Vash The Stampede X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Inspired by @trigunwritings musings with a like-minded anon on his blog, I present to you some musings of my own.

NSFW Vash/Reader below the cut! GN! Reader, no specific pronouns used. Alien biology Vash, if you aren’t into that read at your own risk

“I’m so sorry!”

“You really don’t need to apologize, baby.”

It didn’t really matter how many times you’d insisted though, or tried to reassure him. Vash was still going to be embarrassed.

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Just Within Your Reach

Stargazers, New and Old was so well received that I decided to make this into a trilogy. Hope you all enjoy part 2, and eagerly await the (most likely NSFW) third part! Check it out on AO3 here!

Vash/Reader, 3,300+ words, GN! Reader, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Minor Injuries, hes so in love with you and youre the only one who cant tell

“Almost there, Vash. Just, hfffhhh, a few more steps. I got you.”

“It’s-ghh, It’s fine, I’m fine.”

“You are not fine. So stop saying that!”

You tried your best not to jam Vash’s armored shoulder against the doorframe, but you couldn’t help but scrape past it a bit as you helped him stumble into the dark hotel room. A step from the bed he collapsed forward out of your grasp, slumping motionless into the creaky mattress with another pained huff. You tossed his bag, which had been slung over your shoulder, onto the floor by the bedside.

“Can you take your jacket off by yourself?”

“‘M fine…” He slurred, face smushed into the covers. “I patch up quick, it’s no big deal.”

“Vash. Coat.”

As he rolled over he failed to stifle a pained hiss, and you saw the blood that had once been smeared across his forehead was now stained into the quilt top. Knowing Vash for as long as you had, you knew that ‘lucky’ was quite possibly the worst way he could ever be described. And yet, regardless of what sort of predicament he would find himself in, he seemed to be able to get out of it with no more than a few scrapes and bumps, no worse for wear.

Not this time.

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。SCARS — VASH THE STAMPEDE.

「 SYNOPSIS 」 ⋮ you wonder how vash smiles so easily with all his scars, and he shows you (.7k words)

☽ contents ⋮ just fluff for my lil wonder boy :(, mentions of scars

☽ notes ⋮ i tried my best to characterize him im on episode 5 okay :,)

vash has scars.

you expect as much with the way he lives, just not to the extent that’s before you. he stares at you blankly for a moment as you walk through the door before blushing, the soft, red flush bleeding from his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he scrambles to hold his shirt to cover his chest.

vash has scars—and much like they did his skin, they slash at your heart.

some run long and deep, from his shoulder blade down to the middle of his back. it makes you think about all the times he turns his back blindly to people, hoping, trusting he won’t be betrayed. who could ever slash someone like vash across the back, you wonder, with his guard down and his heart out in the open.

some are small, like tiny bullet holes that heal to form uneven skin, a testament to the way he’s so selfless. you can almost envision him jumping in front of someone, blocking the bullet just seconds before they penetrate skin. because that’s who vash is—he’ll bleed to put out the fire for others in this dry, cruel desert.

even for those that start the flames to burn him down.

distantly, you think maybe you should leave. you should cover your eyes and apologize for intruding and walk out, but you can’t. not when the most vulnerable part of him is right here in front of you. it almost feels like to ignore it is to ignore vash, to ignore his kindness, his sacrifice, his pain and the cruelty he so casually suffers.

vash doesn’t deserve to cry—nor does he deserve to bleed, so you reach out tenderly, slowly, finding the scar that sits over the left side of his chest, letting your palm soothe over the bumpy skin as if it’s still bleeding, as if your touch alone can stanch the flow of blood.

maybe it can—maybe it does with the way his eyes close and his breath exhales shakily as though he’s in relief.

“sorry to walk in unannounced,” you murmur, giving him a tiny smile, making him chuckle lowly. he takes a step closer, lowers his shirt that covers his chest just like he turns his back when he trusts people.

he trusts you to see his back, maybe more than that.

“you could knock,” he teases lightly. you reach out and cup his cheek, running a thumb along the soft swell of skin as he hums appreciatively.

“i could,” you nod, “but then i’d miss the view,” you squeeze his left pec with a giggle, making him flush deeper as he looks away to the side.

and because you love him, because every part of him deserves to be loved no matter how scarred and imperfect it might be, because you cherish the parts of him that no one else did when it counted, you lean and press a kiss over the old bullet wound.

“you shouldn’t open doors hoping for half dressed men,” he mumbles, pouting slightly, “that’s not very polite.”

“i wasn’t looking for half dressed men,” you grin, “i was looking for a half dressed you. otherwise roberto’s room is right next door.”

“you probably don’t wanna see that,” vash shivers, making you giggle as he slumps his cheek against your hold, sighing softly in content when you lean to peck his jaw.

“no, i probably don’t,” you agree, “good thing i walked into this room instead, huh?”

“i guess it was the better alternative,” he says shyly.

it’s silent for a bit. you don’t know how to bring them up, how to so casually ask him to tell you the stories behind every harsh branding across his skin. so you settle for a question you can ask—one that you have, one that you know the answer to, but you can’t help but wonder no matter how many times he replies.

“how…why do you keep going? after all this?” you ask softly, staring at the rough marks across his body, the witnesses of the cruelty he’s faces who never quite leave.

he shrugs, stretches that easy grin on his face. “i deserve to smile,” is all he says.

and he does—painfully, you’re aware how much he deserves to smile and laugh and feel the sun soak him with warmth as the gentle breeze tickles his skin.

“do you?” you ask, slowly like you’re scared to hear the answer, “smile?”

his grin only widens. “yes,” he says sincerely, glancing down at your lips. “i do.”

and then his lips meet yours in a slow, smiley kiss, warm and gentle and tender enough to make you forget about his pain.

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

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

the mattress dips beside you, rousing you from sleep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you wonder how rough these past few weeks have been.

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

vash averts his eyes from yours guiltily.

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

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

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

vash purses his lips even further.

“the guy we were after…” 

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

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

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

“vash, that’s…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

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

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

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

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

𝘛𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

Vash the Stampede x reader (no pronouns used)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wish for so many things.

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

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

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

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

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

So, forgive me.

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

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

                   -Yours entirely. Yours forever.

