synopsis. you lived alone, out in the middle of nowhere, with the house your parents left to you, after they passed. the only company that you kept was that of your dog and your chickens, which is kind of sad, but you didn't want to think about it. you had the same old life, you always had, getting up, feeding the chickens, working on your garden, re-reading almost every book in your collection, some days going into to town to get supplies or to sell your eggs; and quilts that you made. you weren't expecting your life to change drastically, when your dog found an unconscious man bleeding out in your flower bed.
tags | content warnings. fem!reader, socially awkward!reader, sunshine!reader, inexperienced!reader, animal-lover!reader, self-indulgent!reader, honestly, high honor!arthur morgan, soft!arthur morgan, protective!arthur morgan, grumpy!arthur morgan, lovesick!arthur morgan (is that not canon though, haha), insecure!arthur morgan, strangers to friends to lovers, he fell first and harder, grumpy x sunshine, slight age-gap (reader is late twenties, arthur is mid thirties), canon divergent (arthur doesn't get tuberculosis, eat my ass, rockstar games!), slight mentions of arthur morgan x mary linton (mary linton haters get the fuck out, i love her), profanity, fluff, angst, not to much though, i'm a sensitive girl, hurt/comfort, soft smut, *smirks*, mentioned canon typical violence, bloody gunshot wounds (ew), inaccurate medical knowledge, every chapter will have it's own warnings, so make sure to read those!
okko's notes. back on my red dead bullshit!! i wanna smooch arthur morgan <33
parts will be added, as they come out!
001.
taglist; if anyone wants to be tagged, let me know!
A small figure crawls onto his lap. A scroll with a multitude of ink strokes is within his hand, four eyes scrutinising the tinted paper as if it had personally attacked him. In reality, he is just trying to cover up the fact that his heart slightly, slightly softens when his wife becomes needy.
Your eyes peek at Sukuna’s face which holds a feigned concentration. A bit displeased with his lack of attention, your hands come to softly tug his hand, to which he quirks a brow and shoots you a pointed look. You purposefully lean into his herculean-like figure, the bump on your belly pressed against his maw. It forms a small pout before softly kissing the swell covered with a layer of silk. A hand is placed upon the wide span of your hip, rubbing circles with his thumb on the plump flesh.
“I would request you of something.” You utter, leaning your head on his bicep. He lets out a soft grumble, quirking a brow at your plea before placing the scroll down to give his full attention to his wife, “What, woman?”
“Could you please cut up some peaches for me?” You give him the most sweetest puppy eyes look you could muster, a look which has gotten you out of many, many things with him. The king of curses purses his lips before allowing you to shuffle off him to retrieve your beloved peaches, specifically diced into small cubes.
But as soon as he’s about to exit through the sliding door of your private quarters, you sheepishly call out to further extend your request, “…And can you also add soybeans and tofu with it?”
Silence ensures, and you know he’s making a mental note in his head to not question the love of his life when her hormones are all over the place. His head did not turn back. He is ready to leave to get your cravings sort but then you continued, “…With eggplant and boiled eggs also diced into cubes—”
That is what makes him snap his head back to stare at you, “What kind of abomination are you making me cook? Do you intend to eat this?” The words come quicker out of his mouth than processing it through his mind.
The stifle of giggles makes him snarl, stomping back towards you before leaning in to try and intimidate you, “Do you enjoy ordering me around like a slave? What else do you want me to fetch, hm? Fuckin’.. beetroot from the ground now?”
“..Well, now that you’ve mentioned it-”
“For fuck sake, woman.” He growls before sauntering off and slamming the sliding door shut.
Yes, he’s going to collect beetroot straight from the soil.
Headcannons & Requests
Neteyam, Rotxo and Aonung are crushing on you
Neteyam prompts based off pictures
Aonung x reader with angel fang piercings
Aonung with heatstroke x Metkayina healer reader
Aonung doesn't think he was clear enough about his confession
Other
Omatikaya Face Claims
Na'vi Outfits / Clothing
Aonung Images
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒… When a villager speaks harshly about you and threatens to leak your relationship, Ao’nungs protective side arises. Watching him defend your honor compels you to reward him in the best way possible, sex.
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓… Explicit! Mature audiences only! ᝰ porn w/ plot, Aged!up Ao’nung, fem!reader, sully!reader [daughter of Jake and Neytiri Sully] angst, fluff, smut, drama, kissing, secret relationship trope, established relationship [dating/courting] physical altercation, protective instincts use of na'vi language [with translations included]; dom/sub undertones, oral [m!receiving; blowjob/handjob], praise, face fucking/deepthroating, allusions to p in v, cum eating, orgasm
— this fic does contain aged!up character smut so if you don’t like that type of content please don’t interact and continue scrolling!!
𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍… 6.3k words
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑… Day Two of Kinktober is here! I’ve been wanting to post this fic for a very long time so I’m glad I finally finished it because I really like the plot to this! As always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!
𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒… event m.list・main m.list・event taglist
The sun dips below the horizon, painting the ocean in hues of orange and violet as you and Ao’nung sit together on the secluded area of the beach. Your head rests on his shoulder, his arm draped protectively around you, as you ramble about how much you love riding your ilu before sunrise, enjoying the moment where the sun rises and kisses the island with its warm rays.
The serenity of the moment wraps around you both like a cocoon, shutting out the rest of the world and its prying eyes. For now, it’s just the two of you, hidden away from judgment, basking in the freedom of your secret love.
While Ao’nung listens to your words, his thoughts begin to wander. His gaze drifts to the soft curve of your lips as you speak animatedly, your eyes sparkling with excitement.
He’s kissed you before—many times—but something about the intimacy of this moment stirs a deeper desire within him. He doesn’t just want to kiss you; he wants to feel the entirety of your connection in that kiss, to express everything he feels for you in one unspoken act.
Without a word, his hand gently cups your chin, tilting your face toward his. The sudden movement halts your speech, your wide golden eyes meeting his intense gaze. Before you can ask what’s on his mind, his lips press against yours.
The kiss starts soft, almost hesitant, but quickly deepens as his other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer. The sensation sends a wave of warmth through your body, the feeling of atokirina [woodsprites] fluttering wildly in your stomach. You smile against his lips, loving the way his hands wander your body and tighten on your hips as he shifts you onto his lap.
You straddle him now, your arms wrapping around his neck as his lips move from yours to the curve of your neck. His kisses grow more fervent, trailing along your collarbone, leaving a few faint marks, silently calming you as his.
Even though no one knows about your relationship, Ao’nung feels the need to stake his claim, to ward off the wandering eyes and flirtatious smiles of other men in the village. He’s tired of seeing his fellow clan members gawking at you, so he figured leaving hickeys will show them that your not searching for a lover.
While you and Ao’nung are having your heated make out session, running your hands through his curls as your head tilts back and breathy moans fill the air, a pair of envious eyes watches from the shadows.
Rilu, a young musician from the northern pods, stands hidden behind a cluster of boulders, his jaw tight and fists clenched. He’s harbored feelings for Ao’nung since they completed their Iknimaya [rites of passage], dreaming of courting the Olo’eyktan’s [clan leader’s] son. But when you arrived in Awa’atlu, all of Rilu’s hopes crumbled as Ao’nung’s attention turned solely to you.
Now, as he watches the two of you lost in each other, jealousy and anger cloud his thoughts. The bitterness of rejection festers within him, twisting into resentment. You’ve taken what he believes should have been his, and he refuses to stand by and let it continue.
As your soft gasps and Ao’nung’s groans drift toward him, Rilu begins formulating a plan. A way to expose your relationship and drive a wedge between you because if he can’t have Ao’nung, then no one can.
—
Things are getting pretty heated between you and the Metkayina boy. His hands explore your waist, thumbs brushing slow circles into your skin before they drift lower, fingers tracing the edge of the waistband at your hips. His touch is careful but deliberate, testing boundaries he’s already aching to cross.
Just as he starts to tug at your loincloth, going to the base of your tail to loosen the strings, your hand closes gently around his wrists, stopping him in his tracks. “Ao’nung,” you whisper, your voice soft but steady. As much as you want your boyfriend to have his way with you in the sand, this isn’t the place to indulge in your sexual desires. You both must show restraint, at least until you have full privacy. “Not here. Someone could see.”
He exhales through his nose, frustration flickering in his eyes before it melts into understanding. Even though he wants to have his way with your body, place his tongue on your most precious areas, he knows that beach shore might not be the best place to have either of your bodies exposed, especially when a curious Na’vi could come around the corner and catch you two in the middle of a comprising position.
