#idk southern will is so near and dear to my heart

[daisies-on-a-cup]

in my ideal version of a young southern will graham, he talks like old folks and says out-of-pocket shit in a very polite manner

[raplinesmoon]

Burn After Reading (KSJ x F!Reader) - VIII. Epilogue

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Female Reader

Genres: action, heavy angst, smut

AUs: exes-to-lovers, spy!AU

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: ANGST, finally some good freaking fluff, reconciliation, confessions, a proposal, open-ish ending

Ratings: 18+

Summary: The agency made the biggest mistake they ever could by trusting Kim Seokjin one more time. You weren’t going to do the same.

A/N: Hiiiii! She’s back. I guess. Idk what this is - but I was hit with a sudden burst of inspiration to see this story through. I don’t even know what this is, or if it’s even any good or if anyone even cares about them still, but here we are, and I’m happy I could give them some sort of ending. My love for Spy Seokjin remains as strong as ever. I hope you enjoy! Lots of love, Isi 💜

Taglist: @jinpanman @berryjam17 @sandrafe-universe @jiminie-08​

Previous Chapter| Series Masterlist |

It’s been said the sun shines brighter in the Southern hemisphere. Or maybe now you just had time to notice it more. 

A funny thing, time. Before, you’d never had enough of it with Seokjin - your paths always crossing, tangled up in a frantic frenzy of never knowing what would happen to the two of you next. You’d been so sure that this time would be different. But it wasn’t, and now he was gone. And suddenly it all felt like too much.

The days dragged by like lead weights on your feet, the minutes on the clock ticking and ringing in your ears. The artificial sunlight the sealing touch in a cruel prison that left you with the biggest reminders of what you’d lost.

A whine echoes from the next room, and you seal the blinds shut.

Tip-toeing down the hallway, you’re careful not to make a sound, not knowing what you’ll find on the other end of the door to the lone bedroom in the tiny home you’d made your refuge. 

Rounding the corner, your shoulders tense, and then immediately sag in relief when you see a wide pair of brown eyes looking at you. Seokjin’s eyes.

Hana was awake.

Her eyes continue to bore into yours, surveying you with her fist smushed in her mouth, and you have to look away for a moment. Your heart throbs with guilt at the moment of weakness, knowing you needed to be stronger for her. The last piece of Seokjin you had remaining.

“Mmmmm-,” she hums, tiny hands reaching for you, and you make your way over to the crib that stands next to your mattress.

Taking your daughter in your arms, you rock her back and forth, content to hear her giggles and squeals as she wriggles with happiness in your embrace. There’s so much she doesn’t know about the world, so much you have yet to share with her. But you know the time will come eventually. For now, you hold her closer. 

That’s when you hear the knock on the front door.

Kim Namjoon looks older than when you’d seen him last. His glasses have become a near-permanent fixture on his face, highlighting the lines that have taken up permanent residence between his brows. His hair is slick, which alerts you to the fact that the sunshine had moved aside for a storm to roll in.

There’s no look of shock on his face when he realizes you aren’t going to step aside to let him in. You remain at the threshold, shoulders squaring up against his tall figure, the last boundary separating him from the new life you’d created. From Hana.

You wonder why he’s shown up after all this time. The visits and calls from Jungkook you’d come to expect, the doe-eyed young agent turning into somewhat of a friend. At least, on your end of things anyway.

But there was no love lost for Namjoon in your heart. The man before you had once been like Yoongi, a dear friend. You wondered when that had all changed, and whether regret clouded his heart for all the years he’d spent pushing others away, chasing the greater good, destroying countless lives in the process, yours and Seokjin’s included. 

“___,” Namjoon croaks out, taking you by surprise when he doesn’t immediately address you by your code name. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Bile rises up in your throat, hot and angry, and you close the door behind you, stepping out into the rain. You watch Namjoon stagger back, hands up in his defense before you can do anything.

“We caught them. The men who killed Yoongi. They’ve been dealt with.”

It should ease the ache within your heart, knowing that vengeance has won. The world thrives on the game of give and take you’d played for the last however many years. But it was all a lie. There was no such thing as justice, fairness. The balance that you’d sought to achieve, that Seokjin had died for - all it did was create more chaos.

And you were tired of it. Tired because you know that despite what Namjoon said, it was what remained unsaid that lingered with you more - there was no news of Seokjin. He was truly gone. 

“Leave,” you spit out at him, watching him recoil at your venomous command. 

He doesn’t apologize, and you know he never will. But you see the way his eyes flit to the living room window, taking note of the toys that litter the floor of your home, and he raises a nod of acknowledgment.

“Take care of yourself, Rumex,” he whispers into the rain. And then, he disappears. 

The harbour is quiet, almost peaceful today - the tide is gentle, waves swishing softly against the wooden planks of the boardwalk. You pull Hana’s sun hat over her eyes, not wanting her to be irritated by the warm rays, and the two of you resume watching the many boats and sails that litter the vast expanse of sea.

You often wonder about how many people must come on and off those boats - a shudder runs through your spine when you realize how easy it could be to be found by the wrong people. But then you remind yourself that it’s safe here. It has been for months, with no sign of the past in sight. Only a clear blue sky nearly every day. 

Smiling to yourself, you strap Hana into her stroller, the two of you making your way down the boardwalk, passing by the many couples and families that have also chosen to spend the summer day outside.

Coming to a pause, you realize you’ve stopped by an ice cream stand, your tastebuds salivating at the thought of the sugary hit. Hana also seems intrigued by the swirly treat, her lips pursing in wonder at the rainbow-colored sprinkles.

“One twist soft-serve with—”

“Rainbow sprinkles.” The man’s voice speaks at the same time, and you freeze. It takes everything within you not to look to the side, not to have your heart broken again. 

But it’s Seokjin who moves first, reluctantly reaching his arm out, hand quivering as he lays it to rest on your shoulder, and you will yourself not to fall apart.

“Hey,” he whispers, noting how you’re unable to look him in the eye. “I’m here.”

The ice cream is long forgotten as he leads the two of you away to a bench on the side, his eyes trained on Hana’s stroller.

