#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.)

[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.” 

***

Follow Forever tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @knittastically

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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.

[tomhollandisabae]

I've got a request! Ghost and reader on a mission together. They both have definite feelings for each other already. Reader gets shot and from Ghosts pov it looks fatal, but it isn't. Reader has to play dead to escape from the enemy and scares Ghost half to death in the process. THANK YOU

thank u so much for ur request love!!🥰🥰

faking- simon "ghost" riley x reader

masterlist

summary; as the mission goes on, you are forced to fake your death, hurting the man you love most.

warnings; angst, death, mentions of blood, mature language, violence, fluff, english is not my first language, unedited

words; 1.7k

a/n; doesn't follow the events of mw2, but there are some hints here and there

to clear things out MI5 works within the UK (MI6 is the opposite)

“Vox, report.” You heard ghost’s voice.

“I'm going in.” You replied.

“No, no. You stay where you are, you hear me? We didn't agree on that.” He insisted.

“Ghost there is no other way. It has to be done now. Over.”

The situation had as follows; you had organised an ambush on Graves and his team, while your top priority was to capture him and take him hostage to use him against Shepherd. However, your plan wasn't keeping up with theirs as much as you wanted, so you had to improvise. That's why you argued with Ghost and disobeyed his instructions, putting yourself at risk.

As you broke in you started taking down one soldier after the other, but sooner or later found yourself on your knees, putting pressure on the front of your thigh trying to prevent more blood loss as you had apparently been shot.

“Vox, what's going on?” Ghost’s worried voice sounded once again over the comms.

“I'm hit, but I'll survive.” You informed him.

“I'm coming in.”

“Ghost no, I'll be fine.” You insisted, but it had no result as you show him entering the building you were in and approaching you carefully, trying not to compromise himself.

“I told you not to do that. You didn't listen Y/n.” He spoke once he leaned down taking you in his arms and picking you up carefully making you hiss due to the pain.

“I'm sorry…” You responded weakly.

“Hey it's okay, you're going to be okay. Just keep your eyes open, can you do that for me doll?” He asked you, panic written all over his voice.

“Mhhm…” you murmured as you started feeling lightheaded.

“Y/n, Y/n” he shook you “I need a medic immediately! Vox is down!” He shouted over the comm.

“Simon…” you exclaimed his name slowly.

“Everything's going to be okay Y/n, you'll be okay. Please keep your eyes open.” He pleaded as his hands started trembling.

“I'm sorry, i'm so sorry…” a tear rolled down on your cheek.

“Medics are on their way.”

“You hear that darling, they're coming to save you.” He placed you down again, once you were outside the building.

“I'm really sorry…” you kept repeating over and over again.

“You don't have to be sorry about anything sweetheart, everything's fine. Just stay awake.” You could tell that under the mask a sad and hurt expression had overtaken his facial characteristics.

“I'm so…”

“No! No no no! Please no!” He took you in his arms and hugged you tightly as if he could keep you soul in from exiting your cold body.

When the medics finally arrived they found Ghost on his knees holding you as tight as he could, trying to memorise the way you felt for the rest of his miserable life. They tried to take you away from him and after a few tries they succeeded as Soap appeared from behind them, approaching Ghost and kneeling down next to him trying to comfort him, but it was too late.

Ghost had lost his last hope of life. He had lost you…

It took three months for the Task Force 141 to finally give an end to everything. They had accomplished their mission and were now celebrating in a small bar as they waited for Laswell to arrive, so she could congratulate them face to face.

Ghost never spoke to anyone, only when it was needed for the mission. He distanced himself from everyone and everything and promised himself to avenge for you death. As he did.

Now the team were having their time of their lives, when finally Laswell walked in.

“Hello boys.” She greeted them with a smile.

They all said their hellos back, apart from Ghost who just nodded towards her.

However, nobody noticed another figure entering the bar, behind Kate.

“It can't be…” Soap exclaimed shocked and everyone turned to him in question and he pointed towards the person behind Laswell.

“Vox?” Gaz said and Ghost head shot up feeling his heart racing.

“Hi” You finally waved at them appearing now next to Kate.

“How?” Price questioned.

“Sit down boys, we can't talk standing.” Laswell motioned towards the booth where everyone was sitting.

And they did so, as you sat down across from Ghost, not daring to look at him. You didn't know what to expect from him. You had left him, you broke him, making him think he had lost everything once again. You were his war partner, wanting to be his life partner eventually, but you betrayed him.

“So where should I start from?” Kate sighed.

“How's Y/n alive, no offence Y/n, I'm really glad your alive, but.. how?” He turned to you and you just nodded.

