#file under: faces: arthur

[knotfodder]

name: Arthur Pearson nicknames: none (yet) dob. age: October 13 (33) gender: Male / Trans pronouns: (he/him/his) secondary gender: Alpha occupation: museum director species: witch fc: Josh Dallas

+attentive, curious, focused.+ -dismissive, closed off, mysterious.-

[protagonist-art]

"Uh- I'm Arnold. Bennett. It's profoundly difficult to get your lifes works and studies accepted if your name isn't... yes, oh! Are you a fan of moths, sir?"

NEW RDR2 OC!! a reclusive, clumsy entomologist and bug collector; cooped up in his study of uniformed clutter

[raekensluver]

mayb something abt the ukyt boys making you squirt for the first time? 🫣xx

masterlist | main masterlist

ohhh yeeeees. (i combined this with this ask!)

contains: smut, female ejaculation (squirting)

arthur frederick x fem!reader, chris dixon x fem!reader, george clarke x fem!reader, harry lewis x fem!reader

arthur frederick - he goes quiet. not shy, just focused- like he’s filing the moment away somewhere deep and private in his mind. his gaze lingers on you, dark and unreadable at first, then softens as he leans in to press a kiss to your lips. “you okay?” he asks, voice low, more gentle than usual. and when you nod, breathless, he kisses the side of your neck and mutters, “good. ‘cause that… that was so fucking pretty.”

chris dixon - “no way,” he breathes out, laughing under his breath- not to make fun of you...he's just so completely caught off guard he doesn’t know what else to do. his hands are still on your hips, and he’s just looking down at the mess with wide, hungry eyes. “you’re gonna kill me,” he grins, already leaning back in, voice all low and cocky. “do that again.”

george clarke - he blinks, stunned for maybe half a second...then that smug little grin tugs at his mouth like he’s just proven a point. “fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, dragging his middle and ring finger through your folds, voice low and rough. “didn’t even know you could do that.” he doesn’t give you much time to recover, either- already thrusting like he’s determined to see it again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke.

harry lewis - “holy shit-” he practically chokes on the words, sitting back like he needs a second to process. and then he’s laughing, all breathless and stunned and a little cocky, running a hand down his face. “that was so fucking sexy.” he leans over you again, grinning wickedly. “think i just unlocked a whole new level with you.”

[swizzlemynizzle]

Underneath The Noise - George Clarke

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Summary: When Y/N joins a chaotic drunk bingo challenge across London, she doesn't expect to fall for the smirking stranger who always seems one step ahead.

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“You can do this,” Y/N whispers under her breath as she stares at the apartment door, the painted wood blurring slightly as her pulse thuds behind her eyes. Her hand hovers near the doorknob, not quite touching. For a beat, she lets the noise from inside wash over her—laughter, music, voices overlapping with the easy confidence of people who already know each other.

Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag. Social anxiety hasn't been bad recently—not like it used to be—but stepping into an unfamiliar group, especially one where everyone already fits, still makes her chest flutter with a too-familiar tension. She’s not sure if it's dread or anticipation, or some twisted blend of both.

She closes her eyes and exhales slowly, mentally rehearsing her smile. Just be cool. Be normal. Be fun.

“You alright?”

The voice behind her is casual, but it slices clean through her spiraling thoughts. She jolts, heart leaping in her chest.

“Oh shit.” She spins slightly, not fully turning around, eyes fixed on the door like it's safer to face. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” the stranger replies, amusement threaded through his tone.

Before she can make sense of that answer—or the weird prickle of awareness that races down her spine—he steps past her and swings the door open. As he leans in, his breath grazes her ear.

“They won’t bite.”

A shiver flickers down her neck, too subtle to show but too sharp to ignore. And then he’s gone, swallowed by the noise and the light inside. She blinks after him, catching only a flash of his back and the echo of his words as her pulse stubbornly refuses to settle.

Who the hell was that?

She barely has time to collect herself before Chris’s familiar voice booms from inside.

“Y/N! Did you have trouble finding the place?”

The warmth in his voice helps ease something tight in her chest, but not entirely. As she steps inside, her gaze skims the room, registering a handful of unfamiliar faces clustered around the lounge. She offers a tentative smile—but then her eyes land on him.

The guy from the hallway is already sprawled on the couch, looking infuriatingly smug. And way too good-looking.

“She’s been standing outside our door for like ten minutes. Total stalker behavior,” he quips before she can get a word in.

Her cheeks flare instantly, heat creeping up her neck. Seriously?

“What a prick,” she mutters under her breath, but her voice has more breath than bite.

“Okay, but why were you silently watching me from the hallway like a creep? That’s way worse,” she shoots back with a practiced smirk, masking the flurry in her chest.

Chris lets out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, George, you melon.”

George. She files the name away instinctively. Of course the smug stranger has a stupidly charming name.

She takes another glance around the room, spotting Arthur Hill—holy shit—and feels a little jolt of awe. She’s been a fan for years. He’s here. Just casually leaning against a kitchen counter, drink in hand. The surrealness of it all mixes with her nerves like static in her bloodstream.

She shifts closer to Chris, lowering her voice. “Are you going to introduce me, or…?”

“Oh—yeah, shit, sorry,” he says, turning back to the room. “You’ve already met George—aka the hallway lurker.”

George gives a mock bow from the couch, grinning. Y/N pointedly ignores him, but she can feel his eyes on her.

Chris continues, gesturing around the room. “That’s Arthur Hill—musician extraordinaire. ArthurTV—resident nerd. And Bach—or Isaac—funny guy, big nose.”

“Wow, okay. Arthur gets a compliment and I get an insult?” Bach replies with mock offense.

“Yeah, mighty bold coming from the hobbit himself,” George adds.

The group erupts in laughter, and to her own surprise, Y/N laughs too. Not just politely, either—her nerves slip enough to let something real crack through. George glances at her, quick and knowing, and for a moment, the room tilts strangely around her.

She shakes it off, choosing a seat beside Arthur Hill. The warmth of the banter continues, and slowly, her shoulders loosen. Maybe this won't be so bad.

Then Chris launches into his idea: a chaotic, oversized game of drunk bingo. Filmed, of course. Because mainstream YouTube waits for no one.

Two teams.

Y/N is on Team 1 with ArthurTV and Bach.

George is on Team 2. A small, irrational part of her exhales in relief.

His presence is distracting—an odd mix of aggravating and… magnetic. And under the easy confidence he wears like cologne, there’s something sharper. She can’t tell if it’s a challenge or just who he is, but she already knows it’ll be a problem.

Out on the street, the energy shifts. The city is alive, buzzing around them, and the boys are ridiculous—in the best way. It helps. It drowns out the buzzing thoughts that try to creep in when she’s quiet too long.

“What should we name our team?” ArthurTV asks, glancing between them.

“Hot Ass Bitches?” Bach suggests like it's the most obvious choice in the world.

“What the fuck, mate?” Arthur laughs.

Y/N smirks. “Let’s… think on it.”

They hit up a bargain shop, digging through racks with the unrestrained energy of people who don’t take themselves too seriously. She finds a shirt—soft pink, bold print. She holds it up with a grin.

“Hey boys, I think I found something good.”

They jog over, arms full of equally awful pink tracksuit pants and sneakers.

“Oh perfect—pink all the way,” Arthur says.

She flips the shirt to show the front: Hot Bitch Ready To Party.

Bach howls. “Okay, we’re 100% calling ourselves the Hot Ass Bitches now.”

By the time they step back out, dressed head to toe in bubblegum chaos, Y/N’s laughter is real. Her anxiety hasn’t disappeared, but it’s quieter now, buried beneath the noise of absurdity and movement.

They’re rounding a corner when they run into the other team. Y/N’s breath catches, just for a second.

“Well, look what we have here,” Chris says.

George’s eyes are already on her. That same half-smirk, like he’s in on a joke she hasn’t heard yet. His gaze drops briefly to her shirt, and her cheeks flame, again.

She forces an eye roll and keeps walking. You’re not twelve. Breathe.

But just as they pass, he leans in again, too close—too familiar—and murmurs, “Nice shirt. Very accurate.”

The words are light. Harmless, technically. But his voice drops just enough to curl into her chest and settle there.

She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t need to. She can feel his smirk like static against her spine.

And despite herself—despite every rule she’s made about not falling for anyone in this scene—she’s already dreading and anticipating their next run-in.

---

1,430 words

Masterlist

Chapter two

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Okay I’ve never ever written a fic of any kind but I’ve been reading a lot on here lately (ao3 and Wattpad my whole life) and wanted to give it a try.

[whereforarthur]

Said She Wanted Five Guys She Ain’t Talking About Burgers

Pairing: Reader x George, Arthur Hill, Chris, Isaac and ArthurTv

Summary: Y/n shares her sexual intentions with five YouTubers. She invites them to join her fantasy, setting no limits on their actions. The group eagerly agrees, indulging in a passionate sexual encounter as they explore Y/n's desires one by one.

Category: SMUT

Word Count: 6.7k

A/n: ArthurTv and Arthur Hill will be labeled as such to avoid confusion

*****

“In ‘friends with benefits,’ the boundaries are blurred, and the possibilities are endless.”

"Alright, guys," Arthur Hill grinned, his eyes sparkling as he wriggled to adjust the bow tie around his neck. "She asked for a surprise, so let's not disappoint her.".

The cool London evening was abuzz with the sound of laughter from a distance and passing cars humming their way along the road, in total contrast to the quietly expectant mood of the apartment in dim light. Five British YouTubers had gathered together for what they thought was an innocent prank on one of their fans. Little did they know, the girl they'd invited had something entirely different in mind.

This had been the moment Y/N had been waiting for, and she, being the young lady who loved drama, had planned this meeting very carefully. She took a deep breath as the door creaked, at that sudden surge of excitement rushing in her body. She'd chosen Arthur, Isaac, ArthurTV, Chris, and George for their online personas specifically; each one part of a puzzle she knew would fit into her twisted game.

The five men filed in; the laughter died down as they took in the scene before them. Y/N was sprawled out on the bed, her needy curves barely contained in a see-through lingerie set. She'd gone all out, setting up candles and a sultry playlist of tunes to set the mood; it definitely set the ambiance for the events to take place tonight. The air was heady with the scent of jasmine and vanilla, much like a perfume.

Isaac's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he drank in the scene. "Bloody hell," he whispered under his breath, his cheeks flushing red. ArthurTV, ever the charmer, strode forward with a smirk. "Well, well, well—what do we have here? Our lovely Y/N, all dolled up to kill. Occasion?"

On cue, Y/n's eyes scanned the men gathered before her, locking eyes with each for a second or two before she spoke in that low, sultry voice, "Gentlemen, I've been a very, very naughty girl, and I need all five of you to help me make it right."

The tension in the room was palpable as the men exchanged glances; a mix of shock and excitement was written across the faces of the men. Normally much more contained, Chris stepped backward and widened his eyes. "I think we might have misconstrued the invite," he stammered.

But Y/N's gaze stuck to them, her expression no doubt filled with hungry longing. "Oh, I think you've understood perfectly," she purred, beckoning them closer with a crook of her finger. "You see, I've had the most delicious fantasy about all of you, and I've decided it's high time I make it real."

The four looked at one another, not knowing exactly what the next course of action should be. George took the lead, his curiosity running deep. "Alright, lass, what's the plan?" he asked, the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk.

Y/N slid off the bed, the sway of her hips hypnotic as she made her way toward them. She reached out and put a hand on George's chest, tracing her fingers over the lines of his muscles. "The plan," she breathed, "is simple. You each get to do whatever you want with me. No holds barred."

The room hushed, except for the soft crackling of the candles. Arthur Hill, in his group of friends, the seasoned veteran when it came to wild nights out, stepped forward. "Alright, love," he started in a deep, gruff voice, "but let's make sure we're on the same page here."

Y/N nodded, the predatory glint in her eye. "Agreed," she purred lowly as her hand slid down to George's belt. "But remember, this is all for fun, and we all get what we want." She leaned in closer, her hot breath against his ear. "But you'll have to work for it."

Isaaс, who was standing by the door, swаllоwed hard, trying to wrap his head around all the implications of all this. He had never gotten himself into such a situation, but his desires forbade him to bаck away. He stepped forward very slоwly while his eyes brutally raked Y/N's bоdy. "Cоunt me in," he said, the thick desire hoarse in his voice.

The other three men looked at each other wordless, their eyes a dead give-away of disbelief, excitement, and perhaps a tinge of fear. They knew it could get out of hand, but the temptation was far too great to resist. These men had all watched her videos and heard her flirty comments, and she now stood before them, offering herself up like a prize to be shared.

Chris broke the silence first. "Alright, if we're all in, then let's get this party started," he said, attempting to sound cool, but in reality, his heart was racing wildly. The tension in that room increased, with them all stepping closer to her, their eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin.

Y/N eyed them each in turn, a smirk dancing on her lips. "Strip," she commanded, firmness laced in her voice. There was an infinitesimal hesitation before the men began to strip off their clothes, fumbling with buttons and zippers. The room started to heat up as clothing hit the floor, and their eager arousal became evident.

Chris was the oldest in the circle and went ahead first. He stared into Y/N's eyes, clasped her around the waist, yanking her into a desperate kiss, drawing out the air from her. His hands roamed over her body, cupping and squeezing her breasts and ass as she melted into him. The rest watched, their desires building as they took in the view of their friend claiming her first.

ArthurTV was quick of wit, silver of tongue-next. He leaned in with a smirk, hands sliding up her thighs. "I got a surprise for you," he murmured, his fingers finding the wetness collected between her legs. He slipped a finger inside her, and she moaned into Chris's mouth. Isaac and George, the remaining two, sat down and watched as excitement took them; their cocks stiffened in anticipation.

Y/N pushed Chris away, panting, before turning to ArthurTV. "That all you got?" she teased, beckoning him on. He gave a dark chuckle and leaned in to kiss her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "Oh, I got lots more," he assured her, guiding her towards the bed.

The others didn't waste any more time; each was out to have his piece of her. Isaac was by no means shy anymore, stepped up, and claimed her mouth. His tongue danced with hers in a passionate duel as George and Arthur Hill looked at her, starving, hands mapping every curve, every dip, with possessive strokes.

Chris stepped back, eyes dark with the desire to have watched his friends touch her. He knew sooner or later he would have to regain control, but for now, he enjoyed the show, his cock pulsing with every gasp and moan escaping Y/N's lips.

Isaac leaned forward, and his hands moved to her breasts, gently kneading them before pinching her nipples. She arched her back, pushing into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed in the upsurge of pleasure that filled the room with the symphony of heavy breathing and whispered words of lust.

Arthur Hill forward, his eyes dark with hunger as he reached for her hips to spin her around, pressing against the edge of the bed. He exhaled, "Your turn," as he pried her legs apart. The tongue traced a path from her ankle down into her inner thigh, skin goosebumping from the heat of his breath.

Y/N's legs quaked, her body shuddering, as Arthur's lips reached her sex, his tongue doing a delicious dance around her clitoral area. A moan escaped her lips, her body already betraying her as it reacted to the onslaught of sensations. ArthurTV looked on with a smug smile on his face, stroking his cock while he waited for his turn. "Looks like she's enjoying herself," he said with a quip—he got a glare for it from Arthur Hill.

Chris couldn't wait any longer and moved in behind Arthur Hill, his cock pressed up against her backside. He leaned in close, his hot breath against her ear. "Ready for more?" he breathed as she nodded, her breathing shallow gasps. He reached around, one hand playing with her clitoral area while Arthur Hill's tongue continued its relentless assault. It was almost too much to handle, and an orgasm began building low in her belly.

George and Isaac watched, their cocks bobbing gently in the candlelight as they took in the erotic scene unfolding in front of them. He stepped up, his hand reaching out to cup one of her breasts, his thumb brushing against the hardened nipple. "I want a taste," he murmured, and she leaned back, granting him access. His mouth closed over her breast, sucking and teasing as she writhed under the combined efforts of the two men.

Isaac's face was red, his eyes covered with a hood of desire as he kneeled beside Arthur Hill. He watched intently as Arthur's tongue delved into her wetness, her legs trembling with every stroke that danced across. "Please," she whimpered, and with a wicked grin, Isaac leaned in, his mouth joining Arthur's in a duel of tongues and lips.

The feeling of having two mouths on her was almost too much for Y/N to bear. She bucked her hips, her moans rising louder as they worked in tandem, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she grasped at fistfuls of the bedsheets, trying desperately to anchor herself against reality. The room spun with pleasure; the heat of their bodies wrapped her up in a cocoon of lust.