Ao’nung’s thumb rubs against the back of your hand, looking into your eyes with a newfound softness but still holding that lustful fire. “You’re right,” he murmurs, his tone low, intimate. Then, with a half-smile, he leans in, his lips ghosting over yours, as if he’s going to kiss you. “I don’t want anyone else seeing what’s mine anyway.”
You feel your cheeks flush at the possessiveness in his voice. He isn’t harsh, but protective, reverent. It makes your heart warm. He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then to the corner of your mouth, before helping you up from the sand.
You brush the grains from your thighs, the sand sticking to your skin due to your swim prior to sitting down. When your boyfriend sees you trying to get the sand off, he can’t help but lend a helping hand. His palm brushes the sand from your thighs and legs, allowing him to feel the smoothness of your skin.
His touch lingers longer than it should, fingers tracing over the curves of your hips and somehow making it to your ass, allowing him to give your flesh a soft squeeze. A quiet laugh slips from your lips when his hands wander a bit lower than necessary, and he just grins, pretending innocence even as his fingers wander your skin.
Once the sand is no longer sticking to your skin, Ao’nung grabs your hand, leading you to the main part of the island. His touch is tender but possessive, protective in a way that sends a warmth curling through you. When his fingers slide down to your palm, he intertwines them with yours, his grip firm, steady, keeping you right by his side.
Together, you walk along the outskirts of the village, towards the cluster of marui pods, your shadows merging beneath the moonlight. Every so often, he leans close, whispering something low against your ear, something teasing and that makes your pulse race.
You laugh softly, nudging him, the playful spark in his eyes tempered by affection. You don’t let him have all the fun, you paint him naughty illustrations with your words, allowing his mind to picture what dirty things you’ll be doing to his body once you get him inside his mauri.
The teasing between you turns quieter the closer you draw to the marui pods, laughter fading into soft breaths. The air feels different here, thicker, heavy with things unsaid. Every brush of your hand against his, every whisper exchanged, seems to spark a fire beneath your skin.
Your tone dips low, sultry, full of promises you don’t have to speak aloud. The sound of your voice wraps around Ao’nung like a current, each word tugging him deeper into your orbit of sexual desire.
His pulse thrums at the base of his throat, his focus narrowing until the world shrinks to nothing but you: your scent, your warmth, the way your eyes hold his as if you’re daring him to lose control.
He doesn’t speak. He only looks at you, that deep, steady gaze that says everything he’s feeling but won’t yet give in to. The tension between you hums like a taut string, ready to snap at any second.
When you’re only a few strides from Ao’nung’s marui, the evening air still humming with the electricity between you and Ao’nung, a shadow suddenly cuts across your path.
Rilu steps out in front of you, his stance tense and deliberate. You stop short, startled, and instinctively slip your hand free from Ao’nung’s before anyone else can notice. The motion feels like a small betrayal, but it’s meant to protect what the two of you share, something that’s precious in its secrecy.
“Rilu,” you say, your voice edged with irritation, trying to figure why he so rudely cut you off. “What is it?”
He doesn’t answer. His eyes move over you slowly, filled with disdain that makes your skin crawl. You can feel Ao’nung stiffen beside you, his presence a steady weight, silent but alert.
Rilu eyes trail your body before turning his head to face your boyfriend. Deep down Rilu thinks you're an attractive woman, he can see why Ao’nung chose you as a lover but his hate for you still runs deep.
Watching the two of you so close, seeing the way you were all over each other at the beach, and the love Ao’nung has for you makes him angry.
There’s something venomous in his stare, clear that his jealousy has sharpened into hatred. “So it’s true,” he spits. “You’ve lowered yourself to her.” His eyes focus on the brows that frame your face, then fall to your five-fingered hand that’s hanging by your side, looking at your features with disgust. “How could you be with this demon? Someone who isn’t even a true Na’vi?!”
Your breath catches in your throat at his words: harsh, cutting, and dripping with venom. You’ve heard whispers before, felt the sideways glances and quiet disapproval from some Metkayina in the clan about you and your siblings who don’t appear as full Na’vi, but no one has been bold enough to say it to your face. Not like this.
Ao’nung’s body tenses beside you, the shift in his posture immediate and dangerous. His tail flicks once behind him, slow and deliberate, as if it’s a warning. “Watch your tongue,” he says evenly, his voice low and steady, but beneath it lies a threat sharp enough to cut.
Rilu lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, you can defend her all you want, Ao’nung, but everyone can see it. You bring nothing but shame to the clan!” He steps closer, his voice growing louder, echoing off the woven walls of nearby marui's. “Do you truly want to mate and be bonded to her forever?!”
You can feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, each of his words feeling like stones in your heart. Shame prickles beneath your skin even as fury begins to boil in your chest. You’ve tried so hard to prove yourself, to show the Metkayina that you belong, that you are worthy to live amongst them but here Rilu stands, trying to rip all of that away with his cruel words.
You’ve been known to have issues with your temper, something you get from your mother and with Rilu yelling such hateful things, it’s only provoking that side of you to arise. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms. “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” you growl, your voice trembling with restrained anger. “You don’t get to speak on things you don’t understand.”
Rilu’s lip curls into a mocking grin. “Oh, but I do understand. I see it every time you walk by. You think you fit in here, but you never will. You’re not one of us and you never will.” His eyes dart to your hand, your five fingers flexing in frustration. “You can hide behind our ways, our clan, but you’ll always be different. You’ll always be a freak.”
The air leaves your lungs in a sharp exhale. Your ears flatten, tail lashing behind you as you take a threatening step forward. “Say that again,” you hiss, your voice low and trembling with fury, your hands dying to punch him into a bloody pulp.
Rilu’s eyes flicker with satisfaction, having you right where he wants you. This is exactly what he wanted, to take you out of your element, to show the ugly sides of you so Ao’nung wont want to be with you any longer. “Go on then,” he taunts, stepping closer, flashing a mischievous smile. “Show everyone what you really are. An angry little half-breed who doesn’t know her place.”
That’s when the snarl breaks from your throat: raw, feral, unrestrained. Your body shifts forward instinctively, your fangs making an appearance with your tail thrashing behind you. You lunge forward, balling your fist to place across his face, but before you can reach him, Ao’nung’s arm shoots out, palm pressing firmly against your stomach, holding you back as his body shifts forward like a barrier between you and Rilu.
You snap your head toward him, wondering why he stopped you. When you look into his eyes you notice the sharpness in them, the kind that can silence a crowd. Ao’nung knows you can handle the situation on your own, you’re a strong and powerful woman who isn’t afraid to speak her mind, but as your boyfriend he wants— no needs to protect you, emotionally and physically. What kind of future mate would he be if he wouldn’t?
“Syulang [flower], I got this.” Ao’nung murmurs, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear. His tone is soft, but the weight behind it leaves no room for argument, despite you wanting to give him one. Your brows knit together, confusion flickering across your face. You want to fight back, every muscle in your body screams to let your anger loose, to make Rilu eat the words he so carelessly threw at you. You want him to bleed for them.
But then Ao’nung meets your gaze. His cerulean eyes, usually warm and teasing, have hardened into something fierce and unyielding. The look he gives you isn’t a question, it’s a command, quiet but firm. ‘Trust me.’, the words his looks translate to.
You know that Ao’nung would always protect you, he would never allow someone to harm you or say mean things toward you without facing consequences. So you swallow your defiance, though it burns in your throat, and take a small step back behind him. You can’t help the glare you level at Rilu, your tail twitching with restrained rage, but you allow Ao’nung to take the lead.
He steps forward slowly, each of his movements strategic and deliberate. His broad frame blocks Rilu’s view of you entirely and when he stops, they’re nearly chest to chest, Ao’nung’s hand lifting just enough to press a single finger to Rilu’s sternum. His voice, when it comes, is low and controlled, but it vibrates with authority. “I need you to respect her, Rilu.” he says sternly, holding back a growl. “Watch your tongue when it comes to her.”
There’s no shouting, no wild aggression, just that calm, dangerous tone of a man who knows the power he holds and doesn’t need to prove it. Even without raising his voice, the air between them crackles with tension. As future Olo’eyktan [clan leader], he knows how to make his words powerful without presenting as aggressive, plus he doesn’t want to get into an altercation with a fellow villager, unless he feels forced to.
Hearing Ao’nung speak up for you only fuels the bitterness burning in Rilu’s chest. His lips curl into a sneer as he takes a step closer, his words dripping with venom. “Oh, I see how it is,” he hisses. “How would you feel if I told the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk [spiritual leader] about your little secret? Because I’m sure Ronal would love to know her precious son is fucking someone so pathetic, weak, and repulsive as her.” He spits the last word like poison, his voice rising, clearly wanting others nearby to hear. His goal is cruelly simple, to humiliate you, break you, and drive a wedge between you and Ao’nung.
