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forever grateful to all the talented writers who make these characters and worlds come alive 🤍

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@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone parce que ce que tu écris mérite d’être lu et partagé et écrire est difficile, tout le monde n’y arrive pas toi si

because what you write deserves to be read and shared

Masterlist

Here’s every pieces I wrote! I also added my edits in the end. Enjoy my stuff :)

DO NOT REPOST ANY OF MY WRITING. NEVER. NOT TODAY. NOT TOMORROW. NEVER.

** = Smut

Teen Wolf 

Stiles

Something Special

My Black and White Rainbow

A Milky Way gave me breath (5/5)

We don’t believe what’s on TV (49/??)

Meeting the sheriff or the dad?

Lean On Me (Siblings)

I Know

9 Years Without You (Siblings)

Lunatic

His Demon Inside (Siblings)

Number 22

Breaking The Law** / Part 2**

Sweet Like Miel

Because I Care

First Kiss

Memory Found

The Bet

Over, broken

Beyond The Rules

Being Human

The Case of the Missing Shirts

Void Stiles

This isn’t you **

Don’t Look Behind You / Part 2** / Part 3

Who Is In Control?

Love Sick

Dead Bite

Scott

Taking the pain away 

It’s Okay to Cry

Myths, Legends, and a Little Bit of You

The Promise

Showering You With Love**

The Big Day

Theo

Don’t be afraid to love 

Sleep tight, I’m here  

Heat** / Part 2**

You’re My Alpha **

Us Against the World / Part 2

I Need You

Hard To Say

Isaac

Love Makes You Blind 

Sing Me to Sleep

Peter

Stray Cat Crossing part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Pour Some Sugar On Me

Sheriff Stilinski

The World is so Small

Malia

I’m Also Human

Warmth (Male!Reader)

Only You

Derek

One Night to Confess

Driving Lesson (Male!Reader) **

Already Gone

Allison

I Love You, You Know?

Liam

Heartbeats

It’s a Girl!

Blue is the Warmess Color

Sterek

Don’t let me be gone

What is said cannot be forgotten 

How to Date a Lifeguard au

Missing

The Maze Runner 

Thomas

First Snow

Stop Crying

Gally

Unexpected 

The Internship

Stuart

Tech Issue 

The Nerdy Plan**

American Assassin

Mitch

Inner Demons

Killer Queen / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Gone

Savior

Magic Mitch

Dylan O’Brien

Always Follow You Dreams (Chloe x Dylan)

Some Dylan and Soup / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5(Mal x Dylan)

Gladly Mistaken  / Part 2

Home (Baseball au)**

Challenge Accepted

The Pillow

Dirty Little Fantasies**

Glitter and Gold

Blind Date

MCU

Peter Parker

Your Voice

Scott Lang

Who’s the princess, now?

Tony Stark

Till I See You Again

One Last Time

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before

Peter Kavinski

Flirting 101 with Peter Kavinski

Crossover

Sugar, Spice and Everything Nice (Teen Wolf/ Powerpuff Girls)

The Real Ghostbusters (Teen Wolf/ Supernatural)

Movie Night Shouldn’t be Scary (Teen Wolf/ Harry Potter) (2/??)

Mystery Solved (Teen Wolf/ Scooby Doo) / Part 2

No Time for Mourning (Teen Wolf / Wonder Woman)

Can’t Run Away (Teen Wolf / Percy Jackson)

Family Don’t End With Blood ( Teen Wolf / Supernatural)

Welcome to Zombiehills (Teen Wolf / Zombieland)

Alice and The Mad Hatter (Teen Wolf / Alice in Wonderland)

Video Edit

Mad Hatter - Void Stiles 

Warriors - Pack

Heathens - Void Stiles

Believer - Void Stiles

Sacrifice - The Maze Runner 1 / 2

I’m So Sorry - Mitch Rapp

Writing contest masterlist

Thinking about Bodyguard!Mitch catching feelings for the girl he's supposed to protect.

"I may work for you, doll. But that doesn't mean I don't have my own rules. And the number one rule is that you're off limits to other men."

You smirk satisfied "and what about you? are you mine just as much as I am yours?"

He leans down, his body pressing against yours until you can feel his heat radiating in between your legs and see his face getting inches from yours. He looks straight into your eyes, his smirk turning into a smug smile.

"I've been yours for a while now."

(I might turn this into a story but I don't knowwww 😫, he's such a complex character for me to write about yet) (I'm afraid of mischaracterize him) (enjoy this for now, lol) (love y'all, bye!)

with dreams came rain, part one. thomas x green-eyed reader

summary 📣: in which thomas has a dream about a pretty girl with pretty green eyes from his past

warning/s 🚫: “angst”

slater’s note 🗯: au but also still follows the storyline of the scorch trials (part two?)

sleep was hard to come by now a days.

the heat of the scorch sent thomas over on edge as he would have barely have time to sleep before being woken from deep sweats of stress and bad dreams that were always the same and always reoccurring but always so short.

he’d lie awake at night with his hands folded over his chest while his eyes studied the surface of the sky. dark and blue with tiny little lights that were just barely visible through the usual clouds full of thunder and lightening but never really rain.

he’d think and he’d hope for sleep and for peace to come to his mind at last but he knew it’d never come.

when sleep did come, he’d wish for the dream.

the dream with the pretty girl around his age with memorizing pretty green eyes filled with youth and spark. he could see the soul in them, full of harmonious joy that gave him life, that fueled him with happiness.

it was always the same. begun the same, ended the same, never with a hello nor with a goodbye.

and that angered him. he was always set mad with the lack of time he had. he wanted more. he wanted to say goodbye.

“look at the sky, thomas, look how pretty.”

everytime he saw you, it always rained.

literally rained. water fell from the sky, drenching the dry, hot sand. blinding any live eyes of the scorch.

“looks so soft and...”

“...calming.”

he held you closely and tightly with his arm wrapped around your back while the other held your arm, making sure you were stable up close on top of him.

“you make me feel calm... you make me happy, thomas,” you rolled over so your chest was fully pressed against his, hearts connecting, hands lacing together like puzzle pieces.

he felt like he couldn’t breathe. everything you were doing he wanted to last forever and yet he hadn’t had the slightest clue who you were despite everything feeling familiar.

like this was done before, you were real and not a figment of his imagination. every repetitive touch you shared together, every kiss, every word, every noise... it seemed all real and all just a distant memory that his subconscious was pulling up for a sense of relief.

“i feel stuck in my head when i’m not with you,” you whispered, lips moving closer to his, every inch closer to desire and praise and relief.

relief from the built up tension in his stomach. relief from the scorch. relief from WICKED, being hunted, seeing his friends dying, starting life over and over again. it was all relief once your lips touched his.

“please, never leave me.”

he should’ve known it was a dream by how good he felt and by the words that fell from his mouth so effortlessly and mindlessly and by how he didn’t worry about anything.

his stomach felt like as if there were a million tiny bunches of bubbles swarming and consuming every bit of him as he took in every bit of you.

