Snezkinky

20+ / snz kink / trigun🫶

[whoran2]

Dying Quietly 1/2 (Request)

M/M: Vash/Wolfwood

Word Count: 2.7k

SICK/SNZ FIC

hurt/comfort, vash ignoring his needs and wolfwood taking care of him <3333

thank you @secretly-an-alien-oops for this idea, I hope you like the first half of this!!

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A quiet lull has settled over the room, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock that's probably an hour off anyway. This fact doesn’t stop Vash from staring at it from his vantage point on the bed. Wolfwood lies on the other side of him, snoring peacefully, unaware of the mental turmoil of the man beside him.

A sick feeling had been gathering in Vash over the last few days. Headaches, a sore throat, and clogged sinuses were all symptoms that he knew well enough to recognize—the past three weeks had been a dizzy blur of traveling and running from city to city in order to stay safe. Clearly, his immune system wasn’t happy with the lack of sleep, food, and water.

Medical care was also out of the question, even his prosthetic arm seemed to ache with the burn of a fever he’d rather ignore. A slight tickle suddenly burns in his nose which has him rushing to muffle a fit of sneezes into his wrist “h’ishh, hh’tishh, k’itshhiew, h’ishhuew” Wolfwood shifts beside him and Vash instinctively stills. When the other man seems to remain asleep, the blonde slips out of bed to shower before they leave in an hour. Maybe if he’s lucky the steam will clear his sinuses out enough to stop him from sneezing constantly on the drive. 

Unfortunately, the shower water is freezing and just causes him to cough as he quickly rinses off. The fits have taken on a rough quality that wasn’t there yesterday and for a moment Vash allows himself to wallow in self-pity as he gears up to face his boyfriend.

There's no doubt that the man already suspects something but it’s not like they can stop and wait for him to recover, and they certainly don’t have the funds for things as trivial as medicine. One more deep breath is all he gets to prepare before he steps out of the freezing bathroom and into the slightly warmer bedroom.

Wolfwood is standing by the Punisher adjusting its straps with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Nothing out of the ordinary and Vash simply continues to his side of the bed where he grabs the few things he threw down there last night.

The smoke from the cigarette causes his sensitive nose to react harshly though and he doubles over in a fit, “hh’ishh’ew, t’ishhhiew, hh’HH’ISHiew” The last sneeze comes out harsher and he instinctively says “Sorry” before sniffling quietly. Wolfwood turns his head for a second before he mutters “bless” under his breath and returns to his work. 

Within a few minutes, the priest had finished his adjustments and hoisted the cross onto his shoulder, and walked to the hotel door. Vash followed quickly after and stared at the ground as they made their way to the car. There was a chill in the air that seemed to have worsened overnight and he held back a barrage of shivers as he got in the passenger seat.

Wolfwood throws the Punisher in the backseat before settling himself behind the wheel. The black sunglasses that usually cover his eyes slip down a bit so that he can look Vash up and down. Suspicion carves itself into his forehead as he squints at the blonde man. 

“You doing alright Needlenoggin?” Comes the gruff question. 

Vash laughs, fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat, “Yeah! Just a bit tired I guess.”

Tired is an understatement, he barely slept last night between the congestion and muffling coughing fits into the blankets. Pain stabs the area around his eyes and forces him to wince despite trying to remain lighthearted. Wolfwood, to his credit, has enough decency to ignore the blatant lie and simply hand the blonde the sunglasses he was just wearing. 

“Sleep for a little while. I don’t give a shit” the dark-haired man mumbles while shoving another unlit cigarette between his lips. Wolfwood hesitates for a second before returning it to its carton in his pocket. 

Vash places the sunglasses over his eyes and instantly feels his headache calm a bit, soothing an ache he had been willing to just sit through. 

“Wake me up when you want me to drive okay?” Comes the soft ask. Wolfwood just nods in response. The gentle hum of wheels against the sand lulls Vash into an uneasy sleep as he drifts off. 

The suns are beginning to set when he wakes up again with his head pressed into a warm, solid, surface. Tiredness continues to wash over him until he comes to his senses. His head is resting on Wolfwood's gentle arm as he leans awkwardly over the gap between them. From here he can feel every inhale and exhale, every heartbeat and shift.

Something is soothing about how comfortable this moment is, without the pressure to pretend he doesn’t want it. Of course, nothing lasts forever and Vash is forced to jerk away twice in succession “h’ish’hhh, ih’tshiew” 

“Bless” comes the murmured reply and the blonde can feel Wolfwood's eyes on him as he sniffles weakly. 

The sunglasses he was given before he fell asleep rest in his lap, another reminder of the kindness he can’t repay. “You didn’t wake me up” he accuses when he notices the sunset outside. Hurt slips into his tone for a moment before he regathers his thoughts patiently. 

Wolfwood just grumbles and turns away, hands gripping the wheel like there are actually roads in the desert. “We aren’t that far from town” After a beat of silence and a curious look from Vash he continues “And you looked like you needed the rest”

That definitely isn’t the answer he was expecting. Maybe something more along the lines of ‘you’re a shitty driver and I’m not putting my life in your hands’ not genuine concern for his well-being. It feels uncomfortable in his chest, like he’s been given a handful of pearls without pockets to drop them into. They rattle like loose change between his fingers, slipping and clicking before dropping onto the ground. 

“I’m fine Wolfwood!” He laughs easily, too sharp and too bright for the time of day. 

The priest just glances at him and sighs. “We have like ten minutes til we get to town okay? I can do that, just rest for a bit longer”

Vash feels a bitter taste coat his tongue despite the kind nature of the words. The next sentences from his mouth are sharp and dripping with venom. 

“Seriously, you’ve been driving all day. Let me give you a break”

The back of a hand is pressed to his forehead before he can even process what Wolfwood might be trying to do. Crimson hues fill both their faces as the brunette makes eye contact while still checking his temperature. He stumbles over his words for a second before saying “That’s a fever darlin’. You need to rest.”

Vash freezes, taken aback by the genuine burst of concern, “Wolfwood-“

“Sleep a bit longer Vash. It’s alright” he motions to his arm again which ignites a twinge of hurt in the blonde’s chest. This gentleness isn’t normal, and the kindness he’s extending isn’t something Vash can actually take. He’s so selfish, so incredibly selfish that for a moment he almost lies back down on Wolfwood's arm to soak up the dormant heat that he knows lies just beneath the surface of his clothes.

Something stops him though, some unnamed force with an iron fist and cruel words has him resting his head on the window. Bright light shines into his eyes from the setting sun, and the uneven sand causes his temple to slam into the glass more often than he’d like. The pain grounds him, tethers him to reality as he comes to terms with the comfort that he received but doesn’t remember due to drifting off.

Sleeping that long isn’t normal for him either and he shivers with his head against the surprisingly cool glass. The chill is both welcome and harsh against his feverish skin. A storm of guilt and fear brews in him silently until they reach the hotel. By the time Wolfwood stops the car his heart is hammering wildly and he’s counting breaths as he tries not to pass out from sheer anxiety.

Everything is too much, he is too much and his boyfriend probably wants to get a separate room tonight. This realization cuts him like a knife, the dull blade hurts even more as it twists into his heart. It’s logical. They can’t both get sick and even if he somehow manages to keep his disease to himself, he’ll still keep Wolfwood up and his lover doesn’t deserve that.

There's no reason for him to want to share a bed with the man right now. But Vash has always been selfish, that probably won’t ever change, the least he can do is try to give Wolfwood some space tonight even though every fiber of his being aches to be held. 

After checking that his partner is unloading the few things they need Vash walks into the shabby hotel lobby. Stains litter the ceiling and an old woman with black glasses sits at the front desk. The blonde walks up to the counter and clears his throat before croaking out “Two rooms please”. He must truly sound terrible because the woman moves back slightly and tosses him two keys without even looking up.

When she speaks it’s barely above a whisper and he tosses the money onto the desk. The hallway to their rooms is dusty and he ducks into a quick fit “h’tishhhew, ‘ishhhiew, hH’mpshiewww, kHH’ISHEW” the last sneeze slips out unmuffled and his cheeks take on a crimson hue as Wolfwood blesses him. Carrying the Punisher and a few other things,

he walks down the hall following his lover with the same amount of casual concern that makes Vash twitch nervously. The blonde stops in front of their two rooms and hands both keys to the other. Wolfwood stares at his hand for a second before speaking “Why the hell are there two keys needlenoggin”

Vash sniffles, trying to hold back a sneeze, “You cahhh, hHH’etchew, hH’ISHieww, hH’emphshuu, sorry. You can pick which one you wahhhh h’ZHSHiewww, k’iSHHIEW, sorry. Which one you want.”

Wolfwood stares, confusion and frustration for the tired man in front of him is written all over his face. He clenches his hand around the two keys before asking “What?”

Vash blushes, nose running against his will as he mumbles out “I know I’m kinda of well-“ he motions to his face, “gross right now, I figured you’d want a different room so you wouldn’t catch this.” Heat rises to his face as tears well in his eyes. How pathetic. Crying over something he should’ve already accepted. The blonde stares at the ground while his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Wolfwood is probably so mad at him for being so dramatic over a small cold. He just had to draw attention to it, as if coughing and sneezing the entire way here wasn’t enough. No, he was so selfish that he had to waste their money to make his own illness something that couldn't be ignored.

Now he was forcing Wolfwood to acknowledge that he was sick. There was no out, the out he needed to leave his boyfriend had been forgotten in his fight to protect him. All he’d done was anger the man and make more work for everyone.

He was work. Nothing but hard, difficult labor. Tears drip onto his coat as he awaits the harsh words. Vash is sobbing like a child in the hallway of a worn-down hotel and all he can focus on is the way that the carpet is peeling up off the floor beneath him. The shag carpet is an ugly dirty color, stained beyond recognition, and stiff under his boots. 

Wolfwood sighs and the blonde flinches at the sudden sound, breath catching as he tries not to have an outright breakdown. “Cmon Vash let’s go inside real quick” comes the soft request. His feet obey the words before he realizes how he’s betraying himself. Water blurs his vision until he’s led to the mattress. Wolfwood rubs his real arm soothingly, muttering quiet reassurances that he doesn’t deserve. 

“I’m sorry” he coughs out, chest aching with fear and desperation. Wolfwood has to know, he has to know that he didn’t mean to waste the money. “It was a bit dramatic wasn’t it? Getting a whole different room just because I thought I might be sick.” He chuckles, though it’s broken and sharp, as his fingers dig into his thigh. 

“Vash… you are sick,” Wolfwood responds, voice dripping with care. “I’m not mad at you and I don’t think you’re dramatic”

The blonde laughs even harder, gasping for air in between each shiver of his shoulders. “I’m crying on your bed over a small cold. You should be mad.”

Wolfwood pulls him into his chest, hands circling around the other man’s back as he promises “I’m not mad. I’ll never be mad about something like this. You’ve got a high fever, your emotions have to be out of whack.” 

Vash just sobs harder at the embrace, wanting to pull away but this is the first time he’s felt comfortably warm today and he can’t imagine leaving it already. Unfortunately, a tingle in his nose makes the decision for him and he stutters out a sentence “Wolfwood, pleahhhh’uh I need to hehhh sneehh’hhETSHUEW, k’tishhIEW, hH’NGZSHUuu”

Vash ducks into his fist trying to contain the messy sneezes. Wolfwood keeps a hand on his back but otherwise lets go of him to grab a tissue from the box on the nightstand. Tears flow down the blonde’s cheeks freely, cutting through the sweat and grime of a day spent traveling in the desert. Dark brown eyes meet his watery blue ones with a look so sincere and honest that Vash chokes and turns away as he wipes his nose. A firm hand rests on his shoulders and he shivers at the contact. 

“Talk to me, darling. What’s going on? You didn't actually think that I’d kick you to a separate room while you’re sick?” Is the quiet ask from his lover. 

Vash sniffles pitifully, hands shaking as he tries to wipe his eyes, “I mean it would make sense. Especially cause I slept on you earlier. I know I kinda get extra needy and whiny when I’m sick, so I just wanted to save you the trouble. I’m sorry for falling asleep on you earlier by the way I don’t know what came over me I just-“ 

“Vash.” Wolfwood interrupts him, voice strained as he grabs his boyfriend’s hand. “I’m never going to turn you away when you’re not feeling well. Being needy is okay, I want to help you. You know that right? Please don’t apologize for letting me help.”

The blonde just blinks, surprise clear on his face as he takes in the words. “But I’m like clingy, and gross. I don’t want you to catch this.”

“Shhhh it’s alright, I like it when you cling to me. I don’t think you’re gross. And if I do catch this then I’ll be okay. I’d much rather be here for you.”

Vash sobs again, falling into Wolfwood this time, tears soaking his shirt. Strong arms hold him upright as his boyfriend softly speaks into his ear. 

“I’m gonna go to the front desk and return the other key alright? And then I’m gonna come back and take care of you.”

Something in Vash crumbles at that statement and he curls into a ball at the bottom of the bed. Wolfwood gently brushes his hands through the other man’s hair a few times. Wiping sweat from his forehead before leaning forward to kiss his temple. He leaves Vash underneath a thin blanket to sit and shiver while he walks to the desk. The blonde man watches him go. The door opens and closes in his peripheral vision and then he’s alone once again. 

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The next part will be out whenever I don’t have COVID anymore </3 Most of this was written when I wasn’t sick, i just decided to write abt 300 more words and post it in halves. Next chapter we get lots of comfort and fluff + a shower scene and medication bribery!!! Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!

[weak-painkiller-deactivated2026]

Just gonna post a little vashwood drabble because I have no idea where to go with it. Someone give me the power to write a whole fic

It was becoming routine. Vash was probably unaware, but this little quirk had caught more than Wolfwood's eye.

The two exited the inn they had stayed at last night. Vash leading the way, and Wolfwood following close behind. A part of Wolfwood knew what he was doing, but he was still in denial about MOST feelings he felt towards the spikey haired fool.

Annoyance, yes. Protective, vash was a walking hazard, so yes. These were feelings he could accept, but this? This was something he was not trained for.

And now here he was walking behind the humanoid typhoon because Wolfwood knew what was going to happen, and a selfish part of him wanted, needed, to watch it unfold.

Vash stepped down the stairs into the morning sunlight. It was quick. A rushed inhalation of breath and he bent at his torso. “heh’kshu!”

Wolfwood didnt realize he had stopped breathing. A warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, an urge to say something, but some kind of nerve made him silent to it all. Wolfwood's cheeks felt hot, and he wanted to punch the blonde for doing this to him.

“Ik'shu!” Vash let out again, now bringing a hand to his face as if this caught him off guard and he didn't do this nearly everytime he stepped out into sunlight.

Vash turned to look at wolfwood, who was frozen on the last step. He smiles that bright smile, a finger rubbing the underside of his nose. “Bless me!”

Wolfwood's blood pooled far away from his brain. He wanted to say he hated this idiot, but hate was not the emotion he was feeling in the moment, and he was too afraid to use another term. Hate was safe, but this made him feel vulnerable.

[bestwhumpist]

lionfish

next little long part of my t6ri5gun au that i don't know how to name or censor ToT thank you all! :D

sf tags: common cold, medicine stuff, allergy conversations, obstinate caretaking, fever, intermittent fetishist pov other tags: pov switching (meryl-ww-vash), some worldbuilding and character reveal stuff, meryl’s crush on milly is in here lol warnings: some discussion about class and money and power imbalances (what do you call this? richphobia? lol)

When he snags Meryl from her apartment on their way to work, Wolfwood isn't himself.

It’s unfortunately one of the very few days that Meryl would prefer to ride the bus with regular Wolfwood, who is usually very reliable. She can count on his pestering to keep her out of her head, and it figures that he’d show up all wrong and weird when she could really benefit from getting annoyed by the guy who uses up too much space and takes absolutely nothing seriously.

Instead, she’s accompanied by this weird, soft-voiced doppelganger who can’t stop spacing out and seems hesitant to touch her. It’s unsettling. She’ll be upset if he doesn’t snap out of it soon.

“Milly and I are testing customer service in five different buildings today,” she tells him, hurrying her pace so she can keep up with his longer legs. They have a good couple minutes and no reason to hurry, but Meryl won’t complain about being early. “She hasn’t done the whole ‘secret shopper’ thing yet, and I’m not sure which area to send her to. Where will you be today?”

She hears the grit of his secondhand loafers scuffing stray sand along the pavement. He squints at the sun.

“Hello?” she says.

“Uh…” Curiously, he angles his head down toward her. “What?”

“Never mind,” she says. Maybe she’ll ask again later, or find out from Vash. “Did you get enough sleep last night?”

Distractedly, he says, “Uh-huh,” and drags a palm down his face, blinks, then puts both hands in his pockets. Wolfwood usually smells like smoke and incense in the morning and after his breaks and honestly most of the time in general, but it’s absent from his clothes today. “Did you?”

“I wasn’t making small talk,” Meryl clarifies, because she can be direct with Wolfwood and not worry about any fallout. He doesn’t seem to think hard enough to get offended by her bluntness. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m dandy,” he says gruffly.

Meryl huffs. “Sounds like you need a cigarette.”

“Yeah,” Wolfwood says, but his hands stay in his pockets. Meryl tries again, more gently like Vash would do.

“Or something to drink? There’s a cooler stand up ahead.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

God. She can’t take it. Overanalyzing her own behavior isn’t supposed to start until she clocks in, especially not around Wolfwood. Whatever’s going on with him can be Vash’s problem today, she decides.

With a sigh, Meryl releases her tension and resolves to finish the walk in silence.

-

A lick of regular Wolfwood shows up when the bus pulls in and he steps back, palm up with his head bowed in a gesture to usher her in first. Usually he makes more of a show when he’s being chivalrous, like he’s making fun of the concept but not willing to let it go, but there’s no real playfulness today.

It’s actually creepier like this. Meryl would prefer if he shoved ahead of her and forgot she was there, because at least then she could ignore him back and stop trying to solve him. She’s got enough on her mind.

“Hey. You got any cash?” Wolfwood says to her, leaning down close after Meryl punches her card. 

“For real?”

Since the other commuters are watching them, Meryl reaches for the strap on her backpack so she doesn’t look stingy or hold up the ride. Her hand stills when she realizes how much of a pain it will be to shrug it off; the space is too narrow. Her transit card has five rides left, so she rolls her eyes and sticks it back in the machine to let Wolfwood through.

“Why haven’t you gotten the prepay pass?” she asks as he follows her to the center of the bus. “I know it isn’t as advanced as a tap-card, but it’s gotta be better than carrying coins around.”

“Nah,” Wolfwood says. He lets her take the window seat as always, then slumps down next to her as she gets settled with her bag on her lap.

“They have an app for people who take the ferry, if you can believe it. It’s way more convenient,” Meryl continues as she takes an earbud from its case. The bus jerks as it heads for the bridge, and Meryl grabs the handle on the seat in front of her to keep from flying forward. Dully, she adds, “Ride’s a lot smoother, too.”

“That how things work in Boston?” Wolfwood asks. He’s got his sunglasses pulled down now, but Meryl can see the drowsy eyelids in his profile as he stares forward.

She looks at him anyway. “How did you know I’m from Boston?”

Wolfwood shrugs and turns his head. The corner of his mouth ticks up.

“Must’ve heard it somewhere,” he says, and that’s a little better, but now Meryl’s got her own entertainment to self-soothe with and doesn’t need his personality to distract her anymore. With her gaze resting on teal seawater through the smudges on the window, Meryl opens her media player and allows Wolfwood to zone out.

In the meantime, she uses a notepad to bullet down the streamline of responsibilities waiting for her at work. Mostly, it’s drafting an itinerary for Milly and figuring out which elements of their review are important enough for her attention. Fieldwork is certainly more straightforward when they’re confined to the resort, but it’s far less exciting than any exhibits on the main island. Too bad most of their guests aren’t as interested in those.

