#az writes

[az-cain]

Hey, Cowboy (Part Two)

jake seresin x reader ≈ 1900 words

smutty smut smut, but it’s tender and sweet

TW FOR: PiV sex, vaginal fingering, in a car, but the sex is in a bed, oral sex m!receiving, poor communication for .5 seconds

As he clasped your hand in his, he slapped a 10 on the bar to pay for the drink that you had in your system. The tug he gave your hand while he looked at you expectantly shook the hat on your head slightly. A smile cracked across your face once reality had set in. He did want you, and Trace wasn’t lying. In fact, Trace was smirking right at you from over Seresin’s shoulder. As you met her eyes, Jake’s followed and saw the brunette’s expression, whipping his head around and narrowing his eyes in an accusatory expression towards you.

“No way.”

You grimaced slightly, shrugging. “Thought you hated me. It took Phee talking to me to realize maybe I should give it a go.”

He tightened his grip on your hand with a soft smile and pulled you into him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders when you knocked into his chest. “Bullshit.”

Leading you out the door, he motioned towards his little red sports car with the hand that rested on your shoulder, humming when you said his name.

You swallowed harshly, bracing yourself for his answer by staring at the concrete sidewalk as the two of you stopped walking. “Is this just gonna be— um— just the rule?” You sighed, meeting his eyes reluctantly as your fingers messed with your skirt.

He pulled back, placing both hands on your shoulders and shaking you lightly. “No! What the fuck?” He laughed loudly. “I’ve been trying to date you for months. All of the ‘you’re so interested in my personal life, I figured you’d have tried to figure it out firsthand’ meant what to you?”

You laughed incredulously, clapping your hands on his shoulders and shaking him right back. “I thought you were calling me a stalker.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. You are a terrible communicator.”

He huffed slightly and shrugged in acknowledgement as he wrapped an arm around you and started walking again. “Maybe so. But now I’m your terrible communicator, if you’ll have me.”

You looked up at him with a hum, watching as his pretty green eyes flicked down to you. “Well that depends on tonight, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, darlin’, that’s gonna be a yes.” His words shot heat through your lower belly, making you sigh heavily through your nose.

As you slipped into his coupe, he smacked your ass lightly, your breathing speeding up as you yelped. A few seconds later, he was sliding into the driver’s seat and shifting into drive. “My house alright?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, thighs grinding together subconsciously as you crossed them in the narrow passenger seat. Ever observant, Jake’s gaze flicked over to where they clenched before moving up to where his hat sat on your head.

His right hand dropped from the wheel to your upper leg, where his thumb picked up a languorous pace tracing circles. You whimpered quietly, wishing his hand would move up just a bit more. “Please, Jake.”

A smile crossed his lips, his hand moving up to the place your thighs met as he stopped for a light. “Since you asked so nicely,” he rubbed lightly along the seam of your pussy with one finger, the wetness seeping through your thin underwear slightly. You whined loudly, hips canting up towards his hand. “You’re so vocal, so good for me. That feel good?”

You nodded feverishly, and panted as you pleaded silently for more.

“You want something else, pretty girl?” His eyes returned to the road as the light flipped to green, that finger still painstakingly tracing you.

“Please, your fingers.”

He groaned, “Oh, good girl, of course.” Pulling your panties to the side, he slipped two fingers into you and you cried out, pushing against them. His knuckles were just barely brushing your clit, but it was so sensitive that it felt like heaven. Still, it wasn’t enough.

Just as you moaned loudly, about to ask for him to move, he took a sharp turn into a small gravel road that you soon recognized to be a driveway and pulled his fingers out of you, much to your dismay. Meeting your eyes as he stopped the car, he popped the fingers soaked in you into his mouth and moaned, making a show of licking them clean. You were, however, fairly confident that his hips lifting up off the seat was no act, because when he removed his now spit-covered fingers from his mouth, he was panting like a dog.

You reached for your door, eager to reach the bedroom and about to make a mad dash for the house, but he yelped your name and scrambled out of his own door, regardless of the uncomfortable bulge in his pants. When he circled the front to pull open your door and offer you a hand, you felt your heart twist. Hopping out of the car, you grabbed him by the jaw and kissed him, twisting your hands into his hair and moaning when he did. Your lips pressed tightly against his, tongues slipping against one another as you ground your torso against the hardness you felt on him.

As he broke away, you followed him, but he only allowed you two more kisses before whining, “We have to go inside, there are kids in the neighborhood.” With a nod, you let him tug you up the short set of stairs to his doorway, watched him fumble with his keys in his urgency, and finally unlock his knob and deadbolt, before he shoved the door open and let you go in first. As soon as you were in, he threw his lips against yours again, lips open and sloppy. Your upper lip pressed against his teeth as you lightly nibbled on his lower lip. He moaned against you, louder than ever, and you took note. Dropping your lips to his throat, you bit lightly on his Adam’s apple, feeling his chest heave under your palms, before yanking his shirt off to gain access to his chest.

His chest was broad and tan, and you hummed quietly as you set your lips back to his pecs, sucking a mark into the left one to hear him whimper before moving to the right, savoring his noises. After a few more marks, he pulled you up to his lips and walked you backwards towards what you knew to be his bedroom. When you reached it, he pulled off your shirt and you kicked off your shoes and unzipped your skirt to shimmy out of it before raising your arms for him. Left in your bra and panties, you gestured for him to take off his boots before unzipping his pants, stroking lightly across the outline of him before pulling his pants the whole way down.

When you’d landed on your knees in front of him, you looked up at his red face with a smile, knowing your next move. You pulled down his boxers with a moan, struck by the sight and sound of his cock slapping against his stomach: long, thick, and red, with the veins popping out and probably aching. He hissed, hand landing in your hair.

“You don’t have to...” he began, before you laid your hand on him and your lips on his head. His abdomen clenched up like he’d been gut-punched and he whined desperately, “Oh, holy fuck.”

You suckled at the red tip, hand stroking over the entire length as you started to take more of him into your mouth. His hand clenched tighter, pulling at the roots of your hair. You moaned, hand drawing up to touch his balls, running your fingers across them harder when he made a loud punched-out noise above you.

Pulling you off and up by your hair, he murmured praises: “You’re so good at that," and “Almost had me done for in under a minute, dammit.”

Swallowing down some air, you turned him so his back was facing the bed and shoved his chest lightly. “I believe I still owe you a ride?”

Nodding eagerly, he dropped onto the bed and gestured to the wall, where a mirror hung facing the bed. “Gonna sit up though, I wanna see you get split open.”

To that, you straddled his lap with a low groan and met his eyes while you positioned him at your entrance. “Ready?”

“God, yes.”

