#mission: impossible fallout fic

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Killing Time: Prologue

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, includes violence, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a job offer could be an escape from your old life, but the new one, may not hold freedom.

Characters: Kraven the Hunter, August Walker, Lloyd Hansen, James Conrad, God the Bounty Hunter, Court Gentry

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

“Yes, he’s here again,” your voice creaks as your hand shakes. “Please. I called yesterday…” And every other day for months. Almost a full year.

You peer out between the small space that divides curtain from window. The shadow looms, looking up at you. Your phone vibrates as the operator hems and haws on the other end.

“Are you sure it’s him?” She asks. They always doubt you. Report after report, phone call after phone call, and it’s always question, question, question. You sigh.

“Yes,” your voice peeks as you pull back and hide against the wall. “Yes, I know it’s him. He’s texting me.”

You don’t even need to check. It’s the same thing every time. Next, he’ll try to sneak in the front and be knocking at your apartment door.

“Well, ma’am, you say you’ve called before and we’ve sent a cruiser and we’ve filed reports. And this man keeps showing up, so what exactly do you want me to do now? I can’t issue you a safety order over the phone--”

“Excuse me?” You gasp. “Excuse me? Are you serious? I have an order already and much good it does me. I call you and I get accused of being dramatic and questioned. What I want is for someone to protect me.”

“Ma’am, don’t get abusive with me,” she warns. “Have you tried telling him to go away yourself?”

“Wow, wow,” you throw your hand out. “Really? Really? No, I never thought of it,” you say sarcastically, “is there someone else who can take me call? I really don’t feel safe.”

“If it makes you feel better, I can reroute an officer to you. Alright?” She speaks as if you’re a child. You’re too weak to argue anymore.

“Whatever,” you hang up.

You can’t do this anymore. You need to get out of here. Not that you didn’t think of it before but you can’t afford anything else. Your rent control is the only thing keeping you under a roof. You’ve already switched jobs, just to get away from him. There isn’t that much else up there.

You drag yourself through the shadows and sit on the bed. You exist in darkness. You don’t turn on the lights so he can’t see in. You keep the curtains shut. You only leave for work and always take a different exit, never the same route; not always the bus, not always the train.

And friends? What are those? Most of them took his side, said you were throwing around false accusations, and the others accused you of being obsessed. The single coworker you confided in told you to leave town. Wow, well, if you could afford that, you wouldn’t stay in this building with the grinding radiator and rattling fridge.

You look at your phone.

‘I see you.’ The message was sent while you were on the call with emergency services. Several more followed. ‘I just want to talk’; ‘you look so pretty’; ‘please, I love you’.

As you read each text, you can hear the last conversation you had with Jake. He’s a relic of your former friend group, the very reason for your dejection. It’s almost funny how the rest just cut ties but he won’t let go.

It all started with a kiss. A kiss and rejection. New Years Eve and the clock counted down. You didn’t expect him to turn and plant one on you and when you shoved him away, that dreamy look in his eyes turned to fury as you fled. New Year, New you, right?

The new you is scared and paranoid and tired. So, so tired.

You get up and move the chair in front of the door. Just in case. You retreat, keeping your phone close, and grab the extendable baton from the table. You sleep with both, if you can sleep. That night, you won’t.

You settle in on the couch. You don’t use the bedroom. You need an easy escape. You sit back against the cushions and scroll on your phone. It might be hopeless, but you trawl the job board and the apartment boards. You might find a nugget of gold in all the pebbles.

You sign into the job site and see the red dot in the corner. It’s always a marketing promo. ‘Recommending’ a job you don’t qualify for or an invitation for an MLM scheme. It’s a joke. You don’t understand how anyone ever gets a job but everyone seems to have a better one than you.

You tap the inbox to make the red dot go away. You hate it floating in the corner of your vision. Your thumb twitches and hovers over the screen as you read the subject line. Hm.

‘Caretaker Position: Relocation Required’.

Well, you don’t really have the experience for caretaking but the second part sounds intriguing. You hesitate. It’s too good to be true. You’re sure there will be a list of qualifications longer than your resume.

Tap.

You open up the message.

‘Hello,

We’ve reviewed your profile and determined you might be a match for this position.

New Applicants Welcome.

We are seeking an individual to undertake caretaking duties for a property. This role would include the following:

Lawn care

General cleaning and maintenance

Manual labour requiring lifting of up to 60lbs

24/7 tenancy within property (no rent for chosen candidate)

Subsidized relocation

Training on-site

If you are seeking a fresh start and to learn new skills which can take you into future roles in a custodial or caretaking capacity, this is the job for you. To apply, please submit brief profile and resume for consideration.

Applicants are subject to a background check.’

You bite down on the inside of your lip. It sounds interesting but you’re not sure you’re a good fit. It’s so general, too. Would you need to know how to deal with electrical issues? Your apartment sure has taught you a lot about dealing with broken utilities, but your formal training is lacking.

And it’s a big thing. You want to get out of here but it’s still daunting in comparison to your current predicament.

You tense as you hear footsteps in the hall. You brace yourself and lower the phone, staring at the door. The thumping on the other side makes you flinch. Your heart races.

“Baby, I know you’re awake. Please. I just wanna talk.” He keeps tapping. “If you just talked to me, we could figure this out.”

You shudder and look at your phone again. You stare at the big blue button; ‘Apply Now’.

“I forgive you. For lying about me. Everyone knows you were just upset. I’ll tell them all it was just a misunderstanding…” he begs as the door shakes in the frame, the chair knocking against the handle. All that stands between you and him are those hinges and that flimsy piece of furniture.

You press down on the button. It can’t get worse than this.

[sillyrabbit81]

Cold

Prompt: Slow & Romantic, Cock Warming from @florxdexcerezo (x) Thank you so much for sending the prompt in. Sorry its taken so long.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 600

Warnings: Smut, cock warming, p in v sex

Authors Note: I wrote this a few weeks ago, but wasn't feeling up to posting it. I'm still on semi-hiatus, going to be a couple of months more at least, but here is a thingy I did. Hope you like it. Thanks to @nashibirne for reading.

Edited by me, there will be errors

Dividers by me.

Masterlist

Celebration Masterlist

Your eyes fly open. A heady rush of adrenaline pumps through your veins as your hand slips under the pillow on the empty side of the bed and curls around cold steel. You keep your breath slow and even as if you're still asleep and listen carefully.

But you’re too late.

A firm hand covers yours and a heavy, hard body traps you beneath it.

“Don’t scream,” he says, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You loosen your grip on the pistol and allow the hand to take it away. In the dark, you hear the thunk of the gun being placed on the nightstand.

“You could knock,” you point out.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“And yet, here we are.”

The weight on top of you shifts and you think you can just make out a small smile on his moustached face. You reach for the lamp, but he stops you.

“Leave it off,” he says.

“August, please,” you whisper. Your hands cover his whiskered cheeks briefly before he shakes you off.

“Leave it.”

He stands. You vaguely see his outline as he removes his clothes. He’s moving stiffly, slowly and breathing in soft grunts and rough exhales.

“How badly are you hurt?” you ask.

“Nothing so bad that a good night's sleep won’t heal,” he says, dismissively. Sometimes it scares you how easily and smoothly he lies to you.

“Then why are you here?” you ask with a rueful laugh. “The last thing you ever do here is sleep.”

You see his shape pause. You stare at where you assume his eyes would be, he needs to know you aren’t stupid; that you know this thing between you won’t result in a ring on your finger or a pretty white dress.

The longer he stands there unmoving, the harder it is to keep looking into the darkness. What is he thinking? You open your mouth to ask, but close it with a small shake of your head. It's not like he’d be honest anyway.

He starts to undress again. You lay back in bed. Does it really matter if he’s here to fuck you or sleep next to you? You’ll give him what he wants, you always do. You can’t help yourself.

He slips into bed, curling himself around your naked form. His hands begin a long exploration along your hip to your ribs and back again while his face is buried into your neck. You can hear him draw rough, ragged breaths, his mouth is so close to your ear, his lips graze along its edge.

Driven by a primal instinct, you arch your back, lean against him and open your legs in an invitation that needs no explanation. He doesn’t hesitate and quickly you feel the smooth, warm head of his cock sliding over your folds, gathering your wetness before sinking deep inside.

By the same instinct, you begin to roll your hips, relishing the feel of his length as your pussy glides over him. But his hand clasps your hip and holds you still, your ass and back pressed firmly against his chest.

“When I’m gone, I dream of this,” August whispers, “of being inside you.”

“Then please move.”

“No,” he growls, “I need to be inside you. All night.”

You moan and he throbs deep within you. His nose presses into your hair, his arms wrap around your chest, holding you tighter and tighter until you think he’ll crush you. 

“You’re so warm,” he whispers as he softens his hold on you. “I need you to keep me warm. I’m so fucking cold without you.”

[sunflowersbones]

Stalker’s Tango

Warnings: This fic will contain NON-CON, Discussion on mental health, Psychological distress, Stalking, Violence. My warnings are not exhaustive, proceed at your own risk.

[AUGUST WALKER x reader]

18+ only. This is a dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The therapy sessions with your new patient have been going well lately; something that surprises you due to his initial distaste towards the mandatory sessions his unit commands. You’re glad that there is progress in some part of your life, as your own mental health seems to be slowly sinking. You chalk it up to exhaustion and stress; but as the events of your life unfold, you realise that your mind hadn’t been playing games. It had been warning you; that danger truly did lurk around the corner.

NOTE: I'm absolutely devastated that I couldn’t put this out in August; my laptop decided to die on me. I know it's not that big of a deal, but still. So for my sake, let's presume that I did post this in August cuz I'm not waiting until next year.

DIVIDERS: @firefly-graphics

*

You observe him as you slowly twirl your pen around; in between your fingers. He was so unlike any of the other patients you’ve ever had.

He always seems so calm and collected. His attire always put together. His clothes were just as stiff and polished as him. He seems to gravitate more towards a monotone cool palette of blues, blacks, and greys, and if he desires to experiment a little; he’ll try brown or a pale yellow, but that’s about it.

You had been having a hard time, trying to figure out if it was due to his personal likes and dislikes or if he chooses it due to a societal and corporate expectation from men’s fashion, but you dismantled the latter thought quite quickly.

His voice is always loud and clear; it never quivers, and he rarely repeats himself. He always just seems so sure of himself. You suppose that’s why he hated this in the beginning—not that he's so fond of it now, but at least he's moved on from his initial grunts and one-word answers.

It must be an offence to a man like him to presume that he is, quote-unquote, “weak”. That talking about your emotions and difficulties or having regular therapy sessions is only for those who make their way into lunatic asylums. That they; as normal citizens, are better than the others.

Even educated people cannot shroud themselves from the taboo around mental health. You of all people know that very well; you’ve dealt with it quite personally. He reminded you of your father, not just in attitude but also in tone. Both of them carry a patronizing effect in their voice, even through the most simple remarks.

Your father was a man of voice and vigour to whom even the notion of mental health was absurd. His anger, most likely contributing to his denial of most problems. People of his generation tend to be like that, while it is changing—not at the pace you wish it would.

Having a patient who does not even try to get better unnerved you a little. You had never been very persuasive, all you can do is help bring clarity. You tell yourself to keep calm; perseverance is the only way to survive in this line of work.

His eyes land on you, onto your pen, and then above you; on to the clock, you presume. In the beginning his eyes never left it, at least now they only longingly look up half way through the session.

“Well, won't you look at that, doc? Times up,” he says in a tone of farce surprise, as if he hasn’t been yearning for the clock to strike.

You heave a small sigh as a smile forms on your lips; for a man his size, he can be quite childish.

“You know, August, it’s not your job to keep up with the clock; it's mine. Your mind is supposed to be relaxed in here.”

“Of course, I simply wouldn’t want to keep your other patients waiting; you're quite in demand, you know.” Your eyes quirk up in a questioning gaze; he already seems to have anticipated it.

“This generation loves coming in here, they think that you can fix all of their problems. They believe that their minds are broken simply because they can't handle the reality of life,” his voice laced with contempt and disappointment.

“Well anyway, see you next week, doc.” His tone was determined, so you didn’t bother to keep him longer than what was required. Your half-assured goodbye was only met by the creaking hinges of the closing door.

The entire bus ride home, your mind had been preoccupied with him; you nearly missed your stop. To some people, it's just a notion; their rigidity tends to crack from the sides, but he truly believes that all of this is useless, and that’s what makes it all the more difficult. It's not just prejudice; it's a true belief. You have to find a way around this or all your work will go down the drain.

You crack your neck as you walk into your apartment, fatigue taking over your entire body. You’d initially planned on taking a warm, long bath, but now you just want to fill your stomach and pass out. You heat up yesterday's mac and cheese, while it's nothing elaborate; it's enough to fill you up. The low rhythmic whirring of the oven lulls you as you think of all your other patients; you still have to come up with a proper time schedule to alternate between all of them, and then there’s August. You’ve met teenagers who are less adamant than he is, the oven beeps as it snaps you out of your thoughts. The smell of cheese fills you with ease, and you decide not to bring work to the dinner table, you’ll think about it tomorrow.

You walk into your bedroom ready to crash when your eyes land on the bluebells you bought a week ago. You curse yourself for forgetting about it again. None of your indoor plants ever seem to survive, no matter how much you care for them. But the wild ones growing outside your window seem to have no problem flourishing as they grow out through the thin cracks of the wall.

You fill a glass up and move to water the plants. As you lean in, you notice that the soil seems damp; a small crinkle forms in between your brows. You can’t remember watering them this morning, but then again, you did everything in a hurry today. Terrified that you’ll miss your morning bus. You don’t think much of it as you place the glass down. Your bluebells seem to be retaining their colour; you hope this one won't die on you.

A strong thud startles you from your repose; suddenly wide awake, your annoyance turns into dread as you suspect that the noise was coming from inside your apartment—you couldn’t remember if you had locked the front door. Nighttime stirs up the imagination of your ears; as you sit up on your bed, your mind convinces you that you can hear low symphonies mixed in the silence. You're sure that you can hear footsteps outside the room, or was it the creak of the door? You feel goosebumps etch your entire body as you force yourself to take a deep breath.

