Do you think that Vash, being non-human, has fisical needs? You know, urgencys? I like an inexperienced Vash and I imagine him super frustrated and embarrassed trying to hide an erection from his s/o
okay okay, I have some thoughts on it 😈
I'm sorry though - my thoughts went to Trimax Vash, and that guy is not as innocent as some might think. He's lived a very long life, after all.
Warnings: g/n reader, slight nsfw, slight self-deprecation
The ways Vash would deal with accidental erection around his s/o:
He doesn’t panic - he manages. When arousal catches him off-guard (which it does, more often than he’d like), he doesn’t bolt or stammer. Instead, you’ll notice a subtle shift - shoulders a little stiffer, voice hitching just a little, thumbs twiddling anxiously. A tension he doesn’t explain. He masks it with a tired smile and a soft “Give me a sec,” before excusing himself.
He knows what’s happening—he just doesn’t like it
It’s not ignorance - it’s restraint. Vash knows desire, he’s just unfamiliar with letting it live in his body, especially around you. He respects you deeply, maybe even reveres you a little, and the idea of you seeing that side of him before you're ready makes him ache with guilt and shame. Not because he thinks it’s wrong - but because he wants it to be right when it happens.
He’s trying his hardest to be discreet as hell. He’ll adjust his coat without a word. Cross his legs. Shift position. Tuck himselfaway from you. He’s got a hundred ways to hide discomfort in plain sight, and unless you’re really tuned into his body language, you’d never know what’s going on.
If you do catch on, he handles it with quiet charm. You raise an eyebrow. He meets your gaze, slightly flushed, lips twitching into a wry smile:“Caught that, huh? …What can I say, you’re just extra beautiful today, Mayfly” He’ll redirect the conversation, distract you from himself, maybe even tease you right back just to shift the power a little - but there’s no hiding the blush in his ears or the twitch of his fingers.
He wants – deeply - but holds back like it’s his second nature. Even when he’s burning up inside, he won’t act on it. Not unless you initiate, not unless you make it clear that you’re ready. He’s so afraid of crossing a line, even unintentionally. So he endures. Quietly. Longingly. He thinks about you at night sometimes. Hates himself a little for it. But the feeling lingers anyway.
If you tease him? You’ll see the real restraint. You lean close, murmur something soft against his ear, your fingers brushing his thigh by accident or design. And he freezes for half a second. Not out of fear - out of restraint. Because he could so easily kiss you. Touch you. Ask for more. But he just breathes deep, tilts his head away, and murmurs:“Careful, sweetheart. I’m not made of stone.” That soft warning? Yeah. He means it.
Later, when things are right, he lets go - but it’s always intentional
When the time comes and intimacy finally unfolds, it’s not frantic or desperate - it’s tender, slow, and reverent. He wants you, and he’s no longer afraid to show it. But you’ll always know: that control, that composure - it was never because he didn’t feel it. It was because he felt it too much.
Sitting on top of Vash and pinning him with your hips against his as you leave marks on his neck 😮💨
Yesss. You continue sucking on his weak spots on the neck, under his ear, while all he can do is softly whine, completely surrendered by your commanding, yet gentle grip of his wrists above his head. Once you’re satisfied with your work, you look at him questioning and after his nod, you strip him of his pants. You’re already wet enough, aroused just of his sounds and trembles under your lips. When you let gravity do the work and his cock completely sinks in you, he shudders under you and unleashes the loudest and highest moan so far. “Such a needy boy” you chuckle, looking at his bedroom eyes, disheveled hair and almost crimson cheeks, your marks already visible on his sensitive skin all over his neck and collar bones. It doesn’t take much for you both to cum, you being already so stimulated by your earlier teasing. “Oh, Mayfly..” he whispers in the softest voice, pulling you down, which is the first active action he’s done so far. He places his forehead against yours, while he’s still recovering from his bliss, which is the ultimate expression of affection for him, which maybe stemming from his origins.
Wanted to reply in like two sentences, and ended up gushing about him, cause Vash is just such a pillow princess aaaaah 🥵
Lance grumbled as he made his way into his Commander’s office, knowing that the interaction was going to end up with him completing another truckload of paperwork.
He pushed the door open- oh fuck.
Sven and Keith were… well, deep in some kind of intimate acts. They looked up, startled and blushing.
