#the man from MI5

[hitchell-mope]

Poor old Parker.

[pseudowho]

Kingsman!AU: Galahad/Nanami Kento

You become the latest Kingsman...and the man who sponsored you is so much more than the gentleman he presents himself as.

Warnings: Best if you've seen the Kingsman films! 18+, MDNI, soft!Dom Nanami, SecretAgent!AU

A little series of smutty drabbles...also planned, Higuruma, perhaps others, for now.

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It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the strangest job interview you had ever had.

Handcuffed, in an East London Police interview room, after assaulting five (...six? Seven?) police officers at an anti-government protest, you were scruffy but unharmed. The blood on your hands was not your own. There was a high flush on your cheeks, ripped clothes casting an indifferent, messy disdain to the situation you found yourself in.

There was a knock at the door, three brisk taps. You did not answer-- a pause. Three further raps at the door.

"...come in?" You asked. The door opened a crack. No further advancement.

"...may I?" A voice, velvet smooth and low, asking your permission.

"I...dont see why it would be my choice," you offered, stretching your hands against the cold metal of your handcuffs.

The door opened slowly, filled by a broad, tall man, blond and outstandingly handsome, with neither a hair nor thread out of place in his Savile Row suit. Over his arm rested a neatly folded overcoat, and a glossy-handled men's umbrella. His hat never graced his head indoors, and was, as such, clasped in his hand. He raised one fine eyebrow at you, his expression unreadable.

"It would be ill-mannered of me to consider it anyone's choice other than yours," he offered coolly, sitting opposite you, "considering you are the only occupant of the room." A moment of silence, again, as you regarded each other.

"Are you...my lawyer?" The man's nostrils flared slightly in suppressed mirth.

"Good heavens, no. No, I have come with a job opportunity." You blinked, certain you had heard wrong, while he continued, "I saw your performance, on my way to work, and I must say I was rather impressed. Seven officers, in under a minute. All incapacitated. Outstanding. And you're untrained, too. And, you did so well at University-- first class honours, correct?"

"Who the hell are you?" You spat, bristling under the man's casual knowledge of your life. The station's assistant looked awkwardly between the two of you as he dropped off two chipped police-issue teacups and saucers of anemic-looking tea. The blond man took the cup and saucer so gracefully, considering the enormity of his hands.

"Ah...quite right. I haven't introduced myself. Nanami Kento-- it's a pleasure to meet you."

You faltered again under his icy regard. Nanami took a sip of his tea. He paused, looking down at it with a hint of despair, before placing it down and delicately clearing his throat.

"...delicious," he lied.

"Are you...MI5?" A brief smile from Nanami, in response. He reached for something in his pocket.

"No," he responded, clipped, "we are not. But, we are in service to King and Country, and we are the sort of agency who punch up, instead of down. And...we find ourselves one member short."

Nanami slipped a thick, embossed coin over the desk to you; a circle, with a sideways "K". Nanami stood up, abruptly, inclining his head to you.

"All charges against you have been dropped. Your interview will commence, at..." Nanami looked at his watch, "...five o'clock this afternoon, should you wish to accept. If you press that coin for five seconds, my associate should send you the details."

You sat, stunned into silence, with the coin in your hands. Nanami Kento looked to you with twinkling eyes, at the door. You felt the twist of fate in your belly, and the pull as Nanami Kento walked it away with him.

"Good day to you. The pleasure was all mine."

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It had taken you over an hour to walk from Whitechapel to the Savile Row address. As bedraggled as you were, you passed through the bustling gentry and street performers of Covent Garden, skirting past the Savoy...before reaching the hushed, golden backlit glow of an exquisite Tailors shop. Letters were embossed upon the windowpane, glimmering gold on a backdrop of finery.

Kingsman.

A tinkling bell; an incongruous stranger, entering an unfamiliar domain. A familiar stranger, strong and smiling, upon the couch. Your breath hitched before you spoke.

"...you're here." Nanami folded his newspaper, standing up, before welcoming you to a changing room, that was not a changing room.

"You're late," he whispered against your ear, as the ground under London sank beneath your feet.

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"...that's mad." You stood in front of a glass window, somewhere far beneath Surrey, gazing in wonderment upon an aircraft hangar full of billions of pounds worth of mercenary equipment. Nanami chuckled beside you. You missed the almost fond sideways glance he passed you.

"I thought the same," he hummed, "when I was brought here, for the first time. I thought someone was playing some tremendous joke, for all the world but me." You were silent, dry-mouthed and swallowing.

"Tell me something..." you insisted, your palm pressed flat against the glass.

"...anything," Nanami reassured, soft and sincere.

"If I pass this-- this test," you whispered, turning to him, "will I get to work with you?"

Nanami smiled, leaning upon the handle of his umbrella, one leg crossed upon the tip of his toes behind the other.

"I'm counting on it."

Another man, tall and lithe, with inky black hair and a hooked nose, arrived with a clipboard. He offered you both a lopsided smile-- "Galahad-- good to see you, my friend"-- white sleeves rolled up against a tailored waistcoat--

-- a rich, Scottish brogue--

"...are you ready to begin?"

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Not only had you passed these months and months of bizarre, deadly tests...you had excelled.

Nanami had remained, always, at arms' length...a distant advisor. An odd, gentle promise. He could not offer any tangible advice, and you could see him itching to, at points.

It was down to the final two; you, and some Cambridge yuppy who could trace his family lineage back to the Battle of Hastings.

You stepped through the dormitories, late at night before the final test, your German Shepherd bounding ahead to sit diligently at the foot of your bed.

You felt a strong arm loop around your waist, and a hand over your mouth. A familiar cologne that made your stomach clench. You stood, pressed against his clipped, firm body, tucked into a camera's blindspot.

"Listen to me," he hissed in your ear, "Do you trust me?"

You nodded, not hesitating for a moment. Nanami's belly flipped to feel your hot little breaths around his hand.

"Good...shoot the fucking dog." You squeaked, trying to turn to him. He pinned you flush against the wall. His chest rumbled against your back.

"Trust me. Shoot the dog."

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You shot first, without a moment of hesitation. Your opponent returned to Cambridge. You became a Kingsman. Both dogs survived the trial.

The hamper that Galahad, your new partner, sent to your home, was nothing short of the finest luxury.

"To my Very Best Bet", read the lovingly annotated card. You brushed it against your lips, wishing it was his fingers instead.

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The wallet was a supple brown leather, smooth and warm. You knew it belonged to Galahad, from the faint smoky cologne that lingered upon its skin. Merlin gave you Galahad's address. You missed the knowing smile Merlin also gave you.

Your stomach flipped in your belly, all the way through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. You passed beneath trees hundreds of years older than the establishment for which you now worked, treading upon the footsteps of Kings and Queens.

The first fresh flakes of snow kissed upon your lips, by the time you turned to the towering white grandeur of Kensington, very much not where you were from. You were freezing, your little hands clenched in your pockets, but hot with anticipation.

Reaching a fine, tall townhouse, all Georgian architectural triumph, you pushed through the black metal gate, rising up white stone steps. You hesitated only briefly before tapping the door, heavy, and gilded forest green.

"--just a minute-- please excuse me--...oh. Hello."

Galahad stood at the door, as...relaxed as you had ever seen him. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned to his chest, and his waistcoat hung similarly open, with tie tails trailing down his chest. With his sleeves rolled up, and a pinstriped apron tied round his waist, you swore you almost saw him blush.

"...to what do I owe the pleasure?" He breathed out, finally. The apples of your cheeks, pink with the cold, dimpled under your smile. You reached out to Galahad, his wallet clasped in your hand.

"You forgot something," you offered. His hand reached out immediately, a goodness, thank you, you shouldn't have upon his lips, before your cold little fingers grasped under his own.

"You are miles from home," he rumbled, chastising, "and you are freezing cold." You tipped on your heels on the doorstep, placating him with a finger to your lips, and a glint in your eye. You moved to go down the steps, but your fingers remained clasped in his.

"Where are my manners? You should come in...of course."

"Galahad, don't feel oblig--"

"Kento, please," he ushered you inside, a hand ghosting over the small of your back, "if we're going to share dinner, we should not pretend to be strangers."

Kento's house bore all the opulent gloss of its noble history, with fine black and white checkered tile flooring, and twisting dark oak bannisters carrying the high staircase away from you. A receiving room beside you, bigger than your whole home, bloomed beneath the sultry flicker of a fire, the only source of light in the room. The kitchen lights spilled inwards, a herby bourginon aroma drawing you in.

You slipped your coat off your shoulders, and blushed, as Kento stood behind you to receive it. His heart pounded under the effort of containing his thrill to have you in his home. The thought of being alone with him, like this, had occupied your mind at night, for so many months.

"Sit, please," Kento insisted, heading to his drinks cabinet. Two slim, hazel eyes darted to you in question; "...can I tempt you?"

You settled on the sofa, antique, and likely much older than you; "Ah...wine?" Kento smiled, heading over to you with a bottle in his grasp, and two slim-necked glasses between his fingers.

You shared the bottle-- dinner was forgotten, cooking slowly on the back burner. You felt yourself becoming supple, warmed by the fire, the wine and the company. Within just a few hours, you and Kento laughed together, both liquor-dishevelled, hands brushing forearms on the back of the sofa. His calloused fingertips were electric against the inside of your wrist.

"You really were, you know," Kento hummed, placing down his unfinished glass of wine, "my best bet. The best gamble I...I ever made." You didn't know how you had ended up drawn so closely to him. Your legs tangled in his, head radiating from his thighs into yours. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling you gently, insistently, closer to him.

"I don't normally do this," Kento bargained with himself, whispering against you, his tongue swiping out to dampen your plush lips, "it isn't very-- I really shouldn't, I-- dinner first, at least--" You couldn't help but drown under him, silent in the pools of his dilated pupils as he pressed you to lay back on the sofa, climbing over you, and trapping you beneath him.

"...can I tell you a secret?" Kento murmured against your neck, melting you under his lips and tongue. His hand moved down to undo the buttons of your silk blouse. You nodded, feeling him shiver as you did the same to his shirt.

"...I left my wallet behind on purpose," he rumbled, predatory. The tension snapped. His lips crashed to yours, with Kento groaning into your mouth, tongue trembling against yours. Ripping at the buttons of your blouse, his gentlemanly self-restraint was all but abandoned.

Stripping you, freeing your breasts with bitten-back growls and murmurs, Kento rolled you onto the Persian rug in front of the fire, crowding over you and taking one breast between his lips, licking your nipple into his mouth as his enormous hand pawed at the other.

"--beautiful...beautiful, you know that? Always thought...if you hadn't made it in...I'd have brought you home anyway..."

"Ken--Kento, I--" You broke off into breathy, high moans as Kento's hand slipped down, clutching at your pussy beneath your skirt. His hand scraped the lace edges of your stockings, his breaths frantic and panting with hurry.

"Say my name...again," he panted, strong fingers cupping your sex, moving to massage you, desperate need radiating through his hand. Kento pressed hard enough to massage your clit through the lips of your pussy, you mewled, squirming under him as he growled, "Again. Say my name."

"Kento," you squeaked. Your voice seemed to make Kento frantic, and he pulled off your skirt, your stockings, your underwear, until you were suddenly, blissfully bare beneath him. He knelt, still fully clothed in front of the firelight. His barrelled chest rose and fell, a high blush across his sharp cheekbones.

"This isn't...how a gentleman behaves," you gasped, one arm draped over your eyes. You heard Kento chuckle, cracking his knuckles above your prone, trembling curves. You heard the wolfish grin in his voice.

