#ethan hunt? never does

[saltyfilmmajor]

Anyway I’m still so obsessed with the fact that Both Lane and Ethan just …don’t kill each other. ESPECIALLY IN fallout.

Lane knows that worst way to enact his revenge is to take away everything Ethan loves and leave him to live in the reality of his failure rather than kill him outright, because that’s the easy way out

And while Walker characterizes Ethan’s inability to kill Lane as a weakness, it’s not true. 1) Ethan has no qualms about killing to a certain extent (he hates anything that results in collateral damage and that’s always been the case) but he also shot three people roughly 20 minutes prior to that discussion, in front of Walker.

Ethan knows that killing someone like Lane martyrs him, in a sense (as we see how hes positioned by the apostles in the film. Now whether that’s something Lane wants is to be debated) and also would be the easy way out for him, rather than to face the consequences of his own actions.

It’s also fundamentally a different vibe to why Ethan Wants to Kill Gabriel and can’t because of Circumstances. No ethan and lane pointedly don’t want to kill each other nor do they attempt to, not in any meaningful way.

[ethanhuntfemmefatale]

GOD Ethan/Max Ethan/Jim Jim/Claire Claire/Ethan Alanna/Ethan it’s all the same, it’s abuse all the way down!! Ethan never escapes it!!

[oathkeeperoxas]

For day 5 of saintspy May I've gone with 61. Kiss hello and am very pleased to introduce you all to the new member of the family <3

He’s sorting through his accounts, deciding which, if any, he needs to close – if any banks are close to failing, or in jeopardy of getting investigated. Everything that needs to go through Europe is cached in Ireland of course, and everything else is offshore, but that never means that any of it is safe. He’s been thinking of putting something into some of the Spanish banks, to make operating here in Valencia slightly easier–

Cat trots over to his side and lays a pillow in his lap.

“Hey Noodle,” he says, silking her ears between his fingers gently. “What’s going on? What do you need?”

She huffs at him, not letting go of the pillow. Jude stands, and Cat takes herself off towards the door. Jude follows her slinky figure, focus narrowing as she leads him towards the door. It’s very rare that they get visitors out here when Ethan and Jude are in residence – he has Violetta come by to keep the estate in good shape when they’re away, and to feed and take care of Cat, but when they’re here the two of them manage the house and the land surrounding it. They’re not that close by the road, and the winding driveway allows for many places to lay perimeter alarms in. If none of them have triggered, then–

Cat huffs at the door. “Why do I bother with a security system when I have you?” he asks. “Drop it.”

She drops her pillow and stretches out, yawning and looking up at him in question.

“I’ll ask if he wants to come with us on your run this afternoon,” Jude tells her as he opens the door. Cat slips outside immediately, and Jude doesn’t stop her. The rumble of Ethan’s motorcycle is audible to his poor human ears now, and a second later his husband peels around the corner, showy. In no rush to get home. Enjoying the drive, taking his time, simply because he can.

Cat breaks out into a lean grey blur as she makes the ground under her paws disappear. Ethan pulls to a stop, and she jumps up onto his lap. Jude is certain that he trained her for that, though he’s always denied it. Together, the two of them cover the last distance towards Jude, Ethan’s arm wrapped securely around Cat.

“Hey sweetheart,” Ethan calls. He lets Cat down on the ground, and she sticks at his heels as he walks up the drive. “Did you not take her for a walk today?”

Jude catches him by the hips and draws him in. Ethan busies himself at Jude’s mouth for a good minute, a welcome home that the two of them savour.

“We went this morning,” Jude says when he pulls back. “I was waiting until you came home to ask if you wanted to come with us tonight.”

“Hm,” Ethan says, staying close as he places a hand on Cat’s head. She’s so tall, and he’s short enough, that it’s easy for him to pull it off. “A nice walk with my husband, and getting to watch as Cat leaves everyone in the dust? Not sure why I’d ever say no.”

Jude kisses him again, because he can. “And the fishing trip?” he asks.

“Slow progress,” Ethan says. “But I think I’m making inroads.”

“Good, because we need to be on Kirkman’s good side,” Jude says, eyes narrowing. “I’m not having a new resort developed on my beach.”

Ethan laughs. “I’m sure you’d find a way around it even if they managed to go through. Even if it means buying the whole plan out.”

“I have better things to use my retirement money on,” Jude complains.

Cat huffs. They look down at her, and she yawns expectantly.

“Hey kitty-cat,” Ethan croons. “Are you impatient?” 

“She’s probably thinking that we can talk and walk at the same time,” Jude says wryly.

“True,” Ethan agrees. “I brought some fish home – we can have that for dinner. Let me put it away and get changed, and then we can go.”

He plants a kiss on Jude’s cheek as he slips inside. Cat waits by the door, turning a circle, clearly impatient.

“It’s a hard life, isn’t it darling,” Jude murmurs to her. “Come on. He’s quick when he wants to be.”

Cat leans against him when he leans down to pet her to keep her mind off the terrible state of affairs. Ethan is tugging on his jacket when he comes down, his expression softening when he catches sight of both of them.

“Ready,” he says.

Jude leans down to clip Cat’s lead to her collar. They’ll stay on their land, but it’s good to keep her leash trained in case they have to go somewhere. There’s a field down the end that has wild rabbits in it that she loves to chase – though Jude has never seen her catch one.

“Ready,” he agrees, satisfied, and sets out with Ethan on one side, and their dog on the other.

Send me a kiss for saintspy May 😘

[princesssarcastia]

in this land of milk and honey, we're too shy to say we're thirsty

here, have 1.5k of fic i just wrote about mission: impossible: rogue nation.  AU of the scene where Ethan Hunt wakes up a captive of the Syndicate, where Ilsa Faust gets to run the interrogation the way she wants to, instead of being interrupted by the Bone Doctor.  title from “Little Mercy,” by Doomtree. read it on ao3 here.

“What Vinter and the rest of his stupid ilk never realize is that torture doesn’t work, especially on their own kind.  Pain is cheap.”

-

Ilsa grabs her tools by rote memory, uninterested in taking any care in the work she’s about to do. This isn’t the first time she’s worked someone over for Lane, and it won’t be the last time; she needs to stay numb to it, numb here in the moment and numb after his latest acquisition bends and twists, numb when she has to stand there in the aftermath as the others move in to take what they want from him, numb to the part of her that wants to perk up at the praise following a job well done.

The door groans under its own weight when the guards push it open for her, and she sees the man tense ever so slightly where he’s tied to the post.  Conscious, then, but not quite awake.  Her heels click in the silence after the door slams shut. 

She leaves the lights off; the shadows help, sometimes, with some agents.  Paired with the right kind of drugs, the right kind of touch, darkness can add a dreamlike quality to an already intimate process.  People like them feel safer in the dark.

This one is dangerous. Lane wouldn’t take such a personal interest if he wasn’t.  So, she slips off her shoes, sets them on the table with her tray and her jacket, unbuttons the top button of her shirt and rolls up her sleeves.

Ilsa turns around and—

He’s awake now.

He’s staring at her.

She stares right back.

The moment yawns and stretches between them, arching languidly.  Ilsa breathes in sharply, quietly, and takes a step toward him, still caught on his eyes—although the rest of him is hardly a chore to examine. 

He doesn’t move, focused intently on her.  Assessing. Calculating.  It feels—it feels a little like when Lane looks at her, like he’s cataloguing her expressions and picking apart the things that make her tick.  But it doesn’t make her want to curl up and hide when this man does it. 

“Nice shoes.”

Ilsa blinks, then quirks her brow, amused.  That’s a new one.  

“American intelligence, yes?”  A soft opener. 

He tilts his head, silent, but clearly not buying that she doesn’t already know.

“But not the CIA,” she continues, moving closer in even steps.  “No, you have too much personality for that, I can already tell.”

Now he’s amused, letting his lips twitch, but he keeps his silence.  She starts turning his reactions in her mind, letting her gaze fall over the whole of him to catch them all.  This one is a talker; she just needs to get him started.  And stop getting distracted by his eyes.  There’s something about them that draws her attention, but Ilsa can’t figure out what.

“How long have you worked for the IMF?”  She stops well outside of his reach but still close enough to see his chest rise and fall minutely with each breath.  If she focuses, she imagines she might be able to see it twitch with the beating of his heart.

“How long did you work for British intelligence, before you turned traitor?”  He fires back.  Right on the money.  Not that it’s a difficult guess, given where he is and how she speaks.

“Twenty years,” she says calmly, and watches him mentally turn on a dime, reassessing.  “They recruited me right of secondary school. I imagine it was much the same for you. Sometimes, they catch people later, but MI6 knows how to recognize a good asset in the making fairly early.”

Ilsa takes a step closer. “The agency was my whole life.  It consumed all my time and energy.  My waking hours and my sleeping ones.  And I was…eager to please.  An excellent agent, willing and capable of doing anything they asked of me.  It was hard, sometimes, but in the end it was worth it because I knew everything I was doing was for queen and country.  The greater good,” she adds, letting her mouth twist wryly. 

He watches her for a moment, and she lets him, lets the silence sit, lets it build.  It’s an obvious enough cue, and he’s curious enough now to take the bait.  He wants her talking as much as she wants him talking, neither of them in control nor sure they have the upper hand, yet. 

“What changed,” he asks finally, and Ilsa’s gaze catches on his eyes again.

“I woke up,” Ilsa takes three steps to her left, changing the angle of approach.  “I realized, one day, that I only thought I was fighting for the right side because it’s what I chose to believe.  None of my experiences actually supported that conclusion.

“Have you ever killed an innocent person, Ethan?”  She doesn’t wait for his answer.  “I know I have.  On accident, sure, as an unintended casualty of my mission; but on purpose, too.  Sometimes it was the mission.  To make things easier for MI6, for my handler, for England.  For their convenience.”

Now he shifts, the cuffs on his wrists and ankles clinking.  He doesn’t respond, but she can see it in his eyes.  He has.  Of course he has.  No one in their line of work hasn’t. 

That fact of life actually bothers him, unlike Lane and the rest of the men here.  The same way it bothers her when she forgets to be numb.

She knows what it is in his eyes, now, that’s pulling at her attention. 

His eyes are kind.  He looks kind. 

It’s impossible. 

“I realized I was only loyal to them because of a lie I was telling myself.  And that loyalty certainly wasn’t returned.  The agency doesn’t exist to care for its agents, it exists to use them up until there’s nothing left.  How many times did they leave me out in the cold, dangling in the wind, to survive or die under nothing more than my own ability?”

“That’s the job,” he says, with a hint of condescension.  It grates.  He probably means it to.

“That doesn’t make it right, the way they treated me.  The way your government treats you.”  

His eyes shift.  He knows her game, now, has mapped out the path she wants to take, the weak spots she’s aiming for.  The muscles in his limbs tense and relax minutely, imbued with the strength of surety, surety that what she’s trying to do won’t work. 

But his faith in himself is misplaced, because now she can tell he hasn’t realized yet that what she’s saying is true.  He’s like her, two, five years ago: unable to value his own life.  What his handlers do to him doesn’t matter because he doesn’t matter; you can’t hurt someone if they don’t see themselves as person capable of being hurt.  It’s fine if they use you because you’re letting them.  You’re a tool; if you’re not being used, then what’s the point of you?

The truth is, it does matter.  It does hurt them.  And they only let themselves be used because the right people broke them at the right time, cracking them wide open to let someone else in to twist them into knots.

Truth will out.  It’s more powerful than people like them, steeped in lies and deception, ever expect, which is why Ilsa is so fond of using it.

Faster than the eye can properly see, she lunges for him, sinking her needle into the meat of his bicep and depressing the plunger.  Too quick for him to stop, although he pulls his legs up to kick her in the chest and send her sprawling.

Truth will out.  But of course, the drugs help. 

His kind eyes blink rapidly, then slowly, clearly tensing to try and fend off unconsciousness that isn’t coming.  Oh, it won’t knock him out.  Unconscious is no use to her.  But it’ll ease the way for the truth; make him more pliant, more sociable, more open to suggestion. 

What Vinter and the rest of his stupid ilk never realize is that torture doesn’t work, especially on their own kind.  Pain is cheap.  Their bodies are disposable, their lives are disposable.  Ethan Hunt would happily die for the IMF, for the greater good, probably even for his fellow agents.  He’s a fighter, this one.  He’ll die before they break him. 

But if Ilsa can lay the truth of their lives out in front of him in ways he can understand, it will plant seeds of doubt his lived experiences can’t help but nurture.  Doubt is more dangerous than pain.  

Ethan Hunt and his kind eyes will never work for Solomon Lane, not after Lane shot that poor woman in the head in front of him.  Not after Lane made him feel helpless—and she’s sure Lane did, it’s his favorite way to make people feel, and he’s spectacularly good at it.  

She just needs to make sure Ethan doesn’t work against them.  Finding the ways his handlers have made him feel helpless is a good place to start.

Ilsa waits for his pupils to blow wide and his pulse to slow in his chest and neck before she starts. She stays where he put her on the floor, only shifting enough to sit up.

“How long have you worked for the IMF, Ethan?”  She asks softly.

One breath.  Two breaths.  He blinks again, licks his lips.  

 And tells her.

[beemo-clippin]

Presentiiinngg *drumrolls* Favorite Etho + Bdubs moments of HC10! (Video length: 3:36 min)

There will most definitely be a part two at some point, so I would love to hear any of your favorite moments which I may include there ^-^

Video credit in order of appearance: Bdubs Ep.8 (23:20); Etho Ep. 2 (17:33); Bdubs Ep.6 (7:23); Bdubs Ep.2 (16:00); Etho Ep.3 (6:50); Bdubs Ep.7 (0:56); (1:53); Bdubs Ep.14 (27:19); Bdubs Ep.2 (15:23); Etho Ep.1 (7:17); Bdubs Ep.9 (2:41); Bdubs Ep.2 (16:13); Etho Ep.1 (8:41); Bdubs Ep.2 (16:58).