“L-Lance! This isn’t what you thi-” he slammed the door shut and noped the fuck out of there.
Sven looked back at Keith “This was a mistake…”
“A mistake, perhaps, but a welcome one” Keith responded, as he captured his lover in another kiss..
Summary: after being on the road for weeks and not being able to find a room for the night, you feel terribly frustrated until you and Vash see a secluded dark alleyway and have the same idea pop into your heads. 😈
Content warnings: nsfw, semi-public sex, strong language, g/n reader, penetrative sex, voyeuristic implication but no direct voyeurism
Word Count: 1.6k
The town is sleeping when you get there.
“Marta’s Guesthouse” greets you with barred shutters, bolted doors and not even a candlelight flickering behind the windows. You knock until your knuckles ache, plead to test the waters- but nobody opens. Not even a flick of a curtain.
“Come back when the suns are up and don’t stir any trouble till then!” someone finally replies to your inquiries.
“They must be afraid of bandits,” Millie whispers sympathetically, as though this reasoning could soothe your annoyance at the cold shoulder you received. “We’ll just have to make do.”
Make do, she says. In a car crammed with too many bodies and not enough room to stretch your legs, let alone sleep. But what other option is there? You can’t blame them, really. You’re dusty and worn, arriving too late like ghosts in the moonlight. Who would open the door for you? Millie must be right, maybe the townsfolk are cautious for a reason.
Meryl climbs into the car with a grumble. “At least it’s not freezing.”
“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, rubbing your arms.
Wolfwood shrugs and says something about keeping watch. You’re not sure if he really will watch out for any trouble - but you’re too tired to care. All you want is sleep, but fresh air will have to do. Some space. The stretch of your spine without someone breathing on your shoulder. Ugh, even when standing outside with your own two feet on the ground, your brain is glitching and making you feel like you’re still driving in a car. You hate this feeling.
“I’m gonna walk a little,” you say, tugging the collar of your jacket up.
Vash is beside you before you even finish the sentence. “Mind if I tag along? You know…bandits and stuff.”
You nod. Of course you do.
The streets are eerily quiet, filling only with the sound of your footsteps. The moons’re caught behind a haze of thin clouds, casting everything in dim, silvery blue. And still - he walks close to you. His shoulder brushes yours once, twice. It’s nothing. Or maybe…
It’s been weeks. Weeks since a real bed in a separate room. With a door that can be closed. Weeks since any privacy. Weeks since a single moment alone with him that didn’t feel like you’re being scrutinized by someone else’s gaze.
And when you finally pause at the mouth of a narrow alleyway, shadows cloaking the walls like a curtain, your body turns toward his before you even consider everything properly.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” you whisper.
His eyes shine faintly in the dark.
“I really, really hope so.”
Then his hand is in yours. Then it’s against your waist, and your back meets cool brick, and you’re pulling him in like you’ve been starving - and maybe you have.
His kiss is clumsy at first. All teeth and breaths between them, and soft moans of relief. But then it deepens, his hands finding your face and oh how great it feels to finally be touched without any restraints. You shudder against him, your fingers are slipping under his coat and digging into his back, dragging up until patches of his skin greet your fingers. You moan softly into his mouth, and his whole body trembles like he wasn’t ready to hear that sound. Not yet. But he’s glad you gave it to him anyway.
"God, I've wanted-" he breaks off, his mouth trailing hot against your neck. "-for so long."
You throw your head back, hungry for any touch he gives you and pull your hands from his back to raise arms up and place them on his shoulders as you wind your fingers through his hair and pull. He gasps, and the noise he makes is so fucking needy, it goes straight to your core.
“We don’t have long,” you murmur against his ear.
“I don’t care,” he groans, already rocking against you, desperate and unashamed. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”
And give it you can.
Clothes pushed aside just enough, hands fumbling between you. Your back to the wall, his breath ragged, as he helps you push your pants down in desperation. His pants are proving to be difficult though. You whine, "Why the hell do your pants have so many buckles?"
"You always told me I looked hot in them, Mayfly!" Vash retorts, chuckling even though desperation is laced in his voice the same way as in yours.
"Cool? I take my words back…we need a damn map to get these off!" you chide as you try to work out all his buckles, your fingers bumping into his now that both of you are busy with them.
