And I Know It's Hard Enough To Love Me (But I Woke Up In A Safe House)

And I know it's hard enough to love me (But I woke up in a safe house)

pairing: vash the stampede x fem!reader warnings/tags: babygirl vash, Depressing Pillow Talk, slighty nsfw towards the end, sharing one bed trope, title taken from let's get married (MITSKI VERS) word count: ~4.2k

“My husband and I would like a room,” you say with a smile as you wrap your arms around Vash’s and lean into him. You feel his body startle at your touch, his gaze on top of your head as you play the part of the excited bride. You think he might pass out on you if you don’t get him to room, and fast. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

“In this shithole of a town?” The innkeeper asks with a raised eyebrow, looking from you to Vash, who only lets out a sheepish chuckle as he scratches the back of his head. Despite his sluggish breaths, his slow blinking gaze, and the red slowly staining his shirt.

You shrug, trying hard not to be impatient. “There are worse places.”

There are. You’ve survived them. Compared to the slums of December or September, this shabby, worn inn is paradise.

“Yer right ‘bout that,” he laughs, acquiescing, as he tosses a ring of keys into your hand and takes your pouch of money. Vash is slumped into you now, and you can tell he’s trying his hardest not to place the full weight of his body on you. To anyone else, it would look as if he was clinging to you, the picture of a loving couple.

“Cheers to the happy couple!” the man calls out, tipping his hat down as the two of you move to the stairs in front of you. 

Vash grins brightly, and manages a cheery, polite, “Thank you!” as the two of you pass.

You can’t resist the huff of a laugh that escapes your lips as you make your way up the stairs, and then into the small, modest dust lined room.

Vash collapses on the bed with a sharp exhale, and you immediately move to take off his shirt but his hand stops you by the wrist before you can.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, eyelashes fluttering. His fingers tightens, just imperceptibly, (even on the brink of sleep, he’s overly conscious about his strength, you think). In a way, it feels like he’s wordlessly imploring you to stay. “Jus’ need sleep. Not gonn’ take long.”

You blink. His fingers loosen, and in a few seconds his breathing has evened out into steady breaths. You’re relieved. He’s already stopped bleeding. From the months you’ve traveled with him, known him, he’s healed quickly enough that any other person wouldn’t understand. You still don’t. Not fully. But you’ve never asked questions. And as long as he never asked you any questions, that was fine with you. 

You stay on the bed, by his side for a few minutes, watching him. You take off his sunglasses and put them on the nightstand after wiping the blood off them. He’s an unusually pretty man. Too pretty for No Man’s Land. You trace his face with your eyes. The beauty mark right under his right eye to his parted pink lips. Then down to the rise and fall of his chest to the plates of the cybernetic prosthesis of his left arm. 

Lost technology. Not many people had access to that kind of technology. Or the knowledge to build that arm, let alone repair it.  

Standing, you give him one last glance, reload your revolver and tuck it into the holster at your side, before you leave in search of medical supplies to patch him up when he wakes. You scope out the town while at it. It’s small; a handful of residents armed to the teeth with guns, and even less children. There are pipes that run through the town that you assume are fed fresh water by a nearby plant. You locate a medical shop at the center of town. 

You buy antiseptic, gauze, and a few other things, before making your way back to the inn. The innkeeper gives you a wink.

When you open the door to the room, Vash is awake.

The sound of his harsh breathing fills the air. His metal hand fisted into the sheets so tightly you think it might tear. You meet his frantic gaze, and almost immediately, he slumps in relief, eyes dropping to his lap. 

You quietly shut the door. “Nightmare?”

Sometimes, in his sleep, you hear him call out for a woman named Rem.

He lets out a loud laugh. You pretend not to notice the shaky undertone of it. “I slept for longer than I thought!” His metallic hand curls and unfurls, catching on the dull light of the room. “I thought you…” he trails off, suddenly embarrassed. He looks away. 

“I brought supplies.” You place the bag on the table, next to Vash’s nickel revolver. You turn back to him: “Strip.”

His arms immediately make a cross on his chest, as if he’s already stripped, face bright red.

“I can do it myself—!”

Vash the Stampede. The humanoid Typhoon. The Sixty Billion Double Dollar Man. The man you originally only followed after to collect the criminals who swarmed to him, like flies to corpses. The man who leaves a trail of calamity and disaster in his wake. The man who continuously, everyday, without fail, begged you to leave the criminals you captured alive. A constant enigma and a headache. A walking contradiction. 

“I’ll leave the room,” you say. “Don’t take too long.”

You leave the room, leaning against the wall, and wait two minutes.

You open the door, and Vash jumps with a yelp, stripped to the waist, arms covering whatever he can manage.

Scars cover his entire torso, running all the way down his flesh arm to his hand. Deep scars, shallow scars, scars that have never entirely healed, leaving the skin dark pink and the flesh caved in. There are more scars than there is unblemished skin, missing chunks of skin replaced with metal plates and seams.

It's not a pretty sight, but you’ve never much cared for pretty. 

His face is flushed. “I thought—”

“I lied.”

“!?”

You shut the door with your heel, and then grab the gauze and antiseptic. “Turn around.”

Wordlessly, he turns, ears reddening. You direct him to sit on the bed, and then you begin to apply the antiseptic. The two of you sit in silence. You, disinfecting his fresh wounds and wrapping his back, while you also ignore the way his body tenses at your touch, his pointedly straight gaze, the constant bob of his throat, as if he’s looking for the right words to say.

