Vash X Reader

vash x reader

he doesn't like it when you talk down to yourself, so he'll make you listen to what he has to say

notes; kissy fic, 805 words, very trimax!vash coded but not exclusively so.

vash felt the thomas stir against his back when sand shifted nearby. there was movement just outside of his peripheral, from where his head was bent towards a star-filled sky, his breath a faint, grey cloud that dispersed into the black nothing that surrounded the campsite.

he could hear the erratic licks of fire bursting, cracking not so distantly; a screaming kettle silenced by a fast hand, and the even breaths from the beast behind him. as unforgiving and cold the wasteland was at night, he thought it was oddly peaceful for once.

"super, super, super hot." you said, trotting on your toes across the sand to your sleeping bag, two scrap metal mugs in hand. vash reached for one, you pulled away. "it's super hot, vash."

"come on," he moped, slumping forward over his thighs a little. "it's so cold. don't let me freeze."

you were able to pass both mugs off to him after some grief, shaking out the sand from your sleeping bag, spreading it out next to vash before finally crawling inside. impressively, he held the metal by the rim; stream coiling up into his palm, no doubt singeing his fingertips as he waited for you to take it from him.

"seriously? your gonna burn the shit out of yourself." you said, carefully taking it with a lingering look at his hand.

"nah," he was already taking effortless sips. "it's just the right temperature. and, man, does it hit the spot. what is this? it isn't normal tea."

"dunno," you shrugged, embedding your mug in an inch of sand to give it time to cool. "something with a bunch of rare spices in it. the guy in the store told me it's a must for cold, lonely desert nights."

vash brought the sharp rim to his lips, shifting a look sidelong to you as he shimmied himself closer. you didn't really respond when he was suddenly flush to your side; arms and thighs touching, warmth comfortable and shared.

"are you lonely out here with me? it must be hard not to be, sometimes."

you didn't look at him, particularly fascinated now by playing with flecks of sand pocketing in the stitching of your sleeping bag. "it can be. especially when you're in your own little world and you won't tell me about it."

he wasn't surprised by that answer. "I know. I'm sorry. maybe one day I'll be able to tell you everything. right now... I can't."

"at the end of the day, vash, it's not a big deal." you said, hefting your mug up to test the heat on your tongue. "i'm kind of just along for the ride. your sidekick, I guess. I'm sure you deal with enough, plus you're always looking over my shoulder for me."

before the edge of your cup reached your lips, vash had snatched it from your hands and set it aside next to his. you struck him with a look, to which he returned with something a little more severe, his brow burying inward.

"that's not how I want you to feel about... anything." he let a hand sit on your shoulder, putting some weight into it as his fingers pushed divots in fabric. "you're not a burden to me. we made the agreement to travel together... together. I don't want you to think of me like that, either. you're a lot more than just a sidekick."

"vash," you sucked in a breath, it hitched as you restrained a laugh. "you're being so serious right now that I don't know how to handle it."

"I am being serious," he sighed, face screwing up when you started sputtering giggles. "come on, listen to me!"

all at once, the noises stop with exception to the faint crackle of the dimming fire. you felt the warmth of vash's body on you as his arm wound your waist, his lips pressed tenderly against yours and lingering there to twine your breaths.

the kiss was so light that you wondered if it had happened at all, and he hadn't just tried to psyche you out. and yet, as your eyelids fell heavy to look lower, fingers hesitating yet bravely touching his cheek, you felt his lips more confidently this time.

he wasn't practiced, but he was gentle; always seemingly cautious of every movement you made, waiting for the moment you told him it was too much. those first few kisses were experimental, you wondered if they were his first, as he tested whether you'd truly reciprocate or shove him away after you had your wits about you.

you didn't. you pressed your palm flat against his face, resting yourself into his arms as you returned each kiss; every head tilt, every lasting lip-lock, eager for him to come to you again and again until his uncertainty melted away.

divider; anlian-aishang

 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : just some thots about the trigun boys enjoy <333

 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : gender neutral! reader, mentions of sm*king, praise, oral, I think I forgot smth but we die like men ig

vash — who's gentle and slow, wrapping you in a hazy and love soaked embrace when it comes to pleasuring you. who takes his time, taking in the details of your body, every little dip and curve, every mark or scar with reverence and adoration in his eyes. who kisses every inch of skin with the softest rose tinted lips, praise tumbling from them. who listens to those sweet sounds you make as a guide to bring you even more pleasure. who could spend hours between your legs, letting you squeal and tug at his hair as much as you pleased. he just wants to make you feel good, after all... your pleasure is his pleasure.