"Left thigh, third one down—no, wait—ow, not that one! It’s decorative!"
"I swear, if I die of horniness in this alley, it’s your fault." You say with voice so angry and loud, that Vash loses it and laughs out loud.
"Then let’s make it worth it, baby - just skip to the middle one." He says, undoing the said buckle himself and as you tug his goddamned pants down, though not as low as you’d prefer, he’s already pulling you up, getting ahold of your thighs and ass.
You gasp as your back hits the wall again, this time higher - your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands tight under your thighs. He’s breathing like he just ran a mile, and his mouth finds yours again in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, no time for sweetness now.
The head of his cock bumps against you, clumsy in the dark, and you both groan at the contact. It’s barely anything -but it’s all you want right now. You whine and reach down to guide his cock inside of you – urgent, desperate, needy. You do it somehow clumsily, and once Vash feels how your walls begin to swallow him - he pushes into you with a choked moan, the stretch making your eyes roll back. It’s not slow, not gentle - but he’s still careful. One hand leaves your thigh to brace against the wall, the other tightening under your ass as he starts to move - short, deep thrusts that make you whimper into his shoulder.
“Fuck…you feel…” he bites off a sound, face buried in your neck, “-so good, so warm- I’ve missed you- missed this so much.”
You cling to him like you’ll fall apart otherwise, legs tightening around his hips. Every thrust grinds you against the wall just enough to make your breath catch. You know you back will be scratched and sore in the morning, but the way Vash is angled so perfectly and hitting just the right spot is making you forget about those trivial unimportant details. You’re both panting now, the air thick with heat, your names breathed against each other’s skin like a prayer.
Your head drops back with a soft moan. “God, Vash- keep going…just like that-”
He shudders. “You’re gonna make me-”
“Good,” you gasp, rocking into him. “Want you to.”
He curses under his breath, pace stuttering. “I can’t-hold back…not after this long-”
“I don’t want you to.”
That breaks him.
He growls something unintelligible into your throat, thrusts turning rougher, sloppier—chasing it now, no rhythm, no finesse - just need. You reach between you, fingers fumbling where your bodies meet, and when you touch yourself, it only takes a few strokes before you’re falling- shuddering hard, gasping against his ear, moaning his name cause it’s the only word you remember.
Vash follows with a broken sound, buried so deep inside you it feels like you’re made for it. He thrusts through the aftershock, hips twitching, mouth open against your neck as he spills into you with a groan that sounds like pain and pleasure all at once.
Then: stillness.
Only your breathing. The distant chirp of small worms flying in the air. A few soft sounds of fabric shifting as he lowers you back down slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll break.
You stay pressed to him, forehead against his chest, heart beating too fast.
“…God,” he mutters after a moment, voice dazed, but happy now, relaxed. “I think I saw the face of the universe.”
You snort into his chest, laughing breathlessly. “Was she impressed?”
“Absolutely. Gave me five stars. Said I was a gentleman.”
You roll your eyes and gently smack his chest. “You’re the least discreet man I’ve ever…”
Tssk.
You freeze.
The sound cuts through the night like a slap.
You both freeze.
Then the faint scratch of a lighter. A curl of cigarette smoke. And a familiar sigh.
“Well,” Wolfwood mutters, leaning against the mouth of the alleyway like he’s been there just long enough to hear something he shouldn’t. “Glad I decided to check the perimeter.”
Vash squeaks. Actually squeaks, the mortified noise muffled into your hair. His hands quickly reach you and pull your pants up hastily. Nimble fingers fighting with your zipper and buttons.
You don’t even look to the side as you say: “You’re supposed to be watching for bandits.”
“I am. And two hormonal idiots going at it like alley cats count, trust me.”
Wolfwood flicks his cigarette to the ground and steps on it, judging by the sound. “When you’re done, try not to trip over your pants, this alleyways awfully dirty.”
“…We’re never speaking of this,” you say to Vash once Nick’s footsteps are barely audible.
“Which part?”
You pull him in by the front of his coat and kiss him again, slow this time.
Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader
Summary: "Ass, Tits, or Thighs?" that is the question. Or reader tries to lighten up Vash's mood by asking something stupid.
