Author's Note: Thank you for coming this far with me! Thank you for being patient and interacting with the updates! It means a lot to me! I will not turn my attention back to my Knives x Reader story Apple Blossoms, but I have every intention for another arc for this story too, it will just have to wait for a little while! I hope to see you again for another installment of this story! Until then, I hope my other series and oneshots will keep you entertained!
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Your carriage, in the form of a wheelbarrow, waits by the little path that leads away from the front door of Vash's cabin. The torrent of the river fills the air with its music, but you cannot see it slinking through the landscape as the vines creeping up one side of Vash's house create a tangled wall. The porch swing creaks with every little push of Vash's leg; his eyes remain closed as he enjoys the serene moment. You sit beside him on the hanging wooden bench, your head resting on his shoulder. Vash's arm around your back keeps the blankets from slipping off you. He brought you here after fishing you out of the pile of leaves, his stomach hurting from laughing so hard. You smile softly while you think about it. His face is like a painting in front of your eyes, filling your mind with warmth. You admired the laugh lines in the corners of his eyes and the wetness of his lashes that held on to the tears of joy. You're set on committing every single little detail about him to memory.
You open your eyes and see the pots of colorful chrysanthemums opposite to you on the porch, framing the front door in autumnal colors together with the different shaped pumpkins that have been strategically placed between them. You let your eyes trail down, from the decorations to the planks, down to Vash's knees, where you notice a little patch that has been hand sown, probably to fix a rip in his rugged pants. His right hand rests on his lap, playing with the stem of a leaf, but it looks pale, his fingernails taking on a slight purple hue. He looks cold, but not a single complaint escapes him. He wrapped you up in woolen blankets, tucking in your tail and making sure no cold breeze could reach you. Slowly you trace your fingers over your own lap, creeping them out from between the layers that cover you, moving cautiously towards his. Vash's cheek rests on top of your head, but you don't feel him moving in the least, except for the leg that pushes the swing, as you hesitate to reach out for his hand. Your fingers flex and curl as you try to make up your mind, but Vash makes the decision for you. His fidgety fingers drop the piece of foliage and reach out to entangle with yours. His skin feels cold against yours as he grabs hold, pressing his fingertips gently into the back of your hand. It makes you feel embarrassed at first, but the feeling is quickly replaced by a sense of comfort. It feels right. You hold on tighter, reaching out your other hand too, placing it over his exposed skin to shelter it from the chilly air.
Vash's arm tightens around you, no longer just resting on you but pulling you closer. His face shifts, messing with your hair as you feel his nose and lips brushing against your scalp. He breathes in, like preparing for a deep sigh, but instead he holds his breath; he is so still, pulling you close and holding your hand, as if he is afraid to scare a wild animal. The swing slows down, the creaks becoming stretched out. You remain frozen too, feeling like all this is a fleeting moment that will disappear like sand between your fingers.
"You kissed me once," he says quietly, his breath moving your hair.
"So you could breathe," you remind him. "You kissed me too."
"So I could breathe," Vash echoes your words, making your heart feel heavy.
He lifts his head, no longer leaning it against yours, but his grip remains just as firm. His shift makes your chest feel contracted. You feel guilt for telling only a sliver of the truth. You raise your head from his shoulder, still leaning your body against his, but looking up to see his cerulean eyes gazing tenderly back. You expected him to look sad or hurt, like the last time, but instead you are met with something a lot softer. The swing comes to a halt.
"I might have to do it again," Vash whispers, barely louder than the rushing river. "Because you take my breath away."
A pink blush paints his cheeks; it could be from the cold or from the words he spoke. Vash's eyes shift from yours to your lips, flicking back and forth as he gathers his courage. Facing down storms and sea monsters has nothing on the tread he feels now. It is so quiet in your little bubble, no creaking of the swing, no whisper of winds, even the river disappears into the backdrop. As his gaze settles more firmly on your lips, he leans in closer, slowly losing the gap between you. Your heart pounds in your throat, feeling like it might burst out of your chest at any moment. As surprised as you are, it takes you a second too long to understand, but once you do, your fingers grip his hand tighter as you push slightly upward, meeting his lips in a light kiss.
He embraces you tighter still, relishing the moment before pulling away slightly to rest his forehead against yours, like he has done before, but now a light sigh of relief escapes his lungs. A wide smile spreads across his face, and he whispers just as softly as before, "My Deep Sea Treasure."
You lift your hand that covers his, still holding on with the other. You cup his face, feeling the sharp jawline against your palm. You stroke upwards, leaving your thumb on his cheek while tangling your fingers into his blonde hair. He shifts beneath your touch, pressing his lips against yours again, this time less carefully, but without losing a single ounce of tenderness. He keeps you in his embrace as if he has no intention of ever letting go.
"How come we're always alone? Are there no other people around?" you ask him, voicing the thought that has been in your head for weeks.