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

𝘛𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

Vash the Stampede x reader (no pronouns used)

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

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

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

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Rem Mayfly

Vash the Stampede x F!Reader

Masterlist

[ summary: the lovers share a rare tender and peaceful moment in the morning, and talk about the new addition]

[Y/n] shifted in her sleep; gripping onto the blanket nuzzling her head underneath the covers. She sneezed and sniffled slightly. She scratched the tip of her nose self consciously, as tiny snores escaped her mouth.

The suns gentle rays crept through the window, and shined on [Y/n]. Vash couldn’t help but watch her sleep peacefully for once. Watching as her chest rose and fell.

It was moments like this with her, the calm and peaceful ones, that he cherished. He didn’t deserve her and she deserved better. Someone who isn’t a trouble magnet. Who wouldn’t be the reason she ends up, dead.

No, he wanted her to live a peaceful and fulfilling life. Something, he knew he could never give her and she knew that. Yet, her she is laying in bed sleeping peacefully.

She stirred in her sleep, and opened her eyes. Smiling softly seeing Vash, “Morning, love.” She softly said, smiling seeing her lover.

“Morning, Mayfly.” He says, and she giggles softly hearing the nickname. She yawns, and sits up in bed. Revealing, the slight bump on her stomach.

Vash was still shocked by the fact that she’s pregnant. He didn’t understand how his DNA even compatible with human DNA. Even then, would the baby even survive the pregnancy?

She looked at him and smiled, resting her hand on his cheek. “Our baby will make it, love.” She says, smiling resting her other hand on her stomach. He leaned into her touch and hummed softly.

He then rested his other hand over; over the one on her stomach. “How is this even happening?” He says, still shocked by the fact he got his lover pregnant.

She smiled playfully, “Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much the-” He places his hand over her mouth, as she continues talking about how a baby is made.

He shakes his head a smiles, “I know how babies are made, Mayfly.” He says, and she looks at him and gives him a sympathetic look.

“How is my DNA even compatible with yours is this even possible?” He says, and she looks at him and smiles taking both of his hands.

“Hm? Well our baby is living proof that it very much indeed is possible.” She leans closer to him smiling warmly. Intertwining her fingers with his, “Our baby, that we made out of our love for each other.” She leans her forehead against his.

She kisses him on the nose, “Mayfly,” He says, and she smiles as the two share a kiss, full of passion, and the love the two share for each other.

Pulling apart from the kiss she started to think, “Hm? Mayfly.” She muttered, thinking to herself as she thought about baby names.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, and she looks at him.

“Baby names.” His eyes lit up in response, “Doughnut!” He said, and she glared at him.

“No, I will not let you name our child doughnut.” He frowns in response, “Why not?” He whines, and she purses her lips.

“Cause you’ll try to eat her?” And he looks at her confused, “No I won’t and her how do you know the baby is a girl?” He asks, and she smiles placing her hand on her stomach.

“I just know,” She responds, and nods. “Emily? No? Jessamy?”

Vash shook his head, and he started coming up with names as well. “Joseph?” And [Y/n] shook her head it sounded to adult.

“Thomas?”

She shakes her head, “Jasper!” Vash exclaimed, and [Y/n] was about to say something but the name grew on her immediately.

“Yes, if our baby is a boy even though I know it’s a girl. We’ll name him Jasper.” Vash smiled, wrapping his arms around her. She then wrapped her arms around him they held each other close.

“Vash?” He looked down at her and she looked up at him, “I have a name for our baby, if it’s a girl.” He looks down at her curiously.

“Rem,” The moment she said that name, he froze for a moment. “I know, that name brings up both the good and bad memories. But it holds such a significance to you.” She nuzzles her head into his chest.

“That’s why, that name means so much to you. I wanna name our baby after her.” She looks up at him, “And add a little bit of me into it, Rem Mayfly how does that sound Va-”

“It’s perfect.” He held her close, and she smiled softly closing her eyes in this moment. Enjoying the comfort of each other, tears brimmed her eyes excited for the future.

“Our little Mayfly,” He whispered, placing his hand on her stomach.

[a/n: my heart melted while writing this]

@mo-3-bius

Imagine Helping Vash Get Cleaned Up After the Incident in July

Vash the Stampede X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Suggestive themes, mentions of nudity, angst, mentions of deaths, and steam

Word Count: 1k

(A/N:) I am drowning in Trigun Stampede feels. I needed to write something to make me feel better (it helped a little bit). I want Vash to be happy, somebody please stop writing bad things happening to him!! He deserves good things and I just have all the Vash feels. So I have SEVERAL ideas in my drafts for both him and Nicholas so my fellow Trigun fangirls be on the lookout as I keep working and hopefully get around to posting more often! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

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A/N: I HAD TO GET THIS OUT BEFORE I WENT TO BED, you get a quick lift from the gang. (I'm sorry if there's any errors, I wrote this and then got tired LOL) Vash x Reader, no pronouns used. Vash is a blushy mess.

Walking through the desert was a different kind of hell, the terrain was vast, empty, unforgiving. You were running dangerously low on water in your canteen, your desperate perspiration drenched your clothing and the pull of gravity made your steps feel ten times heavier. You could have sworn you were having hallucinations, the sound of a motor was heard, very distant, but enough to catch your attention. You turn toward the humming sound, in the distance a large vehicle could be seen, hastily making its way into your direction. 

“Thank God.” you throw your hands up into the air waving them from side to side in an attempt to get the driver’s attention. You knew it was a risk, asking for a ride from a stranger. But your critical thinking was at bay, mostly because you were severely dehydrated. And you knew you had somewhat of a fair chance of a possible escape. 

“They must have a death wish.” Roberto commented, referring to you miles away from them. Meryl squinted, you were barely visible but she was able to makeout a human’s form. A bead of sweat rolled down her brow, she couldn’t even imagine the possibility of walking around in such heat. 

“We should stop, maybe they need a ride.” Vash chimed, “Are you crazy needlehead? It might be another person trying to kill you.” Wolfwood quipped. Vash frowned, “Meryl, stop the car. I’m going to see if they’re alright.” Before Meryl could argue Vash was already halfway out of the car, hopping onto the dune you stood at. 

Wolfwood leaned over, you didn’t look very threatening, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the view. Cargo pants hung low at your hips, and your shirt was cropped and ill fitting. Way too tight to keep any weapons concealed. And was definitely enjoying the view of your exposed skin slick with sweat. 

“You need a ride?” Vash offered, a small smile at his lips. Your hand was placed above your brow, blocking the harsh light of the sun. “Please?” you smiled wide, the sting of your chapped lips more apparent. 

