just a sweet little one! vash is annoying and meryl is fed up. i had the '98 versions in mind but it could work for any version. written for mwahrch!
“Hey! Quit it, knock it off!” Meryl complained, swatting at the Humanoid Typhoon. He was bothering her while she tried to write up the latest report of his unfortunate antics.
“Aw, why? I’m just trying to help you relax~” Vash was using that falsely cheerful tone, rubbing her shoulders as she typed. “You;ve been so stressed, mayfly. Don’t you want to take a break?”
“No, I want to work,” She sniped, brushing off his hands. “Go bother Milly.”
“But you’re the one stressed out! Milly’s making us dinner and you’re going to miss it. You don’t want to hurt her feelings, do you?” Meryl groaned, putting her head in her hands. “C’mon, Meryl, it will be waiting for you tomorrow.” Vash’s sing-songy voice just annoyed her more. She was about to gripe at him some more but he kissed the back of her neck so softly, rubbing her stiff shoulders. It was tempting but she had to stay strong!
“Vash,” She complained, drawing out his name as he worked a particular knot out.
“Shh, just relax.” Vash pressed more kisses around her neck and shoulders, managing to get her cheeks a few times. Meryl started melting into his touch, her eyes drifting closed.
“Miss Meryl! Mr Vash! Dinner is ready!” Milly called to them in her sweet cheerful tone, breaking Meryl out of her trance. She tried to rise but Vash held her still, peppering more kisses.
“Didn’t you hear? Let me up.”
“No,” Vash replied lightly, coming around to the front of her chair and sitting on her lap. He nearly crushed her under his weight, Meryl immediately slapping at him to get off before her legs went numb. He just laughed and kept on kissing her face, her cheeks trapped in his hands.
“You’re the worst!”
“I know you like me~” His smug little smile made her eye twitch but he was right. Her furious red cheeks revealed it as much. He kept kissing her until she kissed him back.
Mwahrch | a kiss hello | a gentle kiss | bokuaka | fluff | established relationship | short drabble
A quiet click of the door, rustling of the sheets, the comforting smell of honey and soothing warmth embracing his body. Keiji stirs, awoken from his dream, but still not conscious enough to open his tired eyes.
“Hi, love,” Koutarou whispers right into his ear, leaving a warm peck on the nape of his neck. His arm curls over Keiji’s waist in a grounding grip. Momentarily, Keiji clings to his husband’s hand, their fingers intertwining.
He turns his head, needing to get even closer, but bumps his cheek straight into Koutarou’s nose. But his husband knows exactly what to do so he pushes himself up just enough to close the distance between their craving mouths. The kiss begins as a slow, lazy slide of the lips as if to remind them that it’s real and they’re finally here together after almost a month of being apart. Keiji missed it so badly, getting to feel Koutarou’s warmth, curling himself into his strong chest, losing his mind over the familiar scent of his lover.
Most times their welcome home kisses get frantic real quick as they lose their clothes the moment the apartment door closes. But this time it’s late and they both crave a good night’s sleep, so the slow movement of lips and a barely-there hint of tongue is just perfect to ease them into it.
“Hello, Kou,” Keiji whispers back. “You’re here. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you from the station.”
“Mm, that’s okay.” Koutarou kisses the corner of his mouth, then lays back on the pillow and nudges the back of Keiji’s head with his nose.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly three. We should sleep, baby,” He says, readjusting the bedsheet, so they’re both comfortably covered. “We have the weekend all to ourselves.”
Keiji hums with contentment as he almost falls back to sleep with a small smile visible on his lips. “Goodnight, I love you.”
“Yah,” sighs Jimin from the doorway. “This hyung.”
He’s been there, Hoseok knows he’s been there, has spared a fraction of his attention to be aware of his presence the way he always is when his members are around, but he startles all the same.
It’s the tone, really, the long gusty huff and the blatant disapproval. Hoseok falls out of formation with a flicker of irritation and puffs his sweat-streaked bangs off his forehead, where they flop stubbornly back down. He’s wrung out from the crown of his head to the aching soles of his feet.
That doesn’t mean he appreciates the interruption.
“Yah what hyung,” he returns, a touch too sour to be only teasing. Jimin, who knows his private, sullen moods better than anyone—a privilege, he calls it, which makes Hoseok snort on good days and sting on bad ones—tilts an eyebrow and draws away from the closed door.
Hoseok props his hands on his hips and follows his approach in the mirror. He’s overly aware of how hard he’s working to catch his breath after two hours— four hours— after a long day in the practice room. He can see his reflection’s chest heaving, the seeping splotch of sweat across his front that matches the humid-sticky sensation of his shirt plastered to his back. Now that he’s stopped moving his hairline itches, and everything feels swampy and stifling. He wrinkles his nose.