“i wouldn’t dream of it.”

it always ended there. the fantasy world of soft colors and warm weather began to melt away and disappear, slipping from his finger tips no matter how hard he tried to grasp it, hold on tightly, but that only made it fall away faster.

and then it rained.

masterlist

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missing piece, part one. thomas x reader

summary 📰: in which reader is ex-wicked worker with all her memory still intact and once she feels she’s finally gotten away from all that, it comes and pulls her right back in

warning/s 📬: swearing, NOT EDITED UGH

slater’s note 📮: this was originally an original fic on my wattpad but that was years ago but i wanted to bring it back so hi

“where’s y/n?”

“who’s y/n?”

“his girlfriend.”

“she’s not my girlfriend.”

the newfound safe haven had brought a lot of different anxieties, and the last thing thomas wanted was to be separated from his friends, especially you.

five minutes into sitting at a lunch table with new people and familiar faces of the glade, you were really the only thing on his mind as he searched the other tables looking for your face, listening for your laugh, but he found nothing.

“i didn’t see her get tested.”

“nor did i.”

“maybe she’s with teresa,” minho offered, “i saw her walking through the glass hall with a bunch of doctors. they could be running some extra tests... you know, girl stuff?”

“girl stuff?” frypan’s face screwed up as he looked between minho and winston, his mind not exactly processing what that was supposed to mean.

“i don’t know man, i’m sure she’s fine,” minho shrugged, trying to pry away from the awkwardness that took over as fast as he could.

“well, we can look for her later,” newt gave thomas a comforting look, his hand gripping his shoulder as a reassuring gesture, “right now, you need to relax, you’ve had a long day.”

°•

the cold fluorescent lights gave you a piercing headache as you sat in a practically empty medical hall with a needle up your arm and a comforting hand gripping your shoulder.

you couldn’t actually tell whether or not if it was comforting or rather just forceful so you would stay in place against the cold metal chair.

something about the place was rather odd, cold, and slightly uncomfortable. it wasn’t as scrappy as it should’ve been, it was well put together, well built, well secured, it didn’t make sense.

it resembled WICKED headquarters all too much, especially with how many doctors swarmed around you, gripping, pinching, breaking against your skin, desperate for whatever you had.

“alright, y/n, we’re done with you,” the lady removed the needle before placing a plain colored bandaid over the breakage of skin, small amounts of blood beginning to spill out.

you gave her the best small smile you could give her, placing your hand in your lap, trying to fight to the urge to question every single thing that was going on.

“janson wants to see you, and then you can go.”

you nodded, rubbing your hands together before pausing, eyes slowly raising up before saying ‘what?’ and just as fast you heard his voice.

“miss y/l/n, what a pleasure it is to see you again.”

you got out of the cold chair as fast as possible, almost tripping in the process. you felt your heart pick up as you begun backing away, not knowing where to go or what to do.

“why don’t we have a chat?”

you felt multiple hands grips both your arms as you continued to walk away while still facing him. you know this couldn’t end well.

°•

“you were always such a smart girl, even when you were younger. never so sure about anything unless you did it yourself. you had to know everything if you hadn’t known it already.”

it had taken a lot to hold you down before moving you into one of the interview rooms, handcuffing you to the chair.

“when ava heard we were picking up your section of maze, she was absolutely pleased,” janson paced back and forth before you, a stupid smirk slapped on his face, “more than pleased really. she’s hoping the past three years will have been more than enough punishment to have learned your lesson.”

“i’m not a fucking school girl, janson,” you scoffed, struggling against the metal practically digging into your skin, “what your doing is wrong and those three years only made me realize it even more.”

“oh really?”

“i’m finally past all this, why do you need me?”

janson scoffed, shaking his head before leaning over the table that separated the two of you. he was trying to get a ride out of you, you could just tell by the playfulness that surfaced in the center of his eye, “you think you can just take back all that you did? you were after all the one who created the maze.”

“yes but it wasn’t meant for the torture of young kids, janson. do you have any idea what it’s like in there? what you did?”

“i think it’s more or so what you did.”

“suck my dick,” you tried to get up but the handcuffs were preventing much movement, “i didn’t do anything but create a fucking maze. it was you and the rest of the fools that work for WICKED that twisted it into a death con.”

it’s silent and janson have you look as if asking if you really believed that. you wanted to punch him right in the mouth, make him realize that you weren’t one to fuck with at the moment.

“it seems you care a lot about these people, especially with how much lying you’ve done to protect them...” he sat in the chair across from you, folding his hands as if he was coming to reasoning.

you felt sick, your head slightly turning to the side as you felt something coming on, a catch, but you didn’t know what.

you couldn’t do anything for WICKED anymore, there was nothing left you could give them, and you knew what they wanted, what ava wanted was something more than a silly bunch of maze drawings.

“what do you want?”

“you want to keep your secret, you want to protect friends? you’ll give me what i want.”

you stayed silent.

“i think you know what i want.”

“i don’t.”

“i want your blood.”

“you mean you want to drain me?”

“ava thinks you’re the cure.”

“ava’s a fool.”

“but yet she’s gets what she’s wants, always.”

°•

“you okay?”

“yeah, i just need you- i just need you to- please.”

thomas stared at you, questioningly with his head ducked down close to yours, a look of slight desperation filling his pupils to the brim, wanting to know what was running though your mind.

you wouldn’t be able to answer him if he asked. it already took a lot of you to tel him to meet you in the bathroom hall in private to talk to him without breaking down before the rest of your friends eyes.

janson gave you two options. one, you could sacrifice yourself and give up the supposed cure to ava and not risk anymore young innocent lives, or two, you could be sacrificed but this time, your friends would join you.

you had to decide by the next morning.

the answer was becoming clearer and clearer as minutes went by and the images of innocent teens being strung up and drained for their blood flashed up through your mind, something janson thought to show you just in case you already weren’t convinced of outing yourself.

you felt like you couldn’t breathe, your chest tightening up as you gripped his forearm firmly, trying to steady yourself from passing out or breaking down, but the overwhelming feeling of pain was swallowing you whole.

“what, y/n, what’s wrong?”

“thomas, they’re gonna kill me,” your voice came out strangled and breathless as you look up to him, your eyes beginning to water.

it was beginning to get harder and harder to breathe.

“who?”

“WICKED.”

masterlist

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join the taglist bug

home. thomas x reader

summary 📣: in which reader and thomas share a close moment wondering if they’re finally home

warning/s 🚫: naked fluff, swearing 

slater’s note 🗯: thomas has blue eyes in this okay? 

it was peaceful. 

the high pressured water knocked down all the pain away, all the soreness from running and rushing away from all the past problems that happened in the last few day. it all went down the drain. 

the heat made your skin go numb in the most sensational way, the best feeling that had ever touched your skin in the longest time. you wanted to stay in there forever, but something was drawing you away into your new profound home. 

you turned off the faucet, running your hands through your wet hair before stepping out of the shower, the cold air immediately nipped all over at your skin, surrounding you in coldness. it made you shiver while wrapping the white towel hung next to your stall around your body.

the room seemed to be completely empty, taking you by surprise since just like you, no one had had a proper shower in years. you shifted back and forth on your feet, the cold, wet tiles pressing hard against the bareness while you thought, soon noticing you weren’t the only one that still occupied the the shower room. 

the water echoed loudly throughout the hollow, tiled filled room. it sounded lightly of a rainstorm, reminding you of afternoons in the glade when heavy water droplets fell from the previously clear blue sky, roughly crashing into the ground and tearing up the grass. 

it didn’t feel real. none of it. hours ago you could've sworn there no other world out there than besides the glade, and no other people than besides the hundreds of boys that came in and out of the glade, death stealing them from their feet. 

until thomas. with his crazy ambition and pretty blue eyes that drove you wild and out of your mind. the things he did within a couple of days you couldn’t ever do in a couple of years. he saved you, every one of you. 

