#pipwrites

[pipwasreal]

Day 16: knives + mind control

Characters: Charles Rowland, Edwin Payne

Content warnings: betrayal (sort of), mind control, mental confusion, knife violence, injury, iron burns

Now with a comic by technically-human!

"Charles look ou-" Edwin yells.

But it's too late, the unfamiliar spell hits him right in the face and ripples through him, locking each limb rigid, then releasing them one by one. Charles sways and shivers, then drops back into his ready stance. He draws his iron knife, then turns to Edwin.

"Are you alright?" Edwin asks quickly, glancing between Charles and the fairy. She's keeping her distance, but grimacing in concentration, her gaze locked on Charles.

Charles doesn't answer, but starts moving slowly toward Edwin. His expression is... strange. Not at all how he normally looks. Edwin frowns in confusion.

"Charles, what are you..." he begins, then trails off.

It occurs to him that perhaps the reason he has never seen this look of grim determination before is because whenever they are in danger Edwin freezes, and Charles plants himself squarely between Edwin and whatever means them harm. He faces it down, he does whatever is necessary to keep them safe.

It's... disconcerting, being on the receiving end of that expression, that wary advance. He ought to run, he supposes, but it's Charles. He does not know how to be afraid of Charles.

"What have you done to him?" He asks the fairy.

She glances at Edwin, fear and anger warring in her wide grey eyes, then whistles a rapid five-note trill.

"Oi!" Charles says, drawing Edwin's attention back. "She hasn't done anything to me. She's my best mate and I won't let you drag her back to Hell."

Ah.

Charles lunges at Edwin, slashing out at chest height with the iron knife. Edwin stumbles backward just in time, but the tip still catches his lapel, leaving a long scorchmark across it. It smarts, of course, but he has more pressing concerns.

His mind races, trying to remember how to draw someone out of magical confusion... and also trying to remember anything Charles had shown him over the years, about blocks and binds and generally avoiding being stabbed.

"Listen to me," he says, circling away from Charles while keeping the fairy in his line of sight. "You are under an enchantment. I do not mean you any harm. Please put the knife away."

Charles laughs, and it's an ugly, bitter thing.

"Nice try. Don't lie to me. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you don't leave us alone."

He slashes as Edwin again, but this time Edwin puts out a hand and catches the blade through his palm. It blackens and smokes something awful, but at least he can wrench the knife out of Charles' grip.

"Right. That is quite enough of that," he says, turning to the fairy. "Kindly release my friend, and we shall leave you in peace."

"What the fuck are you?" She breathes.

Edwin sighs. "Not a threat to you. We apologise for trespassing."

She nods warily. With a whirl of her grey cloak, she disappears.

Charles shivers again. Then he sees his knife in Edwin's hand and loses his mind.

[vashs-turtleneck]

Desperate.

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+ only)

Summary: What happens after Vash almost loses you. Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader Word Count: .8k CW: smut, pwp, slightly rough sex, penetrative sex, angst, crying AN: wrote most of this while I was at work ehehe so it's not really proofread

Desperate!Vash, whose heart sinks deep into the pit of his stomach whenever you get hurt or put yourself in the line of danger. A bullet flying past your head, barely missing your temple. He sees it coming, his sharp eyes watching its trajectory, yet he's not fast enough, he's not strong enough, and the only reason you're still alive is by sheer dumb luck. A little to the left, a little higher, and it would have been over, the flame of you permanently extinguished, his heart hammering away in his chest at the realization that he almost just watched you die. His hold on you is always a bit tighter after these moments, clinging to you and keeping you in his line of sight at all times. You won't get hurt. Not again. Whatever it takes, he'll keep you safe. 

Desperate!Vash, who pushes you against the nearest surface as soon as the door to your shared room is closed, pulling you closer and away from prying eyes, taking your mouth in a feverish kiss that threatens to crash your teeth together every time your lips meet. His strong body presses your back into the wooden door, caging you against him. You're exactly where he wants you, exactly where he can see you. Wrapped up in his arms, encased between the door and his broken body, you're safe. 

Desperate!Vash, who lifts you by your hips, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his tapered waist. He presses your back against the closest wall, his hands pulling at you– at your clothes, at your hair, at your hips– needing you closer. However close, it's not close enough. He can't be asked to take it slow, not right now, as he hurriedly unbuttons your pants and pulls them down to your knees. He tears your underwear off, leaving it to dangle loosely between the two of you before he's already shoving two long and dexterous fingers inside you. It's quick, sloppy, his fingers pumping harshly into that sweet spot inside you that has your body quaking until his hand is dripping in your arousal.

Desperate!Vash, who fumbles with his own pants, shaky hands making him struggle with his belt and zipper. He can't get them off fast enough. Just like your own pants, he doesn't bother himself with taking them off completely. He pushes them down just far enough to free himself, his cock springing from the confines of his boxers, groaning as he feels himself throbbing in the cold air.

His hands grip you, calloused palms spreading your delicate flesh as he presses the tip of himself to your entrance, a brief warning before pushing forward and completely sheathing himself in you with one sharp roll of his hips, pulling the breath from your lungs. He hisses through gritted teeth, your body barely prepped enough to accommodate the sheer girth of him. He stifles your cries of pain and pleasure with his lips, swallowing your sounds before pulling back and leaning against the side of your head. He brokenly whispers his sweet apologies, heartbreakingly chanting “I’m sorry” over and over again like a hopeless prayer as he begins swaying his hips and slamming you down onto his cock with a frenzied, almost angry rhythm that has your nails digging into the fabric of his crimson jacket.

Desperate!Vash, who knows he's not giving you the tenderness you deserve, and the guilt is enough to eat him whole, yet he can't stop. His body feels like it's burning, crumbling under the weight of knowing that he almost lost you, overwhelming his better judgment. He needs to remind himself– you're with him, you're here, you're safe, you're alive. His actions are primal, his body moving on pure instinct, the pain and guilt he keeps buried deep bubbling up. He shoves the bottom of his shirt into his mouth, teeth clenching into the fabric, holding it up to make sure nothing gets in the way of the frenetic rhythm of his cock sinking into you, and giving you a tantalizing view of the quick undulations of his lower half.

Desperate!Vash, who lets his head fall to your shoulder when he cums, sobbing into the divot of your collarbone, whimpering his apologies and praises, how much he loves you, how much he needs you. He can't live without you, and yet he'll be the reason he loses you. The crushing weight of reality floods him to the core, crippling his body with fear and grief. His arms tighten their hold on you, wishing that he didn't ever have to let you go, that another day didn't have to come so that he could never have to risk losing you.

Desperate!Vash, who only knows what his life was before you, what it is with you, and he prays to a God he doesn't believe in every time he's faced with the reality that one day, should he be cursed to live so long, there will be a time after you.

divider.

[pipwasreal]

My naym is Hoops

And wen I flip

Into the Under

Playse I slip

Oh God oh fuck

I fille with fear

I cannot fayse

My dark twins here

[f1hallmarkfest]

F1 Hallmark Fest: Day 6

On the sixth day of Hallmark, my true love gave to me...

a christmas reel by @pipiteer / pipwrites

Pierre/Charles | [T] | 5.7k

When his girlfriend had first told him she wasn’t coming with him anymore to Nicolas’s wedding, Pierre had been confused, worried even that something urgent had happened—a death in the family, perhaps. It had only been when she had failed to answer, unusually hesitant, that it had become clear to him that there was nothing wrong—except them. It’s not just this, she had said, unusually somber, and Pierre had understood. So Pierre had come home the night before with just a single suitcase and a long garment bag holding his best suit.

You Make Me Happy by @pitstopwontstop / Lavender455

Daniel/George | [T] | 9.1k

“George, slow down man! You’re gonna get us in a ditch!” “I thought you brought me here so that I could enjoy being free to do anything.” “Driving like a mad man was not part of the plan.” Suddenly, the car starts slowing down and George barely has time to park it to the side of the road before smoke starts coming off the bonnet. “Blimey, what did I do?”

[keepingupwiththekamados]

Hc: Inosuke challenges Sanemi to a fight and summarily gets crushed to smithereens in the most painful way possible bUT afterwards the wind pillar takes Inosuke under his tutelage 🥺

[realactualblackbeard]

Luka doesn't really know what's up with the pretty girl who keeps coming into the store during his shift at 2 AM and buying the most random stuff, but he definitely wants to figure it out.

[pipwasreal]

Hey so this post/these tags live in my head rent free:

So I wrote my take on the scene/this concept.