You take a seat, eyes focused on the ground, and all of a sudden it hits you - the feeling of a crushing weight in your chest. And with it, the tears fall. You don’t know how long you cry for - maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour. But Seokjin remains by your side the entire time. 

When more tears refuse to fall, you finally look at him through bleary eyelids. The same broad shoulders, the same dark hair. Only now the perpetual smirk that once graced his face in your presence has been replaced by something new. Something infinitely more permanent and profound lurks within the depths of his eyes.

“Why’d you come back?” you interrogate him, knowing the words are crude and harsh. Knowing there are other things you should have asked first, like whether he was okay or where he’d been. But none of it seemed to matter at the moment.

“I’m tired of running,” he says wistfully, sadness flooding his eyes. “I’m tired of denying myself everything I’ve ever wanted, with the stupid excuse that the life of a spy is meant to be lonely, that everything is for a cause.”

He pauses, gauging your reaction to find that you’re still listening, that you haven’t run away yet, before continuing. 

“All it did was cause us pain, cause us to lose everybody we ever loved. Yoongi, your parents. And then I almost lost you too. I don’t want to keep playing this game, ___. I don’t want to keep losing and losing. I’m tired of it.”

You can barely stop yourself before your hand reaches out, brushing the stray tear that rolls down his cheek, and Seokjin melts into your touch with another sob.

“It’s okay, Jin, you don’t have to run anymore. You can stay here and rest with me. With us.”

At the mention of Hana, Jin turns to look at the tiny figure in the stroller, his eyes widening and lips parted, on the verge of asking the question he wants so desperately to know the answer to, but nothing comes out. You give him a nod, confirming his suspicions, and watch him let out a sigh of relief.

He reaches into his shirt, clutching the thin chain adorning his neck, and you catch a glimpse of something glinting on the end of it.

The ring gleams under the harsh sunlight, and you find yourself holding your breath at the sight of the precious diamond that had been with Seokjin this entire time - right above his heart.

His grin only grows wider when he sees you eyeing it, slipping the chain off his neck and sliding the precious piece of jewelry off, so that it can finally take its place where it truly belongs.

Seokjin can’t decide what’s more luminous - the gemstone or the sparkle in your eyes as you hand Hana over to him, and he looks into the eyes so much like his own, tiny fists reaching for the hair at the back of his neck.

As you admire the ring, you’re interrupted by a buzzing in your pocket, the old burner coming to life again - you can only imagine what the message will be this time. But you choose to ignore it, taking the phone out and setting it to the side, accepting Seokjin’s hand as he leads you and Hana away from the bench, and towards your new life together.

Burn after reading.

A/N pt 2:  This was the second original story I started, and it feels weird to have it end - like closing the door on a chapter I was so afraid to let go of. These characters are special to me in their own way, and I’m glad to have cherished them for so long and been able to share them with you. As always, any feedback and comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway.

[cherienymphe]

What are your top 5 AHS seasons and why?

Oooooo ok I know one of these is going to be super controversial so

5. Asylum

"Um Cherie wtf? Why is the best season ever so low?" BECAUSE ITS NOT THE BEST SEASON EVER. I love asylum and it definitely had some amazing plot lines (sister Mary Eunice becoming possessed is a top 3 plot line in the whole show) but asylum just had too much going on for my taste and I know I'm the odd man out because this is the favorite season of just about every fan but to this day I just can't love it as much as everyone else. On top of everything in that season they really decided that it also needed aliens. I'm sorry but I was done 😭 with that being said, it still makes the top 5. Stan Lana Winters

4. Roanoke

I know what you're thinking and no I haven't lost my mind. I loved Roanoke. More than Asylum. Sue me. I thought it was very different and it was a nice different that was a change of pace from the same story style of all the other seasons. Roanoke was also the season that got back into the horror factor imo. It was the first season to genuinely creep me out and scare me in like 3 seasons tbh. Idk but this season really had me hooked. I watched this one live and each week my mind was spinning

3. Apocalypse

Ok this is where it got pretty hard because I feel like my top 3 are going to be obvious but it was just a matter of who was going in what spot. I'd love to put apocalypse at number 2 (because if you've been here for a long time you know what's going in number 1) but the ending really cast a shadow over the whole season. It's still miles better than most of the other seasons but that ending still rubs me the wrong way.

Apocalypse was an era okay? The way I was seated every single week for this season was insane. It's the crossover season between my favorite seasons and it's 95% perfect. Michael Langdon is a great antagonist and I really enjoyed seeing male witches. Returning to the coven was exhilarating and I just really enjoyed seeing the schools explored upon more. Not to mention the return of some of my favorite characters. They chose the perfect season and character for Cody's AHS debut

2. Coven

Arguably the most iconic season. Very quotable. Everybody was acting DOWN. I love anything with witches but especially southern witches and setting this season in Louisiana couldnt be beat. That alone makes this season so personal and near and dear to my heart. This season had me on the edge of my seat every episode and half of AHS' most iconic characters came from this season alone. I enjoyed the inner workings of the coven and seeing witches go toe to toe with each other. Fiona and Marie Laveau were just teeew good and putting Jessica Lange and Angela Bassett in the same season deserves to get your ass ate. With all of that being said, the later half of the season did not live up to the first half but season 3 is still way better than the majority of the show

1. Murder House

This should surprise no one. AHS really came out the gate SWINGING bc murder house is that bitch and will always be that bitch. There isn't a single thing I would change about this season (and that's why some things in apocalypse rubbed me the wrong way). This season was horror galore and easily one of the creepiest seasons. This season alone is solely responsible for teenage girls everywhere thirsting over a blond shaggy haired serial killer. Some of the plot twists in this season had me GAGGED! And this season (along with season 3) made me really attached to the characters that I think some of the other seasons failed to do. It got to a point where you wanted these people to make it out of that house and it still hurts sometimes when I think of their fate

[justagalwhowrites]

Hey queen, I’m a yearling stan and I discovered you through it and it is sooooooooooo good one of the best Joel fics I’ve read EVER and it’s had a chokehold on meeee for like the last few days

Gurl I start screaming with just the smallest of touches between them like you do slow burn so well and although it’s painful cause I just want Joel and Bambi to just kiss kiss fall in love it’s also really satisfying at the same time

I loooove Bambi, I think she’s great as a person and also as a character. Love her and Ellie being besties, and I also kinda love Ellie and Joel’s conflict in this story and Bambi being kind of like a middle ground?? Idk

I checked out the playlist and I’m soooo happy you put cowboy like me on there, it’s one of the more underrated songs from evermore. I absolutely adore it and i can really see Bambi in that song.

idk why but I also see Bambi as Lana del Rey coded for some reason, maybe because Joel’s old and they’re southern which reminds me of old western films and Lana kinda has that vibe to her…?

