#fic: hiraeth

[juliaswickcrs]

HIRAETH

rating: 14+

relationship: robb stark/oc

AO3

summary: Emma Hightower wakes in a land that is not her own with knowledge of a future that does not belong to her. But as she learned from watching Game of Thrones, knowledge is power, and despite warnings about fate and defying the will of the gods, Emma refuses to let any Starks, Tyrells, or Targaryens die at the hands of Lannisters, even if it means throwing herself in their line of sight. Even if it means throwing herself into war. {modern character in westeros, time travel fix it au}

a/n: this has been on ao3 for a while now, but @bisexualterror convinced me to post it on here! please reblog or comment if you enjoyed it!

CHAPTER ONE :: OLDTOWN

She awoke on a soft patch of grass, sunlight streaming through stained glass, crafting a kaleidoscope of colors which danced across her exposed skin. 

Her dress held tight to her frame, skirt flaring out at the waist as it gathers around her thighs. 

It is exactly what she was wearing when she touched the white bark of the tree in the center of the castle. 

Her flannel shirt dangled lazily from her shoulder as she pulls herself up, spandex peeking through the short hem of the white sundress. 

The grass refused to stay grasped in her palms, sliding through her fingers like silk. 

It seemed to be the only patch of grass in this place, the surrounding areas decorated with black marble that covered the area except for a small hole near the top.

The stained glass depicts figures Emma has never seen, and she finds herself staring at a long-haired woman grasping a bouquet of flowers with her head down. 

Besides her stands a broad shouldered man on his knees, sword in hand. 

Despite how little Emma knows, something deep in her head rings familiar, the weight of her bag dragging her shoulder down as she moves closer to the windows. 

She glances behind her for a brief moment and freezes. 

The white tree stands behind her, although it is much smaller than she remembers. 

There is no face carved into it, but the white bark and red leaves are unmistakable. 

It is nearly the exact tree Emma remembers touching after hearing the screams and yells of Cassie and Alec. 

Her leather boots clicked against the beautifully crafted floors of the Cathedral. 

That is the best approximation she can give for the place she woke up in and for all her hatred of it, Emma cannot undo the religious knowledge she grew up with. 

Stained glass, black and white marble, the sounds of choirs in the distance…it’s all horribly familiar to her and yet unknown at the same time. 

The sweet smell of incense caused her to wrinkle her nose as she continued down the narrow halls, religious imagery and icons plastered upon the walls.

It does little to quell the rising nausea in her stomach. 

She hates the smell of churches, the close walls and hymns that accompany the wide-eyed stares and whispered prayers.

“Excuse me, miss” a deep voice rumbles behind her and she whips around, hair nearly slapping the man in the face. 

He’s tall and bearded, with wide eyes resembling her own staring down at her. 

The clothes he’s dressed in are of fine fabrics with gold threaded through the deep forest green of his tunic. 

The sword that swings by his side is certainly not something Emma would see back home, but maybe people in Ireland take live action roleplay more seriously?

That was the only alternative that didn’t have Emma questioning her own sanity. 

“Are you lost?” 

His tone was one she’d heard many times, where an adult would ask a question that was clearly meant to be rhetorical. But Emma had never been good at answering those. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Her eyes fell to the grey tower and golden flames emblazoned on his doublet, the emblem feeling unmistakably familiar “I don’t know where I am, I believe—“ 

“You don’t know where you are?” The man scoffed incredulously, crossing his arms and shaking his head as if she were a child, “I’ve heard many excuses from whores, but I do believe that is a new one.”

Emma’s chest burned at the insult, “I beg your pardon?”

“Come now brother,” A melodic voice interrupted her attempt to defend herself, “Is that any way to talk to one of our own?”

A pair of long nails attached to spindly fingers landed on Emma’s shoulder, cold to the touch and causing her to tense up. 

The man sighed, “Malora, I do not have time for your antics today, surely father—“

“Father has sent me to retrieve your issue,” The woman behind her spoke pointedly, eyes staring down the man, before lowering her voice, “Or at least, that’s who he believes has shown up in the garden of the Starry Sept.”

The man shook his head again, “You and I both know Father had gone quite mad these days, surely he does not believe—“

“You don’t know what he believes anymore, brother,” the woman, Malora, spoke with a sharp tone, “You are not the one he asks to join him in the High Tower. You have not seen him of late. He is filled with dreams, ideas that no other lord would dare speak aloud, and when he asks his children to perform an errand, he expects it to be done quickly and discreetly.”

Malora’s brother tightened his grip on his sword, jaw clenching as his eyes wandered over Emma’s frame once more. 

She tried to ignore the ridiculous thoughts filling her head as the conversation took place. 

With words like Starry Sept, and High Tower standing out and joining the emblem in familiarity. 

The woman who saved her from the insult steers her past the bearded man and Emma finally catches a glimpse of her. 

She is tall and willowy, with long dark hair that seemed to match the imagery of the stained glass Emma saw earlier. Her skirts fell to the floor, causing Emma to tug on the hem of her sundress. 

They were made of a dark velvet the color of the night sky, dotted with flecks of gold and seemed to move when Malora moved. 

As they passed the bearded man, Emma stopped and stared up at him, gathering every bit of vitriol she could muster, “I’m not a whore,” She spat, “And even if I was, you could not afford me.”

The man’s face turned red and Malora’s lips tilted upward into a smirk. 

The older woman unclasped the cloak around her shoulders, “Here,” she handed it to Emma, “Unless you wish to be mistaken for a whore again, I would advise you keep that on you until we reach my father.”

Emma stared at the deep violet color for a moment before dropping her gaze toward her short hem. 

She wanted to say no, to protest against the ridiculous standards they were enforcing on her. But she had questions, and she needed to know if all of this was as impossible as she believed it to be. 

The golden strings tied neatly around her neck and Emma pulled the thick hood over her long dark hair.

She did not know where Malora was taking her, nor why the bearded man seemed intent on following them through the winding passageways and sweltering heat of what was clearly a bustling city. 

As she held tight to Malora’s hand, a series of possibilities floated through her mind. 

The first was that she’d been dragged into the middle of a very elaborate LARP scenario. 

The swords, the fancy accents, the beautiful Cathedral.

It all made sense. 

After all, Ireland was famous for their beautiful churches and…unique characters but Emma had never heard of people being this committed to the bit before. 

The second was she’d accidentally stumbled onto the set of a fantasy show for Netflix. Ireland was a popular filming place after all, and it would explain why everyone was dressed in similar silhouttes and spoke as if following a script. 

But that would not explain how she fit into this whole thing. Unless it was like that one show where everyone else was an actor except for the lone person out of the loop. 

The third was something too impossible for her to contemplate. 

But it explained more than the first two options ever could. 

The strange dialect, the clothes and belief she was a whore, the fact that the city she was now weaving through resembling nothing of the Irish countryside she’d been given a tour of before with her friends.

It all made too much sense and yet none at the same time. 

“Look out!” Malora yelled and Emma turned just in time to see a wide-eyed man with crooked teeth and a knife fall to the ground with a groan.

Blood spilled out of his mouth and onto her dress as a steel blade punctured his throat.

The bearded man stood before her with a look of disdain, but all Emma could feel the warmth of the blood spattering her face and chest, staining her dress crimson as the life left the man’s eyes. 

And suddenly the impossible became reality. 

If it was a movie, a director would have yelled cut. If it was a show, special effects would have taken place. And if it was a LARPing session, there would be no need for live steel. 

She could taste the iron.

This was real. 

The blood was real. 

Emma knelt down and grasped the knife in her hand. It was crudely made, with a misshapen wooden handle and a flimsy blade.

It punctured the tip of her finger and she winced.

The knife was real. 

This was no longer a dream, nor an impossible option. 

“Holy shit,” She whispered. 

Malora grasped her hand and quickened her pace, the bearded man falling back into place as they continued downriver.

The water rushed beside them as whispers turned to bustling conversations.

Survival instinct kicked in and Emma ran alongside the woman, still not knowing where she was headed or what her fate would be when they got there. 

A white marble bridge arched across the mouth of the rushing river toward the jagged bluffs overlooking the sea. 

The waves crashed against the obsidian fortress which lay atop the cliffs and if Emma forced herself to listen, it almost sounded like the whispers of a thousand voices every time the water hit the brick. 

It was only when a door closed behind her that Emma returned to reality, gauging her surroundings once more. 

If this really was the truth, then she would need every bit of cleverness and wit she possessed. 

She would not win battles with swords or bows or strength, only what was in her mind. 

“Are you alright?” The bearded man seemed genuinely concerned, a far cry from his behavior before, and Emma forgot that she was now covered in someone else’s blood. 

She nodded briskly, certain that her fear was written all over her face. 

The bearded man shot a look at Malora, who was already talking with two men in silver armor with more swords at their sides. 

Both of them held the same emblem on their armor the bearded man did on his doublet. 

God, why couldn’t she remember what it was?

The armored men nodded and disappeared down one of the many hallways.

Several entrances poured out into the foyer, a large spiral staircase reaching up into the endless expanse above her, carved out of the same white marble the bridge was made of. 

“Father will be expecting her,” Malora spoke in hushed tones, the woman’s lips tugging themself into a frown, “And seeing as she clearly has nowhere else to go—“

“I will bring her to Father,” The bearded man spoke, eyes darting Emma’s direction. They lingered on the blood coating her face and something akin to regret crossed his face, “The least we can do is provide her with a place to stay if he decides otherwise.”

Malora sighed and squeezed the man’s shoulder, “Thank you Bael.”

Emma tensed as Malora turned her gaze her direction, only relaxing once the woman gently pressed her hands onto her shoulders once more, “You will be safe here. I do not know what my father intends to do with you, but we will not leave you to your own devices, I will ensure it."

Emma nodded, “Thank you,” She breathed out, barely able to comprehend the woman’s words. 

