Winter Wonderland || Mitch Rapp X Reader

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."

" 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."

Heeey, can i have neck and waist from the prompt list with Dylan please?

send me a PROMPT for a 'kiss me' blurb -

[ WAIST ] : receiver catches sender around the waist right before they kiss them.

[ NECK ] : sender brings a hand up and rests it on the back of the receiver’s neck, pulling them in for a kiss.

It wasn't often that you both chose to go out for date night, and tonight, in particular, was no different. There was just something so appealing about a home-cooked meal and cuddling in front of an old-timey movie playing in the background. You and Dylan both adored the simple things in life, the normalcy that isn't often represented in the lives of those of the rich and famous. Knowing him, he'd be more than happy with a burger from McDonalds and large fries - however, you also knew that he deserved to be treated with something a bit more special than usual take-out. This is what led you in front of a hot stove, surrounded by an array of ingredients, with the small huffs and swears of Dylan echoing from the other room.

You ducked your head around the corner and furrowed your brows at your boyfriend's actions, scanning over the intensity of concentration sketched across his facial features. He was setting the table with the tip of his tongue poking through his lips, his own eyebrows crossing. You could see the remnants of a beautiful summery bouquet scattered over the top of your dining table, water from the fallen vase dripping off the sides of the table from the spilt puddle. Your hand flew to your mouth, stifling a chuckle as you continued to watch him. It wasn't until you chortled that little bit too loud that Dylan whipped his head in your direction, eyes growing wide at the fact that he was caught out. Your lips curled inward as they pursed, shoulders still wavering from now silent laughter.

His feet kicked off and were soon hot on your heels as you retreated back into the kitchen. You maneuvered around the island bench, making sure to keep your eyes set on Dylan when he flattened his hands against the opposite side from you. His furrowed eyebrows were challenging your next move, communicating that no matter where you go next, he'll be right there to catch you. You barely moved a foot to your left before large hands suddenly clasped around your waist, playfully tugging your back against a strong chest. Dylan leaned back so that he was perched against the sink, your body flush against his, the man's lips peppering small pecks over the exposed skin under your ear. Shivers provoked goosebumps up your arms from his touch, and he began to laugh at your small moans of protest when he pulled away. Dylan sighed, "You weren't supposed to see that I fucked up, ya know? Kinda ruins the whole 'perfect boyfriend' thing I had goin' on."

You turned in his arms before peering up at him with an expression of admiration, hands linking behind his neck. You smiled sheepishly at him, "You're still perfect, even if you break my favourite vase and leave water marks on my dining table." You followed his wandering gaze when they flicked down to your lips, his tongue poking out once more to quickly lick at his own. Even after all this time together, you still found yourself growing giddy and weak at the simplest actions Dylan made, especially when they led to your arms wrapped around each other and lips sharing sweet kisses.

One of your hands dragged fingers through his brunette hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp in a way that you knew soothed him. The other sat flat against the back of his neck, applying small pressure as you pulled his head down toward you, the aim to affix your lips against his gently. Dylan complied immediately. He applied pressure into your union as one hand remained grasping your hip and the other slid down conspicuously past your lower back. His nose probed against your cheek when he turned his head, taking the lead with a desperate nudging of his tongue until you gladly granted him access - you could feel him smile easily against your lips. The urgent sensation was enough to create a groan of pleasure to escape you, needing to stand on your toed so that you could push yourself even closer to him, ready to take your moment to a deeper level when you heard an interfering hissing sound.

Your head pulled away and was focused onto the stove, whatever you had bubbling in the pot was now overflowing and dripping onto the hotplate. You swore under your breath and ran toward the disaster waiting to happen; fiddling with the dials before gloved hands moved the pot onto a cold space on the stove. Dylan peered over your shoulder and hummed, fingers somehow fiddling with a spoon that you had no recollection of him picking up. He moved past your hurrying frame and scooped up the liquid that was still falling from the pot. His shoulders lifted into a shrug after he tasted your food, "Good. Not as good as the taste of your tongue down my throat, but still good."

