Yukon

Erwin Smith is my spirit animal :)

[yukon-soul]

Welcome to My Blog

Hello, humans. Welcome to the home of my creative outlet. There are many fandoms I write for, so take a look! You might find something of interest. ⋆

Masterlist

Request Status: Closed until further notice

**I do not write on weekends**

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Fandoms I write for

Anime:

- Attack on Titan - Naruto - Death Note - Saiki K.

Video games:

- Red Dead Redemption - Call of Duty - Detroit: Become Human - Postal

Shows/movies:

- The Walking Dead - Peaky Blinders - Supernatural - The Boys - The Last of Us - Turn: Washington’s Spies - Breaking Bad - Inglourious Basterds - Blood and Gold - The Terror (season 1) - Harry Potter

What I will write

I will write anything except non-con or explicit fics regarding underaged characters

For NSFW requests, please specify if reader is female, male, gender neutral, etc.

[yukon-soul]

Hey!! I love your Arthur Morgan x daughter fics, could you maybe do one where the O’driscolls take her for leverage? And Arthur is obvs going crazy without his girl, you can decide how it goes from there!!

Hostage

Arthur Morgan x daughter!reader

angst, light mention of blood, comfort, fluff

-------

You were definitely a pretty thing, they thought. And it was even better that you stayed quiet when they told you to, because you were terrified of them hurting you. They could've taken little Jack, but when they saw you, only obedient to Arthur Morgan, they would not waste their chance. It seemed only fitting that Arthur was Dutch van der Linde's right-hand man and that you were Arthur's absolute weakness. It was the perfect opportunity for them to take you, really. Dutch only made the call to move from Colter and past Valentine a week prior. Colm was near, and he decided to strike.

There you were, locked away in a dilapidated shack, sitting upon jagged, torn-up floorboards. The O'Driscolls retreated north, and the structure did nothing to shield you from the frigid mountain winds. Escaping may have been possible, but there was no way to tell when the gang set up camp around the shack. A guard was always at the door outside, and your ankles and wrists were bound tightly. As you sat, you curled your knees to your chest and fiddled with the rotting wood beneath you. After managing to peel back a sliver of wood with your boot, you instantly retracted your limb, tucking your legs beneath you.

The door creaked open with effort, and you saw the dark silhouette of Colm himself. Greasy strands of salt and pepper hair swayed in the breeze, and he tipped his hat low before kicking the door closed. Once again, it was silent, and you didn't dare speak. When he inched forward, you slid back against the wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The rope painfully dug into your sore wrists when you twisted and pulled, somehow trying to free yourself. Knowing your efforts were futile, you once again brought your knees to your chest, barely shielding your face from view.

"Sweetheart," he said, so sickeningly sweet. "Now, don't look away too long. Ol' Dutch isn't coming to save you. You're with us now. And since you're with us, it's your job to act nice 'n pretty. Won't you give me a little smile, huh?"

Still, you refused to lift your gaze, but you wanted most to laugh at his absurd claim. Sure, maybe Dutch wouldn't come to save you, but your own father would. Displeased by your defiance, he crouched before you in a rapid swoop and tugged your hair back, forcing you to make eye contact.

"Why don't you..." he rasped, "give me a pretty little smile?" His own lips quirked up, revealing his stained, crooked teeth. At once, the scent of rot and death wafted to you. His breath was so foul that you felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to puke.

Sensing your disgust, he scoffed and shoved your head back against the wall before he rose and began erratically pacing in the confined space. He knew what you were thinking, and there was no way for him to simply make you submissive. You were feisty, just like your father. He should have known, he thought.

-

Midday rolled around, and the sunlight pleasantly warmed the skin. Yet another successful mission yielded stacks of cash to share among the gang. It was a complex train robbery—more of a gamble—that most of the boys had taken part in. Horseshoe Overlook was as calm as ever before they rode in, eager to recount the events of the day. Arthur was most excited to see you in your usual spot near the edge of the camp, spending time with the women, or keeping to yourself to enjoy the scenery.

Something he'd never been able to understand was the way thinking of you made him feel inside. Ever since you were a girl, seeing your precious face gave him a tingly feeling in his stomach. The idea that he had created someone so beautiful to him was too much to comprehend. And knowing he hadn't failed as a father made him feel genuinely worthy of happiness for the first time in his life.

Once he hitched his horse in its usual spot, he hopped down, taking a look at the money he earned. Then, he passed through the bustling camp and found his way to your tent, which was near his. When he came to a stop before the canvas, his hat tipped low, shielding his eyes from the blaring sun.

"Hey, sweetheart?" he called, resting a hand on the stake that held the fabric to the ground. "You in there?"

When there was no answer, he peeked inside, only spotting your empty cot and other belongings. You were probably working with the ladies or were sitting alone, as usual, he thought. Shrugging it off, he continued to the small clearing just before the land dipped off into the valley. Still, you were nowhere to be found. So, he took one last glance toward the camp and found Jack running around nearby.

"Hey, Jack?" he said, nearing the smaller boy. "Where's your momma?"

He perked up, gripping a stone in his tiny hand. "Momma? She's with Hosea!"

After thanking the boy, Arthur passed a drunken Uncle and a relaxed Mary-Beth; both seemed unbothered. Soon, Micah and Dutch happily rode in, heading straight to the box to add money. There Abigail was, sitting soundly with Hosea as they discussed life. The older man spoke about the struggles of caring for other people. Well, Arthur caring for you meant he would tear apart the entire forest looking for you if they didn't have an idea where you went.

Arthur cleared his throat and nodded, saying, "Abigail."

"Hello, Arthur," she replied, smiling.

"Have you, uh, seen my girl anywhere?" he wondered, trying not to sound too worried.

Abigail turned to Hosea, and he had nothing to say, so she said, "No, I haven't. I haven't seen her all day. I thought maybe she was escaping her chores."

That certainly was a possibility, but something told him that there was something more going on. So, he thanked her and turned about, finding Dutch at his tent, speaking to Molly. On the way there, Arthur hardly noticed Micah swaggering over, his thumbs hooked on his belt.

"Old Arthur Morgan," he said, audibly sniffing. "I haven't seen you so worried since, well... since Mac and Davey."

Arthur could smell Micah's body odor and the cigarette smoke that clung to his black coat. Strands of his blond hair glued themselves to his forehead in his sweat and grease, and his mustache was as ungroomed as ever. Arthur wanted nothing more than to go out for a ride with him and leave him to the wolves. But knowing he could be an asset to whatever mission they could have to go on in the worst-case scenario, he suppressed the urge.

"Is that so?" Arthur wondered, his expression hardening.

"Oh, yeah," Micah hissed. "You're too... touchy-feely. You're less of a man than I am."

Dutch parted with Molly and stepped into the open, splaying his arms wide. "Gentleman! Gentleman!" he exclaimed, as eccentric as ever. "Was the money not of substance?"

"Where is—"

Micah interjected, "We was just havin' a nice little chat."

"Where's my girl?" Arthur demanded to know, staring straight through Dutch.

"Oh," Dutch began. "Your daughter? She's not working with the ladies? We have order around here, Arthur! Real order!"

"No!" he snapped. "She ain't anywhere! She ain't with Abigail, she ain't in her tent, she ain't—"

Dutch's brows harshly furrowed, his hand traveling to his holster. "Colm," he growled.

Arthur felt a shiver run down his spine at that name. The idea of you being taken by the O'Driscolls made Arthur assume the worst. Either you were there for their amusement, or you were in physical pain. Without hesitation, Arthur pushed past Micah and clenched his fists, hurrying straight to his steed.

"Morgan!" Micah groaned. "Just leave the girl. She'll be fine. I'm sure those O'Driscoll boys could use a lady around."

Dutch followed suit and hurried to his horse, not before ordering all the boys who'd just returned from the mission to join them. "Micah!" he shouted. "Leave the complaints here. We are going to get that girl."

Reluctantly, Micah straightened his coat and sniffed again before spitting in the dirt. Knowing he couldn't disobey Dutch so easily, he instinctively reached for his holster and kicked up the dirt as he weaved between the tents to reach the stoic Baylock. Once mounted, Baylock let out a series of nervous whines and tugged at his reins when Micah roughly buried his spurs into his side. Ahead, Arthur led the way, not caring that Dutch had somewhat taken full responsibility for the rescue. Of course Arthur would lead the way. After all, you were his daughter; his precious baby girl.

-

"Keep watch," said Colm as he met the guard outside. When he turned to you, his expression contorted in disgust. "You'll learn," he told you. "You'll learn who your real leader is."

The door rudely slammed shut, sending the mountain breeze straight to your vulnerable frame. As the room quieted and the minutes passed, you couldn't help but feel a hint of doubt creeping through your mind. What you could tell was that the O'Driscolls had set up camp in a completely isolated location. They hadn't left tracks, and a part of you wondered how your father would manage to locate you.

Wishing not to assume the worst, you relaxed, curling up on your side. Your skirt pooled around your legs, and your arms remained locked behind you. Attempting to take the weight off your bicep, you twisted your torso, managing to press your cheek against the dusty floor. As soon as you rested your body, your eyes felt particularly heavy. Pale light from the cloudy sky streamed through the thin spaces between the rotting planks. Shadows cast by various gang members provided temporary relief from the intrusive light, and finally, you shut your eyes.

.

It was pleasantly warm that summer afternoon. You were at a lakeshore of nowhere in particular. Well, the lake looked more like an ocean, if anything. Sinking your toes into the wet sand, you nearly squirmed away when a strong wave covered your feet. Your gaze traveled from the crystal-clear water shimmering like gold in the sun to the trees behind. There was a figure that emerged from the forest. You couldn't quite make out who it was, and the silence stretched on for far too long.

Shrugging it off, you turned back to the water and noticed a dragonfly passing by. By the time it disappeared beyond the horizon, the presence behind you shifted the nearby sand. Soon after, you felt a warm figure wrap around you. It was the most comforting feeling that seemed to wash away every one of your worries. Then, something tickled your neck and shoulder.

"Hey, sweetheart," your father said, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping an arm around you. "Couldn't find ya for a while. You doin' alright?"

"I think so," you said, splashing a bit of water back into the lake.

"Good. I... ain't always good with words, but I missed you. I missed you, girl."

Your father would never say that to you. He was never that soft, and yet you found yourself wishing he was. But the way he wrapped himself around you made you feel remarkably safe. Knowing he held immense strength but chose to be gentle with you was something you would never take for granted. His frame was broad and bulky, and he melted around you, blanketing you in the familiar scent of musk, cigarette smoke, and cedar. A cool breeze wafted across the lake, and his hand tightened around your bicep while his thumb caressed your skin.

"You know..." he began, leaning his head against yours. "I don't say it much, but I—"

.

Your body shot up, struggling to move with the restraints. A ringing crack reverberated through the woods, and the men scrambled to their feet at once. Again, another shot rang out, but it was closer. Still groggy from waking up during a dream, you flopped against the floor. What was he going to say, you wondered? As you attempted to put the pieces together, the door burst open. The guard, clutching his rifle, looked back, wondering if they should take you with them. You were unsure what the two men had really said, but the door shut again.

Suddenly, sharp slivers of wood flew off in your direction. The bullet planted itself in the floor, and you curled inward, trying to somehow shield yourself. Colm was already gone, but the remaining O'Driscolls stayed back, attempting to leave a mark on the Van der Linde gang. Seeing no point in taking you with them, they left you there, trying to process your surroundings in the darkening evening.

From your position, you could hear Micah's familiar tone. "Ahh!" he hissed. "Morgan, your girl... she's gone. She's not here."

Ignoring his claim, your father peeked around a tree, managing to eliminate one threat. Although Micah didn't wish to help, he still shot wildly out of self-preservation. Men dropped like flies onto the snow-covered dirt, and warm blood splattered everywhere. Finally, the remaining O'Driscolls fled through the trees, so panicked that they left most of the horses behind.

At last, the last shot crackled across the terrain, and Arthur gripped his revolver, recklessly stepping past the tents. You had to have been in that shack, he told himself. As the gravel crunched beneath his feet, you could make out his silhouette through the cracks in the walls.

Managing to sit up slightly, you said, "Help—"

Arthur wasted no time. When he heard his baby's call, he kicked in the door, and there you were, so small and scared. Without surveying the dim room, he rushed to your side and tucked away his gun.

"Oh, honey," he whispered, searching your body for any injuries. "It's okay. I'm here. I've gotcha."

When he felt assured that you were unharmed, he found his blade and hacked away at the ropes around your wrists and ankles. The moment you were free, you threw yourself at him and wrapped your arms desperately tight around his neck. Arthur's knife clattered to the ground, and at once, he pressed his large hands to your shoulder blades, keeping you trapped to him.