Smiling, you moved down slowly, but were quickly met with a soft tinge of pain. You groaned, burying your face in his shoulder as he pet your hair and tried to control his breathing. The pain quickly turned into a pleasurable throb and you clenched down around him, making him moan loudly. Finally, you began to bounce. His hands grasped your asscheeks and spread them, massaging lightly and rubbing his finger against where the two of you met while he groaned your name.

“God, Raptor. Callsign shoulda been fuckin’ Bunny. Look so good hopping up and down.”

Giggling, you bounced faster, wailing when he reached a hand around to rub at your clit. You felt yourself clench around him, spurring his hips to kick up into you and hit your g-spot. Ripping your face from his shoulder and burying your hands in his hair, you demanded, “Do it again.” Smirking, he placed a hand behind him on the bed, the other rubbing harder against your clit, and started to thrust up into you consistently. He kept hitting your spot, loud cries leaving your mouth in time with his grunts and groans, until finally, the dam burst. His finger pushed against you perfectly just as he thrust in and you collapsed on top of him, arms crossed on his chest as you convulsed, walls clamping down on him as he continued to push into you.

You distantly felt him slip out of you, moving above you, your arms now resting on the bed. As he slipped back in, your walls continued to flutter, one orgasm starting into the next. “Oh, fuck, Jake!” You cried, his hand slipping into your hair and tugging you up against his chest.

“Again, baby. Gimme one more,” he panted, driving into you and pulling you back, his other hand rubbing at your sore clit again.

You felt the tightness ratchet up, up, up, before it hit you again, quicker than it ever had before. “Oh, shit!” Your body fell forward again as his hips stuttered, your pulsing walls making him let go. He pushed into you one final time with a loud whine, cum leaking out around his cock, and rubbed along your clit until every last pulse was finished.

He collapsed behind you and stayed like that for a while, asking if you needed to get up and pee after about five minutes, to which you groaned sadly and hummed a yes. Once you’d returned, washcloth in hand, he was nearly asleep.

While you cleaned him, he whined quietly and almost got hard again, but you ended in time and tossed the washcloth down, sliding under the covers and making grabby hands to make him join you. Tired, content, and happy, he wrapped himself around you and the two of you drifted off to sleep.

taglist: @imsolatetothegame @kyuupidwrites @forever-sleepy-sloth

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin/you #jake seresin smut #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x f!reader #jake hangman seresin fluff #hangman x reader #az writes

[nythtak]

The worst day of Oliver's life is turned on its head when his mum tries to eat his best mate.

Turns out? Oliver had an extra layer of reasoning for lying about his family.

-

Felix is absolutely positive about…three things. Yeah, let’s go with three. Good solid number, and he's always liked triangles best.

First, Oliver is a man-eating, variably shark-toothed ghoul. Second, there’s a part of him - and who fucking knows how potent that part might be on any given day - that wants to tear Felix to pieces and gobble up every last scrap (dick very much included). And third-

Felix is kinda into that.

#saltburn #cattonquick #felix catton #oliver quick #fanfiction #saltburn fanfiction #az writes #FINALLY posting this #let's get weird ladz #please mind the tags :D #its HORROR its ROMCOM #what more can you want #ie EXCESSIVELY self-indulgent #oh and smutty #gross emotional smut #leif thank you for being an amazing enabler if you see these rambling tags lmao

[dabs-into-oblivion]

HELLO PLEASE GRANT ME THE CRAYON I WILL EAT IT 🖍️🖍️🖍️🖍️

HELLO MY DEAR FRIEND!! you have selected the Solas/Blackwall soulmate AU angst!

The Iron Bull leaned forward. Blackwall pushed his sleeves up his forearms and did the same. There was a mark on the inside of his left forearm, something written in a familiar looping script… Solas shoved his chair back. That was his handwriting. It must be his name. But the man sitting at the table playing cards was not Thom Rainier. He was Blackwall, a Grey Warden and a member of the Inquisitor’s inner circle. Solas’s mark must be wrong, or else Blackwall was lying to everyone, and neither of those options was good. Everyone was looking at him. He coughed. “I find I am in need of some fresh air.” Being in the Fade, conversing with spirits who had no need for corporeality, was vastly superior to this. He set his cards on the table, not particularly carefully nor carelessly, and made his way outdoors. His head felt at once wooden and fluffy. He did not hear if any of the others spoke. Somehow, he got himself up onto the battlements and sat down with his back to the cold stone. It chewed through the thin linen of his shirt, chilling him down to his bones. This was good. He inhaled deeply, trying to shake the feeling of wrongness. So his soulmate was a lie. Solas had never expected to find them in the first place; this should change nothing. And yet it changed everything.

#wip wednesday #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solas #blackwall #thom rainier #soulmate au #az writes #posts into oblivion #az answers

[azraeldoesnotdispute]

14, victuuri <3

14) "well...this is awkward"

Yuuri is tired. So very tired. All he wants is a soak in the onsen and then a nap. His feet ache as he trudges to the family-only side of the springs, his hands going through the motions to clean himself off before he goes outside. Cherry blossoms fall from the trees as a light wind gently shakes the branches, their pink petals floating around him like a dance. He can't help the soft smile that finds its way to his face, nor can he hold back the sigh that escapes as he steps into the hot water.

It's barely lapping at his calves when he hears a noise behind him that makes him turn in surprise. A handsome man, obviously foreign based on his skin and silvery hair, is standing at the entrance.

"Well... this is awkward," the man chuckles, a slight red flush to his cheeks. His voice is accented, but the English is clear.

"This area is closed off," Yuuri replies dumbly, trying very hard not to stare at the man's bare chest or sculpted abs. "It's for family only."

"My apologies, I seem to have gotten turned around." He flashes Yuuri a smile that he swears is heart-shaped. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Ah, that's okay, I- you could... You can stay, if you'd like?" His voice rises at the end and he curses himself. "It's just, my feet are really sore and I'd be happy to show you were to go after, but you're welcome to join me for now..."

The man's smile is like the sun, too bright, unable to be looked at for long. "I would like that, thank you. My name is Viktor."

"Yuuri."

Viktor joins him in the spring, still smiling. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Yuuri. I have a feeling we're going to become very close."

Something in Yuuri's chest warms and his heart thuds, but he guesses that the m- Viktor must feel the same sort of pull he does. "I hope so," he says without thinking. Viktor leans back against the rocks, his smile becoming softer, less bright, but more meaningful.

#az writes #viktor nikiforov #katsuki yuuri #katsuki yuuri/victor nikiforov #vikturri #victuri

[aerielz]

I wrote a thing for a rare pairing!

Val/Ross because I'm obsessed with the implications

#mcu #Marvel #valentina allegra de fontaine #everett ross #black panther #I'm dedicating a post to this link because the tag literally doesn't exist #az writes

[lilybug-02]

You’re making a lot of promises there Chara…

Part 24 || First || Previous || Next

—Full Series—

I enjoyed doing this little Flashback scene. We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled freakout session soon. Having monochrome color is very nice.

