#nicholas d. wolfood x reader

[wreckmetoji]

Wanna Be Yours

A fic in which Vash finds himself yearning for what he can’t have

↳ Vash the Stampede/Reader

↳ Nicholas D. Wolfwood/Reader

content warning. gender-neutral pronouns, afab reader, mention of sex, mention of masturbation, angst, unrequited l word, hurt no comfort

Set in the same timeline as Stargazing and Cigarettes and An Audience. Minors DNI 3.6K words

Vash the Stampede- The humanoid typhoon, the man with a six million double dollar bounty on his head, Gunsmoke's sharpest shooter- was a man of many names and titles. One he held more dearly than the rest was friend, considering neither him nor you had something quite along the lines of unconditional, non familial love, even if it was platonic. You two had found each other in some backwash town, one you were both passing through under drastically different circumstances. Him, running for his life from July Military Police, and you, a traveler looking for a nice city to settle down in. It was a mutual agreement that you would stick together until one party or the other found what you needed, but neither of you ever divulged exactly what that was to each other. 

In your travels, Vash came to the conclusion that you were good. Too good, the kind of good that would leave you hungry, leaving half of your unfinished sandwich on your plate as you slid it over to him even though he knew you hadn't eaten in at least a day or two. The kind of good where you would put yourself in harms way in an attempt to protect him from whoever or whatever was hunting him that day. He joked with you whenever you insisted on patching him up in your shitty motel room, saying these people were after him, so of course he was going to body block those bullets for you! He could see the turmoil swimming in your eyes, but all you ever did was sigh and frown as you stitched him up and covered him in bandages. He was unsure when exactly it happened, when his heart began to ache hearing your stomach rumble as you sat across from him in a diner, when you tried to take the couch or floor of the motel room you two were renting, or when your hands shook while you cleaned his blood. Perhaps it was something that always happened, perhaps he had always felt a sense of guilt putting you through all of this, even though on several occasions you assured him I'm here because I want to be, Vash. The ache wasn't just guilt, though, the ache was a yearning, a need for more.  He couldn't do that to you, though.  Things became a bit easier when it was no longer the two of you. Life was hectic, even more so once Meryl and Roberto had stumbled into your lives, but at least now there was more than just you. It was easier not turning to watch your peaceful sleeping face now that he could share a room with other people, easier to look out for you now that others also had your back.  Still, though, Vash sometimes found himself reminiscing on how things used to be. It made his chest tight when he thought about how tight you would hug him when he got hurt, how kind your beautiful sparkling eyes were when you bought him something small from a local market just because it made you think of him. He missed brushing the hair from your face when you crawled in next to him on cold nights you were traveling and couldn't afford a room, missed tracing the slopes and curves of your face with his eyes, and missed how fulfilled he would feel when he did something small that would absolutely elate you. He still got to be close to you. The closest, in fact, the one you leaned your head on in the back of the car as you napped together, and he still got to be the one you stayed up with to watch the sunset and stars. Some evenings he would get you to himself, walking to the outskirts of whatever town you had stopped in this time, just to watch the sunset. It was one of those evenings he told you about how much he loved nights like this. The sun setting over the dunes, the soft orange glow, it reminded him that even through the worst of days, things will be okay in the end, as long as he kept pushing forward.  You shared a room with him that night, and he didn't let you know he hardly slept, watching the rise and fall of your chest, hands itching to hold you just a little bit closer. He didn't tell you how his heart jumped when his fingers stroked your cheek, thumb smoothing over your lip, watching you smile in your sleep. How could he? You weren't his. You couldn't be his. He couldn't have you how he wanted you. Vash noticed a change the day Nicholas D. Wolfwood came to join your little team, or more specifically, he noticed a change in you. He noticed how sometimes you would stare at him a little too long, or your cheeks would flush if he came up in conversation. He didn't want to accept the telltale signs of a crush, he hoped that maybe it would be fleeting, maybe you would turn your affections back around to him even though he couldn't have you.  