There is a smell of hot wildflowers in the pale dome of his flesh shoulder. You press your nose to it and think of a field on fire, or fire coming to a field, red flowers turned redder in a dancing lick of flame.
He stills beside you, like he's trying to hide his breathing, trying to keep from spooking something wild. But you breathe him in unflinching, turning your face slowly so instead of your nose your cheek is against him next, then your ear, then back the other way, skin rolling softly against skin, until your lips claim the scarred expanse bared by the cut of his tight black top.
You want to show him that you aren't afraid, that he has nothing that could make you run. That you can gather him into your arms and fold him there like good clean linen, something to hold gently, to cherish.
Long fingers brush the back of your neck, trembling just a little. "Mayfly-"
You shush him, the fingers tensing then relaxing, like the wings of a butterfly against your nape, testing the air. You trace your lips up to his jaw, then brush against the corner of his nervous mouth.
"I love you, Vash."
"But-"
You swallow his protests, their floral taste dissolving against your mouth. Vash pants, looks down at you with wide eyes, honest eyes, eyes that tell you he doesn't know whether or not to run.
So you lean back, let go. Give him the opening, unpinned by anything except your stare, by the words you're repeating, low and even. "I love you."
He laughs breathlessly, his body still tense, thrumming, taut. He leans forward, then back. He looks away, at the wide blue sky. His metal hand cards through the stiff peaks of his hair, knocking them into angles that dip down toward his brow.
“I love you,” he says back, rolling the words like ice on his tongue so they come out half-melted. He powers down, almost, the nervous energy dissipating, the coil of his limbs loosening in the heat.
“I do. I love you,” he offers, again, and it hangs between you, shimmering like a mirage before you surge forward and shatter it, throwing your arms around his wide shoulders, feeling the meat and metal of his body, pressing him in until he can feel your heartbeat, the scattered points of your pulse beneath your neck, your wrists, your thigh. All his.
What if I made another Vash x Reader fic where he's sheepish and soft as usual but you suddenly pull his long blonde gorgeous locks and it awakens something more feral in him
Summary: Vash finds himself reminiscing about a woman he once had a connection with and the love they shared for each other but never made it past longing looks and accidental touches.
⚠︎Warnings⚠︎: None
Additional Notes: pls listen to "Cowboys and Angels" by George Micheals while reading for a better experience.
Sunset beaming on dry land, the smell of sand, sweat and gunsmoke in the air. It was all too familiar to him, the loneliness of it all. So when he gets a scent of old books and vanilla in the air, is it any surprise that it makes him stop dead in his tracks.
But when he goes to look for that smell again, it's like it was never there to begin with.
The heat of this desert wasteland can mess with ones mind, sending mirages and the like can distract and destroy ones intellect, one must stay diligent in a place like this at times like these. But memories are a fleeting thing and no matter how hard you try to block them out, they come right back with a vengeance confusing your avoidance for disrespect and not protection for the heart.
Walking through the streets of an old town, run down by years of age and one too many hardships tend to make a man like Vash melancholic. And yet sometimes if he really listened he could hear the sounds of laughter and singing, like echoes of ghosts from the past and memories of a different tomorrow.
The sounds of humming, like hers, soft with a slight rasp, too quiet to make out but confident enough in the silence of that little bookstore she owned. It was enough to draw him in like a siren in cool waters to a desperate lonely sailor.
He really shouldn't reminisce, for his and hers sake. What's done is done and there's no turning back.
But how could he help himself if every little thing reminded him of a love once lost.
It was an unusually hot evening that day, in the small town he had stumbled across. It wasn't even on the map and yet he had no choice since the last one had run him out with pitchforks and torches before he even had a chance to finish his breakfast.
He could still remember the sounds of their footsteps hurling towards him at speeds even he could barely keep up with.
At the time that little bookstore was like a safe haven for him, now it was like the bittersweet memories of going to a good local cafe for the first time right before it was torn down. A beautiful memory surrounded with the reality that you'll never get to see it again.
