Summary: You're Luther's daughter and you want to join the IMF and meet the famous Ethan Hunt. What'll happen when you get the chance?

Warnings: Fluffy kissing, nothing terrible! Just floof.

A/N: WOOOO 100 READS! I can't believe my works are getting all these reads so fast! Thanks readers! Also I'm officially open to requests! Here's a fun, fluffy One-Shot to celebrate 100 reads with you! I hope we can get hundreds more reads, do you accept this mission? *que answer (say yes!)* this message with self destruct in 5 seconds...ok i'm done being cheesy. (y/c/e) is (your color eyes) and (Y/N/N) is (your nickname). Onto the One-Shot!

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Across the mat, panting under the heavy downpour of his own sweat, stands a broad chested, heavyset older man with darker skin. His head is shaved clean but it's glistening from perspiration. As you bounce lightly on your feet, the man coughs and readjusts his stance. You run your gaze all over him, probing for a weak spot. His arms are bulging with muscle, something you don't have visibly displayed on your own body. No. You are strong, but you never can seem to bulk up like this man. No matter. You're still quicker.

Which brings you back to the situation at hand -

There!

The weak spot is his right leg. It's uninjured, yet shaky. Old age, you decide.

Having honed onto your opening, there's nothing holding you back. You let your focused expression break into a pleased smirk a split second before you dart across the mat and throw your body down towards the ground. Your butt hits the glossy dark blue material of the sparring mat and you slide forward in a blur of movement. One of your legs kicks out just in time to loop the man's, tripping him face first so that, using your momentum, you throw him onto his stomach and then roll onto your knees. The man is struggling to get back up. You hurry toward him as he flips onto his back and place a restrictive knee against his gut. Oblivious of his loss, the man tries to push your knee off, but you dig it harder against his stomach and shift yourself into a squat by his side.

Smirking, you announce, "Gotcha Dad."

"Who ever taught you to tease your old man?" Your Dad grumbles, still breathless after an hour's worth of sparring.

Ever since you came back from college and some vigilante work you kept hidden from him and are still being grounded for, your Dad finally promised to teach you the fighting skills you needed to help him. To join the Impossible Mission Force, or as it's more commonly known, the IMF.

"Aw, gettin' rusty, Daddy?" You tease.

"(Y/N/N)..."

Oof, it's the warning voice.

You raise your hands above your head and climb off of your Dad. Sure, he's getting older and you've proved yourself to be fast as light when it comes to sparring, but your Dad is still a proper Agent. There's not a doubt in your mind that he couldn't snap you in half like a pencil. That said, you know he wouldn't. Afterall, your Dad loves you. You're his only daughter, his only family. Someone he thought he'd never get to keep in his life and yet here you are! Following in his footsteps, preparing to become the greatest thing known to man. A kickbutt IMF Agent.

It's the job you drew a picture of at school, only you labeled it 'SPY' since the Impossible Mission Force was and still is a secret. How many talks did Dad have with you from birth about that? Don't tell anyone what Daddy does for work, ok honey? No playdates at Daddy's house, only at other peoples. No talking about how cool Daddy is, no talking about wanting to scale buildings and put on a disguise mask. All the 'no, nos' in your life were so different from the usual 'no cookies before lunch' though you had a few of those too. All in all, childhood as Luther Stickel's daughter was unique, but wonderfully so. You never had a choice who your dad was, but if you had, Luther would've been your first pick.

"I love you, Daddy," You tease.

Luther shakes his head and chuckles. "Love you too, baby."

"So I was thinking-"

How rude. A phone starts ringing like crazy. You blow out a breath of hot air and a strand of hair flies out of your face. Luther gives you a grim smile and steps off the mat to find his phone. You know it's his ringing because yours is safely tucked in your sports bra and there's no way you would miss that thing buzzing right there. Once he's fished it out of his jacket pocket, Luther holds his phone against his ear and slides you a passive glance. You smile.

"Who is this?"

Whoever's on the other end is impossible to hear, but whatever they say wipes the smile off of Luther's face. His eyes soften around the edges and a sadness leaps into his dark irises. All of him, muscle and age, sags under the weight of sorrow.