They filled her with relief, and even though something seemed to dance behind the woman’s emerald gaze. 

Emma blinked, and Malora was gone. 

Her skirts swished up the endless marble staircase, and she silently wondered how the woman held the stamina to ascend the staircase without so much as blinking. 

A moment passed, and the bearded man entered her vision. 

She caught a much better look at him this time around.

Auburn hair hung neatly to his shoulders and his beard was well trimmed. The man was probably in his forties or fifties if she had to guess, close in age to Malora.

In fact, the two seemed to share the same eyes, except the man’s were a much more muted color, resembling waves of grass instead of the cut of emeralds. 

The man seemed to be waiting for something, and it wasn’t until his lips moved again that Emma realized he was asking her a question.

“Your name,” He spoke softly, as if suddenly realizing his mistake from earlier, “What is your name?”

“Emma,” She muttered, still in shock, “My name is Emma.”

“Very well, Emma.” The man spoke, offering his arm, “Follow me, I’ll take you to meet my father.”

His father. 

Of course it was his father. He was a wealthy man, probably a lord of some kind. A deep groaning sound pulled her back into the moment and she found herself staring at a very unstable, very crude elevator. 

The man walked in like he did this every day, staring at Emma for a moment before gesturing for her to follow, “Well, Lady Emma, shall I inform my father you are here or do you plan to stand there all day?”

Gulping down the bundle of nerves in the back of her throat, Emma winced as she stepped onto the wooden floor of the fragile contraption, closing her eyes as the cage shut and began creaking toward the top. 

A tough grip wrapped around her shoulders, but she dare not open her eyes for fear of seeing just how high she was dangling. 

It was worse than rides up the tall skyscrapers back home and she silently waited for a cable to break and send her plummeting like the Tower of Terror. 

The cage shrieked to a stop and she waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

But the sound of a cable snapping never came, and when she opened her eyes, the cage door was open with the bearded man offering his hand to her. 

She stepped off without taking it, balancing delicately on the balls of her feet as she pushed herself through the frame. 

“I see you still take offense to my earlier remarks, my lady,” The bearded man dropped his hand while Emma attempted to stabilize herself using the stone railing.

“Women typically aren’t fans of being called whores” Emma shot back, unsure where her voice had come from.  The man arched an eyebrow and Emma gulped, forgetting where she was for a moment, “…Sir.” She tacked on carelessly, “The only reason you’re treating me differently is because your sister and father say you should, otherwise you’d still assume I’m selling myself, right?”

The man dropped his head in shame and that was all the answer she needed. 

Now that she was behind high walls and Malora had promised her safety, her boldness returned in spades, anger rumbling in her stomach at the earlier insult. The short hem and lack of sleeves was all he had to go off of and he’d decided she must have been a prostitute. 

After all, what other option was there for a woman in these times?

She wasn’t dressed like the others around her, and she held no emblem to distinguish her as the daughter of a lord or lady. 

“And even if I was selling myself, perhaps I had no other choice,” She continued to ramble, the words coming to her as the wheels in her head turned, “Perhaps I was abandoned and left in a whorehouse, or disowned and forced to find my own way. I would hope the gods would see that and forgive me.”

The words were too honest for the world she lived in now, but she might as well take one last moment of truth before being forced to lie for however long she remained here.

With her luck, it would be the rest of her life. 

“Well said, my lady.” The man nodded, gesturing toward a magnificent gilded door with the same emblem of a tower aflame carved into the mahogany doors.

It was obviously a symbol of great importance, and Emma wished she could remember what it was. 

“With a temper and a wit like that, I can see why my father is eager to meet you.”

He lifted the bronze knocker three times, the echoing sound followed by a muffled voice of similar cadence to the man beside her. 

“Enter.” It ordered, the door swinging open. 

Anxiety clawed at Emma’s stomach as she stared into the darkness before her, the only light coming from the flame of a candle burning in the middle of the room and the sunlight from outside.

She swallowed the lump building in the back of her throat and shuffled forward, the door slamming shut behind her. 

An older man stared up at her, silvery blonde hair illuminated by the flickering flames of the lit candles surrounding a desk in the middle of the room. 

Scrolls and parchment lay scattered about the room with books open to specific pages stacked on top of one another. 

Many were scrawled in languages Emma didn’t recognize, with drawings of scales and equations written in the margins. 

Behind the man lay a stained glass window with a seven pointed star, the ledge underneath it decorated with bunsen burners and beakers and lumps of coal under magnifying glasses. 

In the shadows lay a green powder Emma had no desire to touch and she tried to memorize as much as she could to see if it jogged her memory in any capacity. 

“Ah, the Lady Emma,” The man’s eyes twinkled as if with knowledge no one else possessed, “How wonderful to receive you. I am Leyton Hightower of Oldtown, Lord of the Hightower and Beacon of the South.”

It all clicked into place. 

“I see you’ve already met my eldest daughter Malora and my heir, Baelor.” He gestured toward the bearded man behind her and the shadow beside a bookcase. 

Malora stepped out of the shadows with a comforting look, and Emma’s stomach sank further, grasping tightly to the strap of her bag.

“Now that we have all become acquainted,” Leyton continued nonchalantly, looking unbothered as Emma’s eyes darted around the room putting the pieces into place, “Perhaps you would like to tell me exactly how you ended up in Westeros.”

She gulped. 

hiraeth taglist: @bisexualterror (lmk if you wanna be added)

[neonacity]

Sammy please confirm to me if this is hunter!jeno

"I hate you." She whispered to him with the harsh softness of a brewing storm. High above the inky skies, the full moon wept, a silent witness to the hell trapped inside, between, and around them. Jeno watched with emotionless eyes as she clutched at her heart, the small sounds of pain she was giving a reminder of the selfish choice he made for her many seasons ago.

Still, even as her eyes turned from dark brown to blood red, he couldn't find it in him to wish for her redemption. No, he still found her beautiful... even in her torture and in his madness.

He reached out to her now, a smile breaking the calm facade of his mask. Meanwhile, his other hand tightened the shackles on the weremaiden's hands before she could slash his throat with her claws.

"I love you. And you'll have to live with that."

[owl-bones]

drew a scene from my ficccccc

[hiraeth-ink]

Could I Be Yours (Joel Miller fic)

Pairing - Joel x Married Female Reader 

Summary - You’ve been married for five years now to your long term man Marcus, but with your dwindling sex life and your marriage on the rocks, you came to an agreement. You're allowed to sleep with other men. The only rules? 1- You have to tell your husband about it. 2- No staying the night, you always leave after sex. And lastly, rule number 3, you can’t sleep with the same man more than once. These rules are in place to avoid feelings blooming, but what happens when you meet Joel, and end up breaking all of the rules? Will it break your marriage too? If faced with a choice between Joel Miller and your husband, who would you choose? 

Warnings - Infidelity/open relationship??, smut, protected p in v, choking, mentions of face slapping, degradation, reader is called a slut a few times, oral (f receiving), squirting, Joel being cocky, 

Word Count - 7.2k

a/n - this is the longest piece I’ve ever written, lmk if anyone wants more, I have plenty of ideas for this story. 

“Did you have fun, baby?” your husband asked as soon as you closed the door to your shared home. He had an excited expression on his face, and was sporting a smirk you’d seen countless times. You’d noticed that whenever you returned home from one of your escapades, he wore the same demeanour. He was calm and collected, but eager to hear your recounting of the events. He wanted to know every detail and was never jealous. This is what he wanted after all, what he suggested. He wanted to know how you got them into bed, how wet you were, how big they were, how many times they brought you to release. And you were more than happy to tell him everything. 

“So much fun, Marcus,” you said while taking a seat next to him on the sofa, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “He was a little quiet though, you know how I want to be praised.”

Marcus lifted your hair from your neck and trailed a path of kisses from behind your ear to your collarbone and asked the question he always did, “Did he make you come?”. 

—-----------------------------------

Your husband was a generous man, generous with his kindness, his money, and his wife. You’d met Marcus in University, he was the sweet, nerdy boy in your English Lit class that eventually asked you on a date. You were together through school and when he got a job opportunity in Austin, you packed everything and moved with him, no questions asked. At the time, you couldn’t imagine building a life with anyone but him, your youth and naivety made it so that you couldn’t imagine living without him at all. And so, after seven years of being together, 5 years of marriage, a dwindling sex life and less time spent together than ever, Marcus suggested the agreement. The agreement in which you sleep with other men and tell Marcus every last detail. The agreement that has three rules; you have to tell Marcus about whenever you sleep with a man; you can’t stay the night with another man and you can’t fuck the same man twice. Marcus claims that this agreement “saved your marriage”. While it may have saved your sex life, it certainly has not saved your marriage. Your husband was a generous man, generous with his kindness, generous with his money, even generous with his wife, but he was no longer generous with his time. You may have been having more sex, but you weren’t spending time together like you used to, you weren’t laughing like you used to, you didn't love him like you used to. 

You weren’t sure how he felt about you, if he still loved you enough to want to spend the rest of his life with you, all you knew was that nothing was how it used to be. In the past, Marcus was loud about his love, his eyes were a clear reflection of the love he held for you.  His love would make itself known, obvious, like road signs popping up constantly on a long drive, something you didn’t have to look for, his love appeared right in front of your eyes. Now you had to look for the road signs, your eyes were squinting to find them. Maybe you’d taken a wrong turn on the road. Maybe you were lost.

—----------------------------

A few days later, Marcus had to go on a work trip away for the weekend, the weekend you were hoping you could spend some quality time together. It had been so long since you’d been able to spend more than a few hours before bed together, and so you had been excited for a whole weekend to spend just the two of you, your bodies entangled together between the sheets, leaving next to no space between you in a hope to rekindle something between you. Your disappointment was evident when he’d told you and so he suggested that you get dressed up, go out and find a man to fuck you senseless for the night and tell him all about it when he got back, and while you wanted Marcus, you weren’t going to say no to that. 