He could still feel the lift of weight off of his shoulders and the tightness of his chest when he first laid eyes on her, a beauty stuck in the ware and tear of an old established building, smaller then most and yet content in it's simplisty.
During the short time he stayed in that town, those were the times he'd look forward to the most, the time of day where he'd go and bother the pretty librarian down the street. She'd roll her eyes and pretend that she didn't care whether he'd stay or go, but he could see it in her eyes when it came time for him to leave, that she would miss his company the most.
Eventually, they'd meet each other outside of the library at the local bar, near the food market, even at the small festival held for the eldest member of the town.
Soon enough he was the one walking her home, taking her out to lunch, running errands for her.
He felt like such a fool that he didn't see it earlier, the glances, the longing stares when either of them thought that the other wasn't looking, hell even when the backs of their fingers would accidentally brush up against one another enough times to where it was getting harder and harder to wonder if it was truly an accident.
Was it selfish of him to linger in this, to pretend that all of the problems that came with being him wouldn't eventually follow and snap him out of this daydream for good.
Maybe so, but at the moment he wanted nothing more then to keep sleeping.
And maybe it was for that reason alone, that such a wake up call would show up when he least expected it.
Bounty hunters, rutheless and reckless in their methods, the kind that would stop at nothing until they got what they came for. He could still see the look on her face when she realized who they were there for, it's haunted him ever since.
A reminder of what he can't have, not until he rights his wrongs.
The fight was quick, but the damage was done and their was nothing he could do to fix it.
The townspeople wanted him gone, and after everything that had happened he couldn't blame them.
When he packed his things and made his way to the outskirts of town, she met him there. She still fought for him, when the townsfolk wanted him out as soon as possible, she argued against it even after the lies and damage he had done just by being there, she still cared for him.
But by then he had already made up his mind.
He could feel her eyes as he left, but he kept moving forward because he knew that if he had turned around to catch even just a glimpse of her, he'd struggle to leave.
She had left him a gift before he left, a small trinket to remember her by. To him that was enough, more than he deserved in his opinion.
Moonlight beaming on dry land, the smell of old dusty wood, sweat and alcohol in the air. It was all too familiar to him, the loneliness of it all.
The bar barely had people in it, at least at this time of night near closing all except the local drunkered and the bartender. For a man like Vash it was enough to make him melancholy, reminiscent of love long past and eras of peace, something a man like him wouldn't have for a long time now.
Vash didn't know what to think, if he was even thinking at that point, staring at the trinket he held in his hands, the flow of alcohol rushing through his veins and blushing his cheeks.
He should of been in bed by now, enjoying what little time he had left of his peaceful rest at this town at least until someone connected the dots which in his case should be soon given his track recored.
Years have passed since then, and yet he would still catch himself wondering about that librarian, eyes full of life, voice like a siren tempting him closer humming a tune he'd never heard before with a temper of someone whos lived enough of life to find even the smallest of pranks irritating and yet would make time for him.
Memories filled the lone man's thoughts like sand did on gunsmoke, impossible to avoid.
So when the scent of old books, and vanilla filled his senses is it any surprise that it would make him stop dead in his tracks, snapping him out of his thoughts like sunlight waking one up for the day.
"Is this seat taken?"
Thank you for reading, if you liked it likes and reblogs are appreciated but comments help a lot.
Content: MINOR DNI established relationship, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional sex, reunion sex, canon universe, post Eriks, p in v,
This fic is dedicated to my fantastic friend @twinklesilverstar
I am currently reworking all of my previous work, but please visit my AO3 as well.
You stood motionless as Angelina’s sputtering engine drew closer to the motel. Your chest squeezed tight; the long-awaited meeting was almost here. Wolfwood’s last call still haunted you: I found him, Snipes.
You dragged yourself off the mattress. Clutching the wall, you steadied yourself as the room spun. Fighting to maintain composure, you faced the mirror by the front door. Tear-streaked cheeks stared back. Wasn’t this supposed to be joyful? You reached for hope, but anger and betrayal surged, drowning any relief or happiness.
