#coming in the next chapters! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scrollonso · 16 days

Text

Sharing

A Strollonso AU where the daughter of a Canadian billionare and her friend are hired by Renault to bring attention to the teams 2nd driver. What'll happen when the girls gain the attention of more than just the media? (4k words, whore fernando, emotional lance) [@roostersrocket] {this was supposed to be a oneshot but... pt2 soon}

Lance sat in the back of the car her father sent, Esteban digging through her bag to find her concealer as their chauffeur drove at a steady pace.

"Putain, where is it?" Esteban muttered, running a hand through her hair as the other dug through the sky blue bag on the floor of the backseat

"What's wrong, Estie?" Lance asked, glancing at her friend as she curled her eyelashes

"Do you have concealer? I think I left mine at the hotel"

"Yeah" She hummed, Lance handing the girl her own makeup bag "It should be your colour"

"Thank you, Lance, I'd be dead without you" Esteban said, taking out what she needed before putting the bag back next to Lance's pale thigh

After what felt like ages they arrived at the Imola Circuit, Lance stepping out to fix her clothes, knowing the odd material was messed up after the long car ride.

She had on a white tube top with the teams logo plastered right over her tits, a halter-top like jacket on over it. She propped one leg up on the side of the car as she unrolled her shorts, tucking the back of them back under the belt with a Renault branded buckle on it

"Lance, does my ass look okay?" Esteban called from the other side of the car, the Canadian looking up from her legs to see Esteban turned around at the other side of the vehicle, the yellow "2" on the left pocket of her shorts making it impossible to notice if her ass looked bad.

"Your ass always looks great" Lance confirmed, putting her leg down and closing the car door as she stepped forward to thank the driver before her and Esteban made their way onto the paddock.

They quickly found their way to the Renault garage, not able to ignore the cameras on them as soon as they got there, the duo only worried about how their faces would look in these pictures

"What if I have a double chin?" Lance asked, hand smoothing the skin under her jaw as she spoke

"Lance, the only double you have are double D's, calm down" Esteban scoffed, smiling at her comment

"Stop, I can't kiss you in front of all these people" Lance smiled back, nudging the girls shoulder as they made their way to the Italian side of the garage.

The two mainly sat around, speaking politely to all the slightly offputting men that would walk up and hit on them, the friends having no interest in anything besides the expierence from the job so far.

They'd probably spoken to half the engineers working for Renault before a driver approached them, realizing who it was as soon as he spoke

"You two must be Esteban and Lance, It is a pleasure to have you both here" Giancarlo spoke, extending a hand to Lance then moving to shake Estebans next

"Thank you, We absolutely love it so far." Lance smiled politely, legs crossing as she gazed up at the Italian

"There won't be much going on today but it will get more exciting as the week progresses, I look forward to having you two cheering me on" He smiled back, nodding at the girls before returning to his engineers side, back to work

"God, he's hot" Esteban gushed instantly, whispering in the Canadians ear

"Shut up" Lance laughed, hitting the girls shoulder as she shook her head, disapproving of the comment

"Oh, come on!" Esteban whined "Tell me he isn't. You like older guys, he's like 15 years older than you."

"And so not my type."

"You're such a liar, but fine, more for me then" Esteban hummed, rolling her eyes at the younger girl

Lance and Esteban began to wander around the paddock once the Renault drivers started speaking to the media, being told that it would cause more people to begin speaking about the driver with the number 6 plastered on his car

"My legs hurt" Lance complained, wrapping her arms around the taller girl's waist, pulling her closer as she stumbled on her heels

"Merde" She cursed under her breath, having been startled by the sudden weight on her "Take off your heels then, it'll probably look better if we're shorter than Giancarlo anyway"

Lance nodded, looking at the concrete her heels were resting on before unclasping them and sliding her feet out, glad the pavement wasnt overheated by the sun yet

"God, I should've worn flats" She mumbled, balancing on one foot as she rubbed the sole of her foot

"Stop complaining, it's only been two hours" Esteban laughed at the now shorter girl, picking up her shoes and pulling her along, not noticing the Spaniard who's eyes were stuck on the Canadian with long, bleched blonde hair.

Fernando stopped in his tracks as he saw the two girls not far ahead of him, they were facing away but as the blonde girl spoke her head turned just enough for the World Champion to catch a glimpse of her face, he felt like he'd been punched in the gut he was so in awe with her.

The way her lip jutted out slightly as she complained to the older girl in front of her, the way her clothes fit her perfectly no matter how she positioned her slim yet curvaceous body, the way her hair curled at the ends as it draped over her bare shoulders, everything about her had Fernando completely beguiled.

