peachy-posy

[peachy-posy]

what writing trigun fanfiction does to a mf's search history

[peachy-posy]

guilt

summary: you're looking for an end to your misery and guilt, but find healing instead. pairing: dante sparda x succubus!reader | game-oriented warnings: reader has a death wish and suffers from meltdowns, unprotected p in v, fighting sex?? swearing, descriptions of reader's demonic form, afab!reader, fighting for dominance, slightly sub!reader, some aftercare w/c: 5.1k

a/n: aight, here it is! i hope y'all don't mind a bit of build up lol

You were created with one purpose to fulfil — weaken humanity.

And you did. For centuries, you crept into the dreams of soldiers, doctors, priests, kings, disturbing their peace with your beauty, syphoning their life force with your body. You ruined marriages, impaired armies, even, all in the name of the King of the Underworld. But not without guilt.

See, when Mundus selected you for his demonic crusade, he overlooked one particular flaw that you managed to hide quite well — compassion. Not that you were the first demon to give a shit about humans, but you were one of the few who experienced shame so strong that you considered death to be a form of penance.

Only, death wouldn't have brought humanity any benefit. So, you ran away, slipped through a gate between the worlds and hid away for decades, until you were sure no demon was looking for you anymore. Inspired by Sparda's selflessness, you picked up odd jobs, helping the humans you once actively tried to destroy. You were a village teacher who disappeared, a military nurse who died on the battlefield, a firefighter who burned, a police officer who got shot — even if a body was never found — all while battling your own demons.

When you were born, you were born with a weakness, an insatiable, aching hunger for sex, an urge you needed to suppress and control. And it consumed you, like lava flowing through your veins that burned holes through your skin. Some days were easier. Others weren't, because when it rained, it poured, and you locked yourself inside of your bathroom, submerged in ice cold water just to stop the impulses from taking over. Your body, your real, demonic body, decorated with blood red scales, and a serpentine tail to match, with horns and slitted pupils, were harder to control when the urges hit, and you felt bad lying to your boss when you called in sick.

Because of your abstinence, the carnal cravings became frequent, more violent than ever before, and you knew the only way to go back to normal was to give in to them every once in a while, but you couldn't. You couldn't break the humans that took you in when you needed them the most. There were only two options left — to die, or to fuck.

You met with Enzo at the Bull's Eye Bar, hood over your head to hide the horns, gloves to hide the talons. You didn't take your sunglasses off, not wanting to scare the one man that knew the truth about you. He sat down next to you, but you quickly moved away, leaving one barstool between the two of you. The last thing you wanted was to rampage through the bar and kill him.

"I'm not afraid of you, kid. It's just a bad day." He tried to comfort you, but you shook your head.

"I think my time's up, Enzo." Your voice was meek and raspy.

"Don't be dramatic! Buy me a drink and let's talk about it."

You smiled at his optimism (and opportunism), accidentally flashing your fangs, and while you could tell Enzo was taken aback by them, he didn't leave. So, you bought him a drink and talked about it.

"I don't think I can take it anymore. Just being here makes me want to... jump your bones." You cringed at your own words.

"Who would've thought I still got it at my age?"

"It's not funny. You know that would kill you."

"I know." Enzo sighed. "Listen, I know a guy-"

"No. Absolutely not." You shook your head and sat up ready to leave.

"Sit down, girl. I'm not finished." He grabbed the glass full of ice-cold water that you ordered and splashed you with it.

"Why on Earth did you do that?" You froze, shocked by Enzo's behaviour.

"To cool you off. Did it work?"

"I- well- yeah, actually." You felt your body temperature go down.

"Good, now listen."

It was a stupid idea, but it was an idea nonetheless, better than the one you had, anyway. The red neon sign in front of you almost blinded your eyes, particularly the silhouette of the girl, but you walked closer to the building and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, you decided to push open the door, letting yourself in. Your heels clicked on the wooden floor as you wearily approached the front desk, with nothing but a rotary phone and the photo of a beautiful woman on it.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" Your voice echoed in the building, and you didn't dare to stray away from the desk.

"Shop's... closed."

Turning on your heels, you looked to your left to see a man with wet white hair sticking to his cheekbones, wearing nothing but a pair of leather trousers, beads of water dripping down his bare chest. God, he was stunning, and it did little to help your condition.

"I'm sorry, but I really need your help." You could barely breathe. "Enzo sent me."

"Still, shop's closed." He shrugged and walked past you towards the stairs. Underneath the landing was a white fridge, and the man opened it and grabbed himself a beer.

"Please, you're a devil hunter. Dante, right?"

"That I am."

"Good, because I need you to hunt one for me. Please." You begged him again, and after a few sips from his drink and careful consideration, he sat in his chair, feet propped on the antique desk.

"Alright, I'll bite. What am I hunting?"

You sighed, pulling down your hood and removing your sunglasses while your heart beats quickened.

"Me."

He paused drinking, blue eyes staring at you, and even though he was trying to hide it, you could tell he'd never seen the type of demon you were before. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you unbuttoned your trench coat, letting it fall down and pool at your feet, then took off the gloves. With each article of clothing you peeled off, more of your demonic nature was left exposed, but you had enough humanity in you to not strip all of your clothes. You wanted to die with dignity.

"Please be quick." Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt hot tears roll down your cheeks. You didn't want to die, not really, but you would be doing humans a favour if you did.

"Save your tears. Devils don't cry."

Dante was harsh with his words, but he was right — you didn't deserve that, you weren't human. But then, why were you afraid? Why did you feel centuries of guilt haunting you in your last moments? Why could you see the face of every man and woman you tormented in their sleep whenever you closed your eyes? Was that not human enough?

"I'm sorry, I can't help it." You said, eyes still shut and your fingers tugging at the hem of your dress.

"What kind of demon are you?" He asked, and you sighed.

"What difference does it make? You kill all kinds of demons, don't you?"

"Just curious." Dante nonchalantly said.

You opened your eyes, slitted pupils following him through the room. Was he stalling? Was he even the man Enzo recommended? You were hoping for a quick, clean death, not an interrogation.

"I'm the worst kind." You said, praying it would irk him, make Dante want to kill you faster. "The cowardly kind. The kind that shows up in your dreams and torments you, sucks the life out of you for sustenance, that makes men lose their minds. Not blood and gore, but pleasure and pain. And I am begging you to end my life."

"Why?"

