#hurley: 'this ass only seats one so get the fuck off'

[respirdal]

“Get off my case, Prowl.”

Talking about canon character x tf oc interactions seeing as Scoots works as a cop somewhere in the same precint as Prowl and Prowl wishes he got half of Scoot’s assets.

Scoot belongs to the wonderful @greyerwardens who i love

Original comic inspired from Hark! A Vagrant: Javert is in slash fiction

[writingsbychlo]

if the world was ending | mitch rapp

word count; 5152

summary; mitch broke up with you because he couldn’t handle being in love again, and now he regrets that decision, and would do anything to take it back.

notes; this is a song fic, but I didn’t include all of the lyrics, so don’t send me asks about missing chunks, please! check out the song!

warnings; smut, unprotected sex.

I was distracted, and in traffic I didn't feel it when the earthquake happened, But it really got me thinkin' Were you out drinkin'? Were you in the living room Chillin', watching television?

His key would continuously seem to miss the lock on the door, and Mitch let out a low growl, shoving at the metal once again as he tried to force the lock to work, blurry eyes and exhaustion taking him over. Before he could question it, the door was opening from the inside, metal shifting and gears clicking before the wood was moving from his sights to reveal you instead, a bright smile on your face and one of his black henleys on your shoulders, hanging slightly loose around the open collar as it faded away into a pair of sleep shorts and fluffy socks clad on bare legs.

You were a sight for sore eyes, messy hair and teasing grin, and all. 

“You didn’t even check who it was, what if I’d been an intruder?” He chastised, stumbling forwards one tired legs and pressing a kiss to your lips, humming happily as you pressed back into him just as eagerly, before he was kicking the door shut behind himself and dropping his bag down by the front door. 

“An intruder with a key?” You raised your brows at him, his lips flicking up at the sides as his shoes followed; phone, wallet and keys all being discarded onto the side unit, and his eyes were locking onto the couch, joy filling him at the idea of laying down. “Not that you know how to use it, apparently.”

“You try using a key after six days in Russia with no sleep and having to fight, like, four people at once. Everything hurts.” You placed a hand on his chest to stop him in his movements as he edged toward the couch, a whine falling from him as he turned to look at you.

“You’re covered in blood, you’ll ruin my cushions, you need to wash up first.” He let out another sigh, despite knowing that it was a true and fair request, and nodded his head. “How about I run us a hot bath? I’ll put those bath salts in that make your muscles all tingly, and I’ll wash your hair for you.” 

He nodded, a wave of serenity already washing over him simply at the idea that he’d get to relax in the warmth of the water, his back pressed to your chest as you wrapped around him from behind, holding him close. You were always so good at making him feel safe when he came home, and he knew it was one of the reasons he’d fallen for you in the first place. What was intended to be a simple fling to satisfy the cravings for basic affections and the lust deep in his gut had become much more. 

He had a key to your apartment, and the cat the roamed the halls was friendly enough to bump its head against his shins and purr. He’d met your friends, and knew the names of every worker in that Thai place down the street that you loved so much, and they knew him. It had been so easy to slip into something more deep and meaningful with you, but there was still a clawing guilt in his stomach every time. The true intentions he’d had that night when he’d bought you a drink in a shitty bar while you wore a tight dress and danced under low lights, not to woo you and love you but simply to find a quick fuck, someone to warm his bed and quash the loneliness for a little while. 

He hated that he couldn't give you what you needed, that he wasn’t able to love you, because he just didn’t know how anymore. Every time he came home and went to your place instead of his, the key he held and the emotion in your eyes every time you looked at it, it was only a matter of time before you said those three little words to him that he couldn't say back, and everything he so deeply craved would come crashing and burning down at his feet once again. Warmth would shift to icy chills and he’d have locked himself out once again, because commitment just wasn’t something he was capable of anymore.

The water was running, gentle hands skimming up his sides as you helped him to undress, his own hands working over soft skin as he pushed your clothing to the floor, mouths melding in soft kisses, fingertips leaving goosebumps over flesh as you embraced one another’s touch once again, and even with the respite from his guilt that your presence provided for him, it was still always there. A pit in his stomach that was growing bigger and bigger, because as the tender moment stretched on and on, he knew tonight was going to be when you said it, full of bliss and joy and expecting to hear the phrase back, and so he kissed you, deeply, willing you not to, so that he could selfishly claim just a few more hours with you before it was all over.

It's been a year now Think I've figured out how How to let you go and let communication die out I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

Pressing his forehead against the side of the plane, his eyes fluttered shut for a second, the painful ache spreading over the entirety of his body was enough to make any other grown man cry, but that wasn’t the cause of the burning behind his eyes today. Today, Mitch had the painful reminded of this day a year ago when he’d been on his way to see you, but he didn’t quite have that luxury anymore. His throat was tinging, choking back the emotions he held, one’s he so wanted to release, and his nostrils flared with a deep sigh instead. 

“You’re been pouting like a child all fuckin’ day. Will you cheer up? You’re ruining the beer I’m anticipating when I get home with your foul mood.” 

He cracked his eyes open, hoping they didn’t appear as glassy and red as they felt, and he swallowed down the lump in his throat, scowling at his mentor in hopes that he’d lay off. That tactic clearly hadn't worked, however, because Stan shifted a little more in his seat, dragging a curious gaze over every inch of his face in a way that made Mitch squirm in his seat a little, uncomfortable at the scrutiny he was being afforded. 

“You look depressed.”

“That’s because I’m stuck on a plane with you.” He muttered, moving himself to look out of the window instead, and his mentor barked out an amused laugh, but Mitch could still feel his lingering stares. 

“No, I think you’re freaking out about what happens after you’re no longer on the plane with me.” He hated that Stan could read him so easily, that to everyone else he was a safe that was locked up tight, and that it was so easy for the other man to crawl under his skin, get on all of his nerves and be one of the only people who truly knew him. “You weren’t even this on edge and tense when we were on our way out, never mind coming home.”

“I just don’t like going home to an empty house, okay? It’s too quiet. Cold.”

He grumbled the words out, but Stan scoffed, and was fixed with a harsh glare in return, but he didn’t flinch like Mitch wished he would, seemingly unaffected by the burning stare. “And who’s fault is that, huh?”

Mitch opened his mouth, gaping a little, before snapping his jaw shut tightly, feeling the muscles twitch and tense as his teeth ground together. He could feel the divet between his brows, where they had puled together, a spot that always formed when he was angry or confused or concentrating, and he could still feel the warmth and weight of you sinking down into his lap while he wrote up his reports, your thumb smoothing over the spot, followed by a brush of your lips as you told him to relax. 

The thought made his eyes sting once again, and he cursed a little under his breath, giving in at the stares they were sharing as he cowered out, blinking forming tears away quickly. “I don’t get what your problem was. You clearly care about her. Why can’t you just tell her that, and stop sulking? It’d do you good o have her back, I liked you better when you weren’t sulking and single. Less of a bitch to work with.”

“You’re a bitch to work with.”

“What are you? Five?” 

He knew it had been a weak response, and he cringed a little on himself, sinking down further into the plush leather of the plane seat and trying to sift through his thoughts, something that Hurley clearly acknowledged, because he waited patiently but expectantly in silence, running a hand over his jaw as he watched Mitch try to gather his thoughts up and sort himself out. “It’s not so easy to just say. It’s complicated.”

“It really ain’t.” Stan shrugged, something about his tone making Mitch feel like he was about to get some kind of fatherly advice, and his curiosity got the best of him as he peered over at his superior. “I’ve heard you say that word before. Heard you say how much you love beer, how much you love beef dumplings and noodles on a Friday night, how much you love knocking cocky recruits on their ass.”

“Saying I love food is not the same as being able to say I love (Y/N).” He hissed, hopes dropping as he realised the statement wasn’t going to be useful, but Stan smirked at him wickedly, shrugging his shoulders and sipping his drink.

“Yeah, well, you just said it.” His face twisted up, moving between several different expressions, before a slightly nauseated shock was what he settled on, as he realised that the words he’d never been able to say aloud before, or even internally acknowledge, had finally been voiced for the first time. In front of Hurley, of all people. He was never going to be able to live this down. “Now, why can’t you say that to her?”

“Because everyone I’ve ever loved before has died, Stan.”

He could see the shock flick across the older man’s face, and it brought him a sick kind of amusement to know he’d caught him so off-guard, but then he was shrugging, and again moving back to that irritating level of passive smart-ass that only he had managed to master so effectively. “Yeah, well, you didn’t have the same training you did before now, did you? You’re not even thirty. You gonna’ spend the whole rest of your life miserable and unhappy just because of a car crash and a shooting, both of which were beyond your control?”

A dull aching in his chest flare dup a little at the mentions of those events, but he knew it was true, and his body deflated with the breath he let out as he gave the weakest rise and drop of his shoulders that he could, his hands clasping over his stomach as he turned to stare out of the plane window. A large hand found his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly, but he didn’t bother to look over. 

“Just stop being a dumbass, you clearly love this girl, so why don’t you just get your head out of your ass and go see her?”

Stan wandered away after that, ice clinking in his glass as he handed it off to a flight attendant before disappearing to the bathroom, and Mitch was left alone to wallow in painful thoughts with a stabbing pain in his chest as his heart continued to long for you. 

But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant If the world was ending You'd come over, right? The sky'd be falling and I'd hold you tight And there wouldn't be a reason why We would even have to say goodbye If the world was ending You'd come over, right? Right?

He was sweating, hands clammy with a nervous perspiration that made him feel uncomfortable in his clothes, like he wanted to curl up into a ball, dig a hole in the earth, throw up, or some combination of all three. The walk he’d done was so familiar to him, and yet right now, as he stood before your door, it had felt eerily unfamiliar.

There were definite changes. 

Your neighbour’s suspicious cat sat out on the front of the apartment building but did not come over to him, even when he’d called out its name, taking the welcome distraction as he crouched down and held his hand out to it, trying to tempt it into remembering him, into approaching him again, but it hadn't. The small animal had simply stared at him as he stood there, before mewing loudly and running away when he’d taken a fraction of a step closer to the door. 

The elevator in the main building was working, it had broken only a few months into seeing you before, and now it was back up and working like it had never been broken. The lights in the entryway were brighter, and the hallways had been repainted, the soft grey that they had once been was replaced with sky blue, much brighter and cheerier, and he remembered you telling him about it while laying in bed together one night, it was the exact colour you’d voted for when the building meeting had taken place to discuss it. 

The crack in the framing by your door that you’d never gotten around to fixing was mended, damage done by the previous tenants and he’d always said he would fix it for you, but had then always forgotten to bring the tools he would need for it, and he choked down the regret in his throat as he brushed a finger over it. He knew the route, his feet feeling like dead weight under his body as he’d trudged along the halls, before finding himself here, all but trembling with fear and anticipation outside of your door. 

The paper and ribbons wrapped around the flowers in his hands were crinkling loudly with every shake he made, and he took a deep and steadying breath, shaking himself down from head to toe. The rapping of his knuckles on the door felt like it reverberated along his entire body, his heart thumping painfully hard against his chest as he waited, eyes fixed on the floor as he watched warm light spill out from under the threshold and into the corridor, soon blocked by a shadow as he heard the scuffling of your feet along the floorboards.

Breath was stuck in his lungs, a choked sound leaving him as the door swung open, your voice ringing out but dying in your throat as you spoke, claiming that whoever it was that you were expecting - certainly not him - was early, and he dropped his eyes, just for a split second to scan along your body, before he was looking up at your face once again.

So pretty, and if he’d thought the melodic ringing of your voice was enough to end him then he had been entirety unprepared for the sight of you. The little black dress he loved so much was fitted to you like a second skin, a cocktail dress he’d seen you wear so many times before as he took you out for drinks and celebrations, his body flooding with heat. Hair styled up, makeup to perfection, and he would have been just as breathless if you’d crawled out of bed to answer the door but you were stunning, and he hated every ounce of himself for ever letting you go.

His jaw dropped as you stared at him in shock, pain flashing in your eyes before you hardened your gaze on him, an act he’d never wished to have you aim at him and yet he knew he deserved it, and yet the words were burning on the tip of his tongue as every moment he’d ever shared with you flashed before his eyes, swirling in his mind, and pulling one very prominent one to the front. 

The last time that he’d almost uttered the phrase to you, the one he was determined for you to hear from him now, even if you no longer felt the same. The last time you’d worn this dress, and you’d taken him with you to celebrate one of your friend’s birthdays, his cheeks heating up as he looked at you, but saw that day.

I tried to imagine your reaction It didn't scare me when the earthquake happened But it really got me thinkin' That night we went drinkin' Stumbled in the house  And didn't make it past the kitchen Ah, it's been a year now Think I've figured out how How to think about you without it rippin' my heart out

You were giggling into his mouth, red lipstick smeared across his chin and cheeks as your fingers scratched at the stubble lining his jaw, tongue tangled together as you stumbled into your apartment. The door slammed as it closed, hard enough to shake the walls, but neither of you cared, especially not when you were making such sweet sounds for him as his hands slipped lower and lower across the silk lining your body. 

Shoes came off first, his shoes being toed off as you tried to kick off your heels, sinking a few inches further down his body as the height fell away, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to be able to lean over you, keeping his mouth firmly on yours as wet tongues tangled together. You were stumbling through the apartment, tripping over one another’s feet and laughing breathlessly as your hands worked down the buttons on the front of his shirt. 

You were pushing the material from his shoulders, blazer and dress shirt falling away to the floor with a distant ‘thud’, the fluttering of material sounding out, and the heat around you both was crawling higher and higher. It was frantic, a night of teasing and longing looks, sipping champagne and cocktails with sly winks and whispered needs. He’d cleaned up for the event, and you’d made it clear before you’d even left just how good you thought he looked, and you were clad in dark black silk with thigh slits and heels and you were enough to bring any man to his knees, and he absolutely intended for that to be his next destination. 

He was rucking up layers of fabric in his hands until the skirt was bunched around your waist, making you hold it up, and the closest surface he could pin you to was the counter of the breakfast bar, barely having even made it through the kitchen, and hissed as bare skin found the cool marble. His knees hit the floor, your panties following until the scrap of lace was pulled tight around your knees, but then he was helping you up, sitting you on the surface, letting your lay back as he spread your legs and dived right in. 

You were dripping for him, before he’d even done anything but kiss you, a groan slipping from his lips as he all but drooled at the thrill of getting to indulge in the honey that was slick on your thighs. That was where he started, licking up the mess you’d already made of yourself as you squirmed and panted underneath him, letting him tease you with small bites and sucking at your soft skin until you’d growled in frustration, a hand in his hair pulling him closer until you were burying his face into your core, sounds that filled every wet dream he ever had taking over. 

His scalp had burned, the scratch of your nails and tugs of the strands and your thighs and hips had been littered with red marks the shape of his fingerprints that would be purple in the morning, but he knew you loved it just as much as he did. Two fingers had slipped into you, scissored and curled as he lapped around them, driving you to the point of senseless babbling just with his fingers and tongue, before you’d exploded around him. Then, he’d fucked you. 

Deep and slow on the counter with your arms wrapped around his neck, legs tights around his waist as you clung to one another, a collection of tangled limbs, a moaning mess and you chased your highs, until the two of you had been all but sobbing one another’s name into the other’s mouth as you kissed your way through your peaks, and he’s spattered your thighs and cunt with his arousal, pulling out at the very last second and leaving you trembling underneath him when he’d scooped it up and pressed it to your lips. 

It was hot, and erotic, but the moments after had been loving and tender. Taking a shower with weak muscles, sinking to the bottom of the tub together as water thrashed down from overhead, soft kisses and laughs and whispered confessions until the water had gone cold, and you’d collapsed into bed together, leaving a mess t tidy up int he morning, sheets sticking to wet skin as you were too lazy to even dry off, just cuddling together under the sheets, drunk on one another, and the words had been so close that night. A sleepy, post-orgasm haze, he’d so nearly whispered them against your lips as you kissed him goodnight.

I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant

“I love you.”

You flinched, like you were standing too close to a fire and had been burned, and it felt like a knife twisting in his stomach as he watched your reaction. Your arms came up to wrap around yourself, toes digging into the wood of the floor as you stood your ground but he knew your nervous ticks, he knew you, and he frowned, but didn’t let it deter him. 

“I love you so, so much. I’m a fucking idiot, I know I am. I know you hate me, and you’ve probably moved on and can find someone who actually deserves you, but I’m selfish, okay? I wanted you to hear it, I had to tell you, for my own peace of mind. I had to know that I cam here, and had the balls to tell you that you are the person who hasn’t left my mind in an entire fucking year. Every thought, every dream, every time my heart beats, it’s all for you, and I had to tell you.” He took a deep breath, scanning your face for even a twitch, any slight tell of an emotion he could get, but you were offering him nothing. “I couldn’t say it before, I was scared and I didn’t know what I was feeling and I know that I hurt you. It kills me every day to know what I did, to think about your face, and the way you’d cried when I walked out, because it haunts me, okay? A year ago today, I lost the best thing in my god damn life, and I just had to tell you, because in another year, and another ten years, and forever on, I think I’ll still love you then. I had to know that you knew.”

You were staring at him, eyes wide and a little glassy as he took a deep breath, lungs screaming out for oxygen and his mind was finally blank. The incessant buzzing he’d become accustomed to as his mind whirled around you on a loop had finally stopped, and he was left in calm, the aftermath of an event, the silence that came after an explosion, the harmony after a fight when everything just went still. 

But there was always more to come. 

Only then did the thoughts about what you were wearing catch up to him. Pretty painted lips and sharp eyeliner and that sinful dress that made his blood run warmer in his veins as he burned from the inside out. A quick glance behind you confirmed that there was a pair of black strappy heels to match the outfit, a necklace with a gem that he’d never seen you wear before was hanging between your breasts in the low neckline of your dress, skin soft and freshly shaven on the slit up your thigh on your dress. 

He let out a sigh, shoulders slumping a little, but he tried to offer you a reassuring smile nonetheless. “Date?”

Your brows pulled in with confusion, and he could physically see the walls surrounding you begin to crumble away, before you let out a heavy sigh, your arms dropping as you caved under his faze, finally speaking to him; “No. Drinks with the girls.”

“Ah, right..”

A tepid silence took over, and he tried not to drop his eyes from yours. Soaking up every moment he had with you before you inevitably kicked him off of your doorstep, and you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning on the doorframe. “A distraction. They’re taking me out to cheer me up, because it’s been a year since the best thing in my life walked out on me.”

Mitch felt his breath hitch in his throat as he stared at you.

If the world was ending You'd come over, right? The sky'd be falling while I'd hold you tight No, there wouldn't be a reason why We would even have to say goodbye If the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over, right? You'd come over, you'd come over, you'd come over, right?

A fistful of his shirt, a harsh tug that he wasn’t expected that made him fall over his own feet, and then there were lips on his own. He couldn’t help it, the embarrassingly needy whine that left him the second his brain caught up with what was happening, and he dropped the bouquet to the floor, hands finding your hips as he pulled you into him. Bodies collided, flush and pressed together, your hands circling his neck and fingers in his hair, heat flooding him from where you were pressed to him, and it felt like he’d been cold for the entirety of the past year, goosebumps rising and falling along his skin as he fell back home, into your arms.

Your cheeks were wet as you gasped into his mouth, tongues sliding together, panting from breath as noses bumped. It was urgent and rushed, not the kiss he’d imagined with you if you’d forgive him, but the one that seemed most fitting. Messy and uncoordinated as if you were learning each other for the first time, becoming familiarised once again with every inch of the other, hands roaming and tongue exploring, until you were satisfied that you were thoroughly reconnected. 

He let out a wet and hoarse laugh, raising one hand to sit on your jaw and wipe his thumb under your eyes, clearing away the tears that were already threatening to spoil the masterpiece you’d created, and he knew how long it took you to do it.

“Baby, please don’t cry. You’re going to ruin your makeup.”

You let out a laugh, and he cleared your face, stealing a few more pecks as though at any moment you were going to realise what he’d done, go back to hating him, push him away as if this was the last he’d ever get to see you. You were staring up at him, with glassy eyes and the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, and Mitch swore he couldn't even feel the floor anymore, as if he was floating, up in the clouds and lost to the world. 

“I’ll wait. I’ll wait right here, until you come back. We can talk, or you can yell, whatever you want. I’ll be here.”

“I‘m not going anywhere.” You pulled him back in, another collection of sweet kisses that he didn’t deserve but would always accept, never willing to give them up again. “I’d rather stay in and watch TV with you, but you have to go and get us takeout. You know I hate walking to get it.”

“I do, I do know that.” He sniffed, breathy exhale like a laugh as he held onto you tightly, before dipping down to collect the discarded flowers from the ground. A few crumpled petals fell away to the floor, but they were otherwise intact, and he pressed them into your hand carefully, watching as you admired them, thumbing at the delicate leaves and bringing them to your nose. 

“This doesn’t get you off the hook, you know.”

“I’ll spend the entire rest of my life making it up to you, I swear.” You only nodded, letting him into your apartment as you led him inside, smiles and tears and he dipped down, lips brushing your earlobe as he listened to you gasp in surprise. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Mitch. Even if you are a fuckin’ idiot.” He only nodded, following your lead as you took him by the hand and guided him through to find a vase and water for the flowers. “Go get my phone, I need to text my friends.”

He did as told, trailing through the apartment, bringing your purse back with him and presenting the item to you, his hands searching for your body once again, just needing to hold you and know that it was real, to know that this time, you weren’t just a dream his mind was conjuring up to torment him with.

He didn’t need a night out, he didn’t need you to be dressed up, he didn’t need anything but you. You and him, and the love you shared, it was enough to get him through anything. 

If the world was ending You'd come over, right?

[writethelifeyouwant]

Sin

Created for: @ilysm-mybabybrother

Pairing: Dean x Reader / Sam x Reader / Dean x Sam 

Warnings: Dub-Con 

Additional tags: Cuckolding, Dirty talk, Praise kink 

Word count: 2,076

A/N: Written for my @spnsecretsantaficexchange set up by my bae @negans-lucille-tblr as a present for the lovely @ilysm-mybabybrother (who I’ve been a long time stalker of, nbd). They requested something smutty with dirty talk / praise kink / cuckolding / and the brothers touching each other - potentially with Demon!Dean or BoyKing!Sam - I’ve gone with Soulless!Sam - I hope that’s still okay! I think I managed to work all the other kinks in there... Anyways I had a lot of fun writing it so I hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas 🎄

Dividers: @firefly-in-darkness 

Dean hadn’t let himself imagine this moment. 

When Sam jumped into the pit with Lucifer riding shotgun, Dean made himself accept that. Bobby came back, Cas came back, but when Sam didn’t appear with them, he had to let him go. He promised he would let him go. 

He kept his promise. He found a job in a garage in Texas. He wooed a girl who brought in a car that sounded like his old neighbours in Hell were trapped under the hood. He picked her up in the Impala and dropped her off on her doorstep with a kiss and a promise to call; and he actually called her. They weren’t living together, but they spent most of their time at each other’s apartments. Dean taught her a bunch of ways to doctor up boxed mac’n’cheese, and Y/N taught Dean how to mix cocktails with cheap whiskey that actually made it taste nice. The earth was still turning. 

But now it had stopped, because Sam was standing in front of him, dripping in holy water and cut across his arm - not a monster or a demon, it was Sam. And Dean didn’t care that he got wet too when he pulled his little brother in for a bone crushing hug, because nothing could be wrong again now that Sam was back in his arms. At least, that’s what he’d thought two hours ago. Because now, as his wrists were getting rope burn and his ears were ringing with Y/N’s soft whimpers he knew something was wrong. Something was very wrong with Sam. 

“Wow, Dean,” Sam had exclaimed when he introduced him to Y/N, who had been cooking dinner when he showed up at Dean’s door. “He’s lucky he met you first, darling.” Sam’s eyes dragged up and down her body hungrily, and Dean was taken aback because that was not like Sam at all. Usually Dean was the horndog between the two of them but, I guess you would get pretty horny being dead for a year, Dean reasoned to himself. He remembered that feeling, after he got back from Hell, of wanting something to really make him feel alive again. It would just be nice if Sam didn’t use his girlfriend to feel that. 

But as the evening progressed, and dinner turned into drinks, and beer turned into liquor, Dean felt more and more like he might not get a say in the matter. Sam was all over Y/N, flirting harder than Dean had ever seen him flirt, and way better than Dean remembered him being at it, come to think of it. And Y/N wasn’t turning him away. She was laughing and smiling and getting him another drink, and being the perfect goddamn housewife all while Dean was sitting there watching the two of them. 

And then when Y/N brought him a refill on his whiskey she shot Dean a look that he’d only seen once before, when she’d asked if they could take home the cute waitress so Dean could watch. Back then, Dean had thought he had the best damn girlfriend ever. He essentially got a front row seat to one of his favourite pornos. But the thought of her sleeping with Sammy... Dean wasn’t wild about that one. Except he didn’t know how to say that to Y/N and Sam, so he just kept drinking and hoped it didn’t come up. He wasn’t so lucky. 

