#and the lovely young american man behind the counter said 'enjoy honey' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

waveypedia · 3 years

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and now, for my next number, i’d like to return to the classics

Rymin Week Day 7: Domestic

1 2 4 5 6

Ao3

It’s been years since he lived primarily in his van on tour, but Ryan will never not be grateful to always have a kitchen.

Early morning sunlight streams through the soft white curtains as he goes through the motions of breakfast. The curtains were a gift from one sister, the cookware a gift from their old manager before she got promoted. The sleek fridge, which Ryan opens next, was a careful purchase he and Min worked together to carefully pick out, as is the same for most of their furniture. The eggs he pulls out from inside it are from their local farmer’s market, where all the vendors know them by name. Not because they used to be semi-famous rock stars, but because they come by every week toting instruments to serenade the shoppers with.

Ryan coats the pan in nonstick cooking spray and cracks the eggs into it. Salts it. He puts the ingredients away while he’s waiting for it to cook and pours two glasses of water.

Then, all that’s left is the waiting.

Ryan finds one of his guitars leaning against the wall in the next room. Their apartment is chock-full of all kinds of musical instruments they’ve accumulated over the years. After all the fuss Ryan had to go through to get his first guitar as a teenager, it feels both strange and gratifying to see how far he’s come.

One instrument they do not have is a viola. Min has played it on his own, usually on lease from friends, but he won’t play it regularly enough to buy one. Ryan is more than happy with that.

Ryan sits down on top of the counter and plucks a few, soft notes on his chosen guitar. He doesn’t have any particular melody or song in mind; he just lets his fingers play what they wish.

In no time at all, the eggs finish cooking. Ryan regretfully sets down the guitar to flip them and slide them onto plates. Just as he’s turning off the stove, the sound of a door opening down the hall and resounding footsteps reaches his ears.

Ryan snorts.

His husband emerges into the kitchen, hair still messy from bed. Even after all these years, Ryan’s heart flutters at the sight of him.

Min leans down to steal a kiss off the top of Ryan’s head. “Ooh, eggs. Are those for me?”

Ryan swings the plate away, nearly spilling the coveted breakfast. “Of course not. I cook for myself. Never for my handsome husband.”

“Hmm, too bad.” Min grabs a fork and leans in for a bite. “Hey, these are good!”

Ryan laughs and leans against Min’s chest. “Almost as good as your ability to come running as soon as there’s food ready. I swear, Min, it’s superhuman.”

“Only if it’s your food,” Min promises, struggling not to laugh.

Ryan cackles. “Of course. I see how it is”

Min kisses him again and steps away. “I’ll get the table set if you plate the eggs and get some fruit, dear.”

“I can do better than that!” Ryan dishes out the eggs on two plates and cuts some oranges up. He walks over to the toaster and drops two pieces of toast in. “A full breakfast. How about that?”

Min laughs and pulls a tub of butter out of the fridge. “Lovely, thank you.” He peers at the plates. “Eggs and toast. How downright American of you. Would you like some bacon with that?”

“Hey, at least it’s not post-war,” Ryan quips back. He stretches his arms over his head and sets the plates down on the table. “Eh, that would take too much time.” He leans over to peck Min’s cheek. “After all, I would hate to miss breakfast with my lovely husband.”

Min beams. “Good choice.” His wedding ring twinkles in the early morning sunlight.

Ryan sighs dreamily. “Man, am I glad I married you.”

“Me too.” Min’s smile is fond and so full of love it makes Ryan’s heart swell. When he smiles, all his wrinkles soften and curve upwards like little smiles themselves. Ryan loves to kiss each one.

“So.” Min straightens out and pulls out his phone. “We have a practice session at 4 today, booked at the venue for Saturday’s performance.”

“Okay, good.” Ryan nods. “I want to run through the new arrangement Train to Nowhere.”

Min shakes his head, chuckling. “We’ve been playing that song for forty years, Ryan. Shouldn’t you know it inside and out?”

“I just want to tweak some things for this arrangement,” Ryan shoots back, not unkindly.

“Ryan.” Min reaches across the table to lay his hand on top of Ryan’s. Their wedding rings make a soft clink sound when Min’s hits his. “It’s going to be fine. The fans love that song, as do we. We know it well.”

I know, I know.” Ryan squeezes Min’s hand and glances away. His eyes catch on a vase of beautiful purple flowers. I need to water those today, he notes offhandedly. “That’s why I want it to be as good as it can be.”

“It will be,” Min promises.

Ryan smiles. “I believe you.”

Min laughs, reaching across with his other hand to squeeze Ryan’s cheek gently. Ryan laughs, batting his hand away. “Of course you do. You should listen to your husband more often, Ryan.”

“What are you talking about? I always listen to you,” Ryan snorts.

Min waggles his finger. “Ah-ah, that sheet music you bought last week would beg to differ,” he says. “I told you we already had it in a songbook somewhere.”

Ryan crosses his arms, faux-affronted. “Excuse me for wanting more music to play!”

“I don’t care about that. Just spend our money on music we don’t already have,” Min says, leaning back in his chair with a smile.

Ryan shrugs and lets out a small huff of laughter. “I can do that.”

“Good.” Min gets up to clear their plates. “I’m going to go grocery shopping and then call my parents. Do you need anything?”

“No, but I’ll pop on that call if you don’t mind,” Ryan replies, standing up. “And can you grab some cheese? And the-“

“Those crackers you like, the ones that come in the blue box, I know, I know,” Min says, laughing and shaking his head affectionately. “It’s on the list.”

Ryan walks over and wraps an arm around his husband. “Ah, you know me so well. Thanks, babe.”

Min shrugs him off, laughing. “Stop calling me that! It’s not classy!”

“Pfft, okay.” Ryan kisses Min on the cheek before releasing him. “See you in a few hours?”

“You know it.” Min waves and kisses him goodbye before he’s out the door.

Ryan hums softly to himself as he cleans up the kitchen. It starts out as a B-side from one of Chicken Choice Judy’s earlier albums - their third, if memory serves correctly. Four years after they’d escaped the train, when their career was steadily taking off and they started touring outside of North America.

Ryan shook his head, chuckling softly to himself as he wiped a dish clean. “Man, what a time.”

As he works, the tune slowly shifts into something more original and unique. Something new. When he notices the change, he immediately scrambles for a pen and paper. Luckily, there’s a large notebook of blank sheet music in the drawer under the microwave for this exact reason.

Ryan flips past pages of sheet music penned from similar scenarios to a blank page. He leans against the counter, writing down notes and chords and lyrics as time slips away. Before he knows it, he has a full song on his hands and Min’s returned.

“Hey, honey,” Min says, dropping the grocery bags on the kitchen table and leaning in for a kiss. “Whatcha got there?”

Ryan tips the sheet music notebook over so Min can see. “A new song. I’m calling this one ‘Sunsets’ for now. What do you think?”

Min hums thoughtfully as he peruses the notes. “It sounds pretty, Ryan! May I suggest a ukulele rift here?” He taps the third line down as he talks. “I think that would add to the image.”

Ryan grins. “You’re a genius, Min.” He’s said similar statements many times over their forty-year music-writing career, but it never gets old.

Min preens, laughing. “Oh, I know. I’m gonna call my parents in a few, okay?”

“Sure. Call me when you’re ready.” Ryan doesn’t take his eyes off the music as Min leaves.

When he eventually hits a block, he puts away the groceries. He’s just finished when Min pokes his head out of the office door and beckons.

“Hello, Ryan!” Min’s mother greets when he steps inside. “Lovely to see you.”

“You as well, 어머님,” he replies, squeezing into the office chair next to Min. It’s not supposed to be big enough to fit them both, but they always seem to manage. Min laughs and tries to bat him off, but it’s halfhearted at this point. Ryan has been doing it for long enough that Min gave up a while ago. Besides, they both know Min likes the subtle affection.

“Just get another chair,” Min’s father grumbles, not unkindly. His wife gives him a small nudge on the shoulder.

“Leave them alone. Let them enjoy each other’s company,” Min’s mother replies, shaking her head in mirth. “If they’re still in their honeymoon phase after all this time, that’s on them.”

“엄마, please,” Min sighs, burying his head in his hands. His mother just laughs.

At precisely four P.M., he and Min are settled onstage at Saturday’s venue. It happens to be a beautiful outdoor amphitheater with vines and greenery gently climbing up the pillars holding up the stage’s ceiling. The audience area is open-sky and curves gently downward, like a bowl.

Ryan stands in the center of said “bowl”, guitar hanging from his shoulders by its strap. He raises his arms to the sky and spins, taking in everything.

From his place onstage, behind his synthesizer, Min laughs. “What are you doing?”

“Just taking in the sights.” Ryan does a final spin for good measure before turning to face Min. “It really is quite pretty.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Min gazes up at the orange-tinted sky with a soft smile. “Our manager really outdid herself with the booking this time. We’ll have to thank her.”

Ryan clambers up on the stage, silently wincing at the height gap between the audience floor and stage floor. He’s really not as young as he used to be, is he? “Should we send her flowers?”

“I think she really liked the sunflowers we got her last time. They were on her living room table when we visited her.” Min places his fingers on the keys, hovering just above them. “Maybe chocolate, too.”

Ryan laughs. “How cliché. Is there something I should know?” He waltzes over to Min and wraps a lazy arm around his husband, leaning all of his weight into Min’s shoulders.

Min laughs and shoves him off. “Please, do I have to come out to you again? Not all of us are interested in women, you know.”

“And what a great loss to the female community it is. The ladies of the Min-Gi Park fan club will have to go in mourning,” Ryan giggled. “But really, flowers and chocolate sound nice. She’ll like it.”

Min gave him a thumbs-up. “Sound check?”

Ryan gives his guitar an experimental strum. It echoes across the amphitheater beautifully, filling the bowl with sound and vibration. He whoops. “Let’s get this party started!”

“Not until Saturday, or else we’ll have some very unhappy neighbors to contend with,” Min admonishes, laughing. His fingers fly across the keys. “I’m good too.”

Ryan taps his mic. “Then let’s get ready to rock!” His voice booms across the venue. A few peacefully roosting birds take flight, squawking indignantly.

Min rolls his eyes. “Leave the poor birds alone, and you have a deal.”

“Please, we all know they just want to hear us play.” Ryan fishes his guitar pick from his jacket pocket and holds it poised over his guitar strings. “How do you feel about Train to Nowhere as a warm-up?”

“Fine by me,” Min says. His eyes don’t leave his synth. “It’s my favorite song to play with you, Ryan.”

“Well, of course,” Ryan says. “It’s what got us together, after all. In more ways than one.”

Min laughs. “Well, I can’t argue with that. Care to count us off?”

“Oh, I was just waiting for you to ask.” Ryan raises his pick and grins. “Five, six, eleven, twelve!”

Somewhere in Canada, the sun sets over a practicing music duo in the early 2020s. They laugh and goof around on an empty stage as birds and a few curious passerby stop to watch. The notes of their original hit song, “Train to Nowhere,” grace the evening air.

In the middle of the song, their eyes meet. They do not speak outside of the song lyrics, but an entire conversation passes through their gaze. It’s all they can do to not run to each other and hug each other right then and there.

After all, Ryan and Min-Gi Akagi-Park have lived a lifetime with each other. And they will live out the rest of their lives with each other, happy and content beyond imagination.

i'm not korean so i'm not sure if the words i used for min's mother are right. if anyone knows better and sees i'm wrong, please tell me! the website said the word min uses ( 엄마 / eomma) is the informal way to say mom, and you only use it for your own mother. the word ryan uses ( 어머님 / eomeonim ) is formal and often used for mothers-in-law. eomma is really similar to the hebrew word for mother, which is amma. i think that's fascinating because hebrew and korean are not similar languages at all. lingustics as a whole is fascinating because you can see where languages and dialects split off from each other and where/why that happened in history. it's also really cool to see languages so similar to each other you can communicate with someone else in two different languages. languages also have cognants (not sure if i'm spelling that right) where a word is basically the same across multiple languages. it's really interesting to see in this modern world of quick and easy communication how many cognants we have, especially for semi-recent terms (the technology unit in french was SO easy). anyway sorry for the tangent i just really love linguistics

man i wasn't planning to write for today until i realized i'd overestimated the chapter count and it felt weird to not write aksdgfjs. i hope i can keep to this schedule of writing every day but school will probably put a hard stop to that. gotta get out as much writing as i can before then! i started writing this at like 9pm i'm so sorry if it's messy dkfhjfkd

we've come full circle! this started with baby rymin and now we have much older rymin. poetic cinema........

the euphoria i got everytime i wrote "his husband"......... they are MARRIED gamers!!!!!

this is a callout post for every time i pour myself a bowl of chips at my aunt and uncle's house and all five of them suddenly think my bowl is a free-for-all even though the bag is sitting right there. stop i am not a chip dispensary. do not be min-gi akagi-park leave my chips alone

title is from uhhhh i don't know what it was called (some indie thing) but it was in my last winterguard show (fuck covid i wanted a senior season) and it just popped into my head. or it might have just been a voice line from something i heard it in another show with different music. whatever it's almost 1 am i'll look it up later. i put it on my titles doc (which is 90% song lyrics and which my brother likes to call the "song lyric moodboard" even though it's just a bullet list) out of impulse and nostalgia and never really intended to use it but it actually fits really well here?? who knew

it didn't make it in but i imagine that ryan and min have a parrot named kez and they've taught it some of kez's favorite and most iconic phrases. imagine you are visiting acclaimed musical duo chicken choice judy's house and you hear a parrot squawk at you "Why do you hate fun, Min." another thing that kind of made it in but not quite was that ryan has all those weird guitars. im picturing this one my temporary songleading teacher at camp, who's a professional musician and probably the most famous jewish folk artist out there (which is a very niche group so he's not really famous), brought out once. it was really small and had like eight tiny strings all crammed in together and it both fascinated and terrified me. i have no idea how you can play that without accidentally pressing all the wrong strings all the time but dan nichols can do it so i've decided ryan can do it too

tomorrow is au day... you know what that means... *shoves rymin into my current hyperfixation*

if you ever wanna talk infinity train, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here on my tumblr or on twitter! thank you for reading, and please leave a reblog/like/comment if you enjoyed it!

@ryminweek

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keravnous · 3 years

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- agent 14/agent steve haines; american money

It's a Thursday and it's raining. The raindrops are heavy and loud on impact, running down his windshield like tears. He's on his way to the set and he prays that it'll clear up soon.

"This show will kill you", Warren sits on his bed, sheets lazily draped over his legs. Steve can see where his pubic hair begins and his mouth waters. Warren takes a long drag from his cigarette, blows the smoke into the air.

"It fucking won't, nothing can", Steve's leaning against the door frame, coffee in hand.

"Fuck yes, it can. And it will, lurking around at Forum Drive all day and for what? Two minutes of frightening pictures that will make Karens all over LS go buck wild."

"Who's Karen?"

"Forget about it. Let me suck your dick, Haines, c'mere."

As he arrives near the recreational center and pulls into one of the lots it has indeed stopped raining. The streets are still wet but the sun's coming out again and the air is already mushy with the reblooming heat. There's a lanky man with a dog and he's yelling into his phone - the man that is, not the dog.

He knows who the guy is, even though he most likely doesn't know him, probably he doesn't even know that Steve exists. He's an associate of Franklin Clinton and the Bureau keeps a close eye on him, due to the nature of Clinton being so close with Townley and Philips.

Steve watches Lamar, leaning against the hood of his car, the remaining rain wetting his thigh through the denim.

"Man Frank, you just ain't around no more, homie. That's all I'm saying. Yeah - Yeah, sure whatever, dog - Yeah, fuck yourself too, homie."

He hangs up and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. The dog looks at him. "Man, you get the fool more than I do, Chop. Wassup with him, can you tell me? He always been that fool, but something ain't right there."

Steve knows what ain't right there. Franklin must've picked up by now, or maybe Townley told him, what they were up to that one afternoon at the warehouse. And for what he knows about Clinton and what the intel tells him, the young man probably isn't much of a big fan of government-approved interrogation techniques.

And he probably also won't like what Steve has next in stock. Warren was a little careless the last time around, tongue loosend by sweet kisses and a hand around his dick, when he spoke about a securicar delivering important IAA files soon. It won't hurt 14 but it would definitely aid Steve an awful lot, so he decided to send the boys on the road again, maybe on Tuesday.

The production team's van rolls up next to him and they swarm around him like a stock of bees buzzes around their queen and then there's sound and light checks being run and a woman applies powder to his face. Lamar Davis has not moved a single step. Their eyes meet.

"What are you idiots doing here?", he hollers. Steve wonders if he could be of use.

"We're shooting a show", he replies, while the attach a little microphone to his collar, "The Underbelly of Paradise, you surely have already seen an episode or two."

"You're that Haines-guy then?", something in Lamar's voice makes his skin crawl, his files told Steve that he too is a gangster after all, killing and robbing are some of Davis' favourites. The look he shoots him isn't much friendlier.

"In the flesh", Steve dusts of the sleeves of his polo shirt.

"Yeah, aight. Fuck you then, man. C'mon Chop, we best be leavin', homie. Imma take you back to Frank's crib", oh, there is something in Lamar's voice that Steve definitely doesn't like at all but he just smiles politely at the man, until he's around the corner and out of sight. Steve's smile drops.

"Can we hurry this up a little, people? I don't got all day!" The bees start buzzing again.

The raid on the Humane goes by easier than expected. They are in Warren's living room, as the news inform about the incident. Steve is just pouring himself another glass of wine and Warren looks at him.

He knows, that the other one knows. It's a cover story the IAA will buy, but not Warren. Pain shoots through his legs as he slowly makes his way towards the sofa.

Warren mouths a few words at him. Be careful. Steve nods and leans over, places a soft kiss on his shoulder.

"Learned from the best", he whispers and Warren jerks.

"What?", there's panic in his voice.

"The Rashkovsky Job? The breakout and then his research goes missing?"

Warren blinks at him in disbelief.

"So, did he let you know if he likes it in South America?"

They laugh and Steve feels light, his fingertips tingle with it.

Steve's on his balcony. There's a saxophonist a few meters down the road, playing some Sinatra pieces and the music wraps itself around him like a blanket. The musician's interpretation reaks of melancholy and reminds Steve of the golden days of Vinewood cinema, noir films and cigarette smoke. Musicians playing at street corners isn't something foreign in a city where everyone has dreams of being the next big national superstar, but Steve usually hates him with his guts. This one's different. It touches him and he finds himself enjoying the dark, warm tunes that float through the cool air. It will be autumn soon and Steve's glad that the heat will be gone.

Warren watches him from the inside, leaning against the kitchen counter, lips curled in a smile.

Steve has always hated Michael's bloated and ugly, fat face and now he even gets to point a gun at it. It feels like his birthday and christmas fall on the same day.

"They know or they think they know that I'm the one that was behind the incident."

They stare each other into the ground, guns raised. Steve's ready to fire, has been from the minute Townley walked onto the plaza for the first time.

"Put the weapons down, boys. Fun time's over!", Steve wants to sigh. This is not happening. And then they are suddendly surrounded by their own man Sanchez has sent and then fucking Merryweather's there, too. This is not fucking happening. And so he does the only thing he's always been good at.

"We all know you Agency boys are balls deep in a plot to drive up your fundings by any means necessary", he shouldn't have said that. Warren trusted him with that info, even showed him the intel. He sees something moving behind Agent ULP's eyes, it's fear. He's got him.

Suddendly there's a loud pop and then pain shooting through his left leg. "Same goddamn leg", he blurts out as hell starts to break loose around him. Sanchez blood sprays the concrete in a bright red as the bullet pierces his skull. Steve wishes it would've been Michael instead.

He runs until he can't take the pain no more, then cowers on the ground, slowly robbing behind cover, as Dave and Michael pick up the gun fight. He's bleeding heavily, red liquid rushing out of the wound and drenching his cargos. It seems like the bullet is stuck and maybe has wounded some arteries. He figures that he probably hasn't that much time left. He strips himself out of his shirt and wraps it around his leg, adding pressure on his thigh, just above the bullet wound.

He thinks about Warren. Oh dear God, don't let me die today.

"What did you do?", it's Warren, he's sitting at Steve's kitchen table.

"Did you let yourself in, pretty boy?"

"What happend?", he sounds furious now, gets up and his eyes bore into Steve's. He's dizzy with it, with what Warren's gaze tells him, let's him know without saying a word.

"Nothing, it's nothing."

"You got shot!"

"Yeah, the same leg."

"That's - you're-"

Steve wraps his arms around him and presses him close and Warren releases a surprised noise. "I'm still here", he says and it's more for and to himself, than for Warren but the other doesn't seem to care, burying his face in Steve's neck.

The world's a little brighter and warmer and Steve doesn't feel that threatend anymore. He has to make a phone call, but that can wait a few more minutes.

He has a team on the way to the plant, it will be alright. They'll be gone for good, just another casualty. He sighs, takes a deep breath and throws the script on the seat across from him.

"Are the cameras rolling? Yes? How do I look, the chin's sharp?"

