#maximum fluff??

[raepliica]

i think they should take turns cuddling for healing purposes

[bcksbarnes]

have i found you?

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky are in the beginning stages of your relationship and get caught in a rainstorm

word count: 2.1K

The early stages of dating were always the most nerve wracking, and for Bucky who hadn’t done any ounce of it in the last 80 years, it’s even more so. When you came into his life it felt like something had finally clicked into place again, like the world got a bit brighter, the fog that was there was starting to lift. 

Now the problem he was having was translating those feelings into words. Sure, you understood that he was more of a shower not a teller, but Bucky wanted to push those boundaries for you. His therapist told him that part of growing is doing things that would make him uncomfortable; he never wanted to switch therapists faster in his life. 

But, he knew she was right.

You and Bucky had decided to take things slow, even if there was no formal conversation stating that, both of you knew that it would be better in the long run to not rush into anything. You didn’t need him to open up about his past to get the idea of what had happened, you knew of his time as the Winter Soldier, there was no need to go into details so early on.

So most of your nights together were spent learning the song and dance of this new relationship, or whatever this was. 

Despite his quiet nature, Bucky was anything but a homebody. Sitting still didn’t mix well with the instinct to always be on the run, and being alone meant that the thoughts that flooded his brain couldn’t be tuned out. No, Bucky needed some background noise, not overstimulating, but the chatter of the people or the sound of cars passing by him to drown out the thoughts as best he could. For those reasons alone, he tried to take you out as much as possible.

Your favorite thing to do together was to walk over the bridge from Manhattan and into Brooklyn, despite being terrified of how high up you were, Bucky couldn’t imagine a better way to spend time together. It was intimate yet you were still surrounded by people. The views were stunning, and it always gave him an excuse to stop by his old neighborhood. Even if so much had changed in the decades since he had lived there, he loved the warm fuzzy feeling in his chest when he got to show you his home. 

“It must be hard to come back,” you said to him one night as the two of you finished crossing the bridge, making the turn toward Bucky’s old building.

His free hand was intertwined with yours, keeping you close to his side, as his metal one came up to rub at the back of his neck. You had a habit of seeing right through him.

“It can be,” he says, honestly. “Everyone I know has passed away, and Steve doesn’t like to visit here anymore, so it can be a little lonely.”

He doesn’t mention that you being there with him makes it feel less terrifying. His heart doesn’t sink as low as it used to, he doesn’t get choked up thinking of all he’s lost. No, instead he just squeezes your hand, needing to know that you’re right there next to him.

Neither of you say anything when you pass his home, his expression is somber as he watches the family that lives there now in the window. It was different, new. He didn’t hate it, how could he hate such happiness? But sometimes he felt envious of the people who were able to continue on with their lives.

“I used to sit on that stoop and wait for Steve to come over,” he said as the two of you started walking again. “I used to tell him that I’d just go to his place because he had asthma, the kid couldn’t run for shit.” Bucky smirked as he thought back on the memory. “But he’d always tell me Buck, I’ll be at your house. 3pm sharp. Not a second later . He’d be wheezing his ass off but he was never late.”

The two of you laugh together at the thought, Steve was once such a fragile being compared to how you knew him. That was the Steve who was a brother to Bucky.

Bucky didn’t know how to explain that he hasn’t felt happiness since then, it was starting to get a little easier to smile and enjoy his life; but true happiness? Jeez, he can’t even remember.

“You two seemed like you probably got into a lot of trouble.” You teased, elbowing him in the ribs playfully. 

“Yeah, we did. Steve really was just along for the ride, I was usually the one up to something.” There’s a smirk on his face that he can’t seem to wipe off as the two of you walk, turning onto the block of where his new apartment was. “One time I managed to get the fire hydrant opened when it was the middle of July, they wouldn't come to open the one on our block for some reason. Flooded the whole street within seconds.” He chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. “Steve tried to take the blame, as if anyone would believe that.”

“I bet you guys didn’t care if it was flooded.”

“Not even a bit. I’d never been to a beach before so this was the only water I was around, we’d get a bunch of kids on the block, run around like it was the best damn time of our lives.”

