#and kissing him senseless. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vllergy · 11 months

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literally the first snz thing i've ever written please go ahead and eviscerate me but the brainrot was real and i needed an exorcism literally no plot, just snz. have some allergic!wolfwood and some kink!vash who is absolutely losing his mind in the seat next to him (dedicated to all the greats that came before me, i would tag u but i dont know you and dont want to be weird?!? apologies for showing up out of nowhere but i want to be friends with all of you out there who are writing incredible shit please and thank you)

It's still light enough that the interior of the jeep is bathed in blue velvet and Vash can see every detail of Wolfwood sitting next to him in perfect clarity. But just dark enough that he can watch him from the cover of the soft shadows afforded to him by the arch of the window he's pressed up against without anyone knowing. Vash rolls the side of his head a little farther against the glass just to discourage even the slightest suspicion that he's spying on the other man. Somehow, the glass is still warm even though the inside of the vehicle has cooled down considerably. On any other night, Vash might have chased after the sensation to stave off the chill that inevitably seeps in. Tonight, however, it only serves to make the blood rising to his cheeks feel like a fever. Pinpricks of heat needle at his flesh, stinging him as the blush burns hotter, brighter. He can feel the color red on his skin. He's lucky it's dark, because he's sure his face is as red as his jacket.

Vash inhales a steadying breath and wrenches his eyes away from Wolfwood's profile in an effort to level himself out. Of course, just as he does so, the other man sniffles for what must be the hundredth time in that soft--admittedly unobtrusive--way that sets Vash's blood on fire. He's been doing it for the better part of an hour, and Vash feels like he's losing his mind.

The race clearly lost, the flush on his cheeks radiates down the lower half of his face and throat. It spreads through his chest like a wildfire and suddenly the interior of the jeep feels stifling, like he can't catch his breath.

Still, ever a glutton for punishment, Vash can't help but look back over at Wolfwood. He's rewarded--or damned--with the sight of the other man pushing a knuckle against his nostril and rubbing harshly. It'd be obvious to anyone at this point, but it's been obvious to Vash for some time that something is bothering him.

To be fair, there is something kind of acrid on the air that Vash can't quite place. The farther they drive, the more the sand has a sour edge to it, and the air has the consistency of syrup at the back of his throat. But he's always been more attuned to things like that. He can smell the threat of a storm waiting in a shift of a breeze, or a town full of decay from the way the sand smells even miles out. He's used to being alone in clocking those kinds of changes.

Neither Roberto or Meryl have commented on the change in atmosphere, but even if Wolfwood's not aware of it, it doesn't seem to agree with him. There's a strong part of Vash that's sympathetic. There's a pang in his chest that he always seems to get whenever Wolfwood is anything less than indomitable. Vash gets the urge to protect him, to care for him, to make his life easier somehow, despite any vitriol that might get thrown in his face (and usually does) for trying.

But over the last hour, that sympathy has been well and truly worn out by something stronger. Hungrier. Something that would be a lot easier to get ahold of if he were not sitting with his knee brushing up against the other man's in close quarters with him while he sniffs away in maddening little bursts.

As Vash continues to watch, Wolfwood stretches his face and curls his upper lip over his teeth in an effort to do...something. Vash isn't sure what. That expression is nothing if not terribly itchy and doesn't look like it provides much relief. Wolfwood seems less miserable as than he does terribly inconvenienced by the whole thing. He tried smoking a cigarette earlier but abandoned it early, seemingly not able to divide his attention between that and holding whatever this is at bay.

Whatever this is.

Vash shudders, despite the heat blooming in his chest. Part of him desperately hopes that whatever irritation Wolfwood's experiencing will keep him sniffly and annoyed for the rest of the journey, and nothing more. He'll be miserable, sure, but the alternative would be torture for Vash. And while the blonde is usually a man more than willing to fall on anyone else's sword for any reason and cut his teeth on the blade of mercy, this is one instance he'll gladly let Wolfwood shoulder the suffering.

Then again--that other part of him is silently hoping against all hope that it might happen. It. He can't even think the word to himself, too afraid of what it might unravel in him. He's had yet to see it actually happen. Could it really be now? While they're sitting this close together? While it's this quiet? Vash's throat goes dry at the thought.

He gives a perfunctory glance toward the front windshield just for good measure and then lazily goes back to gazing at Wolfwood.

Oh--

Vash almost misses it, it's so fast. There's a brief snarl of an expression and Wolfwood brings his closed fist underneath his nose. There's no audible inhalation of breath. No sound at all, actually. Just a quick dip of his head, and the briefest shudder of his body that just barely brushes his knee against Vash's.