As Giancarlo finished with his interviews the girls were quick to rush to his side, striking up a conversation while still close enough to the journalists for them to notice the closeness between the trio

"Hello, girls, figured you had returned home already" The older man commented, arms snaking around the young girls' waists as they walked back to the yellow and blue garage

"We couldn't leave without getting to know you more" Esteban hummed, having to look down slightly in order to meet the mans eyes

"Only if I can get to know you as well" He responded, accent thick as he winked at the French woman, Lance rolling her eyes as she third wheeled

As the trio walked into the Italian side of the garage, Lance couldn't help but notice the eyes from the Spanish side. She looked up for a second, lips curving up as she saw the older man look away quickly as if he was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to

"So, what is it you ladies want to learn?" Giancarlo spoke, taking a seat at a small table in the corner as Esteban did the same, Lance just wandering the one side, now curious of the other.

"What are you willing to show me?" Esteban hummed, cocking her head to the side as she gazed at the Italian, completely oblivious to her friend slipping away, putting her shoes back on as she walked.

Lance peeked over to Fernandos side, noticing it was significantly emptier than Giancarlos, hesitating to actually step foot on the other side.

She almost fell over when she heard a voice close to her, grabbing tightly on to the closest thing to her for stability

"Woah" A thick accent spoke, hands grabbing harshly onto her waist "Are you okay?"

Her eyes widened, a startled look on her face as she gazed down at the Spaniard, realizing she'd tripped and fell into the arms of Giancarlos teammate

"Yeah, I'm sorry" She laughed, stepping back and fixing her top, unable to forget how his fingers lingered on her skin as she pulled back

"Don't be sorry, princesa." He responded, a part of him liking having to look up to see the girl "You're welcome on the better side of the garage any time"

"Are you trying to hit on me, Alonso?" Lance smiled, cocking her head to the side as she saw the Spaniards face flush

"Quiza, is it working?" The Spaniard laughed quietly, leaning against the wall beside him as he gazed at the Canadian, hoping he wasn't making the girl uncomfortable

"You'll have to try a little harder, Alonso" She shook her head, looking away from the Spaniard to scan his side of the garage

"Fernando"

"Hm?" She hummed, eyes falling back on the man in blue

"Call me Fernando. Alonso's too formal, no?"

"Okay, Fernando" She nodded, unable to stop herself from smiling "I'm Lance. It's nice to meet you"

"The pleasure is all mine"

Lance spent the rest of the evening on the Spaniards side, he was funny. She was glad to get along with someone besides the man Esteban was clearly into.

"You have to choose one card, now" He smiled, holding a deck of Spanish cards in his hands, fingers decorated with silver rings.

"Okay" She laughed, eyebrows raising as he quickly flipped through the deck

"Oiii, you are too slow" He teased, shrugging as his eyes stayed glued to the woman

"Oh, come on!" Lance groaned, hitting his arm lightly "Go again, slower."

"Yes ma'am" He nodded, flipping through the deck again as he waited for Lance to tell him to stop

"There" She said, and he stopped, moving the deck so she would see her card.

"You know it?"

"Yeah" Lance smiled, leaning forward on the table as she watched the older man link the cards together, showing that he wasn't taking anything out

"Okay, we have the cards," He hummed, laying the deck down now that it was stuck together "You know which one you choose?"

"Mhm"

"Then, we take this off." Fernando glanced at the girl before unlinking the chain and grabbing the cards, setting them in seperate pile one by one "When you see your card you tell me stop."

He got through half the deck and Lance had yet to say anything so he spoke again

"You have to tell me stop, if you no tell me stop-" He said, almost scolding the girl

"I will! I haven't seen it yet" She defended, jutting out her bottom lip as she moved her head closer to the cards

"We cannot play if you no tell me stop."

"I think it might've disappeared! Where's it gone?" Lance questioned, laughing as he reached the end of the deck

"I dunno! You were in charge." He shook his head, lifting up the unlinked chain to show the girl

"Where have you put it?" Her eyebrows furrowed, smiling slightly as she glanced at Fernando, smile widening as he began to laugh.

"I dunno!" He spoke through laughs, beginning to pat himself down

"I don't trust you" Lance's eyes narrowed, taking over and patting the Spaniard down, from his neck to his waist trying to figure out where the small piece of paper had went

They were close, Fernando could feel the girls breath on him, he'd never admit it but it made him quite nervous. She looked even prettier up close.

"C'mon, Fer!" She whined, hitting his chest "Tell me your secrets

"Look in my hat, princesa." Fernando looked up, eyeing the blue material on his head.

She was quick to take it off, shocked to see her card laying in his hat

"How did you-"

"Ah, ah, ah." He shook his finger, "Is a secret."