Warren looks at him, eyes still a little hazy from his last orgasm and Steve turns his head and looks at him. He's so pretty and Steve's heart misses a beat.

"I-", his voice breaks and Warren blinks.

"Yeah?"

"I hate you."

Warren laughs. It's deep and dripping with amusement, running down Steve's body like hot honey. He rolls himself over, on top of Warren, who's still laughing deep in his chest, burying a hand in Steve's blond hair.

"No. No, you don't."

They look at each other and their gazes turn soft. "Sometimes I do", Steve's voice is quiet, honesty seeping through his words, "But sometimes I-, I would burn the world down to protect you."

Warren's hand caresses his neck. "My life would be so very boring without you, Haines. It nearly makes me forget that I just really want to skin you alive, sometimes."

It's not really an I love you - I love you too, but it's as close as they can get without hurting their egos. The kiss is soft and sweet and a promise.

"Hi, I'm Steve Haines. I've tracked down killers, attacked incompetence and taken down terrorist cells, and tonight -"

The gunshot rips through the night and the camera man throws himself back, lands unpleasently on his back.

"My god! The guy! What's-his-name! Fuck, shit, they shot him!", he stares down at the dead man, blood rushing out of the bullet wound in the back of his head. The impact had torn some skin and skull apart and there's a nasty opening, his brain leaks out of it. The camera man vomits out of the gondola as sirens erupt in the night.

Warren has his feet up on the coffee table, mindlessly zapping through the programs. It's all shallow and boring and he hopes that Steve will be home soon. Home.

His stomach does a funny little flip and Warren smiles to himself, wraps the blanket around him tighter. It smells of him, his perfume. He closes his eyes and he can practically feel Steve's hand creeping around his neck, resting on his shoulder, heavy and warm. It's always like that, when he comes in on Warren sitting on the sofa. He will lean down and place a feather light kiss on the back of his head, maybe rest his nose there for a moment, taking the other man's scent in for a few seconds, before getting up again and ranting about Norton or another colleague. A fuzzy warmth spreads in his stomach and Warren sighs. A sudden noise interrupts his daydreaming and he lazily opens an eye at the TV. It's a Weazle Broadcast.

"We interrupt our nightly program for an important message. We just recieved notice that FIB Special Agent Steve Haines has been shot on duty at the Del Pierro Pier. Agent Haines died a hero, doing what he loved, which was presenting a TV show. He helped combine the chaos of anti-terrorism and the mindlessness of network television into one highly successful career. Mr. Haines, who was not married, leaves behind his mother."

The world goes silent.

He's not moving. Has not in hours, maybe it's even a full day at this point. He has not eaten, has not showered, has not moved at all.

Warren feels like a dead man. The thought makes a bitter laugh splutter over his lips and then has him break out in tears immediately after.

It's a scary thought that people continue to live their lives, acknowledging that an agent passed away last night but they are now out and about, at their jobs, maybe seeing friends or family. A lover, even. They are busy living their life's while Warren's just dissolved in a matter of seconds.

It's a scary thought being ripped off of something so dear so abruptly, it's scary how it ripped a hole it Warren's chest that is now filled with a black, emotionless but equally painful void that nags, tears and claws at him.

It's a scary thought that he's alone again.

His body, his throat gives in and he's rolling on his side, screaming and tearing at the blanket, fingers grabbing at the fabric, as his knuckles turn white. He's screaming and screaming and screaming until his throat is sore and his eyes burn and the only noises that leave his mouth are little pathetic whines of exhaustion and the gasping for air. The pain in his chest takes his breath away, chokes him and makes him want to curl up, bore a knife into it, twist and turn it until it goes away. He feels like vomiting.

It's Sunday. It's been a little over 30 hours. Warren is tired, but everytime he tries to close his eyes he sees him, hears his laughter ring in his ears. It hurts. It hurts so much, he has hardly any words left to describe the agony he is going through.

His head hurts too, so does his throat and his stomach, with the constant throwing up and the lack of hydration. But he can't bring himself to get up, to grab a glass of water and drown some pain killers and go to bed. His legs are heavy and he just doesn't have the energy.

Warren feels like dying but he's also so painfully alive.

He's wide awake. He'll need to find a solution for how he's going to be able to go to work tomorrow.

But for now he's wrapping himself in Steve's blanket, the one he sleeps in when he's been over, inhaling the fading scent.

"Agent 14?"

His eyes are red, bloodshot and his fingers are trembling, seconds away from shaking. He had powder this morning to just make it somehow and it's slowly wearing off. He hasn't been on coke since college and it sent him on a murder high, blood pumping like a race horse only to now let him dive head-first into a killer hole.

It's been three days since Steve left his life both, quiet and eardrum-tearing loudly, and it feels like a nightmare, eternal and burning hot. He's empty inside but there's also just so much pain, it feels like he's breaking into pieces. His stomach clenches and his heartbeat is heavy, vibrates thickly in his chest and he just wants to die, too.

"Mrs. Rackham", his voice is rough, it doesn't bother to hide that Warren had been crying and screaming his lungs out every night since Steve's brain had been splattered onto the ferris wheel.

"I need to talk to you."

This is about Avon and Clifford, he's sure. His hand shakes and coffee spills on his desk. He curses under his breath and reaches for a tissue but Mrs. Rackham grabs his hand with force. They look at each other. Warren blinks.

"You are not in a good condition. I don't need explanations or lies, 14. I want to offer you my sincere condolences on your loss, Mister Jones. "

Warren takes a deep breath but he can't keep his eyes from tearing up.

"Take the week off, Agent", as he's not moving, shocked and dumbfounded, she starts to pick his jacket up, "Go now, I'll cover you up."

He gets on his feet, knees weak and body shaking, takes his jacket from her hands.

"Thank you, Phoenicia", he means it.

She looks at him. "I'm sorry", and she means it, too, "The IAA could've done some-"

"Don't."

She nods sharply and then looks at him once more, eyes piercing.

"I lost my husband in service as well, Iraq in 2004."

And then they're hugging, Warren is burrying his face into her neck and wailing like a little child.

It's a weird feeling and it fucks with his head as his gaze falls on the door of his apartment. He could've sworn that he heard the key turning the lock. He stares and stares and stares and it feels like his brain is readying for Steve to come through the door anytime.

He doesn't.

It's midnight and he had five more moments like the door-lock one earlier. He feels like he may go insane.

Warren fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and opens up Eyefind, types his thoughts into the searchbar.

At the end of his research he's left with two possibilities: it's either a stage of grief (denial they call it - dying's more fitting, Warren thinks) or the sideeffects of the coke slowly wearing off.

It's raining. It's like the heavens above are pissing down on him. Warren's crying while the rain relentlessly pounds on his umbrella.

He's standing a few meters away from the funeral party. Steve's mother bails her eyes out and he would like to go over to her and wrap her im his arms but he would just be a stranger to her.

There's a saxophonist in front of the cementry. He's playing Sinatra's Summer Wind, sounding sad but warm nonetheless. Steve's family probably thinks of that as a weird coincidence but Warren has spent two full nights finding the man again, who has played down at Steve's street corner all those months ago. It was difficult and time consuming, but not impossible.

There's a new wave of tears making their way out of Warren's eyes and he has to clasp a hand on his mouth to stop the painful noises from making their way into the soft air of spring. He feels like he's breaking apart, torn into two pieces.

He cries and cries and cries until the funeral party is long gone any the sun sets. The saxophonist is still playing.

When Warren comes home the sun's gone for some while and it's dark out. There's a light burning in his kitchen. For a moment, just a split second, it feels like Steve will swing around the corner. But he doesn't.

He walks into the kitchen to find a bouquet of white lillies sitting on the countertop. He checks the card attached to them.

Sorry about your loss.

He doesn't recognize the handwriting, it looks like it could've been written by someone who's older than Warren, male maybe, but his last Hand Writing and Letter Indentification Course was two years ago. He figures his cleaner, a nice elderly lady, had put them there. He thinks about her seeing the bouquet on the door step and carefully carrying them inside, placing them in the only vase Warren has at home. It makes him both sad and glad, glad that at least she's still around.

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.

14 would've liked to ask Robert Frost if he was just stupid or naive or both.

Two days later he's so angry at the world that he grabs the vase and throws it across the room, where it collides with the wall and breaks in a thousand little pieces.

The anger keeps on coming, rage that boils hot and white in his stomach, makes him lash out at colleagues and scream his lungs out, throwing things and fits like it's nothing.

He finds himself beating into walls and furniture until his knuckles bleed.

Mrs. Rackham puts him onto another break, Temporarily Suspended Until Further Notice the record reads.

Warren's awake, restless but exhausted, again. It's three in the morning. His head hurts, his bones hurts, his whole body feels heavy.

"I should've stopped you from going", he whispers into the night and his mind conjurs up Steve's voice, consoling him.

"No, really. I should have been more persistent. If you just would've stayed with me that night."

Steve answers him again, but it sounds washed out in Warren's ear.

Oh, please don't let me forget his voice.

He's not moving again. Hasn't done so in two days.

Mrs. Rackham continues to call him, but he won't pick up. He can't handle her, can't handle her sorrow and her advices. He doesn't want to hear it. She would probably also bug him about not showing up for work again and that's just something he really doesn't want to hear right now.

It's phone rings again and he picks it up to throw it against the wall with all the force he can possibly muster, so it would just shut up, but it's not Phoenicia calling this time. It's Lester.

"14? This is Crest." He doesn't sound good. Warren doesn't know what to say.

"I am, ehrm, calling to see how you're doing?" Odd. He can't bring himself to say anything back. "You know I, err, saw you didn't clock in to work for a few days? Are you doing, ehrm, well?"

"Yeah", it sounds as broken as he feels. There's an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds, maybe even for a full minute. He hears Lester's inhaler.

"I, well I err heard about Haines."

It should send him into a rage, a fit, maybe even crying manically but there's just nothing. Just the casual numbness that hangs above him like thick clouds these days.

"Yeah, a shame, isn't it?"

There's coughing, then deep breaths being taken. "You're not doing too well, Crest?"

"Can we meet up, 14? I", another cough, "I know a place."

The sun's out and it burns in Warren's eyes, on his skin, even though he's wearing both, a jacket and sunglasses. Crest sits across from him at the table, not touching his iced coffee. So isn't Warren, he is neither thirsty nor hungry.

They are at a bean machine on Vinewood Boulevard. It's one of the stores Steve used to buy his coffee at. There should be stining pain at the thought but there's just sadness, blackness wandering through Warren's mind.

"You don't look too good", Crest says.

"You neither", Warren says and to mask the shaking of his voice he takes a sip from the coffee. It tastes like nothing, like liquid paper.

"I don't feel to good either. But you also don't, so what's the matter, 14."

Warren just shrugs. Lester looks at him, a steady and stern gaze, as if he's looking for answers in Warren's eyes, in his fucking soul.

"What are we doing here?"

"Just looking after a, err, friend."

"We're not friends, Crest."

"Associates then, maybe?", the look on his face is a little sad, offended. Warren can't bring himself to care.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Any lead, yet?"

Warren lifts his eyebrows in suprise. "A lead?"

"Yeah, you know", Crest clears his throat and leans in a little, "Who did it, you know."

Maybe Warren's mind is playing tricks on him again, but Crest looks a little concerned.

"No, none. Nothing."

Crest nods and leans back. Lester doesn't offer his help, so Warren decides that he then won't ask for it. Still confused and mouth already opened he wants to know why, as Lester's lungs throw a fit, his body cramping and being thrown forward and then back again by his dry coughs. Warren's up on his feet in a matter of seconds, his heartbeat picking up a fast rate he hasn't feeled in weeks, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He grabs Lester by his shoulders and holds him up, while he coughs coughs coughs. At the end of it there's blood on his chin.

"You're not planing on dying as well, are you?"

The look Lester shoots him, slumped in his chair with other guests on the terrace staring at them in shock, makes Warren's skin crawl.

He hasn't been at an attorney's office ever. It's a weird experience.

The people are nice and calm and so is Mister Allan, who has Steve's testament laying in front of him.

"So, Mister Jones, shall we get started then?"

Warren nods. It still confuses him. He wonders what Steve's mother thought, when she heard that she won't inherit everything. Warren doesn't want money, money won't replace anything.

He must've said that out loud, because Allan chuckles.

"Mister Haines hasn't left you money. No need to worry, Mister Jones."

He leaves the office with a black box tucked safely under his arm. He doesn't open it, not in the office, not on the way out in the elevator, not at home. He tucks it away in his closet, deep down where he keeps a ski puffer, that he never wears anyways.

He finds himself talking to Steve, or what his mind conjurs up of his memories, more often. It helps him, or so he hopes.

He misses him and the soliloquy is a good substitute, at least for now.

They are at a clinic just above the hills and behind the Vinewood sign, far away from the city, the air is dry and crisp nonetheless. Lester sits in a wicker chair, wrapped in a blanket and stares at the fountain in the middle the perfectly trimmed meadow. Warren sits next to him, craving a cigarette, but not lighting one. He'll have to wait a couple more minutes, until the nurse will bring Lester back into the clinic.

"Thank you for stopping by", Crest means it.

"Am I the only one?"

"No, oh no. There's, ehrm, Franklin's coming over too, once or twice a week."

He looks better, rested. Warren doesn't know who Franklin is, but he nods politely anyways.

"That's nice."

"Yeah, he's a good kid." A crook then.

"Are they treating you well up here?"

"It's fine, I- argh, fuck it. The dinner's horrible but the doctor's are good enough. Won't make a difference anyways."

"That's what they're saying then?", Warren looks into the setting sun. From up here Los Santos seems peaceful, quiet, a big, glorious and shining city. It's a hell hole full of shit, Warren knows that now, but he can't leave. Not yet.

"Yeah. No. They don't say it, but they mean it. It's in their eyes." Lester takes a sip of his water.

"Don't say that, Crest."

Lester looks at him. He doesn't say it, but the look on his face says it all. You've been through enough, I won't tell you that I'm dying soon.

"Yeah, well, it was nice seeing you. Getting better and such", Warren gets up, the wicker creaking, his phone in hand and sunglasses back on. They look at each other for a long, quiet moment and then Warren nods, turns around to leave. A surprisingly strong hand grabs his arm.

"I have a project, it's happening right now, Warren."

He stops in his tracks. From somewhere behind the fountain laughter sweeps up the hill. There's an old lady on the meadow with their grandchildren and they're playing ball. She has a bandage around her head.

"A project?", Warren doesn't turn around.

"Yeah, I'd like you to take over. You need something to do."

"I still have a job, Crest."

"That reminds you of him." It's like a kick into his guts and there's sudden rage boiling inside of him, but there's also something else. A certain calmness, that wraps itself around his shoulders like a white blanket. T feels a lot like clarity.

"That it does, yeah."

"I'll have Paige bring you the details."

"Sure. Good night, Crest."

He walks over the little path out of bark mulch, that is overgrown by trees, back to his car. He feels oddly content.

See, life does goes on. It's a weird thought that strikes him out of nowhere. He's afraid of forgetting everything that was, since forgetting always seemed easy. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week but who knows what will be in a year? Maybe he'll catch himself sooner or later, not thinking about Steve for a few weeks, months, years.

He's afraid of that, sincerely so.

The air in the bunker is cold and damp. Some of his people are moving out the old equipment. He doesn't know Crest's newest associate, it's most likely no one from the Hertz/Clifford-Incident.

I'm sorry I called him a buffoon, if I had only known back then.

He thinks of Phoenicia's concerned face and suddendly he finds himself smiling.

"Oh, he was a buffoon, you weren't wrong, Ma'am", he says to himself and hears a quiet chuckle errupting from his chest. There's sadness floading him, but it's warm and sweet and feels like an old friend.

There's no time for tears as the door of the bunker suddendly beeps loudly, informing him of a visitor arriving.

"So, you're getting along, then?", Crest sounds better. Warren lets go a breath, he doesn't even know he held in the first place.

"Yeah. They are quiet, but I appreciate the effort they are putting into it."

"I told you, they're are reliable."

"So you did."

There's a long pause, silence.

"Listen, Crest. I gotta go, speak to you soon."

As he hangs up, he's confronted with his lie, standing alone in his quiet living room.

The next time Lester invites him over, he says yes. He lives in a bigger, cleaner house now and Warren can only guess, that he was indeed involved in the robbery at the Casino his team is trying to solve right now. He'll offer them a false trace. Maybe they'll pick that one up.

"Georgina's not home, you just missed her", Lester wobbles down the stairs to the living room, crutch in hand.

"Who?"

"Georgina, he lives with her", Warren looks up, from where he is securing Lester's arm with his own hand and looks into the face of a young man. He looks younger than himself and wears expensive street style clothing.

"Who are you?"

"That's Franklin, Warren. Franklin, that's the friend I've been telling you about."

"Pleasure", Warren's voice still on the edge, while the man's handshake is firm.

"You lost your man, dog? Lest been telling me."

"I did, eight months ago."

There's something moving behind Franklin's face but he's quick to cover it up. Warren wonders: what and why.

"Shame man, I'm sorry to hear that, homie. My girl left me, too."

"He didn't leave me. He died."

Franklin looks at Lester, confused and a little reproachful, too. Then, it seems to click, as Franklin looks at him again. He now looks a little terrified, actually.

"Franklin was just leaving anways, weren't you?", Crest sits down in a beige armchair. Warren notices that he has new glasses.

"Yeah, shit. I mean of course, I was on my way out. Nice meeting you man, I hope you're, you know, doing better soon. See you around."

"Thank you", Warren recieves an awkward pat on his shoulder and then Franklin's steps distance themselves, until the front door falls shut.

He didn't leave me. He died.

His own words echo in his skull but they don't throw him into a manic tantrum, he's not crying, not screaming. He's oddly calm.

Is this how it feels, when one comes to terms with something, he wonders. Maybe, it is.

He died.

That he did and it must've been fucking ugly. Blood and soupy brain everywhere. Warren wishes he could've held him during these moments, when the body is slowling shutting down, when something mysterious, unknown happens to the human consciousness.

He died.

And Warren had missed him every single day since then. He leans himself against the closed bedroom door of his apartment and then makes his way to his closet.

The box is still where he has left it.

He died. He died. He died.

"I miss you, Steve", he whispers into the silence of his flat and then he smiles, it's small and sad, and he sinks onto the ground, box clutched in his hands, "Fuck, I wish you were still here."

There's silence but Warren likes to think that something of Steve's mind, his soul is still left on this earth, stayed with him. It's a nice thought, even if it's unrealistic. It's still consoling.

Steve's gone for good, but just because his body doesn't walk the dirty streets of LS anymore doesn't mean that he left Warren's life completely - he still existed, left his footprints behind. And Warren's ready, willing even, to take carefully aligned pictures of them and hang them on his wall. He's ready to look at them every day that may come and maybe he'll stop crying at some point. Or maybe he won't. He'll be fine.

It's an odd feeling. His life still feels empty, incomplete since Steve passed and so does Warren. He feels empty, shallow and sad, but it will pass and he will take the time. It doesn't mean forgetting him, quite the contrary maybe.

He flips the lid, puts it aside carefully with a quiet thump on the carpet below. He takes a look inside and bursts out laughing.

"Did he leave you something?", he hasn't seen her in years, since college. She used to be his flat mate.

"Yeah", he smiles to himself.

"What is it?", she looks moved and Warren would love to tell her, but he can't. He really can't. Not all of it, anyways.

"A letter."

"A letter?"

"Yeah, a fucking love letter."

"Warren! Don't say that! It's very heartwarming!"

It's been a year. He still misses him. "He wasn't the type for it, that's all."

He thinks of the envelope he keeps in his safe. It's a document, FIB header and logo, completely official.

Reference: Counter Espionage, Crimes Against National Safety, A Report By Steve Haines to be handed to Misses Phoenicia Rackham In Relation "To Agent 14", Mister Warren Jones

"Oh, was he not, you know, a little a romantic?"

"No, it must've taken a lot for him to write a love letter." It was really sweet and it went well with the attempt to put Warren in a High Security Penitentiary.

"Really?", she looks a little concerned, but she doesn't get Steve, their relationship as it was, like Warren does.

He looks up from his coffee cup and lights a cigarette. He hasn't had a smoke in a long time but at least he stopped with the cocaine.

"Yeah. Sometimes", there's a smile tugging at his lips, "Sometimes I think he would've rather seen me locked away."

#i'm sorry but i had to #my writing #steve/14 tag #steve haines/agent 14 #agent steve haines #agent 14 #gta v #gta online

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captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

Titanic || H.S

Part Three || “Harry”

“I hear the states are quite bigger than just New York, dear...”

Warnings: This book contains mature themes and discussions, such as gun violence, emotional and physical abuse, attempted suicide, mentions of blood, character deaths, heavy sexual content, and reference to the real maritime disaster of the 1912 cruise liner Titanic.

Mornings were as warm as freshly made bread and salted butter for Harry, inviting and comforting, with that perfect combination sitting on his tongue in absolute delight. He’d chow down happily as each morning customer ordered their regulars, his mother rushing from one side to the other as the orders came in. And once he swallowed his last piece, he rolled his sleeves up to pull yet another tray of bread that had been baking since the early morning hours.

