#mission: impossible fic
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Kinktober Day 23 - Bath/shower
pairing: ethan hunt x f!reader
cw: mild injury descriptions, imf agent!reader, shower sex, handjobs, thigh fucking, penetration, unprotected sex
word count: 1618
kinktober masterlist here.
18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI
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It’s seemingly the biggest relief of your life, stepping under the hot spray of water.
A few hours after the mission, the team had finally sprawled out. Ethan decided he’d stay in Paris just a few extra days, where he’d been holed up in a bleak little apartment a month prior to the mission. The place had been vacant while the team used the safehouse, now a little dusty and cold and dark, but its state was the least of your worries when you both stumbled inside.
Battered and sore, you both quietly made your way into the bathroom. Ethan turned the water on, the sudden jolt of it loud against the tub. Allowing the water some time to warm, you watched as he stripped in front of the mirror, watched as his eyes surveyed every splot of purple and yellow that littered his torso. He winced as he touched a particularly large bruise on the side of his ribs. You leaned in in the midst of stripping your own clothes, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder blade, right above a long, red cut. That scary fall he’d taken earlier.
“You took too many bumps,” you murmured with a frown, lightly dragging your fingers down his back.
Ethan shuddered at the feeling, hands gripping the sink. An exhale. “Got the job done. That’s all that matters now.”
“And getting some rest,” you remind him, stepping back to finish ripping your garments off. You reach for him when done, wrapping a hand around his arm and tugging him towards the steam.
Ethan groans when the water washes over him. You stand with him underneath the spray, letting the heat relieve your muscles. You watch him in front of you, as the water hits the top of his head and runs down his face. His eyes close, his long lashes sticking to his cheeks the same way his hair sticks to his forehead. You smile, pushing yours back, away from your face.
Soap in hand, Ethan brings you close, gently bringing it to your body. It smells nice—lavender, it must be. The scent fills your nostrils as Ethan brings it up close, running it up your chest and across your collarbone, over the curve of your shoulder, down your back. You moan softly at the pressure, more so when he sets the soap aside and just rubs the soapy bubbles into your skin with his hands. He watches intently as he touches you, teeth biting into his bottom lip as his fingers knead and massage your chest. Hands surprisingly soft against your skin, his touch climbs up to your neck. You wrap your hands around his wrists when he’s washing you there, and he takes the opportunity to lean in for a kiss.
The buzz of his touch and now his mouth on yours excites you underneath the hot water. You reach for the soap mid-kiss, rubbing it in between your hands and then setting it aside again to just massage at his skin the way he’s doing for you.
You both stand there, hands exploring the dips and curves and muscles on each other’s bodies. Ethan pulls away from the kiss but his mouth lingers on the corner of yours, where he lets out a small groan at the feel of your hands. It’s then that his finger brushes against your hardened nipple, eliciting a groan out of you too, except yours comes out more high pitched and needy. Ethan’s touch travels south, down your abdomen and over your hip bone, where his fingers wrap around your skin there.
The heat of the water has your bodies flushed and warm, and suddenly everything feels a bit too hot when Ethan brings you in even closer. You feel his cock against your skin then, hardening in between your bodies.
Your hand slides down his chest and down his abs, and then your fingers gingerly wrap around his shaft. He hisses against your mouth, jerking forward into your grasp. You squeeze him a bit, getting a few whiney noises out of him that only further your desire. He breathes out, reaches for the soap again to continue slathering you in it, to make use of his hands while you stroke him.
Ethan continues washing your body, his touch still gentle even as his breathing quickens. Matching his gentle touch, you slowly move your hand up and down, getting him fully hard in your fist.
The soap he rubs all over you runs down, dripping from your chest and down your legs, leaving your body slick and slippery. Ethan moans and pushes you back against the cold tiled wall, head dipping down to nip at your neck. You angle your head to grant him access, sighing against the side of his head. His mouth is hot on your skin, almost as hot as the water, and it only adds to the coil in your stomach. You grind against him in anticipation, needy and desperate for more friction.
You gasp as Ethan complies, feeling his cock poke in between your legs. You buck up against him, allowing him to slide in and out of your thighs. The bubbles running down your body help him slip and slide with ease, his hips jerking in and out of the crevice of your legs. He gasps against your neck, overcome with pleasure.
“Ethan,” you whine, rolling your hips. Your cunt suddenly throbs with need, clenching around nothing. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, you bring him in as close as can be. You’re careful not to slip, the soap still dripping and pooling at your feet.
Ethan’s cock continues sliding in between your legs, his heavy pants against your ear. You groan, back arching off the tiles as the pleasure trickles up your inner thighs and gathers in your abdomen. You feel your knees buckle, and Ethan seems to notice too, a strong hand wrapping around your arm to keep you steady. The other hand meets the wall beside your head to hold himself up, hips thrusting almost desperately.
You lean up, pressing your mouth to his neck to coax him closer to his imminent orgasm but it’s like he suddenly changes his mind, groaning loudly and pulling back just as you gently bite in between his neck and shoulder.
“Fuck, come here,” he mumbles breathlessly, using the grip on your arm to turn you around. Now facing the wall, legs slightly tense from having stood against it, you bite your lip and hold onto the grab bar beside you for leverage. His warmth is ever present behind you, his hips against your ass and then it happens quickly—he pushes inside you, the stretch delicious and easy. Your lashes flutter in pleasure, back arching again as your body takes him in, feeling him meet your deepest spots.
Your back aches slightly from the fighting just hours prior but Ethan bottoms out inside of you and suddenly all you can think of is the glow that washes over you, igniting your entire body in white hot bliss.
You can’t see Ethan behind you but you can hear him—filthy moans and quiet murmuring and praise that you can’t quite make out under the spray of water.
You’re sure you see stars when he starts to move, hips meeting your ass with every thrust, his fingers digging into your waist. The sound of skin on skin and the slap of water is loud over the spray, as are your sudden strangled noises.
Ethan moans your name, and then a series of whines stuck in the back of his throat, and you’re sure he’s close. His composure is always impressive, and he’s usually the gentleman that always needs you to cum first, but his hips start sputtering this one time. He pulls out just as he starts spilling inside of you, some of it in and the rest landing in the mix of bubbles and soap on the tub floor.
He gasps as he cums, hand coming up to the wall to steady himself again. Still, he guides his cock back inside you with the opposite hand to finish you off, biting his lip to suppress his moans. It’s seemingly impossible for him, and it’s your turn to gasp when the warmth of his whole body covers you, chest pressed to your back and lips next to your ear, where he continues spilling them.
“Come on, baby,” he coaxes, mouth ghosting over the shell of your ear, and behind it. “That’s it.”
Your knuckles go white from gripping the bar, and you throw your head back, cheek to cheek with him as he sloppily starts his thrusts again. Ethan’s hands travel up your body this time, trailing your chest and all the other little sensitive spots he knows.
It’s not long before he’s got you gasping and sputtering beneath him, body shaking and legs going weak. It’s like the glow coursing through you suddenly explodes, overtaking your senses, and then it’s all too much—the water, the soreness in your body, all the steam surrounding you. Ethan holds onto you as it takes you, strong arms around your middle once he’s pulled out again. You instantly turn in his arms to face him again, arms wrapping around his neck, exhausted. Face to face, you both pant, coming down from the high together.
You shamefully have to take a seat in the tub to finish cleaning yourself off, legs feeling tingly, and Ethan playfully teases you about it. It’s all worth it, though, because then you’re wrapped in a towel and dried off and carried to bed, where you get to lay on Ethan’s chest and relish in the post-mission victory together.
#again again again sorry for the wait!#ethan hunt#ethan hunt x reader#kinktober 2023#mission: impossible#mission: impossible fic#mission: impossible fanfic#*#tom cruise x reader
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in this land of milk and honey, we're too shy to say we're thirsty
here, have 1.5k of fic i just wrote about mission: impossible: rogue nation. AU of the scene where Ethan Hunt wakes up a captive of the Syndicate, where Ilsa Faust gets to run the interrogation the way she wants to, instead of being interrupted by the Bone Doctor. title from “Little Mercy,” by Doomtree. read it on ao3 here.
“What Vinter and the rest of his stupid ilk never realize is that torture doesn’t work, especially on their own kind. Pain is cheap.”
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Ilsa grabs her tools by rote memory, uninterested in taking any care in the work she’s about to do. This isn’t the first time she’s worked someone over for Lane, and it won’t be the last time; she needs to stay numb to it, numb here in the moment and numb after his latest acquisition bends and twists, numb when she has to stand there in the aftermath as the others move in to take what they want from him, numb to the part of her that wants to perk up at the praise following a job well done.
The door groans under its own weight when the guards push it open for her, and she sees the man tense ever so slightly where he’s tied to the post. Conscious, then, but not quite awake. Her heels click in the silence after the door slams shut.
She leaves the lights off; the shadows help, sometimes, with some agents. Paired with the right kind of drugs, the right kind of touch, darkness can add a dreamlike quality to an already intimate process. People like them feel safer in the dark.
This one is dangerous. Lane wouldn’t take such a personal interest if he wasn’t. So, she slips off her shoes, sets them on the table with her tray and her jacket, unbuttons the top button of her shirt and rolls up her sleeves.
Ilsa turns around and—
He’s awake now.
He’s staring at her.
She stares right back.
The moment yawns and stretches between them, arching languidly. Ilsa breathes in sharply, quietly, and takes a step toward him, still caught on his eyes—although the rest of him is hardly a chore to examine.
He doesn’t move, focused intently on her. Assessing. Calculating. It feels—it feels a little like when Lane looks at her, like he’s cataloguing her expressions and picking apart the things that make her tick. But it doesn’t make her want to curl up and hide when this man does it.
“Nice shoes.”
Ilsa blinks, then quirks her brow, amused. That’s a new one.
“American intelligence, yes?” A soft opener.
He tilts his head, silent, but clearly not buying that she doesn’t already know.
“But not the CIA,” she continues, moving closer in even steps. “No, you have too much personality for that, I can already tell.”
Now he’s amused, letting his lips twitch, but he keeps his silence. She starts turning his reactions in her mind, letting her gaze fall over the whole of him to catch them all. This one is a talker; she just needs to get him started. And stop getting distracted by his eyes. There’s something about them that draws her attention, but Ilsa can’t figure out what.
“How long have you worked for the IMF?” She stops well outside of his reach but still close enough to see his chest rise and fall minutely with each breath. If she focuses, she imagines she might be able to see it twitch with the beating of his heart.
“How long did you work for British intelligence, before you turned traitor?” He fires back. Right on the money. Not that it’s a difficult guess, given where he is and how she speaks.
