#cielo x wolfwood

[aimfor-theheart]

cielo v. ambrosi + nicholas d. wolfwood instagram feed 🌹

-> tagging: open! so fun and cute everyone should do it

[rush-the-stars]

Dogfight

pairing: nicholas d. wolfwood x reader, vash the stampede x reader, vashwood x reader

wc: 4k what the actual hell lol

cw: jealousy, mild smut/suggestive content, fighting, blood, biting, marking, possessiveness. the boys are jealous of each other sorta but then get on the same page. minors dni, 18+ only

a/n: this is for an anon that asked me about jealous vashwood and then i spent days working on this and it got too big so i made an Official Fic Post rather than just answering the ask bc im insane and unwell lol this is also probs more 98 vash and wolfwood than stampede! i hope you enjoy!! banner from @/cafekitsune

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The first time they meet you, its through a shower of gunfire. Your wild smile is all that’s left when the smoke clears.

Wolfwood thinks he hasn’t seen anyone so damn beautiful in his entire life—streaked with blood and eyes lit up like a flame, twirling a twin pair of pistols like fucking ribbons.

And Vash thinks maybe he’s in love? And then he shakes his head and tries to clear it, tries to clear you from his vision, and at least the smoke disappears some. And the chaos stills. But you smile all crooked at them, tilting your head a little in greeting and he feels wobbly all over again.

“Happy to save your asses,” you say, “buy me a drink?”

Vash hears wedding bells.

(It’s just church bells tolling in the distance.)

“Happy to—happ—“ Vash trips over all his words.

“Shit, I’ll buy you dinner, too.” Wolfwood says.

Vash looks at him, Wolfwood looks back. And then they’re stumbling over themselves to get up, clambering and clawing and falling over each other and they must look like foolish, scrapping dogs in the dirt at your feet.

You laugh, though, warm and amused.

“Settle down, boys. bar’s still standing—you can both buy me a drink.”

And they’re left to watch you walk away and talk to Meryl, whose shaking her head and rolling her eyes at them. You introduce yourself to her.

And they both scramble after your heels, right on the tails of your skirts.

***

You sleep with Wolfwood first—

He’s surprisingly gentlemanly with you, even if you can feel the desperation and hunger that he tries to keep so far from the surface. He’s all bravado, all honeyed words and little growled praises as he squeezes the fat of your hips.

He gets you so wet it’s almost embarrassing, except that he also makes you come so hard that you forget about it almost immediately. He adores being between your legs, adores tasting and taking—being on his knees for you.

Wolfwood is a worshipful man. Devoted. Adoring. With a little grit and bite when you need it.

He leaves a mark or two. Around your collar bones or neck. One on your hip. He can’t help himself.

He takes good care of you in that brutishly charming way of his—fucks deep and hard, carves his way through you and makes you toss your head back into the pillow and pull at his hair. He loves to please, loves to be told what to do or what you want. Take what you need, pretty girl. He hums to you, groaning when you tell him how good he feels.

Rarely impatient except when you rile him up, Wolfwood makes a good lover. Fun and obedient and affectionate.

You adore him.

***

Wolfwood and Vash get testy with each other.

Tensions are high—Vash is surprisingly sharp with him, in a way that makes you a little wary, treating him like a bit of a ticking time bomb.

Wolfwood doesn’t help. He’s an instigator and if there’s one thing he loves, it’s to get under someone’s skin. Especially someone like Vash, whose usually easy and cheerful and kind.

“Would you leave it?” Vash snaps at Wolfwood, shoving the man’s hand off his shoulder. He bares his teeth a little and in the dim light you see the knife-sharp flash of his pointed canines.

“I was just trying to be friendly,” Wolfwood drawls in a way that indicates he most certainly wasn’t just trying to be friendly.

“Something the matter?” You ask and when Vash’s eyes land on you, he immediately softens. He looks guilty. Hangs his head a little and looks at the ground.

“No,” he says, “sorry—“

But Wolfwood says, “Blondie’s got his panties in a bunch about something and I was just trying to see what was wrong—“

Vash’s eyes flash.

“Nick,” you snap. Short and sharp, like reprimanding a dog.

He looks at you. You look back. Then you jerk your head to tell him to get lost, “take a hike.”

“And who made you the boss?” He snarks.

You level him with a more serious look, hand on your hip, “I’ll find you later.”

“You can’t just order me—“

“I wanna talk to Vash.” You respond firmly, “and you’re being a jackass.”

He stares at you for another long moment. You don’t back down, in fact you tip your chin up a little, meeting his eyes with a flash of authority.

He looks at Vash, who quickly glances away.

He scoffs, “whatever. You’re both a pain in my ass.” But he listens to you and skulks off.

You turn to Vash when he’s out of ear shot, “you okay?” You ask.

Vash can’t look at you. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that—“

“Not your fault. He can be a pest. Walk with me?” You ask and now you hold up the crook of your elbow.

Vash eyes you uncertainly for a moment, before he lets go of a small breath, and siddles up to your side. He loops his arm through yours and you begin to guide him through this little, nowhere town. The sun is setting. The dusk sky is smoky and golden, like a quartz glittering, shadowed and shining.

“You seem—“ You choose your words carefully, “troubled lately.” And then you amend, “more troubled than usual.”

“I’m sorry to worry you but everything’s fine.” Vash shakes his head.

“Vash,” you implore gently, shaking his arm a little. “I can tell something’s bothering you. Won’t you tell me?”

“Ah,” Vash says weakly, “it’s alright.” And he looks ahead, out at the horizon. You follow his gaze. There's nothing out there but the line of land in the distance.

“Thanks for standing up for me tonight but you should—you should go find him. He’ll be waiting for you.”

And then Vash drops your arm and walks away, his head down, a little furrow to his brows. And you watch him go, dumbfounded.

When you return to Wolfwood, he’s waiting for you on the porch of the little inn you're staying at, smoking a cigarette.

“What the hell was that all about?” He gruffs, blowing the smoke from the corner of his mouth.

You don’t answer him at first. You slip into his lap easily. He raises his eyebrows in slight surprise, but immediately adjusts, one hand around your waist, the other holding his cigarette away from you.

“You need to leave him be.” You say, sighing as you sink into his embrace.

He pauses for a moment, looks at you—really looks at you.

Then he says, “he wants you, you know.”

“Is that what this is about? Are you jealous? Is that why you’re pestering him?” You rub your knuckle against his stubbly jaw, pet him a little. He leans into the touch, nudging himself against your hand.

"You like him?" He asks instead.

"Course I like Vash." You hush, fingers moving to card through his hair.

He takes a slow drag from his cigarette before he leans away to blow the smoke away from you. It lingers in the air around him and for a moment, you look at him through the haze. The smell of it reminds you so thoroughly of him nowadays that you almost crave it when its not around.

"No," Wolfwood corrects, "do you like him the way you like me?"

"You think I like you?" You tease, but he doesn't take kindly to that and jostles you in his lap a little and even goes so far as to jerk his head away from your touch.

"Woah, take it easy," you say, realizing he really didn't like that joke, "I was only playin' with you. I'm in your lap, aren't I?"

He softens a little. Lets go of a breath. He squeezes your waist, maybe in apology. To soothe the ache, you lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw, pepper them lightly down his neck.

"You didn't answer the question." He mumbles and you feel more than you see him flick his cigarette down and crush it with the heel of his shoe. He pulls you closer now that his other hand is free, slots you tight against him, and leans back to give you more room at his neck.

"Would you be mad if I said yes?" You murmur, carefully kissing at the pulse in his neck. You hide there.

"If i was?"

"You aren't good at sharing?" You coo, nudging your nose against his jaw, up to catch him in a quick kiss. He nips a little in answer.

"Not usually," he finally says.

"Not even with Vash?" You ask, because you know him better than he'd like to admit. And now you pull away to look at him.

To really look at him.

His eyes flick away, maybe bashfully, "yeah, well—I don't think I'm the one you have to worry about."

"What do you mean?" You ask.

He shrugs a little, "you think cause he puts up the goody-two-shoes act that it makes him good with sharing?" He asks, "why do you think he's gotten so pissed with me lately?"

You hum in acknowledgement. "Have you been rubbing it in?" You ask.

"Not intentionally." He says. And then when you look at him more pointedly, he admits, "not intentionally most of the time."

"Well, we'll see if Vash can share." You finally say and lean again to kiss him.

But in a sudden move, he grabs your chin, forces you still. Forces you to look at him.

"Only Vash, you hear me?" He says. His eyes are dark suns, all encompassing and imploring and fiery, "anyone else and I'll lose it."

You can't tell if it's a warning with the slight waver in his voice or a threat, with the growl behind the end of it. And then you remember scared dogs bite.

"Only Vash." You swear, "only you."

He settles a little, leans back again, and this time, when you kiss him, it's harder. More a claiming than a kiss — more a damning than a passion. He gives it back tenfold.