After your short introductions you trailed behind Vash approaching the door when the sound of Meryl’s voice stopped you both. 

“Vash, we don’t have any room, the car is full.” She furrowed her eyebrows in frustration, you could also hear the distrust in her voice, “I’m sorry, I really wish we could help but-” She was quickly cut off by Vash’s interjection. 

“It’s okay! They can sit in the middle. We can make room.” He motioned you to go in, you crawled into the cramped space to be met with another man beside you. A giant cross was wedged between his legs, “You weren’t kidding, there isn’t any room.” You acknowledged Meryl’s truth. Vash soon hopped in after you closing the door shut, any remaining space gone. 

“I have a better idea.” You moved yourself into the blond’s lap, he was obviously taken back by this, a small yelp leaving his mouth. He raised his hands upward innocently, trying not to make any inappropriate contact with his hands. Wolfwood grinned, slightly jealous, but mostly entertained with Vash’s innocent demeanor.

“Hold on tight, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.” Roberto warned, the car began its movement, quickly picking up speed. Every bump sent Vash’s thoughts somewhere else, somewhere not so innocent. Feeling the pressure of you in his lap caused a heat to rise to his already blushing cheeks.  Even though the air was warm, you closed your eyes enjoying the breeze fan over your face. You leaned forward, your back now arching against his lap placing your head further out of the window. His lips parted at the sight of your bare back in this position, his brows furrowed briefly before returning his attention elsewhere. This was going to be a long ride.

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

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

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

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.

vash x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

divider; anlian-aishang

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."

pairing: vash the stampede x fem!reader warnings/tags: jealous insecure vash, you get hit on twice, vash's pov gets kinda depressing, takes place before and after and I know it’s hard enough to love me, stampede coded vash word count: ~4.3k

Vash the Stampede is a complete enigma to you.

In the span of the four hours you’ve been following after the blonde, you’ve witnessed him get bullied and dragged around by a group of children who had unanimously decided to tie him up for fun, help a distressed woman find her poisonous pet gecko, and frantically try to explain his startling similarities to the humanoid typhoon to a threatening group of individuals who had cornered him on the street, loaded guns in their possession. 

You watched him nervously laugh off their claims until they had left, one by one. Then he breathed a large sigh of relief, before meeting your eyes with a grin and two thumbs up.

He just can’t say no.

You’re still thinking about this troubling tendency of his when you slide off the rooftop, and twist through the alleys to the bar you had seen when you and Vash had first entered the town yesterday.

This time, he’s following you. He must have run out of people to help. All the way to the bar. And when you enter through the swinging entrance, you don’t need to turn around to hear the doors swing open again, not even seconds later.

Shouts ring throughout the bar, as several patrons happily greet him with a raised mug of beer and smiles. Already, he’s grown on people.

You slide onto a barstool. “I’ll have a drink,” you say, giving the idling bartender your order. The aged man proceeds to pull several bottles from the rack hanging behind him. You look over your shoulder to see Vash sitting down at a round table behind you. When he catches your gaze, he smiles, hand already lifting in an eager half wave as his fingers curl into air. 

You don’t understand how he can look so happy to see you, as if you're an old friend he’s seeing for the first time in years, every time you meet his eyes. As if you haven’t been traveling together for the last few months. You've never stayed with an individual for longer than a week or two, other than your mother, but you know for sure Vash is strange. An outlier. You don’t understand how he constantly stays happy, upbeat and optimistic. No man is that happy, upbeat and optimistic. It’s suspicious.

The acrid scent of smoke and alcohol enters your nose before anything else, and then a hulking man with a bulbous nose is sidling up close to your side, despite the empty seats next to you. You ignore him as he gives you a long look up and down. The man in front of you mixing your drink gives him a distasteful glance. 

A wide, crass grin stretches his face as he licks his lips. 

“Yer a pretty thing, ain’t ya?”

You stare ahead. He’s not even worth brandishing your gun for.

He frowns when you don’t respond, trying again. “Whatcha doin’ in here, in this part of town? A lil’ lady like you is going to get eaten by the wolves.” He leans in close, and his breath fans against your cheek. You don’t bother to hide your distaste when he indiscreetly adjusts his pants. “I’ve got a place downtown…”

You’re going to shoot him, you decide.

Your hand goes to your side, but before you can remove your revolver, a blur of red rushes into the sliver of space between the two of you, forcibly separating the man from you. With his back to you, Vash lifts his hands in an act of surrender. The man tries to no avail to move towards you in either direction, but Vash swiftly meets him every time before he can step towards you.

“We—”

“What’s yer deal!?” The man asks angrily, drawing Vash close, hands fisted into his shirt, teeth gritted. Vash is taller than the man, so to see him tuck his knees inwards to be level with the man would be almost comical if you weren’t so annoyed.

A high pitched laugh escapes through his teeth. “Ahaha! About that—”

“She yours or somethin’!?”

Your already short patience stretches thin.

Panic floods his face as he glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Of course n—”

“Then it’s none of yer business anyhow,” he grouses, leaning in close. “Why dontcha butt out, and that way nobody gets hurt.”

“No,” Vash says firmly, unusually solemn, all pretenses of distress fading in a blink. He grabs the man’s arm with a steady hand of his own. “I can’t.”

You step to the side, and point your gun right at the man’s temple, already cocked. The bar quiets, eyes on your standoff. In your peripheral you can see multiple hands on belts, ready for a shootout. Vash’s eyes go wide, mouth agape as he looks at you. Then your gun. Then at you. 

“Put him down,” you say plainly. “I’m not going to ask again.”

“Yeah, put him down Eli!” A voice exclaims. 

Others voice their agreement. 

The man blinks. Then he throws his head back and uproariously laughs, fist loosening on Vash’s shirt, letting him down with a slump. “Playing with guns, little girl? Why don’t you come on over, I’ll teach you the right way—”

You aim down, and pull the trigger.

A single shot rings through the bar. The man shrieks in agony as the bullet goes through his foot, clean. You watch him jump around on one foot, holding his other foot in his hands, crying out for help as blood gets everywhere. What a mess. The bartender only shakes his head as people begin to surround the hollering man. You think he might as well kill himself now. Not a single survival instinct. The last thing he should be doing after a bullet wound is moving around like a headless lizard.