He tried to step in, when Sam put his hand on Y/N’s thigh and dug his fingers in - Dean gritted his teeth and choked out a cautious “Sam…” but the warning died in his throat when he looked into his little brother’s eyes and saw empty determination and cold hunger. He didn’t see his brother. “Y/N get away from him!” Dean shouted and reached for the knife stashed in the end table next to him, but Sam was faster, drawing his own and shoving it threateningly under Dean’s chin. 

“Whatcha doing there, Dean?” 

“What are you?” 

“I’m your brother,” Sam teased, lips curled in an ugly imitation of Sam’s warm smile. 

“What happened to you down there?” Dean demanded, because if this was Sam, something changed - something was different. 

“Oh so much, big brother,” Sam laughed but there was no emotion behind it. “Learned a few things too. How ‘bout I show ya?” And now Dean’s hands were tied above his head with his own goddamn rope on his own goddamn bed, while Y/N was laid out between his legs with her head on his stomach as his own goddamn brother went down on her. 

“Mm, you’ve got such a good little pussy, sweetheart,” Sam sighed, sucking on her clit and pulling a whine from her lips. Y/N’s breath ghosted over Dean’s naked cock, making it twitch despite his best efforts to be disgusted at what was happening right now. “Hope Dean’s been giving this cunt the attention it deserves.” 

Y/N whimpered a little, but didn’t answer, prompting Sam to slap between her legs. “My brother been treating you good? Giving you enough cock to keep a pretty thing like you happy?” 

“Yes,” Y/N gasped, clenching around the fingers Sam had just pushed inside her. “Yeah he’s good - mmh - so good to me,” she moaned. 

“Yeah?” Sam sneered, twisting his fingers to push against Y/N’s clit and make her writhe. “What’s he best at? I’ve always wondered when I heard the moans from the next room.” 

“Sam…” Dean complained, finding his impertinent big brother tone despite the situation he was in at the moment. 

“His mouth,” Y/N sighed, happy to answer despite Dean’s protest. “I love his mouth, it’s so soft… and when he kisses you, it can take your breath away.” 

“How romantic,” Sam smirked. “Always knew Dean was a bit of a softie deep down.” 

“Fuck you,” Dean growled, pulling uselessly against his restraints again.

“Ladies first,” Sam laughed, and pulled his fingers from Y/N and sucked them clean, eyes boring into Dean’s while he swallowed his girlfriend’s slick. “Turn around baby, get on Dean’s cock,” Sam directed, landing a slap on Y/N’s ass when she turned and crawled over Dean. She shivered when she pressed his cock against her entrance, pulsing down slowly, working him inside her bit by bit. 

“Oh look at you,” Sam cooed, brushing her hair off her shoulder so he could bite into her neck, pulling a moan from her chest. “Such a good girl teasing him like that, I didn’t even have to tell you to.” Y/N smiled to herself as she finally got Dean fully seated inside her, revelling in the stretch and fullness of it all. “How did Dean manage to find such a good little slut, huh?” 

Y/N giggled lightly but didn’t say anything, just rolled her hips, drawing a gasp from Dean, whose eyes were squeezed tight in pleasure. Y/N felt so good around his dick. And he hated to admit it but he was in fucking heaven right now. This was so, so wrong but it was so hot, every other thought was being pushed out of his mind for the moment. He just wanted Y/N to keep moving, and he wanted Sam to keep talking. 

Sam wrapped his fingers around the back of Y/N’s neck and shoved her forward, so she was lying chest to chest with Dean. “Give her a kiss Dean. It’s her favourite after all,” he teased. Dean wanted to find some retort to throw back at his brother, but Y/N’s lips were swallowing his before he got a chance, and he decided this was a better use of his breath anyways. 

They kissed and licked and moaned as they ground together, Sam watching on and stroking himself lazily. He reached one hand forward and drew lazy patterns on Y/N’s ass which was bouncing so nicely on Dean’s cock. Sam bet it felt amazing to be inside her. “Mm, you’re fucking him so good, Y/N,” Sam praised, petting his hand down her back. “Look so hot with a cock inside you.” He crawled forward and draped himself over the couple, bumping his hips into Y/N’s and grinding against her ass. She moaned happily and fucked back harder, trying to rub against Sam as much as she could without pulling off of Dean. 

A choked whine slipped through her lips when Sam’s cock caught between her cheeks and nudged at her other entrance. “Oh,” Sam grinned at her reaction and repeated his motion, pushing against the taut, puckered skin. “You have more in common with Dean than I thought.” 

“What?” Y/N panted, confused and distracted by all the sensations she was swimming under. 

“What, Dean never told you? Never asked you to fuck him up the ass?” 

Dean’s eyes shot open, horrified. How did Sam know? 

“You didn’t really think I didn’t know, did you, Dean?” Sam smirked, still rubbing himself against Y/N’s ass, but letting his fingers trail down further, skating over Dean’s inner thigh, making him jump. “You told me about Rhonda Hurley and the panties when I was sixteen, but I knew that wasn’t the whole story. I found the strap on after you picked me up from Stanford. How many girls you given it up to, big brother?” 

“Fuck you,” Dean ground out, mortified. 

“You know what, I just might,” Sam drew small circles with his fingertip the whole way across Dean’s skin until he reached his target. “What do you think, Y/N, should I give your boyfriend what he wants?” 

“God yes,” she gasped, riding Dean hard, head buried in his shoulder. 

Sam spit on his fingers and pressed them back against Dean’s ass, teasing his hole until it was nice and slick and he could slide a finger in without too much resistance. Dean was tense, trying to fight what Sam was doing, trying to fight wanting what Sam was doing, but he didn’t think he was strong enough. Sam’s finger twisting inside him actually felt amazing. It had been over a year since he’d let anyone fuck him and god, he had forgotten how fantastic it was, feeling this full, this whole. 

Sam felt Dean accept what was happening, felt him relax around him, and took that as his cue to add more spit and another finger. Then another. He pulled them out when he felt Dean was ready and tugged Y/N back so she was sitting up against his chest. “You ready to cum, darling?” He snarled in her ear. 

“Mmhmm,” Y/N whined, bouncing faster over Dean, but Sam hoisted her off his brother and sat her down between his legs where they’d started. 

“You’re gonna get my cock nice and wet, aren’t you baby? Gonna be good and cum all over my cock?” 

“Yes, fuck yes, please,” Y/N begged. Sam slammed in place inside her and didn’t hesitate before fucking her at a furious pace, rubbing his thumb over her clit and pulling scream after scream out of the girl writhing beneath him. He felt, with satisfaction, a surge of heat between her legs, and knew her cum was trickling out from between her thighs. 

“Good girl,” Sam huffed, cold smile firmly in place. He pulled out and looked down to see veins of white dripping over his skin. “Got me nice and wet for your boyfriend, good job, sweetheart.” Y/N rolled out of the way, sated and dazed, and anxiously watched Sam climb over Dean and rub his cock between his legs. 

Dean groaned, eyes pressed tight, trying to pretend he wasn’t about to let his little brother fuck him. Trying to pretend he didn’t desperately want his little brother to fuck him. But when Sam pushed in he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t love it. It felt so different to having a dildo in his ass, and it was so much better. It was warm, flesh and blood; his flesh and blood. When Dean clenched around him, Sam moaned and thrust harder into his brother. Dean loved how responsive he was, and did it again, earning himself another thrust. 

“Think you’re being cute?” Sam panted and glared down at Dean, who smirked up at his little brother with his last vestige of self-respect. 

“I think I’m adorable.” 

“And I think you’re gonna regret that.” 

[afraschatz]

Leverage: The 12 Steps Job

It‘s been a while since I‘ve done one of these, but I‘m rewatching Leverage yet again (SHOW, I MISSED YOU) and here are plenty of things I love about ‚The 12 Step Job‘: I love…

… The montage of Hurley in the car and how he walks into his office. Man, that is one NEAT character introduction because when you first watch this, of course he could pass as an absolute jerk and the baddie of the week – despite the client‘s description of him as enthusiastic and sweet. But at the same time this is just how he is later on in this ep and when he returns in The Boys‘ Night Out Job: An absolute slob and a complete mess but also very congenial (how much he knows about all his co-workers? Sweet) and with his heart in the right place.

… Nate being a complete dick and so fucking in denial about his alcohol problem here. I haven‘t watched season one in a while and it‘s so interesting how his and Sophie‘s relationship is so different here (the biggest shift of course being between s2 and s3 where Nate decides to take a vacation in prison and Sophie runs the crew in the meantime – this changes things forever). But it‘s so cool how Gina‘s acting walks the thin line between being the one who is absolutely in the right here and being just that bit annoying that allows Nate to justify implying that she‘s overly dramatic

… Eliot‘s hair is ON FIRE in that episode, wow and that blue shirt *chef‘s kiss*

… how the team works together in figuring out where Hurley might be. Yes, it‘s season one and Nate is very much calling the shots – and he is the one narrowing it down here – but Eliot and Hardison specifically absolutely pitch in.

… Sophie‘s and Eliot‘s little eyeroll at Hardison‘s dropping strip club knowledge

… ‘if Billy was a drunken sex fiend’ – hahaha, Parker, spot on as always – and Eliot‘s and Hardison‘s responding expressions. Come on, boys, don‘t deny it, you‘re in love with her already.

… that look on Nate‘s face when he figures out how to find Hurley. His whole expression changes, his gaze focusses, he leans forward and that drunken haze is gone for the moment

… how Eliot and Hardison constantly share the same frame <3

… Eliot‘s little DELIGHTED smile. Okay, his and Hardison‘s delight in strip joints doesn‘t quite fit later seasons, so we all can just agree that Hardison asking for change for 100 in singles is just because they really want to tip generously for the chicken wings there or something :)

… Eliot‘s and Hardison‘s synchronized walk off

… ‘Don‘t get mad, Eliot, I may have spilled slushie in your car’ and his badly acted expression of contrition hahaha, no one is buying that, Hardison

… Eliot and Hardison being extremely sexy in sitting in Eliot’s car (and as so often, look at the perfect way that shot is lit! Hardison’s and Eliot’s faces both fricking glow)

… very smartly dressed random thugs

… the messy way the fight scene is shot – close ups and very wobbly camera moves, and how you can still tell how efficiently Eliot fights and how… well not all that efficiently Hardison is. And yes, again, it’s season one, so Hardison grabs the gun and shoots it, too, instead of just sitting back and chilling while he watches Eliot beat people up (which is way better than the strip joint idea anyway)

… Eliot being annoyed with Hardison

… ‘Is he sleeping?’ LOL, yes, Sophie, that’s why Hurley is using the air bag as a pillow

… Nate looking progressively more like the absolute mess he is as the episode progresses

… - how confusing is it that Sterling’s Theme is used and Sterling isn’t immediately around the next corner? That is SO cool because yes, he shows up later, or rather: withdrawal!Nate hallucinates him; and so his theme music this early in the episode is almost like foreshadowing

… everyone in group therapy apparently understanding Sam perfectly well aside from Nate

… Parker having to read from the cheat sheet she wrote onto her lower arm to get her three-sentence-character-intro right

… Hurley’s massive list of addiction, with the climax of “Tacos”

… “Uh-huh” - and Sophie and Nate having another fight while everyone else in the group is already tired of it. Especially Parker, if one were to judge by her VERY subtle expressions.

… Parker aggressively chewing on the meds the doctor gave her. I absolutely LOVE the way she constantly gives other people this uncensored WTF-look in season one

… Eliot being smart in the parking lot. I have so much love and respect for how that’s played here again – Eliot is the one who has to have 360 vision, it’s his job to anticipate problems in all forms and sizes

… Hardison’s bricks-on-the-seat plan. That’s so great because he might be the smartest guy Eliot knows TM, but he is fucking afraid here and panicking and that’s not conducive to coming up with super clever plans, is it?

… Hardison and Eliot working together while bitching at one another - “Yes, there are a lot of wires! It’s a Com-Pu-Ter!!”

… Hardison’s brain rebooting as he figures out that it’s a computer bomb and the system needs to be re-booted

… Eliot trusting Hardison’s knowledge, and Christian’s acting here – knowing Hardison is right, being low key annoyed by it, being just a bit unsettled (that lip quiver!) “Run that sack of bricks by me again...” - “Are you ready?” - “NO!”  and his trembling hand - he is so good at rapidly changing expressions and tones

… “I’m gonna go and freshen up a little bit. Maybe cry a little”

… Hardison thinking on his feet and that sweet Jamaican accent – Eliot thinking that is sexy, and backing him up with a bomb

… and again, Kane’s acting – that beat and that look before he says “Sure” when Hardison asks whether he’d have saved him as well

… Nate’s withdrawal. So well done. Over all, the show is SO good at showing that alcoholism is a sickness and a serious problem, even if (especially if!) Nate doesn’t acknowledge it

… HARDISON AND ELIOT’S DATE AT THE RECEPTION DESK. - So, while in the scene before, Hardison takes the lead in acting their way out of the situation, here it’s Eliot by shamelessly flirting with the receptionist. And Hardison’s FACE throughout this. Like, bro, do we have time for this? DO WE? - And then “I’m with him”. And Eliot trying so hard not to burst into laughter, especially when Hardison is doing that thing he is famous for which is shamelessly over-acting just to piss Eliot off. - The ringing of the reception bell and “Bring yo ass”. And none of that even being mentioned in the next scene. - So much quality content in this episode.

… Sophie taking over for Nate when Nate very obviously can’t, and her tone of voice changing to what we’ll get to know from season three Sophie

… Parker coming up with a believable story and selling it. Up to the point where her make believe parents found gold under their trailer…

… Nate’s withdrawal getting worse, Tim’s acting is brilliant here.

… Sophie talking differently to Nate than before. Yes, she still seems to focus on Nate and how Nate is being a dick to them and particularly her, but her voice is different and she uses the real emotion between her and Nate’s exchange to get what they need from Hurley; the list of people he wronged. Brilliant little twist here, because of course Sophie is focused on the con and on helping their client, especially now that Nate is threatening to lose his focus entirely

… that Genesis? Veeeeery subtle product placement, Leverage hahaha

… “I checked your notes - he seems like a deeply troubled man” - Thank you, doctor, yeah. Nate IS a deeply troubled man. And again: Nate’s withdrawal getting much worse, and the con threatening to get out of hand. I said it before, and I’ll say it again: It’s really great how they used this episode to focus so much on Nate’s alcoholism. It’s something so important not only for later seasons but also for the upcoming s1 finale, and we’ve watched enough episodes at this point that we understand WHY this happened to him. And this episode doesn’t offer an easy fix, nor do the following seasons. “Just give me something to do” is what Nate says here, and Sophie has to decide whether or not this is really the right thing to do

… “He is an addict, he knows how to manipulate people, my father was an addict, my grandfather was an addict, I know how these people operate” - yes, Nate, we know who you’re talking about. And so does Sophie

… Sterling as the one Nate hallucinates. Because Sterling knows him, because they used to be friends, because Sterling is as ruthless as Nate is (well, nearly), because Nate is still projecting and in denial that he is in fact talking about himself. So what does he do? He imagines his former friend who is now on the other side, chasing him. - I’m not too big a fan of Sterling in later seasons but this is such a STELLAR use of his character, and Mark’s acting is brilliant here, and so is, of course, Tim’s.

… “Knocking on heaven’s door” - ouch

… Nate’s aggression towards Hurley, first in a physical form and that is scary but also less dangerous because it’s unfocused; and then when his mind has something to focus on, that sharp sharp focus – fuck, he’s one scary dude indeed, it’s rather disconcerting that one is looking at Hurley for emotional reassurance in this scene…

… Parker’s strange walk because of her meds and the return on her focus when her thief-self kicks back in

… “If you’re doing it to help someone, doesn’t that make it okay?” Good question, Hurley. Your answer, Nate?

… Nate shoving Hurley in the hallway rather than explaining what’s going on. Funny, and sliiiightly sloppy, Mr Ford

...Tacos :)

… Eliot and Hardison sharing the same level of annoyance and then acceptance. So in tune in this episode, these two

… re-using that bomb. Everyone does their part in sustainability and careful usage of resources ;)

… the thugs thinking the bomb thing was done by the Jamaicans, aka Hardison and Eliot

… Eliot’s and Hardison’s reservations in the flashback. “Uh---why?” from Hardison and Eliot’s emphatic headshake

… the cash in the tire. Very practical choice, Hurley

… HURLEY JUST WANTS A HUG

… Hardison going the extra mile with Hurley’s new identity by getting him a gym membership

… Parker’s brilliant drawing!!!

… Parker smelling the Sharpie

… Parker running, PARKER HUGGING ELIOT AND HARDISON!!!! OT3!!!

… and that song, that is a variation of “What shall we do with the drunken sailor”, right?

Seriously, this is such a dark episode for Leverage standards because of that focus on Nate’s addiction, and yet, it’s counterbalanced by so much Hardison/Eliot fun and competence porn, by Sophie’s strength and by the fact that the villain of the week has a redemption arc. I love this show so much and this mix shows why again; such a delicate balance, so beautifully handled

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Reset

Summary: After a spell goes wrong and sends you back in time and alters your age, you seek out the help of a young Dean Winchester to get you home...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 3,600ish

Warnings: language

“Move, Dean!” you said, shoving him aside, a cloud of pink smoke surrounding you. You coughed as you breathed it in, a gunshot ringing out.

“Y/N, you alright?” you heard Dean say but you couldn’t see him, no matter how hard you swiped your hands.

“I can’t see. I can’t...” you said, coughing some more.

“Sammy, I can’t get through this smoke,” said Dean, bumping into something close by. “What’d she do to Y/N?”

“Looks like a de-ageing spell and...oh crap, we gotta get her out of there and now,” said Sam, a shot pinging off the smoke.

“Sam! Watch it!” shouted Dean.

“It’s a time spell too. I don’t know how far back it’ll pop her but we got less than a minute before it happens,” said Sam.

“Guys,” you said, coughing again, their voices farther away. “Dean! Get me out of here!”

“It looks like it’s gonna pop her back in ‘05 if we don’t-”

“Y/N, find us,” you heard Dean say, pounding on the smoke, his voice growing fainter. “Sam’s still at Stanford. It’s not far from here. You know the first cases we had if we aren’t there. Find us and we’ll help you get back. Just-”

You blinked your eyes and looked around, standing in a short grassy field. You swallowed hard and looked around, a sign off in the distance. You headed for it and heard a road, gulping when you read you were standing in a future housing development.

“Oh crap.”

You finally found Sam’s place when you saw Baby parked out front, sighing in relief.

“Oh, Baby, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” you said, walking over to it, the trunk slamming shut, two young men looking at you.

“Can we help you?” asked Dean. He had to be 26, fresh faced and so much more boyish than you were used to. “Is she a drunk freshman or something, Sam?”

You glanced down, gulping when you caught your reflection from the street light on baby’s hood.

If Dean was almost forty where you came from and you were ten years younger...

“I’m sixteen!” you said, running your hands over your face. “No, no! The once was bad enough!”

“Hey, kid. Do you need help or not?” said Dean, narrowing his eyes.

“Shut it Winchester. I ain’t no kid. In fact, I’m older than you on a normal day. Now I need-”

“Great, she’s drunk. Or on drugs,” said Dean quietly, forcing a smile on his face. “Okay, kid. We’re going to call someone to come help you, okay?”

“Dean, I don’t know her,” said Sam. “How’d she know our name?”

“Because Sammy, I do know you. I know both of you and short version is I got sent back in time and deaged and I need your help to send me back home,” you said.

“Alright, listen-”

“You have a group of freckles on your back just above your butt that looks like the big dipper,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Tell me you did not sleep-”

“Of course not Sam,” said Dean. “I’m not an idiot and I’ve never seen this girl in my life. I so do not have freckles like that.”

“Rhonda Hurley. Pink. Satin. Do I need to continue?” you asked, Dean gulping. “I know you, Dean. I know your secrets because you told me them. Now I know you guys are going to work a case right now but I desperately need-”

“We don’t have time for this,” said Dean, ripping open the drivers side door. They were both in the car and down the street in a flash. You sighed, throwing your hands up when you looked back at Sam’s apartment.

Jess.

Maybe you could go warn her this second. You looked around, jogging up the front path to Sam’s building when a cop car pulled up out front.

“Dammit.”

“Hi Bobby,” you said, giving him a smile at the police station. He was still cocking his head at you like you were an alien but he said you were his niece and picked you up regardless. “Thanks for the ride.”

“I just drove for how long to come pick up a strange teenage girl that I’ve never met before in my life why?” he asked.

“If it makes you feel any better, technically, we’ve never met. I heard all about you from the boys though. You’re like a father to them,” you said with a smile.

“How exactly do you know about the supernatural?” he asked.

“I told you on the phone,” you said.

“You sound like a basket full of crazy,” he said.

“Just...hear me out. I’m in need of serious help.”

“Bobby?” you heard Dean say, walking into the front door of the house. It’d been a few months. You knew they had downtime between a few cases right about now so you felt less likely like you’d screw something up if you decided to introduce yourself again.

“Dean,” you said, giving him a smile when he poked his head in the room. “Thanks for calling the cops on me. I appreciate that one.”

“Okay, who the hell are you?” asked Dean, crossing his arms, Sam cocking his head at you.

“She’s your girlfriend in about ten years, ya idjit,” said Bobby, coming up from the basement, dropping a box of books on the desk. “Best researcher I’ve ever seen.”

“Great. You’re a nerd,” said Dean, rolling his eyes.

“You read all of Harry Potter in a week. I’m the nerd. Right,” you said, giving him a smirk.

“Harry what now?” asked Dean.

“Ah, I forgot. You’re still cool guy, Dean. Only cars, women and whiskey for you,” you said, flipping a page.

“Damn straight,” said Dean.

“Don’t worry. You become a normal person soon,” you said, flipping shut the book. “Bobby, the spell I’m looking for packs a punch. A big one.”

“Well alright princess. I’ll go raid my stash. Again,” said Bobby, heading back downstairs.

“Bastard won’t even let me have a drink,” you said, stretching as you stood up.

“Considering you’re a teenager, I can’t argue with him,” said Dean with a smile. Sam excused himself when he caught you staring at them a bit too long, Dean more than eager to let you. “So I got to ask. Are you a hunter or a civilian?”

“I’m a hunter,” you said, Dean nodding his head like he was expecting that. “I know some things, things I can’t tell you. I...there were things I’d like to try and change but I can’t. I’ve already tried a few times and nothing seems to do the trick.”

“Part of your freaky time backwards thing,” said Dean with another nod. “Well, I’m still around and kicking at least.”

“You will be for a while,” you said, rubbing your arm.

“I’ll call that good news then,” he said with a smile, going to the fridge and pulling out a beer. “So am I super into younger chicks in the future or what?”

“We have a bit of an age gap but perfectly normal,” you said. “You always say I’m older than my years.”

“I could say the same thing now,” he said with a more relaxed smile.

“Your jokes do not improve by the way,” you said, Dean shrugging before you saw his eyes go wide. “What?”

“Oh my...” he said. You felt a bit smaller suddenly. Not too much smaller but glancing down you definitely noticed a change. “I don’t mean to startle you or anything but...you just got younger by a couple of years.”

You ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, your twelve year old face staring back.

“Fuck. We have to stop the de-aging. Now.”

“I hate this,” you grumbled, groaning as you hopped off the desk chair and to the ground, stomping to the bathroom. You had to use a step stool to use the sink, your groans giving Dean more to laugh about. “It’s not funny, Winchester!”

“You’re a very grumpy four year old. It’s quite hilarious actually,” he said. “At least we stopped it.”

“I still hate it,” you said, throwing open the door, going back to the desk. Dean tsked you and you felt a pair of strong hands pick you up. “I will kick your ass if you don’t put me down.”

“You have been at it since dawn. It’s late. Sam and Bobby are working a case and you need food before bedtime,” said Dean, plopping you down in one of the kitchen chairs.

“You are not my babysitter,” you said, scowling at him. “I can make myself a sandwich.”

“Well I’m hungry so you might as well eat too,” said Dean. You sighed, your tiny stomach rumbling. Another reason to hate this body beside the height issue was it all felt so off. You couldn’t push it like an adult one. You fell asleep researching after lunch. You needed to go to sleep earlier. You needed more snacks and you knew you were irritated more easily.

Then there was the irrational fear kid crap you were still fighting off.

“Here we go,” said Dean, walking around and flicking on the lights. “Bobby always keeps this place so dark.”

“I’m not scared,” you said, glaring at him.

“Never said you were,” said Dean. He started to move around, your gaze flickering to the calendar on the wall. You knew he’d seen his father just a week ago. He’d meet up with him again soon and then shit would hit the fan. So many parts of you wanted to stop everything that was about to happen but you knew nothing you did would change anything.

You hadn’t realized you were showing your emotions on you face until Dean was bending over, handing you a tissue.

“Okay. Okay. No more teasing today,” he said, ruffling your head as he went back to dinner. “Something bad is going to happen soon isn’t it.”

“Yes,” you said quietly.

“Then don’t get upset over it, Y/N. It happened and we survived it where you come from. We’ll survive it now too,” he said.

“You realize that’s your lying voice. I know when you’re pretending you’re okay with something Dean,” you said.