He litters you in little marks, in his scent, and drops his blazer around your shoulders in the morning. At breakfast, right in front of Vash, he catches you in a sharp, burn of a kiss.

More of a claiming. More of a damning.

***

When you sleep with Vash for the first time, it’s after a near-death experience. You were being reckless. The room is charged.

And Vash kisses you not like it’s the first time, but like it could be the last. He's the heat of a falling star, searing you, devouring you. He's all desperation. All starvation.

You'd thought with how sweet he usually was, that he'd be even more well behaved than Wolfwood, but that is far from the truth. He's a little untamed, untrained and clumsy and ferocious.

He whines as he takes you apart and you think he'd probably take praise well if you could teach him but right now he's just so— raw. So yearning and famished with it all.

You've no choice but to try and give everything you can in hopes of soothing him in some way. Filling the emptiness in him. And even still, you're aching and sore and torn-up after all is said in done.

Vash is bashful and a little remorseful about it come morning.

But you twine your arms around him and kiss him hard in reassurance. In encouragement.

He's passionate and all-encompassing. He's all your world in this moment.

You adore him.

Later, when Wolfwood sees the marks he left on you, he curses.

"Is he a fucking vampire?" He asks, tilting your head to the side to see the dark bruise in the side of your neck. But then he realizes how tender you are still, how aching, and he coos all soft.

Tells you he'll lick the wounds Vash gave you.

Says. I told you it wasn't me you had to worry about.

Vash avoids you and Wolfwood for nearly two days.

On the third, he finally breaks.

And when he does, he bundles you in his red coat after a long day, fists his hands in the collar of it to pull you towards him, and kisses you hard in front of Wolfwood, underneath the dark heavens above. He says he'll be back later.

Your lip throbs from the nip of his teeth.

(When Wolfwood kisses you shortly after, pushing Vash's coat from your shoulders, he soothes the sting with his tongue.)

***

For awhile, all the boys do is fight when they're around each other. It's getting to a point where Meryl is avoiding them at all costs—and you're just short of joining her.

The worst of it is on one of the hottest days in a long time.

Wolfwood says something he shouldn't—asks Vash if he could smell his cologne on you. Asks if he likes it.

It's too far. Usually, they bicker and fight over unrelated, stupid shit.

But that strikes a nerve.

And it's so fast that you don't even catch it, and suddenly Vash has Wolfwood pinned against the wall, hands fisted in the front of his shirt.

You always thought, maybe just on height and weight alone, that Wolfwood was stronger. But looking at Vash now, easily pinning him, you aren't quite sure.

"Oh, you wanna finally fight?" Wolfwood asks, baring his teeth, too.

And really, it's like when dogs fight.

It's fast and vicious. It sounds worse than it is—snarling and growling and wrestling with each other. It's artless. You've seen them both in a fight and this isn't—this isn't that. It's better, maybe, on Wolfwood's end. He's not trying to kill Vash. But maybe it's also worse, more personal, more brutal.

You hear Vash yelp—Wolfwood curses. More fighting.

You yell at them, the way you shout at fighting dogs, grab hold of Wolfwood around the collar and pull hard enough that he stops from his place over Vash, panting.

His mouth is bloody and it drips down onto Vash, his teeth still bared and crimson.

For a moment, they look at each other.

(And Vash thinks wildly, looking up at Wolfwood, sorry about the blood in your mouth. I think I wish it was mine. He tastes blood himself and wonders if it is Wolfwood's. If he really did bite him.

Wolfwood thinks, hit me again. If that's all you'll give me now, I'll take it. Wolfwood looks down at Vash, feels his heaving chest beneath him, and thinks, if I can only have you this close in a fight, I'll take that, too.)

You're cursing them both out, hauling Wolfwood off of him. You're furious and shaking and you're scolding them both.

You're fussing over them both, too, angrily wiping at their mouths and inspecting their wounds.

And they both think, maybe I should pick more fights, to see you like this, too, flustered and livid and worried. Doting. Adoring.

You shake your head at the both of them but—

You adore them.

***

It takes another man sniffing around you for them both to finally get on the same page.

And if it's one thing about Vash and Wolfwood, for all their bickering and differences, they know when to shut up and work together.

The moment another man starts chatting you up at the bar, they both go still and silent.

"You see what I'm seeing?" Wolfwood asks.

"Yeah," Vash says, eyes narrowing behind his glasses as the man manages to make you laugh. He leans all close to you. Vash has a near visceral reaction to jerk up from his seat beside Wolfwood.

Wolfwood grabs his arm.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin' then?" He asks.

Vash spares him only a glance—his eyes are trained on you and the man at your side. He grimaces. "Probably not. I don't wanna kill him."

Wolfwood barks out a laugh as Vash adds, "but I don't want him here, either."

"You wanna chase him off?" He asks. "Or you want me to be the bad guy?"

Vash swallows.

"She'll get mad at me for being an asshole. She'll be all pleased with you for being so good." He says and there's a dryness to his tone, a certain resignation or—

"Why would you do that?" Vash asks and he finally peels his eyes away long enough to look at Wolfwood.

To really look at him.

He shrugs, "I don't mind being in the dog house."

Vash eyes him.

Wolfwood smiles a little, "and I think she's hot when she's mad."

Vash frowns at that, a little twitch of his lips, almost in a pout. "Besides that—I meant—why would you do that for me?"

Wolfwood looks back over at the man at the bar, whose gotten even closer to you, his shoulder almost brushing yours. You're smiling and playing nice. Wolfwood's hackles rise. He bristles. He finally stands, too.

He never feels this way when he sees you with Vash. He never feels this way on the nights when Vash has you. In fact, the idea of it is—it's—

Kissing you after Vash. Knowing he'd just kissed you. Sinking his teeth into the ridges of marks Vash leaves on you, like he's trying to get his own taste. Or compare his teeth to Vash's. Maybe he growls and snaps at him and bares his teeth the next day, too, but he never feels like this.

Scared and mean and angry and—

"What, are you gonna make me fuckin' say it?" Wolfwood snaps.

"Say what?!"

Wolfwood slugs his arm hard. The flesh one, so he doesn't damn near break his knuckles doing it. And Vash yelps all high and Wolfwood wants to shake him and he also sorta wants to hit him again. And maybe he wants to kiss him stupid, too—

"I don't—" Wolfwood swallows hard, "I don't mind sharing. With you. With only you."

Wolfwood looks at him.

Really looks at him.

And then Vash turns the deepest shade of red.

Wolfwood's face gets hot all over, too. "Oh, Christ, blondie—did you really not know?"

"I don't know what I thought!" Vash says and his voice gets sorta high.

"Well—" Wolfwood shifts, uncharacteristically nervous, "what about—I mean, do you—are you okay sharing...with me?"

"At first, I thought I wasn't." Vash admits, "and I was jealous of—" he swallows, "I was jealous of both of you, if I think about it. You're just—you push my buttons more than she does—so. I took it out on you, mostly."

"Ah," Wolfwood says, "you took it out on her, too. Just in a different way."

Vash cheeks somehow get darker with color and Wolfwood laughs, realizing that he's—it's relief. He feels relieved, finally, as he laughs.

"You're a dumbass." He says to Vash.

And Vash smiles at him, crooked and boyish and stupidly handsome. That smile that Wolfwood has always liked.

Wolfwood then turns his gaze back to you, back to the man at the bar whose leaning in all close. He sees you tip away, adjusting your space. And he says;

"Now let's go get our girl."

The moment Wolfwood comes up behind you, you know there will be trouble unless this man doesn't leave quick — what you aren't expecting, is Vash to come up on the other side of the man. You tilt your head.

You feel a broad hand on your lower back, "he botherin' you?" Wolfwood asks, leaning all into your space.

The man sizes up Wolfwood, weighing his chances still and you can nearly feel Wolfwood stiffen and bristle behind you. He doesn't like being challenged.

"He was just seeing if I wanted a drink."

Vash, on the other side of the man says, "maybe he'd like it if I bought him a drink instead!" And though it's said brightly, it's almost a little too bright.

Vash's eyes gleam like the cold edge of bright moons.

You look between them for a moment as the man says, "alright, what the hell is this? You her boyfriend or something?"

"Or something." Wolfwood agrees casually.

"And whose this guy?" He snarks to Vash, "her other boyfriend?"

"Or something." Vash says, still smiling, and that really pisses the guy off.

"Would you back up?" He snaps and he shoves at Vash enough that he stumbles away a few steps. And before he can do something stupid, you put yourself between Wolfwood and the man.

"Leave him," you say lowly to Wolfwood, whose hackles are raised.

Wolfwood isn't looking at you, he's looking at the man behind you and his eyes are hard and cold and mean looking.

"Nick," you say, "I don't want a bar fight."

"Worried he can't handle me?" The man asks, "no wonder you were letting me chat you up."

Wolfwood jerks a little in your hold and Vash speaks up, laughing a little, "no reason to fight! Wouldn't want to clean you up off the floor."

Well, that does it.