ArthurTV, not content to just stand and watch any longer, stepped forward, his cock at full attention. Standing over her, he stroked it slowly, his eyes watching the contraction of her face. "Open up, love," he said, and she took him immediately in her mouth, her tongue swirling around his shaft as the taste of him was intoxicating; she wanted more.

Chris and Arthur Hill didn't miss a single beat, their hands and mouths working in harmony to drive her closer to the edge. Y/N's eyes rolled back as the pressure began to build, her body tightening around Arthur's tongue as he continued to lick her. She felt the heat of George's breath as he leaned into the side of her neck, his teeth nibbling gently at her earlobe.

Isaac and ArthurTV watched their own desires come to a boiling point at the sight of their friend sans restraint in their passion. They exchanged a look, both keen to take their turn. Y/N felt a hand at her waist, gently lifting her onto the bed. She looked up to see George smiling down at her, his eyes filled with lust. "My turn," he whispered, and she parted her thighs in all eagerness and invited him inside.

He positioned himself between her thighs, his cock throbbing in anticipation. He leaned in to kiss her, his tongue plunging deep as he plunged into her with a single, powerful stroke. She moaned into his mouth, her body already primed and ready for more. He began to move, hips pumping in a steady rhythm that had her death-gripping the sheets.

Chris dove in to take Arthur Hill's place, his cock immediately being sucked into her mouth as she greedily sucked him, never taking her eyes off George fucking her. The room was a cacophony of passion: moans and groans, skin slapping skin. The air was heavy with the smell of sex and sweat; the flickering candlelight cast an intimate, warm glow over it all.

Isaac watched, his hand going to stroke his own cock as he took in the sight of his friend claiming her. Desire was bright in George's eyes, raw need etched into every line of his face. He knew it was only a matter of time before he had to take his place, but for now, he enjoyed watching the woman he had fantasized about being taken by his best mates.

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as George thrust harder. Her body was a symphony of pleasure, each touch and kiss sending shockwaves through her. She could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, pressure coiling in her core. "Fuck me harder," she begged, her voice hoarse with need.

George obeyed, becoming more and more erratic as his climax neared. Arthur Hill and Isaac watched as they stroked their own cocks, their stroking in time with George's thrusts as the room spun into a blur of flesh and desire, their attention only for the woman writhing on the bed in front of them.

Chris pulled from her mouth, panting, and took his place next to ArthurTV. They watched together as George brought Y/N to the edge, her back arched and her nails digging into the mattress. With a final, guttural groan, George emptied himself inside her, shuddering with the force of his release. He collapsed beside her, pure satisfaction etched on his face.

Y/N panted and blushed, gazing up at the remaining two. "Who's next?" she purred, full of seduction. ArthurTV stepped forward, cock in hand. Wasting no time, he filled her, his movements fast and sure as he claimed her mouth once more. She moaned around his shaft, her tongue swirling around him as he started to fuck her with the same fervor as the rest.

Isaac kneeled beside her, his cock rigid, the youngest and most anxious. Without reservation or hesitation, she took him all in, her hand clasping his base as she took him deep into her throat. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he groaned loudly, purely in pleasure. "So good," he muttered, his hand burying in her hair, guiding her motions.

The room became a tornado of lust and desire, each man taking their turn to claim her, their movements becoming frenzied with every successive moment. The bed creaked in protest—the headboard slammed against the wall with every thrust. Y/N moaned even louder, her body a canvas of pleasure painted by the hands and cocks of the men she lured into her web.

Isaac's eyes didn't leave hers as he face-fucked her, his hand clenching in her hair at every gagging noise she made. She could feel the veins in his cock twitching, his orgasm imminent. The feel of his impending release spiraled her own climax closer, her body tensing in anticipation. ArthurTV's hips snapped against her own, his cock plunging deep to hit that spot that made her toes curl.

Her eyes watered, fighting for breath around Isaac's cock, but she didn't pull away; instead, she took him deeper, and her throat muscles worked around him. The feeling of being used, being taken by all five of them, was more intoxicating than any drink she'd ever had—it felt as if she'd been waiting for this moment her whole life.

Chris stroked his cock as he watched, his own desire reaching a peak added to by the sight of their pleasure. He climbed onto the bed, kneeling beside her, and slid into her from behind. The feel of being filled so completely was almost too much to bear as she gasped. The men had become a well-oiled machine, synchronized in their movements as they brought her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

Her gaze never wavered from ArthurTV's as the tension between them became palpable, the rising heat of Chris's orgasm evident to her. ArthurTV stroked faster, his breathing shallow, until with a final grunt, he was spurting into her, his cum mingling with George's and coating her insides.

Isaac's eyes rolled back as he came, his semen spurting onto her face and chest. Greedily, she lapped at the taste of him. Arthur Hill, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, took this for his cue, sliding in as the others pulled out. He moved with a rhythm all his own, and she was aware of the bedbouncing her body beneath his powerful thrusts.

She lay with her legs wide, her body open to them like a feast, and they took full advantage. ArthurTV leaned in, kissing her neck and whispering dirty things in her ear as his hands roamed her body and Arthur Hill pounded into her. A moan escaped her throat, which was muffled by Arthur's cock, as her hips arced toward each thrust.

"You like that, don't you, Slut?" Arthur Hill growled in his low voice gruffly. "You like being filled by all of us?" Y/N could only nod, the look in her eyes crazed with lust. "Say it," he demanded, his grip on her hips tightening. "Say you're our little slut."

She complied, her voice a breathy whisper. "I'm your slut," she moaned, the words sending a shiver down her spine. The dirty talk only seemed to heighten her arousal, wetting her further and making her more eager for their attention. ArthurTV leaned in, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "You're such a good girl, taking all of us," he murmured, his voice sweet in contrast to Arthur Hill's harshness.

"Fuck me, fill me," she begged, her voice little more than a whisper above the slapping of their hips. The men became more aggressive with each word, their own dirty remarks egging her on further. "You're so tight," Arthur Hill grunted, his strokes becoming more erratic. "So fucking tight."

"Yeah, take it all," ArthurTV whispered, his fingers digging into her hips. "You're made for this, aren't you? Made to be used by us." The raw words sent another wave of heat through her, pussycats clenching around Arthur Hill's cock as another orgasm threatened to break free. Tension pulled tight inside her body, higher and tighter with each thrust.

"Tell us how much you love it," Chris said, eyes dark with lust, as he watched Arthur Hill fuck her. "Tell us how much you love having all five of us inside you." Y/N whimpered, words choking from her in a moan. "I love it," she gasped, her voice raw with passion. "I love being your slutty."

Grunts and curses from the men rose in volume, their movements wilder still at the words. Arthur Hill's thrusts became more powerful yet, his cock slamming into her with enough force to make her eyes water. "That's it," he groaned, strained. "Tell us how much you want us to fill you up."

Y/N's cheeks were flushed, hair a wild mess around her face as she moaned and begged for more. "I want it," she panted. "I want all of your cum inside me." The filthy talk spurred Arthur Hill on, his hips working harder and faster, driving her closer to the edge. She could feel the tension rise, her body clenching around him.

"That's right," ArthurTV muttered hotly in her ear. "You're going to take it all, aren't you?" He reached down to play with her clitoral area, his thumb circling the sensitive nub while Arthur Hill's cock pummeled her pussycat. The combination was exquisite, taking her spiraling toward the abyss of pleasure.

"Oh, fuck," she moaned, the words barely intelligible. "I want it, I need it." She arched her back, her body begging for more. The men took her words as a challenge, their movements becoming savage as each of them worked to be the one to tip her over the edge.

"You're ours," Arthur Hill grunted, his teeth clamping with effort. "Our little fuck toy." Y/N's eyes rolled into the back of her head, the degradations adding to her excitement. "Yes," she whimpered, the word tumbling from her lips in a needy plea. "I'm yours; do whatever you want with me."

The words seemed to unleash something feral in the men. Their movements became more primal, and they talked dirty to her, voices hazing into a symphony of lust and dominance. "You're going to scream for us," ArthurTV muttered, his thumb rubbing harder against her clitter. "Scream our names as we make you come."

Y/N's eyes snapped open and locked with Arthur Hill's searing gaze. "You're going to come for us," he said, the timbre low, a command. "You're going to come so hard, you won't be able to walk straight tomorrow." The heat rose higher and higher, her pussycat clenching around his cock with each word.

"You're so fucking hot," ArthurTV breathed, his thumb still working her clitter in circles. "The way you're taking all of us, like the little slut you are." The insult only seemed to turn her on more, and her body responded to their every demand. She could feel Arthur Hill's cock swelling inside her, his orgasm approaching.

"Please," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. "Make me come." It hung in the air, a desperate plea for release. The men laughed, enjoying the power they held over her. "Not yet," Arthur Hill said, his voice low. "First, you're going to make me come."

He grabbed her hips, slamming her onto her back as his cock never left her body. Hunched over, he nipped at her neck, fucking harder. Y/N's legs wrapped around his waist, her nails digging into his back as she tried to get closer, feel him deeper. The pleasure was so strong it was almost painful—a delicious agony she never wanted to end.

"You like it rough, don't you, Slut?" Arthur Hill's voice was a snarl in her ear as his teeth nipped at her lobe. "You like it when we treat you like the whore you are." She moaned, the words only serving to fuel her desire. "Yes," she breathed, her voice a mix of pleasure and submission. "I love it."

"That's right," ArthurTV added, his hand still buried in her hair. "You're a dirty little slut, and we're going to use you until you can't take anymore." Y/N's eyes rolled back as the pleasure built inside her with each thrust. "Use me," she begged, her hips rising to meet Arthur Hill's. "I'm here for you."

Chris, unable to wait a moment longer, slid back into her mouth, his cock slick with her saliva. She sucked him in hungrily, her eyes never leaving Arthur Hill's as he fucked her hard, his intensity bordering on violence. The other two men watched, their strokes growing quicker as they watched their friend claim her.

"You're doing so well," Arthur Hill praised her, his voice strained with effort. "Such a good little slut, taking all of us." Y/N moaned around Chris's cock, the dirty talk sending her closer to the edge. She could feel Arthur Hill's cock swelling inside her, his orgasm approaching like a freight train.

ArthurTV whispered into her ear, "You're going to take it all," his hand playing with her clitter, "every drop of our cum." His words sent a shiver down her spine; the anticipation of their collective release was almost too much to handle. She nodded, looking at them pleadingly for them to give her what she needed.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice husky with longing. "I want it all." Arthur Hill clutched her hips harder as his thrusts grew wilder, closer to orgasm. "You're going to make me cum so hard," he growled, boring his eyes into hers.

"That's it," ArthurTV encouraged, his voice a seductive purr. "Tell us how much you love being our little slutty." Y/N's body was a maelstrom of sensation, her pussycle clenching around Arthur Hill's cock as she felt the beginnings of her own orgasm. "I love it," she moaned, her voice raw. "I love being your slutty."

The words sounded like the last straw that broke Arthur Hill's patience. Roaring, he emptied into her, his cock pulsating with the force of his release. Y/N's eyes would widen as she felt the warmth of his cum fill her up, the sensation making her tip over the edge. Her body began spasm after spasm; her orgasm ripped through her like lightening, convulsing her entire body.

Chris watched her, his own climax imminent. He pulled out of her mouth and painted her face with his seed, his hot cum mixing with the sweat that already coated her skin. She moaned, the feeling of his hot semen on her face sending her into another wave of pleasure. The other two men watched, their own climaxes close behind.

Arthur Hill withdrew, puffing heavily, and rolled off the bed onto his back, his chest heaving rapidly up and down. George was into his place in one smooth action without missing a beat, his cock slipping into her still-shuddering pussy. Much softer than the others, his thrusts were smooth and sweet, as if savoring the moment. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his eyes for hers alone. "So perfect."

The feeling that hit Y/n was a weird mix of satisfaction, awe, and a hint of fear. These men took her to heights she had never known were out there, but it was still not enough. Her body had been a playground to them, and she couldn't help but let them do whatever they wanted with it.

George began to stroke, his actions slow and deliberative. He leaned further forward now, pressing his lips against hers in a deep, passionate kiss as he buried himself to the hilt inside her. She felt the warmth of Arthur Hill's cum leaking from her, mingling with her own juices. It was a deliciously wicked sensation, a reminder of the depraved act they'd all just enjoyed.

Isaac and ArthurTV watched with hungry eyes, the cocks still rock-hard as they waited their turn. They stroked themselves all the time, their eyes never leaving this erotic dance playing in front of them. The room was a symphony of passion—the wet slap of skin and the ragged breathing of participants were the only sounds.

Every time he thrust, Y/N would feel George's cock reach that spot, and shivers of pleasure would run down her spine. Her legs wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer and deeper. She could feel another orgasm building, her pussycat clenching down on him like a fist. "Don't stop," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. "Don't ever stop."

Isaac and ArthurTV watched, their own arousal boiling over. Neither could stand to wait anymore. "Let me have a taste," Isaac whispered, his voice thick with want. George chuckled, pulled out, and flipped her over onto her stomach. "Be my guest," he said, slapping her ass as she moaned into the pillow.

Isaac positioned himself behind her and at the sight of his cock so slick with pre-cum. He slid into her tight, used pussy with ease, the wetness of the previous men's cum easing his way. Y/N's moans grew louder as he began to move, his hips slapping against her ass. "So good," he groaned, his hand tightening in her hair. "You're so fucking tight."

Her body was a live wire, jolts of pleasure running through her with every touch. The room spun, narrowing the world down to the sensations in her body from the cocks inside her and the hands touching her. "Harder," she begged, her voice muffled by the pillow. "I need it harder."

ArthurTV took her mouth again, his cock sliding in and out of her lips as she moaned around him. She could feel the tension in his body; his orgasm was just out of reach. "You're going to make me cum," he whispered, his voice strained. "You're going to make me fill your mouth with my cum."

The words brought a new wave of arousal to her as her pussycat clamped onto Isaac's cock. She sucked harder at him, her tongue working his shaft while he continued to fuck her mouth. The taste of the other men's cum remained prevalent, reminding her of the degradative journey on which she had set out.

Chris and Arthur Hill watched, their cocks already growing once again hard. They had never seen a thing so erotic, so primal. The thought of their friends taking her, using her body for their own pleasure, was just too much for them. They leaned forward, touching her, their hands wandering over her body as they whispered filthy words into her ears.

"You're doing so well," Arthur Hill whispered, his soft tone a stark contrast to the coarseness of the others. "You're taking us all so beautifully." His hand moved to her clitoral area, his fingers teasing the sensitive flesh as he watched Isaac fuck her from behind.

The combination was too much for Y/N to handle. Her body is a maelstrom of sensation, pleasure so high that it's almost painful. She felt ArthurTV's cock swell in her mouth; his orgasm was near. "Swallow it," he said, his voice thick with lust. She nodded, wanting to please him, and took him deep into her throat as he came.

Isaac's movements became frantic as his cock slid in and out of her with wet, sloppy sounds. She could feel his orgasm building, his cock pulsing with every stroke. "I'm going to cum," he grunted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm going to fill you up."

Y/N's body tensed, and her pussycat clamped down on him, the beginnings of her third orgasm already washing over her. She screwed her eyes shut, her body shaking with the force of it. "Do it," she begged, the words a desperate plea. "Cum inside me."

With a roar, Isaac emptied himself into her, his cum joining the rest inside her. She felt his warmth fill her, and the sensation sent her spiraling into another orgasm. Her body spasmed, her pussycat contracting around his cock, as she screamed into the pillow.

Limbs were tangled, sighs were sated, and the room was thick with sex. Y/N was lying on the bed, her body shaking with aftershocks of pleasure. The men pulled out—their cocks covered in her juices—and fell around her, their breathing heavy with exertion.

There was only the sound of their hearts beating as one, the quiet whispers of their breathing filtering through the air. The candles danced around them, their shadows veering across them through flushed and sweat-slickened bodies. They had taken her, used her, claimed her as their own, and she had loved every second of it.

The men lay sprawled around her, their eyes glazed over with satisfaction. Their chests rose and fell with deep, contented sighs, their cocks now at rest, having spent their seed inside her welcoming warmth. It was in the aftermath of a primal dance wherein desire had knitted them together—a palpable thread forged in the fire of passion.