When Stiles and You Watch Porn.... || Headcanon

Pairing : Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Warnings : sexual language, swearing, pornography mentions, 18+ content

Notes : please take note that there's no actual sex in this, but it is pretty mild altogether

you read too many buzzfeed articles

so much that it slowly begins to dictate your life

that's what leads you to you staring at your phone with a quizzed expression whilst stiles flicks through your History textbook

"are you even paying attention?" your boyfriend would ask you

all you could muster was a hum

you were clearly preoccupied

and stiles' curiosity always got the best of him

he asked what you were looking at, questioning a second time to see if it's more important than your test tomorrow

and all you could reply with nonchalantly was "do you watch a lot of porn?"

fair to say, your boyfriend was taken aback

like

waaay aback

he instantly grew red cheeks and became flustered

you knew that he watched it

look at him - stiles screams the type of person to watch porn

and frankly, you've watched some too

but you've never discussed it together before

he stuttered, and choked on his words, and nearly passed out on top of his speechlessness

stiles fumbled as his long giraffe legs carried him to his bed where you laid

you didn't once look up at him, too enthralled by this stupid article

stiles gulped "wh-why do you ask?"

you just licked your lips before pursing them

"says here that watching porn together can be good for sex, you know, help you get hornier and get off easier"

now stiles was more curious, mixed with a hell amount of confusion

he crawled along your bed until he was sitting next to you

your backs pressed to his headboard, eyes glued on your screen

you hissed, "ooh, also says it can be awkward as fuck. some couples can't even look each other in the eye after five minutes of watching hardcore porn"

stiles squinted his eyes as he read the article himself, slowly understanding second-handedly why you were fascinated

the experiences of these couples, they were... interesting

"i mean, it doesn't have to be hardcore though, right?" he piped up

you turned to him, eyebrow raised, surprised he wanted to take part in your readings

"i mean... no, it could be any porn. passionate, softcore, I don't know."

stiles bit his bottom lip, carefully taking your phone from you

he murmured, "so... if we were to watch porn together, for example..."

he flicked through the article, mentally tossing up the pros and cons

"-and you know, see how it goes..."

"stiles are you asking me to watch porn with you?"

his eyebrows both jumped upwards, head tilting to the side as he watched you, "i-if you.. if you want.. to.."

it would be approximately three minutes and twenty-four seconds later when you both were back sitting on his bed

hearts racing after you both were running around to make sure the coast was clear and doors were effectively locked

the most embarrassing part about this 'experiment' would be getting walked in on - especially by sheriff

for comfort reasons you perched between his legs

your back pressed to his chest

his laptop sat neatly on your knees

in all honesty, you were quite comfortable where you were, especially when stiles positioned himself a little upright

with his arms wrapped around your waist

holding you against him

head sitting lightly on your shoulder

you couldn't help but turn slightly to face him and press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose

his lips quirked into a smile and you drew a deep breath

"you ready?" your voice was wavering, still unsure

stiles' wasn't any better, "there's no harm in just... giving it a go... even for five minutes"

your lips puffed out, knotting from indecisiveness

he gave you a gentle squeeze, though

a reassuring squeeze

"it's just watching sex, baby" he said

and you smiled widely from his efforts

you eventually hit play on the first video you both agreed on

it was weird watching sex with someone next to you

it felt wrong, like you were being caught out

you thought that it could possibly turn your relationship upside down

but you two ended up critiquing the video more than gaining a high libido from it

every now and then you two would hum, or make noises of acknowledgement

stiles would inch closer to the screen with squinted eyes

"how the fuck are they even doing that?"

and you would shake your head "god knows but there's no way in hell i'm flexible enough to try it... i mean, do you see how far back her leg goes???"

when another video played over your screen, your eyes widened, a low whistle blowing through your lips

"he looks likes he's going to fucking break her in half!"