I also love your characterization of joeelllll, because he isn’t overly nice to the point where it bends canon, he seems like a Joel that’s been through all that traumatic stuff but is kinda starting over if you get what I mean

Anyways I love ur fic tysm for writing, forever and always

OMG Hi Bestie!!!!

I'm so happy you're here and that you're loving Yearling so much! Just thank you thank you thank you! Bambi is so near and dear to my heart and I just love when other folks love her, too.

The slow burn is gonna slow burn for a bit yet but we're getting close! And honestly once the physical intimacy tips toward sexual, things are going to advance fast. Promise <3

And yay playlist love!!!! I feel like music is so important to Bambi that I had to make one. I add songs to it every now and then, so be sure to check back in with it periodically!

And AHHHH thank you! It's such a fun challenge writing different iterations of Joel because I do try to make them true to the core character while also making them my own. This Joel has started to heal from his trauma, has an understanding of Ellie's autonomy and respects it and is in a place that he can be emotionally vulnerable. It makes for a very different Joel than Lavender Joel for example. But Soft!Joel has me in a chokehold now for reals lol (even though I miss my brooding asshole Joel a fair bit.)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BEING HERE AND REACHING OUT!!! I hope you keep loving Yearling and anything else of mine you read! Love you!!!!

[verai-marcel]

yo bud idk if ya taking requests but like what about arthur and you on a boat #lemon #thirst *chinhands* love, arthurs-wife

Getting Into Character (RDR2 Fanfic, 18+ ONLY)

Summary: Hosea sends you and Arthur on a job to scam some rich gentlemen in a few poker games. As much as Arthur hates being Mr. Callahan, he loves having you be Mrs. Callahan. Maybe a little too much.

Word Count: 3,950 (Too long, I’m sorry)

Tags: high honor Arthur, role playing, smut, riverboat, gambling

Also find it on AO3

——————–

“How do I keep getting dragged into this kind of work,” Arthur grumbled as he pulled on the suit jacket.

“You’ll be fine,” Hosea said amicably. “After all, you have a lot of experience and this will be an easy job. Perfect job for our new girl.”

Arthur grumbled some more. “Where is she, anyway?” he asked.

“Trelawny took her to get a nice dress.”

“And a nice dress it is,” Josiah said as he swept into the room.

Arthur looked up and froze. You followed Josiah into the room shyly, your emerald dress shimmering slightly. It was an evening gown with short sleeves and had a scoop neckline that was “quite fashionable,” or so the tailor had said. The chiffon material was fitting nicely around the curves of your hips. With each step, it swayed around you, and Arthur suddenly felt irrationally jealous of your dress, being wrapped so closely to you.

“You look lovely, my dear,” Hosea said with a smile. Then he looked over at Arthur, who was still staring with his mouth open. Slapping him upside the head, Hosea chided, “What do you say, Arthur?”

The slap knocked Arthur back to the present. “Uh, you look good,” he said, looking away from you. He looked like he was blushing a bit, but you thought you may have imagined it.

***

Ever since you had joined the gang a month ago, you had wanted to contribute more. Mary-Beth and Karen had saved you in Rhodes, sneaking you away from a crazy man who had wanted to punish you in a bad way after he caught you stealing his billfold.

You still pick-pocketed here and there, using your charm and the fact that you had larger “assets” than average that could distract men long enough for you to get away with a few dollars here and there. But it wasn’t enough. Whenever you wrote your donations in the ledger, you saw how much Arthur was pulling in.

You respected him, as he had been polite and kind to you from the beginning. As you got to know him, you began to look up to him as a role model for being in the gang. He always made sure his family came first, and so you took it upon yourself to make sure he was taken care of too. You left little gifts for him when you could find spare bullets or a can of food on your night burglaries. Whenever he came back from a long heist, you took his clothes and washed them for him. You expected nothing in return; you just wanted to help. But when he gently wrapped your arm in bandages after you came back from a robbery gone sideways, you started to fall for him.

So when Hosea pulled you aside to plan a job on a riverboat, you jumped at the chance to prove yourself, and told him of your past as a poker shark. He was delighted and immediately altered his plan to have you play a bigger role. You weren’t expecting who you’d be going with, however.

And now, you and Arthur were on the riverboat as Mr. & Mrs. Callahan, newlyweds on their honeymoon, taking in the southern scenery and doing a bit of gambling. Hosea said it’d be easy, if you were as good as you said you were.

You looked up at the sky as you stood on the deck, waiting for Arthur to meet you up here. The plan was the two of you would go to the tables and he would be introducing himself as the son of a rich land developer out west, helping his father scope out new opportunities. At some point he’d leave to get a drink and let you take over, and you’d sweep the table, and maybe see if you could get some extra expensive bets along the way.

“There ya are, darlin’,” he said from behind you, wrapping his arms around you. You trembled in his embrace.

“You need to relax,” he whispered in your ear. “No one’s gonna believe we’re married if you keep gettin’ all stiff when I’m near ya.”

“Sorry,” you whispered. “Just nervous.” You didn’t tell him why you were nervous; it certainly wasn’t because of the job.

“Just imagine I’m someone you like,” he said. “Sorry you have to be with an ugly old man for today.”

“You’re not ugly, or old.”

Arthur chuckled. “You’re too kind.”

You turned in his arms. “Arthur…”

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Let’s go, sweetheart,” he said, clearly avoiding whatever it was you had to say, and led you towards the gambling hall. He opened the door for you, guiding you in with his hand on the small of your back. He kept his hand there the whole way to the table, and your body cried out for more.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Name’s Arthur Callahan. Mind if I join your game?”

