#Vash x Reader

[pfpanimes]

⌕ trigun stampede • vash.

♡ like or reblog if you save/use.

[vashs-turtleneck]

Dazzling

Rating: G

Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader Summary: Something shiny catches Vash's eye while browsing the market. Content: fluff Word Count: .8k

Truly, it's incredible what humans have managed to create out of so little. Take the sandsteamer Vash stands on now—built piece by piece from the remnants of ships that once fell from the sky. Vibrant stalls spill out across the walkway as he browses the market, each bursting with its own personality: the warm sizzle of street food frying in wide iron pans, shelves of tools and weaponry, shimmering under the sunlight, meant to aid bounty hunters in their next pursuit (he gives that one a wide berth), tapestries and paintings and intricate sculptures, creations born of steady hands and aching hearts.

But delicate metal rings—especially ones crowned with a gleaming red gemstone, shining like a drop of sunlight caught in ore—are rare.

Vash doesn’t usually stop for jewelry. Too flashy. Too impractical. Too… hopeful, and far too expensive for someone constantly on the move, constantly scraping by. It's the sort of thing someone with roots might buy. Someone with a future.

But this one.

This one stops him cold, and he finds himself reaching for it. Not because he needs it.

But because, for one quiet, heart-stopping moment, he imagines how beautiful it would look on your finger.

“See something you like?” the vendor calls, eyes twinkling knowingly.

Vash startles a bit, fingers already curled around the little ring. He looks up like he’s been caught red-handed. “Uh. Maybe.”

The vendor leans forward on their elbows, looking at him with a practiced eye. “That one’s not cheap, y’know. Real gemstone. Came from one of the old ship wrecks. Not many of those left.”

Vash turns the ring slowly in his fingers, watching the way it catches the light. It gleams like it's always belonged to someone special.

He swallows. “How much?”

The vendor names a price, and Vash winces. That’s more than a few meals. Maybe even a few weeks’ worth. Spending it all on something so small, so impractical to a man on the run, borders on reckless.

But he doesn't put the ring down.

“Need a box?” the vendor asks, already reaching below the stall.

“…Yes, please.”

“Box is extra.”

Of course it is.

He exhales slowly, taking out his wallet and counting out the last of his double dollars before he slides the bills across the counter. “Fine.”

The vendor chuckles, already easing the ring into a small, felt-lined box—careful, deliberate, as if they know just what kind of thing this is. “Romantic type, huh?” they say lightly, snapping the box shut. “Hope they’re worth it.”

“They are,” Vash says, almost too quietly.

The vendor hands over the box with a nod and a smile that, for all its mischief, carries a kind of understanding. “Pleasure doing business.”

Vash takes it like it’s something fragile. Sacred.

You’ve seen him at his best and at his worst—and somehow, impossibly, you’re still here. Still choosing to be by his side. And he wants to keep you there. He wants that more than anything.

It’s selfish. He knows that.

But even as he tucks the little box carefully into his pocket, feeling the familiar emptiness of his wallet in the other hand, he knows he’d have paid twice as much if he had to.

“Vash!”

Your voice rings out above the noise of the crowd, light and unmistakable. His head snaps up, a little too quickly. You’re weaving your way through the stalls, smiling as you spot him.

He panics, jamming the box deeper into his coat pocket, and he forgets about the wallet still hanging limply in his hand.

“There you are!” You reach his side, slightly breathless. “I’ve been looking all over. Where’d you run off to?”

“Ah, well, y’know…” He tries to sound casual, trying to hide the guilt on his face. “Browsing.”

“Browsing, huh?” You raise an eyebrow. “Find anything good?”

He shrugs, eyes darting to the side. “A couple things. Nothing crazy.”

You glance down. “Wait—how much did you spend?”

“…A lot.”

You stare at him. Then at the sagging wallet.

“Vash, holy shit, what did you buy?!”

Crap. Think. Think.

“Uhh… food.” He winces. “Snacks.”

You blink. “Did you save any for me at least?”

“N-No.”

“You glutton! I swear, your stomach’s bottomless sometimes!” you scold, but there's laughter behind your words, amusement softening the edge.

He chuckles weakly, scratching the back of his neck. “Guess I got carried away…”

You shake your head, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. “You’re lucky I like you.”

He smiles, helpless in the face of you.

No—he won’t ask you to stay. Not yet. He won’t ask you to tie your future to his uncertain one. That would be cruel. You deserve a life of ease, of peace, not one spent dodging bullets and bounties.

But if the day ever comes when he lets himself fully surrender to the quiet, burning want that fills him every time he looks at you, to the dream of watching the years shape your smile and your laugh lines, to the longing to watch how time paints its story into the lines of your face—he’ll be ready, with a pretty ring, nestled safely in his right-hand pocket.

Then again, maybe the moment he bought it... he already gave in.

divider.

[strawberryfan06]

Wholesome! Bros the type with Vash the Stampede!!! (pt. 3)

Bros the type to write you letters

(Low-key poetic)

Bros the type to can’t but help to keep glancing at your lips during a conversation and hopes you don’t notice. ( you notice)

Bros the type to stay in bed until you wake up.

Bros the type to immediately start smiling when ever your name is mentioned in a conversation.

Bros the type to really (like really) when you wear his clothes (especially his shirts)

Bros the type to be happy for the rest of the day because you told something he made for you tasted good.

(thanks for reading! 💕sorry any spelling mistakes lol and I’ll try to make pt. 4 longer and hopefully do something related to Wolfwood soon.)

[will0waesthetic]

“her lovely hazel eyes”

“her breasts and perky rosy, pink nipples”

“for her petite physique”

Well damn , give her a name and we’re good to go 💀 the reader having a backstory , yeah no problem it’s cool but why do you have to describe the physical traits ? Just make an OC

Back story + physical description = OC

Back story + no physical description = reader insert

[sh1-n0bu]

hehehehheheheee pretty birb bf

winged bf who pick you up into their arms, gently cradling you as if you were made of glass and the finest jewelry as they tell you to “hang on” before unfurling their wings and taking off into the sky

winged bf who show you the beauty of flying, holding you securely in his arms as you take in the way how the world below you looks so small and beautiful. who only has a gentle smile on their faces as you point out the big apartments and parks where you go to for a picnic date. who only has eyes on you as you admire the twinkling lights of the world under you

winged bf who wrap their wing around you whenever you shiver, even if it was one of those annoying sudden ghost bump things you get out of the blue. he’s still worried, let him worry for you in peace😠

winged bf who plucks a feather out of their wing, gently tucking the soft feather into your hair, or on your jacket — wherever you want. he wants you to carry a piece of him to remind you by even though you regularly steal his clothes

winged bf who allows you to be only person to touch his wings, to care for them, to brush them, to just… well, touch them to your heart’s content really. he doesn’t care if you put the tip of his long feather ends over your lips, mimicking a mustache, he doesn’t care if you want to use it as a blanket, he doesn’t care if you wanna use the ends like a cat toy in front of his face. he’ll indulge in your silly shenanigans

winged bf who sheds at least once a year, filling your shared home with the old feathers. who is either smug about it or is apologetic as he helps you broom the excessive fallen feathers. at this point you could probably make a plushie or some sort of art project from the amount of feathers that he shed. to which he objects, saying these are all old and weakened feathers, offering his wing for you to pluck feathers from if you really wanna make an art project

winged bf who hides the two of you under his wing when cuddling in bed, the added layer of his own extra limb making the scene feel more intimate than it is. as if the entire world is blocked out, just a meager existence passing by as you two enjoy this moment of comfort as his wing becomes a curtain to give you two privacy

winged bf who sometimes gets too sexually frustrated and pent up with your curious hands constantly touching the place where his wing is connected to his back, the skin and muscles there are sensitive, making him jump in his seat whenever you do it to tease him

winged bf who knows that it isn’t your fault. you probably don’t know, you don’t have a wing after all, so you don’t know what it means when someone touches your wing. who only calms your worries with a forehead kiss, usually handling his problems himself

winged bf who lets out a whine into his hand, muffling the embarrassing noise as your hand wraps tighter around his cock. he was way too sensitive than usual and it was all because of your wandering hand on his wings. he probably should have explained it all to you but right now, he found his words escaping him, mind melting into a muddled mess as he finds his hands clawing at your own in desperation

winged bf who mumbles out a weak protest of being “s-sensitive! aaah… f-feels too sen—♡︎ sensitive! y-your haaandd♡︎” as his legs start to shake, staring through teary eyes as you coax out yet another climax out of him. his tip an angry cherry red from the continued torture of your hand, his slit weeping precum over and over again despite having just came, getting hard in your hand embarrassingly fast

winged bf who gets tortured by your loving hands for who knows how many times. his eyes are getting blurry and breathing started to hurt. even more, his dick was stinging, twitching every time your tight fist comes up to the tip, letting go briefly as if to taunt him, touching the dripping slit with the tip of your finger and making him whine loudly before fucking his cock into your hand again and again. this was just pure torture, he wanted to escape and run away but you were whispering such nice words to his ears. calling him your good boy, your angel, how you loved being with your beloved like this… could he really ever refuse you?