Angst, as you so rightly say, yippee!

Enjoy @that-trans-autistic-guy and @mecub !

Warnings: bullying, violence, dying, domestic abuse.

The Night Nurse draws her fingers together and down, pulling the boy into the deepest darkest corners of his own mind. She follows effortlessly, and there he is, helpless, all his trauma laid bare before her. Good. She nods to herself. To work.

Charles' head flies back and he crumples to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. He lies on his back, twitching, eyes wide open and blank white.

Niko lets out a startled scream, hands flying to cover her mouth. The lady doesn't look like a witch, she thinks, but she's clearly doing something to Charles, some horrible spell. She seems distracted, concentrating, but what if she can do it to Edwin too? Crystal had screamed and collapsed when she had tried to read her. What else can they do?

Crystal gasps in horror. Is this what she looks like when she reads someone? When David pops into her head and drags her out of reality? It's terrifying, seeing her normally cheerful and animated ghost friend silently convulsing on the ground. She scrambles to her feet, to stand beside Niko.

Edwin stumbles forward half a step before he can catch himself. His mind races, panic-stricken, but no solution presents itself. This woman, this Night Nurse, had downed Charles with just a gesture.

Ghosts do not sleep or dream and cannot become ill, but the way Charles shivers reminds Edwin with horrible clarity of his friend's final hours alive. He cannot think, and it may mean the end of them both.

"Remember this?" the Night Nurse says. Her eyes are open but her gaze is unfocused. "Hypothermia and internal bleeding, while your friends laughed. Injuries you would eventually die from. Why would you want to stay on Earth having experienced this? Why did your friends turn on you like this?"

"Guys, what are you doing?" Charles shouts.

Niko jumps. Is he talking to them? What should they be doing? Crystal grabs her hand and holds on tight.

"Back up. Back up!"

Charles sounds angry, disbelieving and desperate. Crystal instinctively obeys, dragging Niko back a few steps to what she hopes is a safe distance.

Edwin inhales sharply, realisation dawning. He had seen this happen, from afar. A group of bullies beating a boy in a grassy field, another boy running to intervene, and the bullies turning on him instead. Before they had even met, Edwin had admired Charles' kindness and bravery, and witnessed with sorrow the cruelty that he had received in return.

"This is what you're hanging onto?" says the Night Nurse, tone mocking.

Charles doesn't reply, but his shoulders hunch and a look of fearful anticipation crosses his face. He begins to yelp and flinch, curling over onto his side.

"Dad, stop! Please!" he begs.

Edwin and Crystal freeze, exchanging horrified looks. Niko's eyebrows are knit with confusion and concern. Charles' face is hidden from Edwin's view, but the distress in his voice hurts to hear.

"Please, I'll make it better," Charles sobs. "I'll make it better. Please, stop."

"No, you can't make it better," the Night Nurse says, with such calm cruelty. "You never made it better, then you died. That is the point."

Niko looks on the verge of tears at that, while Crystal looks like she might just try to tackle the Night Nurse to the ground.

Charles pants, and begins to shiver violently again.

"Even when you try your best, be your best self, this world beats you down for it. Frankly, anything is better than this place. Why not just come with me?"

Edwin sighs softly. Charles makes everything better. But it is true, he deserves better himself. If he chose to go with her, Edwin would not stand in his way.

Charles' only reply is a deep, gasping breath. The Night Nurse sighs and releases him.

Charles comes back to himself lying face down on the ground. He pushes himself up and grabs the music box from Edwin's unresisting hand.

His eyes are wild, more hurt and angry than Edwin has ever seen.

The Night Nurse ignores Charles, turning her attention instead to Edwin.

"Now it's your turn. What kind of pain would you like to relive?"

Charles responds before Edwin can, his voice oddly flat, devoid of his usual cheer.

"Good on you, yeah? With your nightmares and your sick smile," Charles says, winding the device and advancing on the Night Nurse.

"If you wanted me to be crushed or devastated, I am. I'm also bloody angry." The device clicks, and he tosses away the key. "And you won't be taking us anywhere. I won't be having it."

"Do you need another shot of-" is all the Night Nurse gets out before the music box collides with her head.

The others all jump and gasp, but the Night Nurse seems utterly unharmed and unfazed.

"Really?" she asks, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. She looks far too composed, so Charles hits her again and again and again, forcing her backward.

Dimly, he hears Edwin gasp his name, but he can't think about that now.

The Night Nurse grabs the music box, and looks at him with a confused frown on her face, like Charles is a dog doing a trick she didn't know it could do.

"Those memories are not why I choose to stay here!" he cries out. "I still have a purpose. I'm a Dead Boy Detective!"

He kicks her over the ledge, and okay her scream as she falls is a bit of a fucking wake up call but he is gasping for air he shouldn't need, thrumming with the memory of adrenaline and he cannot care about her right now. He did it. He dealt with the danger. He protected Edwin. That's all that matters.

So why are they all looking at him like that?

"Why are you all looking at me like that?" Charles demands. "I did that for us. She was gonna take us."

"Charles, that was..." Edwin struggles to find the right word, which is alarming enough, "extreme."

He looks concerned. Concerned for who?

Charles can only laugh.

"Was it too extreme, Edwin? So was me dying at 16, mate. I don't wanna be dead. I hate it."

The vehemence in his voice takes Edwin aback.

"But every day I'm fucking smiling. 'Cause who else is gonna be the one holding it together and keeping spirits up? You? Are you gonna do that, huh?"

He's aware he's saying too much, that he's being unfair. Edwin was in Hell for decades, he shouldn't have to put on a cheerful face. What Charles went through is nothing compared to that.

But it doesn't feel like nothing, right now. He can still feel the burning welts the belt left across his back, and the way the icy water stole his breath, the sharp shock of rocks breaking skin, and how hard it was trying to run away in soaked clothes, on numb legs.

"For what? What good am I even doing?"

He says it quietly, almost to himself, and Edwin's heart breaks because he does not know what to do, does not know how to tell Charles that he does good simply by existing, that he is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

"I couldn't stop Devlin from murdering his family over and over. I can't stop Crystal from hurting. I can't stop whatever it is that's going on with you."

Edwin feels a flicker of guilt. Clearly his reticence to discuss his encounter with the Cat King has been weighing more heavily on Charles than he realised.

"I can't stop anything! I sure as hell couldn't stop my dad from beating the shit out of me." He collapses to his knees, tears prickling his eyes and dripping down his nose. "No matter how good I was."

Edwin glances at the girls, a little lost. They both look sympathetic but also shocked, making no move to approach Charles. Edwin takes a few halting steps forward and kneels beside him.

"Charles... it's going to be okay."

He reaches out a tentative hand toward Charles, resting it lightly on his back, but Charles immediately shrugs it off.

"No," he sobs.

Edwin snatches it back as if burned.

So there they all sit until Charles quietens, until the sun rises.

Crystal and Niko both try to offer Charles some words of comfort but he doesn't respond, just stares down at the ground between his knees.

Too wired to sleep but too tired to walk home yet, the girls had moved a little way off and sat, huddled together for warmth, giving the boys their space.

Edwin finds the distant, empty look in Charles' eyes troubling. He wants to be proud of his friend for mastering his feelings. He is deeply relieved to no longer be witnessing such raw emotion. But he gets the sense that there is some sort of gulf between them now, and he has no idea how to bridge it.

"Come along then," Edwin finally says, rising to his feet. He resists the urge to offer Charles a hand up, in case his touch is still unwelcome. "Let us find Mr Dagfinn and collect our payment."

He can hear the girls stir, standing and stretching.

"Job officially jobbed, right Charles?" Edwin says softly.

Charles doesn't smile, doesn't even look at him, but he does nod and get to his feet.

When they are finally alone, back above the butcher shop, Edwin tries once more to breach the gap.

"You know, Charles, you can talk to me. About anything."

"You can talk to me about anything too, mate," Charles replies, with a smile that Edwin now knows is a mask. It hurts to let him turn and walk away into Crystal's room, but Edwin is used to ignoring pain.

if you want something fun to think about, imagine edwins absolute panic during ep 4 when the night nurse shows charles his trauma. bcuz all edwin sees if his best friend, his person, his home hitting the ground unresponsive for no tangible reason. there is a supernatural being threatening to separate them and she’s proving that she might have the power to do so. and the boy that has always, always protected edwin is passed out on the ground and won’t respond. and he has no idea what to do. all he knows in that moment is the overwhelming fear that something horrible is happening or will happen and he can’t do shit about it. and what he learns after the matter reinforces his fear: that this woman could pull charles from him without so much as a sweat.