And then it's over. Wolfwood goes right back to staring out the window as if nothing had occurred, his eyes clear, expression steady. Doesn't even need a clearing sniff to punctuate it.

Vash, for his part, suddenly can't remember how to function. He ripped his gaze away so fast from the display that he's pretty sure his eyes are still spinning. The sand dunes in the distance blur as his gaze unfocuses and he begins to replay each motion over and over again from what little he can remember.

It was so fast, too fast. He should have been paying better attention. He'd missed seeing the way the sneeze must have crept up on Wolfwood, and the moment he must have decided it was happening whether he liked it or not.

Still, all things considered, Vash can't complain about what he did see. The slight cant of Wolfwood's dark brows, the way his nostrils had flared right above his fist, the slight shudder that made the silver cross necklace hanging across his chest wink at Vash in the moonlight.

Vash bites his lip and lets his head tilt back. A deep, cleansing breath chases out the last bit of heat in his lungs.

There. That's the end of it. Wolfwood's concquered whatever it was that was bothering him, and Vash has seen what he wanted to. And he's still somehow in control of himself, by some miracle. All's well that ends well. Hengives a private little smile to the roof of the vehicle and flexes his hands on his thighs, thoroughly satisfied.

Then, Wolfwood sniffs.

Incredulous, Vash opens his eyes and carefully slides them over to the seat next to him. Where sure enough, Wolfwood is once again rubbing at his nose with a knuckle, this time with a bit more urgency. Vash picks up his head and stares with abandon, transfixed.

This time, he gets to see the entire thing. From the way Wolfwood's eyes start to slit closed, each long lash like a swipe of ink collecting in on themselves, to the way his mouth parts and reveals the white flash of a canine. There is a slight sound of breath this time, but soft enough that Vash is sure he's the only one who hears it.

"Hh!"

Then, in the same manner as before, Wolfwood finally succumbs, placing his fist underneath his nose and dipping into a perfectly silent stifle.

Between the haze of arousal, Vash has time to think it's a strange habit, especially for someone like Wolfwood. He's never known the man to do anything with much politeness, or chagrin for that matter. Had he been asked to predict his caliber of sneeze, he would have guessed it would have been a ground-shattering kind of ordeal that would have even woken the likes of Roberto. These tightly constrained sneezes seem oddly antithetical to who Wolfwood is as a person.

Roberto is asleep, but Vash is certain Wolfwood isn't doing this for his benefit. So, then, why?

He doesn't have time to hypothesize further. Before Vash has time to pretend to look away again to keep his cover, Wolfwood stifles a third sneeze into his fist, just as silent as the first two. Wolfwood's body reacts a little more this time, the shudder more pronounced, and his knee hitting Vash's with a bit more strength. Though it could be blamed on the rattle of the ride, Vash knows better. He feels the point of contact like a gunshot.

Now, he's presented with a strange problem. It's customary to bless someone in this situation, but it's clear Wolfwood is trying to keep everyone in this vehicle from knowing he's sneezing. And Vash's rapt attention notwithstanding, he's doing a pretty good job of it.

Vash realizes he can't say anything without giving himself away--and even if he could, he gets the sense Wolfwood isn't someone who takes kindly to having his weaknesses highlighted. Someone who puts this much effort into concealing their sneezing probably doesn't want attention drawn to them, right?

Still, Vash is a creature of habit, even while he's trying desperately to get his blood to flow anywhere other than below his waist. So a moment later, Wolfwood gears up for another sneeze and realizes a simple clenched fist isn't going to cut it. He switches tactics and quickly pinches his nose shut with his thumb and forefinger, causing the sound to break through his teeth.

"Hngt-SST!"

And Vash can't help himself.

"Bless you," he whispers.

As expected, Wolfwood answers him with an all too familiar glare. His eyes shine like coins in the dark and Vash quickly palms the back of his neck, holding up his other hand in a show of surrender. It's a wordless apology, just as is Wolfwood's wordless Shut it, Needle-noggin.

The dark haired man goes back to staring out the window, only now with a scowl. He rubs the palm of his hand at the tip of his nose, crushing it into what he probably hopes is submission. The look on his face seems to say No more, not a single fucking one. And now Vash feels guilty. He didn't mean to make him uncomfortable. It really was just instinct. And maybe partly that strange, weird pulling feeling in his chest that makes him want to close the last inch of distance between them and rub Wolfwood's back until he feels better.