winged bf who gets more and more twitchy in your gentle hold as your hand picks up speed, the filthy wet noise of his earlier cum being used as a lube filling the room alongside his loud moans. who begs for you to not to touch his wing as it flutters around, dropping a feather or two onto the floor due to moving around so much. who only lets out a pathetic whimper of a “cuz’ ahh haamgh—! [n-name], please! please don’t—♡︎ d-don’t touch them...? they’re sensitive too aanh haagh mfgh♥︎!!” when you ask him why

winged bf who felt like his skin was on fire. everything felt too much but felt too little at the same time, his cock painfully hard again in your hold the moment you ran the tip of your finger over the bane of it. his muscles were getting tense, a strange sense of feeling coiling around in his stomach as you kiss the place where his wing and back connects, shifting around frantically with a chirp or a preen falling from his swollen lips

winged bf who weakly paws at your hand around his dick, wanting to push it away but chasing right after it with his hips as the strange feeling in his stomach just continues to grow worse. it didn’t felt like his usual orgasm, the way he would just fall apart in your hands. it felt more intense and that scared him. who cries out through loud whines and bitten back sobs that “f-feels weird!! aanhh haah [n-name]—! it mnggh♡︎ feels weird! my c-cock feels unnck haah ahh amhh weird♥︎♥︎!!”

winged bf who throws his head back into your shoulder, hands covering his beet red face as a scream tears through his lips, muscles tightening, body going taut in your arms when you gently bit into the base of his wing, your other hand keeping his wing in place so it wouldn’t flutter and knock you away as he fucking squirts into his stomach, painting his muscles and your hand white. who lets out soft chirps and noises, legs twitching and hands struggle to decide whether to hold onto you or to muffle his embarrassing noises

winged bf who only lets out weak noises and chirps when you try to communicate with him, asking him if he was doing alright and if your angel was with you right now after that overstimulating experience. who immediately hides within his wings the moment a sliver of sobriety hits him, too humiliated to even look you in the face because what was that? and why did he felt… so good?

winged bf who gives you a weak glare that you know isn’t exactly serious, pouting at you and complaining about how you messed up his mind and stuff. who lean into your touch as you push his hair away from him, getting to see the still reddened face and the few tear stains on his cheeks. who grumbles about how you have too much power over him when you chuckle, leaning in to plant a kiss to his pouting lips. who chase after you with a demand for a proper kiss this time

⇨ sephiroth, genesis, angeal, hawks, xiao, venti, angel devil, vash, knives, sunday, simeon, raphael + anyone you can think of!

[novasintheroom]

How about Vash having cuteness aggression (I am the no 1 propagandist for that HC)? Just being super excited and having a hard time containing all his love.

Also, I hope you have fun on your vacation! Going anywhere fun?

Sooty you are THE BEST. The best. <333333

--

“Just wanna…squish ya.” Vash slurs.

His hand comes up and squishes your cheeks together. Your brows tick up while your mouth purses like a fish. “Ye’h?” You say.

He hums. Scoots closer on the bench. The bar is full of life, and Vash has drunk enough to fill half their bellies. You can smell the booze on his breath when he leans in. “Just squeeze!” He wraps his arms around you and does just that. You let out a wheezy breath. He’s just barely holding back.

Then, his teeth are at your shoulder, and he bites.

“Ow! Vash!” You slap his ear.

Vash lets out a sweet giggle, rubbing his forehead on the teeth marks he just made on your skin. “Sorry! You’re just…y’er just cute.” He lays his cheek on your shoulder, now, and stares doe-eyed up at you.

You blow air out your nose. “Does that mean I get to bite you back?”

He gasps dramatically. “You think I’m cute?”

Shyness grips you, but you take up his hand and bite his palm softly. Vash stills, goes quiet for the first time since the night started. A sudden intimacy overtakes you both.

You desperately shake it off. Shake his arms off too. “There. Now we’re even.” Despite your embarrassment, the side of your mouth turns up in a half smile as you lean an elbow against the bar and look away.

Vash stares at you a long, long moment, his cheeks getting redder and redder. Then, he signals the bartender with a loud bellow. “BARTENDER! Another round for me and the cute lady!” All the while, he stares at the indents of your teeth on his palm, rubbing a thumb over them.

--

(Thanks again Sooty!! This is just what I wanted and needed! I'm actually going to Disney, so I'll be having tons of food and rides the whole week! <33)

[baroupurin]

━╋ cw : smut , oral (m) receiving , slightly submissive (m) , cursing , fem reader . .

men who are DEVOTED munchers becoming a stuttering mess when you ask to give them head… they look at you like you just asked the most incredulous question in existence. you? give him head? right now? he’s so used to servicing you— the thought of you giving him head already had him shamefully twitching in his pants and dizzy.

“are you sure, my love? no, i mean, you don’t need to… i mean—”

poor baby can barely put a sentence together even before the touching has even happened. don’t get him wrong, it’s not that he doesn’t want it. he’s indulged— matter of fact, he’s stroked a few ones out at the thought of you sucking him off. on your knees, pretty glossy doe eyes looking up at him while you struggle to take all of him in your mouth. it’s just that he’s always been a little shy. too embarrassed to ask you. it’s pathetic— hilarious even that a burly, bulking man of his stature couldn’t bring himself to ask his darling little wife something so simple. he was devoted to you. the man worshipped you. he knew his purpose. it was clear as day in fact. to service and care for you. to follow you like the smitten fool he was. he knew that he was meant for nothing else the moment he had laid his eyes on you. he was yours.

your husband’s putty once you begin leaving behind the softest of kisses down his chest and trembling stomach. the smell of his skin and the hushed whimpers every once in a while leaving his pretty lips dulling your senses. you had to pull away to admire the sight— your hungry eyes drinking in the mesmerizing sight of your man. the contour of his prominent muscles; the number of ruthless hours he’d managed to put into training never failed to impress you. the tank he wore now bunched up and resting on the swell of his pecs; buds glossed over with drool while his chest heaved with every shuddering breath he took, and god, the trail of thick hair leading down to his veiny lower abdomen.

he’s practically a pathetic puddle of moans and drool while you attempt to push another inch of his twitching length down your throat minutes later, the tuft of hair on his abdomen tickling your nose as your mouth painfully stretches to take in his fat girth. your tousled hair not going unnoticed as he begins to comb it back, chivalrous as ever while he holds it back with one shaky hand, the other draped over his burning face.

“ah, hnng..! fuuuuck… just—just like that, pretty…”

he drools out, a fucked out mess of groans and praises just for you as he bucks his shaky hips into your mouth involuntarily, apologizing hastily at the sound of your gagging. but oh, how you could practically live off this rare sight. your panties soaking wet at the sight of your husband selfishly chasing his high. you suck in your tear stained cheeks, hallowing them out as his fat leaky tip hits the back of your throat. you were no better than him; a slobbering, gagging perverted mess as you begin to massage and stroke the base of his wet cock.