"Oh yes it fucking is."

One of his hands draped between your breasts, running down your chest and belly, to graze fingertips over your mound. His eyes flicked up to yours again, dark, hungry and questioning. You floated, somewhere both above and beneath him.

"Anything...anything you want," you keened, "whatever you want." Something tightened in Kento's jaw. His fingers trailed lower, grazing your plush lips again, dipping beneath to stroke up and down the slick length between your entrance and clit.

"...what a dangerous thing to say, to a man like me...I don't get treats like you often." Kento pressed two fingers slowly into your clenching heat, eyes rolling back with a fractured moan, gripping you to him by the hip. His cock strained against his trousers, and he moved lazily to unzip himself, shaking with self-restraint. He could not bear the way you twisted and squirmed, to feel his thick fingers fucking into you.

"...good girl...how does it feel? As good as your own? Did you touch yourself, like this, when you dreamt about me?" You could only nod in response, moaning and reaching down to clutch his wrist. His fingers curled upwards towards your soft sensitive spot, buried into you up to his knuckles, and swirling his fingertips over the spongy patch. You sobbed into his touch and he folded over you, shushing, pressing kisses to your temples.

"It's alright, darling...I felt it too...I'll show you. How I touched myself...thinking about you." Kento shuddered against your neck, his fingers still working magic into your belly. His cock flopped heavy into his hand, thick, long, and Kento felt so touch-starved as he closed his eyes, raising his thumb to stroke around your clit, imagining it was his weeping cockhead.

He shushed you again, chasing you up the rug as your pleasure built, heat surging through your thighs and belly. Kento couldn't help but fuck into his own fist, lubricated by his pre-cum, overheating with the need to sink himself inside you, and paint you white with his seed. He cracked his neck from side to side. Doubling down, his fingers picked up speed, pressing your clit until you writhed, your nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.

"That's it...that's it...let it happen," Kento whispered into your neck, still fucking into his fist against your belly as you climaxed, hands tangled in his mussed hair, burning under the weight of him. His fingers fucked you through the haze of pleasure, nose stroking into your hair, whispering his praises against your ears; "...so proud of you...such a good job...so proud of you, my little gamble..."

Your thighs threatened to flop to the sides, soft and lazy after your orgasm. Kento nestled himself between them, cockhead stroking between your folds, and you whimpered to feel your sensitive clit nudged. Folded over you, Kento met your eyes. A slightly guilty smile ghosted over his face, his voice shaking, seemingly coming back to himself. He resolved to restrain himself;

"I, uh...usually have better manners. This was unprofessional of me. Ungentlemanly, even. I...I insist we...leave this here, and do this properly. Now, we sh-- haaaaah, fuck-- shit-- you--"

Interrupting Kento, you had waited for his cockhead to stroke down to your entrance before fucking him inside you, rolling your hips up to trap his cock inside your walls. You wailed around the stretch, Kento's cock huge and pulsing inside you, and Kento lost his mind.

Grasping your hips with vicious strength, he cursed, rutting into you with abandon. You felt his fat, blunt cockhead jabbing against your cervix immediately, and Kento leaned into it, tilting your hips to fuck you deeper, overtaken by a primal need.

"...little minx...I offer you--ahhhh fuck-- dinner, and you...you offer me...your cunt...just like you, shit--"

You giggled, breathless against Kento's feral attentions, and the sound shot straight down Kento's spine. Your laughs caught in your throat when he held his hips flush to yours, barely pulling out, bullying into your pussy with no restraint.

You felt the steam of sweat beneath Kento's shirt, felt how badly he needed this, and revelled in the way he fell apart above you, his cock milked by your wet, velvet heat. Kento leaned back just enough to see where his cock disappeared into you.

The sight had him reeling, and he came with a bark, spitting and swearing against his total lack of self-control. You felt his cock twitch and bound inside you, spattering your walls with thick stripes of cum. Kento crumpled onto his elbows, face twisted in euphoric agony to see you bite your lip at him, rolling your hips to milk him of every last drop of cum.

Gasping for just a few moments, before rolling his shoulders with soft cracks again, Kento pulled out of you, flipping you over so your face pressed down into the rug. You squealed to feel your hands drawn behind your back, and the soft shhhhff shhhfff shhhhhffff of his tie being pulled free of his collar.

Face down, and arse up, Kento dipped his fingers into your cum-dripping, twitching hole.

"That's how a boy does it," Kento growled, beginning to thread his tie around your wrists, "now lets show you how a Kingsman does it."

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Getting to wax lyrically about my beloved London was a treat.

Up next: Higuruma Hiromi/Merlin

[moody-alcoholic]

Uninvited Guest

Summary: 2.2k words. Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe

CW: Unconscious person, mentions of drugging someone repetitively.

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

It's a little shorter but enjoy <3

19:25

Price was still talking over the plan when they made it to the house. Ghost knew they were only here for one thing; the documents Soap found. It’s the evidence they need but Ghost knows it’s a long shot. He looks over at Soap, he’s smiling, of course he is, Ghost almost wants to roll his eyes.

The van pulls up to the front doors. He can see Chloe’s mother and father as well as extended family talking with officers. There’s a man with a suit tapping things on a tablet, Price said they’d called their lawyers. Everyone gets out the van as Price walks over to who Ghost assumes is the man in-charge of the whole raid.

“Found anything?” Price asks. 

“Seized some electronics as per the order. Nothing unusual though. They have sports rifles and shotguns, licences check out.” The officer says.

“Soap take Ghost to the room you saw strip the place.” Price says turning to them to give orders. 

“Gaz stick with me, we’ll search the ground floor.” Ghost doesn’t wait turning towards to house with Soap on his heals. It’s just how he likes it, as long as Soap is nearby it’s one less thing to worry about. Ghost watches as the eyes of the family follow him and Soap into the house. There are people missing, most notably Jack, Ghost knows from the briefing he’s not deployed. He could be anywhere, they haven’t exactly been keeping an eye on him.

After the incident in Syria he was sent back to the UK, his father-in-law covered for him which was to be expected. Then he went quiet, the theory was he was being told to lay low. A shiver ran up Ghost’s spine, there was something wrong with this picture. Ghost tried to ignore it letting Soap pass him to lead him into the house.

“Excuse me!” Someone calls forcing Ghost and Soap to stop in their tracks and turn around. The man Ghost assumed was the lawyer is walking towards them. 

“Excuse me but you don’t look like police.” He says. 

“Well spotted.” Soap says coming to stand next to Ghost. 

“Well I don’t see anywere on this warrant that you’re allowed access here.” He says showing a piece of paper to Ghost who is mostly ignoring it, not that he would understand the legal jargon anyway. 

“Problem boys?” Price says stepping up behind Ghost. 

“He says we’re not to be here.” Soap says.

“Here.” Price says handing him a piece of paper. 

“MI5? Hold on a second. Don’t enter the property until I have verified this.” The man says taking his phone out and turning to walk away. Ghost turns to Price. 

“Hurry up then, I want to get out of here as quick as possible.” Price says turning to walk back over to the officers and Gaz. Ghost watches the lawyer with his back now turned  on the phone, then walks into the building.   

“Up this way LT.” Soap calls heading for the stairs. Ghost follows him making it up to the first floor. Soap leads Ghost into an office. The place is a mess, shredded paper and books flung everywhere. 

“Shite.” Soap says. 

“Someone's had fun.” Ghost says. Soap walks over to the desk, he’s trying to open the drawers but they’re locked. He looks up at Ghost. 

“Price, we’ve made it but the place has been ransacked.” Ghost says into his radio as Soap starts looking through the pieces of paper that never made it through the shredder. 

“There’s nothing useful here.” He says shoving some papers off the desk. Ghost can hear the annoyance in his voice. 

“What about the drawers can you get them open?” Ghost asks looking round the room. All the walls are covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves. What parts of the room missing shelves are covered in expensive art. 

“Na, they’re locked.” Soap says trying to rattle them to see if they’re just stuck. Ghost comes around to see the papers, he can’t make out what the shredded ones are but there have been pictures, and folders, all sorts of things have been through the shredder not just papers. 

“Got anything we can open it with?” Ghost asks. 

“Yeah but shouldn’t we ask them if they have a key first?” Soap asks. 

“Price we’ve got locked drawers up here, any chance we can get a key? Maybe some officers to secure evidence?” Ghost wait’s for Price’s response as he walks over looking at the books pulled off the shelves. He notices the wood looks different and presses down on it. 

“Soap come look at this.” Ghost says as the wall gives way under his hand and it opens a secret compartment. It’s empty but that explains the books on the floor. 

“Shite there could be loads of them.” Soap says looking round the room. There is commotion in the hallways as Ghost hears the lawyer and other people making their way up to the room. 

“I told you to wait downstairs until we’d verified your paperwork!” The lawyer snaps. Ghost looks over at him, he can see the mother behind talking to a police officer. Gaz pushes his way through into the room. 

“They don’t have a key.” Gaz says handing Soap a crowbar. Ghost watches as the officers try to keep them out the room.

“You better not be destroying that desk it’s an antique!” The mother calls in horror as she watches Soap go over. 

“Give us a key then.” Soap says. Ghost looks at him, he looks serious eyeing them down as he waits for a response. 

“They can’t do this you can’t destroy property!” The lawyer shouts. Soap looks up at Ghost as he moves round to the desk stopping as he pushes the crowbar into place. Ghost nods. Fuck the bureaucracy this could be their only chance.     

  ——————————  

21:00

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Mark asks Jack from the back of the car. Jack doesn’t say anything right away looking at the address written on the paper for the millionth time. This is not a good idea it’s a terrible idea, it could get them thrown in prison or worse killed. He has to do this though prove to his father he can fix the fuck up he’s caused.

“You scared?” Jack asks turning to look at Mark in the back seat. 

“No, just.” Mark looks away shaking his head.

“Spit it out!” Jack snaps. 

“We’re going up against trained SAS soldiers.” Marks says. 

“You are a trained SAS soldier, and besides we’re getting her not them.” Jack says turning back to look out the front window. 

“Why is she so important anyway? She’s just fucking them.” Brian says scoffing. 

“She’s not just fucking them Brian! You should have seen how hard they fought to get her out of Syria. They went to people even my father couldn’t stop.” Jack says looking back at Brian driving the car. 

“What so we’re holding her for ransom? What if they don’t care?” Harry, Marks brother asks.

“They’ll care.” Jake says confidently. 

“Four SAS soldiers versus the 4 of us. I don’t like our odds.” Mark says under his breath. 

“Pull the car over.” Jack says.

“Sorry?” Brian asks looking at him.

“Pull the fucking car over!” Jack shouts. Brian turns on the hazard lights pulling into the hard-sholder of the main road. Jack gets out the car as soon as it’s stopped going round to Marks door.

“Out now!” He snaps. Mark looks annoyed but he undoes his seat-belt slipping out. As soon as his feet touch the ground Jack pushes him round the back of the car slamming the door. 

“If you don’t want to be involved then fuck off. Go back home to dad with your tail tucked between your legs and explain how you plan on fixing this fuck up.” Jack shouts.

“It’s not my job to fix your fuck ups!” Mark shouts back. 

“No but you and Harry are the ones who let her go at the funeral! They managed to snoop around enough to find out about the sales in Syria and Urzikstan! Do you understand how big of a leak that is?!” Jack shouts.

“She would have never even been in the house if you hadn’t killed Chloe!” Mark shouts back.

“You told me she was going to tell, I didn’t have a choice.” Jack says defensively. 

“She was still my sister.” Mark said taking a step up to Jack.