For a moment, Ao’nung stands completely still. You can see his jaw tighten, his chest rise and fall in shallow bursts. He’s trying, really trying, to do what his father has always taught him: to be composed, to think before he acts. But Rilu’s words cut too deep. The insult toward you, the woman he loves, the threat to expose the blossoming relationship you two share, it shatters every ounce of restraint he’s been holding onto.
A low, guttural growl builds in Ao’nung’s chest, deep and dangerous, vibrating through the air between them. His shoulders square, muscles tense, and for a brief heartbeat, the world feels like it’s holding its breath. Then, before Rilu can even blink and defend himself, Ao’nung’s fist connects with his face.
The impact is brutal. A sharp crack splits through the night, echoing over the sand. Rilu’s head snaps to the side, blood splattering across his cheek as he stumbles back. Shock flashes across his face, quickly replaced by fear. He’s never seen Ao’nung like this before. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes have quickly morphed into a less blue shade and turned black with fury.
Ao’nung steps forward again and lands another hit, harder this time, square across Rilu’s eye. The force sends him crashing down onto the sand, a choked grunt escaping his lips. Within a few moments, an angry red mark begins to bloom beneath his swelling eye.
You stand frozen for a moment, your heart racing. The air hums with tension, the only sounds the crash of distant waves and the ragged breaths tearing from Ao’nung’s chest. You don’t know what to do at first but you definitely aren’t going to step in. Whatever Ao’nung does to Rilu, he fully deserves.
Ao’nung steps over Rilu’s limp form, towering above him with a calm but dangerous satisfaction tugging at his core. The bruises blooming across Rilu’s face is a testament to what happens when someone crosses a line, especially when that line is you. His lips curl into a faint, satisfied smirk as he studies the damage he’s done, his bruised knuckles still flexing from the impact.
“Listen closely, kurkung [asshole],” Ao’nung says, his tone low and edged with steel as he crouches beside him. His voice is quiet, but it carries the weight of a threat that seeps into the air between them. “If I ever hear you speak my woman’s name again, I won’t be so merciful next time. Understand?”
Rilu’s breathing comes in ragged gasps, eyes wide as he nods quickly. “Y-yes, I understand.” he stammers, feeling the blood dripping from his nose, all the way down to his chest. Taking those forceful punches, feeling all of Ao’nung’s anger in his fists makes the musician feel like he’s seeing stars.
Ao’nung tilts his head, studying him for a moment, looking at the fear in his eyes, the tremble in his lips, and the pitiful way he clutches at his bruised face. Rilu had spat all that venom, called you names, acted bold in front of others and yet here he was, sprawled in the sand like a frightened child.
The sight makes Ao’nung’s jaw tighten, a sharp look of disgust twisting his features. “You talk big when you think no one will put you in your place, but look at you now...” his voice is flat, precise, the kind of cruelty that leaves no space for comeback. “Patheic,” he mutters, his tone low and dripping with contempt. “Weak.” he adds, the single word a verdict rather than an insult.
Then, softer but every bit as uncompromising, he finishes, letting one last threat roll off his tongue. “If anyone asks, you fought with another boy. You didn’t see me. You didn’t see her. If you mutter a word about our relationship to anyone, you will have more than just a few bruises and bloody nose, got it?”
Rilu gives another frantic, one that’s shaky and reluctant, showing that he doesn’t want any more trouble. His eyes dart away, not trusting himself to meet Ao’nung’s, afraid that just looking at him would bring forth another punch.
Ao’nung pats the boy’s chest before standing up, doing yet another gesture to humiliate him one last time. He steps back without another word, leaving Rilu to gather whatever dignity he can before slipping away. Rilu scrambles to his feet, barely keeping his balance as he stumbles away into the dark, sand clinging to his bruised skin while running home with his tail tucked between his legs.
You stand frozen, your pulse hammering in your ears as you take in the aftermath. The way Ao’nung’s chest rises and falls, his knuckles still red and raw, the simmering fury that lingers in his eyes. But beneath it all, you feel something else stirring deep inside you. The sight of him like this: fierce, protective, dominant, sends a shiver racing down your spine.
You love how soft and sweet Ao’nung is with you, how he caters to your every need, treats you like a delicate flower, and is always loving on you but seeing him in this assertive state is making you feel aroused in ways you didn’t know were possible. Watching him defend you, not allowing Rilu to belittle you and taking care of the issue himself, makes your body run hot.
He turns to you, that storm in his gaze softening the instant his eyes meets yours. Yet, your body still hums with the aftershock of what you’ve just witnessed. The tenderness you know so well still lives in him, but right now, it’s wrapped in something darker, something along the lines of possessive, commanding, and intoxicating.
Ao’nung walks toward you, his sea-salt scent wrapping around with each step closer he takes. Your pulse flutters at his nearness, your body warms from the sight of him, the smell of him floods your senses, making you feel a stir in your lower region. No matter what’s going on around you, the waves lapping against the shore, the night humming with distant life, all you can feel is him.
“Thank you for defending me,” you murmur, placing your hand on his chest, voice soft but still trembling with leftover adrenaline. “It was… sweet of you.” You know the risk he took, the kind of trouble that could come from his parents for doing what he did. And despite that, he defended your honor without a single hesitation.
Ao’nung’s gaze softens, his anger ebbing away to something far more tender. “No need to thank me,” he says, his voice low and steady. “You’re my future mate. It’s my duty to protect you.”
The words strike deep, flooding you with warmth. The way he says ‘future mate’, like a vow, makes your chest tighten. The way he crafts his words makes you want to physically melt. You can’t pry your eyes away from him; every inch of his expression is sincere, every heartbeat of his presence feels like gravity pulling you in.
The sexual tension between you and him is at an all time high, it’s like you both are back in the same atmosphere from when you left your spot on the beach. Even though you and him are still upset about the Rilu situation, you can’t help your desire for each other.
A small smile tugs at your lips, a teasing spark flickering across your features. “Still,” you whisper, your tone playful but sultry, your words filled with double meaning. “I think you deserve to be thanked properly.”
Your palm wanders his upper frame, moving towards his arm until your fingertips find his tattoo. Your fingers glide over the intricate designs of his tattoo along his shoulder and bicep, slowly rubbing against his skin.
His muscles tense beneath your touch, not from restraint, but from how sensual it feels. His eyes narrow slightly, confusion clearly written across his face, trying to read what’s running through your mind. “What kind of thank you?”
You lean in, close enough that your breath mingles with his. “The kind only I can give,” you say, a mischievous lilt to your words. You thought the signals your sending were clear, that he would easily catch on to what you’re implying but when you see he’s still not understanding you decide to give him a hint he can’t miss.
You move your hand down his body until it reaches his loincloth, placing your fingers around the strings that are securing it around his waist and lightly tug on them before letting them go and moving your hand down a little further.
Your hand travels further down his body, slowly running your hands along his his waist until you reach the outer band of his loincloth. Your fingertips play with the strings of his waistband, lightly tugging against but not with enough force to take them off. Once your done teasing, your hand travels lower but not with a sense of urgency, your purposely taking your time.
Ao’nung is still confused and doesn’t understand your coded words until he feels the palm of your hand cusp his cock that’s restrained by the woven cloth, causing a small groan escape his lips from the sudden act. “Does that answer your question?” You ask, a lustful smile spreading across your face, already loving how he’s responding from such a simple touch.
Feeling your hand rub against his cock, feeling nimble fingers stroke the outline his cock is making against the woven material, finally helps things click in his brain and understand your earlier statement and he can’t help but smirk at how him getting into a little scuffle makes you horny. He didn’t know a situation like this could arouse you, but he’s definitely making a mental note of it. Seems like I need to punch people for you more often.” He teases, his smirk widening at how his sweet girl finds violence as a turn on.
Hearing him tease, knowing how much he loves to joke, makes you playfully roll your eyes. As much as you enjoy going back and forth with him, tonight you aren't in the mood for that. You have some emotions you need to be fucked out of you and you can’t do that standing in the middle of the village.
You turn on your heels, walking along the sand until you reach the spongy pathways, swaying your hips enticingly with every step you take. “Come before I change my mind.” You say sternly, your tail flicking behind you while you stride to his dwelling.
When Ao’nung hears your words, his teasing seizes. He knows how quickly your moods can change and he’s not giving this fire a chance to sizzle out. The Metkayina comes behind you, grabbing your hand and practically drags you to his marui, making you let out a soft giggle at the urgency in his steps.