“Not a problem,” said one of the men at the table. He looked like a good mark; you smiled prettily at him, and his eyes met yours with interest. “And who is this lovely lady?”

“Rose Callahan. My new wife,” he responded, suddenly wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close. You stiffened on purpose. You looked over at the man who had noticed, and smiled secretively at him.

“I’m Lewis Chapman,” the mark said, his eyes not leaving yours. “Looks like we’ll have an interesting game tonight.”

Arthur played a few rounds, playing an average game, then he stood up.

“Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get a drink. My lady luck will play in my stead.”

The others shrugged, thinking it would be easy winnings. Suckers. There was a reason Hosea picked you for this job.

You went easy on them at first, but then you started winning. And winning. Pretty soon most of them were out; it was just you and Lewis.

“Your husband has been gone for quite a while,” Lewis said, looking at you with a heated stare. Oh, he wanted you. You sat a little more straighter in your chair, letting him get a good eyeful of your bust.

“Oh, he does that sometimes, wanders off to talk to others. I don’t mind,” you said, putting on a wistful tone. “Just get a little lonely sometimes.” You turned your head down, but looked up at him through your lashes, and he had the look of a man formulating a way to get under your dress. Good.

“I’ll keep you company,” he said in a low voice.

“How about one last game,” you proposed. “If you win, you can have… my company, for a few hours.”

His eyes lit up.

“But, you have to bet something that I’m willing to take that chance on. After all, this is supposed to be my honeymoon.”

“I’ve got ten bank bonds in my safe in my room, a hundred each.”

You smiled. This was too easy. “Sure,” you said. “That’s worth it.”

You played the game, which was dicey at first, but you managed to win. The man sighed, but you could tell he hadn’t given up on you. Lewis stood up from the table and gave you his arm. You took it and looked up at him, faking doe eyes.

“I’m a man of my word. I’ll give you the bonds.”

“How honorable of you. Hard to find men like you these days,” you simpered.

Lewis puffed up with your compliment. “They don’t make men like they used to. But I was taught better.”

All the way back to his room, he walked slowly so he could have as much time with you as he regaled you with his family history. You tried your best not to yawn.

Finally you reached his room. He unlocked the door and gestured to let you in first. You hesitated.

“Mrs. Callahan, I find you most enchanting, and I really do wish to have more of your company. I won’t go any further than you want, but please, come in and stay awhile.” He took your hand and kissed it softly.

Lewis wasn’t bad to look at, but he wasn’t the one you wanted. Flattered as you were, your heart was for only one man.

“This man bothering you, Rose?”

Lewis immediately let go of your hand and stepped back into the room as Arthur appeared behind the two of you. You made to hide behind Lewis, touching his shoulder.

Lewis, emboldened by the fact that you had sided with him, stood up straight. “I was only offering her an ear to listen to her troubles. Something any man would do,” he said, pointedly.

“What a kind man,” you said, as you pulled the blackjack out of your dress and knocked him out. Arthur quickly caught him and shut the door behind him. You locked the door and helped Arthur tie him up and shove him in a closet, using a bandana to muffle him in case he woke up.

“Safe’s here,” you said after a bit of searching. Arthur got to work breaking the lock, with you at the door listening for guards. After some fiddling around, he finally got the damn thing opened and whistled. You could hear the rustling of money and whatever else was in there go straight into the pockets of his suit jacket. Abigail was brilliant, sewing extra pockets in there.

The two of you now had to get off the ship. The plan was to make for a lifeboat and row away, but unfortunately the room you were in was the farthest from.

“Let’s just walk through like we belong there. Fake it ‘till we make it,” you said. Arthur nodded and gave you his arm as he led you out of the room, the two of you walking down the hall as normally as possible.

You were not noticed most of the way, but as you reached the lifeboat area, Arthur noticed more guards and signs for no trespassing. As you both kept moving down a hallway, you heard footsteps coming around a corner down the hall, and there was nowhere to hide.

Quickly taking a hold of your waist and urging you against the wall, Arthur covered your body with his as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Sorry sweetheart, but pretend you’re enjoying this,” and he buried his face in your neck. You didn’t need to pretend, you moaned softly as the guard rounded the corner and met your eyes. You smiled at him, made some sexy sounds, and watched his face grow red with embarrassment.

“Um, sir…”

Arthur turned to look at him, and given the way the guard grew pale, he must have given him the most intimidating glare. “Couldn’t find our way to our room.”

The guard pointed behind him. “There’s a hallway behind me that’ll take you back to the rooms, sir.”

“Thank you,” Arthur all but growled as he took you by the hand and stalked past the guard. As soon as the guard was gone, the two of you kept going, but the sounds of more footsteps forced you both to turn back a bit.

Arthur found a storage closet and dragged you into it. It wasn’t too small, a few barrels of wine and other liquor were sitting in the middle, and shelves for dry goods and maintenance tools were lining the walls. At least, that was all you saw before Arthur shut the door, the only light the dim glimmer around the edges of the door.

“Guess we wait for a few hours,” you said.

“Guess so. Too many guards right now.”

There was some silence, and then Arthur said your real name, softly. You turned your head towards him and squeezed his hand to let him know you were listening.

“I know I was sour about this job, but I’m glad I’m with you,” he confessed shyly.

“Me too,” you said as you shifted closer to him. You placed a hand on his chest and slid it up to his stubbled cheek. With your thumb, you brushed his lower lip, and you felt his breath come out unsteadily.

“What are you doin’?” he asked, unsure.

“What any wife would do with her husband, naturally,” you teased. Roleplaying gave you a new boost of confidence as you pushed your body against his. Arthur was stiff as a board, not fleeing from you, but not getting closer either. You could feel the hand holding yours tighten.

“I…” he mumbled.

“Or am I not good enough for you?”

“You’re more than good enough, sweetheart,” Arthur answered hastily. “You’re like an angel, too good for the likes of me.”

You were shocked silent for a moment. Then you gathered your wits; this was a chance of a lifetime. “Arthur,” you said huskily, “what do you think of me?”

He shyly looked away. You cupped his cheek and guided him back to look at you.

“Please. Tell me.”

Unable to look away, Arthur sighed. “You do things to me, make me feel like, I dunno, like there’s a beauty in the world I didn’t know was there ‘till I met you.”