Here is a gif of Chara spilling their water because YES. And I spent way too long on it :)

Wow technology is so cool.

#Frisk is finally name dropped!! WOOHOOO #Az and Chara are my Little Lily bugs and I love writing their interactions #they still have a lot to learn about each other though. it’s only been a few months! #the tiny nudge made me happy #untitled goose game is just chillin in the corner #if you want lol. I ain’t cannonizing anything there #gif #I’m really happy with all this. I was planning on making almost 7 pages but with some help from friends I decided to cut it down a lot #i’ve also really been wanting to solidify all of their pronouns for a while now but couldn’t find a suitable time #anyways…I still have some vacation time planned so the next update will also be somewhat delayed #thanks to all those who are still loving the story #much love #bread #art #deltarune #deltarune chara timeline #chara #Asriel #Kris #my art

[kadoore]

I really wish we'd teach about seasons based on where the kid lives and not on this midwestern/northeastern ideal of spring/summer/fall/winter.

My kiddo is learning about leaves changing color and falling off trees while she lives in Florida. She asked us when the leaves would fall here and I had to break it to her: never.

What I wished she'd learn instead, and which she will:

Autumn isn't falling leaves in Florida -- it's hurricanes and wildflowers. We tend to the monarch butterflies passing through and don't clear out the brush lest we clear out their chrysalises. We reclaim the evenings from summer's last grasps and await every cold front.

Winter isn't snow and ice here -- it's enjoying the beauty around us, exploring the woods, going outside without risking exsanguination by mosquito. Winter is our season of bounty, of relief. And sometimes, yes, we have to cover the plants to protect them from frost and we leave footprints on the grass in the morning. Here is our season of abundance, of frost-kissed oranges and lemons, of strawberries picked with your breath clouding your hands, of blueberries gathered in skirts. Kale and lettuce, beets and greens, it's all here for us in winter.

Spring isn't the season of hope it is up North. It's an end, a swelling of heat so sudden you swear by it. Florida kids need to know it's lovebug season and every bug season, it's gator baby season, it's beach before tourists season, and it's also fire season. The air is sticky but the trees are dry and an early thunderstorm could ignite it all, so be careful. Be careful.

Summer is our winter and it's shit. You step outside and you melt. It's hurricane season, but not really. More like hurricane preparatory season. They should teach kids here to check their supplies and how to chart a hurricane's movement. Summer is about wearing a jacket inside, because everywhere has the a/c cranked up. Kids need to learn how to cover themselves head to toe in insect repellant and sunscreen.

Instead of learning all that, my kid's gonna come home this week sad again that we don't have snow.

#florida #florida childhood #I could write so much more but let's leave it at this #florida seasons #Arizona seasons are what made me realize how insane it is we only learn about the NE seasons. AZ has like 6 seasons

[astrum99]

V2’s code is… strange in a way. Not foreign, but not the same. It feels like the makers tweaked just enough lines to make it feel like another, occupying the same body, same space.

Intimate. Like breathing through another’s lungs, or cradling a different kidney just under your ribs. Like watching the crimson flow steadily into your veins from a blood bag, with the full understanding that another human being breathed life into you, sustained you, saved you. And your body opens up to it, welcoming the foreign body into you.

V1 is left-heavy. The weight of the knuckle-blaster sways him off balance before it makes haste corrections. Running through diagnostics, it realizes the left-over pieces of code embedded in the arm fit perfectly into itself. The differences negligible. Its body welcomes her.

Probably because they are twins, in a way. Born from the same makers, runs on the same core codes, operates the same frame. It feels natural to wield the limb. Its body can’t tell where one begins and the other ends.

It can’t even tell where the boundary of itself lies even if it tries.

It may be her code seeping through its mainframe, but V1 swears that it sees V2 in the liminal space between one moment and the next. A ghost-like thing – fuzzy around the edges and gaseous. Always between the light and the dark. Always just out of distance enough to dance around the edges of its vision.

The shape is blurry, but the soft piercing glow of V2’s optic can’t possibly be false. It can’t possibly be flawed.

The red haunts it now. There is something about killing a being so similar to itself.

Siblicide. Suicide.

It glances at the reflection in the water, bathed in blood, and sees no difference from the image of its counterpart.

V1/V2 thinks in their minds. We will never be gone.

V2 infects it like a virus, embeds herself into it. And it welcomes her.

#az thoughts #ultrakill #v1 ultrakill #v2 ultrakill #v4v #sorry if this is rough im writing #30min before class starts lets goooo

[poopypeepyp]

jean-paul and tim fighting in the batcave is what fandom thinks happened between jason and tim

it's so funny to me that fanfiction version of titans tower incident (teen titans 2003 #29) is basically what canonically happened during knightquest the crusade (tec #668 and robin #1)

tim is actually 14 years old so it was a fight between an actual kid and adult instead of two teenagers

tim is beaten up in his safe place by an ally who he used to have positive feelings about (i mean it was tim who broke in and sneaked around the batcave so i don't blame jpv for self-defense!)

tim is annoyed that he worked so hard to become robin only to be shut down by jean-paul and now having to prove himself to him (didn't go well)

(detective comics #668/showcase '93 #11)

tim sasses jean-paul

(detective comics #668/bloodbath special #1)

jean-paul strangles tim lol

(detective comics #668/robin 1993 #1)

jean-paul intends to kill tim? probably? not really? i mean he kind of threatens to later in knightsend but he is in a silly goofy mood

(detective comics #677)

jean-paul immediately regrets attacking tim and is very sorry and sad wet cat (tim is not buying it (angsty))

(robin 1993 #1)

jean-paul is not in full control of himself because of The System

The System is "lazarus pit rage" except it's a religious programming and instead of seeing green jean-paul hallucinates a templar knight telling him to be batman or something

the strangling incident has lasting consequences not only on their relationship but the plot too (tim can't shut up about it)

(batman #506/#507/#508)

(catwoman 1993 #31)

tim and dick become closer after that (also dick hates jp's guts lol)

(showcase '93 #11/#12/detective comics #681)

(batman: gotham knights #14 the issue is called sibling rivalry btw. you know)

also in his azbats era jean-paul thinks he is so much better and effective than bruceman (while he is actually having a mental breakdown) and bruce feels very responsible for how he fucked up jp's psyche and deems him one of his biggest mistakes (jp and batman angst real)

(azrael 1995 #1/#2/#36 look at him he's so sad)

after knightsend jean-paul feels very guilty and becomes a better person while struggling with mental health and The System (and fights evil cult that manipulated him with his new friends)

also i personally believe none of this would have happened if tim didn't give jean-paul a bad haircut

(batman #491)

#people should start writing fanfiction about it and call it “batcave strangling incident” or something lol #anyways i wish tim and az interacted more nowadays it would be funny. please dc i want azrael #they are brothers your honor or whatever #please note that during knightfall saga jpv is in a bad place mentally.. he gets better! he is more than edgy batman(i love him in any way) #by fanfic version i just mean the tropes and misconceptions that people write ok #dc comics #batman #batfam #batfamily #batbros #batboys #titans tower #titans tower au #tim drake #robin #red robin #jason todd #red hood #jean paul valley #azrael #azbats #jpv #dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #fanon vs canon #jp doesnt want to endanger children in his own vigilantism and everyone acts like he's the bad guy🙄 #where are these people who criticize batman for making robins “child soldiers” they would love this guy #this titans tower incident is whatever i just dont understand why everyone talks about it like it was important or impactful when it wasnt #i thought about including all my screenshots where dick calls jpv names but there were too many

[tswaney17]

Obessesion

Azriel loved everything about Elain.

