#vash fic

[gay-dorito-dust]

He’s so baby girl I swear- this is purely random Vash stuff

Vash never fails to make his affection known, whether platonic or otherwise, so it’s not so out of the ordinary for moments when he’s feeling a little mischievous and decided to sneak up on you -somehow with those heavy arse boots of his- and this can go one of two ways:

A) cage you with his arms and blow raspberries into your neck

Or

B) initiate a tickle war that utilises the town that you were temporarily staying at to act as an massive game hide and seek from the other person trying to tickle you.

It’s childish and stupid but you could never say no to someone with as someone with as big of an heart as Vash did. You swore he was too good for anybody even you but you don’t dare to say so within his presence as you didn’t wish to see his face full with dishearten. Ever. It didn’t look right on Vash.

Also after your ‘truces’ you spent the rest of your day with cheap but good as shit pizza and snuggles. (I’m so fucking lonely)

Speaking of snuggles, I’d like to think that Vash clings onto you very much like a koala bear in his sleep. Going so far as to whine when you manage to tangle yourself free from his stronghold; which only works out for you 50% of the time because there was nothing that brought you more peace then being in Vash’s arms.

They made you feel safe, protected, comforted and most of all, warm. The moment you were caged again this chest, in little to no time you were already drifting off to slumber land.

The same can be said for when Vash wished to be held against your chest. It quite comedic to see him cuddled up closely to you. His blonde hair tickling just under your chin but it was all worth to when hearing him sigh tiredly and nuzzled his head into the junction of your neck, his grip on your waist tightening briefly before relaxing as you run the fingers of one hand across his forearm whilst the other played with the tresses of his hair, nails barely scratching at his scalp.

You swore you heard him make the sound equivalent of a cats purr at the base of his throat.

You called him babygirl pretty boy once and the shocking amounts of shades of red he turned that day became the highlight of your life.

Dates with Vash would be so inexplicably…Vash and no that’s not a bad thing. Given the fact that he’s a wanted man with a sixty million bounty on his head, no place of work would take the risk and have him on board if they knew what’s good for them.

So instead of the stereotypical date night, you both would share the view of the starry night sky up on the rooftops with a scratchy blanket thrown over your shoulders. It was an perfectly imperfect date, much like the perfectly imperfect man sat next to you grinning ear to ear like an excited child.

[pinkanonwrites]

Just Within Your Reach

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

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

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

“It’s-ghh, It’s fine, I’m fine.”

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

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

“Can you take your jacket off by yourself?”

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

“Vash. Coat.”

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

Not this time.

You at least had the mercy of knowing none of the bullets that had been shot at him had fully connected, but you knew at least one of them grazed his shoulder far too close for your comfort. That, combined with the blunt force trauma when he went through the saloon wall and the way he’d had to lean the majority of his body weight on you as he limped up the stairs of the hotel, you knew that he needed to get patched up and quick.

“Please Vash, I just need you to sit up for a second, okay? Just for a minute. I need to take off your coat.”

“...You really don’t want to see that.” He rasped, and as you flicked the bedside lamp on you could see the way his face had screwed up in apprehension, smeared blood behind his glasses only making his unease more disconcerting. It made your own stomach twist in a way you certainly didn’t like.

“Let me be the judge of that, at least.” You countered. After a long, silent moment, Vash sighed, crawling into a pained sitting position and letting his signature coat slump off of his still-flesh shoulder. Beneath the coat he wore a high-necked, black tank top that left you easy access to the open wound. You tugged away the blood-sticky fabric around his upper arm to reveal a deep, jagged gash oozing blood down the length of his bicep. It almost looked singed around the edges, brackish and sooty and red amidst a field of pale skin and faded, puckered scar tissue.

Vash only pulled off the one sleeve, so you circled the bed and wrestled with the other, his expression guarded and distant as you did. The pauldron that guarded his shoulder clattered noisily to the floor as you tugged the jacket away to reveal his other shoulder. No new injuries that you could see on the surface, but it was equally scarred and pocked, especially around the junction where his prosthetic met skin.

There were so many scars. Long, thin gashes from knives and blades, small round starbursts from bullet holes, patches of eternally reddened skin, textured and misshapen in the way only a burn could manifest. And that was just on his arms…

“It’s… Not something I like many people to see. Or anyone, really.” You didn’t realize you were tracing your fingers across that junction until he’d spoken up, and you jerked your fingers away like you yourself had been burned.

“...Do they still hurt?”

“Sometimes. When it's too hot out. They can get kind of itchy.”

“Okay… Okay. You have a first aid kit, right?” You didn’t have time to unpack all of Vash’s scars, and by the way he’d curled in on himself and reduced to short, clipped sentences, you knew he really didn’t want to either. Instead you busied yourself in his travel bag, pushing past well-worn clothes and camping supplies and a slew of loose bullets until you found the small metal container. It rattled as you forced the latches open, and you knew the sparseness of it was something you’d have to talk to Vash about later, but not right now.

Vash had leaned back against the bed frame, head tipped back and eyelids fluttering dangerously close to fully closed. You snapped your fingers in front of his face and watched as his gaze shifted from bleary and distant to at least semi-focused on you.

‘Vash, please. Just stay awake until I’m done, okay? Then you can rest. Please.” You begged, hands shaking as you unrolled the spool of bandages. There had to be something in here you could use to disinfect the wound before you wrapped it, if you just… “Hold on. Don’t move.”