“Then show me, Arthur. Show me what I do to you.”

“You sure?”

“Never more sure in my life,” you whispered.

Arthur’s hand cupped your cheek and he leaned in, his lips brushing your cheek, finding your lips, and oh so gently, he kissed you. You kissed him back, hungry for more of him. Encouraged by your response, his kisses steadily grew more heated as he teased your mouth open, his tongue meeting yours as the two of you made out like teenagers. He soon grabbed your hips and pulled you in close, crushing you to his hard body.

“So, Mr. Callahan, how ever will we pass the time?” you teased as you broke away for air.

Arthur rolled his hips against you so you could feel how much he wanted you. “Well, Mrs. Callahan, maybe you should let your husband take care of you.”

“My my, sounds like fun.”

He laughed quietly, and you felt the low sound vibrate through his body to yours. Reaching up, he slid the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders and down your arms, exposing the corset underneath. He gently kissed your collarbone, then nipped you playfully up your neck and around your cheek until he reached your mouth again.

“This dress is nice,” he mumbled against your lips. “It hugs your curves perfectly.” He reached around you and undid the corset strings, his mouth kissing your shoulder as he worked. Soon he had it off you and you could breathe. He tossed it over his shoulder and slid your slip off as well, the fabric brushing over your sensitive nipples. Now your breasts were exposed, and Arthur eagerly held them and teased you, making your breaths short and quick. You could feel yourself getting more wet as he bent over and licked and lathed each nipple, driving you crazy with sensations.

His hands traveled around your waist, your hips, and gripped your ass, pulling you against him. You gasped and then giggled.

“Hush darlin’, don’t wanna attract anyone,” he whispered as he guided you to one of the wine barrels. He lifted you up to sit on top of one that was against the wall, and you leaned back as he slowly lifted up the hem of your dress. His hands caressed your ankle, calf, thigh, until he reached your lacey drawers, and tugged them off you. He spread your legs apart and his fingers hovered at the junction of your inner thigh.

“You sure-”

“Take me, dammit,” you cut him off as he had started to balk. “I said I was sure, and I meant it.”

Arthur laughed at your impatience. “Alright, I’ll give you what you want.” He slipped a finger inside of you, and you grabbed his shoulders and shuddered with pleasure.

He leaned forward and touched his forehead to yours as he pushed in another finger and started stretching you out, your breaths mingling. He played with you, pushing deeper and curling his fingers up and hitting you in a sweet spot, making you mewl into his mouth as he kissed you to keep you quiet. His thumb played with your clit, making you pant and buck your hips towards him.

Then he took his fingers out and licked them in front of you as you watched. Your eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness, but you couldn’t quite make out how big he was when he undid his button fly and pulled himself out. It was when he started to push himself inside you that you realized how little you knew about being with a big man.

It felt like nothing you’d ever experienced before; his hands on your hips, his cock so thick as he moved ever deeper inside of you. But he was gentle as he moved, listening intently for any sound of distress. You made one tiny squeak of pain and he stopped.

“Don’t you dare stop,” you snarled, and he laughed softly.

“My little lioness,” he joked, and kept going.

You swear he was going slow on purpose to torture you, but from his short, shaky breaths, you could tell he was holding back an urge to go wild on you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, linked your ankles behind his ass, and kicked him.

“More,” you begged.

“Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t. I want you to take me like you mean it.”

Your words seemed to finally get through to Arthur as he gripped your thighs to spread you open and thrust in the rest of the way. You felt the fabric of his pants rub against your skin and you moaned, wanting to feel more contact. You pulled at his jacket, and he slid it off, and you unbuttoned his shirt, and he slid that off too. His chest was scarred, chiseled, and beautiful to you. You sighed happily as you ran your hands up his pecs and down his abs, and he moaned with each touch.

He cupped your chin and made you look at him. “I’m gonna move now, sweetheart,” he whispered. You nodded, and he started slow, watching your reaction as he took you. It burned a little at first, and you couldn’t keep the discomfort off your face.

“Keep going, just need to get used to how big you are,” you whispered.

Arthur smiled at your comment; what man wouldn’t? He kissed you then, and kept a slow pace, reaching down to thumb your clit again until you grew more slick, making it easier for him to glide in and out of you.

Then he went faster and harder, and you could barely keep your breath as he showed you exactly what you did to him. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you close as he made love to you, his lips trailing all over your body, wherever he could reach, his hands roaming everywhere.

Arthur then stepped away from you and pulled you up. As you stood, your dress and slip that were bunched up around your waist fell away, leaving you nude before him. He took a step forward and ran his hands almost reverently down your shoulders, your breasts, your waist, before grasping your hips and pulling you closer to him.

He then lifted you up, forcing you to wrap your arms and legs around him for dear life as he gripped you by your ass and bounced you on his cock. The sheer amount of strength it took to do this shocked you; you weren’t a small woman, and for him to do this so easily? That turned you on more than you had ever been.

“Chase your pleasure, sweetheart. I want to feel you let go around me.”

You rolled your hips and he moved you at just the right angle to make you come hard around him. You bit his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming, your head spinning, your body convulsing from the bliss pouring through you.

After you had calmed a bit, he kneeled down, you still wrapped around him, and laid you down on his discarded jacket & shirt. With his body hovering on top of yours, he looked down at you for a few breathtaking moments. You noticed the dim light from the cracks around the door were reflected in his eyes, and you fell ever deeper in love with your strong cowboy.

“I want to remember this,” Arthur said, caressing your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “You’re so damn beautiful, I can’t even think.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him. He was looking at you so tenderly that you wanted to cry. He wrapped his arms around you and started moving again, building your desire back up with each thrust.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured into your ear as he ran his hands through your hair.

“Harder, Arthur,” you begged, wanting him to lose himself, if even a little bit. You wrapped your arms around his hips, slipped your hands into his pants, and squeezed his ass.

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he said, his voice lowering.

“I ain’t afraid,” you whispered. “Show me all of you.”

Arthur wrapped his arms completely around you and started giving your exactly what you asked for. Hard, fast, his weight on you, his breathing heavy, he gave you everything.