Her mind was a mess, her body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. She couldn't believe she just did this—that she let herself be used by all five of them. But she didn't feel used; she felt powerful and desired. Each thrust, each groan of pleasure, was a declaration of her sexual prowess, and she reveled in it.

Arthur Hill's gentle strokes on her clitoral had been like a sweet caress, a tender reminder of his dominance amidst the frenzy. His words in her ear were soothing and challenging, pushing her closer to the edge with every syllable. The way he looked at her when he came, as if she was all that mattered in this world, had been heady.

His hands on her breasts had branded her, marking her as theirs. She felt the heat of his gaze even when he wasn't touching her, his eyes devouring every inch of her. The way he'd whispered dirty words in her ear had made her feel like the most desired woman alive. It was like a paint of his cum on her face, leaving a part of himself with her, claiming her in the most primal possible way.

George's gentle touch had belied the others; his kisses on her neck and breasts were as light as butterfly wings. His patience was a sweet reprieve, his tenderness a gentle reminder that beneath the chaos, there was a person with feelings and desires. Whispers of praise had been balm to her soul, soothing the beast that had been loosed within her.

The dominance of ArthurTV had been oddly alluring; the way he took her mouth, his cock claiming her like a conquering force, thrilled her. She'd never felt so powerless, so completely consumed by another's pleasure, and she found that she enjoyed it. His smirk as he watched her cum for him, his own release imminent, had been the final push she needed to let go, to fully embrace the slut they had all turned her into. Isaac's raw need had been undeniable. His eyes were wild with lust, his touch almost desperate as he claimed her from behind. His gruffness, the whispered dirty words in her ear, had made her feel so much like a prized possession. The painful sting of his brutal treatment of her hair, mixed with the extreme pleasure of feeling his cock fill her up, had brought out something in her she never knew existed. She likes it—the way he uses her, the way he makes her feel like some dirty little secret.

Lying amidst a circle of men, faces upwards, panting and spent, she could not help but feel triumphant. She did what she wanted to do and had taken all five of them. She did not waste a single moment, enjoying every bit of it. Her body was sticky from sweat and cum, telling of the carnality of their session. The bed beneath her was a tangled mess of rumpled sheets and discarded clothes, a battleground of pleasure.

The soft candlelight bathed the room in its gentle glow, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The air was heavy with the scent of sex, a heady perfume that seemed to cling to her skin. She felt odd, nearly at peace, her body sated but her mind racing with the memories of what had just transpired. What now, she wondered? Would they all just lie in this bed, basking in the afterglow of their depraved act? Or would they find themselves once again thrown into the battle, eager for more of what so willingly she had given to them?

Chris was the first to move, his hand tracing a lazy pattern across her back as he leaned in to press a soft, gentle kiss against her neck. "That was," he started, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find his words. "Amazing," Y/N supplied, her voice still husky from screams torn from her throat. He chuckled, low and warm. "Yeah," he agreed. "It really was."

The tension in the room began to break as the others stirred, their sated bodies moving lazily against the tangled sheets. Arthur Hill propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze sweeping over her form. "You're something else," he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice. She couldn't help but preen under his praise; her cheeks hued with a mix of pride and embarrassment. "Thank you," she whispered, trying to find some further words and coming up empty.

Chris leaned down, his hand staying on the small of her back, and pressed a kiss against her cheek. "You're incredible," he said, gravitas in his tone. "We'll have to do this again." At just the threat of it, a thrill ran through her, excitement already building for another encounter with these men. "Definitely," she agreed, the smirk dancing around her lips.

The others stirred, starting to wake sated. Arthur Hill leaned in, slanting his mouth over hers in a bruising kiss. His tongue slid against hers, tasting the last remnants of passion they'd shared. "I never get enough of you," he muttered, his voice heavy with lust. "Me neither," she whispered.

They shifted, their bodies resettling around her. It was clear that the night was really nowhere near over, as desire still gleamed brightly in their eyes. "What now?" Y/N asked, her voice imbibed with a mix of excitement and trepidation. "Now," Arthur Hill said, a roguish smile playing on his lips, "we make this a regular thing."

The idea of becoming their friends with benefits was exhilarating and terrifying. The thought of the five men she had just met, having unlimited access to her body, sent a thrill down her spine. But she couldn't run from the pull—the raw, primeval need they had awakened in her.

"We'll take good care of you," George assured her, his voice a husky purr of seduction. "You can always be our little slut to come to whenever you need it." And strangely enough, the thought of being the girl they ran to whenever they needed their sexual fix was reassuring in some odd way. It wasn't love, no, but it was something. It was passion and desire, raw and unfiltered.

ArthurTV chuckled, his hand stroking her thigh. "And we'll make sure you're always satisfied," he said, eyes gleaming mischievous. "You never have to beg for it again." The promise sent a thrill through her—the idea of having them at beck and call all the time was incredibly arousing.

Isaac leaned in, his already starting to harden again. "But for now," he said, his voice a gruff whisper, "I think we need to clean up." He slid off the bed, his cock glistening with mixed juices. "And then," he winked, "maybe round two?"

The others laughed; the spark of mischief danced in their eyes. Y/N couldn't help but feel the thrill of it, her body already begging for more. They helped her off the bed, the stickiness of the cum between her legs making her wobble just a little. Arthur Hill caught her, his arms strong and steady around her waist. "Let's get you cleaned up," he murmured, leading her to the bathroom.

The warm water from the shower washed away the remnants of their encounter, embracing them with steam as they stood under the spray. The men took turns soaping her body, their gentle touches standing in stark contrast to the ferocity of their actions earlier. They were attentive to make sure she was clean and pampered; it touched her in a way she did not expect. It was as if they were reassuring her that, in spite of them taking her so thoroughly, she was very special.

They emerged from the shower, bodies shining and renewed. The bed was made afresh, with new candles in place and a bottle of champagne chilling on the bedside. "To us," ArthurTV toasted, his eyes locking with hers as he clinked his glass to hers. The bubbly liquid slid down her throat, the sweetness just right against the saltiness of their sweat and cum still in her mouth.

They lay entangled with each other in the clean sheets, their laughter filling the room thick with the odor of sex, sweet with this new bond. They talked and laughed, sharing stories and getting to know one another outside of the bedroom. It was a moment of companionship that she hadn't anticipated—a moment of happiness that she knew she would treasure.

What remained of the night had been a blur of hot kisses and soft touches, the odd bout of sex interrupting their talking. But what really stayed in her mind was the tenderness: the manner in which they had regarded her, the manner in which they had made her feel. This was a night she knew she'd never forget, one that changed her in ways she was only just beginning to fathom.

When morning finally broke, the men held her close, their arms wrapped warmly around her in protection and longing. Whispering sweet nothings into her ears, warm breath sent heat to her skin. There was a promise of times yet to come—a heady mix of excitement and anticipation left hanging in the air. Y/N closed her eyes, feeling more content than she had in a long time. For now, she had finally found a place she fit, molded in the arms of those five men who so thoroughly claimed her.

That night, they had spent reliving their story of how they met, but the story that was going to be truly theirs was only just now beginning, and as morning light spread over London, casting its golden rays over tangled limbs, Y/N knew she knew exactly where to find home. She was theirs, and happy to be so. The five of them had found that special something that superseded physicality: love. As they drifted to sleep, their hearts beating in unison, she knew she had found her place in life—the most unlikely of places.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx @amz824 @kneelforloki

[polarmoon]

sim requests 🌙

this was fun! probably gonna do more if anyone's interested :) will probably make a note of it somewhere on my blog if requests are open or not in the future~

★ cc + dl under the cut

★ ruben ritchie for @headcavedin cc – none!

★ nicole "nic" cunningham for @thecutestgf cc – facekit, face overlay (included), lips, hair (tsr warning), freckles + body moles, eyebrows

★ arthur hayata for @cozylattesims (private dl) cc – facekit, face overlay (included), skintone, eyebags, blush, hair, glasses, everyday top

★ kiran nischal for @treefish cc – facekit, face overlay (included), skintone, blush, beard (emilio), hair, glasses, everyday top

★ macey holmes for anon cc – facekit, face overlay (included), blush, eyebags, eyelashes (maxis match v3), hair

★ daniel ortega for @peachiyuu cc – facekit, skintone, freckles, hair, eyebrows

they have all outfits set (plus some extras), bare bones likes/dislikes/turn on/offs, and some of them have sexuality and gender custom settings. feel free to change whatever you like except for nic's sexuality + gender settings, and kiran's top surgery scars!

note: all sims are pictured with my defaults, and a no ea eyelashes mod. they all use packs, though i tried to keep things as limited as possible (when specified not to use certain packs in the requests i didn't!). if anything gets replaced feel free to re-dress them! terms of use: don't reupload or claim as your own, otherwise do whatever u want!

📁 origin id: detectmagic make sure the “include custom content” box is ticked!

📁 tray files dl [sfs]

[gogogodzilla]

✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟙𝟠: 𝐵𝑜𝑑𝑦𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑 ✧ 

【𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑂𝑛 𝐴𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙 】

╰› 〖 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 〗: If there's one thing for certain about Arthur Morgan, he's going to take more than what he's paid for

╰› 〖 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 〗: nsfw 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, infidelity (reader cheats on their husband w/ arthur), medium/low honor arthur

✧ 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑡𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑚.𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ✧ 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑜3 ✧ 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑝𝑎𝑑 ✧

The noise of the party drifted up the stairs and filtered into your bedchamber. Not that you were paying it much mind, but it proved to be effective in covering up the sounds of furniture scraping across the wooden floors. 

You’d been lucky enough that your husband was drunk enough to not notice your disappearance, but you knew the clock was working against you. Each rut of Arthur’s hips against yours brought you closer and closer to ecstasy. The air was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against slick skin and Arthur’s soft grunts. 

You wondered how your plan could have gone so wrong yet so right. The party was meant to be a distraction— something to cover up the sounds of you leaving this damned marriage far behind you. Your packed bag still stood neatly by the bedroom window, and it consumed your gaze from your bent-over position on your bed. 

It was the same bed you’d shared with your husband for years now. He was a rich man, and the perfect match in your parents’ eyes. You were content, for a while. However, contentedness could only take you so far, and you quickly grew bitter, exhausted of tumbling into the same routine day after agonizing day. 

You’d nearly jumped for joy the day Arthur Morgan came into your life. It was a warm summer night, and the bones of your corset dug into your ribs as you watched over the main hall as people filed in for your husband’s monthly card game. It was mostly a chance for him to flaunt his wealth and take even more money from those who could afford to lose it. 

Your husband sauntered over to you and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek as a greeting. Your eyes drifted to the man lingering behind him. His hat hung low and his eyes piercing blue eyes scanned the hall. He was rugged, with an air of quiet intensity that made you want to avoid his gaze. He looked as solid as the old oak tree in your backyard, and your eyes trailed over his broad shoulders. His hulking appearance contrasted sharply with the lavish furnishings of your great hall— the deep red leather of his vest blending in with the black cotton of his shirt, and the dark leather of his boots caked in a fine layer of dust. 

“My love, I’d like you to meet Arthur Morgan. He’s going to be watching over you tonight while I entertain our guests,” your husband said, his voice casual.

He was mentioning the last time you’d attempted to escape. You’d been too eager and didn’t wait until your husband was too inebriated to wonder where his darling partner had run off to. You wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

Arthur took his hat off, revealing tousled dark blonde hair that fell messily around his brow. Your heart nearly skipped a beat as those blue eyes of his caught yours— sharp and clear with an edge of caution. 

“Ma’am,” Arthur said with a slight bow of his head, his voice low and gravelly. His politeness was clumsy, almost as if he wasn’t used to formalities. 

You curtsied in response, dipping low just like you were taught. 

Your husband smiled, “Arthur, here, is the best money can buy.” He then turned to face Arthur and took your hand in his. “My wife here likes to wander, Mr. Morgan. I trust you’ll keep a close eye on her,” your husband said as his hand squeezed yours. 

Arthur’s eyes scanned over your form, and you suddenly felt vulnerable under his scrutinizing gaze. He crossed his arms, and you couldn’t help but notice how his muscles strained under his shirt. 

“Yes, sir,” Arthur answered, his gaze remaining glued to yours, “they won’t get far.” 

Arthur had kept his promise. You’d nearly jumped out of your skin as he grabbed your bicep and turned you around to face him. Your suitcase was clutched tightly in your hand and the window was cracked open enough for you to slip through. You’d removed the frilly dress you’d donned earlier and opted for something more inconspicuous. 

He tsked his tongue as he loomed over you, a smirk working its way onto his features. You hadn’t even heard him come in. 

“What do we have here?” he questioned. You shrunk slightly in front of him, trembling. “This big house and everything you could ever want not enough for you?”

“I didn’t want this,” you spat, attempting to wrench yourself out of his grasp. 

He chuckled, tightening his grip on your arm, “And what is it you do want, hm?” 

“Something more,” you murmured as your heart raced in your chest. 

He was quiet for a moment as he looked down at you. He tugged your suitcase out of your hand and set it next to the window.  

“Is he bad to you?” Arthur questioned, his voice husky and low. 

You shook your head, your cheeks flaring. It seemed imprudent to leave this privileged life you lived, but your heart yearned for more. 

“Is he,” Arthur paused, his eyes flickering to your bed before meeting yours. “Is he good to you?” 

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “I’m not… satisfied.” 

A slow, roguish grin formed on Athur’s lips. “I can fix that.” 

The next few moments were a clash of teeth and lips as Arthur pulled you closer, wrapping his strong arms tightly around you. His lips moved fervently against yours, and you’d never felt need like that course through you. Your entire being hummed with desperation as he touched you, his calloused hands grabbing and kneading whatever he could reach of your soft skin. 

You moaned against his lips as he pulled the skirts of your dress up and ran a hand over your thigh before moving upward to caress your clothed heat. You leaned your head back as he teased you through your undergarments. 

“Think you can be quiet while I show you what a real man feels like?” he questioned low against the shell of your ear. 

You nodded your head quickly, too focused on what his hands were doing under your dress to forge a proper reply. 

“Good girl,” he grunted, and it sent a jolt straight to your core. 

You let out a squeal as Arthur bent down and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. His grip was firm on the back of your thighs as he made his way toward your bed. 

He threw you onto your bed and flipped you over, maneuvering your body like it was nothing. He grabbed your hands and pinned them behind your back. “Keep ‘em there, darlin’,” he ordered as he let them go. You obediently stayed put as your heart pounded in your chest. 

His hands roamed over the plush of your ass as he hovered over you. “Pretty little thing with a man who can’t please her,” he hummed as his hands trailed up your sides. 

He pulled your hips up so your ass was in the air and he kneaded the flesh there. He slid a hand up your calf and then under your dress once more. He lifted your skirts up and over your hips. He dragged his thumb over your clothed core before tangling his fingers in your undergarments and ripping a hole in them, leaving you bare before him. 

He slid a finger through your folds, and you arched your back, preening into his touch. You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, stifling a moan as he dipped his finger down to tease your entrance. 

The clinking of his gun belt being undone was music to your ears, and you pressed your core against him, whining as the rough denim jeans rubbed against your core. You rested your cheek against the mattress as he freed his weeping cock from his jeans. He stroked it once and then twice before gliding it through your folds, eliciting a breathy moan from you. He gripped the plumpness of your ass as he ground against you, hitting your clit with every drag of his hips. 

He leaned down so his chest was flush against your back. “Such a dirty girl,” he purred, his breath fanning against the shell of your ear, “begging me to fuck you while your husband’s downstairs none the wiser.” 

You whimpered at his words, which went straight to your core, as he teased you. He didn’t give you enough time to answer before he was agonizingly pushing inside you. You groaned at the way he stretched you, and you relished the way he alighted feelings you never knew were possible. 

He nudged your knees further apart, opening yourself up to him further as he began rocking his hips against you. He placed a firm hand on your lower back, keeping you still as his pace increased. 

Each rut of Arthur’s hips against yours brought you closer and closer to ecstasy. The air was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against slick skin and Arthur’s soft grunts. 

You let out a high-pitched mewl as he reached a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, and he leaned forward to cover your mouth with one of his hands. 

He reached his free hand around you to rub harsh circles against your clit. His pace was brutal, but you savored every second of it. You let out a breathy moan against his hand, and shoved your hips back against his, matching his pace. 

With one final stroke of his cock, you were coming undone over his cock. Your pussy gripped him in a vice grip as you rode out your high, and Arthur’s hips stuttered against your own. He came with a strangled groan as his release painted your walls. His cock twitched inside you as he came down from his high, and his hips slowed. 

