#ilsa x reader

[cakexblankett]

Tag

Yellow

Character

Ilsa Faust

Words

679

~•~

Rome was as beautiful as ever, especially then, in the middle of the night. Everything was enlightened with pretty lights but, even so, Ilsa couldn't see anything of that. Not then, injured on the ground, with the rain coming down on her like it wanted to wash away all the sins she commited.

She looked around her, searching for any sign of a threat, but she couldn't see much. She gazed down on her leg, the wound caused by a gun gushing blood all over the ground. She bit her lip, in pain, while she applied pressure on it, trying to stop the loss of blood.

"Y/N!"

She had been shouting for a while now, or maybe that was her impression, but you where nowhere to be found. Did they caught you? Were you dead? Or did you betray her like everyone else? A million thoughts ran in her mind, and they hurt almost as much as the wound.

"Y/N!"

She kept screaming for you for a little bit longer, then stopped. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, so she looked up to try and stop them from falling. The rain was fitting, really. She felt awful, not only because she was losing blood, but also because you weren't there and she feared she could have lost you for good, and that was all her fault. She wasn't as strong as she thought.

Then she heard a noise.

"Y/N?"

She whispered, but she doubted it was you, the stomping on the ground wasn't your thing. She looked up, but couldn't see who the person was. She heard a low chuckle.

"Well, I guess this is it, Ilsa."

She tried getting up, failing miserably. She groaned from the pain. The person laughed again.

"You know, you are such a disappointment. I thought you were a tough one."

She spit in their direction, still with her gaze fixed in what she believed were their eyes. She was tired, and she felt herself fainting, but she tried keeping her composure.

"I guess this is goodbye then."

The person pointed the gun at her head, and then she realised that that was her end. She was ready, she often dreamed of it, she longed for death. So she closed her eyes, and then...

Bang!

She trembled from the sound of the shooting gun. But nothing hurt. She could still hear the rain, she could still feel the hotness of the blood on her hand. She slowly opened her eyes, to find a corpse lying next to her.

"Ilsa!"

She looked up, unsure of what she was seeing. She felt weak and dizzy.

"It's alright, I'm here."

She smiled and then everything went black.

She jolted upright, groaning from the pain it caused. She stared down at her leg, a bandage covering her wound. She looked around, everything was pure white and she felt uneasy.

"Hey."

She jumped from the scare. She heard an armonious laugh, and her heart beat faster, but not from fear.

"Y/N..."

She gazed at your features, smiling.

"You saved me..."

You laughed, shrugging.

"Yeah, I do that often, don't I?"

Ilsa nodded, almost crying. You kissed her gently, a hand on her cheek, caressing it. She didn't feel the uneasiness anymore, instead she felt protected, like eveything was going to be fine because you were there. You were her beacon of light, her angel.

"My angel..."

She whispered on your lips.

"Flung out of space."

You smiled.

"You can't quote "Carol" without giving it credit."

She laughed, and you felt at peace. As long as she was there, with you, everything was going to go smoothly. As long as you two were together, everything was going to be alright. Because you protected and loved eachother, and that was all that mattered.

"I want you to know that, if I die, in an impossible scenario, I love you."

You grinned, kissing her again, passionately, making her feel all the love you harboured for her.

"I love you too."

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Pirates Do Pilates- Kinktober Week One

Ilsa Faust x Fem!Reader

MINORS DNI 18+

Summary: A mission gone awry leads to a cramped hideaway in a vent. What could go wrong?

Kinks: Forced proximity, sex in tight spaces, pussy eating, 69, squirting, forced muffling.

Warnings: This is a Kinktober fic and just pure smut. If you read this as a minor, (and I see that you've read it by checking the age in your bio following your like) YOU WILL GET BLOCKED!

A/N: Starting off Kinktober with a bang ;)

Word Count: 2.9k

Reblogs and comments are encouraged and appreciated!

In the cramped, stale air of the vents, Ilsa’s breathing echoed grotesquely, sliding off of the walls in wet puffs. Your breaths were as raspy as hers, lungs burning as you tried to quiet them. Every puff of air traveled down, skittering off the walls and potentially giving away your location. Taking larger, slower breaths was better than trying to force anemic, barely there whisps of air like Ilsa. The risk of being detected for the sound of your breathing was minimal, there was no sense trying to force oneself to be quiet. Ilsa’s breathing got heavier, more painful sounding. You couldn’t blame her, this position sucked. The mission had required sneaking into a russian outpost to steal away a blueprint for the next big weapon of mass destruction. It was boring, basic, and otherwise uninteresting. And it went well. That was until one of your tools had tripped a detection alarm. Who puts lead in a wristwatch anyways? Climbing into the vents was a last ditch effort to stay safe, but you’d both entered it differently.

Your coverage to escape detection was a slab of concrete about six feet wide and three feet tall. Behind it lay your hiding spot. The concrete blocked a section of the air vent, thus making your position undetectable by thermal cameras and metal detectors. Being trapped in a vent together for a mission wasn’t ideal, and it would’ve been bearable. That was if you hadn’t entered the vent like you had. Ilsa had done the sensible thing, climbing into it head first, face down. You’d swung your legs in so that you were on your back. The maneuver was so quick that neither of you noticed the problem until you were trapped in that small space, her knees on either side of your head and her face inches from your crotch. Both of your bodies had to stay behind the block, and this is where the trouble began. Being the senior agent on this mission, Ilsa had the responsibility of teaching you to learn from your mistakes, but in this moment she was the one suffering for them.

You could hear her breathing getting worse as she continued holding a plank to avoid touching you. It was professional, and courteous, but she’d been at this for at least fifteen minutes, and the strain was obvious. Wheezes and gasps came more frequently, making it clear just how tired she was. Speaking was deadly in such a noise conducting space which left morse code as your way of communicating.

“D/O/W/N.” you tapped out on her thigh, firm enough for her to feel it through her oppressive leather leggings.

Ilsa didn’t comply. If you had been able to see past her ass, you would’ve watched her vehemently shake her head, determined to push through. There was no pushing through this, she was exhausting herself needlessly. Again you tapped out a command.

“D/O/W/N B/R/E/A/T/H L/O/U/D.”

Ilsa muttered a small curse, a sound made detectable due to the metal of the vents. It didn’t echo as far as it could have, but the both of you tensed as the sound slithered away into the vent. Her abdomen began to tremble, breathing growing louder and more punctuated as she fought a losing battle. Ilsa’s stubbornness would get you both killed, it didn’t take experience to see that. Pressing down on her hips caused the plank to crack, and she slumped atop your body. There was no noise of protest, just slower and more controlled breaths as her tired abs were given rest. She didn’t dare move, and you didn’t either. It was uncomfortable, your view was the dim outline of her ass against metal, but it was temporary. Both of you laid without comment, balanced grotesquely like a yin-yang. Minutes passed without interruption. Heat grew between you, the weight and material of your leather bodysuits conducting and roasting you both in the claustrophobic space. Sweat trickled down your brow, and again you heard her breathing worsen. There was no way to access your own zipper in this position, her body covered yours and the position kept Ilsa’s inaccessible to herself.

“H/O/T C/L/O/T/H/E O/F/F H/E/L/P” Ilsa tapped your thigh, just as you were sure you were going to be boiled alive in your gear.

The heat was mutual, it seemed. Taking in another big breath, Ilsa mustered the strength to lift herself off of your body. Your hand fumbled in between your bodies, groping around depressingly until you found her zipper, pulling the suit open. The angle made it impossible for you to grab your own zipper, so Ilsa intervened, reaching under her body and roving around your chest with her fingers until she found the zipper and yanked down. Desperate rustling ensued as you both tore off the leather, leaving only your loose undershirts. You swore you saw her skin steam, and it clicked just how hot she would have been, trying to maintain a plank in that jumpsuit for as long as she had. It made the endeavor all the more commendable, and the feeling of air on her skin must have been twice as liberating. The vent echoed as Ilsa sighed, slumping atop you again. 

“P/A/N/T/S” she lazily commanded. 

The pants should come off too, you silently agreed. Reaching for the zippers on the sides of her calf was easier, and you were able to completely rid each other of the garments without much maneuvering, except for raising the hips briefly. Again she sighed, resting her head on your thigh as air caressed her sweaty skin. Neither of you gave much of a shit about being in tank tops and underpants around each other, not when you’d both been minutes away from cooking. You’d been in worse straits, but the immediate relief of discomfort made this one memorable.

A peaceful silence filled the vent, and the two of you simply relaxed, waiting for the search to stop. The security below was good, but not good enough to discover, let alone guess where you’d hidden away. The two of you were persevering enough to stay camped out here until they gave up the search and blamed the disappearance of plans on an intern. The facility light below turned off, leaving the vents in total darkness. Lesser agents would’ve scurried away at this moment, but Ilsa knew better. She’d taught you better. The two of you weren’t out of the clear yet. 

Ilsa’s breaths felt more pronounced now, the rise and fall of her chest and the weight of her body on yours felt striking in the darkness of the vent. The more you focused, the more you could feel her breath ghosting over your thighs, sweaty head pressed lazily against the curve of your hip. In any other context this position would’ve been exciting, but this was your senior mission partner, and thus there couldn’t be anything sensual about it. Sure, agents were notorious for hooking up when on long term missions like this one, but never once had Ilsa ever made a move on you. Private lives weren’t on the table for discussion, so you’d always assumed she had a reason to refrain from hooking up. She was pretty, experienced, and probably more than acquainted with living a double life. Physical proximity blended with emotional distance made your relationship all the more befuddling. You’d both caught each other masturbating in the shower on several occasions, but it was never discussed. The door was just closed, and you waited until the other was done before you returned. Agents did what they had to do to stay sane on missions. That included never speaking about what they did to stay sane.

The vents were getting colder now. The heat of her body and metal beneath your back kept you insulated enough to hardly feel the chill. Her breathing grew shallower as she relaxed, making the breaths against your thigh more conspicuous. There was a new smell in the shaft too. Earthy, sharp, even musky. You couldn’t tell if you liked the smell or not, it was just odd and all encompassing. Even if you tilted your head in the attempt to dispel it from your nostrils, you couldn’t. The next several minutes of distraction consisted of trying to guess what it was. The distraction was only so good, and soon your awareness returned to your own sensations.

Ilsa’s breath was ghosting over your inner thighs more regularly as she waited, soft puffs of air curving down, sliding over that intimate flesh just below your panties. Soft, barely there caresses, teasing the tiny hairs, tickling them and drawing your awareness exactly where it definitely should not be. The sensation was driving you up a wall, igniting an inescapable conundrum of conscious feeling in your mind. Not only was it aggravating, your body was responding to it. Toes curling, goosebumps erupting, and worse, a distant throb in your pelvis. As you processed the first sensation of wetness against your panties you knew you were screwed. From front to back, side to side, posterior to anterior, and from the top of your head down to your big toe. Screwed.

Sure, it was pitch black, and there was no way she could see, but fuck, her face was right there. In this twilight where senses were heightened by the lack of other stimulation, there was no way she wouldn’t smell something. The smell from before was getting stronger as your breathing got heavier. It was everywhere now, and as you tilted your head up to figure out where it was coming from, the tip of your nose found its source. Slightly damp, musky, and definitely biological, you realized too late what you had been smelling, and you realized that your breath had tortured Ilsa as much as hers tortured you. 

“Hey-” Ilsa shrieked at the contact, cutting herself off with her hand as the sound echoed down the vents.

Below, the sound of boots was heard hitting the ground in rapid succession, following the echo of the vents right below where you and Ilsa were hiding. Your breathing accelerated, and that too became acutely obvious in the sound-conductive metal shaft. In a moment of panic, a desperate attempt to muffle your breaths, Ilsa pressed herself down, muffling you with exactly what had been the cause of this faux pas. Her pussy.

All you could process, all you could feel was Ilsa’s panty covered cunt muffling your breaths, bearing her pubic down against your chin, skull pressed against the metal vent. Your nose was covered, and you desperately opened your mouth, breathing through the cloth of her underwear to gather enough air to function. You were muffled, but at what cost? Every single breath taken in was mingled with the smell and the subtle taste of her arousal. Ilsa’s breathing was just as obvious as yours had been a moment earlier and as the bootsteps drew closer, Ilsa, whether out of spite or tortuous ingenuity, buried her face against your pussy. Not a single wisp of sound was heard in the vent, clumsy footsteps and distant shouting erupting as the scouts lost their trail. The two of you lay there, breathing around the other’s fluttering sex. Minutes passed like this, the insufferable torment of the most mild stimulus conceived against both of your aching pussies, leaving the both of you in a purgatory of almost-sensation.

Your senior mission partner, whether out of wisdom or madness, (you couldn’t be sure), was the one who broke the tension. Ilsa’s tongue darted out, tracing the subtle lines of your labia with her tongue through your panties. Slow, delicate patterns, machinations of desire causing a delicious tension to form in your very center. The moan of relief you delivered was muffled by her pussy, but she squeezed your thigh viciously regardless. The message was clear: You had to be quiet. Not a sound, not a gasp or a whimper. The price of deliverance was steep, but there were ways to pay it forward. You were kinder to Ilsa than she was to you, pulling her gusset to the side before you traced her gaping entrance with your tongue. Her smell was inviting, now that you could identify it. The lack of light made the experience purely tactile and olfactory, occasionally audible if you moved your tongue or lips clumsily enough to cause a squelch. 