“I can’t change it. Any time you do try to change something, it goes wrong and you get hurt. What’s the point of obsessing over something I have no control over? Now do you want tomato sauce or white sauce on your pasta?” asked Dean.

You shrugged, Dean silent as he finished with dinner. You tried not to make a mess, sighing when you were stuffed full with half the plate to go.

“You can have it for leftovers,” he said, picking up around you when you finished. You yawned and looked at the clock, grumpy that your little body was already asking for sleep. You hopped out of your seat and went to the stairs, about halfway up when the lights went out.

Your foot missed the step and you tripped, a wet spot leaking through your pants near your knee.

“Y/N?” you heard Dean say. “Was that you?”

“Yeah,” you said, turning around to sit on your bottom. You saw a beam of light appear, Dean coming to the bottom of the stairs and looking up.

“Oh, what did you do?” he said.

“I bumped my knee is all,” you said.

“You shredded it,” he said, tucking the flashlight under his arm. He walked up a few steps and held out his arms, plucking you up and carrying you down the stairs.

“Put me down,” you said. Dean sat you the ground and aimed his flashlight for you. You intended on going to the kitchen and cleaning yourself but your leg wobbled at the knee and you let it smash against the floor again.

You whined, hating how low your pain tolerance was. Dean picked you up again and had you on the kitchen counter in no time, a flashlight hanging down so he could see what he was doing.

“Sorry for being so grumpy,” you said.

“I do not envy being in your position,” he said, a roll of bandages on you before you knew it. “Good as new.”

“I want to go to bed,” you said. Dean nodded and set you down, watching as you went to the couch.

“I’m going to stay up and research some,” he said. You yawned and climbed on the couch, hiding away in a blanket that was far too big for you. “Get some sleep.”

“Hey,” said Dean shaking you awake. There was an awful odor near your face, Dean holding a cup too close to your nose. “I figured out the time part of it. I can send you back but you’re stuck little. Do you think you have something where you’re from to figure that out?”

“I think so,” you said.

“Okay,” said Dean. “Drink this and in a few minutes you’ll be back in 2018.”

“Alright,” you said, reaching for the glass when Dean pulled it away. “What?”

“You’re an adult in your head but I can’t let a four year old wander around by herself,” said Dean.

“I’ll be fine,” you said.

“I’m coming with you. When I know you’re safe, I’ll use the spell to jump back here,” said Dean. You opened your mouth to argue but you already saw a backpack on the floor behind him, a smaller one for yourself too. “I got a feeling old Dean won’t be too happy if I let you get lost.”

“Fine,” you grumbled. After a few minutes you were standing in the living room, holding Dean’s hand, your head swimming. “Dean.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. You felt something pull at you before it got cold. It was night and you were standing in a pile of rubble and Dean looked absolutely mortified.

“Dean,” you said, tugging him out of the old wood and towards the junkyard.

“What happened to Bobby’s house?” asked Dean.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, hoping one of the old cars would run. It took an hour but Dean got one running eventually.

“Where are going little lady?” asked Dean.

“Lebanon,” you said, resting your head on your backpack. “Wake me up when we get there.”

“Rise and shine, Y/N,” said Dean, gently shaking you awake. “We just hit town. Where am I supposed to be going?”

You gave him the directions, Dean stopping the car just near the door down into the bunker.

“We live here?” he asked. “Underground?”

“No. I brought you here to stare at this door for no reason,” you said.

“Someone needs her nap,” said Dean, holding up his hands.

“Come on,” you said, tugging on his pant leg so he went to the door. You pressed a hand against it and it opened, Dean cocking his head as he followed you inside.

“Who the hell...” you heard come to a stop, a smile spreading on an older Dean’s face before he frowned. “You’re so tiny.”

“I’m hoping you can fix that,” you said, moving down the stairs too fast, young Dean scooping you off your feet.

“We don’t need you falling again,” he said, setting you down at the bottom. You couldn’t hide the blush on your face when you looked up at your Dean.

“You okay?”’asked Dean. “We found the spell to get you back a while ago. We were hoping you did too.”

“Mhm,” you said, your Dean kneeling down to be at eye level with you.

“Sweetheart?” asked Dean, rubbing your arm.

“She needs a snack,” said young Dean. “Her body acts like a toddlers.”

“I imagine that’s got you pretty pissed off,” said Dean.

“You have no idea,” said the younger Dean. After a hug from Sam, you went to the kitchen and got yourself something, so happy to be home again. “Hey, kid. I’m taking off.”

“Thanks for helping me,” you said.

“Eh, no problem. I’ll see you around someday,” he said with a smile.

Ten minutes later the bunker was quiet again, Dean chuckling as he came into the kitchen.

“What’s so funny?” you asked.

“He won’t remember any of this. I didn’t. Sam and Bobby didn’t,” said Dean.

“I’m glad, otherwise this would be too weird,” you said.

“Because me talking to my girlfriend stuck in the body of a four year old isn’t messed up enough,” said Dean with a chuckle. “Alright. We’ll work a spell to get you fixed up while you settle in.”

“Dean,” you sighed, half crawling over the table for the cereal box. “No offense but how long is this going to take? It’s been two weeks.”

“Other me got like a whole year and I get two weeks?” teased Dean.

“Make me big again,” you groaned.

“Sammy thinks he found something that’ll work but we sort of had to ask Rowena for help,” said Dean.

“I don’t care. I just want to be an adult.”

“Well aren’t you the most adorable little thing!” said Rowena, pinching your cheek.

“Ro. I will bite you if you ever do that again,” you warned, raising an eyebrow.

“Ball of spitfire like always,” she said. “Alright. Sit the munchkin over there and we should have a full grown woman in just a minute.”

Except nothing happened. You frowned, waiting another minute in silence before Rowena was moving around.

“It must be the other spell that’s stopping the de-aging that’s preventing this one from working,” she said.

“We’ll fix that one then,” said Dean, giving you a reassuring smile.

Three hours later you excused yourself, finding your bed and crawling in it. The door opened not long after that, a small blanket placed over you.

“Other Dean left this for you,” said Dean, rubbing your back. “We’ll get it. Rowena needs more time is all. You’re not stuck.”

“What if I am though?” you asked.

“I’d make sure you found a nice family to grow up with then,” he said.

“I’m already grown up,” you said, throwing back your covers. “I-“

“Would you calm down, sweetheart? I didn’t say I’d put you foster care now did I? “ he said, waiting for you to sit back down.

“What do you mean then?” you asked.

“No hunting. We could go somewhere else. You could grow up normal if you wanted. No school unless you really want to go through that again,” said Dean. “You wouldn’t have to try to act like someone you’re not.”

“I’m just freaking out. It’s hard to control these emotions sometimes,” you said.

“Like how you cried at that dog commercial?” asked Dean with a smile.

“Shut up, loser,” you said, fixing your bedspread. “The least you can do is give me a piggyback ride.”

“Alright. But when you’re an adult again, I am so not doing this all the time.”

One Week Later

“Good morning Dean,” you said, sipping on a cup of coffee as he strolled into the kitchen looking at your very much adult self. “Exactly one week, like Rowena said.”

“I missed you,” said Dean, walking over and picking you up, giving you a tight hug.

“Dean. Need to breathe,” you said.

“Look at you!” he said, spinning you around but quickly setting you down. “You’re heavy.”

“Am not,” you said, throwing your arms around his neck, Dean already halfway to the kiss you were looking for. “I’m so glad I’m an adult again.”

“You were pretty cute. I gotta thank my younger self for keeping an eye on you. Not sure how he did it for a whole year,” said Dean.

“Actually Bobby watched me for the most part,” you said. “I see why you turned out the way you did. I sort of took something from him while the house was still standing. Well I made a copy which you have no idea how hard that was to do for a four year old in 2005.”

“What is it?” he asked. You nodded to the counter and the object on top.

“Pictures. There weren’t a lot but there are some of when you and Sam were little. I thought maybe I couldn’t change the past but I could take something back at least,” you said.

“This is awesome,” said Dean, flipping through the small photo album, a smile on his face. “Thanks Y/N. I got to show this to Sam and mom too when she gets back.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, wrapping your arms around him.

“I definitely missed that.”

[theycallmemoosey]

Whatever You Say, Rapp

Mitch Rapp x Reader

WARNINGS: angst, torture, mention of suicide (do not read if easily triggered - I do too, dw), mention of murder, mention of blood

A/N: First AA fic! I think I went a bit overboard with this and kinda crammed every scenario into this. Also, I am posting this in the middle of nowhere (like - near Scotland middle of nowhere) with the shittest wifi and the worst signal so I’m afraid no gif for this fic. I really hope you enjoy as I did really try with this one. Moose :)

--------------------------

“Y/N, just got a call from Hurley, he has a lead on a potential case and he wants me to check it out” 

“You want me to work my magic?” You asked, taking a bite out of a slice of leftover pizza.

“Well, I can see your clearly busy” he gestured towards the pizza, amusement on his face. 

You groaned, storming past a grinning Mitch and plopping down in front of your laptop, “What’s the name?” 

“James Walton. Owner and manager of Walton’s Insurance a few years back but just stopped turning up one day. Single, looks around 35 to 40, no children as far as we know and-“ 

“Got him. I’ll just work out his social media passwords, find out his phone number and track his most recent activity. Piece of cake” 

Mitch smiled at you proudly, stroking your hair, “You never fail to impress me” 

“Most recent activity is just down the road. Go on, kick ass” you smiled up at him, kissing him before he grabbed his phone, gun and jacket, “Wait! Mitch!” 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“Earpiece” you reminded him, holding up the discrete earpiece first given to the two of you when you worked your first mission together. 

“Oh yeah, that’s kinda important” he smiled, kissing you before rushing down the apartment block stairs. 

You sighed heavily, slamming the door and grabbing the pizza box before heading back to the desk. 

“You there yet?” You asked, knowing the microphone attached to the laptop was already connected to Mitch’s earpiece. 

“No” Mitch chuckled, his voice low as he kept his profile in plain sight.

“You there yet?” 

“Don’t start this, babe. I can’t listen to you ask me that for the next 10 minutes” 

“Whatever you say, Rapp” 

You kept silent for a bit, listening to him breathe heavily, the sound of the crowd in the background. 

“You there yet?” 

“Oh my-I will destroy this” 

“By all means, but if you get in the shit, you’re on your own” you said, a mouthful of pizza.

“I love you” He chuckled, “I’m here. The cafe right?”

“Yeah. You see him?”

“No…are you sure he’s here?” 

“Most recent activity on his phone was…right there. Look harder” 

“Y/N, I’m looking!” He exclaimed in a hushed tone, aware that he was bringing attention to himself, “Can you check again?” 

“Mitch, I’m looking at the live feed right now, I can’t give you any more information than-OH MY GOD!” You screamed, the sound of crashing alerting Mitch, making him stand up and flip the chair.

“Y/N?!”

Silence. 

“Babe?! Are you there? Shit shit shit” 

Mitch sprinted back to the apartment block, gripping the gun in his jacket pocket. He burst the door open and took a sharp inhale of breath. The room had been trashed. The desk had been flipped, your computer monitors smashed, your laptop twisted, papers littering the floor. 

“Y/N? Are you in here?!” He called out, rushing to check every room, “Baby?!” 

He stopped in his tracks when he saw the note pinned to the door with one of his daggers. 

“No. No, no, no” he cried, tearing the note from the door.

One step ahead of you, Rapp. I’ll give her back for a price. Catch me if you can.

“Fucking BASTARD!” Mitch roared, screwing the paper up and throwing it in any direction, punching the drywall next to him, “He’s going to fucking pay. He’ll FUCKING PAY” 

He grabbed his phone up off of the floor from when it fell out his pocket, scrolling furiously to find Stan’s number.

“Stan? He took her. The bastard took her” 

“Get here in 10” 

————————————————

“I give you one mission Rapp, and here we are with an even bigger problem” 

If looks could kill, Stan would be dead on the floor right now. 

“You sent me on that mission. YOU sent me. Because YOU sent me, SHE is gone. That Walton guy took her!” 

“He’s more dangerous than we first thought. I spoke to Irene Kennedy-“ 

“The one that set me up in this whole fucking deal? That woman?” 

“Yeah. She was able to find me another agent to help you find Y/N” 

“I don’t want help” 

“You’re gonna need it, Rapp. If this guy is as dangerous as he turns out to be, you’re going to need all the help you can get. Look, this girl has been personally recommended by the CIA, she’s clearly good” 

Mitch sighed, running his hands through his hair in frustration, “Fine. Fine. Do we have any idea where this Walton guy is?” 

“Kennedy is investigating right now. Apparently, a missing CIA ground agent is quite a big deal. Just lay low here for now while we wait for any news from HQ” Stan ordered, sitting on his desk and flicking through his phone.

“Look, this guy is a mass murderer. Fraudster. Just an evil guy. He might have his hands on my girlfriend right now. You really expect me to sit here willingly while she’s in danger?”

“Not my fault you’re in love with her” Stan shrugged, not looking up from his phone.

“This is all your fault!” Mitch screamed, his hands balled up into fists to resist the urge to punch anyone or anything nearby, “You sent me that mission! You asked me to go after this guy! Oh, and must I forget, YOU are the one that put me and Y/N in a team. You are the reason they went after her” 

“Whatever you say, Rapp”

Mitch growled slightly, making Stan look up, observing Mitch’s fuming body language, “She’s an agent too, she had just the same amount of risk being captured as any one of us. Just because she’s your girlfriend doesn’t make her job any more dangerous than it already was”

Mitch breathed heavily and angrily, realising that Stan was right, “If anything happens to her, Stan…I-I just can’t lose her too. It was hard enough losing-losing-“

“Katrina?” 

Stan and Mitch both turned their heads towards the doorway, their eyes landing on a woman.

“Who the fuck are you?” Mitch spat, offended that she dared speak Katrina’s name.

“Your partner” she shrugged, pushing herself off the doorframe and heading past Mitch to shake Stan’s hand, “Sorry I’m late” 

“Well, you’re here now” he said, “Mitch, this is Rebecca Tulsa” 

“Like the town?” Mitch snarled, glaring at her.

“Good to meet you too”

“Alright. We have some intel. They tracked the van that they saw on CCTV leave your apartment garage, and it is currently on the way to…the airport” 

“The what-“

“You heard, Rapp. You guys better get your asses in gear to find out wherever the hell they’re taking her. Now, this guy is crazy rich so I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re taking a private jet” 

“How are we gonna get onto the runway to track a private fucking jet?” 

“Work it out. Now go!” 

———————————

 The drive to the airport was silent, Mitch glaring at everything. 

“What’s with the anger, tough guy?”

“Shut the fuck up” 

“Or what?” 

“Or I’ll stop this car and throw you out” 

“You won’t do that” 

“Want to see me try?” He asked, his voice laced with venom, “The only reason you’re here right now is because of the fact that my superior demanded that I had to have back up. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be here right now” 

“Well, fortunately, it isn’t up to you. So you’re stuck with me” 

Mitch grumbled, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

“How did you even know about Katrina?” 

“I know everything about you” 

“You don’t know shit about me”

“Full name is Mitch Rapp, parents whereabouts unknown, only family left is your brother Steven Rapp, and the two of you were raised in McLean, Virginia. You attended Syracuse University where you majored in International Business with a minor in French. You attended college on a lacrosse scholarship, turning down a scholarship from the University of North Carolina because your high school sweetheart, Katrina Harper, was attending Syracuse with the hope of getting into broadcasting. The two of you went on a vacation to Ibiza where you proposed to her. She accepted but moments later the terrorist group-“ 

“That’s enough” Mitch warned, not wanting to replay the memories in his head.

“A year later, you graduated from Syracuse and a week later began training for the CIA, after being headhunted by Irene Kennedy. You spent years being trained by former CIA operative Stan Hurley. Since, you’ve been working multiple cases given to you by Hurley, one of which you were partnered with your now girlfriend, Y/N Y/LN. You’re fluent in Arabic, Persian, Urdu, Pashto, German and Italian. You’re ambidextrous but naturally use your left hand. You also prefer dogs over cats” 

Mitch was speechless, glancing towards his new partner, “You sure do know a lot about me” 

“I was given your file from HQ” 

“My file says I prefer dogs over cats?” 

“I did a little research on the side. Your alias’ Facebook profile, Mitch Kruse, likes a lot of posts including dogs. I know you and Y/N were also planning on adopting a dog” 

“You hacked into my facebook account?!” 

“What? Like it’s hard? Doesn’t your girlfriend do that for a living? I would have thought you had a lot more security on your accounts”

“One more word and I will put a bullet through your brain” 

“Whatever you say” Rebecca laughed, smirking at the idea that she had the upper hand.

————————————

You squinted your eyes, the bright light blinding you. As you adjusted to the environment, you tried to shout out, only to find that you had been tied and gagged to an aeroplane seat, your ears popping when you saw that outside the window, you were taking off.

“Boss, she’s awake” 

You were soon met face to face with the same guy Mitch had been trying to track down just hours ago. 

“You’re probably wondering what’s going on right now” 

You glared at him, not able to stop the single tear falling down your cheek.

“We know who you are. We know who you work for. And you will give us all the information about the CIA you can. Everyone you know who works there and what jobs you’re assigned. And we will not stop until you give us the information we need” 

You stared at him, flicking your eyes downwards to indicate towards the gag.

“Oh no, we’re not taking that out yet. Not until we’re at our final destination. You weren’t even supposed to wake up until we were there!” 

You looked at him with a confused expression, your heart racing in fear although you dared not show it.

“Bruce, please sort this girl out” 

“Yes, boss” 

The big, bulky guy stormed up to you, and after a single swipe from the back of his hand, you were out again.

—————————————

“I’m a business partner of Mr Walton, I need to know where he flew to this morning” Mitch demanded, glaring at the receptionist.

“I’m sorry, sir, but that information is classified” 

“I need to know, it’s urgent” 

“Again, sir, I can’t share that information with you” she persisted, smiling forcefully. 

Rebecca sighed, “Look, lady. We’re with the CIA. He is a wanted man and we have to know where he is going right now. If you don’t share this information with us right this second, we will take you into custody. Now, are you going to tell us where he is headed or are you going to leave this airport in cuffs?” 

The receptionist looked at Rebecca with fear in her eyes, immediately typing on her computer with a sense of urgency. Mitch looked at Rebecca surprised, making her smirk and shrug.

“Vancouver” 

“Canada?! Why the hell are they taking her to-“ 

“Calm down!” Rebecca hissed before turning to the receptionist, “I’m sorry about him. Listen, we need two tickets on the next flight to Vancouver” 

“There’s one leaving in 15 minutes. I’ll speak to security and let them know who you are and see if I can get you to the plane immediately. Do you have your CIA ID?” 

“Yes” Mitch huffed, surveying the airport.

“Great, just flash that at anyone who questions you and they’ll let you straight past” 

“Thanks for your help” Rebecca smiled weakly, grabbing her bag and running towards the gate. 

“So you just…go around screaming who you work for to any random person” 

“If it’s necessary, yes. If you want to catch this guy and get your girl back, then I suggest we get a move on” 

“You know best” he mumbled, starting to run towards the gate.

—————————————

“Who do you work for?”

“You told me you know. If you actually knew, you wouldn’t be asking me” 

James smacked your face, making you groan and twitch your jaw, the sting making your eyes water.

“I want names” 

“You may want them, but you’re certainly not getting them from me”

He laughed manically, sighing while rubbing his knuckles, “You’ve got quite a smart mouth on you, haven’t you, you slag” 

He punched you square in the jaw, making you hiss in pain and spit blood on the floor.

“Not gonna lie, you can take a punch”

“That’s what you get when you grow up with an abusive father” 

“Aw, what a sob story” he patronisingly cooed, punching the other side of your face, missing your eye by an inch, “Now are we going to get any names?” 

“You already know one” you breathed heavily, “If you knew who I was, then you know who I live with. I wasn’t quite out when I saw you pin that note up. I know you have your eye on Mitch. And I swear to god-“ 

“What do you swear?” He asked, smiling psychopathically, “What do you swear to god?” 

“You touch him, you have no chance of finding out any information from me. Touch one hair on his head, I will stay silent. Doesn’t matter how much you torture me, I won’t say a word if you hurt him” 

“You really love this man, don’t you?” 

“You will never know” 

James hummed, twisting the chair opposite you backwards, sitting on it back to front while staring directly at your face.

“Do you know who I am?”

“James Walton” you breathed, your head beginning to feel light headed.

“Everyone knows that, you silly little girl. I mean do you KNOW who I-“

“Grew up and was educated in England, family lived in Surrey and was hideously wealthy. You lived off Daddy’s money and used it to expand and branch out his business to America. You are the manager of multiple Walton’s Insurances across nearly 30 states, earning a net profit of about $20 million a year. That was, until, you had a loss of $4 million one year and you just stopped turning up to work one day"

“Enough” he snarled, jumping off the chair to pace around the dimly lit room, the only light from a flickering, industrial lightbulb.

“You’re a wanted man, both from the CIA and the FBI for both fraud and obsessive assassinations. Since then, you have participated in the murders of nearly 30 individual people, pretty much all of them being innocent people who were struggling to pay you back. You got a thirst for death and began torturing and killing people willy nilly! Not only that but you hide your true self behind the alias of James Walton, don’t you, Joseph Washington?!”

“I SAID ENOUGH!” He roared, launching himself towards you and punching you in the face until you were knocked down to the floor, “You have no right” 

“You killed the real James Walton, didn’t you?” You laughed breathily, your face in more pain that you thought you would ever endure, “You were raised in shitty government funded apartments in Chicago by two abusive parents, and you were born into no money. You spent years finding the perfect doppelganger that you could perfect becoming. You have lived most of your adult life as a fraudster. And you won’t ever stop, will you Joe?” 

He was so furious you could see his face turn red, his hand darting to grab the dagger from the table. He mercilessly stabbed your abdomen, making you scream out in pain, blood bleeding everywhere. You knew that he purposefully stabbed you in a place where no serious damage would be done, but you couldn’t feel like this was it. You just wished for Mitch to burst in the door and save you. 

“I’m being nice, Y/N…don’t piss me off”

He harshly got off of you, breathing heavily to calm himself down before heading out the room, leaving you tied to a chair, lying on the floor with a dagger in your abdomen in complete darkness. 

“Hurry up, Rapp”

—————————————

“Mitch, stop running” 

“We need to find her. The more time we spend here, the more they could be hurting her” 

“We don’t even know where he is! There’s no point just running around the city aimlessly. We don’t even know they’re still in Vancouver. We need to just lay low somewhere this evening, check all the local CCTV and work out logistically where he may be”

“I can’t waste a second here! They might be killing her” 

“They’re not gonna kill her” Rebecca sighed, exhausted and frustrated that Mitch would not slow down.

“How do you know what the hell they’re going to do to her?” Mitch snarled at her, finally stopping.

“They’re after information. You saw the note they left at your apartment, they’re after you. Knowing Y/N, she’s not going to release any information about anything or anyone” 

“Don’t pretend like you know anything about her. You don’t know her” 

“Yeah. Yeah, ok. I don’t. But if she’s anything like you, she’s tough” 

“God” he groaned, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion, “Yeah, she’s tough”

“You two are going to have the most amazing kids” Rebecca smiled, touching Mitch’s arm reassuringly.

“If we ever have any” he sighed, “You’re right. Let’s…let’s set up in the hotel across the street. We just need to find out where the fuck he went”

“I know you’re scared” 

“No, no you have no idea” he threw over his shoulder, storming out of the airport to signal a taxi.

“Actually, I kind of do” Rebecca mumbled as they got into the taxi.

“No, you don’t know what it’s like to be terrified. I’ve already lost one love of my life, I can’t lose another. She brought me joy in my life since-since I lost Katrina“ 

“Then it’s essential we get her back” she smiled. 

The ride to the hotel was silent, Mitch’s breathing heavy.

“My husband David, he…we both worked for the CIA for years. Met the same way you and Y/N did. We both went on a mission in Marrakesh and he was taken by the terrorist group we were meant to take down. He…he was killed” 

“I’m sorry to hear that” 

“I haven’t been the same since. We were planning on having kids and…buying a house and getting a dog” 

“You can still have that” 

“No” she laughed sadly, “No, I can’t. I promised him I would never love another person the same way I loved him” 

Mitch smiled sadly, “Maybe it’s time you moved on. He would want you to find someone that made you as happy as you deserve”

“Thank’s Mitch” she laughed quietly, “Maybe you’re not as cold-hearted as I thought you were” 

“I’m made of stone” he matched her laugh, “No emotions at all. Not sure how Y/N puts up with me to be honest” 

“Neither” 

———————————

“Good morning, Y/N” 

“It’s the morning?” You sighed, squinting out of one eye as the other was swollen from last night’s torturing.

“It’s been 5 days…I don’t think your Mitch is coming to save you” 

“I don’t need saving” you scoffed, twisting your hands behind your back to find some sort of comfort in the restraints.

“Oh, then please do tell, how are you going to get out of this situation?” 

“Just sleep with your eyes open” you smirked, or at least tried to.

“Do you want to know HOW I know that your Mitch isn’t going to come and rescue you?” 

You sighed and hesitantly made eye contact with him, “How?”