“Twenty years,” she says calmly, and watches him mentally turn on a dime, reassessing. “They recruited me right of secondary school. I imagine it was much the same for you. Sometimes, they catch people later, but MI6 knows how to recognize a good asset in the making fairly early.”
Ilsa takes a step closer. “The agency was my whole life. It consumed all my time and energy. My waking hours and my sleeping ones. And I was…eager to please. An excellent agent, willing and capable of doing anything they asked of me. It was hard, sometimes, but in the end it was worth it because I knew everything I was doing was for queen and country. The greater good,” she adds, letting her mouth twist wryly.
He watches her for a moment, and she lets him, lets the silence sit, lets it build. It’s an obvious enough cue, and he’s curious enough now to take the bait. He wants her talking as much as she wants him talking, neither of them in control nor sure they have the upper hand, yet.
“What changed,” he asks finally, and Ilsa’s gaze catches on his eyes again.
“I woke up,” Ilsa takes three steps to her left, changing the angle of approach. “I realized, one day, that I only thought I was fighting for the right side because it’s what I chose to believe. None of my experiences actually supported that conclusion.
“Have you ever killed an innocent person, Ethan?” She doesn’t wait for his answer. “I know I have. On accident, sure, as an unintended casualty of my mission; but on purpose, too. Sometimes it was the mission. To make things easier for MI6, for my handler, for England. For their convenience.”
Now he shifts, the cuffs on his wrists and ankles clinking. He doesn’t respond, but she can see it in his eyes. He has. Of course he has. No one in their line of work hasn’t.
That fact of life actually bothers him, unlike Lane and the rest of the men here. The same way it bothers her when she forgets to be numb.
She knows what it is in his eyes, now, that’s pulling at her attention.
His eyes are kind. He looks kind.
It’s impossible.
“I realized I was only loyal to them because of a lie I was telling myself. And that loyalty certainly wasn’t returned. The agency doesn’t exist to care for its agents, it exists to use them up until there’s nothing left. How many times did they leave me out in the cold, dangling in the wind, to survive or die under nothing more than my own ability?”
“That’s the job,” he says, with a hint of condescension. It grates. He probably means it to.
“That doesn’t make it right, the way they treated me. The way your government treats you.”
His eyes shift. He knows her game, now, has mapped out the path she wants to take, the weak spots she’s aiming for. The muscles in his limbs tense and relax minutely, imbued with the strength of surety, surety that what she’s trying to do won’t work.
But his faith in himself is misplaced, because now she can tell he hasn’t realized yet that what she’s saying is true. He’s like her, two, five years ago: unable to value his own life. What his handlers do to him doesn’t matter because he doesn’t matter; you can’t hurt someone if they don’t see themselves as person capable of being hurt. It’s fine if they use you because you’re letting them. You’re a tool; if you’re not being used, then what’s the point of you?
The truth is, it does matter. It does hurt them. And they only let themselves be used because the right people broke them at the right time, cracking them wide open to let someone else in to twist them into knots.
Truth will out. It’s more powerful than people like them, steeped in lies and deception, ever expect, which is why Ilsa is so fond of using it.
Faster than the eye can properly see, she lunges for him, sinking her needle into the meat of his bicep and depressing the plunger. Too quick for him to stop, although he pulls his legs up to kick her in the chest and send her sprawling.
Truth will out. But of course, the drugs help.
His kind eyes blink rapidly, then slowly, clearly tensing to try and fend off unconsciousness that isn’t coming. Oh, it won’t knock him out. Unconscious is no use to her. But it’ll ease the way for the truth; make him more pliant, more sociable, more open to suggestion.
What Vinter and the rest of his stupid ilk never realize is that torture doesn’t work, especially on their own kind. Pain is cheap. Their bodies are disposable, their lives are disposable. Ethan Hunt would happily die for the IMF, for the greater good, probably even for his fellow agents. He’s a fighter, this one. He’ll die before they break him.
But if Ilsa can lay the truth of their lives out in front of him in ways he can understand, it will plant seeds of doubt his lived experiences can’t help but nurture. Doubt is more dangerous than pain.
Ethan Hunt and his kind eyes will never work for Solomon Lane, not after Lane shot that poor woman in the head in front of him. Not after Lane made him feel helpless—and she’s sure Lane did, it’s his favorite way to make people feel, and he’s spectacularly good at it.
She just needs to make sure Ethan doesn’t work against them. Finding the ways his handlers have made him feel helpless is a good place to start.
Ilsa waits for his pupils to blow wide and his pulse to slow in his chest and neck before she starts. She stays where he put her on the floor, only shifting enough to sit up.
“How long have you worked for the IMF, Ethan?” She asks softly.
One breath. Two breaths. He blinks again, licks his lips.
And tells her.
#mission: impossible#m:i rogue nation#ethan hunt#ilsa faust#fic#mission: impossible fic#fanfic#my fic#when no one interrupts her interrogation#ilsa unfortunately doesn't have the opportunity to help ethan escape#so things unfold very differently#still completely captivated by the fact that these two had a 'same hat!!!' moment#with one of them tied up and the other preparing to interrogate them#anyway all the covert operatives in this movie are fundamentally broken#and incapable of recognizing their own worth as human beings#the ones that realize it only do so when its too late to back out#ethan hunt? never does#unless...#ilsa is still working for mi:6 here to be clear#because she knows lane is bad news and needs to be stopped#but she has no love or loyalty for her country anymore#they finally beat it out of her#(its why lane lets her stay. its why he 'believes in her potential'#because he can tell she see the system for what it is)#(he's just arrogant enough to believe he can make her sign on with him with the same loyalty#that she once showed mi:6)#if you're wondering why the hell i'm writing mission impossible fic now#good news! i am too#no fucking clue how i ended up here
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Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Ethan Hunt/Solomon Lane
Characters: Ethan Hunt, Solomon Lane
Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Enemies to Lovers, Complicated Relationships, Movie: Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation
Summary:
Ethan revels in catching Lane off guard, as he feels the man tense up against him. Soon enough he’ll be sputtering in confusion and anger. If that’s all Ethan ends up accomplishing tonight, then he’s alright with it.
Instead, what happens is that Lane begins to kiss back matching his energy.
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Cold
Prompt: Slow & Romantic, Cock Warming from @florxdexcerezo (x) Thank you so much for sending the prompt in. Sorry its taken so long.
Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader
Word Count: Approx. 600
Warnings: Smut, cock warming, p in v sex
Authors Note: I wrote this a few weeks ago, but wasn't feeling up to posting it. I'm still on semi-hiatus, going to be a couple of months more at least, but here is a thingy I did. Hope you like it. Thanks to @nashibirne for reading.
Edited by me, there will be errors
Dividers by me.
Masterlist
Celebration Masterlist
Your eyes fly open. A heady rush of adrenaline pumps through your veins as your hand slips under the pillow on the empty side of the bed and curls around cold steel. You keep your breath slow and even as if you're still asleep and listen carefully.
But you’re too late.
A firm hand covers yours and a heavy, hard body traps you beneath it.
“Don’t scream,” he says, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
You loosen your grip on the pistol and allow the hand to take it away. In the dark, you hear the thunk of the gun being placed on the nightstand.
“You could knock,” you point out.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“And yet, here we are.”
The weight on top of you shifts and you think you can just make out a small smile on his moustached face. You reach for the lamp, but he stops you.
“Leave it off,” he says.
“August, please,” you whisper. Your hands cover his whiskered cheeks briefly before he shakes you off.
“Leave it.”
He stands. You vaguely see his outline as he removes his clothes. He’s moving stiffly, slowly and breathing in soft grunts and rough exhales.
“How badly are you hurt?” you ask.
“Nothing so bad that a good night's sleep won’t heal,” he says, dismissively. Sometimes it scares you how easily and smoothly he lies to you.
“Then why are you here?” you ask with a rueful laugh. “The last thing you ever do here is sleep.”
You see his shape pause. You stare at where you assume his eyes would be, he needs to know you aren’t stupid; that you know this thing between you won’t result in a ring on your finger or a pretty white dress.
The longer he stands there unmoving, the harder it is to keep looking into the darkness. What is he thinking? You open your mouth to ask, but close it with a small shake of your head. It's not like he’d be honest anyway.
He starts to undress again. You lay back in bed. Does it really matter if he’s here to fuck you or sleep next to you? You’ll give him what he wants, you always do. You can’t help yourself.
He slips into bed, curling himself around your naked form. His hands begin a long exploration along your hip to your ribs and back again while his face is buried into your neck. You can hear him draw rough, ragged breaths, his mouth is so close to your ear, his lips graze along its edge.
Driven by a primal instinct, you arch your back, lean against him and open your legs in an invitation that needs no explanation. He doesn’t hesitate and quickly you feel the smooth, warm head of his cock sliding over your folds, gathering your wetness before sinking deep inside.
By the same instinct, you begin to roll your hips, relishing the feel of his length as your pussy glides over him. But his hand clasps your hip and holds you still, your ass and back pressed firmly against his chest.
“When I’m gone, I dream of this,” August whispers, “of being inside you.”
“Then please move.”
“No,” he growls, “I need to be inside you. All night.”
You moan and he throbs deep within you. His nose presses into your hair, his arms wrap around your chest, holding you tighter and tighter until you think he’ll crush you.
“You’re so warm,” he whispers as he softens his hold on you. “I need you to keep me warm. I’m so fucking cold without you.”
#rabbitsmilestone23#henry cavill#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill fan fiction#august walker#august walker fanfiction#august walker fic#mission impossible#mission impossible fallout#august walker x you#august walker fanfic#august walker x reader#august walker x female reader
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‧͙⁺˚･༓☾ 𝓉𝒽�� 𝒸ℴ𝓃𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃 ☾･˚⁺‧͙
dbf!august walker x fem!reader
✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚
𝘨𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦.
𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: a much-needed night out turns into a confrontation with august.
𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 18+, a lot of angst
𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 2k+
✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚
“Slow down!”
In your backless gold dress, you were dragged by the hand into the most popular nightclub in the city by your best friend Willow. The place was jam-packed, people squeezing into every possible space as the lights flashed, everyone grinding against one another.
When August hadn't gotten back to you since the morning after Thanksgiving, you initially assumed he was simply busy running his company like usual. However, after a month had passed, you were mistaken—it was clear that he had no regard for you.
So to get your mind off of him, you agreed to go out with Willow instead of staying at home with your thoughts.
“Shots!” your friend shouted over the blaring music. After licking the salt off the glass's rim, you quickly drank the tequila and chased it with a lime. A burn in your throat followed. Before you knew it, the bartender had poured you numerous rounds of shots, and you were texting an inebriated text message to August.