You didn't. The day Vash realized this would be his fate with you, a one sided crush, unrequited, was the day Wolfwood had asked him to swap rooms. When Vash accepted you couldn't be his, and he wouldn't be yours, was when he was woken from his sleep by a bang on the wall. He was shocked to hear it above the magnitude of Roberto's snoring, but it alarmed him, and he found himself listening closely just in case it was a mistake. When he heard the bang again, then again and again, followed by your pitchy whines of please, more, Nick. Vash flushed a deep crimson, shooting upright in bed and looking at the wall separating the two rooms incredulously. He was ashamed that he sat through it all, listened to everything, and was even more ashamed that at one point he had imagined himself above you. He had to take care of himself, and in the back of his mind he wondered how he was going to face you in the morning. Turns out it was just as difficult as he thought it would be, having you sit down next to him in the diner booth, your knees touching. His body felt hot, and he swallowed, cerulean eyes glancing up at the entrance when Wolfwood walked in. All of his affections and feelings sank in his chest like a rock, being scooted over by you. Vash was completely caught in his head, mind racing and thinking about what it would be like if you were born to different lives, in different circumstances. Needless to say, breakfast was tense, especially when he saw Wolfwood lean down and whisper in your ear, when he saw the flush to your cheeks and ears.  It was hard to accept, especially when trouble inevitably came their way. His heart lurched when, instead of running over to him, throwing your arms around him, calling him an idiot for doing something so reckless and being shot like that, you were running to Wolfwood instead. A huffed exhale left his lips, swallowing back what he wanted to feel and smiling sadly instead. He didn't have the right to mourn the loss of you, since you were never his in the first place.  At some point, Vash began to pull back from you. He stopped putting himself into positions where he was alone with you, stopped watching you so intently, even stopped offering a shoulder for you to lean on. You didn't seem to notice or care, too transfixed by the eye of the storm that was Nicholas D. Wolfwood. Really, Vash shouldn't have been as destroyed over it as he was. He's had to let plenty of people go, he's had to leave, he's seen countless people die in front of him, but none of them were you. None of them were you, the person that would insist on untying and removing his boots for him when he was beat up and bloody, none of them were you, the person that made sure he was a priority, despite him insisting you need to take care of yourself first before worrying about him. You and Wolfwood had tried to keep your togetherness a secret, and it was mostly under tight wrap, Vash had really only noticed because he's perceptive and happened to be the only one always kept up by your nightly activities. At some point it became a ritual, Vash would wait until he heard the distinct creak and click of a door opening and closing, and then he would take his leave to walk around the city. More than a couple times he stayed, listened, but the guilt would always eat at him. Those same times Vash decided he would go out and spend some time at the local bars.  Tonight was different. Tonight, Vash had been tasked to room with you. Meryl was in a particularly foul mood after the events of the day, leaving her to be the one taking the singular room, and Wolfwood was stuck with Roberto. To keep him from doing anything shady, Meryl had said pointedly, to which Vash had to choke back a response because that anything shady was already happening. You seemed to not want to poke the bear, or tempt fate and let everyone figure out what was going on, a fake smile on your lips as you swiped the key from her hands.  By the time you had gotten up to your room, his stomach had already done a fantastic job of twisting itself into knots again and again. It had been weeks since you last shared a bed, and now that you were so intimate with someone it felt wrong. He wanted to offer to swap rooms, but that would mean he knew, and he didn't want to burden you with the thought that everything wasn't possibly as discreet as it could have been. He wanted you to remain blissfully unaware that he was more than familiar with your sleeping patterns, or that he was well aware that right before you finished you'd beg please please please, pitch increasing with every syllable. You had wandered off to the bathroom, leaving Vash to stand in the middle of the room. He slapped his cheeks with his hands, the metal stinging against his left cheekbone. He ran his hands through his hair, heaving a deep sigh, before throwing his own bag down on a chair sitting in the corner. More likely than not, he would continue his nightly routine of wandering around the city long after dark, except this time it was because he didn't think he could lay down next to you without feeling guilt, or a need to be yours, even when he couldn't. Making up his mind, he shoved the room key in his pocket, taking a hasty leave. He was sure you wouldn't notice or mind, considering you hadn't noticed the rift between the two of you up until now. Oh, how he was wrong.  