He reluctantly speaks up. “You’re…not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you reply. Just a few scrapes and a bruised arm from where you had landed wrong after trying to dodge multiple rounds of bullets from the latest batch of criminals that had schemed to capture the humanoid typhoon. After hauling them to the police, Vash hiding away, you had gained yourself a hefty paycheck before being run out of the city, a bleeding Vash in tow.

You’re nearly done. The wounds aren’t nearly as severe as they had been only a couple of hours ago. The skin has healed enough that it’s already forming a scar. You don’t know much about Vash the Stampede, but you know enough to understand that he isn’t human. Not completely.

But he smiles. He laughs. He detests the very violence that nurtured you. He likes pizza and donuts. He’s moved to tears almost as easily as he seems to get hurt. He’s good with children. They trust him. Children love him in a way they don’t you: pulling him down to their height, climbing him, leading him and all his long limbs along. The way he takes their words seriously, nodding with all the gravity of a legal proceeding as they talk about the weather, their favorite foods, the silly argument they got into with a sibling. He smiles, and when he turns that smile onto you, it makes you think of everything warm and how you had forgotten what it meant to be happy.

He may not be human, but he is. Everything good about humanity that had been lost and forsaken when mankind crashed onto this unforgiving, harsh planet. 

You pull away, resisting the urge to press your fingers down on his skin, to trace the map of his scars and feel him shudder underneath you. He’s as warm as a furnace. The heat of his body stays with you. “How do you feel?”

He beams at you, one hand on his upper arm as he swings his arm around. “Perfect!”

You sigh. “Don’t push yourself now. Let me finish wrapping you.”

He retreats back to his original position, still smiling, all reservations about his partial nudity forgotten as he waits for you to finish.

Vash speaks. “You didn’t kill them.”

You glance up. You can only partially see his expression from your position behind him, but the pull of his lips is unmistakable. He’s smiling. And you don’t need to look at him to see it. That sweet smile of his that pulls at his eyes and softens his entire face. 

Your hands still. You hadn’t killed them. The Archie Brothers, the two brothers infamous for targeting banks and other commercial properties, who had gotten wind of Vash being in the city and emptied hundreds of rounds into the bar the two of you had momentarily settled in for a quick drink. It’s not as if you could’ve killed them in the first place. Vash was nothing if not easygoing, but keeping the criminals you turned in for a paycheck alive was the one thing he firmly enforced. Going as far to shield their bodies with his own.

He’s so troublesome sometimes.

You want to ask if he would’ve let you in the first place. If you had a choice. 

You force yourself to wind the bandage over his arm. “You must be rubbing off on me.”

Vash turns, faster than you anticipate, eyes wide. You can see the pale irises of his eyes. He’s delighted. “Really!?”

You blink, staring at him in silence. He goes red, jerking back, scuttling backwards with his hands like a crab until he reaches the end of the bed and then air. He falls back first, legs raised up in the air. 

He sits up with a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his head. “I…I guess I got a little ahead of myself…”

“...pffft.”

He straightens just as you dissolve into full blown laughter. And when your laughter dies down he’s looking at you, eyes wide, like he’s seeing you for the first time. You clear your throat and look away, embarrassed. You don’t think you’ve ever laughed in front of him.

“...Something on my face?”

He jumps, frantically waving. “No, no. I just thought,” he hesitates. “You should laugh more.”

Something in your chest gives. You can’t stand it. Not when he looks at you like that. Eyes shining, lips curved softly, face animated like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

People like him aren’t supposed to survive No Man’s Land. They aren’t built to. But you’ve seen with your own eyes how capable Vash is. It didn’t take much to kill a man in these lawless lands, but you had never seen him miss his target. Your didn't need to take pride in your aim to know it was excellent. You just didn’t have the same consideration for criminals Vash did. A life or two wasn’t something you lost sleep over. Casualties happened. And if it was a criminal, then it was simply divine judgment.

You stand from the bed and walk towards the desk. You take a doughnut out of a brown paper bag and throw it to him.

“For me?” He exclaims, easily catching it, even though you had thrown it to him.

You don’t respond. He enthusiastically tears it in half, and offers you the bigger piece.

You shake your head, the quirk of your lips, fond. “I don’t like sweet things.”

“I see…” he says thoughtfully, as if he’s digesting the information. “That makes sense. You don’t normally eat…”

It strikes you that this is the most you’ve ever talked about yourself. You’re unusually talkative today, and he notices. You find that you don’t mind. It’s alarmingly easy to talk to him now.

In the handful of months you’ve been traveling together, you’ve learned that all the crimes attributed to him had been the work of his twin, a man called Million Knives. A man you had managed to steal a glimpse of only once before Vash had locked you in a closet before rushing away. You were still sore over that. Even though he retrieved you soon after, apologizing profusely, accepting your cold shoulder with grace. Until you couldn’t bear the way he trailed after you with a pathetically sad expression on his face, and told him to stop. 

You never asked him for details. Of why his brother was terrorizing towns and cities, stealing plants and lives along the way. You’ve never pushed. You weren’t following the man to learn his life story. You were in it for the money.

Until one day, you realized he knew your exact bar order by heart. The kinds of alcohol you’d drink, and the kinds you wouldn’t touch. It was a small thing. But he looked so pleased when he placed the glass down, as he waited for you to drink it.