Warnings: sfw, pre-relationship, fluff, a bit of a crackfic, reader is a gremlin, Vash is also a gremlin, Wolfwood is unbothered. Reader can be read as g/n, but at one point Vash generalizes them as one of "women" (it's a small moment, but can ruin the moment sorry)
Word Count: 2k
Author's note: I'm sorry I just overheard my drunk coworkers bickering about "ass, tits or ass" conundrum yesterday and birthed this today. can delete later. i kinda like some parts of it, put parts are "meh"
The fire was low, barely more than glowing embers now. The chill of the desert crept in slow and quiet. Millie and Meryl already retreated for the night, occupying the car. Nicholas decided to perform his weapons’ maintenance some distance away from you, using the car’s open trunk as his glorified stool.
Vash sat beside you, his coat draped around your shoulders, the two of you sharing a calm silence that had stretched comfortably into the night.
He was staring out at the stars again, lips parted just slightly, like he was on the verge of saying something - but he didn’t. He just breathed, steady and slow, as if the stars themselves might answer the questions in his chest if he stared at them long enough.
You turned your gaze toward him, studying the line of his jaw, the faint smudge of dirt still on his cheek. He looked like he was close to one of his “moods”. The ones that spiral down to something dark and pitiful. Something that leads to him trying to wash it away with streams of cheap alcohol in rowdy taverns. You didn’t want that. You tried to think hard on how to ease it. Not prying. Not pushing.
Softly, you asked, “Can I ask you something stupid?”
That drew him out of his thoughts. He glanced at you with a small casual smile. “You always can.”
You hesitated, then grinned mischievously:
“Are you more of a tits, ass, or thighs kind of guy?”
He blinked. Once. Twice.
“…What?” His voice was quieter than you expected, almost like he was checking if he’d heard you right.
You smiled innocently. “You heard me.”
A flush crept up the side of his neck, subtle but unmistakable under the firelight. He looked away immediately, scratching at his cheek with a gloved finger as if that might hide the heat crawling up his skin.
“…That’s not really the kind of question I’ve ever thought about,” he said after a long pause.
“Seriously?” you teased, shifting a little closer. “You’ve been alive this long and never once had a preference?”
He exhaled, a slow, almost weary breath. “It’s not that. I just don’t… talk about things like that much.” His eyes flicked to you, then away again.
Your smile faded a little, brow furrowing. “Why?”
He was quiet for a while. Then:
“Because it’s easy to ruin things when you say too much.”
You blinked, surprised by the honesty of it. His voice was soft, almost apologetic, but it carried weight. Not shame, exactly - but caution. A gentle sort of guardedness.
You tilted your head. “I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.”
“I know.” He offered a faint smile and a sigh. “You never do. That’s the problem.”
You snorted. “Is that your way of calling me thoughtless?”
“I think you already know you are not, I would say more like…troublesome.” he murmured, finally looking at you fully. His expression had no malice though, it was warm and tired and had something else beneath it -something tender and vulnerable, like a secret he hadn’t decided whether or not to give you yet.
This started as a selfless plan to lighten your friend’s mood, but now you genuinely got too fired up to step back. You nudged his knee with yours. “Still didn’t answer the question.”
His eyes flicked downward, just for a moment. Then he shook his head with a quiet, almost resigned smile, then sighed once again.
“…Thighs.”
You grinned. “Knew it.”
He closed his eyes like he was regretting everything. “Don’t just go blab about it, okay?”
His fingers twitched against each other. You could tell he was still flustered, maybe your plan didn’t work the way you wanted? Is he still down? Did you just add to his unease? Well…woops. Maybe you can still fix that…
You grinned to yourself and leaned in closer.
“Hey,” you whispered.
He didn’t look at you, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “…What now.”
“I’m gonna ask Wolfwood.”
Now he did look at you. Immediately.
His eyes widened, jaw slack. “You’re not-”
“I am.”
“You wouldn’t-”
You were already standing, brushing the sand from your clothes. “Watch me.”
“Please don’t.”
You turned and sauntered off into the dark with a smug little bounce in your step. Behind you, Vash groaned and dropped his face into his hands again like he was begging the stars to strike him down.
Wolfwood wasn’t far - just a little ways off, sitting in the open trunk of Meryl’s car and cleaning his gun with a cigarette between his teeth, looking like the picture of concentrated apathy. He didn’t even look up as you approached.