You throw a sack of coins on the bar. The drink you hadn’t even gotten and damages to the floor. You grab Vash by the hood of his red coat and drag him out the bar as he gawks at you. You drop him outside and start towards the town’s caravan stop. In a few seconds, Vash has caught up with you, side by side.

He looks troubled. Lost in thought. 

“I didn’t kill him,” you say. Although you probably would have not even three months ago. That would have ensured you wouldn’t be bothered in the town again by a handsy drunk.

You don’t know why you feel the need to explain yourself. You figure you can’t keep silent when he’s looking at you like that , waiting for some kind of explanation that you would usually never entertain.

“Should I have let him all over me?” You ask tonelessly.

The snaps him back to attention. “No! It’s just…” he sounds unsure, almost uneasy. “You were just…protecting yourself.”

You wonder what kind of life he’s led. To be able to be the way he is. A pacifist, in this world. Someone who refuses to pull the trigger on his .45 long colt unless absolutely necessary.

“Not everybody gets to choose to not kill,” you reply, not as curt as you could be. “Some people don’t have a choice.” Not everybody has the strength to protect themselves without violence. Sometimes, it’s just survival. The choice between you or them. Sometimes, it wasn’t anything more than that. No hard feelings. The second your hands had touched your revolver, you had gained your footing in the world. The gun, the great equalizer. And in your hands, death. 

You never had a choice. And then you did.

Vash’s face falls. “I…I see.”

You find yourself searching for words, anything at all to wipe the miserable expression on his face away. “I didn’t kill him,” you say slowly. “But I could have.”

He lifts his head, blinking. “You… could have,” he repeats.

You don’t say that had the man come any closer, if he had touched you, you would’ve put a bullet in his head, right through his brain. And then you would’ve let the animals have him.

Vash slowly regains his smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But you didn’t.”

Although the smile on his lips often seems more trained than instinctual, a defense tactic, you can’t deny that in the end, a smile suits his face much more. 

“I can take care of myself,” you say, fixing your gaze straight ahead.

He hums. “I know.”

You sigh.

-

-

-

“Over here!” Tony exclaims, wildly waving at Vash for a pass.

Vash kicks the ball over, watching as the other children surround the freckled short boy, eager to steal the ball back to their side. They had divided the teams seven to three, the children citing that the team with Vash on their side had the upper hand, therefore it was only fair for the teams to be unevenly divided. Vash had no qualms with it, neither did Tony or Sonya, who had grabbed Vash by the arm (shorter frame pulling him down to her level) and declared that the next victory would be theirs.

He can’t help himself. He looks towards where you’ve been sitting by the benches in front of the town square’s fountain, watching him kick around a ball for the better half of the hour with the town kids, unmoving, except for the small curve of your lips. Vash can tell when your gaze is on him. Some eighth sense that also has him gravitating towards your orbit, unconsciously and consciously. His feet take him to you, wherever you are. Lucky for him, nowadays, he doesn’t need to walk more than a couple steps to reach you.

Usually you’d be gone, taking care of your own business while he explored the town or city, and its inhabitants, before the inevitable bounty hunter or criminal looked a bit too closely to his face, his red jacket, and made the connection. Maybe you’d stop by the sheriff’s office, flashing your identification badge, and then flip through recent wanted posters. Maybe you’d get a bite to eat. Then you’d just follow the bullets and the trail of destruction to easily meet up with him.

He never knew definitively. You had never really answered his curiosity with more than a noncommittal comment or two. It doesn’t matter now though, because now you stay with him.

The sun looks good on you. He doesn’t realize he’s staring at you until a ball hits him smack in the face and drops to the ground, leaving him with a sore, red face and a bruised nose. The kids startle to a stop, gawking at him with wide mouths. There’s silence, and then raucous laughter.

“Vash!”

“Is he okay?”

“C’mon Vash, you lost the ball!”

“It hit him in the face, did you see that?”

“That’s a foul! You did that on purpose Lock!”

“Nu-uh!”

He sees you shake your head, amused, and knows that the warmth he feels isn’t entirely from the sun.

Tony runs towards him, ball held against his chest, breathless. The blue cap he wears is askew. Vash fixes it for straight. “You alright, Vash?”

Vash runs a hand through his hair and laughs. “No harm done,” he says cheerfully. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention, sorry about that!”

Sonya looks concerned. “Don’t worry about that! It’s all Lock’s fault anyway!” She turns around, sticks a finger under her eye, pulling it down, and blows a raspberry. “You’re horrible Lock!”

The older boy returns it with a raspberry of his own, and then crosses his arms. “He should’ve been looking in the first place, instead of at his girlllllfriend!”

Sonya’s eyes are wide as he feels his face go red. He nervously tugs at the collar of his shirt. The kids gathered around him erupt into laughter again. A quick glance in your direction, and he sees the raise of your eyebrow, lips tight in suppressed laughter he wishes he was there to hear.

“Is it true?” She asks him, brown doe eyes wide. “Is she your—” her voice drops conspiratorially “— girlfriend?”

He sticks a hand in the girl’s hair and gives her a good natured ruffle as she giggles. “Something like that,” he says, despite the elation that fills his stomach, to avoid fully answering the question, as if speaking whatever fragile thing the two of you have into existence might permanently alter it. 

Girlfriend.

What a mundane word for something as all consuming as the love he feels for you. He feels as if his chest might just burst with it all. But he can say that now, call you his in some way that makes him both terrified of overstepping his bounds and even more terrified of you leaving.  

“Hey Vash,” Tony says, insistently tugging on the sleeve of his coat. “There’s a guy chattin’ up your girl!”

You aren’t happy. That he can see clearly. Your expression has shuttered as a man closes into you with a wide smirk, overtaking his view of you. The last thing Vash can see is your thoroughly unamused expression.

He’s not aware of his feet taking him towards you. He doesn’t think. All he sees is how the man rests a hand on the holster of the gun attached to his hip, as if flourishing it, and he’s moving.

“A good ole’ romp in the bed is what you need,” he hears the man remark vulgarly. “Promise, it’ll fix you right up.”

“No,” you reply bluntly.

His cocksure grin fades with a scowl. “Now, don’t be like that. Nobody likes stubborn broads. I’ll be sure to show you a good time.”

An arm reaches out to roughly grab you, but Vash reaches him first, the metal of his left hand wrapping around the man’s wrist, tightening. The man yelps.