"I'm over you; don't expect to go see or hear frlm me abain bue augyst.”
A drunken smile took over your face as you pressed send and turned off your phone. The music around you intensified as you made your way to the dance floor with Willow. She took hold of your hips, and the two of you began to rub and sway against one another in tune with the music.
Everything around you blended into a blissful, intoxicated blur.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
August realized after Thanksgiving that perhaps being with you wasn't the best choice. He was having an affair with his closest friend's daughter. He might not have seen you grow up, but he's been told stories of you from your father over the years, which makes it safe to say that he never imagined the two of you would start dating secretly. However, you were his favorite forbidden fruit from the moment he saw you.
When he saw you again, he was unable to control himself. Though he was aware that it was foolish, he didn't give a damn. He assured himself that he only needed to be with you once, but after tasting you, he realized he was in trouble and needed more.
The way your eyes looked at him was always so needy, innocent, and full of life.
In addition, he knew that he wouldn't be able to control himself if he saw you again and you gazed at him with those stunning doe eyes; you would have him totally wrapped around your finger.
When his phone buzzed in his coat pocket and your name flashed, immense guilt filled him. Though the last thing he wanted was to hurt you, he realized he should have gotten in touch with you and had a mature conversation instead of ignoring you.
August stopped walking as he read your text. His face took on an angry, worried expression as his eyebrows furrowed. Saying you were over him in a drunken text message to him? That was not something he was willing to accept.
All he got when he tried to call you was your voicemail. August texted you multiple times after you didn't return his calls, and each message failed to send. As he glanced at your often updated Twitter account—which you hadn't posted on—his jaw hardened.
However, he saw that your friend Willow had tagged you in some of her pictures. August enlarged the background of one of the pictures to reveal the name of the club you were at. He jumped in his car and drove quickly to the club without thinking.
Adrenaline ran through him as he entered and pushed through the bodies in the club. His eyes searched in all directions, looking for you. August called you again, but he was still only able to reach your voicemail. He muttered to himself, "Fuck's sake, where are you?"
This was the last place he wanted to be, and it was evident from the disdain on his face. However, he was unable to shake the image of you. Even if he had to throw you over his shoulder, he would not leave this club without you.
It seemed like hours until he finally saw you dancing near bystanders. Though he didn't know the man behind you, he did identify your friend Willow, who was dancing next to you. The man's hands were on your hips, and his body was pressing against your back. What irritated August even more? As the stranger spoke in your ear, you grinned and laughed.
August cursed his way among the clusters of people surrounding him until he was directly in front of you.
Shock was the first feeling that went through you when you saw August in front of you, but that quickly transformed into you clumsily approaching him. "What are you doing here?" You spoke incoherently to him.
"What are you doing here? is the question that needs to be answered, not what am I doing here? And why did you turn off your phone?” August was enraged. His jaw was tightening, and his nostrils were flaring.
Pressing your finger into his firm chest, you gave him a shrug and said, "Because I didn't want to speak to you."
He hauled you to the closest restroom by the arm.
"It doesn't matter if you choose not to talk to me." He advanced on you with a stalk. "You're endangering yourself by acting like a drunken idiot. Rubbing your ass like a slut on a stranger," steam was nearly emanating from his body, and his chest was heaving.
You could feel the tears welling up at the way he spoke to you.
"Slut? A drunken idiot? That's how you actually see me?" you asked.
Venom dripped from his response as his eyes poured into yours. "Yes."
"Screw you! You're not allowed to call me a slut. I am free to do as I choose; you have made it very apparent that I am not yours. I don't need to justify myself to you. There is absolutely nothing you could do to stop me from going back out there, taking that guy home, and fucking him." The buzz you had was long gone.
August could see by the expression in your eyes that you were serious. Though he knew immediately after speaking the words that he shouldn't have spoken them, his anger prevented him from stopping.
He inhaled deeply.
One moment you were standing on your feet arguing with August, then suddenly he flung you over his shoulder and stormed out of the bathroom. “Put me down!” you yelled over the blaring music.
Giving you a slap on your ass, he replied, “Be quiet before I have to teach you a lesson.”
After that, you stayed silent, both you and August.
All you got out of August after leaving the club and returning to his house was silence. Which, you thought, was absurd given what he had said to you; he needed to be saying sorry.
He got out of his car to open the door on your side as soon as it pulled into his driveway. "Let's head inside; come on." With your arms folded, you sat there motionless, gazing out of his front windshield. "No." His gaze was burning holes in you, and you could feel it.
Once more, August hoisted you over his shoulder while yelling, "Dammit!" After entering his home, he went to his room, sat you on his bed, and knelt down. August gripped your left foot. "What are you doing?" you asked him, casting him a strange glance. His gaze locked with yours. "Helping you get comfortable so you can sleep off your buzz." Despite the rolling of your eyes, he could tell you were grateful when you glanced at him.
"If you were going to be disrespectful, you didn't have to show up tonight," you added. He gave a head nod, then carried on. "Go to sleep, and we'll talk in the morning," before helping you into his bed and heading out to sleep in the guest bedroom for the evening.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Slowly opening your eyes, you saw rays of sunshine peeking in through the window, yawning and rubbing your eyes as the creaky door opened. Rolling over, you saw an exhausted August enter with some medicine and drink. "Take this ibuprofen for your headache, and wash it down with a bit of this water."
Without even looking at him, you swallowed the pills and then the water.
"Last night, words just can't—" You raised your finger. "I'm going to cut you off there. You referred to me as a drunken idiot and a slut. I never would have imagined you saying that to me, of all people." An expression of regret filled his face.
“I was scared for you; you weren’t answering my texts or my calls. And then I see you dancing with some guy? It made me angry, and while I was worried about you, it seemed you didn’t care at all.” August was trying his best not to raise his voice.
"So, even though you were afraid and concerned for me, you became jealous and decided it was alright to label me a slut? A normal person wouldn't do what you did; instead, they would be relieved that the person they care about is okay. You know what, too? If you hadn't ignored me for the previous month, I wouldn't have gone out and danced with a guy last night."
“I know. I thought-” August paused for a second, painfully staring at you, then carried on. "I didn't think it would be smart for us to keep seeing each other. I have known your father for a long time; we have developed a business together, and in certain aspects, I even think of him as family. I don't want to betray his trust. I also didn't want to lose you or cause you any harm. I couldn't." You just listened to him without saying anything. "Jesus, when he discovers that I'm in love with his daughter, he's going to kick my ass.”
You put your hands over your eyes and then turned to face him again. "August, you can't just say things like that. Not after what happened last night; that's not fair to me. Prior to last night, everything was great and perfect while we were together, but I would never want to go through what I did last night again. So, we should end this now if that's how you plan to respond when I decide to go out. Another advantage is that you won't have to decide between my father and myself."
"You want us to stop seeing each other?" August asked, shaking his head. "Everyone makes mistakes. Nobody is perfect. I feel bad for last night. I regret the way I spoke to you. But what if something did happen to you? Mmm? If I let you stay there and something terrible happened, I would never be able to forgive myself."
You glanced down at the glass you were holding instead of looking at him. "At least for the time being, I believe it's best if we see other people."
With a puff of laughter, he went on. "No, that is not something that is going to happen; you can forget about that." Before getting up and heading to his closet, August took the glass from your hands and set it on the bedside table. With a pair of boxers and a white t-shirt, August came back. "Go take a shower; my bathroom has everything you need. After that, come to the kitchen. I'll be waiting for you with breakfast ready."
Startled by his answer and his behavior, you blinked incessantly. He was beginning to give you whiplash. However, you ultimately knew what you were going to do. After you got up, showered, got dressed in his clothes, and brushed your teeth, you went downstairs to have breakfast with him.
"Tomorrow, 8 p.m., I'm taking you out for dinner," August said, setting a plate of pancakes with a whipped smiley face in front of you. “And if I say no?” August smirked while pouring you some orange juice. “Funny joke, now eat.”
˚₊⭑‧꒰ა [Tag list] ໒꒱ ‧₊⭑˚
@shellyshellshell @ellethespaceunicorn @beck07990 @ktficworld @chloe92 @kingliam2019 @juliaorpll78 @armystay89 @nighttimestan @angelcavill66 @luxeydior @kittymiaow @plaidcat4815 @identity2212
#first post#smutty#henry cavill characters#august walker fanfiction#august walker smut#august walker x reader#august walker#august#angst#august walker x you#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill fanfiction#august walker fic#henry cavill one shot#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill#mission impossible
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learning to warm cold hands || ethan hunt
summary: after a particular mission, sunshine isn’t sunshine anymore, and it worries him. (aka a cliche angst to fluff fic with the following tropes: slightly sunshine and super sunshine, who did this to you, etc)
words: ~1.4k
warnings: angst, brief descriptions of violence, ethan being overly concerned for reader, but not much else asides from that
a/n: first ethan fic (requested by a lovely anon, thank you!!) and second mission impossible fic! btw, this fic is kind of an AU? i don't have a specific timeline for when it happens, so you can squeeze it in wherever :)
“Y/N, status update?”
“Northwest exit, 430 meters. I have one on my tail. But you know I’m Usain Bolt 2.0! I can definitely outrun this doofus, I mean, I bet my mile time is way better than his. I could've gone to the Olympics, for God’s sake. The Olympics! Where are you?”
“Stay there, I’ll come find you.”
“Ethan, wait, you can't just tell me to—“ You don’t even get to finish before a an explosive sound echoes across the narrow alleyway. You make a sharp left turn but find that you’d just hit a dead end. The door was locked. Shit. You only had one bullet left and there was a guy who was definitely at least twice your weight—and over a foot taller, too—coming after you. You wouldn't even have enough time to reload.
“Y/N. Y/N—“
You don’t get to hear the rest of what he’s saying before the static fizzes out and you lose connection.
“Hey there!” You give the beefy man who’s now mere meters away from you a cheerful smile. “Lovely weather today, don’t you think? Too bad it’s going to rain tomorrow. I love the rain but I hate lightning, because I almost got struck a year ago.”
He doesn't look too happy at this, whipping his gun out without a moment’s hesitation. You squeeze your eyes shut and pray as you slide the bullet in and he pins you against the wall by your neck.
He brings the gun to your head, and your weapon clatters to the ground. You curse under your breath. You can feel your airways constricting and there's a searing pain working its way through you.
“You're not going anywhere, princess.”
There's a split-second; a microsecond in which he pauses. Very briefly. You don't think, just do—you knee him in the groin, hard, and quickly grab the knife that's sheathed in your boot.
Saying one last prayer, you plunge the blade in, not even looking to see if you'd aimed right. He falls to the floor, stumbling, and you then lunge forward to disarm him.