The family bakery was located in a very crowded part of the city, where thousands walked by each day, good and bad, gossiping about anything and everything. And although Harry’s family bakery wasn’t the only one on the street, it was the one that received the most praise. With dough made with love and an end product that was easily pulled apart, Harry’s family bakery won first place in all good graces.

And with such precision in every bite and every cake decorated in such an exquisite manner that they were rated number one in The Times for attention to detail and amazing taste, the family bakery was ready to branch out. They had a plan to save as much money as they could - and although being loved by many and receiving great reviews - they had very little of that. Most of the money the family earned went to rent, new shoes, and ingredients. The plan involved the Styles Bakery becoming some sort of franchise, and since they had London’s attention, it was possible.

The Styles Bakery would extend through other parts of London, and ever since Harry’s grandparents moved to the states with his aunt and her children, America was added to the equation.

“Mum, could you get the bread out? My hands are full!” Harry called out, arms struggling to carry glass jars full of jelly. He carefully climbed the ladder on the wall and began stacking, looking over his shoulder to make sure his mother heard his request. She quickly came out from the back room, padding her hands against her apron, and proceeded to remove the bread. She placed it on the counter carefully, all the while watching her son as he balanced himself on the ladder.

“Quite busy, are we?” she asked, rushing over to hold the ladder under him. Harry placed the last of his jars on the shelves.

“We need to get this place ready for the photographer! We need those photos by tonight so I can bring them with me on the trip.”

“I know, honey. And thank you for doing this, but I don’t want you to fall and get hurt just because you were in a rush,” she said, helping Harry as he climbed down. “We have more than enough time.”

“Time?” Harry said with a tiny laugh, “Grandad said that if we don’t get these plans and photographs to the landlord in two weeks time, then we have to search outside of New York.”

She smiled at him, “I hear the states are quite bigger than just New York, dear.”

Harry rolled his eyes, retreated back to the stockroom, and grabbed even more full jars. But as he returned, he continued the conversation. “But it’s where all the business and people are!”

But still, his mother laughed. “People exist outside urban areas as well.”

Harry saw how his mother would continue to innocently twist his words for the better, and no matter how negative he seemed to speak, his mother always could sprinkle the positives inside. For a while longer, they stacked jars, rearranged chairs, and cleaned the windows while waiting for the photographer. Once he arrived, he set up and did the bakery justice. From just the angles alone, Harry could see that the photographs would come out perfectly. They paid him extra for such an expedited order, promised to pick them up early tomorrow morning, and closed up the bakery a little after two in the afternoon.

Harry quickly ventured out to the still-empty pubs around town, a small pack of cigarettes he usually kept hidden behind the sacks of flour in the stockroom now hidden in his coat pocket, and joined as many small poker games he could find. With such deserted pubs at this time of the day, the men were less rowdy and more sober. This way Harry could collect as much pocket change he could in time for his voyage. The time flew by as he hopped from one pub to another, but he was still determined to make some more cash. But as his eyelids began to droop and his mind narrowly missed the ‘full house’ he was holding, Harry won, wrapped it all up, and started home.

He wasn’t a heavy gambler but he was known to succeed in a few tournaments when his family desperately needed to make rent. With such a dangerous alternative, Harry and his sister hid the fact that they would apply for odd jobs outside of the general area they lived, bringing in money under their mother’s nose - anything to keep the family afloat.

But after a few hours in the comfort of his home, he ventured out into the world once again. He traveled around his known parts of the city, a few blocks here and there, most alleyways, and greeted many people. Once his feet began feeling sore and the tips of his shoes stubbed his toes, he went into a pub for a quick drink. He enjoyed its taste, sort of salty and sweet at the same time. He ordered the same and decided to focus on his surroundings during each sip, watching every bartender and every customer walk to and from the bar. All he could think about while looking at everyone’s joyful faces was that tomorrow he would be waiting at the docks and boarding the grandest ship in the world. Perhaps he’d be lucky enough to taste the alcohol they were transporting and serving, but it was a long-shot thought. The third class most likely was not going to offer up the finest things, but it sure beat the streets of rat-infested London. But as Harry recalled his schooling and the little travelers who brought the plague, he settled for calling Titanic’s possible rats more upper-class than the ones below the bar he was currently lounging in. The simple third class ticket hidden safely away in his bedside drawer was a somewhat important telling, like it was something that represented a rise in Harry’s world.

He ordered his third drink, this time carefully watching a young couple across the room who shared the drink they just ordered. They laughed along with the piano player, hands intertwined, simultaneously tapping their thighs to the beat in unison. Such synchronization was therapeutic and Harry wondered how they met - if they knew they were right for each other, if they ever fought, how many children they had, or whether they were truly happy as their movements portrayed. All these unanswered questions did not need to have an answer for Harry to accept the wonder.

The sound of Harry’s sliding barstool startled the sleeping man next to him. Harry paid the bartender, gave the sleeping man a double pat on the shoulder, and left. He was only a few blocks away from home, but he decided to walk slower than usual. Tomorrow’s plan formulated itself and Harry didn’t have to think twice about it - he would wake up early, dress casual but clean, make sure his boots had their laces, and double-check his packing. And the one-way ticket would burn a hole in his pocket as he boarded, waving goodbye to his mother and sister who weren’t granted tickets themselves. They would wave sadly, tearing up slightly but just enough for Harry to see, and would come back home to run the bakery themselves for a few months.

It was worth the distance once Harry landed in America, for their entire lives would change. In America, Harry would buy that spot of land they had all been saving for over the last fifteen years. He would clean, build, anything he had to do as long as that spot of land showcased the first of a long chain of Styles Bakery’s. A bakery where Americans of all races, all religions, all everything and anything would get to savor the sweet taste of a busy London street.

Once he got home he wrapped himself up with three heavy blankets, drank a cup of tea, and rested his eyes for a moment. He was already giddy with joy, restless as to what awaited him tomorrow. The chance to step on American soil and the Titanic - all within a week - barely allowed Harry a wink of deep sleep.

The American dream wasn’t really what Harry strived for or wished to achieve, but he definitely thought it probable. He had the money, he had the determination, he had the contacts. But it was quite unsettling to think about the negative consequences of such a drastic move and not knowing if everything was going to fall into place.

Harry’s eyes began to feel heavier and heavier as his mind kept racing, but he knew one thing for sure. Whether his family’s dream was to be recognized and accomplished, it was luck and luck alone that would ultimately determine his new American fate. Harry breathed a heavy sigh and ducked his chin deeper into the blankets, neck slightly tilted and arms hugging his upper torso.

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vannahfanfics · 3 years

Text

The Sacred Art of Hamburger-Making

Category: General Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Momo Yaoyorozu, Denki Kaminari, & Hanta Sero

Hey, hey, everybody! This is the second story I wrote for @cuizineco’s Heroes in the Baking zine, which is free to download!

Momo hummed under her breath as she filed her nails, sitting between Hanta and Denki on the common room sofa. The air was filled with clacking and clicking as the two boys feverishly jabbed the buttons and spun the joysticks on their controllers; both of their eyes were fixed on the martial arts video game they were embroiled in. Momo enjoyed the rare instances where they came down to the common room to play; she found something about their competitive energy so invigorating, especially after a hard day’s training.

Just as she had finished buffing her shiny, neatly-trimmed nails, a deep voice boomed from the television to announce with dramatic fervor, “Fatality!” while thick red blood splattered the word across the screen. Hanta jumped up from the couch with a triumphant crow, nearly flinging the controller as he flung his hands into the air, while the defeated Denki melted into the couch cushions with a groan.

“Don’t worry, Denki. You’ll beat him next time,” Momo encouraged with a sweet smile.

“No, he won’t, because he’s a loserrrrr!” Hanta teased while making an L-shape on his forehead with his fingers. Denki stuck out his tongue angrily to his friend before humming thoughtfully.

“Man, we’ve been playing for hours. I’m starving… You know what I could go for right now? A big, greasy, cheesy, American-style hamburger,” he sighed dreamily, salivating at the words alone. Momo perked up, her interest piqued.

“Oh, I’ve never had a hamburger before.”

If they were on a comedy show, one would have heard a record scratch. Denki’s head whipped around to stare at her with owlish eyes for a second before he chuckled magnanimously and slipped his arm around her slim shoulders, his expression melting into one a mixture of pity and mischievousness.

“Momo. Dear. Honey. You’ve never had a hamburger?” the blond asked in a polite but disbelieving voice. Unsure what all the fuss was about, Momo slowly shook her head.

“Now that’s what I call a got-damn tragedy,” Hanta observed before shoving a handful of potato chips into his mouth. As he munched on the barbecue-flavored crisps, crumbs and powder raining from his lips down onto his tee-shirt, he looked at Denki pointedly. “We have to amend that, don’t we, Denks?”

“We most certainly do,” the blond nodded sagely, pinching his chin and closing his eyes like the picture of a pensive philosopher. “We cannot allow Momo here, our dear friend, our beloved classmate and light of our bleak lives, to remain in such a sorry state. So… To the kitchen!” he announced and jumped up, pointing a finger into the air. “By our hand, we will allow Momo to suffer no longer!”

Are hamburgers really that good? Momo wondered as she followed the two boys to the adjoining kitchen. They probably weren’t, but watching the two tear through the cabinets and refrigerator to gather all the necessary tools and ingredients was so energizing that Momo found herself growing excited. She’d never seen Denki so animated about cooking before; he was all smiles as he pranced around wearing a “Kiss the Cook” apron of All Might in a chef’s hat, so she couldn’t refuse him even if she wanted to.

“All right, Chef Denki,” Momo chuckled as she tied an apple-patterned apron around her waist, “I’m under your tutelage tonight.”

“It’s the only thing he’ll ever tutor you in,” Hanta joked, earning a sharp jab in the ribs from his cohort.

“Anyway,” Denki said and cleared his throat, “pay close attention, Momo. I am going to teach you the sacred art of making hamburgers. First, we have to make the patties.” He took a few packs of ground meat and sliced open the plastic, dumping the stringy pink-red meat into a large aluminum bowl.

“Everyone says they’re down with hamburgers tonight,” Hanta reported, sitting on the counter typing away at his phone.

“Let’s see— with twenty people plus Mr. Aizawa, with an average of two burgers a person, that would be… forty patties,” he rattled off, using his fingers to count as he multiplied in his head. “We should be able to manage that between the three of us. Hanta, would you go ahead and plug in the mini-grill so it’ll be heated up?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Denki returned his attention to the patiently-waiting Momo.

“Now then. First, you want to make sure your patties are the right consistency, so you mix it with bread crumbs.” Momo watched with raised eyebrows as he took a box of them and dumped some into the bowl. “You want your patties to stick together, obviously, so you add eggs—” he continued as he cracked some open, spilling the golden yolks into the bowl— “and then milk to soften up the meat a little. Finally— and this is the most important part, Momo— you season it to perfection!”

Momo watched in wonder as he added several spices and a dark brown sauce to the mix, saturating the meat in flavor, without even taking measurements. As he was telling her how to mix it up, scrunching the meat and other ingredients together with his hands, she smiled endearingly.

“Wow, you’ve cooked this a lot, huh?”

“Yup! Me and my folks took an overseas trip once to America when I was young, and we loved the hamburgers so much that we got a recipe from one of the locals! It became a staple in my household! Fast food burgers are nice n’ all, but nothing really compares to a good ol’ beefy homemade burger!” Denki grinned widely.

“I think that’s great! Would you like me to get started on another bowl of ground beef, then?”

“Yes, please!”

Under Denki’s careful guidance, Momo added the ingredients one at a time to the bowl. When it came time to combine them, she squealed at the odd sensation of the sticky, gooey meat, fluid sauce and egg, and gritty powder squishing between her fingers. Denki laughed heartily at the disgusted faces she made while mixing up the ground beef, squeaking and shuddering all the while, until it was uniform. In the background, Hanta had been doing other small tasks like chopping lettuce and onions, slicing tomatoes and cheese, and setting out condiments. He finally joined them at the counter, wiping tomato juice off his hands with a dishtowel.

“It’s a messy job,” Denki said as he grabbed a fistful of the meat, “but we’re not done yet! Now it’s time to make the patties.”

“Ooh! My favorite part!” Hanta grinned, grabbing hamburger meat from Momo’s bowl with both hands. “Ya just roll it into a ball, then flatten it into a nice, round patty,” he said while demonstrating the motions. He then walked over to the simmering grill to plop it on the ridged surface. “Then ya grill it until it’s just right, and boom! Nice, tasty, juicy hamburger.”

“Hanta, have you been to America, too?” Momo inquired as she slowly replicated the motion, still cringing at the sliminess of the raw meat.

“Nah. I spent a lot of summer break at Denki’s house, though, and his old man taught me how to make ‘em!” Hanta said as he slapped another patty onto the small grill and closed the lid, filling the air with sizzling and popping. While he waited for the meat to brown, he leaned against the counter and flashed Momo a wink. “I felt kinda honored being included in the Kaminari family tradition of summer cook-outs!”

“You’re my best friend! Of course you would be!” Denki grinned, sauntering over to bump elbows with Hanta. “And, since Momo is our best girl,” he continued while turning around to wink saucily at Momo, “it’s natural that she be included, too!”

“Ah! Stop it; you’re going to make me blush!” Momo cried and, in her momentary embarrassment, slapped her palms to her cheeks. All the blood drained from her face as she realized she was smooshing raw meat and seasoning on her face. She screamed shrilly and ripped her hands away from her face, horrified by the bits of pulverized meat falling from her cheeks. As she raced to the sink, Hanta and Denki fell to the floor howling with laughter. “Stop it! It’s not funny!” she cried as she scraped at her face with a soapy sponge, tossing a glare over her shoulder.

“Actually, it really is, Yaomomo,” Denki snorted as he climbed back up to resume making hamburger patties. Momo just sniffed dourly, thoroughly embarrassed. Then, an evil idea hatched in her mind; stealthily, she filled her cupped hands with ice-cold water and crept up behind Denki. Just as he took notice of her presence, she dumped it down the neck of his shirt. He yelped and his back arched backward as the cold liquid hit his skin.

“Aye, aye, what the hell was that for?!”

“Serves you right!” Hanta laughed, pointing at him and completely unaware that he was the next in Momo’s cross-hairs. “Wha—?” he blinked owlishly as Momo flung a glob of the raw meat at him; it collided with his cheek with a wet slap, slowly sliding down before landing on his tennis shoe. “I guess I deserved that.”

“Hey, you morons! Don’t tell me you’re messing around in the kitchen!” boomed a grouchy voice. Momo turned to see Katsuki stomping in, his hands buried in his cargo pants pockets and his lips stretched in a scowl. His vermillion eyes slowly slid down to the chunk of meat dripping on Hanta’s shoe. “What the hell?! You can’t just waste food like that! Who taught you losers to cook?!”

“Oi! This is my show! Go yell at someone else, Baku-bro!” Denki whined and poked at Katsuki with his foot as he continued to quickly pile up patties on aluminum foil next to Hanta, who returned from cleaning off his face to take the broiled hamburgers off the grill and put them on some buns. Katsuki slapped Denki’s foot away but obediently shambled out of the kitchen to join the rest of their peers, who had been attracted by the savory aroma now clouding the air.

“All right, the guest of honor gets to try first,” Hanta grinned as he presented Momo with a fully dressed hamburger complete with a side of potato chips. As she took the paper plate, she was amazed at the weight of the thing, nearly spilling it all as she hastily recovered from the plate dipping. She set it safely on the counter before looking at it, wondering how the heck to eat it.

“I… With my hands…?”

“Hell yeah, girl! Get in there!” Denki encouraged with an airy laugh. Momo blushed before timidly grabbing the hamburger, grimacing at the juice that leaked onto her fingers when she lightly squeezed it. She craned her neck over the plate as she leaned in for a bite, trying not to drip it all over her clothes. First came the soft bread, then crunchy lettuce and tomato, then melty cheese, and then finally the savory meat. Momo hummed as the robust flavor exploded on her tongue, complemented by all the toppings.

“Well? Amazing or what?” Denki grinned as he sidled up to her, wiggling his golden eyebrows expectantly. Too busy savoring the symphony of flavors on her tongue, Momo only nodded with her eyes fluttering shut. “Woohoo! Atta girl! Look at our Momo, getting messy with a big ol’ hamburger!” Denki laughed as he did a celebratory jig.

“Ehhh? Did I hear Momo eating hamburgers?” Mina said as she poked her head in. Momo was mid-bite, her mouth stretching wide to accommodate the thick patty, and she froze to blink owlishly at the pink girl. “Ahhhh! Look how far you’ve come! Finally embracing the ways of us commoners, eh?”

Instead of replying, Momo just crunched down on the burger, smiling dreamily as the deliciousness once again graced her senses.

She had the answer to her question. Hamburgers were really that good! While the others began to file into the kitchen to claim their meals from Denki and Hanta, Momo savored hers bite by bite until she was finished. When she sheepishly presented her plate to Denki for seconds, he laughed and began fixing it for her. The others had vacated the premises, leaving only the two of them.

“Thanks for sharing this with me, Denki. I had a lot of fun, and it was really good!” she said as he plopped a piece of pale green lettuce atop her patty.

“To be honest, I was a little scared you wouldn’t enjoy it,” he admitted shyly, giving her a side glance as she gasped in shock. “I know you come from a really wealthy family, Momo, and generally… Rich folks don’t think highly of us little guys, you know?”

“I know.” Though Momo’s family was kind and tolerant, that still didn’t mean that she hadn’t seen the uglier side of the bourgeoisie. With a soft smile, she wrung her arms around Denki’s waist and laid her head on his shoulder to squeeze him in a tight hug. “But I consider myself lucky! You guys teach me all kinds of neat and wonderful things, and I get to share things about my life with you all, too. I would never, ever judge you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Denki hummed and gently bonked his head with hers. “Here you go, Momo. I hope you enjoy your seconds.”

“Thanks,” she said as she took the plate. She then grinned roguishly. “To be honest, I might be up for thirds.”

Like the hearty scent of homemade hamburgers wafting around the small kitchen, her and Denki’s laughter filled the air.

Nope. In Momo’s book, nothing really did compare to one of Denki’s hamburgers, and it soon became one of her favorite things to cook with her friends, even out of all the things she learned from them.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #denki kaminari #kaminari denki #hanta sero #sero hanta #momo yaoyorozu #yaoyorozu momo

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gingywritesimagines · 6 years

Text

Krabby Patties

guess who’s trash for an underappreciated boy? It’s me!

Title: Krabby Patties

Fandom: X-Men

Pairing: Mortimer “Toad” Toynbee x Reader

Description: (Y/N) has been friends with Mortimer for ages, but once he leaves to fight in Vietnam, they never hear from him again. They start to worry that he may have died in the line of duty, until their favourite diner gets a new fry cook.

Warnings: language (have you learned that I curse like a sailor yet?), mentions of war and discrimination, more evidence of me being a comma freak, scenarios based (very closely) off of this scene

A/N: There’s so little Mort content oh my god. I honestly love this character so much and I was hella mad when he was in DoFP for a total of what... 30 seconds? My boy Mort deserves better okay? And you know how it is: if there’s not enough content you want, make it your damn self. So, this is me, making the content I want by my damn self. Enjoy

It was the fourth of July, and your house was buzzing with life. As per annual tradition, your parents held a huge barbeque with too many people for your small suburban property to hold. Your dad had invited his friends from work, who all brought their spouses, and a few of them brought their kids; your mom had invited the members of her ‘book club’, who all brought their spouses as well. You had invited your friends, but only one could make it- not that you minded. Mortimer was your best friend and he had lived at your house more than he had lived at his own. He had come to every event your family held, mostly because you invited him to every single one, so it wasn’t a surprise he came to the barbeque as well. He hadn’t partied like everyone else though; he had spent most of his time helping you carry platters out into the backyard or dealing with the children, careful not to run into any of your parents’ friends. It broke your heart, but he was very much aware of how his appearance made others feel- whether they were mutant or not. Because of this, he often avoided the actual party part of the party, and opted to help you with organization or hide in the basement with you and goof around freely. At this particular party, Mort was inside with you, until your mom had asked for help carrying out food to the porch; Mort had volunteered to carry the raw sausages and burgers out to your dad at the grill.

“Heya Mortimer! How ya been?” You dad had asked cheerfully.

“I’m good, sir, how are you doing?”

“I’m alright!” your dad smiled before gesturing towards his friends, “Have you met the boys?”

“No, sir, that’s ok-”

Mortimer was ignored as your dad hollered to his friends, “Hey, fellas, come ‘ere! There’s someone I want you to meet!”

“Dad!” You scolded your father as you put a comforting hand on Mort’s shoulder.

“Relax, button, I’m just being polite. Boys, this is (Y/N)’s friend Mortimer. Mortimer, these are my friends from work.”

Mort waved shyly, but both of you had noticed the grimaces on the faces of the men before you. You started to make some excuse to pull the two of you out of the conversation, but your dad spoke up once again.

“These two have been friends for forever. Hell, kid’s practically part of the family at this point.”