Vash blinks at the noise. You stare, looking at him with your head slightly tilted to the side.

He tears his arm back so quickly it gives him whiplash. His hands are automatically raised in a show of harmlessness as he nervously laughs.  

He hadn’t meant to grip him that tightly .

Unless… he had.

The man’s face is bright red in anger, looking at his left arm as if it’s the devil. “Who do you think you are!?”

Vash shifts ever so slightly to keep his arm out of view. It’s been a while since he’s been so self conscious. People asked questions, and sometimes they looked at him funny. It used to hurt his feelings, the way he was looked at as an outsider, even though he was. The rest of No Man’s Land wasn’t like the inhabitants of ship No. 3, who knew his origins. His identity as a plant.

Now it’s a constant reminder of it. Of Nai. Of their first of many confrontations a hundred years ago.

He’s not human, not like the man in front of him. Not like you. 

You stand, asserting yourself into the space between him and the man. You give him a dismissive look, before grabbing him by the left hand, and turning on your heels, pulling him along. Your fingers squeeze his metallic fingers in a way that shoots sparks up his arm, right to his heart. As you drag him along the kids holler their goodbyes, and all he can do is smile, wave back, and follow. He’d follow you anywhere, he thinks, easily keeping up with your pace. To the ends of No Man’s Lands to space and back.

He wonders if you’re angry. If you’re annoyed at his intervention. He hadn’t meant to be so…forward. His body had moved before he could think. 

But…you’re…you’re his now, aren’t you? You kissed him, held his face between your hands, and smiled. You don’t smile a lot, but you smile for him. He thinks that if anything, that means the most. When he told you he wasn’t human you readily accepted it, as if you had been expecting it. Then you asked him if it hurt when Nai had cut off his arm, and when he told you he hadn’t felt much of anything, really, from the shock, because he was a plant, you had frowned and told him to stop lying. 

Now, the two of you sleep together. You let Vash hold you in his arms, and he tucks you into the crook of his neck, and you don’t even complain when he locks you in his embrace, even though you could. Even if you could leave. And on nights he can’t fall asleep, terrified that in the morning you’ll have been nothing but a fantasy, he counts your soft slow breaths in his neck until the sun rises, the seconds until you wake up and give him that sleepy smile he likes to think is reserved just for him. 

So now Vash stands closer to you than he had ever previously dared. In larger cities with crowds, he’s right at your side in the bustle taking the brunt of the jostling as you lead the way. And when there are no locals to make conversation with, no children to entertain, he trails after you, wherever your whims take you. You like heights. Rooftops. High vantage points from where you can look down. He thinks it makes you feel safer. You’ve always been aware of his presence, even though you never used to acknowledge him. Now you do. Now you let him hold your hand, and he doesn’t feel like Vash the Stampede, whose sins stare back at him every time he catches his face in a reflection, but a man hopelessly in love.

You push him up against a wall in an abandoned alley, and he relishes in the close proximity, smiling dumbly when you lean into him. He’s not expecting you to kiss him, but it sure would be nice—

Until he remembers that you might be mad. That he had accidentally hurt that man. The yelp that had been twisted out of him. The smile promptly falls from his face.

“I—uh—”

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“Of course I am,” he says cheerily, but all he can think about is that man reaching for you, the gleam of desire in his eyes (directed towards you ), and his two whole arms (one more arm to hold you with), and there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach, a wretched miserable thing that hovers a bit too close to the surface of his face. “Just fine!”

Your eyes narrow, just imperceptibly, while you scrutinize him in silence. His gaze momentarily darts away, fleeing, and then back, to see that you’re still staring at him, eyebrows furrowed as if you’re trying your best to think of something to say. Words don’t really come easy to you. Vash thinks it’s cute, that thinking silence of yours, where he can almost see the gears in your head turning as you struggle for an empathetic response after years of curt silences and dry one worded responses.

You purse your lips, bottom lip jutting out ever slightly.

Cute.

“Liar.” You glance down at his left arm, and Vash resists the urge to hide the prosthesis behind him.

A shadow falls on your face as you look down. “Is it me?”

“No!” He blurts out. Guilt churns in his gut, and he’s not sure if it’s because he hurt that man or because he isn’t sorry. He wants to say that he didn’t mean to, but that would be another lie. He hadn’t wanted to hurt him badly. Just… enough that he’d leave you alone. That he’d stop looking at you like that as if he wasn’t there. There was already someone by your side.

“I shouldn’t have hurt him,” he says finally. He can’t help himself when he adds, a touch defensively, “But he shouldn’t have been…” Vash feels a rush of heat reach his ears from your discerning gaze. “He…” almost touched you. He would’ve yanked you up, been rough with you, and just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean that it’s okay. Sometimes, he thinks you’re too used to it. Every night he counts the scars on your body with the same tenderness you’ve afforded him, that he doesn’t deserve, and he feels his heart weigh heavier.

Vash would never forgive himself if you got harmed on his watch. 

You look up at him. “He…?”

He isn’t…getting ahead of himself is he?

He loves you, and not a night goes by where he doesn’t think it. He’s loved you since the night you pulled him close and kissed him. He’s loved you since the moment he realized that the silence wasn’t so bad, so lonely, when he had someone to share it with.

He had assumed he meant as much to you as you do to him—

Your lips twitch into a small smile, and the sight stops his thoughts. You step closer and bury your face into his neck. His arms automatically wrap around you as he relaxes into your body, smiling at the ground.

“I love you,” you murmur, so soft that even his ears strain to hear it. He doesn’t even have the time to feel giddy before you pull back, reach for his neck, and bring his lips to yours.

He’s eager to reciprocate. The worry that maybe he’s holding you tightly around the waist doesn’t even strike him until a second later, but by then you’re happily exhaling into his mouth, and raking your fingernails down the back of his neck until he’s shuddering into you. 

You back him against the wall without a missed beat and he happily follows. One of your hands snakes down to his prosthetic, entwining your fingers together. He gives your hand a squeeze back and when you smile against his lips, he knows that it’s the most lovely sight he’s ever seen. The first time he had ever seen you smile, it had invoked the same amazement and wonder in him as seeing Rem’s red geraniums for the first time. 

But you aren’t a flower to be gazed at and plucked by curious onlookers. This smile is just for him. And Vash thinks, once again, for the fifth time in a day that hasn’t ended, that as much as he loves you, he also doesn’t deserve you.