"Lance" Esteban called from Giancarlos side of the garage, the Canadian girl getting up fron her seat straight away

"Lancito" Fernando said, reaching out and grabbing the girls arm, worried she'd walk away if he didn't "Can I have your number?"

"Of course, Fer" She nodded, quickly typing her number into the mans phone before disappearing back to the side she was supposed to be on.

As soon as they got in the car Lance started gushing about the man she'd spoke to, overanalyzing everything that'd happened.

"No, you don't understand. He called me princess. TWICE. And admitted that he was flirting with me." She tried to explain, Esteban sitting with a skeptical look on her face

"He's a world champion, you're gonna get played." Esteban tried to explain, Giancarlo having briefly mentioned his teammates and how bad he treated the girls he brought around.

"I don't care, he's sexy." Lance whined, grabbing her friends shoulders and shaking her "I can fix him!"

Lance put on the same outfit as yesterday but with a skirt instead, not wanting to look the exact same.

The Spanish man had yet to text her and it made her heart ache for whatever reason, she craved his attention.

As Lance and Esteban reached the paddock they were greeted by the Renault boys straight away. Giancarlo coming to wrap his arms around the girls as Fernando walked with another woman by his side, the polar opposite of Lance.

She had dark brown hair, green eyes, tan skin, she was in flats and jeans and a simple tank top. Is that what Fernando likes? Lance could be that.

He made sure not to stare, instead getting closer to the Italian man at her side as Esteban struck up a conversation, she always knew what to say.

They'd just gotten done with qualifying, Giancarlo p11 and Fernando p5 but the two girls still managed to congratulate the older of the two as if he'd gotten pole.

Lance didn't spare Fernando a glance, no matter how much she wanted to, she wasn't easy.

"You did good out there!" Esteban praised, body pressed against Giancarlo as his hand rested on Lance's hip

"I'm starting to think you girls don't understand how this sport works" He laughed, thumb brushing over the exposed skin on the Canadian's side

"Well, You're right." Lance laughed, trying to pretend she wanted the mans touch how she wanted his teammates "But, at least you aren't last!"

Lance decided she'd head to the car first, not interested in how her friend was eyefucking the man they worked for. She slipped her phone into her pocket, ignoring how it buzzed. She just wanted to take off her makeup and fall asleep in the back seat

"Lancito" A familiar voice called. Great. She'd ignored him all day and now he wanted to talk?

She turned back, unsurprisingly losing every ounce of anger in her body as she saw the look on his face

"My side of the garage missed you today." He hummed, stopping once they were just centimeters apart. The look on his face was different than it had been the day before, no longer soft and playful. He looked bothered.

"Oh, really? Didn't think you'd notice my absence."

"How could I not?" He laughed, hand finding its way to her hip, the same spot Giancarlo had touched earlier. "Hard to not notice someone like you."

"Mm" She just hummed, licking her lips as she looked at Fernando, unable to stop her gaze from falling on the mans own lips.

Without saying a word he pulled her closer, lips connecting roughly, grip on her hip tightening as he pressed their bodies together.

A shakey breath left Lance's lips, her fingers tangling themselves in the shorter mans hair as she kept him close. If he was the last man she was to ever kiss, she wouldn't complain.

His leg came up slightly, pressing against her core as he pressed her back to the wall behind them. Lance was never the doing-stuff-in-public type but if it was from Fernando she'd take whatever she could get.

Her mind clouded as she began to thoughtlessly rut against the mans leg, feeling the smirk forming on his face as her skirt hiked up. She should be embarrassed, really, she met this man, who is almost a decade older than her, yesterday and now she was whimpering into his mouth in a hidden area of the paddock. Maybe she was easy but she's also just a teenage girl, teenage girls have needs too and if this is how she'll meet them she doesn't see anything wrong with that.

Not long after they started it stopped, Fernando hearing his teammate calling his name. He pulled away from the girl, not bothering to even spare her a glance before he disappeared again. Leaving her feeling hot, heavy, and alone.

Lance thought about Fernando all night, thought about the kiss, his touch, the girl from earlier.

She hardly spoke on the ride back to the hotel, Esteban brushing it off as her being tired but even the next morning she was quiet

"What happened, Lance?" She finally asked, sick of her friends silence, it was race day they should be excited.

"He kissed me" Lance muttered, looking over to Esteban as they were both getting dressed

"Who?"

"Fernando"

"FERNANDO ALONSO KISSED YOU AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?" She said loudly, dropping her shirt and going over to Lance, forcing her to sit down "Now you have to tell me everything"

"Well, I left early"

"I remember" She nodded, eyes glued to Lance

"He followed me, called me Lancito and said his side of the garage missed me. He literally had a girl by him all day hes such a fucking prick." She complained, covering her face with her hands

"But then you kissed?"