You both blushed at that, but your attention was taken when your dad’s friend Bill cleared his throat, “So, uh, Mortimer. You and (Y/N) are the same age? What do you plan to do now that you’ve graduated high school?”

Mort sent a nervous glance between you and Bill before answering, “Well, actually, sir, I will be signing up for the military as soon as possible.”

“Really? Going over to fight with our boys in Vietnam?”

“Yes, sir, once I get the opportunity.”

Bill had been intrigued, but you had sat there slack-jawed, staring at your friend. You hadn’t been sure if you’d heard him correctly. Vietnam? He had just said that he was shipping himself off- halfway across the world- to fight in a war. You had been proud of him for wanting to serve his country, but so many questions had run through your head at the same time: what? When did he decide this? Vietnam? How long would his deployment be? Did he have to do training first? How long would that take? What kind of battalion would he be put into? Do they even divide troops into battalions? Would they be like people here and consider him expendable or a lesser soldier because of his mutation?

Would he even make it home?

You couldn’t stop asking questions, but at the same time, you couldn’t speak either. You had just stared, and sat around, and stayed silent. Anything to avoid bringing it up again. You had brought it up again though, in the driveway after all your parents’ friends had left.

“Are you really going?”

“Yeah, I am.” He sighed, immediately knowing what you had been referring to, “I just can’t help but feel like this is the only way I can actually do something with my life, you know? Make something of myself, despite... this.”

With that last word, he had gestured to himself, causing you to sigh and grab his hand, “That’s not true, Mort, but if this is what you want to do, I’ll support you.”

He had smiled at that, “Thanks (Y/N). I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too. Write to me?”

“I’ll try.”

“Just be safe out there okay?”

Mortimer chuckled, “I can’t promise that.”

“Mort...”

“Okay, I’ll try.” He smiled, “I still can’t promise anything though.”

Before you could answer that, he had given your hand a squeeze and walked away. That was the last time you saw him before he shipped overseas, and you still hadn’t seen him since.

It was nearly two years later, and you hadn’t even heard from Mortimer. You’d sent letters like you’d promised to, but you never got a response. You didn’t know if they never made it to him or if he never made it long enough for them to get there- you didn’t want to know which it was. You kept your days busy and your mind occupied in the meantime. Part of you keeping busy was frequenting a local diner that had quickly become your new favourite. As per your schedule, you worked your butt off at your job, and walked to the diner as soon as your lunch break started. Today, your boss had given you the rest of the day off, and the diner had a different vibe to it when you walked in.

“Hey, (Y/N)! Usual spot?” a young waiter, Charlie, greeted you.

“Yes, please, Charlie. Hey, what’s going on? It seems.. different in here.”

“We got a new fry cook over the weekend.” Charlie explained, starting to lead you to your usual seat, “He’s been here for three days and folks already love him.”

“What happened to Raphael?” you asked, curious about the last fry cook.

“He became the manager.” a deep voice, the voice of Raphael, answered.

“Raph, congrats! You got a promotion?” you cried.

“Yes, I did. Thank you, but I suppose now you’ll have to spend your lunch break with the new guy instead of me.” Raph smiled, helping you onto a barstool at the diner counter, your usual seat with a clear view to the kitchen, “Let me introduce you. (Y/N), I’d like you to meet-”

“(Y/N)?” a familiar voice cut him off, and you turned to look at the fry cook before you.

“Mort?” you smiled, watching as he maneuvered out of the kitchen to hug you over the counter, “When did you get back?”

“About a week ago. I’m so sorry I didn’t call but I figured you’d’ve changed your number over time or forgotten about me.”

“Forgotten about you? Mortimer, don’t be ridiculous, I thought about you every day!”

Raph chuckled, turning away, “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

After he left, Mort looked at you in surprise, “You thought about me? Every day?”

“Of course.” You nodded, “I wrote to you every day too but I guess you didn’t get my letters.”

“What? No, I didn’t get any letters.”

“Good thing I typed them. I can read ‘em to you later if you’d like.” he smiled and you continued, “So, new job, huh? How’s the transition from soldier to krabby patty chef?”

Mortimer laughed as he went back into the kitchen, talking to you through the window, “Did you seriously just call them krabby patties?”

“Of course I did. What else would I call them? This way I get to call you SpongeBob.”

“Don’t you dare!”

The two of you joked around for a while, him cooking and you picking away at your meal, trying desperately for the moment to last forever. However, your time was cut short as a waitress went behind the counter and returned a barely-touched plate to Mort. He gave her a curt look, glancing between her and the plate of food.

“Something wrong with my burger?” He asked.

“Just a couple of dumb day drinkers is all.” The waitress replied sheepishly.

“Well, what’s their problem with the burger?”

“It’s not worth it.” She insisted.

“What’d they say?” You stepped in, adjusting yourself against the counter.

“He said... the burger...” She drew out her words, clearly trying to not say.

“What did they say, Darlene?” Mort pressed, trying to get her to spit it out.

“He said the burger might be diseased.” she finally snapped.

You squared your shoulders in rage. You were used to people saying shit about Mortimer being a mutant but this had taken it too far. You reached around Darlene and grabbed the plate, sauntering over to the table she’d come from.

“(Y/N), wait!” Mort called after you, before muttering under his breath, “Aw shit.”

You reached the table and cleared your throat to get the patrons’ attention, “Excuse me, gentlemen, who ordered the hamburger... with disease?”

Two of the men giggled like schoolgirls at that, while the third spoke up, “I ordered the hamburger deluxe.”

“Well, sweetie, in this diner a hamburger deluxe comes with fries, lettuce, tomato, mayo, and disease!” At that last word, you raised your voice, gaining the attention of the entire diner, “Anybody got a problem with that?”

“Yeah!” the man spoke up again, “I’m an American, and I got a say in who makes my food. I’m not eating anything made by some diseased mutant freak!”

You rolled your eyes and leaned against the table, using your arms for support, “Well, honey, it's too late for that. Mutants have been breeding your cows, raising your chickens, even brewing your beer long before he walked his sexy ass up in this shit. Everything on your god damn table is diseased.”

“You still ain’t making me eat no diseased burger.” the man insisted, sneering at you.

You leaned towards him angrily. “All you gotta do is say hold the disease.” you grabbed the burger’s top bun and used your newly-discovered mutation to heat it up, “Here, eat it.”

You smashed the bun in his face. His friends got up to defend him, but you punched one and kicked the other, silently thanking your father for those self-defence lessons. The two friends were knocked out and you turned to the third, picking up the plate and pointed towards the kitchen.

“Bitch, you come into his diner, you’re gonna eat his food the way he fucking makes it! Do you understand me?”

With that, you threw the plate at him, “Tip your fucking waitress.”

You turned back to walk the way you came and you were met with a round of applause and a couple of high fives. You went to sit back down at the counter, but Darlene ushered you outside, explaining that she convinced Raphael to give Mort the rest of the day off and that he was waiting for you. You walked out the thin glass door to find him standing on the sidewalk, looking out at the street.

“That was really something in there.”

“Yeah, well.” You shrugged, “Some people need a bit of force in order to learn their lesson.”

Your best friend chuckled, “Thank you, (Y/N). You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate you standing up for me.”

“Of course, Mort.” You smiled, stepping closer to him, “I care about you. I’m not about to let some asshole talk about you like that.”

“Thanks (Y/N).” He smirked, “When did you get your powers?”

You stared down at your hands, “I dunno really. One day, I was at a low patch. I was sitting in the dark, worrying about you and if you were okay and if you were ever coming home, and then my hands warmed up. Just my hands. I looked at them and they were glowing. I couldn’t explain it.”

“You missed me so much you developed a mutation?”

“I guess so.”

He was quiet for a bit before he smiled at you, “I love you too.”

You smiled back, “I know. I love you more.”

He laughed, and then paused for a second before turning his head and looking down behind him.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

He stayed silent for a bit before turning back to you, “Do you really think my ass is sexy?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes in response.

“No, I’m serious. Do you honestly think my ass is sexy?”

“Yes, of course, I actually think your ass is sexy.” You replied with a laugh, “Now can you drop it?”

Mort nodded, thinking, “Oh, well, thank you. Your ass isn’t half bad either.”

“Mortimer!” You groaned, a hint of a laugh added to your voice.

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He laughed, hands half-raised in surrender, “Hey, you wanna go catch a movie?”

You smiled, leaning over and grabbing his hand, “That depends, are you gonna make me a krabby patty afterwards?”

You both laughed at that, as Mort put his arm around you and walked you to his car. You weren’t sure yet which movie you were going to see, but you were certain that this was the start of something beautiful.

Taglist: @berry-kitten-paws @tina20213 @fandomsneverdie14 @mcoomcoo

#mortimer toynbee #xmen #toad xmen #Mortimer Toynbee imagine #xmen imagine #toad xmen imagine #Mortimer Toynbee x reader #xmen x reader #toad xmen x reader #my story #that actually is my gif #because the internet doesn't love my boy as much as it should #god mort stans I know I'm not the only one get your asses in gear #(please)#gingywritesimagines #gingywritesxmen

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roseringleader13 · 6 years

Text

Only Fools Rush In - Mitch Rapp - Chapter 1

Author: Roseringleader13 Pairing: Mitch Rapp x Reader Word count: 1650 Warnings: None Summary: After losing her mother and brother in a random shooting 17 years ago, the reader has fallen into a basic routine. Get up, go to work, sneak away to ruin her uncles business as revenge for killing her brother and mother to tie up loose ends, go back to work, go home, and sleep while being haunted by the memory of seeing her family die. Her uncle doesn’t know that she’s been sabotaging his work, nor does the man who was hired to take her uncle out, Mitch Rapp. After meeting him, unaware that he is going to be using her to get close to her uncle, will she eventual tell him the truth and try to hold onto a love she wasn’t expecting, or will she take him out for getting in the way of a revenge she’s spent the last 6 years planning and conducting? A/N: So this is the first time in a while that I have decided to try and write a series again and this is set after the events of American Assassin. I have @golddaggers to thank for reading over the first chapter for me and convincing me that I needed to post it rather than have it collect figurative dust inside my laptop. I would really appreciate feed back you guys so please let me know what you think!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wise men say Only fools rush in But I can’t help falling in love with you Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? If I can’t help falling in love with you

Those were the lyrics that you would hear in every dream. The soft hum of your mother’s voice as her thin and delicate fingers would strum the strings of her guitar, the antique instrument passed down from woman to woman in your family. You could still remember the way her beautiful and wavy auburn hair would flow gently in the soft Autumn breeze as those luscious locks would sometimes blend in with the leaves behind her as you would look up at your mother from your young height as she sat on the bench. Her eyes would match the sky above you, seeming so bright and so happy as she sang to you, her youngest daughter and your brother, her eldest son. More often than not, you and your mother would be wearing identical dresses that would flow around your knees while covering the length of your arms. It was a soft green today, much like the rare moss that would grow on the sides of trees just as the sun would shine down on the plant with early morning rays.

Like a river flows Surely to the sea Darling, so it goes Some things are meant to be

The dream was always a bittersweet moment. For a time, your sleep would be peaceful and soft as it played inside your mind’s eye. Your y/h/c would always be tied up in an adorable set of pigtail braids, y/e/c would be staring at your mother in complete wonder as she sang, tiny hands playing with the edge of your skirt as you listened on baited breath for each word and note to come from her. Your brother would always be in a white dress shirt and be wearing a pair of faded but loved blue jeans, loafers covering his young 13 year old feet compared to the soft ballet shoes on your 7 year old feet. It was always so peaceful and perfect.

Take my hand Take my whole life too For I can’t help falling in love with you Until the gunshots rang out. Like a river flows Surely to the sea Darling, so it goes Some things are meant to be

Then everything was chaos. Your brother was screaming at you to run while blood dripped from the corner of his now stained lips. Each time, your mother's body would be slumped backwards, blood slowly running down the front of her face from that small hole in her forehead, guitar limp in her arms while the back of her head was blown out. If you didn’t see the back of her, nor the blood and small bullet hole, you could have sworn your mother was simply asleep.

Take my hand Take my whole life, too For I can’t help falling in love with you For I can’t help falling in love with you

It all happened so fast, the screaming from both yourself and passing patrons in the park along with more gunshots ringing out among the once peaceful little forest area. You honestly couldn’t remember how you survived nor could you remember anything after it. One moment you were listening to your mother sing, then your brother screamed for you to run, then you were sitting on that old and bent leather couch that belonged to your Uncle Michael, the child services handing over the adoption paperwork. Right as your uncle would crouch down and lay a hand on your small shoulder, whispering softly that everything would be alright, you would wake up.

Cold sweat would be drenching your y/s/c pale form as you forced yourself up from the bed, head throbbing in pain as your hands tried to find some kind of purchase on the bedside table so you could stand up. Those dreams always exhausted you each morning despite it having been 17 years since the day your mother and brother were murdered in cold blood on that gentle Autumn afternoon.

Stumbling towards the bathroom in your small one bedroom apartment, a loud meowing sound came from the little black ball of fluff you had named Mystic, clearly thinking it was time for breakfast despite you always taking a shower first. You knew you needed that shower more than normal since the moment you saw the dark bags under your eyes that would need lots of makeup to hide, and the way that there were scratches all over your arms from fighting yourself in your sleep. So Mystic would have to wait just a bit longer. That cat never did respect your schedule, which was always the same.

Wake up in a cold sweat. Shower. Eat breakfast and feed the cat while in a towel. Go get dressed. Grab your purse and keys. Lock up your apartment. Head down to the flower shop next to your apartment building and help water the flowers since Ms. Dunbar couldn’t move around as well as she used to. Accept the homemade cookie from her after you were done. Go to the bookshop right around the corner. Slip on your badge showing your employment there. Stock the shelves. Disappear and tell your boss you got distract reading in the back for a good 4 hours. Sit at the front desk since he would finish the stocking. Sit there for an hour. Wish him a good evening as you headed home. Tell Ms. Dunbar to have a good dinner as you pass by her. Go into your apartment and eat dinner. Slip into pajamas. Do research on your laptop until 1 in the morning. Finally go to sleep.

However, you didn’t expect your schedule to be thrown for a complete loop later that day while at work.

It was when a low and gruff, but somehow comforting voice, caused you to look up from the book you had hidden under the counter. Y/h/c swished around your shoulders at the sudden movement, having cut it into a short style about 10 years back, y/e/c meeting a soft honey- no whiskey colored iris. Dark brown hair was brushed into a typical style of spiky but soft on top of his head while moles were just barely hidden beneath the thin layer of scruff that danced along his jaws structure that would could probably cut glass. The more you looked at him, you took note of the small scar on the tip of his nose near his right nostril as well as the dark t-shirt that hugged each set of muscles this man clearly had. Especially based on how his biceps seemed to fight the edge of the material and his chest was just the right amount of bulked in your opinion.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t hear you.” You admitted bashfully, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you stood up straight and apologized once more for the inconvenience.

“It’s alright. Clearly whatever you’re reading under the counter must be good if it distracted you that much. I asked if you had the sequel to this book somewhere in this shop. I haven’t been able to find it anywhere else yet.” He repeated, giving a lopsided smirk on those pink lips as he held the book out to you once more, your eyes taking note of how large and veiny them seemed before taking the literature from him.

“I’ve been a fan of the classics since I was a child. I was rereading Beowulf.” You admitted, looking over the title of the book he handed you, typing it into the computer to see if you did actually have a copy of the sequel. If not, you could always offer to lend him your personal copy…might give you a reason to see this man again.

“Any luck?” He asked after a long pause of silence between the two of you, having leaned against the counter as you were searching, unaware of how his eyes seemed to skim over your figure almost appreciatively.

“No we don’t have a copy. But…if you like, I could lend you my own personal copy of it. Give me a reason to see you again since not many men who catch my interest come in here.” You said confidently, giving him a playful smile as you handed his book back to him, trying to hide the pink that threatened to appear on your cheeks when his fingers brushed against your own and that smirk turned into a grin on his face.

“Well I wouldn’t want to disappoint a cute girl by never coming back now would I?” He asked, tucking the book under his arm as he leaned against the counter once more.

“If you come by tomorrow, I can give you the copy and you could easily return it when you’re done. I work here every week day.” The words just tumbled from your lips smoothly, resting your chin in your palm as you leaned towards him yourself, enjoying the light but completely obvious flirting that was going on between the two of you.

“Consider it done…” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow as he waited for your name.

“Y/F/N.” You replied, giving him your first name as you held your hand out for him to shake. “And you are?”

“Mitch.” He replied, reaching forward and shaking your hand, the firm grip making goosebumps cover your skin. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/f/n.” He added, winking before turning and walking out of the shop, not hearing the soft sigh that left your lips as you enjoyed the sight of him walking away.

Maybe having things disrupt your normal pattern wasn’t always bad…you might feed Mystic first before taking a shower in the morning.

#mitch rapp #mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp x reader insert #mitch rapp fanfic #mitch rapp fanfiction #mitch rapp fic #american assassin #american assassin fanfic #american assassin fanfiction #american assassin x reader #american assassin x reader insert #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien x reader insert #dylan o'brien fanfic #dylan o'brien fanfiction #dylan o'brien fic #golddaggers

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rememberstilinski · 7 years

Text

femme fatale || mitch rapp (smut)

word count: 9,666

warnings: smut, oral (both receiving), unprotected sex, daddy kink, angst, mentions of death, betrayal

author’s note: my first mitch rapp anything really! i hope you guys enjoy this because i’m so genuinely in love with this fic! special thank you to @were-cheetah-stiles who helped me with this and gave me so much support! she’s on vacation right now, so she is unable to read it. anyway, enjoy!

pairing: mitch rapp / reader

masterlist

coming soon

Pulling the chair from underneath the table, Y/N set the last box of ammunition on the wooden surface next to the various handguns spread across the table as she sat down. She pushed her hair back behind her ear and sighed, ejecting the magazine from the gun by pressing the button on the side of the hand grip. She inserted the ammunition into the magazine, filling it back up before reinserting it briskly, hearing a clicking noise, which indicated that the magazine was locked in place.

She continued her actions, awaiting to hear the news on her next assignment from Irene Kennedy who was the director of the Counter-terrorism center at the CIA. Y/N had been recruited four years ago as a potential agent, only being twenty one years old. When Irene heard of the young woman and what happened to her as a teenager, she immediately took an interest.

At the age of thirteen, Y/N had lost the perfect all-American family she was part of. Her mother would stay home and take care of Y/N and her sister, taking them to sports while her husband went to work and came home at six o’clock every weeknight. Then during the weekends, the family would go out and spend the day together. One night, after a Christmas party, the family arrived home late, unknowing of the people hiding throughout their home. As soon as the family got home, the intruders had no hesitation in killing the family. Y/N had been the only survivor because they'd thought she died when her sister did.

When the police arrived the next morning, the scene was messy. Blood was spattered on the walls and the carpets. Drops of the crimson liquid were still rolling down the picture frames when the police arrived. The teenage girl was curled in a ball in the corner, covered in blood, bruises littered across her arms because the grip of the men had been so forceful. She was quiet when the police found her and took her to the station after she'd overheard that the men were a group involved in terrorism.

Not having any other family to stay with, she was thrown into foster care, going through home after home until she turned eighteen. Throughout the years, she'd learned how to fight and protect herself. When she looked at the house she grew up in the day her family was found, she made a promise to herself: never again would she want to a family to suffer the way she watched hers suffer. So she was going to find the men and stop them, no matter how long it took. Being without a family or anyone to love made it easy to stay on the road she set for herself. After all, all she had was time.

The simultaneous ringing and buzzing of the cell phone on the table next to her took her attention from the gun she'd been loading. The contact showing on the screen was Irene so she immediately answered. She held the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Y/L/N.” Irene greeted. “Your assignment begins tomorrow morning at your hotel when your partner arrives.”

“Partner?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, setting the gun on the table. “Irene, it's been four years and I've never once had a partner. I work better alone. I don't need some dumbass slowing me down. This assignment is too important to me, you know that.” She gritted through her teeth.

She could hear the director sigh through the phone and practically see that she was pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “I know, but trust me on this one. This new recruit is good, Y/N. He's been training for months.”

“Training for months doesn't mean anything.” The woman pulled the phone from her ear and set it on the table before putting it on speaker and finishing loading the guns.

“He's off the charts good. He might be what the department needs to be even better.”

Y/N scoffed. “I'm off the charts good.”

“And when I see how good he is, I think of you. I've only ever seen such focus and skill when I recruited you.”

Chewing her lip, Y/N began to think of just how good he might be. “Fine, but if he screws this up, Irene…” She trailed off.

“He won't. He'll be there at nine am sharp, be ready.” And with that, the line was dead. Y/N looked at her phone as the call screen switched to her wallpaper. She inhaled sharply when she saw the picture. A year and a half later and the picture still broke her heart. It still made her gut twist and her stomach feel like a pit. It felt like a slow, big fat nothing in her chest when she thought of what she did. The grief she felt came in waves. Just when she thought the void in her chest could be filled back up, the familiar sound of their laughs and the smiles they shared came back. And the wound still felt open.