He’ll tell you again tonight. This time, while you’re awake. Not…everything. Not enough that it could scare you away. Just enough, like how he likes gazing at you when the sun hits your bare frame in the scarce mornings the two of you have a bed, or the way your eyes light when they meet his, after a few hours apart. How it makes him feel…

Like a child again. Happy. The world at his fingertips. In the bed he and Nai would share, watching clips of some old earth movie underneath the covers. In Rem’s hugs, his arms wrapped around her neck, clinging to her tightly, as if she might disappear if he opened his eyes. The sound of her laughter in his ears. Lovely and fleeting.

Pressed against him, all the warmth of your body and lips, a breathy moan builds up in his throat as you have your way with him. As selfish as it seems, he wants more. As much as you’re willing to give. As much as he dares to take. He likes the way you say his name, especially when you’re in the throes of pleasure, when you’re looking down at him with so much love that he’s choking on his words, and his chest aches with it.

Someone giggles.

You separate, your lips enticingly spit slicked and swollen, your thumb tracing the underneath of his right eye. You like his beauty mark, have remarked on it more than once, the color of his eyes, and every other part of him that makes him flush from head to toe. He knows he’s not much to look at, but every part of him, except his burdens, belong to you. And if you can find something worthwhile to look at when you look at him other than disgust and horror, then that’s more than enough.

He lets his arms fall from your waist as you step away, and he already misses your closeness.

“Children shouldn’t be eavesdropping,” you say coolly, but not coldly. There’s a glint in your eyes as heads pop up from the crates towards the back of the alley. 

“We were just making sure everything was okay!” Tony exclaims, running up to you. He grins knowingly at Vash and attempts a wink.

You raise an eyebrow.

Sonya approaches, dragging Lock with her. “ And Lock wanted apologize for hittin’ Vash in the face!”

“Wha—!?” Lock sputters, looking at the girl in betrayal. “Sonya!” He squints at the ground. “...Sorry.”

Vash kneels down. “Apology accepted,” he says softly, a smile on his lips. He’s a good kid. So are all the kids in this town. Sonya with her ever present glowing smile. Tony and his mischievous wit. The blue cap he doesn’t go without. Lock and his grudges which hide a large, genuine heart. Billy and Mary and Kirk and everyone else.

Vash is almost tempted to stay a couple more nights, but he knows he can’t. Not with Nai having been spotted to the South. Another plant stolen, more fatal casualties. He has to leave before there are more. If he were a better person, he’d leave you behind. He stares at the ground.

He briefly feels the weight of your gaze. You gather the kids’ attention.

“You kids hungry?”

Tony and Sonya and Lock perk up.

“I am!” Tony says.

“You’re always hungry!” Sonya scowls.

“Are you the one with the money?” Lock asks. “Cuz’ Vash is broke.”

That draws a huff of laughter from you as Vash smiles sheepishly, pushing the worries plaguing his mind away for now. Until night falls upon No Man’s Land, and you’re peacefully sleeping in his arms. That’s when he’ll worry about whether or not he deserves to be happy with you.

Sonya reaches up to grab your hand with a big smile. You glance at him.

“Any good pizza places around here?”

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?”

𝘛𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

Vash the Stampede x reader (no pronouns used)

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

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

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

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Under the Covers

An Intimate & Sleepy Morning Sex Oneshot ft. Vash x f!Reader (NSFW)

18+ Only !Minors DNI!

♡Pairing:♡ Vash x f!Reader

♡Summary:♡ As morning dawns, you and Vash share a quiet and intimate moment under the covers in your hotel room.

♡Content:♡ fluff & smut, established relationship, PWP-porn without plot, cuddling, intimacy, longing/yearning, hotel sex, sleepy sex, frottage, vaginal sex, teasing, creampie, no use of y/n

♡Word Count:♡ 2'100+

{AO3 Link}

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵　　‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Warm. Your body is enveloped in a blanket of comforting warmth. It’s such a cathartic feeling, a release from the tensions and tribulations of the previous day.  

You breathe in, and then release a soft breath as you open your eyes. The first thing you see in the dim morning light is Vash’s face, resting just a few inches away from your own. Vash’s head is laid down at the other end of your pillow, and his blonde hair is sprawled against the fabric in an unkept mess. Vash’s eyes are closed, and his mouth is lax. He’s still sleeping soundly.

You blink, and then reach up to rub your eyes in an attempt to try and clear your brain of its morning fog, but unfortunately, you’re not entirely successful. Luckily though, you do have just enough brain power to process where you are, and how you got there. You and Vash are laying naked together under the coarse and tattered blankets of the double bed you had rented last night.

The hotel room that you are staying in is old, drafty, and ill maintained. But it was cheap, which made you and Vash jump on the opportunity to take it. 

Sadly, being cheap does have its drawbacks. You shudder when you recall walking into the cold and dank room the night before. You and Vash had stood at the door’s threshold, looking into the wretched space with helpless despair. Holes in the walls, dusty curtains, torn blankets, and the corner of the ceiling leaked. At least the bed looked semi usable. 

Normally, you would have gone down to demand another room or find another hotel, but you and Vash suffered from a bone deep exhaustion which made you significantly less picky that night.

After settling in, you had both gotten ready for bed. But as you two undressed, the chill in the room was so unbearable that you could hardly stand it. You and Vash had disregarded your clothes in a hurry, and then took shelter under the worn wool covers that had probably been around since the Great Fall. 

You both had cuddled together close with the express intention of keeping warm and getting a good night’s sleep. But then those cuddles led to kisses, which then led to groping and grinding, which then eventually culminated  into various rounds of passionate lovemaking. 

You take in another deep breath of the crisp morning air. The cold feels less intense compared to last night, but you are starting to feel a little chilly. You gently shift your body under the covers, seeking to snuggle up closer to Vash, and sneakily borrow more of his warmth, but when your thigh nestles between his and your hips come closer you realize that he’s aroused. 

Your eyes widen with surprise, and you sneak a peek under the blankets just to make sure. Yep. He’s hard. To be honest, you’re a little astonished that he has some drive left in him, given what you two had been up to last night.

“Cold, mayfly?” Vash sleepily slurs, snatching your attention back up to his face. 

Vash’s eyes are still closed, but his arm begins to move underneath the blankets. He reaches for you, and then wraps his arm around your back, pulling you closer to him. 