[pipwasreal]

Day 25: dandelions + praise kink

Characters: Charles Rowland, Niko Sasaki, Edwin Payne (mentioned), Monty (mentioned), Crystal Palace (mentioned), Litty and Kingham

Content warnings: nudity (mentioned)?

Now with a comic by technically-human!

Charles hears voices coming from Niko's room. Not that that's unusual, since Edwin hangs out in there a fair bit, but he's off on one of his bloody walks with Monty. It's pretty late, and Crystal's asleep, so that just leaves... urgh, the sprites.

He strolls through her door.

Sure enough, she's bent over with her face close to the enchanted jar, where the sprites are sat looking kind of... stunned?

"Hey Niko," he says. "You want some company that isn't two tiny dickheads?"

Niko stands and whirls around to face him.

"Charles!" She always seems delighted to see him, to see all of them. Which is... really fucking lovely, actually. Charles isn't used to that kind of welcome. Not that he minds turning the old charm on. He likes putting people at ease, watching them slowly thaw.

"You should have knocked, though," Niko adds. "What if I'd been naked!"

She covers her mouth and gasps as if scandalised.

"I heard voices!" Charles protests, hands raised in mock surrender. "Do you often talk to those little tossers in the buff?"

Niko gives a coy shrug and then giggles. Charles laughs too. Niko's great, funny and sweet. He's glad her and Edwin get along so well.

How would it have gone if Charles had met Niko while he was still alive? Maybe bumped into her at a party and chatted about video games or something. Stupid to speculate, he supposes. He's glad they got to meet now, at least.

"So what were you talking about, anyway?" He asks.

"Well, I finished my book and I was trying to decide if I should go to bed or start the next one in the series and then they said... something mean. And I thought I'd try a new tactic."

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"The charm offensive." Niko smiles, takes a deep breath, and then starts talking rapidly.

"You're always so brave, you have beautiful hair, you're such a quick thinker, oh my god your fashion sense is so cool, your jewellery! I love your smile, your eyes are sparkling..."

Charles feels warm right through, like he'd be glowing if he could. Is he blushing? Shit, can he? Doesn't matter.

"Thanks loads, Niko!" Charles says, beaming. "I think you're pretty bloody mint too."

But then a discomforting thought occurs to him and his expression turns serious.

"Look, I know you try to be nice to everyone, but fair warning... if you compliment other blokes like that, they might think you're flirting, yeah?"

Niko flicks her hair, expression aloof.

"That sounds like a them problem," she says, then smiles.

Charles laughs. She's probably right, he just didn't want her getting into a fix, did he?

"Everyone deserves to hear nice things sometimes, Charles," Niko continues, eyes wide and earnest. "I believe in the power of positive reinforcement."

They both look down at the sprites in the jar.

The sprites immediately and simultaneously make an extremely rude hand gesture.

"Yeah... good luck with that one, mate."

[vashs-turtleneck]

Nimble-fingered.

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) Summary: Vash is good with his hands. Like, really good with his hands. Pairing: Vash the Stampede x f!reader Word count: 2.6k Content: smut, finger riding, dirty talk, pwp, teasing Vash A/N: I like his hands what can I say. Barely proofread this so if there's mistakes my bad.

✧ [Bonus chapter] - if you want more

NSFW BELOW, 18+ ONLY, MDNI!

Vash has pretty hands.

His flesh hand is warm, his fingers long and talented, his palms calloused and large. His prosthetic is beautiful, cold and strong. When he touches you, the contrast between the two is exhilarating.

And Vash is very good with his hands.

You've seen firsthand the things he can do with them; How they handle everything they touch with a deliberate and deadly precision, be it his gun, the reigns of a thomas, you.

There's something so teasing about the way his glove covers his middle and ring fingers. Your mind wanders to the ways he uses those fingers, how they agile they are when he holds his gun, how downright dangerous they are when he has them curled so perfectly inside you that he has you seeing stars.

You've been staring at them all night, and Vash, being as observant and aware of you as he is, has taken notice.

"Mayfly, are you even listening to me?" He tilts his head down to meet your eyes, a soft pout on his face, and your gaze shoots away from his hands to look at him.

"S-Sorry! I'm a bit spacey today, I guess." You chuckle nervously, your gaze leaving him as you look around the tavern, trying to find something else to take your mind off all the dirty thoughts filling your head.

But the flush on your cheeks betrays you, your thighs absentmindedly clenching together, and Vash sees it instantly. You feel the fingers of his prosthetic cup your cheek, turning your head to face him again. The glare reflecting off his orange lens hides those pretty baby blues, but you already know he's staring right at you like a meal.

"Oh yeah? Is that what it is?" He says, a teasing grin splitting his handsome face. His cold fingers caress your cheek, gently coaxing your face closer to his. "So distracted you won't even listen to me?"

Your breath hitches, his fingers trailing to the tip of your chin and holding your face up towards his.

"How about I help you focus, hm? Keep your eyes on me."

Oh, you're in trouble.

_____________

Vash leans comfortably back against the small couch, the old, dusty material sagging around him from your combined weight. His legs are parted wide beneath you, giving you ample space to steady yourself as you straddle his thighs. You're flushed, breathless, cunt stuffed with two gloved and dexterous fingers as his prosthetic cradles your body, tracing your lines and your curves as you bounce yourself on his hand. Your hands grip the collar of his open jacket as you pump yourself full of his fingers, your thighs trembling from the pleasure and exertion.

You're splayed completely bare on him, your clothes scattered all over the floor, while he hasn't taken off so much as his glasses. His baby blues stare at you reverently, admiring the delicious view in front of him through tinted lenses. His only goal right now is to please you until you're completely spent and for you to give him the privilege of watching you come undone on his fingers.

Except, he's not moving his hand.

"Keep going, baby. Don't stop now." Vash purrs, watching as you eagerly fill yourself with his fingers over and over.

"V-Vash..." You mewl his name, your voice a little pathetic, breathy whimper. "P-Please, move your hand."

He looks up at you, tilting his head to the side with a playful smirk plastered on his face.

"Hm? But why? You're doing such a good job all on your own, mayfly." He coos.

Oh, he's being so teasing tonight.

You continue to bounce yourself on his lap, moving up and down on his long fingers. It feels so, so good. You're a blubbering, moaning mess in front of him, and he hasn't even given you his cock yet.

"That's it, just like that. Use my hand to feel good. You know I love watching you feel good." He purrs against your ear, planting soft kisses along the side of your face before leaning slightly back, making sure to get a good view of your cunt engulfing his fingers. His glove is completely soaked through, your slick dripping down the fabric and soaking his lap, where your juices mix with his own precum against the front of his pants.

You do know how much he loves watching you, taking in your pleasure like it's his own. That paired with how needy you are for him tonight has Vash's heart beating out of his chest with pure lust and a desire for you to feel good, to use him to make yourself come over and over.

"Mmph! Gripping my fingers so tight, sweetheart. Makes me wanna fill you up with something bigger." He groans, watching your pussy drool, your slick pooling on the tented fabric covering his hardened cock.

"Yes. Want you to. Please, want you to fill me up, Vash." Your hands leave his coat, fingers trailing down along his muscled frame, feeling him through his shirt before you start to hastily try to unbuckle his belt. But Vash is much faster than you, the nimble fingers of his prosthetic gently gripping both your wrists and pulling them away from his lap.

"Ah, ah. Not yet, mayfly. You'll have to be a bit more patient, okay?" He whispers with a breathy chuckle, bringing the wrists he has so delicately wrapped in his grasp to his lips, planting soft, almost apologetic kisses to them. You can feel him press his warm lips to your palms, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Vash! Please. I can't- I need-" He stifles your words with a deep kiss to your lips, and you can feel him smiling against you.

"I know. I'm sorry, sweetheart. You know I'll give you what you want. I always do. Just want to enjoy you like this for a little longer, alright?" He whispers sweetly, words so soft you almost wouldn't believe he was splitting you with his thick fingers right now.

Your breaths are heavy and shaky, becoming more labored as your move yourself faster and faster against him, eyes fluttering with pleasure. He lets go of your wrists, and you're quick to grasp his shoulders to steady yourself again. You're so embarrassed right now from how needy you are, how desperate you are for him to fill you to the brim with his thick cock, but when he's looking at you like you're the most delicious thing he's ever seen, eyes worshipping every inch of your naked form, you can only keep going. You can feel your pussy clench around his digits, the tight knot inside you getting ready to burst. Vash, being all too familiar with the look you adopt on your face when you get dangerously close, notices immediately.