You were apprehensive about the agreement at first, but you soon discovered that there was something you found so enticing about seducing other men. Feeling desired by so many was a feeling you couldn’t describe, especially when your husband was never home, or when he was he just wanted a quick fuck to calm his frustrations, he never cherished you, never took his time with you. 

The sex with Marcus was good, he knew exactly what to do by now. But, there was one more thing you felt that was missing from your sex life. For so long you had wanted him to be a little more dominant, you wanted to be told exactly what to do and when to do it, to be put in your place, be punished, even degraded a little. You’d brought this up but Marcus didn't have it in him, he’d grown nervous when you asked him to choke you, and looked terrified when you had asked him to slap you, so you didn't ask again. The men you’d enjoy one night with were more likely to do these things, but lacked the dominant energy you craved, it was difficult to believe what they were saying, difficult to submit to them in the way you wanted to submit. 

As soon as you walked into the dingy bar you felt you’d made the wrong choice. It was dark, only lit by the lights behind the bar and the small lamps on the larger tables. A country song was playing in the background and although it wasn’t too loud, the lack of people in the bar meant that you could hear every word being sung. You were undoubtedly overdressed, wearing a tight, black dress that left very little to the imagination and high heels that were quickly becoming uncomfortable to walk in. You contemplated turning around and trying another place but decided against it and approached the bar. You ordered a margarita; opting for a stronger option, hoping to feel a buzz sooner rather than later. Looking around, the choice of men in the bar was lacklustre at best. There was a trio of men at a corner booth who looked to be in their sixties at least, a group of boys who looked underage at another corner booth, and three people at the other side of the bar. Two men and one woman. One of the men was facing away from you and was mostly covered by the man next to him, who was standing up, animatedly talking to a blonde woman. The man you could see was attractive, dark hair, almost black, only looked around 30 years old, but he was clearly flirting with the woman, and she was eating it up. Her giggles filled the room, and she was twirling a strand of her long hair between her nimble fingers, no doubt flashing him eyes that screamed fuck me. 

You watched their exchange from your seat at the bar, until the man was tapping his pockets, pulling a pack of cigarettes out and passing one to the woman, leading her to the front of the bar and then outside. 

  With the attractive man and the blonde gone, you could look at the man with them for the first time, with no interruptions. He was a little older than the man who accompanied him, dark hair, tanned skin, a strong yet beautifully carved nose, strong arms and big, broad shoulders. He was gorgeous, so gorgeous that you were distracted by the way that his thick thighs were spread out on the barstool, which was dwarfed by his huge frame. Unsure just how long you’d been staring, you failed to notice that he was looking in your direction. He was looking at you, looking at him and he was smirking. His face, gorgeous and now sporting an almost too smug expression, was looking right at you, and you were momentarily stunted by the intense eye contact. You were seldom intimidated by men these days, they were always so predictable, so similar to each other that you knew what was coming each time. But this impossibly handsome man had not yet spoken a word to you, and was already affecting you in ways you weren’t sure you had ever experienced. 

Pulling yourself together as best as you could, you began your routine. You smiled at him, feigning shyness, although you were not sure if this time your shyness was completely fake, and held his eye. You had done this countless times and knew what worked with men. Smile innocently, act bashful and coy and they were soon eating out of your hand. But you could tell that this man was different, his smirk was now gone but he still looked so confident, so sure of himself. You knew you were not in control of this situation, and you welcomed the feeling. You held eye contact and wordlessly beckoned him over with a wave of your hand, you had not yet heard his voice but you were already settled comfortably under the influence of his charisma, and you wanted more. As if in an out-of-body experience, you felt as though you could see your own eyes, and your eyes were undoubtedly, just as you expected the blonde’s eyes from earlier to be; screaming fuck me. 

You watched as he grabbed his drink, his hand so big that the glass looked as if it had shrunk in his hand, brought it up to his lips and took a long sip. As if in a trance, you watched as he gulped the drink down, his Adam's apple bobbing and you couldn’t help but notice the veins in his thick neck that were slightly prominent. The man then got up from the bar stool, turned completely in your direction and walked towards you. The distance he crossed wasn’t far at all, and you found yourself wishing it was further, wishing the universe would grant you more time to take in his perfect form from the front. 

He places a hand on the barstool next to yours and, still holding intense eye contact, speaks to you for the first time. “You’re far too beautiful to be in a place like this,” his voice was heavenly, deep and velvety with a slight Texan drawl that was enough to make you squirm in your seat. The way in which his voice affected you had you floored, you were completely speechless and could only look up at him from your seat. You gestured to the barstool his hand was resting on, wordlessly telling him to take a seat beside you. He smiled and pulled out the stool slightly, showcasing his strong bicep and forearm. “Are you here alone?” he asked as he looked you up and down. His eyes, although soft and kind, held a fierce intensity that intrigued you.

You lifted your glass to your lips with your left hand, the ring finger of which still sporting your wedding band, and licked a sliver of salt from the rim, all while holding his eye, said in the most seductive voice you could muster, “I wanted a night away,” and waited for the penny to drop. You liked for the men you slept with to know that you were married, that this was their only chance, that you were never going to see them again. Some would shrink away while others would lean in. Some needed to hear about the agreement and others found it sexy, that they were fucking another man’s wife. You hoped that Joel was not the type to shrink away, to recoil with offence, as if you had slapped him, as some of them would. You could tell the exact moment he noticed the ring, his mouth, previously open as if he was ready to speak, quickly clamped shut. His eyes glanced up at your face, and then back down to your hand, which was now gently resting on the bar top. 

“You’re married? I’m sorry I must’ve read this wrong,” he drawled, and moved to stand up but you quickly interjected.

“You didn't,” the words sounded rushed when they left your mouth, your voice louder than you intended, “You didn’t read anything wrong. My husband and I…..”. This was the part you didn’t like, explaining the agreement was never easy, “...we have an agreement,” you said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t inquire further. 

“Like a…. Like an open relationship?” he asked while raising his eyebrow, and you nodded affirmatively. 

“Yeah, basically,” you said, and suddenly realised you still did not know his name, he was still only a stranger to you, a stranger who’s body you wanted to lick the entirety of. You introduced yourself, telling him your name. 

“I’m Joel, nice to meet ya darlin’,” he drawled, gruff and impossibly sexy. Joel, finally hearing his name felt as if you had been waiting to hear it for years, you returned his sentiment and tried his name on your tongue, tasting it as you said it.

“I like your voice, like the way you say my name,” he smirked once again, and his confident aura reappeared. “Your husban’ must be crazy, if you were mine I’d damn near kill anyone else wantin’ to get involved.” 

“Do you want to get involved?” you asked, keeping your voice sounding as demure as you could while softly placing a hand above his knee, slowly tracing aimless patterns on his thigh, not so innocently creating a pattern with your fingertips, tracing higher and higher towards the apex of his thighs. 

“Isn’t it obvious what I want?” he drawled, looking you up and down, his eyes flitting from your hand on his thigh and up to your face, “if that's what you want, maybe I should take you home, wouldn’t want a woman like you all alone,” he said in a coy like statement, with almost a hint of sarcasm in his voice, his eyebrows raising with his speech. 

“That’s exactly what I want, Joel,” you responded, you didn't have to try and sound innocent anymore, you were desperate for anything he would give you, and he was not transparent with his desires. His confident air was enough to make your panties soak with desire, the weeping wetness that occurred between your legs was enough to make you agree to his suggestion, to agree to any suggestion or action he ordered. 

He stood up and, holding out his hand to you, led you outside of the bar, his hands, rough and calloused and so much bigger than yours, made your head spin with anticipation. Outside, the man Joel was with earlier was kissing the blonde but pulled away just in time to catch Joel opening a taxi door for you to climb into and said nothing, but lifted up both his hands in a thumbs up, and smirked. 

Joel’s house, promised to only be only a short taxi ride away, was a cosy home, and was adorned with pictures of a child, or teenager, one you were not sure you should ask the story of. His bedroom however, was typical of a man’s, although tidier than many, was plain, but for a few pictures which populated the otherwise bare walls. But before you got a chance to properly observe his bedroom he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, impossibly close. His hands travelled to your neck, gently wrapping his hands around it without applying any pressure. He was kissing you with fervour, his lips, while soft and supple, were aggressive in the way they claimed your mouth, he was possessive in his want, his touch, his need. His kiss, although distracting, was not distracting enough to divert your attention from the large hand that was trailing from your neck, to your collarbone and slowly to the low line of your dress, his soft caress of your breast quickly turned rough when he pinched your nipple, earning him a whimper from your lips. 

You were almost gasping for breath while his hands continued their assault on your chest, almost missing the whisper he let out against your mouth, asking, “are you sure you want this?” to which you quickly nodded your head. Although he smirked, he was clearly unsatisfied with your wordless reply, and placed his thumb and forefinger underneath your chin to lift your head to face him and upon meeting your eyes he uttered the words, “I need words, sweetheart” and you could have melted on the spot. Any other man calling you sweetheart would not have had the same affect, your cheeks would not have heated up as soon as his low drawl reached your ears, you would not have felt the urge to press your thighs together in search of friction, and you certainly would not have grown wetter from hearing the word. “Sweetheart,” from another man’s lips would have made you cringe, maybe uncomfortable, it might even have repulsed you. But not from Joel’s mouth, not from Joel’s plush, kissable lips, not in his deep voice with the Texan accent that left you craving more.   

Dazed, almost forgetting that what he’d said was a question, and warranted an answer, he smirked at you, again. His confidence had not wavered once, he knew you wanted him, and why not lean into it even more?