As the engine noise faded, you drew a shaky breath and braced yourself. Wolfwood would appear any second. Your eyes fixed on the gold doorknob, the final barrier between you and the unknown, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.
The lock clicked, the door creaked open, and for a brief instant, relief flooded you as Wolfwood entered. That relief quickly vanished, turning to disappointment and deep frustration, when you saw he was alone.
“Where is he?” You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but the words came out anyway.
Wolfwood stayed silent, leaning the Punisher against the wall and rolling his neck. The silence grew heavy with unkept promises—he’d sworn to bring someone back, but now stood empty-handed.
“Wolfwood, I said-”
"I heard ya the first time," he snapped—not with anger, but exhaustion. Frustration colored his voice.
“Don’t you dare use that tone with me.” The anger you’d strained to lock down burst free, each step toward Wolfwood fueled by rising frustration at his exhaustion and silence. Your voice shook as you advanced on him, unable to contain your emotion any longer.
Wolfwood kept his back to you. He offered no apology, refusing to meet your eyes, afraid you’d glimpse the sadness lurking behind his shades.
Since the incident in July, Wolfwood kept his promise to Vash. That tragic day remains seared in his memory: the unexpected explosion tore through the city, turning it to rubble in moments. Vash vanished in the chaos, lost among the smoke. Wolfwood personally searched for any signs of Vash, but found nothing.
“Look here, I got y'all a room next door,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bronze key. “Walk on over and talk to him yer self.”
Avoiding your quarrel, Wolfwood got you a room next door. He leaned against the wall, exhaustion heavy. He handed you the key, opened the door, and urged you forward. Adrenaline overcame any gratitude as you rushed to the next room. Hesitation froze your hand, straining for any sign inside.
He was right there, separated from you by only a thin wooden door and a world of uncertainty.
With a tight throat and parched mouth, you forced your trembling hand to grip the key, guiding it into the lock and twisting it. You flung the door wide open. The familiar scent of citrus and leather enveloped you as he slowly turned to look you in the eyes.
“Mayfly,”
For two years, you wandered the desert, weighed down by fear that Vash died in the blast. Sun baked the sand, wind mourned his absence, and hope came only from memories. His smile and laughter became lifelines. Hunger gnawed, but you clung to survival, sleeping in his jacket, his scent fading as it warmed you through the cold nights.
“Vash…”
Your vision blurred and burned as you traced every newly familiar line of him, jaw clenched against unsteady breath. The speech you’d practiced fractured on your lips—the anger you’d nursed dissolving instantly, overwhelmed by relief and longing at the sight of him. Through tears, you watched Vash fling himself at you, lips crashing into yours with wild, desperate need.
Your chest threatened to explode as Vash kissed you, stealing your words and your breath. He pulled your trembling body close, deepening the kiss until you gasped. With one hand, he quickly closed the door before sweeping you into his arms with your back against the wall.
“M-Mayfly…” he spoke against your lips, hot breath mixed with yours. “I fucking missed you….”
You whimpered at his confession, sure that if you spoke, tears and rage would shatter this fragile moment. Your fingers knotted in the loose threads of his blouse, clinging to the cream fabric as if it could keep you from falling apart. Neither of you cared if the fabric tore to shreds.
The kiss deepened, your lips just parting enough for his tongue to slide in. Citrus flooded your senses, and you pulled him closer until his teeth grazed yours, making him break away for just a moment. With your legs around his waist and his prosthetic hand braced on the wall, his free hand wandered, finally covering your breast.
If your eyes were open, you’d see his green eyes roll back at the sound of your whimpers. As he caressed your covered breasts, your fingers twitched, aching to feel the heat of his skin beneath your hands.
“I-I fucking hate you, Vash.” The words tumbled out, raw and trembling, as relief faded and the pain of betrayal resurfaced, unable to stay buried any longer.
“I know, Mayfly.”
