Mer!Vash x Captain!Reader drabble :)
Word count: 1.5k
"This?"
You glance his way. "A button."
"And this?"
Another look. "A book awl."
"What do they do?"
You grunt, tying up the knot needed for your sails. "Marl," you call out to your grizzled shipmate. The old man stops in his hurried step toward the side. "Check the boiler, will you? Heard it clanking something fierce coming back last night."
"Aye, cap'n," he says, and about-faces. Not before giving Vash a wary eye, though.
Vash's tail, large and red as it is, taps the side of your schooner gently. He is patient, waiting for your attention to return as it always does. Has to be, you suppose, to hunt and catch and look for enough fish to feed himself. And find human trash, you think, turning back to the mer. He holds out the button first. Delicate in the long shape of his claws. "That's for clothing. We wrap the cloth around us and use the buttons to keep it together in the center." You pull at your shirt and show the dull brass buttons on your own.
Vash leans forward to look. The boat tilts ever so when he does, taking the weight of his bulk. You hear the nervous grumble of your newer men behind. A trill of interest escapes the mer's throat. Like birdsong. He looks back at his own button—rusted and dented as it is—with new appreciation. "For clothing," he mutters.
"And that," you continue, looking at the decrepit awl, "is for poking holes in pages, so we can sew them together to make a book."
You know the questions will come, and brace yourself. "What is sewing? And 'a book?'" He blinks, blues as heavy as the ocean staring back at you, "What are pages?"
"That is more than the five questions we agreed on," you remind him. He looks surprised, then sullen. His long blonde and black hair falls over an eye as he rolls the awl in his palm. Gods, it's like you kicked a puppy. With a sigh, you call over your shoulder: "Tonis! Bring me a book."
Your young apprentice goes ramrod straight by the rear sail. He trembles—such a small thing, you'll never understand why Rosa insisted on starting him fishing so little—but steps forward, digging in his oversized jacket. Out pops a little book. The gold lettering on the side and front are already too faded to read.
The little redhead leans as far as he can before handing the book over. You take it gently. Vash tries to shrink. He tries to give the boy a smile without his teeth, just like you practiced. Still, the kid whimpers and goes back to his duties with a quickness not unlike a rabbit escaping the wolf.
Vash blinks after him. "He did not smile back," he comments.
You snort and thumb through the little book in your hands. Opening to a random page, you flip it over and show the mer: "This is the thread holding the pages together. If we do that a bunch of times and put covers on it, it becomes a book. Books hold information. Words that stay." Vash tries to grab it, but you pull it away before he can. "This is Tonis'. You need to be gentle."
"Gentle," Vash nods, extending two fingers forward to touch the pages. And he is: gentle. With his claws, he traces the black ink of the book, eyes roving the language he has only begun to understand. "Words," he mutters, "that stay." He looks at you, quick, and asks, "Is this...picture?"
You aren't sure; you just opened it. You turn the book back and feel your cheeks heat. It's a simple drawing: a man and woman kissing each other on a balcony. It's not so much the image that riles you up, but that Rosa would have a conniption if she found out Tonis was reading a romance novel under your watch. Still, your lips tremble into a smile. "Yes. Picture. Drawing with ink."
"What are...they doing?"
With your brows lowering, you say, "Kissing. Do mer...do you not kiss?"
Vash shakes his head. His teeth show in a parting of lips, and you have your answer for why when those daggers show.
Blinking, you place a hand on your hip. "It's a form of showing affection to someone."
"Affection?"
"You know. Touching someone. Gentle. Love?"
He shakes his head again. His brows knit together like a book's binding.
"Oh," you say, the book thumping to your thigh. You look him over, this creature, this mer who is curious about everything that isn't in his world. Sharp claws, wicked teeth, a need to survive in harsh waters with harsher competition. It's no wonder he doesn't know what affection is. "Well it's...it's when you want to be close to someone."
"To fight," he murmurs, a sad glimmer entering his eyes. And wouldn't he know what that means. The scars scratched into his skin and his missing arm are enough to answer. But he brightens when you shake your head.
"No, not for fighting. For...hm." How do you explain affection to someone? Vaguely, you look over your shoulder. Your men are busy hauling in the day's catch, calling out to each other over the sails. You'll be needed soon. Just a captain's intuition. A ragged breath escapes. "I can't—"
Then, suddenly, his hand—large, far larger than any human man's—grasps your free wrist and pulls you to him. You want to say it is harsh, and you will later when the men ask what happened, but it is not; gentle, like the waves on a silver moon night, you are pulled to the mer. He gives you enough wiggle room to yank back. Your heart hammers. Mer are dangerous, this you know. But this mer...
Vash is curious. Eyes flickering like a midnight candle, he tilts his head. He is big. He is so big. And those big eyes look at your lips with the same curiosity he first came to you with months ago when he saved you from the waves. You've given him the knowledge he so wants so far.
Would showing him this be any different?
Salt. Brine. The call of seagulls overhead. His lips are there and gone. Then back again. They press, gentle, gentle, unsure and so so soft. You feel the whisper of a word he breathes: "Affection." Your lips move with his as he says, "Close."
"Cap'n!"
And then he's gone like salt in the breeze. Your world is suddenly open sea and ship again. You hear the splash of Vash vanishing into the waters. Marl rushes up, hand grasping your elbow and looking toward the railing. "Did he sing to ye? I told ye, I told ye—"
"No," you rasp, going to slap Marl off but grasping his hand instead. "No, I—"
A moment passes. Another. You have no good answer, tongue tied up in what just happened. Marl calls for Nella and Rogg to bring some alcohol as he leads you to the center of the ship. "I'll go get ye a blanket, jus' wait here," he mutters, tromping off to the quarters.
For a moment, you are alone. Your fingers go to your lips, tongue tasting the salt of his own left behind. You…just kissed a mer. A small laugh escapes. You kissed a mer and survived.
Small bootsteps to your left: Tonis, a confused look on his face. He opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it again. You beat him to the punch. "Saw all that, did you?" At his hesitant nod, you breathe out. "Don't tell the others. They're already scared enough I let Vash get so close. Keep it quiet. Here," you hand his book back to him and wink, "you keep my secret, I keep yours, yeah?"
Tonis grunts, his cheeks pinkening with embarrassment. He snatches the book and puts it back in his jacket. Again, you're reminded of a fleeing rabbit. Still, the kid stays, staring at you. It'd be unnerving if you weren't so used to stares from your men. It's what I get, you conclude, wiping away the last traces of the kiss with the back of your hand. They've got a captain that speaks with merfolk and even kisses them.
A sigh and a slap to your lap, and you're standing again. "Marl, no need for the blanket. Nella, Rogg, save the booze for when we get back. No, I'm fine—"
And you go about your day. Even with the prickling on your mouth and along your shoulders. Because you know more than your crew's eyes are on you out at sea.
A/N: MerMay I'm coming for you this year. 🔪🔪
