#nicholas d woolfwood x you

[strawurberries]

🍓12, 🫐13 for Wolfwood! Congrats on 100!

Wolfwood: "You're not okay! Stop saying you're fine!"

Authors note: Thank you :D!!

Warnings: Mentions of blood, vague reference to sex

They tugged on his sleeve, making him stop in his tracks. The bathroom door was so close, a mere two steps away, he could make it if he wanted—but their quiet concern. . . he couldn’t ignore them. “What?” he turned and looked at them over his shoulder, the wound near the top of back throbbing at the movement. He had managed to dig the bullet out before his lover had caught him hurrying back to the hotel room; and he had nearly made it to privacy before he was trapped by the loving stare before him.

“Sit down,” they tugged on him again, eyes holding a deep determination, “let me help you.”

“I’m fine,” he tried to walk but they stopped him again. “Doll, I’m fine, okay? I’ll meet you in

bed later.” He gave a small pained smile and squinted his eyes. There was no need to bother them with his problems.

“Nic—”

He gently shed their touch and fled into the bathroom. He needed to clean the warm, sticky blood off his skin before he started to lose his mind. Before he could do anything though, a hand came to hold the door open. He blinked. Has his love always been this persistent? 

“Nicholas!” They shoved their way into the bathroom and scowled, “why do you keep running?!”

“Why do you keep chasing?” he huffed, “I told you I’m—”

“You’re not okay! Stop saying you’re fine!” they grabbed his wrist, “I care about you, damn it. Stop trying to hide! Let me help.” If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought their eyes were glossy with tears.

They stared at each other; one shocked and conflicted, the other holding both anger and fear. Finally, Wolfwood relented and sighed, “fine.” He awkwardly stood in the middle of the small bathroom, not sure what was supposed to do now.

“Don’t use that word again,” they mumbled as they led him to sit on the toilet. “Let me see what I’m working with.”

He shed his clothes and grimaced when the musty hotel room air hit him, a cool buzzing surrounding the tender flesh on his wound. “Not too bad, huh?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t get shot at all,” they started to clean the blood off his back, hands gently caressing his skin. “You’re gonna need stitches.”

He groaned, “damn it.”

They worked quietly and quickly, hands well experienced and knowledgeable as they stopped the bleeding as best they could with the limited supplies. With each touch he felt his skin grow hotter, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the adrenaline, pain, or the overwhelming affection he found himself feeling. No matter how much of a “stubborn ass”, as they would say, he is, they still stayed by his side. Despite it all, they loved and continued to do so.

He bit his lip. “Can I. . .,” he rubbed his face and looked at his lover over his shoulder—brows furrowed in concentration and the tip of their tongue sticking out as they focused. They glanced up, humming a questioning tune. How did he manage to get so lucky with them? “Can I kiss you. . . Maybe?” He blinked, watching as they huffed and gave him a little glare, “please?”

“Why should I?”

“Because you love me.”

They finished bandaging the wound, hands slightly drenched in red and sweat. “Unfortunately, I do.” They sighed and stood up, walking to the side to grab his chin, “you’re a lucky bastard.”

“I know,” he mused. 

They gave a small smile, no words needing to be exchanged. With a single movement they connected their lips, a small spark of love fluttering about in their teeth and tongues—he grabbed the back of their neck, fingers rubbing their unbearably soft flesh. He wanted more, want to feel them, be inside—

They pulled back quickly, “no.”

He blinked, “what?”

“You’re injured,” they flicked his forehead, “we’re not doing any of that.”

He frowned. Damn bullet wound, ruining everything.

[strawurberries]

🍓7, 9 and 🍒8 Wolfwood

Wolfwood: "What? You don't like the collar?"

Authors Note: So. . . I haven't written in like a month. I'm so sorry guys ASDFGHJH but please accept this <3

Warnings: Mild sexual content, nicknames (Pretty girl, Doll, etc).

“What are you doing? Wolfwood, I swear if you’re about to give me another—”

“Shhh,” he pressed a finger to his lover’s lips, grinning as they started to pout, “it’s a surprise.” He patted their head and stepped back, watching as they sat idly in the center of the hotel bed, blinded. The room was cold, damp, and oddly cramped with all sorts of things that the hotel staff had decorated it with: one large bed with old, ratty blankets, an empty bookshelf, a nightstand, and a crooked lamp that bent over the edge of the bed menacingly. Earlier he had nearly hit his head on the damn lightbulb. 

“You said that last time,” they mumbled dryly, adjusting the cover over their eyes, “and I still feel the bruises on my back.” As if to prove their point, they whined and rubbed their lower back. “You’re a rough bastard.”

“And you’re an ungrateful brat,” he dug through his bag before pulling out the item he wanted, looking at it before smiling coyly. He had bought it on a whim, some deep, primal part of him rearing its head the moment he imagined his lover wearing it. “Maybe I’ll just leave you here all night, alone.” It was heavy enough to feel nice to hold, but light enough to not cause serious damage. A small bell rested on the front, attached to a metal hoop, where a leash was supposed to attach. 

“Like you have the will-power to do that. You and I both know you can’t resist this,” they gestured to their body lazily and laughed, grinning at their own little joke. 

“You’re awfully smug.” He came to stand before them, leaning over the bed, one hand trailing along the bare flesh of his partners thigh, and the other gripping the collar he had spent a fair amount of money on (don’t ask him how much it was, he’s slightly ashamed that he was willing to buy it for that price). 

His love, his pretty little doll, shivered and leaned into his touch. “So?” they mumbled, “what’s the surprise?”

“So impatient,” he chided. He grabbed their jaw and raised it up, making a show of how much power he had over them. Though, they didn’t complain, tilting their head slightly; as if presenting their neck as a delicacy few could ever obtain. “If I wasn’t so excited, I’d make you wait longer.” His eyes trailed along their veins, stopping once he reached their barely covered chest. He’d have to deal with the clothing later.