"He just got so close to me and I looked at his lips and suddenly he kissed me and pushed me against a wall and did that thing guys do with their knee-"

"OH?" Estebans eyes widened, standing up from Lance's bed "Lance, he wants you so bad."

"Yeah, wants my body so bad."

"Oh, come on. I gave Giancarlo a blowjob yesterday, that's all it is. That's all they want." Esteban shrugged, she'd never cared about the romantic part of things, always just what she could gain from the rich men she encountered. Lance had prayed to wake up like her, not caring, it never worked.

She tried harder today, trying to make herself look like the girl from yesterday. She wore low rise jeans with a soft design on the pockets, lighter makeup, and then a cropped renault shirt with Giancarlos name stitched on the back.

She didn't want to be just a body to the Spaniard, she wanted to be so much more. She wasn't just a body. She was a girl. A woman. She was so full of love and so desperate to recieve the same love she gave and she wanted that from Fernando. For whatever reason.

Lance got out of the car, walking and talking with Esteban as they made their way to the garage, now used to the sounds of clicking cameras and the flash of their pictures being taken.

Esteban was greeted by Giancarlo first, Lance's eyes meeting Fernandos as he walked next to a different girl. Tall, slim, blue eyes, ginger. What did he want. Why did none of his girls look the same. Why were none of them her.

Lance was in a funk practically the whole day, following Esteban around like a lost dog while Fernando and Giancarlo raced.

"I can't believe him." Esteban said randomly, Lance looking at her confused. "He kissed you yesterday and now he's with another girl?"

"I guess world champions just do that" Lance shrugged, trying not to think about it even though Fernando was all the commentators were talking about.

"Not all world champions, he's just a whore."

"I could fix him" She added, laughing it off as a joke but really, she hoped she could.

Giancarlo finished 8th, getting a point for the team. Fernando got 2nd so by the time the second driver returned most of them were at the podium waiting for Fernando to celebrate.

"You did good, Carlo" Esteban hummed, sitting on a counter on the wall of the garage as the Italian took off his helmet and balaclava

"Yeah, you're great." Lance added, nodding as she wished to be celebrating with Fernando.

The podium celebration came to an end, the Spaniard coming back to the garage and going straight to Lance, whispering in her ear before disappearing to shower.

Come to my hotel with me.

Who does he think he is?

Does he think he can just have any girl he wants?

What a dick.

Lance was definitely going.

She told Esteban she'd be staying behind to get to know people and her friend didn't prod, just smiling and nodding before taking herself back to their hotel while her friend snuck off to a drivers.

She found herself in the passenger seat of Fernandos car, his hand tracing shapes on the denim covering her thigh as he drove. She was nervous, not because she knew she wasn't the only girl he'd planned on fucking recently but because she hadn't fucked anyone recently.

The last time she'd gotten any action was with Max Verstappen before an f2 race in a cramped drivers roon where he kept her mouth covered the whole time. He wasn't good.

Surprisingly, her door was opened for her. Fernando holding his hand out to lead the girl in the lobby, into the elevator, and to his room.

He waited for the door to be closed before he kissed Lance again, picking her up and wrapping her legs around his waist with ease.

He moved towards the bed as if he didn't have over 100 pounds of extra wait on him, as if Lance was light as a feather.

It made her smile, hands on either side of Fernandos face as she deepened their kiss, bottom lip jutting out in disappointment once he pulled back, laughing under his breath.

"Come on, have to take these off" He spoke quietly, kneeling on the ground in front of Lance who was sprawled out on the bed, taking off the heels she'd been wearing all day.

Lance sat up, watching as Fernando unbuckled one and slid it off, placing it next to him before doing the same to the other. She was eager for him to get up but he stayed put, peppering her ankles and calves with kisses as he slowly made his way back up, Lance giggling at the feeling of his stubble against her skin.

Eventually, Fernandos lips were back on Lance's, one hand on the nape of her neck while the other worked at undoing her belt, eager to have her fully exposed under him.

One thing Fernando did differently off track was he took his time. Lance hated it. She needed him.

She decided she'd have to do it herself if she wanted anything to happen before she stopped feeling it.

Lance pulled away from him, quick to take off her own belt and pants until all she had was the shirt with Giancarlo's number and name all over it.

"I do not like sharing, Lancito" He muttered, finger brushing over the embroidered "2" on her chest

"I'm all yours." She responded, even though she knew he wasn't all hers.

Fernando scoffed, not believing just how easy the girl was. He undid the first few buttons before sliding off her shirt, adoring the sight of her in nothing but her underwear. A matching black set. As if she knew what was going to happen.

