As requested by @tayryn. Make the spies international this time :)
750 words, like a hard M? No pun intended.
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It's a bit of a cliché, being obsessed with one of your employees. It's even more of one when said employee is James Bond, the subject of female obsession on every assignment he's ever undertaken.
But M's obsession is different, or so she tells herself. To start with, it is M's obsession rather than Olivia's - Olivia is a respectable widow, she has refined tastes: poetry readings, Shakespeare plays, dinner parties. But M is more venal, exciting; she loves the smell of gun oil and cordite, the sound of an engine, the thrill of watching a chase and ordering a kill. The fact that so many of those kills have been carried out by Bond, by this man with his cocky smile and well-defined biceps, only makes him more alluring.
And she’s the head of MI6. She has many tools at her disposal to indulge her obsession: access to security cameras on streets, in airports or hotel lobbies; field reports that render his assignments as daring adventures; even his medical records that speak of his muscle mass, dexterity, stamina. There are other things she can access in less legitimate ways, too: new technology Q branch can install that records and transmits ambient noise from his phone's microphone, or video from his laptop's webcam when he happens to be online. There have been many nights when she has listened to him breathe or masturbate, even have sex. On those occasions, she's slipped out of her knickers and into her sheets, turned the lights out and imagined he was with her.
Then one day the stars align: his laptop is out, open and connected when he emerges from the shower. It's late into the evening in London, but for him it's mid-morning. Sun shines in through the windows of his hotel room, and she can see palm trees swaying in a tropical breeze. He checks his screen in a towel - maybe reading an email - then moves away. His skin is sun-browned, his back muscles toned. He is about to step out of view of the camera. She has been waiting a long time to see him like this.
She activates the microphone. "Bond," she says.
It's immediately clear that he hears her, that he recognises her voice. How could he not, with her carefully trained cut-glass?
"Ma'am?" he asks, freezing in his tracks. He turns slowly in the direction of her voice, toward his computer, shoulders rippling with tension.
She will not confirm it. But. "Remove the towel," she whispers.
He turns more fully toward the camera. “Why?” he asks.
“I want to see you,” M answers, demanding but breathy.
“Are you spying on me?” he asks, reaching for the towel at his waistline.
“Yes,” M answers. “Take off the towel.”
She wonders what it must be like for him, on a summer afternoon in a foreign country, listening to her disembodied voice issuing unreally from his computer. It must be strange. It must be terrifying. He can’t even be absolutely positive that it’s her.
It must be a thrill, at least a little, because he does what she asks - curls his fingers around the edge of the towel and tugs it open, lets it fall to the floor.
He’s just as beautiful as she always imagined he would be. Sculpted pubic bones, a thatch of light brown hair, a cock thick and uncut.
“Magnificent,” she says, feeling her hand drift between her legs. “Now, I want you to touch yourself. Put on a little show for me.”
He does.
Later, the story will be that some bad actor put the spyware on his computer, that a strange phone call she had received earlier that week must have captured and cloned her voice. She’ll admit he was probably recorded, will promise to take care of any blackmail or threats that arise from the existence of any footage, but when he looks her in the eye, he’ll know.
He’ll know how she watched him, alone in her room, how she fucked herself with her fingers as she told him how to stroke his cock, how she ordered him to pinch its head and edge himself, how when she finally allowed him to come her breath hitched into the microphone. He’ll know she climaxed with him, that she was so desperate to see him that she put her career and her reputation on the line for it.
But he'll also know he did it, everything she asked. They shared it. Nothing can take that away.
I know some fic writers get stressed about writing tropes they think are too popular or overdone, and I need you all to know that I just spent 4 hours reading every iteration of the same exact fic plot I could find, and they all brought me an indescribable amount of joy. Listen. Listen. Sometimes you want cakes of many flavours and sometimes you want Nine Carrot Cakes
💛 In January 2025, Gyles Brandreth and a glittering all-star cast joined together for a very special celebration of Twelfth Night, all in support of the OT's Shakespeare in Schools projects.