The bathroom was cramped and tight, a slim shower, toilet, and sink all crammed into a closet-sized space. But there was a stack of washcloths on the counter and you quickly wet one in the sink before bringing it back to the bedside. There you found Vash squinting in the cozy glow of the lamp, glasses abandoned on the nightstand as he struggled to wrap his wound with one hand.

“What did I say?” You snapped, ripping the bandages from his grasp. “Can’t you just sit still for a minute?”

He blinked at you, clearly shocked as his hand gently fell back to the bed. You’d never yelled at him like that before, not like you'd meant it. Not for as long as he’d known you. An immediate rush of guilt flooded your veins, but you stomped it down as you knelt on the bedside next to his arm.

“You have to clean it first… Idiot.”

“Ah… Sorry.” He watched in silence as you dabbed the wound, flinching every once and a while as you tried to wipe the excess blood away as gently as you could with these scratchy hotel towels. Once you found the wound to be suitably cleaned (or at least as well as you could for the meager supplies you had) you began winding bandages around his shoulder. He continued to watch you as you worked, eyes trained on the way your fingers shivered. “I made you mad.”

You huffed. “Cause you won’t let me help you. You’re basically concussed and you’re trying to brush me off like it’s nothing!”

“It’s really-”

“If you say ‘it’s not a big deal’ one more time I’m gonna hit you.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry either. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m just… Not good at letting people worry about me, I guess.”

“Well-” You stammered, taping the edge of the bandage in place. Now that the immediate danger had passed, the bravado seemed to rush out of you in a single, weary burst. You didn’t have the energy to be angry anymore, you were just relieved he was alright. “-Well get used to it.”

He laughed, small and tired, and slumped against the headboard again as soon as you were finished. Without his glasses and his oversized coat he looked so soft, so unlike the incredible bombast you were used to from him. He just looked like… Like a person. Not the world’s best gunman, certainly not the Humanoid Typhoon. Just like… Vash. Just the Vash that liked to pet the Thomases bridled up outside whatever town you'd blown into, the Vash who taught you how to balance a spoon on your nose one morning while waiting for breakfast, the Vash that leaned his body into yours every night now that he knew just how cold you would get, never asking for anything in return, constantly shouldering more and more with nothing but a smile on his face.

You sniffed, fighting back the stinging behind your eyes as you wiped your hands on the bloodstained washcloth. Moving down to the foot of the bed, you began undoing the knot of one of Vash's boots. He sat up a little straighter at that, reaching out instinctively with his injured arm only to flinch at the jolt of pain that shot up it.

"Ah, you don't…" Before he could finish his sentence you gave him a glare, daring him to try and stop you from helping a second time. He couldn't help but smile a little at your determination, despite himself. "...Okay. Thank you."

He didn't have to thank you, you'd do anything and more for him in a heartbeat if he'd just ask for once. But that wasn't the type of guy Vash was, and you weren't about to start picking an argument over this topic. Instead, as you worked, you quietly asked, "How often do you get hurt this bad… and just not tell me?"

By the way he stiffened you could tell you weren't going to like the answer. But you waited anyway, silently pulling off his unlaced left boot and letting it thunk to the floor before starting on the right.

"Just don't want you to worry about stuff like that." He finally responded.

"I'm gonna worry either way. What if I did the same thing, how would you feel?"

"It's not the same, though."

"To me it is!" You gripped his laces tight, staring him dead in the eyes. "I'm not asking you to tell me everything, you know. I just want you to trust me."

"I do!" He shot up suddenly, metal hand closing quickly but incredibly gently around one of your own. "I do trust you! So much…"

You turned your hand to lace your fingers with his, staring down at the blue-green metal as you drew your thumb back and forth over it. "Then please be more open with me. Or try at least. Like I said, you don't have to tell me everything. But I care, Vash. I care about you, I care when you're hurt, and I want you to know you can rely on me when you need it. I just need you to try."

Staring down at the back of his metal palm, you watched a single drop of water plink against its surface. Then a second, then a third. A sharp sniffle forced your gaze upwards, where you found Vash's face blotchy and dribbling tears around a big, toothy smile.

"Vash?!"

"Ah! Sorry, sorry…" He untangled his hand from yours to scrub at his face, wipe away excess tears. "...I told you, I'm not really used to this-oh…"

Cutting him off mid-explanation, you lurched forward and took Vash into your arms, pressing your face into the crook of his neck as you rubbed his back with both hands. His breath hitched softly again as you petted him.

"You're so nice to everyone but yourself…" You mumbled, voice muffled into soft, warm skin.

"Ah… I guess I am." He responded, for he didn't know what else to say.

You lost track of time sitting like that, Vash cradled in your arms, you clinging to him like you were afraid he was going to dissolve into sand between your fingertips. But eventually you could feel him yawn against you, a quiet little thing he failed to completely stifle. Slowly, reluctantly, you pulled back.

"Wanna get to bed?" You asked. Vash had an unfamiliar expression on his face, something longing, almost disappointed? You didn't want to get your hopes up, as he quickly covered it with another soft smile.

"Yeah, I'm pretty beat. I'll change real quick, then the bathroom's all yours."

He stood up carefully, testing the waters. Taking a few unsteady steps to his bag, he knelt to fish out your pajamas to pass to you before grabbing his own. For a moment his hand hovered where it was outstretched to you, even after you'd taken your clothes. Then he seemed to find himself again, give you a small nod, and make his way over into the small bathroom. The door slid shut with a small click, and you were left alone.