The problem with Milly is that she’s a horrible litmus test for customer service. She’s nothing like most of the patrons that the staff encounter, and she has one of those agreeable personalities that you can’t help but like. Everyone takes well to her, even when she doesn’t know what she’s doing. It’s probably why she got the job in the first place, because she’s certainly not fit for its responsibilities. 

Meryl would know, since she’s the one who hired her.

It does make her a good candidate for espionage, though. If she and Meryl were to loiter and observe the staff closely, they’d probably get away with it. Meryl is practiced at staying under the radar, especially in a familiar environment, and Milly’s face isn’t very recognizable even though it is a pretty one.

She stops herself before she writes that part down. Milly, unfortunately, is often a major distraction. Meryl begins to write down options for recreation to keep her mind in the right place, alphabetizing the genres as a warm-up. It gets her into the zone so much that she barely registers the sound of Wolfwood sneezing next to her.

“HEHGKTtch!”

“Bless you,” Meryl mumbles on reflex as she continues writing. Cabana, Casino, Casual dining. Cultural immersion. Dancing. Education. 

“…Thanks,” Wolfwood says after a moment, when Meryl is crossing out casual to make dining into its own category. She moves onto Excursions and considers whether their department budget would pay for the two of them to tag along on a charter tour. Maybe if Milly is the one to ask for it.

Not like either of them would be dressed for that, though. They’d have to buy something to wear. Perhaps they could start in the village shops and make their way down to the beach. That might work. Milly’s never played tourist for a day, at least not undercover, but they could have a chance of pulling it off so long as she keeps quiet

“Hi, Mr. Wolfwood! How’s your cold coming along? Are you feeling better?”

…What?

In a stupor, Meryl lifts her chin and registers Milly’s presence immediately, checking herself to make sure she isn’t having one of those dreams where she can summon a person just by thinking about them. No, Milly is definitely here, leaning down to keep her head from hitting the curved ceiling and smiling peacefully like it doesn’t hurt her back.

Wolfwood seems equally surprised.

“Come again?” he says blearily.

But Milly has moved on. Her eyes light up even further, cheer pouring through her voice as she says, “Miss Meryl, I had no idea you were riding this bus too! I didn’t notice you down there.”

For god’s sake.

“Milly, what are you doing?” Meryl says. She doesn’t mean to hiss, but people are staring again and Milly needs to keep her voice down. “Sit down before you fall over.”

The bench in front of them is unoccupied and an entire step closer to the ground, but Milly still towers over the headrest when she sits on it backwards and perches on her knees. At least now she’s got something to hold onto.

“I decided to get on early, since you said today was important,” Milly explains. “I live off of a different route, but the buses by my house don’t run for another hour, so I figured I’d try this one.”

Her statement brims with youth and naivete. Milly lives in a peculiar studio above a t-shirt shop, first of all, not a house, but she’s never been around anything but cul-de-sacs and dorms and isn’t afraid to show it. Sometimes Meryl fears for Milly’s lack of street smarts, then she remembers that things always seem to work out for her. Like hopping on a random bus for no good reason and hoping it gets her to an important job on time.

“You can’t do things like that,” Meryl warns her anyway. “Not every part of the island is safe, especially when you’re not from around here.”

Milly shrugs and says, “Everyone was really nice to me, though! They even offered to help when I thought I was lost.”

Instantly, Meryl meets Wolfwood’s gaze. He looks just as horrified as she feels, even with only the top halves of his eyes visible over the reflective bronze lenses.

“Just— call me next time. Or Vash,” Meryl resigns. No point in trying to educate an angel.

“Needlehead doesn’t know this place like he thinks he does,” Wolfwood argues. “You’re better off calling… c-calling…”

He does a weird gesture with his hand, thumb pointed in Meryl’s direction, then he retracts it and holds his index finger in the air. He keeps it like that while he bends the same arm toward his face and jerks down into his elbow.

“IGKTCHuh!” Oh, that’s right. Didn’t Milly say something about him getting sick?

She lets Milly take care of the salutation this time, since Vash isn’t here to do it.

“Bless you!” Milly replies right on cue. Wolfwood makes a snuffling noise against his sleeve, then rubs his nose before resurfacing. “Oh, you never answered me, by the way. How are you feeling this morning?”

“Uh, fine,” he says. “Still don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Madam Milly.”

“Well, yesterday you had those puffy lines under your eyes, right around here,” Milly says, tracing from her own inner eye in a wide half-circle along the top of her cheek. “And you were out of breath when you had to go between the bar and the kitchen a bunch of times, even though it isn’t much of a walk.”

Wolfwood adjusts his sunglasses. 

“And you were slow,” Milly says earnestly, without a trace of rudeness. “And you kept pulling at your face, and your expressions were pinched like your head was hurting, and you’re a lot more pale than you usually are in the morning and your voice sounds strange. You looked in the mirror, didn’t you?”

“Wow,” Meryl says. She’s never heard someone say you look and sound like shit and your performance sucked yesterday in such an modest, helpful cadence. In fact, her insults read incredibly sweet, like she’s saying it because she cares about him. You just can’t be mad at her. “You’re right. Good job, Milly.”

“Thank you!” Milly says. Meryl’s mouth tingles from the effort it takes not to let her smile get away from her and let her teeth show.

“Appreciate the diagnosis, but I’m fine,” Wolfwood says. “Probably just the weather or something.”

“No, I don’t think so. Your allergies don’t tire you out like that,” Milly says, since she’s apparently got the energy to push the facts, “and I’m pretty sure you’d be sneezing more, but I didn’t hear it yesterday. Did you, Meryl?”

“I don’t pay attention to how much Wolfwood is sneezing,” Meryl says.

“How about we keep it that way,” Wolfwood says, then looks at Milly and adds, “You too, Doc Thompson.”

“If you say so, Mr. Wolfwood,” Milly replies in surrender, cheerful and undiscouraged. “But you still seem sick to me, so just let us know if you need anything.”

There isn’t much either of them could do for him, but Meryl doesn’t say that. If anyone could come up with something, it would be Milly, and Meryl would rather not risk carrying the topic any further. Wolfwood’s health is hardly any of her business.

– – –

🎲🎷🎊🌥️🍀

– – –

Because it took up the entirety of his between-shifts break to find the apothecary, Nicholas is surly and short by the time he reaches the counter. The bright, patronizing atmosphere of the place does little to help, crammed with ads for pills nobody needs and spa packages nobody can afford, all boasting the effects of their contribution to one’s wellness enhancement journey. 

Nicholas is fairly certain nobody would bother coming in if they weren’t unwell to begin with; the shop is tucked away like a secret lair, the kind of place you wouldn’t even know about unless you asked for it. Probably to keep the guests from accidentally running into sick people. God forbid.

Well, too bad.

“Hi,” says the counter clerk. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yeah,” Nicholas says, running his eyes over the shelves of orange and white behind her.

Eagerly, the clerk says, “Okay. Do you work in the building?”

Were she not working minimum wage in a glorified medicine cabinet, Nicholas may have taken offense. But she’s young with unstyled hair and laugh lines, so he doesn’t bother with a quip.

“Yeah. I do.” He’s too tired anyway, and in a rush. “D’you keep any, like—”

“Our doctors are totally booked for the day,” she says sweetly, then shifts on her feet when Nicholas flinches. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt. You just sound like…” She stops herself. “Sorry. Did you need something different?”

He’d been so focused on navigating the damn labyrinth that he hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. Nicholas drops his mouth and pauses, hoping an answer will dribble out of it. A couple of beats pass before the clerk’s patience stalls and she tries a different approach.

“Okay— um— that’s okay,” she says in response to Nicholas and his nothingness. Might think he’s on drugs. If only. “What are your symptoms?”

That’s a better question, but Nicholas still needs a moment to find an answer. He translates the politeness out of her prompt, transforming what are your symptoms to What’s your problem? and that helps just enough.

His problem is that he’s foggy-headed and needs to wake up. Why does he need to wake up? Because he took too much storebrand Benadryl. And he did that because…

Because of the unpredictable, seasonless island they live on and its random flooding of pollen or mold or whatever the hell had been supposedly making his throat and chest itch enough to necessitate popping a pink pill for relief yesterday evening. It didn’t make him feel better, but it did put him to sleep. He woke up with his airways still raspy and sore, and he was so dazed that he mistakenly took another two before work, assuming that a couple shots of caffeine would cut the drowsiness.

But all that did was make his heart rate crazy, and the double-dose of allergy medicine stayed useless, which means Milly was right — he’s probably getting sick with some benign nuisance little virus that’ll have his sinuses good and fucked by the end of the week. Maybe this pharmacy lady can give him something for today’s sore throat, too.

Now, all he needs is to bundle all of that into a neat little sentence so she can help him.

“I usually take this allergy stuff,” he begins, “but that didn’t do shit this time, so I guess I need something else.”

“Okay…” she says, but she sounds confused. “What do you take them for?”

“Huh?” Nicholas says.

She waits, as though he needs time to process. Maybe he does.

“Uh. For allergies,” Nicholas repeats.

“Okay,” the clerk also repeats. 

This is going to take forever. Nicholas can’t figure out whether that’s his fault or hers. 

“What are your… symptoms, though?” She frowns and starts clicking something on the computer. “I can list some off, if that would help?”

Oh. So that’s what she meant.  

“Fuck me, uh, sorry. You got anything that won’t turn me into an idiot? I’d take a box of those while you’re at it,” Nicholas grouses.

“It sounds like you took an older generation antihistamine…” she mumbles toward the screen. “I guess before I can recommend anything, I’d need to know what kind it was. Were they pink and chalky?”

“Yeah,” Nicholas says, then adds, “the cheapo version of those,” because he’s not sure if it matters.

She nods and says, “Got it. And you’re looking for… a stimulant?”

Resigned to the pointlessness, Nicholas decides he’s better off suffering through his second shift and pinking out as soon as he gets home at midnight. He hurries it along and says, “Yeah. Sure.”

“I’m sorry, but you need a doctor’s appointment for those,” she says. “We’re booked today. What about tomorrow? Do you have time?”

“Nah. It’s fine,” Nicholas says, because forget it would sound harsh and he needs to get out of here before she tries to recommend a hydra-derma-whatever. She’s probably new and doesn’t know what to do other than recite what the boss told her. “I’ll just get that DayQuil stuff from the CVS.”

Except that it’ll be closed by the time he rides the bus back to the main island, but he’s off tomorrow’s schedule and isn’t interested in commuting to his workplace just to use the asshole billionaire version of a minute-clinic. He doubts they take his insurance. Hell, he doubts they take their own employees’ insurance.

“Oh, you need cold medicine?” the clerk says. “We’ve got some OTC stocked in the aisle on the left.”

Nicholas blanches. “You’re kidding.”

“No…” She shakes her head. “Why would I be—”

“Wolfwood?”

That’s a new voice. Nicholas feels his shoulders relax at the soft, boyish tenor before he even realizes who it belongs to.

“…Blondie?” he says, surprised at the perk of his own voice. “What’re you doing here? You sick?”

He gets confirmation when he turns around and watches Vash step into the little boutique with a healthy glow around his concerned, confused handsome little angel face. His mouth is twisted up weird as he looks straight at Nicholas as though the poor clerk isn’t even there. Or maybe Nicholas is just imagining things.

“No,” Vash answers. “You don’t look so good though, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just taking the edge off,” Nicholas says.

Vash looks disappointed for some reason, and still very confused. He says, “Well, um, I was stopping by to introduce myself to Olivia. That’s you, right?” He’s looking at the clerk. “I’m Vash.”

“Oh, hi!” she says. It’s quiet for a moment as she waits,likely expecting instruction or scolding.

“Are you doing okay here, up front?” Vash says like he means it. “It looks like they left you alone.”

“Yes, sir, I’m fine,” replies Olivia stiffly.

“Ah…” With a wobbly smile, Vash rubs his neck. “You don’t have to call me sir. I just wanted to see that you’re comfortable since this is your first week after training.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I thought you were the CEO.” That’s one way to put it. Olivia sighs and mirrors his smile. “Do you work for HR?”

“No, um…” Vash says, smiling and waving his hands. “It’s all off the record; you don’t have to worry about me.”

Thing is, Vash is part of The Family, or however people want to define it, inheritor of the grand palace, and his face has been on the news. It’s plastered on the island in certain places and on the history portion of staff trainings, which vary depending on the class level of the employee.

Wolfwood remembers hearing that Meryl got to scroll through the whole thing on a computer they gave her, in private, while Nicholas and the other grunts were stuck in a little classroom together like delinquents. This Olivia girl was probably somewhere in the middle, which means she had to look at that freak Knives through a screen for several hours. The face is probably fresh in her mind.

But Vash is hardly a threat. Nicholas can vouch for him.

“Spikey here’s just bored a lot of the time,” he says, then claps Vash right on his bony shoulder to show he’s not afraid. “Gets himself into plenty of trouble, but not the, uh…”

He stops, squinting at his eyes unfocus and he draws an unsteady breath.

“EHGZSH-YU!” The force of it surprises him, and the abruptness means he can only lean off to the side as he squeezes Vash’s shoulder for balance. His sleeve catches the next one. “IGZSSH’U!”

“Bless you,” Vash says. Nicholas lets go and pats the back of Vash’s shoulder in apology. 

“‘Scuse me, thanks.” He holds his fist crookedly under his nose, closing off airflow to one nostril so he can sniffle through the other. He makes eye contact with Olivia, who is staring, and says, “Say, you got anything for that? Figure it’ll keep up for a couple days.”

“For sneezing, or for congestion?” she replies. Oh yeah. That’s right. He was going to buy a marked-up box of cold medicine and call the whole episode a done deal. “Or a runny nose? They’re listed as different things.”

To Nicholas, it’s all the same. He sniffs again and hopes it makes sense when he says, “Sure.”

Now it’s Vash who’s touching him, and that little frown is back. “Are you getting a cold?” he says, and the look in his eyes is so intense that Nicholas is frozen in it despite how much he wants to look away. “That’s why you’re here?”

“Yeah, just…” Nicholas replies. Did he not already explain that? “The usual stuff didn’t work, so I figured I’d take more. Still no dice.”

“I see.” Vash is smiling. Not mockingly, but with some other look. It’s hard to tell, harder than usual. “That’s why you’re so out of it. Have you been drinking coffee to try and wake up?”

What’s it to him? Nicholas thinks back to how long ago that was, then says, “Yeah, a while ago. Useless.”

“Can you grab a box of Silfedrine IR sixty?” Vash says to Olivia, who nods and scurries to the shelves of forbidden medicine behind her. He tells Nicholas, “You can hang out in my room until it kicks in.”

Figures that Vash is good at this healthcare stuff too. He could probably do any of the white collar jobs in the place if he felt like it. Nicholas has no idea what the hell meds he’s about to take, but he won’t complain so long as the cocktail works.

– – – 

🐠🌺💻👒🎭

– – – 

Milly is new and entry-level and doesn’t have enough in her bank account for reimbursement to be an option, so Meryl pays for her disguise at an indoor boutique and submits the receipt to Roberto. 

They exchange their modest synthetics for flowy linens, since no one dresses in business casual while they’re on vacation, and help each other pick out sunglasses that cost more than a month’s rent each. Each stylish pair with lenses bigger than Meryl’s face ends up fitting Milly perfectly, and Meryl ends up wearing a vintage gemstone-lined contraption from the juniors’ section. It doesn’t suit her, but Milly’s compliments soften the blow.

“We still have a lot of ground to cover,” she says to Milly once they’ve walked into the second floor office together, the one with too many windows that shine a glare onto her computer screen, “so let’s get changed quickly and take a look at the downstairs markets first.”

“I think I’ll put my hair up,” Milly answers, even though she’s already woven it into a perfectly reasonable braid down her back. “I noticed the people here are really casual about their hair. What do you think?”

It doesn’t matter what Meryl thinks, because Milly is already undoing her braid and combing it out with her fingers. Her hair is straight and plain without much volume to it, falling with a crooked part over the bulky muscle of her shoulders. Meryl stares and stares.

She stares throughout the morning as they walk beside each other into the boutiques and coffee spots, while they examine the tableside service at a poolside terrace and then at lunch until she can’t take it anymore and orders Milly to take a half hour to herself. It’s mandatory per local labor laws, although she often hears complaints that it should be longer. Milly only agrees and skips off to call several of her sisters, excited to update them on everything she’s seen so far. 

Meanwhile, Meryl takes a walk to outline their evening without any distractions. She winds up passing one of the smaller beach-facing patios smudged throughout the campus, undecorated and consequently inactive. It’s near one of Wolfwood’s usual posts, and she’s unsurprised to find him leaning on a vintage bench and staring at a spot on the ground where sidewalk fades into sand.

“Hi,” she says. He startles, looks at her, and raises a hand in return. “Are you on break?”

“If that’s what you wanna call it,” he answers cryptically, but Meryl perches nearby because he doesn’t tell her to get lost. She watches him pull a carton from his pocket, grab a stick with his teeth, and grin at her with the half of his mouth that’s biting it.

That’s at least reassuring. The post-afternoon lull seems to have brought Wolfwood mostly back to his old self, Meryl thinks for a moment, and then discovers that he still sounds terrible and is prone to irritation when his sore throat denies him the opportunity to smoke.

“Sounds like Milly was right after all,” Meryl tells him after he lights up, coughs, and snubs out his cigarette with a phlegmy growl. “You should take the evening off. How are you feeling?”

“Doped up,” Wolfwood responds. “Dunno who the hell gets a cold when it’s eighty degrees out.”

“You probably picked it up from a tourist,” Meryl says. “They come from all over the world, so the resort is really a petri dish when you think about it.”

“I’d rather not think about it, thanks,” he says. He inhales sharply through his nose, and it sounds dry. Must be some heavy grade decongestants, and his jittery fingers wobbling the cigarette are making Meryl think he took a few too many.

She can’t help her sense of responsibility, so she scolds him. “You’re going to have a heart attack if you double the dosages like that.”

“Heh.” Wolfwood touches his palm to his chest on the wrong side and frowns. “Feels fine to me.”

“Just be careful,” Meryl resolves on a sigh. “Have you talked to Vash today?”

“Yeah. Matter of fact, guy’s my plug these days,” Wolfwood answers. “Think he’s trying to get me hooked so I keep comin’ back.”

Meryl swats him, then briefly panics when Wolfwood actually tilts and needs her to grab onto his elbow to steady him.

“See? You’re dizzy from whatever he gave you. Talk to a real doctor before you take that stuff, Wolfwood.” Meryl purses her lips and huffs, frustrated but not resentful, wishing she wasn’t a worrier. “I’m sure Vash would cover the copay.”

“Hey, here’s an idea,” says Wolfwood, “you should come do a review of the hidden clinic upstairs, in the lobby building. Bet there’s lots of opportunity for a journalist’s commentary. You ever been?”

A second passes before Meryl resigns and says, “I can’t tell if you’re serious.”

Wolfwood shrugs. Maybe he can’t tell, either. If he means it, Meryl will want to feel bad for his thinking he’d need to scam his way into seeing a physician, but she’ll also feel annoyed that she’s on the bad end of his scam. She’s annoyed anyway, perhaps at the both of them, because she can’t always read his jokes and now struggles to confidently flag their presence in the first place. 

She reminds herself that Wolfwood is not her responsibility, even if he is her friend.

– – –

🤿🗺️🚬♨️⌚️

– – –

Sudafed is meant to last at least 6 hours, but Nicholas is in bad shape again by the time Vash finds him down at the aquarium lobby. The blue glow from the backlit floor-to-ceiling introductory tanks isn’t doing his pallor any favors, but even aside from that, his face is drooping every moment he’s not pulling his features taut with a painful and necessary bundle of sniffles.

Before meeting up with the group, Vash hangs back to watch him. Perhaps he’s being creepy with his indulgence, but Nicholas acts differently when Vash is around. His guard shifts. Vash only wants to see how much he’s able to change his presentation this evening, whether he’s got the energy to put effort into presenting himself at all.