Another deafening gunshot rings out just as Ethan rounds the corner and finds you there, standing over the man’s dead body like the angel of death. A pool of blood surrounds your feet, and he doesn't think he wants to know if that's yours or his.
“You made it out alive. Good job out there.”
Glancing over at him, you nod, but don't say anything. You toss him the data files without another word, and board the plane.
“I'm proud of you.”
More strained silence. Huh, weird… he thinks.
“Y/N, are you alright?”
No response. Ethan repeats himself again, “Are you alright? Did something happen?”
You strap yourself into your seat and tilt your head back, digging your nails into your wrist. Anything was better than being awake right now…
“Well, someone's uncharacteristically quiet.”
Still no response. Not even a snarky quip like you'd typically reply with. No nicknames, no bickering, no random fun fact you googled on the way over here. “Did you know that a pig can digest an entire human body, bones and all? That makes me think a little extra every time we pass through the European countryside and see one of them.”
All he gets is silence from your end, and it starts to worry him.
That’s when he follows your gaze downwards. You're clutching the left side of your abdomen, trying your best not to make a sound.
His blood runs cold and his eyes darken. You can feel the pure rage radiating off him.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No…shit…Sherlock…” you croak out.
“You're hurt.”
No response again.
“Y/N, what the hell happened out there and who did this to you?”
More silence.
“Y/N, what did he do to you? How did he hurt you?”
After several more questions and several more failed replies, he forcefully moves your hand aside. Your shirt is stained a deep red and there's a gaping hole much bigger than Ethan wanted to see.
“You got shot.” He sighs. “Luther, how much longer?”
“Hour and five, but we can get there in 38.”
“Hurry.”
“On it.”
Ilsa brings him a thick roll of bandages. He tries to be as careful as possible as he disinfects and wraps up your torso, but every so often, you wince in pain.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart, just a few more minutes,” Ethan hurriedly apologizes. “Hang in there for me, okay?”
Once he's done, he sits down next to you and laces your fingers together, giving your hand a squeeze. You let out a shuddering sigh and slumped against him.
He pretends not to notice your watering eyes, or the crescent-shaped marks in your wrist. Or the way your left foot nervously taps out the rhythm to yours and his favorite song. Or the way your tears leave faint red tracks behind as they slip down your cheeks.
“I'm so sorry,” he repeats over and over again, “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.”
You don't sleep a wink that night. On any other day in Paris, you'd walk down to the farmer’s market below. You’d pick out Ethan’s favorite fruit and a new beret to have him wear jokingly, and maybe grab a croissant or two. Then you’d drag him along to the Louvre and point out each painting one by one and explain in great detail why you loved them so much. And he’d listen, because he could live purely off the sound of your voice for the rest of his life. He was never one for museums, but you loved them, and because he loved you, he started to love them, too.
But it's dark out, and after what had just happened the other day, you don't feel safe enough to leave the apartment. You tossed and turned for over half an hour before falling asleep, but jolted awake just a few minutes later, shivering violently. There was no way you were going to try and go to sleep again.
Ethan stirs awake, rubbing his eyes to see a dark figure slipping out the door.
He's quick to follow you up the staircase and to the rooftop. You're standing there in just a T-shirt (was that his?) and shorts, and it's freezing cold out, but you're sweating and fanning yourself.
“Y/N?”
You turn around at the sound of his voice. “Ethan…”
“What are you doing up here? I was worried about you.” He makes his way over to you and puts a hand on your shoulder, obvious concern on his face.
You bit your lip and started digging your nails into your wrist again.
“Talk to me, Y/N,” he pleaded. “Tell me what's wrong.”
You shook your head, feeling the skin of your wrist beginning to sting.
“Y/N, please. I want to help you. But I can’t do that when you won't talk to me, so please…tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m so tired, Ethan,” you finally spoke after a long pause, voice hoarse. “I should’ve—I shouldn’t be here right now, I should be dead because I panicked and I…I almost died. The man, he put the gun to my head and I saw my entire life flash before my eyes. I could’ve sworn to God that the whole ‘thing’ about you seeing your life flash by like a film reel was just a myth but it wasn’t. It scared the shit out of me because I kept seeing the same thing over and over. I thought…”
“What did you see?” he asked, voice gentle.
“I kept seeing your face. All I saw was your face.” You looked away, suddenly unable to make eye contact with him. Heat spreads across your cheeks. “I know I care about the whole damn team, but you—you’re my future, Ethan.”
He doesn’t say anything in response and instead, leans down to kiss you.
The sudden rush of warmth from his lips being pressed against yours makes you want to forget everything in the world and completely drown in him. This was home, you realized, and this is where I’m supposed to be.
And as the sun rises and spreads a brilliant pale glow over the horizon, Ethan can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was also exactly where he was meant to be. Not fighting bad guys, but rather, standing on the rooftop of a tiny building in the 4th arrondissement with you in his arms and your head against his heart. He thinks he could have a lifetime of this.
“You’re my future, too.”
tags (including those who may be interested! add yourself via this form, if you’d like): @mitchellpete @voguesir @fl0ating @lady-elena-adeline @the-multiverse-of-fandoms @ilsastrenchcoat @joyfullyswimmingface
#mission impossible#mission impossible fic#ethan hunt#tom cruise#ethan hunt x reader#ethan hunt x you#ethan hunt fic#ethan hunt imagine#mission impossible fanfic#mission impossible: rogue nation#mission impossible: fallout#mission impossible: dead reckoning#dead reckoning part one
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Rogue Nation, Fallout, and Dead Reckoning all pointedly placing Benji and Ilsa in the most dangerous, stressful, downright torturous situations either together or separately where Ethan can’t reach/help them or is driven to the brink trying to.
#mission impossible#dead reckoning spoilers#mission impossible dead reckoning spoilers#christopher mcquarrie i’m inside your walls#that fucking chilling final monologue in dead reckoning playing over footage of Ethan reuniting with Benji…i’m gonna be sick#thank god luther had the good sense to hole up somewhere#on the bright side…there is the ot3 of it all#and you better believe i’m writing fic for them to cope#ethan hunt#benji dunn#ilsa faust#ilsa x ethan x benji
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daddy daddiest
#tom cruise#tom cruise smut#tom cruise fic#tom cruise x reader#tom cruise dirty imagine#tom cruise imagine#tom cruise movies#maverick smut#maverick#ethan hunt#mission impossible
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When you feel bad, you may need some Henry as Walter Marshall.🩷
Importaint to say that I feel horrible. While studying for my exams I read many fanfics in the free time. Do you have any favourites Walter Marshall or August Walker fics? Let me know❣️
#hot daddy#henry cavill#walter marshall#the night haunter#henry cavill x you#henry cavil x reader#henry cavill smut#henry cavil x y/n#walter marshall fanfiction#walter marshall fic#walter marshall fluff#august walker#august walker x reader#august walker x you#mission impossible fallout
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Double Trouble
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, abduction, drugging, anal and other adult content and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You meet a strange pair of men while waiting on your friends. (plus-sized, short reader)
Character: Lloyd Hansen, August Walker
Note: This is for the dick(s) and nothing else.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖
A droplet of cranberry tinged alcohol clings at the corner of your lips. You dab it away with your knuckle and flick away the moisture. You cradle the triangular basin of the glass as you admire the spectrum of alcohols behind the bar.
You tap a nail against the glass and drop your hand. You pick up your phone and check the latest message. Nadia’s last text alleges that their uber is stuck in traffic. You weigh the honesty in that excuse. You know her and Gemma isn’t a better influence. The two of them are chronically late.
You click your tongue as the bartender comes by, eyeing your drink. You’re not that thirsty. He smiles as asks how it is. You assure it’s good and go back to your tedious wait. If there’s one thing you hate in a person, it’s the lack of consideration that comes with being late. Yet it seems that all your friends suffer from it.
There’s not much to distract yourself with. You don’t want to sit there playing Wordle like some loser. If they could maybe plan ahead past their makeup you might not be the eternal loner.
“This seat taken?” You’re startled by the question but at first don’t realise it’s directed at you.
The stool next to yours shifts and you look over at the man who perches on it. Shit. You pinch the stem of your glass nervously and clear your throat.
“Actually, I’m waiting for someone.”
“And what idiot is leaving a girl like you waiting?” He smirks beneath the thick bristle of hair above his lip. Not exactly your type.
“My friends,” you grumble, “you’re gonna have to move–”
He ignores you and signals to the bartender with two fingers. He’s unbothered as he puts in his order for a neat whiskey, pausing to angle slightly towards you, “you need a top up, baby girl?”
You consider him. He’s tall, built well enough beneath the black turtleneck, but his taste leaves something to be desired. His hair is neat and slicked back over shaved sides, and his blues eyes sparkle mischievously above finely chiseled cheekbones.
“Baby girl?” You scoff, “uh, no,” you drag your glass closer and scope out the bar, looking for a set of seats to move to. “Thanks.”
As you turn on the seat, a hand brushes your hip and the stool at your other side scrapes on the floor. You nearly topple from the height and twist to look at the man who’s claimed sentinel to your right. You get a look at his face and the mustache that trims his lip. Is this some sort of club? Did you not pluck well enough?
“Come on, sweetie,” the other man grabs the stool beside your thigh, and spins the seat to face the bar, “finish your drink. You look like you could use the company.”
“Um, no thank you, I–”
You gape at the second man. He’s even bigger than the first. His dark hair is slightly curled and a short stubble covers his handsome cheeks and square jaw. The cleft in his chin adds to his brutish allure and the strain of his shoulders beneath his jacket makes you gulp.
You go to swipe up your phone but the first man is quicker than you. He slides it out from beneath your fingertips and holds it away from you. You reach across him and the other man tugs your other arm.
“Hey, let go,” you hiss, “what are you doing?”
“We just wanna chat, baby?” The second man hovers his other hand along your lower back, “you can’t be sitting here all alone. You never know what creep will come to bother you.”
You snort. Really?
The first man, with the lighter brown hair, hums as he accepts his drink from the bartender. The second orders scotch as he tickles along your rear. You twitch and give a desperate look to the server but they only chuckle. Wait, does he think you know these weirdos?
“‘Where are you?’” The first man reads off your phone as he drags his thumb over the screen.
You look around as you catch the second man’s hand and struggle to keep him at bay. You don’t see your Nadia or Gemma. The place isn’t that big.
“‘Sitting by the fountain’,” the man clucks and peers behind him, “I don’t see no fountain.”
“Sounds like you’re in the wrong place, baby.” The hand pushes past you and squeezes your hip, “what do you think, Hansen? She’s got a bit extra back here.”