"You gonna come all over my hand again, baby?"

With a whine, you turn your head away in embarrassment, your face a deep crimson at how quickly and easily you come undone with him. But just as quickly as you look away, he softly grabs your face and turns it back towards him, cold metal fingers on your cheeks.

"Eyes on me, mayfly. I wanna see you. You're so beautiful when you make yourself feel good." He whispers hoarsly before pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. Despite his lewd words, there's not a hint of teasing in his voice.

His metal thumb traces your lips, and without a second thought, your lips part, taking the digit into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. The sight makes Vash moan hoarsely, instinctively bucking his hips up against you and letting you feel just how much he's aching under his tented pants.

"F-Fuck, you're being naughty tonight, mayfly." He groans, gently pressing his thumb further into your mouth and down on your tongue, being careful not to push too far.

"Is this what you wanted? You couldn't keep your pretty eyes off my hands all day today, could you? Is this what you wanted me to do you?"

Now he's teasing, and it's making you flush an even deeper red, your moans and whines muffled by the finger in your mouth. Your voice quivers with want, your body trembling as you bounce yourself on his fingers, cunt sucking in his fingers, and it only makes Vash smile fondly at you while he plays with your tongue.

"Who would've thought my angel could be so dirty? You were so busy thinking about me stuffing this pretty pussy all day that you didn't even listen to a word I said, is that right? Is this what you were thinking about, mayfly?"

God, he's being so teasing, but you'd be lying if you pretended that that's not exactly what you were thinking about all day when you looked at him. Glassy eyed, you nod and whimper around his thumb, tongue lewdly lavishing the metal. "Mhmm..." You whine, eyes upturned into a wanting, desperate stare as you look back at him. The look on your face fills him with a sense of pride, a deep satisfaction at how well he handles your body.

"Then let me give you everything you want, angel." He coos as his finger leaves your mouth with a soft pop of your lips, fingers trailing along your jawline before moving lower, his wet thumb tracing your pulse point as he slowly moves down to your chest. You feel the cool metal knead one of your breasts, dwarfing it in his large palm. His thumb roughly rolls over your perked nipple before he gently pinches it, making you moan wantonly and dig your nails into the fabric covering his broad shoulders.

Fuck, he's playing your body like an instrument.

"Oh, you're so good. Being such a good girl. Gonna make you come on my fingers, mayfly. You can give me one more, can't you?"

"One more."

He said that last time.

And the time before that.

You're a panting, mewling mess. You can feel your juices dripping down your thighs, coating his warm and calloused hand. You feel like you're in a lovedrunk haze, and all you can focus on is the man beneath you and the pleasure he's teasing you with.

"Vash, please..." Your voice is whiny and broken, words barely understandable through your heavy gasps for breath, and Vash has never seen a more breathtaking sight.

With an adoring and almost innocent smile, he suddenly curls his fingers inside you, pressing against that spot he knows makes you howl with rapture, and a deep growl rumbles in his chest when you cry out and tighten your grip on his shoulders.

"So good. So amazing. Fuck, you're so beautiful. Can't get enough of you." He pulls you closer and groans against the shell of your ear, trailing his tongue along the space behind it before moving down to nibble at your neck.

He starts to finally, finally move his fingers, pumping them against your sweet spot in tandem with the rhythm of your hips. You moan out loudly as he takes you apart with talented fingers, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

"Mayfly..." His voice is soft and loving against your ear, yet it holds all your attention. When your eyes flutter to his, you see his eyes dart down to sopping cunt, and then back up to you, a gentle command for what he wants you to do, and you know him well enough to know what it is.

With a soft, embarrassed whine, one of your hands lets go of his shoulder. You bring your shaky fingers down your body to the apex of your sex, drawing circles over your neglected clit. Your eyes flutter closed, face flushing from the obscenity of the act, but you can't stop the high-pitched moans that leave your lips as curls his fingers even harder in response.

"That's it. Good girl. God, such a good girl, angel." He groans, staring down at your drooling sex as you play with yourself. He's being so indulgent tonight, yet he won't even let you touch him. He's just sat back and drowning in your pleasure, and he's loving every second of it.

"Keep making pretty sounds like that and I'm gonna come without so much as a touch, mayfly." He teases, his eyes drinking in the sight of you rubbing your sensitive little bud, moaning when he feels your hips start to stutter.

He moves his hand faster now, taking control of your pace. He pumps his fingers into you all the way down to his soaking knuckles with enough power to jolt you with every motion.

"C-Close, Vash. Gonna come, gonna come!"

At the feeling of your body quivering in his lap, Vash pinches your nipple again, thumb flicking over the perked bud. Like he can't help himself, he grinds his hips upwards against you in rhythm with his hand, pressing his aching cock against the plush of your thigh.

"Yes, yes, yes! Come, mayfly. Come on my fingers again for me."

Your eyes clench closed tightly, your breathing ragged and quivering. He has you in his complete control, quite literally in the palm of his hand as he meticulously and lovingly abuses every single one of your weak spots. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, and he's getting exactly what he wants.

"Vash!" You cry out his name in the throes of your climax, your back arching and pressing your bare breasts against his clothed chest, your cunt pulsing around his fingers, and Vash moans out obscenely along with you. His hips rut harshly up against you, hard enough that you can feel his pulsing length under the fabric before he stutters and stills, his own whimpers and gasps filling the air with yours.

Did... Did he just come?

Without you even touching him?

Your eyes open and fall to his lap, where you see the growing pool of fluids coat him. You can feel the warmth seeping against your thighs as his cum paints the inside of his pants and soaks the fabric.

"What'd I say, mayfly?" He whispers hoarsly, his voice trembling from the sheer intensity of his orgasm, those beautiful baby blues glassed over and his mouth tilted into a lazy grin in his lovedrunk euphoria. "Without so much as a touch."

Vash's movements soften, his fingers slowly pumping inside your pulsing heat just enough to help you ride out your own orgasm. He's groaning and panting, his own face flushed as he drinks in the lovely look of ecstacy contorting your face.

When your body relaxes, your cunt easing the tight grip on his fingers, he carefully and slowly pulls them out of you, groaning when he sees the strings of your slick that connect his fingers to your pulsing sex. He brings his soaked hand to his mouth, wrapping his lips around the clothed digits and sucks, drinking the fluids of your arousal from the fabric with a groan so deep it makes you shiver, not so much as blinking as his ravenous gaze eats you up. He growls at the taste of you, tongue eagerly swirling at the ring of cream formed at his knuckles.

"Mmmh... Taste so good, mayfly." He mumbles against his own fingers as he gorges himself on your slick. "So fucking good."

You're sat on his lap in silence, panting, chest heaving with every breath, completely enraptured by the vision in front of you. It's so lewd, yet so earnestly worshipping of your body.

When his gloved hand leaves his lips, his hungry stare rakes over your trembling form, and you feel his prosthetic wrap around the back of your head, pulling you into a wet, sloppy kiss. You can taste yourself against his mouth, as well as the taste of fabric from his glove.

As he keeps you there, his tongue teasing your bottom lip before exploring the warm channel of your mouth, you can feel the fingers of his gloved hand move back to their place between your thighs to trace your folds, gathering your slick on his fingertips. It makes you whimper into his mouth, causing him to groan deeply in response before parting from your lips.

"I think you've got one more in you, mayfly. You'll give me one more, won't you?"

"One more."

Oh, you're in trouble.

[moonboyjinnie]

The further away from home you are, they say, the more you cling to what you know. So Seokjin sits and talks to the phone everyday, floating farther and farther from earth, waiting until the day someone answers his calls again.

[pipwasreal]

I started writing fic immediately after watching episode 2 for the first time lmao and yeah had a similar thought!

This is a snippet from that first draft:

Edwin forced his shoulders back and his chin high. If he had a pulse, he suspected it would be racing.

"How might one..." he began, and then stalled. "I choose the... the former option."

The Cat King's grin widened, showing sharp white teeth, but he didn't move or speak.

"Though I confess I have little knowledge of what makes a cat happy," Edwin went on, sarcasm creeping in. "Warm milk? Belly rubs?"

The Cat King's grin didn't falter. He shrugged his shoulders and stretched his arms out, letting his robe fall open to reveal more of his bare torso. Edwin's gaze was inexorably drawn to the smooth expanse of lean muscle and tanned skin.