"Sweetheart, I've gotcha." He removed his hat, set it aside, and pulled you in so tight you could barely breathe. "I thought I lost ya. I thought I lost ya for good. I thought I messed up my chance at bein' a father again..."

Arthur teared up, moisture barely brimming in his blue eyes. For the first time in years, his chest felt painfully tight. You were alive and well, but being away from you for nearly a day killed him inside. You were so small in his arms, and so utterly precious.

When he felt you dig your nails into his coat, he sniffled and murmured, "I don't say it much, but I love you, darlin'. I really do. You're my girl. You're all I have left, and I'll be damned if I let those bastards lay a hand on you again. I'll keep you safe, girl, I promise."

"I love you too," you peeped, burying your face against his broad chest.

After clinging to you for a long while, he loosened his grip, slid an arm beneath your legs, and supported your back with the other. He hoisted you up and blinked away his tears. Then, he pressed a firm, moist kiss to your forehead. "Stay with me, sweetheart," he said. "Stay with your papa."

-------

[yukon-soul]

[yukon-soul]

Hiiii! I'd love to see some platonic RDR2 fic. Maybe some Dutch and Hosea being girl dads and raising us alongside John and Arthur.

A Day Out

Van der Linde gang x fem!reader

AU, fluff, found family, comfort

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

You were only a girl when Dutch found you. Well, Dutch couldn't easily let a fragile, cold, and shaken thing like you drift away, so he sank his claws in and ripped you from the only town you had ever known—A pathetic place it was, really, but in a way, you were terrified of the world just beyond the ridge. But when he took you in and gave you a family, you felt happy for the first time.

John and Arthur were slightly older than you, and you fell in nicely. Having two brother figures, two father figures, and Bessie and Grimshaw as mother figures was more than you could ever have asked for.

Hosea seemed to like you most because you were generally more tame than Arthur and John. Part of it was because Grimshaw was always breathing down your neck and making you clean the boys’ dirty clothes. But simply soaking in the reality of living on the run was a lot for someone so small to grasp.

Regardless, you settled down, and John was the brother who teased you and acted too untouchable to interact with you. Arthur was the older brother who looked after both of you and set John straight when he even slightly hurt your feelings. It was a typical dynamic, you supposed, but you wouldn't trade it for the world.

As usual, you sat in the shadow of the large, rocky mountain juniper at the camp. The days passed in a blur, and there you were, furiously scrubbing one of John's muddy pairs of pants. No matter what you did, you couldn't get the stains out, and you knew Grimshaw would mention it if it wasn't spotless.

Dutch and Hosea sat elsewhere, discussing something about a well-off family and the wealth hidden in their country home. Arthur and John, of course, were dying for a chance to prove themselves as capable outlaws.

"Hey, well, come on, Arthur," John groaned, trying to rip a stick from Arthur's grip that looked like a misshapen gun. "You know that Dutch said he was gonna teach me to shoot, right?"

Arthur stood slightly taller, holding his hand out of reach. "Who's the one who already knows how to shoot, aye?" he wondered, tilting his head as his hat awkwardly flopped over his brow.

"Just 'cause you're older doesn't mean you're more experienced with a gun," John claimed, his hardened expression turning into more of a pout.

"Sure," Arthur said, slipping the stick beneath his belt. "But it does mean I've gotten to touch a real one."

While the boys bickered, Bessie asked in a tone that was as light as a feather, "It's much more peaceful over here, isn't it?"

"Yes," you agreed, your furrowed brow not softening. "But it's only peaceful when I don't have to do this."

"Oh, come, now," she murmured, shifting in her dark dress while she sewed together a blanket. "You know it's only a little work. Compared to what my husband gets up to, this is nothing. Plus, if you were covered in gunpowder, dirt, sweat, and blood, wouldn't you want to come home to a nice pair of clean clothes?"

You shrugged and dunked the fabric into the basin once more when the force of your efforts splashed water right back at you. Frustrated, you wiped the suds from your arms and sat in silence.

Before long, Bessie said, "Oh, I think the boys are calling you over. Don't worry about the mess if they need you for somethin' else, sweetie. I'll handle it."

Abruptly rising, you rubbed your wet hands in the folds of your skirt, then followed the small trail through the brush, past your restless siblings, and to Dutch and Hosea. Hosea sat beneath the shade of the tent, squinting as he surveyed the rugged terrain beyond the wagon you were previously near.

"y/n!" Dutch exclaimed, setting his cigar aside and meeting you. "Get the boys, would you?"

Before you backed away, you quizzed, "So, you called me all the way over here so I could get Arthur and John even though they're right there?"

"Yes!"

Not knowing what else to say, you lifted your skirt to step over the jagged rocks between the sagebrush. Then, you called, "Arthur, John! Get over here!"

Once they hurried over, you instinctively prepared to return to the women, but Dutch wondered, "And where do you think you're going, young lady?"

Knowing something was off, you turned about and drew closer only when he gestured to you. Even then, you gravitated toward Hosea's side.

"What is it, Dutch?" asked John as he mindfully adjusted his dark hair.

As the pair gathered beneath the shade of the tent, Dutch claimed, "It is a beautiful day. Hosea and I were thinking it seemed just right to see what fish are in the lake!"

"We're goin' fishing?" Arthur asked, an eager smile spreading across his lips.

"Indeed, we are, son," he said. "You boys have your things, right?"

They were as ready as could be, so you stood there awkwardly until Hosea handed you his own fishing rod. "And you, Miss y/n, will be learning from me."

It was heavier than you anticipated, and your hands moved all about as you were unsure of how to even hold it. "I have to continue working, though," you protested, scrutinizing the rod.

"Nonsense," Hosea replied, sliding a container of bait across the table and placing it right in your palm. "My wife loves you—you know that. She'll take care of what you didn't do. And if Susan is upset, she can just talk to Dutch."

"But this thing is heavy, and I really don't know what to do," you whined.

"Just be quiet and come along, my dear."

Dutch and the boys were already on their way to the dip in the hill that led straight to the lake when Hosea's hand landed on your shoulder. Once you gathered your courage, you followed behind your father figure. Bessie just gave you a smile as you passed, and of course, Susan didn't seem too pleased. But when else would you be able to have fun, you wondered?

John had already descended the steep, rocky bluff when he let his line trail into the crisp water. "I'll catch something better than you, Arthur!" he exclaimed.

"I doubt it," said Arthur. "You know that y/n has more patience than you. She'll probably beat both of us."

"No, I won't," you said, carefully navigating through the loose rocks. "I don't even know how to fish."

Dutch faced you once he stood beside John and Arthur. "Oh, but you will know, darling. Hosea beat my record for the most fish caught in a single day, and I know he's set on making you beat it. Now, quit being so careful over there and just hop down. You can't keep your pretty dress clean forever."

Hosea shook his head and extended a hand. "Don't listen to him," he said, clasping your smaller hand to help you down. "I'm not trying to make you the best. And if you don't wanna get your dress dirty, that's okay."

After stepping over the last few rocks, Hosea cupped your shoulders and guided you to stand just before the shore.

"Okay, sweetheart," he said, taking the container from your hand and opening it. "Here are the worms for the little fish to eat. Now, you want to... impale them on the hook just like this. See? They squirm a bit, but it's nothing for you to worry about. And when you're done, you bring the rod over your shoulder like this, then come back down and release. Got it? Let me see you do it."

After he backed away to give you room, you clumsily did as instructed. As soon as the lure pierced the water, you asked nervously, "What do I do now? Did I do it right?"

"Now, we wait," he said as he sat down and rested his back against a boulder. "You were a little clumsy, but you got there. Now, tell me about that book you read with Bessie yesterday."

"It didn't make sense," you explained. "It was about a complicated romance."

"Ahh, romance. You'll understand it someday, my dear. But for now, why don't we enjoy the quiet? Well... what quiet there is."

Still, John complained that he hadn't learned to shoot when Arthur had. And before long, the boys' lines had tangled because they were too focused on their own grievances. You could tell Arthur was moments away from throwing the smaller John to the rocks to knock some sense into him. But for the sake of appearing to be the perfect parental figure, Dutch roughly pulled Arthur to his side after retracting his own line.

"Now, boys," he said, adjusting Arthur's slightly oversized hat. "Is that any way to act in front of a lady?"

Hosea scoffed and told the boys, "I wonder how your sister hasn't left us yet because of your bickering. I wouldn't blame her if she did. You're acting like wild animals!"

John, feeling particularly bratty, tugged on his fishing line to manage it away from Arthur's. Once he did, he huffed and hurried away up the hill, leaving the rest of you behind. "I don't care what y/n thinks of us!" he snapped. "You know you should've taught me how to shoot when you taught Arthur! Just 'cause I'm younger doesn't mean I'm dumber!"

Hosea muttered, "Well, not in every case, but..."

Arthur chimed in, "Sometimes it does!"

Then, John's head shot around, and he asked, "Would you like to see for yourself, then?"

"Maybe I would," Arthur said, effortlessly reeling in his line before resting the rod over his shoulder.

Hosea straightened up and instinctively wanted to follow them, but he turned to Dutch and asked, "Well, aren't you going to go after them? Make sure they don't kill each other, at least!"

"Awhh." Dutch, too, gave up on fishing, then stepped over to you. "They'll work it out, Hosea. They're growing boys, and they need to know how to defend their ideas, hmm?"

Before he trailed behind your siblings, he set his large hand over your head and affectionately ruffled your hair.

"That's a stupid idea, Dutch," Hosea said, crossing his arms.

"It's called becoming a man!" Dutch slung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you against his chest, holding you there for a brief moment. Then, he pecked the top of your head and told you, "Now, you just be a good girl, and we're alright."

Hosea replied, "She's always a good girl. Just leave her with me and stop the boys from killing each other, for Christ's sake!"

Finally, Dutch pulled away and managed his way up the rocky slope. From your position, you could hear Arthur and John shouting at each other, and Susan threatening to put them to work if they misbehaved. By then, the sun crept toward the horizon, and Hosea finally decided that perhaps it wasn't the best day to teach you how to fish.

So, he said, "Just leave the rod against that rock there."

He already appeared worn out just from dealing with your siblings' tempers, so, not wishing to be a bother, you followed his instructions. As you turned back to him, you noticed his arm reaching toward you.

"Let old Hosea hold you for a while," he said, a genuine smile crossing his lips. "Just let the others fade away for now."

You would never pass up the opportunity, so you eagerly sat beside him and settled snugly beneath his arm. As soon as you did, he pressed his palm against your bicep and pulled you in tightly. Neither of you said anything, so you wrapped your arm around his torso and pressed your head right atop his heart.

When you hid your face away and listened to his heartbeat settle down, he placed his chin on your head and murmured, "You are very safe. Bessie and I will take good care of you, as we always have."

"Thank you, Hosea," you whispered.

A humorless laugh escaped his throat, and he said, "Thank you, sweetheart, for not being as rowdy as those boys. And maybe when Arthur and John aren't so ready to rip eachother's eyes out, I'll take you three hunting. How does that sound?"

You nodded and squeezed him tighter before he instinctively wrapped his other arm around you, fully cradling you. "I'd like that," you said.

Hosea rubbed your arm, then said, "Good. And don't feel too threatened by them. Arthur and John love you dearly. So does Dutch... so do I."

Before you could get another word in, he pulled you in so tightly that you could hardly breathe. But you couldn't deny that being held by your father figure was the most comforting thing in the world. So, you hugged him back just as tightly and felt his hand travel to the back of your head to smooth your hair down.

Even as the sun dipped below the horizon, the two of you remained in place, soaking up each other's warmth with no other care in the world. For a moment, being against Hosea's chest made you forget about your past and how miserable you were for Dutch to even rescue you from that dreadful town. What you wanted most after that was to call Hosea and Dutch your fathers, but you felt it might be too soon. In the meantime, such affection and the knowledge of your worth were all you needed to feel okay.

---

a/n: Here you are, lovely reader. I apologize for such a long wait. :( I know this isn't my usual writing quality, but I've been feeling burnt out, and I just needed to get this out. I will make a part two, however, because I don't like how it came out and how short it was. So, stay tuned. :)

[yukon-soul]

Hello, all. I will keep my inbox closed for the next few days to catch up on the requests I already have. I cannot guarantee I will finish all of them, but the ones I do finish will be scheduled for posting at the beginning of the week. I apologize for the wait, but thank you for your patience.

Phobos says hi. 💕

[yukon-soul]

I really loved reading you're posts and i love kieran sm , would you mind doing an nsfw one where its fem reader and kieran is integrated into the camp and he lwk really likes the readers belongings,like for example the reader left something out by accident like a trinket or a coat and hes starting to have a habit of keeping them and smelling them to feel closer to her cause he lwk got no game. And he at some point gets caught having her more intimate things you dont have to but thank you if you do 💗:3

"It's not what it looks like!"