You knew his fear of you becoming potential collateral damage, but somewhere along the way you think you had grown on him. Somewhere along the nights listening to him cry out in his sleep for a woman named Rem, somewhere along watching the sliver of light heralding sunrise on the horizon together, somewhere in the silence in the dark of nights shared. 

You think he’s grown on you too.

“Have you eaten?” He asks. 

“Not hungry,” you reply, glancing out the window. Pitch black other than the glow of a single lone street lamp nearly a block down. “I’m going to sleep.” It wasn’t often you got to sleep on a bed, and you planned to make full use of it.

You go to the bathroom to wash up. When you walk out, Vash enters the room with a load of blankets. You look at him curiously.

“I asked the innkeeper for some blankets.” He laughs, recalling the conversation. “I said that my…” he trails off. “My…ah…wife…” Red paints his cheeks, and he looks away, raising the mound in his arms a bit higher to cover his face.

“...”

“...”

You watch as he makes his way to the other side of the room, keeping his gaze pointedly straight, and places the pile down. 

“You’re sleeping on the floor?”

“That’s right!” Vash pats the floor a little too vigorously for your liking. “Just like usual!”

You look at the bed. It’s big enough for the two of you so you had assumed you’d be sharing it… You’ve never shared a bed together before, but you had no problems with it, not with Vash.

He darts into the bathroom quickly enough that you don’t have time to say anything else. You hear the water run, turn off the lights, and get underneath the covers.

Then you wait.

When he leaves the bathroom, he gingerly folds his red jacket and sets it down on the chair. You wait until he passes the bed to strike, grabbing him by the shirt, and hauling him down onto the bed.

He yelps, a surprised, high pitched, noise that tears out of his throat. 

“We can share,” you say to him, his face inches apart from you. You can see his wide eyes, the bob of his throat working, pink lips parted as he stares at you, but your gaze is resolute.

And that’s that.

You figure that it might be easier for him to sleep if you aren’t facing him, so you turn to face the wall. You stare at the wall for ten minutes, waiting for him to settle into his side of the bed. Not even a faint rustle of the sheets. You wait a little longer. You can’t even hear him breathing.

You turn back around to face him and immediately he draws back even farther from his original position, on the tip of the bed where he’s precariously close to falling off.

A nervous chuckle. “I…”

“Sleep. I won’t say it again.” You study him, his slightly panicked expression, the grip of his metal hand fisted into the sheets. Oh. “Is it me?”

“N-nothing like that—!” He inches forward, just a little bit (still keeping his distance), puts his hand underneath the pillow, and squeezes his eyes tight. You watch him for a few seconds longer, specifically at the bead of sweat forming on the side of his temples. Your gaze drifts down, from the delicate slope of his nose to his lips.

You turn back around. 

Silence settles in the room like a muffled blanket. You still can’t tell if he’s breathing or not, and for some reason, sleep doesn’t come to you as easily as it usually does. The bed is too soft. 

You don’t know why you say it. Maybe it’s because you’re awake. Maybe it’s because you know Vash isn’t asleep. 

“When I was a child, a plant saved me.”

A few heartbeats pass.

Vash’s voice is softly hesitant. It feels like something gentle and your stomach coils tight, as if in preparation for the inevitable recoil that always follows. “Were you sick?” 

“I was.” The darkness reveals patterns in the wall, and your eyes go blurry with them. “The entire town was sick. Children were dying.” Religious fervor had taken ahold. Daily ritual acts of praying and calling out for salvation.

Taking you to your town’s plant when you were on the brink of death had been your mother’s first and final act of love. Afterwards, your mother often recounted in a drunken stupor that she was sure you were going to die. That it may have even been a mercy if you had. The plant cured you. Your mother was sure of it, the plant worshiping denizens of the town were sure of it. Nobody knew how. Nothing except for the fact that shortly after—

“The plant died the day after. I’ve never forgotten it.” You killed it. It was the first life you took.

It changed you. On a fundamental level. Something had happened to you on that day you can’t even remember. But that’s something you don’t think you can share. How sometimes, you don’t even need to dodge bullets.

That plant died, and now you are here, sharing a bed with a self proclaimed pacifist who refused to kill under any circumstances. A man who defied all logic and reasoning. A good man anyone would call misguided. A fool. An idealist.

In the end, lives would always demand sacrifice. It was either you, or them. It was kill, or be killed.

You don’t know what face he’s making behind you. Is he horrified to know that your life had ended before it started? That you were responsible for taking away the source of life for hundreds of people? That your existence was predicated on sacrifice and death before you even learned how to walk? You were at inherent odds with the idealism of pacifism. With him. Not out of choice, but because of circumstances out of your control.

Maybe a part of you wants him to hate you. Maybe a part of you is looking to be understood. But you thought that part of you had died long ago.

You shut your eyes, prepared to go to sleep.

Vash exhales. “I don’t…”

You open your eyes.

There’s a conviction in his voice you don’t understand. “You didn’t kill it.” You wonder how he can be so confident. “The plant saved you.” I know it did. 

You face him once more. He’s closer than he was before, close enough to easily touch. “Sometimes,” you start, hating the way he’s smiling at you in a way that touches his eyes, framed in the pale moonlight. “You really make me mad.”

His jaw comically drops open. You watch as panic instantly overtakes his face until he realizes the lack of heat in your words. His lips push back together to form a pout. He says your name.

“Why is your brother stealing plants?”

Money. Power. Recognition. Those would seem to be the most likely answers, but you’ve seen the wreckage that Million Knives leaves in the wake of his destruction. It’s cruelty. It’s too calculated to be careless. It’s pure hatred. You can’t fathom a man like as Vash's brother. Twin brother. 