It was said earlier that Y/N had nobody to love and that made her job easier. She didn't have to worry about explaining herself or her motives. For nine years, she was alone. She focused solely on her plan and there was no one who could derail her. That remained true until she met a man. An amazing man who she unexpectedly fell in love with. He was the only person she ever learned to love after what happened to her family.

That man was named Mitch.

Mitch Rapp.

He was the perfect guy. Everything about him was perfect. He may not have had the best life growing up, but neither did Y/N, not that she'd ever told him about what happened to her. In spite of everything, he was amazing. He was always so happy and high on life. He loved her fiercely and endlessly. He was everything she never knew she wanted. She was so set on what she wanted in life because she only wanted revenge. No, she wanted retribution. Revenge is sloppy and wild, whereas retribution is carefully planned and morally right.

Either way, it didn't matter if what she'd been planning for nearly a decade was revenge or retribution. What she did to Mitch was still terrible and unforgivable. Y/N had been with Mitch for three years and she fell in love with him. It didn't take long to happen. It was inevitably going to happen, it just occurred sooner than expected. The worst thing she'd ever done went back to that day at the beach. Somehow it was the worst and best day of her life.

Giggling, Y/N splashed in the water as the tall man with honey eyes followed behind her. She looked out at the distance, seeing the sun water never stopped at a mountain like a lake did. The water just went on and on, far away from where she was. Within hours, she would be far away just like the water. The large smile she wore on her flawless faded away as her heart ached the second she remembered what today was, what she was going to have to do. She was leaving for good and she was going to break her lover’s heart in the process.

Y/N had convinced Mitch to come on this vacation. This was where her tracking had led her. The men who killed her family had grown even more dangerous over the years and they were a big problem with the CIA. She'd been following their tracks and this is where the next big attack they were responsible for would be. The beach her and Mitch were standing on. Just as Y/N had been following the group, they'd been following her. They didn't like how close she was to figuring out their ultimate goal. Now that she was here, they could eliminate the problem. They planned to kill her and finish the job from all those years ago.

Knowing that they were keeping very close tabs on her, Y/N had set up a deal with the CIA. She would leave and fake her death so that these men were off her tail and then she would eventually take the terrorists out for good. The only consequence that came along with her plan was leaving Mitch. She was going to leave him in the worse way possible. Make him think she'd died.

She crossed her arms over her chest and tears pooled in her eyes. Her lungs felt tight and restricted from obtaining oxygen. “You know you look amazing in that swimming suit.” Mitch's husky voice rang through her ears along with the mumbled voices of the people who were around the couple. “I don't think I can't get over it. You, my love, are absolutely stunning.”

“Oh, Mitch. You're such a gentleman.” The smile tugged at her lips as she turned around to see that Mitch was filming her with his cellphone. “You can say it, you know? You can call me sexy. I mean, being called beautiful is really amazing, but sometimes a woman wants to hear more.”

Mitch smirked at his girl, his tongue peeking out to moisten his lips. “Well, you are very sexy. I can't wait to tear that bikini off of you when we get back to the hotel. Mm, the things I'll do to you.” His eyes shamelessly ran up and down her body. She rolled her eyes playfully as Mitch grinned.

“Whatever.” She laughed, turning around so he could see her backside. “Get my better side if you're gonna record me.” She joked.

“I was. Baby, turn back around.” She heard her boyfriend mumble behind her. When she did, he was holding up a green string, a ring tied onto it. A big, shiny ring.

Y/N took a deep breath, looking from Mitch to the ring and then back to Mitch. “Mitch, what are you doing?” He kept the camera on her as he walked over to her slowly.

“I'm not really good with words, so I don't know exactly what to say in most situations. Whenever I'm with you, I don't have to think much about what I want to say, it just kinda comes out. I just say why I feel and it comes out so right. It comes out better when I don't think about it compared to spending days thinking about what I'm going to say.” He smiled, the string with the ring was being held in the air. “So that's what I'm doing right now. I'm just going to come out and say it. Y/N, I met you three years ago and the moment I laid eyes on you, my heart whispered, ‘That's her. She the one,’ but I didn't hear it right away. It was repeated over and over and over again until one day I was watching you dance around the kitchen in your underwear and a t-shirt and my heart screamed that phrase. That day, I realized I want to keep you around for the rest of my life. I want to love you endlessly.”

Y/N smiled at his words, eyes filling with happy tears as she completely forgot why she was on this beach in the first place. “Y/N, I love you so much.” He grinned, walking towards his girlfriend until he was standing right in front of her. Their faces were only inches apart and even though he wasn't touching her, she could feel the familiar warmth that his body radiated. Then he whispered the four words she'd never thought she'd be asked. “Will you marry me?”

“Ask me again?” She cupped his face, smiling up at him.

He looked into her beautiful eyes. “Will you marry me?”

She wasn't sure why, but before she could stop herself, she nodded her head before leaning up to kiss Mitch passionately. Her thumbs rubbed his cheekbones, their tongues sliding over each other as they kissed one another deeply. When she pulled away, he gave her the ring and allowed her to slide it on her finger. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he looked at the camera and gave her a kiss on the cheek, smiling bigger than he ever had before.

“Mitch?” She looked up at him. “You know that I love you, right? That you're my infinity? The only man I could ever love.”

He nodded. “Of course I do. You're my infinity and the only woman I could ever love. Why are you saying this?”

“Because I feel like I don't tell you enough how much you mean to me. I don't tell you enough how much I love you. I just, I want you to know that you're my home. No matter where I am or what happens, you'll always be my home. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kissed her lips, all of his love in the single gesture. He pulled away and held her close in a hug after stopping the recording on his phone. She rested her chin on his shoulder as her arms wrapped around his neck. He planted soft pecks on her skin. In that moment, she just wished time would slow down. That it would stop so she could spend the rest of her life with him. She wanted him more than anything.

The memory faded out of her head, scratching like a record player. She closed her eyes and felt a tear fall down her cheek. That was the last time she heard him say those words. It was the last time he kissed her. It'd been a year and a half and she could still feel his lips against hers. She could still feel his arms around her when he found her bloody body. The wounds causing her blood to spill were very minor, but when Mitch checked for her pulse, it was gone. Part of Y/N’s CIA training was learning how to stop her pulse so that's what she did. That's when he realized that his beloved Y/N was gone.

To this day, she could still hear the heartbreaking sobs that the love of her life released. She could hear him asking for her to come back, for her to come back and marry him like she said she would. Her heart shattered into millions of pieces when he said one thing.

“I've lost everyone, I can't lose you, too.”

Those words still haunted her dreams and her everyday life. He still tormented her. His soothing voice, his gentle touch, his loving kisses, his tight embraces, his beautiful eyes. It was all still a part of her. She should've changed the picture of her and Mitch on her lockscreen a long time ago, but it was all she had left of him. She only had the pictures and the memories that inhabited her complex mind. The moment she tries to erase the pictures is the moment she truly loses him and there was no way she was letting that happen.

Biting her lip, Y/N wondered how he was doing in this exact moment. She wondered if he was staring at the television watching an old Mets game, where he was, who he was talking to. She wondered if his appearance changed, if he changed after her death. She just wanted to know what he was doing in that exact moment and if he was missing her as much as she was missing him.

Mitch knocked on the door of Stan Hurley’s office, waiting for permission to enter the room before turning the copper knob and walking in. “You wanted to see me, sir?” He closed the door behind him to see that Stan was sitting at his desk, typing on his laptop.

“I did.” The mentor nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to figure out a way to say what he wanted to say. “Rapp, why are you here? I know that something shitty happened to you, but why are you here?”

“To gain the skills necessary for killing Mansour, sir.”

Raising an eyebrow, Stan looked at the laptop screen briefly before looking back to his apprentice. “Why do you care about Mansour? There's bigger problems in the world. Worst people that you could have your eye on. Why him?”

Mitch sighed before answering. “I want to avenge Y/N. She was my, my fiancée and he killed her.” He answered the question, but he choked up as he stated what she was to him. The word didn't seem to be an accurate description of what she was to him. In all honesty, she was more than just a fiancée to him. She was best friend, his lover, his soulmate.

She was his person.

Stan sighed. Mitch could've said anything else and it would've been the right answer, but he said the wrong thing. The older man stood up from his seat. “That kind of mentality is what gets men in your shoes killed, Rapp. It's never supposed to be personal for someone like you.”

“Well, it's the reason I'm here. I'm different and it's because of what I want to do. I'm special, sir.” Mitch said.

“Special?” Stan scoffed out a laugh. “You think you're special?” He turned the laptop around so that Mitch could see what's on the screen. His amber eyes trailed down and he immediately inhaled sharply. His bottom lip quivered and his eyes watered. He visibly gulped as he watched the video. It was the part of the video where he asked Y/N to turn around to face him and he began his proposal. He watched her face contort in awe as she listened to him speak to her.

He remembered this moment like it had just happened. He'd gone over the memory so many times. It was why most of his nights were sleepless. Well, that and the fact that his bed was cold and empty. Before Y/N died, he'd slept next to her warm body for almost three years, so it was quite the change for her to be gone.

The video had been playing long enough for her to kiss him. Oh, the things he'd do to feel her luscious, pink lips against his again. He would bend and break for the opportunity to hold her again and keep her safe because he could do that now.

Mitch looked up from the screen and scowled at his tutor. “Never, ever let it get personal.” Stan instructed him.

Before Mitch could tell Stan off about what he'd just been told, he felt his phone ring in his pocket. The annoying rings were his savior. If he'd said what he wanted to say, there was a for sure chance to be kicked off the Farm. Mitch saw the contact was Irene and he answered right away, wiping away his tears.

He cleared his throat before speaking. “Ms. Kennedy?”

“Mitch, would you say you’re ready for a mission?” The woman on the phone asked.

Mitch furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, what? Ms. Kennedy, I'm honored, but would Mr. Hurley be okay with that?”

“I've already spoken with him. He was reluctant, but I convinced him that you could do this assignment.” Irene said. Mitch looked to Stan, silently asking if what she'd told him what serious. Stan only nodded in response. “Although, you will have a partner.”

“Uh, okay. What should I know about both my partner and the mission?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

“For starters, you should she's a woman. She is known internationally as ‘Femme Fatale’ because of her seductive and alluring ways. When she's undercover, she plays the innocent temptress, but as soon as she’s given instruction, she becomes fatal. Lethal. She's one of our best agents. She's our youngest female agent, but she's spectacular. If you can learn from someone other than Hurley, it's her.”

As Mitch listened to the qualities of his partner, he was thoroughly impressed. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Wow, okay. What about the mission? What do we have to do?”

“Actually, Mitch. This is an amazing opportunity for you.” Irene told him. “This is Mansour and his men. Femme Fatale has been tracking them down for years and she knows them better than anyone else in the CIA. You two will be posing as a married couple in the firearm business. Mansour is looking to buy and he is hosting a party to see who can impress him the most. We will provide high-end firearms that he will for sure be interested in buying and that will be your opportunity to take the group out. So what do you say, are you in?”

Nodding, Mitch accepted, but then remembered Irene couldn't see him. “Of course. When do I leave?”

“Early tomorrow morning. Your partner is already at the hotel where you two will be staying, she's expecting you tomorrow morning at nine am.”

“Thank you, Ms. Kennedy.”

“You're welcome, Mitch.”

Mitch perked up, having a question. “Wait, what is her-” Before he could ask his question, she hung up. “name.” He sighed before turning off the phone and shoving it into his pocket.

He looked to Stan. “Well, you better start packing. You have an early day tomorrow.” The older man gestured towards the door. “You're dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mitch nodded and walked towards the door.

“Rapp?” Stan called his apprentice’s name. Mitch turned, raising an eyebrow in response. “Remember what I said. Don't ever let it get personal. Especially not with this mission, you could get yourself killed.”

Mitch licked his lips. “Yes, sir.” His eyes moved to the laptop screen, Y/N’s picture frozen. Her lips were puckered as she blew him a kiss. He sighed and walked out the door, going to pack his things.

It was close to eight am and Y/N had already been up for a couple hours. After showering and making herself coffee, she sat next to the window, using a pair of binoculars to monitor the traffic coming in and out of the warehouse that Mansour and his men were rumored to be staying until the party the next day. The sound of her stomach rumbling in hunger, made her realize she hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. More often than not, she got distracted by her job and she wouldn't eat until she felt the painful rumbles in her tummy. Even when she was with Mitch, she'd get so busy and he'd make her a sandwich and tell her to eat. Oh, those were the simpler times.

Since her partner would be arriving soon, she just decided to wait and then she could make a breakfast run after he got here so that he could keep watch while she was gone. Y/N took a sip of her coffee before disposing the rest of it in the bathroom sink. The soft padding of footsteps on the floor outside the hotel door made her ears perk up. They were heavy and sounded like a man’s footsteps. Looking at the watch on her wrist, she saw that it was seven fifty. Much too early for her partner to arrive.

In the many years of training she had, she learned various ways to keep herself safe from an unplanned attack, even if it was only potential. She was taught to fend for herself. She grabbed one of the loaded guns out of her duffle bag and walked to the wall behind the door. The sound of someone digging in their pockets sounded from behind the wooden opening, the weapon in her hand. She slowed her breathing and quieted it down so she couldn't possibly be heard.

The alert that the door was opened with a key sounded before the door clicked open and someone stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Y/N had been right. The person behind the door was a man. She got a brief look at him. Not at his face, but everything else. He was tall and lean, but muscular. He had shaggy brown hair that was a mess on his head. The strap of his duffle bag rested on his shoulder.

Y/N slowly walked up behind him, but the mystery man easily caught on. He quickly dropped the bag onto the ground and threw his arm back to hit the face of whoever was behind him, but his opponent was much more skilled than he was. She grabbed his hand, ignoring the familiar feeling she got when touching him and twisted his arm in a way that would ultimately flip his whole body. She got down and straddled the man and pinned his to the ground.

“You gotta be quicker than that if you want to beat me.” She chuckled, a smile on her face. Her long hair blocked her sight, so she threw her head back, her silky locks moving out of her face and falling around her shoulders. She looked down and the beautiful amber eyes of the man she'd just taken down, they burned into hers.

She recognized those eyes. She could never forget those eyes.

“Mitch.” She mumbled.

“Y/N.” His face paled as if he'd just seen a ghost and his jaw slacked open in shock. The air in his lungs had disappeared. “Y-You're alive.” The woman got off of him, backing up and allowing him to stand up. His whole body trembled as he stared into the eyes of the woman he loved. His nose burning as tears formed in his eyes and threatened to spill. He stepped back a few steps, his body hitting the wall as he looked at her.

To say he was in disbelief would be an understatement. The only word that came close to describing what he felt, was astonished and that was still an understatement. He had to have been dreaming. This had to have all been a dream. She couldn't really be alive. He remembered not feeling a pulse or her heartbeat, not hearing her breathing. He remembered standing at her funeral with a couple friends and his brother because she didn't have any family and her very few friends were originally his friends. He was all alone after she died, but there she was. Standing less than six feet away from him, in person. She was breathing, blinking, moving. She was alive.

As Y/N watched him watch her, she looked at how much he changed. The dark, messy hair she missed running her fingers through when he came from a long day and rested his head in her lap, eventually falling asleep to her soothing voice and soft touches, had grown longer. The scruff on his face made him look mature and kind of intimidating. His arms were bigger, his biceps more defined, his veins were more prominent than before. To anyone else, he looked cold and emotionless, but Y/N knew him so well. She could see that his eyes were lighter in color, meaning that he was either unbelievably happy or unbelievably sad. From the absence of his beautiful, heartwarming smile, she knew it was the ladder.

A few more moments of deafening silence passed before Mitch broke it. “Femme Fatale?” He muttered, voice breaking as the words fell from his mouth. He cleared his throat and shook his head as he wiped the clammy feeling of his hands onto his jeans.

“How do you know about that? How did you find me?” She asked, furrowing her eyebrows. She noticed that he wouldn't look her in the eyes. He looked everywhere else, but her.

Mitch sighed shakily. “I didn’t know you were alive. Y-You’re my partner.”

Y/N crossed her arm over her chest, looking Mitch up and own. She was hoping to find a sign that he was lying to her about knowing she was alive. If he was lying that he didn’t know, that might somehow lessen the blow to him. But there was no signs. He was telling the truth. “I’m your partner. Mitch, are you part of the CIA?” Her eyes widened.

He looked up at her, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. “I’m a trainee for the Orion team.” The hostile change in his tone took Y/N back. His words were rolled in venom and wrapped in barbed wire. The way he spoke to her hurt. His whole attitude had changed as he finally looked at her and what she did to him finally completely registered in his brain. He walked past her, towards the window that was being used to keep eyes on the warehouse across the street, his shoulder hitting hers as he did. She slowly turned towards him, watching him grab the binoculars off the table and move the curtain to the side so he could get a better look outside.

“Why are you so early?” She turned towards him.

“I wanted to get to know my partner. Guess I know her better than I thought.” He muttered, raw anger in his voice.

She’d never seen him like this. She’d never seen him cold and angry, especially not towards her. When they were together, he was always happy and he always wore a smile on his face. Even when he was sleeping, a smile would ghost on his lips, but a year and a half later and he was completely different. He changed and she knew that she was the one that did that to him. If he changed for the better or for the worse, she didn’t know.

The hostility continued for the next couple days. In those forty eight hours, he’d only said six words to her. Those were, ‘Where’s the file on Mansour?’ and ‘No,’ the ‘No,’ came to her when she asked him if he wanted a muffin the day he came to the hotel. He may have rejected her, but a few hours later, she saw him eating a leftover chocolate chip muffin after she asked him if he wanted one. She got muffins because that was something they both loved. Her favorite was blueberry while his was chocolate chip.

Y/N watched him the whole time he was there. She watched him write down things on a piece of paper, she’d watch him chew on his bottom lip, she watched him tap his fingers on the table as he sat there and gathered intel. She noticed that he drank bourbon now. Before she left, he didn’t drink much. Sure, he drank the occasional beer, but that was all he drank. He didn’t drink the strong alcohol like whiskey or bourbon. After a few glasses of alcohol had been finished on the third day he was in the hotel, she started to debate whether she would say anything about his new habit. She was curious why he drank so heavily now. She was curious when he developed the liking for it.

His digits wrapped around the glass and brought it to his lips, the amber liquid burning as it rushed down his throat. His tongue peeked out to collect the remnants off his lips as his eyes stayed trained on the warehouse outside. Y/N walked back into the room, having gone down to the cafe downstairs to get sandwiches for the both of them. She walked in just in time to see him open the bottle of bourbon and pour himself a tiny bit of the alcohol.

“I got us sandwiches.” She told him as she closed the door with her heel. Mitch didn’t look at her. It was almost like she wasn’t there. “They’re both turkey and cheese. I asked for tomatoes, too.” She set his sandwich on the table in front of him and walked over to the neatly made bed that Mitch had slept in for the past couple nights. She leaned against the headboard, unwrapping her sandwich.

He nodded, silently thanking her, but went on with ignoring her soon after. She watched him take a drink of his drink as he left the sandwich untouched. “You can eat your sandwich, you know. I know you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.” She mumbled, taking a bite of her sandwich. For the first time in three days, he looked over his shoulder to glance at her. He sighed and grabbed the sandwich, taking off the wrapping and taking a bite. It was small, but Y/N heard Mitch let out a very low moan of satisfaction. A soft smile found its way onto Y/N’s face as she listened to him. She felt at ease knowing that he was eating because it meant that he was taking care of himself.

Mitch took another sip of his drink. Y/N threw her legs over the side of the bed, planting her feet on the floor. “When did you start drinking bourbon?” She asked, raising an eyebrow even though his back was to her.

He picked up the glass, bringing it to his lips, but speaking before he poured the liquid down his throat. “When bourbon was easier to swallow than the fact that you weren’t coming back.” He muttered, side eyeing her.

Y/N was taken back by answer. It was like a huge punch in the gut. With those words, she felt salty tears burn in her eyes and her chest get heavy. She cleared her throat and sighed shakily, standing up to throw her garbage away and grab a water bottle from the mini fridge in the hotel room.

A couple hours went by and what Mitch had said had been the last thing that was said between the two of them. Traffic at the warehouse got very busy about twenty minutes after Mitch had last spoken, but it quickly died down. Most of the men that went inside the warehouse left within a two minute period of being there. Y/N had been reading some intel that Irene had sent the two when she looked up and saw Mitch was still looking outside, sitting in the same position he was three hours ago. The bottle of bourbon sat next to an empty glass. Mitch finished his drink after he ate and he hadn’t filled it back up since. His face was emotionless and unreadable. He was just plain and boring.

“You don’t smile much anymore, do you?” She walked over to the table he was at, leaning on the chair across from where he was sitting. Mitch just looked at her, asking her if she was serious about her question with just the look on his face. “When was the last time you smiled or laughed?” She tilted her head to the side.

The man in front of her rolled his eyes, fingers scratching his scruff. “Can you stop with the questions? I’m not here to talk to you about life.” He spat.

Y/N stood up, starting to walk away. “He’s cold, too.” She said under her breath, not thinking much of it. Mitch had heard what she said and that was his snapping point.