“She was a liability.” Jack responds. “I wasn’t even here I was stuck in Syria preoccupied with trying to get valuable intel.” 

“Yeah right sorry busy torturing innocent army medics.” Mark says pushing Jacks chest so there is distance between them. 

“Do you know how many fucking strings dad had to pull to make sure you didn’t get dishonourably discharged for that? 141 wanted your neck bad, and you still insist on going after them like they’re the only fucking counter intelligence unit on the face of the earth.” Mike says. 

“They’re the only one we need to be worried about and now they have proof, they’re at the house right now confirming that proof. The only option we have is to get a bargaining chip. She is the best bargaining chip!” Jack says jamming his finger in Marks face. Mark shakes his head.

“And if it doesn’t work?” 

“Then we kill her either way we hurt them, she’s gone and we come up with another plan.” Jack says. 

“I thought the whole point of this was to get back the intel they’ve stolen?” Mark says.

“As soon as my father finds out which CIA agent is helping them we won’t need to worry about that. Besides we destroyed anything useful it will take the MET months to piece it together.” Jack says. 

“Now are you fucking done with your little spat? Because we need to get her before they’re done at the house.” Mark sighs, shaking his head.

“Fine fuck it, walk home.” Jack says throwing his arms up and turning back to the car.

“Wait Jack.” Mark says striding up to him and putting his hand on Jacks shoulder. “We’re family we fix our own fuck ups.” 

“Yeah, unus pro omnibus.” Jack says looking into his brothers eyes.

“omnes pro uno.” Mark replies smiling.

  ——————————  

22:00

Ghost was stood at the door with Price watching the officers finish bagging up the last of the scraps of paper for evidence. 

“They knew we were coming.” Ghost says, his arms crossed as he watches Soap tap on the walls. 

“Yeah, we knew it would be like that though.” Price said. 

“Think they’ll be enough evidence here to convict them?” 

“Don’t know, we won’t know for a while biased on how well they tried to destroy everything.” Price says sighing. Ghost watches as Soap pulls another panel out from the book cases looking inside. Nothing again, this was a waste of time, they’d done a good job scrubbing everything.

Gaz and Soap had been meticulously searching the book cases for hours. All the evidence had been taken. The mother had passed out from stress and the lawyer insisted an ambulance be called, recording everything. It had been a long night. Ghost just wanted to get back to the safehouse. Before his mind could wander Price patted him on the shoulder. 

“Tell them to finish up I’ll go chat with the chief then we’ll get out of here. Not much more we can do till the paperwork as gone through.” Price said. Ghost nodded, walking over to Soap.

“Don’t think we’re going to find anything.” Soap says as he reaches him. 

“No, Price said let’s pack it up, head back.” Ghost says, he sees Soap smile. That makes him happy, he always loves seeing his smile. Ghost tells Gaz the same thing as he finishes checking behind the last bookshelf. It’s empty, the police wrap up too checking the room one more time before taking their leave.

Ghost follows Soap and Gaz out closing the door to the office as he leaves. It’s a shame they couldn’t find anything, but in a few weeks they would know. The MET was going to literally have to put this case together to get the proof but it would happen. And with Laswell’s help they’ll be able to track their movements even better. 

“What do you think that means?” Soap asks shoving his phone in Ghost’s face. They’ve barely even made it out the house. Ghost stops, squinting at the text. It’s a jumbled mess of auto corrected words. A second text just saying 4-5 armed. 

“Price!” Ghost shouts interrupting, him talking to the police chief.

“Call the house!” He says walking over to him dragging Soap along. Price looks confused for a second excusing himself and taking out his phone. 

“What?” He asks when Ghost reaches them, he shows him the phone. 

“Could mean anything,” he says his eyes digging into Ghost. Ghost can see the doubt in his face. This is bad. Price hangs up the phone calling again. Ghost holds his breath squeezing Soaps wrist. He watches Price as the line continues to ring. It keeps ringing, Price brings the phone down then looks up at Ghost.

“We need to move now!” Ghost calls dragging Soap to the car. 

“Try calling her.” Ghost orders Soap as Gaz and Price follow. He just nods trying to hide the fear in his face. This is really bad. 

  ——————————  

22:20

“Found her phone.” Mark says handing it to Jack. He rushes over to you using your bound thumb to unlock it. 

“Shit, she’s warned them we need to leave!” He shouts moving back into the kitchen looking at the gear. They’ve already kitted up and have helped themselves to more weapons for the potential fight ahead.  

“Is she still out?” Mark asks looking back to you being tied to a chair. 

“We’ve got chloroform to keep her out till we need her.” Jack explains, looking back over at Harry and Brian still trying to tie you to a chair.

“Did you not hear me she’s told them we’re here we need to move! Get her in the car.” Jack orders them, they nod pulling at the restraints.

“Where do you want to go?” Mark asks.

“How about the house in Harrow it’s still empty right?” Jack asks.

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a drive though.” Marks says.

“That’s fine the longer we have the better. Plus we can fall back to Kensington if we need to.” Jack says watching Mark nod. 

“Bring her phone, turn it off till we need it but keep it close. We’ll use it to contact them.” Jack says. The house phone ringing makes them jump. Jack walks over to it deciding whether or not to pick it up. He could play all his card right now and tell them they’re holding you for ransom. Or he could wait until they’re in a better situation to make demands. 

“Don’t, we need as much time as we can get.” Mark says. Jack nods his fingers hovering over the phone.

“Okay lets move now! I want wheels up in 10!” Jack says heading for the back door.

“Mark help us get her in the boot.” Harry says as him Brian drag you by your arms out the door. Jack drives, with Mark next to him. They look at each other. They’re in too deep now. Mark nods at him, he’s doing this to prove he can do this. He’s better then what his dad thinks. He has a kid and a wife, he has people he needs to provide for. He can’t lose this job, he can’t fuck his family over like this. He remembers the plan grounding himself, and drives off. 

  ——————————  

Next

Latin translates to 'all for one and one for all'

[rougerave]

I think it's fairly common knowledge the Alfred Pennyworth has some sort of background with Mi6, the Queens guard or WW2. I mean no old man has the type of precision with a gun unless you were trained, and no one is that okay with treating server injuries that quickly and calmly.

With this being said I think it would be pretty funny if all the batkids just dropped the mantle around 18 and just disappeared only to come back from military tour two years later with a new batch of trauma and new and improved ways to give their father pre-mature gray hairs by joining some form of government secret service.

Take Dick for example. He joined the police force at some point (cannon), but like what if he move on the be an FBI agent. It would be so funny to see Bruce try to persuade Dick by saying that he'll retire the bat. (Dick would laugh in his face for a period of three hours.)

This would then establish a sort of tradition with all his kids, much to his dismay and Alfred's endless joy (and boundless amusement).

Like Jason, fresh from League training, joins the army, finishes his tour, goes to England and joins the Mi6 and then comes home only to see his dad's reaction. (Bruce's reaction to Dick joining the FBI was a constant source of amusement for him. And he has to make sure he helps in the campaign to get Bruce to retire the bat early.)

Tim joins the CIA. ( I feel this one is self explanatory when it come to Tim.)

Cass and Steph go the Australia and join ASIS (Australian Secret Intelligence Service).

Duke joins Jason in England but he joins Mi5.

Damian goes to Israel and joins Mossad (Foreign Intelligence and Special Operations).

By the time Damian leaves the nest, Bruce has salt and pepper hair at 54 from the stress and has officially retired from the bat.

Alfred is eternally grateful that his 20 year plan has worked, and that he now has people to go the the open field and shot cans with twice a month. (It turns into a competition that Alfred always wins even when his age starts to catch up and he starts to lose his site.)

[aziraphales-library]

Hey y'all, first off, thanks for the great work you're doing!

I'm looking for Aziracrow fics with like,, one of them as an FBI agent and the other as art consultant or something like that. I already checked if there's anything in a possible art heist tag, I also looked for crossovers with White Collar, which has a similar premise, and I didn't really find anything. Maybe there's nothing, but I thought maybe you'd have an idea :) Thank you!!

Hello! So, the best I can do is fics in which one of them works in law enforcement of some kind, and the other works in either a different department or completely different job, and they work together in some way. Hope this was the kind of thing you're after!...

Containing Seeds of Destruction by feathereddino (T)

Lower Tadfield is a rural, sleepy little village that is trying to be a town. The crimes that Police Constable A.J. Crowley usually responds to are mundane but never evil. His husband, police psychologist Dr. A.Z. Fell appreciates that their combined caseload reflects that banality. That all changes in 2008 with a call about an abandoned baby. Adam Young's surrender will spark a series of events that will impact their village, their careers, and their personal lives.

What Will Destroy You by EveningStarcatcher (E)

London, 1888 Police Inspector Aziraphale Fell forms an unlikely alliance with Reporter Anthony Crowley to investigate the Whitechapel Murders. Can they solve the mystery and stop the so called Ripper before he strikes again?

Tadfield's Finest by angelsnuffbox (E)

The sleepy town of Tadfield is thoroughly shaken by the arrival of DI Crowley. Where barely anything ever happened before, there is now a bustle of low grade criminal activity, and everyone knows where to point the blame. Gabriel thinks he's a bad omen for the town, many others are quick to agree. Meanwhile, Aziraphale from SOCO just thinks he's hot. Ridiculously so.

and salt the Earth behind you by sunrisesinthesuburbs (E)

Detective (well, Profiler actually, not that anyone seems to care) Aziraphale Fell should have dropped his one and only Criminal Informant the moment he realized he was already falling in love with the man. Alas, he's never had good ideas regarding his self-preservation: when Anthony Crowley calls, he always comes. He will always come. If this wasn't already very bad, his feelings are apparently reciprocated and, in the meantime, his unit has to catch the worst serial killer Washington D.C. has probably ever seen. Crowley has no intention of leaving Aziraphale to deal with this on his own; Aziraphale has no intention of letting Crowley do something stupid just for his sake. Ah, if only love could ever be something easy. “Sometimes I wish I’d met you in a park.” Crowley’s hands move lower, down, down until he reaches Aziraphale’s palms and intertwines their fingers. There isn’t a single chance this gesture can fall under the umbrella of ‘plausible deniability’. Though nothing about this sort of impromptu confession could. “A park, uh? Nice.” A squeeze. “I always imagine something like a library. Or a bookshop or, not sure, whatever place is full of books.”

For His Eyes Only by AFrenchFanWriter (M)

Anthony J. Crowley has been an MI6 spy for 10 years, completing successful mission after successful mission under the guidance of his quartermaster, Aziraphale Fell. But this life is starting to take its toll on him as he is getting older; and when, one day, his past comes back to haunt him, Crowley realizes that it might be time for him to hang up his gun and face all the things he has left unaddressed… (Yep, it is basically a James Bond/Q AU!)

On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (E)

1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles. Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning. Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5. Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water. Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.

- Mod D

[fizzyxcustard]

For Her Or My Country?

Fandom: Spooks

Pairing: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warning: Non-graphic smut, insecurity, language

Word count: 3731

Summary: Lucas has been given an assignment which means potentially sleeping with a subject who is linked to a Russian subject of interest. After discussing with Amy, will he put his relationship or duty to country first? 

Notes: As always, if you wish to be added to my Forever Tag list, let me know. Or you can request to be added to a list for a specific character/fandom. Please contact me if you wish to be added or removed.

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. :) Any comment at all.

Read on AO3 here

Masha Petrova. Beautiful. Elegant. Rich. Holder of intelligence that MI5 needed. And Lucas had been assigned to the case. Being able to speak Russian himself and having a vast knowledge of the culture and risks that were posed to the United Kingdom, it was only natural that Lucas be placed on this case. 