"Why does it fucking matter?" Your voice lost its sweetness, now dark and low. "What matters is I hurt people, lots of people." You dropped down on your knees, lifting your dress inch by inch. "And I wanted to be like him, like Sparda, wanted to be good!" Your sharp talons clawed at the skin on your cheeks, leaving burning marks under them. "But I can't fight it anymore, it's eating me alive! Please, Dante, please do something!"

You were hysterical at that point, sobbing, screaming in pain, dripping with sweat. Dante found your eyes — full of both lust and grief — and your body shook spasmodically, like you were possessed by yourself.  Your hips rolled, thighs squeezed together while you tore the collar of your dress, wriggling, writhing in pain. So much pain. That was your penance.

He was genuinely shocked by the conflict within you, the battle you fought for God knows how long, and he could tell you regretted it. In fact, Dante pitied you.

"Kill me, kill me-" You choked on your words, throwing yourself at his feet. "Please, please, please-"

"I'm not gonna kill you." Dante stepped back, then crouched next to you, one hand placed on your shoulder.

You flinched and hissed at the man, his touch sending a wave of heat through your body, but you propped yourself on your elbows and pushed yourself back, as far away from him as possible, crawling into a corner. There was very little sanity left in your brain, and you eyed the door — you had to run again, or else you could have hurt him. Leaping towards the door, you found yourself caught by his arms, and he overpowered you with ease, holding you while you tried to fight him.

"Let me go!" Your fists slammed against his bare chest. "Please, I need to go, need to feed, need to fuck-"

Agony. You were in agony. Dante swept you off your feet, knocking the wind out of you as he threw you on his shoulder to carry you. You tried to put up a fight, tried to wrestle out of his grasp, but he was much, much stronger. Almost like he wasn't human at all. Dante practically dragged you to the bathroom, forcing you into the bathtub, despite your protests. But he was doing you a favour, really.

The cold water snapped you back to reality, even if it was momentary, and your convulsing body relaxed. Your breathing and heart beats slowed down, and you sighed, watching the tub fill with water. Dante opened the window, and the cool late-night breeze tickled your skin.

"How did you know about the temperature?" You whispered, too ashamed to even look at him.

"Hell's cold. Thought you might be homesick." Dante leaned against the edge of the bathtub and you snorted at his remark. "You got a name?"

"Y/N."

"Your real name." He folded his arms across his chest.

"I'm trying to forget it. Trying to die, too, but you're making it harder." You scoffed.

"Oh, yeah, not happening." Dante turned the tap off. "Enzo knows about you." It wasn't a question at all.

"Yeah, he believed I could change. So did I, but I guess I'm a demon through and through. Any reason why you didn't shoot me on the spot?"

"Eeeh." He shrugged. "Guess I saw potential in you. You're pretty weak, though."

"Gee, thanks, Dante." Your finger tapped on the surface of the water, creating small ripples.

"No, that's a good thing. It means I don't need to tie you up while I figure out a solution." He rubbed his chin, and your eyes followed his hand, stopping on his white stubble. Shit, he was a little too handsome for his own good.

"Not to be rude, but are you out of your mind? There is no solution, only death."

"But you don't want to die."

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Of course you didn't. But what choice did you have?

"How long until your next... meltdown?"

"I don't know, a week? Two? They're becoming more frequent and less... bearable." You shivered, and Dante stepped away to bring you a towel.

"Anything else I need to know?" He helped you stand up in the tub.

"This is awkward, and contradictory, but feeding helps me regain control."

"Feeding?" He rose a brow.

"You know what I mean."

"I really don't."

"You do, and I don't wanna say it." You snatched the towel from him and dabbed it on your skin.

"The first step is acceptance. Don't be a prude, it doesn't suit you." Dante closed the window while you stepped out of the bathtub, water dripping down the tiled floor.

"What, are you a psychiatrist? Fine, it's sex! I need to have sex!" You said that a bit too loudly. "There, happy?"

"Well, it definitely makes it easier." He closed the gap between the two of you, backing you up into the bathroom corner.

"You're crazy. It'll kill you."

He laughed. Dante full on laughed in your face while you stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Believe me, it'll take more than that to kill me, princess. But, by all means, if you have a better idea, spit it out."

"I can't, I'm not ready." You shook your head.

"Bold of you to say that. You know, considering you're a sex demon and all." Dante's harsh observation stung you, and again, tears fell.

"You're an asshole." You whimpered like a wounded dog. "A first-class asshole. You don't even know how hurtful that was. You don't even know me."

"Am I wrong?"

"Yes! Yes, you are! I have to kill to survive. Do you know how fucked up that is? I can't believe Enzo sent me here. I'm leaving." You pushed him away with all the strength you could muster and opened the bathroom door.

"If you leave, you'll end up hurting someone. Or yourself." Dante said, and you froze.

Maybe he was right, maybe he could help. He did overpower you, and humans couldn't really do that. You spent too much time away from Hell to keep up to date with the news, but you heard rumours of half-demons. Sparda's offsprings in particular.

"Who are you?" You turned to look at him.

"Just someone who's not so different from you. Stay and find out. Or leave, and I'll have to hunt you."

He knew how to bargain.

"Can I at least have some dry clothes?"

His shirt was big on you, swallowing your entire body in it, but it was comfortable, and most importantly, dry. Dante offered you a beer, but you politely declined — alcohol riled you up. He offered you a spare room in his strange shop, and you locked yourself inside of it, refusing to sleep. Your hunger wasn't just physical — it transcended into the realm of dreams, and you didn't want to torment the man who wanted to help you. But he was kind enough not to pressure you into sleeping with him, even if deep down you knew that was the only way to keep you sane.

When you were mentally stable, Dante taught you how to shoot and fight, and when you lost the plot, he forced you into the bathroom, hosing you down with ice cold water. When he left for missions, you begged him to chain you up and lock you in your room, and when he came back, he brought you back to reality. But it was becoming worse than ever. The weeks between your outbursts turned into days, and you were harder to handle each time. Still, Dante didn't even try to convince you to give in. If anything, he admired your stubbornness.

It was late at night when the devil hunter came back from his mission, and the first thing he did was to run upstairs and check on you. Dante turned around on the hallway, stopping when he saw the door to your room wide open and empty. The chains that were supposed to bound you while he was gone were broken, making him think that it wasn't you that somehow escaped, but that someone, or something, broke in. A quick scan around the room and Dante concluded that there was no sign of trespassing — the window of your room was locked from the inside, and so was the front door. Nothing was different, not even the claw marks on the floor.

He frantically checked every room upstairs, calling out your name, asking where you were, but before he went downstairs, Dante stopped at the top of the staircase. He didn't check his bedroom.