But then that voice inside you speaks. Are you really any different?

Vash blinks, and then his face falls, gaze downcast. It feels odd to see him like this. You rarely catch him without a big, sheepish smile on his face nowadays, especially when he catches you looking at him, but you had seen him with a forlorn expression, shoulders slumped, in your early days of traveling together. When there were no children to demand a ride on his back, when the two of you momentarily passed an overcast shadow, in the darkness of the night when he thought nobody was looking.

You almost regret asking him in the first place. But he’s so close you can count his pale eyelashes, and you lose your train of thought.

“You could say it’s…” his mouth twists, “revenge.”

Revenge.

He’s not the first misanthrope in these lands. You think the occasional mass murderous thought, and you resist acting on it more often than you didn’t, the days before you met a blonde pacifist gunman. There’s only so much a human being can take.

You think of the kaleidoscope of scars that line his body. You only saw the ones on his upper body, but you don’t doubt the existence of countless others everywhere else.

It must’ve hurt. It must’ve been other people. People intent on capturing him. People who wanted to hurt him. You hate them all. Every single person that has permanently marked him a way that wasn’t theirs to do in the first place. You hate whoever severed his arm, whoever had repaid his kindness with violence.

Desire strikes you, hot and sudden. You want to count them all, trail your fingers over the heat of his body, the uneven layers of skin, and feel his breaths underneath you. You look at him, as his gaze lifts, remeeting your eyes, pleading for your understanding. Ball and chain to his brother. Shouldering the sins of family. You don’t understand it. Why he’s looking to you for acceptance, as if it’d even make a difference.

He is the only good thing in this harsh world, and you’ve found him.

“Maybe,” you tell him, as he hangs onto your every word. “We deserve it.”

You see the split second sadness weighing in his eyes, at your words, right before you curl your fingers into his shirt and pull him to your lips.

His eyes go wide, and something that sounds like a mixture of an exhale and gasp leaves his lips. You separate, your lips a hairbreadth away from his, as he stares at you.

“Is this okay?” You ask. If it wasn’t, you’d go back to sleep, and forget it ever happened in the first place. You made your move. It wasn’t reciprocated.

But then he nods, so vigorously that his blonde hair flops into his eyes.

You smile, and Vash lights up.

You kiss him again, drawing his face closer with your hand on his cheek. He complies with his entire body, closing the distance immediately, like if he can’t help himself. His lips are clumsy against yours, too eager, too desperate, wet and messy, as he pants into your mouth. Heat pools in your stomach, and you want more. You run your tongue over the seam of his lips, and he lets out a sigh of something that sounds reverently like your name against your mouth.

Then your tongue is in his mouth, and his flesh hand jumps. There’s a breathless, throaty whimper, the entire weight of his body pressing tight against you. So you can feel every part of him. How he’s willing to give you everything in the name of desire, of love. And when you pull away, his lips follow yours, spit slicked and swollen.

You easily lay him flat on his back as you move to straddle him. You kiss him again briefly, tenderly. Then you sit up and pull up his shirt, just enough to expose his torso. His metal fingers fist into the sheets when your finger goes to a scar of pink skin right about his hips, lightly following it to right below his chest.

He chokes with a shudder that wracks his body. You can feel him, heavy and hard pressing against you. The slight jump of his hips, barely restraining himself from rutting into you.

“It’s not…” Vash struggles with the words with heaving breaths, face bright red, embarrassment splayed out. He looks to the side. “A pretty sight.”

You think of heated irons and blistering pain. Thousands of blades slicing you open, needles penetrating flesh, blind white heat enveloping your body, and the mindless oblivion that would follow.

You realize you’ve been silent a beat too long when Vash looks like he’s preparing for your inevitable rejection.

“I’ve got scars too,” you say, finally. Quietly. You take his mechanical hand in yours and slowly slide him up underneath your shirt. “You want to see?”

In The Heat of The Night

A/N: Stemming from my previous fic and inspired by this text post I thought I'd write a lil something 18+ for the thirsty Vash fans out there, Vash x Reader, (no pronouns used), might continue/rewrite this with a bit more sm*t eventually. Summary: Vash's first bj, this IS this space cowboy's first time at the rodeo. Thank you @holydayaria for reading/editing. ♡

“Make a right here Meryl! There should be a nearby stop!” Vash called out from the back seat pointing a mechanical finger in the direction of the nearing town. As much as he unconsciously enjoyed the pleasant pressure of an attractive stranger's weight in his lap, his limbs were becoming increasingly sore by the second.

“Someone’s eager to get out of the car.” Wolfwood chuckled beside the blond, he could tell Vash was not only in physical pain, but obviously going through some sort of mental tug of war with what he assumed was his human taught chivalry and his instinctual libido. His dark brows were knit tight the entire car ride, his body ridged, his fists balled up against his sides, like a little kid who was put on time out. Each bump the car went over you bounced in his lap, earning a deep groan every time.

“A drink does sound nice.” you chimed, leaning yourself back against his chest. Vash flinched at your sudden movement, quickly moving his hands to grip the dusty cushions for stability. “Thank you for being such a comfortable seat.” you smiled, turning your head to the side glancing at him from your peripheral. His lips curled upward into a small smile, a droplet of sweat rolling down his brow. “Glad I could be of service.” He laughed breathlessly, rubbing the back of his head with his gloved hand.