You did your best to busy yourself, packing the first-aid kit, setting his boots by the door, hanging his jacket on the spindly coat rack. Your fingers caught the new tear in the fabric, wet and dark with blood. He'd probably patch it himself in the morning, if he was able to, so you dabbed at the stain as best you could with the washcloth and left it hanging to dry in the corner.

When the bathroom door opened again you found Vash looking slightly hazy behind the eyes, but no worse for wear. His long shirt and pants draped over his frame once again hid any hint of a scar or wound from you as he made his way carefully back to the bed, collapsing into it with a loud squealing of springs.

"All yours…" He mumbled, shifting his head to the side to watch you as you made your way towards the bathroom. You could feel his soft, aqua gaze upon you until the minute you shut the door and closed yourself into the tiny space. All at once reality seemed to hit you, a hundred spiraling emotions threatening to drown where you stood. Vash could have died but he didn't and you helped him and he thanked you and you yelled at him and patched him up and hugged him and he hugged you back. It was certainly a lot to take in, and you slumped to a seat on the closed toilet and put your head down into your hands as you tried to steady your breathing.

But if you stayed in here for too long he'd get worried. So you only allowed yourself a small crisis of emotions before standing up again, wrestling into your pajamas as your day clothes dropped to the floor, thick with sweat and desert dust and a little bit of Vash's blood on the sleeve of your shirt. You scrubbed your face with a clean washcloth and rinsed the metallic tang of gunpowder and blood from your mouth in the sink, hunched over it like a dying animal as you took every possible last second you could to pull yourself back together. You were okay. Vash was okay.

His eyes were still on you when you finally opened the door again, his expression so soft it almost made you turn straight back around and slam it shut. Did he even know the effect he had on you? It wasn't like you were trying to make it obvious, but…

"You look tired." He murmured.

"Long day." You replied, pulling a sleepy chuckle from Vash's mouth. The scramble into the hotel was less of a "pick a room" event and more of a "give us the first room available" one, and the distinct lack of a second bed had not escaped your notice. But you weren’t going to demand Vash sleep on the floor, not after what he’d been through today. You wrestled out yours and Vash’s sleeping bags from the rucksack, bundling up your own into a makeshift pillow. “My back’s gonna hate me in the morning though.”

“What are you doing down there?”

“Um… Sleeping? This is a single room, Vash. It’s all they had.”

"No no no, hold on a minute. I'm not letting you sleep on the floor. You're taking the-gh!" He tried to prop himself back up into a seated position, wincing when he put pressure on his bad arm.

"And that's why I'm sleeping down here." You responded. He frowned at you as you continued to situate yourself. "Besides, our only other option is to share the bed."

"Then let's do that!"

You froze, your shocked gaze flying up to meet his own. He seemed to need a second to process how what he'd said had actually sounded, because you could watch in real time as his face got redder and redder. He stammered, metal hand scratching the back of his neck as his gaze flitted around the room, landing anywhere but on you.

"I-I mean, we've shared a sleeping bag before and that's no big deal! How is this different? And it's the least I can do after you patched me up, isn't it? It's only fair."

You hoped you didn't look as shellshocked, or as eager, as you were actually feeling. Seeing Vash get flustered like this was a rare treat in and of itself, but that fluster being directed at you? That was something new.

'Don't get your hopes up.' A little voice in the back of your head prodded. 'You know how Vash is. He doesn't want to get attached.'

But you wanted. Oh, how you wanted.

"If… if it's okay with you, then I guess it's alright."

Getting to your feet, suddenly you were the one feeling shaky as you clicked off the bedside lamp once more and plunged the small room into crisp, white moonlight.

"Yeah." He responded, and for a moment, just one moment, you let yourself wonder; Did he find you as beautiful silhouetted by the pale moon's glow as you found him? "C'mere."

Vash shifted back and lifted the blankets as you put a knee up on the bed, then the other, slipping in along his right side. You did your best to keep a comfortable distance as he pulled the sheets back over you both, leaving a bit of breathing space for your continued sanity. He smiled at you, not the big, goofy grin he usually gave, but that much rarer, softer little thing that made you feel like your heart was going to twist its way straight up from your ribcage and out your mouth. He watched you as you cozied yourself in, shifting a bit to get comfortable, pulling the blankets up to your chin as if they would help hide your emotions.

"You probably shouldn't lay on your bad arm." You finally murmured.

"But if I lay on my other arm then I can't look at you!" There was a touch of that familiar teasing in his tone, but the implication alone was enough to give you goosebumps. So you just stuck your tongue out at him and thumped him on the chest with a loose fist.

"Roll over, dummy. I don't want you to fuck up your arm any more than it already is."

"Ahh, so mean to me! I'm injured, you know!" But he relented and rolled over despite his whines. With his face now turned away you couldn't tell if the touch of disappointment in his tone was further teasing or something more genuine, though you had the feeling you'd struggle to tell the difference either way. But even a few inches away you could feel the warmth radiating off of Vash, that familiar sunny heat.

You wanted. You wanted. And in your heart you knew you could not have him, not forever. But for this moment, for this night, for this single bubble of peace in between moments of chaos, you just let yourself have. Inching forward, you rested your forehead in the valley of his shoulder blades, your arm draping loosely around his middle.

Vash's breath hitched hard; you could feel it ripple through his back.

"You're really warm." You just murmured. He nodded, and said nothing. For a moment you debated drawing back again, removing yourself from his space before you did or said something that would permanently fracture the careful balance you'd spent all this time building with him, the pinpoints of trust, of touch, reaching for just enough but never pushing too far. Had you pushed too far?