“I can’t deny you,” he breathed into your ear. “Anything you want, I want to give it to ya.”

You gave his butt one last squeeze before trailing your hands up his muscled back to his shoulders. His arms were caged around you now, and you felt protected and cared for.

“I’m close,” he growled as he lifted your hips up slightly to hit you inside at a deeper angle, making you gasp and tighten inside. You felt yourself reaching another climax, the coil of desire rapidly reaching its limit.

“Yes, please, spend on me, wherever you want,” you said, half pleading, losing your mind and just wanting to see him lose his.

“Wherever?” he asked, unbelievably turned on by the idea.

“Yes!” you said excitedly.

He grinned, and reached down to play with your clit, giving you just the right amount of pressure to break apart under him, your body arching as you gasped and kept yourself from screaming, but just barely.

He gave a few more thrusts, enjoying watching you squirm under him due to being over sensitive, before pulling out and straddling your waist. He stroked himself, watching you as he came onto your breasts and neck with a low moan of satisfaction.

You happily swirled his spend on your skin. “Such a healthy young husband,” you teased.

“Such a beautiful wife,” he said as he leaned over you and held your face in his hands. He kissed your forehead softly. He looked at you like he meant it, and for a moment, you could pretend that you really were his wife.

He moved away then, and the moment passed. He helped you clean up as best as you could and put your clothes back on, but you knew you looked a bit of a mess.

Arthur listened at the door, then peeked outside for a few moments.

“There’s no guards around. Now’s our chance.”

He held his hand out to you.

“Shall we go, Mrs. Callahan?”

You smiled back and took his hand.

“I’ll go wherever you are, Mr. Callahan.”

The smile he had was glowing, gentle, and just for you.

——————–

End Notes: Hope you like this, @arthurs-wife! Keep those smutty Arthur requests coming: @verai-marcel on tumblr.

[kbunburyhelps]

I was wondering if you have any tips for writing a poc muse? I found the PERFECT fc for this character and I’ll be honest I’m white and I don’t wanna do anything to offend someone and I’m so scared that somehow I will. It’s a muse from mythology if that helps at all? I just wanna do this right.

Hey, Nonnie. I’m slightly laughing at the “I’ll be honest, I’m white” part because the way I read it in my head. I promise I’m not laughing at you. Honestly I never understand this question because my first thought is always what is so scary about writing a poc and why is it perceived so differently than writing some other ol’ white muse? But anyway, my opinions are in no means universal and I can only speak from my experience (for further clarification, as a young black female immigrant living in America ight) This got kinda long but hey. Also I’m proud you found the perfect fc! Sometimes that’s really hard to do. Let me gift you with the best gif I’ve ever giffed and probably has no use but welp.

The first thing I’ve got to say and I say this with all my heart, but if you’re about to play a poc and “somehow” (I put it in quotations because sometimes people are like oh I didn’t mean to, knowing full well they meant to) your portrayal is just the embodiment of multiple stereotypes of their race, we don’t want to see it. WE DON’T WANT IT. An example that is near and dear to my heart is black women as the sassy, aggressive, wildin’ out, can’t tell me nothin’, always picking fights for you friend. Especially for dark skin women. Not to say that a black muse cannot be all of those things but if that’s the only way you can see any black female fc’s. drop it love. just walk away. *Cue Kelly Clarkson’s Walk Away*

Two, if you’re playing a poc in their country it’s even more important to know the culture of that country. A Korean muse in South Korea will probably have different tendencies(only word I can think of atm) than a Korean in america, especially if they’re anything but a 1st-gen. And even with a 1st-gen some have the ability to assimilate very easily and quickly, others might go all in and too much, some might hesitate. So not only is the background of your character important (like how long have they been in this country and how much are they trying to assimilate) but also their country. So basically, Korean in South Korea may have different there’s gotta be a word better than tendencies than a 1st-gen Korean in America and usually than a 2nd and 3rd-gen in America. Sometimes you can even very well tell the difference between a 1st-gen and a 2nd-gen. I don’t know if you’ll have to worry about this but lol here. That also is dependent on their family, does their family keep cultural traditions even in a different country, and themselves, are they trying to keep traditions or get in touch with their culture (do they know artists from their culture’s genre or books or watch movies etc.) ‘cause what we take in is a part of who we are.

Two point 5. This just happens in general even when poc play poc (from a country they aren’t from usually) but most poc who speak their native tongue aren’t just dropping other languages mid sentence unless they’re usually being petty about it or trying to practice their language but usually not if they know they’re speaking to an English speaker. Exceptions happen but really only happen if they don’t know the word in the language they started the sentence. Like I’m not going to start a sentence in French and halfway speak in English unless I can’t speak the whole thing in French. Now that’s completely different from pidgin English and Spanglish where it’s sorta kinda a mix of two languages. But google.

Three, names. I’m partly assuming you’re using the mythological name but I also don’t know. I don’t know why this site gets so up in arms with names so much, but I also rarely read threads to completion. So lol whoopsBasically, poc can have both “white”and traditional/native names. Now if your fc is Brazilian through and through and for some reason their name is a traditional Chinese name, I’m confused. I need reason. Did their parents go to China or name their kid after a Chinese man? Otherwise where the hell did it come from. Parents usually put some thought into their kids names, and you should too. I will say for certain cultures, there are a certain number of “white” names they tend to stay around. I know for a fact many Nigerians who give their kids “white” names, tend to take them from the bible, at least in the southern part of Nigeria. And even still there are some “white” names that are basically a 1/5 of the population. Even then though, Nigerians will still more than not, give their kids 3+ traditional names and depending on the family they only gave their kids “white” names for the non-Africans around them. Some just have “white” names for middle names and don’t use them at all. Long story short, do your research. The greatest thing about this day and age is that google is a thing but also double check. I like to check the meanings of names because sometimes people who write these lists have no idea what they’re talking about. Also, time frame is important. Some cultures basically phase out names every 10 years, some aren’t as vigilant in changing what’s a popular name.