“Y/l/n works for the MI5, she's been a secret agent for the British army since the beginning of her career. When she was placed in Task Force 141, she had already agreed that her alliance would always be to MI5, so when she was asked to fake her death she couldn't do otherwise.” She began explaining “Y/n, you wanna continue? You know the situation better than anyone.” She asked you and you nodded.

“Yeah, umm… M asked me to get into the Shadow company swearing my allegiance to them, but to do so I had to make you all believe that I'm dead. I had approached Graves and talked to him about it. I promised him that I would be by his side and I would let him know everything about our team. Of course I had already spoken with M and we had agreed on what I would be giving away to him, most of them were false informations. So when I entered that building I had already a bag with fake blood on my foot and prosthetics above it to make it look real. I stabbed the bag and you know the rest… Once I was in the Shadow company I had found a way to secretly commuting with M and gave them all the information they needed. Graves trusted me with everything and I was beside him all the time. When he was finally killed, I was… well… brought back to life.” You said.

“Wow…” Soap was in awe.

“Badass.” Has smirked.

“That's a hell of sacrifice you did there Y/l/n. If they had found out, you'd be for real dead.” Price told you.

“I know, but I was extremely careful.” You smiled at him.

“So you were out secret informer” Soap raised his eyebrow.

“Don't think so. I was providing some information to the MI5, I guess M was talking with Kate and then passing the info to you.” You bit your lip.

“So badass” Soap agreed with Gaz.

Suddenly, Ghost rose up from his seat and walked out of the bar leaving you speechless.

“You should go talk to him. He went through a lot after what happened.” Soap looked at you.

“Yeah, I remember…” You exhaled as you had flashbacks of when he wouldn't let you go as the paramedics were trying to take you away from him.

You got up and finally went outside to find him leaning against a tree in the far back.

“Simon…” You breathed out his name as you approached him.

He didn't respond, didn't even look at you for a second.

“Simon I'm really sorry…”

“Yeah, you said so. Now it all makes sense, the way you were repeating that you were sorry over and over again, the fact that there was no funeral… it all makes sense now.” He shook his head.

“I had no other choice. You have to believe me.” You tried to reason with him.

“Everyone has a choice Vox.” It took you aback as he used your code name and not the real one. He would never call you that when you weren't in the battlefield.

“Well I didn't.” You raised your voice having enough at this point and he finally looked at you shocked.

“You don't know how it is to work for the secret services Simon. They have no morals. They used my fucking family. They had promised me that they would provide them protection as long as I was away for the mission, but they had captured them and threatening to kill them all in the name of saving thousands of other lives. As much as I love you Simon, I love my family too. I might not be able to have a decent relationship with you anymore, but at least you and my family are alive.” You cried out as words kept spilling out of your mouth.

“You love me?” He interrupted you after a while.

“I… yes Simon, I love you more than anything.” You wiped your tears away as you saw him walking up to you.

“Is your family okay?” He asked once he stood in front of you.

“Yeah” you shook your head positively “they're fine.”

“Good.” He placed his arms around your waist pushing you closer to him, making you gasp at the gesture.

“Simon…” you looked up at him.

“What about the MI5?” He asked you.

“I'm out. I don't work for them anymore.” You bit your lip nervously, but he placed his thumb on top of your lower lip, freeing it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You barely whispered.

“Good.”

What he did next was something that you never expected him to do. He lifted his mask, taking it off completely, revealing his beautiful face to you.

With your hands trembling, you placed them carefully on each side of his face.

“I love you Y/n.” He lowered his head, your lips only centimetres from each other.

“Please…” you pleaded.

“What do you want darling?” His lips brushed the crooner of yours softly.

“Kiss me.” Your eyes looked with his.

And he did so, finally connecting your lips in a so long awaited kiss. His soft once moving slowly on top of yours with so much care and love.

And that was just the beginning of a new chapter of both your lives.

Because you would leave a happy ever after, together and forever!

[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

[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.

[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.

[hitchell-mope]

Clever Penny.

[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.

[aoimeru14]

I'm usually more calm about this sport, but today's race makes me want to sort of rant (and hear what y'all think)...

Serious question, do you genuinely think that McLaren actually has a strategy? (Any kind of strategy) (Please comment on it, I'm genuinely curious to hear your thoughts)

No, because now I'm starting to think that they just play Jenga during the briefing and then tell the drivers "Do what you want, you are your own man now. But remember, Papaya Rules" and then proceed to play Galaga at the pitwall during the race.