He loved her smile.

He loved the brightness of her eyes.

He loved how she had such a warm and caring heart.

But he was obsessed with her neck.

He thought it might be that deep Illyrian instinct inside of him that came roaring to the surface whenever she bared the pale skin of her neck for him. A desire to lap at the delicate flesh with his tongue after he brutally bit it until a bruise blossomed from his machinations.

Azriel loved to mark her body with his bites. Loved how beneath the modest gowns she donned, she wore his claims like brands on her skin.

Boldly.

Proudly.

She loved being ravished by his mouth. Could settle on his lap or beneath him for hours as he let his teeth and tongue taste every inch of her body.

Nobody knew that under her clothes she was always peppered by a garden of black and blue and purple from him. Flowers upon her skin, some freshly bloomed while others had slowly begun to wilt away.

He smiled every time she undressed in front of him as he counted the bruises still visible upon her flesh.

Tonight was no different.

They were sequestered at the Townhouse, riding out a bad snow storm. Azriel had barely been able to arrive before the worst of it hit, kicking the front steps to dust snow off his boots before entering the warmth of the house.

Elain, as usual, was found in the kitchen, a spread of baked goods surrounding her on the marble counters. She smiled at him, a slash of brilliant white between pink lips. “You made it. I was afraid the storm might have kept you away,” she said, pulling a loaf of fresh baked bread from the oven.

Az leaned a hip on the doorway, brushing loose snowflakes from his thick hair. “Nothing could keep me away from here, beautiful. But it does look like we’ll be stuck here for a few days.”

A pretty blush dusted her cheeks at the endearment. “How awful,” she muttered, lips turning up at the corners. “Whatever will we do to pass the time?” Those dark eyes went molten under his heated stare.

He beckoned her with a crook of his finger, taking her hand when she approached and guiding them to the sitting room, Elain perching on his lap.

“I say,” he began, running his hands up and down her body, feeling the cotton fabric beneath his scarred fingers. “We take all the time in the world to enjoy the company of your bed.”

Elain’s body shuddered in response and she leaned forward slightly, providing him prime access to that perfect neck. “Why don’t you give me a little preview of what to anticipate?” she murmured, voice husky with need.

Twisting her hair around his fist for leverage, he brought his mouth to her skin. Felt her pulse flutter beneath his lips.

A soft kiss. One to just tease her a bit. Then another, this one more insistent. And another, until his teeth scraped over neck, sucking the flesh between them and biting.

Elain moaned, hands bracing themselves on his strong shoulders. Her hips wiggled on his lap, grazing his growing erection.

Fuck, she always felt so good. Tasted so sweet.

He released her neck, licking the hurt away before drawing the same spot back into his mouth. He’d work the same area over and over again into the night. Until he was sure it’d take at least a week for it to even begin fading.