“gonna… oh— oh, god… don’t… please, baby, i’m gonna…”

he strains out, his hips twitching up as his head presses back against the arm of the couch, his bulging biceps flexing from the iron grip he has on your hair as he thrusts into your mouth once more. you pull away from his thick girth to catch your breath, eliciting a whine that you swore had you ascending. sticky gloss and spit trailing down his cock and connecting from your lips as you push his cock against his tense stomach to lick at the veiny underside. you allow the tip of your tongue to massage against a vein before leaving behind sloppy kisses at the thick shaft down to his twitching balls. he jolts forward in shock, heels digging into the plush surface of the couch. the veins straining underneath the thin skin of his large hands, almost like they were ready to burst with how tight he fingers were interlocked with the roots of your hair.

he can barely control himself, at this point mindlessly babbling on about how lucky he is to have you, how much he loves you, how close he is to cumming. you begin to massage the base of his sticky cock once more before sliding the wet shaft past your lips, slurping shamelessly as you begin to bob your head back up and down. it doesn’t take another second before he shoots his thick load right down your warm, wet cavern. riding out his orgasm as you massage and you pull your head up with a pop, gasping for air as he begins to wipe at your mouth, praising you for taking him so well. he definitely didn’t mind a bit of spoiling here and there. especially from you.

⟢ reiner, erwin, choso, nanami, sendou, niou, noel, tokimitsu, yukimiya, diluc, sanji, zack, aki, vash, gris, sanemi + your favs . . (〃ω〃)

ᣟ៹ ❤︎៝ : first smut sweats .. can you tell i’m a sucker for big men who turn into a whimpering mess for you i’m sorry for any spelling mistakes in advance… i’ll check later after class !! （＾ω＾）

[jackrabbit-fandom]

Dear authors, you should really stop putting "x reader" in your OC insert fics because it's a self insert of YOUR character and not that of the reader. I understand you want attention on the post, but it's completely misstagging the story and is quite frankly frustrating and annoying. Yeah, some readers may adapt to it, but some absolutely can not. Thank you very much

[agappa]

He often calls you gorgeous, but its not exactly for what you think. It seems like it’s merely a physical compliment from your dear boyfriend. But when he says it, he praises you in your globality. He says it almost out of breath like he’s in contemplation of you, you mesmerized him in a all different level. He finds your personality as gorgeous as your appearance, he just deeply adores every inches of you. So there is no better way to describe you in your all than calling you gorgeous while softly brushing his thumb over your cheek and looking deeply through your eyes.

-> YUJI, NANAMI, Megumi, Choso, Xiao, Neuvillette, TARTAGLIA, Rei Suwa, Arthur Morgan, VASH, Thorfinn, XAVIER, Zayne

[3ic95id864pg]

Trimax Vash [Twitter:@rtylenole]

[yukimiyum]

-> 1,110 words. gn!reader, penetrative sex, alien genitalia if you squint, creampies, multiple orgasms, vash calls reader "flower, angel". subspace if you squint. based on this fan art.

author's notes: got a little too into fucking an eldritch deity last night. that fan art will haunt me for weeks. -> archiveofourown posting

you’ve seen this before.

you’ve sensed this before, this overwhelming feeling of dread and arousal. this feeling that grips you by anywhere it can latch on, refusing to let you escape. you just have to take it, and you love it. you know you do.

vash’s eyes are bright blue. they glow, enough for you to squint at him as he hovers over you, teeth barely poking past his lips.

“you okay, flower?” you hear him whisper. it sounds like a thousand voices at once, like him and every other rendition of him is speaking to you at once. somehow, despite the eeriness, it’s caring. empathetic, even. still so vash that even his blooming wings all over his body couldn’t deter you from squeezing your thighs around his tight waist.

“mhm.” there’s not much you can say right now. it feels exhausting to even voice words. “touch me, please?” your nails dig into his skin as you say it, and he shudders.

it’s like watching someone battle a demon, possessed inside of them. you can see it underneath his skin, bright cerulean veins glaring past the pale body that contains them. they pulse, and flash, and you’re in awe of it as he leans down to you, pressing your lips to his own.

he’s so warm. so bright, so pretty, everything you have ever wanted is right here in front of you. there’s a pulse within you, in time with his heartbeat gently beating in your ears; this close, you can feel his pulse in the very air. the beat…it’s gentle, but it’s all-encompassing.

it shoots through your whole body, and you arch your back, sighing as his hands move to your hips. “i’m gonna go in now, okay?” you hear him whisper. he sounds so far away, but so close at the same time.

you nod, and instantly, you feel something soaking wet pressing against you. sliding into you, so easily given how open you are for him. welcoming him in as if you were made for him.

it’s sickening how good it makes you feel. it’s bliss that you’ll never be able to replace; not that you want to. who would give up this beautiful eldritch deity in front of you, so kind as he spreads death to everything he touches?

except for you, it seems.

except for you.

your head falls back against the pillow behind your head. there’s sweat dripping on you, and your eyes slide open to meet vash’s own. bright blue, so deeply blue. like an ocean that’s begging you to drown in. your hands wrap around his neck, and you see his jaw set.

like he’s holding back.

“you can move, darling. let go.” your voice is so small against the sound of his pulsing and the cacaphony of voices intertwining his own as he groans, looking down at where you’re conjoined. his fists sink into the bedsheets on either side of your head.

you agreed to this.

sometimes you just have to remind him.

“fuck.”

the single syllable slams into your body like it resonates with your very soul. you’re shell shocked, your arousal tight in your stomach so quickly you haven’t noticed as you feel him begin to move. your walls squelch around him; but you’re not listening. instead, you’re staring up at vash, watching the sweat drip off his face as he bares his teeth, eyes screwed shut.

“god, fuck, god. you feel so good. better than anything i have ever had. holy shit.”

his voice shakes as he drops swear after swear, rhythm picking up. he’s slamming against that one spot inside of you now, and you feel your release building. your eyes screw shut. you know it. you have to tell him. you have to—

“g-gonna—“

your hand on his shoulder, digging into his skin, is covered with something much warmer. vash’s hands have disappeared from your waist, one rubbing circles onto your hand and the other gently grabbing your chin. your eyes fall open once again, and you find yourself falling into the oceanic depths.

“come for me, angel.”

all you remember after this is gushing. flooding all over him, your body twitching and shuddering in his hands as he drills into you, carrying you through your orgasm. you may have imagined it, but you almost see his tongue hanging out of his mouth. like he’s drinking in your orgasm with everything he has, not just the squirt covering his entire pelvis. like he’s drinking in the very air. taking advantage of the sloppiness to claim your sweet little hole.

you’re babbling now, grabbing at the sheets. all you can say is his name. it’s all you know now. “f-f-fuck, vash, vash—“

“yeah, angel?” there’s that pet name again. your walls slam around him, clamping down on him as another orgasm wracks through your body, sobs and moans hitching in your throat. “you’re taking me so well. so much better than anyone else. you’re meant for this, you know. you belong to me. only me, okay?”

you nod. you don’t remember forcing your head to nod, but you react with muscle memory instead. you can feel him grinning at you as your head lolls on the bedsheets, drool dripping down your chin.

“i’m gonna fill you up, okay? gonna fill this sweet hole for you, make sure you know who you belong to.”

he says it so kindly but so filthy, it’s insane how you twitch and moan underneath him, feeling his warm cum fill you up. sticky essence sticks to your walls, locking him inside of you as he all but collapses on top of you. he slides onto his side almost immediately, bringing you close. tour lips land on his shoulder. you suck on his skin without even thinking. there’s a ripple of muscle underneath your lips.

“so pretty.” it’s all you can think of as you release your hold on his shoulder, falling a bit in front of him and looking up at him. the blue has faded, but still gleams in the dark. no longer blinding, but comforting. his eyes are so pretty, and your hand lands on his cheek, tracing the pads of your fingers against his cheekbone.