I'm saying this because even if McLaren objectively has the best car/drivers combo on the grid, it seems like they still don't have a plan on how to use it and what they want to achieve with it. (Like, today they achieved results just because the drivers aren't tractor drivers) (and no, it's not the same as Ferrari. They have clear goals, just poor strategies, from time to time, for achieving them)

You think they learned after Hungary, but no.

You think they came to a resolution after everyone, especially their direct competitors, told them about WDC, but no.

Today none of the pit calls made sense (most of them were just plain data feeding/asking for feedback) and this leaves me wondering:

"why I still cannot figure out what they want to do with this 2024 season in terms of strategy/goals?"

(Also, they clearly don't have a clue on how to start p1-p2).

Italy Sky sports commentators seem to think just like me because they kept asking the same question to everyone on the grid.

Am I really the only one who saw today as an easy p1-p2? Like, everyone was so confused/slow during the race and the drivers were clearly left by their own devices...

In the realm (of dreams) in which a strategy/goal actually existed, then the pitwall should have done more, in my opinion. They should have given more clear instructions to both drivers, especially before the actual race...

Yes, i'm also (but not only) talking about that risky, premature and overly aggressive pass in lap 1 at the chicane.

NO, it is not Oscar's fault, he just wanted to prove that he is a good driver. We know sweetie. You still have a lot to learn and today it showed. The fault is on the ones who instructed him, a rookie, that he COULD do it so aggressively and early in the race, risking both of the cars like that. (Thank you Lando for braking and saving it)

No, really, If that's what they are cooking for winning WCC then, oh boy. We are screwed.

Let's remember the clownery of: "Yes, we don't have a first driver, that's toxic behaviour. We let them race each other".

Yes, I agree.

You have a really good lineup so, why not? BUT there must be limits, for god's sake... There must be a strategy behind it. Look at what could have happened to BOTH cars... IN LAP 1.

That 1v1, so early in the race, didn't make sense strategy wise (and, in fact, just helped to open a position for Ferrari to slide in. Very "Ministry of Defense of the Papaya Kingdom" behaviour from everyone involved).

It was clear that today Piastri was feeling it, even more than Norris. He could have had all of the laps in the world to challenge Lando AFTER they secured a P1-P2 by distancing themselves from the Ferraris...

Also, why on earth do they still ask the drivers "Are we still on plan A or B?"... Guys, it's your job, YOU HAVE ALL THE DATA IN FRONT OF YOUR NOSE... YOU are the one who should know if your drivers are in a position in which they can safely do two pits or just focus on one and manage the tyres (yes, I'm positive that that was the full extent of the two impossible-to-decipher master plans... Call them MI5).

To quote Max Verstappen: "Can people in the background please be awake? it's important."

Speaking of the data... I unfortunately also think that the real reason behind why they had to rely so much on the drivers for feedback was also because they didn't harvest enough data for the medium (and so, acquiring solid data concerning the race pace) during free practice. From what I saw they preferred the soft all friday, obviously for a perfect pole at quali, and sacrificed all Saturday morning for petty strategy (sandbagging, really? In this economy?!).

Speaking of "In this economy"... (Yes I'm still not done ranting, I just recharged my battery for the last nail in the coffin, like Lando taught me last GP)

Ok, today was bad but what makes me more upset is the fact that McLaren's lack of ideas (and today's podium positions) slightly undermined both of the drivers chances to p1-p3 in WDC. (Yes, both. I would really like to see Piastri getting P3 in WDC in his second F1 season. Very demure, very polite cat.)

For those wondering, no, I'm really happy that McLaren is achieving all these points this year, it's been a while for the Papaya house and they really worked so hard to achieve this and more.

But this car/driver combo has not only proved to be suited for being on upper side of the grid, it's real winning material. So real that the beasts (us and, why not, the drivers) are getting hungry for victories. Let's just keep this mentality and translate it to a solid plan, because we don't know how long will it last. Maybe next year would be 2022/2023 all over again. Let's win everything while we can.

ALSO this lack of plans, Championship wise, is also starting to build up on drivers. We can see it on Oscar's tendency to be impulsive at times and Lando's struggles with believing in himself and performing accordingly. Does he really have to start ignoring the pit wall and go full multi21 for the WDC? Does Oscar have to do the same to win and prove that he can do better than whatever Hungary was? No.

The fact that none of the other McLaren strategists/team principal seem to acknowledge the harm that this lack of long term plans/goals is doing to everyone is what is making everything worse. And no, saying that Lando could do a Vettel Is not how you solve the problem. Same goes for "Oscar Is ready to help, if asked". Same goes for guilt-trapping Lando and calling him childish when he does not comply.