You slowly get out of bed, careful as to not make any noise. You look around for your phone only to realise that you’d left it on the kitchen table. Now your worry increases even more; you can hear your heart beating in your chest. You’re unsure of what to do. You could simply lock the door to your room, but then what? Wait until the morning? For all you know, it was nothing, simply your paranoid nature freaking out.

Your mother tends to make it a habit of informing you about every single crime activity that pops up on the news; whether you're interested in it or not. Her own fear and paranoia seem to have transmitted onto you in an increasing degree. If you are hopefully alive by tomorrow, you’ll keep in mind to stop watching those missing persons documentary.

You slowly peep out of your room. You look over to the left, slightly straining your neck, only to find the main door locked. You heave a relieved sigh at that. You walk into the kitchen and find your phone on the table just where you had left it. The light from the streetlight fills your kitchen with a low yellow glow as you hear another thud. You look over through the window and see a truck unload some boxes, the noise now you’re certain was from this ruckus. You absent-mindedly wonder if someone new was moving in as you make your way back to bed.

The slow-moving normalcy of everyday life makes you indifferent of others in the daytime, but at night... that’s when every little movement terrifies you. You clutch your handbag around a little tighter, your head spins around every few minutes, and your feet pick up their pace no matter how exhausted you are. A pepper spray bottle has found a permanent residence in your bag. You’ve made a habit to always make sure that your door is closed and locked. You don’t want to admit it, but you're actually a little perturbed after last week's incident, mostly about your own forgetfulness.

You wonder if the stress of it is evident on your face; the raven-haired man in front of you has been rather cooperative today. He answers you without the usual quirky remarks. You wonder if it's due to his own interest in taking these sessions seriously or if it's because of the dark circles that lace your eyes. His eyes landed on your face the second he entered and has remained on them since. He looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it; however, his inquisitive nature could only keep it in for so long.

“Not to be harsh, Doc, but you look like shit. Not getting enough sleep?”

“Sleep has been evading me as of lately, yes.”

“Why?”

“Nothing much, just work.”

“Huh, I didn’t think dealing with a bunch of paper work and people would be that hard; regret signing up for it?,” he says as he crosses his ankle onto his other leg. His condescending baritone reminds you of a familiar one, and you momentarily snap back a “no,” but you compose yourself rather quickly. Deflection—that’s what they all do.

“Every job has its hurdles, August. But we are not here to talk about mine; we’re here to talk about yours.”

“So tell me how’s work?”

“Can’t talk about it; confidentiality agreement, remember?.” He quips.

“Of course, I didn’t mean the intricacies of it. I meant, how does it make you feel? I’m sure working for the government has its own complicacies.”

“Do you enjoy your work? Does it stress you? Do you ever feel like you’ve neglected life?” His jaw clenches at that as his voice turns gruff.

“No, I do what I have to; I’m ready to make sacrifices for my work, and yes, you could say that I enjoy it. In fact, I think it’s the only thing I enjoy in life sometimes...” The last part seems to be a careless whisper, but you catch on to it anyway.

“Well, that’s not very healthy; why? Do you find life outside of work difficult? Stressful?”

“No. I just find it mundane.”

There’s something in his eyes that makes you feel like it's aimed at you rather than the conversation you’re having, but you don’t dwell on it.

The rest of your conversation carries on, and after August’s session, you call onto your next patient. Your greeted by a familiar strawberry blonde; you’d completely forgotten about her.

“Gee Y/N, sometimes I wonder how you even work when you have to deal with a hottie like that fella!.”

“Ha-ha, I survive, Nance. I survive.”

“But seriously, look at him—what an absolute specimen.”

“That he is.”

“Ohhh, I sense tension; is he the grumpy kind?”

“Spot on.”

“Hmm.. well, the hot ones do tend to be like that.”

“So how are the babies?”

“Oh great, its been great as of lately; Charlie said his first words, you know.”

“Ahh, how wonderful!; was it mom?”

The gleam on her rosy cheeks makes the answer apparent. You're so happy to see the girl you’ve now known for two years, who at first meeting was just a gloom of anxiety and sadness. She’s changed so much, and only for the better. You listen to her carefully as she continues; but even then, in the back of your mind, his staring eyes persist.

You huff as you run towards the bus stop, unable to reach on time as you watch your bus leave. You look around; the evening is darker than usual, indicative of the fast approaching winter. You have no idea when the next bus will arrive. This junction being nooked into the corner had fewer buses on this route compared to the main one. So you decide to just walk your way to it.

Your feet ache as your slippers slap onto the road. You should have left the office earlier; it would have spared you the walk. You continue on through the cold night, wrapping your arms around yourself, when you hear a soft snap behind you. You turn around thinking nothing of it, purely based on instinct.

Surprised to find yourself all alone; a tiny part of you is uncomfortable. You start to walk a little faster, restless to reach the bus stop. However, as you turn around a corner, you hear light footsteps behind you; they sound much calmer compared to yours. It means nothing; it’s most likely just somebody walking towards the bus stop, just like you. But your nerves get the best of you, and to ease your mind, you increase your pace. The second you do your followers pace increases as well. They sound much louder now; it puts your heart in a frenzy. You could see the dim light of the bus stop ahead of you. Your body sprints towards it.

You reach the bus stop a little calm now due to the lights that fill the stop; its saxe hue comforts you from the danger your mind intuits. You notice a man asleep on one of the seats. The new-found comfort of the lights and the company gives you the courage to look behind. You come to regret the decision as you feel your heart skip a beat.

A tall shadow stands a few meters away, their figure looming in the darkness. You're unable to see anything but a dark outline; but you suspect it’s a man. Even from afar, his enormous size is terrifying.

You’re so grateful to see a bus approach; you climb into it immediately as its doors buzz open and peep out through the glass window only to find nothing. Nobody’s around except for the man who was asleep on the bench; it's almost as if you had imagined a ghost up. But you know, that was not true because that little heart of yours was still thundering inside you; assuring you that the fear you felt had been very real.

The days ahead had been increasingly difficult, your fear transmuting into insomnia as you lay awake at night petrified of every little noise you hear. The chances of somebody stalking you seem ridiculous, but how many women had believed such and been the victims of an attack?

Your cautiousness skyrocketed these days, and you carried two bottles of pepper spray along with you. You’ve decided to put an installment on a car; your house was not very far away from work but enough to evoke the fear within. You could not rely on the buses anymore; you did not want to end up suffering because of their impunctual timing.

You had been searching through your cabinet to make sure you had all the files that were required. That’s when you found it, it had arrived a week ago; you remember receiving it, but you’d been too busy to check it out. August's health and history files had been finally transferred on to you; you had requested it nearly a month ago.

You skim through the papers, nearly missing it at first, but you reread the part again, and a frown forms in-between your brows. His first mission... he… he’d lied to you.

It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; all clients lie to a certain extent. Especially during the initial stages of therapy, even when it isn’t a case of "pseudologia fantastica." It's just the initial distress of being vulnerable and the desire to express ones own narrative rather than the truth.

But with August... while you never really thought of it before, now you slightly suspect if August has a case of pathological lying. For some people, it's not about a grand lie; it's about the smaller details. And you're sure it’s the norm in his line of work; the lines between lying and withholding the truth tend to blend pretty soon when one is not cautious. You won't lie; you’re a little disappointed in him, or with yourself; you're unsure.

You don’t know why you thought this conversation would go easily; the clench in his jaw, the anger in his eyes, and the tight grip of his fingers clearly suggested otherwise.

“I have no idea what you're talking about, doc.”

“August please. Let's not waste our time, I know. They sent me your files. I need to have certain knowledge about my patient's history.” His gaze pierces through you at that.

You try your best to approach the topic as softly as you can. “Your mission, your first mission; you weren’t alone; you had a team... and there were casualties. You’d suffered from a severe head trauma too. It was—

“A disaster?” The grimace in his voice was mixed with pain and anger.

“…difficult. Is that why you lied? August I need you to know this is a safe space. I’m not here to judge you; that’s not what we are here to do.”

“You’re a practical person; you know that lying doesn’t help. It simply convinces you that you’ve made progress when, truthfully, you’ve just been stagnant the whole time.”

“I, we, all... all of this,” you say, waving your hand around, “we exist to help you, not to condemn you. You can open up to me; that’s what I’m here for.”

His aggression at that makes you flinch. All you hear is the scraping of his chair, and before you could voice anything, he was gone. No other patient had stumped you the way he had, and when you finally snap out of it and go out in search of him, he’s nowhere to be found.

Your day had gone by uneventfully; August’s departure had been lingering on your mind the whole day. Coming back from work, both your mind and body had been exhausted. You didn’t even bother with dinner, your eyes closing the second you meet the bed.

Your body allowed your mind to sleep for a few hours before the familiar pang of hunger stirred you awake. You turn around and feel your heart clench; an overflow of fear courses through you. Your throat constricted as you whimper; the darkened, sharp outline of the man seated before now moves forward. The small strand of silver moonlight shines onto his face.

“You tend to talk in your sleep, you know.”

Fear paralyses you completely as you stay put. He stands up and walks over to your bed, his entire frame towering over you. He stares at you for a few seconds before flinching away.

One would imagine you were the one who broke into his place to hurt him if they saw him now. The pain etched on his face changes from discomfort to anger. You hear him draw a deep breath in as he composes himself.

“You’re on my mind a lot doc.”

“At first I entertained it, it was just a harmless little fantasy. And you… you’re such a cliché, ” he sighs, “your clothes, your glasses, your office, it doesn’t help.”

“Your table is always meticulously arranged, everything’s always in order, even your stupid post-it notes are colour coded,” he hisses, “I’d wanted to throw everything off of that table and fuck you on it until you were a babbling mess.”

“Not to belittle you doc, but you look like you’d get cock drunk pretty fast.”

He turns toward you, his broad shoulders straightened as he slightly tilts his head

“I’d have my hand around your throat, tight enough for you to barely breath,” he growls, “could make you shut up for once.”

“But then you decided that you wanna fuck with my head. And now I can’t get you out of my fucking mind.”

Your eyes travel towards the door, you could just make a dash for it but he seems to have read your mind. “Don’t even try.”

Your fear overclouds your judgment and you bolt out of the bed, but you barely take three steps, before he grabs onto you and throws you back onto the bed.

“Why do you have to make this so fucking difficult.”

You try again never the less as you smack him. None of this seems to deter him, one of his hand moves to twist your arm around your back. You scream in pain, only to have his other hand warp around your throat. You try to scratch his face, shoulders, neck anything just to make him let you go.

His fingers dig into you harder, his hand now moves around to the back of your neck making you wince “Please,” you whisper as he pushes your face onto you pillow.

“What did you think, you could run away from me? I’m ten times faster that you are. The only way you got away from me is because I let you.”

“Please, please, August. This isn—

You feel him hard against your ass, as he presses himself on to you.

“I didn’t expect you to be begging so soon Y/N, why hurry? we have the whole night for that don’t we.”

Your whole body stills with fear. His hands loosens around you as he’s moves to unbuckle his belt. Suddenly, you sense a rush of energy bloom within you; this might be your only chance.

You use all of your strength to push him away. He slightly looses his balance; just as you use the opportunity to move out of the bed, his hand lands on your ankle making you fall, face flat on to the floor.

You wince as your head and nose pound in pain, your body moving as he turns you around. His hands dig into the flesh of your arms as he looks at you.

“That was your own doing. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can if I wanted to. I can make this really painful for you Y/N, but if you co-operate I’ll go easy on you, understand?”

A slight nod of your head is all you can manage as you hear the sound of your shirt being ripped apart. Your shorts and underpants gone just as easily. Your face ends up on the bed again, as his left arm palms your breast. His other hand moves to coat your cunt with his juices. You feel a rush of disgust and shame course through you.

He rubs his leaking tip on your folds, his teeth gently nipping on your shoulders. He pushes himself into you, your mouth gently  parts as you feel his length inside your body. You hear him curse as pulls you up, your hands extending as you use them to balance yourself.

His hands land on you hip, “shit, your tight. Should have expected that from you.”

He begins to thrust in, slowly at first but then just as he gets comfortable his pace increases. You could hear the sound of his hips slapping into you. The girth of him nearly ripping your core apart. The fabric of his shirt and pants felt like they were made out of small metal pins as they grazed your naked skin.

Your mind still couldn’t believe this was actually happening, your eyes focused onto the movement of the headboard; the bed shaking because of him.

His hand on your hip tightens and as he spills into you, you hear a low carnal moan. You feel him soften inside you as he finally pulls out. You lay down on to your soft sheets— as he lets you go— now stained forever as you feel him trickle down your thigh. You hide your face in the pillow as you feel the tears brim your eyes; you just want to sleep.

“Ah ah, not so fast” he voice carelessly drawls as he pulls you up with your upper arm. He drags you around and before you can wonder where to, he opens the door to your shower.

The expectation is clear in his eyes and as you move in you hear him lock the door. The scalding water helps your mind from dwelling, you don’t want to think about anything right now. You’re more focused on rubbing yourself raw, nearly making your skin bleed as the hot water burning your skin cleans you.

When you come out you’re surprised to find him still there, casually sitting on your hair. He’s tidied himself up, not even a crinkle formed on his shirt unlike your ripped clothes that lay on the floor. Your eyes land on to your bed; they have a new pair of sheets shabbily placed on them. The old ones crumbled, down next to the foot it.

“You should get some rest, your body probably isn’t used to so much work.”

“Now, after you wake up tomorrow your brain will try to come up with ideas to get rid of me. You can try, but let me tell you right now you’ll have to deal with consequences. I can get really, really ugly.”

“It’s not easy to convict people without proof these days. If you try to leave, I will find you and you don’t want that.”

He stands up and walks over to you. You slightly step back, your body moving on its own as he gets closer. His hand moves to lift your head making you look at him.

“I like this arrangement a lot, so be good. We can help each other. So long as you behave I’ll be good to you.” A slight smirk forms on his features “Who knows?, I might just open up to you…doc.”

*

[kyber-crystal]

learning to warm cold hands || ethan hunt

summary: after a particular mission, sunshine isn’t sunshine anymore, and it worries him. (aka a cliche angst to fluff fic with the following tropes: slightly sunshine and super sunshine, who did this to you, etc)

words: ~1.4k

warnings: angst, brief descriptions of violence, ethan being overly concerned for reader, but not much else asides from that 

a/n: first ethan fic (requested by a lovely anon, thank you!!) and second mission impossible fic! btw, this fic is kind of an AU? i don't have a specific timeline for when it happens, so you can squeeze it in wherever :)

“Y/N, status update?”

“Northwest exit, 430 meters. I have one on my tail. But you know I’m Usain Bolt 2.0! I can definitely outrun this doofus, I mean, I bet my mile time is way better than his. I could've gone to the Olympics, for God’s sake. The Olympics! Where are you?”

“Stay there, I’ll come find you.”

“Ethan, wait, you can't just tell me to—“ You don’t even get to finish before a an explosive sound echoes across the narrow alleyway. You make a sharp left turn but find that you’d just hit a dead end. The door was locked. Shit. You only had one bullet left and there was a guy who was definitely at least twice your weight—and over a foot taller, too—coming after you. You wouldn't even have enough time to reload.

“Y/N. Y/N—“

You don’t get to hear the rest of what he’s saying before the static fizzes out and you lose connection.

“Hey there!” You give the beefy man who’s now mere meters away from you a cheerful smile. “Lovely weather today, don’t you think? Too bad it’s going to rain tomorrow. I love the rain but I hate lightning, because I almost got struck a year ago.”

He doesn't look too happy at this, whipping his gun out without a moment’s hesitation. You squeeze your eyes shut and pray as you slide the bullet in and he pins you against the wall by your neck. 

He brings the gun to your head, and your weapon clatters to the ground. You curse under your breath. You can feel your airways constricting and there's a searing pain working its way through you. 

“You're not going anywhere, princess.”

There's a split-second; a microsecond in which he pauses. Very briefly. You don't think, just do—you knee him in the groin, hard, and quickly grab the knife that's sheathed in your boot. 

Saying one last prayer, you plunge the blade in, not even looking to see if you'd aimed right. He falls to the floor, stumbling, and you then lunge forward to disarm him. 

Another deafening gunshot rings out just as Ethan rounds the corner and finds you there, standing over the man’s dead body like the angel of death. A pool of blood surrounds your feet, and he doesn't think he wants to know if that's yours or his. 

“You made it out alive. Good job out there.”

Glancing over at him, you nod, but don't say anything. You toss him the data files without another word, and board the plane. 

“I'm proud of you.”

More strained silence. Huh, weird… he thinks. 

“Y/N, are you alright?”

No response. Ethan repeats himself again, “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

You strap yourself into your seat and tilt your head back, digging your nails into your wrist. Anything was better than being awake right now…

“Well, someone's uncharacteristically quiet.”

Still no response. Not even a snarky quip like you'd typically reply with. No nicknames, no bickering, no random fun fact you googled on the way over here. “Did you know that a pig can digest an entire human body, bones and all? That makes me think a little extra every time we pass through the European countryside and see one of them.” 

All he gets is silence from your end, and it starts to worry him. 

That’s when he follows your gaze downwards. You're clutching the left side of your abdomen, trying your best not to make a sound. 

His blood runs cold and his eyes darken. You can feel the pure rage radiating off him. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“No…shit…Sherlock…” you croak out. 

“You're hurt.”

No response again. 

“Y/N, what the hell happened out there and who did this to you?”

More silence. 

“Y/N, what did he do to you? How did he hurt you?”

After several more questions and several more failed replies, he forcefully moves your hand aside. Your shirt is stained a deep red and there's a gaping hole much bigger than Ethan wanted to see. 

“You got shot.” He sighs. “Luther, how much longer?”

“Hour and five, but we can get there in 38.”

“Hurry.”

“On it.”

Ilsa brings him a thick roll of bandages. He tries to be as careful as possible as he disinfects and wraps up your torso, but every so often, you wince in pain. 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, just a few more minutes,” Ethan hurriedly apologizes. “Hang in there for me, okay?”

Once he's done, he sits down next to you and laces your fingers together, giving your hand a squeeze. You let out a shuddering sigh and slumped against him. 

He pretends not to notice your watering eyes, or the crescent-shaped marks in your wrist. Or the way your left foot nervously taps out the rhythm to yours and his favorite song. Or the way your tears leave faint red tracks behind as they slip down your cheeks. 

“I'm so sorry,” he repeats over and over again, “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.”

You don't sleep a wink that night. On any other day in Paris, you'd walk down to the farmer’s market below. You’d pick out Ethan’s favorite fruit and a new beret to have him wear jokingly, and maybe grab a croissant or two. Then you’d drag him along to the Louvre and point out each painting one by one and explain in great detail why you loved them so much. And he’d listen, because he could live purely off the sound of your voice for the rest of his life. He was never one for museums, but you loved them, and because he loved you, he started to love them, too.

But it's dark out, and after what had just happened the other day, you don't feel safe enough to leave the apartment. You tossed and turned for over half an hour before falling asleep, but jolted awake just a few minutes later, shivering violently. There was no way you were going to try and go to sleep again.  

Ethan stirs awake, rubbing his eyes to see a dark figure slipping out the door. 

He's quick to follow you up the staircase and to the rooftop. You're standing there in just a T-shirt (was that his?) and shorts, and it's freezing cold out, but you're sweating and fanning yourself. 

“Y/N?”

You turn around at the sound of his voice. “Ethan…”

“What are you doing up here? I was worried about you.” He makes his way over to you and puts a hand on your shoulder, obvious concern on his face. 

You bit your lip and started digging your nails into your wrist again. 

“Talk to me, Y/N,” he pleaded. “Tell me what's wrong.” 

You shook your head, feeling the skin of your wrist beginning to sting. 

“Y/N, please. I want to help you. But I can’t do that when you won't talk to me, so please…tell me what’s going on.” 

“I’m so tired, Ethan,” you finally spoke after a long pause, voice hoarse. “I should’ve—I shouldn’t be here right now, I should be dead because I panicked and I…I almost died. The man, he put the gun to my head and I saw my entire life flash before my eyes. I could’ve sworn to God that the whole ‘thing’ about you seeing your life flash by like a film reel was just a myth but it wasn’t. It scared the shit out of me because I kept seeing the same thing over and over. I thought…”

“What did you see?” he asked, voice gentle. 

“I kept seeing your face. All I saw was your face.” You looked away, suddenly unable to make eye contact with him. Heat spreads across your cheeks. “I know I care about the whole damn team, but you—you’re my future, Ethan.”

He doesn’t say anything in response and instead, leans down to kiss you.

The sudden rush of warmth from his lips being pressed against yours makes you want to forget everything in the world and completely drown in him. This was home, you realized, and this is where I’m supposed to be.

And as the sun rises and spreads a brilliant pale glow over the horizon, Ethan can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was also exactly where he was meant to be. Not fighting bad guys, but rather, standing on the rooftop of a tiny building in the 4th arrondissement with you in his arms and your head against his heart. He thinks he could have a lifetime of this.

“You’re my future, too.”

tags (including those who may be interested! add yourself via this form, if you’d like): @mitchellpete @voguesir @fl0ating @lady-elena-adeline @the-multiverse-of-fandoms @ilsastrenchcoat @joyfullyswimmingface​ 

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Blind Offer Masterlist

Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that’s too good to be true. (short!plus!reader; Steve Rogers, Lloyd Hansen, Bucky Barnes, August Walker)

Status: In Progress

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

[anniefromravenclaw]

When you feel bad, you may need some Henry as Walter Marshall.🩷

Importaint to say that I feel horrible. While studying for my exams I read many fanfics in the free time. Do you have any favourites Walter Marshall or August Walker fics? Let me know❣️

[fishy-strawberries]

I just watched Mr & Mrs Smith for the first time and I loved it, so naturally I couldn’t rest until I made an Ilsalanna version of the poster 👀

[ellethespaceunicorn-masterlist]

Daddy Knows Best Masterlist

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: StepDad!August Walker x StepDaughter!Reader

Summary: August Walker and your father were once friends. One mission, a single decision, made them enemies. August decides he needs to get his revenge. And what better way, than to become your new Daddy? {DARK FIC}

Dividers by: @saradika

Cover Art by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Spotify Playlist is here. 

YouTube Music playlist is here.

Parts: I - II - III - IV - V (possibly on hiatus)

My Masterlist

[justabigassnerd]

First (Official) Meeting

Pairing - Ethan Hunt x daughter!reader

Word count - 4,734

Warnings - mentions of bombs, violence, death threats, fears of abandonment

Summary - a month after catching Solomon Lane, you meet Ilsa for the first official time, this time without the bombs and threats

A/N - it took about twenty years but I'm finally here with a new Lil' Hunt fic! (did anyone cheer?) I am so sorry this took so long my motivation is all over the freaking place idk what's going on. anyways I won't ramble, as per y'all please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

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

After finally catching Solomon Lane and ending the Syndicate. Ethan knew he had found someone he could trust in Ilsa. She saved his life more than once and even protected you after Lane kidnapped you and used you as a bargaining chip to get the disk he craved so much. Due to the dangers of both Ethan and Ilsa’s jobs, they weren’t able to keep in regular contact for the sake of remaining as safe as possible in between missions.

You were more than okay with that fact. You knew Ilsa had saved not only your dad but you too, but you couldn’t shake the off feeling you had about her. You just couldn’t forget what went down in the train station mere minutes before Lane’s men grabbed you and hauled you off. You heard Ilsa and your dad talking, your dad trying to get her to help the IMF out, and Ilsa had talked about how the IMF wouldn’t need him soon enough, and that he’d be discarded once they deemed fit. And after saying that you heard her asking Ethan to run away with her. It crushed you. The silence that followed hurt even more. You expected Ethan to shut Ilsa down, to say there was no way he was leaving you, Benji, and Luther behind. But his silence signalled to you that he was genuinely considering it. That he, even for a moment, thought about leaving his team behind. You knew that your dad probably didn’t want a kid while being an agent. His silence spoke volumes to you as you pulled the comm out of your ear and muttered ‘I need some air’ to Benji before walking off right into the hands of Lane’s men.

After you had been rescued and you, Ethan and the team were back stateside, Ethan had noticed a change in your demeanour. You were quiet, less involved in conversations and barely gave him a second glance. You were disappearing off to the sanctuary of your room moments after eating dinner. Ethan couldn’t blame you for your shift in behaviour. You’d been held captive and forced to have an explosive vest strapped to you while in your dad’s presence. It was natural for anyone to be shaken up in that situation, but it didn’t stop Ethan from being worried about you. It took several attempts on Ethan’s part to get you to open up about the kidnapping and the events that transpired before. It happened one night after you had a nightmare, Ethan had heard your cries and rushed into the room, gun in hand as he quickly surveyed for danger before rushing to your side, pulling you into his arms and helping you find your breath. He didn’t force you to talk, he just wiped your tears and let you recover in your own time. However, once you recovered your breath, he never could have anticipated your next words.

“Were you really going to leave us to run away with Ilsa?” Your voice was barely a whisper, thick with tears and Ethan would’ve missed it entirely had you not been curled up in his arms. At your words, Ethan was instantly shaking his head.

“No, I could never.” He says, unable to believe you’d think such a thing.

“But when she asked, you went silent. It was like you were genuinely considering it.” You argue, another wave of tears attacking you, making you curl further into your father and grab a fistful of his shirt as if it will singlehandedly keep him with you no matter what.

“The question took me off guard, sweetheart. I could never leave you, Benji, and Luther behind. Either we all go or none of us go. I promise you; I’m not leaving you, ever.” Ethan knew it was a big promise he was making, especially given his line of work and the constant danger that followed him around like an eager puppy. You spent the rest of the night before you fell back asleep, talking to your dad about everything you had been feeling since London and he did his best to comfort and support you. Talking to your dad about how you felt which led to you beginning to reintegrate back into the group which made all three men incredibly happy at getting to see you smile and involve yourself with everyone again after a month of nothing more than one-word answers and curt nods.

One day, a couple of days after you started returning to your normal self, Ethan found himself walking around the local area. There was no suspicious activity, nor any mission for him to be on, he was just overly cautious and channelled that energy into going on a walk so he could keep an eye out for anyone who may want to cause harm. As Ethan wandered around a nearby park, eyes surveying every person present in the ways only an IMF agent could before he caught a glimpse of an all-familiar face.

Ilsa was stood a way away, sunglasses sat on her face, but Ethan knew it was her. He’d always be able to recognise her in a crowd, even with the most intricate of disguises. She didn’t do any more than offer a tiny smile before Ethan began gravitating towards her. He hadn’t seen her since everything that went down with Solomon Lane in London, and he just wanted to see how she was doing.

“Ilsa.” Ethan breathed the second he reached her, embracing her in a gentle hug that she is quick to reciprocate.

“How have you been, Ethan?” Her voice is no louder than a soft whisper by his ear as she speaks, widening Ethan’s smile as he holds her.

“I’ve been okay for the most part. How are you?” Ethan admits, pulling away to look Ilsa in the eye as she removes her sunglasses, setting them atop her head.

“Still figuring things out. But I’m doing okay.” Ilsa says, nodding and keeping her small smile on her face, forever trying to be strong and not let her defences down, even in Ethan’s presence.

“You should come to the safe house, lay low with us for a while and get to know my team a little better.” Ethan offered; voice low as he briefly glanced around to make sure there was nobody mingling nearby. Everyone in the park was too busy doing their own thing, walking with a loved one, playing fetch with their dog, or playing catch with their kid. Ilsa debated Ethan’s words for a moment, thinking of what her alternative options could be until she finally reached a conclusion to the debate in her head as she nodded.

“Okay, but only for a few days. I’ll have to move on again soon.” Ilsa says, receiving a gentle nod from Ethan in return. He wasn’t overly keen on the fact that Ilsa had to keep moving around but if it kept her safer then he wouldn’t stop her, not that he could ever stop her from doing something once she’s set her mind on it. After getting the okay from Ilsa, Ethan began to lead her back to the safe house, both agents on their guard the whole walk, expecting danger to appear at any given moment. Thankfully, both agents made it back to the safe house unharmed and entered the building, hearing the sound of laughter and following it to where you, Benji, and Luther were sitting around the table, clearly laughing at something someone had said. All heads turned to look at Ethan as he walked in, and Ethan didn’t miss how you smiled at him and then your smile faltered when your eyes flicked over to Ilsa. There was a tense silence after the laughter died out which was soon replaced by the sound of chair legs scraping across the floor.

“I need the bathroom.” You mutter, quickly excusing yourself and rushing off as Benji and Luther watch you leave before exchanging a glance before Luther gets up and heads into your room, knowing that’s exactly where you will head once you’ve hidden away in the bathroom for a moment. Benji stayed put and glanced back at Ilsa.

“You alright?” Benji said, lifting his hand for the slightest wave as Ilsa nodded, immediately noting the tension filling the room. Despite that, Ethan invited her further in, inviting her to take a seat and get used to the house. As Ilsa perched on the edge of a seat, sat on guard, ready for any potential attack, Ethan pulled Benji aside.

“What was that for?” He hisses lowly, making Benji raise an eyebrow.

“I just said ‘you alright’ I didn’t know you had a problem with that. Look Ilsa’s British she’ll get it.” Benji started, defending his actions when Ethan shushed him.

“No, not that. You, Luther, and y/n gave a weird look when Ilsa walked in. What was that for?” Ethan reiterates, watching as Benji clears his throat awkwardly, glancing over Ethan’s shoulder to make sure Ilsa wasn’t eavesdropping before looking back at Ethan.

“Have you forgotten that she tried to kill me that night at the opera?” Benji says, eyes wide at the thought that Ethan might have chosen to overlook that fact.

“Didn’t she kill the guy who was trying to kill you?” Ethan asks, eyebrow raised as he counters Benji’s point.

“Well, what about when she used those shock paddles on me to get away with the disk?” Benji then argues, remembering the pain of the paddles against his back all too well, fighting back a shiver as he remembers it.

“She was being forced to do that stuff, Benji. Did you forget that she helped me rescue y/n? Or that she helped us catch Lane?” Ethan counters, watching as Benji begins to shuffle, fighting his hardest not to look awkward under Ethan’s glare.

“No I didn’t forget that… but-”

“Benji, you need to stop judging her on past actions. You trust me, right?” Ethan cuts Benji off, knowing it won’t do anyone any good to have tensions like this within the safe house. Upon hearing Ethan’s question, Benji softened.

“Of course I trust you.” He answers, watching Ethan nod before speaking again.

“I trust Ilsa. If you don’t feel ready to trust her yet, then that’s fine but at least trust my judgement here.” Ethan says, his voice low as he looks at Benji, watching as his friend nods slightly.

“Okay, Ethan.” Benji says, looking down like a child getting scolded and Ethan nods once more before backing away to join Ilsa while Benji remains where he was stood.

As Benji and Ethan were talking, you had entered your room after hiding away in the bathroom to collect your thoughts and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Luther perched on your bed.

“Jeez Luther, a little warning would be nice.” You say, a nervous laugh tagged onto the end of your sentence as you close the door behind you.

“I apologise. I just wanted to check in with you. I saw the way you reacted when Ilsa walked in.” Luther says gently as you cross to sit next to him on the bed, instantly fiddling with your hands and avoiding eye contact.

“I’m okay, Luther.” You say, barely glancing up at him as he frowns, not trusting your words.

“y/n, it’s okay to not be okay. I can help if you tell me. I won’t tell your dad if you don’t want me to.” Luther urges, watching as you think on his words, debating whether you open up to him or not.

“Promise you won’t tell dad?” You whisper, looking back up at Luther as he begins nodding instantly.

“You don’t want me to tell him, I won’t tell him.” Luther promises, his voice never straying from his gentle tone. With confirmation that this conversation won’t make its way to your father, you nod your head and begin to talk.

“You already know that Ilsa was there when I had that bomb strapped to my chest. But she said to dad’s face that her instructions after getting the disk for Lane were to kill me and him. I know she didn’t, and maybe she never would’ve even given the chance, but hearing something like that is terrifying, Luther. And even if she hadn’t done that… I don’t know Ilsa that well and I’m scared she’ll be like every other outsider who’s come to the team.” You admit quietly, looking down at your wrist and fiddling with the silver charm bracelet that sat happily on your wrist. Luther took in your words carefully nodding as he listened to you speak and understanding where you were coming from. Before replying, Luther silently asked permission to bring you in for a hug which you accepted instantly, always happy to have a hug from anyone in your family.

“You have every right to be cautious after what happened. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?” Luther starts, feeling you nod slightly against him.

“I understand why you’re so cautious about someone from outside the team coming here for a while. You have every right to feel the way you’re feeling. However, I would recommend you try and at least be civil with Ilsa. She’s on our side she was just in a bad situation.” Luther urged softly, looking down at you as you shifted slightly in his embrace to look up at him.

“I know I should. I know dad likes her a lot as well. But it’ll be so hard.” You admit, embarrassed to admit it but Luther just nods softly, no hint of judgement on his face.

“Just do your best Lil’ Hunt.”

It turned out that your best was sitting in the furthest possible corner with your head in a book and avoiding any and all conversation with Ilsa.

Over the days that Ilsa was staying at the safe house, she made significant progress in building trust between herself and Ethan’s other team members. Luther pretty much trusted her straight out of the gate, Luther had used Ilsa as a way to track down Ethan when both Ethan and Benji had disappeared to hunt for Lane. Luther had known that Ethan trusted Ilsa and since Luther trusted Ethan, he had no reason to doubt Ethan’s judgement. Benji was a tougher nut to crack, he was cautious because of the alleged two times she tried to kill him, but after a day or two Benji conversed with her a little more and they began to form a friendship of sorts.

You, however, were much more difficult to get through to. Ilsa couldn’t blame you, after all, you had heard her admitting Lane’s orders were for her to get the disk and then kill both you and Ethan. Ilsa, of course, never would’ve followed that order, despite her cover she never would’ve been able to bring herself to kill you or your father, but you didn’t know how far she’d go to maintain cover. Ilsa figured that you believed she would’ve done it for the sake of her cover. Ilsa wished to be able to prove to you that you can trust her, she knew Ethan told you multiple times a day that you could talk to her to try and build up a bond, you were just struggling with everything.

One day, Ilsa had seen you reading a book that she recognised. In mostly working alone Ilsa often fell to reading books to provide herself with comfort and gave her a way to pass the time. Taking a deep breath, Ilsa crossed the room and eased herself down on one of the other chairs around the table, keeping a good distance between you and her as she gauged your reaction. You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye briefly before turning your attention back to your book.

“Hi y/n, how’s the book?” Ilsa asks tentatively, watching as you shrug and let out a slight hum in response.

“You know that book is one of my favourites so if you ever want to talk about it, I’m more than happy to chat about it with you.” Ilsa then offers, receiving another hum and shrug. You were not playing ball and Ilsa could tell. You were trying to keep a barrier between the two of you and Ilsa didn’t want to force herself into your life if you really wanted nothing to do with her. With a small sigh, Ilsa got up from the chair and left you be, not wanting to disturb or upset you. As she crossed the room, she made eye contact with Ethan who offered her a small smile and a mouthed apology on your behalf.

Ethan, without even knowing of the conversation you had with Luther the day Ilsa arrived, knew exactly why you were shutting down and acting this way. He couldn’t fault you for being cautious. And he couldn’t blame you for worrying about how Ilsa may treat you, especially given how a lot of IMF agents have treated you in recent years.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Ethan said as he entered your room, a gentle smile on his face as he crossed the room and perched on the edge of your bed, watching you put your book down and smile at him.

“Hi, dad.” You reply, expecting him to give you a hug and ask you about your day before bidding you goodnight as he usually did each night.

“I’ve noticed you’ve not really spoken to Ilsa. Is this because of London?” He asks, noticing you tensing slightly at his words, glancing away from him before looking back at him and nodding lightly.

“And because I’m scared she’ll be like the others.” You admit meekly, fiddling with a loose thread on your duvet cover to distract yourself from seeing the potential upset in your dad’s eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart. Ilsa’s not like them I promise you that. And I know she’d never hurt you either.” Ethan says softly, he’s not the first person to tell you that but hearing it from him eased your mind slightly. He was there when you had the bomb strapped to your chest. He heard the threats yet still trusted Ilsa to help him catch Lane.

“If you give her a chance, I bet you’ll see how well the two of you will be able to get on. You trust your old man, right?” Ethan continues, moving further up the bed to pull you into his arms which you accept instantly, curling into him.

“I trust you.” You reply, head resting just above his heart as you listen to the steady thumping.

“I wouldn’t willingly encourage this if I didn’t trust Ilsa. She’s someone I care about and who I know you’ll learn to like too. Don’t tell her I said this, but she likes you already.” Ethan says gently, his chest rumbling gently under your head with each word spoken.

“She does?” You question, lifting your head slightly to look up at him as he smiles down at you.

“Oh definitely. When we went our separate ways after catching Lane, the last thing she said to me was ‘watch out for y/n, she’s a good kid’.” Ethan says, the words burned into his memory. He saw the slight smile that crossed your lips before you buried yourself back into his chest.

“I’ll try to make more of an effort with her.” You promise, beginning to realise that if Ilsa really was as bad as your mind was making her out to be, she’s had several opportunities to wipe out you and the team or steal valuable IMF information. Instead, she’s been hanging out with everyone, getting to know them that little bit more. And with your dad’s words swirling around your head, you went to bed that night with a whole new perspective.

The next day, by the time you’d rolled out of bed and showered, you entered the main room to find your dad, Ilsa, Benji, and Luther sitting around the table conversing about something that, judging by the looks on their faces, could be serious. You didn’t want to disturb them, but you were curious, so you remained where you were stood, listening to them discussing the suspicious activity Luther had picked up on and listening to them discussing how to deal with it. Everyone seemed to have different ideas, and no one was able to agree with the other.

“y/n, what do you think?” Ilsa had noticed you walk in and how you mingled nearby to listen. You were Ethan’s daughter, and she was sure you’d be able to come up with a good plan of attack. When no one shut down Ilsa trying to involve you, you spoke up as an idea came to mind.

“Since you guys don’t actually know if it’s a genuine threat or just petty crime you could just go on a walk around, have a look around. But take Ilsa with you as well. Benji and Luther can run extra surveillance from here.” You suggest, shrugging lightly as the team exchanges a look, nodding in agreement before looking back at you.

“That sounds like a pretty good plan, y/n.” Benji says with a grin, both he and Luther instantly turning their attention to their laptops and hacking into what they need to gain access to cameras in the nearby area. As Ethan and Ilsa prep to go out, Ilsa crosses to you, a nervous expression you’ve never seen on her before displayed across her face.

“You’re really okay with me going with your dad on this?” She asks softly, watching the soft smile covering your face as you nod.

“I am. I trust you and I know you’ll bring my dad back.” You say and Ilsa swore she could’ve fallen apart right then and there. She doesn’t know what happened overnight to make you trust her, but you were trusting her to go out on surveillance with Ethan and knew she’d bring him back to you.

“I won’t let you down.” Ilsa promises quietly just as Ethan calls over to her, now ready to head out and you watch her cross to your dad, the two of them sharing a smile and a nod before heading out of the door.

While Ethan and Ilsa were investigating where they’d heard of suspicious activities taking place, Ethan figured that now was a good time as any to have a private chat with Ilsa. Turning off his comm after informing Benji he’s going to do it, he motions for Ilsa to do the same and once she’s done so he speaks up.

“I noticed you talking to y/n before we left, and she was smiling. Making progress?” He asks, kicking aside a damp cardboard box to look for any evidence of the activities he’d heard of.

“A little. She was saying that she trusts me and knows I’ll get you back in one piece.” Ilsa replies with a small smile, already playing the moment back in her head.

“She’s had it rough. A lot of people from outside the team would see her and subsequently see a burden.”

“But she’s not.” Ilsa cuts in, quickly apologising to Ethan who shakes his head with a slight chuckle before sobering up to continue with what he was saying.

“Of course, she’s not. But a lot of people did think that and would treat her pretty badly. It’s why she struggles with opening up to new people. It’s only ever been me, Benji, and Luther her whole life so when she’s supposed to trust people who treat her badly… it’s hard on her.” Ethan continues, peeking around an alley corner and heading down it with Ilsa close behind.

“I’d never treat her like that.” Ilsa swears as Ethan glances at her, the smallest of smiles on his face.

“I know you won’t. And I think she’s beginning to know that too.”

Back at the safe house, you were awaiting Ethan and Ilsa’s return after both of them cut off their comms. Neither Benji or Luther could pick up on any suspicious activity and figured that the two would be back before too long. As predicted, the two came in within fifteen minutes muttering how it was a dead end that pointed to nothing more than petty crime. You hugged your dad instantly upon his arrival, which he of course reciprocated before you crossed to Ilsa.

“Thank you.” You say, looking up at her as she nods with a smile.

“I said I wouldn’t let you down.” Ilsa replies with a wink as you smile.

“You know… I’m halfway through that book you said you liked if you wanted to talk about it with me?” You offer, noticing how Ilsa’s eyes immediately lit up and you grab your book off the table before heading to the sofa with her. You both sit on the sofa as you begin to animatedly talk about the parts you’ve read, including the big midpoint plot twist. Ilsa engaged with your thoughts and shared some of her own, both of you grinning.

“Did we just get replaced? That fast?” Benji says incredulously, watching you and Ilsa interact while Ethan and Luther chuckle.

“We’re not being replaced, Benji.” Luther assures his friend, clapping him on the shoulder as all three men watch you with smiles of their own.

For the rest of the day you hung out with Ilsa, getting to know her and her getting to know you. You were so thankful that every question she asked was about getting to know you and not just your dad. Everyone who spent time with the team tried so hard to get information about Ethan from you. But Ilsa was different. She genuinely wanted to get to know you and you had so much fun getting to hang out with her. It was also nice to have another girl to talk to, being able to get advice and help about certain topics you struggled talking to your dad about. When it came time to go to bed you found yourself wishing you could stay up all night talking with her, but you didn’t want to be any more of a nuisance, so you left her be with a goodnight before heading to your room to sleep.

The next morning, you woke up eager to continue your book chat with Ilsa after reading a few more chapters before going to sleep but when you showered and changed and entered the main room you saw Ilsa slinging her back over her shoulder.

“What’s going on?” You question, looking from person to person awaiting an answer.

“I’m going somewhere else y/n. I was only planning to stay a few days anyway.” Ilsa says, speaking softly as you approach her, all sorts of emotions displayed on your face as you try to process everything.

“You can’t stay a bit longer?” You ask, fighting back a frown when she shakes her head with a gentle smile.

“It’s safer for all of us if I move on.” She explains and you understood her reasons, though it didn’t mean you liked it.

“Is there a way I can keep in contact with you?” You then ask, watching as Ilsa nods, pulling out her phone and getting her number out for you to copy down into your own phone.

“Now you can message me whenever you want.” She says as both of you tuck your phones away. As she starts to say her goodbyes to Benji, Luther, and your dad you start to regret taking so long to open up to her.

“Goodbye y/n.” Ilsa says, turning back to you when you suddenly wrap your arms around her for a hug, smiling when you feel her arms wrap around you.

“Goodbye Ilsa, I’ll miss you.” You whisper before pulling away.

“I’ll miss you too. I can’t imagine it’ll be too long until we see each other again.” Ilsa says, her smile never leaving her face as you nod, watching her bid one last goodbye to everyone before exiting the safe house.

While you were upset you hadn’t spent as much time as you now wished you had with Ilsa, her words comforted you slightly. She was right, you’d see each other again.

It was just a matter of time.

[amethystfallenangel]

jazz bar (ethan hunt x reader)

"You like jazz?" You hear a hoarse voice behind you, and in the warm lights of the bar, you see a familiar figure, standing amused with a whisky in hand. It was Ethan. You smile incredulously, scoffing in amusement as the agent sits opposite you on the leather sofas, the jazz playing softly in the background. It was a cosy bar, with low lights and little booths as the slow hum of cars whirring in the streets outside had almost rocked you to sleep until Ethan had showed up.

He exhales lightly, leaning over his drink with that tight-lipped smile he always has tugging at his lips. You give him a once over: his hair has grown, uneven layers. It looks quite nice.

You clear your throat.

"What are you doing here, Ethan?" you hum.

He clenches his jaw ever so slightly, still calmly sipping his drink.

"Ethan..." you repeat, your voice a whisper.

He purses his lips and looks up, his eyes softening slightly. He answers with a sleepy voice, seeming unbothered.

"You mean in a jazz bar?"

"Very funny. I mean in New York." You lean forwards over the table. "You working a job?"

He chuckles lowly, tilting his head.

"I could ask you the same. Last time I checked, you work for Mi6, same as Ilsa. You're not here on holiday either, are you?"

You sigh, falling back into your seat.

"You're stubborn, Hunt."

He smiles warmly into his drink, swishing the liquid around, as if lost in thought. The music changes, as the band begins playing 'While We Were Young' by Wes Montgomery. For a moment, the bar seems quiet. People are whispering and chuckling. The soft sounds of glasses and footsteps are mixed with the slight smell of earthy tobacco and roses. A few people walk off into the garden at the other end of the jazz bar.

After a minute or so, Ethan turns to the band, leaning over the back of the sofa to watch them play. You've never seen him so laid back before. Somehow, he can feel your gaze on his face, and he turns with a little grin.

"I'm not working a job, actually. Not yet, anyways."

His answer takes you by surprise. Why would he be here?

"There is a job that Hunley has for the IMF, but I thought I'd come ask for your help."

You chuckle.

"Really? But why?"

"Because I just came back from the meeting, and as I was passing this bar, I saw you through the window."

"So you thought you'd just impulsively ask me to join your mission?"

"...Unless you're working a job."

"I actually just finished a job." You smile, looking down into your lap.

"Perfect then."

You look up, shaking your head. It had been two years since you last saw him. You'd actually met him through your colleague, Ilsa. The two of you ended up dating for about three months, but you decided to part, simply because it was too complicated. You were a British agent. How often would you really see him? You were glad to have parted on good terms, though.

He signals to the space beside him on the sofa. You chuckle, getting up and placing yourself next to him.

"What are you doing, Ethan?" you breathe out.

"I wouldn't mind your company again for a while," he answers, his breath soft and steady, close to your neck.

You turn to him, gazing into his eyes.

"It always ends up bitter sweet, hun," you sigh, offering a sheepish smile.

He says nothing, only nuzzles your hair ever so softly, his lips parted as if he had many things to say, but could not.

You lean into his touch, burying your head into the crook of his neck, even though you know that it could never last forever.

The band begins to play 'Rain in My Heart' by Frank Sinatra, and you smile with a sort of melancholy.

You mumble into his neck.

"How's Benji? And Luther?"

"They're good. They miss you."

"I miss them too. Ilsa misses you all, by the way."

He nods and the wraps his arms around you, playing with a strand of your hair.

You sigh, delicately running your hands over his chest, settling his silk dark blue shirt. He always looked very elegant in this shirt.

"You'll take the mission then?" he whispers, kissing the top of your head.

Your only answer is to lift your head, moving closer, so that your lips are brushing against one another. You shouldn't, but you close the distance, as you feel him softly move against you, humming into the kiss.

You pull away, as his lips still linger tenderly right below your bottom lip.

"Damn you, Ethan," you chuckle, "I missed you."

He smirks playfully, raising an eyebrow.

"Likewise," he replies, his voice as comforting as the first time you heard it. You grab his neck and kiss him again, more passionately this time, and his hands drop to your waist, tugging slightly at your skirt. His mouth moves gingerly against yours. He was always gentle with you. Gentle and patient.

He cradles your head in his arms, as you fall into his chest, with a giggle.

"Shall we go to my apartment," he mumbles into your hair. "I've got my bike. Benji and Luther can meet us tomorrow."

You caress his cheek, then his forehead, admiring his features as if it had been a century since you'd last looked into his eyes. You raise your eyebrows and laugh.

"Of course, Ethan."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Killing Time 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, includes violence, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a job offer could be an escape from your old life, but the new one, may not hold freedom.

Characters: Kraven the Hunter, August Walker, Lloyd Hansen, James Conrad, God the Bounty Hunter, Court Gentry

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

Your frustration mounts as you click the permissions again to allow the camera and microphone access. It’s so annoying! It just keeps running you in circles. Great. This is off to a good start. Late for the interview. That’s always the best first impression. 

When at last your firewall stops blocking the call, you flinch at the sight of yourself in the corner. You’re further jarred by the man staring back at you. Your mouth opens and for a moment, you’re frozen. You were so focused on troubleshooting, you forgot about what was waiting on the other end. 

“Oh, hi,” you squeak. “Sorry, I--” you look around, glancing through the clear walls of the library study room. It’s the first time you’ve been to this branch but you didn’t think the clutter of your apartment would make a good backdrop. “I was having issues with my camera.” 

“Quite alright,” he responds with a grin and a lilted accent. He sounds as professional as he looks. 

He wears a grey jacket over a muted teal shirt that lights up his eyes, even over the screen. His short hair is combed back neatly and there’s not a speck of stubble on his jaw. Under the structure of his attire you can tell he’s well-built. 

You resist the urge to look down at yourself. A white blouse. Boring but professional. It gets the job done. Hopefully. 

You force a smile. 

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he begins through your nervous silence. “I do appreciate your time and I would hate to waste it. So, we can hop right in.” He looks unflinchingly into the camera, “oh, let us not go so far past courtesy. I am James, we’ve been corresponding, yes?” 

“Uh, yeah, I remember. James.” You gulp. 

He says your name with a keen inclination. “This is rather not the position which requires those cliche questions so I won’t trouble you with asking what animal best reflects your personality.” 

You cough out a humouring chuckle and fold your hands on the desk. 

“Forgive if I should seem to the point. You see, it’s a very practical position. I think it’s best we go over what is expected before we go into the finer details; expenses, relocation, dates--” 

“Mm,” you squeak and put a finger up, “s-sorry, um, I thought we were interviewing but it sound like you’ve made a decision?” 

“Well, yes, I’ve reviewed your CV and your submitted profile and your answers to the questionnaire were acceptable. I didn’t think there was much else to consider,” he intones. You shift and try to hide your surprise. 

“No, of course, that makes sense,” you say. “Thanks, I guess I was confused.” 

“Not to worry. I find that written communication can often lack clarity so I thought it best we have a face-to-face in this circumstance,” he looks down as if he has a book or paper before him. “So, did you have any questions before I proceed?” 

“No, no, really, I'm sure you’ll answer them all.” Your cheeks bloom in a half-smile. You were so nervous about getting the job but you’ve already got it. 

“Right then,” he sits back and once more stares down the camera. “It is a very old property but the upkeep has been consistent. There should not be any glaring necessities for maintenance, this more of a custodial position. So, you would be the one to keep the place clean, make sure it is aired out, tend to the lawns but we do employ a grounds keeping service that comes fortnightly to trim.” 

You nod. It’s intriguing. You were sent photos of the property but you’re not quite sure of its purpose. Judging by the clustered pines in the background, you would guess it’s remote. A getaway that could be a goldmine for those wanting a vacation from the urban jungle. 

“You would have a roster, you see, of those you could contact for service so you will not require any specialisations. You are the day-to-day and would be expected to bring in the appropriate support for higher-touch difficulties.” 

“Right,” you try not to show your anxiety. 

“Albeit I should warn you that the reception in that location is not the greatest so if you cannot call out, you would need to keep trying. It will eventually catch but uh, not to mind, as long it is attended is what matters, not when,” he says.  

“Mhm, that makes sense. Um, can I ask what the property is? Is it like a summer home or...” 

“Ah, family inheritance,” he answers primly. “I’ve not much use for it past the sentimental value and I thought of leasing it for traveling parties but I’ve heard horror stories. Right now, I’m merely sitting on it until I figure out exactly what to do with it.” 

“Oh, right. Wow. Quite the inheritance.” 

“Hm, yes, my uncle did rather adore me. I was the only one named in his will but he was a bit of a curmudgeon.” He laughs. “Now, I must ask the most important question--” 

Before he can, the door swings open and you jump in your seat. Your heart sinks. You signed the room out for ninety minutes. You thought it would be more than enough. Surely it hasn’t been that long. 

Shoot. It’s him. How did he find you? You deliberately went out of your way so that he couldn’t. 

“Jake,” you stand and turn to him, trying to block the computer. “What are you doing?” 

“There you are,” he touches his chest as if he should be the one so afraid. “You didn’t come home--” 

You growl and cross your arms. 

“Jake, go away,” you grit out. “Not right now. Please.” 

“I had to make sure you’re okay,” he steps into the room and you push yourself back against the table. “Who else is going to look after you?” 

“I will scream, alright,” you warn. “Now leave me alone. I’m tired of telling you.” 

He sighs and his jaw squares. “I don’t get you. You act like I’m such a bad guy and I haven’t done anything to you. I never hurt you but you hurt me. You just spit in my face--” 

“Pardon,” the voice rises from the speaker at your back. “If I may, she is occupied and you are interrupting. I have a mind to contact emergency service should you persist.” Your mouth falls open and you turn to look at your laptop. James leans forward to glare at the lens, “Not sure who you are, fellow, but the lady has been clear.” 

“Who-- who is he?” Jake sputters. 

“Please, just go,” you plead. “Or I will call the police.” 

Little good they will do, you think, but that doesn’t need to be said aloud. 

He frowns and his eyes glint dangerously. You stare back at him, tense, fingers curling and uncurling nervously. That man on the screen won’t stop him and you don’t know if anyone would hear you from the desk. 

“Fine, guess I’ll see ya around,” he relents and backs out. 

You don’t move until he snaps the door shut. You hurry over and twist the lock on the inside. You don’t know why you didn’t do that before. 

“Are you alright?” James asks, drawing you back to the desk. 

You sit and look at the keyboard, “I’m very sorry. I...” 

“He doesn’t sound like a friend,” James says. You shake your head. “Well, then, it does sound like you’re in need of a fresh start. I do hope this can be that for you.” 

You look up and bat away the glimmer on the brims of your eyes. You’re not just afraid, you’re embarrassed. His kindness is as comforting as it is unexpected. 

“Thanks, um, anyway...” you exhale, “you were going to ask something.” 

“Yes, uh, yes, I was,” he reconfigures and puts another smile on. “When can you depart? I would of course arrange travel to be sure you get here safe and sound.” 

“Oh, when... whenever is best. Not to be too desperate but as soon as possible,” you say. 

“Wonderful,” he praises, “absolutely wonderful. Is tomorrow too soon? Pardon my own desperation.” 

“Tomorrow?” You utter and shake your head. “Tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow.”  

It's sudden and scary but it’s good. The sooner you go, the less time Jake has to figure out what you’re doing. The less chance he can follow. It’s an escape. Not a perfect one but it’s all you have. 

🩸

You spend all night packing. You parse down what you have to the essentials and put the rest in bags. You don’t care about the furniture. You say as much in your email to your landlord, telling him to use your deposit for the disposal. 

You whittle your life down to three bags. A large suit case, a knapsack, and a single purse. You have it ready to go by the door. 

You feel uneasy about it. You stare at your luggage, the lights off, windows closed. Your phone buzzes and you put it to silent, ignoring the messages from your personal pest. You’ll be done with him too. You wonder if you should just toss your cell. 

You don’t sleep. You can’t. You still can’t believe you’re getting out. You hope you haven’t given the game away. 

There’s a tap on the window. You nearly roll onto the floor. You look over and hear it again, a harder impact. Are you serious? He’s throwing stones. He could break the damn glass. 

You shake your head. You won’t fall for it. Not again. You remember when he came to your door and cried until you opened up. He even smeared ketchup on his face to make you think he was hurt. It’s hard to tell the difference through a peephole. 

Almost there. Almost out. You just need to make it a few more hours. 

As you ignore the incessant tapping and the light of your phone glowing ever few minutes, your thoughts turn bitter. You should message everyone who turned their back on you and tell them exactly what they’ve put you through. Somehow, you think they’d care as much as they did before. 