Four, for the love of God, and this goes back to #1, non-white characters can be anything and I mean anything. I know media has a certain way of showing people or things but let’s be smart. A black person can be a nerd, or a geek, or emo, or a skater boy, or a soft little cinnamon roll, or like country. Yes, I said and meant country music. Not all black men have 3 children by different baby momma’s. An Asian doesn’t have to be submissive or have their head always in a book, they can be ditsy, or a bitch, or the girl next door, or even the main in a trio of bitches. (Which why is it usually when they have a trio there’s either a token black girl or Asian, never both, never both). If a white person can be it, many times a black or asian or latinx or middle eastern, etc. can be it too. INCLUDING RICH. Because I feel like people forget that sometimes. Evidence A is PG County in Maryland, one of the wealthiest black counties in the U.S. I keep thinking I’m writing country and not county and it stresses me. (Part of me wants to say unless it’s a horror thing and you’re tryna have your poc messing with some ouija type stuff then keep your black fc’s out of it but I’m sure there are some black people that mess with that. Not me though, I rebuke it. Anyways).

I feel like I should have a five at least so my five is relax. There’s a psychological phenomena that says the more anxious you are about not trying to make a mistake, the more you are likely to do such. Which really explains the lives of like half the world but yeah. I mean if you’re portrayal isn’t racist, then you’re probably better than you think. So relax, if you really wanna make sure before you play it, send your character’s background/portrayal who will truthfully tell you, you know.

Six, if a poc tells you something about your portrayal is off… I want to be careful about this because something about Tumblr has people feeling like they know more than they actually do… But if a poc mun tells you your muse is iffy, my advice is to take it, adjust it, but also possibly ask someone in that culture their non-biased opinion. Because maybe what you were going for is right but you played it wrong and it just tumbled and like the person who called you out has some vendetta against idk but ask for help. And when you ask for help, word your things carefully because sometimes phrasing just comes out wrong then the whole world starts to turn and it’s just not pretty.

Bruh I had a seven but I forgot it, but thanks for asking, good luck and yeah!

Lol I also wanna add, if you take this muse and people don’t wanna ship with you, don’t be surprised. It’s a thing, welcome to it, don’t let it discourage you, stay strong in your character and live your best life. It won’t happen everywhere you go but it might happen. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also again, lol still here. Your muse’s defining trait/characteristic/identifying thing/distinguisher doesn’t have to be their race. Like it might be the first thing someone notices but it doesn’t have to be the thing they’re remembered for. I only say this because I see a lot of characters where that’s the their thing. Like the only thing memorable about them is their race and not necessarily who they are. If you get what I mean. You can be proud of your race and still be more than just that.

Also if you need anymore tips, you know where to find me!

[limpblotter]

“Bringing Home Ham”