His hand hovered over the doorknob and he slowly turned it, quietly pushing it open. Even with the lights off, Dante knew you were there, the outline of your body barely visible in the dim moonlight. He flicked the light switch, and there you were, sprawled on his bed in a torn shirt that left very little to his imagination. But something wasn't right. You weren't tormented by that insatiable hunger, weren't convulsing, you just looked at him through thick lashes with those slitted pupils that he came to both love and hate.

"You're here." Dante tilted his head, one hand close to his gun. Just in case.

"I am." You purred, rolling on your side, your serpentine tail coiling around your ankle.

"Why are you in my room?"

"I was drawn to it. Well, to your scent." You simply shrugged, and he couldn't understand why you were so calm, so docile. Unless...

"Have you fed?" Dante stepped closer, gun now in his hand.

"Mmm, wouldn't you like to know?" You flashed your fangs and fixed him with your eyes, like a viper assessing its prey. "What are you gonna do, shoot me?"

Damn it. You really had to go and fuck everything up. But when he took another step, he could hear, no, feel your heart thumping against your ribcage, too fast for how calm you were trying to appear. Then he saw the beads of sweat on your skin, and the claw marks on your neck, the hair strands clinging to your talons, the wound on your lower lip, and the tears welling up in your eyes. He saw how you hurt yourself for fear of hurting others.

"For a demon, you're a pretty horrible liar." He tossed his gun on the table next to his bed, and you wailed in pain, unable to pretend anymore.

You understood two things in the months you spent with Dante: that he wasn't fully human, and that he wasn't going to give up on you. Yet it didn't make yielding any easier. The last time you fed was at least a century ago. Even if Dante did let you feed off of him, there was no guarantee it would help since, well, he wasn't fully human. But he wasn't going to kill you, and you were running out of self-control.

Fuck.

"Let's get you in the bathtub." Dante's voice was gentler than ever.

"No."

"No? Y/N, I'm not gonna shoot you, that's final."

"I don't... I don't want you to shoot me." You sighed, chewing on your lower lip.

He didn't say anything, and instead waited for you to speak.

"Are you sure it won't kill you?"

"Positive." He nodded.

"Fine. Just know it won't be like with a human."

"What, are you gonna crawl on the ceiling or something?" Dante joked, but the look on your face told him you didn't find it amusing.

"I don't know, I can't remember what it's like."

Oh, you poor thing. He couldn't imagine going through centuries without feeling a touch, a kiss, even a hug. Not that he got laid often — women were drawn to him until he opened his dumb mouth, but it was their loss.

"It's alright, I'll take care of you if you'll let me." Dante promised, and you believed him.

Whether it was your desperation or his confidence, you didn't know, but you truly believed that he could help. You just really hoped he wouldn't fucking die in the process.

"Please." The word was quiet, weak, but full of desire. "I don't know how long until I fully lose it, Dante."

In the blink of an eye, he stood beside the bed, again proving that he wasn't human, and you slowly gained courage. Maybe it would be okay, maybe you would be okay. Your body reacted when you felt his presence, kneeling on the mattress to be at his level. Locking eyes, you swallowed the lump in your throat and placed your hands on his shoulders. He felt like fire under your fingertips, and it made you want to rip open his shirt, which you tried, but Dante wrapped his fingers around your wrists, holding them in place.

"Down, girl."

"I can't, I'm starving."

"I know." He pressed his lips onto your knuckles, so gentle that you thought you might spontaneously combust. "But you need to take it slowly. Don't let it control you."

You nodded, albeit the heat and pain between your legs killing you, and tried to calmly unbutton his shirt when he released your wrists. Your hands trembled, failing miserably with the first button, and while Dante pitied you, he refused to give you a hand. It was tough love, but it was necessary.

"Please, Dante, please help me, please fuck me, pleasepleaseplease-" Your incoherent babbling tempted him, it truly did, but it felt wrong. It felt like he would be taking advantage of your weakness. Men would have walked on corpses to hear a beautiful woman beg like that, and they would have been persuaded in a split second.

But Dante wasn't a normal man. You asked for help, and he would do just that, but not how you wanted. He placed two fingers onto your luscious lips, silencing your devilish tongue, and it worked, because you stopped and stared at him.

"You need to calm down." He said, and you nodded before opening your mouth to suck on his digits. "Not like that." Dante sighed, the leather trousers now very uncomfortable on him.

He didn't tell you to stop, though, because having something to suck on helped you focus on unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. God, you were something else, something equally beautiful and grotesque — a demon with a human heart.

His shirt fell on the floor, and Dante finally pulled his fingers out of your mouth. Your hands rushed to his belt, only for him to swat them away, telling you to relax, to enjoy the moment, but how could you enjoy it when your skin itched with impatience, while he had the patience of a saint?

"I need you, Dante, please. Have I not been good?" The pain in your voice mixed with the sorrowful look in your eyes had him weak, but he remained focused.

"So good." He growled, slowly losing his cool. There was demon blood inside of him, too, after all. "But I need you to stay calm, yeah? Can you do that for me?"

Another reluctant nod, even if you flesh was burning and your heart was racing. Taking a deep breath in, you dragged your sharp claws down Dante's chest, down his abdomen, past his V-line, and only then did he let you unbuckle his belt. You violently pulled it away, tossing it somewhere on the bed, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back and holding it in place.

"I'm gonna kiss you now, and you're going to behave."

"Can't promise that." You scoffed at his demand.

He didn't quip back, but instead pressed his lips onto yours, kissing you with a hunger greater than yours, a kiss so sloppy and wet that you thought it was his first time. It wasn't, he was just that needy, and you kissed him back, looping your arms around his neck, moving closer to him until he almost lost his balance. When he pulled away, you whimpered, pathetically begging him to kiss you again, to touch you, to fuck you, the sound of his zipper shutting you up.

"Fuck this." Dante pushed you onto the mattress so hard you bounced back. "Can't hold back anymore."

The grin on your lips should've been a red flag, but he didn't care anymore. His thick, hard cock sprung out of his boxers and you instinctively spread your legs, only for him to grab your ankles and pull you closer, earning a giggle from you.

The tip of his cock pressed against your entrance, and Dante groaned when he felt how impossibly wet you were. He really wanted to take his time with you, but he was still a man, and you were a succubus. It was never going to be slow and steady. He pushed past your slick, velvety folds, not giving you any time to adjust to his girth because you took him so well.

You arched your back when he bottomed out, power coursing through your veins as you regained life strength, and he was still alive. For now. His first thrusts were brutal, full of lust, rage, love and hatred, and you bucked your hips, brain and body overwhelmed by the sudden strength inside of you.