“Bit extra all over but you know I got a type,” the other man purrs then takes a long draw from his glass, winking at your scandalized expression.
“Pretty face,” the darker haired man comments as if you’re not even there, as if you’re a slab of meat or product on a shelf. “Sweet little mouth on her–”
“Wow, wow, alright, you creepers need to go. I’m not interested.”
“We don’t see anyone else lined up,” the second man latches onto your purse, “let us buy you a drink.”
“I have a drink. And I have friends,” you grasp at your phone but the first man, Hansen, keeps it out of your reach. “They’re waiting for me.”
“Looks like you’ve been waiting on them,” the man with his hand on your hip growls, “so why don’t you leave them hanging a bit longer?”
“I’m really not interested, alright?” You feel dizzy as you bat away his hand only to have the others land on your ass. “Would you keep your hands to yourself?”
You slap behind you and barely miss the man as he chuckles. He pulls back and thumbs at your phone. You whine helplessly and lean towards him.
“Gimme my phone.”
“I’ll give you your phone when you earn it.”
“Right, you two are fucked,” you utter, “keep it. It’s not worth it.”
“Walker,” the pervert with your phone says dully, “do it.”
You yipe as you feel a prick and slap your hand down on your thigh where the flesh stings. You look down as you press your palm to the hot flesh, a radiating pulse flowing through you. The other man, Walker, quickly hides the long nose of the syringe in his hand. Oh, what the fuck?
“Don’t get too worked up, honey buns,” Hansen spreads his hand across your back, “you’ll get yourself hurt.”
“You–” You bluster out, “what did you do?”
“It’s alright,” Walker coos as he rubs your arm, “you’re just gonna have a little sleep.”
“N-no,” the panic courses through you only to be hampered by a sudden wave of fatigue. You sway and plant your hand on the bar, “no, you can’t do this.”
“You gonna stop us?” Hansen chortles as he wraps his arm around you, “‘cause no one else is gonna.”
“I…” you begin then push the hell of your hand to your head as it swells.
“It’s alright, baby,” Walker taunts as your lashes flutter, “we’ll take care of you.”
🍸
“Ah, I think she’s waking up,” the voice slithers into your ear as your eyelids slit. “Doll,” fingers snap before your face and you murmur, your head lolling as you squint in the harsh glare of light, “there she is.”
A caress on your cheek makes you wince. You groan at the pain tugging in your shoulders and the heavy weight just behind your toes. You drone as you look down at yourself, your feet held wide by a metal bar attached to thick leather cuffs that buckle around your ankles. You peer up at your hands, each arm stretched at angle with your wrists bound to chains.
What is this? Where are you?
Your eyes snap wide and you search through the haze. The cogs in your mind grind slowly as the recollection churns through. The men, two of them, you know them. Not truly but you recognise them.
You were at the bar waiting for your friends and they approached you. Then… the needle! This can’t be happening. It’s absurd. So ridiculous that it can’t be real.
“Come on, juicy,” the man with the sleek hair cut coaxes as he cradles your chin, his eyes boring into you as he brings his other hand around the back of your skull. He holds you steady as he smirks, “keep with it. Sleep too long and that heads gonna be pounding.”
“Who… who… why?” The questions bubble over and weakly fall from your lips.
“You don’t need to worry about all that,” he winks as his eyes descend to your mouth, “you were right, Walker, she does have a pretty mouth.”
“You’re always playing with your food, Hansen,” the other man appears behind him.
“Birds of a feather,” the one before you, Hansen, brushes up your chin with his thumb. You quiver and bat your lashes at him fearfully. “Ah, look at the sweet little pussy, she’s scared.”
"Stop…" your mouth is dry and clumsy as you try to speak.
"You really should be thanking us," Hansen drags his hand up to your cheek and gives a small slap, "my partner here was generous with his dose… just enough to dull the pain, sweet cheeks."
You murmur as he lets you go. Your head slumps weakly as you hang limply from your restraints. He moves back and they face each other for a moment, communicating with just a look.
You use all your strength to lift yourself on your toes, arms shaking as you try to support your own weight. Your meagre attempt collapses and you dangle once more, groaning as it jars you from shoulder to ankle. You whimper and throw your head back.
"Please," you breathe, "why..."
"Does it really matter why?" Hansen looks back at you as stretches his neck side to side, "it's not going to change what happens next."
"Who are you?"
"See, that doesn't matter either," he grins and glances at the other man, a few inches taller and even wider. "So, who's starting, Augy?"
"Don't call me that, jackass," Walker rolls his eyes as he removes his dark brown jacket.
"Was being polite, that's all," Hansen retorts as ge rolls his shoulders.
You quiver and furl your fingers to fists. You look along your left arm, then your right. You tug on one then the other. There's no escape.
"Baby," Walker frightens you as he nears, unbuttoning his tip button as his mouth keeps a firm line, "you don't wanna panic. It'll only make this harder."
"Don't know about you, but I can't get much harder," Hansen jokes lewdly before peel his black turtleneck over his head. He flings it and smooths his hair back into place with both hands.
"Charming," the other man comments as he stares you down and his fingers continue down the front his shirt, uncovering the thick hair along his chest and stomach.
You bite down as your eyes sparkles with tears. You sniff and try to bat them away with your lashes. This can't be real.
"Go on," Hansen teases, "big boy loves crying. Turns him on, doesn't it, August?"
“Lloyd,” The man closet to you, Walker, August, whoever he is, growls in response as he strips away his shirt. You smush your lips together and plead silently with your eyes. He tilts his head as he considers you.
"Since I won the toss," Lloyd comes around and drags his hand along your side as he circles to stand behind you, "I'll take the back."
You shudder as he drags his hand over your hair and presses himself flush to you. He might be shorter than the other man but he still towers over you. He inhales your sent as he tickles his fingers down your neck.
August reaches to his belt, sliding free a short blade from a sheath there. You wince as he raises it, showing the black steel before tracing it down the strap of your dress. He hooks it beneath and snaps it easily. The other is cut just as swiftly.
You dress slouches and Lloyd snakes his arms around to guide the fabric past your chest. You tremble as your strapless bra barely clings to you. He makes quick work of it, popping the hook free so the nude cups fall away.
August grips the crumpled dress with one hand and cuts up from the hem. He slices through and whisks away the fabric. Your skin prickles at your sudden nakedness, only the soft lilac thong left to hide in.
Lloyd runs his hands down your sides and claps against your ass, kneading the flesh as he purrs.
“Tell me you didn’t wear these for a reason,” he taunts as he pokes his finger under the elastic of your thong.
“Not… for… you…” you eke out.
“Listen, toots, every part of you is for me,” he rebuffs as he pinches your ass cruelly.
August trails the tip of the knife down your belly and slips beneath the thong. His silence is just as troubling as Lloyd’s slimy remarks. The disparity in their characters adds to your uncertainty. Neither can be bartered with as they work methodically at their mission; you.
The thong falls apart against the blade and you whine in horror. Exposed and helpless. You shake your head as you dip it to hide your face. The shame scorches your flesh and sizzles in your veins.
August sheaths the knife again as he steps closer. He frames your tits and hums, his large thumbs caressing the rise of flesh and circling your nipples. His touch sends a shiver through your ass Lloyd continues to grope your ass. Your toes slip on the floor as they crowd you.
The man in front of you watches as he toys with you, rubbing your nipples hard as a crack forms in his veneer, a dimple of amusement sinking into his cheek. He bends his head as Lloyd’s hands drag down your thighs and you peek past your hip as he gets to his knees. What’s going on?
August takes your bud between his teeth and suckles, tweaking the other as you cry out in surprise. You push your head back as fingertips dance along the back of your thighs and follow the creases below your ass. His nose tickles along your cheek and you squeak.
“Got me a whole buffet back here,” he snarls against your skin, his lips sending ripples up your back.
He presses his palms to your ass and spreads your cheeks. You whimper as August nips at you, his tongue swirling as a pluck tugs at your core. The storm of sensation has you off balance and shaking.
Lloyd leans in and you feel his humid breath against you. You wrap your fingers around the chains that bind you as his tongue flick along your puckered ring. Your head shoots up at the peculiar feeling. He laps more intently as he pushes his face further between your cheeks, holding you still as you twitch.
August brushes his mustaches from one tit to the other, a flutter across the skin. He teases your other nipple as he did the first, fondling you with his other hand. He trails his fingers down your torso, dancing along your stomach and pelvis eagerly.
He dips between your folds and you gasp. He searched blindly until he finds your clit, toying with it as he sucks fervently at your chest. You moan as your insides twist.
Lloyd's tongue twirls and swipes all around, prodding at your hole as he drones hungrily. He shakes his head between your cheeks, the hair along his lip adding to the ticklish sensation. You puff out, little by little, weaving a finger into a link of the chain.
August follows the previous path of his hand with his mouth. He mirrors the other man as he gets to his knees. Your legs quake as his lips graze your pelvis and he nuzzles the trimmed triangle of hair.
He reaches his tongue down to meet his fingers. You murmur as you arch your feet, a cramp thickening behind your calf. He rolls his tongue around your clit as his hand trails back towards your entrance. His other travels along the front of his pants.
To your horror, his fingertips slicken along your cunt. He pushes back and forth across your entrance and centers his middle finger. He eases into you with the thick digit, drawing another pathetic moan from you.
Lloyd drags his tongue along your cheek and pokes around your ring. You hold your breath as he circles it and presses against your hole. He pushes until you feel yourself opening then pulls back. He repeats the act several times, each time a squeak breaks free from you.
As he eases his fingertip inside, little by little, you quiver and let out a jittery whine. He gets to his first knuckle as the pressure in your core pulses.
August slides in and out of your cunt, a steady motion as your squeeze around Lloyd’s finger. Lloyd sinks deeper and you grit your teeth at the fiery intrusion. You hiss and huff, eyes rolling back as the duel of sensations battles within you.
You hear the soft clink of a buckle and the subtle whisper of a zipper. Your lashes part as August pulls his dick through the front of his pants. He grips himself, stroking his length slowly as he drinks you in. You feel his rhythm rock against you and it floods you with another swell of heat.
Lloyd tilts his hand, fucking your ass slowly with a single finger. It’s enough to drive you mad as your toes curls and your ankles bend against the bar. You whimper as your thighs knot and your nerves bounce off each other.
August spreads his tongue wide, swiping it up and down as he rams his knuckles into you, faster, harder. You pant through your nose as you try to fight the building thrill as it blooms from your core and stretches in tendrils up your chest.
They find a tempo, working in tandem as they work your holes. You can’t hold back any longer as the pressure snaps and red hot pleasure burns through you. You cum with a rolling shiver, twitching uncontrollably as your voice drones out mindlessly.