With every soft lick, Ilsa’s cunt fluttered, winking open and closed, beckoning you further. It was a soft feast of flesh and tongue, your lips delicately tasting her arousal as the two of you descended deeper into madness. (Or bliss).

Ilsa, motivated by your soft stimulation, pulled your panties free of your thighs, leaning down and rolling your clit between her lips and tongue. The hard points of her teeth dug in around the flesh of your clitoris, the nerve brushing against the sides as her tongue rolled it in tantalizingly slow circles. Though she couldn’t speak, deprived of all noise except the rush of air in and out of her nose, her body spoke, begging for more with soft flutters, flirtatious drops of arousal, and most overtly, by the press of her hips down against your face. 

Her hips danced in slow circles, rubbing her clitoris into your mouth as your nose pressed against the wet ridges of her opening, spearing it open and closed with wet plops of air as the rocking continued. Every lick was rewarded, every devout act of passion returned. Her hands dug into your thighs, using the muscle as leverage to push her hips down and face forwards again and again and again. Your arms found purchase around her hips, fingers tracing the dimples of venus that rested just above the curve of her ass. The delicate rocking continued, you both cradling the other as the debauchery continued.

Every cant of her hips made her smell more prominent, her taste more concentrated, the warmth of her flesh more noticeable until you were drowning in it. Your lips latched to her clit, tongue rolling over it in a tender, infinite figure eight. Ilsa followed your example, dragging the both of you closer to a release as she spread your labia open to deliver a firmer suck to your engorged clitoris. The wet sounds that filled the vent weren’t subtle, the threat of discovery still remained ever present, but what mattered to you both was finally, finally getting off. The scouts had left this room anyways, and if they were going to kill you it’d better be after the two of you climaxed. 

The soft rolling of Ilsa’s hips evolved into regular circles as she delighted in the pull of her clit in and out of your mouth as you suckled fervently. She returned the favor with the laps of her tongue, fingers tugging your clitoral hood back entirely. Her breath wooshed over your entrance as she nipped and sucked at your clit, teasing the coil of release higher and tighter until your legs clenched painfully. The action was deceptive, Ilsa orgasming first. She breathed heavily out of her nose as her cunt violently fluttered around your nose. Whatever plans you had to enjoy the moment were ripped away by her desire to share the moment. She took out all of her pleasure on your poor clit, suckling so violently that your body throbbed from your pussy, up to your neck and back down to your toes as your body trembled in a violent attempt to stay quiet. White stars exploded around your eyelids, arousal dribbling out of your hole and urethra as your body felt stimulation through every angle. You kept your mouth against her cunt, muffling yourself lest a single sound escape. 

The moment faded away, leaving the two of you heaving for air, as close as you’d ever been. Neither of you could handle another, remaining limp and breathy as you processed your highs. 

Rest wasn’t available to agents, even post-coital. Ilsa’s watch vibrated, alerting her that an exit had opened up. Scrambling for clothes, the two of you managed to slip on about half of your suits, crawling out of the vents and slipping through the facility as fast as humanly possible. Your legs wobbled, her knee almost gave out. It was a high in itself, escaping with her like this.

←→

Inside the safehouse your high continued. Giggling like school girls and playfully shoving the other out of the way, the post-mission high had never been so dizzying. You were both tearing off your clothes, desperate to be the first into the shower, to wash the sweat and fluids off. She was a mean fighter, dragging you onto the floor by your half-off undershirt, you snagged her ankle so she fell on her front. Even as you achieved victory, the coldest, most heavenly burst of water raining down over your flushed skin, she still wasn’t done fighting. Slipping in the cramped stall, Ilsa manhandled you out of the way, pinning you to the wall as she scrubbed her face under the showerhead.

“Bitch.” you snarked, slapping her ass 

“Yeah, well you squirted on my fucking face.”

The two of you stared at each other in silence, water thrumming against the shower walls as you both processed.

“... Am I supposed to apologize for something you enjoyed?”

You both erupted in giggles again, limbs and suds tangling together as you took turns scrubbing the other clean of your fun. What was October without a budding romance?

Tags: @ilovehotactresses @marvelwomenrule @midnight-lestrange

If you want to be added to my tag list for Kinktober (or generally), please let me know!

[lieutenantfloyd]

Happy Mission: Impossible teaser trailer day everyone!!

(Credit to tomcruisse62 on instagram)

[writings-of-a-demigod]

The team was waiting for you to arrive before taking off. Ethan chooses the team for this mission Luther, Ilsa, Benji and you.

“They should’ve been here by now.” Benji commented.

“Have some patient Benji they’re gonna be here.” Ethan told him.

They heard the motorbike before they saw you, making your way to the private jet.

“Luther tell the pilot to get ready for takeoff.” Ethan smiled when he saw the sign of you.

You stopped the bike and took off the helmet and showed a big smile. Hopping off the bike Ethan was smiling at you and spread his arms for a hug.

“It’s about time.” Benji said.

You jumped into Ethan’s arms “Oh shut it Dunn.” You hugged him so tight “How I missed you.” You whispered into the hug.

Ethan chuckled “I missed you too bug.”

“You know you could hug on the plane, right?” Benji told you two.

Parting away from Ethan’s hug you glared at Benji “What got your panties in a twist dude?” making your way to the stairs to get into the plane.

“Ha ha ha don’t call me dude.” He pointed at you.

Luther saw you enter the plane and stood up from his chair “Well if it wasn’t my favorite person.”

“Luther my baby” You opened your arms to hug him “How are you?”

“I’m doing great now that you’re here.” He hugged you and kissed your head.

 You saw Ilsa smiling at the both of you “And there she is the love of my life, my wife.” You said to her before hugging her and taking your seat next to Luther.

“How come I didn’t get a hug?” You heard Benji

You raised your eyebrow at him “Well you were being an ass so no hugs for you.”

“No, I wasn’t” he argued.

“Yes, you were.” You argued back.

“No, I wasn’t.”

And you two just kept going back and forth with this.

“It’s gonna be a long mission with these two.” Luther told Ilsa and Ethan and they just laughed.

a/n: This is for @tomcruiseishot I'm still working on the Jack Reacher so I will post it when I'm done.

*gif not mine*

[natchastxin]

trip to venice.

Summary: Ilsa brings you to Venice despite your refusal and you confess to her the feelings of hurt you’ve had since she left you in Amsterdam three months ago which leads you to join Ethan’s team. You find her in the aftermaths of the fight on the bridge.

Pairings: Ilsa Faust x f!reader

Warnings: blood, slight smut

A/N: I just finished watching Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning Part 1 so I’m writing this to make myself feel less sad. And obviously there are spoilers for MI Dead Reckoning so don’t read if you don’t want to.

You loved her, you really loved her and you thought she felt the same way too. She told you so herself just that night she spent in your room in Paris after a stressful mission. So why did you find your bed empty and apartment bare as if she was never there? Had you dreamed the whole night?

The only evidence that proved that the night had transpired was the singular note she left on your nightstand, propped up against a glass of water. On it, etched on the delicate white paper was a single letter: I. The letter was accompanied with a heart that was drawn in the same swoopy style as the letter.

You picked it up and quickly turned it over in your hands to see if she had written anything else. Much to your disappointment, that was it. You laid back in your bed with the note clutched over your heart and closed your eyes as the scenes of last night flashed behind your eyelids.

—

A frenzied knocking woke you from where you had fallen asleep on your couch while watching your movie. Worried sick about Ilsa, you thought it best to distract your mind with something else. She came to your apartment before she left for Kashmir, letting you know how the mission was going to go down as you braided her hair.

You met her while in the MI6. She was the agent and you were... well, you were also an agent but you were better known for your bomb-diffusing skills, how well you handled a knife, and your medical skills. Funny thing, that was actually how you met her, in a knife combat. You were tasked to bring her in because she had information on a known terrorist and caught her off guard. The fight ended with both of your legs wrapped around one another's necks until you called truce.

You fell for her quickly, quicker than anyone you had ever fell for before. It hit you that you were falling for her the way waves break against a barrier of rocks. You came to the realization one late night that two of you had gone to a bar for drinks.

You sat across from her in the headquarters in London, staring at her in your own subtle way— in a way that you thought she didn't notice— but she soon caught on whenever she looked up and you would quickly look back down at your paperwork. For her, she fell for you more gradually. It was a gentle love for her that she received from you, it was like the cool afternoon breeze that rustled through the trees of the forest; it enveloped you and left you wanting more when it left. This pining between the two of you lasted for years, through her disavowal which was shortly followed by your resignation from the MI6 to do privately contracted work all the way to the day she confessed to you that she loved you when she showed up at your apartment front door.

You opened the door and she was greeted by your very disheveled appearance. "Hey," she croaked out and your eyes immediately brightened, any trace of fatigue disappearing from your eyes.

"Ilsa."

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she said, smirking.

"You're one to talk," you said, pretending to be cross and resting your hands on your hips. But you can barely keep your facade up long. Your real emotions of fear quickly break through your expression. Your lip trembles and you pull her towards you. She drops her duffle bag onto the ground and lets you melt into her embrace. "You were supposed to call," you tell her, you voice muffled by her shoulder. She laces her fingers through your hair to hold you close.

"I'm sorry, darling," she tells you and hugs you tightly, "I'm here now, I'm okay. We got to the bomb in time."

"The bomb?" You said, wiping your nose on your sleeve while pulling away, "Why didn't you call me? I could've helped."

"We didn't have time," she sighed out, "I got here as fast as I could."

"Come on," you said pulling her in, "I'll make you a drink."

—

The night progresses rapidly and both you and Ilsa down multiple drinks as she tells you how the mission unfolded.

"I have something to tell you," Ilsa said.

"Hmm?"

She pressed the lip of her beer against her chin and leaned towards you. "I love you," she said. Your heart beats rapidly against your rib cage and you breathe in that intoxicating perfume scent of hers. Her grip on the slippery glass tightened for a few seconds while silence filled the air as you came to terms with what the woman before you confessed. "I love you too," you whispered out. She takes your beer out of your hand and places it on the coffee table along with hers. She kissed you then, threading her fingers through your thick hair, trying to bring your lips closer to hers.

"I've loved you all these years," she tells you.

"Let's not waste any more apart," you said, "Do you want this?" You bring your hand to the first button of her shirt to indicate what you meant.

"I have longed for this day since the day I met you," she tells you, "I want this— I want you."

She straddles your waist and your arms encircle around her, bringing her impossibly close to your body.

You bring her to your bed and you make sweet love to her that night, you're gentle as she is with you. She lets you worry over her injuries and press kisses to the bruises on her neck. She cums on your fingers then your tongue multiple times and you bury your head into her heat for as long as she lets you, she then returns the favor until you're shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Mustering the remaining strength you had in your legs, you straddled her and brought both of your cores to each other, rubbing until she sobbed as she came and your thighs burned with exhaustion. You collapse next to her and bring her close to your chest. You kiss the top of her head and brush her hair with your fingers.

"Stay," you tell her, whispering it into the dark corners of the room, "I know you have to leave soon, but stay for the next two days— for me."

She closed her eyes tightly and let out a hesitant breath, "Only for you."

She kisses your chest, then your neck— sucking on your pulse point to mark you as hers. To be fair, you had done your fair share of marking up her body so now it was time she took her revenge. She kissed you long and slow, nibbling on your bottom lip until your lips became red like cherries. She takes your breath away every time she pulls away and you stare into her beautiful iridescent eyes. She slowly falls asleep in your arms and you spend the time counting the freckles on her eyelids before falling asleep as well. You held her close that night, not wanting to let go.

You woke up that morning blissful— if only that lasted for more than a minute. The bed was empty and so was the apartment. She had vacated and left not a single trace of her presence. That broke you. You collapsed to the floor, sobbing and clawing at your chest. Little did you know, this started a cycle for you and Ilsa. A cycle that always led her back into your arms in that tiny apartment in Paris. The next year, she waltzes in and out of your life whenever she pleases. It was as if she had forgotten that first night you had with her entirely. She would fuck you then leave the next morning and you were happy to give that to her if that meant you could have her for that little while.

You used to tell her about the dream you had for the both of you. The one that included laughter, coffee dates, the strolls you would take at the local park, the paintings the two of you would pick out to decorate your apartment, the patter of small feet that would fill the silence of the morning, and the infinite love that the two of you would share. She would lay there with her eyes closed, smiling happy. It was the only way this dream existed for her— in that small bed inside of the small Paris apartment you owned. The only place that dream lived was in yours and Ilsa's minds. You dreamt of a world where no one knew your names, a world where you could live anonymously, stroll down the streets hand-in-hand, free from the fear of someone harming you or Ilsa. She hides her tears when you describe this dream to her each time the two of you lay naked, sprawled together late at night. She let you dream for the two of you because that was the only way she could truly make you happy. You knew that she didn't want the same future you wanted but you endured.

Three months of taking the torture, you had finally confronted her. Not given the response that you deemed to be the truth, you sent her out of your apartment in fury, swearing that you never wanted to see her again.

"I thought what we had was real, Ilsa," you had told her, "You told me you loved me that first night in Paris when you got back from your mission with Ethan."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she mumbled.