The man swings on Vash, who yelps a little, but easily evades him. When he ducks, the man connects with another person behind Vash.

Damn it all.

The bar breaks out in pandemonium. Wolfwood shoves you beneath him and Vash works on ducking and diving out of the way of the first few swings sent his way. Shouting and glass shattering, raining down from above, makes you curse.

Wolfwood dodges the first punch thrown his way and he shoves you out of the way, before he takes a swing himself. When he connects, it's a nasty punch. Blood erupts.

Food is getting thrown. Alcohol sailing overhead, soaking the fighting crowd and angering them further. The poor bartender is hiding, ducking behind the counter and shivering.

You clamber atop the bar to get a look and—it's a wild crush of people, fighting and wrestling and breaking glass over each other's heads.

You put your fingers to your mouth and whistle—the loud, piercing kind that usually gets everyone's attention. This time, there's so much noise and shouting, that not a soul stops their fighting.

You pull out one of your pistols.

The shot thunders in the bar, makes your ears ring.

Everyone gasps and yells in surprise, instinctively ducking, covering their heads. But they all finally turn to look at you.

"Everyone out!" You shout, "take your fighting elsewhere!"

Grumbles erupt. But you hold up your pistol and shout again, with more force and fire, "out!"

The bar begins to stir, all the patrons dislodging and shifting about, detangling themselves from their fights. They meander in knots of people, twisting out the door slowly.

When Vash and Wolfwood appear again, they look disheveled and Vash's lip is busted. Wolfwood's sunglasses are shattered. You put your hands on your hips as you look down at them.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with you two?" You snap.

Wolfwood reaches up to lift you right off the bar and back onto the ground in front of him. He shrouds you, "nurse our wounds?" He asks.

"You're a pain in the ass. I told you I didn't want a bar fight."

"He didn't throw the first punch, in his defense." Vash speaks up, but he's talking sorta funny because of his lip, which is swelling even now.

You sigh, "let me see."

Vash siddles up to you, a little sheepish, with that puppy-dog look on his face. He bends down a little, so you can get a better look at his face, dipping his head down in a show of submission.

Woflwood, behind you, whistles. "That's a good one, blondie."

"Hurts." Vash says as you carefully inspect it, debating if he'll need stitches or not.

"You gonna kiss it better?" Wolfwood asks.

"Why don't you?" You snark back, "since you two are finally working together it seems."

Vash smiles a little, which makes him wince, which makes you scold him. Wolfwood laughs, cooing a little, before he says, "alright, alright—lets get him patched up."

And you walk out with them at your skirts, hovering around you, dogging your steps. They follow you all the way back into your little room at an inn on the edge of the world.

And they settle in like they both own the damn place.

Wolfwood is tormenting Vash a little, whose whining and coming to your side for aid. But they're both—getting along, at least. And they're both demanding all your attention and taking up space in your room and—

And you adore them. You adore both of them, even with all their damn dogfights.

[aimfor-theheart]

i also had to join…..cielo x wolfwood and cielo x kaeya my beautiful boysss

two wildly different men from two wildly different aus… new neka incoming!

[aimfor-theheart]

nicholas d. wolfwood’s camera roll 📸🌹

-> tagging: open!! everyone should do it i loooove seeing them all

[rush-the-stars]

undone

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pairing: nicholas wolfwood x afab f!reader

cw: smut. quickie? praise, reader referred to as "girl" and "sweetheart" and "baby". f!receiving oral. hair pulling. this is pretty tame tbh

wc: 2.4k

a/n: the fact that i wrote 2k words in the span of like. 2 hours for this man. unhinged. i am really going through something. shoutout to the anon who asked about wolfwood undoing corsets. i had softer and sweeter ideas with this but. alas. maybe i'll make it a lil series.

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You have roughly twenty minutes before Meryl and Vash are back from the water-station. Maybe more, depending on how much trouble they manage to get into on the way there or back—but that means you'll have to bail them out, too. So, still, twenty minutes.

Your back hits the door to the little room at the inn you'd gotten for the night with a dull thud.

"Nico!" You hardly have time to yelp before his mouth is on yours, stubble scraping against your soft lips. You claw at his shoulders, pawing and pushing at his blazer until it falls to the floor.

There's only two buttons on his shirt you have to pick at before it's open to you, since he wears it so obscenely low and unbuttoned already. When you get your hands on his bare skin, he's making a sound against you, low and desperate.

It's been a week and a half since he's had you like this, in his arms, big hands all over you.

It's been a week and a half since you'd had even a moment to yourselves long enough to do anything—

When his lips move over your jaw, your fingers sink into his dark hair, tugging, "don't leave any marks!"

The sound he makes can only be considered a growl, a rumble of it from his chest in annoyance, almost a groan. Your stomach swoops, tilting your head back anyways to give him room.

"Why are we hidin' it from them, anyways?" He barely gets out against your throat, warm, wet lips trailing lower and lower.

If you weren't half out of your mind with him, you would've been able to give a cohesive answer—something about not wanting it to make it strange to travel with or—maybe because Meryl's been warning you away from Nicholas for awhile now and you don't yet want to hear it from her.

Something like that.

But for now, all you can do is whimper when Nicholas' lips get down to the tops of your breasts before meeting the arch of your corset. He suddenly turns you and your hands fly up to steady yourself against the door.

And behind you, he gets on his knees and you feel a sharp tug at the lace of your corset.

You groan, "we don't have time for this—"

"Damn you, you said that last time—"

And he’s right, last time was quick and hot in the back of the truck, with your skirts hiked up around your waist but otherwise not a piece of fabric fully taken off. Just your poor bloomers ripped at the gusset.

And stubborn man that he is, he continues to pull at the laces expertly. Thick, strong fingers weaving into the delicate satin of the ribbon, as he gives another tug. It loosens.

You glance over your shoulder and the sight is—

Nicholas on his knees, shirt open, dark lashes fanned across his cheeks as he focuses on your corset. Another quick tug and the bodice loosens again, then he brings his other hand up—so big, so rough, and pulls at the corset deftly.

“Careful—“ you barely manage to breathe, watching, enamored with the way his fingers delve in to the delicate satin again. “You have to get this back on me before they get back, too.”

“Quit worrying,” he says, and you feel the stiff fabric give away, laces coming undone with his expert hands. “I don’t know when I’m gonna get this much time with you again.”

You let it fall from your body, freeing your breasts and revealing the sheer, ruffled slip underneath.

He hardly lets you step out of it before he tugs at the strings of the underskirt around your waist, expertly undoing that, too. It pools around your feet in swaths of peach and cream, joining your poor, undone corset.

“Slip off,” he gets out, big hands coming up to bunch in the fabric at your waist. You listen to the command almost instinctively, letting the white fabric fall from your shoulders, but realize sluggishly that—

“You’re a little too good at this,” you manage to get out as you’re finally bare up top, slip joining all your discarded clothes.

Down to your little bloomers and stockings, he lets out a huff of a laugh, one hand roaming over the bare skin of your side, other curling into the waistline of your bloomers. “What are you tryin’ to say?”

Bloomers slip down your legs with an easy pull.

“You’re a dog, Nico—!”

Your words break off into a sharp breath, just as you feel the nudge of his nose against the back of your thigh, lips settling in a wet kiss towards the inner crux of your legs. One of his hands presses on your lower back, bending you into a pretty arch for him.

The other holds you steady, creeping over your waist, thumb stroking soothingly against bare skin.

Heat rips through you like the high sun at noon, blazing, and furious. You whimper when you feel his stubble against the soft skin of the back of your thighs.

You feel where he’s headed—and it’s—in this position—

“Nico—“ you whine, and again, you try to say there isn’t time—maybe, to spare you some form of embarrassment or, or—

His tongue is sinful and hot between the shockingly wet glide between your legs. He shoulders your legs a little further apart for himself, squeezes your hip appreciatively and groans low and dirty.

You curse, hips twitching, trying to wriggle out of his hold, but he bares down. His hands squeeze.

“Don’t you run from me, sweetheart.” He gets out, gruff and soft.

And then the hot clutch of his mouth opens, sinful, against your cunt, damn near dripping onto his waiting tongue.

The whimper that works its way out of you is a flustered one, nails digging into the wood of the door as he sets to work on you. It’s messy—it’s fast and heated and his hands are being a little rough, guiding you on his mouth.

Sparks of pleasure, low in your stomach, erupt. He’s a little relentless—a little desperate. And you’re so damn wound up—

You arch into it and he hums in praise, pulling you back into the warm, wet heat of his moth, into burning pleasure.

It’s honestly a little embarrassing—

He slips one finger inside of you and curls and the angle with—his mouth—

You cry out, a pleasure burst of heat racing through your body, along the arch of your back to pulse hard and quick against his tongue.

He laughs a little when he realizes he’s already made you come, but he doesn’t let up right away. Not until you’re mewling and whining all pitiful, voice going high and desperate.

“Poor thing,” he says when he stands, crowding you against the door now with his height. His size. “Must’ve been so worked up—didn’t know you needed me that bad, sweetheart.”