“says you.” his voice rumbles, not as cacaphonic as it was before. his hand is so much larger than you, nails still quite long as his hand covers your own. the warmth from him is cozy, finding your eyes battling sliding shut. you want to memorize him. just in this moment, in the aftermath of the kind ferocity you’d just dealt with.

“sleep, flower. we’ll talk tomorrow.”

and who are you to argue?

divider credit: @/cafekitsune networks: @interstellar-inn @themovingcastlez

disclaimer: DO NOT copy or repost my works for any reason. translations are acceptable, but please ask for permission first!

© togamest 2023-2024

[lagooneah]

I love love loved your vash fic!! Could you expand on it and perhaps see how he’d do with smooching and kissing?>_< thankies >:)

Thank you for the ask! You've opened a can of worms 😊 (but srsly thank u, I love talking about him and I hope you enjoy!)

I'm a firm believer that Vash is very, VERY hesitant in most relationships at first, but as soon as he's given the green light, he goes a little... Crazy in a way. Like, maybe he's a little too much sometimes. He just has so much love to give okay? Leave him alone.

So our sweet Vash here OBVIOUSLY would know next to nothing about kissing.

Has he seen others do it? Yeah. Does he know what it is? Sure. Does he know how to do it? HELL NAH-

Due to his lack of knowledge and fear of intimacy that I have mentioned- you'd have to go slow with this too.

YOU would likely be the one to do it, kissing his cheek or his forehead as you two cuddle close for the night, stuff like that.

I feel like he'd be TERRIFIED to kiss you back in fear of screwing up somehow, but he'd eventually do it.

One night, as you two were snuggled up and near ready for sleep, he returned your smooch on his cheek with a peck on yours- and then looked at you, wide and puppy-eyed for some kind of green light.

Or ANY signal that he did good.

You'd smile, giggling a little at his silliness and say "Thank you Vashy", probably trying not to freak out at the fact that he INITIATED something for the first time.

And after that? Oh he keeps going, you can't stop him from kissing you actually.

It'd mostly be on your body- your cheeks, forehead, really wherever YOU have kissed him, he returns tenfold.

Once you realize he's basically following your lead, you give love to other places too.

His neck, shoulder, hands (especially his bionic one to make him feel better about it), the bridge of his nose...

You don't realize the potential mistake you've made until you've found yourself spending a solid hour just being PEPPERED with love and affection from him.

I just KNOW he feels validated in the relationship by making you feel good. That's like his favorite thing in the world.

You're his favorite thing in the world.

Whenever you'd ask him WHY he goes so far with this, he'd usually answer something along the lines of "You're just so easy to love" or "because you deserve it".

It'd take him a little bit with kissing you on the lips, but after your initiating he'd totally do it.

"Can I kiss you?" You'd ask him softly, your faces so close you can feel his warm breath on your lips. Your noses brushing against each other.

"Sure, where?" He asks, his grip a little tighter around you, continuing to gaze into your eyes.

You smiled, deciding to surprise him a bit, and give him a short kiss on the lips.

The man literally malfunctions.

His eyes are wide, his lips parted like he's going to say something but only strangled noise comes out, his cheeks BRIGHT pink...

You're pretty sure you've broken him.

And you have, but not in a bad way. You mean to tell him you're okay- scratch that- WANT him to kiss you there?

Oh boy, you're in trouble.

He's not the best at kissing your lips at first HOWEVER, he is a fast learning and he quickly begins craving it. Craving you, in a way.

Sometimes you have to stop him just to catch your breath.

And this wouldn't even be 100% sexual, he's just so- SO obsessed with you, that doing what he can do only with you is ALWAYS on his mind.

He is a bit bashful of it though, wanting to preserve his most obsessive love and worship for when you two are alone.

But he doesn't mind a peck ever now and then as you walk to the van.

He's a quiet, affectionate, kind in public- gently holding your hand, kissing your knuckles or your palm on his face. It's little- but it's attention he reserves for you.

This is what I've got (for now), but this is how I think he'd feel/react to kissing and smooches! He's so sweetie pie someone free me (don't)

I'm also attempting to cook up a "Your reaction to Vash's torn body" short fic, as well as a couple of other stuff, so stay tuned for that!

[vashs-turtleneck]

Softer Still

Rating: G

Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader Summary: In the stillness of the night, Vash quietly lingers on the part of you that means the most to him. Content: fluff, reader is described as having gained weight and having insecurities because of it. Word Count: 1k

If someone asked him what his favorite part of you was, Vash thinks he’d probably smile, rub the back of his neck, maybe laugh a little too softly before trying to answer.

Your eyes, maybe. The way they shine when they find him across a room, like he’s gravity and you’re happy to be pulled in. How they soften the second they land on him, as if the world fades a little in favor of his presence. Or maybe your smile—that bright, unfiltered joy that takes up your whole face and never fails to melt something inside him. Wide, genuine, the kind that crinkles the corners of your eyes. He treasures it like starlight. Especially the way it falters, just slightly, when he compliments you and you go all bashful, hiding behind your hands or ducking your head away like he can't see you. He’s a little weak for that too.

Of course, there’s the obvious stuff too. He’s noticed the curve of your hips, the sway of your walk, the way your shirt fits just right in certain places, and he can’t stop the way his gaze drifts down you when you saunter away. He loves all of it, genuinely.

But when he’s being honest with himself, when it’s quiet like this, with you dozing away at his side, your body warm and relaxed against him, he knows none of those things are what he cherishes most.

It’s this. Right here.

The soft weight of you leaning into him. The gentle pudge at your middle where his hand rests, rising and falling with every slow breath. The way your shirt lifts just slightly, revealing a sliver of skin that most people would overlook. 

He doesn’t. He never does.

He notices every inch.

You didn’t always look like this. When he first met you, you were thinner. You’d brush off meals, say you weren’t hungry, or forget to eat at all when things got too hectic. Your clothes hung a little loose, and you moved like someone who was always carrying an invisible weight, but never the kind that showed.

Now... Now you’re softer. Rounder in places. You fill his arms in a way that makes his chest ache with something he doesn’t quite know how to name.

He knows you’re a little insecure about it. He’s caught the way your hands tug at your clothes sometimes, how your gaze lingers in the mirror longer than necessary. You’ve made a few quiet, self-deprecating comments, probably thinking he didn’t notice.

But he did.

And he’d said something simple in return, something honest. But it didn’t feel like enough. Because how could he explain the feeling this part of you evokes in him?

It’s not just desire, though yes, he finds you breathtaking. It’s not just affection, though there’s that too—endless, aching affection that coils in his chest every time he sees you smile.

No, it’s something else.

This softness, this proof of rest, of nourishment, of healing, it means more to him than he knows how to say. It’s not about how it looks. Not really. He would love you at any size, in any shape, in every version of yourself. Nothing would ever change the way his heart beats for you. His love has never been conditional, never tied to the surface.

It’s not about beauty. It’s about what it represents.

It’s a quiet testament to something tender and hard-won. That you're eating regularly. Sleeping properly. Laughing more. Letting yourself exist without fear or guilt or punishment. Letting yourself be cared for—by him, or by yourself. That’s what makes this so precious to him. Not the look of it, but the meaning behind it.

It means you’re not going hungry. It means you’ve let your body breathe, let him care for you, maybe.

And all he wanted in those moments of bitter self-deprecation, was to cup your face in his hands and tell you—

This is my favorite part.

He wishes he could explain it in a way that makes sense to you—that every time his hand runs over your side and finds that little bit of pudge, it settles something in him. He craves it. He knows how much the world can take from people. He knows how easily it strips joy away, replaces softness with sharpness, with edges made for defense. He’s seen it in so many others. He’s felt it in himself.

And when he sees you happy, when he sees you full of light and laughter and appetite, it fills his chest with something so deep and profound he doesn’t have words for it. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s relief. Maybe it’s all the things he thought he didn’t deserve, and yet here you are.

He rests his head against your shoulder, arms wrapped around your middle, and just holds you. Not to protect, not to fix. Just to be close. To feel your warmth against his chest, to feel the rise and fall of your breath under his palm.