@tayryn requested Bond/M and gave me a choice of numbers. From them, I picked 7 '...to shut them up'. 250 words (an extended drabble? idk)
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"...your callous disregard for human life," M says, but Bond barely hears her. He's caught on the shape of her lips, the way her mouth bends around that cut-glass voice. There's a bit of colour in her cheeks, too - he seems to be able to get a rise out of her in a way no one else can. And best not to even let his eyes fall below her chin; he can only imagine how much harsher the bollocking would be if she caught him staring at her tits.
"...put your own and others' lives in mortal danger… absolutely reckless…"
Oh, hell. What's his life for but to risk it? Sweeping forward, he catches the back of her head and plants his lips on hers. It stuns her to silence, and he lingers there, enjoying the quiet in the last few seconds of his life and feeling her breath hot against his lips.
It will be worth it to go like this.
But when he lifts it, his head is still attached to his body. Her eyes are clear: sharp but amused. Her lips quirk in the barest hint of a smile.
"You'd best be willing to put that mouth to work, Bond, because if you're going to use it to shut me up, I'll have to consider it a weapon. And all of your weapons are property of Mi6."
Bond preens, cocks a smile. "Ready for duty, ma'am."
"Well?" she says. "Show me what you've got, then."
Rules: recommend five of your favourite fics you've written, and then tag at least five other people!
Tagged by @featherxquill. I don't do these too often, mainly because I don't post here too often anymore (something I am still working on getting back to).
So, five of my favourite fics that I've written. Okay... we'll start with a couple older ones from previous fandoms.
Flaming Cheese | Mission Impossible (1966 TV) | Rollin Hand/Cinnamon Carter | M |889 words
Tis a cheesy ficlet (hence the fic title) written many, many moons ago, back when I was wild about Martin Landau & Barbara Bain. It's nothing more than a silly little crack fic written to make fun of the more than obvious format of every episode of this show, but I am truly quite tickled by it. Even twenty some years after the fact.
~*~
Trying to Get it Right | Star Trek: Voyager | Janeway/Chakotay | M | 14.5K
Trek, specifically TNG, is where I began writing fanfic thirty-seven years ago, but my Voyager fics are the ones I like best, especially this one. It was my first shot at a 'time travel' type fic. I also, really like the character of Tayryn that I created (I'd created her several JC fics earlier, where I came up with the name, then adopted it as an online user name); she has a special place in my heart.
~*~
Kitty's Worry | Gunsmoke (TV & Movies 1955)| Matt Dillon/Kitty Russel | E | 9K
I'm rather proud of all my Gunsmoke fics, but this was the first one I wrote for M&K after my friend ripped me away from the Trek universe and into Dodge. As such, it holds a special place in my heart. It's also one of the rare times I wrote a fic in first person.
~*~
Sightless | The Nanny | Niles/CC | E | 30k
This is my favourite of my Niles/CC fics. But only just. I rather like 'With Luck Like That' also... both are long, multi-chapter fics for the couple I truly watched the show for. I liked flipping the roles for Niles and CC, allowing them to be a little more human, a little less guarded with each other.
~*~
Forever Young | James Bond (Craig movies) | Bond/M - Olivia Mansfield | E | 111k
I've written more fics for Bond/M than I have for any other of my fandoms, and this one is my favourite. It's also the longest one for that ship, that also took me the longest to write (other fics insisted on being written while this one was ongoing). It is also the one fic where I feel I was truly able to tie up all the various threads (I know I've missed a few in other fics).
~*~
And one special mention, as this fic is the LONGEST fic I have ever written, or rather, co-written.
This one was written with my friend Damecross over a period of five months, then it took us another month to edit. It was posted to the Tower (my now defunct website), then due to a glitch it was taken down. Late 2024, I re-read and edited the fic again to fix all the wee bits we had missed, then finally, after more than a decade of not seeing the light of the net, it was reposted.