“Just hurry up and fuck me—“

He laughs, low and soft, as he unzips his pants and pulls himself out. You feel him then slip through silken folds, glide all sweet and easy over where you need him most.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, hellcat.”

You groan as he sinks the head of his cock inside you. He curses. The stretch burns a little, aches deep inside—

“So fucking tight still,” he gets out, almost a growl, as he eases out and then a slow glide back in. You arch your back for him further, rock back further so he sinks deep down into you.

His turn to groan, one hand coming up to steady himself on the door by your own hand. He laces them together—sap that he is.

His other hand feels your bare body for once, no corsets or shirts in his way, calloused hands skimming over your torso. Your breasts.

He keeps himself deep inside you a moment, marveling, petting and stroking you as you try and catch your breath.

His thumb grazes the peak of your breast, pleasure skittering to life and rushing through your body. You wiggle your hips, desperate.

“Nico, c’mon, don’t tease—“ you mewl.

And then you move your hips off him, before taking him back deep inside you.

He groans again, “fuck—how could I deny you?”

You begin to set a slow pace, easing off him almost entirely before sinking back onto him. He carves a blaze inside of you, turns your mind to mush, as you continue rocking.

“Atta girl,” he gets out, watching himself disappear inside of you, before slowly pulling back out.

You moan, arching further into his touch, his embrace, before you feel his hand squeeze at your waist.

And then he thrusts, slower at first, letting you adjust. But you’re finding your own rhythm with him, chasing your own pleasure—chasing his. The way he moans, dragging you back and forth on his cock. So thick and deep, pressing into you.

His hands are all over now, savoring the way your skin feels, being able to hold and grope you like this. Rough hands on your breasts, your thighs, your ass.

You tip your head back onto his shoulder and he showers you in attention and praise—

“So fucking pretty, huh? You feel good, sweetheart? Whad’ya need from me, hm?”

“Harder,” you get out, turning desperate eyes on him. He groans again, helpless to your whims.

“Whatever my baby wants,” he says before moving to tangle a hand in your hair, taking a fistful in a swift move that has you gasping. Not too hard—but—

You moan as he sinks in roughly this time, tips your head back with his hand in your hair.

He doesn’t change the pace, just the strength. And you feel yourself flutter around him, feel the way he rumbles out another low sound of his own pleasure, as his thrusts get harder. Deeper.

“You got one more for me, sweetheart?” He asks, scattering kisses on your jaw, the side of your neck.

He lets go of your hair to skim his hand down the front of your body, to find the bundle of nerves between the crux of your thighs. It changes the angle, he crowds you, big bare chest up against your back. You’re so close he hardly even pulls out of you now, and you grind back against him.

“That’s it,” he hums, “take what you want, pretty girl.”

That’s all it really takes, with his fingers making quick, easy passes over your clit.

Your moan is broken, walls tightening up around him as he groans.

“Ha—fuck, good girl—just like that.”

He buries himself to the hilt just to feel you come around him, just to feel the way you squeeze and milk him.

“Nico—“ you get out, “want you—want you to come—“

Again, he says, voice a little wrecked, “how could I deny you?”

And then grabs hold of your hips to thrust, hard, and deep, chasing his own pleasure. It doesn’t take him long, especially when you start mewling and begging for him, arching all up into his hands desperately.

He comes hard, you feel him pulse and jump inside you, insides flooding with warm.

You’re both breathing a little heavy on the come-down, his lips scattering kisses along your bare shoulders.

For a moment, it’s peaceful— the sun is setting in a gold fury out the window, casting you both in its glory. Your body is warm and loose and—you press back into him.

You realize you want more, wiggling your hips again, but he stills you.

And somehow, he’s the voice of reason when he says, “I gotta get your corset back on you.”

You curse.

You have maybe, maybe five minutes. If that.

And then you’re both a flurry of movements, trying to clean up and get clothes back on. He helps you back into your slip.

He takes a seat on the edge of one of the beds and you stand between his legs, facing him, as he helps with your skirts, dutifully tying off the knots around your waist.

And then he’s helping you with your corset—

Nimble, knowing fingers lacing it up as if he’s done it a hundred times before, barely looking over the curve of your waist to do it.

He tightens it up, nice and snug, and you gasp at the way his big hands pull at it. At the cinch he makes.

He looks up at you, all dark, smoldering eyes.

“That was a real pretty sound,” he rumbles, twisting the lace around his hands carefully, then giving another swift tug.

You gasp again, reaching out to steady yourself on his broad shoulders.

He swears under his breath, “I need at least forty-eight hours with you alone.”

You hardly get a retort, because you both hear commotion down the hall of the inn. And two familiar voices bickering—

You lurch away from him, stepping out of his grasp and bustling over to the other bed, where you’d set down your bag, as if you might be unpacking.

Nicholas pulls out a pack of his cigarettes, puts one between his lips and lights it just as the door bursts open.

Meryl is berating Vash over something, but they’ve got the water they set out to find. And the town is still standing.

Vash cocks his head all funny when he gets in the room and looks between you and Nicholas, but otherwise doesn’t say a word.

Meryl, oblivious, is going on about how Vash almost stuck his nose somewhere he shouldn’t.

“What else is new?” You snort, trying to feel normal and not like jelly, not like you want to collapse in the arms of the man just across the room from you.

You turn to keep folding clothes, when Meryl says;

“Oh—your corset came undone. It’s untied.”

For a moment, your heart stops.

You glance at Nicholas, who catches your eye through a haze of smoke.

“Let me fix it.” Meryl says easily and you nod, swallowing, mumbling a thank you, as you turn away from her.

Her hands take the ribbon in hand and begin to wind and tie.

You face Nicholas, who’s eyeing you darkly.

And then Vash who says, “strange thing, that. Good catch, Meryl.”

He shares a look with Nicholas.

And then he chirps, “who’s sleeping with who tonight?”

You almost choke.

Meryl pipes up about how obviously you and her are sleeping together and Vash and Nicholas can figure something out—just like always. Why would it be any different? She asks.

True to his list of disastrous namesakes, what Vash says next makes pandemonium break out among the room. And truly, this might as well have been the trouble he was trying to stick his nose into, the kind of trouble that might just take down the town itself with the storm it’s about to cause.

And here you thought they’d managed to avoid trouble and you and Nicholas had gotten away scot-free.

Vash shrugs and says, “I dunno— why was her corset untied?”

[rush-the-stars]

omg I've been thinking about that anon who asked about inexperienced reader who didn't know how to kiss and if you might expand on that,,

perhaps a drabble?

pairing: nicholas d. wolfwood x reader

cw: reader referred to as “girl.”

***

“you’ve kissed someone before, yeah?” nicholas asks, his hands sliding around the curve of your waist, drawing you into him. you stand between his parted legs, looking down at him. warmth seeps through you at every place you touch, burns you.

sears you.

and you think if he took his hands away, it would somehow leave scorch marks.

you swallow hard. his lashes are a dark fan of ink against his cheek.

“yes—yeah, i’ve kissed someone before.” you snap. waspish. defensive.

his brows lift a little in disbelief, “you’re trembling like a leaf, sweetheart. you seem nervous.”

“i’m not—!”

“easy,” he hushes you like a spooked little animal. “it’s alright. you wanna go slow?”

you shiver. at the tone. at the way he looks up at you. at his thumb rubbing soothingly into the bend of your hip.

you swallow hard. then you nod, jerky, quick.

“okay—“ he breathes, squeezing your waist lightly, “alright, lets go slow.”

and then, moving as carefully as he can, he lets a hand of his slowly move down your waist, over your thigh. it settles in the crook of your knee, gently pulling so you move to his whims.

straddling his waist.

you hover over him a little for a moment, unsure, and he coos. rubs his hand over your hips and sides, not too high, not too low, until you settle, as delicately as possible, into his lap.

“there ya go,” he murmurs as your hands come up to his shoulders and fist into his shirt, “that’s right. hold on to me.”

your face twists a little as heat engulfs it. “you’re so—“

embarrassing.

but it gets stuck in your throat.

he’s looking up at you, soft lidded and earnest. rubbing at your back and hips so slowly and gently.

“you wanna kiss me?” he murmurs.

your heart kicks and jumps like a spooked rabbit, little feet thumping the earth as it tries to bolt away.

he leans forward just a little, nose brushing yours, just in your space. you can smell his aftershave. you can smell—him.

you’re trembling.

“hm?” he hums, his lips parted just beneath yours, “you wanna say it for me, baby?”

your stomach flutters. your mind sort of—

you furrow your brows. almost pouting—almost with a strange well of tears that suddenly bubbles to the surface. is he teasing you? is he being mean?

“we don’t have to,” he says now, pulling away fractionally, “what do you want?”

“i wanna—“ you unstick your voice, “will you kiss me? please?”