It seems the answer is yes, at least for the moment, given the way Nicholas undoes the slump in his spine as Meryl comes to greet him. They talk for less than a minute before Nicholas is turning away into his elbow to cough, and Meryl crosses her arms and shakes her head. At least someone else is holding him accountable.

“Poor guy,” says Milly in an echo of Vash’s own thoughts. It makes him startle, because he hadn’t known she was there. “Oh— sorry, Mr. Vash! I didn’t mean to sneak up on you!”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Vash answers, chuckling so she won’t fluster. “I was lost in thought, I guess.”

“Really? It looked like you were watching Meryl and Mr. Wolfwood.”

“Heh. I, ah… yeah, I guess I was.”

The pungent echo of the lobby keeps Vash from hearing what Meryl is saying, but whatever it is makes Nicholas wave her off and roll his eyes. When he speaks, it sets off another cough that Vash feels in his own chest.

“I wonder why he hasn’t gone home yet,” muses Milly aloud. “I told him he sounded sick yesterday, and now he seems even worse than he did this morning.”

It’s unflattering how much jealousy flares through Vash’s senses, down his spine and up into his cheeks with a longing to have seen that for himself, to have gotten to fuss over Nicholas alongside her. He tamps it down just as fast.

“What, um, did you notice yesterday?” he asks, then immediately regrets it. He’s not sure he can handle hearing someone talk about Nicholas having a cold out here in public, even someone as well-meaning as Milly. Maybe it’s a good thing he wasn’t around.

“Well…” Milly tilts her head to begin her reflection, but luckily, Nicholas saves Vash from the indecency of anything Milly might be preparing to say next.

He interrupts them with a hoarse shout: “Hey! Yo, Blondie, look alive,” and then Meryl reluctantly pats his back as he bows his head to clear his throat.

Milly waves back excitedly, and Vash follows. It’s not only jealousy, he realizes. There’s something else in Vash’s system that he finds unpleasant. Guilt, of course, and regret, and possessiveness, tugging and crashing as though Nicholas belongs to him in more ways than one. It’s been there since they met, primal and intense like it’s biological or even spiritual, overwhelming and impossible to ignore.

And so, so much more impossible with a complicated sexual element involved.

Vash does his best regardless.

“hhHH–IDHchh!” His resolve is challenged right away, when Nicholas sneezes into his sleeve before anyone has a chance to say hello. “IHDT’SCHU!”

“Bless you,” says Vash eagerly. Nicholas resurfaces. “How are you feeling?”

Meryl huffs. “What do you think?” she says for him, sarcasm spotlighting her concern.

“Speak for yourself, will you?” replies Nicholas.

“I don’t know why you’re so touchy about it.”

“I don’t know why you’re so obsessed. It’s a cold, lady, so you can relax, do your own blood pressure some good.”

He’s being difficult on purpose, for some reason. Nicholas picks on Meryl the most because she’s the best at taking it and spitting back, but he’s being especially obstinate now. It bothers him when people worry, and it bothers Meryl when someone makes her worry. Vash plays that role plenty, himself, though he’s made peace with sitting on either side of that particular fence.

“Whatever,” Meryl concedes after a moment, eyes locked toward the front. “Let’s just get going. Milly, are you taking notes?”

Once Milly confirms her role for the evening, Vash tags everyone into the main corridor of the aquarium. It’s more of a tunnel submerged in a lagoon, nontraditional and less disruptive to natural wildlife than a holding tank would be, and it runs in a maze underneath parts of the resort. They have less control over what guests can actually see, but the space is stimulating on its own. The first section is supposed to mimic an archaeological dig, with hidden artifacts that have backstories written on plaques beneath them.

Last Vash heard, the cost to get in was free for active historians and biologists but disproportionately expensive for everybody else. The resort justifies it by proclaiming patrons are supporting conservationism in exchange for the viewing, but it’s nearly empty now, aside from a couple tourists wandering quietly. Perhaps he should say something about that to whoever’s in charge at Nai’s meetings.

He doesn’t dare ask anyone present if they’ve been here before, not even for the sake of small talk. Nicholas would tease him for it, and Vash isn’t sure he can keep up. He’ll socialize passively instead.

“Hey doctor,” Nicholas says to him first, from off to the side, leaning against a pillar near the next set of doors. Vash looks at him, and Nicholas clears his throat behind a closed fist and says, “Which one’s your favorite?”

Vash walks closer, so Nicholas won’t hurt his voice trying to throw it too far. He looks to the tanks and tries to figure out the answer.

“I always liked the goatfish,” he says, nodding toward a large school of yellowfin interspersed with bluestripe snapper.

Nicholas clears his throat again. “Yeah? How come?”

Vash shrugs. “They stick together.”

“How sweet,” replies Nicholas, flat but sincere. “Mine’s the moray eel.”

He’s grinning now, and it startles a chuckle out of Vash.

“The one with all the teeth?”

“Yeah. You got any of those around here?”

“They might show up sometimes. They tend to prefer shallower water, I think.”

“Well, keep an eye out for me.” Nicholas blinks slowly, then turns his head away from Vash and the tank as his chest rises. “Sorry, juhhhst— hdDZSHhh!”

It hits him with a shivering flinch, making him buckle sharply like he’s been punched. Vash unfreezes long enough to get a tissue out of his own pocket, though Nicholas doesn’t turn back to face him just yet.

“DJSHHhh’ue!” He sniffles after that one, and the sound of it is urgent enough for Vash to take his cue.

He taps Nicholas on the shoulder. “Here.”

Nicholas snatches the tissue without looking and then braces himself for the next sneeze with a stuttered, vocal gasp: “ha-aAH—AEHT’CHMPF!”

“Here,” repeats Vash with a second set of tissues in hand. “Bless you.”

“Ah, fuck me—” replies Nicholas. He blows his nose briefly, just enough to clear his airways. “Hate when they come in threes. What was I saying?”

Hell if Vash knows, honestly. And he may not need to come up with anything to say back, because…

“AEDZSHH’YU! Guh. My god.”

“Four’s not much better, though, is it?”

“Don’t jinx me. I’m not tryin’ for a fifth.”

Milly and Meryl catch up to them next, and Nicholas gets a break from the worst of his cold as they head down the corridor and into the next giant room. Vash gets a break from it too, sort of. The proximity to Nicholas and the persistent noise of his muggy sniffling and stuffy consonants is certainly doing a number on his integrity.

Arousal and sympathy shouldn’t go together like this, should they? It’s hard to tell whether he’s overcompensating for the ravenous state of his libido, or if it’s actually reasonable for Vash to feel such a pull to bundle Nicholas in a handwoven blanket and feed him tea and medicine until he’s feeling like himself again. Sometimes when Nicholas is nearby, Vash feels indescribably insane. 

The devil on Vash’s shoulder tells him it’s fine to flush like this whenever Nicholas makes an irritated little noise in the back of his throat, or breathes through his mouth too sharply, or squishes a wrinkled tissue under his nose to keep it from running. Despite the symptoms, nothing is abnormal, not really. It’s not like Nicholas is having trouble walking, or falling asleep on the spot, or even overdoing it with activity. He’s uncomfortable, but he’s fine, and it’s nobody’s fault that he’s sick, and it’s nobody’s fault that Vash is getting hard about it in the lower level of an enormous, opulent building that he technically owns. It’s just the situation. And it’s neutral. And it’s fine.

So Vash is allowed to enjoy it. What else is he supposed to do?

“Needles, snap out of it.”

God but he sounds so good.

“Huh?” Vash comes back to reality. Nicholas is close enough for Vash to hear the little snags in his breathing.

“Damn, Blondie, where’d you go?” says Nicholas. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just thinking. Sorry,” Vash says. It’s not a lie. He can tell Nicholas is curious because he’s worried and not because he’s bored, the openness in his voice betraying the faux-casual, hands-in-pockets slouch.

“That so,” asks Nicholas. “Well, less of that, more I-Spying for Wormy. What do they eat, again?”

Vash softens, so to speak. In his heart, at least. Metaphorically.

He humors him. “What makes you so sure I know so much about fish?”

Nicholas shrugs. “It’s your place, ain’t it?”

“Crabs and smaller fish,” Vash says. “Or whatever they want, most likely. Whatever they can get their hands on.”

“Duh, I know they’re apex predators,” Nicholas says. So, then, he really does like eels, and he wasn’t making up a joke or something for Vash to look for to stay distracted. “I mean what do they eat in here, in your…”

But Vash is going to be distracted regardless, by the curse of his miserable good fortune.

“hdIZSHHh…! IHSSH’eu! —In your domain, ’scuse me.”

Vash lights up inside, electricity blooming in his core. Despite holding an arm up and leaning away at an angle, Nicholas can barely muffle the sound of either sneeze or hide his expression from Vash’s stare. All of Nicholas, whether he likes it or not, is in full display when he comes down with a cold.

“No number three?” wonders Vash, who has lost his mind and spoken aloud by mistake.

“You sound disappointed.” Nicholas straightens out with a sniff. “Be a good boy and we’ll see if it shows.”

What?

Vash freezes. Is there an appropriate way to respond to that? Or at least something better than the near-hysterical chuckle that Vash’s impulses deliver?

Something bumps against the glass wall.

“Oh my god,” Vash says. “It’s the…”

“HYZSHH’UE! Jesus, sorry. Came outta nowhere.”

This is too much. There’s too much going on. Vash’s focus is torn in two, or maybe two hundred. That’d be too much to figure out, too.

“Guess I was good enough,” Vash says, somehow calm, somehow smiling. “Bless you.”

“Yeah yeah,” Nicholas answers. He sniffs and points at the dotted eel gliding clumsily near the front of the tank. “That our guy?”

Again, Vash smiles. “You tell me,” he says.

When they look each other in the face, Vash tries to keep his focus on Nicholas’s eyes and not his nose. While his nose suits the rest of him very, very well, it’s still hard to miss, even when it isn’t chapped and leaky and challenging Vash’s control over the reins of his libido. It flares as he sniffles, stuffy and dissatisfying.

With a blunt finger, Nicholas taps on the glass. It makes less noise than the eel had when it bumped into the edge just a moment ago. The eel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even look their way.

Together, they watch it swim back toward the sea.

“Huh. Mission accomplished,” Nicholas says. “Think he’s got friends?”

“Let’s keep an eye out for them,” answers Vash. Nicholas twitches a crooked grin his way, eyebrows up, and replies with half a chuckle before looking forward and continuing on the polished museum path. Vash follows his lead without thinking and feels like he belongs.

✫ useless authors notes: -- this island is in the caribbean! -- metaphor metaphor metaphor. lol

[vllergy]

playing chicken

t/rigun, 2.5 k, wolfwood allergy this was in my drafts for like a whole year unfinished so i decided to finish it allergies, voyeurism, putting our boy vash thru it yk yk, two povs

Crabby is not a word Wolfwood would ever assign to the other man, but even the font of incessant tolerance had its limits. Sure, Vash wears his irritation a hell of a lot different than anyone else Wolfwood has ever seen. He still shoulders it all unto himself in that infuriating, self-annihilating way he's so fond of doing with everything else. Like he doesn't want to inconvenience anyone with his fucking feelings. Wolfwood's fond of lashing out when he feels like shit. It at least clears out the cobwebs. But Vash seems incapable of doing so. Ever since they'd left the town, he's been uncharacteristically somber. A classic case of bottled up emotion in a bright red jacket.

Things had not gone especially well in the place they'd last holed up. It wasn't Vash's fault, but the guy was letting the guilt eat away at him anyway. And if Wolfwood knew him well enough--which he surely did by now--there was an undercurrent of anger running through that guilt as well. Vash couldn't stand a bully, and they'd had to cut and run before dealing with the one who'd started all their problems back there. Wasn't Wolfwood's choice either. It had been a matter of keeping everyone alive and expediency.

Which is why they're now sitting atop a fucking Thomas instead of riding comfortably in the back of the jeep.

Vash assured him the next town was only a day's ride through the desert and that they'd meet back up with Roberto and Meryl there. But Wolfwood fucking hates this thing. The bone-deep jostle of its gait is disorienting as all hell and his thighs are already cramping from their position locked around the saddle. He's also pressed up against Vash which, ordinarily he wouldn't balk at the idea of, but the desert is hot and even just having one arm draped around Vash's middle invites heat that makes his head swim. With his chest pressed against the other man's shoulder-blades, he's almost certain he's sweating through both his jacket and Vash's combined but doesn't really care enough to apologize for it. It's Vash's face that got them into this mess. If he's bothered by the sweat, tough luck.

There is, in fact, another aspect of this method of transportation that's bothering him. And it was one he's rapidly running out of solutions for. He's not exactly accustomed to riding these things. So twenty minutes ago, when his sinuses had started to buzz, he assumed it was just on account of all the sand being kicked up. But the longer the tickle persisted, and the farther back into his throat it crawled, it became obvious. This isn't just some mild irritation. He's allergic to the stupid animal.

In most cases, when he felt like he had to sneeze like this, he'd just as soon get it over with. Holding it in always makes it worse and gives him a headache besides. But Vash is in a mood, and given how rare that is, Wolfwood thinks it might be best to just let him sulk for a bit in peace. Maybe he doesn't want to know what Stampede might do if he really snapped.

With his freehand that isn'tt wrapped around Vash's torso, he palms at his nose. As if beckoned, the buzzing way back in his sinuses surges to the forefront of his face and blooms out from the center. Shit, he's going to--

He wrenchs his head to the side, turning his palm to cover his mouth too.

"H'EEdsZhchu!"

Vash actually jumps. Wolfwood feels it because he'd grabbed at his middle a little harder while lurching into the sneeze, mostly so he didn't topple off the damn bird in the process. The iron feeling of muscle in the man's abdomen ripples under his fingers as Vash settles.

"Bless you!" he says, still clearly surprised.

"Sorry," Wolfwood sniffs, "Snuck up on me."

"I-it's okay."

They go back to silence. Wolfwood blinks irritated tears from his eyes and swallows back a groan. All right, not his best work. But one sneeze isn't terrible. If he can just control himself from here on out, he's got a shot.

But already, he can feel another one mounting. He pinches his nostrils shut and massages his fingers up and down the length of his nose in earnest. Fuck. He really needs both hands for this, one to massage the space beneath his eyes to alleviate the prickling and one to scrub his nose raw. His breath catches. He clenches his entire fist around his nose, hearing the squelch of wetness, and stifles as best he can.

"Hnnt!"

Those never satisfy though, and in the space of a second he needs another. "Hh-hhngt!"

They're quiet enough that he might have gotten away with it on volume alone, but what he can't control is the way his body jerks against Vash. Each sneeze makes him tighten his grip around the other man for a brief instant and knocks his chest against his shoulders.

But some of that can be blamed on the bumpiness of the bird's stride, he supposes. He pops open a bleary eye, hand still clenched around his nose, and waits for Vash to say something.

He doesn't.

Smug, Wolfwood lowers his hand and gives a delicate sniff. It's a mistake. Shit. Eyes cinching shut, he actually gasps this time, that's how strong it comes on.

He grabs onto Vash's shoulder with his freehand this time just out of instinct and sneezes violently down into his own lap. "AAAEESCZ'scHHUh!"

"Bless you, Wolfwood."

He lowers his head further, pressing the crown of it into Vash's spine. His lips curl back and his nostrils flare as another takes ahold of him.

"DZZYIsshue!" His hand flexes against Vash's shoulder and the other one along his abdomen retracts slightly, almost apologetically.

"Fuck," he says, still not lifting his head.

"Bless you," Vash says, and the Tomas dips to the left a bit before straightening back out. Wolfwood notes this as he picks his head up and watches the scenery smooth out in front of them. Huh, weird. Granted, it's probably not easy to steer an animal while you've got someone sneezing in your ear every few seconds. Wolfwood knows he hasn't got the quietest sneeze either, and he's already spooked Vash once. "Sorry," he mutters again, "I'll try to give ya some warning next time." Vash's voice sounds a touch higher than normal when he speaks, "It's fine. You okay?" "M'good. Think I'm just allergic to this fuckin' thing." Wolfwood adjusts in the saddle again and releases Vash's shoulder. Sniffling, he wraps his arm back around his torso, his fingers straying at his opposite hip. Secure once more, he turns his head to the desert and squints out at the sun. "To the Thomas?" He's surprised Vash is actually talking to him. The ride has been so uncharacteristically quiet this whole time, it's kind of a relief to hear him engage. Normally he can't get this kid to shut up. "Yeah," Wolfwood sniffs heartily again and mashes his nose with the base of his palm, "I guess." Vash sags slightly, "I'm sorry, Wolfwood. I didn't--" There he goes again. Where does he put all that misplaced guilt anyway? Wolfwood clicks his tongue. "Tch, don't beat yourself up about it, Blondie. I didn't even know, how are yhhh-hhhold on--" He knuckles at his nose in vain, words spilling out in a rush before the sneeze steam rolls them completely, "I'm ghhonna sneeze ah-aghain--ih'eyzSSCh'uh!" He grips Vash tighter and turns his head as far as he can from him, angling the spray nearly over his own shoulder as another sneeze follows on the first's tail. "ISSHYYAh!" This time, the Thomas dips to the left, hard. Wolfwood yelps and snaps back against Vash as the blonde rights the animal. Wolfwood's hands clasp at Vash's stomach to keep himself from flying off the side. "Steer the damn bird!" he snaps, an errant liquid sniff interrupting his scolding, "The hell's wrong with you?" "Sorry!" Vash squeaks. "I fuckin' warned you that time, didn't I?" Wolfwood huffs. He frees an arm from around Vash to press his sleeve up against his still twitching nostrils. Vash doesn't respond. Hmm, back to being moody then? Fine.

--

Vash, for his part, is barely holding it together.

It's not like he hasn't heard Wolfwood sneeze before. But there's a big difference between hearing it and experiencing it. His fingers white knuckle around the reigns of the Thomas as he tries to focus on anything but the wet sniffling behind him coupled with the feeling of Wolfwood's thighs locked around him. This is torture. And he's not doing a very good job of hiding how it's effecting him either. Namely because he can't figure out how to steer and be debilitatingly horny at the same time. Now, he's pretty sure he's pissed Wolfwood off --or at the very least, alerted him to the fact that there's something else going on. If he would just stop sneezing, Vash could get ahold of himself. But it seems like that's not in the cards for him. Wolfwood doesn't warn him this time. Either because he's being petty, or because he simply doesn't get enough of a warning himself. A sharp inhale whistles in his ear before Wolfwood's body rocks against his and his arm tightens around Vash's middle like a vice, "h'RRSCHH'uh!" Vash closes his eyes. He can't help it. All he can do is picture Wolfwood's snarled expression, the dampness of his long eyelashes, the way his nostrils are probably flaring-- "hh'aEESCHH'yue!" Wolfwood's forehead actually knocks against his spine with that one. Vash suppresses a moan and realizes his eyes have been closed for a few seconds too long. The Thomas is going off on its own again without a guide, and once more, he has to course correct with a quick jerk to the side. "Alright, what the fuck?!" Wolfwood's slightly congested-sounding outcry makes Vash grimace. "You really gettin' spooked every time I sneeze?" Wolfwood asks incredulously, "You want me to drive?" Vash felt him adjusting behind him. His arm dips low as he scoots up on the seat and Vash doesn't have time to stop what happens next. Wolfwood's forearm brushes against Vash's indisputable erection. Wolfwood freezes. Vash freezes. The Thomas continues on, unbothered. "Huh," is all Wolfwood says. Vash feels heat building in his chest and flushing over his throat and cheeks. He's sure he's as red as his jacket now. "Wolfwood I--" "Question for you, Blondie." He swallows, "Yes?" "Is that frhh--fuuck hh'nnGXT!" He cuts himself off mid sentence, smothering a sneeze into what sounds like his fist, and then another, "hh'hndHHDT! Shit, sorry." Vash bites his lip and is unable to stop the full body shiver from cracking over his scalp and racing down his spine. Wolfwood offers a low chuckle in response. "Nevermind. Question answered." "I'm sorry," Vash says reflexively, "It's--" "Shut up." Wolfwood's hand slips along his chest, fingers splayed out over his sternum suddenly. His other drifts along the strained fabric of Vash's pants. Vash whimpers. "This really does it for you?" Wolfwood asks, sniffling. He almost sounds impressed. Vash nods helplessly. Wolfwood hums. "Cute."