He had only been holed up in the nearby bar for half an hour, maybe an hour, by the time someone was plunking down across from him at his table. You'd caught him looking forlorn, pathetic, more likely the expression of a kicked dog than anything. His cheek was in his metal hand, as his other held the handle of a pint. You smiled, so soft, so sad, so understanding and in that moment Vash feared you knew exactly what was going through his head. You didn't say anything, not at first, and he was far too caught in your gaze to conjure up the beginnings of a conversation. "Mind if I join you?"  Vash huffed a laugh, brows upturned as he smiled, "No, of course not." You had managed to secure your own drink at the bar, coming back a glass in each hand. Despite not being finished his own drink, you slid the second over the table to him, much like you used to do with your half finished sandwiches. That same melancholic, bittersweet smile graced his features, a small thank you leaving his lips before tipping back the rest of his previous drink.  The two of you sat and had idle chit-chat, managing to go through a few rounds as you went. It was like nothing had changed at all, it reminded him of when it was just the two of you against the world, when everything was so much less complicated. Vash had said something stupid and you doubled over with laughter, and his chest squeezed so tight he thought he might burst right then and there. You must have caught onto the sad look he gave you, your own smile falling as you cleared your throat. "You haven't really been talking to me lately," You began, hands turning your untouched drink on the table. You weren't looking at him, only staring down. "You haven't really been... Doing anything with me lately. Did I do something to upset you?" His immediate thought was you could never, but that would be a lie. He chuckled, sounding much more dejected than he intended to let on. How could he even go about talking about this with you? "No, you didn't do anything. I'm sorry I haven't been there for you."  The frown you had was out of place, and maybe he should have known he wouldn't be able to shake off your suspicions so easily. You took a swig of your drink, the now half empty glass hitting the table with a thunk. "No, that's... Not really how it is, is it?" You finally looked up at him, his heart leaping in his chest at the look in your eye. It was that same look you gave him when you patched him up, or scolded him for being reckless. "I haven't been there for you. I could see you've been going through something, but I haven't been there for you. I'm sorry I haven't been a very good friend. I want you to be able to talk to me, I want to make up for it." Vash heaved a sigh, closing his eyes and shaking his head with a disingenuous smile. The room spun when he did so, letting him know he might have gotten too caught up in things to notice he was well past tipsy. "You've done so much for me-" "Don't give me that," You scolded, his head tilting back to look up at you again, "Don't say that when you've done so much more for me. I know you keep telling me I don't need to return the favor, or feel obligated, but I care about you so much Vash. It hurts me to see you hurting, and I want to be a shoulder for you to lean on." He couldn't say anything other than a gentle whisper of your name. The thought of confessing his thoughts and actions behind closed doors made him sick, and briefly he thought that might manifest as he held back a gag. Ever the perceptive one, you stood from your seat and made your way over to him, wrapping your arm around his torso and under his arms. "Come on, let's get you to bed."  He wasn't drunk, not to the point where he was unable to walk himself to the motel, but maybe he could let himself indulge in your kindness and warmth just a little bit. Just this once. It had been weeks, his alcohol riddled mind reasoned. You stumbled up the stairs to the second level of your motel, obviously struggling to maneuver your own drunk self, as well as him. The two of you ended up laughing about it regardless, maybe a bit too loud to be considerate of the other motel-goers. Vash was the one that managed to key open the door, gently kicking it shut with his boot behind you, and promptly flopping all his exaggerated weight onto the bed. You joined, all giggles and smiles as you nearly fell on top of him, his right arm trapped under your back. "I've missed this," You laughed, sitting up and looking down at him. Even through his orange lenses, he could see the stars in your eyes. The light of you, the never ending kindness and consideration swimming in them. It made him sick all over again. "S-Sorry, just- I'll be right back."  