“aren’t you polite?” he says and you taste the curve of his smile more than you see it, feel it slanted against your lips in a soft touch.

he lingers, but the kiss is chaste. his stubble scrapes gently. you want—

he pulls away fractionally, eyes flickering up to check on you, but then you tip forward again and he returns your kiss with a little less fervor—

slower. gentler. coaxing.

he—teaches you—

a longer kiss this time, pressing a little deeper and then.

his tongue, gentle, a small flick of it.

you open for him. bloom like a flower.

he hums, the first time he licks into your mouth.

your fingers are curled so tensely in his shirt, that you fear you’ll tear at a seam. but you can’t—you’re so—he’s so—

“okay?” he murmurs against your lips and when you nod, dazedly, he returns almost instantly.

he kisses you deeper. a little harder.

nips at your bottom lip until you make a little noise against him. and then he does it again, slower, pulling at your lip a little—

teaching you.

and then the next time, you give a little nip to him. and you can feel him smile, you can feel him squeeze your hips.

“atta girl, that’s it.” he hums, drawing you closer, hitching your hips tighter to his. “you’re a fast learner.”

you bury your head into his throat, hiding, as you grumble, “you’re an eager teacher.”

he laughs and you can feel it in his chest, reverberate against your own. his stubbly jaw scrapes against your cheek affectionately.

“i’ve got more to teach you,” he says, voice dark and soft, “if you’ll be my willing student.”

you nip at his neck shyly, as if to retaliate, and he tosses his head back, and squeezes at your waist again.

“i’ll take that as a yes, you brat.”

[aimfor-theheart]

cielo,, how does nico react to you shifting around in his lap when you're in public w friends,, if you'd have any ideas,,,

of course i have ideas anon. of course. pls enjoy 💗

pairing: nicholas d. wolfwood x gender neutral reader

cw: sweetheart pet name used, flirting…suggestive…

ﾟ•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ୨♡୧ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈• ｡ﾟ

the night is young and warm and hazy—the moon is a shy curve in the sky, glowing beneath thin clouds that amble by. the stars are dancing and bright, like girls in the night, heavendrunk and giddy.

on the patio of an old dive bar in the middle of nowhere, you sit in nicholas’ lap.

vash and meryl and milly are around the table. their drinks are almost empty—you’re just shy of finishing your own. the card game has just begun. some old one vash likes to play and milly claims she used to play with all her siblings. nicholas knows it because—well, when doesn’t he know a card game?

you and meryl are new to it but meryl has that determined little furrow to her brow. she’s set her jaw. she wants to win.

but you’re in nico’s lap, sitting pretty with your bare legs thrown over his. one arm looped around his neck so you can lean back into him and look at his hand of cards. he claims he’s tryin’ to teach you.

you haven’t been paying enough attention.

it’s a rare night that you really indulge in displays of affection this large, especially around the group, but you’re all a little tipsy and soft-hearted and there had only been four chairs around the table. they’d all taken their seat and nico, without missing a beat, had pulled you right in to his lap. fit you snug against him.

meryl hadn’t even said a peep about it, who usually complains if you get a little overly affectionate in front of her. instead, she’d just kept chatting away to you like nothing had ever happened. like you weren’t perched in nick’s lap with one of his arms looped around your waist.

vash eyes you a little funny from time to time—staring a little too long at you or nico. you catch him once glancing down to nico’s hands on the curve of your waist or softness of your thighs.

you don’t really mind.

“alright, sweetheart, let’s see what we got.” nico says to you, leaning back in his chair so no one can see his cards except you, nestled close to him.

you lay your head against his sternum to look, tucking beneath his chin. his arms are looped around you to fan the cards out for the two of you to see.

seems like a good hand to you—two queens, a jack, and a ten. you don’t say a peep, though, and you feel nico sigh beneath you. he nudges his nose to your temple absentmindedly.

he smells like the faded cologne he wears—grisalva and amber and leather. and a little like the sun, after a long day beneath it. bourbon on his breath. tobacco.

you nuzzle into him—you forget yourself for a moment. you have half a mind to dot little kisses against his jaw, maybe a little nip of your teeth—

“what card should we put down?” he murmurs, voice rumbling and low. you can feel it vibrate in his chest.

you squirm a little and sluggishly return your focus to the cards.

you eye them. then eye the card meryl put down.

you tap one of the queens.

“good call,” he says and leans forward, jostling you a little to put it down on the table.

“damn,” vash says and he’s got a flush on his face. you think it’s from the drink—he’s got the same drink as nico. something strong and stiff—milly does, too. she likes to keep up with the boys. “i’ve got a shit hand.” he laughs, nudging down a four.

you and meryl have something a little sweeter—peach and honey and liquor.

you don’t really know how the game is going.

when the round is over and nico throws down his cards, the table groans.

“i really thought i had him!” meryl cries.

“you’ll get him next time, meryl!” milly encourages, sliding the cards into her hands, collecting them all.

“hard to beat him this round.” vash agrees, looking at you.

with nico’s hands free, he squeezes your thigh, your waist. “got my lucky charm right here.”

vash’s eyes flicker. you squirm. vash quickly takes a sip of his drink, averting his attention.

“meryl, if you want, i can start cheatin’ for you.”

nico bounces his knees a little, jostling you, “you’d betray me like that?”

he hitches his chin over your shoulder to rub his stubbly cheek against your own. you can’t help but laugh a little, the soft, high way you do when it’s just you and nico. giggly and sweet.

“you always win card games.” you reply, “i’m rooting for meryl this time.”

he nudges his nose against your jaw and—

you wanna kiss him. you wanna turn in his arms and straddle his waist and you wanna—

your hips shift a little. his hand squeezes your thigh. maybe in warning.

“while i appreciate the support, i need to win fair and square.” meryl announces and the flush in her face, all rosy, is certainly from the drink. she hardly pays you or nico any mind.

“atta girl, meryl!” milly says, beginning to deal the cards again.

nico’s got his arms around you again to hold up the cards. you’re not really thinking of much except that he’s so big and solid beneath you and you wish his hands would do something else than hold some cards.

he has some rings on his fingers and you eye them.

you squirm again, imagining those fingers between your legs or in your mouth or—

this time, he rumbles in your ear, low and soft and just for you, “sit still.”

which only makes you want to move more.

he hums as he looks at his cards.

you have half a mind to purr, to wrap your arms around him and just melt into his embrace, let him have you whatever way he wants. and though nico can be a brute, he tries not to react to the way you shift again.

the game unfolds.

you try to stay patient but it’s proving difficult.

your hips shift fractionally, an aborted little rock, and you feel—

you feel that he’s hard and.

heat rushes through you, cracks through you like a lightning strike to an old, dry tree. and—

and you want more.

“how much longer until the game is over?” you try for casualness. nico huffs.

“probably a half hour or so,” milly says and then she looks dead at you and asks very cheerfully, “why? in a rush?”

vash coughs into his drink.

you feel heat rush to your face. “no!” you reply quickly, “i’m just gettin’ tired.”

“poor baby,” meryl mocks, “i better hurry up and win then.”

nico remains strangely silent. but when you shift again, he grabs your waist tight. he stills you. he doesn’t let you move like that again.

he finishes his drink—he tosses down his cards.

meryl shouts, cheering. she’s won finally and with it, the whole game.

“good play, stryfe.” nico grunts, “you caught on fast.”

“that’s what i do!” she boasts, clinking her glass with milly’s, then vash’s. then yours.

“and now you’re free to go—“ meryl looks at the pair of you and she flusters a little finally, “uh—sleep.”

vash laughs and milly chimes in, “beauty rest is important, after all.”

“yeah, yeah,” nico waves them off, “i need a smoke. and to sleep.” he says, more to you, as he urges you up with a little tap to your thigh. you hop up.

you bid your friends goodnight, downing the rest of your drink, before skipping a little to catch up to nico. the moment you’re beside him, his big hand comes down on the nape of your neck, and he pulls you in close.

you cozy up to him.

“you think you’re cute?” nico asks, leaning down a little, “squirming in my lap the whole damn night?”

“couldn’t help it,” you try to shrug, smiling up at him with a little too much innocence, “was feeling antsy.”

“you’re a brat.” he says, “you need better manners, sweetheart. i was enjoying myself.”

“oh i know,” you say, “i felt that—“

he swats your bottom and you yelp his name, scandalized and quickly glancing behind you to see if anyone saw. no one in sight. he guides you back to your room.

“maybe i’ll teach you some, huh?” he asks but he’s not really asking. you feel warmth hit your face. you peak up at him.

he squeezes the nape of your neck as his dark eyes find yours.

a fissure of heat, like lightning bursting across the sky.

“maybe a lesson in patience.” he says and though his tone is light, you hear the barb in it somewhere, catch the flash of his teeth when he smiles at you.

your stomach flips.

you have a feeling you’re in for a long night.

[aimfor-theheart]

pairing: god of death!nicholas d. wolfwood x god of life!reader

cw: um nothing. except i did take the "you're early" and "i missed you" from hadestown. pls forgive me. i just love it so much so sorry for this like. somewhat plagiarism. allow me this one little one from the broadway hit musical hadestown.