Within a few moments, he was pulling out of you. You whined at the loss, and he watched as his cum oozed out of you, dripping over your folds. Arthur groaned at the sight. 

You rolled onto your back and looked up at him. He ran a gentle hand over your thigh. 

“Still thinking about leaving?” he questioned.

You shrugged, “I don’t know, are you gonna catch me again?” 

“I’ll give you a five-minute head start this time.”

[dukestags]

His secretary.

Bruce Wayne x male reader

summary: lately bruce has been limping whenever the JL has seen him. They soon finds out why.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

Bruce Wayne had been limping.

Not in a dramatic, “I just fought a monster from Apokolips” kind of way—but a quieter, more frequent kind of limp.

At first, the Justice League assumed it was business as usual. Gotham’s always rough. Bruce never shares. End of story.

But then… things started to add up.

Subtle things.

Like the way Bruce would wince exactly when he sat down. Or how his shirt collars got higher every week. Or the time Barry swore he saw fingertip-shaped bruises on Bruce’s hips when the suit rode up during training.

Diana said nothing at first, just watched.

Clark, of course, noticed everything. The elevated heart rate. The subtle tension in Bruce’s posture. And the faint scent of someone else on him.

They didn’t push it—Bruce was private, always had been.

But then came the meeting where he walked in late, moving like someone who had just barely survived something much more intimate than a street fight.

His hair was a little mussed. There was a small bruise under his jawline, half-covered with concealer.

Clark glanced once. Diana raised a brow. Arthur leaned back in his seat, amused.

“Rough night?” Diana finally asked, her voice dry.

Bruce didn’t look up. “You could say that.”

Barry leaned in. “What was it this time? Bludhaven gang? Joker again?”

Bruce grunted. “Personal.”

It was short. Almost too short. And everyone caught it.

Clark didn’t say anything. But he smiled—just a little.

A week later, the mystery unraveled.

The team was gathered in the Watchtower. Bruce had been in the meeting room early, standing stiffly at the far end of the table, glancing occasionally at the clock.

When the doors slid open, the conversation halted mid-sentence.

You walked in.

And the silence was instant.

You were impossible to ignore: towering, built like you’d been forged out of granite, suit jacket hugging a chest so wide it made Arthur blink. Your sleeves were rolled up, revealing veiny, powerful forearms that flexed as you carried a simple tablet and file folder.

Handsome. Confident. Calm.

You looked around the room, gave a polite nod—and then walked over to Bruce, leaned in slightly, and spoke in a low, velvety voice:

“Everything’s ready when you are, sir.”

Bruce turned, and something shifted in his face—something no one had seen before.

Softness. Relaxation. His walls lowered.

And when he replied—“Thanks”—his voice wasn’t Batman’s. It was his.

Your hand hovered lightly at his back as he turned to leave, the gesture small but unmistakably intimate.

The doors closed behind you both.

The League sat in stunned silence.

Barry blinked first. “That… that was his secretary?”

Diana sipped her tea. “Mmm.”

Clark gave the smallest shrug. “Makes sense now.”

Victor deadpanned, “Explains the limping.”

Arthur let out a low whistle. “I thought Bats was just fighting dirtbags all night. Turns out he’s getting manhandled by Mount Olympus.”

Barry sat back in his chair, eyes wide. “So wait—that guy? That guy is the reason Bruce shows up every week looking like he got hit by a truck?”

“Looks like he got picked up and slammed into the truck,” Victor muttered.

Clark folded his arms, suppressing a smirk. “You all saw how Bruce looked at him, right?”

Diana nodded. “Like he’d follow him into hell. Or beg him not to stop.”

Barry turned even redder. “I’m not even mad. I’m just… impressed.”

“Same,” Arthur said. “Honestly? Good for him.”

Diana glanced toward the hallway. “Very good.”

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: midway through writing this, i realized it got too romantic, and then i changed my writing music and it suddenly all became clear looool here's your smut (even though i initially thought this fic was going to be way smuttier)

part 15: the king and his queen

word count: 2,831 tag: @bruhidkjustwannaread | @rubyxx16 | @immyowndefender

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

Tommy sat in the office of the Garrison, cigarette in hand, staring at the reports spread across his desk. His expression was unreadable, but the sharp set of his jaw betrayed his tension. The fire at your bookshop had been days ago, but the fallout lingered like smoke in the air, thick and suffocating.

The door creaked open, and Arthur, John, Finn, and Michael filed in, their faces unusually grim. Arthur carried a small red notebook and what looked like a charred photo in his hand.

Tommy barely glanced up. “How bad was it?”

“There wasn't much we could do, Tom,” John said, his tone unusually subdued. "There were some books in the back that were saved, but the structure is lost."

Tommy’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing. “What else?”

Arthur stepped forward, dropping the photo and notebook onto Tommy’s desk. “Thought we might find somethin’ useful, but a lot of it was gone.” He hesitated, his usual bravado replaced with an uneasy edge. “Found this instead.”

Tommy reached for the photo first. It was warped at the edges from the fire, but the image was clear enough. He studied the man's features. Photographs usually told so little, but from this small glimpse of a face from your life—one he assumed had not resurfaced since your time in Birmingham—he found himself retreat. His usual firm hold on his emotions faltered at the sight of a man who could have meant so much to you.

Finn, standing off to the side, muttered, “Guessin’ that’s someone she cared about.”

Michael crossed his arms. “We found it in her desk. Buried under a pile of papers—like she didn’t want to see it but couldn’t bring herself to throw it away.”

Tommy turned the photo over, finding a date and a name scrawled in your handwriting: Ezra—1919.

“What else?” Tommy asked, his voice calm but commanding.

Arthur put his hand on the red notebook and slid it forward. "Haven't opened it yet, but it's hers."

Tommy ran his fingers over the leather. The temptation to pry it open and dive deeper into your thoughts coursed through his arm, but he resisted. He placed his hand down firmly on the journal with a heavy sigh. The last time he pried into your life, you met him head on. Unlike then, you wouldn't have expected anyone, let alone him, to see into the very depths of your soul. He didn't know why, but the thought unsettled him. He wondered when it had become such a priority to consider your privacy as something of importance.

Michael leaned forward, his voice sharp. “Should we try to find him?”

John tapped the photo. “Whoever he is, he meant something to her. For all we know, he's the cause of all this. Maybe he's involved.”

Tommy stared at the picture again, his mind working like clockwork. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s the reason she’s running.”

Finn frowned. “Think he’s dead?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on the man—Ezra's face until the features had solidified in his mind. He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, standing up and pocketing the photo. “I’ll talk to her.”

Arthur scoffed. “And if she doesn’t tell you?”

“She will." Tommy’s eyes were cold as steel. "In time. Don't tell her what you found. She's still healing.”

As the others filed out, Tommy stayed behind, his hand brushing over the photograph in his pocket. Whoever Ezra had been, whatever happened to him, Tommy knew it held the key to understanding your past. And perhaps, at last, everything would finally unravel.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The early evening light filtered through the tall windows of Arrow House, bathing the room in a golden glow. You sat in a plush armchair near the fire, a book balanced on your lap, though you hadn’t turned a page in some time. Your wounds had closed, and what remained was the budding presence of scars, ones that wouldn't soon fade. The physical wounds may have mended, but the ache beneath the surface lingered, more persistent than you wanted to admit.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Tommy always walked with a deliberate purpose, a rhythm you’d come to recognize.

“Come to regale me with another story of a good day at the race?” you said without looking up, your voice tinged with dry amusement.

“Not today,” he replied, stepping into the room. “If those stories don't interest you, I will tell Arthur to stop.”

You chuckled, just loud enough for him to hear. “If that is what enthuses Arthur, then who am I to stop him? Better than him trying to watch me like an injured bird trying to take flight.”

Tommy moved to stand near the mantle, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they studied you. The photograph of Ezra still lay safely in his pocket. He continuously tucked it away, convincing himself that now wasn't the right time to ask you. Eventually, it became routine to slip it back into his pocket in the hopes that it was finally time. His fingers toyed with its edges, the presence of your past trying to escape into the open.

But he couldn't. As the days past, you looked more and more at peace. You'd settled into a new routine. Finn brought books back to Arrow House, and while none of them knew what it actually was that you liked to read, they all started to recognize your true glimpses at contentment. Whether it was a book or a conversation that had no hint of duplicity, there was a part of you that was perfectly capable of what some considered to be a normal life. The possibility of shattering this and bringing you back into his world weighed heavier on his shoulders than he would have ever imagined.

Eventually, you grew used to his presence. You sighed from your place by the fire, gently massaging your shoulder. With one hand, you unbuttoned the first few inches of your shirt and eased the collar down to reach the ache. Tommy's eyes drifted to the newborn scar, but then his gaze wandered to your chest. Your breaths were soft and steady, a tempo that matched the ticking of the clock behind him.

“You're healing well." He broke the silence. Your eyes flickered up to him with a soft smile in acknowledgement.

“Like I said before,” you replied, closing the book and setting it aside. “I do not control how a body heals, even less so, my own.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. With the slightest movement of your shoulder, Tommy found himself staring at the scar again, and, as if it were a reflex, he reached for his own. Now a part of his chest, he realized it was just like yours. Tommy’s eyes lingered on your face, searching for something beneath your composed exterior. You tilted your head to the side, eyes fluttering shut with a melodic hum.

No—not now. He couldn't ask you about Ezra now. This moment was so fleeting, and the second he asked, it would be gone forever. If only for today, he wanted to savor this—you both peacefully existing in the same room without any threats from the outside. It was a selfish decision, and he readily accepted that it was his own.

Tommy didn't know what he was doing when he approached you and reached for the scar, but as if sensing this was a gesture of curiosity, you let him. His fingers were warm and almost soothing as they ran over the fresh patch of skin like he was studying it.

For the briefest second, you tensed, your hand brushing absently over your side where the second wound lay tucked away. Tommy quietly retreated, but before he could step back, you grabbed his wrist and stood.

You let out a heavy breath, eyes shutting again in thought. Still holding his arm, you guided his hand to the buttons that were still clasped and nodded.

"You were a gentleman then," you nodded, mostly to yourself. "Telling Arthur and John to leave. I already felt... Exposed. Naked—just from the wounds alone and being seen like that. But, still, you told them to leave, so it wouldn't be so bad. Don't think I didn't notice, Tommy."

Tommy's fingers stayed on the top button like he was still processing if the gesture was an act of repayment or the giving of permission.

"If you need to see it for peace of mind, then you can," you whispered. The usual confidence in your tone dampened into a soft pitch.

He told himself he was doing this because he needed to see if you were telling the truth—that the wound had actually closed and was now just another scar. In reality, he didn't know his intentions. It could still have been a need, but it was one with weak conviction.

Tommy undid the rest of your shirt and parted it just enough to see the second scar. Your arms stayed relaxed at your sides, your face still but forlorn, as he touched the wound gently enough to make you shiver. He pressed the palm of his hand against your waist, firm and steadying.

He stepped closer, and your lungs filled with the scent that had accompanied you to dreams for many nights, always by your side. Tommy looked down at your as if he was silently seeking permission. Though, in truth, he didn't know what he was asking for.

As if seeing the war raging in his head, you reached for his neck and pulled him towards you. You rested your lips against his with a sigh—at last, feeling what you denied yourself weeks ago. Just a taste of him was enough, you told yourself. Just one.

Unlike then, he didn't move with urgency. He simply waited for you to make the decision. If it was just a kiss, then that's all it was. For once, he accepted this was out of his control.

You pulled back, eyes bearing into his with a seriousness one only experienced in the face of a choice that would not soon be presented again—or at all.

"Listen to me, Thomas Shelby," you whispered. Your stare commanded his to never tear away from yours as you spoke, insisting without words to hear you clearly because you wouldn't repeat yourself again. "I am not something to be won because I am earned."

Tommy's breath flitted across your skin as you spoke, and in your words, you showed him that your guard could go up at any moment. But for the moment, you were letting him acknowledge the mask of pain and power, one that only you possessed and chose to grace him with. The burden of understanding you wasn't not something easily given.

"If I give myself to you, I'm never taking any of it back." You spoke so firmly, the weight of your words forcing him to listen. "And if you give yourself to me, I am never letting you go."

He told you once that your purpose of being here would come out whether you dared to say it out loud or not. While you couldn't bring yourself to say this gently, you said it regardless.

"Every mistake you've ever made until now means nothing to me. But if this is a mistake—one you will come to regret, then tell me now. Tell me what you want." Your grip on his neck intensified with the slight twitch of your fingers. "That's why I'm here. That's why I made my choice. It scares you to crave, but it terrifies you to need. If you tell me now that I am a passing craving, then you've proved a point—that this was just business. But if you need me, all I want is for you to say it. And mean it."

It wasn't a threat. This was a declaration of self-preservation over the fantasy of possibilities.

For a moment, Tommy stayed silent.

He'd loved before, loved countless times to the point where it all might have been meaningless—just fleeting moments where he felt love, but it never lingered. And now, with your intentions finally out in the open, he understood. Your goal was to force him to experience it all—the pain and the loss. To be loved and respected. To choose to be alone no longer, and to understand what it meant to choose someone because he needed them and not because he wanted them for the moment.

You wanted him to face the inevitable—that loving someone wasn't a choice. But to love someone who was truly good for him, who didn't just love the idea of what he could be—that was a choice.

And he made his decision.

Tommy gripped your waist, sliding your shirt over your shoulders until it fell to the floor around your ankles. With a solitary sigh, he kissed you again, still as gentle as the first.

"I need you."

The words rang in your ears like an autumn breeze numbing summer's heat. And all at once, his lips found you again. His touch was tender, methodically moving in a way that still treated you as fragile beneath his fingertips. He carried you to the bed, his lips trailing down your neck, peppering you with kisses until all you felt was the need he'd suppressed for so long.

You sat up, taking his face in your hands. His eyes searched yours for permission, and with the soft nod of your head, his hands wandered your body, discovering and adventuring across your skin. He slipped his shirt off, and your eyes landed on the scar on his chest.

You reached for it, seeing in a different way how similar you both were. This was not an attempt to put the other back together, but a way to hold the broken pieces to the light and admire the sunlight between the cracks. To love the other earnestly and honestly, and to hope in desperation and the fear of never loving again.

Tommy watched you as you straddled him. You eased him into you with a long drawn out sigh, pressing your forehead against his. With one hand, he steadied your waist, guiding you as your hips moved, and with the other, he held your cheek with the gentle stroke of his thumb.

He sighed against your neck, groaning every time he slid inside you, the full length of him feeling the warmth of your walls. He admired you as you grinded into him, the last of your defenses crumbling down at his touch. There was no more need for words. Tommy let you take him in whatever way you desired. He didn't care if you were using him for your own pleasure. All that mattered was that you accepted his need, reciprocated with your own carnal desire to claim him.

Slowly, the mood changed. Your eyes darkened as it suddenly settled in that, together, this was something new. It wasn't just romance. It was the molding of the power you both held. Others only alluded that together, you and Tommy could set the world on fire—if that was what you desired. He held the match, and you soaked it with gasoline. At your command, he would set the world ablaze and build you a throne from the ashes and debris.

Tommy laid you back down on the bed and lowered himself in between your legs. He gripped your thighs, taking pleasure in how you writhed from the motions of his tongue. He hummed against your core, his mouth moving with an urgency that mimicked his need and hunger. You threw your head back with a gasp as his tongue plunged deep inside you, curling and pulling you against his face.

He pulled you closer, lapping up the dampness dripping down his chin. You gripped his hair, urging him to keep going until you felt that tug in the pit of your stomach. Your legs clenched, and with a guttural moan, you came until you twisted onto your stomach, riding the high as you spilled out onto the bed. Tommy positioned himself above you and slid back into your pulsing core. He eased himself inside you, taking a hold of your chest and holding you against him. He panted against your neck, his tongue dragging against your skin like no amount of your taste was enough. With a final thrust, he collapsed, his hips still grinding against you to draw out the ecstasy.

You panted, keeping a firm grip on the sheets until he was gentle once more. He kissed your shoulder with a sigh. Tommy's lips curled into a knowing grin, and you met his expression with equal satisfaction.

The game has changed with an entirely new board. The King has his Queen, and it was only a matter of time before the world would feel the ground rumble beneath their feet.