The truth was that Ilsa was scared. She was scared what would happen if other people knew just how madly in love with you she was. She saw what happened to Ethan and how it affected him. She didn't want anything bad to happen to you so instead she kept you a secret and kept the relationship to a minimum because she saw it as the only way she could protect you. She would have you in the only way she could but she never knew how much she would hurt you in the process. You finally came to the realization of why she was treating you like such an ass one day the both of you had spent the night in Amsterdam.

"You're not Ethan," you told her in bed one night as you held her close, "And I'm not totally helpless. I know you love me, Ilsa. And I love you, more than you know. Despite everything you've done these past three months, I still love you even though I shouldn't."

"But I can't protect you."

"Baby, I can protect myself. You forget that I was a trained agent too. This is my life, I'm not going to let some future terrorist dictate who I should be able to love."

She left again that morning and that was the last you saw of her for the next three months.

—

Your head throbbed as you sat up. You quickly began taking in your surroundings and noticed that you were in a moving van. You clutched your head in pain.

"Hey, darling," a familiar voice said and your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach. Familiar hands grabbed yours but you shook them off.

"Where am I? What are you doing here? What happened?"

No one gives you an answer. It seems like the two men at the front are waiting for Ilsa to answer you but she doesn't. All she does is stare.

"Fine, I'm leaving then if you won't give me an answer."

You stand up and you're about to open the door when Ilsa grabs your free arm. That does it for you. You twist in her grasp and eventually pin her down in the van.

"Don't fucking touch me," you spat.

"Hey now, c'mon," Benji in the passenger seat finally said, "Just tell her, Ilsa."

"We knocked you out when you came out of your favorite cafe. Something bad is happening, I— we need you," she said and it comes out barely a whisper. Your expression changes.

You finally let her go and sit up. She sits up and coughs, rubbing her chest.

"Why? Why now?" You asked, looking deliberately at Ilsa, waiting for her to answer.

"We're going up against this new enemy and we could use your help," Benji answered instead, "Ilsa has told us about your skills and, well, we need someone like you."

"Thanks, but I'm not interested. She knows why."

You motion to stand up again and this time Ilsa speaks in a stronger voice.

"Y/N. Please," she pleaded. You look at her, which was the first mistake. You could never deny her anything. You would always say yes to her even if it cost you. Your jaw clenched in frustration.

"Fine. But if I do this, I don't want to talk to you or see you ever again. You got it?"

"I understand," she said even though it felt like her heart was being wrenched from her body.

"You've hurt me enough times," you told her.

The two men at the front of the car exchange looks.

—

You sat in the back of the van when Benji brings Ethan in. You had only met Ethan once before, he was nice. But you didn't tend to base how good a person was from first impressions.

"Y/N," he said when he noticed you.

"Ethan," you replied.

"Nice to see you."

You nodded. He looks back and sees Ilsa's deliberately avoidant gaze, looking anywhere but at you. He lets out a very small sigh and looks at Benji who gives him a grimace, shaking his head. He knew what happened between you and Ilsa, one of three people that knew. He knew how much the two of you loved one another and how stubborn Ilsa could be. You, on the other hand, from his singular encounter with you, he knew that you had a kind soul. Why else would Ilsa love you so? Even if she refused to admit it.

You hold up a paper clip and help free Ethan from his handcuffs. "Are you okay?" He asked.

You nodded your head, busying yourself with unlocking his handcuffs.

"I'm always fine," you told him once you freed him.

"So what's the plan?" You asked.

—

"What would potentially happen if a government got their hands on this AI tech?" You asked while sharpening your knife nervously.

"We don't know," Ethan said, "We need to find the other half of the key to find out."

Luther shows him the surveillance footage from the chase in the airport, "I took out the footage from your glasses and looked through everything. See anything strange?"

He notices a man glitching and replays the footage, "It's like he's a ghost."

"We can't find actual video of him except for right here," Luther stops at a frame of Grace, "He only exists in this reflection."

"The Entity," Ethan says, his voice dropping to a whisper, "It's protecting him."

"You saw him, didn't you?" Luther said.

"I did, but I wasn't sure."

"Well who is he?" Benji asked.

"Someone I thought died a long time ago," Ethan said, "In another life, before the IMF. Before I was offered the choice."

Ethan looks up at Luther, "In a very real sense, he made me into who I am today."

Luther grimaced.

"Does he have a name?" Luther asked.

"He calls himself Gabriel," Ilsa said, turning from the window. You look over at her and she meets your gaze before switching to Ethan's.

"You know him," Ethan said.

"There is no knowing him. He has no recorded past— the Entity made sure of that. He's a dark Messiah. The Entity's chosen messenger and he sees death as a gift he wants to share with the rest of the world."

"How do you know this?"

"I still have a few friends in MI6."

She looks back at you but you look away. "Friends who are afraid," she continued, "Of the British government gaining control of the Entity. Any attempt to try to stop them would be seen as an act of treason."

"And because you're disavowed," you said, "Friends called and asked you for help."

"They knew Gabriel served the Entity," she said, "They knew he was on his way to Istanbul to acquire one half of the key but I beat him to it."

"Do your friends know what this key leads to?"

"They believe it leads to its source code."

"Source code," Luther echoed.

"When were you going to tell me this?" Ethan asked.

"I'm telling you now," she said.

"Hold on, did you talk to them in person?" You asked, "Your friends. Did this happen over a phone call?"

"I'm disavowed so they had no way of contacting me in person."

Her expression changed when she realized what you were implying.

"He wanted you to find the key," you said, your voice coming to a whisper, "He wanted you to bring the key to Ethan. This was a trap."

"No, we can't be sure that was the Entity," she said.

"We can't be sure it wasn't," you replied.

"We can't believe anything outside of this very conversation," Ethan said, "None of you should be here."

—

You sat with Benji in the other room as he revised the firewalls on his laptop. You leaned back in your chair, having switched to a different knife to sharpen.

"Why did you guys choose me? Of all the people you could've called, why me?"

"Ilsa wanted you here. She wanted to see you and make sure you were safe."

"Bullshit. She doesn't care about me," you laughed.

He looks at you and your belief in your words falters.

"Why did she leave me then?"

"It's the only way she could think to protect you. Yes, I know how that contradicts the fact that you're here now but you're the best agent she knows and she thinks that maybe she can better protect you this way."

"That's stupid," you scoffed.

"Not everything is always a clear path in Ilsa's head."

You look away to where Ilsa is standing in the other room. Benji follows your gaze.

"She still loves you, despite everything she's done to make it look otherwise and I'm guessing you still love her too."

You give an imperceptible nod of your head.

"Go tell her before it's too late. With our line of work, we never know how much time we get with one another."

"You're very wise, you know," you said, "When you want to be."

"Thank you," Benji said, his face brightening.

You walk to the room in which Ilsa is standing in. You tilt your head to the door leading to the roof and she nodded. You went first. She follows a few minutes later.

You stood on the rooftop, gripping the railing tightly. You bent down and stretched your shoulders before resting on the railing with your forearms. She walks over and leans with her back against the sunset. She lets out a loud sigh.

"You're mad at me," she noted.

"Great observation," you said sarcastically.

"Y/N..."

"What? What do you want from me, Ilsa? I've given you everything I have. Every time you turned for me I was there and now you pull me into this mission. You couldn't even talk to me first? I would've said yes, you know. All you had to do was ask. I would always be there, despite everything."

She doesn't say anything so you look at her. Hot tears are rolling down her face. Your heart broke again even though you knew that it shouldn't.

"I'm sorry," she said, "Those nights in Paris then in Amsterdam."

Silence fills the air when she pauses. "I had a mission after Amsterdam and faked my death," she said quietly, "I wanted you to come with me but then I remembered everything I did— how I hurt you."

You turn around and lean against the railing, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I didn't realize that in my efforts to protect you, just how much I was hurting you in the process. I know that I don't deserve your forgiveness but I want to give this a chance, a real chance this time."

You looked over at her, "I wanted to give this a chance too. I always have. But I don't want to get hurt again. I can't keep doing that to myself."

"I know. But what if I promised you that I would try? I want to be with you, whatever it takes," she said.

You think about it, was it really worth it to give her another chance? She was the love of your life, yes, but she had hurt you so many times, though not intentionally.

"Fine," you said, uncrossing your arms, "I'll give us a try. But I want complete honesty from here on out.

She nods, "I can do that."

So you let her back into your heart because your love for her outweighed the grudge you held against and it was the only thing you ever knew how to do.

She hugs you hesitantly and you move your arms to hold her closer. She smelled the same as the night in Amsterdam. You brushed your fingers through her desert colored highlights. She tucks her head under your chin, revelling in the comfort your embrace brought her.

"I promise that I won't hurt you," she said, "Not intentionally."

You kissed the crown of her hair and she looked up at you before meeting your lips. You let her deepen the kiss as you pull her even closer to you. She found a home in you that day. You held her closely by the waist, not wanting to let her go. A smile tugs at both your lips.

"You know, I've never been to Venice," she said.

"Really?" You said.

"Yeah, it's my first time here."

"Hmm, maybe I'll show you around after this mission's over. What do you think?"

"I think... it sounds like perfection."

She bit her bottom lip adorably before snuggling her head into your chest. You never wanted to let her slip away ever again. She feels your grip on her waist tighten as your mind drifts once more to the plan. She was going to meet Gabriel at the bridge and fake her death. The margin for error was so small, barely imperceptible to the human eye.

"What's wrong?" She asked, brushing her nose against your jaw.

"I don't like this plan," you confessed, "There's too many things that can go wrong. It's not safe."

"Darling, it's the only way we'll be free," she tried her best to make you see the brighter side of the plan.

"You could die, Ilsa. I can't have that happen."

"I'll be careful. He'll hit me here," she said, guiding your hand just clear of her heart, "I'll be sure of it. Besides, if things get out of hand, death will just have to withstand my will to stay alive."

"Ilsa, don't joke," you said, looking away. Your eyes sting with tears threatening to run away.

"I'm not joking- hey, look at me," she cups your jaw with one hand, "I'll come back to you, I promise." She rested her forehead against yours. "I'll be fine," she told you.

She follows you back down where everyone is changing into their attire for the party. Ilsa pulls you into her room and sits you down on a crate. She sits in between your legs. You give her a perplexed look.

"Could you braid my hair?" She asked quietly and your mouth breaks into a smile. "Of course."

You brush her hair gently to one side. She plays with her fingers while you comb through her hair, plaiting it expertly.

"I haven't had my hair braided since you left me," she confessed, "You've always been the person to do it for me."

You smile to yourself at the thought of this simple activity she saved just for you. You finish braiding her hair and place it over her shoulder. You kiss the side of your neck and she turns to capture your lips. She rises onto her knees and laces her fingers through your hair, pulling you to her. Her tongue slides against yours as you deepen the kiss. She moans into your mouth and you grip her waist tightly. You nibble on her bottom lip before she does the same to you.

Ethan walks in and the two of you break apart. A smile creeps onto his face. "Glad the two of you finally came to your senses," he said and a blush rises to both your cheeks, "Could I get a minute with Y/N?"

Ilsa nods and leaves the two of you alone but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your palm.

She walks back into the common area where Luther and Benji are working on their laptops.

"Nice hair," Luther commented.

"Why are your lips red?" Benji asked.

Her fingers rises to her lips instinctively and she blushes.

"Oh my god," Benji said and Luther smirks.

He stands up and points his finger while following her. She ducks and speed walks to the equipment. "You guys are back together aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Benji," trying her best to keep a poker face.

Benji smirks and crosses his arms across his chest, "I like seeing you happy. The two of you are good for each other, clearly."

Ilsa blushes again before ducking her head and rummaging through a duffle bag, "Thanks."

—

"I have a task for you," Ethan said, "While we're at the party, I want you to follow us from a distance. We have the advantage of Gabriel not knowing who you are. I need you to follow Ilsa and protect her. I won't be able to do that while I get Gabriel. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course, Ethan," you replied. He nods, "You'll be off comms so that there's no distractions. I just want you to follow Ilsa, don't worry about me. Alright?"

You nod.

"Take the weapons you need. I'll come find you when everything's done," Ethan said. He goes to stand up but you grab his arm, "Stick to the plan. Let her fake her death. I know it's going to seem real but don't worry, we've got this."

He blinks appreciatively at your reassurance. "Good luck," he said.

—

You were following Grace, Ilsa, and Ethan to the party. Watching them from a distance. Ethan had told Ilsa to run so you followed her to make sure that she would be alright. You finally caught up to her in a deserted alleyway. She swings at you with her fist before realizing who was following her. You duck and grab her arm.

"Y/N?" She said, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Ethan sent me, he told me to follow the three of you from a distance. He asked me to protect you." You moved in closer to her and inspected her face and she closed her eyes, taking in your concerned touch. "I'm alright," she told you.

"Good, you had me worried back there," you said. She opens her eyes and sees that you haven't moved from your spot. One of your hands moves from her face to her hip and pull her flush against you.

"I missed this," you whisper to her. She puts a hand against your abdomen. "What are you waiting for then?" She husked out. Her hand scrunches the front of your shirt and pulls you even closer to her body. You meet her lips, they were soft and they enveloped your own.

You pull away and rest your forehead against her. "We should probably go," Ilsa told you and you nodded, agreeing.

"I'll be right behind you," you said, "Do you have a weapon?"

She half unsheathes the sword she's holding and you smirk. "That's my girl," you said. You take one of the five knives on your body and tuck it into the back of the waistband of her pants, you hide the weapon with her shirt.