Kieran Duffy x fem!reader

nsfw, needy Kieran, panty sniffing, masturbation, cunnilingus, fingering

--------

"There she is," said Arthur, who sat near the fire with a bottle of gin in hand. "We were startin' to think you up and left with that O'Driscoll boy!"

"No, no," you replied, casually laughing it off and stepping past the commotion to retrieve one of your books from Mary-Beth's tent.

"Aye," he called. "Why don't you join us? Bill says he's been missing you." Arthur gestured to the spot beside him on the log.

Bill chimed in, "No, I did not. Arthur's lyin' to ya, Miss. I don't long for nobody!"

"Sure," Arthur slurred, taking another swig and patting the log, urging you to join them.

Javier seemed to be the only one who wasn't drunk out of his mind because he could still strum his guitar perfectly. Karen, however, seemed the worst off as she remained flat on her back, begging no one in particular for liquor. Still, Arthur looked at you so expectantly, and you couldn't help but feel guilty. Relenting, you squeezed through the crates lying about, then sat right beside him.

Unexpectedly, he threw an arm around your shoulders and wondered, "Why were you gone so long, anyway?"

You tensed up and watched his head fall before explaining, "I was taking a nap. It was a long day."

What you couldn't say was that you had been in your tent all evening, fingering your aching pussy until your juices painted your thighs. You couldn't say that you came multiple times just from barely flicking your clit over and over again. You couldn't say that you were so horny that you wanted to grind against the very log you sat on.

"Sure," Arthur said, glancing at Uncle who rested nearby, his hat concealing his eyes. "Have a drink. You sure could use one after dealing with the O'Driscoll..."

-

Kieran perked up, eyes shooting to the fire near Pearson's wagon. A sliver of warm light reflected in his pupil as he heard that title he hated so much. You remained in place, so he calmed himself just enough to navigate to your cot. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, but there he saw it: Your soaked panties that you had changed out of, haphazardly discarded across the clean linen sheets. A jolt of surprise stirred his confined member, so he snatched up the fabric without a second to waste and slid out of your tent before anyone batted an eye.

It was a quiet night, save for the chirp of crickets and the distant squeal of skittish hogs. Nobody ventured into Kieran's part of the woods, and past the horses was his favorite spot to contemplate... things. So, he neatly folded your panties into his palm and hid the fabric as best as he could. Simply manipulating the material wafted your unique, tangy scent to his nose. That was something he knew he would never tire of. As he ascended the ridge, even the horses were too drowsy to question his motive.

So, he snuck past, minding the sound of the brush crunching beneath his boots, and found his way into a secure dip in the terrain. Leaves above fluttered in the wind, concealing his figure from the moonlight, and dry foliage cushioned his body on the damp ground. Settling in, he pressed his back against a tree, and his hands shot to his belt. His cock was already throbbing, and the moment he undid his pants and ripped his underwear down, he gripped the base tight. Finally lacking shame of his arousal, he unfolded your panties and brought the soaked fabric to his nose.

There was a hint of something sweet your body left behind, but he was far too afraid to taste it, so he carefully brought it to his dick. The moonlight shimmered through the canopy above and illuminated his swollen red tip peeking through his foreskin. Once he pulled it down, he placed the entirety of your collected slick over the head. It was cold and sticky, but he imagined finally sinking into your tight heat as he worked the fabric in circles around his cock. The wetness settled at his slit, and he tilted his head back, rolling his hand over himself again and again.

Your juices did wonders to provide a smooth surface for the fabric to hug, but it wasn't enough. His fingers snaked down to his balls covered by thick, dark, wirey hair, and they instinctively contracted, attempting to milk his seed while his other hand provided the steady rhythm. When he worked his way down, wrapping his hand fully around his reasonably sized girth, his thighs instinctively tensed, and his lower back arched up, seeking the wet friction. When he bucked into his hand and allowed a hushed whine to escape his throat, he suddenly stopped. Faint rustling between the trees drew near, and that's when he caught a glimpse of the familiar outfit you had worn that entire day. It was cute, and probably one of the reasons he was there, jacking off into your panties.

"Kieran?" you whispered, your voice carrying straight to him.

When your eyes landed upon his figure, he scrambled to cover himself, using his upper body to somehow hide the evidence of his fantasies regarding you.

"It's not what it looks like!" he exclaimed, dropping the undergarment to his side, ensuring you couldn't find it. "I... I'm not... I—"

He attempted to explain himself, but you had already seen the most of it. Well, it wasn't like you would let him explain himself, because you were already descending the ridge and moving to his side.

"Oh, please, don't do anythin' t' me. I'm real sorry, y/n. I didn't mean t' upset ya," he pleaded, ever so slightly backing up.

Before you realized what you were doing, you were already on your knees beside him, tangling your fingers in his slightly greasy hair, and pulling him in for a kiss. The kiss was sloppy once your lips collided, and your saliva moistened his chapped ones. Caught off guard by your boldness, he dug his fingers into the waistband of his pants, and he attempted to pull away to catch his breath. When you didn't let him, he placed both hands on your shoulders and pried you off.

"Hey," he whispered, staring deep into your eyes. "Let's just slow it down for a sec, huh? You're not mad at me, are you?"

You nuzzled your face into his neck and peppered it with kisses, then said, "Of course not."

You could feel him swallow the moment you made him nervous, but you refused to let him push you away again, so you latched onto his skin.

"Oh..." he groaned, instinctively tilting his head to let you lick and suck on his neck. "That... that feels real nice."

After stimulating him a little more, he lowered his guard and relaxed his posture, his throbbing cock twitching in the cool breeze. While you were occupied, he wrapped his hand around its base, your sticky juices clinging to his pubic hair. There was something so vile about what he had done, he thought, but at the same time, that was the best he'd ever felt.

Kieran's thighs painfully tensed as he heard your wet kisses along his throat, and he rapidly stroked his length. The suction, although not around his cock, made everything overly sensitive.

"What do you want?" you wondered, pressing one last dry kiss to his jawline before pulling away and watching his hand slow its movements.

"What do you mean?" he stuttered, his red tip peeking out of his fist.

"What do you want most right now? You took my panties, so what do you want? You can have anything." To ease him into admitting his feelings, you kissed his lips once, then twice.

Catching his breath, he said, "I... well, I don't mean t' cause you discomfort, but I want t' do somethin' different."

"Like what?" you cooed, cupping his bearded cheek and kissing his temple.

"Not—Not traditional. I want t' try... well, I'm really curious 'bout." He shook his head, nervously shifting beneath your gaze. "I don't wanna say..."

"So, you don't want to just have sex?"

"No, I wanna... I wanna taste you," he peeped, raising his left leg to hide his erection.

Before he could register what you were doing, you were flat on your back, lifting your skirt, and tearing down your panties. He could see clearly the way your hole opened eagerly, having been used by your own fingers. It was still dripping, too, so he cautiously adjusted his position to kneel before you.

"It's okay," you whispered. "You can go ahead. There's no need to be nervous."

Gathering his bearings, he nodded and lowered himself onto one arm while keeping his right hand on his cock. "So, what... what do I do?" he wondered, keeping his eyes trained on yours.

You just gave him a reassuring smile and brought your middle and ring fingers down to your folds to spread them nicely for him. "Do you see up here?" you murmured, circling your clit. "It feels really good if you lick it in circles or just back and forth."

He nodded, soaking up the information like the good boy he was.

"And, of course, you can explore as much as you want. I'll leave that up to you," you added.

"Okay," he whispered, shutting his eyes and dipping down to press the tip of his tongue near your hole.

"Yeah," you encouraged. "Just like that."

Gaining a bit more confidence, he licked up your folds once, then stuck his tongue into your aching entrance. Finally, he collected your juices on his tongue, and he couldn't help but let out a desperate moan. When you threaded your fingers through his dark hair, he tensed up, but regained his confidence and circled your clit just as you'd directed. Your body painfully jolted as he teased your overstimulated nerves, and he quickly pulled away.

"Ahh—Did I hurt ya? I didn't mean to. I really didn't. I was just—"

"No, no!" you exclaimed. "You didn't hurt me at all. I'm just a little sensitive 'cause I was..."

He had a feeling he knew what you meant, so he asked, "Well, how can I make it a bit better for you?"

Contemplating, you supposed, "You could put your fingers inside—"

"What?" he gasped. "Wouldn't that hurt ya? I don't wanna hurt you, y/n. I really don't."

"No, it'll feel good. Just be slow, okay?"

Taking your word, he redirected his attention and poked at your entrance with the tip of his index finger. "I'll just do one, 'kay?" he said.

Then, he inched forward and cautiously pushed past your body's resistance. Your walls gripped him tight, and it wasn't quite what he expected. He assumed it would be like a warm glove, but it was wet and so, so much tighter. When he slid in so far that his knuckle prevented him from moving, he checked in on you. Feeling assured you weren't in pain, he gave his finger a little twist and wiggled it around a bit, seeing what you liked. It was then that he realized the key was to press up against your walls.

So, he did that and resumed flicking your clit. Instantly, your fingers dug into his hair again, and he worked a little faster, feeling you buck your hips. Just as you rolled up into the friction, he clasped his dick with his free hand and stroked it fast, fucking into it like a horny animal. The sharp pain in your bundle of nerves soon disappeared, and your insides felt so full even if Kieran only used one finger.

Kieran squeezed his shaft as tightly as your walls squeezed his finger, and he let out what sounded like a squeal and a groan at once. He was completely wrapped up in loving you that he couldn't think straight. If you wanted to use him as your fuck toy, he would let you, because you were so beautiful to him. He would gladly let you ride his face all day and suffocate him just so he could taste you. He would even gladly let you take control of his entire body. If you wanted to tease his cock for hours, tie him up, or just make him fuck you, he would do it all.

When you arched your back, he switched to lapping at your clit back and forth. The pace made your entire lower body twitch in excitement. Kieran, too, showed the evidence of his arousal, because he moaned loudly into your cunt as he shamelessly spilled his seed. Still, he refused to falter as he dragged his finger along that spongy spot inside of you.

"Kieran, it's too much," you managed to whimper.

Caught up in his own pleasure while moving his hand wildly up and down his shaft, he only licked your clit faster. Tension built at your center, and your hands shot to the dirt beneath you. Kieran licked you a few more times before your walls painfully contracted around his digit. He was nearly unable to continue stimulating your insides because of how your body restrained him, but the moment it let up, he continued on. The second your cunt squeezed him another time, he switched to roughly fucking in and out of you. The sound of your obscene squelches and his tongue seemed to echo through the forest. And then he dragged his finger out, then slammed it back in until his knuckles rudely jabbed you.

Finally, a sharp cry escaped your throat, and Kieran joined you once he used his cum to slide his fingers around his tip. As your body calmed down, only squeezing around his finger every few moments, he sucked on your clit, then pulled away with a soft pop.

He looked down at his mess with a hint of embarrassment, then admitted, "That... that was so, so good."

"It was," you agreed, wiping a bit of sweat from your brow. "You made me feel so good, Kieran. You caught on so quickly."

He smiled bashfully and scratched the back of his head, then asked, "Umm, I was wonderin'... well... would you maybe like t' do that again sometime?"

"I would love to," you replied, sliding your panties back up your legs and tucking your skirt over your knees.

"I think... I think I'd like that," he whispered, leaning in close to press a single, dry, and clumsy kiss to your lips. "Umm, we should probably get cleaned up now. I didn't mean t' make such a mess, but, uhh... well..."

"That's okay," you said, playfully winking. "We both made a mess."

----

[yukon-soul]

I apologize for my recent absence, lovely humans, but look forward to more fics this week.

[yukon-soul]

I am obsessed with your Arthur Morgan!! You write him so well. I was wondering if you were open to write more dad!Arthur with daughter!reader, I would genuinely sell my soul to you if you did!!!

Maybe something super fluffy and some comfort thrown in there, maybe the daughter reader struggling a bit with outlaw life and Arthur trying to make the best of it for her despite it being an hard life by definition 💕💕

"I got you some flowers..."