It hits you square in the chest how much had been taken from him over this lifetime, and it was this moment where you made a promise to yourself that wherever this went between the two of you - you’d never let him look back and regret it.

“Hope that wasn’t too sentimental for you.” Bucky teased as his eyes trained over to you.

“No, no,” you reassure him with a smile when you meet his gaze. “I could listen to those stories all day. I like seeing how happy they make you.”

His chest bloomed with his feelings for you, it was moments like this where his tongue felt heavy in his mouth because he wanted to just spill his guts out to you and tell you everything on his mind. But, he still felt so lost. 

As the two of you get closer to his building, you notice the once blue sky starting to turn a dark grey - not the same kind as when the sunset, but when the heavens felt like they were going to open up. The air had shifted to something more still, less humid and with the few splats of drops that started to scatter around you, both you and Bucky knew that you only had a few minutes to get to his place.

“Let’s go,” Bucky said. 

His hand tightened around yours as the two of you began to jog, trying to make it back in time. You were only about a block away before it started to come down, really come down. Puddles started to form rapidly, each time you and Bucky stepped into one it exacerbated how your already wet clothes clung to your bodies. A sigh of relief leaving his lips as he saw the door to his building was only a few steps away.

Bucky’s hands were shaking as he reached into his pocket to grab his keys, the water getting into his eyes as he looked down. But, unexpectedly, the moment struck you. It was poetic in a way that this man standing next to you needed to live a new life, he needed to breathe. Really breathe.

You don’t say anything as you turn away from him, walking towards the end of the sidewalk. The rain was coming down too hard for anyone to drive in, so you ran into the middle of the street. 

“Wha-?”

Bucky’s eyes were wide as he turned to look over his shoulder, watching you carefully. You stood with your head back tilted towards the sky, letting the rain cover you, cleanse you. Stepping away from the door, Bucky walked towards you, calling your name over the rain falling. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked, his hand moving to smooth over his wet locks. 

“I’m having the best damn time of my life!” You called back, your heart fluttering as you watched him. “Join me!”

If Bucky didn’t want you before, he definitely did now. His heart stammered in his chest as your words hit his ears, registering in his head. There was a moment of hesitation before he moved, not because he didn’t want to join you, but because you looked absolutely ethereal. Angels would weep from the beauty in front of him, maybe that’s why it was raining. 

“You’re crazy!” Bucky yells as he steps into the street, only taking a few strides until he’s in front of you.

The smile on your face can’t be wiped off now as you grab his hand and start running up and down the street together, like he used to do when he was a kid. Bucky can’t believe his life had come full circle, and he can’t believe how hard he’s smiling, how much fun he’s having. It’s like you had planted a seed in his heart and it was now blossoming right out of his chest.

“It’s fun!” You called out to him as the two of you let go of each other’s hands, Bucky’s fingers slipping out of yours as you ran ahead of him, leaving him in his place. “I want you to have fun!”

The world was spinning and rain didn’t let up. Bucky was having such a good time watching you he didn’t even care how cold it felt on his skin, or how his metal arm tightened a bit when wet. No, there were no thoughts in his head that didn’t consist of you.

You’re standing right in the middle of the block again, Bucky’s a little ways away from you with his hands on his hips. Is this what it felt like to be free? He watched your frame, the way you weren’t afraid to take up space in this world, to let everyone know you were happy.

Why should he hold back too?

He cupped his hands over the sides of his mouth as he called your name once more, getting your attention as the two of your gazes met. His smile widened and his heart fluttered, the need to tell you everything flooding him the way this rain flooded the streets. Bucky had jogged over to you in an instant, his hands moving to cup your cheeks as he looked down at you.

“I like you,” He says loudly so you can hear it.

“What?” You call out to him; you heard him the first time, you just wanted to hear him say it again. 

“I said I like you!” He calls back out. “I like you so much. I think about you all the time. I don’t think I knew what living was before I met you.”