"Do you want to rub my belly?" The Cat King asked, perfectly nonchalant.

The first option the Cat King gave to Edwin was to make him happy. Not "have sex with me". I think he started to flirt aggressively just because it's the only way to feel happy he knows.

Now look at this wet pathetic cat of a man and tell me some back scratches, a warm meal and good conversation wouldn't work

[pipitwrites]

📌

💖 pipit, millennial, cl16 enthusiast 💖

📖 ao3 @ pipwrites.

🖊️ my tumblr fic tag.

💌 askbox is open.

[pipwasreal]

So I saw this post, liked it, wondered briefly how it would all work, and then lost my mind.

Sorry/thank you @mark-sever! Please accept this humble offering.

Edwin Payne and Charles Rowland went to St Hilarion's school together from 1913-1917.

Charles was small, skinny, brown and bullied but scrappy. A fixer, a dreamer, a protector, an optimist. Edwin adored him, and stood up for him as best he could. They were inseparable. But Edwin became an army officer, just like his father, and went off to war.

They wouldn't let Charles follow him, not at that weight, not with those lungs. But he kept trying to enlist, he demanded a chance, and they saw how hard he fought, how he could be the face of modern, progressive Britain... if he wore a mask. If he submitted to experimental treatments, if he did as he was told and smiled and didn't talk back and didn't think for himself. Well, Charles could do some of those things, and charm his way out of the rest.

The serum they gave him made him supernaturally strong. The costume they gave him made him feel like a right knob.

It was ridiculous, posing for posters and photographs. Pretending to punch out the Kaiser night after night on stages all around Britain.

But while entertaining the troops he finally got the chance to see Edwin again. To rescue him, in fact, as Edwin had once rescued him from a severe beating and near-drowning.

Edwin hadn't been doing so great without Charles. A young officer, fresh out of school, he'd seen the reality of war, has lost men and had to make awful choices. Edwin was filthy and exhausted, captured by the Germans and at his wit's end.

He almost didn't recognise Charles, standing tall and strong. But in the course of the rescue Edwin had fallen. To his death, it was assumed.

Charles wanted to follow him, to search for him. He almost had him back, he was desperate to find him, even if all he could find was a body. But the army wouldn't let him. He'd proven himself in battle and the Empire needed him.

Until they didn't. They put Charles, and the whole super-soldier project, on ice. They literally froze him. He had been an interesting experiment, but the war was over and won, and he was... angry, uppity, mouthy, more trouble than he was worth...

They don't have the technology or the interest in unfreezing him safely until nearly a century later.

He's delighted to learn Britain's no longer a fucking empire, for a start. India's a republic... although an awful gash has been carved through it, which is fucked. Everyone he knew and loved is dead, so that's not great either. But the food's a lot better, and the internet seems brills. Video games, love those. Cricket's still a thing, that's nice. He's got a lot of music to catch up on, and new friends to make. Everyone likes him eventually.

He becomes a hero again. And then one day there's some creepy silent cyborg-looking bloke in a mask trying to kill him, and very nearly succeeding. But there's something familiar about those grey eyes.

It turns out Edwin didn't die. The enemy found him, bleeding, delirious from fever, his arm shattered. But young, healthy, disciplined, a proper British officer. An asset. America had joined the war, they were desperate for any advantage they could get. They tortured him and brainwashed him. They improved him with hardware and their own serum. They used him as a weapon and a tool. And, after the war was over and lost, he was traded from owner to owner, whoever wanted him, whoever could afford him. He lost track of time. He lost himself, utterly.

Until the day he saw Charles again. When he saw the recognition and anguish in those beautiful brown eyes, and began to wake, as if from a decades-long nightmare. To climb out of Hell.

It's like freezing all over again, when Charles finally sees Edwin's face. All his fondest memories of his life before had featured that face. He was used to seeing those bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought, those grey eyes sparkling with mischief, those lips curved in a fond smile.

He's never seen that face so expressionless, so empty, so devoid of hope and warmth. Not back when he had been Charles' best and only friend. Before he'd left him to... well, not die, clearly.

The horror hits. Edwin doesn't know him any more. What's he been through? What's been done to him? Charles should have never stopped looking. What was he doing instead? Stuck in storage. Fucking napping. Playing video games. (Saving the world).

None of it means anything without Edwin.

Edwin... the boy who hadn't liked rough-housing or team sports let alone real violence, who had patched up Charles' injuries, who had loved learning languages and sketching, who had been clever and ruthless but only at fencing and chess... had been forced to fight, to kill. The war never ended for him.

This man is a stranger. He kills with brutal efficiency. Charles doesn't recognise him.

But he wishes he'd been there, a shield between Edwin and whoever made him like this, whoever beat the kindness out of him and bent him to their will. The next best thing will be finding out who that was and reducing them to bloody pulp for it.

There's no version of this where he loses Edwin again. He'll get his best friend back or die trying.

MCU!AU with Charles as Captain America and Edwin as Winter Soldier

Charles thought that Edwin, his Edwin, was dead. But there he is, right in front of him, breathing and very much alive. But he doesn’t smile, his eyes are icy-cold, like Edwin doesn't recognise him, like Charles is a stranger. “Edwin?” he whispers softly. “Who the hell is Edwin?”

[vashs-turtleneck]

Muted.

✧ Nimble-fingered bonus chapter.

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) Summary: A teasing night on a rickety old couch with your beloved typhoon. Pairing: Vash the Stampede x f!reader Word count: 2.8k Content: smut, pwp, Vash swearing a lot, teasing and possessive Vash, finger sucking, p in v sex, silly little ending. A/N: technically a bonus chapter with some similarities to the first one, but you don't really need to read the first one to get what's happening. also vash's hands continue to give me unholy thoughts :3

18+ ONLY, MDNI!

“Haah… That’s it, mayfly. Just like that. Keep going.” 

His shirt and jacket discarded, tossed somewhere on the floor along with all your clothes. His pants are pulled down to his knees, just enough to give you full access to his cock as his muscular thighs cushion your own, bouncing yourself on his lap, filling yourself over and over again with his throbbing cock. 

Vash shuts his eyes tightly and lets his head fall back against the couch, letting you see the bob of his Adam's apple as he moans and groans out loudly into the room. His angelic noises mix with the sound of the withered couch groaning beneath the two of you, feeling the whole thing shift and creak with your combined weight. 

“F-Fuck, mayfly. So fucking good," he hisses, his palms planted firmly on your hips as he helps you up and down on him, blunt fingernails digging deliciously into your soft flesh, just enough to leave little red marks that you know you’ll be wearing proudly for the coming days.

You lean forward slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his neck. 

“You’re being too loud, love. We’re gonna wake the whole place up if you don’t keep it down.”

With an almost frustrated growl, Vash raises his head and meets your gaze, those baby blues half-lidded and filled with a deep, almost feral lust you don’t often see from the outlaw. He’s hungry tonight, completely starved for you and eager to get his fill of your body, and you’re more than happy to give it to him. 

“Not like I can help it. You’re so– ah! – so fucking tight. You’re killing me here!”

“I just don't want anyone teasing us about this in the morning, or a noise complaint,” you say back softly, trying to soothe the typhoon, but gentle words aren’t enough to stop an oncoming storm. 

Vash puffs out a deep sigh. You’re right of course, he knows that, but you’re making it damn hard to care about the noise he’s making. His eyes fix themselves on you, on your body, wanting to take it all in, wanting to touch every part of you, to see every inch of you. Watching the sway of your hips as you ride his cock, admiring the softness of your thighs, the bounce of your breasts, until those piercing eyes fall back to your face, a mischievous glint hiding behind his stare. Your body is perfect, like it was tailored just for him to explore.

“Then we better find a way to keep my mouth occupied." 

Vash’s hands run up the sides of your body, tracing your curves until he stops at your breasts. With his prosthetic palm, he gently squeezes your breast and rolls his thumb over your nipple. He brings his mouth to your perked little bud, kissing and lavishing his tongue over the tender skin before carefully catching your nipple between his teeth and pulling back lightly, only to dive back in and suck it into his scorching mouth. His other hand falls to the globe of your ass, squeezing your cheek as you bounce yourself on his cock. You feel his hand leave you before you feel a firm slap, making you yelp, gripping tightly and digging his fingers into the plush fat of your butt. He pulls and pushes you down onto his lap, forcing you into a slightly faster rhythm that has your cunt pulsing around him. 