Bc of the length, the video description for this one is available by request, so please lmk if you would like one!!

Transcription is below cut:

*intro music*

--- 0:05 ---

[Etho] I don't know if you know RBG values but like more like a hundred green

[Bdubs] I don't know if you know HSL

[Etho] *laughs* [Bdubs] but- *laughs*

[Etho] Hue, saturation, luminescence?

[Bdubs] That would be- yeah! Yeah. So that would be a 50L

[Bdubs] "I don't know if you know RGB"

[Etho] *laughs* [Bdubs] *giggles*

[Etho] Well apparently you go HSL not- not RGB, uh huh

[Bdubs] Yeah, HSL's the, uh… that's the, uh, primary

[Etho] The artist standard, you know, yeah

[Bdubs] Yes. This is beautiful

[Etho] Someone that truly understands art

[Bdubs] That's right [Etho] Mhm

--- 0:34 ---

*mischevious music*

[Bdubs] Hullo?

[Etho] Bdubs?

[Bdubs] Woah! *laughs* You're in- you're inside?!

[Etho] Ah I was waiting for you, I decided I would just walk in, you know

[Bdubs] That's so rude, you brought the horse in?

[Etho] Does- does he not belong in here?

[Bdubs] The horse has never been in this house

[Etho] I saw the haybales in here, I thought it was like a-

[Bdubs] No, that's a carpet

[Etho] *chuckles*

[Bdubs] Out! Out. Out

[Etho] Not horse food?

[Bdubs] No. [Etho] Okay, okay

[Bdubs] No, stop it see! Look what happened

--- 1:07 ---

*gentle piano*

[Bdubs] I love this area

[Etho] You got the pink tree

[Bdubs] Yeah

--- 1:11 ---

[Bdubs] This might be pushing it for you, a little bit. I don't want to push you too hard

[Etho] Mhm. You thinking about texturing the floor?

[Bdubs] *laughs*

[Etho] But I can texture too like, I know how to texture

[Bdubs] Yeah yeah yeah! Oh I know you can. I- I know. I know that too much is uncomfortable

[Etho] Mhm

[Bdubs] Right?

[Etho] I- I don't know what it is

[Etho] Like I like it when you do it

[Bdubs] Sure, yeah. But it can be too much.

[Bdubs] Yeah. It's more for advanced H- *laughs* HSL type people

[Etho] *laughs*

--- 1:44 ---

*chill music*

[Bdubs] That roof, It's less than a forty-five degree angle. It's like a-

[Etho] It's flatter right?

--- 1:51 ---

[Bdubs] I'm soo… puffed up as a builder. Okay

[Etho] Mhm

[Bdubs] that you can say anything and it won't hurt me. I can take it

[Etho] I feel like you need, like, some… semi-rooves lower down like, like at the four-five block height… kinda thing. You know what I mean? Like those little overhangs to something underneath

[Bdubs] I thought I could take it and I can't

[Etho] *laughs* Oh no, I crushed him

[Bdubs] *laughs*

--- 2:21 ---

*inspired piano music*

[Etho] Look at that build

[Bdubs] Come on now

--- 2:25 ---

*gentle piano and distant chatter*

--- 2:31 ---

[Bdubs] Jevin, Ethan, I'm coming. er, Etho. Ethan? Ethan

[Etho] Ethan? [Jevin] Ethan!

[Etho] Ethan hunt! [Jevin] Ethan I'm coming!

--- 2:36 ---

*silly music*

[Etho] Okay connected. *laughs* What??

[Bdubs] Oh noo!!

[Etho] *laughs* I have never seen anything like that before

[Bdubs] It's worse!

[Etho] *laughing* How is that possible?

--- 2:49 ---

*wither shriek*

[Bdubs] Wait! You hear that?

[Etho] Is that cub? Oh I think Cub's after you

[Bdubs] It could be Hypno *wither shriek*

[Etho] Oh my goodness *wither shriek*

[Etho] Oh my goodness, they're coming Bdubs *wither shriek*

[Etho] They're coming!

[Bdubs] It could be Hypno!

*wither shriek*

[Bdubs] Oh it's you!!

[Etho] *laughs*

[Bdubs] Ohhh!

[Etho] *laughs* [Bdubs] *laughs*

--- 3:09 ---

[Etho] Alright, we're gonna go by seniority here. Bdubs

[Bdubs] Yea- hahaha. *whispers* youu. You!! [Jevin] Wow

[Etho] *laughs*Lead the way [Jevin] Woww

[Bdubs] *laughs* [Jevin] *laughs*

[Bdubs] Ohh

[Etho] Was that not respectful? I thought that was a respectful thing to do

[Bdubs] No it's very respectful to your elders. It was very good

[Etho] I don't understand some things about social dynamics, I tell you

[Bdubs] *laughs*

--- 3:31 ---

[Etho] If you're ever bored or- or lonely on the server Bdubs, come hit me up

[Bdubs] Oh yes. Okay. Thank you

<end transcription>

[echo-nt]

I know this has already been said and I’m super late, but Mia as the protag of RE8 would have been so good. The contrast between Mia, the Lords, and Mother Miranda would have been absolutely interesting. I'm shoving everything under a read more because damn I have so many thoughts about Mia.

Lady Dimitrescu is a woman that cannibalizes and drinks the blood of her servants and intruders. On top of that, she tortures before preying on them. She does this willingly and very much derives pleasure from doing so. Lady D’s gothic triplets hunt any poor fool that wanders in. It’s a fun family activity for them just as much as it’s for sustenance. 

Do you know what this parallels? The Baker family under Eveline’s control. They patrol the estate and anyone who rejects the “gift” either ends up molded or on the dinner table. This family also partakes in a fucked up version of a family dinner, eating the victims that refused their little girl’s “gift.” 

However, a major difference between the Baker and Dimitrescu family is their willingness to participate in these activities. A family of cannibals; one forced while the other relishes in it. 

Mia is still very traumatized by her three years in the Baker’s estate. Breaking into the castle to find her daughter would force her back. Hello to all the emotions that come with those memories, the ones Mia has been trying to forget. The harder you try to forget something, the more you think about it. What better way to make Mia acknowledge Dulvey, Louisiana than by forcing her into something so similar? 

And while she’s still reeling from remembering her time in captivity, why not push her a bit further down memory lane with House Beneviento? Mia has demonstrated at multiple points in RE7 that she does care about other lives. She lies to Ethan to keep him from getting caught up in her work. She tries to save Alan and crew members of "The Annabelle" (the crew members are a bit more indirect, she mainly focused on Alan) by containing Eveline. After Jack finds her, Mia keeps her distance to keep from infecting them while trying to write a warning. She tries her hardest during RE7 to save Ethan. 

Mia’s hallucinations could center on her guilt. The failure to stop Eveline and the lives ruined as a result. How she was always too late to help anyone. Ethan curing her, a criminal, over Zoe, the person helping him. Leaving Zoe behind in the shattered remains of her home and family. Surviving. Visions of Ethan hinting at his “condition” could lure her to the manor. A little nudge to the whole “he was mold the entire time” plot twist without fully giving it away. 

Moreau, lacking in self worth and very attached to a woman who doesn’t give him the time a day, yet still he considers her as his mother. Most of his actions are for the attention and validation from his “mother.” No matter what Moreau does, he’ll never have her affection or time. It’s sad, isn’t it? To witness a man try so hard only to be rejected. And isn’t that familiar? Mia once felt compassion for someone with similar traits. 

Remember the little girl who considered you her mother? The one that spent three years waiting for you to love her after you promised? The one you had a hand in killing? What makes you think you could ever be a good mother after what you did? Why are you trying so hard to save Rose when you didn’t even extend the same courtesy to Eveline?

Y’all know how Mia’s past is a mystery? Like why she was working for the Connections and how she was even recruited and all that. Heisenberg would be a great way to explore it. A man taken, forced into becoming something else, and stuck in a family he doesn’t want. Mia can relate. He wants to use her daughter as a weapon. She was willing to let another child be used as a weapon. They’re alike, so surely Mia would be willing to side with him.

But Heisenberg is cocky and Mia isn’t the person she was prior/during 7. Even if she was on board with using Eveline as a weapon to end all wars or whatever bullshit the Connections told her, she’s not willing now. Not after what she’s seen and been through. This section could be Heisenberg goading her through the tvs/intercoms about her past to change her mind with Mia remaining steadfast in her refusal.

And then there’s Mother Miranda. Two mothers trying to get their daughters back through vastly different means. Because of the group photo showing Mia and Miranda with Eveline this encounter can go one of two ways. 

Miranda and Mia know each other and have worked together before. Whether it be on the E-Series Project (with Mia becoming the caretaker and spending copious amounts of time at the lab) or though some other means at work. 

They’ve only briefly met when the Connections were in a hurry to transport Eveline.

Either way, Miranda would compare them. As a mother, Mia must understand what she’s trying to accomplish. Would Mia not do the same as she? Maybe at this point Miranda shows she killed Ethan to demoralize to prevent her from interfering with the ceremony. Tells her she’s too late once again and to give Rose to her because she’ll be the superior mother.

Idk, I guess you could switch to Ethan instead of Chris so he can still have Eveline tell him he’s moldy. But he’s a stubborn man and he forces himself back to weaken Miranda so Mia can kill her. Chris shows up and Ethan does the same thing he did at the end by blowing himself up with Chris forcing Mia (with Rose) on the helicopter. That way the Shadow of Rose DLC can still be about Rose and Ethan. 

TLDR; Mia should have been the protagonist because it would have allowed us to explore her character and background more. It was a missed opportunity especially since so much of RE8 centers around mothers. It would have played out better as closing off the Winters Family saga as well since we could have tied the loose ends that came with Mia’s mysterious past.

[hollybell51]

If I don't have you

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Ethan Hunt x AFAB!Reader

Mission Impossible (around MI3)

Word count: 6.6K

Summary: your mind won't let go of a close call, or all the things that remain unsaid between you and Ethan.

Content: gratuitous smut, angst, light blood/wounds (canon typical), swearing, angst with a happy ending, some mildly dubious moments (ie., sneaking into people's beds), but there's explicit consent so dw about that. Friends to lovers, first kisses (like between people), oral (f receiving), handjobs, making out, missionary, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk, sappy love confessions (I'm a sap myself, give me a break). I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: hey guys I'm back with another terrible title and porn nobody asked for! I've recently been consumed by Mission Impossible and was devastated by the lack of Ethan Hunt content, and I may or may not be starting down the Tom Cruise rabbit hole, so I did the natural thing and wrote some good old smut. This man makes me absolutely feral in every film (sixty fucking one and he's still got it! What the fuck!) but the long hair really gets me (you all know this already) so I chose to go with somewhere around the MI3 mark. I'm also somehow convinced that he just gets hotter with each film but that's another issue.

Mandatory disclaimer, I don't really care what Tom Cruise does in his own free time with his money and energy but I personally don't fuck with scientology, so yeah. Anyways, enjoy!

The door to the hotel room banged shut behind you, loud and sudden in the cool stillness of the evening. Your face felt hot, and not just because of the heat outside or the fact that you’d just effectively undertaken a high-speed parkour course, blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding. 

“What the hell, Ethan?” you hissed as you spun to face him, jerking your arm out of his grip. 

He ignored you, stepping closer in the narrow entryway. “Are you hurt?” 

Were you hurt? God, it never failed to amaze you just how little regard this man had for his own safety. First he’d quite literally jumped off the roof of a building (albeit a low building, and he’d slid down the tented roof of one of the market stalls first), then raced head-first into what had nearly ended up an all-out fire fight, despite you and Luther both yelling across the comms at him to stop, go around and cut them off! Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t listened. 

“That was fucking insane!” you burst. 

“Are you ok?” 

You were being pursued, first at a walk and then a run. Ethan had seen, you’d told him and Luther both over the comms, and had been receiving directions from the latter. But there were three men chasing you – working for the man you were stalking, most likely, although you weren’t sure – and the streets were unfamiliar, the heat of the evening oppressive, the crush of bodies at the market stifling and the air dusty and thick. You knew, even as your feet pounded on the uneven ground, that you were not going to outlast these men – locals, larger and more numerous than you. 

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” 

Ethan had barrelled into you from the side just as the first gunshot had gone off, rolling with a grunt and a curse over some poor stallholder’s display and behind a wall of crates. The rush of relief his presence unfailingly conjured was short-lived as he dragged you to your feet, a quick “alright?” and that goddamn movie-star grin before he was pushing you out from behind the makeshift shelter and back into the crowd. You hadn’t even noticed the substantial tear in his shirt or the rough hatching of a graze high on his cheek until you’d been leaning against a wall, panting and a little shaky, but alive and free of your pursuers. 

You’d almost ripped him a (another) new one then and there, but then he’d shaken his head at you and held up his hand, panting, “let’s just get back,” before you could even open your mouth. So you’d held your tongue. Until you’d gotten back. 

Now, both his hands were on your shoulders, firm and warm, holding you still. “(Y/N),” he was saying, his eyes searching your face. “Are you hurt?” 

“No,” you sighed after a moment, half tempted to jerk out of his grasp again. You didn’t. “I’m fine. Are you?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded, his hands sliding down to grip your arms. The graze wasn’t too bad up close, but as your eyes flicked to the cut on his arm, your anger reared its head again. God, if that had been twenty centimetres to the right…

“No you’re fuckin not,” you said, breathing deeply. It was late, and you didn’t want to disturb anyone more than you already had. “Let me see that.” 