But instead you heard a soft, metallic creak, and felt cool, inorganic fingers slip into your own. He laced them with yours lightly, just enough to keep you from pulling away. Through his shoulder blades you could swear his heart was thundering in time with your own.

"You too." He murmured. "You're warm too."

And together, you fell asleep.

[trigunwritings]

Bad Habits (and Dutiful Husbands)

Rating: General

Relationships: Fem!Reader/Wolfwood/Vash

Summary: Vash and Wolfwood have to take care of a job, but their thoughts are still with their wife.

Written by @blood--hunter

Note: Reader is referred to as wife and uses she/her. Various pet names are also used through the writing.

The lighter sparked to life with only one flick. Wolfwood sighs in relief, lifting the small dancing flame to his cigarette as if it were as delicate as a butterfly. Just as he’s about to cup his hand—mostly out of habit— around the end, there is the sound of a gunshot.

In the same breath that the bullet meets his cigarette, Nicholas lets out a sigh. He had known it was going to happen, but it was still an annoyance that made his teeth grind.

“Seriously?” He asks, flickering dark eyes to the man walking towards him. Vash was dressed in his usual red coat as always, blond hair waving gently in the desert wind. “You couldn’t even let me have one drag?”

Though his gun was nowhere to be seen, Vash was the only one stupid enough to literally shoot something out of Nicholas D. Wolfwood’s mouth and not expect any consequences or accidental injuries.

“You heard the little lady.” Vash said, taking the final few steps to stand before his husband. “No more smoking. It’s bad for your lungs!”

Nick gnashed his teeth again, leaning against the large, cross-shaped gun that was behind him. Vash was, unfortunately, right. Their wife had strict orders for him not to smoke anymore largely out of concern for his health. He hadn’t the heart to tell her that his newfound powers would keep anything like cancer at bay, instead acquiescing to her and Vash’s whims than try to make the argument.

“Whatever,” He spits, turning his eyes to the ruined, ramshackle house before him. Within was hidden the Glass Gang, known for burning down any town they went through and turning the sand itself to glass in their wake. They preferred fire as their weapon of choice, and there was a bounty on them that could cover the bills for months. “At least I didn’t show up late.”

“Aw, c’mon, I just got a little held up.”

Wolfwood didn’t comment—with Vash, the excuse was probably literal.

He hoists his gun onto his shoulder, letting it sit there as he sauntered to the front door.

“Hey,” the man said, banging loudly at the door that held on by barely one hinge, “Come on out!”

“Could be a little more polite.” Vash sighs, but he stands there regardless, hovering over Nick’s shoulder like a worried hen.

Ever since they’d gotten married he had started doing that. He did it to their wife too, hovering, fidgetting, worrying about their health and how they felt. It was Vash’s way of showing how he cared, so Nick allowed it, and sometimes—only sometimes—he even found it cute. Their wife had told him that he needed to accept some things, like people caring about him, when they got married. Her words rang in his ears in moments like these.

It’s because he loves you, Wolfwood. Let him.

“Ain’t commin’ out!” A voice finally rings from inside.

He sighs. Sometimes he wished he’d just picked a different profession. Maybe being the town preacher would have been better, but it never really stuck and—if he were an honest man—he preferred sticking to Vash’s side. Otherwise, their wife would have done it and he didn’t think he could bare being the one at home taking care of things while she and their husband was out earning money.

Vash pipes up before Wolfwood can think of anything to say. “We have donuts!”

“Really?”

Nick raises a brow, looking to his husband. Vash is subtly shaking his head no.

So, it was a lie, then.

The voice inside responds all the same, “Then I guess I will!”

Nick has enough forethought to leap away from he door, grabbing Vash by the edge of his sleeve and hauling ass. Just as they get clear the slab of wood is kicked open— a burst of flames taking up the space where they had just stood.

Vash whines from beside them as they hit the sand. He looks over his shoulder to see a tall man—taller than even Vash— standing in the doorway. The gang-member held a huge flame thrower in his hands, complete with a large tank attached to the back of it, probably filled with some sort of fuel.

“What? No donuts for me!” The man says, a wide, hungry grin on his face, “Or are they all burnt?” Nick rolls his eyes but Vash chuckles, even if it is a little awkward.

“So,” His husband speaks from beside him as they both stand, dusting themselves off. “No way we can convince you to just turn yourselves in?”

“‘Fraid not.”

“Well, that stinks.” Vash sighs, “And here I told my wife that I wouldn’t get into any trouble today.”

“Our wife,” Wolfwood corrects, expression straight and unwavering.

The gang-member’s face crumples in confusion and discuss. “Your wife? What kind of woman would marry you two assholes?”

Nicholas lifts the punisher, taking aim for the tank of fuel, but Vash stops him with a firm hand on the end of his gun.

“Now, now, no need to go insulting us.”

The man chuckles. Nicholas’ frown deepens. One more stupid word and he was going to be eating lead.

“Nah, I won’t insult you anymore. But I am gonna make your little lady at home eat your ashes!”

He lifts his flame thrower. Vash dodges out of the way, rolling to the man’s side while Wolfwood goes the other way both of them are flanking him but as they get into position gun fire erupts from the house. The rest of the gang was joining the party.

Fine by him.

Wolfwood strafes with the weight of his weapon on his shoulder, letting bullets strip through the house’s walls. He knew Vash didn’t want anyone killed, and he didn’t want to disappoint his husband, but it was better to lay down covering fire and risk maiming someone than get killed themselves. Their wife would never forgive them if the both of them didn’t come back in one piece.