Because Elain wearing his marks on her skin, on her neck…yeah, that was his obsession.

~~~~~

I finally wrote something. 😭 This was just a quick phone fic, but I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve actually written something. Please lord, let this be my comeback. 🛐🙏

#post creative drought #phone fic #elriel #elriel fic #elriel fanfic #elriel fanfiction #elain archeron #azriel #elain #azriel shadowsinger #tswaney17 #tswaney17fics #tay writes #my writing #elain x azriel #Elain x az #azriel x elain #elain and azriel #azriel and elain #pro elriel

[kiwi-muses]

Part One Here

It was only a couple of days before his shadow zoomed into his room to alert him that Gwyn was speaking with Bryaxis. It was the middle of the night, and Azriel grumbled as he pulled on his leathers. One of the rare instances where he’d been dead asleep, and Gwyn had to inadvertently ruin it. He made his way into the library, and weaved through the stacks, Gwyn’s voice becoming louder and louder. Azriel silently hid in the shadows, wondering what was so important that it must be spoken of in the middle of the night. 

“Do you sleep at all?” he heard her ask. After a moment in which Bryaxis must have responded, he heard her say, “Well, I suppose in some ways that’s lucky. You get to avoid the issues I have.” She was silent for a moment. “What you said… about my… mate… how did you know?”

Azriel felt his eyebrows raise. Gwyn had a mate? Since when? If Bryaxis spoke of it, perhaps that’s what surprised her the last time. There was an uncomfortable feeling in Azriel’s chest as he thought of Gwyn having a mate, though he couldn’t explain why, exactly. 

“I think I knew when I first saw him, though there was… a lot happening,” she was saying. “But I’ve never told anyone before. I thought maybe I was mistaken.” Her voice was soft. “No, I don’t wish it weren’t so. He’s a good male. Strong and kind.” She paused, listening, and chuckled. “Well, maybe you don’t think so, and I could certainly see why.” The longer Azriel stood there, eavesdropping, the more bizarre the conversation became. And the longer he stood there, the more that uncomfortable feeling in his chest grew. And a piece of him was almost offended for the unknown male. A mating bond was sacred. Why wouldn’t Gwyn tell this male? He became more agitated before deciding he was done for the night. He stepped from the shadows, and saw Gwyn whirl around to see him. She turned back to the pit. “Looks like our visit is over tonight.” She softly laughed again. “I’ll make sure to sing louder for you next time.” She walked towards Azriel, eyes sparkling. He crossed his arms over his chest, cutting an imposing figure. 

“We talked about this, Gwyn.” His voice was low. 

“You mean you talked, Shadowsinger. No one said I agreed.” He let out his breath in a huff. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough,” he said. 

She tilted her head at him. “You seem… vexed with me, Shadowsinger. Moreso than usual.” Azriel said nothing, turning to escort her back to the dormitories. “You can tell me, you know. Honesty is the best policy and all that.”

Damn him, Azriel couldn’t control it. The words were going to fly out of his mouth whether he wished them to or not. He stopped in the middle of the aisle and turned to her, seeing her waiting face. “You have a mate. Why won’t you tell him? Those bonds… those bonds are rare, and sacred. Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

He felt Gwyn’s eyes on him, studying him. He could almost feel her weighing her words carefully. “There are many reasons I haven’t chosen to divulge the information yet, Azriel.” The use of his given name struck him. She hadn’t used it before. It sounded less like a curse, and more like a caress coming from her. “Some reasons are mine, and mine alone, and maybe I will tell him one day. But I can say,” she took a deep breath, “I have it on good authority that he cares for another. I respect him enough to allow his choices, and I refuse to be chosen solely because of a bond. I’d rather be loved.” Her words struck him in the heart. It was everything he wanted, needed Elain to say and to practice. He needed Elain to want to choose to be loved, to choose him. Gwyn cracked a small smile. “Besides, I’ve met him and he is otherworldly. And I’m just me. He needs someone who he can be proud of.” Gwyn started walking past him, leaving him speechless. This female… he couldn’t figure her out. People were easy to unravel. They were easy to manipulate, to discover inner motives. But not Gwyn. She was a puzzle to him and with each new piece he handed her, he found something new to wonder over. 

“Gwyn,” he called, striding to catch up to her. She looked up at him. “Any male would be lucky to have you as his mate. And if they aren’t proud to have you, they’re not worth your time.” The dazzling smile Azriel received lit something in his heart. 

“Thank you, Shadowsinger.” She smiled, and something in him softened to know he put that smile on her face. 

“Now will you please stop talking to Bryaxis? I don’t trust that it won’t betray you and try to take you.” Gwyn laughed, though what was so funny he had no idea. 

“Bryaxis and I came to an agreement. If I sing while I work, Bryaxis will be content. I won’t have to go near the pit, Shadowsinger.” He felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He had wrestled Bryaxis back into the pit; he knew what Bryaxis could do, the harm it could cause, if provoked. And he wanted Gwyn nowhere near that sort of danger. “I can make my way from here, Shadowsinger. I need to shelve a few books anyways,” Gwyn said.

“Alright,” Azriel said softly. “Goodnight, Gwyneth.” 

“Goodnight, Shadowsinger,” she replied, making her way through the stacks to her books, leaving Azriel to make his way out of the library, pondering the strange feeling Gwyn left him with. A few words and she could coax a smile from him without his notice, or cause his heart to stop in his chest just by having a conversation with a creature. Azriel wasn’t an outwardly emotive male. Inwardly, he felt everything, but a childhood of torture had taught him to effectively wear a mask. One that, somehow, Gwyn made him feel was unnecessary.

#gwyn x az #gwyneth berdara #gwyn x azriel #gwynriel #bryaxis #gwynriel fic #i cant decide if i want to write full fic of this

[az-cain]

Request- I HAVE A REQUESTTT, you don’t have to write it if you don’t want to: (grumpy x sunshine with Jake); reader leaves little notes around the house as a reminder for Jake to be nice or to be careful or something like that, he never responds but one time she cooked one of his favourite dishes when he had a bad day before going to bed and she leaves a note and he responds before leaving the next day? Thank you so much💕💕💕

jake seresin x reader ≈ 1000 words masterlist

I LOVED THIS REQUEST TYSM FOR THIS

TW FOR: G-LOC, gravity-induced loss of consciousness, fear of loss, poor communication of sorts

The little habit began with a New Year’s Resolution to be more appreciative of those you love. It was a cheap purchase, that pad of Post-Its, but the notes you gave him every morning were the highlight of his day. He left too early for you to wake for more than a simple peck on the lips and an “I love you.”

Once, it was a quick sentence about how you wished he’d have a good day and you’d be waiting to see him when he got home. All day, he was so excited to see you that he forgot to be an asshole. Phoenix and Bob separately texted you their thanks.

The next, it was a smiley face and an “I love you so much,” written in all capitals and followed by too many exclamation points. The dopey smile stayed on his face for several hours, his words less aggressive and his voice softened. Again, Phoenix and Bob texted you their thanks, this time followed by Rooster.

The little tradition continued on for weeks, everyone eventually ceasing to thank you because they realized that Hangman was slowly becoming just Jake, calming down a bit, and it was getting tedious to text every day.

About six weeks later, Jake walked solemnly through the door two hours before he usually did, eyes cast down to your floorboards, and sighed heavily as he kicked off his boots. Emerging from the kitchen, you saw the way his shoulders sagged and immediately started towards him. “Jake?” You whispered, reaching a hand out to pull his chin up, the skin oddly dewey. You gasped when you saw tears streaking down his cheeks. “Oh, baby, what’s wrong?” You wrapped your arms around him.

He sobbed quietly into your shoulder, his own arms hanging limp at his sides as he bent down to reach your level.