[zagreuses-art]

The fine Rank and File (or at least the rank) of the Ankh Morpork city watch! I've been figuring out my designs for them, and I wanted to put them in a lineup to see how they look beside one another. makes you realize how ridiculous the height difference between some of them is

[ID: three digital drawings of the Watch members, against a police lineup background with height marks and an ankh morpork city watch watermark and logo. The featured members are in order of height: Detritus, Dorfl, Carrot, Angua. then Reg Shoe, Visit, Colon, and Vimes. finally, Nobby, Cheery, Buggy Swires and Wee Mad Arthur. they are all wearing variations on the watch uniform of brass colored armor, chainmaille, leather boots or sandals, and a skirt of studded leather straps. end ID]

more detailed description of the designs under the cut

First drawing: standing at over 8 feet is Dorfl. He is a grey-green troll with a very muscled top heavy build, patches of moss on his skin, and angular features. He is wearing oversized armor with pauldrons, one with sergeant's stripes painted on it, and scale mail underneath. the Piece Maker (a siege weapon crossbow) is strapped to his back. second, standing at 7 foot 4 inches is Dorfl, a reddish Golem made out of patchwork clay, with a overall gingerbread man look, and glowing red eyes. he is only wearing a breastplate, and he has his sergeant's stripes painted on his arm. Third at 6 foot 6 inches is Carrot. He is a redheaded white human, with a sturdy build, round face, and a cheerful smile. he has a captains pip pin in the collar of his shirt and his armor is visibly shinier than all the other's. fourth at 6 foot 2 inches is Angua. she is a white human with lots of very light blonde hair and slightly pointed ears. Her armor has straps at the shoulder rather than being one piece, and she is wearing her badge on a collar. (end of first drawing)

Second drawing: first, standing at 6 ish feet is Reg Shoe. He is a green zombie with a hunched posture and several missing chunks and lines of stitching visible, most noticeably the right half of his mouth has no lips, exposing his teeth. he wearing a tattered and patched flow-y white shirt under his armor, which is also the strap style, and there is a red ribbon in his long-ish dirty blonde hair. second at 5 foot 9 inches is constable Visit. He is a brown skinned human, with slicked back 80's business guy hair and a slightly strained smile. He is wearing a very crisp white shirt under his armor as well as khaki pants and a Omnian turtle necklace. he is clutching a bundle of pamphlets. Third at 5 foot 6 inches is Colon. He is a white human with a heavy-set build, a mustache, and a large bald spot. his armor has sculpted muscles in it and he is wearing sandals. Fourth at barely 5 foot 4 inches is Vimes. He is a white human with messy greying brown hair, and a five o-clock shadow, he looks a bit like house era Hugh Laurie. along with his armor he is wearing a red cloak and a sword. (end of second drawing)

Third Drawing: First, standing at 4 foot nothing, is Nobby Nobbs. he is a white-ish human with vitiligo spots, several suspiciously red or green patches of skin, and very scruffy black hair and a five o-clock shadow. he is smoking a cigarette and has several dog ends behind his ear. he has managed to tarnish his armor. second, at 3 foot 4 inches is Cheery. She is a white dwarf with a stocky build, blonde hair and a blond, braided beard. she has some burns on her arms, ears, and forehead, and is missing her eyebrows. she has a full lentgh leather skirt rather than pants. third, at 7 inches is Buggy Swires. he is a brown skinned Gnome, with grey hair and pointed ears. he is not wearing armor, but instead a rain cloak. next to him is his pigeon, which carries his badge and is a foot tall. Finally, at 4 inches, is Wee Mad Arthur. he is a blue nac mac feegle with red hair. he is in a watch uniform with a kilt, and is carrying his badge like a shield on his back, unlike the others he has a dynamic aggressive stance, rather than standing straight up. (end of third picture)

background of all drawings: a lineup height marker background, with the initials AM (ankh) CW and the city seal in the top right corner. the city seal is two hippos on a shield, with a tower between them. they are in shades of copper or bronze, as is the overall color palate of the drawings. (end of ID)

[knotfodder]

-

[strangesthirdeye]

CHAPTER 8: Crossroads of Intellect and Outlawry

The Cipher Between us

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

3 weeks have passed, The heavy London rain tapped rhythmically against the tall windows of 221B Baker Street, casting gray shadows across the cluttered sitting room. A low fire crackled in the hearth, adding a faint warmth to the otherwise damp atmosphere.

Sherlock Holmes stood near his desk, fingers stained with ink, violin discarded on the sofa beside a half-finished monograph about dust patterns. His latest case - a forgery ring in Kensington - lay unfinished. Something had tugged at his thoughts all morning, like a violin string pulled too tight.

That's when the mail arrived.

"From America, Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson said as she handed him a single, rain-dampened envelope with care. "Looks like your sister's handwriting."

He turned at the mention of her sister. Within seconds, he crossed the room and plucked the envelope from Mrs Hudson's hand. Rain-speckled. British and American postmarks. His name, elegantly handwritten - but with a sharper pressure than usual.

Y/n.

He slit it open with the small blade always kept in his dressing gown pocket. As the paper unfolded, the scent of ashes clung faintly to the parchment, as though the fire Y/n mentioned had reached even across the ocean.

And then he read

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Dearest Sherlock...

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

His eyes moved swiftly over the words. But his expression shifted slowly.

Sherrinford's death.

The lie of a noble end.

The "accident" that burned her flat.

And this stranger - Arthur - who made the one remark that finally pulled the veil away.

Sherlock's lips parted only slightly. His sharp eyes narrowed not with anger, but with calculation. And concern.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There's a network here, Sherlock.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

That sentence alone made his fingers tighten on the paper.

A network. This reminds him of Moriarty all over again but no. Moriarty is dead along with his network. Surely this is not his work. This is the work of people inside.

Not a crime of passion. Not random. This was a system. Structured. Hidden. Likely military or government-adjacent. And Sherrinford, ever righteous, may have stood in its path.

Sherlock turned and walked towards his desk, reading the letter again as he moved. He did not sit. He stood over his files - Sherrinford's last dispatches, old contacts in the War Office, scattered bits from military correspondence - and started pulling things at once.

He paused only when he reached the line.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Arthur, a man I trust deeply here...

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sherlock muttered, "Arthur," under his breath. "No surname. No title. Not her style to be careless—so either she's protecting him... or he's truly unknown to me."

A common name. But enough to spark his curiosity.

He didn't waste time questioning Y/n's judgment of character. If she trusted someone deeply, he knew she'd tested that trust. Still, the fact that someone else was helping her peel back the layers unsettled him in a way he wasn't prepared to admit.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I'd be a fool not to admit I need you, brother.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The line landed like a weight against his ribs. Not dramatic. Not emotional. But honest.

Sherlock folded the letter slowly, pressing the crease with a thumb. Then he sat down, hands steepled in front of his lips.

"Someone feared what Sherrinford uncovered," he whispered. "And now... they fear her."

He glanced at the window, fog beginning to gather across the glass.

"She's closer than she realizes."

He reached for his pen. The sound of a gentle knock came just as Sherlock was sealing the envelope of his reply to Y/n.

He glanced at the door, not needing to ask.

It opened a moment later, and in stepped John Watson - coat slightly damp from the drizzle, a small smile on his face, and bundled up in his arms, a chubby-cheeked little girl with wild curls and sleepy eyes.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything... dramatic," John said with a raised eyebrow.

"You're always interrupting something," Sherlock muttered without real bite. "But I suppose it can wait."

John smirked, stepping in and setting Rosie gently on the armchair across from Sherlock's desk. She babbled something incoherent and immediately reached for the cushion beside her. Sherlock handed her a wooden rattle - an item he once insisted was "purely decorative" - ​​with robotic precision.

"She missed you," John said, settling into a seat and watching his daughter. "God knows why."

"Children like routine. I am, apparently, a fixture."

John grinned, then glanced at the desk - specifically at the letter Sherlock had folded only moments before.

"From her?" he asked, tone suddenly more cautious.

Sherlock didn't pretend to misunderstand.

"Yes."

John leaned back, eyes sharpening a bit. "How bad?"

Sherlock looked at him. "Bad enough that she no longer thinks like someone mourning a brother, but someone pursuing a murder."

There was a pause between them - Rosie babbled again, swinging the rattle.

"Murder?" John repeated quietly. "You believe her?"

"I don't need to believe her," Sherlock replied. "I only need to follow the trail she's already halfway down."

John frowned, gaze thoughtful now. "And the letter... what does it say?"

"She suspects Sherrinford's death wasn't just a casualty of war or a rogue attack," Sherlock said flatly. "She mentioned a man - Arthur - who made her see that the fire wasn't about her. It was about destroying what she'd found."

"Arthur?" John asked, brow furrowing. "A military man?"

"She doesn't say. Which is unlike her. Either she's protecting him... or she knows I'd find him in five minutes and start making inquiries."

John let out a low breath. "So someone's trying to shut her down."

Sherlock's gaze drifted towards the fireplace. "They're trying to erase Sherrinford. Not memorialize him. That much is certain. Which means he found something. And they're terrified she'll find it too."

John leaned forward, voice lower now. "And she's alone over there?"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment.

"No," he said. "She has Arthur. Whoever he is."

John studied him for a moment. "You don't like that."

Sherlock said nothing.

"Is he a problem?" John asked.

Sherlock finally looked at him again. "He's only a problem if he's not who he says he is. But she trusts him. And that matters."

Rosie let out a loud yawn and dropped her rattle. Both men turned for a moment, watching as she reached for her father's hand with tiny fingers. John smiled faintly and tucked her close to his side.

"She's strong," John said, eyes still on Rosie but voice clearly meant for Y/n. "But don't let her carry this alone."

"I don't intend to," Sherlock replied, already standing and retrieving his coat. "This letter needs to reach her before anyone else intercepts it."

John raised an eyebrow. "You're posting it personally?"

"I'll watch it go into the hands of the courier myself. Then I'll start pulling military records."

"And this Arthur?"

Sherlock gave a small smile - dry, calculating.

"We'll see."

"so you are going to reply her letter now?" John questioned.

"soon. I need to find more information at the War Office first and gather some things that I can help her with before replying to her letter. She needs me, John" Sherlock sighed.

John nodded in understanding.

"whatever she discovers now, she better be quick before those people after her get it first"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The War Office archives weren't open to the public, but then again, Sherlock Holmes was never just the public.

He stood alone in a dimly lit backroom in Whitehall, surrounded by shelves of military reports, promotion logs, and field correspondence. The room smelled of dust and misuse, of secrets kept politely buried. Exactly the kind of place where truth had to be peeled from layers of polite bureaucracy.

Holmes held a thin file folder in his hands, gloved fingers turning the fragile pages without hesitation.

He murmured under his breath, "Sherrinford, Sherrinford... Fort Wallace..."

He had already searched troop assignments, command logs, and disciplinary actions involving the regiment Sherrinford was stationed with. But it wasn't until he found an internal memo misfiled under transport logistics that he stilled.

A name.

...final escort detail on ammunition delivery assigned to Captain Holmes under the supervision of Colonel Beckett Granger.

Holmes's brow furrowed.

Colonel Beckett Granger. The name wasn't unfamiliar. But not in the way that meant fame. More the kind of name one saw just enough - tucked into footnotes, always attached to assignments with gaps in clarity. Promotions without commendations. Transfers after incidents.

Too clean.

Too quiet.

Sherlock traced his gloved finger down the margin of the memo.

There - a correction scribbled faintly in pencil.

Change in rota guard. Escort reassigned 24 hours prior.

The date matched the day before Sherrinford's death.

Holmes's eyes sharpened. "Someone moved him off his usual duty. Not a random attack - a setup."

And Granger was overseeing it.

He checked another report - an unsigned complaint filed weeks earlier by an anonymous officer. Language vague. Mention of "irregular dealings," "suspected inventory manipulation," and "off-record movements of arms." Filed at Fort Wallace. Discarded without follow-up.

Sherlock whispered to himself, "He was close. Sherrinford found something. Granger knew. And the transfer - wasn't a reassignment. It was an execution route."

He set the folder aside, pulled out a notebook, and began scribbling in tight, neat shorthand. Dates. Movements. Names. Then underlined Granger twice.

Network. Protection. Intimidation. Arson. One step too far.

He stopped.

Then he opened the drawer where he had placed Y/n's reply - sealed but not yet posted. He broke the seal with no regret, replaced the closing paragraph with one more accurate... more urgent.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You're not chasing shadows, Y/n.

You were meant to inherit silence.

But you inherited their footsteps instead.

Be careful. Trust no one in uniform unless you know their heart. And this Arthur you mentioned - if he proves true, do not let go of that anchor.

I'll be digging further from here. But I fear the next move won't be yours. Stay sharp. They already missed once. They won't again.

— S.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The water was thick with tension. Arthur had saddled his horse early, his brows furrowed with the familiar heaviness of unease. He approached Dutch, who was standing by the map crate, idly chewing on a matchstick as he went over notes Y/n had previously scribbled - routes, watch rotations, timing.

Dutch didn't look up when Arthur arrived.

Arthur tucked his thumbs in his gun belt. "Gonna go get that oil wagon. Figured the sooner we have it, the better for tonight."

Dutch raised an eyebrow, finally lifting his gaze. "You goin' alone?"

"Can handle it. Ain't my first wagon." Arthur replied, waving his hand in dismissal.

Dutch hummed. Something unreadable passed through his expression. He glanced across the camp - where Y/n sat with Jack, sketching something in the dirt with a stick. He turned back to Arthur, a slow, almost amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Bring Y/n with you."

Arthur's face tightened immediately. "what?"

Dutch leaned back - eyes looking right into Arthur's eyes. "She's part of this gang, Arthur. She helped plan it. Might as well see her plan put into action."

Arthur glared at him. "This ain't some field lesson, Dutch. That wagon's guarded, probably heavily. You want her gettin' shot?" he snapped.

Dutch shrugged. "She wants to stay, doesn't she? Might as well do what she wants to stay for"

Arthur stepped forward, voice lowering and sharpening. "She doesn't need to be out there. She's not like us. You're draggin' her into something she's not ready for."

Dutch's eyes gleamed in determination. "She's smarter than half this camp put together. Hell, she's sharper than Bill. And I don't see you complainin' when he tags along."

Arthur's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Bill knows what he's walkin' into. Y/n doesn't."

Dutch leaned slightly, eyes still looking at Arthur. "Then maybe she ought to learn."

Arthur stared at him in disbelief. he can't let you go with him. What he did was not for you. The eyes that will see the real outlaw life. It's too risky and Dutch insisted it.

Dutch smirked before his eyes searched for you. And when he found you, he called you.

"Miss Holmes, come here for a second"

You looked at Dutch before looking at Jack and your excuses. You stood up and walked towards where Dutch was. Your eyes looked at Arthur who seemed to avoid looking at you. You narrowed your eyes. He seemed ashamed and furious with Dutch.

You approached them carefully, sensing the tense rising situation. You stopped a few steps away, eyes flicking between both men.

"everything's okay?" you asked them

Dutch turned towards you with a sudden shift of tone - light, even friendly. "Arthur's about to head off and steal the oil wagon. I told him you ought to go with him, see the fruits of all that brilliant thinking you've been doing."

Arthur turned his head sharply towards you. "You don't gotta go. This isn't your kind of job."

A beat of silence. Yeah, you already know this is going to happen, the moment Dutch meets you discussing about going on with what they are doing. Your eyes darted towards Arthur then to Dutch.

Then softly - uncertainly, yet trying to sound steady. "when do we leave?"

Arthur blinked while Dutch grinned proudly.

"Well, that settles it, doesn't it?" he said triumphantly.

Arthur looked at you - really looked at you. Not with anger. Not even frustration. Just... disappointment. A quiet, heavy kind of pain that settled in his eyes and made his shoulders sag. He looked away.

"we leave in ten" he muttered lowly. He turned, walking off towards the horses.

You hesitated - uncertain whether you'd done something wrong.

Dutch, meanwhile, stood with hands on his hips, watching Arthur go with a victorious gleam in his eyes.

"Finally" he said to himself.

You didn't hear it.

Arthur did.

And it only made his fists clench tighter.

The sound of hoofbeats filled the air as you rode behind Arthur, the sun hanging low over the horizon. The trail was dry, dust kicking up with each step of your horses. Arthur rode ahead, eyes straight, jaw locked. He hadn't said much since you both left camp.

You shifted slightly in your saddle, your own horse quiet for once - maybe sensing the uneasiness between them. The silence between you and Arthur wasn't sharp or angry. It was worse: hollow.