Bucky doesn’t care that your hair is wet and swept over your face, he doesn’t care that both of you are slightly shivering now. He doesn’t care that he feels lighter now that he’s vocalized his feelings to you. All he cares about is that damn smile on your face, the way you grab the front of his wet shirt to pull him in closer, and the way your hearts seem to beat in sync.

The world seemed to stop as he brought his lips down to yours. Your arms snake up to wrap around his neck, and he keeps a firm grasp on your cheek as the two of you let your lips take control of the moment. It’s soft yet deeply intimate, feeling him nip at your bottom lip a few times. Bucky Barnes was completely intoxicated by you.

And as the rain began to slow down, the world seemed to come back to life after the shower, and all you could do was slightly pull away from him, your lips still brushing against one anothers. Bucky couldn’t help but chase your lips, needing a few more kisses from you at that moment.

“I like you too, Buck,” You whispered against his lips. “More than you know.”

Your hands slide up to wipe his hair off his damp forehead, your eyes now catching his bright blues. He chuckled quietly, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as goosebumps ran down his flesh arm.

“Yeah?” He asked, his voice hoarse. “Is that a promise?”

“Yeah.” You grabbed the side of his neck as you pulled him in for a few more sweet kisses. “That’s a promise.”

And as the two of you moved inside to finally dry off, Bucky knew his life had truly just begun.

[pangur-and-grim]

Pangur is snug in her winter coat!

[3ic95id864pg]

Trimax Vash [Twitter:@rtylenole]

[ruporas]

happiness today and tomorrow (ID in alt)

[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.

[featherfangart]

Whenever I'm alone with you You make me feel like I am whole again Whenever I'm alone with you You make me feel like I am young again

[c-hrona]

A Surprise Gift!

After the events of the last comic, Vash and Nick receive a little gift from their best friends.

ID in Alt!

[fanficlibrary82]

Literal Hurt/Comfort

AN: I saw this post and had to write it or I'd go insane, so have my first attempt at writing the Merc with a Mouth; Soft Boyfriend Edition

Word Count: 912

CW: Mild language, night terror, hurt/comfort, this is a Worst!Wolverine x Deadpool, Rogue is the way she is in the movies

He was too late. Logan had finally managed to out drink his healing factor and stumbled back to the X-Mansion, only to find it littered with the bodies of his friends, his family. He walked the entire campus, trying, hoping to find a single living soul, but as the faces of Charles, Ororo, Hank, Scott, and Jean were found among the carnage, his flicker of hope began to fade. It wasn’t until he half heartedly pushed the door to Rogue’s room opened that his heart lept into his throat. He heard blood pumping, faintly, but it was there. Without a second thought he began to tear the room apart, looking for the girl, and he finally found her curled under the bed.

“Kid,” he slurred, tugging her out from under the bed and cradling her head in his lap. She was covered in blood, her body riddled with bullet wounds that oozed slowly, but she was alive. “K-kid, hey, ‘s gonna be alright, okay? You…you’re gonna be fine, we’ll get you to the city and-”

“You…left…us…” She rasped, eyes slowly finding his.

“I…I tried, kid, as soon as I heard the Professor, I-”

She took a gasping breath, the rattle in her voice an all too familiar sound to Logan. “You…you promised th-that you’d…take c-care of m…” 

Logan felt her body fall limp in his arms, but he didn’t let go, he couldn’t let her go. He pulled Rogue up against his chest, letting his forehead fall to hers. Her still-warm skin pulled a broken sob from his throat. He held her until her body grew stiff and cold. And that’s when the rage set in. He laid Rogue on top of the bed and made it a few steps into the hallway before his claws slid smoothly out of his knuckles. 

Logan let out an animalistic roar, foreign to even his own ears. He slashed everything in his path, from doors to portraits to tables, until he found himself in the Professor’s office. He stalked around the room, breath coming in short, heavy huffs that caused his chest to ache. He paused in front of a portrait of the first graduating class, their smiles wide, completely oblivious to the fate that awaits them. He snarls, slashing his claws through the canvas. If the humans think we’re just violent killers, then I’ll show them just how violent we can be.