The team of Section D were all seated in the main briefing room, watching as photos appeared on the screen, flipping every few seconds. Harry described each one and gave background to all the subjects and contexts of them. 

Lucas was to go undercover in two days’ time, posing as a potential client for Masha Petrova’s prestigious art gallery. She would be hosting an auction, where paintings worth millions of pounds were to be sold, and the money then transferred to her ex-husband, Konstantin Sidorov. But the man had disappeared three years earlier. He was a ghost, with his last movement being on a flight back to Moscow and then nothing. Her motives behind keeping in such close contact with her ex-husband were being questioned. 

“Jo will be on standby,” Harry began. He turned to the bleach blonde woman who sat two seats down from him. Her large blue eyes were locked on him, waiting for her instruction. “We’ll need you to mingle with the men, stroke their egos.” That normally meant sleep with them if necessary. “Lucas, Masha is known to always have a string of attractive men on her arm who wish to warm her bed…” 

That was it. Amy, desk-based intelligence officer, and also Lucas��� girlfriend of ten months, felt bile rise in her throat. She looked at the photo of Masha Petrova and felt that stab of intense self-hatred rise. This was the kind of woman that Lucas should have been with, not her. He deserved beauty and elegance, not someone like Amy who rarely wore make up and dressed constantly in jeans. 

Now Amy knew why she had been kept off the case for as long as she had. With Ruth Evershed on long-term sick leave, the team were bursting at the seams with workload and needed another pair of hands. Amy was the only person available. 

Harry gave both Jo and Lucas a briefing pack, outlining their identities which they would need to learn over the next forty eight hours. 

Lucas looked down the table at Amy and could see the bright red flush of her cheeks, paired with her inability to keep her eyes out of her lap. He could see her hands moving beneath the table, a sign of her fidgeting, which she always did when nervous. Every expression and movement was something that Lucas had become intimately acquainted with. 

Once the meeting had concluded, Harry requested that Lucas stay behind. Everyone else got to their feet, stretching due to the length of time they had all been sitting. Amy dashed out of the room first, being closest to the door. Tears were prickling her eyes. For most of the meeting her imagination had been running wild, churning over a vivid vision of Lucas and Masha Petrova in an erotic position. Amy’s chest tightened, causing her to flap her arms to try and get more air. 

“Are you alright?” Jo asked, approaching Amy. 

Amy smiled weakly at Jo, knowing that it had always been impossible for her to lie about her feelings. She was transparent, unable to mask any negative feelings. She couldn’t answer. 

“I’ll make us a coffee and we can pop outside for some fresh air, yeah?” Jo proposed.

Amy nodded, feeling as if her friend’s kindness was about to open the floodgates and the tears would never stop. But she swallowed hard, feeling the pain in her throat. That damn floodgate would remain closed, even if it killed her. 

Outside a few minutes later and Jo lit a cigarette and the two of them stood on the balcony, which gave them a view of London. It was grey and overcast. The colour of the sky was threatening rain. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jo asked. 

Amy’s green eyes darted this way and that, anywhere so they didn’t have to focus on Jo. “I don’t know,” she said softly. Then she sighed, and looked out over the Thames. “I just….I always knew this was something that would probably come, but I hoped it wouldn’t.” 

“Believe me, Amy, Harry wouldn’t have asked Lucas to do this unless absolutely necessary. He knows the moral dilemma and risks all of us face when we’re asked to go into situations like this.” 

Amy took a sip of her coffee. “Why is it always our morals and lives that we have to sacrifice?” Amy knew all this when taking the position, but now that she was here, facing the prospect of her boyfriend having to essentially cheat on her, it was worse than she could have ever imagined. 

Those words caused tears to slip down Amy’s cheeks, which she rubbed away angrily with the sleeve of her cardigan. “Lucas loves his job so much, and I should have always known that I would never be truly first.” 

“Amy, it’s not that, and you know it isn’t. He loves you. But the world we live and work in is a dark one, so much darker than people on the outside ever realise.”

“I’m still human, Jo, and I think I’m allowed to feel betrayed and heartbroken when my boyfriend has been told to sleep with someone else.” 

Jo watched Amy hang her head in shame and defeat. She knew that Amy had incredibly low self-esteem and had been living in constant shock for the last ten months that Lucas would even be interested in her. But Jo could see the chemistry between her two colleagues; Amy’s kindness towards Lucas, and his ability to make Amy feel seen and heard. Even before their relationship had begun, and Jo knew that they would be a perfect couple, despite Amy always having voiced how little she thought of herself. The two of them may not have looked as though they would date, when considering the way they carried themselves, but their interactions cemented the fact they complimented each other perfectly. 

Back in the office a short while later and Amy took a seat at her desk. She pulled out her drawer and picked out a Mars bar from the multipack. It was the only thing that could distract her from the fact that Lucas was sitting a few feet away from her, watching. She knew that he knew she was feeling emotional turmoil. If she had to look at him then she would break down. 

Tariq’s desk was behind Amy’s and he could see Lucas’ blue gaze studying her. Tariq watched in fascination for a minute and then turned his attention back to making minor amendments to Jo’s briefing pack. For once, he could see that Amy wasn’t smiling at Lucas or gazing at him, but instead keeping her gaze away. In his mind, anyone who didn’t notice Amy’s reactions must have been blind. 

For the next hour and Amy took up her time in a meeting with Ros, discussing the ANPR data results for a subject they had been investigating. At least for now, Amy could put her mind elsewhere. 

Meanwhile, Lucas remained quiet at his desk, feeling Tariq’s gaze burning into the back of his head. It had been common knowledge amongst all of the staff at Section D, that Tariq had a crush on Amy. All except Amy herself. 

Once Amy had emerged from the side room with Ros, Lucas got up and approached her. He stood with his back to everyone else and Amy with her back to the wall, looking down at her, almost shielding her from prying eyes. “Do you want to head out for something to eat?” he asked. Then he pulled his hands from his jeans pocket and picked up her hand, feeling her warm skin against his for a couple of seconds. But he frowned when he saw her look at the floor; he could see her throat quivering. He dropped her hand. 

Amy swallowed hard and looked up at him, feeling the overwhelming emotion wash over her. It was painful, so painful. Her beautiful, perfect Lucas. He was Amy’s everything and for some unknown reason, he also wanted her. 

“Come on,” Lucas whispered, holding his hand out to her to take. 

Amy knew she couldn’t deny him and took his large hand in her small one. 

Together, they walked out of the office, and into the mid-day air. It was drizzling, forming a mist in their hair as they walked the two streets to their usual café. They were both quiet for the duration of their walk, with the hustle and bustle of the busy London streets washing around them. 

Lucas grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and didn’t even have to ask Amy what she wanted. She’d already made up her mind and was on her way to grab a table. “A strawberry smoothie and a cheese and onion toastie, please,” her voice drifted back over her shoulder.  

Lucas sighed and placed their order. Every now and again he would glance towards her, noticing how she still wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she grabbed her sketchbook from her handbag and began to touch up one of her latest drawings. 

Suddenly Amy was taken aback as her sketchbook was pulled away from under her face, just as she rested her pencil tip against the paper. 

Lucas sat down. “Look at me,” he said sharply. 

“Give me my book back.” 

“No, you’ll talk to me. Your drawings can wait.” 

“What do you want me to say, Lucas?” Amy said, her tone low and her words to the point. “If you had to watch me go and sleep with a man as part of an operation, I’m sure you wouldn’t be particularly happy about it.” 

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Lucas hissed. “But this is our job. You know what’s at stake if I don’t do it.” 

“Keeping the country safe and all that crap. Yes, I know,” Amy scoffed. “I’m reminded of that every day. Funny how you’re always paired with the beautiful, elegant women.” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Lucas snapped. 

Amy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. 

A young woman with blonde hair tied back into a ponytail came and set Amy’s food down on the table, along with hers and Lucas’ drink. She offered a quick smile, immediately recognising the familiar signs of a lover’s tiff. 

“No food?” Amy asked. 

“Can’t say I’ve got an appetite.” 

“Just fatten me up like a pig, then.” 

Lucas grit his teeth and closed his eyes, clasping his hands together on the table. He knew her defensive attitude all too well when she became overwhelmed by self-consciousness. Passive-aggression and sarcasm tainted her words as she tried to fling painful darts back at him. 

“Not here, please,” Lucas begged. His voice was quiet, full of defeat. 

Amy at least silently acquiesced to his request and slipped back into her seat, nibbling on the edge of her toasted sandwich. She adored the very breath of the man sat in front of her, and she was sure he knew that. But she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye, and instead let her gaze trace the crisscross stitch of the red and white tablecloth. 

Lucas sipped his coffee and watched Amy for a few seconds before sighing, resigning his gaze toward the framed quote behind her on the wall. It was some cliché shit that seemed to belong on every mantlepiece in the UK, apart from his and Amy’s. Instead, Amy had a line of Disney character figurines across hers, and the thought of it made a smile emerge on his face. This woman he had committed himself to had no idea how amazing and beautiful she was. Curious. Quirky. The kindest person he had ever met. Unbelievably strong of mind and spirit. Underestimated herself. Broken by the arseholes who had taken advantage of her introverted and generous nature. 

One way or the other, he would repair her. No ifs, buts or maybes. He would repair her. 

***

The flat was dark as Amy stepped back inside. Lucas was required for a further meeting regarding the new operation with Masha Petrova, so wouldn’t be home for a further hour or two yet. 

The isolation enveloped her along with the dark. 

Tears flowed down Amy’s cheeks as she finally allowed the locked floodgates to open. She dropped back into a chair in the dining room and sobbed. Amy would never be good enough for Lucas, always sitting in the shadow of other women. Everything that they were reflected what Amy wasn’t. These women reminded her of the dark shadow of lack which lived in her chest. 

Tension soon began to press down behind Amy’s eyes as she prepared hers and Lucas’ dinner. It felt like a huge weight was crushing Amy from above, pressing her down into the ground as her whole body became weak. 

Cheesy 80’s music played on the radio in the small box kitchen, and not even that could lift Amy out of her prison of darkness. All she could think of was Lucas with Masha Petrova. No doubt he would enjoy it. Of course he would. Being ridden by a blonde supermodel of a woman, with the confidence to fully express her sexuality. 

It had taken Amy a few months to become more confident in bed with Lucas. It wasn’t until they’d been together for six months that Amy could finally make love to him without the light turned off and not feel the need to shrink back at his touch. Now she openly enjoyed his touch, reciprocating it. But those whispers would still creep up on her when they lay together afterwards, telling her how unworthy she was of such a beautiful man’s love. 

Amy loved Lucas with her whole heart, having never felt so drawn to anyone else. Lucas, to her, was incredibly handsome, charming, intelligent, gentle and kind. He was perfection. Even when he woke in the middle of the night, sweating and shouting out, gripped by the horror of his memories of Lushanka, eventually waking her up, it only helped her to love him more. The vulnerability he shared with her helped her move closer to him, bridging the gap which her insecurity had always created. 

The closing of the front door suddenly echoed from down the hall. And Amy heard Lucas’ slow footsteps coming towards the kitchen. She felt her hands begin to shake and a painful lump rise in her throat. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said.

“Dinner can wait,” Lucas instructed. It wasn’t often that Lucas was demanding, but when it came to digging into Amy’s insecurity and bad moods, it was the only way he could defend himself and fight for her. 