“Let me show you” he smiled, grabbing the closest table, and opening his laptop.

“What is that?” You asked, your eyes trying to focus on the screen on the laptop.

“That ls a live feed from a nearby hotel. Room 1804. Recognise anyone?”

You watched carefully, your heart dropping when you saw Mitch walk in the room with another woman. She was beautiful, with long brown hair and a beautifully shaped body. She was almost perfect.

“What do you want to do for dinner tonight?” 

“Um…well, just order some room service. I’m just gonna take a shower and then I’ll be right out” Mitch shrugged, throwing his duffel bag on the only double bed in the room.

“Don’t be too long” she smiled teasingly.

“What is this?” You asked quietly, not willing to believe what you were seeing.

“I think you know perfectly well what that is…do you know her?” 

“No”

“Oh, that’s funny…because I do”

“What?” 

“Her name is Lauren Bradbury. She works for me. Dear old Mitch needed some backup, so we sent Miss Rebecca Tulsa” 

“Like the town?”

“Except the REAL Rebecca Tulsa? She’s right here” he exclaimed, opening the nearby metal cupboard, a female body dropping out. 

“HOLY SHIT” you screamed, trying desperately to move away from the dead body that was laying on the floor.

“Oh look look!” The sick psychopath pointed towards the laptop, “It’s the best part!”

You shut your eyes, not wanting to see anything else that was going to break your heart. He must have noticed, as he moved around to the back of the chair to pry your eyes open, forcing you to watch. 

Mitch walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still wet from the shower.

“Rebecca? Did you order food?” He asked, grabbing some clothes from his bag. 

Rebecca came out from behind a wall in the room, only in her black, lacy underwear, “You can call me Bex, you know” 

Mitch stood staring at her, his breathing hitched, “O-okay, Bex”

She laughed, “Sorry, I was just getting changed into something a little more comfortable. I ordered food” 

“G-good” he stuttered, his eyes fixated on her face, trying not to look anywhere else. She smiled and stepped a few steps forward. 

“I was thinking about what you said earlier and you were completely right. I DO deserve someone who will make me happy” she whispered, placing her hand on his chest and running it up to his neck.

“Wha-“ Mitch was interrupted by her lips on his, forcefully pulling him closer towards her and dropping his towel so he was completely nude.

“MITCH!” You cried, Joesph pausing the video on the image of Mitch’s hands on Rebecca’s waist, their lips on each other. 

He tutted, “Maybe your boyfriend isn’t who he said he was” 

“He would never-“ 

“But he just did!” He rubbed it in your face, smiling at the tears falling down your face, “You don’t deserve him, Y/N. Look what he does to you. You get kidnapped and he sleeps with someone else?”

“I can’t believe he would do this” 

“You may not have believed it, but you best believe its true” 

You closed your eyes, letting more tears fall. You heard him chuckle under his breath, followed by the loud slam of the warehouse door.

——————————————

“Woah, what the fuck?!” Mitch shouted, pushing Rebecca by her waist so hard she fell to the floor, desperately trying to cover himself up with the towel that was pooling at his feet, “Was this your plan all along?!”

She laughed, “Oh, Mitchy. You really let your guard down” 

“Why are you laughing?” 

“No reason” she smiled, standing up and starting to get dressed back into some clothes, “Just how easy you are” 

“Easy? What do you mean, easy?”

“Oh that guy you’re looking for? James Walton? He’s in apartment 40 in Well’s House, two streets across from here” 

“How do you know that?” 

“I got intel” she shrugged, opening the door. It was slammed shut, making her squeal before she was flipped around, her back slammed against the wall with Mitch’s hand against her throat.

“YOU WORK FOR HIM, DON’T YOU?!” 

Rebecca laughed wheezily, struggling under his grip, “Whatever you say, Rapp”

His grip tightened and he was hissing through his clenched teeth, “Is she alive?”

“I don’t have to answer you” she struggled out, Mitch punching her in the gut.

“IS SHE ALIVE? IS SHE HURT?” 

“Hurt? Probably. Alive? Get there soon enough she may still be”

Rebecca was thrown to the floor harshly, Mitch storming over his bag to quickly get dressed before grabbing his phone, gun and jacket and heading out the door.

—————————————

“You can talk to me, Y/N” Joseph smiled creepily, wiping the dirt and blood from your cheek, “What’s the point of keeping everything a secret now? I know you’ve lost the will to live” 

“You don’t know shit. And you never will” you spat, looking at the floor, your heart still aching from what you witnessed not so long ago. 

“Y/N, you’re going to die one way or another. I did some research on you, you know. I know you were hospitalised for multiple suicide attempts. Mitch gave you a reason to live, didn’t he? What you just saw broke you inside…I know that you’re planning another attempt right now, aren’t you? Well, again, two ways you are going to die. You can talk and I will let you look at the world once more, or you can stay silent and I will just have to kill you myself” 

“Just another one to add to the list, right?” 

“If you want to look at it that way, sure” he shrugged, leaning on the table.

You sighed, knowing that you were going against your better judgement, “Fine. I’ll talk” 

“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses” 

“I…my full name is Y/N Y/L/N, I am the intelligence partner of Mitch Rapp, we were trained by ex CIA operative Stan Hurley and our CIA intelligence superior is Irene Kennedy” 

“Well well well, that’s a good start” 

“I’ve got to be honest, that’s as much as I can give you. The group I trained with all probably have different names and lives. Those names are the extent of my knowledge”

“Oh” he frowned, revealing a gun from the back of his jeans, “Then I guess you’re no use to me” 

“Wait, we had a deal” you squirmed in the chair, your wrists raw from the rapes tying you to the back of the chair, “Please, I’ve told you all I know”

“It wasn’t enough. And you should know by now, Y/N…don’t trust what anybody says. It was nice to meet you” 

You began to sob as the gun was raised to your head, Joseph smiling. You closed your eyes when you heard two gunshots echo in the room, a sharp shooting pain in your shoulder. You opened your eyes when you realised that you were still breathing the same as you were, admittedly a little bit faster from the adrenaline. 

“M-Mitch?” You whispered, his devastated face breaking your heart. 

“What have they done to you?” He stepped over the body he just shot, his hand outreached to touch your face as if he couldn’t believe it was really you. 

“Don’t touch me” your voice was hoarse and dry, flinching away from his touch. 

“Y/N…” 

“If you’d like to untie me, Mitch, instead of letting me just bleed out here in this chair”

He stumbled a little bit, before rushing to cut the ropes, concentrating on not hurting you even the smallest bit. You stood up, hissing as your arm flew to your shoulder, trying to relieve some of the pain from the bullet wound. You turned to face Mitch, who stepped forward to embrace you, but you slapped him in the face.

“What was-“ 

“I saw you” you spat, your anger overcoming your fear of relief, “I saw you with that girl. Rebecca was it?” 

“Wait, what? How did you-“ he started, confusion all over his face as he tried to piece together what was going on.

“She was working with James Walton, who FYI, was really called Joseph  Washington and killed the real Rebecca Tulsa and replaced her with his own hired gun called Lauren Bradbury! YOU SLEPT WITH SOMEONE WHO WAS WORKING WITH THE GUY WHO WAS TORTURING YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” 

“I didn’t sleep with her! She came onto me!” 

“Oh yeah, yeah I’m sure she did. I WATCHED YOU!” 

“WHAT?” 

“Yeah! That Lauren installed a camera in your room and I was shown a live feed of you SLEEPING WITH HER!” 

“I DID NOT SLEEP WITH HER!” He roared, making you flinch in fear but you kept your guard up, “DID HE SHOW YOU THE WHOLE VIDEO?” 

“Enough to show me what my boyfriend was doing to the whore of a CIA agent” 

“What did he show you the video on?” He asked calmly, aware that you were still trying to recover from what you had just gone through. You pointed towards the laptop as much as you can, putting pressure back on your shoulder. Mitch stormed towards the laptop, fiddling around with the video before getting to just before the kiss. 

“I don’t want to watch this again” you said quietly, trying to keep the tears from falling. 

“Keep watching” 

You came and stood next to Mitch, hesitantly watch the scene again. 

“Woah, what the fuck?!” Mitch shouted, pushing Rebecca by her waist so hard she fell to the floor, desperately trying to cover himself up with the towel that was pooling at his feet, “Was this your plan all along?!”

She laughed, “Oh, Mitchy. You really let your guard down” 

“Why are you laughing?” 

“No reason” she smiled, standing up and starting to get dressed back into some clothes.

“Oh my god…”

“I would NEVER do that to you” he pleaded, stroking your hair back as you continued to cry, “You are the light of my life, Y/N. I wouldn’t hurt you if it cost me the entire world” 

“I thought you-“ 

“You thought wrong. Baby, I love you. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my real life. I want to marry you and have kids with you and…you mean too much to me. You know, before I met you I had no reason to live. I tried to kill myself too many times to count. Then I met you and suddenly there was a reason to live again” 

“Really?” You asked, your hand taking his. 

“Yes” he laughed, crying himself, “I want you in my life forever and ever” 

You carefully tilted your head up to him, kissing him gently, feeling his hand on your lower back stroking you gently. 

“So this mission was a success then” you laughed against his lips, feeling him smile. He pulled you in tightly, snuggling his head into yours, placing small kisses on your neck. 

“Ow ow ow, Mitch, stop” you pushed him away, “Shoulder”

“Oh, oh shit, of course” he pulled away, leading you out towards the door. However, after taking one step your knees buckled and you began to fall, Mitch catching you just before you hit the ground. 

“Woah, are you ok?” 

“Yeah” you sighed, “Probably just dehydrated” 

“When was the last time you drank? Hell, ate?” 

“Umm…probably that slice of pizza I was eating when you left for this goddamn mission”

“Holy shit” Mitch breathed out, swiftly picking you up and carrying you out into the fresh air, knocking you out instantly. 

——————————

“Morning, sweetheart” Mitch kissed your forehead, stroking the hair out of your face.

“How long was I out?” 

“A couple days. I gave you a bath, washed your hair…not gonna lie, that was kinda tricky” he laughed, making you smile.

“Thank you” 

“Oh, and I patched up your shoulder. Managed to get the bullet out and cleaned your shoulder up. Feel any better?” 

“How many drugs am I on right now?” 

“Quite a few” 

“There’s your answer” you smirked, trying to sit up.

“I spoke with Stan, let him know that the guy is dead. Irene too. They send their love”

“No, they didn’t” 

“Yeah, you’re right they didn’t” he laughed, moving to lay next to you on the bed to put a film on.

“I love you” you whispered, kissing the hand that was interlocked with yours. 

“I love you too” he kissed your head, the sound of his phone ringing next to you. 

“Don’t answer it, don’t answer it” 

“Yeah?” Mitch said, putting the phone to his ear as he spoke to Stan.

“Damn you, Rapp” you groaned, shuffling around to try and get comfortable, even with the comfort of the muscly man next to you, who was actually surprisingly soft, as he spoke to whoever it was on the phone.

“Thanks” he shut the phone off and threw it on the end of the bed, “That was Hurley” 

“And?” 

“He has a lead on a potential case and he wants me to check it out”

“Want me to work my magic?” 

“No. You’re not going anywhere. And neither am I. Not until you’re 110% better” he demanded, tickling your side gently.

“Whatever you say, Rapp” you shrugged, scrolling through the movie selection on the TV at the end of the bed.

Mitch looked down at you proudly, “When are you going to become Y/N Rapp?”

“When you ask me”

“I’m asking right now” he smiled, making your eyes go wide and drop the remote on the duvet.

“What-“ 

“I haven’t got a ring or anything on me but that doesn’t make me want to do this any less. I never thought I could love again but ever since you came into my life, everything has just made sense. I love you and I want to show you how much I love you until the day I die”

“That could be any day from now until whenever. You know what our job is like” you tried to argue, but you were shoved gently, Mitch being careful of your shoulder. 

“All the more reason to become a Rapp before it’s too late” 

“Ok”

“Ok?” 

“Yeah” you smiled, leaning up to kiss him gently, wincing slightly at the pain it caused your shoulder. 

“You’re going to be my wife” he whispered, shocked and astounded by the idea that you could ever love him that much, “I love you” 

You smiled back up at him, interlocking your hand with his once again, “Whatever you say, Rapp”

---------------------

TAGS

@fox-in-a-mousetrap-8 @screamxqueenx94

[perlocutionary]

Following Orders pt. 5 - Mitch Rapp

Description: Y/N and Stan have to deal with a new recruit being sent in. Training a handsome, reckless man is one thing. But can she keep her hands to herself? Relationship: Mitch Rapp x Reader - AMERICAN ASSASSIN

Title:  That’s an order. Word count: 1912

A/N: The sexual tension isn’t something that only affects Y/N and Mitch, but others seem to be bothered by it as well. But what are they going to do about it?

Part 1. *  Part 2.** Part 3**. Part 4**

“You wanted to see me, Stan?” I question as I pop my head through the ajar door, fingers clutching the door before I slip through. “Yes, Y/N. I think you know who this is about.” Stan motions for me to take a seat on the chair in front of him, but I decline, standing behind it and grasping the back rest with white knuckles. “I had the slightest feeling, yes. Although I’d rather avoid the subject all together.”

“I’m not inattentive, Y/N. Even if you were trained enough to hide your emotions properly, I’d still see the glances he takes at you. I want you to get this over and done with.” He dismissively speaks, his gaze still trained on his laptop, hand waved in my direction.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, sir.” I decide to play dumb but as soon as Stan throws me this look, a chuckle leaves my lips and I shrug my shoulders. “Not sure if it’s a laughing matter, Y/n.” “I may have gotten carried away. I couldn’t help myself sir.”

“And I know you couldn’t. I understand your point of view on the matter, certainly because of the training and lack of any social interactions for the last year – “ Stan pauses, stepping around the kitchen table as he lingers at the door, but he waits to continue his sentence when he deemed it safe for him to speak. In the meantime, I take my position at the empty chair and cross my arms on the table, chewing on my lip as I watch him stroll around the room.

His gaze falls back on the glass door, eyebrows furrowed in thought. His eyes flick to me again and just the littlest flick of his head I know what’s about to happen. I perk up more, leaning my hands on the dark oak table, ready to push myself up and end this conversation. His hand motions for me to stay and I furrow my eyebrow, watching him stroll back toward me and take a seat to my left.

“- But this is getting out of hand. He needs to be dealt with –sooner rather than later.” I see a glimpse of something in my peripheral and I know our little eavesdrop has arrived. The indication of Stan’s words means that this conversation isn’t over yet, but has become a code language within a few seconds. “I’m not sure this is a mission I’m comfortable with pursuing, Hurley.”

“I don’t think you have any other choice. You were involved from the beginning, so you’re supposed to finish it.” As if I ever had a choice in any participation regarding Rapp. When he first arrived, Stan threw me in the lion’s den without a second thought, and yes, although Mitch’s physique was the first thing that had drawn my attention to the new assassin, I don’t think I would’ve let it come this far if Stan didn’t spar him with me every time we were training.

It was Stan’s idea for me to follow him around. Of course, forcing me to spend so much time around someone would make me weak – I am human, after all. Mitch Rapp wasn’t only an attractive young man, he intrigued me. I could spend evening upon evening listening to him talk, even if it did mostly contain his plan to wipe out every terrorist cell in the world.

He was passionate, determined and kind – even if he would never agree with me saying so. I had slacked the last few weeks as well, and Stan knew. Of course, doing inappropriate things with Mitch coursed through my mind, I just didn’t imagine it taking over my daily activities to such an extent it would harm my training. I understand Stan’s point of view, and somehow I believe that what he is implying might help – but deep down I know it’ll only worsen whatever is going on in that explosive mind of mine.

“I – I’m just – I don’t see it happening like this.” I sigh, shaking my head and leaning back in my seat. My fingers course through my hair and I tug at the strands, slipping my eyes closed and pursing my lips. A humourless chuckle leaves Stan’s lips and my eyes snap open, the smirk something I’d gladly wipe off his face.

“I can’t help you with this. You will have to do something, Y/N. ” The emphasis in his words make my cheeks rapidly heat up, my head involuntarily resuming its shaking as I drop my hands onto the table again with a loud smack. I nervously tap my fingernails along the wood, the sounds resonating through the open kitchen space as I mumble my next words.

Stan could never expect me to do such things for the sake of Orion. Never, being on a mission, has he demanded such things as me. Yes, playing bait to lure some dangerous man to a more secluded area so the rest could take the target out, but never this. Even though I wanted to, it wasn’t something that I would voluntarily act upon – that’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Although both you and I know it’s not the case.

“But not like this, Stan.” Stan groans again, his hands clenching and unclenching as I see his gaze flick to the door again – he is hoping to catch Mitch red handed. Stan did have some indications that Mitch was following his nose again – and although most of the times I knew of his whereabouts, I couldn’t say with complete certainty where Mitch was twenty-four-seven. Stan believed Mitch was involving himself in practices way over his head.

When he doesn’t immediately speak, I open my mouth again to protest, hopefully with some sort of a better argument rather than I don’t want to do this, although there is nothing that I could come up with. It has been something that has haunted my mind ever since our first encounter. I just would’ve liked it to be more – spontaneous.

The noise that leaves his throat is something that makes me immediately snap my mouth shut. He stands to his full height, towering over me before crossing his arms over his chest. I have lost this battle. “We both know you won’t be able to talk it out over a nice cup of coffee. You have to do something about it. That’s an order.”

I push myself up on my feet, the chair screeching loudly behind me as it is shoved several meters backwards. There was no way I was going to talk myself out of this. There was no chance that I could try and make Stan see that this wasn’t something that I didn’t want to do – because hell, I’d give both my kidneys for one night. I stalk to the only other exit – the one where Mitch wasn’t eavesdropping – and bark my answer at my boss. “Fine. I’ll fucking try.”

The door closes behind me with a loud slam, my cheeks hot and my heart hammering in my chest – but I don’t walk away. Instead, I lean my back against the door, smirking when I hear the other door creak open and his voice filling the area.

“You’re going to let her go alone? Seriously?” He sounds erratic, his feet stomping against the wooden floor and I hear a chair screech, just as mine did mere moments ago – Stan’s. A loud boom sounds through the house and I jump in my spot, overhearing Stan bark at Mitch.

“Her mission is none of your business, Rapp.” I cover my mouth to suppress the chuckle that wants to escape, trying my hardest to keep my presence unknown to both males. I turn my body around, pressing my front against the beaten wood and my heated cheek is immediately cooled by the cold wood, ear pressed to facilitate my eavesdropping.

A huff leaves Mitch’s lips as I hear him start to pace again. My heart is skipping beats. I had forgotten how enthralling it felt to actually undertaking action – even if it meant eavesdropping on my boss and his beloved trainee. “No one ever goes alone. You said you can’t go – but why can’t I? You have to send someone with her, right?” Oh Mitch, if you even knew.

Another groan from Hurley. “She has to do it alone. It’s a perso – She started something, and she needs to finish it. By herself.” I can’t suppress the smirk when I know Stan has made a huge mistake, something that’ll bite him in the ass. Of course, Mitch Rapp doesn’t disappoint.

“Let me go with her to make sure she doesn’t make it personal.” I’m impressed with how quickly he learned persuading, even if it meant trying on Stan and failing miserably. It’s quiet for quite some time and for a second I’m doubting if Mitch is even still in the room with Stan, but when I hear Stan sigh his words my eyes widen dramatically.

“Okay, fine Rapp.” Okay, maybe he didn’t fail miserably in persuading Stan.

Mitch doesn’t have to seem to comprehend Stan’s words when he starts rambling another argument, words spewing from his lips in a rapid manner. “I don’t have to do anything, I can just keep an eye out for her. She won’t even notice I’m there and –” Before Stan interrupts him. “Rapp!”

The pacing stops suddenly, the room turning eerily quiet. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, my fingertips digging into the wooden door, my fingers and knuckles turning white from pressure. Mitch’s voice sounds full of doubt, a hint of disbelief laced through his one word. “Sir?”

Footsteps resonate again, although this time it’s Stan – they’re less loud and aggressive. I hear him stop right outside the door where I’m hiding. He knows. His words are clear and loud, as if it were meant for someone to pick up on them – me.

“She’ll be at the Enterprise. Room 304. You can keep an eye out for her. But I’m serious about this Rapp – Let her do her thing, she knows what she’s doing. No intervening of any sorts.” I can just picture Stan pointing his finger threatingly at Mitch’s face – and Mitch sporting a deep frown that just shows how much he won’t listen.

“I can’t make any promises about that, sir.” And there it is. My body shakes from the soundless giggle raking through my body. I can picture that smirk covering his face, his lips pursed and his eyes twinkling. I feel a familiar tingle between my legs and silently curse myself from being so easily aroused by anything that man does.

Another sigh leaves Stan’s lips. The door vibrates by a body slamming into it and I know Stan has just thrown his back against the door, startling me away from it. I take a few steps back, ready to take a run for it as soon as I see the door handle move the slightest bit. “You’re better off listening to her for once, Rapp.”

Footsteps walk away from me, the sounds lessening before I hear a door open and close, indicating Mitch’s departure. A sigh leaves my lips, my hands raising to rub along my face before I’m stopped in my tracks by Stan’s voice. “Y/N. You got that, right?”

His voice is clear as day and I roll my eyes, groaning before I mutter my response. “Yes, sir.”

Taglist:  @camibirdieboo @xnathiagreyx @ssweet-empowerment@itsbilescallmebiles @daddycolorado @allthefandomwrites @lobrien  @rebeccaannex3 @fuckwhateverfuck

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The Recruit (Chapter 27) - Mitch Rapp

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “Day 104, Part II”

Characters: Mitch Rapp, Aiden Breen, Stan Hurley, Ghost & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Violence, hopefully graphic depictions of it if i did my job right.

Author’s Note: Watch Me :D (OR ME!)

Summary: Mitch goes after Hamdi Sharif, only to find himself walking into Sharif's heavily defended hotel room.

Chapter Twenty-Six - Chapter Twenty-Seven - Chapter Twenty-Eight

"He just took off after Sharif, Sir." Aiden updated Stan, coming off as a little more frantic sounding to his superior than he had hoped.

"Where is he, Y/n. I'm driving blind here." Mitch spoke through Aiden's computer speakers and your earpiece.

"CUT HIM OFF, BREEN." Stan screamed through the speaker on Aiden's computer. Aiden glanced at you, who had paused from typing on your laptop, trying to pinpoint Sharif's exact location to give Mitch directions.

"Y/n.. come on, I'm gonna lose him." Mitch begged.

"CUT HIM OFF!" Stan yelled again, done with Mitch's insubordination.

Aiden hit a short sequence of keys on his computer and suddenly Mitch's earpiece was cut off. "ARE YOU INSANE?" You screamed at Aiden, who looked guilty for his action and surprised by your rage. "Jesus fuck!" You, ripped your earpiece out, pulled your burner phone from your jacket pocket and dialed Mitch's number. You quickly reached in your bag to grab your headphones with the mouthpiece attached to talk to him handsfree. "Mitch?"

"Are you the only one that can hear me, Y/n/n?" Mitch asked, the sound of his powerful engine revving in the background.

"Yea, I'm working on getting you his location. I'm almost there. Give me twenty more seconds." You typed furiously on your computer, scanning the street cameras you were hacking into for any trace of the car. "I've got him." You pulled up the city infrastructure map. "Turn right in 700 yards."

"Is she helping him?" Stan yelled through Aiden's speakers. "Stop her! What the fuck is going on? Have you lost your mind, Y/n?"

Aiden reached for your laptop, and you reached for your loaded gun and swung it around in Aiden's direction. You pointed it down towards the floor of the car, not wanting to directly aim it at your friend and instructor. "Either you help me, or you get out of the car." You gave Aiden the ultimatum.

Aiden tilted his head to the side and moved in a way that displeased you, so you finally raised your gun up to his face, inches away from his forehead. "Y/n..." Aiden whispered, stunned by your actions.

"I made the right, Y/n/n, where do I go now?" Mitch spoke into your ear.

"Get out, Aiden. Now." Aiden did as he was told and slowly exited the car. You glanced at your computer screen and spoke to Mitch as you reached across the length of the backseat to shut the door. "Your next left, take it."

"The alley?"

"The alley." You confirmed. "I'm coming to back you up." You said, once Aiden stood a safe distance away. You hopped in the driver's seat, turned the keys in the ignition, grabbed the laptop from the back, and placed it on the passenger's seat. You peeled out of Sultanahmet Square, now completely deserted because of the shooting. You passed a flurry of police cars heading in the direction that you were driving away from, and you sped erratically towards Mitch.

"Do you still have him, Y/f/i? Where am I going once I get out of this long ass alley?"

"Yea, I have him. The alley, it's a short-cut, you're going to make your first left, then your third left, and first right and you'll be on his tail." You heard the engine revving again in the background, and you followed your own directions to catch up with him. You breathed heavily through your nose, your thoughts clouding your ability to multi-task now that it was suddenly quiet and your adrenaline began to return to a normal level. "Are you okay, Mitch?" You forgot that you were no longer on a secure line and that Aiden or Stan could easily tap your call if they wanted to.

"I'm okay, Y/f/i. I didn't get hit."

"Okay..."