Finally, you pushed gently, your voice tentative.

"Arthur"

No response.

You swallow your saliva slowly and try again. "I didn't mean to go behind your back. I just... I didn't want to cause trouble."

Arthur didn't turn, didn't slow down. He just muttered low. "You didn't cause trouble. Dutch did."

That wasn't exactly comforting.

You rode a little closer, your brows drawn in concern. "You think I made a mistake."

He sighed through his nose. "I think Dutch made you feel like you had to prove yourself. And I hate that."

You blinked. That... wasn't the answer you expected.

Arthur glanced at you, finally. "You don't owe him nothin', Y/n. Not me, not Dutch, not this gang. But you stepped into it anyway. And now he's gonna use you the same way he uses the rest of us."

"I can take care of myself." Your voice dropped, soft but steady.

Arthur gave a short, humorless laugh. "You keep sayin' that. But takin' care of yourself means knowin' when somethin' ain't worth it."

You fell silent again, eyes on the horizon.

You both rode for a long while without another word, only the sounds of hooves, rustling brush, and distant crows filling the space.

Finally, the oil wagon came into view - parked near a hill by a couple of guards. The glow of lanterns flickered nearby. Arthur pulled his horse to a stop behind the trees, dismounted, and crouched low behind some brush. You do the same, slowly moved closer to Arthur.

"There it is. Two guards. Maybe three if one's watchin' from the other side." he said quietly.

You crouched beside him, stealing a glance at his profile. He looked tense, tired. Hurt in a way you didn't expect.

You whispered. "After this... we talk?"

Arthur didn't look at you.

"After this, we get back. We'll see what happens after that."

You nodded slowly. Not the answer you wanted - but not a rejection either.

Arthur finally turned his eyes to yours, just briefly, and nodded once - an unspoken truce. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But a start.

Then he looked forward, pulling his revolver free.

You narrowed your eyes. The distance is not far and not close but you can clearly see there are 2 guards on duty with rifles in their hands. You moved closer. Two guards leaned lazily against the wagon's wheels, rifles within reach but their posture loose. A lantern hung on the side of the wagon, casting long shadows. A third man stood a few feet away, smoking.

Arthur was counting bullets in his head when he noticed Y/n staring intently, not at the guards - but at their boots. Then at the ground. Then at a small ridge to their left.

"right, you see anything?"

"give me a moment" you muttered. You shifted slightly, peering through the brush again, eyes sharp and calculating.

Arthur watched you, surprised at how your expression turned from wide-eyed tension to a composed, focused intensity.

"The guard smoking - see how often he glances west?" you whispered.

Arthur nodded, slowly. "Every few seconds."

"He's expecting someone. Or he's been told to watch that direction. Maybe a patrol comes from there." you pointed out

Arthur let out a short breath. "Shit. So we ain't got long."

Your eyes flicked towards the wagon. "The man closest to the front wheel - his boots are muddy. Just him. The others are clean. He's been moving. Probably went to relieve himself, means he's lighter on water now. Less distracted."

Arthur raised a brow, impressed despite himself. "So... what do you suggest, Miss Holmes?"

You swallowed, nodding towards the slight ridge to your left. "There's loose shale on that slope. If someone steps on it, it'll crunch loudly. Use it."

Arthur followed your gaze, understanding dawning. He smirked slightly.

"You're a damn bloodhound." he grinned.

"I prefer hawk. But I'll take bloodhound." you smirked.

Arthur pulled his bandana up, already moving. "Alright. I'll draw their attention from the left, hit the slope, make 'em look that way. When they go to investigate - get to the wagon. Take the reins. Be ready."

Y/n's brows lifted. "You want me to drive?"

"Unless you wanna shoot. You pick."

She gritted her teeth - then nodded. "Drive. Got it."

Moments later, Arthur crept off into the shadows of the rocks. You shifted your position, knees shaking just slightly, but your grip steady. your eyes stayed locked on the guards.

Then, it happened fast.

A sharp crunch of gravel. One of the guards jerked his head up, peering towards the slope.

"what's that sound?" the guard said.

"Someone up there?" second guard added

The third tossed his cigarette and started forward, gun ready.

"now" you whispered to yourself.

You slipped from the brush, low and fast. Your boots hit the dirt soundlessly. In seconds, you were by the wagon. Your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the reins, quietly climbing up into the seat. You glanced around - then saw Arthur break from the shadows, pistol raised.

BANG.

One shot hit the dirt near a guard's foot. The camp exploded into chaos. The guards shouted, raising rifles -

"Drive, Y/n! GO!" Arthur yelled.

You whipped the reins and kicked the brake loose. The horses leaned sharply and bolted forward, wheels rumbling hard across the dry ground.

Arthur dashed alongside, leapt, grabbed the side rail - You reached down and yanked him up beside you.

"That worked!" you said breathless.

Arthur grunted as he landed beside you. "Not bad for your first job, Holmes!"

Bullets whizzed behind you both, but the wagon tore away into the falling dusk, kicking up dust and laughter and adrenaline.

And this time, your deduction didn't just reveal a clue - it got you out alive.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was late afternoon when you both returned to camp. The oil wagon safely where it should be placed. You were off in the distance, talking quietly with Hosea and sipping water from a tin cup, your hands still shaking slightly even though you tried to hide it.

Arthur stood a few feet away, leaning on the hitching post, his hat low and his jaw tight. He hadn't said much since they returned - only gave Dutch a brief nod and made sure the horses didn't collapse.

John Marston strolled over, hands tucked into his belt, a crooked grin on his face.

"Y'know, I expected you to come back with a busted wheel and an apology, not a damn intact wagon."

Arthur didn't look at him. Instead, he fished out his cigarettes and lit them and took a puff.

"disappointed?" he blew his cigarette smoke.

John chuckled. "Hell no. Just surprised. I saw Dutch puffin' out his chest like he just won a war." He leaned against the post next to Arthur. "He's really proud of himself."

Arthur grunted. "Ain't hard to feel proud when someone else does the work."

John followed Arthur's gaze to where Y/n stood, Hosea nodding gently at something she said.

"Is she okay?"

"She did fine. Real fine." Arthur replied - taking a puff on his cigarette.

There was silence for a beat. Then John tilted his head.

"So... Dutch really made you bring her, huh?"

Arthur sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hand. "Yeah. Knew he'd push it eventually. But I didn't think he'd pull that smug act so damn quick. And when she said 'when we leave..." he trailed off, jaw tightening. "Felt like I lost."

"Lost what?" John frowned.

Arthur hesitated. "Something I'm not even sure I had."

John nodded slowly. He wasn't always the sharpest, but he could read between the lines when he wanted to.

"You care about her."

Arthur glanced at him, not denying it. "She ain't like us, John. She's sharp, thoughtful. Ain't hardened. Not yet. Dutch wants to use that, twist it to fit whatever plan he's dreaming up."

"And you don't?" John blurted.

"I just want her to be safe. She doesn't owe us nothin'. She didn't sign up for this." Arthur replied - taking a last breath on his cigarette before throwing it away.

John gave a quiet snort. "Neither did I, really."

Arthur finally chuckled, just once, and it sounded tired. "Fair."

They stood in silence again. Then John shoved away from the post.

"Well. Just don't let Dutch walk all over her. Or you." he said for the last time.

Arthur watched him walk off before glancing back at Y/n. She was looking over at him now, a quiet look in her eyes. Not proud. Not victory. Something softer. Tired, but grateful.

Arthur exhaled and tipped his hat at her.

She smiled - just faintly.

The embers of the evening fire flickered between them. Hosea leaned forward, his coat draped over his lap, eyes gentle and perceptive. You sipped tea from your tin cup, trying to hide the slight tremble in your fingers, but Hosea noticed. Of course he did.

"are you alright?" Hosea asked gently.

You glanced at him. "yes, I'm fine" you nodded.

Hosea hummed. "you did well today"

You smiled faintly. "so i've been told"

Hosea chuckled. "Well, it's true. Calm under pressure. Smart with your timing. Dutch might be insufferable right now, but even I can't deny it - he was right about your potential."

You sipped your tea before setting the cup down on the ground beside you, drawing in a breath that was steadier than you felt.

"I thought it would feel... different. Like it'd be some kind of rush, maybe guilt. But I just feel cold. Not scared. Not proud. Just... cold." you clenched and uncleched your fist.

Hosea nodded slowly, leaning forward slightly. "That coldness? That's your mind trying to protect you. You're not numb, Y/n. You're just shocked. First job is always the strangest. It doesn't fit right in the soul."

You looked into the fire for a moment, lips pressed thin. "I didn't hurt anyone. But I know that doesn't mean I didn't take part in something cruel. Even I just deduced what Arthur had to do but then again... It felt wrong"

Hosea shook his head. "You're not wrong. But you didn't enjoy it. That's the part that matters."

A pause passed between you. The wind rustled softly through the trees.

"Dutch said I need to earn my keep. That being here means I help them. But I didn't come here to be an outlaw, Hosea. I came to find out the truth. That's all." you muttered softly.

Hosea studied your face carefully, nodding. "And that's still your path. But being part of this camp... it's messy. Sometimes the line between surviving and becoming someone you don't recognize blurs quicker than you think."

"I just don't want to lose who I am." you look at your wipes.

"Then keep doing what you did today. Question it. Feel it. Talk about it. Because the moment you stop doing that? That's when you've lost something you don't get back." he reolied softly, almost fatherly.

You glanced at him and stared at him for a moment before averted your attention to where Arthur stood talking to John. Arthur glanced at you. You darted your attention back to Hosea.

"Arthur tried to talk Dutch through this. He believed I shouldn't go with him which was true but..." you played with your fingers. "I remembered what Dutch said before. The folks are gonna question how long I'll stay without doing anything he wants."

Hosea sighed. "Dutch always uses weakness as a weapon. I know about it because Arthur came to me first. Said it was wrong. That you weren't ready."

"he's not wrong" you replied.

"and yet you succeed and come back without a scratch" Hosea noted.

You are speechless. Eyes did not look at Hosea.

Hosea sighed. "Sometimes, we don't get to choose the moment we're tested. Only how we come through it."

You gave him a weak smile, eyes glossy but steady. You leaned forward and patted his arm.

"Thank you, Hosea. For treating me like I matter beyond my skills." you said, hand patting his arm gently.

Hosea smiles genuinely. "You're not just a mind to be used, Y/n. You're a soul worth protecting. Some of us still remember that."

You both sat in companionable silence for a moment, both glancing towards Arthur. His hat was low, his arms folded as John gave him a look that clearly meant

"you care about her."

"Poor boy's finally figured it out." Hosea muttered to himself lowly.

You glanced at Hosea thoughtfully. "figure what out?"

"Oh, nothing. Just a thought." Hosea smiled slyly.

The night was cool, and the trees surrounding the camp swayed with a gentle breeze. Most lanterns had been put out, the others barely flickering in the dark. But one small flame still glowed by the edge of the tents - You. You sat on a log near the dying fire, staring into the embers, as if trying to read them like pages in a book.

Arthur stood a few steps back, watching you quietly for a moment. He adjusted the strap of his satchel, boots crunching lightly over dirt and leaves.

"Can't sleep?"

You glanced at him and sighed. "It's hard to sleep with noisy thoughts"

"figure" he nodded.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Are you going to rob the train?"

Arthur nodded, he scratched the back of his neck. "yeah, Headin' out with John and the others. Won't be long"

You nodded faintly, staring into the fire. "I figured as much."

You both fell silent for a moment. Letting the sound of the firewood crackling be heard. Arthur stepped closer and sat down beside you. For a while, he said nothing. Neither of you did. The fire crackled, a coyote howled far off in the night. Then, finally-

Arthur cleared his throat. "listen, about early, this evening to specific.. Dutch shouldn't have dragged you into this. I tried to reason with him but he didn't want to listen. I'm sorry if you feel like you were forced into this"

You shook your head. glanced sideways at him, brows furrowed. "I agreed to it, Arthur. I wasn't forced"

Arthur stepped closer. "You agreed because you thought it was the only way to help... or to stay useful. Dutch plays people like that. Especially the ones with good hearts." he shook his head and sighed heavily as if he was the one holding this burden.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, but you didn't interrupt. You watched him, quietly, intently.

"I've known Dutch most of my life. He talks about freedom and loyalty and big ideas - but lately, it feels like he's just lookin' for ways to win, no matter the cost. I don't doubt him but... He seemed to go to fast lately." Arthur spoke lolly.

You stared at him." you're worried"

Arthur nodded faintly. "Yeah. 'Cause I've seen too many people follow Dutch off cliffs, thinkin' they're chasing the sunset."

You lowered your gaze, your expression thoughtful. Then you spoke, voice soft but certain. "I don't plan on following anyone blindly. I never have."

Arthur looked at you, and there was that flicker again - something between admiration and fear.

He nodded with understanding "Good. Just... don't let him use you. You're smart, Y/n. Smarter than most of us. Dutch sees that, and he'll twist it into something that fits his plans."

You stared at him for a moment. Digesting what he said inside you. "And what do you see in me, Arthur?" you muttered.

Arthur's breath caught just slightly. He looked away, jaw tensing. "Someone who deserves better than this life. Someone who doesn't need to prove herself to anybody."

You were quiet for a moment, then reached out - just gently, placing your hand over his resting on his knee.

"Come back safe. We'll talk more when you do." you muttered softly, hand patting his knee gently.

Arthur breath hitched at the contact but he was good at covering it. Instead, he dared himself to put his own hand on top of yours and stroke your hand gently.

"You got my word." he muttered sincerely before he stood slowly, gave you one last glance, then disappeared into the night to mount his horse and ride.

You sat still by the fire, your hand curled where he had been, eyes not on the embers now - but on the shadows he'd left behind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The night was thick with tension, the kind that coiled in your gut and stayed there. Arthur rode in near silence, flanked by John, Charles and Sean, their horses kicking up dust beneath the stars. The oil wagon - secured earlier that day - sat loaded near the tracks, right where it needed to be.

But Arthur's mind wasn't on the job.

It was back at camp. By the fire. On her face. her touch.

Y/n.

He could still hear her voice - measured but concerned - telling him to come back safely. Could still feel the weight of her hand resting gently on his. He gritted his teeth, trying to shake it off. But something about tonight didn't sit right.

Sean having noticed Arthur's quietness looked at him slyly. "Ye goin' quiet on us, Morgan? Ne'er thought I'd see the day."

Arthur glared at the red head leprechaun. "just focus" he said flatly.

Sean raised his hand as if surrendered. "nu uh, I'm just stating the obvious"

Arthur grumbled. "Are we ready?" he looked at John who had climbed onto the wagon.

John nodded. "Yeah, train's due through tonight."

Arthur nodded. "Alright then, it's on. Charles?" he looked at Charles who was securing what should be secured for the last time.

Charles nodded with certainty. "I'm ready."

Arthur nodded in approval. "Gentlemen. Let's go earn some money." he got on the wagon and took the reins and flicked the horse's rope to make the horse move.

Charles held the side wagon tightly. "Hey... all the horses untethered?"

John looked back, he saw their horse following behind. Hands holding the side wagon tightly. "think so"

Charles nodded. "Good, they should follow on behind us."

"You find a good spot, Wolf Man?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, follow the trail south west, there's a spot that's... remote, but should still give 'em enough time to spot the oil wagon." John replied, half loud.

"They see this blocking the tracks, they'll stop soon enough." Arthur added, with certainty

"Apparently, it picks up a new team of guards at the state line, so there shouldn't be much in the way of guns to deal with" John added in fact.

"I still can't believe that you and Miss Holmes got this oil wagon without a scratch on it" Charles suddenly opened his mouth.

Arthur hummed. "yeah, well, thanks to her with her skills"

"Wit'out her, this wagon might lose a tire or break down the moment we take 'er out fer a spin." Sean jokes.

Arthur grumbled. "Well, it didn't happen"

Sean chuckled, slapping his knee. "Aye, not sayin' it did! Just sayin' - if it did, I'd have blamed you, Morgan."

John smirked, adjusting his grip. "Think that's his default reaction, regardless of what happens."

Arthur shot them both a dry look. "You two got a death wish or somethin'?"

Charles only shook his head, although there was the hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth. "She really figured out how to time the guards, huh?"

Arthur exhaled, trying not to show how much that small praise affected him. He pulled at his gloves, eyes distant for a second before muttering. "she mentioned that the guards relive themselves and loose shale on the slope. If someone steps on it, it'll crunch loudly. And she was right." Arthur recalls what Y/n said.