Off-put by his lack of response, you began to pull away, but his arms shot up to hold you and he yelped a “No!” as though you’d stabbed him.

“Okay, okay, sweetie. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” You soothed, petting his hair as his tears wet your shoulder. You pressed the bottom of your wedding ring against his neck, the familiar metal soothing him as his heaving chest turned to hiccups.

It was a few more minutes before he spoke. “I went into G-LOC today.”

You felt your body lock up and you began to shake, arms clenching tighter around him. “You made it,” you murmured, reassuring both of you.

“I did. You know G-LOC dreams— vivid. Mine was you.” He sighed, burrowing down against you, “As my plane went down and I woke up, I kept thinking I wouldn’t get to see you again.”

“I’m here. You’re here. God, I love you, Jake.”

He nodded, whispering the words back as though you’d scare away, before he pulled back and wiped his eyes. “Sorry your shirt’s all wet now.”

“Jake, you just went through G-LOC. I am more than happy to deal with a few tears on my shirt.” Taking the aforementioned shirt off and walking to toss it in the laundry room, you shouted, “Go hop in the shower, baby. I’m making fried chicken.”

He groaned his thanks loudly before lumbering up the stairs to reach your bedroom, where you assume he gathered his clothes before you heard the shower turn on.

When he emerged, hair wet and face clean of tears, you were scooping the last of the chicken onto a paper-towel covered plate wearing one of his clean shirts. You smiled at him before bending down to pull the fried potatoes out of the oven where they’d been staying warm. “You ready to eat?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he sighed, wrapping his arms around you when you set the baking tray down on the stove.

“Why did they not call me?” You asked tentatively, meeting his eyes.

“I wanted to tell you myself. The squad have known for years not to contact you unless I’m seriously hurt.”

You nodded, smiling gently. “Alright.” A few minutes passed of the two of you just holding one another in a loose hug. “Read the apron,” you giggled, knowing he knew full well what it said. With a hum and a raise of his brows, he pulled back slightly to glance down. Meeting your eyes again, he smirked and placed his lips gently against yours.

“Thank you for dinner, darlin’.” You both pulled apart, you grabbing plates from the dishwasher while he picked up napkins from the counter. As you dished up your food, you always touched somehow. Your sides, your feet, you just wanted contact. The two of you parked it on the couch, facing one another, and ate quietly, just happy to be in each others’ presence.

The night came to an early close, the stress of the day making you both want to sleep at around eight.

As per usual, when you woke around midnight to use the restroom, you left him a note.

In the morning, he woke to find a full sheet of paper.

My love,

You are the light of my life. My one and only. Today, you’ll be very safe as you recover from yesterday’s events, or I’ll make sure our good Admiral Bobby puts you on desk duty. Yes, that’s a threat. You’ll also instruct your squad to let me know as soon as something goes wrong, or I’ll do it myself. I’m making navy bean soup tonight. I love you, Jake. <3

His eyes filled with tears as he scrambled for a pencil, a smile splitting his face. When he found one, he scribbled:

I love you so much. I can’t go another day without you having proof of that every single day. I don’t think that made sense but you know me, what I’m trying to say. And yes ma’am, they’ll know as soon as I reach base. Looking forward to that soup tonight <3 <3 <3

masterlist

#jake seresin x gn!reader #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #jake seresin x you #jake seresin/you #jake hangman seresin fluff #hangman #top gun hangman #top gun maverick #top gun #az writes #pav my love

[nythtak]

Thought it'd be fun to do a little drabble soooo-

Cattonquick Oxford Days - the first cigarette

(This is based in the Maneater AU - unless I change my mind on details later - but can be read as in canon universe)

The lighter fails to catch the first couple of times Felix tries it. But after a final, despairing shake of the crappy thing, the flame sputters to life.

“Thank fuck,” he mumbles around the ciggie, and hurriedly brings the lighter up. April’s swung in with far too much chill, because fuck England, right? No spring for them, nooope. Just horrible grey rainy days, where even brief lulls like this evening are tarnished by cold winds.

He’s regretting not grabbing a jacket when he had chance to, and he eyes Oliver’s long-sleeves jealously. They’re on their way back from the pub, and it’s still early enough that most streetlights feel unnecessary. After a of couple hours there Felix realised he just wasn’t feeling it tonight, that stickiness of going through the motions and not enjoying himself like usual, where even a few pints couldn’t soften it up.

So when Oliver gave him a nudge, mentioned he has an essay he really needs to work on, Felix leapt at the chance to head out. He has his own pile of coursework to dive into before the Easter holidays start. Maybe speed through a chunk of it tonight, get that late night focus on, and then he can decide how much is usable tomorrow.

He’s glad he decided to stick it out at Oxford over the coming break. Originally it was more about keeping his word on staying at university all year, rather than nipping home every holiday - or even every other weekend, like some silly sods do. He went as far as to swear off a trip abroad this school year, fully committed to the uni life, which means no fluttering off to sunnier skies.

He aims a glower up at the dark clouds far above them. Curse thy existence.

“Felix?”

Felix’s head snaps down, and down, and he has to grin. Oliver is so short. Like, okay, so he’s not actually super-duper short. A bit below average, perhaps, and around the height of most girls. But he’s a lot shorter than Felix, which is what really matters.

It means he’s the perfect height - practically made for it - for Felix to sling an arm around his shoulders and drag him into his side. Oliver runs a bit cool, but he’s still a damn sight warmer than the nippy evening air.

“Yeah, mate?” Felix takes a pull from the ciggie, careful not to blow it all in Oliver’s face. Would be awfully rude. But that does get him thinking about how Oliver doesn’t smoke, and he frowns at him. “You know, I don’t think you ever said why you don’t smoke.”

Could it be something to do with his family? Cigarettes are a huge leap from heroin and meth and whatever else, but traumas can be multi-layered, can’t they? A full-on aversion to anything even related. But Oliver is clearly battling through it, going to the pub and clubs where alcohol abounds, not even flinching at all the casual drug use their group gets up to.

“Just not keen.” Oliver shrugs slightly, and it’s interesting to feel the motion of it under his arm. Makes him want to squeeze Oliver a bit. His hand slides down to cup Oliver’s bicep rather than hanging loosely, but he holds off on the full grabby. For now.

“So you’ve tried one before?”

Oliver hesitates, but shakes his head. He’s looking ahead rather than at Felix, and while he does have lovely thick hair, that isn’t quite the view Felix wants currently.

So he brings them to a stop, Oliver stumbling into him a bit and looking up questioningly. There it is. Christ, Oliver’s eyes seem to get bluer every time Felix catches a glimpse. Like, with each additional second he knows Oliver, he’s able to see more of him. Another droplet of paint on the colour palette, swirled in with patient brush strokes.

“If you’ve never tried it…” Felix puts the ciggie between his lips, just so he can flip his hand and pluck it out again. Holding it filter-first toward Oliver with an inviting smile. “How can you know you won’t like it?”

Now, Felix would never pressure anyone into doing something they don’t want to. That would be terrible manners. All he’s doing here is giving Oliver the chance to expand his horizons. Indulge in a little fun, like he’s clearly not had chance to- well, probably in his whole life.

Felix has been making up for that. He’s fully embraced showing Oliver the highlights of uni life, and it’s been an absolute blast so far. Letting Oliver have a go at smoking is just another part of that.

“I dunno, mate.” The corner of Oliver’s mouth ticks up as he looks from the ciggie to Felix. “They’re not great for your health, right?”