Lloyd rests his cheek against your ass and chuckles. He slips his finger out, a little at a time, and smears it along your skin. He tuts as nips your quivering flesh.
“Coulda fooled me if you told me this was a virgin ass,” he pulls his face back and spanks you.
August pulls out of your cunt and flicks two fingers along your cunt as he leans back. You watch him shove his fingers into his mouth and purr as he wiggles his dick in his other hand. Lloyd stands as he smacks your ass again, that time with two hands.
You squeal as August rises too, letting his dick bob before him as he pushes his pants down his thick thighs. You shake your head as you stare at his size. He’s so big you hurt already.
Lloyd taps his fingertips along your shoulders and kneads the muscle. He parts and cool air ripples over your back. You hear him behind you as August stays in front of you.
August places a hand on the front of your thigh and one along the back, he brushes them down to your ankle and unlocks the cuff there. He moves across the bar and frees the other. He brings his arms behind your legs and rises, hooking his elbows under your knees as he has you hanging from your wrists.
One hand drags down your back and curls you towards him. He feels beneath you and pushes two fingers along your cunt. He spreads you as he wiggles his hips, angling until he catches his tip between his knuckles. He stretches you around him, inch by inch as you swallow down a low moan.
The air shifts behind you and a cool slickness spills along the top of your ass and leaks between your cheeks. Lloyd pushes his fingers between the flesh and rubs the oil against your hole, once more dipping inside. You groan and bite your lip as you try to withhold the delight that smothers your horror.
As August buries himself to his limit, Lloyd adds a second finger, both stretching you. Their breath creates a whirlwind, swallowing you up.
Lloyd pushes in and out, spreading his fingers wide inside of you as you cling to him. You clench tightly as you quiver uncontrollably. He slides free and steps closer. He pauses as he undoes his pants, the fabric rustling against your ass as you grip the chains tight above you.
August stills you as Lloyd lines his tip up with your hole. The bigger man lowers you onto the other, both your ass and cunt straining to take them both at once.
Lloyd frames the back of your neck and keeps a hand on your hip as he delves deeper and deeper. August rocks into you steady, an arm hooked around you as the other snakes under your knee.
They glide into you at the same time, filling you to the brim as you tremble. You’ve never felt anything so painfully pleasant. They buck in time with each other, burying deep, and easing back out. Sharp thrusts and slow retreats.
Your head falls back against Lloyd as he ruts from behind, your hips tilt onto August. You’re lost in them completely entwined in their bodies. Before, after, all that you care about is the present and the coil winding tighter and tighter.
The orgasm tears from your throat at once. You shake between them and cum in a violent tide. But they don’t stop. They build a furious temple, battering you raw and you’re suspended helplessly at their mercy. Of which, they have little.
“You don’t think this ends when you cum, do you, sugar tits?” Lloyd breathes against your hair, “this isn’t over til your gaping and dripping.”
“Mmm, baby, don’t listen to him,” August growls as he raises his hand to your chin and lifts your head, pressing his forehead to yours, “you can keep going, can’t you?”
You know your answer doesn’t matter. Even less even than their taunts. They won’t stop and you’re not sure you want them too.
#lloyd hansen#august walker#dark august walker#dark lloyd hansen#dark!lloyd hansen#dark!august walker#august walker x reader#lloyd hansen x reader#the gray man#mission impossible: fallout#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#one shot#crossover
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Kinktober Day 24 - Bondage
pairing: ethan hunt x f!reader
cw: bondage, oral sex (m receiving), overstimulation, penetrative sex, (does this count as creampie?)
word count: 2178
A/N: had to take a little hiatus but i came back to a million notifications so i’m glad to see that you guys are still reading these! sorry for the wait!
kinktober masterlist here.
18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI
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“Do you know how easily I could get out of these?”
You groan just as a grin decorates Ethan’s face, a sparkle in his eye as he looks up at you from his place on the bed. You playfully roll your eyes, continuing your (poor) work on the knots binding his wrists. Ethan just plays along, humming to himself as he waits for you to finish. Quite impatiently, actually, with his hard-on prodding at the harsh material of his pants where you’d mouthed over the fabric. He wasn’t going to admit that, though, as this whole thing had been his idea the last time you’d had sex. A while ago now, since his duties usually kept you apart for weeks at a time. It was very unbearable, but the sex was worth the wait. It only ever got better, more exciting, more fun.
“Get on top, come on,” he’d mumbled in a frivolous tone, his breath warm against your neck, hands hot against your skin.
“Oh, you want me in control?” You’d teased back, wriggling out from underneath him to comply at his request.
Ethan laid back, hands intertwined behind his head as you mounted his hips. “Mm, I do.”
You’d snickered, poking fun at him, your hands running up his chest. “Maybe I’ll tie you up next time.”
Ethan groaned as you settled on top of him, your fingernails raking his pecs. “I’d let you.”
And let you, he did. You’re not even sure where the rope came from; it was already on the bedside table when you both tumbled into the room together in a heap of passion, lips locked and hands exploring each other hungrily. You’d gotten Ethan’s shirt off, your knees bending to lean down and mouth at his chest, down his sternum, tongue poking out against his abs. Ethan sucked in a breath, watched as your tongue traveled all along his waistline. On your haunches, you ran your hands up his clothed thighs, teasing him—giving him that little tingling feeling he always gave you when his touch teased at your inner thighs. He shuddered in response, and even more so when you leaned in to press your open mouth to the growing bulge in his pants.
That didn’t get very far, however, and you watched in amusement as Ethan’s face went from slack to surprised when your hands shoved at his body, sending him towards the mattress. The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed and down he went, his forearms breaking his fall. He held himself up on them, a grin spreading his face as you stalked towards him in the sexiest way you could.
Anyway, that was then.
Now, you’ve got the knot secured. You’re pretty sure you did a terrible job, but despite his teasing, you know that he’s gonna let you have this.
“All done,” you announce proudly, running your fingers along his bicep.
You glance down at the sight of his widening smile, and lean down to help yourself to a wet kiss on his lips. Ethan kisses back eagerly, mouth hot and heavy against yours. He makes a little noise when you break apart, lifting his head to follow your lips until they’re out of his reach. He chuckles and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back in defeat, only to lift it again when he feels your hands working the button on his pants. You settle in between his legs, and, once the button is off, grab at the waistband of his pants to rid him of them. Ethan’s cock is poking through his boxers, and your mouth nearly waters at the thought of blowing him like this. You try taking your time though—try to make the experience worth it—and press feather light kisses all over the soft fabric. Ethan flinches, hips slightly jerking up for more.
“Easy there, Mr. Hunt,” you murmur, lips lightly sucking at the head of his cock through the material.
“I don’t think we mentioned any teasing.” He breathes out, licks his bottom lip and then bites down, hard.
“You can handle it,” you say through a grin, raking your fingers along the skin of his thighs again.
You strip him off his boxers eventually, pulling them down his legs and out of the way. You salivate at the sight of him, bare and flushed and tied up just for you. He’s fully hard against his stomach, nearly leaking at the brief feel of your lips.
He notices you staring. “A bit overdressed, honey.”
You huff, trying not to smile, though you fail almost instantly. You back up and take your time slipping out of your clothes, intent on giving him a show. Ethan watches with hazy eyes, mouth slightly parted. He looks you up and down, takes in the sight of every part of you that he won’t be able to touch tonight. You watch the look cross his face and can’t help but giggle. “Hey, it was your idea.”
“I’m gonna get out of these,” he states matter-of-factly, tilting his head with a little smirk.
“Mm, I don’t think so,” you counter, stretching your legs out to slip out of your underwear. “You break free, this all stops.”
He scoffs playfully, his eyes hungrily raking your body. “I didn’t think you’d be so strict.”
With all your clothes on the floor, you crawl closer and reach to wrap a hand around his cock. You don’t break eye contact as you squeeze him a bit, thumb rubbing circles at the tip. You tease him there, moving your thumb all over the head, getting small, breathy groans out of him. You lean in momentarily to press a kiss there, and his abs clench in reaction, his wrists wriggling in the rope. You bite back a smirk, satisfied already.
Ethan’s lashes flutter when you finally get the wet heat of your mouth on his shaft. You angle your head, dragging the flat of your tongue along the long vein that runs on the side. He shudders, letting his head fall back every few seconds and then lifting it again to watch you. You never once break eye contact, your tongue dragging up and down his length in rhythmic strides. He mumbles something incoherent under his breath, fingers tapping on the headboard—the only thing his grip can reach.
You pull off his cock with a loud slurping noise, fist tightly jerking him up and down where you’d left him extra lubricated. His abs tense again, much to your pleasure, and his hips twitch with every move of your fist. Watching him lose his composure, you take advantage; you lean down to wrap your mouth around the head, taking him in inch by inch while continuously stroking him down below. Ethan groans, loud, throwing his head back. The muscles in his arms visibly clench from his grip on the rope and it’s then that you feel the absence of his hands in your hair, how delicately he runs his fingers through it every time you blow him.
The sight of him so restricted is very worth it though: face flushed, his cock red and dripping wet and deliciously hard in your mouth, miles of his pretty tan skin from your spot in between his legs. You watch his muscles tense, how his chin meets the heave of his chest every time he lifts his head again to watch you, eyes half-lidded and mouth hanging open in a silent moan.
Your throat constricts at the intrusion the deeper you take him in, and you hollow your cheeks around him with every up and down movement. Your palm is slick and messy around him, spit dripping onto your knuckles from your mouth’s work, which only helps you stroke him faster.
You know he’s close from the small, repetitive sounds he’s making and, eager to get him there, release him from your mouth to stroke him furiously. It only lasts a couple of seconds, and you bite back a moan of your own at the sight of him spilling his cum all along his abs.
“Fuck,” he groans, eyebrows pulled tight as his orgasm washes over him.
“Doing alright, Agent?” you murmur, thumb rubbing small, gentle circles around his throbbing length.
“So unfair,” he breathes out, wrapping his fingers around the rope binding him. His hips jerk again, this time from being slightly overstimulated by your touch.
You crawl on all fours above his body, reaching his mouth to kiss him. He leans up, eager again, his tongue slipping into your slick mouth. You let him lick into you, palms flat on either side of him, the heat of the kiss agitating the growing fire in the pit of your stomach. The desire for him coaxes your hips down, your wet, slick center meeting that same vein on Ethan’s shaft. You moan into his mouth, unable to resist grinding down, which gets a noise out of him too. You rock with him there, just a little, just to get him fully hard again. You remember you’re supposed to be taking your time but God, it already feels so good.