When you both walk inside his home, being greeted by the sound the ocean, he ties the entrance flap shut so no one in the surrounding area can see the lewd acts that are going to take place. Once it’s secure, he makes his over to where you are, standing beside his makeshift bed.
“Lay down.” You command, placing your hand on his chest and pushing him backwards onto his spongy mattress, not giving him any room to do anything other than what you say. Ao’nung wordlessly obeys, laying flat onto his bed, legs a few inches apart, giving you enough room to do whatever your planning in your mind.
You crawl into bed with him, hovering over his chiseled physique, placing your hand on his chest before leaning over and crashing your lips into his. His lips instantly return the kiss, moving in a synchronized rhythm against yours which allows you to slip your tongue in his mouth, exploring every corner of it.
Your tongues begin to swirl around each other, slowly fighting the other for dominance, eliciting moans from both parties. Kissing Ao’nung is one of the easiest things on Pandora. With you and him being so in tune with each other, it makes things much more fun and exciting, especially when you both match each other's level of freakiness.
When you and him pull apart, allowing each other a moment to breathe, a line of saliva keeps you and him connected until you break it, needing your mouth so you can show attention to the rest of his body. You scoot down and begin to leave trails of wet kisses along his teal skin, starting from his collarbone and slowly making your way down to his waistline.
Each time you tease a part of his body, trailing your fingers along his abdomen, gliding your warm tongue along his v-line, Ao’nung can feel his cock twitch in his loincloth. Your eyes settle on his aching bulge, desperately wanting to escape their restraints.
Deciding to end his torture, you pull at the strings of his loincloth, causing the woven material to rub against his aching tip, causing a groan to fly from his lips. No matter how many times you and Ao’nung engage in sexual acts, you always manage to make him feel nervous, which is why the Metkayina places his hands over his face as if they’re a shield.
“Don’t get shy on me, baby.” You whisper while leaning forward, pulling his hand from over his features so you can see his face. “I wanna see you.” Despite Ao’nung’s tough exterior, he always gets soft and gentle when it comes to you. Maybe it’s because you and him are similar in more ways than you would like to admit, or it’s because you give him the chance to put his guards down and be himself. Either way, you love this side of him.
Once your fingers are down fumbling with the strings of his loincloth, his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach before resting against his thigh. “I-I’m not being shy.” He manages to stutter out, noticing how your eyes study him like a Tsurak [Skimwing] watching it’s prey. If the harshness of your lustful gaze wasn't enough to make Ao’nung crumble, what happens next definitely does. You take a hold of his shaft and drag his throbbing tip against your plump lips, allowing them to become coated with his sticky pre-cum.
“Then prove it.” You say with a wicked smile, deciding to turn up the heat and bring Ao’nung out of his shell. Before your boyfriend has an opportunity to reply, you part your lips, placing your warm mouth around his pinkish tip, allowing your tongue to glide over his slit. You look up at him and the sight of his flustered face and knitted hairless brows, along with the sweet sound of his mewls hitting your ears makes your cunt clench desperately, wanting nothing more than Ao’nung to relentlessly pound into your womb, but before that can take place you want to make sure he’s pleased first.
“Oh, fuck.” He groans suddenly, words and sounds begin to eject from his throat like a spear piercing through the crisp air. The way you work your tongue around his cock is magical, you have an effect on him that no other woman on this island has.
Around everyone else he’s filled with dominance and authority, but with you hollowing your cheeks, taking as much of him in your mouth as possible and pumping the rest of his cock, makes all that falter to allow his submissive side to arise.
Ao’nung’s cock is stretching your mouth, his tip hitting the uvula every time you lower your head, causing you to moan around him, sending a shock wave through your partner. After sucking for a while you come up for air, lines of saliva falling onto your dainty feather top, while your lungs begin to expand.
Once your ready to start again, you spit on his cock, allowing it to glaze his shaft before stroking his cock, giving it a few firm pumps before kissing his tip and taking him in your mouth like a pro.
The combination of your movements: you slurping his cock while stroking his base, making sure every inch of him is being pleasured, makes Ao’nung hips spasm, forcing him deeper down your throat. You place your hands on his thighs, feeling them quiver, a sign that you’ve found the sensitive spot that’ll take him to his peak.
To coax his climax out of him, you decide to change your position. You lower yourself and place an arch in your back and perch your ass in the air, giving him the perfect view of it.
With one of your hands secure on his thighs for stability, your head begins to bob at an agonizing pace, hallowing your cheeks and blowing a few spit bubbles in the process, while your free hand you begin to caress his balls, massaging them at slow to medium pace, wanting to add to his stimulation so you can milk them dry later.
“Oh my- shit, this –ugh– feels so– good, syulang [flower].” He whimpers with his eyes screwed shut, tangling his hands in your hair and wrapping them around the base of your kuru [neural queue], adjusting his fingers to get a good grip before he begins thrusting himself into your throat, bullying his cock into the depths of your open throat.
You begin to breathe through your nose, relaxing your muscles so you could perfectly take all of him, wanting to all ten inches of him to perfectly settle inside the warmth of your mouth, pushing him further and further towards the edge of great release.
Soon, his whimpers and moans turn into him mindlessly blabbering, his brain turns foggy from the overwhelming amount of pleasure surging through his body, especially when he feels your tongue grazing the underside of his cock, the moist tip pressing against his prominent veins.
As he watches your eyes fill with tears and run down your cheeks from the force of his thrusts, hearing the enticing sound of you gagging around his throbbing cock, and seeing the small spit bubbles forming on the corners of your mouth, along with your moans and whimpers that make his body shudder, his orgasm comes full force.
“Mmm, fu-fuck, m’cumming!” He rocks his hips, forcing your head further down onto him, making your nose press against his groin, making it harder for your lungs to expand for air but in the moment you don’t care.
The sensation of him roughly fucking your face, using your throat as his personal cum dump, makes you clench your plush thighs, rubbing them rigorously against each other to create some friction against your sensitive clit.
You love when he got this way, forcefully making an effort to plant his seed down your throat, it’s one of your favorite positions to be in.
You begin to hum on his cock, giving his body yet another reason to spill his seed, making his cock begin to twitch in your mouth. His legs start trembling while his breathing becomes shallow, and multiple rounds of praise shot through his lips, telling you how good you are at taking his big cock down your throat.
His abs begin to tense, his balls spasm, and soon his thrusts become sloppy. With a few more moments of hallowing your cheeks, moaning around him, and giving his balls one tight squeeze, Ao’nung allows a sharp moan to fall from his lips and soon you feel a warm substance.
Thick ropes of his milky cum spurt into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, while the rest settles on your palate. Feeling his seed settle on your tongue makes you moan, feeling a sort of joy thay stems from being able to sexually satisfy your future mate.
Once he’s giving you all he has, you swallow every droplet of his tasty seed before pulling him out of your mouth, resulting in lines of saliva dripping onto your hand. You tap his cock onto your tongue, making sure every ounce of his cum was released and once your positive you stick out your tongue, showing him that you swallowed every drop like the good girl you are.
When you flash Ao’nung a proud smile, he wraps his hand around your throat and pulls you toward him, his eyes looking down at you in a fucked out state, feeling like his soul has been snatched from his body. Once your face is leveled with his, he sloppily kisses you, tasting bits of himself on your lips and tongue but he could honestly care less. “That was fuckin’ amazing.”
“Thank you.” You whisper while a purple hue begins to form along your cheeks, feeling your face warm with Ao’nung’s lustful gaze watching you. “I just wanted to thank you for punching that shxawng [idiot] for me.” While the words fall from your lips, you can feel a change shifting in the air, as if the energy is quickly changing into another form.
"I would punch anyone for you." Ao'nung doesn't feel any guilt for what he did. He would punch anyone if it meant protecting you and your peace. While he speaks, his hands run down your back, reaching the base of your tail and untying the strings of your damped loincloth. Once it comes apart he flings it across the room since its services will no longer be required.
He wraps his arm tightly around your waist and in one swift movement, switches your position so your back is against the mattress and he’s hovering over your petite frame. His pupil-blown eyes trail down your body, captivated by each and every curve he’s grown to love, his hand grazing over the valley of your breasts down to the roundness of your hips, making your breath hitch.
Ao’nung gives you a look, one that expresses him asking for permission before going any further and once you give him the green light, a devilish smile spreads across his lips, ready to return the favor of immense pleasure. He pries your legs open, lifting one of them and placing it over his shoulder before grabbing his cock and sliding inside of your wetness, making a moanful gasp leave your lips, feeling his girth stretch your tight walls open nice and wide.