“hey, pretty boy,” you peaked your head through the thin manila material that shaded everyones eyes away from the person in the shower stall, that being pretty crystal blue eyed thomas. 

how'd you guess?

he turned around, slightly shocked before realizing it was you, his facial features softening but yet slightly surprised still. 

“nice ass.”

“shut up.” 

you smiled up at him, admiring the way his eyes were shining back at yours, full of feverishness, high of energy. the rest of him looked worn out, your eyes dragging away his own, studying his low held shoulders, bruised, but clean. 

“you gonna join me or not?” 

you dropped your towel, your smile expanding at his words. you had never been with him personally, not this personally anyways. he was always a rock for you the moment he came from the box, finding a strange sense of comfort in him, as did he with you. 

the moment you met thomas, you immediately saw something you never saw in other boys that came to the maze.

he had a court of hope that filled his eyes. it looked like he never slept, and for that, it also looked like his mind never stopped racing, never stopped thinking. he was special, he didn’t give up, he wasn’t okay with the fact that he was trapped unlike the other half of the boys who were rather comfortable with it. 

he was a prodigy of hope. 

“you talk to all girls that way, thomas?” “never met one until now.”

he held you close, his fingers pressing deeply into your hipbones as his eyes filled your own, full of admiration, consuming every feature of yours. he had an amused look on his face as he begun to pull you closer and closer, soon pulling you beneath the hot water.

his amused smiled expanded into a playful one as the two of your were now completely emerged in the warmth of thick droplets of steaming hot water.

your chest was soon pressed against his before the eagerness got the better of the both of you. his head dipped down close to you until the both of your mouths were pressed against one another’s.

a tension of pleasure begun to build up in your stomach as he worked his lips against yours, sucking before your head dropped backwards letting a low exhale of pleasure escape past your lips.

the slightest opening of your mouth made him take his chances, slipping his tongue against yours.

“you sure kiss like you have,” you pulled away, a smiled swarming your face as you watch him roll his eyes before cupping your cheek, kissing you one last time on your lips before pulling you into an embrace.

you had never felt that way before. a strange sense of comfort filled your stomach like a glass of juice. it added onto the warm ness of the shower as your cheek was pressed against thomas’ bare chest while his chin was pressed in the crook of your neck.

he pressed soft, wet kisses against your shoulder making your stomach go warm in happiness, a different happiness you had never felt before. you had never felt such a fast yet long euphoria made from such a closeness you had with nobody before.

you pressed a soft kiss against his chest before pulling away slightly, looking up to the boy with full admiration, “you think we’ll stay like this forever?”

“what, in the shower..?”

“no,” you lightly laughed breathily, “happy, safe... home.”

he pressed his lips together in a thin line, his eyes reaching the far top of the ceiling, thinking and thinking before looking down again, meeting your eager and rare innocent looking eyes.

“we’re close, baby, real close.”

you melt. your hand reaches up to touch his face lightly, thumb caressing the light cut along his cheekbone. he closes his eyes lightly underneath your soft touch, soaking up how gentle you were.

“you’re home to me, thomas,” you whispered, continuing to stroke his cheek before you paused, rubbing your lips together before jumping up on your tippy toes, kissing his pretty lips.

maybe it was too fast, too random, too out of pocket... but you felt as if you needed to say it. you wanted him to hear it no matter how short of a time you knew him.

“i’ve never felt this way about anyone, no one has ever made me feel this safe,” your hand tracked to the back of his neck, running your fingers through the back of hair, “you feel like home.”

Undercover || Stiles Stilinski

A/N: just a blurb! nothing too lengthy because this is my first writing piece on here <3

word count: 845

WARNINGS: a bit of cursing, mentions of guns! This should be almost action-comedy :)

Inspired by this prompt.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀* * *

“Just try to relax, Stiles, okay? I don’t want a repeat of what happened the last time.”

As you looked over at your best friend and partner-in-crime, Stiles Stilinski, you didn’t miss the mischievous glint in his whiskey colored eyes as he thought back to the last time you both went undercover to get particulars on possible threats.

He tugged on his bottom lip in attempt to suppress the growing smile on his face as he continued to relive the memory in his head. “I don’t know,” he shrugged, eyes flickering up to rising number of floors in the elevator. “I thought we handled Cleveland pretty well.” He spoke while pushing his body off of the wall and fixating himself right next to you as the elevator doors began to open.

You cringed at the memory. Cleveland, what an experience.

“Ah, yes. How could I possibly forget the time I had to break a man’s nose to successfully get information out of him after a certain someone decided to get a little too carried away with their role?” You sighed dreamily, but it was quite the opposite. You couldn’t help but laugh at your best friend’s beaming grin at the fact that you remembered your first operation together. But how could you forget?

Stiles Stilinski had a horrible Russian accent.

“You made me get blood on my favorite dress.” You grumbled out to him, adjusting the fake prescription glasses on your face as you slowed your movements in front of two large glass doors in the pristine hallway of suits and pencil skirts.

With furrowed brows, Stiles trailed his eyes down your figure to inspect your outfit. “I thought this one was your favorite?” He mumbled, adjusting his tie due to the slight nerves he gets just before a meeting like this. Glancing down at the plum colored peplum dress you decided to wear, you met his confused stare with a look of disgust.

“What? No, I hate this dress. I just had nothing else to wear.” You explained with a shrug. Just as Stiles opened his mouth to speak, a older gentlemen in a dark suit pulled opened the doors the two of you stood in front of. His mouth snapped shut just as you straightened out your posture and offered the man a tight lipped smile, which he returned.

The man held his hand out, graciously shaking both of your rights ones with an award winning grin. “Ms. Warren and Mr. Rapp, I presume?” He asked to which you both nodded to confirm your false identities you were given with. “Donald Cheever, please, let’s begin.” The man, Cheever, wasted no time in opening the door wider for the both of you to step through.

Stiles was quick to take the closest seat next to you, a hand on your exposed knee as Mr. Cheever sat across from you both, hands folded in with one another.

The older man’s grin faded away within seconds, being replaced with a stone cold stare set on the two of you. “I can’t help but say that you look ravishing in the at color, Ms. Y/L/N.” He spoke cooly, sending shiver run straight down your spine as you swallowed thickly.

Stiles’ grip on your knee tightened, his jaw clenching as his whiskey colored eyes grew dark with anger. “Why don’t we cut the shit, and you tell me why you are really here, hm?” The man in front of you asked, and before you could fiercely decline his proposition, Stiles opened his mouth.

“You’re a dangerous man. Incredibly stupid as well, I mean, what’s with the ginormous shiny building if you’re supposed to be hiding from the government?” Stiles sneered, and you placed your hand over his to squeeze it in a warning manner.

Cheever turned to you, raising his brow in a questioning manner. “Please ignore my associate if you can.” You sighed, ignoring the incredulous look Stiles shot you.

There was a reason why your undercover operations always ended up getting physical. Stiles can never shut his mouth.

“I really can’t.”