It's a favourite because it's a seaQuest AU. Set in the 1800s, it's a fic that even if one was not a sQ fan, they could enjoy it, with lots of sQ references for fans of the show to enjoy.
ETA: I should note, that all my fics are locked for registered AO3 users only. They used to be public... but with all that AI shit out there, not anymore.
Now, the tagging bit. Again, it's been a while since I've really been on this site, with the exception of posting to the Judi Daily. So... how about, if you're keen on doing so, please do this!!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: James Bond/M | Olivia Mansfield, James Bond/Female M, James Bond/M
Characters: James Bond, M | Olivia Mansfield
Additional Tags: Romantic Fluff, Prompt Fic, Older Woman/Younger Man
Series: Part 9 of Prompts, Prompts, Prompts!
Summary:
“Beautiful flower.”
“Almost as beautiful as the woman I picked it for.”
Hiring Judi to play M was the smartest decision they made. Keeping her on as M when they did the soft reboot with Daniel was the second smartest decision, as they had incredible chemistry.
Killing her M off was the worst decision they made.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/5
Fandom: James Bond (Craig Movies)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: James Bond/M | Olivia Mansfield, James Bond/Female M, James Bond/M
Characters: James Bond, M | Olivia Mansfield, Bill Tanner, Eve Moneypenny, Q (James Bond)
Additional Tags: Older Woman/Younger Man, Explicit Sexual Content, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Canon Divergence - Skyfall (2012), Not SPECTRE (2015) Compliant
Series: Part 2 of Q f*cked up...
Summary:
An accident in Q Branch gives James a new perspective.
rules: copy/paste the last line you wrote, and then tag some other people who you're excited to see what they're working on to keep the game going!
My last line is from the yet unnamed hybrids fic designed as "pound puppies" in my folder lol
Yet no matter how many pots she shaped or glazes she mixed, the fifth hybrid -the one with the black tail, the missing limb, and that sharp, cynical gaze- kept intruding on her thoughts.
NPT: @sashaisready @its-in-the-woods @societyfolklore @knowledgeableknitter @navybrat817 @x-press-it and anyone who wants to participate!
"Steve nosed into your hair, damp with heat and sleep, breathing in deeply. You smelled like home. Like sunshine and honey and salt. Like everything he’d missed. Everything he’d come back for."
This is the last line of a request someone sent that i've been working on for probably to long- and when i say working on it, i mean mostly in my head LOL
Was this all a game to him?? Playing with your emotions and making you wait for not even a morsel of a hint?? How could he do this! Perhaps all this time it was all a trick, perhaps using you for fun times while he was stuck here on Midgard until he got his ticket out.. God of lies after all..
i’m not writing anything special right now lol, just touching up on a little something…
”her body ached like it never had before. the repetitive action of pushing the shovel into the dirt, pulling it up, and tossing away whatever she picked up had worn her down faster than she had thought it would. but that didn’t matter. cortana was going to find it.”
Last thing I was working on was the hair vignettes for the library
When he got older, he kept his hair short, only partially because his brother would call him a queermo when it started to get too long. When Merle left, dad let him know it was time for a haircut with a drunken fist to the face and a diatribe about his stupid fucking faggot son. It became a habit, safe, to keep it short. So he did. Daryl flinched out of his daydream with the phantom feeling of his father’s fist.
I’m gonna tag @blu-razz-roses @daincrediblegg @motherscarf and @francisofthespook if they’d like to participate
This little blurb comes from a Midnight Mass fic idea that I started dipping back into after my re-watch with a brand spankin new oc called Catherine Harper. Enjoy!