"I added a little something special," you told her.

She smiled and kissed you, "Let's go."

She takes off running and you run behind her. You hear faint sounds of combat and Ilsa comes to a quick stop, causing you to crash into her. She held a finger up to her lips. She motioned for you to stay here but you shook your head. She motioned for you to just wait and you reluctantly agreed.

She walks up to the bridge and you wait tensely behind the corner, glancing over to your girlfriend to make sure she was alright. She starts fighting Gabriel and she gets stabbed in the leg. She lets out a heart wrenching scream and you run over swiftly and quietly. You unsheathe the knife from behind your back and slash his thigh— his femoral artery. He yells in pain and clutches his leg; blood gushed past his fingers.

"Who the hell are you?" He grunted. "No one that you need to know." You flip your knife and help Ilsa stand up. "Go check on Grace. I'll handle him."

She limps over to Grace and checks her pulse. You momentarily let your guard down and Gabriel gets back up. "Y/N, look out!" She screamed. Gabriel punched you in the back of the head and knocked you out.

Ilsa's vision turned red with anger when she saw your body crumple to the ground. She picks up the sword again and advances toward Gabriel. Her swipes are sloppy and Gabriel can see it but nonetheless she gets a few slashes in. He takes advantage of her sloppiness and knocks her sword away easily. He slashes at her abdomen and it barely misses her. He cuts open her stomach and she lets out a gasp and clutched her stomach. He pins her against the side of the bridge. "This is what happens to whoever cares about Ethan Hunt," he hissed in her ear, "When I'm done with you I'll carve up your little partner. She'll look so pretty all slashed up."

"Don't ever fucking touch her," Ilsa gasped out in between breaths. Her hand inches to the knife you had tucked into her waistband.

"I kill you first and she won't have anyone to protect her," he cackled.

"She doesn't need me to protect her."

She pulls out her knife and stabs the side of his body. "If anything, she's been the one to protect me all along." He doubled over in pain.

He grunted angrily and stood back up, stabbing Ilsa in the chest, she moved slightly to the side as he did so. Her eyes opened in shock, letting out a shaky breath. She looks down at the knife then back at Gabriel.

Gabriel stumbles back and lets Ilsa slide to the floor. She closes her eyes to control her breathing. You finally open your eyes, your head is throbbing and you look around. You push yourself up with much difficulty and see Gabriel's retreating figure. "Hey, asshole," you yelled out, "You forgot to kill me."

"Your time will come," Gabriel said.

You stumbled to your feet and pulled a small dagger from your boot. As he turns his back, you throw the dagger at him. It lodged in his back and he fell over before crawling away.

You look around and see Ilsa and your heart drops to your stomach. You run over her and see the knife. Quickly taking her head into your lap, you check her pulse, letting out a temporary sigh of relief. However, that relief didn't stay for long, you had a performance to put on. You hunch over Ilsa's body and cry. Your shoulders shake as you discreetly take out her earpiece and crush it beneath your boot. You lower your lips to her ear.

"You did really good. I'm so proud of you," you whisper into her ear. From a distance, it just looks like your grieving over your lover's dead body.

You brush her hair soothingly, continuing to let the tears flow.

"I love you," you told her. Her eyes twitch so you press a kiss to each of her eyelids, over her freckles. You hold her head close to your body and she stays motionless.

You hear heavy sounds of footsteps from the distance and you know it's Ethan. Grace would be waking up any minute now.

"No!" Ethan yells when he sees Ilsa's limp body in your arms. He places his finger to her pulse and his eyes soften to sadness. "Y/N, I'm so sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen," he said.

You sniffle and brush your tears, "She died protecting others. It's what she would've wanted."

Grace finally comes to and realizes what happened. She's in shock seeing Ilsa's "dead" body. "No, that wasn't supposed to happen. She's not supposed to be dead, she wasn't supposed to sacrifice herself," Grace starts hyperventilating, "Why did she do that? I didn't ask her to do that."

You lovingly brush at Ilsa's chestnut hair. "Ilsa was doing what she loved," you tell her without looking at her. You look at Ethan and place a hand on his knee, "Go talk to her."

You continue talking to her despite the fact that you look mad doing it. "You did good, my love. You did so good. I hope you can finally have some peace." You press a kiss to her warm lips before pressing your forehead against her.

Benji quickly but surely arrives only a couple of seconds later. He takes in Grace's hysterical expression and Ethan comforting her before his gaze landed on you. Your back faced him but he could see the tip of Ilsa's head. He hops out of the boat and rushed over to you.

"No, it can't be true. Ilsa..."

He takes in her pale complexion and the lack of movement from her chest. You look up with your tear-stricken eyes and a string of silent communication travels from your eyes to his. It was done.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry. This wasn't how it was to go down."

You nodded sadly, "I know."

You sniff harshly and brush your tears away roughly. "Please can we just take her home," you clear your throat, "I don't want us to be all exposed here and she deserves a proper burial."

Benji nods, understanding, "Do you need me to help?"

You shake your head and lift her easily into your arms. You take her back onto the boat to the underside, safe from the eyes of the Entity where she finally opens her eyes. You burst into tears then, for real this time. She brushes them away, shushing you.

"I love you too," she whispered to you, "I'm okay. Didn't I tell you everything would be fine?"

You nod, still trying to recover from the events of the bridge.

"If you could give me a hand though," she said pointedly, looking at the knife.

"Oh yes, of course."

"It's a cute knife but it would be better out of my body," she muttered.

You chuckle before indicating to her shirt then your knife, she nods. You slice open her shirt to get better access to the wound. "If you wanted take me to bed you could've just asked," she teased and you rolled your eyes.

You open your duffle bag to take out your medical supplies. You spray antiseptic over her wound and she hisses. "Sorry."

She shook her head, "It's fine. Do whatever you need to."

You get a firm grip on the knife and give it a big tug. It comes out quickly and leaves Ilsa groaning in pain. You toss the knife across the boat and rip open a packet of gauze and cover her wound. "Here, apply pressure. I'll stitch you up."

You take out your suturing kit and help her lay down in the cramped cabin of the boat.

"I only have numbing spray," you tell her and she nods, "Okay, it might sting a little."

She nods again. You remove the gauze and throw 3 tight but delicate sutures on her shoulder before wrapping her chest with bandages.

"Now let's look at that stomach of yours," you said before moving to her abdomen. It had a wider slash but the cut wasn't as deep as the one of her chest. You stitch it up nonetheless then wrap it. You move to her leg and she very gracefully takes off her pants to reveal the wound. It was a small slice, 2 inches wide. You stitch her up and bandage her.

Benji stomps on the floor of the boat to indicate your arrival. You look back at Ilsa. "Ready to hide again?" You asked and she nods. You drape a sheet over her body before lifting her into your arms and carrying her to the safe house. Luther gives your arm a squeeze when he sees you and you blink appreciatively before going to the room you had claimed and laying her on the bed. You remove the sheet and she looks back at you.

"Get some rest," you told her.

—

She was still bleeding heavily despite the stitches you gave her but you were on your own. The rest of the team had left to deal with the mission while you stayed behind and cared for Ilsa. You cleaned her bandages each night and replenished her with nutrients. You bought medical supplies and stole some from a local hospital and brought them back to her. She gets a fever on the second day and falls unconscious, shuddering ever so slightly in her sleep.

You took in her pale appearance in the bed. She sunk into the bed and her freckles looked dull. They never looked like that. You prayed for her to wake up so that the color would return to them. She looked so weak, her skin as pale as moonlight. She looked too frail. Too unlike the Ilsa you knew. You knew she had to get better soon, she had too. You wrung put a wet cloth and wiped her burning forehead. She starting to show early signs of infection so you fed her antibiotics and stayed by her side every night, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.

Her fever finally broke on the fourth day. She wakes up and say your hunched over position by the side of her bed. She smiled gratefully at her guardian angel and combed through your hair. You sat up quickly at the feeling.

"You're alive," she croaked, her throat raspy from disuse.

"You're awake. God, I thought we would never make it out of that," you tell her.

"Oh baby," she said, a hand coming up to your face, brushing your cheek, "I'm okay. I'm alive. See?"

She brings your fingers to her wrist and you felt her soothing heart beat. You laid your head against her wrist. "Come, lay with me."

She slowly scoots over and you slide onto the bed with her and take her into your arms. "Don't move too much," you told her, "You'll tear your stitches."

"Thank you for being here," she said.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else. Just get some sleep, darling. I'll be here when you wake up," you told her, smoothing her hair. "Thank you for coming back to me," you whispered into her hairline and she closed her eyes with a smile on her face. You kiss her freckles repeatedly until she falls asleep.

—

When she finally heals, that's when the two of you say your goodbyes. Ethan, Benji, and Luther were the only ones there.

"But if you need me, I'll only be a call away," she told him and slipped a flip phone into his front pocket, "Only use it for emergencies. As far as the world knows, I'm dead." She gives him a tight hug. "And what about you?" Ethan asked, "What happens in your story?"

You shrug, "The love of my life dies and I decide to move to the quiet countryside of France and teach English." Ethan smiles, nodding his head, "That suits you." He gives you a hug as well.

"Treat her well," he told you and you nodded.

"If you're ever in France and need somewhere to stay..." you trailed off.

"I look forward to taking you up on your offer," he said.

"You ready?" You asked Ilsa and she nodded. She picked up her duffle bag and gave her last farewells to Luther and Benji.

"Come visit, okay?" She tells the both of them and they nod.

"Take care, Ilsa," Benji said while hugging her.

You approach Ethan one more time and take your favorite knife out from behind your back. It had an ivory white handle, a Persian tip, and a beautifully intricate wave pattern over the blade.

"This is for Grace. Tell her it's my gift to her for joining the IMF and taking Ilsa's place. We finally gets our happy ending now and it's all thanks to her."

Ethan nods, "I will."

"If any of you ever need us, I'll be there. You're Ilsa's family— mine by extension, we will show up, no matter what."

Ilsa laces her fingers with yours and nods. She gives you a kiss.

"Bye," you said. You and Ilsa exit to the boat that Ethan bought and placed under his name. The plan was to sail to France. It was a short ride and Ethan had packed everything you could possibly need into the boat.

"Go hide," you tell Ilsa and she nodded, "I'll let you know when we reach open waters."

—

You and Ilsa move into a chateau in the countryside, 30 minutes away from the beach. A place where the two of you could start fresh and build your family. There was a quiet town about a 10 minute bike ride, no surveillance cameras, just the eyes of locals who admired the love you and Ilsa had for each other. You and Ilsa went there on the weekends for grocery shopping before wandering around, trying the new patisserie shop around the corner, letting Ilsa feed you bits of croissant. The town made you and Ilsa feel young again, you would go out dancing like you were in your 20s, giggle in the back corners of the bookstore as you kissed one another and picked books for each other, let each other try their ice cream before agreeing which one was better. This quiet life, the one you and Ilsa always dreamed of was finally happening.

The two of you lounged on the couch together, reading. It was raining outside and the fire was crackling. She laid against your chest and you had an arm flung over her shoulder. She looks at your hand, the ring she gave you and smiles contentedly. She fiddles with the ring on your ring finger before smiling back up at you.

"Hey," you said, noticing her staring.

She moved your glasses from your face to the top of your head before cupping your face to kiss you.

"I'm happy we did this," she tells you.

"Me too."

She plays with your fingers while waiting, hesitantly, for the right moment to ask you a question that could change your lives.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" You asked, noticing her shift of mood.

She sits up and turns around, sitting on the backs of her heels, so she can talk to you face-to-face. "Would you ever want kids?" She swallowed harshly, waiting for your answer.

Your lips eventually break into a smile and nod, "If it's with you, then yes."

You put down your book and take her hands into your own before pulling her to rest on your chest. You stroked her back and played with the ends of her hair.

"Is that what was worrying you so much?"

She nods against your chest.

"I've been dreaming about having kids with you for forever, Ilsa. Of course I want them. I can't wait to see a mini you running around the house."

"I could settle for a mini you too," she tells you.

She smiled against your skin, her chest warming at the idea.

She lifts her head and kisses along your jaw. She nestled into the crook of your neck, breathing in your perfume. She felt a sense of fulfillment resting here in your arms. A fulfillment that she never got from joining Ethan's team. You offered her a life filled with love and safety and she wishes she had seen that earlier instead of running away. But there was no point in dwelling on the past now. You held her in your arms and she was going to cherish every single moment she could spend with you.

[mitchellpete]

need to follow more writers so if you write for top gun, mission: impossible or any other tom cruise movies pleeeeease interact 🌟

[maskofmilves]

Imagine: being on a mission with Ilsa and she realizes one of you both might not come back.

[fireinmoonshot]

ohhhh could we get “is that a /hickey/?” with ilsa? love ur writing

Out of the entire team, Luther and Ethan are the only two that are smart enough to keep their mouths shut when you and Ilsa enter the room together. Benji, on the other hand, is bright but not quite bright enough to put two and two together like the others do and his bad habit of speaking before he thinks gets the better of him.

The second he spots the hickey-like mark on your neck, his mouth drops open in a gape.

“Is that a hickey?” He points towards you.

Your hand instinctively moves to your neck, covering the mark, and you curse under your breath. You’d thought that the collar of your shirt would do a good enough job at hiding it, but the wind outside must have sabotaged you.

You’re about to reply when Ilsa beats you to it.