 “Please,” was the word that left your mouth. The only word. It was desperate and almost pathetic, but that’s exactly how you felt; desperate to feel his hands on you, desperate to feel his mouth on you, and desperate to feel his cock inside of you. His smirk only grew hearing the want in your plea, the need. He kissed you, slowly and unhurriedly, before walking you backwards until your calves hit the bed and you fell onto it. 

Before you could comprehend what was happening, Joel’s strong, calloused hands were grabbing your ankles, and roughly pulling you towards the end of the bed, towards him. 

Your excitement grew at his rough treatment, which only made you more shocked when he placed soft kisses where his hands were only a second ago, containing you in a harsh grasp. 

He kissed a trail up your legs, your core was almost buzzing in anticipation when he impatiently pushed your dress up so that it was bunched up around your waist and, wasting no time, pulled your underwear to the side, exposing your dripping heat. He admired the newfound view for a second, before licking a hot stripe from your hole to your clit, eliciting a deep groan from both of you. Joel continues to lap at your folds messily, he was letting out groans of appreciation which only added to your pleasure. You were a moaning mess already, writhing on the bed as he continued his assault on your pussy. Joel’s arms grabbed your ankles once again and lifted them so that your legs fell over his shoulder, opening you up for him even more and allowing him to wrap his arms around your thighs, his hands splayed out on your stomach, holding you down as you struggled to keep still the closer you got to coming. As if he could tell you were close, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, while simultaneously slipping two fingers into your soaking wet heat, thrusting them in and out a few times before curling them, his hands that were on your stomach pressing down and adding more pressure. You could no longer comprehend a thing, you were no longer in that room, in that house, it hardly felt like you were in your own body. Joel’s incessant movements had pushed you further than you had ever been pushed before and you were floating, hardly realising that you had completely soaked his sheets. When you came down and regained your senses, you lifted your head to look at him, only to find him already looking at you, the lower half of his face covered in your juices, dripping from his chin, and that damned smirk on his face. 

“You taste amazing, sweetheart,” he swiped his chin with the back of his hand as he spoke, the lewd action bringing heat to your cheeks. Placing his palms flat on the bed, he lifted himself up, climbing up your body until you were face to face. He kissed you roughly, his mouth still wet with your own essence, allowing you to taste yourself as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. Still reeling off the fact that this man, who you had only met tonight, had made you squirt, something no other man had ever done, not even Marcus, you broke off the kiss and quickly mumbled, “No one’s ever done that before,” into his mouth. He pulled away and, where you expected to see his signature smirk, you saw a shocked expression. 

“Really?” he questioned, his voice sounded genuine and almost concerned. “That’s a damn shame, sweetheart,” he continued while taking off his jeans and boxers, allowing you with your first view of his cock. Your eyes trailed down from his face, passing his broad shoulders and lean chest, soft belly, the trail of hair that led to his cock. You gasped involuntarily upon seeing it for the first time. It was without a doubt the biggest you had ever seen in front of you, and although you were desperate to feel him inside of you, his size made you nervous. 

“Well, let's see if we can make you squirt again, darlin’,” he said while slowly pumping his cock, and, sensing your nerves, he lowered his face to yours and kissed you before whispering, “We can stop anytime you want to ok? Just say ‘red’ if you want to stop.” You nodded with complete enthusiasm, his reassurance completely erased your nerves and you felt more than ready to take him. 

He ran his hand through your folds, collecting your wetness and spread it all over his cock before asking, “You want me t’ open you up a little more, baby?”, to which you burst out a loud ‘no’ before realising your lips were moving. Your want for him had seemed to reach its peak, and you couldn’t wait any longer. He smiled at you and tapped his tip against your clit once, twice, three times, making you whine and grind your hips, chasing his cock. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were a slut, baby,” he accused while lining himself up with your entrance, without pushing inside. 

Your breathing was growing heavier from his teasing and all you could manage was a small, “Please,” while you stared up at him, silently begging for him to just put it in. 

He granted your silent request and pushed in, slowly letting you feel all of him filling you up, but not before chuckling softly and breathing out a low, “I fuckin’ knew it,”. You had never been called a slut during sex before, but his degrading words mixed with the slight burn of his cock stretching you out was making your pussy drip on the sheets. He slowly filled you up to the brim, his tip lightly kissing your cervix as he bottomed out, he stayed there, unmoving and looked at you intently, searching for any sign of discomfort. 

Before he could ask if you were ok, if he could move, you started grinding your hips into him, desperate to feel any sort of friction. His feeling of his cock stretching you out was delicious, but it didn’t satisfy you, it only made you needy for more. Joel, realising that you were ok and wanted more, let out a low chuckle and withdrew his hips, leaving only his tip resting inside you, and then pushed all the way inside again, letting out a low groan. He repeated these movements, a slow in and out until you were a complete mess, moaning and groaning, writhing and squirming, unable to contain your reaction to the devastation his cock was causing your body. But you still needed more, you needed him to be fast and rough with you, to fuck you like his life depended on it, like it was the last thing he would do. So, you did the only thing you knew how to do at that moment, you begged. “Please, Joel, please go faster,” you interrupted yourself with a whimper as his cocked brushed against that spot that made your eyes flutter closed involuntarily. “Please, I can take it, I want it harder,” you looked up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth and your hands gripping the sheets.

Joel seemed to lose control momentarily, he threw your legs over his broad shoulders, which made his cock feel deeper than you thought possible, the angle making you moan loudly. His hands then flew to your neck, and they were nowhere near as gentle as they were  when he softly held your neck earlier, his grip was harsh this time, restricting your breathing slightly as he sped up his thrusts, holding his face close to yours and letting out a low growl. 

“I knew you were a slut as soon as I saw ya’.” He grunted with a surprising amount of control in his voice as he continued to fuck you with full strokes, completely emptying you before filling you again. “Actin’ all shy, but I saw through that. You’re just a dirty. Little. Slut.” He punctuated each word with a hard thrust. You had never been fucked like this in your life. The only way you thought to describe the whole experience was feral. The way Joel was fucking you was feral. The way you reacted to it was feral. The way you craved more was feral. You craved his cock as soon as it left you, and were quickly satisfied once again only to be craving more seconds later. 

“Oh God, Joel,” you cried out in a high pitched whine, his words, combined with his quick, hard thrusts, were pushing you towards the edge for the second time that night. This was exactly what you wanted, exactly what you've been craving for so long and to have it given to you by a random man you met in a bar shocked you. You barely had to ask for what you wanted, Joel gave it to you happily, he seemed to enjoy this just as much as you did. 

“Oh you like that, huh? You like bein’ called a slut?” his face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath on your face as he spat out the words. You could only whimper and nod your head, you were already completely fucked out, wrecked from the way he was using your pussy. Your eyes were beginning to close when he ordered you to look at him and when you did he called another order, “Open your mouth,” he commanded, and you didn't even have to think before you obeyed him, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. His spit landed perfectly in the middle of your tongue, and you were so shocked from watching his lips pucker, and spit into your mouth that you swallowed immediately, the sight, the action and the feeling of him spitting in your mouth was something you had never experienced. And you loved it. 

Joel grabbed your chin roughly and forced your mouth open, seeing that you had swallowed every drop of spit that he gave you, he growled out a low, “good girl,” which made you moan loudly, a harsh, guttural sound that you were sure you had never made before. It was an accidental reaction that brought the smirk back to Joel’s face as he forced two of his fingers into your mouth and trailed them down your body. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he travelled down to just above where his cock was sliding into your cunt and swiped your clit in slow, firm circles that made your head spin. 

“I want you to come for me,” although his voice was starting to sound breathless, his command was still strong, it was not a suggestion, you were going to come for him. “Be a good girl, and come on my cock,” his fingers circling your clit sped up, sending you rushing towards your peak. Your moans grew louder and louder, until you were almost screaming, your head moving to the side to try and muffle the noise. As Joel continued his movements, his grunts were getting louder as he began to grow close. This was only intensified when you tightened around him, your walls fluttering as you came with a loud moan, gasping for breath. 

“Good girl,” Joel said through gritted teeth as he picked up his pace, fucking you harder and faster as he chased his high. “You're such a good girl for me, sweetheart,” he continued, his voice sounding more and more strained the more he spoke. 

“Oh fuck, baby,” the lewd sound of your skin slapping together and your wetness accompanied his strained voice, and all you could do as you took his cock over and over again, was listen to the pornographic sounds. “You’re gonna make me come,” he confessed, speeding up his thrusts even more, making you let out a squeal of surprise. 

“You’re my new little slut.” His fingers returned to circle your clit, forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. This new amount of pleasure was a shock to you, Joel was already testing your limits, pushing the boundaries of your body and you were loving every second of it. 

“I don’t care if you got a ring on your finger, you're my slut now,” he claimed you again through gritted teeth and you couldn't help but let out a moan at this. You wanted to be his, and you weren't even the slightest bit ashamed. 

“Now be a good little slut and cum for me again,” his fingers sped up on your clit, and just when you thought you couldn't come again, your mouth was open in a silent scream as your whole body tensed up. Your walls caved in on Joel’s cock until he came inside the condom with a loud groan, continuing to thrust softly inside you before pulling out and throwing the full condom in the bin. Your mind was completely blank, so blank that you barely registered that you had no energy to get up, that you barely registered Joel softly wiping your pussy and legs with a warm cloth, or Joel finally taking off the dress that you had kept on due to impatience, pulling the covers over your body, and bringing you close to him before kissing your forehead. 