It wasn't much to sneeze at. It was a dingy old place. Wood pannel walls that hadn't been replaced in at least 20 years (though that was a generous estimate by the look of them), an espresso machine that the old owner had haphazardly taped a "broken" sign over so they wouldn't have to use it, but hadn't wanted to bother with the effort of selling it or storing it away, and a handful of kitchy little diner tables- none of which did not posess a wobble that wasn't fixed with a stack of napkins scrunched up under the legs. But Cath- a known eternal optimist- figured that her ingenious and eternal solution to drab decor problems would work here as well as it had anywhere else she had been; throw up some cute multi-colored incandescent string lights, give it a little spit-shine, and the place would warm up right quick. And sure, it didn't draw the kind of foot traffic like the Starbucks in Times Square, but the folks didn't stop coming, and to her that was plenty enough.
As for tags lets see some stuff from @prismatica-the-strange @brotherdusk @your-mighty-words-astound-me @featherxquill @theboarsbride and any of my many other brilliant writer friends who would like to share!
Don’t mind if I do! Here a little backstory snippet drop for the thing I’ve been tinkering with, which is the cruise ship AU I made the graphic of. I’m mostly tinkering, and I may well abandon it when/while I write my Yuletide fic in the not-too-distant future, but
TONIGHT’S ENTERTAINMENT, it reads, THE INCOMPARABLE JACKSON LAMB. He is pictured below the text, looking very dazzling indeed, wearing tails with his top-hat in his hand, white tipped wand hovering above it as if to conjure something, probably a rabbit but in this case a whole slew of memories.
It was 1995 when they were employed by one of the last remaining variety theatres in London, just off Piccadilly Circus but really a step back in time for both tourists and a surprising number of regulars. He was the warm-up act doing card tricks to get the crowd hooked, then came back for an encore in the middle of the show to stage an elaborate escape from chains. She was a burlesque performer at that time and she performed a mid-show tease that suggestively followed all that business with the chains, then returned as the closing act with her fans to bring the show to a climax. They got to know each other in the wings between their sets — she was always one act ahead and eventually figured out the trick of his escape illusion; he lingered after his set for a slightly more intimate angle on her tease. After the show, they would paint the town, sometimes ending up on the arms of wealthy tourists who wanted a taste of their magic, and sometimes finishing the night in bed together.
She’s both impressed and slightly scornful that he’s still at it after all these years. Look at him, still a headliner with his greying hair pulled back into a pony tail, though on a cruise ship, of all places. She won’t forget how after four years of service in that theater, regularly bringing down the curtain to whoops and cheers, they had the audacity to move her to a different slot and bring in a younger, sparklier act for the final set - a woman who’d turned out to be fucking the director. Well, no matter; Diana had had her fill of performing by that time, and had managed to parley all that flirting with the clientele into work as a promoter, then eventually into her own PR company. Now she’s the guest with money enough to wine and dine the talent, and he’s still singing for his supper.
Tagging: @tayryn, @inell, @timrousbeastie, anyone else who feels like playing :)
Well, I am trying to get back to posting more often here, so thanks @featherxquill . I'll certainly have a go.
Tis from the Bond/M fic I just finished this evening (yay!) which is part of my 'Q fucked up' series. It's a little smutty... which, with those two, is always good!
“But I don’t want to talk about that.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Nothing,” she said and wrapped her legs around him, as she clenched her inner muscles around his cock, which had softened some while she’d been on the phone with Q. “I believe we were just getting started in a little early morning lovemaking when we were interrupted.”
James grinned. “Yes, we were,” he agreed and thrust against her, his cock growing hard once again. He lowered himself down to rest on his elbows, his hands cradling her head. “I think we were,” he brushed his lips over hers, “right about here.”
“Mmm… yes,” she murmured, reaching up to cup the back of his head, her fingers threading in his hair, as she raised her head to close the distance between their mouths. “Right there,” she whispered, before kissing him deeply.
As for tagging, gosh, again, with the exception of the Judi Daily posts, I've been rather absent around here... so... any of my followers that write, please do have at it!
theartofmadeline
blakekathryn
pixelskylines
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