“What it is or it isn’t is none of your business, Benji,” she says.

He narrows his eyes and looks between the two of you, confused. 

Ethan, smiling, claps a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. We have work to do.” He flashes a grin at you and Ilsa and then tugs Benji off to the computers on the desk in the middle of the room. There was, after all, a mission to be completed.

Benji mutters something to Ethan as the two of them walk away. 

“Smooth, Ilsa,” you look over at her, amused. 

“It’s not my fault he isn’t quick enough to put two and two together,” Ilsa shrugs a shoulder and then moves to stand in front of you. “Now, let me fix this.” She gently takes the collar of your shirt in her hands and starts to fix it, moving it so that it will cover up the hickey she’d left on your neck the night before. Her fingers brush your neck and send chills down your spine. 

Then, she starts removing the tie from her own outfit and starts to thread it through the collar of your shirt before tying it. “That’ll keep it more secure when we head out,” she says. “I don’t quite understand why you want to keep it hidden, but I won’t argue.”

“Thank you,” you smile, reaching up and taking one of her hands in yours. You thread your fingers through hers and give her hand a squeeze. “For understanding. And for having my back, even if it is just Benji being Benji.”

Ilsa smiles and leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. She doesn’t care if the others are watching, and maybe if they are things will finally click for Benji. “Always.”

She gives your hand a squeeze in return. “Shall we go save the world now?”

“I suppose that sounds like a good way to spend a Monday.”

[wzyxz]

melt.

pairing: mission impossible x child!reader angst 2 fluff summary: two bad men kill your parents, so you’ve been stalking them ever since. one day, a team of people kill the bad men and take you to their base. that’s basically it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the rubble of an abandoned and run down building, two men with guns have a hostage in the seat between them. It squirms around like a worm. I can see it, I can watch it all unfold and do nothing, or I can intervene. I’m a wuss, so obviously I sit still and quiet like a statue. My breaths are balancing carefully.

The men don’t see me. The men are bad. I remember watching them before, killing my parents and leaving me to rot and die slowly and hungrily. That is why I watch, to study their patterns and then get the sweetest revenge. I know I said I was a wuss, but I’m working on it, okay? 

Concrete surrounds me like a cage, but I cannot move or else I will be noticed and shot down immediately. One man begins to shout. “Where are they? I thought they would be here with the money by now!” The other man listens, processes, and squabbles back, “Alright, who do you think I am, Sherlock Holmes? How should I know where these dudes are? I’m just as upset as you are!”

They continue on about this for a long time. A long, long time. Every word that slips out of their mouths is laced with anger, frustration, and maybe even a bit of rage too. These dudes are ugly, though. Unshaven beards, messy hair, and they smell like sweat. Apparently, they’re holding this dude named Micheal hostage, and they’ve called the FBI or something to come and collect him for money. Like, a lot of money. Like, a billion dollars, a lot of money. 

Honestly, I dunno who this Micheal guy is, and no offense to him, but he’s probably not worth a billion dollars. 

As they squabble, the door opens slowly, softly, quietly, and three (I think) people step into the room. One of the bad men takes notice, cocks his gun and points. “Take another step and you get turned into a cherry slush.” In an instant, the room is silent and unmoving as if it had frozen solid.

Poor Micheal has suffered through so much. I see his fingers are skinless and raw, stripped down to muscle almost, due to his attempts at escape. Not to mention his breaths are uneven, a telltale sign of indescribable fear. His head bobbles slowly through the stillness.

Probably, he is shaking and scared. I’ve been shaky and scared many times. I’ve been like him before. I wish I could say I haven’t. 

These men, these terrible men, took away everything from me. Everything, from my food to my family to the bed I slept on, taken away just like that. Like wind had blown below me and carried everything that was mine far, far away. Smells, tastes, experiences come rushing back to me like a waterfall, and it’s almost sickening. My mind is overflowing and I think I’m starting to cry. But I can’t, because that is wuss behavior, and I am not a wuss anymore. At least, I’ll try not to be. While I think, I remember to watch. And now, I can see the fight. Apparently, I’d gotten so caught up on thinking I’d missed the entire fact that there was a WHOLE DAMN FIGHT going on right in front of me. A man in all black beats up bad man number one, throwing him to the floor and causing him to spit up violet red blood. Another dude in just a suit just stepped on bad man number two’s frickin face and CRUNCHED IT? Dear lord. Ew.  There’s blood every where, and even more is splurting out because mystery dude in all black keeps beating the crap out of bad man number one, no breaks and no breaths taken. Eventually, bad man number one’s ribs break and he dies or whatever, leaving a girl to take the shroud off Micheal’s head and lead him out of the room after cautiously inspecting him for any serious injuries. Black-wearing mystery dude tells other mystery dude “D’you think we should check to see if there are any more hostages here? These sssickos could be keeping millions in here for all we know.” He slurred his words lazily, exhausted from the amount of hard work he had gone through just then. “Sickos?” The other mystery dude replied. “Is that what you call kidnappers and mass-murderers? Jesus, Ethan, call them what they are for once.”  As the two search behind boxes and rubble, I realize my head has been throbbing the entire time. My vision begins to blur and my eyes start closing. This can't be happening. Although I try to fight it, the drowsiness begins to wash over me like the waves at the beach wash over sand.  Before I completely pass out, I see blurry figures move rubble out of the way to discover my limp, curled up body sprawled on the hard floor in absolute agony.

Waking up, I feel the floor shift and rumble below me. As I turn my head to look down, my forehead begins to sting so badly I want to cry. “Hey, no, no, don’t move your head a lot. It’s a bit messed up right now,” I hear a familiar voice speak softly to me. Just then, a warm, gloved hand slides under my chin and pulls my face up. Upon feeling the warmth and seeing the man’s face, I melt. It’s the same man in all black who’d crunched bad man number one’s ribs. Oddly enough, I get some strange sense of comfort that sizzled as if it were bacon on a frying pan. It runs throughout my veins and creates a system my life almost relies on. It feels like a warm hug, nice soup, a fluffy blanket, all those things oozing into each crevice of my mind. I try not to look at people in the eyes, though, because it makes me uncomfortable. “My name is Ethan Hunt, but you can just call me Ethan. I promise you’ll be alright, because you’re under the care of the best.” He winks at me, attempting to lighten the mood. “Is everything alright back there?” A deep voice called from the front of the car. “We’re good, Luther. They just woke up.” Again, Ethan turns to me with the softest expression ever, and yet again I melt.

So apparently, there’s this whole government agency or whatever going on called IMF, or Impossible Mission Force. These dudes who rescued me, Ethan, Benji, Ilsa, and Luther, are all apart of this agency and had been sent on a mission to take down the bad dudes and save the hostage. So, on the way to their safe-house or whatever, I had to tell them my tragic anime backstory. Unfortunately, they are concerned about my mental health. I hate it when that happens. Sure my parents were brutally mauled right in front of my poor, young eyes and I was left to die in an empty, cold house, but that isn’t necessarily bad, right? I’ll get over it. On the bumpy ride, I figured out I only melted when I looked at Ethan, which was weird and yet understandable. He gives me a very protective dad kind of vibe. Everyone else I’m not so sure about. All of the rest, I believe, have hints of poison covered by the masks of their smiles. It’s not that they are rude or evil, I’m just not sure about them.

Now that we’re in the base, Ethan holds his hand out to me. Slowly, my fingers wrap around his and I sigh, knowing I shouldn’t trust a stranger like this. But he’s the only thing I have. I miss being held in caring arms, tucked in a warm embrace. Instead, all thats left for me is the feeling of hunger. Hunger for the love of another person. As he leads down a hallway, Ethan reminds me to keep my head straight. My shoes pad softly against the floor below, not making a sound. I guess that’s why the team nicknamed me “Ghost,” because I’m usually so quiet nobody hears me at all. That’s what a year of spying on evil men who’d shoot you at once if they heard you speak, breathe, or make any noise in the slightest does to you.

We make a turn to the left, stepping into a room neatly decorated in mostly white. The bed, which has light grey covers, is carefully made. A nightstand sits right next to it with a Himalayan salt lamp placed on top. The walls are decorated in plain ivory tapestry and wooden shelves with knickknacks lining them. A bean bag chair, the color of a perfect night sky, laid idly in a corner of the room next to a bookshelf filled with lengthy and sophisticated-looking books. At least, lengthier than what I usually read anyways. The decor was immaculate, and I slowly began to realize this room was for me. “Okay, this is our guest room. You can stay here, make yourself at home. Take off your backpack and put it down somewhere. I’ll be out here, looking up your records and telling my agency about your arrival.“

When he closes the door, leaving me inside the room, I remember my backpack. I always keep a backpack with me, containing medical supplies, art supplies, and small rations of food and water. That’s just how it is when you’re traveling everywhere alongside two dudes who don’t know you still exist.  My hands reach to my shoulders, pulling off the sleeves of my backpack from my back. Placing it down on the floor next to the nightstand, I remember how little sleep I’d gotten in the past week. Deciding to go to sleep, I crawl weakly into the bed and immediately drift into the sweetness of near unconciousness.

Cold hands wrap around my sides. I feel it and yelp out. My eyes shoot open as small beads of sweat begin to form on my temples. In front of me, I see Benji, holding his hands out in confusion. “Sorry, Ghost! I- uhm- we were starting to watch a movie and then- uhm- Ethan told me to come get you and take you to the living room where we were so that he could make sure you were okay. I didn’t mean to disturb you!” He apologizes profusely and I just stare at him with a nervous expression. “Well, maybe, you’d like to join us for the movie…?” I weigh the options in my mind. I could get some more sleep in this comfy bed, which would be pretty nice honestly, or I could watch a movie with a man who I think might be a new dad to me, which was also nice. Maybe I should spend time with Ethan and the team, I might be here for a while. Plus, it might get that weird feeling of mine out of the way. The one that makes me feel like Ilsa, Benji, and Luther are all untrustworthy liars. So, I nod my approval and begin to get up. “No! Ethan said that he didn’t want you messing up your head walking there, but since it doesn’t seem like I’ll be close to picking you up any time soon, I’m just gonna go get Ethan.” Benji began trotting out of the room, again leaving me alone in an awkward, impatient silence. Ethan is the only touch I feel comfortable with currently, since I am beginning to know it so well. My brain starts drifting off into sleep mode when suddenly Ethan walks into my room. “C‘mon sleepyhead, up you get!” He whispers softly. I felt my body being lifted into the air and then a sudden warmth being pressed against my side. The entire world started to shift as everything blows past me.  Before I knew it, (probably because I started to doze off) I was on the couch facing a wide TV. Ethan was sat down next to me, patting my head and smiling. He turns to the movie, which movie I do not know, partly due to the fact I am so, so tired. Slowly, slowly, I realize I kind of just want to sleep. Against most of my better judgement, I curl up against Ethan, my head beginning to nestle into his stomach. The amount of joy I feel rivals all of my survival instincts, but then everything was starting to sluggishly melt away like pouring honey. “Goodnight, guys,” I thought to myself as the world around me faded into black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ haha this took me so long??? anyways tysm anon for requesting this it was super fun to write! hope u like it!

[cakexblankett]

Tag

Green

Character

Rebecca Ferguson

Words

845

~•~

"Hey!"

She looked around before locking eyes with you. She smiled widely, making her way up to you. She looked stunning, you thought. She had a short white dress, with flowers embroided all over it. Her hair was curled and she had a light touch of makeup. You stared at her for a bit before hugging her.

"It's been so long!"

"It is! I'm shocked you still remembered me!"

She said, giggling. How could you forget her? She was your entire world, you could never ever forget a person like her.

She still had the same effect on you: your heartbeat quickened, you had butterflies in your stomach, you couldn't stop smiling and you felt almost dizzy, like her presence was too much to bare. She was a goddess on earth and you were a mere servant of hers.

"Yeah..."

You laughed awkwardly. She tilted her head to the side and you almost choked on nothing. Wonderful. If anybody could read your mind, in that moment, they would find the Lady Gaga meme where she kept spitting out compliments after compliments. Literally, that's what you were doing in your head.

"What do you want to do?"

"Ah... you know, I didn't think you would actually come so..."

You admitted. She grinned, taking your hand in hers. You gulped, feeling your hand starting to sweat. Her skin was soft.

"Want to walk around a bit?"

You nodded, retrieving your hand from hers. You started walking beside her, and you closed your eyes as soon as her scent hit you. It was sweet, like peaches and daisies. You almost leaned closer, but she made you snap out of your trance.

"So... what do you do now?"

You used to go to the same university, she was ten years older than you but that didn't stop you from falling hard for her. You became a book translator while she... well, she was famous and, thinking about it, you were so lucky to have been able to see her that day. She made time to meet you, she freed a bit of her busy schedule to be with a person like you and you thought that was really sweet of her. She even remembered you. Fantastic.

"Ah well, you know how I always said that I'd like to translate books and stuff?"

Rebecca nodded, her eyes shimmering.

"Don't tell me you are a translator!"

You grinned and she applauded.

"That's great! I'm so happy for you, Y/N!"

The fact that she was happy for you made you so glad, like you were actually hearing for the first time that you were a translator.

"I don't have to ask you what you do because..."

"Yeah, pretty obvious."

You both laughed. Her laugh was divine. It was like listening to Billie Eilish singing high notes.

You walked for about an hour, talking about your lives, what changed and what not. She told you about her children, and about her husband and you noticed she always looked down while talking about him.