“You are divine, angel. You know that? Makes me want to let the whole inn know that you’re mine," he groans as he parts his lips from your stiffened peak and keeps his eyes fixed on the way your face twists with pleasure. 

"You like it, don't you? Like the idea of everyone knowing who you belong to?" Vash grins at you as he feels you begin to writhe against him and your back arch from the sensation. His hand grasps your breast even tighter, his cold fingers massaging your nipple, squeezing it between his thumb and index finger, twisting ever so slightly and causing your moans to ring out in the room.

"N-No," you whimper weakly, but you feel your own body betraying you.

"Liar," he growls against the shell of your ear. “I can feel your pussy squeezing me, mayfly. I know you like it.”

He goes back to focusing on your nipple, and the way his tongue swirls over the tip of your breast has your breath catching, an uncontrollable series of pleasured whimpers escaping you as you fall victim to his loving abuse.

“V-a-ah-sh!”

His lips part from your nipple one more time with a quiet pop, running his tongue along his bottom lip and collecting the excess saliva around his mouth as he chuckles hoarsely at you. 

"You don't know what you're doing to me, sweet thing. When you whimper and moan my name like that, it just makes me want you even more," the outlaw purrs before he slaps your ass again, forcing out a groan out from deep in your lungs, your nails digging into the strong muscles of his broad chest.

“Look who’s the loud one now,” Vash teases, a wolfish grin splitting his face, clearly pleased with himself for making you lose control of your own voice. “Thought you were worried about someone hearing us?”

“It’s your fault,” you whine out with a pout, frankly a bit embarrassed that he can make you lose yourself so easily. 

“Hm,” he hums, that mischievous glint in his eyes ever present. “We better keep your mouth occupied too then.”

Before he can even give you a chance to respond, the fingers of his warm and calloused hand are already tracing your lips, kindly warning you before he shoves his two long middle and ring fingers into the warm channel of your mouth.

“Suck." His voice is so soft, yet his command is firm and clear.

Without pause, your tongue swirls around the long digits, hollowing your cheeks and inviting them in with your soft lips, rewarding you with moans from the humanoid typhoon. You can’t stop yourself from whimpering and moaning still, completely drowning in the pleasure of having both your mouth and pussy filled with nothing but him. His attempt at keeping you quiet is backfiring. 

“You’re still so loud. Having a hard time controlling yourself, mayfly? You're so cute," he coos, and you don’t miss the teasing tone behind his soft tone. “It's such a shame, really. You know I love hearing you, but I can't say I don't also love putting that little mouth of yours to good use.”

Vash leans himself back slightly, just enough to give him a full view of your cunt engulfing his cock over and over. He can see all of you, feel all of you�� the way your pussy drools down his shaft and coats his thighs and balls with your mixed juices, the pretty white ring of cream you're leaving at the base of his dick, the subtle twitch of your hips as your core clenches around him. Then his eyes travel up to your chest, shamelessly watching your tits bounce with every little movement of your hips. His eyes don’t leave your breasts as he bucks up into you, pushing his cock so deep into you that you swear you feel the tip press a hot kiss to your cervix. The feeling makes you yelp in a mix of pleasure and surprise, jolting your body and making your breasts jiggle even more in front of his prying eyes. 

“Fuck. Look at you. Taking me all the way in. Good girl," Vash praises and smiles in a sort of reverence and satisfaction. “So beautiful, mayfly. So fucking perfect for me, just for me.”

His prosthetic leaves your breast, trailing down to the apex of your sex and rolling his thumb over your clit. The feeling sends a shiver up your spine, mewling desperately against the fingers in your mouth. Those long digits glide in and out, following the rhythm of your hips, teasingly pressing against your tongue and muffling the sounds of your sweet cries.

"That's my girl," Vash says quietly and shakily, his lips sliding along your jawline and peppering your face with tender kisses, his fingers massaging and pinching the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. His own hips start bucking against you, pushing his cock deeper inside you with each thrust. His tongue moves to your neck now, his teeth biting into it softly as he feels you moan out more. Your hips start to stutter against his, losing your rhythm under his merciless onslaught of pleasure.

“Ah ah ah, don’t get too distracted now, angel. Be a good girl and keep riding me,” he whispers against the column of your throat, chastising you and praising you all at the same time. “Focus, love. You've got this.”

Your hands clench against his chest, desperately trying to keep it together despite everything he’s doing to make you fall apart. You squeeze your eyes closed, willing every part of yourself into being good for him, steadying your hips and falling back into that euphoric rhythm that has you seeing white behind your eyelids. He’s being so good to you, after all. You want to be good for him, too. 

“That’s it. Fuck– yeah, that’s it. So damn good for me.”

He pulls his head back, keeping his eyes focused on his lap again, watching how your pussy sucks him back in every time you pull away.

“Squeezing me so damn tight. You’re so close, I can feel it,” he growls, and with one more gentle glide of his fingers over your tongue, he pops them out of your mouth, letting his hand fall to the plush of your thigh and giving it a firm squeeze. “Why don’t you let the whole inn know who’s making you feel so good, sweetheart?”

He’s right, of course. You’re not going to last much longer, and you can feel the heat rising to your face at his request. Such a dirty request from such a sweet man, but you’re in no position to deny him. 

“Vash…” you say in muted tones, and as soon as his name leaves your lips, you know that’s not what he wanted, a disapproving “tsk” leaving his lips as he clicks his tongue. 

“Louder. Who do you belong to?” he asks you again, carefully pinching your clit and making his desires loud and clear– he won’t let you off the hook that easily. 

“Vash,” you say again, a bit louder this time.

“Look at me," he breathes out, his scorching breath ghosting over your already burning skin. 

Your eyes flutter open, and at first, you can barely focus on him, your mind hazy from your oncoming orgasm. Those piercing sapphire eyes don’t so much as flicker from yours, regarding you fully and filled with nothing short of complete reverence, flooded with a primal, uncontrollable desire and an all-encompassing love for you – raging, yet serene. 

So this is what it feels like to be in the eye of the storm. 

“One more time, angel. Nice n’ loud. Make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

His face is close enough to yours that you can feel his lips brushing against your own with every word he speaks, his fingers pressing firmly and circling your clit, turning you into a trembling mess on his own lap. 

“Vash!”

You cry out in your euphoric haze, letting yourself fall into the raging waves of ecstasy wrecking your body. Your core clenches down on Vash’s cock in your climax, your body begging for him to give you everything he has, just as you give yourself to him. 

“Y-Yeah– like that. Just like that, angel.”

He moans out in tandem with you, easing the pressure of his fingers against your sensitive bud and guiding you through your orgasm.

“A-Aah feels so good. S-Shit– I-I can’t– ’m coming!”

And with a sweet, broken cry of your name leaving his lips and echoing off the thin walls – a declaration to the heavens themselves of his love for you – his own hips stall, a delicious heat running down his spine as he spills himself completely into you, painting your insides white with his hot cum and leaving you feeling more full than you thought possible. He exhales a shuddering breath and eases the tight grip on your body, letting you slump down against him.

“I love you. I love you so much," Vash says breathlessly, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you to his chest, letting his face fall to your shoulder and resting his head against yours before peppering the side of your face with soft kisses. “You’re so good. Always so perfect for me, baby. I love you.”

You hum wistfully as he showers you with his tender affections, his touch so delicate and careful that it’s almost hard to believe this is the same man who was mercilessly teasing you and lovingly rearranging your guts mere moments ago.

“You okay, mayfly?”

You nod. “I’m okay, love,” you say back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, thighs still trembling against his own and shaky breaths mixing with his.

“Do you wanna keep going? Or do you need a minute? I can get you some water.” His flesh and bone hand comes up to cradle your face, tilting your head so he can kiss along your face the way he wants to. He’s barely recovered himself, and here he is concerning himself with your well-being. 

“I can– I want to keep going,” you reply, leaning your head into the palm of his warm hand.

“So eager, mayfly,” Vash chuckles against your cheek. “Good, ‘cause I’m not quite done with you yet,” he mutters hoarsely as his kisses turn more passionate again, his mouth focusing on the side of your neck, those sharp teeth gently nipping at your skin. “What do you say I get you off my lap and I bend you over this couch, huh baby?”

He already has you moaning again. He knows your body better than he knows his own, and he knows exactly what buttons to press to get you squirming on his lap again. Your response is a subtle roll of your hips, angling yourself so you can sink down onto him completely, and you can feel the groan he lets out vibrating in his chest. He may know your buttons, but you know his too. 