wolfwood — who's all cocky smirks and slow drags of his cigarette, making you work for his cock but who caves the moment you guide him inside you. who has you riding him, his hands unable to stay in one place, digging his fingers into the plush skin of your ass, tracing the marks he's left because he needs everyone else to know you're his and no one else's. who will bend you over in shameful positions over the nearest flat surface because he can't hold himself back and neither could you. he pants and groans against your skin, his breath hot, enveloping your senses and leaving your brain fuzzy. he's insatiable, but so are you...

𝘛𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

Vash the Stampede x reader (no pronouns used)

The piece below contains the bleak words from a remitter that considered not deserving a response from its addressee. A mere confession from a worn out soul to another.

A farewell letter dedicated to the man with a geranium colored spirit.

A farewell letter dedicated to the man that will be loved until the five moons that adorn the sky, fall before the eyes of this desolate heart.

The reason why I am writing this letter to you is somewhat difficult to explain. It's something much bigger than me, a greater power beyond my comprehension that unfortunately, is slowly consuming everything around me. I’ve come to find myself plunged into deep despair, and at the same time, I learnt to accept the cowardice that has been invading me for not being able to muster the necessary strength to look at you in the eyes and tell you what you will read here in a few moments.

Pretty easy right? To hide between words, ink and paper. I'm sorry about that.

I will start by saying that, when I first met you, I came to realize that everything I knew and defined as my world would transform into something entirely different. You were the strike of lightning in the pouring rain, a hit that came with enough force to demolish an entire city. Your presence was all over the place, making it hard to ignore you. Every step you took resonated loudly in my head. And despite of what your name represents and what people often acknowledges you as, I have realized that it only covers a small part of what you truly are.

I think you are incredible, Vash. You are kind, you are a gentle being. You are the most wonderful coincidence that I have met in my life. You are an imperfect creation, but so am I. And so is everything else. And no matter how hard I try, I'll never be able to fully comprehend your greatness. But that's okay, because I already came to create my own conclusions. Just like you don't need to fully understand why I feel the way I feel when I notice you are near me. Or how the blood flows violently in each and every of my veins when I hear you breathing softly while you are sleeping on my chest. Even when, I suppose that you too have already come to create your own conclusions about it.

My love for you has grown so unbridled that I fear of losing my mind. So, that's why I decided to get away from you, from the room we shared, from the city where we used to travel together. Having you by my side hurt, because despite the suffocating closeness, you were still miles away from me.

And it hurt, it hurt immensely because my heart is exposed. Open the palm of your hand and there you will find it, bleeding and throbbing with emotion and life. While yours, is hiding behind an iron barrier attached to the left side of your chest. A barrier I could never cross no matter how hard I tried.

And because of that, I wish your gaze had never met mine. I wish you had never saved my life. I wish our lips had never touched. I wish you had never felt embarrassed to undress yourself in front of me. I wish I never had to see you cry while nightmares tormented you at midnight. I wish your pain would just go away. I wish you never had to suffer. I wish you had never deprived me of the right to love you.

I wish for so many things.

And I also foolishly wish that you loved me as much as I do, despite everything, despite all of this.

I love the scars in your body that form together a map I have traveled so many times with my lips, a map vividly embodied in my memory. I love your eyes and the color of your hair. I love the little mole that adorns the highest part of your left cheekbone. The aroma of your skin and the contrast of temperatures that your hands emit when you embrace me. I love when you laugh and I also love that you are easily moved to tears. I love the sound of your voice at any time of the day. I love listening to you hum that song you like so much and I love dancing with you that waltz we drunkenly invented one night out in the dark alley of a bar, and therefore, only you and I know. I love all the versions I've met of you.

I have even come to hate that word, ‘love’, because I consider that is too vague to describe what arises within my being when I lift my stare from the floor and see you standing in front of me. But I've learned to settle for it, so yes, I love you. I absolutely love everything about you, your worst and your best. I love you, Vash. And I am a slave to my own body because it refuses to feel otherwise, to think otherwise.

I will be devoted to you until eternity comes to an end, even though I don't really have a clue of how long that will be.

Knowing you, that idea does not please you at all.

So, forgive me.

