1 - 20 of 124 Works by thalius
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Ilsa walks up to Ethan's bed and places a hand on his shoulder—and immediately pulls it back, shocked at the intense, sweaty heat of his body.
“I’m fine,” he groans, curling away from her and pressing his face into the pillow.
“Did you take anything?” she asks, looking around the cabin. She spots an uncapped pill bottle and glass of water on the dinner table. Without waiting for a response, she walks over to it, grabbing the bottle. It rattles in her hand as she holds it up to the low firelight, squinting at the label. Ilsa jolts when she sees what they are. Heat suppressants.
She looks back at Ethan, eyes wide. Ilsa shakes the pill bottle. “Are these not working?”
“Expired,” he grits out. He’s rocking on the bed, hugging himself, his breath coming out in hisses as a wave of spasms washes through him.
She glances at the label again. The best before date is listed as five years ago.
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Now that he’s finally been given a life to live, Ethan doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Series
- Part 2 of Post-Canon
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Surely one more round can’t hurt, right?
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Not every probability can be accounted for. Luther made sure of it.
Series
- Part 1 of Post-Canon
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Maverick still has that scared, hesitant look on his face whenever they talk, like one wrong move and Bradley would explode at him and tell him that actually he’s still going to hell, there’s no salvation for him, and no ball game or backyard barbecue will ever wipe away the black stain on his soul for letting Goose die. It’s fucking annoying.
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“We can pretend I just got here,” he says, entirely focused on kissing her. He’s still good with his mouth. “You can tell Amelia I came over for dinner.”
Penny breaks away to look at him, impressed by his gall. “You’re inviting yourself to dinner?”
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Ethan never anticipated that public relations would become part of his job.
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There’s always a next time with Ethan. She has to accept half the blame for why he keeps coming back; as long as she keeps letting him in, there will always be a next time.
Series
- Part 4 of I work for an agency
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He shouldn’t call her back. He’d be doing Julia a favour to let her think he was just an asshole who got bored of her.
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But this is the dance, always; Hunt’s gotten used to the slack in his own chain and mistakes it for leverage. How much affordance to grant that mistake is an ongoing question.
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She wants to see just how much Ethan can take.
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He has to find a way to give a proper account of all his mistakes. He has to somehow make up for the fact that every person he loves is, at the end of the day, fucked because of him.
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Fucking Ethan like this still isn’t a thing Julia does often. It had taken some convincing for her to try it with him, somehow far more daunting than when he’d asked her to go skydiving. She feels guilty about it now, seeing how much he loves it. In this way and a million others, Ethan is a singular fixture in her life, unlike anyone else she’s slept with before. And now she has the unique pleasure of pressing a man twice her size into the mattress and listening to him fall apart beneath her.
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Julia just wants to fuck her husband. That’s a normal thing to want.
Series
- Part 3 of I work for an agency
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Venice isn’t their only first.
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Grace gets the impression that Ethan isn't really talking to her.
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It’s not like either of them were ever given a manual on the standards of professional conduct. Still, this is probably crossing some sort of line.
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Ilsa reaches for the wine bottle. It’s a twist-off cap, and she unscrews it easily. “I’m just saying,” she continues, unstacking the paper coffee cups and pouring each of them a glass. “I have a shower.”
“So you can look through my stuff while I’m vulnerable,” Benji finishes for her.
She smiles, sliding a cup his way. “If I wanted to do that I would have already.”
“Then why?”
“You can’t just accept I’m being nice to you?”
His eyes flick to Ethan. “Do you really think she’s ‘just being nice’ to us?”
By complete coincidence, Ilsa spots Benji and Ethan in the streets of Marbella, hanging on by a thread. On purpose, she decides to run into them.
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Ilsa pushes the front door open, arduously heavy, and finds Ethan wavering on the apartment steps outside.
“Ilsa.” His ridiculous sunshine smile lights up his face, like he’s surprised to run into her here.
She leans against the doorway, palm braced on the door to hold it open. “What do you want?”
He doesn’t look good. If he were anyone else she’d assume he was drunk, but the exhausted, strung-out look on his face is a sober one. He’d been wandering around London for a while, too, judging by his wet hair and the soaked shoulders of his jacket.
“I’m—is this a bad time?”
“Extraordinarily.”
Ethan’s problem is that he thinks he can just show up unannounced on her doorstep after disappearing for four months. Ilsa’s problem is that she invites him inside.
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More than anything, Ethan wants her to hold him, to stroke his hair and tell him that everything is fine, that she's okay, that they're okay. But he hasn't earned that from Julia yet. It'll take years before he does.
Series
- Part 2 of I work for an agency