"Qué guapa eres" How pretty. Lance wasn't fluent in Spanish but she'd been hit on by enough Spanish men to know what he was saying.

It was embarrassing, how flustered she got from the most basic compliment.

She could barely remember what happened after that, waking up sore and with dried cum practically covering her skin. Disgusting. Seems like no aftercare had taken place. She wasn't surprised.

Even if she didn't expect aftercare she expected to at least wake up with him still in the room. Obviously, her expectations were too high because she woke up alone. All he left her was a text. Three fucking letters.

"gtg"

Dick.

59 notes · View notes

thegnomelord · 7 months

Text

CH 1: With a Spark It Starts Just Like It Ended

CW: NSFW Blood, gore, cannon typical violence, M reader but can be read as GN, Mage reader, Monster 141 AU, reader is described as having thick fucked up arms.

AO3 3.7k words, more of an intro to what's to come lol.

Old man Abdul had lived a good life. A harsh one. But a good one.

He was amongst the first to grab a gun and raise the fight against the Russians, risking life and limb for the freedom of Urzikstan even as members of his pack bled and died to artillery fire and noxious gas. And he alone had survived to see his country set free of tyranny and chose to stay in the military long after his hair had greyed.

And how was he rewarded for his service?

With a 'promotion' to guard the basement of a conference hall. They even called it the 'Peace House' as if that made his position grander, though in his humble opinion the only peaceful thing happening within the halls above was the lack of physical violence.

"Hey, did you fall asleep on me old man?" Taim, a bright eyed and gap-toothed human private so young he could've been one of his grandsons, asks as he throws down five playing cards on the floor between them. Royal flush, again.

Old man Abdul's eyes are soft with a glare and he throws down his own cards, already knowing he'd lost. "Go fish." He huffs, leaning back into the chair they'd been able to squirrel away.

It was embarrassing to think that boredom could torture him more than the Russians did, but they were only a few hours into their shift and he was already thinking of biting a bullet. Chances were they'd stay down here long after the diplomats up top finished bickering about who knows what...

"Hey," Taim perks up, and from the few weeks he's known him, Abdul knows the glint in his brown eyes heralds something stupid. "How about whoever loses this round takes a shot from your leg?"

He is proven correct.

"How about I throw you into a minefield so we can match?" Old man Abdul responds, his tail wagging from side to side. His tail looks more at home on a rat than any werewolf, the fur there an accidental casualty of a Russian fire mage's spell that had taken his leg off. The prosthetic leg only fitting on his human body isn't nearly as insulting as the warding totem they'd given him to protect against lethal magic after his leg had gone flying.

Taim gulps and holds his hands up. "There's no need for that sir." He quickly adds, clearing his throat and reaching to the floor to pick up their cards and shuffle them.

Taim's warding totem slips out from beneath his jacket, but it's different from old man Abdul's. Not in appearance, with the same materials every mage will make theirs differently, but in feel. It feels different...wrong.

Eyes narrowing he reaches out and holds the piece of faintly glowing rock between his claws. Heat radiates into his fingers, the magic inside pulsing in a steady even thrum like a machine instead of beating like a heartbeat; like something not quite alive.

Abdul had been in combat long enough to know how good a warding totem is with how his body reacts to it.

The shit one he'd been given barely gets the remaining fur on his tail to bristle.

Taim's makes his skin want to melt off.

"Where did you get this?" Abdul asks, tail curling up as he lets go of the totem with disgust clear on his face. "That rock could probably protect you from L3 mage without cracking, maybe even L4." Call him paranoid, but a private getting a totem to protect him from mages rarer than unicorns doesn't make any sense.

"Oh, that-" The young man clears his throat, the totem laying flat against his chest like an insult to life. "Came from up top a few days ago, guess all those terror attacks spooked command and they want to keep us normal people safe." He realizes his words and quickly adds. "-not that I'm calling you not normal or anything sir, it's just that-"

"-You're squishier than me, yes, I know." Old man Abdul rolls his eyes, leaning back into his chair with a huff.

Taim gives a nervous little giggle, scratching at his curly dark hair. "No offence sir. It's just...you know."

"We all look out for our kinfolk first." Old man Abdul sighs, going to wave him off.

His pointy ear twitches and immediately he's jumping to his feet when his sensitive hearing picks up the sound of the elevator mechanism running. No one is supposed to come down at this time, and Abdul already has his rifle raised to point at the elevator doors by the time Taim is able to get to his own feet. The old werewolf doesn't even need to say anything for the young man to stand on opposite side of him, they work together well, both guns aimed at the person revealed by the opening elevator doors.

It's just the janitor.