He scoffed. He spoke up, causing Y/N to turn back around and look at him. Mitch stood up from the chair, the bottoms of the legs on the chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back. “Cold? I’m cold. You’re the reason I’m like this, Y/N.” He walked towards her. She took a step back with every step he took towards her until her back hit a wall and their faces were only inches away from each other. He put his hands on the wall behind her, trapping her in between his strong arms. “ You’re the reason I’m ‘cold’!” He yelled.

“Mitch, I’m sorry.” She mumbled, looking into his eyes. There it was. All the emotions he’d been keeping bottled up for so long were overflowing. He was more than prepared to say everything he’d been wanting to say since he saw her face for the first time since her ‘death’.

“Sorry?” He chuckled cynically. “You’re sorry? Is that just supposed to help? Is that sorry supposed to help me get past the fact that you made me think you were dead? That you put me in the worst kind of pain a person could be in? Is it supposed to help me get past you leaving me all alone? Is it?!” He slammed his right hand on the wall next to her head, making her jump in surprise at the loud sound next to her ear and his yelling.

She felt his warm breath hit her face and give her goosebumps at their close proximity. Even when he was yelling at her, she found comfort in his presence. She found him beautiful. He would always be her beautiful Mitch, even if he had cuts and bruises on his face. She knew that those injuries were bound to happen in their line of work.

Mitch’s heavy breathing slowed down as he looked into her eyes. They were glossed over with tears and that’s when he realized that he went too far. He took his hands off the wall, taking a step back. “I bet you didn’t even care that I was hurting. You didn’t care if I got hurt in the process of whatever bullshit mission you were on.”

Y/N exasperatedly scoffed. He put his hand on his hip and ran his hand over his face, fingers creating a bigger mess in his already dark, tousled hair. “You can’t really believe that!” She moved her head to look at his face. Mitch looked at her and nodded, saying that he did before looking to his black shoes. “Mitch, I looked for you for months after that day at the beach. I hired private investigators, other CIA agents, I even asked an old colleague in the FBI to look for you. None of them could track you down. You became a recluse.”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, lifting his head to glance at her. “Losing the woman you love will do that you.”

All of their cards were on the table. Everything they’d been wanting to say to each other could now be said. It was almost revealing in a way. It felt as if they were naked and had all their flaws were on display for each other to see. Something as intimate as this was nerve wracking because both of them didn’t quite know how to deal with feelings. Their occupations didn’t focus on emotions, but more on logic and reasoning. They both focused on things that made sense to someone as cold as they both were.

Mitch backed up until the back of his knees hit the edge of bed and he sat down. His elbows rested on his knees as he put his face in his hands. Y/N heard small cries come from him. They were soft and almost inaudible, but she saw how his body shook and it didn’t take much effort to clue in on the fact that he was struggling. He looked up at her and there were teardrops rolling down his face.

“What was I to you, Y/N?” He asked. “Was I just collateral damage?”

She shook her head, walking towards the man she loved, kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Of course not.” Her small hands cupped his face, her thumbs wiping his tears away. “I may not have physically died that day, but leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do and that’s saying something in our line of work. I died that day. The best parts of me died that day. I don’t think I’ve smiled since.”

“That makes two of us.” He mumbled, leaning into her touch. “Why did you leave me? I could’ve gone with you. We could’ve done all this together.”

Y/N shook her head. “It’s complicated, but sometimes you have to be away from the people you love, Mitch. I couldn’t stay where I was, I had to be away from you. It didn’t make me love you any less. In fact, all that time away from you, made me love you even more. Do you still love me?”

Mitch covered the small hands of hers on his cheeks with her large ones. He leaned his forehead against hers, nudging her nose so he could plant a soft, quick kiss on her lips. “Always.” He whispered against her skin. Mitch grinned and pulled away from her, digging for something in his jeans pocket. He finally grabbed it and pulled it out, holding it in his palm. Y/N looked down at the item he pulled out. It was the engagement ring he’d proposed to her with. It still shined brightly. It was the only things he had left of her, so he made sure that it was always close to him. He grabbed her left hand from his cheek, kissing her knuckles softly before sliding the piece of jewelry onto her finger.

Y/N looked up at him, seeing the smile on his face and feeling her heart skip a beat. She looked into his eyes and saw the look in his eyes. It was pure happiness and love. He used to look at her like that all the time. For the past couple days she hadn’t seen any trace of the emotions, but now that she did, she knew they never left. Those feelings were still there and they would always stay there. The look in his eyes was all she needed.

“If you’ll still have me?” He mumbled, hope laced in his voice.

She smiled and kissed him passionately. All of the love she could ever want to summon in this one kiss. Her tongue ran over the seam of his lips. He moaned at the taste of her and gave her entrance without a fight. This kiss wasn’t one looking for dominance, but more of looking for the simple intimate touch that came along with a kiss like this one. The couple explored each other’s mouth like they’d done many times before. Although, this time was different. It felt stronger in emotion and felt more genuine. The kiss was broken for a brief moment so that they could get some air in their lungs.

Her hand ran up and down his shoulder, her touch making his stomach do somersaults. “Always.” Mitch beamed as he gazed lovingly into her bright eyes. Now that she had him back, the stunning twinkle in her eyes revived itself, the best parts of her coming back to life. He saw it happen right in front of him. He saw her come back to life.

He stood from the bed, pulling her up with him. He cupped her face and dipped his head down to kiss her lips. The kiss started off slow and sensual, but slowly escalated to rough and needy. It’d been so long since either of them had felt any kind of contact and it didn’t take long to get drunk off of it. His fingers stroked her cheekbones, her skin soft underneath his touch. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands pushing her shirt up slightly. He could feel the goosebumps shimmer across her skin as he dug his fingers into her lower back. She moaned into his mouth as he grew more aggressive, but in that moment, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

There was a small intake of breath as they parted briefly so that oxygen could fill their lungs once again. Y/N reconnected their lips, licking her way into his mouth. She focused on what he tasted like, bourbon being the only thing she get from him. It was warm and inviting, She could feel herself getting high off of what he tasted like. Mitch could feel himself getting dizzy as he kissed her. Kissing her was like spinning in a circle over and over again. It made him dizzy and threw him off, but it was the best feeling in the world and he would never sick of how she made him feel.

He pulled the hem of her shirt in between his fingertips, lifting the fabric over her head before throwing it on the floor. Mitch was surprised to see that the bra she was wearing a lacy, black, sheer bra. He groaned upon seeing her hard nipples through the material. “I almost forgot how fucking sexy you are.” He mumbled, smoothing up her sides and massaging her perky breasts. “Did you plan this?” His large palms slowly slid down her backside, hoisting her up as her legs wrapped around his waist. He walked her backwards, her back slamming into the wall. His lips caressed the flesh on her neck.

The chuckle that left her throat faded into a moan as he nipped at her collarbone. “No. I just really like this bra.” She mewled.

“That makes two of us.” Mitch hummed in agreement, his lips closing around her nipple. He sucked ferverously, pulling the hardened peak between his teeth occasionally, breathy moans being pulled from the woman he loved. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” She tangled her fingers in his shaggy hair. “I missed the feeling of you waking me up with kisses on my shoulder in the morning. I missed the love bites I’d find on my skin. I missed your very, very skilled fingers…” She trailed off as his hand came between their bodies. He undid the button and pulled down the zipper, looking into her eyes as he teased her.

He smirked when she bucked her hips, wanting him to continue taking off her clothes until she was bare in front of him. “Go on. What else did you miss about me?” He questioned, tilting his head in curiosity.

She pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth, palming his erect cock. “This.”

Mitch growled, his eyes being completely taken over by lust. He set her back on the ground, pulling her jeans, along with her panties, down her silken legs. He got down on his knees, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on her hip bones. He looked her in the eyes, grabbing her legs and hooking them over his shoulders. The seductive eye contact only seemed to make all of his actions more intense. He licked up her folds, feeling her shudder beneath him as pleasure crawled underneath her skin. He groaned upon tasting how sweet she was, feeling just how aroused she really was.

The moment he began sucking on her clit, she released a loud moan. The sound bounced off the walls, doing nothing to help the very uncomfortable situation that was confined in his pants. She could feel his smirk against the sensitive skin on her inner thigh. Her head fell back against the wall and her grip returned to the back of his head. Her hold on his locks of hair was tight and nearly painful, but the pure lust that Mitch was in drowned out the pain. His fingers skimmed her flesh before teasing at her soaked entrance. He eased his digit into her, curling up and grazing her g-spot.

Y/N’s fingernails dug into Mitch’s scalp. She was in complete and total ecstasy. Every touch felt heightened because she’d been without any sexual release for so long. With another filling her, her walls began to clench around his fingers. “Mitch, oh, baby. I-I’m… close.” She exhaled, her chest rising and falling as her lungs yearned for air. Mitch picked up the speed of his thrusts. Her arousal ran down his fingers, the lubrication helping him thrust in and out.

As her moans increased, Mitch removed his fingers and slipped his tongue into her pussy. Her bundle of nerves received stimulation from his nose rubbing at it. His tongue swirled in circles, touching every inch of her and collecting every drop of her he could manage to get. By the time he was done, there would be no place inside of her left untouched by him. He groaned against her core and with one last lick of her inner walls, her orgasm approached her, black dots dancing around her vision. Her toes curled into his back, legs tightening around his face. Mitch allowed her to ride out her high, the strokes of his tongue against her never relenting.

Before long, Mitch’s licks to Y/N’s pussy became too much and he had to be pushed away. “M-Mitch. Please, it’s too much.” She panted. Mitch pulled away, setting her down on her shaky legs, but keeping her up with his arms around her waist. He could feel the slight shake of her body as he held her. He kissed up her thighs lovingly, standing up as he did so.

“You taste so good.” He whispered. When they came face to face, his stubble covered chin was still covered with her juices. The sight of his wet chin made her realize that the scruff had been scratching at her thighs as he ate her out like he’d been starved and she was his first meal in a long time, but not only was she his first meal, she was his favorite.

Grabbing his large hand, she brought his fingers up to her mouth, licking them clean of her juices as she maintained eye contact. She could see that he was swimming around in a pool of desire. Mitch watched her suck and wanted her to put her mouth to use somewhere else. Y/N pulled his fingers from her mouth and pushed him back before he could lean in to kiss her. His knees hit the edge of the bed that he’d been sleeping in since his arrival. She strutted over to him, her tits bouncing with each step she took. Mitch watched her with anticipation as she got on the bed and crawled on top of him.

Her digits curled around the hem of his black henley and pulled it over his head. She threw the fabric somewhere in the room, her attention completely focused on his very defined torso. When they were together, Mitch was in very good shape, but he seemed to be in even better condition. His abdomen was more defined along with his v-line. Her eyes raked up and down his torso, fingers reaching out to touch his skin and curl in the patch of hair on his chest.

“I didn't know it was possible for you to turn me on even more.” She mumbled. Mitch chuckled underneath her, his large hands going to her hips. Y/N leaned down to leave wet kisses on his neck. As she trailed her mouth down his chest, she grinded against his dick, feeling him get harder by the second. The fabric of his jeans rubbing against her in the best way. She finally got to the button of his pants and she didn't hesitate to pop it open and pull down the zipper. She pulled his pants off his legs, dropping them on the floor, his boxers following soon after.

Her mouth watered as the pre-cum leaked from the tip. She kitten licked the salty substance, hearing Mitch groan as he watched her. Her lips wrapped around the head, sucking softly as she looked up at him. “God, I missed your mouth so much.” His hips bucked off the mattress, his tip hitting the back of her throat, causing her to gag around him. “Shit, babygirl. You okay?”

She nodded, her right hand playing with his balls as she continued bobbing her head. Her free hand went to his ass, hearing his breathing become heavier. She moaned around him, Mitch grunting at the vibrations that rolled through his body. His hand went to the back of her head, guiding her movements. She took all of him in her mouth, her nose burying in the dark, curly hairs at his base. She used her tongue to massage the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock.

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillow as he teetered on the edge of his high. She began bobbing quicker, feeling him pulse in her mouth. His fingers scrunched up in the bed sheets, hitting the back of her throats over and over again. With one last whimper, Mitch’s body went rigid, his load spilled onto her tongue, enveloping her taste buds.

He pulled her up, flipping their bodies so she was laying on her back. “Having you back in my arms feels so right.” He mumbled, teeth clashing with hers as he kissed her lustfully. Her hands went to his back, nails digging into his mole scattered skin.

He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. “I want you to keep these here, baby. Can you do that for Daddy?”

“Why? I want to touch you.” She whimpered, her lips forming into a pout. Mitch leaned down kissing her nose sweetly.

“I know, but you remember that I like teasing, right? I remember how much you love touching me, it's fun to see you try not to touch me.”

“You have a daddy kink?” Mitch smirked, nodding slowly. “Oh, you kinky shit.” She giggled, moving her hand to go to the back of his neck, but he grabbed her wrist and pushed it back on the bed.

He leaned down and caught her bottom lip between his teeth. “You have no idea. There's so much I could do to you, but I don't have the patience. I want to feel your tight, wet pussy and fuck you into the mattress.”

“Daddy, please. Fuck me, fuck me hard.” She moaned. Mitch growled and grabbed his dick, lining himself up with her entrance. He slammed into her with no warning, the force pushing a scream out of her. “God, Mitch.” She sighed.

“I don't think so, babygirl.” He thrusted into her, setting a bruising pace. With each thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, only to pull out and drive back in. His hand smoothed over her thigh and he lifted slightly, the angle changing the feeling for the both of them. She could feel how he pulsed inside of her, how it was almost difficult for him to keep from cumming right then and there.

Her hands held onto the sheets as he fucked her. It took all she had to not touch him and she knew that Mitch liked to see her yearn for his touch even if they were in together in the closest way possible. “Please, Daddy. I want to touch you so bad.”

“I know. I can see that your knuckles are turning white from your grip.” He chuckled, but when Y/N’s tight walls clenched around him, his chuckle faded out into a groan of pleasure.

“Let me touch you. I know you want me to.” She gasped as he delivered a particularly rough thrust, her hands flying to his back and pulling him closer to her. Her fingernails raked down his back, red scratches left in her wake.

Mitch shuddered, burying his face in her neck. “You're welcome.” He started sucking on her skin, determined to leave her covered in hickeys by the time they were finished. He picked up the speed of his thrusts and the force. His tip hit her g-spot each time, her moans turning into screams and bouncing off the walls. Her walls started clenching around him and he knew that she was close.

“I'm gonna cum, Daddy.” She moaned breathlessly. “You're gonna let me come, right?”

“Of course I am. We both know I'm too selfish. I wanna watch your face when you release. I wanna feel you cum all over my cock. I wanna feel your walls close around me. I want you to feel my cum inside of you.” He panted, his skin sticky with sweat. “So, cum for me, baby.”

With those final words, she sharply inhaled and her back arched off the bed. Her toes curled into the sheets and she wrapped her arms around Mitch’s torso, biting on his shoulder to keep from screaming out. Her vision flooded with black dots as her body trembled underneath him. Mitch stopped thrusting as his own high hit him like a truck. Her clenches became weaker, but it was enough to milk him of all he had.

His body collapsed on top of hers. He rested his head on her chest, her hands going up to his shaggy hair, scratching his scalp gently. They both panted as the hot feeling of the room settled on their skin. He ran his hand up and down her arm, grabbing her left hand and intertwining their fingers. He kissed her knuckles, his thumb smoothing over her skin.

“I still can't believe I have you back. That you're alive and breathing. You're real. You're here in arms.”

“I'm so sorry, Mitch. I'm sorry that I put you through that. I love you so much.” Her eyes filled with tears and Mitch could hear her breath hitch in his fiancée’s throat.

“I love you, too.” He whispered. He looked up at her and shook his head, cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch, kissing his palm. “You're here now, right?” She nodded. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“You'll never leave me again. You'll stay with me even after we grow old and die.”

“I promise.” Y/N smiled, craning her neck to peck his lips lovingly. Mitch rolled off of her, grabbing his boxers off the floor and putting them back on.

“Now, get up, Femme Fatale.” He walked over to the table next to the window, grabbing the gun. “We have people to kill.”

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russellthornton · 6 years

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What Is A MILF? The Surprising Truths & Thoughts Behind Its Meaning

‘MILF’ is code for Mother I’d Like To Fuck. But there’s really much, much more to it. Here’s a unique take on what is a MILF exactly.

If you’re a dude you’ve probably used this term more times than you care to admit. Walking down the street with your boy, you see an unusually attractive older lady and you’re like, ‘Bro, check out that MILF.’ But if you’re wondering, what is a MILF, it’s time to educate yourself.

What is a MILF?

It’s just one of those words we like to say. It rolls off the tongue like sweet honey… Sometimes we say it for humor. Other times the word MILF is just… definitive. The truth. There’s even a male equivalent—‘DILF’, which is code for Dad I’d Like To Fuck.

Primarily, being a MILF/DILF means you’re older but still look remarkably attractive. MILF is sort of similar to the term cougar, which is a woman who is independent, older, and likes her meat younger.

But MILF/DILF are different in that those terms suggest you have parenting responsibilities. Which could also suggest you’re in a committed relationship… [Read: How to make an older woman fall in love with you]

Which is why the term MILF feels kind of taboo

Let’s take it back…

#1 ‘You low-down Mother Fuckers.’

– US soldier to his draft board, 1911

#2 ‘You see this cat, Shaft is a bad mother

(Shut your mouth)

But I’m talking about Shaft

(Then we can dig it)’

– Isaac Hayes in his song ‘Shaft’, 1971

Another controversial term: ‘Mother fucker’ was used as early as the late 19th century. But throughout the years, mother fucker was softened into minced oaths such as:

– Motherfugger

– Mother for you

– MOFO

The cool thing about this word is that you can’t say it, and even when you do you’re expected to make it cryptic. Unless you really don’t give a fuck and want to make your feelings clear… *‘Mother fucker, I dare ya! NO, I double dare ya!’*.

The funny thing is most people don’t think about ‘mother fucker’ in terms of actually having sex with a mother. Counter-intuitively, they associate it with awesomeness OR sometimes with offensiveness. [Read: What’s in it for the older woman dating the younger man?]

‘That movie was mother fucking amazing.’

‘Yeah, well, fuck you, you dumb mother fucker.’

THEN the internet hit and these things happened…

– Lots and lots of porn

– Lots of sexualized material on TV/movies/media

– Even more sex on social media, which popularized acronyms for sex like: mofo, ons, dtf, bdsm, bbw…

– Lots of new dating sites/apps that made dating/sex a whole different ballgame

– Everything became a candidate for ‘LOL cool’, e.g. Stiffler’s mum in American Pie

This is why I think the word MILF is sort of an evolution of the phrase mother fucker. However, it’s also a very unique and ultra-modern word. Let’s take a deeper dive into its meaning…

#1 Milf is short-code. People need short codes to speedily distinguish between categories of things in the world. MILF generally makes it clear that the mentioned person is an older woman.

If I’m with a buddy on a crowded street and want to let them know about an older lady with a gorgeous look, I’ll say, ‘MILF dead ahead, 8 out of 10.’ He knows to skip over the faces under 30 and search for the hot 35+ year old. It’s simply a matter of critical timing. [Read: You guide to scoring yourself a MILF]

#2 A MILF is the wet dream. Teenagers going through puberty may be unable to attract or connect with girls their own age. For example, an adolescent who spends too much time watching porn and doesn’t have good social skills…

Due to his inexperience, he might naturally be drawn to a more maternal, nurturing figure—thinking she will mother him up unconditionally and acceptingly.

#3 A MILF is emotionally developed. Maybe you’re bored of club life and people with stringy attention spans. You want more depth. You can find depth in young people, but many higher order character traits take a lifetime to build. And it’s a never-ending journey. So, some people will consider a person to be a MILF if they meet the emotional connection criteria.

#4 A MILF is very cute or hot. There’s a somewhat universal attractiveness level spectrum, whether or not we like to admit it. In other words, people can generally agree on whether someone looks attractive or not and roughly what level of attractive they look, even if they’re not specifically ‘their type.’

This might sound controversial, but if you’re honest with yourself you may agree *ever heard the phrase ‘she’s out of his league’?*.

Things like facial details symmetry and body shape all factor in. And with that said, some people age better than others and stay looking attractive for longer. Which means that they stay looking remarkably attractive for longer. Note that the word GILF *for grandmother* isn’t popular, because there’s less chances a woman will stay looking hot at that stage of her life *although there are many exceptions*. [Read: The 30 traits of hot women that men love]

#5 The MILF is a new kind of woman. Women had massive inequality pre-world wars. Post-world wars, they slowly gained more rights. Today they’re more on an equal footing with men societally than they have been in any other time. In some arenas, such as within education, they outperform guys. It’s no longer a given that a woman’s role in society is to get married and to have children by a particular age.

Customs are unclear—more open-ended. Women have more independence and make their own sexual decisions with less social repercussions. Words like MILF pop into existence in times like this. People aren’t so sure that an older lady is probably someone else’s wife or that she won’t be DTF. [Read: The meaning of DTF and signs she’s feeling it]

#6 The MILF is straight to the point. Being messed around by a 22-year-old Colombian chick who doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going? One of the appeals of MILFs is that they don’t play games with you.

