Dylan O'Brien characters X Reader

Mitch Rapp x Reader

Warnings (!): fluff, smut, oral (girl receiving), choking, multiple orgasms, rough sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, mentions of death (?)
Request: Nope but I do take requests so hmu
I've also put this on Tumblr @dylan-o-yumm (I know, very original)
Word count: 14k

I pull back the thin, yellow curtain that shields me from the bright sun, peeking my head out slightly to catch a glimpse of the men training within the trees. The second my (e/c) eyes find them, a muscular man with black hair is being flung over onto his back by Stan. I wince, expecting that to hurt the guy, all the rocks and twigs probably digging into his back. They're pretty far from the old house but not to far that I can't see what's going on. They're mainly just blurry figures in the distance but I'd be able to spot my dad in any crowd.
The outside world always interested me. No, I don't me the grass and sunshine. The real outside world. It's brutal and horrible. Body's dropping, blood pooling and the heart shattering sounds of gun fire.  You'd think that I'd be used to all that, since Stan is my father. However, it all sickens me. Don't get me wrong, I think that what my dad does is helping make the world a better place, ridding the Earth of these horrible terrorists one by one. But just the sheer brutality of it all makes my stomach churn. However, when I said that the outside world interested me, doesn't mean I want to be a part of it, at least not on the field. I want to help, but I know that if I hold a heavy, metal gun in my small, fragile hands I won't be able to pull the trigger. No matter what a man has done, I'd never be able to end his life. And my dad knows this, that's why he's kept me away from all the training sessions and recruits so that I don't get mixed up in it all. I'd much prefer to be on the other side of the screen, helping whoever is on the field. I'd be helping, saving lives. Not ending one.
I snap out of my all-over-the-place thoughts when I see all the men heading towards the old house I've come to call home. They do this everyday, come over after training to have lunch - or a beer if they're lucky,  but that's only if my dad is in a good mood. This is the time of day when I'm expected to stay up in my room and not come out until the assassins have left. But today? I don't know, let's just say curiosity got the best of me.
I quickly rush over to my bedroom door, fling myself out of the room and practically sprint down the creaky steps, making sure I got to the kitchen before the guys, and my dad, entered the house. I jump up on the bar stool and rest my elbows on the counter, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl and taking a bite. Trying to look casual. The sound of friendly chatter escalates as the men approach, making me wonder if they're ever this loud when they're on a mission. I hear them enter the house, they're footsteps creaking along the floorboards as they enter into the kitchen, where I'm seated.
"Y/n? What are you doing downstairs? You're not meant to be down here at this time!" My dad practically yells at me. I've had to deal with his anger and attitude for my whole life. I'm pretty much used to it, but seeing the crowd of muscular, sweaty men behind him all staring at me makes me at a loss for words. These men have all killed someone. The thought echoes in my brain and I start to regret my decision of coming down here. "You either answer me, young lady or you March right back up to your room!" Just as I'm about to splutter an excuse, a soothing but also slightly rough voice stops me in my tracks.
"Who is this, sir?" A man with black, medium length hair and whiskey coloured eyes speaks out, stepping forward from the crowd. They way he said 'sir' made it seem like a joke, like he knows he's better than Stan. But you'd be a fool not to fear my father, especially if you take orders from him. My father has never mistreated me, he's a great parent, he can just get a little loud sometimes. But if I weren't his daughter and I were a recruit, then I'd be pissing my pants. He sure knows how to make your life a living hell. Hell, I've seen him make a few grown men cry. It's actually quite heartbreaking.
"Not that it's any of your business, but she lives here" my dad huffed, giving them a white lie for the time being. "How come none of us have ever seen her before?" The same dark haired man challenged. He is clearly a smart one, and dumb for not shutting up when he should in the presence of Stan. Hurley clearly wasn't prepared for this talk and he seems to be fuming. I quickly think of a decent explanation and blurt it out, saving my fathers ass for now.
"I don't like small spaces" I state, jumping off the bar stool, crossing one foot over the other, appearing to look innocent. "And a bunch of men all hanging out in the kitchen seems like the smallest space in the house" well it's not a lie. I do get a bit claustrophobic. "So I try not to get involved at those times" I rub the back of my neck, not liking all the eyes on me. I am known to be rather shy at first introductions.
"Good enough for me" one guy who stands at the back muttered and they all pushed forward, stumbling into the kitchen to grab a sandwich each off the counter that I prepared earlier for them. However, Stan and hazel eyes haven't moved. My dad gives me a pointed look that tells me 'we'll talk later' so I nod and watch as he walk off to grab a beer from the refrigerator, slapping hands away from the cold beverage as he closes the fridge door.
"So do you have one on one training here or something? Working for the CIA?" Hazel eyes is still standing there but now he's taken a step towards me, somewhat interrogating me. He has light stubble on his cheeks and chin, adding more character to his intimidating personality. Though he seems to want to pry answers from me, there is also a kindness hidden behind his eyes and it makes me stare longer then intended. I have to shake my head and drop my gaze as I speak.
"Uh, not exactly. No" I quickly take another bite from the bright green apple in my hands so that he'd realise I would like to stop talking. He seems to get the hint, dropping the interrogation. I would have thought that he'd walk off with the other men after that, grab a sandwich and take a seat, instead he stays put, standing oddly close to me. When I decided to come down from my room, this is not exactly what I had in mind. I thought they'd all be brooding and dark, staring off into space remembering all the horrible things they've seen and done. But when I look at this guy beside me, he seems like a genuinely nice guy that is have a decent conversation with. Stop it! That's what they're trained to do. Look like an ordinary person you'd see walking along the street, but then they attack when you least expect it. I have to remind myself that these men are in fact human and not blood thirsty animals.
"How about a less threatening question, like, what's your name?" The assassin looks down at me and I can't help but notice the permanent little side smirk he wears on his lips. It's almost hardly noticeable. "I'm Mitch" he greeted, sticking his hand out for me to shake.
"Y/n" I responded, reaching out to shake his hand in a friendly manner. He has nice hands. Big, veiny and could probably crush my hand right now if he wanted to, but also warm and soft like kitten paws. It's almost impossible to believe that he has killed men with those hands. I don't have to ask him if he has killed a man, I already know the answer. He has that same hint of a look in his eye that my dad has. My dad hadn't always had that look, but I noticed it one day when he came home late, clutching his side in pain with cuts and bruises all over him. I was only a little girl when that happened. I wouldn't like to know how many men he has killed since.
"I'm gonna go and eat. I'll talk to you later maybe. Yeah?" Mitch concluded, gently tapping my elbow with his fingers. He waited for me to nod in response before smiling without showing his teeth and walking off to the other men. I watched as he leant over the counter to grab a sandwich, quickly taking a big bite then slipping out of the house. My eyebrows furrowed as to why he wouldn't stay and have a little fun with his. . . Friends? Maybe he doesn't get a long with any of them? Either way, I only just realise that there are a lot of men in the house and it's getting pretty rowdy, giving me a headache. Seeing my dad sitting on the couch, sipping his beer, I walk over cautiously as I try not to touch any of the other guys.
"Hey, I'm gonna go up stairs now. Sorry about all that before" I apologise and pat him on the shoulder.I thought about giving him a kiss on the cheek but then realised that the guys might notice and get suspicious, if they aren't already. I sure know Mitch is. Stan places his hand on top of mine, stopping me from walking off. "We will talk later, okay?" Though it was a question, he didn't sound like he was asking at all. I nodded in agreement as he let go of my hand. Turning to walk up the stairs and realising I'm in big trouble.