----------------------

You woke with a start, immediately realising you were not at home. You were in a foreign room, in a foreign bed, wrapped in foreign arms. You slowly got out of bed, gently unwrapped yourself from Joel's arms and crept to the bathroom. You take a look in the mirror and see a liar. You haven’t lied yet, but you know you will. Staring at yourself, you realise that you broke a rule last night by staying at Joel’s. You had one of the best nights of your life, undoubtedly the best sex of your life but you broke a rule, a rule your husband had set, a rule you had agreed to, a rule to avoid feelings getting involved, to avoid getting too close. Unsure what to do, you headed back into the bedroom with a vague plan of getting your clothes and leaving before Joel woke up. The plan was ruined as soon as you entered the bedroom and saw Joel awake, looking at you in all your naked glory. He smiles at you and beckons you towards him. You walk towards him, feeling as though your feet are moving of their accord, with no help from your brain and he pulls you back into bed, kissing your cheek before whispering in your ear, “I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.”

Before you could help yourself, you answer honestly, “Same here,” you said, maybe a little too honestly. He kisses you in response, it was full of passion and reminded you of the night before, how he’d claimed you as his, despite the ring on your finger. His hand trailed to your neck, and down your collarbone before softly caressing your breasts and asking, “Can I touch you, baby? I didn't get enough last night.” His voice was in your ear and was even more deep and gruff after a full night's rest. You knew that you should have put an end to it there, should have gathered your things and left, you should have resisted him. But you couldn't. There was something about him that you wanted, that you needed, that you craved. 

So, you nodded your head and whispered a soft yes which was met with a teasing pinch to your nipple before he kissed you again. He continued pinching and rubbing your nipples before trailing his hand lower, moving to rub your clit slowly. Your moans and whimpers were interrupted by a question from Joel, “I promised to make you squirt again last night, you didn't think I'd let you go home before staying true to my word did ya’ sweetheart?” He doubled his efforts, sliding two fingers into your core before curling them, just like he did last night, only this morning, he used his thumb to rub quick but firm and controlled circles on your clit, stimulating you just right, and sending you towards your peak. His other hand was splayed over your stomach, lightly pushing down to add more pressure and soon you were chanting his name over and over, praying that he didn't stop. 

“C’mon baby, soak me,” he grunted just as your orgasm hit you, buzzing through your body, making you feel light and airy, and you soon felt the wetness grow on the sheets, a sure sign he had made you squirt, again. 

“Oh my God,” your voice sounded breathless and all you could do was fight for breath and lie back on the bed. Joel lay down beside you and, turning your head to face him, smiled cockily at you. You smiled back at him and made a move to grab his cock, ready to return the favour but he shook his head and said, “That was about you, darlin, you don’t have to do anything,”. Before you could protest and say that you wanted to, because fuck did you want to feel him in your mouth, his features turned from cocky to nervous. You locked eyes with him as his mouth opened and closed, as if he was trying to force the words out but something stopped him each time. 

Eventually, he spoke, “Can I erm…. Can I see you again sometime?” His question had you swooning, you tried to stop yourself, you really did, but the apprehension in his voice, something you had not encountered in him since you met only added to your desire to see him again. And so, you said yes and gave him your phone number, before telling him you had to go.  

“At least let me make ya’ some breakfast before ya’ run off, sweetheart,” his words had you quickly feeling hungry, having not even thought about food this morning, you nodded your head, and he jerked his head towards the hallway. You put on last night's dress and followed him downstairs. On the way to the kitchen you took more notice of the pictures scattered around the house, there were some of Joel and the man you’d seen at the bar last night, and some of the girl you’d noticed on the way in last night. She looked a beautiful girl and you wanted to ask who she was, and who she was to Joel especially, but he was already asking you a question.

“How do you take your coffee?” He was straining his neck to look behind him at you as he asked the question. 

“Just two sugars, please,” you answered as you sat behind him on the island as he made your coffee, appreciating his naked back as he busied himself. His toned shoulders, the muscles in his back tensing as he moved. 

He turned around and placed your coffee in front of you, you smiled in thanks, which he readily returned. 

“So what do you do? we kind of skipped over the small talk last night” he said with a chuckle, his cheeks turning slightly red, “But i wanna know more about you.”

“I work in publishing,” you answered after taking a small sip of your too hot coffee, “so I read a lot of manuscripts, decide if they’re likely to sell, I could be editing the book, or I could be promoting books.” 

“Why’d you decide to go into that?” he asked with genuine interest, while turning

around to turn on the stove. “You good with scrambled eggs?”

“Yeah scrambled’s good,” you grinned at how easy this felt, you were only getting to know each other the morning after, but it felt good to sit here with him and just talk. “I’ve always loved reading and just books in general, so I got my degree in English Literature and then I didn’t know what to do, so I did a masters in publishing.”

“If you love books so much why don’t you just write one?” he asked as if it was the easiest thing in the world, turning around to give you a look that said, “duh”, before returning to cracking the eggs. 

“well……I don’t really think I'm good enough to actually write a book. I know when a book is good and when it’ll sell but, I don’t know if i could write a good book” you asked with slight insecurity. Marcus had never asked this, never suggested you do what you really wished to do, what you’ve always wanted to do. 

“That sounds like bullshit to me, you should try it,” you laughed at his nonchalance,  you liked how he thought you should do something no matter how unrealistic it sounded.

“We’ll see,” you answered with a chuckle before returning his question, “what do you do?”

“I’m a contractor, me and my brother, the guy I was with last night, have our own

Company,” he explained while quickly whisking the eggs, his muscles working overtime and giving you an amazing view of his back tensing. “I started  when I was young, right out of school.”

“Do you enjoy it?” He only shrugged in response at first, before turning around to face you.

“Pays the bills,” he said before serving up your breakfast and sitting next to you with his own. 

“So what would you enjoy doing?” you asked, since he was so adamant that you do what you want, no matter your insecurities.

“Well..” he started, and while scratching the back of his neck, seemed to contemplate whether this was something he actually wanted to say. “I always wanted to be a singer, every since I got my first guitar.”

You couldn't help but grin at the thought of the man next to you singing with a guitar in  his lap. “Well, you’ll have to sing for me sometime,” you suggested, unable to contain your grin as you spoke. 

“If you’re lucky, sweetheart, now eat your food.” He tapped your plate as he spoke, “‘M sure ya need your energy after last night.”

You both enjoyed your food in silence, you caught him looking at you while you chewed a particularly big mouthful of food, and he only chuckled when you stared back at his obnoxiously big bites. You thanked him for the food and tried to do the dishes yourself, but he looked at you as if you were a lunatic and did them himself, leaving you to do nothing but admire him again. 

You were ready to call a taxi to pick you up and, asking if he had any numbers you could call, but he didn't gratify your question with an answer, he instead looked at you with a dumbfounded look on his face and said, “I’ll drive ya sweetheart,”. He didn't listen to your protests, ran upstairs to put a shirt on and picked up his keys, led you outside, opened the passenger door of the truck for you before running to the other side and jumping in. You gave him the name of your street and he started the car, grumbling about it only being a 5 or so minute drive and drove. His arms were almost bulging out his shirt, his broadness creating the impression his clothes were bursting at the seams. 

He looked over at you, caught you staring and looked you up and down before saying, “That dress looks even better on you this morning than it did last night, especially with your hair all messed up,” he smiled as he spoke, looking ahead at the road but stealing glances at you every now and then. 

You smiled and made a humming noise, as if you were thinking hard and responded, “You looked better last night,” and smiled teasingly at him. He in fact, did not look better last night, his hair, messy and dishevelled made him look adorable and seeing him in comfier clothes than last night was incredibly sexy. 

He let out a chuckle and smiled at you again. Every smile he threw your way felt so genuine, and never failed to melt you into a puddle. As the car came to a stop outside your house, Joel leaned over to kiss your cheek and quietly asked, “So I’ll text you?” to which you nodded, thanked him for the ride and moved to get out of the car. But he interrupted your move with another question, “And you're sure your hubby’ll be all good with that?” You had no idea how to respond and in your shock all you gave was a timid mhm as you rushed out of the car and onto the driveway of yours and your husbands shared home.

He shouted a “see ya, sweetheart,” as you walked and you prayed none of your neighbours heard and walked into your home feeling guiltier than ever. 

Upon your arrival home, you showered immediately, desperately needing some time to think. But thinking only added to your guilt. You had broken the second rule of your agreement last night by staying the night. You’d let him touch you again this morning, and you enjoyed it, you loved it. You’d agreed to see him again, and you didn’t regret agreeing, worst of all you wanted to see him again, but that would be another rule broken. Another lie. Another betrayal. As guilty as you felt, there was a voice in your head, you imagined it to be the devil on your shoulder, whispering in your ear that maybe, just maybe, Joel Miller was worth it. 

Read part 2 here !!!

[wildestdreamsblog]

Hiraeth II

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

Summary: You had always been his, and no one could take you away from him. Idol!AU

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Slight age gap, Murder intention, Mention of death, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: you know what, Kim Seokjin just hits different to me. I miss him and I’m taking u all down with me in my I-miss-u-jin-era.

Masterlist Hiraeth I

After you got over your initial shock in which you thoughtlessly swung your fist to his handsome face, you found yourself sheepishly walking to the kitchen where you could hear him moving. He looked up as soon as you entered the room, one side of his bruised lips tilted up. He watched you moved with a secretive smile on his face that you so badly wanted to erase. Jin looked like he was thoroughly enjoying this. You couldn’t help but notice how much he changed. He matured, no longer the young man who had soft cheeks and undefined body. Instead, your eyes roamed over his sharp features and his muscular back that couldn’t be hidden by his shirt. In front of you was a man who was confident. And you didn’t know how to handle him.

You didn’t know how to handle him when in the first place, you thought you would never see him again, not after you ran from him. Not after he begged you to come back.

“What are you doing here?” You finally asked after enough time had passed and he was still looking at you as though he was waiting for you to crack. And you did. You could’t take his heavy eyes, couldn’t take the silence as he watched you.

Was he this insufferable when you were younger?

Were you just too blind to see him for how he really was?

Additionally…was he this beautiful when you were younger? Or was time just unfairly favorable to him?

He gestured to the noodles he was stirring. “I’m cooking us breakfast, princess.”