Vash stood up at lightning speed, almost knocking himself over in the process when the room briefly doubled. He sped off to the bathroom, shutting the door with his heel once he got inside. Hands struggled to turn the tap on, before finding purchase at the edge of the counter. He stood there, breaths heaving, eyes closing when he felt the familiar sting of tears gathering. His breathing stuttered, body hunched, and he was wondering why he couldn't let it go. Why couldn't he look at you the same way you looked at him without getting butterflies? Why couldn't he be okay with having you as you were? Vash has never been a taker, Vash has never expected anything out of anyone, but he just couldn't get enough of you. Nothing except all of you would ever be enough. "Vash?" Cyan eyes shot open, looking up in the mirror to see you standing behind him through the crack in the door. His face was wet, eyes red rimmed, and mouth hung open.  "Oh, Vash..." You crooned, pushing the door open just enough so you could slide inside the tight space with him, "Come here... Come here, please." He could never deny you, not when you spoke to him so softly. When he turned around, you were wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. His heart hammered in his chest, his stomach twisted, and for the third time this night he felt ill. The tears continued to fall and he sniffled, sliding his hands up his face to press the heels of his palms into his eyes, moving his glasses up in the process. This seemed to urge you to hug him tighter, which in turn made him sob just a little louder, as he thinks this is possibly the first time you've held him in an embrace he didn't return.  "I don't have the right to feel this way," He choked out, feeling the strength behind your hug falter, "But I w-want... I just want to be yours." When you didn't say anything, he slid his hands away from his face, placing them on your upper arms to pull you off of him. It didn't take much effort, your weakening arms dropping to your sides as you stared up at him in confusion and disbelief. It was as if you were completely out of breath when you whispered, "What... I don't understand?"  It's not like he could blame you for having that reaction. He had made the decision for you a long time ago that he couldn't have you, and you couldn't have him, that it wouldn't be fair to constantly put you in danger. He didn't think he could say it again without crying, so he didn't. He stood there, holding your arms, watching you scan his face and stare into his eyes. The slightest change in your expression shifted, it looked something along the line of pity, and he didn't know what he was thinking and why, but he leaned down. He leaned down, his breath ghosting against your lips, eyes looking into you. You didn't pull away, but you didn't push forward, so Vash continued. He kissed you so gently, the way he squeezed your arms and scrunched his eyes closed conveying the sheer amount of anguish he felt when you made no move to return his affections. Pulling back, he opened his eyes to see you staring at him. It was shattering, how grief-stricken you looked, how befuddled your body language was. No words were exchanged, like you both didn't want to acknowledge the weight of what had happened.  Vash pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes again. "I'm sorry," He whispered, wrapping his arms around you, "I know, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  After a tight squeeze, he dropped his arms back to his sides, walking out of the bathroom. He noted you made no attempt to follow him, and when he looked back, he could see you still standing in the same spot he had left you, only watching him through the mirror. A smile is what he gave you, sorrowful and sorry, as he grabbed for his bag and slung it over his shoulder. His metallic hand gave a small wave, opening up the motel door and walking into the night. It was a nice thought, to have someone he could love and be loved by. Maybe, had he not made the decision for you, maybe, if he was more open to what you wanted to give, he could have had that love. He couldn't ask that of you. He couldn't do that to you. So instead, he kept the best parts of you with him in his memory, close to his heart. Maybe you would cross paths again, and maybe by that point he could welcome you with open arms without wanting more. Maybe at that point, you will have found happiness and purpose and settled down and forgotten all about him.  After all, that was for the best.