His hands dropped from you altogether, and he stepped back. “It’s fine, (Y/N), just a graze.” 

“A bullet graze!” 

“It’s fine.” 

You shook your head, closing what little distance had opened up between you to point your finger into his chest. “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.” 

“No promises,” he shrugged.

Jesus fucking Christ! You had half a mind to grab his gun off him and finish the job right there, see how fine he’d be with his brains blown onto the wall behind him. Even then he’d brush it off as a bruise, maybe a light concussion. You swallowed. “Ethan, you could have been killed !” 

“But I wasn’t. All that matters is that you’re alright.” He’d taken your hand, folding your accusing finger back towards your palm gently – so gently it made your heart ache – and enclosing your fist in his much larger one. Your stupid, traitorous stomach did a flip to rival his acrobatics. 

“No,” you gritted, “that’s not all that matters! You fucking–” matter. You matter to me. You pressed your lips firmly together, the words boiling in the back of your throat, spiralling into a hard, painful lump. You matter, Ethan, more than any fucking mission. None of it would mean shit if you didn’t make it, if I didn’t have you. You matter and I fucking love you, you idiot!

He was looking at you oddly, you realised, the silence hanging between you so thickly you’d need a damn chainsaw to cut it. His hand still cradled yours, but as you watched, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and the ready-for-anything gleam you were so painfully familiar with faded from his eyes. 

You both turned as someone – Luther – cleared his throat, a sharp silhouette against the glow of twilight through the window behind him. 

“Are you alright?” your friend asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Yeah,” you huffed, pulling back and running both your now-free hands through your hair. 

“Ethan?” 

“Yeah.” 

Another silence, though less tense. 

“Taking a shower,” you muttered, feeling your own body slouch as the adrenaline drained from you. You were sweaty, hot, dusty, shaky and too strung out for any more of this shit. Nobody stopped you as you trudged past first Ethan, then Luther, down the narrow hallway and into the small hotel bathroom. You thought you could hear Luther’s rumbling voice over the stream of shower water, Ethan’s higher-pitched response, but couldn’t make out any words. Maybe that was for the better.

In your dream, Ethan wasn’t fine. In your dream, he hadn’t moved as fast and wasn’t stumbling to his feet, pulling you with him. In your dream, he went down and stayed down, breath coming fast and short, and instead of a rip in his sleeve there was a dark stain spreading over his chest. 

“Ethan?” you said, watching yourself scramble across the rough dirt of the street to his side, your hands flitting uselessly over his torso. 

He cursed, taking your hand as he had so many times before, big and warm and more comforting than it had any right to be. “You alright?” he asked, teeth gritted. 

“Yeah, fine. Fuck, Ethan hold on–” 

“No, (Y/N)–” 

“Hold on , dammit!” It was amazing how viscerally you could feel the pain, sharp and hot like a gunshot wound of your own. You fumbled at your pockets with one hand, pressing down on his chest with the other, but your phone was nowhere to be found. When you shouted for an ambulance or help or anything at all, nobody was listening. The market bustled on around you, the people no more real than shadows on a wall. 

Ethan was saying your name again, his blood hot and wet against your palm. Too much, too much too fast. 

“All that matters is that you’re alright,” he was telling you, and half your mind was seeing him as he had been in the hallway – serious, sweaty, patch of pink skin over his cheekbone hatched with where the dirt had caught and cut it as he’d rolled. 

In your dream, you told the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, words spilling from you in a sick waterfall. “You matter, Ethan. You matter to me, I love you, do you know how much you matter to me?” 

You’d seen people die before. It was part and parcel of your job, so you knew what it looked like. This was no different. Ethan’s eyes were hazy, unfocussed, and he was too pale. There was a light sheen of sweat beading his face and neck. His chest was soaked with his blood and your hands were slick with it. His fingers were loosening around your own. 

“Ethan?” you asked, your own grip slackening as his head lolled. “Ethan, come on, just hold on–” 

No one’s coming. 

“Hold on, Ethan. Don’t go. Don’t go, I can’t do this without you.” 

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. 

“Please, just– listen to me. You don’t know. You have no idea how much you matter to me, how much I need you. Ethan, come on, I love you!” 

In your dream, Ethan was dead and you woke shivering despite the warmth of the room. You lay stock-still, counting to ten again and again until your breathing finally slowed and your heart rate returned to normal. You wriggled down under the sheet you’d draped over yourself, curling inwards and wishing for something more substantial than the loose t-shirt – once Ethan’s – and your underwear. 

You’d watched Ethan die a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Nobody would ever torture it out of you, but these – when he didn’t know, when it was too late before you told him – were the worst. It left you with a sick feeling in your gut, a hollow emptiness in your chest where your heart and lungs should have been, and limbs so heavy you were always surprised you managed to get up the next morning. And, of course, the inevitable wave of loathing at how fucking pathetic you were dreaming about telling your partner – friend , probably your best friend, because you were long past being coworkers – that you loved him. 

You sighed, turning over. It was close to the full moon, the open window casting a rectangle of silver over the lump that was your legs, the light breeze moving the curtains gently. You could get up and close it. You should. 

You’d been too pissed off and tired after your shower to do much more than grunt thanks to Luther when he handed you a cold doner kebab, eat it, then fall onto your bed and close your eyes. Usually, you’d have forced Ethan to take a shower too, waited until he emerged in fresh clothes and smelling like cheap soap, hair damp and curling around his ears, and patted the spot on the couch or bed or floor beside you. He’d always roll his eyes but sit anyway, and he’d stay sitting as you cleaned and dressed – sometimes stitched – whatever injuries he’d acquired with only minimal complaining. He’d give you the same treatment afterwards. 

You hadn’t done any of that before, and now you missed the little ritual. You’d been mentally cataloguing the first aid kit for antiseptic cream, bandages, wound pads, suture needles and sterile thread as soon as it had even clocked in your mind that he had more than just the graze to his cheek, the uncomfortable weight of your dream growing heavier with the realisation that you’d left it all to him. And Luther, you supposed. 

It was such a little thing, but in the moment it seemed to loom over you, blocking out the moon’s rectangle. 

You sighed again, your feet hitting the floor before you’d even fully realised that you were getting up. 2.28 AM glowed sickly green from the digital clock on the nightstand. Maybe if you hadn’t had that specific dream, you thought, you would have given this more consideration. Turned over and closed your eyes, decided to wait until morning proper, dismissed your guilt and concern as remnants of a stressful evening. But you had had that dream, and now that you’d eased the door open and were slipping down the hallway towards the room Ethan occupied, there was no way you could have turned back. 

His door was ajar, and didn’t squeal or protest when you eased it open. The set-up, like most hotel bedrooms, was exactly the same as your own. Cupboard on one wall (open, with a duffle bag resting half in and half out of it), dresser next to the door (two guns and a few spare magazines next to them), and a double bed by the window. The orientation of the room meant that the moonlight fell on the floor instead of the bed, but you could still clearly make out Ethan’s prone form, sheet wrinkled and twisted under him, one arm dangling over the side of the mattress, a few strands of hair over his face fluttering with each breath. 

You’d seen him asleep before, of course you had. There hadn’t always been hotel rooms with two bedrooms and a pull-out couch to rotate through, nice as that was. There hadn’t even always been separate beds or mattresses – or any at all. Sometimes you ended up side by side in a queen that was supposed to be two singles, slumped on top of him in the back of a van or on a rooftop, curled against his back in a sleeping bag that was only really meant for one person. You didn’t mind, not really, but seeing him like that – totally relaxed, peaceful – tugged at something deep inside you. 

You hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, shivering once more in the breeze from his open window. The curtains billowed inwards, floated suspended for a moment, then receded back to brush at the thick sill. The bed rustled as Ethan turned over, and you froze. He’d said something, you thought he’d said something that sounded like your name. Then he did it again, and you were sure. 

“(Y/N).” 

You crossed the room silently, kneeling then lying smoothly on the bed and against his back like you were made to fit there. He hummed softly as your arm slid over his ribs, your fingers splayed over his heart. Still beating, strong and even and alive. 

He sighed, shifting ever so slightly back towards you, his own hand finding yours, larger fingers lacing with your own. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. The dressing on his arm where the bullet had clipped him seemed to glow, taunting you. He did this himself, it said. You left, he almost took a fucking bullet for you and you didn’t even fix it for him .

The slow expansion and contraction of his torso paused for a moment. Neither of you were heavy sleepers, your job had seen to that. “(Y/N)?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What’re you sorry for?” he asked, voice thick with sleep. 

Everything. “Yelling at you. I just…” You paused, no longer cold in the shadow of your dream, but still aware of its presence. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt.” 

There was a beat of silence, then he was turning over again to face you, his hand slipping from your own to run up over your forearm, your elbow, your upper arm, catching momentarily on the sleeve of your shirt before coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re here,” he whispered. “Thought I was dreaming…” 

You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers around the neck of his wifebeater singlet. Even just waking up, he looked good in the damn thing. “You were.” 

He frowned, the patch of rough red hashing standing out in the silvery dimness. Up this close, you could see every minute crease between his brows that hadn’t been there a minute ago, every tiny line of tension around his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” he asked. 

 You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I felt bad.” I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t help you and I couldn’t tell you, and you still don’t know. 

“For yelling at me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I don’t wanna see you get hurt, either. That’s–” 

“All that matters. You said.” 

You were at a crossroads. You felt it as if someone had infused your every cell with the knowledge that you had two options, and you could only take one, and it would change things. How, you weren’t sure, but the sticky warmth of Ethan’s blood between your fingers and the rough dirt digging into your knees still made your skin tingle. 

“You’re wrong,” you continued. “That’s not all that matters.” 

The frown deepened. “Hm?” 

“You matter, Ethan. To me. If I don’t have you…” You shrugged, once again counting your breaths. How was it that you were more highly strung now than you had been while you were quite literally being chased through a market and shot at? It was so far away now, a distant memory of someone else. This, here, the gap barely wider than ten centimetres between your face and Ethan’s, the warm air and the pale moonlight, the warmer weight of his hand still on your shoulder… That was real. 

But bravery – a strange word, you realised, even as you had the thought – only went so far. “Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” you finished lamely. 

He knew it wasn’t what you’d been going to say, that it barely went half way to getting across what you wanted to. But still, he just smiled and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You won’t ever have to find out.” 

Maybe you weren’t really awake. Maybe you’d wandered into his dream instead of his room, or maybe (and more likely) he’d found his way into yours. Maybe you really had turned over and gone back to sleep instead of padding down the hall and sliding in next to him, and this was your mind’s way of apologising to you for the earlier horror show. It must be, you reasoned, because somewhere you’d ended up pressed against his front – something that hadn’t happened before; you always found yourself curled around him from behind. Your skin felt like it was on fire as his hand slid across your collar, up your neck to rest on your cheek. 

The kiss, when it came, hardly registered as something new. After all, how many times had this played out in your mind? How many times had you wondered what it would be like to move those last few centimetres, lean across that last gap, shove the two of you over that line like he’d shoved you out of the way of that bullet. It was an extension of where you were right now, of where you’d been for the last however long, of where you’d somehow known you were eventually going to end up. 

He was as gentle with you as he’d always been, soft and so painfully careful. He held you like you might break, as if you were something precious and delicate, his hand warm where he cradled your face. You felt the last sticky residue of tension and fear drain from your body as you slid the hand that had been resting on his chest down, over his ribs, around his back, pressing between his shoulder blades. 

“Ethan,” you whispered as he pulled away, still close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. You weren’t shivering anymore. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he replied, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face. 

You smiled, every cell in your body tingling with warmth. “So’re you.” 

“Mm-mm,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Not like you. You have no idea how beautiful you are.” 

There wasn’t much your kiss-addled, Ethan-filled brain could say to that. You closed the gap once more, his mouth impossibly soft, the faint hint of his toothpaste clinging to his tongue when it slid against your own. Someone – you or him, you weren’t sure – made a tiny noise somewhere in the realm of a sigh as you shifted even closer to him, hooking your leg over his. 

He was almost on top of you now, leaning over you, suspended carefully on one arm. You’d been here before, pressed into the floor of wherever you were sparring, sweaty and determined to do whatever it took to gain the upper hand again. Secretly, though, you’d wondered what that would feel like like this, and now you wondered if he had, too. 

Just as you had all those other times, you pushed your hips up off the mattress and flipped him smoothly. He huffed as you straddled him, blinking up at you in surprise before a smile spread over his face and he sat up, kissing you once more, his hands settling on your hips. You were half aware of your body curving towards his as your hands tangled in his hair, the rapid deterioration of your kisses into something that probably wouldn’t fit the word under any stringent definition. 

“Can I?” he asked, fingers flitting around the hem of your shirt. 

You just nodded, pulling the garment over your head quicker than you ever had before and casting it aside. If Ethan recognised it, he didn’t say anything. 

“You too,” you whispered when he didn’t show any signs of copying you, pulling at the thin cotton of his own shirt. 

“Huh?” 

“Shirt, dummy,” you smiled. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who’s naked.” 

“All’s fair in love and war.” 

Love. Your heart sped up at the word. This could be love. Or war, you supposed.

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” you said, wrinkling your nose. 

“Sure it is,” he shrugged. But his hands were at the hem of the stupid thing, and before you could say anything else he was easing it over his head – mindful of his arm – and tossing it to join yours. “Fair now?” 