To his relief, the truck finally came to a stop in front of a desert inn, you climbed out of the car first, Vash still close behind you holding the door open.

“Thank you for the ride, I would have been a goner without your help.” you turned toward him, bowing forward gratefully, “I’d love to buy a round of drinks for you before we part ways.”

Vash shook his head with a smile waving his hands in front of him in unison with his words, “No, no, you don’t have to do that! It’s the least we could do for a stranger in need.”

“I’d love a drink.” Wolfwood interjected as he hopped out of the car “Me too!” Meryl sang, following alongside Wolfwood, “What they said.” Roberto motioned his hand for you and Vash to follow along.

“I guess it turns out everyone wants a drink!” Vash sighed, raising his hands in defeat.

“Order whatever you’d like.” you reassured your new found saviors making your way over toward the inn’s bar. And after a few moments you all were presented with a frothy beverage in a wooden mug.

“You sure you don’t want anything, I owe you one.” You took a sip from your tankard before placing it to rest on the rustic table Vash was sat at. “You must be thirsty.” you pressed, taking a seat beside him.

He shook his head, “I’ll be alright.”

You raised a single brow taken back by his unusual answer, “Alright, suit yourself.” Before you could inquire about his odd behavior, Wolfwood joined the two of you at the table. “Thanks again for the booze.” He gestured his mug in a silent cheer toward you.

“It’s the least I could do.” You turned toward Vash with a small frown, “guess I’ll have to thank this guy another way.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Wolfwood responded, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, nestling a stick into the side of his mouth.

A few moments later Meryl and Roberto joined the table carrying on their previous conversation that was held in the truck. As they spoke among themselves, you took this time to get to know your makeshift knight in shining armor, and grew more fond of him the more he shared. Wolfwood sat back and spectated your interaction with Vash, it was obvious to him you had quite the attraction to the outlaw.

“I’m going to get another drink, ‘you sure you don’t want anything?” you asked, standing up from your seat. “I’ll just take a glass of water please.” Vash caved to your polite persistence. The priest could swear on the mighty God above him he saw a twinkle in needlehead’s eyes when he gazed at you. He was clearly enamored by you as well, which was quite rare for him.

“Be careful needle noggin’.” The Punisher warned, his eyes still studying you as you approached the bar alone.

“What do you mean?” Vash asked, obviously confused by the implication of his comment.

“They’re obviously interested in you. Just make sure to use protection.” Wolfwood chuckled, picking up the carton of cigarettes off of the table, now standing from his seat “P-protection?!” Vash stammered, “I’ll leave you two alone.” Waved him off, exiting the bar. And before Vash knew it, Meryl and Roberto followed suit, taking their leave as well.

“Guys, where are you going?!”

“We are going to get a room! We might as well stay here for the night! See ya tomorrow!” Meryl waved before exiting the bar. Vash swallowed thickly, directing his attention back to you leaning against the bar awaiting your drink. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to pursue anything more than just a friendly conversation. But physically, he was very drawn to you, more so than he’s experienced with any other human before.

As you made your way back to the table you immediately noticed the empty chairs,“Where did your friends go?” you asked, “I hope I didn’t scare them away.”

“Oh no! Not at all,” he chuckled, humored by your worry but also, trying to soothe his anxiety of being left alone with you, “they went to get their own rooms. I guess we are staying here for the night.”

“Where do you plan on staying?” you asked curiously. He swallowed once more, his mouth dry, clearly struggling to retain his eye contact with your flirtatious gaze. He reached for his water, taking a small sip before replying, “I’m not too sure.” A way to thank him, you thought to yourself. And you weren’t opposed to spending more time with your newly found friend.

“I know you just met me but, you could stay the night with me? But only if you’re comfortable.” you placed your head in the palm of your hand trying to come off nonthreatening in the hopes he would say yes. His cheeks slowly began to flush pink, caught off guard by such an intimate offer. So cute, you thought to yourself.

“You sure?” he asked, you nodded, reassuring the desire of his presence.

“Thank you.” What have I gotten myself into?

After a bit more conversation you decide to call it a night, tired from today’s journey. Vash followed a safe distance behind you as you led him to the purchased room. “You sure you don’t mind me staying with you?” He asked hesitantly, still unsure of the situation.

“I trust you.” Vash’s shoulders relaxed at your comforting words, feeling slightly less tense about his intrusion. With an audible click the door opened, before Vash could make his way in you ran forward throwing yourself on top of the bed, sinking into the plush material with a content sigh.

“Sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a bed this nice.” you apologized with a small laugh, Vash responded similarly. While you enjoyed the bed, he made himself comfortable, pulling free from his heavy red trench coat, leaving him in just his black poloneck and matching cargo pants. His eyes caught your gaze while you watched him unbuckle his gun’s holster. He looked back down, working at the metal buckle, “Sorry, I should have told you I had a gun.”

“It’s okay, I felt something hard when I was sitting in your lap and figured it was either a.) a gun or b.) you were just very happy to see me.” you smirked. A shiver went up his spine hearing your obscene joke, he didn’t know whether to laugh or be embarrassed about the possibility of it not being his gun to blame.

“Vash? You seem tense.” you sat up, resting your forearms behind you for leverage. “Why don’t you come lay down with me.” Vash glanced over at you for a brief moment and part of him wished he didn’t, your soft lips were now contorted into an attractive pout, narrowed eyes luring him like a siren’s call. “Ah, s-sure.” he agreed before he could think about what he was saying, pursing his lips into a thin line trying to keep the nervous shake in his voice hidden. After his struggle unbuckling the holster with nervous fingers he placed it alongside his other belongings, now approaching you from the bedside.