He brushes the tip of his nose at the nape of Vash's neck and gives another soft sniff that nearly undoes the man on the spot. He palms Vash through his pants. Vash gives a keening, desperate whine. "Kind of fucked up if we do this on the Thomas though, right?" he asks, and Vash can hear the shit-eating grin. Vash looks blearily out ahead. It's desert for as long as he can see, but there is a few outcroppings of sand-smoothed boulders half a mile off. They'd probably give them enough shade to take just a little break. "We could try there," Vash says and points with a trembling finger. "Think you can make it? You seem pretty worked up already." That too, is said with a teasing, vicious grin, even though Vash can't see it. "Yes," Vash huffs, though he's actually less certain than he sounds. Especially because Wolfwood is sniffling with more urgency behind him all of a sudden and his hands have stilled where they were previously touching him. Wolfwood is pressed so close he can feel the swell of his ribcage as he inhales this time. He doesn't bother turning fully away now either, pressing his cheek against Vash's shoulder as the urge crests. "hh'uuRRSSCh'ue!" Wolfwood's thighs clamp around him with the effort and he rocks both of them forward. A gasp and then-- "hh! hh'DZYYsCH'ieU!" Vash urges the Thomas forward, beelining for the rocks. Wolfwood's hand curiously explores his throbbing erection as he snuffles back to clarity. His voice mumbles against him, "Can't believe this is really getting you off." Wolfwood itches his nose against his shoulder blade which makes Vash see stars. "Was tryin' to hh'iiESSCH! --hold them in earlier, thought you were hh'd'AEzsch! still pissed." "You weren't doing a very good job." Wolfwood barks a laugh. He sniffles and kisses a line up the back of Vash's neck. Vash can feel the sweat of his upper lip against his skin and shudders. "Can't help it," he mutters through his slow, methodical kisses. He reaches up with the free hand not latched around Vash to angle his head slightly and allow him more purchase to the skin behind his ear. The soft suction of air surprises both of them. He feels Wolfwood flinch with a sudden, uncharacteristically soft, "hh'jjdsiiSCh'ue!" that flashes wet against his neck. Wolfwood reels back. "Ah fuck, s-sorry Blhh h'djjdisCHH! 'iitsdshCH!" Vash feels him lean from the seat as the smaller, fittish sneezes seem to finally coalesce into a proper Wolfwood expulsion. "hahh'AESCZ'scHH'Uh!" It scrapes up out of the depths of him and all but throws him against Vash's back. Vash does moan this time, but Wolfwood's too busy recovering to hear it. "Phew!" he groans, sitting back up, "Sorry, I didn't mean to get ya. Unless you like that sort of thing?" Vash is too busy trying not to make a mess of himself to answer. It's a Herculean effort at this point. He just gives a tight nod and begs the Thomas to move faster. The boulders are close now. "Ha! You're a real piece of work," he muses and then snickers, "C'mon, Vash, keep it together." Wolfwood rubs roughly at his neck with the heel of his fist, as if clearing away any errant remnants of having been sneezed on. Vash might have told him not to bother if he'd trusted his own voice. There's an almost tender aspect to Wolfwood's voice as he settles back against him. His hand smooths against Vash's chest rhythmically. It feels grounding. It's just enough to pull Vash back rom the edge. "Almost there, Blondie," Wolfwood promises, "I'll try to control myself."

[mikayare]

biblically accurate loser

[myuminji]

flu season or smth

[snzamii07]

Hi!! Not sure if you're taking requests but I'd love to see TG V/ash and W/olfwood in your style! Idk how to describe except to say your style is so soft and comforting!

‼️PLS DO NOT REBLOG TO NON-KINK BLOGS‼️

❤️❤️

[silversinfinity]

Routine

*non-kink blogs and minors DNI please (will block if there's no indication of age on your blog)*

Fandom: T/rigun Spoilers: None Pairing/AU: V/ashW/ood; normal universe Length: ~2.5k

Summary: see below

CONTAINS: sneeze fetish content (duh), character tied up and sneezing, various whump themes, that's basically all this fic is, self-indulgent-very-little-plot nonsense yay!

Notes: Umm happy T/rigun S/targaze confirmation I guess! This has actually been in my drafts forever and I just recently happened to polish it up, to be clear. But I can't NOT acknowledge that we're for sure getting more of this beautiful series! 😭 Here is some V/ashie Suffering™ to celebrate, I guess 😼

Fic Masterlist

Things tended to happen in patterns in Vash’s life. Inconveniently repetitive ones.

They made it to a new town, a town which should have provided safety and solace from the treachery of the desert wastelands. One wrong move later, and Vash was being hunted like a deer in season. Under the title of the Humanoid Typhoon, he'd gotten pretty good at this- good at being chased, that is. There were few people that wouldn't make an attempt to catch him if they had the means and the guts, with a bounty as sizable as the one on his head. 

And on this particular occasion, Vash had been caught. He was good at this too, unfortunately.

It was unfortunate not just for him, but for Wolfwood, who was forced to come to his aid most of the time. This part of the entire routine was a more recent development, but he had a feeling it had already become old for his newer companion.

Vash laid in a heap at the bottom of the closet, simmering in his guilt. He stared up at a dark and lonely ceiling, and it stared back without any reassurance to offer. The black, square void hung high above him, with plenty of vertical space to cast its quiet judgment down on him.

The walls around him were a different story. There was no space to be spared at every side of him. Vash’s back and shoulders lay flat against the floor, until the base of his spine, where his legs were forced to curve up on the wall. Limbs bent so his boots planted flat to the wall, his knees nearly touched his face. Better this though, than straightening his legs above himself, where the blood would rush down to his head.

It wasn't any different than if they had tossed him into a shipping crate and sealed the top. He was surprised no one had tried that one on him yet, actually. 

The ache in his neck and shoulders begged him to adjust positions. Vash wriggled his upper back, but the ropes binding his arms to his waist didn't allow any more movement than that. Still, his neck and shoulders continued to hurt, and to beg.

The lengths of braided fibers dug deep into his clothes, his arms, chest, waist- it was just another familiar piece in the grand scheme of repetitions. Even the unusual strength of his mechanical arm was no match against the complex knots tied under him.

Except… did they really need to tie him this tightly? The burly, mean-mugged individual that had beaten and thrown Vash in here never slowed or hesitated, even at the sound of his every bleating protest. That guy would sooner have him suffocate against his restraints than allow him any empathy or sympathy, he was sure.

The bounty did say dead or alive, after all. 

As if the morbid reflection conjured it, the muffled echo of gunshots sounded beyond the closet, somewhere far in the building. He knew the sound of that weapon anywhere. Worry, and then more guilt gripped Vash, tight enough to give his restraints a run for their money. Wolfwood was out there, fighting to save him. 

It’d be romantic if it didn't involve Wolfwood risking his life, and with no hesitation to take others in the process. He didn’t play pacifist the way Vash did.

Vash’s lanky legs fidgeted, the heel of one boot impatiently tapping on the wall, but only that. Kicking his way to freedom wasn't an option at this angle- he had already tried, and failed. He could do little more than sigh in defeat, but that took effort too, with the bindings inhibiting his ability to breathe properly.

It was around then that Vash realized a new layer to his discomfort. The air immediately around him hung stale and heavy with particulate matter- just the way you'd expect within an old, abandoned closet. While initially inconsequential, it triggered a wheeze in his lungs now, and in his nose, a burning. 

For all the time he spent in the desert, sand and dust everywhere, Vash really thought his body might get used to this, eventually.

But no, today was the same as any other, and the dust coating his nasal passages was just the same as any irritant. Vash curled his lip, scrunched his nose. Again, his arms struggled against the ropes. Then, he twisted his head to rub into his shoulder, except he couldn’t even manage that in this position. Vash halted his efforts with a small huff, lest he pull a muscle trying any harder.

The ebb and tide of commotion within the building pulled Vash’s attention less and less, as the itching, tickling, and frankly all sensations uncomfortable grew and grew. Even his eyes had begun to itch and perspire, from behind the round lenses still miraculously perched on his face. 

Vash sniffled, and then sniffled again, stuffier. That tickle crept down into his throat, and he coughed, a hollow, weak sound. His lungs couldn’t do the work needed. Meanwhile, every inch of his sinuses were buzzing, begging him to gasp, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get a breath in deep enough.

It really wasn't a matter anymore of whether he could get the air needed though- his body just knew it needed relief, and it was painfully close to forcing it upon him. Vash realized this with an ounce of dread, but he wasn’t in any position to fight it. Neither physically nor by sheer willpower- he never had a lot of that to begin with. “Nh—…!” It was a mere sip of air that parted his lips with urgency.

“Hh—...tsch-! sch-! n’shh-!” The restraint on his breathing put restraint on his sneezing too. But what was restrained in power was not restrained in quantity. The sneezes would burst out of him in multiples, back to back to back, burning up what little oxygen fast enough to make him dizzy. He wasn't used to rapid fits, at least not like this. “‘tsch-! h’shih-! h’tch-! -hh—gh...!” Vash nearly choked as he forced himself to inhale.

But another breath in only meant extra fuel for fire. Chin tucked to his chest, his head just barely bobbed on each one. “-schh-! hh’sh-! t’shihh-!” Fuck, they wouldn't stop. Vash wanted to whine, but all he could do was keep sneezing. “n’sch-! h–ngh… eh’ght-! hh’ngk-! hh…!” It was a desperate measure to push his tongue to the roof of his mouth, forcing them back into his throat. His sinuses throbbed their complaints, but it was the only way he could grasp any control and break the cycle enough to breathe. Spots danced across his vision when he finally gasped in, and in again, a panting pattern.

His stare on the dark ceiling above was dazed and watery. One tear trailed from the outer corner of his eye, down his cheek, where he was still unable to wipe it away. It was with dismay, but not surprise that Vash realized the dust was still very present, and his body was still very aware. He nearly started to hitch again just thinking about it. This vicious, tedious cycle wasn’t over.

He just had to put up with it though, for however long he was in here. Whatever Wolfwood was facing out there for him was surely far, far worse.

Eventually, the panting stopped, and then Vash resigned himself to trying not to breathe at all. 

He really wasn’t sure how long he remained in that rigid, slack-jawed and hazy state. Pain settled on his diaphragm, but his mind shut it out. His hands balled into fists where they were crossed and restrained under him.

The bridge of his nose shivered of its own accord in the meantime, drawing his nostrils wider, and freeing a thin, clear run of liquid down onto his upper lip. It created another itch on his skin that Vash couldn’t take, and he screwed his face up tighter until he was forced to sniffle.

Instant mistake. A sharp tickle ran right up to his eyes, springing fresh tears onto his waterline. “...” Don’t. “......” D-don’t… “...hH—” Fuck. Vash shuddered, clenching his teeth. The bottoms of his shoes bore against the wall of the closet. “-t’schh-! Ah’shh-! t’sch-‘sch-! hih’ksh-! n’sch-!” They were unpredictable, back to back, with some bundled into dizzying doubles. Despite their pathetic size, they each rattled his whole body, pulling his knees in closer to his chest with every bounce. It was a punishment he deserved for trying to hold them off, Vash decided.

“-shh-tsch-eh’schih-!” Three more rapidly tumbled out of him, and the world spun a little. Would it ever stop? “...-hghh—hah—” He strained against the ropes holding him, back arching, desperate to give his lungs a grace period– “-ishh-! N’schh-!” -only to crunch back down into the floor when another fit took hold.

Any struggle was truly futile. Vash accepted that this was just part of today's particular disaster- the next one would inevitably be different (and less sneezy, he hoped). Vash stopped counting the pitiful, breathless sneezes that overtook him, broken only by exhausted patterns of panting. The stuffy air just continued its assault. 

“Hh’gtt-! Hh’gxchh-!” He'd just resorted to stifling again, regretfully- it made his head hurt worse- when he heard something from beyond the closet door. It was enough to pull him out of the fit. Someone was in the room. He hoped it was Wolfwood.

Vash thumped one shoe at the wall with a dull thud, and then he did it again for good measure. He was afraid if he talked, he would just sneeze again.

Finally luck seemed to be with him though, and the person he hoped most to see broke open the door. The always tough and rugged looking undertaker, Wolfwood. Carrying out his usual service of coming to his rescue. 

The usual guilt that came with this moment was a heavier tide, when he noticed the blood decorating Wolfwood’s face, tainting the white of his shirt in tandem with sweat. Vash choked on silence as he stared up at him, eyes wide and eerily glowing in their inhuman way.

“Calm down. It's not my blood,” Wolfwood assured. Vash only relaxed a little- he hated to see anyone’s blood be shed, though Wolfwood least of all.

And that was where Wolfwood got a better look at Vash. He thought he might be crying, teary eyed and brow knitted. No surprise- Vash really could be a crybaby when he wanted to. When his eyebrows drew up into a sharper arch though, he realized that wasn't the case this time.

Vash willed himself not to sneeze again, but the lingering prickle was irresistible. “-ish-! tt’schh-! eh’tschh-!” Back his knees bounced towards his chest, a position that felt all the more compromising with a pair of eyes on him. 

“Whh-h’tsch-! Wolfwood, h-! h’schh-! help–!” he managed to whine. Wolfwood couldn't help but snort, but he did as he was asked and grabbed Vash by the ropes binding him and dragged him to the floor outside the closet. 

“You're a mess, Needle Noggin,” he teased. Vash could only agree quietly, the flush dusting his cheeks deepening as he struggled to right himself up on the ground.

“Untie me, please…” 

“I dunno…you look pretty funny right now. I could use the entertainment.” The tip of one shoe poked Vash on the top of his head, threatening to press down. Vash yelped like a puppy, and Wolfwood delighted in it. Not maliciously- it was just so easy to make the guy squirm that he couldn’t help but mess around with him, even in times like these.

“Wolfwood-!”

“All right, all right…” Wolfwood finally took pity on him, and he kneeled down to start working at the notes. 

After significant fumbling and the occasional huff and curse under Wolfwood’s breath, Vash felt the ropes loosen. First he stretched his arms in front of him, limbs aching as they rediscovered their ability to move. And then, with less tactic, Vash slumped, hands tented in front of his face.

“-kshh’h-! et'schh-!” Two more weak and unsatisfactory sneezes pitch him forward. 

Wolfwood stifled a laugh at the display. But as Vash straightened his back, his lungs also rediscovered the ability to properly engage.

And did they ever.

“hh, hAHH…!” His chest swelled urgently, quickly. The monster of a sneeze that followed gave him no time to prepare, and Vash was violently thrown forward against his own will. “hy’yIESHIEW’hh-!” A cloud of spray misted the air in front of him. The uncharacteristic volume echoed off the walls of the room, and Wolfwood actually jumped behind him. Yet somehow, even after that, Vash found his nose still itching incessantly. His nostrils had barely relaxed from their splayed position before his lungs stole another greedy gasp. “hihH…! hH’EHHSHCHH’ihh-!”

Okay…okay, now he was done. Finally done. It was as if every previous sad excuse for a sneeze had culminated into two, two which way overcompensated what he was usually capable of.

“Christ, Spikey, where the hell did that come from?”

Vash sagged back down, hands cupped tighter to his face now. “Couldn't breathe in there,” he huffed, eyes dazed, and nose buzzing under where the pads of his fingers pleasantly rubbed.

A hand tugged at his hood. “C’mon, let’s get the fuck out of here. You've probably woken up the whole town.” Vash stumbled to his feet as Wolfwood roughly pulled him up in his usual Wolfwood way. He coughed into his sleeve, and then breathed a watery sniffle, before trotting after the cross-bearing silhouette before him. He wouldn't dwell any longer on the guilt- nor the dust- that still hung in the room behind him. 

[weak-painkiller-deactivated2026]

The beginning of the kink!vash/ww fic im working on, but motivation is hard to find.

One bed.

The two had tried to figure out the best sleeping arrangements. There was a chair as well, but both were tired, sore, just needed some decent sleep, and so that's how they found themselves back to back sharing a small bed.

“Good night.” Vash offered softly in the dark.

“Yeah, yeah.” Was Wolfwood’s gruff reply.

Then silence.

Well, for a bit.

Wolfwood took a sharp breath that caught Vash's attention. Wolfwood moved, seemed to rub something, then there was another hitch.

Vash lay eyes wide, wanting to look. Could he be?? This close??

Then a shudder of Wolfwood's body. The sneeze forced into harsh silence.

Vash let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and smiled at the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The feelings between the two were… complicated was the easiest way to put it. They were close, very close. Something more than best friends, but Vash didn't dare try and explore passed it. People never stayed close to him, and he didn't want to mess anything up.

Another hitch, then another stifled sneeze, and another in quick succession.

Vash wondered what was setting Wolfwood off, but the way the other was forcing himself to be silent, Vash knew he wasn't meant to bring attention to it, but tell that to his own body's reaction. This was torture in it's own way.

Wolfwood was back rubbing his nose.

“H’HRshoo!” The sound scrapped out of him, and now Vash couldn't be quiet anymore.

“You okay, Wolfwood?” Vash twisted a bit trying to get an eye on his travel partner.

Wolfwood sniffled wet and loud. “I'm fine. just… itchy. Heh’..” He started hitching again and suddenly sat up, burying his nose in his elbow “Heh’! Hhr’chiew! Heh'shoo!! Guhhh…”

[lostatsneeze]

Washout, continued

So, I read this, and I loved it, and then I saw that the lovely and talented @whispsofsmokee was offering this up to anyone to write a continuation, and so I…sort of… continued it? Let me know if you're interested in writing the next part!

This is a big deal for me. Despite the lofty promises of my bio, I never actually post the stuff I write. I write it, and then I shamefully lock it away in the gulag that is my unorganized Google Drive and I leave it there to rot.

So let’s just… play nice, yeah?

Vash was asleep almost as soon as he was settled beneath the tarp. His head lolled onto his shoulder with his back slumped against Angelina. Wolfwood’s eyes traced over his slouchy silhouette in the darkness.

He couldn’t help but look at him. It’s not like there was anything else to do, and Wolfwood had a bad habit of ogling Vash even when he had more important things to do than hiding under a tarp and trying to keep watch. And it was even harder to look away when the blonde was like this, slouched over in sleep not half a yar away, wearing Wolfwood’s own jacket, and looking for all the world like a sick puppy.

His trademark spikes half-wilted in the rain, the pink flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, the ridiculous way he had huddled his frame into the priest's blazer, the gentle curve of his chapped lips…

God. If Wolfwood was gonna get through this, he needed another cigarette.

Except he kept his smokes in the breast pocket of his jacket. And his jacket was on a sleeping Vash.

He was weighing his need for nicotine against his desire not to wake Vash, when the Humanoid Typhoon’s spiky head lolled against his shoulder. Vash crumpled into him with a sleepy sigh of contentment so soft and innocent that Wolfwood’s inhibitions melted into something that looked a little too much like longing, and he decided he needed a smoke right by-God now. 

Reaching into the pocket wasn’t hard, but it still took all of Wolfwood’s concentration. Mostly to think about anything other than how close his hand was to Vash’s sinfully tight undershirt.

It was easy enough to get his dexterous fingers around the box. The issue came up when her went to pull away, and the icy fingers of Vash the Stampede closed around his wrist. Nic startled and started to stammer out an apology, but when he met Vash’s eyes, they were still closed. God, the bastard was a shameless flirt even in his sleep. 

Wolfwood started gently prying the fingers off his wrist, but as soon as he had freed himself,  Vash breathed out a petulant whine at the loss of contact. The pitiful sound made some traitorous part of Wolfwood consider simply letting Vash cuddle his hand forever.

Wolfwood beat back his feelings like a pack of wild dogs and slipped a cigarette from his battered packet.

