Trigun Stampede Fluff - Tumblr Posts

Tee imagine being vash’s first kiss :(

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。FIRST — VASH THE STAMPEDE.

「 SYNOPSIS 」 ⋮ vash has never fallen in love—not before you, that is (2.1k words)

☽ contents ⋮ mutual pining, slightly jealous vash (of nicholas), confessions, fluff

☽ notes ⋮ i don’t even think this has anything to do with the ask anymore LMAO i got carried away but here <3

“nico, get your grimy fingers off my share,” you huff, shoving nicholas’s fingers away from the last few bites of your lunch.

food is scarce these days—more so than usual, and you don’t even try to hide your hunger when you finally find a place to grab a bite. vash eyes you as your lips are curled into a soft frown, the crinkle of your brows making his throat dry—because you’re cute, even with a look of pure irritation on your face, you’re soft and angelic and you make his heart skip a beat.

“c’mon, give me a bite or two,” nicholas chuckles, sneaking his way back to reach for your share of food, “you try carrying that big ol’ cross around all day.”

this time, you slap his hand away, huffing as you shift closer to vash to put extra distance between you and nicholas. vash has to keep himself from leaning in when he feels the warmth of your body radiate against him at the proximity.

“oh, you’re such a jackass, y’know?” you grumble, rolling your eyes at the easy chuckle nicholas gives you. but vash can see it—the beginnings of a smile you try (and fail) to fight back as you shake your head. “you’re the one who insists on carrying such a flashy weapon.”

“well it saved your pretty little head a few times didn’t it?” he shoots back. nicholas is easy to talk to like that, banter filling the air between you as you dance around each other with petty taunts and sly grins and stolen touches through pokes to the forehead.

vash thinks the only time he’s ever touched you is to pull you away from danger. in fact, he thinks it’d be easier to fight off an entire city after him than pluck the courage to reach out and flick your forehead the way nicholas does. it’s so smooth, so simple, so natural—and he can from tell the way your eyes soften for nicholas that it must be love.

he glances down at his food, feels his appetite dwindle and his chest tighten, and soon enough there’s an extra share of food pressed to your hand as he stands up.

“i’m not hungry,” he smiles softly, “you have it.”

you blink for a moment before opening your mouth to protest. “but vash—”

he’s off before you can finish talking, climbing into the van and closing the door while everyone stares after his figure and blinks. you frown, looking back at nicholas who only grins wider, holding a hand out for the half eaten dinner in your hold.

“well, don’t be greedy. share the goods,” he insists.

you roll your eyes, pulling away from his outstretched hand as you glare at him.

“something’s wrong,” you announce. meryl and roberto share a look, glancing quickly between you and nicholas again before continuing eating, making your brows furrow. “you guys know, don’t you?”

“everyone does, sweet cheeks,” nicholas chuckles, shaking his head, “you’re a bit more oblivious than i thought.”

“and what’s that supposed to mean?” you glare, but he only eyes you with amusement, turning back to finish the last few bites of his dinner before standing up and walking off, mumbling about needing a smoke under his breath.

you stare back at the van, unsure whether or not you’re supposed to go after vash—whether or not he even wants you there. it takes you a few moments of contemplation before you ultimately stand up, earning a look from meryl and a sigh from roberto.

“i’m gonna go after him,” you announce.

it doesn’t take long to walk up to the van and climb in, finding vash sitting slouched on his side of the back seat, looking out the window. he almost looks…defeated—it’s a type of vash you don’t think you’ve ever really seen.

“vash?” you ask softly, making him tense for a moment before he glances at you, offering a poor attempt of a reassuring smile.

you don’t think vash has ever successfully hidden an emotion ever in his life. for as long as you’ve known him—though it’s not been that long—he’s worn his heart on his sleeve and his emotions bared before you whether he means to or not. you sit down beside him, staring at your lap as he stares out the window again.

“hey,” he says quietly, “why aren’t you with everyone else?”

“why aren’t you?” you counter gently.

“ah, well,” he chuckles nervously, painfully aware of how close your knees are from brushing, “just wanted to sit. and think, i guess,” he says quietly.

“about what?”

“just stuff,” he mumbles.

he doesn’t want to tell you he thinks about how he must be in love with you, doesn’t want to admit as much when you’ve clearly got someone else in your heart. vash has never fallen in love—but he thinks if he’d have to give the feeling a label, it’d be you.

he thinks it has to be love when the first pair of eyes he searches for are yours, making sure you’re okay before he even thinks about checking on anyone else. what else could it be besides love when even if for a split second, the very thought of you being in danger makes his gun leave its holster and ready to aim. if not love, he’s not sure what else it could be when he’s so nervous around you, he feels words stick to his throat like he’s choking.

vash has never fallen in love before, but there’s no mistaking this feeling now that it hits him.

you’re kind—maybe a bit more than you should be to him since he does nothing but drag you into danger. the rational part of him wishes you’d stop coming with him wherever he goes, it hopes you’ll see you have so much to live for outside of cleaning up his messes. the more desperate part of him feels nauseous at the idea of you going your separate ways—he can protect you, can’t he? the desert is a dangerous place with or without him and if you’re in danger one way or another, you should stick by his side where he can keep an eye on you.

no, vash has never been in love—but he’s sure as hell seen it happen before his own two eyes in the many, many years he’s lived.

and he knows you’re in love with nicholas with one painful glance.