“You’re way too quiet. That means you’re up to something,” he muttered, glancing at you sideways.
“I have an important question,” you said solemnly.
He gave you a dry look. “…Shoot.”
You crossed your arms, tilted your head, and asked with all the innocent mischief you could muster:
“Are you an ass, tits, or thighs man?”
Wolfwood paused.
“…Huh.”
You waited.
“…You’re serious?” he asked.
“As a heart attack.”
He barked out a laugh, low and sharp. “God, you’ve been hangin’ around Needle-noggin too long. That’s his kind of question.”
You smiled wickedly, leaned in close, and whispered like it was a state secret:
“Thighs.”
Wolfwood chuckled. “Oh man, I can’t—he told you? He actually answered? And at that…coming from you?”
“He didn’t want to, but I got it out of him.”
“Oh, that’s golden.” He wiped a hand over his face. “Poor bastard. He’s never gonna live this down.”
You smirked. “So. What about you?”
Wolfwood gave it some thought. “Mm… tits.”
“Expected.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back, mock offended.
You shrugged. “You just have that… energy.”
He pointed at you with his cigarette. “You’ve got the energy of someone who’s gonna go right back over there and tell him I know.”
“Oh, I am.”
Wolfwood laughed again and shook his head. “You’re evil.”
You turned, skipping back toward Vash, who was still sitting by the fire with his face in his hands like he’d aged ten years in your absence.
“I hate you,” he mumbled as you dropped beside him again.
“I bring joy,” you said sweetly. “And chaos.”
He groaned.
Vash hadn’t looked at you since you sat back down. Just sat there in that same exact pose - elbows on his knees, face in his hands, as if sheer willpower could erase the entire last ten minutes.
You watched him for a beat, then leaned over, nudging his arm. “Come on. You’re not really mad.”
He made a noise. Something between a sigh and a groan. “I knew you were trouble the second I met you.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” You smirked. “Besides, I paid it forward. Asked Wolfwood the same question.”
That earned you a peek—one wary blue eye sliding your way. “And?”
You shrugged. “Tits.”
He muttered something under his breath. Maybe “figures.”
You leaned in closer. “You should be grateful, really. I could’ve told Millie.”
His hands finally dropped from his face - just enough to reveal a deeply unamused expression. “If you ever breathe a word of this to the insurance girls, I will walk into the nearest sandstorm and never come back.”
You gave him a mischievous grin. “Deal.”
He went quiet again. Too quiet.
You should’ve known.
Because after a few long moments, his tone shifted—smooth, calm, deceptively gentle. “You ask everybody that question, or just people you’re interested in?”
Your heart stuttered.
You blinked. “What-”
“I mean,” he continued, turning toward you, voice low and thoughtful like he was genuinely curious, “you didn’t ask Millie. Or Meryl. Just me. And Wolfwood seemed to be an afterthought.”
You stared at him.
His smile was small, teasing. “I’m flattered.”
“Oh my god- ”
You tried to turn away, but he followed, shifting closer, eyes gleaming now - bright, sharp, a little dangerous in the way only he could be when he was feeling bold.
“You ever think about what part of you I notice first?” he asked softly.
Your face was on fire, and you yelped a touch too loud. “Vash!”
He leaned in, barely a breath away, and murmured:
“I do.”
And then he smiled—warm, full of mischief and meaning—and pulled away like nothing happened, casually stretching his arms with a sigh.
Your soul left your body.
Somewhere off in the dark, Wolfwood yelled, “Whatever you’re doing, keep it decent, you freaks!”
You were still recovering - heart thudding, skin burning, words lodged somewhere behind your teeth - when Vash finally settled back onto his elbows, looking way too proud of himself.
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to.
That stupid, smug little smile was plenty.
You scowled and shoved at his arm. “Oh, come on.”
“What?” he said innocently, tilting his head toward you, lashes low over those very pleased-with-himself eyes.
“I only started that whole thing to lighten the mood, y’know. You looked like your brain was spiraling into the void again. I was doing you a favor.”
“Mhm.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” you added, throwing your hands up. “You’re laughing. The night’s fun again. You’re welcome.”
“You embarrassed me.”
“I barely embarrassed you.”
“You told Wolfwood.”
You let out a breath, glaring at the fire. “It isn’t even that serious! Just a stupid question teenagers might ask each other. Don’t be an ass.”