Taim lets out a small breath and lowers his gun, relaxing as the janitor gives them a small greeting both of them have to strain their ears to hear as a face mask muffles their words.

"That was a bit embarrassing." Taim chuckles weakly, nodding his own greeting and taking a step back so the janitor can push the heavy cart past them. Abdul notes the janitor's hands are thick and large, the veins poking out beneath latex gloves. Murky water sloshes inside the mop bucket, the trash bag filled to the brim and budging.

It's just a janitor.

But like an annoying tick on his ass, something doesn't let old man Abdul relax.

There's a buzz in the back of his mind like the one he'd get when he was being watched, and when he catches sight of the janitor's eyes beneath the wide-brimmed cap that buzzing stops; Instead replaced with a flash sense of wrongness in his bones and the feeling of tar inside his heart and an indescribable scent — like stale beer and burnt grass and deep dark rot — it has his fingers moving to the trigger before the sight of magic melting through latex can make the short trip from his eyes to his brain—

Glowing lines spring into thin air to form magic circles before their eyes.

The warding totems shatter.

'Pop' goes a head.

Both bodies drop to the ground.

"Could have told me there was a dog." Your words scrape against your throat like shards of glass from the disuse, melted latex stretching into long strands as you take off the cleaner gloves and throw them away, your fingers steaming and glowing hot with mana before you hide them away in tactical gloves.

"I-" Taim tries to say but his voice fails him, eyes and mind still blinded by the harsh glare of magical fire.

"Save it." You cut him off, pulling open the lip of the trash bag to dig out your facemask helmet. It's both a full face helmet and a gasmask, scratched up from years of use but still able to protect your head while keeping you anonymous. A shame it can't filter out the stench of burnt flesh, but you've gotten used to it.

Taim's vision clears and the moment his eyes settle on the charred remains of Abdul's head— the hollowed out skull where concentrated flame had burned a hole straight through everything in it's path, the flesh and bone charred black —he's scrambling away as fast as his feet can push him, the shattered remains of your warding totem crumbling beneath his fingers. Bile rises in his throat and he coughs when he breaths in, but his stomach is thankfully empty so he ends up dry heaving.

"On your feet." Your words are hard to understand under your gasmask, but you don't need to raise your voice. The tone you use has him scrambling to his feet in seconds.

"I- I- yes sir!" Taim manages to stutter out, doesn't even have to fake his fear as he stands at attention. He watches you reach into the dirty water to pull out a Handheld Personal Computer and shake off the residual droplets to ensure it still works before putting it in your pocket.

"When is the next check in?" You ask, reaching further into the trash bag to grasp the handhold on the heavy gas canister hidden beneath office trash. You pull it out without much effort, setting it carefully on the ground so you can recheck that the release valve is intact.

"20 minutes sir." Taim responds and he doesn't need to know Arabic to know what's inside the canister when a grinning skull is printed on the metal.

You let out a low sound, and Taim tries not to peer too closely at you. Sometimes he wonders what face a person who burns people alive without a single second of hesitation could have, but then you look at him and he sees that unnatural glow of mana in your eyes behind the darkened lenses of the helmet and he's glad he's met with the emotionless visage of the mask rather than the one beneath it.

"You have 10 to get out before Hell opens up." You say, standing back up and picking up the canister without complaint. "Use the emergency tunnels, don't spook the VIPs."

Taim is human, not sensitive to magic like the monsters are, but even he can feel the latent mana in your veins that strengthens your body. Like maggots at the back of his skull. It makes a second round of bile rise to his throat. "Yes sir."

You pay close attention to him until he disappears down the corridor before going the opposite way. Alone, it is easier to calm the lingering heat in your veins until the eternal engine of mana in your chest fizzles down to embers like a sleeping beast. Can't have your mana mess with sensitive electronics, even if that does leave you exposed on the cams (as if there's anyone alive to watch them)

"Ifrit, status?" The small radio in your ear crackles.

"Moving to the target, encountered and neutralized a wolf." You answer, taking sharp turns as you follow a path you'd memorized beforehand. "No other monsters to report."

You were lucky to run into one down in the bowels of the conference hall instead of at the front gate. Otherwise your espionage mission would have turned into a frontal assault. Not that Khaled would have minded, you were getting paid to send a loud statement after all.

"Good." You don't need to see his face to know he's smirking, your employer wasn't a huge fan of subhumans. "Continue to the objective."

You respond in affirmative, coming to a heavy metal door, locked with a passcode and even a palm scanner; It's all a valiant effort to keep sensitive data safe, but it may as well be cardboard to you. You summon another circle, this time right on the door, biting your tongue. You're not good with 'subtle' but you haven't forgotten what Taurus or Sierra had taught you; first pushing a bit of loose ash magic between the large atoms making up the metal to disrupt the bonds, then a single pulse of fire ignites the volatile ash and has the entire bottom half crumbling into red hot shards.