Vash vows not to look anymore. He presses his cheek against the window and concentrates as hard as he can at the scenery outside. Things are blissfully quiet for a few moments. Vash allows himself to be lulled by the rocking of the rough terrain beneath the wheels and feels a bead of sweat drip down his spine.

Then, Wolfwood sniffles.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Vash's first instinct is that the other man is in some kind of emotional distress. Alarmed, he looks over immediately, despite just vowing not to. Wolfwood has his face turned away from him and angled down--Vash realizes he's using the collar of his shirt to rub at his nose.

He's rubbing so hard, he looks like he's trying to start a fire. Vash desperately wants to take his hands and stop him before he hurts himself. He knows he should look away. Give him some privacy. But as soon as Wolfwood's breath starts to hitch, he's unable to do anything else but watch.

The rigorous rubbing comes to a halt and Wolfwood lifts his face just slightly from his collar. His breath snags, a quick staccato of whispered gasps. "Hh--hh..HHh!"

He curls in on himself, shoulders caving as he presses the grey fabric of his collar up over his nose and mouth and executes a near perfect stifle into it. Vash thinks that might be it, but another assaults him without giving him a breath in between. There's volume to it, but not much.

"Hngt-mpff!"

He lifts his head blearily and Vash can see his expression in the reflection of the window. Brow downturned, eyes fluttering--suddenly something shifts and his mouth stretches back into a fuller, deeper gasp. Vash sees his teeth bared for a moment and his chest swelling against the opened panel of his suit.

Oh, this is--

"H'EHTschuh!"

It's not terribly loud, and it's slightly contained by the fabric of his collar, but it's a proper sneeze this time. Wolfwood's whole body bends with the force of it.

"Bless you!" Meryl chimes from the front seat.

Vash winces, but figures it has to be fair game now. Wolfwood raises his opposite hand while the other still has his collar tented over his nose in a brief show of thanks. He sniffs noisily and then with a few testing sniffles, finally lowers his collar. Vash notices there's a damp spot amidst the dark grey fabric. He crosses his legs quickly.

Wolfwood settles back into his seat properly and swipes his wrist under his nose. Vash would have thought his mood might have soured further now that the jig is up, but if anything, he seems more relaxed now. His legs splay out, his thigh coming to rest against Vash's and their shoulders brushing. Wolfwood clears his throat once and huffs.

Vash doesn't quite trust himself to speak but figures not saying anything is weirder.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

Wolfwood cuts him a sidelong glance. There's no venom in it, nor suspicion, thankfully. There's a hazy look to him as if that last sneeze sent his head spinning. The thought is endearing as it is arousing.

"M'good," is all the man offers in reply.

He tips his head back, dark strands of hair sliding against each other like silk. Vash watches his bare chest rise and fall as he raises his hand and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You got any tissues up there?" he calls loud enough to be heard over the growl of the engine.

Meryl's eyes flicker back to him in the rearview mirror.

"There's some wadded up napkins."

"Hand 'em oh-h--"

Wolfwood's hand leaves his nose to hover, palm open, a few inches from his face. Vash thought he might just sneeze from there, but it's clearly turning into a bigger production. As his breath stutters, Wolfwood lifts his head from where it was tilted back and sits up fully. One hand becomes two as he steeples long fingers in front of his nose and mouth and his expression crumples. He whips forward into the space between his knees with a loud, throat scraping--"H’AEHHSSSZC’huu!"

Vash actually flinches. Now that sounds more like Wolfwood. Seems like all bets are off now. And just as Vash predicted, the sound wakes Roberto from his sleep with a jolt.

"Bless you," Meryl sighs.

Vash immediately puts a hand on Wolfwood's back where he's still hunched over, folded into his hands.

"Wow," he says, both in sympathy and in reverence.

Meryl reaches back with the napkins and Vash takes them from her. But before he can give them to Wolfwood, he feels the man's ribcage expanding underneath his palm. He doesn't even resurface, sneezing into his hands again from between his knees.

"DZZISSHh’huu!"

"That you sneezin' back there, undertaker?" Roberto grumbles.

Wolfwood grunts in response and finally lifts his head with a snuffle. Vash finds one of his hands and presses the napkins there. Wolfwood takes them without protest and immediately crushes them to his nose as he sits back up.

Vash thinks to remove his other hand from his back but he doesn't, and for his part, Wolfwood doesn't shirk his touch. If anything, he leans into the hand along his spine, leans into Vash. The scent of his skin invades Vash's senses. Somehow, he still manages to smell nice after being in the burning heat all day.

He's polite enough to turn his head as he starts to blow his nose. The action must vibrate an already miserably tickly sinuses, because mid-way through he can't help but sneeze helplessly into the fistful of napkins.