John raised an eyebrow. "You listened to her?"

Arthur nodded, voice low but even. "She made sense."

There was a pause. For a brief second, the camp went quiet aside from the crackling fire and the soft creak of the wagon.

Sean whistled. "Well, now I'm really curious about what else Miss Holmes can do."

Arthur shot him a warning glance. "Don't start."

Sean, unbothered as ever, grinned. "Oh relax. I meant like... robbin' strategies. Calm yerself."

Charles leaned forward a bit. "She's not like the others. Quiet. Observant. Watches people. I think she notices more than she lets on."

"Yeah. I noticed." Arthur replied gruffly.

John tilted his head, watching Arthur a bit too closely. "Are you alright, Arthur?"

"I'm fine." Arthur replied, defensively.

Charles smiled faintly. "Just don't pretend you don't care, that's all."

Sean chuckled. "See, this is what I mean. I disappear for a couple of weeks and you cut me out of all the action."

"Just the action that requires a brain." John replied sarcastically.

Sean laughed "Oh, you're a funny feller, John Marston. From what folk say, you had your feet up the whole time playing sick, and fondling that new scar like you're gonna buy it breakfast in the morning."

John's tone started to lower. "Bear left here, towards Rhodes. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Stay close on this, wouldn't want you getting scratched by a squirrel or something, that could put you outta commission for the rest of the year." Sean said again.

"Why do you have to speak so much? It's... incessant." Charles said annoyed.

"'Cause I've still got some blood in my veins! You old bastards have forgotten how to live." Sean retorted.

John grumbled. "I blame you two for rescuing him." he muttered to Charles and Arthur.

"Far too much trouble for what we got out of it." Arthur snickered.

Sean laughed. "Yeah, it takes a whole army of bounty hunters to bring in Sean Macguire. And look at me now, in the gunner's seat Back in business, boys! You know my da always used to say-"

"Not the da, please!"

"No, no..."

"Not this again."

"Fine! Damn, you three... Sulky, Angry, Scar Face. A right barrel of laughs. So we block the tracks with the wagon then jump 'em? That's the plan?" Sean said.

"Pretty much. Charles, you deal with the engineer." Arthur responded.

"Here's good. Stop the wagon over the tracks. Remember, these are innocent folks. We handle this right, nobody needs to die here." John warned.

Soon they stopped on the railway track. The four men got off the wagon.

"Mr. Marston. Mr. Smith... Mr. Macguire... get over there. When she slows... board her." Arthur pointed towards a thicket next to the track. He then looked at the track in front of him.

Sean looked at Arthur. "And you?"

"I'm gonna make sure she slows down." Arthur said lowly.

"It's do or die, with you..." Sean put on his bandana over his face.

Arthur could feel the vibration on the track under his feet, indicating that the train had arrived and was getting closer. He looked at the boys.

"Get moving... here she comes..." he climbed on top of the oil wagon - wearing a bandana, he cocked his rifle.

The train approaches.

It's show time.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The fire burns low, casting soft orange light over the camp. Most of the gang is asleep. The sounds of the night are gentle - crickets, a distant coyote, the whisper of wind through the trees.

You sit on an overturned crate near the fire, a blanket around your shoulders. You stare into the flames, thoughtful, distant.

Dhani approaches, two cups of tea in hand. She hands one to you and quietly sits beside you.

"I see you can't sleep either" she murmured as she sipped her tea.

You sighed weakly. "just thinking"

"about them?"

You nodded. "The train should've passed by now. I keep hoping I'll hear the horses first. Arthur's horse has a loud gait."

Dhani smiled faintly. "Only you'd try to deduce someone's arrival by how their horse walks."

You smiled faintly. "I can't help it. It's how I stay sane." your voice heavy.

You both sipped in silence for a moment.

"Your brother... do you think his death really happened the way they said?" Dhani suddenly opened the story.

"no" you muttered quietly. "The officers who came to our Mansion... They said he died protecting a pregnant woman during a train ambush. Noble. Heroic. But too perfect. That kind of death... it's written to soothe the living."

"you think that's how he died?" Dhani replied.

"something sounds like there's a darker reality behind his death. I've been thinking that he didn't die heroically but... murdered" you concluded.

Dhani stayed quiet. She gestured for you to continue.

"The clue that I had was destroyed in the fire in my flat. Arthur said something that clicked with my thoughts, stating that whoever was after me had something to do with my brother and they weren't just after me but after what I did too. They deliberately burned my flat just to destroy the investigation and evidence I had so that the truth wouldn't be revealed" you leaned forward - eyebrows arched in focus. "That's why I wrote to Sherlock. " you sighed heavily.

Dhani raised an eyebrow. "your brother?"

"my third brother. He and I are pretty close considering we both worked together to solve cases in London. But if anyone can help me see the missing pieces... it's him." You brushed your cup with your thumb.

"did he reply yet?" Dhani asked.

You shook your head. "not yet... it might take a few weeks to get here judging by how much information he gathered plus how far London is from here across the sea"

Dhani patted your hand. She smiled reassuringly. "he'll write back"

You nodded. "I hope so. I'm tired of trying to outthink ghosts."

Then there was silence. You sighed heavily.

"Do you think Arthur's angry with me?"

Dhani turns her head slightly, surprised. She shook her head. "No. Not angry. Maybe frustrated. Maybe scared."

"Because I agreed to help Dutch?" you responded.

"Because you're not just anyone to him. That much is clear."

You look down, brushing your thumb over the rim of your cup.

"I didn't mean to cause problems." you murmured.

"You didn't. Dutch did. He's got a habit of wrapping smart people around his plans. And Arthur... he hates it when he can't protect someone." Dhani sipped her tea.

You don't respond. You just stare into the fire again, quiet, thoughtful.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The fire outside is just embers now. Inside the tent, You lies curled in a blanket on the ground beside Dhani's cot. You wide awake, your eyes fixed on the canvas above.

You try to sleep but your mind is too loud to think about what's coming. This is just stealing a wagon, let alone the level where you have to use violence and you're afraid it's going to go further.

[risingchaos]

CONTINGENCY PLAN

-

Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationship: Dick Grayson & Justice League

Characters: Dick Grayson, Clark Kent, Diana (Wonder Woman), Oliver Queen, Dinah Lance, Barry Allen, J’onn J’onzz (mentioned), Arthur Curry (mentioned)

Additional Tags: Dick Grayson is Batman, Bruce Wayne is not Batman, he’s dead, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Oliver Queen is So Done, Humor, No beta we die like Jason, Not angst or fluff but a secret third thing

Language: English

Words: 1,793

Chapters: 1/1

Summary: After Batman’s death, the League is at a loss on how to proceed. Fortunately, Batman had a plan for that. Unfortunately, he’s bad at letting his co-workers in on his plans.

-

Batman had contingency plans upon contingency plans upon contingency plans. He had safety nets and backups and hidden files. He had a thing in place for every possible scenario that could, would, might, or won’t happen, and he was prepared.

So when they finally found the folder ‘In Case of Death’, they were morbidly relieved.

They were less relieved however, when the only thing in the file was a document saying that a plan would have already gone in motion, and to just trust his plans.

The next twelve days following Batman’s death were some of the hardest in the League. Everyone had handled death before, the team had handled death before, but not this kind. Not this level of loss. One of their founding members, one of their most determined and gritty members, gone overnight. He was the major planner, the one with the ideas and the gadgets and the backups. The brain and reason when no one else was, and he was always willing to take the hit if it meant getting the job done.

He was a friend. He was Bruce, to the most trusted members. He had a rare smile he’d share and a deep laugh you could celebrate if you got it out of him. He was protective and almost motherly, always making sure everyone was okay. Almost always. He helped out and cared and teased. He was loved, and he loved them all back.

It hurt. It hurt everyone.

And most of them didn’t even know his name.

On the thirteenth day after Batman’s death, Oliver came into the building fuming. No mask, no uniform, in a smart suit like he had just come from work. He pushed past Barry and J’onn who tried to stop him and ask questions, and marched right up to the computer. At that point, other members in the common room had directed their attention to it, and were horrified as he opened an email from himself and drew up blurry images and half corrupted videos of Batman. Fighting. In Gotham. Yesterday. The man they had all watched die, breathing and fighting like nothing had happened. Whatever was under the cowl fought like Batman, moved like Batman, had the same gadgets and suit as Batman. On one of the videos, there was a small clip of audio, and it even sounded like Batman.

“It showed up two days ago. I just got news of it while looking through some cameras in the area. I shouldn’t have been able to, Batman always protected the cameras. We couldn’t access them if we tried, and we have tried. Whatever it is, we need to find it.”

Oliver turned, jaw clenched and fists by his sides, to the rest of the JLA.

Clark was pale, staring at the screen. He was listening, trying to find the familiar heartbeat again. Just in case. He didn’t find it.

Diana glanced around at her friends, worried for them specifically.

Dinah’s eyes were set, hard and mad as she watched Oliver. They needed to fix it.

Arthur, contrary to everyone else, just looked defeated. His arms crossed, shoulders sagged, tire written across his face.

Barry shifted back and forth on his feet. He wanted to speed off, to find this guy, to either beat the shit out of him or bring him back for the others to beat the shit out of.

J’onn’s face was set in a line, cool and collected. Only the slight furrow of his brow gave away his feelings.

“We have to go to Gotham.” Clark spoke up, glancing around at his friends. “If he’s the plan Batman talked about, he should know about us. If he’s not, we need to stop him. Can you still access cameras?”

He shook his head, working his jaw a little before speaking. “No. After I pulled these, I tried to find more but it locked me out. Whatever this is wanted me to see, and probably wanted me to show you.”

The group all exchanged looks, glancing between each other. Diana spoke next.

“Let’s go to Gotham.”

______

Barry arrived first. He was supposed to be a lookout, a warning, but when he arrived at the regular place Batman used to meet the League, whoever was parading around as Batman was already waiting. In person he could see the differences between Batman and this imposter. The man in front of him was tanner in complexion, a different chin. Different scowl. He wasn’t as tanky as Bruce had been, more on the leaner side. The armor added bulk the man didn’t have, but it fit like it was made for him. However, to someone who didn’t spend at least one day a week with him for years, who didn’t watch Batman die, this man could pass off as Batman without a problem.

They both stared at each other, Barry’s angry blue eyes staring into the emotionless white covering on the cowl. Before Barry could even open his mouth to comment, to yell or taunt or anything, the imposter raised his hand in faux placating and spoke in a near perfect imitation of Batman’s gruff voice. “Wait for the others. I’ll explain then.”

Within a few minutes of tense silence, before Barry lost it and just started asking questions, the rest of the League arrived. Clark’s eyes widened once he saw the imposter, picking up the heartbeat inside. He was too distracted and lightly horrified by the realization to pick up on his friend’s movement. On Oliver’s movement.

The archer ran up to the imposter the moment he saw him, but no one really knew what his plan was. Or got to see. He was on the ground with a fluid movement from the imposter within seconds. Oliver went from in front of “Batman”, moving at near inhuman speeds, to thrown on to the grimy Gotham floor. “Batman” was on him in an instant, pinning him to the asphalt. One hand and a knee restricted Oliver’s arms, the other hand steading them on the ground and using the weight of his other leg and body to keep the rest of Oliver in line.

“Calm do-“

“Who are you?? What are you?? What did you-“

“Take a br-“

“You fucking-“

“Arrow-“

“Coward!”

“Oliver!”

The imposter hissed the archer’s name, low enough that only the man below him and those with superhearing could understand. It stilled the man in green and drew a collective breath from those who heard, Oliver’s chest heaving and eyes wide behind his domino mask. Shit.

“If I let you go, will you attack me again, or will you let me explain before trying to kill me again?” The gruff tone was back. When Oliver didn’t respond instantly, the imposter tightened his hold and pressed his knee a little harder into Oliver’s arm. That got a gasped ‘fine’ and “Batman” got off of him.

He turned to everyone else, giving a sweeping glare (they somehow knew) as Oliver got up and grumbled to himself about ‘damn bats’.

“Zeta back to the Hall. I’ll meet you there and explain.” He paused, deciding on if to give any kind of explanation. “Too many ears.” He gestured around vaguely before doing the incredibly bat-like thing of zipping away and disappearing before anyone could ask a question.

______

As expected, “Batman” was already waiting for them when they got back. He stood by the computer, tapping away. He was pulling up some kind of files from a flash drive, not even glancing over when the Zeta announced them. Instead, he got right into it.

“I’m the contingency plan Batman mentioned in his ‘In Case of Death’ folder. Of course he didn’t specify what, because why would he..” The man trailed off, sighing as he turned to the rest of the League. The gruff imitation was gone, replaced by an upbeat Gothamite accent and a lighter tone. “When we got the news he had- died, we gave ourselves some time to grieve before I put on the suit. It’s not easy losing a family member, as I’m sure you’ve all felt the last week and a half. Almost two weeks.”

He finally turned to face everyone, checking all their faces before continuing on. He took a small breather, reached up, and pulled down the cowl. The domino underneath remained firmly planted on his face, but the few who knew him drew in a sharp breath.

“I’m Nightwing. Batman’s.. Son. I was the first Robin, if any of you remember me like that.”

He gave a tentative smile and little jazz hands, as if to say ‘surprise’.

“Jesus Christ.”

Oliver shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Nightwing? Really? I got my ass pinned by you?”

Dick just gave a wide smile back, very pleased with himself. “I learned it from Batman. And Arsenal. Both liked making sure I could pin someone bigger than me. The armor helped, adds weight.” He shrugged his shoulders to show. “A lot bulkier than I’m used to, but this was the plan. In Case of Death. When his vitals went down, A alerted me. The next confirmation came from you guys opening the folder.” He pointed a thumb back at the screen. “I can show you guys proof this really was the plan, or you can just believe me. I’m not here to take Batman’s spot. I’ve denied being in the League before, I’ve got too much on my plate with Blüdhaven, my day job, my personal life, and now Gotham and Batman and all the shit with my family. I’m dealing with the loss of him in our lives, but we can’t let Gotham underground know Batman’s-, dead.”

Dick’s facade didn’t drop, not truly, but the smile dimmed a little. It would seem natural to anyone else, just the way a smile ran its course, if not for the fact that this group was trained to find things like that.

“I’m doing rounds as Batman back in Gotham. Give me a call if you guys have a League thing, need Batman there. Promise I can be useful.” He patted the console twice, reached back to pull on the cowl, and hesitated. His smile fixed itself, more cheeky this time.

“I am one hell of a tactician. My dad says so.”

He fixed the cowl back on, dropping the smile properly once he did. It was a little unnerving, how fast the switch happened.

The League watched as Batman, Nightwing, exited the room and soon enough they heard the Zeta whir to life. Nobody spoke for a minute, just letting the information sink in.

Barry spoke first.

“Nightwing, huh?”

He turned, looking at the door they had just watched the man leave through.

“I’ve heard good things.”

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(3)

Meeting Your Mark

Robert Fischer x reader

description - Y/n knows the most dangerous move you can make is to fall in love with your mark.

word count - 1.7k

warnings - mentions of death, the sharpness of cillians cheekbones, how piercing his blue eyes are.

a/n - okay so I promise the Robert stuff is coming! The next chapter will be an important one, this was just a filler pretty much. Also I loved writing about y/n and Ariadne cause I felt they would both relish in the other when surrounded by men - specifically y/n.

a/n 2 - We finally have Tom Hardy in this chapter!!

Previous Part Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I sat on the window ledge, clutching my coffee like a lifeline. It tethered me back to reality. I got out the picture from my jean pocket. I brushed my fingers over the fake braces and then found them stroking the faces of my siblings. Their gleeful smiles frozen in time.

The door creaked open, announcing Arthur’s entrance. I hopped to it and wiped away the tears that had escaped. All morning my mind had been plagued with visions of a man. I wasn’t even dreaming and yet he still remained. He’d nested within my brain, and he wasn’t leaving any time soon. But no matter how much I strained trying to make out the face, I was at a loss. It was almost like I couldn’t create the face because he had already been made. But I was yet to meet him. With how much closer I’d been getting to his figure with each time asleep, I felt our meet was imminent.

“You sleep, okay?”

“Like a log.” Arthur’s eyes drifted to the case I had hurriedly packed up.

“You went under?”

“No.” I lied. But he didn’t breach the topic any further as we were both stopped by Ariadne clearing her throat.

We turned around.

“Cobb said you’d be back.” Arthur remarks.