Forgive me for stumbling upon your way that rainy day, and for trying to love you the days that came next.

Forgive me for that, and for all the other things, so I can leave without wanting to look back.

                   -Yours entirely. Yours forever.

What followed after was the image of Vash going through the door, running after those faint footsteps of your boots imprint in the unforgiving sand of May City. Holding against his chest the crumpled piece of paper that had the last bit of your essence. The trace that a weak, broken heart left behind as an old souvenir. Pieces slowly intermingling with the ground, waiting to be picked up by the hands that undid them in the first place. And as he ran, it wasn't just the scorching sun of a summer afternoon the only thing that burned. The love you felt for that mysterious man with the empty smile and tender eyes was consumed in ashes. The sun was burning, but your heart and your soul, were burning even stronger. And Vash ran, he ran for hours until his legs sank in the dryness. Ran until your trail was lost. And he cried too, cried until exhaustion did not allow a single more sob to come out of his throat. But he managed to stand up, just like he always has, and kept searching. Praying silently to the heavens for another coincidence, another way to find you once again.

bounty - vash/f!reader/wolfwood (trigun stampede) 1.4k, poly!au, wild west!au even tho it's hard to tell in a fic this short lol, bounty hunters, this is an equilateral triangle of a relationship, fluff but suggestive, wolfwood calls reader 'kid' as a petname, i may expand on this but rly who's to say

the mattress dips beside you, rousing you from sleep.

you don’t open your eyes, nor do you feel any panic. instead, you find yourself reaching out towards the form that’s curled up into your side; familiar and warm to the touch.

“welcome home,” you whisper quietly, slumber still clinging to your throat and making your words rasp a little more than usual. “good morning.”

“it’s not morning yet,” vash whispers in reply with a laugh creeping into his voice. he presses a kiss against your temple, nosing into your hair. “you should go back to sleep.”

he sounds tired as he clings to you tightly, and you open your eyes to meet his sleepy gaze. he smiles, even through his exhaustion, and you watch fondly as his eyes crinkle at the corners in the dim light of the oil lamp at your bedside. 

you shift a little closer to him in your bed, craning up to press a kiss to the little mark below his eye. he sighs contently as your lips brush against his skin, his body slackening into yours as though he's finally allowing his weariness to catch up to him. finally allowing himself to rest.

you pull away, brushing a few strands of blonde hair back from his face.

he has a bruise at the edge of his jaw, and dark rings of shadow that are deepest at the inner corner of his eyes. his skin looks sallow, and his lips dry.

you wonder how rough these past few weeks have been.

“where’s nico?” you ask gently, cradling his face in your hands. the question has been at the back of your mind since your bed dipped only on one side.

vash averts his eyes from yours guiltily.

“vash?” you press, a sudden knot of anxiety winding in the pit of your stomach. you sit up in bed, your quilt pooling in your lap as it slips from your body and reveals the cotton of your gauzy nightdress.

“he’s outside,” the man beside you murmurs, pink blooming high across his cheeks as his head rests against his pillow. he pouts a little, finally peeking back up at you through his lashes with a wounded gaze. “he’s mad at me.”

“oh?” you ask, fighting back a laugh at how sheepish and petulant the man below you looks. “and why is that?” 

vash purses his lips even further.

“the guy we were after…” 

“the wanted man whose bounty you were hunting,” you correct vash lightly, a lilt of playfulness in your tone.

“yeah, him,” vash nods, and then grimaces, “he sort of… got away.”

you let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“vash, that’s…”

“the third one in a row, i know. i know.” vash wraps his arms around your waist and pulls his head into your lap. you card your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles into you for comfort.

“did you let this one get away again?” you ask quietly, but not in an accusatory way.

vash says nothing, but that’s an admission in and of itself.

you sigh, your fingers stilling as they trace through the strands of blonde, the locks curling around your knuckles. you shift towards the edge of the bed, and vash tries to keep you where you are by tightening his hold around your waist.