He sat on the edge of the mattress unsure of what to expect from the close proximity. That is until he felt your hands at his shoulders, kneading into the sore tendons. A small sigh left Vash who was enjoying the soft touch of your hands slowly working away the years of knots undone. “Relax,” you purred against his ear, the palm of your hand now flat against his chest pushing him to turn toward you, “I want to make you feel good.”

As Vash turned his torso you guided him back against the bed, positioning him to lay down beside you. He watched as you threw your leg over his, now straddling his hips. His hands fell down to your thighs squeezing the soft flesh gently feeling you roll your hips, trying to comfortably disperse your weight on top of him. His jaw clenched, his glasses slipping to the lower bridge of his nose as he looked down at your semi lewd position on top of him.

You leaned forward pulling the arm of the glasses upward, tucking them behind his ear to rest on top of his blond tresses. “You have beautiful eyes.” you smiled admiring his features that were mostly hidden behind his sunglasses.

“S-so do you.” He said breathlessly, internally cursing himself for being unable to make a coherent sentence. His thoughts were hazy, his brain busy trying to process what was going on. He was soon pulled out of those thoughts feeling your hand slip underneath his shirt, “What do you say about taking this off?” As you pulled the shirt further up you noticed the abundance of scars and protruding pieces of metal that were deeply engraved in his abdomen and chest. Your lips parted in shock at the gruesome sight.

“I’m sorry, this is embarrassing.” His cheeks flushed feeling the harsh sting of your scrutinizing gaze. “Can’t say I didn’t expect an outlaw to have a few battle scars. But I didn’t think it’d be ones like these.” You gently skimmed your hand over each scar, feeling the cool touch of the metal patchwork and seams over your fingertips. “You’re interesting Vash, one of a kind.” you smiled. His eyes widened at your response, one of a kind, he mulled your kind words over in his head.

As your hand drifted back down his abdomen, you felt each muscle twitch underneath your palm, nearing closer to his hips. “Have you ever been with anyone, Vash?” you whispered, placing a hand between his legs, palming his cock through the thick material of his pants. You watched his lips part, a soft moan escaping his lips. He finally processed your question, shaking his head no in response.

You were genuinely surprised by his answer, he hasn’t been with anyone else? But you were too consumed by lust to entertain the idea.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” you whispered against his neck placing soft kisses along his nape. You rested one hand against the opposite side of his neck, continuing to pleasure Vash through his clothing, his cock quickly hardening underneath your palm from the friction. With soft kisses and small licks you made your way down his abdomen before stopping right above his navel. You looked up at him through thick lashes searching his eyes for approval, he nodded granting you further access.

As you pulled his pants down you were soon greeted with his aroused length springing forward from the confines of his underwear. The tip was blushing red, weeping profusely, silently begging for attention. Before attending to his needs you pulled away, crossing your arms at the hem of your top, and as you pulled you at the fabric, you unveiled the sight of your bare chest for his display. Vash wasn’t sure if he should look away, but it was clear by your hand grasping his to touch you, you wanted him to acknowledge you.

“It’s time I give you my thanks. You know, for saving me and all.” you smiled innocently, but what you planned on gifting him for your gratitude was anything but. You repositioned yourself between his legs, refocusing your attention back on his cock. 

You pressed your soft lips against the sensitive skin before laying your tongue flat, gently licking along his slit. Vash’s head fell back onto the pillows, his gloved hand raking carefully through your hair, tugging at the strands with each bob of your head. Vash’s moans were rasped, desperate for his release. Feeling an unfamiliar tension build up inside of him, he threw his other arm above him hitting against the wood with an audible “clank”. His metal fingers curled around the delicate headboard in search of relief. 

“I feel, I feel, like-” his words were frantic, unsure of how to express this overwhelming sensation. Looking up at him, you could tell he was probably close to his climax. His brows were furrowed, the quiff of his hair stuck against his forehead now sticky with sweat, and his pale cheeks illuminated with a dark pink hue. It was enough to motivate you to begin your motions with a little more vigor, encouraging his oncoming orgasm. His hips bucked forward in response to your change of pace. His moans were now broken, uncontrollable. The cracking of wood could be heard between each whimper as he quickly claimed his release. Ropes of thick cum spurting down your throat. Vash winced, feeling his prosthetic grow hot against the flesh of his bicep, and before he could control it he formed a metal fist creating a hole in the headboard. He looked up in shock at his accident trying to regain control of his prosthesis.

“That’s never happened before, I guess I got too excited.” He practiced clenching his mechanical hand as his arm recalibrated.

“Maybe next time, we will keep our hands to ourselves.”

Scars

Summary: Scars to some are something to be proud of, a story that unfolds across flesh; but to others, scars are something to be hidden, something shameful and disgusting. But here is a man who thinks so lowly of himself, yet upon him is an artwork of peace and love.

Authors Notes: This is something I wrote a while ago but I think it's still good enough to post :) Hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Slight nudity, nsfw themes.