“That means you’re impatient too, idiot.”

He ignored them and gripped their jaw tighter. He couldn’t wait anymore. “Keep your head up.”

They hummed in response and listened, neck straining to stay in the same position he had left them in. Curiosity bit at them, overpowering their usually sass and brat-like behavior. Despite trying not to appear to be affected by this mystery—his mystery—, their heart beat faster and faster, chest rising and falling like the great sand dunes that rested outside the dusty hotel walls.

“Good girl.” He loosened the collar and gently set it around her neck, the leather-like material decorating them in such beauty that no jewels or gold could even hope to compare. He hooked one finger around the metal loop, listening to the soft jingle of the bell. “A little tighter, I think.” He pulled on it and let it constrict around their neck, savoring the strangled gasp.

“Nic–Nicholas!” 

“What?” he laughed, “you don’t like the collar?” He pulled them forward, their body bending to accommodate for his grip. “I think you look stunning in it.” He flicked the bell. 

“Seriously?” they whined, “a collar?”

He hummed, “you’re mine, aren’t you? Pretty girl?”

“I—” before they could respond he tugged the collar up, making their entire body stretch.

“So, so pretty.”

[strawurberries]

hiiii congratulations on hitting 100!! 🎀 could i request 🍓4 with wolfwood? there just aren't enough things of him being playful and silly 😔

Wolfwood: "AH--you scared me!"

Authors note: I went out of order to answer this ask but I love this okay ASDFGHJKJH and thank you :D!!!

Warnings: None.

Wolfwood is not a man who is easily scared, nor is he a man to reveal that he actually screams like a pre-teen girl who just spotted a spider on their bed; no, he is a tough, manly man who does not scream, will never scream, and—

“AH—!” He opened the hotel door only to be greeted with the face of his lover howling bloody murder before giggling hard enough to knock themselves onto the floor. “What—what the hell?!” he grasped the fabric of his heart and watched his lover laugh themselves into a coma. “Are you kidding me! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

They tried to defend themselves but they couldn’t through the fits of laughter.

He huffed and closed the door, “you scared me damn it!”

“You—,” they sat up and wiped tears from their eyes before laughing again, “scream like a girl!” They sputtered and started giggling. 

Wolfwood nearly found himself laughing before he shook his head, a small smile on his face. “What was that for? Jesus, I could’ve shot you. . . or somethin’.”

“Yeah like you could—could’ve gotten your gun as you screamed your head off—pfft.”

“Alright,” he leaned over them, heart still racing and the small smile on his face growing, “you think you’re funny, huh?”

“Oh, I’m the world’s best comedian!”

“Uh-huh,” he wiggled his fingers, “let’s see how loud I can get you to start screamin’.”

“Hey! Hey” they backed up, crawling away, “don’t you dare tickle me! Don’t you—pfft haha! Stop! S-stop! I’m sorry!”

“Nuh uh, I’m not stopping until you pass out!”

“No, wait p-pfft—please!”

[strawurberries]

Gz on 100 followers! Honestly I'm surprised you don't have more :o

20 🫐 Wolfwood

Wolfwood: "They're not dead. You're lying."

Authors Note: Thank you <3!! And we're starting off with some angst, huh! First thing I've written for Wolfwood and of course he's gonna suffer. . . poor guy.

Warnings: Mentions of death.

The words were said, and they were heard, and they held the truth—but Wolfwood refused to believe that such words were reality. Surely, he thought, that in a moment his lover would walk through the door with a grin and say, “did you miss me?” and all would be well. Only, that old wooden door spoke not a creak or groan. It was silent, still; much like the room itself, heavy with emotions too complicated and too human to describe. 

“Vash,” Meryl whispered, grabbing the man and pulling him aside, “couldn’t you have delivered it in a more gentle way?” Her voice wavered as she spoke, Milly frozen in shock beside her. No one, it seemed, wanted to believe what had taken place mere moments ago. 

“They’re dead.” Vash’s bottom lip quivered as silent tears welled in his eyes. 

Wolfwood ignored them. He just had to wait, like he always had. His lover would return, as they always did, and they would hug and laugh and cry over the silly mistake that condemned the room to mourning. Perhaps it would take minutes, or hours, or days—but they were alive, he knew it. No matter what Vash thought he saw, no matter what Meryl thought she heard in the middle of the fight, and no matter what Milly thought was the truth. Lies, he learned very early on, are easy to create and even simpler to carry out. This cruel joke would not go unpunished. Once his lover came back, he would smack Vash upside the head and grill him about telling such terrible jokes. 

The door didn’t move.

“Mr. Wolfwood. . .?” Milly fidgeted with her hands, “are you. . . are you okay?”

“Fine,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. The smoke curled around his fingers like a memory long gone, a touch of something he’d never be able to fully grasp again.

He hesitated. 

They had always told him that his smoking habit would bring him to an early grave. They said they wanted to grow old with him, be two cranky “old coots”—as they would say—sitting on rocking chairs as the sunset glowed red. It was their dream and a hope both of them harbored. 

“One day,” Wolfwood had said to them once, “we’ll stop running, stop gettin’ shot at, and we’ll get ourselves a little home.”

“What if we die before then?” they had asked,

He smiled, “we won’t.”

The memory tasted like ash.

He tossed the cigarette down and grinded it up with his heel. “They’re not dead,” he looked up at Vash’s tear stricken face, “you’re lying.”

Vash opened his mouth and then closed it, turning his head away. 

“Wolfwood—” Meryl took a step forward but stopped when he scowled.

“They’ll be back,” he crossed his arms, “they will. They promised.”

The door was still.