Arthur Morgan x daughter!reader

angst, fluff, comfort, soft Arthur

a/n: Here you are, lovely reader. I hope you enjoy! This was really fun to write. :^)

~~~~~~

You'd spent all day doing chores around camp. First, it was feeding the horses; next, it was helping Strauss to organize his wagon; then, it was helping Pearson with the stew; finally, it was sewing for the rest of the afternoon. Your father had been out with Bill, Javier, Sean, Lenny, and Micah to rob two cabins in the mountains. So, it was a wonder when they'd be back. For all you knew, your father could have already kicked the bucket hours ago. Well, in a way, you couldn't bring yourself to care about any of it because Arthur didn't care about what you truly wanted. What you truly wanted was to be free and live like he did. Instead, you were stuck in camp, hearing Dutch blaring sophisticated operas over the gramophone.

Just when you thought you had a moment of peace, there was Grimshaw at your side, scolding you for sitting around by the lake and mindlessly drawing in your worn journal. Your illustration was nothing more than a strange-looking fish you saw Kieran catch. Not wishing to be on her bad side, you reluctantly rose and followed her back to the tents.

"I need you and Tilly to keep an eye on Jack," she declared. "Abigail, Karen, and Uncle are going to town."

"Uncle? Really?" you said under your breath.

"Don't," she said, bringing you to the boy and Tilly.

Tilly hunched over, reaching down to grasp Jack's hand. "How about we spend some time near the lake? Your momma wanted you to practice your reading, remember? Hosea's just over there, and we can listen to his stories."

Letting out a sigh of relief, you followed closely behind, clutching your journal at your side.

"So, y/n," Tilly began. "How was the trip yesterday? You and your father went to Saint Denis?"

"We didn't go," you replied, crossing your arms. "He and Dutch had 'business,' so he said."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear. You know... I've been thinkin' we should take a girls' trip to the city. That'd be nice."

"Yeah," you supposed. Inwardly, you wanted most to spend quality time with your father, but he was always busy. You couldn't even remember the last time he hugged you.

It had been that way as you grew older. You didn't quite recall how he treated you when you were younger, but you knew that he used to act somewhat softer. As you grew older, he pulled away, not out of a lack of love for you, but because he knew what it meant to be an outlaw. So, you began to pull away as well to spare yourself from the hurt.

Hosea flipped a page of his book, studying every word in complete silence. The moment he recognized Jack's light footsteps, he slid his thumb over the page and closed the cover.

"Hi, Hosea," the boy peeped.

Hosea offered a warm smile and shifted on the crate beneath him to better see the three of you. "Hello, Jack. Where's your mother?" he wondered.

"Momma's in town with Karen and Uncle," he said, letting go of Tilly's hand to step past Hosea and crouch before the water gently sloshing ashore.

"Your mother does a lot for you," Hosea said, allowing you and Tilly to sit on the rock beside him. "It's good that she's getting a little time away from here."

"I wanna go out someday, too," he said, picking up a jagged stick to draw abstract shapes in the sand.

Hosea briefly glanced at Tilly and replied, "You know it's better for you to stay here, Jack."

Unhappy with his response, Jack huffed. "But I wanna go out! I wanna be an outlaw just like you."

"You know what your mother would say," Hosea said. "And you are too young to be thinking that way. You'd be killed in less than five minutes out there."

"Then teach me to shoot! I'll prove myself. I'll even get rid of that O'Driscoll!"

Tilly interjected, "Hey, why don't you come over here and let Hosea read to you? You know... reading takes you to other places. So, it'll feel like you're on an adventure even if you're still here."

"Just shut up!" Jack snapped, dropping the stick and hurrying away.

As he ascended the ridge, a familiar voice said, "Whoa... don't you go runnin' off too far. Your mother wouldn't let me hear the end of it."

"Go away, Uncle Arthur," Jack whined.

Tilly rose and dusted off her skirt, giving you a sympathetic look. "Why don't you spend some time with your father? I'll keep an eye on Jack."

Before you could protest, she weaved through the trees, and Arthur met you once you stood. He wiped away the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand, then reached into his satchel.

"Oh," he said, pulling out a bouquet of slightly crushed wildflowers. "I got you some flowers."

When you accepted his gift, he gave you a polite nod and a smile. He really was trying.

"Thank you," you said simply, your lip quirking into a barely-there smile. "I... have things to do."

Keeping your head down, you padded through the sand, then slipped between the trees. Once you came out, Arthur stopped you by the chicken coop. Finally, he touched you. His heavy hand settled upon your shoulder, and he dug his thumb into your tender muscles. For a moment, he remained silent, letting you feel his presence and warmth.

"Why don't we go for a ride?" he asked, tilting his head and moving his hand from your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "I... haven't had time with my girl in too long."

When you felt yourself tear up, you quickly blinked it away and let Arthur wrap an arm around your shoulders to guide you past the overwhelming energy of the most successful robberies that month. Near the fire, Micah prepared to mock the two of you, but your father shot him a deadly glare and pulled you closer. Arthur's steed rested at the hitching post, distracted by a tiny bird hopping around nearby.

Finally, you reached the horse and felt Arthur pry the flowers from your smaller hand, placing them right beside the post for when you returned. After he grabbed the reins, he slid both hands beneath your arms to hoist you behind the saddle. As you got situated, he kept his hands there and really looked at you. His blue eyes studied yours, then his gaze traveled from your hairline to your cheeks, and as he took in your figure, his expression softened into something solemn. You still looked just as you did as a little girl, he thought. But before you could acknowledge it, he let go of you and mounted the horse.

Still reluctant to get too close to him, you dug your fingers into the fabric of his shirt directly on his back. Then, you were off. The dry brush crunched beneath the steed's hooves, and Arthur nudged him forward to set a decent pace. Never once did you bother to hold onto your father, so he reached back and took one of your wrists. Once one hand was across his torso, he took your other hand and pressed a warm, lingering kiss on the back. The moment his lips parted your skin, he placed your hand against his bearded cheek and just held it there, finally finding peace beside you.

When he brought your hand around him, he slid his own to your forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. "I know why you're upset," he said, guiding the horse to the main trail. "I know you're upset that I keep leavin' you. But you know it's dangerous out there."

"It's not just that," you snapped, attempting to pull away but feeling him pull you back against him.

"Then what is it, sweetheart?" he wondered in the softest tone he could manage.

"It's like you don't want me by your side, and I don't get it," you explained. "And why can't things be simpler? Why do we have to live this way, where I have to worry about you all the time? Why can't we just be normal?"

The word normal cut Arthur deep, but he didn't loosen his grip on your arm. He supposed you had the right to protest, seeing as you always looked longingly at the typical people your age at Rhodes or Valentine. As he moved the horse through a quiet clearing full of flowers, he let his head fall.

"This is all I've ever known, honey," he admitted. "I don't know how to live normally. It's why I had to leave Mary and why your mother didn't want anything to do with me. But I know you're hurtin'... and for that, I'm sorry. Just a while longer, okay? And I'll find a place. I promise you. You're my girl, and I will do anything to keep it that way."

Finally, Arthur tugged on the reins and stopped in the clearing beside the ruined cottage. Without waiting for you to say your piece, he dismounted and slid both hands beneath your arms again, helping you down. The tall grass tickled your ankles and calves, but there was no time to focus on that. Arthur trapped you against his chest, pressing one hand on the back of your head and the other between your shoulder blades. His body was tense, and you could tell his mind was trying to fight the vulnerability, but his arms acted on their own.

When you slid your hands up his back, you could feel his shirt that had dampened with sweat. He smelled of cypress, cigarette smoke, and must that was uniquely his. His arms contracted around you, pulling you in further, and he kissed the top of your head, then rested his cheek against it. For what seemed like an eternity, neither of you spoke, and Arthur threaded his fingers through your hair, pressing them against your scalp.

Shifting slightly, he whispered, "You're a good girl. I never deserved you. But I promise I'll be the best daddy you could have."

You teared up again and managed to say, "I love you so much, daddy."

When he heard you sniffle, he shushed you and instinctively swayed from side to side just as he did when you were a tiny baby in his arms. "I know," he said. "Me too, sweetheart. Hush now. I got you."

Once you quieted down, he patted your back and peeled himself from your grip. Then, he cupped your face in both of his palms and stared into your eyes again. He remembered when you came into the world and when you looked up at him with your wide, curious eyes. You resembled him still, and the sight nearly brought tears to his eyes. But he shook away the emotion and pecked your forehead.

"I promise I'll do right by you, honey. I brought you into this world, so I will keep you in it," he said finally. "Come here..."

Arthur cradled you once more, inhaling your familiar scent, and the two of you remained in that clearing. No words were needed after that because your father would keep you smiling, no matter the cost. You were all he had and all he could have in such a life he lived. He'd done wrong by many, but he managed to raise you right. Even if Dutch's gambles caught up to the gang, Arthur would run away with you and take you anywhere you wanted to go. It would all be for the girl who made him happy.

~

[yukon-soul]

Lazy Taffy + her new son Mango.

Baby Mango is sick right now, so they unfortunately cannot interact. :(

[yukon-soul]

Daddy's Little Girl

Homelander x fem!reader

violence, psychotic Homelander, mentions of blood, angst, fluff at the end

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

---

The elevator descended floor by floor as the outdated pulley system emitted a low groan. Fluorescent lights overhead flickered incessantly, and there Homelander stood, feeling nothing in particular. He knew why he was there, but it was an instinct more than anything. Once the elevator jolted to a stop, the door opened, and he saw it: the bad room. But something about this time was different. It wasn't himself that he was thinking about. He didn't want to make the scientists pay for what they did to him. He wanted to make them pay for what they did to you.

Stepping into the abnormally long corridor, he paused, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. Homelander saw it from the small window in the heavy door—a baby surrounded by scientists, displaying its super-strength. None of the men and women were familiar to him, and neither was that corridor, but it didn't matter. He needed to get to the bad room.

As he moved closer, the distance between him and the end of the hall seemed to widen. Then, a door to the right burst open, and Frank rushed out, turning his attention to the bad room. Homelander trailed behind, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Frank," he said, his tone deadly.

"Yes, Barbara," Frank said, "I'm going to put her in the chamber. I know she's ready."

Homelander took off from the concrete floor and flew straight past the older man, positioning himself between him and the door. "Look at me, Frank," he ordered.

But Frank kept walking. The closer he inched toward Homelander, the more Homelander wanted to crush his skull.

"Frank," Homelander warned, tilting his head as the man neared.

Once Frank was less than three feet away, Homelander's hand snapped to his neck, but the man continued forward, stepping straight through him. Then, Homelander turned about and watched as Frank opened the door. Bright lights infiltrated his sensitive pupils, and there he saw a little girl. She was so small, curled up against the back wall like a caged animal.

"No!" she screamed, nails digging into the brick wall behind her. "Don't touch me!"

Frank clicked his tongue and shook his head. "You won't feel pain," he claimed. "I promise. It will be hot, but it will just feel like a little sunburn. Can you stand up for me?"

"Don't touch me!" she snapped, so terrified of the man who wasn't even in her personal space.

Homelander analyzed her facial structure, and he broke, eyes flashing red. "Frank, do not touch the girl!" he boomed.

As defiant as ever, the scientist entered, and Homelander shot two lasers straight through his body. Still, nothing happened, and he moved closer, stepping past the threshold. Your cries echoed in the empty room like daggers. But the moment Homelander grasped Frank's shoulders and threw him into the wall, snapping every bone in his upper body, you quieted. Homelander stood above Frank's mangled form, then erratically lasered every inch of his body. But there wasn't so much as a scratch on his body.

Then, he turned back, and there you were, standing on edge, your chest heaving and your arms before you, having completely eliminated the scientist.

Not thinking too much about why his powers didn't work, Homelander took one step toward you, his red boot squelching in the pool of blood. "Hey," he cooed. "Hey, baby doll. Look at me. Look at me. I'm here, and you're safe. I... I'm your father, baby. I'm your daddy."

But you didn't move. You kept staring at Frank's corpse as if Homelander didn't even exist. Unfazed by your unresponsiveness, he glided across the floor, the blood nearly making him slip. Finally, he grounded himself on your smaller frame. The moment he placed his hands on your shoulders, your eyes shot to him, and he wrapped his arms around you. As he curled around you, he helped you to sit down, and you instinctively brought your knees to your chest. Frank's blood seeped between your toes, and it felt so warm, but so did Homelander's body.

"Oh," he whispered, sliding an arm across your front and the other behind your back to fully embrace you. "You're so tiny. So, so small. Daddy's got you, honey. You don't need to worry about them anymore. You're safe with me, and I promise I'll give you a good life. You can just be a little girl now, hmm? That sound good?"