Once every little inch of your body is pressed snug against him, Vash hums happily. He then proceeds to indulge himself by burying his face against your neck. 

“S’okay, I’ll warm you up.” Vash mumbles sleepily against your skin. 

And true to his word, Vash is quite warm. You smile contentedly as you start to feel his heat spread across your entire body, seeping gently into your flesh, and warming you to your core. He feels so cozy, so comfortable, so nice. Being in his arms makes you as happy and relaxed as a cat in a sunbeam. 

But, Vash can’t keep still for long when he has you in his embrace like this. Soon enough, you feel Vash’s fingers start to move. He begins to gingerly trace your spine up and down in a soothing motion. 

It feels good, and you want to touch him too. The arm that rests under you slips out and travels upwards, reaching for Vash’s head. Your yearning fingers thread through his messy blonde locks as you so gently and so fondly caress his head. 

Vash heaves a wistful little sigh at your touch, then much like an affectionate puppy, he snuggles even closer and rubs his face against you. You can’t suppress the giggle bubbling in your throat at his sugary sweet gesture of affection. 

“Feels nice. No leaving bed today. S’not allowed.” Vash whispers.

You heave a deep sigh at his words.

‘If only we could.’ 

But you both know that it’s only a matter of time before one of your friends is banging on the door to get you up, dressed, and back out into the harsh desert sunlight again. Back to dusty roads and the scent of smoking gunpowder.

You close your eyes and force yourself to push those thoughts aside. You don’t want to think about those things right now. Right now you are exactly where you want to be most in the world. You are going to savor every last second of this moment. This precious, quiet little moment that is just for the two of you.

You’re wisped away from your thoughts when you suddenly feel Vash’s hips shift against yours. You feel him release a shuddering breath against your neck as he starts to lazily rub his erection against your thigh. 

You bite your lip, and a daring spark of lust ignites and then simmers between your legs at the feeling of him using your body for his pleasure. With a breathy chuckle, you respond to Vash’s advances by raising your leg up between his own and trapping his cock between his hip and your thigh.

Vash groans and his hot breath continues to tickle your skin as he begins a slow and steady rhythm of frotting himself against your body. A delightful wetness spreads across the place where he is rubbing. He’s leaking for you. He’s aching for you.

You plant a tender kiss on Vash’s head, and he reciprocates by pressing gentle kisses of his own down your neck. You shudder when you feel his hot tongue slip out and lewdly glide all the way down to your collarbone.

“Vash?” You breathe his name into the morning chill.

His “Mmm?” vibrates against your throat as he latches onto your neck and begins to suck. You exhale a pleasured little gasp. In the back of your sleep fogged mind, you know that you’ll likely have a hell of a time explaining away that little hickey later, but right now you can’t seem to care.

“Are you sure you want to go again?” You softly pant. “You’re not too tired?”

Vash’s answer to your question comes in the form of him gently removing your leg from between his, and then hoisting it upwards to wrap around his hip. His hand moves down to cup your ass to pull you closer, and you both quietly moan in bliss as Vash’s hard dick nestles itself lovingly against the wet folds of your sex. 

You won’t need any preparation this time. Thanks to Vash’s ministrations, you are sopping wet with your arousal. Not to mention that there are also remnants of last night’s escapades to lube you up for one more round. 

Vash finally lifts his face from the cradle of your neck. His expression is still dazed with sleep, but his blue eyes are filled with tender devotion as he looks up at you and gives you his softest smile.

“Guide me inside you, mayfly.” Vash cups your face and then presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Please.”

Well who could say no to that? 

Capturing Vash’s lips in a passionate kiss of your own, you reach down and take hold of his throbbing length. You rub the head of his cock teasingly up and down your slit, mixing your fluids, and getting him nice and wet and ready to enter you.

Vash inhales sharply as you temptingly rub him against you. Your eyes flash and capture him in a sultry glance as you bring his tip up to rub against your clit. You tremble as a deeply seated desire starts to bloom in your core. 

“T-tease.” Vash gasps in a playfully accusing tone. You chuckle, and then press a pert little peck to the corner of his mouth as a half apology.

Then, with a shimmy of your hips, you guide Vash’s cock to your entrance, and start to slowly sink yourself down.

Vash’s grip on you tightens and he moans as your tight, wet heat envelopes his length. You also can’t stay quiet and you groan with rapture at the feeling of Vash’s hot cock spreading you open. The pressure of his fingers gently digging into your back is gratifying and serves to entice you even more.

Encouraged by Vash’s reaction, you decide to take your time with him. And Vash is so patient, and so good for you. He litters your jaw with little kisses as he takes what you give him without complaint on the pace. He honestly just seems content to just savor the feeling of you slowly and lovingly bottoming him out inside of you.

Eventually, you do take Vash all the way to the hilt, and a sigh of relief escapes his lips when you do. A small and sly little smile spreads across your lips. You intend to tease Vash for a little bit longer; cockwarm him until he’s desperately oozing precum. But now that Vash has had a taste of your sinfully tantalizing insides, he finds that he can’t hold himself back anymore.

With your bodies entwined, Vash starts to slowly thrust his hips against yours. Your eyes are both locked in each other’s lustful gazes as his cock starts to massage the walls of your pussy. You tremble as you feel Vash plunge deeper into you with each drive forward of his hips. 

“J-just one more time, okay?” Vash moans as he looks yearningly into your eyes. “I promise.”

Now where have you heard that before?

You lean forward and give Vash a hungry kiss. He returns it with just as much fervor.

“Okay.”

No more words are exchanged between the two of you as you both lazily thrust your hips against one another’s. The sex is slow, groggy, and passionate. You and Vash give each other lazy kisses as you both pant and moan into each other’s mouths. It doesn't take long for the haze of sleep to be replaced by a haze of love drunk euphoria.

Vash starts to rut his hips against yours more vigorously, and when you feel his hand travel across your skin to ensnare your hip in a desperate grip, you know he is close to coming. You want to come when Vash does, so you reach down and circle your clit with your fingers. You mewl at the sensation as you feel your orgasm start to build fast.

Keen as ever, Vash doesn’t miss a beat, and his eyes follow your hand’s every movement as he watches your erotic display of self-pleasure.

“Fuck,” Vash whimpers. The snapping of his hips against yours becomes more forceful and intense. “That’s…that’s so…”

He isn’t able to finish his sentence. You silence Vash with a sloppy kiss and you purposefully clench your sex around his length. A breathless and whiny little moan escapes Vash’s lips as he thrusts his cock inside you one last time. 