Your hands finally abandoned the safety of his shirt, fingers fumbling to unfasten the round buttons of Vash’s blouse. You couldn’t wait another second, palms seeking out the warmth of his chest, while he, in turn, lifted the hem of your shirt. His cold hands pressed flat against your stomach, pulling a mewl from your lips, and then his fingers slid slowly up to cup your breast. Desperate for a firmer touch, you clung tighter to him. After two and a half years without his laughter, warmth, and the electric spark between you, you ached for the mornings waking up to his glowing eyes and lazy smile.
“Vash…” you moan his name again when he lifts the metal wire under your bra, and you finally feel him.
He can’t contain himself any longer. Hearing his name on your lips nearly unravels him. You groan in protest as Vash withdraws his hand and breaks the kiss—but only for a heartbeat. He needs to see you. He needs to make sure he won’t hurt you again.
Vash hastened toward the bed, dropping onto the mattress as his knees hit the edge. The kiss turned ravenous, hungrier than before, as you tumbled together onto the sheets. Nothing could shatter the spell between you.
You ripped his blouse away, tossing it aside, desperate for skin against skin. Your fingers mapped familiar scars and new marks, while Vash watched you, torn between pleasure and uncertainty. He seems to shrink, anxiety flooding his face as your hands explore his scars. He caught your hand, pressing trembling kisses to each fingertip, as if to apologize for every mark.
“Vash, let me–” you start to say, but stop when he stops mid-kiss to look at you.
His eyes burned with a wild, hungry need you’d rarely seen. He pinned your arms above your head, his prosthetic hand locking around your wrist. You felt his arousal as he ground against you, the heat between you almost unbearable. You ached for him to tear your clothes away.
Vash’s free hand traces a teasing path down your body, pausing over your belly. He bites his lower lip, flashing that sharp canine, sending a shiver through you. In one swift motion, he tears your shirt away and flings the scraps aside.
Vash bucks harshly against your clothed cunt, lips eager. He watches you succumb to sensation; his eyes roam, mixing desire and tenderness. They settle on your bra. He always removes your bras without damage now, recalling early days of tearing them off and your scolding about their cost—a soft chuckle escapes him. Playfulness glimmers in his eyes, but so does vulnerability, as he recalls time apart and the fragility of trust.
You squeezed your eyes shut as he slid the lace up your arm. The fabric brushes your sensitive skin. Vash let go of your wrist only long enough to toss the bra aside. He quickly pinned your arms again. His hips drove forward. He pressed his face between your breasts.
“Mayfly…” he whispers, closing his eyes and staying like this for a minute. Oh, how he missed having your soft skin against his cheek.
The moment trembled as another surge of anxiety seized him, knotting his chest and choking his breath. Shadows flickered behind his eyes; dread threatened to split open your hard-won peace.
You felt him bury his head against your sternum, his grip on your wrists growing weaker. Soon, warm tears dampened your skin. You slowly slid your wrists free, gently cradling his head in your hands. Guiding him, you shifted slightly to let him breathe against your breast.
You knew this feeling well. Vash always tried to outrun his pain, but it always found him. His soft sobs filled the silence as you gently threaded your fingers through his hair.
“I’m so sorry, Mayfly,” he keeps saying, and you only listen…
Vash looked up at you, trying to smile, but his red, tear-streaked eyes made your heart ache. You wiped his cheeks, desperate to comfort him, but words wouldn’t come.
For a moment, Vash closes his eyes and focuses his attention on the sensation of your thumb rubbing his cheek. Oh, how he’s missed this, holding onto your body tightly against his, the way his skin buzzes and electrifies with each stroke of your finger.
His body responded to you, but his mind reeled with memories of the last two years: loneliness, cold sweats, whispering your name into the dark. The flood of memory made him want to retreat.
“I-” but he doesn’t have a chance to continue, as you grasp his cheeks harder and pull him in for another kiss.
Even after all this time, you could read Vash like a book. The tension in his body, the furrow in his brow—you knew he was lost in self-destructive thoughts.