“Your scars,” she lightly grabbed Vash’s chin and let the pads of her fingers run along his jaw. Small nicks and lines of new flesh rested on his neck, the further down you went the more gruesome the injuries became. Fingernails lightly pressed into his soft skin; she wanted him to know she was here, alive and real—not some illusion or figment of his imagination, but a breathing being that found it in herself to worship the God before her; he didn’t believe he was worthy of such a title. He always ignored the praise, telling her that no God would look so terribly ugly. The mere thought that he saw himself as some monstrous creature made her heart hurt. She smiled and finished her sentence, “—tell a story.” 

He faced away from her, blonde hair damp from the shower he had taken moments before. “A story?” His voice was quiet, nervous. A lamb standing before a slaughterhouse. He was sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, hands gripping the sheets like his life depended on it. She knew that he didn’t like being vulnerable like this, shirtless and trapped in a room with a woman who always seemed to walk right past his walls and barriers, right into his very soul. He needed to know though, needed to realize how much she truly, utterly loved him.

She hummed, staring at his light blue eyes—they reminded her of humanity, of the good that rested in the world and all the people that rested under the skies, waiting for another day to arrive—as she smiled softly. She let her wall fall slowly, each brick cracking with determination. She had to let him see how she really felt, how every time she looked at him all she could see was beauty. Godly. Divine. A relic of some holy religion that has been long forgotten. “Do you want to know what these scars say?”

He turned his head and made eye contact, only to break it immediately. A light pink dust covered his cheeks, and from the way he kept trying to move away from her touch, she figured he would refuse her advances. She would accept his refusal, but it wouldn’t be any less disappointing. She wanted to get on her knees and pray, beg to be able to touch such a divine being—someone who, despite the horrors of the world around them, managed to keep a heart so pure and truthful. No human could do such a thing, he had to be something else, something completely heavenly. 

He found himself looking at a small dip in the wooden floor, memorizing the grain. His grip on the sheets tightened. She pulled her fingers back and let them hang by her sides. She should’ve known not to press too far—

He nodded. 

She paused.

He . . . agreed? She blinked and let a soft grin cover her face, heart pounding with both excitement and nervousness. This is it, she thought, this would be the moment she could show how much adoration laid within her bosom. “You can stop this story at any time,” she tilted her head and put her hands on his face, forcing him to look at her. The light pink of his skin changed into a deep red, slowly crawling down his neck. “I’ll always be here to recite this poem to you, so don’t worry about missing any of it. Don’t worry about pushing yourself. Okay?”

He nodded, fear seeping down into his very pores. She could tell that every part of him was screaming to run, hide away and cover himself; yet he carried on, and God, she wanted to cry from happiness. He was trying, he was starting to see himself from her eyes. He was starting to know how much she adored him. He was, despite the devilish terror that tormented him, pushing on. A soul so very brave yet so very paralyzed.

She traced her fingers down to his shoulder, where a large scar rested. He shivered as her touch moved across him so intimately. Knuckles brushing against the veins in his neck, making his blood roar and heart scream. “This one tells me of your bravery,” she slowly traced it and moved lower, towards his chest. She ignored the quiet, scared breaths, and the nervous twitches—what he needed right now was reassurance, a way to know that he isn’t a monster, but a God worthy of a devoted priestess. “And this one tells me of your kindness, compassion. How you care so deeply for others but ignore yourself. This one shows me how dedicated you are to your goal, your morals. How unshaking you are in the face of tragedy and pain—you know what you want and strive for it every day. Despite the hardships you face, you move on.” The pads of her fingers lightly caressed the scarred flesh, thumb rubbing circles. He bit his lip and opened his mouth, but she shushed him before he could speak any ill-words about himself.

“This one, oh, this one,” she leaned closer and tucked her face into the crook of his neck. He stiffened and let out a strangled breath, the tips of his ears burning red. She brought her fingers to his left arm, feeling the border between flesh and metal. “This one is important, do you know why?”

He was silent. 

“Because it shows that even in the pits of cruelty you manage to find a way to save, a way to choose the lesser evil—no, not even the lesser evil. You manage to find a way to avoid both and accomplish everything at once, you don’t take the devil’s offer, you forge your own path.” She pressed a light kiss to his neck. Her lips were cold against his warm, flushed skin.

“Mayfly,” he forced out, hands awkwardly hovering over her, not sure what they should do. “Please.” He wasn't sure if he was begging for her to stop or continue on; head dizzy with so much confusion and affection. How can she love me?

She kissed him again, slowly trailing down his shoulder. She took her time, pressing a kiss to each scar, uttering praises that would put any man in the grave from happiness. “Your scars tell me how you survive despite the pain. They tell me of how kind you are. They whisper about how you take on the world and suffer under the weight of it. They tell me of how you think you’re nothing more than a disgrace,” she pressed a kiss into the center of his chest, getting onto her knees between his legs. “But that is wrong, my Love.” He flushed bright red and snapped his head up to look at the roof, not able to find it in himself to look at her. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw her between his legs, uttering praise and kissing his flesh—the parts of him that he was so deeply ashamed of.

“You deserve kindness,” she kissed another scar, “compassion,” another, “love,” another, “and anything else you could dream of.” She grabbed his waist and slowly stood up, hands coming to a rest on his shoulders. “You think you are ugly, horrid,” she grabbed his chin and made him look her in the eyes. Tears glistened on his eyelashes, cheeks burning harshly with both adornment and embarrassment. “But you are nothing short of a God, nothing short of beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to be by your side, to feel your friendship and love. The world treats you unfairly, makes you think you are a demon, and I will not let those lies poison you, do you understand me?”

Silence sat in the room for a moment—thick with too many emotions to count.