Bringing your arms to your chest, you wiggled your toes, still blankly staring at the fluid surrounding you. The blood stained your skin, and it didn't take long for its heat to seep away. As you focused so heavily on what you had done, Homelander's arms seemed to disappear. His body was still there, and he was still talking, but you couldn't understand his whispers. Then, the warmth of his chest faded, and you took one last look at his pale complexion. The moment you blinked, you were back against the freezing wall, your gaze locked on the door. When it creaked open, Frank was there.

-

"Baby doll, baby doll," Homelander panted, his eyes flickering open, his pale skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

Once his eyes adjusted to the sunlight creeping through the drawn curtains, he let out a sigh, then checked the clock. It was barely 0720. You were most definitely not awake, but feeling slightly paranoid, he fumbled with his phone on the nightstand.

Once he opened his messages, he texted you, "Baby, are you awake? Answer me now."

The minutes ticked by, and you still hadn't responded, so he ripped the covers away and stepped onto the freezing floor. Goosebumps rose along his arms and legs, and he shook away the exhaustion. Once fully alert, he found his suit and quickly dressed, ensuring he was perfectly presentable. All he had to do that day was attend a meeting, but besides that, he supposed he had you all to himself. Although it was early, he needed to see you. So, he fixed his hair and hurried to your floor.

The elevator ride filled him with a sort of dread he hadn't anticipated. You would be in your bed, peacefully sleeping away the morning, he imagined. As the doors slid open, he entered the hall and peered through the walls. Every single room was empty. Your bed was neatly made, and you were nowhere to be found.

So, he reluctantly retreated into the elevator and pulled out his phone as he descended to the meeting room. "Pick up your fucking phone," he messaged you. "Where are you?"

Still, you didn't answer, and he felt about ready to tear apart the entire tower because his baby girl was gone. The elevator barely moved before it abruptly stopped, and Ashley rushed in with a clipboard at her side.

"Oh," she gasped. "Sir. Hello."

The second the door shut, he neared, his glare nearly boring a hole through Ashley. "Where the fuck is she?" he demanded to know.

"Where the fuck is who?"

"y/n. Where the fuck is she?"

The way the realization slowly settled upon her face made Homelander wish to snap her neck. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "You didn't know? We're doing the movie. I just texted her like thirty minutes ago. She's already getting prepared for her first day on set!"

"No," Homelander snapped. "No, Ashley. We're not doing the movie. Take her off."

"Excuse me?" she stuttered. "But this is gonna be big. Next, if we have both of you on the big screen, the numbers are gonna skyrocket. The public already loves the idea of you being America's father. Why don't we just—"

"I said no," he said, his eyes briefly flashing red.

"Okay," she surrendered. "We'll cut the project."

Contented with her obedience, he returned to his respective side of the elevator and held his head high, acting completely normal. When the displayed floor number decreased, about to reach the destination, Homelander stated, "I am not America's father. I am only her father."

Ashley nodded, her eyes still wide. "Yes, that makes perfect sense, sir," she replied.

Finally, the pair arrived on the main floor, and workers darted everywhere, already overwhelmed before the day had even begun. Simultaneously, the elevator filled with familiar faces, but Homelander slid into the hall, avoiding everyone like the plague. Immediately, he heard talk of the movie production. It would be a prequel to the next movie, in which Homelander fully takes on the role of your father. But what Homelander wanted most was for the world to know his suffering and yours. He was your savior, not just some man who wanted you by his side for PR.

"Sir," Ashley said again, rushing to catch up with him. "They're in the meeting room. I'll go deliver the news."

"No," he snapped. "She is my daughter. I will tell her myself."

Ashley didn't have a chance to get another word in before Homelander rounded the corner and stepped in front of the grand door. Not giving it a chance to fully open, he slid inside. There you were, sitting in Homelander's spot at the head of the table while the team explained their newest ideas for the second film. (It would start in the meeting room: the way you sat quietly and followed orders without a second thought caught Homelander's attention. But your silence wasn't like Black Noir's. It was heavy. You lost your parents to a supe terrorist, and not even Homelander knew. Only when you finally had the chance to bring the terrorist to justice would you break your silence. Homelander wouldn't pity you; he would be fascinated by your motivation and take it upon himself to protect you. Only during a mission gone wrong would he realize the true nature of his feelings. He was meant to be your father figure.) It would truly be the most iconic found-family storyline ever!

When you finally looked up from the nearby whiteboard, you noticed Homelander set his jaw tightly, then put his hands behind his back. "Out," he ordered. "Everybody out."

You instinctively found your belongings and turned away to get up, but Homelander raised a hand, motioning for you to stay put. Not a soul wished to challenge his word, so as they obediently filed out of the room, he kept his head high even as he stalked to your side.

"You're not doing the movie," he said simply, standing directly behind you to place his hands on your shoulders. "You're not doing any of it. You're just going to sit here and be my good girl."

"What do you mean?" you wondered. "I thought you liked the idea of it?"

"I like the idea of reality more," he murmured, pressing a single kiss to your head. "I can't show the world how I really feel about you, now can I? I can't show them that I would do anything to hold the little girl you were right in my lap and tell her she's safe. They can't know that I would kill anyone who touched a hair on your head, baby. They can't know because I am America's hero, right?"

"No, daddy," you replied, turning around to face him. "But our ratings would—"

"I don't care about the fucking ratings, y/n!" he interjected, giving you a little shake. "I don't care about a single fucking one of them but you, okay? Look at me," he ordered. "I only care about you." He paused to kiss your temple firmly, then your cheek and jaw. "Only you."

When he pulled away, he abruptly slid your chair out and bent down to place both hands on your sides. Then, with ease, he helped you to your feet and slung an arm beneath your thighs to hoist you up. The moment you were at eye level, he buried his face against your neck and rocked you back and forth like you were a child.

"I need you to be little right now," he whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not a big girl anymore. You're my little thing, and that means you need to forget about all of this. Forget about Ashley... forget about the movie... forget about the pests who will never understand what we've been through. Think about me. Only me."

"Okay, daddy," you said, clinging to him like a koala.

After kissing your shoulder, he claimed, "You're my blood. No matter what they say, you're my blood. Now, I need you to sit your butt down for the rest of the day and look pretty for me, okay? I have a meeting at eleven, but you will be on my lap the entire time. Do you understand?"

"I shouldn't be here if it's important, Daddy," you protested.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," you relented. "I'm sorry. I'll be good. I'll stay here."

"Good. Now go get some breakfast, baby doll," he said, lowering you to your feet and giving you a pat on the back. "I expect you back here ten minutes to eleven."

-

(part 5 coming soon)

[yukon-soul]

LOVE your Connor fics btw 💙

Would love if you could write anything NSFW dom!connor x sub!fem or sub!gn reader

Tyyyy and seriously your Connor fics are some of the best I’ve read on here

A New Mission

Machine Connor x sub!fem reader

nsfw, dominant Connor, angst, smut, fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, p in v penetration, breeding kink

a/n: Thank you so much, anon! That means a lot to me. I apologize for the wait, but here you are. I hope you enjoy! :^)

----

"Detective, he's in the stairwell!" said Connor, who darted past you the moment he noticed movement beyond the hall.

Caught off guard, you followed your partner's movements, slid your gun into its holster, and rushed past the linear doors on the hotel's ninth floor. With inhuman speed, Connor reached the white door at the end of the hall and used his momentum to burst through. The stairwell amplified every one of the deviant suspect's movements, and Connor analyzed the safest route down. Catching him would be by a slim margin, and Connor considered every possible scenario in seconds, but before he took the next step, there you were, taking the lead and pushing past him down the stairs.

Knowing you were technically above him in terms of rank, he decided to let you go ahead. If Connor acknowledged that he had an ego, he'd realize you damaged it every time you acted without first communicating with him. Deciding to let it go, he stalked close behind, lowering the barrel of his gun. As the two of you descended the first flight, the distant footsteps suddenly stopped.

Quieting your own movements, you jumped at the sound of shattering glass. Then you heard shuffling, and the deviant was out. Wasting no more time, you traveled down the remaining steps. Finally, you and Connor reached the scene. A chill breeze ruffled your partner's hair, and before he could look out the window, you stepped forward and stuck your head out.

"Wait, Detective! Do not go any closer!" Connor ordered, raising a hand to somehow stop you.

The deviant clung to the wall with one hand, his feet propped on a slim ledge. In his other hand was a gun, and he pulled the trigger. The next seconds passed in a blur, and you fell back. Connor scanned your figure, but you were unharmed. The bullet had collided with the ceiling above and narrowly missed striking your skull.

Once you were out of the way, Connor watched as the deviant lunged from the wall to the roof of a nearby building. From there, he ran in a jagged line to the next... and to the next.

The risks were too high, but it's not like that would usually have stopped Connor from chasing a suspect. For some inexplicable reason, he felt more concerned about your condition.

"I told you to stop," he said firmly. "You didn't listen, and you almost compromised this mission. If you choose to be so reckless in the future, I will have to work with Detective Anderson. You are a liability, and I refuse to work with anyone who does not grasp the importance of locking away dangerous, murderous deviants."

Before you could respond, he grabbed your wrist, holstered his weapon, and nearly dragged you up the stairs. Struggling to keep up with the pace, you asked, "Connor, where are you taking me? I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry for what I did. It was stupid! I wasn't thinking!"

"You didn't listen to me, and I need to teach you how to," he said simply, pulling you closer.

Up the flights of stairs you went. Finally, you were on the ninth floor again, and you stepped onto the stained light brown carpet. The dim lights above flickered rapidly, and Connor reached the room the deviant had checked into hours earlier. Without warning, he pushed inside, brought you before him, and slammed the door shut.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Connor's LED switched between blue and yellow, and then red. All you could tell was that he was upset. You only proved yourself right when he ordered, "Take off your clothes."

Caught off guard, you wondered, "What?"

"Take off your clothes, y/n."

When you hesitated, Connor stepped forward, but you reached for your shirt, attempting to ease the tension. Pleased, he stilled, only searching your body with his dark eyes. As you carefully brought the fabric over your head, Connor eyed your bare stomach and chest that was still concealed. Once the first layer was off, you reached for your pants and undid them, but your partner stopped you.

"Take off your bra first," he said, eyes boring through you.

Startled, you began, "I—"

"Now."

Obeying, you unclasped the binding and freed your breasts. Upon contact with the cool air, your nipples hardened, and Connor imagined what it would be like to pinch them hard just to hear you beg him to stop. Shaking the thought away, he straightened up and let you slip out of your remaining garments.

Contented with the sight of you shifting uncomfortably and attempting to hide your pussy from him, he nodded toward the bed in the main room. "Get on the bed," he ordered.

With minimal protest, you backed away and hurried to the bed. Once on the white sheets, you sat patiently, awaiting his next orders. Connor found a chair and positioned it just before the bed, then sat down with a bored expression.

The second he rested his chin against his fist, he said, "Finger yourself."

Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you nearly felt lightheaded as he spoke. "I'm not horny," you managed to whisper.

"This is a lesson on obeying orders, Detective. Finger yourself. Now."

Feeling utterly humiliated, you decided to commit and lean back on the mattress, spreading your legs wide. After wetting your middle and ring fingers with your saliva, you slowly brought them to your folds. While rubbing them around your hole a few times and teasing your clit, Connor crossed his legs, possibly hiding his erection, but you were unsure.

Still, you continued until your opening glistened in the faint light from the window. Then, you inserted one finger into your sensitive cunt, wincing as the friction irritated your walls. Unbeknownst to you, Connor seared the sight of you on the bed in the deepest parts of his hardware.

To help settle your racing mind, you circled your clit with your other hand. Staring into Connor's eyes was too much to bear, so you let your head fall back. Pleased with your efforts, Connor's LED switched from red to a constant yellow. With a few slow pumps of your finger, your walls contracted, trying to prevent you from continuing.

Finally speaking up, Connor said, "You're not in the mood, but you find me attractive. I know you do. Your heart rate rises approximately fifteen beats every time you see me. Right now, it has increased by thirty."

The moment you looked back up at him, your body involuntarily squeezed around nothing. While your fingers worked around your clit, you inserted a second into your cunt. Connor's half-lidded dark eyes locked onto your movements, and as he tilted his head, you picked up the pace.

Not pleased with watching you struggle, Connor suddenly rose and moved to the foot of the bed. Then, he leaned in, placed both hands beneath your thighs, forcing them back, and licked straight up your slit.

The second your back arched, and a gasp escaped your lips, Connor murmured, "Now, be quiet."

Obeying his orders, you shut your eyes, digging your fingers into the sheets as he swirled his tongue around your clit. After a moment, the direct stimulation felt like a sharp jolt, but Connor inserted two fingers into your soaked hole. The stretch was a bit too much to handle, and as he slowly pulled out and shoved them back in, you had to bite back a cry. Finally giving you the relief you needed, Connor curled his fingers up to press against your g-spot while continuing to abuse your clit.