You offer gentle touches and soft kisses, washing away his intrusive thoughts and replacing them with longing. Vash whimpers into your mouth, then deepens the kiss, urgency building.
Everything between you was frantic, desperate to reclaim lost time. The air felt thick and stifling, but you couldn’t let go. He savoured your sweetness, your beautiful sounds echoing through the room.
“F-Fuck Mayfly…” he loops a finger onto your waistband, letting his fingers brush along your sensitive skin as he pulls your pants down. “I want my lips on-”
“N-No…” he moans, almost growling at him. “F-Fuck me now, Vash!”
Foreplay was something you both usually relished, but it had been two years—two impossibly long years.
Vash swiftly removed your pants and undergarments before slotting himself between your thighs and grinding his pelvis against yours. He leans further down, pushing your body to sink further into the mattress.
One hand cradled your neck, his forearm bracing his weight above you, while the other unzipped his trousers. He sighed into your kiss as his cock was finally freed.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, settling in as you spread your legs wide. A whine escaped you when his knuckles brushed your inner thigh, stroking himself.
He broke the kiss, gazing into your eyes—both of you breathless, utterly spellbound. He lingered, wanting to savour every second, until the tip of his cock brushed your clit and your soft moan pulled him back down for another kiss.
Vash let his cock rest against your cunt for a few heartbeats, unmoving, until your thighs squeezed him, pleading for more.
You gasped into his mouth as he slowly pushed inside, welcoming the stretch and the sweet ache as he bottomed out. His soft whimpers and the flutter of your walls around him were pure heaven. He was the first to break the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut as he fought to keep from finishing too soon. You felt the tremors in his body as his mind battled the urge to move.
“P-Please,” you whispered to him, closing your eyes now and pulling your knees closer towards your upper body. “M-Move love,”
He nodded against you, testing with gentle rolls of his hips. When your heel dug into his flesh, Vash lost all restraint.
“Snipes-” he’d groaned, his prosthetic arm reaching up and holding the headboard. You could have sworn you’d heard it crack under his palm.
Your name became his mantra, echoing through the room as he drove into you. Pleasure surged, overwhelming, until his lips brushed your eyelids, kissing away tears you hadn’t known were falling.
“I love you, Mayfly.”
He shifted, lifting your leg higher with a warm hand, desperate to reach as deep as possible. The tip of his cock brushes your cervix, sending a shiver through your core.
“V-Vash,” you gasped, as he found your most sensitive spot. He was the only one who had ever touched the places you kept hidden.
You pulled him closer, his chest pressed to yours, feeling the wild thunder of his heartbeat against your skin.
Vash’s rhythm grew wild, his knees nearly buckling as he drove into you. Only your names filled the air, lips swollen from hungry kisses. He kept finding that perfect spot, stoking the fire inside you. Euphoria crashed over you—years of passion finally set free.
His body tensed, movements turning erratic as he neared release. You followed, hand slipping down to circle your clit, desperate to chase your own climax.
“C-Can I?” he stuttered, and you nodded at his broken proposal.
He cried out, burying his face in your neck as he thrust hard, the build-up almost unbearable. You arched into him, rubbing your clit until the tension snapped and pleasure crashed through you.
Tears streamed down your face as you climaxed, your body clenching around him, pulling him over the edge. White feathers erupted from Vash’s body—a miracle you hadn’t seen since your first time. His wing unfurled, plant markings glowing, tears shining in his eyes. The sight was heartbreakingly beautiful.
“Mayfly-”
He choked on his words, struggling to steady himself. Still trembling from release, you cupped his cheeks, your thumb tracing his tears, the downy feathers, and finally his lips.
“I’m here, Vash,” you softly said to him, watching as his eyelid softly opened and stared back at you.
“I love you,”
That’s when you noticed it: a silver chain around his neck, holding a dark purple ring. The material matched his old prosthetic, echoing the teal ring on your finger.