Amy sighed and placed her hands on the edge of the sink and looked out into the murky evening. She could see fog beginning to descend on the world and the brightness of the streetlamps lighting up the rooftops, showing the gleam of an earlier shower. 

Lucas stood beside Amy and curled his arm around her waist, then took her hand in his, kissing it. “The only thing I can say is that I love you, Aim.” 

Amy felt everything crumble and she couldn’t help but break down again, becoming a sobbing mess in his arms. 

Lucas held her tight, his right hand tangled in her hair and his lips kissing her forehead. “I love you more than anything.” That was all he could say, and he meant every single word, the emotion so overwhelming as he uttered them.  

“I should support you, Lucas,” Amy said, sniffing as she pulled from the embrace to look up at him. “I’m so proud of everything you do, but I…”

“I know,” Lucas whispered. “Don’t you think I know? I don’t want to do this.” His eyes were locked on hers, tears swimming in them, making them look even brighter a blue. 

“You’re being paid to sleep with someone. Perk of the job, I guess,” Amy said wryly. 

“Don’t you dare say that,” Lucas hissed. His eyes became alight with frustration, his frown casting a shadow across his brow. “Why do you always have to turn to sarcasm and pettiness when you’re hurt?” 

Amy pulled from Lucas’ grasp and stormed out of the room, casting him an expression of disgust mixed with hurt. Of course he was right; Amy knew it. Sarcasm and pettiness become her defence mechanism when hurt or cornered. 

“What do you want me to say, Aim?” Lucas shouted. “Do you want me to leave my job, get down on my knees?” 

“Just fuck off!” Amy hissed back. “Leave me alone.” 

The room felt as if it were becoming so much smaller as Amy stood facing the wall, sobbing, with breath almost coming in gasps. More than anything, in that moment, she wanted to disappear. 

“You don’t mean that, Aim. You never do,” Lucas said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I know you enough by now. When you tell someone to leave you alone, it means ‘hold me tight’. You want people to get closer when you’re hurting, even though you push them away.” 

Amy felt Lucas’ arms wrap around her middle, and she sighed, feeling that all too familiar wave of arousal spiral down her body and the butterflies swarm in her belly. She couldn’t fight off the way he made her feel. All of the attraction and love was far too strong to keep her away. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. Lucas kissed her cheek, taking in the scent of her. It was strawberries mixed with the faintest hint of her perfume from that morning, Olympea. 

Slowly, Amy turned around and looked up at Lucas, sniffing over her blocked nose. Her eyes were sore and red. “It always comes back to this feeling of me not being good enough.” 

“And that’s what it is, just a feeling. There is no truth whatsoever in it. It’s a dark voice, nothing more. I chose you, Amy. Above everyone else, I choose you.” 

Amy threw her arms around Lucas and they held each other tight, remaining silent. The only sound was the patter of rain against the window, which gradually got louder and heavier. 

Heat spread through Amy as she felt his arms encase her, protecting her from the outside world and everything evil that was in it. 

The two of them kissed, the heat mounting, until Amy’s hands slipped up Lucas’ chest and she began popping the buttons of his shirt. She pushed the fabric aside to see his chest exposed, which was tattooed with William Blake’s Ancient of Days.

“You could have anyone,” Amy began, “absolutely anyone in this world. And yet you choose me.” 

“Why did you choose me?” Lucas whispered. “You don’t see your beauty, and your light. Any man you choose would be blessed beyond anything he could ever imagine, and you don’t see any of that.” His finger brushed a stray hair from her brow, and then the tips of his fingers trailed down her cheek and his thumb brushed her plump lips. “You made me feel again, and I owe you everything.” 

They kissed again and began to remove each other’s clothing, slowly. 

As Lucas stood before Amy in only his underwear, she traced the tattoos on his chest and stomach. “I thought about getting one, to match yours.” 

“Don’t,” Lucas demanded, his tone quiet but stern and saddened. “All they serve is a reminder of the darkness in the world, and I never want to taint you with that. Your skin is perfect as it is, untouched and unblemished.” 

“And I want to share everything with you. The good and the bad.” 

Lucas lowered Amy to the bed, her arms locked around his neck. And they kissed again, hard and hungry for every fibre of each other. 

Amy gasped as Lucas slipped inside her. 

A groan fell off his lips as he felt a wave of that beautiful euphoria. This was where he belonged. It was the only place on this Earth he would ever be safe: inside her, one with her, vulnerable and bare. Gradually he moved, rocking his hips against her as his hand gripped her thigh. 

Amy pulled him in closer, needing him against her, the closest in physical proximity that was possible. “I love you,” she whispered. 

Lucas’ blue gaze locked on hers and he stopped his movement, remaining still. He smiled. It was a content, peaceful smile. The first he had smiled since he was a child. “This is where I belong. It’ll never be anywhere else. I promise.” 

A while later and they both lay on their sides, facing each other. Lucas’ arm was draped idly over Amy’s hip. He was smiling at her again. Innocence, kindness, compassion and love had always shone through Amy’s face and been left on anything she touched, a golden light lingering behind from her fingertips. 

He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her snub nose. 

The happiness in Amy’s face drained and a serious expression rose. “I’m sorry about earlier. I know you need to do this.” A sadness began to wash over her green eyes. Then she forced a smile. 

Lucas never answered, but in his mind, he knew what needed to be done. He moved over her and drew her into another embrace, followed by more love making. 

***

The next morning, Lucas stood at Harry’s office door. His heart was racing in his chest, something that rarely happened when on the job. 

With one last backwards glance to Amy, Lucas knocked on Harry’s door. She looked up from her desk and smiled at him from across the room, those beautiful eyes sparkling so brightly. Lucas knew that he had made the right decision. 

For her or my country? Always for her. 

“Come in!” Harry’s voice came. 

Lucas took a deep breath and slipped inside the office, bracing the inevitable storm.

“Lucas? What can I do for you?” Harry asked, leaning back in his seat. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to stand down from tomorrow’s deployment, Harry.” 

***

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[queenhunter102]

Part 6 (Part 5) (Part 7) Lore Page

You look up at your new Lieutenant, eyeing him slightly, ’How does he know what NBOC is?’ you wonder, now clocking him as a potential threat. “Yeah? That’s me, I’m only on loan to the task force for this new threat” You say, your hand going to the patch on your wrist, picking at the skin a little.

Gaz turned his head to you, a confused look on his face “But you’re an Omega? Isn’t there not still a law banning Omegas on ships?” He asked you to tilt your head side to side, trying to think of a way to answer.

“Yes and no, yes there is still a law banning us from the ships, but under special circumstances, we are given a pass and that includes my speciality,” You say, it sounds like the most straightforward answer you could give. Without going too far into the law of the land and the law of the nation, Gaz nods his head almost as if he is trying to dissect the answer in his head, “What IS your speciality, I was never told” Johnny asked, your eyes shifted to him, your eyes clashing, you flicked your eyes to Captain Price unsure how much you were allowed to disclose, he only gave you a shrug. You took that as you could disclose as much as you want, you sigh before answering, “As Captain Price said, I’m from the Bioengineering Unit, but my speciality was Serums and Biological weapons” You say, not divulging any other pieces of information, thinking it best to leave them in the dark a little. Johnny nods “So what, You created mustard gas,” he asked, tilting his head, “A little bit more deadly but yeah,” you say, biting your lip, not wanting to be isolated by the team already, not many Alpha’s liked being outmatched by something that many deemed weaker. You had been isolated by your blood pack your whole life, you didn’t need that with people you were supposed to trust with your life.

Almost as if sensing the panic and fear Alejandro spoke “So about the fight? What did you do, I saw the guy he looked like he was beaten by a pack and not one little Omega” he said trying to sound funny, you gave him a half smile thankful for him breaking the tension you felt. “What? Can’t believe that an Omega could take an Alpha” You say trying to sound funny, unsure if you were getting it across, correctly a laugh came from beside Alejandro. “You’ve never gotten into a fight with an Omega have you Alejandro?” Gaz said laughing,  “Man the stories I could tell you about my brother getting into fights with the Alpha’s in my blood pack are long and violent”. You look over smiling at Gaz glad to know that at least one member of the team knew what an Omega was like when they got into a fight.

“Oh yeah? Like what they got little claws?” Johnny joked it set off your instincts wanting blood for the disrespect, and you rolled your shoulders trying to shake off the feeling. “You saw what they did to that Alpha, the state he was in, imagine the state he would be in if that was a street fight…”Gaz paused turning to you “Do you have a patch?” you nod choosing to speak. Gaz shook his head, smiling “Imagine the state he would be in if they weren’t medicated”, Johnny eyed you before he turned to Captain Price eyebrows raised. “Alright get out, I have meetings to go to and people to piss off  Captain Price said, you were the last one to stand, you had hardly made it to the door before Captain Price’s voice came across to you. “Are you going to tell me, why MI5 was so desperate to get rid of you?” he asked, you turned your head to him, to see him with his arms crossed and his legs shoulder apart, and you shrugged.“I guess you will just have to find out,” You say, looking at him, he lifts a brow at you. “I take it, I am about to piss off the head of the NBOC,” He said sighing, sounding truly exhausted, he rubbed his eyes before he scrubbed his hand down his face. “Why do I always get the ones that require me to piss people off,” Captain Price said, leaning his hip against the wooden table, he sighed again waving you off. “Alright, Alright, let me work my magic” He said, as he took a seat at the head of the table, you walked out the door closing it shut behind you.

[jrow]

May Prompts (27)

Day 26 here. Start at the beginning here. Day 28 here.

Jealous

He isn’t jealous.

If anything, he feels pity for Sherlock.

Unlike his brother—who was pre-occupied by getting home and ensuring John rest—he would rather get on with work. Not be distracted by sentiment.

Unlike his brother—who sat flush against John, practically snuggling, in the back seat of the town car—he prefers having the full passenger seat to himself. There’s more room when you’re alone.

Unlike his brother—who is now at home, probably suffering through tea and biscuits with the Watsons, Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Hooper—he is preparing to interrogate the man responsible for the chaos of the last week. Being productive.

He isn’t jealous.

He could easily hand off the interrogation of the constable, now identified as a Rhys Wright, to any of his agents. Hell, even the imbeciles at Scotland Yard could handle the blubbering mess. But, he promised Sherlock.

To most, it may appear as if his brother has learned to let go of his anger in situations like these. But, Sherlock has simply grown more strategic in channelling his anger and ceding control. And today, Sherlock is trusting him to ensure Mr. Wright is far from comfortable.

So, they made a deal. He will be locked in a room with Wright for the rest of the day. Then, he will ensure the man stays under the jurisdiction of MI5, with their … ahem … rough interrogation and incarceration techniques, for a bit longer. Only then will Wright be handed over to the Metropolitan Police, case wrapped up like a bow. Conviction guaranteed.

In return, Rosie and co. will join him for brunch and a trip on the Eye tomorrow.

He isn’t jealous.

And tomorrow night, he will arrange for movers. Because, unlike his brother, it appears that John is finally planning on actually saying something. The rest is inevitable. Maybe it always was.

He’s happy for his brother. Truly.

Anthea is being ridiculous. He isn’t jealous at all.

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty @quimerasyutopias

[marvelwitchergilmore]

A Rush Of Anxiety

Summary: River Cartwright x Fe!Reader -> You and River are there for each other in a time of desperate need.

Disclaimer: This does include descriptions of anxiety/panic attacks, blood, weapons and bullets. Based around the last episode or so of S4 Slow Horses, so spoilers. Swearing. Angst and Fluff. Not Proof Read.