Ao’nung allows you a few moments to adjust before increasing his speed, making your head fall back in pleasure, feeling your body transforming into a state of an elated high only he can provide. Now it’s Ao’nung’s time to reward you, and he doesn’t plan on letting you go until the sun comes up.
Just showing you the Arthur Morgan doll I've finished this week. I loved playing RDR2, truly one of the best games I have ever played. I feel I'm gonna play it again and again.
One thing I've always been curious about: you often mention the overall size of the mer!141, do you have any drawing showing the difference between them and the "smaller" mers?
Its kinda hard for me to imagine (and i also love your drawings)
Well, I have this drawing of [orca!ghost and heaviside's dolphin!reader] hehe :]
This is an extreme example! It really depends on the irl size different of their animal counterparts!
I hope this is not rude or anything but do you have arts of mer 141? Of any species? I'm curious as to how you depict them. Because Like I imagine them as looking less human and more of an anthropomorphic sea creatures, if that makes sense, but I might be imagining them wrong
-ʕ º ᴥ ºʔ
I have this doodle of orca!ghost and tiger shark!gaz :] !!
They have alot more mobility than their animal counter parts, with markings that cover their entire bodies! Also, their "hair" is similar to seal fur, so it's hydrophobic and v fluffy :]
Simon’s been nothing but behaved. Hasn’t touched you below the belt even though his fingers have been trembling with desire for weeks.
Patient.
If he were younger he would’ve ripped your overalls off, bent you over your library desk, and taken you the same night he met you: barred teeth and all.
He hadn’t.
Even now, you sit on the edge of his bed, staring at him with coy eyes from the doorway, and he keeps his hands at his sides. Nothing but the lacy bra and underwear he’s sure you wore just for this. It hugs your breasts perfectly, plump flesh spilling from the material.
Sitting there, waiting, on his bed. All parts divine perched on a silver platter for him to feast on, dig his claws and teeth in.
Still, he’s hesitant, tensing his jaw so his canines don’t scare you as he approaches. He’s not sure how he got here, not sure how you got there—some miracle of sorts.
His hand swallows your neck, thumb tickling your scent gland when he pushes his way between your thighs. He sees your chest constrict with a deep breath, watches the way your eyes become lidded from one swipe. The bite’s still there, not quite faded. His alpha snarls, he still hasn’t grown accustomed to the sight of it, especially when you’re naked and about to be tangled in his sheets, wrapped around his knot.
You’ve already told him it’s been forever, warned him about triggering your heat. It’s at the back of his mind, tucked right next to the trauma of your previous mate. It’s part of why he’s behaved, Clementine aside. Afraid his alpha might act too brazen, decide to devour you whole like your previous mate, like who he used to be.
It’s why he’s given in small doses.
He ignores the fact that it feels as if his claws are sprouting from his fingertips, ignores the way his jaw feels so fucking heavy and the only way it’ll lighten is if he buries his teeth in your neck. Make you bleed red as his.
It’s not your heat, but by god does the room smell like it is. Your jasmine is so thick he’s not sure how he’s managed to keep his alpha on a leash thus far. It’s raw from the source, straight from the tap, unconfined by your omega.
He smells the slick in your panties, heady jasmine, and creamy vanilla. So much more enticing than before. There’s still apprehension, sweet smell burnt around the edges. The aggressive alpha in him likes it that much more, mouth watering just to get one fucking taste.
“Pretty omega.”
He says it without a curl to his words, soft and tender, because he fucking means it. You take a sharp breath, hand coiling around his wrist on your neck.
He presses a peck to your lips, just wants a small taste before his main course, licks his lips when you chase after him with a soft noise. He hovers, thumb tracing against the jut of your jaw, your cheek, knuckles down your neck, like he’s memorizing each curve. Staring at you with something in his eyes you can’t quite pinpoint.
He can hear your heartbeat in your chest, feels it patter under the pad of his thumb.
“You nervous?”
That breaks a small smile across your lips. “You can smell me.”
This time you mean it.
And fuck— do you smell good.
He nudges your head gently with his nose until he finds the source of your sweet scent and inhales deep, smothering himself in your smell, mind hazy with nothing but you. Rubbing his own scent on it, claiming, like he’s hypnotized by the fusing of the two scents, hopes to stain it to the back of his throat, so he’ll never fucking forget it.
“Tell me, Miss. Librarian,” His lips brush your scent gland, laves his tongue against the sensitive skin between words because he can’t resist, “Why are you so nervous?”
“Well— I know you,” You pause, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s from the way he sucks your scent gland between his teeth or the needy sound you make between breaths. “Probably um.”
When he pulls back, you gesture to his pelvis.
He tries his best to hide his smirk, “Have a big dick?”
You nod quickly, struggling to hold his gaze when there’s embarrassment burning your neck and chest, tongue heavy in your mouth because you don’t quite have the strength to speak. You gasp when he lifts you easily by your hips, resting you against the pillows, adjusting himself between your thighs, trapped under his weight, mouth at your ear.
“I do, baby.”
His voice, low and smooth, rolls chills down your spine, settles thick in your core when he grinds against your cunt for emphasis, presses a wet stamp to the back of your ear, greedy hands exploring the expanse of your body, squeezing and kneading any supple flesh he can find purchase on.
“But that’s okay, isn’t it?”
A wet stamp to the curve of your neck, scraping his teeth ever so lightly against your gland, makes you arch, scratching at his back because you fucking want it just as much as he does.
“Just gotta make sure to stretch ya reallll nice f’me.” He drags the end of his words, popping your breasts free from your bra.
A wet stamp on your sternum, sucking each nipple in his mouth so there’s a shiny ring of saliva around them, makes you mewl quietly as the cold air stings them.
“Make it fit.”
His eyes flicker to yours from between your legs, he’s sure he looks like a predator hunched over its prey, eyes dark and hooded. He’s sure it makes your omega turn with delight, begging to roll over and present to your alpha, show him how good a prized prey you could be. It makes his alpha rumble, watching you fidget nervously because of him, because of what he could do to you. Rip you to shreds.
He won’t. Though, the primal urges of his alpha want to make you submit to him, scruff your nape so you bend for his will, mount you and just fucking claim you with his fat knot.
He doesn’t have to do any of that, your instincts handed your acquiescence over to him long ago, bared your neck for him to bite, batted your pretty lashes as you stared up at him, begging him for more.
“It’s just been a long time.” You breathe it out like it’s strained, throat collapsed with nerves.
He peels your underwear off, ignoring the way your slick gobs a thick string when the material is pulled away, so he can focus on your words. Ignores the way your poor pussy looks like it’s weeping for him, hole winking, swollen and drenched, hasn’t ever been properly touched, especially not by your old mate.
He’ll show you. Show you how an omega should be treated. How he treats his omega.
He spreads your glistening pussy open, swipes his thumb through your folds, slowly, before he can even think about responding, collecting your slick and popping it in his mouth, sucking the sweet flavor right off.
You fist the sheets in anticipation, silently watching him with parted lips as he tastes you for the first time like he might not like it. Which couldn’t be farther from the truth, the man growls possessively around his digit, teeth pinching the pad of his thumb like it might draw more of your flavor.
When he finally opens his eyes, he looks like a completely different person, eyes dilated and wild, gone. Alpha in control.
“Don’t worry.” It’s vibrated from his chest, tone unfamiliar. “I take care of what’s mine.”
You have one second to take a breath before his tongue is in your cunt. One full swoop to flood his mouth with your essence, nose snug against your clit as he laps at your entrance. His alpha demands more, a hunger so insatiable that it orders him to feast.
The whine you make causes a scalding heat to spindle through his back, makes him hunch deeper into your pussy like a man starved, meaty paws pushing your knees to your chest, so your pussy is on display for him. He licks between your folds like it’s a delicacy, shifting between enjoying the moment, eyes closed, and letting your taste melt between his teeth and down his throat, groaning beastly from the pleasure of finally tasting you, to ripping his eyes open to watch your pretty face.
His mouth maps shapes against your clit, sucking and working you open with a intense fervor. The aphrodisiac to his pain the slick that gushes out of you, the frantic keens that spill from your lips. It fuels his hunger, deeper so.
He’s not entirely sure how you’ve managed to keep your glasses on thus far but they hang on the edge of your nose, foggy from your pants. He likes it, a little too much, laps against your clit that much more eagerly, smoothing his tongue drenched. The look you wear is precious, like he’s being unfair, cruel even, when he suctions your clit between his lips something fierce.
You weakly push at his shoulders, fingers clawing at his scalp as you squirm, stuttering how it’s too much, but it’s gone straight to his head, a little too greedy to stop now.