Inwardly, Connor had become addicted to your tangy taste, but admitting it to you would mean admitting he'd lost. In that moment, at least, he still had control over you. It's why, as you gasped, he pulled back, his lips bright red.

"I told you to be quiet, Detective. You have to listen to me now since you refused to listen earlier and nearly died," he said, emphasizing his last word with a sharp thrust inside.

You simply nodded and spread your legs wider, feeling Connor retreat to your core. After circling your clit, he switched to lapping away back and forth. When you looked down, his dark eyes were on yours. Not once did he look away from you as your face contorted in pleasure. Deciding to reward you for your obedience, he rose to his full height and withdrew his digits from your needy cunt. Then, his hands shot to his belt, and he quickly undid it, the metal clinking in the silent room.

Before you could fully register his actions, he fiddled with his waistband and boxers, and his cock sprang free. Pleased with your surprise, he gripped the base and aligned it with your aching entrance. Once he dragged it along your slit and collected your slick, he slid inside, only allowing you to feel the tip.

You weren't even allowed to beg him for more, so you met his gaze, hoping to silently convey your growing need. Unfortunately, he decided to rock back and forth at an agonizingly slow pace, still only keeping the tip inside.

“Don’t make a sound,” he ordered, sliding in only a bit more. “Do you want me to go in further?”

You eagerly nodded and placed your hands beneath your thighs, staring down at your joined bodies. Then Connor finally entered you balls-deep. What he didn't wish to admit was that he had increased his sensitivity to the point where he felt as if he would cum the moment he first rubbed himself along your slit. But for you, he would hold back.

Again, he rolled his hips, impaling you and stretching your walls to their limit. When he nearly slid out all the way, your entrance gripped his shaft tight, getting caught on the head. And he drove back in, drilling into you with no intention of stopping. By then, the friction made it feel as if he were tearing you apart, and every ridge along his cock amplified the pressure.

Before you could react, he curled around you, robotically rocking inside of you as he locked your lips between his. His body labored to function, and the whirring of his internal cooling system reached your ears, blending perfectly with the squelches of your pussy. Connor's pink lips were surprisingly moist, and when his tongue shot out to analyze your saliva, your walls contracted around his member. Knowing you were close, he reached down with one hand and rapidly circled your clit. Eventually, the pressure overwhelmed your senses, and he dipped down to sloppily kiss your neck.

"Con—" you whined, grinding against his hand like a horny animal.

"Shh," he whispered, silencing you with another deep kiss. "Cum right now."

You shut your eyes and continued instinctively leaning into him to ride out the pleasure, and soon, your soaked cunt clamped down around him. As he continued moving, the exertion drove you over the edge. Your hands shot to his back, and he let out a groan as you dug your nails into his synthetic skin.

Simultaneously, his balls tightened, and his cock tensed, shooting ropes of semen into your womb. Feeling so full, you tried to squirm away, but he leaned his weight onto you, keeping you trapped beneath him. Even as your body painfully convulsed, he continued stimulating your bundle of nerves.

Between kisses, he panted, "You did so well. You didn't make a sound."

"Are you still upset with me?" you wondered, attempting to push him away as he kept his cock inside of you, ensuring no seed spilled out.

"No. You listened for once. I will work with you from now on. We won't need to tell Detective Anderson about this. As for the mission... it went wrong, and you nearly died, and I was concerned."

"Okay," you whispered, closing your eyes again to press your lips to his.

"I would say you've been a good girl." He finally slid off you, his dick pulling out with a little pop. "Now, get dressed. Fowler must be wondering where we've been."

"Okay, Connor," you said, moving to sit up. As soon as you moved, the artificial semen spilled from your gaping, used hole. With a frown, you straightened up and padded down the hall to find your discarded clothes.

Before you could properly conceal your body, Connor said, "Perhaps we should do this again sometime... if it means you'll listen to me."

Flustered, you gathered your things and watched him step past you to enter the dingy hallway. Although he was a machine, through and through, that encounter made him feel completely human. Perhaps he was changing because you were so beautiful to him, even though he hated the idea.

[yukon-soul]

Saw RDR2 as a fandom and had to make a request. That recent post with another anon’s OC inspired this a little with an RDR2 original character, specifically male reader if that’s okay. If non-specific, O’Driscoll reader x Kieran ! Maybe reader attempting to get Kieran back, either on their own accord or being told to/after having a run-in with another member out of camp. Sfw and Nsfw work !

"With all due respect, sir..."

Kieran Duffy x male O'Driscoll!reader

nsfw, angst, violence, light blood, reverse comfort, friends to lovers, handjob, blowjob, submissive Kieran

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Four months. It had been four months since you last saw your only friend. That night was atypical. While your group traveled through the mountains, the revered Van der Linde gang trailed closely behind. They had no business being there because it was Colm's rightful territory. As safe as it was with the O'Driscolls, they didn't deserve Kieran. You even felt that you didn't deserve him. He was simply too pure for the world.

And you believed that the moment he sat down beside you in the snow that evening. But you were different; he could see it.

"Excuse me," he said, tipping his hat. "Mind if I sit with you a while?"

"No," you said, "Go ahead."

His body remained rigid, occasionally quivering beneath the canopy of snow-covered pines, and he settled right beside you. He was so close that you could feel his body heat, and you were nearly tempted to shift closer. But why would you? It was foolish; surely it was.

"So," he began. "I gotta ask... Why are you always so nice?"

That certainly caught you off guard, so you settled with, "I'm nice because you're nice."

"So that's it? You're just mirroring me? I really thought it was something else for a moment, but I s'ppose I understand. Well, you are fierce when you need to be."

You nodded, tilting your head to study his profile, and he met your gaze but quickly turned away, feeling a bit awkward.

"I do appreciate it, you know? The others... Well, you know how they are. You're the least feral of them all. I'll admit that I've always respected you."

"Don't flatter me," you replied, a smile creeping across your features.

In that moment, he knew that the weeks of casual conversation with you weren't for nothing, but he gave you a grin, nervously scratched the skin beneath his beard, and said, "Well, I'm gonna go out. I'll be back. Don't stay out too long yourself, 'kay?"

And that was the last time you heard his voice.

-

The weeks blurred together, and you remained with Colm and the boys. Convinced Kieran was dead, you were uninterested in anything. It was like the color in your world had completely faded. There you remained, facing the scrutiny of the boys who surrounded you. None were quite like Kieran because Kieran was one of a kind, and he always had been.

But your entire world changed when you heard gossip among the group. One had ventured out and claimed he had seen one of their own with the Van der Linde gang. Not needing a physical description, you were off.

At midnight, you snuck away on your steed, weaving through the trees with effortless precision. Once over a ridge, you spotted the quaint town of Valentine. There must have been something so simple about living in a community under the protection of the law, you thought, and it made you wonder if it was where you'd end up if Kieran were truly still alive. Deciding not to get your hopes up, you shook away the thought and tightened your grip on the reins.

Before long, the clouds blanketed the sky, shrouding the terrain in darkness. Feeling a bit more comfortable with the subsiding breeze, you finally brought your horse to a gradual stop behind a lone tree in an empty clearing.

The railroad that ran nearby was desolate, and past Valentine, it seemed as if all life suddenly ceased to exist. That was until you spotted smoke piercing through the canopy of leaves. Knowing it was a camp, you dismounted your steed, your heavy boots colliding with the compacted dirt. Still on edge, you stalked closer, the night seemingly so dead, yet so alive.

Nocturnal creatures darted through the brush, causing a commotion before you even reached the treeline. Realizing you were stressing yourself out, you inhaled deeply, then stepped forth. Even with the low visibility, you avoided most foliage, keeping to the clear areas. As you came closer, you spotted a figure bound to a tree. His torso leaned forward, completely limp, his unnaturally contorted arms laboring to support his weight. Then, you recognized his silhouette. It was Kieran.

Not every member of the camp had retired for the night, but you used their comfort to your advantage and traveled from one tree to the next.

Kieran was out like a light, but remained on guard, and as he heard you accidentally snap a twig, he bolted upright.

"Who's there?" he demanded, his heart pounding in his chest.

The moment you cupped your hand over his mouth, he whined, desperately wriggling from your touch.

"Shh," you whispered, instantly soothing his nerves. "It's me, Kieran. I'm gonna get you out, okay? You're safe now."

He gasped and tugged at his restraints, twisting his head back as far as he could to catch a glimpse of your face that he missed so much. "Oh god!" he exclaimed, peeling himself from your hand. "Oh, wow, you're really here? It's really you? Gosh... I thought I was left for dead here. The men—they're so cruel! They look at me like an animal, but I ain't an O'Driscoll no more!"

Wishing he could take back his words, he quieted down, letting you hack away at the rope with your blade. Before long, you set him free, and he straightened up, painfully rolling his shoulders. Surprisingly for him, you still placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him beyond the treeline.

"Hey," he whispered, crouching low to somehow quiet his movements. "I'm sorry for sayin' that. I didn't mean nothin' by it. I've just gotten used to sayin' it to the boys so they stop hurting me."

"Shh." You raised a finger, signaling for him to halt in his tracks.

"Who's there?" Came a voice from the path nearby.

Knowing you couldn't easily get by, you simply took Kieran's sore wrist in your hand and darted across the uneven terrain. Kieran's legs nearly gave out from the exertion, but you pulled him close, letting him lean on you for support. At once, bullets collided with the dirt at your feet and the tree trunks. The shots alerted every member of the Van der Linde gang, and just as the two of you reached the ridge, you called for your horse. It didn't take long for you to hear the gang declare that Kieran was missing and that the O'Driscolls were on their tail, but that was far from the truth. It was just you.

Realistically, you knew the O'Driscolls wouldn't bother to look into Kieran's disappearance. He was simply the guy who cared for the horses. To them, he was disposable. You, however, felt the opposite. Kieran's companionship was something you valued more than anything.

Without further hesitation, you rushed to your horse, then felt a sharp pain in your bicep. It wasn't nearly enough to bring you to your feet, so you mounted your steed and pulled the terrified Kieran to sit right behind you. Not giving him a second to get situated, you were off, digging your spurs into the sides of the heavy horse beneath you.

Agitated by the wall of noise, the steed squirmed and darted off into the blanket of night. Kieran wrapped both arms tightly around your waist and pressed his chin against your shoulder, begging to know, "Where're we goin'? I don't think I can go back to the gang."

"We're going away," you explained. "Just me and you."

You felt his shaky breath against your neck, and his fingers pawed at the fabric of your coat. "Oh, thank you," he said. "Oh, thank you so much, mister. This is more than I could ever ask for. I always knew you cared about me."

"I do. I always have," you admitted, curling a hand over his as the gunfire faded into the distance. "I missed you. I really did, and I'm not letting you go again."

"Oh... Oh," he murmured. "I won't let you go, either. Thank you for everything. I... I thought I was a dead man out here. I thought—"

"You're safe now," you said, turning back to meet his gaze. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to his cheek, and he gasped, still refusing to let go of you.

As expected, he didn't pull away. Although deeply flustered, he buried his face against your upper back. "Me and you..." he whispered, testing out the reality of it. "I like the sound of that."

-

However far you had traveled didn't matter because not a soul had tracked you. Deciding to let your horse rest and tend to your throbbing injury, you settled in a clearing somewhere past Valentine, near the Grizzlies. Once there, you stepped down first, then helped Kieran and winced in the process. Of course, he noticed and decided to press you.

"You're... You're injured. Where were you hit? Does it hurt bad?" he quizzed, placing a hand on your chest to guide you back against a tree.

Once comfortable, you sat down, and he promptly followed suit, finally letting his legs rest. Without further hesitation, you shrugged off your coat, keeping your arm as still as possible, and set the fabric around Kieran's shoulders to keep him warm. The moonlight gradually streamed through the parting clouds, illuminating the snowy terrain, its light bouncing off your skin. Upon further inspection, you realized that it was merely a graze. It would surely heal without a problem, so you found some supplies in your saddle bag. There wasn't much to work with, but you managed to stop the bleeding.

While working, Kieran said, "Umm... With all due respect, sir, back there, when you were leading me away so fearlessly, I thought... Well, you looked really good. I hope that's not weird or anythin'. I just mean that you knew exactly what to do, and I admire it, is all."

Unable to hide how much it affected you, you let a smile creep across your lips, and so did he.

"So, uhh... You'll be fine, right?" he wondered, gesturing to your bicep. "It just looks like a scrape."

"Yeah," you said. "I'll be good."

Neither of you said anything for a while, but for once, you were actually comfortable with the silence. Once finishing up, Kieran wondered, "Can I ask you somthin'?"