“You weren’t at dinner,” Jimin says, which surprises him only because he hadn’t realized it was so late. The clock has been fixed at 3:23 ever since Taehyung hit it with a basketball, and they’d all agreed that it’s a fitting metaphor for the endless suck of hours spent in rehearsal. Well, Namjoon and Yoongi had agreed. The rest of them had been too tired to protest it.
“Did you miss me?”
“Yes.”
He says it with a smile, simper-sweet, but his gaze is sharper and carries that same disapproval. Hoseok snorts, and he means no you didn’t, and he means you’re one to talk. If they were to tally up the nights spent prioritizing practice over mealtime, Jimin would come out the clear victor.
Jimin’s mouth presses tight, flicker of an old fear of inadequacy, and lets it pass. Hoseok feels bad anyway, but Jimin doesn’t give him time to let it sit.
“How late were you planning on staying anyway?” he asks, coming up so they stand side to side. Hoseok, overheated, cringes a little at the proximity.
“I almost have it,” Hoseok returns. He isn’t talking shit, he does nearly have it. The time is worth something, which is progress and perfection, or as near to perfection as he can come, which trends closer every day, some asymptotic eventuality.
Jimin tuts—as though he hasn’t fed them all the same excuse—and gives Hoseok a long up-down in the mirror. Hoseok tilts his eyebrows, coy, but Jimin only turns and goes to rifle through Hoseok’s bag, emerging with his water bottle. He wiggles it like bait, and Hoseok spares a moment to roll his eyes before he stomps over to snatch it out of his hand.
“It’ll still be here in the morning,” Jimin points out. Hoseok gives him a look over the water bottle and wipes his mouth.
“I’m all warmed up.”
“You’re way past warmed up.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty hot.”
Jimin smacks his arm, and Hoseok gives up on his attempts to stay upright. It’s fine. He just needs a minute to catch his breath. His shorts bunch up under his thighs when he slumps back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, and the floor of the practice room is gloriously cool against the backs of his knees.
Jimin makes a low noise, dismayed. Hoseok gives himself a four count to will himself upright, then cracks an eyelid to find him staring down at the blooming bouquet of bruises dappled over his kneecaps.
“Hyung,” he says quietly.
“It’s fine,” Hoseok dismisses, but he can’t pull his eyes away from Jimin’s face, from the frown tucked between his brows and the purse of his lips and the way his eyes go soft with worry. The concern scalds, a little. Hoseok slumps backwards again. “Yah, Jimin-ah, don’t worry so much. I’m okay.”
“Looks like it hurts.”
It does, now that he’s slowed down enough to listen to his body. Everything aches, blisters stinging against his socks and calves throbbing and shoulders sore. His back is one long line of knotted rope, creaking when he moves. It’s good, though. It’s proof of work, of progress. He doesn’t mind hurting too much, not in pursuit of something good.
So Hoseok shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says again. Jimin gives him a look, two parts concern to one part mischief.
And then, little shit, he flops down next to him and smacks his hand down on Hoseok’s sore and smarting knee.
Hoseok swears at him.
“Fine, huh,” grins Jimin. Hoseok pinches him, hard, and he squeals over sideways, still grinning. Brat.
“Well it hurts when you do that,” Hoseok grumbles, smoothing his fingers over the ache, for all the good it does. Jimin’s face softens again.
“Sorry,” he says, and he leans over and presses a kiss to the bruise.
Hoseok flushes all the way to his hairline, drawing his legs up, but Jimin sets a hand on his shin to keep him in place as he drops a fluttering kiss to another bruise, and another. In the mirror, Hoseok is a mess, sweat-streaked and flushed from more than just exertion, staring at Jimin bent over his legs.
“Yah,” he mumbles. “Ah, Jimin-ah, don’t. I’m all gross.”
“Yeah, you are,” Jimin agrees, and then his lips press against Hoseok’s other knee, and Hoseok gives up on deterring him. He leans back against the wall again, eyes fixed on the coif of Jimin’s hair in the mirror.
“What are you doing, Jiminie, hm?” Hoseok asks, futzing with the strands that don’t lay flat, rucked up and tacky with product. He must have had a shoot earlier. Jimin hums and kisses his kneecap again, then sets his cheek against Hoseok’s shin, folded perfectly in half. Flexible fuck.
“Kissing it better, hyung,” he says. “Don’t want hyung to be hurt.”