Vash, for his part, acclimates quickly to the new scenario and moves to be behind the large man. Unwilling to fire at—what seems to be—their boss, or to get hit themselves, the gang-members stop firing, probably to attempt to repossession themselves.

Their leader growls deep in the back of his throat, trying to swing around to set Vash ablaze but Wolfwood’s husband is too fast, and manages to stay behind him as he swings from side to side.

“Get back here you little freak!”

“No thanks! I don’t wanna end up roasted!”

“Fight fair damnit!”

“Nope!”

As the two of them continue to bicker, Wolfwood makes his way into the house. There are five other gang members and all of them are scrawny, hungry men who aren’t very hard to take down now that their cover is gone and their boss is preoccupied. After tying them up with rope as one big group he emerges from the house again.

Vash has his hands raised, a simpering smile on his face as the boss points the nozzle of his flame-thrower at the other man.

“Got you now!”

Wolfwood sighs, rolling his eyes. “When are you going to stop playing with him?”

The boss smiles wide, eyeing him. “What? So you want me to roast your husband right in front of your eyes!”

“Wasn’t talking to you.”

The man’s face crumples in confusion, but it’s Vash who speaks next. “Oh, I was just gonna let him get this out of his system first.”

With a click the gang-member attempts to light his weapon. Then another click. And another.

Click. Click. Click.

It’s only now that he realizes the tank of fuel is long gone, Vash having gotten rid of it long before Wolfwood even went into the house.

“W-What?!”

“Sorry buddy, couldn’t let you go around setting people on fire!”

Before the man can say anything more, he’s on the ground and his hands are tied behind his back.

Another long breath leaves Nicholas and he grabs for his cigarettes without thinking. He barely has time to put it in his mouth before a gunshot rings out, knocking it away once again.

“God damnit blondie!”

“Hey! Wifey’s orders!”

[miamochi-writes]

Shake It Off

Modern!Vash x Reader

A/n: Not a request, but I’ve been wanting to write more AUs and Modern Trigun posts. This is my take on what Vash would do as a boyfriend if the reader had a bad day. I definitely wanted to dedicate this one to @whirlwindimagines​ Hope you like it Whirl! <3

It was another typical day of working in the office. Clock in, say hi to your coworkers, hype yourself up with coffee, do your tasks, snack break, and just survive at the end of the day. That was until you had an angry client bursting through the door.

“You! I want to speak to your manager right now!” she demanded as you took a deep breath. So much for a normal day. You mentally prepared yourself with what this person was going to throw at you. Clearing your throat, you prepped your customer service voice before engaging with the client.

“Hi, I’m sorry what seems to be the problem?” you asked. Sure enough, the lady was complaining about the service she received. She specifically wanted a refund because the service she got ‘did not meet her standards.’ Apparently she was not happy because she wasn’t seen exactly at 9:00 even though she was seen at 9:02. Furthermore, she felt lied to because the service promised it would be the best she received and that it was adequate at best. So if she had a problem then she would make it everyone’s problem.

“Ma’am I’m sorry to hear about that, but I can’t give you a refund. Our policy states that we can only give a refund if you cancelled your appointment or if we didn’t cover the full service. Which our records show we did give you the full hour,” you explained. 

“How dare you talk back to me! Do you know who I am?! I demand that you give me a refund! Where is your manager so I can report you!” she yelled as you just took the brunt of the verbal accusations.

“Ma’am, I don’t make the rules. I just work here, and our manager is currently traveling right now so it might take awhile for them to get a hold of them or even hear back from them,” you tried explaining. But this just made her yell even more about how you were incompetent to work here. You didn’t ask for this, and wondered why you haven’t bothered to turn in your two weeks notice.

Then out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar tall ray of sunshine with blonde hair that you can recognize from a mile away. Vash was passing by your area and saw what was happening. He noticed the scene unfolding and how uncomfortable you were growing with each passing second. Then he started mimicking the lady with the most absurd facial expressions. His mouth moved almost the exact same time as hers while he placed his hands on his hips like she was. If she yelled, he made it twice as funny with him being over the top with his actions. You had to hold back from laughing or even cracking a smile as you pursed your lips as hard as you could.

“HEY! Are you even listening to me?!” the lady snapped at you as she brought your attention back to her. Before you could react, Vash knocked at your door.

“Hi there! What seems to be the problem?” he asked. As the lady proceeded to tell him everything she told you, Vash offered her to follow him as he would handle things. Somehow, Vash just knew how to handle and deescalate these kinds of situations with his can-do personality. As he took the lady away from you while she was talking his ear off, Vash flashed you a wink and a smile before leaving. That was when you remembered, the only reason you hadn’t left this job was because of Vash, your boyfriend. 

You had been going out for more than half a year now. Despite being in different departments, you managed to find time together. Eventually, you fell for his natural charms, while he fell harder the more he got to know more about you. The both of you practically shared many things in common. He liked how you treated him normally unlike other people when they saw his prosthetic arm. Plus, you were always patient with him no matter what he threw at you and kept your promises which he absolutely adores.

Even though work could be rough, you tended to do small gestures for your coworkers and him. Whether it would be cheering them up through sharing memes, getting them a snack, or write down small appreciative notes the action never went unnoticed. At least with Vash. So whenever you were having a hellish day or struggling to keep up, he was always there to support you in any way possible.

Later on that day, you were coming back from a meeting that definitely could have been summed up in an email. Once you came back to your work space, you noticed a tall pink drink in a plastic cup and a note attached to it. Upon closer inspection, the note read:

“May your day be as sweet as this strawberry smoothie. I love you! x - Your favorite bf in the entire world”

A smile made its way to your face after reading the note Vash left you. He always knew how to cheer you up. Plus, you noticed he went out of his way to get you your favorite drink from your favorite place. Just the way you liked it. How did you get lucky to have Vash in your life? you questioned as you took a sip from your drink before going back to work.