He pulled the lighter from his back pocket and lit the cigarette in a single all-too-practiced motion. The familiar weight of a cigarette in his hand was as immediately calming as the first deep puff of tobacco in his lungs. 

The rushing of the rain grew louder as Wolfwood pulled up the corner of their makeshift lean-to and blew a jet of smoke out into the pounding rain.

He closed his eyes and took another drag, letting the nicotine dull the jittery anxiety that came with every fucked-up situation he’d let Vash drag him into.

He was snapped out of his quasi-meditation by Vash’s elbow connecting with his ribs as the Humanoid Typhoon snapped forward.

His desperate “HET’zhuh!” blended with Wolfwood’s shouted curse as he rubbed what would definitely be an impressive bruise on his side.

He turned to offer Vash his blessings, but the man was already gearing up for another round.

“The hih- smoke fuck- tsh! Tsch! T’szhh! Heh… HUH’shiew.” His ticklish fit died off with a final exhausted sneeze as Wolfwood lifted up the side of the makeshift tent, ushering the last of the tobacco smoke out. The few seconds he lifted the tarp were enough to absolutely soak his shirt, but he was a bit too focused on making sure he didn’t accidentally kill a legendary outlaw to notice.

“Jesus, you okay?” He crushed the smoke into the damp sand outside their little tent and mourned the loss of a barely-smoked cigarette.

“Mmm. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry. Didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I wasn’t.” Things must be bad if Spikes was down to two-word answers. 

“In that case, sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya.”

Vash rubbed the sleeve of the priest’s blazer under his nose, then swiped at the sleep in his eyes.

“S’alright. Are you okay?” 

And then, damn him, Vash had the gall to put a consoling hand on his shoulder, like he was the one who needed comfort, like he was sick and stuck in the middle of a rainstorm and had just woken up choking on his breath.

Wolfwood’s astonished state must have read as confused, because Vash continued:

“Your side. Didn’t mean to hit you. Sorry.”

“Christ, Blondie. Stop apologizing, will ya’? I’m fine, it’s you I’m worried about. Thought you were gonna choke for a second, there.”

The smile Vash flashed him wasn’t as kilowatt-bright as usual, but it was genuine.

“I’m pretty hard to kill.”

Wolfwood snorted a laugh.

“Let’s not go testing that theory, ‘kay, Spikey?”

Vash nodded half-heartedly as he leaned back against Angelina with a weak cough.

Now that he was awake and Wolfwood could get a proper view of him, he could see just how rough the Humanoid Typhoon looked. 

His lips were parted so he could breathe past a blocked nose, his face was flushed, his eyes glassy, and-

“You’re shivering.” Vash was shaking the tarp as the tremors ran through him.

“Mmm. It’s cold.” 

It really wasn’t. It would be soon enough, but the night was still young and the sand still suns-warmed beneath them and the rain was the tepid, unrefreshing kind that made the desert heat even hotter with humidity. 

Wolfwood frowned and pressed a palm to Vash’s forehead, then cupped his cheek. It was almost unbearably warm.

Even with all the energy pulsing in his core, Vash was only ever a little warmer than average, nothing like the veritable furnace that had taken up residence under his skin now.

“You got yourself a hell of a fever there, Spikey.”

Vash crushed a pitiful cough into his fist in response.

“Makes sense.”

He was a sight, pale and flushed and curled in on himself in a shivering ball.

Wolfwood sighed and disregarded his better judgment.

“All right.” He raised his arm, creating a nook for Vash to crawl into. “Get over here.”

“I- I don’t want to get you sick.” His cheeks blushed sheepishly over the pink of his fever, and a liquid sniffle punctuated his point.

“‘Not sure if you noticed, Needle-Noggin, but we’re already a bit too close for comfort. No use gettin’ shy now.”

Vash seemed to weigh that for a second. His comfort must’ve won out over his reservations, because after a moment’s hesitation, he eased himself into the space, tucking his head into Wolfwood’s shoulder and reveling in the warmth.

He was gently snoring not a minute later.

Wolfwood couldn’t help but card a hand through the spiky hair that brushed his arm.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

Vash just nuzzled further into his side.

They could answer that question tomorrow. There was nothing left now but to ride out the storm.

And with the tandem rhythms of the rain against the tarp and Vash’s hot breath against his neck, Wolfwood let himself be lulled to sleep.

[whispsofsmokee]

I know what you're thinking. "Aaah wtf, is this lady ever gonna get over Trigun?"

Lol nope

Here we have dear Nicholas with a stuck snz. Both men are drunk and Vash offers a helping hand.

I'm so dissatisfied with this fic. It feels klunky and not of my usual caliber (whatever that is). I don't see it going anywhere else, though. As though I'm not gonna go in and do 10,000 edits over time. 😂

m!snz, m/m v@shwood, no mess. Swearing cus my Nic has a dirty mouth. Honestly I feel like there aren't many warnings to put here? Weird.

Nicholas Wolfwood was so ready to be done with the day.

He had been attempting to grind this itch in his nose to submission since he first woke up this morning. Whatever was up there, though, was stuck good- sharp and irritating and just out of reach.

In his moments alone Nic tried his usual tactics. He squinted toward the suns, which left him looking like a goon with his mouth hanging open. He massaged and tickled and flicked and blew his nose till his fuckin’ brains threatened to spill out and yet the irritation stayed where it was, grounded.

They landed in town earlier than expected and made a beeline to the bar. Vash was in one of his more social moods; he lingered amongst the patrons, chatting and laughing. Wolfwood watched him from his perch, twisting his whiskey glass as it sweat on the pockholed counter.

Stampede was a master at subtlety. There seemed to be this imaginary barrier between himself and other people that he always felt compelled to maintain; touches were tolerated for a few moments before he would casually shift away. His smile almost never wavered, wide and endearing and carefully molded to cover the sharp tips of his canines. The warm friendliness of his tone soothed any thoughts of rejection these strangers may have. He laughed easily. He was clumsy and goofy and charming and all of it together masked his aloofness well.

Nicholas shifted his attention to his surroundings, eyes sweeping the crowd for anything suspicious as he brought his glass back to his lips. The remaining half of his drink was emptied in one swallow, head tilted back to let gravity aide him. He caught the bartender’s eye and motioned for a third.

Irritation spiked on the left side of his sinuses for the umpteenth time that day, his nose twitching in protest. He growled as he scrubbed at himself with a wrist. This whole ordeal had gotten old hours ago and he was to the point that if a sneeze came he’d welcome it, wouldn’t care how many people’s eardrums he blew out if he could just get some fuckin’ relief.

He brought his glass to the counter for another pour. Reaching in to his jacket he pulled out a few double dollars and motioned to Vash.

“How much does my friend there have on his tab?”

The bartender glanced at the small group laughing at the end of her bar. “Already accounted for.”

Really? Nic looked to Vash again. Apparently he was in the middle of telling some story, flushed and giggling and tripping over his words. The people around him were laughing at his antics. Huh. Nic was happy to leave him to socialize, long as he managed to keep the bullshit under control. Vash loved people more than they deserved, and too often that blew up in his face.

 “Closin’ out then?”

---

The whiskey wasn’t terrible for the price and he ended up pyrchasimg a bottle. He polished off his third drink quickly and hefted Punisher from her resting place beside him.

The air outside was blessedly clear of the stale smell of so many working-class bodies and he inhaled appreciatively. The itch in his sinuses roused at the temperature change and Nico sniffed sharply to encourage it as he cleared the last few steps on to the road.

He didn’t get far before he finally seemed to get somewhere- his nose twitched in warning just before the tingle blazed to life, distracting him to the point where he slowed to a halt.

“Hheh, h-hheh…” he lifted the hand with the whiskey bottle toward his face, pressing the tip of his nose lightly with the back of his wrist. Amber liquid sloshed gently as his hitching deepened and he had just enough forethought to grasp the neck of the bottle a little tighter because he was finally going to-

The bar door slammed open, and a familiar spindly figure in red tumbled out. Catching sight of his friend, he stumbled down the stairs in pursuit, nearly falling to his face in the dusty road.

“Nico! Wait ‘fr me!”

Nic expelled his breath in an irritated sigh and lowered his arm down to his side. He waited as the familiar sound of Vash’s trudging gait came closer.

“’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“When someone says nothin it’s usually somethin’,” Vash slurred, a metal finger klink-ing as it tapped the glass of Nic’s whiskey.

Nic snatched it away, holding it protectively to his chest. “Careful. I’m not above feeding ya back your own advice.”

Evidently that was the funniest thing Vash had ever heard. Nic waited almost a full minute before losing his patience; he bent to hook an arm through his friends', hauling him to his feet.

“Wow," Nic grunted, "you are cocked, huh?”

“Naww, I’m fiine.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

---

“You’re a sneezy guy today,” Vash observed mildly from the couch.

Nic snorted and shot a look toward the gangly blonde. "You're not asleep yet?"

 Vash sucked his teeth. Sighing through his nose, Nic lifted his glass to his lips. He preferred rocks with his liquor, but those weren’t readily available in a hotel like this.

Much to his annoyance, the soothing warmth of the liquor was only teasing whatever tickly spot had been plaguing him all day. He scrubbed at his nose for the umpteenth time, groaning a bit as he attempted to squish the itch in to submission.

Vash was watching him intently now, and to cover the sudden rush of self-consciousness Nic snapped, “what?”

“Did’ja try lookin’ at the light?”

Nic turned away with a scoff. Only about 75 times. He ignored the creak of the loveseat behind him as he re-focused out the window.

“Want some help?”

“What are you, some kind of world expert?”

“Uhh, yeah kinda. A little.” A small, embarrassed chuckle. “I mean you’ve been traveling with me long enough to see for yourself, so...”

Couldn’t argue with that one. Nic made a flippant gesture to the air above him, leaving Vash to interpret it as he will. Stampede was moving around the room; there was the creak of wood as he shifted something heavy.

“Got it!” He moved in to Nicholas’ line of vision, proudly brandishing his chosen weapon. Nic scowled.

“A Bible? Really?”

“Yep! Wait, no. Just-“ Vash floundered for words, ending with an exasperated groan. “Just c’mere!”

Nic lurched to his feet with a put-upon sigh. It took a moment for his legs to work properly. Woah. He glanced at the bottle, shrugged, and took another swig.

Plopping down next to Vash, he turned to face him. The springs creaked in complaint of their combined weight as he stretched his arms out in challange.

“Do your worst.”

 Vash lifted the book, blowing hard on it’s cover to release a fine plume of dust. The motes danced in the air between them and Nicholas jerked back, hacking as they irritated his throat.

But then the itch in his nose stirred, and the coughing fit tapered off in to some promising hitchy breaths. Nic reared his head, the back of his hand hovering near the tip of his nose as the sneeze built closer, and closer to-

…nothing. He deflated with a groan. Damn it all.

“Man,” Vash said sympathetically, “that was close.”

Nic only snuffled in response. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and almost missed the moment that Vash's features slackened with a very familiar expression.

Nico stared at him incredulously. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Hh-huh?" Wriggling his nose, Vash sniffed dryly and seemed to finally notice what was happening. Grimacing, he shoved a finger under his nose.

Nic gave him a sour look which sent Vash shrinking in to himself. There was a wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes and he sniffled, pert little nose twitching dangerously. With a strangled sound Vash moved his hand to pinch his nostrils between his fingers.

“Blondie.”

“M’good!” The false cheer was laced with a nasal quality.

“Blondie.”

“N-no really, I c… c’haaah… snff. It’ll pass!”

It wouldn’t; Wolfwood had witnessed his attempts to hold back sneezes in the past and those had been when Vash was sober.

“Just let go before ya hurt yourself.” He let Vash stutter over some nonsense for a moment before waving him off. “You can’t help it. It’s fine.”

This time, Vash did let go, squinting at him through gathering tears. His nose, which had turned pale from being pinched hard, flushed pink. “I’m s..sorheeh…”

He tilted his spiky head back, nostrils trembling in rebellion against their least favorite irritant. Nic murmured a curse and moved out of the line of fire, swiping at his own nose jealously.

The sneeze teased Vash right up to the ledge and held him there, frozen with his top lip curled back over his teeth. Nic sighed and braced himself; there were Vash's normal, kittenish variety, and then there were-

“Hhih-iih? H’RISZ-shiew!! IHH'zhew!”

…His dust sneezes. Just as pitchy, but with a lot more force. And volume.

“Iiih--! Hh. Hh'IIIH- ...Udd, man,” he scrubbed his nose with the back of a wrist, making little grunting noises that were very Vash, “uh-oh. Uhh, haah… damn, what the hell!”

Nic couldn’t help it- he burst in to laughter. Vash glared at him through a film of tears, mouth twitching up before he forced his expression back in to a frown.

“Don’t make fun a’ me!”

“Aaah… I’m sorry, Spikey.” Nic took a swig from the bottle and beckoned Vash closer. “C’mere.”

“I might sneeze,” Vash warned, but scooted closer as instructed. Nic took his chin in his hand, rubbing the calloused pad of his thumb just under his birthmark.

“Oh, the poor thing,” he tutted, pitching his voice low. Vash went scarlet from the tips of his ears down to his chest. God, his reaction to this kind of teasing was just too good to resist. “Tryin’ t’help me out and ended up stuck yourself.”

Vash made as if to pull away, but stopped in his tracks as Nic brushed the tip of his thumb teasingly up his septum.

“Hhhih--! Nic, that’s… y-you’re gonna-! ‘m gonna-  Haaah-”

“That is the idea, yeah.”

“Hhhrnt’shhIEW! Ooh, snff, m’sorry. I… ohhno…”

“Yeah, yeah. Give me the encore already.”

“Ahhkt’shiew!”

“Bless you, douchebag.”

Vash shot him a glare from the crook of his arm. Chuckling, Nicholas reached for the tissues on the bedside table and handed over the box.

“No more dust,” Nic proclaimed over the loud honking that followed. He tossed the book out of sight and swept any remnants off the blanket.

“No more dust,” Vash agreed solemnly, picking up Nic’s whiskey bottle and taking a long swig. He whined in protest when it was snatched from his grasp.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?”

“Collecting my best friend tax!”

“Best friends?” It was Nicholas’ turn to swig from the bottle. “Where's my charm bracelet?”

“Ohmygod. You mean you’d wear one?”

"Hell fuckin no. I have a reputation to keep up."

Vash grumbled with faux irritation and shoved away from his laughing friend. He made as if to get out of bed, but paused mid scootch with a gasp.

“You good there?”

“I know how to do it!”

Before Nic could ask, Vash had leapt from the bed and was scurrying out to the hallway. He was back within minutes.

“En garde!” he cried, brandishing the long, fluffy tail feather of a Tomas at Nic’s nose. The nose-owner in question gave him an unamused look.

“A feather? Really? That’s the brilliant plan?”

“It works, watch!” Stampede fanned the edge of the feather at the tip of his friend’s nose, making little circles with it as he pressed it closer. “Tickle, tickle!”

“Blondie,” Nic wasn’t even trying to keep the exasperation from his voice. He wrinkled his nose. “That only works in cartoons.”

But Vash was determined, tongue poking out in concentration as he leaned closer to observe his technique. He wriggled the smaller, fluffy fronds around and in to Nicholas’ nostrils.

Nic blinked. Hhh-!

...Wait, really?

“Nnnhh! Hhhah? Hhhhaaah—” He moved his hand in a rolling motion, encouraging Vash to move deeper, tickle harder.

“Hhhheh… d-Hhheh-HAH’Tch…” Nope. “Ugh, dammit!”

Vash pouted and reached to offer Nic the tissues. “I was sure that’d work.”

“Told ya, only in stories n’ stuff.”

“Nuh uh.” Vash twirled the feather in his hand, examining it. “People can be allergic to feathers, too. Just like fur.”

 Nic made a grab for it but Vash rolled out of reach, clumsily righting himself on the bed.

“Blondie. Y’don’t need t’-“

“Hhhih…” Jesus fucking christ, he’d barely touched the fuckin’ thing to his face. “It’s gonna work, s-see. I’m gonnaah— gonna sneeZIH’het-shiew! Shiew! Nn’chiew!”

“Bl-“

“Iiiiisch-oo! Woah! See?”

“Yes, you're very talented.”

Vash finally seemed to pick up on Nic’s irritation. He cringed in to a small, apologetic smile, swiping the feather behind his back.

It worked; Nic rolled his eyes as he flopped back on his pillow, patting the space beside him.

“C’mere, you nut.”

With a soft, eager sound Vash crawled in next to him. He tucked himself in beneath Nic’s chin. Jaw cracking on a yawn, he settled his ear over Nicholas’s heart.

The room was suddenly quiet save for the sounds of other patrons. A cool breeze drifted through the cracked window, fluttering the sun-bleached floral curtains. It gently rustled Vash’s trademark spikey hair, the soft follicles lifting back to caress the rims of Nicholas’s nostrils. The spicy scent of whatever new soap he’d used followed, nipping at innermost membranes. It was a scent that, now that Nic thought about it, he’d been getting whiffs of all day.

As though on cue the urge to sneeze howled to life.

“What’s—” Vash began to lift his head to look up at him, and in a moment of true desperation Nicholas reached up and pressed his needle noggin back down. The movement had flicked a good piece of hair up, and as Nic sniffed it fluttered teasingly against the inner walls of his nares.

“Fhhuck,” he swore, voice diluted and breathy, “think m’gonnahh-“  

Words trailed off as his body wrenched away his control, and Nic panted through several deep breaths.

“Now? Hold on. Not on m-“

“Hhhee’YYESH-zchu! Z’TESH-huee! Haah, h-hhah-“ he needed one more good one. Turning back toward Vash, Nic buried his nose in the mass of blonde spikes, inhaling deeply. The itch boarded on painful, and he released his captive, rolling his head back on the pillow blindly.

“Hhht’ZISHhh! Hh-” Ooh, and a bonus? Drunk and unable to help himself, Nic squirmed, nose scrunched and breath stuttering—

Something soft fanned against his nose, and with a final pitchy breath Nic sneezed hard enough to see stars, his shoulders  lifting from the bed.

“Bless you,” Vash murmured, tossing the feather aside with a shake of his wrist. He’d been too close to the detonation zone.

“Jesus fuck,” Nic groaned, so heavy with relief that it made his bedmate chuckle.

“Better?”

“You have no idea.” Then, with sudden and uncharacteristic shyness, “thanks.”

Vash hummed warmly, stretching to press a kiss to Nic’s temple. “Don’t mention it.”

[ezynse]

little tristamp for the soul… part 1/2! motel visit!! two beds, unfortunately :(

rated V for Vulgar (Wolfwood <3)

DO NOT REBLOG TO NON-SNZKINK BLOGS

“Last two rooms. We’re not usually that lucky,” Vash noted. It had been a long day of traveling for him, the Insurance Girls, and Wolfwood.

He stepped inside, before pivoting on his heel so he could keep holding the door open while clearing the entrance. Wolfwood lumbered in after him, offering a nod of thanks as he set the Punisher down, leaning it against the wall. He then straightened up and tucked his thumbs into his belt loops, dark eyes appraising the layout.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Surprised that the girls let us take this one.”

He was referring to the dual full beds, rather than the other vacancy, which had a large queen. Vash hummed, then shrugged.

“You know how small Meryl is. I bet Millie doesn’t even realize when she’s in the bed or not.”

“Millie dear doesn’t realize lots of things,” Wolfwood said with a pleasant sigh, expression wistful as if she wasn’t a room over.

Vash huffed softly, giving his head a little shake. He then watched as Wolfwood dropped his rucksack on a chair close to one of the beds.

“Hey. You know what they call this?” Wolfwood asked Vash, pointing in a rather vague manner.

“Call what?”

“The chair.”

“What do you mean, what do they call it?”

“That’s the cuck chair,” Wolfwood said, nodding assuredly.

“… I don’t think that’s what it’s called, Wolfwood.”

“Is to,” Wolfwood replied. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his lighter and a carton of cigarettes. “It’s where the cuck sits and watches. Thought I’d share that knowledge with you.”