His old name for you hindered you from reacting quickly. You blinked owlishly, memories of him calling you that playing in flashback.

“Yes….but why here?”

He turned off the stove leisurely as if his answer wouldn’t rattle your whole world before leaning his body on the counter, his eyes focused on yours. “Where else would I be? I live here.”

“What? B-but, your mother- she didn’t tell me…”

He shrugged, busying himself with plating the food and bringing it to the simple yet elegant dining table. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” He asked in a nonchalant voice, his movements precise and calm.

When you didn’t answer, he tilted his head to the side, his hand inside his pocket as he stalked slowly to where you were standing near the door. If he noticed how you seemed to be one push away from running, he didn’t comment. Instead, there he was, his tall form towering over you. “Do I make you nervous, princess?”

“J-Jin-“

“Tsk,” he shook his head, his dark, unfathomable eyes focused on yours. His hair was pushed back from his forehead, giving him that regal look you always thought he possessed. “What happened to ‘Oppa’?” He asked in what one would thought of as a sincere question, but the mocking glint in his eyes could not fool you.

“I-I don’t-“

“Hmm? You don’t what?” He whispered sweetly, his fingers stroking your hair. He was transfixed with the way time changed you. Yet, he hated how he wasn’t there to experience growing up with you because you took yourself away from his grasp. But no more. He took a deep breath to calm the demons in him, before flashing you his usual, carefree smile.

“Do I still affect you, princess?”

“N-no!”

Jin regarded you for a moment too long, his eyes sparkling with something akin to mischief and danger. “Perfect,” he beamed at you before pulling your wrist to the dining table. “There’s no reason for you not to stay here, then. Come on, let’s eat.”

Despite him acting as though no years passed between the two of you, you simply couldn’t. You could feel the weight of seeing him in person sitting heavily on your shoulders, could hear the unspoken words no one had the strength and courage to say, could feel the guilt and anguish in your heart.

“So,” you began, your eyes focused on the chopsticks in your hand. “H-how have you been, Seokjin?”

He scoffed, his dark eyes boring on yours. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

“It’s just that…it’s been so long.”

“And whose fault is that,” he stated tonelessly, his large hand closing to a fist before calming himself down. He needed to remind himself that he had you now, that he wasn’t going to lose you this time.

He had to remind himself that he needed to forgive you if he wanted a clean start with you.

“Never mind,” you sighed, clearly discouraged with his response. What did you expect? You practically ghosted him the moment your turned eighteen, turning your back on your closest childhood friend, to your remaining family just because you were in pain.

Perhaps, you should acknowledge that you hurt him in the process of healing yourself. You didn’t know if you wanted to fix the ruined relationship between the two of you, didn’t know if you could redeem yourself. You had so much buried feelings that you didn’t know if this was worth it.

You quietly ate your food, already internally planning your living situation. You would sort out your living situation today. You could not live with Jin, not when he made you feel things you thought you had long killed. You could not-

“I’m sorry.”

You blinked owlishly as you looked up at the man sitting in front of you. Your astonished and lost expression softened his resolve, it melted his anger.

Only you could silence the dark thoughts in his head. Ironically, you were the reason why the demons in his mind were born.

“I shouldn’t have said that. You were just trying your best to heal the way you know how. It’s okay,” Jin stated, his eyes trained on you, willing you to see his sincerity. Except that it wasn’t okay you left. Yet, he knew it was the best for you despite it destroying him so monumental it took him years to feel normal.

Should you leave him again, he knew the carefully reconstructed sanity of his will tumble down.

“I’m just sorry you had to do it all alone,” he whispered sadly.

Aside from your therapist, you had never spoken about this with anyone. To you, it was something so tragic that saying it would make you relive the pain, loneliness and desperation it caused you. This was the first time in almost a decade that someone acknowledged your pain, you strength, and the sacrifices made along the way.

“But princess,” he continued, his hand reaching across the table to clasp yours. And once he did, he felt peace the moment he was able to touch you. “You don’t have to be alone. Not anymore.”

It was an hour later when you emerge to the living room where Jin was drying his hair. His movements slowed down when he saw you after you ran once again from him. After he said that you didn’t have to be alone, you walked to the bedroom without a word. You didn’t know how to handle your emotions, and the only way you knew how was to run.

And so ran, you did.

He raised his dark eyebrows at you when you didn’t say anything. “Going somewhere?”

You nodded, looking anywhere but him. Was he always this handsome even when had just showered? Was this fair? You looked like a drenched cat when you finished showering, and yet he looked like he was shooting a commercial.

“D-do you know where the nearest bus stop is?”

He nodded, “It’s more than an hour away.”

“What about taxi?”

He blinked innocently, “This is an exclusive neighborhood, princess. Taxis are not allowed here,” he shared in a thoughtful manner.

You swore under your breath. You had grown up in Korea, but you lived your whole adult life in abroad that you were no longer confident with yourself here. You were so certain that you would get lost.

He watched you with a smirk in his face, “You can borrow one of my cars,” he offered with an innocent look on his face.

“I don’t know how to drive.”

He knew that.

“In that case,” he sighed as he stood up, stretching his hands upwards. You didn’t even have it in you to not look at his toned abs, didn’t have it in you to look away from his leaned, yet muscular arms. Jin smiled innocently at you when he noticed your wandering eyes.

“In that case, I need to drive you,” Jin shook his head slowly as though he was burdened by this when the truth was that this was his plan all along.

Jin sat patiently at the hotel lobby, his legs spread out. He was smiling indulgently as you walked near him with a defeated expression in your face. Jin was wearing a black cap to hide his identity, and besides that, an inconspicuous bodyguard was trailing after the two of you at Jin’s command. He wouldn’t risk his princess, after all.

He looked up at you as you stood in front of him, your expression confused and tired as you informed him that there was no available room. This was the seventh hotel you went to, and so far your plan hadn’t been successful.

“So?”

You shook your head, clearly apparent that you wouldn’t move out today. You were stuck. And you loathed depending on anyone, more so you hated depending on him again just like when you were younger. Just like when he would always take care of you, regardless if he was reluctant or not. You became overly independent when you moved away from everyone. It was a thing that your therapist was still trying to resolve. However, you just couldn’t let yourself depend on anyone on anything ever gain for the fear that one day, they might leave you alone too.

“I’ll just stay in a motel-“

Jin stood up, his proximity effectively cutting you off. He tilted your chin up, his eyes serious. “I’m not making you leave, princess. You can stay with me as long as you want,” he offered with a sincere smile in his face when all he wanted to say was that your place was beside him, and it should have been the case since the beginning if only he didn’t lose control. He could see the battle in your eyes, the weariness and the stubbornness to not to give in to him was apparent. You needed a nudge.

You entered the quaint restaurant, your eyes roaming around the area as you waited for Jin. He dropped you off in front before parking his car. The restaurant had a homey vibes to it. Sunlight was freely flowing to the room, and the windows were open which allowed the customers to feel the pleasant breeze. You could see customers enjoying their food and talking animatedly with the other- more so the one group on your right who had their heads bowed down, too engrossed with their food while talking and laughing among themselves. You felt a hand on the small of your back. You looked behind you to see Seokjin smiling at you with his cap still on. He was guiding you in when you heard the sound of utensils falling on the floor. You looked to your right where the group of men were eating and realization dawned upon you.

Jungkook’s eyes were the first ones you met. His doe eyes were even bigger from shock, his mouth agape with his chopstick suspended in the air. Beside him was Taehyung who looked at you and Jin with knowing eyes before smiling that rectangular smile of his. Jimin and Hoseok both looked at you in surprised.

“H-hyung?” Jungkook called Jin with confusion in his face as he looked down at Jin’s hand on you. He had never seen his hyung touched someone from another gender willingly. To be honest, Seokjin didn’t care much about anyone outside the members and his own family. Seeing him looking at you with too much emotion in his otherwise emotionless eyes made all of them curious about who you were.

Jin sighed before looking at his members. “You’re all here. Again.”

“We were starving…” the man you recognized as the leader explained sheepishly. He turned to look at you before smiling, “Hi. I’m Namjoon. And you are?”

—

You found yourself sat beside Seokjin who was busy putting food on your plate. If he noticed his members looking at him as though an imposter took his place, he didn’t comment. It was as if the six men looking at the two of you with mixture of bewilderment from Jungkook and Jimin, curiosity from Namjoon and Hoseok, amusement from Taehyung and strangely, indifference from Yoongi, didn’t bother him.

But it bothered you.

You broke eye contact with Taehyung who was sitting beside you with his chin resting on his hand as he examined you with twinkle in his eyes to look at the other man beside you.

“Are you sure it’s fine for me to sit with you? What if someone sees?” You leaned to whisper at Jin.

He merely shrugged. It didn’t matter. In fact, he wanted the world to know you were his. “Eat, princess.”

“I can’t,” you whispered once again, hyperaware of the six pair of eyes on you and him.

“Why?”

“Why are they looking at me?”

Seokjin craned his neck up, frustration evident on his face before looking at his younger members with a terrifying glare. “Why are you always here?”

“We were hungry-“

“And you ate. Now leave.”

“Is that how you treat your customers, hyung?” Jimin teased with a pout before looking at you innocently.

Wait, this was his?

“You’re not my customers because you all rarely pay!”

Chaos ensued as the men bickered and teased each other. You could see the familiarity and the love between them that came with years and years of companionship. You were unknowingly smiling before eating your late lunch. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you actually ate. They were all still arguing, albeit without any claws to their words, when you felt a finger poking your arm.

“I’m Taehyung,” he introduced himself before offering you his hand. You shook his hand warily. “I’m Y/N.”

“So, Y/N, how did you know my hyung?” He asked, uncaring of the bickering of the men in front of him. He was more interested with who you were. His hyung never did once look at any woman, never once did he touch them. In fact, he was irritated whenever some woman would sauntered to him and flirted. Behind his hyung’s pleasant personality and contagious laugh lied his cold persona reserved for people who didn’t matter to him.