This is going to be a three part introduction to what might turn into a full fledged Tumblr-base Hamilton (and other musical inspired) fanfiction. I wanted to keep going but I as nearing 2000 words and decided to break it up, see how I feel...idk I had this really vivid idea how the cat and Alexander, the modern day and all sorts of stuff. So this is my take on it all. I will include rating and themes as I post. As of right now, its as safe as you can get lol. No trigger, no smut, no cursing. (Enjoy, comments are greatly appreicated and desired)  Cast: Martha Washington, George Washington, Marquis de Lafayette Word Count: 1,994 Part 1 of Bringing Home Ham. Setting: February 2017, New York, New York Themes: Hamilton, sitcom-ish themes, possibly other themes __________________________________________________ There is nothing like winter in the city. People running a muck while the streets are far from pretty and there is trouble in the air. “Martha.” A very firm, curt almost glass cutting voice pierce the somewhat quiet walls of the two bedrooms, brown stone apartment. A small but luxurious place nestled in Harlem’s west side. It was on the expensive side, but twenty years in the NYPD, George earned himself a pension. The added bonus he might have retired as a cop but he continued to ‘work’. Taking pride of being a history teacher at the same private school his wife worked. They made a good living, comfortable at the very least. “Martha…” His voice was still firm but somehow unable to carry far to the kitchen where the water was running. Martha standing by the sink cleaning the remains of today’s dinner with a smile on her face, washing and passing off the dish for her temporary ‘son’ to dry. Beside her was a tall, slight muscular young teenage boy with a large puff of thick, textured curls tied into a bun. He was well groom, well mannered and constantly smiling casually. In contrast, Martha was a small and stout woman. She stood no taller than four nine and had the body of a young Mother Goose. Her skin was a beautiful marbled pattern of bright ivory and deep, rich mahogany. A patchwork of two tones that was both striking and somewhat hypnotic. Her hair slicked back and pin straight as black as ink and a pair of kind, warm almond shaped eyes. Of course she wasn’t this boy’s mother but by the looks they shared no one could have told the difference. “MARTHA!!!” This time the voice was no longer firm and conversational, it was demanding, harsh. The pure robustness of the voice was enough to make the walls quake. In one slip Martha lost control of the wet dish and dropped it. It nearly hit the sink when a fast hand came from under it and grasped it in time. “Thank you, Lafayette.” She exhaled deeply, placing a small hand to her chest. “Le Bienvenu(your welcome), mama.” He beamed. “Le Pere(father) sounds…how you say…in distress.” Martha nodded in agreement. She patted Lafayette’s back while he finished up at the sink. The little woman trotted lightly down the hall to the master bedroom. “A’right Mr. Washington” she began with a Southern sweetness that her decades in the city never took from her. “There better be a good nuff’ reason why you’re hollarin’ this time at night. You’re going to wake everyone on the block.” She chuckled, though once her gazed settled she noticed something was not right with her George. His back was towards her, hunched over not revealing his true height. His hands firmly on the dresser top. “Martha…” he spoke her name again kinder but still very stern. “George…” she answered hesitantly not sure where he was getting at. She approached him slower, holding out a hand to touch his back. “I’ve told you time and time again.” He whipped around so fast her hand recoiled to her side immediately. His body no longer shielding what was upsetting him. On the dresser were five sets of ties completely ripped to shreds? “Why George, your ties, how did you manage to rip them.” She was playing with him now, her face was a dead giveaway. Martha knew George could see right through her. Nearly thirty years of being married and twenty of policing the streets there was not a thing she could get past him. Exasperated. That was his expression as he clasped his large hands together as if to pray. He held them to his face and steadied his tone. So help him, he loved his wife but this was the last straw to his steely patience. “Where is it?” He demanded, when he opened his eyes his black gaze were cutting through her soft browns. His expression was controlled but just on the cusp of losing it. George’s brows couldn’t be knitted together anymore; their bushiness nearly turned into a solid unibrow on his reddened, cue ball head. Martha didn’t speak, she merely tucked her hands behind her back and looked off knowing well she was not in good waters. “Martha-May Dandridge Washington, where is the DAMN cat!?” He stormed out of the bedroom and was on the move now, Martha behind him. “No-Now George, wait!” She struggled to keep his stride. Each step he took were at least four to five of hers. “What makes you think I’m housing that cat? You’ve already told us we can’t have it.” Her voice was light and sweet, trying to sooth his anger but her forging innocence was not working. At this point Lafayette was leaning against his closed bedroom door, his hands behind him clasping the handle. “George, you’re acting like a mad man! Calm down, remember your blood pressure.” She tried to chastise him. “Marquis.” George paused in front of the tall French boy. The home stay student they housed while he was attending their private school, the boy was well behaved, polite, but not uptight. He was a natural and so very casual. As if life was just a breeze and he was the kite gliding over it. So George knew that this sudden tense smile on his face meant something. “Lafayette open your door.” He huffed. A stare down, he looked up at George’s face. For a man who was never going to be called ‘father’ he had the look and the aura down to a T. Lafayette shot his mother figure an apologetic look before twisting the door open. George waltzed in and scanned the room. Nothing. “See, you’re over exaggerating. Truly, Georgey.” She used that nickname. The nickname back during their dating years in high school back in Virginia, she was his sweet summer love. He was her strong teddy bear of a man. Married while they were still seniors and moved out to New York for a bigger and better life. That nickname, much like his wife, still unhinged him. Made him glow like he did when first saw that southern peach and knew she was going to have him. His anger did cool; he turned his head and wondered perhaps his instincts were rusty. He opened his mouth to apologize when a meow came out. Lafayette blinked a few times, “Pere did you just meow?” George eyed the bed and with a mighty heavy his hands lifted up Lafayette’s bed with all the contents still on top. Under there was a large, long haired white and ginger cat staring up at him with its tongue out. Meerrrow. George huffed, the cat was mocking him, using one hand to keep the bed up and the other to grab the cat from the back of the neck. “Explain THIS.” He huffed holding the cat out at arm’s length towards Martha and Marquis as he dropped the bed with a thud. Martha and Lafayette exchanged guilty glances. “Now George” Martha had some serious explaining. “Its just so cold…and the poor dear keeps coming back to our window.” George glared, not having it now, he was going to be made of fool!? Not in his house, he was putting his foot down. “The cat keeps coming back because you two keep feeding the damn thing.” He barked back, before Martha could rebuttal he kept going. “It’s a street cat Martha. A dirty, disease ridden stray you have no idea where the hell its been.” “But Georgey…” “Don’t. Georgey me!” He bellowed. “And to add insult to injury I find this pesky thing has clawed up my good ties and you lie to me!? Get Marquis to follow suit?” George’s face couldn’t have been any redder; a vein was nearly popping out of the skin along his temple. “You have some nerve, woman.” Oh, and did she. Martha was a sweet summer peach most of the time but only one man could test her enough to turn her tart and that was her husband. He could tell his last sentence struck her hard and it was no longer her trying to sooth him. The body language went from house wife, to run for your life, with a cock of her hip and a bend in her knee Lafayette moved aside when Martha Washington responded to her husband. “You listen here, Mr.Washington. That poor, defenseless creature is an animal of god and as a good god loving woman I opened my home to it. It needed love and affection and I will not let you blame your careless actions of leaving your ties out in the open be a reason this lil’ thing gets kicked out in the freezing cold.” “My…’careless’...! Martha I pick out my ties a week in advanced, its productive!” “Its stupid!” Even when glaring and red in the face, Washington had to admit he loved his little wife. He was a strong man, stronger now because he had a strong woman beside him. But no amount of undying affections in his heart could sooth this disrespect. He moved her aside, much to her discontent and started walking. “George! Be reasonable!” She had tried being nice, tried using their faith, now she was working on flat out begging. “I want him!” She finally yelled from the hallway. George made it passed the living room and paused at their front door. Martha always wanted things George didn’t want… George would give her the world if he could and he has basically done it. Give or take some things he couldn’t help. “George Washington you take one more step.” Empty threat, he could smell it. And with that he jerked opened the door and tossed the cat out. The animal landed on the snow banks made by the street cleaners and ran off into the dark streets of Harlem. “And there, back where he belongs.” He smiled closing the door, the winter air hitting his overheated face did good to calm him. George closed the door behind him and turned towards Martha, water gathered at the ends of her turned up, almond eyes. “Martha.” “Well I hope your manly bravado keeps you warm tonight Mr. Washington. The couch is ALL yours.” She turned with a sound hmph. Her body scurried to the room, passing Lafayette who was still standing by. The master bedroom door slammed shut and snapped as she turned the lock. George ran his hand over his smooth head, calmer and clearer of mind he realized perhaps he had gotten a bit too upset over a few ten dollar ties…From the corner Lafayette leaned on the wall and smiled at George. “What?” He looked at the teenage boy who simply shrugged. “I’m not going out there. Its freezing.” George spoke as if reading Lafayette’s mind. “Pere…will get the chat(cat) for mama. Because Pere is a good man.” He tossed him his house keys which George instinctively caught. “Be safe.” Lafayette waved and started retreating back to his bedroom. The older man glowered a little, “Haven’t I told you to call us Mr. and Mrs. Washington!? We’re not your parents!” Though …even in French he did like the term. It was a word he would never hear from his own children. He couldn’t have any…perhaps it was why Martha was so dedicated to serving. She became an English teacher to be around kids, a part time guidance counselor for them…she would watch them grow and graduate. The closest thing to children she could have given George’s infertility. The crippling loss of an adoption falling apart…the home-stay nearly saved her aching heart. A void to be needed and to care for another thing, a need George should have known Martha was going to defend even if it was just a cat. Defeated, he tossed on his coat, equipped himself with his phone and keys, bracing himself for the chill of a February night.