"Thank you, thank you!" You cried out, latching your arms behind his shoulders. "Fuck, I've never felt so good!" Your sobs echoed in his bedroom, and with the newfound strength, you managed to hook one leg around Dante's thigh, pushing him on his back.

The mattress dipped under his weight, his hands roaming all over your body to rip the already torn dress off of you. You frantically bounced up and down his cock, palms on his chest to support yourself. He let you have your fun, let you ride him as he took in your beauty, but Dante wasn't in the mood to submit. Not after the months of torture you made him go through. With a supernatural force, he sent you flying across the room, and you hissed when your shoulder blades hit the wall that cracked behind you.

Dante leaped towards you, pinning your hands above your head while you wriggled and fought against his restraint. You got a taste of power and needed more, and he was about to give it to you, but not before crushing your lips under his, reminding you that you were not in charge. Yet, you didn't want to take the hint, and instead coiled your tail around his ankle, yanking it until Dante lost balance and let go of your wrists.

What was supposed to help you turned into a battle for dominance, both with Dante and with yourself, because deep down you knew that you should've yielded, but it wasn't in your nature to submit. You slipped away from him, but he was quicker, grabbing your arm and turning you around, his chest pressed against your back. Dante held you despite your protests, before slowly bringing you down to the floor, on your knees.

"Relax-"

"Don't wanna relax-" You snarled, convulsing under his arms. "Wanna, oh-"

The words melted in your mouth when he slammed his cock back into you, painstakingly slowly rolling his hips while your eyes filled up with tears of ecstasy. You never submitted, always dominated, but the way Dante pushed your head down and fucked you felt so good that you couldn't help but lift your ass up for him to take you however he pleased.

"See? That's much better, isn't it?" He fucking cooed at you, and you sobbed.

"Yes! Yes, yes, oh, God, yes!" You cried out when the tip of his cock bullied your cervix, stretching your sore cunt out. "More, please! I need more!"

"Greedy girl." Dante's fingers bruised your hips, gripping them so tightly you thought he might rip your flesh off.

The power that seeped into your veins was minuscule compared to the the new sensation that you felt — addiction. You became addicted to him, to his touch and his scent, to his cock, like it healed something within you, like you didn't live to suck the life out of humans anymore, but to be with him and only him.

It seemed as though Dante fucked you eternally, and your once insatiable hunger disappeared with each thrust, replaced by pure bliss. Your arms wobbled under the pressure and pleasure, and you bucked your hips against his, chanting his name like a prayer.

"I'm close! Dante, I'm gonna cum!"

"You poor thing." He whispered with a hint of pity in his voice while brutally slamming into you. "When was the last time you came?"

"Never did, no man could make me cum! No one fucked me like you do!"

And Dante believed you. He believed every single word that came out of your sinful mouth, because you came to him looking to put an end to all the misery you caused through sheer sacrifice. You were desperate, and desperation made you honest.

Like clay in his nimble hands, you let yourself be sculpted and shaped by Dante into something else, something new, something better. Oddly enough, he felt the same, as though all his life he'd been navigating through a long, dark tunnel, and he finally found the light at the end.

You came undone on his cock with only his name spilling from your lips, waves of both pleasure and power coursing through your quivering body. When your arms and knees gave in and you almost hit the floor, Dante caught you, one arm around your waist to bring you closer to him. His hips stuttered while he held you, fucking you until your cunt felt hot and sticky with his cum. Slowly and carefully, Dante pulled out, and without a word, he picked you up, carrying you to the en-suite bathroom while you buried your nose in the crook of his neck.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was gentler than ever before as he placed you in the bathtub.

"Like I can live another century without going batshit crazy." You sighed, catching his wrist in your hands. "Thank you. I know you were probably disgusted by me the whole time. I'll leave as soon as I wash myself."

"Actually," Dante tilted his head, a grin spread across his lips, "I was hoping you'd stay."

He wished he could frame the priceless look on your face, with your dishevelled hair, mouth agape and glossy eyes.

"Why?"

"Think about it." Dante turned the tap on, kneeling by the bathtub. "You said you wanna help humanity, didn't you?" He asked, and you nodded. "Great. Then what better way of helping it than by hunting demons? You can already shoot, I made sure of that, and you can definitely put up a fight. Learned that the hard way."

Your eyes darted to the water flowing from the tap, pondering his suggestion. Could it be? Have you found a purpose for yourself? One that didn't involve faking your death or disappearing from villages? One that allowed you to be yourself, without hiding your true nature? One where you didn't have to be so alone?

"I'd like that."

"Good." Dante's fingers brushed through your hair. "And I'll personally make sure you're not going batshit crazy."

"Gee, I'm beginning to think you actually enjoyed that."

"I reserve the right to neither confirm, nor deny."

[peachy-posy]

I can’t be the only one who understands this…

[peachy-posy]

Not now kitten daddy's googling his symptoms

[peachy-posy]

You should be allowed to leave work if you need to go home and think about the character

[peachy-posy]

Bootlaces and Bad Ideas

Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader

Summary: after being driven out of one more town, you are hell-bent on making Vash smile, getting shit-faced on whisky in the process and make a public love declaration

Content: fluff, a hint of angst, alcohol consumption, established relationship, reader is not described, but is shorter than Vash and being called "girl once", reader is a rabid racoon, reader also almost doxes Vash Word Count: 1.9k

The wind still carries dust from the last town, fine grains clinging to your boots and the hem of your coat as you and Vash make your way through what seems to be the main street of the next settlement. It’s smaller than the last one. Quiet. Dry. Half-asleep in the dropping heat of the late afternoon. You cast a glance at Vash, walking beside you with that slow, heavy gait - like he’s trying to move casually, like he’s not still weighed down by the last town’s betrayal. He saved them. Again. Put himself between a whole village and a corrupt mayor with greedy hands, stopped the backroom deal that would’ve sold their only working plant. And what did he get in return?

Recognition. And not a good kind.

His name shouted by someone in panic. Guns raised. People you’d just seen smiling now holding him at gunpoint. You got out, barely. Another escape, another scorched trail behind you.

He hasn’t said much since.

He’s trying. You can see it in the small things - the way he gives you that casual smile when your eyes meet, how he lets you ramble to fill the silence, how he still takes and carries your pack even though he’s clearly been grazed in the skirmish. But his heart’s definitely frayed at the edges from all that, no matter how often the same scenario repeats itself. And you don’t know how to fix it.

You’re walking down the main street when you feel a tug at your sleeve.