Which was exactly why you were a puzzle to the group. For the first time since they met him, they saw their hyung smiled so genuinely at a woman. For the first time, they saw the darkness that somehow terrified them in Jin’s eyes vanished.

“Oh uhm. We’re childhood friends. His parents and my dad were the best of friends.”

Were?

Yoongi, who hadn’t said a thing yet, tilted his head when he heard you. He looked at you with indifferent eyes before slyly shifting his bored gaze to his only hyung who visibly stiffened from your words.

Interesting.

You watched him as he took his pillow and RJ in his arms. Seokjin really looked comfy and yet, so beautiful despite wearing only his pajamas. “You know I can take the sofa. I don’t mind. I really don’t want to be an imposition on-“

“Nonsense, princess. I want you to be comfortable here. You’re my guest after all,” he turned to look at you before smiling. He walked towards the bed where you were sitting. He leaned down and softly placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Good night, my princess,” he whispered, and before you could even react, he was out of the room.

You opened your eyes, and you were back to that nightmare. You saw your father walking away from you to that damned lake. You felt your heart skipped a beat, your legs moving faster and faster to stop him.

You knew what would happened.

You had seen this before.

You had lived this before.

“Dad! Please. Stop!” You shouted on top of your lungs, but it was as though he didn’t hear you. He kept on walking and walking, until he was in the middle of the frozen lake. He paused his movement to look at you. He never aged. His looks frozen in time.

“Run, my daughter,” he said with a serious note in his voice. This was different. He never said this in all your nightmares. “Run far. And don’t come back.”

“What? Dad, please! Just come here!” You shouted, and now you felt tears falling freely on your face. You knew what would happened.

You knew his destiny.

And you could never do anything about it but to see him fall to the icy water.

“Y/N! Wake up.”

“Princess, please. Wake up. It’s okay. You’re safe with me.”

“Wake up.”

And then you woke up. Your breath were ragged as though you were running for your life. You could feel his fingers wiping away your tears. You were full-on sobbing in front of him. And before you knew it, his arms were around you as he maneuvered your body to rest on top of his chest. Your hand fisted his shirt, wanting anything to ground you. Your heart was beating faster despite escaping the nightmare, and for the life of you, you didn’t know why you still felt unsafe.

Soothingly, he was running his hand on your back. Seokjin was patient as he waited for you to calm down. You felt his lips on top of your head. You heard him whisper how you were safe with him and that he would never let anything bad happen to you ever again.

And that night, he didn’t let you go.

—

“My baby looks so handsome!” His mother cooed at the four-year old Seokjin. She fixed his hair gently before holding his tiny hand in hers. She followed her husband inside their closest friend’s home. His wife had just given birth a month ago and this was the first time they would see the little bundle of joy. She was so ecstatic when she learned that the baby was a girl, much to her son’s disgust.

‘Girls are yucky, mommy!’

“Do you wanna see her?”

Did he? He looked thoughtful for a moment, his adorable pout ever so present in his lips. Perhaps, he should see what the fuss was about. He was almost certain- no, he was 100% sure that he was more endearing than that little elf who did nothing but cried.

But fine, he supposed he should look at her one time, then never again.

With a reluctant nod, his mother patted the seat beside her. Once he was fully sat down, his mother lowered the baby to his level which allowed him to peak at the crying Y/N.

Seokjin’s eyes widened at how could someone as little as you cried so loud?

Additionally, how could someone as little as you looked so…wonderful?

As though he was in a trance, Jin moved his face closer to you. His little hand was on its way to caress your hair when he heard his mother gently warn him to be careful. And so, he did. His little hand touched the sparse hair on your small head. He caressed it once, twice, and to the adults’ surprised, you stopped wailing your heart out as thought you were finally at peace.

“She likes you,” your father observed, his eyebags made it apparent that you weren’t letting your parents sleep.

“I think we should keep him with her so she would stop crying, right Jinnie?” He teased the little child.

Jin, on other hand, didn’t say anything. His focus was solely on you. Little Seokjin deemed it okay to stay with you.

It was a sweet moment, really it was. Until Jin dove down to peck your lips, and then chaos ensued.

Hiraeth III

[scoops-stevie-archive]

in the three months leading up to steve meeting the rest of eddie's family, eddie has taken it upon himself to run steve through a crash course in the munson family cookbook. they'll be in kentucky the whole summer so steve has to be prepared.

tonight, eddie said he was making steaks.

when steve gets to the trailer after work, eddie's frying something in the skillet that obviously does not smell like any steak he's ever eaten.

"uh, eddie?"

eddie looks over his shoulder. "hey, sweetheart!"

steve sets his keys on the table before walking over and looking over eddie's shoulder. he's even more confused. "i thought you said we're having steak?"

"we are," eddie nods toward the skillet.

"that doesn't look like it."

eddie rolls his eyes and turns around to face him. "not steak from a cow," he says, like it's obvious (it is not, in fact, obvious). "it's bologna."

steve resists the urge to rub at his temples. instead, he puts his hands on eddie's hips and rubs his thumbs over the little tease of skin between his shirt and jeans.

"baby, i don't think bologna counts as steak."

"it does for us poor folk." eddie reaches up and grabs steve's nose, gently giving it a shake. "we call it poor man's steak. real steak's expensive so we gotta use what we can afford." he gestures behind him. "so, bologna."

steve doesn't remember the last time he ate bologna, or if he did at all. all his meals consisted of whatever his mom cooked and it definitely wasn't any of the things eddie had made him so far.

(don't tell his mom, but eddie's food is way better. he can taste the love it was made with.)

"it does smell pretty good," steve concedes. his stomach gives a growl. he hadn't eaten lunch because he was so excited for a steak dinner.

eddie grins and reaches for the loaf of bread on the counter. "pick your poison, then, stevie-boy!" he sweeps his hand over the options of toppings: mustard, mayonnaise, lettuce, and tomato. "we're eatin' like kings tonight!"

[werepuppy-steve]

in the three months leading up to steve meeting the rest of eddie's family, eddie has taken it upon himself to run steve through a crash course in the munson family cookbook. they'll be in kentucky the whole summer so steve has to be prepared.

tonight, eddie said he was making steaks.

when steve gets to the trailer after work, eddie's frying something in the skillet that obviously does not smell like any steak he's ever eaten.

"uh, eddie?"

eddie looks over his shoulder. "hey, sweetheart!"

steve sets his keys on the table before walking over and looking over eddie's shoulder. he's even more confused. "i thought you said we're having steak?"

"we are," eddie nods toward the skillet.

"that doesn't look like it."

eddie rolls his eyes and turns around to face him. "not steak from a cow," he says, like it's obvious (it is not, in fact, obvious). "it's bologna."

steve resists the urge to rub at his temples. instead, he puts his hands on eddie's hips and rubs his thumbs over the little tease of skin between his shirt and jeans.

"baby, i don't think bologna counts as steak."

"it does for us poor folk." eddie reaches up and grabs steve's nose, gently giving it a shake. "we call it poor man's steak. real steak's expensive so we gotta use what we can afford." he gestures behind him. "so, bologna."

steve doesn't remember the last time he ate bologna, or if he did at all. all his meals consisted of whatever his mom cooked and it definitely wasn't any of the things eddie had made him so far.

(don't tell his mom, but eddie's food is way better. he can taste the love it was made with.)

"it does smell pretty good," steve concedes. his stomach gives a growl. he hadn't eaten lunch because he was so excited for a steak dinner.

eddie grins and reaches for the loaf of bread on the counter. "pick your poison, then, stevie-boy!" he sweeps his hand over the options of toppings: mustard, mayonnaise, lettuce, and tomato. "we're eatin' like kings tonight!"

[sleepykas]

Hiraeth chapter tomorrow :)

[blueberry-ovaries]

CHAPTER ONE: HELL IS A SANDY TOWN IN NORTH AFRICA

A/N: i’m so excited to present the first chapter of hiraeth! I really hope you guys love Winnie as much as I do! thank you all so much for the love <3

Word count: 1.9k

Content warnings: violence, swearing, reference to implied extreme violence (only before and after, no detailed description), probably historical inaccuracy

< prologue > - < next chapter >

The sand in Tobruk was different to the sand at the beach Winnie decided. In Tobruk, it was sharp. Small flecks leaving traces of dirt on her cheeks, specks of blood blooming against her skin. Her rucksack held diminished resources, her bandages covered in a layer of dust and grime. Her MRE supply dwindling every time the hot dessert was drowned under a blanket of night. Sometimes they had fires, but most of the time they were left to huddle together, utilising bodies for warmth.

Fires drew attention and attention drew bullets. Being surrounded on three of the four sides was relentless work, fighting and survival. Much more so when the fourth side was a small shipping dock. A dock that may seem irrelevant, but in the grand scheme of the war, that small little dock could change the course of the war in Europe.

Severely out numbered and surrounded, the Allies were forced to fight for mere inches of land. The Germans would not get to the dock. So they dug in. Put the hospital underneath an old tree in the hardened sand, and rationed their food for months on end.

Silver marks littered her skin, scars showcasing her survival. Seven in total, the largest, one running from nose to cheek on her right side. In her fourth month in Tobruk, A small squad of German soldiers broke the line, guns raised and bayonets fastened. They charged Winnie and her squad, a small group watching the line. Their guns lay forgotten next to their game of cards, as they fought with fists and rocks.

Winnie was pinned. An arm against her neck, knife to cheek. Squirming against the hot sand as her cheeks flush with exertion. He flicks a look down her face, ah a woman- a girl. Such a shame that a pretty thing like you is stuck in such a horrible place. His breath was hot against her skin as she pushed against him, his arms much more refined than that of a sixteen year old girl. Tell me, how do they treat a pretty thing like you? She spits, he flinches back, a snarl on his lips. stupid bitch he growls, as he presses down on her neck, his forearm cutting off air supply. He slices the knife down, the top of her nose to her right cheek. Blood streams down her chin as she screams. She was going to die, afraid and pinned.