“Yeah.” You’d seen him without a shirt before. Changing in the back of a van, bandaging a cracked rib or disinfecting a patch of tiny cuts where he’d rolled through broken glass (which happened far too frequently, in your opinion), passing him on his way out of the bathroom. Every time made your stomach flip over and your mind race, but you’d never been able to touch him like this before; run your hands down over his shoulders and arms, across his stomach, up again over his chest, around his ribcage, down the curve of his spine. 

He was in the same boat, you supposed, smiling as his hand slid appreciatively up your side, thumb skimming the soft underside of your breast. You moaned as he bent to kiss down the column of your throat, sucking at the flesh over your jugular and where your neck met your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin occasionally, tongue soothing the blossoming marks left behind. 

“Can I ask you something?” you sighed as he mouthed at the hollow of your collar bone. 

“Yeah.” 

“You said my name before. Were you dreaming about me?” 

Again, “Yeah.” 

You smiled. “What about me?” 

“That you were here.” He broke away from your skin, stretching to place a soft kiss on your lips. “And you were safe.” 

“Well I am.” There was more to it, you could feel it. 

“You are.” Another kiss, almost chaste in its brevity. 

“What else?” you asked. 

He paused, hesitant, then, “You had your legs around my neck.” 

Oh. Oh. 

“Fuck, Ethan,” you whispered. That image wasn’t a new one. The fact that he dreamed about you was news enough, but that… That sent a veritable deluge of heat and desire down through your body, pooling wetly between your thighs. You had to consciously stop yourself from grinding on him right then and there.  

You wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. He was pushing you backwards now, his kisses trailing down over your sternum, between your breasts – he paused here to mouth at one, kneading the other gently, making you moan again – and on to your stomach. He slowed when he reached the waistband of your underwear, kissing across the bridge between your hip bones, leaving you a belt of faint hickeys. 

“Can–” 

“Yes,” you answered.

He looked up at you from where he’d slid between your legs, one hand on your hip and the other pushing at your thigh. His hair hung over his forehead and almost into his eyes (you’d been trying to get him to let you trim it for weeks now), lips pink and kiss-swollen and so pretty. “Ok,” he smiled, pulling your underwear down over your legs shockingly easily, considering they were still wrapped around his waist. You cursed softly as he bent his head again, kissing the inside of your thigh. 

“Wondered what this’d be like,” he whispered, sucking at a spot beside it.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, your hand sliding down to rest on his head, fingers carding through his hair. 

He hummed softly into your skin. “What you’d taste like.” 

You cursed again as he licked over the mark, fingers skirting where you wanted him most, your skin on fire with every kiss.

“What you’d sound like.”

You pressed your lips together firmly, stifling any sound as he slid a finger over your wetness. You raised your head, meeting his eyes directly. “Do you wanna find out?” 

“Yes,” he breathed. His breath hitched in his chest, and there was that perfect movie-star grin. “Fuck, yes.” 

You opened your mouth to say something to that, but before the words had formed in your mind Ethan was licking up your cunt and the only thing that came out of your mouth was an embarrassingly loud moan. You felt him smile, his own soft noise of pleasure muffled against your flesh as he licked again, then sucked determinedly at your clit. 

“Oh, fuck , Ethan–” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, legs locked around his shoulders. 

“Hm?” 

“That’s fucking– You’re– Holy shit that’s good.” 

Ethan just grinned again, his tongue flicking over you, one finger circling your entrance. A suggestion. “Is this alright?” 

You nodded frantically, pressing your lips together as he pushed it inside you. “Yes,” you whined as he licked you again, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress as the hand not gripping his hair twisted in the sheets. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating over you as he sucked your clit, his finger working your hole. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” you panted, practically grinding on his face. 

A soft hum, then he was adding a second finger, lapping up everything you were giving him as you squirmed , your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel the orgasm coming now, coiling in your stomach like a spring, hot and tight and Ethan was the one building it up. Every curl of his fingers, every brush of his tongue and lips, every little grunt or hum, and his free hand gripping your thigh like a vice. You hoped you’d have bruises. 

“Oh, oh, Ethan, oh my God–” 

Close, you were so damn close. You were aware of your hips jutting up against his face, and the tiny part of your brain that wasn’t consumed with pleasure and want might have felt bad. 

“I’m gonna– fuck – holy shit , Ethan– Ethan I’m gonna–” 

Then everything was crashing around you and you were crying his name, your legs spasming and your spine arching, electricity fizzing through you. Ethan continued fucking you with his hand, slower and gentler now, his mouth soft on your sensitive clit. Maybe it was gradual, maybe not, but eventually your body transitioned from roiling static to a gentle buzz and your grip on his hair slackened, your legs relaxing around his shoulders. 

He sat calmly between your legs, licking his fingers. The entire lower half of his face shone silver in the moonlight with your slick, his lips pink and swollen, eyes fixed keenly on you. You thought if he looked at you like that a second longer, you were going to cum all over again. 

You smiled at him, your hand finding his where it still rested on your hip. Gently (though maybe it was because your limbs still felt so heavy and floppy), you pulled him up the bed and down on top of yourself, stretching up to kiss him hard. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue when it slid into your mouth, and his hand on your skin was slightly sticky. It slid around your waist, pushing against the small of your back, pressing your chest to his. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to get enough of it.

You whispered his name against his lips, your own hands settled firmly around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The fabric of his underwear – why the hell was he still wearing anything? – seemed to burn where it brushed over your hip, pressing hot and hard against you. 

“(Y/N),” he breathed, pulling back enough to study your face carefully, as if he were memorising every detail. 

You felt the air catch in your lungs, your heart skip a beat. “You’re so…” Pretty. Lovely. Gorgeous. Hot. Handsome. Beautiful. You’re everything, Ethan. “God, I love you.”

He froze, and it was only then that you realised you’d said it. You’d actually said the goddamn words, aloud, to him. 

“Are you serious?” he asked. Not incredulous, not judgemental, simply seeking clarification. 

And how the hell were you supposed to lie? You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you,” you repeated numbly. Then, swallowing, “Is that ok?” 

Another beat passed in silence, then he laughed. “Yes, dammit, I love you too.” 

“You… love me too.” Had you heard him right? Had you somehow wandered back to your dream, fallen into an orgasm-dulled sleep and imagined the last few minutes? But no, Ethan’s lips felt real enough when they brushed yours again, his fingers felt real enough on your back. 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you. And you love me, don’t you?” 

You nodded, an absurd bubble of laughter swelling in your chest. “Yes,” you grinned. “I love you, Ethan.”

This kiss was different. A kiss has to taste different after something like that, you supposed, and you were both still smiling. You reached down, your fingers skirting the waistband of his underwear, then further still to press your hand against his hard bulge. He moaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss to glance down, up again. 

“Off,” you whispered, already pulling at the fabric. He obliged, quickly and smoothly as he’d rid himself of his shirt, and in a moment his lips were back against your own, hot and hungry. You took his cock in your hand, your own lips moving away from his across his jaw, the hollow where it met his neck, his skin clean and smooth and tasting faintly of hotel soap. 

His dick was hot to the touch, thick and long and roped with veins. You’d wondered, sometimes, what this would feel like. You’d imagined the sound he’d make when you touched him like this (it couldn’t ever have come close to the real thing, you knew that now), how that hot weight would feel against your tongue. He groaned in earnest as you stroked your hand along his length, your thumb swiping around the leaking head. He cursed softly, your name hissing between his teeth, hips moving gently in tandem with your hand. 

“I wanted you for so long, Ethan,” you murmured into his neck. “You have no idea.” 

“Yeah?” 

You smiled. “I dream about you too, you know.” 

He faltered, just for a moment, then, “What about me?” 

You felt your smile widen and you frantically suppressed the urge to laugh again at the echo of your own earlier words. “I dream about fucking you six ways into next week,” you said simply. “Sucking your cock till I’m choking on it and making you cum in my mouth. Or in my pussy, I don’t care.”

“Oh fuck, (Y/N), Jesus,” he groaned, the sound sending another bolt of heat to your still sensitive pussy. “You think about that when we’re out there?” 

“Mhm.” This time you did laugh, nothing more than a soft exhale, not stopping your hand’s movements. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to jerk you off when you’re tryna aim a gun.” 

His cock twitched in your grasp, a low moan pressed back behind his lips. “God, (Y/N) that’s–” 

“Insane?” 

“So fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Wanna feel you, all of you. Can I?” 

Now it was your turn to curse. “Yes,” you breathed, wriggling to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand leaving its place to grip his shoulder, run down his arm, guide his hand to your hip. “Please, Ethan.”

“Here?” 

“Yeah. Here.” You ground your hips against his, already tingling as his cock slid against your slick centre. “I want you inside me. Need you.” 

“Shit, ok, just let me–” He broke off as he sank into you, his hum of pleasure mingling with your own breathy moan. Maybe it was the after effects of your earlier orgasm, the dream state you still weren’t entirely sure you’d broken out of, or a combination of both, but you swore that nothing would ever top this feeling. It was like he was made for you, slow and soft as he pulled out and pushed back in, did it again, then again and again. 

“Shit, Ethan,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair as he bent his head to kiss your chest. You were glad it was still long enough for this, that you hadn’t managed to get him to cut it. He groaned against you and you smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut. 

“Harder?” you murmured. “Don’t have to be so gentle.” 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he replied, his breath warm against your skin. 

“You won’t, don’t worry. Please?” 

He raised his head, eyes searching your face. “Ok,” he said, dipping down to kiss your lips quickly and softly before he was drawing away and sitting back between your legs, lifting your hips with one hand and sliding a pillow under your lower back with the other. 

Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies swirling alongside the magma in your stomach. This time he pushed hard into you, his cock stroking every inch of your insides, the hand that had been on your hip sliding to press down on your pelvis. “Yes,” you gasped, “yes, just like that.” 

“Like this?” Another thrust, even and determined. 

“Yeah, oh fuck that’s so good.” You reached up over your head, one hand gripping the headboard of the bed as the other twisted in the sheets, eyes fixed on Ethan. He was so beautiful in the moonlight, shining as though he was cast in silver. He was a fucking masterpiece. 

“You’re so good,” he said. “You look so perfect like that, feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I swear.” 

Oh, did he know what he was doing to you? Every jolt of his hips against yours building low inside you, his barely restrained little sounds and the heaving of his chest. You weren’t going to last much longer. 

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, “ fuck, Ethan, you feel so good. Making me feel so fucking good, so good , you have no idea.” 

“Hm?” 

“So hot. You’re so goddamn hot, you know that?” 

“(Y/N)–” 

You were close. You were so fucking close, wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You whined his name, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts, legs tight around his waist. 

“Fuck, (Y/N), I’m– I’m gonna–” He broke off, pressing his lips together, his eyes fixed on you. 

“Yeah? You gonna cum?”

“Yeah, fuck, where do I–” 

“In me.” 

“You sure?” 

Were you sure? You’d been sure for way too long now. “Yeah, dammit, wanna feel you cum in my pussy, fucking filling me up so good–” 

That did it. His thrusts stuttered and slowed as he spilled inside you, his chest heaving and his head tilted back, eyes closed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. God, he was just too much, and you’d made him look like that. It had been you, all you, and it was you he was still buried deep inside. Your own climax rolled over you with that, your body squeezing tight and hot around him, your grip on the bed hard enough that you were sure your knuckles were white, spine arching as bliss flooded your body. You might have said his name, he might have said yours again, but it didn’t matter. 

You lay there, warm all over and shaking, watching him. After a moment, his eyes opened and he smiled at you, gingerly pulling out to flop beside you on the mattress. 

“Clean up?” he asked, already reaching over the side of the bed. 

“Yeah.” You were too heavy to do anything but let him gently run the towel he’d found between your legs, thighs and stomach twitching when the rough cotton came into contact with your oversensitive clit. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, cursorily wiping at his own crotch before tossing the piece of fabric away. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed again, wriggling off the pillow and kicking it aside. You shifted closer to him, his arm sliding around your shoulders and pulling you against his side, his heart beating strong next to your own. Your eyes were drawn to the darker, rougher patch on his cheek, and you frowned. 

“What?” he asked. 

“This.” You ran your fingers over it gently, barely even touching the skin, doing the same to the dressing on his arm. “And this. Can I have a look tomorrow?” 

“It is tomorrow.” He nodded to the clock. Right, yeah. After midnight. “I thought I did an ok job,” he went on before you could say anything. 

“Ethan, there’s nothing even on this one,” you protested. “It’s just… there.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna kiss it better?” 

“I never said that.” You smiled, dipping to brush the spot with your lips. Featherlight, barely there. “Better?” 

He nodded. 

“I still want to check them.” 

“Ok,” he relented, squeezing your shoulder gently.  

You shifted closer, your face inches from his own. Up this close, you could see the baby hairs stuck to his forehead with sweat, every eyelash shining iridescent white under the moon. “I meant it,” you whispered.

“What?” 

“That you matter to me. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” 

His breath rushed through his lungs and back out again as he stretched to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most important thing to me, too. I love you.” 

You tilted your face to his, this time meeting his lips with your own. It was slow, unhurried, relaxed and tender, and everything you adored in Ethan. “I love you, too,” you whispered into it. Then, grinning as you drew back, “And I meant all the other stuff, too.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “All of it?” 

“Yeah.” 

His chest shook with faint laughter under you, his hand stroking over your shoulder. “I didn’t know you thought like that. Didn’t know you thought about me like that.” 

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, shrugging, your cheeks warm. “Sorry if it was a bit much.” 

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “it wasn’t. I liked it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You know,” you said as you lay down, “anyone else couldn’t waterboard that out of me.” 

“Guess I’m just that special.” 