"You weren't even in the same room as me and you still had me. You always got my back, Y/n/n."

You exhaled at his words, a small smile settling on your lips. "Always." You whispered.

"I see him. I'm slowing down. He doesn't know this car. I'm gonna follow him. Peel off, Y/n/n. When he settles down and stops driving, come after me. I don't want him getting suspicious of two cars following him." Mitch made a valid request.

"Okay, I'm gonna hang up so that Aiden can't track you. Call me as soon as he parks."

"I will."

"Mitch.." If you could, if the two of you had been saying it, your next words would have been 'I love you.'

"I know, Y/n/n." And Mitch did know that you loved him.

Your phone rang once, and you immediately picked up when you saw the number. You waited, silently, for him to speak first. "He parked."

"I saw."

"You still got us on your computer?" Mitch asked through the speaker.

"Yea. I've been following you for an hour. Wait for me, M. I'm coming to back you up." You said, as you started the engine of your car again.

"I don't wanna let him get away. I'm going up there, Y/f/i. I saw men with guns in the window of one of the rooms on the top floor. It has to be him."

"What are you going to do? Just waltz through the front door?" You asked facetiously, your accelerating engine making you speak loudly.

"I was thinking about the back door." Mitch said, eyeing a sliding glass door high up on the building.

"I guess I've got the front covered then."

"When you get here, tell Stan where we are, Y/f/i."

"I know. I will. Although, I'd be surprised if he doesn't already know."

"I'll see you in a little. Be careful."

"You too." You glanced down at your phone. The line was dead. You shoved it in your jacket pocket and sped off in his direction.

Mitch got out of the car, parked behind the building that Hamdi Sharif had entered no more than five minutes before. He began climbing on the hood of the car closest to the green wrought iron fence that bordered the back of the building. He carefully scaled the tall fence, skillfully avoiding the tangles of barbed wire at the top. He glanced up at the building and plotted his course; Sharif was on the seventh floor. Mitch thought back to the rock climbing he had done recently in Kentucky and how he kept thinking that he could've done all of it without ropes. He snickered silently to himself; he was about to get a chance to test that theory.

Mitch slowly and carefully scaled the side of the modern-style building, using window ledges, balconies and structural embellishments to to get higher and higher up. He made it to the seventh floor with relative ease, smirking to himself that he would get to brag to you later that the tread on the bottom of his Adidas helped to keep him from falling. 

Movement caught his eye from inside of the apartment, and Mitch spotted a woman in a loose silk bathrobe staring out of the floor-to-ceiling window that he wanted to enter through. He stood, his back against the curtain-covered glass windows, trying to remain unseen, and watched her walk away. He glanced down, staring at the distance between the ledge that he was standing on ended and where the window he was going to enter from. He devised a plan as she walked back into the apartment. He leapt from the ledge to the edge of the balcony across the way, gripping the glass railing to steady himself. He quietly popped the window open and slid through, watching her walk down the hall away from him.

He knew this wasn't his best idea. He was going in to the hotel room blind; no idea of how many men Sharif had guarding him and where any of them were. The only certainty he had was that Sharif was the kind of man that brought an army along with him everywhere he went, and that he would more than likely supply them with an armory to match.

Mitch peeked around the corner, into the room where the barely clothed woman had just walked through. He watched her close the door behind her in what he assumed was the bedroom portion of the very large suite they were in. Mitch counted five men with guns and knives, relaxing on the sofas in the living area, not being vigilant enough to catch on to his intrusion. He clocked two more, with semi-automatic weaponry strapped around their necks, resting in their hands ready to shoot, guarding the bedroom door. That was clearly where Mitch had to get into.

"SEN!" A man shouted in modern Turkish.

Mitch turned and saw a man approach him with a gun, a commotion began in the other room. Mitch was clearly not incognito any longer. The man pointed his gun at Mitch, and Mitch pretended to put his hands above his head, but quickly elbowed the man in the face and disarmed him, then using the man's own gun, Mitch shot him in the knee. The man went down and Mitch was bombarded by a throng of new combatants.

Mitch shot another and then threw the gun to the side when it jammed. He was more efficient than a shoddily made firearm anyway. He flipped the first man to come at him with a knife down to the ground and began punching him ferociously across the jaw, blood spraying across the carpet. He looked up just in time to see the butt of a handgun come across his face.

Mitch came to moments later, picking his hand up to the outside of his right browbone and feeling warm blood dribble down his fingers.

"On your knees, hands behind your head." Ghost said bluntly.

Mitch did as he was told, folded his hands neatly behind his head, and stared up at Ghost. Mitch felt that his gun had been taken from the back of his jeans, and he began running through the different scenarios he could play out to get himself out of the situation he put himself in. Ghost interrupted his internal game plan when he spoke again. 

"You were the one in the cafe. Who are you?" Mitch stared back at him, defiantly quiet. "Why are you following me? You in the CIA?" Ghost leaned down and kept his face in front of Mitch's, trying to intimidate him into answering his line of questioning. Mitch stared back, his lips pressed gently against each other, and he just blinked until Ghost grew tired of waiting. "He's not going to say anything, and it doesn't really matter who he is anyway." 

Ghost turned around and picked up the metal briefcase that he left on an end table in the living room. He began heading for the door, when one of the Turkish men, with his gun drawn towards Mitch's figure, spoke up. 

"What are we supposed to do with him?" The henchman asked. 

"Kill him." Ghost replied as he left the hotel room, with two of his men in tow. 

You pulled up and parked on the street in front of the hotel. You closed the laptop on the passenger seat and sent a text to Stan's phone with your location. You grabbed an extra magazine of ammunition from your satchel on the floor of the backseat and stuck it in your jacket pocket. You left the car unlocked and briskly walked towards the main entrance. A group of five men, clearly packing weapons from the way that they walked, clearly weighted to one side as they tried to conceal their firearms, walked in before you and got on the first of three elevators on the ground floor. The middle elevator was coming down and the third elevator finally opened its doors for you. You waited, watching where the group of men were going. The first elevator stopped on the seventh floor. They were backup to kill Mitch. 

"Shit." You sprinted into the third elevator and hit the '7' button several times until the doors closed. 

Mitch had his game plan in mind and the henchman surrounding him played right into it. The man closest, pointing the gun at the back of Mitch's head, stepped forward and pressed the barrel against the backs of Mitch's fingers. Mitch knew he had to act.

Mitch turned abruptly, clapped his hands over the the hand holding the gun behind him, startling the man and grabbing his gun from him. The other henchman scattered into action. Mitch, rose to his feet, held the handgun in his right hand and swung his left fist back and up, making contact with the bridge of the man's nose and throwing him back against the wall. 

Another man charged at Mitch from behind, and without turning hardly at all, Mitch glanced behind him, and elbowed the charging man in the face hard. He went down without a second hit. 

Mitch finally cocked the gun, arming it, and shot off rapid fire shots. The first round went into the first man's head, right between his eyes. He laid splayed across the white rug on the floor, blood slowly pooling next to his neck. The second round took out the two men next to him. Mitch turned and shot off a fourth round into the man who he had elbowed earlier, at a close range, into his forehead. The fourth man's blood sprayed across Mitch's face and shirt, and stained the white rug underneath him further, showering the room in the red liquid. 

He didn't even hear the sounds of the men groaning or screaming in agony when they were shot or dying, and it wasn't because of the loud shots coming from the barrel of his gun, Mitch was just zoned in and on a mission and he became incredibly single-minded. The rest of the world faded to black. It was just him and the task at hand.

Mitch rotated on the balls of his feet, surveying his damage. The second man he had shot, was merely wounded and writhed in agony on the carpet. Mitch stood over him and pumped two more rounds into his face and chest. The man suddenly became still. 

The action on Mitch's gun indicated that his magazine was empty. Mitch tossed the useless weapon onto one of the bodies on the floor, and counted who was around him, while wiping away at the hair that clung to the sweat on his forehead. He smeared blood on his face and counted four. Four bodies. Someone was missing from earlier.

He glanced up and saw a fit but balding older man in a black-on-black well fitted suit, holding a fully automatic assault rifle in his hands, standing between Mitch and the bedroom that held Hamdi Sharif.

You watched as the numbers slowly ascended and you grew closer to the seventh floor. The elevator made a dinging noise as it reached its intended destination and the silver doors began to open. The elevator next to yours made the same dinging sound and you figured that middle elevator had reached the first floor. You peeked your head out, your Glock readied in your hands but pointed at the white carpet beneath you, and you counted five men rounding the corner in the hall towards the suite at the end. You tip-toed behind them, surveying the hall for better cover; there was not much. The doors to the other suites were barely indented into the wall, but you would have to make do. 

You waited to confirm that the group was heading to Sharif's hotel room and when it was essentially the only door left at the end of the hall, you aimed your gun at the neck of the furthest man. For a split moment, Dan Brunski's face appeared in your mind. You hesitated, and then heard gun fire, and finally took action. Aim, exhale, pull. 

The farthest man's body hit the floor, like a heavy sack of potatoes being carelessly tossed to the ground. The sound of the man gurgling and choking on his own blood began to fill the hall. The other men scrambled and began firing back at you. You peeked out quickly, dodging heavy fire, and took down two more men. Aim, exhale, pull. Aim, exhale, pull. The first man writhed in pain on the ground, grasping his thigh and trying to keep from bleeding out, while the other man collapsed to the ground - an instant kill shot. 

You pushed your body as hard against the indented door as you could, trying to flatten yourself out in order to not get hit, and when you heard one of their clips hitch, indicating it needed to be reloaded, you peeked out into the hall. Neither man was to be found. You heard movement up ahead and suddenly saw one of the henchmen pop out from behind a decorative pillar in the wall, the other man behind him, and he began firing at you. 

One bullet grazed the side of your arm and you sunk back against the door again. You pushed your fingers against your arm, blood dripping off of your fingers as you looked down at them. You had been counting bullets. One of them was going to have to reload again in a moment if they kept up the assault that they were currently trying for. You heard the last bullet casing drop, and popped out from behind the doorframe again, regardless of the other man still firing. It was kill or be killed. You trained your gun on the one still firing and pumped two rounds into his chest. You had been hit a little more seriously in the left arm this time, but the adrenaline was coursing through your veins and you had one target left between you and Mitch. 

He frantically fumbled with reloading his semi-automatic assault rifle, but it was all in vein. You walked up to him, ducked out of the way of him trying to smash you across the face with the butt of his weapon, and you emptied three more rounds into the man's gut. He dropped to the ground with a thud. You walked back to the man who you had shot in the thigh and emptied your mag into the man's body, well after he finally stopped moving. You shoved your gun into your left hand, and reached into your right side jacket pocket, grabbing the loaded cartridge out, dropping the empty mag on the blood soaked carpet, and painfully slamming the new ammo into place in your gun. You turned and headed towards the door of Sharif's room. 

Mitch and the man in the black suit holding a Russian AK-74M black assault rifle stared at each other, both still, for a prolonged moment. They were never destined for just a staredown, however. 

The henchman in black lurched into action and aimed his firearm at Mitch, who ducked out of the way and behind the bar. Broken glass and wooden shards began flying around Mitch's head, and he covered his face with his arms. The shoddily made Soviet-era weapon jammed and the man in black attempted to unblock his firearm. Mitch took the opportunity. He climbed up onto the bar, leapt off of it, and knocked into the man. They tumbled together over one of the olive green sofas in the living room, and fell into the glass-topped coffee table, shattering it into a million tiny pieces below them. 

Mitch was so jacked with adrenaline that he didn't feel a single iota of pain. He wrapped his thighs around the man's head and neck, hyperextending his enemy's shoulder backwards and pulling at the rifle until it finally was free of his grip. Mitch lost his hold and the gun flew backwards towards the side of the couch and away from the two men. Mitch got up onto his knees, the crunching of glass under his hand and blue denim jeans echoed loudly in his ears but he didn't have time to care, as he watched as the man pulled a small silver dagger from his inside jacket pocket.

The man in black blocked one of Mitch's first attempts to disarm him, and tried to plunge the knife into Mitch's armpit. This was a move he recognized immediately. This was a worthy opponent for Mitch. This man was more than just a hired mercenary, he was a trained killer himself. Mitch had been taught by Stan how to slip a knife through a person's armpit and pop their heart like it was a carnival balloon; so when the man tried to do it to him, Mitch was also prepared with the move to stop it. 

Mitch moved towards the man in black, allowing the knife to miss and leave a shallow slice across his shoulder blade instead; a fair trade off in Mitch's eyes. Mitch moved his arm on top of his opponent's forearm, locking him against Mitch's body, and he pulled, while delivering a quick right hook to the man's jaw. The knife dropped to the ground next to Mitch's leg. 

Mitch got up and went for the gun lying on the ground, but when he turned around, the man had produced two more knives. Mitch dropped the gun to the ground again as he saw the man lunge at him, the knife coming down from above his head with strong momentum. Mitch grabbed the man's forearm with both of his hands, defending his person from being stabbed, but he got slashed on his right side, just below his ribs, with the second knife. 

Mitch managed to pry the first knife out of his fighting partner's hand, and he lunged out of the way of another stabbing attempt, instead, getting to the side of the man in black, and stabbing him in the arm. The man cried out in pain but continued the fight to the death, a fact that both of them fully understood. It was always kill or be killed in this business. The man went for one more attempt at stabbing Mitch. He tried to push the dagger deep into Mitch's throat, if successful, a move that would've made Mitch's last moments full of unbearable suffering. 

Mitch slid to the right, putting his body parallel to the knife, and he grabbed the man's arm. Mitch had the perfect grip, his left hand just above the man's wrist, and his right hand on his elbow. Mitch simultaneously pulled backwards on his wrist and pushed forward on his elbow, all while yanking at his shoulder. Mitch heard several cracks and pops and the man screamed in anguish. Mitch had, all at once, broken the man in black's elbow, dislocated his shoulder completely, and forced him down on to his knees. 

Mitch smiled when he saw the man turn, not willing to go down like that. He appreciated those who mirrored his relentless nature. The man picked up a large shard of glass from the floor next to him, blood gushing from his fleshy palm as he gripped the jagged edges, and he attempted to stab Mitch one final time. Mitch grabbed the man's hand and pushed the shard back into his opponent's chest. The man fell to the floor and began to bleed out. 

Mitch turned when he heard the front door. He lurched for the assault rifle on the floor, but stopped from firing when he saw you enter the front door to the suite, clearing the room with your gun trained up, ready to fire at a moment's notice. 

"You okay, M?" You asked as you checked the corners of the large hotel apartment, making sure that there were no living stragglers besides who was hiding in the bedroom. 

Mitch dropped the AK-74 to the ground, and approached one of the lifeless henchman, laying in a pool of his own blood. He pulled the Beretta 9mm from the man’s holster and checked the magazine, finding it completely full. Mitch looked up at you and clocked the blood dripping from your wounded left arm. "I'm okay. Are you?" He nodded to your gunshot wound, and you nodded back.

"Sharif?" As you asked about if Hamdi Sharif had been eliminated or not, the man in black, who had quietly crawled behind the couch to grab the gun that Mitch had left on the floor, had stood up behind the couch, unjammed the gun and was prepared to kill the two assassins. You saw it happening and emptied seven consecutive shots into his person, causing him to fall backwards with such force that he broke the large glass window behind him, and fell out of the apartment building and down seven stories to his final death.

Mitch glanced over at you, and smirked. You were the quickest shot he'd ever seen, and you rarely, if ever, missed. He truly owed you his life in that moment. "Sharif is about to be taken care of." Mitch finally answered your question and approached the door to the bedroom. 

You followed him, your Glock drawn to the ground, only gripped by your right hand, as your left hand was too slippery from the blood dripping down your fingers. Mitch kicked open the wooden door and saw the man who had supplied the weapon that killed Katrina cowering on the foot of his bed, unarmed and helpless. The woman in the closet startled you and you shot her, a clean entry and exit, straight through her heart. She dropped the ground, and Sharif whimpered. 

"Where's the plutonium?" You demanded to know.

"I sold it. It's gone. He took it." Sharif offered up quickly. 

You glanced at Mitch and shook your head. Mitch understood. He stepped forward, trained his gun on Sharif's forehead, waited for a half a second to savor the fear in his eyes, and then pulled the trigger twice. Sharif dropped backwards onto the bed, the life already gone from his body.

Twenty-Six <- -> Twenty-Eight

Come talk to me about HOW FUCKING DOPE THIS CHAPTER WAS. 

*not even humble about it.* (cause i predicted the bar because i am so raven)

@chivesoup @confidentrose @alexhmak @dontstopxx @iloveteenwolf24 @surpeme-bean @snek-shit @kalista-rankins @parislight @cleverassbutt @damndaphneoh @mgpizza2001 @chionophilic-nefelibata @ninja-stiles @sarcasticallystilinski @teenage-dirtbagbaby @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @alizaobrien @twsmuts @rrrennerrr @sorrynotsorrylovesome @lovelydob @iknowisoundcrazy @5secsxofamnesia @vogue-sweetie @dylrider @ivette29 @therealmrshale @twentyone-souls @sunshineystilinski @snicketyssnake @xsnak-3x @eccentricxem @inkedaztec @awkwarddly @lightbreaksthrough @maddie110201 @hattyohatt @rhyxn @amethystmerm4id @completebandgeek @red-wine-mendes @katieevans371 @girlwiththerubyslippers @susybird @theneverendingracetrack @sumcp @snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales @runs-with-sciss0rs @ssweet-empowerment @ellie-bee242 @hirafth @dailyburritos @mieczzyslaw @im-very-odd33 @anonimereader06 @itsamberh @sp00der-m00n @lolaversuslipstick @imagunative @stilinski-lover-24 @xmadwonderland @shannonwardski @nocturnalzeal

[bxcketbarnes]

You’re Mine, Got It?

Pairing: Mitch x Reader

Author: @ninja-stiles

Words: 4723

Author’s Note: I found a prompt and this is what came out of it! Thanks to @mf-despair-queen for proofreading this for me :) Enjoy babes!

*Flashback*

 My boyfriend, Dylan, and I were heading to our one year anniversary when it all went down. Someone had run into us, making Dylan and I smash against the dashboard, his head smacking against the steering wheel. I groan in pain, hearing Dylan’s voice, but it’s like I was in a fishbowl, the accident making my ears ring.

“Baby? You okay?” He asks, pushing my hair away from the wound, touching it lightly, making me wince in the process. I nod my head, looking over at him, seeing a gash on his forehead. I see a silhouette behind him and I stiffen.

“D-Dylan, b-behind you.” I stutter, getting lightheaded. Dylan looked out the smashed window, squinting slightly to see the man in the smoke. My eyes drooped, my head laying against the dashboard, going in and out of consciousness. When my eyes were shut, a heard a gunshot go off, making me jump slightly, but stay still. I heard tires squeal, indicating the person drove off and I opened my eyes, seeing Dylan laying against the steering wheel, not moving. I tear up, reaching my hand towards him, shaking him slightly.

“Dy-Dylan? Baby?” I ask, slowly moving towards the drivers side door, gasping when I find a bullet hole burned between his eyes. I begin screaming and crying, trying my best to open the passenger’s side door, but not succeeding. I reach into my pocket, finding my phone and start to dial 911. I hold the phone up to my ear as it rings, taking huge breaths to keep myself conscious.

“911 what’s your emergency?” Dispatch asks me.

“Uh, m-me and my boyfriend were in an accident a-and a-a guy, h-he came out of the smoke and shot my boyfriend. I need help, I’m trapped in the car and I can smell gas, please…” I mumble, pressing my hand against my forehead.

“Alright, ma’am. Where’s your location?”

“Um, Fourth and Broad.” I recite, looking at the street sign that’s positioned to my right.

“Alright an ambulance will be there shortly. Try to keep your eyes open, alright ma’am?” I nod my head then remember that the woman on dispatch couldn’t see me.

“Y-Yes.”

*Flashback over*

I shiver at the memory. The worst day of my life, the day I lost my best friend and boyfriend of one year. Since then, I’ve been going to the gym, looking for a trainer to make me stronger, in case I deal with this type of situation again in the future. I begin to punch the pads on my trainer’s hands, getting all of my anger out from that day.

“C’mon Y/N, punch harder. Put all of your strength into the hit.” He demands, making me start to punch the pads harder, taking short breaths. My eyesight turns red, getting furious at the guy who took Dylan’s life, punching the pads with all my might, one of my wrists missing the pad hitting my trainer in the stomach. He groans while bending over, clearly in pain.

“Oh my god, Daniel. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I ask, kneeling next to him, taking the gloves off my hands.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine. I see you finally channeled your anger.” He chuckles before wincing. I chuckle as well, hiding my face before moving my hair out of the way.

“I guess I did. I’m just, so appalled that someone would do that, to people they don’t even know.” I whisper, rubbing my eyes, trying not to cry in the middle of the gym.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure the police are still looking for the guy. Since you’ve been gaining these new skills and have a hatred to people who do wrong, have you ever thought about trying out for the CIA or something?”

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t know if I really have the guts to shoot somebody,” I tell Daniel, helping him up off the ground.

“Well, you should definitely think it over, alright?” He asks as we walk out of the building. I give him a nod, waving goodbye, heading towards my car. Once I’m inside, I begin to think about what Daniel said about joining the CIA. I furrow my eyebrows as I’m in deep concentration, thinking if it’s a good idea or not. It would be a good idea, for the reason of that guy not being caught, being able to get justice for Dyl, but the downside is that I could be killed myself. I sigh, starting my car, heading home.

 Next Day…

 I walked into town, going to the farmer’s market when a tan-skinned woman approaches me. I look at her with a skeptical look, placing the bag of apples in my bag.

“Um, can I help you?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows together.

“Yes, you can actually. I talked with one of your friends, Daniel. He told me that you’ve been training for almost a year and asked me to consider you for our kind of work.” She informs me, looking around at the people. “Do you mind if we can speak more privately?”

“S-Sure.” I comply, following her a coffee shop that doesn’t have that many people in. We take a seat in the back of the building, near the corner. “So, first thing’s first, what’s your name?”

“Irene Kennedy, and you are?” She asks, clasping her hands together.

“Y/N, Y/N L/N.” I tell her, picking at my fingers.

“Can you tell me what happened that day?” She asks, giving me a sympathetic smile.

“I-I can, yeah. So, me and my boyfriend of one year, Dylan, were going out for an anniversary dinner when we were t-boned by another car. Both of us had smacked our heads against the car and I remember him asking me if I was okay, which I nodded to. Soon after that, a man came out from the smoke and at the time, I didn’t see him holding a gun. I was in and out of consciousness. Then, all of the sudden, a gunshot went off and I don’t know if it was the car that had hit us or a different one, but they sped off. When I looked at Dylan, he had a bullet hole between his eyes.” I explain, tears pooling a little, wiping them quickly, not wanting to seem weak. She gives me a small smile, squeezing my hand lightly.

“Do you want to avenge his death?” She asked me while leaning forward slightly. I nod my head in agreement and she told me she’d drive to my apartment so I can pack some clothes, then she said she’d take me to some facility. I was going to question her, but she cut me off telling me to trust her.

I place my packed bag in the backseat, taking my place in the passenger seat as she takes off to this facility. It’s a silent ride to the place she’s bringing me to, except for the soft sound of the radio playing in the background.

“So, what kind of company is this?” I ask, curious because she hasn’t mentioned anything about who or what she works for.

“We’re basically assassins or hitmen. Or, in your case, a hitwoman. We take out terrorists that harm the world and I think you’d be a good fit.” She tells me, looking at me for a second before looking back at the road. I nod my head in surprise, not knowing that hitmen still exist.

“Do I have to do some sort of test to be eligible or?” I ask her, getting curious.

“Not exactly, we just have a bootcamp, it might be different for you since you’ll be the only girl, but you might be just as strong as the other guys there.” I nod at what she says, looking back at the road, seeing trees everywhere before a white house comes into view. Oh it’s beautiful. We pull up to the house, seeing a intimidating man walking out of the house, an unreadable expression etched on his face.

“Should I be afraid or?” I ask before we get out and she just shrugs. My lips part, not exactly answering the question and I get out of the SUV. I walk up with Irene, standing in front of a six foot tall bald man, who is currently wearing bitch face. My hands begin shaking a little as the man looks over me, his facial expression staying the same the entire time.

“Who the hell is this, Kennedy?” The man asks, anger laced in his voice.

“This is your new recruit.” She tells him.

“What do you mean? I thought Rapp was the last one you were going to bring in.” He crosses his arms and Irene sighs.

“I thought he was too, but I was contacted by her trainer, saying that she was training to fight and was learning real quick. Plus, she told me that she wanted to help stop the bad guys. I think she’ll be perfect under your supervision. You’re the best guy I know, Hurley.” Hurley sighs loudly, looking back at me before nodding his head.

“Fine. What’s your name?” Hurley asked.

“Y/N, sir.” I reply, politely.