"H'AEHchhff!"

His body wrenches with it, the muscles of his back tensing under Vash's side. Vash feels like he's going cross-eyed. As much as he likes the closeness, it's about to become a problem very soon if this doesn't let up. He shifts in his seat and tries to angle his hips away from the other man as much as he can.

"Bless you," he manages.

Meryl looks amused, "What's gotten into you, Wolfwood?"

"You telling me you guys don't fucking smell that?" Wolfwood bites back, his voice slightly muffled from the napkins as he continues to wipe at his nose.

"Smell what?" Roberto asks.

"I do," Vash says, eager for at least a slight segue in the conversation, "There's something in the air for sure. I've been noticing it for a while."

Meryl tilts her head, "I guess it does smell a little funny."

"Whatever it is, it's driving me fucking crazy."

Vash swallows. Someone else is piloting his mouth when he says, "You must be really sensitive."

Wolfwood lowers the napkins and shrugs noncommittally. He dabs at his nose, which is most assuredly turning the shade of a ripe peach, with the sodden napkins. Vash's heart gives a little pang. Suddenly, he remembers he has napkins too. He can't even remember the place they last stopped for food, his memory before this ride is all white noise at this point, but he knows he grabbed some.

"Here, Wolfwood," he says, digging into his coat and procuring some neatly folded napkins.

Wolfwood gives him a smirk that unfurls something in his chest. "You holdin' out on me this whole time, Blondie?"

"I just remembered I had them," he answers truthfully, "Sorry, I would have--" He trails off as he watches Wolfwood's expression quiver. There isn't time for a napkin exchange, Wolfwood is already wrenching away from him and this time opting to sneeze directly at the floor.

"h'YIISHZSHh’huu!"

"Can you sneeze any quieter?" Meryl complains.

Yes, he can, Vash thinks as his brain knits itself back together. He hands over the clean napkins as Wolfwood blindly reaches for them. He gets ahold of them, but doesn't even attempt to get them to his face in time to catch the second sneeze that barrels out of him. He shakes his head like a dog and whips towards the floor again--"H’AEEHHSSEZCh'yue!"

It's even louder than the first, and Vash wonders if that was just to spite Meryl.

"Bless you," Vash murmurs.

"Thagks," Wolfwood says as he straightens up and finally puts the new napkins to good use. He blows his nose almost comically, as if he's trying to make as much noise as possible. But given the way it sounds, Vash thinks that at least isn't for show. He's just genuinely trying to clear whatever's bothering him out of his sinuses.

When he's finally done, Wolfwood wads up the napkins in his fist, gives a dry, irritated sniff and touches lightly at his septum with the tip of his ring finger.

"Feel better?" Vash dares ask.

"Yeah," Wolfwood gives an experimental sniff, "Think it's gone now."

Vash is equal parts relieved and disappointed. He smiles in the former and nods.

"Good. Hopefully we'll be out of this area soon," he says encouragingly.

Wolfwood nod and turns a languid glance out the window. Vash studies his expression, holding his breath in fear of another telltale sign of a tickle. But nothing happens. Wolfwood's face stays serene. If not for the hue of his nostrils, one might not think anything had occurred at all.

Vash allows himself to let down his guard. He rests his head against the window once more and actually closes his eyes. Blood is beginning to redistribute. His heart rate is going down. The pleasant coolness of the inside of the vehicle is doing wonders for him and he's grateful for the little seam open on the window letting in some of the air. It plays with his eyelashes and the tips of his hair as he lets the new quiet soothe him.

Fifteen minutes later, Vash is on the edge of sleep, just about to plunge through when he hears Wolfwood sniff.

#idk how to end things #also i could have kept writing this for days i needed to be stopped #anyway uh #t/rigun #i guess #throwing my hat in the ring among so many crazy talented writers #i feel like i needed to give the community something after lurking for like 800 years and selfishly drooling over everyone else's content #idk now i have to run away and hope no one sees it????#anyway vash is a disaster this poor guy #you ever want to take care of a handsome man with his tiddies out and also kiss him senseless yea #my writing #snz

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jessicas-pi · 11 months

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So This Was A Little More Angsty Than I Recalled...

We’re probably both going to be bruised black and blue by the time this is over, Ezra thinks, blocking a hard swing and throwing it right back. The sun was setting when they started, and it’s nearly dark now.

Sabine’s eyes glow too gold for comfort in the dusky night. Just like he has every day for the last month, he bites his tongue and holds back his questions.

