Tempest Wind (Vash x F!Reader)

Language of Flowers

What are these words that are coming out of his mouth? Vash is shocked, too stunned by his own brain. For the week he has been traveling with you after the incident in town, he has wanted to pull you closer, give you a tight hug, hold you, and take care of you the same way you seem to be taking care of him. All this time, his aches and pains, both emotional and physical, have found relief from you in one way or another. You have given him trust and comfort he hasn't felt in a long time. Vash thinks you might have been sent by a god, perhaps. He is so grateful for you, but seeing that you keep some distance between the two of you, not shying away but not coming closer either, makes him worried. He longs to be closer. It's like you draw him in; something about you is so alluring.

He had been able to keep himself in check while you traveled; he constantly felt on edge, not wanting to put you in a situation where you might get hurt. Seeing you go without food and water, no matter what you said, made him feel guilty. You constantly kept watch so he could rest; all of it grew heavy on his heart. He had felt so unsure of what to do. Going by your words might mean you are neglecting yourself, but pushing too hard might create a rift between the two of you. Now that you've reached a new town and seem to be safe, he feels massive relief. He can pay back your kindness, and you can relax a bit too. His head has been a mess of thoughts and ideas, but once he sees you exit the bathroom, everything is wiped clean. A million butterflies take over his stomach, filling his insides, his lungs, climbing up his throat. All he wants is to have you by his side, no matter what.

The words coming over his lips are barely his; he blames the fluttering in his stomach, his head so wiped he might have even forgotten his name at that very moment. Everything he says to seduce you comes from somewhere deep inside him. He feels so flustered; he is surprised he can speak at all. He is worried he might have done it now; he has gone too far, been too weird, but you don't shy away from him, not even a millimeter. Your face is so close to his that he feels you exhale. He has gotten used to the rampaging insects to the point where he knows he won't be able to say anything close to as smooth again, not without stuttering at the very least. So he turns his attention back to his gun, leaving you just as flustered as he feels inside. He doesn't want you to leave yet, so he stands in your way, ensuring you have to keep sitting there, right next to him, and he can steal a glance of you at any moment.

You look heavenly to him, sitting in that ray of sunlight, his glasses still on your nose, painting your face with an orange light where the suns shine through the lenses. The oversized shirt makes you look so warm and cozy. You watched him assemble his gun, your eyes never leaving his hands, the way Vash's movements seem to have a purpose, the way his metal hand moves just like a regular one. It is fascinating to you; the meticulous movements are like a performance. The way he flicks the gun to make sure everything moves smoothly captivates you. After a bit, your eyes stray out the window. You see the people moving in the streets, them going on their business; everything seems so peaceful, like there's no violence in this world at all. You feel so normal, like you could fit in with them. The thought of you mingling among them, living a calm and local life, brings a sad smile to your face that you don't even notice until Vash's human fingers trace over your cheek.

"Don't look so sad." His hand goes to rest on the back of the chair. "Can I cheer you up somehow?"

You look up into his pretty blue eyes; they look like endless wells to you. They remind you of water, but not the kind you are used to on this planet. They recall a memory from a different life, one that you no longer remember.

"I'm fine; there's nothing to worry about. It was just my mind wandering off." You assure him, still looking into his eyes. You see his hand move off the chair again from the corner of your eye. It's as if he can't stop himself; he places his palm on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. He feels how soft and smooth it is; it's a painful reminder of the scars covering his body.