"Ok, I...I'm sorry, Ethan. Really, I am, man. I'll be there, you can always count on me....you got it. Chicago. 11:00."

Luther puts down the phone and hangs up. You tip toe off of the mat and approach your Dad. He bows his head for a few minutes, his arms hanging limply at his sides. He doesn't seem to realize you at his side, reaching up to massage the tension in his back, even if his dark skin is slick with disgusting sweat. You bite your lip in distress. What could've happened? Something bad, that's clear, but what does it have to do with Dad? Ethan, you recall the name from early in the call. Your Dad said the name with such reverence...it had to be The Ethan. The Ethan Hunt he knows so well, values and loves fiercely but has yet to introduce you to.

Honestly, you're surprised Ethan hasn't tried to meet you. Luther probably talks about you all the time on missions when they aren't being watched.

"Daddy?" You whisper, laying your other hand on Luther's shoulder.

"I gotta go, (Y/N)." Luther sighs. "Right now."

Snapping out of his trance, Luther gathers his things and pulls away from your touch.

"Tell me what's wrong!" You exclaim.

"Ethan needs my help, baby, we...we've got a problem. I'll be back."

"WAIT! DAD!" You throw your bag over your shoulder and jog to catch up with the retreating figure up ahead. "Dad! I'm coming with."

Luther freezes in the doorway to the gym in your 'secret' house. He looks over his shoulder at you suspiciously. "With who?"

"You."

"No-"

"Dad!" You cut him off roughly. "Listen, I'm never going to be safe. We've talked about this a million times. I've been followed my entire life, I've run into creeps, I've almost been kidnapped for gosh sakes! Me joining the Force isn't going to change anything. Besides, I've already been on four missions. Without the IMF's help so this shouldn't be any harder! And I can fight now, like, for real fight! Just..." You hang your head back and groan. "Dad, let me help. You're always gone and...for once, maybe I can be there to do something."

Throughout your outburst, Luther's been quiet. Too quiet. You know when he's gone dead silent he's thinking and Dad thinking is sure doom. You wince and look down from hooded eyes, fearing what he'll say...

"Hurry up then."

YES! You crack a grin. "Sure thing."

*Time Gap brought to you by Owen Davian and Julia's Fiance in Fallout who are - gaaaasssp! - HEAD GAMEMAKERS FROM PANEM*

To say your emotions are mixed would be the understatement of the year. For starters, you've been trying not to bounce in your seat for the entire flight because you are so excited to be going on an official IMF mission with the one and only Agent Ethan Hunt. On the other hand, you feel a drowning sense of melancholy knowing this whole mission is necessary because a dear friend of Ethan and Luther's as well as a fellow Agent has been brutally killed. Luther regretfully showed you the mission video. It bore a picture of her body, Agent Marrissa Setterfield's body. Ex-Agent, you think sadly. Almost immediately your happy side starts chirping, mission mission mission mission!

"We're here."

Luther helps you get your stuff out of the cubby and the two of your melt into the crowd at the airport. Once no one's paying attention to you, his significantly larger hand seizes yours and he pulls you along through the mass of people towards a backdoor. You keep on high alert, trying to embody the same keen spirit you had back at college whenever you'd throw yourself into a 'hero' situation. Back then you were desperate. Craving the adrenaline rush you know IMF Agents get from doing the impossible.

The kind Ethan gets.

True, he does do the impossible of the impossible, but more important, why is he playing like a broken record in your brain? You haven't even met the man yet!

"This way," Luther mumbles.

"We're clear, by the way, no pursuers-" You're whisper slips into a stifled gasp. Your Dad clenches his hand tighter around your wrist.

"What?"

"A guy, following."

"Let's go."

You fly around a corner in the old warehouse where some half dead planes are being worked on. It's empty. Or so you thought. Suddenly a guy came through the door behind you. Luther moves fast for someone his age but you're still faster. The two of you hurry down a hall and take a sharp left. Luther has only just fallen behind you but already you feel a conviction deep in your heart that you're on your own, just as any Agent is.

Before you can wrap your head around this strange feeling, you nearly run into someone.