He was quiet for a moment, just watching you - soft, unreadable, like he was weighing something on his tongue, his eyes glimmered with mischief though.
And then he spoke, voice low and warm:
“So what’s your favorite, then?”
You blinked. “Huh?”
He turned toward you again, real easy-like, folding one leg under the other. “You know. Your equivalent. On a guy. Or a girl. Or both?”
You stared at him, caught between flustered and incredulous. “You’re asking me that now?”
“Fair’s fair,” he said, tone light but his eyes - his eyes - lingered. “You brought it up. Might as well share.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re just trying to get back at me.”
“Obviously.” His grin widened, soft but lethal. “Come on. You can whisper it if it helps.”
Your stomach flipped. “Oh my god.”
“I’ll even guess,” he said, like he was offering a gift.
“Please don’t.”
“I’m gonna guess hands,” he mused, tapping a finger to his lip. “No - shoulders. Wait - arms, right? Oh, I heard women actually also love asses, don’t they?”
“Vash!”
He laughed—quiet, delighted, like your fluster was the best thing that had happened to him all day. “C’mon. Just tell me. I won’t run to tell Wolfwood, like some others.”
“You’re gonna hold it over me for weeks.”
He tilted his head again, face softening around the edges. “Maybe. But I’ll like knowing.”
You went quiet.
The fire crackled between you again, filling in the space your voice used to sit.
You didn’t meet his eyes as you mumbled it. “Back.”
“…Back?”
“Yeah,” you muttered. “Shoulders, upper back, spine. Just. That whole area…I guess…If I have to choose, that is.”
Vash was very still.
You risked a glance.
He was watching you with a look that was suddenly way more serious - soft, steady, a slow flush blooming at the tops of his cheeks, but his eyes?
Dark. Warm. Intense.
“…Good to know,” he said softly, with the corner of his lip arched upwards.
And then you were the one looking away, shifting your weight and muttering something about being done with this conversation.
Been thinking about tender moments with kinda ‘more than friendly travelling partner’ relationship with Vash, but it’s all still unspoken, careful, hanging by a loose thread between you, laced with teasing and humour.
You should move. Your bedroll’s laid out on the other side of the firepit. So is his. The night’s cooling fast, desert air biting through layers of clothing the moment you step away from the flame.
But you stay where you are. Next to him, tucked securely under his arm.
And he doesn’t let go.
Eventually, you tilt your head up just enough to speak. Quiet. Testing the waters.
“Hey, Vash?”
He hums in response, already sounding drowsy. His thumb strokes a lazy circle against your shoulder.
You hesitate - but only for a second.
“…Do you think, maybe, we could share a bedroll tonight?”
You feel him go still again. Just for a breath. Then:
“…For warmth, right?” His voice is light, teasing. But you can hear the nervous undertone in it as well.
You smile into his chest. “Obviously. Strictly survival-based.”
“Right. Of course.” His hand shifts on your back, gentle but a little unsure. “Because that’s what this is. Basic heat conservation protocol.”
“Exactly.” You’re grinning now, even though your face is hot.
He lets out a quiet laugh, a soft little puff of air against your hair. “We’d be foolish not to, really. Irresponsible.”
“Negligent, even.”
You feel him turn, just slightly—enough that he can look at you properly. There’s a glimmer in his eyes now, still sleepy but brighter. Like he can’t quite believe this is real.
“You sure?” he asks, lower this time. Honest. Nervous again.
You nod. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
He hesitates… then slowly, reluctantly, starts to untangle from you, mumbling “I’ll grab it, then…uh…mine’s thicker, so we can use that one on the bottom…”
You catch his sleeve before he gets far. “Can we just… stay like this for a bit more? I mean - if it’s not uncomfortable.”
You hit a weak spot for me. Vash and companion being kinda touchy/close without officially speaking about it will kill me I swear.
May I suggest…a thing? Take it a step further…? Maybe they’re in a dangerous city and Vash is being super cautious, watchful.
His companion steps close for safety, keeps an eye out for what’s behind him. And he’s got his hand on their lower back, fingers spread. His eyes are focused ahead, razor sharp, and you’d think this is all just for protection, but then companion turns and lets their lips ever so slightly brush against Vash’s jaw in the process.
Vash doesn’t falter in his watchful gaze, but his hand presses a little closer.