No, no one has to sacrifice something. No, one IS sacrificing something. Why is it always about blaming the other driver? Stop with this narrative. It's pure and simple gaslighting, the reality is that you have a rocketship and zero plan on how to use it at the fullest.

All for what? favouring constructor? That's really the only plan you have? Guys, do you know that if you do strategies that help the drivers (also WDC wise) you mathematically also get points for the WCC, right? That's how it works...

And yes, i really think that p1-p3 in WDC was (and maybe is, I don't know... Don't feel like I want to do the calculations right now) doable with the right strategy (and Verstappen constantly on a one-wheeled tractor, let's be realistic).

Both Norris and Piastri deserved a P1-p2 today, and both of them deserve to be adequately followed for the WDC (even if they cannot achieve P1. P2 and P3 is still LOVELY). Wouldn't it be more gratifying for them and their careers than just a podium?? That would be a real PAPAYA RULES in my opinion. (Of course drivers like to win, so probably they are ok with anything if that means holding trophies, but still... THINK BIG WHEN YOU CAN)

That said, even if I'm a McLaren fan (maybe I should correct it as "McLaren's drivers and engineers fan" now, we'll see), I'm still really happy that Leclerc won (sorry, i'm italian. Today, and just today, I'm also a tifosa too, forza Ferrari!).

Just a little pissed to see that we still don't have a plan other than a stupid propagandistic slogan... (Yes, I decided to risk my life on this site doing this ranting BECAUSE of that stupid slogan).

Sorry for the yapping/ranting, I hope I didn't offend anyone. Love y'all, and don't take anything too seriously, it's just a sport.

As anyone, I just want to see the team I'm rooting for improve, especially now that we have a NASA rocket in the house.

Also, McLaren fans, pls don't fight each other, let's be less toxic than our favourite team. The drivers didn't do anything wrong today and, even if it is difficult to admit it, they are just two twenty-something years old acting like their age living their dream/passion.

That said, I'm really curious to read your thoughts/opinions on today's race and ideas for possible future strategies. I see it often on Reddit and never on Tumblr, let's show that we too can get technical!

See you (?) for the next GP... Hoping McLaren does come to their senses.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @thesingularityseries thank you <3

so I've started working on the British Gangster AU for Rory and TF141, very much in the vein of Guy Ritchie/Quentin Tarantino - told in a weird timeline format, lots of hopping between character POVs, etc.

snippet gets kind of long (sorry) and is still VERY rough. Also, the MI5 officers are absolutely written to basically be Statham and Vinnie Jones... so yeah...

warning for mentions of violence and criminal activities

Thames House, MI5 Headquarters, London, UK

It's not the first time Rory Sinclair has found herself inside an interrogation room, it's certainly the first time she's been the one to be questioned however…

Hazel eyes roam around the room. It’s the same sterile grey they always are, a mirror on the wall she knows the camera is set up on the other side of recording her, cheap mic on the table picking up audio, the uncomfortable metal chairs the authorities will keep a person chained to as if they lost all rights the moment they walked through the door. 

And before her are two carbon copied hardboiled officers: matching ill-fitting suits, close-cropped shaved heads, five o’clock shadows, and appearing as though they’ve both broken and have had their noses broken several times over. 

Manicured nails tap against the table top, french tips clicking against fake wood laminate. One leg crossed over the other as her foot bounces in time to a tune on replay in her head to keep herself occupied. One way or another... Fixing the way her coat sits to keep out the cool air from the AC they've clearly turned up to make her less comfortable and therefore more willing to talk. Focus lazily swinging from one officer to the other like a pendulum. 

Uninterested. 

Apathetic. 

She yawns as a set of files is tossed in front of her, skidding across the table, covers falling open, and before her sits the faces of four men.

The two officers sitting across from her put on their best good cop, bad cop performance as they give her the stare down - except one of them forgot to play soft.  Arms crossed, sullen faces, tight jaws. 

Real hardasses. 

“Miss Sinclair, it's in your best interest to realize that your choice of career puts you in direct contact with some less than savoury individuals,” the first officer husks. “These four especially, been keeping tabs on them for some time now. Drugs, weapons, illegal gambling, murder – all in a day's work for the 141, eh?”

She offers no reaction at all, there wasn’t a rap sheet in the world that could surprise her anymore. Her career was built on representing individuals with longer lists of crimes than that. Her stoneface response clearly isn’t the reaction the authorities were hoping for with the way they lean in towards her, cutting into her personal space, black tea on their breath permeating the air.  

“Ever heard of ‘em, love?”