In a flash you see the posture and the build and know immediately this is a highly trained fighter.

"Dad!" You yell out the warning and barrel into attack mode. Your fists come flying and the guy ducks. Then, you raise a leg and shove him backwards a few steps, just enough for you to gain speed and push yourself into the air. Here goes a trick I haven't mastered! You wrap your legs around the guy's shoulders and swing your body out so that the two of you go crashing to the ground. Of course, you end up on top. Sitting on the man's chest with your knees next to his ears. You whip a toothbrush out of your sleeve and hold the sharpened end over his throat.

"WHO ARE YOU?!" You bellow.

"Ethan Hunt, IMF Agent, and..." the man's green eyes flicker to the left, where Luther lumbers into the picture. "...friend of your father's."

"Oh." You lower your very threatening toothbrush and cover your hand with your mouth. "Oh Gosh I'm sorry-"

"No, don't be," Ethan argues. "Really, you surprised me but I'm glad. I know not to underestimate you with a toothbrush."

This does make you laugh. You smile at Ethan and shake your head. Come to think of it, the toothbrush does seem dumb, but hey, you could've skewered his throat with it so...ha? Wait- looking down into Ethan's eyes, you realize you're still sitting on his chest. Oh gosh...this is definitely not appropriate, Dad is gonna freak out! Why isn't he freaking out! That's gotta be worse-

"Sorry." You blurt, lifting your weight off of Ethan's body.

He just smiles dazzlingly up at you.

Across the room, someone clears their throat. "We gonna have introductions or what...?"

"Benji, Ethan, my daughter, (Y/N)." Luther gestures to you with one hand, and lays the other between your shoulder blades. "(Y/N)...Agent Benji Dunn, and Agent Ethan Hunt."

"Blimey," The man called Benji exclaims. "I didn't know you were the fatherly type, Luther, couldn'ta pegged ya there."

Meanwhile, Ethan simply continued to smile. At you. You were doing your fair share of smiling too. I mean, why not? This was your moment! You were meeting the guy you'd heard so much about. Ethan Hunt. The Impossible Man. IMF's best Agent yet. Highly praised by your father. Whether he truly was as great in the field as everyone said or not, you knew it'd be hard not to smile when looking at him. He was young, but not younger than you. Maybe a few years older? Even then, he was...well...handsome. His face was nicely put together but not in a bland symmetrical way that looked plastic. No...he...he was beautiful to look at.

Easy on the eyes. Refreshing and arousing.

You couldn't help but hope he was thinking the same thing as he stared into your eyes.

Benji made an incomprehensible noise in the back of his throat. "Get a room already."

Luther shot Benji a death glare and Ethan finally pried his eyes off of yours. You felt so invisible when he looked elsewhere. Almost as if his gaze was what clothed you and now you were naked; vulnerable.

"Good to see you, Ethan." Luther grumbled.

"Uh, yeah, good to see you too, Luther," Ethan replied awkwardly, offering his hand out for a shake.

Uh oh. Luther took his hand and crushed it in his gigantic one. He pulled Ethan close and whispered something threatening in his ear that neither you or Benji could hear, but it wasn't rocket science. Stay away from my daughter.

Too bad, Daddy, you think as Ethan gave an affirming nod. Cause your daughter sure as Hell isn't staying away from Mr. Impossible.

*Time Gap brought to you by Tom Cruise seeing a spider and saying, "C'mere Darlin'..."*

Two weeks of prep for this mission. Well, two weeks of the mission, on and off, and all the while, you and Ethan are breaking the rules. Daddy's rules. A classic story right? Dad says no the boy and he keeps chasing the girl anyways? That's the simplest explanation for what's been going on between you and Ethan. Another is this: you're friends who are attracted to each other but aren't ready to blur the lines yet. Obviously Ethan can't get attached, and you don't want to put yourself on death's doorstep just yet, so the two of you have landed in this flirty friendship. It's nice though. Both of you have lots in common and alos something's not-so-in-common.

Like how sassy you are and how quiet and witty Ethan is.

He laughs at you a lot.

And you tease him plenty.

