Dylan O'Brien Imagines

Forbidden- Mitch Rapp

Stan Hurley is what you would call an interesting father.

Especially to a girl.

"Normal" girls grow up learning how to put on makeup and they usually get clothes for their birthdays. Not me. I was learning how to throw knives and how to take apart and put back together a gun in under two minutes, blindfolded.

Plus there is the fact that I've grown up around the men who my father have trained, training right along side them.

Most dads would worry about their daughter spending so much time with a group of men, but not my father. Instead, he encourages me to train with them.

Not like he's had anything to worry about. These men were more interested in training than trying to get into my pants. And I have never wanted any of them.

Until Mitch Rapp came along.

When Irene introduced Mitch to my father, I watched from the porch with my arms folded across my chest. I wasn't sure exactly what they were saying to each other, but what I did know was that this kid thought pretty highly of his abilities.

"He's got another thing coming," I mumbled.

I walked away before I could hear them finish their conversation. When I looked over my shoulder to close the door, I noticed Mitch had been watching me walk away.

*****

The next day, I watched his first training session. It wasn't a secret that he had had his own training before this. He may not have had the FBI or CIA training habits most agents develop, but he wasn't as clean and precise in his movements as he could be.

About a week after he had arrived, I was up late doing some of my online homework when he came into the kitchen.

"Hey, you're Stan's daughter right?" He asked as he got a beer from the fridge.

"Y/N," I mumbled, not looking away from my computer. I felt his eyes on me as I finished my essay and turned it in.

"What are you doing?" He asked, sitting on the bar stool next to me. I looked over at him, seeing the bags under his eyes.

"I go to school online," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Really?" He scoffed. I took a deep breath before fully turning towards him.

"Yeah, not all of us can go to some fancy boarding school like you did. Some of us were raised here. Some of us have never left this damn house." I slammed my laptop shut, picked it up and left.

*****

A month later, some of the men decided to throw a party. I was drinking my beer slightly swaying to the music when Mitch came over. "Hey," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

"Hi," I mumbled.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," he said suddenly.

"Doesn't matter," I shrugged. I tried to walk away, but he grabbed my wrist and turned me back around so I was facing him.

"Why do you hate me?" he asked, looking directly into my eyes.

I scoffed as I pulled my hand out of his grasp. "Because you are pathetic."

"Pathetic?" He said through gritted teeth.

"Yes," I said with a smirk. "You refuse to let go of the past even though it holds you back. Your fiancé was killed and that's awful, but you can't keep using it as an excuse to go around brutally murdering people. You need to start using that anger and hatred and pain to fuel your strength. Either you use it or it uses you and I promise, once it uses you, it will kill you."