for a miracle. Now their time was spent trying to keep Eddie distracted and entertained.

By the time December rolled around, Steve had almost forgotten about that night all those months ago. Eddie certainly never mentioned it and his time with Wayne was few and far between these days so it was easy to slip his mind.

That is, until two days ago when Eddie invited him to their first night of Hanukkah celebration Wayne had insisted on having.

“We usually don’t do much, but Uncle Wayne’s determined to celebrate it properly this year,” Eddie had said, tapping his fingers against the counter at Family Video. “Says we got a lot to celebrate this year and we should be thankful. I told him thankfulness is for Thanksgiving and he gave me one of his looks so I guess we’re doing Hanukkah now.”

The rambling went on for another minute or two before Steve finally cut him off, assuring him that he’d be there. Eddie left satisfied and Steve pretended to be sick and raced off to the library to research what to bring to a Hanukkah celebration.

He settled on a plate of Latkes which he probably should have left to the professionals based on the sad, soggy-looking potatoes that neither he nor the Munsons touched during dinner. It’s the thought that counts, right?

Other than the delicious sufganiyot and the small menorah set up on the kitchen counter, it’s a fairly typical visit to the Munsons. He’s sitting on the couch with Eddie, the usual bottle of beer swapped out for a mug full of wine. Wayne’s in his recliner, mug in one hand, TV remote in the other after he won it from Eddie in a heated game of rock, paper, scissors. A rerun of Gunsmoke plays on the television — more static than actual dialogue, but none of them seem to mind.

A winter chill wafts through the screen door, fanning the small flame of the lit Menorah candle. It flickers but stays lit and Steve catches the way Wayne smiles at the resilience. This time he doesn’t have to ask, he spent the last two days down a rabbit hole of research learning about what Hanukkah is about. He gets it.

“Eds,” Wayne says, pulling his eyes away from the Menorah. “You ever tell your boy ‘bout your first Hanukkah?”

“Wayne,” Eddie groans beside Steve. He shoots Wayne a warning glance before burying his head in his hands. “No.”

“No, you ain’t tell him or no you don’t want me to tell’m.”

“Both.”

“Oh, now I definitely need to hear this.” Adjusting himself on the couch, Steve leans forward, elbows resting on his knees so he can get a better look at Wayne. It’s not a hard feat given Eddie’s curled-up state.

Wayne lets out a gruff laugh and takes a slow sip from his mug of wine before setting it down. “His momma wasn’t Jewish. And his daddy, well the only thing good ole’ Warren ever worshipped was himself, so Eds here didn’t know a thing bout Hanukkah ’til he came to live with me after his momma got sick.

“Now I wasn’t much for celebrating back then, the war’ll do that to you, but I had this little kid living under my roof and I couldn’t do nothing. Not when everyone was talking’ ‘bout Santa this and Santa that. So I pulled out all the stops. Found my Bubbie’s old Menorah and brought it out. Sat Eds down and explained the whole thing to him.”

“I don’t know that I’d call it explaining,” Eddie says, finally joining the conversation. “If I remember correctly you told me that we were celebrating Hanukkah and when I asked what that was you said “the holiday we're celebrating” and that was that.”

“You were six what did ya want me to tell ya.”

“Uh, more than that!”

“Well, anyway,” Wayne says, shaking Eddie off with a hand through the air. “Eds wasn’t into it much as you might expect until the matches came out. Should have seen the way his eyes lit up when he saw the fire. I should’ve known better but I didn’t know what I was doin' back then.”

“You still don’t.”

“Let your uncle talk,” Steve scolds, playfully swatting Eddie’s arm.

“You see that burn mark on the curtain there?” Wayne asks, pointing to a softball-sized charred piece of the curtain.

Steve nods before giving Eddie a questioning glance. He had noticed the charred piece of fabric before. Hell, he even brought it up to Eddie months ago asking what the story behind it was. He remembers listening to him paint the picture of the memory — his first joint, a faulty lighter, a pair of jeans ruined fanning the flames.

Nothing at all having to do with a Menorah.

“Well, your boy, got so excited ‘bout lighting the match he let go of the thing and sent the flame flyin' through the air. Lucky I was standing by 'cause the curtain almost went up in flames. Trusty ol’ baseball cap from my high school days put it out before it got too dangerous.”

The annoyance he was feeling towards Eddie’s white lie drains from his body as the truth is set free. He can picture it. A younger Eddie, shorter but still larger than life. Mischievous as all hell, but ready to handle the important responsibility of lighting a match only to let his excitement get the better of him. It’s a side of Eddie he’s experienced quite a lot of in the last few months.

The only thing more dangerous than the horrors they’ve faced is an overenthusiastic Eddie Munson.

“Is that why you wouldn’t let him light the Menorah tonight?”

“You’re damn right. This place already took a beatin’ this year. Don’t need Mr. Arson over there sendin’ it up in flames.”

“Hey,” Eddie whines. “I was six! I am way more careful with fire now.”

“Didn’t you burn yourself yesterday?” Steve asks, gesturing to the blister on his thumb from where he caught his finger fidgeting with his Zippo.

“You know what,” Eddie scoffs. He throws his hands up in the air, nearly knocking them against the low-hanging rack of mugs before standing up. “The Maccaknees didn’t endure what they did for me to have to sit here and listen to you two make fun of me! Goodnight!”

Steve watches as Eddie stomps off down the hallway like a petulant child. If he wasn’t so in love with the giant dork, he’d probably find the entire thing off-putting. Hell, he probably should find Eddie’s tantrums at least a little unattractive but his heart hasn’t gotten the memo.

When the bedroom door slams shut, Steve twists on the couch until he’s facing Wayne. “Do you think we should tell him it’s the Maccabees not whatever it is he said?”

Wayne laughs, shaking his head. “Come on now, you’ve been ‘round long enough to know correctin' Eds ain’t ever a good thing. Best to let him think what he thinks.”

“I heard you!” Eddie shouts from behind the closed door. “Just for that, I’m lighting the candles tomorrow.”

The recliner creaks as Wayne slowly gets himself to his feet. The noise is enough to coax Eddie back out of his room — not that he was ever going to stay hidden in there long without Steve.

“What are you doing?”

“Checkin’ the extinguisher. Never can be too careful with fire in your hands.”

Steve laughs, earning a death glare from Eddie that only spurs him on more. “In that case, you better make sure the fire department is on the way the second you hand him the matchbox.”

“I hate you both!” Eddie groans, collapsing onto the couch in a defeated state.

Eddie manages to light the Menorah on Night Two of Hanukkah with no incident, much to the chagrin of Wayne and Steve. He manages to keep it up for several more nights until things take a turn on Night Six. Caught off guard by Steve’s hovering, the match slips from Eddie’s nimble fingers, igniting a stack of bills.

“Think you just made settin’ things on fire a Hanukkah tradition,” Wayne laughs once the flames have disappeared, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

“The Maccaknee would be proud,” Steve teases.

“I hate you both.”

#steddiemas #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie fan fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #wayne munson #jewish eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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