His arms move to pin hers above her head as she writhes and squirms against it. Her chest heaved, eyes darting frantically. out. she needed to get out. The sting of the blade cutting through flesh holds no place in her mind. out. out. out. His free arm holds her face in a loose grip, he spits out threats of a slow death and insults.

As he moves the hand on her face towards her neck with a firm hand, and his face pressed near her ear, the world freezes. It’s just Winnie and the german soldier, and one of them would die tonight. Her arms can’t break free to reach the knife, his legs have caged hers down. So like a rabid dog, she bares teeth.

When the pounding in her ears becomes a soft ringing and her chest no longer racks with shuddered breaths. The metallic taste on her tongue drips from her chin. She looks down at her hands, shaking. His blood pools around him, shining in the reflection of the moon. i’m a monster. i’m a monster… or maybe a dog backed into a corner, forced to bare teeth and bite.

—

5th of August, 1942

With a gasp she shoots to a sitting position, the room blurry with sleep. Chest heaving Winnie swings her socked feet onto the ground, hands tangled in her hair. Her shirt sticks to her back although it’s cold and coming into winter.

Two days ago, Winnie was stationed at the Toccoa Georgia Base camp, where she would join the 2nd Battalion ,506th parachute infantry regiment, 101st division, easy company. She’s told they are going to be the best of the best. If you asked her, she would say they can’t be that good if they are yanks.

Today is the day. She meets her new platoon, new faces, same issues. Colonel Sink had graciously taken in the teen, assuring her commander in the ANZAC’s that she would fit right in, if she’s really as good as they say.

The morning wake up happened shortly after Winnie was dressed, packed and ready to go. Swinging her bag over her shoulder and grabbing her new yank hat. She made her way towards Colonel sinks office.

With a firm hand she knocks, straightening out her ever crooked collar

“Come in” the colonels gruff voice calls from behind the door

taking a shuddering breath, Winnie opens the door, walking in, standing with her hands behind her back. Frowning slightly at the odd looks she’s receiving

“Oh, right sorry” she mumbles, standing at attention.

As Colonel Sink gives her a salute in return she stands with her arms tucked behind her back. She shifts on her feet, picking at the skin around her nails.

“Colonel Sink, sir? i was asked to come and see you” she states hesitatingly “Winifred Hayes, your new-“

“I know who you are sergeant” the Colonel cuts her off. The older man pushes up on his desk to a stand, walking around to lean on the front of his desk, arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at her.

“Right. of course… sir” she answers quickly

“Do you know why you’re here Miss Hayes?” he asks firmly. Although older, and his hair more grey than brown, Colonel Sink held an aura of respect that was hard to not obey. Even someone like Winnie, who grew up in an informal setting, and called her previous leaders and CO’s various nicknames, knew that the man was someone to be respected. That’s not to say she held no respect for her previous CO’s, no. She respected them greatly, but the jump from Australian to American norms was a shock.

“To serve… sir?” Winnie stutters slightly, trying to remember that sir is used more consistent here. It was rather bothersome.

“Well i would hope so Miss Hayes” He answers with a light chuckle. “you are here because, you’re good.”

“Sir…?” Winnie frowns. Of course she was good.

“Never in all my years in the army have I heard of a woman, much less a girl, fighting in a war, to the extent you have, no less” He congratulates “And there ain’t much of you either! Look at you!” With a wheezy laugh the Colonel claps a hand over her shoulder

“Oh… well thank you… Sir” confused and quite frankly startled at the congratulations, Winnie picks up her bag, following Colonel Sink outside

“Now, don’t be too startled by your new CO. He’s tough, but i think you’ll fit right in with the men. Easy company is going to be our best” he explains, Winnie nodding along “Don’t expect him to go easy on you just ‘cause you’re a girl either, he’s gone treat you the same as the men”

The mans southern accent was quite odd. Winnie couldn’t place where it was from. Not that she knew much about southern accents

“Now, unfortunately we don’t have the space for a women’s only area, so you’re just gone have to figure it out with the men” Colonel Sink kept a firm grip on her shoulder as he walked towards, what Winnie assumes is her new company.

“Lieutenant Sobel, Winters” Colonel Sink returns the salute “This here is your new easy company member”

“…Sirs” Winnie salutes the two men, giving an awkward smile as they return it.

“Now i got some business to attend to, i trust she will be fine in your capable hands?” The Colonel finalises as he leaves

——

Winnie had never wanted the ground to swallow her whole more than she does right now.

She’s standing. In front of all of Easy company, as they stare at her. She can’t tell if it’s curiosity, hate or confusion.

“Men.” Sobel yells “Colonel Sink has decided that we deserved to be punished, in some form. At least that is the only reason i can think that a girl has been placed in our platoon”

Winnie pulls a face of disgust… or maybe it’s anger. Before she realises where she was and quickly stares blankly. An awkward silence had fallen over the group as she shifted her, rather heavy mind you, bag on her shoulder

“I expect each and every one of you to treat her” Sobel was glaring at her, she could feel the disgust in his eyes and words “how she deserves to be treated.”

Swallowing what she was sure was a string of curses Winnie feels a hand in her shoulder, Lieutenant Winters… was it?… And all the Easy men were gone. She had zoned out. again.

“Winifred Hayes was it?” The red headed man asked “Lieutenant Winters”

He held his hand out expectantly. She shook it firmly. Just like dad taught. Before being led away from the training ground

“Yes, although just Winnie is fine” with an appreciative smile she follows his lead “Only my grandmother calls me Winifred”

“Well just Winnie… Dick is also fine, when it’s not a formal setting of course” He smirked

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to upset a formal setting” Winnie answered with an awkward smile

“Let me grab that for you” Dick offered, reaching for her bag

“Oh… it’s really no worry, it’s probably pretty heavy” She mumbles as she rubbed the back of her neck

“I insist. It’s the least i could do after watching you stand in-front of the men like that” Instantly he took her bag from her shoulder “The men aren’t as bad as they look. I’m sure you’ll get along just fine… although many of them haven’t expected a girl at training”

“It’s fine. Not many people do” Winnie answers honestly, the steps to the barracks creaking under the weight of the two of them

The door creaks open, the shuffling inside the room freezing at the intrusion of the two new people, card games lay on various beds, feet kicked up with books and magazines being read. Instantly the men all stand to salute

“At ease gentlemen” Winters salutes back

The men fall back into a relaxed stance, staring… glaring? at Winnie. She gives an awkward smile.

“Gentlemen, this is Winnie Hayes, she’s new to Easy.” Winnie shifts on her feet “i expect you all to be kind to her, show her around. She’s one of us now, and she may just have some… wisdom to pass on”

Dick places her bag on an empty bed between two men, one a surly looking man with a sharp jaw, the other a red headed man who somehow had three people squashed onto his bed. The atmosphere only became more tense as Lieutenant Winters left, the door slamming behind him

“Where you from?” the surly man questioned, his accent was different to Colonel Sinks and Lieutenant Winters, it was more rough around the edges

“Why the fuck you wanna know?” She answers crossing her arms over her chest.

The surly man raises an eyebrow. great fucking going Winnie, piss off the first person you talk to. But to her surprise his lip quirks in a smile

“You got some bite to ya” he smirks.

She goes to answer as the door slams open again really should get that fixed. Sobel stands in the doorway, a glare on his face as he yells

“Get dressed we’re running Currahee”

A overall groan leaves the men after he leaves. Winnie just had one question…what the fuck was a currahee?

——

A/N: Winnie’s hatred for Americans will be explained! although it’s not a proper hatred

TAG LIST: @malarkgirlypop @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @bucky32557038ww2 @grumpy-liebgott @executethyself35

[eff-plays]

Tfw you had sex with someone despite not really wanting to because that's been your MO for a long while but this time you didn't have to do it but did it anyway and it's not really their fault that you're a freak and tbh they definitely weren't the worst but now you can't do your usual thing where they die/you steal their stuff and leave, and in fact you have to keep travelling with them and interacting with them and you're not sure what to make of it or where to go from here and tbh it's a little sad and maybe if you were anyone else it would've been nice and not weird but as it stands this is definitely gonna do some things to both your brains

[ghostellie]

call from home

5.2k words. daniel ricciardo-centric, christian horner. <- part 1

It’s not until 4 o’clock Thursday evening that the call comes in, when he’s finally sprawled out on the couch beneath a weighted blanket with a bowl of ice cream in his lap and The Avengers playing on TV. The shrill ring startles him from the half-doze he’d settled into, and he nearly pitches his melted ice cream onto the carpet as he jolts up to reach for his phone on the coffee table, the screen lit up with a familiar picture. “Daniel,” Christian’s voice filters through the speaker, clear despite the distance between them, tone so fond it makes tears catch in Daniel’s eyes. “How are you?”

[juliaswickcrs]

I have about one more scene before this next chapter of Hiraeth is done it only took me a year to update it RIP

[neonacity]

literally wolf!mc lmaooo

Hunter Jeno to her:

[owl-bones]

i drew a scene instead of writing it lskdjflksdjf

he’s being forced to attend a gala but it could also work for like, royal au or vampire au hehe

[raven--bones]

Chapter 6: trial shift

You meet way too many skeletons, but maybe they aren't all bad.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Hiraeth Masterlist

You had always been his, and anyone who tries to take you away from him will pay a dangerous price

Chapter I: In which it all started

Chapter II: In which he got you where he wanted

Chapter III: In which his well-crafted persona was starting to crack

Chapter IV: In which you started seeing the cracks

Chapter V: In which he would do anything to keep you