"yeah, babe, that's why it's called hard-core porn" he would reply, still studying each video

like

you both would sit there for at least an hour

god knows how many videos you went though, but

you definitely didn't get any more aroused than you usually would staring at each other naked

stiles closed the laptop, clicking his tongue

"okay, what i've learnt from this experience is that i'm perfectly satisfied with the way we have sex..."

"exactly, we make each other orgasm, usually more than once, and it feels fucking good and you're still extremely sexy doing it"

stiles nodding in agreement to what you said

and he'd press gentle kisses to your shoulder, making you smile

even the smallest of affection covers you in bliss

he would pull away suddenly and groan in frustration, though

"i still don't understand how that italian couple could even move in that way? like that shit is inhuman. nobody is supposed to be able to position themselves like that, i'm sorry"

you'd sigh loudly and turn in his lap, your legs on either side of his

and just slowly pushing him back until he was slaying among his pillows

stiles looking up at you as if you were the sun and the stars and the moon

and you leaning down to kiss him so softly, lips moulding against his

the added depth you demanded through your kiss promoting you to swallow stiles hearty moan

pulling away with his bottom lip sliding out from between your own

"how about we stop thinking about what the professional pornstars did and start to focus on we can do... right now, with each other... i can make you feel amazing stiles"

he would eagerly continue to nod in agreement

his fingers already pulling at the hem of your tshirt

you would beam down to him with so much love

"and maybe i'll even let you try that thing you saw, you know, the one with the tongue... the one that made your dick grow hard in like a second flat"

his speechless expression made you bite the inside of your cheek

it was sudden, but

stiles flipped you both over, his body now above yours

his lips barely grazing just under your earlobe

it made you shiver with excitement

his voice hoarse "sweetheart, you know as well as me that the second we start, i'm not planning on stopping, especially if the tongue thing is involved... seriously, fuck"

"then show me what you got big boy"

gaze w/ dylan for the kiss me?

send me a PROMPT for a 'kiss me' blurb -

[ GAZE ] : right before the kissing begins, sender gazes at receiver’s lips, then back up at their eyes, waiting for them to make a move or give confirmation.

Small laughs were a constant interruption during your scene with Dylan, the chortles slipping from both your mouths every time you both got too close to one another. It didn't help in the slightest that the brunette man would purposely pull a childish face at you when your noses were close enough to touch - this time, in particular, was caused by the crossing of his eyes and tip of his tongue poking out at you. The director was playing along at first as he made small jokes himself about content for the gag reel, but fifteen minutes later and he was yelling CUT! like a broken record and rolling his eyes with a hidden smile ghosting his lips.

Dylan pushed out a lip-trill as a way to compose himself, his hands shaking out at his sides. You were only seconds behind following his lead until you were both sure that the zaniness was at a minimum. The director indicated that filming was resuming before your hands gently gripped Dylan's arms, the personality of your characters taking over once more as you stared up into his whisky-coloured eyes. Lines dripping with every possible essence of love fell so easily from your lips, almost immediately reciprocated from your partner's character. The scene was easily set and the mood grew swiftly between your flushed chests.

Your eyes focused on the plumpness of his lips - so simple, but so enticing. It was hard to remember that this was a scripted scene and not an invitation to jump on him for no apparent reason. The act of his tongue slipping out quickly to lick his lips broke your focus and caused you to drag your gaze back up to his. Your head tilted softly to the side as your eyes asked... dared... him to finish the job. In true Dylan fashion, the smallest of smiles tugged at the corners of his mouth and he leaned into you, pressing his lips to yours and scrunching his nose as he deepened it. The peck didn't last long as he pulled away, forehead against yours. It was time for you and your castmate to join once more in a union that was determined by the way his tongue dragged across the bottom lip of your red-painted smirk, and as if on cue, you allowed him access. He sunk entirely, his tongue dipping deep inside as if he needed a part of you to help him breathe.

It had to have just been acting, surely, but it was definitely perfect.

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."