Tears started to slip down his face. Abandoning all reservations he had, he grabbed her hands and pulled her forward, sending them both into the bed. Arms curled around her and pressed her body into his, warmth melding into a hearth of love. “What—” he managed to choke out, “what did I do to deserve you?” He shoved his face into her, overwhelmed with just how much he loved her.

“What didn’t you do?” she huffed and slowly ran her hands through his hair as he silently sobbed into her neck, “you’re a saint, Vash. If anything, God should’ve given you better gifts than me.”

“You’re the best thing I can think of. I wouldn’t trade you for anything,” his voice was weak and quiet, emotions pouring out of him so fast he couldn’t control them. He knew he'd be ashamed in the morning, cursing himself for being so open, but he couldn't help it. Love and safety were before him, tempting him with peace. How could he deny such a great thing?

She opened her mouth to argue but sighed in defeat. The night was about him, and she wouldn’t let her insecurities get in the way. “Even more than doughnuts?” She jokingly whispered to him, hoping to lighten the heavy mood that had overtaken the silence. He began to calm down, his sniffles fading from the room.

He paused and peeked his head out from under her, “that’s unfair.” 

She blinked and grinned, “are you saying you love doughnuts more than me?” 

He let out a strangled yelp. “No!” he shot up, dragging her into his lap and he pressed his back against the wall. “I just love them in a different way!” His hands came to settle on her waist, absentmindedly rubbing circles into her skin. Small tears ran down his cheeks, dripping off his chin into his lap. She wanted to catch each one and hold it close, making sure that every part of him was cared for.

She raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, nose pressing against his. “Can a doughnut do this?” She kissed just under his eye, wiping away his tears, before lightly tracing his bottom lip with her thumb. He shivered and tensed up, eyes focused solely on her.

“No,” he breathed out in a lengthy sigh. He glanced at her lips before meeting her gaze, face slowly heating up once again. He wanted to look away but something about her was pulling him in, making him face his fears.

“Or how about this?” She dragged her lips along his cheek before meeting his, tension snapping in the room all at once. He was gentle, nervous, as if the moment he gave into his desires she would wash away into the ocean of sand that rested outside the messy bedroom window. She pressed into him a little harder, slowly coaxing him out of his shell, and the moment he fully emerged, she drew away.

She pulled back and smiled at him. He hesitated a little, a small whine echoing out of the back of his throat. Her heart twisted hearing that sound leave him—she wanted to hear it again, and again. Such a sweet sound . . . something that made every nerve in her body ignite with excitement. “So, do I win? Am I better than a doughnut?”

He gripped her hips and pouted, “much better. Can we finish that kiss now?” He wiped his eyes on his shoulder, rubbing the rest of his tears away. He glanced down at her chest before trailing back up to her crimson eyes, which held so much love and affection he had to turn away before he became overwhelmed. 

Badum, badum, badum. When had his heart started beating so fast? It felt as if the winds of the desert had settled into his chest, roaring to be let out, to be free once again.

“Only if you beg.”

He thought for a moment, only a moment, and decided that he was in too deep—might as well finish the play? Right? The show must go on. Besides, maybe she'd give him something more. So, without even a moment’s hesitation he purred out a “please, love~” He tossed his head back and whined, “Please! Just one kiss, please. One?”

He blinked in shock at the sound of his own voice, so high-pitched and needy, and promptly screwed his eyes shut from embarrassment. He gripped his lover a little tighter, hoping she'd let him off the hook easily. Though, he supposed he wouldn't mind if she was—no! He shook his head and huffed. Don't think about that. He wasn't going to ruin this precious moment with his. . . unsightly desires.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and shook her head happily, “I didn’t expect you to actually do it.” She snickered and lightly nibbled on his ear.

He turned an even darker shade of red.

“I’ll do anything you say," he mumbled into her neck and wrapped his legs around her. He wanted her impossibly close—to meld into one, to be one.

“Love yourself then. Accept that you’re wonderful and deserve every good thing life has to offer.”

He pouted and pressed his nose into her cheek, “fine, but I’m getting another kiss.”

She hummed, “alright. Deal."

 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...

me and vashie from this cute picrew: https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/1338758 !!!♡(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)♡ ⭐️。~

Before your mind could process what was happening, you were trapped beneath two strong arms caging you in, a vine of sharp wire began wrapping its way around you, metal thorns digging the delicate flesh of your skin. You cried out in pain, feeling the wire tighten, your body now flushed against the intruder. 

“Nai don’t!” Vash yelled, running toward you. But his twin’s reflexes were much faster, immediately shooting a wire toward him. 

“Vash!” you cried instinctually lunging forward, but the wire wrapped around you grew even tighter to prevent you from moving at all. You grew lightheaded from the constriction and within a few seconds you were unconscious. Knives sneered feeling your body become limp in his arms. 

“You humans are so weak.” He scoffed. Vash used the side of his gun’s barrel to block each strike of Knives’ blades. With one wrong step, a single wire wrapped around his ankle, tossing him across the lab effortlessly. Vash quickly recovered, rolling out of his fallen position. 

“This one is pretty Vash, I actually might feel bad this time.” Knives held your head in his hand, his hand at your mouth, clenching harshly at your cheeks to hold your head up in front of Vash, as if it was his trophy. Knives knew he had won, he found Vash’s weakness, someone he could use as bait to further the success of his plan.

“Please Nai! Let them go!” Vash plead desperately, he couldn’t watch someone else die because of him. Not you.