“Wait,” Vash says, crouching suddenly.

You pause, startled, until you realize-

Your shoelace.

He’s tying it.

Carefully. Neatly. Nimble fingers working on your boot, then he pats it gently and looks up at you with a tiny smile, like it’s nothing. Well, it is nothing, but right now? For you? It’s not.

This man - this man, who the world keeps kicking, keeps punishing for kindness - stopping in the middle of a sunbaked street with two heavy bags on his shoulders to tie your stupid, worn-out boot like you’re the most important person alive.

And you melt.

Like fully melt. Legs weak, heart shattered, throat tight with something that almost hurts.

How is this world so cruel to someone like him? You want to scream it into the sky. You want to return back to that god forgotten middle-of-nowhere town and punch each stupid cruel person, who raised their gun at Vash after he showed them nothing but kindness, risking his own health for their stupid fucking plant.

Instead, you breathe out, help him up, link your arm through his, and say, “Let’s find a bar. I think I owe you a drink.” The bar is dim and a little too warm, but it's full of noise, and people, and blessed normalcy. You slide into a booth with Vash and order something strong - just one, you tell yourself. Just enough to warm the blood and shake the road off your bones.

But the tiredness catches up to you faster than you expect. And the alcohol does hit quicker. Suddenly, everything’s glowing, and Vash is sitting across from you, all pale skin and soft eyes and messy, windswept hair, and it all just bursts out of you. “Okay,” you say, pointing your finger at him like you’re about to deliver a profound truth. “Okay. Listen.”

He tilts his head. “I’m listening.”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

He nods slowly, amused. “I am.”

You giggle, then cover your face for a second. You feel hot. Your cheeks feel on fire. “God. That’s crazy. Like, my boyfriend. You’re - you’re Vash.”

He leans forward, folding his arms on the table. “Last I checked, yeah.”

“You’re tall,” you say, like that alone is a feat. “Like really tall. So rude of you, actually.” He chuckles a bit, shoulders shaking. “Sorry about that. I’d try to be shorter if I knew I’d have to date a pipsqueak,” he says, words lacking any malice.

“And you’re so pretty,” you go on, completely undeterred. “Like—obscenely pretty. Unfairly. And your eyes? Are you kidding me? They should be illegal. Arrest this man.”

“What’s gotten into you?” he mutters, but you just find his hands on the table and place yours on them, squeezing his fingers.  “You’re kind. And gentle. And funny in a way that sneaks up on you. And you care so damn much it makes me want to punch a wall sometimes.”

He goes red, the way he always does when you’re too honest. “You’re just drunk- ” “No. No. I mean it. I meant it sober when I told you first, I mean it now, I’ll mean it tomorrow and next week and forever probably. You’re the love of my life, Vash.”

He looks like you just ripped the air out of his lungs. His lips part like he’s going to say something, then closes them again.

You nudge his foot under the table. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re perfect and I’m allowed to be in love with you.”

He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “You’re gonna regret this in the morning.”

You narrow your eyes. “Wanna bet?” The music picks up without warning—something fast and chaotic, full of clapping and quick guitar strums, the kind of tune that makes the tired workers forget about the day fully filled with labor gather near the center of the saloon. People are stomping in rhythm, spinning, laughing. The whole room feels like it’s vibrating with joy.

And Vash?

He’s smiling. A little. Watching the dance with that faraway look, like it’s something meant for other people.

You’re not having that.

You set your glass down a little too hard and reach across the table, grabbing his hand before he can protest. “Dance with me.”

He blinks. “I don’t…wait, now?”

You’re already pulling him up, dragging him toward the center where the music is loudest, bootheels scuffing across worn wooden floorboards. “Yes, now. Come on, pretty boy.”

You plant your hands on his shoulders, eyes bright, and start bouncing in rhythm. “Just follow me!”

“You’re drunk,” he says, grinning helplessly as he tries to keep up.

You only laugh at that. “And you’re not drunk enough. Let’s just have fun!”

The two of you find a rhythm after that - stumbling, chaotic, completely unsynchronized - but it doesn’t matter. You’re laughing, breathless, dodging other dancers as you swirl around the floor. Vash keeps one hand pressed to your waist, the other tangled in yours, always steadying you even as your feet nearly trip over themselves. Vash holds your hand steadily, twirls you in a way that definitely isn’t part of any real dance, and dips you dramatically mid-beat. You squeal, clinging to him as the patrons of bar who saw you hoot and holler.

“Show-off!” you gasp.

“I’m having fun. Isn’t it what you wanted?” he grins, flushed and breathless. And it’s all exactly what you wanted from this evening: Vash happy, dancing, even if just to appease you, but he’s here and you’re in his arms and you - you suddenly feel even more drunk from the slightly warm piss-poor whisky, fast-paced dance and the way your boyfriend’s pretty eyes now glance at you with mirth in them. And suddenly you have a very important announcement to make.

“Thank you,” you whisper, swaying just slightly with the beat. “For letting me drag you into stupid things like this.”

Then you slip out of his grasp and go straight for the bar and after barman pours you a glass of whisky, you down it in one gulp and climb onto the nearest free barstool, and with absolutely no hesitation, shout:

“HEY EVERYONE!”

The bar quiets, and Vash goes rigid across the room like he feels like whatever is about to happen is going to end his life. You feel like you shouldn’t be doing this, but the rational part of you is completely silent at that moment.

So you grin, hands cupped around your mouth “THIS GUY RIGHT HERE - ” you point dramatically at Vash - “IS MY BOYFRIEND!”

Someone whistles.

“HE’S TALL! HE’S PRETTY! HE’S KIND! AND GUESS WHAT ELSE - HE’S VASH THE STAMPEDE!”

A moment of silence.

And then - laughter. Not cruel, not disbelieving in a mean way. Just amused. A few people raise their glasses and shout back things like:

“Sure he is, sweetheart!”

“Better hope the real one doesn’t show up!”

Someone pats Vash on the back as they walk by, like, “You lucky bastard.”

“Ya better take ya girl home till she falls down somewhere, cowboy,” another worried voice from the crowd tells him.

Vash looks like he wants to slide under a table and never be seen again, face flushed redder than his coat. He jogs over to you, gently guiding you down from the chair like you might take flight.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” he says to you under his breath, his eyes still widened, but a ghost of smile can be seen on his face.

“Pfft. No one believes me anyway,” you giggle. “Your secret identity is safe, o mysterious outlaw.”

The desert night wraps around you like a slow lullaby, air cooler now, stars scattered overhead like someone spilled a handful of diamonds across the sky.