This change. This weight. It means you're eating. It means you're letting yourself be. It means you're not running anymore, not just surviving on scraps of time and energy.

It means, maybe, that you’re letting him love you, and that you’re starting to love yourself, just a little, too.

He’s loved a lot of things in his life, but this—this gentle, growing joy he feels when he sees you well—is something precious and worth savouring.

He lets his thumb brush over the softness at your side, slow and soft and reverent. You shift in your sleep, nuzzling closer, and Vash smiles.

Yeah, if someone asked him, he could say eyes, smile, lips, all of that. They’d be right. They’d be true.

But his real answer?

The extra weight.

Because it's not just softness. It’s not just physical.

It’s proof.

Proof that you’re alive. That you’re healing. That you’ve chosen this—him—even in the quiet, vulnerable places where no one else looks.

And to him, there’s nothing more beautiful than that.

divider.

[greetingfromthedead]

Happy Mermay! 💙💙💙

I have to admit once again that I am terrible with timing things, since just like last year, I have nothing new and special planned for the occasion.

But I do have a Mermaid!AU story with GN!Reader & Vash! It has been on hiatus for longer than I expected, however, I do plan on continuing it really soon (just not soon enough to post something in May). So here is a little reminder that it exists :3

If you're interested, you can check out the Masterlist!

[vashwoo]

additional feature

pairing: vash the stampede x afab! fem!reader content: smut (MDNI!) cw: questionable usage of this man's prosthetic fingers, c.lit play, tristamp coded vash because of the arm color but the others can have some coochie as a treat a/n: been in my notes app for forever. i cannot believe my first fic in awhile is smut and it's even my first trigun fic. ashamed. shaking out the dust and sand from my brain just like vash shakin' out the sand from his arm.

brad is a genius and knew the blonde would gunk up his masterpiece with sand at some point... so he provided a neat lil feature to help shimmy out the granules from the tiny crevices!

On the desert planet that was Noman’s Land, sand was a cruel devil for mechanical bits and bobs. Constantly eroding the cheap lacquers and choking up the gears in more intricate machinations made being an engineer a more annoying task. Hence why Brad, genius that he is, had equipped the blonde gunman’s arm with a little special something to rid the little granules from the intricate joints that made up the malachite arm. 

“This is the annoying part; gets... so… gritty– Eep!”

The blonde man squawks as he flails his left arm around, jerkily stretching his lithe fingers. The dual suns’ rays reflect off of the flat planes of his limb, occasionally blinding you as you watched him fumble around. Speckles fell from the crevices as he slapped his other hand against the jewel toned forearm, but the grimace on his face told you that it wasn’t quite fixed yet. Before you could offer to helpfully brush it down with a random paintbrush you picked up from the previous town, he fiddled with something at his inner bicep and the teal arm buzzed to life. 

Sand granules vibrated and seemingly shimmied out of the tighter spaces of his arm and fingers, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he happily wiggled his digits again. A clear lack of stuttered arcs in their movements told you the sand battle was won. 

Distantly, the others in your ragtag group argued about the lack of water and supplies for the next few hours, but your brain wanted nothing to do with that conversation. In fact, the mechanical whirring of his arm mimicked the static of your empty skull. Not a single thought was between your eyes at that moment.

Words died in the back of your throat and were replaced with absolutely salacious thoughts. Those thoughts raced through your mind and the blood pumped wildly in your ears (and between your legs). You fiddled with your fingers nervously as you cleared your throat to grab the blonde's attention.

“Say, Vash,” you coughed, and his eyes darted to yours in interest at the awkward tone you’ve suddenly adopted, “I’ve got an… idea.”

Those big blue eyes blinked owlishly at you as he curiously tilted his head. 

“What’s up, Mayfly?”

As soon as the group stumbled into town, divvied up the keys, and parted ways, the door of your motel room was barricaded by a splintered chair because the lock didn’t live up to its namesake. 

“Curious about this, huh?” Vash’s teasing murmur against the shell of your ear snapped your attention back to the present. “Were you wondering how it would feel… against… your–”

The tip of his cool, jade finger floated down and graced the swollen bud between your legs. Before you could snap a little jab in his direction, the droning mechanism whirred to life again, except this time, Vash wasn’t trying to rid himself of sand. With a yelp, you curled in on yourself, plush thighs caging the broad man’s hands. Your body jerked and he laughed breathlessly, cooing as his flesh-and-blood hand pried your legs apart. This man was teasing you! Turning the buzzing fingers on and off? How cruel–

“So lewd of you,” he cooed your name, delighted by your body’s honest reactions.

Tease. Bastard. Where’d this confidence come from? 

He tenderly pressed chapped lips against the back of your neck, pecking you three times over. When you embarrassingly squirmed against him and curled in again, he fussed. “M-Mayfly, don’t hide,” he breathes, his voice laced with poorly masked desperation. Your attention was taken and you ceased your squirming at the breathlessness of the man holding you. “Just wanna make you feel good.” 

For Vash the Stampede, succumbing to hedonism was a transgression against his moral code. Yet, when it comes to his precious Mayfly, your happiness and pleasure were equally his own, and he was a selfish sinner learning to indulge. 

He would never come to you with this... idea. But he won’t lie that it came to mind once. 

Well, twice. 

Okay, maybe a few times before the two of you had become entangled in each other.

For every stuttered gasp you released, he mirrored it. For every choked moan you bit back, his hips bucked in response to wordlessly beg you to let go in his arms. 

It made you wonder who was going to finish first. It made him wonder why he took this long to do this. It was all for you, after all. Your pleasure was his.

The gunman’s ragged back rested against the chilled wall of the dim motel room, pulling you taut against his warmth. He protected your back from pressing uncomfortably against the metal over his heart, shifting your body to lean on the rightmost side of his chest. His soft hair tickled you at times, constantly adding ammo to the reasons to squirm in his lap.

Vash’s touch was grounding, yet it also sent you straight for the clouds. His initial hesitant ministrations were gaining confidence the more you sang for him and arched so prettily in his grasp; his index and middle fingers moved at a languid pace, playing you like a seasoned musician performing their magnum opus.  

At the start, he expressed concern over the idea of using his arm’s ugly, brutish, and utilitarian functions on your soft body. He sputtered in surprise when you first mentioned it earlier in the day; he had frantically gestured to his shining arm, babbling and asking you to confirm what he thought you had said. Crimson heat rose to his ears and it was not from the suns beating down on his neck.

Vash was certainly surprised by your proposal, but again, it wasn’t necessarily the first time it came to his mind.

Even as the two of you first settled against the musty sheets on the mattress, his hesitation spoke volumes with the way his fingers ghosted your core. After much coaxing and promises to stop him if it hurt, he finally, cautiously, pressed his strong fingers where you needed them most. The jade fingers weren’t vibrating though. Only when you complained with a whined cry of his name did he turn it on with bated breath.

Well, Vash quickly learned the tremoring metal was not too much against your core, and hearing your stuttered gasps? The practiced gunman was delighted to find out his body could serve you even better than before.

Currently, each time your legs twitch inwards, he’d whine with pouted disagreement and sweet talk your body to open back up to his touch by nudging your thighs apart again. His petulant huff raced past your ear and your attention would wrap around his next words. “So wet, Mayfly,” he breathed, awe lacing his voice. “Is it that good? Am I doing okay?”

Genuinely, Vash wanted to be nice, so he stopped his flicked motions to let you answer. His fingers rested on your clit, but didn’t cease the vibrations. With trembling, yet practiced fingers steadily pulsing against you, your head flew back onto his shoulder as you choked out your pleasure, “S-so good, Vash!” 

Oh god, you sounded wrecked and beautiful to this man’s ears. The man always loved how his name was uttered from your lips. Your compliment held an unsaid cry for him to continue, so he hummed happily as his fingers sped up their strides, flicking up and down, and occasionally chasing well-practiced circles. The vibrations from his hand seemed to amp up in strength and your hands flew to his strong legs, digging your nails into his skin. His hand was suddenly drenched and his breath caught at the back of his throat. 