He pulls back from your neck, sapphire eyes drinking in the delicious sight of you. His lips part, but before he can speak, the sound of your heavy breaths is suddenly accompanied by a startling snap.

*Crack*

“Heh?” His eyes widen in confusion, your bodies stilling for a moment before you hear it again.

*Crack*

The surface beneath the two of you suddenly gives out, Vash’s hands instinctively wrapping around you and cradling the back of your head as you both fall back into the broken couch, its wooden supports having snapped under all the pressure. 

“WHAAGH– Eek! Ouch ouch ouch!” Vash whines from beneath you as he absorbs most of the fall.

“Oh god, are you okay? Are you hurt!?” you exclaim, cupping his face in your palms, your eyes darting between him and the wreckage surrounding you both now. 

No way that just happened.

“Ehh… I’ll be fine. My butt might be a little sore later though,” he groans, trying to sit up slightly. “You're not hurt, are you?”

“No, not at all. I'm fine. I had a big strong plant man to keep me safe.”

“What a relief," he sighs.

You two are awkwardly positioned now, Vash somewhat stuck in the wreckage of the broken couch as he keeps you safely planted on his lap, and you can feel his dick still twitching inside you.

“Hold on. Let me get off you. I'll help you up,” you say as you try to pry yourself off him. You try to find a surface to grab and pull yourself off of him, being careful with the bits of old, broken wood surrounding the both of you.

Yeah, this is gonna cost a pretty penny. That paired with how you just cried out his name so loud that it absolutely carried through the thin walls of the inn has you flushing a deep red. There’ll be no hiding what the two of you were doing when you have to tell reception about their broken couch. 

“Mayfly..?” Vash mutters, his big blue eyes looking up at you with a sheepish look on his face, his lower lip wobbling and sticking out in an adorable little pout. 

“Yeah? What’s wrong?”

He has tears forming in the corners of his eyes, cheeks flushed in… embarrassment?

“I think… I think there’s a splinter in my ass.”

a/n: picturing Vash with a little bandaid on his butt. Also guess Vash and couches don’t mix well (sorry)

divider.

[vashs-turtleneck]

Softer Still

Rating: G

Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader Summary: In the stillness of the night, Vash quietly lingers on the part of you that means the most to him. Content: fluff, reader is described as having gained weight and having insecurities because of it. Word Count: 1k

If someone asked him what his favorite part of you was, Vash thinks he’d probably smile, rub the back of his neck, maybe laugh a little too softly before trying to answer.

Your eyes, maybe. The way they shine when they find him across a room, like he’s gravity and you’re happy to be pulled in. How they soften the second they land on him, as if the world fades a little in favor of his presence. Or maybe your smile—that bright, unfiltered joy that takes up your whole face and never fails to melt something inside him. Wide, genuine, the kind that crinkles the corners of your eyes. He treasures it like starlight. Especially the way it falters, just slightly, when he compliments you and you go all bashful, hiding behind your hands or ducking your head away like he can't see you. He’s a little weak for that too.

Of course, there’s the obvious stuff too. He’s noticed the curve of your hips, the sway of your walk, the way your shirt fits just right in certain places, and he can’t stop the way his gaze drifts down you when you saunter away. He loves all of it, genuinely.

But when he’s being honest with himself, when it’s quiet like this, with you dozing away at his side, your body warm and relaxed against him, he knows none of those things are what he cherishes most.

It’s this. Right here.

The soft weight of you leaning into him. The gentle pudge at your middle where his hand rests, rising and falling with every slow breath. The way your shirt lifts just slightly, revealing a sliver of skin that most people would overlook. 

He doesn’t. He never does.

He notices every inch.

You didn’t always look like this. When he first met you, you were thinner. You’d brush off meals, say you weren’t hungry, or forget to eat at all when things got too hectic. Your clothes hung a little loose, and you moved like someone who was always carrying an invisible weight, but never the kind that showed.

Now... Now you’re softer. Rounder in places. You fill his arms in a way that makes his chest ache with something he doesn’t quite know how to name.

He knows you’re a little insecure about it. He’s caught the way your hands tug at your clothes sometimes, how your gaze lingers in the mirror longer than necessary. You’ve made a few quiet, self-deprecating comments, probably thinking he didn’t notice.

But he did.

And he’d said something simple in return, something honest. But it didn’t feel like enough. Because how could he explain the feeling this part of you evokes in him?

It’s not just desire, though yes, he finds you breathtaking. It’s not just affection, though there’s that too—endless, aching affection that coils in his chest every time he sees you smile.

No, it’s something else.

This softness, this proof of rest, of nourishment, of healing, it means more to him than he knows how to say. It’s not about how it looks. Not really. He would love you at any size, in any shape, in every version of yourself. Nothing would ever change the way his heart beats for you. His love has never been conditional, never tied to the surface.

It’s not about beauty. It’s about what it represents.

It’s a quiet testament to something tender and hard-won. That you're eating regularly. Sleeping properly. Laughing more. Letting yourself exist without fear or guilt or punishment. Letting yourself be cared for—by him, or by yourself. That’s what makes this so precious to him. Not the look of it, but the meaning behind it.

It means you’re not going hungry. It means you’ve let your body breathe, let him care for you, maybe.

And all he wanted in those moments of bitter self-deprecation, was to cup your face in his hands and tell you—

This is my favorite part.

He wishes he could explain it in a way that makes sense to you—that every time his hand runs over your side and finds that little bit of pudge, it settles something in him. He craves it. He knows how much the world can take from people. He knows how easily it strips joy away, replaces softness with sharpness, with edges made for defense. He’s seen it in so many others. He’s felt it in himself.

And when he sees you happy, when he sees you full of light and laughter and appetite, it fills his chest with something so deep and profound he doesn’t have words for it. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s relief. Maybe it’s all the things he thought he didn’t deserve, and yet here you are.

He rests his head against your shoulder, arms wrapped around your middle, and just holds you. Not to protect, not to fix. Just to be close. To feel your warmth against his chest, to feel the rise and fall of your breath under his palm.

This change. This weight. It means you're eating. It means you're letting yourself be. It means you're not running anymore, not just surviving on scraps of time and energy.

It means, maybe, that you’re letting him love you, and that you’re starting to love yourself, just a little, too.

He’s loved a lot of things in his life, but this—this gentle, growing joy he feels when he sees you well—is something precious and worth savouring.

He lets his thumb brush over the softness at your side, slow and soft and reverent. You shift in your sleep, nuzzling closer, and Vash smiles.

Yeah, if someone asked him, he could say eyes, smile, lips, all of that. They’d be right. They’d be true.

But his real answer?

The extra weight.

Because it's not just softness. It’s not just physical.

It’s proof.

Proof that you’re alive. That you’re healing. That you’ve chosen this—him—even in the quiet, vulnerable places where no one else looks.

And to him, there’s nothing more beautiful than that.

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[vashs-turtleneck]

Wrapped Up in You

Rating: G

Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader Summary: Vash stumbles back into your shared inn after a night of drinking, looking for your attention. Content: fluff, a hint of angst, yearning, alcohol, non-consensual cuddling, vomiting Word Count: 2.1k A/N: I haven't written in forever and I kinda hate this but if I don't post it now, I think I never will sooo

The hallway is dimly lit, a flickering overhead light casting shadows along the peeling walls, and Vash’s boots clack loudly against the old floorboards as he unceremoniously stumbles down the corridor, his unsteady steps betraying the extent of how much he’s had to drink this evening. The sound echoes in the otherwise quiet building–an old, somewhat shabby inn at the edge of town. It’s a temporary haven, a place to rest before he’s inevitably on the move again, and though the room may not be much, it’s become a small comfort.

He reaches the door to the room he shares with you, fumbling in his pockets for the key. It slips from his grasp a couple of times before he manages to unlock the door, grumbling something under his breath as he pushes it open, stepping in and swinging it shut with a soft thud behind him.

“I’m back!” Vash calls out, his voice a little louder than he means it to be. He kicks off his boots and shoves them aside, his eyes scanning the room. The warm light from the lamp casts a soft glow, but something is missing. He frowns, his brows furrowing. 

This isn’t right. Usually, you’re here, waiting for him, with that warm embrace and the gentle scolding that always follows his drunken returns. He may always be on the run, but having a person to come back to every night makes even the dingiest of hotels feel like home. 