“Alright, Y/N. Nobody in bootcamp knows their real names so, you need to come up with a fake name. Rule number one, tell no one about yourself, like where you’re from, shit like that. That’s a major rule around here. You can and will be kicked out if me or the other trainers find out you exposed yourself. Head to the barracks in the back. It’s a big wooden building, can’t miss it. I’ll meet you in there after getting your file from Kennedy here.” I nod in response, grabbing my bag, walking towards the building. I hear chatter and fighting when walking up to the door. Once inside, I find two guys fighting on the mat. The door closes loudly and everyone in the room stares at me. I feel a little intimidated at first before I make my way over towards and empty bunk. I place my bag on the bed, closing my eyes before taking a deep breath. You got this Y/N. I turn around to go back towards where the guys are, only to bump into someone.

“O-Oh god, I’m so sorry.” I apologize, my hands resting against a broad chest. I look up seeing that I had ran into a really attractive man. Holy fuck this man’s attractive. I blink a few times, taking in his features. Semi-long chestnut hair, whiskey colored eyes, pink lips that look delicious.

“It’s alright. So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” He asks me, a small grin on his lips.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You have no idea what I’m capable of and for all I know, I could totally kick your ass.” I smirk, crossing my arms and he looks at me surprised.

“Well, maybe we should find out then.” He chuckles, placing his hands on his hips. “What’s your name?” You need to come up with a fake name, Hurley’s voice ringing in my thoughts.

“Evie. What about you?” I ask, giving him a small smile.

“John. What do you say, first one to tap out wins?” John asks, moving his arm towards the mat, all the guys conversed in small talk.

“You’re on.” I walk over to the mat, taking my shoes and socks off. I slip my shirt off, exposing my galaxy colored sports bra. John strips his shirt off, exposing that beautifully sculpted body of his. I bite my lip slightly, silently checking him out while getting into a fighting stance. He comes at me first as I swiftly dodge him, standing behind him. While he’s still faced the other way, I trip his ankle, making him fall to the mat. I heard the other guys cheered me on, smiling to myself. I didn’t see John’s foot swoop under my feet, making me fall on top of him. I groan quietly, my hands on either side of his face. I blush, noticing that our faces are barely inches from each other.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” Hurley’s voice yelled out and I scramble off of John, standing up straight.

“N-Nothing, sir. John challenged me to a fight and I took it.” I confess, John nodding as well once he manages to stand up.

“And? Who won?” Hurley demands, looking between John and I.

“Well technically no-” John begins but I cut him off.

“I downed him first, sir. That is until the other men distracted me, making John take out my legs from beneath me.” John looks over at me before nodding his head in agreement. Hurley looks over at John in surprise.

“You’re one of my best fighters, John and you’re telling me that you got downed by a woman?” Hurley asks, giving one of his intimidated stares. I look over at John, seeing him nod his head in agreement.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I want you to help her improve her skills. She may have some, but they need to be highlighted, to the max. Now, what’s your name girl?” Hurley asks, giving me a knowing look, implying that I came up with a fake name by now.

“Evie, sir.” I respond, placing my hands on my hips.

“Evie, have you ever shot a gun before?” He asked and my face went white. Aw crap.

“I-I have not, sir.” I gulp, moving my hands in front of me, clasping them together.

“John, take her out to the range.” Hurley commands and John nods his head, putting his boots on. I walk over to my bunk, finding a pair of boots laid next to my bed, thinking someone must have put them there while I was fighting John. I lace up my boots, following John outside, walking towards the range.

“You know, you’re actually a pretty good fighter. How long have you known to fight?” He asked, walking side by side on the dirt path.

“Um, about a year.” I respond, truthfully.

“A year? Seriously? Wow, you must be a fast learner.” I nod, seeing the range in the distance, my hands becoming sweaty.

“Are you good with guns?” I ask, looking over at him.

“Yeah, really good. Probably one of the best people to train a newbie.” He gives me a lopsided grin, making my heart flutter. I nod, letting out a breath as we walk up to the gun port. I gulp, seeing all the different types of guns. Oh god. I’m so screwed.

“Alright, we’ll start with the pistol.” John grabs a loaded pistol, handing it to me. I slowly take it, immediately placing my finger on the trigger.

“Woah, woah. Could you take your finger off the trigger? It only takes one stumble for you to accidentally shoot yourself in the leg.” John mentions, putting his hands up slightly.

“S-Sorry.” I mumble, removing my finger from the trigger, giving John an apologetic smile. John chuckles, guiding me to the shooting range area. He stands behind me, placing his hands over mine, explaining how to hold the gun.

“Is this okay?” He asks, nodding his head towards our hands. I give him a small nod and a smile, John smiles as well, licking his lips slightly. “All right? Ready?” He asks and I give him a nod, feeling like I got it locked down. He releases the targets and I begin shooting at them, not exactly hitting them. Once all the targets are gone, I look back at John, giving him a defeated expression.

“Okay, so you weren’t wrong when you mentioned that you’ve never fired a gun.” I groan in response, placing the gun on the table.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’ll teach you everything I know.” He tells me and I nod.

“Tell me something first. I know we’re not supposed to, but you intrigue me.” I tell him and he ushers me to continue. “What’s your real name?” I ask, leaning against the counter. John licks his lips again, looking around, making sure no one’s around.

“Mitch, Mitch Rapp.” He says and something clicks in my mind. Rapp. “What’s yours?”

“Y/N, Y/N L/N.” I smile, which he returns.

“Alright, back to training.” Mitch chuckles, picking up the pistol, giving it back to me.

 2 Years Later…

I take cover behind a wall, reloading my gun as Mitch does the same next to me. I wince slightly, looking at my shoulder, seeing a bullet wound.

“Oh, fuck.” I mumble quietly, ducking past the door into the bathroom, raiding the cabinet of peroxide and gauze. Mitch ran into the bathroom, putting his gun away in his pants.

“They’re gone. Are you okay?” He asks, pressing his fingers against the wound, making me groan in pain.

“Ow. What the fuck, Mitch?” I yell, giving him a small glare.

“Sorry, I had to find out if it’s still in there.” He mentions, looking at the back of my shoulder, finding the exit wound. “Luckily it was a through and through.” I find some gauze and medical tape, handing them to Mitch. Our fingers brush as I hand him the supplies, my cheeks heating up slightly, reminding me of the first time he taught me how to shoot a gun. Mitch smiles softly at me, taking the supplies into his hand, patching up my shoulder.

“Thank you, Mitch.” I tell him, pressing my lips to his cheek. I pull away, seeing his cheeks dusted pink as I walk towards the front door, Mitch following.

“Alright, we need to get back to the hotel. Get some sleep and do some more intel about these guys.” Mitch informs me, placing his large hand on the small of my back as we walk down the street, looking around us, just in case. As we go around a corner, we’re met with a guy who looks to be in his forties, similar to the guys we were fighting before. We both take a step back, not knowing what this man is capable of and before we can even blink, the guy punches me in the face, knocking me out.

As I regain consciousness, I find Mitch next to me, a stab wound on his side. I rush to his side, slapping his cheeks lightly, trying to get him to wake up.

“C’mon, Mitch. C’mon, please.” I beg, tears sliding down my cheeks, my fingers shakingly moving to his neck, checking for a pulse. I sigh in relief, finding his pulse, laying my head against my chest. I heard him groan, quickly getting off of him, applying pressure to his wound. His eyes flutter open, giving me a small smile.

“I-I’m fine.” He stutters, trying to sit up. I chuckle, sniffling silently, helping him up.

“Mitch, you were stabbed.” I tell him, moving his shirt up, inspecting it closely. He removes my hands from his torso, intertwining our fingers and I look up at him, his smile fading once he see’s my face.

“What? Is there something on my face?” I ask, letting go of his hands and when I touched my face, I wince slightly.

“You’ve got a bruised cheek.” Mitch whispers, softly running his fingers across the large bruise. Mitch wraps an arm around my lower back, slowly walking into our hotel, heading upstairs to our room. Once inside, I bring Mitch into the bathroom, once again rummaging through the cupboards trying to find a first aid kit. I find it and search through it finding a needle and thread, my eyebrows furrowing into confusion. Needle and thread in a first aid kit? Huh. I stand in front of Mitch, who’s currently watching me.

“Take your shirt off.” I tell him, knotting the thread in the needle, getting out the peroxide.

“Wow, already? You could at least take me to dinner first.” He mutters, giving me a smirk and I give him a playful glare before giggling. He slips off his shirt, his body looking just as good as when I first saw it. I bite my lip as I place some peroxide on a cloth, pressing it to his wound. He winces slightly, placing a hand on my hip.

“Jesus, Y/N. A little warning next time.” He tells me, gripping my hip harder as I dab the dried blood.

“You’re an assassin. You can kill people perfectly, but can’t take a little stinging? I mean, you were just stabbed.” I say sarcastically, throwing the cloth away, piercing his skin with the needle, stitching his wound. I tie it off, throwing the needle away before placing gauze over it so they don’t rip.

“You honestly scared the shit out of me, Mitch.” I whisper, my eyes glued to the gauze I put on him.

“Why’s that?” He asks, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear and I look up at him.

“W-When I was trying to wake you up, y-you wouldn’t wake up, so I thought I lost you and I-I don’t want to lose another best friend.” I mutter, placing my hand on his bicep. His arms wrap around my thighs, lifting me up, bringing us to our room.

“You lost someone?” He quietly asks, while carrying me. I nod my head, placing my hands on his shoulder, rubbing them slightly.

“It’s a reason why I became an assassin,” I tell him and he drops me onto the bed, standing between my legs. He nods his head, our eyes connecting and his fingers softly rub my cheekbone before leaning down, placing his forehead against mine. My eyes flutter close, feeling my heartbeat quicken.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Mitch whispers against my lips and I nod my head, feeling his lips brush against mine ever so slightly. He presses his lips against mine, pushing me back onto the bed, hovering over me. Goosebumps appear all over my body, feeling his hand roughly squeeze my hip. His lips move down my jaw, onto my neck, trailing towards my ear.

“M-Mitch.” I moan, my hand gripping his hair. He leaves wet kisses down towards my shoulder, leading to my collarbone. I push him off of me, lifting my shirt off and unclipping my bra, revealing my breasts. Mitch’s eyes widen, biting his lip leaning down, pressing small kisses to each breast. I move my hand towards his length, but his hand stops me.

“This is all about you, baby girl.” He mutters, lightly biting my nipple, making me moan out. His lips leave my breasts, whimpering, needing more from him as he kisses down my stomach, stopping at the beginning of my jeans. Mitch unbuttons my jeans, pulling them down my legs, showing my lace thong. He groans at the sight, throwing my jeans to the side before spreading my legs open. I gasp, bucking my hips when I feel his finger pressed against my clit through my panties.

“How wet are you for me, baby?” Mitch whispers, seductively, rubbing harder against my clit, making me gyrate my hips. He moves my panties to the side, leaving me to shiver once I feel his rough tongue sliding through my folds, brushing my clit. I moaned out, leaning my head back, gripping the duvet. I look back down at Mitch, watching him nuzzle his nose against my nub, the tip of his tongue poking through my entrance. My lips part, a pleasured sound escaping it, squirming my hips against his face, his hands gripping my hips to keep me still.

“M-Mitch, baby. Fucking hell, don’t stop.” I moan as he began to lick harder, his tongue dipping into my pussy. I begin to moan louder, pleasure rippling through my body. His tongue moves up through my folds, lapping at my clit, swirling around it, before sucking it into his mouth. I arch my back, gasping as he begins to fuck my cunt with his tongue, his lips sucking on my labia while his nose digs into my clit. My pussy grew tighter as his tongue dives into me, driving me wild. I buck my hips up, screaming out as I begin to cum, making me shudder and writhe against his mouth. He lifts his lips off of my pussy, standing up as I pant heavily. I get onto my knees in front of him, unbuttoning his jeans, pulling them down along with his boxers, seeing his hung cock. I lick my lips, stroking it slowly, about to lick his shaft when he stops me.

“I want to fuck you so hard first. Then, I want to finish in your mouth.” He moans and I nod my head, getting back onto the bed. I get on my hands and knees, leaning on my elbows while looking back at Mitch as he presses his length against the entrance of my pussy. I moan slightly, moving my hips back, wanting him inside me.

“Beg for it, baby.” Mitch smirked, running his cock head through my folds. “Beg for me to fuck your pussy.”

“P-Please, Mitch. Please fuck my pussy.” I moan, shuddering slightly, feeling him press into me before pulling out. Mitch thrusts into me as my eyes widened, a moan escaping my lips as his thick cock slams into me from behind. My hips bucked against his cock as my pussy walls tighten around him, my breasts rocking back and forth as he rams into me over and over again, small moans leaving his lips, one of his hands sliding up my back, gripping my hair. His dick rubs against my sweet spot making me shudder, moving my hips back against him harder, his hips slapping against my ass.

“You’re mine baby, got it?” He moans into my ear, slamming into me more roughly, slapping his hand against my ass cheek. “Say it.” He slaps my ass again, letting out a groan, shoving his cock deeper into my depths.

“I-I’m yours!” I scream out, leaning my head against the mattress, his hands pressed against my ass cheeks. “F-Fuck, Mitch, I’m cumming!” I gasp, ripples of bliss flowed through my pussy as ecstasy rips through me, my walls clenching on his length as he continues to pound my hole.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Mitch grunts, slamming into me one more time before pulling out as I get onto my knees in front of him. I take him into my mouth, bobbing my head on his dick as his hands run through my hair, pulling it back. I grab onto his balls, massaging them as he begins to thrust slowly into my mouth. Mitch grunts, his seed spilling out of his tip and down my throat. I milk his cock until he stops cumming, looking up at him through my lashes, giving him a cheeky wink. I take my head off his cock, licking my lips of any cum that leaked out. Mitch helps me off the floor, placing his hands on my lower back, pressing our foreheads together.

“I want you to know something before you start thinking of something absurd. I did this, because I really, really like you. I might even love you. You've captivated me ever since that day we first met at boot camp. All those times where you almost died, I freaked out, doing everything I possibly can to save your life. I-I love you and I would totally spend the rest of my life with you, Y/N.” Mitch confesses, tears pooling in my eyes, a smile appears on my lips.

“M-Mitch, I-I’ve always wanted to hear you say that. I feel the same way, about everything you said, literally. I-I can't lose you, I’d go crazy. I love you, too.” I whisper the last part as Mitch grins, leaning down pressing his lips against mine.

“Will you do the honor of being my lady assassin?” He asks and I chuckle, nodding my head yes.

“Of course, especially after that amazing fuck you just gave me.” I chuckle, biting my lip as Mitch laughs loudly, shaking his head.

“If it was so amazing, why don't we do it again? I have to shower. Feel free to join me.” Mitch winks, walking into the bathroom as I follow him, closing the door behind me.

 I'm finally happy again…

[whytheracecardisplayed]

LET'S ROB THOSE WHITE BOYS!

True story.

Me, my nigga Hurley, my dawg Delricus and this nigga nu nu. We all in the car passin around a 5th of KT (Kentucky Tavern). We not drunk but we buzzin. A 5th gets alot smaller when four people are on it.

We talking and bullshitin like we usually do. In the front seats, Hurley driven. Sucking on his thumb while he talking like he always does. Ricus talkin bout some bitch he smashed like he always does. And in the back seat, Nu nu holdin on to the bottle too long like he always does. And me, I'm tellin him to pass that shut like I usually do.

We aint goin nowhere particular. We just ridin. The car we in is owned by the bitch im fuckn wit. Me and my niggas stay in some bitch car. We out of the city part of town. Now we out here in the country part. Corn, tabacostalks, and fields. Then this nigga nu nu was like 'Lets get some weed'. 'We ain got no money'. Hurley says. 'Man we gotta get some weed somehow nigga, I'm feenin back here'.

We ride around for a while. We stop at the light. Some white boys in a black truck pulled up beside us. Nu nu rolls his window down and asked them do they got some bud. The white boy was like yeah and told us to pull over with them to a graveled field.

While we were pullin over, Hurley was like 'How you gon get weed an you ain got no money'? Then nu nu says, 'Man, I'ma rob these white boys'. Ricus was like, 'Wit what? you aint got shit on you'. then nu nu was like 'Man, I'ma just snatch the shit out his hand when the show it to me'.

I said. Man, thats some stupid shit. Nu nu was like, 'Na it ain't. they just white boys. WTF they gonna do'?

So we pull off the road and on to the graveled field. Nu nu and Hurley get out the car. Me and Delricus both is like, 'I ain't wit that shit.' So we stay in the whip.

After a couple minutes. Hurley waves to me and Ricus to get out of the car. We reluctantly do so. Then walk over to the black truck. Nu nu and the other white boy was off the to side. Talkin about whatever. Hurley had cooked up some scheme and was usin me and Ricus to back up his lie. When he finished we just nodded our heads and said yes.

That's when I noticed the white boy in the truck was gripping the most beautiful black nine with a shiny chrome chamber. I also notice the white boy sittin in the trunk has a mean look on his face.

I couldn't take my eyes off the piece. It was perfect for me and I wanted it. You ever think about sellin that? I ask him. Without even lookin at me he just shook his head no. I don't remember what all Hurley said to this guy. But whatever it was, made him upset and grip his gun really tight. I'm thinkin if I grab the gun, Ricus will help me pry his hands up off it. All of a sudden I hear nu nu and the white boy both raise their voices.

That shifted my attention away from taking the gun and made me lose my nerve. Their growing tempered also reminded me of how stupid this was and that I wasnt wit it. On cue, me and Ricus head back to the car. Leaving Hurley and nu nu to do whatever it is they're doin.

We sit in the car for a couple minutes when nu nu hops in the back seat. Yo wassup? I ask him. 'Nothing. I'm good'. He says. Ricus turns around and ask him did he get the bud. But nu nu didn't have time to answer. The whiteboy was arguing with starts knocking on the window on nu nu's side. Yelling at him to get out of the car. Behind him I can see Hurley talking with his hand like he was explaining himself.

Nu nu doesn't move or speak. He just sitting here leoking forward try his best to ignore the white boy. Questions to nu nu about WTF was going on went unanswered. Then, the white boy says something like, 'Ok you wanna fuck with me'? Or 'Ok that's how you want it.' or something like that and he walks away. Me and Ricus decide to get out of the car to find out what's going on. And to get Hurley's dumb ass back in the car so we can get the hell out of here.

We hop out and make our way to Hurley. We only walk a free feet when the white boy that nu nu was arguing with, comes from behind the truck holding a big, black, shotgun. I don't know what his beef was with me and Ricus but he points the thing straight at us.

The round hole at the end of the barrel where the bullet comes out, is the size of a black sun. I have never had a rifle pointed at me before. A rush of terror jumped into my body. Ricus through up his hands. I start walking sideways in order to get out of the way of the gun.

'Tell your boy to get out of the car and give me my shit!' He screams. Ricus was like. 'Man. IDK what you talkin about. I didn't do shit!' he says this while stepping to the side as well. The white boy shifts his aim back and forth from Ricus to I. Hurley starts pleading his case attempting to calm the white boy down and promising to get his shit back.

He walks over to the car, and starts yelling at nu nu to get out. But nu nu doesn't budge. And when Hurley tries to open his side of the door it was locked. He had to open the front door in order to talk to him.

Around this time, the white boy with that beautiful nine got out of his truck. He's standing in front of his driver side window. Gun to his side just staring at us. The other white boy's walking and forth from his friend to our car. He's talking to us, his fiend and to himself. Saying things like 'Fuck that! All I want is my shit back.' And 'Y'all mother fuckers got us confused.'

I was waiting for him to call us the N-word, but he never did.

Finally, Hurley walks over to him and hands him what nu nu had taken. The white boy lowers his weapon and preaches to Hurley about respect and peoples property. He allows us all to get back in our car and leave.

A couple years later, I got locked up for some BS. While in the 'drunk tank' I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the white boy (the one with the shotty) sitting there. Watching tv. I walk up to him. I think about punching him. Or shmackin him. Or embarrassing him somehow. He's not a big guy. And I know I can take him. But I thunk on it some more. And in my head was like, na man. He didnt do nothin wrong. He stood up for his and held it down. A level of respect replaced any plans to harm him.

I say. Hi, remember me. He takes one glance at me. Then looks back at the television an says, 'Yeah, I remember you. How's your boy'? I guessed he was referring to nu nu. When I didn't reply he looks over at me and smiles. I return one. Then we go over what happened that day. I remember him saying 'Me and my boy were high as shit off X that day. I'm tweekn heavy. And I was like. Man. I'ma let these mother fuckers take my shit? Na...Na.'

'Lets rob those white boys' -by jonathan deez nut riley

[obrienpascal]

Our Deal

Author: dylanobriens-world

Summary: Mitch Rapp is assigned a partner by Stan Hurley. Her name is Nastasia Aleski. The two of them go through some highs and lows and eventually Mitch finds out some bad news about Nastasia and can no longer trust her. But things start to backfire that can lead them both dead.

Author's note: Hey! So I wrote this on AO3 so I will continue this story on there but I wanted to post the first chapter here:) hope you enjoy!!

AO3 link: is above^^

-----

I knew I had to wake up to go to the bar to meet my new partner my mentor Stan Hurley said I was going to have. He did not mention if it were man or a woman. Although, by the way he looked I can tell he knew who the person was just wanted me to find out myself. I lifted myself out of bed cracking my bones. The dark clouds made it seem it was four in the morning even though it was seventy o'clock at night. It was raining all day meaning I stood asleep till it was time to meet this John doe.

Whoever this person I was going to meet better like drinking at seven at night. It made me think if I should just follow my own path or let them lead the way. Yeah right, if anything they better follow my ass or their out of a job. I don't give a fuck what Kennedy or Hurley says to me. It wasn't hard for me to read people, I take one look at them and I know their intentions immediately. Are they hiding something? Did they hire someone to come with them to make sure I'm not going to kill them or such? It was a gift I had, Hurley helped with it at most but more of me.

Putting on a black shirt with my leather jacket, throwing on a pair of jeans I snatched from my floor and slipping on pair of Adidas shoes, I looked in the mirror realizing I need to shave. I could care less right now. My intentions were to go meet this new partner of mine. I grabbed my wallet and Marbelo cigarettes as well as my cell phone stuffing it in my pocket.

I undid the chains on my apartment front door. I trust no one which is why I put all these chains on my door. I walked out putting my key to lock my door then heading outside. The breeze flowed through my thick dark hair giving my the chills as I stepped into my car.

"Fucking weather," I hissed under my breath starting the engine. My gray Sedan took off to the bar Hurley said my "partner" would be located at. If they recognize me I'll be astonished they wouldn't make a run for it. I've killed many people. Most of them sleep with one eye open because they know I'm coming for them. It's smart, but doesn't stop me from killing them once I lay my eye on the prey.

My sedan came to stop parking in the bars lot. It was packed with vehicles and motorcycles. This better be one hell of a night. I sighed under my nose slipping my hands in my pockets walking into the bar. Immediately chatter fills my ears. Men rambling about the football game. Bar tenders walking around trying to sell drinks, and woman trying to seduce men and drag them to the bathrooms.

Not one of these people looked like a fit to be working with me. Let along able to hold a conversation with half of the drunkies here. I walked over to the bar and sat down on the stool. The man was on the other side taking an order while I sat at the corner with my back to the wall. It was what I always did anyone could sneak up on me. I always needed to be able to look over my shoulder. I fetched out a cigarette lighting it blowing out smoke to my left. Seconds later the man comes over to me.

"What will it be?" He asked cleaning a shot glass with a rag.

I put my cigarette between my index finger and my middle finger. "Just a beer." My tone louder than his over the loud music. They couldn't play better music? Couldn't even hear the game over the beats and the loud hollering from the crazed Giants fans. As my eyes were wandering about they stopped on a woman sitting alone in the corner her back to the wall.

Her long brown hair pushed to the right while she brought her cigarette to her red lips. Her breasts practically were screaming to get out of that tight red dress she was wearing revealing sexy toned legs. She uncrossed her legs when her eyes met mine. The mysterious woman tapped the end of her cigarette letting the ashes fall to the ground as she looked back at me with a flirtatious smirk.

I tried to look away but I couldn't. My eyes were glued to the beautiful woman just a couple of seats away from me. All of a sudden she stood from her chair walking over to me. As she sat down next to me she sat tall with good posture waving for the bar tender to head over. When he came over he tried hard not to stare at her tits. She didn't seem to mind though when he kept sneaking a peak.

Finally, he went to go make her drink then she rested her elbows in the counter bringing her hands together turning her head to me.

"Hurley said you never arrive early." She said to me with a honest tone looking at me with concentrated eyes. I did my best to hide my surprisement in my eyes. How did I not see she was my partner? It all ran so clear. This woman sat in a corner her back to the wall just as me. Along with that, she minded he'd own business letting all this ruckus smooth past us.

"Hurley can mind his fucking business." I snarl taking a sip from my beer. The nameless woman looks away letting out a giggle as the man comes back with her drink.

"Thank you, dear." She says taking it in her hands giving him a wink. The man blushes hard before walking off to another customer. I guess she had her ways to get out of paying for her drinks. Smart girl.

"Would you give me your name or it's a secret?" I ask waving my cigarette around as I spoke.

Her eyes batted as she turned to me sipping her liquor through a thin straw. As she let out a sigh of relief as she was satisfied with her drink of choice she moved her body more to me meaning she doesn't want anyone else to here what she's about to say.