***

The days grow shorter; the dark creeps in earlier, eager and searching for you. You hear how it howls for you, longing, aching. It hunts for you, like a dog on a scent, and you know it always comes for you.

Shows up in your garden, whistling, hands in his pockets.

And he looks the same as he did when he first showed up like this, whistling that lonely little song. Hands in his pockets. Slant in his shoulders; walking out of darkness, walking like a thief.

Your heart stops the same way it did the first time, too.

And that tender thing inside of you shudders and awakens, blinks it's eyes open and shakes its weary head.

You wonder if you'll ever get used to seeing him like this, if he's ever gotten used to seeing you like this, in your garden. In the light and lush fauna, emerald and golden, and bleeding with life.

Where he swarms with death—inky darkness and quicksilver, his eyes dark and smoky. Darker than any earth you know.

He disarms you.

Your undertaker. Your god of death.

You try to steal yourself, harden your heart and your eyes. You lift your lips, a flash of a threat.

"You're early," you snap.

He laughs, rough and soft, the shadows shuddering with it.

"I missed ya." He drawls and his smile is wolfish as ever as he steps into the light.

You bare your teeth, "summer's not over."

"It is now." He responds easily, shrugging like it’s nothing, shrugging like it’s his.

“Their harvest will die,” you snarl, rushing for him, and with you, the earth blooms—rushing in your fit of anger to surround the two of you, vines and verdant green shimmering and shuddering in irritation.

He glances around at your display, eyes lifting to a thorned vine that lopes close, its leaves rough and dark.

He reaches up with a careful hand and strokes along the vines path, careful of its burgundy thorns.

You shiver. His eyes return to yours.

“It always does,” he agrees, “I’m afraid that’s life, dove.” And now he moves to reach out and touch you, too, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

You lurch away from his touch and that vine suddenly curls around his wrist—the thorns bite and sink into his flesh.

It leaks with gold blood, slipping down his forearm.

He hisses, pulling a little to test the give, but it only shoves into his flesh harder. Digs in and catches, keeps him there.

He fixes his eyes to yours which are wild and desperate.

“I need more time—“

“Well you don’t have it.” He snaps finally, eyes blazing heaven-dark. The shadows move and slither, irritated.

“Then you’ll have to catch me.” You get out suddenly, words flying from your mouth before you can think. Your heart kicks up, “you’ll have to drag me back this time.”

He bares his teeth and you think of a hellhound, leashed and bound.

“Then you better run—“ he says and you can’t tell if he’s grinning or close to growling, “I won’t go easy on ya.”

You look at the sun in the sky, at the wild world behind you, and then back at him. Night will fall soon.

But this is your world of the living and you know it as well as he knows his world of death—you know it the way you know his teeth in your throat, or he knows the thrumming burn of your touch. And it’s your only chance now. You’ll run like a fox hunted, like a rabbit with a wolf on your tail. You’ll run like it’s all you’ve ever known how to do.

“Then catch me if you can.”

[aimfor-theheart]

TAG GAME: selfship character sheet

rules: fill out this meet my otp sheet for you and the fictional love of your life and then tag 5 friends!

i was tagged by beloved @andypantsx3 and i am very grateful bc i had so much fun filling out for me and wolfwood 💗💗 i drew mine which was really nice bc i haven’t drawn in so long!!

no pressure tags: @chositooo @mieiri @meguwumibear @kedsandtubesocks @isatoru and anyone else who’d like to take part!! 💗

[aimfor-theheart]

pairing: nicholas d. wolfwood x reader

a/n: just really self indulgent and sorta selfship coded tbh. he’s just on my mind.

***

“ready yet?” nicholas asks it around the cigarette, leans back in his seat to blow the smoke behind you.

“for?” you ask, still smiling from the last round of giggles he’d inspired in you.

the night is cool and clear and you’re on the balcony of his apartment, the stars a scattering of milky light across the sky. the city mirrors it, pricks of light scattered across the vast, dark world below, too. somewhere, someone is singing drunkenly.

“you know what for.” he says evenly and you can feel the warmth radiating from his big hand on the back of your chair.

you look at him and feel the heat in his dark gaze, the love that’s held there. the intensity of it, of all that adoration, makes you feel—

nervous. skittish.

you shy away from his gaze, cast your eyes out to the sky.

he takes another slow drag and you listen to the inhale.

“not yet, i don’t think.”

your voice carries below and above, gentle on the wind.

he exhales.

“okay,” he says easily. his knuckles brush the nape of your neck, a slow pass, playing with the baby hairs there. it’s gentle, a little ticklish, but you don’t move an inch. “would you tell me when you are? or should i keep asking?”

your lips tug up at the corners. “i’ll tell you,” you vow, “but i do like when you ask.”

nick smiles now, too. slow, a little amused. he shakes his head but it’s just shy of fond. “then i’ll keep askin’. you know you’re getting spoiled?”

you turn and look at him—really look at him with his smile that is a little lopsided and the flash of a canine tooth behind full lips. the stubble on his jaw and his broad shoulders, shirt undone and open. the dark sweep of his lashes and the curve of his nose and the way he looks back at you through the haze of smoke.

you really do love him, you think.

“and whose made me that way?” you shoot back.

he laughs a little, rough and around the cigarette as his hand suddenly squeezes at the nape of your neck.

“yeah—yeah.” he waves you off, waves away some of the smoke. “i know. i can’t help it.”

you laugh now, turning to pluck the cigarette from his mouth—mostly burnt away now—and put it out on the ash tray on the little, glass table in front of you. he doesn’t protest, though, because you wrap your arms around his neck. and his hand slides over the expanse of your back, pulling you closer like a reflex.

“you’re a big softy.” you tell him and he’s looking at you all bedroom soft, eyes lidded, other hand suddenly snaking around your waist to pull you the rest of the way into his lap.

he only hums vaguely, too focused now on your lips, on how close you are.

you brush your nose along his, a show of affection. “it doesn’t bother you?” you ask.

his brows lift slightly at that, eyes refocusing on your own.

“to wait? or to ask?”

“either—both.”

he shakes his head, “nah—what the hell else am i gonna do?”

“well—“

“this is all i want.” he says before you can voice an insecurity and you feel the way his hands squeeze at you. “i’m happy to wait—i’m content like this. with you, however you’ll have me.”

you swallow hard, looking at the dark planes of his face, so soft in the city light. your hand tangles in the hair at the nape of his neck.

there’s an ache somewhere inside you, tender like a bruise.

he presses down on it, “we’ve got a lifetime to settle—i’m not worried. i’m happy to follow you.”

before you can stop it, tears prick your eyes, a little stinging. “you know i love you?” you say, even as the first tear escapes the line of your lashes and slips down the slope of your cheek.

nick catches it with his thumb, sweeps it away all together. and then he chases it with a kiss. another to your jaw.

“i know,” he murmurs, “i love you, too, sweetheart.”

you tuck your face into his neck, letting him bundle you into his arms—you feel too fragile, you feel too exposed. you want to hide in the cage of his chest, want his arms to melt into your body, to always hold you.

“i won’t make you wait forever, you know?” you get out, voice thick, because you feel like he needs to know. “it’s only you—my future is all yours.”

he hums lightly, rubbing strong hands over your back and shoulders.

“i know,” he agrees gently, “and in the meantime, i’ll keep askin’ cause you like it.”

you smile, a little damp, but lean up to suddenly catch him in a kiss. quick and hard and loving that melts into something softer, more tender.

“it’s my favorite question,” you tell him. he tastes like tabacco—some of the red wine you’d had earlier.

he tastes like the future, and of endless nights like these.

“i think it’s mine, too.”

[rush-the-stars]

weird non-human maybe half-plant or hybrid reader who nai collars….,…,,..

[rush-the-stars]

wolfwood likes sex really dirty bc it’s more intimate that way btw btw btw

[aimfor-theheart]

not sure if you are still doing the game, so don't feel pressured, but how about nicholas & night?? (also hope you are feeling better 😘).

i am still doing it!! and HOW could i turn up my love nicholas??? he's been so heavy on the brain anon you have no idea...

and thank you for the well wishes! i am feeling better today thankfully!!

nicholas + night

you throw your head back and howl up at the heavy, gold moon in the sky. the sound echoes, fills up the entire world, piercing the night.

"what the hell are you doing?" nicholas hisses, grabbing at your shoulders as if he could stop you, but you're laughing like you're crazy now.

a moment later, warbling cries much like your own burst through the night. the wilderness calls back to you.

"isn't that cool?" you laugh, your own smile wolfish, too.

"if you're trying to get us killed–" he growls.

when you throw your head back to the stars to howl again, he's on you in an instant. hand over your mouth, muffling the sound against his palm. you start fighting him, twisting and turning in his hold until–

one misstep sends the two of you down into the sand and you cackle, bright, a firecracker of joy and amusement, as you begin to wrestle with him.