But tonight? The room is eerily quiet. Too quiet. No greeting. No teasing. No reassuring voice telling him everything is okay.

A small wave of disappointment washes over him. He’d been looking forward to it—you—even the usual sighs of exasperation and tired mutters about how late he’s come back, how terribly drunk he is. But now, the silence makes the space feel even more hollow.

Quite frankly, he’s missing the hug he was expecting to get, and maybe even the scolding a little bit.

“Mayfly? You here?” Vash calls out again, and his voice carries a note of concern that he can’t quite mask.

Did you not come back? Are you still out? Maybe you went out for something, or just stepped out for a walk. But the longer he stands there, the more the quiet of the room settles in, uneasiness gnawing at him.

His mind races, and finally, he drags himself across the room, and luckily his eyes fall on you, finding you curled up in one of the two beds. Relief floods through him, feeling the tension melt from his shoulders, hazy sapphire eyes tracing over your peaceful form. He's happy to see you sleeping. You shouldn't be staying up waiting for him, especially considering how late it is, but the sentiment is quickly followed by a slight twinge of frustration, as selfish as he knows that is. If you were awake, he’d be getting the attention he craves. Hugs, scolding, anything, really. But instead, you’re asleep like an angel, depriving him of all the attention he’s been longing for.

How rude. He had a whole list of annoying drunk antics he was going to put you through, and now he has to settle for watching you sleep? What a cruel, cruel fate for the Humanoid Typhoon.

His eyes linger on your face, soft in the light, every detail etched into his memory, as if he could never forget the way your features softened in sleep. His gaze mindlessly falls on how your lips part slightly, like a subtle invitation, and he swallows hard.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This wasn’t supposed to be something he could yearn for so deeply. You’re his friend, his closest companion, and yet, something about seeing you like this makes him want to reach out and hold you close and tell you things he’s never had the courage to say out loud, even when you’re wide awake and in front of him. But, of course, he doesn't. He just stands there, quietly aching, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest, afraid that if he ever did cross that line, your inevitable goodbye would hurt far worse than any other pain that could etch his flesh. 

He watches you, hesitating, unsure whether to poke your cheeks and wake you up just so that he can see that adorable, annoyed pout you do, or simply enjoy the sight a little longer, but the thought of being close to you, feeling the comfort of your presence, overpowers any rationality he usually has. He was expecting at least a hug when he got back, after all, and he's too far gone to think clearly.

With a quiet sigh, he sheds his coat, tossing it haphazardly onto the second, empty bed. He turns off the flickering lamp and lifts the blanket to slip beside you, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber. He settles in behind you, curling around you with surprising tenderness and care for someone so drunk. As much as he loves the sound of your voice, your scolding might ruin his plans of snuggling up against you. His warm arm wraps around your middle, pulling you gently against him, and immediately the soft rise and fall of your chest calms him in a way all the alcohol from the night never could. The rhythmic softness of your breathing helps to clear his mind, like the haze from the booze is lifting, and he’s left with something more real, a warmth far greater than the feeling of whiskey burning his throat.

This is okay… isn't it? You two have cuddled a few times before. Albeit, it was more for preserving body heat out in the cold than it was for the mere closeness, but this room is awfully cold.

And he's plenty warm.

He can keep you warm.

His cheeks feel embarrassingly warm, that's for certain, and it's not just from all the booze. He tries to reassure himself, telling himself it’s fine. He’s just keeping you warm, but even his drunk brain knows that's not the whole truth.

He wants to be close to you, to hold onto this feeling, just a little longer. And so, with your steady breathing in his ear and the soft hum of the night surrounding him, Vash allows himself to relax. He's careful not to disturb you, but somehow, even in your sleep, you manage to snuggle closer, turning toward him, as if you're instinctively seeking him, or maybe you're just trying to warm up. Either way, he can’t help but smile at the way you nuzzle deeper into his chest, your face soft with sleep as his fingertips trace a delicate, absentminded pattern on your arm, each movement slower than the last, as if savoring the fleeting moment. He wonders if you realize just how much these small moments mean to him, how much he craves them. How, despite the teasing and the lighthearted distance he often keeps between you, this quiet closeness, this simple peace, feels like everything.

But the ache in his chest lingers, because even in this serenity, he knows things are more complicated than he lets on. How could they not be, when all he wants is to stay like this, knowing that tomorrow he’ll likely retreat into his usual joking demeanor, hiding everything that feels too fragile to say out loud?

Though before he can delve too much in the thought, you stir, and your voice, still heavy with sleep, breaks through the silence.

“Vash?”

He hums, his breath warm against your hair as he tightens his hold on you, like he’s anticipating you trying to pull away. “Mayfly~” he says in a cheerful sing-song tone that does little to hide the slurring of his words.

“Did you… pass out on me?” You mumble, half-dazed as you blink and try to focus your sleepy eyes, and seeing the tired look on your face brings a warmth to his cheeks that definitely isn’t from the alcohol.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh, take over your bed. Must've accidentally gotten into the wrong one,” he lies blatantly.

“Accidentally, huh?” You groan in response, but don’t pull away. “And what’s that smell? Did you bring the bar home with you?”

Oop. He might be in for a scolding after all. 

“I may have had a few too many.” He replies, leaning his cheek on the top of your head. 

“You say that every time,” you mumble. “You're not gonna throw up on me this time, right?”

Vash cringes. “Are you going to hold that against me forever, mayfly?”

“Yes.”

Fair, actually. He can’t really blame you for that one.

"You can scold me all you want later, but I just need a little more of this before you tell me off, okay?” He says. “Besides, you always end up forgiving me anyway.”

You pull the covers up a little higher, trying to ward off the chill of the evening. He wishes you’d snuggle up closer to him instead.

“I just worry about you, Vash,” you say, your tone softer than it was before. “Don't like it when you come back so late, or when you drink so much.”

Oh. 

He doesn't want you to worry about him. He doesn't deserve that much, but knowing that you do… Well, that does something to his heart that he wasn't anticipating.

He's way too drunk for this right now.

“...Sorry,” he whispers, his arm carefully tugging you closer, holding you delicately like it's an apology, a way to somehow make up for the distress he causes you even when he's not around.

“Well,” you mutter again, but this time, there’s something more affectionate behind it. “You're lucky you're cute.”

"Mmh?" His voice is more awake now, and he's incredibly thankful that you can't see the way his cheeks flush in the dark. "Cute, huh? Tell me more, mayfly. What about handsome? Dashing, even?"

You crack one eye open, sending him a sleepy glare. "Enough, or I might really throw you out of this bed."

Vash groans in mock frustration. "Fine, fine, geez. You're no fun sometimes.”

“It's 2am, Vash. I don't usually have fun at 2am,” You quip back at him, and if the exasperation in your tone is anything to go by, he's starting to get under your skin, something he was looking forward to when he got back this evening.

“Closer to 3am, actually,” Vash corrects you very matter-of-factly, and he knows you don't appreciate his smartass tone by how you're suddenly pinching and pulling his cheek.

“Yowch!! Ow ow okay okay sorry!” He exclaims, pulling the soft skin of his cheek out from between your fingers. “How about breakfast? I’ll buy us both something in the morning to make up for all the trouble."

“It’s your turn to buy breakfast anyway, dummy,” you murmur, your eyelids fluttering closed again. "How about next time, maybe less bar and more... water."

"Deal. I’ll be on my best behaviour from now on," he says back, his voice softer now as he tucks his head against yours, keeping you nice and close. 

You snort. “We'll see about that.”

Your presence wraps around him like a soft blanket, and for once, Vash lets himself sink into it completely. He can feel you against him, the steady comfort of being so close, and it feels like enough, knowing he does have someone waiting for him, wanting him to come back safe every night. The weight of the world, the uncertainty of the future, all seem distant now, and he can pretend things are simpler. Just for tonight, he can forget everything else and let the simplicity of this moment be his only reality.

Until a few minutes of silence pass between you two, and he suddenly feels his stomach churn… and the room spins a bit more than it should.

“M-May…fly,” Vash groans, his tone hoarse and pained.

Your head shoots up at that, no doubt recognizing that tone in his voice, taking in the funny look on your companion's face. He sees your eyes go wide, feels you suddenly try to pull away, but his arm stays firmly wrapped around you despite knowing he should really be letting go, using that superhuman strength to keep you there when he really shouldn't be.

Everyone likes having someone around when they're not feeling too good, after all.

“Vash. Vash, let go! No, please! Not on me! Not again please!!!”

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