Your arousal’s dripping down his chin, smeared on his nose and lips, but he keeps diving in for more. Like it isn’t enough to be covered in your slick, your scent staining his skin, your taste permanent on his tongue. So everyone can smell your cum on his face, know he had his face encased in your thighs, know he had his pretty omega finishing on his tongue.
You kick your legs out when he replaces his mouth with his finger, whining a protest at the sudden stretch. A brawny arm holds you down, biting the inside of your thigh in retaliation, a deep growl spilling from his throat.
He won’t let you get away that easily. His alpha likes the chase.
There are teeth indents on your thigh when he pulls away, something possessive roars in his chest at the sight— his mark on your flesh.
“Be sweet f’me now okay, baby?” A second finger pushes through your walls. “Don’t you want my knot?”
You stare down at him wide-eyed, a high-pitched whine coming from your lips as you frantically nod.
The moment goes by in a bit of a blur, fucking his thick fingers into your pussy expertly, noises so obscene for such a sweet librarian. Especially when he curls them, thumb circling your clit in tandem, and you mewl, rocking your hips back against his palm. Your a mess, but he’s anything but uncoordinated, deliberate and controlled strokes.
He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, pressing it to your chest, so he can crash his lips to yours. It’s sloppy, tongues smearing together, pressed to the roofs of mouths, and lips bitten swollen all while he’s got his fingers buried in your cunt, working the fire thumping in your core.
“D’ya taste that?”
When he pulls away theres a wet pop, lips glistening with his saliva. It’s a bit lewd, swapping the remnants of your slick from his mouth.
You bob your head, “Yeah.”
“That’s all you. All my omega.”
Your pussy flutters around his fingers.
He smirks, face hovering so close he takes all your air and makes it his own. “Oh? You like how you taste, sweetheart?”
You shake your head, ashamed, as he watches the embarrassment he’s teased form on your face.
He huffs a laugh, scissors his fingers, spreading your spongy walls, a bit impatient as his cock aches in his boxers. You take it so well until you can’t anymore, overwhelmed by the sensation of everything and not enough at the same time, pushing at the wrist against your mound.
“Want your knot, Simon.” Your voice sends a throb straight to the head of his cock, soft and broken, pleading so sweetly.
He has to grit his teeth, keep from filling you in one go. He was never a patient man to begin with.
When he frees his cock, slapping against your abdomen, tip reddened and angry, your eyes widen. He almost feels bad, it’s not like he didn’t tell you he was big, but he knows the sight of it makes you tense, wondering if you’ll be able to fit it all.
You will, he’ll make you.
He smears it along the ridges of your pussy, rutting his hips ever so slightly between your wet folds to cover himself in your warm slick. It doesn’t take long, you’re drenched, but you whine impatiently the whole time, pleasure jolting through your veins every time he brushes your clit.
When he finally, finally, slides his head in, you tense, mouth gaping, leg clamping at his shoulder.
“Jus’ the tip, sweetheart.”
His fingers are meant to soothe you, trace shapes into your sides, but it’s not his fault you’re a ticklish thing. You look at him like he’s the culprit when you squirm lower on his cock by accident, garbling a shocked moan.
The sound of your pussy popping over the head of his cock, the squelch of the slide almost sends him into overdrive. Stores it as one of his new favorite sounds, right up there next to his name on your lips.
It’s a lot— he knows it is, but you take it so well, mewling quietly into his ear with each new inch. The stretch wears you thin, head curled in the pillow at the agonizing pace he’s filling you at, breaths tight in your chest. You think it might be done, but he keeps pushing more and more in, deeper into your walls and you’re sure there’s no more room for him. He’s there, in your throat, kissing against your soft flesh, when he finally stops.
All his strength shatters into insignificant crumbs once he bottoms out, cock buried to the hilt. His breaths are shallow, holding on to any resemblance of control he had because you’re squeezing him so fucking tight. You look at him a little scared, squirming because he hasn’t even moved and it’s already too much, you already feel your chest collapse, choking on your breaths.
“Fuckin’ doin’ so well f’me, baby.” He surprises himself, didn’t think his voice would sound so steady wrapped around you. “Breathe f’me, sweetheart. Gotta relax”
If he wasn’t a strong man, he would’ve finished in you by now. Fill you with his spend and then fuck it back into you over and over again.
But he is a strong man, so all he does is grit his teeth and rut his hips, humming when he feels your chest fill with air and the warm breath cascade over his shoulders. Slowly grinding into your tight walls until all that’s left are his slurred praises pressed to your skin.
His fingers encase yours, tangling his hold into yours, held skintight at the side of your head, palm pressed to palm. It’s tender, all of it, right up to the fact that it seems as if your walls mold to him, like there was a Simon shaped outline.
Simon doesn’t believe in fate. Maybe in another life you and him would’ve had Clementine together, maybe he had to have Clementine to find you. Maybe in another life he would’ve been your mate, maybe you had to be betrayed to fall in love with him.
You’re his mate, there’s never been anyone else. He sees it in the pages of Fancy Nancy, reads it between the words of Corduroy. All the sweetest words bloom to life for you.
It’s slow, a steady grind that he gradually builds, pulls more of his cock out bit by bit before he fucks it back into you. And you stare at him like he’s got your heart in the palm of his hand, but it’s the complete opposite. You’ve netted your string around his heart weeks ago, pulled the lock of his alpha free.
A love he tried to deny himself. Told himself his heart was only big enough for Clementine. But there you are, peering up at him with your pretty eyes, curled in the shape of his heart. Told himself he was only soft for his mint, but there his hand rests, tangled in yours, squeezing your palm between every roll of his hips.
But there you were. Strung your way into his chest, made a home for yourself there, so it would ache when you weren’t there.
By the time he’s really thrusting into you, fat of his cock head bullying your cervix with precision because he can’t take it anymore, there’s a white ring around the base of his cock. It only gets thicker, you only clamp tighter around him with each new thrust, your thighs trembling either side of his hips, crying out everytime he angles his hips deeper.
“There we—fuck.” His head falls against your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to fight his forming knot.
Each time he opens his mouth with some new praise he wants to mumble, your pussy flutters around him, you moan a plea into his ear, and he stutters over his words like some virgin.
The drag of his hips feels delicious, the clench of your walls, silently begging for more, taking all that he has to offer is hypnotic.
He fucking loves it.
Plunging into your walls like he knows exactly how you like it.
He almost groans in agony because he can’t see the way your toes curl at his shoulder, or the way your brows tinge as the warmth of your impending orgasm turns fire hot, scorching a pain that burns so well you can’t take it anymore. His teeth at your scent gland sends you over the edge, biting hard enough it’ll leave a mark, but shallow enough it won’t form a bond. Reminiscent of what’s to come, not now, but soon.
Alpha.
You call him alpha in your daze, all soft and needy, eyes foggy and desperate.
It’s as if he sees red, bites his knuckle so hard it bleeds, so he won’t bury his canines in your neck. His knot pushes through your spongy walls as you arch your back, crying alpha like it’s the only word you know.
The coil in his core ruptures, vision practically blurring as he pumps his knot as deep as it’ll go before he growls around the copper blood of his knuckle, releasing his spend. His hips involuntarily jut forward with each spurt, finally filling you as his girl.
It’s a beat before he pulls his head from your neck, walls pulsing around his knot, daggers of pleasure clawing against his skin in the afterglow. You look a proper mess, hair disheveled, sweat down your cheeks, chest rising with deep breaths, looking all parts his omega.
He presses a peck to your temple, an action that has your chest coming alive, vibrating a deep contented purr. He smiles against your temple, nose brushing along your face as he purrs back, his sweet omega happy.
In the morning, when the both of you go to Uncle Johnny’s to pick up Clementine from her sleepover, she runs into your arms first, a painting in her hands.
She holds it up to the both of you, eagerly pulling both of your attention to the white paper.
“This one’s daddy.” She says, and it’s the same as her other painting, stick figure and all, black tattoos on his arms.
“This one’s Mint.” Her dress is purple this time, with a flower in her hair.
“And this one’s mommy!” She points to a third stick figure.
His chest tightens, saliva thickens in his mouth. There are tears in your eyes, a smile so wide he’s surprised they haven’t spilled over your cheeks. Johnny just sends the both of you a knowing smile.
He tacks it up over the old painting of just him and Mint. Complete.
note- Hi everyone! I just wanted to leave a little note to thank everyone for being so patient and understanding with the delay of this chapter. I fear most of you have lost interest in it, but I still wanted to complete it. Thank you for all support mwuahhhh!!! 🍊🤍
Warnings/MDNI: age gap (you in early 20's and arthur in early 30's) domestic fluff and family drama , a little angst, mentions of pregnancy, arthur being a simp cuz nothing less in my fic.