Wade shot straight up as Logan screamed in his sleep and smacked him in the face. “Me H. Christ, Peanut, don’t scare me like that!” He gripped Logan’s arm and shook him roughly. Logan continued to cry out in his sleep, his arms beginning to flail wildly, as if fighting. Wade sat up on his knees, gently nudging Mary Puppins off of the bed. “Hey, big guy, watch that arm, you might hit-mother FUCKER!”

With a roar that was definitely more animal than man, Logan was sitting straight up, arms out, claws extended. He took a few heaving breaths as he whipped his head around the room in a panic. His eyes landed on his claws, knuckle deep into soft flesh and his expression fell. “N-no!”

Wade looks between the claws in his chest and the haunted expression on Logan's face before gently placing his hand over his unwilling attackers’. “You know, if you wanted to get inside me, all y'had to do was ask nice,” Wade teases.

Logan yanks his hand away from Wade's touch, retracting his claws and instantly covering the wounds with his hands. “No no no, fuck, no! Not again!” He exclaims.

Wade falls back against the bed and Logan follows, burying his face against the scarred skin. The older mutant’s shoulders shake and Wade tenses.

“Hey, hey, hey! Logan!” Wade pushes himself up onto his elbows and grabs at the other man’s shoulder. “Honey Badger, wake up, wake up, it's me!”

“I'm so fuckin’ sorry, I'm so sorry, god dammit,” Logan mutters, and Wade is hit with the awful realization that the Wolverine was lying across his chest and sobbing.

“Lo-James, look at me,” Wade manages to get his hands on either side of Logan's face and roughly yanks him up to meet his eye. “It's me, it's Wade, I'm okay, Peanut, look, look.” He slowly moves his hand over Logan's, gently guiding him to feel the skin that's already healed over. Logan's frantic gaze falls to Wade's chest and he smooths his hand across the surface, almost in a trance. “You're…you're not…?”

Wade shakes his head, gently rubbing his thumb across Logan's cheek. “Gonna take a lot more than that to kill me, Wolvie. You were in the Odyssey,” he replies with a soft chuckle.

Logan slowly comes out of his trance-like state, watery eyes finally meeting Wade's with clarity. “Wilson?”

Wade nods, relief flooding through his body when Logan looks at him rather than through him. “Hey, big guy, had me going for a minute there,” he nervously laughs.

“You're not…I didn't hurt you,” Logan breathes out shakily.

“Well…you didn't kill me,” Wade corrects, making Logan crack a smile. “Hurts like a bitch and a half, but at least I had you in me.”

Logan rolls his eyes and lets his head drop to Wade's chest. For a long while, the only sound is their combined breathing, so Wade dares to curl his fingers through Logan’s hair. When he hears no protest, Wade settles in, gently hugging him closer. “Don't worry, Lo. You're safe here.”

AN: Hey, I hope y'all liked it!!! Like I said, the idea came from the lovely @catgrandpa and the divider I used was made by @sweetmelodygraphics

[akiratrimochi]

Hi, Long time no see…. Here’s a silly Woowoo for you

[stefisdoingthings]

i think they deserve some happiness

[merbear25]

Vash with no.4 for your valentine day event would be MWAH CHEFS KISS!!!!

This prompt was perfect for him!! I really hope you like it! I adore him... He deserves nothing but good things! (I'm not about to cry YOU are)

No matter where he went or who he met, his greatest fear hit him head on without fail. Undeserving of moving past his mistakes, forcing himself to make up for what he’d done time and time again, but it was never enough, neither for them nor him. How could he accept your affection when he saw the lowest of the low in his reflection? It all starts with trust.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, Vash’s insecurities

Take my hand (Vash)

Despite the walls he threw up to protect you from getting too close to him, caring about him came as easily as opening your eyes, and each time you did you couldn’t deny the warmth that accompanied the sight of him. A gleeful smile, outgoing demeanor, a goofiness that didn’t always fit the circumstances: he tried so hard to keep the grief from showing.

However, the more time you spent together, the more those cracks showed. Sitting in the corner of the room, not saying anything, yet his silence was screaming for the connection he deemed himself unworthy of.