“Are you just unaware that you have the whole Virginia base on your ass for incredibly lethal arms deals?” Stiles scoffed in disbelief, and your head snapped in his direction just as his own eyes widened in realization.

“He certainly does now, Stilinski.” You muttered to him between clenched teeth, shooting him a deadly glare to which he gave you an apologetic shrug.

By the time you both turned back to Cheever, you were not only met with his smug expression, but a black .45 caliber pointing directly at you.

You slowly turned your head back to Stiles, who was already looking at you and offering you a almost teasing grin. “It’s a good thing you wore that dress then, huh?”

You shook your head at his words with a hint of a smile, a chuckle passing through your lips as you slipped the fake glasses off your face, your gaze back on the man holding the gun.

It was a good thing, indeed.

↞ dylan o’brien masterlist ↠

roscoe-dream’s masterlist dedicated to dylan o’brien and all of his characters!

+ DYLAN O’BRIEN +

⠀

+ STILES STILINSKI +

Undercover

Stiles Stilinski is, without a doubt, your partner in crime. So when you go undercover together, it’s always a breeze.... right?

⠀

End of the Line ( 1 ) ( 2 )

Your job is to remember. To remember your other half — remember Stiles. Will your love for a person you don’t even remember be strong enough to bring him back?

⠀

+ THOMAS +

Happy Ending

The immune children have finally received their happy ending, no longer needing to run or to hide. Thomas wakes up at the Safe Haven, unaware that his happy ending came at a serious price.

⠀

+ STUART TWOMBLY +

Night Light

After sleeping with the lights on every night since you’ve arrived to Google, your roommate, Stuart, resorts to a pretty odd solution — not that you’re complaining.

⠀

+ DAVE HODGMAN +

Late Nights

Your best friend, Dave, makes sure you get home safely after a night of partying, and you’re too buzzed to notice his longing eyes.

↞ roscoe-dream’s masterlist ↠

this is mainly a dylan o’brien writing blog, but hopefully i’ll start writing for a few more fandoms soon! i just started writing for another fandom, so i’m updating my masterlist!

also if you’re looking to make a request for any of these people/characters, i have a tab dedicated for you to do so!

⠀

↱ masterlist for DYLAN O’BRIEN + CHARACTERS

characters include: stiles stilinski, void!stiles, stuart twombly, dave hodgman, thomas, mitch rapp, and sam taylor.

⠀

↱ masterlist for TOM HOLLAND + CHARACTERS

characters include: peter parker.

⠀

⠀

extra information

i don’t think i will be writing peter parker smut, that idea might change if there’s something i can imagine, but i highly doubt it.

the fics that contain smut have been labeled in their summaries, and a further description of what the story has in it is listed in the warnings :)

hopefully this master list grows longer as i begin to venture off into other fandoms! i actually want to start writing for mgg and all of his characters in the near future.

𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 (18+)

!!ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬.

ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs!!

ᴄʜᴏᴋɪɴɢ, ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴘʟᴀʏ, ᴍᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀᴄʀʏᴘʜɪʟɪᴀ.

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲. 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐠, 𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭. 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧.

𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤. 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝. 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱. 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬. 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡. 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨.

𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐝, 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲. 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐨, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤.

𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐢𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐬𝐧𝐮𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐠, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐧𝐭. 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐭. 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐜𝐮𝐦 𝐬𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲, 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐨𝐚𝐥𝐚, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦. “𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐡𝐦𝐦?” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤.

𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲, “𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥. 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭. 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥.” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐥𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩.

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𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐧𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐝!𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡.

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲, 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲. 𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐛 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐬, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 “𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲, 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲” 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝. “𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐞!” 𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡, 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧. 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟, 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐮𝐩, 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞’𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐩. 𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲.

𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, “𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐰𝐨. 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫?” 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐲𝐞𝐬’𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦. “𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭.”

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧. 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭.

𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦, 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲. 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝. 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐨 𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐳𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐱, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧. 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡, 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞, ‘𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐨’.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝟒 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬, 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬. 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲, 𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞. 𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲, 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭, 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲.

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝟔 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲, 𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞.

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“𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞,” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬. “𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭? 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭.” 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐩. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐰𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐲, 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐝𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭. “𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲. 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐡𝐮𝐡? 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐮𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭?” 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲, 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝.

𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐲, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥. 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐭. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐦, 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡, 𝐬𝐨𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬.

˗ˏˋᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 259 ´ˎ˗

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ @5lutfordylanobrien @stilessbaseballbat @angelofthetrenchcoats @xo-circe @oh-kurva @hessafeelsfordayss @steadygoopangelhairdo @idylio24 @lilygreennn @screambih @ohwowimlonley @queenofmisc @greengarsstuff @luhh-snow @whoaskedgabby24 @yktfv18poisonlvy

Saving you - Mitch Rapp (smut)

Author: @herscrunchiehairtie

Pairing: Mitch Rapp x reader

Word Count: 5,563

Warnings: swearing, death, violence, stripping, smut 18+, ice cube kink, oral (female receiving), orgasm denial, doggy, multiple orgasm, cowgirl, yelling, angst, fighting, 

A/N: Y/S/N means your stripper name, you only need it once, just go with it and be creative ;) Also, special thanks to @mischiefandi for helping me out :) You’re really an angle, thank you so much.

Masterlist

Don’t lie. We’ve all thought of being a stripper once or twice… maybe even thrice. Easy cash, mindless work. Sometimes your real life is just so mind-numbingly awful that you catch yourself daydreaming of a more glamorous existence where there are dollar bills in your underwear and tequila dripping down your face. You know, growing up is hard.

You always fucking hated alarm clocks. It is so inhumane to be up at any hour before 8 AM. Though, you don’t mind late nights, walking back home alone after a hoard of men just saw you half naked sounds like the intro of a horror movie. Things might get a little rapey and we all know every girl’s number one fear is a rapey murder.

Everyone thinks it’s easy money. But you have to suffer through abuse and have to take orders from depressing “adults” all day, who lead meaningless, pathetic, workaholic existences for a paycheck every Friday.

However, becoming a stripper was never an option for you.

Keep reading

Look me in the eye and try to tell me this: “Acting tough will not make it hurt any less, you know this, yes?” isn't utterly perfect for cowboy!Mitch 😍 Like whether it's him or reader who got hurt (and we both know they're equally foolhardy lmao)

send me a PROMPT for a 'new muse' blurb ~

Notes : it's TOO perfect for him! ugh cowboy mitch gets to meeee.

"ACTING TOUGH WILL NOT MAKE IT HURT ANY LESS, YOU KNOW THIS, YES?" | COWBOY!MITCH

Squinted amber hues were met with a quirked brow as you looked pointedly toward the man, your words provoking a loud scoff from the hoarseness that gathered in his throat. Mitch couldn't help but think utter ridiculousness of your sentiment - not that he didn't agree with its truthfulness, but rather so, he couldn't afford to fall short of his resilient and gritty character. Being the town's Deputy meant that Mitch needed to be strong, doughty, indestructible. He did have to act tough. His eyes slowly drifted down to your form as you pressed a damp cloth against his exposed side, sopping up remnants of blood that surrounded his freshly sliced wound. He winced, and you noticed.