The little right? at the end softens what might’ve been an annoying admonishment, to something that makes Felix smirk. “All part of the appeal. If we only did what was healthy, we’d be a proper dull lot.” He raises his eyebrows and tips the cigarette closer to Oliver’s lips, his pinky finger grazing Oliver’s chin. “You’re not dull, are you, Ollie?”

He knows most of his friends think Oliver is boring. That he outlived any novelty within the first week; Felix’s unlikely saviour from a tutorial scolding, the scholarship boy with the funny accent. Farleigh has certainly made his opinion clear, his pissy attitude the real bore around here.

They just don’t get Oliver. None of them.

Nah, Felix is the only one who gets the real Ollie, the one Oliver trusts and opens up to. They’re already best mates, fitting together like two puzzle pieces. And the way Oliver looks at him - yeah, it can get a bit much at times, but it’s all part of Oliver’s charm, really. He’s completely genuine and clearly thinks the world of Felix, so obviously he can’t filter that intensity down. Felix would never ask him to. He accepts Oliver exactly as he is.

Oliver takes the cigarette, pinched between his thumb and forefinger as he eyes it like it might bite him. Or give him lung cancer.

Felix would give him a drumroll if he could. He settles for an encouraging shake and cheering, “Go oooooon, Oll-aaaaay!”

And Oliver does.

Not that there was ever any doubt. But it’s still satisfying in a warm, buzzy way to watch Oliver take a drag, lips pursed and the shadows on his cheeks deepening a little. Takes it like a pro, his Ollie, and it’s only once Oliver’s eyes close that Felix realises they’ve been locked in a staredown.

Then Oliver breathes out, and Felix is hit by a faceful of smoke.

The moment his coughing fit is done, he grabs a hastily apologising Oliver by the shoulder, snatches the ciggie back, and gets revenge.

#saltburn #cattonquick #saltburn fanfiction #fic: maneater #oxford days #az writes #probs post this on ao3 later even tho feels kinda short for it #i just love this time period for these two #i have a few more ideas too #like 'first time' ollie gets 'propa sozzled' #midnight snacks in the dorm kitchen #dang i need to check out prompt lists again

[dabs-into-oblivion]

The first time they actually spoke one-on-one was when the Chargers came back from the Storm Coast. Leliana was in the Herald's Rest when The Iron Bull stumped in, his face like a storm cloud, and parked himself at the bar. His men were all giving him a wide berth.

Leliana's self-preservation instinct sometimes took a nap. This might have been one of those times. She slipped onto the stool beside him, on the side with his good eye, and rested her forearms on the bar.

He grunted. "Never seen you out of your tower before, Red."

"No," she said. "Josie kicked me out. She says I need to… talk to people more."

The Iron Bull chuckled, but his heart wasn't in it. "You're a spy. You talk to plenty of people."

"That's what I told her!" She tracked his movements. He wasn't moving the way he usually did; he was sluggish. This did not bode well. She placed a firm hand on his arm. "I do not think you should drink tonight."

He pulled away from her, twisting. "Who are you to tell me that?" he demanded.

She glared up at him. "The Inquisitor needs you to be at your best in the field."

"Fuck you," he snarled. "You have no idea what it's like."

"Fine. Drink. It will not ease your pain," Leliana shot back.

"Oh, and you know my pain."

"No," she said. "I do not. But I know what it is like to have my faith questioned and brought to breaking point. I know what it is to have my entire life swept out from underneath my feet. I know what it is to lose the center of my world."

read more on AO3! (must be logged in)

written for The Black Emporium Exchange 2023! @black-emporium-exchange

#az writes #fanfiction #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #pairing: the iron bull x leliana #the iron bull #leliana #black emporium exchange #posts into oblivion

[azraeldoesnotdispute]

With Nobody Else But Me

Fandom: The Old Guard (2020) Pairing: Nicky/Joe Rating/Warnings: T for canon typical violence, copious google translations in the first chapter Chapters: 1/?

Summary: They have a long history, Joe and Nicky. Their story is long, but the important parts of their long lives, the little bits that are nothing more than a snapshot in history, are ingrained deep in their souls.

AO3

Death is… slow. And painful. But as Yusuf watches the light fade from the infidel’s eyes, he knows he goes to Allah with the knowledge that he did the best he could to protect his homeland.

But death has more surprises, like visions of strange women. Their skin is light, like the infidels, but their clothing is much different than any he has ever seen. One’s eyes are shaped in such a way that Yusuf doesn’t know quite how to describe them, but they, too, are different from any he’s seen before, nothing like the infidels or the other strange woman in the vision.

Death is a sharp inhale as he awakes to clashes, no longer ringing near him, but still too close for comfort. Death is a phantom ache where he was run through but where there is not a single mark now, save for a tear in his clothing and red blood staining the cloth. Death is the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, mixed with the grit of sand.

Death is… not coming for him yet, it seems. He has not been taken Jannah as reward for defending his people. He is still here, at the walls of this city that is being overrun by the infidels. His body is in one piece and he sits up at the same time as the fool Frank he thought he had killed does. Perhaps that is why he is not dead yet, his work on this earth not yet finished. 

They both scramble to their feet, bringing up swords. Metal clashes, over and over, until it sinks into flesh. Again, he watches the light leave those cold grey eyes as his vision goes dark.

Death does not keep hold on him, or the other man, for long, despite their best efforts to kill each other. They fight, they injure, they kill, they come back. Too many times to count on that day, a cycle endlessly repeating until Yusuf wonders if he’s actually in Jahannam.

They fight, and die, and live again, over and over, until the sun sets and they’re too exhausted to fight any longer. It’s not until they’ve both revived one last time and neither man makes a move to even sit up that the smell hits his nose, the stench of rotting corpses left in the sun. There’s no more sounds of fighting, now that they’ve finally stopped, just drunken noise and the screaming of women mixed with the ugly sound of men’s laughter inside the city walls.

Yusuf knows he needs to go inside there, to try to help. They’ll have killed all the men, and any boys old enough to look like they could fight back, but the woman and the children, those who have not been murdered…

He shudders to think what has happened to them.

The Frank looks over at the slight tremor, hand gripping his sword as if ready to fend off an attack, but when Yusuf looks at him, his face is as tired as Yusuf feels.

“Peace,” he says, first in his mother tongue, then in the more common Arabic language spoken here. This gets a surprised look from the other man, and a small nod. “I’m going to leave, I don’t want to harm you.”

He doesn’t, not now, at least. Not when he could be doing something else. Not when it’s obvious that killing the other man doesn’t matter, not when the other man killing him has no effect.

The words, this time, do not register, and the man tilts his head slightly, brows furrowing. He says something in a different language, the language of the invaders, but Yusuf only knows a few words, gathered from prisoners and sailors, none of which the man says.

“Ah… milas ellinika?” he tries. Greek is far from his best language, but his father had insisted when he was growing up that he learn to speak it so that he might converse with traders. It’s been years, though, since he’s used it, and he’s rusty. [You speak Greek?]

“Nai, miláo elliniká, kalýtera apó séna,” the man says, his voice only a little snide. Yusuf bites back a retort and gestures to the wall and the screaming within. [Yes, I speak Greek, better than you]

“Páo ekeí gia na sóso. Óchi állo na se skotóso.” He smirks, standing. “Ochi símera.” [I go there to save.  No more killing you. Not today.]

The man grimaces, glancing down at his bloodstained clothes, before standing himself. “Tha se voithíso.” [I will help you.]

“I don’t need help from a dirty filthy Frank,” Yusuf snarls. The man tightens his grip on his sword once more, and Yusuf realizes that the man likely thought it was a challenge. “Esý ftais. Oi dikoí sas ánthropoi to kánoun aftó. Den chreiázomai ti voítheiá sou, vrómiko Fran'k.” [It your fault. Your people do this. I not need your help, dirty Frank.]