“c’mon vash,” you nudge his shoulder with your own, “we’re friends, i know you better than that. something’s wrong. are you upset about what those people in that last town said to you? because i’ll march right up to them and give them hell and back if—”

friends.

he’s tuned you out, too hyper focused on that awful burning sensation pooling in his chest, the one that hits him as soon as you use that cruel word. of course vash is just your friend, why wouldn’t he be? he can’t remember the last time someone actually wanted him around at all let alone as something more.

he doesn’t even notice your hand reaching for his until it lays over his fist, gently unclamping it from the fabric of his coat. he doesn’t even notice he’s been fisting it this whole time, doesn’t even notice his shoulders are tense until you lean your head on it.

“you don’t have to tell me,” you murmur gently, “i’ll wait here with you.”

“why?” he can’t help but ask, can’t help but wonder why you care to spend your time here when you could be there. with nicholas. without him.

“because i care about you.” you say it like it’s obvious, like he should already know that.

perhaps he does—you do care about him, he can see it with the way you help clean his wounds and scold him for being reckless…just maybe not in the way he wishes you would.

“are you ever going to tell nicholas how you feel?” he asks.

you sit up, shock on your face and a crease in your brows as you stare at him in bewilderment. he almost thinks he’s asked something out of line, something he should apologize for. but before he can offer you a stuttered apology, you beat him to it.

“what?” you chuckle. “do i look like i feel something for nicholas?”

“you don’t?” he sounds shocked, making you blink.

“no,” you shake your head, grimacing like the idea is an unpleasant one. “he’s a nuisance i tolerate at best.”

“oh,” is all he says, surprised. it’s silent for a moment before he hesitantly asks, “is…is there someone?”

he doesn’t want to know the answer either way. yes means the pain of knowing there’s someone else he has to let you go to. no means it’s not him even with no one else to compete with at all. but he figures whether your answer is yes or no, it’s enough to force him to let go.

“well…” you hesitate for a moment, inhaling before letting out a shaky breath and slumping back to his shoulder, “can i be honest?”

“of course,” he says instantly.

“i don’t know how you’ll take it,” you admit quietly, and he can hear the slight shakiness in your voice—like you’re nervous, like what you’re about to say will change everything.

but vash knows no matter what you’ll say, no matter what you’ll ever do, he’ll still keep loving you even if you don’t need him to.

“is it embarrassing?”

“no,” you shake your head, “well, maybe a little. depends on how you react. i might look stupid.”

“can’t be worse than running out of bullets,” he smiles softly, “i bet i looked pretty stupid then.”

“a little,” you admit, giggling. and then you both laugh softly, your cheek against his shoulder and your hand gently clasped over his. distantly, you can hear nicholas ask where you are—and you know it’s not long before you’ll lose this rare moment alone. so you take a deep breath, stare at your hand over his as you mumble, “i think i love you. a little. actually, that’s a lie—a lot. like, a whole lot.”

he blinks.

he feels his breath hitch and your shoulders tense and his heart race all at once. for a second he thinks he might’ve heard you wrong—but then you whisper how you understand if he doesn’t feel the same way, how it’s okay, really! you understand, it’s not his fault and you can still be friends because you’re fine with friends. just as long as he’s still in your life because he’s important to you and friends is better than nothing at all.

and then he cuts you off with a soft chuckle, making you pause and glance up at him with doubt on your face.

“can i be honest too?” he smiles gently, melting your heart even as it shatters just a little in your chest.

“of course,” you whisper.

“i love you too. not a little though. a lot. i thought you had a thing for nicholas, though—”

“nico is rude and smells like smoke. i wouldn’t kiss him if my life depended on it,” you interrupt with a crinkle of your nose, making him chuckle with bright eyes and love scribbled over the curves of his features.

he leans in, presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes when your hand cups a cheek gently.

“good,” he murmurs, “but don’t worry, i’ll keep you safe. your life will never depend on kissing him.”

“good,” you hum, “because i only want to kiss you.”

and then you do, slow and sweet and so in love. it’s his first kiss—he doesn’t really know what to do, but he follows your lead and learns fast, soft lips molding with yours and mingling your warm breath with his. vash doesn’t even care he’s gone this long without feeling something as gentle as being in love. he’s in love now, with you—and he’s glad you love him too and not nicholas wolfwood, the man who keeps trying to steal dinner from under your nose.