"It's just a scratch." His voice was gravelly as he attempted to hide the pain that spiked his tone, choosing to immediately shut his mouth and grind his teeth as an alternative expression of pain. He shifted uncomfortably on the rickety barstool when you pressed further against the wound, the scraping of metal on metal echoing loudly amongst the dead atmosphere of the Saloon, only seen possible past closing time. He growled under his breath before hearing a quiet snicker, the curling lips of a smirk present between your cheeks only indicating that you did it on purpose.

"A scratch wouldn't have hurt that bad." You said, glancing up to the man when you felt his focus boring into you. Usually, he was the one possessing the over-protective trait; quick to swoop you out of harm's way and dictate the millions of consequences that would come from your rowdiness. Mitch was always there to catch you if you fell, and you even began to wonder whether he purposely followed you around just in case you found yourself in yet another troublesome situation. Regardless of his staunchness, it was incredibly endearing. "And I certainly don't think that a stab to the side counts nearly as close as a scratch, mind you. You're lucky you're alive, Deputy."

"Y/N, we've been over this-" He began, sucking in a sharp breath as you finished cleaning the open gash. He shook his head, breath releasing slowly as his voice dropped low, "You can call me Mitch."

You sounded a scoff, a resonant of puerility that was incredibly mocking "Oh, I'm well aware. But would calling you by your name get me the same reaction as it would calling you by your title? I think not." Legs pushed you upright as you gathered the red-stained rags, hands quick to ball them up as they were thrown haphazardly into an empty wooden barrel, and Mitch jested a groan at your sentiment whilst teeth sunk to his lip. Once again, you could sense the durability of his gaze meandering over your movements, watching as you continued to patch up the poor man after his unlucky confrontation with a common thief.

It was now easier to see the small smile that tugged between your cheeks as you spun on your heel toward him, a sewing needle and spool pin grasped lightly as you fiddled with them between hesitant fingers. You breathed out lightly before crouching back to Mitch's side, "What can I say, there's just something about gettin' under your skin there, that brings a little light to my days."

He was still toying at his lip; the need to release it quickly became apparent as it began to grow numb under its clamp, soon it would draw blood and he was sure you would reprimand him for yet another reddened wound. He exhaled heavily, an intent to steady his breathing as he awaited the next step of your aid and the inevitable misery to follow. It wasn't until he looked back down to your willingness to patch him up that Mitch started to settle into the stool, watching as you thread your needle, "You're a tease, darlin', ya know that? I'll have you saying my name one o' these days, maybe even screaming it if I'm lucky."

You didn't need to look at the man to know that his eye dropped into a low wink, the tone of his voice suggesting playfulness and rowdy jest. He liked to wind you up, that's why you wound him right the hell back. With a gentle head shake, you lifted your eyes until they met his caramel swirls that you've gotten to know so well, your needle now held high in the air with a threatening pose, "Keep talking sweet like that, and I'll be the one makin' you scream for all the wrong reasons, Cowboy."

It was hidden, only slightly by the angle he sat at whilst his elbow perched upon the bartop, when Mitch gulped down at the intimidation that you wore so damn well. He even thought that if he wasn't so alert in the moment, then a slight moan of appreciative attraction would've slipped so nonchalantly from him. He was quick to remain silent after that, but more so to retain concentration as he admired your quick handiwork.

"Okay-" You began, taking a deep breath to balance yourself. The skirt you wore was spread around your body as you kneeled on the ground, a near-perfect circle framing you as you mentally prepared yourself for the upcoming round of Mitch's pain. You held up a leather belt, folded over each other exactly four times before handing it to Mitch and pointing at your mouth. He immediately understood, teeth clamping around the material to prevent his future growls and screams from echoing through your night-filled sleepy town.

"Now, I'm no doctor, but I've seen this procedure more times than I could count on one hand. Do you trust me.. Mitch?"

Mitch nodded, instantly. Cheeks reddening at the use of his name, however, the leather prevented him from any further commentary. He saw your grin, and knew, just knew, that you calculated your words perfectly in time with his inability to talk.

Mitch was so incredibly taken by you.

One last draw of breath, and you smiled wider, "Let's finish patching you up."

" There's no way i can cover these marks " with Mitch?

SEND ME A PROMPT FOR MY 500 SLEEPOVER!

Warning: mentions of sexual activity, swearing galore

"THERE'S NO WAY I CAN COVER THESE MARKS."

You shamelessly bit down on your bottom lip, eyes trained on the sinewy form at the foot of your bed as his muscles flexed under even the smallest of movements. You could see through the minimal space of which he didn't cover the mirror, that his eyes were squinted in concentration and brows furrowed as he played inspector. A soft giggle fell from your lips as he was referring to the trail of purple splotches adorning his neck, littering over his collarbone and eventually down to his chest. They weren't hard to miss - the colour was vibrant and definitely semi-permanent for a while.

"You didn't seem to be complaining when you had your dick in me." A purr settled in your throat, Mitch peering behind him through the reflective surface just as you rolled slightly over the crisp white sheets. His whiskey hues followed the thin material only just barely covering your torso and thighs, knowing exactly what he'd find if it happened to slip from your naked body. The image made him moan before he swallowed hard, his head slightly shaking as he tried to rid the beautiful picture you'd paint him every time you both were intimate. He had to leave for work, he couldn't be late again - Irene threatening to have his head on a stick if he dared show up outside of their agreed-upon time.

You could see his struggle, prompting you to laugh quietly under your breath before pushing yourself up into a more seated position, hands quick to grasp the sheet and drag it up to cover your exposed front. "I could put some makeup on it? Works wonders for me." Which it often did - your body usually the one marked and decorated with Mitch's insignia. You believed that he enjoyed it more than you, which wouldn't be an understatement if he could only see the look of pride he sported when he admired his pleasureful work. That, and the symphony of moans that he conducted from you with just his mouth.

Mitch instantly scowled, his brows furrowing, "You're not touching me with that shit. It looks fantastic on you, let's leave it that way."

His answer prompted a pout to playfully sit on your lips, causing the man in front of you to roll his eyes. You knew how to get him going. "Don't look at me like that, not with those dumb puppy dog-eyes..." The man sighed, a brief head shake and disbelieving smirk gracing his facial features. He chuckled, knees already breaching the edge of your bed, "Look what you're making me do, baby, now I have to come over there and kiss that frown away, and you're the one that's getting blamed when Irene loses her fucking head."

Mitch moved quickly; his large hands already capturing your waist as he held you through the sheet, lips immediately encasing your own. You fell backward with a gentle thump as Mitch's body completely covered your smaller frame, your arms snaking around his neck to pull him closer to you. His tongue swept along your bottom lip, a dance of its own, until you eventually opened for him. It was as if he was trying to breathe in all that you were - an attempt to graciously accept the love that you so willingly provided him. The intoxication he felt when he was drawn in by your tender touch and sweet taste would always drive him to utter oblivion, a drunken daze that required no alcohol. He knew that the moment he crossed that bed to join your lips again, that it'd take him a hell of a lot to pull him back out.

It was you who pulled back first, needing a moment to catch your breath as your fingers tangled in the slightly long locks of your boyfriend. Mitch, however, didn't stop. He didn't want to. His mouth dragging along your jawline and down your neck, suctioning around particular pressure points that he knew made your legs shake. A throaty groan escaped you and the man couldn't help the smirk that pressed predominately against your skin. Your voice was strangled, a soft choke escaping with your words, "Is this your way of getting pay back? By making us hickey twins?" You sounded dubious, but the nod and muffled sound of agreement he breathed against your neck solidified your beliefs. "You're enjoying this way too much."