“You are, Ethan.” You weren’t shivering anymore, the only weight in you was the pleasant kind of exhaustion that came with finally being safe, being home. Ethan was alive and he knew, he knew you loved him, and he knew what he meant to you, and he loved you too. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had.

[agaypanic]

Can I request how the mbav characters would react id reader bit them and turned them? (with consent ofc)

Turning The MBAV Characters Headcanons

Masterlist

Request Something!

A/N: the scenario for these headcanons is that the characters asked to be turned, it’s not like a life or death situation like i did in that one rory fic. For their headcanons/scenarios, imagine that erica and rory got turned by you instead of jesse's cult

***

Benny

Would probably be so stoked about it

He’s a wizard and a vampire ???

Thinks he’s the coolest mf ever now

“This is so cool,” Benny said, staring in the mirror at his lack of reflection. He waved his hand around in front of him, but the mirror showed no evidence of him being there.

“Glad you think so.” You say, silently laughing at your boyfriend’s antics.

“Hey!” Benny exclaimed, whipping around to look at you. “Do you think if I got scratched by a werewolf, I’d become, like, the ultimate supernatural creature?”

“I dunno.” You answer. “And frankly, I don’t really wanna find out. I think being a vampire wizard is enough for you, Bens.”

Benny pouted, looking back at the mirror.

“You know what sucks?” He asked, and you started to panic internally. You hoped Benny wasn’t having reservations or regrets about this, because there was no going back.

“What?”

“I’m gonna be young and hot forever now, and I can’t even look at myself.”

Rory

If you thought Rory was excitable and hyperactive before, oh boy

Sometimes, you regret turning him because he’s not very secretive about his new identity and activities

But he’s so happy and optimistic that you forget all your worries

Teaching him how to feed at first was a bit funny

“You got your squirrel?” You ask, looking at your boyfriend.

“Yeah.” He responded, looking at the furry creature.

“Okay, now sink your teeth in and drink.” You instruct, doing it first as an example. Rory watched you with both fascination and disgust.

“Gnarly.” He muttered to himself. After taking a deep breath, he copied your actions. When you were both done feeding, he took his mouth off the blood source and started to spit. “Gross!”

“What?” You looked at him, confused. “Rory, the blood’s supposed to taste good.”

“It does, but now I have fur in my mouth!”

Ethan

Ethan being Ethan, I feel like he’d be having a crisis the entire time

Both before and after the turning

It takes a lot of thinking and convincing for him to agree to it

And then afterward, he doesn’t necessarily regret it, but it takes a while for him to calm down

“Oh my god,” Ethan muttered, feeling his fangs with his fingers. All of his senses were heightened; he felt so different. “Oh my god.”

“How are you feeling?” You asked worriedly, laying a gentle hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder in hopes of grounding him.

“Different.” He answered, still tracing the points of his teeth.

“Good different or bad different?”

“Well… on the one hand, I’m pretty much invincible now, which is cool. And we’ll never have to worry about me getting older than you, or me dying. I’ll live forever.” Ethan nodded along with his reasons, before his eyes widened in realization. “But on the other hand, I’m gonna live forever! That’s, like, a really long time!”

“Okay, okay, okay.” You grabbed Ethan by the shoulders, making him face you. “That may be true, but we can take it one day at a time.”

Ethan nodded, seeming to calm down a bit. But then another thought crossed his mind.

“What if blood is gross?!”

“Oh my god, Ethan.”

Erica

Being the biggest Dusk fan, she immediately said yes when you suggested it

After she turned and realized she didn’t need glasses and had gotten more attractive, she was ecstatic

Her ego and confidence went through the roof

But you’re the only one allowed to even think about her pre-vampire self

“What are you nerds doing?” Erica asked as you approached Benny and Rory, who were dressed like they were about to go on a safari.

“We’re gonna go hunt vampires,” Rory answered excitedly. He looked like he was about to elaborate, but Benny interrupted him.

“Don’t call us nerds.” He said to Erica, rolling his eyes. “Before you were a smoking hot vampire, you were a mega nerd, remember?”

Erica hissed and bared her fangs at Benny, making him jump back in his seat in surprise. But she grabbed his shoulder so he couldn’t get away.

“Remind anyone of that again, and you’re toast.”

“Got it,” Benny said with an even but stiff tone. Erica grinned.

“Good.” When she let go of Benny and turned back to you, her fangs and yellow eyes were gone. “Come on, Y/n.”

You walked away from Benny and Rory, hand in hand. Out of earshot of anyone around, you looked up at Erica with a fond smile.

“I remember when you were a mega nerd,” you said, giggling as she huffed. “You were a cute nerd.”

“Shut up,” Erica said, rolling her eyes. But you managed to catch a glimpse of her small smile.

***

Benny Weir Taglist: @batmandallyboy

[dovesdreaming]

PLEASE I AM BEGGING YOU FOR ETHAN MORGAN X VAMP!READER FICS THERE ARE LITERALLY NO ETHAN FICS I HAVEN'T READ I WILL GIVE YOU MY LIFE AND SOUL 🙏🙏🙏 -🩻

Teeth marks

My first emoji anon hiii!! Thank you so much for your request!! I loved writing this and I’m sorry for the wait. This also isn’t as long as I wanted it to be so when I get time I will write more headcanons for this dynamic!! <3

not proofread sorry

Warnings: none

You had recently been turned into a vampire. While it had its perks it did mean that you were now immortal and it all felt a little daunting, especially when you had to keep everything a secret.

Everything had been going fine, you had been managing to hunt at night so no one saw you and it had been working. Key word being had. This was because tonight while you were hunting small animals you were found by the one and only Rory. You wouldn’t say you were friends, you had only spoken a few times in class to swap answers but now he had seen you sucking the blood from the neck of a squirrel. That was irreparable damage to any future friendship aspects. Or so you thought. You had thought many things, your thoughts racing as he might tell the whole town and you would have to flee but all he did was grin. He got super excited and started rambling about how cool this was. You missed the majority of what he was saying from the shock of his reaction and when you finally tuned back into what he was saying you heard “you’re a vampire too!”. You finally dropped the squirrel and stood up, slowly walking towards him. “You mean you’re a vampire aswell?” You asked Rory with a very confused look. “Of course, Erica and Sarah are too”. You couldn’t believe there were more, you had been suffering this whole time with so many people like you close by.

After your encounter Rory introduced you to the rest of the friend group and they immediately accepted you. Benny and Ethan being the only non vampires of the group were slightly cautious as they didn’t know your tolerance for the smell of blood yet. They quickly warmed up to you though when they saw you could handle yourself better than Rory and Erica.

You took a special liking to Ethan, you found it cute how he got slightly nervous around you. Stumbling over his words slightly. You loved to tease him to make it worse. You did however also befriend him and become close to him. He understood some of your worries about being a vampire (hearing the same worries from Sarah and the others) and he listened to al your other concerns. You were each others confidants. You grew closer until the point where your feelings for each other were undeniable to even yourselves. Ethan would take a while to admit his feelings so you probably ended up beating him to confessing them. Ethan doesn’t mind you being a vampire but he does worry for your safety even if you could handle yourself. He would hate to think of a future where you were still young and he was getting older, would probably consider turning into a vampire for you. Whether he went through with it though is another thing.

Headcanons:

-He completely trusts you around him and doesn’t feel threatened even if you have your teeth out around him. He also feels bad that you’re stuck with someone with such irresistible blood to a vampire.

-he only gets nervous around your teeth if you bring them out while play fighting or cuddling. He doesn’t feel threatened he’s just scared of the power they hold.

-would try his best to help you with any of your cravings, may even offer some of his blood but you would always refuse.

-would be so caring towards you and would always stick up for you in any situation. Especially if you were fighting the weekly problem and they went after you.

-would try and find a spell in bennys book or some cure for you as he knew it troubled you at times. Would never pressure you into anything like that though

-he always felt protected when you were by his side and he hoped you could feel the same when he was close by even if he didn’t hold half the power you did

-would ask advice about vampire stuff from Sarah and would listen to everything she said

-would be in complete awe of you at all times.

-he found you so hot when you used your powers against any supernatural being

-would research and look through ALL the pages of google on vampires to just find everything out about you

-he would trace his fingers gently over the teeth marks on your neck. Occasionally softly kissing them.

-would never judge you in any shape or form

-would just genuinely love you and wouldn’t care that your slightly different from the average person. Would face any challenges along the way with you and stay by your side.

Thank you for reading!!

[justabigassnerd]

Newest Team Member

Pairing - Ethan Hunt x daughter!reader

Word count - 5,320

Warnings - violence (guns), death, child endangerment (not on Ethan's part), allusions to sex, swearing, angst

Summary - a one night stand changes Ethan's entire life

A/N - hey y'all it's time for another part of the Lil' Hunt universe!! I'm sorry it's taking me so long to churn out fics I swear I am trying. since this is the first fic to come chronologically in the universe despite it being my second Lil' Hunt fic, I will be making sure the masterlist (when it's posted) will be in chronological order although they can work as standalones. anyways I'll stop rambling now, as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ethan often found that he never knew what to do with himself in between missions. His life was entirely taken over by the IMF so being in between missions was a horrible state of limbo for him. He itched to be handed a message detailing his next mission and to be told it would mean he had to get to work almost instantly. With nothing to do but sit in a safe house and twiddle his thumbs until he gets his next mission, Ethan decides to go for a walk around the city he’s in. He wanders the streets until he stumbles across a bar. It wasn’t anything flashy, but he figured he earnt himself a beer or two.

As he walks in the bar he’s greeted by the overwhelming stench of beer and sweat. He skillfully manoeuvres himself through the sea of patrons to get to the bar and order a drink for himself. As he’s handed a beer bottle, he notices a woman sitting a couple of seats away from him and when he sees the forlorn expression on her face, he decides to cross to her.

“Is this seat taken?” Ethan asks, pointing to the empty seat beside the woman as she looks up at him, eyes slightly wide from the shock of Ethan sneaking up on her but she soon relaxes.

“Knock yourself out.” The woman says, gesturing to the seat and turning back to the bar as Ethan seats himself alongside her, placing his beer in front of him.

“I know I’m a complete stranger, but I noticed you looked a bit down. Is everything okay?” Ethan asks, loud enough to be heard over the music and commotion, but quiet enough for the words to stay in between the two of them. She stays silent for a moment before deciding to speak.

“Just an argument with a friend. Nothing can be done now.” She says with a shrug, smiling sadly before lifting her cocktail to her lips and taking a sip.

“Anything I could do to help?” Ethan then asks, always driven to help people as best he can.

“You could tell me your name.” The woman says with a chuckle, looking over at Ethan who lets out a small laugh himself at the realisation that they had in fact not exchanged names.

“I’m Joe. What’s your name?” The fake name comes quickly to Ethan, knowing it’s safer for both her and him to use a fake name in case anyone who may be a danger sees them together. The woman purses her lips slightly, looking him up and down before letting out a laugh.

“Sorry, you don’t look like much of a Joe. Your parents should’ve thought twice about that name. I’m Abby.” She says, introducing herself after having a laugh about Ethan’s fake name. She then holds her hand out for Ethan to shake which he does with a grin.

The pair continue to have drinks while discussing everything and nothing at the same time. Ethan was just grateful that for most of the questions she asked about him, he had preset lies ready to tell her so she wouldn’t find out about the real-life he led. Before they knew it, they heard last orders being called and Ethan suddenly realised how long he’d been at the bar for. But with the handful of beers he had drank he found himself too tipsy to care.

“So… Joe, your place or mine?”

Ethan woke up the next morning alone in a hotel room. He furrowed his eyebrows as he thought about how he got there in the first place, his memory fuzzy from the night before. He sits up slowly, blinking to adjust to his surroundings as he glances around, immediately catching sight of his clothes strewn all over the floor. When he realises what happened his eyes widen in horror, and he hurriedly gets changed before searching for any kind of note Abby could have left for him since she was nowhere to be found. As he prepares to leave the room, memories flash in his mind of coming back here with Abby and ending up in bed with her. After Ethan has changed and determined that Abby is gone with very little chance of returning, he exits the hotel, retreating to the safe house quickly vowing to not do something like that again.

Ethan would not see Abby again until almost ten months later.

Ethan was placed on a team tracking down a group that was rapidly becoming a bigger threat. When they first emerged, the IMF thought very little of them and figured local police would track them down and stop them before they got any bigger and their faith in that assumption was proven when they disappeared before reappearing after nearly ten months. Ethan and his team had very little trouble in tracking down the group’s main operating warehouse and when they entered the building, they were only moderately surprised to see a group of henchmen with guns staring them down. Ethan and his team were of course very quick to pull out their own guns and get locked in a standoff. Every person itching to pull the trigger but not wanting to initiate a gunfight in fear of injury and death. A couple of minutes pass and all of a sudden, a door is thrown open and a woman marches in. A woman Ethan recognises.

Abby storms in, glancing around at her men before noticing the team opposite her and a sadistic smirk comes to her face when she recognises Ethan.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Joe… or should I say, Ethan Hunt?” Abby says, pacing gleefully before she approaches one of her henchmen, whispering in his ear and sending him off while Ethan’s eyes widen slightly at the fact, she knew his name.

“Oh, don’t act all surprised Hunt. I knew who you were the moment I saw you in that bar. You can’t be one of the IMF’s top agents and expect us to not know who you are. You caused us a lot of problems Hunt.” Abby says, a ferocity covering her face that Ethan had never expected to come from her. Ethan struggled to process her words, surprised he never figured out she knew who he was or that she was working for the group that he had been tracking.