“Oh, Vash.” You drew him down, his forehead pressed to yours again.
He remained inside you for a little longer, allowing both of you to catch your breath before slowly pulling out. You both gasp, the physical connection lost, but he allowed his forearm to support his body over yours. Vash let go of the headboard and took your hand in his.
Time seemed to freeze as Vash hovered over you, fingers laced with yours. His cheek feathers brushed your skin, making you chuckle. You glanced down to see tiny feathers curling around the teal ring on your finger.
“You still kept it?” At first, Vash doesn’t realize that he spoke out loud.
You blinked, then scoffed. “You’re an idiot, Vash.” Letting go of his hand, you wrapped your arm around his neck and kissed him softly. A giggle escaped as his feathers tickled your cheeks.
“I’ve missed this…” Your gaze drifted to the ring on his chain. One day, he’d tell you how, wandering the desert, he found a broken piece of his prosthetic and kept it close. As Erik, forging the ring became his way of holding onto his true self. Each bend of the metal was a silent wish to find his way back to you. The ring was more than a relic of the past—it was hope for a future where he could be whole again.
Vash doesn’t speak yet, trying to enjoy the feeling of having your soft knuckles brush along his chest. “I hope Wolfwood kept you well.”
A spark of mischief flickers inside you. Meeting his green eyes, you flash him a playful grin.
“Well, Wolfwood did keep my bed nice and warm most nights. It did help keep my mind off of you a couple of times.”
“W-Wait, what???”
He jolts at your words, dropping your hand, and for a moment you regret teasing him—until you catch the sly grin tugging at his lips. You swat his shoulder.
Warnings: Themes of guilt and emotional vulnerability, References to past trauma and loss, Mild language, Fluff and angst in equal measure. If I missed anything please let me know!
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the desert sky in hues of orange and pink. Vash sat cross-legged on the edge of a weathered cliff, fiddling with a scrap of paper he’d torn from an old, discarded notebook. His gloved hands carefully folded it into the shape of a plane, though the corners were uneven, and the folds were less than perfect.
You watched him from a few feet away, your arms wrapped around your knees. The wind tugged at your hair as you studied him—not the notorious outlaw the world feared, but the man who, despite everything, still found joy in something as simple as folding paper planes.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it carried weight. You’d both been through too much recently. A botched rescue mission, an entire town caught in the crossfire, and too many faces you couldn’t save. The screams still echoed in your mind when it was too quiet, a stark reminder of how fragile everything was. Vash carried the same weight, you knew, though he masked it well behind his sunny demeanor.
“Hey,” you called softly, stepping closer. “What are you doing?”
Vash looked up, his turquoise eyes shimmering like twin galaxies. He gave a lopsided grin, holding up the paper plane as if it were some grand invention. “Making something for you,” he said. “Think you can catch it?”
You tilted your head, your lips twitching into a faint smile. “Catch it? That thing’s barely holding together.”
He chuckled and tossed it gently in your direction. The plane wobbled in the air, caught an updraft, and somehow glided perfectly into your waiting hands. You caught it with ease, surprised by the unexpected precision. Turning it over, you noticed faint scribbles on the wings. Squinting, you read the words he’d scrawled in tiny, messy handwriting.
I’m terrible at showing it, but I’m glad you’re here.
Your breath hitched, the words catching you off guard. Your fingers tightened around the fragile paper, and for a moment, the warmth in your chest threatened to spill over. The ache that had settled there for days softened just slightly, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
“Vash,” you whispered, your voice trembling with something you couldn’t quite name.
He stood, brushing off his coat, and approached you with cautious steps. The wind tousled his golden hair, making him look even more like some celestial being lost on this desolate planet. But his eyes—full of guilt and longing—grounded him firmly in reality.
“I’ve been running my whole life,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “From the past, from enemies, from the things I can’t fix. But… I don’t want to run anymore. Not from you.”