"He is... well, he treats me well, that's a good thing."

You knew she hid something but you didn't want to intrude so you didn't ask anything about it. After a while, she stopped on her track, and looked at you.

"Come to my house, won't you?"

You remained petrified. To her house?

"I insist."

How could you say no to her? And so you accepted, and her eyes lit up like stars in the night sky. You were mesmerised by her, by her everything.

And so you were there, before your eyes appeared this beautiful white and brown house. She kept smiling, and you could feel the happiness she was feeling. And you were euphoric too, even though you couldn't believe it was real.

"Come, make yourself at home."

The house was big and pretty. Two children made their appearence and shook your hand politely. One even kissed you and told you:

"I'm so glad my mom made you come. You made her regain her spark. Thank you!"

And, as soon as they appeared, they disappeared. You looked around you, feeling overwhelmed. You were in Rebecca's house. Your head was spinning.

"Come, sit."

She said, waving you to go near her. And you were so close, you could have almost kissed her, and you were about to when...

"Wake up!"

You opened your eyes, lazily.

"Bloody Hell!"

You covered your face with your hands. It was all a dream. Of course it was, you knew it was too perfect to be a reality. You looked up. Rebecca would never remember you. She didn't think of you the way to thought of her. And even though you sometimes texted eachother, she was happily married and you were only a random girl who used to be in her life. Nothing more, maybe less.

~•~

Please, help! I think I have a huge crush on my philosophy teacher, and I dreamed of her yesterday. Should I tell her? I don't want to make things weird.

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Gentle Hands

Ilsa Faust x Fem! Reader

NSFW 18+- MINORS WHO INTERACT CAN AND WILL BE BLOCKED.

Summary: What happens when a dangerous spy gets disavowed? She goes right back to her roots. It’s unfortunate that those roots land her into a months long obsession with the current tenant of her childhood home.

Warnings: Yandere/Stalker Ilsa- Non-consensual watching of intimate activities, clothes stealing (panty stealing), non-con touching of non-sexual areas, masturbation (Reader and Ilsa)

A/N: I do not condone this behavior in real life. This is a character study, get OFF my ass. <3

Word Count: 2.0K

[Told from Ilsa's POV, third person.]

It was normal, to be this involved in someone’s life, certainly. If everyone had the skills that Ilsa did they would do what Ilsa did. This girl, this (Reader), she was interesting. Unusually so. She'd done good things to Ilsa's childhood town home. There were plants everywhere, and the windows no longer fogged over in the winter, which meant she'd probably renovated the old town home herself. Or perhaps the landlords had changed. Ilsa didn't look into those details; those were boring, useless details. What was more interesting than the renovations was the person who continued to spruce up the home. Fresh wallpaper had been put up the day Ilsa had knocked on the door. Ilsa remembered this very clearly, using her proficiency for keen detail retainment to remember the day vividly.

Fall leaves clung to the stone pathway that led up to the town home. Ilsa knocked on the door of her childhood home, fully prepared for any sort of introduction, any sort of grumpy old geezer swinging the door open and letting out a tired 'What are ya ringing the door bell for, love?'. But that wasn't what happened.

'Hiya, how can I help you?' a soft voice asked, opening the door to reveal a kind looking young woman.

'Hi, I'm Ilsa Auster, I used to live here. I wanted to take a look around the old house for a moment, check to see if anyone I knew still lived here.' Ilsa softly explained.

The young woman smiled back.

'Oh, I see. My name is (Reader). I'm afraid I don't recognize you or know too much about the previous tenants.'

'I wouldn't expect you to, this was years ago, you see.' Ilsa smiled thinly.

The young woman seemed to pause for a moment, deciding on something.

'Well if you'd like to come in and have a cup of tea, you're more than welcome to.' she offered, so sweet.

Ilsa had come in for tea. She'd seen the freshly wallpapered living room, smelled the drying paint, and she'd run her fingers along the new countertops the new landlord had installed. You were sweet to Ilsa the entire time, giving her the little information you had about Simon Faust, the elderly gentleman that had passed on from complications related to kidney failure, as well as a few tenants in between. The tea you served was made the proper English way, with loose tea leaves in a metal tea strainer, left to steep in a pot for five minutes while Ilsa had chatted with you. The sugar cubes you offered were sickly sweet, just like you. None of it would have made Ilsa do what she did next, none of it would have been something she'd dwell on at all, had you not touched her.

You'd given a soft squeeze to her shoulder as you bade her farewell at the door. A tender touch, full of trust, goodwill, kindness. Not too many people trusted Ilsa enough to touch her like that. In her line of work people didn't touch. A hand for support, a brief handshake for introduction, but mostly punches, slaps; hands wielded like weapons to leave bruises at the bare minimum, to end her life in the extremes. A kind touch was unheard of in her past life. With one small gesture, you had given Ilsa a taste of the life she'd given up working for MI6. It was this touch that ruined her; that made her ravenous for more.

That's why she was in front of her computer, browsing the cameras she'd placed inside your home. Hundreds of cameras to capture you from every angle as your hands worked. Those hands, petting your cat, watering your plants, cooking dinner (breakfast, lunch), touching anything and everything in that gentle way of yours. Those hands that soaped up your body in the shower, scrubbing yourself clean after a long day, those hands that lingered in the valley of your breasts and over the soft expanse of your stomach and roved over your bare thighs.

Those hands.

Tonight Ilsa was in for her favorite treat. You were tired, shifting uncomfortably, but not quite satisfied with something about yourself. Ilsa opened up a period recording app, tracking your cycle. She'd set this up this early on. It was interesting how predictable your behavior was in relation to your cycle; fascinating, truly. She smirked with glee. You were ovulating tomorrow. No wonder you were so uncomfortable.

'Feeling extra uptight, princess?' Ilsa whispered as she watched you squirm. 'Gonna give me a show?'

You gave in after five minutes. Phone down, reaching into your bedside table, bringing out that tiny little vibrator of yours that you adored. Ilsa had seen you use it a few times, but you used it most frequently during this window of heightened hormonal activity. You browsed on your phone, bringing up a cute little story. One of your 'fanfictions'. Ilsa could open your phone's software and see what you were reading if she really wanted to, but she didn't. Not now, anyways. She watched in excitement as you pulled your pajama pants down your legs, underwear too. Ilsa bit her lip. If you were taking them off all the way, this was going to be a good show.

The vibrator buzzed quietly. She watched in anticipation as you placed it against your clit, the soft gasp when you did.

'Princess, I might need to join in on this.' Ilsa smirked, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

You swiped through your phone reading avidly as the buzz continued. Your hips would wriggle a little, and you'd let out a soft 'hmm' or a breathy 'hihch' every once in a while, but that was it. Ilsa knew you weren't vocal. No, you were quiet. Ilsa shifted in her seat as you increased the vibrator's speed. She watched breathlessly as you seemed to be getting more into whatever you were reading.

'Oh, princess, now I know you're the quiet type, but you're putting on a show.' Ilsa whispered to the screen, eyes dilated.

She watched as your eyes rolled back and you panted quickly, going rigid for a few moments and then relaxing. The vibrator was back in the drawer before Ilsa had taken her jeans all the way off.

"No, damn it!' Ilsa slammed her fist on her desk. 'You're not playing fair, we're supposed to do it together!'

She watched as you walked into the bathroom, sitting on the toilet and peeing. Ilsa groaned, slapping her mouse on the pad, browsing through her stored videos. She found her favorite of you, the shower video. It was sixteen minutes long, eye candy for the intense voyeur that Ilsa had become. The setting of the video was sensual. You were in your shower, and you'd set up candles, a singular soft light illuminating the otherwise candlelit bathroom. Your hair was tied up to prevent it getting wet, and all your movements were slow. You started out carefully, using that expensive bar soap you'd bought, lathering up your arms and legs, moving slowly. Ilsa groaned at the sight, pulling her panties down her legs, running her thumbs up and down her inner thighs.

You reached for that special scrub you bought, the expensive shit. She watched as you exfoliated, paying special attention to your breasts and your ass. Ilsa moaned at the sight, starting to rub slow circles around her clit. You rinsed the scrub off, shaving your legs and your armpits. Ilsa moved her fingers slightly faster as she watched, you were propping your legs up one at a time, and that angle was spectacular. Ilsa felt herself moving too close to orgasm too quickly, so she moved her fingers down, circling her entrance, dipping her fingers in carefully. She didn't want to orgasm yet, not when the main act was just starting.

Ilsa watched in silent awe as you reached for the shower head. It was new, another addition you'd added sometime ago, before Ilsa. You carefully adjusted the setting until the pulse of water was thin and violent. Your water pressure was too high, so you unscrewed the shower head just a titch. One leg on the shower ledge, the other straight, albeit barely bent, and when the water hit your clit just right, you allowed yourself to moan. Ilsa let out her own breathy moan in response, her fingers rubbing that spongey spot inside her while she used her other hand to rub her clit. She bit her lip as she watched your thighs shake, one of your hands slamming against the shower wall, keeping yourself up. Finally, it happened. You let out a soft series of gasps and whines, your leg shaking as you came.

The sight of that, the sound, the angles of the cameras, it was enough to get Ilsa orgasming. She let out her own quick pants and soft moans as she rubbed her clit furiously, working herself through that high. The video ended with you gently running a softer stream of water between your labia, rinsing everything clean.

'Divine.' Ilsa let out a breathy chuckle.

Flipping tabs, Ilsa returned to checking up on you, skimming the video feed. You hadn't done anything interesting in the sixteen minutes she'd been replaying your best performance yet. You'd done a few housekeeping things such as returning to clean your vibrator, remake the bed, change your panties.

Your panties.

Ilsa switched cameras, zooming on them. They were soaked, caused by ovulation no doubt. Ilsa bit her lip, envisioning just how wet they would feel in between her fingertips. You looked tired, throwing the panties into your laundry basket. Your exhaustion was to be expected. Ilsa had ensured that you would always be ready to sleep at a set time; she'd switched your vitamins you'd take at night with sleep aids. You wouldn't know the difference, they looked the same as your iron pill, and you weren't tasting them to know the difference.

Ilsa smiled, pulling up her pants, grabbing the key she'd had made for your home. You were a silly girl, leaving that spare key in the flowerpot for when your Mom came over. It was a three hour errand to go to the locksmith, and no one ever asked a polite English lady about why the key was a spare instead of the original.

She slipped into your house through the back door, walking nonchalantly. Your neighbors didn't pay attention to who you had over anyways. Ilsa had talked to them a few times. They smoked too much weed to remember her, asking for her name everytime. Upon slipping in, she fed your cat a small treat. The 'Temptations' kind.

'Gonna stay quiet for me pretty girl? Yes you are.' Ilsa whispered, petting the cat until she purred, leaving a few treats to keep her occupied.

Slipping up the stairs, Ilsa quietly walked into your room, smiling at your slumbering face. Opening your closet, she grabbed those still wet panties, rubbing her fingers over the slick. Ilsa pocketed them. Ditsy girl you were, always forgetting which pairs of underwear you'd worn and which ones you hadn't. Ilsa creeped up to your bed, touching your sleeping form. You were too sleepy to notice, with your special pill and all.

'Hi princess. Don't you know better than to tease me like that? Your performance today wasn't all that stimulating.' Ilsa quietly cooed.

Taking your limp body in her arms, Ilsa was tempted to touch your new pair of panties, to see if they were wet, but she felt like that wasn't necessary. Besides, she wanted you to be awake the first time you two were together. She wasn't into fucking people when they were asleep; Ilsa didn't like how quiet they were. Besides, she'd already gotten off today. Ilsa decided on pulling you into her lap, cradling you quietly. She took one of your hands in hers, squeezing gently.

'Love these hands. Such gentle hands you've got.'

Ilsa kissed your face softly, but not your lips. No, she wanted you to be awake for that. She wanted you to remember Ilsa when she finally decided to make her move. But it wasn't time for that yet. Ilsa simply wasn't finished making the perfect person for you to love.

<----------------------------->

[love2write2626]

Our Love in a Rogue Nation 7

Sorry for the delay! Please comment and let me know what you think!

Chapter 7

I sat in the room listening to the group discuss their next plan of action. Ok honestly I was tuning them out, at the moment I am admiring my beautiful engagement ring, I can’t believe I am getting married to Ethan. We had never discussed marriage, there was a small part of me that worried, that he was interested in marriage.

“You ok baby?” Ethan whispered to me, I looked up and smiled

“Yeah, just admiring my ring” I whispered back. He kissed my cheek, and just as if nothing happened, he went back to his conversation with the guys. As I tuned back in, it seems we had hit a speed bump, when it comes to the red box which meant that the drive is double encrypted.

“So, what your saying is there is no Ledger, which means we have no proof that the Syndicate even exists… so now we’re back to square one, except now we are all wanted by the CIA… I am so proud of us” Brandt said

“I have a question” I butted into the conversation. “Why is there a Redbox sitting in a private data base in Morocco?” every one looked at me pondering my question “and for that matter why would Lane want it, if he can’t open it?” I added

“Well, if Lane wants it you know he was a plan to open it” Benji said, Luther looked back at Ethan and I. My eyes got wide when it clicked

“He’s going to kidnap the prime minister” Luther said

“Yes he is” Ethan said

“Do we need to warn somebody?” I asked

“Yes, MI6” Brandt answered, he grabbed his phone when Ethan said

“Brandt, wait put the phone down, lets just think about this for a minute” I stood up walking closer to Ethan and gently placed my hand on his shoulder

“Ethan…” I mumbled

“Let me think a minute” he said

“No, Ethan we need to warn the British government, and not gamble with the prime minister’s life… just so you can beat the guy who has beaten you at every turn.” I saw a slight look of hurt in Ethan’s eyes

“Is that what you think this is?”