It felt like fire crawling up your throat from your lungs. All the while a lead fist pushed through your chest, reached for your heart, dragged it to the centre of your chest not caring what veins it broke, before locking it against your spine. The harder your feet hit the ground, the harder your lungs begged for relief. 

Your arms were slicing through what atmosphere they could in the hopes to propel you faster. If your thighs didn’t hurt from before, kicking for your life, they would hurt soon. Each foot that hit the ground sent shockwaves through the rest of your body. 

But you had to keep going. 

You had to keep running. 

Your life depended on it. 

Meanwhile, just outside a train station, River was given the news you had been taken. Just before a grenade was thrown into his hood. 

“It really is a shame you said no to me, son. I even found that pretty little girlfriend of yours. It was in the hopes we could have a longer conversation, maybe you’d both like to join us. But know that her death will be on your hands.”

River gasped for breath. “Girlfriend?” He didn’t have a girlfrie-

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing.” His dad told him. “Yet. Grenade!”

It was River’s turn to fight for his life, to have his lungs burn with something awful. His feet heavy, his lungs filling with something heavier than air, and a burning against his chest for more than just one reason. 

Then he remembered. 

When you're being chased, stay still.

Of course, the others eventually followed suit but there was still one thing left to discuss. 

“Where is she?”

“I thought she wasn’t your girlfriend.” The man across River smiled. “By now, she’ll be long gone. Best just to move on, I’d say.”

River reached for him by his jacket. “Where is she?!”

“River!” Louisa pulled him back. Well, tried. 

“I’ll see you soon, River.”

As Frank was pulled from River’s grasp, River turned and swore. “Fuck.”

“We’ll find her. She’ll be okay.”

River looked at Louisa. “He creates child soldiers. I don’t think he’ll be keeping her safe, do you?”

“That’s- I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m gonna find her. He wanted to finish her off before he left. She’s got to be close. Call- Call Ho. See if he can track anything. Did you notice she was gone?”

Louisa shook her head as she brought her phone to her ear. “We were a little busy trying to make sure you didn’t become a victim to your shoot-to-kill target. Ho, I need you to find-”

Louisa’s words drowned away from River as he looked around. You had to be close by. If River hadn’t stopped, Frank would have left. He would have gone somewhere people wouldn’t have seen. 

Or maybe somewhere they would. 

Larger crowds meant less safety for the victim, but more safety for Frank. Hiding in plain sight. 

So he started running. He didn’t know where, but he started running. 

“River! Where are you going?”

“Just keep talking with Ho. She has to be close!”

As River ran, his body seemed to slip back to a memory he wished he could forget. Stansted Airport. Granted it was a rigged training exercise but that fear that he’d fucked up, that fear that thousands of people could be killed, that he was the man soley responsible for the biggest fuck up in MI5 training history. It all came flooding back to him. Into his mind, into his lugs, around his chest and arms, tightening at his throat. But there was something extra. Something wrapping tightly around his heart. 

He’d had his blood pressure taken once or twice. It was almost like the cuff of one had slipped around his heart and was tightening and pinching at every part of the muscle. Where were you? You had to be close. Frank was going to kill you. He’d had you in his grasp for God only knows how long. From his track record, he might not have killed you. He might had taken you to serve his fucked up purpose. 

No. You couldn’t be dead. You had to be alive.

Frank would have made the conversation longer. Bringing you into it, Frank had a card River wouldn’t have been expecting. It would have meant a longer conversation. It would have meant an even larger ticking time-bomb placed around both of you. 

Did Lamb know you’d gone missing? Usually he was ten steps ahead. Why hadn’t he seen this? Or had he? Were you with him, watching through the monitors with Lamb? Was he about to turn a corner and hear your laughter over the tannoy to tell him to get his arse back to the others?

Something made River stop. This was useless. Running without any sense of direction. What if he was going the wrong way? What if he was going the right way and only wasting time?

River spun around on the spot looking around him. Any exists? Stairwells? Storage closets? 

He ran a hand through his hair and swore again. “Fuck. Christ. Where are you?” Chewing on his lower lip, River tried to focus. 

Then he heard a noise. 

Bullets. 

Who was firing? Why was someone firing? Frank was in custody. The hit on River’s head was gone, wasn’t it? But they weren’t aiming for him. They were aiming for someone else. 

Then he heard footsteps. They were that loud, they echoed around the entire space. And there wasn’t just one set. More bullets flew. 

Then. 

“River!”

Turning around, River saw you. Running. As fast as you could. From behind you someone was following. One of Frank’s men? Blood caked the side of your face, and some of your clothes. The momentary relief of seeing you was quickly replaced with a rush of anxiety once more as he ran towards you. 

“River!”

You called out his name as if it would be the last thing you’d ever say. Your lungs were screaming for relief which you were yet to grant. 

“Y/n!”

More bullets flew and you dropped your head in hopes to avoid them. You couldn’t afford to look back. You didn’t want to look back. Running towards you was River. 

Somewhere in the middle, you crashed with River, his arms wrapping around you tightly before he turned you. Somewhere behind you, or in front of you, someone shouted “get down.”

River turned once again and you felt something firm against your back, the lead hand that locked your heart against your spine suddenly pulling itself from your chest and out of sight. 

The tightness of pain in your arms and legs were released and what remained was a desperation to hold onto River as tight as he was holding onto you. 

“Get down! Drop your weapon!”

More bullets flew and you ducked your head. A firm hand behind you brought your head closer to River. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just stay down. Breathe. Y/n, you’ve got to breathe.” 

The amount of air rushing into your lungs told you that you were. But to River he could still feel your entire body tensing, your lungs refusing to cooperate and your heart, thundering fast that his own. 

River curled your head into his neck and chest, his body flushed against yours. He could still see the man who had been chasing you. His bullets were flying everywhere, hitting more inanimate objects than moving one’s. 

River looked around him without letting go of you, as best as he could. Most of the station was clear, save for the Dogs, armed police and a few others that worked for the Service. 

River turned back to look at you and if it was physically possible, he held you tighter. 

“Drop your weapon, now!”

The man stopped in his tracks and River looked up. They made eye contact. And he raised his weapon. 

If he pulled the trigger – and going off his recent aim – he’d most likely miss River. Maybe the bullet would bounce off or go through the pillar. But this time the man stood still. He was focusing on River. 

Then a bullet flew. 

River ducked his head and curled around you. If he didn’t look, maybe it would be quicker. But after ten seconds, River opened his eyes. Everything had gone silent. Was he dead? After everything Slough House had thrown at him, was he dead?

But he was still breathing. 

Looking back, he found the man’s body on the floor and Louisa slowly approaching him before kicking the gun from his grasp. River didn’t focus on them once Louisa brought one of the Dogs over to check. 

He just focused on you. 

“You okay?” That was a stupid question to ask but he asked it anyway. “Just breathe. Y/n, you’ve got to breathe. Breathe with me. Deep breath in. And out.” River waited for you to copy him. “Good, and again. In. And out.” His body was still flush against yours, his hand at the back of your head, your hands holding onto him for dear life. The top of his head resting against yours, he spoke to the shell of your ear. “In, And out. In. And out. That’s it. Just a few more.”

If his own chest couldn’t feel your heart beating, his hand that was wedged between your back and the pillar could. 

“Your heart’s beating really fast. I need you to breathe. He’s gone now. They’re all gone. You’re safe. You’re with me. Just breathe. With me, again. In, And out.” A few more deep breaths and the fire in your lungs was starting to finally be doused out, the burning in your throat would soon turn to ash, and your heart was finding its way back to its original place. 

Eventually River found the strength to lean back a little and look at you. His thumb brushed a sore point by your head, but you didn’t really flinch. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet, so neither had the natural pain-killer. 

It was still bleeding. Slowly. Clearly slower than when it had first started. But slowly nonetheless. He took a log of your other visible injuries. Blood stained hands, likely from your own. You were still wearing your jacket so he couldn’t see the likely bruises on your arms. 

A forgotten nosebleed and long dried up, and the smaller scars were still red. A few had a deeper shade than others. 

River took a quick, closer look at your hands. Redness and a little bruising around your knuckles. He pressed a light kiss to one before looking in your eyes. You had a concussion. He could tell that much. 

With a hand beside your ear, River pulled you closer and pressed a kiss to your head before hugging you tightly. 

“You need to see a paramedic.”

“Don’t.” Your voice was still shaking. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Taking you under his arm, River just gave a small nod to Louisa. You’d be okay, but he could look after you. Without saying a word, River rode with you to the hospital where you were checked for more internal injuries, as well as harsher external ones. 

As you sat on the bed, River on a chair with his elbows on his knees, you told him and the other service agent that had arrived everything you could remember while it was still fresh. How and where you’d been taken, the violence you’d suffered through before Frank came in and told you his plan. About River, about his history with the service. Everything. They asked you why he’d tell you all of that and your own suspicions confirmed River’s. That you would have become another member. That, since you’d been taken before even River could figure it out, he’d save you the trouble and tell you himself. 

“I did try and tell him we’re not…” Your words stalled for a moment as River looked up at you. Frank had taken you for a reason. One that was bigger than just becoming another member in his fucked up circle. You meant something. But you also meant something more to River. “But he didn’t listen.”

River asked you more once your statement was finished and the officer left. 

“What did he say, exactly? When you told him about you and me?”

You took a shaky breath and River’s fingers held onto yours. “That he knew I was telling the truth. The truth that I’d convinced myself off, at least. He told me he’d been watching us. That he saw the look not only on my face but also on yours. He knew I meant something to you. More than the others meant. He told me I was important to his cause – not for the thing in France – his cause to you. I was his secret weapon to use against you. I guess when you called Lousia that kinda ruined his plan, but…after that he just locked the door and left.”

River just nodded silently as he listened to you, his fingers and hand never leaving yours whilst his other reached into his pocket to pull out your phone. Frank had taken it from you and blocked all trackers. You’d found it on one of the men you managed to stun with his own taser. But since your entire body was still shaking from the aftermath, you had given it to River.

Louisa kept River updated from the train station to Slough House and River kept her updated on you. 

By the time one of the doctors came back in, you’d begged him to let you go home. 

“You need to be supervised-”

“I can look after her.” River said. “She can come home with me. There’s a hospital less than ten minutes from my house.”

The doctor sighed but agreed. “If she has any of these symptoms, take her straight there.” The doctor tore a piece of paper from his clipboard, folded it and then handed it to River. He stood up, took it and nodded. 

“I will.”

“Thank you.” You thanked the doctor and nurse before they left, then you turned and thanked River. 

“Let’s go home.”

River helped you down before grabbing your jacket and leading you out of the hospital towards his car. You fell asleep in the car beside him as the hum of his engine pulled you from your consciousness, however you woke when you felt the familiar shake of River’s car pulling up outside of his grandfather’s home. 

River helped you out of the passenger seat and walked you to the door before he led you up the stairs and down the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. I’ll get you some fresh towels.”

“River?”

He turned back at the top of the stairs. “Yeah?”

“Where’s your grandfather?”

River took a moment before answering. “He’s staying with Cathrine until tomorrow. It’s safer for him to be there right now.”

You nodded, already knowing it was tough for River. But he forced himself to bounce back. “I’ll get you some towels and leave some clothes on the bed for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

An hour or so later, you lifted yourself from the edge of the bed, dressed in what you gathered was one of River’s t-shirts and old pj bottoms of his, the drawstring pulled into a bow to keep them from sliding down. 

Folded on the back of the chair was the towel you’d used to wring out the excess water from your hair and in the mirror opposite you, you examined the fingerprint bruises in your arm. Just as you walked to the window to look outside, you heard River’s voice from the bathroom. 