"Not really; there is a house some ways away, but the old man only lives there during the summer; he has already left," Vash answers casually as he lays partially on top of you, his arms around your waist.
"What about wandering people? Do they stumble upon your garden often? I can't imagine just walking by if I were greeted by this overwhelming scent," you keep wondering.
"Well, there used to be people, mostly foragers and huntsmen, who came by fairly often," he continues, but you can't see his face that he has rested on your chest.
You run your fingers through his hair again, feeling the strands of silk slipping through your fingers before continuing to pry, "How come nobody has come by in weeks?"
"That's because I left some runes in the forest. I am no expert; I spent my life as a sailor before I learned to harness any magic. I only recently found out about runes and how to use them. One such spell is used to deter people from the area they protect. People will avoid coming here without even knowing."
"That sounds lonely. I thought you liked people."
"I do! But⌠I don't want them to find you. I have caused you enough suffering already. I promised to keep you safe, and I will!" Vash sounds resolute; there is no room for arguments left in his voice, but he still avoids looking at you. Instead, he presses his face more into the soft shirt you wear, his arms tightening around you in a desperate hug.
"All that for me?" You continue to comb through his hair, feeling a tinge of guilt in your chest.
"Of course! You will never be alone again. I promise to always be with you. I will keep your secret the best I can, even if there are others out there convincing the masses that your kind is not just a legend. I am on your side. Always. Forever."
"All of this is not your fault. It shouldn't be you protecting me; it should be the other way around. Or rather, I derailed your life. It is my fault that you were in danger. My inability to keep away is the cause for all of it," you remind him, the feeling of responsibility ever present in your heart.
"You saved my life. There is no debate. My life is better with you." He shakes his head, still hiding his face.
"Are you sure? I am not even human."
"I am sure. There is nothing I would rather have in this lifetime. There is nothing about you that I would ever change. You are perfect just the way you are." Vash speaks softly, finally raising his gaze. He looks tenderly at you, his eyes filled with love and sincerity, a smile on his lips. Vash releases his embrace around you to push upward, laying even more on you, making it feel almost claustrophobic on his narrow and faded couch.
"You are beautiful," Vash says, giving your lips a quick peck. "Enchanting," he continues, pressing his lips to your cheek. "Breathtaking." A kiss on the other cheek. "Stunning." A kiss on your forehead. "Gorgeous." A kiss on your nose. "Astonishing." Another kiss on your lips.
You can't help but smile at his antics, wrapping your arms around his neck as he keeps leaving little smacks all over your face. It makes you both giggle. He explores every inch of your face with his gentle lips, making you feel loved and cherished. As he reaches your mouth again, his kiss is more insistent, pressing harder against yours, sending sparks of electricity through your body. You feel the confidence in him, the absolute certainty that he carries with his words. There is no lie to be found in anything he said. He means it all.
He pulls away only to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. His large body lays heavy on top of yours, compressing your lungs and making it harder to breathe, but it brings comfort with it, too. Your hands run over his back, tracing the bumps of his spine and feeling the raised skin of his scars. His body is warm even through the cotton shirt he wears. If only you could freeze time and stay in this moment for the rest of your days. Maybe you could even forget about the past.
Vash's lips touch your skinâa spot on the side of your neck where a scar still resides. It's almost a circleâtooth marks where the merciless jaws cut into you and tried to pry the meat from your bones. Vash knows every single one of those. He has counted the scars that litter your body; he can recognize them all by touch. He treated the wounds that preceded them; he cleaned them with care and precision, and he watched as each one slowly healed over time. You're sure they are temporary; they will fade into nothing, just like the fragmented memories of the changelings that gave you them all. Vash keeps returning to the one on your neck and the ones on your forearms. He often kisses them tenderly, as if trying to make them disappear with his love. But they remain stubbornly imprinted on your skin for now.
Your gaze shifts from Vash's shoulder to the small window. Vash has placed as many plants on the narrow sill as he could fit, blocking out most of the outside forest that has turned darker and blander now that all the leaves have fallen and the frosts have begun to settle in. Like this, you could forget about the impending winter. Just as you are about to close your eyes, a dark shadow covers whatever little light comes through the window. As the bird settles on the long, empty flowerpot on the outside, it folds its wings and tilts its head. The crow looks in through the window, from between Vash's plants with its piercing black eyes, as if studying you with a sense of curiosity and intelligence. It pecks at the glass, catching Vash's attention, who pushes up to look over his shoulder, but at the same moment, the crow suddenly takes off, leaving behind a few scattered inky feathers.
"What was that?" Vash asks, turning his gaze back to you.
"Just a bird," you answer simply, smiling at his curiosity.