“Right. Thanks, Wolfwood.”

Wolfwood offered Vash a sharp grin, then nodded in the direction of the bathroom.

“Go ahead and shower first. I’m gonna smoke.”

And with that, he stepped out onto the balcony.

-

Vash wasn’t one to take his time in the shower. He washed his hair and body as quickly as he could with just a single arm. He didn’t like being exposed for very long.

Wolfwood was different.

“You’re fast,” Wolfwood remarked as he came back in from the balcony, locking the door behind himself. His eyes landed on his roommate, who was sitting at the chair by the desk (not the cuck chair). “You didn’t use all the hot water, right? I’m lookin’ to soak until it runs out.”

“If you want to keep up that priest grift, you should know that overindulgence is generally frowned upon- hey!”

Vash was cut off as Wolfwood started smacking at the side of his head, light but persistent taps.

“Think you’re real smart, don’t you? Huh?” Wolfwood grumbled out as Vash batted him away.

“I’m just letting you know,” Vash said with a perfectly pleasant smile.

Wolfwood flipped him off as he made his way into the bathroom.

-

Vash had reattached his arm, deciding to use the downtime to clean up his gun. He paused at one point, his hands hovering over the delicate machinery. He thought he had heard something.

He waited a moment, eyes narrowed, then got back to work.

-

After a full 25 minutes, Wolfwood emerged from the bathroom alongside puffs of steam. Vash looked up.

He had a towel wrapped around his waist, one that he was securing by hand in addition to the fold. His other hand was curled up, and he was pawing at his nose. No, not pawing… it was more like he was beating it up.

“You okay?” Vash asked.

Wolfwood answered him with a sneeze.

“hhHD’ISSZH! Ugh, fuck…”

Wolfwood had turned to the side, covering his face haphazardly with his free palm. Vash watched as all of the muscles in his torso tensed with effort.

“Bless you.”

“Thanks. Jesus…”

Wolfwood sniffled, and Vash was surprised at just how damp it sounded. Did he get water stuck up there or something?

“Fuck. This is embarrassing,” Wolfwood said, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his wrist as he turned to face Vash again. His nose was a deep shade of red. “Whatever soap was in there is killing me.”

“The soap?” Vash echoed. “You mean the scent?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled again as he opened up his bag, rummaging around for his sleepwear. “I’ll be fine.”

“Probably not a good idea to change. You don’t want to get it on anything else.”

“Nah, that won’t matter. It was just showering with the stuff. Doesn’t last too long.”

“It’s happened before?” Vash asked, turning back to conduct gun maintenance as Wolfwood changed, offering some privacy.

“Sometimes, yeah. Some of ‘em will just… hHH’DDSZHhue!”

“Bless you.”

“Get to me for a bit… thanks.”

Wolfwood let out a heavy sigh as he finally finished changing. He scrubbed at his damp hair with the now-free towel.

“So this has happened more than once? And you don’t just carry your own soap?”

“Carry my own? Fuck you. You think I’ve got carry-my-own-soap money?” Wolfwood scoffed, and Vash just chuckled softly as he shook his head.

“Then you at least shouldn’t have spent so long in there, and with all of that hot water... I’m sure the steam-”

“Didn’t ask for a science lesson. I’ll make my own mistakes, thanks.”

Vash managed to stifle another laugh, but only momentarily. Because as Wolfwood went to lie down on one of the mattresses, he shot back up with a string of expletives that surely would have made the Lord gawk.

“A spring just went right up my ass!”

Vash pushed himself away from the desk, shoulders trembling with silent laughter. He investigated the mattress himself. A row of bad springs cut across the middle, almost as if…

“Can’t believe it. Someone broke the damn bed! Probably fucking like rabbits,” Wolfwood spat.

“You did take the one next to the cuck chair,” Vash noted.

“Well, fuck me runnin.’ Reckon I did.”

Wolfwood sighed. He was now standing up, contrapposto with his arms crossed. He tapped a foot disapprovingly as he looked down at the bed. His rhythm faltered after a few seconds, arms tightening around his chest as he whipped his head to the side, burying his face against a hiked shoulder.

“hAHDT’TTSZZhhue!”

“Can’t catch a break tonight,” Vash said thoughtfully, resting a hand on Wolfwood’s back. He just grumbled as he grabbed a few tissues from the box on the nightstand between their beds, angling his head to the side and blowing his nose.

“Mine’s all right,” Vash continued, sitting down on the edge of his own bed. “We can just share.”

Wolfwood wiped at his nose and tossed the tissues in the wastebasket, before tentatively sitting down next to Vash.

“Won’t mind cuddling?” Wolfwood asked, voice gruff. There was a glint in his eyes.

“I think we’ll manage,” Vash said. It’s not like they hadn’t done it before.

-

Vash went back to his gun while poor Wolfwood continued to sit on the edge of the bed, head hanging low as he dealt with his… sensitivity. He didn’t seem too poorly, all things considered. It actually looked like he had gotten the most of the irritation out of his system.

By the time they finally turned in, he was stuffy, but wasn’t sniffling as much.

“Well, g’night,” Wolfwood said as he turned on his side, back facing Vash. The two of them managed fine in the full bed. They both had broad shoulders, so it was inevitable that they would bump at some points in the night. But it wasn’t like they were uncomfortable.

Vash remained on his back, hands folded atop his abdomen as he stared up at the ceiling for a while. Trying to actually sleep right now would be a lost cause. He would have to wait for Wolfwood to go down first, because—

“hhHMPPH’TTSChh! hhIH-! hHD’TTZZSHhih!”

—of all that.

“Bless you.”

“Fuck, sorry.”

“You’re all right,” Vash replied. He heard Wolfwood pull more tissues from the box and put them to use.

“So damn stupid,” Wolfwood mumbled. He continued to grumble as he adjusted himself, eventually pulling a pillow out from behind his head and holding it to his chest.

It wasn’t too long before he eventually drifted off. Vash fell asleep after him, to the sound of slow and stuffy breaths.

[whispsofsmokee]

Washout

A Vashwood fic. M/m and m!snz, light contagion mess. I dont think there are any CW really except to say Nic has a foul mouth

A few days ago I made this post in regards to this fic. If anybody wants to continue it, please feel free! If not, then we are calling this a ficlet.

Yeah, Vash was definitely coming down with something.

They’d been traveling together long enough where Nicholas was familiar with the tells. Apparently being a human-like plant meant you had to deal with human illnesses as well.

Like last time, Vash was making an effort to downplay how he was feeling. He knew better than to try to play it off completely- didn’t even try. For one thing, Nic mused, he’d have to shut up in order to hide how hoarse he sounded.

Privately, Nic prayed to himself for strength. Vash's wilted state was giving him feelings and per usual that was manifesting itself as irritability. He was blowing through his smokes as a result, and Nic forced himself not to dwell on the inevitability of running out. Nicotine blunted the edges of his temper, and if he needed to self-medicate to get through it that was what he was going to do. Stampede rolled with the pissiness easily enough. There was a type of fondness to his expression that only seemed to increase with each tirade, and more than once now Nic had caught him with this tiny, knowing smile on his gob.

Well, seemed at least one of them knew what the fuck was going on with all that.

They were traveling at Vash’s insistence. It isn’t that bad, he’d said. That was a blatant fucking lie, but Wolfwood had long since learned to pick the larger battles, and reminded himself that his friend was old. Like, a century and a half old. He didn’t need to be coddled.

They’d set up their camp beside the semi-shelter of a ruined building. Nic had all but shoved Stampede down in to his bed roll as he busied himself prepping for the night. Vash obliged him with suspicious ease, and it was no time at all before his stuffy snoring was echoing off the sand-worn walls.

It wasn't much longer before Nic was on his back, eyes closed but awake. The wind had picked up, and though they were mostly safe from the sand it was making quite the racket as it howled around the roofless structure. He’d have to relocate soon. Loathe as he was to move outside their crummy shelter, Nicholas couldn’t hear a damn thing if anybody decided to creep up on them.

So, when the first raindrop hit his brow it really was no surprise that his reaction was so violent. That didn’t make it any less embarrassing. Nic’s bellow startled Vash awake and he immediately rolled to sit up, blinking sleep from his eyes with his colt already in hand.

There was a moment of tense silence, and then the rain really started coming down, the pit-patting of raindrops alien to Nic’s strained senses. They made little tinny sounds where they landed against Angelina’s still-warm frame. Vash crowed with delight, tilting his head back to feel the droplets against his cheeks.

Wolfwood had experienced rain twice before in his twenty-seven years. The first had been as a child- he had no idea how old- but the memory carried the smell of damp sand and ozone and the taste of something sweet on his tongue. The second was a little later, and only observed through the dust-caked window of a lab cell.

The fire between them sizzled and spat against the assault, flaring bright in the last vestiges of it’s strength. He could see Vash in the dying light, and he was looking at him like…

Like what?

“Get up,” Nic snapped, his mind combing through a list of their supplies and coming up short. Umbrellas were for the wealthy, and even then they were for sheltering against the desert sun.

There was a tarp in Angelina’s side cab, used to keep dust and grit from her gears. Wolfwood pulled it from it’s compartment, wishing he had invested in a new one sooner- it had some pretty decent-sized holes in it.

“Hh-hht’chiew! Snf.” Stampede’s had his own bedding tucked under one arm as he struggled to roll up Nic’s. His hair flopped in to his eyes and he shook his head, lip curled in to an itchy sneer. “Ugh, mahhn… haah…hh-HET’CHIEW!”

“Leave it-- get under here with me before it gets any worse!”

“Ggt’TISH-shiew!” Vash wasn't bothering to cover with his arms full. He staggered over, stumbling with each increasingly vocal sneeze as he dutifully sprayed the entire fucking camp with his germs. “EEHT’shh! Hh-huuuhh-HAAHT’szhh!”

“Jesus, Spike.” Nic yanked the other man beneath the cover with him; Stampede immediately plunked down on his ass.

“Hhheh,” Vash’s breath wavered precariously on the edge, his flushed nose twitching as he waited for the sneeze to crest. The anticipatory pause that followed was so long that it seemed he was going to lose it. But, “hhh’YEHT-shiew! Sorry.”

The quiet apology wrung at Nic’s heart. He let the tarp fall over his head in order to wrestle himself out of his blazer.

Their surroundings lit with harsh, bright light, which left with a crash of thunder that echoed hollowly in Nicholas’ chest. The unexpected volume of noise set his teeth on edge. Down beside him, Vash leaned in to his leg in silent support. They huddled together in relative silence, watching as their camp became progressively more soaked.

“I’m sorry,” Vash croaked and cleared his throat. “We should have stopped in town for the night.”

“Is what it is. No sense in stewing over it now.” Not to mention that Nicholas wasn’t the sick one here. He nudged the other man. “Your coat is soaked.”

“Yeah,” Vash was distracted, likely by some imagined guilt.

Nic nudged him again, harder. “So. Take it off.”

A pause, and then a short burst of laughter. Real laughter. God.

“Nicholas Dee Wolfwood. Are you trying to-“

“Mine’s dry,” he said gruffly by way of explanation.

“Shut the fuck up!” There was enough heat in Nic’s cheeks to keep them both warm. That was fine, though, because his reaction sparked a second peal of laughter. He dropped his blazer over Vash’s moronic spiky head.

“Nic-“

“’M not arguing about it.”

Vash huffed an irritated sigh and, surprisingly, let it go. The sleeves didn’t quite reach his wrists, but the fit was acceptable enough.

“Thanks.”

Nic grunted in response. He crouched down and leaned in to his friend, offering what warmth he could while they waited for the storm to end.

[finnpeach-deactivated20241003]

Dude kneel was my favorite fic on the face of the earth. If you don’t want anything to do with it it totally respect that but I hope someday you’ll rewrite or repost it. I read it so much I nearly had it memorized

Hey do you wanna get married or something? Because this is the best compliment ever and I never stopped thinking about it. Sorry, I know you sent me this months ago but I finally got the motivation to dig through my docs and hit copy and paste. FIND KNEEL BELOW! JUST FOR YOU!

Kneel

Please enjoy my fleabag-inspired Vashwood AU, where Wolfwood is a disillusioned priest with the kink and Vash is a secret angel. Something about having a cold tears down his defences that he’s not just a normal human, and Wolfwood starts to catch on.

The church is remarkably cold today, Wolfwood thinks, as he walks towards the pulpit.  The air has a chilly bite to it and sends a shiver down his spine. He will have to ask Milly to distribute blankets to the parishioners for the next time, lest they start getting complaints.

Fifty pairs of eyes follow him from the pews, holding their stare as the entrance song rings across the stone walls. Nobody is excited to see him delivering the mass today. 

“Father Wolfwood? He’s all right, a bit rough around the edges. He seems dissuaded by the spirit these days. Maybe he needs to go on a religious sabbatical.”

It is true that he has been a bit, well, bored, lately. He delivers the same Mass every Sunday. Receives the same sort of confessionals every day. Baptises the same type of wriggling babies. Attends the same standard of funerals. He has completely lost his motivation, his provocation, for the spirit. Maybe he is in the wrong line of work.

 His black robe sweeps around his ankles. Were it not for the organ and the singing, he would hear it, swish swish swishing beneath him like its own prayer.

The entrance song comes to a close as he places his bible on the pulpit. He prefers his own, rather than the church’s large scripture. He can make notes this way and scribble drawings of a burning bush, or a ridiculously large boat with two of every animal. 

With careless fingers, he opens the bible and clears his throat. His earthy brown eyes lazily scan the crowd, the forthcoming speech stirring in his mind like old bones coming to life. 

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Wolfwood’s voice echoes throughout the church. He opens his palms towards the ceiling, as he always does.

“Amen,” the church replies.

Wolfwood delivers the greeting speech with practised boredom. He wishes something would happen. Please God, if you are even out there, save me from this mundanity.

His tongue forms the final words. “The Lord be with you.”

“And also with you,” comes the echo of the crowd.

“Please be seated.” Wolfwood nearly yawns. He closes his eyes, feigning spiritual enlightenment.

“And also with you.” One singular voice breaks the silence within the church.

Wolfwood’s eyes shoot open. He hadn’t expected his joke of a prayer, to be saved from this mundanity, to be answered so soon. Forty nine other pairs of eyes turn to see who has just spoken up. 

He pinpoints him immediately. Spikey blonde hair. Undercut. His cheeks are pink with embarrassment. His nose, too. Tall, red coat. Glasses. Sheepishly grinning and sitting down to escape everyone’s gaze. 

Also an idiot, apparently.

Wolfwood has never seen him here before. A surprised smile twitches at the corner of his lips, taken aback, the sluggish boredom replaced with renewed vigour. 

He continues with the rest of the sermon, his heart suddenly beating in tandem with the rhythm of his words. Something about this blonde man’s eyes watching him (they’re blue, even from behind the pulpit, Wolfwood can see that they shine like sapphires) lights a fire in him. He has not felt like this since he first started studying scripture.

At some point, towards the end of Mass, he hears someone sniffling. Thick, wet sniffs that punctuate the silence around his speech. This was to be expected, though, considering how cold the church is. Wolfwood is not able to tell who it is until his eyes land, once again, on the blonde stranger. 

He is the one sniffling. His nose is pink, like an English rose, and he keeps rubbing at it. He should just blow his nose and get it all over with. 

Considering the sniffling, it was also only a matter of time until the sneezing commenced.

“...all the glory and honour is yours, forever and ever,” Wolfwood concludes.

“Amen,” the crowd replies.

“H’ihZTSHsHh’UE!” 

The sneeze echoes off the stone walls of the church. Luckily, the organist begins playing, muffling the sound of the next sharp, wet sneeze.

“-- eh’TDhSHhh’ieW!” 

Wolfwood searches the parishioners to see where the sneezes came from. The likeliest suspect is the same spikey, sniffly stranger from earlier, and Wolfwood is correct in his assumption. 

Warm, liquid heat fills his veins like syrup. The man is bent forward in the pew with elbows on his knees. He tends to his dripping nose with a pathetic piece of tissue and looks absolutely miserable. Does he have a cold? Why is Wolfwood’s heart beating so fast, just from looking at him? It is as though he is looking at an angel, something holy, even though the man is just suffering through a cold. Maybe Wolfwood should–

“Father? Wolfwood?” Milly’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. The young woman is standing next to him with the box of wafers and wine in her hand. 

“Are you okay? I’ve been trying to get your attention. We’re ready to start the communion rite.”

“Ah.” Wolfwood shakes his head, hoping it will rid his mind of the man’s pink nose. He needs to focus. “Right. Sorry. Let’s go.”

He takes the box of wafers from her hand, or the body of Christ. How can Christ’s body be in these pathetic little wafers? He should at least be in a 12 ounce wagyu steak, that would be more fitting. Wolfwood thinks. He does not suppose the church could write off wagyu beef for expenses, though.

He stands in front of the pulpit as people begin to line up to receive the body and blood of Christ. Milly pours the wine while Wolfwood hands them the wafers with practised apathy. The Body of Christ, Amen. The Body of Christ, Amen. The Body of Christ–

His indifference is dispelled when the man in the red coat suddenly appears before him. 

Wolfwood swallows. His throat is tight against his priest’s collar. They are probably the same height, yet the blonde appears a little shorter because he’s tucking his chin down slightly. The position allows him to gaze up at Wolfwood with sparkling blue eyes.

“Father,” the man says courteously, his tongue grazing against his bottom lip. It leaves his lips wet, similar to his nose, which, now that Wolfwood is closer, is actually an irritated shade of red. 

Wolfwood ignores the shiver that electrifies his body as he repeats the word like a chant in his head. Father. Father. Father.

“The Body of Christ,” Wolfwood says, his tongue thick in his mouth as he raises the wafer.

“Amen,” the other replies softly, never once breaking eye contact.

He expects the blonde man to hold out his hand and take the wafer, like everyone else has, but instead he drops open his mouth slightly and allows his pink tongue to slide out of his mouth, resting against his pillowy bottom lip.

He continues to gaze up at Wolfwood expectantly.

Gritting his teeth, the priest places the wafer on the tip of the believer’s tongue. He feels like he is buzzing with electricity. The man lifts his tongue, slightly, so slightly, so that it touches the tip of Wolfwood’s finger as he places the wafer.

Shocked, Wolfwood draws his hand back as quickly as one does when they touch a hot stove. The moisture settles into his skin like venom.

Warmth stirs in his abdomen. The man draws his tongue back into his mouth, letting the wafer disintegrate on his tongue. He gives Wolfwood a small smile and a wink. 

Wolfwood cannot seem to break eye contact with the stranger as he exits the line and the next parishioner steps forward. He has to remind himself to look away, to focus on the person in front of him.

He flexes his hand that had been touched by the man’s tongue and ignores the heat bubbling inside him. The priest readies the next wafer.

“The Body of Christ.”

“Amen,” the woman replies and holds out her hand.

***

After the service, Wolfwood walks behind the church to smoke. It is a quiet spot and overlooks the cemetery, and few parishioners tend to bother him back here.

That is, until today.

He lights the cigarette between his lips and leans his head back against the freezing stone wall. He lets his eyes slip shut as he battles with his own detachment for this place. At least it is quiet and peaceful out here– 

“Hi.”

Wolfwood jolts at the sound, his heart ricocheting around his chest like a bullet. To his right is the blonde parishioner with the pink nose, the same from earlier. How did he know about his hiding spot?!

He bites his cigarette and glares at him as he tries to slow the hammering in his chest.

“Fucking hell, you almost gave me a heart attack! Do you just sneak up on everyone like that?!”

“Oh, sorry.” The stranger looks genuinely surprised and apologetic, and maybe a little shocked to hear a priest swearing. He gives Wolfwood a gentle smile, the kind that would make anyone trust him immediately. Wolfwood feels himself grow even more on edge. 

“I thought you heard me coming. I just wanted to say that your service was really great.”

Wolfwood huffs a laugh. “Don’t usually get compliments like that these days. Thanks.”

The man cocks his head to the side and lifts an eyebrow. He looks a bit like a puppy tilting its head.