“are you two done in there already?” nicholas is pounding on the door, making you pull away with a sour look on your face. “we got places to be. better not be baby making where i’m about to sleep.”

“can’t you make one exception and kill him?” you whine, making vash chuckle before he leans to kiss you again, more chaste this time. and again, and again.

vash has never fallen in love—and he’s sure it’s because he was meant to wait this long to fall in love with you.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

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?”

hi! vash the stampede for the “put me down, i can walk” prompt? 🥹🙏

𝖕𝖚𝖙 𝖒𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓, 𝖎 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖜𝖆𝖑𝖐! (vash the stampede)

pairing: vash the stampede x gn!reader

content: fluff, reader being carried, a little bit of bridal carry, vash being a bbg

a/n: i loved writing this! this prompt is so perfect for vash!! he’s so 💕💕💕 bbg frfr! i love that silly man sm 😭😭 might have to make him my pfp tbh 🙏🙏 also this is the first prompt i am posting for my followers event! <3

☁️ 1k follower event

The heat was unbearable. You should be used to it at this point but you doubted it was anything anyone ever could get used to.

You’ve been walking for what seemed like hours, dragging your feet through the sand as the sun was burning down on your head, slowly cooking your brain from the inside.

Vash, your companion, seemed unbothered by the heat for the most part, it only seemed to get to your head and body as your muscles started to feel heavy and your strength keeping you up and going slowly left you with every step.

This was exhausting. You were getting tired.

You felt awfully slow, the heat muddling with your thoughts and perception of time.

So it took you longer than you’d liked to admit to process what was happening.  How your feet were suddenly dangling in the air, your view was upside down and your body was swaying steadily with every step Vash took…Vash!

You started to wriggle in the man’s grip. Because for some reason, one you’d hoped he’d explain soon, Vash had just taken it upon himself to throw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Vash!” You cried out, some of your energy flooding back into your body in favour of letting you feel embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you!” Vash promised sincerely as if he thought you were worried about him dropping you.

Which was not the issue!

You said his name again, lowering your voice into what was meant to sound like indignation but ended up sounding more like whining.

You started kicking your legs.

Vash swayed in his step, his cybernetic arm that was holding you by your waist on top of his shoulder tightening its grip.

“Please calm down, my dear, we’ll fall.”

“No, Vash! Let me down.”

“Oh?” The man slowed his step, voice dropping “Is my shoulder uncomfortable?”

The genuine concern in his voice made you want to hit your head against his back. That was not the issue!

“No…Yes…I don’t-“ You groaned, pushing your face into your hands “Put me down, I can walk!”

“You said you were tired,” Vash echoed back, sounding confused.

Oh…you hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“I’ll carry you until you’ll feel better.” You could almost hear the soft smile in those words and could actually feel the gentle pat he gave your calf with his other arm.

Your leg kicked out on reflex and you heard Vash’s pitiful whine as your foot collided with his thigh.

“Don’t kick me,” he complained with a sniffle and you felt instantly bad, you might even have apologised if Vash would let you down already.

“Just put me down already.”

Vash came to a stop.

“I don’t want you to over-exhaust yourself,” he explained gently.

Your heart warmed at his words and you let out a sigh. It was annoying how stupidly charming and sincere Vash was. It made it hard to deny him anything. Thankfully your feelings of embarrassment won over your affection for the blond…at least for now.

“That’s…nice and all but…did you have to throw me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes?”

“Oh!” Vash called out, sounding embarrassed himself now.

He quickly manoeuvred you around before you could realise what he was doing. You slid down his shoulders and into his open arms as he adjusted you until he was holding you in a bridal carry…

“That’s better then?”

You blinked up at the man’s face. He smiled down at you, eyes closed and head cocked to the side. The sun behind his head made it look like he was wearing a halo.

The heat in your cheeks couldn’t be blamed on the sun this time.

“Vash, just let me down please,” you whispered, afraid your voice would break.

He obliged this time, setting you down on both of your feet before taking a step back to give you some space.

When you turned to look at him, Vash stood with his head bowed down and his back curved, eyes lowered to the ground. He looked like a kicked puppy. Oh no.

“I’m sorry!” He apologised, bowing deeper and you could hear the sadness in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, a soft smile tugging at your lips. How were you so lucky to meet such a sweet guy as him? It was almost unfair.

You closed the distance between the two of you.

“Head,” you ordered gently.

Without questioning you, he lowered his head more to make it easier for you to reach up and pat his head, fingers softly ruffling through his strands.

“I’m not mad. Next time ask first.”

Vash lifted his head a little and glanced up at you through his glasses. When he saw your soft gaze his expression immediately brightened again.

“Everything you want!” He promised, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your cheek with a loud ‘mwuah’.

You bit your lip to hide the goofy grin that action brought to your face.