When his cock jerks up against you, hard and throbbing again, you pull off of his mouth; Ethan watches as you mount his hips, hovering above his dick to position it inside of you. You press your palms to his abs as you sink down, the split delicious and raw. You wipe at the cum on his skin, bringing it to your tongue—the whole show for him. You moan around your finger when you easily sink down all the way, and then run your slippery hands down your body to tease him. Situated against his balls, you clench around him, but you don’t move yet—you caress your collarbone first, and then your hands travel lower, palms rubbing over your hardened nipples. Ethan watches you in disbelief, yanking on both sides of the rope with serious force—it moves the both of you, a wave of pleasure washing over you. It’s that wave alone that gets you going; you realize you can’t hold off forever and that it doesn’t really matter how much you tease him because now you need it as much as he does.
You move your hips in small circles to start, and then start to move up and down—the small burn in your legs reminds you that Ethan’s arms being binded means that he can’t wrap them around you to help you, that you’ve gotta do all the work yourself this time.
You start off slow, watching his face contort in pleasure as you pick up your pace. He continues yanking on the rope, even more so when you find a comfortable pace. You bounce against him, harsh, skin slapping noises meeting both of your moans. The position allows him in as deep as can be, the head of his cock meeting that delicious ache inside of you more and more with each passing second. After an agonizing minute, you decide to lean back, your palms flat behind you for leverage. He notices your shift, and his hips start jolting off the bed, messing up the pace quite a bit but it gives you a good break—he’s fucking into you eventually, hard and fast despite the absence of his arms. You bite back a giggle; he’s always had a good core. And fuck—his interception is almost enough to push you over the edge already—
No, no. Just a little more. He’s moaning like he was right before he came, and you decide to coax him into it with your words.
“Come on, baby, don’t you wanna touch me?” you ask, breathy and light.
He moans and it sounds something like a whine, his hips sputtering and losing their pace as he nears his second orgasm. Still sensitive from his first.
It all gets to be a bit too much when you start slamming your hips down to meet his thrusts, his cock feeling even deeper somehow—and that’s enough to set him over the edge. It’s not until you feel his hot spurts of cum inside you, and hear the sticky, wet noises of his thrusts fucking it deep inside you that your orgasm washes over you too.
You nearly scream as it takes you, body going slack from the pleasure.
Ethan’s face is flushed pink, his cheeks warm from a second orgasm. A pretty sight, paired with the soft moans spilling from his mouth.
You climb off of him with shaky legs, body buzzing in the afterglow. You collapse on the mattress next to him, sight set on the ceiling as you try catching your breath.
“Give me.. Give me a second, baby, I’ll untie you.”
Ethan doesn’t reply, but you listen as his moans quiet down, and how his equally uneven breathing starts to slow.
When you sit up and turn to reach for the rope, Ethan’s already out of its grip, a cute smile spreading his cheeks and an innocent glint in his eye as he rubs at his wrist.
#one of my favs!#ethan hunt#ethan hunt x reader#kinktober 2023#mission: impossible#mission: impossible fic#mission: impossible fanfic#*#tom cruise x reader
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Spent my weekend watching Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning twice, and then wrote some more m:i fic to cope.
Summary:
When Ethan Hunt wakes up a captive of the Syndicate, the Bone Doctor doesn't interrupt, and Ilsa Faust runs the interrogation her way. Solomon Lane said the end was inevitable, and maybe he's right; but the journey can still leave you changed.
“What Vinter and the rest of his stupid ilk never realize is that torture doesn’t work, especially on their own kind. Pain is cheap.”
Chapter 4: in which Ethan flips the script on Ilsa, like he was always going to, and the pair of them desperately try not to cut themselves to ribbons on the double-edged sword they're holding at each other's throats.
#mission impossible#rogue nation#mission: impossible fic#fanfic#my fic#ethan hunt#ilsa faust#congratulations im so sad about [redacted] that this is now assuredly a fix-it fic
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“Benji” “Dunn” from a fic @sad-stucky-shipper-107 and i are writing…he’s posing as a data consultant for a big finance firm<3
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Dangle the Carrot
Prompt: Smug and Sadistic, Virginity from @munstysmind (x) Thank you!
Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader
Word Count: Approx. 3.5k
Warnings: Smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT/ NON CONSENT, RELUCTANT READER, Coercion, p in v sex, fingering, discussion of body fluids, possessive August.
Authors Note: As always I need to thank my amazing mates and readers @nashibirne , and @henryobsessed your thoughtful and honest comments are always appreciated.
I had every intention of following the prompt, but as I wrote this is what came out. Walker is definitely smug, but probably not as sadistic as you would think. I hope you enjoy it.
Edited by me, there will be errors
Dividers by me.
Masterlist
Celebration Masterlist
You’re sitting in the safe house sipping on your morning coffee, dressed in a simple knee length summer dress that is fashionable in the local area, going over new intelligence on your latest asset.
You’re going to have to meet him again, he is holding back information, you’re sure of it. The chatter had been building to a crescendo, someone is planning something and you’re sure the asset knows more than he’s letting on.
The assets' pale balding head peers back at you from the photograph that had been taken of him way back before you started to build a relationship with him. He creeps you out, well over 20 years older than you, he looks at you like he’s undressing you every time you meet. You feel like he strings you along with little tidbits just to keep you coming back and you’re starting to think he’s a dead end.
“Staring at his picture won’t make him talk.”
You jump, startled by Special Agent Walker's appearance. Dressed as he always is in a plain muted suit, he has a mug of coffee (you assume) in his hand and he sits next to you, plucking the file from your hands and opening it on the dining table in front of you.
“Any suggestions?” you ask.
“Possibly,” Walker says, the corner of his whiskered mouth lifting with a knowing smirk.
You purse your lips. Walker always looks like he knows something you don’t, you’re about to ask him what it is when he continues.
“I’ve been told to hurry you along. Langley believes he has information about a high value target and our window of opportunity is closing swiftly.”
Huffing with disgust you say, “I’ve done everything I can besides take my clothes off to get him to give up more information than we already know. I think he knows nothing. I think he’s full of shit.”
Walker shakes his head, “Langley disagrees. They think he might be involved in some way and is trying to avoid implicating himself.”
“I’ve told him we will look the other way on the shit he’s into if he can lead us to the target, or at least give us something we don’t already know.” You shrug and lean back into your chair, waving your hand over the file. “Like I said, I’ve given him every assurance, dangled every carrot, and he gives me nothing. I’m at a loss.”
Walker hums, turning a page, “Maybe it's time to stop dangling the carrot and let him have it.”
Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
Walker doesn’t answer immediately. He finishes reading, then closes the file smoothly. He turns in his chair so he’s facing you and his knee brushes against your thigh, while he takes a moment to assess you.
“You said you’ve tried everything except taking your clothes off,” he says, the smirk reappearing on his lips.
“That’s not happening,” you say dismissively, but your cheeks burn at his suggestion.
Walker nods, a faux frown plays on his lips. “Did you read the brief?”
“Only a million times.”
Walker makes a gesture towards the folder on the table. “The initial report, second page, about a third of the way down.”
Sighing, you drag the file back in front of you and flip it open. Walker’s knee presses against your thigh as he puts his arm around the back of your chair and leans in to read over your shoulder.
“There,” he says.
You start to read, impatiently, “The subject is known for many clandestine relationships outside of his marriage. He tends to favour women who…” you trail off as you realise the description of his type of woman is basically a description of you. You keep reading in silence.
…At least one of his former lovers was a British Agent and seeing as the subject was prone to “pillow talk”, it had proved an effective way to gather intelligence…
“Miss that part in your millions of readings did you?” Walker says in your ear. “Why do you think you were put on this case, hmm?”
The arm that rests on the back of the chair now rests on your shoulder and he starts to stroke your neck. His other hand rests on your knee, his fingers edge beneath the hem of your dress, inching their way up your thigh.
You can barely breathe, the realisation dawning on you that he’s right. You thought you were being rewarded for good work with lower level assets. Embarrassment creeps in, the old imposter syndrome that you had convinced yourself wasn’t an issue begins to rear its ugly head.
“I can’t,” you whisper.
Walker moves closer, his breath is warm on your neck, his fingers have worked themselves halfway up the inside of your thigh and they pause to caress your sensitive delicate skin.
“You can,” he whispers back, “I know what’s stopping you. Why do you think I was put on this case?”
Your chin trembles and you try to swallow down the lump rising in your throat. “This was the plan the whole time?”
“A contingency that Langley has decided to implement to hurry things along.”
Shaking your head, you flick his hand away from your thigh. “I can turn him without having sex with him. Give me a few more days.”
Walker grabs your jaw, his thumb and fingers dig painfully into your cheeks and he makes you look at him. His eyes are blazing with lustful impatience. He’s been waiting for this you realise, he’s been waiting for you to fail, waiting for the go ahead to take you.
“You don’t have a few days, princess. You have tonight,” Walker says in a gravelly and thick tone that doesn’t hold so much as an inch of empathy. “You have a choice. You can open your legs for me like a good girl and I’ll make your first time as pleasant as possible and believe me, I can make it very pleasurable. Or, you can let an ugly, skinny, limp dicked asshole, that doesn’t even know your real name, uselessly pound your sweet, tight, virgin pussy until his cum dribbles into your ruined little hole.”
“And if I refuse both options?” Your voice quivers as you ask the question because deep down you already know the answer.
“You’ll be out. A burn notice will be issued within the next hour.”
Icy fear blooms in your chest and your blood runs cold through your veins. Burn notice. Not only will you be out of the agency, but no self respecting private security firm would take you either. The whole industry would be closed to you. Everything you worked for would be taken from you within the hour.
Closing your eyes, you coldly try to rationalise the situation, weighing up the pros and cons.
What is virginity anyway? Your hymen was well and truly worn away by now. You’ve had a wide selection of toys inside you. A couple of guys had fingered you in college and it wasn’t as though you were saving yourself for marriage or anything. Your lack of sexual experience is due to not having the inclination to find a partner who you wanted to sleep with rather than any real moral objection.
There would be worse men to sleep with than Walker. He is attractive, even if he’s normally a little standoffish. He boasts about making it feel pleasurable doesn’t seem to be without merit; you can’t deny that his fingers which are circling their way up your inner thigh again do feel nice.
You open your eyes slowly and determinedly set your jaw. You lick your lips and take a breath to give your tepid consent, but nothing comes out.
Walker seems to understand though, his hand holding your jaw softens and slides down to your neck. He uses his grip to draw you close enough to brush his lips over yours.
Whiskers prickle against your chin and warm, silky lips stroke yours, capturing first your lower lip then your top in a gentle nip.
“Relax,” he whispers against your mouth. His breath heats your lips and smells of mint and coffee.