“I’m making you some food. You need to eat.” River picked up your clothes from the floor. “I’m gonna load these into the washer. They might still be salvageable. See you downstairs?”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, I’ll be down soon.”

Soon following the sound of River’s footsteps down the stairs, you made your way through his familiar home and into the kitchen. 

“Hey.”

“Hey. You looked into the pan. Chicken’s burning.” You took time to look around as River swore once more. 

“Shit, not again.” He whispered to himself before flipping it in the pan with a fork. “It’s not burnt. It’s searing. Just how I like it.” 

“Has your grandad really read all of these books?” You picked one from the shelf and flipped through it before replacing it. 

“Uh, yeah. Probably. It was my grandmother, really. She was a big reader. She always made sure I read at least one book a week.”

You raised your brows and linked your hands behind your back as you continued to look at the shelves. “Wow. One a week.”

River chuckled, hearing your sarcasm. “I didn’t exactly have an interest in reading then. But I still read one a week.”

“Let me guess, spy novels? James Bond?”

“They’re good books.”

You chuckled softly, pulling your gaze from him and back to the shelves. “I should have known. Ah, From Russia, with Love.” You pulled it from the shelf and showed him the worn spine. “Clear favourite.”

River smiled, carrying two plates with him to the dining table at the back. “Come on. Food’s ready.”

You smiled briefly as you watched him duck his head beneath the wooden beam to get to the table, all the while you placed the book back on the shelf. 

Sitting across from River, he poured you a juice drink. “The sugar will help with the shaking.”

You looked at your hand for a moment, seeing what he meant. It was subtle, but you were still shaking. You asked a few more questions about his childhood, about his reading habits, where and how he learned to cook. 

All of which were answered. 

As River washed up, you started drying to plates. “Hey, no. I can do them. You should sit down.”

“River, we’ve both been through a lot these last few hours. We can both do something normal.”

River gave you a saddened but knowing smile before going back to washing dishes, handing you a new one to dry until they were all done and your tea towel was damp. 

As River pulled the plug to the sink, you folded up the tea towel and rested against the kitchen side. River wrung out the cloth before washing the rest of the suds down the drain and turning the tap off. 

Then you handed him the towel to dry his hands before he threw it into the hamper and grabbed a fresh towel to leave on the side. 

“I know it’s a stupid question but how are you feeling?”

“Tired.” You admitted. “Exhausted. You?”

“I don’t think I’ve fully processed it yet.” River leaned against the sink with you. “I mean, I finally met my dad. But turns out he’s…evil. And…” River sighed. “I don’t know.”

“What about your grandad? What happens now?”

River swallowed, knowing the truth. “The service…they have connections to a home.”

“How far?”

“Twenty? Twenty-five minutes? All ex-service. Good care, nice staff. Safe.”

You looked back at River. “Want me to come with you?”

River shook his head. “No.” He cleared his throat and started to tidy things up that didn’t need tidying. “No. It’s something I’ve gotta do…”

You watched him for a moment. “River?”

Standing up straight, you laid a hand on his arm which stopped him and made him look at you, his gaze going from your hand, up your arm and eventually to your eyes. 

No words had to be exchanged. Enough was said in the look shared. 

Pulling him in, it was your turn to hug him and hold him tight. You didn’t say a word, just held him as the silent tears slipped from his eyes and you felt his lungs rattle in his chest as he tried his hardest to keep his fear and grief inside of him. 

You just held him tighter. 

At some point, you both walked to bed, a silent agreement being made to not leave each other. River got changed as you brushed your teeth and he swiftly joined you. He locked the place up before getting into bed beside you, the only light in the room flooding in under the curtains from the moon outside. 

River lay on his back, his arm stretched out to you. You lay with your head on his chest, his arms settling around you once you were both covered by the duvet. And in the darkness, his voice breaking slightly, he asked you a question. 

“I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I?”

You didn’t want to admit it yourself. But he needed you to. He needed to know the truth. And your voice broke with him.

“Yea. You’re doing the right thing.”

That night you held each other just a little tighter as you fell asleep. 

You didn’t know what time it was when you woke up, but you could definitely feel the leftover pain like a harsh hangover. River was no longer in bed with you. His side of the bed was cold, so he’d been awake for a while. And after a trip to the bathroom, you went in search of him. 

You found him in the kitchen, loading up another try of biscuit dough. 

“How long have you been awake?”

River looked at you as he closed the oven door with his foot and threw down the tea towel. “Hey. How’d you sleep?”

“Answer my question first.”

“About an hour. I didn’t want to wake you.”

You looked around for a clock. “What time is it anyway?”

“Little after nine.” River told you. “I wanted to make him something for when I take him…”

River couldn’t finish his sentence so you just nodded. You understood. “Want some tea?”

Clicking the kettle on, the water started to boil whilst you pulled two familiar mugs from the shelf and threw a tea bag into each before adding the sugar. 

The next hour passed quietly before you and River found yourselves sitting at the kitchen table once more. The tea was long gone, as was the toast you made for both you and River. 

“He’ll be okay, River.” You told him after he stared into space for five minutes, a finger running back and forth on his lip. He looked at you. “They’ll look after him and you’ll still be able to see him.”

“But he won’t be him.”

“No, he won’t.” You agreed. “That’s why you cherish the moments he is him.”

“He made me swear to him never to do this to him. If he ever lost who he was…” You reached across the table and held onto his hand. 

“He’ll be okay. He won’t be who you remember, or who he remembers. But he’ll be okay. He’ll be safe. He’s safer there than he is here, River. You can do a lot of things, River Cartwright but sometimes you have to let others help. They’ll know how to take care of him – in a better way than we have training for.”

With tears in his eyes, River nodded and squeezed your hand. 

“And I’ll be here when you need me.”

“Thank you.”

Still with his hand in yours, you stood and walked around the table to him before you found yourself sitting in his lap, his arms around you, his face buried into your neck. 

“You don’t have to be alone in this, River. I can’t make a lot of promises. Neither of us can. But I can promise you, you don’t have to be alone.”

River looked at you and you dried his tears. 

“You don’t have to be alone.”

In the silence that followed, River kissed you. It was soft, light and longing. It peppered out into smaller ones until your forehead was against his, your eyes closed along with him. The only noises that could be heard in the kitchen were the steady breathes from you and River. 

“I love you.” River whispered in the silence. 

“River, you don’t have to-”

He shook his head and then looked at you, your eyes meeting his. “I should have told you sooner, I know that much. Long before everything that’s happened this week. But I do love you. And…I just wanted you to know.”

You knew. You already knew. You’d always know, really. And so had he. It was just that neither of you had ever said it outloud before. 

Holding his face in your hands, you nodded with a small smile. “I love you, too.” You kissed him twice more when you saw the information had registered in his head. 

Life both in and outside of Slough House might not be easy, but loving each other had and always would be. And together, life in and out of Slough House felt a little less tough to deal with. 

[cartwrong]

Whumptober Day 7 - Unconventional Weapon

River was a mistake.

Isobel could admit that now as she drove down the familiar roads that led to her childhood home, her son dozing in the backseat.

Not a mistake in the sense that Isobel didn't mean to get pregnant, no, she knew precisely what she was doing. River was wanted in that sense. She wanted—desperately wanted—to have Frank’s child, be his wife, raise River and the other children of Les Arbres together. She spent weeks painting the mural in the nursery, envisioning her child growing up in that room with his brothers.

But then her father destroyed it all like a child stomping another child’s sand castle. He stomped his foot and that was that, Isobel was to return home, her father deemed it so. He forced Frank’s hand, made him an offer he couldn't refuse, simply so he could show Isobel there was no escaping David Cartwright’s reach.

David Cartwright, legendary MI5 agent, could reach out and pull his daughter to heel no matter how far she ran. He could convince the man she loved to throw her and their child aside as easily as tossing a discarded newspaper. He could leave her trapped with a child who suddenly no longer had a purpose.

So, yes, in Isobel’s most authentic moments she would admit River was a mistake, if only to herself.

She didn't know how to raise him alone, how to raise the son she created to one day help destroy her father and the only thing he truly cared about, Her Majesty’s Government. River and his brothers had a higher purpose, to be weapons of destruction and change, guided by Frank, but now he was nothing more than an unsharpened knife in her care.

“Mummy, where are we going? Are we almost there?”

He blinked at her in the rear view mirror, his enormous blue eyes almost startling in their size and curiosity. He was always looking at her like that: studying, appraising her the same way David did. It was unsettling.

“Somewhere fun, darling. Go back to sleep.”

Isobel took a deep breath when she pulled into the drive an hour later. She chanced one last look at her son and reminded herself this was the only way as she gently roused him from sleep, smoothing his hair and pressing a final kiss to his forehead.

David wanted to control her life, and if he wanted to pull her away from the man she loved, well he could reap what he sowed. If she gave River willingly then her father couldn’t take him from her. Attachments were meant to be purged. Better River learned that now than similarly to how she had; pregnant and deliriously in love, the man who she thought hung the moon shoving her out the door and back to her father like an unwanted stray cat.

If she didn’t have River then she could never lose River. David would have nothing left to weaponize against her.

Isobel didn’t look in the rear view as she drove away.

River was a mistake.

Leaving him was not.

[hitchell-mope]

Clever Penny.

[vestaclinicpod]

Audio Drama Sunday - 1st December ✨

Such a rollercoaster of a listening experience this week! I’ve either been laughing out loud or genuinely spooked!! 

🌲 @hellofromthehallowoods (175) OH I just love, love, love it when this show surprises us with a shift from its usual format. These little departures from the usual often lead to the most creepy, heart-wrenching parts of the show (see also: Creep’s introduction) and this ep had me so tense and engrossed that I was jump-scared by someone walking into the room. That little game of dares was so similar to how my wife and I fell in love as teenagers that it made my heart melt. Of course . . . I hope we have a better ending . . .  So excited to get Buck Silver on this case!! 

🔎 @224bbaker (12) This show makes me laugh OUT LOUD every single ep!!! I loved the ‘big talk’ and I laughed so hard at Peppermint’s reaction to Hampton, tiny delight that he is. I am veeerrrry suspicious about who may have planted that letter on John Watson's - sorry, I mean, Dennis’s - body. It seems to me that there’s only one person who would have had it in their possession to physically do so…. Also, it has not slipped my notice that 90% of the journalists have the same last name… 🧐

🦋 @remnantspod (16&17) I re-listened to ep 16 and got shivers again. What can you do when you’d led such a morally interesting life that the metaphysical being trying to judge your soul is obsessed with you?? Basil’s story was fantastic. I’ve said before how much I love that these snapshots start in childhood and, in this case, we got to see how his childlike sense of justice was crushed like that canary. I also looove Remnants for how it considers the lives of people who are war-adjacent. There’s so much to think about!!

🍾 @ameliapodcast (37) “If being happy to see me causes a bulge in your jacket pocket you should really see a doctor” AMELIA 😂 Things are really heating up in Panaragua - if only the MI5/CIA agents could generate a bit of heat by rubbing their brain cells together too! 

🌨️ @thewhitevault (14) Oh my god, the acting in this show is just consistently something else!! Incredible work from all involved, the terror feels real! I want to give Adele such a huge hug. The TRAUMA, man!! I’m so glad that Dragana has arrived but, oh my god, at what cost??