He must know what image he makes, blinking up at him with those soft, sweet eyes. Hoseok huffs.
“You menace,” he says without heat. The curve of his mouth is all trouble, but his fingers are kneading carefully at one of the knots in his thigh, so Hoseok lets him be.
“Just wanna make sure hyung is okay,” Jimin returns, beaming. “I think there’s bruise cream back at the dorm.”
Of course there is, Hoseok knows there is, can picture it set out on the bathroom counter where it lives, perpetually halfway empty with all seven of them navigating the aches and pains of idol life. Jimin’s ploy is wafer thin.
“We can stay if you want,” Jimin says into his unimpressed silence, and he says it like joking but Hoseok knows he would. He’d sit himself right here, or find a practice room of his own, or slip away to bother whoever’s working late until Hoseok decides to leave. His heart softens.
And he wouldn’t mind a massage, some bruise cream, the shelter of their bedroom with nothing but them inside. His knees still tingle where Jimin kissed him.
“You gonna take care of me, Jiminie?”
“Of course.” He sits up, almost insulted. “I’ll take care of your ouchie knees, hyungnim.”
“What about my ouchie feet?” asks Hoseok, wiggling his toes in his shoes. They’re probably a mess. He’s seriously lost track of time.
“Ah, I guess I’ll take care of your ouchie feet too,” Jimin sighs, and he hauls himself upright and holds a hand out for Hoseok. “C’mon, hyung. Let’s go home.”
these are the stampede versions, just good-old-fashioned pigtail pulling. for mwahrch! please send me more of these!!
Nicholas D. Wolfwood was a massive pain in the ass. She’d thought so from the very time they’d met. Meryl hadn’t meant to hit him with her car, of course. But he tried to blackmail her $20,000 to not sue. Absolutely ridiculous. But Vash had taken him in, immediately infatuated with the shady priest. Oh yeah, that was another thing that pissed her off about him. He claimed to be a priest but he drank and smoked, he flirted, generally lived a life full of sin and violence. What was his problem?
They were both at the bar, drowning their sorrows in cheap beer. Vash and Roberto were off playing a game of cards, of which Vash seemed to be losing. Probably on purpose, he was nice like that. But Wolfwood was getting on her nerves, arguing about pointless things just to get a rise out of her.
“C’mon, shorty, why won’t you try worm meat? It’s good for ya and you can’t be too picky out here on the road.”
“Shut up, already. I’m an adult, I can make my own choices.”
They had snipped at each other all day in the truck and now at the bar, several patrons steering clear of them both. It wasn’t getting heated, not really, until Wolfwood touched a nerve.
“I bet you’d eat it for Vash, huh? If he pats those pretty blue eyes at you, you’d melt for him?” Wolfwood smirked around his shot of whiskey like he’d won, way too proud of himself. Meryl saw red, wanting to knock him down.
“No, but I bet you would. You’re the only one weak to Vash’s charms.” How she felt about the legendary gunman wasn’t any of his concern, he should keep that big nose of his to himself. Wolfwood scoffed, that poker face of his shit with his big expressive eyes. He thought those shades of his hid them but she could read him like a book.
“Watch it, little lady.”
“Why? You started it, I’m just being honest.” Meryl crossed her arms, huffing. Wolfwood stood and started for the door without another word, clearly pouting. “What, running away already? Scared to admit it?” She pursued him, much to his irritation. But she was testy and frustrated, he’d been getting under her skin all day.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” He growled out, that gruff voice of his all gravely from his cigarettes. She wished he wouldn’t smoke so much but there was nothing to do about it. He was too stubborn. But so was she. Meryl followed him outside and down the street, the night dark and chilly.
“What is there to know? You--” She never got to finish her sentence, Wolfwood yanked her to his chest faster than she could register what happened.
“Watch where you’re going!” Wolfwood was yelling at the motorist who would have hit her had he not grabbed her out of the way. Meryl’s face was pressed to his chest, that little triangle of his open shirt showing just a hint of chest hair. She blushed, his arm firm and strong around her, his large palm dwarfing her shoulder. “Are you okay, little lady?”
“Y-yeah, I am. Thanks,” Meryl mumbled, not even correcting him for not using her name. She looked up at him with wide eyes and he let her go, suddenly bashful.
“Good, you need to watch where you’re going. You’re gonna get killed.” They went back to arguing, just like that. But Meryl had enough. She grabbed his suit jacket and pulled him down, kissing him silent. She expected Wolfwood to get all shy about it but he returned her kiss with more heat than she expected, backing her up against the wall.