His loving pace faltered for a beat at the sting of your grip as he groaned, mindlessly nuzzling the back of your neck with his nose. The crescent marks on his legs would never scar like the others on his body because you’d never harm him in such a way, but a ruined part of his mind prayed you did. Vash’s free hand trailed up from your tummy to cup one of your breasts to gently toy with the swollen nubs, pulling you close against his body. 

“You’re so wet,” he moans brokenly and gingerly nips at the juncture of your neck. His fingers were starting to clumsily slip from the slick drowning his fingers, but he was determined to be so good and do well. That’s all the Humanoid Typhoon ever wanted to be for you, after all. If he was blessed to touch an angel and make her sing with his erred hands, the least he would do was give her a glimpse of heaven, right? 

“A-are you getting close, Mayfly? Can feel her throbbin’ f’me…” he slurs, his fingers working overtime as he flicked and massaged you. You wailed softly as he seemed to establish a steady rhythm after your sudden deluge from earlier. Before he can moan out yet another nose-bleeding-inducing whimper, your hand shoots out and halts all of his progress. You yank his arm away and a confused ‘bwuh?’ slips from the blonde angel in the room. Before he can protest, you awkwardly crane your head around and stare him down; his voice, worry, and confusion fizzle away at the dazed gaze you grace him with. 

Although the room was dim this late at night, the lantern illuminated your silhouette well; every curve on your body was highlighted by the warm light. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath from his little onslaught of pleasure.

‘Wow.’

You laughed; did he say that aloud? 

Kind of embarrassing, but–

Desperate want painted your pretty little face as you pant at him. His grip on your body loosened as he felt your legs twitch, letting you rearrange the two of you however the hell you wanted. 

He’d follow you anywhere. 

When you lifted yourself from his body to shakily turn and face him, a hum bubbled in his throat before your fingers coyly traveled down your front, spreading yourself under his gaze. His cerulean eyes had followed your fingers’ dance and he swallowed dryly. 

Wet.

So wet. 

He did that. 

Your thighs were quivering as you balanced yourself on your knees, and if he stared hard enough and long enough, he was sure he’d see you drip onto the sheets. 

What a waste that would be, though.

Dumbly, his jaw slackens he stares at your lower half glistening with the obvious sign of your love for him. Distantly, his left hand continued to buzz against your flesh and you laughed at the tickling sensation as you placed your hands on his tense shoulders to steady yourself.

His brain was going to short circuit like the very first time you allowed him to even see an inch of your bare skin. The hardworking pink thing in his skull cheered over and over as his eyes continued to glaze over at the gift in front of him.

Your plump lips were mouthing salacious words down at him but were only partially registering in his clouded brain. 

Something about ‘being inside’ and ‘finishing together’–

His wide eyes snapped back up to yours when you planted your hips firmly against his. Oh god, his pants were so ruined but he didn’t care. Not when you were looking down at him with all the love in your eyes as you sighed out his name in bliss.

It sounded so pretty from your lips. 

The Humanoid Typhoon felt dizzy, oh so dizzy…

You purred when his hands shakily found their home on your hips, “c’mon Plant boy. Let’s get those pants off of you, huh?” 

Vash the Stampede had never clumsily unbuckled his ruined pants so fast in his life. Can’t blame the guy though. His pretty litte Mayfly laughing and sitting on his lap made it really difficult. 

[rush-the-stars]

Dogfight

pairing: nicholas d. wolfwood x reader, vash the stampede x reader, vashwood x reader

wc: 4k what the actual hell lol

cw: jealousy, mild smut/suggestive content, fighting, blood, biting, marking, possessiveness. the boys are jealous of each other sorta but then get on the same page. minors dni, 18+ only

a/n: this is for an anon that asked me about jealous vashwood and then i spent days working on this and it got too big so i made an Official Fic Post rather than just answering the ask bc im insane and unwell lol this is also probs more 98 vash and wolfwood than stampede! i hope you enjoy!! banner from @/cafekitsune

∘₊✧───────────────────✧₊∘

The first time they meet you, its through a shower of gunfire. Your wild smile is all that’s left when the smoke clears.

Wolfwood thinks he hasn’t seen anyone so damn beautiful in his entire life—streaked with blood and eyes lit up like a flame, twirling a twin pair of pistols like fucking ribbons.

And Vash thinks maybe he’s in love? And then he shakes his head and tries to clear it, tries to clear you from his vision, and at least the smoke disappears some. And the chaos stills. But you smile all crooked at them, tilting your head a little in greeting and he feels wobbly all over again.

“Happy to save your asses,” you say, “buy me a drink?”

Vash hears wedding bells.

(It’s just church bells tolling in the distance.)

“Happy to—happ—“ Vash trips over all his words.

“Shit, I’ll buy you dinner, too.” Wolfwood says.

Vash looks at him, Wolfwood looks back. And then they’re stumbling over themselves to get up, clambering and clawing and falling over each other and they must look like foolish, scrapping dogs in the dirt at your feet.

You laugh, though, warm and amused.

“Settle down, boys. bar’s still standing—you can both buy me a drink.”

And they’re left to watch you walk away and talk to Meryl, whose shaking her head and rolling her eyes at them. You introduce yourself to her.

And they both scramble after your heels, right on the tails of your skirts.

***

You sleep with Wolfwood first—

He’s surprisingly gentlemanly with you, even if you can feel the desperation and hunger that he tries to keep so far from the surface. He’s all bravado, all honeyed words and little growled praises as he squeezes the fat of your hips.

He gets you so wet it’s almost embarrassing, except that he also makes you come so hard that you forget about it almost immediately. He adores being between your legs, adores tasting and taking—being on his knees for you.

Wolfwood is a worshipful man. Devoted. Adoring. With a little grit and bite when you need it.

He leaves a mark or two. Around your collar bones or neck. One on your hip. He can’t help himself.

He takes good care of you in that brutishly charming way of his—fucks deep and hard, carves his way through you and makes you toss your head back into the pillow and pull at his hair. He loves to please, loves to be told what to do or what you want. Take what you need, pretty girl. He hums to you, groaning when you tell him how good he feels.

Rarely impatient except when you rile him up, Wolfwood makes a good lover. Fun and obedient and affectionate.

You adore him.

***

Wolfwood and Vash get testy with each other.

Tensions are high—Vash is surprisingly sharp with him, in a way that makes you a little wary, treating him like a bit of a ticking time bomb.

Wolfwood doesn’t help. He’s an instigator and if there’s one thing he loves, it’s to get under someone’s skin. Especially someone like Vash, whose usually easy and cheerful and kind.

“Would you leave it?” Vash snaps at Wolfwood, shoving the man’s hand off his shoulder. He bares his teeth a little and in the dim light you see the knife-sharp flash of his pointed canines.

“I was just trying to be friendly,” Wolfwood drawls in a way that indicates he most certainly wasn’t just trying to be friendly.

“Something the matter?” You ask and when Vash’s eyes land on you, he immediately softens. He looks guilty. Hangs his head a little and looks at the ground.

“No,” he says, “sorry—“

But Wolfwood says, “Blondie’s got his panties in a bunch about something and I was just trying to see what was wrong—“

Vash’s eyes flash.

“Nick,” you snap. Short and sharp, like reprimanding a dog.

He looks at you. You look back. Then you jerk your head to tell him to get lost, “take a hike.”

“And who made you the boss?” He snarks.

You level him with a more serious look, hand on your hip, “I’ll find you later.”

“You can’t just order me—“

“I wanna talk to Vash.” You respond firmly, “and you’re being a jackass.”

He stares at you for another long moment. You don’t back down, in fact you tip your chin up a little, meeting his eyes with a flash of authority.

He looks at Vash, who quickly glances away.

He scoffs, “whatever. You’re both a pain in my ass.” But he listens to you and skulks off.

You turn to Vash when he’s out of ear shot, “you okay?” You ask.