“Yeah, well, I tried to not come but- “

“There’s nothing quite like it.” I finished for her. She smiled softly at me.

“It’s just—pure creation.” She held her gaze with me. There was a brief silence between us three, waiting for someone to continue the discussion.

“Let’s look at some paradoxical architecture.” Arthur broke the silence and led us both to 3 deck chairs he’d laid out. We lay down and hooked ourselves up. Within seconds we were away.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

We found ourselves in a structured glass office building. Arthur winked at me. It was the first building I’d ever created, and he’d saved it all these years. This is where I’d honed my own paradoxical skills. He led the two of us up a staircase.

“You’re gonna have to master a few tricks, if you’re gonna build three complete dream levels.”

“Excuse me,” I said as we passed a woman who had dropped her files.

“Why three?” She asked.

“Successful inception depends on planting the idea deep enough that the genesis of the idea becomes too foggy for the subject. 3 levels deep, 3 dream levels.”

“Anyways, what kind of tricks do I need?’

“In a dream you can cheat architecture into impossible shapes that lets you create closed loops.” We had been walking the staircase in a circle now, proving one of my favourite closed loops. “Like the Penrose steps.”

“Aka, the infinite staircase.” We passed the woman with the dropped files once again. “See.”

Ariadne suddenly took stock of her surroundings and saw the end of the staircase culminate in a sharp drop.

“Paradox.” We left the staircase and began to walk around the office building so Arthur could explain further. “So, a closed loop like that allows us to disguise the boundaries of the dream.”

“But how big do these levels have to be?”

“Well, it could be anything from the floor of a building to an entire city. But they have to be complicated enough so that we can hide from the projections.”

“A maze.”

“Right, a maze.”

“And the better the maze- “

“The longer we have before the projections catch us.” I smirked at how quickly Ariadne had grasped the concept. She truly put my dad to shame. And having her with us meant I no longer had to work with incompetent male architects. This girl was the real deal.

“Exactly.”

“Well, my subconscious seems polite enough.”

Arthur and I chuckled. “Just wait, they’ll turn ugly.” I answered. “No one likes to feel someone messing around in their mind.”

“Cobb can’t build anymore, can he?” Ariadne questioned. I wanted to argue but she was right. He thought about mum too much where his mind could never be clean enough to build anew.

“Well, I don’t know if he can’t, but he won’t. He thinks it’s safer if he doesn’t know the layout.”

“Why?”

“He won’t tell us.” I lowered my head, Dad might not have told me why, but he told me enough.

“But I think it’s Mal.”

“Yeah, no offence but your mum was a piece of work.” She laughed, gesturing to me. “What does his ex-wife have to do with it.”

“Mal’s not his ex.”

“They’re still together?”

“No,” I spoke up. “She died. What you see in there is just his projection of her.”

Her eyes softened when they looked at me. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“What was she like in real life?”

“She was lovely.” I smiled thinking back in my memories.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Ariadne and I sat talking with our coffees and croissants. Arthur had left to get some supplies, so we decided to have a rest. We’d been drawing and planning all morning, so a break was well earned.

“You have an architecture degree?”

“No, I never got to finish it.”

“Why?”

“My dad needed me here. So, I left.”

“Oh.” She sensed the underlying sadness so left the topic. “But your drawings are amazing, why can’t you build.”

“Oh, I don’t build anymore.” I laughed brushing off her statement.

“Does it have something to do with your mom?”

“We all have our own demons, I guess. And it’s terrifying when they get opened up to the world.”

“She’s still your mom.”

“No, she died. That person in his head, that’s not her.”

“Seems you have a better grasp on that then he does.”

“I guess.” I rose, uncomfortable with the conversation, and she took my tone as her cue to end the conversation.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Dad had arrived back from Mombasa. When he entered with Eames I immediately ran into his awaiting arms.

“My favourite little troublemaker! How’re you doing darling?”

“So much better now you’re here!” I cheekily winked at him.

“Oh, I can imagine working with Arthur is the most exciting thing imaginable!” Eames sarcastically said.

“Nice to see you too, Eames.” Arthur huffed as he walked away from us two.

“Don’t insult him or he’ll start going over safety procedures again!”

We both laughed and finished with another hug.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I sit with Eames and Cobb out on the roof. Saito flings a file towards the three of us and it opens out onto the table.

“Robert Fischer. Heir to the Fischer Morrow Energy Conglomerate.” Dad looks at the file and then hands it to me.

My breath catches in my throat as my eyes meet his steely blues. The rest of the world became water that flooded my ears with white noise. I couldn’t grasp onto any sound in the world apart from my beating heart. My finger raised to stroke the picture. He stood there, dressed to the nines. His hair perfectly styled, and his body adorned in riches. But his eyes, as piercing as they were, held a sadness. He was lost. I could feel it through the ink.

“What’s your problem with this Mr Fischer?” I snapped up but failed to notice that my daze had been caught.

“That’s not your concern.” Saito’s tone cut through the air. I scoffed at his brazen attitude.

“Mr Saito, this is not your typical corporate espionage. You asked me for inception, I hope you understand the gravity of that request.”

I couldn’t stand it. This may have been purely business and transactional, but something shifted. This couldn’t be purely business with our skills involved. I decided to speak up.

“The seed we plant in this man’s mind will grow into an idea. This idea will come to define him. It may come to change, well, everything about him. This man is on a course of fate and. We. Will. Alter. It.”

Saito took a moment, considering my words. He relented to my warning.

“We’re the last company standing between them, and total energy dominance and we can no longer compete. Soon they’ll control the energy supply of over half the world. In effect, they become a new superpower.” He pounds the table. “The world needs Robert Fischer to change his mind.”

“And that’s where we come in.” Eames perks up to give his two cents. “How is Robert Fischer’s relationship with his father?”

“Rumour is the relationship is quite complicated.” This tugged at my heart for some reason. My eyes drifted to my own father.

“Well, we can’t work based solely on rumour, can we?”

Eames turned his file around the show us a picture of an obviously esteemed individual.

“Can you get me access to this man? Browning, Fischer seniors right hand man,”

I read my own file. “And Fischer juniors godfather.” I finished.

“It should be possible, if you can get the right references.” I chuckled at how simple this request was for Eames.

“References are something of a speciality for me, Mr Saito.” Eames cheekily stated.

“Then it is done.” All three of us got up.

But I felt changed and Eames noticed my subtle slump.

“I saw how you reacted to the picture.”

“What? He has nice—cheekbones? And blue eyes.” I stumbled through my unsure answer.

“Don’t worry, I’m not your dad.” He laughs at my bad attempt at lying. “How do you fancy a quick internship at Fischer’s house.” He raised his eyebrows, inviting me into another mischievous mission. I smirked and happily agreed to his scheme.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

On the other side of the roof, Saito, who had been looking at y/n intently throughout the meeting, stopped Cobb before he left.

“Your daughter. She is committed to this mission?”

“I don’t doubt my teammates.”

“What about your family?” He probed. Cobb became silent. “I saw her demeanour when she saw that picture. I’d hate to see your one chance disappear because of your daughters schoolgirl crush. Perhaps she is not as reliable as you think?”

Cobb halted his movements and considered Saito’s words as the man left the roof. He looked towards y/n who still had the file open in her hands. In that moment, he saw his daughter for who she truly was, a child without a childhood.

Would she be that impulsive?

Would she be that stupid?

Would she risk it all for him?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Yes. Yes I would risk it all for Cillian Murphy too.

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994

[cursedreverie1945]

I tend not to do a whole lot with the high ranking or well known nazis, except Heydrich.

However, I figured I would do Ernst Kaltenbrunner because I don't see a whole lot of him on Tumblr.

Kaltenbrunner, was a coward and a dedicated nazi. I also believe he wasn't the brightest of bulbs.

Anyway, enough of that. Let's get on to this bag.

Ernst Kaltenbrunner was an Austrian, high-ranking SS official during the Nazi era, and major perpetrator of the Holocaust. After the assassination of Reinhard Heydrich in 1942, and a brief period under Heinrich Himmler, Kaltenbrunner was the third Chief of the Reich Security Main Office (RSHA), which included the offices of Gestapo, Kripo and SD, from January 1943 until the end of World War II in Europe.

Kaltenbrunner joined the Nazi Party in 1930 and the SS in 1931, and by 1935 he was considered a leader of the Austrian SS. In 1938, he assisted in the Anschluss and was given command of the SS and police force in Austria. In January 1943, Kaltenbrunner was appointed chief of the RSHA, succeeding Reinhard Heydrich, who was assassinated in May 1942.

A committed antisemite, Kaltenbrunner played a pivotal role in orchestrating the Holocaust and Nazi genocide intensified under his leadership. He oversaw the coordination of security and law enforcement agencies involved in widespread extermination, the suppression of resistance movements in occupied territories, extensive arrests, deportations, and executions. He was the highest-ranking member of the SS to face trial (Himmler having died of suicide in May 1945) at the Nuremberg trials, where he was found guilty of war crimes and crimes against humanity. Kaltenbrunner was sentenced to death, and was executed by hanging on 16 October 1946.

It was said that even Himmler feared him, as Kaltenbrunner was an intimidating figure with 1.94m (6'4½") in height, facial scars, and volatile temper. Kaltenbrunner was also a longtime friend of Otto Skorzeny and recommended him for many secret missions, allowing Skorzeny to become one of Hitler's favourite agents.

Kaltenbrunner also allegedly headed Operation Long Jump, an alleged plan to assassinate Stalin, Churchill, and Roosevelt in Tehran in 1943.

However, what made him more interesting was after WWII.

After a standoff and being arrested by US troops, Kaltenbrunner claimed to be a doctor and offered a false name. However, upon their arrival back to town his last mistress, Countess Gisela von Westarp, and the wife (Iris) of his adjutant Arthur Scheidler chanced to spot the men being led away; the ladies called out to both men and embraced them. This action resulted in their identification and arrest by U.S. troops. Oops?

During the initial stages of the Nuremberg trials, Kaltenbrunner was absent because of two episodes of subarachnoid hemorrhage, which required several weeks of recovery time. After his health improved, the tribunal denied his request for pardon.

When he was released from a military hospital he pleaded not guilty to the charges of the indictment against him. Kaltenbrunner said all decrees and legal documents that bore his signature were "rubber-stamped" and filed by his adjutant(s). He also said Gestapo Chief Heinrich Müller had illegally affixed his signature to numerous documents in question.

I mentioned he was a coward, right? OK, good.

Kaltenbrunner argued in his defence that his position as RSHA chief existed only theoretically and said he was only active in matters of espionage and intelligence. He maintained that Himmler, as his superior, was the person culpable for the atrocities committed during his tenure as chief of the RSHA.

Kaltenbrunner also asserted that he had no knowledge of the Final Solution before 1943 and went on to claim that he protested against the ill-treatment of the Jews to Himmler and Hitler. Further denials from Kaltenbrunner included statements that he knew nothing of the Commissar Order and that he never visited Mauthausen concentration camp, despite documentation of his visit. At one point, Kaltenbrunner went so far as to avow that he was responsible for bringing the Final Solution to an end. In response to his denials, people in the courtroom laughed.

There are pictures of him at one or more of the camps, for the record.

Kaltenbrunner was executed on 16 October 1946, around 1:15 am, in Nuremberg. His body, like those of the other nine executed men and that of Hermann Göring, was cremated at the Eastern Cemetery in Munich and the ashes were scattered in a tributary of the River Isa.

There are a few changing stories about the man, such as the facial scars. I've seen it reported as scars from mensur fencing and others saying it was from a car accident. There is also the combination of the two. Also, that he said it was from fencing but that was a lie and they were from a car accident. Who knows. Like with most history from the 20th century and earlier, there is always a certain part that is somewhat suspect.

You can always tell how committed a person is to their "religion" by how well they stand up for it in the face of defeat. Cowards.

Pictured left Kaltenbrunner before Nuremberg and the right is during the Nuremberg trials. Link below the pics is in English and it's part of Kaltenbrunner's interrogation.

[electric-guillotines]

⚡ Tears of Empire City ⚡ CH2 (5.2K)

Wanda Maximoff x F!OC

Rating: M Things of Note: Lagos incident never happens, everyone is some flavour of queer, the inherent body horror of a healing factor, Steve and Nat being bros, Wanda being confident while OC is a flustered dork, cool lightning powers

=====AO3 LINK=====

“Kassidy MacGrath, 25, born in Seattle to parents Silvia and Ronan MacGrath. One sibling, a 20 year old brother called Arthur. The family moved to Pittsburgh when MacGrath was 14 for a lucrative job offer.”

The family picture felt off somehow and it took Wanda a moment to realise what was wrong about it because it was otherwise completely innocuous. Everyone was in their Sunday best, smiling brightly for the camera, Ronan and Silvia standing in the middle, Silvia's gloved hands resting on the shoulders of Arthur, sitting in front of her wearing a suit like his father—the boy looked no older than 13. Then there was Kassidy, standing to her mother's right, wearing a modest green dress to match her mother, her eyes completely untouched by the smile on her face.

Something at the back of her mind said it wasn't just the surliness of a teenager who didn't want to be there, but with no way to investigate that Wanda let it go unremarked, instead listening carefully as Hill continued. “MacGrath was a promising student, could've gotten into some top universities with a GPA of 4.0 but she stayed in Pittsburgh studying physics with her stated goal being theoretical and experimental physics.”

“So she's disciplined, intelligent, and isn't afraid of a challenge but didn't get far from the looks of it,” Natasha said, scrutinizing the girl's academic record from her corner of the table. “What happened?”

Hill nodded from the vid-call. “About a year into her studies, MacGrath dropped out and skipped town overnight. She's been working as a bike courier in Empire City since then. No information on why, professors said she was doing great.”

“Have we had contact with the parents?” Steve asked, arms crossed. His brow was furrowed the way it often was when he was preparing to be disappointed by someone.

Hill shook her head. “Yes, but they didn't want to talk about her. They just called her a disgrace to the family and hung up.”

Tapping through a few files, Hill brought up multiple camera feeds overlooking a public square. It was a large open space in a half circle, elevated above the roads, with glassy pavilions on each side, benches bracketed by lampposts and raised flower beds, and picnic tables for groups. A towering sculpture dominated the centre of the square, held aloft on arched pillars, its back to the flat edge of the space. The statue was that of a humanoid figure, under-lit metal arches coiling up to its waist like a double helix, arms held parallel to the chest and hands almost linked but just out of reach.

Tangled on those arms was an army green parachute from which a large aid package dangled, well out of reach from the civilians gathered below.

Some people were clearly trying to see if they could climb up the base of the statue, but none of them got very far.

Hill went on to explain, “a hostile mercenary group called the Legionnaires has taken over the Neon since the blast. We’re still following leads on them but at the same time, Warren Hill fell under the control of a different group calling themselves the Reapers, and the Historic is now being patrolled by soldiers with gas masks and robotic drones. No one has made any demands and the groups don’t seem to be fighting each other for territory but they’ve cut the districts off from each other by raising all the drawbridges and closing roads. Two days ago, MacGrath was spotted in an altercation with the Legionnaires.”

The camera in focus showed two figures approaching the crowd. One was a fat man of average height wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses, gesturing with no small amount of exasperation at the parachute situation, and the other was slightly taller, slimmer, with shoulder length dark hair and cargos: Kassidy.

The man gestured some more, seeming to ask her a question, and she shrugged, walking towards the statue without him.

With a running start, Kassidy scrambled up the base of the statue, pulling herself up with the practiced ease of someone who spent a lot of time climbing things they weren’t supposed to. Either she wasn’t intimidated by the twenty foot drop just climbing the base would put her at risk of, or she cared more about releasing the aid than she did the harm it could cause her.

While she climbed, the man made sure to clear people away from the immediate area so the package wouldn’t drop on anyone.

Scaling the statue itself was a matter of balance and precision, something Kassidy didn’t lack as she hurried up the metal arches like she was walking a tightrope. When the angle became too steep she used her hands one over the other, finally straightening when she was level with the crate.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, perhaps unsure how to get it free, before she reached out a hand.

Bright blue electricity jumped from her fingertips, instantly burning the parachute cords. The crate dropped, hitting the statue base on the way down and breaking open, spilling relief packages everywhere, but it was down and the civilians scrambled to get what they could.

Hill commented, “twelve days after being dead centre of the blast. I’d say she’s looking pretty mobile, but that isn’t all.”

[Continue Reading on AO3]