You’re clinging to Vash’s arm, one foot in front of the other in an uneven shuffle, eyes drooping but smile still wide.

“Did you see their faces?” you mumble, cheek pressed to his shoulder as you walk. “When I said you were Vash the Stampede? That one guy almost choked on his drink.”

Vash laughs under his breath, that soft low one he only does when he’s happy and embarrassed at the same time. “You’re never drinking in public again.”

You gasp dramatically, poking his chest. “Rude. You loved it.”

“I did not.”

“You did!” You pause, squinting up at him. “You smiled. Three times. And I caught it. I really tried hard to see your smile the whole evening, you know?”

He groans playfully and wraps an arm around your waist, steering you away from the edge of the sidewalk when you wobble again.

You snort. “How’re you still so steady? That’s unfair. I feel like I’m swimming.”

He tilts his head toward you, eyes glittering with mischief. “Maybe I’m just used to carrying trouble around.”

“Rude again!” But you’re laughing, breathless, and it makes him soften all over again.

There’s a pause as you lean against him, walking slower now. The silence isn’t heavy this time. It’s soft. Gentle. Filled with the afterglow of something you can’t quite name.

“Hey, Vash?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re gonna marry me someday, y’know.” You mumble with confidence only a drunk version of you possesses. “I…wha- you…?!”

“Not right now,” you mumble, drowsy. “But like. Eventually. I’m just letting you know.”

He’s silent.

You peek up at him.

His face is red. His ears are bright red. But his smile—his smile is there, tugging his lips up.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah. Eventually.”

You grin.

[peachy-posy]

Imagine Dante Patching You Up After A Tough Mission

Dante X FemReader

Rating: M

Warnings: Blood, Injury, flirting, steam, suggestive themes, violence, stitching, angst, fluff, some nudity

Word Count: 2.3k

(A/N:) What was supposed to be a short imagine suddenly exploded into this whopper of a story. I had a little too much fun but I enjoy hurt/comfort so much. And I adore Dante so yeah I had a little too much fun. I went ahead and made this mature as my inner vampire came out. So enjoy the chaos that is being unleashed from my mind! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Dante held you tightly, blood dripping down your fingers to drip on the ground. The gash in your shoulder burned and every little jostle had you hissing in pain. The mission had been tough, tougher than you were expecting. But to come out alive was a huge victory. Dante kept taking quick glances at you as he worried about the injuries. You had been sent flying by a larger demon. Dante knew he heard a loud crack when you hit the wall, but you refused to let yourself be pampered too much. You argued about Dante carrying you so now he was helping you by his arm around your waist and your arm over his shoulder while he helped you walk.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," Dante lugged you harder towards the van.

"No hospitals," you gritted your teeth, willing your feet to keep moving forward.

"You're bleeding out babe," Dante argued, carrying you inside the door.

"I haven't lost that much blood."

"You're bleeding more than the demon I just made into a pin cushion," he retorted. "You're going. I'm sure something else is busted inside you too."

"Ribs," you replied. "They're cracked. They won't do anything for cracked ribs Dante."

"We can at least get you a blood transfusion. I can't lose you sweetheart."

"You're not going to lose me Dante. You're going to stitch me and I'm going to heal. Demon Hunter's promise okay."

Dante cursed but started the van anyway and respected your wishes, even though he didn't like them or agree. Your head rolled against the van couch's cushion and Dante was getting worried. A small puddle of blood grew at your feet and he could feel panic nipping at his heels. The van had a med kit, not as extensive as a hospital but good enough to take care of all sorts of wounds his human team members needed cared for. He called your name and you responded with a hum.

You were still conscious so that was good but he needed to get your flayed open shoulder taken care of soon or you wouldn't be much longer. A motel sign, sun bleached and worn rose in the distance and while he rather get you back to the shop, this would have to do. Pulling over Dante parked the van in the pot holed parking lot of a two story motel. The yellow walls chipping and the door numbers falling off, but it would have to do. He grabbed a wad of cash out of the stash that he kept in the glove compartment and kissed your forehead as he passed by.

"I'll be right back just stay with me," he whispered.

"I ain't going anywhere Dante," you winced.

"Still don't want to go to the hospital?"

"No I don't! How do you explain to the nurses that my injures were caused by being back handed by a flying demon arm," you snorted before groaning in pain.

"They'll just think you're drunk or tweaking out on drugs," he chuckled.

"Oh I wish I was drunk right now," you moaned.

"Just hang on I'll get you taken care of," he kissed you again and left out the side door.

With a room key in hand, Dante scooped you up despite your protest and pained yelps and carried you into the dusty room he rented for a couple nights. He checked the bed carefully and laid you on the side with the less stains. Blood trickled from your lips and he wiped it away with his thumb.

"I'm going to have to remove your shirt to check your shoulder," Dante cleared off the bedside table to set the van's medical kit close by.

"Take me to dinner first before you start stripping me," you hissed.

"Don't worry," Dante scrounged around for a cup to put warm water in and grabbed several motel towels and washcloths, "you can keep your pants on. It's less fun that way but I'll still show you a good time."

"Oh thank you," you rolled your eyes and fought the laugh bubbling up.

"Actually forget moving you to get your shirt off I'm going to have to cut it off you." Dante didn't want to move you. The less he did the better it would be on your cracked ribs.

"You barbarian," you teased. "This is the only one I have though. The last thing I want is to get arrested for public indecency. You're indecent enough for both of us."

Dante chuckled already ripping your shirt carefully so he wouldn't jostle you, "You can wear mine."

"Gross yours is dirty too and covered in demon guts," you made a face. Dante finished getting your shirt out of the way leaving you in your bra. You felt a little bit embarrassed but you were the one who decided you didn't want to go to the hospital and Dante wouldn't hold anything against you. Despite acting like a womanizer at times with his inappropriate jokes, he was more respectable towards you and other women than anyone who didn't know him realized.

"I carry extra clean ones. And don't worry you're still a beauty to me blood and all."

"That's not what I'm worried about," you rolled your eyes.

"I'm looking respectfully," Dante laughed. "My mind is on pure thoughts."

"You have no pure thoughts Dante."

"True."

"Sew me up already before I decide decking you will be worth the pain," you snarled.

"Mmm I like a feisty woman," he waggled his brows while stroking your cheek.

"Dante!"

"Okay fine," he huffed.

"I'm still bleeding."

"I'll remedy that."

"Hurry up!"

"Yes ma'am!"