~*~

Once work was over, Vash was eagerly waiting for you at his car as he waved at you. You gave him a tired smile as you got into the passenger seat.

“So how was your day today?” he asked with his pearly whites.

“Could be better. I’m just ready for today to be over,” you sighed as you rubbed your temple of your head. More work piled up throughout the day and a few more people came to give you a piece of their mind several times. But you reassured Vash that you appreciated the things he did for you today.

“Aw I’m sorry to hear Y/n. I hope things get better tomorrow. But at least you get to be with me now!” he reassured you as he planted a sweet and tender kiss on your cheek. 

“Thanks Vash, you’re the best,” you said while smiling at him. You felt anytime Vash showed his affection towards you, all your problems slowly melted away.

“Plus now that we’re here, I think this calls for a little pick-me-up,” he suggested as he pulled out his phone and started playing the one song you figured he would pick from your shared playlist.

I stay out too late~

Got nothing in my brain~

You loved how you got him into Taylor Swift, but the both of you knew that this particular song is banned from playing in the car. Vash would constantly overplay that song whenever he had the chance (especially when you spent the night at his place and caught him playing this at 5am in the morning). But after the day you had today, you figured this would be an exception as you started bopping your head to the upbeat tune. Once Vash noticed you didn’t make the effort to skip or the stop the song, he beamed at his small victory.

He backed out from the parking lot as he put his arm behind your seat. As he drove you back home, he would start dancing along to the song while singing the lyrics. He wasn’t a bad dancer at all, and his upbeat attitude was infectious. He would do a little shimmy and get you to sway with him whenever he stopped at a red light. You joined in on the fun as you both sang and danced along to the song. You were smiling ear to ear knowing that Vash did everything in his power to make sure your day ended on a high note.

Once you arrived at your apartment, Vash suggested ordering takeout from your favorite restaurant. He wanted to treat you which you didn’t deny. While he did that, you changed into your most comfortable clothes and decided to put on your favorite show. Once Vash came back from picking up the food, he took his seat next to you on the couch. Before he could hand you over your food, he put his face close to yours and flashed you a playful smirk.

“Before you get this food, you need to answer these questions correctly,” he piped up as you laughed knowing where this was going.

“Who’s your favorite?” he asked.

“You,” you answered as he gave you a peck on the lips.

“Correct! Now who’s my favorite?” he asked once more.

“Me,” you said matter-of-factly. Once again he gave you another kiss, but this time you made it a bit longer as you pulled him closer to you. He loved it when you did this and smiled into the kiss.

“Correct again! As a reward, your food and cuddles,” he answered as he handed you your meal. The both of you started eating your food while watching the show. Once you finished eating, Vash hugged you close to his side as you rested your head on the crook of his neck.

No matter what the day threw at you, Vash knew how to take care of you and put a smile on your face at the end of the day. Whether it be getting you to crack a smile, laugh until your sides hurt, or shower you with kisses, Vash will make it known just how much he loves and appreciates you. Just like how he started the day, he ended the night with giving you a soft and warm-hearted kiss.

[alena-draws]

Commission piece for @hypermoyashi , a Demon!Vash from their fic "Make it to Daybreak". You love Trigun, Vashwood and Demon Slayer? Perfect! :D In that case, head over to Ao3 this instant and give this fic a read!

Want to order a commission yourself? Have a look at my Commission Sheet and write me per dm or email.

[isawjamfirst]

meryl’s angels of death and destruction

[vamp-bites]

My Vashwood trans headcanons in diagram form

[tea-n-shade]

"I hate to see ya cry," Especially for a sinner like me.

Artwork for @beesinspades for the Pen Pals discord server gift exchange! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ Inspired by their lovely fic for a sinner like me.

[cranity]

Open Me Up: Chapter 5, Pandemonium

Inspired by @what-immortal-hand-or-eye's fic :]

[bastardnoodle]

i looove putting them in little outfits

[rrogueamendiares]

i just wanted to hold you in my arms

[allbuthuman]

Ever think about how it makes so much sense for Vash to have even more dissociative symptoms than those we see?

Like. His body was handled extremely violently against his will in a situation heavily mimicking assault twice. After one incident he had severe memory loss and constant nightmares and flashbacks, and after the other he was so gone from himself that he could do nothing but wander around in what could easily be described as a fugue state (and for all we know wasn't even responsive when Lina found him). He was kept in a tiny space for fucking months on the ark, that can't not fuck somebody up.

And Vash is full of heart. He bears to have space to witness and remember and be affected by the people that he meets even after 150 years, even after this much hurt. And he does so decidedly. For someone like him, having to constantly put his emotions aside in order to handle whatever dire situation at hand, having to put his grief on hold 'cause he just has to jump into the next fight, must take a whole lot of compartmentalisation.

The thing is, he seems okay with closeness most of the time, even initiating it, and in that context it's so easy to imagine all this trauma hitting him when he least expects it. Someone happens to touch him in a way that mimics an Incident a little too much and he just goes Blank. Or his body refuses to listen to him, refuses to move at all or moves on autopilot against his will, or he feels numb when he should be feeling so much, when he's used to feeling so much, and he's unable to tell anyone what's wrong when asked, or so scared 'cause Fuck, what if his body or mind that he already has no regard for betrays him when people need him the most?