As he resumes his kiss, a light tickling sensation begins on your inner thigh, picking up where it had left off. Soft circling fingers draw an invisible spiral on your sensitive skin as it inches its way towards the apex of your thighs. It feels nice, gentle and tender, and against your will, your skin tingles with warm anticipation.
Hot velvety strokes of his tongue tease your lips, probing softly where they meet, silently urging you to open. He’s patient, easing back before trying again, all the while his thumb strokes your throat and fingers caress higher and higher up your thigh.
Maybe it is primal instinct, or perhaps you simply surrender, but you part your lips. His tongue slips into your mouth with a hum of approval. He strokes, massages, and sucks, encouraging you to reciprocate, but you can’t. While his touch is seductive, your heart beats faster and your body warms as your body begins to throb, you feel detached. It’s like he’s doing things to you and your body reacts but your mind is somewhere else recording your involuntary, mechanical reactions.
The ghosting circular caresses get larger, reaching high enough for a knuckle to brush over your panties. Dispassionate curiosity keeps you unmoving as his hand sweeps over your thigh again, this time a finger traces the edge of your panties, following its curve before resuming its path.
He brushes over your panties again, floating over your slit and grazing your clit. A deep thrum begins between your legs and vibrates hotly through your nerves, and settles in your breasts making your nipples ache as they grow tight and harden.
Your detachment shatters. You break his kiss with a cry and force your knees together, trapping his hand between your thighs and halting his advance.
“You were doing so well, princess,” Walker says, with a thicker and less gentle voice than before.
You scowl at him as he tries to pry your knees apart with his free hand. It’s not anger that makes you protest; it's the fear that grips your heart with its icy fingers as you see the burning lust in his eyes. He isn’t just doing this for the mission, he’s doing this because he wants to and somehow that is so much worse.
You try to stand and run, but he’s too quick for you. He captures your wrists in one hand and roughly uses his body to get behind you. He thrusts his groin against your ass, and bends you over the table, trapping you like a pinned butterfly by your hands and his chest pressing against your back.
“Be a good girl and don’t fight it, because I’ll take you the hard way if I have to,” he growls in your ear in a tone that suggests he might enjoy that even more.
“Please,” you rasp weakly. “Please don’t…”
A rough hand bunches your dress up to your hips then rubs over the soft flesh of your thighs. You try to close your legs but he inches his feet between yours and forces them apart. He licks the shell of your ear before taking your earlobe into his mouth and sucks. Heat flows through your veins again, your nerves electrify while you twist and fight against his iron-like grip and heavy weight.
“Are you getting wet for me, princess?” he asks, mockingly rubbing himself against your ass.
“No!” you protest louder and with more conviction, hoping the forcefulness of your response covers for your lie because despite your fear, and you are afraid, your body is undoubtedly aroused and growing more so with every passing second.
“No?” Walker asks. “Are you sure?”
Embarrassment makes you drop your head to the table with a feeble whimper. Why is it that his smug mocking makes you even more aroused? You’re hot and slick beneath your panties and everytime Walker grinds himself against your ass, the fabric of the gusset clings to your sticky lips.
“Are you sure? I think I should check,” he says as his fingers hook the edge of your panties and peels them away slowly.
Walker’s fingers easily slide over your pussy. You bite the inside of your cheek to try and stop the moan that hurtles up your throat. You try to fight against him, but he’s got you trapped as his fingers stroke and probe between your legs.
“Jesus, you’re so fucking wet,” he mutters throatily, as though he’s talking to himself. Sounding almost amazed, he adds, “You like this.”
Humiliated, you let out a soft cry. You do like it. You like the way he’s touching you even better now than when he first started. His weight pinning you to the table is strangely comforting, and knowing you can’t fight him off is embarrassingly arousing.
He spreads you open and a finger teases your entrance. You hold your breath, your whole body clenches anticipating pain. But he’s gentle as he slips a finger easily inside you and lets out a hard amused breath into your ear and you can imagine the smug grin on his face.
You squeeze your eyes shut as he slides his finger back and forth, each time at a new angle as if he is searching for something. He moans softly as he kisses your neck, sucking and biting hard, such a contrast to how gently his finger explores.
He adds a second finger, you cry out again as he stretches you and you clamp down hard as if you could push him out. He groans in response, his voice erotically guttural, powerful and raw as he growls out, “Your pussy is so fucking tight. So fucking hot.”
His fingers curl and you gasp. It already felt so good, but now there is a pleasant pressure building deep in your gut. Your core throbs and you tighten around him even more and your eyes widen in horror as you realise what is happening.
“No, no, no,” you protest as your thighs begin to shake.
Tears well in your eyes as your body grows incredibly taut and torrid heat gathers between your legs. You pull on the hand holding your wrists and manage to get one free. You cover your mouth, trying to suppress your cries as your body surrenders to searing heaves of euphoric release that leave your skin tingling and your muscles quivering.
You’re still high, heady and weak from your orgasm as Walker pulls your panties down your thighs. Somewhere in your mind you think you should fight him because you know what's coming next, but your body feels so good that you also crave more. So much so that when Walker takes your hips and turns you before snaking an arm around your waist, you docilely let him lift you onto the table and stand between your bare legs.
Heavy lidded you watch him quickly undo his belt, his movements are a frantic indication of his desire. When he lifts his eyes as his pants drop to the floor your breath catches in your throat. Untamed and bestial lust twists his features, curling his lip and narrowing his cobalt stare.
“Please,” you murmur, the words spilling from your lips without any understanding of what you’re begging for.
Walker bares his teeth with a savage grin and growl, and reaches between his legs. He’s soft and blunt as he drags himself over you, coating the head of his cock in your slick arousal. Your mouth opens and you take a stuttering breath as he positions himself at your core. His arm draws your body close to him as he slowly pushes into you, his eyes dark and wild.
Pressure like you’ve never known makes your core spasm and strain and though you put a hand to his chest to try to slow him down, he doesn’t stop his unyielding intrusion. You think you should want to scream, cry, or at least protest, but your legs wrap around him, pulling him deeper until your bodies meet.
Twin moans float as they hang in the air as you both still. His breath saws in his throat as your every exhale comes out with a soft whimper. No toy ever stretched you like this and you look down to see your slit bloom and spread around his thick cock.
“Oh God,” you cry as your head lolls and falls back.
Fingers slip between your lips and pull on your teeth until your eyes meet Walkers. He watches slack-jawed and panting as your mouth closes over his intrusive fingers and the humiliating taste of your orgasm stings your tongue.
With a growl he removes his fingers and covers your mouth with his, forcing his tongue into your mouth and sucking on yours as if to get a taste for himself. He grazes his whiskers over you, making your skin prickle. Your hand moves to his wrist and slides down his forearm and the powerful muscles dancing beneath his hairy skin feel so good you tighten your grip to feel then contract and flex.
He moves.
With fluid and deliberate rolls of his hips, he grinds against you. His mouth still covers yours and you desperately try to breathe through your nose and not choke on the scream that is poised at the back of your throat. His body moves with erotic grace, confusing your mind with every circling thrust. It shouldn’t feel so good, you don’t want this.
Oh but you do. You so do.
The familiar heat gathers between your legs and your hips, moving with him, chasing him, urging him to move faster, to give you what you need to fall into bliss again. You’re not sure when you went from passive recipient to enthusiastically compliant, but you’re definitely a desperately willing participant now.
Walker leaves your lips and kisses down your throat, groaning as he sucks bruisingly hard on your skin. He works his way to your ear, his cheeks burn your skin as your skin prickles and breaks into sweat.
“Your pussy is too good to waste on another man,” Walker groans. “You’re mine now.”
It takes you a moment to register his words, but when they sink in, irrationally your heart soars.
“All fucking mine,” he growls.
The heat of his breath as he rasps out the words in his harsh and rugged baritone send you over the edge. You clasp and grab at him, trying to hold on as your body shakes and shudders and you bask in that moment where everything all falls away and there's nothing except the surging tides of hot euphoria.
“Fuck,” he snarls, when you open your eyes.
He grabs your ass with one hand and hooks his other arm under your knee, spreading you wide open. He’s no longer grinding, now he’s pumping hard watching himself move in and out of your swollen and sodden core.
He cups the back of your head, drawing your mouth close enough to kiss as he chases his end. His rhythmic frantic thrusts suddenly stop as he lifts his head with a long groan and holds himself deep within you. You inhale a rough breath as he imperceptibly thickens and throbs, shocked that you can actually feel each pulse of his release as it rushes up his cock.
With a final sigh, he drops his head, resting against your lips. You kiss him there softly and your lips sting with the taste of his humid skin as sweat runs down his forehead and into your mouth. It should disgust you, but instead of pulling away you kiss him again before lowering your head and nuzzling into his neck.
You both stay there for a minute while you catch your breath and try to process what happened. You don’t know what to think, it all happened so fast, and feels so confusing. Part of you knows you should be furious, but somehow you can’t seem to muster the anger at the violation when it felt so good.
His softening cock starts to slip from your core. When it falls you feel unbelievably wet between your legs. He came inside you, you hadn’t even thought about it. A small shiver tickles at your spine. Though your core aches, the thought of his cum leaking from you was so erotic that you almost want to reach between you legs and feel it as it slowly flows from deep inside you.
Walker raises his head, his expression as calm as you’ve ever seen and his normally turbulent eyes seem serene. The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s trying to smile, not smirk or sneer, but genuinely smile.
“I mean it,” he says, pushing errant hairs tenderly off your face. “You’re not fucking him. I’ll find another way to get what we need.”
From the look of grim determination that settles in his jaw, you have no doubts about his seriousness.
“Do I get a say at all?” you ask, your voice still trembling.
“No.”
#rabbitsmilestone23#henry cavill#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill fan fiction#august walker#august walker fanfiction#august walker fic#mission impossible#mission impossible fallout#august walker x you#august walker fanfic#august walker x reader#august walker x female reader
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benji: babe u look so updog today
ethan: what
benji: haha uh. no you’re supposed to say—
ethan, tearing up: babe you promised me if my hair looked funny you would tell me discreetly
#benthan#to me#benji dunn#ethan hunt#i don’t have the spoons to write fic rn but here’s a thought i think is canon#mission impossible
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Blind Offer Masterlist
Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that’s too good to be true. (short!plus!reader; Steve Rogers, Lloyd Hansen, Bucky Barnes, August Walker)
Status: In Progress
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
#steve rogers#bucky barnes#august walker#lloyd hansen#dark fic#fic#series#dark!fic#mission impossible: fallout#captain america#avengers#mcu#marvel#the gray man#multicharacter#multifandom
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