“Why not?”

“Mmm,” Wolfwoof hums. “It’s not important.” He waves his hand at him, as if to shake away the topic. “Anyway, is this your first time here, blondie?”

The man does not seem bothered by the nickname. In fact, it makes his smile grow.

“Yes, I just moved here. I volunteered a lot at my previous church and wanted to do the same here. I thought I’d come find you to ask about any help you may need.”

Wolfwood snorts. “Really? We usually only get delinquent kids that need community service time comin’ around here to help out.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette and angles the smoke away from the man.

“You got a name?”

“Vash.”

Vash. “Wolfwood. Nice to meet ya.” Wolfwood puts his cigarette between his lips and offers his hand, which Vash kindly refuses, holding his hands up to his chest with his palms facing the priest. 

“Ahh, you probably don’t want to shake hands with me. I have a bit of a cold,” he says, grinning abashedly. “Sorry if my sneezing messed up your sermon today. I didn’t want to get anyone else sick, so I sat in the back.”

Yeah, so Vash could sneeze all over everyone in front of him? He really is a bit of a moron. But Wolfwood is lucky he was not sitting up front, sneezing as he was, otherwise he would have had a boner for the whole church to see. 

“Hm. Are you an angel, or somethin’? Like actually.” Wolfwood tucks his chin forward and looks at him from over the rim of his glasses. This man is far too nice for his own good.

“What do you mean?” Vash has not stopped smiling since they started talking, and his smile has only stretched, as if he is surprised by being called an angel. The question clearly makes him nervous even though Wolfwood was just teasing.

“I mean – you’re sick as hell, and came to Mass just so you could ask about volunteering, and you’re at least considerate about being sick. What’s the catch? You hiding something?”

“N-no! I just like helping my community, thahh…”

Wolfwoof watches as Vash’s hands steeple over his nose, anticipating the inevitable. Fuck, stop staring.

But he cannot. Vash’s pretty blue eyes pinch shut and his golden eyelashes catch in the sun like a flame. His lips draw back over his teeth to reveal sharp canines as his pale hands rise up to tent his nose. 

“H’ahDZSh’hue!-- huh.. h’uhDThSCH’ue!” He stays bent forward for a millisecond, eyes shut, as if expecting another. When a third does not come, he rights himself and looks at Wolfwood again with a sharp sniffle. 

The priest watches as one of Vash’s pink, damp nostrils closes with the sniff but the other does not. Ah, so he’s congested. 

Wolfwood cannot pinpoint it, but the atmosphere seems brighter, lighter, now. He could have sworn he saw a little golden halo of light flash around Vash’s head when he sneezed, but maybe the sun is just playing tricks on him.

Once again, the priest’s collar is tight around his throat as he swallows. He is suddenly grateful for the extra fabric in his robe and he just hopes that it is covering the emerging hard on.

“God bless you.” 

“Snff!.. Thangks.” Vash smiles brightly again, like the blessing has just renewed him. Maybe he is just a religious weirdo. “Might be a while udntil I can volunteer, though.” He laughs a little and Wolfwood swears he hears wind chimes rustle on a nearby tree. Which is odd, because there is not a single breeze in the air. 

“No kidding.” Wolfwood kicks his foot up against the wall of the church. “We don’t have anything going on yet, but we’ll do a winter clothing drive soon. Milly’s setting it up, though, so I’d talk to her.”

“A winter clothing drive… Perfect, I’ll go talk to her about it then. I also wondered—“ Vash steps closer so that they are only a foot apart. Wolfwood’s skin shivers as he comes closer, as if someone has just placed a cold hand on his back. The blonde lowers his voice even though they are alone.

“— is there someone I could talk to? I’ve been… I suppose, going through a difficult time, but—“

Wolfwood holds up his hand to stop him. “We offer confessionals and counselling sessions at specified times, and I’m on break right now.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry—“ His smile breaks for the first time. Did a cloud just cover the sun?

“But—” Wolfwood keeps his hand up but places his fingers down so only his index remains up. “You are welcome by my office at any time. Or in my hiding spot. If you bring a few beers, we can have a proper chat.” 

Vash grins again, and suddenly the cloud passes. Light floods around them like a shining beacon. Wolfwood thinks it must be a coincidence.

“That would be great.”

“No wine coolers. I don’t drink that sissy shit.” Wolfwood puts his cigarette out on the stone wall of the church and pinches the butt between his fingers. Milly has told him off for cursing around the parishioners before, apparently it’s not very “professional”.

“Oh, so you’re a cool, swear-y priest, are you?” Vash’s voice is teasing, light, and airy. Wolfwood could have this back and forth for hours.

“All the best are.” Wolfwood cannot help but grin. Finally, some appreciation around here.

“Thank you, Father. I’ll come by sometime.” Vash gives him a small wave goodbye and walks away.

The last thing Wolfwood sees is the end of his red coat gliding around the corner. Why does he feel so good right now, after just a short conversation with Vash? Something inside him feels light again, as if he could walk on air and watch the world below. 

Father, Father, Father. 

*** 

Vash rounded the corner as calmly as he possibly could, until he was out of sight from Wolfwood. Then he broke out into a sprint and ran far and fast, away from the church and away from anyone who might have seen his drop in disguise. He probably looked quite insane, running in jeans and combat boots and a red coat, and many humans stopped to give him a strange look.

His legs carried him as far as a secluded park. His cold, this silly thing that humans caught and were weakened by, made it difficult for him to catch his breath,

That had been close. Too close, Nai would say, you’re going to compromise your true nature if you keep it up.

And to that, Vash would say, It’s okay! Why does it matter if they find out that we’re angels? Aren’t we supposed to be helping them, anyway? Maybe knowing who we are will help them understand!

Nai would roll his eyes, and he would either leave it at that, or lecture him on how helpless humans were, how exposing their true divinity would ruin the humans, how their entire world could be undone if he so much as stuck a wing out of line.

Deep down, Vash knew his brother was a little bit right, but he was a little bit wrong, too. Wolfwood understood, and he was not helpless.

He had been assigned to this particular priest by Nai. Another priest who’s lost his way, Vash. Just go down there and perform a few miracles and he’ll be back on track.

Most priests were not particularly beautiful, or fun to be around. They were often old, or too serious. But Wolfwood was a different story entirely. He was tall, and very handsome. He had had an interesting childhood, based on the report Nai had given him, and had lived in an orphanage for most of his life. According to his profile, he tends to be blasphemous, unruly, prideful, lazy, and even lustful. Vash, as his assigned angel, would have to set him on the path towards holy righteousness again. 

It seemed he had become disillusioned with religion in the previous years, and needed divine intervention to get back on track. Easy enough. Vash would swoop in there, perform a few miracles, and then leave. It should be simple.

Except, it was not. Vash’s heart had hammered in his chest like a rabbit beneath a hawk’s shadow when he first laid eyes on Wolfwood. The priest’s robe was tight against his chest, the black and white collar wrapped around his throat, and a small silver cross hanging by a silver chain around his neck. 

Despite his immediate attraction for the priest, the visit had still gone (somewhat) according to plan. Wolfwood sensed Vash’s presence and felt the spirit during his service, and as such, the Mass improved. At the end, he had heard snippets of other parishioners gossiping about how much better the service had been, how much more enigmatic Wolfwood had been.

The only hiccup was this cold. He had caught it in the days leading up to his visit with Wolfwood. It is unusual for angels to catch colds, but certainly not unheard of. Being on Earth, surrounded by unholiness and sin, made him more susceptible to illnesses. When Vash woke up the morning of his visit with an ache in his throat and a stuffiness in his sinuses, he was not the least bit surprised.

Now that he’s in the park, he can stretch out a bit. He wanders deeper into the woods until he arrives at a clearing. The hills extend for miles, with trees dotting the perimeter. No one will see, and if they do, he can just fly away.

Vash removes his coat and allows his wings to stretch out, a pleasurable shiver running down his spine as they extend from between his shoulder blades. Ah, much better. 

He lays down in the grass and stares up at the sky. Wolfwood knew he was hiding something. He had even called him an angel. 

The opportunity to think further about it is interrupted by the same spark in his sinuses as earlier. His nose scrunches in retaliation, lips drawing back over his teeth to reveal sharp canines, and he twists to the side.

“H’ddYZSHhue! ‘ihHTSCHhhyiewhh!” The contagious mist catches in the sunlight, a clear testament to how wet the sneezes were. He sniffles pathetically and rubs harshly at his nose with the heel of his hand. 

That had been another thing Vash had noticed about Wolfwood’s lust. He liked this particular bodily sensation, and had paid special attention when Vash did it in the church. How funny, that he likes something so delicate and simple. Vash thinks.

The angel rolls back on his spine and sighs. He feels like he knows so much, yet so little at the same time. 

***

Four days later, and the mundanity of his line of work has returned. Vash has not been seen in the church since the last Mass, and Wolfwood has to admit that he misses his presence. 

This particular priest hates confessionals most of all. He is not interested in hearing about people’s sins, nor does he particularly care to comfort them, but it is sometimes interesting to hear the latest bit of church gossip. For example, when someone with a recognisable voice comes in and confesses they stole something from their neighbour, who also happens to be a church member, and now Wolfwood knows about the old lady thievery drama between Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Downy. Or, when a certain (Mrs. Downy, of course) hardly anonymous churchgoer confesses that she slept with a married man (Mr. Jones), and the wife (Mrs. Jones) doesn’t know. Those days are the most interesting.

He has a feeling, though, that today will be a slow day, full of people who actually want to confess their boring sins and feel better about themselves when he tells them they’re forgiven.

Beside him, the curtain swishes on the other confessional box as someone steps through it. 

It begins. Wolfwood yawns. The confessional sits down.

Wolfwood continues slouching, bored. He tugs on his priest’s collar and hopes this will be done quickly. It only takes the sound of a familiar voice to suddenly make him sit upright and at attention.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Blondie.

“It has been… um…” Vash trails off, and Wolfwood swears he can see him counting on his fingers through the screened partition. Seriously?

“It has been, um… Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever confessed, actually. So I guess that’s the first sin. But here are my sins.” He sniffles a couple times. Is something bothering his nose? Is he still sick?

Wolfwood’s throat is tight. What could this goody two shoes possibly have to confess about? Did he hug someone too hard and give them a bad back? Did he give some crying child an ice cream, and then that kid turned out to be diabetic?

“I’ve fallen in love. And it’s a bit unconventional.”

Wolfwood rolls his eyes. He gets about a hundred “I’m gay” confessionals every week. And he didn’t have to guess that Vash was, either. 

This is a waste of a confessional. Though, maybe he’ll get some more intel on who Vash is in love with. Wolfwood was really hoping that he was single. Not that he should, though, since his like of work forbids it.

“Well, the Lord loves all his children, regardless of their preferences. Despite what you may have heard.” He leans his head against the wooden wall, aching for a cigarette. He really does not care to reassure people about their sexuality. A hole is a hole. What is even more annoying is the combination of these confessionals and finding out his new love interest is already in love with another. 

Vash gives a small chuckle. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s unconventional because of his… line of work, I suppose.”

Wolfwood pauses. Line of work. “Could you elaborate?”

Vash is quiet for a moment. The silence hangs delicately in the air.

“He’s a priest.”

Something inside Wolfwood shatters like glass.  

Wolfwoof says nothing for an instant. He hears Vash’s congested, snuffly breathing, which has started getting louder. Is he nervous?

“I’m sorry. That was stupid. Forget I said anything.”

Wolfwood stares at the floor ahead of him. 

“Wolfwood? Are you there? Please say something.” His voice cracks, desperate.

Wolfwood closes his eyes and leans his head back. Some sort of feeling takes over him again, filling him with the same magnetic spirituality as it did in Mass when Vash had his eyes on him. He relinquishes himself. 

“Kneel,” he says, softly. He should not be doing this.

“What?”

“Kneel.” He should not be doing this.

Wolfwood waits to hear Vash sink down to the floor before he rises from his seat. He silently slips out of his own side, then stands outside of Vash’s curtain for a beat. His heart hammers in his chest like a drum. Do not open the curtain. Do not open the curtain.

He tugs back the curtain and they meet each other’s gaze. Vash is kneeled on the floor, hands pathetically folded in his lap, eyes wet. His nose is still pink, a sure sign he has not shaken his cold yet. His eyes, fuck, his big blue eyes, look up at him so softly.

Vash staring up at him like this, like he is an answered prayer, makes him feel alive. Perhaps what he is about to do is acceptable in God’s eyes, if Vash is looking at him so religiously.

Wolfwood takes a knee and allows his hand to glide over Vash’s jaw, his thumb resting against the base of his ear. His skin is warm. Vash breathes through his mouth, lips slightly parted. His eyes search Wolfwood’s, darting from his lips, to his eyes, to his hand resting against his face. He looks angelic.

Vash is the first to break the spell, when he sees Wolfwood struggling too. He leans forward and kisses Wolfwood, careful at first, light. Much too cautious for Wolfwood’s taste. A match strikes within the priest at the taste of his lips and he deepens the pressure in turn. 

He pulls Vash to his feet as their lips strike against each other. Pushing and pulling. It is all Wolfwood, at first, on the offence, with Vash pathetically accepting. At the feel of Wolfwood’s hand on his hip, his fingers digging into his skin, he presses forward, parrying each of Wolfwood’s kisses with his own. 

They stop suddenly when Vash presses his hand to Wolfwood’s chest.

“Wait,” he says. He is breathing hard. “I still have a cold.”

“Like I give a fucking shit about that. Come here.” 

Wolfwood is not going to stop now. He steps into the confessional box and closes the curtain behind them, then wraps his hands around the back of Vash’s thighs to pick him up. Vash yelps a bit in surprise but is quickly placated when he finds himself on Wolfwood’s lap, seated in the confessional booth.

“This… Kissing a priest, in a church. Won’t he get mad?” Vash asks between kisses. His hand is warm against Wolfwood’s neck, the other is knotted in his black hair.

“Who?” Shut up and just keep kissing me, he thinks. Vash’s lips taste like golden honey, and each time they drift away, Wolfwood is left wanting more.

“God.”

Wolfwood snickers. “What’re you, his secretary?” 

Something about that causes Vash to pause, and he takes a second to come up with something clever to get Wolfwood off his trail.

“Aren’t you, technically?”

“Touché.” He presses a soft kiss to Vash’s lips. “If you don’t tell on me, I won’t tell on you. It’ll be our little secret.”

Wolfwood is growing harder with Vash in his lap, and the way he keeps pulling away to sniffle and rub at his nose is not helping. He is too far gone to care anymore. Each time he turns his head away, Wolfwood gives him a moment to recover before gripping his fingers in Vash’s blonde hair and tugging him back. He is impatient, restless. It is a combination of breaking his vows as a priest in the holiest place he could possibly break them, and the sensation of Vash sitting atop his cock.

His lips find Wolfwood’s neck and begin making deep, dark bruises above the collar. A gentle moan unwillingly escapes him at the sensation. He does not think it can get much better until Vash’s breath starts to hitch. His breath staggers against Wolfwood’s lips, and he almost mistakes it for pleasure, until Vash is pitching forward against Wolfwood’s shoulder, sneezing right against the collar of his robe.

“Hih’DHhSHHh’YUE!” The mist coats half of Wolfwood’s throat. He grits his teeth to avoid moaning.

“Suhh.. Sorry…” Vash breaths, then– “--eh’IDTSHhhyIEW!” His pink, twitching nose presses against the crook of Wolfwood’s neck again, and Wolfwood swears he saw a halo around his head again.

“What was that?”

“What?” Vash asks, leaning back to wipe at his nose with the side of his index finger.

“That thing you just did. The light. What was it? Where’d it go?”

Vash looks stunned. “I… I don’t–”

The sound of footsteps echoing against the tiled floor of the church causes them both to freeze. Wolfwood clamps his palm over Vash’s mouth, his other hand steadying the other’s lower back.

The other curtain draws back and someone steps in and sits down. Fuck.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

Wolfwood stays silent, lost for words, until Vash pokes him in the ribs.

“Pl-please continue.” Wolfwood’s throat is as dry as sandpaper. Vash watches him like a hawk.

“It has been two years since my last confession. Since then I have lied, cheated on my wife, and…”

Wolfwood feels Vash’s lips part against his palm and his breath hitches. Oh, fuck no. He glares up at Vash and sees his nose twitching against the side of his fingers.

‘Don’t you dare.’ Wolfwood mouths, baring his teeth at him.

Vash shakes his head and pinches his eyes shut. His hands grab onto Wolfwood’s shoulders.

“... I have used drugs, and alcohol, and been blasphemous…”

Jesus, this guy needs to wrap it up. Wolfwood can only focus on Vash right now, the way he feels against his cock, how he so desperately needs to sneeze. 

The man keeps droning on and Wolfwood feels like he is in hell. He presses his hand tighter around Vash’s mouth. If this guy catches them, he is definitely going to lose his job. 

“H’ih…”

‘Blondie!’ Wolfwood mouths, but it is useless. He removes his hand from Vash’s mouth and wraps it around the back of Vash’s head, tugging him forward just as Vash’s chest expands one last time.

“Heh’idZSHhh’yue!” Wolfwood presses Vash’s face against the crook of his neck, but not quickly enough to muffle the first sneeze. They echo around the confession box and the church.

“ih-CHSHhh’ue! ihGKTSHhhIEW!” Each sneeze bursts a mist of successive spray against Wolfwood’s neck. This, he thinks, must be some sort of baptism.

Once Vash has finally stopped sneezing, he rests his forehead against Wolfwood’s shoulder and sniffles thickly, making little congested sounds that do not help their situation.

“Uh… Bless you, Father Wolfwood,” the man says, pausing his confession. Wolfwood is about to open his mouth, deliver the prayer of Absolution and get him out of here, when Vash decides to speak up instead.

“Thank you!” Vash chirps, and his stupid voice is so remarkably different from Wolfwood’s that the man goes silent. If Wolfwood could see the man, he’d imagine that his jaw would be hanging open.

Wolfwood will beat Vash’s ass later, most certainly. For now, he just wraps his hand around Vash’s jaw to shut him up before turning back to the confessionary.

“Apologies, I caught a cold and my voice is going. God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son…”

He finishes the prayer of Absolution and sends the man on his way. When he’s gone, Wolfwood all but kicks Vash out of the confessional booth.

“‘Thank you’?!”

“He blessed me!” Vash rubs his ass as he stands up. Ouch, the church tiles are painful to land on.

“No, he blessed me, you dumbass. You’re lucky he’s only marginally dumber than you so he won’t tell the whole church I was fucking the blonde in the confessional box!”

“I’m sorry, I had to sneeze,” Vash whines as he dusts off his jeans. He stares at Wolfwood with those big, dumb, blue puppy eyes again, and it makes Wolfwood groan and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I’m going to hell. Get out of my church.” He is too mad to remember the golden ring of light around Vash’s head when he sneezed. He just wants Vash out of here so he can forget this ever happened.

“I’ll be in Mass tomorrow.”

“Oh, no, you are never allowed in here again.” Wolfwood shakes his head at him and points towards the door. 

“Why not?”

“Because–” I’ll fall in love with you, I’ll break my faith, I’ll do worse things to you than just kiss you in a confessional booth. “Because. Just go.”

Vash gives him a parting look, as if he has something he wants to say, but he says nothing. He just nods and sulks out of the church. 

Unfortunately everything seems a bit dimmer once he is gone. Wolfwood sighs and rubs the back of his neck as he walks toward his office, feeling listless again. Somehow, though, he knows deep in his heart that Vash will come back, and they will both make the same mistake all over again.

[whispsofsmokee]

I know what you're thinking. "Aaah wtf, is this lady ever gonna get over Tri/gun?"

Lol nope

Here we have dear N.icholas with a stuck snz. Both men are drunk and Va.sh offers a helping hand.