And I bet he'd hate it even more than the average guy, 'cause he loves being around people, both by nature at this point and deliberately, and he wouldn't care about himself nearly enough to try to figure out his own triggers, not when he'd have to decidedly relive everything in the process just to learn how to be kinder to himself, but being unable to predict when your mind's gonna do you in is Terrifying. man.

[trigunwritings]

Because that’s what love is

Summary: Only one bed. But too many bullets.

Rating: Teen

Relationship: GN!Reader/Vash

Written by @blood--hunter

As with with everything in No Man’s Land the inn room is cramped and sweltering. Even with the slowly setting sun, the heat does little to abade. Not until the moons rise will it subside, and then the cold will come thundering in, causing whomever is left out in the desert to find a way to warm themselves in the caustic environment.

But not you. Not tonight.

Tonight you are safe in a little room on the edge of nowhere.

With Vash as a roommate.

Okay, maybe more than a roommate.

Whatever was going on between you two had lasted for several weeks at this point. There was a sort of—a sort of tension? Small touches of the shoulder. A gentelness to the eyes. A warmth to the cheeks that wasn’t caused by the sun.

It was so thick that the others had started to take notice over the past few days.

Roberto would roll his eyes whenever Vash said your name in that special way of his and Meryl tried to ignore in completely. She would stammer and turn her eyes away whenever the two of you got too close.

Wolfwood however ... Wolfwood was another matter.

He had been the one to set up the room accommodations. Everyone had gotten their own... Save for you and Vash.

The two of you were to share a single, tiny bed because of him.

When confronted, Wolfwood had simply hefted his gun higher on his back, cigarette coming dangerously close to falling from his lips as he smiled at you.

“What? You two are together, ain’t’chya?”

The silence that had fallen had been his answer.

“Well ... guess not.” And he had walked away as if he hadn’t blurted out what everyone had been thinking. Your face had been so warm that you thought it might explode—burst into flames even—but you had managed to scramble up the stairs with what was left of your dignity and stumble into the room.

And here you were. Deciding whether or not you should go out to the car and sleep in the back seat like you had been doing for the past several days.

No! You weren’t a child! You would face this like an adult!

You jump. There’s a knock at the door and Vash peeks his head in.

“Hey,” he says, though, with how well you know him, you can sense the tension in his voice, “Heard we were bunking together tonight!”

There’s a forced cheeriness to his voice and you find yourself swallowing at it.

So he’s just as nervous as you.

“Yeah!” Oh god, you sound just like him now, “I figured I could sleep on the floor and-”

“No way! I can sleep on the floor, it’s not a problem.” He waves his hand in front of his face, dropping his bag beside the door. Next, he takes off his red hoodie, hanging it on the little hook beside said door.

The bed itself was small, no way two people could lay on it super comfortably. But neither of you were going to give up easily.

“Here,” you say, “I’ll take a shower and then you can get set up on the bed and—”

“-No!”

“—Then it’ll be fair!”

Vash pouts visibly at you, but you’re already on your way through the door to the bathroom and closing it behind you before he can argue further.

Several minutes pass of you washing yourself, getting cleaned of all the sand and dirt that could pile onto you while on the desert. It takes ages of scrubbing but after a while you can see your natural skin color again and it satisfies you enough to get out of the tub.

Problem. Your stuff and Vash’s stuff were mixed together in his bag. The one by the door.

You could bang your head against a wall. You’d been so quick to get to the bathroom before Vash you hadn’t grabbed a different set of clothes.

Okay. Be an adult about this.

Wrapping the towel securely around yourself you peek your head out of the door.

“Hey Vash can—“

The words get stuck in your throat. Vash is half naked in the bedroom, his shirt gone. You can see where the metal of his arm meets the flesh of his body. There are scars littered across him. Some are so deep and vast they have to be covered with bit of metal. Some almost look like autopsy scars. Some are still raw bullet holes. Had he been taking damage this entire time?

Vash’s head snaps to you, eyes wide and glasses gone.

You both stare at each other for a long time. The silence echoing.

“Can you pass me some clothes?” You finally say, nodding towards the bag.

Vash doesn’t say a word, simply taking the one step towards the bag and digging out some clothes for you. One cannot afford pajamas in the desert, so it’s just another set of day clothes that are relatively clean. You’re grateful when cloth meets your hand and you dive back inside the bathroom, letting the door click shut.

Holy Shit.

You almost vocalize it but Vash could still very well be on the otherside of the door.

You slide down until your butt meets the floor, your elbows resting on your knees.

There should be a miriad of thoughts going through your head. Most of them focused on how absolutely mortifying that situation had been for the both of you.

But instead all you can think of is if Vash has been hiding the bullets from you. Had he been hurt this whole time? Some of those wounds had looked fresh.

Your thoughts swirl for a few minutes more before you become concious of the fact that you should be dressed and out by now. Vash probably thinks you’re hiding from him, that you’re disgusted by him. The thought makes you hop up from the floor and slap your clothes on so quickly you must look like a wreck as you fling open the bathroom door.

“DO YOU NEED A BATH?!”

You cringe. Vash stares at you, now dressed, from the floor. During your time in the bathroom he had made himself a little sleeping spot, several pillows and blankets piled beside the bed.

“Uh,” He scratches at the back of his neck, “Sure?”

Wait. No mention of what you had seen? Was he just going to—

“—Don’t just ignore it!” You squawk in the most undignified tone your voice had ever taken.

Vash chuckles, “Ignore what?” But you can see it in his eyes. There’s a deep sadness behind them that makes the blue just a tiny bit darker.