Dante filled up two coffee mugs with warm water and squirted a little bit of soap from the complimentary bottle of hand soap into one. He used the soap water on one of the rags to wipe away as much blood from your skin and the edge of the wound. You hissed and snarled at his touch but you didn't move much. He knew that you knew the stitching was going to hurt worse. He would offer you a drink or two if he had a bottle but he hadn't bought booze in a long time. Pizza was his downfall now but he would be there for you. Taking his time and being as gentle as possible. Using the regular warm water he cleaned the few suds away and then used a towel to wipe your skin dry. He loves you so much and he can't bear to see the bruises already blossoming on your sides and a few other places you were hit. His blood boiled in anger at the thought of the rogue demon doing this to you. His inner devil snarling, making his hands tremble.

You noticed Dante struggling and he quietly growled in his throat. You reached out clasping his wrist and stabilizing his shaking hand. His blue gaze catching yours, you nodded giving him a gentle squeeze as a reminder.

"I'm okay," you soothed. "I'm right here Dante. I'm not going to leave you any time soon."

"I'm pretty sure I'm the one who is supposed to be soothing you," he retorted but visibly relaxed. His inner devil quieting down immediately at your voice. He went back to cleaning you up as best as he could.

"Then get your head out of your butt and focus on getting me closed up. I don't like open wounds on sheets I don't know what the stains are from."

"I have a pretty good idea," his side eye made you want to gouge out his eyes.

"For the love of! Dante please shut up," you whined in exasperation.

Dante finished cleaning up as much blood as possible then he focused on finding the stitch kit with some antiseptic, he prepped himself to listen to more of your breathless complaints. Threading the needle and grabbing the holder, Dante pinched your skin together. You jerked at the pain of him holding the tear of your skin together but then cried out when he poked the needle through your skin.

"Oh what I wouldn't give to have your healing ability," you sobbed.

"I'd give it to you baby in a heartbeat if I could," Dante choked, quickly finishing the first stitch before going for the other one. Pinch, poke, tie, cut. Pinch, poke, tie, cut. He moved quickly and effortlessly as tears streaked your cheeks. Then in mere moments Dante finished the last stitch and wiped away the stray blood droplets that leaked while he had worked. You eased back, shaking from the adrenaline shooting through your body. And while Dante felt guilty for putting you through so much already there was more to be done. With sorrowful eyes and gave you his next task.

"I'm sorry babe but I'm going to have to sit you up so I can bandage you as best as I can." Dante dreaded this moment. But the stitches weren't enough protection and he wanted to get your ribs wrapped as well. Any sort of relief he could give you he wanted to.

"I'm a big girl I can take it," you gritted your teeth. Willing yourself not to scream. You didn't want the other motel patrons to call the cops due to the noises you were making.

"That's my girl," he smoothed your hair back before kissing the top of your hair.

With gentle movement he raised you up, making you catch your scream but still whines and whimpers pushing past your lips. Dante's heart clenched before shattering at every sound that escaped your mouth. You rested your cheek against Dante's clothed abdomen. Trying to catch your breath but not breathe too deeply due to your ribs. His warm skin heated your cheek you clung to his coat as he widened his stance to fit your legs between his.

"I got you sweetheart just rest," Dante cooed, reaching for a padded gauze and bandage wrap and tape. You nodded, still trying to stop the room from spinning from the pain. He wrapped your ribs first, wanting to get the most painful out of the way since you were still reeling from him lifting you into a sitting position. You focused on the nearness of Dante, his arms moving carefully and surely as he encircled you. His scent and presence did more than anything. You sucked in a breath as he taped the bandage secure and moved towards your shoulder. His fingers brushed your skin, sending a jolt of electricity and before Dante could pull away, you grabbed his hand. Still clinging to his coat and your head still pressed to his abdomen, you placed the back of his hand against your cheek.

"Thank you," you whispered, exhaustion finally taking a hold.

"Always," Dante replied with conviction. He eased you back down carefully, the wraps helping your ribs from jostling more than usual. He fished some pain killers from the kit and took a bottle of water from the counter. You swallowed them and shut your eyes.

"Rest," Dante ordered and you didn't argue.

Once he knew that you wouldn't need him, Dante went back to the van grabbing himself a change of clothes and a set of his boxers and shirt for you later. You couldn't shower just yet with all your bandages but he'd help you get clean as much as possible when you were ready. Right now rest was what you needed most, but Dante wanted to get clean. Your blood had dried to his skin and it was mixed with the devil's blood. He couldn't stand the scent of you mingled with the filth of evil.

Checking on you again, Dante started the shower. The rusty showerhead didn't have much pressure but he didn't complain. Tossing his dirty clothes to the floor he entered the hot water spray and watched the red stain the bottom of the tub and go down the drain. His forehead pressed against the wall and he shuddered. The agony of the day catching up as the fear of almost losing you gripped him. He choked back his tears, slamming his fist in the plastic shower wall. He wanted to scream but he made due with cursing under his breath. Taking a deep breath, Dante steadied himself and focused on cleaning up.

Shutting off the water and toweling himself off with the remaining towel. Dante dressed in a clean pair of boxers and a shirt, but he laid the pants on one of the motel chairs. He wanted to lay by your side and rest for a moment. He needed to be close to you for awhile. He would focus on getting more supplies in the morning. His focus right now was you and keeping himself calm before he could lose it any more than he already had in the shower. He shook his head trying to dry his hair as much as possible before he laid next to you on the bed. It was smaller than the one he had back home but it was perfect to him. Your body was close to his and he took your hand threading your fingers together while he pressed as close as he thought safe to. You mumbled in your sleep, but he was happy that you were in a deep sleep. Rest would help you heal. He never wanted to admit how fast you wormed your way into his heart. But the thought of losing you ripped him to shreds. He lost his dad, mom, and pretty much his brother in this life. Surely it wouldn't take you too. A man could only lose so much. He breathed you in deeply, calming himself, and your sleepy breathing lulling him to sleep. You were the last thing he saw before he drifted off to sleep and he looked forward to you being the first thing he saw when he woke up.

[peachy-posy]

The wildest thing about Ben 10 is that it took until 2005 for someone to have the idea "what if a kid could turn into a bunch of aliens" like this isn't obviously the coolest and most marketable premise for anything ever. Each design is a new toy. A new powerset. Come on.

But to prove that it wasn't a fluke, they continued to have the best ideas for every aspect of it. How does he transform? A cool watch you can also sell as a toy. That watch's name? Omnitrix. Say it. It's so satisfying. How many aliens? Ten. Nice round number. The kid's name? Ben. The show's name? Ben Ten. His full name is Benjamin Tennyson, a normal, plausible name, but he also turns into 10 aliens.