Vash comes so sweetly. He buries his face into your neck and his entire body trembles with ecstacy in your arms. You can feel his cock twitch inside you as he pumps another thick, hot load of his cum into the deepest recesses of your body. It feels so good.

The feeling of Vash filling you up always sends you over the edge, so it’s not long before you reach your own peak too. With a firm circling of your clit, your breath hitches, and then you release a pleasured sigh as your orgasm gently washes over you too.

As your climaxes subside, the two of you lay still and panting in each other's arms. Both of your eyes are closed as you each revel in the pleasurable aftershocks of your releases. 

With time that sweet tension eventually eases from both of your bodies. You both are left limp, sweaty, and so fulfilled as you bask in the intimate aftermath of your joining. 

Then, you hear a heavy knock on the door.

“Rise and shine sleepyheads! Get your asses moving before I do it for you!”

You and Vash simultaneously sigh with disappointed longing. Then, hand in hand, you both emerge from your warm sanctuary under the covers.

Confessions

Vash x Reader tags: nsfw, plant-vash biology, female reader, smut, feelings.

// sorry for any mistakes, i’m sleep deprived lmao //

The first time that you saw Vash, you assumed he would be a passing thing, a person who would take up too much space in your mind before fading away like everyone else. That’s how it usually goes, anyway.

Funny, you think, that you’re so incredibly close to him now. The fact that the two of you happened to meet in a tavern the same night you saw him wandering through town and you helped him escape a gunfight, well, that surely cemented the fact that you would follow him practically anywhere.

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I’m so very deep in my Trigun obsession, so it’s only fair that I write something about it

! Minors dni !

Fingering headcanons ; Vash x reader ; Wolfwood x reader

Warnings: afab!reader , fingering , slight impact play , slight temperature play , praise , just a whole lot of pussy worship

! Nsfw below !

Vash absolutely adores fingering you, it’s his favourite pastime. He loves being in control of your pleasure, and boy is he good at it.

He knows every single spot that gets you all whiney, a proud smile curling his lips every time he earns a breathy “Right there!” or “God, don’t stop..”. Vash has every one of your sweet spots stored in his memory, and it has your mind foggy with every stroke of his fingers.

If he’s feeling extra playful or just in a giving mood, he’ll finger you with his prosthetic arm, the cold metal of the fingers making you shiver and your eyes roll back into your head. Vash’ll even alternate between his two arms, the contrast in temperature always manages to have your toes curling.

Also, if you’re okay with it, Vash will finger you while wearing his glove. I mean, he wears them on his two middle fingers for a reason, right? The rough material of the fabric makes you cum so fast and so hard, and Vash can’t help but marvel at how your juices soak his glove, turning it an even darker black. He’s had to throw away a few gloves before, but it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. He loves making you feel good, even if it’s at his expense.

Vash makes it his mission to have you cumming on his fingers at least 3 times before he actually gets down to business. He can’t help it when your pussy just clenches so good around his slender fingers. Bonus points if he can make you squirt.

His favourite position to finger you in is to have your back against his chest, having you on full display as his deep blue eyes are glued to how you gush around his fingers. This way Vash can whisper as many praises as he desires, telling you how pretty you are and how good your perfect pussy sounds and feels.

“Does that feel good?” Vash’s voice comes out in a husk, low and gravelly as his lips brush against the shell of your ear. His fingers curl against your walls, pushing against the familiar spongy flesh of your g-spot. He has you seeing stars, your moans coming out as high-pitched whines as your hips rolled against his hand, your clit brushing against the heel of his hand and causing your eyes to flutter shut.

“So, so good…Gonna cum, Vash.” You croak, your chest heaving as the familiar heat of an orgasm pooled in your stomach. Vash groaned as you spoke, his lips nibbling at your earlobe as he curled his fingers inside you with a newfound eagerness. “That’s it…Go on, love. You can do it, know you can. My good girl..” he purrs, and he has your pussy spasming in seconds, your arousal spraying all over his hand, soaking both him and the sheets.

Your hand grips his prosthetic arm, your fingers trembling as your head falls back against his shoulder, your hot breath tickling his ear as you pant. Vash just lets out a breathy laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple as he slowly pulls his fingers away from your aching cunt.

“So perfect..”

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Wolfwood isn’t as gentle as Vash, if anything he’s the other side of the coin. He fingers you before and after sex, he’s a greedy man. He loves how you whine and weakly push his hand away, saying how sensitive you are as he pushes his cum back where it belongs.

His fingers are calloused from carrying around that heavy cross every hour of the day, and he knows how to use them. Wolfwood’s fingers scrape against every bump and dip of your pussy, making you jolt and cry out every time.

Will slap your pussy if he thinks you’re cumming too fast. He loves to rile you up as much as he can until you’re begging him to just let you cum, your voice like heaven to him.

Wolfwood’s fingers are thicker than Vash’s as well, and they stretch you out so good it has you practically drooling every time he pushes them into your sopping pussy.

His favourite position to finger you in is having you on your back, holding your legs to your chest as Wolfwood hovers over you, abusing your cunt with his rough fingers. If he notices that your legs are closing, he’ll give your pussy a slap, warning you to keep your legs open or else he’ll leave you high and dry.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart; and keep those legs open, yeah?” Wolfwood’s deep voice rings in your ears, his dialect rough from nicotine. His hand slaps against your wet pussy, causing you to wince and let out a whiney cry. He’s been bullying your cunt for hours now, only letting you cum twice in that timeframe.

Your legs snap open, your hands gripping the back of your thighs as you pull them back to your chest, your face beet red and dripping with sweat. “Please, Nico…Wanna cum so bad..” you mewl, your voice cracking from how long and loud you were squealing as Wolfwood’s thick fingers continued to curl against your spongy g-spot.

Your begging earns a playful smirk to pull at his lips, his eyes flashing as he purrs, his fingers picking up the pace. “Oh, well…since ya asked so nicely, I guess you can cum.” His words have you gushing in an instant, your knuckles going white as your pussy clenched around his fingers, spraying against his abdomen. It makes a groan rumble in his chest.

Wolfwood removes his fingers from your exhausted cunt, moving them to his lips to lick them clean. Your taste has him groaning again. “Good girl..”.

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A/N: I’m actually super proud of this one, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Vashwood brainrot