Vash can’t look at you. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that—“

“Not your fault. He can be a pest. Walk with me?” You ask and now you hold up the crook of your elbow.

Vash eyes you uncertainly for a moment, before he lets go of a small breath, and siddles up to your side. He loops his arm through yours and you begin to guide him through this little, nowhere town. The sun is setting. The dusk sky is smoky and golden, like a quartz glittering, shadowed and shining.

“You seem—“ You choose your words carefully, “troubled lately.” And then you amend, “more troubled than usual.”

“I’m sorry to worry you but everything’s fine.” Vash shakes his head.

“Vash,” you implore gently, shaking his arm a little. “I can tell something’s bothering you. Won’t you tell me?”

“Ah,” Vash says weakly, “it’s alright.” And he looks ahead, out at the horizon. You follow his gaze. There's nothing out there but the line of land in the distance.

“Thanks for standing up for me tonight but you should—you should go find him. He’ll be waiting for you.”

And then Vash drops your arm and walks away, his head down, a little furrow to his brows. And you watch him go, dumbfounded.

When you return to Wolfwood, he’s waiting for you on the porch of the little inn you're staying at, smoking a cigarette.

“What the hell was that all about?” He gruffs, blowing the smoke from the corner of his mouth.

You don’t answer him at first. You slip into his lap easily. He raises his eyebrows in slight surprise, but immediately adjusts, one hand around your waist, the other holding his cigarette away from you.

“You need to leave him be.” You say, sighing as you sink into his embrace.

He pauses for a moment, looks at you—really looks at you.

Then he says, “he wants you, you know.”

“Is that what this is about? Are you jealous? Is that why you’re pestering him?” You rub your knuckle against his stubbly jaw, pet him a little. He leans into the touch, nudging himself against your hand.

"You like him?" He asks instead.

"Course I like Vash." You hush, fingers moving to card through his hair.

He takes a slow drag from his cigarette before he leans away to blow the smoke away from you. It lingers in the air around him and for a moment, you look at him through the haze. The smell of it reminds you so thoroughly of him nowadays that you almost crave it when its not around.

"No," Wolfwood corrects, "do you like him the way you like me?"

"You think I like you?" You tease, but he doesn't take kindly to that and jostles you in his lap a little and even goes so far as to jerk his head away from your touch.

"Woah, take it easy," you say, realizing he really didn't like that joke, "I was only playin' with you. I'm in your lap, aren't I?"

He softens a little. Lets go of a breath. He squeezes your waist, maybe in apology. To soothe the ache, you lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw, pepper them lightly down his neck.

"You didn't answer the question." He mumbles and you feel more than you see him flick his cigarette down and crush it with the heel of his shoe. He pulls you closer now that his other hand is free, slots you tight against him, and leans back to give you more room at his neck.

"Would you be mad if I said yes?" You murmur, carefully kissing at the pulse in his neck. You hide there.

"If i was?"

"You aren't good at sharing?" You coo, nudging your nose against his jaw, up to catch him in a quick kiss. He nips a little in answer.

"Not usually," he finally says.

"Not even with Vash?" You ask, because you know him better than he'd like to admit. And now you pull away to look at him.

To really look at him.

His eyes flick away, maybe bashfully, "yeah, well—I don't think I'm the one you have to worry about."

"What do you mean?" You ask.

He shrugs a little, "you think cause he puts up the goody-two-shoes act that it makes him good with sharing?" He asks, "why do you think he's gotten so pissed with me lately?"

You hum in acknowledgement. "Have you been rubbing it in?" You ask.

"Not intentionally." He says. And then when you look at him more pointedly, he admits, "not intentionally most of the time."

"Well, we'll see if Vash can share." You finally say and lean again to kiss him.

But in a sudden move, he grabs your chin, forces you still. Forces you to look at him.

"Only Vash, you hear me?" He says. His eyes are dark suns, all encompassing and imploring and fiery, "anyone else and I'll lose it."

You can't tell if it's a warning with the slight waver in his voice or a threat, with the growl behind the end of it. And then you remember scared dogs bite.

"Only Vash." You swear, "only you."

He settles a little, leans back again, and this time, when you kiss him, it's harder. More a claiming than a kiss — more a damning than a passion. He gives it back tenfold.

He litters you in little marks, in his scent, and drops his blazer around your shoulders in the morning. At breakfast, right in front of Vash, he catches you in a sharp, burn of a kiss.

More of a claiming. More of a damning.

***

When you sleep with Vash for the first time, it’s after a near-death experience. You were being reckless. The room is charged.

And Vash kisses you not like it’s the first time, but like it could be the last. He's the heat of a falling star, searing you, devouring you. He's all desperation. All starvation.

You'd thought with how sweet he usually was, that he'd be even more well behaved than Wolfwood, but that is far from the truth. He's a little untamed, untrained and clumsy and ferocious.

He whines as he takes you apart and you think he'd probably take praise well if you could teach him but right now he's just so— raw. So yearning and famished with it all.

You've no choice but to try and give everything you can in hopes of soothing him in some way. Filling the emptiness in him. And even still, you're aching and sore and torn-up after all is said in done.

Vash is bashful and a little remorseful about it come morning.

But you twine your arms around him and kiss him hard in reassurance. In encouragement.

He's passionate and all-encompassing. He's all your world in this moment.

You adore him.

Later, when Wolfwood sees the marks he left on you, he curses.

"Is he a fucking vampire?" He asks, tilting your head to the side to see the dark bruise in the side of your neck. But then he realizes how tender you are still, how aching, and he coos all soft.

Tells you he'll lick the wounds Vash gave you.

Says. I told you it wasn't me you had to worry about.

Vash avoids you and Wolfwood for nearly two days.

On the third, he finally breaks.

And when he does, he bundles you in his red coat after a long day, fists his hands in the collar of it to pull you towards him, and kisses you hard in front of Wolfwood, underneath the dark heavens above. He says he'll be back later.

Your lip throbs from the nip of his teeth.

(When Wolfwood kisses you shortly after, pushing Vash's coat from your shoulders, he soothes the sting with his tongue.)

***

For awhile, all the boys do is fight when they're around each other. It's getting to a point where Meryl is avoiding them at all costs—and you're just short of joining her.

The worst of it is on one of the hottest days in a long time.

Wolfwood says something he shouldn't—asks Vash if he could smell his cologne on you. Asks if he likes it.

It's too far. Usually, they bicker and fight over unrelated, stupid shit.

But that strikes a nerve.

And it's so fast that you don't even catch it, and suddenly Vash has Wolfwood pinned against the wall, hands fisted in the front of his shirt.

You always thought, maybe just on height and weight alone, that Wolfwood was stronger. But looking at Vash now, easily pinning him, you aren't quite sure.

"Oh, you wanna finally fight?" Wolfwood asks, baring his teeth, too.

And really, it's like when dogs fight.

It's fast and vicious. It sounds worse than it is—snarling and growling and wrestling with each other. It's artless. You've seen them both in a fight and this isn't—this isn't that. It's better, maybe, on Wolfwood's end. He's not trying to kill Vash. But maybe it's also worse, more personal, more brutal.

You hear Vash yelp—Wolfwood curses. More fighting.

You yell at them, the way you shout at fighting dogs, grab hold of Wolfwood around the collar and pull hard enough that he stops from his place over Vash, panting.

His mouth is bloody and it drips down onto Vash, his teeth still bared and crimson.

For a moment, they look at each other.

(And Vash thinks wildly, looking up at Wolfwood, sorry about the blood in your mouth. I think I wish it was mine. He tastes blood himself and wonders if it is Wolfwood's. If he really did bite him.

Wolfwood thinks, hit me again. If that's all you'll give me now, I'll take it. Wolfwood looks down at Vash, feels his heaving chest beneath him, and thinks, if I can only have you this close in a fight, I'll take that, too.)

You're cursing them both out, hauling Wolfwood off of him. You're furious and shaking and you're scolding them both.

You're fussing over them both, too, angrily wiping at their mouths and inspecting their wounds.