But it's not all fun and games.

Most times the two of you sit silently, shoulder to shoulder on a couch or lay down on a rooftop and talk. You reminisce about each of your lives. How you wanted to be an Agent and what you did to get there. On occasion, one of you brings up the horrors of the field, the luggage of the job. What burdens await anyone who joins the IMF.

"Marrisa," Ethan says.

"Hm?" You ask, looking up from where your head has sunk onto his shoulder.

The two of you sitting on the rooftop of a building the team has hunkered down in for a few days. Night has fallen and the dark sky is allotted with the flicker of stars and citylights. Buildings glow against the horizon. Cars and people mull about the streets below, creating a web of ambient sounds that fade into the background as you gaze at Ethan's side profile. Gosh he's so handsome.

Over the span of a few weeks you've gotten to know Ethan so well...

He's honorable, brave, reckless, intelligent, quick witted, loyal, daring, charming, and so darn gorgeous. There's something special about the way his eyes, unsuspecingtly green light up when he's set his mind on something. Determination. Sheer will. A fighting spirit that you've never seen, only felt.

Inside yourself.

Ethan and you are so alike...

But he's definitely the more collected one. He keeps you calm, keeps things logical while you go out, emotions and cares tossed to the wind.

Between your similarities and differences, you form a perfect balance.

And after these 14 days together, surviving, getting thrown off of skyscrapers and held at gunpoint...

You think you've fallen in love with Ethan Hunt.

"Marrissa Settersfield," Ethan's voice draws you back to the topic at hand. "She was a student of mine."

"I...I heard," You reply softly. "Ethan?"

"Yeah?"

You gently move your hand to rest on the fold of Ethan's jacket where his heart is, just beneath a pocket. "I'm sorry."

"I should be sorry, not you," Ethan challenges. His jaw locks and he tears his eyes off of yours and sets them on the horizon. "I should've been quicker. Gotten her out in time. If I'd reacted differently or...if I'd just-"

"Ethan," You call out in a pleading voice. "Please, don't do this to yourself."

Another thing about the one and only Ethan Hunt, he's stubborn. It keeps him alive in some places, and in others, it weighs on people's nerves. People like you, who care about him. Ethan has seen so much and suffered everything the world has to offer, and yet he blames himself for one mistake that he had no part in? It breaks your heart. You're passionate. About wanting to be an IMF Agent, about protecting your Dad, about training, about anything you set your mind to. Being there for Ethan when he needs you is something you hold yourself to and you'll be damned if you're gonna let him beat himself up about losing Marrissa.

Calling his name again, you shift so that you sit on his outstretched legs, halfway in his lap and tap a finger to his chin.

"Hey, you are not responsible for Marrissa's death."

"(Y/N)-"

You lean forward and cut him off with a fast paced kiss. Your heart soars when you feel Ethan kiss back, full of desire and meaning. As suddenly as you started it, you break the kiss off but you can't bring yourself to pull away. Instead, you rest both hands on Ethan's chest to stabalize yourself and ghost your mouth over his. Ethan's chest rises and falls with his soft breathing. Slowly, you peel your eyes open and find his already searching your face, lovingly memorizing every curve in your features, every shade of your skin and sparkle in your (y/c/e) eyes.

Lead by the desperation evident in his eyes, Ethan presses another kiss to your lips, only for you to keep it quick.

This time, you put enough distance between the two of you to speak.

"Ethan," You begin with a whisper. "You did not kill Marrissa Settersfield. The people who kidnapped and tortured her did. You gave her a friend to comfort and ease her passing. Don't you dare think otherwise or you're betraying her and the memory of her last moments, understand?"

"I...understand," Ethan mumbles.

"Good," You smile. "Now you can kiss me again, if you want."

"I'd love to," Ethan grinned.

*Time Gap brought to you by Agent Walker wearing a Superman Costume*

The mission was finished. Or accomplished would be a better word. However you wanted to put it, it was done. Which meant...

Goodbyes.

Benji went first, wrapping you in a careful hug like the considerate, worried guy he is. His short cut hair tickled the side of your face as he pressed his chin into your shoulder and held you tight. "I'm gonna miss you, girlie."