Syno: First it was you versus Dutch and now it's you versus Arthur's 4 sisters with sprinkles on top!
+++ chat how can we forget arthur had three sisters that were mentioned, the other one, Ruthie is the one i made up lol. Arthur pic by rosex715 on Pin.
┆ ⤿ ❀ m.list
"I saw her," Ruth says before she’s even properly inside. "I saw her throw laundry water on the fence. That fence was painted this week, Arthur!"
You appear from the kitchen like you've been summoned. "That water was blessed," you say sweetly, wiping your hands on a dish towel. "Garden fence needed it more than you, I reckon."
"You little-!"
Arthur sighs. Loud enough that the chickens probably hear it. "Ruthie, please," he groans, rubbing his forehead. "It's too early for all this."
"She's a menace!."
"She's right here~~" you sing, flopping on the sofa beside Arthur like a victorious gremlin. You latch onto his arm with a faux pout. "Look, she's being mean again."
"You could've married anyone, Arthur. Someone decent. Aunt Hilda's daughter--God bless them both, well, was a good option, too bad she's now married off to Saint Denis-"
"You think I'm not decent?" you chirp. "I made that pie you ate last week."
"I know, how else could it have tasted like cow dung."
"How do you know what cow dung tastes like, sister Ruthie?"
"ARTHUR! Tell her to watch her mouth!"
"No one would have married your old criminal ass brother by CHOICE! Especially such a young and beautiful woman like me! DO WELL TO REMEMBER THAT! Y'all are the ones blessed with me, not the other way around!" And there you go stomping to the room as Ruth stands with her mouth hanging open.
There that was. Your finishing punch...on his expense.
"The audacity--oof! All she spits is venom. Even at you, how do you listen to all that?."
And it goes on and on…
Damn, why did Hosea have to go to stay at John's? At least things (mostly you) are calmer when he's here. At his home. But now Arthur gets why he stays 4 days a week there and 3 here....
Clever old bastard-
Arthur prefers to call it 'The Henhouse'. Yep. That's what Arthur calls it when he's had enough, when he's leaning in the doorway with his hat tilted down and a look that says he's going out back to shoot something that isn't himself.
You call it "home, sweet home😇✨🎀."
Is it because he built this place with his own two hands, cut every beam, sanded every step just for you? …Or is it because you've got four formidable opponents living within shouting distance to keep you occupied?
Arthur's pretty sure it's the latter.
Where else are you gonna waste your energy if not on his sisters and their husbands? You can't just pick a fight with some drifter in town, too risky. Can't argue with Dutch or Micah or Pearson, they don't exist in this life. No, you've been blessed with an endless source of entertainment right next door, all wrapped in aprons, gossip, and the art of the disapproving glare.
And for the love of all things holy, the women around him never run out of complaints.
Last week, Yevette stormed over to report that you hung laundry in a way that "invited the devil." The week before that, Emily tried to tell Arthur you were "leading the cows astray" because you let them graze closer to the apple trees and "has no business raising chickens in that dress." Even little Nora, the youngest, had an opinion about how you "peel potatoes like a city brat."
But you? You just beam at him from the porch like you're queen of the whole valley, arms folded, ready for round five. (Your cheeky eyes scare him-)
And he'll mutter under his breath, "Here we go again," before trudging over, wondering how the hell he ended up with a woman who treats family drama like it's her favorite pastime.
The oldest, Ruth--- Ruthie to everyone who's known her since she had pigtails, lives right here in the lovely barn with all of you. Her husband, Barret, and Arthur built the place after all the gang trouble was over. Arthur had been brought back, in the most miraculous, quietly unbelievable way, just so he could finally be with his siblings again, to laugh with them, work with them, and watch their children grow.
Ruth is older than Arthur, and she wears it like a badge. Which means to you… She's your mother-in-law in all but name, and she relishes the role. She has that way of leaning on the kitchen counter while you're trying to cook, arms folded, watching you with the faintest smile that says, 'I've raised cattle and siblings and two kids of my own, don't think I won't raise you too.'
The woman can make you feel like you've been caught doing something wrong even when you're just buttering bread.
Then there's the second-oldest sister, Yevette, who lives just a short ride away, and absolutely despises you. She's proper, sharp-eyed, judgmental, and firmly convinced you're "leading Arthur by the nose." She's forever filling Ruth's ear with her opinions, usually over tea, like they're plotting the next great moral intervention.
The younger two, Emily and Nora, come by once a month, thank God. They're… nice. Nora might even be your biggest fan. She's always giggling and trailing after you, maybe because her sisters still treat her like a child, while you, to her delight, actually treat her like she's grown...by butting heads with her too, of course. Make her feel included. While Emily is the emotional one, constantly worried you and Arthur are "drifting" because you didn't attend last Sunday's dinner.
And what's the sisters' great grievance with you? Apparently, back when you were with the gang, you "did voodoo" on Arthur. According to them, their poor, impressionable brother somehow ended up married to a witch. How is it your fault that their brother turned out to be a lovesick fool? You just wanted a house. Somehow, that led to marrying a criminal… and now living here. They just wanted to be the ones choosing his wife, didn't they? That's what bothers them. Also the fact that Arthur literally turns deaf when it comes to you.
They complain to Arthur, but he just shrugs with that 'I'm so deeply in love, I literally don't care if she ruins the town council meeting' expression.
Ruth says you're immature, childish, improper, yada yada. And Yevette? She swears Arthur used to have "sense" before you. Now, he's "wasting his best years mooning after a girl who doesn't even know how to salt a stew properly."
And Arthur? Well…Arthur is in hell. A particular kind of hell. One where the two women in his life, the one he's foolishly in love with, and the one who is like his mother, cannot be in the same room without a bloodless war breaking out.
It starts with something small.
"You put salt in the cornbread again," says Ruthie,, frowning at the plate. "We don't eat it like that here."
And you…as always, don't miss a beat. "Well, maybe that's why everyone here's so bitter."
It only escalates from there. You folds Ruthie's laundry wrong on purpose. You "forget" to rinse out the washtub after washing her red shawl, turning Ruthie's whites an unfortunate blush pink. You serve meatloaf with too much onion because Yevette hates onions. You sometimes leave the garden door open...enough for Arthur's dog to trample Ruth's roses. Serve Arthur tea in Emily's "best sister in the west" cup-
But at the end of the day, Arthur finds you barefoot in the grass, laughing like you were born for mischief, tugging him by the hand into the house that smells like tobacco and love and trouble.
You kiss him with teeth. You feed him spite-laced peach pie. You say things like, "Let Yevette talk, she's just mad her husband can't read."
And when he groans and hides his face in your neck, it's not because he's upset. It's because he knows this is his peace. What he always wanted.
Perhaps not quiet nor clean. But that's the thing. It's just you, loud and proud. And wickedly his. Like he always desired.
He never scolds you, well, at least not in front of anyone else. Just stays neutral, or better, doesn't interfere at all. But sometimes his feathers do get prickly. Especially when he sees you upset...worse hurt. His heart can't take it.
❀˖°
You were still stewing when Arthur found you out by the fence, boots kicking at the dirt like you were trying to pick a fight with the ground.
"What's the matter now sweetheart?" he asked, voice already wary.
"Go ask your darling sister!" you shot back.
Arthur frowned. "Ruthie?"
"Who else?! UGH!" You didn't even look at him, pacing with your arms crossed.
"Hey… calm down, darlin'-Look at me."
When you didn't, his patience snapped and he caught your wrist, twirling you around to face him.
"Divorce me! So everyone can be happy," you snapped before you could think, the words sharp and reckless.
Arthur's jaw tightened instantly. "Not this damn word again. You think it's funny? Some kinda joke?”
You tried to pull your arm back, but his grip was firm, not hurting, but unmovable. He leaned down just enough for you to see the fire in his eyes. "Sayin' that's like spittin' in my face, woman. I ain't playin'."
Your throat felt tight, but you forced yourself to glare. "Now," Arthur said, voice dropping low, "spill, before I get any madder."
You looked away for a bit, then muttered, "She said… that how can a girl like me even… be married to such a decent man like you…Decent my ass. Does she forget your former profession?! Why do they ignore that? Just because you're their blood?! If anything, I am the decent one in this case."
The muscle in his jaw ticked, but he didn't blow up like you half-expected. Instead, he stepped closer, the shadow falling over you. "Alright, first off, don't listen to Ruthie when she's in one of her moods. When did you even start doing that, huh? I thought her words never mattered to you. And second-" he pointed a finger at you, eyes narrowing like you were twelve years old, "-don't you dare start actin' like she's right by runnin' off or pickin' fights just to prove somethin'."