Just. It’s there but they’d rather die before actually giving the connection a name yet.
ooooooh nonnie it's so good ahah
i didn't know what to add to it cause it's kind of a complete scenario in my eyes already, so i just concentrated of writing protective vash hehehe 😈
i left enough yearning though, hopefully.
Warnings: none, g/n reader
Word count: 786
Protective Vash and yearning touches
The main road of the town you’ve been wandering about narrows into an alley before either of you realize it.
One turn too quick, one wrong step off the main drag, and suddenly the background town’s noises fade. It's quiet here. Too quiet.
Vash stops first.
You catch the shift in him even before his hand rises - fingers curling around your arm in a silent signal: halt. You freeze beside him, heart picking up, eyes scanning.
This isn't an alley for shortcuts or missed turns. This is an alley where people disappear.
“Looks like we’ve got company,” he murmurs, quiet and dry.
From the shadows ahead, a voice lilts out, oily and amused. “Well now, what’ve we got here? Strangers. Shiny one’s packing heat. What about you, sweetheart?”
More voices. At least three. Maybe more behind crates and broken scaffolding. You don’t see weapons yet, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.
Vash doesn’t let go of your arm. Instead, he shifts his body forward just enough to put himself between you and the voices. Protective, casual, but he’s on edge.
His other hand drops to his gun, he doesn’t draw. Not yet.
“Just passing through,” he says with a smile, smooth as ever. But there’s a sharpness to his words, like steel hidden under silk. “No trouble unless you’re looking for it, we’ve just been searching for a place to stay.”
“Oh, I think you found it,” someone chuckles from the dark.
You step closer, your hand brushing against Vash’s coat. You feel the tension in him like static - his muscles coiled, his breathing slow and even, like he’s steadying himself for whatever comes next.
He doesn’t look at you. But his hand leaves your arm and drifts lower, steadying against the small of your back.
And this time, he grips. Not tight. Not panicked. Just sure. Like he’s saying ‘I’m not letting you go’ without speaking a word of it.
You glance at him - his jaw is clenched, gaze locked forward, but his thumb brushes slow against your spine, once. A grounding gesture.
And something inside you breaks a little.
The figures in the dark are getting bolder now, stepping closer. One whistles, low and mocking. “That one yours, gunslinger?”
Vash doesn’t blink. “Walk away.”
But he doesn’t sound angry.
He sounds calm and dangerous.
The kind of danger that doesn’t need to be shouted. The kind that only comes out when something precious is being threatened. You’re somehow puzzled he’s not trying to be a peacemaker now, but you’re also too tense to dwell on it for long.
Your pulse spikes. You don’t know if it’s fear or the way he’s standing so close - his body angled to shield yours, the heat of him pressed along your side.
You shift - just enough to keep eyes on the side of the alley, just in case someone tries to flank you. And as you do, your face turns into him again. Too close.
Your lips graze the edge of his jaw accidentally. It lasts less than a second.
But you felt it. A breath. That’s all it is.
But he felt it too. You know he did.
Because his hand - firm and unyielding at your back - tightens with deliberate care. Pulls you closer.
Like he needs to know you’re right there, within reach.
You don’t look at him.
And he doesn’t look at you.
You both pretend it didn’t happen, your heart’s now pounding beneath your ribs like war drums.
Another step from the men in the shadows.
And then Vash shifts his weight, stance low and ready. His coat flutters as his arm drops - and this time, he draws.
Fast. Too fast to follow.
“Last chance,” he says, voice like flint. “Go. Now.”
The silence is thick. Then movement - shuffling, muttered curses, someone spitting on the groynd mumbling “This shit’s not worth it”, the scuffle of boots as the men slink away into the shadows.
You both stay still.
He doesn’t holster his gun until the alley is empty again.
When he finally turns to you, his gaze is softer than it should be. “You okay?”
You nod. “You?”
He exhales through his nose, something like a laugh caught behind it. “Ask me again in a few minutes.”
You both step back into the streetlight’s glow, leaving the alley behind – his arm now placed on your shoulders in a friendly manner. He’s not placing too much weight on it however, so it lacks casual flair.
Neither of you speaks about it.
Neither of you names what just happened. But it happened.
And that quiet, constant almost between you just got a little harder to ignore.