The euphoric feeling that vibed through your bedroom was halted when Mitch's phone began to buzz, the vibrations creating a loud and intrusive pattern against the nightstand. He groaned, shoulders slumping before throwing his arm out to the side to bring the device to his ear.

"I'm busy."

He grunted before tossing it to the side, screen now laying flat on the mattress. His hand returned to your body in order to pull the sheet down, his tongue not shy as it followed the material, trailing between your breasts... until the phone rang, again.

"Occupied."

He spoke sternly into the receiver once he picked it up again, the phone thrown across the bed for the second time this morning. You were finding amusement in the situation, wanting to file a small laugh but the second his teeth pulled at one of your exposed nipples, your body returned to its state of anticipation and lust. Your head lulled back as a hand threaded through his hair, softly tugging along with the moans gathering in your throat. The sensations you felt were mesmerizing, until you suddenly jumped, the generic ring tone calling through once more.

Mitch growled, reaching for the device now somehow behind him, "Wrong fucking number."

You stifled a chuckle, "Go. Stan's just gonna keep calling. He'll probably come kick the damn door down and drag you out by your ear if you hang up on him again."

The man deflated, not wanting to admit the accuracy of your statement, especially knowing how Stan likes to deal with things in the unconventional kind of way. He looked into your eyes, their brightness making him smile, "If I have to."

---------

"What the fuck is that?" The older man grumbled, eyes trained on Mitch as he slid into the passenger side of Stan's beaten-up truck. He started mostly at the litter of bruises rising above the neckline of Mitch's black t-shirt, before focusing back on a pair of mischievous amber eyes.

"They're hickeys, Stan. You actually need somebody interested in fucking you to be able to get some of your own." Mitch retorted, his usual level of attitude still managing to push at Stan's buttons, regardless of how used he is to it by now. Mitch smirked, "Y/N's a biter." He declared, voice smug and proud before showing off a wink.

Stan looked utterly disgusted, "Yeah, you don't fucking say."

Winter Wonderland || Mitch Rapp x Reader

Summary : Mitch introduces you to your first snowfall during the Holiday season.

Words : 2.3k

Warnings : swearing, mild angst? couldn't help myself, sweet mitch

Notes : 3rd Installment - YAYA! Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! gif credit [unknown / x]

The crisp air of the Russian wilderness nipped at your skin as you stood on the verandah of the small wooden cabin, arms crossed against your chest to defend yourself from the chilled temperature. All that you could see was painted-white forestry as far as your naked eye could go, their branches creating the perfect cover for the shelter you were calling home for the remaining week. You would rather be at your home for Christmas - curled up in your lonely queen bed sipping from a bottle of red wine, crappy holiday television numbing your drunken mind into a deep slumber. Instead, you found yourself held up between four walls that were certainly too small with a moody Agent taking up more space than he should, and a variety of intel to help you bring down Bratva, the infamous Russian Mafia.

Silence captured you in a bubble, holding you hostage from the outside world as the secluded space your cabin occupied remained lifeless - an exception being yourself and Mitch Rapp, just as the Central Intelligence Agency intended. The near dilapidated building behind you was a safe house that only had its moment to shine when a mission in the area needed attention. You had been situated here for six days, the term 'cabin fever' becoming quite literal when all that preoccupied your mind was hunting down your current murderous target. You needed air, you needed change and stimulation. What you truly needed was a bottle of hard liquor to get you through your remaining time here, but that was far from being possible.

That's what led you to stand outside, hoping that your mind would clear itself from the upcoming migraine threatening to spill over behind your eyes. You were in a daze as you focused on the quiet wilderness in front of you, making Mitch's following footsteps seemingly unable to be detected until his frame stood tall beside your own. He could see the stress etched between your eyebrows as worry lines scarred your skin, accompanied by the way you were chewing on the inside of your cheek. He recognised your frustration - he felt it before, on many different occasions - which is why he didn't press you into diving straight back into work. You deserved a break. His caramel eyes followed your gaze as they looked over the landscape, comparing the snow-speckled greenery of the trees to the grey skies above. He could easily identify this weather pattern, having learned it from his foster parents when he was fourteen.

"Looks like it's gonna snow." He hummed, matching your stance by interweaving his own arms in front of him. The widening of your eyes alerted Mitch that his words intrigued you, a minuscule smirk now playing upon his lips before he continued to gain your attention. The man cleared his throat, his weight shifting to one side of his body as his free leg stretched out in front of him. He turned his head to look at you but found your hopeful eyes still widening and already staring back to meet his pair. Mitch noticed the optimism, childlike desire boring into him as he discerned the reasoning behind your change in demeanor. The man chuckled sincerely, "You've never seen snow before? Actual snow, falling from the sky?"

Your head fell into a soft shake, embarrassment creeping up your neck and settling on your cheeks, a bright flush pinching almost immediately. Sharing your firsts, in general, was a scary task - the possibility of being judged constantly becoming a possible scenario that had to be faced. You curled in your lips and looked toward the makeshift driveway in front of you, making a noise of a saddened sigh, "Yeah, never. I get it, an Agent in her mid-twenties who has traveled the globe, and never come across any sort of snowfall? It seems highly unlikely." Your comment harnessed a playful tone despite the uneasiness, arms uncrossing to instead wring your hands in a matter of anxious fidgeting. "I'm what you call a rare case of bad timing; never at the right place when it was the right time... but it's always been a childhood wish of mine, even through all this CIA bullshit. It's one of the only things that I could keep from my old life." Shoulders lifted into a shrug, quick to sink back down before eyes returned forward.

"I think you'll be in luck. I'm no fucking weatherman or whatever, but trust me when I say that you might get that wish sorted out a little quicker than you thought."

Mitch tried to remain stoic, a trait that he wore proudly for nearly four years now, but he found it oddly impossible to move beyond caring about making you happy. 'Giving a damn' had been out of his system since he joined the agency, retribution swallowing his head and heart for a long period of time until he was finally set free. Mitch wasn't one to put human emotion at his forefront, but the way your eyes sparkled at his statement, the anticipation building and evident on the quirk of your lips... it prompted serotonin to flood his system and for you, he felt genuinely happy. It made him chuckle that for a moment, a slight peaceful moment, he forgot that on the other side of this chilly porch you were a professionally trained Assassin.

The timing could not have been more impeccable as you both remained still in silence, a gust of icy wind prickling your skin and provoking a shiver to dance up your spine. Small stars of ice began to flutter from the sky, and it felt like an odd chance of perfect coincidence. More began to fall at a faster pace, raining down over the lush green foliage surrounding you both. Your eyes were wide once more with utter starstruck from the beautiful image of fragile snowflakes decorating every inch of the scenery - it was a Christmas miracle, a reason to believe in magic, something so absolutely picturesque and stunning.

Your breath had hitched in your throat, and for a second you didn't notice, but Mitch did. He watched as your facial expressions contorted into a child-like version of yourself, even wondering if you had the smallest beads of tears gathering over your lashes before your hand wiped at your eyes. The silence was broken as you scoffed, playfulness hugging your words tightly, "You sure you're not Mitch Rapp, Meteorologist? Or are you a witch and this is one of your freaky lil spells?" Your frame turned until you were facing Mitch, your grin wide in benevolence.