“So you guys hid because I met you? You were that scared of me that you hid away for almost ten months?” Ethan asks, grip tightening on his gun as he stares Abby down who merely laughs at his words.

“We’re not scared of you. You have one hell of an ego to think that. No, in fact, it’s hard to run a business like this when you’re pregnant.” As if it was cued, the henchman who had been sent out of the room mere minutes ago emerged with a baby in hand. Abby takes the baby and holds them with a look of disgust.

“You know I never wanted kids. But when a one-night stand like you knocked me up. I figured this would be the perfect opportunity to get you off our damn backs.” Abby says and Ethan’s eyes widen at her words, lowering his gun slightly to study the baby in her arms.

“Oh yes, Ethan. This brat is yours. We ran a DNA test and everything the moment she was born.” Abby says, glee overtaking her features as Ethan lowers the gun completely, shocked at the revelation.

“Ethan, what are you doing?” One of his teammates, Jamie, hisses as he notices Ethan lowering his gun.

“Hunt, get it together she’s bullshitting you.” Elsie says harshly, glaring over at Ethan who doesn’t lift his gun, still in shock with his mind swimming with a thousand thoughts.

“I’ve had enough of this.” Daniel mutters, pulling the trigger on his gun and the bullet hits one of the henchmen in his heart. That action caused a gunfight between the two groups. Ethan and his team dove behind cover while the henchmen did the same. Ethan glared over at his teammates who simply shrugged and continued to fire back at the enemy. Taking a quick peek over the box he had hidden himself behind, Ethan was shocked to see that Abby had run off and that the baby was on the floor in the middle of this gunfight. The second Ethan heard the cries of his baby girl it was like something snapped inside him. He steadied his hands and took out the remaining henchmen like he was doing nothing more than playing catch in the park.

“Go and check the rest of the building!” Ethan yells over to the team, already sprinting forward to grab the baby girl who is still sobbing.

The second you were scooped up into Ethan’s arms you began to settle down, tears still in your eyes but Ethan began to wipe them away carefully, holding you closer to his chest as his team thundered down the halls in search of other members of the group.

“I got you, sweetheart. It’s okay.” Ethan whispers soothingly to you as he begins to bounce you lightly in his arms moving away from the bodies that littered the floor and instead moving towards the entrance, continuing to bounce you gently as he waits for his team. He hears no gunshots, and no evidence of anyone else in the building, giving away to him that those of the group that were in the building when the fight happened, had run for their lives.

“Anyone who was here ran for it. This place is deserted. Even that girlfriend of yours ditched.” Jamie says, taunting slightly as Ethan’s jaw clenched.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Ethan says lowly, glaring at Jamie who shrugs unapologetically.

“Well, you knocked her up.” Daniel accuses, pointing at you snuggled in Ethan’s arms making him hold you slightly tighter.

“I don’t think she’s yours. They’re lying to you Ethan to get you out of the way they said it themselves. Ditch the baby and let’s go.” Elsie says harshly, her words almost a hiss as she looks at Ethan.

“Whether she’s mine or not I can’t just leave a baby here. She’s coming back with us.” Ethan says firmly, glaring at each of his team members in turn who all shrink away from the intensity of Ethan’s glare. Ethan may not have confirmation of whether you were actually his baby or not, but everything in him was screaming that Abby was telling the truth. She may have been using this information to mess with him mentally, and his team was convinced there was no truth to her words. But Ethan’s heart knew different, and when he reached out to gently run the back of his index finger along your cheek and you grabbed it in your small hand, he had no doubt in his mind that you were his baby girl.

“We should head out. We don’t want to get caught by any local police or anything. We’ll get back stateside as soon as possible.” Daniel says and the team quickly exit the building, climbing into the van. As the van begins to drive off, Ethan notices that you’ve begun to doze off and a small smile comes to his face. On the journey, Elsie manages to find some plane tickets back to America, but all the flights have different times. Ethan was granted the earliest flight back which meant the team had to quickly put together a passport for you as well at Ethan’s request to ensure you could make it back to America as well.

When the team made it back to the safe house, Ethan packed his belongings, keeping you in his arms because the moment he tried to lay you on the bed so he could pack quicker you began to cry, only soothed by the feeling of being in Ethan’s arms.

“Okay, we’ve got a bit of time to kill before our flight so let’s get you some supplies, huh?” Ethan asks you softly as he grabs his bag and smiles down at you. He knew he wasn’t going to get a response out of you, but the way you looked up at him curiously was enough for him. After exiting the safe house, giving his team no more than a half-hearted goodbye as he went, Ethan heads in the direction of the nearest shop that sells baby supplies and heads inside, grabbing the basics just to last you until he gets back to America and can buy more.

After getting what you need, he heads to the airport and finds somewhere to change you before having to go into one of the airport's cafes to ask if they could heat a bottle for you which they do so with a smile. After getting the bottle back and at the perfect temperature, Ethan finds himself somewhere to sit and gently offers you the bottle which you grab eagerly, drinking as quick as you can.

“Whoa, sweetheart, slow down a little. Don’t want anything bad happening from you drinking this too fast.” Ethan warns softly, moving the bottle away from your mouth as you squirm to reach out for it. He figured you might’ve been at least a little hungry but the way you were acting indicated that you were more than a little hungry. Ethan gently brought the bottle back to your lips as he began to wonder if this was something he needed to be worried about or if he was just reading too much into it. After all, he had never really been around babies before. When you finish the bottle, Ethan has to think about what to do next, he knew some basics of baby care but some of it was still fuzzy in his memory. A woman noticed Ethan’s concerned expression as he looked down at you and took pity on him, telling her toddler to stick with his dad before getting up from her seat and crossing to him.

“Forgive me if I’m intruding but do you need a hand?” The woman asks gently, looking down at Ethan as he looks up at her.

“I just can’t remember what I’m supposed to do after a feed.” Ethan admits, a slight blush of embarrassment flushing across his face as he sits you up on his lap.

“You’re already on the right track. Sitting your baby up is good and then gently burp them just to make sure there’s no trapped air. After that, they’ll be right as rain.” The woman says, her kind smile never leaving her face as Ethan’s eyes widen in realisation, instantly positioning you correctly and gently patting your back.

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.” Ethan says gratefully, smiling up at the woman who shakes her head.

“Just helping out a fellow parent. Someone helped me out when I had my first baby, so I do my best to help people out now too.” The woman says softly, nodding at Ethan before bidding him goodbye and crossing over to her family. Ethan watches as the little boy hurls himself into his mother’s arms when she returns and Ethan softens, looking down at you where you had settled on his shoulder after the burping. When it came time for him to board the plane, you had practically dozed off in his arms. He boarded smoothly and found his seat, keeping you securely in his lap as he settled himself in his seat. You remained sleeping until the plane began to take off and your eyes opened, and you looked up at Ethan with teary eyes, clearly scared of the engines and feeling of taking off.

“Hey, it’s okay sweetheart. It seems scary and loud, but I promise you’re safe.” Ethan says soft enough to provide some comfort as you stare at him, reaching your little arms up and placing your hands on his cheeks, bringing a smile to his face that in turn brings a smile to yours. Ethan bounced you on his knee ever so slightly which made you giggle before snuggling back into Ethan’s chest, moving your hands from his face to his shirt where you grabbed a handful of his shirt and began dozing again. Ethan braced a hand on your back and rested his head against the seat and let his eyes slip shut to sleep for a while. He only had to get up once to change you and the rest of the flight was smooth and he soon found himself back in America. He was tired from the day he had, his sleep on the plane helped but he was sure he needed a proper sleep in a proper bed. Despite having the thought of wanting to do nothing more than collapse into bed, Ethan had to make a quick pitstop at the IMF headquarters to talk to the Director about what happened. He begins the journey from the airport to the IMF headquarters, entering the building once he arrives, avoiding the stares of fellow IMF personnel who stare at him with raised eyebrows when they see the baby in his arms.

“Director Brassel, forgive me for intruding but could I have a word?” Ethan asks, knocking on the Director’s office and entering upon gaining permission.

“Ethan, back so soon? And… you have a baby?” Director Brassel says, faltering when he sees Ethan setting down his bag and adjusting the way he’s holding you so you can be more comfortable in his arms.

“That’s what I wanted to talk about, sir.” Ethan says, launching into the full story of what happened from when he met Abby that night in the bar to right now. He saw the variety of emotions swimming through his Director’s eyes as he told the story and all he could hope as he spoke was that he wouldn’t be cast out of the IMF. By the time Ethan finishes his story he’s almost out of breath, having explained everything he deemed important.

“Ethan… that is a real turn of events. And you’re sure this baby is yours?” Director Brassel says, easing himself up from his seat and slowly making his way over to Ethan.

“I was going to head down to the med bay after this to get her checked out and also to have a DNA test run. But I’m confident already in saying that she’s mine.” Ethan says, bouncing you slightly as you let out a giggle. Brassel stops himself in front of Ethan looking down at you and then at Ethan.

“May I?” He asks, holding his hands up as Ethan looks down at you and then back up at Brassel before nodding and handing you over to him so he can get a look at you. However, the moment you were out of Ethan’s hands you began to cry, squirming and reaching in Ethan’s direction as Brassel quickly handed you back over, your cries quickly turning into sniffles as you settled in Ethan’s arms once again.

“I am so sorry, sir.” Ethan apologises, wiping your tears gently and rocking you to soothe you.

“No need to apologise. She clearly feels very safe with you.” Brassel dismisses with a chuckle, smiling at Ethan. Looking down at you one more time, Ethan is reminded of what he came here to ask about in the first place.

“Sir, I was wondering if I could have a couple of days off? Once I get the DNA results back, I will need time to think about my next move, whether I give her up, keep her, or maybe there’s a secret third option I don’t know, but I’ll need time to think about it. As much as I enjoy the work I do here I need to have a clear head for whatever I do next.” Ethan asks as you snuggle into him, not paying attention to either of the two men anymore. To Ethan’s relief, Brassel’s smile doesn’t leave his face and he nods.

“Of course. Take as much time as you need and just get in contact when you’re ready to get back into the field.” He says, making the tension that had been sitting within Ethan dissipate almost immediately upon hearing the words. Now relaxed, Ethan nods slightly.

“Thank you so much, sir.” Ethan says gratefully, giving his Director a quick nod of acknowledgement before being dismissed and heading down to the med bay to get you checked over by the medic. When Ethan reaches the med bay, he’s greeted by one of the medics and ushered into one of the private rooms.

“Ethan, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Jane asks as both adults sit themselves down on chairs.

“I rescued this little girl earlier today. I just wanted to have her checked over and make sure everything’s okay.” Ethan says, drawing Jane’s attention to the baby in Ethan’s arms and she nods before looking back up at Ethan.

“What else can I do for you? I can tell by the look on your face that there’s more to this story.” Jane says, beginning to dig around in her equipment for the things she needs to give you a check-up.

“She’s the daughter of a woman I slept with almost ten months ago. There’s a good chance she’s my baby so I need to have a DNA test done.” Ethan admits, slightly embarrassed that Jane had seen through his façade so quickly. Thankfully, Jane nods and digs around for the equipment she needs for the DNA test while encouraging Ethan to sit you up on his lap so she can examine you. You didn’t take too kindly to the poking and prodding, as well as the cold stethoscope that was used to listen to your heart and lungs. You didn’t like when you had to be sat down out of Ethan’s embrace to have your weight checked but soon settled once you were back in his arms. Finally, Jane took a small swab and rubbed it on the inside of your cheek to collect what she needed for the DNA test. While Jane recorded everything and put the swab into the DNA tester, Ethan gave you all the fuss and attention you required as you giggled.

“Well, the good news is, her heart and lungs are strong, and she seems to be a strong girl. However, she is a little underweight for her age, so I’d just suggest giving her a little extra when you feed her, just so she gets that weight up a little.” Jane says, looking at Ethan who nods, realising that Abby and her group must not have been feeding you enough and he tenses his jaw to prevent his anger from coming out through words. Before another word could be spoken between the two, the DNA test machine prints something out and Jane picks it up, eyes scanning the words before looking back up at Ethan who without thinking, begins to hold his breath in anticipation.

“Well, congratulations Ethan this little bundle of joy is yours.” Jane says, a soft smile covering her face as she looks up at Ethan who releases the breath he had been holding before smiling with a nod in Jane’s direction before looking down at you as you let out a giggle, seemingly sensing Ethan’s happiness. Ethan ducked down to press a tender kiss to the top of your head and his heart swelled as you giggled further before the realisation of his decision hit him like a ton of bricks. He now had to make the decision to keep you or give you away.

Thanking Jane, Ethan gets up, leaves the room and then exits the IMF building before making his way back to his designated safe house. Once he reaches the safe house, he feeds and burps you before pulling his phone out of his pocket, staring at Luther’s contact in his phone, debating whether to have Benji and Luther come over to help him make a clear decision. After a few minutes of internal debate, Ethan texts Luther, telling him to get to the safe house as quickly as possible and to bring Benji with him. Bouncing you gently as he looks down at you, Ethan can’t help but smile.

“I guess I need to figure out a good name for you, huh sweetheart?”

By the time the two men arrived, Ethan had changed you and the two of you were now dozing on the sofa but the entrance of Benji and Luther stirred Ethan who quickly shushed the two the moment they came into his line of sight, carefully getting up from the sofa and crossing to them, ignoring the look of shock and confusion that covered their faces at the sight of a baby nestled in Ethan’s arms.

“Ethan… have you stolen a baby?” Benji asks, eyes wide as he looks from the bundle in Ethan’s arms to Ethan’s face. When Ethan looked over at Luther he could see a similar expression, however, Luther was better at hiding his shock than Benji. Luther’s shock all laid within his eyes whereas Benji’s shock was across his face as clear as day.

“No Benji, I didn’t steal a baby. I slept with someone a few months back and well… she ended up being a part of that group I was tracking and when she showed me her, I just couldn’t leave her behind so, Benji, Luther, this is my baby girl.” Ethan says introducing you to the team despite the fact you were still sleeping happily in his arms. He then watches Benji and Luther process the fact Ethan admitted to sleeping with someone from an enemy group, albeit accidentally, before they focus on you.

“Does she have a name?” Luther asks, a softness to his voice that not many get to hear as he watches you sleep against his chest.

“I’ve been doing some thinking and I think I got it. y/n Hunt.” Ethan says with a gentle smile, looking from you up to Benji and Luther who break out into the softest of smiles.

“Is this why you wanted us here? To meet her?” Luther then asks, watching as Ethan’s jaw tenses slightly as he shakes his head ever so slightly, the movement so minute it could’ve been missed entirely if Benji and Luther had not had their full attention on Ethan.

“Yes and no. I wanted you guys to meet her, of course. You’re two of the people I trust most. But I’ve got a difficult choice to make. I need to decide whether I keep her or give her away.” Ethan explains, looking at his closest friends, a deep pleading in his eyes that makes the two men exchange a look before focusing back on Ethan.

“This isn’t an easy choice, Ethan. It’s a dangerous life we lead.” Benji starts, his brain working as fast as possible to weigh up every pro and con of both situations.

“But we know the best ways to keep her safe. If she’s sent away, people could find out she’s yours, especially if that group tracks her down.” Luther then says, countering Benji’s point gently, both of them sharing a quick glance as they realise the other has made a valid argument. The three men share different viewpoints on the pros and cons of each decision. After about ten to fifteen minutes of debating Luther speaks up.

“We’ve debated this as much as we can, but this is up to you at the end of the day. She’s your little girl and we know you’ll pick what’s best for her. And we’ll support you every step of the way.” He says gently, watching as Ethan looks down at you, gently brushing your soft wisps of hair away from your face as you curl closer into his chest. Benji and Luther could see the internal debate going on within Ethan, how he struggled with knowing that you could be in danger regardless of what he decided to do. After a minute of silent debate, Ethan looks back up at his team.

“I’m keeping her. She’ll be safer with me, and I can protect her from anyone who would try to hurt her.” Ethan concludes, watching as Benji and Luther nod with gentle smiles.

“Looks like we have a new teammate now.” Benji says with a soft chuckle, looking over at Luther who lets out a light scoff, shaking his head at Benji’s words.

“Can I hold her?” Benji then suddenly asks, looking at Ethan for permission who hesitates.

“You can try, but so far, she’s not liked being out of my arms for more than a second so please don’t be offended if she starts crying.” Ethan says, handing you over to Benji, trying to be as gentle as possible to not rouse you. As Benji held you, your eyes blinked open, and you looked up at the man who was now holding you in place of Ethan and Ethan found himself once again holding his breath. To his shock however, you just smiled up at Benji and snuggled further into his arms, giggling at the shocked expression on Benji’s face before a huge grin crossed his face. Both Ethan and Luther could tell how instantly smitten Benji was with you as he watched you quietly as you reached up and grabbed his pinkie finger in your hand, melting Benji even further.

“I’ve known her for about ten minutes, but I’d already die for her.” Benji states, looking up at Ethan who can’t do much more than smile back at Benji, fully understanding how Benji is feeling because it’s exactly how Ethan felt himself when he held you for the first time and saw how you settled so quickly in his arms. Benji continued to coo and fawn over you while you just giggled at the light tone in his voice, clearly as smitten with Benji as he was with you.

“May I?” Luther then asks, looking at Ethan who nods before glancing at Benji who passes you over hesitantly, visibly upset at having to give you to Luther. Just like you did with Benji, you accepted being in Luther’s arms instantly, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and curling closer as Luther watched, melting with each movement. Ethan and Benji had never seen Luther melt like this. He was usually so stoic, but you had reduced him into a puddle within seconds.

“You comfy there, Lil’ Hunt?” Luther says softly, so softly in fact that Ethan and Benji had almost missed the comment entirely. When they realised what he said, the two melted further at the nickname that they were sure would stick. Luther continued to talk to you in whispered tones as Ethan and Benji watched on.

“Shit, I forgot to buy more things for her and now all the shops are closed.” Ethan swears quietly, immediately ending up on the receiving end of a death glare from both Benji and Luther.

“It’s okay, we can figure all that out tomorrow. For now, I think little y/n deserves all the fuss in the world.” Benji says, before asking Luther if he could hold you again. The two of the men begin to bicker lightly with each other as they argue over who gets to hold you while Ethan watches with an amused grin. It was reliving for Ethan to see how Benji and Luther took to you immediately, but it was a million times better to see how quickly you took to them, evidence to him that you felt safe around his two teammates, and he knew he could trust them to look after you no matter what.

That day, Ethan and his team got a new mission, a permanent one, to keep you safe and protected no matter what.

[mitchellpete]

Kinktober Day 11 - Cunnilungus

pairing: ethan hunt x f!reader

cw: imf agent!reader, oral sex (f receiving), getting together (kinda?), hand holding, slight hair pulling

word count: 1464

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

-

You and Ethan had resisted one another for well over a year. It began sometime after passing your field exam, which was, at this point, close to two? You were enthralled with one another during that very first mission together.

It was something that was supposed to come easy. It wasn’t a rule; it’s not like you’d be disobeying anybody. You just knew that, whatever it may be, it came with consequences. In your line of work, it always did. Especially now that you’re on the field with him a lot more frequently. Ethan understood that too. Maybe to an even deeper extent, considering his longer history with the IMF.

But what the hell. You’re in Rome, locked in a safehouse together, just the two of you, and it’s just a matter of waiting. You’ve got nowhere to be and nothing to do for the next 8 hours.

It’s suddenly not easy at all. (Frankly, it never has been, but now it’s not. Like definitely not.)

You’re not sure how it is you end up laying over the table, Ethan’s mouth on yours, hot and just as sweet as you expected. You whimper against his lips, a wordless finally. He responds by squeezing at your sides, his hips unwittingly rutting against yours as he deepens the kiss. 

When the edge of the table digs into your lower back, you inadvertently push at his chest to lean off of it. He takes it as an invitation, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you to him and off the table. Lips still locked, you nearly trip over each other’s feet as you gravitate towards the bed in the far corner of the room.

It’s small, meant for a quick mid-mission rest and nothing of the current matter, but it’s better than the table, and Ethan has you against the mattress faster than you can process.

You make a noise somewhere between a moan and a laugh when you fall back against it, watching his hungry hands reach for your shorts. “Eager much?” you tease.

He chuckles, fingers wrapping around the waistband and pulling down. “You have no idea—” he momentarily slows down, looks you in the eye. “—This okay?”

“Mhm. Don’t stop,” you plead, biting your lip.  You wiggle your hips slightly to help the shorts down your legs, aiding him in pulling them off all the way. 

Ethan takes his shirt off, his arms flexing as he yanks it up and over his head, tossing it to join your shorts. Momentarily sitting up, you slip out of yours too, and Ethan stares in wonder when your bra comes off with it. He exhales, enamored at the sight of your bare body. Leaning up on your elbows, you’re sure you have the same look of utter fascination at his naked torso. It’s bruised from the past few days but very defined, and you ache to touch. That’s the thing; you’d seen him shirtless many, many times before, but now’s your chance to get to know what he feels like.

He, on the other hand, aches to taste you. 

Eager still, he drops to his knees in between your legs. 

Strands of his hair fall in front of his eyes as he ducks his head to kiss your cunt over your underwear. You flinch, still unable to even process the situation, but you try to relax. Your hips writhe at every open mouthed kiss he places on the material, moving his lips to trail your inner thighs, too. 

“Oh, how did we get here?” you mumble, watching intently as he grasps at the waistband of your underwear. He looks at you for approval again, making sure this is something you want. 

And oh, you do. Ethan has never looked more beautiful to you: on his knees, face inches from your core, hair messily falling over his forehead. Big, beautiful green eyes staring up at you.

Keenly, you respond by scooting your hips lower on the mattress, nearly meeting his mouth before he leans in and does it himself. Warm, wet heat meets the tender skin between your legs, sending shockwaves up your body. 

Ethan sighs against your cunt, seemingly relaxing into your taste as he dips his tongue in.

His eyes flick up at you, fully intent on reading your body signals, looking to see what reactions he can get out of you. 

Your cheeks flush, the situation actually sinking in at the feel of his mouth on you, at the vibrations, how wet you feel yourself growing. It’s almost a bit too much all of a sudden.

Ethan’s tongue flattens against your clit, the softness of it gliding up and down the sensitive area before closing his lips around it. You cry out and your legs tense when he sucks one, two, three times, his mouth eliciting wet, squeaky suction noises. 

His eyes stay glued to you as he tests different methods with his tongue. He flattens it, points it to prod at your slit, the tip of it easily gliding in, flattens it again, flicks it gently. Open-mouthed kisses, at a certain point. 

“Ethan,” you cry his name, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you.

He watches your knuckles whiten, and with his mouth still locked on you, reaches up to take both of your hands in his. Palms to palms, he intertwines your fingers together, holding you securely as his tongue works your folds. 

The hand holding as he takes you apart with his mouth is probably the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced. It dawns on you how, just 5 minutes prior, this was something you weren’t sure would ever happen. Maybe Ethan is thinking about that too, maybe that’s why he’s giving it his all, intent on making you feel the best you’ve ever felt in your life now that he’s got the chance. And again, you do. It’s profuse and shattering, the amount of pleasure already built up inside you. Tight and unraveling slowly, like his pace.

Ethan is seemingly taking his time, working his mouth against you like a heated kiss. He puts his lips into it, combining with his tongue and eliciting more of those loud suction noises. Literally making out with your core, and expertly so.

Your breathing grows erratic, mixed with your moans and the high pitched whines from the back of your throat. You try not to squirm your hips too much; his mouth is literally glued to you, and you don’t wanna suffocate him, but he seems to be doing fine. There is a very overwhelming urge to cum when you eventually reach that level of pleasure, and your hands start to untangle away from his because you want to grab his hair instead.

Still falling over his forehead and slightly sweaty now. Also because you’ve never touched it, and you need to feel it now that you’ve got him here.

One of your hands springs free—one is enough—and reaches down towards his head, fingers bunching around the length of dark brown hair and squeezing. He pulls back momentarily, groaning delectably against your inner thigh at the slight throb.

When he resumes, it’s the point of his tongue edging inside you more and more every time he prods there. The wetness pooled and leaking out of your hole aids him in sliding it in and out with ease. It’s when he leans in to slide it in as far as he could go that his nose joins the equation. The round point rubs up against your clit at the same time as his tongue delves and touches the shallow inside of your walls, and you grip and pull on his hair with a shout.

Your orgasm is earth shattering when you just can’t hold it anymore, and it numbs your entire body. Through it, Ethan’s mouth remains slotted against you, sucking up your release. The noises that leave your mouth are shaky, incoherent and frankly embarrassing, but you can’t help it. 

Oversensitivity immediately floods your senses even through the devastating wave, and your bunched up hand in his hair starts to push his head away instead. Ethan pulls back immediately, moving his head free from your aching grip on his hair and then he’s leaning up to kiss you. 

His mouth is slick with spit and the remnants of your release when it meets yours. You taste it on his tongue as your mouths move together, your previous repetitive moans now softer, elongated groans as your climax courses through your body.

“You don’t know how often I thought about getting to do that,” he says when he pulls back, forehead to yours. 

You smile almost shyly, panting still, and run a hand up his chest. “Can I show you what I thought about doing?”

[saltyfilmmajor]

Ethan And Lane that’s it that’s the post

[nhothicket]

Ever create a band au even though you cant draw instruments?

more info below the cut :>

Meet Bdubs, 38, stage name BdoubleO - Boomer is often mistaken for his first name, but is just another nickname for the pile. Infamous online, if it weren't for the fact that he makes disgustingly good music he would probably have more hate followers than genuine fans. The line between charming asshole and just asshole is one he fails to tread lightly most days, but he's mostly harmless. Let's just say the Bdoubleo could also stand for boorish. A bit of a sellout, but he enjoys what he does and many appreciate his extremely.. candid attitude. Best likened to a cartoon villain dressed as a rockstar, with the ego to match. (It's usually his unrelenting pretentiousness that gets him into Twitter spats.)

Thank you @foxden-frontier for always helping out with my stupid aus ^v^

Annoying at worst, unfortunately very charismatic at best. You could say he's a softie at heart, but that implies its at all difficult to spot. Once he's done "clapping back at all the haters", in person he's still got a temper (he thinks he has a bad boy reputation to uphold) but is enthusiastically friendly.

Etho, 32, resident keytarist of creatively named band Canadian Bacon. Joined by his two best friends, Pause the frontman and bassist, and Beef their drummer. A deceptively popular band if judging by their permanent rough draft name and their nerdy-college-student dress code. Etho himself is just a guy who likes playing music with his buddies, their hobby having blown up under their noses. Now, as an unfortunately successful touring artist, Etho's anonymity is scarce, but he continues to wear his mask to discourage widespread photos of his face. In spirit. He's concerned about having his face plastered all over fan accounts, which still occurs, but a perk of having a completely rabid fanbase is that many will defend your boundaries to their last dying breath. Like his face, his legal name is out and about online, but its similarly discouraged. Best likened to just a guy.

If asked on the subject of his scar, the entire band has various different whimsical stories, brand new everytime. His lack of internet presence means Pause and Beef are free to make up whatever misinformation about him as they please completely unchecked (in jest of course), and they do take advantage of that. Many of these alternative facts are passed around on wikis and in fan circles.

To say Bdubs is jealous of Canadian Bacon's popularity is an understatement. They weren't even trying at all and yet they're the hot shit? But instead of putting that jealousy to hatred (which he had considered of course) he's instead set himself on proving himself. And if that means impressing Etho then so be it. Why does it mean impressing Etho? Good question, never ask it again. They say keep your enemies close, and Bdubs' enemies don't deserve personal space.

As it turns out, Etho wasn't too difficult to impress or maybe Bdubs was just that amazing. Either way, they end up hitting it off. Their friendship is an interesting one, mostly because Etho's fans basically hunt Bdubs for sport online. We're talking scribbled out of pictures, get behind me, #FreeEtho. Etho thinks he seems pretty cool though, if not a bit much sometimes, so no harm no foul.

Okay, rapid fire, some other notes for this au.

> Etho's legal name is Ethel. Because it is. My heart is so set on it. But if you're boring, Ethan or Ezekiel or something work too I guess.

> Etho's keytar mimics a more traditional guitar in most cases, though he's known to experiment a lot with how far he can push that.

> Etho's scar is from a mugging in this au, not a very fun story to tell. Beef practicing his brand new razor blade throwing hobby or fighting a bear to beat Pause in a bet is much more entertaining.

> Canadian Bacon is meant to have a manager, but I couldn't think of anyone I felt fit. Just a note.

> Bdubs has a habit of grabbing Etho by his tie and pulling him down to his level or otherwise using it as a leash. Etho doesn't usually wear the tie outside of show stuff or interviews, but he wears it around Bdubs because thinks its funny. When there's no tie that doesn't stop Bdubs, collars and hoodie strings are subject to the same usage.

> Etho isn't aware of how infamous Bdubs is when they meet as they meet at a festival with a big group of other musicians. Most of which already know Bdubs as his more excitable friendly self. He only finds out later when Bdubs complains about Etho's fans flaming him anytime he mentions him.

> Bdubs still has a self-imposed curfew, 10pm every night unless it conflicts with a show. He needs his beauty sleep.

> The trigger reason for the animosity toward Bdubs is due to being blamed by fans for the split of his last band that had a pretty hardcore cult following (OOG, I've not named their band yet), and that has since snowballed into what it is today, despite his actions being relatively harmless. To note, this was not an assumption at all promoted by either party, it was entirely a fanmade judgement.

> For those who can, picture s5 jungle Bdubs mixed with drunken OOG(E) ctm maps for his approximate personality. Still goofy but with a sharper tongue and a lot worse of a temper.

> Originally I considered Cleo as Bdubs' manager so he's not all alone in narrative sense, I still think it's not a bad idea I'd love to see her chew him out for acting like a moron. Ren or Scar would be also be options for manager.

> Bdubs needs a touring band, but I'm not well versed enough in the hermits to actually pick one out. Just a note.

Okay, that's most of it! There's some more pg-13 headcanons for this au, along the lines of fuck yeah rock'n roll lifestyle, but it's not really important I'm sure just that is enough to get the gist of it. Thank you for reading this overly long note. ^v~

[oathkeeperoxas]

TOP GUN / Icemav fic recs part 7

New year, new rec list for icemav fics!!

Rec list 1 here

Rec list 2 here

Rec list 3 here

Rec list 4 here

Rec list 5 here

Rec list 6 here

Take It or Leave It by @icezansky

If he’s honest with himself (and he rarely is, when it comes to this) a secret part of him can admit what he won’t ever say aloud: he’d get on his knees for Pete “Maverick” Mitchell for far less than the promise of quiet weeknights.

I'm usually a hard sell on AU fics, but this one just absolutely nailed it. Both Ice and Mav are excellently characterised, the smut is super hot, and it just leaves me wanting for more.

the cure i know (that soothes the soul) by @eighteaseven

Mav had been leaning against the open bar when he heard some twenty-something kid ask his friend who the old man was. And with a smarmy, disrespectful little smirk, the kid tilted his head in Mav's direction and answered, “Oh, him? That’s Kazansky’s wife,” and his friend laughed at the answer. - Or; Maverick figures out what it means to live as the partner of the Secretary of the Navy.

Old! Men! In! Love! I love fics that focus on the two of them figuring out how to shape their lives around each other, what they're willing to prioritise and what they're willing to give up and what they aren't, so this was just such a great treat for me personally <3

Separation by @elwenyere

Ice has a security deposit box at a storage facility under a false name. There isn’t much in it - no tax records or family heirlooms - just three letters from a boy he met at summer camp, a blurry Polaroid of a man’s back stretched out against motel sheets, and a copy of Nan Goldin’s The Ballad of Sexual Dependency.

Rolling around in this one forever. I love fic that leans into the historical ins and outs of the eras that a canon is set in, and this does that so well, blending in the characters to the historical backdrop of the 80s. Elwen's writing is so raw and beautiful, if you haven't read her works before, I can only heartily recommend that you start now.

Kings of the Air by @fabula-rasa

Fighting and fucking: two things he did extraordinarily well. How could he have known what the effect would be when you combined the two?

This one really sets the tone for what icemav fic should be. Truly grateful that this one got posted for us all to enjoy. The ups and downs feel very in character, and are all so very worth it.

What You Don’t Know by chemm80

Maverick finds Iceman handcuffed to his bed. He has a hard time getting over it.

This plays in the universe of the above fic, and does it beautifully. The expansion of the world and the characters is so good - I love how Ice and Mav speak to each other and how they revolve around each other here.

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother by V_Evergreen

Five meetings between Thomas Kazansky and Ethan Hunt.

I love this fic so much!!! The interactions between Ice and Ethan, Ethan and Mav, and Mav and Ice all hit so good. The dialogue is spot on and each chapter is absolutely perfect, and usually very funny. Great combination <3

Granted by copacet

One of the people Maverick had never managed to get along with was his previous commander, a clash of personalities which had worried Iceman greatly at first but which turned out to be a boon: when the time had finally come, the man agreed to transfer Maverick to Iceman’s own command with obvious relief. “You want that insubordinate sonuvabitch?” he’d said. "Hell, better you than me." Iceman agreed. (Or: a decade after their first meeting, five times Maverick requests Iceman's permission to do something, and five times Iceman gives it.)

Ice and Mav are so sweet here, and so very in love - the back and forth between them is so good, the little moments that make up a relationship depicted softly and perfectly.

3am by @icemankazansky

Iceman Kazansky took "me time" how and where he could get it.

Carly's fics are always so full - full of life, full of breadth, full of movement and heart. This fic manages to say so, so much about Ice, and about Ice and Mav's relationship as well. I hold it very close to my heart.

sweet nothings by @dannykaffee

Ice takes Mav on a little trip.

Mav gets treated well by his boyfriend!! You love to see it!! Strawberries, cream, a get away to a lake, what else can you ask for.

take any form by elizabethgee

Ice gets a call that Maverick has gone MIA.

The hurt/comfort here is so good! Ice thinking that Mav is in danger, that he's MIA and has to hide how he's feeling from everyone, yeah that's the good stuff.

Morning Cuddles by SharaRaizel

A 5+1 fic of IceMav through the years. 5 times Maverick had to put effort into keeping Iceman in bed and 1 time he didn't.

What it says on the tin. Just the two of them being sweet and soft and good <3

[thegreenhalf]

MAJOR DEAD RECKONING PART 1 SPOILERS

My second watch makes me feel much stronger about my theory about the Big Spoiler in this movie, and how Part 2 will follow it up.

At first I bought the movie’s basic reading, but now there’s no doubt in my mind it’s a fakeout: Ilsa Faust is absolutely alive.

I will fully be ready to look like an idiot if she’s not, because I’ve run down everything I’ve thought of that the movie could do to telegraph her death being a fakeout, without actually revealing it:

- establish the idea of IMF people successfully faking people’s deaths in general and Ilsa’s specifically ✅

- Have both plot and character reasons why Ilsa pretending to be dead would be necessary ✅

- Establish that the way she supposedly died wasn’t guaranteed to be fatal ✅

- Have a scene vaguely establishing that the IMF is getting ready to do a con, but not specify what ✅

- No last words or final moments for her character ✅

- Skip past what the IMF does immediately after she supposedly dies ✅

- No one in the IMF literally says “she’s dead” ✅

That last one is big: Christopher McQuarrie has gone on record saying “No one in the audience of a Mission: Impossible movie will accept something is true until Ethan Hunt says it”. He never says she’s dead, and the closest he comes is thinking of her in a montage with Marie (who we also never specifically are told is dead) and Grace (who we know is alive).

Meanwhile, when Grace says “she’s dead”, Luther says “No, you’re alive because of her, and that’s the truth”, which is very specifically calling attention to the beginning and end of that sentence.

People are angry at this decision, but McQuarrie has also gone on record as saying “We want the audience to think we’ve ruined Mission: Impossible”, and if you want ways to make people think you’ve ruined any franchise, randomly and cheaply killing the leading lady is an obvious place to start.

[callmearcturus]

a bunch of Mission Impossible fic recs

hi, i'm sorry for conning so many people into this fandom. here's some reading material.

Easy Open, by helenish

“So you and Hunt are a package deal these days,” Bryson says. “Uh,” Benji says, jerking his head up from his computer, ballpoint in his mouth.

Ethan/Benji. Definitely the first thing you should read after watching the movies. This is my favorite kind of one-shot, the kind that manages to convey the weight of history like a 60k fic in such a compressed space. When I talk about using sex scenes to convey something about the characters, perfect example is the set dressing around the one here where the title drop happens. Way to say so fucking much about the characters through sheer implication.

in the details, by helenish

Ethan: We have an even bigger problem. Ilsa. Benji: Ilsa. Our Ilsa? —Mission: Impossible — Fallout (Paramount Pictures, 2018)

Ethan/Benji/Ilsa. This one is so fucking dense and amazing. I love the way Ethan is just so fucking in love with both of these people and keeps imagining them fucking and feels terrible about it, you just want Benji and Ilsa to put Ethan out of his misery, but ALSO this is hardcore physicality porn. The scene with Ilsa on Benji's shoulders is better than any sex scene I've read this year.

I'm With You, by fictionallemons

Luther's getting married again at a private resort on a tropical island. Only there's a mixup with the rooms and Benji and Ethan have to share. No big deal, right? One bed. Two friends. No problem. Ha.

Ethan/Benji. I keep rereading this one because it just has such intense longing and familiarity in it. The way it portrays Ethan and Benji as a unit, a foregone conclusion even they themselves haven't quite figured that out, is perfect. Also I love the way Ethan handles the bed situation, the low grade annoyance he has at the repeated question. Benji, get a clue, my man.

Someone New, by fictionallemons

After Fallout, Benji thinks Ethan and Ilsa are together and he only wants to be happy for them, even it kills him to see Ethan with someone else. He's got to try to get over Ethan. But some things are just impossible. Mutual jealousy, mutual pining, cute texting, and a happy ending, of course.

Ethan/Benji. LOOK, THE WAY TO MY HEART IS ETHAN BEING JEALOUS AND NOT HANDLING IT WELL. Also the fact this fic acknowledges Ethan's emotional growth from Fallout, chef's kiss. But really the moment when Ilsa's like "Seems we missed the show" and Ethan says "I wish we had" ETHAN OH MY GOD. Also the subtle way Benji is needling Ethan a little, subconsciously at least-- it's good!

it takes a lot (to know a man), by thistableforone

"So I just… want to remind myself that we're alright." He says it like that, with a general we that sounds more like a specific you. And because Ethan does know what it feels like, he doesn't question him any further. If Benji needs to spend time with him to feel better, he won't deny him. Takes place after Fallout. Ethan is recovering and Benji goes to live with him to help

Ethan/Benji. A longer one, hell yeah. This one truly wallows in the aftermath of Fallout, which is where my brain lives 90% of the time, so I appreciate it. Also Ilsa pointing out why the fuck did Luther give her that speech but not Benji-- finally someone said it. But really this fic is about Benji and it breaks my heart.

magnetic field being a little too strong, by oopshidaisy

“This is strictly recon,” Ethan says. It’s maybe the seventeenth time he’s said words to this effect since they arrived at the party. “We can’t do anything that’ll raise suspicion. Understand?” Post-Rogue Nation. Benji and Ethan go undercover and find themselves in one of those spy jams that only surprise kissing can solve.

Ethan/Benji. This is the one with the INCREDIBLE passage about Benji realizing why Ethan's never been slapped for pulling the fake kissing thing on missions. Also I love how... this feels like a date. To Ethan, this is a fun mission with his Benji, and it feels like it. Benji's voice here is pitch perfect, feels like its right out of Rogue Nation.

The Missionary Position, by matchsticks

Ethan and Benji have to pretend to be a married couple for a mission. Well, Ethan and Benji are already a married couple, but now they have to pretend to be pretending to be a married couple for a mission, and the rest of the team has to help them keep their secret. It'll definitely all work out fine. Probably. Hopefully.

Ethan/Benji. Listen. This one is hilarious.

THERE, there's some stuff to get you started, folks! and you can always hit up mine. I have periphery (in which everyone Benji works with is a little in love with him and Ethan just doesn't deal well), all i need is a certain trigger (in which Ilsa and Benji are in the Syndicate and Ethan trips into romancing them both), and the big AU you'll need a new name to survive this (in which Benji is Ethan's physical therapist and a lot of things start to change)

Looking over all this, it seems my favorite thing is when Ethan is just unhinged and Benji is unfortunately into that.