Molten slag drips down to the floor when you duck down under the remaining half of the door to find yourself in the server room. Steam rises when the cold air meets your hot skin, but you hardly notice as you first head to the ventilation system at the back of the room. It's dark, but you don't bother turning on the lights, the subtle mana in your eyes enough to give you primitive night vision.

"Ifrit to Alpha-Actual, connecting the payload right now." You say, setting the canister down. The ventilation collects the air from the server room to push it through the entire building and then outside, so all you have to do is melt a hole through the exit pipe until it's big enough for the hose on the canister to fit snugly inside.

"And the files?" Khaled's voice sounds in your ear once you're finished.

"Going now." Standing back up you head to the central server. Taking out the HPC you hook it up to the mainframe, watching the screen until it shows 'connection secure'. "I'm connected."

"Copy that." Your eyes scan the cracked screen (which you broke less than a week after getting it), seeing the file transfer start before Khaled even finishes speaking and trying to read and memorize the names of dozens the files but they change too quickly. "File transfer ETA 5 minutes. Sit tight."

Giving confirmation you keep an eye on the doorway. Though you are positioned in such a way that you'd see the shadow of someone coming in before they see you, years of being behind enemy lines and acting as a friendly to your foes has taught you to be careful. Especially when you can't use more than a smidgeon of mana without frying the entire server system.

You are lucky that no-one comes, the remaining guards too busy guarding the diplomats above you to check what's beneath their noses. While waiting you access the public stream to watch the peace talks, setting the sound to the lowest possible setting so you can keep an eye on the diplomats in case you need a change of plan.

"Got the files, you're clear to finish." You're moving before Khaled can finish speaking, leaving the HPC to hang by the cord from the server. "Oh, and remember: Loud."

"You get what you pay for sir." Kneeling down next to the gas canister you check to ensure your gas mask is firmly on and breathing in deeply; It restricts your breathing and makes muscles work harder, but your body is so used to it that it feels like coming back home.

"Letting the gas out now." Even with the gas mask you still hold your breath when you open the valve, the gas hissing as it escapes the canister, the fan right next to you helping push it through the system. You know there's not enough gas to reach the diplomats on the top floor, it's part of the plan, so when the gas pitters out you cast another circle inside the pipe.

The servers around you flicker meekly and crackle with electricity when you use your mana fully; Something intense and suffocating burns behind your sternum for just a second before liquid mana is rushing down your veins into your hands and coming out through the magic circle as copious amounts of ash.

The rotating fan right next to you spews some of your ash right back at you, flooding the server room in magic that has long since accepted your body enough not to hurt you. But even your seasoned stomach feels tight when you breathe in the mixture of ash and toxic gas, the chemicals turning your magic a nasty shade of green, and you make a mental note to change the filter when you're done with the op otherwise the toxified sediment collecting in there will poison you for months.

You can hear the diplomats begin to cough over the livestream in the HPC, but it all feels so distant when you shift and feel cold dog tags press against your burning chest. They're light like a noose around your neck, yet the absence of weight mocks you in a way their owners no longer can.

There's a familiar sting in your bones when your mana reservoir begins dwindling, but it's easy to push through it until the engine in your chest goes into overdrive from the stress the magic puts on your body. You only stop when the burning mana in your veins starts burning small holes in the sleeves of the janitor jacket, revealing bits of your mage marked skin.

Stopping the flow of ash your hands find themselves in your pocket, taking out a lighter. It's one of those old zippo lighters, the exterior is rusted from years of action and numerous initials are scratched into the metal, but somehow it still functions; It's the strange thing about it— the more you use it, the longer it lasts. Stop, and it dies.

"It's a bit like you, firebug."

Absentmindedly you trace the scratched initials in the metal, trying to ignore the hollowness in your chest when the screams beyond the smokescreen of ash start sounding familiar.

"Going dark." You say to them, flicking it open.

One spark is all it takes.

. . .

With Makarov having gone underground like a wanker after his escape from the gulag, Price and Laswell had been stuck with their heads in mountains of paperwork searching for the bastard. Price had known he'd be in for a headache the moment he agreed to let the boys watch a live football game between England and Scotland, but he reasoned they'd all been working hard enough to earn even a small break.

At the very least it gave them all a moment of reprieve from the stress of a possible world war.

It didn't stop Soap from being a bloody muppet.