You stiffened. "I'm not a damn child, Arthur! And some words may not matter, but they still HURT!"
"I understand, but they ain't true. Will never be." Arthur sighed through his nose, but his voice stayed firm. "Yer' my wife. That means I'm gonna tell you when you're bein' reckless, same way I'd expect you to tell me if I was. I ain't gonna let you tear yourself down 'cause my sister's said some bull"
His tone was calm, but the way he was looking at you, steady, unblinking, made your chest tighten.
"Still don't like bein'.... scolded."
"Sometimes it's necessary."
"Oh, so now I'm just some mistake you have to keep in line?"
"No, darlin'." he said, a wry edge in his voice. Then, softer, "I just told you, you’re my wife. Ruthie don't get to decide who I should've married. I did. And I’d do it again." He paused, thumb brushing absently over your hand. "She's just… havin' a hard time with all this. My sudden return from the gang after years of bare minimum contact, which she's still sore about… me abandonin' them for Dutch… and, well, maybe that's why her bitterness is leakin' everywhere. She's always been paranoid when it comes to the law, thinkin' they'll come chasin'."
"So I am the only outlet?! Why couldn't we just go live with John-"
"We talked about this, darlin'."
"But you better go and talk to her-
"I will. You know I will, doll. Nobody makes a tear appear in your pearly eyes while I am here."
You didn't answer, still burning with a mix of hurt and stubborn pride, but when he reached out pulled you in a hug, you didn't pull away either.
❀˖°
Arthur had been spoiling you rotten for two weeks straight (As if he doesn't already) His sisters had noticed. Ruthie had especially noticed. Of course she did.
"She's been sittin' pretty while you do all the chores," Ruthie muttered over pie one afternoon. "Are you ever going to let her take responsibility around 'ere so some maturity finally reaches her Artie?"
You were about to fire back when Arthur cleared his throat and leaned his elbows on the table.
"Alright," he said, with that slow drawl that meant he was about to drop a bomb, "since y'all seem so curious about why my wife ain't out there liftin' hay bales… we've got news."
All pairs of Morgan-sister eyes turned on you. You suddenly wished you'd brought a shield.
Arthur grinned, all proud, no shame. "We're expectin'."
Dead silence.
Then, Ruthie blinked. "Expectin' what? Trouble? OH MY! Don't tell me the law-" Barret immediately stood behind his wife, ready to catch her if she fainted in distress.
"A baby, Ruthie," Arthur said flatly. "A kid. Your niece or nephew."
Nora squealed and immediately started firing questions. The oldest, however, leaned back in her chair, narrowing her eyes at you. "So that's why…"
Arthur draped an arm over your chair like it was a declaration of war. "Damn right. She's carryin' my child, and she ain't liftin' a thing heavier than a teacup 'til I say so."
Emily and Nora congratulated you, a dry one from Yevette too, while Ruthie muttered something about "Lord help us all."
But Arthur just kept grinning at you like you’d hung the moon, and you couldn’t help but feel a little smug yourself.
"What's with the giggling?" Hosea entered with his cup of coffee and immediately burst into giggles himself over the news, hugging you both. You had never seen your father this happy, especially after your mum's death.
And you were sure you spotted a smile from Ruth as she turned around.
❀˖°
The morning sun is warm but not kind. It throws a golden glow over the dusty boards of the market street, but you can feel the heat building already. Ruthie walks beside you, basket in hand, shoulders stiff as a rifle barrel. It's not like you ever choose to go out with her, but Arthur had been laid up hunting, and Ruthie just happened to "be heading that way anyway." You needed some things urgently, and Arthur didn't approve of you going on your own anywhere, also you needed a breather away from the farm. So here you are.
You're not more than three stalls in when she spots someone she knows, Mrs. Whitlow, a silver-haired old widow with a knack for knowing everyone's business.
"Ruthie! I haven't seen you in weeks," Mrs. Whitlow beams, patting Ruthie's arm like she's a favorite niece.
Ruthie smiles, that polite, practiced one she saves for people she doesn't want to stay long. Been busy. This here's my sister-in-law, (Y/N)." She nods toward you without much ceremony.
Mrs. Whitlow's gaze flicks over you like she's tallying up everything you are and everything you're not. Her smile curves, sweet and poisonous all at once.
"Oh, so you're the one. Well… guess every man's got his reasons."
The words are said like idle gossip, tossed out between talk of the weather and turnip prices, but they hit you like a slap. Your fingers tighten on the edge of your shawl before you can stop them.
Ruthie's head turns so fast you hear the leather of her bonnet strings creak.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Mrs. Whitlow blinks, feigning innocence. "Oh, nothing at all, dear-"
"Don't 'dear' me. You got somethin' to say about my family, you say it plain. Or better yet, keep your tongue still and mind your own damn onions."
The chatter of the nearby stalls falters, and Mrs. Whitlow suddenly finds her carrots very interesting. She mutters something about needing to be on her way and shuffles off, skirts rustling.
Ruthie exhales sharply and looks at you, her voice still edged. "People talk too much in this town. So ignore them and let me handle it."
You were too shocked for the rest of the trip, but you did feel something in your chest loosen.
Later, when you tell Arthur, his brows lift and that slow, loving grin creeps across his face.
"Ruthie said that? For you?"
When you nod, he chuckles, warm and fond, pulling you in until your cheek rests against his chest.
"Told you Ruthie's bark's worse'n her bite," he murmurs against your temple. "Guess now you know she'll bite for you, too."
mr john price and belgian malinois hybrid!reader who cannot be pried out of any body of water
(og post)
First, it’s the willingness to jump straight into a muddy river, tail wagging, on her first mission with them. Sure, they’re all a bit confused but Price is the only one to have known her longer than a week, so they just assume she’s always like that. Overachieving and overexciting - like a puppy.
Then, Gaz is the one to notice her habit of long showers a few weeks into having her on base, so she’s still only really comfortable with John, who Laswell introduced before the rest of the team. Like, insanely long - reaching for an hour, possibly longer -showers.
Everyone else will be eating already, and halfway through their lunch she’ll saunter over with damp hair and a fresh set of clothes.
“Liking the showers quite a bit, aren’t you?” Kyle asks with a silly little smirk in between a couple bites. She nods, thinking nothing of it.
“Laswell said I could go in the water whenever I want. N’ that I can come over n’ swim at her pool whenever but that I can’t live with her cause her n’ her wife’s dog don’t like anyone else.”
This lead to the realization that she didn’t have a home outside of the base, and way just…living at the base all the time. She loves Laswell but she couldn’t bring her home, and she gets along with the others great, loves playing around with them, but the ‘only listening to John’ thing became very apparent early on. Price decides, what the hell, how is he supposed to say no to that face, and he’s been a bit lonely anyways, and brings her on home.
She does the shower thing at home too. (Immediately calls John’s house home after the first time she slips into his bed in the middle of the night.) Loves the bath as well. Just…sits in there for so long.
John decides, after a few months, that she deserves more than a damn bathtub. After their last recon for a while, the pair go home to a new, huge, in-ground swimming pool in the back yard.
She’s so incredibly happy, jumping on him with big smooches to the cheek, and then immediately trying to pull her clothes off and jump in. (She doesn’t have a bathing suit, not that she knows of. John has one for her hidden away in the back of the closet.) He manages to wrangle her inside to put it on, and then she is immediately taking a dash to the pool. Price joins her for a bit, walking around in the shallow end while making quiet conversation with her completely wrapped around his front. He gets out to make dinner, and she stays in. Even eats dinner outside, hair sopping wet and wrapped in a towel, taking a break from the diving sticks John was throwing into the deep end for her.
She comes back inside a couple hours later, after it’s gotten pitch black, standing on the hardwood after running inside. John turns in his recliner, eyebrows raising, and she pants out that, “Bugs were tryin’ to eat me, John!”
He helps her dry off with a cheeky remark of, “Can tell you’re a sweet girl, pup,” that’s got her giggling under the new, warm towel (he put it in the dryer, the sweet man he is) his big palms are wrapping around her.
He guides her to the bathroom attached to his room to wash all of that chlorine off with a nice, warm shower. Throws some pjs they (he) just bought on the cabinet, and brushes his teeth while she’s in the shower.
“John?” She calls, and he can tell she’s criss-cross on the shower floor again. She likes how the water feels on her back. He hums back. “Can the guys come swimmin’ in the pool soon?”
His smile couldn’t be any fonder while he responds back, “Maybe. We’ll have to ask now, won’t we?”
With how fast she falls asleep, and stays asleep, John decides that, yes, they will be coming over to swim.
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