“I think, you are incapable of seeing another way right now. I think you need to maybe take a step back”

“Brandt, think about what you are saying” I stepped in “Sometimes Ethan is the only one who can see the way things need to be done” I said

“You, have no right to say anything right now. Ashley, you are smart but you are too close to Ethan, which means you will defend him at every turn, and that can lead some serious problems.” I cowered back a little in all the time I have known Brandt he has never once raised his voice at me, and I hate confrontation

“Brandt, you better watch your tone, Ashley is here to help just as much as everyone else here. You don’t ever raise your voice at her again” he stood up and got closer to Brandt “Am I clear?” Brandt didn’t reply he gave a simple nod of the head

“Ethan, we need to warn the British” Brandt said

“Maybe, that’s exactly what Lane wants us to do” Ethan said, now yelling

“Ethan enough! We are going to warn the British”

“No, we are going to find Lane, and we are going to get him, before he takes the Prime Minister” Ethan said. As I was listening to them argue, I started to feel pain run through my body… Damn the pain medicine must be wearing off. Ethan saw me stumble back a little, and rushed to my side “Baby sit down, you still need to rest… do you want some more pain meds?” he asked

“No, I don’t want to become dependent on those” Once I was sitting down, I leaned over a little to where Ethan is kneeling next to me and placed a light kiss on his cheek, which made his smile a little

“Ok, fine Ethan how exactly do you plan on finding Lane?” just as he asked the question the tablet next to Luther beeped, indicating his software had picked up on Ilsa’s most recent location, and Ethan turned to Brandt and gave him a cocky smirk. Brandt sighed

“Who’s going to drive?” Brandt asked in defeat

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Baby, I need you to wait in the car” I sighed

“Ethan I can help”

“You are still healing, and I just don’t want anything to happen to you… please wait in the car” I nodded knowing Ethan wasn’t going to let this go “I love you” he mumbled. I leaned over pulling his face closer to me and bringing our lips together. We both moaned into the kiss, this is the must real kiss we have had since I woke up in the hospital bed. After a minute, we broke apart

“I love you too” I whispered. We rested our foreheads together for a minute but jumped apart when we heard a banging on the window.

“Quit snogging my sister, and lets go” Benji said, I rolled my eyes, and Ethan pulled away from me

“Make sure you lock the door” Ethan said before getting out and walking away

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Once Ethan left, I decided to close my eyes for a few minutes and I was honestly close to sleep when there was a tapping on my window. I jumped awake, and was scared to see a very large man standing there. He used his hand indicating he wanted me to roll my window down. I rolled it down only a little so I could hear him

“Hey, any chance you can give me a jump? My battery is dead, please? I’m desperate.. my wife just went into labor and I need to get to the hospital”

“Oh, sorry! Of course” I got out of the car, so I could walk to the drivers side “Where are you parked?” I asked

“It doesn’t matter” he said

“What?” I asked confused, then before I could do anything else he grabbed me and put a white cloth over my face… and the last thoughts that went through my mind before I blacked out was ‘How could I be so stupud?’

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ethan’s P.O.V

I ran as fast as I could to the parking garage, Brandt and I got to the black van where Ashley was just in time for the ‘Bone Doctor’ to speed off

“I lost her in crowd” Luther said as he ran up behind us

“SHE SET US UP, SHE KNEW THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN” Brandt yelled

“No! Only Lane knows what’s going to happen” our conversation was interrupted by my phone ringing, I quickly answered it having a good idea of who it was.  “I swear Lane, if you hurt her in anyway” he cut me off

“I have a job for you Ethan” I let out and angry huff but said

“I’m listening”

“Your Mission should you choose to accept it, is to bring me the unlocked disc by Midnight.” He paused for what I am assuming was for a dramatic effect “Now say the words please”

“I accept” I mumbled before the line went dead.

“What does he want, Ethan?” Luther asked

“He wants the unlocked disc by Midnight”

“Ethan, there is only one person on this earth who can unlock that disc”

“I know”

“Ethan…” Brandt started

“We have to take the Prime Minister”

HOPE YOU ENJOYED! I’LL TRY TO GET THE NEXT CHAPTER UP SOON! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK IN THE COMMENTS

[rhaenella]

You & Me Trailer!

Hi everyone! The next chapter for You & Me is coming soon, but the reason for the delay is that I have been working on a little something…

I hereby present you the ‘official’ edit or trailer (whatever you wanna call it) for the fic! Have a look and tell me what you think <3

Ps there’s a little easter egg in there for all of the lovely people that remember this post of me talking about a jack crusher line way back and how oddly apropos it is for y&m ;)

[writings-of-a-demigod]

Part Two:

This is Part One

  Ethan stared at you harder, there were millions of things going around in his head. Ilsa tried to calm him down by grabbing his arm “Ethan you got to calm down, this won’t solve anything.”

That was all it took to lose Hunt’s trust. You knew it because if you were in his shoes that exactly what you would think too.

Your past was not something that you could easily talk about even with Hanaway, he couldn’t get the whole truth from you, there were a lot of missing pieces and parts when you open up to tell him something. The best thing about him was he never pushed you for fearing you might shut down, he knew it wasn’t easy living the life you lived and you knew how frustrating it was for him but he never shown it and that is one of the many reasons you missed him.

Now Ethan wasn’t him, he didn’t care that much and after the mission he pushed way too hard for everything. But you just didn’t even budge, giving him absolutely nothing, having nothing to lose and Ethan never had to face someone with nothing to lose.

“We need to know who was that? And how to hell does he knows you?” Ethan gave you a long hard stare.

That of course didn’t really do anything to you, you knew he was pissed about the mission, that he lost all control over it. Luther tried to take Ethan to the other room to talk to him while Benji stood next to you.

“You can’t trust them” he pointed at you.

This took you to dark memory. There you stood in a dark poor lit room, you were covered in blood, glancing down you saw your hands dripping of red liquid and around you were 5 bodies unmoving. You were in a daze, ears were ringing so you didn’t pay attention when the door in front of you was ripped open and four men walked in full gear with gun in their hands and two men were standing outside “Don’t let your guards down, you can’t trust them!”

You were lost in thoughts when you felt a hand touching your arm, your body reacted quickly looking up but before you could land a punch you saw Benji looking at you.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a low voice with eyes full of concern.

You just nodded at him “What’s up?”

“Umm I need your help with something”

You followed him to the next table that has all the laptops and screens he and Luther needed, before sitting down you cast one look over at Ethan then turned and sat down looking over the data Benji was showing you.

*gif not mine*

A/n: There's going to be part three because I'm not done with this. Also thank you for every person who reached out and wanted part 2.

[melanieph321]

Kenan Yilidiz x Reader - Thick Part 4/8

+ 18

This chapter!!!

Kenan is so boyfriend and he doesn't even know it, ugh!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Kenan and Reader share the same high school friend group. As graduation is near, Reader sets out to pass her drivers license test but ultimately struggles to. Thankfully Readers friends agree to help her with driving lessons and take turns doing so. It is during one of Rader's lessons that it becomes clear that Kenan likes her. A chock to Reader, who has a crush on someone else in their friend group.

Enjoy!

Luca's car smelled of denim and menthol. His father's vintage Cadillac ran smooth against the bumpy road. Although it was relatively easy to drive, you made the occasional jerk of the steering just to have Luca reach for the wheel, his hand momentarily caressing yours.

"You're doing good Y/N."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you just gotta get used to the rhythm of traffic."

"The rhythm of traffic." You nodded. It made sense. You were more relaxed driving at night, perhaps because there were less cars and people on the roads, meaning less chances of getting distracted or killing an innocent pedestrian. However, so far you've only driven at night once, and that was with Kenan, which does make Luca's assumption a valid theory. You have to get used to the rhythm of traffic at any hour.

"How about a break?" Luca suggested. "I have to pick some records up at the shop in town. You down?"

"Y...you want me....to come with you to the record store?"

"Sure. I mean you're the one driving anyway."

"Right. Of course." You squealed internally.

The record store was a neat little shop near the outskirts of town. It's where the cool people like Luca came to hang out. People that listened to retro music and detested the music industry as it was today.

"Hey, Luca. Come va?" (Luca, what's up?")

You felt honored walking into the music shop alongside someone like Luca. Everybody seemed to know him. Eager to greet him. Knowing how many friends Luca had outside of your little group made you wonder why he even bothered to hang out with you? You feared that once graduation happened that would change. Then again, you had the roadtrip to Bari to look forward to.

"Hey, Luca, what can I do for you?" Said the young lady tending the shop's counter. She wore ripped jeans and a tank top that matched her fiery afro. And just about every part of her face was pierced, lips, nose, ears and eyebrows.

"Armeni." Was her name. Luca said it with such grace and admiration that you couldn't help but to get jealous from their interaction.

"Do you have the new Gambino?"

"Childish Gambino?" You perked up. "

"Yeah, why?" Luca chuckled.

"I like Childish Gambino." You said, proud of the fact that you and Luca had something in common.

"I'm looking to buy the vinyl of his new record."

"Vinyl?" You frowned. "Isn't his new album out on Spotify. Why go through the hassle of buying vinyl? Do you even own a disc player?"

The silence from Luca and the girl was gut wrenching. They looked at you as if you just shouted insults, worse than anything Rihanna has said on her records.

"Vinyls are cool." The girl said, popping her gum. "Anyway...."Her eyes diverged from you to Luca. "Who is she?"

"Oh, Y/N?" Luca blushed. "She's just a friend."

The way he stammered and lost his usually cool composure lit a flame within you that wouldn't stop burning. You left the records store with Luca having gotten what he came there for. Perhaps he just wanted to see her, in the same way that you just wanted to spend time with Luca. There was no doubt about it, Luca was in love with the girl from the record store.

"Are you sure that you don't want me to drop you off at Gio's? Everyone is gonna be there."

"Thanks Luca, but my parents are probably waiting for me at home."

"Oh, okay."

Luca dropped you off at your house. You greeted Ilsa, the family chef, on your way past the kitchen and upstairs. She was getting started on dinner early, perhaps because it would only be you dining, your parents out of town again. She called you down once everything was set up and wished you a lovely evening before leaving for the day.

It was sad. You felt like crying. Luca didn't see you as more than a friend, meanwhile he was fantasizing about Armeni, the record shop bitch. And no, vinyls aren't cool. They're actually outdated and very cliche. Just like her...and Luca.

Your dinner was interrupted mid bite, as the bell to the front door rang. You were too lazy to check the security camera, opting the chances that it wouldn't be a burglar.

"Kenan?"

It was actually worse.

"Hi babe."

He stepped into your house, uninvited and with the audacity to lean in and kiss you on the mouth. "What's for dinner?" He said and proceeded to remove his shoes.

"Erm, I'm having pasta."

"Cool, did you leave some for me?"

"Erm, no? Why would I do that?"

He frowned. "Didn't you get my texts?"

"Texts, what text?" You checked your phone as you followed Kenan into the kitchen. There he made himself a plate while you went through your phone, having received numerous text messages from Kenan, the last one just from a few minutes ago.

Kenan: How's driving with Luca going? 😁

Kenan: Where is he taking you?

Kenan: Are you guys coming to Gio's or...?🤔

Kenan: Y/N, where are you, are you okay?

Kenan: Rebecca brought pizza. It's vegan though.🤮

Kenan: That's it, I'm coming to you.

You looked up from your phone. Kenan was stuffing pasta into his mouth. You looked down on your phone again, heart fluttering at his messages.

"Do you have anything to drink?" Kenan asked and you smiled. "Coke or Fanta?"

He snorted. "Coke, what else?"

You went over to the fridge. "I don't like Coca-Cola." You handed him the can.

"Well, then you don't have taste."

"I have taste." You joined Kenan by the table where your plate was already set. "I just prefer Fanta, that's all."

Kenan chuckled. "I guess you have taste."

"Thank you."

"In men, I mean."

"I doubt it." You laughed, the memories of today's visit to the record shop still burning within you.

Kenan stared at you blankly.

"What?"

"Your laughed just then, why did it change?"

Fuck. He heard it too. "No it didn't."

"It did."

"No it didn't, Kenan."

He shrugged, returning to nibble on his pasta.

"Where are your parents?" He asked, after a moment spent in silence.

"Work."

"Do they work often?"

"I guess you can say that."

"I know the feeling. "

"What feeling?" You snorted,  Kenan's parents weren't diplomats. They didn't even live with..."

"Loneliness."

You closed your mouth.

"It gets pretty lonely sometimes, doesn't it?"

You shrugged. "I'm used to it."

"Yeah me too."

"I'm glad I have you though."

"Me?" Kenan's eyes lit up.

"Not you alone." You coughed. "I mean you as in you guys, my friends."

"Oh, right. I guess that's true."

It was nice, not having to eat your dinner alone. Kenan was actually quite the company entertainment wise. One thing led to another and after playing Marco  Polo in your pool, the two of you ended up upstairs, in your bedroom.