"I swear that it's just coincidence! Scout's honor." Mitch's right hand pressed proudly to his chest as he laughed; a joyous sound stemming from the butterflies in his stomach, complementary to the scrunching of his nose and pinching in the corners of his warm eyes.

You couldn't help but revel in the happy noises he made - his laughter low and rumbling, but absolutely evident and wholehearted. His chest would rise and fall, head falling back, only with minimal incline, as it projected to the roof. It was hard to believe at first, but now you know, Mitch Rapp is capable of human emotion besides fury and sadness. You offered him a thankful smile as your eyes locked together, his head now nodding in acknowledgment before you ran inside. Your heavy parker as hanging on the back of the nearest armchair, material warm from the budding fireplace - one of the few things that Mitch was determined to keep alive. It was a mere few seconds until you were back out on the porch and your arms weren't even fully submerged into the sleeves yet.

You hummed, eyes shamelessly raking over your partner in his black knitted sweater and cargo pants. You clicked your tongue, looking to him in fake disapproval, "Well? Are you gonna grab your jacket or what? Come on, Rapp!"

If there had been a race for who had gotten in and out of that Cabin the quickest, it would be a very close tie with Mitch suddenly pushing back past you, a high-spirited nudge to your shoulder, and stretching out his legs in the new covering of soft snow. His smirk grew wider when you chastised him under your breath, the mock anger dissipated instantly when you felt the snowflakes gather on your rosy cheeks. They melted within half a second due to the heat of your flushed skin but were quickly replaced by more and more tiny flakes before the cycle would start again. Your heart thumped against the caging of your chest; the purity and innocence of the falling snow adorning the tips of trees and blanketing the cabin behind you only caused a warm sensation that usually isn't found in this climate, your veins spreading the welcomed feeling.

"Stick out your tongue," Mitch said, your focus breaking as you looked toward him. He was already demonstrating his suggestion, the pink muscle protruding from his mouth before he played a small game in catching the snowflakes as they fell. You complied without question, embracing the idea and savoring the experience as specks of ice decorated your own tongue. It was short-lived before a surprising intrusion of solid snow hit your side, your body shuffling forward slightly as you gasped. Foggy condensation hovered around your lips from the immense drop of temperature, the fog evaporating as your head turned within to face the perpetrator of snow. Mitch was grinning, his teeth on show proudly as he tossed up another ball of snow, catching it as if it were a baseball and he was preparing to pitch.

"You want to play a losing battle, huh? I was on the girls' softball team for most of High School. You can't outdo me." You taunted him, hands sitting with pride on your hips.

Mitch scoffed, another hearty laugh slipping past his lips and settling deep in his chest, "You're preaching to the wrong choir, Y/L/N. Scholarship at Syracuse for Lacrosse and I was the seventh-grade Baseball star in Middle School. You literally don't have a chance. I'm not just an Assassin for my day job, I'm Assassin on the sport's field too."

Your hands held in the air, a defensive gesture for your playful banter, "Okay, okay. You win, Rapp, geez. Way to make a girl doubt her snowball throwing skills. Such a gentleman."

You shook your head, amused over his attempt to joke with you. He could tell that you thought he was a moron, the way you bit your lip to hold back your near-inevitable smirk was a sure sign, and he started to feel as if he did his good deed for the day by making you smile. Mitch didn't want to break the progress already gained, but the man was curious - it was written in his blood, his skill set, his personality - the question that had been burning in his mind for just under a week sat on the tip of his tongue. But, is it worth the possible reverting of your new optimistic attitude? He took risks, it was in the job description, so what was the harm in just prying, even a little bit?

"So... I know it's Christmas in two days... you have anybody you could've spent it with back home? Missing out on some quality family time, or anything?" He looked away as the questions spilled, unsure of how you would react. He didn't know much about you, seeming that your private life was rarely exposed and often under lock and key. He was very similar on that front, but the past couple of years had taught him to let go a little, that not everybody in this large scary world is actually a bad guy. He also knew that Stan filled you in on his file before you departed for Russia, and he wanted to be the one to level the playing field.

"I don't have a family. I don't have time for a special someone. And my apartment doesn't allow pets." Was all that you said, your positive demeanor briefly slipping away to expose a cold indomitable face. Being alone allowed you to focus on your duties as an Agent, the thoughts of worry about not returning home weren't playable cards in your deck and it allowed you to not just be an Assassin but to be a deadly one. It was as if Mitch was looking into a mirror of the man he used to be four years ago - it was frightening and all-around sad.

Mitch piped up, taking a tentative step toward you, "I understand, you know. My parents died when I was young, and I haven't seen my brother in so long... I doubt he even knows I'm alive, to be honest. So, guess I'm alone too." He looked toward the nearly white trees, a deep breath sucked in, and spat back out with the same fog that surrounded you earlier.

You dared to reach out to him, your left hand gently placed over his bicep before you squeezed him tightly, reassuringly. "We can be alone together." You said with a small smile and now softened eyes that held so much admiration and passion. It was proof that Mitch Rapp could melt away the coldness that you often found entangled with your heart. An absolute miracle.

"But right after the snowball fight, right? Because I am very prepared to fucking dominate you, this isn't a game anymore. It's actual war."

You nodded, the lift of your lips indicating a silent thank you for moving past the mushiness route that your conversation took. Instead, you growled with impishness, "Bring it on, Rapp, but I'll let you know, I'm not going to back down so easily again."

Kitchen Nightmares || Mitch Rapp x Reader

Prompt: i spent three hours cooking food for you, and you're polite enough to pretend you like it but i'm a horrible chef and i can tell by your face that you're lying (SCRENWRITER)

Words: 437

Warnings: swearing

Notes: very very short, but i wanted to write me some soft mitch

Mitch was good at keeping a straight face, he had to be; an agent couldn't afford to break their facade in the line of work he pours himself into. He was required to put up a mask and fake his way through situations, pretend to be something he's not, pretend to feel things that he wouldn't usually feel in that moment. You had never been with him on the field, but you knew that the way his eyebrow was slightly twitching, his lips quivering in the tiniest corner of his mouth, even the missing gleam in his chocolate eyes... he was lying.

"I'm not going to force you to eat it, Mitch." You mentioned, contemplating the pain on his face as he tried to chew and swallow the meal you placed before him nearly ten minutes ago. It was both amusing and tiring to watch him continue to play this game. You groaned loudly, hoping to catch his attention, "We can order take out. I'll let you choose what we have, I don't care. Just stop trying to please me."

"No, babe, you made this. I'm going to enjoy it." He spoke through a full mouth, words muffled completely to the point where you hardly caught any of the syllables. He winced as he swallowed the strange texture, flavors he had never tasted before sliding down the back of his throat. Mitch felt as if he had to be grateful - he was gone for three weeks on a mission in the Middle East, he hardly slept let alone hardly ate. He wasn't stupid and knew that you only wanted the best for him as you welcomed him home with a cooked meal. He also was very aware that you couldn't cook, at all. "It-it's fucking amazing... so good, babe, so... fucking good."