At least he finally shut up. Wolfwood might drive her crazy but maybe she could forgive it for this.
another sloppy make out in a dark alley for mwahrch! can be any version of the boys but i skewed it a bit closer to the '98/Max design for vash
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, Blondie!” Wolfwood ducked into an alley, yanking Vash with him. What the needle-noggined idiot failed to realize was people generally disliked getting hustled at cards. Vash had a surprisingly good poker face for such an expressive guy but he was a magnet for trouble. He had just been trying to win enough for their rooms at the inn but now they were getting shot at by Nomans Land’s finest low-level thugs.
“I’m sorry, Wolfwood!” He cried, flattening against the wall as a few of their pursuers ran by. Again with those big fake tears of his. God, he was such a goddamn pain in his ass.
“Just move your ass, already.” Wolfwood dragged him by his jacket along the alleyway, trying to duck behind a few crates as more angry drunk men turned the corner. Vash’s long limbs got all tangled with his though and they ended up tumbling over each other on the ground. His gun was digging into Wolfwood’s thigh and he cursed under his breath, trying to shove him off in the quietest way possible.
“Shh,” Vash hissed as he covered his mouth, suddenly serious as he peered over the crate hiding them. With their luck, his spiky hair would get spotted like that so he yanked him back down. They ended up nose-to-nose, Vash’s hand still across his mouth. His eyes went wide behind those yellow shades of his, their bodies shifting together to something finally more comfortable. Wolfwood bit him when he heard the angry drunkards move on.
“Hey, ow!” Vash complained in a whisper, yanking his hand back.
“Your fault, Blondie. Now get off of me.” They quickly scrambled to a seated position and avoided each other’s eyes. Things had been tense between them for weeks now. Wolfwood hated the way Vash got his blood pumping, both in anger and in other ways.
They were about to emerge from the alley at last when they heard the voices of the familiar thugs chasing them. Vash swore this time and cast off his signature red jacket, tossing it behind a barrel beside them.
“I’m sorry for this, Wolfwood.” He barely got his mouth open to ask why when Vash’s lips crashed into his. He kissed him sloppily and hurried, shoving him further into the shadow. With his black leather under-suit, he’d be a lot harder to recognize. And who would think two kissing strangers were who you were chasing down? They moved along but Wolfwood didn’t, looping his arms around that thin waist of his. Now that he had him, he wasn’t letting him go.
an unrequested prompt for mwahrch but i really wanted to write some lesbian kisses. first time actually writing these two which is criminal. (please send me more prompts, i love doing these)
a bit of backstory for this drabble: i originally wanted to write an angstier follow-up to all tied up where i introduced them and eden, their home. but i scrapped it for various reasons and i never got to write my western girlies like i wanted. so this is a western/cowboy au!!
It had been two weeks since Milly had been home. Meryl missed her something awful but she had to work and Milly wanted to visit her family. She understood, Milly hadn’t seen them in so long but the bed was cold and lonely without her. She didn’t even have the boys for company. Vash and Wolfwood were off doing something dangerous and foolhardy as always and they’d return to her bloody and bruised. Eden they called this place. It was their home just as much as it was hers. Meryl wished with all her heart they could have a peaceful life but they couldn’t, not with Knives still out there.
Meryl was getting any work done so she stood from her typewriter and went to the kitchen, rummaging around for something to eat. Another reason she missed Milly, she was such a good cook. Meryl missed her stews on the cold nights and her delicious baked goods in the morning. She missed those good morning and goodnight kisses, too.
She reluctantly buttered up a slice of bread before spreading a heavy amount of jam on, idlying wondering what to do with the rest of her evening. It was too early for supper just yet, too late for a nap. She could get some chores done, she supposed. Nothing was going to satisfy the restlessness. Not even her favorite book. But then, just as she was resigning herself to another lonely night, footsteps on the porch alerted a visitor. The door swung open without so much as a knock, Milly’s beaming smile on the other side.
“Milly!” Meryl cried happily and threw herself into her big strong arms. Milly caught her easily, peppering her face in little affectionate pecks. “You’re back early?”
“I missed you,” Milly confessed, a blush on her sweet face. Meryl wanted to kiss each freckle on her nose, smother in all the pent-up affection she’d had nothing to do with, but first:
“Get in here, silly!” They fumbled around each other as Milly brought in her supplies and Meryl attempted to help with the heavy bags. It looked like her family had given her a bunch of gifts as always. But none of that mattered, she was home. Milly swept her up once more and kissed her on the lips, a big smile keeping it soft and sweet. They were both too excited to see each other and couldn’t stop giggling.