"I am Nastasia Aleski" she smiled through her teeths holding out her small hand for me to shake. I took it in mine giving it a firm shake as I tried to study her face to find a any hint she was lying. I couldn't find any hint of her not telling me the truth or she was just good at hiding it. "I know who you are," she pauses leaning closely, "Mitch Rapp." She whispered that sending shivers down my spine. Nastasia moved away bringing her straw back to her lips.

"I bet you know I've killed people." I say in a low tone but loud enough for her to hear. Nastasia gives a small nod.

"So have I and every other insane person in this world. Your no different. Stan was very clear on who I was going to be dealing with. A sad man who lost his wife and hasn't been himself since." Why would he tell this woman all my deep personal shit if I haven't met her till today. The next time I see him he better hope I don't beat the living shit out of him. "But don't worry I too lost someone close to me. It's not a pleasant feeling."

"Who was it? A husband?" I guessed bringing my cigarette to my lips.

Nastasia shakes her head putting her drink down stirring it in circles with her straw. "My father just when I was a little girl. I was close to him more than my drug addict mother who left us when I was ten. Haven't seen her since and never want to see her again. I do miss my father dearly, sometimes I think he's in my dreams with me." She states looking in the different drink choices on the shelves in front of us. It was hard to read this girl she had years of practice to never let a stranger or anyone be able to read her.

"I'm sorry for your lost."

"I don't need your pity. Now, let's just get to business. Hurley told me to meet at Irene Kennedy's office with you by the morning. Kennedy also knows you won't make it there in time so she suggested I spend the night with you to make sure you get there in time because this meeting is very important." She stated shitfting in her seat to face me. Was she joking? We'd only just met also why isn't Irene telling me any of this? I knew the reason, it would have stopped me to meet up with the woman. It was hard enough to be read her now she has to be with me in my apartment.

"Mitch?" She called out grabbing my full attention.

"Right, sorry. All right, sure let's go now." I tell her stepping out of the stool. I held out my hand for her to get down on her high heels and she took it giving it a squeeze. Nastasia smiled hard releasing her hand out of my grasp waiting for me to lead the way. I walked out of the bar holding the door open for her and she thanked me walking tall outside. It was raining once again as it was darker than before when I just arrived here. The long brown haired woman started to shake at the cold temperature. Standing just outside the driver's seat I walked took off my jacket handing it to Nastasia.

"Thank you, Mitch." She greeted as I unlocked the car and she climbed in the passenger seat. Who knew my night would end in bringing home a woman who is my partner for however long Hurley keeps her in my life.

I drove away from the bar turning on my wipers wiping the rain drops away. She was still shivering so I moved my hand to turn the heat up. The rain was getting heavy by the minute which didn't help how cold my car was. The red light turned green and I drove up the road. Next I turned right and drove up to my parking space.

"This is me." I point to my apartment building. I took the keys out the ignition opening my door. "Well, I hope you can run in heels doll face." I smirk at her before leaping out of the car. I jogged to my front door looking for my key. Seconds later I heard heels clacking against the concrete then hopping up my stairs. I found my key opening the door rushing in as did Nastasia. She throws my jacket to the ground running her hand through her wet hair.

"Boy, was it raining hard. I have to get out of this dress." She says staring down at her wet body.

"The shower is down hall to the right. And I suppose your not going to wear that dress again so I'll just leave my clothes in the spare bedroom." I tell her taking my shoes off to leave them on the mat by my front door.

"Thank you, Mitch." She says once again leaving her heels on the mat then walking down the hall to the shower. I let out a exhausted sigh then walk to my bedroom tearing off my clothes. I didn't mind not showering till she was done. For now I put on a new pair of boxers and turn on the TV. Light flashed in my room from the lighting that just started. Right after the lighting it thundered loudly.

I was surprised she wasn't alarmed by that. Well, thunder storms are more for kids to be afraid of right? I lifted my head from my pillow and noticed it was now soaked. Oh well, I has to get out of bed anyways to give Nastasia clothing. I crawled out of bed to my draws. I opened the top one taking out a T-shirt then next to that draw I took out a pair of checkered red and blue pants.

Holding the clothes in my hand I walked down the hall opening the guest bedroom noticing she already settled in. Her phone was on the night stand along with her cigarettes and purse. Was it okay if I snooped a little? I mean she was in my home. I put the clothes on the bed as I walked over slowly to her cell phone. Finger prints can leave on anything. A phone you'll catch the finger print in a heart beat. My long finger was hovering over the home button until I heard a females voice from behind.

"What do you think your doing?" Nastasia questioned gripping the towel her angry eyes staring back at me. She walked over by me grabbing her phone. I stepped back pointing to the clothes.

"I told you I was bringing you clothes."

"You left out snooping through my phone." She snarled at me her nostrils flared up.

"It's hard to trust someone I just met who's in my home. So I wanted to check if your not someone Hurley did sign."

She let's out a long sigh closing her eyes, "Mitch. I know it's hard for you to trust someone but, I mean no harm. I'm just doing this business for Kennedy and Hurley that's all. You have absolutely nothing to worry about now please can I get dressed I'm exhausted." She explained unwrapping her towel slowly cuing me to leave. I raised my eyebrows then sprinted to the door. Without looking back I said.

"Enjoy your night," I closed the door behind me heading to the shower. I was exhausted as well and couldn't wait to finally get some rest for the hell I'm going to get tomorrow.

I turned on the water letting my boxers fall to the floor as I stepped into the shower. The warm water hit my back as it felt like a massage. I ran my fingers through my wet hair putting shampoo in it. I let the soap fall to the floor, next I washed my body then turned off the shower. I stepped out grabbing a towel drying my hair and face then wrapping it around my waist.

Maybe I should shave so Irene doesn't bother me about it tomorrow. I grab my shaver shaving my thick beard. I put it down rubbing my face as there no longer is a monster beard on my chin. I walk over to open the door walking to my bedroom. Should I check on Nastasia? Or just let her rest? I walked to her room as the door was cracked open. I peaked my eye in not being able to see much which made me open the door a little more noticing she was sleeping with the clothes I gave her snuggling one of the pillows. Good thing she was asleep for all I know she would've tried to leave. I did only meet her a couple of hours ago. Tomorrow better be one hell of a meeting. Otherwise, this woman is in my spare bedroom for no apparent reason.

[long-gone-dream]

What Old Man?

An Oscar Hurley Drabble

The was a funeral early in the afternoon, anyone could sense it in the town. People walked about with their heads hung low, apologetic glances and what seemed to be pity in their eyes, as if it was necessary to feel better. It was one hell of a day, sweltering and climbing with the passing hours, and black simply wasn’t a color to wear longer than one needed to. Perhaps the point of the day was to reflect, find out what the point of life was. Just to look around the town, there was no meaning. There was only hell, and he was stuck in it.

A face like his own had stood among the men of the club as his father was lowered into the ground, to become nothing but food for the planet and drift from his memory. A face with a matching nose, Jonas’ nose to be exact. He seemed to be unkempt, but perhaps he was so taken by the death of Jonas that it had made him that way. Oscar had been almost distracted from the funeral by the curious stranger, but the club kept him focused. If anything, they kept him from losing himself in the emotion of it all. The only person he had left was six feet deep and he was meant to run the boys in his place? It seemed to be an impossible feat, he was still so young. 

After the funeral the stranger had disappeared from view, and it seemed odd but there was no way to begin to find them. The only sort of thing he could say was that the man looked like himself, but it couldn’t be possible. Perhaps the grief was causing him to lose his mind, and he definitely couldn’t let the boys know that. The best thing for him in such a situation was to forget about it altogether, it wasn’t worth his time or the effort, not when he had much more pressing matters at hand. 

The town, in it’s looks of question and curiosity, only drove him further away from sanity however. Walking through the streets it was as if he had some sort of contagious sadness, everyone moved to the other side of the street and continued on their way. Was his loose canon behavior that well known? Maybe everyone knew by now that it only took one look in his direction to send him forward, even if he wasn’t sure he could handle the chosen opponent. The only place where people wouldn’t jump out of the way when he passed was the bar, and he needed a stiff drink to wash down the words of spite he hadn’t choked out when his old man was alive. 

About half of his day was spent in the cool, air conditioned bar. Drink after drink, smoke after smoke, destroying himself for his regrets. The sun was blinding, and he was more than a mess as he stumbled out into the street to head on home. The walk in itself to his bike seemed to take all the energy he had, his thoughts clouded and his feet seemingly moving of their own volition. There was somebody else there though, seated firmly atop his bike it seemed, and Oscar drew his brows together as he examined the figure. It was the same as the one that joined the funeral earlier in the day, and he didn’t have to seek them out after all. 

Upon his approach, finding a new urgency to his fumbling steps, the other man lifted his head and seemed more than amused by what he saw. That smug smile on his face drove the biker forward, gripping at the man’s collar to pull him up off of the motorcycle. “What the hell do you think is funny?” The words came from his lips as nothing more than a slur, a sloppy and indecent show of just how much whiskey he had funneled down his throat. 

“You’re drunk Oscar, that’s funny. Did the old man really mean that much to you?” The eyes of the other seemed to hold no fear, only a faint familiarity. How could he not be afraid when he was gripping at his shirt Oscar couldn’t understand, but there wasn’t much time to understand before the older man shoved his wrist away and freed himself. “You’re a mess, there’s no way you’re driving home. Didn’t he ever teach you not to be such a pussy? People die, and what a way to go out. Serious as a heart attack, hmm?”

Oscar sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, his reputation as a stone cold sort of man being compromised in so few words. How did the other know who he was in the first place? “Who the hell are you to talk to me like that? You don’t know the first thing about me.” His hands came forward, pushing the other out of the way so he could get to the bike but in his drunken stupor it was turned around, and Oscar ended up on his back in the street. That alone was grounds for a fight, and even if he didn’t know who the stranger was yet he didn’t need to find out. The biker found his feet quickly and ducked down, flying forward into the other.

The strike of his shoulder into the other’s stomach caused the two of them to find the wall behind. The bricks the other slammed into seemed to distract, and Oscar untangled himself enough to get his hand in to strike his ribs. The thrown punches didn’t seem to work, and it was probably because of the alcohol he had tossed back. That strange man that had thrown him into the street wrapped his larger hands around his shoulders and gave a firm knee upward into his chest, sending Oz backward. 

“Will you stop and just listen? You’re making a fool of yourself.” The winded words were another knife through his ego, and though his body wanted to go home and find his bed he had to prove himself against the other. A balled fist flew towards the older male, and yet it didn’t connect. No, instead there was a ringing in his ears as he was struck instead around his eye and Oscar dropped to the pavement again, looking up at the other with a sense of surrender in his eyes. It was over, he couldn’t be bothered to pick himself up. “Leave me the hell alone...”

“Oscar, I’ve been trying to tell you that you’re drunk, stop trying to fight. You’re just like him, goddamn.” The shake of his head was followed by an offered hand to help up the biker but Oz pushed it away, looking around at the crowd that had come to watch him get his ass kicked. “Who are you and what the fuck do you want from me? Just let me go home, please?” The blue hues of the other stared down into him before another smile came. “You’re just as smart too, obviously. My names Tuck, guess our old man didn’t exactly give two shits about telling you that you’re not as alone as you think you are.” 

[tally-my-words]

Dean had gotten a little past pissed. He was a little further than depressed. It was a bad month. Things had been bad with John, things had been worse with one bad hunt after another. He missed Sam. Things were a little worse and a bit more awkward increasingly so.

It’s not easy for Dean to admit … when he wants things. Lately, he’s been trying to follow what’s increasingly looking like bad advice. Bran told him that finding someone who mattered to him, really mattered, would help keep him and the wolf safe. It would give him comfort, purpose, a sense of place that would extend past four car tires. He’s considered having that a few times. Unfortunately, it always goes to effin’ Hell in a freakin’ hand basket. He thought, just maybe, something something would go right with Cassie. Then again, he’d thought it might be more than bendy sex with Lisa. Ronda Hurley won’t even answer his calls and he’s still not sure how he burned bridges with that particularly liberal lady.

He’s sick of missing Sam, sick of waking up alone. He needs a friend. He’d go see Bobby, but fuck it, John burned that bridge. Last time they saw Bobby, their Dad’s closest friend was threatening the senior Winchester with a shotgun. It’s starting to feel like a theme. His fingers twitch and he wants to call Mercy. She’s settling into her new job, though, and she doesn’t drink. That’s obviously not the worse thing, but it leaves her sober to judge his mental state. He’s not sure how much he likes that. The monster that lurks under his skin has been a bit moody of late. He considers stretching his legs for a bit, but a run will probably only increase the frequency that he inches his way out of his skin.

He thumbs through his phone and wonders how his call list turned into a list of favored booty calls. He laughs at that, twenty numbers down and he sees a decisively not booty call number. He knows his dad would probably throw a bitch fit. That might be what ultimately inspires him to hit ‘Send.’

“Hey,” he greets, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Working on anything? I could use a job.”

“Not my usual type, not your usual type either, really…. You caught me mending fences,” Eliot replies, snorting out a laugh. He doesn’t hear from Dean often, but knowing the younger man is okay, safe, still breathing always puts a warmth in his chest. Regardless of potential bad blood, Eliot always answers.

“Anything like mending bridges?” Dean jokes. He thinks it’s code for something. Something more complex or serious or permanent. He thinks maybe Eliot’s found something.

“No, I’m dead serious. I’m out in the middle of Texas mending fences in cattle country. Spent a few weeks working on this one, going to maybe take another month to finish here and take on a few smaller projects for other locals. Like most of these towns, local youth run away when factory and oil drilling jobs dry up move out to the cities and their folks end up not quite able to handle all the work by themselves. Doesn’t pay much, but it almost always comes with two meals and a place to stay… You need out for a bit?” Eliot asks. He hates that some small part of him was begging Dean to just walk away. He doesn’t want the life Dean lives killing him before one of the few people he trusts turns twenty-five. Life wasn’t fair and he’d seen a lot of dead friends.

“Give me an address and I’ll see what I can do. I’m not staying in some barn attic, though. It’s fun on occasion, but it’ll kill your back and I’m not having to tiptoe around whoever you’re staying with on the weird hours crap,” Dean proclaims. “Not having all those rednecks tell me I’m wearing the wrong boots or some shit.”

“I’ll send it to you in a text. Just as long as you don’t have fancy designs and don’t mind shit on them, I think we’ll be good,” Eliot knows he’s laying the teasing too thick, but it feels safer than saying, ‘I’m worried about you and I’m worried you keep getting in over your head.’ “Get your ass down here, I’ve got too much work for one person and I’m bored with this little town.”

Dean bites his lip. He knows better than to laugh. He can hear the lie. He knows better than to call out the older man. Eliot must have demons chasing him. When he’s open enough about caring, he’s been living too freely with them.

Eliot punches the ‘End’ button and pulls out a map. He sends a quick text ‘Brady, Texas. Take 44 South from Wichita Falls, down through. 281 to 183 to 377.’ He then calls and presses the pound button to straight to voicemail “Call me when you get in and I’ll bring you around town and help you find a place to crash. I can put you up here if you want, but it’s up to you. I’m not quite getting room and board - I got fostered off on an younger woman who’s got an apartment over her garage. Guys I’m working for have been paying her my rent. I’m probably getting screwed out of more money than most would like, but you know how I feel about putting bills in my name.”

Dean rolls his eyes when he listens to the message a few hours later, but the directions are solid and while he’s not coming strictly through Kansas, his mental map of the state makes it easy to find the suggested route. From there, with an atlas, it’s easy to follow down the southernly trail that runs straight through a small map dot. Looks like a good place for laying low.

Dean cruises into town after a day and a half in the car. He’s stopped for the pits and for a few naps. He flips open his phone and punches redial for the last number. Eliot picks up on the fourth ring. “I’m just starting to pull in, looks like I’m heading towards the center of town.”

“There’s around about just as you pull through that’s on main street, I’ll be on the corner. Pull off there and you can park behind the bar. Dinner my treat,” Eliot informs. He walks outside and takes a moment to adjust to the sun before squaring his shoulders to face north. He doubts Dean will miss him. He certainly doesn’t miss the big black impala as it gleams into view.

Eliot gestures Dean to pull the car into a parking lot beside the restaurant. Dean crawls out with the stiffness that owns to being eighteen hours on the road. He shifts and appreciates that Eliot doesn’t hover near the car door. He reaches across the front seat and grabs his jacket. He wasn’t expecting it to be in the forties this far south. He forgets Texas can get cold. Eliot huffs a laugh and Dean suddenly appreciates more the fleece lined suede the older man favored when they were last together in South Dakota.  

Dean huffs his way inside, never bothering to look up and assess the restaurant. Eliot has chosen it for one of two reasons. In either the category of booze or grub, Dean will refer to his judgement. He hopes he doesn’t look too out of place with the set of his shoulders screaming ‘uncomfortable’ and the solid black leather jacket screaming ‘rebel.’ He chuckles, wondering if John’s patches from Vietnam would win or gain him friends in the borrowed modern day armor.

Eliot scrunches up his nose and fights off a laugh. Dean understands things most won’t take the time for. He knows dangerous and he knows screwed over by the world, but sometimes just the fact that the kid also knows ‘fight for better, ‘ ‘Love those you’ve got.’ Eliot wishes, not for the last time, that he had quiet half so much as Dean gripes about being worried for. It’s almost enough to make him consider heading home. He knows Houston Texas is a death sentence, though, and he rather  dislikes the idea of dying. “Food’s pretty good if you can look past the name,” he notes as he passes Dean a menu.

Dean rolls his eyes at the restaurant’s ridiculous moniker ‘The Flying Moose.’ “This can’t be a real place, no fucking way!” exclaims as he pouts and looks over the menu. The pizzas look pretty good, but he was really thinking more a burger. He finally settles on ordering one when he reads ‘Blazin’ Saddles’ and can’t help but snicker. He’s considering ordering it when he can literally feel Eliot’s glare.

“Don’t come bitching at me when your date goes running. I’m pretty sure Sam’s not the only one who can smoke out the car,” Eliot gripes. He continues looking over the menu when another young man comes in and takes a spot one seat over to Dean’s left.

The stranger shoots them a confused look, like he’s evaluating whether or not the math equation’s right. Eliot swallows down the temptation to rise out of his seat and ask just what the local boy wants. He recognizes, then, though, that lost look. Eliot almost runs his hands through his hair on the same reflex that has the other checking where it all went. Yup, military hair cut and squared shoulders. Eliot would bet he’s fresh back home after awhile away.

“Hey Sally,” the man greets when an older waitress shuffles forward, cautious and then growing more excited as she rushes out and hugs the town’s wayward son across the counter top. He kisses her temple and falls into his seat effortlessly. “Can I get the usual?”

“What else would you get, Marty? Should I pack one of those ill fated birds for your Mama?” she asks.

Another sweet lady not far apart in age, but closer to tanned leather comes out and and whispers “Mijo!”

“Mamita Marie,” he whispers reverently, burying the side of his face in the elder lady’s hair. “¿Como está?”

“Bien y tú?” the old lady replies with the easy breath of knowing she’ll be understood. Dean feels a bit at awe in how easily this other man is welcomed home. Eliot can’t help but wonder if maybe being welcomed like that would be worth going back to Houston. He knows, though, that Dean wouldn’t like the self-destructive path. If he goes to Houston, John Winchester becomes right about a few things.

“Vivo,” Martin Riggs replies boldy. It feels good to be home and say ‘I made it.’ He’s still a bit sour that Becca let him leave so easily.

“Your Mama will be happy to see you back,” Sally replies and swoops down to peck a kiss on Marie’s forehead. “Back in the kitchen with you when you’re done or we’ll never feed all these boys!” Her scolding is wickedly warm, though, and Martin shares a smirk with Sally.

“Mom won’t care much that I’m back. She never cared much that I left,” he breaths out, admitting what’s eating at him when he thinks Marie as far enough not to chastise after him.

“Your mother walks Death. Stop holding her to your sense of time. One of these days you’ll realize she always wants what’s best for you and she thought leaving was that. Yes, you’ve done hard things and yes, you’ll do harder, but not everyone gets easy paths,” she counters harshly. The woman won’t be having one of her local boys speaking badly about his mother.

“Alright, Marie. Sally, I’ll take the usual, but I’m not bringing Mama dinner. I thought I’d surprise her by coming home on leave and she’s gone and rented out my room!” Riggs admits, his laughter like that of a wet cat.

Both women look to Martin in tandem and roll their eyes. Becca has never been big on hospitality, but she’s been lonely and willing to let people in a little closer with her charge away. “I’m sure you’ll get on just fine,” Sally teases.

Dean feels his cheeks heat when the local boy turns and gives him a full Cheshire smile, cat and canary all in one broad sweeping gesture. He shifts in his seat and turns to the local. “Dean,” he informs, extending his hand for the stranger to shake.

“Martin, Martin Riggs. Sorry to interrupt your mean. I know you guys were here first. I just came back into town. I grew up around here, so I guess playing local football makes me something of a folk hero or some other silly shit,” he replies, scratching the back of his head in a nervous gesture. Eliot tries not to snort. It reminds him how Dean fidgets under scrutiny. He shouldn’t find it cute.  

Eliot is about to say something depressingly serious about how dangerous he suspects the Texan is, but he’s interrupted by a short, elegant woman who crosses her arms and glares at Martin. “Language!” she exclaims before grabbing the six foot tall SEAL by the ear and pulling him to his feet. “This is not your home and these gracious women welcome you into their place. Respect that!” She lets him go and wraps him in a ridiculously tight hug. Eliot is confused for a long moment.

“Please don’t tell me that’s his mother,” he requests of Sally who looks about ready to fall over laughing. She nods. “Yup, Becca took him in when she was by our guess maybe seventeen? She can’t yet be forty.”

Becca crosses over and kisses Sally on both checks. Sally rolls her eyes and Becca laughs. “Someone has to make Marie jealous,” she teases before plopping herself at the bar with her boots tucked under her.

“Since I think my son and Eliot are going to be figuring out who sleeps where, I’m going to grab dinner. Get me a Big Red and a ‘Happy Mother Clucker’ since this one obviously had no plans to come home for dinner,” she informs.

Eliot tries not to glare at what he’s fast beginning to believe might be true to local circumspect. He’s heard one soul whisper things like ‘bruja de diablos.’ Not that he can quote Spanish all that well.

“What, boy, you’ve never seen power,” he feels the whisper against the back of his mind. “If your friend wants to kill me, fine, but otherwise leave me to my people and my family,” she hisses against the recesses before leaning her elbows against the bar to sip at the soda dropped before her.

This isn’t that kind of vacation. He shrugs it off with a shutter and turns to Riggs on her other side. “I’m Eliot. I only paid up ‘til the end of the month which was Wednesday anyway. I’ve got my bag, so it’s no biggie if you’re moving back.” he informs.

Riggs considers it and nods. He takes Eliot’s hand in his and shakes it. “I can appreciate Mom trying to do good with my space while I’m away, but her and I just tend to see things like that a little differently. She thinks it’s fun to mess with me like this,” he admits. The woman nods and shoots both Eliot and Dean a wide smile around her fries, which Marie has brought out early and tucked between Martin and Becca. Riggs pulls out barbeque sauce and dumps it over his fries while the smaller woman covers hers in ketchup.

“I have two purposes where you are concerned. To see that you are fed, which you mostly do for yourself, and to see that you are safe, which you also mostly do for yourself. So the rest of the time I get to derive personal pleasure from your existence, even if that means I egg you on every chance I get. It makes you durable to life’s stupid,” she teases. Her sandwich comes out, somehow, even before Riggs’ meal in a styrofoam box with a matching cup filled with soda. She drops a hundred on the counter. “I’m covering the boys’ meals. Let them get their own drinks, though. Don’t let them leave without pie.”

Dean looks a little awed by the displace of southern hospitality, but he is the quickest to reply. “Thank you, ma’am, you don’t have to do that!”

“Shut up,” she announces boldly. “You do what you need to do and I’m sure you’ll repay either me or this town ten times that. Maybe just the world in general. Sometimes simple, stupid good is the best kind. Don’t go growling around my neighbors, though,” she adds. She taps the straw against her nose. Dean isn’t quite sure if she’s admitting she knows just what he is.

“Is she a psychic?” Dean dares ask the crowd aloud. Eliot tries to swallow down the strange feeling this is a bad conversation topic.

Marie comes out with Riggs lunch, plops it in front of him to glare at the massive quality of food and then moves in front of both Dean and Eliot, sketch pad held up menacingly. “Becca is not more psychic than I am your daddy’s nursemaid and seeing as I’ve never seen either of you two boys in my life, you get where this is going.”

Dean blanches at that thought and rolls his eyes before Eliot shoots Riggs a glance. “Heard you’ve had cattle problems clear up in the last few days,” Eliot ventures. Riggs unfolds a paper and nods, noting that the mysterious cattle deaths have dropped off dramatically. It’s suspected according to local conjecture that someone was bleeding competing head to limit stiff grazing competition for the upcoming season. Eliot doubts it. Now is the time you’d cull the herds, anyway.