I'm so dissatisfied with this fic. It feels klunky and not of my usual caliber (whatever that is). I don't see it going anywhere else, though. As though I'm not gonna go in and do 10,000 edits over time. 😂

m!snz, suggested m/m but not super explicit (in case you're a hater)... no mess. Swearing cus my Nic has a dirty mouth. Honestly I feel like there aren't many warnings to put here? Weird.

Nicholas Wolfwood was ready to be done with the day.

He had been attempting to grind this itch in to submission since he first woke up this morning. Whatever was up there, though, was stuck good- sharp and irritating and just out of reach.

In his moments alone Nic tried his usual tactics. He squinted toward the suns, which left him looking like a goon with his mouth hanging open. He massaged and tickled and flicked and blew his nose till his fuckin’ brains threatened to spill out and yet the irritation stayed where it was, grounded.

They landed in town earlier than expected and made a beeline to the bar. Vash was in one of his more social moods; he lingered amongst the patrons, chatting and laughing. Wolfwood watched him from his perch, twisting his whiskey glass as it sweat on the pockholed counter.

Stampede was a master at subtlety. There seemed to be this imaginary barrier between himself and other people that he always felt compelled to maintain; touches were tolerated for a few moments before he would casually shift away. His smile almost never wavered, wide and endearing and carefully molded to cover the sharp tips of his canines. The warm friendliness of his tone soothed any thoughts of rejection these strangers may have. He laughed easily. He was clumsy and goofy and charming and all of it together masked his aloofness well.

Nicholas shifted his attention to his surroundings, eyes sweeping the crowd for anything suspicious as he brought his glass back to his lips. The remaining half of his drink was emptied in one swallow, head tilted back to let gravity aide him. He caught the bartender’s eye and motioned for a third.

Irritation spiked on the left side of his sinuses for the umpteenth time that day, his nose twitching in protest. He growled as he scrubbed at himself with a wrist. This whole ordeal had gotten old hours ago and he was to the point that if a sneeze came he’d welcome it, wouldn’t care how many people’s eardrums he blew out if he could just get some fuckin’ relief.

He brought his glass to the counter for another pour. Reaching in to his jacket he pulled out a few double dollars and motioned to Vash.

“How much does my friend there have on his tab?”

The bartender glanced at the small group laughing at the end of her bar. “Already accounted for.”

Really? Nic looked to Vash again. Apparently he was in the middle of telling some story, flushed and giggling and tripping over his words. The people around him were laughing at his antics. Huh. Nic was happy to leave him to socialize, long as he managed to keep the bullshit under control. Vash loved people more than they deserved, and too often that blew up in his face.

 “Closin’ out then?”

---

The whiskey wasn’t terrible for the price and he ended up pyrchasimg a bottle. He polished off his third drink quickly and hefted Punisher from her resting place beside him.

The air outside was blessedly clear of the stale smell of so many working-class bodies and he inhaled appreciatively. The itch in his sinuses roused at the temperature change and Nico sniffed sharply to encourage it as he cleared the last few steps on to the road.

He didn’t get far before he finally seemed to get somewhere- his nose twitched in warning just before the tingle blazed to life, distracting him to the point where he slowed to a halt.

“Hheh, h-hheh…” he lifted the hand with the whiskey bottle toward his face, pressing the tip of his nose lightly with the back of his wrist. Amber liquid sloshed gently as his hitching deepened and he had just enough forethought to grasp the neck of the bottle a little tighter because he was finally going to-

The bar door slammed open, and a familiar spindly figure in red tumbled out. Catching sight of his friend, he stumbled down the stairs in pursuit, nearly falling to his face in the dusty road.

“Nico! Wait ‘fr me!”

Nic expelled his breath in an irritated sigh and lowered his arm down to his side. He waited as the familiar sound of Vash’s trudging gait came closer.

“’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“When someone says nothin it’s usually somethin’,” Vash slurred, a metal finger klink-ing as it tapped the glass of Nic’s whiskey.

Nic snatched it away, holding it protectively to his chest. “Careful. I’m not above feeding ya back your own advice.”

Evidently that was the funniest thing Vash had ever heard. Nic waited almost a full minute before losing his patience; he bent to hook an arm through his friends', hauling him to his feet.

“Wow," Nic grunted, "you are cocked, huh?”

“Naww, I’m fiine.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

---

“You’re a sneezy guy today,” Vash observed mildly from the couch.

Nic snorted and shot a look toward the gangly blonde. "You're not asleep yet?"

 Vash sucked his teeth. Sighing through his nose, Nic lifted his glass to his lips. He preferred rocks with his liquor, but those weren’t readily available in a hotel like this.

Much to his annoyance, the soothing warmth of the liquor was only teasing whatever tickly spot had been plaguing him all day. He scrubbed at his nose for the umpteenth time, groaning a bit as he attempted to squish the itch in to submission.

Vash was watching him intently now, and to cover the sudden rush of self-consciousness Nic snapped, “what?”

“Did’ja try lookin’ at the light?”

Nic turned away with a scoff. Only about 75 times. He ignored the creak of the loveseat behind him as he re-focused out the window.

“Want some help?”

“What are you, some kind of world expert?”

“Uhh, yeah kinda. A little.” A small, embarrassed chuckle. “I mean you’ve been traveling with me long enough to see for yourself, so...”

Couldn’t argue with that one. Nic made a flippant gesture to the air above him, leaving Vash to interpret it as he will. Stampede was moving around the room; there was the creak of wood as he shifted something heavy.

“Got it!” He moved in to Nicholas’ line of vision, proudly brandishing his chosen weapon. Nic scowled.

“A Bible? Really?”

“Yep! Wait, no. Just-“ Vash floundered for words, ending with an exasperated groan. “Just c’mere!”

Nic lurched to his feet with a put-upon sigh. It took a moment for his legs to work properly. Woah. He glanced at the bottle, shrugged, and took another swig.

Plopping down next to Vash, he turned to face him. The springs creaked in complaint of their combined weight as he stretched his arms out in challange.

“Do your worst.”

 Vash lifted the book, blowing hard on it’s cover to release a fine plume of dust. The motes danced in the air between them and Nicholas jerked back, hacking as they irritated his throat.

But then the itch in his nose stirred, and the coughing fit tapered off in to some promising hitchy breaths. Nic reared his head, the back of his hand hovering near the tip of his nose as the sneeze built closer, and closer to-

…nothing. He deflated with a groan. Damn it all.

“Man,” Vash said sympathetically, “that was close.”

Nic only snuffled in response. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and almost missed the moment that Vash's features slackened with a very familiar expression.

Nico stared at him incredulously. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Hh-huh?" Wriggling his nose, he sniffed dryly and seemed to finally notice what was happening. Grimacing, he shoved a finger under his nose.

Nic gave him a sour look which had Vash shrinking further in to himself. There was a wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes and he sniffled, pert little nose twitching dangerously. With a strangled sound Vash moved his hand to pinch his nostrils between his fingers.

“Blondie.”

“M’good!” The false cheer was laced with a nasal quality.

“Blondie.”

“N-no really, I c… c’haaah… snff. It’ll pass!”

It wouldn’t; Wolfwood had witnessed his attempts to hold back sneezes in the past and those had been when Vash was sober.

“Just let go before ya hurt yourself.” He let Vash stutter over some nonsense for a moment before waving him off. “You can’t help it. It’s fine.”

This time, Vash did let go, squinting at him through gathering tears. His nose, which had turned pale from being pinched hard, flushed pink. “I’m s..sorheeh…”

He tilted his spiky head back, nostrils trembling in rebellion against their least favorite irritant. Nic murmured a curse and moved out of the line of fire, swiping at his own nose jealously.

The sneeze teased Vash right up to the ledge and held him there, frozen with his top lip curled back over his teeth. Nic sighed and braced himself; there were Vash's normal, kittenish variety, and then there were-

“Hhih-iih? H’RISZ-shiew!! IHH'zhew!”

…His dust sneezes. Just as pitchy, but with a lot more force. And volume.

“Iiih--! Hh. Hh'IIIH- ...Udd, man,” he scrubbed his nose with the back of a wrist, making little grunting noises that were very Vash, “uh-oh. Uhh, haah… damn, what the hell!”

Nic couldn’t help it- he burst in to laughter. Vash glared at him through a film of tears, mouth twitching up before he forced his expression back in to a frown.

“Don’t make fun a’ me!”

“Aaah… I’m sorry, Spikey.” Nic took a swig from the bottle and beckoned Vash closer. “C’mere.”

“I might sneeze,” Vash warned, but scooted closer as instructed. Nic took his chin in his hand, rubbing the calloused pad of his thumb just under his birthmark.

“Oh, the poor thing,” he tutted, pitching his voice low. Vash went scarlet from the tips of his ears down to his chest. God, his reaction to this kind of teasing was just too good to resist. “Tryin’ t’help me out and ended up stuck yourself.”

Vash made as if to pull away, but stopped in his tracks as Nic brushed the tip of his thumb teasingly up his septum.

“Hhhih--! Nic, that’s… y-you’re gonna-! ‘m gonna-  Haaah-”

“That is the idea, yeah.”

“Hhhrnt’shhIEW! Ooh, snff, m’sorry. I… ohhno…”

“Yeah, yeah. Give me the encore already.”

“Ahhkt’shiew!”

“Bless you, douchebag.”

Vash shot him a glare from the crook of his arm. Chuckling, Nicholas reached for the tissues on the bedside table and handed over the box.

“No more dust,” Nic proclaimed over the loud honking that followed. He tossed the book out of sight and swept any remnants off the blanket.

“No more dust,” Vash agreed solemnly, picking up Nic’s whiskey bottle and taking a long swig. He whined in protest when it was snatched from his grasp.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?”

“Collecting my best friend tax!”

“Best friends?” It was Nicholas’ turn to swig from the bottle. “Where's my charm bracelet?”

“Ohmygod. You mean you’d wear one?”

"Hell fuckin no. I have a reputation to keep up."

Vash grumbled with faux irritation and shoved away from his laughing friend. He made as if to get out of bed, but paused mid scootch with a gasp.

“You good there?”

“I know how to do it!”

Before Nic could ask, Vash had leapt from the bed and was scurrying out to the hallway. He was back within minutes.

“En garde!” he cried, brandishing the long, fluffy tail feather of a Tomas at Nic’s nose. The nose-owner in question gave him an unamused look.

“A feather? Really? That’s the brilliant plan?”

“It works, watch!” Stampede fanned the edge of the feather at the tip of his friend’s nose, making little circles with it as he pressed it closer. “Tickle, tickle!”

“Blondie,” Nic wasn’t even trying to keep the exasperation from his voice. He wrinkled his nose. “That only works in cartoons.”

But Vash was determined, tongue poking out in concentration as he leaned closer to observe his technique. He wriggled the smaller, fluffy fronds around and in to Nicholas’ nostrils.

Nic blinked. Hhh-!

...Wait, really?

“Nnnhh! Hhhah? Hhhhaaah—” He moved his hand in a rolling motion, encouraging Vash to move deeper, tickle harder.

“Hhhheh… h-Hhheh-HAH’Tch…” Nope. “Ugh, dammit!”

Vash pouted and reached to offer Nic the tissues. “I was sure that’d work.”

“Told ya, only in stories n’ stuff.”

“Nuh uh.” Vash twirled the feather in his hand, examining it. “People can be allergic to feathers, too. Just like fur.”

 Nic made a grab for it but Vash rolled out of reach, clumsily righting himself on the bed.

“Blondie. Y’don’t need t’-“

“Hhhih…” Jesus fucking christ, he’d barely touched the fuckin’ thing to his face. “It’s gonna work, s-see. I’m gonnaah— gonna sneeZIH’het-shiew! Shiew! Nn’chiew!”

“Bl-“

“Iiiiisch-oo! Woah! See?”

“Yes, you're very talented.”

Vash finally seemed to pick up on Nic’s irritation. He cringed in to a small, apologetic smile, swiping the feather behind his back.

It worked; Nic rolled his eyes as he flopped back on his pillow, patting the space beside him.

“C’mere, you nut.”

With a soft, eager sound Vash crawled in next to him. He tucked himself in beneath Nic’s chin. Jaw cracking on a yawn, he settled his ear over Nicholas’s heart.

The room was suddenly quiet save for the sounds of other patrons. A cool breeze drifted through the cracked window, fluttering the sun-bleached floral curtains. It gently rustled Vash’s trademark spikey hair, the soft follicles lifting back to caress the rims of Nicholas’s nostrils. The spicy scent of whatever new soap he’d used followed, nipping at innermost membranes. It was a scent that, now that Nic thought about it, he’d been getting whiffs of all day.

As though on cue the urge to sneeze howled to life.

“What’s—” Vash began to lift his head to look up at him, and in a moment of true desperation Nicholas reached up and pressed his needle noggin back down. The movement had flicked a good piece of hair up, and as Nic sniffed it fluttered teasingly against the inner walls of his nares.

“Fhhuck,” he swore, voice diluted and breathy, “think m’gonnahh-“  

Words trailed off as his body wrenched away his control, and Nic panted through several deep breaths.

“Now? Hold on. Not on m-“

“Hhhee’YYESH-zchu! Z’TESH-hue! Haah, h-hhah-“ he needed one more good one. Turning back toward Vash, Nic buried his nose in the mass of blonde spikes, inhaling deeply. The itch boarded on painful, and he released his captive, rolling his head back on the pillow blindly.

“Hhht’ZISHhh! Hh-” Ooh, and a bonus? Drunk and unable to help himself, Nic squirmed, nose scrunched and breath stuttering—

Something soft fanned against his nose, and with a final pitchy breath Nic sneezed hard enough to see stars, his shoulders  lifting from the bed.

“Bless you,” Vash murmured, tossing the feather aside with a shake of his wrist. He’d been too close to the detonation zone.

“Jesus fuck,” Nic groaned, so heavy with relief that it made his bedmate chuckle.

“Better?”

“You have no idea.” Then, with sudden and uncharacteristic shyness, “thanks.”

Vash hummed warmly, stretching to press a kiss to Nic’s temple. “Don’t mention it.”

[snotratboy]

Fuck it I'm posting Sneeze Loading

[snezandsickheadcanons]

A Little Detour (M)

@goodlucksnez I'M SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT BUT I'm your secret santa from @kawaii-kushami's exchange.

You mentioned Tri//gun, and well, I'm a villainfucker at heart, so I did some Le//gato. HOWEVER i have only seen the '98 anime, so I hope this still works ok relative to Sta//mpede stuff. *pray emoji*.

Rolling waves of sand soared upwards from the ground and towards the sky. The weather was dry, as always, but that didn’t seem to dissuade the people of this town from enjoying the day. Housewives shopping, children playing, a few turning glances to look at the strange man in the white coat and spiked pauldron as he passed by towards the doors of the saloon.

Legato looked towards the sign on the door, feeling the pricks of sand rub against his nose. A dull buzz like a vibrating pipe settled inside, subtle enough to not yet be a true tickle. Nevertheless, this weather was perfect for preparing how next to challenge Vash the Stampede. 

With a silent step he entered through the swinging doors, quickly scanning the inside to see exactly what sort of company this place welcomed. And by all accounts, it was the usual—a dozen or so gruff men, of varying ages, all gathered together in groups, playing cards and swallowing their body weight in liquor. Each was posed in a careful way, clearly relaxed yet making sure to show off the bright silver muzzles clipped to their waist. 

Though to Legato, they might as well have been a group of children with pop guns. With a smirk to himself, he sat down at the bar, picking up a menu and beginning to flip through it. Now there was much to consider. What should he order? Who should he send after Vash?

As he sat, that annoying rumbling in his nose from before only grew, now at the intensity of a trembling gunbarrel. The itch stung in his nose, and with an annoyed huff he realized he was going to sneeze. “Heh…” He scowled, grinding his teeth together to try and delay the inevitable, but quickly found he had no luck on that front. “Nnnxchuh!” 

The half-stifle was turned to the side, away from the bar but otherwise uncovered. A few of the men gave a brief glance over, nothing more than a basic reaction to any sort of noise. It was just a sneeze, nothing so out of the ordinary, even coming from a mysterious stranger.

Legato gave a dry sniffle, feeling that heated itch still lingering. Well, no matter. As his fingers went back to tracing along images on the menu, his mind began to wander. Sandwiches, sodas, and ice cream floats. Dynamite, acid, and long trails of magazines. What to choose, what to choose? 

He sniffled again, feeling what must be the remnants of the sand light fire in his sinuses. This was the consequence of living on such a desert planet, even for one as feared as Legato Bluesummers. “Htch’shhIEW!” Even without stifling this time, the irritation was still there. What a pain.

Hm, perhaps today he’d go with a sundae for himself, and explosives for Vash? But first, he’d have to deal with this—

“Eh’shhIEW! EshHOO!”

These sneezes were wetter than before, enough that his subsequent sniffle began to squelch. Legato clicked his tongue, then suddenly realized that stinging pain had fallen down from his sinuses to his throat as well. 

A few more men at the bar looked at him now, their stares growing from indifferent to irked. Not quite fully fed up, but ready to be done with that annoying repetitive sound already. 

The bartender, an old balding man with a goatee, finished his business at the other end and came over to Legato’s barstool. “What’re ya having?” he asked, setting aside a clean glass back on the shelf.

Legato tossed the menu aside, letting it slap loudly onto the counter. “A chocolate sundae. With extra cream.” Hm? His voice sounded a little strange… Not only had all this sneezing made him a little stuffy, the pitch was off. A bit deeper, perhaps? Was it really the sand which had done this?

He sat at the bar, listening to the men around him chat about this and that. Gambling, drinking, ready to shove their guns in the jaws of each other at a moment’s notice. Soon enough, they’d all be dead anyway. Once the humanoid typhoon was pushed to his limit, there’d be nothing left of this town but even more of that damn sand. 

Peaceful moments could never last. Not with these people. Not on this planet. It was Legato’s job to secure Vash, that disaster of a man, to make him realize such a thing. All his preaching of pacifism was hopeless.

The bartender returned with his sundae, sliding it down across the wood with barely a squeak. Vanilla and chocolate made their love together, caressing each other side-by-side to confetti of sprinkles and nuts. Delicious, delicious. 

Legato wasted no moment before taking a bite, letting the ice cream melt over his tongue and coat his stinging throat in comforting cold. But after only a few bites he needed to set down his spoon before quickly turning away.

“Heh’choo!” Even after this, after refusing to stifle, after rubbing his nose over and over, this damn irritation just wouldn’t— “Ha’SHIEW!”

A few irritated grumbles came his way. At this point, the patrons of this bar were just ready to be done with the strange sneezy newcomer. 

Legato grabbed a bar napkin to hold against his nose, which was quickly becoming stuffed to the brim with congestion. At this rate he’d never get the orders out to challenge Vash. The very same one who, thinking about it… had been weirdly sniffly during their last confrontation… Even sneezing a few times… Could it be that…? 

He gave a rough blow into the napkin. “Vash the Stambpede…” A new simmering anger began to dull the taste of his dessert. But Legato pushed through, sniffling between each bite and fighting off the urge to sneeze again. The cold of the ice cream wasn’t helping, though. As much as he tried not to, it seemed impossible that he’d be able to finish before he’d need to… to…

“Hek’CHCSHOO!”

“Hey, you!” called a man with a wide cowboy hat from one of the tables, slamming his fist down on top a pile of cards. “Can you shut your damn mouth? We’re trying to play here!”

Moving his eyes to look at him without turning his head, Legato replied in a voice like sap, “Is a man not allowed to sneeze in peace in this town?” 

A few more men turned to glare at him.

“Evidently not.”

The man from before hovered his hand towards the side of his belt. “Now get your germy little pretty boy ass out of here by the count of ten.”

Legato set down his spoon. He was just about finished anyway. Grabbing his pauldron, he smirked to himself, which was quickly interrupted by another sneeze. “Oh, I’ll be out of here in a minute.”

A change of plans for today. Perhaps he’d leave challenging Vash to tomorrow, and spend this afternoon holding up somewhere until his nose calmed its fiery storm. There was just (he looked around to count the number of people inside the bar) something he needed to take care of first.