“i’m just gonna go check on him,” you assure him when he looks up at you with wide eyes. you dip down and press a kiss to his lips—the ones you’ve been missing so much for the fortnight he and nicholas had been away. he whines as you pull away, and you smile against his mouth. you kiss him again, more chaste this time. “i’ll be back.”

nicholas is on the front porch, staring out into the sea of sand that surrounds the little ranch you call home. his beloved boots have been kicked off beside the door, and his shirt is unbuttoned to reveal the undershirt he wears beneath. the tails of the shirt are still tucked into his trousers but he’s unfastened their button at his waist too, and his suspenders are the only thing keeping them on as he reclines back onto his elbows against the wooden slats of the porch deck.

you know he hears the screen door open to let you out, and you're even more certain that he hears the sound of it shutting behind you once you've stepped outside. the smell of tobacco clings to the edge of the night wind. it’s familiar, comforting. reminds you that he’s home. you draw in a long breath to savour it.

“you should be in bed, kid,” nicholas rasps, tapping the ash off the end of his sad, vaguely mangled cigarette. 

“i’m not allowed to come and welcome you home?” you kneel behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck. it feels nice to have him in your arms again. feels right.

“not when you’ve got a crybaby to coddle in there,” he grunts, but you still feel him lean back into your embrace. you hide your pleased smile against the crown of his head.

“he’s probably already asleep,” you murmur into the top nicholas’s hair, swaying him gently. “he feels bad. he thinks you’re mad at him.”

“i am mad at him,” nicholas snaps, but you see through the sharpness of his tone. he’s tired, probably hungry, but not sincerely angry. “he fucked up another job for us.” 

“guess that’s what you get taking in a fugitive as a partner, mister bounty hunter,” you tease him, pressing a kiss to his throat. his skin tastes of salt and desert sand, like days spent in the sun and labour. you feel how he shivers at the gentle brush of your mouth against his pulse. "and a bleeding hearted one at that."

“you’re the one who took him in like a stray,” nicholas complains, “i’m only putting up with him for your sake.”

it’s a lie, and he knows it as well as you do. he’s just as attached to the blonde presently curled up in your bed, the one too big for just him, as you are. it's the reason nicholas wears a thin gold band that he takes impossibly good care of, just like the two of you do, on his left ring finger.

nicholas tips his head back so he can finally look at you, his cigarette still dangling from his lips. the corner of his mouth quirks slightly as he draws a breath in, the cherry burning red in the night. you pluck the cigarette from his lips as he lets the smoke slip out on his exhale, his dark eyes still fixed to your face as he appraises you.

you observe him similarly, scanning over him as though taking inventory of the state he's fallen into since he's been away. he’s in the same shape as vash, from what you can tell. you spot some bruises mottling his skin, some rough stubble coming in at the edge of his jaw. there’s a blood stain on the collar of his shirt, and you aren’t sure if it’s his own or someone else’s, but you know it will be a pain to wash out. 

but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

“if he’s a stray, what does that make you?” you ask him with a little laugh, his cigarette still pinched between your thumb and forefinger.

he quirks a brow. “if i say ‘the luckiest guy in the world’ are you gonna think i’m just trying to take you to bed?” 

you snort, stamping the stub of the cigarette out onto the wooden porch and then flicking the butt away into the sand. you dip down until you’re nose to nose with him.

“of course I am,” you reply to him, your lips brushing against his as you speak the words. you can taste the tobacco that clings to his mouth from this close, but you don't mind it when it tastes like home. “and it’s our bed, nicholas. so take me to it whenever you’d like.”

“Like this Vash?” you asked innocently, you were handling his gun farthest from correct but little did the outlaw know it was on purpose. 

“Not quite, just a little more like this-” He grabbed your hand from behind, placing it properly on his gun’s handle, his fingers curling over yours carefully squeezing the trigger. “More like this.” He spoke by your ear, his attention on the position of your hand. Catching him off guard you leaned against him, your back flushed against his chest. Vash’s eyes widened at the sudden intimacy, his cheeks flushed feeling the friction of your behind held firmly at the center of his waist. You held your concentration, shutting one eye and centering your aim at a stray can sitting on top of a wooden barrel. Pulling the trigger you shot a single golden bullet, hitting the can dead center forcefully knocking it off of the perch. 

“Oh.” he interjected, completely taken by surprise of your sudden skill. “I’m beginning to think you didn’t need my help after all.” 

𝘛𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

Vash the Stampede x reader (no pronouns used)

The piece below contains the bleak words from a remitter that considered not deserving a response from its addressee. A mere confession from a worn out soul to another.

A farewell letter dedicated to the man with a geranium colored spirit.

A farewell letter dedicated to the man that will be loved until the five moons that adorn the sky, fall before the eyes of this desolate heart.

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