Hera and Zeb won’t tell him about whatever happened to Sabine on Malachor, Kanan and Okadiah are as lost as Ezra is, and if Ahsoka knows anything, she’s not telling. When Ezra brought it up to Mom and Dad, they just told him to be there for Sabine.

He’s been trying.

Sabine has not been cooperating.

So after a month of being there with no success, Ezra gave up and decided that it was time for some non-optional friendship bonding time, but even his best efforts at finding a so-bad-it’s-good holofilm like they used to watch together, even after making some really good movie snacks, all for her, she sulked and complained the whole time, being so—so—infuriating that before he knew it, they were yelling in each others’ faces about tropes.

Ezra stopped yelling, stopped the film, took her by the arm, dragged her outside into the Atollon landscape, and said that they were going to beat the crap out of each other.

(For Mandalorians, sparring is training, recreation, and even courtship. He figured… maybe it would work as therapy, too?)

He doesn’t feel bad about throwing the first punch, because she hit back twice as hard. Ezra thinks his lip is split from a hard hit to the front of his helmet, and Sabine’s knuckles are scraped raw and bloody. They circle each other, slower now than when they started. Her hair has blown out of her braid and sticks to her face in the heat.

It’s a little bit pretty, but now definitely isn’t the right time to think about that.

Sabine rolls one shoulder—he thinks it’s where he landed a decent punch.

“Had enough, tin can?” she demands, but the tension has started to drain from her body and she sounds a little closer to playful than he thought she could ever be again.

“Not if you’ve still got that attitude, wizard girl.”

“You’re gonna regret that,” Sabine warns. She settles into a stance, rocking a little, coiled like a spring.

“Probably,” Ezra agrees.

She draws a breath, and Ezra must have blinked or something, because in the space of an instant, she’s flown at him. He can barely see her in the dark and even the night vision in his helmet doesn’t help.

But he has a split second of advantage. In pure chance, she overextends, and he slams into her, sending them both tumbling through the Atollon dust.

She’s up on her feet again right away—or at least she would be, but Ezra snags her wrist, and drags her back down, flipping over so she’s neatly pinned beneath him.

All he needs is a knife to hold to her throat and it would be a near-perfect replica of the scene in the holofilm that started their stupid fight in the first place.

Sabine doesn’t say anything. She just lies on her back in the dust, looking up at him with the eyes that always seemed to see through his mask, but now they don’t look like they’re seeing anything. He hopes she’s processing her emotions and not disassociating.

Ezra is about to move off of her when something catches his eye, and he brushes some of her hair away from her face. It clings—not with sweat, but with blood. There’s a cut on her cheek.

“Did I hurt you?” he breathes, not sure what he’s even saying, and he draws away.

Flying up, her hand seizes his wrist, gripping painfully tight, even as her sharpening gaze fixes right where his eyes would be.

Ezra swallows dryly. The look she gives him is making him feel a thousand things that he doesn’t really want to sort out, now or ever.

“Sabine?” he asks. “What…”

He trails off. Her thumb slides to the little space between his glove and his sleeve, pulling the cloth back. Never looking away from his face, she pulls his arm up and softly kisses the pulse of his wrist.

“You’re dangerous, Ezra,” she smiles, breath on his skin.

Then, like the Spectre she is, Sabine is gone.

#ezra and sabine: this is a perfectly normal way to handle our traumas and requited but unacknowledged feelings for each other!#yeah so Sabine still has trauma but it's DIFFERENT trauma so she's slightly better at admitting she has feelings #ezra on the other hand...#'don't be ridiculous i have no feelings whatsoever for sabine. sure i would die for her. that doesn't mean anything.'#(he's secretly afraid that his adoptive buire are still alive and will be not-mad-just-disappointed that he's crushing on a jedi)#but sabine isn't entirely emotionally healthy either and due to her Specific Trauma she tends to swing back and forth #between shutting down/completely ignoring him and basically saying to his face #that the only reason she hasn't pinned him to the wall ripped his helmet off and kissed him senseless is that she respects his creed #which; as you can imagine; is a little confusing for ezra! but it's okay he doesn't need answers this is fine he hAS NO FEELINGS #and okadiah (the only Emotionally Competent person on the Ghost) is watching them like #'i'm no therapist but if i may offer some advice—'#FUN FACT I FINALLY FIGURED OUT WHO TO SWAP ZEB WITH #so he's a jedi and Fulcrum! and Ahsoka was a royal guard to the queen of Shili!#and chopper died instead of okadiah BUT he's a droid so they installed his memory in the Ghost and now he lives in the ceiling #until they can find him a new droid body #twin blades and beskar au #lifeswap au #sabezra

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