As you nodded, he fiddled with his fingers and searched your expression with his tired blue eyes. He felt, deep down, that you would reject him, but at the same time, you were the one who had initiated such gentle touches.

Gathering the courage, he asked, "Why did you kiss my cheek?"

You knew full well why you did it, but you decided against being too forward. "It felt right," you explained. "I wanted you to know that I care about you."

"I care about you, too," he replied. "I ain't sayin' it felt bad or anythin'. I... I thought it... felt good."

"Do you want more?"

Kieran froze up, his eyes widening as he searched your expression for any sign of insincerity. But when he only met your honest gaze, he considered the nuances. In the end, he determined that being with you was the only thing that made sense as an outlaw. So, he hesitantly nodded, his eyes flickering to your lips.

At once, months of frustration and anger that the world had taken him away from you poured out into one certain kiss against his chapped lips. As your saliva coated his lips, he opened up to you, allowing you to take charge, so you placed both hands on his neck and slipped your tongue out. Once he accepted it, he met your tongue with his, and his warm saliva mingled with yours.

Overwhelmed by the sensations, he pulled back and panted, "Oh, my... I never thought... I... Please keep going; It feels real good."

Without further hesitation, you curled around him and trailed your hands from his neck to his chest to his stomach. The moment you latched onto his sensitive neck and sloppily kissed it, he leaned back, welcoming your advances.

"I feel so safe with you," he muttered, eyes half-lidded. "It's like everything else just fades awa—ahh! What are you—"

"Let me make you feel good, please," you begged, tracing your fingers just below his waistband.

Kieran panted and attempted to straighten up. "You don't mean..."

"I do mean that. Will you let me?"

"I don't know. I've never... I've never had someone... touch me before," he admitted, blue eyes meeting yours.

"Then let me be your first," you said, leaning in to kiss him before sinking your hand beneath his clothes. The moment you set your hand over his dark hair and touched his hardening cock, he sharply gasped.

"Oh!" he cried. "I don't know if I'm ready for this. I don't know if I—"

But the moment you wrapped your fingers around his member and gave it a single stroke, he melted against your chest, instinctively spreading his legs. With a little more convincing, he allowed you to pull his pants down below his waist. The frigid climate chilled his core, but your warm hand did wonders. Watching the way his skin sank down to reveal his swollen tip turned you on. Kieran sensed it, but he was too tired to retreat from your grip. Again, you gave his cock a gentle squeeze, and finally, it was fully erect.

Kieran's hand tightened around your wrist, and his back arched painfully. "That's good," he whined. "Keep going, please."

"I won't stop," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then trailing down to his neck again. "I will never stop. Just relax and let yourself feel. You're safe now."

The precum that beaded at Kieran's slit glistened in the moonlight, and you couldn't help but lean down, flicking your tongue out to taste him. Although bitter, the taste was so uniquely him, and you pulled his foreskin down a bit more to fully expose his tip.

A high-pitched squeal left Kieran's throat, and he wondered, "Oh... You're using your tongue?"

Choosing not to let him get in another word, you sealed your lips around his length and swirled your tongue around a few times. The sudden pressure, warmth, and wetness were so foreign to him, but he relaxed his upper body, his head falling back against the tree trunk.

"God," he whispered. "Don't stop. Not yet."

Feeling more eager, you slid further down, pressed your tongue flat against his length, and began sucking away. The suction, too much for him to bear, made him dig his fingers into the damp earth. Unsure of what to do with his right hand, he repeatedly clenched his fist, then placed it on the back of your head. He simply held it there, not wishing to push you too far.

You buried your nose into his dark hair once you reached his base, and moved to gently fondle his balls between your fingers. It hadn't been very long, yet he was already a mess, moving about and whining with every bob of your head. Pulling his foreskin back a bit more, you focused entirely on his tip. Finally, you found his most sensitive spot at his frenulum, and continued assaulting his senses, flicking your tongue across it over and over again.

Kieran dug his nails into your scalp as his toes curled and his back arched. "I think I'm going to—It's too much, y/n, too much!"

With a few more flicks of your tongue, his hips bucked into your mouth, and he shot his seed straight down your eager throat. As you eagerly swallowed the bitter liquid, Kieran finally collapsed against the ground, a low groan escaping his throat.

"Oh, wow..." he panted. "I wasn't expecting that..."

Upon pulling away, you wiped as much saliva from his softened cock as you could. Then, you slowly tucked it back into his pants. Contented with your work, you gave him a smile and pressed another firm kiss to his forehead.

"Do you think," he began, sitting up to lean against the tree more comfortably. "Do you think maybe... I could try touchin' yours sometime?"

You nodded eagerly, then pulled him into a tight hug. His dark beard, which was remarkably soft, tickled your cheek, and you set your hand behind his head, scratching his scalp.

"Thank you for everythin'," he whispered. "Really. Thank you. I don't know where I'd be without you... but I don't wanna imagine it. So we'll stick together then, I guess?

"Always," you assured him. "I want to live the rest of my life with you."

A grateful smile spread across his lips, and for the first time in a long time, he felt truly at home. "I think I like the sound of that," he admitted. "I like the sound of that a lot!"

-♡-

a/n: Here you are, anon. :^) I apologize for the wait. This piece wasn't coming out the way I wanted it to, for some reason, but I hope you enjoyed!

[yukon-soul]

Don’t know how specific requests can be, this is more OC-based as I love seeing how writers interpret original characters. Homelander x Male reader,, season 5 preferably.

OC information— (reader being a Supe of any kind works!) Reader would’ve been one of the first Supes, then joined Payback. Essentially sidelined when Payback disbanded until joining The Seven alongside Starlight in season 1,, not using names as it’s a reader is what I expect but if needed his name is Saint. Kicked out of The Seven when Stormfront returned, and would’ve come back around season 5 if that has anything to do with the scenario. So, Homelander needing reader to return to The Seven? If that makes sense. OC’s powers, vaguely— bat-like wings which are hidden by feathery sleeves, and the ability to implode: similar to Soldier Boy, but it’s marketed as “smiting”, and focuses on a smaller radius + primarily kills, so it doesn’t remove powers.

Again, anything with a male Supe reader works! This is somewhat of a NSFW request if that works in whatever scenario, and thank you for reading ^^

Rebirth

Homelander x male!supe!reader (spoilers for s5)

nsfw, unstable Homelander, angst, manipulation, degradation, smut at the end

a/n: Thank you, anon, for such a thoughtful request! I had a lot of fun writing this. For the sake of inclusivity, it will just be x male reader. Hope you enjoy! :^)

----

After years of silence, practically having been wiped off the face of the planet, it was finally your comeback. The Homelander himself called upon you, and for a moment, it felt like you had finally found your place again. Not needing a rebranding, you promptly booked a flight to New York City while concealed beneath heavy layers, a hat, and sunglasses. As with most inconsequential figures of the twenty-first century, you were discarded, completely forgotten about because you hadn't made a headline since 2019 and had no significant coverage since 1977. In your eyes, it was pathetic, but you were still valuable to one person.

Upon reaching the city, you couldn't help but feel the same disappointment you'd felt when you were kicked out of the Seven. The moment you regained the spotlight years ago, it felt as if you had been resurrected from the ashes, though you assumed this occasion would be different. It wasn't as if you knew the state of Vought. Since you left, you couldn't bear to associate with pop culture. Perhaps it was a mix of betrayal and sadness, or even embarrassment to step into the light again.

But when you received the call from Homelander himself, all of your doubts seemed to wash away. Homelander was an honest, caring leader with a sense of justice. After all, it's why he was chosen to be the face of Vought. Being recognized by him was more honorable than anything you'd ever experienced. Sure, you knew Soldier Boy when he was active, but he was never quite as down-to-earth as Homelander.

Despite it all, there you stood, in the grand lobby of Vought headquarters once again. The sight of the linear concrete columns in the interior, which seemed so sterile, was actually a comfort to you. In another reality, you still imagined yourself returning from a long mission, heading straight to your penthouse to wind down. The floor you were provided with always felt like home, even if the interior design choices were at times questionable. The details that reflected your sleek, dark, and almost gothic suit were far more appealing than the overload of red, white, and blue in Homelander's room. At least the man himself appreciated it, you thought.

Floor by floor, the chrome elevator ascended. Only you stood in that confined space, and you swore you could hear your own heartbeat. Well, the adrenaline had certainly kicked in, and finally, the elevator dinged and the door opened. Before you could fully register your surroundings, you were already in the hall, surrounded by intricately designed portraits of Homelander. What you thought was curious was that there didn't appear to be any portraits or busts of the other heroes. Shrugging it off, you stepped forth, continuing to the grand conference room.

Immediately, a bright gold statue of Homelander caught you off guard, and you peeked inside the room, spotting him. There he was, just beside the window, and Soldier Boy was there, too. At once, a wave of nostalgia hit you, but it flickered out as Soldier Boy turned back and grimaced.

"Well, you look like a steaming pile of shit," he said flatly, looking you up and down.

No, you didn't have your suit on because you weren't sure you were even back on the team. Homelander had been incredibly vague, stating he needed your presence at Vought headquarters. Perhaps it was a mistake, because it was as if you were in a pitre dish, surrounded by scientists.

"Awhh." Homelander noticed your presence, acting as if he hadn't been listening to your footsteps the second you disembarked the plane. "How cute," he said simply. "Oh," he continued, clapping his hands together. "You know Soldier Boy. He is... my father."

The two looked nothing alike, but you supposed you could see it by the way they held themselves. "Really?" you wondered, continuing politely, "Wow. I didn't know that. I'm sure you're incredibly proud of that."

"Yes..." he said. "Father, would you mind giving me a moment alone with... our lovely acquaintance?"

Soldier Boy despised Homelander; you could feel it in the air. Regardless, he left the two of you alone. The door shut, blanketing the room in a tense quiet.

Then, Homelander forced a smile and explained, "I know you were... with us in the past, but that's neither here nor there. We're a team again. We're brothers. But—" He paused, lifting a finger to emphasize his point. "That is only true if you accept that I am Vought."

You slipped a hand into your pocket and tilted your head, wondering, "What do you mean? Did they make you the head of affairs?"

"No," he snapped. "They would never recognize me. I... simply claimed this position. Vought has always been corrupt, and I am making it less corrupt." He straightened his posture, his cape flowing behind him. "In fact, y/n. I am making the entire world less corrupt. You've heard of the Homelander Bible, I'm sure?"

"What?"

"Oh, you're one of those..." He shook away the thought, asking, "You believe in God, right? I-It doesn't matter," he concluded. "The point is that The Homelander Bible is revolutionary. For so many years, the world has followed a cruel god—One who only serves to punish sinners and one who doesn't listen to a single prayer. That simply doesn't hold up to today's standards. So, I have taken it upon myself to be... the people's god."

You furrowed your brows and inched back as he stepped around the table to meet you. "You're attempting to rewrite Christianity?" you quizzed.

"Well, no," he said. "Not necessarily. I have simply... revised it. The difference between the man upstairs and me is that I am fair. I do not hurt the weak. I require the misguided to be re-educated, but I never hurt them. I do not judge. I influence."

"Is that why you have all this everywhere?" you asked, gesturing to the ceiling mural and the large gold statue beyond the door. "You think the people will just suddenly accept you? It's not that easy, Homelander."

"God," he corrected you. "God. You call me God."

Frustrated, you turned away and headed for the door, then paused and turned back to him, utterly baffled. "You made me come all this way just to tell me this? You want my support? You're not getting it. Nice try. Maybe think of something more creative next time."

Then, you turned back, and he barked, "Don't. You are here now, and you are on my side."

Tired of his nonsense, you said, "Oh, fuck off."

In an instant, his boots left the floor, and he appeared mere inches behind you. The proximity made your heart race, and he sensed it, knowing you were but another denier of his power. You stopped in your tracks, and he lowered his head, his breath spreading across your sensitive neck. He didn't need to use words. In that moment, you were utterly helpless.

When he finally spoke, he said, "If you leave this room, I will have no choice but to eliminate you, boy."

Your breath hitched, and he went silent again, just letting you feel his breath on your neck. A shiver traveled down your spine; then Homelander moved closer, his chest brushing your upper back.

Gaining a bit of decency, you straightened your posture and said, unable to hide the tremble in your voice, "I don't want to have to hurt you."

"No," he said, snaking his arm around to place a hand on your waist. "You won't be hurting me."

"What are you—" You attempted to speak, but your breath betrayed your terror.

Having you right where he wanted you, his gloved fingers traveled to your waistband, then shifted lower. You knew his intentions, and as much as you wanted to push back, you couldn't. If he ordered you to get on your knees, you would. But that wasn't quite what he planned. Suddenly, he cupped you. His hand fully spread over your bulge, and a high-pitched whine escaped your throat.

"Awhh," he cooed. "See? There you are. I knew you'd come around."