"you little–" nicholas curses, wrestling with you, grabbing for your wrists, twisting until he can get you under him.

belly up and vulnerable.

you're both breathless, hair a mess over your faces. he's got your wrists pinned to the ground and he's got your legs on either side of his narrow waist. your smile is wild and bright. he's scowling something mean down at you.

"learn to live a little, nico," you say with a lopsided smile. the stars are a crown around his head.

"yeah, i'm the one trying to keep us alive." he snaps, fingers squeezing at your wrists.

"but we've gotta have a little fun," you coo, hooking your legs tight and snug around his waist to suddenly throw all of your weight into flipping him onto his back. and now you're perched atop him, forcing his wrists down to the ground yourself.

"brat," he grumbles, but his eyes are hooded, appreciative, maybe a little enamored.

and when you lean down to kiss him in a fierce, biting kiss, he gives in easily, eagerly––as sweet as the summer night.

if only to keep your mouth busy, if only to keep you quiet.

give me a character + time of day (dawn, dusk, midnight, etc.) and i'll write a small blurb!!

[aimfor-theheart]

i am home i will be on for the night.,,..if anyone wants to chat 👀👀👀

[rush-the-stars]

i’m not done actually.

cw: blood, injuries, reader is an eldest daughter and caretaker, stitching up a wound on the face, nicholas is a lil bit of a sap at the end, secret relationship technically

***

“you’re hurt.” nicholas says.

“it’s fine,” you snap.

he rolls his eyes and huffs, reaching into his pocket to pull out his pack of cigarettes. you watch as he places one between his lips.

“sittdown,” he says around it, replacing the pack with his lighter.

“i said it’s fine.” you respond stubbornly.

he takes a puff as the lighter burns the end ruby, smoke curling from his lips before he levels you with an equally stubborn look.

“so you’re just going to free bleed until, what? you pass out? you hope it stops?”

“i’ll handle it.” you say this time, and you will, like you always have. like you always do.

you take care of everyone—your family first and then vash and you watch out for meryl like she’s one of your own reckless sisters. you lecture nicholas and you keep everyone fed and the clothes clean. you sober up roberto and you patch everyone else up when they need it, too.

you can stitch yourself up just fine, thank you very much. you learned how to at a young age and have been doing it since.

you’ve never needed anyone before and you didn’t plan to start now.

nicholas pulls the cigarette from his lips to say, “i told you to sittdown.”

you raise an eyebrow at him, “oh and you’re in charge now?”

“christ, you can’t ever just listen, can you?”

“oh, says you—what’d i tell you earlier?”

“and what am i telling you right now?”

a standoff.

you both go quiet, glaring at one another.

nicholas moves to begin collecting first aid supplies from the packs. meryl and vash are sleeping now; you’d wrapped up meryl’s sprained wrist. fed them both. there’s two rickety beds they’ve claimed in this little room at an inn on the edge of the world.

it’s rare that anyone gets a bed; usually you all take turns dozing in the backseat of the car. you let them rest now.

the sky is fading into lullaby blues, rich and deep, sapphire and dreamy. it casts the room in its underwater hue. you think vash and meryl are likely to sleep through the night now as darkness sets in, whereas you and nicholas will stay up awhile longer, restless.

besides, the couch doesn’t look overly comfortable or inviting.

you assume roberto is off somewhere drinking and he’ll return shortly to sleep himself. he tends to disappear and return, like a stray cat you used to have as a child. he’ll grumble about the mat on the floor but it’s what he gets for disappearing.

for the last time, nicholas says, “sit. down.” and he gestures to the couch. he dumps his supplies on the coffee table across from it.

you glare at him, but finally decide to take a seat on the edge of the cushion. he eases himself into the narrow spot across from you, seated on the wooden coffee table. he spreads his legs, so yours can rest between his.

it’s horribly close.

his cigarette dangles from his lips, tendrils unfurling from his lips as he leans forward to pry the blood-damp bandage away from the wound on your cheek.

you’re not prepared for him to be this close nor the searing pain of the bandage coming away from your injured skin. you wince away.

reflexively, like dealing with a child, he takes your chin in his hand to fix you how he wants, “hold still.” he mutters.

“you’re being bossy.”

he snorts, pulling away to discard the old bandage and replace it with disinfectant. his fingers are nimble, hands large and calloused, the movement easy. with his other hand, he taps some of the ash off his cigarette into the little, messy tray that sat at the center of the coffee table.

“taste of your own medicine, sweetheart,” he says wryly, reaching back to grab your chin again, “now, c’mere,”

the moment he begins to carefully wipe and dab at the blood of the wound on your cheek, you hiss through your teeth and seize up. instinctively, your hand flails outward for grounding, landing on his thigh, fingers squeezing, nails digging down hard into him.

he hardly flinches. “easy, hellcat.” he says to you, low and soft, “i’ve gotta clean it.”

“hurry up.” you snap.

his lips quirk up in amusement, “just hang on to me.”

a whine claws it’s way up your throat as he presses more firmly at the wound, the buzzing sting of the disinfectant takes over your whole face, sears through the skin and radiates all around your head.

your other hand comes out to grab his forearm, nails sinking into his suit jacket there, too.

“take a deep breath.” he instructs. it seems as if he’s taking forever and the pain worsens. your lungs are tight, air trapped, strangled.

you jerk in his hold, trying to get away when it becomes too much, but his hand squeezes harder. he keeps you in place.

you cry out, softer and higher than intended, and claw at him more before you curse, “son of a bitch!”

“sit still. the less you squirm, the easier this gets.” nicholas bites out around the cigarette.

“it fucking hurts, you bastard!”

he laughs soft. smoky. “i know, i know.” but he doesn’t go any easier on you, cleaning the wound thoroughly.

this isn’t even the worst of it.

but you hold tight to him, breathing uneven and a little ragged, nearly shaking with the effort to hold yourself still.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, just as he finishes cleaning it. he tosses the bloodied materials aside, before he reaches for the suture kit.

you pale, swallowing harshly, “just stick another bandage on it.” you tell him.

he stubs out the cigarette finally on the little tray. the last of the smoke curls softly into the air. he shakes his head, “sorry, sweetheart, no can do. it’s a little too big for that.”

he must see the fear in your eyes, because he adds, “i’ll be as quick as i can.”

it doesn’t soothe you much. you readjust your hold on him, both hands on his knees, so you won’t risk jostling his arms if you squeeze down on him. you know he needs a steady hand now.

he burns the needle red hot with his lighter. you look away. it’s worse when someone else does it; you’ve done this to yourself before. but previously, all injuries had been on your arm, your legs, nothing so close and frightening as your face. more than that, sewing yourself up remains steadfastly in your own control. you control the pace and the precision.

allowing someone else to take needle to wound and stitch carefully, allowing them to decide how they will do it; carefully or with too much speed. gently or with a rough hand. it’s—

it’s almost overwhelming.

nicholas waits diligently for the needle to cool. the thread is already attached from the kit that’s been stuffed into someone’s pack. when he finds your eyes, he softens fractionally.

“close ‘em.” he says, gesturing to your eyes, “close ‘em and hold onto me.”

for a moment, you stubbornly hold his gaze, before he says, “it’s gonna spook you to see a needle in your face. it’s gonna hurt worse if you see it.”

you don’t know how to say i’m scared to trust you.

you don’t know how to say i’m scared to give you control. to shut my eyes and let you put a needle through my skin, to let you stitch up a wound.

how do you give someone that trust?

you start by letting your eyes flutter shut.

“breathe.” he says.

you take in a deep breath, your fingers squabbling to find purchase on his knees once more.

“you want me to warn you or you want me to just do it?” he asks and you feel him shift closer, feel his legs come up against yours.

“just do it.” you snap at him, nails already biting into his thighs.

“you need something to bite down on, sweetheart?” he asks.

with your eyes childishly squeezed shut still, you snarl, “i’m gonna bite down on you if you don’t—“

and then his hand is at your face again and you go silent with a sharp, terrified little gasp. he holds you nice and steady.

you can see or maybe feel the shadow of him move. adjust.

and then there is a pressure and stinging and a little noise wobbles out of your throat.

“sshh,” he hushes and his thumb strokes at your jaw where he’s holding you still.

“fuck you,” you whine.

he laughs soft, but you can feel him begin to work carefully, but not painstakingly.

“i know, i know—“ he says again, “big, bad wolfwood always the one that bandages you up, huh?”

he sounds like he could be talking to younger sibling. almost a coo. you know he must’ve been an antagonistic older brother, but a good one, but the one they always turned to.

for that alone, you feel a sense of kinship with him. perhaps sympathy or—or, understanding.

fondness, under all your toughness.

you think maybe he feels the same about you.

you feel your skin come together under his hands.

“i’m always making it hurt, aren’t i?”

“yes,” you hiss through your teeth, wringing your hands in his slacks.