And they both think, maybe I should pick more fights, to see you like this, too, flustered and livid and worried. Doting. Adoring.

You shake your head at the both of them but—

You adore them.

***

It takes another man sniffing around you for them both to finally get on the same page.

And if it's one thing about Vash and Wolfwood, for all their bickering and differences, they know when to shut up and work together.

The moment another man starts chatting you up at the bar, they both go still and silent.

"You see what I'm seeing?" Wolfwood asks.

"Yeah," Vash says, eyes narrowing behind his glasses as the man manages to make you laugh. He leans all close to you. Vash has a near visceral reaction to jerk up from his seat beside Wolfwood.

Wolfwood grabs his arm.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin' then?" He asks.

Vash spares him only a glance—his eyes are trained on you and the man at your side. He grimaces. "Probably not. I don't wanna kill him."

Wolfwood barks out a laugh as Vash adds, "but I don't want him here, either."

"You wanna chase him off?" He asks. "Or you want me to be the bad guy?"

Vash swallows.

"She'll get mad at me for being an asshole. She'll be all pleased with you for being so good." He says and there's a dryness to his tone, a certain resignation or—

"Why would you do that?" Vash asks and he finally peels his eyes away long enough to look at Wolfwood.

To really look at him.

He shrugs, "I don't mind being in the dog house."

Vash eyes him.

Wolfwood smiles a little, "and I think she's hot when she's mad."

Vash frowns at that, a little twitch of his lips, almost in a pout. "Besides that—I meant—why would you do that for me?"

Wolfwood looks back over at the man at the bar, whose gotten even closer to you, his shoulder almost brushing yours. You're smiling and playing nice. Wolfwood's hackles rise. He bristles. He finally stands, too.

He never feels this way when he sees you with Vash. He never feels this way on the nights when Vash has you. In fact, the idea of it is—it's—

Kissing you after Vash. Knowing he'd just kissed you. Sinking his teeth into the ridges of marks Vash leaves on you, like he's trying to get his own taste. Or compare his teeth to Vash's. Maybe he growls and snaps at him and bares his teeth the next day, too, but he never feels like this.

Scared and mean and angry and—

"What, are you gonna make me fuckin' say it?" Wolfwood snaps.

"Say what?!"

Wolfwood slugs his arm hard. The flesh one, so he doesn't damn near break his knuckles doing it. And Vash yelps all high and Wolfwood wants to shake him and he also sorta wants to hit him again. And maybe he wants to kiss him stupid, too—

"I don't—" Wolfwood swallows hard, "I don't mind sharing. With you. With only you."

Wolfwood looks at him.

Really looks at him.

And then Vash turns the deepest shade of red.

Wolfwood's face gets hot all over, too. "Oh, Christ, blondie—did you really not know?"

"I don't know what I thought!" Vash says and his voice gets sorta high.

"Well—" Wolfwood shifts, uncharacteristically nervous, "what about—I mean, do you—are you okay sharing...with me?"

"At first, I thought I wasn't." Vash admits, "and I was jealous of—" he swallows, "I was jealous of both of you, if I think about it. You're just—you push my buttons more than she does—so. I took it out on you, mostly."

"Ah," Wolfwood says, "you took it out on her, too. Just in a different way."

Vash cheeks somehow get darker with color and Wolfwood laughs, realizing that he's—it's relief. He feels relieved, finally, as he laughs.

"You're a dumbass." He says to Vash.

And Vash smiles at him, crooked and boyish and stupidly handsome. That smile that Wolfwood has always liked.

Wolfwood then turns his gaze back to you, back to the man at the bar whose leaning in all close. He sees you tip away, adjusting your space. And he says;

"Now let's go get our girl."

The moment Wolfwood comes up behind you, you know there will be trouble unless this man doesn't leave quick — what you aren't expecting, is Vash to come up on the other side of the man. You tilt your head.

You feel a broad hand on your lower back, "he botherin' you?" Wolfwood asks, leaning all into your space.

The man sizes up Wolfwood, weighing his chances still and you can nearly feel Wolfwood stiffen and bristle behind you. He doesn't like being challenged.

"He was just seeing if I wanted a drink."

Vash, on the other side of the man says, "maybe he'd like it if I bought him a drink instead!" And though it's said brightly, it's almost a little too bright.

Vash's eyes gleam like the cold edge of bright moons.

You look between them for a moment as the man says, "alright, what the hell is this? You her boyfriend or something?"

"Or something." Wolfwood agrees casually.

"And whose this guy?" He snarks to Vash, "her other boyfriend?"

"Or something." Vash says, still smiling, and that really pisses the guy off.

"Would you back up?" He snaps and he shoves at Vash enough that he stumbles away a few steps. And before he can do something stupid, you put yourself between Wolfwood and the man.

"Leave him," you say lowly to Wolfwood, whose hackles are raised.

Wolfwood isn't looking at you, he's looking at the man behind you and his eyes are hard and cold and mean looking.

"Nick," you say, "I don't want a bar fight."

"Worried he can't handle me?" The man asks, "no wonder you were letting me chat you up."

Wolfwood jerks a little in your hold and Vash speaks up, laughing a little, "no reason to fight! Wouldn't want to clean you up off the floor."

Well, that does it.

The man swings on Vash, who yelps a little, but easily evades him. When he ducks, the man connects with another person behind Vash.

Damn it all.

The bar breaks out in pandemonium. Wolfwood shoves you beneath him and Vash works on ducking and diving out of the way of the first few swings sent his way. Shouting and glass shattering, raining down from above, makes you curse.

Wolfwood dodges the first punch thrown his way and he shoves you out of the way, before he takes a swing himself. When he connects, it's a nasty punch. Blood erupts.

Food is getting thrown. Alcohol sailing overhead, soaking the fighting crowd and angering them further. The poor bartender is hiding, ducking behind the counter and shivering.

You clamber atop the bar to get a look and—it's a wild crush of people, fighting and wrestling and breaking glass over each other's heads.

You put your fingers to your mouth and whistle—the loud, piercing kind that usually gets everyone's attention. This time, there's so much noise and shouting, that not a soul stops their fighting.

You pull out one of your pistols.

The shot thunders in the bar, makes your ears ring.

Everyone gasps and yells in surprise, instinctively ducking, covering their heads. But they all finally turn to look at you.

"Everyone out!" You shout, "take your fighting elsewhere!"

Grumbles erupt. But you hold up your pistol and shout again, with more force and fire, "out!"

The bar begins to stir, all the patrons dislodging and shifting about, detangling themselves from their fights. They meander in knots of people, twisting out the door slowly.

When Vash and Wolfwood appear again, they look disheveled and Vash's lip is busted. Wolfwood's sunglasses are shattered. You put your hands on your hips as you look down at them.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with you two?" You snap.

Wolfwood reaches up to lift you right off the bar and back onto the ground in front of him. He shrouds you, "nurse our wounds?" He asks.

"You're a pain in the ass. I told you I didn't want a bar fight."

"He didn't throw the first punch, in his defense." Vash speaks up, but he's talking sorta funny because of his lip, which is swelling even now.

You sigh, "let me see."

Vash siddles up to you, a little sheepish, with that puppy-dog look on his face. He bends down a little, so you can get a better look at his face, dipping his head down in a show of submission.

Woflwood, behind you, whistles. "That's a good one, blondie."

"Hurts." Vash says as you carefully inspect it, debating if he'll need stitches or not.

"You gonna kiss it better?" Wolfwood asks.

"Why don't you?" You snark back, "since you two are finally working together it seems."

Vash smiles a little, which makes him wince, which makes you scold him. Wolfwood laughs, cooing a little, before he says, "alright, alright—lets get him patched up."

And you walk out with them at your skirts, hovering around you, dogging your steps. They follow you all the way back into your little room at an inn on the edge of the world.

And they settle in like they both own the damn place.

Wolfwood is tormenting Vash a little, whose whining and coming to your side for aid. But they're both—getting along, at least. And they're both demanding all your attention and taking up space in your room and—

And you adore them. You adore both of them, even with all their damn dogfights.