Rory leans back in her seat, hands sliding into her lap as her heel continues its monotonous motion. “Can't say that I have, no.” 

“Then permit us to inform you, miss.” 

The larger brute of an officer thrusts his finger towards the first picture, a ragged, roughly bitten nail pointing to a stocky man with a steely gaze, mutton chops, and a neck tattoo. “This ‘ere's the leader. Goes by ‘The Captain’ – Jonathan Price.” 

Price

“Been at this since the age of sixteen…” 

The warehouse sits quiet, still, and dark. Water-stained windows, milky and clouded, creak and rattle with the ocean air from the nearby harbour. The giant factory doors open with a squeal, and the silhouetted forms of four inky figures stand there in the night as a body hung from the rafters by chains swings to and fro, murmuring from behind a strip of duct tape. The night is foggy, and the wisps of vapour crawl into the abandoned building. Shafts of light that beam in through the holes in the corrugated metal roofing cut shadows across the faces of the visitors in tailored suits, long overcoats, and leather shoes. 

Silent surroundings are broken by the tapping of soles on concrete and the rasp of a match being lit as it’s held up to the recently snipped end of a Villa Clara cigar, sparking it to life with a burning orange glow. A heavy plume of smoke is blown out, swirling and thick as it trails up towards the worn openings above – the only thing allowed to escape the oppressive stare of sharp blue eyes. 

Tape is ripped from the mouth of the man swinging idly from the chains that bind him, mouth left raw and red as adhesive is torn away from skin and stubble.  

“Where did you think you were, York?” he whispers hoarsely around the stub of his cigar as he stands before the hanged man, arms crossed over his chest. There’s no need to raise his voice – his figure, his name, is intimidating enough. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, Price.” The hanged man huffs out a nervous laugh, pleading with someone who he knows off reputation alone is merciless. “Don’t know how the bastards in London handle things, but Liverpool – this is my city, yeah?” “Course it is, innit.” 

If York had hands available to hold up in surrender he would. Waving the white flag in the presence of the head of England’s most powerful gang in a heartbeat. It was rare for a person to be given the opportunity to meet with Price in person and it usually wasn’t for good reason. He had people to handle these sorts of things, and more important matters to attend to. But, sometimes, a person needed reminding of just who sat at the top and how much power he wields. Power that he ruthlessly holds onto. Whether it's the Irish, the Russians, or the cartels who try to step into his territory, he offers no leeway, never an inch spared. This is his territory, a hunting ground he worked his way up to the top to attain and he won’t let that slip through his fingers for love nor money.

He says nothing more on the matter as cold, unreadable eyes look up at his prey from under a heavy brow. John doesn’t see the point in wasting his words or his breath when it's no longer necessary. His point has been made well known, and the body – when it’s found – will take care of the rest.

With another puff of smoke released, he slinks back into the shadows, Gaz at his right hand, leaving his two guard dogs to handle the rest. He can trust them to handle matters properly with little oversight. His Lieutenant, Riley, has no trouble keeping MacTavish on a leash.

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[daddymilker691]

A true tale of MI5 deep cover opps James arrived to the dreary MI5 building this was of course the 1950s and not of course the building we are all so well aquatinted with across Vauxhall Bridge , James was as usual spotless in a pin striped suit when his commanding officer walked in and said in that upper crust firm British accent you’ve seen so often in spy films , James your flying to the Algerian Embassy they have some highly classified documents and you need to bring them back pronto James solemnly nodded his head understood chief he replied , James darling for that was James last name I’ve managed to procure you a job in the heart of the embassy but and I’m not sure how you will take this James you will be an Embassy maid your uniform is ready and you leave from an airfield in Surrey later tonight , James baulked at the idea but this was for queen and country within an hour the girls from HQ had done his make up and he boarded the plane , and heading for a remote embassy in Tunis for two days he managed to keep his identity hidden and when he got his chance he slipped down into the basement where all the secret documents lay , just then as James was pouring through the documents an taking photos from the hidden camera in his blouse the door flew open and a strapping Arabian man walked in what are you doing he demanded James was more flustered than at any time before in his career and found himself lost for words I’m dusting came his reply Mohammad pushed him against the door a hard shove your not a woman , James gulped yes I am he replied no your a fucking spy James thought his number was up and prepared to be shot or tortured but instead he felt a large warm Arab hand caressing his red satin panties this was most undignified but Mohamed was smiling you like said Mohamed grinning James grit his teeth and said yes Mohamed continued his hand now firmly gripped around James reluctant yet throbbing cockette , James as far as we at MI5 are aware is still at the embassy

[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.

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Part 2 / Part 4