“Vash? How are you doing?” Not wanting to bring up the incident directly, you thought it would be more gentle to avoid specifics. Both of you knew what you were referencing anyway: a town flipping their opinion of him quickly and without remorse for the man who had just helped them moments before.

“I’m great.” He couldn’t even fake the chipper tone.

“Sorry, it was a silly question.” You paused to consider what he must be going through. Having been rejected by damn near everyone who had at one point opened their arms to welcome him must wear one’s spirit down to the point it dragged through the dirt.

“You don’t have to apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.” The tone was soft and remorseful for making you think you had to say ‘sorry’. “I’ll be okay, I just need some time alone.”

The thought of him being by himself at a time like this made you worry. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay with you. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I’d just like to make sure you’re… That everything is alright.”

No objection was given, although that didn’t mean his mind wasn’t racing. After what felt like hours, he finally brought up what was plaguing him. “I hope you don’t feel obligated to stick around.”

“Why would I feel… I’m here because I care about you.”

A rush of emotions flooded his chest as he processed that last bit. “You shouldn’t though. You’ll just end up getting hurt. That seems to be all I’m good for.” The gentle rocking of his shaking form brought you to your feet.

“You’re worth so much more than what you give yourself credit for.” Without a second thought, you went to his side. “You mean so much to me, you have no idea.” The shake in your voice eluded to the pain you felt seeing him like this and hearing him talk so lowly of himself.

Those affectionate words stayed with him as he desperately tried to get himself to the point he could hold them close and hold onto them forever. “And you’d have me like this? Scars and all?” The hesitation he took in looking at you made that lump in your throat sink deeper. 

“Without a shadow of a doubt.” You scooted closer to him and leaned to the side in hopes of getting a better look at his expression. When that sinking rock in your throat finally plunged into the depths of your heart, you swore you could feel it shattering. 

A man who was worn and defeated contrasted his happy-go-lucky attitude. His emerald eyes were hanging to the floor and those lips that usually held a smile seemed to be struggling not to quiver. He gripped his pant legs and tugged on them, back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just—” He trailed off not wishing to burden you with the turmoil that was ever constant. You leaned in closer, hoping that he wouldn’t shy away from opening up to you again. “I’m not sure that you know what that entails exactly.” The fall in his voice hinted at the emotion rising within, which was carried by the self-loathing he couldn’t escape.

Your eyes held on him; each twitch of his bottom lip, the wetness in his eyes threatening to make his genuine yearn for connection known, none of the subtleties went unnoticed or disregarded. You took a deep breath and spoke in a voice as warm as a summer’s day.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” Wanting to say ‘a demon��, he refrained and simply shook his head. “I see a man who is kind, gentle, caring, selfless, one who made a mistake - an accident - a long time ago and has been punishing himself ever since.” 

“How can I forgive myself if that moment still cuts so many so deeply?” The hatred in his words only spat venom inward, hoping the acid would finally sink in.

You treaded lightly, so as to avoid him spiraling into the depths of self-ridicule he so often found himself in. “I’m not saying you ought to take the leap into forgiving yourself, but taking steps away from self-hatred can carry you far.”

He buried his face in his palms, trying to withhold the flow of tears that were now reluctant to stop. “What if I can’t do that?”

Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around him. As he clung to you, you allowed his hot wet face to soak through your shirt. “That’s why you have me, and not just me but also your other friends who care so much about you.” 

You stroked his dirty blond hair, hoping he’d be open to letting you assist him on this trying escape from the iron maiden he’d casted himself into. “Sweet Vash…” 

You couldn’t help but cradle him closer. The large man who was mischaracterized by the masses and internalized it to the point he felt he could never escape: tortured more by himself than anyone else. But, your helping hand out of the tangling thorny vines was taken, leading him towards the long and winding road of healing.

[rennyrose]

I like how you draw Livio cuz you make him look like a cool dad

I think it would take a while for him to get used to it but™️™️™️ foster dad suits him quite nicely

[strawberrrryfan]

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.)

[3ic95id864pg]

Vash Angel Au [Twitter:@gem1ny]

[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.

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