"Is this okay, baby?" Kenan spoke against your neck, his lips caressing your skin as his hips pushed against you.

"Yes." You moaned.

"Does it feel good, what I'm doing?" His hips kept at it, pressing your pelvis further into the mattress as he dicked you down, your pussy clenching around his length.

"Yes, Kenan. I want you, harder."

"Harder?" He raised his head, sweat dripping down his forehead, his hair still wet from the pool.

"Yes, harder." You said and pulled him down to kiss you, your fingers running through his hair.

"Trust me baby, you don't want me to fuck you harder."

"No?"

"No." He smiled and licked your lips as he kissed you again.

"What, you don't think I can take it?"

"It doesn't matter if you can or can't take it." He huffed. "I rather fuck you like this, slow and soft." Kenan's hands went to your hips, pinning them to the mattress as he went down on you. He kissed your inner thigh, slow and soft, and as he got closer to your slit, causing your legs to tremble as he did, you wondered if Luca was as good of a kisser as Kenan? Probably not.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

[justjams2003]

Fast Pace-2

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic.Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, tell me if I missed any

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious

Word count: 2,8k

Masterlist

Part 1~Part 3

"What? Am I hearing this right? The Carlos Sainz, famous Ferrari Formula One driver approached you, in an alleyway, during your smoke break and paid you three hundred euros to hide in a cramped bathroom with you.” One of your best friends from high school screams into your ear. You can’t help but cringe, hearing exactly just how famous he is. You blow the smoke from your cigarette and gaze out across your balcony.  

You wish you could say the view is beautiful, with the Eiffel Tower in the background with music of the people in the background. It’s none of that though. The view is another apartment block, and you so wished the man on the balcony would close the curtains. You avoid the balcony in the fear of getting treated to a view of his wrinkled body. How you wish you didn’t have to deal with the gross apartment building.  

“Um...Yes...?” You reply, not really sure what to say. “Not only that, Jasmine, but he then gave her his number and said he would make sure he would see her again!” Your other best friend, Ilsa, on the group call squeals out. You facepalm, knowing they can’t see you, but still, your embarrassment is uncontainable. “What are you going to say?” Jas asks, you can already hear her plotting.  

Your silence says a thousand words. “You are going to text him, right?” Ilsa clarifies and they go quiet only to hear your sigh. “What would I say? Hi, mister million-dollar man, I really liked being cramped in a bathroom with you, and would love to do it again!” You scoff at the ridiculousness of it all and take another puff from your cig. “I mean...” Jas says but you quickly shoot the idea down.  

“Okay, okay, how about this? Address the elephant in the room. Tell him you googled him and then ask him what exactly he wants with you.” Ilsa suggests and it actually doesn’t sound that bad. Your stomach rumbles and as you open the fridge door you can’t help but sigh. Some old cabbage, one egg and a pack of cheap tomato sauce. Another hungry night.  

“Yeah, so that you can be prepared if he just wants a quick fuck!” Jas calls out and again you can’t help but cringe. “Jasmine!” You yell out, glad they can’t see you blush. Even that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s been weeks since someone touched you with any sort of kind intent. Much less how close you two were today. 

 You’d already given the full three hundred euros to your landlord. He just scowled asking where the rest of it is. Not to mention, the electricity is threatening to shut off. Along with the student loans, water bills, phone bills, and insurance, everything is piling up and you feel like you can’t pick up enough shifts to survive.  

I hear her groan, “Come on, Y/N, this could be a really great opportunity for you.” This time it’s Ilsa encouraging you. She’s right, maybe a little distraction from life is just what you need. Not to mention you’d do anything to look at that handsome face of his one more time. The photos and videos online don’t even come close. He’s so much more even just being near him makes you want to beg him to hold you.  

“Fine, but if he gave me a fake number, I’ll ignore you guys for a week.” It’s an empty threat as always. “Yes, of course, as expected.” Jas’ voice is dripping in sarcasm. “I’ve got to go, je vous aime les gars, au revoir.” Ilsa says goodbye, and with that, the call ends. Dinner, wouldn’t that be such a good idea? You open your banking up only to see but a meek two hundred left for the end of the month.  

While you’re on your phone, you might as well text him...right? 

Y/N: I assume you wanted me to google you when you gave me your real name?  

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: And, do I live up to the pictures?  

Y/N: No, you’re much shorter in real life 

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: A dagger in my heart! 

Y/N: 😝  

Y/N: I’m glad you didn’t give me a fake number then. But I can’t help but ask what exactly it is you want with me?  

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: How about this: I’ll explain it all to you on our first date 

Y/N: You intrigue me... 

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: When do you get off from work, tomorrow?  

Y/N: I work the morning, until lunch tomorrow. So I’m free from 16:00 

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: Send me your address, and I’ll pick you up at 18:00. Wear something nice.  

What on earth am I thinking? He could kidnap me! And yet you find yourself in front of your closet picking the one nice dress you bought for your first interview. It’s a simple black, form-fitting on the top but flares at the bottom with frills on the sleeves. It looks so boring to wear on a date with someone like him, but it’s all you have. 

 Along with the only heels you have, once more plain black chunky pumps. Your hair lays right below your shoulders in your natural waves and curls.

You can’t help but groan at your situation and throw a pack of cigarettes into your handbag. It’s a bad habit, you know and everyone around you has told you so many times to stop. But it’s so hard to when living in France and not only that it’s the only thing that seems to help.  

You finish it off with a red lip, hoping to add a slight bit of colour to the dull outfit. Not that you have much time to think of something else, at exactly six, there is a knock on the door. With your heart in your ears, you open the door to Carlos holding a bouquet of pink tulips. 

Not only that but he looks ravishing in black dress pants and a dress shirt, but of course with the sleeves rolled up. You bite your lip, already wanting to jump his bones.  

That tan skin of his has you imagining him, shirtless under the hot summer sun on a Mediterranean beach somewhere. Not only that but his hair seems to fall perfectly in place. So soft and silky and voluminous. Your hand twitches, wanting to rake through his inky black strands and then, of course, ask him about his hair-care routine.  

“How did you know these are my favourites?” You ask, walking inside and placing them in the sink before returning to him. He shrugs, “I have my ways. But enough about that. Querida, you look enchanting.” He takes your hand and guides you to a spin, showing off all of you. Your dress flows and his touch is like fire lighting in your body.  

“Really? I hope it’s fancy enough, it’s all I own, and I don’t really have the money to buy something right now.” You say with a blush coating your cheeks. Why would you tell him that? Now he’s going to think you want him to buy you a new dress. Or maybe you’re only going on the date because you know who he is.  

“Of course, niña bonita, I’m honoured to have such a pretty lady on my arm.” He then takes your hand and helps you down the stairs. And his words cause a blush on the tips of your ears. He helps you all the way to his fire-red Ferrari. “Woah....” You can’t help but utter out, you’ve never been so close to such an expensive car and the fear of breaking it looms in the back of your mind. 

“You like, niña bonita? Comes with the job, of course.” He winks and then opens the door for you, which of course opens upwards. You can’t help but let out a playful scoff, “Duh, of course!” He chuckles at your reaction. “You must tell me if I’m going too fast, no? I like speed of course.” His wink shoots electricity through your skin, not only that but that breath taking smile of his. 

 You don’t have a licence, you never needed one living in France all your life. Even in the smaller town where you grew up, you could walk everywhere. And yet the way he speeds down the freeway causes a thrill to tickle your toes.

Every time he switches the gears, his forearm muscles flex and you have to control yourself. Not to mention, he doesn’t even have road rage, every move, every turn, every gear shift is as smooth as can be.  

If it wasn’t for your culinary degree you’re certain you wouldn’t have understood anything on the menu. Even so, you’d been eyeing this place for a while and some of them you’re still unsure how to pronounce. What shocks you the most is the prices, some things on the menu are half the price of your rent. “What do you think of getting?” He asks, leaning back in his seat. “Um...the breadsticks?” He looks over his menu and raises his brow.  

“The breadsticks are free?” He clarifies, those luscious brows of his furrow in confusion and you nod with a smile. You try not to show him how nervous a fancy place like this makes you. And also how you yearn to be at home in a place like this. “Yes.” He sighs, “Niña terca, I am paying, pick what you want.” That actually makes you feel even worse.  

“Oh, no, it’s alright you don’t have to. I brought my wallet.” You reply, clutching your purse as a reminder. “It is not up for discussion.” He replies, going back to the wine list he’s holding. The guilt shoots through you. You desperately need to accept the money but stil your mother’s manners creep up on you. “Then the...salad.” He rolls his eyes and takes your menu and closes it for you. 

 You go to protest, but he calls over the waiter before you can. “The lady will have the Salmon Meuniere and I shall have the steak. With the Chilled Pinot Noir.” Again, he chooses your favourite option. “How did you....” As if he knows exactly what you’re about to ask, he just shrugs, “We must have similar taste.” 

The fact of these two choices being so similar doesn’t make you suspicion. Instead, it makes you feel warm and at home almost. How similar are you two already, and how much more can fall into place? You eye him, raising your brow as he too studies you. “What is it, estimada. You want to say something.” He guides with his hand to open up the conversation.  

“How do you know?” You ask, in awe of how much detail he sees. He chuckles and then leans forward and smooths out the area around your eyes by your temples. “You get this crinkle, when you are holding something back. I noticed it yesterday.” You can’t help but blush and cover your face.

“It’s my job, estimada. To notice the small things, in the car, in the track, in the ladies I like.” His words are smooth like butter and those dark eyes of his stare you down.  

The waiter comes and pours your wine and places down your food. You take a sip from the cool beverage. “You owe me an explanation.” You shrug, the only response you give. Not trusting your throat. His jaw locks tight and he leans in a bit closer to you. He bites down on the juicy steak and the way his jaw muscle flexes causes obscene thoughts to fly through you.  

“What I tell you next is not to be known by anyone besides you and me. Let’s put it like so, my managers believe that I should, how you say, casarse ya.” He switches to Spanish so easily. You have no idea what he said but merely nod along. All while savouring the taste of the perfectly cooked salmon and expensive wine that pairs so well.  

“I turn 34 next year, one of the oldest on the grid. They believe that I should stop wasting my time and just settle down already. My publicist also believes it would get more sponsors and boost my public image. So, I am coming to you with an offer.” I raise my brow; I knew this would be too good to be true.  

I should have known that someone like him wouldn’t bother getting close to someone like me. Clearly only there to entertain the people as always. Does he want pity points from his fans? Embracing a poor Frenchwoman from the slums. Doing some sort of charity work? I cross my arms and lean back; I can tell that he sees me retracting from the conversation entirely.  

But still, I allow him to continue. “I will pay you, any amount you wish, shopping, jewels, vacations, even something more practical like the rent or student bills. In return, you pretend to be my long-term girlfriend. You come with me to the races, show up in the paddock, and tag along in interviews. The whole deal.” He bites those plump lips of his and now you wish he’d be more hideous.  

For once he actually looks a bit nervous. You can’t help but scoff and roll your eyes at this. “So...like a sugar daddy situation...?” He senses your resentment towards the idea and is careful to reply. “I suppose so,” his eyes seem to panic and you can’t believe your ears.

You grab your purse, “I can’t believe you, Carlos! I thought I’d finally met a decent well-off guy, but no. Ces foutus garçons. Je ne peux jamais faire confiance aux hommes. Jamais!”  

You can’t help but switch to your native language. The translator in your mind fails due to your anger and you can feel tears prick in the walls of your eyes. With your purse in hand, you push your seat back and in a rage go to leave. But suddenly you’re forced back down onto your chair by Carlos’ firm grasp on your wrist.  

“¡Siéntate, niña testaruda, y escucha!” His translator too, is out the window. You pout and cross your arms, shocked at his audacity. “Listen here, and listen well, little girl, because I can clearly see you are in desperate need of some discipline. Mocoso.” He leans over you and the way he speaks with such a demanding voice makes your core ache. And yet you can’t help but want to defy him more.  

He sits down again but is clearly ready to catch again if needed. He then grabs you by the chin and makes sure you look him into those swirling brown eyes. So dangerous and ready to attack if need be. “I can see it in your eyes, dollface. I can see it in the way you eye the Porche that passes, the Louis Vuitton handbag in the window and the most expensive item on the menu.” 

Has your eye really been wandering so much? Or is his attention to detail so fine-tuned? If it weren’t for his hand clasping your chin, you’d long since would’ve looked away. “You have champagne taste and I’m giving you the whole vineyard. Don’t make another stupid choice and accept the offer. I won’t ask again.”  

His voice is strong and commanding and the way he speaks makes you want to get down on your knees and open your mouth for him. He lets go of your jaw, allowing you to speak. “And if I want something more?” You ask and can’t help but dial up the charm fluttering your dark lashes. He smirks watching you go from bratty to begging.  

“I can feel the chemistry too, estimada and I can see the need burning behind those eyes of yours. If this were to become something more, then so be it. And if you want this to be a quick fling and your intro into the limelight, then so be it. And if you want it to only be an exchange of money and appearance, so be it too.” He shrugs, watching your reaction to each option.  

Then he turns serious again. “That all can be decided later. What must be decided now, is whether you’ll join me or not. I must apologize that I can’t give you much time to think about it, I have an early flight tomorrow. You’ll have to join me.” I furrow my brows, I thought he had the whole week? Anyways a choice must be made....  

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