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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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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.

Seguir leyendo

I think of cutting Vash's hair. Intertwine your fingers and subtly untangle it, he will nestle in your hands and start to hum in delight. When his hair begins to grow and lose its spiky shape, he will come to you as a symbol of pure affection and full trust.

Such a simple act becomes very intimate and domestic. Cutting his hair shows that he allows you to handle something so characteristic of him, something that people he appreciated deeply have only done.

And don't forget that he enjoys finishing off with a kiss after you show him the result.~

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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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.

Seguir leyendo

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?”

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.

Seguir leyendo

vash's favorite part about sex would definitely have to be giving you pleasure. watching your brows scrunch up, your mouth drop open with your tongue lolling out, beads of sweat dripping down your features, he just can't get enough.

he'd dip his fingers inside of you all sorts of ways, figuring out which one garners the best reaction and sounds from you and he'd use it to his advantage. abusing that gummy part that makes your eyes roll back, mewls forcing your lips to part, crystal tears falling from your eyes, he wants to see it all.

he just has to get a taste too, gratefully slurping up everything you have to give him, leaving loving kisses on your thighs, stomach, and everything else within his reach while he's down there, giving you as much love as he can for the love of his life.

vash—nsfw alphabet [A-I]

interrupting my irregularly scheduled program to drop these incredibly self-indulgent headcanons! this is totally unedited, completely off the cuff simpery, and I hope it tickles your fancy. part one of three, because I have absolutely no self restraint. I mean can you blame me? just look at himmmm!

warnings/tags; afab, fem pronouns, p in v descriptions, oral/cunnilingus, edging, praise kink, pain kink [listen I have thots and I’m sorry in advance but this gets a little dark], vash is insecure but we been knew that, 18+ [obvs], pls don’t read if you’re underage, or I’ll be forced to punt you into the stratosphere <3

word count; 3k [my hand slipped]

part two [J-Q]

A = Aftercare [what they’re like after sex]

⍟ Vash is the absolute king of aftercare. He is so inherently caring, and that kindness extends to everyone, whether that be some stranger on the street or a dear friend, he just cares. So, best believe that his lover—his mayfly—is going to be treated as nothing short of royalty.

⍟ It starts before it even ends, bodies melded together with sweat and lust; hot, rolling breaths dampening your skin, Vash will immediately ask you, “Are you okay? Was that good? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

⍟ Admittedly, you were surprised after your first time together. Even when he’s utterly wrecked by pleasure, his first and only thought is whether or not you’re comfortable. Whether you enjoyed yourself, if he gave enough, if you need more from him. He will give you everything, you only need to ask, and even when you don’t, he will give.

⍟ Entirely at your whim afterwards, as though you’ve cast some intangible love spell on him. He’s so adorably eager as he cleans you up, presses his canteen into your hands, pulls you close like he hasn’t been inside you for the last two hours. He has a tendency to borderline coddle you, but you’re certainly not complaining.

⍟ He’s well aware of how dangerous it is to be associated with him, and as the long years have passed, he’s tried not to grow attached. It’s better that way, for everyone, but Vash can’t seem to muster the strength to leave you…so he’s going to do everything in his power to keep you safe, to ensure you are never hurt, to do right by you. It goes without saying, but Vash absolutely cherishes you, and he shows it whenever, and however he can.

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vash—nsfw alphabet [J-Q]

welp. this is about the point where ya’ll realize how absolutely feral I am for this man-plant. talk about no self restraint, I wrote this in a stupor of simpery, was guided by the spirit of the horny ghost on this long journey. I also did not edit it, because nobody has time for that. anyways, starting off part two strong with J, for Jesus Christ, I Am So Down Bad I’m Literally On My Knees. it also stands for Jack Off, which is funnier, I think.

warnings/tags; afab, fem pronouns, p in v descriptions, public sex, overstimulation, oral/cunnilingus, edging, praise kink TO THE MAX, pain kink, [we know how I feel about this, but imma be real and say he’s a not-so-closeted masochist] rough sex, hair pulling, biting, BEGGING, so much begging, and probably a ton of other things but you get the point.

word count; 3.6K [lord help me]

part one, [A-I]

J = Jack off [masturbation headcanon]

⍟ Vash may be a Plant, but some might argue he’s more human than he believes himself to be. He still has to sleep, and eat, drink water or he’ll succumb to the tribulations of dehydration, and so he does indeed find himself burdened with the very human ailment of sexual frustration.

⍟ Although opportunities to relieve himself with another happen rather frequently [he’s not blind, he can tell when a woman wants him], he never entertains them. It’s not that they’re not beautiful, or kind, or caring—they certainly are, most of the time—it’s just that he doesn’t really allow himself that easy relief. Something about it just feels wrong, like he hasn’t done enough to deserve it.

⍟ A voluntary celibate, if you will. Besides, the idea of a quick romp in the tattered sheets with some nameless girl rings very hollow to Vash. The connection would be purely physical, and he believes it wouldn’t be fair for either party. If he’s going to let himself be that vulnerable with someone, he has to know them, trust them entirely.

⍟ Countless times he’s brushed off a flirtatious hand on his bicep, excused himself from the sultry, half-massed gaze of a pretty girl to sequester in whatever decrepit motel room he’s in for the night. It’s there that he finds his relief, alone.

⍟ When he’s enveloped in the privacy of a room or even the vast solitude of sand for iles around, the only light being that of a luminescent glow from above, Vash takes his time. His palm smooths down his torso, feeling the ridges of tender scar tissue, the protrusions of metal implants, before passing his belt entirely to press firmly against his groin.

⍟ He waits to shuck his pants down, just enough to wrap a hand around his stiff cock—waits until he’s panting softly, desperately. He has a tendency to tease and inch his way to a point where he can no longer hold back, and sometimes, longer still. But when he finally does, the sensation is strong enough that it feels like the first crack of rapture. His rolling breaths catch in his throat, moaning loud enough that he’s scoring his lower lip between his teeth, harshly stifling himself.

⍟ Vash is both embarrassed and shameful of this, but he tends to favor his prosthetic over his remaining hand. He takes pleasure in the initial contrast of cool metal against the stiff, hot silk of his length, and the sensors are dull enough that he can suspend his disbelief, if just for a moment—imagine that the tight fist stroking his cock belongs to another.

⍟ The guilt nearly ate him up alive the first time he envisioned your delicate hand there, your beautiful face resting against the sharp crescent of his hipbone, lovingly and patiently shattering him to pieces. It does still, but it’s a gnawing thing now, and Vash thinks that this is a guilt he’s capable of bearing; he simply can’t imagine anyone else.

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