"Oh fockin' 'ell!" Soap roars and jumps to his feet, growling at the teli where a ref held a red card above her head. "That should've been a yellow! Fock, one more eye and the ref's a right cyclops." He waves obscenities at the teli as if the ref can see them, his tail hitting Gaz every time it wagged.

"Soap!" Gaz groans and stretches one black wing to smack the werewolf over the head with his long flight feathers to stop him blocking the screen.

Though Gaz's wings are hollow, the smack still hurts. "Ow, what's that for?" Soap groans, rubbing the back of his head.

"At least take your defeat with a wee bit of dignity." Gaz smirks, folding his wings.

"Bold assumption he has any." Ghost mutters next to Price, making him chuckle.

“Oh ho! I’ll get me dignity when the bloody ref gets off 'er knees an’ stops blowing the entire game.” Soap turns to playfully snap his teeth at Gaz. "And what's tha-"

The football match cuts out, replaced with a news segment.

"-Oh, what the fock?" Soap grows quiet when the newscaster begins speaking.

"We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you breaking news. As we speak, the conference hall in Al Mazra, where diplomats from over 40 countries had come to discuss peace and trade agreements with the newly reinstated Urzikstan government, burns in the flames of another terrorist attack."

The footage shifts to a drone filming a bird's eye view shot of violent flames spewing from every hole and window to engulf the entire three story building in consuming fire, heavy plumes of smoke rising into the sky like a maw of a hungering beast to spew a storm of ash and cinders down to the ground. The clouds of ash have a sick green undertone to them.

"Shit." Gaz sucks in a breath.

"Mokarov's done hiding." Ghost notes, leaning in to look closely at the screen with narrowed eyes.

"How the fock did we miss this?" Soap asks the question in their minds, turning to look at Price. "This popped up like bloody whack-a-mole."

At that same time Price's phone rings. The dragon quickly fishes it out of his pocket, seeing Laswell's name as the caller ID before he picks it up while the reporter drawls on.

"Price, are you-"

"Yeah, I'm watching the teli." He cuts her off, knowing what she's going to say. Distantly he can hear the same news report sounding on her end.

"Authorities warn citizens to vacate the immediate area as toxic gas has been detected in the air. Military forces are already enroute, but the prospects for the diplomats survival are nonexistent."

Price's draconic eyes focus on the screen when the footage shifts to that inside the conference hall. Two diplomats argue about something Price can't begin to try and untangle, his focus on one man near the back who begins coughing. More follow suit, and even over the screen Price can tell the signs of toxic gas inhalation by the way more diplomats begin wheezing and coughing wetly.

"This isn't the Russians." Kate says after Price has put her on speaker.

"How come? Looks like some terrorist shite Makarov would pull." Johnny says, his tail curled up and the tip wagging occasionally as he pays attention to the screen.

Seconds later plumes of blackish-green smog erupt from the vents above the diplomats, spewing out with such force it knocks the the camera and the man behind it down to the ground. Ash Magic, Price realizes when he sees smoldering cinders drift almost peacefully in the all consuming fog. Seconds later something causes a spark and the volatile ash magic explodes.

"Ash mage." Ghost grunts, "Just great."

"Makarov doesn't use mages." Price says, scratching his beard.

"No, but Al-Asad does." Kate's voice drifts through the silent room as they watch several APC's arrive on the scene, armored soldiers exiting. But without any monsters who can stomach the heat like Price and with the fog of ash so thick it could be cut with a knife, the best they can do is secure the perimeter. "The CIA intercepted his broadcast before it went public, this is just the start."

Gaz hops off the couch, crossing the small distance to tap one claw at the screen. "What is that?" He asks. Seemingly hearing him, the drone camera focuses on where the main entrance of the building had been.

A dark silhouette of a person can be seen in the flames, growing darker and more refined until finally a featureless helmet emerges from the flames, a deep glow emanating from behind the lenses. It's followed by a body, clothes burnt away in some parts but the flesh beneath unharmed. Price can tell immediately it's a mage by the state of the arms — even from far away it's easy to tell the mage marks, the skin turned rough and dark like cooled magma, veins brimming with volatile mana.

Before the soldiers can fire a single bullet you lift one hand up, the dark mage marks turning to bright like fresh lava when mana flows from your chest to your fingers. A magic circle etches itself into the ground in an instant, so large the surrounding buildings fall into it's perimeter.

And with a second motion of your hand everything erupts into an all consuming cloud of ash.

Laswell's voice rings out. "That's Khaled's new attack dog."

Price and Ghost share a look, both know what will happen long before some nervous soldier caught in the ash cloud pulls the trigger. The cloud of ash explodes the second a spark is created in a weapon's chamber, plunging everything into chaos.

Great, a new wanker to worry about.

Price sighs, brows furrowing. "That's trouble all right."