He wasn't fooling you. He never could. "This is what we're gonna do, tough guy. That shit right there, that I can absolutely tell you hate, by the way... is going in the trash. And then we are ordering Vietnamese food. You're gonna cuddle the crap out of me and then we're going to have long hours full of sex until we fall asleep naked in each other's arms. Got it?"

Your sudden dominance was provoking a twitch in his lower region, a gulp forming in his throat as your arms were paced upon your hips. He had never been so attracted to you. Mitch let out a shaky breath, accompanied by that famous wide grin that had been missing from your life for nearly a month. With licked lips, he groaned, "Fuck yes."

😳 with Mitch pls??

send me an emoji and dylan character for a headcanon ~

😳 : A confessing headcanon

Confessing his love for you, let alone any grandeur of emotion, was difficult for Mitch. His heart had already been broken - the fragments creating wounds that years of self-discovery eventually began to heal. That you began to heal. Mitch always appeared to only show stoicism or anger, but his roots delved much further down, and you were the lucky chosen to see who Mitch Rapp truly was. He had you perched on the edge of his bed as boot-cladded feet paced the room. Fingers dragged anxiously through his long hair and all that Mitch could muster was incoherent mumbles to encourage himself. It was your soft, gentle smile and calming voice that coaxed him to finally stop, his body facing you. Mitch's hands were wringing nervously as he took a deep breath. "Last time I felt this way about someone, my world ended." You tried not to show too much sympathy, not needed him to think you were taking pity on the poor man. Instead, you stood and stepped forward, clasping his hands between yours and squeezing them with only little pressure. "Just tell me how you feel." Mitch inhaled. His eyes closed as he counted down from ten in his mind, gathering himself. He finally smiled as he looked at you, confessing the emotion that made his body warm. "I love you."

😤jealousy with mitch pleaseeee!

send me an emoji and dylan character for a headcanon ~

😤 : A jealousy headcanon

Mitch Rapp didn't have a lot to his name, so when he suspected that something dear to him had become the focus of another... the man grew green with the utmost envy. Not that he had the right to call you his anyway - officialities becoming an unclear subject. You were more of one that he immensely admired, a sight for sore eyes as they softened immediately within your presence.

You worked at his favourite Cafe, a place where he simply goes to get his daily red eye brew, and to breathe. Mitch was wary when you first tried to strike up conversation, and when he would often ignore your kind words, you just smiled but never retreated. It had been two years since he finally answered back, and the man in all of his gruff glory couldn't last a day without hearing your soothing voice.

To say that Mitch fell into shock would be an understatement - the eight a.m timeslot he favoured most of all had been compromised when another man was leaning across your counter, prompting giggles and grins to elicit from between your glossy pink lips. Mitch was the usual culprit to cause those beautiful sounds; eventually breaking out of his comfort zone to begin tender flirting banter and longing touches with you.

But now there was another. And he hated it.

Jealousy was worn quite well on Mitch Rapp, seen in the way he made a fool of himself just to gain your attention and sympathy. Mitch had tripped himself before he landed harshly on the wooden floorboards, the sound alerting you almost instantly. It was only mere seconds before you had rushed to his side, arms securing around his body, asking if he was okay.

"I'd be better if you went out to dinner with me."

You blushed at his statement, nodding profusely. The green gremlin that jealousy was mostly known for had crept into Mitch's eyes and he glanced over your shoulder, shining a winning wink at the other man.

Mitch Rapp was the jealous type. But now, he also had the girl.

23 with Mitch!!

send me a character and a prompt for a scene blurb ~ (1/10)

SOOTHE : for one muse to calm the other during a panic attack.

He warned you that it could happen; the sudden jumps during the night, the strangled screams pulling from his throat, the sheen of sweat that drenched his skin. It’d been years since the nightmares refused to leave his darkened mind - grasping at any slither of sanity that he had left. The man would dream of softened sand and how it so quickly was stained red, ricochets of bullets and agonising screams creating notes of heart-wrenching symphonies. He witnessed a massacre and it was ruling his life - even after the miniscule trials of therapies and retribution gained from his CIA pursuits, he still couldn’t forget. Mitch Rapp would never forget. It didn’t make it easier on him when he started seeing your body laying lifeless in his arms and he couldn’t do anything to bring you back to him.

Your heart bounded in your chest as you were pulled sharply from your sleep, the man beside you shaking with ragged breaths. You’d never experienced Mitch when he was in this state but you could tell almost immediately that it wasn’t something that he was going to easily get past. As you turned to face him, his hand shot to his side to feel for you, warm clammy handprints encasing your wrist and he managed somewhat of a sigh when he realised you weren’t gone. It wasn’t enough, though, to settle his erratic heartbeat and panicked features.

“Mitch... Mitch, hey, look at me, Mitch... look at me...” You begged, still half asleep as you tried to maneuver yourself in front of the man. You kneed his legs apart through the sheets and settled between them, your hands cupping the scratchy stubble that covered his jaw. Thumbs ran shakily under his eyes, but it was their incapability to focus that nearly brought tears to your own. They were blown wide - the gentle caramel tone that often sparkled in the sunshine was nowhere to be found as black orbs drowned them out. They were wild and unkept and terrified. They were screaming out for help through silent pleas and you were starting to suddenly feel so small. 

Mitch tried to speak but could only voice fractured syllables, his gasps growing in pitch and urgency for air. It was hard for you not to freeze and stare on in shock, but you knew that he needed you. He needed love. Stability. He needed reassurance and promise. And you could give him that and more.

The hand wrapped around your wrist grew tighter and it broke you from your brief reverie, your free hand falling from his cheek and scavenging for his twitching fingers. You brought them to your chest and laid the palm flat over your sternum - breathing in, and out, slowly. You built a rhythm and forced yourself to keep that steady pace. Your eyes bored into his as you shushed the man with careful lullaby tones; humming soft songs under your breath, your body in control and calm.

“Breathe, Mitch. You’re safe. I’m safe.” You pushed, verbal reminders to settle his damaged soul. The gasps were slowing and you nearly screamed out in happiness when you watched his eyes finally focus on you, his pupils shrinking from their anxious size.

Mitch’s hands shook loose from yours and they were brought up to your own cheeks, his protective hold instantly cradling your face as he cooed at your expression, “Don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry for me.” He said quietly, hardly a whisper, but the proximity of his body to yours allowed you to hear it as clear as day. His thumbs managed to catch stray tears that you didn’t realise even left your eyes, and their silky paths were soon covered in tender pecks from Mitch’s dry lips. 

He settled his forehead against yours and your arms were hastily thrown behind his neck, pulling the man as close to you as humanly possible. It was sluggish, but his arms slipped behind your frame and squeezed you in a needy embrace, your chests flush against the other and your hips thrown against his own. He was crushing you, but you knew that he was reminding himself that this was real. You were real. 

Mitch took a deep breath, one that shook your frame as he exhaled, before his nose dragged over yours, “You saved me.”

“I-I just helped you breathe.” Your reply was quick, modest. You were glad that he couldn’t see your face because it was surely glowing with rosy blush. 

“Not just now, you saved me... from who I was. You brought love back to my life.” His voice was hoarse, and it prompted an absent-minded rub of your delicate fingers down his spine - of which made him melt instantly against you. “I have my demons but you make ‘em go away. You make me better.” 

It was your turn now to squeeze the man, squashing him against you as much as you could, never wanting to let him go.