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i have two personalities when im writing. one is "omg this is the easiest thing in the world. i just pumped out 3k words without any trouble" and my other one is "if i write another goddamn word im gonna throw my computer out the window and jump after omg why are they still talking"
Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader
Summary: Something shiny catches Vash's eye while browsing the market.
Content: fluff
Word Count: .8k
Truly, it's incredible what humans have managed to create out of so little. Take the sandsteamer Vash stands on nowâbuilt piece by piece from the remnants of ships that once fell from the sky. Vibrant stalls spill out across the walkway as he browses the market, each bursting with its own personality: the warm sizzle of street food frying in wide iron pans, shelves of tools and weaponry, shimmering under the sunlight, meant to aid bounty hunters in their next pursuit (he gives that one a wide berth), tapestries and paintings and intricate sculptures, creations born of steady hands and aching hearts.
But delicate metal ringsâespecially ones crowned with a gleaming red gemstone, shining like a drop of sunlight caught in oreâare rare.
Vash doesnât usually stop for jewelry. Too flashy. Too impractical. Too⌠hopeful, and far too expensive for someone constantly on the move, constantly scraping by. It's the sort of thing someone with roots might buy. Someone with a future.
But this one.
This one stops him cold, and he finds himself reaching for it. Not because he needs it.
But because, for one quiet, heart-stopping moment, he imagines how beautiful it would look on your finger.
âSee something you like?â the vendor calls, eyes twinkling knowingly.
Vash startles a bit, fingers already curled around the little ring. He looks up like heâs been caught red-handed. âUh. Maybe.â
The vendor leans forward on their elbows, looking at him with a practiced eye. âThat oneâs not cheap, yâknow. Real gemstone. Came from one of the old ship wrecks. Not many of those left.â
Vash turns the ring slowly in his fingers, watching the way it catches the light. It gleams like it's always belonged to someone special.
He swallows. âHow much?â
The vendor names a price, and Vash winces. Thatâs more than a few meals. Maybe even a few weeksâ worth. Spending it all on something so small, so impractical to a man on the run, borders on reckless.
But he doesn't put the ring down.
âNeed a box?â the vendor asks, already reaching below the stall.
ââŚYes, please.â
âBox is extra.â
Of course it is.
He exhales slowly, taking out his wallet and counting out the last of his double dollars before he slides the bills across the counter. âFine.â
The vendor chuckles, already easing the ring into a small, felt-lined boxâcareful, deliberate, as if they know just what kind of thing this is. âRomantic type, huh?â they say lightly, snapping the box shut. âHope theyâre worth it.â
âThey are,â Vash says, almost too quietly.
The vendor hands over the box with a nod and a smile that, for all its mischief, carries a kind of understanding. âPleasure doing business.â
Vash takes it like itâs something fragile. Sacred.
Youâve seen him at his best and at his worstâand somehow, impossibly, youâre still here. Still choosing to be by his side. And he wants to keep you there. He wants that more than anything.
Itâs selfish. He knows that.
But even as he tucks the little box carefully into his pocket, feeling the familiar emptiness of his wallet in the other hand, he knows heâd have paid twice as much if he had to.
âVash!â
Your voice rings out above the noise of the crowd, light and unmistakable. His head snaps up, a little too quickly. Youâre weaving your way through the stalls, smiling as you spot him.
He panics, jamming the box deeper into his coat pocket, and he forgets about the wallet still hanging limply in his hand.
âThere you are!â You reach his side, slightly breathless. âIâve been looking all over. Whereâd you run off to?â
âAh, well, yâknowâŚâ He tries to sound casual, trying to hide the guilt on his face. âBrowsing.â
âBrowsing, huh?â You raise an eyebrow. âFind anything good?â
He shrugs, eyes darting to the side. âA couple things. Nothing crazy.â
You glance down. âWaitâhow much did you spend?â
ââŚA lot.â
You stare at him. Then at the sagging wallet.
âVash, holy shit, what did you buy?!â
Crap. Think. Think.
âUhh⌠food.â He winces. âSnacks.â
You blink. âDid you save any for me at least?â
âN-No.â
âYou glutton! I swear, your stomachâs bottomless sometimes!â you scold, but there's laughter behind your words, amusement softening the edge.
He chuckles weakly, scratching the back of his neck. âGuess I got carried awayâŚâ
You shake your head, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. âYouâre lucky I like you.â
He smiles, helpless in the face of you.
Noâhe wonât ask you to stay. Not yet. He wonât ask you to tie your future to his uncertain one. That would be cruel. You deserve a life of ease, of peace, not one spent dodging bullets and bounties.
But if the day ever comes when he lets himself fully surrender to the quiet, burning want that fills him every time he looks at you, to the dream of watching the years shape your smile and your laugh lines, to the longing to watch how time paints its story into the lines of your faceâheâll be ready, with a pretty ring, nestled safely in his right-hand pocket.
Then again, maybe the moment he bought it... he already gave in.