He doesn’t wait for a reply, storming off, but he still hears the man say, more shocked than anything, “Den eímai Fránkos…” [I'm not a Frank]

He’s only slightly surprised by the sight of the not-Frank following him, but he pushes it out of his mind. He’d been somewhat familiar with the city before the siege started, and long days with little to do had left him wandering the streets when he had free time before the battle began. They run red, now, flowing with the blood of the people who wanted nothing more than to live and die in peace. Using a map drawn with his mind’s eye, he traces steps towards the center of town, clinging to the shadows of buildings, calling out softly whenever he dared to see if any survivors had managed to hide from the pillaging brutes.

A few children, a woman, a couple of young girls, they come when he calls to them, all shocked at the pale man who watches his back. Yusuf still does not trust him, will gladly stick his knife into the man the moment it seems he’s going to yell out to his compatriots, but the man does nothing but watch, his back to Yusuf, not paying any mind to the collection of people that flock to Yusuf and the protection of his blade.

“Prépei na ta vgáloume,” Yusuf says when they finally come across a wagon that has not been demolished. “Aftí i douleiá.” [We need get them out. This work.]

The man looks back at the hushed words and carefully sidesteps the children, not touching them or looking at them. He takes in the wagon, running his hands along the sides, the seams, the wheel. 

“O trochós eínai lígo chalarós, allá boreí na kratísei, an perpatísoun oi megalýteroi,” he finally proclaims, still not looking at the others, but his gaze holds Yusuf’s unflinchingly. It takes him a moment to understand, to remember the long forgotten words, but they come to him and he nods his agreement, translating for the women and children. [The wheel is a little loose, but it may hold, if the older ones walk.]

The women help him load the little ones in, the man not trying to help, but instead wandering off. Yusuf fears that he’s gone to find others, but he appears just as the last of them are loaded, a donkey trailing obediently behind him, as well as two more little ones, who, shockingly, are clinging to the man’s tunic.

“Ta vríka me ton gáidaro,” he says, a little helplessly. [I found them with the donkey]

Yusuf nods, not sure what to say, and they manage to coax the little ones in with the others before covering them with a few blankets that had been in the cart and tossing some straw on top. Yusuf tells the children what he’s doing and why he’s doing it, reminding them again that they must be very quiet. When he turns to the man again, he notices discomfort on his face.

“Ti?” [What?]

He takes a deep, fortifying breath before he says, “Den tha sas arései aftó, allá nomízo óti prépei na sas désoume ólous.” [You will not like this, but I think we should tie you all together.]

It takes every ounce of control that Yusuf has not to scream, but the “TI,” still is louder than is safe.

“An mas piásoun na févgoume, boró na po óti tha sas paradóso ston dioikití tis diplanís pólis,” the man replies, looking pained. [If we are caught leaving, I can say I'm delivering you to the commander in the next town]

“Me eséna móno frouró!” [With only you as guard!]

“Tha eínai polý methysménoi gia na to skeftoún.” [They will be too drunk to think about that]

Yusuf takes several deep breaths, knowing that the plan is smart, but chaffing at the thought of being bound, no matter how short a time, and with only this man’s word that he’ll free them once they’re past any guard’s viewpoint. But he has no choice, the woman and children have no choice, and they need to leave now , before they’re discovered. With a scowl, Yusuf turns and translates this to the woman and girls, pleading, hoping they’ll go along with this.

And of course they do, because he promised to get them to safety, and this fucking man is their only real hope at this point.

“Symfonoúme,” he finally says, “allá an prodóseis, se skotóno xaná.” [We agree, but if you betray, I kill you again]

The man nods solemnly, passing a length of rope to Yusuf before he starts to hitch the donkey to the cart. Yusuf begins the task of loosely binding each woman’s hands, apologizing each time he touches their skin, but they only nod, understanding the situation. He ties the front of it rope to the back of the cart and checks on the children one last time, letting them know that they’re about to leave and pressing the need for silence one more time, before heading to the end of the line.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but he manages to hide his scimitar inside his pant leg, easy enough to reach if trouble should find them, but not easy to see if they do get stopped. The man comes over and even more loosely ties the rope around his wrists, so much so that they can barely be considered tied. It will be easy to shake them off, if he needs to. Yusuf gives him a sharp nod, in thanks or confirmation, he’s not sure, before the man goes to the front and grabs the reins of the donkey, clicking his tongue at it and giving it a tug to move.

Whispering reassurances to the girls, they move forward, looking properly sad, eyes down to the ground, as the man leads them out. Yusuf occasionally tells him a different direction, and they find six more small ones and three young women that get added to the line. By some miracle, the man finds a gate that has two guards that are passed out from drink and they make it through without a single incident, no one noticing, no one the wiser.

He doesn’t stop until they can no longer see the walls of the city, Yusuf leading them to a small oasis that is well hidden, unless one knows where to look. Once there, he shakes off the ropes, and the ropes of the girl in front of him, apologizing again for the touch of his skin to hers, and she tells him she will tend to the others. He thanks her and goes to help the man unload the children from the wagon.

“Kamía fotiá,” he says, and the man nods in agreement. They don’t have much, just the few blankets but the water is clean and their water skins are emptied and filled and emptied again as everyone drinks deeply. There was likely no food to be found in the city, having been under siege for so long, and the man himself is hardly more than skin and bones, but he still pulls out two dirty loaves of bread from a bag that had been stashed in the corner of the cart. It’s barely more than a mouthful for each of them, but the children still take it and thank him shyly. [No fire]

He offers a piece to Yusuf, who shakes his head. “Chreiázontai perissótera.” [They need more]

The man frowns, and Yusuf wonders if it’s because of a mistranslation, but the man just sighs, nodding.

“Poú eínai i kontinóteri póli?” [Where is the nearest town?]

“Dýo méres perpátima.” Yusuf points, unable to pull the words for directions from his scattered memory. [Two days walk]

He nods again. They watch in silence as the children huddle together, curling under the few blankets, and the girls and woman lay around them, all doing their best to stay warm. “Nicoló.”

“Ti?”

The man touches his hand to his chest. “Nicoló.”

“Yusuf.”

“Tha parakolouthó an thélete na koimitheíte próta,” the man offers hesitantly. [I will keep watch if you want to sleep first.]

It feels like a test, but Yusuf cannot find himself trusting this man, not yet. He may have gotten them out of the city safely, but that does not mean that he is still not an invader. “Tha parakolouthíso próta. Koimásai.” [I will first watch. You sleep.]

The man, Nicoló, nods, like he was expecting this, and moves to where the donkey has been tied to one of the trees, chewing idly on the grass near its face. He murmurs something to the animal, petting it, before leaning against the tree, his sword next to him, and closes his eyes.

Yusuf doubts he sleeps, but he tells himself he doesn’t care. Once they get these people to safety, he’ll get rid of the man and then he’ll try to figure out the mystery behind the woman in his dreams and the impossibility of the impermanence of his death.

#the old guard #joe/nicky #nicky/joe #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #az writes #I'm always so nervous about writing in a new fandom ToT

[aerielz]

Writing Val makes me think of the stupidest best sentences I'm in love. Marvel hire me to write a solo movie of her pls i promise I'll do it right you can pay me like half of what you pay writers normally

#Az writes