“I only saw it in the paper today. There had been some weird things in other parts of the area, too. We get weird things. Stuff other people don’t see in their backyards because strangers think we won’t notice in the boonies,” he admits. He gets up and passes Dean the paper highlighting that the cattle deaths seem to have finally stopped.

“Not coyotes?” Eliot asks. They kill sometimes, calves at the like, for more fun that food. He doesn’t really believe there’s any chance of that, but he wants to ferret out if he needs to incentivize or disincentivize Dean’s temptations to stick his unlucky nose into every problem.

“Not coyotes. I think I know what it might have been, but I also know enough that no one wants to see what we do to cattle rustlers,” Riggs gives an elaborate shutter. It’s somewhat for show.

“Stop making the man concerned he’s not doing his job right. Spencer here’s been fixing fences for Carmen and Smitty along with Blake and Wade,” Sally adds. She moves to stand before Eliot and Dean. She makes an equally menacing, slightly taller aberration with her own notepad and pen. “ORDER ALREADY!”

Dean gulps loudly at the order at the order and nods a short quick bob of his chin. “Yes, ma’am!“

TBC

@thesneakyhobo @starlightoffandoms

[dandelionrise-blog]

ahhh this is something I wrote in like ten minutes

Alice's Pov "Wake up! You don't want to be late to school!" my mom yelled from downstairs I pushed the covers off me and rubbed my eyes. I looked on my new nightstand to the left of my bed to see my alarm clock my step- brother gave me. /7:25 am/. I got up slowly and looked around my new room. It had white walls and a large window right next to my bed. I got up and walked to my closet. I didn't unpack my school clothes so I really didn't have anything to wear. I looked next to my new bed and saw a box with "Ally's" written on it. I didn't bring alot of my clothes from home. I wanted a fresh new wardrobe and no memories of "home". My mom and I moved to Olympia to get away from my father. He was very abusive and drunk all the time. He cheated on her multiple times. She didn't leave him until she almost was beaten to death. I tried not to think of it. I shook my head and walked over to my only box of clothes and pulled out my skinny jeans and a Blink-182 shirt. I quickly got dressed and walked to my bathroom. I brushed my fingers through my medium length bronze hair. I pulled my hair up and put deodorant on. I walked back into my room. I noticed my black vans at the foot of my bed. I plopped on my bed and slipped on my shoes. I grabbed my phone and looked at the time. /7:40am/ I picked up my backpack by my door and walked back into the bathroom. I put on my glasses. Then quickly brushed my teeth and ran downstairs. I found my mom attempting to make pancakes. She isn't much of a cook so I was surprised. She scooted forward as I walked around her small frame and grabbed a bottle of water for the day. I walked to the living room and grabbed my sweater off of the couch "Are you excited?! Im so happy! My little girl is a Junior. You've grown up so much" my mom said washing the dishes. "I guess? Im just a little nervous. I have to get going. I love you!" I said walking out the door "Love You Too!" she said from inside the large grey house I walked down the street until I found it. "Olympia High : Home of The Owls." I followed the swarm of people until I found the entrance. This school looked alot bigger than my last one. Great, more people. I kept walking until I found the office. I walked in and instantly was hit with the smell of perfume and cigarettes. It had purple carpet and yellow drapes hanging from the windows facing the street. I walked up to the counter and noticed an older woman, probably late 60's early 70's sitting and reading a magazine behind it. I cleared my throat and she slowly set her magazine down and looked at me. "Hi, I'm Alice Williams. Im new here." I said timidly "Ok, here" she reached for a stack of papers and handed them to me. "That's your locker and your schedule. Have a nice first day" said looked back down at her magazine and continued reading "Thank You." I said walking out quickly Walking to my locker I noticed a picture. It had flowers and a grey sky. It wasn't normal. It had a different feel to it. I smiled and walked to my locker. I put everything in and grabbed my pencil and binder and walked to my first class. I looked through the stack of papers the lady up front handed me. 1st hour: AP English Mr. Hurley I searched for his Class until I eventually found it. Just as I walked in the bell rang. I strolled to his desk and handed him my transfer papers from Chicago. "Hi, I'm Alice. I'm new here" I said happily since I found my class "Hi, I'm your new English teacher. I'm pretty cool by the way." He said smiling at me "Class! This is Alice. She just moved here from Chicago. Everyone be nice." he then looked at me "Tell the class and I a little bit about yourself" he said looking at my rose kissed face Time Froze. What was I going to say? I hate talking to people. Time started again, I caught my breath back and pushed up my glasses "I'm Alice, I play the clarinet. I love music and to read. My favorite color is black and im really good at geography" I sighed happily and looked around the room. "Have a Seat right over there. I will get you a copy of the novel we're reading and a textbook." He pointed to a Seat in the back of the classroom. "Ok, thank you" I said timidly and out of breath from talking in Front of everybody I quickly walked to my new seat and opened my binder to a clean sheet of paper. I started sketching a woman. She had light blue eyes and dark black hair. Her skin was fair and her cheeks were a rose color. Even though I only had a pencil, I could still imagine every color. I looked over to see two boys. One sitting closest to me with dark brown hair. He sat with a slouched posture. He had light blue eyes just like the woman I was drawing. However he also had specks of green in his blue sky iris's. The boy in front of him sat a little shorter. He had blonde and brown hair. He had dark fierce blue eyes. But also had a bright smile on his face. I turned to the next page and started drawing them talking. The tall one was writing words that I couldnt see. So, I started with his hair. It was somewhat short with a little length in the front. I could also tell that his hair was naturally curly. He just fixes it to where you couldn't tell. I finished the tall one and started on the shorter one. He had very purse and pale pink lips. So, I started with them. He smiled quite often so I quickly drew his smile before he could return into a normal lip posture. I quickly finished their faces and the desks and all of the other small details. I signed my name in the bottom right and wrote the date. /10-29/ I moved my drawing to in front of me and started rearranging my papers. Click I dropped my pencil. Before I could grab it the tall boy grabbed it and handed it to me. His hands were very soft but cold at the same time. "Hi, I'm Benedict. This is Martin, he pointed to the blonde boy I was observing 2 minutes ago." He said looking into my bright grey eyes "Hi I'm Alice" I said smiling at them both. "I really like your shirt" Martin said smiling at me They both have really timid and smooth voices "What class do you have next?" Benedict asked with his head cocked "Umm, I'm not sure. Let me look" I said back thinking back to my schedule I quickly tucked my drawing back into my binder and looked for my schedule. I found it and handed it to him "You are really smart. You have the same classes we do." Benedict said pointing to them both "Who is this sexy lady" The boy in front of me asked turned towards me but his back them. "Leave her alone Jeff. She is way out of all of our leagues, and especially yours. Now leave her alone. She isn't a girl you can fuck and leave. Now turn around before I kick your ass." Ben said angrily Jeff looked at my binder with my name on it. "Alice. I'm sorry all you have to talk to are the gayest fucking assholes in the world" Jeff said laughing "Leave her alone Jeff, She isn't interested" Martin said glaring at him "Come on Baby, let's go talk in the bathroom" he said touching my hair and then my face My heart froze. What was I going to do? Push his hand away cuss him out? Or just let him do whatever and then leave later?

[perlocutionary]

Following Orders pt. 7 - Mitch Rapp

Description: Y/N and Stan have to deal with a new recruit being sent in. Training a handsome, reckless man is one thing. But can she keep her hands to herself?

Stan is more than upset when the hotel bill arrives. But is their punishment really a punishment?

Relationship: Mitch Rapp x Reader - AMERICAN ASSASSIN

Title: I fucking followed an order. Word count: 2153

A/N: Again, I totally forgot to update! I’m so sorry! But here it is :)

Part 1. *  Part 2.** Part 3**. Part 4** Part 5* Part 6**

One jab into his side, one against his shoulder, and Mitch is staggering onto his knees beside me, an angry huff slipping past his lips. The other recruits’ laughter runs through the facility, my head snapping back to immediately shut them up. “If you’re planning on just winging it, I swear to god you’ll get killed before you know it. That goes for all of you.”

I hold my hand out for Mitch, who grins up at me and wraps his long, calloused fingers around my wrist to hoist himself back onto his feet. “Expect the unexpected. If you’d see me on the streets you wouldn’t think I’d jam a knife down your throat – but I would.”

I’d asked Mitch to help me out with the newer recruits to show them different techniques in fighting someone bare-handed. His fingertips are dancing along the small of my back, trailing toward my ass as he gives it a firm squeeze. A harsh glare is thrown in his direction as I shrug him off, walking away from him and toward the young men and women staring intently at my next order.

“And I’d be happy to do so if the opportunity arises. Now, everyone, pick up a knife and –“

“RAPP! Y/L/N!” Stan’s voice screeches through the intercom and I duck, covering my head and neck at the loud, intruding sound. I slowly raise back to my original height, shaking my head as I look around at the shaken-up newbies. “Fucking hell man – I thought we were under attack.”

“Never flinch, didn’t Hurley teach you that, Y/N?” Mitch grins as the tip of his tongue pokes the corner of his mouth, the smug grin he’d sport after a quick make-out permanently etched onto his lips. “From a gunshot, yeah. But he never trained me to be used to the sound of his voice.” I laugh it off, brushing my shoulder as I turn to walk out of the gym and toward Stan’s office.

“Practice what we have shown you. I’ll be back later.” I yell to the recruits as I hold the door open for Mitch to pass me, a wink cast my way as he does so. As soon as the loud echo of the closing doors resonate through the otherwise silent hallway, Mitch’s arm is thrown over my shoulder, hauling me against his chest.

“Aren’t you touchy-feely today.” I sigh, my hand raising to rest on his taut chest, rubbing small, lazy circles over his clothed torso as we slowly thread through the empty halls. He hums in return, pressing his stubble covered cheek against my neck before his lips pucker and press against my inflamed skin, teeth slowly grazing over my pulse point.

His voice is a mere whisper. “You look really good in spandex.” A snort leaves my lips, pushing his head away from me as I turn around, walking backwards as I throw him my smug grin. “Mhm. But let me guess – you think they’d look better on your bedroom floor?” The mischievous twinkle in his eyes speaks louder than words ever could.

His arm reaches out and his fingers curl around my elbow, yanking me towards him, our chests colliding harshly. His lips are feverish against mine, his whole demeanor showing just how much he needed me in this moment – and he wasn’t the only one. The only thing I could think of was what had happened in that hotel room – over and over again.

I don’t know what was going on between Mitch Rapp and I, but I did know that I liked it. He seemed more protective, less violent toward me, and he’d be touching me every chance he got. Usually that meant that I’d be hot and bothered in my own bedroom late at night, thinking about what could’ve happened if I were allowed to do what I wanted to.

He’d purposely rid himself of his shirt, his upper body covered in sweat, whenever we were training. He’d lick his lips, just because I mentioned how it seemed to snap me out of reality. He’d flex his arms, biceps big and taut as I couldn’t help but stare at the veins running along his forearms. He’d grind his hips against mine whenever he got me down onto the mat, forcing me to keep my moans to myself when he retracted, and I was thrown back into said reality. I disconnect our lips, my tongue swiping along his bottom lip before I fall back into pace with him. “What do you think Stan wants us in for?”

I nod my head as Victor passes us, his toothy grin causing Mitch to glare at the man until he was out of sight. His voice drops into a whisper, his fingertips dancing along my inner arm. “I’m hoping a mission, just us two. It’s been forever since we had some alone time.”

As much as Mitch’s words and implies shook me – not to say aroused me horrendously – a chuckle slips me. When Mitch wasn’t thinking about murder, it seemed his mind was set on sexual actions. “Ah yes, because that seems logical. Go kill off this terrorist cell in Italy and you know, while you’re at it Rapp, fuck Y/N into her mattress when you have the chance.”

“Doesn’t that sound like a dream to you?” Mitch’s lips connect with my jaw and he pulls back just in time for us to round the corner, Stan Hurley impatiently awaiting our arrival. I roll my eyes dramatically at his statement, opening my mouth for a witty reply of my own before Stan speaks up.

“You first, Y/N. I’ll deal with you later.” Stan’s finger accusingly points at Mitch’s face, the threat evident in his voice. I swallow loudly, glancing from Mitch to Stan before passing the older man, and disappearing into his office. “You stay here. And if I notice you eavesdrop I’ll make sure to cut both your ears off, Rapp.” Stan throws another threat at Mitch and I can’t help but giggle, looking over Stan’s shoulder to throw Mitch a kiss.

His eyes light up deviously as he nods his head briskly, retraining his gaze on Hurley. “Yes sir.”

“Y/N…” Stan sighs as he closes the door behind him, his hand motioning for me to take a seat. Instead of going for the chair on the opposite side of his desk, I walk over to the sofa and let myself fall down on the worn green leather, throwing my legs up and relaxing for the first time since Mitch and I had returned.

“What’s up? I know I shouldn’t have broken that kid’s nose, but he was so arrogant – and he deserved it. Who the fuck bites people?” I half-ass my excuse, although I didn’t mean to do it. I had Mitch spar with one of the newer recruits that possessed almost as much anger as Mitch had when he first arrived here – but with less calculation to his actions.

I didn’t expect him to attack Mitch with his razor-sharp teeth as well. I only did what I had to. Stan stops in his tracks, his head slowly turning, frown set onto his brow. He opens his mouth a few times, without a word leaving them, before the smallest shake of his head follows. “Did he bite Mitch?” An affirmative hum from me widens Stan’s eyes. “Oh my god – but that’s not why you’re here.”

He seems to stall, and I sit up straight again, leaning my elbows onto my knees as I wait for Stan to elaborate. “I – uh – don’t want a detailed debriefing of your mission,” Stan starts, his back still turned towards me. I jump a little when he briskly turns on his heel, his hand loudly slapping on the coffee table, a white piece of paper peeking from underneath his large fingers. “But I do want an explanation what this is.”

He lifts his hand and I lean forward, eyes scanning over the white piece of paper. I purse my lips to refrain myself from the grin that wants to break through as my cheeks redden visibly when realization dawns. “That’s a hotel bill, Sir.”

“I know what it is, Y/L/N! Care to explain why I am receiving a kind reminder to pay up for damaged goods.” His voice is an angry whisper and when I dare to gaze up, I see his cheeks almost as red as mine – although I might feel the slightest bit of embarrassment, his vessels are dilated with rage.

I start fumbling with my fingers as I cast my gaze to the coffee table once more. “I uh – Got carried away?” I am trying my best to be sincere, but it was just too damn hilarious. I had never thought that Orion would’ve to pay the bill for Mitch and I trashing those two hotel rooms – purely on accident, of course.

Another sigh slips past his lips as Stan tiredly drops onto his chair. His eyes slowly drift closed, his hand running along his face in pure exasperation. “You broke the bath tub, Y/N. The bath tub. I can’t even come up with an explanation as to how.”

He sounds so defeated, like a dad when their kid comes home drunk after their first party. I suppress the humiliation that wants to seep through at the thought of Stan knowing exactly what Mitch and I had done, scraping my throat to answer my boss in front of me.

“I thought you didn’t want me to give a detailed debriefing?” An animalistic growl leaves Stan’s lips and he snaps onto his feet, stalking rapidly toward me. I raise to my feet as well, stepping away from the sofa and toward the door as I try to suppress the smug-eating grin – and fail.

His finger is dangling in front of my nose, almost touching the tip, as he glares at me. “Don’t get sassy with me young lady, or I’ll make sure the next month is your worst nightmare.” Instead of making another witty remark, which would surely lead to me scrubbing the men’s bathroom for a whole month, I merely nod my head and press my lips together.

“It’s simple. You’re not going on that mission with us, neither is Rapp. Gives you some time to think your actions through.” Stan takes a step back, fully aware of the shock that dawns on me and the anger that follows immediately after. I blink rapidly a few times, pursing my lips before sinking my canines into the soft, red flesh.

“You cannot do this to me! I fucking followed an order.” I bark, throwing my hands up as I take a daring step toward my boss. He holds his hand out, as if that were to stop me, his head shaking in disapproval of my actions.  “I have no idea what you did, but I’m sure as hell I didn’t give that order.”

A sigh leaves my lips as I rake my brain for a possible solution that’ll change Stan’s mind – although I know that there is nothing that could ever do such a thing. I try to reason one last time. “Ah, come on Stan. You know you’ll need me out there! Don’t do this – just let me scrub the toilets or something.”

He walks back over to his desk, picking up two manila folders that I know hold Mitch and I’s secret identities. “I know I will regret this, but maybe this way, you’ll both learn. You’ll stay here, train the recruits and wait upon our return. That’s an order.” His gaze flicks back up to me, a small smile etching onto his lips in hopes of make this less of a blow.

A groan leaves my lips, my feet stomping toward the door. I yank it open and spit my last argument before slamming the door behind me. “I’m not sure if I should take your orders anymore, Hurley. See where they got me.”

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Mitch immediately bolts upright from his slouched position against the wall, his hand cupping my neck, almost in a chokehold, as he turns my focus on his. “We’re not going.” “Going where?”

“To Moscow. He’s punishing us.” Mitch’s gaze seems to ignite in anger and I feel his fingertips tighten around my neck, my body already struggling to breathe. “Mitch. Mitch!” I squeeze his shoulders, his hand immediately dropping their firm grip and I grin at him. “Which inevitably means we have the whole Orion facility practically to ourselves.” I watch his face contort into pure excitement as I can’t suppress the grin of my own.

“Rapp!” Stan’s voice booms through the closed office door and I step away from Mitch, but not before I press my lips firmly to the corner of Mitch’s mouth. “Now, go play angry. I’ll see you later.”

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[perlocutionary]

Following Orders, pt. 2 - Mitch Rapp

Description: Y/N and Stan have to deal with a new recruit being sent in. Training a handsome, reckless man is one thing. But can she keep her hands to herself? Relationship: Mitch Rapp x Reader - AMERICAN ASSASSIN

Title:  Don’t tempt me, Rapp. Word count: 1676

A/N: This part contains teasing and male self-help, because that is really what we needed in our dirty little minds today. You’re welcome.

Part 1 - Part 3

The following week was a complete and utter mess. I couldn’t be more distracted with Mitch Rapp continuously in my class, having to pull him from recruit after recruit in the first training sessions. The passion he carried was something that I could only envy, and it didn’t help with the arousal I felt every time he would discard his shirt half an hour in-training.

Eventually, none of the new recruits wanted to spar with him anymore, leaving him to deal with me on a daily basis. The soft touches he’d leave in his wake were something that would haunt me hours after training had ended. It had me wondering if he was doing this on purpose, or if I was looking into it more than I should have.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Y/n. This isn’t healthy.” I groan to myself, opening up Stan’s laptop and sliding back against the sofa in the living area. Half of the recruits on the premises were out with Stan on a three-day-hike, while the others were knackered from my excessive training this morning. I had some sexual tension to get off my shoulders – and they were my guinea pigs.

I navigate through the folders in search for the camera footage of the premises, checking to see if anyone was misbehaving. My head falls back against the cushion, eyelids fluttering closed. The recruits weren’t the only ones tired – I was ready to end this as well.

I thought back about Mitch’s words. They ran through my mind almost on repeat, like a broken record. I’m not finished with you yet. My gaze flicks to the camera on the top right, seeing Mitch sneak through the hallways of the elder recruits. My interest is sparked, and I follow him through the cameras.

He stops in front of my door, standing there for quite a few minutes, without moving. I’m intrigued, my body straightening as I push the laptop toward my knees, tilting the screen in hopes of increasing the contrast of the images. “What are you doing Mitch?” I mumble aloud, opening a mail from Stan that pops up and I glance at the one mail in my inbox containing the training footage from the CIA.

“Research purposes, yeah.” I mumble to myself, opening the footage from the CIA we had received a week and a half ago. Mitch had already immensely improved since arriving here and by the end of the month he’d be training alongside me instead of the new recruits if he managed to contain that temper of his. Stan already wanted him in, but I tried to steer him away from that thought as long as possible. To my regret, it was my job to tell Mitch he was being upped and was supposed to start training with me starting the following week.

I glance back at the live-feed and see Mitch hand raised as if he were to knock on my door. He seems to contemplate his actions, turning back around and pacing, before storming back to the door and knocking. Of course I wasn’t going to answer as I was staring at him from across the facility. The laptop is resting on my arm as I stumble over to Hurley’s desk, dropping onto the leather seating.

My hand hovers over the intercom button as I glance back towards Mitch on screen, seeing him pacing in front of my door. “Mitch Rapp to Hurley’s office.” He doesn’t make any motion that he is moving toward me, and I groan, pressing my finger back on the intercom. “NOW Mitch.” I can just see him groan as he stomps away and I can’t help but amusedly watch him approach.

I’m not fast enough when suddenly the door of Stan’s office flies open with great force and I slam the laptop closed roughly, the echo slapping through the room – as if I were caught. Groans and grunts from the Gym footage whisk through the air before dying down and I snap my gaze from the closed laptop to a smirking Mitch. “What were you doing?”

My cheeks feel like they’re flaming red and I shake my head dismissively. “Nothing that should be of your concern.” I motion for him to sit in the chair on the opposite side of the desk, tapping my fingers along the expensive wood as I looked through his papers, pretending to be searching for something in particular.

“Why did you want me here?” Mitch gruffly huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he slides down his seat. It feels as if I am about to scold a teenager for graffitiing the walls or something. A groan leaves my lips as I raise to my feet abruptly, trailing around the office, never making eye contact with Mitch. “Hurley and I have been talking. I think it’s time for you to join the – uhm, more trained recruits.”

He doesn’t speak, but I can just see the stupid smirk he is sporting. And as soon as I turn around, I am met with just that. “Let me warn you though, Rapp.” I sit down on the edge of the desk, brushing my leg along Mitch’s thigh, never once letting my gaze waver from his. “I will not hesitate to kick you out of this facility if you cannot control your temper.”

His hand raises and his fingertips dance across my knee, his gaze flicking to his hand, before reconnecting our gaze through his eyelashes. This man is driving me insane. “Do you even hold authority over me anymore if I’m not one of the recruit you are training?”

A scoff leaves my lips, but the grin I possess speaks for me. My fingers curl around his wrist, yanking his touch away from me – although reluctantly. “Don’t tempt me, Rapp. I’m more than willing to show you what I can do.”

Mitch raises to his feet so quickly I don’t have time to react as he corners me against the desk. His head is tilted, lips ghosting over my jaw but he doesn’t speak. I squeeze my eyes closed, internally yelling at myself to not do anything – he was still my recruit until the next twenty-four hours had passed. I’m desperate in finding a way out of this, even though I would want nothing better than to desecrate Hurley’s desk – and whole office maybe.

“Go take a shower, Rapp. You reek.” I lightly push against his chest, although I can tell – and he probably can too – that there isn’t much force behind it. I don’t want him away from me, but I have to think rationally here.

“If that’s what you want, Y/N.” He whispers, his gaze twirling from my lips up to my eyes before he winks, trailing backwards and out the door. “You’re expected in the left wing Monday eight sharp, Rapp!” I yell after him, my voice wavering as I transfix my gaze on his ass as he walks away from me. “Fuck. My. Life.”

I filled in Mitch’s paperwork, just as Stan instructed me to do, and was desperate for some relaxing time. First of all, a shower was in order, and I’d spend the rest of my evening in my room with a book or something. Anything to get away from this madhouse.

I had left the camera footage be, not wanting to rile myself up further by staring at Mitch. Instead, after a quick stop by the sleeping hall of the new recruits, to check in, I headed straight for my own room to grab my necessities, and heading to the showers straight after.

My shirt is already lifted over my head as I walk past the door to the communal showers, throwing and piling my clothing at the far end before wrapping a towel around my waist to keep me covered from any wandering eyes. I can hear the shower running in one of the stalls but pay no extra attention to it – until I hear him grunt.

I stop in my tracks, squeezing the towel closer to my body as I listen to Mitch groan again. I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself as I peak past the shower curtain. Heat immediately rushes to my neck and my core as I lift my hand to bite onto it, refraining from making any sound.

Mitch’s back is pressed against the stall, his head thrown back, pants and groans leaving his lips. My eyes trail down, across his toned chest and stomach, to his prominent V-lines, to land on his large, veiny hand wrapped around his shaft, rapidly and roughly pumping his cock.

His unoccupied hand clenches and unclenches, punching against the stall as another foal groan slips from his lips. I lick my lips, stepping closer to his stall and wiping the accumulated sweat of my brow. He seems close to his release, his hand pumping faster and faster, his hips starting to thrust along with his hand movements.

His whole body turns rigid as his hand stills, hot spurts landing in his chest and fist as a long, dragged out moan slips from his parted, pink lips. His chest is heaving, his hand coming up to course through his long strands, pushing them out of his face while he regains his breathing.

As soon as he reopens his eyes, our gazes meet. I smirk, winking and walking away from him, into my own stall.

“I think you have more privacy in your own room rather than the communal showers, Rapp.” I hear a gasp coming from behind the stall, the water turning off and the shower curtain being yanked back. I turn on the water, wetting my hands before stepping underneath the hot stream and slipping my eyes closed – smirk very prominent on my features.

My eyes snap open when I hear my own shower curtain, the only thing separating Rapp and I, shaking as he brushes his hands along it while passing me. “I’m hoping you enjoyed the show, Y/N. It’s only just the beginning.”

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