You pawed at the fabric of your shirt to better see his hand, and he carefully squeezed you, rubbing his fingers all around your most sensitive area. Finally, you looked back at him, meeting his mischievous gaze, and you whispered, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I knew you'd cave, y/n. I always knew there was a part of you that was, well, spunky, shall we say? You will greatly contribute to this... rebirth of mine, won't you?"

"I... I don't know. I—"

"Won't you?" he wondered, bucking his hips once against your ass.

Your eyes shut immediately, and Homelander mused on the way your body fell forward. So, he rolled his hips again, the sound of fabric against fabric meeting his ears. Pleased with your submission, he continued rhythmically squeezing your stiffening member and rocking back and forth to somehow ease the tension he himself was beginning to feel. His right arm remained at his side while his left one did the work, and you finally collapsed against him, so he curled his frame around yours, still easing his pulsating cock across your ass over and over again.

To tease you, he praised your compliance with, "Yeah... that feels good, doesn't it? You're a good boy, aren't you? You're a good boy for your god, aren't you?"

When you failed to properly react, his hand clamped down over your crotch, eliciting a groan from your lips. The second he felt your hips instinctively buck into his hand, he increased the pressure against your backside, making sure you felt every inch of his arousal. Then, he brought his right hand down, firmly spanking you and sending your hips forward again.

"Tell me it feels good," he ordered. "Tell me you love it. Tell me you want The Homelander's cock inside of your tight little ass."

Still, you didn't say a word, so he brought his hand down harder this time, rutting his dick against you like a horny animal.

As you gasped, your body betrayed you, working faster to find relief. "Tell me you love it!" he barked.

"Fuck!" you cried. "It does feel good! I love it! I love it so much!"

"Such a dirty, pathetic excuse of a hero," he growled. "You'd rather have my cock inside of you than defend yourself, huh? You wouldn't care if it were a supe terrorist. You'd just as willingly accept a fucking."

"No," you panted. "Only for you. I only want you—"

"Oh?" he asked, pressing his face in the crook of your neck and rocking his hips harder to spur you on. "You only want my cock? Only mine as it impales your helpless body?"

You attempted to catch your breath, and you let out an eager but strained moan.

"Homelander!" Soldier Boy's voice boomed in the hall. "We got a lead on the location of the—Just come out already!"

Slightly upset, Homelander halted his movements, his hand rudely slipping from your eager cock. Then, he straightened his posture, adjusted his suit, unfortunately unable to hide his prominent erection, and brought a hand to his mouth.

"Fuck," he whispered, turning to you as you pulled your shirt down as much as you could. "Just—Just get the fuck out of here."

Following his orders, you looked back one last time, then rushed to the door and effortlessly slid through the panels as they parted.

Homelander took a seat at the head of the table, spreading his cape over his lap and composing himself even though his face had flushed a pleasant pink.

"Christ, what'd you say to the kid?" Soldier Boy wondered, raising a brow.

"He's in," Homelander said simply. "I convinced him."

----

Let me know in the comments if you all would like a continuation! I am kind of obsessed with this plot. 👀

[yukon-soul]

i think i sent my ask in the wrong place? Sorry haha still figuring out tumblr😭😭

"I'm not cute!"

Hughie Campbell x gn!reader

fluff, light angst, lots of hugs and kisses, established relationship

-----

There, Hughie stood, just beside Butcher's desk in the office high above the streets of New York City. Butcher was on edge as usual, and it didn't help that he kept his Temp-V usage a secret. Neither of the men moved from their positions for far too long, and Hughie was on the verge of breaking. The pressure was too high for a simple audio technician. At least he had you, though. You were there from the beginning, and when his mind drifted to that day on the street with Robin, he could simply listen to your heart and let go.

Even if he acted stubborn, like when he stepped away from Butcher's desk, he could never resist your sweet nature.

"Oi, Hughie," Butcher added, drawing a frustrated sigh from your lover's lips. "I'll have you 'n MM look into how we're gonna get inside the facility. Aye?"

"I got it," Hughie replied, hurrying past the rows of desks to the exit.

Refusing to let him get away so easily, you called, "Hey."

"Not now, y/n," he said dismissively, waving you off.

You rose to your feet, your knees protesting the movement, and just as he reached the mat before the doors, you placed a comforting hand on his forearm. "What'd he say to you?" you wondered, briefly glancing back at Butcher.

"Look," he said, peeling himself from your grip and raising both hands to emphasize his point. "Let's not do this right now. I need to go out, and you need to stay here. And would you mind cleaning your desk for once? It's a mess."

Before you could get a word in, Hughie left you behind, stepping past the glass doors. "Wait," you called after him. "You can't leave without a kiss."

Reluctantly, he turned about, giving you a look to say he was fed up with you, but the way you looked at him so expectantly made him want to do anything for you.

"You want a kiss? Now?" he quizzed, crossing his arms and coming to stand before you.

"You have to... or else I won't ask to get dinner with you next Tuesday. It's our anniversary; don't you know?"

"We're just dating," he said. "It's not like it'll be the end of the world if we don't go."

Tired of his attitude, you demanded, "Kiss me. Now."

Finally, he let an amused smile spread across his lips, and he leaned in, pecking you once.

"There. Happy now?" he wondered, about ready to step away.

Before you allowed him to flee, you snaked your arms around his waist, pressed your head against his chest, and inhaled his comforting scent. "You're so cute when you pretend to be upset," you admitted, hiding your expression.

"Wh—" He let out a breathy laugh. "Excuse me? I am not cute!"

"Yes, you are. You're so precious. When you're upset, you look like an angry cat, and I just want to squeeze you."

"I'm not a cat, but the squeezing part doesn't sound bad," he said, his expression softening significantly the moment he wrapped his arms around you. "Since I kissed you, we can still go out to dinner, right?"

"No," you said. "You're still acting bratty."

"I'm sorry?" He shook his head and pressed his face into the crook of your neck, fully enveloping you in his warmth. "You're the one acting bratty. I have things to do, and you won't let me go."

"You're not allowed to go because I said so." After digging your fingers into his hip, you pulled away slightly, cupped his face with your other hand, and laid your lips upon his cheek.

Hughie had recently shaved, and his skin was especially soft, so you kissed him again. When he looked up, his brow softened, and he prepared to protest, but you silenced him with a kiss to his lips.

"Okay," he began. "Okay, that's enough. See? I'm not upset anymore. Are you happy?"

"Not quite," you hummed, cupping his cheeks and kissing his forehead, then his temple, the tip of his nose, and the corner of his mouth.

By then, his face had flushed, and he couldn't help but giggle as you continued to shower his skin with delicate kisses. "Will you stop now?" he wondered, attempting to swat you away.

"Nope! You're just so precious, and I'm so happy to have you all to myself."

"I'm happy, too," he quickly replied. "But... I really have to go. Butcher's gonna..." He shook his head. "Just—Can I have a few on my neck, please?"

Eagerly, you slid down to attach your lips to his neck, and his breath hitched. You began at his jawline, then trailed down to his Adam's apple. From there, you worked your way back and reached the spot just before his shoulder.

To tease him, you added a little tongue, and he whined, "Okay! Okay! That's enough—But it feels... it feels really good. I have to leave. If Butcher—"

"He's not gonna come out," you assured him. "It's fine. Just stop being so paranoid."

Sighing, he peeled you away from his neck and shut his eyes, leaning in to peck your lips once, then twice; again, and again.

"Oi," a familiar voice called.

Hughie shot up and let go of your biceps, his eyes locking on the man himself.

"If you two are gonna have children right here in the hallway, keep it down, aye? Hughie, off you go. We don't got all day." Just before he went back inside, he addressed you. "And you," he said. "Don't act so clingy or you'll make him soft."

The moment he retreated into the office, Hughie met your gaze and roughly pulled you in for a tight bear hug. "Okay," he said, his voice strained. "I will see you later, my love. Try not to upset Butcher anymore, 'kay? I'll be back... probably before sunset." He stepped back, dropping his arms to his side, and said, "And if you need anything, text me. I could get you those snacks you like from the corner store if you finally decide that we're going on that date. Fair enough?"

Relenting, you nodded, and he sighed happily, cupping your nape to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"Okay. I'll see you later. I love you."

"I love you, too, cutie," you added as he headed for the unkempt stairwell.

"Not cute!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing in the hall one last time that day.

-----

a/n: Here you are, lovely reader. I hope you enjoyed! I think this is such a cute idea. I never really liked Hughie, but perhaps I do now... 🤔

[yukon-soul]

hii i love your butcher x reader writing so much!! would you consider writing more fluff/comfort of him?? i am still in mourning ☹️☹️🤍🤍

It's Just You and Me Now, Love.

Billy Butcher x gn!reader

fluff, comfort/reverse comfort, established relationship, unstable Butcher

(spoilers for s5, ep8)

-----

Still, at last, the Boys settled down for a drink or two, but Ryan stewed, thinking of his father. Knowing he was responsible for the boy, Billy stepped inside, leaving you and the others alone outside. There was something bittersweet about seeing Hughie and Annie together, carefree as ever. No matter what came your way, Billy was never settled. There was always something he needed to do—a mission he needed to be on. To put it simply, he could never be happy, and it killed you.

As he entered the neglected home, you remained at the threshold, listening in on the conversation.

"There ain't nothin' I can say t' make this any easier," your lover stated, coming to sit beside Ryan. "But you done what you had to do. You done the right thing, Ryan."

The boy remained eerily silent, and you ever so slightly adjusted your position to catch a glimpse inside. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and you supposed you couldn't blame the boy for being wary. Butcher wasn't exactly the best father figure.

"We can find somewhere quiet," he said, finally meeting Ryan's gaze. "Start again. Just you, me, my love, and Terror. I reckon your mum would like it if you came with us."

As expected, Ryan rejected his offer. Neither his father nor Billy were good men, and you knew that. You supposed it was best if your lover heard that from somebody at least once. Perhaps it would humble him. But as Ryan walked away, Billy rose, utterly defeated, and sought the simple comfort Terror provided. Knowing he was nearing his breaking point, you stepped inside, silently shutting the screendoor behind you. When you traveled across the creaky floorboards, the bedroom went silent. There he was, crouched over the dog as a single tear slid down his cheek.

Just as it felt like his entire world had collapsed, there you were, looking as worried as always. Billy supposed he couldn't fault you for being so caring. He was a broken man, after all. There was no need for words in that moment. Billy sank to the floor, his back roughly colliding with the wall. Not another moment passed before you neared, trapping him in place and lowering yourself onto his lap. Your hands came up, cupping his bearded face to wipe away his tears, and he promptly shut his eyes and leaned into your warmth.

Unwilling to show weakness for too long, he sniffled and lifted his head to say, "You and me now, love. Where do you wanna go, huh? An island? Far away from this place?"

Without a moment's notice, you wrapped your arms around him and pressed his face against your shoulder, hiding him from the world. In response to your boldness, his hand left Terror's side and came to rest upon your hip. His other arm caged you in, spanning from your mid-back to your shoulder.

"I want to go anywhere as long as I'm with you," you whispered, pressing a single dry kiss to his neck.

That simple statement affected him far more than he cared to admit, so he pawed at your nape, massaging the sensitive skin, and replied, "Deal."

As he nuzzled against your neck, accidentally tickling you with his facial hair, you could feel small droplets on your skin. Your hands shifted on his back with every breath he took. And just when you thought he would fall apart, he sniffled again and wiped his face, pulling back from your comfort.

"I'm just a broken man, love. There ain't nothin' you can do t' fix me. I'm alright. I'm alright as long as you are." Forcing a smile, he patted your shoulder and said, "Come 'ere. Let me hold you for a moment. It's been rough for both of us, huh?"

Unable to resist the temptation, you shrank and tucked yourself against his frame. The moment you did that, he rested one hand on the small of your back and the other between your shoulder blades.

When the world seemed to finally quiet down, he sniffled again and wondered, "If we did, you know... get away, where would you wanna go?"

His racing heart had calmed significantly since you came to him, and all you could really focus on was the way it sounded in his chest. After a moment of contemplation, you said, "Well, I would like someplace quiet. Maybe the forest so the trees can hide us. Or an island with our own private slice of the beach. We could sit by the water every evening knowing we're safe because you defeated our biggest threat."

"Yeah," he murmured, pressing his lips to the top of your head. "Yeah, hun. I think those are all good ideas." Tears painfully pricked his eyes again, and he asked, "Ya think we might get another dog? One that's nice... that doesn't cause trouble or nothin' like that."

"Of course, Billy," you whispered.

"Right. It sounds like a plan, then." After kissing your head once, then twice, he cupped your neck and pulled you further into his embrace. "But now, just settle down. I've gotcha. I ain't goin' nowhere, love. Not for you. You come back to me every time, 'cause I'm your home. Right here in my arms, you're safe. I've gotcha."

-----

a/n: Here you are, Anon. This is the ending we all should have gotten.😔

[yukon-soul]

She looks so silly 🥺

[yukon-soul]

This is Mrs. Tippy-Taps. I rescued her from hell (PetSmart) last week. No hate to the worker, but really, guys? We’re just giving them dead mealworms at the bottom of their completely empty containers now?

Anyway, she seems to be doing much better. I’m trying not to be that guy who rescues all the pets from “hell,” but I just hate to see them in such horrible conditions.