Bigger brands dream about this synergy. Better writers would kill for this coherence. So holistic. So intuitive. The identity alone!!! The retro alien sound motif? Chilling. The green? Any other color would be wrong. The kirby krackle pattern? It seems so obvious in retrospect. The roadtrip format? Genius. Lesser writers would've done the spider-man high school thing. His arch nemesis being Cthulhu darth vader? Inspired, iconic, intimidating!

The execution has its highs and lows, but the idea??? Game changing. So self-evident that it seems inevitable. If Ben 10 didn't exist, it would be necessary to invent him.

[peachy-posy]

HI. BYE

[peachy-posy]

Yes, I fall with this Vash

Sorry, I will do it in a future

[peachy-posy]

I needed this drag. Let’s change guys and not look back

[peachy-posy]

ITS APRIL 13 YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS

FETCH ME NEIL

[peachy-posy]

thank you johnny yong bosch we all say in unison

[peachy-posy]

045. Beg (pt. 5/6)

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.9k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: You're brought back to the present from your sordid background.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 (you are here) - Part 6 (coming soon!)

A strong gasp pulls you out of your story and back into the present. You look up from the floor, blinking away the cuts and bruises, and turn to see Vash, wide-eyed and trembling. It startles you. He’s emotive, but you’ve never seen him look so raw. A hand reaches for him – your hand – and you feel a strange detachment when he takes it. His thumb rubs circles on your skin. He still shakes. You look back to your sister.

Her mouth is open, trembling. Lils isn’t any better. Both sets of hazel eyes stare squarely back at you. Finally, Lils says, “It can’t be true. Where…where are all the scars?”

Slowly, you lift a shoulder. “Whatever happened to me to change me…I don’t know. I don’t keep scars. Not for long, anyway.”

“But you said you were sliced apart. How are you here?”

Your lips curl downward. “Like I said, I was changed at some point. I regenerate things a lot quicker than most people – “

“ – Humans, you mean,” Lils frowns. “You aren’t human anymore.”

You pause. “No. I’m not.”

It sits like a lion in the room. Like you’re the lion, and Lils and Dayvenie are the sheep, and they’re suddenly realizing it. Lils stands and gets in front of her mother’s bed. Her hands clench, release, clench again. But she doesn’t say anything.

“I knew that.” Dayvenie breathes. “I knew. I know.”

Distantly, you hear the chime of a clock on the second floor. Three-o-clock. Lils grinds her teeth, fighting something inside her. You watch her carefully. You remember how skilled she is at taking people down with her hands. Vash’s nails dig into your skin for a moment before startling and rubbing the indents apologetically.

“Lillie Mae,” Dayvenie says. “Lillie Mae, sit back down. She isn’t going to hurt us.”

Lils shakes her head. “How do you know that, ma?”

The old woman trembles as she says, “Because she’s had plenty of years to do so, and hasn’t.”

Lils chews on that. Spits it out, then sighs. She settles back into her seat by her mother, giving a cautious look between you and Vash.

Dayvenie settles back into her pillows once her daughter sits. “How did you escape?” Your sister asks.

You frown. “That’s…I’m not exactly sure. I remember…” A hand comes up to rub at your forehead. It’s something that’s bothered you for years, put in the back of your head to ruminate over on dark nights when you can’t sleep and fear going back there. “I remember…being angry, and waking up in a back alley of Octovern. There were these pink crystals all around me and…wires…” You sigh. You wish you could remember. Even if it hurts, if it’s damaging. You want answers. But do you, really?

Shaking from your taken hand. You look to Vash. He is looking down and away from you, and you start. Is he…is he crying? A strange feeling, like a wet paper towel crumpling in your chest, wringing water and organs together. You don’t want that. He shouldn’t ever cry over you. Gently, you stand in front of him, shielding him from the two women in the room. “Hey…are you…?”

Vash shakes his head, letting out the smallest of sniffles. You see his lips move, part, like he’ll speak, then the clench of his jaw. That feeling in your chest intensifies. You decide then it is time to leave. Turning, you look at your sister. “Dayvenie, I think that’s enough for today.”

She and Lils glance at your companion. Questions linger in their eyes. Perhaps some are in yours as well. Dayvenie leans forward. “Will…will you come back? Later? We could have dinner together…?” Her tone is begging, almost desperate.

This pauses you. “You still want to see me?”

Her lips mesh together. “I do. I…” she clears her throat and reaches for a bit of water on the nightstand. Lils helps bring it to her mouth. After a few sips, she nods her head. “I can’t make up for the time we lost. But I understand what happened better now. And I…want my sister back, for however long I have left.”

A question occurs to you. “Are you actually dying? Or was that just to get me to come?”

Dayvenie smiles wryly. “I’m almost a hundred. It feels like I’m dying every day.”

And despite yourself, you laugh. Same Dayvenie, pulling tricks to get her way. Truly the “little sister” archetype. But feeling Vash shake next to you, your smile slips away. “We’ll see,” you say, and usher Vash out the door and down the hallway.

“W-We don’t have to leave,” he mutters, tears in his voice, “W-we can stay, I don’t want to – “

“We’re leaving.” You say, firm. “I can’t talk much anymore either,” you add, trying to soothe his guilt.

The front door opens, and you barely glance at Will and Artie who stand and point that gun at you again. You barely hear Lils tell them to stand down behind as you loop your arm around Vash’s shoulders and lead him off the property. The dogs bark along the fence all the way down until the house disappears around the cliffs’ bend.

[peachy-posy]

lock in

[peachy-posy]

Omg it’s been a while!

I haven’t posted any fics in *checks notes* over a year???

Welp, I went through a few different hyperfixations and major life changes, but all roads lead back to Vash for me :’)

I’ve had a little fic idea in my brain that’s been begging to be written. I’ve been working on an outline, deciding plot points, but wanted to share the concept in the meantime!

Vash x reader (of course) royalty au with ~some magic~

This is gonna be a fairly long fic, and will be ambitious for me to do. But I’ve always wanted to write a longer work!

If one long, complete work feels too overwhelming, I’ll probably end up doing a series with multiple installments just to let this little idea come to fruition. I’ve been working on it for a couple months now! It first came to me while I was dissociating at work in Dec/Jan LMAO

That’s all for now! I’ll hopefully be able to get this thing going soon :)

[peachy-posy]

If I had a nickel for every red themed anime character with an evil twin whose voiced by Johnny Yong Bosch, I’d have two nickels…

Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice