#ilsa faust fanfic

[radical-sky]

Shelter, part 1

don't you ever leave me alone, my war is over, be my shelter from the storm

One year post-Fallout, Ilsa joins the IMF, partnering with Ethan and his team. After their first mission goes catastrophically wrong, Ethan sacrifices himself in a desperate bid to save Ilsa's life. Believing he failed and she's dead, Ethan suffers the consequences of the unsuccessful mission. Five months later, the team - and Ilsa, get him out.

pairing: Ilsa/Ethan

wordcount: 4.1k

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, violence, graphic depictions/descriptions of torture and the aftermath, pregnancy, very minor mention of a suicide attempt.

AO3 (user restricted) here

ENDLESS thank you to the truly amazing @agentfaust for the most thorough, in depth, and detailed beta anyone has ever given me. You are phenomenal babe!!

Ilsa can’t remember the last time she was tempted to fidget, all nervous ticks trained out of her before she was even with MI6. The old habits have never been as tempting as they are now, standing in a cold and damp third-world prison waiting for Ethan to be brought out to her.

Well, not just her. The White Widow stands next to her, her brother not far away. He scowls at Ilsa, not happy to be here and not happy to risk his and his sister’s lives on a job for her. It’s nothing sanctioned (if any members of your team are caught or killed, the secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions) but the moment Benji had finally, finally found Ethan the team had gotten things moving as quickly as possible. Luther and Benji worked their computers nearly 24 hours a day, and Ilsa called favors and made connections in country wherever she could. Even Brandt was helping, pulling strings and doing as much as he could legally behind the scenes while staying their inside man at the IMF.  

Luther or Benji (it doesn’t matter now because they both had been trying their damnedest to get it done) had hacked into the security system in the prison; cameras in every cell, interrogation room, the hallways. Not that any of them needed to see what they were doing to Ethan (in the two weeks since she first saw him on the grainy camera feed it’s all she sees when she closes her eyes, doesn’t need audio to hear his screams and the sounds they rip from his throat, or backdated footage to catalog what tool made each scar or bleeding wound on his body. Those pictures will be seared in her brain for all eternity. She wants and yearns and rages at the sacrifice he made for her, for them, and falls asleep with a screen playing live footage from his cell in her lap, showing him pressed back into the corner of the tiny cage, curled up protectively, shivering or trembling she can’t tell. Wishing she could tell him somehow I’m coming. I will get you out. I haven’t forgotten about you. you’re not disavowed to me. I’m sorry. I’m so terribly sorry Ethan). 

They don’t have to watch the footage for long to decide that any escape that depends on Ethan getting himself out won’t happen. Without government backing and even with Brandt’s help they don’t have the resources or the manpower to storm the prison and break him out. That left one option, and it wasn’t one that any of them liked. The White Widow hadn’t been the least bit interested in taking a call from Ilsa until she’d said John Lark needs your help. 

The team had debated on how to refer to Ethan, desperately wanting to keep his identity as an American agent secret. They knew he hadn’t revealed it, the terrorists would have auctioned him off or killed him if he had. The White Widow knew him as John Lark, and that was all it took. From there Alanna was easily bargained into breaking him out. To Ilsa’s trained eye she could tell Ethan intrigued the other woman. It wasn’t a jealous realization, wasn’t even a shock. It’s Ethan - people are drawn to him, he’s magnetic without even trying or meaning to be. Without even being in the room he can convince people to take jobs that are completely against what they usually do. Ilsa can speak to it herself, she knew she was burning a bridge when she saved him the first time, but despite her past, she couldn’t watch Vinter kill him in the most painful way possible. She’s never been in a relationship like the one with Ethan, drawn in and ready to sacrifice the mission for someone else. Ilsa had been ready to be out of the game for a long time, before Kashmir had believed that it would never - could never - happen. Ethan changed that. Changed her reasons for wanting out. She didn’t plan on falling in love when she tossed him the key in London.

Breaking him out had been the original plan, but when Zola studied the camera footage, guard patterns, and security he decided it would cost too many men. A second plan was formed, and the White Widow had brokered a trade as diplomatically as she always had; the prisoner who was arrested after a motorcycle accident on terrorism charges 5 months ago traded for cash and enough weapons for a small personal army. Ilsa knows she should be as worried about what the weapons will be used for as the rest of the team, but even though she is part of them now, she operated differently for so long that she’s almost forgotten what it’s like to have those concerns. It’s Ethan, surely any price is worth his freedom? (Deep down Ilsa knows Ethan would disagree, loudly, with his dying breath, that his own life is not worth a single innocent life.) Benji and Luther had come up with a secondary mission, running alongside the retrieval to guarantee there would be no innocent lives lost because of the weapons traded for him. It took another week for Alanna to acquire the weapons, leaving ample time for the team to gather the cash for Ethan and the separate cash for Alanna, one-half of the price for her involvement in the exchange. Alanna, just like the terrorists, had also required a two part payment, unable to pass up an opportunity when it presented itself to her. Ilsa doesn’t worry about the other half of Alanna’s fee, it's a problem for later. After Ethan is back and healed and whole again. She hopes he won’t be too furious with her for agreeing to it on his behalf. 

So, now here she is. Not fidgeting. Not twisting her ankle or flexing her calf muscles and imaging she can feel the rods and pins holding her leg together, or the scar where her tibia bone punched through the skin of her calf, not twisting her arm and feeling knitted scars where the bones ground together excruciatingly. 

And above all else she’s not resting her hand on the barely there bump on her stomach, the bump invisible and hidden beneath a loose blouse and trench coat. Invisible to everyone who doesn’t know her and Ethan’s secret. 

———

The first mission wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

It was supposed to be easy and wonderful and the start of the greatest partnership of his life. 

So of course, like everything else in his life, it went to shit in 5 minutes. 

He and Ilsa had never exactly named The Thing between them, except that it was theirs. He didn’t tell Benji and Luther (although greatly suspected Luther knew and Benji was suspicious), and Ilsa being a free agent didn’t have anyone to tell. They were each other's greatest secret, greatest weakness, greatest compromise. Because they did compromise each other. There was no question after they’d saved each other so many times, sacrificing the mission for them. The Thing started simply. After handing Lane off to MI6 they spent a week in London exploring each other's bodies carefully around broken ribs and bruised necks (and how he had enjoyed adding his marks to her neck and having her hands on his chest) telling stories and sharing the private, secret parts of themselves no one else knew - then a night Cape Town, a weekend in Moscow, six hours in Brussels, two days in Paris, traveling 8 hours to spend half that time in her hotel room in Athens. Whenever they could and their schedules overlapped enough, or if they even happened to be in the same time zone, they were together. 

After Julia, he didn’t think he’d ever feel this way about another woman. 

Any chance he could he’d pull her into his missions. Anything to have her by his side. Ilsa was always available and never said no. She was traveling a lot, but he didn’t think she was taking any other jobs as a free agent, waiting for him to call her and almost always close by. Ethan had wondered many times if she declined jobs and traveled to follow him, just close enough it was convenient. When Brandt told him Sloane had given him the approval to extend the offer of a permanent position with the IMF - with Ethan’s team - to Ilsa he was perhaps the happiest he’d ever been. The two of them together - partners - properly, permanently. 

He never thought he’d be considering marriage again either.

So it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise when it fell apart. The plan failed. His backup scenarios ran out. There were no more moves, no more chess pieces. So when he wrecked and went down, Ilsa dead in his earpiece, Benji too late to save her, a part of him, all hope, died with her. When he saw his pursuers approaching he was relieved, he’d never been so ready or willing to meet death than in that moment. To go where Ilsa would be waiting for him. He was already halfway there, a piece of rebar in his chest, internal injuries too numerous to catalog, his leg didn’t feel right, arm wouldn’t lift. Ethan closed his eyes, ready for the bullet that would end his life. 

He certainly hadn’t expected them to take him alive, put him in the hospital, and get him just healthy enough that he’d survive the torture, and survive he did, but not as Ethan Hunt. As something else, a shell of a human. All hope lost. No prayer of rescue. He knew he was disavowed and no help would be coming. He tried to escape, more than once. Each time failed and each time it got worse. So he kept his mouth shut and took what they gave him. Didn’t utter a word except for the screams and shouts when it became too much. He’d already failed everything and everyone else. He couldn’t fail here. Couldn’t stand to betray his country on top of it all. 

When his captors told him he was being traded for goods more valuable than him, he knew he had to end it or escape. He couldn’t do this indefinitely. Eventually, he’d break and the shell would crack and he’d be human again. So he plotted and planned, and when they came for him he knew what he had to do. His final mission, the last plan, the one to end it all. 

———

The far door opens with a clang and three guards file in, dragging a body by a chain between them. 

She’d known it would be shocking seeing him again and was already braced for what condition he’d be in, but she wasn’t quite prepared for how awful it would be to come face to face with the consequences of her own failures. How jarring it’d be to see Ethan so still and lifeless, compliant. She would’ve guessed he’d die before giving up. 

Ilsa is the cynical one, she knows the harsh realities and cruelties of this world. She’s practical. She’s been the torturer and the assassin with no regard for the lives she’s affecting. But not Ethan, it was never supposed to be him that faced down the darkness of her world and had to, somehow, come out the other side. Ilsa has already done that. Too many times to count. It’s made her who she is and she’s not prepared to be on the opposite side of that. Ilsa had been alone for so long before him and no one had ever protected her like this before - sacrificing themselves to shield her from her own mistake. She hopes it hasn’t destroyed Ethan. Taken away his loyalty, compassion, the ability to see goodness in everyone, or the desire to protect everyone. It takes every bit of her not to step forward and cradle his body to hers when another guard grabs his legs and the two men toss Ethan into the center of the room. 

Ethan hits the ground with a thud and multiple wet coughs. 

“Fucker tried to kill himself. Been a long time since he’s had that much energy.”

Fury, hatred, and grief all ripple through her at the words, but the man spoke in his native tongue, one she isn’t supposed to speak. She keeps her face and body language impassive. This isn’t a man she’s deeply in love with. He’s a job, a mission required in the course of her duties. Nothing more than the man her employers want her to hunt down and bring to them. 

If only it were that simple.

Ilsa steps forward and crouches in front of Ethan, fisting her hand into his hair. She pulls up harshly, detaching her mind from her body and what she is about to do. (Her mind is raking her eyes over him, unable to focus on one thing because her attention is immediately drawn to something else. There’s a thick chain fastened around his neck, tight to his skin and surrounded by some of the deepest bruising she’s ever seen. The end of it trails out from his neck, a mocking and sick impersonation of a leash. His hands are bound behind his back with rope that’s splotchy bright red with new blood and dark almost black of old, dried blood. She can’t see the skin of his wrists. She doesn’t want to. He’s shirtless and Ilsa can count his ribs where they protrude from his chest and the vertebrae of his spine down his scarred and bleeding back. She can identify where and what bones of his bare feet and hands have been broken and healed wrong because she’s done that, she’s broken those bones on prisoners before. She wonders what his legs look like under the ripped and torn tac pants he’s still wearing from the mission. Each breath rattles in and out across lips that are cracked and bleeding. Her eyes jump across him and she is seething, furious, ready to burn down th-) Ethan’s glare is still defiant when their eyes meet, and before he recognizes her he spits a wad of blood and saliva into her face. He starts to speak in a hoarse, raspy voice completely foreign to him “you might as well just kil-”

He cuts off as he realizes it’s her. Almost instantly his face collapses into the most profound display of grief and heartbreak and utter relief she’s ever seen. It’s an expression meant to be carved in marble, painted and displayed in a museum, or preserved in a book for all eternity but not on someone's face. Human beings aren’t supposed to look like that, especially not at her. Not for her, when she’s done so much wrong. There’s blood running from his bruised nose and congealing in the sparse hair on his lip. The smack she delivers to his face adds more to it. 

“Хуй!” She swears in Russian and wipes her face as she stands and pushes Ethan away. 

There is a simmering beast of rage burning within her. She has killed and tortured and maimed and done things that haunt her. Nothing will haunt her as much as the way his face instantly shuts off, all the emotion in his expression a moment before disappears. He doesn’t flinch or wince with the slap. Just takes it, and flops motionless to the ground. He’s nothing, a blank slate as if Ethan is gone, and here is his corpse. 

“This is the target.” Ilsa still speaks in Russian, accent perfect, with no hint that it’s not her native tongue. No hint of the swirling emotions within her. She nods to the prison warden. Alanna, face a perfect mask, passes the backpack stacked full of cash to him. 

“We can continue with the exchange then. I assure you, it’s all there. Couldn’t stay in the business like this if we didn’t ensure all terms were met on both sides.” Alanna says, perfect smile in place. Underneath it though, her skin has paled a shade. Shocked by the brutality Ethan has suffered. 

The man takes it, a slimy grin exposing yellow teeth as he hands it to another man who excuses himself to count it. 

“When my man confirms it you’re free to leave with him.” He rakes a dirty hand through his greasy hair and sends both women another nauseating smile. 

Only in your wildest dreams, Ilsa thinks as she nods to him again. She expected nothing less, to everyone else this is nothing more than a business transaction.

The room waits in silence, save for Ethan’s rattling breaths. She glances at the White Widow whose face has gone another shade paler as she looks more closely at Ethan. Her brother behind her looks grim but is no longer glaring at Ilsa. 

She refocuses on Ethan. He hasn’t moved since she slapped and pushed him back to the ground, hasn’t even turned his head so his face isn’t resting on the floor. His breaths begin to take on a wet quality and she steps over to him with less urgency than she feels. Ilsa pauses when she gets to him as if she’s considering, and carelessly uses her foot to push him up and onto his shoulder, the closest she can get him to the recovery position. 

“Can’t have you dying before my employers get their hands on you can we?” She says, her voice low as she crouches back in front of him, trying to meet his eyes and communicate with just a glance like they used to. His stare is dead ahead, eyes unfocused. There’s a small pool of blood where his face was just resting on the ground, more running from his nose and mouth. It’s concerning, but not enough to be immediately life-threatening alone. She’s not sure if paired with the rest of his injuries and the disassociation it’s a significant concern. 

She stays crouched by him, listening to his breathing and watching his chest rise and fall jerkily, winces as she can his broken ribs flex and expand under the skin that’s practically molded to them he’s so thin. 

Ilsa stands when the outer door opens and the man who counted the money nods. 

The warden looks at them, “It seems our terms have been met, the terrorist is yours. My men will move him to your vehicle. It’s a pleasure to do business with you, perhaps next time we’ll meet under more pleasurable circumstances.”

Ilsa wants to punch the man square in his smug face, maybe whip around his back and break his neck with her thighs. Instead, she nods and motions two guards forward. 

“Carry him. My employers will not appreciate any more damage to the goods.”

The warden translates, and there is a brief bickering back and forth before the guards begrudgingly scoop Ethan up by his feet and under his arms. It’s not a long walk to the roof of the compound, but it still concerns Ilsa that Ethan doesn’t move or flinch throughout the journey no matter how many times the guards carelessly let him bump into the walls of the corridor. 

Outside on the roof, the light rain from when they arrived has lifted, leaving the air damp and chilling to the bone. She instantly wants to shiver and pull her coat tighter around herself.

Ilsa points to the helicopter she arrived in, indicating where she wants the guards to set Ethan. They toss him in, none too gently. She dismisses them with a flick of her hand and they retreat back inside. She nods at Alanna and Zola, as they climb into their own helicopter.

Alanna has to shout over the sound of both helicopters spinning up, “I trust you’ll ensure he’s well healed by the time I need to call on the second half of my payment.”

Ilsa nods again, not needing another reminder of the other half of the agreement, “You have my guarantee.”

She nods to them in dismissal before ducking under the spinning rotors, stepping up into the helicopter, and sliding the door closed with a satisfying thunk when it latches. She reaches forward and taps Brandt, behind the stick of the chopper, on the shoulder, giving him the signal to fly to their first rendezvous point with Luther and Benji. His gaze is focused on Ethan, worry written in every wrinkle of his face. 

As gently as she can she rights Ethan, crouching on the floor and leaning him against the fuselage of the helicopter. He’s still out of it, gaze empty and unfocused. Ilsa blinks back sudden wetness in her eyes and swallows a choking feeling rising in her throat before dragging the first of the multiple medical bags towards her, fishing a pair of medical shears out of a front pocket. She begins to reach behind Ethan to cut the ropes on his hands when he makes an almost imperceptible sound of pain, barely audible over the sound of the helicopter as it lifts in the air. She’d have missed it if she wasn’t leaning over him. As quickly as she can she leans back, gently cradling his body to rest back against the fuselage. His eyes are red and bloodshot, one swollen, and the other already surrounded by bruising. But they are staring directly at her, locked onto her face, his expression a mix of fear and hope, an open book to her always. 

“Ilsa?” He asks in the same shattered voice as before. 

“Yes, it’s me. It’s me.” She drops the medical shears and cups his cheek with one hand, the other cradling the back of his head, her fingers tangling into his hair. 

Ethan is staring at her with so much intensity it’s almost overwhelming. Like she’s an oasis in the desert and he’s drinking her in, a dying man and she’s the thing he needs to survive. He leans his cheek into her palm, pressing into it and nosing into her wrist, eyes falling shut for the briefest moment before they snap open and he pulls his head up like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, eyes locked back on her. 

“You’re real? You’re alive? This is all real?” Ethan’s eyes are brimming with tears and he’s not even trying to blink them away, afraid she’ll disappear if he takes his gaze off of her for even a millisecond.  

She presses a kiss to his forehead, “It’s all real. I’m real, I’m alive. You’re alright, you’re okay.”

Ilsa swipes her thumb over the bruise under his eye, catching a tear as it falls and watching as his face crumples with relief. She pulls him into her, tucking his face into the side of her neck, pressing her own cheek on top of his head, one hand still tangled in his hair, holding. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. We’re both alive. You’ll be okay. The other arm wraps around him carefully, avoiding the worst of the wounds on his back and holding him close for the first time in five months, pressing them together, and wishing she could lay her claim on him. She’ll never be able to protect him entirely, but damn if she doesn’t wish she could. Soon she’s crying too, silent, as Ethan shakes in her hold. 

I love you. I love you. I love you. She thinks. 

They’re safe. Together. Alive. A weight she didn’t know was on her shoulders lifts, relief coursing through her so powerfully it leaves her feeling breathless, overwhelmed, and exhausted. There is a fine tremble running through her hands. She almost didn’t get this; holding him, kissing him, loving him.

The baby kicks, shifts inside of her and she holds back a gasp. The doctor who had performed the surgery on her leg had consulted an OB after confirming she was indeed pregnant. After the surgery, there had been conversations - what to expect and when, how often she should be coming in for check-ups, and more dietary and health recommendations for herself than she wanted to think about. The list had been endless, but she had been out of it with pain, grief over losing Ethan, and overwhelmed with shock that she was pregnant after a lifetime of being told she couldn’t conceive children. But now, thinking back, the doctor had told she’d start to feel kicks and movement around five months. Even with tears on her face, she smiles a bit. He’s already like his father with perfect timing. She presses more kisses to Ethan’s hair, making her way down his face with gentle touches of her lips to his skin, ghosting over his eye, trailing across his cheekbone, and collecting salty tears until she gets to his mouth. He surges up to meet her, pressing them together desperately and with more force than she thought he was capable of. Ilsa smiles into him, god she missed this. 

Meet your dad, little man, he’s the best of us. 

an: anyone catch the sneaky little line of dialogue i stole from rogue nation in there?? title of this fic and the lyrics at the beginning are from the war, by syml. also, xуй means dick in Russian

taglist (i made this from people who showed interest, please don't hesitate to ask to be removed (or added!!), absolutely no hard feelings): @valmare @thethistlegirl @alcafrach @izzypuppybutt

[lieutenantfloyd]

Happy Mission: Impossible teaser trailer day everyone!!

(Credit to tomcruisse62 on instagram)

[fishy-strawberries]

I want her, Lark 🤍

—

I know I’m slightly late to the I Prefer Girls redraw trend but consider, Ilsalanna is good for my soul ☺️

(This is on my main blog instead of my art blog on purpose! It just feels better here)

[astrids2th]

Kiss me, kill me, touch me.

Ilsa Faust x Fem!spy!reader

summary: In the clandestine world of espionage, Ilsa and Y/N find themselves entangled in a dangerous game of love and betrayal. Bound by duty yet drawn to each other, the two spies must navigate a treacherous landscape where trust is scarce, and secrets are deadly. Will their love conquer all, or will loyalty tear the lovers apart?

Warnings: Smut, !minors DNI!, oral, fingering, lots of kissing, violence, guns, also !men DNI!, fluff, a bit of angst and a tiny bit of homophobia.

A/N: Btw sorry for my bad English, it isn't my first language. Enjoy <33.

Love is not a simple thing. That is a fact that is very famously and universally agreed upon. It is a dangerous, complicated, and tender yet cruel thing. Like a flower. A deadly flower, which can look oh so beautiful, sitting in your garden, and yet it spurs poison if you were to touch its tender leaves.

Ilsa was your flower and your poison. A drug which you couldn’t get enough of. And you were hers alike. Poisonous, yes, that was probably the most fitting word to describe the love which you shared. A relationship, that if it were to be revealed and publicized, its beautiful toxins would burn down not only your own livelihoods and occupations as spies, but also that of the people closest to the both of you, though you didn’t have many of such people. This was a deadly field to work one, one filled with mines hidden beneath every step of the way.

Oh, but how good it would feel to burn. To let the world see you both and the love you shared.

on the rare occasion that you got to go to witness the wedding of one of those few close friends mentioned earlier, and you got to see them basking in the joy of a love which was not looked down upon by society, and by everyone for that matter, you caught yourself falling down a bitter hole of jealousy.

“Till death do us part,” you would hear them promise, and you would roll your eyes covertly. No. Ilsa, Ilsa you would love even through death and hell. Through the burning fires and the glares of society. She would be yours, and you hers. Sometimes it even seemed as though you would love each other to death. You would regularly be sent to each other’s doorsteps with a gun in hand provided by your superiors and your agencies, of whom you were both the best which said agencies could offer. The best spies on each of your sides.

If you were to do the counting, then this would be approximately the fifth time this year that Ilsa Faust had attempted to kill you. And it was only still May. So still counting.

You gently tip-toed through your apartment, warm morning sun glowing through your dusty glass windows, windows that should have probably been changed out years ago, but this wasn’t exactly an expensive apartment either, so you had no right to complain. And in any case, the blurriness of the light which did manage to fight its way through the old glass had its charm, you supposed. It was old and antique in a way that it became a style of its own, and as the gentle smell of chamomile began wafting through the air, signalling the readiness of your tea, it all made sense together.

Vapour rose from your tea stained and decorated cup, flowers coating the, at some point, white porcelain cup. Though after several turns in the dishwasher alongside all your other cutlery and tableware, it had an almost yellowish tint to it. But it made the cup no less charming.

And picking up your cup, you warmed your hands on it appreciatively, and went to take a set on your couch.

Or at least that was what you would have done. But your movements were halted when a whipping like sound lashed across the room, accompanied by the delayed bang of a window being crashed, glass crackling and exploding across the room. Sharp shards of glass were hurtled over your carpeted floors, embedding themselves into the soft wool of the rug and threatening to pierce your bare feet if you were to take another step. You almost fell back as the culprit of this chaos darted past your face, before lodging itself into your flowery wallpaper. A bullet. You could see it even from where you had stumbled back to, back pressed against the wall, and your cup still in the palm of your hand.

It was small, metal. British design, clearly, you could deduct that from the rim on the back of the bullet. Which was the only part of the bullet you could actually see because the rest of it had practically planted itself in your thick walls, like a little tree stump just sticking it. Judging by the information that you had collected, it was quite easy for you to deduct just who this assassin was who had so clumsily tried to execute you in the early hours of such an otherwise peaceful morning. And you carefully went to tuck on your slippers, as to not ruin the soles of your feet with any of the glass shards which stuck out of the carpet like thorny shrubbery in some forest.

And you walked to your shattered window, unclasped the hinges, and then pushed it open with a small clack.

“You missed,” your voice called out mockingly to the person laying just a street away, on the rooftop of the opposing building, just a story lower than your own apartment complex. The woman, laying flat down on her stomach with a riffle positioned in front of her, gave a small, easily missed smile, and lifted her head up before slipping off the eyepatch which covered her unused eye. The one she didn’t use for aiming. “I missed on purpose,” Ilsa replied in a voice meant to sound serious, although it had an amused undertone to it that anyone of you would have easily missed.

“Of course you did. All a part of the big master plan, huh?” You teased her candidly and used the palm of your hand to nonchalantly brush off any pieces of glass which were still littering your windowsill from her attack earlier. You knew she missed on purpose; she always did. Even if she was well aware of the consequences that her failure to kill you would give her back at the British headquarters, she would never genuinely aim to kill you. Even if her brain wanted and tried to. Just a little slip of the hand, that was all. A little, entirely purposeful slip of the hand. You leaned forward on the windowsill, arms resting on the wood. “Are you going to give up or try again? Second times the charm, or third, or whatever.” You shrugged and lifted your still unscathed cup to your lips, to sip your tea.

“Depends,” Ilsa replied, dropping her eyepatch to hang loosely around her neck instead on the black string which had earlier been clasped around her hair. “Are you going to stop being a commie asshole?” She then continued, smirking down at you from her perched position on her rooftop, just a foot or so above you. You could see her getting comfortable up there, gloating down at her as always with a playful smile. Her blue eyes shimmered, making you shake your head with a scoff. “I work for a communist organisation, that doesn’t necessarily make me a communist myself. Not entirely,” you replied and put down your tea. Yeah, the KGB didn’t exactly have the best of reputations amongst any other organisations in, well any part of the world. But you didn’t exactly have many options either. You turned around and gestured to your apartment, “and I mean, look at the nice apartment they gave me. If you’d just quit shooting holes in my wallpaper. I’m too lazy to replace it.”

The British agent didn’t reply and instead lifted her riffle and shot off another bullet, letting it swish just past your head and into the wallpaper behind you, nicely placed just besides the other bullet. An exaggerated sigh left your lips as you turned to examine her artwork on your wall. Glass shards and ruined wallpaper. And you then looked back at her. “Meh, I suppose I’ll have to go buy a cheap picture to cover it up or something,” you muttered and sipped your tea once again.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to shoot that up as well,” Ilsa replied casually. “You wouldn’t dare.” “Watch me.” She maintained a steady eye contact with you as she spoke. Her blue eyes would surely mesmerise millions if she wished to do so, and her lips…

“You’re just avoiding having to shoot up me now, aren’t you?” You teased her and looked back at her with mirrored intensity, trying to match her controlled expression. But the light did shine through the cracks, in both your faces. It was almost impossible to hide. Both of you were walking, talking killing machines who had vowed to serve your countries no matter the cost, you had both vowed nothing else but loyalty. Like nuns when they vowed to love nothing but god, well your gods were your agencies. And they were such cruel gods indeed.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours.” She replied, her tone a bit softer, so faint in fact that you wouldn’t have even been able to hear it hadn’t it been for the fresh winds which carried her sensuous voice down to you on its breeze. “Why don’t you come down and kiss it instead then?” was your candid reply, and there was no hesitation behind it. The words fell from your lips as easy as a coffee order, except you were calling for a war and not a medium double espresso shot. Though that was almost what she was, when it was just her, and not duty as well. A shot of espresso, bold and strong, always there to wake you up when you fell out of line.

The woman smiled and shook her head with a chuckle at your bold statement. But the smile on her face was a genuine one. Her gear was quickly packed away and discarded in an almost dismissive manner, she had never intended to use it properly anyway. It was never her intention to kill you. It never was and it never would be.

Slowly, she crawled down the side of the rigid building. It was soviet built. So, there was practically no space in between the two opposing buildings regardless, so Ilsa could easily make the small jump from one building to the other, with her nimble and athletic build easing the troubles of making the move. And as she leapt off the slim ledge, you were there to catch her. Always. With your arm outstretched from your window in an offer for her to grab onto, which she did. The British agent’s strong hands gripped your own, holding herself in a safe spot from falling while you hoisted her up and in through the window with no difficulty. She pushed herself through the last way and stumbled in besides you, your arms there to keep her from falling onto the still glass infested carpet which she herself had been the cause of. Her gaze met yours, her lips painted with a cheeky grin. “Now, you’re not going to try and choke me or anything, are you?” She asked sarcastically and leaned into your hold a bit, still smiling. “Not unless that’s the kind of stuff you’re into. Who am I to judge,” You reply with a teasing shrug, and she gently shoves you with a scoff, earning a laugh from you.

You’re then hastily pushed against a wall, all air leaving your lungs as she pins you against it. You make no move to stop her or put up a fight. You let it happen. Her hand reaches up to caress your soft cheek, an almost relieved sigh escaping her as she feels your skin beneath her cold fingertips. The chilliness of her long-awaited touch easily earns a shiver from you, your own hands coming up to gently feel up her neck.  “I missed you…” You whisper breathily while she  slowly edges her face closer to yours, lips parting as you breaths meets, warm sighs hitting each other’s faces. “Of course you did, darling…” She whispers back, and before you even manage to reply, her lips are crashed onto yours in a bruising kiss, lips locking. It instantly draws a surprised moan from you, tense body easing into it and your eyes closing.

She does the same, and you quickly feel her tongue demanding entrance, teeth nipping at your lips in an attempt to get you to open up, and you do so willingly, parting you lips and letting her tongue slip through. You both deepen the kiss, tongues clashing together, heartbeats in your ears and your faces feeling hot. You suck on her tongue, making her gasp and grip your cheek tighter, free arm snaking its way around your waist to pull you closer. Your own hands go to wrap around her shoulders and hold onto her, one hand pushing into the roots of her tied up hair. In between kisses, you both have to free your lips from each other as to not be suffocated in the passionate kisses, and even in those moments you remain interlocked, arms around each other and foreheads pressed together while you pant for air.

Clumsy hands fumble around each other’s bodies as you both crave more, hers pulling and tugging at your loose T-shirt, the same shirt you had woken up in and slept in, while your first instinct is to pull out her hair tie and release her long, cool brown hair, a moan escaping from you as you succeed and her hair falls, cascading down her back, allowing you to burry your fingers in it. She whines lightly, as she is too shaky to successfully pull off your shirt. This earns a smile from you, and she instead pushes down your shorts, one hand slipping to your inner thigh. You gasp and then retract a hand to instead place it on her shoulder, before gently beginning to nudge her backwards. Without protest, she inelegantly stumbles backwards in answer to your advances, and she eventually feels the couch behind her. “Lay down.” You demand breathlessly, pushing at her until she falls backwards.

You both have to part as she moves backwards, situating herself on the languid couch, her eyes following you as you move alongside her. Her captivating blue eyes are gazing up at you, your own eyes staring dreamily back at her as you hover above her, her hand once again finding your inner thigh and caressing the sensitive skin there while you slip off her shirt, leaning down to kiss at her chest which is slowly revealed until the shirt is entirely discarded and tossed across the room in a disregarding manner. She gasps and arches her back when she feels your lips on her skin, and you reach up to grab her hips and hold them steady while you tilt your head and begin to nip at her skin, each time discovering a new sound that Ilsa could make. And each time, your tongue darts out to soothe the bite mark before moving on to do it again.

Slowly, all clothes are pulled off and thrown to be forgotten somewhere in your living room, leaving only two women in their undergarments. While you continue to work on her neck, Ilsa has the clarity of mind to reach around your body, nails trailing along your skin making you shiver, before they reach your bra clasp, and she unlocks it before dropping the black lace bra to the floor, a gasp escaping her at the sight of you. Your perky breasts, nipples hard and begging for her attention. Something which Ilsa happily obliges to, her hands moving to your waist where she pulls at you, beckoning to move up a bit, which in turn allows her to wrap her hungry lips around one of your nipples. You gasp, the sound followed by a desperate moan while all your resolve falters at once, causing you flounder and fall slightly above her. But she keeps you steady while her tongue twirls around your hardened nipple, other hand going to message the opposite breast, making sure to be attentive to both of them. Your mouth falls open and you swear you could fall apart entirely just at this.

You lift your knee up roughly, pushing it in between her legs and against her soaked core, causing her to yelp and bite down slightly on your nipple. You mewl in partial pleasure and partial pain, hands moving to fist her hair while she begins to grind down hard on your knee, begging for a release. The sounds of your passion is resounding through the small apartment, and you push back her head harshly, making her let go of your breast with a small pop and a reluctant groan, and you soothe her disappointment by leaning down and connecting your lips in a short and passionate kiss, before pulling apart and beginning to slide down her warm body. You lean in and biggin kissing your way down Ilsa’s stomach while she squirms beneath you, her hands reaching for your locks of hair as well, while your own hands move to trail down her body. “Y/N, please,” She pants and gazes down at your flushed face before letting out a whimper and leaning back her head, gripping at your hair, and earning a pleased sigh from you. “Spread your legs for me,” you then demand in answer, your voice soft and breathless, eyes following her as she does as you say. Your own hands move to aid her, and you grip her soft thighs, massaging the soft flesh while you keep them apart, your eyes now falling upon her beautiful centre. A smile spreads on your face as you lean in to gently fan your warm breath over the sensitive muscle. “Is this all for me?...” You ask in a teasing voice, and before Ilsa even manages a proper answer, your tongue is on her, licking a stripe up her wet lips, making her gasp and throw back her head in a moan while she desperately tries to push your head closer into her cunt. You oblige.

Immediately you get to work and move your head in closer, kissing and nipping at her sensitive folds, earning multiple pleased sounds from the British spy, accompanied by unintelligible shouts and praises as she grips onto you and quiver under your ministrations. And as you continue working her, Ilsa’s legs move to wrap around your neck, thighs pressed against your shoulders, almost suffocating you. But you don’t mind, far from it, you take it as encouragement and you push in your tongue, making her scream your name. And you pick up your pace, one hand moving to press on the sensitive nub just above her slit, and you press down, moving your fingers in circles while you thrust your tongue in and out of her. The sounds you rip from her only egging you on to move faster, deeper, and more passionate. You are almost out of breath, choking on her sweet pussy when you move to push in the finger at her nub as well and she convulses above you in pleasure as you thrust in and out of her at an even more intense pace.

“I’m gonna cum, Y/N, please, I’m so close!” Her pleading only gets her so far and you smile into her center while continuing your movements, ripping into her pleasurably, until she eventually falls apart. Ilsa’s body shakes and quakes beneath you, but you hold on to her roughly and fuck her through the orgasm while her eyes roll back, seeing stars and feeling nothing but your tongue and finger deep inside her. she cums hard on your tongue, and you waste no time licking it off her, you wont let a drop go to waste. The woman’s shouts and moans of ecstasy don’t die down as she is driven off the edge in a violent crash of love and pleasure, her body sweaty and hot beneath your fingers, and it takes a good couple minutes before you finally pull out off her, sucking off your fingers while she heaves for air on the couch, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, head still lolled back in a blissed out manner. It brings an amused smile to your face, seeing the deadly spy in such a position, beneath you and shivering from the pleasure you just brought her. and you bring your free hand to her chin, tilting her head back to look at you, “Y/N…” She breathes out in a longing tone, and you nod at her, “right here with you,” your tone is gentle and caring in a way that was so strange to hear from a spy who usually spends her time killing without a second thought. With her you were someone else entirely, and with a genuine smile, you lean down to plant a loving kiss on her now swollen lips, a kiss that she returns clumsily. A kiss much more caring than the passionate ones you shared before before.

Ilsa sighs, coming down from her high gradually and comfortably as she brings you closer to her, almost as if she were scared you might slip through her fingers and disappear. “I’m gonna have to explain to my boss why you still aren’t dead once I get back, you know…” She murmurs into the sloppy kiss, and you simply hum in reply, “I’m sure we can make something up.” You nonchalantly shrug on your shoulders while shifting your body to lay down on the couch along with her, limbs entangled with each other as your bodies both seek each other’s warmth. A small chuckle leaves her lips, one which could be mistaken for a simple amused laugh, but you could clearly recognize the somber undertones. How you wish it would just be a simple happy laugh, how you wished to see her at peace. But this field of work that you were both in, it was never at peace. That was the harsh truth.

“I swear, you’ll get me killed one of these days, you idiot…” She whispered softly, and you knew that she meant it with all the love in the world. And yet you were afraid that one day she would be right, and the thought made you pull her a bit closer, sighing against her smooth skin. “Idiot spy…” She then added in a murmur and leaned her head into the crook of your neck, nuzzling against your skin and closing her eyes. Idiot spies who were digging their own graves. But… You supposed it wouldn’t be so bad after all. As long as you could share that grave. Together.

[doodledraw]

well...it's been a HOT SECOND and I almost forgot I hadn't posted this but I REMEMBERED so here we are :)) this is my piece for the @missionzine , which isn't out for the public yet but will be very soon. It's a companion piece to a fic I wrote for @shoesplease through a server exchange, which I also submitted as part of the zine!! :D

Hope you like this silly piece and the words as well, everyone!! <3

[veryace-ficrecs]

Mission Impossible Fic Recs Pt. 2

Link to Part one Here

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Orbit by steelneena - Rated G

Somehow, they always end up back in one another's orbit.

on sleepless roads the sleepless go by waveridden - Rated G

This is what Lindsey Farris remembers before she dies. (In which Ethan can see ghosts, and Lindsey gets to say goodbye.)

lost/looking by waveridden - Rated T

His lips flick up into something like a smile. “I saw your record, Agent Faust. You can figure it out. But only if you live long enough to do it.” (An Ethan/Ilsa roleswap.)

Hoping Against Odds by snovyda - Rated G

"A small part of him wanted to hope against all odds. It kept telling him that he couldn’t give up, that there had to be another way". Brandt's point of view during the parking garage scene in the end of Rogue Nation.

Knight in Shining Armour by why_am_i_pluto - Rated G

Brandt returns the favour when a mission goes wrong and Benji gets himself into a spot of trouble. One shot.

You're Worth the Risk by LadyM_17 - Rated T

After Ethan gets shot rescuing Benji, Benji confronts him about whether or not he's worth the risk. (Spoiler alert: he is.)

It's Alright by RandmWriter - Rated T

This time, Benji gets to be the one to save Ethan.

Consequences Of A Scarf by Cheeky_The_Monkey - Rated T

Post-Fallout. SPOILERS. IMF missions have taken a toll on Benji in many ways. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the team began to notice. ONESHOT

Nebulous by MidnightMoonWarrior - Rated G

After the events of Ghost Protocol, Benji isn't sleeping well. The team notices. A drabble of team views after their second official mission together, looking to the future after a crash course on teamwork that was the movie. Ft. Team-Dad-Hunt.

Milk Run by berlincorpography - Rated G

In some ways, Benji reflected, it was kind of nice to have normal problems for a change.

Stuck in the Middle by why_am_i_pluto - Rated T

Take a tech and an analyst then throw them down a pit. Mix in one cup of blood loss, a dose of concussions and a bucket load of time to kill. What would any pair of mature, grown men do?

follow me into the endless night / meet me in the woods tonight by biochemprincess - Rated G

Ethan Hunt grew up on a dairy farm.

[skiesoffoy]

was it worth it?

x

[airlocksandaviaries]

FIRST CHAPTER OF THE ORIGINAL MISSION IMPOSSIBLE MOVIE FIC IVE BEEN WORKING ON FOR A YEAR IS UP EVERYONE!!!

COME CHECK OUT MI 6.5!!!!!!!! It’s only 1k words for the first chapter not to worry, its a little taste and you can keep reading when I update if ya want more!!!

special thanks to @lannisterdaddyissues who helped me come up with the ideas!!!!

Taglist and details under the cut!

tagging @calkale  @liass-21  @doodledrawreblogs @helyiios LMK if you want me to take u off

Chapters: 1/16 Fandom: Mission: Impossible (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Benji Dunn & Ethan Hunt, Ilsa Faust & Ethan Hunt, Ethan Hunt & Luther Stickell Characters: Ethan Hunt, Ilsa Faust, Benji Dunn, Luther Stickell, William Brandt, Eugene Kittridge, Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Action/Adventure, Found Family, Team as Family, Suspense, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Ethan Hunt, Soft Ethan Hunt, BAMF Benji Dunn, BAMF Ilsa Faust, Saving the World, Luther Stickell is a Badass, Luther Stickell is a Good Friend, Major Original Character(s) Summary:

It's been a year since the mission to the Siachen Glacier, when the team faced John Lark and Ethan was forced to take on his persona. The apostles are fragmented, lost without their leader, and things seem to be cooling down. Until, that is, information pops up about the group that supplied John Lark with the plutonium. They're back, and with a threat worse than ever before. Ethan's team is faced with a mission of infiltration and wits, and Ethan himself must take on a role that shakes him to his core...

An original Mission Impossible movie set in between Fallout and Dead Reckoning!

[vnessakrby]

she's not around (you let me know)

alanna × ilsa × grace • smut • [2/2]

[updated nsfw fanart + fanfiction]

[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

[snonkerdoodlewritesstuff]

*pinches ears*

[imburningtheletters]

𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! ₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

𝘩𝘪! 𝘪'𝘮 𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘖3 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴! 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢!

𝙠𝙚𝙮: 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧/𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 = 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙘 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 & 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 = 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥

𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘢/𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢/𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳/𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘺/𝘱𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 & 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘢 & 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘵

𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵 / 𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵 & 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢 𝘷𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪 / 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘮 𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘦

𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳 / 𝘤𝘩𝘭𝘰𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘫𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘩 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘴 / 𝘢𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘴𝘢

𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘳 / 𝘢𝘣𝘦 (𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘦 2019)

𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢 / 𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘹 (𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘣𝘤)

𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘢 / 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘦 (𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵)

𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦 / 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘳 (𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵)

𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦 / 𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘰 (𝘰𝘣𝘤)

𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 / 𝘮𝘢𝘹 (𝘥𝘳 𝘰𝘥𝘺𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘺) 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 / 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯 (𝘥𝘳 𝘰𝘥𝘺𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘺)

𝘢𝘮𝘺 / 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦

𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘰 / 𝘫𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢

𝘳𝘰𝘯 & 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 & 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 & 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦

so, yeah! that's about it! please do message me for any inquires!

[cakexblankett]

Tag

Yellow

Character

Ilsa Faust

Words

1.197

~•~

You lazily opened your eyes, the light entering the room from the opened window, a gust of wind making the curtains sway gently. The small room looked a mess, with various papers moving because of the wind, your clothes all over the floor. You closed your eyes, smiling, thinking of the night that just passed. Ilsa was a phenomenon, not only as a spy but also as a lover. You hummed, extending an arm, reaching for her, but all you found was the bare sheets on which you layed. You immediately jolted upright, scanning, once again, the room. No sight of her.

"Ilsa?"

You shouted for her, getting up. You got no answer. Your heart began racing, faster and faster, just like your feet, as you ran down the stairs and into the hallway, searching for her in every room.

"Ilsa!?"

You screamed at the top of your lungs, panick rising with every and each breath you took. You looked everywhere, in every room, in every closet, in every hiding spot, but nothing. She was nowhere to be found. You collapsed on the kitchen floor, tears streaming down your face. What had happened? Did someone found her?

You had been hiding for a couple of months now, and nobody seemed to even fathom your whereabouts. But maybe you were wrong, maybe they knew all along, ready to strike just at the right moment, to take her away from you. And you weren't ready. You were weak, unprepared, and now she was gone.

You got up, your eyes stinging from the tears welling up. And then the fron door opened slowly, creacking. You instictively took a knife, preparing for battle. You hid behind the kitchen door, waiting. You felt them moving towards you, the sound of their feet coming closer and closer until...

"Woah there!"

You were prepared to struck the knife into the skull of whoever was the intruder just to find her laughing at you. You sighed, putting down the knife on the kitchen table. You punched her softly on the arm.

"You're a moron! I could have killed you!"

She kissed you, still giggling.

"Yeah, you could have. That's what I like about my women: the ability to kill."

You scoffed, helping her with the groceries.

"How many times do I have to tell you that-"

"We don't leave eachother alone. Ever."

You gave her an agry look, and she shook her shoulders.

"I know, but I couldn't sleep so I thought I might as well efficiently use my time. Plus..."

She took the knife you previously held and scrutinesed it.

"You told me yourself. You could have killed me, if I wasn't me. So you can bare being alone for a while."

"No."

She stared at you, trying to decipher your thoughts.

""No" what?"

"I can't. I can't be alone. I can't stay without you."

She smiled. You loved her smile, when it was genuine. She often faked her smiles and her laughes and... well... everything. But, when with you, she tried to be as authentic as possible. And now she was, you could tell. She was happy, as happy as one can be on the run from any form of government. But you two were happy, living a simple and quiet life, away from others.

But the thought of losing her seldom made its way in your mind. And you hated it, you hated the feeling that, someday, you will might lose her. But that made your relationship all too special. Every moment was precious, because it might be the last. So you learned to make the most of everything, living in the moment.

"I can't stay without you either."

She confessed, averting her eyes, taking an apple from the groceries bag, but before she could bite down on it, you locked her in a kiss. Your hands on each side if her face, your eyes closed. You thought of everything she did to you, of everything she did for you, and you remembered how much you loved her.

"Hey..."

She whispered on your lips, interrupting the kiss. You hummed, waiting for her to continue.

"I love you..."

Your heart lost a beat. You knew it, you always knew, she didn't have to say it aloud to make you realise it but hearing it, said with that sweet voice of her...

"I love you too."

You kissed again, hungrily. Your hands roaming eachothers bodies, shamefully trying to get rid of all the clothes that separated your skin from hers.

"Y/N..."

You moaned, feeling her tongue battling with yours. Then she stopped, and backed up a little. You eyed her, confused.

"Is there something wrong-"

She silenced you, covering your mouth with a hand. She scanned the suroundings, alert. You did the same, founding nothing.

"I heard something..."

She whispered, taking the knife and exiting the kitchen. You mimicked her, taking another knife and following her closely outside. The sun hit you and you had to shelter your eyes with a hand, never letting down your guard. Ilsa was in front of you, stretching one arm before you, to shelter you from any kind of danger. You suddenly heard steps on your right, so you focused all your attention on that direction.

"Ilsa..."

She followed your gaze, squinting her eyes to better visualise the perimeter.

"Stay here."

She started approaching whatever was making the noise when you saw it. Someone was pointing a gun in her direction from a distance. The sounds were a bait. Everything was planned. You screamed.

"Ilsa!"

Bang!

Your eyes were fixed on her.

Bang!

At first you thought they missed.

Bang!

But then you saw her collaps on the ground.

Bang!

And then nothing. You heard nothing, you saw nothing apart from her, laying there, amidst the bushes and trees. Tears started streaming down your face. You screamed but you couldn't hear it. You ran to her, forgetting of the person who shot her.

"Ilsa!"

Your hands trembled, you were shaking, barely breathing. You took her in your arms, looking for the wound. Right on her chest, the blood colouring her beige shirt of a red shade. You put one hand on that spot, adding pressure, to stop the bleeding, but it was futile. Her blue eyes were already lifeless.

"Ilsa..."

You started sobbing. It was all your fault. She was gone. You couldn't live without her, you just couldn't. You kissed her on the forehead, closing her eyes. She was...

No. It was all a joke. You laughed. Yes, it must be a cruel prank. Maybe Hunt was involved. But then you gazed at the wound again, a visible mark that it was, in fact, real. And so you started crying again. You were fragile, you needed her in your life. Because you loved her. And you realised you didn't say enough, and now she was dead and she will never hear those words again.

"I love you. I'm sorry. I love you. Please, don't leave..."

But she couldn't hear you, because she was dead. And you were too, because your heart, and a part of you, died with her.

[shipperoffanonships]

PART 2!

Title: From The Ashes, A Phoenix Rises (Chapter 2)

"Hey, Ethan." The woman Ethan thought was long dead and gone said rather timidly. Ethan was at loss for words.

"I-how-" 

"Well, I believe my brother and I are no longer of use, so this is where we say goodbye. Just contact me when Gabriel is dead, and consider the debt paid." Alanna said as she stood up, nodding at Ethan and the others. Ethan yanked Ilsa into a tight hug that made the woman squeak.

"Ethan, as flattered as I am, I can't breathe." She gasped. "And I missed you too, don't worry."

Ethan stepped back, looking at Ilsa from head to toe several times. "You're here. You're really here."

Ilsa smiled. "And here to stay." 

"Well, will you look at that. For once a plan went seamlessly." Benji joked. Ethan tensed, slowly turning.

"What do you mean, 'a plan went seamlessly'? Is there something I'm missing?"

Instantly the atmosphere of the room changed. Benji and Luther suddenly found the floor interesting, Grace was once again clueless, and Ilsa tried to reach out for him. But Ethan stepped away.

"Answer me. Now." Ethan growled. 

"You might want to sit down for this." Ilsa said. "You see..."

Ethan was practically fuming once Benji and Ilsa finished explaining what happened.

"So all this time," Ethan said, "all this time that I've been grieving, thinking you were dead, you were alive and in hiding? And with the White Widow, of all people!" He turned towards Grace. "And you? Were you in this scheme as well?"

Grace shook her head. "This is the first time I'm hearing of this. But it makes sense now."

Ethan knit his brows. "What makes sense?"

"Well, the Widow fought oddly. It's like she wasn't fighting at all. She left areas of her body open as if she wanted to be subdued."

"Well, we agreed that she should still do everything that happened." Ilsa admitted. Ethan slid his chair back. 

"I need to get some air." He went upstairs, and they all winced as a door slammed shut.

"Well, that could've gone better." Luther muttered.

"I'll go talk to him." Ilsa said after a few minutes later.

Ilsa took a deep breath before knocking.

"Ethan? It's me. May I come in?" She opened the door to see Ethan sitting on the bed, staring blankly into space but clearly pissed off. Ilsa sat beside him, taking his hand.

"I'm sorry for leaving you in the dark."

Ethan turned to face her. "But we could've come up with something else."

"That's exactly my reason. What we did was the only surefire way of me surviving. We have to trick the Entity into thinking that I died. That's why I stayed with the Widow until the whole thing blew over."

Ethan scrubbed his face. "It's just, every  time I begin to put my trust in you, you let me down. You do something that makes me question my choice. If we are to work together, we have to be able to trust each other. No more secrets."

"No more secrets." Ilsa agreed. "From this moment forward, complete transparency between us."

"And the team." Ethan said. Ilsa gave him a smile, not so innocently this time.

"We can't have them knowing everything now, can we?" The woman whispered, chuckling at Ethan's confused look.

"All right," Ilsa said, "update me. What's happened so far?"

"Well, Gabriel was duped by Grace. He holds a drive instead of the key to the Entity. So it's safe to say he's after us. And that works to our advantage because-"

"-we control the events from here on out." Ilsa finished Ethan's statement.

"Exactly. So, as unproductive as it may sound, we wait for him to find us before we go after the Entity and shut the whole thing down once and for all."

"And hope that we'll never have to save the world again." Benji added.

"Yes. Because I have no idea how you guys are able to do this regularly." Grace replied.

"Well, it's simple. Create a plan, and if that doesn't work, screw everything and just wing it." Luther said. Ilsa laughed.

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. But jokes aside, duped or not, Gabriel must be stopped, killed if necessary. Downside is we can't use comms or any similar gadgets in the field."

"What are you saying?" Benji asked. "That-"

"We go in blind?" Ethan asked. "Ilsa, are you-"

Ilsa raised an eyebrow. "Remember the last time we used devices? Like it or not going old-school is our best chance of that son of a bitch."

A few days later...

Ethan and Gabriel faced each other.

"Where is the key?" Gabriel hissed.

"Certainly not with me." Ethan replied. Without warning he struck. A jab to the throat sent Gabriel stumbling back. The man in turn drew out a knife, and this time Ethan was forced on the defensive. After a few minutes Gabriel finally had the upper hand. He caught Ethan in a headlock, knife digging on Ethan's neck.

"This is the same knife, you know. The same knife I used to kill her." Gabriel gloated. Someone chuckled.

"Next time- although there will be no next time once Ethan and I are done with you- check for a body first, yes?"

Then Ilsa was there, a smirk on her face. She gave Ethan a nod, who snapped his head back, causing Gabriel to lose his grip. Ethan grabbed the other man b6 the wrist and swung him around, just in time for Ilsa to land a solid hook. Then they were a flurry of limbs as the three fought. Even though outnumbered, Gabriel managed to hold his own, even managing to remove Ethan, leaving Gabriel and Ilsa. 

"This time you die." Gabriel hissed, before lunging. Ilsa drew out her sword and parried Gabriel's slash, the sound of steel clashing against steel resounding in the alley. Small as the weapon was, Gabriel was stronger, and he disarmed Ilsa, her sword flying out of reach. Gabriel kicked her hard enough that she was slammed against the wall, coughing as the wind got knocked out of her. Ilsa yelped as she saw the knife heading for her heart. She grabbed Gabriel's wrist, stopping him just in time. Glaring at the man, Ilsa slammed her forehead against his hard enough for him to stagger back. From behind him Ilsa saw Ethan, who was just coming to. Ilsa jerked her head, and Ethan caught the move. He barreled into Gabriel, the two of them grappling and fighting for the knife in Gabriel's hand. Frantically Ilsa looked around, looking for her sword. There. She ran for it, returning just in time to see Gabriel plunge his dagger on Ethan's chest.

"NO!" Snarling, Ilsa struck, a whirlwind of black and silver as she bore down on Gabriel, and this time she was the one who disarmed him. Ilsa saw Ethan get up. A split second later Gabriel froze, a grunt of pain escaping him. Only then did Ilsa notice the knife sticking to the man's side. Without missing a beat Ilsa drove her sword through Gabriel's abdomen down to the hilt, before yanking it out. Gabriel fell on his face before rolling over to his back, wheezing.

"I guess this isn't part of the Entity's plan, now, is it?" Ilsa sneered, before rushing towards Ethan, who was slumped on the wall. Much to Ilsa's confusion there was no blood in the area where Ethan was stabbed.

"Vest." Ethan wheezed, "I was wearing a vest. Shit, that hurt." He took several deep breaths before righting himself. Behind her Ilsa heard Gabriel gasping for breath.

"Oh, for God's sake." 

Ilsa walked over and, unsheathing her sword, brought it down Gabriel's neck thrice, blood spraying all over her black trench coat.

"I think you overdid it." Ethan said as he came over to stand next to Ilsa, looking down at Gabriel's decapitated corpse. Ilsa frowned.

"Yes. It seems we did quite a bit of a mess."

A week later

"As far as world-ending crises go, what happened might just be the worst et," Benji said. They were outside a restaurant, all five of them- Ethan, Ilsa, Benji, Luther, and Grace- gathered in a well-deserved downtime. "And that's coming from someone who had been forced to wear a bomb and got hanged by the same person on two separate occasions."

"What?" Grace said, a puzzled look on her face.

Ethan laughed. "Long story. So, what now?"

"I, for one, am retiring. For good." Luther said. "I am getting too old for this."

Benji nodded. "Amen to that. I shall be taking an indefinite leave as well. So, until the next catastrophe."

"Which I hope will not happen again" Ilsa added, earning laughs from all of them. Benji and Luther took their respective farewells, leaving Ethan and Ilsa with Grace.

"Where will you go now?" llsa asked Grace, who shrugged.

"I have no idea, honestly. So much have happened and much have changed. I guess I'll just see where life takes me. How about you two?"

Ethan sighed. "Taking things day by day."

"Hmm. Well, I guess this is goodbye. You two should hope we never cross paths again."

"All the same, I hope we do. It was an honor meeting you, Grace." Ethan said, Ilsa nodding in assent. Grace left, leaving Ethan and Ilsa together.

"Offer still stands, you know." Ilsa said quietly. Ethan looked at her, confused.

"Getting out. You know, leave everyone behind. The IMF, the responsibilities, us."

"Us? Ethan echoed.

"We can be anyone. We can bury Ethan Hunt and Ilsa Faust and be completely different people."

"It's only a matter of going." Ethan murmured. He took Ilsa's hand, small and slender against his own.

"Yes." Ilsa said softly. "It is." 

Ethan looked Ilsa in the eyes.

"Any destination in mind?" 

Ilsa grinned.

[izzypuppybutt]

So I did a thing. 

This ship is finally what made me write and publish my very first fic ever. Because this ship is in such poverty of fanworks 🤣

Enjoy. Feedbacks and reviews appreciated plss. 

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mission: Impossible, Mission: Impossible (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ilsa Faust/Ethan Hunt Characters: Ethan Hunt, Ilsa Faust, Benji Dunn, Luther Stickell, William Brandt, Jane Carter (Mission: Impossible) Additional Tags: Pregnancy, Childbirth, Graphic description of birth, is it graphic though but I'll include just in case, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Oneshot Summary:

Ethan and Ilsa found themselves having to undertake the most important, but not impossible, mission in their life yet: delivering their first baby by themselves.

[im-your-new-quartermaster]

demolition lovers (8857 words) by sevenseasofyeet Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Mission: Impossible (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jane Carter/Ilsa Faust, Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt Characters: Jane Carter (Mission: Impossible), Ilsa Faust, Ethan Hunt, Benji Dunn, Luther Stickell, William Brandt, Alan Hunley, Solomon Lane, Trevor Hanaway Additional Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, First Meetings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Am I projecting???? probably, Trauma, Past Relationship(s), Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Action/Adventure, Guitars, Jane Carter is secretly a rocker gal, (let me cook), Fluff and Humor, double dates, Meet-Cute, Hurt/Comfort, and Ilsa is THE rockstar gf Summary: Jane Carter runs into an old friend of the team, and everything seems to change. Read on to know what unfolds next :) (I listened to the voices in my head which were going on about ilsa/jane, AAAAAAAA)