“...Vash...”

“I think it’s best we move on—”

“—How many?”

“What?”

“How many times have you been shot and not said anything? How many times did you sew yourself back together without anyone noticing?”

The small smile that is ever present on his lips, falls. “Please Vash, just tell me.”

“Too many to count.”

The words hit you like a bullet to the shoulder.

“Oh god—”

Vash holds up a hand, waving it slightly, “But it’s not like I died or anything, really it’s not a—”

“—It is too a big deal! Don’t say it isn’t!”

You should be worried that the others can hear you, your voice thundering through the walls like a clap of lightening, but you can’t, not in this moment. You can see, more than feel, the tears forming at the edge of your periphereal.

And then Vash is there too.

“Hey, c’mon, no need to be worried about a guy like me.”

You manage to speak passed the lump in you throat, “Don’t tell me what to do...” And there it is. You sound like a child stamping their foot instead of a worried friend—or whatever you two were.

Vash uses his thumb to press away the forming tears. “Lets get to bed.”

And that’s how you both find yourselves curled up on the floor together. Neither of you wishes to take the soft mattress from the other so it ends in a stalemate. There is not bumbling this time as you both lay down to sleep, not awkward pauses or stolen glances. The air is thick with something unsaid but neither of you is able to grasp it and bring it down to earth.

In the silence of the night, after your tears have dried but before the cloud of your argument has blown away, Vash turns to you in your sleep.

“I just didn’t want to worry you.”

He presses a piece of hair away from your face so he can see you better in the dim moonlight of the window.

But you would worry anyways, regardless of how much he hid from you.

Because that’s what love is.

[myfinalform-kaz]

The mischaracterization of trigun characters in fanfic just irks my soul. Like ppl who portray Vash as poor kicked puppy boy who's never felt a drop of anger in his life like no! That guy nearly loses his absolute shit anytime he witnesses ppl hurting each other, like the amount of times the memory of Rem is the only thing that holds him back from absolutely decimating someone is not talked about enough. Also Meryl being the groups emotional guide??? That girl avoids other people's feelings faster than mouse runnin from a cat, she has no intention of sticking around for tough emotional conversations. Also give Wolfwood his silly!!! He is a silly man with a soft spot for kids and a hard ass attitude for blonde idiots!

[artofalassa]

“I’m bored.” “So?” “Kiss me. It will make time fly faster.” “Here?” Vash looks around, nervous.

a little smth based on the sweet sweet fic Those Were The Days by @elofrommars 💕

[untitledgoosegay]

re last reblog I do see fanfic culture pushing/replicating a certain model of "what trauma looks like," "how trauma works"

this is a problem across all areas of society obviously, but transformative works are, well, transformative. they're about crafting and modifying narratives where the fan-creator sees a flaw or a lack -- often for the better! don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of "I take a hammer and I fix the canon," it's the main thing that gets my creative gears spinning -- but what happens when that "flaw" is simply a narrative not conforming to popular expectations?

some people just don't get PTSD from events that sound obviously traumatic. they're not masking, and they're not coping; they just straight-up didn't get the permanently-locked stress-response that defines PTSD. they walk away from a horrible experience going "well, that sucked, but it's over now." some people do get PTSD from events most people wouldn't find traumatic. we don't really know why some people get PTSD and others don't. but fandom has an idea of events that must be traumatizing, of a "correct" way to portray trauma. you see the problems with this lack of understanding in e.g. fans pressuring the devs of Baldur's Gate 3 to add dialogue where the player character badgers Halsin about his own feelings on his abuse -- because he must be traumatized, and his trauma must fit a certain mold and presentation of sexual trauma, under the mistaken impression that anything outside that narrow window is somehow "wrong" and disrespectful or even harmful to survivors.

take, for another example, the very common trope of a traumatized character who hates touch or sex "learning" to like touch or sex as a part of their healing process. certainly that can be healing for some people; other people will never like, or want, touch or sex, because of trauma or because they just don't. the assumption that someone who doesn't want sex or doesn't like to be touched must be traumatized, must be suffering from this perceived lack, is seriously harmful -- to asexual people, to people with sensory issues around touch, and to people for whom healing from trauma means freedom to refuse sex or touch.

and there's a secondary trope, one that's slightly more thoughtful but ultimately repeats the problem -- that once someone has learned that their boundaries will be respected, they'll feel it's safe to soften those boundaries. once they feel safe refusing touch or sex, they'll feel comfortable allowing it on their own terms. but many people don't, and many people won't! many people will simply never want to be touched, and never want sex, and they are not suffering or broken or lacking because of it. the idea that proving you'll respect someone's boundaries entitles you to test those boundaries -- the paradox is obvious, and yet this is something i've seen hurt (re-traumatize) people i care for.

people are imperfect victims. people don't heal in the ways you expect. many people have positive memories of their abuse, of their abusers. many people hurt others in the course of their trauma, in ways that can't easily be unpacked in a 5k oneshot. very few narratives of trauma and recovery actually fit the ones put forward by popular children's media and romance novels -- which are the ones I most see replicated in fandom spaces, because they provide the clearest narrative and easiest catharsis, and so they're easy and soothing to reach for.

that's not necessarily a bad thing! i am not immune to goopy romance tropes. i am not immune to teary catharsis. not every fic has to grapple with ugly realities. but there's a problem when these narratives become predominant, when people think they're accurate and realistic depictions of trauma, when the truth of trauma is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and doesn't fit any single narrative, let alone one of comforting catharsis