“hurts to heal.” he agrees.

this quiets you for a moment.

until a sharper tug makes you yelp, “you fucking—nico—i’m gonna—“

“hey, hey, you were being so good for me. don’t start now.” he replies, voice still mild, perhaps with his focus. it doesn’t have the usual bite and sardonic lilt to it. he usually is trying to rile you up, but this time—

this time he seems to mean it.

“are you almost done?” you squeeze his legs, you try not to squirm or shift.

he sucks on his teeth.

“want the truth or a lie?”

“truth.”

“no, i’m not almost done.”

“nicholas—“ your voice almost catches on a desperate cry.

you’re trying not to think of the way the needle pulls and stings, the ache radiating from the wound, the horrible way you can feel each push and entrance. each tug and exit.

“what are you making for breakfast tomorrow, hellcat?” he asks instead.

“fucking, nothing—“

you can hear the smile on his voice, “no, c’mon, tell me. i know you already thought of it.”

“i found—dried meat at our last stop. so—“ you jerk a little with the pain, but he grabs you tighter to keep from making it worse, “but i know meryl doesn’t like it—“

“yeah, well, she should learn—“

“so i also found canned fruit for her. might try and scrounge up some eggs to make.”

“aren’t you sweet?” he says and you know he’s teasing you a little—nicholas tends to lean heavier into tough love than you do. or at least he pretends to. in your eyes, it’s okay that meryl’s picky, worrying about what she’s going to eat means she’s still with you. it’s a comfort, to take care of her. and that’s good enough for you.

you think nicholas is somewhere your opposite; he torments her and is stern with her in an attempt to get her to eat more, so she’ll survive. he hates the nights she refuses to eat anything, it makes him prickly and anxious.

“wish we had coffee.” you get out.

“coffee does sound good,” he agrees, “you do plenty, though. i’ll send needle noggin in search of coffee.”

“he’ll find trouble before he finds—ow!” you yelp at a particularly sensitive push of the needle, where you think the wound must be worse. “ow, fuck—“

your eyes flutter.

his thumb on your jaw rubs gently, in an attempt to soothe you, maybe apologize.

“eyes closed.” he commands gently and you shut them tightly again. “atta girl.”

“are you almost done?” you hiss and your face is beginning to burn and throb with a deeper, more pressing pain as he continues.

“impatient, aren’t you?”

“i’m in pain!”

“pipe down. you’re gonna wake the kids.” he says dryly, squeezing at your face a little, forcing your lips into a small pout.

you bite back a groan, “can we take a break?”

“no, c’mon, you can do it. i know you can tough it out." nicholas says and you huff out a harsh breath, fingers squirming in the fabric of his trousers once more.

you wince as he presses the needle in again and again. and again. you flinch and whine when he holds you still for his careful hands. you dig your nails into him and sink your teeth down into your bottom lip.

"careful," he murmurs, thumb tapping at your sore lip between your teeth, "you're gonna make yourself bleed."

you try to let it go, loosen your jaw.

"we're almost done now," nicholas adds, perhaps to make you feel better. "just a little more."

the last bit is perhaps the worst of it and the sound that is ripped from your throat is part yelp, enough to make vash stir in his bed. nicholas hushes you as he finishes up the suture before reaching over to cut the last bit off.

"there," he says, and gently pats your cheek free of injury, "all finished, you big baby. whined through the whole thing, didn't you?"

finally, you let your eyes flutter open to find his. dark, surrounded by the fan of his long lashes. hes' closer than you thought and greedily, you take him in; the downward curve of his hooked nose, the stubble coming in over his lip and jaw. he smells like cigarette smoke and something sweeter, a little boozier.

"i could've done it myself." you snip as he reaches over for a fresh bandage.

"yeah, you woulda been in the bathroom the whole night cursing and trying to work up the courage to do it." he responds, but he still carefully brushes the hair from your face and places the bandage over the now stitched up wound.

"would not," you counter back weekly.

"would to." he responds, pulling back a little to admire his handiwork. he takes hold of your chin again, gentler this time, studying your face. you grow self conscious under his gaze, eyes flitting away from him, trying to hide from him.

but he doesn't let you.

"how bad is it?" you ask him.

he sucks his teeth a little, "it'll leave a pretty scar."

you frown.

"it'll make you look more distinguished. tougher."

you can't say you're happy with that answer and in order to mask it, you begin to clean up the mess nicholas made with the first aid kit. you need to busy yourself. always busy your hands.

"i'll kiss it every night, is that what you want?" he asks and when you look over at him, he's got a hitched little grin to his lips that makes heat swarm your face, the back of your neck.

you roll your eyes to mask it. "haven't you tormented me enough, tonight?"

"tormented you? i patched you up! and i haven't even gotten a proper thank you." nicholas responds, sinking back into the couch. he toes off his shoes, spreads his legs out to claim more space, to settle down for the night, you presume.

this does make you soften briefly, pausing to put away the supplies, "thank you, for stitching me up."

you return the first aid kit to meryl's pack. you glance over her and vash, still asleep, heavy and deep and exhausted. breathing even.

"nuh uh," nicholas says, "get over here and give me a proper thank you."

when you catch his eyes this time, a shiver passes through you. "you're a pain in my ass–"

but you still go to him. and you still lean over him to plant a kiss to his lips; you'd planned for something quick and sweet, but suddenly he's got your jaw again, your wrist in his other hand and he's kissing you nice and deep. pulling at you gently. his hand disappearing from your wrist to suddenly hitch in the back of your knee and make you tumble down into straddling his lap.

"nico," you hiss in warning, pulling away, glancing at vash and meryl. they sleep soundly.

"quit worrying about them," nicholas murmurs, dotting rough little kisses along your jaw, dipping down onto the column of your throat.

"didn't you say to pipe down not long ago? we don't want to wake them."

"yeah, kissing shuts you up, doesn't it?"

"you're a–"

he catches you in another desperate kiss, careful not to press too deeply into you or your injured cheek. bossy man that he is, he guides your hands into draping over his neck, hand sliding into his raven hair.

he pulls away this time and settles back deeper into the couch. hands behind his head as he gazes up at you and you hate to admit it but it's a little adoring, the way he looks at you, dark eyes all honey sweet and warm. simmering.

"wish we'd gotten our own room," he murmurs, looking you over, up and down and appreciative.

"don't start,"

"c'mon, settle in at least. promise i'll be good."

the grin he flashes is sharp and crooked, though, a little sleazy. his eyes are half lidded and soft, rich and dark, perhaps a little sleepy. he's endearing.

you glance back over at meryl, lips puckered in sleep, curled in on herself. then vash, brows furrowed softly in dream.

nicholas must be able to read your thoughts plainly, as if you'd spoken them. "vash already knows." he says, "it's not like he'll be shocked in the morning."

"meryl will be upset if she finds out like this."

"meryl's always upset," nicholas huffs, "besides, you know you'll wake up earlier than her, anyways."

"what about when roberto comes back?"

"you think he doesn't know?" nicholas asks flatly. "where else are you gonna sleep anyways? quit worrying."

you sigh, but finally do give in, settling down onto his chest, turning your good cheek down onto the bare skin revealed to you by his shirt. you hear his heart, steady, beating on his chest. instantly, the tension in your body begins to melt, loosen your limbs, soften you up.

nicholas moves to ease a hand over your back, slow and soothing.

"thank you," you say again, more sincere this time, softer.

he kisses the top of your head, "meant what i said, sweetheart."

you lift your head a little to look at him, to inquire, but he gently, as carefully as possible, sets his lips atop the bandage on your cheek and kisses the wound.

"you'll still think i'm pretty?" you murmur and though you intended to say it jokingly, it comes out with a raw edge of earnestness.

"are you kiddin'?" he asks, "nothin' in the world would stop me from finding you pretty."

"if i grew bat wings?"

"i'd say you're a damn angel," he says, hands slipping through your hair to play with a few strands. he's got a fond smile on his lips, still crooked, almost stupid with his love.

"if i became a huge, horrible monster?"

he snorts, "you'd be a beautiful monster to me, honey."

"what if–"

"you know, not all of us are as pretty as you–we do need our beauty sleep." he says and you can tell that his eyes are heavy now, can feel his muscles relax and sink down beneath you.

"okay, fine, fine–" you respond, settling down again, hitching your leg up around his waist, sighing into the exposed column of his throat.

after a moment, you whisper, "but what if–"

"go to sleep, brat." he grunts, "answer isn't gonna change."

your turn to smile now finally, even as it pulls at your stitches uncomfortably, makes you hiss in a little sharp shock of pain. it's okay, though, you think, turning your ear to his heart once more, because like he said–

it hurts to heal.

but you know he'll always be there to help patch you up.

in the dark, while all the world is asleep, you hush;

"i love you, nico."

and between sleep and wake, nicholas manages to get out, "i love you, too, hellcat."

nicholas wolfwood adores eldest daughters

[rush-the-stars]

we need to bring back having fun names for ships specifically ot3s…,..,,.specifically i need a fun name for vash x meryl x wolfwood