Sleep eludes you but a foggy daze comes over you as the windows soften with the early morning. There’s no more pebbles bouncing off the pane. Just you and the buzz of the sleeping city. 

Your alarm chimes and you get up as your head pulses. You’re used to the constant fatigue. It will ease up and you’ll just feel a bit heavy. When it’s normal, you don’t notice as much. 

You get ready and have an instant coffee by the door. James messages just before nine. Your car will be there in ten. Oh, early. You don’t mind about that. 

You won’t go out and wait. You’ll stay here, where it’s safe. 

When your phone goes off again, you expect it to be Jake. It’s James. Whew. You’re so close, you can’t believe it. 

You grab your knapsack and purse, and drag your suitcase out behind you. You lock the door and throw the key through the mail slot. You hurry down the hall and take the stairs over the elevator.  

You don’t look back or anyway but forward. You look at your cell. 'Black Jaguar’ followed by a plate number. Jaguar? Holy moly. 

The tinted window rolls down and reveals the same face from the Zoom call. You didn’t know he was coming himself. You assumed he was sending a cab or something. You slow as you come out the door. He smiles and pops open the door. 

Before you can come forward, another figure appears, blocking your way. 

“Hey, I've been calling all night,” Jake says. You stop short and nearly yelp. Of course! 

“Jake, move.” 

“Where are you going?” He looks at your bags desperately. “Wait, you can’t--” 

“Pardon me, sir, is there some issue?” James strides up behind him. 

Jake turns to face him and stiffens, “and who are you—wait, you’re that guy from the computer.” 

“I’m none of your business, as is her life,” James insists. “Now, seems you’re used to picking on those smaller than you but let’s see how you do against me?” 

James steps closer. He’s a few inches taller than Jake. You can’t move as they stare each other down. You wait, expecting chaos. 

“I was only talking,” Jake shows his palms and shrugs. “It’s whatever. She’s a bitch anyways.” 

He turns and snarls over his shoulder at you. You back up. As Jake turns, he’s knocked off kilter as James hurls his fist into his jaw. The shorter man staggers and falls to one knee, catching himself in the grass. 

“Well, that was a lovely chat,” James smirks and beckons to you, “shall we?” 

[sillyrabbit81]

Dangle the Carrot

Prompt: Smug and Sadistic, Virginity from @munstysmind (x) Thank you!

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 3.5k

Warnings: Smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT/ NON CONSENT, RELUCTANT READER, Coercion, p in v sex, fingering, discussion of body fluids, possessive August.

Authors Note: As always I need to thank my amazing mates and readers @nashibirne , and @henryobsessed your thoughtful and honest comments are always appreciated.

I had every intention of following the prompt, but as I wrote this is what came out. Walker is definitely smug, but probably not as sadistic as you would think. I hope you enjoy it.

Edited by me, there will be errors

Dividers by me.

Masterlist

Celebration Masterlist

You’re sitting in the safe house sipping on your morning coffee, dressed in a simple knee length summer dress that is fashionable in the local area, going over new intelligence on your latest asset.

You’re going to have to meet him again, he is holding back information, you’re sure of it. The chatter had been building to a crescendo, someone is planning something and you’re sure the asset knows more than he’s letting on.

The assets' pale balding head peers back at you from the photograph that had been taken of him way back before you started to build a relationship with him. He creeps you out, well over 20 years older than you, he looks at you like he’s undressing you every time you meet. You feel like he strings you along with little tidbits just to keep you coming back and you’re starting to think he’s a dead end.

“Staring at his picture won’t make him talk.”

You jump, startled by Special Agent Walker's appearance. Dressed as he always is in a plain muted suit, he has a mug of coffee (you assume) in his hand and he sits next to you, plucking the file from your hands and opening it on the dining table in front of you.

“Any suggestions?” you ask.

“Possibly,” Walker says, the corner of his whiskered mouth lifting with a knowing smirk.

You purse your lips. Walker always looks like he knows something you don’t, you’re about to ask him what it is when he continues.

“I’ve been told to hurry you along. Langley believes he has information about a high value target and our window of opportunity is closing swiftly.”

Huffing with disgust you say, “I’ve done everything I can besides take my clothes off to get him to give up more information than we already know. I think he knows nothing. I think he’s full of shit.”

Walker shakes his head, “Langley disagrees. They think he might be involved in some way and is trying to avoid implicating himself.”

“I’ve told him we will look the other way on the shit he’s into if he can lead us to the target, or at least give us something we don’t already know.” You shrug and lean back into your chair, waving your hand over the file. “Like I said, I’ve given him every assurance, dangled every carrot, and he gives me nothing. I’m at a loss.”

Walker hums, turning a page, “Maybe it's time to stop dangling the carrot and let him have it.”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

Walker doesn’t answer immediately. He finishes reading, then closes the file smoothly. He turns in his chair so he’s facing you and his knee brushes against your thigh, while he takes a moment to assess you.

“You said you’ve tried everything except taking your clothes off,” he says, the smirk reappearing on his lips.

“That’s not happening,” you say dismissively, but your cheeks burn at his suggestion.

Walker nods, a faux frown plays on his lips. “Did you read the brief?”

“Only a million times.”

Walker makes a gesture towards the folder on the table. “The initial report, second page, about a third of the way down.”

Sighing, you drag the file back in front of you and flip it open. Walker’s knee presses against your thigh as he puts his arm around the back of your chair and leans in to read over your shoulder.

“There,” he says.

You start to read, impatiently, “The subject is known for many clandestine relationships outside of his marriage. He tends to favour women who…” you trail off as you realise the description of his type of woman is basically a description of you. You keep reading in silence. 

…At least one of his former lovers was a British Agent and seeing as the subject was prone to “pillow talk”, it had proved an effective way to gather intelligence…

“Miss that part in your millions of readings did you?” Walker says in your ear. “Why do you think you were put on this case, hmm?”

The arm that rests on the back of the chair now rests on your shoulder and he starts to stroke your neck. His other hand rests on your knee, his fingers edge beneath the hem of your dress, inching their way up your thigh.

You can barely breathe, the realisation dawning on you that he’s right. You thought you were being rewarded for good work with lower level assets. Embarrassment creeps in, the old imposter syndrome that you had convinced yourself wasn’t an issue begins to rear its ugly head.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

Walker moves closer, his breath is warm on your neck, his fingers have worked themselves halfway up the inside of your thigh and they pause to caress your sensitive delicate skin.

“You can,” he whispers back, “I know what’s stopping you. Why do you think I was put on this case?”

Your chin trembles and you try to swallow down the lump rising in your throat. “This was the plan the whole time?”

“A contingency that Langley has decided to implement to hurry things along.”

Shaking your head, you flick his hand away from your thigh. “I can turn him without having sex with him. Give me a few more days.”

Walker grabs your jaw, his thumb and fingers dig painfully into your cheeks and he makes you look at him. His eyes are blazing with lustful impatience. He’s been waiting for this you realise, he’s been waiting for you to fail, waiting for the go ahead to take you.

“You don’t have a few days, princess. You have tonight,” Walker says in a gravelly and thick tone that doesn’t hold so much as an inch of empathy. “You have a choice. You can open your legs for me like a good girl and I’ll make your first time as pleasant as possible and believe me, I can make it very pleasurable. Or, you can let an ugly, skinny, limp dicked asshole, that doesn’t even know your real name, uselessly pound your sweet, tight, virgin pussy until his cum dribbles into your ruined little hole.”

“And if I refuse both options?” Your voice quivers as you ask the question because deep down you already know the answer.

“You’ll be out. A burn notice will be issued within the next hour.”

Icy fear blooms in your chest and your blood runs cold through your veins. Burn notice. Not only will you be out of the agency, but no self respecting private security firm would take you either. The whole industry would be closed to you. Everything you worked for would be taken from you within the hour.

Closing your eyes, you coldly try to rationalise the situation, weighing up the pros and cons. 

What is virginity anyway? Your hymen was well and truly worn away by now. You’ve had a wide selection of toys inside you. A couple of guys had fingered you in college and it wasn’t as though you were saving yourself for marriage or anything. Your lack of sexual experience is due to not having the inclination to find a partner who you wanted to sleep with rather than any real moral objection. 

There would be worse men to sleep with than Walker. He is attractive, even if he’s normally a little standoffish. He boasts about making it feel pleasurable doesn’t seem to be without merit; you can’t deny that his fingers which are circling their way up your inner thigh again do feel nice.

You open your eyes slowly and determinedly set your jaw. You lick your lips and take a breath to give your tepid consent, but nothing comes out. 

Walker seems to understand though, his hand holding your jaw softens and slides down to your neck. He uses his grip to draw you close enough to brush his lips over yours.

Whiskers prickle against your chin and warm, silky lips stroke yours, capturing first your lower lip then your top in a gentle nip.

“Relax,” he whispers against your mouth. His breath heats your lips and smells of mint and coffee. 

As he resumes his kiss, a light tickling sensation begins on your inner thigh, picking up where it had left off. Soft circling fingers draw an invisible spiral on your sensitive skin as it inches its way towards the apex of your thighs. It feels nice, gentle and tender, and against your will, your skin tingles with warm anticipation.

Hot velvety strokes of his tongue tease your lips, probing softly where they meet, silently urging you to open. He’s patient, easing back before trying again, all the while his thumb strokes your throat and fingers caress higher and higher up your thigh.

Maybe it is primal instinct, or perhaps you simply surrender, but you part your lips. His tongue slips into your mouth with a hum of approval. He strokes, massages, and sucks, encouraging you to reciprocate, but you can’t. While his touch is seductive, your heart beats faster and your body warms as your body begins to throb, you feel detached. It’s like he’s doing things to you and your body reacts but your mind is somewhere else recording your involuntary, mechanical reactions.

The ghosting circular caresses get larger, reaching high enough for a knuckle to brush over your panties. Dispassionate curiosity keeps you unmoving as his hand sweeps over your thigh again, this time a finger traces the edge of your panties, following its curve before resuming its path. 

He brushes over your panties again, floating over your slit and grazing your clit. A deep thrum begins between your legs and vibrates hotly through your nerves, and settles in your breasts making your nipples ache as they grow tight and harden. 

Your detachment shatters. You break his kiss with a cry and force your knees together, trapping his hand between your thighs and halting his advance.

“You were doing so well, princess,” Walker says, with a thicker and less gentle voice than before. 

You scowl at him as he tries to pry your knees apart with his free hand. It’s not anger that makes you protest; it's the fear that grips your heart with its icy fingers as you see the burning lust in his eyes. He isn’t just doing this for the mission, he’s doing this because he wants to and somehow that is so much worse.

You try to stand and run, but he’s too quick for you. He captures your wrists in one hand and roughly uses his body to get behind you. He thrusts his groin against your ass, and bends you over the table, trapping you like a pinned butterfly by your hands and his chest pressing against your back.

“Be a good girl and don’t fight it, because I’ll take you the hard way if I have to,” he growls in your ear in a tone that suggests he might enjoy that even more.

“Please,” you rasp weakly. “Please don’t…”

A rough hand bunches your dress up to your hips then rubs over the soft flesh of your thighs. You try to close your legs but he inches his feet between yours and forces them apart. He licks the shell of your ear before taking your earlobe into his mouth and sucks. Heat flows through your veins again, your nerves electrify while you twist and fight against his iron-like grip and heavy weight.

“Are you getting wet for me, princess?” he asks, mockingly rubbing himself against your ass.

“No!” you protest louder and with more conviction, hoping the forcefulness of your response covers for your lie because despite your fear, and you are afraid, your body is undoubtedly aroused and growing more so with every passing second.

“No?” Walker asks. “Are you sure?”

Embarrassment makes you drop your head to the table with a feeble whimper. Why is it that his smug mocking makes you even more aroused? You’re hot and slick beneath your panties and everytime Walker grinds himself against your ass, the fabric of the gusset clings to your sticky lips.

“Are you sure? I think I should check,” he says as his fingers hook the edge of your panties and peels them away slowly. 

Walker’s fingers easily slide over your pussy. You bite the inside of your cheek to try and stop the moan that hurtles up your throat. You try to fight against him, but he’s got you trapped as his fingers stroke and probe between your legs.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking wet,” he mutters throatily, as though he’s talking to himself. Sounding almost amazed, he adds, “You like this.”

Humiliated, you let out a soft cry. You do like it. You like the way he’s touching you even better now than when he first started. His weight pinning you to the table is strangely comforting, and knowing you can’t fight him off is embarrassingly arousing.

He spreads you open and a finger teases your entrance. You hold your breath, your whole body clenches anticipating pain. But he’s gentle as he slips a finger easily inside you and lets out a hard amused breath into your ear and you can imagine the smug grin on his face.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he slides his finger back and forth, each time at a new angle as if he is searching for something. He moans softly as he kisses your neck, sucking and biting hard, such a contrast to how gently his finger explores.

He adds a second finger, you cry out again as he stretches you and you clamp down hard as if you could push him out. He groans in response, his voice erotically guttural, powerful and raw as he growls out, “Your pussy is so fucking tight. So fucking hot.”

His fingers curl and you gasp. It already felt so good, but now there is a pleasant pressure building deep in your gut. Your core throbs and you tighten around him even more and your eyes widen in horror as you realise what is happening.

“No, no, no,” you protest as your thighs begin to shake. 

Tears well in your eyes as your body grows incredibly taut and torrid heat gathers between your legs. You pull on the hand holding your wrists and manage to get one free. You cover your mouth, trying to suppress your cries as your body surrenders to searing heaves of euphoric release that leave your skin tingling and your muscles quivering.

You’re still high, heady and weak from your orgasm as Walker pulls your panties down your thighs. Somewhere in your mind you think you should fight him because you know what's coming next, but your body feels so good that you also crave more. So much so that when Walker takes your hips and turns you before snaking an arm around your waist, you docilely let him lift you onto the table and stand between your bare legs.

Heavy lidded you watch him quickly undo his belt, his movements are a frantic indication of his desire. When he lifts his eyes as his pants drop to the floor your breath catches in your throat. Untamed and bestial lust twists his features, curling his lip and narrowing his cobalt stare.

“Please,” you murmur, the words spilling from your lips without any understanding of what you’re begging for.

Walker bares his teeth with a savage grin and growl, and reaches between his legs. He’s soft and blunt as he drags himself over you, coating the head of his cock in your slick arousal. Your mouth opens and you take a stuttering breath as he positions himself at your core. His arm draws your body close to him as he slowly pushes into you, his eyes dark and wild.

Pressure like you’ve never known makes your core spasm and strain and though you put a hand to his chest to try to slow him down, he doesn’t stop his unyielding intrusion. You think you should want to scream, cry, or at least protest, but your legs wrap around him, pulling him deeper until your bodies meet.

Twin moans float as they hang in the air as you both still. His breath saws in his throat as your every exhale comes out with a soft whimper.  No toy ever stretched you like this and you look down to see your slit bloom and spread around his thick cock. 

“Oh God,” you cry as your head lolls and falls back.

Fingers slip between your lips and pull on your teeth until your eyes meet Walkers. He watches slack-jawed and panting as your mouth closes over his intrusive fingers and the humiliating taste of your orgasm stings your tongue. 

With a growl he removes his fingers and covers your mouth with his, forcing his tongue into your mouth and sucking on yours as if to get a taste for himself. He grazes his whiskers over you, making your skin prickle. Your hand moves to his wrist and slides down his forearm and the powerful muscles dancing beneath his hairy skin feel so good you tighten your grip to feel then contract and flex.

He moves.

With fluid and deliberate rolls of his hips, he grinds against you. His mouth still covers yours and you desperately try to breathe through your nose and not choke on the scream that is poised at the back of your throat. His body moves with erotic grace, confusing your mind with every circling thrust. It shouldn’t feel so good, you don’t want this.

Oh but you do. You so do.

The familiar heat gathers between your legs and your hips, moving with him, chasing him, urging him to move faster, to give you what you need to fall into bliss again. You’re not sure when you went from passive recipient to enthusiastically compliant, but you’re definitely a desperately willing participant now.

Walker leaves your lips and kisses down your throat, groaning as he sucks bruisingly hard on your skin. He works his way to your ear, his cheeks burn your skin as your skin prickles and breaks into sweat.

“Your pussy is too good to waste on another man,” Walker groans. “You’re mine now.”

It takes you a moment to register his words, but when they sink in, irrationally your heart soars.

“All fucking mine,” he growls.

The heat of his breath as he rasps out the words in his harsh and rugged baritone send you over the edge. You clasp and grab at him, trying to hold on as your body shakes and shudders and you bask in that moment where everything all falls away and there's nothing except the surging tides of hot euphoria.

“Fuck,” he snarls, when you open your eyes.

He grabs your ass with one hand and hooks his other arm under your knee, spreading you wide open. He’s no longer grinding, now he’s pumping hard watching himself move in and out of your swollen and sodden core.

He cups the back of your head, drawing your mouth close enough to kiss as he chases his end. His rhythmic frantic thrusts suddenly stop as he lifts his head with a long groan and holds himself deep within you. You inhale a rough breath as he imperceptibly thickens and throbs, shocked that you can actually feel each pulse of his release as it rushes up his cock.

With a final sigh, he drops his head, resting against your lips. You kiss him there softly and your lips sting with the taste of his humid skin as sweat runs down his forehead and into your mouth. It should disgust you, but instead of pulling away you kiss him again before lowering your head and nuzzling into his neck. 

You both stay there for a minute while you catch your breath and try to process what happened. You don’t know what to think, it all happened so fast, and feels so confusing. Part of you knows you should be furious, but somehow you can’t seem to muster the anger at the violation when it felt so good.

His softening cock starts to slip from your core. When it falls you feel unbelievably wet between your legs. He came inside you, you hadn’t even thought about it. A small shiver tickles at your spine. Though your core aches, the thought of his cum leaking from you was so erotic that you almost want to reach between you legs and feel it as it slowly flows from deep inside you.

Walker raises his head, his expression as calm as you’ve ever seen and his normally turbulent eyes seem serene. The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s trying to smile, not smirk or sneer, but genuinely smile.

“I mean it,” he says, pushing errant hairs tenderly off your face. “You’re not fucking him. I’ll find another way to get what we need.”

From the look of grim determination that settles in his jaw, you have no doubts about his seriousness.

“Do I get a say at all?” you ask, your voice still trembling.

“No.”

[the-woman-upstairs]

[kitkat27]

Two Lines

Ilsa discovers life changing information but dealing with Lane again will have to come first …

Posted on ao3 - kit_kat_27

Thank you sooooo much to @justabigassnerd for putting up with me for the last couple of months while I’ve been writing. Couldn’t have done it without your support!

It will becoming a series hopefully (comment if you want on the taglist)

Please let me know what you guys think. I’ve not done a lot of romance and haven’t written for about 2 yrs so I’m a bit rusty. This is my first fic in this fandom, it’s one of the longest I’ve written and one of my first fight scenes. Ignore grammar and spelling mistakes. This will be posted on ao3 too !

Two lines. Two definite pink lines. Two lines blink back at her confirming her suspicions. Two lines that will now change her life from this exact moment.

Two lines that couldn't be erased. Lines that confirm her body was right. All the signs that she had been dodging confirmed her fears.

Fingers grazed against her abdomen, as if her fingers were scared if they lingered too long it would confirm her fears.

This had been at the bottom of her list, hell after being with the syndicate for two years it had been erased from it. And for finding out, a derelict safe house in rural Denmark was not the scenario she had thought of many years ago.

She had snagged the test the other week and let it burn a hole in her bag until she was going to pop under the pressure.

She'd finally given in to the pressure at the safehouse with the safety of knowing the boys wouldn't be back for another couple of hours.

But now she wasn’t sure what to do, sitting in the bathroom staring at the two pink lines. For once in her life she didn't have the next step already planned. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there as the sounds of the boys inthe driveway indicated their return.

Not wanting Ethan to find out yet, she needed to wrap her brain around it first, she shoved the test down into the depths of her bag where she hoped it would stay hidden until she was ready to tell.

‐—--------------‐—-----------------

Solomon Lane was a name that kept appearing, though all four wished it didn't. Every time they thought they were done he would reappear.

And so they were, here again, staring at the computer each wishing that if the computer was closed and reopened it would be gone, and they could go back to chilling in their safe house.

But alas, they did. Brandt, who now made secretary, had sent them an email after word had gotten out that Lane had escaped Alana's grip and had not been handed over to MI6.

Nobody knew if either Alanna or the Mi6 had played a part in his escape. You can only trust a broker so much, Alanna would always think of herself no matter what she had promised.

But the wind was that he had escaped to Europe where some of his still, somehow, loyal followers remained. The organization was heading to a remote village in Kashmir threatening to release a nuclear bomb that would starve a third of the world's population.

Brandt was warning them to take these hints about Lane with a pinch of salt as it wasn't said who had given them this information and to approach the entire case with caution.

She was going to have to put telling Ethan, he would end the mission before it even started if she told him now the news on the back burner for now. If Lane found out they were carrying new information he wouldn't stop till he found.

————————————-

They split up once they reached the camp, Lane would stand out like a sore thumb in the remote village.

Ethan and Luther took to the nearby medical camp, leaving Benji and Ilsa to tackle the village. Ethan and Ilsa didn’t want to split, they worked better together but Lane would be wanting them to be together.

Once they reached the village, they split again to cover more ground while keeping each other in sight. Well, it was more Ilsa keeping an eye on Benji as she was concerned about Benji running into Lane alone again.

She knew he’d passed field tests and could hold his own, but he didn’t have the same skills or experience. She and Ethan had an unspoken agreement that they’d always put themselves in the firing line before Luther and Benji.

Making her way around the village, she did her best to stay under the radar. Lane had predicated all their movements but she had wanted to at least try to be in front. Out of the main village, on the outskirts, a lone house stood. Void of any women or children hanging outside, drawing her to it.

‘Benji, I may have a lead, stay close by and on comms. We'll draw attention if we both go ‘

Her fellow brit already began to panic at her evading the laid out plan, ‘‘Ilsa, you know what etha-’

‘Stay close by, I need to do this’ and with that, she blocked out the following Benji ramble.

Nothing on the outside balcony gave any clues to Lane. Pausing at the bottom of the steps, she could hear Benji arguing in her ear and threatening to switch on Ethan’s earpiece knowing he would stop this.

But she wanted to, no she needed to take on Lane herself.

She needed to find some form of closure from the years she worked in the syndicate, and the pain and torture he put her friends through.

Some closure for the nights she woke up screaming. All the years by herself, all the years alone, he needed to repay.

She made her way into the house. with each step she took her mind was on overdrive, her eyes darting back and forth making sure her six was covered.

Training would tell her that walking through an open door is a trap. Sweeping the first room, there was nothing in the house that wasn't covered in dust or had seen better days.

A blur of movement occurred in her peripheral vision of a figure moving to another room. Mentally apologizing to Ethan and the boys she followed.

The room was the same as the last a movement attracting her to a darkened section of the room causing her to turn aro-

A blinding pain across the back of her skull turned her vision white.

With the back of her head throbbing leaving her frozen, another blow to her lower back dropped her to the ground, the world turning black.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘Ilsa, Ilsa. I know you can hear me. I'm a second away from calling Ethan’. This wasn't a good idea.

‘Ilsa you better respond’

Why couldn't Luther have gone with Ilsa, she listened to him the most. Luther was the only one who sometimes could reign her in these situations.

Ilsa’s tracker showed her around the edge of the village, where Lane would want her. He would know she would split from the group and that she would tackle him alone. Pulling out his phone he sent a message to Luther, warning of his worries without alerting Ethan.

He readied his gun as he spotted the lonely house in front of him. Why could the bad guys never be sitting in a coffee shop ready to hand themselves over after grabbing a latte?

Silence. The house was empty. 2 spies would be quiet but shouldn’t be completely silent.

Sweeping all the rooms in the house, the worry grew with every increasing minute he spent with no sign of Ilsa or Lane.

‘ Ilsa, Ilsa are you i-’, blood.

Blood. Ilsa’s gun.

Blood, a lot of blood for a spy who was the best of the best.

‘ Benji, where are you?’, shit Ethan.

‘ The house at the end of the village, Ilsa spotted Lane here and went after him. She’s-’, doing this over comms would be easier than face to face, ‘she’s not here Ethan. Lane has her, she's injured’

Ethan never panicked but he’d never had someone like Ilsa in his life before.

The one warning he had given to the team was to not take Lane on alone, especially Ilsa. She had failed tests towards the end of her undercover stint. She wouldn't be lucky the next time she ran into Lane alone.

Lane and Ilsa were stubborn and hot-headed, with an intense hatred for each other, what would happen when the two were reunited Ethan didn't want to know.

In the safe house in Denmark she had acted a little off, an unknown fear had flickered across her face when their time off in Denmark was being cut short.

Benji was waiting for them on the porch of the house, panic written over his face. He didn't waste time looking in the house, no point subjecting his heart to what she had gone through.

Circling the house there was almost nothing to go on until he came across faint footsteps leading away from the home to some soft tire tracks in the distance.

There were only 2 sets of prints, both too big for Ilsa. Lane had a plan in mind for another location. She would be no match for him unconscious and drugged. Luther and Benji hung back letting him decide on what to do next.

The tracks led deep into the mountains. Wasting no time in telling the other two what or where he was going, he began sprinting back to where they had left the car at the medical camp,

‘I’ll get you two as I come past’

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

A pounding pain pulsed at the back of her head. The first effort in opening her eyes sent a shockwave of pain around her skull. The second she managed to open them she noticed a figure sitting in front of her.

‘Nice of you to finally join me’. The figure chuckled, ‘It took a large amount of drugs to keep you knocked out. I trained you well.’

Lane.

A haggard version of the man she spent 2 years doing every bidding.

‘We’re owed a reunion and a rematch don't we, my dear Ilsa’. He took her face in his hands his callused hands tightening around her jaw, smirking she was putty in his hands.

‘You're not speaking my dear? I thought you'd have plenty to say to me’.

Heading towards the open door he turned at the doorway, ‘I'm gonna give you time to think until that pretty boyfriend of yours figures out where we are. Then I’ll be a man and kill you myself.’

Taking notice of her current predicament, she noted her ankles and wrists were bound tight, sores already forming.

As she was deciding on whether to dislocate her thumb, her wrist snagged on a sharp edge on the back of the chair. All the spy movies loved this cliché and for once she was glad it was happening.

She had to work fast, not knowing when Lane would come back into the hut. Her wrists released themselves from their binding, she immediately worked on releasing her legs fingernails beginning to bleed at the frantic speed at which she was working.

Click.

A loaded gun. The cold metal was placed against her forehead ‘My sweet Ilsa, I always am shown why Atlee chose you. You never disappoint’

Glancing upwards, she met Lane's eyes his gaze cold but joyful. He loved getting a rise out of those who crossed him.

‘I'm glad’

Neither of them moved both poised, when all of a sudden it was like a bullet had been fired and the fight began.

Drawing a knife from her boot, she lunged for Lane whilst grabbing his gun with the other hand. Knocking him backwards from the force of her attack, the gun falling from his grasp.

Swiping her blade aiming for his throat but taking any damage that would occur. The surprise of her attack quickly wore off, Lane began to block her attempts with his own.

A fist collided with her cheek and knocked her back a step. Another landing on her ribs sent an alarming crunch throughout the room.

She folded in on herself, exaggerating her pain from the broken ribs, waiting until he was close enough till she could grab a hold of his arm and use his momentum to flip him over her back.

Before Lane had a chance to react she threw herself on top of him wrapping her hands around his throat and applying all the pressure she could.

He scrambled underneath, fear in his eyes at the strength of her attack, attempting to rip her hands off him. She was squeezing with all her might but her power was in using her thighs to choke. Lane knew her inside and out she didn't want to be too predictable.

She was about to change tactics when a hand in her hair dragged her backwards with such force throwing her against the wall of the hut.

Not taking any time to find out who had joined, she kicked out at her attacker's legs. Swiping their feet, toppling them onto a winded Lane giving her the chance to run for it out the open door.

She had no plan but to run as far away as she could, Ethan was bound to be looking for her now. How far she would get she didn’t know, the pounding in her head was beginning to grow and the broken ribs were stealing her ability to breathe.

The sound of a twig snapping alerted her to someone coming up behind her, the drugs were making it harder and harder for her to react. Her body was now just running on pure fear to keep herself alive long enough for Ethan to find her.

Her new companion spun her around, her arms subconsciously wrapped themselves around her stomach, revealing their identity.

‘Trevligt att se dig igen. Du kommer inte bli lika lätt den här gången’.

Viktor. The bone doctor.

He had a talent for evading death. She wanted to either run or fight back but her limbs had suddenly become heavy. All she could do was watch Viktor as he got a firm grip on her arm and he plunged her own knife deep into her shoulder.

‘Karma är en jävel, eller hur? det gör väl ont ?’

All she could do was keep her body upright as he smirked at the blood pooling on her shoulder and grabbed the handle twisting the blade deeper. Blinding pain took over her body as she felt the blade twist deeper, she was not sure how much longer she could hold on.

‘ILSA !!!’, when did Ethan get here? She could barely see his figure moving towards her as her vision began to swim and her body felt like a lead weight as she fell to the ground protecting her stomach.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Pulling up over the top of the mountain, chaos and horror awaited him. Ilsa writhed in the grip of Viktor, his vicelike grip being the only thing that was keeping her upright. She wasnt fighting back, her arms hung loosely at her sides, there was no recognition of her knowing he was there her eyes glassy and unfocused.

The powerful, badass spy he normally knew was not the one he was currently running towards. A breath hair away from reaching Ilsa, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she dropped to the ground her body curling in on itself. Viktor let go as if she was a discarded ragdoll he no longer wanted to torture.

Resisting running to her side immediately, he focused on Viktor. He wasnt going to let him off lightly this time. He was going to make sure he was dead this time, and let one shot from his gun hit the centre of Viktor's heart dropping the swede instantly.

He didn't want to fight the man, it wasnt worth the risk of getting injured fighting a man double his height. Somehow Lane had slipped away again. Hopefully, for good, Ilsa was on the brink of death and he’d mentally manipulated Ethan, all everything he set out to achieve

The helicopter blades could be heard coming over the mountain top, Benji had mentioned as they drove that Julia was working at the medical camp, he must have sent a call for help as they reached the scene.

He wasn't gonna let go of Ilsa until they pried her out of his hands. Her body felt like glass in his hands, the blood flowing out of the knife wound wasn’t slowing her face getting paler as the seconds went on.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Looking at Ilsa’s results, something was wrong. Ilsa was above peak physical condition, nothing should show up abnormal. All standard tests, which included a pregnancy test for any female regardless, had been run and she should pass all.

Shit.

Her hCG levels were elevated.

Ilsa was pregnant. Ilsa was expecting Ethan's baby.

She was 3 months pregnant. This would explain why Ilsa's body fought them when she was brought in, her body was protecting the baby.

Grabbing the abdominal ultrasound she wondered if Ethan knew. Ilsa had broken down her walls around him but was this a wall that either had discussed? Ethan hadn’t mentioned anything when they rescued Ilsa and neither of the boys had shown signs of knowing.

Running the ultrasound over Ilsa’s stomach the relieving sound of the baby's heartbeat filled the small tent. Well, she hoped it was relieving, hell did Ilsa know herself?

She suspected she did from the Brit cradling her stomach as she drifted in and out of consciousness during the flight. The heartbeat was steady, the baby was safe and healthy which was lucky considering what Ilsa had been through in the last 24 hours.

The radio attached to her hip crackled to life announcing the helicopter making its way back with the rest of the team. They had to leave them behind to make room for them to work on Ilsa. Luther had to hold onto a struggling Ethan, who had fought with all his might to come with them.

She had about 5 minutes before they would get back to the tent, giving her enough time to pack any baby-related items away. She figured Ilsa needed to be the one to tell Ethan herself.

As she was busying herself with tidying, the heart rate of the British agent signalled she was beginning to ruse. Eyes flickered open to meet hers, pain whimpers followed as she came to.

With a hand on her none injured shoulder, she spoke softly ‘Ilsa, hey it's ok. It's Julia, you're in the med camp. You're injured from the kidnapping and fight, Ethan and the team are safe and are on their way.’

Once the meaning of her words sunk in, Ilsa began to calm. ‘ I, I…’

‘Don't push yourself, save your voice for Ethan’, striking blue eyes travelled along the spy’s own body taking note of the injuries and finally landing on her stomach.

Knowing the question she was thinking, she answered for her,

‘The baby is fine. You're about 12 weeks, I’ve not put it in your notes and told the team to not tell the others-’ Ilsa then met her eyes ‘- I figured you'd want to tell them’.

Hearing the helicopter land in the distance, she put the last piece of equipment away before turning back to Ilsa.

‘Whatever you decide to do, I'm here. Whatever is running through your head, ignore it, Ethan will be happy whatever you decide. He loves you and will support you through every step.’

Ilsa spoke for the first time since waking ‘Than- thank you, Julia. I want Ethan’

Returning the smile, she placed a gentle kiss on her friend's hairline ‘He’s arriving at the camp now, he’ll be here any minute’ before making her way out of the tent.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The helicopter hadn’t even turned its blades off before he was barreling out of it tearing along the path to the med tent.

Finding the main tent he bumped into Eric who was making his way out, grasping his arm as he passed ‘ It was touch and go, we did lose her once but she's ok. She’s asking for you.

She seemed at peace lying on the small hospital bed, monitors surrounding her, a rhythmic beeping sound. The sound reaffirms Eric's words, but he needed to see for himself.

A black eye and a bandage going from her eyebrow to the hairline adorned the left side of her face. A blanket was drawn up to mid chest leaving her shoulders bare showing the thick bandaging adorning where the knife had been mere hours ago.

Her eyes were closed but he knew she wasn't sleeping, she wouldn't until they were back in a safehouse. Reaching her side, he resisted reaching out; he didn't know what had happened between her and Lane.

As if she could read his mind, ‘It's ok, Ethan. I need you please’.

Avoiding the painful side of her face, he cupped her cheek in his hand and placed a gentle kiss on her lips which she faintly reciprocated.

His lips rested on hers as he placed his forehead tenderly against hers. Neither spoke for a while both basking in each other's touch.

The warmth of her skin under his, reminded him she was here. She was back with him. The warmth reminded him how close he had been to losing her up on the mountains.

Blue eyes met his, saying all the words she needed to say to put his mind at rest. That she was back with him and not to beat himself up.

Though the comfort in her eyes turned to concern, ‘Ethan, I. There’s something. I have something I need to tell you ’. There was an intense look on her face as if her thoughts were fighting with each other

He wasn’t sure what was happening. Since getting together both of them had worked together on communication with each other, good or bad.

Ilsa gazed off into the distance seemingly afraid to meet his eye contact. ‘ I was going to tell you back in Denmark but I didn’t want you knowing and risking Lane knowing too. I just need to know that whatever happens, you’ll stay here. Please don’t run as I’m just as scared as you.’

He kept quiet, instead reaching out to hold her hands stilling them from the anxiously fidgeting.

‘I. Ive been noticing symptoms for the last few weeks that i was putting down to the back to back missions, hoping that avoidingg them would make them go away. Ethan. Ive been late for the last few weeks. Ive been tired, hungry and nauseated all the time’, she finally looked back at him letting the words sink in.

He couldnt believe what she was telling him. His mind was numb, he had never thought about this step in his life. Neither of them had so it was inevitable the way they messed around.

The fear of his reaction was scaring her,‘Ethan please say something’.

He seemed lost in his head before that classic Ethan smile adorned his face ‘You’re… pregnant ? We’re having a baby ?’. He seemed to start vibrating with excitement as she guided his hand to rest on her stomach.

"We're having a baby Ethan. We’re becoming parents’

His other hand came to rest under her chin tilting her face towards him, keeping his other resting on her nonexistent bump ‘ I love you. I love you. Whatever you decide to do next I will support you every step of the way. I never thought I’d become a father, but I am so excited to take this path with you’

The emotions were too much to answer him so she pulled him to bring his lips to hers communcting her feelings to him. She was scared of what was to come in the coming months as she stepped into the world of motherhood but she knew that Ethan would be by her side every step of the way.

Swedish translation- nice to see you again. You won't be getting off as easy this time

“Karma is a bitch, isn't it. That hurts, doesn't it?

@radical-sky @izzypuppybutt @justabigassnerd

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Blind Offer Masterlist

Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that’s too good to be true. (short!plus!reader, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Lloyd Hansen, August Walker)

Status: In Progress

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

[poledancingdinos]

Good Girls Get Rewarded

Pairing: August Walker (1st person POV) X OFC

Word Count: 1238 words

Warnings: Stripper OFC, Smut, Oral (M receiving), Creampie, Hickeys, D/S dynamics

Taglist : @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha​ @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958

A/N: Just a quick little piece of pure filth

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

The moment we crossed the threshold, our clothes started to come off. Her long coat was thrown over the back of the couch, along with my suit jacket, and my shirt was left somewhere down the hall. She managed to take it off me while I carried her through the house, using her ever impressive core strength to hold herself up without the help of her hands. It’s lucky she picked a dress with a slit in the skirt otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to wrap her legs around my waist.

When I set her down in the bedroom, my little kitten plants both hands on my shoulders and gives a sharp push. She’s far from having the strength required to move me if I don’t want to be moved but I’m not opposed to seeing what devilish desires she’s cooked up in her pretty little head. I let myself fall back onto the mattress, pulling both arms behind my head and unashamedly flexing my biceps as her gaze roams over my bare chest.

She is practically licking her lips as she pulls her dress over her head and tosses it aside. It’s my turn to look over her form, an appreciative groan unintentionally sounding from my chest. She looks damned good in her matching black lace bra and panties and she knows as much.

She plants a knee on the bed and straddles my waist. My hands immediately find her thighs, pulling them apart and forcing her hips lower. I never lift my hands from her body as we kiss, groping her ass then moving up her back to unhook her bra.

My lips are on her breasts the moment the flimsy fabric disappears. I have every intention to paint her skin with love bites and make sure that anyone who lays eyes on her tomorrow knows that she is owned by another man. I am the luckiest fucker in the world and I am not above admitting it. Though I know she wants to be mine as much as I want her to be, the jealous, possessive beast inside demands I stake my claim. It’s a good thing she likes it.

Two small hands wrap around my wrists, pinning my hands above his head. 

“I was good.”

I smirk. It’s a statement not a question. She knows she was on her best behaviour tonight which is why I’ve been indulging this little power trip of hers. The director was very impressed with the elegant, poised and breathtakingly beautiful woman gracing my arm at the gala. If anyone recognized her from the club, they didn’t have the balls to mention it which means I didn’t have to break any jaws.

“You were,” I confirm.

She isn’t wearing her regular makeup, instead opting for an event appropriate style that makes her look almost innocent. We both know she is anything but.

She wiggles her hips on the already rock hard member still stuck in the confines of my pants.

“I want a taste.”

Smart girl, trying to top from the bottom. Normally, I’d have her on her knees or I would have a hand fisted in her hair, never fully giving up control.

“Take me out, Kitten.”

She smiles victoriously and reaches to unbuckle my belt. I move further up the bed, lifting my hips to help her work my pants and briefs down my legs. My head settles against the pillow as she crawls back up the mattress. She lowers her mouth until her breath fans against my skin, making my cock jerk, but she knows well enough to wait for permission before taking things any further. I let the anticipation build until she releases a small whine.

“Put your mouth on my cock.”

She greedily swallows my length, making herself gag, but that doesn’t deter her. She lavishes my cock while keeping her wicked gaze locked on mine the whole time. I’m already really fucking close to blowing my load down her throat but I will not give her the satisfaction.

Reaching down, I pull her off and flip her onto her back. In the next second, her sexy little panties are torn in two and she’s screaming as I split her open. I’m big but she can take it.

Her hands claw at the bedsheets then my forearms, seeking something to hold on to as I pound into her at a furious pace. She’s so turned on, her juices drip down between her ass cheeks and smear over my thighs. On a different day I would be dying to get a taste of her sweet cream but tonight I’m on a mission to punish her as much as I reward her. Afterall, I can’t let her forget who is in charge.

One of my hands gropes at her breast while my other wraps under her thigh and twists her onto her side. The shift in angle causes a new series of moans to spill from her pouty lips and her fingers trail down her stomach in search of her most sensitive spot. I bat her hand away, growling in my displeasure.

“I didn’t say you could touch what’s mine.”

“Please, Sir.”

“If you’re such a good girl, use your words and tell me what you want.”

Her eyes narrow at me, attempting to look menacing but a particularly hard trust causes them to shut completely.

“Oh fuck!”

I don’t stop my assault, pinching her nipple between my finger and my thumb while I sink my teeth into her inner calf.

“Sir, I need to come. Can you please make me come?”

“I don’t think you’re desperate yet.” She’s close but I want her to beg and that was not good enough.

“Please! I want your fingers on my pussy and I want you to fuck me until it hurts. I want to come, please.”

I release her leg, leaning down to leave more hickeys along the line of her throat. I love when she styles her hair up. It gives me unobstructed access to mark her up and to drive her a little crazy.

“Good girl. Begging so pretty for me.”

I have just enough room to snake a hand between our bodies and press my thumb against her clit. My scalp stings where her fingers tangle themselves in my hair, holding on as I fuck her with abandon. I was close earlier with her devilish tongue against my shaft but now, balls deep inside the wet heat of her pussy, my entire body is on fire.

I feel the moment the coil snaps. Her entire body shivers, her walls pulsing around my cock and pulling me over the edge with her. I manage three more thrusts before sinking to the hilt and pressing my pelvis flush against hers.

We both remain still save for the heavy rise and fall of our chests as we catch our breaths. I’m the first to break the bubble of our post-orgasmic bliss, untangling myself from my bratty pet.

When I return from the bathroom with a damp cloth, she looks me straight in the eye as her hand reaches between her legs, using two fingers to scoop up some of my seed and licking them clean of our combined releases.

The action is so unbelievably filthy that it already has me sporting another partial.

“I was good,” she purrs. “Now I want to go back to being bad.”

Part 4