It’s a popular belief that if a MILF doesn’t feel you she won’t take your info or reply to your messages. But if she is into you she really means to follow through and may even initiate things, because she’s confident enough in her own skin and knows what she wants *she probably also works out if you’re the real deal faster*. [Read: The pros and cons of dating a woman in control]

#7 A MILF might not be a mother. I’ve never been walking with a friend and we see a hot older lady and my friend says: ‘That is either a hot MILF or a hot cougar.’ He probably doesn’t care if she’s mothered offspring. What’s important is that she looks like she could mother offspring.

We’re usually attracted to people that look capable of passing on genes to create healthy offspring. When we notice curvaceous hips or a buxom chest, this is us looking out for signs of genetic health. The hips don’t lie.

#8 The 20-year-old MILF? Of course, a woman in her 20s could be a MILF. But you often hear ‘baby mother’ used more in that situation. A MILF is a bit more like a fine wine… something that takes a given amount of time to develop properly.

Though I saw a girl who was 22 and had a toddler. It was the first time I’d dated a mother, and I definitely used MILF more than a few times.

#9 The 30-35 MILF. A popular MILF imagery is the ‘dirty 30s’ MILF who is sexually ravenous or a recently divorced single mum. She’s rediscovering who she is and is going yolo. She may be dating several guys at the same time and looking for completely no strings attached sex. [Read: 17 important guidelines for NSA sex]

#10 The conqueror’s trophy MILF. To get with one, you may need to be direct. You should also know what you want. She’s seen too much in her time to be won over by timidity. To add to this, she’s not a commonly ‘available’ demography. Think about it this way: the market tends to value things based on supply and demand. So, if something is in high demand, but seems to be in relatively short supply, it’s going to increase in value.

There are simply fewer older and hot women still dating compared to younger women. So, this literally makes MILFs a hot product. And hunters of MILFs get a sense of self-validation from knowing they won something difficult to get. It’s competition.

Say you’re 20, and a MILF you come across is 45. Chances are it’s less socially acceptable for her to get with you. There’s more in your way in terms of natural social obstacles. So, if you proceed to get her despite this, it says something about your tenacity and abilities.

#11 A MILF can have dirty affairs. I think being a parent tends to make you mature sooner, both emotionally and spiritually, whatever your age. This is because of the higher amount responsibility you bear. When a MILF does anything she does it properly. That means a sweeping, mature, lusty affair. By comparison, a ‘baby mother’ is more likely to bring drama and angry ex-lovers who carry guns. This is simply because younger people generally have less life experience than older folk.

By the time you’re in your 30s you’ll have more perspective on some of life’s absurdities. So, a MILF is more likely to have emotional control and able to keep a dirty secret. [Read: 15 dirty ways to have the sexiest rough sex ever]

#12 A MILF understands sex and sexuality. Think of a hot 20-year-old girl… It’s not hard to get the feeling that her body as it is just popped into existence one day and she woke up with an uber-slim waste line and a perky bubble butt. She didn’t go to the gym for it. She might even have a diet of cigarettes and Coca-Cola.

The same thing is likely to be the case with that girl’s sense of her own sexuality. She’s not matured fully yet. She doesn’t yet know what she likes and enjoys, or what she really appreciates in a partner.

A MILF’s sexuality is practiced. It’s deep, subtle, knowing. She truly appreciates sexuality to a level that shocks you. A MILF may dress modestly and show her sexuality in subtle ways. Her sexuality may seem to emanate from her sleekly and stylishly. However, when you make a moment of intense eye contact with a MILF, there’s a knowingness there.

Don’t get me wrong, people can be impulsive and naïve whatever their age, but wisdom and skills generally tend to form with time.

[Read: Cougar dating: 10 rules to dating an older woman]

Hunters like to explore. They know that variety is the spice of life. Understanding what is a MILF and the slightly taboo off-limits temptation can only be addressed in a socially acceptable way through code.

The post What Is A MILF? The Surprising Truths & Thoughts Behind Its Meaning is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.

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were-cheetah-stiles · 7 years

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The Recruit (Chapter 18) - Mitch Rapp

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “Day 78, Part II”

Characters: Mitch Rapp, Steven Rapp & Reader/OFC

Author’s Note: thank you to @ninja-stiles for helping me decide what to do with this chapter WEEKS ago. I was going in all different directions and she really helped to shape this. Also, I’m assuming that Jake Gyllenhaal joke was with you, Britt............ I’m assuming.

The Hills - The Weeknd

Warnings: SMUT. like dirty bathroom sex kind of smut. cursing.

Chapter Seventeen - Chapter Eighteen - Chapter Nineteen

"Bro.. do you know who that is over there?"

"Hmm?" Mitch glanced over to where Steven was looking. He didn't recognize the man that was being seated at the table nearby. He shook his head and looked back at his food.

"Dude, you know who Jake Gyllenhaal is."

Mitch shrugged. "Name sounds familiar."

Steven shook his head and looked back at the table full of food in front of him. "You are so nonchalant about everything." Mitch laughed and shrugged again, his mouth full of cornbread. "So do you have any pictures from your trip?"

"What trip?" Mitch asked, his mouth full after shoving a forkful of mac-n-cheese in it.

Steven lowered the barbecue rib from his mouth and put it back on his plate, confused as to how Mitch didn't know what trip he was referring to. "....... the trip you took after Katrina... the one you were on for more than a year...?" Steven stared at his brother, with his brow furrowed.

"Oh.." Mitch chuckled and glanced down at his plate. "Um, not really."

"No pictures? At all?" Steven seemed bamboozled by that concept, as he was absolutely addicted to his iPhone and was garnering quite a following on Instagram. Steven was definitely more a child of their generation than his brother.

Mitch nodded and stuffed more cornbread in his mouth, chewing the dry carb in an effort to stall. "It just wasn't that kind of trip, you know? I was trying to..."

"Get over Katrina, I know. I just figured.. I don't know, a landscape or something. Where'd you even go?"

Mitch felt the need to lie about this. He didn't think that his brother would understand why, after seeing his fianceé be killed, Mitch would return to the Middle East for “leisure”. "Spent some time in Asia. Hong Kong, Thailand, Japan, Indonesia, Vietnam, Cambodia.. I really liked Cambodia." Mitch had never been to any of those places. "I wish I had taken some pictures now. The thought just never crossed my mind at the time." Mitch shrugged.

Steven went back to eating; his suspicions having been quelled. "I'm guessing you're not really allowed to take pictures on your trips for work either."

Mitch chuckled and shook his head. "No, not really."

"Well, listen..." Steven sighed, and wiped his hands on the napkin tucked into his shirt collar, protecting his suit from their messy lunch choice. "I don't need pictures of your trips, and I don't really even need the stories either... I just need my big brother back. I can take trips down to D.C. when you're in the States, and I'm assuming like every one else you get holidays off. You and Y/n can always come back up here for the Fourth of July."

Mitch understood how much he had abandoned his younger brother and he felt guilty for it, but he could not give Steven anything definitive for fear of letting him down again. "We get some holidays off, and if we have that off, then yea, we'll definitely come up here for it."

"Or I could come down to D.C. I bet Independence Day in the Capital is probably sick."

"Yea, maybe.."

Mitch and Steven finished their lunch and began walking back to Steven's office building, when Mitch spotted a used bookstore.

"Uh, do you mind if I pop inside for a minute? I want to see if they have something.. if you have to go back to work, I'll just see you later at dinner?" Mitch asked, as they stepped out of the way of the other pedestrians. Steven shrugged and followed his brother.

"What are you looking for?" Steven said as Mitch looked for someone who worked there.

"Excuse me, um, Derek?” Mitch glanced at the young man’s name tag. “Where are your classics?"

The skinny young man behind the check out desk took his time raising his gaze from his magazine up to Mitch, but when he did see the brothers, a smile spread across his face and he leaned over the counter. "Over there, honey." He pointed of to the right. "Let me know if I can help you with anything."

Steven snickered and Mitch walked off, not noticing that he was being flirted with. "What are you looking for?" Steven asked again, Mitch's eyes scanned the shelf full of old secondhand books.

"I just want to see if they have something..." Mitch poked his head around, moving the stacked books around on the shelves.

"I can help, you know?" Steven complained, tiring of his brother's silence.

"Don't need it." Mitch grabbed a dusty blue, hardcover book off the shelf and brought it up to the register. "How old would you say this is?"

The employee gave his best pout as he examined the book. "Maybe a third or fourth edition?" He rung up the book and handed it to Mitch, who had a slight smile on his lips. The cashier watched as the two brothers walked out of the store together.

"Alright well that was fun.... I'll see you guys at like 8?" Steven said smirking and shaking his head, holding the door to his building open, half standing in the lobby.

Mitch nodded and walked back towards the subway.

You sat on a cozy love seat, under a heat lamp, at the rooftop bar of The Standard Hotel in the Meatpacking District of Manhattan. You, Mitch and Steven decided to get drinks after dinner and enjoy a Tuesday night on the town. Mitch was standing at the bar, trying to get all of your orders in, and you seized the moment. You leaned forward towards Steven and asked a question that had been in the back of your mind since you found out about Katrina.

"What was he like growing up?"

Steven put down his phone when he heard your question. He glanced behind you to see Mitch still waiting to be served at the bar. "Funny. He was always smart and driven and all of that, but he was lighter then, you know? When our parents died, Mitch really took it hard."

"The boarding schools..." You interjected.

Steven nodded. "We got shipped off to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania to live with our aunt, step-uncle, and three cousins, and Mitch just didn't handle it well. I was young enough, that I was just sad, but Mitch was angry. He got in fights and he didn't go to class.. He stole my uncle's gun and car and just drove out to the woods and shot targets until it got dark. The police finally found him and.." Steven shrugged. "It was failed boarding school attempt, after failed boarding school attempt, after failed boarding school attempt... The last one made the difference though. He found a coach that saw the potential in him and he became Varsity captain of the lacrosse team by Sophomore year. He did winter track and swim team in the fall."

"He went to 'Cuse on a lacrosse scholarship, right?" Mitch had never told you that, he didn't like talking about college very much, but you had done some snooping in the files in Stan's office when they were both gone.

Steven smiled and nodded. "Yea, he was a beast... an actual All-American athlete, you know?" Steven shook his head. "I love my brother a lot, and I don't mean to sound cocky, but when I got to Syracuse a year after him, it was like me and the school and our friends and lacrosse brought out the Mitch I grew up with. He was good again, light, effervescent, funny, talkative... I think being around a sport he loved, and good friends, and his brother-"

"And Katrina.." You didn't like beating around the bush.

Steven nodded. "I think it all did a lot of good for him.

"So the Mitch that we have today is because of what happened to Katrina then?"

Steven paused and nodded. "It was not at all fair that that happened to him twice.." Steven came around and sat next to you on the seat, trying to not shout over the music. "...that he lost people so suddenly and tragically, twice? It was just fucked up. He left about two weeks after her funeral and he stayed in touch and kept his apartment for about four months, and then he just disappeared, sold the place, and I didn't hear from him again until like two weeks ago when he told me he was coming up here with you."

You fidgeted with your hands in your lap. "I don't know what to to say.. that's... just.." You trailed off and shook your head, looking around to see Mitch finally speaking to the bartender.

"I've never seen him like he is now though. I can tell that the anger is somewhere under the surface, like it was when we were kids, but at the same time he's...." Stephen paused looking for the right words. "You clearly make him really happy, Y/n. He's different than he was with Katrina. Maybe he just grew up more or something. I mean, they were only twenty-three when they got engaged."

"What are you two talking about?" Mitch came over, balancing three drinks among his long fingers, and sitting where Steven had been sitting, across from you.

Steven hooked his arm around your shoulders, hugging you close to his side, and smiled. "Talking shit about you, big bro."

You grinned and patted Steven's arm, appreciating that Steven didn't divulge the true nature of your conversation. Mitch smirked and rolled his eyes. "Then you get no drink, little bro."

Mitch leaned against the wall, sipping his whiskey and watching as you chatted up a girl with Steven. He thought back on the last time he saw you act like a wingman at a party. He remembered the electricity that surged through his body when, in your tight, short, cream colored dress and thigh-high black suede boots, you leaned over his lap, your hand resting on his thigh for stability, and ordered his favorite drink without him ever having told you what it was. He remembered watching you gyrate on the dance floor, and the way your body moved in your dress. He took a deep breath and took a sip of his drink, suddenly feeling overheated. He scanned the dark room, full of sweaty, grinding bodies, swaying to the overly loud music, and saw you, grin and nudge Steven as he got dragged out onto the dance floor with the girl he was trying to snag.

You turned around, a mischievous and drunken smile plastered on your face. You spotted Mitch and began strutting off the dance floor towards him, purposefully swaying your hips in an exaggerated fashion as you approached him. You paused to down the rest of your champagne and leave it on the bar, turning back to Mitch, and dancing your way over to him. He stared at your legs, barely covered by a high waisted and short red leather skirt. His eyes made their way up your body passed the tight, long sleeved, but low cut black shirt, and choker necklace, and up to your red-stained lips moving as you sang the words to the song playing over the speakers. He grinned, and rubbed at the stubble on his chin, chuckling and shaking his head at your tipsy behavior.

"Come on..." You pulled at his hand, trying to get him to follow you onto the dance floor.

Mitch didn't budge from the wall, instead pulling you back against him. "I haven't seen you like this before." He said, his lips curling up at the corners, as he snaked his arm around the small of your back.

"I have fun sometimes." You whispered up to him, tonguing your top left canine as you smirked. You swayed your body against his, your hands pressed against Mitch's chest, and your face inches away from his. "Come dance with me."

"I haven't danced in a long time..."

"But you've danced.." You ground your body against his a little harder, and smugly licked your lips.

"I don't think so, Y/n/n.." Mitch was trying to suppress a grin. He didn't want you to know how much you were turning him on. He wanted to remain stubborn and win, so that maybe, instead of making him dance, you would want to leave and go home instead.

You were definitely the more stubborn of the two of them. You looked up at the speaker above the two of you in the ceiling as you heard the song change. You grinned and then pouted. "I love this song. Please?" Mitch shook his head.

"Your man on the road, he doin' promo... You said, 'keep our business on the low-low'.."

You connected your eyes with his and began silently singing the words to him. "I'm just tryna get you out the friend zone, cause you look even better than the photos..." You smirked and wiggled your fingers at him in a come hither fashion.

Mitch laughed, dropping his head down, and pushing the back of his hand to cover his smile. "Nope." He killed his whiskey neat and placed it on the tall table next to him, finally wrapping his hands around your waist.

The bass on the lightly remixed version of The Weeknd's, "The Hills" dropped and you turned around, your hands pulling Mitch's arms tighter around you, and you began to grind your body against his. Mitch pressed his lips together and tried to remain resolved in his stubbornness. He rolled his head back and quickly gave up. He'd pretty much do anything you wanted. Mitch grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the dense crowd of people.

"I only love it when you touch me, not feel me. When I'm fucked up, that's the real me. When I'm fucked up, that's the real me, yeah.."

You grinned from ear to ear and wrapped your arms around Mitch's neck. He tried to suppress his smirk and pulled your body close against him. You swayed back and forth against him, smirking as you remained inches away from his face. You pressed your hand against the nape of his neck, leaning him closer and you connected your lips to his. His hand made it down to squeeze your ass as you continued kissing and grinding on each other.

The deejay seamlessly flowed The Weeknd into a remixed version of "Drunk in Love" by Beyonce and you smiled into your prolonged, sloppy kisses. You broke away and turned around, keeping your arms hooked around his neck. You felt Mitch begin to sway his hips against yours in a way that kept good time with the hypnotic rhythm. You felt your desire for the way his body moved against you begin to pool against your black panties. You were entranced at the natural way his body moved to the music.

Your left hand broke free from its sweaty grip around his neck and ruffled your hair in a way that wafted the familiar vanilla scent into his nostrils. He was more intoxicated by you than the alcohol. Mitch snaked his hand up your arm and placed your hand back around his neck. He then reached around, cupping his hand under your chin and pulling up. He felt you twitch against his grip, a quick flashback beginning to form in your memories.

"It's just me. It's just us." Mitch whispered into your ear, his lips grazing your cheek.

You breathed deeply and surrendered to Mitch's pull. He locked his lips against yours, his hand holding tightly against your jaw, as he bit and pulled at your bottom lip. He heard the faintest moan come from your mouth, as your fingers curled into his hair and you pushed against his cock. His free hand worked its way up from your hip bone, lightly pulling at your leather skirt as his sticky skin moved, to your sternum, and you whimpered. You could barely hear the music over the sound of your heart thumping in your ear drums. Mitch tugged at your bottom lip again and you could no longer fight the urge.

You grabbed at his hand, pulling it off of your throat, and led him out of the crowd. Your skirt was slightly off kilter from the dancing, and Mitch reached down with his free hand to pull it back in place. You were no one's to look at but his.

You led him down a long and dark hallway and towards a stairwell. Mitch stopped you and pushed you up against a wall, the sound from the speakers in the club caused the surface to vibrate against your body, as Mitch pushed your head to the side and began kissing at your neck. You pushed Mitch off and began walking down the staircase, wobbly from the alcohol and your high, black suede booties. You grabbed his hand again when the two of you made it to the bottom of the stairs and he followed you towards the end of a slightly less dim hallway. Mitch glanced around, the walls were covered in graffiti and stickers and chewed gum, and the music was muffled, but still decipherable through the ceiling.

You opened the door to the women's restroom and crouched down to glance under the stalls. It was empty. Mitch followed you in and reached up to the metal arm at the top of the door, locking it closed. Mitch suddenly got pushed against the door by you, who ran your hands through his hair and pressed your lips against his. He leaned down, looped his hands under your thighs, and picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, still kissing wildly at him, and suddenly felt the sensation of cold and wet porcelain against the bottoms of your bare legs.

Mitch pushed your chin up and left long, sucking kisses against your throat and jaw, as you fumbled to get his pants undone. He finally relieved you of the task, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and pulled them down. You bit and pulled and sucked at his bottom lip, moaning into the action as he grabbed your waist, pulling you off of the sink to stand in front of him.

Mitch turned you around, watching you press your delicate fingers into the white porcelain, and he ran his hands up your thighs, reaching them underneath the supple leather of your skirt, and pulled down your underwear. You glanced over at the full-length mirror on the back of the door and saw Mitch's cock, fully erect and waiting to be buried inside of you. Mitch looked up, you were staring back at him in the dirty mirror in front of you.

"You trust me?" He asked your reflection. You nodded. "Do you want me?"

You bit your lip. "God fucking yes."

Mitch smirked, placed his hand on the back of your neck, and pushed you against the sink. You gripped onto the sides as you felt him push your skirt up around your waist.

"Oh god." You moaned loudly, as Mitch pushed his thick cock inside of you pussy; knowing that you were wet, but not actually checking. Mitch let out a loud exhale as he explored your body from a position that he had been to afraid of experiencing with you up until that morning. He felt his length fill you up completely and he shuddered at the sensation of his hips meeting your ass.

Mitch began to pick up his pace, and his strength, fucking you with the speed and force of a man who knew he was probably about to be caught by bouncers. Mitch watched as you moved one of your hands from the sink, to up against the wall in front of you. He listened to your staggered breathing, muffled by the bass of the music from upstairs.

"Harder." You said, barely audible amidst your moans.

Mitch obliged and began thrusting into you with even more force. You grunted and pushed back against his thrusts, causing Mitch to quickly lose control. You wanted him as deep inside of you as he could possibly get when he finished.

"Fuck, baby." Mitch whined, as he watched and felt you pushing back against him. "Fuck."

Mitch leaned forward, pressing his hand against yours on the sink, and gripping your shoulder as he quickly came undone. He pressed his body against yours again, and felt himself become drained of his seed. You moaned loudly as you felt his throbbing dick empty inside of you. Mitch collapsed his head onto your back and felt your heart racing against the back of your ribs.

"You okay?" He asked as he pulled out, a drop of his cum quickly dripping onto the dirty tiled floor between your feet.

"That was...so good."

Mitch walked over and unraveled a roll of toilet paper from the closest stall. He wiped himself up, tucked himself back in his pants and zipped them back snug around his waist. He wiped you up, and pulled your panties from your ankles back up around you, then pulled your skirt back down. He pressed his body up against you, your ass smushed against the porcelain once again.

"So, that was okay?" Mitch asked, placing his hands on your hips, and staring into your y/e/c eyes.

You nodded. "That was the hottest thing ever... but you owe me."

Mitch smirked. He knew you hadn't finished. He fully intended on repaying the debt. "I know."

"What time is it?"

Mitch looked at his watch. "2330."

"Do you think Steven will be pissed if we leave early?"

"Yea, I doubt we were even really going to see Steve again tonight." Mitch commented, reaching up to unlock the door.

"Why's that?" You asked, standing next to him with your hand on the handle of the door.