Really looking forward to finding time to catch the newest Waiting for October next week too! 🎃

[trixierosewrites]

Snippet Sunday

“It said full names,” a man Aidan didn’t recognise said. He had light brown hair and mud brown eyes, and no particularly recognisable facial features, although he did note there seemed to be the end of a scar peeking out from under his hairline. Interesting. “What happens if we don’t give each other our full names?” Another person Aidan didn’t recognise looked up, a smile quirking on the corners of their mouth. “That’s true. None of you know who I am, so none of you can condemn me to death.” “Nate Pearce and Dawn Downs,” a soft voice said, one Aidan hadn’t expected to hear again. Miriam Fischer, a pricey prostitute. She looked as he remembered her—long dark hair, piercing blue eyes that seemed to see too much. Sultry red lips, although stripped of makeup. Her eyelashes were paler than he’d expected them to be. “MI5 and a thief.” “And who might you be?” either Nate or Dawn snapped. He guessed Dawn, if only because they had the more androgynous face, and Dawn had the more androgynous name. “Seeing as you know all our names, either you’re our gracious kidnapper or you’re—” “Miriam Fischer,” Aidan said. “Her name is Miriam Fischer.”

Happy Memento Vivere! This is a very early snippet, also known as "how the fuck does one introduce eleven characters in rapid succession?" And, yes, Aidan is rancid about Miriam. Unfortunately, my narrator is a horrible person.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

I was chatting to my uncle about his time in service the other day and what it was like in 2000 when gay people were allowed to openly serve in the military for the first time.

I didn't tell him I was researching fanfic, he just likes chatting with me about politics and history because I'm his Pet Socialist Nephew and it's like a whole new world for him.

(My aunt worked for MI5 and they met in Cyprus while both were deployed; I'm pretty sure they're the reason I got to the late stages - NePoTiSm - but then I disappointed them to become a Tofu-Eating Wokerati Teacher. Yes, I am an ex-Tory, let's not.)

He was a lawyer in the RAF and spent most of his time prosecuting soldiers for misconduct. There is shit he has to take to his grave, especially surrounding the Gulf War. But he remembers dishonourable discharges for "sodomy" and how distasteful he found the "whole sordid business" when there were people still serving who had done "unspeakable things", and he told me about the slow dismantling of those laws, with the help of Stonewall, and the impact it had on so many men and women in the service.

He recalled one particularly terrifying NCO who often ridiculed him for his belly (my uncle likes cheese and wine, a lot; we got through a bottle of Merlot each...I'm pretty sure he opened a second) kissing his partner of 16 years openly, in full uniform, at the 2008 London Pride; how this "incorrigible" man broke down in tears because for the first time he wasn't torn in half: he could love both his country and his partner openly.

Now, this story is a fucking gold mine for me... Cause...

Can you imagine the 141 going to 2008? They think they're going to support their pet bi-disaster, Soap. Figure they'll go in No2s cause they'll be drinking and walking a lot. Then fucking Ghost rocks up in full No1s, shoes polished to an inch of their life like he's turned out for the god damn Queen.

When Soap teases him about how Extra he's being for lil ol' him, Ghost simply sighs and says, "I've waited my whole life for this, Johnny... I'm doin' it right."

That's how Ghost "comes out" to the 141, because of course it is. He doesn't do things in half measures. Soap looks him up and down and tries to play it cool, but Price can see how he's vibrating on the spot and figures they should fall in before Soap executes an unscheduled halo dive on Ghost's dick...

Johnny gets his kiss; by the lions of Nelson's column, under the admiral's watchful eye. Ghost's beret clenched in fist, strong arms clutching him so close, like Ghost's worried the moment might still be snatched from him at any point.

Johnny won't ever mention the tears he tastes between their lips. Some things just need to be let go.

[cicerfics]

Headcanons: How knowledgeable are the MI6 staff about the workplace gossip mill?

OK, just ONE more headcanons post before Fest is done!

This one is about our favorite characters and their ability (or lack thereof) to stay abreast of the hot goss circulating at HQ.

Moneypenny: THE gossip queen of MI6. Knows all, sees all, but does not TELL all. She always has the 411 on what's going on with MI6 personnel, but she's very discreet. She plays her cards close to her vest, and generally turns a blind eye to matters that do not concern her, M, important political matters, or internal security. Still, whether she discloses her knowledge or not, she absolutely knows which canteen worker spent the night with which member of Accounting while his wife was out of town. 👀

Bond: Very good at keeping his finger on the pulse and his ear to the ground. Generally very knowledgeable about the MI6 gossip mill. However, he is hamstrung by the fact that he spends so much of his time abroad. He has several key employees (well-placed in various departments) that he checks in with whenever he returns to HQ. He applies to Moneypenny as well and tries to weasel information out of her. Nine times out of ten, his sources help him stay up to date!

(After his retirement from the double-oh sector, Bond and Moneypenny develop a hand-in-glove relationship. Bond scouts around and collects gossip from satellite government offices and various London hotels. Meanwhile, Moneypenny collects intel from committee meetings and whispers in the halls outside M's office. Then she and Bond have lunch meetings to swap intel. Bond is a great asset to Moneypenny's gossip empire!)

Q: Perennially oblivious to gossip. Knows literally Nothing about who is shagging whom, or who has a workplace beef with whom. He is VERY busy and important and occupied with everything from complex mathematical equations to budget proposals! He simply has NO TIME to dawdle in the breakroom and no desire to go to after-dinner drinks with the minions! He wants to go home to his cats and SLEEP!

Anyway, this leads to awkward situations where Q attends the office holiday party and naively asks a fellow department head if her husband is in attendance...not realizing that this particular employee had a quiet (though very bitter and contentious) divorce four months prior. Oops! R and Moneypenny take to briefing Q on a regular basis to help him avoid these embarrassing lapses.

R: Extremely knowledgeable about all goings-on in Q-branch. She is, however, utterly indifferent to anything outside her own kingdom. Could not care less whether that man in Accounting is cheating on his wife. However, she knows all there is to know about what the R&D interns and ballistics techs get up to in their free time.

Tanner: He oversees literally all Internal Security business and receives regular updates from multiple people (Moneypenny included). So he is very much up to date. Not interested in gossip for gossip's sake, though. He just wants to be sure nobody is doing anything that will jeopardize national security or leave MI6 open to a sexual harassment lawsuit. When it comes to personal matters between consenting individuals...well. Tanner is very expert at turning a blind eye.

He saw Bond and Q flirting while fondling a gun that Q was passing over to Bond? No, he didn't. He happened to be looking at the wall clock, and he saw NOTHING. Thank you for your understanding!

Mallory: I feel like Mallory is always on the cutting-edge of political gossip. He knows EVERYTHING about the movers-and-shakers in the government. Absolutely everything. He is always 100% caught up on that mess. He is significantly less knowledgeable about what his employees get up to, though. Most of his time is spent liaising with foreign intelligence agencies, pushing through requests for additional funding, or fending off the interference of MI5. For better or for worse, he relies heavily on Moneypenny and Tanner to keep him caught up on internal matters.

[queenhunter102]

Chapter 3 ~ Settling in

Welcome to Chapter 3, Hope you enjoy also, I have a feeling I should start telling you I have little something, something coming over the next month

You huff as you are dragged out of the med-bay by your arm, growls being the only sound that can be heard between the pair of you. It's not long before you pass by the landing site and into another building. This time, it has offices instead of med-bay suites. John hauls you into an office, closing the door behind you. He lets go then, each of his steps measured and precise as he walks to the desk, taking a seat, his breath sounding forced as he settles down in his big chair. He tilts his up, looking at you. "So, who are you?" he asks, his eyes finally taking you in, your kitted-out black gear that had a simple insignia on the front of your vest; he watched as you sucked air in through your teeth before slowly but steadily raising your eyes to meet his. "I'm Venom, Sir," you say, pulling yourself to stand at attention. Giving him a salute, John only squints his eyes. "I don't know anyone by that callsign," he says, his voice sharp and accusatory; you tilt your head from side to side. " You should have been informed of my arrival weeks ago, Sir," you say. Now, you really wish you had your bag filled with that important information you needed. John only pursed his lips as he leaned back in his chair and unbuttoned his shirt sleeves. "Right, and I'm Elizabeth the second", he says, his eyes feeling like sharp knives poking into each exposed, despite there being little skin to be seen. You lower your eyes, not wanting to piss him off further than you already seemingly had. John growled a little as he leaned his forearms on his desk. "If I were informed about you, where did you come from?" he said. " I'm from MI5, sir; Unit Chief Mark Levins requested my transfer," you say. John pursed his lips as if he were thinking as he pulled at a drawer, pulled out a small, thin file, and laid it out on the desk. John casually flipped it open. "Unfortunately, I don't have a picture or name for you," he said as he flipped the one or two pages on the file. "I also don't have much about you either," he said. You nodded. "I know…MI5 have classified my file," you said, knowing that was almost true. John sighs, resting his head on his hand as he watches your stance, posture, and expression.

There was a moment of silence between you before a loud knock broke the tension. You watched as John's eyes turned to the door. "Come in!" he shouted. You glanced over your shoulder, watching a tall man enter, his face covered by a mask. You squinted, looking at his mask, and realised it was a skull mask in his hands, holding onto a set of files.

The skull man briefly eyes you as he walks past, heading to John and the file out to him; you watch as John takes the file and opens it, his brows scrunched. "What have I told you boys about interrupting me?" he says, sighing. You watch John's face change from annoyance and confusion to Surprise and suspicion.

His eyes flick back to you before flicking back down the file. He stands from his desk, taking the file with him as he leaves, leaving you alone with the tall masked man; you look over to the man watching him watching you before you flicker your eyes down, unsure what to say or do.

"So you're the recruit?" he asked. Your eyes flicked up to the tall man, and you only nodded. The masked man tilted his head to the side. " I don't know what they taught you, but we use our words here and stand at full attention." His voice was gruff and attenuative. You snapped to full attention, your arms dropping to your side, legs pressed together. "Apologies, sir!"

The masked man only shakes his head as he watches you…seeming almost amused with how quickly you changed to suit his wants; you watch as John comes back muttering, "Bloody Laswell, Cannae, find one Kid" John huffs as he walks past you and straight to the masked man.

John hands him a file. You watch as the masked man reads the file, his brows raising. "You, sure this is right?" he asks. John only nods his head. "Seems so," he says, glancing at you over his shoulder. The masked man sighed, his shoulders slumping, as he closed the file, handing it back to John.

The masked man straightens his posture before he walks over to you, his hand outstretched. He pauses two feet from you as he pulls down his mask, showing off the rest of his face, his barely-there brown stubble that seems to match his dark brown eyes, which look so…broken and fractured.

You eye his hand, hesitating as you watch before slowly offering your hand. The masked man takes it with a little more force than needed. He gives you a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes before saying, "Welcome to the 141. I'm your Luetenint Riley."

You gave a quick nod as you shook his hand. "Thank you, sir. It is a pleasure to be here," you said. John followed after him, offering his hand and snatching yours when offered; he gave you a tried smile as he shook your hand, clasping it in his other hand. " I just hope you aren't as bad as my boys," he said, sighing, as he let go of your hand. Waving his hand, indicating that you follow him, he says, "We should take you to get settled. " Luetenit Riley nods as he follows after you and John. "Yeah, we should call a meeting," he says, closing the door. John hums as he walks down the hall, only pausing to look back. "We should, but we'll leave it a few days," he says as he guides you down the hall.

TAGLIST: prettykinkysoul, ghosts-hoe, spicyspicyliving, dneicjefx, cryingpages, sakunawifey, cringeycookies, ttsbaby01, caius-red04

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Our Omega (rewritten)

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See you around, my little loves.

Kissess.

Part 2 / Part 4