Your hands trembled slightly as you lowered the paper plane, his words cutting through your defenses like a knife. He wasn’t just talking about himself—he was talking about you, too. You’d been running, too. From the wreckage of your old life, the scars left behind by people who’d once meant everything to you. You’d sworn never to let anyone get that close again, yet here you were, standing before a man who had every reason to keep you at arm’s length but chose not to.
“Vash,” you began, your voice firmer this time, “you’re not a monster. No one I know cares about people as much as you do. You’re kind, selfless, and endlessly compassionate. You will not hurt me.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but you stepped forward, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath the worn fabric. “You’ve been running for so long, but you don’t have to run from me. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll face whatever comes together.”
His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, he stared at you with a mixture of awe and disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Slowly, his hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with a tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine.
“You’re too good to me,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Stop saying stuff like that. You don’t get to decide what you deserve. That’s my job.”
His eyes widened, and then, to your relief, he laughed. A real, unguarded laugh that lit up his entire face. “Fair enough,” he said, his usual cheekiness returning. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I come with a lot of trouble.”
“Good,” you replied, a grin spreading across your face. You replied, “I would be bored otherwise.”
He pulled you into his arms again, resting his chin on the top of your head. The two of you stood there in the fading light, letting the silence say what words couldn’t.
The weight of his past wasn’t gone, but for the first time, it felt manageable. You both knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy—there were still battles to fight, lives to save, and wounds to heal. But for now, you allowed yourself to believe in this moment, in the fragile paper plane of hope he’d offered you.
The stars emerged, one by one, as the last light of day faded. “Hey,” Vash said suddenly, his tone teasing. “You dropped my masterpiece. That took a lot of effort, you know.”
You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “It was cute, but I think the person who made it matters more.”
He flushed slightly, scratching the back of his head. “You’re superb at this whole ‘making me feel special’ thing. It’s unfair.”
“Well, someone has to make up for all the times you doubt yourself,” you quipped, picking up the paper plane and holding it out to him. “Here. Maybe you can make another one that’s even better.”
He took it, but instead of fixing it, he tossed it back into the air. The wind caught it, carrying it higher and farther than before. You both watched as it soared against the vibrant hues of the night sky, a fragile yet persistent little thing.
“Like that plane,” Vash said softly, his gaze still on the horizon, “I want us to keep flying, no matter what. Even if the wind tries to tear us apart.”
You slipped your hand into his, lacing your fingers together. “We will. I promise.”
He turned to you, his expression full of wonder, as if you were the only thing in the world worth protecting. And in that moment, you knew: no matter what trials lay ahead, you’d face them side by side. Because with Vash, even a desert full of chaos felt like home.
Trans Trigun Week officially has prompts!
The event will run from June 24th to June 29th!
Spread a little trans joy and share your creations for trans hcs and our handful of canon trans characters!
Graphics by the dear @/hashtagcaneven
Text list for the prompts under the cut!
23. Gender Euphoria/Changes
I Deserve To Bleed by Sushi Soucy: "I wanna cover myself head to toe in super sexy scars / 'Cause I mean, aren't you supposed to burn if you're a star?"
24. Hair/Shaving
Boys Will Be Bugs by Cavetown: "I feel stupid (stupid), ugly (ugly) / Pretend it doesn't bother me"
25. T4T/Family
IDK If I'm A Boy by Blue Foster: "And I know that I've been breathin' / Different since I've got this feeling"
26. No-op/Post-op
Nvr Pass by She/Her/hers: "I'd rather live my life visibly trans / I'll never pass"
27. Gender Dysphoria/Acceptance
Norse Truth by Against Me!: "C'mon, shape shift with me / What have you got to lose? / Fuck it"
28. Clothes/Makeup
Boys Will Be Bugs by Cavetown: "I feel stupid (stupid), ugly (ugly) / Pretend it doesn't bother me"
29. Elendira/Zazie/Trans Joy
Chaotic Gender Neutral by Murder Person for Hire: "I'm here and I'm queer and I'm drowning in fear / And I wanna punch you in the face”