"Oh, Steve is definitely going to take that girl home and have sex with her, so I really don't think he'll be pissed if I take this girl..." Mitch gestured to you. "... home with me and have sex with her until she comes."

You grinned and followed Mitch out of the club.

Guys. Mitch is going to be the death of me. Um, I also think I’m gonna close the tags for The Recruit around Chapter 21? So get your requests in ASAP.

@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 @theneverendingracetrack @snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales

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sunriserose1023 · 7 years

Text

Gone With the Wind

So I totally messed this up. I, for some reason, thought @kittenofdoomage‘s Movie Quote Challenge ran until January 31st ... which turned out to not be the case at all. But this idea had been burning in my brain ever since I got my prompt, and I feel like today, the 77th anniversary of Gone With the Wind, is a poetic kind of culmination. Sorry this is so late, but I hope you guys enjoy.

RATING: Mature WORD COUNT: 4478 CHARACTERS: John Winchester, female reader, Sarah Blake, Donna Hanscum (mentioned), Bobby Singer (mentioned), minor original unnamed characters WARNINGS: THIS IS AN AU--characters are actors on the set of Gone With the Wind in the late 1930s; language, angst

PROMPT: “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

It was the last day for you on the movie set, and you couldn’t be happier. The past months had been nothing short of a roller coaster, and you’d be damned if you’d do another film for a good long while after this one.

Of course, this wasn’t just a regular movie. No, this was an epic tale of times long past, and somehow certain to give America the hope it needed in such dark times.

You stared into your teacup, letting out a breath. At the sound of something behind you, you lifted your head, looking into the mirror of your vanity, which gave a perfect view of the door behind you.

“Miss Y/N? They’re ready for you in makeup.”

You smiled at the young man who’d knocked lightly on your trailer door. You stood up, taking one last sip from your cup of tea, then sliding your feet into a pair of slippers and following the boy out to the makeup trailer. You faltered just a bit when you passed by his trailer, doing your best to keep looking forward instead of at him. He was standing outside the trailer door, a white shirt on with his brown pants and suspenders, hair tousled like he’d just woken up, which …

“Excuse me, what time is it?”

The young boy in front of you looked at his wrist.

“Half past eight, ma’am.”

You nodded. He had just woken up. Which meant the cigarette he was currently smoking was his first of the day. You quietly coughed into your hand, more to clear your head than your lungs, and stepped into the makeup trailer. Sarah walked over to you, a wide smile on her face, dark hair pulled back and twisted up.

“Last day, Y/N. You ready?” “God, yes. I’m ready to get this over with.” “You’re not going to miss us?”

You gave Sarah a smile.

“Oh, honey. Of course I will. You, I’ll miss terribly.”

She didn’t comment on your emphasis on the word “you,” immediately picking up on what you left unsaid. She went to say something, but the door opened, and by the look on her face, you kept looking straight ahead.

“Good morning, ladies.”

Your eyes drifted shut at the deep, raspy voice that rang through the trailer. Sarah, you knew, was smiling, because she was kind.

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester.” “Sarah, darling. After all this time together, you still won’t call me John?”

He gave a rough chuckle at the blush that crossed Sarah’s face. He looked to the mirror and you straightened your shoulders. He leaned forward, nodding once.

“Y/N.” “John.” “One last scene today.” “Looking forward to it.”

He blinked, and you indulged the smile that was playing at your lips, petty as it was. John cleared his throat, taking the seat next to yours. You let out a breath, glancing behind you, noticing that Sarah was nowhere you could see her.

“I asked her to give us a minute.”

You closed your eyes, letting out a sigh.

“I have nothing to say to you.” “Oh, come on, darling.” “I’m not your ‘darling,’ John. You made that perfectly clear.”

John sighed.

“Can we just talk about that?” “No.”

John hung his head, then let out a laugh.

“You do realize you’re not actually Scarlett, right? You don’t have to carry that attitude all day.”

You huffed out a laugh, pushing away from the counter and standing up.

“Well, you sure carry Rhett’s asinine attitude all the damn time.”

You turned away, not giving him a chance to answer. You walked to the door and threw it open, seeing Sarah standing there, blue eyes wide.

“I’m ready for you.” “I was just—“ “Sarah, please.”

She nodded, stepping back into the trailer, and you sat back in your seat, closing your eyes and keeping them that way, ignoring John’s attempts to pick up conversation, focusing all your attention on the soft swish of Sarah’s dress around her legs. John finally gave up, tapping his fingers on the arm of your chair before walking out. When the door closed behind him, Sarah laid a hand on your shoulder, and you gave a shaky exhale, keeping your eyes closed at the sudden threat of tears.

“It’s okay. We haven’t gotten to your eyes yet.”

You let out a wobbly laugh, shaking your head and sniffling. You gave another sigh when Donna walked up, ready and prepared to remove the pins from your hair and make you into the woman you’d been studying and portraying now for nearly a year.

You stood at the top of the stairs on set, running a hand down the bodice of your black velvet dress. You took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, glancing up when you heard the soft click of shoes behind you. John stood there, hair combed just right, looking dapper and downright stunning in his suit. He gave you a smile, speaking softly.

“Hello there.”

You weren’t going to lie. “Intimidated” didn’t even touch what you were feeling. This movie was The One. The studio had faith that this movie would inspire the American people, pulling them out of the Depression, and you felt the heaviness of that on your shoulders.

This wasn’t your first movie. You’d been in a few movies and more than a few theatre plays. You were in the papers and on the radio at times, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say that you were a movie star.

John Winchester, on the other hand, definitely was.

He’d been married more than once. Divorced more than once. He was “A scandal waiting to happen,” according to your mother. She’d instructed you to steer clear of him, something you’d simply nodded at and went on about your business. You were playing the lead female role, while he was the male. How was avoiding him even possible?

It was absolutely impossible, something you’d learn rather quickly on set.

“Well, hello there.”

His voice was deep, dark and rough like the whiskey he was rumored to drink like water. He was taller than you were expecting, but dark and handsome, just like more rumors you’d heard. His cheeks and chin were covered in salt-and-pepper stubble, and his hair held just a hint of gray at the temples. Even so, there was a boyish kind of wonder that sparkled in his eyes, and dimples in his cheeks that deepened as he smiled at you.

You nodded, and he held out a hand.

“John Winchester.”

You placed your gloved hand in his.

“Y/N.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

He lifted your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of your glove, which you felt all the way down to your toes. He kept your hand in his, then moved just a bit to loop your arm over his.

“Let me show you around set, my dear.”

Your cheeks burned, and all you could do was nod. John chuckled under his breath, a wonderfully deep sound, then began to whistle as the two of you strolled around the makeshift city of Atlanta.

Two weeks into filming, you’d become enamored with your leading man. He was suave and debonair, exactly like his character, and most of the time, you couldn’t tell where John ended and Rhett began. You were nothing like Scarlett, the spoiled little brat, and John would later tell you how much he loved that fact.

The two of you worked together most of the day, but also spent hours together outside of filming. You and John would stroll around set and speak with other cast members and members of the crew, and you got to see how personal John became with the crew members. He told you that they were the real backbone of any film, while actors played an almost insignificant role, yet received all the credit. You hung onto his every word and became friends with more crew members than even John was.

Three months into the movie came a huge scene for you. In the midst of the Civil War, Scarlett was determined to return to her childhood home. Rhett was with her, and when they were almost there, he decides to join the Confederate army and leave Scarlett. They, being the two strong personalities they were, fight, and before he goes Rhett would take Scarlett in his arms and kiss her.

It was to be your first kiss on a movie set.

You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t nervous, and John could tell. The two of you had practiced the dialogue many times, and you knew that part like the back of your hand. John would always stop before the kiss, but now, hair and makeup done, costumes on, sitting in place on set …

“You should die ashamed to leave me here alone and helpless.” “You? Helpless?”

John laughed, picking up Rhett’s hat in his hand, turning to you with a smile on his face.

“Heaven help the Yankees if they capture you. Now climb down here. I want to say goodbye.”

Your heart was in your throat as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“No.”

Ooh, Scarlett was a prickly thing. But Rhett had a thick skin, and you gasped as John stepped back up into the wagon, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you down to the ground with him. He kept your hand in his as he walked the few steps to where your marks where, you pleading with him all the while not to leave. John held you as Rhett pledged his love to Scarlett, while you squirmed in his arms, determined to fight until Scarlett’s last breath. But you went still as John lowered his head, speaking the lines he’d said a hundred times already in practice with you.

“Now… kiss me. Kiss me.”

You closed your eyes as his lips pressed against yours, tightening your hold on his shoulders. You could swear fireworks were exploding behind your eyes, and if it hadn’t been for the grip you had on him and his arms around you, your knees would have buckled. Something in the back of your mind kept you in check, reminding you that cameras were rolling, and you forced your way out of his arms, your hand connecting with his cheek in a stinging slap as Scarlett called Rhett a multitude of names. John simply laughed, grabbing Rhett’s hat and putting it on his head, then walking away.

“And cut! Beautiful!”

You turned to watch the lights come up, seeing the director and a few others standing to their feet and clapping their hands. A blush lit up your face, and you nodded, accepting the cup of water from one of the young boys that worked on the set. When the director gave you an all clear, you walked to your trailer, closing the door behind you and sinking back against it.

You pushed your hands through the flyaway hair around your head, shaking your head as you went to work pulling the pins from Scarlett’s braid, groaning softly as your scalp initially protested, stinging pain lingering before a dull ache settled over your head. You stood there, looking into the small mirror, then hung your head, letting out a deep sigh.

You glanced up, meeting your reflection’s eyes when a knock sounded at your trailer door. You stood up, smoothing a hand down your dress, patting the voluminous hair on your head, and walked to the door. You opened it, and John stepped inside, closing the door behind him. You bit your lip, then sighed, looking up to him.

“John, I—“

The words caught in your throat as he took hold of your waist, swinging you around and pressing your back against the door. You blinked and John groaned.

“Fuck, why do you keep looking at me like that?”

You didn’t answer him, and his big hand came to cup your face, long fingers trailing over your skin.

“Those lovely eyes. So innocent. God, Y/N, you’re so …”

He shook his head, and you reached out, laying your hands on the thick muscles of his forearms. He groaned again, moving closer. Your eyes were huge as you watched him, and he murmured between you.

“Stop looking at me like that.” “I can’t help it.”

He chuckled, and you gasped again as his lips pressed to yours. Your knees did buckle this time, and he pressed one of his thighs between yours, giving you a bit of leverage to hold yourself up. His hands slid from your waist into your hair, and you moaned into his mouth when those long fingers began massaging your scalp. John pulled back a tiny bit, just enough where you could feel his lips moving across yours as he spoke.

“Have you been kissed before, darling?”

You shook your head, whole body shivering as John’s 5-o-clock shadow brushed against your sensitive cheek, as his lips moved over your skin until he was whispering in your ear.

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re driving me out of my mind. Did you know that? Can you see what you do to me?” “John, I—“

He groaned, moving his lips back to yours. After a moment, he pulled back, leaving you breathless and panting for air. He shook his head, one finger slowly tracing over your lips.

“The way you say my name … I need to kiss you more often.”

You couldn’t help the laugh, and John lifted one eyebrow at you, even though a smile came over his lips. You smiled, feeling bold and brave all of a sudden, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“What’s stopping you?”

John threw his head back and laughed, hands moving to cradle your waist, lips meeting yours again and again.

You closed your eyes, glancing down at the luxurious carpet before looking up at him again. John took a step closer to you, close enough for you to smell the tobacco from the cigarette he’d just finished before coming onto set.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?”

You blinked, and he nodded before going on.

“In the makeup trailer, about … you’re not really looking forward to ending this, are you?”

You swallowed, looking down at his chest before meeting his eyes.

“Aren’t you? Don’t you have someone waiting in the wings for you already? Carole, or Bette perhaps?”

His eyes darkened, and you let out a sigh.

“Haven’t you tired of me by now? Wasn’t that what you were saying to Bobby last month?” “So you’re an eavesdropper now.” “Don’t change the subject, you devilish cad.” “My God. You are Scarlett, aren’t you?”

You gasped, turning away from him just as the director walked behind the camera.

“All right, folks, here we go. John, I need you at the bottom of the stairs, Y/N, you’ll run down as soon as I call ‘action.’”

John pushed past you, making his way down the stairs. You turned away from him, blinking back tears, exhaling a shaky breath. You closed your eyes, clearing your mind, and as soon as you heard the word, you turned on your heel, Y/N gone and Scarlett in place. Tears sparkled in your eyes as you called his name, one hand holding your gown as you ran down the stairs. John—as Rhett—opened the door just as you reached him.

“Rhett! Oh, Rhett!”

He turned back to look at you over his shoulder as you spoke.

“If you leave, where shall I go? What shall I do?”

The breath caught in your throat when his eyes met yours. You felt like time had stopped in the few seconds he just stared at you before straightening his shoulders. The look in his eyes was pure hatred, and when he spoke, you felt the words like a slap, so much so that you jolted slightly.

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

You gasped slightly, tears burning behind your eyes as your mouth fell open. John placed the hat on his head and turned away from you, walking through the early-morning fog. You stood in place until you couldn’t see him anymore, and you jolted again when you heard the director call the end of the scene.

“John, my boy! That was magnificent. The writers will have a field day with your change-up, but I think it fits the scene perfectly. Could we try one more, with more focus on Y/N’s face? What do you say, doll?”

You stood frozen in place, the words and the look in his eyes burnt into your memory. You blinked, finally closing your open mouth.

“Y/N? Darling, could we get one more take out of you?”

You turned to look at the director, concern immediately crossing his face when he saw you.

“Y/N?” “I—I’m sorry.” “Doll, what—“

You turned and began to walk away, stumbling when the haze of tears you were trying to hold back began to fill your eyes. You heard people all around you begin to call your name, footsteps sounding as they walked towards you. You picked up the thick skirt of your dress and began to run, leaving them calling your name.

You made it to your trailer and threw open the door, flinging it shut behind you, laying your hands on the countertop as sobs wrenched their way from your chest. You lifted your head to see makeup smeared over your face and you lifted shaky hands, yanking the pins from your hair with little regard for the pain you were causing yourself. You continued sobbing, barely able to breathe, and you reached around, trying to unfasten your dress, mindful of the thick material and the fastenings even through your breakdown.

“Y/N? Open this door!”

You cried harder when you heard his voice, sobs only increasing in volume, accompanied now by gasps of breath. John kicked open the door, stepping inside to see you crying and gasping and failing to undress.

“Breathe, sweetheart.” “Get it off!”

He stepped behind you, taking one look at the snaps and laces and pulled his pocketknife out of his pants, slicing through the fabric, careful not to get anywhere near your skin. You gasped when he pushed it off your shoulders, and you stepped out, holding onto his hands as he stood behind you, giving you leverage to step away from the dress.

When you were in only your slip, another quieter sob left your lips. John stepped closer behind you, letting go of your hands and wrapping his arms around you. Your body heaved and you cried harder, hanging your head, hands coming up to your chest and stomach, where his arms were, and holding onto him for dear life.

He didn’t say anything; he just stood there, face in your hair, holding you while you cried. You shook your head and he quietly shushed you, murmuring nonsense words into your ear. You gave a shaky, broken exhale and shook your head again.

“I can’t do this.” “Do what, baby?”

You shook your head again, speaking until the tears clogged in your throat and rendered you unable.

“I know I’m young and I ruined this movie, but I … I can’t—“ “What are you talking about? You didn’t ruin the movie. If anyone ruined it, it was me, changing up my lines at the last minute.”

You closed your eyes, sinking back against him, feeling John tighten his hold on you.

“The way you looked at me...” “I know. I’m sorry.” “John—“ “No, I could see it. I could see how hurt you were, and I … I’m just sorry.”

Fresh tears came to your eyes and you let go of him, squirming until he let go of you. You walked away from him, still in Scarlett’s shoes, but your silky white slip. You put your face in your hands for a moment, then lifted your head, looking over at John.

“Do you hate me?”

A soft smile came over his face. He shook his head as he stepped to the small bowl-and-pitcher you had on the countertop. He poured some water into the bowl, lifting a rag and dipping it in the water. He nodded for you to sit, which you did, and he knelt in front of you, using the damp rag to gently wash your face.

“I don’t hate you, darling. I couldn’t.” “But I said such awful, untrue things.” “So did I. Do you hate me?”

You sighed, closing your eyes. John lifted his hand to cup your cheek and you leaned into the touch.

“I could never hate you, John. I love you too much.” “Well, good. Because I love you, too.”

You sighed again, blinking your eyes open to see him inches from you, hand still resting against your face. You shook your head, sniffling quietly.

“What do we do, John?”

John smiled.

“You could always marry me.”

You laughed.

“Yes, that would solve everything, wouldn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes as John smiled again, chuckling under his breath. He reached up to touch your hair, frowning when he felt the knots and raggedness caused by your hands earlier. He sighed.

“I know you think you’re too young. I know what you’ve heard about me. But I … god, darling. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. You make me happy and infuriate me and all I want to do is wrap you in my arms and never let you go.”

Fresh tears came to your eyes, and you shook your head again.

“But when you—“ “I couldn’t tell Bobby the truth. I couldn’t tell anyone. Mainly because I just want to keep you for myself.”

You smiled, and John sighed.

“I’ve got a reputation around sets, and they’d already noticed that things were different here. I didn’t want to spend time with the women like I usually did. I wanted to spend time with you. I didn’t want the papers to drag you into a mess you weren’t ready for. So I was a fool and hurt you instead.” “I hurt you, too.”

John smiled, rolling his knuckles down your cheek.

“I’ve got a thick skin, my dear.” “That is true.”

John threw his head back and laughed, leaning forward to cup your face in his hands.

“Come on, sweetheart. Say you’ll do it. Say you’ll marry me.”

You let out a laugh, standing up, shaking his hands off of your face.

“Look at us, John. We can barely be in the same room with each other.” “We’ve been in this room for a while and we’re doing fine.” “Please.”

He chuckled, but stood to his feet, slowly rubbing his hands together. You shook your head, slowly pacing the floor, your heels clicking with every slow footstep you took.

“We hurt each other every chance we get. We’ve been in each other’s back pockets for the past year with this movie, but now we’re done, and what’s to say we won’t get tired of each other? Just—just look at us now.” “Believe me, darling. I’m looking at you.”

You saw the heat in his eyes and you glanced down, remembering what little you were wearing. You gasped, turning your back to him, crossing your arms over your chest. John chuckled, and you glanced over your shoulder at the tap you felt, seeing John’s coat in his outstretched hand, his back to you. You slid the coat over your shoulders, swallowing hard.

“Thank you.”

John nodded, clearing his throat before walking to stand in front of you.

“I have the tendency to be an ass. I know it, and now, so do you. If you’ll just … overlook it at times, perhaps we could make a go of it. I think you’d make one hell of a Winchester.”

You looked down at your hands, which looked positively tiny surrounded by the sleeves on John’s coat. Your voice was just as small when you spoke.

“I don’t want to keep going like we’ve been going. I want things to be different. I want us to be different.” “What exactly do you want, darling?”

You closed your eyes as you thought of all the things you could tell him. A fairy tale. A “normal life,” where you took care of the children and cooked dinner and he came home from work to eat with the family. A glamourous lifestyle of travel and expensive tastes.

What came from your lips was none of those things.

“I want to feel safe. I want to be happy. I want someone to love me.”

You sucked in a breath at the feel of his warmth against your back, his lips pressing to your temple before he whispered in your ear.

“I can make that happen.” “John—“ “I can be different, darling. I will take care of you from this day forward. I will wrap you in my arms and never let you go, if that’s what you want.”

He turned you until you faced him, and he held onto your arms as he spoke.

“I won’t leave you alone. You’ll never have to worry about anything again, Y/N. I can take care of you and I will love you until my very last breath.”

You tried, but you knew you were fighting a losing battle when you stared into his eyes. You blinked, speaking softly.

“What about the other women?” “What other women? The ones the papers claim I have?”

John scoffed.

“I haven’t looked at another woman since you stepped onto this set, darling. I’ve only got eyes for you.”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a laugh at that. John’s hands slid to yours, and he linked his fingers through yours, giving a gentle squeeze.

“Come on, my darling. Say you’ll do it. Marry me, Y/N.”

You met his dark eyes, stepping closer when he gave your hands a gentle tug. He moved his hands until yours were resting against his chest, still wrapped in his own hands. You blinked, then spoke softly.

“You love me?” “More than anything.” “You promise?” “I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to prove it to you.”

You smiled, going up onto your toes.

“Okay.” “Okay?”

Your smile grew as you leaned closer to him, your lips moving over his as you spoke.

“I will marry you, John Winchester.”

He let out a whoop, kissing you once before letting go of your hands, taking hold of your waist and lifting you, twirling you in a circle. You laughed as you threw your head back and closed your eyes, and when John finally placed your feet on the ground, you wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest, smiling when his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

TAGS: @kittenofdoomage, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mrs-squirrel-chester, @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash, @crzcorgi, @winchesterenthusiast, @winchesterswoonathon, @mypapawinchester, @mamapeterson, @roxy-davenport

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