"You too, dude," You reply with a solid pat on the back.

Although he can be a pain in the butt, Benji is sweet as pie and he quickly started calling you 'princess' and 'girlie' so you decided to join the petnames club and call him 'bro' or 'dude.' The addition of the nicknames during your farewell twisted a knife deep into your heart, but you bit your lip and willed yourself not to cry. If all went well, you'd be accepted into the IMF and finish training. Maybe then you could finally see Benji again. Benji and...

Ethan.

Once Benji withdrew from the hug, he wiped his eyes and muttered something about how dusty it was.

Luther laughed at him and clapped him on the shoulder.

But Ethan?

He gave you a smile born from the pits of despair. A saddened version of his usual bright grin, full of his bold spirit. You failed to smile back as your expression became set in the sorrow overhwelming your heart. Ethan gave a breif nod. I know, it said. Frowning, mouth dry and bitter and eyes welling, you shook your head definitely. No, you replied. Ethan sighed, and then the waterworks began. A strangled sob escaped your lips as you launched yourself into Ethan's arms. You threw yours around his neck and rested your ear against his throat, listening to the shudder of his breath. Ethan buried his face into your shoulder and ran a trembling hand through your hair.

Gosh he smelled so good.

Felt so warm.

Everything was right when you were in Ethan's arms...

And now...

You had to leave them.

This feeling...this sadness...it was worse than any of the times your Dad had left on a mission.

Even worse than the day you found out your mother was a slutty nobody who left you on Luther's doorstep instead of raising you.

"Don't go, don't go, don't make me go..." You beg into Ethan's warm skin.

"Gosh, (Y/N/N)..." Ethan's sigh carries a whine. "Don't...don't cry, please."

"I...I can't, Ethan-" You swallow hard. "I love you."

"Me too," Ethan answers. He starts to pull back, and you clutch at the back of his neck but he's too strong. He pulls your hands apart and holds them to your chest, holding your tearful gaze in his own. "I love you..."

As you stare into each other's eyes...the world spins, but time stands still. The balance of fate and eternity weigh on the edge of a knife. You wonder if this moment will last forever, his hands holding yours, his eyes, penetrating your soul when-

Someone sniffles and gags. "Uh, so beautiful-"

"Benjiiiiiii!" You, Ethan, and Luther groan.

"Sorry, sorry."

With a gasp, you realize Ethan's let go of your hands. Before you can grab onto him again, he walks towards Benji. You spin around and watch him in a wave of confusion and hurt. He's leaving. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving. It's all you can think of. Your body is dreadfully cold now that he's so far away. And to think he could be halfway across the world in a matter of minutes...

You'll see him soon, Hope whispers into your ear.

He will never forget, Love adds.

Nothing will stop him, Truth agrees.

Dad however, seems to think differently. He steps away from Benji and blocks Ethan's path. The two men, friends, brothers til' the end, stare intensely into one another's hardened expressions. You know Luther and Ethan like the back of your hand, and neither of them are the type to back down from a challenge. Ever. Will this break out into a fight? Will someone make a move? Your head is already swimming. Anything you conclude makes zero sense whatsoever. The only way to know how this ends...is to watch...and wait...

Unexpectedly, Luther unfurls his crossed arms and offers Ethan a hand.

Ethan takes it cautiously.

"You're a good man Ethan, I trust you."

"Thanks, Luther."

And then, they shake. A classic, firm, manly handshake.

Eventually, Ethan and Benji leave. Luther draws you into a tight embrace and the two of you fly back home. Three days go by. You and your Dad pick up where you left off, sparring, practicing for the field, for the future. You read textbooks and manuals about espionage and warfare. During one afternoon of your studies, Luther comes into your room and drops some mail onto your desk. You give him a kiss on the cheek and wait for him to close the door behind him. Then, you leaf through pamphlets and junk mail until you get to the bottom where you find a postcard from Morocco...

On the back, it reads:

Guess I stole Daddy's Girl, didn't I?

-E

Reading it, you laugh for the world to hear. Yeah...yeah he sure did.